Peter Parker & Tom Holland Imagines

no longer lost pt.1 {j.f.}

The forest hums quietly with the typical bird chirps and stirs of life. It reminds me ever so slightly of home. Except the forests of England have many differences from the amazonian jungle, there's a tentative resemblance that makes me feel better on homesick days.

My footfalls barely register against the thunderous steps of my beau. Jack always walks like an elephant when something is on his mind. It's something that I learned the day we met all those months ago.

-- 6 months ago --

I slip through the trees as I wait for my prey to step into the small gap between the trunks. It's a rare comfort in this foreign world of 'civilized' life, to still be able to gather and provide for myself.

Of course, if Clara knew, she would remind me of the butcher shop that's perfectly nestled in the center of town. But old habits die hard. Not to mention, the Amazon is forever a part of my being after so many years.

I notch the arrow and pull it taught. My heart calms down and evens out with my breath. The deer dips its head down to nibble at some grass, and once it raises its head--I release.

Although, the arrow doesn't find its mark. Because at that same moment, a gunshot echoes through the forest like thunder. The deer bolts, now wounded and scared, as I notch another arrow and take a second shot.

It settles with a thunk through the heart. I bite my lip and painfully watch as it takes another few stumbling meters before falling to the ground.

Twigs snap against my cloak as I rush to the creature's side. Tears spill out of my eyes and smear the markings of my tribe I replicated as part of the ritual of the hunt. "Thank you for your sacrifice. May you find peace and rest." I whisper and feel the heartbeat stutter and give out.

Footsteps pound from behind me as I complete the rest of the tradition. The stranger stops beside me, clearly unsure of what to do or how to react. But once I finish, I answer the question for him.

"Do you have no shame?" I shout as the answer bubbles in my chest. The young man watches me with wide brown eyes and a blush coating his cheeks when he notices my limited attire. "Everyone here has felt the right to lecture me about 'civilized' culture, but I don't see it. There is nothing civilized about this kind of slaughter.

"The tribes I knew and life I lived may have been different, but at least we knew to respect life enough to end it quickly and peacefully. They taught to respect Death, not pretend as though we owned and ruled it." I catch my breath, chest still heaving in fury. "If this is civilized, I would much rather have the Amazonian barbarity any day."

The brown eyed boy watches me with a slack jaw as I untie the coil of rope from my waist and prepare to drag the deer out. "Who--who are you?" He finally stutters after I've made it a few steps.

I lift my chin and try to fight back the falter that always happens. "Y/N L/N." It's not my real name. No one knows what that is. I lost it and my parents to the jungle fever as a toddler. This one was given to me by the others in the group, pieced together from past lives or books. "My name is Y/N L/N."

He nods, still in some sort of daze as he speaks. "Jack Fawcett."

"Well," I retort as I secure the ropes around myself again, "good day, Mr. Fawcett."

Present

A laugh escapes me at the memory of his terrified expression and shock at my behavior. We've certainly come a long way since then. Most of which can be credited to my attempts to follow 'civilized' customs of being neighborly, which led to our second meeting and my apology.