#the husband thing being spilled accidentally before they realise he’s lost his memory

[weewoo911]

Because I like making several different flavours of the same AUs I also want all of the above except they’ve also recently adopted or had a baby via surrogate and they’re going through all of this while they have a baby thats only a few months old

Tommy trying to hold it together because he really wasn’t sure about being a dad but doing it together with Evan felt so right and now Evan is still right with him but he doesn’t remember anything

Buck waking up in a life he doesn’t recognise where he’s a husband and a father and even if it’s not what he expected it’s a life he’s wanted for a long time and he doesn’t want to screw it up for himself

Amnesia fics are a classic and I’d love a bucktommy one where Buck gets injured and loses a good chunk of his memories and wakes up to find he has a beefy hot firefighter husband

Evan Buckley, severely concussed, looking at his wedding ring and husband: Hmm well I AM an ally after all! 🏳️‍🌈

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Dead Memories

The Host doesn’t like Yancy. When Yancy aims to find out why the Host takes things too far. 

@thomothysdoodles

I finally got round to it. I feel like the quality of this deteriorated the further down I got but oh well.

A Heist With Markiplier had done very well, and as a result 3 new egos had been “born”. They had fit in well. Magnum was loud and boisterous and got along well with Wilford but had the common sense to hold the lunatic by the back of the shirt whenever he attempted to do anything suicidal, much to the relief of Dark. Illinois was charming and could reduce most of the egos to a blushing mess in no time with his flirting. He also had some wonderful stories that he had given the Host permission to write down. There was one problem though. Yancy. The Host didn’t like Yancy. He had been as quiet as a mouse when he had been introduced, having seemingly lost the confidence he had had in prison. When he had finally opened up he was just as loud as Magnum before he quieted down again and went back to his timid ways. These were normal characteristics, but something about the man just rubbed him the wrong way. Something about him felt dangerous. Everyone knew he had killed his mother and father, but no one seemed to be aware of that capability for violence that lurked underneath Yancy’s skin. But the Host knew. As soon as the Host had been near Yancy he’d been struck with a vision so violent that the blood had poured from his eyes, much to Yancy’s horror. As a result he tended to avoid him whenever he could, opting to just stay in his library and work. Yancy’s past reminded him of someone long dead.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid him forever. And Yancy had started to notice how the Host turned on his heel whenever Yancy and him had accidentally appeared in the same room or how the Host would rush by him if they were forced to go past each other in the hallway. At first Yancy had been slightly relieved, the Host was a terrifying being and was taller than most of them. To be honest Yancy had started off avoiding all of the egos until he had been talked into socialising after an incident. It hadn’t been so bad, Wilford had just pissed everyone off when it had gotten stuck in his head. And then everyone else had gotten it stuck in their head. But everyone preferred having Yancy’s signature song memorised rather than not having Yancy here at all.

Now that Yancy was beginning to settle down properly with the rest of the egos he was beginning to take things a bit more personally.

So Yancy resolved to go down to the Host’s library and ask him what the hell his problem was.

***

Yancy had to admit, he was impressed. The library was where the basement should be, but as soon as he stepped inside he knew that some magic had to be at play. The ceiling was so high that he couldn’t see it, the shelves so tall that it would be impossible for him to reach the top of them. The carpet was red and plush and the gargantuan room was illuminated by what appeared to be bright candlelight without a single candle in sight. The smell of old books permeated the air. It was a beautiful place, and Yancy felt slightly sorry for the Host for not being able to see it.  

He wandered down the aisles idly, not really knowing where he was going and what he was looking for. After a little while he had forgotten why he had originally come down and instead ran a finger over the hardback spines of the books. Some were black, some were red, some were a deep green. Golden letters in a beautiful looping scrawl adorned them. He was tempted to bring one out and look at the handwriting on the pages, but part of him remembered that everything in this library belonged to the Host. He didn’t want to risk pissing him off too bad by touching something he wasn’t supposed to. 

A prison flashback came to him unbidden. A flashback that showed a young Yancy reaching out to grab an apple off another inmate s lunch tray. He wasn’t going to eat it anyway. Big mistake. Yancy had ended up with a snapped wrist for his trouble. Of course the man who had snapped his wrist had ended up in solitary, and some of the older prisoners had rallied around him to teach him how prison worked. They had taught him well. Yancy had been the leader and the Warden’s favourite right up until Dark had come to get him. 

He had been fairly lost at first. The environment in the mansion had been so different to prison, but just like those old prisoners had done, some of the egos had rallied around him. Many of them were surprisingly paternal. 

But not the Host. And Yancy was reminded of his purpose when he came to an enormous gap in the shelves. And he quickly discovered that the Host used this space for his office. 

Across from Yancy sat a decently sized mahogany desk that was adorned with a short stack of papers, and an old-fashioned golden pen with an inkwell next to it . A cushioned brown leather chair served as the seat for when work needed to be done. Off to the right side of the clearing was a comfortable looking armchair with a small end table next to it.. But no sign of the Host. 

He must be further into the library. Yancy entertained the thought of turning back, but if he didn’t do this now then he would never have the courage. So he sat in the armchair and waited. And waited. And waited. 

The library was so warm and the lights were at a dim glow. Why would a blind man need light? He thought to himself as his eyelids started drooping. He had been having trouble sleeping recently in unfamiliar terrain. He fought to stay awake. In the prison if you fell asleep anyway but your bunk then you were either going to be woken with a beating or with something missing. Falling asleep was dangerous. And he didn’t want the Host to find him asleep in his library. But he couldn’t help himself as sleep dragged him down into the abyss. 

***

Yancy didn’t know what time it was when he was woken up by the scratching of a pen. It could have been hours or minutes and he would have been none the wiser. He kept his eyes shut. 

“The Host knows Yancy is awake,” came the delicate voice from off Yancy's right.

He uncurled himself from the couch and peeled his eyes open. The Host sat at his desk and scratched away with his golden pen at his stack of papers. Half of the stack was now off to the side. How long had Yancy slept? 

The Host was just as imposing as when Yancy had first met him. He didn’t have the same kind of terrifying raw power as Dark, but something oozed out of him. Even in his chair he was tall. His head was down towards the paper he was writing on, the bandages covering his sockets beginning to go red with blood. He was muttering under his breath as he wrote, quiet enough that the scratching of the pen nearly drowned out his voice. 

“Yancy needs to leave.” 

Straight to the point then. 

Yancy shook his head as he spoke, “No, not until youses tell me why youse been acting so weird.”

Yancy moved to stand in front of the Host’s desk, determined to stand his ground. 

The pen stopped, and the Host moved his head up to seemingly stare at Yancy. Yancy felt those empty eye sockets cut right through him. He wondered if they were really pitch black inside. 

The Host seemed to consider for a moment, “If Yancy wishes to know, he makes the Host uncomfortable. Now that he has his answer, Yancy needs to leave.” 

Yancy was taken aback. Sure, he had made people uncomfortable before. But that was usually on purpose, throwing his weight around so that new prisoners understood the hierarchy. But he hadn’t actually done anything to the Host. Had he? 

The Host went back to scratching away with his pen. That was it? He wasn’t even going to tell Yancy why? He felt his anger rising in a way that it hadn’t since he had gotten out of prison. That wasn’t good. His temper could be dangerous and make him do stupid things. But he was a slave to it. Yancy waited and waited while his anger grew. He wasn’t going to leave until the Host acknowledged him again and told him why Yancy was such a source of discomfort. Without thinking about the consequences, Yancy marched over to the Host and ripped the pen out of his hand. 

He had been midway through a word, and now a line had been jerked across the page and through the paragraph that the Host had been in the middle of writing. As Yancy yanked it back the inkwell spilled over the pages that the Host had written on, effectively ruining the whole pile. Somewhere in the back of Yancy’s head that registered as being a very bad thing. He almost wanted to apologise. But his anger was still fierce. 

The Host wouldn’t have accepted his apology at this point anyway. 

“What the hell is youses problem?!” Yancy hissed.

The Host was silent for a minute. Then he stood up. 

“How long before Yancy turns those hands on one of the other egos?”

“What-”

The Host interrupted him. He was angrier than Yancy now, and the impact that his words were going to have hadn’t yet reached him. “The Host sees everything. The Host sees Yancy as a teenager. He sees Yancy’s mother with her back turned staring out of the kitchen window.”

Yancy’s anger dissipated. It had been replaced with cold dread. He knew where this was going.

“Yancy’s mother feels dissapointed. Her son was expelled for getting into fights. She doesn’t know what to do. Lost in her thoughts she doesn’t hear him. Not until his hands are wrapped around her throat.”

Yancy took a step back, dropping the pen. 

“She reaches up and starts clawing at his hands, desperately trying to pry him from her neck. Desperately trying to get some air in. She can’t make any noise. She can’t call out for her husband to save her. She tries to reach for a knife, but even now she can’t bring herself to hurt her son like that. He notices her reaching and yanks her away from the counter, pulling her down onto the floor. Hurting her son be damned, her brain is in survival mode and she begins to thrash. But she doesn’t realise it’s too late, only that she’s in some of the worst pain she’s ever felt. Her arteries have ripped and her blood has entered her arterial wall. She’s having a stroke.”

“Please stop,” Yancy begged.

“She’s dying. And her second to last thought before she fully slips into death’s embrace is what did I do? She feels betrayed, and yet she still can’t bring herself to hate her son. And as her soul finally leaves she thinks please God don’t let anyone hurt him.”

Yancy fell to his knees, devastated. He hugged himself as he felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. How was he supposed to react to this? He wanted to shrivel up and die. But the Host wasn’t done.

“Now how about Yancy’s father?”

Yancy shook his head. He wanted to beg the Host to stop. He would do anything.

“Yancy’s father came downstairs after ten minutes to find his son still choking the corpse of his dead wife. Yancy raised his head to look up at him. Everything happened so fast, too fast for his father to fight him off.. Yancy had reached towards the counter and ran at his father to attack. At first he had thought his son had punched him repeatedly. And he foolishly thought to himself that he could have a chance of survival if he ran. Then he felt the warmth. He felt like he was covered in hot sweat, and then he looked at his son. His son was holding a knife with a blade covered in so much red that it had coated the handle, thick red rivulets of it ran down his hand. He looked down at his chest. He couldn’t see the wounds. His white shirt had been dyed completely red and stuck to his chest. It was beginning to run down his trousers and stain the carpet. And then he felt the pain. He felt the hot searing pain in his organs. He screamed, and Yancy lunged forward to slit his throat.”

Yancy was sobbing openly now, uncaring of the Host’s presence.

“The man felt the same betrayal his wife had, and as he choked on his own blood he hoped that they wouldn’t kill his son when they found him.”

Yancy’s heart cleaved in two. Even in the end his parents had loved him. He was a monster. The Host was right, it would only be a matter of time before Yancy turned on his new family. He didn’t deserve to be here. He should be back in prison suffering alone in solitary. Without thinking, he got up and ran past the Host, going further into the library until the Host could no longer hear his cries of anguish.

***

The Host had made his way up to the Doctor’s office, his bandages heavy with blood after forcing those visions of Yancy’s parents. It had been a slightly painful process removing his bandages, the blood acting as a glue. Dr Iplier had used cotton swabs to reach into his sockets and clear out fresh blood as well as blood that had dried to the inside of his sockets. He had remained silent for the entire cleaning process, mulling over what he had said to Yancy. Maybe he had gone slightly too far, but Yancy had ruined an entire book. And he hadn’t been wrong about Yancy’s capacity for violence.

“Have you seen Yancy?” Dr Iplier asked as he cleared the last of the blood from the Host’s gaping eye sockets.

“The Host has not,” he lied, hoping the doctor wouldn’t sniff out his guilt.

The Host wasn’t good at keeping secrets, it went against the very nature of his powers. He fought to keep from narrating what had happened in the library when Dr Iplier had asked, instead focussing on narrating his surroundings. 

Dr Iplier wrapped a fresh bandage around the Host’s eyes. “None of us have seen him all day. I’m afraid that he’s going to do something stupid.” 

“What does Dr Iplier mean?” 

“I’m honestly shocked the all-seeing Host never saw it,” Dr Iplier joked, trying to mask his obvious worry.

“The Host is not all-seeing,” the Host said as he beckoned for the doctor to continue.

Dr Iplier sighed. “You know it took him a while to adjust. Well, in the first few weeks before he came out of his shell he tried to kill himself. Broke into my office when I stepped out and tried to overdose. I’m afraid that something might tip him over the edge.”

The Host froze. 

Oh no. No no no. The Host had gone too far. He knew he’d gone too far. Not even ten minutes after Yancy had ran from him, the Host had started to feel as though there were stones in his stomach, and he didn’t want to admit to himself that he was beginning to feel regret. The weight of his mistake hit him like a train, forcing the breath out of him. Dr Iplier shot him a quizzical look that the Host ignored in his panic. He hadn’t liked Yancy, but he hadn’t wished for his death. All of his thoughts crashed into him. Who was he to judge Yancy anyway? He had been a monster too at one point. And this. . . if he had pushed Yancy to the edge then it would be even more blood on his hands. 

Yancy might still be in his library. He had to find him. As soon as a fresh bandage covered his eye sockets he shot out of the office and ran.

***

The Host had forced a vision. It made him bleed profusely and he would probably need to go back to the doctor fairly soon, but it had helped him find Yancy. He was deep in the library, and the Host found him curled up hugging his knees and sniffling, just like he had been in the Host’s vision. Yancy’s face was red and streaked with tears, his brown eyes bloodshot and the skin around them puffy. He was breathing hard, exhausted from the excessive sobbing. If he heard the Host’s approach then he ignored him. 

“Yancy?”

Still Yancy ignored him. The Host didn’t blame him.

“Yancy, the Host is sorry.”

Still nothing. Sighing, the Host sat on the floor across from him, back leaning against the bookshelf and crossing his legs.  

“Just leave me to starve,” Yancy whispered. “I’m a monster. They loved me and I killed them. All because I can’t keep my cool.”

The Host winced. He shouldn’t have told him their last thoughts. It had probably made it easier believing that his parents had hated him in those last moments. The Host had made a terrible mistake. 

“Yancy isn’t a monster. The Host is a monster.”

Yancy lifted his eyes from his feet to stare at the Host, obviously curious but at the same time too afraid to ask. The Host was using his sight to look at the smaller man, blood slowly leaking through his bandages again as a result. Yancy looked so small and vulnerable curled up in the Host’s library. It made his heart twist with even more regret. 

“The Host ignored Yancy. He ignored Yancy’s issues. He ignored Yancy’s pain. And the Host has no right to judge if Yancy has violent tendencies.” The Host took a deep breath, his own memories just as painful. “The Host was someone else before. Someone who did terrible things. He hurt people for fun. He would break people’s legs with his bat and watch them crawl. He would cut off slices of skin and make them swallow it. He would put out cigarettes on his victims eyes. So the Host supposes that Yancy and the Host aren’t so different after all. No amount of apologies can take away what the Host and Yancy did, but all they can do is try to move on.” The Host took another deep breath. “The Host is sorry. He truly is. And he will spend as long as is necessary to make it up to Yancy.”

Yancy stared at him, but at least his tears had stopped flowing. The same couldn’t be said for the blood still dripping out of the Host’s eye sockets.

Finally Yancy uncurled himself, wiping his eyes and face as he did so. “It’s. . . It’s alright.”

It wasn’t alright, and the Host didn’t feel any better. In fact, he felt worse. And things were beginning to grow awkward in the silence that stretched out between them. The Host looked for something, anything to say.

“Does Yancy like to read?” 

Yancy looked down at his feet, almost seeming to be ashamed. “I can’t read.”

The Host cocked his head in surprise. Yancy was illiterate?

“I just. . . never did so well in school. And people in prison don’t care if you read good, ya know? One cellmate once read his book to me once when I asked, but I was too embarrassed to ask if he’d teach me.”

Yancy wanted to learn to read. And the Host had a library full of books.

“Then the Host will teach Yancy.”

“Youses don’t have-”

The Host held up his hand. “It’s the least the Host can do. He will not take no for an answer.”

Finally, Yancy nodded. And the Host was pleased to see a timid smile on his face. 

The Host stood and offered the smaller man a hand. “Lets begin.”

[elsdell]

Ruthless (Part VIII)

‘Ruthless’ Summary  Follow Rufio’s story from the day he arrived in Neverland to the day of his death. A story in which, you could say, Peter and Wendy Pan become true parents.  Part VIII Summary  In which Peter bears witness to a sight he never wanted to see and isn’t all that sure how he feels about it once he overhears what the pair are talking about...

Despite wanting one of the Lost Boys to accidentally fire an arrow or a dagger at his eyes, one of the mermaids to claw them from the sockets, or one of the birds to swoop down and pluck them out, Peter remained still. Despite the fact that he was watching his soulmate, his love, his wife, his queen conversing with her pirate brother, he decisively listened in, curious as to what was being said. Despite wanting to dash his head on a boulder to try and gain some sort of small memory loss.  What he heard did indeed peak his interest...

Listen, James, you know I’m not supposed to be talking to you. And, if I’m being honest, I’m not all that sure that I really want to, since you and Father still cannot seem to at least acknowledge mine and my husband’s relationship, Wendy started, growing rather impatient with the way her brother was stalling. Just tell me what you need to tell me, then I’ll go back to the boys and you will go back to Father’s ship. 

James sucked in a breath. Really, all this time, and Pan still had her wrapped around his finger. So, he crossed his arms. 

Really, Wendy? You’re still letting Pan control you? I think Father and I had a right to try and stop your relationship with him. 

James... Wendy warned. 

He threw his hands up in surrender. 

Alright, alright! Did you know Blackbeard’s back? 

Wendy’s eyes widened. Peter’s back straightened and his hands tightened into fists around the leaves he was holding apart slightly. 

Wha-what? 

Oh...you didn’t know. 

Does this look like the face of someone in the know? He’s back? 

James nodded. 

He visited Father in his cabin. It seemed as though he was trying to rile him up - probably to manipulate him into doing what he wanted. Though to do what, I’m not entirely sure. 

Wendy heaved a sigh. 

What did he say to him? 

Wendy, you know Father doesn’t like me spilling about his conver-

James! This is important. Please!

Peter’s ears twitched. He was unsure of what to make of the sound of his queen pleading with a filthy pirate. 

Blackbeard tried persuading Father that one of the Lost Boys was your biological son with Pan, James admitted. 

Wendy started trembling as her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. 

Wendy? James asked, concerned by the sudden change in her state. 

As she slowly lowered her hand, Wendy asked her brother: 

Who did he say was mine, James? 

Does it matter? the boy asked, completely lost. But, the deadly glare Wendy gave him quickly made him shrug off his confusion and answer her. I think he said his name was...Rufio...

At that, her big brown eyes widened, realisation dawning on her. Peter’s expression mirrored hers almost perfectly from behind the leaves. Blackbeard...the murderer in Rufio’s dream was Blackbeard! 

Peter was snapped out of his thoughts when Wendy stated: 

I have to go. 

With that, she spun on her heels, ready to dart back into the jungle to find her king. Before she completely submerged into the green foliage, she looked over her shoulder to call out to her brother: 

Whatever you do, make sure Father doesn’t fall for it!

As she disappeared, James’ brow furrowed before he shrugged, deciding he would do as his sister asked. He knew that look in her eyes well enough to know when something big was going on and doing what she requested would determine the outcome. Shrugging, he turned on his heels and headed back to the Jolly Roger, mind swirling with unanswered questions that his sister hadn’t seemed to have the time to answer.   

Meanwhile, once he saw Wendy was heading back in the direction of the jungle, Peter pushed up off the ground, soaring up into the air. He considered making it look like he’d accidentally bumped into her, but instead, he allowed his queen to believe no one had heard her conversation with her brother, allowed her to run back to Camp, while he headed for Skull Rock, aiming to talk to the Shadow.  

Ideally, Wendy knew, she should have headed back to Camp - with the boys waiting for her. But, she couldn’t. Not right now. Not when she was shaken up from the news her brother, well, half-brother had told her. No, there was only one person she could go to, talk to about it until she’d calmed down enough to face the boys without them suspecting anything. She didn’t want them to worry too soon. She was the one girl whom she shared everything with, a girl who’d stuck with her through thick and thin, given her advice when she needed it, shared laughs with, a girl who was, by definition, her best friend. Tink, the wingless fairy. 

On the way to her friend’s home, Wendy began to think. She remembered the stories her father had once told her - back when they were closer, when their relationship was stronger - about his former captain, the awful things he did to others, the things he’d done to his own wife. Wendy’s mother. Although she’d never met him, Wendy had been given a rather vivid image of the most feared pirate to ever set sail from her father. She’d been told that, while his eyes were an icy blue, they held nothing but blackness - the colour of his soul, of his heart. He was the first pirate to practise necromancy at such extreme levels, to use it for controlling his ship. At a young age, the man’s face was weatherbeaten and his hair had already started to fade from black to a dark silver. Why? It was the price of exerting such strong, dark magic so often. 

The Queen Anne’s Revenge, his ship, itself sounded intimidating without knowing who her captain was. It was bigger than Killian’s ship by far; it wasn’t a frigate, it was a galleon. The largest ship a captain could possess. The entirety of it was black - even the sails - with a strip of red running through the middle of the whole length of it. 

Now, Wendy had been told such a dreadful pirate was in Neverland and wanting to wage war on its king and his queen. Though why, Wendy wasn’t sure. She wanted to believe that he couldn’t possibly know that his wife’s child whom she’d had with another of his crewmen still lived and breathed, but she wasn’t sure. From what she’d heard about him, he was among the least predictable of pirates, so she knew she couldn’t be certain that he didn’t know of her. But, maybe it wasn’t just revenge against her. That was highly likely. Perhaps he wanted revenge against Peter as well. Though why, Wendy wasn’t sure. Her king had never mentioned the pirate before. She supposed she’d have to put her foot down and speak to Peter about him, demand that if he did have a past with Blackbeard, he tell her about it. 

Eventually, the girl came to Tink’s treehouse. Cupping her hands around her mouth, Wendy called up and waited for a few minutes. Not a moment later, the fair-haired fairy poked her head through one of the windows and looked down. 

What’s wrong? she asked. 

I need to talk to you, Wendy replied. Can I come up? 

Sure. 

Once Wendy had climbed up, the pair took a seat in two of Tink’s chairs to talk. 

So, what’s wrong? the fairy asked again. 

Wendy started explaining her meeting with James and what he’d told her. She then expressed her thoughts and concerns. Especially about Rufio. She didn’t even know how Blackbeard could have known so much about Neverland. However, she noted how Tink’s expression shifted slightly when she mentioned about Peter possibly having a past with Blakcbeard before she quickly covered it back up. But, she wouldn’t call her out on it until Tink had contributed her thoughts. 

So what you’re saying is that Blackbeard was Rufio’s killer in his nightmare. Blackbeard wants to use him to get to you and Pan and he’s using Hook as his puppet. 

Tink, Wendy warned, hating whenever someone referred to her father as ‘Hook’ or ‘Captain Hook’ because of what the Dark One had done to his hand. 

Tink rolled her eyes. 

Sorry. 

She shook herself, taking them back to their previous conversation. 

Anyway...Blackbeard’s using Hoo...Killian as his puppet for something you can’t figure out. And you think he is doing this to wage war against you and Pan in some act of vengeance. That’s what you’re saying? 

Wendy nodded. 

Tink sighed heavily. 

As much as I want to disagree with you and offer you some sort of comfort, I’m going to have to agree with you on this one. It certainly does make sense. Maybe you should talk to Pan, find out if all of this is somehow connected to some sort of past he has with Blackbeard. 

Maybe you could help me there...

In that moment, Tink looked like a rabbit who’d realised she’d just been caught by her stalking predator. 

What? 

Come on, Tink. From that look you gave me when I mentioned the possibility, I think you know something about it. 

Tink gulped and looked down at her lap. 

It’s not my story to tell...

Please, Tink, Wendy pleaded. 

Tink returned her bright-green-eyed gaze to her friend and shook her head. 

I’m sorry, Wendy, but as much as I want to tell you, it’s really Pan’s place to tell you what happened. Besides, no one in Neverland knows the full story except him. He’s the right person to go to. 

But what if he refuses...

I’m sure he won’t. As much as I dislike him, I know he cares for Rufio and when it concerns his safety, he won’t hold back, Tink assured her. 

Wendy sighed in defeat. 

All right, I’ll talk to Peter. 

Meanwhile, back at Skull Rock, Peter had summoned the Shadow, wanting answers. Indeed, the Shadow confirmed his fears. Blackbeard, the pirate all pirates feared, a man of the shadows, a dead man, had risen from the depths of the Underworld and was out for revenge. Not just on Pan - oh no, that would be too easy. He wanted revenge on Wendy, and he already knew a way to get to them, a way to strike at their hearts. 

Stunned, Peter backed out of the cave in a manner that was so unusual, unlike, out of character for him; green eyes wide, he staggered back until he was out of the cave. He just couldn’t believe it. His queen, his wife, his love...Rufio...his family was in danger. All because of an old enemy. 

As he turned on his heels and took off into the sky, soaring into the air, he shook himself. No, Blackbeard would not get to him that easily. His eyes darkened at the threat the pirate posed to his family. What he couldn’t understand, what the Shadow failed to tell him, was exactly why Blackbeard wanted revenge on Wendy as well. He guessed he’d have to talk to her about it. Then, they would plan their next course of action. He would not let Blackbeard take away what was his.   

While Peter was flying back to Camp, and Wendy awaited his return, Rufio made his trek through the jungle, pushing away large overgrown leaves, stepping over logs and snapping stray twigs, old fallen leaves crunching underfoot. More dried dirt jumped away from Rufio’s boots as he strode further through the jungle. Why was he alone? Why was he so far from Camp? He was meeting his dear, close ‘friend’, Tiger Lily. He didn’t think he time was right to tell Peter and Wendy. He wasn’t even sure how he would when the time was right. How could he, when he was encouraged to see Tiger Lily as an aunt - nothing more? He couldn’t tell any of the Lost Boys either - not when all except Felix were after Pan’s favour. 

Eventually, Rufio came to the clearing where Tiger Lily had instructed hint o meet her. It wasn’t close to her village, and it wasn’t close to Camp. It was the last place anyone would think to find them. He waited at the centre of the clearing until finally, he heard another set of footsteps. His ears pricked up and he strained his eyes forward. There, appearing from under the shade of the trees, was Tiger Lily.  They walked towards each other and embraced with compassion. 

Little did they know, as they broke apart and practised their combat, archery and target skills, a boy with brown hair and silvery eyes was watching from under the shade of the trees where Rufio had previously emerged from.   And he was long gone before either of them had the chance to sense his presence. 

However, Rufio did get the feeling of being watched. So, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, trained on the place where he’d emerged from, with suspicion.  Tiger Lily turned her attention away from the bullseye Rufio had carved with his dagger on the tree in the middle of the clearing when they first met there, lowered her bow and approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.  Rufio snapped his head back to face her. 

Rufio, what’s wrong? 

Rufio glanced back behind him, then back at her. 

Never mind. Just a funny feeling. Now...where were we? 

Little did he know, that in returning their attention to the target after finishing their small combat, he’d missed his chance of stopping the intruder from spilling the truth to the people he least wanted to know about his relationship with the Native princess. 

Author’s Note So...what do you think? Who do you think was the ‘intruder’? How do you think Peter’s talk with Wendy will go? Find out in the next chapter that hopefully won’t take as long to write.  Just to answer any future questions. I took a long time to write this because I’m also focusing on a story I’ve created on Episode Interactive. This story itself should have 14 chapters and then an epilogue. So...15 chapters overall? I really hope you enjoyed part 8 of ‘Ruthless’ and I’m sorry for the late update. Until next time...