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libraryofgage · 8 months

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SpiderPool Steddie Part One

So, this is definitely gonna have multiple parts lmao

It's been bouncing around my brain for a while like the Addams Family Steddie AU lol

Anyway, lemme know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts ^_^

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Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls is, at best, a dive bar. At worst, it's a cesspit in which the scummiest people in the city gather to bask in each other's scumminess. To Steve, however, it's the perfect place to collapse after a long patrol, splayed out like a starfish on the roof as the music playing inside vibrates the building itself.

Steve takes a deep breath, setting his bat down next to him before pushing his mask to the bridge of his nose. He then lies down on the roof, wishing not for the first time that the city's light pollution wasn't so bad. Seeing the stars and hunting for constellations would really help him ignore the cracked ribs screaming inside his chest and threatening to break if he even breathes wrong.

All things considered, though, it could be worse. Steve doesn't have any morning classes, Vecna didn't beat him up nearly as bad as he usually does during their fight earlier, and his accelerated healing means Steve will be able to breathe normally by morning. Robin would tell him he has a very low bar when it comes to judging how shitty his life currently is, but she isn't here, so her opinion doesn't matter. Dustin would tell him he should try not getting his ass whooped in the future. Thankfully, he also isn't here, making his opinion as meaningful as Robin's.

Steve closes his eyes, letting his shoulders relax and trying not to think about anything. It sort of works until his entire body suddenly tenses, every nerve on edge and goosebumps shooting across his arms. He shoots up, ignoring the harsh twinge in his ribs as he turns in a crouch and grabs his bat. Steve clenches his jaw, breathing harshly through his nose to keep from groaning in pain, and feels relieved he didn't completely remove his mask completely.

Over by the door leading to a staircase is a guy with ripped jeans, a worn-out shirt with "HELLFIRE CLUB" across the chest, a jean vest covered in patches and pins, and hair pulled back out of his face with a few wavy strands stubbornly escaping his hair tie. He's breathing a little heavily, his face flushed like he's just climbed a few flights of stairs. Actually, he probably has.

"Woah," the guy says, his voice soft enough that Steve would have missed it if not for the enhanced hearing. The guy clears his throat and holds up both hands, showing off a bottle of Jack Daniels in one and a bag with a grease-stained bottom in the other. "Uh, I come in peace. I didn't realize the rooftop was taken."

Steve has no clue what possesses him, but he forces himself to relax and set the bat down. "No, it's okay. I can head out," he says, staying seated despite his words. He's really hoping the guy will insist he doesn't need to; his ribs are still aching like a bitch.

Thankfully, the guy flashes a grin and slowly lowers his hands. "Nah, you're all good. Not every day I get to eat next to a hero. Want some fries?" he asks, walking over and sitting a good two feet away so there's plenty of room between them.

He tears open the bag to create an impromptu plate and puts it between them, the smell of greasy and undoubtedly delicious fries tempting enough that Steve picks up a smaller one and pops it into his mouth. "Thanks. Where are these from?" Steve asks, glancing over as the guy twists the cap of his bottle and takes a swig.

"A burger joint two streets down and one street over. On the corner."

Steve nods, making a mental note of the directions so he can get a burger before swinging home. He's got just enough in his pocket to afford one. "So, got a name?" Steve asks, figuring he's already eating the guy's fries and they're about to spend some time together on this roof. He should know the guy's name.

The guy's grin returns, and he sets the bottle down between them as well. It's tempting, but Steve doesn't trust his alcohol tolerance to hold up while his body is busy fixing his ribs. "Eddie. Do I get to know your name, too?"

Steve snorts and leans away slightly, putting a bit more distance between Eddie and his entirely too-grabbable mask. "Nice try," he says.

"Worth a shot," Eddie says, shrugging as he picks up a few fries. "So, Spider-Man, what brings you to Sister Margaret's? You enjoy the gay metal scene?"

"What's the difference between gay and regular metal?"

"Our hair is better," Eddie explains, dramatically flipping the few strands of hair escaping his tie.

Steve has to hold back a second snort, taking another fry and chewing on it before saying, "I like resting here after patrol. The whole building shakes with the music."

Eddie lights up, his eyes brightening and his back straightening some. "So, you're a fan of Corroded Coffin," he says, taking another swig of the Jack Daniels. It's only now that Steve realizes it's already a quarter of the way gone, and he wonders if Eddie's liver can handle that much alcohol all at once.

"Is that the name of the band?"

"Yep. They play here almost every night."

"I'm guessing you like them, too, then?"

Eddie hums, amusement dancing across his expression now, giving Steve the distinct feeling that there's some secret he simply isn't in on. "They're the best band I've ever heard. Their music is incredible. They really push the boundaries of the genre. And their lyrics? Amazingly layered with at least three meanings per line. I highly recommend actually coming in for a listen one of these days," Eddie says, leaning a little closer to Steve.

A beat of silence passes in which Steve holds Eddie's gaze. Or, he holds the gaze on his end; he's sure Eddie can't actually tell with the mask covering his eyes. "You're in the band," Steve says.

"Lead guitarist and singer, yes. I also write the songs."

"You're incredibly critical of yourself, really grounded in reality."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "I just happen to know my worth incredibly well."

"You have all the confidence of a mediocre white man on a job hunt."

Eddie gasps, placing a hand on his chest as he looks at Steve. "How dare you call me mediocre. I am revolutionary at worst and the second coming at best."

"You know the second coming involves, like, an apocalypse or something, right?"

"I'm Jewish, why would I bother with the fine details?" Well, Steve will give him that. "By the way," Eddie says, gesturing to Steve's bat as he continues, "do those nails actually see any use? Or are they just there to act as a threat?"

Steve looks down at his bat, considering it for a moment before carefully holding the middle and offering the handle to Eddie. Now that he's giving them a few moments of attention, he's realizing the nails embedded in the end are a little rusty and definitely need cleaning. "I try not to be deadly with it, but Vecna's got these lab-grown demon dogs and bats that always manage to break through my webs," Steve explains.

He watches as Eddie takes the bat, weighing it in his hands before shoving his palm into the nails. Steve jerks, a wordless shout escaping his throat as he launches himself over the fries and in front of Eddie. "Are you okay?!" he asks, grabbing Eddie's hand and shakily inspecting the nails sticking through it. Fuck, those are going to be a bitch to get out, and he'll probably have to swing Eddie to the hospital for a tetanus shot.

Being angry doesn't even register in his brain as Eddie laughs. "Don't worry about it, Spidey," he says, pulling his hand off the nails with a slight wince. He wiggles his fingers, letting Steve have a front-row seat to the injuries closing. "See, good as new."

And he's right. The injuries are good as new. In fact, there isn't even any scarring, and Steve almost rips his mask off to take a closer look but stops himself at the last minute. Instead, he grabs Eddie's hand and yanks it closer, turning it over to check his palm, too. "What the fuck?" he asks, looking up at Eddie, still gripping his hand tight.

"Super healing," Eddie explains. "Like, super duper. If I ever get decapitated, just hold my head to my neck, and I'll be right as rain."

"I'd rather not put that claim to the test," Steve says, frowning slightly as he runs his fingers over Eddie's palms, just to make sure the injuries aren't somehow hidden from sight.

"You know, I kissed the last guy who touched my palm like that," Eddie says, leaning in again with that grin.

Suddenly all Steve can think about is how Eddie's lips do look soft. And it has been a while since Steve actually kissed anyone. And he does think Eddie is funny. And he does find himself wondering if his smile will taste like the Jack Daniels and fries. And...and...

And Steve needs to go before he does anything he shouldn't be doing as Spider-Man.

He jerks back, dropping Eddie's hand like it burns, and ignores the ache in his ribs as he grabs his bat and stands. "I, uh, I need to get going. Thanks for the fries, Eddie," he says, hurrying over to the edge of the roof.

"Woah, just gonna eat and run on me, big boy?" Eddie asks, scrambling to his feet and over to where Steve is climbing onto the edge of the roof. "That's not very hero-like of you. You haven't even left me your name or number. How are you gonna pay me back $2.50 for the fries?"

"I had five," Steve says, turning to look at Eddie as he webs his bat to his back and pulls his mask down over his chin.

"The economy sucks, man."

Okay, he's got Steve there. Again. "Nice try, Eddie."

"Can you blame a guy? Your ass looks great in that spandex."

Steve is suddenly relieved his mask is back down, covering the furious blush spreading across his cheeks. He'd think it was just a joke, but the sincere and somewhat goofy smile tugging at Eddie's lips tells him it's more genuine than anything else. "Thanks," Steve says, giving Eddie a two-finger salute before taking a step back off the roof.

He shoots a web at the edge of the building, using the momentum to swing around the corner. His ribs are killing him with the movement, but he still manages to throw a, "See you later, Eds!" over his shoulder before he's completely out of earshot.

Later, Steve will wonder how Eddie got his super healing, if he's that flirtatious with every guy he meets on the roof of Sister Margaret's, and if he'll be there the next time Steve swings by. But that's for later. For now, he's just enjoying the breeze rushing over him and thinking about Eddie's eyes and his smile and his long fingers.

#Steddie #Spiderpool Steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #spiderman steve harrington #deadpool eddie munson #it'll make sense i promise #also Eddie goes back into the bar and immediately starts bragging about flirting with spider-man #everyone immediately knows he's about to become Annoying (TM)#and resign themselves to their fate #Robin does the exact same when Steve gets home and tells her about Eddie #RIP everyone who has to live with these two gushing about each other

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detectivehole · 10 months

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So you've been reblogging a lot of pink skulls. U OK?

#it'll make sense i promise #mine #ask

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wastelesscrafts · 2 years

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Burnout: The truth about overwork and what we can do about it (DW Documentary)

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marvelousartcatastrophe · 2 years

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Moving onward I present to you three of the twelve third ring kwamis.

Mullo, Stompp, and Roaar are three of the twelve secondary ring kwamis within the Chinese Miracle Box. This ring is the third and final ring of the box, and are the third most powerful This of course doesn't mean their abilities are weaker, just that the capabilities their holders have are lesser than that of the secondary and inner rings. They can only grant their wielder one power.

Let us start with Mullo: Mullo is the kwami of multiplication and presents as female. Though she does where a hanfu from the Tang dynasty, her robes are more Japanese inspired, as she'd spent a long period of time stationed in the north eastern parts of China and often visited Japan. She can only grant one power to her wielder which is Multitude; the ability to clone one's self into as many smaller versions of themselves as they please. She has these powers herself, of course, though much more powerfully. Her personality was never really shown in the show, so I made up what I thought would best fit her. Mullo is a timid, shy character. She has a quiet voice, and doesn't like loud scenarios. In fact, she is very easily over stimulated and to recover during episodes like that, she'll find a quiet place to be by herself. She doesn't like dramatic or sudden changes, and often doesn't voice her opinion on things. She's only really comfortable with Sass (snake kwami), as he's also more quiet and reserved. She is the kwami of the mouse, and definitely lives up to the label of being "as quiet as a mouse".

Fun fact: Mullo is the only human sized kwami (aka a lot shorter than everyone else).

Next is Stompp: Stompp is the kwami of determination and presents as female. Her outfit also derives from the Tang dynasty, and guess what? Boobs. She only grants one power to her wielder, Resistance, making their wielder immune to other powers or magic directed at them. In addition to this, the wielder of the ox naturally has more super strength than the others. She has these powers herself, though much more powerfully. Stompp hardly has any screen time so I made up my own version of a personality for her. (She is a male in the show, they've screwed it up too many times in the dubbing, giving her a female voice instead which is why she's a girl) (no this doesn't make her trans, she doesn't have genitals lol) Stompp is a fierce, somewhat narcissistic kwami. She is incredibly strong physically, which has lead to the cockiness she composes herself with. Despite this, she's really smart, though has a very bad temper. She can be aggressive at times, which is why she tends to pick wielders who are more calm and composed so that they can balance out.

Fun fact: Her favorite food is bread.

Lastly we have Roaar: Roaar is the kwami of exaltation (which i found out is 提高 in simplified chinese and sounds very similar to the french and english words for tiger) and presents female. She wears a dress from the Wei and Jin dynasties, and I mean- look at her. She's glorious. She only grants one power to the wielder of the tiger miraculous, Clout, which gives the user the ability to charge their fist with powerful energy that is basically the ultimate KO in a fight. She has this power herself, though significantly more powerfully which is often times too much and she has to limit her use of it. I made Roaar very energized and excited. She's a mass extrovert by far. To describe her personality, she's a lot like All Might from mha/bnha. (her powers are very close to one for all too... coincidentally) She's a big fan of celebrations and parties, and fireworks are one of her most favorite things in life. They fit her explosive energy and excitement quite well I think.

Fun fact: She is the worst kwami at judging who will be fit to wield a miraculous, so the guardians often don't trust her to find one that won’t go rogue.

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loki-hargreeves · 2 years

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I feel like a monster because in the story I’m writing Y/N has to lie to Steven

#it'll make sense I promise #it'll hurt real good eventually #if you like angst you might like this

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hamartia-grander · 1 year

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That awkward moment when your dad walks in on you daydreaming about your crush who isn't real...

To say thank you for 400 followers... I made another short DBH ytp..... Idk I'm hella sleep deprived and found myself hilarious, here

(scene creds in the yt description)

#dbh #detroit become human #Dbh memes #Dbh ytp #dbh connor #Dbh ralph #Dbh hank #it'll make sense i promise #hank anderson #Dad Hank #Trust me

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banannabethchase · 11 months

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Me as I edit: CHEKOV'S CUM JOKE.

#It'll make sense I promise

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cultjam · 2 years

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listening to lisa lisa & cult jam recharges your hp<3

#srsly go stream head to toe #it'll make sense i promise

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vaiistudies · 2 years

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Its okay.

Maybe that concept you really need to understand isn't going into your brain, but that's okay.

Maybe there is a big test coming up in a month, and you just know half of the syllabus, heck maybe not even so much, but that's okay.

It's okay to not understand something, not understand yourself, or what's currently happening. Just because something is this way now doesn't mean it'll stay so forever.

Relax a bit, you worrying over that test is not going to help you anyways. Take a deep breath, a warm shower, put on your comfiest clothes, clear up your room, and your study place, and make a to-do list.

Mindlessly cramming for the test, in fears of losing your grade, or the idea people have of you is no good, try to resume your preparation after some refreshment. Sometimes this makes your prep easier. Eat something you feel like, cook for yourself if that makes you better, and listen to soft upbeat music. It's gonna help.

Remember, it's not worth ruining your health(mental and physical) and peace over a test, or someone's opinion on you.

It's okay to feel out of sort sometimes, as long as you know you'll get figure stuff out in some time

#exams #academic validation #thinking #dark academia #just thinkin #peaceofmind #im freaking the hell out #don't freak out #its okay #calm down #its fine #it'll make sense i promise #itll happen #it'll be okay #it'll be worth it

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camels-pen · 3 months

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the difference between zosopp and sanuso (romantic OR platonic) is that Usopp is Zoro's specialest little guy and Zoro is someone Usopp hangs out with and looks up to and hides behind when things get scary, but Sanji and Usopp are best friends. They horse around, they beat each other up, they confide their worst fears trying to one up each other. Usopp hides behind Sanji sometimes, sure, but idk, Sanji's weaknesses are more obvious (bugs, fighting women, etc) so there are times when Usopp has to stand in front of Sanji too, yknow?

Like, how do I say this, all the crewmates are equal- Usopp and Zoro are equals- but with Sanji it feels like more... comradery? Zoro's a rock in a terrible storm- even rocks tend to get weathered and chipped and worn down, but they overall stay strong and steady. He has trouble being vulnerable and there are times when the burden he's placed on himself to keep the crew safe is crushing his chest. Usopp would help with that and be very understanding, but the point I'm trying to get with that is that those moments are few and far between. So I feel like Usopp, especially after Water 7, would take Zoro's lead on something like that, and keep most of his worries to himself or only talk about them sparingly unless they're really bad and/or he can't hide them.

Sanji is like a tree in a storm; he can be strong, yes, but it feels like he bends and sways with the storm, and has more obvious breaking points. He can relate more to Usopp's struggles rather than resorting to blunt honesty that might border on callous like Zoro. And while, with Zosopp, I tend to think of scenarios with Zoro being blunt like that as a good thing- because sometimes when you're spiraling, it's nice to have someone say exactly what's great about you and shoot down all your worries with straight facts that you can't argue with- I can also see this as being a bad thing. Anxiety can really twist up your brain sometimes, you know? And despite the words, the tone could still mess someone up if they're already feeling like a burden on others in some way.

With Sanuso it's a lot more understanding and thoughtful words. It's distractions and comfort food and patience- the kind reserved for Usopp- until Usopp talks about whatever's troubling him. Compared to Zosopp, it doesn't take as long for Usopp to open up, since he's done the same thing to Sanji at times and it's more familiar to him to talk and commiserate with Sanji about his worries and doubts and such. However, there are times stuff like this has absolutely no effect and Sanji will end up at a loss, no idea what to do or how to help over the course of several days with Usopp being quiet and keeping his distance, and he'll end up working himself up about it which will only serve to make Usopp feel worse and. yeah. bit of a vicious cycle with them.

So it's like. Usopp can be weak with both of them, but since I see Sanji as the type of guy who'd be more open with his worries (at least compared to Zoro), there's less of a need to 'perform' and be his best self around him. He's comfortable around Zoro, yes, but he is constantly wanting to show that he won't be a problem to him. On the other hand, while he's more open with Sanji, and Sanji with him, they tend to relate a bit too much with each other and they both have issues with causing trouble for others and being 'deserving of love' so failed attempts at consoling one hurts the other and creates an unpleasant cycle of misery and avoidance before some other crewmate (Zoro) tells them to quit being stupid and just fucking talk to each other.

#one piece #sanuso #zosopp #long post #nemotime #does this make sense or is this the ramblings of a person who's only got 3 hrs sleep #bc thats me. 3 hrs sleep. ugh #listen okay its like. zosopp has their own growing pains to get through yknow? zoro will eventually get the whole #'oh usopp isnt as open with me bc he wants to seem tough and is also kind of doing the same thing i do. thats bad for him'#and it'll be a whole thing about making a promise between the two of them to try and be more honest with their fears and seeking help #when they need it #the sanuso thing is like. i hope i didnt mean to make it seem like sanuso is 'better' or w/e bc its just a different thing #sanuso got their own problems to sort out. 1. Sanji's everything 2. boundaries on special treatment-#i'm not gonna go seriously into this but both relationships start out not the best and get better over time yknow #also i know usopp's afraid and freaking out a lot but for this post i meant his deeper fears and insecurities #not 'i've got can't-go-on-this-island disease' lmao #the tl;dr of this post is: Usopp is more closed off with Zosopp. Usopp and Sanji have similar issues that cause problems with Sanuso.#also the way i see these ships will probably change at some point. who knows #there was a post i saw recently that was like 'hey sanuso bc romance trio were already chill with each other so sanuso became chill with #each other in an 'alone together' type of way and also they have the same issues' and i thought 'wow so true bestie' and here we are #also. man. usopp taking on / copying the behaviours of his loved ones regardless of his age is just. my jam. in a positive or negative way #maybe i'll make a post about that explaining it more. maybe

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hella1975 · 2 months

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a post about fic updates! so the fics im currently juggling are dog teeth, tams, and of course, taob. my original plan was to start posting the second installment of the dog teeth series by sometime in april, bc it's the fic im most into atm and i already have the first chapter done, i just want to bank another one or two because once i start posting it i want to KEEP posting it with regular updates, hopefully every 2 weeks like with kaiein. HOWEVER this will put my atla fics on a back burner. april is a good writing time for me (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE) bc i have the entire month off from uni to prep for may exam season, and i always want to write when im procrastinating my degree. which is. it's own thing im sure i'll graduate it's fine i'm fine. so if i focus on dog teeth, neither tams nor taob will get focus until like. june. which is par for the course with taob but im NOT happy about doing with tams.

SO my thought process was i can either be normal about this and just accept it's literally my final year at uni and im trying to graduate and it doesn't matter if updates are slow on ANY fics, or i can do my usual and implement an insane deadline that i somehow always make by the skin of my teeth. can you guess what i went with?

and thus i present unto the crowd my tentative plan: have the next taob chapter done by middle of april (im aware this is quite hand-wavey but it gives me a month to work with, so in my head this means anything between april 10th-20th), have the next tams chapter done by the end of april, and dog teeth can follow.

#i know a lot of you are gonna swarm and tell me not to push myself/rush and i love and appreciate the fuck out of you #i PROMISE if it gets too much i will call it quits like im not about to jeopardise my final exam season for this lmao #but ultimately i do work better when i give myself these insane writing challenges and it gives me something fun to do #while im drowning in econ assignments #as for dog teeth being moved to the back burner despite it being my current passion project #im not actually too bothered by this bc i will still be working on it as i work on my atla fics #and it'll be good as a breather when those get up my arse PLUS has the added benefit of the second part of dog teeth #not actually being posted yet so technically no one's 'waiting' for anything. like kaiein exists perfectly fine as a standalone #whereas if i post ch1 of part 2 in april i then have to KEEP POSTING or it'll bug me #and then i'll have THREE updating fics to juggle #does any of this make sense. hello. tapping the security camera in my padded room is anyone there #WHATEVER. I WILL KEEP YOU GUYS POSTED <3 #taob updates #tams #dog teeth

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mintybytes · 1 year

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a deck of cards!

#twst #twisted wonderland #heartslabyul #riddle rosehearts #i love my hearts boys :)#i made this for a Thing im making it'll make sense in 3 to 4 months i promise

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indilaras · 3 months

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Wawancara | Interview [Indonesian | English]

Yes this is referencing an actual real interview of what an actual real politician said about another politician. I will link it in the replies (it's only in Indonesian tho).

ID: a three panel comic of Cyno from Genshin Impact; the left is the Indonesian version while the right is English. In panel one, Cyno has his arms crossed, looking serious. Below him is a headline saying "Mahamatra Agung Tuan Cyno Respons Isu Panitera Umum Alhaitham Jadi Grand Sage" ["General Mahamatra Cyno Responds to Rumors of Grand Scribe Alhaitham Becoming Grand Sage"] From off-screen, someone asks him, "Jadi, cocok gak, Mahamatra?" ["So, is he suitable, Mahamatra?"] Cyno says, "Panitera Alhaitham?" ["Scribe Alhaitham?"] In panel two, Cyno looks to the side (and so does the eye on his headdress), silent and blushing. In his imagination are three portraits of Alhaitham in various expressions, all covered in sparkles. Panel three is a close-up of Cyno's face, flowery effects around him and the pupil of the eye on his headdress turning into a heart. He is smiling softly and saying, "Ganteng, sih." ["He is handsome."]. The person off-screen goes "Pffpt--!" in surpressed laughter. End ID.

#my art #genshin impact #cyno #alhaitham #cytham #haino #cyhaino #genshin fanart #genshin comic #genshin comics #al haitham #genshin #image description #probably the second fastest ive done fanart of something. wowie #'no promises on when it'll be done' i said yesterday and here it is #blame ra my dear friend suwara for the divine inspiration #i hope the translation makes sense.... i love languages but for some ungodly reason translating doesn't really come easy to me

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rotworld · 7 months

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2: Warped Reflection

(previous)

on your way to prismville, you find an empty town.

->contains mild gore, dubiously consensual touching

One of the trees isn’t a tree. You’ve been keeping an eye on it since you pulled over.

Lunch is your leftovers from Henley Creek. You reach into the box you keep strapped into the passenger seat, half a dozen eggs cushioned by checkered cloth, and watch the thing creep closer. It’s the only cottonwood in a line of aspens. Spindly, bare branches swivel and twitch without wind to move them, bending at joints they shouldn’t have like radio antennae. Even when you’re looking directly at it, watching its gnarled bark shift ever so slightly ahead of its neighbors in the smallest, slowest inchworm increments, your brain struggles to recognize this as movement. It leaves no tracks, no trailing roots or dragging mud in the earth behind it. It seems like it’s always been where it is now.

The eggs are ripe, the shells crunchier. The jam-colored insides form clots of salty pearls that split on your teeth like roe. You lick a cloudy dribble of yolk from the corner of your lips and use your last napkin. It doesn’t look all that different from the other crumpled balls of bloodied tissue stuffed into a trash bag in your backseat. You lean over and pull your hand-drawn map out of the glove compartment, adding a tree with wiggling, finger-like branches to the blank space between Henley Creek and Prismville. You don’t plan on backtracking, but someone else coming south might need to know. While your right hand sketches, your left hand rests in your lap, wrapped in bandages. The pain comes and goes. You feel dead-end sinew twitching, trying to move something you no longer have.

Home is northeast, your heart says. You start the car and pull back onto the road. In the rearview mirror, you see the tree’s trunk twisted and bent. Every limb, every twig, every prickly little branch has curved downward, grasping like aerial roots for the empty space where you were just parked.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: NEVERLAND BY LA SCALTRA]

There’s rain just briefly. Water sprinkles the windshield and glistens on the road. There’s a peculiar odor you can’t identify. It smells the way ice tastes or wind feels, whispers and almost somethings. You see shapes in the road and have just enough time to stop, tires squealing, the eggs in the box knocking against each other. It’s a woman in a brown shawl and two young children clinging to her skirts. They walk slowly. She tilts her head, staring directly into your headlights. The wicker basket on her arm is full of thorny weeds, wildflowers and budding, sepal-wrapped eggs. You hold your breath and don’t move a muscle until she and the children cross the road and vanish into the underbrush.

The highway narrows, three lanes merging gradually into a single rough, uneven road. There’s a river ahead and a covered bridge across. Ancient wooden planks groan and rattle beneath your tires. It’s colder on the other side. You see a rust-eaten sign wobbling on metal stilts, jutting out of an overgrown flowerbed. Something corrosive has taken a chunk out of the corner and bit through the gold lettering, leaving only “LCOME TO NEW RIDGEWAY.” A mirror is propped up against one of the signposts.

The fog thins but only a little. You drive slowly between brick apartment blocks and gently lit storefronts. For a while, you don’t see anyone. Not on the road. Not dining under the striped cafe awning on the corner or in line at the burger drive-thru. Not along the riverwalk, or at the post office, or at the crosswalk. There are a handful of cars parked on the street but no one inside. But there are mirrors—thousands of them. Full-length rectangles lean against utility poles and sidewalk trees. A row of small circles in brass frames line an alley, echoing infinite reflections at one another. Hand mirrors dangle from a fire escape, ribbons tied around the handles and looped through the metal walkway.

The abandonment seems recent. Lights are still on. The grass is neatly manicured. “Free Bagels!” proclaims the local bakery’s chalk sign on the sidewalk, the door propped open. You poke your head inside and think you spot movement behind the counter, but it’s just a mirror.

Your bewildered reflection stares back at you. It cocks its head sharply like a curious bird. Then it smiles.

You’ve got one foot in your car and the keys in the ignition when something stirs the fog. A person, the first you’ve seen here, slips out of an alley. Glancing back and forth and ahead and behind him, he walks casually but quickly like someone afraid to draw a predator’s eye. He’s thin and delicate-looking, tugging nervously at the long sleeves of a black turtleneck sweater, long blond hair feathering across his shoulders.

He’s at your window in just a few long strides, knocking softly but frantically. His voice is muffled and he’s nearly whispering but you catch what’s probably “please,” “help” and “be here soon.” You’ve neither rolled down your window nor unlocked your car but he’s presumptuous or maybe desperate, crossing quickly to the passenger side. He tugs uselessly at the door handle and peers at you with wide, teary eyes.

Your fingers perch on the button to unlock the door, indecisive. Then you hear the dragging; stone grinding against stone. A woman lurches through the fog, her suit jacket hanging open and her tie loosened. There’s blood on her shirt but something else, too, watery and dark like motor oil or ink. She moves with a lopsided, lumbering gait because of the sledgehammer she’s dragging behind her.

“Please,” the man says, louder this time. “Please, please, please don’t leave me out here, please!” The woman moves faster. She wraps both hands around the sledgehammer’s long wooden handle and you make your choice.

The doors unlock and the man flings himself into your passenger seat. He’s startled by the box of eggs but quick enough to catch himself against the dash when you slam your foot on the gas. The woman doesn’t give chase but you don’t slow down, watching for anything else moving in the fog.

“Thank you,” the man says. He’s crammed himself into the space in front of the passenger seat, folding his arms over the egg box and peering up at you. “Thank you so much. Can you just—I don’t live far from here. Take a left at the light there.”

“Is it safe?” you ask him.

“Yes. Everything’s just fine as long as you stay inside. Follow this road a while. I’ll tell you when to turn.” His jeans are fraying at the knees and he picks at them occasionally, his nails unusually sharp. He lifts himself just high enough to peer out the window occasionally but mostly he looks at you. His eyes are vivid green. “Why did you help me?” he asks.

“Why?” you repeat, not expecting the question. “You thought I’d just leave you there?”

“You thought about it. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” He plucks at his sleeves again, tugging at them until they cover all but his fingertips. “The Drift is dangerous. So many things pretending to be people. I could’ve been one, but you let me in anyway. Ah, it’s this turn coming up. Go right.”

“I like to see if I can help,” you say. The suburbs are just as dead as downtown. The bins are out for trash collection. A garage door is wide open, an unwound gardening hose snaking around the back of the house. You think you see curtains move in an upstairs window, but you aren’t sure. “If I have to fight, I’ll fight. But I try to help first.”

“It’s that one. The house with a birdbath on the lawn. I’m Elisile, by the way,” he says, managing a small smile. Then he frowns. “You look…disappointed.”

“Oh, no, sorry,” you say quickly. “Just lost in thought. This one, you said?”

“Yes, this one.” He’s watching you while you pull into his driveway. “You’re…one of those, aren’t you? Not just a courier, but…you look so normal…” You put the car in park and unlock the door, not looking at him. “No, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…I used to have a friend in the Stillwoods. She was one, too.” He winces as he squeezes himself out of the small space and gets out of your car, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs. “Sorry. And thank you again,” he says, offering a soft smile. His eyes are an earthy brown. You blink, startled. Was that the color they were earlier? “I’d ask you to come in but I don’t have much to offer,” he says. His soft laughter dies in his throat as his gaze shifts down the street. You see a car in the rearview mirror, screeching erratically down the street.

“I should probably go, huh?”

“No. She’ll run you off the road,” he says quickly. “Come on. We’ll wait her out.”

You don’t like the idea of leaving your deliveries unattended but the car swerves onto the curb and into the grass, smashing the birdbath. Elisile practically drags you with him up the steps. He doesn’t stop to fumble with his keys. It’s unlocked. He doesn’t think to lock it behind him as you stagger into the entryway so you do it for him, slipping the deadbolt into place just as something hard and heavy slams into the front door.

“We should be alright now.” The house is silent. Dust dances in a beam of strangled sunlight. The hallway is furnished with soft carpet, potted plants and a decorative glass dish sitting on a narrow table off to one side. Elisile watches you take in your surroundings. He’s smiling. Not in a cruel, menacing way but warm and comforting. He looks delighted when you notice the mirrors lining the hall. “I never did explain what happened here, did I?” he muses. “You never asked. That’s so…unusual.”

Elisile takes a step forward and you lurch back, stumbling. There’s a pile of shoes beside the door. Adult’s and children’s. The welcome mat has little paw prints running across it.

“You have to be careful with mirrors in the Drift,” he says. “You know all about that. Special glass, special chemicals. Your car’s all up to code, but in New Ridgeway? These are the old style. Thinner. Easier to move through.”

“Why?” you ask, feeling blindly behind yourself for the doorknob. You’re not careful and slam your wounded hand against it, pain radiating all the way up to your shoulder. He’s coming closer but he’s not stopping you. His eyes flick down to your bandages with interest. “Why would you—why fill a town with them?”

“Why do you help people you shouldn’t, child of the road?”

Your fingers fumble with the deadlock and that’s when he lunges. He goes for your hand, squeezing the tender, throbbing spot where your little finger used to be and slamming you up against the door. He’s cold against you. His breath is frigid and his skin leeches your body heat.

“I’ll tell you why,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Because you’re trying to go home but you can’t, so you take what you can get. And they’re close enough, aren’t they? When you’re lost together, you almost feel safe.” You twist out of his grip, fumbling with the lock just long enough to feel his cold fingers ghost across your shoulder. Two stumbling steps out the door, you freeze.

The woman you saw before is right there, clawing to the door on her hands and knees. She’s bruised and bloody, her sledgehammer lying in the grass by her feet. There’s something on top of her. It’s a person, you think. It is, for just a second. Then it shifts and shimmers, fractaling into other shapes. Human, animal, celestial bodies, unnatural angles, it wraps a hand—a claw? A tendril, silver and reflective—around her throat and pulls until she arches uncomfortably, tilting her head up at the thing with a scream caught in her chest.

Elisile’s fingers curl beneath your chin and he guides your gaze back to him, standing beside you in the grass. “You’re more like us than you are them,” he says. “There’s no home for you here. There never will be, no matter how useful you are.”

“Home is northeast,” you tell him. Your voice quivers. His gaze softens with pity. The woman in the grass reaches out with one trembling hand, the other clawing and pulling at the thing around her throat. It squeezes tighter. Its changing fingers and feathers and insectoid limbs hold her head still. Something sharp pricks the corner of her eye. A gushing wound spreads across her forehead. The thing starts to settle, shapes smoothing, colors flattening. It has her eyes.

“I can be your home,” he offers. “I can give you everything they can’t.” His eyes are deep blue, and probably not his. He leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek. It’s cold and sharp. You feel a bead of blood slide down your chin. When he cups the back of your neck, you push him away. You hear him sigh as you rush to the woman, past her and the thing and the toppled birdbath, grasping clumsily for the sledgehammer. It’s heavy and the space of your missing finger still stings. The metal wedge drags through the dirt as you struggle to lift it with your fumbling grip.

“You’ll never find it,” Elisile says, the kindness gone from his voice. His words are flat and emotionless but that welcoming smile and those warm, changing eyes remain. “You’ll search forever. You’ll wander until you die. You’ll do everything they say but you will never be welcome. Do you understand? No matter where you go, child of the road, it. Won’t. Be. There.”

You swing the sledgehammer and the thing shatters. Shards of light and cold and wriggling shape burst apart with a shrieking hiss, black blood spattering your face. It’s cold and stinging. Trying to wipe it off your chin cuts up your fingers. The woman heaves and sputters, clutching her bruised throat. Blood trickles from a gash across her forehead and drips into her eyes.

Elisile is gone. The door to the house is wide open. The sledgehammer slips from your trembling hands.

“Hey, are—are you still there?” the woman says hoarsely. “I saw you earlier, right? In town? I need help getting to my car. Like, now. Before it comes back.” She tries to stand and winces, catching herself with her hands. She’s keeping her weight off of her right leg. “God, I must look insane. Listen, I’m not one of those things. I'm cleanup crew. Check me! Glass mimics are cold to the touch and they don’t sweat. I’m bleeding red, right?”

She’s warm when you sling her arm over your shoulder and help her to her feet. She makes a pained sound and leans more of her weight against you. There’s a leather messenger bag in the passenger seat of her car and papers scattered around the back. Her medical supplies are in the trunk.

“Hey. Whatever it told you, don’t sweat it,” she says. “They like to fuck with people. It’s all mimicry, just copying stuff they’ve overheard. They don’t really get humans, you know? They don’t know what we feel, why we do things.”

“Right,” you say weakly.

“Ugh, I need a shower. You know what the closest town is? There’s fucking nothing out west.”

“Prismville’s somewhere north, but—”

“Civilization! Thank god.” She slaps a few bandaids on her forehead and wipes the rest of the blood on the sleeve of her suit jacket, tossing it haphazardly into the backseat. “Talk later, alright? You lead, I’ll follow. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You nod, dazed. You don’t have it in you to argue. You hear the woman’s car stutter before it starts. She gives you a thumbs-up in the rearview mirror. You hesitate before pulling out of the driveway, glancing up at the house. There’s no one there. The mimic has retreated for now, moved on to easier prey.

You rub the cut on your cheek where he kissed you. If no one else had been in danger, if you’d been all alone, would you have let him hold you? Would you have let him sink his teeth into your lips? Your neck? Somewhere even more tender? Would you have given him your eyes if he promised you somewhere you could always come back to, knowing it must be a lie?

Home is northeast, says the heart. Your throat constricts and it’s hard to breathe as you ignore the pull and drive due north instead.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift #i promise this will not just be “weird vague things happen the novel” lol it'll start to make sense #hopefully. potentially. eventually

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