#transmasc!miles

[qiuweyballs]

if you think miles is cis you are WRONG

[deimostes]

boy why are you so hammer

(this boy's on my artfight!)

[the-t-boy-king]

I think it would be helpful if people realized gender affirming care isn't just for trans people. It's for whoever wants it. Plus nearly all gender affirming care was made for cis people before it was used for trans people.

Puberty blockers was literally made to help kids who started their puberty too soon. It was made to be safe and reversible.

Hrt was made for cis people originally. Cis women can use both estrogen and testosterone to help with menopause. I don't know if cis men use estrogen like cis women would, but they can use testosterone to help once they get to a certain age.

Cis women have been getting breast reductions and breast augmentation for years. Cis men get hair transplants. I mean fuck, cis men get top surgery to deal with gynecomastia. The same top surgery I'll be getting hopefully in the future.

So if cis people pretty much do the same thing as trans people do when it comes to gender affirming care, why is it bad when trans people do it?

[carnation-damnation]

classic sonic...trans...

[bor-ous]

remember that boobs dont dictate gender. trans people of any sort are allowed to have big boobs, small ones, none at all, anything. agab doesnt matter, there's no boob binary. intersex variation exists. etc

[punkeropercyjackson]

"Hobie would be so embarrased to do cutesy things or be close to someone who does!"Oh my fucking god,shut UP-Not only does he walk around in lipstick and a crop top but he's also SpiderPUNK,not SpiderMAN.There is ZERO masculinity insecurity in him and punk isn't edgy for the sake of edge,it's about nonconformity and being yourself and standing up for people who don't fit in as much as it is direct action because you can't be anti-corruption and fight for equality by shaming people for being different from you in ways that aren't bad,that's dumb asf and misses the point!!If Gwen wants to do pastel transfemme things with him or Miles wants him to join in on sillykid activities or Pavitr has to ask him to give girl advice on Gayatri to the point it leads to him sneaking off on their date to help or Margo gets him a game emulator so he can play Animal Crossing and dressup games and dating sims with her or Peni needs him to take extra care of her post-canon event by making her feel like she did before with things like cooking her japanese sweets and giving her a lot of physical affection,then YOU BET YOUR ASS HE'S GOING TO AND LOVE EVERY SECOND OF IT BECAUSE HE LOVES THEM!!!!! Mans deadass canonically turns pink when he's happy,how tf do you get 'dosen't like cute things' from that?????Hobie's got too much street cred to give two shits about 'proving' to randos he's an actual punk,stop making him a normie because the only punk you know is that nigga from the Avril song💀

[ineffable-ezra]

[defectivevillain]

professional courtesy

pairing: Miles Edgeworth/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

*reader is racially ambiguous, pronouns are unspecified, and physical descriptors aren't used*

summary:

Miles Edgeworth always has the most recent evidence and an updated autopsy report when he prosecutes a case. His secret? You: a talented LAPD detective with no honest concept of “time off work.”

word count: 3.5k | ao3 version

warnings: mentions of sleep deprivation, fatigue

This snippet is focused on Miles Edgeworth/Reader and the dynamic can be perceived as romantic or platonic. The reader is a detective employed at the LAPD. The reader is also racially ambiguous and gender is unspecified. 

Since this fic is, well, fiction, some parts may be unrealistic. Keep that in mind before you read. (For example, this takes place in a rather unrealistic universe in which Miles Edgeworth isn’t in love with Phoenix Wright. lol.)

You’ve been working in the Criminal Affairs Department at the Los Angeles Police Department for a few years now. You started out as a wide-eyed rookie, but within a few weeks, you quickly learned that detective work isn’t the perfect, harmless job you thought it was. You still love your position, of course, but you’ve investigated rather gruesome cases in your time at the LAPD. Now, you find yourself accustomed to the scent of formaldehyde and the sight of blood splattered across skin. 

Through your position at the LAPD as an investigator, you’ve met your fair share of interesting characters—namely, defense attorneys and prosecutors. Unfortunately, interaction with legal professionals comes hand-in-hand with your investigations. You can’t remember the last time you had the pleasure of performing an independent investigation. You’re almost always hindered by a prosecutor breathing down your neck or a defense attorney frantically pressing you for evidence you don’t have. The constant presence of overbearing lawyers is just something you’ve grown used to. 

They aren’t all so bad, you think to yourself. Miles Edgeworth, Klavier Gavin, Simon Blackquill, and Nahyuta Sadmadhi are all rather unique individuals, but they care about justice and aren’t falling prey to the dark age of the law. You enjoy working with all of them, even when Klavier can’t shut up about his latest concert or Simon’s hawk constantly uses your head as a perch. Truthfully, Miles Edgeworth is the most tolerable of the group—but you’d never admit that aloud. 

You’re in your office one night, reviewing some paperwork and thinking about the recent case you were assigned, when you hear a knock on the door. You give the person permission to enter and the door falls open, revealing Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth himself. He’s wearing his typical prosecutor garb—his burgundy-maroon suit and cravat. Glasses are perched on his nose and he pushes them up a little. “Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth,” you remark, blinking at him. “Good to see you.”

“And you.” The prosecutor responds, his arms crossed over his chest as his gaze flits about your office. You suddenly feel strangely self-conscious, despite the knowledge that your office is very sparsely decorated. There’s an award mounted on the wall from last year and a small photo of you and your friends on your desk, but that’s about the extent of your decorations. 

“Are you here for the updated autopsy report?” You ask, deciding to cut to the chase. From what you know of the prosecutor, he doesn’t quite enjoy small talk. Indeed, Edgeworth looks relieved at the thought of being spared from casual conversation; he then nods at your question. You sigh and open your desk drawer, procuring the newest autopsy report. You hold it out to him and he takes it with a murmured thanks. The prosecutor’s eyes are locked on the paper as he takes in the new information. You watch him for a few seconds, before taking the opportunity to rub your eyes roughly. You’re rather tired, you have to admit. You should’ve gone home hours ago. 

“Detective.” You flinch, opening your eyes to find Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth staring at you with a blank expression. You’re briefly hit with an intense wave of embarrassment at the thought of zoning out in front of the Chief Prosecutor himself. “The commissioner didn’t send you home,” the prosecutor remarks. You think his statement is meant to be a question, despite the fact that his tone doesn’t fluctuate from his typical flat affect. 

“Well, he did,” you grimace, remembering his demands for you to return home immediately. He’d be furious with you right now. In fact, the commissioner pulled you aside a few weeks ago to inquire about your “workaholic tendencies.” You meant to take him seriously and even assured him that you’d start to leave work on time instead of staying late. But here you are—sitting in your office late at night with your findings from your after-hours investigation. 

“Yet, you’re still here.” Edgeworth remarks with an intent gaze. Somehow, his frown only seems to deepen. 

“Yes, well, I… felt like something was missing,” you decide to admit. The prosecutor is trustworthy. Besides, you’re sure he has much better things to do than report you to the commissioner. The notion then reminds you of Dick Gumshoe—particularly, a conversation you had with him the other day about his much-to-be-desired diet of instant noodles. You shake your head in a half-hearted attempt to clear your thoughts. “Here, look at these.” You pull papers from the file on your desk and extend them to him. Edgeworth’s gaze follows your gesture and his eyebrows furrow.

“The suspect’s fingerprints on the corpse,” Edgeworth remarks blankly. “Yes.” His eyebrows furrow. The prosecutor is evidently wondering why you’re pointing that out, considering the evidence is extremely self-explanatory. You take a deep breath. 

“Look at the edge here,” you suggest, pointing to the very edge of the photo in question. It’s just barely visible and you watch as Edgeworth squints at the photograph for a long moment. For a second, it looks as if he’s not seeing it. You’re close to pointing the area out again when his eyes widen in realization. 

“Powder,” Edgeworth realizes aloud. He crosses his arms over his chest and falls back into his unusually straight posture. His fingers tap against the crook of his arm rhythmically, in what you guess to be a restless gesture. “The prints were transplanted.” 

“I believe so.” You nod. 

The prosecutor frowns and looks askance. He seems to deliberate for a moment before turning his attention back to you. “Can you do something for me?”

“Sure…?” You respond, thrown off by the ambiguity of the statement. The prosecutor explains the task he’d like you to perform and you begin to understand. Acting on his orders shouldn’t take too long, hopefully. However, you are in a time crunch—what with the trial being scheduled for tomorrow morning. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth leaves you with a murmured word of gratitude and a quick farewell. You stare at your closed office door for a moment, wondering if you dreamt up that interaction. The handwritten note sitting on your desk—created mere moments ago by Edgeworth—is proof that the prosecutor’s request was all too real. You don’t waste any time after that, immediately walking out of the police department and getting into your car. The Chief Prosecutor’s request isn’t too difficult—you simply need to revisit the crime scene and make sure everything is in order. Then you’ll return home, eat something, take a quick shower, and go to sleep. Everything will be fine. You won’t overwork yourself. You certainly won’t stay at the crime scene late into the night, until the point when you bear witness to the sun rising in the morning sky. 

These promises fade into obscurity the moment you reach the crime scene. Your investigative mind turns on and all you can think about are fingerprints, footprints, and murder weapons. You meticulously review each piece of evidence for forensic data, in addition to reviewing the entire scene in your head several times. Your efforts are far from a waste of time, as you manage to tie up some loose ends and even determine that the murder weapon carries multiple sets of prints. Your knees are aching as you bend down towards the ground and survey anything of consequence. Time is entirely inconsequential. All you know is that the flashlight you had needed when you arrived is no longer useful, as hints of the sunrise begin to illuminate the area in a hazy dawn glow. 

When your morning alarm goes off as you’re standing at the edge of the crime scene, you’re able to recognize that you may have gotten carried away. Just maybe. You sigh and trudge back to the car, before driving to the courthouse. When you arrive, you’re able to take a quick nap in the car and eat a protein bar you find in the console. Unfortunately, your nap is more than quick—it doesn’t last more than three minutes before you hear a knock on your window. It’s your least favorite defense attorney, Duff Endyu. 

“Well, hello, Detective!” Duff remarks as you roll down your window, his cheery smile immediately ruining any of the rest you acquired from your brief rest. “Catching up on some Z’s, are we?” His grin seems to have a mocking edge.

“Yes,” you sigh, unwilling to entertain his attempts at provocation. “Are the doors open?” You look over to the courthouse entrance. 

“I believe they are, sport,” he responds, patting a hand on the area where the unopened window rests and pacing towards the building. You take a deep breath and pinch the bride of your nose. It takes you a few moments to cross the parking lot and make it to the doors. Once you do, you find that the waiting room is blissfully empty. You sigh in relief and take a seat on the armchair, crossing a leg at the knee and pinching the bridge of your nose. You want nothing more than to fall asleep, but you know that would be rather unprofessional. Besides, you have a job to do.

You spend your time reviewing the information you gathered throughout your investigation, before preparing your statements and testimony as the detective on the case. You’re typically the first person called to the stand, so that you can explain the case to the judge and shed light on the evidence. 

“Detective.” You flinch and look up, only to find Miles Edgeworth staring down at you. You resist the strange urge to get up from your seat and instead greet him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you respond, pretending that you don’t need to blink the traces of exhaustion from your eyes. 

“Did you have a chance to do what I asked?” 

“Yes, I did,”  You’re about to explain when the bailiff interrupts and asks you to go into the courtroom. You send an apologetic smile to the prosecutor, before slipping into the empty courtroom. The judge is the only person in the room, and he seems to be frowning at something on the surface of his bench. When he notices your entrance, he motions for you to come closer. 

You’re familiar with this judge and have worked with him several times before. The thought reassures you, as you know you won’t have to sugarcoat your words or pretend to be someone you’re not on the stand. The two of you have formed a surface-level understanding of one another, which makes your job that much easier. 

The judge asks you a few questions about your investigation and you answer them to the best of your ability. Eventually, he seems satisfied, because he nods and dismisses you. You never get the chance to speak with Edgeworth and brief him on your findings before the trial, but you know he’ll learn more once you take the stand. 

The judge begins the trial with the standard procedure, questioning both the defense and the prosecution before Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth makes his case for the conviction of the defendant. Not for the first time, you find yourself impressed by how succinct and persuasive the man’s argument is. Endme, the attorney for the defendant, seems a bit intimidated. You think you would be too, if you were going up against the chief prosecutor himself. 

The judge then calls you to the stand. You explain the crime and describe the crime scene in detail, before Endme, the defense attorney, cross examines you. His cross-examination isn’t super thorough, and you suspect it’s because your claims are all backed up with at least one piece—if not multiple pieces—of evidence. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth seems to have quite the easy time with dismantling the defense’s argument. However, since you never got the chance to brief him before the trial, you’re forced to step in and correct an assumption when you hear it. 

“Actually,” you break in, wincing at how everyone’s gazes lock onto you. You take a deep breath. You can do this. “Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth is right, but… an investigation earlier today revealed that the murder weapon actually contained the prints of the witness, in addition to the defendant.” 

Edgeworth’s eyebrows steadily climb up his forehead. You want to feel guilty, but you know you didn’t leave him out of the loop on purpose. In fact, you were about to relay your findings to him when you were swiftly interrupted. Instead, you allow yourself a brief moment of pride. You caused that disbelieving expression on the chief prosecutor’s face. You found that evidence…!

The trial, understandably, is suitably affected by that revelation. You’re soon dismissed from the stand, as Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth calls the witness to the stand. You get the feeling he’s going to absolutely grill them—to see if they play a more active role in this case. 

Truthfully, you want to leave the courthouse and go to sleep, but you know you should stay to see how the trial plays out. Thankfully, Edgeworth uses the forensic evidence you found to bolster his argument and, after only about an hour, the courtroom doors swing open and the chief prosecutor appears. His eyes narrow in on you immediately and there’s a frown on his face. You feel any good karma you may have accrued earlier completely dissipate. 

“Detective,” Edgeworth says with a sigh. This can’t be good, you think to yourself. “I appreciate your efforts, and the fact that you did what I asked you to do.” He pauses. But…?  “However, I do not recall telling you to avoid sleep entirely.” His eyes meet yours and you realize he must’ve noticed your fatigue earlier or the dark circles that currently reside under your own eyes. 

“I know,” you acquiesce. The prosecutor nods knowingly, and you suddenly feel the need to defend yourself. “Still. I had a gut feeling there was something missing—and I was right.” Edgeworth sighs loudly. You raise your eyebrows at him knowingly, inviting him to argue with you. Fortunately for you, there’s not much of an outlet for him to argue—since your choice to continue investigating procured decisive evidence for the trial. The prosecutor evidently comes to that realization, because he crosses his arms over his chest and levels you with a furious gaze that spells you silent.

“Come on, Detective,” he remarks. “Unless you’d like the budget cut that Detective Gumshoe is so fond of.” You sigh deeply and follow after the prosecutor. This is the first time he’s threatened to reduce your salary. You certainly hope it will be the last—you’d rather not rewrite your budget for the coming month. 

You follow after Edgeworth, who has yet to offer an explanation for why you’re supposed to follow him. The prosecutor paces out of the courtroom and walks through the lines of cars in the parking lot until he reaches a red sports car. Your eyebrows climb up your forehead as you see him unlock it. 

“This is your car?” You hear yourself ask. 

“You seem surprised,” Edgeworth notes with a tinge of amusement. He opens the door for you, allowing you to enter, before closing it behind you. The prosecutor then walks around the car and gets into the driver’s seat. Edgeworth looks at you expectantly, evidently waiting for elaboration. 

“Sorry, you just didn’t seem the type,” you say. You quickly regret uttering the statement aloud after seeing the prosecutor raise an eyebrow; thankfully, he lets the comment slide. Instead, you get into the car and awkwardly stare down at your hands. You feel intensely out of place in this car, sitting next to the Chief Prosecutor himself. Edgeworth doesn’t seem to notice your internal panic, instead beginning to pull out of the courthouse parking lot and drive down the street. “Where are we going?” You eventually find the courage to ask.

“My office,” Edgeworth responds. You feel your heart stall in your chest. He isn’t going to fire you, is he? You’re not sure if he has that power… but you wouldn’t be surprised if he did possess that kind of administrative authority. Your fear must show on your face, because the prosecutor huffs in amusement before turning to look at you for a brief moment. “Lighten up, Detective.” Contrary to your expectations, you aren’t given any more explanation than that. Instead, you’re left to sit silently as Edgeworth 

He’s taking you to his office. Oh no. You’re really going to get fired, aren’t you? Your heart races in your chest and you feel your hands twitching at your sides. Edgeworth leads the way to the Prosecutor’s Building, walking through the underground garage before reaching the door and opening it for you. You’ve been to the building before, but you’ve never been to the underground garage—which leaves you feeling a little turned around. You suspect there’s an elevator that will lead to Edgeworth’s office. However, the chief prosecutor walks past it and instead ascends the staircase next to it. You shrug and follow after him. One flight of stairs won’t be too bad. 

One flight of stairs passes in the blink of an eye. However, Edgeworth doesn’t exit as you expect—instead he continues climbing up the stairs. Are you going to be taking the stairs all the way up to his office? From what you remember, quite a few of the offices are on the higher floors. You decide to keep quiet and follow his lead. 

If only you had known that Edgeworth’s office number was on the twelfth floor . By the time you climb up the last set of stairs and reach the twelfth floor, you want to collapse on the ground and never get up. Edgeworth, on the other hand, isn’t even winded. You manage to catch your breath on the short walk from the staircase to his office, but you know your legs will be sore tomorrow. 

You’ve never been in the Chief Prosecutor’s office before. It has more life than you thought it might, with a burgundy couch off to the left side, an ornate wooden desk in the center of the room, and rows of files lining the walls on the right. There’s a small figurine of the Steel Samurai and an award that you recognize to be the Prosecutor Trophy. The space looks like a good mix of professionalism and nonchalance that you think you’d like to emulate in your own office.  

Despite your expectations, Edgeworth still doesn't give you an explanation for why you’re here. Instead, he settles into the chair at his desk and opens his computer. He’s quiet as he types on his computer. After a few moments of standing awkwardly, you decide to move and sit on the couch. 

You don’t know how long you wait there, anticipating a remark from the chief prosecutor. Unfortunately, now that you’re left here with nothing to do, you feel your energy slipping away. Your exhaustion is beginning to catch up to you. You didn’t get much sleep ( read: any sleep) last night, thanks to your impromptu investigation. Despite your fatigue threatening to knock you out, you know can’t fall asleep in front of the Chief Prosecutor. You have to stay awake. 

Surely, there’s something you could be doing right now. Your eyes are stinging from exhaustion and your blinks feel twice as long as normal. You rub your eyes roughly and pay a glance at Edgeworth, who is scrawling something down on a piece of paper.. Just what are you supposed to be doing here? The prosecutor hasn’t spoken since you left the car. Edgeworth isn’t shy about assigning you work to do, so why is he suddenly so silent?

Despite all these recognitions, and the intimate knowledge that it will not look good if you fall asleep, your exhaustion wins out. One moment, you’re staring blankly ahead at the wall of files; the next, your eyes are slipping shut and you’re falling asleep.

Your sleep is remarkably undisturbed, despite being in the company of another person. You occasionally hear the scrawling sound of writing or the pattering sounds of typing, but otherwise, the office is blissfully silent. Your head rests on your hand and you exhale slowly, feeling the day’s stressors slowly slip away.

You don’t intend to sleep for long. But, when you wake up, you find that it’s dark outside. There’s an added warmth that you didn’t have before. Upon further investigation, you find that there’s a familiar burgundy jacket draped over you. Is this… Edgeworth’s jacket? Your eyes widen as the characteristic burgundy color. 

Your phone pings, drawing you out of your thoughts. You reach towards it and power it on, only to find that it’s nearly 6 p.m. The trial ended hours ago! You look around for Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, but he’s nowhere in sight. All you see is the familiar wall of files, the chessboard in the corner of the room, and a mug of tea with a note next to it. 

Wait. A mug of tea with a note? You frown and look down at the coffee table, finding a mug of warm tea with steam rising out of it and a handwritten note. The note reads: 

Visiting the department. Expect a more strictly enforced schedule in the future.   -M.   PS: Stay as long as you need. 

You smile to yourself.

“Duff Endyu” → “defend you.” lol.

hehehehehehheeeee… I just want to fall asleep in Edgeworth's office and for Edgeworth to look down at me and be filled with an inexplicable burst of fondness. is that really too much to ask?>??

Did “a more strictly enforced schedule” make sense? I was trying to find a characteristic way for Miles to say that your overtime would be prevented (aka that you’ll have to “clock out” and actually leave, instead of staying for hours after).

I just realized Miles’s initials are M.E.. Lollll.

anyway, thanks for reading! <333

TAGLIST: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall

[moxlace]

miles morales ftm/transmasc headcanons with a punkflower feature (because i am so right and true)

tw!! there will be some mentions of misgendering, as well as negative stereotypes regarding being trans

miles came out to his mom (only his mom) at the age of 12, while she was supportive she gave him a year to think it through before he was allowed to begin medically transitioning. however, she always asked what he was comfortable with when he wasn't out to his uncle or dad.

his dad was a bit confused at first but he had the spirit. definitely thought it was strange at first, but after a couple talks with his lovely wife he came to an understanding and made it EVERYONE's problem when someone disrespected his son (i.e. misgendering him or otherwise)

uncle aaron was ALL for it. he was so excited to have a nephew, he took miles out clothes shopping, he was even the one to buy miles his first pair of jordans.

another reason why miles had such a hard time adjusting to visions was because on the first day his roster had his legal name so for the entire school day, (until miles called his dad who would definitely fix the mistake as soon as he heard about it) he had to sit through giggles and weird looks towards him during attendance.

the first day at visions incident also lead to why he despised going to school, and said his people weren't there and he would rather be somewhere else.

both gwen and miles had the extra, "they're trans" sensor, which is why they got super close super quick besides just being spider-people.

(for the sake of this hc lets say miles-42 is cis) when miles met miles g. he was jealous. he was everything miles wanted to be for so long, and he was filled with envy, he couldn't help it.

hobie brown was the first guy he felt okay having a crush on. he had this weird sense of guilt over liking guys and being a trans guy. he was just so infatuated with hobie he couldnt help but finally push himself out of that mindset.

[deimostes]

distinctly furry edits of some aminals once again :) this time of the sonic dream team height chart!

this is where i debut my transmasc amy design (2nd picture) - ive been calling him both rascal rose and hammer the hedgehog cause im indecisive LOL

individuals under the cut!

[ar0ace-m3ss]

Because I'm trans and gay, I have this weird thing where I don't know if I'm attracted to someone or want to be them. I had this a lot when I was younger , as what I thought were crushes are actually gender envy.

I remember being obsessed with male fictional characters, and I wanted to dress and be like them. So I made a venn diagram... these are ppl of the top of my head and probably not all.

(Probably spelling mistakes I made this in about a minute)

[the-t-boy-king]

I've been seeing people arguing about if you need dysphoria to be trans. I, however, don't think you need it. Some people transition for the gender euphoria. I don't want the idea that being trans is marked by suffering. I think I have a good way to explain it.

Let's say all you have for transportation is a bike. You like your bike. It helps you get to where you need to go in a timely manner. However, it can be a little annoying at times. You might need to leave your house two hours early to get to a place far away. Going up hill is a bitch but you don't mind those things. You still like your bike and grateful for it.

Now let's say you got a car. You loved it. Hills were a breeze, and you didn't need to leave insanely early to get to places. You loving the car now doesn't change the fact you were fine with the bike. It doesn't suddenly make your time with the bike bad. It just means that you're happier with a car now.

For some trans people, that car is transitioning by changing their name and pronouns. For others, the car is transitioning with surgeries and hormones. The time before transition, the bike, was still a time when they were fine. But now, they're much happier.

I hope this makes sense.

[m4dm4yhem]

1610! m. morales x black! masc! reader

a/n: happy birthday to my favorite spiderman :3 this is a letter fanfic too, where the reader is writing a letter to miles for his birthday, and for the song it’s nothing too important just I think this is the song that reader would listen too and think about miles

“ mijo!” came the call of miles’ mother, it was early, and miles wasn’t even up yet, the boy let out a grown before he got up on his own, and shuffled around as he yelled back out to his mom that he was coming

the boy rubbed the tiredness from his eyes and let out a soft sigh, before he made his way from his room to the kitchen where his parents were going through the mail, his mother had a letter in her hand, and her eyebrows were furrowed

miles walked over to stand by his mother, he knew by now that he had to wait until his mother was done reading something before he spoke to her, his eyes blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the light. he had left his phone in his room on the charger so the only thing he had to do was focus on the things around him, his eyes looking down at the open envelope that was on the counter.

his eyes saw the

MILES MORALES

in bold black ink, but he didn’t process it until he had looked someplace else, his neck snapping down to look at the open envelope once again, his eyes were wide, his brain overworking itself trying to figure out who would send him a letter, an obviously handwritten one at that.

his eyes shot back to his mother’s face, and she had the letter in one hand, the other hand was on her hip, and her face was scrunched up in an obvious negative way, but miles couldn’t quite read the emotion

his mami used that face for damn near every negative emotion at this point, how could he tell?

“ what’s this, miles ? you got some secret girlfriend your father and i don’t know about..?” her voice was a mixture of anger and hurt, she wasn’t angry at miles.. she just didn’t know how to carefully pick her tone. she was mostly confused, confused and hurt that her son hadn’t told her any of this

“ what?” his tone was just as confused as rio thought she was making hers.

that’s when rio’s eyebrows furrowed and her grip on the paper tightened as she held it in front of him, letting her son read the letter she had found mailed to him

DEAR MILES MORALES…

happy birthday to my favorite person on earth, im sad I can’t be with you in this time.. because i am traveling now, but i just want you to know I am deeply grateful that I get to see you everyday im in brooklyn. i am grateful you return the love I have for you in your own little way just like I do.

which brings me to your gift!!

TEN THINGS I LOVE ABOUT YOU!

1. i love how you draw those you care about, especially those who you no longer see. ( ex: gwen, uncle aaron, i think i saw that guy who was like our spiderman but not??) and you have drawn me more times than I have the memory space to remember, but I love that about you nonetheless.

2. the way I first saw you, when you were new to visions and you were talking to all those stupid stuck up kids, of course you didn’t know they were like that.. you were new and everything. but seeing you try to talk to them and make dumb jokes kinda showed how you were trying to make friends in a different environment & how outgoing you are and I love that

3. i adore your stupid jokes, your jokes are not only funny by themselves but they are so silly, mostly because you don’t mind yourself getting laughed at because of how awkward you come across, I love it.

4. i love when you speak, your voice is so natural and every time I see you I pray it’s never gonna something sad ( doesn’t mean I’m never here for you if it is!) but I absolutely do love your voice, everything you have to say makes my heart race

5. your smile, it makes my heart race whenever I see it. whether that he when we’re together, or pictures i see. miles I adore it to the moon and back.

6. i love how you don’t give into toxic masculinity like a lot of guys our age, i love seeing it because you don’t see it a lot in black guys, and it makes me feel like I can just be myself around you and around others you give me that confidence to be comfortable in my own masculinity

7. i love how you’re super sweet to be others, even strangers. you’re the nicest boy I have ever met in the entirety of my days on earth, mrs. morales & officer davis raised you marvelously, and I can only hope that if I have kids of my own they are as magical as you

8. I love the way your eyes light up when you look at me, I don’t know if this happens for everyone you care about. but I know you do this for me, and I love it everyday I notice it, how your cheeks get all hot and your pupils dilate and you start cheesin all hard n shit, makes me feel all bubbly n warm inside, I love it!

9. i love how you always have to finish a section of corn before you move on to the next, it reminds me of someone reading a book, you go chapter by chapter and not all over the place, you finish it like.. chomp by chomp in small sections. it’s cute and definitely different ^_^

10. the last thing I love about you is how you don’t repress yourself for anyone, when you are with me and ganke you are so unapologetically yourself and I love that about you. It encourages me to be me, it encourages ganke to be ganke as well. I love it, and I love you

- [name] [last name]

as miles read over the letter, to say he was shocked was the understatement of the century, he felt his face get hot and his head was spinning as he tried to wrap his head around this.. but he was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard his dad speak.

“ miles, who is this young lady you’re running around with? some tomboy? son, she better not be one of those thugs you hung around at your old school!”

“ no! dad.. he-“ miles stopped himself right before he could finish his sentence, he looked like a deer in headlights as his parents stared at him, with a look of pure shock and confusion.

“ this was not how I wanted to come out.” miles thought to himself as he took hold of the letter, his parents were scrambling for answers, but miles just took a deep breath as he skimmed over the letter again

a letter his boyfriend wrote for his birthday

a/n: birthday is in the colors of jeff and rio’s dialogue because they’re his parents and miles wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t be able to celebrate his birthday without them :3

[punkeropercyjackson]

Hobie coming home after underaged drinking at a pub and seeing Miles first thing when he got to the Spiderband's base

[melodymonaei]

My trans ass is an art of cock 🍆🍑🍑 Reblog if you wanna get my private stories on Snapchat