#anyway i enjoyed the movie lol

[my-thirteenth-reason]

i just watched the ssmy graduation and god im so not looking forward to graduation myself jshdjshfjs

[almondcroissantsandink]

they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery :)

(a silly 4-pg comic I've loosely titled Seeing Double, for fun! I know it's only mid-September, but I'm so so so getting into the Halloween mood)

[sherlock-is-ace]

I'm still not over the fact that in the book, Aziraphale and Crowley are supposed to look 30 and 24 years old...

This is what they would look like

That's David in 1995 in The Bill and Michael in 1997 (not quite 99 like it's supposed to be) in Wilde.

Those are children! Mere babies!

[ruubesz-draws]

Godzilla x Kong New Empire but it's the Spongebob Movie

I had this idea BEFORE the movie even came out lol

This took longer than I thought! Please appreciate it!

[its-flame-art]

“wait a minute. wait a minute, Doc. ah... are you telling me that you built a time machine...out of a DeLorean?”

[cartoonjessie]

Matangi's tone is taunting, but Maui's confidence hasn't been broken - yet. "And you'll finish it?" she asks, hiding in the shadows. "Team up with your precious..." Suddenly she's in his ear. "...human again?" Realizing Matangi can see right through him, Maui tries to strike at her with a grunt, but she's already gone. Her laughter fills the cavern, and Maui realizes he's made a mistake by showing her he cares. Trying to bluff his way out of this situation, he replies: "Team? You mean that girl with the canoe and that goofy little chicken? We weren't a team. I just used her to get my hook." Mini Maui, not bright enough to see what Maui is doing, gets insulted on Moana's behalf, slapping him painfully in the chest, to which Maui eyes him in frustration. If only his tattoo could play along, maybe they could stop painting a larger target on Moana's back.

[royaltea000]

I’ve never felt so conflicted about a franchise in my life but at least this dude was hot

[piedoesnotequalpi]

Thanks to @jack-kellys for tagging me!

(tbh I haven't been listening to enough soundtracks lately so I couldn't limit it to current favorites)

Tagging @somanywords @saveugoodmadam and anyone else who would like to participate!

[riddlerosehearts]

thinking about floyd and riddle spending their first halloween as a couple together... i think floyd absolutely loves how varied and lively all of the different halloween traditions he's learned about since coming to live on land are, and he wants to try out as many of them as he can each year. so when riddle tells him that his mother always made him stay in his room studying on halloween, and that the only halloween activities he's ever done were those that NRC students were required to participate in, floyd decides that the two of them are just going to have to spend the day doing everything they possibly can. riddle tries to say he's far too busy for such things, but floyd will not let it go and honestly riddle is only half-heartedly protesting anyway because he secretly did always dream of doing the things that other kids got to do on halloween, and maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal to take one day off and spend time with his boyfriend.

so, riddle never got to make jack-o-lanterns? floyd decides to "borrow" about half a dozen of the pumpkins jade and azul had bought for mostro lounge and takes them to riddle's dorm room. riddle is terrible at trying to carve them at first and floyd can't help but laugh at him a little, but since he knows it's not riddle's fault he's never gotten to do this before, he says he'll show him how to do it. unfortunately floyd isn't nearly as good as he thinks he is on account of having lived in the ocean for almost his whole life and now riddle gets to laugh right back at him. they probably both get the hang of it right as they're down to their last two pumpkins.

riddle never got to go trick-or-treating with his childhood friends? floyd texts trey and convinces him to get in touch with chenya as well so that they can all go together. when they approach the first house, in the costumes they had prepared for each of their school's halloween events, riddle starts to get nervous and asks if they aren't all a little too old to be doing this. floyd shoves several huge handfuls of candy from that person's bowl into his and riddle's pumpkin-shaped buckets and tells him it's not like there's any rule that says they can't, and besides, riddle is such a cute little goldfish that he practically looks like a kid in his costume anyway! chenya stifles a laugh while trey has to stop riddle from committing murder that night.

riddle's never gone to a haunted house before? floyd and chenya both think it would be hilarious to make him go to one, so they do. riddle absolutely hates it, but it honestly does make him happy to see everyone else enjoying it--even if floyd and chenya both keep trying to egg him and trey on and get them to go down creepy corridors and check around corners by themselves, and even if floyd keeps running off to different parts of the haunted house and then coming back and hugging or even lifting riddle from behind knowing full well that he'll get freaked out by it.

riddle never got to play the apple bobbing game that's traditional in the queendom of roses? turns out there's a place right by the haunted house where they can go to do it! predictably, floyd is great at it while riddle ends up drenched without getting any apples, but just giving it a try is more fun than riddle expected.

riddle's never gotten to make candy apples before? luckily, trey knows an amazing recipe as well as what combinations of toppings work the best, and he's willing to teach them both! riddle gets very confused at imprecise directions such as being told to use "a few" drops of food coloring on the syrup or to drizzle "a little" white chocolate over it, and keeps asking trey exactly how much he should use. floyd thinks this is adorable. he also thinks it's adorable when riddle tries to scold him for ignoring half of trey's directions and just doing whatever he thinks sounds good.

riddle's never done a horror movie marathon before, or even seen any halloween movies in general? floyd insists that they marathon at least 3 movies together. after the experiences he had at the haunted house, riddle doesn't think he'll enjoy horror movies, but he tries to keep his cool throughout the first one anyway... which does not work out, because he really can't handle jumpscares or excessive gore. during the first movie they watch, floyd (who loves slasher films so much that he laughs and cheers every time the monster gets a kill) is happy to let his goldfishie cuddle up to him and grip onto his arm to keep himself from knocking the popcorn bowl onto the floor, but you know that once it's over riddle is getting teased relentlessly about how scared he was. floyd decides to be nice and put on something tamer for their next two movies, and riddle actually ends up really enjoying coraline and especially beetlejuice.

by the end of the night riddle realizes that they've stayed up way too late at night and a small part of him wants to scold floyd for keeping him up so late, insisting on having him do all of these silly activities and eat all of these terribly unhealthy snacks. another part of him wishes he could scold his mother for keeping him from doing any of these things as a kid, with his friends and the other kids in his hometown, the way you're supposed to do it... and another part of him still is just incredibly happy and grateful to floyd for finally giving him the chance.

[leronboi]

Belle and the Beast dancing in the starry night ✨

Finally finished with this piece 😤. I was showing a friend some batb art and they suggest I draw them in this pose which sparked the inspiration for this drawing. (sorry for the phone quality XD)

[clowningaroundmars]

Hobie1610 pt. 4

after so many months of waiting, the wait... is finally over.

here is the fourth and final part of this little au idea i had brewing in my head for some time now. i hope you guys enjoy?

and thanks so much to everyone leaving encouraging and kind comments on the previous parts as well! really appreciate y'all :)

hope this ending is a satisfying one :)

>pt. 1 here<

>pt. 3 here<

MJ: We’re going to hang tomorrow after my shoot, right?

It was a text that Miles looked at and looked at and looked at all day ever since it arrived into his messages that very morning. It literally came out of nowhere.

But how long ago was it that he and Hobie Jones ran into each other at Central Park? It had to have been like a week ago, he was pretty sure...

He thinks.

“Maybe the guy’s pushy or somethin’, he just really likes you for some reason,” Ganke had offered by way of explanation as they sat together at lunch for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Miles wasn’t entirely sure when he and Ganke ever got to chill like this together in the cafeteria area... but as luck would have had it, Ganke’s mom forgot to send over some money for the week, forcing him to buy from the cheaper menu that the school had to offer rather than ordering off of the many food delivery apps he had on lock in his phone.

They sat a ways away from the hustle and bustle of the main area, near a big window that looked outwards into the typical scene of the congested New York City streets, and Miles would have been perfectly content with this arrangement had it not been for The Text.

He jiggled his leg and rubbed at his jaw in between bites of his own cheap meal-- something he got even though he didn’t really want it, but what was he gonna do, let Ganke wait in line by himself?-- gazing at his cell phone sitting right by his elbow. The text message was gazing right back at him.

“I… dunno. I-- man, I wish I told you more about my patrols so you can remind me how long ago Central Park was. I swear it was only like… last week? Right?”

Ganke chomped on his own slice of pepperoni pizza and shrugged. “I think that was a while ago. Either way, he wants to go on this date with you. So you might as well.”`

Miles groaned. “It’s not a date, Ganks. We’re just… chillin’, hangin’ out a little,” he gestured with his hands, which was not convincing Ganke at all. “Y’know?”

Ganke leaned forward a little bit, glasses slipping down his nose as he grinned mischievously. “Did he figure out it was you, Mi? Is that why you’re so nervous about it?”

“Whaaat are you talking about? No… no, he didn’t! I just. Uh, I saved him from those scary gang members and then I swung him home and that was that. No one else knows but you and my parents, Ganke, promise.” Miles’ smile was even less convincing.

“Miles,” Ganke deadpanned, “have you ever thought about what would happen if some Flickstagram-famous model learns about your thing you got goin’ on? He could be pushing this because he knows already, dude. Or at least he thinks he does. You’re a weird kid after all, and it wouldn't take too long to put two and two together... no offense.”

Miles shoved a fist under his chin and chewed a french fry pensively, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't give him away.

The thing is, Hobie did know.

Miles still couldn’t shake off the memories of his warm fingertips hooking under his mask and slowly lifting it off of his face, the way his entire visage seemed so positively radiant with that dazzling smile once they met eyes. He remembered Hobie’s wiry arms clutching onto him for dear life as they flew across the stadium towards the exit, the easy banter they had going back and forth after the action finally died down and they were safely heading back to the outer gates of the park.

So Hobie definitely knew. That wasn’t really the problem... although, Ganke might be right. It could be in the future, if Miles didn’t play his cards right.

Hobie is a solid guy no matter what dimension Miles found him in. Even as the Prowler on earth-616, that Hobie Brown was as an upstanding citizen as any crook could be. But flashes of earth-42 kept sparking up right behind his eyes every time doubt popped up about a new player in his life here on earth-1610, and one can never just assume anyways.

And now Miles is sitting at his lunch table with his best friend— who, until now was the only living person on this planet who knew about his secret identity— ruminating on whether or not Ganke might end up being a damn seer after all. Ganke doesn’t know that Hobie knows, but he really just might be right anyhow. That would really be Miles' luck.

Goddamnit.

Is Hobie planning on blackmailing him somehow? His involvement with those thugs stealing a prominent museum’s precious security info seemed a bit off to him, the more he thought about it.

They joked about it many a time over text, but Miles would be lying if he said he hadn’t turned a couple of facts over and over on more than one sleepless night. Hobie mentioned having connections, a camera, and seemed almost too recklessly opportunistic when it came to the chance at nabbing that flash drive...

Doubt was sinking back in. Miles drummed his fingers on the table and shot Ganke a look. “... Whaddya think I should do if he does, then?”

“What, if he finds out?”

“Yeah.”

Ganke shrugs again, popping a pepperoni slice into his mouth and thinking while he chewed. “Web him up to a lamppost,” he said after a bit.

Miles snorted with laughter. “Ganke, be for real right now. You’ve got great coding and social media knowledge, dude. Could you hack his tech if asked you to? Like, just in case?”

Ganke waggled his head, making a show of really, really thinking it through. “Mmmmn, yeah maybe.”

Miles sighs. “What do I have to do?” He asks because he knows his best friend by now.

“Fifty bucks and you also have to do my laundry for a week. What?” Ganke exclaims upon suddenly being on the receiving end of Miles’ glare, “If I get caught, it could mean like federal level charges on my head, dude. Take it up with the law, not me!”

Miles sighs and returns back to his plate of cold fries. “Yeah, yeah. You got a point,”

“But you gotta meet up with him first, figure out what we're dealing with. Just stop putting it off, bro. Avoiding him'll make you look more suspicious. Might as well get it done and over with,”

Miles swallows his fries along with his anxiety, picks up his phone, and starts drafting his answer to Hobie’s sudden proposal.

He doesn't know why there's a pit of dread in his stomach, but he opts to ignore it this time.

He hopes Ganke is wrong.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

The next day, MJ's cell phone vibrates on the portable vanity set up at the studio where his current shoot is taking place.

He’s busy, trying not to get too lost in the flurry of hands prepping him, the flashing of the cameras, the shouts of directions from the camera guy as he hits pose after pose with the props on set.

It’s when he’s changing into his last outfit for the shoot that he finally has some time to sip his water bottle and mindlessly scroll through dozens of notifications, finally coming across the one notif he waited to get the entire day: Miles. His name appeared at the very bottom.

... Meaning he received the message hours ago. Shit.

With his shoot almost over, MJ punched in a quick message and hit send, excitedly returning back to the set and finishing his work day up as quickly as humanly possible.

MJ's absentmindedly agreeing that every picture the director shows him is truly amazing, yes, amazing indeed, all while trying not to vibrate out of his mind-numbingly expensive designer outfit he’s been forced into. The only person he can think about as he dumbly nods along to whatever the crew is saying to him is Miles. Miles, Miles, Miles.

Miles has agreed to finally-- finally, after all of these weeks-- meet up with him and make good on his promise. Of course, MJ's slightly miffed that it had to be him to initiate the lunch date in the end, but whatever.

Closed mouths don’t get fed, after all. And Miles was technically not breaking his promise.

So now MJ is floating back down the hallway to the makeup room, gently pushing past all of the other models and swatting away at his mother’s hands while he makes his way over to his duffle bag.

“MJ, darling. Look at me,” his mother says as she hooks a finger under his chin and examines his makeup. “Do you wanna be wearing this when you go hang out with your little friend today?”

Your little friend, MJ almost scoffs out loud, but manages to school his expression into one of pure professionalism. “Yes, mom. Nothin' wrong with it,” he answers breezily.

She hovers. "I mean, it might make your friend think that... uhm, well. You know, it might give the wrong impression. He'll think you two are on a date! You're not allowed to date."

"Sure, mom. Except he knows I'm a model. The whole city does at this point." His tone drips with teenage attitude.

She lets him go.

Then, he’s unbuttoning his shirt and untying a sparkly scarf doubling as a belt to hold up the comically baggy jeans he was assigned to wear today, impatient to shrug himself out of those clothes and jump into his own so he can finally, finally, finally run down to the little cafe he told Miles to meet him at.

His mother was busy on a tablet typing away at something, chatting with MJ's agent once he found his way over to them, and even when neither of them noticed much about MJ on any other day, it seemed they were paying special attention to the way he was throwing his clothes back on with obvious glee now.

MJ had never smiled this much around them, and they sure took note of it now.

“Heard you’re getting ready to meet with a friend, MJ,” his agent told him once he turned his attention back to his client.

“Yyyep,” MJ answered noncommittally. He threw on a coat and started to reach for his messenger bag, stopping when a hand grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

“We’re gonna keep in touch with the team, and keep updating you on the status of the shoot, but we gotta make sure you’ve got your phone on, right?” His agent looked him directly in the eye. “It’s great that you’re making friends again, Em, but you have to keep your head in the game.”

Yeah, of course. “Don’t let anything distract you from helping me make money” is what you mean, MJ thought ruefully, blinking back innocently.

He nodded and offered his agent a casual smile. “I mean yeah. He’s just a friend, I’m not gonna let that get in the way of my job. Don’t worry,” he adds, “I got my phone on. Hit me up when something cool happens.”

His agent and his mother exchange glances, but agree to release him anyways.

“I mean, he’s still a kid,” he hears his mother say as he quickly exits the room and finds his way towards the elevators. “I let him have a little fun every once in a while! The real work doesn’t start until he’s older right? Might as well let him have this for now..."

MJ rubs his thumb up and down along the edge of his phone case, feeling the bumps of the volume keys over and over.

He steps into the elevator when the doors slide open. He punches the button for the main lobby and stares down at his messages with Miles.

Yes, he thinks a bit vindictively, the real work doesn’t start until he’s older.

She definitely isn’t wrong about that.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

"You ever think about running away at all?" Hobie asked Miles rather suddenly after they got their usual greetings done and over with.

The cafe Hobie picked was cute, quaint, and very small. A nice little reprieve from the noisy halls of their school and the bustling city streets, since the business didn't seem to have any other patrons at this hour aside from the two boys.

They picked their seats right next to the window and opted to people-watch for a bit as they scrolled through the cafe's stylized menu on their phones. The lighting of the late-afternoon day illuminated Hobie in such gorgeous warm light that Miles was almost suspicious; did he pick this place specifically because the late sun's rays would bounce off of nearby skyscrapers and cast them both in the best mood lighting New York City had to offer? It sure seemed like it.

Hobie leaned back in his seat and gave Miles the most charming smile he's seen on a guy yet, erasing his suspicions from his brain entirely. And... well, anything else as well.

"Uhhh," Miles offered intelligently.

Hobie huffed a laugh in response. "It's okay, I know it's a weird question. Forget I said it."

Miles shook his head. "Wait, no. Sorry, what'd you say again? I'm, uhm. Sorry, I think I'm just a little tired. Kind of out of it,"

Hobie nodded sagely, setting his phone aside for the time being. "Hmm, late night homework, right? Essays maybe?"

They chuckled and grinned at each other cheesily, the knowledge that they shared a big secret between them settling comfortably and cozily like a fat cat curling up near a fireplace. It was nice, kinda. To be in on something that not many other people were, like an inside joke or a long-running bit between old friends.

But then Miles' earlier conversation with Ganke at the school cafeteria floated back up in his mind again and he had to bite his lip to keep from frowning suddenly. He looked down, a bit ashamed.

"Hobie--" he started.

"MJ," Hobie interrupted, chin in his hand now.

Miles looked up. "MJ. Oh, yeah. Right, sorry."

"I don't really like my given name, so no one calls me that. Just call me MJ. Or Em, even. That's what my agent calls me."

"Agent. Geez. So you didn't really answer my question earlier, back when we first met," here, Miles folded his arms on the table in front of him. "How famous are you, really?"

MJ grinned like a mischievous cat, chin still in one hand. "You've been on my Flicksta page this entire time since you found it. How famous do you think I am? Not that hard to do research nowadays, right?"

Miles felt his face heating up. "H-how'd you know about that?"

"You liked a post of mine that I made like... last year, dude. I saw."

Miles silently cursed himself out as he shut his eyes in embarrassment and winced. "Yikes. Alright, I guess you caught me. That was my bad for sure!"

MJ's grin was crooked. "Yeah, I'm... pretty well-known. Not supermodel status yet obviously, but I've been on a couple billboards. Posters, some ads. I'm training to walk some shows. Whatever." He leaned back in his seat again and messed with his sweater's sleeves a little as he spoke. Distantly, Miles noticed how expensive MJ's clothing really looked, how plush the knit of his sweater was, and the tailoring of his coat.

"Whatever," Miles echoed inquisitively. "Do you hate it? Is that why you wanna run away?"

They met eyes.

"I thought I told you to forget that question, Morales," MJ replies coolly. "It was a weird one. I dunno why I even said it,"

Miles, sensing something in the air between them, wondered if he should have changed the subject. Too bad his mouth had a less-than-stellar track record of listening to his brain.

Instead, he opened it and quietly said: "If we're gonna be friends, and if you want me to not web you up to a pole somewhere in Manhattan, I gotta know your deal."

"Mn, my deal," MJ repeated warily.

"Yeah," Miles sighed, already resigning himself to just getting this over and done with already. No time like the present, right? "You mentioned... you mentioned having a camera and connections. And you're just... weird, man. Like, no offense but you being in Central Park when you were that one time? Running away from those gang members who looked like they were gonna strangle you for takin' their flash drive away from 'em? That was super risky. Something's up."

MJ nodded, still looking apprehensive but also like he wanted to give in. "Right, I've got your big secret. Now you wanna have one of mine. Fair, I guess."

Miles shrugged helplessly. "If we're gonna be friends... I mean, it is fair, right?"

MJ glanced around at the empty seats around them, grateful that even the cashier seems to have gone to the back so that they were both totally alone together. Good spot to pick after all, he thought to himself. He kept his voice down just in case anyways.

He licked his lips and leaned his elbows on the table. "Yeah. I get it. It's a big thing you're doing for the city, y'know... doin' what you do. So here it is: I hate being a model."

Miles blinked at him, waiting for more. MJ didn't immediately being speaking again so he made a go on kind of motion with a hand.

MJ laughed a bit, shaking his head. "This is gonna be stupid. It's gonna sound so stupid! God," he rubbed the bridge of his nose with a knuckle and looked outside at a small stream of people walking past, all in a hurry to get on with whatever it was that occupied their lives.

"... About as stupid as some kid from Brooklyn putting on a costume to go out and fight crime?" Miles smiled patiently.

"Well, kinda. It was because of some punk kid from Brooklyn putting on that costume to go fight crime that I finally had the courage to like, go out there and get into my little hobby of breaking and entering, snooping around places I shouldn't, trying to help people..." MJ stopped when he saw the look on his friend's face.

"You...?" Miles started, his lips forming the shape of the words he wanted to say but not quite letting them out into the open just yet.

Did he hear that right?

As if reading his thoughts, MJ nodded. "When you took up the mantle of Spiderman after our first guy died, I took it as a sign. To like... finally just do it, right? I guess all that was left was just taking the leap, y'know what I mean?"

Miles suppressed a shudder as he nodded along, pushing Peter B's lectures out of his mind for the moment.

"I hate being a model," MJ continued, a single loc falling into his determined face, "because I wanna be a journalist. Like... an investigative journalist. But I also like science stuff as well. I guess I dunno what I really wanna be when I'm older. All I know is... I have got to get away from my overbearing mom."

"Or else," Miles finishes for him, tilting his head as if to say remember our conversation at the park?

MJ grimly confirmed it. "Or else," he replied.

Miles blew out a breath and leaned all the way back in his own seat, folding his arms over his chest. "Wow."

"Yeah, heavy stuff. I know," MJ tossed his locs back over his shoulders and glanced up at the posted menu hanging high above the register. The cashier returned from the back, placing several different pastries from a baking tray into the cafe's clean little glass display at the counter.

"Wanna...?" MJ pointed his chin at them, already pushing his chair out to get up.

"Oh, yeah. Food! Duh," Miles answered and got up to follow suit. How could he possibly forget?

The rest of their hangout goes over wonderfully after the grim conversation, all things considered. They opt to chat amicably about surface-level stuff mostly; family dynamics, friends, schoolwork and more about MJ's day job as a model.

"My mom acts like she's my agent most days, too." MJ is recounting this in between sips of his black coffee, long fingers nursing the ceramic cup he was given. "She's the one who got me into these modeling gigs in the first place. She said I had 'the look'... whatever that means. I like bein' behind the camera, though. Not in front of it," he lamented.

Miles spears some lettuce that fell out of his sandwich with the toothpick his side of pickle came with, waving it around as he talks. "Your mom sounds like the type of parent that pushes their kids around a lot. I guess I would know what that's like,"

Sensing a chance to commiserate in their shared dilemma, MJ leans forward a bit and smiles. "Your folks sounded nice when you described them. What's up?"

"I love them, and they sure do love me, but," Miles shakes his head and picks the lettuce off of his toothpick. "I dunno. They want the best for me and... sometimes it feels like nothing else matters but that."

MJ has the lower half of his face carefully hidden behind his mug when he asks: "Have you told them?"

Miles sighed, long and loud. "Yep. Yeah. They know. They do. That was... a very long story but. Anyways, yeah, after all the stuff that went down this spring, I finally had to fess up. No one else knows but you guys, though, I swear."

Miles silently patted himself on the back for managing to completely omit Ganke from the conversation. Can't give up his ace up his sleeve so soon, now can he?

MJ nods sympathetically. "I wasn't kidding, you know. Back when I told you that your secret was safe with me. You've got one of mine, so. No one else but us,"

Miles raises a pinkie over their plates and makes eye contact with him. "Pinkie promise?"

MJ's eyes flash at him.

"Duh. I never break promises," he replies, hooking pinkies together and smiling. "I'm not really in the business of ruining the life of a pretty great hero right now."

"Until it benefits you, you mean," Miles says, really only half-joking.

MJ doesn't take the bait. Instead, he deflects the best way he knows how. "Oh yeah, absolutely. If someone's out there putting a billion-dollar bounty on your head someday, you already know I'm goin' for it. What? It's a billion dollars, dude!"

They laugh together as Miles throws a piece of tomato in his direction and MJ threatens to pour the rest of his coffee onto his lap.

It felt good, felt natural. Their banter was smooth and seamless which Miles thought was a relief because very few people he encountered in life wanted to keep up with his constant sarcasm and nerdy jokes. No one else seemed to share his sense of humor except for MJ, and it made him feel a bit of warmth in his chest.

Even if they only stayed friends, he seemed to be a great companion to have nonetheless. And Miles had Ganke as backup in case anything went wrong between them. It was a daunting thing to come to terms with, the fact that such a cool guy like Hobie M. Jones had the ability to stab him behind his back at any moment's notice, or accidentally let Miles' secret double life as the crime-fighting webslinger out at the most inopportune time.

But... it wouldn't be the first time a friend has double-crossed him.

Miles wasn't stupid. He knew that letting more and more people in on his secret identity was a huge gamble, especially when it came to keeping a secret as big as this was. The risk was too high, the rewards might not even be worth it.

Worst of all, his friends could be legit and then get hurt if they ever found themselves somehow caught in the crosshairs of his other life.

... But Miles didn't want to think about that right now. That was a problem for future him. Right now, they were both too busy being what neither of their own families seemed to want them to be: a pair of carefree kids.

In this moment, MJ didn't have to worry about stifling and busy schedules arranged for him without his consent. He didn't have to worry about itchy fabrics or ill-fitting designer clothes or loud and bright cameras capturing his every move. With Miles, he could finally let loose.

And in this moment, Miles didn't have to worry about crime-fighting (for now), juggling mountains of schoolwork to please his parents, or keeping up appearances so he didn't arouse suspicions as to where he always was when he managed to slip away. With MJ, he could relax a little and enjoy the small things that always escaped his notice as he rushed this way and that, desperately trying to keep up with the chaos of his everyday life. Time seemed to slow down and speed up simultaneously when they were together.

They finished up their meal and exited the cafe, thanking the cashier and pulling on their coats to hopefully battle the frigid winter air of the city. They made their way up and down blocks, past shops and restaurants, weaving in and out of passing crowds on the sidewalk.

As they wandered aimlessly, unable to escape each other's gravitational pull for even one second, they talked some more.

They talked about Miles' art, MJ's secret science experiments in his room and how he fought his mom to get into Visions in the first place, about Miles' parents and his daily workload he usually juggles. They tried talking about Miles' start as Spiderman, but they didn't get too far along that topic before realizing there were only so many code words they could use to say what they wanted to say out loud before devolving into a fit of giggles.

They chatted about their plans after they graduate, how Miles still wants to go to Princeton and how MJ is planning on funding his own college education once he saves up enough money to leave his station in life and go wherever the wind takes him.

Miles seemed a bit sad at the thought that their friendship looked to have an eventual expiration date in the future, but there didn't seem to be anything changing MJ's mind anytime soon. After all, he didn't even know if he was going to keep in touch with Ganke once they stopped being roommates. And they ended up being pretty tight, against all odds.

So as they kept their casual pace through the city, Miles made a mental note to remember and cherish days like these as much as he could. He checked his phone for the time... this blissful moment of normalcy would have to end soon.

"So," Miles said once their long conversation eventually wound down. Their feet had taken them to a nearby subway station, the gum-covered concrete steps already beckoning them both to bid each other adieu.

"So..." MJ glanced at him, stopping them both by the railing and smiling down at his friend.

The day was drawing to a close, the sun had fully set about half an hour ago and they both needed to get out of the streets and back to their regular everyday lives. For Miles, this meant he had to get at least an hour of patrolling in before swinging back to his dorm room and getting started on his studies for their chem test on Monday.

For MJ, it meant returning back to Manhattan and steeling himself in preparation for the eventual lecture he knew he was going to get, about not staying out so late without supervision and how he didn't respond in time to his agent's texts. The usual.

"I hate to say it, but it's lookin' like we might have to say goodbye for now," Miles shrugged, hanging his head for comical effect.

MJ laughed brightly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound like you don't even wanna leave."

"You might be right about that. Wish me luck tonight, I gotta... y'know," Miles leaned casually as he could manage against the railing, shrugging a shoulder.

"Right. Do your extracurriculars,"

Miles groaned. "Yuck. Let's not call it that, please! You sound like my dad. Let's just call it my weird hobby instead."

"Okay, so I guess I gotta let you go to do your weird hobby instead, then."

"Which just so happens to be graffiti, by the way," Miles' lips quirk up mischievously, giving MJ a look as he slowly slides against the railing and places a foot on the first step. "I like to spray paint around the city every now and then... in case anyone wants to know. In case they ask."

MJ bobs his head in response, following Miles' movements. "Ah, right. Spray painting! Super cool. Anyone asks where you are, I got your back, man."

Miles' smile is as dazzling as it is endearing as he places a hand on the metal railing and lowers himself some more, unable to bring himself to cut the invisible rope anchoring him and MJ together, holding them there in that one space as a constant stream of New Yorkers climb up and down the steps beside them.

Thank you New York City, Miles finds himself thinking.

No one glanced in their direction, they were completely surrounded by people, but still alone. The lights of nearby shop signs and street lamps gave MJ a bit of a halo around his hair, and from the angle he was standing at, Miles looked up at it and believed that it made him just glow.

They gazed deeply into each other's eyes, the usual noise of the city falling easily into the background. It was just the two of them.

"... Yeah." Miles says a bit awkwardly, unable to pull away. "Yeah, that sounds... good. Great. Thanks man! You're a real one,"

MJ smiles knowingly above him. "So you might wanna head on down now. Don't wanna keep you from catching your train."

Miles grins back. "Right. My train."

"Go get 'em, Tiger." MJ responds, offering him a little salute with his fingers and finally turning away to disappear into the thick crowds that flowed up and down the city sidewalks like water.

After a little bit, Miles felt like he could breathe normally again.

He descended down.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

Miles' life went right back to normal, with a new element added in.

He still rushed through his days of back-breaking homework and tests, still tried to keep up with the crime-fighting and his family back home who kept pestering him with exclamations about how he was always late to events and get-togethers, especially as the holidays rolled around.

(His mother pulled him aside for a quick little chat on how he needs to get better at communicating where he was so that she and Jeff could make up excuses for him ahead of time)

He still gamed mindlessly with Ganke on most weekends after their school break ended and the students all traveled back to their dorms, he still texted his extra-dimensional friends whenever he was free and had a minute to spare.

But now he made some space for another special person in his life: Hobie M. Jones.

They passed notes back and forth in the classes they shared like a pair of friends back in elementary school (to avoid leaving a trail of evidence on their phones, Miles argued when he brought it up to MJ, who just laughed) and walked each other to their classes whenever they could.

But it was risky business keeping someone like MJ so close, especially if it could arouse suspicion when Spiderman happened to swoop in and save him out of the blue. Both Miles and Spiderman hovering around MJ's vicinity day in and day out could be a possible liability to contend with indeed, so Miles still tried keeping his distance whenever possible.

For what it was worth, MJ seemed to understand. He was also occasionally followed by cameras from online fans in the real world or opportunistic reporters looking to try and pry precious info of a new marketing campaign MJ happened to be a part of, so this kind of life wasn't new to him either.

Thankfully, he agreed it was best to only get together in private.

As the months flew by, exams and assignments came and went, but their friendship only flourished.

Miles found himself admitting some surprising things to MJ on late-night text conversations when he couldn't sleep and needed to hop out of his dorm window to burn some energy. He found himself doodling his friend in his sketchbook often, unable to scrub the images of his flawless modeling photos from his brain.

He found himself... doodling their names together on hastily discarded sticky notes and coming up with illegible graffiti so he can mash their names together on stickers and shamelessly slap them up onto signs, onto walls, onto bathroom stalls and stairwells and notebooks and poles and bus stops and--

Miles startled out of a reverie as he was balancing himself on a random window ledge somewhere in the city, fully suited up, sketchbook in hand as he doodled little hearts around a profile study of MJ. Tucked under the page he was working on was an embarrassing amount of stickers with his and MJ's last names on them.

God. The humiliation he would face if MJ ever got his hands on this book. His mind flashes back to the sheer embarrassment he felt back when Gwen suddenly dropped down into his room from a portal and began to leaf through his old sketchbook, finding one too many drawings of her own face in the pages.

The memories snapped him out of his weird love-induced haze and forced him to shamefully fold over the corner of the page and hide those little hearts.

First, you ran away from him after you figured out he was an MJ, now you're obsessed with him. ¿Quién te puedes entender?

The sound of Miles' conscience was taking the harsh shape of his mother's voice. Not good.

He sighed and shut his sketchbook, shoving it into his backpack that was webbed onto the wall right next to him. Crime never slept, but it did have its ebbs and flows that Miles found himself in tune with as the months went by. This hour on a Thursday evening happened to be one of the slower hours for crime fighting, it seemed.

Regardless, he yanked his bag from its sticky confines and brushed the webs off, straightening himself up from his position and mindlessly checking his phone for any pressing updates.

Finding none, and with nothing much else to do... he sent MJ a quick text.

Miles: Busy rn?

He knocked himself on the forehead for it, knowing he might regret what he was about to propose but... he couldn't get the guy out of his head. He was dreaming about MJ on the regular now, which was never a good sign. Might as well see if he was up to doing any crazy last-minute stunts since the heart seemed to want what it wanted.

The reply came almost immediately after.

MJ: Nope, just surrounded by a pile of annoying hw, why do you ask?

Miles grinned as he typed a quick reply, hit send, and shot a web up to climb to the roof of the building.

Miles: I'm thinking I'm like... about a 15 mins walk away from your place. Wanna hang? I can swing by

He can almost taste the eye roll in MJ's replies, which made him smile beneath his mask.

MJ: You're corny as hell and that's exactly why you're my friend

MJ: Just give me a few to get ready

Miles sends back an affirmative, and tucks his phone right into his bag's side pocket which he then throws over a shoulder. He turns towards the general direction that MJ's penthouse apartment is located, right over the Brooklyn Bridge.

On his way there, he rehearses all of the coolest lines he could think of, not quite hoping to impress his friend or anything, but hoping that maybe MJ won't see him for the weird dork everyone else treats him as. And... to also keep him from suspecting anything or whatever.

They've hung out together countless times before, after their initial meetup. And not once did flawless-fashionable-cool-model MJ make him feel like he was ever uncool or off-putting. Maybe that was why Miles was so infatuated with him, when it came down to it. Still a good idea to play it safe, just in case.

It would have served Miles much better if he gave this friendship an even wider berth, retained his mysterious reputation... but there was something so arresting about MJ's eyes, his mannerisms and gentleness that contrasted so sharply with his quick wit, surprising bravery and intelligence.

Miles can shoot off the wittiest lines on the planet, but at the end of the day, he was still a boy with a crush. Alas.

In the time that he vaulted around NYC as Earth-1610's Spiderman, Miles developed a knack for snappy one-liners that MJ seemed to find endearing. Whenever they were together, they often fell into good-natured jabs and quips at each other, and he was so enamoured by it.

And it seemed like they just... naturally fell into the gravity of each other's orbit often anyways. Miles would look up into a crowd anywhere at Visions and immediately be able to find MJ. Like he developed an MJ-sense alongside his own spidery ones.

Two twin stars locked in orbit, a binary system forever hurtling through space together.

God, he really needed to get it together. That was super cheesy even for him, and he watched Titanic on his laptop damn near a hundred times at this point.

The thought had him yanking on his webs much harder and flying through the late evening air just to burn off the heat that built up in his gut.

He had to quickly remind himself that regardless of whatever happened between them, he promised that he would forever cherish it all. Miles wasn't an idiot, he knew that being Spiderman put a dampener on a lot of his relationships in life. It was a constant tug-of-war between him and his parents, and Ganke often reminds him of how absent he is at school, even when he's present.

Whatever happens between him and MJ in the future is whatever happens. Miles has already made peace with the inevitability of reality, like he so often needed to in this life. No need to get his hopes up.

Sobering up, Spiderman does several somersaults in the air before attaching a web onto the corner of MJ's swanky high-rise located not too far from the bridge. He sticks to the reflective glass and lets gravity do all the work for him as he drops down a few stories, hoping he was just a quick black blur that could be chalked up to just being a bird of some kind in case anyone happened to glance out their windows.

He hasn't been over to MJ's apartment at all, but knows the building from the outside very well thanks to the two friends' prior escapades. MJ's mom was strict according to him, and after sneaking them both out of the window to go to a mall or hang out at a park, swing around the city a bit and then drop MJ off back home, Spiderman was well acquainted with his bedroom window as a result.

He finds it again effortlessly and hangs upside down by a web, slowly lowering himself into view.

MJ's eyes light up immediately upon seeing him. He perks up, gets up from his computer chair to carefully lock the bedroom door and moves right back to his window.

"Well hello there, Spiderman! Glad you could make it." MJ smiles warmly, keeping his voice down. "Sorry, mom and the team are in the living room and I just told her I'm lockin' myself in here to study as hard as I can. Finals coming up and all... but we don't have too much time."

"Which is why you're only stepping out for a bit of air, right? Real quick, I promise." Spiderman replies good-naturedly. "It'll help clear your head."

MJ huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "Where would I be without you?"

"It's Spiderman's job to help all of the citizens of New York... and you look like you could use it, so,"

MJ slides his window open even wider, already throwing a leg over the sill. "My hero."

Together, they drop down a few stories, just free-falling and enjoying the chill of the late evening for a few seconds, shrouded by the dusk's descent that was already darkening the vast sky above them.

MJ gasps breathlessly when Spiderman shoots out a web and sends them sailing over congested streets filled to the brim with cars and trucks, over tall street lamps and past bright digital billboards advertising all kinds of products.

They zoom past more buildings, arcing gracefully around corners. At one point, MJ dares to loosen a grip on Spiderman's shoulders and splay his fingers out against the wind.

They fly together like birds for a minute more, soaring through the air and then rounding right back on the path they carved into it so Spiderman could deposit his friend right back home.

MJ said they didn't have much time, right? And Miles was satisfied with their short little hangout anyhow. He got his hands on his crush, had him clinging onto his arms and his neck the entire time they were airborne. It was getting late and he had to head back to Visions himself as well.

"Take me up to the roof real quick," MJ pants into his ear. Miles tries very hard not to think too much about that as he wordlessly follows orders and makes a beeline for the roof access.

Together, they land near the edge, overlooking the concrete jungle that was Manhattan, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings that seemed to reach up to heavens, still much taller than MJ's own building.

It was a miracle they weren't seen together, but that might've been because of the glitter and glitz of the city night all around them. New Yorkers never really looked up anyways.

Below them, the traffic and the bustle of the city continued at its usual pace; a constant thrum of vibrations, sounds and lights as they flowed up and down the streets like blood cells traveling through veins.

Both boys leaned their elbows onto the roof's raised edge and peered all around them, enjoying their temporary peace, catching their breath.

"I'm real glad I met you, you know?" MJ says, uncharacteristically sincere. His face was an open door now, but he was still unable to meet Spiderman's eyes.

Miles thought it might be appropriate to keep his mask on for now.

"Man, I only swung us around for like a few minutes. You don't need to confess your love for me, I'll take a thanks as payment. That's all." He joked but still tried to keep the sarcasm light. Didn't want to ruin the moment, after all.

MJ offered a crooked smirk at that, but then sobered up again. "Nah, really, man. I mean it. I'm not sure where I'd be right now if I hadn't transferred over to Visions and literally bumped into you. Crazy how life works like that, huh?"

"Right, especially since you were my biggest fan before that," Miles reminds him. "Serendipity or whatever."

MJ nods slowly. "Serendipity. Yeah... exactly. Sorry. What did you just say?"

Caught off guard, Miles hesitates for a bit. Play dumb, Morales!

"Uhh, what did I just say?"

MJ laughs, punching Miles on the arm before folding his own arms over his chest. "I was a fan of the old Spiderman before you came along. When he died..." he averts his eyes, studying his shoes. "Yeah, that sucked. But then you came along out of the blue... anyways. I just took it as a sign, that's all."

Miles dramatically wilts against the side of the roof. "Daaamnn, bro. I just swung you around the city for a bit! I gave you a free ride, and I don't even get to be your favorite? I see how it is."

MJ bursts out laughing. "Don't worry, Spiderman," he says, holding up his hands placatingly. "You're on your way to replacing him soon enough! Keep giving me those free rides. And uh... thanks," he finishes lamely, raising his hand to shoot his friend a salute. "Yeah. Thanks. For this."

They smile sheepishly at each other for a few seconds and Miles swears he's going to start roasting alive in his suit pretty soon from the way the warmth in his chest was radiating outward towards every limb.

Butterflies were swirling inside of his gut and he swears he can hear the sappy music from a romance movie Miles watched recently playing somewhere near them. Maybe now was the time to... stop avoiding his feelings? Take that leap of faith, right?

He's done it many times before. This time was probably no different than any other time where he's been thrown way out of his comfort zone only to be kinda glad it happened, in retrospect.

He opened his mouth and started to speak at the same time MJ did.

"So, Em--"

"Uh, so--"

They jumped in unison, wide eyes meeting wide lenses. MJ dipped his head.

"Oh, sorry I was--" Miles chuckled, bopping his forehead with a hand. "S-sorry, what were you gonna say?"

He winced at the jarring awkwardness of it all. The sappy music went silent, the mood thoroughly ruined.

"Oh, well, uh--" MJ looked just as flustered as Miles felt. "N-nah, sorry, I was just gonna say that... that it's been a little while now. So I should probably be heading back," he gestured awkwardly over his shoulder towards the side of the building, trailing off.

"Riiiight, right. Yeah, duh. Of course. Just, uh," Miles turns so his back is facing his friend, gesturing at it as if to say hop on. "Lost track of time, I guess. My bad,"

"What were you gonna say?" MJ asks, right next to Miles' ear as always.

Silently, Miles tucks that part of himself away again for later.

He was really 100% willing to risk it all and go for it, just fully display all of that for a measly chance at getting to date the most popular kid at school right now, and one of the coolest people that he's ever met. He would kick himself if he weren't carrying him right there on his back.

What a stupid idea, Miles. Real dumb, even for you.

In a fraction of a second, he stuffs his emotions right back down in him. Time and place. Not the time, not the place, he reasons. They'd just met a few months ago, and they got off on a pretty rocky start. It just wasn't the time to be making such rash decisions. Yeah, that was it.

"Nah, forget it. I think I was just gonna ask if you wanted to come with me and Ganke to our favorite comic shop this weekend, but that's a dumb question--"

MJ suddenly squeezed his hands tighter around Miles' shoulders. "Duh! It's a dumb question because the answer is obviously yes, of course."

"You like comic books!? Since when?" Miles exclaimed in shock.

"I'm beating you as the top student in chem class right now. You are not nerdier than me. Stop playin' with me." MJ grumbles grumpily. He digs his chin vindictively into Miles' shoulder.

Miles' loud bark of laughter echoed off the rooftop as he takes a running leap towards the ledge, hops on it and promptly sends them plummeting several stories down.

MJ's cry echoed around them even louder.

After about a minute or so, MJ's back inside of his room and they're both trying very hard to suppress laughter so hard that their cheeks hurt and they're crying tears.

Thankfully, outside of the bedroom door, MJ's family never heard a thing.

[makingshortstorieslong]

Merry Christmas!

Have a very silly Christmas-y short story!

Last year, I was inspired by this post to write a story for @milk-lover. This year I finally went back and edited out some typos, and I wanted to share it with everyone for the holidays.

Heads up that due to it being written as a gift there will be some references in here that aren't going to be meaningful or make sense to a general audience, but I don't think they detract from the overall story (which isn't honestly intended to make much sense even without the references.) (Also if you know me you very possibly also know @milk-lover and will get the references!)

And so without further ado, I present to you, in a little over 3,000 words:

The Daring Adventures of Milk-Lover in

The Dairy Dystopia

Three days out from Christmas, Leslie ran out of milk.

“For fuck’s sake.” They half-slammed the empty carton on the counter, beside the mug it had failed to fill.

Any other day of the year, if they went to pour from the half-gallon carton in the fridge and discovered it yielded less than a quarter cup – not enough for cereal, not enough for hot chocolate, not even enough to charge their phone – they would have simply shrugged and added ‘milk’ to the grocery list, and done without until the next shopping trip.

But it was almost Christmas, and Santa Claus was on its way.

They had to have enough milk.

They groaned at themself. They should have been more careful. They’d set up the cookies yesterday. But when it came to the milk, they had just glanced into the fridge and seen that there was still a carton in there, and one not due to expire until the 27th. They hadn’t touched it in days – of course they didn’t remember how much was in it.

They downed the minimal layer of liquid in the mug in one gulp. It was pointless to save it. That amount didn’t even come halfway to meeting Santa’s requirement.

They’d have to go back out for milk.

Leslie bundled up in both their coats, a hat, and a face mask. The sun had gone down in the time between their return from work and their disappointing dairy-free discovery, so they needed to dress to face the cold and snow.

Of course, snow didn’t really fall here anymore. After New Year’s Day, the weather would get back to the regularly scheduled 60 degree Fahrenheit winter. But the town had splashed out for a couple weeks of WinterWonderland™ climate control system. It was kind of nice by light of day - the snow in the sunlight made everything look bright and clean. But to maintain it, they had to turn on the snow-makers and turn down the temp every night.

Leslie walked with their head bent against the manufactured wind, unsure if they more-so regretted that they didn’t possess gloves or that they did possess fingers as the chill stole all feeling from their extremities in the hour-long walk. They passed a dozen other corner stores and supermarkets in that time, all of which certainly sold milk, but none of which met Leslie’s needs. There was only one place for Leslie to buy dairy products. They considered themselves highly fortunate it wasn’t even more difficult to get to.

At last, with their hands jammed up under their arms for warmth, they came to the last turn in their journey. They imagined the moment they would step gratefully into the heated interior of the store. Maybe they’d even buy a hot chocolate along with the milk, and take a minute to savor the warmth before once again facing the artificial outdoor cold.

They turned the corner, and their dreams evaporated.

It couldn’t be… the corner store… the little semi-independent corner store, that still employed a human cashier out of some sense of retro charm… where you could still buy a half gallon of milk and a dozen eggs and whatever horrible new flavor the sick fucks at Oreo had dreamed up last without once consenting to share your biometric data with the corporations that had produced them all. The shop that had even taken cash up until two years ago. The only shop in town that would sell Leslie open-source dairy…

It was gone.

It had been there the last time they bought milk. But now, in its place, stood a Walmart Mini™.

Too cold to do otherwise, Leslie moved through their frustration and dismay down the street and into the store.

If nothing else, at least it was warm in there. They unzipped their jackets, and took stock of the situation.

They were alone. No other shoppers stood in the aisles. The cashier was gone, replaced by motion-sensitive cameras that followed Leslie through the store, and a self-scan checkout.

The bones of the shop were still there. The store had had the same layout as long as Leslie had known it. It wouldn’t last much longer now; WalMinis™ were contractually obligated to rearrange every so often, in a bid to confront consumers with new goods and perhaps coax them into buying something new, something extra, more than what they came in for.

But for now, Leslie walked straight-forwardly to the refrigerator at the back, the place they had come routinely the past three years for every milk run.

Maybe it would be okay. Maybe they still had to sell out of the old shop’s stock before switching fully to WalProducts™. Sure, Leslie would have to find a new source for accessible dairy moving forward, but at least they’d be able to get their Christmas deliveries tonight.

The refrigerator itself looked the same as ever. The products within it, however, had changed.

It was here.

Two-factor authentication enabled milk.

Leslie pulled a face at the words on the label. “Enabled”. Yeah, right. Two-factor authentication mandated milk was more like it. There was no way to opt-out.

Since dairy had become so valuable with the invention of lactose-based electricity, it only made sense to the people selling it that the people buying it should prove they had paid for what they used. It wouldn’t do to let people run around wildly, stealing each other’s milk. So two-factor authentication was the simple solution. You buy the milk; then, any time you want to open it to use it, you simply use your smartphone to prove that you’re the one who bought it.

For most people, it wasn’t a problem. Everyone had the Google Account they’d made in kindergarten. It was easy as pie to follow the link on the milk carton, log in to your Google Account with ID, password, thumbprint, and retina scan, click the button to send the One Time Password, miss the text notification with the One Time Password because your phone’s messages were muted, send a new One Time Password, check your messages and see the first one, enter the first one, be confronted by a blaring alert accusing you of stealing your own identity for entering the wrong number, do the CAPTCHA in which you identified which pictures showed men who’d never in their lives stopped to look at the moon, re-log in, get a new One Time Password, and finally, verify your identity with the milk’s receipt-of-purchase to send a wireless signal from your phone to the Bluetooth enabled milk carton cap so that it would open up.1

(1 If this sounds more complicated than implied by ‘easy as pie’, it’s possible you’re interpreting that analogy in terms of eating pie. There are a lot of steps in most pie recipes!)

The point is, as long as your phone was charged so you could use it, it was easy to access the TFA required to open your carton of milk to charge your phone. People around the world used TFA every day, usually several times.

Leslie, however, was locked out of Google two-factor authentication.

The thing was, they had liked their little old iPhone 34. It fit in their hand and in their pocket. The camera was good enough for what they needed. Sure, the holographics looked more like something out of Star Wars than modern technology, but it was a vibe.

So when the iPhone 35 came out, they hadn’t upgraded. Nor had they upgraded for the iPhones 36, 37, 38, or 38Ultra.

After the release of the iPhone 39, they’d received a warning. The software on their iPhone 34 would soon cease to be supported, and they would be unable to update it. They had expected that. They had done some research. Once new hardware was in wide circulation, it was only natural for software support for older models to fizzle out. It was something like having a technological disability – not always easy to live with, but manageable with the proper considerations. They were willing to take on that challenge. They would update one day, but not yet.

The part they hadn’t anticipated was that they would lose the ability to update the Google software on their phone as well. Eventually, they couldn’t use it at all. And when Google was disabled on their phone, and they went more than a month without using their Google Account, they found that they were locked out of it, no matter what device they attempted to access it from. Reactivating the account would take more time, effort, and money to fully prove their identity to reclaim their data than they had to spare.

So Leslie lived the life of the technologically disabled, with an outdated iPhone and no Google Account. Some things, they did the old-fashioned way, forgoing whatever apps would make it slightly more convenient. Other things, though alarmingly few, offered their own proprietary takes on TFA as an option in addition to the usual Google Account based one. Leslie had a whole folder on that same iPhone 34 devoted to TFA apps for various services.

But dairy TFA all went through Google.

They sighed.

If they couldn’t leave milk and cookies out for Amazon Santa Claus™, none of the gifts they had ordered would be delivered. As a condition of the premium delivery service, users had to provide cookies on the local server with the information the automated delivery drone needed to complete its delivery, and milk to recharge it enough to move on to the next delivery. Without them, it would quickly skip over Leslie’s house, holding the presents they’d already paid for hostage.

Maybe they could just… break the milk open. Sure, they’d get fined, and maybe get banned from the WalMini™, but it was a distant branch on the mega-corporation family tree that connected it to Amazon Santa Claus Delivers. Even if breaking the milk open eventually had repercussions for their Amazon usage, it would take some time for those consequences to come into effect.

Still. There would be consequences, sooner or later. It was impossible for Leslie, unversed in corporate rule-dodging as they were, to predict what they would be exactly.

Physically breaking open the milk would have to be the last resort. There had to be another option.

They weren’t the tech savviest guy on the planet. Sure, they used Firefox with a host of extensions to browse the web, and had installed a DreamCatcher by their bed to block most of the D wave ads and avoid subscribing to Microsoft Sleep Premium™, but they’d followed directions online for both of those. And both of those were legal, for now, and technically freely available even if the corporations did their best to bury the info online deep in a mess of AI-genned search results.

But by-passing two-factor authentication…

They imagined they’d need to go to the DarkNet to even get an idea of who to ask to help with that.

Well. Desperate times.

Leslie bought a gallon of TFA-enabled milk. Usually they went for a half-gallon, but they figured they may as well make it worth their effort. After they got it open once, they could pour it into analog water bottles and dispose of the milk jug.

The walk home was even colder and more desperate. Leslie managed it in forty-five minutes, hugging the milk to their chest, their mind racing even faster than their legs.

Alone in their apartment, they hurled the milk into the fridge and slammed the door.

Then they slammed themself down into their chair, turned on their computer, and opened a private window.

An hour into their search, they found a forum: Posts that Say Milk dot com. A banner across the top of the web page read: We Are All Citizens of Milk.

There was an array of different pages available with posts about different topics: recipes involving milk, debates about different kinds of milk, milk memes… At the end of the list was a tab labeled ‘milk help’. It sounded promising.

Leslie clicked it.

A long list of posts appeared, each with a title in large letters, saying attention grabbing things like: Help! Drank One Month Expired Milk! and Brother Keeps Drinking All the Milk Before I Can Charge My Headphones, How to Stop Him?

None of the problems sounded like theirs.

Then they noticed the sidebar. The site hosted a few voice-only chatrooms, where nothing was recorded and voices were automatically disguised for privacy. The text on the sidebar suggested, “If you have any problems that are too *much* to put in writing, bring them here to talk to one of our dedicated mods!”

They put on their headphones and entered the Milk Tech Help chatroom.

It was quiet when Leslie arrived. There were two mods present, but that was the only information the screen showed. There was nothing else to see or hear.

“Hello?”

A picture appeared – an avatar of a black and white rat. “Hello. What brings you here?”

“I have a bit of a milk problem.”

“You want the addictions chatroom,” said the other mod, represented as they spoke by the avatar of a purple dog.

“No, not that kind of problem. It’s – I bought milk tonight. But I don’t have access to my Google Account anymore. So I can’t open it.”

The purple dog avatar made a knowing sound. “You want unauthenticated milk access.”

Leslie hesitated. It sounded so blunt put that way. But it was the truth. “Yes.”

“You know of course that that violates Google’s terms of service.”

“I know.”

“Well. If you know the risk you’re running, I do know someone who might be able to help.”

“You do?” asked the rat avatar.

“Well. Not personally. But I know someone who knows someone.” There was the faint sound of typing on a keyboard. “Just wait a moment.”

They waited.

Then there was a soft chime as a fourth person entered the voice-chat. “So you have a problem for my contact, hmm?” asked a low, grizzled voice.

“I guess so,” Leslie said.

“Who is your contact, anyway?” asked the rat avatar.

“They call her The Milk Lover,” the enigmatic newcomer said.

“No way,” breathed the rat avatar.

“Yes way,” said the purple dog. “I thought you might have heard of her.”

“I sure have. I heard she used to be –“ the rat avatar’s voice dropped so low that Leslie had to strain to hear – “a streamer.”

Leslie shuddered. Streaming had been outlawed for twenty years. “Can I ask – I mean, um… do you know what she streamed?”

“Old video games,” said the purple dog. “You know Minecraft?”

“No?”

“No, you’re probably too young. It was a classic. Anyway. Yes, she was a streamer. She used to blog, too. She’s seen things on the internet you and I can only imagine.”

The latecomer laughed. “She and I both. I’d say if anyone can crack open your corporate-controlled carton, it’ll be her. But I should warn you – you may find her a little… odd.”

“O- odd?”

The purple dog sighed. “You’re scaring the kid, Chad.”

Leslie found their voice. “I’m not a kid,” they said. “I’m – well. I’m a milk lover, too. How can I talk to her?”

Chad chuckled. “You’ve heard of Tumblr?”

“The old microblogging platform?” the rat avatar asked. “It’s dead.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Leslie said.

“Yes, you have. You might not know it, but you have. Traces of its meme culture are laced through the entire structure of the internet. And I wouldn’t call it dead, exactly. I’d call it undead.”

“This is why I had to contact Chad,” the purple dog avatar said. “I can’t get in touch with the Milk Lover directly because I don’t go on that site, and its the only site she uses.”

The rat avatar asked exactly the question on Leslie’s mind. “How can a website be undead?”

“Simple. When staff finally called it quits on the sinking ship their site had become, some of the users stepped in. Not many of them, and not uniformly. It’s a loose network of a website, riddled with potholes, individually configured to each user’s specifications on their own little domain. But the connection is still there. The community for those determined souls who remained is still alive. It’ll die one day, when we do. There’s no way to find the site through any search engine. No new blood starting new blogs. But we persist.”

“Then how am I supposed to get on this tumblr to talk to the Milk Lover?”

“It’s simple,” Chad said. “All you need - “ there was the sound of typing - “is this invite link.”

Leslie watched the screen, waiting for a notification that something had been sent in the Posts About Milk website’s chat.

Instead, their phone chimed.

They picked it up, shaking slightly.

They had a message from an unidentifiable number. It was just a blue hyperlink that read milk here.

When Leslie looked back up to the screen, Chad was gone, and the purple dog avatar had gone off-line.

“Man,” the rat avatar breathed. “This is actually exactly what I signed up for when I started modding, but I still didn’t think it would really be like this. You good?”

“I think so? I guess – I’m gonna go talk to the Milk Lover.”

“Best of luck. Stay safe. Use up your milk before it goes bad.”

“You, too.” Leslie disconnected from the voice-chat and closed out of Posts That Say Milk.

They moved the hyperlink over from their phone to their monitor and opened it.

The screen filled instantly with a blur of black fur and sharp white teeth and red mouth. On edge as they already were, the sight of it set Leslie’s heart pounding. It took a few cycles of the images to realize it was a rotating set of photos of a black cat, always in motion, always mid-bite.

Scrolling down from that header image revealed a series of white rectangles covered in black text. It appeared to be encrypted somehow, scrambled to the sight of anyone who wasn’t a logged-in Tumblr user. Tumlrite? Tumblerina? Leslie didn’t know what word the denizens of this impossible undead website would use to describe themselves. Or possibly the text wasn’t encrypted digitally, but rather written in a particular code or dialect intelligible only to the die-hard Tumblroo.

There was no indication that any other user was viewing the page, or that there was any kind of communication ability on this page at all, but suddenly, the voice of the Milk Lover was in Leslie’s headphones, cutting right to the chase. “So you want to bypass two-factor authentication.”

“Yes.”

“Right. Send me a scan of your milk.”

Leslie fetched the jug from the fridge. Using the 3D scanner on their phone, they captured the milk jug’s image from all angles. Then they moved the files over to their computer and sent them.

“Hmm.” On the screen, the milk jug spun around as the Milk Lover clicked it and observed it. “Send me the receipt.”

Leslie did so.

“Hmm,” she said again. “Not the easiest nut to crack. You’ll have to give me a minute.”

Leslie waited. Minutes passed. The only sounds were from the Milk Lover’s end of the line, and they were all mysteries to Leslie. The clacking sound was certainly a keyboard, but the squishing, squeaking, and, once, quiet shrieking, were all unidentifiable. They thought they heard, at a distance, as though the headset with the microphone had been removed from the wearer’s mouth “Marcy! Stop that!” but they had no idea what that meant or how it related to opening up their milk.

There was a shuffling kind of noise, and then a sigh into the mic. Leslie guessed the Milk Lover had put her headphones back on.

They cleared their throat. “You, uh.” They didn’t know exactly where this sentence was going, but in the silence, they felt they had to say something. They could only hope it would be a good idea. “You really like milk, huh?”

A hush fell over the line.

Leslie was seized with the sudden soul-shattering conviction that they’d blown it.

“Read my url out to me.”

“Uh. It says ‘milk lover’.”

“Right. I think that answers your question.” The typing sounds resumed.

Leslie resumed their silent, anxious waiting.

Their phoned chimed.

It was a message from Santa Claus. Their delivery was now scheduled for 3:28 am.

The milk had to be out and ready by that time. They twisted their hands nervously in their lap, wishing there was anything more they could do.

At last, the Milk Lover made a satisfied noise, making Leslie sit up right.

“Hold your phone up to the milk cap,” she ordered.

Leslie did so.

With a twist and a hiss, the milk jug unsealed.

Leslie smiled, the kind of pure, unintentional smile of relief that you can’t stop if you want to. “It’s open,” they breathed. “It worked!”

The voice on the other end remained calm and business-like, but Leslie thought it maybe sounded a little proud, too. “Glad to hear it.”

“Thank you,” Leslie said, sincere gratitude evident in their voice. “This means so much to me.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Can I ask one question?”

“You just did. You can ask one more, though, if you want.”

“Why did you do this? Why help me?”

The answer came immediately and unreservedly: “Because everyone deserves milk.”

Without another word, the connection dropped.

Leslie was alone again, with their now opened jug of milk.

They checked the time. 3:25 am.

They jolted to their feet, and flew to the counter, where the Amazon Deliveries glass sat waiting. Hands shaking faintly with adrenaline, they hastily poured the milk, bringing it level with the pre-measured line. They gripped the glass in both hands and, leaving the milk jug open on the counter behind them, carried it out to their apartment building’s doorstep, where they’d designated the landing zone.

As they set the milk down, they thought they heard a quiet noise. Their breath caught. They leapt for the door, and slammed it behind them. They sank to the floor and listened.

Yes – it was the unmistakable sound of sleigh-bells and drone rotors.

Santa Claus had arrived.

Leslie waited with bated breath. They heard faintly the ‘ding!’ of the drone connecting to the local network and downloading the cookies they had left out for it. Then more whirring, more jingling as it flew as directed to the landing zone. The thump of the package settling on the floor was followed by the sipping sounds of milk through the drone’s straw and into the charger. It sucked until it drew air. Then the rotors’ whirring resumed, and Santa jingled off to the next delivery.

When all was quiet, Leslie slipped outside. There on the doorstep was a bag, containing all the gifts they had chosen for their family and friends this year.

Beside it was the empty glass of milk.

Leslie breathed a sigh of relief. Christmas was saved, thanks to the Milk Lover.

- The End -

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone! Thanks for reading <3 Go drink some milk

[whack-patty]

erm okay like hear me out? ruby x clay calloway. i know, it's so crazy like who whould've thought they could ever date. such a crazy crack ship i know ahaha. what if you. what if you like. ahha. what if you like 🥺 *instantaneously dies*

(my fave t4t couple)

Gosh dang I love a rarepair

[katiekatdragon27]

More Flatland stuffff~~~

[Cursive transcript: I'm so sorry this is so sudden, but I had to keep my Chosen safe!]

So, uh, the 4th dimension, am I right?????

So, on my last post, people were more interested in A. Tesseract than I thought. I did not expect her to stir so much interest, but here you go lol.

More under the cut lol / lots of notes:

Some basic information on 4th dimensional beings:

They refer to themselves as "hypersolids" and "polytopes". Only Tesseracts prefer a different name than just "hyper(insert shape here)". When talking to other dimensional beings, they call themselves "Spacelanders".

They usually keep their eyes closed, and they do not emote much.

Their bodies naturally morph as they talk. They are also partially transparent, so you can see their inside movements. Not organs or anything, but the next emotions or actions they are going to express. Sort of like key frames or a fade in effect.

They call "Spacelanders" "Heightlanders".

Their civilization is located in space. They are able to breathe through little pockets of air on their rings that recharge when they enter the atmosphere of other plants. (This is why they are spotted relatively frequently)

Buildings are constantly moving spirals. They also fly everywhere, so they require a lot of energy to maintain their health. Luckily, any stars nearby tend to charge them up just fine.

Also, everyone goes by they/them along with another pronoun if they choose. Gender constructs be damned (or certain groups are fighting for that).

There will be more once I think of it, but that's what I have in the world-building department right now.

Some basic information on Angelica "A." Tesseract (she/they):

She tends to say "I'm sorry" after anything they might think could have been of inconvenience or offensive.

They are relatively soft-spoken, but they are incredibly smart compared to her peers.

Her quiet nature causes others to disrespect and step all over her.

She overthinks LITERALLY EVERYTHING. You could tell her something that is even the slightest bit vague and they have the chance of spiraling.

She KNOWS there are more than four dimensions, but they are struggling to prove it with science.

They are much more emotional compared to other hypersolids. They tend to cry easily.

She chose A. Sphere because of his confidence and drive to get his points across. They admire him for that.

Some basic information on A. Sphere in this:

He's much less snarky. His whole vision of the world was destroyed in the blink of an eye, and he's stuck in another world completely unknown to him. He's going though it currently.

He's still blunt about everything. If you suck, he'll tell you. If you are cool, it'll take a little longer, but he'll tell you.

He got his eye busted after the attack on Messiah Inc. When getting removed from "Heightland", his eye got caught in the blow last minute and it got damaged. He can still open it slightly, but he can't see out of it.

He was relatively indifferent to seeing his body transparent. He was more worried about his eye injury over anything else.

At first, he did not like A. Tesseract (cuz kidnapping), but he learns to appreciate the gesture and does his best to help her out.

[Cursive transcript: For now, I'm afraid so... sorry. / I'm so sorry. If I was just a but faster, I could have saved your eye.]

Yeah, their friendship starts out really rough.

A. Sphere adjusted to the environment very poorly at first. He was very standoffish and snappy, but it then soured to just sorta feeling sad all the time. He gets better eventually the more he learns about the world, but it takes a lot of effort out of A. Tesseract to get him there.

I mean, he expected to die, lost his eye, everyone in "Heightland" hates him now, he lost his business and research, and he fails to take the blame for anything for a while. I would also be super pissed and sad.

A. Tesseract was not any better. She feels an incredible amount of guilt for not stepping in in time to prevent A. Sphere's eye damage, and she constantly apologies to him for everything. This sucks for A. Sphere since he finds it super annoying.

[Cursive transcript: N. H.Sphere: You weren't supposed to bring them HERE! / A. Tesseract: I'm sorry, I had to save him- / N. H.Sphere: I should fire you-!]

N. H.Sphere is a mega grouch. He is A. Tesseract's boss who treats her terribly. Discrediting her work, ignoring their research, and just not valuing her opinion cuz women, he is not fun to talk to or just be around in general. No one knows how HR lets him stay in charge, but some theorize that he pays them off or something.

Despite all of the traumatic crap A. Sphere has gone though in this story, he still does not stand for disrespect from anyone. When he learns that A. Tesseract is constantly being pushed around by her bitchy boss, he decides to defend her.

This solidifies their friendship and later science partnership when the story ends. This also makes N. H.Sphere more resentful towards both A. Tesseract an A. Sphere. This leads to A. Tesseract actually getting fired from her job. Thanks A. Sphere.

[Cursive transcript: N. H.Sphere: Why are you so scared? He's fine! / A. Tesseract: It's my un-medicated anxiety!!]

One of the downsides of being in the 4th dimension and living in space is that the gravitational pull is super sporadic with no real patterns. Some areas have super powerful gravity while others have zero. 4th dimension beings have learned to adjust perfectly fine.

The pressure changes and general lack of oxygen negatively impact A. Sphere's body, however, so to help him be okay, he sits in those vacuum boxes that allow for added pressure to be put on him to help even his breathing. He usually isn't put in unless he is fading in and out of consciousness, since he hates the confined space. It freaks out A. Tesseract every time it happens.

Her boss thinks she's stupid for worrying so much and using company tech. A. Tesseract worries more for A. Sphere than keeping her job, so she ignores N. H. Sphere.

[Cursive transcript: Care to see him again?]

Outside of the partial angst and stuff, this dimension is the reason why A. Sphere shows up in A. Square's hallucination.

During A. Square's trauma-induced hallucination, he shows up in the 4th dimension briefly with the Monarch of Pointland. A. Sphere and A. Tesseract take notice, and she offers him the ability to talk to A. Square one last time for closure reasons.

In this version, this scene would be longer, with A. Sphere possibly apologizing for denying the existence of the 4th dimension and not being able to assist A. Square in the way he wanted to. It's more wholesome and conclusive than transactional like in the movie. The other stuff is there too, but having more sentimental moments would be so cool.

----------

I am very sorry how messy these particular doodles are, I was drawing all these super late at night during my shift, so I was not paying much attention to the flow of the images. When the inspo hits, you don't really realize how incohesive they are until you start photographing the images to post lol

Thank you once again for reading this whole thing, and have a wonderful day :)

[hammysamhah]

i had an idea and i RAN with it

i made this just for funnies okay i just noticed the similarities….

more photos for this au vv

could you imagine dad Krupp LOL

[oldfashionedmorphine]

on the same frequency

📝 by @oldfashionedmorphine

🎨 by @kaiminluu

pairing: will byers/mike wheeler

rating: mature

word count: 57k

tags: alternate universe, not canon compliant, major character death, graphic depictions of violence, grief/mourning, ptsd, blood and injury, supernatural elements, time shenanigans, butterfly effect, thriller, emotional manipulation, abuse, grooming, implied/referenced suicide, angst with a happy ending

summary:

Ever since his best friend Will Byers was murdered back in 1985, Mike Wheeler wanted nothing more than to leave his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana and never look back—only each and every year he’s forced to make an exception when it comes to the holidays. And when Mike visits for Christmas in 1995, his mom asks him to help clear out some junk in his room and down in the basement before he returns home to Indianapolis. But when he comes across an old trunk containing his Supercom walkie-talkie and ham radio, he discovers something strange that has the potential to change everything…

(or an AU based on the movie Frequency from 2000)

➜ read it here!

➜ check out the art!

🎶 soundtrack 🎶

✨ chapter moodboards/previews ✨

ch1 | ch2 | ch3 | ch4 | ch5 | ch6 | ch7

special thank you to the @bylerbigbang mods for hosting this event!

tagging:

@greenfiend @total-serene560 @across-thestars @boahey @magentamee @daydreams-in-the-moonlight @soyboystan @foodiewithdahoodie @booksandpaperss @likegoldintheair @mandycantdecide @hazmatazz @sparks-olivarpente @1-tehe-1 @karenchildress @rebellius @maru-chu @septembr-moon @kamomillatea @trvbblemaker