farwaytree

[farwaytree]

Sara's hands move towards him, and Victor's first instinct is to flinch. It's nothing against her-- she's been nothing but kind and patient-- but not everyone is like Sara, and Victor's been physically shaken by other people for less.

But his mind computes it: she's stopped inches away because she left him an opening. The ability to choose doesn't come often, not in this town, and while Victor doesn't recognise it entirely, it's meaningful Sara offered it to him.

One hand still buried in his hair, Victor mumbles under his breath. And though he turns away from her, his free hand takes one of Sara's, clutching it like a child would. The more he tries to remember, the more the bad pictures fill his mind, and he's tired of hearing Jasper screaming.

"...I n-need you to teach me. Mm. Hm..." His fingers squeeze a little harder. His mother always helped him with this part, but she isn't here now. "How... how to c-calm down..."

There’s a part of her that’s desperate to reach out,   to hold his hand or touch his shoulder or simply give him something to lean on  —   but ever since a gentle touch turned into something fatal,   she’d been too scared to reach out to anyone,   and if Victor is anything like her,  like she assumes,  his personal space is sacred.

Her jaw clenches,  shoulders slumping because she gets it.   There’s so much she doesn’t want to remember,  either—   but this place has made it clear that she doesn’t get the choice,    she can still feel it all throughout her body,  like an open wound.  

She gulps, taking one small step forward.  ❝  You’re one of the bravest people I know, Victor.  ❞  She says it simply,  because to her,  it is simple—  she knows what it’s like to be on her own in a terrifying place,  and she only experienced it for a fraction of what he has.  She’s always known him as brave,  and even when he was vulnerable with her in the basement,  that’s still what she was.  

❝  Victor,  ❞   she says,   shaking her head quickly;  her hands reach out,  but not to touch,  only to give him the opportunity if he needs it.  ❝  You don’t have to…   push yourself.  One step at a time.  Right?  ❞

[farwaytree]

"Westeros" doesn't sound like anything Victor's heard before. He's about to say it sounds as made-up as Daemon's dragon, but the way the man's fingers clench around the crayon stops him from speaking-- you only ever get upset by things like that when the things are real.

Victor fidgets, fingers rubbing together where they lie hidden beneath the table. The upset on Daemon's face leaves him uncomfortable, but Victor supposes this was probably his fault. He was the one who opened his big mouth and said Daemon's precious dragon wasn't real. Anyone would be sad about that.

"How big were they?" he asks, hoping to change the subject.

"All the stories say dragons are big. Was yours--" He blinks, looking at the red thing on Daemon's page and furrowing his brows. "How big was your dragon?"

Daemon hummed as he listened to Victors incessant ramblings as he continued to color on the paper. He had been so confused these past few days and it wasn't even the monsters. If he was being honest, it was everyone's clothing... The crayons and how everyone talked that had his mind spiraling out of control.

"Westeros..." He whispered as he tried to think back on the last time he had felt somewhat normal. The days were blending together and he hated it.

He hoped Caraxes was okay. He hoped his army was okay.

Daemon had stopped coloring as his grip tightened on the crayon before he quickly set it down, not wanting to break anything of Victors.

"You would've liked the dragons."

[farwaytree]

I don't know you that well, but you seem like a really good person, and that's something to be proud of here. I would give anything to feel like a good person again.

[farwaytree]

I can just be here, Sara says, like it's easy to do. It almost reminds him of Eloise, and that alone quells the noise pounding in his head, even if it isn't by much.

Victor whimpers. There'd been an attempt at talking there, but talking is hard. When his head gets noisy, and when the Town starts speaking (or maybe it's the memories, or the nightmares, but sometimes the nightmares are the memories and you can't really be sure), all Victor can do is curl into himself. That's what he does now: sinking from the standing position he'd been in, one hand clutches at his hair, and the other tries to keep him from toppling by setting itself on the floor.

Victor sits, back curved and head bowed.

"I don't like to remember," he whispers. (The whispers in his head are louder.) "I'm-- But I'm trying to be brave. I know my m-mother would want me to--"

Suddenly, he lets out a sharp cry. The Town never likes when he remembers, and it likes even less that he's started to tell Sara more stories since that night in the basement.

"N-No! I'm sorry!"

@farwaytree said, "you don’t need to stick around just for me."

he's wrong; she does need to. maybe it's a debt she owes to herself, or maybe it's because there's something about his brutal honesty that she finds refreshing. maybe it's just the fact that he doesn't seem to be afraid of her the same way the others do. for so long now, she's longed for anyone to do the same for her, to see her as a person rather than just a burden or one-step away from what waits for them at night, and while she hasn't spent much of her time here talking to him, there's something about him that feels familiar to her, like he's easier to talk to than most, and not just because he's one of the few people willing to give her the chance.

sara shakes her head, a small frown tugging at her lips, almost as if the rebuttal is obvious. ❝  i want to, ❞ she says instead. whatever it is, she tells herself she can handle it. if she's already spent countless nights in the forest, she can handle anything. ❝  i'm not leaving you alone, victor. i want to help. ❞ it's all she's ever wanted to do; she's just still trying to figure out how. helping him at least feels like a start. ❝  you don't even have to talk. i can just be here. ❞

[farwaytree]

FROM, 3x04 "There & Back Again"

[farwaytree]

"We've all seen the-- the monsters," Victor argues, lips pulled into a frown. His leg jumps slightly beneath the table, restless in his perceived irritation. "I saw them, and you saw them, and everyone did.

"Dragons don't... there weren't any dragons in the world outside. Even I know they're just stories."

But then... the world outside had been bigger, hadn't it? Victor contemplates the map of the United States in the sheriff's station, then wonders if maybe they'd found dragons in Nevada. That was really far away from Maine, and way hotter too.

Watching Daemon colour his picture, Victor exhales through his nostrils.

"...what place did you come from that-- that dragons are real?"

"And how do you know that?" Daemon raised a brow before narrowing his eyes at Victor, his hand clutching the red crayon.

"I could say the same about the monsters in those woods, but I don't." He huffed and shook his head before continuing his drawing of him riding Caraxes into war.

How dare he question his dragons...

[farwaytree]

Victor lingers, albeit tentatively, in the doorway of the bar he suspects has become Jade's home. And when Jade doesn't notice him, he takes a few steps inward, stopping only inches away from the strings that decorate the space above him.

Frowning, he says, "You've been awake too long.

"You should... you should eat. Eating is good."

@bivisionary

[farwaytree]

victor kavanaugh, mgm+'s FROM / canon-compliant.

this is an rp blog, non-selective and open to AUs, divergence, and OCs/crosscanon. writer is 21+ and an anti-anti. not interested in romantic shipping or smut with victor. sensitive content is tagged #subject cw. pm me for any questions. i would also prefer to receive hate off anon.

my main blog is @buoyd. i'm not interested in writing with other boyd portrayals.

blog update (as of 20th oct): current with FROM season 3. spoilers are tagged #from spoilers.

[farwaytree]

"You're-- you're doing it wrong," Victor says, tone sharp and squinting eyes disbelieving of what's featured on Daemon's paper.

"Dragons aren't real." His fingers curl a little tighter around his crayon. "You're only supposed to draw what's real, Daemon. Pictures are-- are for memories."

@rogueprnce