#m!a: why worry?

[librarygf]

hilarious in retrospect

[spacedlexi]

i thought we were gonna kiss up here are you still not over your dead girlfriend

[theminecraftbee]

hermit horror week day 3: season 5 or chase

Hypno pants, grabbing the last cooked pork chop he'd managed to pilfer from Jevin's shop at spawn and tearing into it with his teeth. He's bleeding from his forehead, and he's hungry, but he can't stop running yet. The distant howling is forever getting closer, and the moment they flush him into a plains or a desert or anywhere else open, he's dead. So he has to eat the pork chop now.

Still, that brings his supplies down to an apple he managed to pick up off the ground, three arrows, a flame bow he'd had on him for a minigame, and a fully-enchanted pair of shears named "shearly beloved" that he'd managed to steal at about the same time he'd stolen the pork chop. He's not going to get any of it back.

They've chased him thousands of blocks from spawn, and if there's anywhere they're going to have guarded to stop him from doubling back to, it's there.

If he were... whatever made his friends into this...

There's more howling. His feet are dead. He's in a dark oak forest, so it will be hard for the beasts to catch him, but--he's being herded. He knows he is.

Some of the hermits are beasts now. Some of them--aren't. Some of them are smarter. Those are the ones that are leading the pack.

Those are the ones he's scared of.

He hears more howling in the distance. His heart is pounding. He doesn't know how long he's been running for. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep running. But, distantly, he hears footsteps and howling and the gnashing of teeth, and he knows instinctively that he can't stay here.

He takes a moment to assess his surroundings. He takes another minute to thank Tango-from-Before. Without Decked Out 2, Hypno thinks he would have been caught long before now. He doesn't know what happens when he's caught, except for the fact the first time one of them who became a beast caught up with him, it bit his shoulder, and the wound hasn't stopped bleeding, no matter how many pork chops he ate.

"Pork Chop Power," he mutters to himself like a mantra. Might as well; that was his last one. Then, he runs through the trees, whipping past mushrooms and dark oak branches, occasionally changing directions and doubling back on himself.

Nearby, a fox sees him and darts into a burrow. If only; he'd been driven away from any bases very early on. If he could burrow his way into a base, he could defend himself.

It's where he's trying to get. None of them chasing him should know that. He's trying to find a base. He knows there are remnants this direction, of things like Bdubs's gates or Etho's village. He doesn't know if they remember that, though. He's hoping they don't, and he can get into one of them, and then--

And then--

It's a good question. He's lost his communicator, and he's not sure how he's going to get console access while barricaded inside. He'll figure it out, though. He's good at figuring out things like that.

Another howl.

He doesn't have time to do it now, though. Not when he hasn't had more than twenty minutes of downtime in several days before a beast catches up with him and he has to run again. Not when he can barely catch his breath before sprinting again. He's going to be out of sprint. He's nearly out of arrows.

The howling, the howling, the howling, and he can't run much longer. But he has to. He hasn't seen any of his friends as themselves in so long. And he's an admin; next to Xisuma, not to toot his own horn or anything, he's the best. If he can get enough time to get console access, then he can figure out how to restart the server, restore their player data from backups, and fix this.

His heart pounds. He stumbles over a rock, scraping his hands. The howling follows him. They're--fifteen minutes behind him, maybe? Maybe twenty? He can't rest that long. He needs a longer lead than that. They're always closer than he thinks they are.

And the ones in charge, the ones who can think... they've been trying to drive him somewhere specific. If he had time to think, he'd be able to worry about why they're driving him through the woods when he knows open spaces are far more dangerous for him. If he had time to think, he'd already be out of this, though; with time to think, he'd have time for console access.

He's getting close to somewhere he can hide. He can feel it. So why are they driving him--

There's a sudden blinding pain as he screams. Something--his leg--oh gods--

He collapses to the ground in a moment of white-hot pain. The howling is so loud in the distance. He looks over at his leg and pales.

Around it is clamped some kind of horrible trap. A bear trap, he thinks distantly. Could have sworn those were modded, but since they probably have Once-was-Xisuma among them, it wouldn't be hard to, too--

His leg is bleeding horribly and at a terrible angle, bent around where the trap clamped around his calf. It's a mangled, bloody mess. He thinks he can almost see shards of bone. He feels sick.

The howling gets closer.

Oh gods, is this how it ends? He can't move with the trap around his leg. It's chained to the ground specifically to prevent that. His left leg is useless. He's out of pork chops, and no amount of food-based regen is going to fix it. He's--he's out of options. The howling is getting closer. He only has three arrows and a flame bow and a set of enchanted shears, and he can't escape, and he's bleeding everywhere, and his leg's more crushed than trapped, and--

He can't go anywhere with the trap on his leg.

"I hope you appreciate my pragmatism," he says to the sky. "I hope you appreciate what I'm trying to do for you one day," he says, and he imagines that maybe xB is able to hear it, wherever he is. That'd be nice. xB would then mock Hypno for what he's about to do, which is good, because it's a stupid plan.

Shears can't even have sharpness. It's just efficiency. He doesn't need perfect sharpness, though, and efficiency is going to have to do in a pinch. The bear trap's already crushed the bone in that leg. It doesn't need to be sharp enough to saw through bone when the bone's already basically powder. It just needs to be sharp enough to. To sever. To finish breaking...

And the flame bow. The arrows. He doesn't want to use his last arrows like this. It's a stupid plan. He should--there has to be another way out--

The air gets colder. The howling gets closer. Hypno takes a deep breath. He pulls the shears out and opens them as wide as they'll go, until nothing but the blade is facing downwards onto his leg. He can barely touch it against the wound without it hurting so much he gets dizzy and nauseous. His hands are already slick with blood just from that much.

In his left hand, he leaves the shears. In his right hand, he notches the arrow and waits until it lights aflame.

Gods, he's going to die if he does this, he realizes with a sudden, horrible clarity. He's going to die, and with the server like this, he doesn't know if he'll come back. It will be a stupid death, and the most painful thing he ever does to himself.

But the howling gets closer.

But the howling gets closer.

He can't let them catch him like this.

"I hope you all appreciate what a thing I'm doing for you," he says, his whole body shaking, and then he pulls his bandana off his head and stuffs it in his mouth so he can't scream and give away his location.

In one swift movement, he throws his entire body weight onto the shears, and then the bandana does nothing to stop him from screaming anyway.

For an eternity, the world is white-hot and painful. It is the worst sensation he has ever felt. He can't think. His whole body tries violently to throw him away from the blade he's shoving into an already bleeding wound, but between having the forethought to throw his whole weight onto it and the efficiency enchantments, it's too little too late.

Some horrible, distant part of his brain remembers the arrow.

It's funny. The fire feels so hot and painful that it instead feels cold. The world goes strange and blank. Hypno does what he has to. Hypno finishes the job.

Then, all at once, he's throwing himself away from the bear trap, using both hands to go against his every instinct and hold the arrow to the place where his lower left leg used to be. A trail of blood and viscera follows him. He sobs into the bandana.

He's going to die. He's going to die. He's going to die.

The howling gets closer.

He doesn't have time to bury himself in a hole and die, though. If he does that--well. It will be a death worse than this if he doesn't get up, he tells himself. He's in shock, he tells himself. He's drenched with sweat and blood, and he's missing part of a leg, but--but he can move. He can't run, but he can, he can move, he can--

Can--

He sobs. He doesn't want to die.

He claws himself onto the leg that's working, throwing the shears on the ground. He never wants to see them again. He's shaking. He falls back to his hands. The bushes, the bushes, he can hide in the bushes. He crawls. Is he still leaving a trail of blood? He can't leave a trail. They'll find him if he leaves a trail. He should kick up the leaves behind him. Hide--hide the blood. From the trap.

What if there's another trap in the bushes, he thinks distantly. What if that one clamps shut around his neck?

It would be better than being caught, he tells himself, and he pulls himself into the bushes, and he buries himself with leaves, and he shakes and he leaves the bandana in his mouth to disguise his whimpering as the bleeding, horrible wound of his leg burns hot and cold and he's dizzy and he thinks he throws up onto the bandana but he can't remove it, he can't--

The world goes cold and dark. The howling is here. He hears unnatural footsteps. Sniffing. Then, even more horribly, though the gaps in the leaves, he sees rows and rows of teeth.

The teeth are all he sees, but he will not forget them.

He doesn't know how long he lies dying in the leaves, waiting for the teeth to find out what happened. It's long enough that he goes from dizzy and sick to delirious. He tries, more than once, to spit out or swallow the--thing?--in his mouth, forgetting and re-remembering why it's there. His leg cycles between horrible pain, cold, hot, and nothing at all. Periodically, he sees teeth, and his heart races, and he knows he's going to die.

Something else steps into the woods.

"Pity. We almost had him in this one," says one of them. "Spread out."

The howling gets further away. He thinks--he thinks maybe--

He doesn't know if he can get up, but if he lies here, they will find him, and he will die. He can't--can't quite remember why, but he doesn't want to die. The primal thing in him doesn't want to die, almost exactly the same amount as it wants to finish covering himself with leaves so he dies on his own terms.

He claws to his hands and knees. He'll--he'll figure out how to run from here.

He has to keep running.

Hypno has to keep running.

Because at any moment now, if he doesn't, they will catch him. And he'll cut off every other remaining limb before he finds out what happens next.

[stormyoceans]

absolutely obsessed with the arranged marriage vs marriage of choice of it all. the way august and day were paired together by their coach and were expected to bring home great results so day had to do everything in his power to make things work, but mork and day CHOSE each other, against day's mom's will and with no expectations on either ends (at first it was just an easy job for mork and an attempt to make his mom stop hiring caretakers for day), and their relationship just naturally evolved thanks to both of them putting effort in it

[ricksanchezbignaturals]

i don't think rick came out to morty in the traditional sense nor do i think morty connected the dots on his own. what happened was he overheard rick casually dropping the f slur while joking with summer and he went off on him. like

dude what the hell what's the matter with you? y-you you you can't just say shit like that man what is this, the 90s?

and rick just does his silly little quirked unibrow face and listens to him rant till summer interrupts him

you know he is a fag, right?

[iam-zim49]

Zim, are you good? I heard the irken empire was after you? Do you know why?

- Gaz membrane

Ughfe

GREETINGS, DIB SISTER!

zIM IS

.

FiNE

ZIM IS ALWAYS FINE YES

BUtEveRYTHING IS OKK

Zim does not know wy.-

Nothing has happened<^

ZIM IS FINE AWAYS FINE

ALWAYS.

[milimeters-morales]

chapter 5 of the transfem miles fic :3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chap 6 / Chap 7 / Chap 8 / Chap 9

Wordcount: 4k+

Warnings: Someone's transphobic towards a side character, if you don't wanna read that then skip from "two in the afternoon" all the way to "Miles has been helping around the city all day"

“What did you say?”

Miles swallows down his hesitation, can feel the sweat running down his back, and breathes heavily out his nose.

“I… I told Peter and one of his friends… about us. Being together.” Each word feels like he’s digging further and further into his own grave.

Ganke takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes, “That’s great, man. I honestly didn’t think you’d be ready.” He then places his glasses back on and turns back to play on his computer.

Miles stares at him, dumbfounded. 

What?

“What?” 

Ganke hums. “What? I mean, you’re always hiding me from everybody, I just didn’t expect you to--”

“No,” Miles says, “is… is that it? You aren’t mad? You’re not gonna leave?” He asks, voice shaking. He can feel the rocks in his stomach and the adrenaline making him his limbs feel light.

Ganke quickly turns to face him again, and Miles can see his eyes shining ever so slightly. Shit. 

“Leave? What? Why would I do that?” He asks in disbelief. “Miles, you know I never really liked keeping us a secret. This is… actually amazing, I can tell my mom, you can tell your parents--”

Miles feels cold dread stab him in the stomach, and he holds in the “no” that wants to escape his mouth. Ganke’s eyes lighting up makes him bite the inside of his cheek.

“--well, maybe we can wait a bit before we tell my mom,” Ganke amends with a slightly bitter tone, “but no man, I’m not mad. Should we tell Gwen or do you think Pav told her already?”

Still trying to wrap his mind around Ganke not storming out of the dorm right now, Miles doesn’t respond. His heart feels like it’s beating way too fast, and he feels the sweat coming back full force, running down his face and back. His face feels hot, and he just wants to curl into himself until he gets so small that he merely pops out of existence.

“Ganke, I’m really sorry,” Miles finally says after a few unsure moments of silence. “I just… it was an accident, like with Pavitr. I didn’t actually want to… tell anyone? Not yet.”

Ganke actually pauses the game he’s playing, and fully turns in his chair to give Miles a quizzical look. “What?”

God, here comes the most difficult part.

Miles sits down on Ganke’s bunk, taking off his gloves and fidgeting with his fingers. “I’m still not ready. I know that… I know that you want to let people know, but I… just can’t. I’m--”

Ganke shakes his head, “You’re sorry, I know. I just… why? I mean, your parents are so supportive of literally everything else you do, the rest of your friends are going to accept us,” he trails off, looking away with a frown. “I know you’re scared, but we should at least tell… I want your parents to know about me, I don’t want to just keep lying to their faces and sneaking around all the time ...”

Miles looks down at his hands. He always knew that Ganke never really wanted their relationship to be secret, but already made it clear he wasn’t going to pressure Miles to come out to anybody before he was ready.

“I know, I know. I want to tell them too--”

“Do you?” Ganke interrupts, his tone causing Miles to look up and meet his eyes.

No , he thinks. “I… I already-- I’m Spider-Man, and you know they still aren’t… Look, I can’t keep pushing all this…” Miles struggles to get the rest of the sentence out as he realizes how bad it sounds. 

The other boy seems to realize what he was going to say, because his gaze turns sharp, hurt flashing almost too quick for Miles to catch, before he sighs. “Miles, let’s… not. We’ll talk about this in the morning, or something.”

“Yeah,” Miles agrees numbly, crawling up into his own bunk and changing into his sleep clothes. “I love you, you know that.”

Ganke doesn’t respond, which makes the rocks that settled in Miles’s stomach feel like they were going to drag him through all the floors in this very building and into the Earth’s core, but when he looks over, he sees Ganke already has his headphones on, facing the wall.

He’s going to be sick. He’s overreacting to this, it’s normal for Ganke to be upset right now and not want to see him or talk to him any longer. They can work this out. They love each other, and that won’t change.

Miles leans back into his own bunk, and stares at the ceiling for the rest of the night. 

____

The cool breeze stings his cheeks as he walks down the street with Ganke. His boyfriend. He squeezes his hand briefly.

“Miles, don’t. I know you don’t even wanna hold my hand right now,” Ganke mumbles.

“I do,” Miles insists, because he really does--

“But you’re scared,” Ganke says--

because he really is.

“I… I don’t want to be, I want to hold your hand,” Miles tries to insist, hating how weak his voice sounded. He did want this, why couldn’t he at least sound like it? “I don’t want to be scared of what anyone thinks--”

“How about this, we start slow. And on purpose, this time, we can…” Ganke trails off.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea,” Miles guesses.

“Well I don’t have any other plans, man. I don’t wanna just keep us secret for the rest of our lives,” Ganke says, tucking his hands in his pockets. His glasses fog up when he sighs, “But I don’t want to scare you off or anything. I don’t know.”

Miles turns his gaze to the ground.

“Maybe… yeah. We start slow. I can tell people… on purpose,” he agrees, swallowing the rocks in his throat. They settle back in his stomach, waiting. 

“But you’re not sold on the idea?”

“No, no. But I can… try?” That’s what relationships are about, right? Trying? Meeting halfway and all that.

Ganke is quiet for a few minutes while they walk. His breath fogs up his glasses, and splashes from the puddles they step in are freezing, even through their pants. 

“Yeah. Okay,” he mumbles. “Who do you have in mind?”

Nobody, but Miles doesn’t say that. He looks around, squinting at the slowly rising sun.

Alright, he could do this. He could try telling people. Pavitr and Peter already know, and they’ve done nothing but be supportive, or in Peter’s case, be annoying. The man probably told his wife, and his baby, who would’ve babbled nonsense back at him, and that friend-- Richard, he thinks-- probably…

Take a deep breath.

Probably didn’t tell anybody. He probably forgot all about it. Miles doesn’t even exist in that world, he would have no reason to go around telling people about some random guy’s relationship worries.

“Do you have anyone in mind?” Ganke asks him, unimpressed with the answering silence.

“Um… yes.”

“Really? Who?”

Miles gulps.

____

Even on Earth-42, a city that’s overrun with villains controlling more than they should, there’s still annoyingly loud morning traffic. Horn honking, tires screeching, car engines sputtering, and the jumbled muffled noise of people yelling at each other reaches Miles even when he’s hundreds of feet in the air. But it’s all just background noise. He’s not focusing on that. He’s focusing on how to not die inside trying to confess what he’s about to confess.

“So why did you make me come up here? You’re not here to pull an O’hara, right?” G. asks him, slowly coming closer to join him on the edge of the roof. 

The two chuckle at their inside joke, but Miles notices the other’s tense shoulders. Does he really look like that right now too? He relaxes his shoulders just the tiniest amount. 

“I just… wanted to tell you something. Away from Ma and Uncle Aaron-- it’s personal, so…”

“What? Did something happen? Is it about both of us?” G. suddenly straightened up from his slouch, eyes narrowing slightly. 

Oh man, wouldn’t that be a relief. 

“No, it’s just… I don’t want anyone else to know. It’s a secret.”

“Is it a girl?” G. asks hesitantly. “Uncle Aaron’s got better advice than me, though, so…”

Miles swallows the rocks in his throat back down to his stomach, where they finally settle and wait. He feels a shiver go down his spine, and sweat forms on his forehead. God, why didn’t he think to put his suit on before he came here? He could at least hide the more obvious tells that he was scared out of his mind.

“Nah, it’s not that,” certainly not a girl, “I just… uhh…”

Say it. Tell him. Tell him you’re-

“Did you kill somebody?”

“No! Dude, what the hell!” Miles shouts.

“Hey, don’t get loud with me! I was just asking! You look like you’re about to pass out!” G. grumbles, running a hand down one of his braids. “Probably shouldn’t be on the edge, come on.”

With a huff, Miles joins his alternate self in retreating from the roof’s edge and sitting down near the door leading to the stairwell. He picks up a pebble and tosses it up in the air repeatedly, trying to count his breaths. 

He can do this. His anxiety and fears are irrational. Everything about G. shows that he’s bound to be accepting. And even if he isn’t, he wouldn’t gain anything by outing Miles to anyone else here, and he doesn’t even really care about Miles’s friends enough to want to tell them anything.

He can do this. If not for himself, then for Ganke. Ganke deserves it. His boyfriend deserves it. 

“I’m…”

G. tilts his head, one brow raised.

Miles lets the rock drop and hides his face in his hands, groaning loudly. “I can’t do thiiissss…”

“Look man, you ain’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to,” G. tells him awkwardly, stiffly patting his shoulder in understanding. “I don’t tell you a lot of stuff.”

Miles peeks between his fingers. “Yeah? Like what?” He asks forlornly.

The other boy gives him a flat look. Yeah, okay.

“That’s the thing though,” Miles sighs, picking at his lip, something G. gently slaps his hand away for, “I want to tell you! It’s super important, and I kinda made a promise to tell you already.”

“And you hate breaking promises,” G. says. “But you hate telling me whatever this super important secret is… more than that.”

“You’re making it sound really bad.”

G. rolls his eyes, “Who did you even promise that to? Ma? Your dad?”

“Ganke. It’s super important to him that I tell somebody, and I promised to tell you like… earlier this morning. I hate breaking promises to him, man.” Miles wonders if that was too much information to give, and that G. would guess what he was supposed to confess anyway. Shit, that would be way worse than him just outright saying it… what if G. guesses it and stays quiet about it but secretly hates him because of that?

Stop it, stop it brain, Miles thinks to himself, furrowing his brows. 

“Ganke? Is this about… y’know--”

Miles swears his heart stops for a second.

“--his crush?”

His WHAT?

“Yeah, Barbara? She’s… shit, you didn’t know?!” G.’s eyes widen, and he waves his hands as if trying to dispel the words. “Then forget about it!”

Miles stands up, feeling like ice cold water was just dunked on him. “His what?! No no no, don’t you walk away--”

G. groans and hides his face in his hands, “ Ay, bendito, that’s-- that’s super personal!”

“Then why did you think that’s what I was talking about!”

“Because what else would he tell you to tell another version of yourself that would probably already know?! Dude, seriously , you need to calm down--”

“Calm down?! Calm down?! He’s my--”

G. tugs on a braid as he takes a step back for some reason, “I know he’s your best friend, and we liked Barbara first, but he doesn’t even like her anymore! It’s probably the same with your Ganke!”

Huh?

“I… don’t… I don’t like Barbara,” Miles says after a few moments of tense silence.

“What--”

“I don’t even know who that is, man,” he elaborates.

“Then why’re you so heated?”

This is your chance! Tell him the truth, Miles!

“I just…”

He can’t do this.

“I was upset that he wouldn’t tell me something like that. I’m his best friend!” He settles on. The words make his entire body feel cold, and the rocks in his stomach grow heavier with guilt. He isn’t the best liar, but a shamefully large part of him hopes G. buys this one.

“Well, if it’s the same in your world, maybe he just wasn’t sure. And just because you’re friends doesn’t mean he has to tell you everything, you sound overbearing.”

“I didn’t say he had to tell me everything,” Miles bites out.

“Yeah, whatever. What were you gonna tell me?”

Miles shrugs him off, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you some other time.”

G. gives him another flat look and crosses his arms. “Aight, I’m leaving. Waste of my time…”

“Tell Mom and Uncle Aaron I said hi.”

G. doesn’t answer, and leaves Miles alone on the roof.

Ugh. Way to go, genius.

____

How is it only two in the afternoon?

“Well, thousands of years ago, some ape invented keeping track of time, so now we’re here,” the caretaker responds humourlessly. 

Miles went back home, deciding to spend the rest of the day helping out in his own world. He’s in a homeless shelter, keeping the lights on with his own electricity until the backup generators are fixed. “Don’t quit your dayjob, ma’am,” he responds dryly, startling a laugh out of the lady. “How’d those generators break, anyway? I never asked about that.”

A somewhat elderly man sitting nearby responds, “Rats.”

A woman texting on her phone nearby scoffs, “Dad, it wasn’t rats. You were hearing things, again.”

“I’m not the crazy one, I know what I heard.”

“I’m not crazy, I told you to stop calling me that!”

The caretaker brings the man a sandwich and bowl of banana slices, shooting Mlies a look as if he started the argument. “The official story is that it’s an old generator, it was just a matter of time before it went kaput,” she tells him.

“And the unofficial story?” He presses, crossing his arms and raising a brow.

“Some assholes took a whack at it,” she whispers to him. 

“Why cover that up?” He whispers back, eyes widening.

“So that some people here don’t lose it. A lot of them have no where else to go after this, and we don’t want them to get scared and think we’re being targeted,” she explains, glancing at the two still arguing, “we don’t want to take this away from them because of this one-off thing.”

“What if it’s not a one-off attack?” Miles can’t help but ask, frowning. “Even if it is, you should still let them know the truth.”

“Wow, your mask is really expressive. You look devastated,” the caretaker comments, not answering his question.

“Thank you, I helped design it,” he replies instead, making a mental note to swing over this shelter more often. Something tells him now isn’t the time to debate or argue with her.

Another woman, probably around his mom’s age, shuffles into the room with a tall pile of clothes in a basket. “Hey, the washer and dryer working?” 

“Yeah, thanks to Spidey here,” the caretaker says, waving her hand in his general area.

“Thanks Spidey,” she says, “I’m Jeremy.”

Miles blinks, “No problem, Jeremy,” he tells him. Hopefully his embarrassment doesn’t show through the mask either.

Jeremy walks past everyone to another room, presumably the laundry room.

The old man scoffs loudly, “You’re still letting her work here?”

The way he says it makes Miles tense his shoulders and jaw. 

“He,” the caretaker corrects sharply, “is a great volunteer, and is washing your clothes for you without complaining.”

The old man grumbles, goes to look at his daughter, and gives up the argument when he sees her glaring angrily at him. “Whatever. Too old to be dealing with this,” he mutters as he walks out of the room.

“I’m sorry about him,” the daughter says quietly and stiltedly to Miles and the caretaker, face quickly turning pink as she follows him.

The caretaker doesn’t respond to that, only dragging her hand down her face and rolling her eyes. “Poor kid. He’s gotta deal with those types that don’t even like him. I don’t know how he keeps coming back.”

“Well, my mom has to treat some real jerks at work, and she still goes back,” Miles tells her, “I think it makes Jeremy a pretty great guy. Putting up with all that so people can have clean clothes.”

The caretaker looks at him and smiles warmly. “You’re a good kid, Spidey. Don’t let anything change that.”

“I’m--” Miles coughs, and deepens his voice slightly, “I’m a grown man.”

The caretaker laughs at him, shaking her head. 

____

Miles has been helping around the city all day after that, not stopping once for a break for himself. 

It started storming at one point, rain seeping into his suit and chilling him to the point of numbness, resulting in a peaceful trance as he swung around, offering a hand wherever he could. 

Sent down to the subway, Miles helps a group of teens find their art wall. Two boys and three girls were just wandering down here, clearly lost, and with their descriptions, he was able to figure out exactly what mural they were looking for. He hopes they don’t realize another mural-- his own, with the other spider-people and his uncle-- is nearby; he doesn’t want it to end up getting attention if the kids decide to take a picture or something, and he couldn’t really explain why he’d stop them either. “The guy who painted this is my friend,” doesn’t sound convincing, and even if it did, what if he ran into these kids as Miles down here? That would be a whole new thing to deal with and lie about!

“Hey, are you actually allergic to cinnamon?” One of the teens ask him, breaking him out of his thoughts as he leads them down the tracks. “Or am I reaching?”

“Why would I be allergic to cinnamon? Where did you hear that?” He questions her, dropping down now that they were getting close. He looks at the group of teens, noticing most of them were slightly taller than him. Which was only slightly annoying.

“Well,” one of the boys begins, “we binging your fail compilations--” Oh come on , Miles thinks-- “and you ran into a wall when running from that candy cane villain. Remember that?”

“Uh-huh,” Miles nods, crossing his arms. It was a few days after Christmas when he first became Spider-Man, and a major embarrassment even if he did end up winning.

“You said you were allergic to peppermint when a reporter asked why you ran, so we searched it up and spiders hate cinnamon too.”

Damn, he did say that, didn’t he? It was to save a bit of face, but the smell honestly did make him want to gag and made him so irritated that he had to do more running away than fighting. Sue him, he wasn’t about to throw up as Spider-Man. Guess he has to roll with the lie now. 

“I like cinnamon most of the time,” Miles finally answers, “only really how my mom uses it.”

“Oh!” One of the girls pipes up, “Have you ever done the cinnamon challenge? You totally should!”

Miles lets out a sharp laugh, “And what, embarrass myself on the internet again? Willingly?”

“You already do that,” one of the boys says dryly.

“Ouch, you should be a little nicer! I am the one leading you through here,” he jokes. 

“Sorry,” the boy drawls, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

They are quickly coming up to the mural, so Miles takes his leave. “Will you guys need help getting out of here?” He asks them, placing his hands on his hips. “I can hang around, and you can just call for me when you’re done.”

“Nope, her uncle can come pick us up when we’re done adding the finishing touches to this,” one of the boys responds, pointing to a girl that’s pulling out her phone. 

The mention of the girl’s uncle sends a pang straight through his heart, but he just nods his head, taking in the mural once more. 

He’s passed it maybe twice before, and It was a really beautiful work of art, messy in a way that screams authenticity and just pure fun, not following any sort of rules or guides. Just a collage made and continuously added on to by complete strangers. There was a group of smiling stick figures all circling the planet, and a realistic heart painting above in the colors of the gay pride flag. There were several more hearts painted haphazardly around, all in different styles, some of them were national and disability flags too, each surrounded by flowers and more smiling stick figures, a few in wheelchairs. There were even some printed out articles glued or taped around, mostly about accomplishments great and small for the communities painted. There was a cardboard sign nearby that said, “Make Your Mark!” with an arrow pointed to the mural, inviting anyone who wants to add to it.

It was probably one of his favorites, if he was being honest.

Miles would have to come back later anyway, just to see what these kids added to the mural.

____

He sighs and opens his bedroom door. “I got the oranges,” he calls out, peeling off his mask and tossing it behind him.

“Miles, go change, no Spider-Man at the table. You’re soaked, what did we tell you--” His dad tells him as he takes the bag from him, tossing a large towel at his face. 

“But Spider-Man did really good today, can’t he get a few scraps?” He jokes.

“You know what I meant,” his dad mumbles, “go change. Your mother’s trying a new recipe, and I’m not getting my tastebuds burnt off alone.”

Miles’s eyes widen, “Are you sure Spider-Man shouldn’t get involved?”

“I can hear you two!” His mom laughs from her experimenting in the kitchen.

Once he’s in his room, he takes a few minutes to relax. He removes his suit, dries off, and puts on a plain tee shirt and some shorts, wincing when the shirt snags on his earrings. After giving himself a once-over to make sure there aren’t any bruises, cuts, trackers, or old gum he missed, he decides to text his friends.

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Hey hows it going

|Gwen Stacy 65-B: bsuy w fight

|Miles Morales 1610-B: lmk if you need help

Okay, well Gwen’s occupied. Pavitr’s… probably still asleep, since it’s the weekend… Hobie prefers calling, and Miles really doesn’t want to do that right now… hmm.

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Hey margo how have you been?

|Margo Kess 22191-B: hi it’s been going i guess! Wbu

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Nothing much just saving the day and hating school

|Margo Kess 22191-B: felt that lol 

|Margo Kess 22191-B: im actually about to help gwen with this weird villain

|Margo Kess 22191-B: its a surprise tho so dont tell her 

“Oh,” Miles quietly says aloud, sitting down on his chair.

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Thats super nice of you!!

|Margo Kess 22191-B: yeah i want to be close again like we used to be

Huh. That’s interesting. Gwen never mentioned that she used to be close with Margo, and vice versa. Miles fights down a rush of… something close to jealousy, but not quite that. He knows Gwen made a few friends while she was in the Society, but she didn’t really like to talk about her time there in general. And he never really asked anyway, with a wound that fresh. Shoot, should he have asked at any point regardless? He doesn’t want to come off like he doesn’t care.

You’re overthinking again.

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Good luck

Does that look sarcastic? Or bitter?

|Margo Kess 22191-B: thanks dude :)

“Thank god,” Miles lets out a sharp breath, not realizing he was even holding it. He puts his watch in his nightstand and lays back on the bed, pulling out his phone, about to text Ganke--

Nevermind! That would mean he’d have to tell him he didn’t tell G. about their relationship. If he simply… forgot to text Ganke, perhaps…

No.

He needs to tell somebody . Tonight .

“Miles, come help cook!” his mom shouted from the kitchen.

____

“You okay?”

Miles blinks, looking down at the ball of meat he’s been rolling for the past five minutes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers. “Just a bit tired after saving the day, you know how it is.”

“Mm,” his dad hums, not wanting to talk about anything Spider-Man related, Miles guesses. “Just checking. You’re really tense.”

Miles unclenches his jaw and lets his shoulders drop to a more natural position. “I’m not.”

“Miles, you can talk to us. Me and your mother have seen a lot--”

They have? Miles feels lightheaded, and the rocks forming in his stomach are making him tense up again to not fall over. 

“--whatever happened out there tonight, you can tell us. We know there’s a lot of stuff out there, stuff no kid should have to handle, and… we just want you to be honest...”

Miles could cry right now. Oh my god. They didn’t know, his dad was just talking about being traumatized on the job from getting horrible injuries or whatever. He swears he heard angels singing for a second there.

“I know, Dad,” Miles says, slightly impressed at how steady his voice sounded. He can’t see his dad, but Miles swears he can sense the unease and disappointment in the air around him. 

Miles understands. The part of him that isn't cheering is screaming that he’s ruined his chance to be honest again, for his own selfish reasons. But the other part, the one that fiercely shields him as he hides away in that closet, simply leaves a cold relief as it washed over him.

“Miles, are those piercings infected? They look dark,” his mom points out as she comes back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

The lobes themselves are warm to the touch, now that he actually pays attention. “They do?”

“Yes, are you pulling on them? I told you not to go through any sewers, any dumps, and to clean them everyday!” she scolds, “They’re going to itch like crazy and drive you mad now.”

“It’ll be fine, ma,” Miles chuckles, realizing he actually has been slacking in cleaning them, “I can handle some itching.”

“Oh, Jeff, our son’s laughing about that infection,” his mom places a hand on her cheek, “We’ll have to call the priest.”

“It’s not an infection, mami.”

“Yep, I see the life leaving him right now,” his traitorous dad joins in.

“Guys, c’mon,” Miles laughs, “I’ll clean them after dinner.”

“Our last meal together,” his dad mumbles, shaking his head and wiping away imaginary tears.

____

Miles waited until his parents were asleep to sneak out onto the roof of their apartment building, creeping into the greenhouse. 

He still needs to tell somebody, even more so now that he has an entirely new person to potentially worry about. Miles doesn’t know who this Barbara girl is, but if she exists here, that means Ganke could have a crush on her, and the very thought of that is making Miles’s brain go haywire. It doesn’t even make total sense in his brain; instead of neurons, there are just jumbled wires and a cacophony of incoherent panicked shouting.

He sits down on the floor of the greenhouse, hunching over and pulling at his hair. 

Be smart about this , Miles thinks to himself. Don’t freak out, don’t freak out… He needs-- there’s gotta be a list. What was it Peter’s friend said? Start a journal, or something. He should list the problems, make a plan of action. That’s the smart thing to do.

[transmascutena]

it's so hard being an utena fan who doesn't really like madoka magica

[cosmic-ships]

Okay probably won't be on till later this evening. I got some (bs) to deal with at "home" (If we can even call it that.)

I. Am. Having. A. Terrible. Time. /srs :D

[remyfire]

CAN WE NOT

[badlydrawnarsenelupin]

// Isidore Beautrelet, 18 & Raoul D'andrésy, 15

[wttcsms]

full fledged concept coming soon but long story short: hallmark movie-esque concept ft. finance girlie that's going through it & heads back to her childhood hometown she's spent most of her life trying to run from x the boy she used to beef with all throughout high school who is now running a successful business - the onigiri shop that is the only place hiring in the general vicinity.

osamu miya x reader, childhood nemeses to awkward boss/employee to friends to lovers 🤭

general things to tackle in here: what happens when we prioritize what other people's perceptions of success is over what makes you feel happy and fulfilled, getting off on the wrong foot (and then continuing to have that same foot be the one in ur mouth) every time you interact with the person who's literally your soulmate, vanity is so overrated (you grapple with going from six figure salary corporate girlie to literal fast food cashier), realizing that "starting over" can be either the worst or the best thing to happen to you in life, don't be mean to the boy next door - he might grow up to be a super hot business owner... and your future employer

[swiftcast-selene]

Day 23: Midnight

the quiet bliss of knowing the day ahead is free of responsibility.

[princessbunniedoll]

hmm

[goodjohnjr]

Why I'm Not Worried About The Election.

Why I’m Not Worried About The Election. What Is It? The YouTube video Why I’m Not Worried About The Election. by the YouTube channel Adam Conover: Why I’m Not Worried About The Election. Continue reading Why I’m Not Worried About The Election.

[deus-ex-mona]

up next on chapter 36 of idol sengen… _(:3 」∠)_