#arjun kauraveya

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Augusnippets Day 14: Path of Comfort- Gift

For @augusnippets day 14. Tagging @ba-bhump and @dreamer-in-sleep .

This is not a universe I have posted yet. Basically, in an alternate close-to-modern universe, Bhishma mandates Subhadra’s marriage to Arjun as the price of the ‘many political favours’ he has done Subhadra’s family. Both Arjun and Subhadra are teens here.

This is a snippet of an incident shortly after their wedding.

TW: Child marriage, bullying, crying.

Some Hindi/Sanskrit words used are here:

Bhabhi: elder sister in law.

Mangalsutra: It is a ritual necklace that the groom puts on the bride’s neck, as a symbol of their marriage.

Snippet below the cut.

Subhadra bows her head, having no other choice. “My thanks,” she whispers, the jewels merrily, tinkling. Her husband’s elder aunt smiles brightly back at her. “Just because your husband’s side of the family are little more than paupers does not mean that I will let their carelessness embarrass you or the rest of the family, child.” Money is not the only wealth. Kindness is wealth, too, and love. But she would not understand, embittered as she was, and Subhadra keeps silent.

“Bhabhi. Subhadra should be on her way to school,” intercedes his younger aunt, her hand on Subhadra’s shoulder. “Hmm. Of course. Yet another indulgence given to the favourite grandson.”

Subhadra, still new to the undercurrents in the family, facing them alone for what could be the first time, does not know what to say. Usually, it is easier to let her speak what she wishes, Arjun holding her hand and covertly winking at her. Arjun, however, has already left, having extra classes for his boards. And no matter what she says, she is still an elder of the family, to be given respect, at least in name.

“My thanks for your blessings,” she says, sweet as honey, eyes demurely cast down, as she leaves. Arjun and she will have a laugh about this for sure.

Any thought of laughter has long since fled at the barrage of veiled insults she faces against in school. “How auspicious,” hiss her classmates, “that she need have no consideration for decorum?” She does her best to ignore them, but is not very successful.

“You think you’re so much better than us, don’t you? You’ve taken him all for yourself. He won’t stick around for very long, have no fear,” gloat some of the girls, and Subhadra’s self-control is finally overwhelmed.

She blinks past tears. At the very edge of her hearing, a familiar voice rings. “What is this commotion about?’ Some of them quieten as he nears, murmuring “the prefect. He’s here.” But more of them turn on to him as one, loudly beginning to complain. He cannot see me like this. Even as Arjun’s voice sounds nearer and nearer every second, Subhadra runs.

________________________________________________________________

Loud voices ring across the grassy field, too many at once to make sense of the words. Arjun frowns, getting to his feet, his lunch abandoned at his side. He walks quickly across to the bevy of girls. He makes sure to speak clearly and loudly, his voice easily cutting off theirs. “What is this commotion about?”

Some of them quieten at the sight of him. “What is the issue?” he asks, signalling to one of them. A large group of them turn to him as one, even as one of the girls breaks free at the periphery of his sight, running into the shrubbery nearby. That is someone I need to look out for, Arjun thinks. Before he can take a step in that direction, “No one is allowed to dress fancy in school, are they?” asks someone.

Arjun automatically shakes his head. “She was swanning around like she had any right to. We just taught her a lesson.” “There is no grounds for bullying. She might just have had a family function, hardly a punishable offence. You are expected to behave better than this.” “Of course you defend her.” hisses one of them. “Just because she wed you doesn’t mean she is deserving of you!” Subhadrey. Arjun has to work to sound some semblance of composed. “What right do you have to hurt anyone else, let alone Subhadra? The lot of you disgust me.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t the time for unimportant nonsense,” he bites out, restraining himself from striking the speaker with much difficulty. She matters not, Parth.

He runs towards the shrubbery, but is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Parth,” says Satyaki, his classmate, “recess is over. Bharadwaj sir’s class.” Arjun shakes his friend’s hand off. “I can afford to miss one class,” he tells him. “But I cannot leave her alone like this.”

He slows down inside the maze of shrubs, on alert. He hears jewels tinkling quite near where he stands, and he softens his footsteps. “Subhadrey.” No answer, but for a sniffle. He parts the shrubs quietly, and there she is, what looks like makeup smeared across her face.

He kneels on the sand, holding his arms out, holding her as she collides into him.

________________________________________________________________

“Subhdarey,” calls Arjun’s voice, soft and worried as he nears her. He reaches her with ease, stopping short at the sight of her. She stiffens, anticipating something she cannot explain, when he sinks onto one knee in the sand. She cannot stop herself from running to him.

He holds her, warm and soft, and hers. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? Let me see what I can do.” That is all the invitation she needs. Sniffling, she tells him everything. From his aunt’s taunts and the jewellery, to the bullying in the school. He does not say anything for a long moment, letting her cry herself out on his shoulder.

Then, slow and gentle, his hands remove every piece of the jewellery she is wearing. She stops him when his hand is at her neck, loosening the mangalsutra he had tied. “Your aunt said…” she whispers hesitantly, “that these jewels are symbols of our marriage. That they should be respected.” He looks at her, deftly unknotting the necklace. “So they do,” he accedes softly. “That, however, does not mean that they should be respected beyond your comfort. Besides, if it is symbols of our marriage you are looking for, well, here it is,” he answers, hand on his heart. “Living, breathing symbol of the same. And the Gods won’t mind me seeing to your comfort. I am supposed to protect you, after all.” She smiles. “There,” he teases, “a smile. You should get a move on, though, we’re in school, hardly the place for a romantic moment.” She snorts, swatting him. “Arjun!” He laughs with her, holding her hand.

That is all she needs, more valuable than any empty gift, walking hand in hand with him. Safe, protected, and loved.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Augusnippets Day 13: Path of Hurt- Drugging

For @augusnippets day 13!

This snippet takes place in this universe. This is before the story proper, kinda explores the woman who sexually abuses Arjun specifically chooses him.

TW: Implied rape/non con, drugging, loss of consciousness, ogling, psychological abuse.

Tagging @dreamer-in-sleep and @ba-bhump as well as @i-eat-worlds and @rainydaywhump

Note on the Hindi: Dhoti is a form of clothing which is tied around the waist and covers the wearer from hip to ankle. Pitr shraadh is a ritual honouring the ancestors of the person doing the ritual.

Snippet under the cut.

Word count: 517

She follows him, the kind young officer with a surname that promises power. His family name is so well-known that all she would need to consolidate even more power than she has is a child of his. She is decided in her path.

He makes it all the easier. Always smiling, always courteous, unlike his fellows that mutter darkly about her people. Sticking to a clear routine, ordered and neat. The perfect officer.

She knows his whereabouts well, knows that today, he would honour those of his family that are long gone, that he would be alone for quite the length of time. Just right for her to take action.

He smiles at her like he always does, inclining his head, a white dhoti tied at his waist. She smiles back, affecting coy shyness. It helps that he is definitely not hard on the eyes, the setting sun at his back throwing his handsome, chiseled features and dimpled smile into ever greater grace.

His head is tilted towards her, mouth open to ask a question. She extends the bottle of water to him before he speaks a word. “Oh!” He exclaims. “Thank you,” he smiles again, bright and beautiful. “For your kindness.” He tilts the bottle to his mouth, his adam’s apple moving as he swallows. She relishes the sight. You will pay for my kindness many times over, Lt. Col. Kauraveya.

She melts into the shadows, watching. Halfway into his rituals, he stumbles once, shaking his head.

She only needs to nod for her men to pounce, easily overtaking the disoriented young man.

Laid out on her bed, he is indeed a handsome sight, eyes closed though they are. She had known that of him, having watched him at his ablutions often. The white dhoti he wears hardly offers him any protection from her hungry eyes, the material sheer and dripping with water.

She feasts her eyes on him until he wakes. When he does wake, she knows exactly what to say, having anticipated exactly this. That he would protest, armoured in the vows of matrimony. That she can override his protest, easily at that, by threatening to take her life if he refuses her touch. That is exactly what happens.

He stiffens when she straddles him, her hands deftly unknotting his dhoti. She, however, is well-versed in the finer arts of sexual touch, and soon, his body lies pliant, aided of course by the potent cocktail she had added in his water.

His eyes are wide pools of brown, disarming in the innocence that still clings to them, even as she has her way with him. She is not done yet, her victory unfinished still.

Keeping her voice sultry, she laughs, loud and free. Hands caressing his body, savouring the shiver she feels under her fingers. “What will you tell your beloved, now?” she breathes, smug. “That you too are just a man, like any other, faithful only in name.”

The light in his eyes dim. As those beautiful brown eyes close, she covets her victory in the defeat she sees in his hazy gaze.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Yathamathi

Ekam: Pandu

My entry for @whumpmasinjuly Day 12: Caught, featuring people caught in different ways, both literal and metaphorical. @whumpmasinjuly-archive

Note on the Sanskrit:

Pitashree: Father (respectful)

And so we open, with fathers and sons in focus.

Note on the cast of characters

Devavrata “Bhishma” Kauraveya- Head of the family, also of the one-party government

Dhritarashtra Kauraveya- Devavrata’s first son

Duryodhan Kauraveya- Dhritarashtra’s eldest son.

Pandu Kauraveya- Devavrata’s second son and political heir

Pritha Kauraveya- Pandu’s wife

Yudhisthir Kauraveya- Pandu’s eldest son, his political heir

Bheem Kauraveya- Pandu’s second son, a police officer

Arjun “Parth” Kauraveya- Pandu’s youngest son, the darling baby of the family, an elite Airforce officer and doctor.

Krishn Varshenya- Arjun’s best friend and pilot, also his maternal cousin.

More characters to be added as necessary!

Tagging @themorguepoet @khudrang @dreamer-in-sleep and @hindumyththoughts for being my betas, ( @themorguepoet is basically my co-writer in this one!), @harinishivaa @blue-lotus333 and @justabitofwhump

Let me know via ask/comment/DM if you want to added to/removed from the taglist!

Story below the cut.

Ekam: Pandu

Pitashree’s hands tighten around my shoulders in the inescapable vice they were. “You will do your duty. The nation demands that of you. Even our beloved child…is secondary. The will of the people is supreme.” His eyes are starring into mine, forcing his will on me.

He pauses for a moment. “You must forswear…” Even he must pause, before taking the child’s name, my son’s name, in such a context. “…Arjun.” Arjun. Arjun, whose guileless, dimple-cheeked smile makes him look half a child. Whose hands held me in the last true embrace I remember. Arjun, whose sincerity echoes in his actions, whose very name is a testament to purity.

My father’s hands shake me back into bleak reality, away from treasured, cherished memories. “The implications of the videos, plastered across media, are too dire. We must act, and act now, lest it be a matter shaming our family more than it already has.”

Though I nod mutely, his voice echoes across time. “Pitashree,” it says, dulcet, lilting, “You will see, I’ll make you all proud!” Fatherly instinct drives me to deny any possibility of my son, Pritha’s son, ever bringing shame to us, and yet. The videos do show a different truth. The same child who wanted to serve his country turning his familiar smile onto enemies of the state, freely discussing with them, sharing bits of information to them…interspersed with my fond memories, bring to my mind an aspect of my son we had always thought of as innocent idealism, yet, with the stark picture painted by these videos…could it have been genuine sympathy for our enemies?

The interviewer’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “The nation grieved with your family, sir, when the initial news came out., especially with the reputation he had, of being devoted to his duty.” I force myself to nod as he pauses, the video montage flashing to one of the earlier videos.

“I cannot imagine your shock, sir,” he continues smoothly, “when his collusion with the enemy was revealed.” I swallow, sticking to the script, having essentially no other choice. One child, no matter how beloved, comes after the people, I repeat the refrain in my mind, but it is cold comfort. “Shocked, yes,” I go along with him, nodding.

It is not far from the truth. I had indeed been shocked.

Watching the same video again hardly reduces the emotion that rises, at the sight of Arjun and Krishn in that state. My son is on one knee, his wrists soaking the rope tying them red. He had, in spite of that, wrapped a rough bandage around them, hardly caring about the other wounds on him, before he had bandaged Krishn’s surface gashes gently. He had gone on to give the same gentle, considerate treatment to the militants that held him captive in our neighbour’s land.

The captors had quite a time with both of them, knocking them around, obviously enjoying hurting them. Krishn had at least defended himself to some extent, but Arjun had hardly raised a finger in his own defence.

Even bleeding, clearly in pain, he had prioritised treating them. In the records, even the militants seem shocked by his obvious care.

“Given the nature of what we see, I am with the people, sir,” the interviewer manages to sound regretful, a regret I doubt he is actually feeling. “You and your son are known to be quite close. How can we be certain that we are in safe hands, when your child can commit so gross a betrayal?”

“I am first and foremost a son of the nation,” I reply heavily.

“Thank you for saying that, Mr. Kauraveya. However, it recently came to light that your son had already had leanings towards the militants, and that the possibility of you intentionally keeping it from the public cannot be denied.”

The reminder of Duryodhan’s so-called ‘candid’ interview is enough to escalate the volume of my voice, though I could hardly deviate from the script. “Rest assured, sir, that both I and my father put the nation first.”

I pause, having to take a deep breath before I say what I must. Even so, I know my voice is far from calm and composed. “Father takes his responsibility as the leader of the nation very seriously. As his spokesperson here, I will do my part in condemning any action that can erode national prestige and harmony, even if, as seen here, said action is done by my son.”

I look directly into the camera, trying to convey sincerity I definitely do not feel. Even though Arjun had definitely done something he shouldn’t…the father I am shuddered to say the words I have to.

“The people of our country are my first priority. He who forsakes them will find himself forsaken in turn, my own son though he might have been.”

I manage to hold my face to impassivity as the reporter says the customary thanks. Father merely offers a nod as I rush out, unable to breathe, even, in the bright glare of the studio.

I flee.

The moment my feet cross the threshold of home, I am stopped in my tracks. “Arjun would never forgive me if I did to you what you deserve. And, that, Senator, is the only reason you stand unharmed within physical reach of me.”

I cast my eyes to the floor, unable to face my wife’s indignation. “Prithey…” I begin, my voice an entreaty. She pays it no mind. “Make no mistake. The single sole reason I do not forsake you as you have done to a far better man than yourself is because of him alone. Because I know my child. I know that he is innocent enough to love and respect men who barefacedly disown him.”

Stung, hurt, I retort “I did not have a choice!” Pritha merely raises an eyebrow. “We all make choices, Senator. You have made yours in full view of the world. And I make mine. I am my son’s mother, and that alone. I will not allow those who betray his trust to get close to me. Therefore, leave. Leave before I lose what little forbearance I am holding on to because you are my son’s beloved but entirely undeserving father.”

I hesitate for a moment. My hesitation drives her anger to the zenith. “Get out of my sight!” she commands, firm and clear.

I am lost for words. What could I even say in the face of a mother’s fury?

Her eyes speaking volumes beyond her incensed words, she turns and leaves without according me even a glance.

I stand there, alone, whatever cold comfort my duty had given long lost, an intruder in my own family, protected only by the child I had forsaken.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Vagdhandaja-Prologue

The actual fic scenes will be under the cut. This is world building of a sorts before the cut.

Arjun’s character here is very, very removed from canon (obviously, seeing that canon is an epic that is more than a 1000 years old) so I am only going to explain whatever is relevant to this story.

The milieu I am going for is an alternate universe of Delhi (India’s capital, in case anyone does not know) where the Kauraveya family are quite influential politicians for the most part. Arjun is the cherished youngest son of the family, very close to his mother, having lost his father as a child. He is a decorated war hero, known for both his battle prowess and his gallantry. He is an old school gentleman, so to speak. He values all human life, he prefers to avoid loss of life as much as possible. He married his wife, Subhadra, for love. Her brother, Krishn is his best friend. At the beginning of this story, he is escaping from a place he barely remembers.

Satyaka, the PoV for the prologue, is distantly related to Krishn, and by extension, Arjun’s mother Pritha, (Krishn is canonically Arjun’s first cousin, in this story, their blood relationship may be a little more removed). His son, Yuyudhana, not mentioned in this chapter by name, is Subhadra and Krishn’s friend here. I think that’s all the background needed for this story for now, but if something is unclear, please feel free to DM or ask me!

Trigger warnings: Panic attacks, discussion of intravenous drug use, disoriented character, brief emeto mention, distressed character.

Tagging @blue-lotus333 and @whither-wander-whump

Please ask or message if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

There are a few Sanskrit terms used here, meanings given below:

1. Pitr-shraadh: Shraadh is a Hindu ritual, in which one honours the dead. Pitr-shraadh specifically, as far as I know, is a ritual in which one honours their ancestors.

2. Pooja: Prayer ritual

3. Mata: Mother (respectful)

Prologue

Satyaka Varshney, on the way to the capital

I click the ignition off, glancing cursorily by my side at my son, fast asleep. I suppose a small break wouldn’t hurt.

Cracking my aching knuckles, I open the car door, sliding out and stretching. The wind is rustling through crowded forest greenery, fresh and clean. An unfamiliar thump directs my gaze to my son once more, still peacefully sleeping in the car. Keeping him in the line of my sight, I edge forward.

That doesn’t turn out to be a very wise thing to do in the pitch black of the depth of night, as I knock into something. Blindly reaching out, my hand hits solid flesh.

I can feel the flinch beneath my fingers, hear the faintly clicking, chattering teeth.

‘S-so-sorry. Plea-please don’t-don’t-they-I’- I blink. In front of me is a young man, hardly visible in the dark.

Whatever little I can see of him, he is obviously scared, shaking, streaks of mud on his torn shirt, what once used to probably be military camouflage. ‘I’m sorry, s-sir.’ He says, cringing away from me. ‘Hey there, young man,’ I whisper, the boy putting in my mind a spooked horse. ‘It’s alright. I’m not going to turn you in. You on the run from those outlaws down there?’ ‘Out-outlaws? Sir?’ The frank confusion in his voice has me backtrack. What the hell has happened to this young man?

‘Never mind that. Where are you coming from? Do you have anywhere to go to?’

He blinks. Looks pensive for a moment, then, face tight and eyes on the floor, he whispers, voice hoarse, ‘I…I am not sure, sir. I don’t-I don’t know what this place is. Where are we?’ I sigh. ‘Are you alright?’ The boy seems disoriented enough to warrant that insipid question. He looks down at himself, then musters a smile as he looks back up, still not meeting my eyes. ‘I think so, sir? I will be.’

‘You sure don’t look it,’ I mutter, shucking off my coat, looking critically at him, the ceaseless shivering, the remnants of bloodstains on his face. I hand the coat over to him. ‘Here. You look like you need it. And this place isn’t safe. Would you like to come with me?’ His gaze skitters away from me. ‘I-thank you sir, but I’m dirty. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.’ He’s clearly making effort to pronounce his words right. ‘And you aren’t. I have a son your age. I’d want him to be safe, just like I’m sure your family wants you safe and sound.’ I wrap the coat around his shaking shoulders. ‘There.’ He flinches away from my touch. ‘Easy. It’s alright. Can you walk?’ He nods. ‘Yes. I will. Where’- ‘I’ll tell you. Follow me.’ He does that obediently enough, although he looks over his shoulder for every step he takes. From what I can understand of his situation, I don’t blame him for the same.

Once we are leaning against the hood of my car, I probe gently. ‘Look, kid, I want to help you. Honestly. But I can’t do that if you don’t tell me anything.’ Frustration echoes in his voice as he replies ‘I am grateful, sir, but I really don’t-I remember, I had been on duty. I had asked leave from my senior so that I could do the pitr shraadh. I finished the pooja. I drank some water that was in my canteen, and then…then my head spun. Some people were trying to-to drag me off. I don’t know why, I’d never seen them before. I fought as best as I could. But I lost. That’s all I know. Then I woke up shaking on some unknown floor. I escaped as soon as I could. Honestly, sir, I’m not-I don’t lie. I don’t. You’ve done so much…I wouldn’t.’ His shivering increases as he finishes his speech, and he stumbles. ‘Whoa!’ ‘I…sorry, sir. I’m dizzy.’ ‘I can see that, kid. How long has it been since you ate?’ I ask, keeping a firm hold of his hand. He shakes his head. ‘Okay. Okay. I think these outlaws did you in. We’re at the edge of their outpost. You seem to be real lucky that they haven’t caught you yet. Tell me where you want to go, ‘kay? I’ll see if I can help you there.’ ‘To the capital. The Kauraveya Mansion.’ ‘You’re one of ‘em, huh? Some distant coz of mine married into that family. The younger son, the legitimate one, that is. I remember attending her wedding, barely married myself, too besotted by my own wife, with eyes for nought but the food. I hear the lady is mighty beautiful, though.’ He smiles, I can see the flash of teeth in the dark, feel the tense pull of his shoulder relax slightly under my hand.

‘The most beautiful in the world,’ he says, softly. ‘She is my mother. I’ll tell her that I heard the food in her wedding was really nice.’ I laugh. ‘You’re one of the Vrishni clan, then, sir? Krishn said that his clan is huge.’ ‘Aye. So you’re one of us, too, in a way.’ He shrugs. ‘I suppose so?’ ‘Of course you are. However distant, ain’t a matter. Once a connection is established, it’s there forever. You know Krishn?’ I shake my head. ‘Course you do. Never mind that, come in,’ I open the door of my car. ‘Get a bit warm, have somethin’ to drink. Wouldn’t want you to collapse like that again. Should coz find out her kiddo fainted on my watch, I’m sure she’d have my head.’ He laughs, soft and sincere. ‘Her name is Pritha. I’m Arjun. And you’re probably right, mata is very…protective.’ ‘As she very well should be, a handsome young lad like you.’ He looks down. ‘Is that a blush? I see you aren’t used to teasing yet.’

He peeks into the car. ‘Careful there. My young bison is snoring in here.’ ‘Dad. ‘M not a bison of any sort! And who’s this?’ ‘Cousin o’ yours. Arjun Kauraveya, I take it?’ He nods. My son starts upright. ‘Krishn’s brother-in-law? His best friend? Whoa. I met their family a few days ago. Both the ladies were…pretty distraught.’

The boy at my side closes his eyes, obviously affected. ‘My fault,’ he whispers. I cuff my idiot of a kid. ‘Motor mouth, can’t you think of what you speak?’ I hiss at him, jerking my chin at the distraught younger man.

‘And you.’ I turn to Arjun. ‘None of that, kid. You didn’t ask to be captured like that.’ ‘No, but’- ‘Hey, you’re gonna go home, alright? They’re yours to take care of.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,’ my son murmurs. Arjun shakes his head. ‘It’s alright…you were honest, thank you for that.’ My son shakes his head in return. ‘No. It’s not like you ran off on your own. You were on duty, right?’ Neither I nor Arjun correct him, leaving him to his ignorance. ‘You’re doing your best, that’s all you can do.’ The other man doesn’t look very convinced but nods his head.

I hand him a bottle of water. ‘There you go. Drink up.’ His hand shakes as he takes the bottle. I drank the water in my canteen, I remember him saying. And then my head spun. Small wonder he is scared. I take it back, drinking a gulp myself. ‘There. It’s safe, son.’ His gaze flies to mine, finding the floor again in a flash. ‘I’m’- I cut him off. ‘Nothin’ to say sorry for. Given what you’re comin’ from, it’s perfectly understandable.’

Once he’s had the water, I gesture to a sandwich. ‘Get some food inside ya, ‘kay? I can drive you to the capital, sure, we gotta go there, too. Not your house, of course not, but Lutyen’s street should work? He’s wide-eyed, staring at me as if afraid to believe. ‘Sir..I can’t ask that’- ‘Nah, you ain’t askin’. Don’t worry about it. Go on, eat the thing.’

He tries. A bite later, he stops. ‘I don’t think I can,’ he says, sounding guilty. ‘What’s the matter, kiddo?’ ‘I might be si’- he’s cut off as he gags, shoving his head out of the window. ‘Whoa. Okay. Want me to stop the car?’ He shakes his head jerkily. ‘N-no. It’s ‘kay.’

‘Wait.’ My son’s voice is cool. ‘Yeah?’ Arjun asks. ‘Those marks on your arm…did you do that? Are you an IV user? Is that why you’re confused?’ ‘W-what?’ ‘Hey!’ I interject, the kid clearly struggling to understand the pointed question. ‘He was kidnapped, bud, he didn’t’- ‘No!’ It’s the loudest I’ve heard his voice. ‘No, I wouldn’t. Mata hates that kinda stuff, I don’t even drink.’ He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t do this, please believe me.’

I glare at my son. ‘Apologize. Seriously, is this the kind of question you ask?’ Arjun blanches. ‘I-I didn’t, but…they held me down, I’m-I’m remembering.’ His voice is blank. His eyes are flaring wide as they turn to me. ‘Could they have drugged…’ he trails off. ‘They might have,’ he answers himself. ‘Maybe that’s why I feel sick. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I fought, I did, I did, I’-

‘Hey.’ My son intercedes as the younger man’s breathing quickens. ‘I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t know. If what you say is true, and I believe it is, you are not to blame. Take a breath, okay?’ He does. ‘Good. Now, just get it out, what you remember. Maybe we can help you piece it together.’ ‘Yeah…’ he murmurs, shaky. ‘Okay. I…oh. Oh, no. No, no, no. No…’ His voice falters and breaks as he repeats a frantic denial. ‘What happened?’ I ask, trying to break him out. ‘I-I broke my vow, I broke it!’ He’s vitriolic, sheer loathing in his voice. ‘God, I broke it…How could I have done it?’ ‘You did what you had to survive, kid, it’s-you can make it better, okay?’ ‘No,’ he says, his voice a knell of grief. ‘What I did…it’s unforgivable.’

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Augusnippets Day 12: Path of Whumperless Whump- Lost

Takes place in this universe. Arjun PoV of a slight prelude to the prologue

For @augusnippets Day 12

Tagging @i-eat-worlds @rainydaywhump (You guys seem to enjoy this universe!) @ba-bhump and @dreamer-in-sleep

TW: Disoriented character. PoV, implied assault, amnesia.

Word Count: 247 words

Fear. Fear completely overshadowing any rational thought throws my surroundings into sharp focus. I recognise nothing in the admittedly comfortable, dim room, but for an agnikund. Fear seems to have captured my body as well, my limbs trembling, unwilling to bear my weight. I push through the shakiness regardless, driven still by the primal fear, forcing myself upright.

The fear keeps me going, an intense urge to leave. In the scant few seconds that I remember, I do not know what this place is. Years spent in military service have taught me to trust my instincts, so I give in to automatic self-preservation, feet moving on their own, leaving my mind free.

As much as I try to remember, I find nothing of the room I am, bar flashes of insistent hands on my body, of myself shying away. The last I remember is the pitr shraadh…slowly, more memories surface.

Feeling dizzy, people pushing and pulling at me underwater. Struggling to breathe. Hands. A woman’s hands. Constantly present through the murky flashes of newfound memories.

Remembered breathlessness almost has me gasping for breath, but the fresh air I am able to feel calms me down somewhat.

Focusing my attention again on my surroundings, I find myself in a thick outgrowth, bushes as far as the eye can see. And a single, solitary flash of light. I squint at it.

Light, too bright to be natural. A beacon of hope in this land and thoughts of the unknown.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

10. What is your favorite whumpy story you have written?

Hello!

Thank you for the question! I am assuming this is for @whumpmasinjuly hence tagging @whumpmasinjuly-archive as well.

The answer is that it varies by character.

I usually write about Arjun and Jaime Lannister.

For Arjun, Vagdhandaja is a story I genuinely have cried writing, and I am sure that story has even more scenes that can bring me near tears. But I like it regardless, because, unlike canon, what happened to Arjun is recognised as wrong. His mother and his wife help him heal, for all that he was hurt severely.

For Jaime, The War That Outlasted Christmas is my favourite in the ones I have posted about him, because, again, for all that he has been and will be hurt in multiple ways of varying severity, his parents and people who care about him will step up to protect him and help him with healing.

In my as yet unpublished works, I do enjoy Yathamathi for Arjun (which I am revamping) and Through Trails and Trials for Jaime, because both of these, again, feature enormous hurt to either the PoV character or someone they care about, along with a dash of misunderstood whumpee, but the misunderstandings about them resolve splendidly in story.

Honorable mention definitely goes to Embers and Shards, my Caelon PoV of the amazing Sun and Glass series by @whumpflash Exploring Caelon’s trauma is a difficult, but very rewarding thing to do!

Thanks again for the ask!

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Whumpmas in July: Day 11- Whumpy Daydreaming Songs Playlist

For @whumpmasinjuly Day 11: Whumpy Songs playlist! @whumpmasinjuly-archive

(Surprisingly, most of these songs are not whumpy, some of them are straight out religious, but…well, when my PoV character is an epic hero and his story is filled with struggle…there you go.)

Anyway, as with most of my posts, it varies by character.

For Arjun:

Samay from Arjun the Warrior Prince. (I mean, it is literally a song about how his rights are snatched away)

Innum Enna Thozha from 7am Arivu (Gita vibes, completely)

Namami Shamishan by Religious India (The man was a Shiv devotee, after all)

Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram by Armonian (I know it is about a different epic hero, but still)

Abhi Mujh Mein Kahin from Agnipath (What I think he might have felt when he met Abhimanyu…)

Ekadantaya Vakratundaya (I mean, apparently Lord Ganesha wrote the Mahabharata so hey)

Parthasya Dhananjaya/ Gandivdhaari Arjuna (These are literally his theme songs)

Guru Brahma Guru Vishnu from the Mahabharat OST.

Dheera Dheera from KGF (It’s about a heroic quest of sorts)

Satham Ilatha Thanimai from Amarkalam.

For Jaime:

Naturally, the Lannister theme tracks from Game of Thrones OST, because duh.

Remember from Troy (2004)- Jaime wants to be remembered as a knight, and I see a lot of parallels between Achilles in the movie and him.

Don’t Deserve Your Love by Plumb-I do think Jaime has rather low self-esteem (I know this song is supposed to be addressed to God, but assuming it is addressed to a human, by someone, it can be read as that)

Warriors by Imagine Dragons

Broken Crown by Mumford and Sons

Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons

We Live in a Beautiful World (Cover) by Clairity

Clarity by Zedd

I Know You by Skylar Grey

Bedroom Hymns by Florence and the Machine

Say Something by Christina Aguilera