#at least i think venom is a marvel property? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maxwell-grant · 4 years ago

Note

Your Top Five Pulp Heroes that you wish were better known? By Pulp Hero fans, I mean. Since pretty much all of them except Conan and Tarzan are fairly unknown.

It’s actually quite hard for me to narrow it down to just five, because I’m having to choose between characters that are my favorites that I wish were more well-known and appreciated (which is all of them), and characters that aren’t quite my favorites but I very much think should have achieved great popularity for a myriad of reasons. So instead I’m going to pick some of each. These are not necessarily ranked by their importance or my personal taste, just 5 characters I felt like highlighting in particular.

Honorable mentions goes to characters I already talked about prior and don’t want to repeat myself on. These aren’t “lesser” picks, just ones that I already talked about: Imaro (who in particular definitely feels like he could, and should be, a pop culture superstar if he was only more well-known), Kapitan Mors (who’s got a lot in common with one of my favorite fictional characters, Captain Nemo, but also has a lot of interesting things going on for him as his own character). Sar Dubnotal (a character that appeals a lot to me and I think should be included much more often in pulp hero team-ups). The Golden Amazon (again, definitely a character that feels like it’s just begging to have a pop culture breakout, even comic books rarely if ever have female supervillains this ruthless and over-the-top), The Mexican Fantomas (who absolutely deserves a better name than what I’m calling him here, because he’s incredibly awesome and leagues ahead of just being a knock-off). And of course my homeboy, The Grey Claw, whom I would consider Number One of the list if it wasn’t for the fact that his obscurity has left him untouched by copyright and I got plans of my own for the character that wouldn’t be possible if he was more well-known, so I guess I’m ultimately glad he’s obscure (even if I’m still bothered by how little he’s known).

Allright let’s go:

Number 5: Sheridan Doome

Sheridan Doome appeared in fifty-four stories and three novels from 1935 to 1943. As chief detective for U.S. Naval Intelligence, Lieutenant Commander Sheridan Doome’s job was a grim one. Whenever an extraordinary mystery or crime occurred in the fleet, on a naval base, or anywhere the navy worked to protect American interests, Doome was immediately dispatched to investigate it. Fear and dread would always precede Doome’s arrival in his special black airplane. For, in an explosion during WWI, he had been monstrously disfigured.

He was six feet two inches tall; had a chalk-white face and head. It appeared as though it had once been seared or burned. For eyes, he had only black blotches; glittering optics, that looked like small chunks of coal. His nose was long, the end of it squared off rudely. He had no lips, just a slit that was his mouth. His neck was long, as white and as bony as his face…. Sheridan Doome looked more like a robot than a human being. He was tall and ghastly; his uniform fitted him in a loose manner. Long arms hung at his sides; his face was a perfect blank. He had no control of his facial muscles; consequently, his countenance was always without expression, chalky and bony.

But behind the ugliness was a brilliant mind. Sheridan Doome always got his man. Before Sheridan Doome became a staple in the pages of The Shadow magazine, two Doome hardcover mysteries were written in the mid-1930’s by acclaimed hard-boiled author Steve Fisher (I Wake Up Screaming) and edited by his wife Edythe Seims (Dime Detective, G-8 and His Battle Aces). Age of Aces now brings you both books in one huge double novel, presented in a retro “flip book” style. This book is currently Out of Print.

I sadly don’t have any more information on the character other than this. The book is unavailable for me to acquire in any capacity, and the text above is taken from the Age of Aces website as well as Jess Nevins’s personal profile for the character. I’m not even sure if any of those 54 stories even exist anymore, since although he was published as a backup in Shadow Magazine, there doesn’t seem to be reprints of them anywhere, at least as far as I can find, and the original Shadow magazines have largely turned to dust by now.

A character who combines aspects of The Phantom of the Opera and The Shadow, whose adventures are set in a backdrop that can easily lead to ocean adventures? That’s like, what, three of my favorite things in the world combined. I really, really wish I could at least read the stories this character stars in, but as is, this description is all I can provide. Again, time really has been cruel to the pulp heroes.

Number 4: Harlan Dyce

This is another character I’ve only been able to learn about through Jess Nevins’s archives and have not been able to attain any further information on, which is sadly the case with a lot of pulp heroes that nowadays only seem to exist as footnotes in his Encyclopedia or records in libraries. I don’t post more about these characters because I really would just be copying the stuff he wrote without much to justify me quoting him verbatim, and I hate the idea of doing that.

I especially hate that in Harlan Dyce’s case though. Here’s his description

“Dyce had brains, taste, money, ambition, and a total lack of physical or spiritual fear. But—

“Dyce was thirty-three inches tall and weighed sixty pounds.

“That was all the world could ever hold against him. That was what had made the world, most of it, in all the countries of the world, stare at Harlan Dyce, billed in the big show as “General Midge.””

Harlan Dyce is a misanthropic and venomous private detective. He has an “amazingly handsome face,” and the aforementioned brains. But all anyone sees is his stature, and he hates that and turns his cold eyes and acid tongue on them.

The only person Dyce likes and gets along with (besides his dwarf wife, a former client) is his assistant, Nick Melchem, a six-foot tall former p.i.’s assistant with bleak eyes and a strong body. Melchem ignores Dyce’s stature and treats Dyce normally, which Dyce responds warmly to.

Dwarfs may be the single most maligned group of people depicted in pulp magazines, even more so than the Japanese in the war years or the Chinese during the peak of the Yellow Peril’s popularity. Evil dwarfs, murderous dwarfs, sexually depraved dwarfs, they are all loathsome, ugly cliches that are, sadly, the only instances you see of dwarf characters being represented at all, with the only ones who are awarded any measure of sympathy are doomed henchmen or tragic villains. Even outside of the pulps, the only other examples of heroic, protagonist dwarfs I can think off the top of my head are Puck from Marvel Comics and Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones.

I’m not gonna say Harlan Dyce is great representation because I’m not a little person and can never make that kind of claim for a group I’m not a part of, but Harlan Dyce may be the first time I’ve ever seen a dwarf character in pulp fiction who was not a villain or a murderous goon or a victim, but an actual person and a heroic protagonist, and that definitely counts for something. I’m not sure how popular this character was or could be if someone picked up the concept and ran with it (and I’m pretty sure he’s public domain), but I definitely think this is a character that should exist and should be popular.

Hell, this character has Peter Dinklage written all over it, give it to him. Maybe then he will get to play a smart, fearless, cynical, misanthropic but good-natured and heroic character in something where he actually gets to keep these traits until the show ends.

Number 3: Audaz, O Demolidor

Audaz is a Brazilian character who was created and published by Gazetinha, the same publishers of Grey Claw as well as properties exported from elsewhere like Superman and Popeye, and much like The Grey Claw, he is also completely unknown even here. I’ll get to Audaz more in-depth sometime but here I’m going to provide a quick summary:

Audaz, The Demolisher is a gigantic crime-fighting robot controlled and piloted by the brilliant scientist Dr. Blum, his close friend Gregor and the child prodigy Jacques Ennes, who pilot the giant robot from a massive laboratory inside it's head rather than a cockpit. He takes on a variety of ordinary human criminals, mad scientists, supervillains and invading armies, towering over skyscrapers and grappling with jets.

Audaz was created in 1939 by illustrator Messias de Melo, a year before Quality Comics's Bozo the Iron Man and 5 years before Ryuichi Yokoyama's Kagaku Senshi, and decades before the debut of Mazinger Z. Although he is not the first giant robot of science fiction, he is the first heroic giant robot piloted by human pilots, and thus the first true example of "mecha" fiction.

Number 2: Emilia the Ragdoll

This is another Brazilian character, although nowhere near as obscure as Audaz as even a cursory Google search can show. Although Brazil did not have a “pulp era” in the same way the US had, we’ve long gotten past the point of sticking to it as a definitive rule, and I’m including Emilia as a pulp hero because she’s a 1920s fantasy literature character who was created under a publishing company that released pulp stories, because she doesn’t quite belong in the mold of fantasy literature characters she takes after, and because I like her and if I was putting a bunch of pulp heroes together in the same story, I would definitely include Emilia in it. It’s not like she really has anywhere else to go, now that she’s public domain and she’s outlasted her franchise.

As you can tell by the above image, Emilia’s had a lot of variations over the years and that’s because the work she was created for, Sítio do Picapau Amarelo (Yellow Woodpecker Ranch/Farm), has become a major bedrock of Brazilian fantasy literature, one of the only works created here that you can find substantial information about in English if you go looking for it. Here’s some descriptions of Emilia’s character:

Emília is a rag doll described as "clumsy" or "ugly", resembling a "witch" that was handmade by Aunt Nastácia, the ranch's cook, for the little girl Lúcia, out of an old skirt. After Lucia takes her on an adventure and the doll is given a dose of magic pills, Emília suddenly started talking, and would never stop henceforth.

Emilia has a rough, antagonistic personality, and an independent, free-spirited and anarchist behaviour. She is rogue, rebellious, stubborn, rough and intensely determined at anything she sets her mind on, eager to take off on just about any adventure. She is often immature and behaves like a curious and arrogant child, always wanting to be the center of attention.

She is extremely opinionated even when she constantly and confidently mispronounces words and expressions. Her attitude often gets her into trouble, and she very often has to fight against the villains who attack her home on the Yellow Woodpecker Farm and mistreat her friends.

In the stories, Emilia often takes the role of a heroine who travels through different realms and dimensions, as the books include not only figures from Brazilian and worldwide folklore, but also several characters both real and fictional, such as Hercules, King Arthur, Don Quixote, Thumbelina, Da Vinci, Shirley Temple, Captain Hook, Santos Dumont and Baron von Munchausen.

She's fought scorpions and martians and nymph hordes, her arch-enemy is an alligator witch, she rescued an angel from the Milky Way and tried to teach it how to become a human, and once shrunk the entire population of Earth to try and talk the president of the United States into ending war forever.

To little surprise, she has become the most popular character and the series’s mascot.

It’s a little strange to consider Emilia underrated considering she is one of the most famous original characters of Brazilian literature, but hardly anyone outside of Brazil even knows who she is, and regardless of the quality of the original stories (and Monteiro Lobato’s views on race that tar much of his reputation), Emilia definitely feels to me like a character that should be a lot more popular globally.

She is the only character from Yellow Woodpecker Ranch that has transcended the original stories, since she was always the most popular character and there’s been a couple of stories written about her that usually separate her from the ranch and just set her out on the world by herself. The latest story about this character has been a series called The Return of Emilia, that’s about her stepping out of the books in 2050 and discovering a Brazil that’s been ruined by social and ecological devastation, and traveling back in time via a flying scooter in order to try and prevent this calamity.

Now that she’s public domain, I definitely think there’s some great stories that can be told with the character that just about anyone could get to, and I definitely think she’s a character that deserves more appreciation. Anything goes in stories starring her and it’s that kind of free-for-all freedom that I think can benefit future takes on pulp heroes. I would be very happy to place Emilia among them.

Oh yeah, and there was one time she kicked Popeye's ass by tricking him with a can of mouldy cabbage instead of spinach, making him sick and then beating him, which possibly puts her as one of the all-time badasses of fiction, except she would be pissed at not being number one and likely embark on a quest to beat everyone else just to prove she could, because that’s how Emilia rolls.

Number 1: Luna Bartendale, from The Undying Monster (1922)

Not necessarily my favorite of the bunch, but one who sort of epitomizes what you asked, a character who is both incredibly obscure and incredibly underrated in every sense. Despite the book being somewhat known, mainly thanks to the movie, the character is so obscure that I don’t even have an illustration of her to display here, not even fan art, just one of the book’s covers that I think best conveys it. Luckily, the book is also available freely online, so you can all go check it out here. The movie adaptation does not feature the character of Luna Bartendale which makes it pointless to talk about.

To not spoil it too much, The Undying Monster is a very fascinating book, ahead of it’s time in quite a few ways. You expect it to just be a detective story centered around a werewolf cursed, except the subtitle of the book is “The Fifth Dimension” and then it goes to talk about dimensions of thought and post-WWI trauma and love and hypnotic regression that travels through time and ancient runes and Norse mythology. It’s not exactly an easy book to get through in one setting, but I’d recommend it much the same if only because it’s got supersensitive psychic sleuth Luna Bartendale, literature’s first female occult detective, and she’s an incredible character who absolutely feels like she should have become a literary icon.

She lives in London but is world-renowned for her many good deeds. She is a small, pretty woman, with curly blonde hair, dark eyebrows and a high-bridged nose, and a slight build. She has a voice described as a light soprano that "does not make much noise but carries a long way".

Petite, bedimpled and golden curled, Luna is completely in charge of events, dominating every scene that she appears in with her welcoming disposition and cleverness.

Bartendale has various psychic powers, including mind reading. She is well-versed in psychic and occult lore, is a “supersensitive” psychic, and has a “Sixth Sense” which allows her to trace things and people through both the Fourth and the Fifth Dimension. (The Fifth Dimension is “the Dimension that surrounds and pervades the Fourth–known as the Supernatural”).

Her extensive knowledge of occult rites and practices puts John Silence, Carnacki and Miles Pennoyer to shame, and she beats them all with her "super-sensitive" gift of being able to psychically connect with troubled souls and hypnotize them.

She uses a divining rod for various tasks, including psychic detection and tracking, and distinguishing between benevolent and malevolent forces. She has various (undefined) powerful psychic defenses, can carry on seances, and can even cure a person of “wehrwolfism.” And she can always rely on her massive, intelligent dog Roska for help.

Luna sadly doesn’t show up in the book as often as I’d hoped, but everything about this character is so delightful. In a lot od ways she hardly feels like a pulp hero, at least the ones I usually talk about. She feels like a lost protagonist from an incredibly successful kid’s adventure series where a kind and eccentric detective witch and her giant dog go around solving occult mysteries and encountering all sorts of weird supernatural beings while counseling and helping people, like Ms Frizzle meets Hilda. Like this character is just waiting for Cartoon Saloon to make a film about her.

Its not so much “this character should/could be popular but it’s clear why that didn’t pan out”, it’s more me being confused as “why the hell isn’t she super popular? This character should have had a franchise ages ago, holy shit put her in everything””

#pulp heroes #pulp fiction #answer tag #sheridan doome #harlan dyce #audaz #boneca emilia #luna bartendale

42 notes · View notes

its-all-ineffable · 5 years ago

Text

Fandoms

Y’all are gonna hate me, but I’m gonna make a super long post about all my fandoms! I don’t wanna list them on the description of my blog because there are soooo many! These are books/movies/TV shows that I like and also have a following that can be called a ‘fandom’, at least, I think so. I can do one on musicians and music if enough of you like and take the time to read this one. I just thought it was nice to let followers and friends know what I like so that we have stuff to talk about or they know what fandoms to send me asks about etc. Right, I’ll stop waffling and get into it. (They’re listed in alphabetical order - blame my weird brain). Try to not judge me, please?

The Addams Family (1990′s movies)

Atlantis (BBC TV series)

The Batman 2022 universe

The Big Bang Theory

Broadchurch (ITV TV series)

Castle

Class (BBC Doctor Who spin-off)

Cornetto Trilogy + Paul (The Simon Pegg & Nick Frost films)

Criminal Minds

Crimson Peak (Del Toro’s Gothic Horror film)

DCEU(all DCEU films, but only those specific films)

Disney (most of the Princess movies as well as other classics like Bambi etc.)

Divergent Trilogy (movies + books, mainly the books)

Doctor Who (all of it, but mainly 2005+)

Downton Abbey

The End Of The F***ing World

Enola Holmes 1 & 2

Ghosts (BBC sitcom)

Glee (stopped after The Quarterback, not sure if I want to continue)

Good Omens, my favourite! (book + series)

Gotham (TV series, started season 3! Major Nygmobblepot shipper!)

The Great (historical comedy)

The Great Gatsby (book + LD movie, the book is better, imo)

Hannibal (NBC series + books, only read Red Dragon though)

Heartstopper (series + comics)

His Dark Materials (BBC series, the books & the film)

The Host (book + film. I like it okay?!)

House M.D

How To Train Your Dragon (books + movies)

Humans (Channel 4 TV series)

The Hunger Games (books + movies)

I Am Not Okay With This

Ice Age films (3rd one’s the best in my opinion!)

Independence Day (only watched the sequel for Jeff Goldblum)

Interview With The Vampire (AMC show, books & film)

IT (miniseries, movies + the book)

John Green books & adaptations (specifically Fault In Our Stars)

Jurassic Park/World (books + movies, apart from no. 3)

Kingsman (the movies)

Kinky Boots (the movie)

Knives Out

KONG: Skull Island (It’s got Tom Hiddleston in!!)

Lord of the Rings & The Hobbit (films + books, need to finish LOTR book)

Madagascar films

The Mandalorian (the only Star Wars property I like)

MARVEL (All MCU films, ALL Spider-Man films, Fox’ s X-Men, Venom, Netflix shows, Agents of SHIELD & Agent Carter)

The Mentalist

Merlin (BBC TV series)

Misifts (Channel 4 TV series)

Narnia (films + books)

NCIS (Mainly normal NCIS and LA)

Night at the Museum trilogy

The Night Manager (BBC series + the book)

The Old Guard (I LOVE IT!!!)

One Dollar Horse book trilogy by Lauren St John

Only Lovers Left Alive (Another film with Tom Hiddleston in!)

Pans Labyrinth (Del Toro film)

Pegasus book series by Kate O’Hearn

Pirates of The Caribbean films (yes, all of them!)

Pride & Prejudice (book + BBC series) & Pride & Prejudice & Zombies (books + movie)

Primeval (BBC TV series)

Red, White & Royal Blue (book & movie)

Sanders Sides (Thomas Sanders’ YT series)

The Sandman (Netflix series & comics)

Sarah-Jane Adventures (Doctor Who spin-off)

Sex Education

Shadow & Bone (Netflix show ONLY atm)

Shadowhunters (Netflix series), ALL Shadowhunters Chronicles books & City of Bones movie

Sherlock (BBC TV series + books)

Shrek films

Slaughterhouse Rulez (It’s a decent film with Asa Butterfield, Michael Sheen and Simon Pegg in it okay?!)

Star Trek (AOS and TOS)

Stranger Things

Supernatural (only on season 14 here in the UK, and I’ve not started it yet, so...)

Titans (the Netflix show only)

Torchwood (Another Doctor Who spin-off)

Trainspotting (only the movies)

Twilight (NO LOVE FOR MEYER)

The Umbrella Academy (only the Netflix series)

Vampire Academy (movie + books)

Vampire Diaries & The Originals (TV series + the VD books)

Victoria (ITV TV series)

Wallace & Gromit (BBC series)

Warm Bodies (film)

Wil.E.Coyote (all series)

Winnie the Pooh (the books and some of the old series and films)

The Witcher (only the Netflix series, need to order the books)

The Wombles (TV series)

That’s it guys! I like lots of other movies and shows, but these are the ones that I’ve seen stuff for one here or seen people talk about. Try and not to judge me too harshly for my taste okay. If anyone wants to talk about any of the above fandoms, I’m happy to do so! Thanks for reading this super long list!

#its-all-ineffable's fandoms #talk to me about any of these things #these are my 'fandoms'#I know there are loads #please don't judge me for some of them #multifandom #wow #there are loads #my fandoms

76 notes · View notes

thehuggamugcafe · 4 years ago

Text

Day 3: Crows

Is it any surprise that once a sadistic gremlin, always a sadistic gremlin?

No? Then you, dear reader, should be well aware of what you’re getting into.

Blessings be to the marvellous Rae, for giggling with yours truly and sparking the muse to get this bad boy served.

Do enjoy, my dears!

“Are you trying to escape me?” The voice is calling to you, beckoning you closer, despite you trying your damn best to wrestle free of the hold it has on you. You struggle, you kick, you scream bloody murder, you plead for release, you beg for this presence to let you go; all your fruitless efforts earn you is a laugh, a mocking laugh but a laugh all the same, and the feeling of ghost-like hands wrapping around you. “You know I’d never allow that to happen. We’re bound, you and I.” You think you holler “no!” but, honestly, you can no longer distinguish the difference between the waking world and the land of slumber. You think you’re dreaming, but are you really? You can’t tell. Even with the feeling of the earth beneath you, the mud that is wet and heavy, staining the front of your nightclothes, and besmirching the gentle colour with a hue of brown that’s almost black, you aren’t sure. Even when your fingers, your nails claw at the damp grass, prying loose rock and bits of dirt cake to your hands, you aren’t sure. Even when sweat breaks out across your forehead and your skin crawls with the chilling sensation of gooseflesh, you aren’t sure. Even when you scream to be released and the hands, as if they find your misery to be comedy gold, simply hold onto your shaking form a bit tighter, you aren’t sure. It’s with a sting of bitterness, you note, that while they’re treating you like you’re a glass figurine, the hands—nor their owner—clearly have no intentions to let you go. “Don’t you want to spend an eternity with me?” That gets you to stop struggling, albeit momentarily. You freeze, remaining where you are; you’re as still as a statue. It’s as though roots have burst from the earth and wrapped around your wrists, your ankles, holding you prisoner. You feel no warmth radiating off of this being, a fact that doesn’t surprise you at all. Assuming he was even human once upon a time, whatever humanity he formerly possessed has surely rotted away to nothing but dust to be blown about in the wind, long before you and he crossed paths. “I wish to spend forever with you. Doesn’t that sound nice, mon amour?” You don’t—can’t—answer him. You keep your mouth shut. Your recollection of your French classes from high school is vague, but you’re positive that this presence just called you “my love”. Why is it—no, he—calling you its love? There is no sound rhyme nor reason for it to address you with faux affection; you don’t know what it is! Aside from your unwavering attention, you don’t even know what this spirit wants from you! You quietly convince yourself that if you figure out its motives, what it’s after, perhaps you’ll be granted some shred of clemency. It’s a fool’s errand to wish for something like that, you know that to be a cold and brutal fact. One you must accept, like it or not. You know there is no bigger fool at present than you. But when you’re staring into the abyss, can you help yourself for wishing for the best, even though it may be a sweet lie you tell yourself? Eventually, you stop struggling; what point is there in delaying the inevitable, after all? You’re tired, too exhausted to put up with this spirit’s head games. So you lay where you are, breathing icy air into your lungs, awaiting the end. “Aren’t you going to kill me? Get it over with already; enough of these stupid mind games!” Your heated words must surely take it—him—aback, you know they have. You aren’t sure how you know, but with how chatty it’s been, you find it hard to believe that it—he—has fallen silent, but he has. Finally, finally, he breathes a drawling hum in your ear; you shiver out of disgust, of fear. Perhaps it’s both. You don’t know; you don’t want to know. “Kill you? Why would I do that to a beautiful treasure like you?” Damn him, he sounds almost amused. Almost. But there is something else, something other than dark pleasure in his words: curiosity. Is he curious of your logic? Or is he merely playing with you once again? You wouldn’t be surprised if that is the case, as he seems to love toying with you like you’re his doll. As if to prove you right for once, and make fun of you while doing so, he chuckles. And as though he means to rub salt in a wound, your wounded ego that is, he slowly drags a finger along the curve of your jaw. “I cherish you far too much to treat you in such a brutish way. A gentleman is supposed to show proper manners to a lady, is he not?” “As if you’re a gentleman! If you were a gentleman, you’d let me go!” Is what you want to say; it’s what you should say. Fear, however, may as well have formed a fist and punched you in the gut, robbing the ability to speak from you. For now, at the very least. The poison that’s being injected into your veins, terror, is what stops you from speaking aloud; the venom running its languid course through you, fear, is what keeps your lips sealed shut. You don’t know what this spirit is capable of doing to you, even in a dream. And far be it from you to be unfortunate enough to find out what, exactly, he is able to do while you’re dreaming. At least you think you’re dreaming; rather, you hope that this is all just a horrid dream. You’ll wake up soon, you know this. You’re praying that you’ll slip from the land of slumber and wake up in reality, returning to some semblance of normalcy. You have to wake up soon, you have to! You don’t know how much longer you can take being here, in this nightmare any longer! And just like that dread begins to take over, washing over your cold logic like acid, setting your nerves on fire. What if… What if you don’t—can’t—wake up from this terrible dream? It is possible, of course, you know that. It isn’t outside the realm of likelihood that you’re stuck, trapped here forever with this… This spirit or whatever he is. The thought alone is enough to get you to start your struggling anew. It starts as barely a wiggle, shifting your legs. You feel the bits of rock digging into the skin of your thighs, digging into your knees as you kick your feet. Then your arms begin moving, attempting to wriggle them free from the masculine embrace keeping them where they are. “Let me go!” It’s a useless demand; a pointless order. You know he won’t listen to you, but even so, your words slide off of your tongue that feels as dry as desert air. Your suspicions are confirmed when instead of doing as you ask, he simply breathes a laugh. You feel it, the laugh, as a whisper of a breeze tickles the shell of your ear. “We’ve been over this already, haven’t we? I have no intentions of letting you go; not now, not ever.” Bastard. The audacity of this entity! You are not anyone’s property, certainly not his. “You’re mine, after all.” Hearing those words, in a clear and stark contradiction to your own, only makes you struggle harder. You’re acting like a feral animal, desperately seeking freedom from the cage keeping you locked away. However, for all the good your thrashing does, or for a proper lack of blessings, it only seems to amuse him. “Now, now… Where do you think you’re going?” You say nothing. Your jaw stays clamped shut, one set of teeth grinding down on the lower half; you won’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. You still struggle, of course you do. Anything to get as far away from this… This thing will be a blessing, as laughable as that sounds to you in the here and now. But, evidently, small miracles do seem to exist. That, or he’s curious to see what you will do. This son of a bitch is intrusive enough to let you escape, temporarily, all for his own entertainment! Regardless, you feel a wrist slipping free; half of your body is quick to follow suit. A shaky hope burns in your heart, pumping true and strong in your breast. You take in air, greedily, as you jerk away from this awful mockery of a man— Only to feel a strong hand grip your wrist in a grip that, while it is gentle to an extent, it is also iron-clad, threatening to leave bruises in their wake. A gasp slips from you even as you twist and turn, frantically trying to free yourself from this spirit’s grasp. But of course you can’t have that, not even in a dream. A laugh slithers into the cavern of your ear, mocking your escape attempt with every fibre of his being. As if that isn’t bad enough, he pulls you into a slow, gentle embrace, though you still cannot feel any temperature radiating off of this being, hot or cold. He is just simply… here. What you can feel, however, is the way the damp earth cushions your back as you’re pinned in place, hands held in place on either side of your head. Again, a second chortle hits your frightened scowl as he leans in close, so close that a few inches are all that separates his lips from yours. “You truly are a poor, wistful little fool, aren’t you? How cute.” Slowly, oh so slowly, his hold on one of your wrists loosens, much to your surprise. You watch as he holds it daintily, carefully raising it to his mouth. A phantom kiss is applied to the top of the ring you’re wearing. The ring that you bought purely on a whim, laughing off the concerns of the elderly shopkepper about it being cursed. If only you had listened… If only you had heeded the warning… The golden band shimmers gently underneath the moon’s cold glare as it peeks out from behind a veil of dark cloud, but the little blood-red ruby is what’s earned the right to have the honour, the privilege of knowing the invisible press of his lips. In hindsight, so has your second knuckle. It is naught but a whisper of nonexistent air, a tender kiss of a breeze, but you feel it even though there’s no conceivable way that you should be able to. You watch, absolutely petrified, as a smile pulls at the spirit’s face, raising his eyes to leer at you. His eyes are as black as coal. “My name is Arsène… May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, chérie?”

You awake with a jolt. More specifically, you awake with a scream dying on your lips that’s followed by a squeak of pain as you quickly, gracelessly tumble out of bed. You hit the floor of your room, hitting your hand off of the end table as your descent to the bare tiles is polished off with a low, weary groan. It takes you a few moments to realize that you’re not dreaming. It takes you twice as long, almost a full minute, before it dawns on you that you’re sitting on the floor of your room, your small and shaded sanctuary, with a throbbing hand and a mind that matches the racing of your heart. Still, the fact that you’re safe doesn’t stop you from letting your eyes dart around your bedroom, wide-eyed and wild. You leer at everything: the dark outlines of furniture and random knick-knacks; the pale glare of the moon shining in through the window, giving a silver-y gleam to the wall on your right; the clock tick-toking on your dresser, showing the time as 3 in the morning in red numbers; the small vanity shoved against the left-hand side of your room, reflecting the ghostly image of the full moon lurking in the gloomy sky. Is he here? The thought alone is enough to get your heart to flutter anew, pounding in your breast like a songbird in flight. You swallow; the gulp is thick. You feel it, the gulp, sticking at the back of your throat as it slithers down your esophagus, down to your belly and once there, it flip-flops in silent anxiety. You twist and turn in the sheets that have cocooned your legs. Your cold palms, your clammy fingers reach for the covers, pulling at them until your legs and feet have been freed of the cotton restraints. No, you think, shaking your head as you do. There’s no way he can be here; that was just a dream, wasn’t it? A bittersweet comfort, but you’ll take what you can get right now. You take in air slowly, exhaling it as carefully as you can. You aren’t in the mood to acknowledge how shaky the breath is; you don’t care enough to take note of how much you’re trembling. To calm yourself, you begin to practice your deep breathing. Slowly, as though not to disturb some godforsaken force that’s taken up residence in your home, you step away from the mangled pile of covers and quilts. You raise a hand, wiping away the icy sweat that’s gathered on your brow as you do. A breath leaves you in a winded whoosh, and you feel as though you’ve just participated in the world’s longest marathon. I’m safe here… That’s what you think as you draw closer to your bedroom door, reaching for the round knob. You grip it in your palm, in your fingers, turning it as a wave of relief washes over you. The low, droning creak of the door’s hinges goes largely ignored by you as you step out into the hallway. It has never occurred to you just how sorely welcomed light is, until right this very moment. The ghostly illumination from the light on the stairs, just outside your bathroom door that’s been left open, pours into the small restroom as you take a sharp right, stepping inside and shutting the door. I’m safe here… You take a few moments to fumble for the light switch and a fresh, stronger wave of relaxation washes over you. You blink, allowing your eyes to adjust as the light above the mirror blinks a few times before it stays on, burning brightly like lights in a dark forest. I’m safe here… The sound of the running faucet grates on your hearing like nails dragging over a chalkboard, slowly, but you ignore it as you cup cold water in your hands. The hit of icy liquid as it splashes on your face is just what you needed to wake you up, make you more alert. Your fingers, dripping with brisk water, grips the cold faucet; it squeaks as it’s shut off, the water slowing to a steady drip. I’m safe here… You reach for the small towel hanging off of the rack on your right, drying your hands before you reach for another, smaller towel. The cotton fabric is soft as you press it to your face, gently wiping away the chilled droplets that trail down your face. You lower the towel, peering into the mirror out of habit than, say, out of curiosity about how dishevelled you must look. I’m safe here— And just like that, time crawls to a full-on stop. There, as though to taunt you for fooling yourself into thinking you’re safe, he is staring back at you. You blink slowly, stupidly, eyes meeting his black leer over the edge of the fluffy cotton towel you’re holding in two, trembling fists. How is he—? You watch as his lips curl to a devilish smile as slowly, oh so slowly, lines of a hue that’s as dark as ink leak from his eyes. Perched on his left shoulder is a crow and you watch, equal parts stunned and horrified, as the small, feathered creature opens its beak, releasing a caw that goes unheard. You watch as the spirit, the being—whatever he is—raises a hand, hovering a finger close to his lips, purses them, and his mouth curves to a silent o. The gesture is silent, a laughable contrast to the static buzzing in your brain and the ringing in your ears, but the meaning behind his actions are as clear as day. “Shh.” You blink, shutting your eyes so tight that it hurts. You wait, vomit threatening to rise up from your flip-flopping belly and heart almost daring to burst out of your chest, for what seems like forever before you finally summon the courage to open your eyes. Slowly, the mirror comes into focus, and you exhale sharply as you see nothing. There is no crow silently cawing, as if it’s mourning how unfortunate you are to have caught a spirit’s attention. There is no one with eyes that are solid black; there is no malevolent being leaking inky tears staring back at you. You shake your head, dismissing the thought as you pat your face with the towel before putting it back where it belongs: on the towel rack. You breathe a hiss, raising your wrist to eye-level. Your face pales in shock when you spot light bruising, exactly where the spirit had grabbed you in the dream. In fact, you can even spot faint markings where its nails dug into your skin, gently but painfully. But that had been just a dream, a nightmare. Right? Right? The ghostly pain on your wrist, the tiny marks that mar your skin, beg to differ.

#Persona 5 #Cursed!Arsène #Reader-insert #AU #Screamtober 2020 #Collaboration

17 notes · View notes

ampmiscfiles · 4 years ago

Text

The Webs We Weave: Chapter 29

Start From The Beginning

Luke groaned as he opened his eyes. Looking around, he found Danny and Jessica laid out on the ground beside him. The room they were in was plain and vacant. It clearly wasn’t meant to house anyone.

“I feel like shit.” Jessica groaned, sitting up and holding her head. “Worse than any hangover I’ve ever had.”

“That’s impressive.” Danny mumbled into the floor.

“Shut up you ass.” she huffed, shoving him.

“As fun as it is to hear you two bicker, we got bigger problems.” Luke grunted, pushing himself up off the floor and walking to the door.

“Seems like a poor attempt to keep us hostage if they put us in here.” Danny frowned.

“All the better for us.” Luke said, pulling back his fist and slamming it into the door and flying back into the wall.

“Holy shit!” Jessica screamed, rushing to Luke’s side had his entire arm looked burnt. “What the hell was that?”

“Not as poor an attempt as I thought.” Danny winced as he looked over Luke’s arm.

“It’s a-”

“High powered electric field.” Norman’s voice cut off Luke’s reply. “It would be very foolish to keep three powerful individuals like you in such a simple room. Don’t worry though, you won’t be here long. I just have some things to take care of first.”

“You better hope your little field holds up Osborn.” Luke growled. “Cause it won’t be pretty if I get my hands on you.”

“You’ll find I’m not very concerned with what actually happens to any of you.“

They could hear the dismissal in his voice.

"I’m more concerned with the idiot ‘billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ and the special little spider I’ve managed to catch. Enjoy your stay.”

The sound of the speaker crackled out as Jessica erupted into curses.

Danny felt around his ear, taking note for the first time that his communicator was missing. Unless Jessica or Luke had theirs, there was no way to reach Frank.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Felicia wiped her eyes as she continued down the tunnel. They had no idea where Peter and Tony had gone. They had no idea if continuing down the tunnels would even help them at all. No one knew where they all went anyway! What if they never found them? What if Norman already had them? What if whoever Norman was working for had his own plans for Peter? It wouldn’t be the first time someone would think they could experiment on him.

She wiped her eyes again.

She wanted her Peter.

If-no-when they got him back, he was going to be on house arrest until she deemed him safe enough to return to the outside.

It shouldn’t be to hard to keep him indoors. He’d have unpacking to do in his and Wade’s new apartment after all.

She sniffled.

“Hey,” Bucky said, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. “We’re going to find him. I won’t just leave one of my idiot brothers behind.”

“One of your brothers?” Felicia asked, her face buried in his chest.

“Yeah.” Bucky chuckled. “Steve is idiot brother number one, Peter is idiot brother number two.”

Felicia giggled as she clutched his shirt tighter, enjoying the warmth of his arms around her.

“Usually Peter would have something snarky to say at this point.” she smiled.

“All the more reason to keep going. We’ve got to find him and take care of this Norman guy. We’ve all got lives to get back to that don’t involve a lunatic with a Halloween fetish.”

“Yeah. I’ve got to tell him how you held my dainty figure in your strong, masculine arms while I cried for him.” she snickered as Bucky choked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wade Wilson knew fury. He knew the dark desire revenge could be. He had given into that desire often enough to consider himself an expert.

Having Peter taken from him brought that dark desire front and center. He itched to pull the triggers of his guns, or swing the sharp blades of his katanas through someone’s flesh.

His thoughts were dark, and bloody. His ideas involved trails of blood and dismembered body parts. No, Peter wouldn’t like it, but he didn’t have to know either. Wade would never enact such things in front of his baby boy.

Still, if Wade was seething, murderous vengeance, he wasn’t sure what to describe the thing next to him as.

At this point, Wade had seen Matthew Murdock in various stages of emotions, but this was an entirely different beast.

For the first time ever, Wade realized the ‘Devil’ in Matt’s vigilante title might mean more than he thought.

A darkness seemed to roll off his shoulders. He was to silent to be natural.

Even the brat had noticed.

While he hadn’t been really interested in talking to either of them after the big reveal of Spider-Man’s identity, the kid was even quieter now.

“So, I can’t believe I’m the one asking this, but what’s our plan?” Wade said, breaking the tense silence.

Matt stopped completely, his face turned straight ahead.

“You two will get Peter and Stark. I will handle whoever’s there.”

“You wait a sec-”

Wade grunted as he was slammed into the wall, Matt’s arm buried in his throat.

“You listen to me Wilson, I won’t repeat myself. You two will get Peter and Stark and get them to safety. We have no idea what kind of shape we’re going to find them in. Considering our situation, I seriously doubt either of them would be any use to us. I need to know Peter is safe. I trust you to follow directions and get him out.

"Bu-” Wade choked as Matt pressed harder.

“My son was taken from me. You may be dating him Wilson, but he was my kid first. I made a promise to his aunt to get him out. I can die, Wade, you can’t. If anyone can make sure Peter gets out, it’s you. That’s always going to be your role. Peter is always going to be your job to protect. If you decide to ignore me and fight whoever we find, you better hope I die there. If I don’t, I’ll make it a personal goal to find a way to make sure you do. I’ll do what I have to, regardless of what it means for me.”

Matt growled as he released Wade and shoved him to the side before turning to Harley.

“The same thing goes for you. Get Stark out.”

“And if they’re fine?” Wade coughed, standing up fully. “You know Pete isn’t just gonna stand aside.”

“Then you better make sure he’s not alone.”

Even after being surrounded by Avengers, looking at Daredevil, Harley felt he could finally see what being a real hero really meant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony winced as his eyes cracked open to bright lights. His head throbbed and he felt sore. Peeling his eyes open slowly, he took note of his state. He was in a propped up position, but strapped to a metal table. Across from him, in the same situation, was a still unconscious Peter.

“Peter? Peter! Wake up kid!”

“He’s not going to hear you, Stark. I was very careful about how much sedative I gave him over you. I wanted us to have a few moments together.”

Tony growled as Norman stepped up beside him.

“I have to say, while I was hoping to catch two birds with one stone, you weren’t the other bird. Still, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Who was crazy enough to let you out?” Tony glared.

“There was a time I would have risen to that bait, but I believe that out of the two of us, I’m not the one who has anything to worry about.” Norman smirked, moving over to Peter.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” Norman asked, running a finger down Peter’s cheek. “A marvel for sure.”

“Don’t touch him!”

“Has he ever really discussed himself with you?” Norman asked, moving away from Peter, ignoring Tony.

“He’s done research on himself, you know. Extensive research. He’s accessed my servers to an extent Harry doesn’t even know about.”

Tony frowned, wondering where this was going.

“You know, the spider’s venom he received was never meant for human experimentation…..at least not when he was bitten. My people had run multiple tests on them and had been recording the changes in their poison. It was a secret project, so there were no time constraints.

One of the very few projects I gave free reign to.

I needed it to be perfect before anyone could know about it….and they were making progress all the time.” Norman looked over at a large monitor detailing information on the spiders.

“What was the project supposed to be?” Tony asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Once properly developed, they would be harvested to create a new breed of super soldiers…ones that would put Steve Rogers to shame. It isn’t a coincidence that Peter’s abilities are greater than Captain America’s. That was always the point.

"You just said it was never meant for human experimentation!”

“I said the spider that bit Peter wasn’t meant for human experimentation. None of the spiders in that batch were even remotely ready to be harvested. Truthfully, the fact he’s even alive is incredible. The venom literally altered his DNA.” Norman paused, looking from the screens to Peter.

“He’s far to precious to be out unsupervised. You had no idea what you had with him.” Norman said, glaring at Tony. “He nearly died the time he saved your ass by protecting your precious Stark property!”

“How about when you attacked him!”

Norman laughed as Tony fumed, guilt over the entire event of Peter’s Homecoming night gnawing at him.

“If you ever thought Peter’s life was really in danger, you’re more of an idiot than I took you for. While I didn’t know who was under the mask, I would never have killed them. They were far more valuable alive than dead. That said, he wasn’t going to come in quietly, and his abilities made close combat difficult to achieve. Naturally, I had to up the ante to acquire him. Admittedly, I underestimated the intelligence under the mask. It wasn’t simply brute force that beat me. Peter’s mind works amazingly fast to try and analyze everything around him.”

Tony didn’t respond, he didn’t need to. He was fully aware of the brilliance of Peter’s brain. While he would never flat out say anything to Harley, if Peter had decided to return to him and SI, he would easily put him as the main inheritor to the company.

Harley was smart and could most likely run the business perfectly but , he could be rash and come off a bit abrasive. Peter on the other hand, was extremely intelligent with a calm and friendly personality. Out of the two, people would most likely be more willing to deal with Peter than Harley…..kind of like how people were more willing to deal with Pepper than him.

Still, none of that mattered if they didn’t get out of here.

“Oh yes, you know all about him though, don’t you?” Norman sneered, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

“You know all about his perfect grades from the moment he entered school till he left. You know all about his life before his uncle passed.”

“I know they haven’t had it easy-“

“All you know about him is what any idiot can look up. You know nothing about what the Parker’s have experienced emotionally. Peter and Harry have been friends since they were very young. I’ve watched Peter grow up. I was around when he lost his parents. I went with my wife and son to the funeral. His parents were brilliant scientists.”

Norman chuckled, looking at Peter.

“He definitely took after them.”

Taking a breath, Norman moved to a small table and picked up a glass cube.

“I had hoped spending time with Peter would have been good for Harry. Maybe get him on the right track. Unfortunately, Harry will never amount to anything.”

“He seems to be running Oscorp just fine .” Tony sneered. “Better than you.”

“I’ll give it to him on one thing.” Norman said, walking up to Tony. “He made a smart move hiring Peter for the pharmaceutical department.”

Tony glared as Norman stopped before him. A sly grin spread across the man’s face as he held up the glass cube.

“Anyway, what do you think?”

Tony looked into the cube, taking in the small spider suspended inside. There was nothing special in the way it looked, but he had a pretty good idea of its importance.

“I’m sure you know why I’m showing you this. It’s the very spider that bit Peter.” he twirled the glass.

“It was found on the floor after the field trip had ended. At the time, we all assumed the spider had just died being outside of it’s controlled environment.”

Norman chuckled at himself.

“I’m honestly ashamed of myself for taking so long to put the pieces together on where Spider-Man might have gotten his abilities. Of course, when I did, I tried to offer him a place as a partner. With his abilities, given by me by the way, we could have made a formidable team.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“It wasn’t to surprising.” Norman shrugged. “Spider-Man had chosen the path of the hero long before I got to him. It was just disappointing.”

“When did you figure out it was Peter under the mask?”

“Oh, I have you to thank for that.” Norman laughed.

“Think back, Tony Stark . Think back to the early days of a certain webslinger. Think back to a moment in time where you failed him by not trusting him over your own issues.”

Tony frowned, feeling like he should know where Norman was going, but missing something.

“Does the moniker of ‘Vulture’ ring any bells?”

Tony’s eyes widened.

“Oh yes. He was willing to keep Peter’s secret, until he was offered his freedom. It’s amazing what people will do for the chance to get what they want. For Toomes it was his family, for me, well, he’s right across from you.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re so much better?” Norman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Have you not been pushing him to rejoin your little hero group? From what I’ve gathered, Spider-Man has never seemed to be interested in joining the Avengers. In fact, I’d say he went out of his way to avoid you.”

Tony’s jaw tightened.

“I guess my return worked more in your favor than you want to admit.” Norman smirked, moving back over to Peter.

“He should be waking up soon, then the real fun will begin.”

“What are you planning?”

“Well, I can’t let him out to wander the streets, now can I? No. So, he’ll have to be kept inside. Luckily, I’ve got some….. volunteers testing out some new features I plan to use in Peter’s room.”

“You’re going to keep him locked up like some prisoner? Yeah, I’m sure that will work out for you.”

“Well, it will only be temporary.” Norman shrugged. “Once he learns his place, he’ll be able to leave his room.”

Tony growled, pulling against his restraints.

“How cute, Stark. Do you really think you’ll be able to break those without your fancy suit?”

“You’re going to regret this Osborn!”

Norman just smirked, looking over at Peter as he started to stir.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frank grunted in annoyance as he checked over his gun for, what felt like, the hundredth time.

He was growing restless, not to mention the increasing feeling something was wrong.

“Hell with this.” he said, standing up.

“This stealth shit ain’t working for me.”

Grabbing his bag, Frank left the rooftop and headed off where he had watched the members of the Defenders go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We gotta get out of here.” Jessica huffed, stalking around their prison cell.

“Well, until we figure out a way around that field, we arn’t going anywhere.” Danny sighed.

“It would be nice to have the nerd with us.” Luke mumbled.

“That little shit is definitely taking me out drinking once this is all over.” Jessica grit her teeth, kicking the wall to relieve frustration.

Danny watched as she stalked off toward the other side of the room, not bothering to look where her foot had made contact with the wall.

He looked however.

His eyes widened at the small dent and hairline crack in the wall.

Maybe they weren’t as trapped as they thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter groaned as he struggled to regain consciousness. His head hurt slightly, and his eyes felt heavy.

Making to move his hand to rub his eyes, Peter snapped to awareness as he felt the restraints work against him.

“Wha-Tony?” Peter croaked out, throat dry.

“Peter!”

“Isn’t that cute.” Norman sneered. “Tony Stark all concerned for Peter Parker’s well being.”

“I’m not the one that drugged him and strapped him down!”

Peter took the two men arguing as a chance to fully assess his whereabouts and his situation.

He and Tony were both restrained and at the mercy of a psycho.

‘ Great. ’

Peter internally huffed.

He needed to figure out a way out of the restraints, but he could still feel the drugs in his system. He wouldn’t be anywhere near as good in a fight right now as he would be normally.

Still, he had to chance it.

He couldn’t let Tony stay here.

Norman wasn’t after Tony, despite their long time rivalry. That made Tony expendable. Expendable people usually didn’t last in these situations and despite their history, Peter couldn’t let anything happen to the man.

Spider-Man didn’t abandon anyone.

Twisting his wrists, Peter tested the strength of the restraints and various angles and points. Infuriatingly though, they were solid at all points.

“Well now, Peter.” Norman smiled. “Let’s help you get a better look at things.”

Peter watched as Norman moved to the side of the table and pressed a button. The table gave a slight vibration as it tilted forward, putting him into an almost standing position.

“There we go. Now we can all properly see each other.”

Peter held back his glare, refusing to give anything away as to how he was handling things.

“I’m so glad to see you again, Peter.” Norman smiled, an unsettling scenarity in the action. “Our time together was so short last time.”

“You’re the one who left.” Peter replied.

“Well, I had a few things to take care of.” Norman shrugged. “But everything is how it should be now.”

Norman moved directly into Peter’s eyeline, his expression sent Peter’s Spider-Sense screaming.

Norman reached out a hand, grabbing Peter’s chin roughly.

“Now, Peter, how about we finish what we st-”

“Osborn!”

Peter froze.

He knew that voice.

He knew that voice so well.

The missing puzzle piece had finally fallen into place

Norman grinned before dropping his hand and pulling Peter’s mask back over his face.

“Can’t have just anyone knowing your little secret, now can we?” Norman chuckled before turning to the new arrival.

“I apologize for the lack of a proper delivery but ,” Norman chuckled. “I don’t believe we’ll have to wait much longer. As you can see, we have something he’ll be very anxious to have returned.”

“We better not.” the man threatened, before turning to both Peter and Tony.

Tony looked between the two men. It was obvious they were talking about Peter, but what business did either of them have trying to lure in Deadpool?

That was who they were after, right?

“I must say, Tony Stark was not who I was expecting to see when I came here.” the man chuckled before focusing his full attention on Peter.

“Hello again, Spider-Man.”

Peter looked at the man before him, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“How’s it going, Fisk?”

#TWWW #the webs we weave #Peter parker #wade wilson #matt murdock #avengers #felicia hardy #fanfiction

1 note · View note

supermoviemaniac · 5 years ago

Text

SONY PULLS AWAY FROM MCU DUE TO FINANCIAL DISPUTE!

Which translates to: "Sony are cash-grabbing big wigs that would rather collapse a successful property all because they don't know how to play fairly".

Sony had relentlessly and tirelessly hindered Marvel for years... But at long last, they finally came to an agreement and allowed one of the biggest superheroes in history to play ball with the highly successful Marvel Cinematic Universe. Alas, clearly it was short-lived. Of course, how foolish of us to think Sony could cooperate with another company at all, let alone harmoniously. Ah well, Spidey had a good run in the MCU, right? We should be grateful he even got this far, right?

WRONG!

Sony have yanked the character away from infinitely more-capable hands, not only at a time where he's in the process of being delicately developed into the next big Avenger, but right after a killer cliffhanger... which to me puts into perspective just how little Sony cares about anything. This is going to wound the MCU and the story they're passionately telling, and they probably enjoy that notion.

I don't know what you guys' opinions are on the Venom movie, or the upcoming Morbius movie, but they're clearly exploits of big comic book names for the sake of money, because they know they'll sell tickets (especially with the purposeful casting of certified heartthrobs Tom Hardy and Jared Leto). If you want my further opinion, I reckon the only reason (other than money) they're making these literally-pointless films outside of the MCU was out of spite; to prove to themselves that they can still make whatever films they want, and to prevent the MCU from using those characters.

Well, it looks like Spidey is back to being all alone. There's so many questions. What's to happen to the MCU's version of the webslinger? Will Tom Holland still play Spidey and will it still be part of the MCU, simply lacking the directional oversight of Disney/Kevin Feige? Will Jon Watts be directing again, or will he be scared away by Sony's inevitable/unnecessary directional input? If Tom still plays him, will it start where Far From Home left off, or will it be a completely fresh rendition outside of the MCU? If he's suddenly gone from the MCU, how will Marvel's plans be effected?

Sony are selfish pigs in my eyes. I refuse to watch any future Spidey-related films by them if they're outside of the MCU (except for the animated Spiderverse franchise, since that's clearly made by passionate artists). They could potentially be throwing a huge spanner in the works for Marvel Studios, all because of money. They're well aware of the millions upon millions of Spidey and MCU fans, and the effect this character and other superheroes have on their lives in terms of interests and pop culture.

Marvel Studios were clearly paving a grand future for the character as part of the most successful franchise in history... Sony are well aware of this. I cannot think of Sony and whatever future they have for Spider-Man without thinking how unjust, pointless and selfish it all is. Yes, Sony do own the property yada, yada... But I don't care. If they truly cared for the property, they'd be more open to flexibility, cooperation and even a little compliance when it came to working with the MCU, since they're clearly the biggest and best cinematic universe franchise to date, in every aspect there is. (I'm not talking about personal opinions - the MCU is simply the most successful one out there, no matter the aspect it's measured by. Even if you personally don't like it, it's true). If the future of Spidey is completely separate to the MCU (where he belongs) then I hope Tom Holland wants no part of it. Let's face it, without Tom or Marvel Studios behind Sony, it's gonna fall flat in every way, shape or form.

I say hope, because that's all we as fans can do at this point. Just look back at James Gunn; he was fired from Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3... it seemed for definite and irreversible... but things were worked out and now he's back. I'm hoping this Sony ordeal will eventually be mended somehow, but I'm lacking in optimism.

The MCU: Ran by passionate filmmakers that know what they're doing, with a family-like cast like no other, with an unrivalled fan base - fans so diehard because of trust earnt, through 23 incredible movies, each unique, yet part of a thoroughly thought out story that shows no signs of stopping.

Sony: Greedy assholes that care not for the effects their selfish actions bring, thus jeopardising the MCU's future, all because they can. A company that will no doubt pump out unnecessary movies like factory-made sausages for the sake of money.

Yeah, Disney's priority is gonna be money too, but at least they've entrusted passionate people to run Marvel Studios so people actually enjoy their movies and can justify such an unprecedented fandom. Far From Home was Sony's highest grossing film ever, but no, they're still like, "Nah, we still want more money and more ownership". Dicks.

What are your thoughts? Let me know...

#marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #spiderman #spider man #tom holland #sony #disney #endgame #far from home #infinity war #comics #comic books #movies #cinema #film #tom hiddleston #sebastian stan

411 notes · View notes

englass · 5 years ago

Text

Threadbare

Pairing(s): John Seed x F! Reader/Deputy

Warning(s): A little bit of Possessive Behaviour near the end (when isn’t there in my fics haha)

Word Count: 9,101

A/N: Gonna use this opportunity to apologise to @starsandskies @softseeds and @seedlingsinner for not getting back to you on your ‘Last Line Meme’ tags, I’ve been working on this and didn’t want to risk spoiling anymore of it than I have 😅 Apologies again, lovelies! ❤️ Now, I hope you all enjoy this inconsistent mess; I’m just glad that it’s finally over!

Also, side note: this is the final/original version of ‘A Moment In Time’ that I never thought that I’d finish, so... yeah, I actually finished it; oops? 😅

- - -

The room is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of fabric and your calm breathing, only ever holding when your concentration tightens or a loud sound catches your ear. It’s a risky move you’re making, being here of all places. All it would take is one slip up and any patrolling Peggies would come running. In your current position, rifle resting just out of comfortable reach against a nearby night stand and hand gun securely holstered to your thigh, the potential outcome could be precarious.

Still, such thoughts are far out of mind. If anything, for once, your mind is not plagued by the worries, fears and demands of the people. It is quiet, tranquil, filled with an occupied motion that lulls and eases. It is the most peace you have had since this whole debacle began; and secretly, unknowingly even to yourself, you take your sweet time and milk it for all it’s worth. An unconscious action deeply needed.

Every so often you take stock, pausing to look, only to end up staring at nothing in particular, around the room you hold court in. It’s a surprisingly large room and it is as gorgeous and telling as the man it belongs to: all high-class with expensive taste, yet subtly simple – modest in design and openly exquisite in every minute detail. Almost everything, save for the immaculate wooden furniture and feather-soft carpet, falls within the spectrum of blue. It creates an oceanic space filled with a deep and enriching sense of stillness and liberation, emulating the ebb and rise of a tempered wave.

It’s an absent wonder why sloth is visualised as the coercing colour.

You shift slightly, readjusting your position as you turn back to the article of clothing in your lap, eyes layered with an embedded fatigue not aimed at anything in particular. The glaze is misleading, your movements speaking not of a tired body. Instead, they are easily measured with a humble confidence, working at a steady pace with a precise and focused concentration, all benign.

There is an edge of paranoia, sharp and teetering like the point of a knife. It fuels the anvil-heavy weight on your shoulders, makes it hard to breathe even the shallowest of breaths. Worry gnaws at your edges alongside its cutting twin. ‘What ifs’ are a dangerous line of thought, yet even with an empty mind it turns in the background, twisting and coiling like a viper as worry and paranoia feed and pamper it.

The stress of the situation – the position you’ve been made to hold, a final bastion in a red-dyed field – has left a very real and scarring impression upon you. A bitter taste you can’t wash out.

It’s why you draw out your time with a self-imposed task that could be over within a matter of seconds. You drown yourself in an old action and memory, away from the war you have been made charge of.

It actually makes for quite an interesting scene.

Away from the tragedy of a civil war and the reluctant role you play in it, in the confines of a grand modern home, one would see the image of domesticity. A young woman sat on a satin quilted bed, expression relaxed and eyes tinged with oblivion as they lose themselves in a rhythmic motion, effortlessly mending a piece of male attire with a needle and thread in hand. A simple kit that the young lady wields with a conviction that rivals that of a knight and his sword.

Yes, quite a scene it makes.

Admittedly breaking into the infamous Seed Ranch wasn’t the best place to host such an image, despite how well you fit into the frame (obscenely so), but it wasn’t your idea to come here in the first place. No, the Resistance has a way of... puppeteering you. Not that you would ever openly admit to such a thing.

Thankfully you have it on good authority – ‘it better be on good authority’, you had snarled, before stalking out of the door of the outpost you had been visiting – that the youngest Seed would be away for the day. Overseeing another load of confessions and such, you had no doubt. It would be the perfect opportunity to take the ranch for the Resistance; loot the cave while the dragon is away, so to speak. Perhaps that’s why, along with the decrease in guard numbers, you had somewhat made yourself at home, taking your time to slowly wander the grand ranch and really take it all in; all in its full and undisturbed splendour.

Arguably you could do so once it was under the Resistance’s control, it would be a lot easier and less stressful to do so then, but you are not naive enough to believe that they won’t change anything once it’s theirs. No, it’s better to see it as it’s intended to be, before that travesty occurs.

Yet, despite your initial wanderings into the many, many rooms around the ranch, it was John Seed’s bedroom – of all places – that had caught your eye. It is why you are currently perched contently on the man’s king sized bed as you tend absently to one of his shirts.

It’s truly silly when you think about it, it’s just a shirt after all, but it turns out that sewing your younger sibling’s toys and clothing growing up has ultimately left a very lasting impression upon you. You had found solace in the action growing up and you still felt it now, more so than ever with the violent turn your life has taken, and you wanted nothing more than a brief moment to try and capture that same tranquility once again.

Although, in all honesty, even you know that you’re not potentially endangering yourself like this for a reason so small and seemingly petty.

With your modest sewing kit on the night-table next to you, and the faintest whisper of the birds songs outside, you pause to look over your work. It’s not turned out too bad, it won’t be the worst you’ve ever done, but not the best either. Not that you believe for a second that John would actually appreciate the gesture, no matter how perfect it turned out.

John Seed, though mainly known for his slippery lawyer ways and role within the infamous Eden’s Gate, was a very rich man. His life before Eden’s Gate, before being reunited with his lost siblings, had him as a rather successful property attorney from what you’ve heard, and it’s from that life and accumulated wealth that’s allowed the project to get as large and domineering as it has done.

It’s also allowed him to lavish himself in some of the most luxurious, and most audaciously expensive, brands that you’ve never heard off. Not only was he good looking, tall and slim with a lean frame painted with tattoos and gifted with a pretty face home to a devilish smile, but he dressed impeccably well.

It was near impossible to not initially swoon at such a charming character, but sadly he was a bit of an open book. The exterior may be exquisite, utterly unique and persuasive in how it draws you in, but it’s too easy to read and you find it’s pages to be littered with an underlying venom and rage; a bitterness that may be understandable, but hardly justifiable.

It was actually quite sad when you chose to sit down and actually think about the man and his siblings, to sit down and try to read them as best as you could. Each of them were broken in their own ways, left in disrepair, from the lives they had lived. You had even gone so far as to read Joseph’s physical book, the bible by which Eden’s Gate knelt before, to see if it could tell you more. The question of how they became – how you know them to be – a guiding hand as you flicked through the yellowing pages and over painful words.

Theirs was truly a sad story.

Still, you know it is no excuse for what they have done, or what they continue to do; and yet there is a part of you that, secretly, knows that you do this simple gesture for more of a reason than out of habit or past influence. It’s a simple but nice gesture and, although you don’t feel like it’ll be appreciated, you’re sure it’s something that they – John in-particular and especially so – have never been given before. At least not willingly.

If anything, with how rich John is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just brought a new shirt from an equally fancy, if not tear-inducingly expensive, brand without even batting an eye. That’s if he didn’t get it custom made. You’re pretty sure your average store doesn’t sell plane printed jackets and Eden’s Gate belt buckles after all.

Even so there’s no need to waste money, even if he can burn it and still be well off, when you can just as easily fix it. Besides, it’s actually a really nice shirt. Even with its predictable colouring.

Despite all the terrible things the man has done, and will no doubt continue to do, you can’t help the small smile that blooms across your lips. The knowledge that the Baptist, the dreaded Reaper, of Eden’s Gate has a favourite colour and is so shameless in embracing it is strangely humanising to you; and also surprisingly sobering.

At a leisurely pace, mind now hollow with an echoing sorrow, you pierce the fabric and loop the needle through the gap between the strand of thread and pull, creating a knot. You do this a second time, creating another knot to make sure it stays, before you reach for the small scissors in the kit beside you, cutting the remaining thread loose.

With a soft touch you run your finger over the fabric, silently marvelling at its heavenly texture as you thoughtfully look over your finished work. The thread you’ve used isn’t as high quality as the shirt itself is made out of, a fact that actually irritates you, but it’s the best that you own and you find yourself sighing in resignation; leaving it be.

Yes, it’ll have to do.

With a lingering gaze you start to slowly turn the shirt back to being inside-in, taking your time to enjoy the quiet that’s fallen over you. It’s only as you go to straighten the shirt, holding it out in front of you and giving it a final, critical look-over, that the silence breaks and you’re startled out of your revere.

Looking toward the bedroom’s door with wide doe-eyes you are shocked to see none other than the Baptist, John Seed, himself standing at the threshold. Eyes equally as wide, but much more bemused than your own, staring at you as you internally curse your luck with a tensing jaw.

He isn’t supposed to be here...

“You know, I must admit, Deputy,” he drawls with an intriguing lilt, ocean eyes dragging over you as he leans his lithe form against the door frame with crossed arms, completely at ease despite the situation, “I never pegged you for a housewife. It makes for quite an... interesting image. Did you also happen to cook me a meal and do the laundry by chance, darling?”

His smile is mocking, sharp and cruelly delighted, and it has you flushing in a mixture of shame and restrained anger. The fact that you’ve been caught in such a position puts a nasty dent in your pride. You know how this looks: the fearsome Deputy, poster child and head of the rising Resistance, sewing; and not just sewing, but sewing the damned enemy’s – a man on your given blacklist – shirt of all things.

It’s a colossal embarrassment.

You’re also aware of what this could do to your reputation if this got out and you don’t need John Seed, the smuggest bastard around, to gloat over that. Nor do you want him making smart quips that you know he’s more than likely going to constantly torment you with now over the radio for everyone else to hear.

Life’s a living hell at the moment as it, and you don’t need something like that being added to the proverbial pile. The humiliation would kill you quicker than a piece of shrapnel from a plane crash.

“Oh shut up,” you snip, “like I’d do you the honour; and if anyone makes for an interesting image around here it’s you, unexpected as you are,” you sass lowly. “Honestly, when are you going to do us all a favour and just fuck off. Maybe you should go and play with that little toy collection of yours like a good little brother instead of harassing all of us, now that would be an interesting image.”

It’s hardly even a half-baked comeback you give him, your bite a mere brush of teeth, yet it’s still enough for his expression to turn into something testing. A tick in his jaw as his icy eyes pierce you like a needle, pinching and uncomfortable; attention grabbing in the worst way possible.

The look is near enough water off a duck’s back. If you’ve come to learn anything from your few, but nonetheless taxing interactions with the man, it's that he won’t take the risk of action unless he’s a hundred percent certain that he has you right where he wants you; where you can’t or won’t fight back.

He wants things, people and confessions alike, handed to him on a gem encrusted platter. Given to him so he can play his twisted little games and break all his new and precious little toys. Always pushing past limits and breaking you down until you can do anything else, but give him exactly what he wants. Spoiled brat.

Perhaps John isn’t as absolved of his sin, carved into his chest like a fatal warning, as he thinks he is.

Closing his eyes John kisses his teeth with a restrained annoyance that is difficult to miss. For all his talk of wrath, and how well you embody it, he puts you to shame in how well it suits him, wearing it like a second skin and parading it like a model wrapped in Prada.

“As much as I’d love to spend my free time doing things that don’t concern you or your petty Resistance, it’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it dearest,” he hits back with a chilled, but airy quality. “After all, you’ve made yourself quite a fixture in my life as it is, and I don’t believe for a second that you’d actually want out of that.” There’s a hint of something knowing in his words that doesn’t sit right with you. “And in case you haven’t noticed, but this is my home that you’re trespassing in. I’m pretty sure you’re breaking the law actually; you hardly have a warrant after all, Deputy,” he bites, cruel and vile and so self-satisfied.

For a brief moment the twins of worry and paranoia raise their heads with salivating jaws, itching like an infection to tear into you as you suddenly start to fret over John’s motives for this back and forth; along with the simmering anger that lurks beneath the water.

The anticipation of what his next rage fuelled actions could be is rattling. You can’t tell if he’s going to laugh this all off like some sort of bad joke or straight up lunge at you with the likes of a wild animal by the end of this. He can be rather unpredictable, and it’s that unpredictability that makes him so feared throughout the Valley. It’s what makes him so dangerous.

Yet it seems you can do nothing but poke the bear lately, your own frustrations and stresses giving you a false and reckless bravado. Albeit with a soft and unthreatening tone.

“And do I look like I care? We’re at war John, I’m pretty sure anything goes; your methods have already proven that. Now, are there any other normal past-times that you want to mock me for while I’m here, or am I free to go?”

Internally you wince. That came out a lot more defeated than you intended it to be. Still, you hope he at least concedes on this petty back and forth of yours and actually lets you leave–

“I’d hardly call your level of wanton wrath ‘normal’, Deputy. Tell me, what is your total body count at the moment? How many innocent lives have you gorged yourself on in order to fuel that gluttonous soul of yours, until it’s satisfied with the carnage you leave in your wake? Don’t worry though, you’re in safe hands. I’ll be sure to give your soul a good scrubbing once I get you in my chair. Starve it out of you until you bleed across my floor...”

You don’t say anything, merely roll your eyes and gently shake your head at the flip in attitude, continuing to look and touch up the shirt in your tender hold. He’s likely lost in his own warped thoughts if the way he stares through you for moment is any consolation. However, even lost in thought, you’ve found that John is not one to keep quiet for long, and he quickly proves that notion right.

“You know,” he says suddenly, conversationally; tip of his tongue wetting his lips as he looks for all the world like he just discovered the weight of gold, “if you wanted to confess to me you could of just called. Really, you needn’t go through all this trouble just to make my life easier, darling. I could have set up a welcome party and everything for you. Pulled out the red carpet, set it all up and made it all nice and perfect, for you... just for you, Deputy.”

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can warp what strangely sounds like the most sweetest and innocent of words into something so filthy, sinful and ultimately twisted; as if whispered around a forked tongue made of false promises and sugared venom. He’s an expert at his craft, you’d give him that. Sadly though you can’t help but skim over your absent companions playful jabs and blasé observations with a newfound air of caution.

The beast of worry looks at you with a telling, razored grin.

“... Flattered,” you drawl warily.

For such a simple and plain response you don’t feel that his boyish grin – filled with an emotion that is so foreign on the sadistic and calculating man that you feel the lazy shift of fear beside the intent prickle of paranoia and worry; something self satisfying and grateful and speckled with awe – is justified.

Like the flippancy of the wind John’s expression shifts, fluidly, into an emotion akin to a played up indignation. He sharply huffs through his nose.

“You should be. I make so many exceptions for you my dear and you do nothing but repay my kindness with more bloodshed. It’s rather rude of you in fact.”

“To be fair,” you cut in with a tired glower, careful with were you step in this game of twister, “your kindness leaves much to be desired. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen, so forgive me for misconstruing your intentions.” It’s said with the most blatant sarcasm, dripping thickly like molten tar, and yet John lights up like a town on the eve of Christmas. The remains of his coiled agitation shifting into an unwarranted giddiness.

Good Lord, you’ve not even spent five minutes with this man and already you’ve got a killer headache.

“Oh? Should I learn by your example then, my dear Deputy? From this... quaint little gesture of yours, hmm?” He’s eyes hungrily roam over your lap, no doubt acutely aware of the way your thumb has comfortingly been brushing over the silken fabric of his shirt. “Not to say I don’t appreciate it mind you.”

You can’t stop the roll of your eyes nor the huff that accompanies it. “Trust me, John, there’s no gesture here.”

He makes a sound in his throat, chimed with a badly contained mirth. Slightly, barely visible from your perch on his bed, he leans forward with something almost predatory in those sea-deep eyes of his. “Then what’s that in your lap?”

You turn to hold his gaze, icy and sharp with a smugness that screams of a known victory. He’s got you there. Your teeth grind into each other as you will for a retort to come to mind, but nothing does. With a heavy exhale through your nose you turn to the ceiling and pray for the strength to survive this ordeal.

Not that you’re completely confident that you will. With a swift flare of frustration one of your hands shoots up, palm facing skyward, in a half-arsed admission. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay, I was just trying to be nice I guess.”

“Nice? You?” John barks mockingly, “Oh don’t make me laugh, Deputy. You’re a killer; there’s not an ounce of mercy in that tainted soul of yours. After all,” There’s a humourless chuckle, a glint of something vicious in his sea-deep eyes, “what ever happened to serve and protect?”

The look you throw him is completely disbelieving, practically aghast from insult, but there’s also a familiar rage resting within the glaring pools of your eyes that John knows rather well. Truthfully, it’s not something he’s ever seen in you before, more a muted irritation than straight up fury, and it thrills him something fierce to see it threatening to come into full bloom.

Conflict has never been in your veins. You came from a quiet and career driven family, to the point where your parents were hardly ever around. Arguments were rare, and if they did happen they never lasted long. You didn’t have the courage, nor stomach, for such things; and despite how much this County has twisted your placid instincts into something sharper, more aggressive and impatient, some things will just never change.

Lips in a tight line, brow furrowed and eyes ablaze in a dirty glare, you look away from him; down to your lap then across to your resting rifle. He’s not wrong, and ultimately that hurts worse than anything physical that he could very well do to you. The battle of your morals – your conscious – against your duty, against the pedestal that everyone has hoisted you up onto like some sort of savour – another Joseph almost – , is a constant one.

“Then what does that make you?” You ask quietly, something cruel lurking beneath the surface of your own waters. “What makes what you do so good, so much better and different than everyone else? Because you believe your brother, because he believes he talks to God?” There’s a huff of a laugh, a mocking condescension hissing with fangs bared, “don’t make me laugh, Inquisitor.”

John’s away from the door frame before you can even blink, a warning shift that tells you that this is no longer a strained, but casual banter between enemies. There’s a familiar glare in his eyes, dark and treacherous like the deepest waters and daring you to get a little closer, to swim a little deeper; to say another word against his brother.

Despite your writhing worry at the sudden tension in the air, twisting and flailing and coiling, you take a deep breath, let it suffocate you a moment too long, and then let it go. Tracing the lines and scratches on your rifle as your shaking anger lessens into a quiet ache. You’ve never been able to maintain it for long; you’re just glad that it no longer makes you break down crying anymore.

John on the other hand...

“Joseph,” he starts, voice so tight that it trembles, “wants to save people.”

“And you don’t?”

There’s a pause; a subtle shift.

You watch as John’s jaw gets tight, his head tilting the slightest amount to look down his nose at you; arms crossing over his chest in a defensive gesture as he leans back against the door frame again; a faux display of casualness.

It’s all the answer you need.

Slowly you nod your head, an acknowledgment even though you needn’t give one. A murmured ‘right’ scoffed under your breath. In all honesty you didn’t expect him to be so (indirectly) honest with you. In a way you can very much respect that, appreciate it even, but in another it only has the beast of worry grinning hauntingly at you; a new dread crawling up from the deep. It’s twin sewn from paranoia slinking up beside it with an equally telling flash of teeth.

Surely he can’t be doing this just for Joseph, just for the Project; there has to be something more that he’s gaining out of this. There has to be.

“Atonement,” the word is drawn out, a slow and delicate dissection, “is the absolution of sin… without it we are left to fester in the disease of our past transgressions. If we are not absolved of sin then we can never even begin to hope to be allowed entrance into Eden. However,” the baptist gives you a pointed look, head ducked and eyes alight but shaded, a stray strand of hair falling loose, “that decision must be genuine. They must want to atone, otherwise what would be the point?”

There’s a bitten laugh that scraps between his teeth; bared in a feral frustration that speaks of long talks and discussions that lead to nowhere but dead-ended roads. A hand claws through his hair, putting that stray strand back in place as he looks to bite at the inside of his mouth; eyes briefly cast to the side.

The afternoon sun, gradually turning richer as time goes on, catches against the satin blue of his vest, making it shimmer like the clearest of Caribbean seas. With his gaze turned away from you for the moment you can see the way the light glazes them, can see the hellfire for all it’s worth beneath those choppy waters; the rage given a flare of new life with the setting sun as the shadows stretch and consume, turning the once clear and shallow waters of his eyes deep and foreboding.

You think you may actually be starting to see some of the truths that lie within the Book of Joseph.

There’s a hesitant inhale; a steadying breath.

“But, it is the will of The Father to save everyone, regardless of if they are worthy of it or not.”

Looking away from the shirt still in your lap you turn to John, many questions on the brain, but only one that gets voiced.

“So you don’t think I’m worthy?”

John blinks. A moment of consideration before he meets your curious gaze; stars glinting against a multitude of emotions, all buried and unspoken, but telling all the same.

“I don’t think you believe yourself to be worthy.”

The bluntness of his response catches you off guard, eyebrows jumping high in surprise. It’s straight to the point in a way that you never imagined him to be, and you can’t help the interested ‘oh’ that melts on your tongue in response, lilts in newfound curiosity as your head tips to the side ever so slightly. “What makes you say that?”

You half expect a smile and some sort of jab, another dig to attempt to provoke you and prove a point that only he is fighting to prove. Yet, he does nothing of the sort. He’s quiet, simply watching you, and it’s with a strange type of realisation that you realise that, not only is he back to looking relaxed and at ease, but so are you; the tension lost and in its place lies a peculiar air, a feeling of contented melancholy almost; an accepting moment of reprieve within the wheel of fate.

“You’re still here,” he answers simply, an airy awe cushioning his tone, “if you didn’t want to be convinced then you would have left a while ago. You wouldn’t be asking me in the first place.”

There’s a tightening anxiety in your chest, a truth struck too close. Are you really that easy to read? Is your dissatisfaction and growing suspicion of the Resistance – coupled with your thirst to learn more about the local cult and its founders – really that obvious? You should hope not, such things will get you into trouble if you’re not careful. Satisfaction over discovering such things would certainly not bring you back if that were the case.

“Tell me, Deputy,” there’s a new glint in John’s eye, a new interest piqued, “what is it that you’re looking for exactly? Because whatever it is apparently can’t be found within your little Resistance, otherwise you wouldn’t be entertaining me like you are, nor would you be concerning yourself over such a touching gesture.” Surprisingly there’s a lack of sarcasm to his tone this time around as he loosely gestures toward your lap, where his shirt still lies under your gentle touch.

You suck on your tooth for second, petulantly glancing away with a quick, but weak rebuttal of, “It’s not a gesture.”

A familiar, if not slightly fonder and more teasing, lopsided smile lights up across John’s face. This strange companionship of yours back on steady waters. “If you say so, my dear.”

The warmth of the gradually setting sun is a welcome blanket at your back, the stillness between you both comfortable despite the different lines you draw and stand on in this war. Faintly you can hear the chatter and motions of the guards outside, the rumble of distant engines, but they quickly fade into the background as you genuinely consider John’s words.

Just what are you looking for?

You’re not too sure, and you don’t suppose John would appreciate such a response no matter how honest it may be. Really, if you were to be insanely honest with yourself, you would guess you are looking for a reason to stop; a reason to turn your back on those you are fighting for and not those who you are fighting against.

No matter how many times you humanise the Seeds, excuse their actions on past situations, you can’t justify what they’ve done. You may one day forgive them, when all is said and done and this whole sorry war is nothing more than a story for the grandchildren; but you could never forget the horrors they have put people through, the uncountable and unimaginable things they have done to get to where they are now; to both you and the residents of the County.

Yet, does that justify what the residents of the County have done? Does that excuse the crimes and damages conceived by the Resistance? No, no if things were even a sliver close to normal, if you were actually a proper deputy and not so damn green, then maybe everyone would of been locked behind bars by now; and you would be no exception, right beside them with blood covered hands.

The world has never looked so grey to you as it does now; and that honestly scares you worse than any cult.

“But please,” John continues after a beat, breaking the silence, “indulge me; what is it you’re after, my dear? What is it that you are really searching for?”

Absently your thumb brushes over the fabric in your lap, a heavy hesitancy causing you to take your lip between your teeth, biting at the skin there until the taste of copper hits your tongue. Eyes downcast as you debate with yourself over how honest you can be with John, how raw you’re willing to let yourself became in front of someone like him; as an enemy, as an ex-lawyer and – maybe, just maybe – as a friend.

You look up at him, see the interest and something else that you can’t quite name dancing like fireflies over a lake’s still surface. Watch as he patiently waits for you, for what you think and have to say… It’s a nice change, if not a little strange.

Without a thought you smile at him, a beam too tight that it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a huffed laugh under your breath. “Nothing much,” you squeak, “although a decent meal would be a start.” The laugh lingers on your breath, eyebrow cocked and lips tilting into lopsided smile; an intended joke.

John looks wholly unimpressed at your bid at humour, his own eyebrow raising casually in a silent question. Surprisingly though he doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t call you out or outright accuse you of lying, even though you both know that you just did.

Ultimately, it leaves you with a new type of uncertainty, anxiety rising once again as the smile slowly falls from your face. Still, you push past it as best you can, clearing your throat awkwardly as you decide to stand from your seat on the bed, looking and then making your way toward the set of draws on the left where you had found his discarded shirt.

You feel, but still try to ignore John’s eyes on you as you place the shirt back in (what you hope is) its original resting place, neatly folding and fitting it between others not unlike itself. Briefly you brush your fingers over the collar, savouring the uniquely expensive feel of the shirt before closing the open draw. No doubt you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. It’s a little sad in a way.

With a quiet hum you turn – back facing John – toward the bed, and with a casualness as if you own the place you start brushing down and straightening where you’d been perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the creases.

Admittedly, with the sudden lack of conversation, John’s silence is really starting to get to you, a familiar edge of paranoia creeping into the forefront of your mind like scavenging rodents. You listen with a keen interest as you finish your work, the rustling of fabric and your own soft breaths the only sounds that really catch your ear.

With your back facing the infamous Baptist you would have thought this would be a great opportunity for him, your more laidback and docile nature on full display for him to take advantage of if he so wished to. It really would be a perfect opportunity.

Yet, as you turn around, once more with a hum at your work, you find that John hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. If anything he still looks very much at ease there, completely comfortable and unconcerned as he rests his lean frame against the door, arms and legs casually crossed as he simply watches you with soft eyes; reflective pools that refuse to hide even the tiniest of emotions. Yet, strangely enough, you suddenly feel as if time is impervious to the both of you. As if there is no one else in the world, but you and John.

The sparkling sapphire of his eyes, deep and as unfathomable as the ocean, whisper in dulcet tones the promise of a loving caress within the safe haven of his gaze. An unexpected gentleness in the sorrow of a buried plea, a want for something never owned, but always craved. Such a display of tenderness, from a man that you know to be cruel and volatile at times, is so far removed from the usual turbulent seas in his eyes that it makes you feel breathless.

His face – strong defined jaw, coupled with an immaculately trimmed beard, and skin a naturally tanned hue that looks as smooth as the silk of his shirts – is not masked by barely contained snarls of rage like it often can be, nor the sharp displays of malicious mockery and petulant pleasantries that hiss between his fangs when bared. Instead he bears a freedom and fondness that has your heart racing, a strange vulnerability on his suddenly boyish features; an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, warmth stroking over something deep within your chest that you had feared you were starting to lose.

A thought skims across your mind, and is banished just as swiftly as it had appeared; but even so it leaves an impression that you can’t help but entertain. No matter how futile and unachievable it may be; a hopeless romantic forever at heart.

Lost in fanciful scenarios that will never come to be you don’t notice the way that John also takes you in, cataloguing every minuscule detail and committing it to memory with a keenness that rivals the amount of silver on his tongue.

With where you stand, still and serene in the heart of enemy territory, the large window of his bedroom holds proudly behind you. The fading afternoon sun casting a light pastel orange across the earth and room, beaming through the glass and haloing you in a warm and intimate glow, your form mesmerising and ethereal with how at peace you look when held within such a divinely born light.

Your eyes, typically brimming with a wrathful defiance and a gluttonous need for misguided justice, are a demure beacon that glitters like the limitless galaxies within the cosmos. A flare of hope and unconditional love, soft and reassuring, for all of those that catch a glimpse of your guiding starlight. And although he feels unworthy, tainted and irrefutably damaged as he is, John also feels unbelievably blessed to bare witness to such an otherworldly sight; to be gifted with the absolute vision that is you.

And, for a moment that never quite ends, John can’t help but question how you could be hell-incarnate when heaven touches you oh so sweetly.

There are many words John Seed would have used to describe you, none of them necessarily complimentary or flattering, yet in this shared time between the two of you – just the two of you – only one word comes to mind as he unknowingly, longingly gazes at you.

Angelic. Yes, angelic you truly are. Stunningly and perfectly angelic.

John can’t remember the last time he felt this way about anyone, if he has ever felt like this at all even, but suddenly he finds that nothing else matters to him. Not the Project, not his brothers, and not even the work that he should be doing but that he had slipped away early from, because – frankly put – he was tired. He was as fed-up with this war and the responsibilities placed upon him as he suspected his dear Deputy to be. Both falling foul to your shared sin of sloth in regards to the duties you uphold.

Yet, John at least holds direction and dedication to the work divinely placed upon him. Knows what the end game is and strives to achieve it to its fullest potential, but you? You’re wavering; you’re doubting. Straying away from the path you are on, looking into the distance for something else, all the while refusing to even acknowledge the right one. The one alongside him.

You may not say it, nor ever even admit it, but John knows exactly what it is you are looking for. Knows the evidence that you’re desperately trying to compile in order to build a strong case in favour of yourself and the choices that you’ve been making, wanting to justify yourself and the many actions that you’ve made until this point between you both in the name of your feeble Resistance. And John also knows that he and his siblings are partially to blame for that.

If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t have to try and stand alone for yourself in your own self made courtroom. Wouldn’t have to stand before your self-conscious as you pleaded your guiltlessness before your own guilt. But, really, that’s why you needed a lawyer; that’s why you needed him. John could help you with that, could show you a better path where you could be free of such shackles. He would stand and defend you where no one else would; he would protect you when no else could.

He just wished that you’d let him. Wished that you would just sign the contract laid out before you so he could aid you, so he could fight for you. Yet, you still refuse to bless him with the payment of his favoured word. You still refuse to acknowledge just how in debt this battle will leave you without his help. It’s a small ask, a tiny payment, for a lifetime of rightful assurance.

Yet, John wonders if maybe it’s not just the courtroom that he wants to defend you in.

In his previous life, before the Project and his reunion with Joseph, John likely wouldn’t have even paid you a second glance. You’re a bit of a Plain Jane, have a very girl-next-door sort of look about you. Yet, in the wake of this interaction, bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun, John can’t think of anyone more beautiful. So human and down to earth; lost and conflicted, yet certain and firm. You really are an oddity, and one that John finds himself genuinely wanting to learn more about.

True, he had always had an interest in you, especially when this war between you first began, but it had always been a professional interest (despite what many thought or claimed). You needed to join the Project, Joseph decreed it so, and although his interest had risen to a slightly more personal level it was still business; without you he wouldn’t be able to reach Eden. His fate was in your hands.

Yet, fate seems to want to play you both into each other’s arms, for if it didn’t then surely this sacred moment between you both wouldn’t be happening. Surely, if this wasn’t meant to happen, John wouldn’t be longing for the love that Joseph promised him – the love that only you could give him – like he suddenly and hopelessly is.

John knows where he stands in this war, it’s a fixed point that he can’t move away from even if he eventually decided that he wanted to, but really his dear Deputy is still undecided. You still have a choice to make in this divine plan; you still have time to choose. And, funnily enough, it looks as if you’ve already started to make that choice. That curiosity of yours, you being in his home – on his bed – looking so domestic, like a wife waiting for her husband… to John this is a sign, a hint, a mere taste of the future that he’s always secretly hoped and longed for. A prophecy in its own right.

Yet, as much as he wants to fight for you, to defend and cherish you, he regrettably knows that the time for such things isn’t quite here yet. It’s close, certainly within his reach, but you need to meet him the rest of the way. You need those final damning pieces of evidence before you’ll come to him. You’ll want every piece of evidence available before you’ll walk your chosen path; and although he shouldn’t interfere, John could very easily acquire such evidence for you. He could very easily make such evidence for you. A little more time, a few strings pulled and a couple of sins stripped, and he could give you everything you need and so, so much more.

The temptations of the promised future are a fruit too sweet not to savour.

Eden’s Baptist watches with a fresh interest as you sigh heavily, chest rising and falling with the action, as you start to walk towards him. John’s chest tightens, flutters under the way your sparkling eyes meet and hold his own, only a hint of uncertainty, a fleeting touch of something questioning – do you feel it too? Do you feel this like he does? – on your face before you look away, glance down like a bashful bride, and come to stand next to him.

He doesn’t move from where he’s been leaning against the door, doesn’t even dare to breathe in case this moment is blown away like ash on the wind. Yet, when nothing happens and all he can focus on is his and your own gentle breathing, he takes a gamble and swallows thickly, slowly turning his head so he can look down at you next to him, naturally pretty despite the odd scratch and speck of dried blood on your well worn clothes.

The tension is palpable between you both, not so tight that’s it choking you, but tight enough that you can certainly feel it; hear it moan like a bow dragging steadily over a cello’s strings. Although, not as ominous as one would first suspect, but more melancholy; a rich sadness. As though despite how much you might want and wish for something, it will never come to pass; a sad inevitability that you can do nothing but walk past, never to stop and consider. Or at least you shouldn’t, for only heartbreak lies down those withered and desolate roads.

Which is why you shouldn’t stop, why you shouldn’t be wanting to reach out with a tender touch, a reassurance to this greedy want of yours for something more out of this moment, for more out of this strange connection and unlikely companionship you have discovered between the two of you. You shouldn’t feel this safe when standing next to the man that wants to starve this Valley into submission. You shouldn’t feel so at ease around a man that derives a sick thrill out of torture and the power it gives him. You shouldn’t feel like you’ve finally found a home when you’re sitting on his bed with his shirt in your arms.

You can’t deny that you’re attracted to him, that there clearly is some sort of unexplainable connection between the both of you, but whatever this connection may be… it can never be explored. It can never happen. You will never side with Eden’s Gate, and even if you decide that you can no longer be with the Resistance, it’ll be for the same reason why you can’t join Joseph’s cult. Ultimately, your decision, whatever it may be, will change nothing. Just like nothing will change John’s decision.

Ruled by the cry of your heart and the attachments it’s quick to make you hesitantly lay your greedy hand upon him, turning slightly as your right hand crosses you in order to gently grip his toned arm; the familiar feel of uniquely expensive silk sliding pleasantly

against your skin.

You feel him tense under your hand, arms tightening from where they are still crossed across his chest, but you don’t blame him. Really you’re not even too sure what it is you’re doing, this will only hurt you more when you walk away from whatever this could’ve been if things were different, but you always have had a bit of a penchant for torturing yourself with things like this.

So no matter how much the ‘what if’s’ will wound you in the future you still immerse yourself in the feel of him, of the way he relaxes as your thumb brushes back and forth in a comforting gesture against his arm, the smell of his cologne naturally intermingling with his natural scent… it’s a bitter torture that already has the tears coming to your eyes, but still you stay a little longer; heart hopefully romantic even though you know better.

This – the two of you – could never work.

“Deputy…”

“You know,” you cut him off, the slightest fracture in your softened tone, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, about your planes. They’re not toys; they’re really cool actually,” there’s a buried laugh under your breath, a small smile that speaks of a brief reminiscion, “the way you have them all set up, cataloged with their little name plates… it’s really cute. It would be super cool if you had them hanging down from the ceiling though; like, having them act out dog fights and things almost. Can you imagine it?”

You giggle there, head ducking as you get lost in thoughts and bitter imagines – helping to set them up, walking in and seeing them like that, being lifted and twirled under them like stars in the sky – that will never be.

This war has taken everything from you, has made you doubt and lose sight of who you were before. Even your dreams for the future, regardless of who they may be with, have been tarnished by the stains on your hands and the things you have been pushed into doing. How could you ever have a normal life after this? Who would want a life with you after all of this? It all seems so impossible and far too far out of reach for you now.

Although it may be cruel, your wandering thoughts and the reminder they bring is a good grounder, and in turn your smile sours; even as one blooms sweetly across John’s face, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.

For the better, you don’t see it.

“Anyway, I better go; got a County to save and all that after all. I’ll see you around though, John,” you pause, hesitate, desperately cling to this fleeting moment that’s finally reached its end, “take care of yourself now, sweetheart. Lord knows we need to...”

With nothing else to say, that quiet piece of compassion laid out before him like a final offering, you leave; letting go of his arm with a parting squeeze and a faint caress as you pull away, walk past him and out the door until you’re eventually lost to him yet again. A weary ghost bound to forever wander the lonely battlefield.

John doesn’t follow you, doesn’t even reach out to stop you like a part of him begs him to do, and instead merely turns to watch you leave. Head down and arms wrapped comfortingly around your waist. He really should stop you, force this moment to last for as long as he can get it to, but he doesn’t; and that surprisingly hurts him, letting you go. Yet, the pain it brings only hardens him, makes his thoughts straighten and become resolute in the face of the same realisation that had dawned on him only moments before hand.

And as the sun sets over the horizon, the sky streaked in sunburnt northern lights, colours shifting like water with the flowing of time, John finally moves to sit in the same place you had been on his bed; alone and lost in thought. Reaching out to pick something up off his nightstand as he draws his elbows to rest on his spread knees. His hands cupped against his mouth and securely around your forgotten sewing kit, as he stares blankly at your abandoned rifle.

Another sign in and of itself.

Although you hadn’t been looking at him when you had left John had certainly been watching you. He had seen the way that your eyes had glistened like unsteady waters as the courtroom erupted into a debate that you felt that you couldn’t win; the choice taken from you as your morals and exploited loyalty raged and dictated the sentence you should face.

He knows you felt it, knows that there is something special between the two of you, and that it’s taken this moment between you – this one act of rebellion stemmed from your curiosity – for him to see it; for him to finally grasp the meaning behind his brother’s plea.

You were right when you had questioned him on his lack of care regarding the Atonement; how he doesn’t care to save those that don’t believe, how he doesn’t want to put in the effort for those that will only put it to waste. If their motives are not genuine then the process is entirely pointless. Although, John won’t deny that there is a certain gratification in having such control over someone. Forcing them to say yes, purely for their own survival, is not the intention, but it certainly works all the same. After all, Joseph hasn’t exactly scolded him for his methods; especially if he gets a little therapy and self management out of it.

But what of you? What do you have as an outlet, as a way to cope and make the prize all the more sweeter? Better yet, what is the prize that you’re working towards, because John certainly has his in mind, and it won’t just be the end of a cruel and uncaring society.

You’re a puppet, both in terms of your occupation and the leading role you’re now being made to fill, dancing on fraying strings. Strings that John could fully free you from, help to cut you loose, if only you would just say ‘yes’. He’d be able to properly protect and defend you then, reassure you in your choices and how the things you’ve done were never truly your own; your caring nature merely exploited by those that you were forced to associate with while under the influence of shock. The trauma brought on by that helicopter crash disorientating you and leaving you vulnerable toward their manipulative and pressurising ways.

At least if you were to say ‘yes’, John would be able to safely guard you and your surprisingly tentative character. He would be able to love and cherish you, hold you close like no other, and make it so that you would want for nothing while in his arms. He could actually keep you in his bed, smother you in the pleasure that he would gladly give you as his beloved; chain you there as he ravished you and the softness that you would offer him, that you allowed him a tantalising glimpse of.

If you said ‘yes’, then John would finally be able to secure you and your loose strings, worn and threadbare under the continued pressure of your wailing guilt, to his own tangled ones; knotting them together until they have been sewn into something new, becoming one and the same. And when that finally happens, you will be entwined around a silk too rich and blissful to be so easily frayed.

#thank god it’s over #i’m done!#I’m not sure how I feel about this still #but then again i never think highly of my work so...#john seed x reader #john seed x female deputy #john seed x deputy #john seed #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #fc5 #far cry 5 #far cry

172 notes · View notes

zi-i-think · 4 years ago

Text

7 | Bridge of No Return

Pairing: Zuko x Ama (OC)

Word Count: 7000+

.☽☼☾.

It was the first time that Ama was going back home to the South Pole since after the war. Despite her break up with a certain Fire Lord, Ama tried to enter her homeland with a positive attitude. Not for herself, but for her dad and for her siblings.

"Hey, Ama!" Aang called for her excitedly. He was currently sitting on Appa's head while the waterbender laid on his back, looking up at the night sky. "We're here!"

She jumped up quickly and looked over, seeing the snow covered ground getting closer. The city looked so different. There were actual buildings, some fountains, shops. By the looks of it, there was a festival going on, based on the fancy lights, games and food booths.

"Wow." She marveled at the lights and the large buildings close by. "The South Pole looks really different."

"Yea, well it has been a while." Aang chuckled and the sky bison landed on the ground.

Aang and Ama jumped out the moment they could. Aang ran to Katara for a hug while Ama ran to her father and he engulfed his daughter in a hug.

"Dad!" She exclaimed.

"My goodness." His father chuckled, pulling away to look at his daughter. "I didn't think you could grow up any more." Ama grinned. Hakoda was right. Since the last time he had seen her, she had matured a little more, having recently turned 18. "Now, where is that young man that had stolen my daughter from our tribe." He teased. Ama just gave him an awkward smile.

How do I tell my family that I broke up with the Fire Lord? And that it wasn't a good breakup?

"Yeah, I thought Zuko was supposed to come visit with you." Katara piped in, joining the conversation.

"Things are getting a little rough in the Fire Nation. He's really busy." Ama opt out of telling them in the moment. She nervously rubbed her arm and looked over at Aang. He looked confused as to why she didn't say anything.

"And the spirits?" Katara wondered.

"Actually, it wasn't spirits at all. It was Azula." Aang informed.

"At least the Kyoshi warriors are there to help out." Ama shrugged.

"Avatar Aang." Hadoka greeted Aang formally with a bow.

"Good to see you Chief Hadoka." Aang greeted back.

"It's actually Head Chieftain Hadoka now." Katara corrected.

"Really? Wow! Congratulations, Head Chieftain Hadoka, sir." Aang congratulated.

"Yeah, congrats dad." Ama grinned.

"You can just call me Hadoka, Aang." Ama and Katara's father said. "But, thank you."

"What's going on? How come you guys are out here?" Aang realized that they were outside of the city walls instead of in the city, enjoying the festival.

"Just playing it safe. Don't worry, it's nothing my officers and I can't handle." Hakoda told him. "Why don't you three enjoy the festival?"

"Thanks, dad." Katara replied as she and Aang were starting to head to the festival.

"You sure you don't want company?" Ama wondered. Sure the festival seemed fun, but it's been awhile since seeing her dad.

Ama always had a strong relationship with her father, more so than her mom. She got his humor. She'd go out hunting with him. And when she was 14, the girl was able to easily convince him to take her ice dodging, despite it being more traditional for the young boys. Many of her qualities came from him.

"Actually, I'd like to talk to you about something before Katara and Sokka tell you." He said, and they two started to walk the perimeter of the festival to make sure everything was safe. "I've been seeing someone." He told her nervously.

"Dad, that's great." The waterbender grinned. It was about time that her dad found love again.

"Her name is Malina. She's from the Northern Tribe and is here to help the South Pole progress."

"I'm happy for you." Ama pulled her dad in for a hug. "Things are really starting to look up."

"Not really." Her father said regrettably. "Gilak and some other southerners believe that the North is here to mock us and only want our oil. He wants them all out."

"That's terrible."

"That's why many of us are posted out here instead of enjoying the festivities." Hakoda gestured around them. "We fear Gilak could attack tonight."

"Well if he does, he's in for quite a fight." Ama smirked and punched her palm while her father chuckled.

But she spoke too soon. There was a loud ruckus from inside the festival and the booming voice of a man.

"Hakoda-" A soldier ran over to them.

"I hear it. Gilak got past us somehow!" Hakoda interrupted him. "Hurry." With that the warriors and Ama sprinted to the festival. They were met with Galik's warriors throwing punches and weapons. Ama did the best she could to not hurt them, using her waterbending to freeze them in place or to cover them in snow.

"Ama!" Katara shouted with Aang following. The battle had died down and Ama was looking around. She hadn't even realized that she got separated from her dad. "Have you seen-"

"Dad?" Ama finished. "Not since this started."

The three of them ran to the entrance where there were a couple of soldiers standing around a woman and a man, both from the North, trapped under a net. Her father was speaking to Galik close by. But just as the three had got there, Galik took his knife and plunged it into Hakoda's gut.

"Dad!" Katara shouted.

"What did you do to him?!" Ama manipulated the water to ice to form around Galik, entrapping him. Aang bent the snow so that the rest of Galik's people wouldn't escape.

Katara was the one to run to Hakoda to heal him best she could. "I'm here, dad, stay with me." She whispered. "Stay with me."

They took him to Gran-gran's hut so that he could heal and rest. Hadoka's three children sat by the bed, hoping and waiting for him to wake up.

"Katara." His weak voice spoke.

"Dad!" The three kids exclaimed.

"You saved my life." He thanked his youngest before turning to see the rest of his children. "Thank you for being here kids."

"You had us scared for a bit, dad." Sokka smiled.

"Alright guys, we should let him rest." Ama told her siblings and they stood up to leave.

"Don't you worry. Pakku and I will take good care of him." Gran-gran assures them. "Let him rest, you can come see him in the morning. You know this isn't good. You coming to visit my hut twice in two days. This isn't good at all." She was obviously speaking to Katara and Sokka since the oldest sibling had only just arrived. "Wounds flow from wrong actions. Wrong actions flow from wrong beliefs. Someone needs to re-examine their beliefs."

"Yeah and that someone is Galik!" Sokka claimed, crossing his arms over his chest and grimacing. "Hope that's what he's doing while he sits in jail tonight!"

"You mean, those someones are Malina and Maliq!" Katara refuted. The two siblings then entered a fight about who was in the wrong. Ama didn't want to get involved in the argument, despite siding more with Sokka that the oil could bring more opportunities for the Southern Water Tribe. Instead, she led the way outside where Aang and Toph were waiting.

The siblings filled Ama in on everything. How the North was essentially taking Southern Oil for themselves. How they were planning to make the South a colony of the North. Ama didn't think the North had any right to Southern property, but she also knew that they needed something in order to improve as a tribe.

"Sweetie, how is he?" Aang asked Katara when she stepped out of the igloo.

"He woke up." The girl answered him.

"Then he'll be alright?" Toph wondered.

"He'll be fine." Ama responded and pulled Toph into a hug. "Been a while Toph." The young earthbender was there as a representative for the Earthen Fire Refineries, constructing homes and other buildings.

"It's only been a few weeks." Toph chuckled and returned the hug.

"Hey." A new feminine voice spoke somberly. She wore lavender clothing, her skin tanned and her light brown hair was short. She was the same woman who Gilak attempted to capture before in the net.

"What are you doing here?" Venom came from Katara's voice.

"I swear to you all those things my brother said, I don't believe them." The woman said.

"Anymore." Katara refuted.

"What do you mean?" The woman asked.

"You don't believe them anymore." Katara argued. "Not after you 'fell in love' with my dad. But what happens when you fall out of love, Malina."

"Oh, so this is dad's girlfriend?" Ama whispered to Sokka who responded with a dry "yep".

"Katara, it goes deeper than that." Malina claimed.

"I'm going to ask you again." Katara said. "What are you doing here?"

"My brother and the rest of my crew were released from custody on the condition that we leave tomorrow." Malina told her. "I came to say goodbye to your father." Ama's heart broke when hearing that.

"You don't deserve to say goodbye." Katara said rudely.

"Katara!" Ama angrily scolded her sister.

"No, no. I get it." The woman said and started to walk away.

"Malina." Gran-gran called at the door, getting the woman to stop in her tracks. "Hakoda wants to see you." Malina kept her head down as she walked into the hut to talk to Hakoda while Katara stared daggers into the woman's back.

"Katara, that was a little rude!" Ama crossed her arms and frowned at her sister..

"What's it to you?" The other waterbender got defensive.

"Can't you see that Dad and Malina are in love!" The girl fought. "You have no right to get in the way of that."

"All she wants is to take our oil and make us a colony of the North!" Katara pointed at the hut, or rather she was pointing at Malina.

"Okay, so that's not great." She mumbled. When she was being filled in about everything, Ama was also told that Malina was under the impression that they changed the plan so that the South had property over their oil. "But you can't just get mad at her for something she doesn't exactly have complete authority over."

"I know you just got here, sis, but she was acting against the South." Katara scoffed.

"I don't have the energy to argue, Katara." Ama sighed, the exhaustion of traveling and then fighting, then waiting for her dad to wake up, was finally getting to her. "Can we just go- wait. Where are we staying?"

"Dad has a house not far from here." Sokka wrapped his arm around his sister's shoulder, leading her down the snowy road. "But, soon enough. He's gonna have his own palace."

"A palace?" Ama chuckled. "That doesn't seem like dad."

.☽☼☾.

Hakoda had told Malina that she was allowed to stay, but the others didn't have that exception. Ama had offered Malina to stay with her as the construction for the building was still in process.

"I should leave, Ama" the woman said with guilt. "My presence is causing tension."

"Malina, you're the only person who knows the plans from beginning to end. If we're gonna do this, we need you here." Ama rebutled. "And besides, my dad got most of the southerners on board with the project."

"Then what about-"

"The folks outside the gate?" The two looked over to the gate where there were protestors were chanting and holding signs for foreigners to leave the South. "Once they see that this would benefit the whole tribe, they'll come around."

"I hope you're right." Malina sighed. Ama saw the sad look on Malina's face and tried to cheer her up.

"These won't last that long." She shrugged, looking over at the protestors. "I think it was a little over a year ago that these types of protests would happen everyday in front of the Fire Nation palace. They die out."

"Right, you're with the Fire Lord." Malina remembered.

"Not anymore." Ama sighed. This was only the second time that she's admitted that outloud.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Malina frowned.

"It was bound to happen." The young woman shrugged, acting like she wasn't saddened. But it was almost like she was trying to convince herself that. "I mean, a fire bender and a water bender? Not a great combination."

"Everything happens for a reason." Malina put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"I guess you're right." Ama gave her a thin smile. "Just do me a favour and keep this between us. Aang is the only one who knows."

"My lips are sealed." Malina swiped her index and thumb across her lips like she was zipping her mouth.

.☽☼☾.

Later that evening, the Gaang sat around a roaring fire in Hakoda's living room. Hot cocoa in their hands as they laughed and talked. Katara sat on the couch cuddling into Aang.

"Honestly, how much closer can the two of you get." Sokka messed with them. The two blushed deeply.

"Let's just be glad that Zuko isn't here." Toph laughed. "He and Ama would be all over each other."

The oldest water tribe sibling shifted uncomfortably and her smile disappeared. Aang also looked a little uncomfortable with the comment, being the only other person there who knew about the breakup.

"Ama, Aang. Are you guys okay?" Sokka noticed their shift in demeanor. "You usually throw a snowball at me or stick up your middle finger when I tease you, sis."

Ama cleared her throat. "Zuko and I broke up."

"Woah." Toph said in shock

"Ama, I'm so sorry." Katara immediately left her boyfriend's arms and sat by her sister. "What happened."

"Zuko was terrible at communicating. At letting me in." Ama shook her head, the reality of it hitting her. "I couldn't take it anymore. But it wasn't just him." Everyone was quiet, letting her talk.

"In the month that the two of us didn't talk, I realized that I couldn't be with him. We're in two completely different situations. He's the damn Fire Lord. He has responsibilities. I felt so tired in that palace. I need to do things and he was too scared to worry me. I'm in no way the 'Fire Queen' type."

"Then when I was you guys again, going from town to town. I felt... more satisfied with myself." She continued. "Like I was starting to understand myself. I can't learn about myself in a damn palace all day. So, I broke up with him... And it didn't go well."

Ama rested her head on Katara's shoulder. Her chest tightened, the tears were threatening to spill and her voice started to break while she spoke. "He thought I was jealous of Mai. He used my own insecurities against me." Katara put her arms around her sister, pulling her closer. "He barely even raised his voice, but he wouldn't even let me speak and I yelled at him."

"Do you still love him?" Katara asked softly.

"I always will." Ama answered truthfully. That's when the waterworks started. Ama gripped Katara's clothes and sobbed. "I broke his heart. He's in a tough position. Always having to worry about his nation, his family. And he broke mine by not even hearing me out."

Katara stroked her sister's hair, letting her cry it out. "Need me to beat him up?" Sokka tried to sound sincere, but his jokingly, Sokka tone was still there, making his sister smile slightly. Ama was there for him when Yue turned into the moon. He'd be damned if he wasn't there for her.

"I'm not even going to ask. As soon as I see that guy, he's got a date with my fist." Toph punched the palm of her hand.

"Maybe, not as soon as you see him." Aang nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

"Why not? He won't even see it coming." Sokka waved his arms, ready for a fight.

"Zuko and King Kuei are coming over in a few days." Katara sighed. "Dad needs to discuss how the Southern Water Tribe can contribute in trade and things of that sort."

"Perfect." Toph gave a sinister smile. "There won't be a lot of Fire Nation soldiers to protect him. That boy's gonna get it."

Ama chuckled. She knew that Toph was more serious than Sokka. And as much as it amused her, she couldn't let them attack the Fire Lord. "You guys are the best, but don't hold anything against him. If you weren't listening to me, both him and I were in the wrong. Plus I already threw pond water at him."

The others chuckled at the thought of Ama chucking water at Zuko in his royal robes and all. "Maybe him coming is a good thing. I'll try talking to him again."

"Fine." Toph sighed. "But if you're still sad after your little talk, boy's going to pound town."

.☽☼☾.

In three days time, the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation blimps were arriving. Sokka volunteered to greet the two leaders while the others stayed at the town hall making preparations and awaiting their arrival.

Ama set a pitcher of water on the meeting table while Katara set cups by every seat. "So did you tell dad?" Katara wondered. Ama knew just what she was talking about.

"Well I don't want him to say anything and make everyone feel awkward." Ama shrugged. "But I didn't tell him everything. Just that I broke up with him and that's that."

"Hopefully, everything goes well." Katara said. Just then they two girls heard Sokka's voice. They're here. Katara and Ama stole a quick glance and headed into the hall where everyone was standing already to greet each other. Ama and Zuko's eyes locked. It was awkward and different, for obvious reasons. Zuko broke the eye contact first and focused on Head Chieftain Hakoda.

"Welcome." Hakoda greeted them. "It's an honor to have you here."

"It's an honor to be here, Head Chieftain Hakoda." Zuko bowed respectively.

"Yes." Earth King Kuei agreed. "I'm glad to be inside now, though. I didn't expect it to be so cold."

"We'll try to keep everyone warm." Hakoda chuckled. "Please follow me so that we can begin our meeting."

The meeting went smoothly. Ama's father explained the plans for the south well and articulated everything expertly. "... A modernized harbor would not only give the world access to our tribe, but also our tribe access to the world. And finally we would like to establish embassies in both of your nations. We, of course, invite you to do the same. And that my friends is our vision for the future of the Southern Water Tribe." He wrapped up.

"Here, here! Here, here!" Sokka cheered before Katara made him sit down and they whispered to each other. Katara was till convinced that all of this was going to change the Southern Water Tribe's traditions and destroy the things they loved about it, but Sokka was more than excited.

"As I'm sure you can imagine, the Southern Water Tribe's economy has been - how should I put this - under extreme duress for the last century." Hakoda continued. "We don't have the proper resources to make this vision a reality. And that's why we're asking for your partnership."

"You can count the Fire Nation in, Head Chieftain Hakoda." Zuko already agreed. "Your people have suffered so much destruction at our hands. We are grateful for this opportunity to help you rebuild."

"I'm sorry that the Earth Kingdom cannot offer our support so readily. We have so many of our own needs back home." King Kuei spoke. "But if I could show my advisors that the Souther Water Tribe is going to make measurable, concrete progress towards civilization."

"Excuse me?" Katara jumped in defensively. Even Ama looked at him with her mouth agape, being somewhat offended by what he said.

"Oh, dear, please excuse the clumsiness of my words, Katara." King Kuei realized his slip up. "Of course what you already have here is a form of civilization. We would simply want you to achieve a high form." Katara and Ama's expression of being offended was clear. They knew that King Kuei wasn't a well-articulated person, but that didn't hide the fact that what he said was an offense to them. "In fact, we'd be honored to help the Southern Water Tribe develop into a cleaner, safer place. And perhaps warmer, too."

"With all due respect, your majesty, compared to the outer ring of Ba Sing Se, the South Pole is-" Katara started before being interrupted by one of the guards.

�� "Head Chieftain Hakoda!" The guard ran in. "We've just received an alert from the prison! Gilak and his army-" But then a boomerang flew by, knocking the guard out.

"Are here." Gilak himself finished at the door and his boomerang flew back into his hand. Everyone at the table jumped up from their seats, expecting a fight. "Look at you, 'Head Chieftain' Hadoka! So eager to sell out your tribe to foreign masters."

"Officer Liren, you're with them?!" Hakoda asked one of the women officers with Gilak.

"I'm sorry, but Gilak is right about our tribe. We're in terrible danger and you're too blind to see it!" Officer Liren spoke.

"Don't you hear the cry of your people, Hakoda?!" Gilak shouted. "Foreigners out!" And with that, Gilak and his multiple fighters began to attack.

"Stay back!" Zuko shot flames at the feet of two who were charging at him.

"Ash maker!" Gilak yelled, swinging his sword at Zuko.

"Whoa!" Zuko dodged quick enough so the sword fell onto the table.

"That's not very nice, fuck face!" Ama defended her ex, bending the water from the table to smack him on the floor.

"You have betrayed the Southern Tribe, Ama." The man grumbled, looking at her from the floor.

Team Avatar fought to keep the attackers separated from Hakoda, the Earth King and Malina. After all, they were the ones that Gilak was after. Then his warriors smashed in through the windows.

"If you want to get to them, you have to go through me!" Hakoda warned, standing between Gilak and the two they were protecting.

"You think I came for the foreigners? No, Hakoda. I'm here for the real enemy" Gilak grumbled. "You!" He swung his sword, but Hadoka blocked the attack with his own weapon. "My stay in prison gave me time to ponder all that's happened 'brother.' I realized that you are the root of our problems! You're too weak to lead us"

Both of them lost their weapons from the tension. "The Southern Water Tribe needs a leader who's strong. A leader who won't betray his people. A leader like me!" Gilak threw a punch at Hakoda, making him fall to the ground and pass out.

"Dad!" "Hakoda!" Ama and Malina shouted at the same time.

Galik threw Hakoda over his shoulder and ran to the door. "Let's go! We got what we came for!"

"Stop him!" Katara yelled desperately.

"For the tribe!" Galik called and ran out with the other behind him.

Katara was quick to bend water and shoot it at the warriors retreating. "Monkey feathers! He's moving too fast!" Called Aang.

"Dad!" Ama yelled as team Avatar ran out into the hall, where Gilak's fighters were standing to keep them from passing.

"He's almost at the door!" Zuko pointed.

"Too many dunderheads in the way." Toph also noted.

"Aang, he's gone!" Katara said.

"No he's not! Hang on!" With that, Aang picked up Katara and they flew over the warriors to catch up with Galik.

"Alright pricks, out of the way!" Ama demanded, bending water to make the ground icy and slippery. In the middle she expanded it like a ramp, making the attackers slip and crash into the wall. Ama turned the ice in the middle to water and then froze the attackers feat to the ground so that the group could run past them. They ran till the city entrance where Katara and Aang had already gotten Hakoda from Gilak, and the coward ran off.

"He got away." Katara noted regrettably.

"We saved dad, Katara. That's what counts." The older sister reminded her.

Ama and Sokka held up their dad as they headed back to the City Hall. As they got closer, Malina was waiting and ran to Hakoda.

"Malina...?" Hakoda started.

"Thank heavens you're okay!" Malina breathed out in relief.

"Never thought city politics would be so rough." Hakoda grumbled while they went inside.

"Where...?" Zuko realized something. He ran to the double doors for the meeting room and looked around. "No!"

"What is it?" Toph asked.

"They took Earth King Kuei." He told them.

"We really can't catch a break can we?" Sokka grumbled as he and Ama helped their dad onto a couch to rest.

"We need to go look for him." Aang started to lead. "Hakoda and Malina, stay here. The rest of us will try to look for him."

"Please be careful." Hakoda grunted as he got comfortable on the chair.

"I can stay with you." Said Ama, putting a pillow under his head.

"I'll be fine, Ama. Malina is here with me." Hakoda grunted as he allowed his body to rest. He stole a loving glance with Malina. Ama gave him a thin smile and left with the group outside.

"Look, they left footprints." Sokka pointed out. And sure enough there were footprints embedded in the snow. "Let's see where they lead." The footprints led them to a series of underground tunnels. Tunnels that stretched for miles and miles. In defeat, the team trudged back to the city.

The walk was gloomy and everyone was exhausted. Ama could feel the glances Zuko took at her. And she glanced back, but never at the same time. This entire meeting was going terribly, leaving no time for the two to talk. It'd have to wait.

"Any progress?" Hakoda asked as the group entered.

"I'm afraid not." Replied Aang with disappointment.

"Thod and his crew left footprints, but they lead into a maze of underground tunnels." Katara added.

"Tunnels that go on for miles and miles. I could feel them." Toph informed.

"It'll take us days to search through them all." Sokka slouched on an armchair.

"Maybe weeks." Zuko added.

"Not to mention they'll be moving from one corner to another all the time." Ama finished.

"We came to check on you guys." Aang told the adults.

"And on Bosco. Look what we brought you, buddy." Katara spoke to King Kuei's bear while Momo held up half a fish. "Some yummy dried fish. You want some fish?" The bear roared and gladly took the fish.

"Listen, team. We'll rest for a little bit, but we need to get back out there as soon as we can." Aang instructed.

"Yeah, no disrespect to the Earth King, but that guy won't last long in a freezing tunnel." Sokka said.

Just then a messenger hawk crowed and flew to the window. "A message!" Hakoda realized and took the paper .

"What is it?" Wondered Katara.

"It's from Gilak." Her father grimaced. "He wants to make an exchange. The Earth King's life for mine."

"Can I see it?" Sokka asked and his father handed it to him. "Gilak wants to meet at the bridge of no return."

"The bridge of no return?" Toph asked.

"An old rope bridge up in the mountains not far from here." Ama responded.

"Supposedly, the bridge was how to deal with our criminals." Sokka continued.

"If you did something really bad, the tribe would make you walk across and then make sure you never ever came back." Katara added in.

Ama chuckled lightly, thinking back to her childhood. "My friends and I always dared each other to walk across when we were kids." Then her smile faded. "I can't imagine how steep that drop is."

"Not to mention the terrain on the other side. It's the most treacherous in the entire South Pole. Nothing stays alive there for very long." Sokka finished describing it.

"Yikes." Aang commented.

"So Gilak wants to meet at the bridge." Sokka told them about the message. "Him and his army on one side, dad on the other. He'll send Thod and a couple of his disciples over. We have to allow them to chi block all of our benders."

"What?!" Toph obviously wasn't fond of the idea.

"Makes sense. They know we can easily overpower them otherwise." Zuko said. "They're essentially asking us to lay down our weapons."

"Then as soon as dad starts across, Gilak will send Earth King Kuei over." Sokka continued. "Any funny business and Gilak cuts the bridge."

"You know he's going to cut the bridge no matter what, right?" Zuko grumbled like it was common knowledge and crossed his arms. "Even if we give in to all of his demands. No way Gilak's going to pass up the opportunity to get rid of two of his enemies at once."

"Zuko's that's so cheaty." Aang argued against it.

"Not just cheaty. Evil." Katara added.

"I used to be a bad guy. I know how bad guys think." Zuko reminded them.

"I can't believe that gasbag has the gall to think we'd agree to this!" Toph punched her palm.

"He has all the leverage." Ama shrugged.

"That's right. He knows that if anything happens to the Earth King, the Earth Kingdom is liable to start a new war." Zuko said.

"Kids, I can't let you go through with this!" Hakoda refused. "Getting chi blocked would leave you vulnerable to who knows what!"

"It's an impossible situation." Malina added.

"Nothing's ever impossible. We'll come up with something!" Aang told them and then turned to look at Sokka. "So what's the something we're gonna come up with, planner guy?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Sokka cheerfully said with a plan mind.

.☽☼☾.

The plan was to take place that next night. Once Sokka came up with the plan, explained it and prepared, everything seemed to be in order. And they went to the Bridge of No Return.

"Everything in place?" Sokka asked once last time.

"All according to plan, planner guy." Aang confirmed.

"I hope this works." Ama crossed her arms and looked across the deep chasm. "The bridge looks so much scarier than it did when I was little."

"Cause there's a lot at stake today." Sokka stood next to her and looked in the same direction as her. "How come you never let me come with you and your friends?" Sokka then remembered how Ama always refused to let Sokka hang out with her and her friends.

The older sister chuckled, wrapping her arm around his neck and pulling him into a side hug. "Sorry, little brother, you weren't cool enough for us."

Sokka frowned at that while Ama laughed. Then the two looked over at Katara who was worrying about something. "Sis. You okay?" Sokka asked, and they walked over to her.

"This isn't how I imagined our trip back home." Katara said somberly. "I always assumed that once we defeated Fire Lord Ozai, the South Pole would go back to the way it was supposed to be. Our lives would go back to the way they're supposed to be. But with Galik and those protestors and all the unrest and now this whole thing... Like I said, it's not what I imagined."

"Katara, I get what you're saying." Sokka started. "But none of us have an actual idea of what things were like before the war. Nobody alive does, not even Gran-Gran."

"Katara," Ama was careful not to anger her sister. "What if the South Pole you're imagining, the one where everything's how it's supposed to be, never actually existed?"

Before Katara could respond, Aang called. "Heads up, guys! Gilak's here!" On the other side of the bridge stood Gilak, Thod, their soldiers, and as promised, Earth King Kuei.

"We ready to do this team?" Sokka got into a warrior stance.

"We better be." Aang said. Thod and two young Water Tribe members walked across the shaky bridge with smug looks on their faces. "Here come the chi blockers."

After chi blocking Katara, the black-haired girl went over to Ama. "We haven't really met yet, but just so you know. I hate you, traitor." The girl told Ama before chi blocking her and she fell to the ground.

"Good to know." Ama said sarcastically on the ground.

"I must confess, I'm going to enjoy this, ash maker!" The old man grumbled happily. "After all the despair you and your people have caused, I can't believe Hakoda let you set foot in our land." Moments after, Zuko fell next to his ex-girlfriend.

"Hi. You new 'round here?" Ama couldn't help making a quip. Even with the awkward tension between them, the nerves made her tell a joke to anyone.

Zuko looked away from her and mumbled. "Let's just hope this goes according to plan."

"That's all of them." Thod said, proud that the benders were helpless.

"Kids! You're not hurt are you?" Hakoda concerned as he turned her head to look at them.

"We're fine, dad. Good thing the snow's so soft." Sokka called to him.

"Go on now Hakoda." Thod urged Hakoda to cross the bridge just as King Kuei started to go across.

Once the king and the Head Chieftain were halfway across the bridge, Gilak took his sword and started to cut through the rope. But just as planned, Malina and Toph's metal bending students jumped in to stop him.

"Malina and the metal bender have come out of hiding!" Sokka announced.

"Our turn." Toph said with a challenging tone.

Aang reacted first, engulfing Thod in ice. "What is this trickery?!" The old man cried out.

"I think you should apologize to my friend for calling him an ash maker." Aang told him. "It's not polite to use slurs like that, you know."

Ama and Katara bent that water to freeze the one girl and Toph used her earthbending to get the girl's brother. "What'd you dunderheads say this was?" Toph asked.

"I remember, Toph!" Katara responded. "Payback."

"How?" Thod wondered how they had passed the chi blocks.

"Check out this chainmail armor. Pretty slick right?" Sokka said proudly revealing the armor under his shirt. "Designed by me and made by the students of the Beifong Metalbending Academy."

Galik didn't seem to like that he was up-handed and started to cross the bridge to take care of it himself with his sword and a torch, lighting the bridge on fire. Malina ran behind him to stop him.

"Zuko-!" Ama pointed at the fire. Even in their delicate relationship, he was still the fist person Ama thought of to take care of the situation.

"I got this!" The firebender replied, running across the bridge to put out the fire. At first, everyone thought that he got there in time, but then the rope snapped.

"No!" Ama shouted.

"Dad!" Katara called out. Everyone else was shocked and angry.

Luckily, everyone was holding onto the boards. And Zuko was able to use firebending to fly his way up with the Earth King.

"Oh thank heavens! Thank heavens!" The king thanked, happy to be on the ground.

"One down, three to go." Zuko said, ready to go back down and get the others.

"Don't go back down there, Zuko!" Sokka called and Zuko stopped right on his tracks. "That bridge isn't going to hold for long! Your weight will only make things worse!"

"I'm gonna try to buy us some time, but you guys have to figure out a way to rescue them!" Toph bent some rocks on the unstable boulders used to tie the ropes.

"Come one, sweetie!" We'll climb down this way!" Katara shouted to Aang and she made an ice ladder. The two started to climb down in order to get the remainder of the people stranded on the ladder.

"Okay, that nickname was cute at first, but now it's getting annoying." Ama muttered to herself.

Aang took his airbending staff and flew down, grabbing Hakoda's hand to lead them up. But Gilak was struggling, making it harder for Aang. And not long after Gilak fell, purposefully. Refusing to let Hakoda "win."

"Hakoda, the two of us are too much weight for the Avatar." Malina said with a shaky, terrified voice. But she gave Hakoda a loving smile.

"Hang on for a little longer, Malina." Hakoda begged.

"Then all three of us will die." She said. Aang was having more and more trouble getting them up. "Goodbye, Hakoda."

"No! No!" Hakoda yelled as his love's hand slipped from his.

Katara was quick to make an ice slide, grabbing Malina and getting her to safety. Ama smiled in relief. She let herself sit into the snow, feeling it's cold through her thick clothing.

.☽☼☾.

The next day was calm. The siblings went to mom's grave, a rock with flowers and a circle of rocks around it. It was mainly Katara who needed to be there and speak to mom, in a sense. Sokka and Ama were there for emotional support.

"Go on, sis. Say what you need to say." Sokka placed a supporting hand on his little sister's back.

"You know, when Sokka and I finally came back, I was hoping to find a home where everything's how it's supposed to be." Katara started, he head hanging low. "But I realize now, that just isn't possible. Because a home where everything's how it's supposed to be is a home with you still in it, mom."

"Yesterday, I had to save this woman named Malina. You've never met her. She's different from you - really different - but I have a feeling you would've liked her." Katara smiled. "When I saved her, I felt a courage deep inside, a familiar sort of courage. I'd felt it when I saved Aang as we left the crystal catacombs. And when Admiral Zhao killed the moon spirit and we had to bring it back."

Her hand lightly touched her necklace, thinking back at the memories. "That was your courage, mom. The courage you passed on to me. Things are still changing here. I haven't yet convinced dad and Malina to not build that oil refinery. And the protestors haven't gone away. But through it all, I don't have to keep hoping for what's 'supposed to be' because you've been with me all along."

Katara had a sad smile on her face and she leaned into her older sister, who comforted her with a hug. Then they had to pull away when two young girls and Aang ran over.

"Hey, Ama. Zuko is almost done going over some thing with Hakoda if you still want to talk to him." Aang told her, his thumb pointing in the direction on the village.

Ama gave him a thankful smile. "Time to smooth things over with my ex." Ama fiddled with her fingernails as she walked away.

"If it doesn't go well, we'll take care of business." Called out Sokka. Ama laughed at him nervously.

She arrived at Town Hall just as Zuko was leaving. When Zuko saw the waterbender, he sighed and walked down the white steps while Ama waited at the bottom.

"We need to talk." Zuko said. Those four words that must have been spoken thousands of times at this point.

Ama nodded in agreement. "There's a cliff not far from here with the most incredible view. Plus there won't be anyone there to stare." The two looked over at the town square. It was a busy area so they were some giggling girls and older people glancing over at the two.

"As long as you won't throw me off." Zuko chuckled.

"I make no promises." Ama quipped with a shrug and walked past his toward the cliff. Zuko huffed a laugh and walked beside her.

"The South has changed a lot since I've last been here." Zuko said to make light conversation till they got to the cliff and to avoid the awkward silence.

"It has." Ama agreed, looking at some of the booths for food and some for jewelry. "I forgot that the last time you were here you kinda destroyed the village."

"Sorry about that." Zuko nervously rubbed his neck.

"Well, I guess you're making up for it now. With the partnership and everything."

"It's the least we could do." Zuko sounded like he was holding himself responsible for a century worth of destruction by the Fire Nation. And as Fire Lord, it was up to him to fix it. "The whole world is changing, and I'm supposed to react reasonably to all of it."

"Well I can tell you right now that you're doing great." Ama assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Zuko couldn't help but take a sharp breath in. They had just broken up, and she was acting... normal. Like nothing had changed between them. It made Zuko feel uneasy.

"Here it is." Ama said, removing her hand and stopping a few feet from the edge of the cliff.

"It's an incredible view." Zuko noted. The sky was a light blue and the icy deep blue water looked like there were crystals reflecting from it. Ama took a moment to take the view in. It's been years since seeing it.

"Look, about the break up..." Zuko started and Ama tore her eyes from the ocean to him. "I need to apologize. It's just that, you've been with me through so much, and just the thought of not having you with me made me feel lost. I resorted to trying to use your own weaknesses against you."

"I also need to apologize." Ama sighed. "I felt unheard, so I yelled. That wasn't okay of me to do."

"We both reacted terribly." Zuko crossed his arms. "This time, I'm ready to hear you and respect what you have to say."

"Thank you." Ama gave him a soft smile and thought for a moment about how she should start off. "I think, we're both just too young. We're only 18. Before you, I've never even been in a real relationship." Ama pointed out. "I need to learn more about myself before I can fully commit to someone. And I think you need some more time being the Fire Lord and with your family before you do the same."

"So what's your plan?" Zuko wondered. "How do you plan to learn more about yourself."

"Well, I really missed traveling. The thrill of going to a new city and not knowing what you're going to come across and experience, I love it. And there's still so much that I haven't seen." Ama felt excited just talking about traveling again. "I'm staying here for a few weeks, then there's a whole world for me to explore."

"And after that?" Zuko looked over at her with sadness in his eye. "Do you think we'll be able to be together again?"

Ama gave him a flat smile. "I don't know." She whispered, leaning toward him to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "But what I do know, is that you will always be my first love, Zuko."

The firebender wrapped his arms around Ama, and she wrapped her arms around him. It wasn't that loving, couple type of hug, but a bittersweet one. "If you travel through the Fire Nation, feel free to drop by"

Ama smiled. He'd always care for her no matter what. This wasn't an end to their friendship, not in the slightest. Just an end of a chapter. One that neither of them would trade for anything.

.☽☼☾.

So? What'd ya think? While editing I realized that I misspelled Hakoda's name like 50 times to Hadoka.

This isn't the end please keep that in mind. I still have a whole plot planned out so stay tuned.

But please keep interacting! I love all the support and reads I've been getting. I know my writing isn't great, but I just want to write a story that others can enjoy reading. Hang loose, amigos 🤙🏼

#zuko x oc #fire lord zuko #zuko #zuko fanfic #her sun his moon #water tribe #waterbender oc #fire and water #zuko x waterbender oc #katara #sokka #atla #atla fanfic

6 notes · View notes

fruitful-blogger · 6 years ago

Text

BITES of Spider Life! (Chapter 2)

Inspired by the BEAUTIFUL Sanders Sides/Spiderverse AU by @ask-spiderverse-virgil and @sugarglider9603!

Summary:

When you’re bitten by a genetically-altered and probably radioactive spider, things in life tend to get a little complicated. Follow Virgil Storm, Roman Marigold, Logan Quinn, Patton Foster, and a whole slew of other spider-people and spider-related people as they deal with life, love, and the occasional robot army trying to take over New York.

Just another Tuesday for our teenage Spiderlings.

(Fluff and Slices of Life!)

Read from the beginning (Ao3)

Chapter 2: It’s a Playdate (Ao3)

“So you brought us with not to go to the ACTUAL meeting but to hang out with the other kids?” Virgil, as Spidergale, threw to Thomas, currently dressed as Rainbow Weaver. In fact, all of them where in their Spider gear as they swung onto the landing jutting out from Stark Towers, otherwise known as New York’s Avengers’ headquarters. “What is this? A playdate?”

“Look SHIELD has some news, and you know I’ll give you guys the rundown on what’s important after. Mostly it’s just us getting nagged about property damage.” Thomas threw as he waved his hand.

“I’m SO SORRY about that building last week!” Love Bite, aka Patton, threw, his lenses cocked as he looked so sad. Really, their masks were good with expressions.

“Love Bite, you were THROWN INTO A BUILDING!” Arachne, aka Logan, threw. “They do NOT blame you for that!”

“And if they did, they’d have to talk to these fists first!” Royal Slinger, the last of their quartet of Spiderlings, threw in an ever so Roman way.

“And you sent a card to the building manager. They probably get it and have insurance for that.” Thomas assured as he rubbed Patton’s head, mushing his cap ever so slightly. “Now, yes, unfortunately some of the higher ups are a bit prickly about kids and meetings. Some of the other protégés occasionally come, and, as much as I love and appreciate you guys, I think you need more friends than just each other.”

“I mean, maybe Logan and Virgil…” Roman trailed off before his boyfriend swatted him. “HEY! It’s true!”

“ANYWAY!” Thomas cut in once more, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just… don’t blow anything up. If there’s an emergency, the building is hooked up with an AI known as JARVIS. Our normal communications won’t work in the tower, but he’s been told to interrupt the meeting should something go awry.”

Logan’s extra arms came out to hold out a small device. “Would you at least endeavor to record it? I feel like I can pick out things better from a first-hand reading.”

“Sorry, kid, but that won’t work in here.” The Spiders turned as Tony Stark stepped out onto the veranda, band shirt and blazer perfectly matching his glasses that likely cost more than Thomas’ rent. “My tech will auto nuke it on entry, but if your nice, I might be swayed to share my personal logs.”

“Isn’t that not allowed?” Patton questioned.

A voice snorted behind Tony. It was now that the five noticed a second figure on the roof. The person, as opposed to Tony, was no older than his late teens, early twenties, with brown hair and clothes that would be more normally worn on one of the spiderlings in their alter egos – he wore washed out jeans, a Columbia t-shirt, and a plain navy hoodie, a Stark pad in one arm as a keycard was clipped to his side. “Tony hacked the system a while ago. JARVIS stores a copy on a local drive that only Tony and I can get a hold of.” The kid stepped forward and waved. “Oh, yeah, hi, I’m Peter.”

Tony threw an arm around the kid. “Spider runts, meet Underoos – he’s one of the best scientists I got in this place. Give him a few years, and he might be as smart as me.”

Peter blushed at the praise. “Aw, Mister Stark-”

“Seriously, kid? I’ve known you for years. It’s TO-NY.” Tony turned to Thomas. “You remember the kid, right?”

“Yeah, you gave me a bunch of vines to watch last time.” Thomas chuckled. “Still haven’t gotten through them all yet.”

Peter nodded sagely. “Well, I’m the designated ‘person under 25’ today, so I’m gonna be taking you guys around the tower. Squirrel Girl and Ms. Marvel are already here, but I think most of the others are out on team missions or whatever.” Peter shrugged. “I’ll get the brief later.”

“You have access to those systems?” Logan approached.

“Eh… ‘Access’ is a relative term.” Peter waved his hands. “Now, ‘hacking,’ hacking is a better descriptor.”

“I taught him well.” Tony said, ignoring Patton’s chide at how hacking wasn’t right. “Now, Weaver, we got a meeting to be fashionably late to. You know how old eyepatch gets.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Thomas waved before turning to his kids. “Now, be good and listen to Peter. This should be a couple of hours, and, PLEASE, don’t blow anything up.”

“No promises, boss man.” Virgil gave a salute.

Thomas sighed as he followed Tony. With their enhanced hearing, the boys definitely heard Thomas muttering to the other man about ‘kids these days’ and ‘I love my boys but I want to strangle them’ and other normal terms of love.

“So I kind of already know which of you is which.” Peter said as he pulled out four keycards from his pocket. “You guys are going to need these.”

“Oh? Will they allow us entry into the building?” Logan questioned as he took one.

Peter snorted. “JARVIS’ face recognition software is better than any keycard. We mostly use these as a bait and switch in case anyone tries to steal our stuff. Don’t tell anyone that, though. These cards just basically get you free snacks at the vending machines.”

“SHOULD you be telling us this?” Virgil questioned, eye quirked. “I mean, you just met us.”

“Call it my personal spider sense.” Peter shrugged. “I’m good at reading people, and you guys seem alright.” Peter didn’t add that he had top security clearance, up there with Tony and Pepper, and had run background checks on them all. He’d been a bit less prying then his mentor, though, and had JARVIS blur names and faces. He got the basics, though. Each spider kid was unique, around his age (a bit younger, actually), and were good in their own right. Heck, Love Bite stopped on random street corners to help school children and old people cross the road.

Peter led the charge, and, of course, Logan was asking questions as they walked in. Logan was, by far, the smartest of the four, but Peter was surprising them by being a match for his intellect. Patton was startled by JARVIS greeting them when they walked in, but soon enough the AI and the teen were chatting up a storm. Roman, for all his gags at things like science and math, was actually quite good and intrigued by it, so he was looking all about with Virgil, pointing out things that looked cool and getting layman explanations of things from Peter.

“So how does the whole… spider thing work?” Peter asked to the group as they passed a wall of armors. “Like, do you guys make your own web? Does it come out of…” He gestured to his behind.

Virgil snorted as he nudged Logan. “Yeah, Arachne, does it come out down…” Spidergale found webbing over his mouth, courtesy of his best friend. Virgil let off a noise of protest as he scrambled at his mask to remove the muffle or move up the mask.

“I myself, as well as Love Bite, have the ability to generate organic webbing from our wrists, but we tend to rely more on web shooters. Using organic webbing extensively can be draining and requires Love Bite and I to consume more calories when doing so.” Logan pulled off his glove and rolled down his sleeve slightly to reveal the device. “Weaver made the initial designs and prototypes. He also uses them. We’ve fit them with other devices in the mean time, like vocal communicator, tracking systems, and what not.”

“I came up with the best kinds of snacks to deal with the hunger.” Love Bite nodded as he pulled out some wrapped cookies. “Want one?”

Peter eyed the cookies. “Am I safe to eat one? I’m not superhuman.”

“Oh! Wait…” Patton stuffed the cookies back into one pouch and pulled a new set from another. “These are just sugar cookies. We do a lot of patrolling, and snacks are important!”

Roman pulled on Virgil’s mask, managing to dislodge the webbing. “Patton is a really good baker.” The emo noted as he leaned over to help Roman off the ground.

Peter took the cookie before hesitantly taking a bite.

His eyes blew wide.

“I need, like, a million of these.” He said with great awe. “These are amazing. They’re awesome. Did you put something in this?”

“Love and sugar, kiddo!” Patton confirmed before sticking a few cookies at each of them.

“LB I’m not…” Virgil tried to say, but he found his mask jerked up slightly to reveal his mouth just as a cookie was stuffed in. It wasn’t even a regular one – it was one of the superhuman high protein high sugar ones Patton made.

“Nope!” Patton chided. “Grandma told me that all you had was an apple today!”

Virgil took a bite as he grabbed the cookie. “How did you know?”

“She and all the other old ladies put me in their baking group chat.”

Peter licked his fingers. “So the rumor is true? That you guys are Weaver’s kids?”

The group snorted. “Yeah… that was a thing.” Roman smiled. “While Weaver is like the weird combination of dad and older brother, none of us are actually related. I mean, unless the spider venom changed our DNA and made us more related? Is that, like, a thing or just something in comics?”

“The circumstances that gave us four our powers was similar to Weaver, but it was still separate. In short, we each were exposed to venomous chemicals of an altered spider that resulted in each of our power development.” Logan explained.

“I arguably got the best powers.” Roman threw.

The other spiders rolled their eyes.

“We all have the same basic powers.” Virgil explained. “Wall sticking, enhanced strength, spider sense, etc. Arachne has a little less stick, so he uses his legs for extra grab. Also the web thing.” Virgil shot a web off into a corner.

“We each have little cool powers, too! But they’re not really all there.” Patton explained. “Like I can pick up on surface thoughts of animals, but it comes and goes. Spidergale turned invisible once! That was really cool!”

“Ro- uh, Royal Slinger blew out the speakers of our school’s speakers a few times.”

“My voice is a beautiful weapon.”

“Arachne’s also the fastest. Like, really fast.” The emo added last.

Peter let off a whistle. “That’s pretty insane guys. I’d love me some super powers, but I think I’m stuck toying with armor in the mean time. Jar, don’t tell Mr. Stark about this, but I’m trying to compress an arc reactor to make it possible to charge a mobile suit of some sort.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Parker.” JARVIS confirmed.

“Just don’t jump into it feet first, dude.” Roman warned, wincing in memory of his first attempt at being a hero. Gods, his outfit was UG-LY back then. “You have, like, Iron Man to show you the ropes first. Rainbow Weaver has been the best in training us, and, even if I hate to admit it sometimes, we’d all be squished by now without him.”

“Royal Slinger? Admitting he’s not immortal?” Spidergale joked.

“A prince must know his limitations… so that he can overcome them!” The red spider defended.

Peter thought about it before nodding. “I’ll think about it. Mr. Stark is a bit protective is all.”

“And you think Weaver isn’t?” The emo threw before they all started sharing horror/hilarious stories about times Weaver had saved their asses in the most dad ways.

They took an express elevator about 50 floors up before the doors opened, four spider senses going off at once as they hit the deck, grabbing Peter with them. A disk shot over them, bouncing off the interior of the elevator wall before Logan caught it with his legs. “Whoops! Sorry!” The five looked up to see a girl with a massive, stretched out form begin to shrink as JARVIS paused the practice. Off to another side, a girl with a squirrel ear headband and a massive squirrel tail waved, a number of little squirrels around her.

“Hi Pete!” The animal girl waved. “Oh, hey! It’s the spider brigade! Hi!” The girl scampered over, one squirrel with a bow on her shoulder, a big grin on her face. She exhumed what the boys affectionately called ‘Patton energy.’ “So, I’m Squirrel Girl, this is Ms. Marvel, and this is Tippy-Toe!” She introduced in rapid succession.

Patton leapt up. “Hello! I’m Love Bite, that’s Royal Slinger, this is Arachne, and this is Spidergale! Oh, and this is Peter!”

“I know Peter!” Squirrel Girl replied.

“Oh, sorry! Oh my gosh, your squirrels are SO CUTE! Can I pet them?”

“Tippy-Toe loves petting!” As she said this, the squirrel on her shoulder leapt to Patton as the boy screeched in pure joy, gently petting the squirrel with pure adoration.

Ms. Marvel made her way over as she picked up the disk with an enlarged hand. “We got bored and decided to goof off.”

“That’s a mood.” Peter and Virgil said at the same time before looking at each other, grinning.

“Ms. Marvel?” Roman asked, stepping forward. “Ok, so this might be a rumor, but I heard you can shapeshift.”

“Mm-hm!” She said, setting down the disk and shifting into Royal Slinger. “I’m a polymorph!” She stated in her own voice before clearing her throat. “How do I look?” She struck a pose with Roman’s voice now.

Virgil blinked between the two before turning to Logan. “Slap me. I’m having a nightmare.”

“Hey!” Roman threw, but Ms. Marvel already shifted to appear like Spidergale. Roman was enamored. “You. You would be FANTASTIC in the school play! Can you act? Please say yes.”

That was how Roman and Kamala were left, acting out favorite TV scenes and talking about superhero stuff (not, like, serious stuff but more ‘did you see Cyclops last week that outfit was HIDIOUS!’). Patton was currently covered in squirrels and designing crazy playgrounds off the walls with webbing.

That left Peter, Virgil, and Logan.

Peter turned to the two. “Wanna blow something up?”

The two introverts shared a look.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Weaver.” JARVIS interrupted what Thomas was deciding was the most BORING meeting of his life. Seriously, they weren’t even covering whatever Doctor Doom or the Skrulls anymore but TAXES and PUBLIC IMAGE and BLAH BLAHDY BLAH! He was a wholesome gay hero he shouldn’t have to deal with taxes. This was some homophobic BS (as he kept telling himself, trying not to daydream too much about MJ or planning a new video and miss the whole meeting).

“Hold up, Cabbage Patch.” Tony threw to the guy with ridiculously curly hair and a pressed suit on the screen. He was definitely a bureaucrat first and foremost. “What’s up, JAR?”

“I would like to inform you that Protocol Baby Alarm has been triggered. It has also come to involve Mr. Weaver’s protégés, Spidergale and Arachne.” JARVIS intoned.

“Well, shit, I guess I gotta deal with that.” Tony threw as he stood. “You don’t mind, Cap? Fury? Gotta make sure a civilian like my people are taken care of. Kinda serious.”

Serious??? Weaver stood up, full of concern. “Wait, what’s the Baby Protocal? What happened?”

“I’ll explain on the way.” Tony nodded as he easily walked out. Thomas abandoned his chair with little fanfare, worry and panic in his veins. His spider sense hadn’t gone off, and his gut (aka his ‘dad’ sense) hadn’t told him something was wrong. Tony walked quietly down the hall, humming something ACDC until they reached the elevator.

Once the doors closed, Thomas felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. “What’s the Baby Alarm? Tony, what happened? Are my kids ok?”

Tony looked over before snorting. “JARVIS, pull me up a feed.”

On the elevator doors, a holographic screen showed a room absolutely COVERED in spider web, the epicenter a mess of plastic, scorch marks, and more web. The camera panned to show Peter stuck to the floor, Logan trying to dislodge his legs from a wall, and Virgil… well, Virgil seemed to be stuck to the ceiling somehow. Soon, four other kids, including his missing spiders, ran in. Roman started laughing, even with the sound muted, and Patton began fussing over Logan.

Then he got stuck.

“Protocal Baby Alarm AKA Peter blew something up again, nothing’s actually broken, but now I have an excuse to leave a boring meeting.” Tony grinned as Thomas clutched his chest, his heart slowing. Everyone was alright.

In so much trouble, but alright.

“I TOLD them not to blow anything up!” Thomas threw.

Tony laughed. “My kid’s a sweetie, but he can be a terrible influence.”

“He seemed so innocent.”

“Oh, he is.” Tony nodded as the door opened. “He gets the blow shit up bit from me. JARVIS? Can I get some blue prints on whatever they were doing? Or, hell, can we just get some bots to scrape them off?”

Thomas cracked his neck as the biochemical components appeared on a holographic display that led them. At least he remembered enough of this gibboly goop from his chemical engineering degree. “Looks like they messed with the webbing formula… again.”

“Again?”

“Royal Slinger and Arachne can get very… creative with my original formula. Slinger always wants to make it gayer, and Arachne still hasn’t figured out how I get the coloring just right.”

Tony laughed. Yeah, their kids would get along swell.

#Sanders Sides #Spiderverse #Logan Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Peter Parker #Bites of Spider Life #BoSL #fanfiction

126 notes · View notes