#[ REPLY ] - * MEERA

[lvciddreamt]

@blcssom​

“why do you insist on hovering like that? we’re alone, you don’t have to keep up the facade.” 

[evermoredeluxe]

light blue 🥰🦋

your vibe is refusing to take rest after working the whole day and when someone else comes up and says to you “im tired” you explain them in detail why rest is important and that they deserve to take steam off

send me your favourite colour and i will try to assign you a vibe / emotion

[enmourn]

' SINCE WE LEFT LOTHERING. ' she remains with her back facing the elf, as if the question didn't even intercept the intense bout of rummaging she was doing. exhausted, under heavy stress and missing the one thing she was anxiously searching for had left the dwarf irritable and ready to explode. ' DWARVES DON'T DREAM Y'KNOW, 'n since we've been together I lie awake at night in fear of seeing those horrors all over again, being connected to them is a whole other layer of shit that's been uncovered. If I can help it, I'm keeping it to a minimum until we figure this shit out. '

@vhenann asked: how long has it been since you’ve slept ? (for meera)

[rookthorne]

I love your reblogs so fucking much I hope you know 💗

𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐬 | 𝐉.𝐁.𝐁

Pairing ღ Nurse!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Word Count ღ 999 Warnings ღ Fluff, literal tooth rotting fluff, pet names, period fic, sick fic, hurt/comfort Author's Note ღ Look, I fell in love with Nurse!Bucky (this is a direct sequel) and it seems a lot of you did too - I am no doubt gonna make this into another collection, I cannot help myself. Final submission for the @the-slumberparty's week 3 Artistic Liberty challenge.

A Hero Masterlist | Slumberparty Masterlist

𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺  : ̗̀➛ the state of being ill.

Your hero was determined to save the day, but you were about to discover something more precious than his priceless smile.

It had been a few weeks since you were discharged, and by some miracle, it had been a few weeks since your favourite nurse had slipped you a piece of paper with his phone number. You still couldn’t believe it. The two of you hit it off so well when he took you out for coffee on one of his days off, that, naturally, you gathered up what courage you had and asked him out. It was how you had ended up being Bucky’s girlfriend. 

Life wasn’t always going to be so kind, however.

It was like being run over by a truck, and then a train, and just to make matters even better, your period was the final touch. 

You could hear rain pattering against the window and you felt a rush of gratitude to your past self for having the brilliant idea to gather blankets the night before. 

Then, the realisation dawned on you that today was the day - Bucky had today off and he was planning to take you out for a surprise, and you groaned aloud. You reached for your phone and snatched it from your bedside cupboard, the screen lighting up to show a cute selfie you had coerced Bucky into taking, on your first date. 

Bucky’s number dialled and you shuffled back into the covers, burrowing into self-pity while your stomach cramped and everything ached. You didn’t want to disappoint Bucky, but you didn’t think you could even stand long enough to prepare any damn food, let alone cope with the ‘surprise’. 

“Hey, baby girl!”

It was an effort to stem the tears and choke back a sob. “Hey, Buck,” you replied. “I, uh–I’m sorry, I can’t do today-”

“What’s wrong, are you alright?”

You could hear the concern in his voice and you pictured him frowning, a deep furrow between his brows. “I’m sick again, a-and I got my period and-” The dam broke. Your sobs were quiet and muffled behind your hand but you could hear Bucky on the line moving around. 

“Hey, you’re alright, baby, hang on-” There was a clatter and a distant muffled curse. “Are you at your place?”

Nodding automatically, you realised he couldn’t see. “Yeah, I am, please you don’t need-”

“Nuh-uh, stop that.” There were more clattering sounds and then you heard the rustle of a coat. “I need to make a couple stops first, and then I am going to come and take care of my girl, whether she wants me to, or not.”

Sniffling and hiccuping, you didn’t answer. “You sit tight, baby. Can you get up for me and have some water?” You attempted to move but a rippling pain tore through your stomach and hips, all the way up to your shoulders and down to your toes. Your cry of pain was enough to make Bucky speak louder into the phone, “Okay, no, you stay there, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Can you time me, baby girl? It’ll distract you, and if I am late, every minute is a tub of ice-cream I owe you.”

“Okay,” you whispered, hoping that the gratitude you felt could be heard in your small voice. 

“Atta girl, I’ll see you soon.” The line clicked and you opened the timer, doing as he had said. 

Twenty-seven minutes later, there was a shuffling sound at your front door, then a quiet knock. “It’s me, baby girl, can you open the door? Or should I get Wanda?” You pulled your phone closer and messaged: Wanda has the key, she’s WFH today. 

Footsteps sounded and then voices sounded out your door - your neighbour, Wanda, was a close friend and the two of you had keys to one another’s apartments, in the likely event that either of you forgot your keys. “Give her my love, Bucky,” Wanda said and you heard a set of footsteps retreating, while the lock on your front door unlocked with a quiet click. 

“Hey, baby, I’m here.” The door creaked closed and then you could hear Bucky walking around your apartment. “Where are ya, sweetheart?” Bags rustled in his hands and then his head appeared around your doorway, finding you at last amongst your burrito of blankets. “There you are.”

Bucky padded softly into your room and you watched with glassy eyes as he placed down a bag from Target and CVS on the end of your bed, and a brown paper bag on your bedside cupboard. “How’s my girl?”

“I look and feel horrible-”

“You are never not beautiful, even when you’re hurting.” Bucky knelt down so he could look into your face. “Baby, I am a nurse, remember? Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

You were silent for a moment and Bucky brushed his thumb over your cheek, over the tear tracks. “I feel crappy and everything hurts, and my tummy aches.”

“Well, I have a couple things,” Bucky began, shuffling over to grab the Target bag. “This lil’ fella,” he pulled free a teddy, the material soft and fluffy and in your favourite colour. You stared in shock at the bear. “I knew he was perfect for you.” 

Bucky offered you the bear, and you held him to your chest, tears falling down your cheeks. “And I brought some pain relief–I didn’t know what you preferred so I just bought the lot, and some pads, tampons, that sorta thing–and a hot water bottle, and some soup,” he gestured to the paper bag. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, staring at him with wide eyes. Bucky smiled. 

“How about a warm bath, and then we have a movie marathon?” You nodded and Bucky helped you to the shower.

Bucky had kept himself occupied by changing your sheets, being sure to pile the blankets back on, and you couldn’t ignore how your heart fluttered at the sight of him concentrating on making your safe space comfortable. When he looked up to find you in the doorway, he smiled. 

And dammit all, you fell in love. 

Please support content creators and reblog our works! ❤

Graphics & Header made by yours truly.

Masterlist | Library | AO3 | Wattpad

[blasphemousclaw]

i love how hornsent (npc) is unnamed and how it seems that in hornsent culture names are maybe are only for those of high rank (elder inquisitor jori is the only named hornsent, hornsent calls his family "mother, wife, and child" and refers to leda as "the woman" despite leda clearly having introduced herself to her other comrades and also announcing her name before the enir-ilim battle, but calls marika and miquella by their names, then calls messmer just "the impaler" before clarifying his name) and how it makes you address your ability to have compassion for someone who doesnt like you and doesnt want to be your friend and doesnt give his name. but also its so difficult to talk about hornsent (npc) and hornsent (people) because of this. do we call him the hornsent man??? do we keep going hornsent (npc) forever. to be clear i dont want to him to have a name but its so awkward..

yeah I think it’s super intentional that Hornsent doesn’t have a name; I don’t think it’s because that’s a part of hornsent culture tho because we do have a few other named hornsent of varying roles in society… in addition to Jori there’s also Curseblades Labirith and Meera, Divine Bird Warrior Ornis, and we don’t know if Romina and Midra are themselves hornsent but they’re at least culturally aligned with the hornsent… the Curseblades were not well regarded in hornsent society at all, and were in fact imprisoned before the time of Messmer’s invasion… so I do think that all hornsent did have names in the past, and the reason we don’t know a lot of them is more for thematic reasons

in one way I can see the lack of named hornsent as a testament to how thoroughly they’ve been decimated and erased from history, but I think even more importantly, we have to remember our character is grace-given, so living people like Hornsent and Hornsent Grandam have every reason to be suspicious of us and withhold their names! both respond to us in a very guarded and standoffish way, with good reason!

I also really like the idea that Hornsent no longer uses names from his past because his old self “died” in the fires alongside his family (@katyspersonal puts it really well in this post), like he’s making a choice to be nameless because he can never be that same person again! (also re: Leda I think he just didn’t care enough about her to use her name LOL)

but I 100% agree on the idea that the hornsent NPCs not having names is like, addressing your compassion as the player… these guys aren’t soft, weepy victims who are looking to be your friend… they’re angry, they’re hurting, and they want nothing to do with you! and why should they? their entire world was destroyed! I really dislike the attitude that if you’re not the “right” kind of victim, you clearly deserved everything you got. which is unfortunately how a lot of people have responded to the DLC

with all that said you’re so right that Hornsent just being called “Hornsent” is really confusing lol… I made a post somewhat recently about Hornsent not being able to heal (using the flasks of crimson tears) and like half the replies thought I was talking about ALL hornsent enemies healing lmaoooo it really is a problem… I try to differentiate by exclusively using capital-H Hornsent for our guy and lowercase-h for the hornsent as a whole because that’s how it is in game but it’s still not super distinct. oh well I guess I’ll have to keep typing Hornsent (guy)

[turtle-paced]

Revisiting Chapters: Bran II, ASoS

Happy new year! Have a story.

The story so far…

Having made their escape from Winterfell and deciding to head north beyond the Wall, it’s now a matter of travelling for Bran and company. Lots and lots of travelling.

The Northern Landscape

The land is the first thing we’re hit with this chapter. Trees with autumn colours have given way to evergreens, the Wolfswood to flint hills into grey mountains. The land is scattered with long lakes and devoid of roads - game trails only, as we find out later. And it’s cold. Bran, Hodor, Meera and Jojen are heading north, following the blue eye of the Ice Dragon constellation, going up and down and occasionally getting turned around for short amounts of time.

Bran is not loving it.

But Bran’s life had turned into endless chilly days on Hodor’s back, riding his basket up and down the slopes of mountains.

Meera is also not loving it, or maybe she is. She has mixed feelings about mountains, which she tries and fails to explain to Bran. Jojen has the more poetic take that opposites, whether it’s fire and ice, marsh and mountain, or love and hate, aren’t so different after all. The land is one, he says. Meera replies that the land's too wrinkly.

Weather and food both are becoming issues as the group travels. Game is scarce. The temperature is cold. They get caught in a sleet storm, which sounds incredibly miserable. Bran wants to go to the Kingsroad, but Jojen says it’s too dangerous. They’ll be spotted.

That said, Bran soon points out that they’ve already been spotted. Summer’s seen them. There are people in these hills. Sometimes Umbers - usually to the east and usually in summer. Wulls to the west, Harclays to the south, and around where they are now there are Knotts, Liddles, Norreys, and Flints. Bran’s maternal grandmother was a Flint - distant family.

The concerns about witnesses are proven valid when rain drives the group into a cave with a Liddle man. No names are exchanged. Lots of helpful information is. Bran asks how far to the Wall; he’s told it’s still a decent journey if you can’t fly over the hills. They’re warned off the Kingsroad:

“When there was a Stark in Winterfell, a maiden girl could walk the kingsroad in her name-day down and still go unmolested, and travelers could find fire, bread, and salt at many an inn and holdfast. But nights are colder now, and doors are closed.

More immediately, the ‘Bastard’s boys’ are on the road. They’re paying silver for wolfskins and maybe gold for walking dead (no, not the zombie kind). The way the Liddle puts this leaves little doubt that he knows exactly who Bran is. Ramsay’s people also know full well that Bran and Rickon escaped. The news that Bran and Rickon are alive cannot be hidden indefinitely. There are just too many people who know. A bit later, the party circles back around to what happened at Winterfell. They noticed a lot of dead Ironborn and no dead women. The immediate conclusion is that it wasn’t Theon who did the killing.

The Liddle also warns Bran off heading towards the Wall, where Sam’s ravens without messages have at least effectively communicated that some deadly serious shit happened north of the Wall. Which tells Bran and company that at the very least, they’re not likely to find meaningful help at the Wall. Perhaps not even safety.

But they can have sausage and oatcakes instead.

One day there would be Starks in Winterfell again, he told himself, and then he’d send for the Liddles and pay them back a hundredfold for every nut and berry.

This is just about the power of small kindnesses. What follows that is more empathic landscape - a bit more sun, a bit smoother a slope. Just a little bit more bearable all round. And with that, it’s easier to tell stories.

The People of the Crannogs

It’s overshadowed by certain other things this chapter, but it’s definitely worth getting into how much we learn about the residents of the crannogs in this chapter. First we see Meera hunting (and Bran’s developing first crush). She’s a lord’s daughter, but skilled at both hunting and spearfishing. Quite what this says about food security in the Neck, or various recreational pastimes, or gender roles, isn’t clear.

In one of the most hopeful moments of the series to date, Jojen promises the Liddle that he will not be left with ghosts - the wolves will come again. He’s dreamed it. “There are dreams and dreams,” he says. Without more of a sample size you wouldn’t like to say that the crannogpeople culturally have respect for true dreaming and perhas the associated mysticism - but Jojen is confident in referring to those dreams as authoritative. He’s not afraid of sounding ridiculous, he’s used to the idea that dreams can give foreknowledge. Given that Meera refers to “the magics of my people”, it seems that there's a level of respect for magic within their society.

Bran asks for stories after a while. Stories about knights! Jojen tells him there are no knights in the Neck. Meera corrects him that there are no knights above the water - lots of dead ones below, though.

“Andals and ironmen, Freys and other fools, all those proud warriors who set out to conquer Greywater. Not one of them could find it. They ride into the Neck, but not back out. And sooner or later they blunder into the bogs and sink beneath the weight of all that steel and drown there in their armour.”

Thus speaks Jojen. Which is another very informative passage about the people of the crannogs. They have a very different fighting tradition, even to the North. The armour the crannogpeople seem to prefer, it seems, are shirts sewn with bronze scales, plus a leathern shield; the weight is not the best when fighting in the marshy ground. Even their greatest castle is camoflauged or otherwise hidden, which again doesn’t seem to invite the whole siege and straight fight. Instead, the crannogpeople seem happy for their enemies to charge around carelessly and get themselves killed. We’ll see in future books that this isn’t the end of their strategies, but even from this admittedly partisan viewpoint, this seems like a brutally effective strategy.

We get some more details by implication as Howland Reed himself is introduced in the story of the Knight of the Laughing Tree:

“He grew up hunting and fishing and climbing trees, and learned all the magics of my people. […] He could breathe mud run on leaves, and change earth to water and water to earth with no more than a whispered word. He could talk to trees and make castles appear and disappear.”

Another point for hunting and fishing being appropriate for the upper strata of crannog society. And a good hint at Howland’s moving castle.

The Knight of the Laughing Tree

With spirits a bit higher, the party starts swapping stories. Meera nominates the tale of the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Oddly, Jojen says that Bran must have heard that tale a hundred times. But no, Bran hasn’t heard it even once.

Since it’s Meera telling the story as it was told to her by her father, it starts with Howland Reed (not named within the tale). Howland Reed, who wants to see a bit more of the world than just the crannogs, and who goes to find the Green Men on the Isle of Faces. After a productive winter visit, he heads off when spring arrives, and wanders right into the Tourney of Harrenhal. Meera doesn’t use family names, but the identities of the attendees are clear: King Aerys, Rhaegar, all the Kingsguard, Mace Tyrell, Robert Baratheon. Tywin’s had a spat with the king and didn’t show, but there are a lot of Westerlands lords there.

But women also attend (though Bran asks with suspicion if this is going to be a love story - there’s no other reason for women tot be present in a story except romance!). Elia Martell counts as a fair maid, and she’s brought a full dozen lady companions, with the men flocking around them.

But almost no sooner has Howland Reed shown his face than he’s set upon by vicious Walders. As Jojen says, “sometimes the knights are the monsters.” Squires or not, all of them are bigger than Howland Reed. Howland marks their faces as he’s being beaten - but even as that happens, a “she-wolf” arrives and sends all of the squires packing with a tourney sword. Lyanna Stark insists Howland come with her, first to meet the other Starks (explicitly noted in this is that Brandon’s the leader), and then to the feast.

Throughout the description of the action, Meera uses heraldry to identify the characters, rather than names. While this makes sense - did Howland know those names? What’s easier for the audience hearing this story spoken aloud? - It does mean a little piecing together is needed for the reader. Among the more important interactions are Lyanna crying at Rhaegar’s beautiful music (and then pouring wine on Benjen when he laughed at her), and Brandon asking Ashara Dayne to dance with Ned. Tragically, the woman the readers already know committed suicide is described here as having “laughing” eyes - a good bit of writing that implies the terrible things that happened to her over the course of Robert’s Rebellion.

Central to Meera’s story, though, is Howland spotting the Frey squires at the feast. Benjen offers to find Howland a horse and armour, but Howland is conflicted. He has his pride, and he knows jousting isn’t his forte. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself or his people more than he already has.

“You never heard this tale from your father?” asked Jojen.

At the jousting the next day, a mystery knight shows up, sure enough. Bran thinks the knight was the crannogman - they were short, in mismatched (obviously borrowed) armour, and the small crannogman fits the bill. The knight, named in the story for the device on their shield as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, challenged the masters of the squires. They won the jousts, demanding that the knights discipline their squires for the return of their horses and armour. Afterwards, at the feast, others swear to unmask the mystery knight (including Robert Baratheon), with King Aerys sending Rhaegar out to unmask the knight. But though Rhaegar returned with the shield, the knight vanished into thin air.

Bran thinks the story is…okay. Look, he’s got some opinions about what would be dramatically satisfying here. They needed to commit to making the knights the bad guys. There needs to be more violence, with the knights killed at the end. And for all that Bran complained about love stories, he wanted that romance subplot in - and resolved. (Though this does tell you a bit about how women are perceived as standard rewards in the in-universe fiction. The bloody eight year old has bought into it.) Meera tells Bran that Lyanna was indeed named the Queen of Love and Beauty: “but that’s a sadder story.”

“Are you certain you never heard this tale before, Bran?” asked Jojen. “Your lord father never told it to you?”

Because what Bran hasn’t realised is that this isn’t a far off tale of times long gone. This happened less than twenty years ago. This is his family’s recent past - part of events that shaped his family and the politics of the world he lives in profoundly. What Bran misses is right there for the readers.

Chapter Function

This chapter mostly exists for Meera’s story and the promise that the wolves will come again. The rest of it’s mostly walking.

There are very few ways we can get insight into these key events of the backstory with all these child protagonists who weren’t even born when these Big Deals happened. The mechanism of a story for children is actually a really good one, since it tells us about another culture, another time, and two different families.

In writing terms, it’s also an excellent way of showing the readers what’s important through the implications of what’s not told. Meera’s main narrative is about Howland’s experiences, so the ‘camera’ glances at Lyanna, at the interactions between the Stark siblings, at Rhaegar and Aerys, but doesn’t focus on them. They’re unmistakeably there, but they’re not gone into, which leaves room for speculation and mystery and the certain level of ambiguity that GRRM's stories thrive on.

Even more than this, there’s the in-universe meta-level of what’s not told. Ned’s been dead for a book and a half, and we’re still learning about him just for knowing that he couldn’t bear to tell his own children this story.

And why can’t Ned tell this story? Lyanna. Lyanna is the hero of this particular story, even more than Howland Reed. From the very beginning she’s an active presence. This is a story Lyanna drove, first by rescuing Howland from the Freys, then by taking him into the Stark tent, then by avenging Howland’s honour when Howland could not avenge his own. What we’re shown is a girl with both physical and moral courage. She’s daring, ready to fight squires, stand up for her father’s bannerman, and defy social convention to joust in the lists herself. Even in this little story for children, Lyanna’s a memorable character.

Through this, more than just telling us about Lyanna, GRRM shows us the effect all this had on Ned. The pointed, grief-stricken silence is palpable even as the implications fly over Bran’s head. It keeps Ned’s character and his silence in the reader’s view. Which is going to be important when at the end, GRRM has to talk about Ned’s character, his grief, and his silence - again relating to Lyanna.

Miscellany

This chapter is far more about what’s going on around Bran than his internal experiences, but even then:

He followed it with his eyes, wondering what it would be like to soar about the world so effortless. Better than climbing, even. He tried to reach the eagle, to leave his stupid crippled body and rise into the sky to join it, the way he joined with summer. The greenseers could do it. I should be able to do it too.

That said, it’s worth noting that Bran flips back to explicitly preferring knighthood at the end of Meera’s story. Acceptance is a process. Bran's going through it.

The internalised ableism continues strongly. And on that note, mind Bran’s interaction with Hodor. Hodor likes stories about knights, Bran says. Hodor doesn’t like love stories, Bran says. Are these Hodor’s preferences, or is Bran using Hodor as an excuse? On one level it’s childish behaviour from a child…but on another, it’s Bran using Hodor’s voice for his own ends.

Who doesn’t love Jojen’s shade about “Freys and other fools”?

It’s flagged that Howland Reed did meet the Green Men, “but that’s another story.”

We also learn in this chapter that not-yet-Ser Barristan entered a tourney as a mystery knight when he was ten.

Clothing Porn

The Liddle man wears a squirrelskin cloak with a pinecone-shaped clasp in gold and bronze.

Food Porn

Bran fantasises about the eel, fish, and hot crab pie that Osha might be eating at White Harbour. Later, there’s actual blood sausage and oatcakes. Oatcakes with pine nuts and oatcakes with blackberries.

Next Three Chapters

Tyrion V, ACoK - Eddard X, AGoT - Sam V, AFFC

[janaknandini-singh999]

Meera Ke Prabhu Girdhar Naagar

Krishna looked on

As he had looked on when she had been given poison which turned to nectar when she offered it to him

As he had looked on when snakes were thrown at her but again she offered it to him like flowers and it turned into a garland

It was just his murti that looked on

But for Meera it was really him

How else would she be saved from death's grasp every time if it wasn't Krishna himself looking out for her?

She sang to him as she always did but tonight there was a sad undertone

She had had enough

Despite being the queen, she was constantly harassed by her devar

She remininsced about her husband who she respected. He let her do her duties and then spend the rest of the time in the temple of the Mahal with her beloved Krishna. But after his death, she was being tormented by his brother.

She folded her hands to Krishna's murti and then at the jauhar kund where her mother in law, the late Maharani, had done jauhar with thousands of other women when Akbar had attacked Chittorgarh

"Mother, not everyone can do what you did. Not even me. You held on to your honour till your very last breath. But jauhar is done by those when the invaders close in with their egos. What about those who are attacked by their own family? There is no such pratha that can save them. My husband, your son, was a benevolent king. But your other son.. If I commit Jauhar my image will be tarnished forever because there are no invaders. Jauhar is done by those who have no other hope, mother. But I have one." she turned to look at her Krishna with teary eyes

"The only element I'd let myself to be consumed by is him. My only hope since birth, to death, is him."

"Maharani" a daasi entered the temple and curtsied "I apologize for interrupting your prayers."

Meera didn't turn around but she closed her eyes and nodded as the tears rolled down

"Your highness, you really need to leave. He is on his way back to the palace. I can't see you-" she stopped herself as she was about to mention Meera's bruises and scars caused by her brother in law's abuse

It was a wonder indeed because when the daasi had seen them for the first time and pointed it out Meera had calmly replied that she didn't feel a thing because she was thinking of Krishna

"Why does your Krishna allow so much pain in your life?" the daasi's voice cracked on seeing her queen like this so she looked away

"No. Not a word against him. I would've been long dead if it weren't for him." Meera put a hand on her shoulder and smiled

"You should ask him to hold you with him forever, away from it all"

"Maharani!" A soldier came huffing and curtsied rigidly "Sincere apologies but they're on the horsebacks and can arrive any moment now."

Meera stood up hurriedly and collected her pooja samagri, dashing. But just at the gate, she stopped

"Does running away make me a coward?" She whispered

"No, maharani. You are going to your lord." the daasi said

"No no no wait! What about YOU ALL?" Meera's voice rose and suddenly an arrow whizzed past them

"DON'T worry about us, Maharani! Just GO PLEASE AAPKO SHRI KRISHN KI SAUGANDH!"

The soldier winced in pain as an arrow was shot again which lodged itself in his arm.

The daasi almost shrieked but carried him over and dragged him outside.

Meera saw a lover's spark between the two and despite the situation she smiled. She silently prayed to Krishna for their protection

And then she ran

She ran and ran and ran throughout the villages, the jungles, her feet and knees getting scraped, she went on for days without food or water and she ran

"I'm waiting, sakhi" a voice breathed in her ear

Finally she reached Dwarka and broke down at Dwarkadheesh's feet

A few days were spent in bliss as she became the poet she was meant to be

But not for long because they followed her even there

The time had come

She took a last, long breath in front of the murti

And closing her eyes, she folded her hands

"Swami. The world has never understood me. It has only given me agony until I met you. The only love I've ever felt is when I've thought of you. So I did. Until you became every thought of mine, written on every breath of mine. The only thing I've ever longed for is to be associated with you for as long as the kaal chakra goes on, my name be taken in the same breath as your name. But who am I? I'm not your lover who you'd playfully burst the maakhan matki of, I'm not your wife who you'd immediately, fiercely, desperately ride on your chariot to rescue. I'm not even a devotee like Hanuman ji who had the opportunity to be alive in the same yug to serve his God. Who am I to be yours? But where else am I to go? I can't survive in any place which isn't your heart.

The world has come to get me again so I come to you. And I won't breathe until I reach you"

She started walking to the murti, holding her hands out as alms

The tyrants were upon her now but suddenly they were dazzled by a bright light

And then a divine hand extended out to her, he smiled with tears streaming all the way as Meera immersed herself completely in Krishna

The light vanished. They opened their eyes again and were baffled to see Meera gone.

Except her dupatta that swayed peacefully from the side of the murti

Centuries later

"Mother! Whose is that?" a small voice pointed excitedly

The woman looked on and recognized Meerabai's dupatta

"The legendary poet bhakt of Krishna, child. Her name was Meerabai."

"Was she married to him?" curiosity sparked in her eyes

The woman thought for a bit. It wouldn't be that simple to explain to her little daughter the leelas of Shri Krishna with his many wives and lovers.

The girl looked at the murti now "Did they both love each other?"

"Yes" the woman answered, smiling

"Of course" her daughter nodded, completely satisfied "Just look at him! Who wouldn't fall in love with him?" as she laughed and swooned, swinging around a nearby pillar as Meerabai's dupatta swayed higher and touched the little girl's head

Meanwhile, Krishna grinned at the whole scene as Meera joined her, laying her head on his lap as she whispered

"It feels like I've waited for you since forever."

"I know, love. And I have, too. But I've been with you all the way. It broke my heart to see what they did to you." He kissed her forehead

"You are safe now" As he held on tight to her for eternity

Not just two lovers, but the union of two forms that go back to the same source to begin with. The river finally meeting the sea, the rain kissing the soil, incense embracing the ambience and far away just a besotted finally flying to the muse

Meera uniting with Krishna

[spencer-spells]

It's a guinea pig, it's always hungry - I'd really like to know what he's thinking, you know? Is he pissed, is he in pain, is he comfortable? Is he trapped in the mind of a guinea pig and experiencing non-stop existential horrors....

Wait, is that actually a thing? There are psychics for pets? Huh. Maybe it's just hungry?

[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Six to Four

All the times Six shows up in Freddy's without warning to confront Gregory and help/lecture him don't go unnoticed. Damien and Jeremy confront him after so many instances of him vanishing to find out what's happening.

----------------------------------

.

The workshop was closed on the one of the two days off that Jeremy would take for himself. Within the shop, Damien and Jeremy stood together in grim consideration of the spirits they’d both summoned from themselves.

There was Seven, the spirit Jeremy had helped forge from his determination to support his friends, his hope for Mike to heal and live in childhood, and Damien giving the Remnant direction to repair electronics and defend the Guards. He stood idly in front of them, looking bored without anything to repair or heal.

The actual ‘problem’ the two Guards were looking at was Six, the spirit that was left behind by Mike to allow himself to pass naturally, as he’d always wished. Forged out of Mike’s stubbornness and determination to survive the night shifts, his guilt at outliving many other night watches that took over for him, and given direction by Damien to control the camera and security systems in defense of the Guards, Six was the closest any of them had to being able to speak to some form of Mike past his death.

Six currently just stared back at them coolly, arms folded over his chest as he waited for them to speak first.

“You’ve been wandering away a lot lately,” Damien opened the conversation with a squint and his hands on his hips, “Why?”

“Doin’ my job,” Six replied flatly, “Only two places I can be at, with you and with my anchor relic.”

“Mike’s taser is still inside the old Freddy’s location,” Jeremy confirmed when Damien looked to him for help. The older man had a frown on his face. “I went to check and there seems to have been some movement in the building, vents got opened, dust has been disturbed, but there’s nothing to show intrusion from outside. The doors were still boarded on the inside, locked on the outside, the vent in Meera’s pizzeria is still sealed, so I’m not sure what’s going on.” He shrugged, “Had to board up the exit by Mike’s old security office on the outside because our original exit is now Meera’s wall.”

Damien scowled at the report. Something fishy was going on, but at least the taser was still hidden in the building. Because Mike spent literal years in the same location, a lot of his emotions about the place and the people in it saturated the building. Suppressed by the more powerful emotions and Remnant of other ghosts, it laid low underneath them all, unable to affect anything until the children were set free, until Jonathan was reborn, until the Purples bound to Springtrap were taken from their sealed room to Fazbear’s Fright. When all other influences were gone, it rose up and gave the building a general feeling of warning. The city had tried to have it torn down, but any attempts to cross the property just had people feel an immediate need to leave and refuse to return. So again it was left alone until Meera acquired it for her pizzeria.

Six’s relic, the taser, was placed inside the sealed side and his job was to reign in and contain the ambient Remnant, feeding off it to sustain his memory and strength. This allowed Circus Baby’s Pizza and Parties to succeed as a business while protecting the Freddy's side. For there to be movement inside the place, there had to have been something that overtook control of the Remnant from Six and negated the feeling of warning.

What could equal Six or surpass him to be able to do that?

“Mike’s Remnant should be keeping people out of there. You should be keeping people out,” he finally said in suspicion as Six just kept staring back at him with an unreadable expression. “What the heck are you doing over in that building?”

“My. Job,” Six repeated flatly, now glaring back and Jeremy winced at the familiar look.

“Do you know what’s been getting inside Freddy’s?” he asked warily, wincing as the glare was now directed at him.

“Yes,” Six replied curtly. No other information. He was like Mike in that instance, giving you responses that sounded like he was answering you but was just semi-truthful lip service or non-answers that fit without giving you any substantial information.

“Well, what’s been getting in?!” Damien exclaimed in frustration.

“Mike’s Remnant,” the spirit answered, moving to put his hands on his hips as a bored expression came over his face. Damien looked about ready to grab for his stash of cherry bombs while Jeremy pulled his hands over his face.

“Six, the building is saturated in Mike’s Remnant,” he explained as calmly as he could.

“Yeah no, took a lotta years for it to condense into the other relics so the building doesn’t have the Remnant anymore,” Six replied with a huff, “I’m keeping the shield up with what’s there.”

Damien and Jeremy both blinked and looked at each other in confusion. Relics? More than just the taser? For something to hold Mike’s Remnant like that, they needed to be things he kept close constantly and was exposed to strong emotion for a long time. What could those things be?

“What other relics are there?” Damien asked in a baffled tone, scratching his head. “You got any ideas on what stuff the old man had all the time? Anything important?”

“Nothing that comes to mind, no,” Jeremy told him, looking distant and thoughtful, “Maybe his security uniform? It’s daily wear but I don’t know if that counts as ‘important’.” He rubbed his chin slowly and hummed, “Well, I do remember my first night shift Mike had a camera in his locker that he used to take my picture.” Jeremy frowned at the memory as it dredged up more. “It took a while for him to share with me why he did that; he took photos of every night guard that took over after his promotion to day shift, so there’d be something to show they existed if they got killed by the animatronics and Fazbear Entertainment covered it up.”

“Wouldn’t those be compelling evidence to cast light on the company’s shady shit?” Damien asked in surprise.

“They would but the photos went missing around the time Panther’s brother showed up to avenge him,” Jeremy replied with a disturbed expression, “I don’t remember much of that night but Mike was really upset that the photos were taken from his locker. Tiger may have taken them but he also died on pizzeria grounds so those photos would still have to be somewhere in the building. We just never found them.” He waved a hand dismissively, “Anyway, the photos are gone, but the camera was left alone. So maybe that’s a relic?”

“Uuugh, the point is,” Damien declared, throwing up his arms at the shifting topics, “Six has been ditching me without warning and he’s done it so many times already and I wanna know what the fuck he’s doing!”

“His. Job,” Six repeated in that tone that Jeremy knew as meaning they were reaching close to his patience limit.

“Six, what exactly is your job in Freddy’s? Just checking your memory,” he asked cautiously and the spirit just sighed in exasperation.

“You put the taser in Fazfuck’s restaurant and the residual Remnant from Mike was just looping old impressions and memories and giving off that ‘get the fuck out’ feel to everybody,” he answered with a roll of his eyes, “You wanted me to use that Remnant for myself and get it under control. Been making it into a shield to keep out anyone that’s not meant to be there.”

“Least that’s working,” Damien grumbled, walking away from the group a short distance to cool his head.

Jeremy watched him go and sighed quietly. “Seven, can you get anything out of him?” he asked his own spirit. There was always this sense of unreality when talking to the spirit; he was made in the image of himself back when he was the young night watch taken under Mike’s wing so Jeremy was essentially talking to his past self.

“About as much as you,” Seven returned in a bored tone, “There’s no reason for me to be here.”

Okay, that was more cause for alarm. Six and Seven were team spirits; they were strongest when working together and coordinated on everything. For Seven to say that, either Six was withholding information from even his partner spirit or Seven was in on it and also blocking their efforts to figure out what was going on.

Something was getting into Freddy’s that was unaffected by the impression left behind by Mike to force people to leave the grounds alone and there was no identifying information for it.

“Look, I pop over there to check on the status of the relics sometimes. Everything is where it should be. Stop fucking worrying about it, you’re old. Gonna give yourself a heart attack or something,” Six told him in exasperation. Seven shot him a look and the older spirit just lifted his hands in a shrug, eyebrows raised.

“I do my job. You do yours,” the smaller spirit muttered sullenly, folding his arms over his chest.

“Job’s gotten complicated. Not my fuckin’ fault,” Six huffed back. Those words brought Damien’s attention back to them as Jeremy narrowed his eyes.

What did that mean?

“Complicated how?” Damien demanded to know as he stepped closer to the group, “You keep people out of the Freddy’s Pizza side of that building and you keep Mike’s Remnant under control; how did that get complicated?!”

“Shit happens,” Six snarked back, his posture shifting defensively. Beside him, Seven tensed, eyes darting back and forth between Damien and Jeremy as if to gauge them as threats. It was unsettling, to be seen as a potential threat by his own Remnant copy. Jeremy raised a hand to try and calm them both down.

“Look, just give us your report,” he said tiredly, “Something’s been moving around inside the old Freddy’s. You’ve been going over there to investigate so you had to have seen what got in. So what is it?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. With instructions that clear, the spirit would have to give a more straightforward answer.

Six had to have known it, with that expression on his face Mike only ever got when he was in a hard spot, knew he was in a hard spot, and didn’t like his options for getting out of it. That just confirmed two things for Jeremy; the spirit was fully aware what exactly was getting inside the sealed pizzeria and he was deliberately trying to hide that information from them. But why?

After a moment, Six’s expression flickered, just a tiny bit. Jeremy wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been paying attention. The spirit straightened his stance, arms folding over his chest again. “I already said what was in the building at those times. That’s all you’re gettin’ from me cuz pushin’ goes against my direction,” he replied flatly.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Damien yelled, leaning forward on the table.

“Damien, remember how Six and Seven were created,” Jeremy told him sharply, “You’re the one who gave them their direction that turned them from just being Mike’s and my Remnant into grief-bound spirits.” Damien looked at him in surprise, then took on a wide-eyed look of realization quickly followed by confusion.

“To protect the Guards and use their specialties when needed,” he murmured, “So it’s one of us going inside?” Damien frowned at that and shook his head. “No,” he corrected himself, “If it was one of us, Six would say. So.. someone who Six recognizes as a Guard but we don’t know.”

“Vanessa? Sydney?” Jeremy counted off on his fingers in consideration. He paused, then scowled. “Alex?” he added through gritted teeth.

“You think any of them has the will to go up against Mike’s influence and win?” Damien pointed out dubiously and Jeremy sighed, shaking his head.

“Panther, maybe, but Alex says Sydney is nothing like that anymore,” he replied and pressed fingers to his mouth with a musing hum. “Don’t put much stock in what that hacker says, though,” he muttered as an afterthought, “But Mike still held out against him back then, so it still shouldn’t work.”

Still that left them with the original issue. Someone that Six considered a Guard was getting into Freddy’s Pizza somehow and had a strong enough will to be unaffected by the warning atmosphere. And Six was refusing to identify them in order to protect them. But why would this other Guard need protecting from them?

“I told you I wasn’t needed,” Seven sighed, “I’m going back to rest. You’re not getting anything out of Six and I’m not bothering to try.” His form faded, green mist swirling around himself and gathering into a flame that then spread over Jeremy’s body. It sank in as the older man took a deep breath and relaxed.

“We’re done here,” Six added flatly and narrowed his eyes, “And that’s not me askin’. I’m only attached to ya, Woods, as a favor to Mike and to do my job. I can still do both if I just stick to my relic in Fazfuck’s.”

“That a threat to leave?” Damien shot back and Six huffed out a dry laugh.

“Nah. Just me remindin’ ya that I got options,” he drawled before following Seven’s cue of fading into blue mist, swirling around Damien and sinking in. The younger man flexed his hands, then turned the right one over to look at the number ‘6’ faintly glowing on the back. It faded to nothing after a moment.

“Well, that went nowhere,” Damien sighed in aggravation. Jeremy couldn’t help but agree. Though it wasn’t like it was fully unexpected. Six took after Mike, after all, with all his obstinance that kept the will of others from running roughshod over his own, unbreakable in the ways that mattered to him and his loved ones. So it was a mystery of the highest order on what, or who, had a will that matched the Strength to Survive and could overcome it without harming Six.

Time to search through the Afton Files again. Maybe they overlooked something...

[bidoofenergy]

na dekhi koi aisi girl

(english: never seen a girl like that) “Zomato,” he blurts. “Actually, I’m Gayatri,” she says, smiling at him like he’s funny on purpose and not because he just remembered that he knows her from a freaking billboard. or: Pavitr and Gayatri's first meeting also on AO3

Today is another great day of being Mumbhattan’s one and only Spider-man. It’s also another decent day of being Mumbhattan’s millionth tenth standard student. Even though he’s Spider-man and he could just swing his way to school, Pavitr still meets his friends outside the train station every day. They hang out by the doors, squished together, and ride for a few stops. These are all kids he’s known for years, ever since he moved to Mumbhattan to live with his Maya Auntie. His friend Nikhil, who lives in the same building just one floor down, drapes himself over Pavitr’s back to show them all a cool cricket catch—she catches! And then trips over the boundary but saves it! And then catches it again! They all whoop and applaud appropriately, much to the chagrin of other passengers.

Luckily for the other passengers, they tumble out at the next stop. Pavitr’s school is a short walk from the station and as soon as they leave the station, they’re surrounded by other students. They start splitting up: Nikhil’s a year younger and he finds his classmates, Meera peels off to join some other friends and pretend she’s never talked to a boy in her life, and Pavitr shouts “see you later!” when he spots his classmate Hari.

Hari, who’s instincts rival Pavitr’s spidey sense—or maybe it’s the years of being friends, dodges to the side right as Pavitr tries to throw his arms around him. He laughs as Pavitr stumbles, barely managing to not fall flat on his face in the middle of the road. “Where’s your tie?” he asks when Pavitr recovers.

Pavitr slaps his chest which is where is tie should be—and isn’t. Then his hand goes to his hair because sometimes he ends up using his tie as a hairband—which is a bad habit he really should get out of—and it’s not there either. “Oh shit,” he swears softly and Hari starts to laugh again. Pavitr swings his bag to the front to frantically rifle through it, hoping his tie was just in his bag and not at home or in an alleyway somewhere. “Do we have assembly today?” he asks as he looks.

“Nah, but I can see Mohan sir at the gate.” Hari replies, a little too casual with his delivery of the news of Pavitr’s future demise.

“Damn, damn, damn,” Pavitr chants frantically, searching through his bag with even more fervor. Mohan sir is the worst, their physics teacher, and he loves to check everyone’s uniforms as they walk in. At the absolute best, Pavitr will have to run two laps around the building and then go to class sweaty to get yelled at by his class teacher (and his bench-mate). But if Mohan sir remembers he’s forgotten his tie three times in the last few weeks, he’s truly screwed.

“Just keep your bag in front,” Hari tells him calmly. He looks incredibly calm, hands in his pockets and posture loose. Pavitr knows he’s hoping Mohan sir won’t get annoyed at both of them and check their bags for phones. “And fix your hair.” Hari adds, which is just rude.

“Arre yaar,” Pavitr complains, but he obeys, abandoning his search for his tie to flatten his hair. He’s been pushing his luck for months now because he wants longer hair and Maya Auntie doesn’t care. But Mohan sir cares and thinks he looks like a rowdy and wants him to run laps every day until he cuts his hair, so Pavitr smooths his hair down and hopes someone else will distract sir.

They enter the school grounds, Pavitr rambling about forgetting his Marathi notebook—despite it being two years since he’s had to take Marathi—while Hari nods like he’s speaking sensibly. They’re past the gates, just a few steps away from the entrance to the building, when a tingle passes down his spine. Out the corner of his eye, Pavitr sees Mohan sir turn to focus on him, hawk-like. “Shit,” he whispers and Hari stuffs his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“Pavitr!” Mohan sir exclaims and Pavitr speeds up, leaving Hari behind to collapse with laughter. He speed-walks away, trying to get far away enough that Mohan sir will give up.

“Pavitr, get back here!” Mohan sir yells after him and Pavitr decides to risk it and starts a light jog, weaving through the crowd to get into the building. The receptionist gives him an odd look and, when Mohan sir shouts his name again, starts to stand up.

Well, that won’t do. Pavitr pushes through the crowd and ducks down the kindergarten wing instead of heading up the stairs to his class. A little down the hall is an alcove that has a sink for all the dishes and messes the little kids produce and there’s a shelf that he can hide behind if he can just get in there without anyone seeing…

Behind him, Hari is saying, “Oh, ma’am, my father wanted me to ask—” with a very dramatic emphasis on father, as if anyone needs to be reminded of who Hari’s dad is. Pavitr is adding another favor to his mental tally (Favors You Owe vs Favors He Owes; Pavitr probably owes Hari his first-born at this point) as he ducks into the alcove and comes face to face with someone else.

Not just someone else. It’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen in his life. Her eyes are big and dark brown and beautiful and she’s wearing kajal. Her hair is dark and shiny and short, right above her shoulders, half up. She has a nose piercing! And a row of hoops along the edge of an ear! She’s so pretty, even in their uniform, her own shirt untucked and tie loose around her neck in an effortlessly, casually cool way. Pavitr is suddenly incredibly conscious of how sloppy he must look, rushed and hair messy and, oh god his pants leg is stuck in his left sock!

“You hiding too?” she asks, peeking over his shoulder to see if anyone is following. She looks so familiar but she’s not in his class—he would remember—and she must not take Hindi—he would remember—so where does he know her from?

“Zomato,” he blurts instead of answering her question, like a fool. She laughs, and god she’s so pretty.

“Actually, I’m Gayatri,” she says, smiling at him like he’s funny on purpose and not because he just remembered that he knows her from a freaking billboard.

“Pavitr,” he manages. “And yeah, I forgot my tie and Mohan sir already has a case against me.” Gayatri giggles and the single conscious thought Pavitr can manage is that he’s going to do everything possible to hear that again.

And then she’s leaning forward and her hand is on his chest and oh she’s pulling something out of his shirt pocket? He manages to tear his gaze away to look at what she’s pulled out and—oh. It’s his tie. He actually had his tie the whole time. Silently, he takes it from her and pulls it over his head, feeling a little like his cheeks are burning so hot he’s going to catch on fire. Gayatri is still laughing at him, but it’s gentle and she’s so pretty he can’t feel bad.

“He also hates my hair.” He adds, trying to fix his hair without a mirror.

“Mohan sir thinks my earrings are dangerous.” Gayatri tells him, rolling her eyes. Even as she rolls her eyes, she looks cool and classy! Pavitr opens his mouth to respond but. before he can speak, a hand claps down on his shoulder. Slowly, Pavitr spins around to face… their PT teacher.

“Ah, Shubman sir!” Pavitr exclaims nervously. Normally, Shubman sir is nice and doesn’t give Pavitr a hard time for hair but also normally Pavitr isn’t in alcoves with a girl.

“What are you doing over here?” Shubman sir asks, face unreadable.

“Looking for my tie,” Pavitr replies before really thinking through how stupid that sounds. Behind him, Gayatri snorts and then coughs to cover it. Shubman sir’s stern expression cracks a little and Pavitr knows he’s safe.

“Get to class,” he tells Pavitr and Pavitr scampers away, towards the staircase. He can feel Gayatri try to follow after him, but Shubman sir stops her. “I have a form for your dad, come get it.” He tells her. Pavitr feels himself deflate a little. He doesn’t even know what class she’s in!

“Okay sir,” Gayatri says, smiling sweetly. When Shubman sir turns to head to the staff room, she turns to wave at Pavitr. “See you,” she mouths at him, grinning. There’s an explosion of warmth in Pavitr’s chest.

[ramayantika]

Tere Rang

“It’s going to be a Krishna song for the dance competition once again, right?” said, Ananya, inserting the last juda pin in her friend, Vilasini’s hair.

Vilasini, a seventeen-year-old science student in class eleven was all set for the senior’s inter-school dance fest that was to be held at her school. She wore a dark blue lehenga with gold embroidery that shimmered under the lights. Her best friend, Ananya, had taken the responsibility of getting Vilasini ready for the competition because, she was good at stage makeup and hairstyling, a skill, Vilasini was yet to acquire perfectly.

“You know me well, Ananya,” said, Vilasini, her face donning a faint shade of the setting sun.

Ananya looked at her friend’s bashful face, whose eyes had immediately moved down to the floor at the mention of Krishna, the god, the charmer of hearts from a bygone era. As she braids flowers into Vilasini’s hair, she wonders how did a girl from today’s time fall in love with a God when people barely utter a prayer under their breaths.

Krishna… the name itself was beautiful. Though Ananya was not that much of a believer in gods and goddesses, she happily supported her friend in her beliefs. For Ananya, Krishna was not a God, but a great historical character, an important figure to learn from especially in today’s time. Sometimes she offered flowers to the Krishna murti at her house after a lot of pestering from her mother, but she would spend a lot of time reading stories and articles about him.

Vilasini, on the other hand appeared to be a modern generation saint. She spoke softly and so slowly in a gentle voice that made everyone feel as if a divine aura surrounded them. For Vilasini, Krishna was her life force, her breath, and her purpose for living. She woke up with Krishna’s name on her lips and welcomed sleep with only Krishna’s name on her lips.

“You remind me of the saint poet, Meera, do you know?” Ananya said, after finishing her work on Vilasini’s hair left beautifully open with a half bun pinned with jasmine and rose flowers.

Vilasini turned her head from her reflection towards her friend. “No one can be Meerabai in this generation. Not even me, even if I try to.”

Ananya smiled and shook her head. Checking the last details of Vilasini’s makeup and hair, she said, “Fine, but I am damn sure, you will look the prettiest contestant there.”

Smiling, Vilasini replied, patting the creases on her skirt, “All thanks to my talented sakhi here.”

“I like the way the word sakhi sounds. So gentle and beautiful.”

***

Vilasini’s performance was the last one in the list. Ananya had decided to stay with her friend instead of joining the audience just for the sole reason of helping her friend for any last-minute mishaps and to maintain her friend’s confidence.

Tapping her feet, Vilasini asked, “Will I be able to perform well? There have been so many good performances before me. Also, I have a very simple song. Will anyone be interested in watching mine anymore after all the splendid presentations?”

Ananya looked at the boy dancing on the stage on Hai Rama in a bolly-hiphop fusion style. Turning her gaze towards her friend, she said, “Sometimes, the most simple things are the most thoughtful ones. Have faith in your practice and Krishna. And just like you always do, dance for your Krishna, for him alone.”

A minute later, the boy was done with his performance, and the audience erupted in cheers and applause. The host, one of Vilasini’s classmates, then announced her arrival on stage and signalled at the small back room upstairs to start playing Vilasini’s music.

“All the best, Vilasini. Go win the stage and your dear Kanha’s heart,” wished Ananya.

Vilasini nodded at her friend and muttered Krishna’s name under her breath as she took a twirl to enter the stage on the beats of the sitar.

Alai payuthey kanna en manam miga alai payuthe…

Vilasini’s fingers show the movement of waves as the song goes on to depict how her mind flows like waves when she hears Krishna’s melodious flute. The golden embroidery on her lehenga glitters under the yellow stage lights on the ceiling. If her voice alone was enough to bring tranquil in her listener’s hearts, her dance was captivating to catch everyone’s attention. No matter what they were doing earlier, all their eyes and other senses stand still on seeing her move on stage like a swan.

Nilai peyandru Kanna , shilai polave nindra,

Neram avathu ariyamale miga

Vinodhamana Murali Dhara , en manam…

The blue dupatta twirls around her and covers her face for a second before moving away like a sea wave gently going back from the shore. As the blue veils falls off from her face, Vilasini sees a boy seated in the corner of the audience, looking the most striking and attractive amongst all. Her breath stands still as she portrays a woman standing like a statue after being lost in the lovely cowherd’s music.

Her ghungroos produce an enchanting sound in sync with the beats of the song. Her body sways to the music as light as the branches of the kadamba tree. It appeared as if Vilasini’s soul danced on stage and not only just her body. Ananya smiles at her friend’s performance when a flash of gold passes her eye on the opposite side of the stage. Blinking her eyes once again, she lets out a gasp when she sees a long peacock feather on the ground.

There is no one on the opposite side of the stage except the host who is on her phone.

Telinda nilvu patta pagal pol eriyuthe , un dikkai nokki yen iru puruvam neriyuthe…

Kanintha un venu ganam kattil varugudhe , kangal sorugi oru vidhamay varugudhe…

Vilasini’s heart races as a strange yet divine awareness fills her being. Her beloved is right here. She can’t see him, but feel his presence. As she mouths the lyrics while performing, a small lock of hair escapes the clutch of the clips pinned to her hair and lightly tickle her left cheek.

A soft whisper teases her ear, “Why search for me elsewhere, when I exist right in front of you priye?”

Ananya notices her friend’s mouth open slightly, as if she heard something else other than the song. The moment lasts for only a mere second and Vilasini is back to her performance. Her expressions change from being a shy bashful girl talking to Krishna to being a passionate heroine desperate to see her lover. Vilasini’s large doe-like eyes turn watery and they move around like a deer in search of Krishna. Ananya observes the vulnerability in her stance. Her friend was far beyond the music. She was in a mystical realm of divine love and longing.

Kathitha pathathil oruthi manathai

Enakku alitthu mahizhtthavaa…

As Vilasini points to her lovely alta-dyed feet, her eyes spot another dark foot adorned with a gold anklet just beside her. Before she could stare at the foot that had fallen in step with her, she feels someone hold her arm and turn her around. The touch, light as a feather, and warm as a lover’s.

Her body bends gracefully to the side, her fingers laced together and arms raised up, with the neck slightly bent downwards. When her eyes travel up, she sees the one, whom she had been desperately dreaming about since childhood, her one true love.

“Prananatha?” She murmurs.

“The one and only,” says, the dark beloved lord of her heart. Pretty feet around, which lie two beautiful gold anklets. A golden yellow dhoti and a royal blue uttariya over his shoulders, broad arms laden with golden arm bands and the signature peacock feather on his crown, the darling heart thief of Vrindavana bows at her.

No long does Vilasini care about the audience. It’s a wonder if she even cares about herself anymore. Her limbs move on their own accord, or perhaps on Krishna’s accord. Ananya senses something strange near her friend, and even near herself.

The energy in the auditorium has changed. Teachers and students sit still with their senses lost, eyes all dazed and drowsy as if witnessing something hypnotic in front of them. The judges don’t write the scores, their pens now resting on the table. Ananya wonders if someone is actually even breathing or not.

Oru thanitha vanatthil anaitthu enakku

Unarcchi koduthu Mughizhtthavaa…

“Man, is she really hugging someone on stage?” mutters, Ananya, her eyes wide in surprise and confusion laced in her features.

Vilasini’s slender arms curl around her beloved lord’s neck, as she takes a round about the stage. Her feet daintily move around, their pace slow as if time itself had slowed down to let Vilasini absorb the moment. “I have waited for this moment all my life, Krishna.”

Her song album doesn’t have a flute tune, but what limits does Krishna have? He plays a sweet mellifluous tune from his flute that has enchanted the world since the third cycle of time. Vilasini’s nimble fingers caress Krishna’s curls as he dances near her, his smile enchanting and disarming like a sharp arrow aimed straight towards her heart.

“I have had too many women falling over me, but I wouldn’t like you to fall down for me physically here on stage. We have a performance to show.”

“The world does not matter to me anymore. Only you do,” says, Vilasini, her voice, only a mere whisper.

KaNai kadal alaiyinil

Kadhiravan oliyinil

Inai iru kazhalena kazhikkavaa?…

“The ever-flowing waves keep meeting the shore, and the sun sheds its light to the whole of mankind. How long would it be until my friend finally starts to acknowledge my presence?” Ananya hears a manly playful voice near her ears, causing her to jump a little in fright.

To Vilasini, if the lord of the Universe appeared in the form of a young charming boy with a lovely peacock feather and a gracious smile, then to Ananya, he appeared in the form of a glorious king decked in silks and jewels, befitting his royal lineage and handsome charm.

“The fuck?”

“I thought you would have realized me by now, but i realized that you actually did not. Here I am to finally show myself to my sakhi.”

“When did I become your sakhi?”

Rolling his beautiful dark eyes, he sighs, and says, “Years ago, when you were merely a six-year-old and your colony children did not include you in their games, you came to me and asked me to be your friend.” He pouts, and gives her a mock glare, “Batao meri mitrata ke yahi din aagaye…?”

Ananya blinks her eyes rapidly. “This is a literal prank now. Tell me who are you?”

Placing his hands over his hips, the lord of Dwaraka says, “The world’s famous and naughtiest prankster.”

“And you are also there with her…?” Ananya pointed towards her friend.

“Ask me where am I not?”

The stage lights change from yellow to bluish-green, making the darling of Vrindavana look even more ethereal. His eyes gleam like a diamond’s lustrous glow and Vilasini’s eyes go lost in his tender gaze. He raises his arm, and Vilasini lifts her fingers to graze his wrist when he gently holds her hand and makes her sway around him.

Kadhari manam uruhi naan azhaikkavo?

Fresh tears drip down her eyes as she takes in the beauty of her beloved. She could dance for him to his tunes forever and ever until one day her breath flies away and she merges into her love, her God. Krishna’s eyes gleam on catching sight of his devotee’s love-filled eyes, and Vilasini’s eyes gleam with happy tears on finally finding her God, her life.

A dazzling scene unfolds in front of Ananya’s eyes. Krishna yellow robes and Vilasini’s blue lehenga sparkle like a scene from a fantasy movie. When their hands meet, a red aura forms around them, and when their feet brush against one other, a soft white halo forms around them. She doesn’t let her eyelids fall for even a second as realization dawns on her about the concept of Jivatmaa and Parmatmaa.

“Now do you see?” Dwarkadheesh asks.

Ananya hesitantly lets out a breath, afraid that even a slightest of movement would disrupt the enchanting vision in front of her. “Yes, everything.”

Is it some illusion or is it the naked truth? How does one even breathe or move when the lord of the senses, the mastermind behind all, comes in front of you and smiles like a dear old friend from the past? What is God? Is he a friend or a teacher? Is he a child or a lover? Did the poets from the bygone era write such colourful poetry of lovelorn nayikas, searching for their dear Kanhaiya after experiencing the same emotions like the two girls facing now? I do not know about the others, but Krishna is like water. Just like water takes the shape of the container it is housed in, so does our Kanhaiya gladly conform to the shades of various characters we see him as.

One is an observer, marvelled at the glorious sight. How can she go back to the world now?

One is a participant of the colourful play, a mystical performance of the universe, a dance that can never completely be given justice in description. It can only be seen through the eyes and felt by the heart. It cannot be danced by the body. Only the soul dances. She never belonged to the world.

“Priye do you see now?”

And the dancer blushes like a bride, her voice breathy and low, “I now see it all, Prananatha.”

************* **************** ************* ************** *********

This was requested by @purplelandsworld

I deviated slightly from the request because a crazy krishna dream struck and i began listeniing to tere rang and Alai payuthey so i really really reaaly hope you like this one. This one is a little different from what i usually write byt anyway i hope you find it nice

Also you all i had been waiting to get this written down from a long time but kanhaiya here made me busy with college work. Now he finally gave me my college so here's a little token for him from my side

And before some of you come up to me saying haww this is indecent and krishna isn't a netflix look if it were indecent krishna would never let me write it. Besides all of it have also been my own scenarios to keep me happy with krishna so kindly do not interfere. And this fic was inspired from a really pretty dream i saw and god krishna took my heart away even in the dream then so i added some of those parts in this one too.

tagging: @shut-up-rabert @ketchup-jar-ka @krishna-sahacharini

@krishna-priyatama @jessbeinme15 @arachneofthoughts @kaal-naagin @reallythoughtfulwizard @thegleamingmoon @ma-douce-souffrance

[forgaeven1]

it- it ain't always that someone takes whatever he's got to say with the level o'... of calmness, he could say.

no, usually, whenever gendry speaks the way he does, which he's sure isn't delivered fancily or anythin', just some bastard shootin' off the first thought that fleets his mind, people would either responded back in disdain. in arya's case, she would've ... she would've called him stupid. not meanly, or maybe not as meanly as other people would've meant it. no, with her, he knows it's almost purposeful; he knows it's their way of keepin' each other in check. he'd called her stupid too, for rushin' in too quick sometimes, for not always mindin' the fact she's a girl in a world where men would hurt little girls like her. especially those whose father was eddard stark.

this m'lady is playful; the kind of playful, gendry imagines, maybe he would've known more of had he been friendlier growing up. had he been more interested in making friends, in maintainin' them. it doesn't go over his head that they might be the same age, or at the very least, that their ages aren't far apart from each other. he couldn't remember spendin' time with someone who could be his peers without the tension of execution hangin' about like some ghosts, without any impendin' war over his head. her response makes her crack a small grin o' his head, which gendry redirects t' the floor of the snow-caked forest.

❛ yeah. ❜ he laughs a little, choked and short, though s' a laugh nevertheless. ❛ why not. not like we 'aven't seen worse comin' from the richmen, we did. ❜

and anyway, hadn't jaime feckin' lannister's hand made out of gold ? so really, the notion of it isn't too far off, he reckons. which gendry thinks is mad, anyways. like, fuck, the fucker probably deserves it, but t' give a former knight some useless heavy hand ? could it 'ven hold a sword ? gendry isn't sure. he didn't care enough to ask before, nor care enough t' have a discussion about it. there was no time, then. no interest. tha' was before the war o' the dead, though. s' startling, rememberin' all over again that he's not another corpse right now, ready for burnin'.

❛ well - you're a lady, aren't ya' ? and yer' da's a lord ? you've got land n' everything, i assume ? ❜ he doesn't know much about the houses, if he's honest. the boys and girls o' fleabottom, they don't learn this growin' up. they learn to scrap by, to find their strengths by fallin' mercy to the adults on their streets. gendry himself only knows the big houses : starks and lannister and tyrell and the like. but the vassals under 'em... that's trickier. he's lucky enough not to 'ave his tongue removed by the way he treated nearly everyone the same.

gods, his temper. davos said once it's so alike robert, the damn fat king.

❛ then yer' a highborn, no ma'er what people call ye'. ❜

the south, the lady speaks. right. they've got to do that. when yer under a banner, you follow your lord liege, ain't it. gendry had sworn himself to jon, to the north really, when he arrived here, but it all seems - pointless now. jon snow's besotted with the foreign dragon queen, and gendry trusts her as much as he trusts any o' the baratheons, had they still live - which isn't much at all. he can't imagine goin' 'ven if jon asks, or arya does. why should he ? he'd done his fight, hadn't he ? and, anyways, he didn't want the throne. other folks could spill blood for it, though. he's seen the devastation, and gendry doesn't think it's worth that much.

although —

❛ isn't- isn't yer da' alive ? then, shouldn't they send only men ? ❜ he asks aloud, confusion marring his questions, as he takes the damp cloth into his own two palms, sighing in relief at the warmth of it.

GENDRY’S OUTBURST MAKES HER GRIN. It’s absurd and rude and Meera quashes it before it can get too big. Not that she delights in his anger. She’s just surprised, is all, at his intensity. All this trouble to make a fire, when really she just had to ask him about home. Meera watches him speak in rapt fascination. After the blandness of the caverns, after the blankness in Bran’s eyes, she’s forgotten what it’s like to witness passion.

She leans in, sheltering close to this new kind of fire. It’s nice.

“Thousands?” Meera repeats. The warmth of the flames seeps into her voice, her smile. She ignores the direction his words were going before he trailed off and spins her own a completely different way. “How could someone even use all that gold? Smelt it down into a golden anvil, maybe?” There’s a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “Or a golden frog-spear? There’s some fish that like the glint of shiny things, you know. Makes them curious. Easier to catch.” A pause; for a moment she seems like she’s genuinely considering this. “Not unlike us, I suppose.”

Meera’s gaze drops to Gendry’s hands, and she thinks she begins to understand. They’re still ash-black from the battle. No wonder it won’t leave him. He’s brought it all the way out to the pond. She reaches under her furs to pull out some of the bandage scraps she got from the healers. For when it’s time to change her dressings, they’d said. This is more important.

She reaches out to press the cloth into perfect, untouched snow. The cold bites at her fingers; she wrinkles her nose. When it’s drenched through and through, she picks it up, gives it a slight shake, then holds it next to the fire. Cradles it, really. Not close enough to burn out the wet, but enough to soak up the ice.

“Greywater Watch,” she says at last. The browns of her eyes begin to melt. “It’s a castle. Nothing so grand as Winterfell, but it’s home. You’re very kind, you know, to call House Reed highborn.” She flips the cloth so the fire can warm the other side. “Most anyone else would say mudmen.” A glance down at her attire. “I suppose I can’t blame them.”

Meera frowns, thinking.

“I — I’d like to go home.” Bran doesn’t need her anymore, it’s true. But. “House Reed is sworn to the Starks. And the Starks are marching south.” She gives Gendry a rueful sort of smile and tries not to think of her bruises. She is a hunter, not a soldier. The battle for the living had been close. If she goes south, she isn’t hopeful she will come back. “Maybe it won’t come to that. King’s Landing will see the dragons and surrender, I’m sure. They have to.” An undercurrent of terror snaps at her throat. Her eyes go distant for a moment. Then she refocuses.

“Here.” Meera tosses another log on the fire, then worms her way around to sit next to Gendry. Out of habit she reaches for his hands, but then she remembers he’s not Hodor, or Bran, or Jojen during a fit. An awkward moment passes; she tries to figure out what to do with herself. She settles for extending the damp cloth instead. “To clean off the dead, if you’d like. Don’t worry. It’s warm.”

[siriusblack-the-third]

Here, have some prongsfoot fluff and exasperated Remus.

.

"You're so handsomeee."

Remus sighed at the awed tone of James' voice and stared up at the ceiling. Oh great, he thought tiredly. Here they go again.

"You're so prettyyy," came Sirius' reply to the compliment, and Remus closed his eyes in exasperation, already done with the both of them. Mushy, lovey-dovey idiots, the pair of them.

"You're beautiful."

"And you're stunning."

"Well, you are—"

Remus slammed his textbook shut and glared at Sirius and James. "Jesus fucking Merlin, do either of you ever shut up?"

James, cradled like a baby in Sirius' lap with his face buried in his neck, sniggered. Sirius grinned, pressed a kiss to his boyfriend's hair, and winked at Remus.

Remus rolled his eyes. "We get it. You're in love. Shut the fuck up about it."

James' sniggering turned into a full blown laugh, and he stuffed his face into Sirius' chest to muffle it, clutching at the lapels of his leather jacket. Sirius tightened his arms around James and smiled at him, soft and adoring, complete with the starry-eyed look. It was sickeningly cute, and Remus wanted to throw up.

"Are you jealous, Remmie?" James teased, and Remus knew there was a shit-eating grin on his face even though he couldn't see it. "Want us to set you up with someone so you can be lovey-dovey with them?"

Remus rolled his eyes again, harder this time. "No thanks," he said, shuddering for the dramatics. "You might like being disgusting, I don't want to be any such thing."

Sirius and James both snickered, leaning towards each other for a peck on the lips. Remus scowled and pointed his wand at them.

"Owie!"

"Remus!"

He smiled smugly at the outraged looks on his best friend's faces as the rubbed their cheeks where his stinging hexes had landed. "Either stop being mushy in front of me, or get lost."

Sirius rolled his eyes and clutched James closer. "You don't have to be so bitter, mate."

Remus gave him a deadpan look. "Go eat lunch. Stop bothering me."

Sirius took a glance at James, and the wicked smile that grew on his face made the blood drain from Remus' face. Oh, no. That look was never good. Oh fuck, he thought to himself with trepidation, what the fuck did you get yourself into this time?

"I could eat lunch," Sirius said lightly, the gleam in his eyes a promise that Remus was not going to like the rest of the sentence. "Or I could eat James out."

Remus dropped his head into his hands. James squeaked, slapping a hand over Sirius' mouth, a fiery red blush exploding across his cheekbones. "Sirius!"

"What?" Remus was never trusting that innocent tone of Sirius' voice. He wasn't stupid, fuck you very much. "Do you not like the idea?"

Remus raised his head, curious despite himself, and smirked at the sight. James' lips were pursed, and his eyes were cast down, the blush still going strong. He was fiddling with the studs on Sirius' jacket while Sirius grinned down at him with a weird mixture of flirty and fond.

"... I wouldn't mind," came the faint answer before James burrowed back into Sirius' chest, hiding from the laughter that bubbled up Remus' and Sirius' throats.

.

.

Tag list:

@narcissa-black-supermacy @in-flvx @soopsiedaisies @padfootastic @gracelesslady23 @mycupofrum @fiendishfyre @ad1thi @prongsfoot-wolfstar @siriuslystarbucks @strwbi-laces @roalinda @manavi-meera

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Eyes and Ears

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: An AU where Barbara finds Jason instead of Bruce.

It's March and Jason's fifteen in this chapter.

Chapters: 35/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood, Original Character(s)

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character(s), Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Older SIbling Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd-centric, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Jason Todd is NOT Robin, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Has a Crush, Adopted Siblings

Chapter Thirty-Five: Trial Basis

The following morning, Dick packed his bag, and Jason grabbed his arm. "Dick, don't," Jason whispered. Dick frowned.

"I gotta go. I told you that," Dick reminded Jason. Jason let out a shaky breath. "Don't, okay?"

Jason pushed his hair back and started pacing back and forth. "Dick, don't go. I know we talked about it, but I changed my mind. Please, just one more day," Jason panted as he held back tears. Dick sat on Jason's bed and took a deep breath. "I can't stay here. I really don't think that I can—."

"I need you to stay still for a minute, so I can look at you while I'm talking to you," Dick requested calmly. Jason stopped responding as he paced back and forth. Dick caught a glimpse of Jason's face. Despite the anxiety wrinkles in his forehead, his eyes were almost vacant. Dick took Jason's water bottle off the shelf, and he stopped Jason and made him hold the bottle until he made eye contact. "It's gonna be okay." Jason gasped as he started to sob. "Shhh it's gonna be okay." Dick hugged him, and Jason let the water bottle fall to the ground.

"I can't do this," Jason cried. Dick rested his chin on the top of Jason's head.

"Yes, you can... And you've still got me. I'll come and check on you as much as I can. I just gotta get back to SF—."

"Let me come back with you," Jason begged.

Barbara entered the room, and when she saw Jason crying, she froze. "Jason, I'm—."

Dick shook his head. "It's alright... You're gonna be fine," Dick whispered. Barbara came closer and grabbed Jason's hand. "Jason, please take a breath."

"Jason, it's okay if you're not okay," Barbara reassured him, and he dropped to his knees and cried with his face pressed into her lap. She rubbed his back. "I'm not gonna leave you anymore. I promise."

Jason held onto her until he could calm down. "You gotta let Dick go..."

Jason nodded as his panic subsided. Barbara gestured for Dick to go while Jason was distracted, and once he was gone, Barbara let out a breath of relief. "I couldn't sleep last night. I um-. Here," Barbara took a book out of her bag and handed it to Jason. Jason opened it and looked through the pages. "I had a lot of time to scrapbook these past few months... And I promised you that I'd get your pictures copied for you."

Jason didn't say anything as he looked over the photographs. "Thank you," Jason whispered. He smiled as he looked at the pictures with Barbara and Jim.

"Dad said you don't want to see Meera," Barbara whispered. Jason shrugged. "I'm seeing someone now..."

"You are?" Jason asked. Barbara nodded. Jason fidgeted with the corners of the pages. "Have you met Meera?"

"No, but I looked into her extensively. Alisa picked her specifically for you," Barbara replied, "We can even go on the same days... If you want."

"I didn't say yes," Jason replied.

Barbara messed up Jason's hair. "Wanna make a deal like last time?" Barbara asked.

"I don't want to be Tiresias anymore," Jason confessed to her. Barbara looked down at Jason and frowned.

"So, no more partners in crimefighting?" she whispered.

"No, I mean, I'm ready to make the trade. Maybe it's time for you to be my eyes and ears. My Oracle," Jason sniffed, "And I'd be your Albatross."

"Jason—."

"Ask Dick what he thought of me in the field. I messed up a few days ago, but for the most part, I was useful in SF," Jason replied. Barbara's hands shook, and she closed her eyes.

"We'll talk when it's time for your stitches to come out, and I need you to see Meera as soon as possible," she responded.

Jason nodded. "Okay... Fine," Jason whispered.

"Yeah?" Barbara asked. Jason nodded, and she could tell he was still sick. He hadn't moved from her lap, but she didn't mind. "You wanna watch a movie?"

"Only if it's rated R," Jason replied.

"Okay, but not Silence of the Lambs," Barbara pat him on the back, and he sat up, "What did you have in mind?"

"Patrick Swayze—."

"You're shameless," Barbara laughed, "But fine." Jason smiled as he got up and followed her to the living room. Jason didn't get a whole two hours into the movie before he was curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Barbara let him sleep.

"Mom, where are you?" Jason mumbled in his sleep. Barbara paused the movie and looked over at Jason. "I can't... Mom, come get me." Barbara went closer and took Jason's hand. He squeezed her hand involuntarily in his sleep, and he relaxed. Barbara didn't say anything.

As he loosened his grip on her hand, she took it back and placed it on his forehead. She couldn't explain how much she'd missed him.

She couldn't tell him that she couldn't sleep now that he was home, not that she was sleeping much, to begin with.

Jason slept until Jim came back around noon with lunch. Jason sat up and rubbed his eyes. Jim walked over and messed up Jason's hair. "Feeling better?" Jim asked.

"Define better," Jason mumbled.

"Feel like eating?" Jim asked. Jason nodded. "Good. What're you kids watching?"

"Forever Lulu," Jason answered as he dug through the bag to find his food. "Thanks, Dad." Jason slowly ate while Jim plopped down and joined them for the movie. The movie was half over, but Jason didn't mind. He'd seen it a thousand times before in the tower with Dick.

Jason lay back on the couch. "How was it seeing Reese again?" Jim asked. Jason's face went hot.

"Um... He—. It was nice to see him," Jason replied. Barbara looked over at him. Jim chuckled.

"You boys can go out as soon as you feel better," Jim replied.

Jason nodded and raised his shoulders, "How soon can I see Meera?" Jason asked. Jim and Barbara stopped eating to look at him.

"Jason, that's—."

"It's only a trial basis. If I don't like Meera, I'm not going back... But I am gonna give her a chance," Jason mumbled as he went back to eating his food.

"I'll call and ask when you're settled in," Jim replied. Jason nodded.

[sensitive-trait]

That night it was James, who had the unpleasant job of breaking the news to Charlotte. He found her plucking away at her keyboard, playing Liszt and stood there watching for a moment in awe. “Hun, we need to talk... Someone knows about you,” he said as she neared the end of the piece, incapable of broaching the topic gently.

Charlotte's hand stilled abruptly. Meera couldn’t have known. She’d lied and said her belly buttons were nothing more than a birth defect. She thought she’d been convincing. 

“Simon’s mom spoke to Mum at work, I don’t think he knows, but Mrs. Kim figured it out from what you told Meera,” he replied.

Charlotte stood up and started hyperventilating. "I was so careful, I'm sorry. I -" gave her a moment to collect herself before he continued. “I know you were. I think it would be best if you tell Simon yourself when you are ready. And Meera too, since she will inevitably learn from him,” Charlotte nodded slowly.

“There’s more... Mum and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to do the talent show this year. It’s a lot of eyes on you at once and we don’t need to risk any more exposure right now.”

“Dad that’s not fair!” She yelled, her voice shrill as tears streamed down her face.

“I know, sweetheart, I’m sorry, this isn’t a punishment. But unfortunately, my job isn’t to be fair, it's to keep you safe.” Feeling incredibly guilty James pulled her into a hug. Wishing there was something he could do to make this easier for her.

“If it helps, you can perform for us all weekend, I’ll even put on my good suit.” he offered. Charlotte sniffed, letting out another wave of tears. Though his suggestion didn’t help at all, she hugged him back.

[divinitydiana]

A mom in an anime. Diana's expression was blank, if only because she had no idea what that meant. But the story was... admittedly cute, and her smile was crooked. It was nice to hear about children because they were so innocent, like wild animals. No capacity for cruelty, just basic survival needs. But they were annoying. Diana was glad just to hear of them. “Hmm. Where?” Her attention turned back to Meera and than her face lit up with the question. Gods, how she adored speaking about hunting. “Oh, so many places, my dearest. How I wish you would have seen them. Most unnamed, you know how vast the Otherworld is... One of the Valkyries named this little abyssal place 'Purple Anus,'” she recounted fondly.

“I’ve been having the Valkyries hunt with me in search of demigods once I had exhausted the mortal realm, salvaging them and bringing them to safety. So many fearsome creatures to chase in the meantime.” She frowned. “There had been very very little luck with the demigods before a few months ago, but we slayed beasts by the hundreds. On the way, there were breaks in Sumeru, the Sacellum of Boethiah, oh, and Teldrassil ruins.” She smiled wistfully. “Oh, remember when we stopped in Teldrassil ruins? You had only just joined us back then... You were such a fearsome warrior from the beginning.” Until she gave it up for a wailing boy and dirty diapers. So tragic. But not one of the many reasons Artemis would have held contempt for a former Valkyrie.

"According to my son I cook like a mom in an anime," Meera didn't know what that meant but Nirvaan seemed to enjoy it because he was constantly stuffing his face at a comical rate until he gave himself a stomach ache. "When he was a baby he used to eat so quickly he'd end up with gas," Meera giggled a bit to herself, "I used to have to peddle his little legs to get all the gas out and he'd laugh and laugh." She loved telling that story. "Oh, haven't you heard? He will be Hokage someday, my son, The Hero of Frozenfar. Hokage doesn't have time to fold his laundry, apparently." Meera knew very well what it meant to live a life of adventure, the perils and the tribulations that went alongside it. She knew that they'd all nearly died on that damn expedition, and she also knew a warder's job was to put his own life second to the life of their chancellor. There was a brief pause where her expression faltered before it returned to the fries before her. She took another bite, eager for a distraction. "Tell me something else, something new; I heard you left and went into the Otherworld recently, what happened? Where did you go?"