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monstersandmaw · 1 year ago

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Male drider x trans male reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Commission number three! This one got away with me, for sure. Hope you folks enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!!

Content: trans male reader, some afab language to refer to the reader’s lower parts during non-penetrative, oral sex; chest area not mentioned. Kidnapping, some threat to life and mild injury (not from drider), brief mention of blood and stitches. Reader has submissive tendencies, enjoys being restrained, and the drider is gently dominant.

Wordcount: 10,123(!)

Running headlong into the dark pines that made up the forest which, according to your captors, had acquired such nicknames as the ‘The Bone Garden’, ‘Spectre’s Haunt’, and the ‘Blood Wood’ was probably not the wisest decision you’d ever made, but you’d been held by these thugs for four days of hard riding, and you were ready to risk it all to escape.

Had it really only been four days since you’d locked the door to your tidy little cottage on the edge of the village? With a gleaner’s bag slung over one shoulder and a basket in hand, you’d set out in search of the mushrooms that only grew at this time of year when the conditions were perfect — not hot and dry, not yet frosty, and just rainy enough. They loved the misty turn of the year almost as much as you did.

Without a care in the world, you’d stepped out along the weed-strewn gravel path that led through your herb garden, latched the wooden gate behind you, and meandered through the houses as the sounds of the village waking began to fill the air.

Gwyn had recently lit his forge and the rush of the bellows to stoke the heat reminded you of a dragon’s steady breathing; in and out, in and out. You’d snaked past the bakery just to swipe a fresh cinnamon roll before Garrick or Mercy or any of the woodcutters who also tended to rise early could finish them all off, and the orc behind the counter gave you the biggest one he had and a wink that made you just a little gooey inside yourself. “You’re a shameless flirt, Thom,” you said as you slid your coppers across the counter to him with two fingers.

“Hey, a man can dream, right, gorgeous?”

He was pretty fine himself, but he wasn’t really your type, and you’d made that clear when he’d asked you to dance at the first Spring Equinox dance you’d attended after moving to the village, then just a lowly herbalist’s apprentice. Ever since, you’d fallen into an easy banter of flirting that was destined to go nowhere, and it was harmless fun for both of you. You left the bakery with a smile on your face, and headed past Gwyn’s forge as you made your way north out of the village.

The smith, a colossal centaur with a dapple grey coat and a thick, white mane and tail that made anyone with long hair in the village green with envy, called after you and beckoned you over. “Headed north?” he asked with an uncharacteristic scowl.

“Yeah, why?”

“Take care, alright? Mercy said she’d seen sign of bandits in the area, and Willem said he’d heard talk of people being snatched when he took those fleeces to market last week. You shouldn’t be going out alone. None of us should really, not til things calm down.”

A little growl of frustration left you and you adjusted the gleaner’s bag on your shoulder. “I really need these supplies, Gwyn,” you said. “They’re ingredients I need to help fight off winter fevers, and if I don’t have enough, we could be in trouble come the cold in a few weeks’ time…”

“Can’t you take Garrick or Mercy with you? A good woodsman’s felling axe’ll do a hell of a lot more damage than that little sickle you’ve got on your belt…”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you breezed. “I’m not going to be on the main road anyway.”

“Please take care,” he rumbled, and you smiled up at the enormous blacksmith. He might have had the shoulders of a rock troll and iron-shod hooves big enough to knock down a castle door, with a big burn mark all up his left arm from an accident at the forge a decade ago, but he was the gentlest and most softly-spoken person you knew.

You cursed yourself three hours later when your basket of rare, purple mushrooms lay trampled to a slimy paste on the floor of the clearing and a nasty looking wood elf with a sneer and a cruel glint in her eye had her bow trained on you, while a second elf trussed you up like a solstice bird. Your head was ringing from the surprise blow they’d dealt you to the back of the skull, and you were lucky you didn’t have a worse concussion.

“You’ll make a nice little offering for the mage,” the female elf purred while her companion straightened and marched you on unsteady feet back towards the road. “Humans like you always fetch a decent price. Something about your blood being universal for most rituals, I think…”

There on the dirt road, four horses were waiting, three of which were a normal size while the last was built like a castle wall and large enough to carry the orc sitting astride it. The orc had one milky eye and the brand of a murderer across his right cheek. “Shit,” you hissed when you saw that, and the male elf laughed cruelly when you flinched as the orc swung down and prepared to heave you onto the back of the spare horse.

Normally, if you were going to be tied up and bent over something for some rough treatment, this was not how it went. There was absolutely nothing fun or consensual about the way these bandits chucked you over the back of the horse and lashed your hands and feet to the tack so you didn’t slide off. The orc guffawed and spat off to one side when you cried out on impact as your ribs creaked and your lungs expelled all the air they’d ever contained in one ugly grunt. After that, you did just about everything you could to move with the rhythm of the cantering horse, but it was probably the most miserable experience of your life. When the group slowed to trot, the motion was so painful that you actually slipped into unconsciousness for a while, only to be jounced back some time later.

At the crossroads about ten miles north of your village — the furthest north from your little patch of paradise you’d ever roamed — they met up with a couple of other riders who had apparently been on a recce of their own to look for more people for this blood mage or whoever, but they got laughed at by the orc on his enormous, cantankerous horse for not finding any victims and rode off again without joining the party.

So, it was just you, alone in the wilderness, being taken gods-knew-where, by two feral elf siblings and a murderous orc. Stowed like a sack of potatoes over that rangy, stinking horse for five hours of hellish riding, you were barely conscious. When they eventually stopped to make camp that night, they did let you relieve yourself in relative privacy, but once you were done, they hauled you back to their pack animals and lashed you to a tree next to them so that you couldn’t hope to escape. You could still smell the stink of them though, and it was enough to turn your empty stomach.

Their food was revolting, and their company equally repulsive. They joked loudly about all the cruel things they’d done to people in the past, and you sat there wondering why you hadn’t let Gwyn talk you into going out with the woodcutters. There were mushrooms where they were currently coppicing hazel for the winter, but no. No, you’d decided to be adventurous and clever, and to collect only the best mushrooms for your salves and tonics.

Four days later, you were almost ready to give up.

The mage’s castle they were taking you to was legendary in the northern reaches, and no one who was taken there against their will ever returned. Tales of blood magic and horrific rites involving chimera and creatures brought back from the dead had entered the local lore, and now apparently you were going to be drained of your precious blood for whatever this necromancer had planned next. And the price of that precious blood had been discussed and debated by the bandits for the last day.

Personally, you agreed with the female elf and thought you were worth more than a couple of weeks’ wages in gold, but you had no intention of allowing yourself to be squeezed dry like an orange for your blood. So, after the group stopped in a dark and snow-mottled pine forest after the fifth day of hard riding, you enacted your plan. You’d been plotting it all day, and hoped you weren’t too delirious and weak to pull it off.

When they’d let you relieve yourself the previous night, they’d not bothered to tie your hands together or watch you, since there was nowhere for you to go. You knew woodlands though, and you were pretty confident that if you gave them the slip in the dark, you could take care of yourself in the wild for a few days. Long enough to get back home anyway.

So when they started their daily round of bragging and trading boasts about how many vampires they’d killed or how they’d survived the venom of three different nagas in the same attack, you made your move.

If that darned twig hadn’t snapped, you might have got away with it, but when the male elf barked, “Oi!” into the gathering dark and swung his lantern around, you knew you’d messed up.

Breaking cover completely and legging it into the endless ranks of black-barked pine trees in the fading light of day seemed like the only option now, so you began crashing through the debris and dead branches that had gathered beneath the choking canopy of dense pine needles overhead.

These woods were different from any you’d known before, and something dark and foreboding lingered there like a shade above a gravestone. These woods were not kind. The air was not fresh and sweet like it was between the beech and oak back home. It pooled and festered, stagnant between the rough sentinel trees, and the lower branches seemed to reach their sharp, bare fingers towards your face as you ran like a rabbit from the pack of hunting dogs behind you.

Your toe caught a root and you stumbled, and in the space where your head had just been, an arrow whizzed through the air and sank into the tree ahead of you with a thunk that almost made your heart stop. Your lungs were burning already and your legs felt shaky and weak after your rough treatment and half-rotten rations, but a brush with death that close shocked you to the core. The water they’d given you had been rancid, and your stomach churned as adrenaline curdled in your gut, but somehow you forced yourself on into the darkness.

Their voices dwindled, muffled by the carpet of fallen pine needles, until a shout went up and another arrow flew past you. This time, it left a searing pain in its wake and you clutched at your ribs where the hunting broadhead had torn through your skin. Luckily, it was superficial, but it hurt like hell and it was bleeding. Blood might draw predators out of the darkness, if your blundering and their bellowing hadn’t already.

Shit, you hadn’t thought about the horrors that probably dwelled in a place like this.

The bandits had been crowing about the ghouls and rabid cannibals that supposedly haunted these woods, and you’d passed plenty of skeletons along the roadside on your journey, your down-turned head providing you with a first-class view of them as your half-lame horse had jolted past them at its permanent, slightly-panicked jog. They hadn’t all been pack animals and horses lying in the ditch either. Some of the skulls had been humanoid, and there had been the horns of a minotaur at some point. This was a place where living things entered unwillingly, and most of them never left.

Forcing yourself onwards, you clutched your stinging side, but they were closing on you. The orc was thundering through the forest like a boar on a rampage, and the elves were quick as shadows.

“You little shit!” the female shouted from right behind you. Something heavy hit you across the back of your knees and you tripped and fell hard onto your palms as a flung tree branch rebounded off onto the forest floor. The force of the fall sent your cheek smashing into the muddy ground and you cried out as she landed triumphantly atop you and turned you over, smacking you full in the mouth out of sheer frustration.

“Gotcha,” she grinned. “You’re gonna pay for running, little rabbit,” she added with a laugh as she hauled you to your feet.

You kicked her knee from the side as hard as you could and she yowled like a cat dropped into a bath, letting go of you to stagger sideways, limping. The thing about being a healer is that you also know the weak spots where it can hurt most.

Before she could turn on you again though, something moved in the trees behind you and you all froze. The orc crashed to a halt nearby breathing hard, and the elf’s brother came over to help her stand while she spat curses at you that would have made a pirate’s ears bleed.

“What is it?” the orc growled, low and tense.

“Fuck knows. Tie him up again and let’s get the fuck back to camp,” the female elf wheezed. “I’m gonna drag him behind my horse for the rest of the way there. Shit that hurts!”

“Quiet,” her brother hissed. “Something’s out there.”

“Then let’s get fucking moving!” she countered.

You turned to glance over your shoulder and caught the shape of something white drifting in the distant trees just as the orc spotted it too. His grip tightened on the haft of his huge war-axe, and he took half a step back. Until then, he’d been the one who’d seemed steadiest; unshakable and immovable as a cannon, and he hit just as hard. Now though, he looked spooked and scared.

“They say the Death-Spinner hunts in these parts,” he said, eyes wide as he looked from side to side. “A massive white drider that strikes from the shadows and wraps you up in his web and sucks you dry…”

“It’s been too long since someone sucked you dry,” the female elf sneered at him, though the remark came out feebly and she looked around her in a twitchy, nervous motion. “Your blue balls are making you hallucinate. Come on. What are you waiting for?”

“He’s got other names too, you know,” her brother interrupted, reaching for you with a jerky movement that halted when the steady rhythm of something moving nearby rose above the whispering of the wind in the canopy. “Soul-Eater, The Weaver Ghost…”

“Please, the Death-Spinner is just a myth…” the female on your right hissed.

“Decidedly… not,” came a thin, harsh voice from the trees ahead, and your captors just bolted.

The supposedly tough bandits – the ones who had been talking about selling an actual person to a bloodmage to use in some disgusting ritual; who had joked just the previous night about flaying a minotaur like a cow on a butcher’s block; who had told you that there was nothing out here that would give a single, flying fuck about you – had fled with no more than a shriek and the clatter of boots in the dead underbrush, and left you alone with the being they called ‘Death-Spinner’.

“Better and better,” you spat, still tasting blood in your mouth from where the elf had cracked you across the mouth. “First it was ‘sold to a blood mage’ and now it’s ‘death by drider’.”

A pearlescent pale leg speared down out of the gloom that gathered between the black pines, its ivory chitin shining softly. Shaped like a thin, curved shard of polished bone, the limb moved with slow, silent grace, and it was joined by a second, needle-slender limb, then a third and a forth, until the white underbelly of the creature loomed large into your limited pool of light, followed finally by the lower part of a humanoid torso, and the large, armour-plated abdomen of the creature.

The whole of the eight-legged being was utterly colourless.

White and pendulous as the moon, the drider’s chitinous body looked like drifts of wind-blown snow that had then set into solid ice, swirling and churning across its body to rise in small peaks and troughs at the joints and high points of its legs and over the swollen curve of its abdomen.

The humanoid torso melted upwards at the hips from the body of the spider, and two, smaller, pincer-like limbs — pedipalps — were angled slightly inwards, both ending in single, wicked talons and looking like they were ready to spear you through the middle in the blink of an eye.

The drider wore no clothes, and patches of white chitin formed a kind of armour up its humanoid torso: over the hips but skirting around its lean belly, then up over its shoulders like pauldrons and creating natural bracers and gauntlets along its long, wiry arms. Its hands, you saw as it dipped a little lower into the faint glow from the elves’ abandoned lantern, were clawed, but its slightly curved talons weren’t like those of a mammal. They were simply an unbroken extension of the chitin that covered its hands and forearms.

Its face remained mostly out of sight, wreathed in the upper shadows of the trees, but you got the impression of two reddish eyes glinting at you in the dark, and long, silk-white hair flowing down its back.

“You’re bleeding,” came the slightly hoarse tenor that made your skin prickle. A creature that large should have a deeper voice, but the mellifluous timbre of the drider’s tone made you think of sirens luring sailors to their death with sweet songs and empty, deceitful promises.

“Only a bit,” you choked out, stepping back and catching your heel on the branch that the female elf had used to trip you. When you fell hard onto your backside, you caught the glint of steel in the sea of rust-red pine needles all around you, and realised that one of the elves had dropped their precious sword in their haste to escape this creature.

In a rush of blind panic, you snatched up the unfamiliar weapon and held it aloft. “Stay back!” you barked.

The laugh that rippled out of the drider chilled your blood.

“Please,” it crooned, and then it loomed down out of the shadow and into the light, squinting its two scarlet eyes against the sudden brightness. “As if a little stick like that could hurt something like me.”

The sword fell from your fingers as weakness washed through you, and you bit back a sob. “Please,” you said instead. “Please, they brought me here to sell me to a necromancer, but I… I don’t want to die like this either.”

“Die?” the drider said, and its red gaze flickered to the wound in your side. “You won’t die from that. A few silk stitches and a rest, and you’ll be good as new…” It frowned again, its white eyebrows pulling in like a loose thread in a perfect tapestry. “You’re filthy,” it said, and you noticed a diagonal scar cutting across its pale mouth as its lip pulled up on one side in a gesture of revulsion.

“Yeah, well, you try being thrown over the back end of a bandit’s horse for five days and see if you’re still that pretty at the end of it,” you retorted, exhaustion making you bold and just a little bit stupid.

The drider laughed, the sound like autumn leaves rolling down the road, and you paused. It sounded genuinely amused.

“Come, human,” it said, holding out a clawed hand. “Let’s get you somewhere where you can rest in safety.”

“Safety? What… What about… all that ‘Death-Spinner’ stuff?”

The drider paused, its huge body hanging in the twilight like a pearl. “I have no interest in consuming sapient creatures, but the rumours help to keep people out of my forest. It’s as much for their safety as mine,” it went on. “There are nastier things even than me in these parts.” The self-deprecating venom in its tone drew you up short.

“You don’t seem so bad…”

“Thank you,” it replied with flat sarcasm.

You took three more steps towards the drider before your legs gave out. In a flash faster than thought, the drider darted at you, and before you could even flinch, strong, armoured arms had caught you and lifted you up.

“You poor thing,” it crooned, and you looked up properly into its face for the first time. “You’ve really been through it, haven’t you? Easy now. I’ll take care of you.”

“Why?” you breathed, trying not to let your treacherous muscles relax into the solid frame that held you. You felt the chitin of its chest against your shoulder as it bore you along in a strangely smooth, gliding motion, the dark trunks of the trees whipping past in a blur.

“Evidently I have a soft spot for brave and lost creatures,” the drider smiled. “My name is Feluän, by the way.”

You exhaled your own name in return, and then said, “Isn’t Feluän an elven name? Some prince or something…?”

“You know your history,” the drider chuckled. “Yes, he was a prince of the snow elves a long time ago. I came across it in a history book I picked out of a caravan that was destroyed by a band of gnolls once. Their tastes run more towards beer than books…”

“I chose my own name too,” you said, the consonants feeling thick and slurred as the tiredness seeped throughout your whole body and the pain in your side mounted. “You’re a male drider then? If you named yourself after a prince, I mean. I don’t know anything about your kind really. Never… Never met one before.”

“Hush for now,” he said, squeezing you a little more tightly into his arms and drawing a moan unbidden from your lips. Gods, even in these circumstances, it felt so good to be held like this. “But yes, I am.”

The journey through the dark forest passed in a hazy blur, until you had the vague impression of torchlight and soft firelight and you were laid down on the softest surface you thought you'd maybe ever touched in your life. A long, deep groan left you and you suddenly didn’t care what happened to you.

“I’m going to stitch you up,” came the drider’s voice from somewhere nearby. “It might hurt. I can use a little of my venom to numb the area if you like…”

You nodded, not wanting any more pain, and out of the corner of your eye, you watched the drider’s white body move in the blurry shadows of the cave. He loomed over you and pressed the tip of one clawed finger to his upper canine, before bringing it to your side where he’d hitched up your shirt just enough to access the glancing wound from the arrow. A blissful numbness crept like winter ice across your skin, and you let the drider tend to you.

Tiredness claimed you not long after, but you had the distinct impression of a warm cloth being wiped gently across your face and hands before blackness washed in and you slept.

Over the course of the next few days, Feluän tended to your wound, and you forgot to be afraid of the strange creature. Centaurs had always held a fascination for you, with their animal lower halves and their humanoid upper bodies, and the way the drider moved was no less fascinating. When he wasn't tending to you, he was weaving linen and silk into the most wondrous bolts of fabric. His cave was dotted here and there with trinkets that he’d clearly pilfered from the sporadic ‘visitors’ to his part of the world, but aside from that, the cave was just that: a grotto carved out of a rise in the ground in the middle of a dank, desolate forest.

“You live alone?” you asked on the first evening you felt strong enough to get out of bed without his help. Until then, he’d forced you to stay still, and honestly, you’d been only too happy to let him boss you about and carry you around. He was sweet, but he didn't take no for an answer, and he didn’t let you wheedle your way out of anything either. Your best ‘puppy-dog’ eyes had crumbled his iron resolve a bit though, and finally he’d let you get out of his soft, cosy bed to join him by the gentle light of flames in the fire pit at the centre of his cave.

Feluän nodded. “Yes. I have spent my whole life alone. Driders are not sociable with each other by nature, and most people fear us too much to want us anywhere near them, as you saw yourself when your captors realised I was there.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” you said as you took the carved wooden cup he offered you. It had some kind of sharp, pine-needle tea in it and he looked embarrassed that that was all he could offer you to drink apart from water. In the few days you’d been there, you’d had some kind of game broth which, while nutritious, hadn’t been particularly flavoursome. “I didn’t think I’d find anyone out here more intimidating than that orc, but you managed it.”

Across the fire, his ruby red eyes glittered and he laughed, tilting his head in your direction. He didn’t always meet your eye, you realised, and you wondered if his albinism affected his eyesight. “I live to serve,” he purred.

“The way you behave, I’d say you live to be served, but what do I know?”

Again, he laughed. “You offering, little human?” he said, cocking a white eyebrow in a way that made you feel a little dizzy.

“I might, if the rewards for service were worth it,” you replied archly, sipping the sharp tea. Its flavour reminded you of the tinctures you brewed at home, and of the people who would need you as the autumn drew to a close and winter began to coil around the edges of the village. Your shoulders dropped, and you sighed, steam from the cup swirling in front of your eyes for a moment.

“You clearly don’t think I could offer you much,” he said dryly.

“It’s not that,” you said. “It’s… I have a responsibility to the people in my village. I’m a herbalist, and the whole reason I was captured was because I was out looking for ingredients that would help fight winter fevers. If I don’t get home before the snows settle in, they’ll suffer.”

He shifted his weight where he was resting casually with all his long, spiny limbs tucked close to his pendulous body, and you realised he was feeling uncertain. “It must be nice,” he began in a new, faltering voice that you’d not heard from him before. “Nice to have people… who need you. Who… Who look to you for protection…”

You laughed softly and shook your head. “I wouldn’t say I provide any kind of protection — you want an orc or a centaur like Thom or Gwyn for that — but I help people where I can, and they’ve been good to me. I was apprenticed with their previous healer, and when he passed, I took on his mantle.”

“Tell me about them?” Feluän asked, red eyes blinking slowly in his frost-pale face. His long, white hair fell down loose to frame his high cheekbones, and the scar on his mouth was the only element in his face that interrupted the otherwise perfect symmetry of him, and it made you want to press your lips to it and see what it felt like beneath your kisses.

You looked away.

“Tell me about them before I take you back tomorrow?”

“Wait, take me back? You’re coming too?”

“You’ll never make it out of these woods alive without me,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t go to all this effort to keep you alive just to turn you loose for the ghouls and shadow wraiths to tear you to pieces when the sun sets tomorrow night.”

“Shadow… wraiths?” you croaked, eyes flitting to the cave entrance where the dark night pressed in against the tiny light of the fire. You shuddered and Feluän smiled to reveal his double set of canines, the larger, outer pair of which were actually hollow fangs that could inject his paralytic venom into his prey.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he said with a rumbling, seductive purr in his tenor that went right through you to your core. “I’ll protect you. You’re safe here anyway. It’s warded.”

“Right.”

“Your people?” he prompted, and you started with Gwyn the dappled centaur. By the time you’d listed almost everyone in the village, your mind was slow and your eyes gritty with sleep.

Some time earlier, Feluän had moved behind you so that you were resting your weight between his lethally-taloned pedipalps, buttressed up on either side by something that could skewer through you in the blink of an eye, and his hand had recently moved to card idly through your hair.

The world tilted slightly as you dozed off halfway through a sentence about Thom the orc who ran the bakery and made the most incredible fruit pies in autumn, and you realised that Feluän had picked you up again and was carrying you towards his wide, soft bed of silk webbing.

As he drew a feather-filled silk duvet up around your ears and you hummed with deep satisfaction, you heard him murmur, “I wish I could live somewhere like the place you described for me tonight. I wish I could know ‘home’ as you do, but I fear I would never be welcome somewhere like that.”

“They’d love you,” you mumbled. After all, you were half in love with him already and it had only been a few days.

The journey south took about a week. On the first day, you were forced to ride on his back after only a few miles due to the lingering ache in your side. “If you don’t get aboard, I will refuse to take you anywhere at all,” he said sternly, and a thrill of heat shot down your spine at the steel in his tone. “Do as you’re told, human.”

“Fine,” you croaked, ignoring just how much you liked the way he seemed to mingle concern, respect, and command in a single sentence. “Bossy.”

You did enjoy having your arms around his middle as you rode behind him though. And he was quick when he got scuttling along.

Your pride did have you walking the next day, and before too long, you got to see the ‘Death-Spinner’ in action. In the rocky lower slopes of the pine forest, before it melted into a dewy, autumn meadow, a roar shattered the silence and a bear reared up from the thick grass, as surprised by your exit from the trees as you were by her.

Feluän hissed like a snake and immediately drew himself up, lashing out with his long front legs. Like twin swords, the lowest section of his legs flashed in the misty air and the bear threw herself up onto her hind legs with another bellowing roar.

The drider jabbed at her faster than your eyes could follow, nicking her ear and her shoulder in turn with left and right forelegs, his huge body filling the space between you and the threat like a bulwark. The bear turned on the spot and thundered away, and he dropped silently back to all eight legs and looked down at you. In the starker light of the meadow, he was squinting and his red eyes didn’t quite land on your face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, bare marble chest heaving. His clawed hands were curled at his sides and his arms looked incredible, and suddenly it was very hard to focus on anything but how gods-damned beautiful this creature was. He barked your name and lowered himself down, still squinting. “I can’t see very well in full daylight like this. I need you to tell me if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you croaked at last, trying to swallow your inconveniently-timed arousal. “Are you? I’ve lived in the woods a long time, but I’ve never been that close to a bear before.”

“She really didn’t want to tangle with me,” he laughed, and you caught the way his articulated joints sagged in relief as his white hands found your shoulders and he squeezed you tightly for a second.

“You can’t see very well? What do you mean?”

He smiled sadly and let go of you. “As I understand it, people born like me, without pigmentation, often struggle with their vision, and bright sunlight in particular. I do anyway. Why do you think I chose the darkest place I knew of for my home?”

“I… I hadn’t really thought about it. You sure you want to be out here then? You didn’t have to walk me all the way home you know?”

“I want to,” he said, gesturing for you to continue on your way across the open meadow.

The overnight frost had melted a little, but it still lingered at the foot of the thicker tufts of grass and it crunched softly as you walked through it. Not Feluän though — he moved as silently as his spectral nickname suggested, but you did catch him tilting his head a little and inhaling, as though scenting the wind. His lips parted softly and you caught your best glimpse yet of his double set of canines. His tongue shifted a little behind his teeth, as though he was tasting something on the air, and you looked away. Everything about him was sensuous and it made you want to touch.

You were perhaps a day’s walk from the village now, but he still hadn’t turned back even though you’d told him you could manage alone from there.

That night at camp, you sat together as you had back in his cave, with you resting between the two smaller limbs that jutted out from his spider’s shoulder area. They twitched from time to time as he ate the now-roasted rabbit he’d skewered earlier for dinner with the talon at the end of one of them, and when you’d finished your meal, you reached out without thinking and ran your fingers down the chitin that covered them.

He jumped slightly and then went very still, but as you brought your hand closer to where the limb met his chest, he drew in a shuddering breath that made his whole body rock.

“Does that tickle?” you asked, wondering how much sensation he had with all that natural armour.

“Not exactly,” Feluän rasped. “It’s… It’s been a while since I’ve… since anyone’s — ah…” he gasped and his chest heaved. The little bone he’d been idly cleaning with his tongue dropped from his fingers to land in the carpet of beech and oak leaves around your feet.

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “Gods, don’t you dare stop.”

“Alright.”

You stood and faced him, and ran both hands up his ‘hips’ at the base of his humanoid torso. He shuddered again and sucked in another sharp breath. Gradually, you moved your touch up over the marble contours of his abs and ribs until you could reach no higher. “Come down here then,” you said quietly.

His scarred upper lip twitched and he surged down towards you, snatching you up in his hands and lifting you away from the fire. He pinned you against the smooth bark of a nearby beech trunk, and held you there four or five feet off the ground. His hands were secure around your waist as the spears of the two pedipalps lanced into the tree on either side of your face and you gasped, feeling heat rushing to your groin.

“The things you make me want to do to you, human,” he purred around a snarl, red eyes glowing in the night. His huge body was pale, standing out starkly against the darkness, and you felt a familiar, tingling weakness washing through you as he held you pinned there and growled those lustful words into your ears. You wanted him to take control. You wanted to submit to whatever pleasures he had in mind. It made your head go vague.

“What’s that then?” you slurred softly, dangling blissfully in his hold. “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want to tie you up with my silk,” he said, leaning in so he could kiss up your neck. He nipped at you, but not enough to break the skin or inject you with his numbing, paralytic venom. The trail his kisses left was cold though, and your flesh tingled. “I want you trussed and immobile for me while I give you every pleasure I can think of. Your body is so soft compared to mine. So vulnerable. I want it all. I want all of you.”

“You can,” you smiled. “Please.”

His lips twitched into another little snarl and he kissed you again. Your tongue tingled and you swallowed, realising a drop of his venom had landed there. “I can’t,” he said, stepping back and lowering you slowly to the ground. Your knees were too weak to take your weight at first and he steadied you.

“Why not?” Disappointment stung through the creeping haze in your head and helped to clear it a bit.

You glanced along his curved, spider’s abdomen and saw that a clear fluid was dripping slowly from a point on his underbelly. His obvious arousal looked obscene, and your core tightened at the sight of it. When he saw where you were looking, he shivered. “That’s what you do to me,” he croaked. “But I’ve lost too much control of myself tonight. I might hurt you.”

“Kiss me again?”

“No. My mouth is full of venom.”

Your breath caught and you bit your lip. “Please?”

“No.” He sounded angry now, and you looked away, ashamed of still wanting something he didn't want to give. When he saw the expression on your face though, his whole demeanour changed and he softened. “What is it?” he asked.

You shook your head, stepping back. “Forget it. You’re going home again tomorrow anyway. You’ll forget about me in no time.” But you wouldn’t forget about him.

Feluän’s lighting-fast reflexes left you breathless all over again as he snatched for your wrist when you turned away from him. “I will never forget you,” he hissed fiercely. “I can’t. You think I give every lost wanderer I find in my forest a personal escort home? If I had my way, I’d never leave your side again.”

The grip he had on your wrist was tight enough that it was just shy of painful, and you gasped, eyelids fluttering. You glanced down at where his claws were pricking into your skin and then slowly raised your gaze to his face. “Not helping…” you smirked softly.

He closed his eyes slowly and eased his grip just a fraction, and then he opened his eyes again, moved both hands to your face, cupped your jaw, and kissed your forehead. “Best I can do for the moment,” he said apologetically.

“You don’t have to go back, you know?” you said, giving voice to the idea that had been floating around your mind for a few days. “I mean, I know all your stuff is back there, but there’s a really cosy place that’s only a hundred yards or so from my cottage on the edge of the village. I think it would be perfect for you. You could… You could live there? If you wanted…”

Feluän raked his claws gently across your scalp and you shuddered. “And what of the rest of the village? What would they say about a monster taking up residence in their midst?”

“You’re not a monster,” you hissed, grabbing for his wrists and clinging to him while you glared up into his face. Gods, he was so beautiful, with his sharp features and red, gemstone eyes and his silver-white hair. “You’re not. How could they not love you once they got to know you?”

His throat worked and he lowered his spider body down, drawing his legs in so that he was as close to your eye level as he could get. “Do you really want me to stay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please. I — The thought of you going back to that horrible place with all those bones scattered everywhere, and no life — there’s no life in those woods, Feluän. It’s —” He silenced you with a kiss.

Your lips turned numb almost immediately but you felt his tongue brush yours as he growled and reared over you, overpowering you with just his presence. “The way you said my name,” he said. “No one’s ever spoken my name before. Say it again. I want to hear you say it again.”

“Feluän.”

“When we’re not camping in a forest, I’m going to take you apart, my beautiful human. I’m going to tie you up and take you to pieces when my mouth isn’t dripping with venom.”

“Could be fun for you to have your way with me while I can’t move…” you said.

“You wouldn’t be able to feel it either,” he said, deliberately moving away from you and breathing hard. “Gods, I’m a mess,” he chuckled. You glanced down and saw that he was leaking a little webbing too from the gland at the tip of his abdomen.

“So am I,” you said wryly, because you absolutely were.

“I know. I can smell it,” he said. “Taste it too.”

“Fuck,” you groaned. He’d smelled it earlier as well then, back in the meadow after he’d protected you. “You’d better live up to your promise, Feluän. I’m not letting you go home without feeling some of that silk around my wrists first.”

“Say my name again and I’ll give you anything you want.”

Getting to sleep that night proved difficult to say the least, but it helped that you both talked quietly, with you lying in his arms again, and when you woke to the gentle caress of his knuckles against your cheek, you blinked your eyes open and smiled up at him.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, awestruck by the creature looming over you. Honest delight lit up his whole face and he laughed quietly, helping you to your feet and brushing the dry leaves from your clothes and the borrowed cloak he’d lent you.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked as you kicked the cold ashes of the fire apart and made sure you left the forest as you’d found it. “You said we’re within a day’s walk of your home now?”

You nodded. “We’ll probably meet a few of the woodcutters on our way in — they’re working about three or four miles from the village at the moment, cutting hazel for fences and ash for firewood. If we meet anyone, let me do the talking?”

Feluän agreed, and you set off along the main road together.

“I’ll introduce you in the village if you like, and explain where I’ve been, and then I’ll say I’d like you to stay. If… If you want to.”

“I do,” he said. “I don’t have anything in that cave that I would particularly miss, but I could still go back and fetch it if I wanted to.”

The first people you met were indeed Garrick and Mercy, and when the satyr and the half-orc-half-elf saw the drider, they hefted their axes in their hands and stepped warily into the clearing they’d made beside the road. Mercy spotted you and called out your name, and you and Feluän held up your hands.

It took some persuading to let the two of you approach, but when you were close enough, Mercy dropped her axe and hugged you. “We’ve been so worried,” she said, squeezing you tight. With her muscles, it was enough to make you wheeze. “Gwyn and Thom and Gale searched for you for days but even Gale’s werewolf nose lost your scent when it rained. Gods, they’ve been beside themselves.”

“I’m only alive because of Feluän,” you said, gesturing to the pale drider who was waiting on the road. All his eight legs were drawn up tight and he looked tense and wary. At that distance, and in the clear, wintry light, you suspected he also couldn’t see very far, and for someone so powerful, he was probably feeling quite vulnerable. “I’d like him to live here with us. He was living alone in that dark forest, and I don’t think anyone should have to live alone like that. Not if they don’t want to.”

Garrick jutted his small tusks and said, “Driders aren’t exactly sociable creatures. What’s he gonna do around here?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” you said a little defensively. “While I was recovering in his care, he was processing and spinning flax and weaving bolts of cloth, so he could help Rowan, but I don’t think his place here should be determined by what he can do for us, do you?”

Garrick’s eyes darkened with shame, and he shook his head.

“I’ll catch up with you later. Right now, all I want is a bath and a change of clothes.” Your own shirt had been washed while you’d been recovering, and Feluän had stitched it up, but it was still stained with your blood and more than a bit travel-worn now.

The approach to the village was deserted, but when you stepped out from the shady road and into the brilliant, afternoon sun that bathed the thatched houses in stark light, Feluän grunted and closed his eyes, shielding them with one hand and wincing.

“You alright?” you asked.

“It’s so bright,” he rasped. “I… I can’t even see you and you’re right next to me.”

You paused and said, “This way. We’ll take the side road and go along one of the deer paths through the trees to the cave home I’ve got in mind for you. You can meet everyone tonight when the sun’s gone down.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shaking your head, you frowned. “No, Feluän. You have nothing to be sorry for. Let’s go.” You laid your hand on his foremost left leg, and changed direction, heading for the tall oak and beech trees that bordered the village.

You passed by your cottage, though you did point it out to him, and continued up the slope to the small, rocky outcrop where the old cave had sat empty since its previous occupant had moved to be nearer to her relatives. “This used to belong to Dinara,” you said. “She’s a dwarf, but the cave isn’t at her scale, don’t worry.”

He laughed, and now that you were in the shade, you noticed that his eyes were meeting yours again, and he wasn’t squinting so much. “Come here,” he said, and he lowered himself down to kiss you. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”

“If it’s not, I know people will help you alter it. They helped me build my house when I moved here, so you could always just build something new if it doesn’t suit.”

“You make them sound like good people,” he smiled.

Squeezing his hand, you said, “They are. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“So long as they don’t try to hack me to bits with their axes… The one you called ‘Garrick’ sounded ready to cut my legs off earlier.”

“He’s protective, not unlike you,” you said wryly. “Come on. Let me show you the cave and see if you want to live there or not.”

“If you’re nearby, it’ll be perfect,” he said smoothly, and you immediately tripped, making him laugh.

In the end, the empty cave house suited him perfectly, and, as you’d predicted, people were wary to start with, but when they heard how he’d saved you and taken care of you, and brought you home, they welcomed him like a long-lost relative — something that clearly moved him deeply. He did bristle when Thom swept you up into his bone-crushing, baker’s arms outside the village inn that night and nuzzled his tusks against your neck and expressed just how worried he’d been about you though.

When you returned to Feluän after Thom had set you down and promised you a week’s worth of free pies and cakes, Feluän was prickly and distant, until you grabbed a hold of his pedipalp and refused to let go as he turned. The moonlight flashed along the polished chitin and the limb straightened as he turned away while you held it, but he twitched back to look at you with his red eyes blazing quietly.

“Feluän…?” you purred. Oh, you liked the way he clearly wanted to be possessive of you but was forcing himself to behave. It made you flush hot all over.

“What?” he hissed, still scowling.

You caressed your hand up the limb to his shoulder and splayed your fingers wide. He gasped.

“You promised me something…”

“What was that?” he said, spreading his legs a little wider, as though he needed the extra stability to brace himself upright all of a sudden. You enjoyed seeing that the effect you had on each other was mutual.

You drew back your hand from him and he rocked forwards as if seeking the contact again. You brought your wrists together and held them out as though waiting to be tied up before looking up into his face.

His white eyelashes fluttered and his red eyes rolled closed for a moment. “Where?” he asked in a whisper. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure you’ll fit easily in my cottage…”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, “But I’ll take your word for it. I don’t have any furnishings in my new home yet.”

“You can sling me a silk hammock,” you said boldly and he groaned audibly. “You like that? You like the idea of me lying on your silk?”

He choked softly and nodded, jaw working.

“What?”

“I’m trying to keep my venom to myself this time,” he said carefully. “If I don’t let it out, I can put my mouth wherever I want to this time.”

“And where’s that?”

“Let me tie you up and you’ll find out,” he snarled, baring his double canines, patience fraying.

“Take me home then,” you whispered.

He picked you up, letting you loop your legs around his humanoid hips and holding you there with his arms and his two pedipalps while he scuttled away from the village and up the hill to the cave where an oil lamp was already burning softly on a shelf.

The cave wasn’t so much a cave as a rock-hewn home, with an additional masonry front covering the opening from the elements, and stone shelves cut into the rock inside for storage, and a shelf at the back for a bed and a huge stone bath as well. Spring water was plumbed directly into a copper cylinder for hot water beside a fireplace with a chimney built into the mountainside. It was a vast improvement on his former, tunnel-like home in the forest, and someone had brought up a load of firewood for him.

Before he’d left his new home to greet the rest of the village earlier that evening, Feluän had lit a fire in the grate and it had since filled the space with warmth, driving away the lingering damp of disuse, and as he made his way on his long, skittering legs to the back of the cave, you kissed the chitin of his shoulders and watched the firelight lick along the sculpted shape of his natural armour. He shivered and then rose right up, tucking his abdomen under him and slinging a web across the shelf where the mattress would be when you eventually found him one. For now, a low, secure hammock of web would more than suffice.

He pitched you back onto it and you bounced softly while the drider’s huge body filled the air above you. The power and ‘otherness’ of his body made you hot beneath the skin and set your core burning, and you squirmed softly while he lowered himself down around you, all four right limbs braced on the wall to your left to give him the best angle. It was unnatural and eerie and creepy and wonderful and strange and everything you wanted in that moment, so you raised your hands above your head and crossed your wrists invitingly.

“You’re so good for me,” he purred and you arched upwards. The web hammock was substantial enough that you didn't feel in the least like your bodyweight was going to tear through it, but it left you feeling exposed and at his mercy. He undressed you carefully, his claws peeling the fabric back until you were as naked as he was. His spider’s body twitched and that clear fluid dripped down onto your shin, betraying his own arousal even as your own was made all the more evident to him.

He parted your legs with one clawed hand and carefully pressed the heel of his palm against where you were soaking wet. “Look at you,” he smiled, eyes glinting. “I can smell you. I can’t wait to taste you properly.” Then he licked his hand clean and your brain went blank for a moment as you watched and heard him groan.

His silk was cool as he wrapped your wrists tightly enough to immobilise your arms and then he secured the line to one of the others, pinning you in place as securely as any rope tied to a headboard ever could be.

“Fuck…” you cursed, arching your spine and spreading your legs. Your clit was swollen and sensitive already, but when he slid his arms underneath your thighs and brought his face close enough that his breath shivered across your wet skin, you gasped and bucked.

Feluän’s tongue teased you to start with as he simply savoured the taste of you, but when he got to work in earnest, his claws pricked your skin and he held you down while you tried to writhe and squirm. You weren’t shy about the sounds you made, and when you saw the way his abdomen was moving in time with his tongue on your body, you realised he was every bit as turned on as you are. You knew that driders didn’t mate the way humans did, and that when he came, he was most likely going to make a mess all over you. The thought of it made your eyes roll.

His nose nudged against your clit as he delved deeper into you with his tongue, moaning and kissing and sucking and devouring.

“I’m getting close, love,” he whispered in the tiny silence that blossomed around you when he drew back to adjust his grip on your legs. You’d never been rendered immobile like this by a partner before, with your hands tied and your legs clamped in his grip, and you felt your body clench in the absence of his tongue. He laughed, low and seductive. “So are you, aren’t you?”

Mind a blur with pleasure, you just nodded and keened.

“When I come, can I come over you?” he asked, and he sounded utterly wrecked.

“Gods, please,” you gasped, bucking weakly. “Please, anything, Feluän. Please… I need… I need you to… please…”

“Need me to do what, love?” he asked, licking teasingly over you with the tip of his tongue, savouring you without returning to his earlier endeavours to make you come. It was too much and nowhere near enough and you let out a broken sob. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t do it,” he said provocatively.

With a growl of frustration and effort, you wrangled the words into the right order in your hazy mind. “I need you to make me come, Feluän.”

“That’s good,” he praised and you arched upwards, legs parting a little wider for him. “Gods, you’re everything,” he whispered as he leaned back down and closed his mouth around your clit.

You gave another wild yell at the barrage of stimulation, and under a minute later you came with a heaving shout against his mouth. Waves of pleasure swept through you, and only a second after you stuttered out his name again, you heard him give a tiny ‘oh’ of surprise before he reared up, his whole body tensing and starting to shake, before his own release gushed over the spot where his mouth had just been. The heat of his come against you there sent you over the edge again and you thrashed beneath him. He was still coming when he lowered his humanoid torso down atop yours again and pulled you close, one clawed hand around the back of your head.

“Oh gods,” he said, his whole body twitching and coming while he cradled you beneath him. “Oh gods, you’re everything. You’re perfect… gods… oh…”

Eventually, his orgasm faded and he staggered, all his legs moving out of sync as he tried not to crush you while the strength fled his limbs and he collapsed onto the webbing.

You’d never been such a mess after sex, and you’d also never come quite so hard.

He reached dazedly out with one of his taloned pedipalps and carefully slashed through the silk holding your wrists together, then he raised his head a little more to regard you. “Are you alright?” he asked. “That wasn’t too much?”

“Perfect,” you mumbled. “You made a big mess though,” you said when you felt his release sliding over your thighs and hips.

“I’ve never made that much mess,” he said and he looked genuinely embarrassed when he pushed himself upright.

“Good job there’s a bath over there,” you said, eyeing the basin that was practically a small swimming pool. It was certainly big enough for a drider to soak himself in relative comfort too.

Feluän staggered over to it and turned the bronze tap that started a flow of hot water from the gigantic cistern beside the fire and then returned to you. “Can I carry you?” he asked, looking shy for the first time in your relatively short acquaintance.

“You’re going to have to. I can’t feel my legs,” you said.

“I didn’t — My venom —” he sputtered in horror. “I —”

“Oh, it’s not you,” you chuckled as you floundered to sit upright. “I mean, it was you, but not your venom.”

He deflated comically in relief and laughed as he scooped you up and bore you towards the tub. Glancing back, you saw that his come was all over the webbing and had dripped through onto the floor.

Feluän set you down on the shelf that ran around the edge of the bath washed you off while it filled. The gentle action of his caring, attentive hands on your body soothed you and worked you up again, and when you moaned and bucked weakly into his hand, he raised an eyebrow. “Again?” he breathed, as though hardly daring to believe it.

“Please?” you whispered, eyes half-closed where you floated in the warm water.

He was careful with his claws, using only the pad of his finger against you, and when you came with a little sigh and heaved into his arms a few minutes later, he smiled at you and leaned down to kiss you.

“I want to do that to you every day,” he said over the rush of water into the bath. “I don’t want a day to go past where I haven’t seen you make that face for me.”

How could you refuse an offer like that when it was so generously made?

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, and you made it all the way to the end, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#drider #drider x reader #male drider #trans male reader #reader insert #male drider x reader #male drider x trans male reader #monster fucker #exophilia #monster romance #fantasy romance #non human romance #monster boyfriend #drider boyfriend

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reality-detective · 21 days ago

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BREAKING! The American Economy Is About to Crash Harder Than We’ve Ever Seen And It’s All by Design

The American economy is on the verge of a catastrophic crash, and it’s not by accident—it’s all part of the elites' plan to tighten their grip on your life, your money, and your freedom. The crash that’s coming will make the past recessions seem like child’s play. This is not a natural market correction, it's a deliberate financial bloodbath orchestrated by those in power, and YOU are the target.

They’re not just after your money—they want complete control over every aspect of your life. And the worst part? Most people are asleep, unaware that their entire existence is about to be turned upside down.

This collapse isn’t incompetence; it’s a calculated attack. The elites are burning down the current system to rebuild one where they own everything—and they want total control. Every dollar, every transaction, your freedom, your future—all under their watchful eye.

Look around—inflation is skyrocketing, the housing market is becoming impossible, and debt is exploding. This is no accident. The economy is being primed for a collapse, and when it happens, the 2008 crisis will look like a joke in comparison.

What’s their real agenda? It’s simple: control. When the economy collapses, the elites will roll out their "solution", and that solution will be your worst nightmare. Total control over every aspect of your life—that's what they want, and they’ll stop at nothing to get it.

Don’t fool yourself into thinking your gold and silver will save you. The elites have already set traps for that too. When this crash hits, precious metals won’t mean a thing in their new system. They’ve already planned the next era of control with digital currencies and total surveillance.

There is no power vacuum coming, only new chains being forged. The collapse will only pave the way for a new, even more oppressive system. They’ve been planning this for decades, and when the dust settles, the elites will hold all the power.

Every major crisis—from 9/11 to the 2008 crash to COVID-19—has been used to tighten their control. The American economy is just the next domino to fall, and the solution they offer will rob you of your freedom.

Wake up to the reality. This crash is coming fast, and it’s by design. Resist their narrative. Prepare yourself, build local networks, and start thinking about how to survive without their system. They want you blind, but you have a choice—fight back or be crushed.

The Great Reset is happening right before your eyes. Are you going to be a pawn in their game, or will you wake up and fight for your freedom? 🤔

The time is now!

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quartergremlin · 1 year ago

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The Legacy of Genius Built Industries: Exclusive Interview with Othello Von Ryan

transcript and process under the cut

Year after year, Genius Built Industries captures the world's attention as they roll out neigh-fantastical devices and systems dedicated to making all our lives a little bit better.

This time, instead of an industry-shaking tech development, the thing that has eyes turning towards GBI is a personal change: the first public appearance of real-life giant and part-time superhero Othello Von Ryan's children.

I've been invited back into Von Ryan's lab for and exclusive interview with their small family.

Von Ryan's personal lab is just as i remember it - perfectly organized and violently purple - but now it's a little more crowded.

For now, Von Ryan has put away the projects to give their attention to their equally purple children.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. - just as tall as Von Ryan themself - leans away from his insistent parent, armed with a spray bottle and a cloth and attempting to wipe down the screen that makes up the bottom half of his face. On Von Ryan's other side, P.S.D.D. kicks zir legs and laughs at zir brother.

This doesn't last long, as zir eye is next. When they're done, both teens are shiny and irritated.

And yes, Othello Von Ryan's children do - to the best of my knowledge - seem to be hyper-intelligent robots.

Johnson:

I know you hate beating around the bush, so I'm just going to say it: your kids are androids.

Othello Von Ryan:

Friendly laugh. It would seem so.

You must admit, it's a little surprising, especially considering your previous comments on artificial intelligence. That, and your history of forging your own path against the usual hype-based trends of the tech industry.

(S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and P.S.D.D. both seem to cringe at the comparison. Von Ryan quite literally turns their nose up.)

OVR:

Scoff! My children are nothing like what my competitors would call "artificial intelligence"! Their version is nothing more than an overhyped word scrambler with illusions of grandeur! A parrot residing within a thin-walled apartment complex could do a better job.

Additionally, I created Shelly and D.D. when I was in my teens. The "tech industry" is stuck chasing my tail, as always.

Really? That long ago? A.I. as we know it today was only just gaining popularity! Why not re-create a version for the consumer market?

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.:

We were accidents.

OVR:

(Very clearly embarrassed)

No, that doesn't sound like me.

I was a glorified roomba, Pops.

OVR:

You could do much more than a mere roomba!

P.S.D.D:

I was a bed!

#quarterdraws #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise donnie #rise sheeldon #rise psdd #magazine #mock up #i had so much heckin fun with this one #i was originally going to my the exclusive illustration #but then it was /too good/ you feel #so it became early access and i made another one

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humanpurposes · 9 months ago

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It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle.

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now.

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name.

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,”

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily.

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth.

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children.

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her.

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow.

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence.

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove.

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?”

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows.

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times.

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious.

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings.

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod.

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room.

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them?

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget.

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that?

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is.

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning.

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye.

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver.

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process.

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices.

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach.

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away.

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind.

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous.

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close.

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that.

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

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oneweirdbookaddict · 4 months ago

Text

Alright, @undertheopensky

This one’s all for you 😂

Your long awaited sequel to this fic!

Hope you enjoy!

4849 words, slight warnings for one (1) instance of assault, and ngl its angsty and doesn’t really have a happy ending? But it’s not a bad ending either.

Summary: Four hates towns. Or, well… Four hates his town. The one he protected with his blood, sweat, and tears. Sky asks the right questions.

~~~~

It had been a long couple of days when they arrive in Four’s era.

Right outside the smithy’s house, Four scrambling right through the door and tumbling in. “Papa!” The kid shouts, and they take a minute to glance at each other before following him inside.

Finally met the smithy’s grandfather, got settled in, got to rest for an afternoon, and a home cooked meal.

Now they’ve been tasked with trying to get Four to take them around town for a bit so they can get needed supplies.

And they’re rather unsuccessful.

The kid beams up at him unapologetically. “Sorry, Sky. I can’t. I have chores to do.”

“Four-” Time sighs, but there’s no getting the kid to come. Four’s sweeping out the floor of the forge, eyes sparkling, just happy to be home.

“I’ll find you a map if you give me a minute.” Four hums, turning away.

Time sighs, staring at the back of Four’s head.

Sure enough, Four finishes sweeping and leads them to a small office with a strong looking desk and lots of shelves and drawers.

The kid rustles around in one of the drawers for a moment, pulling out a sheet of parchment and studying it for a moment before offering it to them.

“I can’t read this.” Time reminds him, and Four hums again.

“Don’t need to. Red circle is the apothecary, the center of the town is the market. You’ll find anything there- and it’s just a straight shot past the gates.”

“If it’s so easy-”

“I have chores to do.” Four repeats with a poorly hidden grin, already leaving the room.

“Should we find an inn or are we able to stay here?” He asks, and that gets Four to pause for a minute.

“We have room on the floors. Definitely not enough beds- it might be best for you guys to find the inn and sleep in some beds for a night or two. I dunno. Think about it.” Four shrugs, and then he’s gone.

Time sighs yet again, rolling his eye.

“Time, let him be with his grandpa again.” He says quietly.

“It’s not that.” Time says.” “He knows the town, he knows it well. He can take one hour to make sure we find everything we need. We need potions and medical supplies, we need to restock on rations and food. If we don’t find those-”

He smiles gently at the old man.

“We have more pressing things-”

“Time.” He pushes, slightly less gently. “He’s a child.”

All the fight deflates out of the old man at the reminder.

Seems to remember this, looking away.

“You’re right. I’ve… I’ve been too harsh on him.”

He shrugs, accepting the map from Time. “Let’s get this done- he made it sound like an easy trip. We can be back before supper.”

“Sounds good.” Time agrees, and they leave the room to gather up the others to make the trip to the little town.

~~~~

It's an easy, quick trip to town, and they find Four making supper with his grandfather upon their return.

“Supper should be ready in about fifteen minutes.” Four smiles at them, a little smudge of some sort of seasoning on his cheek.

So they get all their supplies packed up and put away, and enjoy their meal.

He sits next to Four, managing to be lucky enough to sit at the table, meaningless chatter filling the house.

It’s the evening when they really speak again, Time sighing and relenting as he, Twi, and Wars ask to spend some time at a tavern.

“Four, we’re going to find the pub, will you come get us before you settle for the night?” The old man asks.

Four’s expression remains the same for a long second, giving absolutely no indication that he heard Time, then nods. “Yeah. The only one is on the side of town- once you enter go to the right as much as you can and then up towards the castle. Can’t miss it. I’ll get you guys around… eleven and a half bells?”

“Sounds good. Thanks, kiddo.”

“Not a kid.” Four hums, and he has to smile.

“It’s what your grandfather calls you.”

“Yes. My grandfather is sixty two- everyone is a kid to him. He’s called grown adults kiddo.”

He laughs at that, and Four’s eyes flick to him.

“Be safe.” Four says softly, oddly… serious in his warning.

“It’s just a town. Little town,” he says, confused. And it is- a small, peaceful little town. Rather reminds him of Skyloft, actually.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

Four shrugs, already turning away. “There’s a festival or something coming up soon. Just… it may be busy, people may be territorial. They’re not all so open to outsiders.

“They seemed fine when we went to the market.” Wars frowns, though Four merely shrugs before vanishing into a room.

They take a minute to shrug at each other before heading out the door.

~~~~

It was Twi’s idea to… mess around a bit and try to dig up some information on Four.

He definitely didn’t mean for… all this.

But the situation had spiraled well out of their control, and he’s a little too tipsy to defuse it.

So he clutches his sailcloth in his fist to avoid punching someone.

“Oh… he’s… crazy.” One woman sighs softly. “He… he didn’t come back quite the same. A shame, he was such a good boy.”

The bartender glances up, eyes narrowing. “That’s a rather kind way of saying he had a screaming match with himself in the middle of my shop.”

They all freeze. This has gone way too far, they need to end this, this-

“Oh, your anger towards him is unjustified, Mr. Elson. He’s a boy- he’s a boy, and he’s alone and traumatized. He was so young… how is he supposed-”

“Are you kidding me?” The man laughs incredulously. “The kid is absolutely insane. Didn’t come back right in the head. Being twelve at the time don't change that.”

Rage flies through him, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. Time’s eyes narrow dangerously. Wars looks ready to go full war captain mode.

Seemingly oblivious to their reactions, the man continues.

“I mean, sure. I get it. The poor kid is traumatized. But isn’t that his responsibility? He doesn’t need to come around town and make it the rest of our problem.”

Time’s hands shake with rage, and he feels the blood pounding in his ears. War’s hands clench into fists, but it doesn’t hide their shaking at all.

“It’s been almost three years? I think the kid’s almost sixteen. Used to hang around with the princess, was around her age. He should just be better by now.”

“Guys. Let’s go.” A voice says quietly. The last voice they want to hear right now.

The three men turn around tensely and freeze when they see the smith himself standing behind them.

“You’re not welcome here.” The bartender says, and he whips around, barely leashing his anger when Time places a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, Mr. Elson, I apologize. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“You’ll be leaving now or I’ll contact the authorities.”

“Yes, sir.” Four says softly.

“Yes, sir.” The man mocks. “Get out of here, you freak. If I catch you around here again-”

They leave the man still angrily ranting about what exactly he’ll do if she catches Four around here again, exiting the shop. The words ‘crazy lunatic’ are heard before the door slams behind them.

“Four-” Time starts quietly, but the smith shakes his head, cutting him off.

“Don’t.” Four’s eyes are trained on the ground, ignoring the glares and whispers thrown his way. “Just… don’t.”

“Four…” He says softly, trailing off when Four stops.

Four looks up for a second, meeting his eyes. Something passes between them- he’s not quite sure what- and then Four looks down at the ground again.

Leads them around a block before pausing. It’s busy for so late at night, he notices finally, glancing down at Four. He had mentioned a festival or something.

The kid gulps visibly, expression flickering into an anxiousness he doesn’t understand.

But slowly steps forward, taking a deep breath.

He and Wars share a glance but follow.

People stare and fall silent as they pass, eyes lingering on Four.

Expressions from anger to curiosity to distrust on their faces. One man looks at Four with such hatred he pauses.

"Move.” Four mumbles to him, and he forces his feet to obey.

But the man stops them, stepping into their path and forcing Four to stop.

“You’re not welcome here.” The man says firmly, crossing his arms.

Four doesn’t even look up from the ground. “I’m just passing through.”

“You’re going to take another way. You’re not welcome here.”

Four chews his lip, finally looking up.

“Going around takes an hour, please just this one time-”

“Don’t make me call the guards, freak. Get out of here.”

“Please- one time, just one time, you can watch me all the way through-”

Quicker than he or even Wars can react, the man lashes out and strikes Four across the face.

Four stumbles back, clutching his face, ignoring or not hearing their yelps.

“I said get out of here. We want nothing to do with you. Now scram.”

Four turns without another word and starts back down the path. He glares at the man for a long moment until Wars gently taps his arm- their signal to keep going.

The ranch hand refuses.

“You have no right.” Twi scowls, and the man looks to the rancher. “He sacrificed everything for you.”

“Twi.” Wars mutters under his breath.

The man laughs. Loudly. “It would’ve been better if he’d never stuck his nose in that shady shit to begin with- and then came back all jumbled, talking to himself and having screaming matches with nobody in the middle of the road. You keep that freak away from me, you hear me?! He’s a freak!” The man yells the last part at Four’s retreating back.

Four’s shoulders hunch down, the kid shrinking into himself.

Twi grabs the man by his tunic, shaking the man rather ungently. “He sacrificed everything for you! You don’t even understand what he’s been through!”

“Twilight.” Wars says softly, seriously, grabbing his arm.

The rancher shoves the man away, sending him to the ground. “A freak?! That’s a child you’re assaulting!”

Twi glowers down at the now cowering man, disgust on his face. “You’re not even with his time.” The rancher mutters, turning his back and finally letting Wars drag him down to where Four’s waiting down the street.

Not quite meeting their eyes, cheek pink where he’d been hit.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Four mumbles, taking the turn to leave town.

“Four-”

“They’ll know you’re with me. You guys won’t be able to come back- they won’t want you here either.”

Silence.

Four leads them all the way around- for such a little town it sure does take a lot of time to get around- back to the forge.

Inside the front door, down the hall to his room, vanishing from sight.

~~~~

There’s a long silence where everyone stares up at where the smith had disappeared, then Time shakes his head.

“Leave him be.”

It’s a quiet night, the others taking in their tenseness.

Twi hesitates, looking down the hall where Four had vanished, fidgeting-

“Twi. Leave it.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I know. Just leave him be.” Time says gently.

“But-” the rancher cuts off, sighing slowly.

“Is he ok?” Wind mumbles groggily, having been woken up as they came in.

“Yeah.” Wars says gently, making his way over to the sailor. “Go back to sleep, you could stand to grow a little more.”

The sailor squawks in protest, but the captain only snickers and affectionately ruffles Wind’s hair.

Gets his bedroll set up next to the sailor’s, settling down. Time and Twi slowly do the same, Twi’s gaze still lingering down the hall.

“I’ll go check-”

“Twi.” He interrupts gently. “He doesn’t want to talk to us. Try it in the morning.”

Another long sigh, but the rancher finally settles.

He stretches out himself, missing the bit of warmth Four usually provided during the night.

~~~~

He wakes up early- very early, the rest are still sleeping and the moon hasn’t even set yet.

He’s suspecting around two chimes, but he can’t tell for sure. Time feels different in Four’s era- it has a strong flow.

Or maybe the surface is making him crazy.

He stands, though, stretching softly and goes in search of the smith. Down the hall, rubbing his eyes.

The room Four had shown him and labeled it ‘his’ is empty when he glances into it.

So he wanders down the hall into the other room, peeking carefully into the room-

Four’s slumped next to a table, surrounded by books.

The room is packed with book after book- on shelves that line the room.

It is a small room- the size of a large closet, really- but it’s still an impressive amount of books.

A small table is shoved into the corner, two cushions on the available sides.

That’s where Four is, curled up on one of the cushions, a blanket over him, book still open in his hands.

He slowly walks the rest of the way inside, stepping carefully over books on the floor to get to his friend and sitting next to him.

Carefully takes the book in his hands, putting a folded slip of parchment in it to mark the page, closing it and setting it aside.

Slowly, carefully, taking hold of the teenager and getting him carefully into his arms-

Four shifts and mumbles sleepily, nestling closer to him with a soft noise of contentment.

“Shh… I’ve got you, kiddo.” He whispers.

Four’s eyes flutter, but don’t open.

He carefully carries the smith back down the hall, tucking him gently into the bed in the corner, the teenager mumbling again and curling into the soft bed.

“Better than that little cushion on the floor, yeah?” He whispers, getting the blankets around the kiddo.

Four’s hand slowly grabs at the blanket, other one finding his hand and clinging to it.

“Shh…” he hums softly, trying to ease Four’s hand off of him… Four’s eyes flutter open, and he freezes.

“Stay with me.” The smith murmurs groggily, slowly releasing the grip on his hand when he nods in shock.

Four manages to scoot to the side of the bed so he can lay next to him, the smithy curling right back into his arms when gets settled.

“G’night, Sky.” Four mumbles drowsily, and he has to smile.

“Sleep well, buddy.”

~~~~

He sits in his bed, gazing out the window thoughtlessly. Sky snores softly next to him.

Watches the sun slowly rise, the light peek through the window in beautiful shades of gold, pink, and orange.

Trying not to think back to the weeks after his adventure, but… after a day like yesterday how could he not?

“It’s going to be ok.” Zelda had said softly once, his first time seeing her after everything. “But it’s going to be different.”

If only she knew how right she was.

“Four?”

Sky.

He glances down, forcing a little smile.

“Hey, Sky.” He manages, the knight rubbing his eyes and flopping so he’s on his back.

He’s reminded heavily of a golden retriever asking for belly rubs, and has to resist the urge to smile.

Silence. Sky looks nervously at him, matching his smile with one that’s equally as fake.

“You can ask.” He says finally, laying back again to curl into Sky’s warmth. “I… I owe you an explanation.”

Sky finally does.

“This is why? Why you hate towns? Why you prefer to stay at the inn, or do research, or… anything other than the market.”

He nods into Sky’s steady heartbeat.

I don’t understand, Sky would say, shaking his head as left for the market, leaving him at the inn at his insistence and sometimes begging.

I don't expect you to. All I ask is that you respect it, he’d shoot back rather sharply. Uncharacteristically sharply. He’d ignore the other’s surprised looks, and they wouldn’t press the issue further.

He stares out the window some more, then sighs slowly. So much for fighting off the bad memories.

“After I came back from my… after… after I returned the sword to the palace, something… it changed me. The magic I used had… consequences.”

He curls into a ball, turning to look at the wall.

Keeping Sky out of his gaze.

“I came back weird. Jumbled. I… I…”

He lets out a broken laugh. “I was crazy. Maybe I still am. I don’t know anymore, Sky.” He whispers.

Four bodies fuse back into one, but… four minds clash and fight in that one body.

For a moment, Link is fine.

And then he’s on the ground, clutching his head, screaming.

Cursing, sobbing, giggling, yelling in pain, fear, anger, embarrassment, any emotion he can think of flashing through him in waves and waves.

Zelda ends up running to get his grandfather, bawling uncontrollably herself.

She’s terrified out of her mind, understandably.

Papa carries him home- he can’t walk. He can’t speak. He can’t form a coherent, clear thought.

He can’t do anything for a week.

Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think, just lays in bed and stares at the ceiling, his mind quite literally at war with itself.

Sometimes he manages to scream when the pain gets too bad.

Papa sits next to him the entire time, holding him close when he manages to cry, scream, anything.

Tries to coax some soup into him so he can eat, but…

He can barely swallow. He can't function in the slightest.

After that week he… can somewhat do the very basics again. Sleep, manage some food, drink water…

He slowly gets back around to talking- which he immediately stops doing again.

It’s garbled, stuttered, staccato sentences that make no sense, barely stringing two words together before changing topics completely, and it hurts.

It hurts real bad.

The ache behind his eyes the first time he tried…

“Papa!” He’d screamed, the first comprehensible thing he’d probably said in a month, then spent the rest of the day screaming and sobbing into his papa’s chest.

He stops trying to speak.

Moving is difficult and often painful- his movements are jerky, uncoordinated, and slow.

As if four bodies are fighting for the ‘correct’ way to move.

After a while, he gives up on moving, too.

He spends as much of his time as possible sleeping.

It’s the only way to escape the constant pain, the horrible loudness in his head.

He… becomes a bitch.

To his grandpa, to Zelda… to anyone who encourages him.

Just starts ignoring everyone, doing everything and anything in his power to fight whenever someone tries to force him.

Spits, scratches, screams, one time he manages a well placed knee into his father’s groin. He’s still pretty proud of that one.

That attitude, however, changes with a visit from the minish.

He wakes up one night to little footsteps on his chest, and he finds himself covered in minish.

On his stomach, his chest, his arms and legs, a few curled up in his hair, chittering happily to see him awake.

His mind is still too jumbled to understand them fully, but their love and encouragement seeps through to him. Their kindness and affection touching him, making him feel… remarkably less lonely.

He hadn’t even realized how lonely he’d been- Papa is, as always, moving around and doing work, Dot is doing her princess duties, Father… well, was never around anyway…

And even though Papa spends as much time with him as possible it’s different now.

He can’t do the things he could do anymore- he can’t talk. Walk. Anything.

He’s stuck just… laying there.

His good arm slowly reaches to gently stroke a dozing minish on his chest, and he realizes he has to get better.

For Papa, for Dot, maybe for Father, but… most importantly, for himself.

So when Papa walks into his room the next morning, he gathers everything inside of him and sits up.

“M- Morning.”

He’s seen Papa cry one time in his lifetime- when Mama died.

But now, Papa holds him and cries for a while.

“I love you, kiddo, I love you so much.” Papa manages, wiping his eyes carefully. “Let’s get you some breakfast. Let’s get you to the table?”

And with Papa’s support, a stupidly long time, and several instances of nearly eating the floor, they do manage to get to the table from his room.

Though after that, Papa makes him a wheelchair.

Walking is still too much- his legs don’t move right, barely support his weight, and wobble whenever he stands. But wheeling himself around… well, it works.

Not quite easier. Not quite… better. But it works for him.

He- for the first time in months- can get around by himself.

Around the house, around the forge, even outside.

Never to the town- but to the woods nearby, down the trail, just able to spend time outside.

When he makes the decision he wants to walk again, Papa reaches out to a man from a whole different town to come and see him.

They spend a week together, the man assessing his movement, what he's able to do, what he’s not able to do, how well he can move different parts of his body, and so on.

By the second day he has what the man calls a mobility support, that straps onto his arms and has a big, sturdy stick that leans on the ground.

His movements are still jerky, odd, and unnaturally slow. But he’s walking. He’s walking.

The man teaches him exercises, stretches, and different techniques for him to do until he’s completely able to walk again.

The man is completely certain he’ll be able to.

It takes a lot of work, a lot of pain, a lot of nasty spills, one broken wrist, and another couple months for him to be able to walk without the supports.

And though his physical strength is returning, or… on the mend, as Papa liked to say, he still struggles with the mental aspects of it.

The voices.

His grandfather finds him zoned out all the time- in between bites of food, walking down the hall, reading a book, just standing there with a blank gaze, staring at nothing, lips moving slowly.

Talking to himself- he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Papa asks him what he’s talking about.

His speech is still… stuttered, so he doesn’t do it a whole lot.

But he can’t. Stop. Talking. To himself.

Voices in his head all the time- not nearly as loud as when he first put the sword back, but still ever present.

Telling him what to do, telling each other what to do, arguing with each other, arguing with him, arguing with Papa, conversing with each other, conversing with him, ever present, ever noisy. Driving him crazy.

He cries one night, unable to sleep, the voices screaming at each other.

It hurts.

“Stop it!” He begs, Papa talking softly, helplessly, trying to calm him. “Make them stop, Papa!”

Papa, of course, can’t do anything for him.

He screams until he passes out.

Several times the man who’d helped him walk had to go get Papa because he’d lose focus, start mumbling to himself, and… would stare off at nothing. For hours.

Sometimes Papa’s able to coax him back to reality, but often times he isn’t.

He often finds himself… ‘waking up’ to a throbbing headache, his throat burning, sitting on the floor, holding Papa’s hand.

“Hey, Kiddo.” Papa always said softly, and then held him close while he slept off the nasty headaches.

Oh… and the headaches.

Always there, lingering in his head, waiting to stab.

Sending him to bed for days, nauseating and he can’t tolerate any light or sound or movement.

“Migraines.” Papa explains softly, massaging his temples as he fights the urge to sob.

“Hurts.” He manages, knowing it’s only gonna hurt worse if he cries but unable to stop the tears.

That’s about the time people start asking about him.

It’s been months- they knew he was hurt, they knew… he wasn’t quite right anymore, but… they expected him to get better.

He’s not getting better.

Some days… some days are good days.

But some are like he had just put that sword back and he can’t think he can’t talk he can’t walk he can only lay there and scream.

“Want to come to town with me, Kiddo?” Papa asks one day, on one of his good days.

He considers, blinking at his grandfather.

“People have been asking ‘bout you. I think it’d do you some good to get out and see some people.” Papa offers gently.

He considers further, then slowly nods. Carefully moves to get his mobility aids- walking for a while still aches and makes him wobbly- pulling his hair back into a little ponytail.

And he slowly follows Papa to town for the first time in… five and a half months.

That’s the first time people really stare.

He’s winded by the simple walk to town from the forge, he looks ill- he’s pale and trembling. Papa keeps a gentle grip on his arm, steadying him when he falters at the staring.

“Let them stare, Kiddo.” Papa murmurs, and they keep going. “Just make it worth their time.”

He hates it. He despises it- the pitying looks, the sympathetic glances at his grandfather, the softness of their voices when anyone actually talks to him.

Mostly, they talk to grandpa and just stare at him.

“How’s he doing these days?” The shopkeeper asks softly to Papa, literally staring right at him.

“Good.” He answers bluntly. Shortly.

Papa chokes, but not before he catches the proud smile on his grandfather’s face.

The shopkeeper flushes bright red and doesn’t talk again.

It’s the same with all of them- no one has the guts to talk to him. Only about him. As if he’s not in front of them, too.

“I’m sorry your boy is a crip, now.” The mill owner says softly, staring at his crutches.

He resists the urge to whack the man over the head with one, though it’s difficult.

Papa ushers him out of the shop without replying.

“Does his father know?” The bar owner whispers loudly to Papa as they talk for a moment.

He’s sitting at a table, reminding himself how to breathe. He’s pushed himself too hard.

In… smoothly… out… out… out-

“Papa.” He says calmly, and the man flinches and whips to stare at him.

Papa rushes over to him, hand on his forehead in a flash, asking what’s wrong, what can he do?

“Home.” He whimpers, struggling to get air in, he can’t remember how, all the voices are screaming loudly at him trying to get him to breathe just breathe in he can’t remember he can’t remember-

His hands rip the straps of his crutches off, slamming his hands over his ears, sinking into Papa’s hug and letting himself be pulled slowly to the floor.

He’s choking air down in frantic gasps, hands grasping desperately at Papa’s tunic.

“Home!” He bawls, and Papa’s much to shocked to say anything-

Pull yourself together and calm down! We-

We’re not a we!

He! He is a him!

We’re not going home! It’s nice to be outside around people and the sun-

This sucks! This sucks! Everyone’s staring and no one will talk to us-

Me!

Us!

Me!

Us!

Stop freakin stuttering and spit down words back out then! Talk to them first!

Don’t you even go there- that’s terrible. We can’t-

He!

He can’t control that! It’s a stutter!

It’s a weakness.

Don’t be a jack-

Knock it off!

It hurts!

Stop it! Stop yelling!

Guys we’re hurting Link.

I want to go home!

Well I want to stay out! It’s the first time being out of the house in nearly half a year!

“Link, son, breathe- slow down for me, kiddo.”

He crawls into his grandfather’s arms and screams until he passes out.

Wakes up later with the worst migraine he’s ever had to date- leaving him bedridden for a week.

He doesn’t realize until later- much, much later- that he’d screamed all of that, out loud, with half the town watching.

By time he realizes… it’s months later, the town… has spread rumors out of control about him and his little breakdown, and they no longer want anything to do with him.

He doesn’t tell Sky any of this, of course.

“You’re not crazy, Four.” Sky says gently, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Even you guys think it.” He says flatly. He’s noticed the lingering glances when he slips and mumbles to himself, the staring when he jolts back from staring off into space, the way he can’t quite control his movements on his bad days.

He’s gotten himself injured in a fight more than once because he couldn’t get his arm to move, or his feet to move quick enough.

“No- no, Four - we don’t. We just worry.”

“Yeah.” He mutters instead of arguing about it.

Silence.

“Has it gotten… I mean… the bartender mentioned it’s been two years…”

Slowly turning on his back, he looks up at the Skyloftian, sighing.

“It was different. I knew it was going to be after… after everything. But it didn’t make it any easier.”

~~~~

#linked universe #linked universe four #linked universe Sky #sky linked universe #four linked universe #Lu four #four Lu #Sky Lu #Lu Sky #linkeduniverse #four my beloved #linked universe fanfiction #Lu fic #Lu fanfic #my writing

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bhavanameti · 6 months ago

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Metal Forging Market Expected to Hit $153.9 Billion by 2031

Meticulous Research®—a leading global market research company, published a research report titled, ‘Metal Forging Market by Method (Closed Die Forging, Open Die Forging, Cold Forging, Roll Forging), Material (Steel, Aluminum, Titanium), End-use Industry (Automotive, Oil & Gas, Construction), and Geography—Global Forecast to 2031.’

According to the latest publication from Meticulous Research®, the metal forging market is projected to reach $153.9 billion by 2031, growing at a CAGR of 7.4% from 2024 to 2031. This growth is driven by increasing infrastructure development and rising commercial aircraft production. However, the market faces challenges from high energy consumption and fluctuating raw material costs and availability.

The adoption of Industry 4.0 technologies and advancements in forging techniques present significant growth opportunities for market players. Conversely, supply chain disruptions and complex regulatory compliance could impede market growth.

Market Segmentation:

The metal forging market is segmented by method, material, and end-use industry:

Method:

Closed Die Forging

Open Die Forging

Cold Forging

Roll Forging

Upset Forging

Other Methods

In 2024, open die forging is expected to dominate, accounting for over 49.0% of the market. Its ability to produce a wide range of shapes and sizes makes it attractive to industries such as aerospace, automotive, oil and gas, construction, and heavy machinery. Cold forging is anticipated to register the highest CAGR, driven by the enhanced mechanical properties it imparts to forged parts, making them suitable for high-strength and reliability applications.

Material:

Steel

Aluminum

Titanium

Nickel Alloys

Magnesium

Other Materials

Steel is expected to hold the largest market share of over 44.0% in 2024, due to its exceptional strength and durability, making it ideal for critical applications in various industries. Aluminum is projected to grow at the highest CAGR, owing to its lightweight and high strength-to-weight ratio, making it suitable for industries like aerospace, automotive, and transportation.

End-Use Industry:

Automotive

Oil & Gas

Aerospace & Defense

Construction

Agriculture

Machines & Tools

Mining & Metals

Other Industries

The automotive segment is expected to lead with a market share of over 66.0% in 2024, driven by the extensive use of forged components in critical engine parts and vehicle structures. The construction segment is projected to grow at the highest CAGR, as forged components are essential for the strength and precision required in building and infrastructure projects.

Geographical Analysis:

Asia-Pacific: Expected to hold the largest share of over 51.0% in 2024, driven by rapid industrialization and infrastructure development in countries like China, India, Japan, and South Korea. The region is also expected to register the highest CAGR of 8.5% during the forecast period.

Key Players:

Arconic Corporation (U.S.)

Nippon Steel Corporation (Japan)

Precision Castparts Corp. (U.S.)

Larsen & Toubro Limited (India)

Bharat Forge Limited (India)

thyssenkrupp AG (Germany)

BRÜCK GmbH (Germany)

ELLWOOD Group, Inc. (U.S.)

Metal Forging Pvt. Ltd. (India)

CELSA Group (Spain)

Ovako AB (Sweden)

Lolu Alloys Ltd (U.K.)

Scot Forge Company (U.S.)

Alcoa Corporation (U.S.)

ATI Inc. (U.S.)

For more detailed insights, download the sample report here: Download Sample Report

Download Sample Report Here @ https://www.meticulousresearch.com/download-sample-report/cp_id=5879

Key Questions Answered in the Report:

What are the high-growth market segments by method, material, and end-use industry?

What is the historical market size of the metal forging market?

What are the market forecasts and estimates for 2024–2031?

What are the major drivers, restraints, opportunities, challenges, and trends in the metal forging market?

Who are the major players in the market, and what are their market shares?

What is the competitive landscape like?

What are the recent developments in the metal forging market?

What strategies are adopted by major market players?

What are the trends and high-growth countries?

Who are the local emerging players, and how do they compete with established players?

Contact Us: Meticulous Research® Email- [email protected] Contact Sales- +1-646-781-8004 Connect with us on LinkedIn- https://www.linkedin.com/company/meticulous-research

#Metal Forging Market #Forging #Metal Forging #Cold Forging #Warm Forging #Hot Forging #Open Die Forging #Closed Die Forging #Roll Forging

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pumpkinpot · 5 months ago

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BG3 X farmers market booths

farmers market season is upon us and I am an avid faire/con/market goer. I loved the entire side quest in BG3 involving the traveling circus, and it got me thinking.... What kind of booth or show would each of the bg3 companions have?

There is only a few ways I could see the troupe actually agreeing to participate one is they are really low on funds and the other is an investigation. either works for these ideas.

Roland: He mentions that he has a big interest in making magical education more accessible to the masses so I feel that that would be a bit part of his booth. you know those booths at farmers markets that all sell secondhand books on rolling carts? I feel like that's the vibe. He has posters for magical workshops being hosted at Razmith and cozy chairs for people to sit around under and umbrella and read for a while.

Karalach/ Dammon: they decided to put their skills together and forge artisanal cloak pins and other fineries. its really helpful having someone who can heat the metals so quickly so dammon can craft quicker. Its not long that they have to eventually raise their prices because everyone at the faire wants one of their hair pins or spoon rings.

Astarion/ Scratch: He was offered a place in the kissing booth that he immediately turned down. Of course, his alternative idea was a blood drive. cheeky bastard. in the end he settled for animal handler. Believe it or not, once he no longer had to rely on animals as his food source he found he was quite good with them. He got the idea from constantly having to repair scratches ball, so he decided, with some help from Halsin, to make toys that cannot be destroyed no matter how tuff your pet. He also sells bandanas with tracking spells woven into them and treats that let your dog speak for an hour or two. Him and scratch make an adorable team, people commenting consistently on their matching hair and bandanas. He sells the most of anyone at the fair, followed closely by Halsin.

Halsin: Mans forgot that yall are here to make money. He decided make a booth for pollination education. He has a lepidopterarium for people who want to hold butterflies while he tells them the importance of local wildflowers. Everyone that visits the booth gets a seed bomb. when he was told he actually needed to sell something he settled on honey he harvested. He has to ask you what people mean when they say he's of "beekeeping age," and what "forest daddy" means.

Gale: Idk where this came from really, but I feel like he has a candle booth. but enchanted candles. hear me out. "this candle smells like the first warm day of the year, when the sun touches your skin for the first time in months," o, "this candles you can poor on your skin to heal a pulled muscle or burn," or "this candle influences your dreams and takes you where you want to go."

Blurg/Omeluum: Naturally, they have a mushroom booth. But not just mushrooms. Burg took one culinary class and decided he needed to open a food truck, but everything was mushrooms. fried mushroom poppers, mushroom tacos, balsamic mushroom skewers.. Omeluum is just happy to be able to be in public now with its partner.

My Tav (October): The plan to have a spider booth was shot down pretty quickly, so there needed to be a compromise. October decided to have a crochet booth with tons of different projects like blankets, stuffed animals, cowls etc. but they were all made by spiders. Pino was the only one present for the market and a few people wanted to hold her, though most moved along upon hearing the labour practices of Octs products.

Authors Note: I would love to write a second part to this, I just don't have the spoons at this moment. If you have anything else you'd like to see let me know!

Link to Master list (I do not have a gaming masterlist yet. Hopefully more to come!)

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate iii #astarion #halsin #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 fluff #karlach #bg3 karlach #bg3 astarion #bg3 omeluum #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon

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radioactivepeasant · 9 months ago

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Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Belated Valentines because I had no time on Wednesday lol

(Adopted Dadmas au)

"Move it, junior!" barked a man from Longstump. He all but shouldered Jak aside in the market, headed for the vehicle pit.

Jak glowered at his retreating back and rubbed his arm. "You move it," he grumbled.

Daxter stretched to peer over Jak's head and whistled. "Is it me, or is it crowded in the pit today?"

"It's...pretty crowded," Jak agreed. "What's got them all rattled?"

"Hot sale on sand?" Daxter drawled.

"Bro."

"Yeah yeah, it's everywhere. But it is a hot sale, huh? Huh?"

"Bro." Jak grimaced in disgust.

The ottsel sighed. "No one appreciates my wit."

Rolling his eyes, Jak tossed a tomango from hand to hand before tucking it into his scarf. They passed the forges and the armor shops on Smithy Row, and turned towards the Arena. There weren't supposed to be any trials until later in the afternoon, yet the sounds of combat rang out beyond the steps. Jak took the stairs two at a time and, on a whim, headed for the ring.

Daxter grumbled about the sudden change from shade to blinding sunlight, and pulled the edge of Jak's scarf over his face for relief. Jak shrugged as he stepped onto the floating platform. Instead of letting it take him down to the Arena, he bent his knees, tensed, and sprang.

Fingers caught the edge of one of the support beams, and his momentum launched him up over it, kicking off for more height, to the stone forming the viewing box from which Damas presided over trials. His boot toes caught the most meager of ledges, but it was enough. Before gravity had a chance to wrap its greedy fingers around him, Jak hauled himself up to the next handhold. It was just enough for him to hook his wrist over the edge of the balcony and roll up and onto the platform.

As he'd halfway suspected, his father -- stars, it felt good to be able to say that, even in his head -- had "clocked in" to monitor the battles despite it being off schedule. Damas raised one brow as Jak casually arranged himself into a cross-legged position.

He lifted his tomango in Damas’s direction half in greeting and half in a playful toast.

"Hey," he said cheerfully. Then he bit into the fruit, causing Daxter to leap out of the way of spraying juice.

"Aw yuck!" Daxter shook his ears out and scurried into the shade. "Say it, don't spray it!"

"We have doors, son," Damas remarked, but there was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice.

"Eh." Jak took another bite of the red-orange fruit and spoke around a mouthful of tangy flesh under a surprising sweet peel. "It's too crowded. Same as the garages. What's the deal, Pá? Some kind of relic hunt going on? They get a tip on the stuff for the Forest Site?"

Damas looked at him for a moment as though he wasn't quite certain if Jak was being serious or not. The twitch of his left ear seemed to herald a thought, and he lifted a hand to tug at his upper lip.

"Ah," he said at last, "I sometimes forget that Haven doesn't celebrate Heart Day as Wastelanders do."

"Heart...day?" Jak repeated in confusion.

"It's a courtship ritual," Damas explained, a little awkwardly. "Forgive me if this is...less than detailed. I have not participated in one in an...undisclosed number of years, and I did not think I would need to explain it so soon."

Daxter's ears perked up. "Courtship, you say? Ah-ha! I knew you had to be big ol' softies at heart!"

He rubbed his paws together in anticipation.

"So, juicy details: let's have 'em! My bubbly bar-queen beauty is languishing in Haven without me, and I wanna make an impression when we come back!"

He hopped up onto the arm of the throne and leaned forward eagerly.

"So what is it? Flowers? Chocolates? Chocolate flowers?"

"Metalhead hearts, actually," Damas said bluntly. "The fresher the better. So if you want to do this right, you'll have to wait until you're at the city gates before you carve out the heart you want to give the young spy."

With an almighty squawk of disgust, Daxter tipped off the throne and hit the floor.

He lay there for a few seconds, winded, then raised an index finger.

"Methinks," he said, "this advice was meant for Jak. Not me."

Damas nodded sagely. "He's not wrong you know, Jak, this applies to you, too."

Jak wiped sticky fingers on his scarf and stared blankly at his father.

Don't say it, don't say it, please don't say it- he silently pleaded.

"You know-"

Noooooo-

"The young mechanic could probably make use of a metalhead heart, don't you think, son?" Damas asked. Only the twinkle in his eye gave away his mischief. "The aorta makes for a very effective wire insulator."

Jak flushed as red as a tomango. "I-! It's, it's not like that, we're-! We're friends!"

A smirk spread across the king’s face, the smile of a hunter spotting weakness.

"Oh, of course. Friends. My mistake. Tell me, how goes her research?"

He leaned back and his smile grew as Jak launched into an animated description of Keira's search for the catacombs. As if he didn't know his boy was spending at least an hour every few nights talking with the sage's daughter -- poor girl -- on his talk-box.

"-gonna have to make more drones, of course, because that nutcase Veger's force fields fried some. If I could just find one of her old Scout Flies, I know that would work better, but I'd have to rob the museum to get one and we have a lifetime ban from it anyway and-"

"You have a lifetime ban," Daxter corrected, "I'm not the one who punched a tour guide for misattributing the origin of Scout Flies and keeping our a-grav zoomer behind glass-"

"It's not theirs!" Jak fumed, "Keira built that! It's hers! And maybe kind of mine, because I'm the one who drives!"

He looked up and caught the twinkle in his father's eyes.

Belatedly, he realized that he wasn't helping his case. Damas was grinning at him like the cabbit that got the canegret. Rot it all.

With a groan of defeat, Jak put his head into one hand. "....are there any whose parts you can use in anti-grav stuff?"

Damas tilted his head back and hummed thoughtfully. "Off the top of my head? Ginsus and Metalbats, but we don't have those out here. Their wings were never strong enough to carry them over the ocean. Metaljackets are an option -- in fact, we've been getting reports from Seem that there may be a hive of them in the sealed levels of the Temple. I can deal with that later."

Daxter cringed. "Least it's not spiders," he offered. "If there's metalhead spiders in there, you're gonna have to burn the place to the ground and fake your death. It's the only way to be sure."

"Dax really hates spiders," Jak agreed. He blinked and snapped his fingers. "Hey, what about those blue scout metalheads that hang around the forest? Y'know, I've seen them a lot, but they've never attacked us?"

Damas leaned forward with interest. "Grunt dragons! I haven't seen one in years! It's funny that they should have a name like "dragon" and yet be completely harmless. I actually rode on one as a boy once. My parents were furious."

Daxter looked quickly from Jak to Damas and back again. He saw the moment the idea took hold. Eyes narrowed, he turned back to Damas.

"Whatever happens now," he warned, "I just want you to know that you brought this on yourself."

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #free day thursday #belated Valentines #JakKeira #Jak wants to give Keira a pet dragon for Heart Day #Damas brought this on himself #adopted dadmas #adopted dadmas au

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iamarealkat · 8 months ago

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FIRST COURSE - KNIVES

(or at least the ones I recognised from the TV-show so far)

mads mikkelsen by kenneth willardt for vanity fair italy, 2015 - aka my favorite shoot of his.

i apologize.

1. Spyderco Harpy

• appears in Hannibal season 3 in Italy .ೃ࿐

The Harpy was designed as a knife for seamen, featuring a karambit style blade that magically cuts right through rope, the serration lending a hand to the task.

Additionally, the Harpy boasts a detailed tip, which can chew through a manner of different materials, probably one of the main reasons why Hannibal found it handy for different...matters. To sum it up: This is not one of his kitchen knives, but rather one he used as a pocket knife in all different kind of situations.

Originally the japanese Spyderco Harpy was designed to accommodate the needs of commercial fishermen. The hawksbill blade is modeled after the talon of the Harpy eagle, allowing for a deliberate pulling cut where the object does not slip off the end of the edge. The hollow-ground blade incorporates SpyderEdge serrations and a thick spine for support. The handle is made of stainless steel with a drying vent, perfect for Hannibal and his exquisite taste…and of course correspondingly expensive. A good 200 euros for this fine tool, everybody. But he seems to be rolling in money, so no problem for our favourite cannibal.

2. Chroma Type 301 style by F. A. Porsche

• appear in various episodes as Hannibal’s kitchen knives .ೃ࿐

To be honest I really fell in love with the Spyderco Harpy and didn’t quite think anything could change that. But. When I tell you the design…omg. The Chroma Type 301 knife series was brought to life by F.A. Porsche (yup, the german car guy) and the chef of the decade, Jörg Wörther (austrian chef).

Japanese knives have achieved global recognition for their quality, as the Japanese hold a long tradition in metallurgy. The Japanese metallurgists have elevated the forging and sharpening of the blade into a form of art for hundreds of years, since the era of the notorious Katana swords. On the other hand, Europeans and Americans also make excellent knives, often characterized by superior ergonomics and design, but rarely distinguished for the hardness and sharpness of their blade.

The type 301 knife series by Chroma bridges the gap between Japanese tradition and the European design, this series standing out for its unique design and practical function. Porsche and Wörther closely worked together in order to develop the final shape of the handle, which is optimized for maximum usability. The result is a precision cutting tool. Each knife is carefully weighted to ensure perfect balance in the hand and in combination with the highly ergonomic handle, it feels like an extension of the user’s hand. The Chroma type 301 knives follow faithfully the Japanese philosophy, which dictates a knife to be lightweight and flexible. They are made of high-quality Japanese 301 steel, a relatively lightweight material which has a 56-58 hardness rating in the Rockwell hardness scale. This renders the type 301 knives harder than most of the non-Japanese knives and among the hardest knives within their price range. The increased hardness allows the knife to maintain its sharpness longer and also to slice better.Even though the Chroma type 301 knives are mass produced, they are carefully razorsharp sharpened by the hand of a master. Quality control is performed on one-to-one basis and not through random sampling. And by the way…did I mention the extraordinary design.

3. Kai Shun Knives

• appear in various episodes as Hannibal’s kitchen knives .ೃ࿐

Before Shun Cutlery was established in the western market, most people were used to heavy European-style kitchen knives. With Shun’s entry into the marketplace, home cooks and professional chefs alike were introduced to the lightweight precision of fine Japanese cutlery. Thinner blades, sharper edges, and lighter weight gave Shun a high-performance edge that the heavier knives couldn’t match. Each Shun still takes at least 100 handcrafted steps to complete and Shun remains true to its ancient heritage of quality. At the same time, Shun takes advantage of thoroughly modern, premium materials and state-of-the-art technology to provide that traditional quality to millions of professional chefs and avid home cooks throughout the world.

Today, Shun has become one of the most well-known names in kitchen cutlery. It has won awards for innovation and quality. It has been admired and emulated. With new styles, new materials, and an ongoing dedication to the spirit of innovation, Shun will continue to provide Japanese kitchen cutlery of outstanding beauty, impeccable precision, and the very highest performance.

4. Global Knives

• appear in various episodes as Hannibal’s kitchen knives .ೃ࿐

Global G Series knives are typically put together in what's called a three piece construction. The blade is stamped out of sheets of steel of a proprietary stainless steel alloy, while the two handles are created and welded together separately. The blade and handle are then welded together into one solid piece of stainless steel.

What makes these Global knives a bit unusual is that they start off empty. The blades are welded on without a tang and the handles are actually hollow. Instead, to maintain balance, they are filled with a very precise amount of sand.

Now it's quite unusual and you might just write this off as Japan being Japan and doing things differently because...well, they're Japan, but it seems to work very well for them.

The ability to inject a precise amount of weight (sand, in this case) as needed directly into the knife has led to them getting a reputation or having very precise and excellently balanced knives across their range of products.

That said, ergonomics are always personal.

Global G Series knives tend to feel very lightweight and evenly balanced. Some people tend to prefer a knife that is more weighted to the back for a firmer grip, or to the front for chopping action. This is the classic global knife version, but of course there are various other series one can discover. Unfortunately I am not able to tell the exact version Hannibal uses in the show by just watching...if anyone has an idea let me know!!!

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 years ago

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Unattainable | 8

"We'll be arriving at our destination, shortly. Please refrain from moving excessively for your safety."

Kyoya didn't stop typing. In fact, he sped up at this time mark, as he properly sorted the budget for the host club. He was supposed to confirm with the club leader for the major purchases but alas...Kyoya let his eyes wander to said leader passed out and drooling against the window as he squeezed his old-Haruhi body pillow. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he focused back on his typing. Even as he stayed as focused as possible he couldn't help but let his eyes wander to the right side of the plane: where you were. He admired the way you listlessly watched the clouds and the sea waters below. He wanted to see what kept your attention. So focused on the amorphous tuffs of condensation. That you paid no mind to the loving gaze he was directed toward you. He was aware he wasn't the only one doing so as Mornozuka and Honey were doing the same. Haruhi on the other hand was blankly staring at her book; Kyoya could smell her anger from here which reminded him... there was quite a lot of competition.

Honey. Who was taking pictures of your distracted face, kicking his legs with a grin on his face?

Morinozuka. Who was where Haurhi was sat before the perfectly timed cake cart, watching you with just as much intensity if not more than his cousin.

Haruhi. Who was looking to be silently planning a crime? Tamaki. Who was still asleep and hugging his Haruhi body pillow but was also lovingly mumbling your name?

Kyoya's calculated gaze lingered on the twins. The redheads had a dark look on their faces as their eyes flickered between you and Haruhi. With a sigh, he pushed his glasses higher up on his nose and let out a tired sigh.

He couldn't decide which was worse that so many seemed to be after you or that the sliest of the group were not. He didn't put it past them to be...drastic if they didn't get their way, which Kyoya would prefer to stay out of the way of. But on the other side of the coin, Haruhi was showing a tremendous sense of status when it came to the illusive Serigaki name. One word from her could be a massive blow not only to their family's situation but possibly to their health as well.

There were a lot of rumors about the Serigaki family a story of a not-so-underdog becoming one of the greatest minds of our time. Forging the way through marketing and technology in general the family had already been placed at major footholds in the most prominent industries. It was outrageous how quickly their claim to fame had been and rumors circulated about the way that was done. Guesses range from gangs to prodigies, to sabotage. Most bizarre and oddly enough on the highest ladder there was talk of mind control. While he nor his family were quick to believe such a thing he was advised to move with caution. Instructed to make a good impression, I'm sure it'd be thrilling to do so much more and have your hand in marriage.

Kyoya grounded himself when he realized he stopped typing. Returning to his task he let a tiny smile creep up on his face. This was all too exciting and he was already too invested: his heart being the currency you had in your palms.

He was willing to fight for you. For it isn't often he's felt so willy-nilly about losing his already low position. But if spending a little over a week with you would do this to him he could no doubt guarantee you'd give him any strength he may need.

"We are in the private estate's air space, I ask that you brace yourself as we have arrived."

#yandere ouran highschool #yandere ouran host club x reader #yandere kyoya #yandere kyoya ootori #yandere haruhi x reader #yandere haruhi #yandere tamaki suoh #yandere tamaki x reader #yandere honey x reader #yandere honey senpai #yandere x reader #yandere harem #yandere mori x reader #yandere mitsukuni

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heavy-swing · 2 months ago

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FFXIV Write 2024 - Prompt #6 - Halcyon

Content Warnings: None

Spoiler Warnings: None

Summary: A young Aelita Tirasch jumps at the chance to spend some time with the coolest person on Etheirys (her mom, Lunya), and her mom jumps at the chance to share a bit of what she left behind in Bozja. Small note: I've started lightly borrowing words from Slovak or Czech as a stand-in for a "Bozjan" language, so in this story, "milacik" translates to "sweetheart". Check it out below or on Ao3:

“So you're telling me you got everything done already?”

“Yep,” Aelita replied, ticking each item off on her fingers as she said it. “Made my bed, swept the kitchen, watered the plants outside and added the fertilizer, too.” She hoped the extra emphasis didn't go unnoticed.

“And it's just a coincidence that it got done right before your mother is due to go into town, I bet,” Jaromir replied, seeing right through his daughter's plan. Aelita avoided making eye contact, hoping that her choice of when to do her chores wouldn't override the fact that she had still done them.

“Well, if all your chores are finished, then there's no reason to keep you around here.” Aelita just about exploded with joy.

“Thank you, papa!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his waist in a big hug. She came up to about his chest now, and every passing year meant she gained a little bit more ground. Jaromir knew they'd be seeing eye to eye sooner rather than later, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

“You're welcome, my star. I've got one condition for you, though–”

“Always listen to mama,” Aelita finished, interrupting him. “Of course I will!”

“I still have to say it, even if you already know.”

Aelita rolled her eyes, playing up her annoyance. “Do you? I'm twelve summers now, I'm not a kid!”

“True, true. But just because you're not a kid doesn't mean you're not my little star!” It was Jaromir’s turn to squeeze his daughter in a most embarrassing hug. Aelita was just thankful they were inside, away from anyone who might witness this indignity.

Just as Jaromir released his hold, Lunya walked in through the door, tool bag slung over shoulder and her hair tied back with a bandana. “One more for Limsa, then?” “Mama!” Aelita exclaimed, running over to her bed to grab the bag she’d packed for the journey, full of her own tools and a couple snacks for the road (it was mostly snacks). She dashed back over to her mother’s side at the door. “Ready when you are!” “No time like the present, then!” Lunya turned her focus to her husband. “I’ll be back in time for supper, and if I see any half-decent fish in the markets, I’ll bring them with.” Jaromir crossed the room to give her a quick kiss. “Okay, I’ll see you then, milacik.”

“Love you too,” she replied, noticing Aelita standing impatiently just outside the front door, staring at her. “All right, all right, it’s time to go, my little star!” She took Aelita’s hand in her own and they started down the road that would eventually lead to Limsa Lominsa and the forge of Naldiq & Vymelli’s. — “Excited to see the city today, are we?” Lunya asked. They were a good ways from home, but Limsa was still small in the distance.

“Mhm! I’m excited to see where you go to work. Everything you talk about when we’re practicing at home sounds so cool… well besides the metal, I guess!” Aelita replied, her face hardly big enough to contain her grin. “That’s true, it does get very hot! This workshop is… well, it’s a lot better than anything near the house, but…” Lunya trailed off, falling back into old memories. “But?” “...I know it might be boastful to say, so I need you to keep this between you and me. Think you can do that?” Aelita mimed zipping up her lips and throwing away an invisible key. “Okay, well… the workshop in Limsa is nice, but… the one I had in the old city was better, no question.” They stopped and moved off the side of the road to a boulder with room for both of them to sit on. “The furnaces were always the right temperature, I had every tool you could think of, and I got to spend day after day doing what I loved with people I cared about. And it was mine. My own little place where I got to set the rules.” Lunya looked wistfully towards the ocean, an unspoken longing to return to those better days in her eyes, and that expression had Aelita transfixed. “All yours? You mean you were the boss, all by yourself?” “That’s right, all me.” “Not even papa could boss you around?” “Not even papa.” Aelita’s face was pure awe. “I want to be the boss someday. Have a huuuuuuge shop, all to myself, and everyone in it has to do what I say!” “You will, my star, I know it.” Lunya smiled warmly at her daughter, trying to ignore the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes. “You might even get to see that old shop, someday. If…” she trailed off, gathering her resolve. “...Not if, but when we all make it back to Bozja. To the old city.”

She shook herself out of the melancholy stroll down memory lane she’d unintentionally stumbled into. “But first things first: you can’t have your own shop if you don’t practice, so let’s get going, okay? Then I can show you what a real forgemaster looks like!” Lunya made sure to do her best bicep flexing pose for Aelita, who was unsurprisingly over the moon. My mama’s the best! Aelita thought to herself as Lunya took her hand and they got back on the road together, forging a path straight to Limsa.

#aelita tirasch #ffxiv #my wol #warrior of light #my writing #ffxivwrite2024 #lunya tirasch #jaromir tirasch

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likely-moony · 1 year ago

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HIII LOVEEEE

Okay so I don't see a lot of telugu requests on your page (I belive there is exactly one other request which is kinda sad since it has so much potential), so I decided to approach you with a request offering hehehe.

Hear me out on this- a alluri sitaramaraju x y/n fiction where they're childhood sweethearts but in the attack from the British that killed his mother I think, ramaraju watches y/n smash her head against a rock. Everyone thinks she's dead except for ram who can fell that she's alive. She lives on with amnesia while ram desperately searches for her, till he finds her and is heartbroken to find out that she doesn't remember him. So he decides to take her on a secret journey where he attempts to return her memories to her.

HOLY CRAP OMG OMG OMG IM HAVING TEOUVLE BREATHING THATS SO GOOD AHHHHAJSNDJNZNA

HERE IT IS, ENJOY!!!

Memories ~ A. Sitarama raju ~

Memories

Paring: Alluri Sitarama Raju x Fem! Reader

Type/Words: Massive fucking oneshot~10.8k Words

Summary: In which childhood sweethearts Alluri Sitaramaraju and Y/n, separated by Y/n's amnesia and years apart, embark on a poignant journey to rekindle their lost love. Ram's relentless search for her culminates in a chance encounter in a bustling market, offering a glimmer of hope to unravel Y/n's forgotten memories and reunite their hearts.

TW!!: Violence, Amnesia, Pursuit, Religion, Injury, Separation, Memory-loss, the back-drop of british colonisation, let me know if I missed any!!

⚠️YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED⚠️

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In the picturesque village of Vemulawada, nestled amidst rolling hills and lush forests, two souls were destined to be inseparable from the moment they took their first breaths. Alluri Ramaraju, with his unruly hair and a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, and Y/n, a gentle spirit with a radiant smile, had been friends since their earliest memories.

Their bond was extraordinary, a connection that defied the boundaries of ordinary friendships. From the time they were in diapers, their paths were intertwined, and they navigated the journey of life together, hand in hand.

Their love story began in the simplest of ways—two toddlers playing in the village square, kicking up dust and chasing after butterflies. As Y/n stumbled over a pebble, Ramaraju reached out, his tiny hand catching her arm in the nick of time.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes reflecting the innocence of childhood.

Y/n nodded, her face lighting up with a smile. "Thank you, Ramu."

And so, their friendship was sealed, one that would flourish into a love that transcended time itself.

As they grew older, their adventures became more daring. They explored the dense forests surrounding their village, forging secret hideaways where they shared whispered secrets and dreams of the future. It was during one of these escapades that their bond deepened.

Sitting beneath a sprawling banyan tree, its roots winding like ancient secrets beneath the earth, Ramu turned to Y/n, his eyes filled with an earnest intensity that belied his young age.

"Y/n," he began, his voice hushed as if sharing a sacred truth, "Do you know what they say about the stars?"

Y/n tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "What do they say, Rama?"

"They say that each star is a promise," he explained. "And when we wish upon them, those wishes have the power to come true."

The night sky above them was a tapestry of stars, each one a beacon of hope. Ram pointed to a particularly bright one.

"That star there," he continued, "that's our star, Y/n. It's our promise to each other."

Y/n followed his gaze, her heart swelling with emotion. "Our promise?"

Ram nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "That we'll always be together, no matter what."

Y/n's response was a soft smile that conveyed more than words ever could. It was a silent vow, an unspoken agreement that their hearts were forever entwined.

Their days were filled with laughter, exploration, and shared secrets. They swam in the village pond, raced through the meadows, and climbed trees to pluck the juiciest mangoes. Every moment spent together was cherished, and their love for each other grew like the tallest of sunflowers, reaching ever higher.

One sunny afternoon, as they rested beneath the shade of their favourite banyan tree, Y/n looked at Ram with a twinkle in her eye. "Ramu, I have something for you."

Ram's curiosity was piqued as he turned to her. "What is it, Y/n?"

With great care, Y/n reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved stone. It was a smooth, heart-shaped gem, its colours shimmering in the dappled sunlight.

"It's for you," she said, handing it to him.

Ram's eyes widened with delight as he held the stone in his palm, its cool surface warming under his touch. "Y/n, it's beautiful. Thank you."

"It's a piece of my heart," Y/n confessed, her cheeks tinged with a blush. "So, you'll always have a part of me with you."

Their bond was sealed that day with a simple gift, a token of their affection that held more meaning than any words could convey. It was a promise etched in stone, a vow of a love that would endure.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over their village, Ram and Y/n knew that their bond was unbreakable. They were childhood sweethearts, and their love would carry them through the trials and tribulations that lay ahead.

Their days were filled with shared secrets, dreams of the future, and the certainty that their love would stand the test of time. Their journey together had only just begun, and they were ready to face whatever the future held, hand in hand.

As the years passed, their love would deepen and evolve, but the innocence and purity of their childhood bond would remain the foundation upon which their love story was built.

The village was a tapestry of life, woven with threads of love, tradition, and the timeless connection between Ram and Y/n. Their love story, like the winding river that flowed through their village, was destined to meander through the hills and valleys of life, and its waters would nourish their souls for eternity.

They shared dreams of becoming brave warriors like the heroes of their village, of exploring lands far beyond their hills, and of always being together. Their conversations were filled with laughter and hope, painting a picture of a future they could hardly wait to embrace.

As the years passed, the love between Ram and Y/n continued to grow, much like the towering trees in the forest that surrounded their village. They were inseparable, their hearts forever bound by the promise they had made beneath the starry sky. Their shared dreams and whispered secrets painted a future filled with hope and love.

Their conversations were a refuge from the world around them, a sanctuary where they could be themselves without judgment or pretence. They talked about everything, from the mysteries of the universe to the intricacies of their village.

One sunny afternoon, as they sat by the village pond, their feet dipped into the cool water, Y/n turned to Ram with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Ramu, do you ever wonder what lies beyond these hills? What adventures await us in the world beyond?"

Ram gazed at the distant hills, his thoughts drifting to the unknown. "Sometimes, Y/n. But as long as we're together, I'm not afraid of anything out there."

Y/n smiled, her fingers trailing through the water, creating ripples that mirrored the movement of their hearts. "That's why I'm not afraid either, Ramu. We'll face the world together."

Their dreams were not limited to their village. They imagined themselves as heroes, protecting their loved ones and their homeland from any threats that might arise. Ram would often swing a makeshift wooden sword, pretending to be a valiant warrior, while Y/n would stand by his side, her eyes filled with admiration.

Their innocence was a beautiful tapestry of shared moments and unspoken affection. They revelled in the simple joys of life, like chasing fireflies on warm summer evenings and lying on the grass, watching clouds transform into whimsical shapes.

But fate had other plans, and the tranquillity of their village was soon disrupted by rumblings of danger on the horizon. The British Empire, with its far-reaching ambitions, cast a long shadow over India, and the villagers could not escape the growing threat.

One fateful day, as the villagers gathered in the square to discuss the ominous news, tension hung in the air like a heavy monsoon cloud. Ram and Y/n stood together, their hands tightly clasped, drawing strength from each other's presence.

The village elder, a wise and weathered figure, addressed the crowd. "My fellow villagers, we have received word that the British are advancing towards our lands. We must prepare for their arrival and protect our way of life."

Fear rippled through the assembly, and worried murmurs filled the square. Ram's grip on Y/n's hand tightened, a silent promise to shield her from any harm.

As the days turned into weeks, the villagers toiled tirelessly, fortifying their defences and readying themselves for the impending conflict. Ram, now a strapping young man, but still just a little kid, had become a pillar of strength in the village. He practised tirelessly with the gun, honing his skills to protect those he loved.

Y/n, with her nimble fingers and a heart full of determination, used her talent for crafting to create intricate trinkets for the villagers—a symbol of hope in trying times. She had never stopped carrying her heart-shaped stone with her, a constant reminder of her love for Ram.

One evening, under the moonlit sky, Y/n presented Ram with a gift—a necklace she had crafted herself, adorned with the heart-shaped stone she had given him years ago. Tears glistened in her eyes as she placed it around his neck.

"Rama, wear this necklace as a symbol of my love," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Ram was deeply moved, the pendant resting against his chest, near his heart. "I will, Y/n, always. It will be my talisman, a reminder of your love and our promise."

The necklace became Ram's most cherished possession, a constant reminder of the love that had blossomed between them. He wore it with pride, feeling Y/n's presence with him always.

But as the threat of the British grew more imminent, Ram's protectiveness over Y/n intensified. He couldn't bear the thought of any harm coming to her. Their shared dreams of adventures beyond the hills were now overshadowed by the harsh reality of impending danger.

One morning, as Y/n was filling a pot with water at the village river, her mind lost in thought, a sudden commotion shattered the tranquillity. British soldiers on horseback thundered into the village, their red coats a stark contrast to the vibrant colours of the village homes.

Panic ensued as villagers scattered, seeking safety wherever they could find it. Ram, who had been tending to his daily chores, felt a sinking dread as he realized Y/n was not by his side.

He called out her name, his voice desperate, but there was no response. Frantic, he searched every corner of the village, his heart pounding with fear. His feet carried him to the riverbank, where he saw a horrifying sight.

Y/n, oblivious to the danger, was caught in the path of the oncoming British soldiers. With no time to think, Ram sprinted towards her, his heart in his throat. He reached her just as the soldiers approached.

In his desperation to shield Y/n from harm, Ram pushed her to the side, but in the chaos, they were trampled by several British horses. Y/n's head slammed against a rock, and blood began to flow, staining her clothes and the earth beneath her.

Ram, dazed but with adrenaline coursing through his veins, gathered Y/n into his arms, cradling her head gently. He begged her to stay with him, to not leave him alone.

The other villagers, realizing the peril they were in, rushed to the scene. Two adults, fearing the worst, forcefully pulled Ram away from Y/n, their faces filled with sorrow.

"Let us tend to her, Ram," one of them said, his voice heavy with grief.

Ram fought against their hold, tears streaming down his face. "Please, you have to save her. She can't leave me. She's everything."

But he was overpowered, and he watched helplessly as Y/n was carried away from him. The world around him blurred, and the sound of his own anguished cries echoed in his ears.

The days that followed the tragic incident at the village river were a blur of anguish and despair for Ram. He couldn't bear to be without Y/n, the love of his life, the one who had given him her heart and soul. Every corner of their village, every path they had walked together, was a painful reminder of her absence.

As Y/n lay unconscious, her head injury severe, the villagers had rushed her to the care of the local healer. Ram sat by her bedside day and night, his heart heavy with worry. He couldn't lose her. She was not just a part of his life; she was his life.

The healer, a wise woman, did everything in her power to nurse Y/n back to health. Villagers prayed fervently for her recovery, knowing that her survival was essential not just for her loved ones but for the entire village. Y/n was a beacon of hope, a symbol of resilience in the face of adversity.

Especially for young Ram. They feared what would happen to him if Y/n were to ever die.

Weeks turned into months, and Y/n's condition remained critical. She lay in a state of unconsciousness, her memory locked away in the recesses of her injured mind. Her once vibrant smile had been replaced by the pallor of illness.

Ram visited her every day, his eyes filled with love and despair. He spoke to her, whispered words of encouragement, and told her stories of their adventures together. He shared his dreams with her, hoping that somewhere deep within her, she would hear him and return to him

One particularly gloomy evening, as the rain poured outside, Ram sat by Y/n's bedside, his voice trembling with emotion. "Y/n, do you remember the stars? Our star, the one we made our promise on?"

He reached for the necklace she had given him, the heart-shaped stone catching the dim light of the room. Tears welled up in his eyes as he held it close to his heart.

"Look, Y/n," he continued, his voice cracking, "I've kept our promise. I carry your heart with me, always. Please, wake up. I can't bear to be without you."

Outside the window, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Ram saw it as a sign, a reminder of the storms they had weathered together and the strength of their love.

As the days turned into months, the village faced new challenges. The British presence loomed larger, and their demands on the villagers grew more oppressive. Ram, once a carefree young man, had become a symbol of resistance. He organized secret meetings, rallying the villagers to protect their way of life.

But with each passing day, his heart ached for Y/n. He couldn't be the hero he wanted to be if she was not by his side. The world outside their village had become a battleground, and he longed for the comfort and warmth of her presence.

Meanwhile, Y/n's fate had taken an unexpected turn. When the villagers had been forced to retreat, leaving her unconscious by the river one fateful day, she was discovered by a group of travelling Hindu priests who were passing through the area. They were on a pilgrimage, seeking spiritual enlightenment and performing sacred rituals.

Seeing Y/n alone and injured, they assumed she was an orphan, a lost soul in need of care. Without hesitation, they took her in, their hearts filled with compassion. She became a part of their travelling group, joining them on their pilgrimage across the land.

Unconscious and severely injured, Y/n remained in their care. The priests were skilled in the healing arts, and they did their best to tend to her injuries. Days turned into weeks, and gradually, her physical condition improved.

But when Y/n finally awoke, she was met with confusion and amnesia. She could not remember her name, her past, or the village she had come from. The priests, kind-hearted and caring, did their best to help her regain her memory, but all their efforts were in vain.

As the months passed, Y/n travelled with the priests, visiting temples, and participating in sacred rituals. She learned their ways, their customs, and their beliefs. The priests became her family, and she embraced the life of devotion and spirituality.

Yet, deep within her heart, there was a void, a sense of something missing. She couldn't explain it, but a part of her felt incomplete, as if a piece of her soul had been left behind somewhere.

While Y/n embarked on her new journey, Ram's life had taken a starkly different path. Fueled by his determination to find Y/n and the burning desire for revenge against the British who had torn them apart, he had become a relentless warrior in the making.

He trained rigorously, not just in the art of combat but also in strategy and leadership. His village looked up to him as a beacon of hope, a symbol of resistance against British oppression. He had become a key figure in the underground movement, organizing secret meetings and coordinating acts of defiance.

But amidst the turmoil and chaos, his heart was heavy with the burden of uncertainty. He clung to the necklace Y/n had given him, wearing it every day as a reminder of their love. He refused to believe that she was lost to him forever.

His hatred for the British grew with each passing day, fueled by the memory of that fateful moment by the river. He swore to himself that he would find Y/n, no matter the cost. She was the driving force behind his determination to free his village from the shackles of oppression.

Ram's quest for justice and love would lead him down a perilous path, one filled with danger, sacrifice, and unwavering devotion. He would stop at nothing to reunite with Y/n, the love of his life, and to fulfill the promise they had made beneath the starry sky.

In the heart of Vemulawada, the village of resistance, Ram's days were filled with a relentless pursuit of justice and freedom. He had become a symbol of hope, a beacon of resistance against the British occupation. The necklace Y/n had given him remained a constant reminder of their love and the promise they had made.

Each morning, before he embarked on his duties as a leader of the resistance, he would hold the necklace close to his heart and whisper, "I will find you, Y/n. I will bring you back to me."

The villagers had come to admire and respect Ram's unwavering determination. His leadership had united them in a common cause—to free their village from the shackles of oppression and to seek justice for the innocent lives lost.

But despite the strength of his resolve and the support of his fellow villagers, Ram could not escape the profound loneliness that had settled into his heart. He longed for Y/n's presence, her laughter, and the warmth of her love.

Meanwhile, Y/n's life had taken a vastly different course. Under the care of the travelling Hindu priests, she had embarked on a spiritual journey across the vast landscapes of India. The days were filled with rituals, prayers, and the study of ancient texts. Y/n embraced this new life, finding solace in the company of the priests and devotees.

She learned to chant sacred verses and perform intricate rituals, her devotion deepening with each passing day. The priests, who had initially taken her in as an injured and amnesiac orphan, had become her family. She respected and admired their wisdom, finding comfort in their guidance.

Yet, no matter how content she was with her new life, a sense of longing continued to tug at her heart. There was a void, an emptiness that she could not explain. It was as though a part of her soul remained lost, a part she could not remember.

One evening, as she sat with the priests by the sacred fire, the flickering flames casting a warm glow on her face, Y/n turned to the elder priest, Guru Devanand. "Guruvugaru, why do I feel like there's something missing in my life? It's as though there's a piece of me that I can't find."

Guru Devanand regarded her with compassion, his eyes filled with understanding.

"Bidda, sometimes the past remains hidden from us for a reason. Perhaps it is the will of the divine that has led you to us. Your journey is a sacred one, and you are destined for a greater purpose."

Y/n nodded, but her heart still ached with a sense of incompleteness. She longed for answers, for a glimpse into the life she could not remember. And deep within her, an unspoken longing for someone she could not name.

Back in their village, the resistance against the British continued to escalate. Ram had become a formidable leader, and the villagers admired his unwavering dedication to their cause. He trained tirelessly, his body honed into a weapon of defiance. His resolve was unyielding, driven by the belief that Y/n was still alive and waiting for him.

One evening, as he addressed a gathering of villagers in a secret meeting, he spoke with conviction. "We will not rest until we have driven the British oppressors out of our land. Our fight is not just for our freedom but for the future we dreamt of—the future we promised each other."

The villagers cheered, their spirits lifted by Ram's words. They believed in him, and they believed in the love that had sustained him through the darkest of times. The necklace he wore, with its heart-shaped stone, was a symbol of that love, and it inspired hope in their hearts.

As the resistance grew stronger, Ram's thoughts often turned to the day he had last seen Y/n. He remembered the chaos, the horses trampling through the village, and the adults forcibly pulling him away from her lifeless form.

All because of the cowards who had left her at the river, fearing their own safety when a fresh wave of British warriors attacked. He had refused to believe that she was gone, that the necklace she had given him was all that remained.

The memories of their childhood, their innocent love, and the dreams they had shared haunted him. He longed to hold Y/n in his arms once more, to tell her that he had never given up on her, and to fulfil the promise they had made to each other beneath the starry sky.

Unknown to him, deep within Y/n's heart, a flicker of recognition had begun to emerge. It was as though the past, which had been shrouded in darkness for so long, was beginning to stir. She couldn't explain it, but there were moments when fragments of memories danced at the edge of her consciousness.

One night, as she lay in meditation, her mind adrift in the realm of the divine, a vision appeared before her. It was a fleeting glimpse of a village, of a familiar face with eyes that held a depth of love she couldn't comprehend.

She woke with a start, her heart pounding, the vision still vivid in her mind. It was the first hint of a past that had long been hidden from her. A pair of eyes saw through her, a pair of beautiful eyes that stirred her soul. She only saw the eyes, but she had no idea that they were the ones of her beloved Ram from before the accident.

The days turned into weeks, and Y/n continued to meditate and pray, seeking answers in the depths of her own consciousness. Each time she closed her eyes, she hoped to uncover more fragments of her forgotten life.

One evening, while meditating by a tranquil river, Y/n felt a gentle breeze caress her face. It carried with it the scent of wildflowers and the distant murmur of the flowing water. As she delved deeper into her meditation, the vision returned.

This time, it was not just the eyes that appeared before her. It was a face—a face that she had longed to see but could not fully grasp. The features were familiar yet shrouded in mystery, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

With a sense of determination, Y/n continued to meditate, diving deeper into the vision. She saw glimpses of laughter, of shared secrets, and of a love that transcended time and space. The images were like fragments of a dream, beautiful.

The bustling market of Dehli came alive with the cacophony of merchants hawking their wares and the chatter of shoppers seeking the best deals. It was a world of vibrant colors, exotic spices, and the rich tapestry of life in the city.

Amidst the throngs of people, Ram moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the crowd in search of something he had yearned for over the years—a glimpse of Y/n, the girl he had loved since childhood, the girl he had lost but never forgotten.

Little did he know that fate was about to bring them together in an unexpected and thrilling encounter. As he wandered through the market, he saw a figure in the distance, a figure that sent his heart racing with disbelief and joy.

It was Y/n.

His heart stuttered as he blinked, convinced that his eyes were playing tricks on him. Could it truly be her? For a moment, doubt gnawed at him, and he wondered if it was merely someone who resembled the love he had searched for so desperately.

But as he drew closer, his heart leapt in his chest. There was no mistaking it—those graceful movements, the way her hair danced in the wind, and the familiar rhythm of her steps. It was Y/n, the one he had loved with all his heart, the one he had believed to be lost forever.

As the truth washed over him, Ram's steps quickened, and he couldn't contain the excitement that surged within him. He was like a man possessed, driven by an overwhelming desire to bridge the gap that had separated them for so long.

Without hesitation, Ram began to follow her, weaving through the bustling crowd with a determination fueled by years of longing. He couldn't lose sight of her, not this time. He couldn't let her slip through his fingers again.

Every emotion he had ever felt for Y/n came rushing back like a tidal wave. The anger and frustration at having lost her in the first place battled with the elation of finally finding her. His heart raced in his chest, and his breath came in short, exhilarated gasps.

He couldn't help but marvel at the twists of fate that had brought them together in this moment. The city of Delhi, with its labyrinthine streets and bustling market, had become the backdrop for their unexpected reunion.

But to Y/n, the man who had begun to follow her was a stranger. Her heart raced, and a sense of unease settled in as she quickened her pace through the labyrinthine streets of the market. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being pursued, that danger lurked behind her.

Fear gripped her, and she decided to lose him in the maze of narrow alleys and crowded stalls. Her feet moved with agility born from desperation as she darted around corners and through tight spaces, all the while unaware of the persistence of her pursuer.

Ram, determined not to let her escape, followed closely behind. The chase through the streets of Delhi turned into a thrilling game of cat and mouse. Y/n's heart pounded, her breath quickened, and the cityscape became a blur as she evaded her pursuer with a dancer's grace.

The sun beat down upon them, casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets. Y/n's thoughts raced as she continued to evade her pursuer, the fear in her heart mingling with confusion. Who was this man, and why was he so relentless in his pursuit?

As she darted into another narrow alleyway, her breath hitched, and she pressed herself against a wall, hoping to blend into the shadows. Her chest heaved with every gasp for air, and she dared to steal a glance around the corner.

Ram, now desperate to catch up to her, rounded the corner, his eyes scanning for any sign of Y/n. He could hear the rapid rhythm of her footsteps, the tantalizing sound of his heart's desire just out of reach.

For a moment, their eyes locked. Y/n's wide, fearful gaze met Ram's intense and determined stare. It was a fleeting connection, a silent plea that spoke volumes—a plea for understanding, for safety, and for answers.

In that charged moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Ram saw not just Y/n but the entire universe in her eyes—a universe of memories, of love, and of the promise they had made as children beneath the starry sky.

But in that moment, Y/n couldn't find the words to ask. She could only see a stranger in his eyes, a stranger who had pursued her relentlessly through the maze of the market.

With a final surge of energy, Y/n managed to slip away once more, her agile form disappearing into the labyrinthine streets. Ram, left breathless and disheartened, watched as she vanished, a whisper of a dream he had nearly caught.

As Y/n found a hidden nook in the market to catch her breath, her heart raced, and her thoughts swirled with confusion. Who was that man, and why had he been following her? The encounter left her bewildered and shaken.

Meanwhile, Ram leaned against a wall, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure. He couldn't believe that he had almost caught up to Y/n, the love he had searched for so desperately. His emotions were a chaotic whirlwind of joy, frustration, and a profound sense of disbelief.

The elation of seeing her, of knowing that she was alive, was tempered by the bitter taste of having lost her once more. He couldn't help but replay the chase in his mind, every twist and turn, every fleeting glimpse of her, and the tantalizing nearness of her presence.

His heart ached with longing, and his mind raced with questions. Who was she now? What had become of her since that fateful day when they had been torn apart? And most importantly, how could he make her remember the love they had shared as children?

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the market began to wind down for the day, Ram made a silent promise to himself. He would find Y/n, and he would make her remember everything, even if it meant facing the unknown challenges that lay ahead.

The first encounter in the market had left its mark on both of them, setting the stage for a series of events that would change their lives forever.

Days had passed since Ram had first glimpsed Y/n in the bustling market, and in that time, he had enlisted the help of his most trusted officers to scour the city in search of her. The necklace she had given him all those years ago had served as a beacon of hope, driving him forward in his quest to reunite with her.

The market was once again alive with activity, with vendors peddling their wares, and shoppers weaving through the narrow streets. But amidst the chaos, Ram's eyes remained fixed on one person—the woman he had longed to find.

Y/n moved through the market, her steps hurried and her senses on high alert. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the eerie sensation that someone was tracking her every move. It had sent shivers down her spine, and she clutched her cloth-wrapped purchases tightly.

As she moved through the crowd, she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the faces in the crowd. That's when she saw him—the same man who had been chasing her days earlier. He stood with several officers, all of them focused on her.

Panic surged within her, and she knew she needed to escape. Without thinking, she brought her cloth up to cover her face, hoping to obscure her features and make herself less conspicuous. But it was too late; Rama had already spotted her.

He pointed directly at her, and Y/n's heart raced. Without hesitation, she turned and bolted, weaving through the labyrinthine streets of the market in a desperate attempt to outrun her pursuer.

Rama was prepared, though. He had anticipated her every move, and he chased after her, his determination unyielding. The chase led them through a maze of alleyways and crowded thoroughfares, the gap between them narrowing with every passing moment.

Y/n's breath came in ragged gasps, and her heart pounded in her chest as she pushed herself to her limits. She couldn't allow herself to be caught by this stranger who seemed relentless in his pursuit.

Rama, on the other hand, was driven by a potent mixture of emotions. He was overjoyed that he had finally located Y/n, that all his years of searching had not been in vain. Yet, he couldn't fathom why she was running from him, why she appeared to be so terrified.

The chase continued, with Y/n narrowly evading Rama's grasp several times. She darted through tight spaces, her instincts guiding her through the labyrinth of the market. But Rama was relentless, his determination unwavering.

Finally, at the end of a narrow alley, Rama managed to close the distance between them. He cornered Y/n, his hands pressing against the walls on either side of her, effectively blocking her path. Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Y/n, her chest heaving from exertion, felt a sense of vulnerability wash over her. She was trapped, cornered by a stranger who had pursued her with unwavering determination. Her initial fear had given way to confusion, and she held her arm up, ready to defend herself if needed.

Rama gazed at her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. In that moment, he saw not a stranger but the woman he had loved since childhood, the woman whose memory he had cherished through the years of separation.

A rush of emotions surged through him—relief, joy, and a profound sense of longing. He couldn't contain himself any longer. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace that was filled with a love that transcended time and memory.

Y/n, her initial shock giving way to astonishment, was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected embrace. Her instincts told her to push him away, to defend herself, but there was something about the intensity in his gaze, the warmth of his embrace, that left her entranced.

And then, in that alleyway amidst the bustling market, something extraordinary happened—a flicker of recognition danced in Y/n's eyes. It was a tiny spark, a fragment of a memory that had long been buried, but it was enough to stir her soul.

She only saw the eyes, but it was a start, a glimmer of hope in the midst of confusion. Yet, before the moment could fully crystallize, Y/n, still unable to comprehend the situation, pushed him away roughly, breaking the embrace.

Rama, bewildered and breathless, looked at her, his heart torn between euphoria and despair. He couldn't understand why she had pushed him away, why she seemed so distant. But he was determined to find out, to unravel the mystery that had separated them for so long.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern and a hint of confusion.

Ram stood there, his breaths ragged, and his heart pounding. He had found her, Y/n, after years of relentless searching. Yet, her reaction was far from what he had expected.

Y/n, her eyes wide with fear and confusion, had been running from him in the bustling market. In his eagerness, he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a hidden corner of the alley to shield her from the British officers he had stationed.

She was panting, her chest heaving with exertion from their chase. Her eyes darted around the dimly lit alley, searching for an escape route, her fear unmistakable.

Ram knew he needed to calm her, to make her recognize him. His voice, although gentle, held an urgency as he spoke, "Y/n, it's me, Ram. Don't you recognize me?"

Y/n's brows furrowed as she looked at him, her gaze searching his face. "Ram? I... I'm not sure. You seem familiar, but I... I don't remember."

His heart sank at her words, a crushing weight settling in his chest. How could she not remember him, their childhood, their love? Ram had believed that finding her would be the end of his long and arduous journey, but now he realized that the real battle lay ahead—making her remember.

Desperation welled up within him as he reached out to touch her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Y/n, we were childhood sweethearts. We grew up together. You gave me this necklace, don't you remember?"

He unclasped the necklace with the heart-shaped stone from around his neck and held it out to her. Y/n's eyes flickered to the necklace, and she took a hesitant step back, her hand covering her mouth as if to shield herself from the memories that threatened to surface.

"I... I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't remember anything before... before waking up with the priests."

Ram's heart ached at her words. He had hoped that the sight of the necklace would trigger a flood of memories, but it seemed that Y/n's amnesia was far more profound than he had anticipated. He couldn't blame her; it had been years since they had last seen each other.

As he stood there, grappling with the reality that Y/n did not remember him, disaster struck. The noise of approaching footsteps echoed in the alley, and a group of British officers appeared at the entrance. They had been alerted to the commotion, and their stern faces bore witness to the tense atmosphere.

Ram's heart raced, and panic surged through him. He couldn't let the British officers capture Y/n or separate them again. He had to protect her, even if she didn't remember him.

Without thinking, Ram grabbed Y/n's hand and pulled her behind a stack of crates, shielding her from the officers' view. He pressed a finger to his lips, urging her to stay quiet. Her wide eyes locked onto his, a mixture of fear and confusion in her gaze.

The British officers entered the alley, their torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls. They scanned the area, their eyes narrowing as they sensed that something was amiss. Ram's grip on Y/n's hand tightened, and he held his breath, willing the officer to move on.

Seconds felt like hours as the officer examined the crates, shining his torchlight in their direction. Beads of sweat formed on Ram's forehead as he mentally begged for Y/n to remain still and silent.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the officer moved away, apparently satisfied that there was nothing unusual in the alley. The group of officers continued down the narrow path, their footsteps gradually fading into the distance.

Ram released the breath he had been holding and turned to Y/n, his eyes filled with relief. She was safe, for now. But the knowledge that she didn't remember him gnawed at him like a relentless storm.

Y/n, still trembling, looked up at him with a mixture of gratitude and confusion. "Thank you... for helping me," she whispered.

Ram nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his unspoken emotions. Ram stood there, his heart heavy, as Y/n whispered her gratitude for his help. Her eyes held a fragile glimmer of trust, but the confusion within them was unmistakable.

"Thank you for helping me," Y/n repeated, her voice barely audible.

Ram couldn't help himself. He had to know, had to confront the devastating truth that was unravelling before him. His voice trembled as he asked, "Y/n, do you truly remember nothing? Nothing at all?"

Y/n's brows furrowed, and she shook her head, her expression one of genuine confusion. "I... I don't remember anything before waking up with the priests. It's all a blur, a distant haze that I can't seem to grasp."

It was as if his heart had been crushed under the weight of an insurmountable despair. The woman he had longed to find, the love they had shared, the memories they had created—it was all shrouded in a thick fog that refused to dissipate.

Ram's breaths grew ragged, and he staggered back, his mind unable to comprehend the magnitude of his loss. Y/n's face blurred before his eyes as he struggled to maintain his composure. He felt as though he were drowning in an ocean of despair, his heartache overwhelming him.

In that vulnerable moment, Y/n seized the opportunity to slip out of his grasp. Her fingers slipped from his as she stepped back, her eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and sorrow. She didn't understand the depth of his pain, but she sensed that she had brought him to the brink of despair.

Ram, desperate to keep her from disappearing once more, reached out to grasp her wrist. His fingers brushed against her skin, but she slipped away like a wisp of smoke, her movements quick and graceful.

He watched, helpless and heartbroken, as Y/n melted into the crowd, her figure growing smaller and more distant with each passing second. She glanced back at him, her eyes meeting his one last time before she vanished into the sea of faces.

Tears welled up in Ram's eyes, and he felt a crushing sense of failure. He had failed to protect her, to make her remember him, to keep her from slipping away again. His chest tightened with anguish as he realized the enormity of the challenge that lay ahead.

That night, Ram sat alone in a dimly lit room, surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol. He drank to numb the pain, to escape the harsh reality that Y/n, the woman he had devoted all these years of his life to finding, no longer remembered him or the memories they had shared as children.

He stared at the necklace with the heart-shaped stone, clutched tightly in his trembling hand. It was a symbol of their love, of the promise they had made to each other beneath the starry sky. But now, it felt like a cruel reminder of what he had lost.

Tears streamed down his face as he looked at the necklace, his vision blurred by the haze of alcohol. But in that moment of vulnerability, something inside him shifted. A wave of determination washed over him, and he vowed to himself that he would make Y/n remember everything, even if it meant facing the unknown challenges that lay ahead.

With renewed resolve, he wiped away his tears and clutched the necklace to his chest. "Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with unwavering determination, "I will find a way to make you fall in love with me again, to make you remember everything, even if you never know the lengths I'll go to for you."

Meanwhile, at the temple where she lived, Y/n lay on her simple cot, staring up at the thatched roof above. Her heart was heavy with unanswered questions, and her mind was haunted by the fleeting familiarity of the stranger in the market.

She had tried to dismiss it as mere coincidence, the ramblings of a man who might be mentally unstable. Yet, the memory of his eyes, the depth of emotion in his gaze, lingered in her thoughts.

As Y/n closed her eyes, she couldn't help but wonder about the man who had chased her, the man who had saved her, and the man who seemed to bear the weight of a painful secret. Little did she know that their destinies were inexorably intertwined, and the journey to unlock the fractured memories of their shared past had only just begun.

The sun bathed the bustling market square in golden warmth as a new day dawned. Ram, with a fresh sense of determination, had returned to the very place where he had last seen Y/n vanish into the crowd. His heart still ached from their encounter, but he refused to give in to despair.

With each step, he scanned the familiar faces of the market vendors and shoppers, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He knew he had to tread carefully, to approach her with a charm that would ignite the embers of her forgotten memories.

There she was, standing before a vendor's stall, her attention focused on a display of vibrant fabrics. Her face, bathed in the soft light of the morning sun, seemed even more radiant than he remembered. Ram took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task ahead.

He approached her with measured confidence, slipping silently through the crowd until he stood beside her. "Good morning," he said, his voice carrying a gentle warmth.

Y/n turned to face the stranger who had spoken to her, her eyes meeting Ram's. Her gaze held a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her memory still clouded by uncertainty.

"Good morning," she replied cautiously, her fingers idly tracing the colourful fabrics. "Can I help you with something?"

Ram smiled, his eyes never leaving hers. "I couldn't help but notice your exquisite taste in fabrics. You have a discerning eye."

Y/n chuckled softly, the corners of her lips lifting in a hesitant smile. "Thank you. I've always been drawn to vibrant colours."

He nodded in agreement. "Colors have a way of bringing life to the world, much like a smile." Ram's words were laced with a subtle charm, and he continued, "May I know your name, beautiful lady?"

Y/n's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "I'm Y/n," she replied, introducing herself with a polite nod.

"Y/n," he repeated, his voice tender as he savored the sound of her name. "A name as lovely as its bearer. I'm Ram."

Their eyes locked, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though time had stood still. Ram's heart ached with the weight of unspoken memories, but he refused to let despair consume him.

Y/n's gaze held a spark of recognition, a glimmer of familiarity that danced at the edge of her consciousness. She couldn't explain it, but there was something about this stranger that resonated with her on a deeper level.

"Ram," she said softly, testing the name on her lips. "It sounds... familiar."

He nodded, his eyes filled with hope. "Perhaps our paths have crossed before, Y/n. Fate has a way of bringing people together."

As they strolled through the market, Ram engaged her in conversation, sharing stories and laughter. He regaled her with tales of their shared experiences in the city, carefully crafting a narrative that would ignite the embers of her forgotten memories.

They stopped by a vendor selling intricate jewellery, and Ram picked up a delicate necklace with a heart-shaped pendant, similar to the one he wore. "This," he said, holding it up to the sunlight, "reminds me of the beauty of the world we live in."

Y/n's eyes fixed on the necklace, and a distant glimmer of recognition flickered within them. She reached out to touch the pendant, her fingers tracing its contours. "A reminder," she murmured.

Ram seized the opportunity, his voice earnest. "Indeed, a reminder of the precious moments we create in our journey."

Y/n's gaze remained fixed on the necklace, her thoughts lost in a sea of memories that lay just beyond her reach. She could almost feel the weight of a forgotten promise, a love that transcended time.

The morning unfolded with a serenade of words and laughter, and Ram continued his gentle courtship, hoping that each moment would bring her closer to remembering their shared experiences.

Days turned into weeks, and as the sunlit market became a familiar backdrop to their encounters, Ram and Y/n's connection deepened. Each day, they explored different stalls together, sharing stories and laughter as they discovered the hidden gems of the market.

Ram remained cautious, never mentioning their past, as he continued to court Y/n with a sincerity that touched her heart. His charm, wrapped in an air of mystery, began to work its magic on her.

Y/n found herself eagerly anticipating their meetings, her heart dancing to the rhythm of his words and laughter. Ram had a way of making the mundane seem extraordinary, and the world around them came alive with every shared moment.

One day, as they stood before a vendor selling fragrant flowers, Ram picked a single crimson rose and extended it towards Y/n. "A token of appreciation for the joy you've brought into my life," he said, his eyes holding a gentle sincerity.

Y/n accepted the rose with a soft smile, its velvety petals brushing against her fingers. "Thank you, Ram. You've brought a touch of magic to my days."

Ram's heart swelled with warmth as he watched her cradle the rose delicately. "The real magic," he whispered, "is in the moments we create together."

As the weeks passed, their encounters turned into shared lunches beneath the shade of ancient trees, stolen glances that lingered a moment too long, and the hesitant brush of fingertips. Y/n's heart began to beat in harmony with Ram's, and she couldn't deny the growing affection she felt for the charming stranger.

Their connection deepened, and Y/n's curiosity about the man who had entered her life like a whisper of fate only intensified. She found herself wondering about his past, about the mysteries he carried with him. And with every shared story, she longed to know him more.

One evening, as the golden hues of the setting sun painted the market in a warm embrace, Ram turned to Y/n. "There's something I'd like to share with you," he began, his voice soft and earnest. "It's a place that holds special meaning to me."

Intrigued, Y/n nodded, her eyes fixed on his. "I'd love to see it."

Ram smiled, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Tomorrow, at dawn, I'll take you there. It's a place where memories are born."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the market square, Ram and Y/n's hands brushed against each other—a silent promise of the adventures and emotions yet to come. The blossoming connection between them held the promise of something beautiful, something that had been lost in time but was now slowly finding its way back into their hearts.

The dawn of the following day brought with it an air of anticipation as Ram and Y/n embarked on a journey to the place he held dear. The sun's first rays painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, casting a magical glow upon the world around them.

Ram led Y/n through winding paths, lined with vibrant blossoms and ancient trees, their leaves whispering secrets of the past. The silence between them was comfortable, as if words were unnecessary in the presence of such serene beauty.

Eventually, they arrived at a secluded clearing nestled deep within the heart of the forest. Here, a pristine lake glistened like a sapphire jewel, reflecting the azure sky above. Surrounding the lake were blooming wildflowers in every shade imaginable, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colours.

Y/n gasped in awe at the sight, her eyes shining with wonder. "It's... it's incredible," she murmured, her voice filled with emotion.

Ram watched her with a tender smile, his heart swelling with happiness at her reaction. "This place has always held a special place in my heart. It's where I come to find solace and reconnect with the beauty of the world."

As they sat by the edge of the lake, their feet dangling in the crystal-clear water, Ram shared stories of his childhood. He spoke of days spent exploring the forest with friends, of laughter that echoed through the trees, and of promises made beneath the endless sky.

Y/n listened intently, her heart stirred by the nostalgia in his voice. While she couldn't remember her own past, she found solace in the memories he shared. It was as though she had glimpsed a world she had once known, a world where laughter and friendship were cherished above all else.

Hours passed like fleeting moments, and as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Ram and Y/n decided to take a stroll along the lake's shore. They walked hand in hand, their fingers entwined like two souls rediscovering a connection that had long been buried.

"Ram," Y/n began, her voice soft, "there's something about all of this that feels so... familiar. It's as though I should remember, but I can't."

Ram's heart skipped a beat. He had expected this moment to come, the moment when Y/n's curiosity would lead her to question the unspoken past between them. With a gentle smile, he replied, "Sometimes, Y/n, the heart remembers what the mind has forgotten. Our journey together is about rediscovering those memories, one moment at a time."

They continued their walk, their steps guided by an unspoken connection that transcended time and memory. Ram couldn't deny the growing affection he felt for Y/n, and he knew that their journey of rediscovery was far from over.

As the day drew to a close, they returned to the bustling market, their hearts lighter and their bond stronger than ever. Ram had planted the seeds of remembrance, and he was determined to help Y/n unlock the secrets of her past.

Their love story, once forgotten, was now being rewritten in the pages of destiny, and neither of them could predict the adventures and challenges that lay ahead. But they faced the future with hope, knowing that their connection was a force that could overcome any obstacle.

And so, under the same golden sun that had witnessed their childhood promises, Ram and Y/n walked hand in hand, ready to embrace the unknown journey that awaited them—the journey of rediscovery, love, and a shared destiny.

As the days turned into weeks, their bond continued to deepen. Ram was a master of subtlety, never pushing Y/n too hard to remember but creating moments of connection that seemed almost like fate. He introduced her to the flavours of their land, sharing meals under the open sky and teaching her the art of cooking traditional dishes.

Y/n, in turn, found herself drawn to Ram in ways she couldn't explain. His smile warmed her heart, and his laughter was a melody that echoed in her dreams. She marvelled at his kindness, his unwavering support, and the way he made her feel cherished.

Ram stood in the midst of his fellow resistance members, their faces marked with determination and resolve. The British occupation had grown even more oppressive, and their village needed to band together to protect their way of life. As he listened to their strategies and plans for the days ahead, his mind wandered to thoughts of a different kind.

One of his comrades, a friend he had known for years, approached him during a brief lull in the discussion. "Ram," the man said, "have you heard about the Western Ball?"

Ram furrowed his brow, genuinely perplexed. "The Western Ball? What is that?"

His friend chuckled. "It's an event, Rama, a gathering where people dance to Western music. They say it's a lot of fun. It's happening in a nearby town soon."

Ram's curiosity was piqued. He had never heard of such an event before, but the idea of dancing and having fun was enticing. "Tell me more," he urged.

His friend explained, "It's a partner dance, Rama. You're supposed to bring a partner with you. The dances are quite lively and energetic. I thought you might be interested."

Ram's thoughts immediately turned to Y/n. The idea of taking her to a Western Ball filled him with excitement. It was a chance for them to create new memories and perhaps rekindle old ones.

That night, as he lay in his modest room, he couldn't help but dream about the possibility of inviting Y/n to the Western Ball. He imagined them dancing together under the stars, their laughter ringing out like music. The thought brought a smile to his face, and he knew he had to muster the courage to ask her.

But he also knew that Y/n's memory was a delicate subject, and he didn't want to rush or pressure her in any way. The journey of rediscovery they were on was a gradual one, and he was willing to be patient.

As he drifted off to sleep, he made a silent promise to himself. He would find the perfect moment to ask Y/n to be his partner at the Western Ball, and in doing so, he hoped to create a new chapter in their unfolding love story.

The day of the Western Ball had finally arrived, and Ram stood at the grand steps leading to the ballroom, adorned in a finely tailored suit that accentuated his strong, confident presence. His heart raced with anticipation as he waited for Y/n, his thoughts filled with the image of the woman who had become the center of his world.

As the ball's attendees glided past him, their elegant attire and radiant smiles creating an air of enchantment, Ram's eyes remained fixed on the entrance. He knew that tonight would be a turning point in their journey, a moment that held the promise of rediscovered love.

The grand ballroom lay ahead, its opulent decor bathed in a soft, golden glow from the crystal chandeliers above. Couples twirled gracefully across the polished dance floor, the music a symphony of joy and longing. The atmosphere was alive with the lilting strains of a waltz, a dance that had transcended generations.

And then, as if the universe had heard his silent plea, there she was. Y/n descended the staircase, her every movement a graceful symphony. She was a vision of elegance, draped in a luxurious sari that shimmered like moonlight on water. The fabric clung to her figure, accentuating her beauty and leaving him breathless.

Ram felt as though his heart had skipped a beat as he beheld her. He was instantly head over heels, his gaze capturing the radiance that seemed to emanate from her. Her eyes, like two pools of deep emotion, met his, and for a moment, the world around them faded into insignificance.

Taking a step forward, he extended his hand, his voice gentle yet filled with admiration. "Y/n, you look absolutely stunning."

Y/n's cheeks flushed with a delicate shade of pink as she placed her hand in his. Her nervousness was evident, but there was also a flicker of excitement in her eyes. "Thank you, Ram. You look quite dashing yourself."

Their fingers entwined, and Ram led her into the grand ballroom. The atmosphere was alive with the lilting strains of music, and couples swayed gracefully to the rhythm of the waltz. Ram guided Y/n onto the dance floor, and they joined the swirling dance, their movements synchronized in a beautiful duet.

The waltz was a dance of elegance and intimacy, its steps requiring trust and synchronicity between partners. As they glided across the floor, Y/n felt a connection growing between them. Her apprehension began to melt away, replaced by a sense of belonging she couldn't quite explain.

The notes of the waltz enveloped them, and Ram's eyes never left hers. He led her with grace and tenderness, his movements exuding a quiet confidence. Y/n followed his lead, her heart beating in time with the music, a rhythm that mirrored the awakening emotions within her.

However, in the midst of their dance, Y/n overheard a conversation from a nearby group of attendees. They spoke in hushed tones, their eyes focused on her sari. One of them mentioned that her outfit seemed out of place at such an event, causing her to feel self-conscious.

The insecurity that had haunted her since her memory loss surged forward, threatening to engulf her. Without a word, Y/n abruptly broke away from the dance and rushed out of the ballroom, leaving a bewildered Ram behind.

He watched her disappear into the night, panic coursing through his veins. Without a second thought, he followed, driven by the need to find her and reassure her.

Outside the grand ballroom, under the open night sky, Y/n stood alone. Her heart was heavy with a mix of emotions—excitement, insecurity, and a longing for the memories she had lost. She stared up at the stars, their shimmering brilliance reflecting the uncharted depths of her mind.

Amid the twinkling constellations, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm her racing thoughts. Ram had brought her to this magical night, filling her life with kindness and laughter, and she couldn't help but feel an inexplicable connection to him.

As she contemplated the enigmatic stranger who had walked into her life, slowly, like a dream returning from the depths of slumber, fragments of memories began to resurface. They were mere whispers at first, faint echoes of a past she had nearly forgotten.

She remembered a pair of warm, compassionate eyes that had gazed at her with unwavering devotion. She remembered laughter, shared secrets, and a promise made beneath a starry sky. She remembered love—pure and innocent, like the memories of childhood.

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes as fragments of their shared history began to coalesce, forming a vivid tapestry of moments spent with Ram. The uncertainty that had plagued her seemed to crumble away, replaced by a sense of clarity and purpose.

Unbeknownst to her, Ram had followed her out of the ballroom, his heart aching with worry. He spotted Y/n standing alone, her eyes fixed on the heavens, and he approached her with cautious steps.

As he drew near, Y/n turned to face him, her eyes glistening with tears. The moment their gazes met, it was as though the entire universe had aligned. For a long, breathless moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of their unspoken emotions hanging in the air. Recognition, love, and longing collided in their eyes, creating a bond that transcended the boundaries of time.

Without a word, Y/n leapt into Ram's arms, her heart overflowing with the overwhelming rush of memories that had returned. Her tears flowed freely as she clung to him, her voice trembling with emotion. "Ram, I remember. I remember everything."

Ram held her tightly, his own eyes moist with tears of joy. He gently wiped away her tears, his voice filled with tenderness and relief. "Y/n, my love, my heart has ached for you all these years. I've missed you so much."

Y/n poured her feelings out, her words a torrent of love and longing. "I love you, Ram. I love you more than words can express. And I missed you too, with every beat of my heart." Y/n buried her face in his chest, her body trembling with emotion. For a moment, they remained locked in a tight embrace, the world fading away as they clung to each other.

In the embrace of the night, under the watchful gaze of the stars, Y/n and Ram shared a kiss that sealed their destiny. It was a kiss filled with the promise of a love rekindled, of memories cherished, and of a future bathed in the light of their enduring bond.

Their love story, which had spanned the years and endured the trials of fate, had come full circle. The stars above them bore witness to the magic of their reunion, a testament to the power of love's enduring flame.

Finally, as the tears subsided and their hearts beat in unison, Y/n pulled away just enough to look into Ram's eyes. Her voice was a soft, trembling whisper. "Ram..."

He held her gaze, his own eyes moist with tears of joy and relief. "Y/n," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness and love.

And in that moment, words were no longer necessary. Y/n's heart was overflowing with love and memories, and she knew that she was where she belonged, in the arms of the man she had never truly forgotten.

Together, under the endless canopy of stars, they found their way back to each other, and in that reunion, they discovered a love that was as enduring as time itself.

And as the Western Ball continued behind them, Y/n and Ram danced under the moonlight, their hearts intertwined, and their souls forever united.

Hope you enjoyed it! :)

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