#hooverville | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dailyunsolvedmysteries · 2 months

Text

Cleveland Torso Murderer

The official number of murders attributed to the Cleveland Torso Murderer is twelve, although recent research has shown there could have been as many as twenty or more The twelve known victims were killed between 1935 and 1938. Some investigators, including lead detective Peter Merylo, believed that there may have been thirteen or more victims in the Cleveland, Youngstown and Pittsburgh areas between the 1920s and 1950s. Two strong candidates for addition to the "official" list are the unknown victim nicknamed the "Lady of the Lake," found on September 5, 1934, and Robert Robertson, found on July 22, 1950. The victims of the Torso Murderer were usually drifters whose identities were never determined, although there were a few exceptions. Victims numbers 2, 3 and 8 were identified as Edward Andrassy, Florence Polillo and possibly Rose Wallace, respectively.[6] Andrassy and Polillo were both identified by their fingerprints, while Wallace was tentatively identified via her dental records. The victims appeared to be lower class individuals–easy prey during the Great Depression. Many were known as "working poor", who had nowhere else to live but the ramshackle shanty towns, or "Hoovervilles", in the area known as the Cleveland Flats. The Torso Murderer always beheaded and often dismembered their victims, occasionally severing the victim's torso in half or severing their appendages.[8] In many cases the cause of death was the decapitation or dismemberment itself. Most of the male victims were castrated. Some victims showed evidence of chemical treatment being applied to their bodies, which caused the skin to become red, tough and leathery. Many were found after a considerable period of time following their deaths, occasionally in excess of a year. In an era when forensic science was largely in its infancy, these factors further complicated identification, especially since the heads were often undiscovered. During the time of the "official" murders, Eliot Ness, leader of The Untouchables, was serving as Cleveland's Public Safety Director, a position with authority over the police department and ancillary services, including the fire department. Ness contributed to the arrest and interrogation of one of the prime suspects, Dr. Francis Sweeney, and personally conducted raids into shantytowns and eventually burned them down. Ness's reasoning for doing so was to catalogue fingerprints to easily identify any new victims, and to get possible victims out of the area in an attempt to stop the murders. Four days after the burning, on August 22, 1938, Ness launched an equally draconian operation where he personally dispatched six two-man search teams on a large area of Cleveland, stretching from the Cuyahoga River to East 55th Street to Prospect Avenue, under the guise of conducting city fire inspections. While the search never turned up any new or incriminating information that could lead to the arrest and conviction of the Torso Murderer, it did serve to focus renewed public attention on the inadequate and unsanitary living conditions in the downtown area. Teams uncovered hundreds of families living in hazardous fire traps without toilets or running water. The interests of social reform did ultimately come to light even if those of law enforcement did not. At one point in time, the Torso Murderer taunted Ness by placing the remains of two victims in full view of his office in City Hall. The man who Ness believed to be the killer would later also provoke him by sending postcards.

#Cleveland Torso Murderer #true crime #cold cases #unsolved mysteries #unsolved

22 notes · View notes

minervadashwood · 9 months

Text

Reunion

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warning: none Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV) Relationship: Daryl Dixon/You; Daryl Dixon/Female Reader Characters: Daryl Dixon, You, Reader, Plus size reader Tropes: Reader-Insert, Second Chances, Second Chance Romance, Family, fluff and angst. Words: 2,993. Complete

Summary

You've been with your large family since the start of the outbreak. One morning, your group runs into Daryl's, and suddenly the one person you never thought you'd see again is holding you in his arms. Can you rekindle the love you once had, or has too much time apart ruined everything?

There were enough tents scattered about the deserted store to resemble an indoor version of the infamous Hoovervilles, mainstays during the Dust Bowl. Only instead of a collection of impoverished strangers, this little tent city was filled with members of your huge family, as well as Daryl’s group. The latter consisted of a collection of formerly random strangers, including a pregnant woman and her police officer husband: the man in charge.

Your family and Daryl’s group had come across each other in this very same building, an abandoned but abundant Costco. The instant you set your eyes on Daryl, you ran to him, and without question he welcomed you into his arms. For a few seconds, it was a trip into the past, back before all this started and when you were still together. The hug was over quickly, both groups looking on in silent surprise, and under their scrutiny, you and Daryl backed away from each other, neither one of you enjoying the attention.

Then, introductions were made, supplies divided, everyone silently sizing the others up. Once again, heads turned when Daryl, easily the quietest person in that store said, “Why don’ we all jus’ stick together? Hol’ this place down for a few days. Got ‘nough people now to make it work.”

He looked at you as he said it, not at the self-appointed leaders of each group, Rick and your younger brother, the army vet.. The best you could offer Daryl was a tiny, grateful smile. Seeing him again after all this time was a blessing, to be sure, but weighed down by the past and by the current state of the world.

Your brother shook hands with Rick, and all was settled, the two self-appointed captains combining forces for the time being.

Now, in the back end of the store, near the loading bays and emergency exits, everyone had set to turning the windowless, concrete chamber into a temporary home. Just about the time you were deciding what job to tackle next, Daryl caught your eye with a small nod. Despite the years apart, you were still fluent in the language of Daryl Dixon, so you followed him.

Now you sat on a sturdy storage crate, with him next to you, well away from the others.

“Knife,” he said, pulling a whetstone from a pocket in his cargo pants.

You complied, pulling your hunting knife out and handing it over.

After a moment, he asked, “How did all of y’all make it?”

The scraping of your knife on the whetstone was the only sound for some time. Your dad and brothers were amateur survivalists. Not the end of the world bunker type, but age-old lessons passed down through the years, improved upon with each generation. All of you learned to shoot as soon as you were old enough, likewise for your brothers’ children, half of whom were deep into adolescence. One of your sisters in law was a PA. However, none of that explained how all of you’d survived in a world where so many were lost.

“Luck,” you whispered, then your voice full but light, “That or all of mom’s praying actually amounts to something.”

He scoffed at your joke.

“What about you?” you asked. “Merle? Your dad?”

He shook his head, once, and remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

“Don’t be,” he said.

You wiped your hands on your knees, palms sweaty as nervous energy had your eyes watching your family while you longed to study Daryl as he worked. For years, he’d been the one who got away. And now he was with you once more. A chance meeting, here at the end of the world.

You first met years ago, stranded on a country road without cell phone service. All you wanted was a drive to clear your mind, to get you out of the rat race of academia for a few hours. No one knew where you’d gone, and on your way the lack of phone service had been welcome. But a blown head gasket had you pondering an eight-mile walk back to civilization.

However, your luck turned when a beat-up old motorcycle stopped suddenly, spraying dirt and gravel as its rider spun around. The rider in question was Daryl, handsome, rugged, brusque but kind. To you, he was a white knight riding in on a shining steed, the Aragorn to your Arwen.

He fixed your car, followed you back home, to the small college town where you were teaching those days. You asked for his number and it grew from there. Things were good, really good. He was one of the few men you’d dated who wasn’t obsessed with sex. It took three months before you even kissed. He would show you the most beautiful places, a natural spring with delicious, crystal clear water. A secluded waterfall with a cave behind it, the dark place filled with undisturbed mineral wonders. On the fourth of July, he drove you to an overlook to watch the display of fireworks, far from the eyes of strangers. For your birthday weekend, he gave you a motorcycle helmet of your own and took you camping, where you made love for the first time under the stars. You spent all your free time with him, neglecting piles of ungraded papers and a growing list of unread emails in your inbox.

But it was worth it. Daryl was worth it.

Then, almost a year after you met, he disappeared. Your calls went unanswered until one day an automated voice told you the number was no longer in service. Multiple times you drove by his trailer only to find it lifeless. No motorcycle in the drive, no lights on, all the curtains pulled shut. Not even the motion-sensored security light worked anymore.

Right now you wanted so badly to ask what happened. Where things went wrong. What made him give up everything the two of you had and leave without a word.

You permitted yourself to look down at him. He smoothed his finger along the edge of your knife blade, then he gave it back to you, handle first. Ever the Southern gentleman.

He jutted his chin at your hip, where your gun remained in its holster. “When’s the last time ya cleaned it?”

A week or more, you knew. How many times had you used it since then? You couldn’t count. You unfastened the holster and handed the sidearm to him. Your father had given it to you when all this started. His “gift” to his only daughter, the one grown-up in the family who didn’t own a gun.

Across the way, your father was wrangling the twins, two blonde-haired toddlers who were vehemently protesting “bathtime.” Bathtime these days amounted to little more than a wet rag with a bit of bar soap spread over it.

“I can do that myself, you know,” you told Daryl as he started taking apart your gun and laying the pieces on a cloth spread across his lap.

He huffed, but otherwise stayed silent.

Again, you gave in to your urge to watch him. His thick, strong fingers wiped down each piece of your gun. From one of his many pockets, he took out gun oil and rubbed it liberally on all the inner workings of your weapon.

He’d always had a knack for finding things to tinker with. Back then, he would look around your rental house for something to fix: a creaky door, a flickering light bulb, a loose kitchen cabinet.

The sight of him taking care of your gun made the years apart disappear, almost. And you found yourself falling into the comfortable silence for a little longer. After a time, you gave up on the urge to reach for him, to take his hand or ruffle his hair. But you did scoot a little closer, now closely watching him as he put your gun back together.

He huffed again, but didn’t shy away from you. Instead, he looked up slightly, the tiniest of smiles on his lips.

You couldn’t help returning his smile with one of your own, but yours was effusive, heart melting and picking up speed as you gazed at each other.

Eventually, he handed your gun back to you and wiped his hands on the dirty cloth from his lap.

“Rick’ll do right by y’all,” he murmured. “Yer folks need a place to stay jus’ like we do.”

“That’s a lot of people to take on,” you protested.

“I seen your dad and brothers, their wives, too. Y’all’ll hold yer own. ‘Sides, look at all them kids.”

You did, watching the two younger boys work together to set the long folding tables with dinnerware. Meanwhile, the four older teenagers helped your brothers move shelves around, creating a barricade for the night. You mom and sisters in law were going through food supplies, swapping things with Carol and Lori, all of them smiling the polite way that Southern women had when just getting to know each other.

Daryl cleared his throat. “Any of them kids yers?”

You giggled. “Lord no. Mom wishes, though.” It was true, despite already having eight grandchildren, your mother always wanted you to settle down and have a few of your own. However, that was never important to you. “You know I never wanted kids.”

He shrugged. “Been a long time. Things can change.”

Before you could reply, one of your brothers walked over, the mischievous glint in his eye not boding well for you.

“Sis, we’re trying to figure out the watch schedules for the night. Figured with all of us here we could double up, so six altogether. You and Dad--”

You shook your head. “He needs a break.”

“I’ll take second watch wi’ ya,” Daryl announced, studiously studying his fingernails.

You smiled at Daryl, blushing when your brother snickered. Your family hadn’t asked yet how you knew the man, but the interrogation would happen sooner or later, you were sure.

“Guess that’ll work,” your brother mused. “Got all the couples keeping watch. Put the little ones with Mom and Dad.”

“Couple? Daryl and I aren’t a couple!” you squeaked, drowning in embarrassment.

“Coulda fooled me, Sis, you two over here all by your lonesome.”

Leave it to your brother to hit where it would hurt the most.

Daryl stood up and walked away without a word. Dread settled in your belly. You couldn't blame him. He was the one who’d left, after all. He made it clear by his absence that he didn’t want you the same way you wanted him.

The way you still wanted him.

“Something I said?” your brother quipped. You flipped him off and went to help your dad.

A few months later.

The November gale practically ripped through your winter gear, trying to blow you sideways off the bike. You pressed your forehead and nose against Daryl’s back for just a moment, holding tightly to him as he drove down the deserted back road to the nearest town.

You’d found a new shelter a week ago, something to hopefully see you through the worst of the winter. But food was hard to come by. Your little nieces were listless and cried themselves to sleep multiple times a day. The rest of the kids slept so much, exhausted from maintaining the shelter while the adults kept watch and went hunting.

Your family and Daryl’s group had acclimated to one another. Carl was friends with your nieces and nephews, Sophia, too, but she rarely went anywhere on her own without Carl.

As you expected, your brothers had weaseled your history with Daryl out of you, ganging up on you one night while the camp slept. Your younger brother ran the watches and supply runs like a seasoned officer. He and Rick would butt heads at times, but it all worked out in the end.

One of your brother’s brilliant ideas? Battle buddies. And, of course, Daryl was yours. Primary objectives: reconnaissance and supplies.

You lifted your head up once more, blinking your dry eyes and looking out for walkers as Daryl drove. You weren’t sure how long you’d be gone from the others, only a few days, you hoped.

Eventually, Daryl stopped at a little hamlet. Not much around except a Dairy Queen, a Piggly Wiggly, and an old Exxon with boarded up windows. It looked like it’d been abandoned long before the outbreak.

You begrudgingly unwrapped your hands from Daryl’s waist, bidding adieu to all the warmth he provided. You both quietly got off the bike, and using well-practiced hand signals began clearing the nearest building.

Neither you had spoken about the past, not in all the supply runs, watches, or even during the long hours of boredom that came along with survival. Yet in some ways, things were like they’d been back then. Those first few weeks of dating were rocky, with Daryl so quiet and standoffish. But you learned and so did he.

Now, those past lessons were paying off. You knew which way he’d move before he took a step. And likewise he knew just when you needed a break or reassurance. You needed a lot of reassurance these days because, next to Daryl, you found yourself always lacking. His movements were impossibly silent, his aim impossibly true, his determination impossible to live up to. It was a struggle to keep up with him, but you tried. Every damn day you tried to be the Battle Buddy Daryl Dixon deserved.

The first building was clear of both walkers and supplies, and that didn’t bode well for the rest of the area, which had likely already been picked clean. Outside, the wind had picked up even more, but now a flurry of swirling whiteness clouded your vision.

Snow. In Georgia?

While you stared at the whirling flakes, Daryl continued on, unfazed by the change in weather. You followed him to the Dairy Queen, where he climbed in through the drive through window and pulled you in after him. The place was piled high with cones of every shape and size. You undid the ties on your hood and threw it back, laughing at the sight. You doubled over, imagining the motorcycle piled high with wavering towers of ice cream cones strapped to your back: a feast for the famished. Towers of cake cones the saving grace in an apocalypse.

It took you a few moments to regain your composure, and you fully expected Daryl to be glaring at you or ignoring your outburst entirely to look for more substantive food supplies.

Instead, he was gazing at you softly, a gentle smile on his lips.

You froze, momentarily lost in the way he watched you. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

He chewed his bottom lip, eyes still soft but now searching your face. “‘S good to hear ya laugh,” he whispered, drawing closer. “Been too long since I heard it.”

Heat suffused your cheeks as he got even nearer, his solid frame so close and warm next to you. How long it had been since you forbid yourself to think of him like this. For months you’d shut off that part of your heart, protecting it from disappointment and instead focusing on feeding your family.

But all that resistance was gone now, and again you wanted him. You wanted the sweet, quiet man you fell in love with. You wanted the dry-witted survivalist who was with you now.

And yet, there was a reason you didn’t have him . A reason that you’d shut off your heart from this painful longing.

Daryl reached for your hand, but you backed away, accidentally nudging a defunct ice cream machine with your hip. It ached, but you ignored the self-inflicted injury.

“Why?” you whispered to him, his face no longer soft but hardened, jaw set and eyes narrowed. “Why did you disappear?”

He shook his head and turned away, and you let out a long breath. As much as you wanted an answer, you didn’t expect one.

You wiped the tears that dripped from your eyes without your permission. They stung your windburned cheeks.

Then, he spoke, his back to you.

“Back there, ya got all them people who care ‘bout ya. Yer folks, yer brothers, little nieces all lookin’ up to ya.”

You stilled, to give him time to gather his thoughts, his words. His voice cracked as he spoke. He sniffed.

“An’ all I had was Merle. He raised me, gave a shit when no one else did. Taught me all I know. How to hunt, how to fight, how to be a man.”

None of those things made Daryl a man anymore than a ball cap made someone a player for the Chicago Cubs.

“He said to jump, an’ I said how high. So when he tol’ me we needed to leave, I left. I was gonna come back, but when I did, you were gone, an’ I--” He shrugged his shoulders then leaned his hands on the countertop, sniffing again. “I tol’ myself you were better off wi’out me.”

He turned, and his cheeks were red, with tears running down them as he refused to look you in the eye.

He shook his head. “But I can’t leave ya again. Even if it ain’t gonna be like it was then. I love ya, Y/N, an’ as wrong as it is, I love this shitty world for bringin’ ya back to me. But--”

You closed the distance between you, stopping his words as you cupped his jaw and lifted his head so he’d look at you.

“I don’t care anymore,” you told him. “I thought I still did, but I don’t. What matters is now. I love you, too. Never stopped.”

Daryl pried your hands from his face, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead on yours. “Lemme make it righ’ then. Lemme show ya I ain’t gonna leave again.”

“Okay,” you whispered and kissed him.

===

If you want to be on the taglist, fill out this form.

@livingdeadblondequeen @phoenixblack89 @green-eyedladywrites @in-this-minute @takeabreathdeath @ravendixon @gypsytraveler86-blog @xojdmasf @daisy107 @angelrenee239 @sleepyamaya @no-tresspassing @carol @taintedxkisses @bl4ckt00thgr1n @glitch0o0 @micheleamidalajedi @lonelywolfheart @jad3djay @catholicraisin @harringtonstudios @brittney69 @littlelovebug98 @aureolinb @aeriean @your-momahoe316 @gracefulsunflower @strnqer @meganmayhem89 @quarksnuts @Nano_owl @halfdeadie @crissys-dead @plaguerat44 @madislayyy @xjust-existingx

#mdop #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd #twd fanfic #plus size #plus size reader #plus size fanfic #minerva writes

67 notes · View notes

mercurydancer · 11 months

Text

Burning Matches Pt. 1

Of New Sights and Colors

Summary: Ch. 3 - "In an idle sort of way, none of them had expected for Noir’s blood to be black. None of them had expected that their sudden appearance would be just the distraction that the Lizard had needed. None of them had expected for that very black and very unexpected blood to be painting the wall behind him as Lizard’s claws dug into his flesh, and sent his body flying limply to hit the wall with a wet-sounding smack." - A story based on recovery, color, and the knowledge that you're not alone.

In honor of the new Spider-Verse movie coming out, I am going to be posting the entirety of Burning Matches to tumblr. It's already posted on AO3 under the same title, username HopelesslyLost, so if you want it, you can find it. As it is, I've been avoiding it because it's HUGE, but I figure I might as well.

Buckle up.

It was horrifying. It was dizzying. His mind spiraled in a million different directions, his body pressing against hard concrete as he desperately attempted to draw breath into his lungs, fingers scrabbling at the building, seeking something, anything that he could use to ground himself. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, trying to focus on the roughness of the concrete that he could feel, ripping his gloves off in order to be that much closer, barely remembering to shove them in a pocket as he did so. He didn’t even notice the fact that his fingers had dug into the rough edges to the point where they were starting to bleed.

His breath was still rattling in his lungs, his body still tense, but if he kept his eyelids closed, he could at least pretend that nothing had changed.

What had happened?

One moment, Peter had been swinging after some two-bit crooks, intent on putting them on ice after they had shot up one of the poorer localities…and in Hooverville, that was saying something. The next, he had somehow swung into something that squeezed him tighter than the Sandman, and hit harder, too. When he finally was spat out of whatever it was that caught him, he found himself here. This…this…

Peter didn’t know what this was. He didn’t know what was surrounding him, had no idea what was happening, why he was here, where here even was! What was happening? Slowly, slowly, Peter peered out through his goggles, his eyes squinted as narrow as he could make them and still be able to see.

It was like an icepick was driving into his skull.

Peter closed his eyes again, heaving a breath in, and letting it whistle out.

He was having a panic-attack, pressed to the side of an unknown building, and all because he didn’t know what he was seeing. What an absolute clusterfuck. This was stupid, this wasn’t him. He had adjusted to being bitten by a spider and seeing a Spider-God before him, he had adjusted to being able to shoot webs out of his own wrists, and climb on walls - he could do this.

He could do this.

He opened his eyes and kept them open against the searing brilliance that pierced him and forced himself to actually look at what surrounded him. It made his eyes water and his pupils kept sliding over everything, unable to focus on what he was seeing. Eventually finding it too much, he instead turned his attention up, away from the flashing of…whatever it was. Was he having a stroke? A seizure? What the fuck was going on?

Focus on the sky, Pete, focus on the sky, he thought to himself, heaving in another deep breath. The sky was…the sky was odd, too. It was as open and as big as his own, but the…he didn’t even know what to call it. He didn’t know what it was that was spread out over him, that was tinting everything… Peter focused on the big fluffy clouds that drifted across the sun, taking in their appearance, the way they were so normal, and finally closed his eyes again.

Maybe this was it, maybe he was dying.

A sudden pain lanced through his head, a sharp and sudden feeling that was like his spider-sense was on overdrive, giving him the feeling like there were a million spiders crawling up his spine. His eyes flew open and there was something else over him.

Peter’s first thought was to reach for his gun, to shoot the thing that was between him and the semi-familiar sight of the sky, but the thought faded as quickly as it came. As soon as he made…eye-contact? with the thing that was above him, the feeling of spiders changed to something else. Something familiar. It almost hurt, but it didn’t, a feeling of such strong connection it was almost like he was looking at himself in the mirror.

“You…” he started softly, distantly recognizing another softer, distorted, and certainly more feminine voice say the words at the same time, “you’re like me…”

A…hatch for lack of a better word, opened up in the strange metallic thing that rested over him, blocking the sun, and a…little girl stared down at him, her eyes wide and…he hadn’t ever seen eyes like that before. A little too big, a little too bright, but at the same time he still felt like he knew them. He felt like he knew the one that was looking at him, like he was connected to her. It was an odd thought and he wasn’t sure how much he liked it, but it stuck. Because she was like him.

“Are you okay?” the girl asked him, those eyes changing, becoming even bigger, if it were possible, worry in their depths.

“I…” he started, and then shook himself. Peter saw the way that she kept glancing around her as though waiting for someone to spot them, he saw the way that she pressed into the torso of her…machine, even as she asked how he was. This odd little girl was scared, and he didn’t want to cause her anymore fear. He took all of his fear, all of his pain, and all of his confusion and balled it up internally before shoving it deep under his ribs, to be ignored until he got a spare minute (the fact that he never got a spare minute was ignored).

“I’m sorry, kiddo, I’m fit as a fiddle, just…a little disoriented.” He focused on her face, focused on those eyes, fighting to ignore everything else. “Are you alright? Are you…from here?” He pushed himself away from the building, watching as the…robot? backed up a few paces as stood up before it, allowing them to stare at each other roughly eye-to-eye. She was covered in…whatever everything else was covered in, her clothing an odd light tone, and her face shaded much differently than he thought it should be. She looked as though she could have belonged…perhaps…if everything else wasn’t so…bright.

Sure enough, she shook her head.

“I was pulled here, I…don’t know what happened, exactly, but I think we’re both in an alternate dimension,” as she spoke her voice sharpened, and her expression cleared, all of her focus on him. The fear had left her in her rush to explain, and Peter knew immediately that this was her element. “You obviously don’t belong here, you’re completely in black and white which goes against everything around us, and everything that I have seen. I also don’t belong here, see, this is the year 2018, and I’m from the year 3145.”

“Woah, back-up, it’s 2018 here?” Peter asked, finding something else to trip him up. This was shortly followed by the realization, “You’re from 3145? Who are you, kiddo, what’s your name?”

“Yes,” she responded before straightening up and reciting, “My name is Peni Parker, and I work with the SP//dr mech, my father’s mech,” she patted the interior of the…mech she was in, said mech making a pleased-sounding chirp and putting its ‘hands’ on its ‘hips.’ “Before…before he died that is. I connect to it through a psychic link with a spider that lives within the robot and together we protect New York.” She grinned, and as she spoke Peter watched as a rather large spider crawled into view with a feeling of trepidation clawing its way up his spine, watching as it perched on her shoulder and gave a brief cheer. When it did nothing else he slowly allowed himself to relax, but couldn’t keep his gaze away from that spider. “We’re a great team!” She called out and held up a finger that...the Spider tapped back with one of its legs. What the fuck. After a moment of thought he resolved to leave it alone unless it got too close. Peter had been bit before. He wasn’t going to be bit again. “I love to hack into mainframes and I love New York!” She called out brightly and broke his train of thought, and the triumphant pose they had both fallen into after their...tap...held for another few seconds before breaking and she gave a slight frown. “What about you? I know you’re like me, I can feel it, but…”

“Well…” Peter paused, trying to think of a way to condense everything he had gone through into something that would be kid-friendly and wouldn’t make the kid either pity him or…be traumatized. “My name is Peter Parker. Where I’m from the year is 1933, and I’m a Private Investigator… I got bitten by a magic spider that gave me spider powers and I’ve been using them ever since to put a dent in the crime that plagues New York. I like…” he hesitated on what he could say that he liked, looking into those wide and interested eyes and fishing through the possibilities. “I like egg creams, and I like to punch Nazis.” He paused at seeing the way that she seemed to dim, not at the idea of him punching Nazis, he could tell, but…almost at the lack of enthusiasm, and spat out something else, “I like to let matches burn down to my fingertips, sometimes, so I can…” he let his voice die out.

Her expression had only turned sadder, somehow, the robot lowering itself from its proud pose into something more somber.

Smooth.

“So, you can what?” she asked. And even her mech looked upset, which was even smoother. How the hell did he fuck it up this much?

“So, I can feel something,” he answered finally. “But that’s not important. If you’re not from here, and I’m not from here, why are we here? And where is here?”

“From what I’ve managed to gather, which isn’t much, admittedly, the technology here is all so…old,” she griped, “it doesn’t connect well with my SP//dr. But I do know there is a Spider-Man! I was in the middle of seeing if I could track him when I felt…well, I felt like there was someone I had to see around.” She ducked her head slightly. “I had thought at first that it might be him, since…well, I thought he’d be the only one from here. But I’m okay with finding you!” She grinned, a bright and happy expression. “I’m just…glad to not be alone.”

Peter nodded and kept his eyes focused on the little girl before him, watching as she shrunk slightly at the admission, her foot gently circling the metal floor of her pod. He idly wondered if she could stick to walls on her own, or if she was simply at the mercy of the robot’s abilities. The idea frightened him in an idle sort of way. Being that dependent on anything, even a mech that had a link with him, was not something he had any desire for.

He also had no idea how to answer her admission. He saw the moment that she realized this, an odd…flush spreading across her cheeks, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to make it better. Peter internally cursed his lack of people-skills and wondered how many ways he could kick his own ass.

“We…we need somewhere to stay!” she finally called out, regrouping remarkably well in the face of Peter’s own inability. “Maybe we can find the Spider-Man of this reality. I bet they’ll be able to help us! They might even know how we got here.”

“Knowing the Spider luck, he’ll probably be right in the middle of it.”

The gripe got a brief laugh from Peni, and Peter smirked to himself proudly.

“Alright, so we have to find Spider-Man. Do you have any ideas?” Peni asked. “I can connect to another mainframe and try and hack in, but…I kind of stand out.” She paused. “You definitely stand out. I don’t think they’d notice me if I just walked up to somewhere, but you…” She didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t have to. Peter hesitated, standing up and looking out at the city before them, thinking.

“You’re a Parker, right? Peni Parker?”

“Yes,” Peni responded, beaming. “And you’re a Parker, too! A Peter Parker.” She frowned slightly. “Do you think that there’s a Parker here that’s running around as a Spider-Man?”

“I don’t doubt that in the least. Two spider-people pulled out of alternate dimensions and brought to another universe with a Spider, both named Parker? Once I’d call coincidence, but this feels too focused.”

“I think so, too!” She grinned. “Alright! I’ve got something to look for now, this will make things so much easier!” Peni hunkered back into the torso of her robot, which closed before her. “Come on!” she called out, and Peter watched as she leapt to another building, the leap something that made his entire body flinch backward as he followed her movement with his eyes and simultaneously took a better look at his surroundings. It hurt, and he found himself covering his eyes, ducking down.

It took a second before Peni seemed to realize he wasn’t behind her. He felt it when she landed before him, the hatch opening again, and he forced himself to open his eyes. Her wide and worried eyes stared at him, and Peter forced himself to straighten.

“I’m sorry,” he managed softly, “I…it hurts,” he finally admitted. “I don’t know what I’m seeing, and it really…it just hurts my head.”

“All the colors are really freaking you out, huh?” she asked him, but before Peter could ask what she meant, her robot reached out. “Don’t worry! I’ll help you out, just hold still.” Peter found himself grabbed, before being positioned in such a way that he could cling to the back of her robot. He hunkered down against it, holding his hat with one hand, a terrible mixture of shame and disgust welling up within him.

Pathetic.

“I’ll just carry you! We’ll get there soon, just try and get your eyes to adjust, okay? I know you can do it!” She cheered, the face of the robot staring at him with a bright smile blinking across its ‘face’, which was odd. Peter resigned himself to being carried and felt as she adjusted herself to his weight, and then leapt.

For a moment they were in free-fall, and then her robot thwiped its wrist out, webbing shooting out and swinging them up and out. It was a familiar experience, even without the control he usually enjoyed. It also allowed him to get used to the sight of the world zipping by him, the…colors blurring together as they swung.

He had to get used to this. He had to be useful.

Peter forced his eyes to stay open and trusted in Peni to get them where they needed to go in order to gain information. They would figure out what was going on, and then they would figure out how to get home, Peter was certain. This was just another strange pothole in the road he called life. He’d been hitting them so often they were almost expected by this point.

What else could happen?

#burning matches #into the spiderverse #spiderverse #spider-noir #peni parker #peter benjamin parker #spider-man #spiderverse fanfic #i don't care who you are #suddenly having bright colors like that would be insane #like CLEARLY he can see color given the way he reacts to the cube #there's some interesting implications in terms of like #did spider-noir's universe have color before and it doesn't now #what's the deal with that #how can his eyes see color if he's in black and white?#it's neat!#either way #here we go

69 notes · View notes