#this post less snarky

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

I REALLY liked traum. Frustration with how it handled moriarty and holmes' arc aside I really enjoyed the other characters and plot lines on it and it was genuinely engaging to read.

[vaugarde]

may I suggest appletun or toedscruel for the guild second in command character... idk why I just feel like those two fit the character description you gave. also I want to see the funny silly fungi in pmd stories LMAO

hold on.... you may be on to something with toedscruel

[mail-me-a-snail]

listen. no listen. ethan winters, james silent hill, and alan wake should meet for a coffee and maybe a group therapy session. but the thing is i think ethan would fucking hate alan and vice versa and james would just sit there like have you guys tried being nice to each other

[clevervonskelli]

I can take them making the Crosby/Landra thing explicit (even when keeping it vague would have been very doable and truer to his own memoir) but him pushing her about what she actually was doing was annoying. The call we'll see next week is fine, but whining about it in a pub instead of just being like "haha pretty sure my badass former-roomate is a spy, crazy times we live in, ammirite?" rubbed me the wrong way.

[tagapagsalaysay]

Was just thinking how Irene was a lovely collective effort of everyone accepting funny spiffy grandma

[todayisafridaynight]

Do you ship Jo and Arakawa… or did because Arakawa is dead now 😢

ever since arakawa died ive had to accept jo as a category 5 widower now sorry everyone

[buff-electra-truther]

I have a funny mental disconnect between “what I like in Electra as an actual character in Stex” vs “what I like as Electra as an actually realistic train gijinka in my head”

Because “bratty, glitchy, and full of antics” is verrrry different from “big yet effortless, statistically superior but kind of a glass cannon compared to Greaseball, eventually chills out his most annoying traits” are very different things

[kkorechika]

Look, i'm all for making fun of tiktok users but i hate artists more. Like why tf could she not make a literal dirty piece of cloth on a pole?

Because it's "stained with blood from the Mexican border"? what way is there to prove that this cloth has blood stains from indeed the people who have died in the Mexican cartel wars? and even if it is, why couldnt random tiktok user go pick some shit up and use it as a representation of a country's haphazard dealing with violence? Also, you mean to tell me that there are multiple versions of this invaluable piece of conceptual art? what does poshface Teresa Margolles have a fucking store cupboard filled with them depending on how many prestigious art shows she's invited to?

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

_

[idledearest]

Hatchetverse - OFFICE LORDS & QUEEN (Design Concept)

BONUS: Tinky and Blinky without glasses

WIGGLY

- Looks like Paul but green and with unkempt hair. Also if Paul was even more snarky & sarcastic, slightly more intimidating, and an even bigger asshole. Just less passive in general. He can hide it well though, after all he's sly and calculated. He's got high leading office businessman charisma, the type to get all the good deals. Comes off as manipulative and condescending.

POKEY

- The co-worker who listens to music on max and ignores everyone on purpose. Worst part is, people can hear whatever it is he's listening to. Impatient, standoffish, easily annoyed and highly dramatic. He looks like Bill if he had Solomon's personality and demeanor. The most unapproachable of the bunch. Embodiment of eye-rolls and side-eyes. Definitely the type to look at someone with full disgust and judgement and will make a show of it.

BLINKY

- He's definitely the office gossip. The kind who always looks over people's shoulder and take a peak at people's computers or phones. Also the one who stalks people's social media and uses their info as blackmail. Definitely an eavesdropper and the one standing around and watching. May also have zero filter in what he says, sometimes making people uncomfortable; To his enjoyment.

TINKY

- This guy definitely gives off "Pepe Silvia" energy. Has watches on both wrists, maybe even pocket watches hidden in his pockets. Very messy and disheveled in terms of appearance. He's a very skilled (and demonically fast) accountant though. If "running on nothing but 5 shots of espresso" is an office worker. Definitely the flirt or a charmer of the office; Thrives off of compliments and boasts about and uses it against people.

NIBBLY

- The guy who ALWAYS steals people's lunches and will not feel guilty nor shame for it. Always has a bag of pastries and drinks from any cafe. Will bite and snarl if asked to share. The type who always forgets to turn in work yet doesn't get fired (of course his brothers are biased for each other). His things are everywhere and take up space.

WEBBY

- The one everyone (unfairly) hates. "We used to work with her. Then we fired her." statements from co-workers (brothers). Gives off "mom of the office" energy. Very sweet and patient. And a pushover; The type to stay after hours to clean after everyone (or do the work everyone dumped on her). Looks out for the office type of deal.

🩵💜💛🩷💚🤍

so sorry about this long ass post i just wanted to get all the details i had while designing their outfits HAHAHA this genuinely took way longer than it should because i kept passing out so much 😭

just so everyone knows, i designed these outfits as a concept to what they could potentially wear if they were summoned in an office like ccrp AND what their actors and actresses could wear on stage. so it's like a stageplay costume design concept kind of thing too. so at least all of them ,excluding webby, has the “fuzz” texture on their outfits. reasoning as to why webby doesnt have fuzz is because she’s most likely the only one to fully present as the most human out of all of them to be more approachable and welcoming; not garish and uncanny like her brothers.

also yes, i finally found out curt had bright yellow eyeshadow as tinky so i added it. i gave tinks a stubble too cuz idk i want a 9-5 job reflecting on his face HAHAHA.

[sixofravens-reads]

Finished Pantomime! I'd give it maybe 3/5 stars...I am really interested in the premise and worldbuilding and I do want to find out what happens to Micah and Drystan, but the writing is just so bland that I'm not sure if I'll end up finishing the series. Going to set it aside and read something else before I attempt the second book.

[genderkoolaid]

crazy because like. to anyone who has ever spent any time in transmasc/trans man spaces sex ed is such a necessity, especially if youre on t. so many people dont know about atrophy and the effects and how to be safe about it. so many people dont know about bottom growth and expect a trans man 10 years on t's genitalia to look no different to a cis woman - i know countless trans men whos partners left them when they started t solely because they got weirded out by bottom growth. i personally dont bottom and SO many cis and trans people dont even consider that to be a possibility for a sexually active transmasc. the comments being like "oooh its so obvious just talk to them like anyone else" yeah but also itd be great if everyone was more aware, its kind of annoying to explain all this stuff every single time you wanna hook up, and for a lot of people to still get freaked out at the sight of a naked trans man

Fr!! The amount of people in the comments of that post being snarky about "oh just ask" like. it's clear those people haven't read Fucking Trans Women because that zine starts by talking about /why/ having resources for good trans sex is important, how even trans people ourselves often don't have the words or knowledge to express to a lover how we want to be touched or what feels good. It is in fact very nice to have sex with someone who is already familiar with what your body looks like and how it might function.

& the assumptions… for one like you said, people not knowing what a trans man's genitals can look like. People who think every trans man is gonna be clean shaven down there, or who don't realize (like you said) that testosterone Does Things To Your Dick. & the assumption that every trans man who is attracted to women is a stone top & every trans man attracted to men is a bottom. Or that if you aren't topping, you NEED to involve a hole. For me this is less a trans thing & more body-weirdness-possibly-intersex thing, but like. My mind has always been more focused on my clit/dick, and penetration is something that's extra at best. You don't need to penetrate anything. Just because a hole is there doesn't mean it needs something in it.

Also!! We need more appreciation for bottom surgery dicks!!! I'm tired of only seeing them in clinical contexts. I need to see 30 minutes of someone lovingly sucking on phallo cock stat. I need meta dick worship. Even the sex ed things I've seen talk about phallo and meta do so in such… frankly unsexy ways, that don't do much to make having sex with a neocock sound positive. I need us to start romanticizing and sexualizing bottom surgery.

[c0kitty]

NOW PLAYING ... STAY THE NIGHT ft. fwb!abby anderson x f!reader

(⭑) content: wc 600+ hc. modern au. fwb!abby. smut-ish. cursing. dickhead!abby. soccer player!abby. both in uni.

READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

(⭑) ── soccer player!abby who you disliked with a passion. it wasn’t for no reason. abby’s constant air of arrogance, her playboy-mentality with women, and her ability to have everyone at her will — just being the school’s soccer champion, didn’t sit well with you. 

so, it was your surprise when you ended up in her freaking bed later that week.  

you don't entirely remember how it happened, but one moment you were at ellie’s party, doing an intense shot-game with abby, and the next — you both were severely drunk in ellie’s bathroom, cornered, with you on the counter, and abby’s lips on yours.

you remembered small fragments of the night: abby’s lips being so soft, and tongue tasting like a mixture of vodka and grapefruit. your legs being propped around abby’s hips.

abby’s rough hands, slipping through your unbutton jean’s and into your soaked panties. 

her voice, low and soothing in your ear, “c'mon let me hear you, princess.”

it was different from her usual rough tone with you; and the worst part is you liked it. liked her praising you, whispering sweet-nothings.

(⭑) ── soccer player!abby, who fucks you out. the night after was a bit of a whiplash for you. your lips kiss-swollen, dark hickies splayed on your neck, and you were wearing abby’s jersey

abby’s arm was wrapped at your hips, holded tight like she would die before letting you go. her body half-naked only in boxers.

and for some reason having seeing abby like that, stirred so many emotions. to desire, warmth, comfort.

(⭑) ── soccer player!abby, who you can’t sleep with again — you couldn’t be like those girls she’d fuck and get bored with after they’d caught feelings.

so, you leave without a word. but, soon after, you guys would see each other in class, eye’s drawn to each other.

…and it more or less happens again, rushed in a random janitor’s closet, again in abby’s freakishly-clean room, and again, in abby’s truck, her hands pushing your shaky legs apart, two fingers curling at your g-spot.

(⭑) ── fwb!abby, who is obsessed with you, always has been. she liked how you were always head on with her stubbornness, she loved how confident, smart, pretty, especially in those mini-skirts you always wear.

and, even though abby did love etching a reaction out of you, she wanted something more; beyond the snarky exchanges you guys had.

so with this arrangement you guys had goin’ on — all it did was fuel that even more.

to your pretty little moans to her ears, your strawberry glossed-lips, and how you chanted her name reaching your high.

she didn’t want anybody else to have this — have you.

(⭑) ── fwb!abby, who you continue with this fwb thing for two-months. it was at first to you, a way to release pent-up frustration with school and life, plus the sex was good. but after a while

… you wouldn’t just immediately leave after you guys fucked, sometimes you and abby would actually have civil conversations, joke around, watch movies in bed, cuddle.

it was all starting to seem … coupley. and it scared you how much you didn’t mind it.

not minding when she arrived after-practice sweaty, at your doorstep, showering you with kisses, not minding her head on your lap as she slept snoring softly, and not minding staying up late, embarrassingly-waiting for abby to respond to your texts.

it’s not entirely glitz and glamor. you guys would still argue, more so about stupid shit. 

like who’s gonna get the remote that’s on the floor, which results into a big disagreement.

(⭑) ── yet as the weeks passed, the arguments seemed to dwindle and sometimes, abby would apologize, with your favorite food in hand.

it's very unfinished but yay i posted! 😭

[fixyourwritinghabits]

How to Tell If That Post of Advice Is AI Bullshit

Right, I wasn't going to write more on this, but every time I block an obvious AI-driven blog, five more clutter up the tags. So this is my current (April 2024) advice on how to spot AI posts passing themselves off as useful writing advice.

No Personality - Look up a long-running writing blog, you'll notice most people try to make their posts engaging and coming from a personal perspective. We do this because we're writers and, well, we want to convey a sense of ourselves to our readers. A lot of AI posts are straight-forward - no sense of an actual person writing them, no variation in tone or text.

No Examples - No attempts to show how pieces of advice would work in a story, or cite a work where you could see it in action. An AI post might tell you to describe a person by highlighting two or three features, and that's great, but it's hard to figure out how that works without an example.

Short, Unhelpful Definitions - A lot of what I've seen amount to two or three-sentence listicles. 'When you want to write foreshadowing, include a hint of what you want foreshadowed in an earlier chapter.' Cool beans, could've figured that out myself.

SEO/AI Prompt Language Included - I've seen way too many posts start with "this post is about..." or "now we will discuss..." or "in this post we will..." in every single blog. This language is meant to catch a search engine or is ChatGPT reframing the prompt question. It's not a natural way of writing a post for the average tumblr user.

Oddly Clinical Language - Right, I'm calling out that post that tried to give advice on writing gay characters that called us "homosexuals" the entire time. That's a generative machine trying to stay within certain parameters, not an actual person who knows that's not a word you'd use unless you were trying to be insulting or dunking on your own gay ass in the funniest way possible.

Too Perfect - Most generative AI does not make mistakes (this is how many a student gets caught trying to use it to cheat). You can find ways to make it sound more natural and have it make mistakes, but that takes time and effort, and neither of those are really a factor in these posts. They also tend to have really polished graphics and use the same format every time.

Maximized Tags (That Are Pointless) - Anyone who uses more than 10 one-word tags is a cop. Okay, fine, I'm joking, but there's a minimal amount of tags that are actually useful when promoting a post. More tags are not going to get a post noticed by the algorithm, there is no algorithm. Not everyone has to use their tags to make snarky comments, but if your tags look like a spambot, I'm gonna assume you're a spambot.

No Reblogs From The Rest of Writblr - I'm always finding new Writblr folks who have been around for awhile, but every real person I've seen reblogs posts from other people. We've all got other stuff to do, I'm writing this blog to help others and so are they, the whole point of tumblr is to pass along something you think is great.

While you'll probably see some variation in the future - as people get wise to obviously generated text, they'll try to make it look less generated - but overall, there's still going to be tells to when something is fake.

I don't have any real advice for what to do about this (other than block those blogs, which is what I do). Like most AI bullshit, I suspect most of these blogs are just another grift, attempting to build large follower counts to leverage or sell something to in the future. They may progress past these tattletale features, but I'm still going to block them when I see them. I don't see any value in writing advice compiled from the work of better writers who put the effort in when I can just go find those writers myself.

[persephinae]

I can't find the post because tumblr search is garbage, but i agree that it lowkey bothers me that they keep updating Lae'zel to be less "mean" when everyone else gets butthurt when you tell them to stay at camp

Let her be fucking grumpy!! By act 3 she's your BFF if you kept at being her friend, she's allowed to be grumpy and snarky like the rest of your companions

Like damn

WHY do you have to have women be polite and agreeable all time??? Reflect on this.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Reacting To Your Tattoos

A/N: I have so many ideas for The Boys cast! Be sure to look out for more posts! I'm updating my request list to include them 😊 I'm sorry I've been a little MIA! I'll be getting back to requests asap! Hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher loves them. This is not the moment to say something, to react, but he definitely takes notice. You got hurt, really hurt, and the only way to save you was for Annie cauterizing your wounds, buying you a little more time. Butcher didn't need to hold you down, you'd already gone limp, losing all color in your face. He begs you to wake up, to stay with them. There was so much blood. So much red. He was covered in it, seeping through his shirt. Your jacket was thrown off, the collar of your shirt torn, ripped, for easier access to your shoulder and they both discovered the tattoos. Your chest, your arm, neck, you were covered. He had a feeling there were far more, wondering why you never showed any of them. You were always so bundled up, he never even questioned it. He warned you this was going to hurt, though he wasn't even sure you could hear him. Still, as Annie's hands grew bright, he cringes, hoping you were too out of it to feel anything, hoping this would all seem like a far away dream. Hoping you won't mind the large scar that will warp your ink.

Hughie is pretty intimidated by them. The Boys are already a scary looking group, but meeting you, he thought you were going to bite off his head. Your body was pretty covered. After getting to know you, he realizes how wrong he was. You're snarky and stubborn, but you're also thoughtful and funny. If it were up to you, you'd never hurt a fly, just Vought. Still, every so often you'll do or say something that reminds him of that first impression, especially when you feel threatened or your friends are threatened. You'll show up with a few new ones, filling in the gaps. When it comes to open wounds you're ready to treat it with a strong drink and duct tape. When it comes to your tattoos, you're meticulous in your aftercare. He's never seen you so serene looking as when you're taking care of them, so gentle. Something about that makes him feel like he shouldn't be witnessing it, but he's grateful that he is. When they're in tricky spots, he's the first to offer to help. He works with nervous hands, afraid he'll do something to ruin it. You just laugh, walking him through it.

Annie knows all about your tattoos. They are, after all, linked to the V in your blood. You didn't start developing them until your late teens, your parents assuming the V they injected was a dud. Images started appearing and with them, your powers. By the time she met you, you were covered. You didn't like showing off to The Boys. You still had a long way to go to gaining their trust. Parading around the fact that you were a Supe wasn't going to help. Still, when it was just you and Annie you were less reluctant to show her. All kinds of images adorned your skin: weapons, insects, animals. You liked the weapons the best. The thing could project itself from your skin as if it were real. In seconds, you had a sword in each hand, as real and sharp as if you'd physically gotten one. The best part? Your skin was indestructible. Every few months, maybe years, a new tattoo would appear, giving you a leg up in the fight against Vought. She thinks you have by far the most interesting powers of any Supe she's met.

M.M. hates them. Because they're linked to the V you got as a baby, he sees them more of a warning than anything else, the way brightly colored animals are poisonous. He hadn't realized the first time you met, what they were from, and you were smart enough not to tell him. It was only when you were fighting for your life did you use your abilities: the circles on the back of your neck, layered, you let out a sonic scream that shattered windows, set off car alarms, and drew blood. The group that had attacked you were coughing it up, it was running down their necks from their ears. M.M. was far enough away not to be affected, but the way he tells it, he was *this* close to having his insides turned to goo. Some were safe enough to run away. The ones who were closer dropped dead with a wet squelch. He trusts you even less for not telling him. When he breaks the news to everyone else, he's shocked to find out that they either knew (like Annie) or they were unfazed, more impressed than anything else, like you'd become this great asset. You apologize profusely, but you know it'll be a long time before he can even look you in the eyes.

Frenchie thinks they're so cool. He went with you once and got one of his own: while you were getting a rather large piece finished, he wants to get a smiley face on his ass cheek. Despite the discomfort, Frenchie's all giggles. He's more than excited to show this off to everyone he decides to moon. You try to tell him how to take care of it, but he waves you off. He's eager to show The Boys. He's lucky it heals properly and by the end of the week, everyone he comes into contact with has seen it. Besides that, his favorite thing is to study the ones you have. They're intricate and beautiful and some of them are pretty silly. You never understood the sentiment that there had to be some grand kind of meaning behind them. If you like it, you get it tattooed. He asks questions about them, most done all over the world or, a couple, in prison. He thinks you look badass, especially when you shed the bulky layers and show off what they normally don't get to see. Your back piece is his favorite. When you're wearing something with a low back, or disregard a shirt completely, he can't help but watch you. You're careful, covering them with clothes or makeup so that whatever illegal thing you're doing can't be traced.

Kimiko asks a lot of questions. Did it hurt? Why that image? What does it mean? How long did it take? You never mind, in fact you like talking about them. You spent enough time getting stabbed, you wanted someone to ask. She especially loves the ones on your hands. They look beautiful as you sign back to her. Some are still a little raised despite how well you took care of them, those are her favorite. She touches them delicately, afraid it might hurt, but you assure her they're all healed. She watches when you're getting changed together, how they move with your skin and muscles. They make her smile knowing you feel so much more at home in your body because of them, something you admitted to her late one night after a few drinks. They help you like yourself, covering up insecurities, making you feel cuter/cooler than you would without them. She's always the first to notice when you get a new one, making a point regardless of the situation to tell you how nice it looks and that she likes it a lot.

Bonus! Homelander thinks they're horrendous. Disgusting. Just another way you've defiled your body. He can't stand to look at them and made sure you understand that. Around him, you keep them covered, either by clothing or makeup. You know better than to draw attention towards them. Regardless of how you acquired them (Compound V or just an aesthetic choice) you know not to bring them up or let anyone else bring them up. A-Train noticed the one of the back of your neck and that put Homelander over the edge. You were both thrown out of the room. You consider yourself more than lucky. He could have killed you, both of you, but he was feeling generous. He had bigger things on his mind. You knew working for Vought would lead to sacrifices, uncomfortable situations, but being interrogated by Homelander about your tattoos was never something you ever considered. He thinks about using his lasers every time he sees them poking out from your sleeve or pants. But he needs you. As long as he needs you, you're safe. The moment you stop being useful, he's going to cut off every individual image until there's nothing left. Until you look normal again.