#who write about men

[faith--in-the-future]

actually walls in general was louis' cellophane

[rayveneyed]

nanami kento is the kind of man that makes people swoon without even realising it.

he's the kind of man to walk into a luxury store after work, suit jacket folded over one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other -- his blonde hair still mostly perfect from the high-end pomade he uses. he scours the shelves, frowning to himself, while the attendants whisper and giggle amongst themselves near the tills -- an argument over who will be the one to talk to him, because he's intimidatingly pretty.

("just look at him," one whispers. "he's definitely buying something for a girlfriend."

"a wife," another disagrees. "c'mon. he's giving husband vibes."

someone hums. "but i can't see a wedding band."

"his mother, maybe?" says one other. "oh, i love when guys come in shopping for their mother."

"nobody's mother is getting a bouquet of a hundred red roses--")

eventually, one of them is volunteered as a sacrifice -- smiling and sweet as all attendants should be, she clears her throat. the others, crowded around the till, watch the exchange closely. "excuse me, sir. is there anything we could help you with today?"

her mouth is dry and her hands are clammy -- and when he fixes her with those narrow, burning eyes, her throat bobs.

"ah, yes." and his voice is deep and gravelly and drawling, and her stomach turns. she can only imagine what her coworkers are thinking -- hell, she can only imagine what she's thinking. her mind has stopped short. "my girlfriend likes this brand quite a bit. i thought i'd pick her up something..."

disappointment brews in her stomach -- and it's stupid, she knows it's stupid, because obviously a guy like that is taken. and -- she glances down at the roses -- obviously he treats her super fucking well. of course he does, because why wouldn't he? "oh, perfect! do you have anything in mind?"

"well, actually..."

he ends up buying one of the priciest gift boxes available -- fancy body care and perfume laid out in their signature boxes, decorated with ribbon and dried lavender -- no argument, no fight. he doesn't look for something cheaper, doesn't try to haggle or remove something to decrease the price. he adds, and adds, and adds -- and when she mentions a special offer at the till, a little add on for an extra 2000 yen, he accepts it readily. he inserts a black card into the card machine (of course, a black card), takes the beautifully wrapped bag, and thanks the girls for their services -- and just as he's leaving, his phone rings.

of course he answers the phone with hello, darling. of course he begins to ask his girlfriend about her day, the girls think with some amount of annoyance -- of course. maybe the curse of retail isn't entitled assholes expecting you to wait on hand and foot for them -- maybe it's the handsome men coming in to splurge on their girlfriends while you're painfully single and working for pennies.

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[katabay]

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KNIGHT...

the visual inspiration for this was a combination of Frederic William Burton's Meeting on the Turret Stairs and also Bernardo Cavallino's The vision of St. Dominic receiving the Rosary from the Virgin

this was supposed to be just a one off illustration to get the thoughts out of my system, but then I started thinking about medieval politics and warfare and plagues and a castle and home as both a place of refuge, a prison, and a tomb, so perhaps they will end up as ex voto characters as well.

you may say, hey! that rosary looks like it has too many beads! it's a fifteen decade rosary, probably. dominicans are really into marian devotions. it works out.

also. spiral style stair cases. oh boy. it was that unexpectedly more difficult than I originally thought it would be to draw. the more I think about it, the less I understand them, even though I had a million photos of the stairs in front of me while I was drawing it.

⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!

⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

[ruhlare]

i don't like it when someone is easy to reach. when someone is open to everyone, when literally anyone can get their attention. it is a question of values ​​and principles not to be open to everyone and not to have the need for everyone's attention. people who are easily available won't value soulful connections.

[fyeahnix]

Sevika Hockey AU where Sevika is the team enforcer and Reader had been traded to the team in a legendary deal as their new star player.

------

The game had been close all night. Physical, too. High-sticking and cross-checks under the referee's noses drew out the nastiest insults from the crowd. You saw and heard and felt it all.

But you tuned it out. You had a job to do.

The Zaun Wolves needed an experienced star player added to the roster to help mentor their rising rookie hopeful, and in an odd turn of events, the Noxus Generals decided to part ways with you, the player they'd drafted with the number one pick only five years ago, for a draft haul in the off-season.

After a rocky rookie season and a sophomore slump, you were on the upswing in your career. You'd posted some record statistics during your time with the Generals and judging by the two goals you'd achieved tonight, you'd say the Piltover Progressors were learning that you lived up to your reputation.

It was no secret in the league that Zaun had beef with Piltover as rivals, but no one informed you just how much the Progressors hated the Generals. To them, you were the bastard child of both, and they were keen on making you feel every bruise in your first bout this season.

This team was fucking ruthless. No only were they trying to box you out from getting the puck, but when you did manage to snatch it away, another player would check you against the boards with their entire body weight and sneak in an illegal hit to go with it. And Janna bless the rookie Vi for coming to your defense. She was scrappy and never backed down from a fight, but she lacked the muscle mass to take the bigger players down completely. Still, you appreciated her effort.

Your saving grace, however, was the large woman sitting anxiously in the penalty box whose eyes locked with yours whenever you skated by. Sevika was one of the older vets on an already fairly young team, and the team's one and only enforcer. You learned over the off-season that while she didn't speak much and wasn't the best player on the Wolves, the team listened wholeheartedly to her wisdom and rallied behind her when it mattered. Much different to the militancy you experienced on the Generals.

Your defenders did their damnedest job keeping the puck away from the Progressors during the penalty. The penalty clock wound down to the last fifteen seconds just as you saw an opportunity to seize the puck and take a shot on goal.

You launched yourself across the ice to gather the puck. With quick stick work, you coiled back for a slapshot and before the end of your stick collided with the puck, a heavy body slammed into you. You lost balance and tumbled to the ice, losing the puck. They'd knocked the wind out of you, and you struggled to stand as the crowd yelled about another missed charging call.

You stood, finally, just in time for Sevika to hop out of the penalty box a second before stoppage of play. She rolled over to you and gave you a once-over.

“You good?” she asked.

You shook your head. “I'll be fine. They're startin’ to piss me off though.”

She nodded. “Gotchu.”

You skated into position behind your center for a face-off near your goal. Play resumed with your center winning the bout and passing over to Vi who took the puck to the other side of the ice. You followed. She passed it to you, and you played keep away with it before passing back to the center. The defender who tagged you grew sick of watching the clock and took it up on herself to check you into the boards when the puck came flying back to you. You lost it in the scuffle.

When you recovered, you saw Sevika sailing over to the defender, grabbing her by the jersey to pull her back.

Sevika then dropped her stick and gloves.

The defender followed suit.

The crowd hollered and screamed, went wild as the two danced around each other on skates.

The defender took a couple of feint jabs, but Sevika didn't fall for it. She kept her guard up and when the defender missed a big swing, Sevika followed up with a sharp uppercut. She grabbed the front of the defender's jersey and held her in place as she pummeled the defender with a flurry of right fists to the cheek and jaw. Her blows echoed off the ice, somehow overpowering the deafening crowd. The defender tried to no avail to fight back, but managed to sneak in a few lucky hits to make Sevika bite her own tongue.

The defender stumbled down, and finally, the referee broke up the fight for another stoppage of play.

Sevika grinned at the crowd, circling the ice with a bloody mouth. With one last glare at the defender, she yelled words that reassured your growing trust in her.

“Yeah, try that shit again and see what I do!”

On her way to the penalty box, she gave you a quick wink before slamming back inside to sit down.

Most of your team were slow to warm up to you during the off-season when you arrived in Zaun. Sevika had been the slowest. She acknowledged you, sure, but actually talking to you outside of work-related topics was like pulling teeth. It wasn't until she stumbled upon you skating around the ice in the brisk hours of the morning did she make the effort to engage. She'd always been first one in, last one out, and for once, someone had her beat.

You loved what you did—the juxtaposition of gracefully gliding across ice with the heaviness of pads protecting your person—but nothing came easy. You were smaller than the average player and faster because of it, but what you couldn't accomplish in raw strength, you made up for it in accuracy and finesse with the puck at your blade. But shooting a frozen piece of rubber into a goalie's five-hole took practice. Ten thousand hours of it. You'd told Sevika then why you were there and while the acknowledgement she gave you then was nothing but a gruff scoff and quick smile, her demeanor towards you changed from then on.

You came to learn that she valued nothing more than hard work and dedication. You weren't some gifted player with natural-born talent with access to the best resources at your disposal. You were you—an Ionian who had worked their ass off from sun up to sun down to have any hopes of being the best player in the league.

As the clock wound down to the final five minutes, you checked the scoreboard. Sevika's penalty time would take you down to the final three and you only had to endure from there.

The Progressors took their timeout. You locked eyes with Sevika for two long seconds during the team huddle, who only gave you the faintest of nods, an action that only said “I got you.”

Your opponents kept up the pressure but laid off the dirty plays for the rest of the game. The message was loud and clear to them: fuck with you and they'd answer to Sevika.

------

taglist: @gaudesstuff @archangeldyke-all @abitohoney @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat

@ash-fall7 @the-anonmaton @peanutbutterprincess @thesevi0lentdelights @kylorey25

@thegothicchangeling @slut4sevika

[diospore]

I'm just saying if you're writing smut featuring trans people and you find yourself ONLY writing pre-op transmen as receiving penetration. ONLY writing your transmen as submissive.

You should really take a step back and think about why this is.

Also consider including trans people who have gotten bottom surgery. I'd like to see more of that. Or transmen using straps. That'd be cool too thanks.

[featherlouise]

The day I stop being afraid to draw wrinkles it's over for y'all

[gayedmundo]

eddie being gay is vital for his arc to make sense because the majority of his queercoding hasn't been built on his attraction to men but rather his lack of attraction to women just btw

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

anyone else obsessed with the recurring theme in TTPD about how in each instance with the three notable muses referenced, they each made a show in their own way of stepping up to Be Someone for her, only to completely cut and run (whether physically or emotionally or both).

The first love who laid on the charm offensive, "I'm not an organ donor but I'd give you my heart if you needed it," sweeping her up in this great big first serious adult love, inspiring all of the dreams that go with it, making her feel like This Is It and the actions undertaken as a result. But then bailing at the first sign of inconvenience, leaving her distrusting of her own feelings and instincts.

The longtime partner with whom she built a foundation against all odds, the one with whom (or perhaps rather for whom) she meticulously placed those stars on the ceiling. The one who at one point painted dreamscapes on the wall and sparked her darkest nights, the one who chose her mess and said there was nothing that could stop them, the one she believed in so completely she crafted a whole life around, but then accused her of abandoning the ship when he had long since metaphorically and physically left the house on the Heath.

And then of course the final boss level, the infatuation from hell who saw all this and said "I can be the one that none of the others were" and insinuated himself into her life and her consciousness until it felt real, only to vanish after the ploy did its damage.

(Of course, it's all contrasted by a fourth party with whom the trust and dreams come freely and solidly.)

It's just a fascinating study in how patterns keep repeating themselves, not only in a person's choice of partners but in people's behaviours in general. And how so much of the album is not just about specific situations but also globally about the pitfalls of relationships and dynamics and how we choose to believe. TTPD album that you are.

[justaz]

semi-dark king merlin au, someone from ealdor tells king cenred about merlin and he is captured and held as a slave in essetir. since merlin despises captivity and servitude, he’d rather be dead and free than alive and in chains so he acts out and pisses people (especially the king) off so they’ll think him too much trouble and kill him. at first they stick to beatings until merlin manages to get his chains around a few necks and now has a body count so they kill him…..only he wakes back up a few hours later and king cenred is Intrigued and keeps him close. merlin keeps acting out but no matter how many times they kill him, he won’t stay dead. merlin has this moment after waking up perfectly fine after his twenty seventh death where he is hopeless and believes there to be no escape, not even thru death. a few other sorcerers in chains come and help him clean up and give him a lil peptalk, realizing him to be emrys, and then they revolt and take over the kingdom and crown merlin as king and now uther is like “wtf” bc his neighboring kingdom who was kinda sorta on his wavelength about sorcery, though uther did not approve of keeping them alive, is now a kingdom ruled by magic. he goes to war with them but with magic running free and fucking emrys on the throne, they don’t make a lot of headway. anyways merthur meet on the battlefield, enemies to lovers, you get it

[eelclaw]

stupid fucking bastard. i am not coping with the leaks

[lafcadiosadventures]

I never forgot Hugo’s description of his first contact with a train:

“The gave me Watt entirely naked, when I’d rather have him clothed by Benvenuto Cellini”

1) I agree, I love useless ornament. (although 19th c trains are beautiful to me xD)(and if he thought 19th c needed more ornaments what the hell would he think of contemporary architecture/design) 2) i wish someone would write about the quotidian with this much visionary power nowadays

[ruubyys1]

Su whispered sweet nothings into your ear as he held you gently in his arms. His voice was like a flowing melody that has been blowing with the winds crossing through. Every word in his tone was filled with sugar-coated sweetness, like strawberries kissed in the bright haze of the day.

He caressed your waist in smooth, small circles and eventually on the way to your back with his warm hand. Continuing to talk more about you and you only—

“I love you, [Name].” This time, his tone went slightly seductive yet remained the sweetness inside it.

I love this man so much.

©ruubyys1 2024. all rights reserved. do not steal, repost, modify, or plagiarize any of my works without permission.

[sopafia]

It’s me and my love for misunderstood fictional women against the world 🫡

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt