#rama raju x oc

[voidsteffy]

some points in order to rationalize my feral reaction after reading this:

you're so lucky i'm part-masochist and part-angst in my lineage. really.

WHAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT DID I JUST READ I JUST MET HER AND I DON'T WANT HER TO DIE POOR RAM HE WAS MARRIED TO HER

never thought a genderbent Tajdar x Alam reimagination would kill me this much from the inside. Love this fic

𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐍 | ᴀ. ʀᴀᴍᴀ ʀᴀᴊᴜ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ : A. Rama Raju x Fem!Oc

ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ : RRR

ʟᴇɴɢᴛʜ : 1.9k

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴs : Traumatizing ram more than he already is, ssr levels of angst, ram going through it, death, torture, blood and violence.

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ : 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 he is perfectly fine

_______________

Ram was fine, he really was. Everything was going okay, he was working for the Britishers and not letting go any opportunities for the promotion let slip from his hands. He was just waiting.

Waiting for that one incident that would bring him everytime he ever wanted to achieve.

Beating the punching bags until they tore, running till his legs almost gave out or staying up late reading was just for the use of excessive energy, so he sleeps soundly.

Babai just liked to worry over him for no reason. He was okay, it was not like he was having nightmares that scared him from even letting his eyes close until it's him passing out quite literally from exhaustion.

It wasn't like he had constant panic attacks when he entered his bedroom, like he was repeatedly falling asleep on his desk.

It was not like he was a grieving widower, a lover drowning in sorrows or a man haunted but the ghost of the woman he once loved.

Who was he kidding? Not himself for sure, he was a grieving widower, a lover drowning in his sorrow in record time and a man that was being haunted by the woman he has loved more than his life.

Siara, that one name brought him both the relief of letting everything go and also the pain of choking on your own blood.

Siara Raisaar- no- Mrs. Siara Rama Raju Raisaar. She was…everything, his friend, his lover, his wife, his partner in his mission, everything.

Her father has trusted her with him a year after he joined the British army purely based on the fact that his daughter was in love with Venkatarama Raju's son.

She told him often how his father visited them when he used to come to the city, way before he started training revolutionaries.

He used to love it, just sitting and listening to her talk about any or everything. She was his home, his heart, his everything.

God she was beautiful, Long dark as night hair, beautiful brown eyes always lined with kohl, her anklets always chiming in sync with her beautiful laughter as she ran across the house away from him, dressed in the most beautiful of saris. She was a beauty that would make a God nervous.

Maybe that's why he took her from him or was it his karma coming back for torturing all those innocent people who were his own? He hasn't decided who to blame just yet. It has just been a little over a month.

The wounds from her departure were still fresh and stinging, something that was slowly and surely driving him insane.

Why? Because he was the one who killed her and no not only metaphorically, he has stabbed her wife quite literally.

He still feels sick whenever the thought comes up in his mind, heaving in the nearest bathroom like no tomorrow and it happens more often than not because it was haunting him every living moment he spends these days.

He still remembers the afternoon he first saw her, he was on market duty that day, it had been only a year since he joined the force so it was pretty reasonable.

The unforgiving sun of June was in a particularly punishing mood as he sat under the makeshift shed and the constables actually did the real work.

He was about to go get something to drink when a fight broke out nearby, his instincts carried him towards the crowd which he easily pushed his way through only to have a man collide with him.

Ram had groaned softly as he regained his footing only to lose his breath, between the market, yelling out and kicking and slapping two grown men, was a woman.

A delicate, soft looking woman who clearly had enough strength and technique to smack around two men of that size.

It takes a minute before he reminds himself why he had been there in the first place, stepping forwards and physically separating the woman from the man.

“That's enough!!”

The place fell silent as he let the fire roar himself to life and command the crowd with a practised ease, he then turns to the people involved and inquiring with them results in finding what all the fuss is about.

Apparently, the man had stolen from her purse and made nasty comments when she confronted her about the matter.

Ram had been a little amused and immensely impressed with the fire that blazed in her eyes, like it was a reflection of his soul shining in her orbs.

He had to arrest her for a day in jail, mainly to keep her away from damaging the man more than she already had because that head wound was pretty nasty.

They ended up chatting late night since he was on night duty too that day. For the first time he has felt a little as they shared past stories, unknowingly opening themselves to each other.

They haven't realised when they started meeting, away from the eyes of people, sitting and talking for hours or just holding each other through bad days and exactly six months ago her father decided to hand his only and dearly loved daughter to him.

The wedding ceremony was really small, his babai and her parents were all the crowd per say at their wedding and they were happy. They were so happy.

That was probably the only mistake he made, being happy. He should have known better with the track record of his fate? he should have never smiled in her presence.

Maybe it would have kept her alive.

The day still haunts him and it forever will, cursed with remembering every single thing about the brutal death of the one person who dedicated her everything to him

It was a cloudy sky, not an anomaly in August, by the looks of it rain would have hit soon enough. He was contemplating letting Siara know he could get stuck when he heard the commotion.

Stepping outside he had to physically keep himself from reacting when the woman he was supposed to go back home to was being dragged by her hair.

He was frozen in place though, people around him knew they were married and he knew this was going to get messy, really quick.

It took him a few minutes to gather himself and ask around of what in the name of God was happening.

Turns out she has been seen hiding the maps of British armoury.

But those were his plan- his thoughts cut off when he fears a familiar voice screaming followed by cracking of a whip.

Ram had never felt his throat close up as it did that day, his body was refusing to let any oxygen pass through as the interrogation which really was just a excuse for britishers to torture another one of their people.

He was suspended the following day, under the suspicion of helping his wife which was not true, it was the other way around. The plans were his not hers, she was the one covering him not the other way around.

God knows what he has said to them but the possibility of him being the actual culprit was not under consideration.

A few weeks later he got the opportunity to actually see her and as much as Ram loved her, he wished he had never seen her like that, he wished he would have simply let her be his beautiful Siara in his memories.

She was more blood than skin, hands tied above her head, legs shackled to the floor. Her soft skin had scars all over it, from head to toe she was bleeding from several cuts and the bruises were uncountable.

Her head hung low, her hair obstructing his view of her face, she would have sensed his presence because she had reacted as soon as he had taken another step forward.

“Ram…?”

He swore he would have had a breakdown, he seriously would have started crying if not for the guards outside. Her usual soft and firm voice was scratchy and low, he barely had caught his own name.

“Yeah it's me.”

His voice has never trembled like it had that day and when he looked up he had no way of stopping his tears from running down his face.

The scar of her face was painful to even remember, it ran diagonally, covering her whole face and by the looks of it, it had been a result of being struck by a piece of glass.

“Th..the guard…talk…about y..you rejoining…”

Her words barely had made sense but Ram was well versed in the woman he loved, he had caught on easily that she had wanted to know about his rejoining.

“The governor had given me an offer, he wanted me to be the one to execute you, to show my loyalty.”

Ram had always hated those white bastards but this was some another level of being a scoundrel. The silence in that cell had been choking, just her chains rattling as her arms moved a little.

“You should do it.."

He had really thought that either he had gone insane or she had.

“What? You want me to kill you?”

“Not like I will survive anyways, these assholes are good at the torture. Just say yes, let something good come out of this.”

He had wanted to yell and cry and ask her why she had covered for him to begin with but he had known answers to them, Babai had told him.

The layout of armoury Ram had sketched was with Babai at that time, he was shifting the place of the maps like they usually did.

What usually didn't happen was Britishers crossing paths with them, Siara had seen the inevitable outcome, snatched the papers from Babai and made a run for it, making sure the officers followed her and not anyone else.

He had cried for hours on end when he got to know, he didn't know if he was grateful for her being in his life or if he was simply a curse in her life.

He met governor Scott next morning reluctantly, his emotions were fading, he was re entering his old shell and it was scary, as he agreed to execute the woman he loved.

The bastard made the preparations in hours, the white asshole was just looking to enjoy what had happened that day.

He still remembers very clearly, he had fired twice, once in her abdomen, one in her chest. Those were his orders, Scott had cackled and promoted him a little higher than his rank at that time.

With that he was left to carry his dead wife home, he let her blood seep in his new uniform, it was she who had made it possible for him to begin with.

Coming three weeks were just him crying himself to sleep, waking from nightmares filled with her screams and crying himself to sleep again.

It still has those nightmares, seeing her all bloody and injured staring at him with blank eyes, her screams, those two gunshots, his pyre on fire. Everything, it was all a big nightmare that was destined to haunt him forever.

Even after he drowned himself in work and training, sleep remained a far-fetched idea which only came to him when he passed out once in three days.

He had stopped trying after the third week of her death, she had once told him he looked peaceful in his sleep so somewhere this was his punishment he had given himself. He didn't deserve to be peaceful, not after what she did for him.

His fate had written him a rough, hard path with no comfort and happiness and while he had first questioned it, whatever happened with Siara had him accept it.

It was better that he stayed on that rough path without allowing anyone in, for their own sake.

________

taglist : @vijayasena @voidsteffy @warnermeadowsgirl @mayakimayahai [let me know if you wanna be added]

[gauri-vishalakshi]

Prema Nadhi

Ram x OC, implied Ram x Sita (set before Ram and Bheem meet), implied developing RamBheem

Ram had loved once. Not the love he persistently attempted to convince himself he had for Sita, but the type of love that resembled the mighty Godavari. Subtly gentle yet fiercely passionate, peacefully serene yet ferociously destructive. He had been her fire and she had been his water, balancing his intensity with her calm and his creation with her destruction. While Ram had always felt more comfortable warming up by a campfire, she had always been in her element during their days by the riverside, throwing her head back and laughing as the little fish that flocked near the banks pressed kisses to her feet as she dipped them in the cool water. Whenever Ram had doubts about his purpose, she had always soothed it with sweet words of encouragement, as she shared Ram's hopes for a homeland that may one day be free.

Prema. How aptly she was named, his wonderful priyatama. Love incarnate she was indeed, dispensing love and care as if she had no shortage of it. Ram had often said he had fallen in love with Love itself, and though she had always laughed, only he knew how irrefutably true that was. Prema had been a doctor, a perfect choice of profession if he had ever seen one, and she showered love on all of her patients, no matter their race, religion, or caste. "Rama," she had complained to him on one of their quiet nights together (Prema had always refused to call him Ram or Raju, insisting that's what everyone called him; she wanted a name that she could keep and cherish only for herself), "I wish I could understand the minds of people who wish to crush others under their heel through constant torment and disparagement. What drives them to do so? Why is it that they feel the need to be so cruel to another person just like them?"

"Being a doctor opens one's eyes to problems such as these. No matter your caste, the color of your skin, or the god you worship, your bodies all work the same. A Brahmin doesn't have more physical brains that an "untouchable" has. A Hindu has no more hearts that a Muslim has. A light-skinned person has no more eyes than that of a darker-skinned one. When you live, your body works the same. And when you die, you die just like everyone else as your body stops its work and chooses to rest. What sadistic satisfaction does it bring when attempts to convince oneself that one is better simply because of some reason when everyone has the same body, simply different sizes, colors, and souls?"

Ram and Prema had had many conversations like this, and Prema had always expressed that she enjoyed that about Ram. How he encouraged her to express her thoughts and voice her opinions, rather than attempting to silence her. How he indulged in her intellectual musings, rather than telling her she was "just a woman". Ram had always thought that since love lasted forever, his Love would too. Alas, that was not what fate had in mind for them.

Everything had been going spectacularly. Ram had just been promoted, one step closer to achieving his dream, and Prema had been recognized as one of the top doctors in Delhi, the first woman to have been granted that felicitation. Ram and Prema were getting ready to get married with the blessings of both their families, when of course tragedy took that moment to strike.

While love is blissful, it is always flawed. Imperfect. So it was no surprise when Love herself was flawed. Prema cared, but sometimes she cared too much. She'd take the whole world under her protection, but she wouldn't hesitate to take their beatings for them, too. She was known as Premamma by all she treated, a kind figure that exuded warmth and affection. A lower-caste woman with delivery complications had shown up at a British hospital, the only nearby hospital within a radius of forty miles. Normally, even a Brahmin receiving treatment at an exclusively British facility would result in a punishment such as whipping, let alone someone from a lower caste. Prema, unable to turn away the woman in her hour of need, took her into the hospital to deliver her child. The baby, a boy, was born safely, and his mother survived without any issues, but once Lady Scott found out a lower-caste woman was getting treated at the same hospital she was, she immediately demanded her punishment: death. But Prema, foreseeing the woman's fate, sent her and her son away, and by doing so, unwittingly accepted her penalty. Prema was mistaken for the woman, shot, and killed a mere two days before her wedding. And not even a death notice, let alone an apology was sent to her family.

Ram had been devastated. For nothing lasts forever, not even love. Instead of marrying Prema, Ram had buried her. Instead of tying a mangalsutra around her neck, he had lit her pyre on fire. After her funeral, Prema's sister Pranitha had walked up to him, red-eyed. "Baava, this is akka's journal. I want you to keep it, and I hope that by doing so, you'll keep her." Ram had looked at her, shocked, as she pressed a smooth, bound book into his trembling hands. "Prani, why-I-I can't take this from you. You knew Pr-your akka far longer than I did." He stuttered out, unable to say her name, for then he would be reminded of the cataclysmic realization that even Love dies. "But you loved her far more than I ever could. Even though my akka is not physically here, as long as love remains in our hearts, our Love will always be there with us. You will always be my baava, even if you marry someone else, or forget about me completely, for I know your love of Love is eternal." Ram had taken the girl who he had come to love as a little sister into his arms as they both sobbed, mourning the loss of light and of Love.

Six months had passed before Ram had found the nerve to open her journal. The last entry had been written on the day she died, May 7, 1919. It was written in her neat, detailed hand, and it was a poem. He had never known her as an author, only as an orator, but he proceeded to read the verse that was titled "Oh, Motherland".

Oh, my motherland

For you, I have shed blood, sweat, and tears

Ever devoted to you and your mighty cause

You are like the Mother Goddess incarnate,

Giving life to all that trod upon you

Providing sustenance for all beings without discrimination

You give us the hues of emerald and sapphire, oh motherland

Raising upon you your mighty sons the mountains that bear the weight of the sky

And your serene yet powerful daughters the rivers who thunder through the earth, bringing life along their path

It pains me, oh glorious motherland

To see you bound in the chains of foreigners

For if one has a mother, should they not know how to treat another’s?

Ram set down the journal, overwhelmed as tears gathered in his eyes. Perhaps she would've shared it with him, he mused, had she not been shot that day. Maybe she would've shared more such poems with him as his wife but alas, he was never destined to know. He was destined to always be alone, a fire without his water, and a Hate without his Love.

It was on one of his horse rides across "their" bridge when he saw the child in the water. On closer inspection, he realized to his mounting horror that the child in question was Premanth, the child whose life Prema had saved along with his mother's. Out of gratefulness, the woman had named her son after Prema. Ram felt a surging need to save the boy, the one that his Love had died to save. Across, on the opposite bank, he spotted a man trying to help the boy. He signaled to him, and together they saved Premanth. The surge of pride in Ram at his success quickly transformed into a sinking horror as he saw a familiar, thin, and compact leather book fall out of his pocket. He lunged for it frantically, but only managed to tear out the last page with the poem before the rest of the notebook fell away. Blinking back his tears, he caught the other man's arm, who howled in delight. Ram couldn't help but laugh through his tears, as the other man's happiness was contagious and his laugh was bubbly, just like Prema's. Have I found another water? Ram thought to himself. And how fitting is it that I find him over Love's favorite river, Prema Nadhi.

translation: Prema (Love; Telugu); Prema Nadhi (River of Love; Telugu)

A/N: ngl I'm nervous 'cause of my own poetry LOL. tagging some wonderful people @manwalaage @lil-stark @thewinchestergirl1208 @contemporarykafka @gauri-vishalakshi @maraudersfansassemble @itsfookingloosah @rambheem-is-real @adrakchutneyofficial @darlingletshurttonight @seherie @redirection04 @ramayantika @how-is-it-in-london pls do give me feedback!!

[mahi-wayy]

𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐍 | ᴀ. ʀᴀᴍᴀ ʀᴀᴊᴜ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ : A. Rama Raju x Fem!Oc

ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ : RRR

ʟᴇɴɢᴛʜ : 1.9k

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴs : Traumatizing ram more than he already is, ssr levels of angst, ram going through it, death, torture, blood and violence.

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ : 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 he is perfectly fine.

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

_______________

Ram was fine, he really was. Everything was going okay, he was working for the Britishers and not letting go any opportunities for the promotion let slip from his hands. He was just waiting.

Waiting for that one incident that would bring him everytime he ever wanted to achieve.

Beating the punching bags until they tore, running till his legs almost gave out or staying up late reading was just for the use of excessive energy, so he sleeps soundly.

Babai just liked to worry over him for no reason. He was okay, it was not like he was having nightmares that scared him from even letting his eyes close until it's him passing out quite literally from exhaustion.

It wasn't like he had constant panic attacks when he entered his bedroom, like he was repeatedly falling asleep on his desk.

It was not like he was a grieving widower, a lover drowning in sorrows or a man haunted but the ghost of the woman he once loved.

Who was he kidding? Not himself for sure, he was a grieving widower, a lover drowning in his sorrow in record time and a man that was being haunted by the woman he has loved more than his life.

Siara, that one name brought him both the relief of letting everything go and also the pain of choking on your own blood.

Siara Raisaar- no- Mrs. Siara Rama Raju Raisaar. She was…everything, his friend, his lover, his wife, his partner in his mission, everything.

Her father has trusted her with him with her after he joined the British army purely based on the fact that his daughter was in love with Venkatarama Raju's son.

She told him often how his father visited them when he used to come to the city, way before he started training revolutionaries.

He used to love it, just sitting and listening to her talk about any or everything. She was his home, his heart, his everything.

God she was beautiful, Long dark as night hair, beautiful brown eyes always lined with kohl, her anklets always chiming in sync with her beautiful laughter as she ran across the house away from him, dressed in the most beautiful of saris. She was a beauty that would make a God nervous.

Maybe that's why he took her from him or was it his karma coming back for torturing all those innocent people who were his own? He hasn't decided who to blame just yet. It has just been a little over a month.

The wounds from her departure were still fresh and stinging, something that was slowly and surely driving him insane.

Why? Because he was the one who killed her and no not only metaphorically, he has shot his wife quite literally.

He still feels sick whenever the thought comes up in his mind, heaving in the nearest bathroom like no tomorrow and it happens more often than not because it was haunting him every living moment he spends these days.

He still remembers the afternoon he first saw her, he was on market duty that day, it had been only a year since he joined the force so it was pretty reasonable.

The unforgiving sun of June was in a particularly punishing mood as he sat under the makeshift shed and the constables actually did the real work.

He was about to go get something to drink when a fight broke out nearby, his instincts carried him towards the crowd which he easily pushed his way through only to have a man collide with him.

Ram had groaned softly as he regained his footing only to lose his breath, between the market, yelling out and kicking and slapping two grown men, was a woman.

A delicate, soft looking woman who clearly had enough strength and technique to smack around two men of that size.

It takes a minute before he reminds himself why he had been there in the first place, stepping forwards and physically separating the woman from the man.

“That's enough!!”

The place fell silent as he let the fire roar himself to life and command the crowd with a practised ease, he then turns to the people involved and inquiring with them results in finding what all the fuss is about.

Apparently, the man had stolen from her purse and made nasty comments when she confronted her about the matter.

Ram had been a little amused and immensely impressed with the fire that blazed in her eyes, like it was a reflection of his soul shining in her orbs.

He had to arrest her for a day in jail, mainly to keep her away from damaging the man more than she already had because that head wound was pretty nasty.

They ended up chatting late night since he was on night duty too that day. For the first time he has felt a little as they shared past stories, unknowingly opening themselves to each other.

They haven't realised when they started meeting, away from the eyes of people, sitting and talking for hours or just holding each other through bad days and exactly six months ago her father decided to hand his only and dearly loved daughter to him.

The wedding ceremony was really small, his babai and her parents were all the crowd per say at their wedding and they were happy. They were so happy.

That was probably the only mistake he made, being happy. He should have known better with the track record of his fate? he should have never smiled in her presence.

Maybe it would have kept her alive.

The day still haunts him and it forever will, cursed with remembering every single thing about the brutal death of the one person who dedicated her everything to him

It was a cloudy sky, not an anomaly in August, by the looks of it rain would have hit soon enough. He was contemplating letting Siara know he could get stuck when he heard the commotion.

Stepping outside he had to physically keep himself from reacting when the woman he was supposed to go back home to was being dragged by her hair.

He was frozen in place though, people around him knew they were married and he knew this was going to get messy, really quick.

It took him a few minutes to gather himself and ask around of what in the name of God was happening.

Turns out she has been seen hiding the maps of British armoury.

But those were his plan- his thoughts cut off when he fears a familiar voice screaming followed by cracking of a whip.

Ram had never felt his throat close up as it did that day, his body was refusing to let any oxygen pass through as the interrogation which really was just a excuse for britishers to torture another one of their people.

He was suspended the following day, under the suspicion of helping his wife which was not true, it was the other way around. The plans were his not hers, she was the one covering him not the other way around.

God knows what she has said to them but the possibility of him being the actual culprit was not under consideration.

A few weeks later he got the opportunity to actually see her and as much as Ram loved her, he wished he had never seen her like that, he wished he would have simply let her be his beautiful Siara in his memories.

She was more blood than skin, hands tied above her head, legs shackled to the floor. Her soft skin had scars all over it, from head to toe she was bleeding from several cuts and the bruises were uncountable.

Her head hung low, her hair obstructing his view of her face, she would have sensed his presence because she had reacted as soon as he had taken another step forward.

“Ram…?”

He swore he would have had a breakdown, he seriously would have started crying if not for the guards outside. Her usual soft and firm voice was scratchy and low, he barely had caught his own name.

“Yeah it's me.”

His voice has never trembled like it had that day and when he looked up he had no way of stopping his tears from running down his face.

The scar of her face was painful to even remember, it ran diagonally, covering her whole face and by the looks of it, it had been a result of being struck by a piece of glass.

“Th..the guard…talk…about y..you rejoining…”

Her words barely had made sense but Ram was well versed in the woman he loved, he had caught on easily that she had wanted to know about his rejoining.

“The governor had given me an offer, he wanted me to be the one to execute you, to show my loyalty.”

Ram had always hated those white bastards but this was some another level of being a scoundrel. The silence in that cell had been choking, just her chains rattling as her arms moved a little.

“You should do it.."

He had really thought that either he had gone insane or she had.

“What? You want me to kill you?”

“Not like I will survive anyways, these assholes are good at the torture. Just say yes, let something good come out of this.”

He had wanted to yell and cry and ask her why she had covered for him to begin with but he had known answers to them, Babai had told him.

The layout of armoury Ram had sketched was with Babai at that time, he was shifting the place of the maps like they usually did.

What usually didn't happen was Britishers crossing paths with them, Siara had seen the inevitable outcome, snatched the papers from Babai and made a run for it, making sure the officers followed her and not anyone else.

He had cried for hours on end when he got to know, he didn't know if he was grateful for her being in his life or if he was simply a curse in her life.

He met governor Scott next morning reluctantly, his emotions were fading, he was re entering his old shell and it was scary, as he agreed to execute the woman he loved.

The bastard made the preparations in hours, the white asshole was just looking to enjoy what had happened that day.

He still remembers very clearly, he had fired twice, once in her abdomen, one in her chest. Those were his orders, Scott had cackled and promoted him a little higher than his rank at that time.

With that he was left to carry his dead wife home, he let her blood seep in his new uniform, it was she who had made it possible for him to begin with.

Coming three weeks were just him crying himself to sleep, waking from nightmares filled with her screams and crying himself to sleep again.

He still has those nightmares, seeing her all bloody and injured staring at him with blank eyes, her screams, those two gunshots, her pyre on fire. Everything, it was all a big nightmare that was destined to haunt him forever.

Even after he drowned himself in work and training, sleep remained a far-fetched idea which only came to him when he passed out once in three days.

He had stopped trying after the third week of her death, she had once told him he looked peaceful in his sleep so somewhere this was his punishment he had given himself. He didn't deserve to be peaceful, not after what she did for him.

His fate had written him a rough, hard path with no comfort and happiness and while he had first questioned it, whatever happened with Siara had him accept it.

It was better that he stayed on that rough path without allowing anyone in, for their own sake.

________

taglist : @vijayasena @voidsteffy @warnermeadowsgirl @mayakimayahai [let me know if you wanna be added]