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chirpsythismorning · 1 year

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Why I Don’t Experience Byler Doubt

It’s simple. One of the most essential techniques in storytelling: Show, don’t tell.

Show, don't tell is a technique that allows the audience to experience the story through actions, words, subtext, thoughts, senses, and feelings rather than exclusively through the creators' exposition, summarization, and description.

Even more importantly (assuming we want to enjoy ourselves bc this is supposed to be high quality entertainment), it adds drama. Rather than telling viewers what's happening, a filmmaker will use this technique to show drama unfold. 'Telling' is factual and avoids detail; while 'showing,' is detailed and places the human subject at the centre of the drama.

This technique is literally playing out in the narrative when it comes to Mike’s inability to tell El he loves her (or even simply write love Mike in his letters), which he never would have had to tell her (spell out) in the first place, if he had just shown her that he loved her.

It’s no fun having to spoon feed your audience. Instead, it's much more enjoyable for the storyteller to present the truth in the details, even sometimes contradicting very basic assumptions that are being outright told. Hence why, for example, when the Duffers were asked about the Vecna reveal, Ross used the opportunity to go on a mini tangent: 'the best twists are ones that you go, “Oh, I should have seen that coming.” As opposed to the twists that go, “Oh, well that just came out of nowhere.” So, “Oh, I missed these clues along the way.” But you get nervous when you’re writing it because you go, “Well, to me it seems obvious--'.

In fact, Show, don't tell is what largely allows surprise revelations to hide in plain sight. Because obviously, if a writer just tells their audience everything that's happening while it's happening, we would always see what's coming next.

And so the problem I have with downplaying or even completely refusing to acknowledge the importance of Show, don't tell, in the case of Stranger Things especially, is that, in order to comfortably subscribe to what is being told, I have to ignore what is being shown.

We see this play out all the time on Reddit in particular, which if I'm being honest is the only platform at this point that treats mere speculation about Will and Mike's relationship as if it is the end of the world. On the rare occasion the mods don't remove a byler related post, the post is either already negative towards byler or the comments are filled with fury over the poster simply thinking critically by speculating about byler. Even if you manage to get a fan over there in the comments to consider certain evidence pointing towards byler as incriminating, they'll still manage to end it by downplaying the Duffers and their abilities, because 'They're not that smart!'...

They'll ask for evidence, be presented with it, only to insist that it's all reaching because details mean nothing and everything about the show is actually just surface level, ie. it's not that deep.

Without even realizing it, they're low-key admitting that going the byler route would be smart, and yet here they are tirelessly defending a show that, according to them, has shit writers and no deeper purpose. All this does is prove that they are hoping this is the case. Because even despite being presented with strong evidence that the show might very well be epic, they would rather reject it altogether.

They would rather have one of their favorite shows suck and defend it religiously, then consider the possibility that it's good and gay...

Don't get me wrong, there are definitely fans on reddit that don't hate byler. I imagine out of the million in that sub, there's a silent majority that would be open to it. Keep in mind, most fans still active at this point in hiatus are hardcore fans, and so they're obviously opinionated, that goes for everyone on most platforms rn. And yet, I know there are very likely casual fans who are popping in there every now and then, the same people in the majority when after s4 dropped, saw that monologue and said What the actual fuck was that?

There’s a reason no other couple on the show has needed to hear the words I love you to believe it. Well, besides Steve and Nancy…

Because SHOW, DON'T TELL. That's why!

So, what do I mean when I say that Show, don't tell is why I no longer have byler doubt?

It's actually pretty ironic, but basically the moment Mike told El he loved her, that's the moment they showed us that he didn't.

I mean, for starters, how does one go about filming a romantic love confession? Because if we're being entirely serious right now, they made just about every artistic and creative choice possible to go against what a romantic love confession should look like to feel satisfying.

I mean, you'd probably want the atmosphere to be intimate, right? Make the audience feel like these two are the only two people in the room (world) for this moment?

Well, that's not the case for Mike and El, nor is it the case for literally any of their scenes in s4 (arguably a lot of their scenes in the series; Will the wise drawing in El's room, I'm looking at you). Almost all of the scenes with them together in s4 had Will in the background, often times in the literal frame between them. That is NOT how you film scenes for a romantic pairing that you want the audience to root for, from beginning to end.

You guys gotta understand, rewatch value is one of the most important aspects to this story for the Duffers. When talking about the prospects of s5, they mentioned that they rewatched all the Lord of the Rings, saying how important it was, despite what some fans might say about the ending being too long, or this or that, bc to them, it was necessary to watch it all, and to rewatch it and rewatch it, in order to appreciate the entire story as a whole, aka the way it was intended.

If you're a serious about Mike and El as a romantic pairing, but because of the way the show has set up their relationship over the seasons, you can't sit down and enjoy more than a quarter of each season bc they're either separated, broken up, or on the rare occasion they are together and happy, they're accompanied by a kicked puppy in every shot, maybe all of that's for a reason.

And that applies to the scene in Surfer Boy more than any other scene in the show, a scene that is supposed to be Mike's monologue to El... You mean a scene that directly parallels Mike's monologue to Will in s2?

When planning the end of s4, do we think the Duffers just decided they wanted this intimate moment between Mike and El to have Will in the frame behind Mike (visually piggybacking off of him, in an episode titled The Piggyback...) in almost every shot, including when he said I love you for the first time, for no reason at all? Or is it possible there was a reason for it? Just like there's been a greater reason for everything?

Like bro, I'm sorry, but even if what's being told in that scene is relevant, all of it still reads as either a lie, a partial lie, a lie of omission or a platonic truth hiding behind romantic phrasing: I don't know how to live without you = platonic (trauma bond), whereas I can't live without you/I don't want to live without you = romantic. The later is out of desire/want, the former is out of fear of the unknown.

The entire scene the lighting is blinking rapidly. And so the vibe they're going for here is uncertainty, which is quite odd for a love confession that's supposed to feel certain? Then we have El seeing all red the entire time. She's literally choking, hearing Mike struggle to muster up anything that could help her pull through, only to overhear Will calling Mike the heart, followed by Mike finally saying I love you????

And I guess according to the Duffers, nothing says true love like a love confession ending abruptly by a two day time jump...

Oh and how about, instead of them taking the time at the end of the season for El and Mike to have a private moment, where they could finally address their love for one another, let’s have them barely on speaking terms, and the one time they do talk, let’s have it be offscreen and mentioned in a private moment between Will and Mike, who in contrast to Mike and El, we're going to prioritize having a scene with them alone together at the end of this season...

In the last minutes, let’s have El look at Mike and Will, only to avoid them with visible annoyance. And THEN let’s show Mike visibly defeated by El's annoyance, instead prioritizing reassuring Will, aka his friend with whom he shares an I didn’t say it/ You didn’t have to bond...

I mean? Are we just not going to talk about it? The fact that I didn't say it/You didn't have to could pass off as a literal synonym for Show, don't tell...

It just kills me that even with all of that, the Duffers were like, You know what? Fuck it. Let's show them all the endgame couples lined up next to each other, with Will and Mike in the middle and El standing on her own in front of them. If by now they still refuse to consider it, after everything, this ending probably wont convince them anyways, but it makes for great rewatch value...

Seriously, if you're subscribing fully to the belief that what is being told is the whole truth and nothing but the truth (so help you god), then you're having to ignore all of that. And I can't ignore all of that, I just can't. Which makes it impossible for me to experience doubt anymore.

#byler #stranger things #byler doubt #not really #quite the opposite #but i'll tag in case #show don't tell allows you to acknowledge what is being shown AND told bc the truth of what's being told is hiding in the details #that's not the case for people only wanting to believe what's being told bc they're having to completely ignore the details to believe it #like i know for milkvans... byler scenes do NOT work in their favor #whereas for bylers... pretty much all milkvan scenes do work in our favor #and so genuinely i just can't experience doubt anymore #arguing with antis is fun to me #looking at reddit posts is peak entertainment #ppl praying to the gods that ST sucks bc they would rather have that be the case than it be an intricate story with deeper meaning #bc then that would mean all the queer-coding that's been hiding in the details all along was intentional...#there's nothing I can do for ya'll except sit here and watch you unpack that #reddit is going to be quite the spectacle over the next couple years #once byler happens there's probably going to be instant denial #then mourning #then acceptance #or whatever the 4(?) stages of grief are #then they'll eventually get to a point where they will allow themselves to look at the evidence instead of avoiding it out of fear #and that's when it's finally going to hit them #oh my god #it's me #i'm part of the reason they had to water it down #bc even upon being presented with evidence #they rejected it #and now they gotta give credit to tumblr bylers who discovered most of the evidence they've been shitting on for the last few years #honestly i'm looking forward to it

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queerstudiesnatural · 4 days

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i think my brain should be studied i'm being fr

#surely this isn't normal #my dreams are like a portal to another life #sometimes i dream about the next day in advance #like with full details. and i often plan lessons in my sleep #sometimes i dream up entire stories with full fledged characters and backstories and intricate plot points etc #last night i dreamt up not just one but about ten such episodes #in the same night i also dreamt that i started taking T and had sex with a random girl and then had. a kinky adventure with dean winchester #(i love being ace about also this dream sex was pretty nice!)#i'm not gonna tell all the stories bc we would be here all day but #there were a Lot of different stories in my dream #full stories that all felt like they happened over the course of days or weeks or months or years in some cases #god i met so many different people in one night and they don't even exist #how i am expected to function properly when my head is so full of memories from lives i never lived but also kind of did #i feel like there's a hundred different universes in my memories and they're all from dreams but they all feel super real #like oh yeah remember that time i was part of a forest dwelling society that started gaining powers and we all thought they were #evil powers but it turns out the forest had given us the ability to communicate with it and to fly and to heal #or oh yeah i traveled the world once and then on my way back i had to cheat customs that wanted to charge me an exorbitant amount of money #for my luggage #by jumping down the luggage slide and travelling with the luggage #or oh yeah i was on T once and actually lost my T pills in a swamp but i dug around and ended up finding them #and i started to grow facial hair after like a week #like stoooop that's too many lives to live #every single night i go through another portal and live a whole ass life #rain.stuff

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hollowsart · 4 months

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armor gloves/gauntlets are hot as heck. sexiest armor.

do not @ me. I'm right.

#ghostie mumbles #especially when they've got claws...... and sometimes spikes... but they're the most alluring when they're so intricately detailed

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jeellyjams · 4 months

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they should make more physical game guides again

#they probably do and im just not looking at them lol #idk something about the Myst series having official published guides with so many little details #you can tell the people who wrote it love the games a lot #playing riven after ultrakill is a nice change of pace. slight whiplash but nice #i love wandering around and observing my surroundings #and call me silly but i love that each Thing you can interact with has a little discolored box around it while it animates #i think that's very nice #i need to look more into how the Myst games were made they're so pretty and incredibly intricate from what i know

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lyfeward · 1 year

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he also has ridiculous control over his own mana which leads to ridiculous control over his magic. extremely fine, detailed work is where he shines. think of the most delicate lacework or the most detailed carving of fragile eggs — a spell is truly a weaving when made by him.

#his buffs; his charms; his heals; his barriers — they're like art #it's of the quality that even someone who knows nothing about magic #would know a difference between his work and another mage's #and of course those who do know a thing or two about magic would recognize the quality #it's nothing big and flashy #it's so delicate so intricate so detailed. any master craftsman would be proud to make a work of art like that #META / HC: PRIMARY.

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mosscrab · 1 year

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i love all the little details in world building easily one of the most fun parts

#it is intricate!! the geography the languages the folklore.....#the rain forests are a primary setting but the different islands' geography is a major factor in a lot of the #dissonance characters have between each other.#the languages....... there are so many of them and they're somewhat related somewhat not.#the folklore is too detailed to even try to summarize. there is way too much of it.#.txt #this is a fantasy set between several rain forests two deserts and a small snowy mountain range (and the bottom of the ocean).#heartless

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willowbelle · 3 months

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Open Flame

❤︎ portgas d ace x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: afab!reader, fem!reader, dom!ace, sub!reader, ace is a smug tease, kitchen sex, fingering, piv sex, bent-over-the-counter sex, cream pie, use of "good girl" , "baby" & "sweetheart"

summary: reader is a strawhat, reader has a crush on ace (don't we all?) they're the only ones up late at night in the kitchen >:), sex ensues, heat/flame innuendos duh, oh and Ace wears those slutty man plaid boxers (>ᴗ•) !

word count: ~4,000

tagging: @bby-deerling @maddddstuff @eelnoise @nerdgeekandeverysweet-blog @help-i-lost-my-sock

Open Flame

Ace’s gaze was allconsuming.

A spell-binding stare that, ironically, lit a flame within you that couldn’t be tamed.

Your captain’s brother was only supposed to have stayed with you all on The Sunny for a few days, but, before long, days melted into weeks, and Ace had effortlessly ingrained himself, finding a home not just within the confines of the ship, but also within the recesses of your mind.

Ever since his first day with your crew, you found yourself tossing and turning in bed at night, consumed by visions of Fire Fist Ace; his toned figure, his freckled skin, his dark, shaggy hair.

Each toss and turn was a desperate attempt to escape the relentless grip of your infatuation, but his image persisted, vivid and unyielding.

Oh, it was futile. The more you tried to push him from your thoughts, the more he consumed them. His presence lingered, something intoxicating, relentless, enveloping you in a haze of longing and allconsuming desire.

------

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to find solace in sleep, but your mind races on, conjuring fantasies of those stolen glances, those tan, freckled cheeks. Each scenario plays out in intricate detail, taunting you with the tantalizing possibility of something more.

You release a weighted sigh, your gaze still fixed on the unchanging ceiling. Sleep feels impossible now, so you give in to your insomnia, gently shedding the covers from your body and rising upright.

------

In the depths of the ship's night, you silently slip out of your bunk, navigating the narrow corridors with practiced ease. The Sunny creaks and groans softly around you, its familiar sounds a comforting backdrop to your nocturnal wanderings.

The floorboards creak faintly beneath your weight as you pad through the dimly lit hallway, guided only by the pale moonlight filtering through the fluttering curtains.

A gentle sea breeze whispers through the open window, carrying with it the scent of night blooms and sea salt. As you descend the stairs, your footsteps echo softly against the wooden steps, breaking the stillness of the night.

Entering the kitchen, you flick on the overhead light, casting a warm glow over the familiar surroundings. The room seems to welcome your presence, the comforting hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the clock offering solace in the solitude of the night.

You move with quiet purpose, your movements fluid and unhurried as you prepare a cup of tea, the gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain punctuating the silence. The rhythmic motion of stirring soothes your restless mind, easing the knots of tension that had taken root within you.

As you stir the spoon through the steaming liquid, Ace's presence solidifies in your thoughts, his grip on your mind unyielding. There's no escaping his hold, so you allow him to take you, drifting deeper into your imagination. You envision the sensation of drawing him near, tasting his lips, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The thought lingers: would his abilities render his flesh hot to the touch?

Lost in your daydreaming, your senses are momentarily dulled. The rhythmic stirring of your tea slows as you continue to drift in the cocoon of your thoughts, imagining scenarios that seem both tantalizingly real and impossibly distant.

Ace’s lips on your neck, his strong hands around your waist, melting you.

And then, like a sudden gust of something unexpected, the sound of footsteps shatters the tranquility of your fantasies. Your heart skips a beat as you raise your head, finding yourself face to face with the object of your affection.

Ace stands in the doorway, his presence filling the room with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

He has’t noticed me, yet, thank god.

Unaware of your presence, he remains oblivious, his attention consumed by the remnants of sleep lingering in his eyes. With a lazy yawn and a gentle rub of his eyes, he remains lost in the haze between wakefulness and sleep.

He stands before you, casually shirtless, as he usually is, yet there's something distinctly different about this moment. His chest is bare and his torso is exposed, the warm light of the kitchen accentuating the contours of his chest and the play of shadows across his skin.

Beneath the soft glow, his feet are bare, too, adding to the casual allure of his presence. The only garment adorning him is a pair of loose-fitting red plaid boxers, hanging effortlessly from his sculpted hips

The warm glow of the kitchen lights cascades softly over Ace's toned body, each gentle beam of light dances delicately across his features, accentuating the subtle contours of his handsome, freckled face. As he steps further into the room, the light caresses his golden skin, highlighting the delicate sprinkling of freckles that adorn his cheeks and nose, a testament to the countless hours spent basking in the sun's embrace.

And suddenly, to your dismay, his eyes, dark and enigmatic, lock onto yours, and for a fleeting instant, time seems to stand still.

A weary grin creeps onto his face as he senses comfort in your company.

"Trouble sleeping, too?" the timbre of his voice is soft and raspy, colored by the remnants of sleep. As he speaks, he ambles towards the fridge, effortlessly navigating the kitchen space. With a fluid motion, he swings the refrigerator door open, stealing a quick glance in your direction as he begins to sift through its contents, awaiting your response.

“Uh, yeah,” you chuckle softly, stumbling over your words. Surely, you were dreaming. You rub your eyes a few times to dispel the remnants of sleep, however, when you open them again, Ace is still there.

"The waves seem rougher tonight, huh?" Ace mumbles between mouthfuls of food, his attention divided between his meal and the remaining contents of the fridge.

“They do, yeah,” you offer a soft smile, “But I can rarely get to sleep,” you admit, taking a sip from your mug of tea.

"Oh, really?" Ace's inquiry pulls your attention away from your tea, his sudden gaze meeting yours as he lifts his head from the fridge for the first time. “Why’s that?”

A rush of heat floods your cheeks at the direct eye contact, prompting you to avert your gaze momentarily.

"Just... can't stop thinking," you admit softly, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words.

"Hmm," Ace acknowledges with a thoughtful hum before swallowing. "Same here," he adds, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability.

Your curiosity piqued, you lean in slightly, intrigued by his response. "What's been on your mind, Ace?" you ask, voice laced with genuine interest.

Ace hesitates for a moment, glancing around the kitchen before shrugging nonchalantly,

"You.”

Ace's unexpected confession courses through your veins and renders you speechless. Your heart flutters erratically in your chest, and you struggle to maintain composure under the weight of his words that hang heavily between the two of you.

It was disarmingly casual, refreshingly honest. Not a rehearsed performance, starkly contrasting the countless nights you spent rehearsing confessions in front of the mirror. You can;t help but envy his effortless sincerity.

His gaze remains fixed on yours, unwavering and intense as he straightens up, closing the fridge.

He slowly makes his way towards you, making your breath hitch in your throat. You swallow dryly as he draws near, and with a gentle yet purposeful motion, he reaches out and takes the mug of tea from your hand, the brief touch sending a shiver down your spine. Setting the drink down on the counter with a soft clink, he closes the space between you, the air crackling with unspoken tension.

You feel his breath on your ear as his presence looms closer,

“What have you been thinking about, y/n?” he questions, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You suck in your bottom lip gently between your teeth, a nervous habit betraying the whirlwind of emotions churning within you. Your gaze locks with his, his eyes like pools inviting you take a swim.

And so, you dive in.

Time seems to stand still as you hover on the brink of uncertainty, the weight of your unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air. And then, with a soft exhale, you opt for a physical reply, immediately closing the gap, crashing your lips onto Ace’s.

His hand instinctively finds its home on your soft cheek as your lips meld together, making you moan softly into his mouth.

His lips turn up into a smile against yours, pleased with the sound that escaped your throat.

It's a moment suspended in time, a delicate dance of longing and hesitation as you explore the uncharted territory of your newfound embrace. Your lips move together in perfect harmony, each brush of skin igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you whole.

Your surroundings seem to fall away as you make out, gently caressing Ace’s sharp jawline as his tongue presses against your lips, silently asking for permission to enter.

You promptly oblige, parting your lips to allow Ace’s hot tongue to explore your mouth.

He accepts, groaning softly into your open mouth as his tongue swirls around yours slowly.

He presses forwards softly, palms resting on the countertop on either side of your hips, caging you in as he leans harder into the kiss.

You hands travel upwards, tangling themselves in his mess of dark hair as you gently bite his bottom lip, playfully tugging on the tender flesh between your teeth.

“Ace,” you whine breathlessly.

“Yeah?” the tall man rasps into your mouth, eyes still closed in a blissful surrender, “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

Your heart swells at his affectionate words and you playfully parrot his statement from before,

“You.”

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice soft yet brimming with confidence. "That's what I wanted to hear."

You feel your core tighten at his boldness, making heat pool in your crotch.

As if he could read your body like a book, he slowly begins to snake his toned arm downwards, his hand finding its home on your aching sex.

Your head rolls back and you let out a pleased sigh at the sensation.

“Sensitive, are we?” Ace purrs arrogantly, pleased at his own ability.

“Mm-mhmm,” you whine in admission because he’s right, he tugs those sounds from your body naturally, better than anyone ever has.

His able fingers cautiously meet the waistband of your pajama shorts and he shoots you a questioning glance, silently asking for your permission.

“Please, Ace,” you whine.

He smirks at you before dipping his hand beneath your shorts, his middle and ring finger aiming to tease your weeping opening.

“Needy girl,” he lets out a gravelly groan, “So wet for me already.”

A dark blush rushes to your cheeks at the lewdness of his words, but he cups your face and tilts your head down, making you watch the meticulous movements of his fingers.

His other hand swiftly snakes around to give your ass a gentle squeeze before dipping his thumb beneath your waistband to tug your shorts down.

Simultaneously, he swipes his middle finger along your aching slit, the tip of his finger meeting your hole with a precautionary nudge.

“Mm,” you whine out, excitedly awaiting the intrusion.

“Yeah?” Ace tests you, stalling his movements, “Come on, baby, show me how badly you want it.”

Abandoning all dignity, you let your yearnings take the reigns, grinding your hips back and forth against him, soaking his digit in your essence.

“Good,” Ace mumbles, rewarding your persistence with a press of his finger against your opening. Your cunt greedily accepts his digit, sucking him in. “So tight, y/n, can’t wait to stretch you out,” the man before you smirks and you want to hide your embarrassed face, but you��re too consumed by desire, unable to fall back on your shy tendencies.

He slowly begins pumping his finger in and out of you, earning delicious moans to escape from your slack jaw and into his ear.

You bury your face in his neck, his skin radiating heat and carrying the unmistakable scent of fire. It's primal and potent, a blend of burning wood, scorched earth, and smoldering embers. As you inhale deeply, you detect hints of charred debris and smoke clinging to him, a haunting reminder of his fire's destructive power. Yet, there's also an allure to the scent, a sense of safety, evoking memories of his warm flames flickering in the darkness. It's a scent that commands your attention, stirring your senses with its primal energy and leaving an indelible mark, much like the landscape long after the flames have been extinguished.

You’re a mess beneath his touch, biting onto the muscular flesh of his freckled shoulders, whimpering into his ear. He adds another finger, making you cry out at the intrusion earning a palm to your mouth. He works the two digits in and out of you with deliberate precision, hitting your sweet-spot perfectly with each pass.

You start to see stars as Ace’s thumb meets your aching clit, treating the swollen nub with tight circles.

The ever-tightening coil growing within your stomach reaches its peak, threatening to snap as Ace continues his dirty work.

But, before your pleasure can boil over, Ace pulls away, removing his soaking fingers from your needy cunt.

You’re trembling, weakly holding onto Ace’s muscular forearm to steady yourself as you whine,

“Aceee, w-why’d you stoppp?” your voice is desperate, nearly embarrassingly so, but you’ve long abandoned all your dignity, you just want him to keep pleasing you.

“Turn around,” the man before you shoots you a wolfish grin, “I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

The mere idea of passing up whatever Ace is offering fills you with trepidation, so without hesitation, you comply, swiftly turning yourself around and placing your hands on the countertop.

You glance back at the tall man behind you, finding him sporting a smug smirk, dark eyes lidded as he gazes down at you, clearly amused by your immediate obedience.

Ace’s strong, hot hands meet your hips, griping the flesh tightly as he brings his clothed crotch to lie flush with your bare ass.

His skin is seeping heat through his boxers, and the sensation causes you to mewl out, goosebumps budding all over your impatient skin.

He wastes no time as he’s no better, impatient, too, immediately beginning to grind his aching cock against the flesh of your ass. A hearty moan brews in his chest and escapes from his throat, causing a dark blush to dance across your cheeks. You stare down at your fingers gripping the countertop, knuckles growing white against the granite as Ace has his way with you.

“Fuck,” he leans forward, his bare chest lying flush with your back as he groans in your ear, “You ready for me, baby?” he nips at your ear.

You roll your hips in response, pressing your ass harder against his erection to accentuate your whiny plea, “Please, Ace.”

You feel his lips tug into a smirk against your ear, “Say no more, y/n.”

In an instant, Ace’s plaid boxers meet the kitchen floor, earning a small gasp from you as you watch the fabric pool at his feet.

Placing one warm palm on the small of your back he uses the other to grip his long, pulsing cock, lining himself up with your weeping entrance.

Ace grits his teeth as he begins to push his tip inside you, sucking in a shaky breath through his grin as he feels your tight hole opening up for him.

“Mmm,” you whine out, “Aceee-”

Your fingertips make a pathetic attempt to dig into the impenetrable granite as Ace pushes himself inside you.

The stretch is evident, nearly painful, but you endure it, for the reward of having Ace fuck you is beyond worth it.

His fingertips meet the dip of your waistline with a comforting squeeze as he continues to press forwards, his voice filled with genuine concern, "You're alright, baby?" he asks tenderly.

“Mm-mhm,” you whine, pressing your hips back eagerly, “More, please-”

“So desperate for me,” Ace groans through gritted teeth, but he rewards your desperation, gripping your waist tightly as he thrusts himself inside you fully, bottoming out,.

“Fuck, Ace!” you cry out, loudly at the feeling of Ace’s lengthy cock suddenly filling your insides. You feel stuffed, letting your mouth hang slack and your eyes screw shut as stars erupt beneath your lids.

At the sudden sound of your loud moans, Ace’s hand immediately shoots forwards, palm covering your mouth tightly and pressing in firmly to punctuate his point.

Ace’s palm against your mouth makes you realize how loud you just were, and although a surge of longing and desire courses through your veins, beneath the surface, a thread of caution lingers. You are acutely aware of your surroundings, the faint sounds of the ship humming around you, the distant creak of floorboards echoing in the corridor beyond. The two of you are an open flame, and the threat of one of your crewmates walking in tickles at your mind, but is far overpowered by the desire for Ace to rail you.

“Stay quiet for me, yeah, baby?” Ace groans, his voice a gravelly, promising whisper, “and I'll give ‘ya everything you want.”

“M-Mhmm,” you nod your head frantically, willing to promise anything if it means he’ll keep going.

Ace gives you a firm nod, pleased at your response, letting his hand fall from your mouth and find its way back on the other side of your waist.

His cock throbs inside your tight cunt, making you let out a pleased but quiet moan. The feeling of your hot walls fluttering around his length makes Ace relinquish his control, steadying himself before pulling his hips back and thrusting back into you.

Your moans threaten to escape loudly, and as much as you want to let it out, you keep them at bay, obeying Ace’s silent order. You tremble beneath him, only allowing a soft, weak moan to erupt from your heaving chest.

Soon enough, he develops a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you rhythmically, stuffing you full, his blunt tip kissing your g-spot with each pass, making your body melt beneath him.

He’s strategic, reaching around to rub tight circles into your clit as he fucks you from behind, keeping you bent over the kitcher counter.

The man behind you is hot to the touch; his skin, his cock, all of him is hot, a stark contrast to the cold granite that rubs against your tits and open palms as he fucks you.

Ace is huffing behind you, eyes screwed shut as he picks up the pace, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together dismissing the nighttime silence that hung in the kitchen earlier.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans, letting his head fall back. His pace increases, becoming more brutal and a bit sloppy as he chases his orgasm.

One of his hands makes its way upwards to tangle itself in your hair, lacing his fingers in the strands and tugging on them, pulling your head back to make you look at him.

He looks beautiful like this, thrusting into you from behind, freckled face and shoulders tinted red, dark, shaggy hair clinging to his forehead with his sweat, toned chest heaving up and down.

“Y/n,” he rasps breathlessly, eyes lidded as he stares down at you lustfully, “I-I’m so close-”

The circles he’s rubbing into your clit become tighter, more frantic, his thrusts gaining more power but becoming unsynchronized as he desperately chases his rapidly-approaching orgasm.

You’re no better, weakly clawing at the countertop as your legs tremble, threatening to give out from under you as Ace continues to pound his length into you. He’s bullying your cervix, overstimulating your sore clit, wildly pulling you towards your own peak.

“Sh-Shit, A-Ace-!”

In an instant, it hits you; white-hot pleasure, coursing through your veins, making your limbs grow tingly and numb, your knees buckling as they give out beneath you. You’re a trembling mess, gushing onto Ace’s cock as your orgasm reaches its crown, crashing into you with unwavering intensity.

Ace is right behind you, granting your spent body with a few more weak thrusts before he pushes himself in fully one last time, tip meeting your cervix with a harsh bump before he erupts inside you.

----

The soft tendrils of morning light filter through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the your bedroom as you stir from your slumber. Blinking sleepily, you rub your eyes, a lingering sense of disorientation clouding your thoughts.

I’m in bed. Did Ace bring me here?

The events of the previous night flood your mind, and you can't help but wonder if it was all just a dream. The memory of your clandestine encounter in the kitchen feels like a distant echo, shrouded in uncertainty and disbelief.

With a sigh, you sit up, the sheets pooling around your waist as you wrestle with the conflicting memories swirling within you. Part of you yearns to believe that it was real, that the tender moments shared between you and Ace were more than just figments of your imagination.

Doubt gnaws at the edges of your consciousness, whispering tales of wishful thinking and misplaced desire.

But the fresh love bites on your neck and soreness of your cunt must prove otherwise, right?

Lost in your thoughts, you slip out of bed and pad across the room, the cool floor beneath your feet grounding you in the present. With hesitant steps, you make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in anticipation.

As you enter the familiar space, you let out a deep breath, scanning the room for any sign of Fire Fist Ace. But, to your dismay, the kitchen stands empty, the only remnants of your encounter being the lingering scent of tea and a damp kitchen towel.

And then, his voice cuts through the silence like a hot knife on ice,

“How’d you sleep, beautiful?”

You turn, and there, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, is Ace, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that steals your breath away. The sight of him, so real and tangible, dispels the lingering doubts that had clouded your mind.

He grins widely, warmly, a sight that floods your veins with a familiar sensation of heat and joy.

“Hope I didn’t rough you up too much, pretty girl.”

With the reassurance of his words, elation and relief climb up your spine and cling to your skin.

You make your way towards Ace, planting a passionate kiss on his lips before gazing up into his eyes,

“Thanks for tucking me in, Ace,” you blush softly.

The freckled man chuckles,

“Anytime.”

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starswallowingsea · 1 year

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i keep all my madashu thoughts in my dms with kiki but i am constantly wanting to post them on here. do you know how much the cowboy au we've written up rotates in my mind?

#i need an excuse to talk about it publicly someone ask about it (joking joking ahaha..... unless)#its so. its based on that one tumblr post where the cowboy stops by and just asks for a place to stay and plate to eat for the night #and they send him to the barn and the unmarried son of the homeowners is sent out with the food #and it ends w like 'maybe it wasnt the touch of a woman i've been longing for' or smth along those lines #and anyway madara is the roving cowboy obviously except he gets hired by shu's family #to like repair their fence or smth and they make shu help him bc he's the unmarried son and has too feminine hobbies #and they're hoping madara rubs off on him but instead shu just stands there while madara is working #and madara makes a comment about it being super hot out and how he's sweating a lot and shu reluctantly gives him a handkerchief to wipe #off his sweat with and madara is like oh you guys must be rich to be able to afford something like this #and shu goes actually i made it myself and madara is impressed and he's like woah you've got a talent here #and shu is like. having a mental freak out internally bc nobody has ever complimented his work like that and he's just #constantly made to feel bad because he likes to sew and wants to be a tailor #but he loves intricate laces and stuff and not just like. normal tailor stuff #like the locals will ask him to fix up their clothes and he'll do it #but he would rather design costumes for the local theater troupe but his family wont let him #anyway madara keeps complimenting shu like this while they're forced to be together fixing the fence #and on the last night shu's family actually invites madara inside for supper and he steps out to do something #like. just get a drink or feed his horse or smth the details can be worked out later #and he overhears how shu's parents talk to/about him when madara's not in the room #bc they want to be polite company of course they arent gonna berate shu in front of their guest #but that night shu comes out to see madara in the barn and madara's like yknow you dont have to put up with this #you can leave. you shouldnt stay with people who make you feel like shit (spoken from experience)#and shu is like. i know but i dont think i could survive on my own and etc etc #they end up running away together in the middle of the night.#thats as far as we got amsdpiofjasdpofia but yeah. yeah #constantly rotating these two in my mind #shay speaks

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s0fter-sin · 10 days

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mermay idea

mers keep their faces covered as a way to indicate social status and familiarity. warriors have intricate masks, handcrafted when they win their first battle and the more detailed a mask is, the more accomplished the wearer is. they're rarely shed and are only taken off for their closest kin and mates

warrior bull shark mer!soap seeing human!ghost, seeing his skull mask and immediately knowing he's a high ranking warrior; one to be feared going off the numerous scars covering his body

an ideal and worthy mate, so long as he can prove his prowess

so he follows him as he's deployed on a mission near the ocean and is smitten when he sees how ruthless and capable he is; bathing himself in his enemies blood. he keeps his distance, not wanting to tempt fate but ghost spies the tip of his fin cutting through the water

and he's nothing if not an opportunist; kicking the bodies off the pier to the waiting jaws below

but soap? all he sees is the first step in a courting ritual

and he has to come up with something truly brilliant to match such a glorious offering

on ghost's part, it's been difficult getting people to understand the depths of his dependence on his mask. price thinks it's something to overcome, gaz and other soldiers just think it's an accessory to help with intimidation

the few partners he's tried to have thought he was someone to "fix"; nothing more than an object, a notch on their belt to prove how "good" of a partner they were to put in so much work to make him better. it always leaves him feeling violated, more so than if they'd just taken his mask off outright. one night stands were hardly worth it either; scratching a physical itch but falling so short of the intimacy and connection he craves that he feels worse off than he'd started

when he finally meets the mer that's been hunting him across the country, sees the bright red mask so artfully hewn and attached to his face?

it's like looking at a reflection of himself

he might have finally found the understanding he's been searching for

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saucerfulofsins · 2 years

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5, 16 and 47?? :))

Thank you nonnie!

5. What color are your eyes?

I AM SORRY FOR SOUNDING LIKE AN ANIME PROTAGONIST HERE BUT blue-green with a circle of yellow around my irises lol

16. Can you drive?

Yes I can! And I don't have a car so I never do! I actually got my first license 11.11.11 🥺

47. What was the last message you sent?

This picture to my best friend with zero context cause imo no context is needed:

#I rmr in hs french class we had to do basic introductions and I said I had blue eyes #So the person was like no they're green #Then we switched partners and I said green #And the person said no they're blue #😒#Anyway I'm of the opinion all eye colours are awesome!#Irises are so intricately detailed #Unless someone's eyes are too dark which is also SO COOL

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messessentialist · 5 months

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JANUARY MICROFIC - Fixation

@steddiemicrofic | PROMPT: hole | WORD COUNT: 404 | RATED: T | CW: none

---

They're hiding from the heat in Eddie's bedroom when it happens.

Eddie is draped across the bed, t-shirt rucked up under his armpits to let the window unit cool his tacky skin. Steve, in turn, is sprawled in the rickety chair, making slow work of shuffling through the contents of Eddie's desk drawers.

"Has anyone ever told you you're kind of a hoarder?" He asks, casual, and rattles an Altoids tin full of loose screws and washers in Eddie's direction. It's one of three such tins he's discovered so far.

"S'been said, yeah," Eddie sighs. "Mostly by people invading my privacy and smoking my weed."

"Shut up."

Eddie snaps off a lazy salute, but makes no further reply.

Steve is searching the back of the bottom drawer for further Sin Tins when his eye catches on something red. It's the curled edge of a notebook, crushed into the corner and forgotten. He tugs it loose, bending it back into shape before flipping it open.

"Oh, holy shit."

Eddie cracks one eye open, and then sits bolt upright on the bed.

"Steve, give me that. Right now."

Steve does not respond. He continues paging through the notebook, eyes impossibly wide.

It's…dicks. Every square inch of space on every page is covered in drawings of dicks. And not the lazy teenage graffiti type of dicks, either. There's an enormous variety of styles, from cartoonish doodles to hyper-realistic portraits, complete with intricately-scrolled frames. They're mostly in ballpoint blue or sketchy graphite gray, though some look like there might have been colored pencils or even markers involved.

"Dude," Steve breathes, holding the book out in front of himself and rotating it for a better angle on something, "some of these are…really good."

Eddie lunges for the book, but Steve easily snaps it out of his reach. He flops back onto the bed, heaving a defeated sigh.

"I'll have to kill you now."

Steve ignores him, flipping to another page and continuing his perusal.

"I mean, this one is crazy detailed. Did this dude, like…model for you, or something?" He brings it closer to his face, brows scrunching. "Is that…a piercing?"

"Prince Albert," Eddie groans from the bed. "If it's the one I think."

Steve's face has gone scarlet, voice weak. "People do that? Put a hole in their dick?"

And suddenly, Eddie has the upper hand again.

"They sure do, Harrington," he coos, saccharine. "Wanna see the original?"

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steddie microfic #steddic ficlet #my fic

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ask-whitepearl-and-steven · 18 days

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Hey, I love the comic! I love how the storywriting stays true to the original series but also adds its own fun spin on it! You've actually inspired me to write my own Blue diamond AU, lol.

Anyways I have a question for making comics just in general. How can you make dynamic compositions in such a small space. I honestly love how intricate all of your panels fade into one another!

So, if you're okay with it, I was wondering if you could give me some tips on how that would work?

Anyway, I love the comic and stay awesome!

Your own comic - that's awesome to hear! It's always exciting to start something like that. I wish you the best of luck in your goals!

As for the paneling - honestly, the first step is to stop thinking of it as a 'small space'! The truth is, even on a small mobile screen, we can fit a lot of detail. And as long as we know how to use the space wisely, it's not ever going to feel small.

Ironically, cramming MORE into a panel makes it feel smaller.

Drawing less on a panel makes it feel larger. Weird, isn't it?

My more general advice is... STUDY MOVIES!

Don't just WATCH movies. But study them. Movies are like comics for dummies because there's only one size and shape of a panel and all the characters do the hard work of acting for you. (It's a joke, don't kill me.)

Anyway, the paneling in movies is versatile and interesting BECAUSE they're putting that single wide panel to the best use. If you already drew some comics, compare them to a movie screenshot and see what's different! Then, ask yourself why a certain angle, or a certain cropping of an image works better.

You'll find that there's some awesome ways to cram fun details into even the smallest corner of a panel. :)

There's also some awesome art resources by more talented comic artists than me out there. I'm sure others will link them in the comments, but for now, here's one I found:

#chekhov answers #arting #comics

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sinfuego · 20 days

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I hate how well Brennan crafts his plots they're so intricate and detailed and comes together all so well it's infuriating and also incredibly satisfying

#d20 #dimension 20 #d20 fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #d20 spoilers #fhjy #fantasy high spoilers

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undercoverpena · 3 months

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midnight strikes, where is my prince?

frankie morales x reader

summary: he had been your neighbour. a man you'd stare at through blinds when he’d been on the front lawn. a man you’re now staring at through splintered shards of your mirror—because he saved you.

wordcount: <1k words warnings: happy Drabble Sunday—this week, ANGST 😂. there’s mentions of a break-in. frankie is there and he has a gun, so you know we’re okay. angst. inspired by a scene from scandal-if you know, you know (written on phone so apologies for spellings)

The clock by your bedside shows three minutes past twelve, marking another Saturday night in. One hand cradling your phone and the other reaching out to the cool embrace of the sheets.

You can almost feel the warmth they should hold, the gentle caress against skin that's missing. That promised to be back earlier—but earlier had been hours ago.

Now you’re alone, nestled in bed, having surrendered to its comfort for the past couple of hours.

No bustling club scene with sticky floors or the mingling scents of sweat and cologne as you attempt to order a Coke with ice at the bar. Instead, there's a quiet tranquillity, a peacefulness in the simplicity of your evening spent in restful solitude.

Or, there was.

Your back ripped up from the bedsheets at the first sound of glass shattering; something, in a room that isn’t this one, knocked over, crashing against tile or floorboards. Spilling—making a mess.

Then, there are footsteps. Loud—unashamed in their recklessness as they make their way through your home. The gait not matching what you’d expect, the sound nothing like one you listen out for with giddiness and a grin.

These sound like heavy boots. Not trainers or cowboy boots. Mind scrambling, searching for the things you've been told, taught—all just in case's and likely non-eventualities.

Nothing coming with ease, not as you imagine they're leaving invisible trails in whatever mess they’re making. Purpose-driven for what they're seeking, from the way you can hear them nearing—a quest for something specific, significant.

Slipping out of bed, your hand trembles as you slide the lock on your bedroom door. Standing there, bare feet planted on the cool wooden floor.

Panicked. Lost.

Uncertain of your next move or what it should be, courage dwindling. More small, helpless, than you’ve ever felt before—two things you cannot be if you have any hope of surviving this, making it through this, them.

Because you suspect they know you’re here now.

The lock turn had been loud. A click that had punctured through silence, fragmenting it, forcing attention to the door at the end of the hallway in the house they were moving through.

The one they chose deliberately.

Likely spotted that there was no vehicle on the drive—no light on. A home hand-picked for intrusion, likely assuming emptiness, all set to fill it with fear and loss.

Phone, you think. Moving, hand fumbling through the sheets, searching desperately for your phone until it finally rests in your palm. It emanates warmth, a comforting reminder of the aimless scrolling you had been immersed in before, as you unlock the screen with a hopeful swipe.

There's one number you think of. One.

As you dig for it, nervousness thrums you as though it’s been plucked like a string. It vibrating, chiming against bone, creating a song full of fear that’s made worse by the try of the handle—metal grating in their attempt.

Eyes focused on it.

It illuminated, catching a sliver of light from a nearby street lamp. You briefly admire its intricate details, unable to tear your gaze away, even as your chest tightens and pulse quickens with the realisation of their attempts to enter, pick, and force their way in.

It's too late when you become aware of the breeze of something moving past you.

A scream grows to escape, but a hand slides around your mouth—thumb over your nose, the noise buried and muffled against a palm.

Until your head turns. Landing on eyes that make you relax, make you calm. Brown, framed by loose curls and usually a smile.

“Shh, it’s me.”

He's here, close.

All pressed to you, hand remaining a cover to your panicked breaths—as the scent of him, all wooden, familiar, swarms you. It makes your heart hammer a fraction less; it makes your fingers grasp his thigh when he holds up a gun—his gun. The jeans are rough, worn, the pair so familiar to your palm as you ground yourself and seek stability.

You whimper his name, it muffled against his skin—each letter of it sketched across his hand.

It’s then the door splinters.

A set of things happening, one after the other. All seen through wide eyes and panicked breaths, a scream there, but never greeting the air as he releases you, shoves and moves you away.

It's a flurry, a rush, the person entering and then there being a struggle, things falling as your back meets the wallpapered wall, still cautious not to rip it, to make a mark—remembering what a fucker it was to hang.

You jolt at a thud.

It followed by silence, horrible, room-swallowing silence.

You should blink. Close your eyes. Turn away from it. The mess of crimson and the empty, open-eyed stare looking up at you—but you can’t. Compelled to hold it, watching the light fade as your ears ring, a persistent noise that refuses to fade, even when he stands before you, dominating your vision.

It doesn't quiet until Frankie says your name, a hand on your cheek, speaking it with urgency, all sharp letters, followed by: “Wait here, querida. Okay?”

And you do.

Arms gripping your waist, nails digging—hindering the shaking, desperate to force the falling apart to slow. To halt, as much as you can, the pieces of you fracturing from within as they crumble like pillars, falling to the floor of you in dusty chaos that brings only instability.

Thread by thread you undo, delicate fragments of your being splintering and dispersing within, falling like fragile petals, drifting to the depths of your core in a silent ballet of disintegration.

A soft, fading melody of dissolution plays, leaving behind a gentle dust of memories.

Of him. Frankie.

How once, a long time ago, he'd been just a neighbour. A man you'd stare at through blinds when he’d been on the front lawn. One who made you laugh at the mailbox.

Now, he's a man you’re staring at through splintered shards of your mirror—one you're in love with. One who had saved you.

"We should go," he suggests, breaking the silence with a gentle tone. Adding something akin to not safe.

His words don’t absolve it, not prompting your arms to release from your waist. A part of you, distant and desperate for control, somewhat fearing whether your knees will buckle if you let go.

If you slowly pry finger by finger whether you'll shatter, break—

"Hey, it's okay..."

Your mouth hangs open. Anger rising, balling up and clog in your throat as fingers grasp and crumple his shirt until it's a tight ball in your hands. Horrible, bone-wracking cries washing through you—like you’re being drowned—all uncontrollable as you attempt to mouth the word, "Why?"

But you know, just as his wide-brown eyes do.

Colombia.

Colombia had followed him home.

an: I can’t say a gift as that is mean, but @joelsgreenflannel likes angst and so here. 😂

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction

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