#mahabharata fics

[ramayantika]

Chaand chuppa badal mein...

Krishna and Bhaishmi are back. Enjoyyyyyy

Krishna and I have regularly stayed in touch with each other after the train took me away from him and the serene temple towns of Mathura and Vrindavan. We talk a lot on text and sometimes on call in the late hours of the night. I have to quietly sneak out to the balcony. If I am lucky, I get to go to the terrace without waking my parents up. If I am luckier, our schedules match our free time in the evening, and I get to call him in the quiet hours of the evening.

I chose humanities. Ranvit and Bhumi had to pursue science even though Ranvit likes art more. Bhumi was indecisive about what subjects to learn, but she fares well enough in science and mathematics than her brother and me, so she decided to go for the science stream.

Ranvit has to struggle a lot in physics and math though. He takes out his stress through painting and reading about Indian art. One thing I am happy about him is that he did not let go of his art, nor did my uncle and aunt force him to abandon his hobbies. Their condition: “Pursue science. Get admission into a decent engineering college and then keep doing whatever hobby makes you happy. But science and engineering.”

As for me, class ten mathematics had given me enough nightmares. I did well in science, but I had no interest in pursuing it in more detail for the next two years. Those monkey problems from Ranvit’s physics book and large derivations on Bhumi’s notebook had me in shivers. Maasi supports me choosing humanities though, but would never want her children to pursue anything apart from science.

Ranvit and I are in class twelve now. We have our boards and entrance exams next year. Bhumi is new to class eleven but she is able to handle her subjects well enough, better than Ranvit though.

“Busy looking at the moon…?” Krishna’s honeyed voice draws my attention from the golden full moon beaming right back at me. I breathe deeply and sigh. A sheepish smile forms on my lips, and I place my phone on my left ear. “Uh... sorry, but you are right. How did you figure out?”

I can hear his smile through the breath that escapes his lips on the phone call. He is outside too — perhaps staring at the same moon with me.

“I have a golden moon dangling down the dark sky too, but there is somebody else who is ethereal than the moon whom I would like to see, but my fate doesn’t support that.” He sighs. It is a dramatic one. “Guess, I will have to make do with this golden ball of light.”

My cheeks warm and I smile. It is actually a full-fledged grin with my eyes imagining how he would look saying all that in front of me.

I can easily picture a charming lazy smile and a hand moving through his soft wavy locks while he leans closer to me and tucks my hair behind my ear.

A realization strikes me as my eyes glance at the gleaming moon once again. I am badly whipped for this guy.

“Bhaishmi?” I hear him question.

“Yes. I am here only. Am I audible?”

“Did I get you flustered?”

“Shut up.”

“Yay!”

“You are an idiot.”

“Only for you.”

We don’t say anything for a minute. I can hear him breathing. It is a faint sound, though. I like this comfortable silence. I do not feel restless to hold a conversation forcibly.

Krishna’s voice from the other side enters my ear. “I composed a new tune.” He pauses for a brief second before continuing. “I would like you to hear it.”

My heart picks its pace. It has been a while since I have heard him play flute to me. The last time it happened, we were on the terrace at Yashodhara’s house before we left for our separate ways.

“I would love to.”

“Wow. Cool. I will quickly fetch it. By the way,” I hear a tone of hesitancy in his voice, “are you okay if I play it to you on video call?”

I slap my palm over my lips to contain my excited laughter. Breathing in deeply, I nod and reply, “Yes. I am alone at my society’s terrace.”

“Okay!” He drags ‘okay’ with happiness for ten seconds and disconnects the voice call.

A minute later, my screen lights up with a pretty aesthetic profile photo of Krishna. I slide the green call sign upwards and receive the call.

An excited Krishna waves at me before placing the phone on his table. It is 11.30 PM and he looks as fresh as a lily flower, with a good outfit on top. A cream polo shirt with half sleeves that proudly boasted his toned arms and dark blue trousers.

I fan my face, pretending that I am adjusting my loose hair from my ponytail. After all, he can’t make out that I am fanning invisible hair strands around my face.

He sits on his chair and pushes himself along with the chair slightly backwards to place himself and his flute in the frame, his flute placed near his lips, a place I had been to a year before. The fateful kiss on the evening of Holi seared through my memory, and I blinked hard to bring my focus back on Krishna.

“Ready?” He asks.

I nod quietly while hiding my blush at witnessing the handsome sight in front of me.

He begins by playing a single note that sounds meditative to me. It is a slow but soothing beginning. I can imagine the moon and the cool breeze blowing around me. A few more slow music tunes flow through his flute, and I observe his face.

Krishna always appears so serene while playing the flute. He is at peace. Each of his facial muscles lie in a relaxed state except the slight curl of his lip. It appears like a soft subtle knowing smile, like that of a talented artist well aware of his craft and the hold he has over his cherished audience.

This time he plays a slow melody, as if taking time to express each emotion through every note. The rise and fall in volume and scale expresses a story of its own. It is hypnotizing.

There is yearning, loads of it. The tunes tug at my heart, as if calling my name. Krishna gently sways. It is a graceful motion. Well, Krishna is perfection incarnate. He is a natural performer.

My eyes close on their own. I can see myself dancing in my head to his music. I once dreamt that I was dancing to his music, only for him, for his eyes to see me and my art, just like he played the flute to me those two nights, only for me.

The yearning melody transforms to a slightly fun tune, as if teasing a beloved to proclaim their love, until it begins expressing bashfulness and devotion. God, he was truly a talented artist. He ought to be on bigger stage shows than post some one minute videos on Instagram and play his genius tunes for my ears to listen.

At one point, the music peaks. I feel my eyes moisten and my heart full with nostalgia, yearning and may I add this secretly: Love. A very tender love blooming like a lotus in the early hours of the morning when its warm golden rays caress its petals, coaxing it awake very gently.

It ends and my eyes fly open. I smile — this time not out of shyness, but of genuine admiration. I wonder if he can see my glazed eyes.

“Oh my, are you crying?”

I shrug my shoulders and blink those tears away. “Have I told you that your music is very moving? It easily makes someone too attached to it. It is like a spell.”

This time Krishna smiles shyly and scratches the back of his head. “Glad you liked it.”

Liked? The word loved too would be an understatement. I don’t say that out loud though. I answer with one of my pretty smiles.

Krishna twirls the flute around his fingers when I see him lean closer towards the screen, his eyebrows furrowed as if trying to focus on something. “Are you wearing my peacock chain?”

I pick the pecock pendant around my neck. “Yes, I keep it around my neck most of the time.”

“So, you still wear it every day.”

I nod with a hum and fiddle with the pendant. It used to be a part of Krishna’s beloved flute until he decided that it would better suit as a parting gift for a girl he met on a train than a beautiful adornment for his musical companion.

His eyes go thoughtful instead of the slightly smug playful expression he bears to mess with my heart with his relentless flirty lines. Krishna’s lips curl beautifully upwards. He is smiling to himself and I don’t question him why.

I know the answer to it.

He brings himself near to his phone. I can see more of his pretty face with more clarity. “The gods did hear my prayer after a long time. I got to see my girl prettier than the moon.”

Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Your flattery continues even though it is past midnight.” Secretly, I preen when I hear him say ‘my girl.’

I am a simple girl. I hear a sweet and charming guy call me as his; I melt into a puddle.

“Flattery for you, sweetheart. For me, it is the truth.”

And like that, my friends, I go quiet except the thudding heart inside my chest.

“So, how are you up this late, Bhaishmi,” He asks, tilting his head. “Your mother makes you sleep by this time.”

Shifting my phone towards my other hand, I flex my right hand a little to ease the stiffness in my wrist and answer, “My parents are out of town. They are visiting a relative’s wedding and will be back a day after tomorrow.”

Krishna’s dark eyes widen in surprise. “So, you are home alone for two whole days.”

Mustering up some courage, I add, “And two whole nights.”

He places his cheek on his palm. He looks like a lovesick fool, a very adorable one at that as he asks, “So, no interruption for two whole nights?”

“Nope.”

He hoots loudly before looking alarmingly at the door. Turning back towards me, he says softly, “Head back to your room then Bhaishmi. You are alone and you must not linger around late at night, especially on a dark terrace.”

I get up from my spot and walk towards the door. My hand accidentally hits the steel door. It creaks in an eerie tone, making the both of us jump.

I jog down the stairs with light feet as images of terrifying ghosts chasing me fill my head, and rush inside my warm cozy room.

“Did you lock the door properly?” Krishna asks.

I nod while curling myself in my cozy pink coloured blanket. My eyes close at the comfort surrounding me followed by the urge to fall asleep right away thanks to the mental exhaustion of being up late at nights for studies and projects for my school.

“Should we do a virtual sleepover thingy? You are sleepy.” Krishna points out.

I laugh and lay my head on my fluffy pillow. “I don’t have enough data pack for that.”

Krishna walks to his bed and covers himself with his blanket. His voice goes soft. He should sing me some lullabies, and I would fall asleep like a baby.

“Go to sleep, Bhaishmi. Try visiting me in my dreams.” He says with a teasing grin.

I smile in content instead of blushing hard. His face and his beautiful eyes are the last thing I see before my call screen changes to my lock screen wallpaper.

A ping awakens my tired eyes. My screen lights up.

“Goodnight Bhaishmi❤️. Sweet dreams.” There is a heart emoji beside my name. It is a red heart this time.

I wonder if he accidentally sent the red heart, since we generally stick to pink and blue ones.

Another ping.

“I will try to visit you in your dreams ;)” He adds a winking emoticon and a laughing emoji.

I grin and press my palm to my forehead before sending a text.

‘Goodnight Krishna 🩷🩷’

I don’t mention the part where I tell him that he has been in my dreams quite often.

--xxx---

Taglist: @ma-douce-souffrance (idk if you are using tumblr. you still haven't read the full series for this, but i am tagging in case you find this in the future hehe byeee) @jessbeinme15 @manwalaage @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic (hii sakhii) @krishna-priyatama @krsnaradhika

I kinda forgot the taglist for this fic. Many have different user ids now. Let me know if you all want to be tagged for krishna fics

[yumjum414]

Shakuni Mama aur Shraapit Seedhiyan- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part I

The halls of Hastinapura had seen countless battles, both in the court and on the training grounds. They had witnessed the thunderous steps of warriors, the hushed whispers of conspiracies, and the resounding laughter of carefree princes. But on this particular afternoon, the halls bore witness to something truly unforgettable-something that would go unspoken in formal gatherings but live on in the hearts (and suppressed laughter) of the Kuru princes for years to come.

It all started, as many disasters did, with Bhima.

The young Pandava, already a force of nature at his age, had just been dismissed from his lessons along with his brothers and cousins. The elders-Bhishma, Guru Drona, and Shakuni-were leading the way down the long, grand staircase that connected the higher halls to the central court. It was a staircase worthy of its royal residents: steep, wide, and polished to a near-miraculous shine by the tireless palace attendants.

And, as it turned out, far too polished.

Bhima, unwilling to walk like a normal human being, decided to sprint up the last few steps. Why? No one knew. Perhaps he was racing an imaginary opponent. Perhaps he had just remembered that lunch was being served soon. Perhaps he was simply Bhima.

Regardless of his reasons, the results were catastrophic.

The moment Bhima reached the top, his sandal betrayed him. It slipped-a treacherous, traitorous little movement that sent his foot skidding out from under him. The great warrior-to-be flailed, arms windmilling, desperately grasping for anything to steady himself.

Fate, ever the mischievous force, provided him with something.

Shakuni’s cloak.

For a brief, glorious second, Shakuni was not a man.

He was a spectacle.

One moment, he had been walking with his usual air of practiced elegance, his fine robes flowing behind him as he engaged Bhishma in conversation. The next moment-he was airborne.

His feet lifted clean off the ground, his arms flailed, and his mouth opened-but no words came out, only a stunned, undignified gasp. His turban, that ever-present symbol of his regal composure, tilted precariously to one side.

And then, gravity remembered him.

Shakuni descended.

Not gracefully. Not heroically. Not with the composed dignity of a statesman. No, he rolled.

His long cloak, the very thing that had betrayed him, tangled around his legs, turning what might have been a simple fall into a grand, tragic performance. His staff, once held with the poise of a master strategist, clattered ahead of him, announcing his descent like a herald announcing a king’s arrival-except this king was tumbling helplessly down a flight of stairs.

First, he lurched forward. Then, he twisted midair. Then-thump, thump, thump-down he went, step by step, his arms flapping wildly in a last, desperate attempt to regain control of his fate.

The grand staircase of Hastinapura had never seen such an event before.

And it would never, ever see one like it again.

At the top of the stairs, the young Kuru princes froze.

This was a moment of great crisis.

Not because Shakuni might be injured-no, that was secondary. The real crisis was not laughing.

Duryodhana and Arjuna made the fatal mistake of looking at each other. Their expressions, which had started as carefully composed masks of concern, cracked immediately.

Nakula and Sahadeva stood as still as statues, the effort of holding back their laughter written all over their faces. Sahadeva was biting his tongue. Nakula’s shoulders were trembling.

And Yudhishthira-oh, poor Yudhishthira-looked as though he was suffering the torments of the gods themselves. His hands were clenched into fists, pressed against his mouth as he struggled desperately to maintain some semblance of dignity. His eyes were wide, pleading with the heavens for strength.

And Bhima?

Bhima, the root cause of this disaster, was trying to be the responsible one. He stepped forward, schooling his expression into what he probably thought was a look of deep concern.

“Shakuni Mama,” he said, in a voice that was just a little too strained, “are you well?”

It was a valiant attempt.

Unfortunately, his voice cracked halfway through.

The effort to suppress their laughter reached its breaking point. Duryodhana’s lips twitched. Arjuna coughed violently. Nakula turned away, pretending to examine a very interesting section of the wall.

The entire hall was silent.

The ministers, the soldiers, the attendants-everyone was holding their breath.

Bhishma, ever the composed patriarch, stroked his beard and nodded thoughtfully, as though he had just witnessed a fascinating philosophical lesson unfold before him. Guru Drona, to his credit, maintained his usual impassive expression, though his fingers twitched ever so slightly.

And then-Shakuni rose.

The fallen prince of Gandhara stood, slowly and shakily.

With the precision of a man who refused to acknowledge what had just happened, he adjusted his turban, straightened his robes, and calmly dusted off his shoulders.

Then, in a voice so controlled it could have been carved from stone, he declared:

“I am perfectly fine, mere bachche”

He paused.

Then, with a pointed look at the offending staircase, he added, “The stairs, however, are treacherous.”

Silence.

And then, Bhishma, in his infinite wisdom, gave a sage nod.

“Indeed,” he said gravely. “The stairs are quite polished.”

The princes lost their battle.

Yudhishthira turned away, his entire body shaking. Duryodhana let out a strangled noise that could have been a cough-or a suppressed howl of laughter. Nakula buried his face in his sleeve. Sahadeva looked like he had physically left his body to avoid the disgrace.

And Bhima?

Bhima covered his mouth, his shoulders heaving.

Shakuni, either unwilling or unable to acknowledge the suffering of his audience, simply gathered what was left of his pride and walked away.

He did not stalk off in anger. He did not rage or scowl. He merely left, as if nothing had happened, as if his descent down the grand staircase of Hastinapura had been a deliberate choice-an elegant, calculated maneuver.

But from that day on, the young Kuru princes knew.

And every time Shakuni passed by, if Bhima happened to look at him for just a little too long-

Bhima would cough.

And immediately pretend to be deeply, deeply interested in something else.

[friend-shaped-but]

inspired a LOT by my baby cousin and also @theramblergal's thing about prativindhya and yudhishthir!!

Yudhishthir barely noticed the shout of “Baba, catch!” before the ball landed right on the papers he was looking over. The papers fell to the floor, saving them from the toppling inkpot, which spilled all over the table. The king grimaced, and picked up the ink stained ball at the parts where it wasn’t covered in black, and set it aside. 

“That wasn’t very nice, Vindhya,” he admonished. 

“I wanted to test your weflexes!” Prativindhya exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to make your papers fall!” 

“It's reflexes, and by the way, where’d you learn that word? And where’s Sutasoma? Why don’t you go play with him for now, and I’ll come once my work is done?” Yudhishthir asked. 

“He’s playing with the baby. I don’t want to play with the baby, all he does is cry and sleep and poop!” Vindhya pouted. “Everyone likes the baby, no one pays any attention to me, and I don’t like the baby!” his lips quivered and his voice rose in a crescendo. He crept to Yudhishthir’s chair, looking up at his father, and said in a tiny voice, his eyes welling up with tears “Does that make me a bad brother?” 

@randomfandomtraveller @chucklingmaniacally @chahaa-piun-ja @preyasi @demigod-of-the-agni @h0bg0blin-meatgoblin @chaanv @livingtheparadoxlife

Here's a snippet from the fic I was writing on these two!!! It's not finished yet but I am TRYING to do things here- please be patient I'll finish it after the exams

[myvarya]

~The Unspoken Vow~

-Kalki x FemOc-

Introduction:

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

It was a regular day, people doing their labour, bounty hunters running here and there to catch the victims. It was a usual sight for the people in Kashi. They say it was the first city in the world to appear, and was famous for its beautiful temples, now even if you try to even hear the name of god, you won't be able to.

The city was bustling with sellers shouting, some were selling things that were supplied from the complex, some were selling human slaves.

Between the crowd a girl was sneaking secretly, so nobody could detect her. She secretly went to one of the stalls and sneakily stole one banana, and a fresh bottle of water. When she tried to sneak away she heard “Hey the total is 5000 units, pay and then take it!” she immediately stopped and turned around to see a bulky man, with a long beard and a pot belly, he is scary. She gulped and started running for her life.

It was not her first time stealing, hell she even stole from the complex, but always had that nervous feeling while doing that, she didn't want to get caught, she knew what happened to those who were caught, she didn't want that fate.

While running she entered an alleyway, bumping into people didn't stop her, she still ran. What she didn't see was that a tall man, and bumped into his chest. She was waiting for fall but didn't feel the impact, but she felt an arm wrapping around her waist. She opened her eyes to see two beautiful brown orbs, the most beautiful browns to ever come in contact with.

Her trance broke when she heard a shout, that pot belly was still behind her. She was about to run, when that man stopped her still looking at her. “Leave me..!” she wishper shouted. That man put hand on his chest and said “Hayee..” and as if he was about to faint. She looked at him weirded out.

“HEY YOU THIEF!” she heard a loud shout only to see the man, he was looking dangerous, she again gulped, she hadn't even eaten the food she stole from the stall. She is not ready to die. She was trying to get the grip of the man she bumped into.

“you had the audacity to run away with things that are way more valuable than your life!" The stall owner shouted. “I...I..” she stuttered, “Cat got you tongue huh!” he started coming closer to her. But was stopped by the man she bumped into, “Leave her she is with me.,” “I don't care, she stole things that are valuable for me, if she doesn't have the money..” the man took a look at her. “She has a really pretty face, she can work as a slave to pay off to the debt.” he completed smirking disgustingly.

By the time he completed the sentence, he was punched in the face by the mysterious man, and was held by the collar, the man gulped and said “listen I will pay 5000 units for her, you take the units I take the girl?” he said nervously and smiled.

The man again looked at the girl, who..who enchanted his heart, Nope he is not letting her go. Without looking at the man he punched him in the head, only to make him unconscious.

The girl wide eyed was surprised, the mysterious man slowly walked towards her, smiling like an idiot. “I let go of 5000 units for you, remember you are going to pay me the double amount of that..” he said bending a little, because she was short according to him.

She was still weirded out by the stranger, leaned away, he put a strand of her hair behind her ear, that was disturbing him to take a look at her features, “I am Bhairava..” whispered his name,

“Priya... Supriya..” she answered back.

So umm this was the introduction, I really don't know if people are going to read it, if it doesn't reach the audience, it's ok, I will post it on Wattpad.

If anybody likes it let me know if they want another chapter. And also it my first time on Tumblr so I am new to these things.

Mastelist. Chapter 1.

(unedited)

[blackknight-100]

HINDU MYTHOLOGY FIC MASTERLIST*

*Not Tumblr specific. Some of these are on my Wattpad, and some on AO3 (in light of recent AI nonsense, mine has been locked and cannot be accessed without an account. It's easy to get an account if you want, you just have to put in your email and wait for like, a week)

Disclaimer: These are works of fiction where creative liberties have been taken for entertainment purposes. Works may include regional and folkloric events/beliefs and may not always adhere to source material.

Warnings: Some fics may contain non-explicit discussions of assault, violence, abuse or discrimination, and may include allusions to intimacy. Please proceed with caution.

Multi-Chaptered Fics/Major Works:

The Heart of Gold (Mahabharata, fin.) (AO3, Wattpad)

Hands of God (Mahabharata, wip.) (AO3, Wattpad)

Mukhaute (Mahabharata, Theatre!AU, wip.) (AO3, Wattpad)

Daughter of the Mountains (Durga's Story, wip.) (AO3, Wattpad)

Ramayana

Falling (in love with you): Lakshmana/Urmila (OS)

Sundaralekhan AU: Sita does not go to the forest (OS)

Janak and Sunaina visit Ayodhya after Sita's Bhumi-Pravesh (OS)

AU: Lakshmana Dies (OS)

Rama goes to visit Sita at Valmiki's aashram (OS)

Lav-Kusha arrive at Ayodhya after Sita's Bhumi-Pravesh (OS)

5 times Rama hears about Sita + 1 time he tells someone about her

3 times Rama bows his head + 1 time Sita does not (Uttar Kaand)

Mahabharata

Arjuna and Karna - Character Swap

Duryodhana and Dushashana - Brothers

Duryodhana and Lakshmana Kumara

Vrishasena and his secret lover (3+1)

Ashwatthama after Drona's death (OS ft. Karna)

Yudhisthira - The End

PRIDE: Shikhandi

Ashwatthama-Karna-Duryodhana Bromance (ft. Vrishali and Bhanumati)

Abhimanyu Does Not Die (Fic I: Sad Ending)

Abhimanyu Does Not Die (Fic II: Kind of Happy Ending?)

Draupadi Does not Accompany the Pandavas to Exile (5+1)

Krishna's Birth - A Little Janmaasthami Fic

Arjuna and Vrishasena - 3 Times Vrishasena found his Uncle + 1 Time it was otherwise

Vrishasena Backstory Fic

The Kauravas and Pandavas Spend a Happy Day (ft. Karna)

Arjuna and Vrishasena Fluff

Krishna and Sudama - Moments out of Time (AO3, Wattpad)

Extra

Shesha Reflects

Saraswati and Lakshmi: Sisterhood

Shiva x Mohini (ft. Parvati and Lakshmi)

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

I want an AU/fanfic where:

Arjuna is a female

Pandavas and Kauravas are NOT enemies

Karna was adopted by Pandu in his childhood because Kunti told him of her mistake as a teen girl

Arjuni being the pampered, quiet, depressed, cutu baby sister of the Kauravas, Karna, Yudhishthir and Bheem

Karna and Arjuni being the absolute war machines

Her being the most beautiful princess and the strongest warrior in the world lol

Shakuni is tortued to death

Draupadi only marries Arjuni

Arjuni roasting the living shit outta her lover Krishna

Arjuni's swayamvar

Krishna x Arjuni

Wholesome family moments between the Kurus

[stxrrynxghts]

Chapter 1: The Job (Ariose)

So, I made a poll on which couple to write on, and Bhima and Droupadi got 31.4% votes!!! So, here this short series is! I've titled it Ariose, a word which means songlike, or characterized by melody. This is a modern AU, and is set in the late 80s/early 90s, so there will be plenty of references. Also, I'm not aware about court proceedings actually work, so pardon me if there are any inaccuracies. Hope y'all like it!!!

Tap, tap.

Krishnaa taps her foot, trying to suppress the growing wave of irritation that spreads through her. Calm down, she tells herself. You cannot lose your temper at work, not inside the court-

The opposition lawyer doesn't make her job easier. Like a proper scoundrel, he accuses Krishnaa's client, the victim of faking her crime.

It's atrocious.

She looks down at her documents, her gaze falling on the images of the wounds taken from the victim's body. The sight of the scratches on her neck, the bruises on her arms, stir a feeling of discomfort inside her.

Krishnaa reaches out to scratch her neck, an action done in hopes to reduce her discomfort.

It does not work. Nothing ever does.

Thankfully, by Shiva's blessings, she has never been assaulted, never touched inappropriately, unlike her poor client. And yet, she finds herself almost close to tears, and it's not because of her work.

No, Krishnaa has felt this way before as well, even when she was just a young child. As if there was some pain rooted inside her heart deeply, something that she couldn't push away no matter how hard she tried.

Sometimes, she can still feel the hands on her neck, her shoulders, her waist-

Tugging at her hair wildly, pulling it, as if they were intended on tearing it out of her scalp.

It is a good decision that Krishnaa's hair is short, just till her shoulders, long enough to tie in a ponytail. It can't be pulled...right?

Right?!

"My client is innocent, Your Honor!" The lawyer of the accused yells. "The girl is lying-"

LYING?!

Krishnaa stands up, but right then, the judge declares the court to be adjourned. She holds back a scream, and instead, focuses her energy on calming herself down properly.

"Heyyy." Mini, Krishnaa's friend and colleague, arrives out of nowhere, hooking her arm into hers. "Why so serious?"

Mini is two months Krishnaa's junior, and is a bubbly girl, with chubby cheeks, and long hair which she styles in different ways. So different when compared to Krishnaa herself.

"Didn't you hear what he said? How can he say something like that about Ritu?!" Ritu is their client, a 19 year old girl. She was raped, and had lived to tell the tale.

"It's our job, to defend our clients-"

"But there is a basic sense of humanity as well, no?!" Krishnaa retorts.

"Yes, yes!" Mini exclaims, raising her hands in surrender. "Anyways, don't be so sad. We have time to prepare till the next hearing."

Krishnaa nods, tucking a strand of her curly, dark hair behind her ear, and sighs. She gathers her things, stuffing them into her bag.

"My parents want me to get married soon..." Mini says, softly. "I don't want to...right now..."

"Then don't." Krishnaa says.

"They won't let me stay with them, then..."

"Then come to stay with me." Krishnaa tells her. "You don't need to be scared of anyone, not even your own parents."

"I can stay with you?" Mini asks, surprised. "Really? AWWWW, YOU ARE SO ADORABLEEEEE!"

And then, she emphasizes her point by smooching Krishnaa's cheeks. Twice.

"Let's go and eatttt!"

"But I already brought lunch for myself-" Her protests fall on deaf ears, and Krishnaa is dragged out of the courtroom. Mini takes Krishnaa to a typical indian dhaba.

Krishnaa does not eat in dhabas often. Actually, she prefers home made food much more than outside food, except for the occasional samosa-jalebi.

The two of them sit on a table, and Krishnaa looks around. The dhaba is simple, with some tables and chairs, a few fans hanging on the ceiling. There is a simple counter, and behind the counter is a fridge, filled with soft drinks. There is a curtain, which covers a room which is most likely the kitchen.

It's simple, and tidy, despite it's unusually shabby appearance.

"What's your order?" A gruff voice asks, and Krishnaa swirls around to see who it is.

God, he is tall.

The man has curly hair, till his nape. He is rather handsome, and muscled up as well.

Krishnaa blinks, silently, averting her gaze. Mini rambles their order quickly, and from the corner of her eye, Krishnaa sees the man head back to the kitchen, and sit down.

So he is the waiter AND the chef. Wow.

The food is quite tasty as well.

Perhaps she should come here often.

[avani008]

Can u tell more stories about bhanumati the wife of duryodhana ?

She meets her hundredth brother-in-law a month into the dazzling rush of Hastinapur, mouth and mind full to bursting of new names.

At first glance she overlooks him, at the next, she wonders how anyone might. He resembles her husband strikingly, much more than the rest of his kin. Later she will know this causes them both no little displeasure, but for now she only offers a hesitant half-smile.

”Don't bother,” says Yuyutsu by way of greeting. “I’m no one important. In fact I don’t doubt they’d rather you never had cause to know of my existence. A royal byblow makes for an embarrassing scandal to introduce to a daughter-in-law.”

Well. That is unexpected.

“It happens about once a generation among us Kurus,” he goes on, mercilessly. “A maidservant’s son brought up to speak the truth—or so they say. My uncle, at least, sees it as burden rather than blessing.”

Bhanumati’s smile grows fixed. Yuyutsu sees it, and mistakes the cause.

“Not that you need worry,” he adds. “My eldest brother seems to have escaped that particular proclivity. My next sister-in-law isn’t so lucky; nor the wife of that friend of theirs.”

A problem for another day, another woman; Bhanumati shakes her head.

”Your kindness notwithstanding,” she says, her temples beginning to pound. “I assure you those--proclivities mean little to me, except an escape from your brother's attentions."

"Hmm," says Yuyutsu: a particularly patronizing sound Bhanumati will recall whenever her husband complains to her, years in the future, of how he loathes his half-brother. It might even be the first shared sentiment to bring husband and wife together. "For now, at least."

"For never," Bhanumati retorts, startled into forgetting any semblance of grammar. Her wide-eyed expression is enough to convey her intent; Yuyutsu laughs, raises his hands in surrender, and steps away.

"Say what you will, Princess," he tells her, even as he turns to go. "Only remember: we maid's children ever speak nothing but truth."

[heyifinallyhaveablog]

The Defeated

Borderline proud of myself yet again for not succumbing to laziness, and sleeping my way through the Sunday. And bringing myself to finally see this through.

The taglist remains:

@melancholicmonody , @ambidextrousarcher, @chaanv, @vidhurvrika, @bleedinknight, @stxrrynxghts, @supernatasha, @kalpansh, @alwaysthesideofwonder, @raat-jaaga-paakhi, @slayerofthevampire, @demonkidpliz and anyone else at all.

Factual corrects, comments, and constructive criticism are always welcome.

Also, please feel free to drop in with any prompts that you may have. I'm officially out of ideas for any writing at all, and hence on the lookout for inspiration to dawn as an epiphany.

__________________________________________

Fandom: Mahabharat | Star Plus Mahabharat

Pairings: Bheema/Draupadi

Warnings: Mentions of War | PTSD | Trauma | Bloodshed

Summary: The Second Pandava deals with ghosts of the War. Alone.

Disclaimer: This is entirely a work of fiction, based on an idea I had while reading C. Rajagopalachari’s version of the Mahabharata. But I do have to say this, this has a lot to offer that is different from the Mahabharata that is actually popular. I just hope that this resonates with the readers, and you read this, and find this worth your time and your feedback. Please leave a short comment or a like, whatever you may deem fit. And as always!

THANK YOU!

Note: Link to the said source: Here

Links:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2, and

Chapter 3

____________________________

Chapter 4

The Ghosts

“The Grandsire’s Mother,” Draupadi said, after an eternity, “hasn’t been able to cleanse all, it seems.”

“I’d felt it, My Love,” Bheema rose from her lap, breathing into his palms as if trying to regain his breath, “when Jyeshth performed his last rites. The Holy River is never turbulent, never acerbic. She took in all his penance, while he cried himself hoarse. She let him vent his grief, but-”

- “I doubt even she could have borne it all. I felt his grief assume the most tangible form it could as I held him, as I might have heard her calm whisper, as if she unburdened some his grief on my form.”

- “Trust me Panchaali, Pavanputra hasn’t granted me the strength to heave this angst.”

As if it were in Him to erase the sanguine trail of Kurukshetra.

____________________

She thinks of it all, once again.

The Kuru Palace seemed to assume the form of a grandiose crematorium. Dead bodies everywhere.

Gone were the decorated halls, and, perfumed chambers.

Gone were the regal, elephantine embellishments, of gold and silk.

Gone was the resplendence. 

All was bereft of everything, but death, and the pallor of destruction.

Krishna always seemed to emphasise that the means were warranted for the end. But, at the end of it all, what deific poultice could heal wounds that were irreparable? Which God could reverse the deaths of those multitudes?

Could the land of Kurukshetra be cleanse of the rank odour, and sanguine of The Great War, even if their burden was to be meant to be borne by posterities on end?

She tries to not let her memory go down that rabbit hole. The incidents, haven’t yet let themselves take leave of the inner recesses of her memory. Her being still doesn’t allow it.

“I still wonder, Arya,” she breathes, “what if I hadn’t been-”

“Don’t, Panchaali,” Bhima cuts her short.

That was another mark of shame that his mighty frame had been unable to bear, even after all these years -

- Even today, now that the War was over.

- Long over.

It was for them to deal with the Ghosts of their past, their present, and

Their future.

[rheaitis]

Got inspire from avani008, AU headcanon that Durdhara(female Duryodhana) got betrothed with Yudhisthira for political reason. Adults satisfied with this arrangement - eldest son of Pandu and eldest daughter of Dhritarashtra, the reunite of Pandava and Kauravas. None of them ask feelings of children.

Her cousin is fourteen that year, two hands taller and three shades darker than Durdhara at twelve, scowlingly furious at her father’s glib decision, confounded by her mother’s placid acceptance.

“This is unfair,” she snaps at her father and mother and uncle and finally—driven to it—at Yuyutsu, who nods agreeably, infuriatingly, from his perch on the lintel of her doorway. “It should go to my brother! At the very least, to you!”

“Why, princess,” Yuyutsu drawls, “here I thought you hated me.”

Durdhara waves this off. “Of course I do, but at least you have Kuru blood to boast of. What is he? Nothing of ours, got off some wandering sage or wily mendicant by my aunt.”

“Yes, what have things come to, if they’re letting the product of niyoga on the Elephant Throne,” Yuyutsu observes. “We must condemn your great-grandmother for her sins; write to the Balhika rulers at once, I’ll carry the message myself.”

Durdhara scowls and stamps her foot. “If he’s my uncle’s son, that’s worse. How can I marry so close, if he’s as good as my brother?”

Yuyutsu sighs and slides to the floor, catches her flailing wrist in one hand and cradles her into an embrace. Two years ago he wouldn’t have dared for fear of being bitten bloody, but the arrival of the Pandavas has changed much for everyone, if nobody more than Priyadarshini Durdhara, no longer the elder sister of the presumed heir, but an younger cousin good only for some minor alliance. She is angrier now than in her sunlit childhood, but quieter with it, less sure of her hold on people’s hearts. Two years ago, faced with such a proposal, she would have rushed to Great-Uncle Bhishma, to Acharya Kripa, to the war minister and the Head of Exchequer. A year before that she would have tried to pummel Yudhisthira into submission.

Nobody has said, because nobody has had to, that this is the easiest solution. Durdhara’s younger brothers are pallid creatures of ten and younger, Yuyutsu a slave’s son destined for a ministry at best, Durdhara herself a girl. Yudhisthira is fourteen, brilliant, comely with divine light in his dark eyes; his brothers are a promising lot: the eldest just a year younger than him, the other three charming and sweet-natured. How fortunate that the Princess Gandhari dropped a daughter first, how fortuitous that Dhritarashtra’s regency will cease in a decade, how lovely for Durdhara that she will never be far from her father’s home. 

“I wonder,” Yuyutsu says after Durdhara has stopped trembling in his arms with rage and grief, “what he thinks of the matter.”

Durdhara rears back, eyes flashing again. “I just told you! He’s the one who came up with it!”

“Not our father,” Yuyutsu tells her. “Our sweet, studious cousin the crown-prince. Your intended. What do you think he thinks of this betrothal?”

Durdhara opens her mouth to snarl at him, then closes it. “I don’t know,” she tells him. “Shall we ask him?”

[ramayantika]

Ch-4: Meeting the Bride

// Krishna fics masterlist //

The wedding celebrations were over and all the esteemed guests were preparing to leave for their respective kingdoms except a choice few guests who were close to Krishna stayed back, including Aarnika who was specifically requested to stay for a few more days to meet the new bride. 

The Vidharban princess looked more angelic even closer and as blessed as she was with good looks, the princess's soft demeanor and kind heart won Aarnika's heart too. 

"It must be adventurous and a little liberating, isn't it Rajkumari? You get to rule an entire city on your own terms," Rukmini said. 

Aarnika smiled and thought about her father's punishment that had given her this indepent ruleship to her and said, "I agree, princess. I am glad that my people support me and help me handle things there. I am glad to find a place in their heart, and though it's a small city, my city is growing which makes me proud." She held Rukmini's hand. "Do come to Kanakgarh sometime. We would love to have you and your family, besides," she winked, "my city will be the talk of Aryavarta if the royal family of Dwaraka arrives."

Rukmini laughed and nodded, "The queen of Kanakgarh must not request us, and certainly not her friend now. I will definitely ask Krishna and plan a visit there soon." Pretending to whisper, she continued, "You are anyway a wild topic in Aryavarta. A woman single handedly running a kingdom is unheard of."

"It's a small city, Rukmini, not a kingdom."

"I believe, a kingdom doesn't have to be large to house too many provinces and grandeur. A small place with the right ruler, for whom people have immense love in their hearts to help their land prosper is a kingdom." Rukmini patted Aarnika's shoulder. "I have been talking to you since the past two days, and the time we have spent together is enough for me to know that you are and will be a great ruler, no matter how large or small the province is."

The princess's words made Aarnika beam with pride and happiness. Nobody in her family except her mother had acknowledged her abilities and talents. Hearing Rukmini after spending only a brief amount of time was an achievement for her.

"And in what deep conversation have you pulled my dear wife into, sakhi?" asked a honeyed voice.

"Nothing much. The princess was bestowing some generous compliments over my rulership over Kanakgarh," said Aarnika.

Krishna passed a bright smile and sat beside Rukmini who blushed when surrounded by him. "You give yourself too less credit, Aarnika. The feats you have managed are a wonder. You paved the way for women to be a part of the workforce. Trade and businesses are flourishing. I think it will rival your capital city in the next few years."

A bubbly Subhadra in orange garments twirled and entered the chamber, saying, "But won't Aarnika didi be married off? How will she keep developing her city then? Would her husband allow her?" She held her ear and looked at Aarnika. "Sorry, I overheard you all."

Aarnika gently pulled Subhadra's nose. "My choti sakhi, don't worry about that. I am not marrying for a very long time so I am going to keep developing my city."

"But didi, do you have someone in mind whom you want to marry?"

Krishna cleared his throat and said, "Subhadre, it is not appropriate to ask such questions. She is older than you."

Pouting, the little darling of Dwaraka looked at Krishna and finally at Aarnika. Her eyes lit up with brightness and said, "Well, you can always count on me. I might help fix an alliance."

Krishna pulled Subhadra's ear, making her wince, saying, "You never listen to me, do you?"

"As if you listen to Balaram dau?"

Rukmini laughed and commented, "Now Subhadra won. Fair and square."

Warmth seeped into Aarnika's heart as she watched the siblings and Rukmini interact. If only her household could have been like them – full of love, fun and friendly banter.

***

"I wish you stayed with us for some more time didi," muttered a sad Subhadra hugging Aarnika. "Especially with me."

Aarnika ruffled the young princess's head and patted her cheek. "You know that my doors will always be open for you. If you are ever bored of Dwaraka, my city would provide you a wonderful retreat."

Revati too had come to see off Aarnika. Both of them did not get much time with each other due to the wedding work and other queenly duties the former had to carry, but she had found time to bid farewell to Krishna's special guest. In three days, the princess of Mahishaka had charmed her way into the hearts of the family of Dwaraka. Her simplicity and humble personality was endearing to all. 

"Do visit Dwarka again, princess. You spent time with Rukmini and our dearest Subhadra, but not with me. I shall hold it against you," Revati said, as she hugged Aarnika. 

Aarnika's heart was full. She climbed into her palanquin and replied, "The Queen must not be crossed. I shall come back soon and I believe you all must too."

"As for me, I will keep writing letters sakhi. You must be updated with Dwarka's latest gossip." Aarnika chuckled and nodded at Krishna. "Yes, your highness, I shall await the latest gossip in your letters."

"Take care, Aarnika."

The princess looked up at Krishna for one last time. His eyes as gentle as the moon, looked into hers and a friendly smile curved its way on his lips causing her to smile too. A slight pang in her chest, and a lone tear burning in the corner of her eye, Aarnika whispered, "You too, Krishna."

He left his hand from the palanquin and waved at her. Following him was Subhadra who had already begun to shed tears and waved frantically at Aarnika as if her didi sakhi would immediately stop and return back. 

The ever so graceful Rukmini hugged Subhadra and waved at Aarnika who bowed and covered her palanquin with curtains. Each step took her away from the land of her beloved, but she was happy to find new friends in Subhadra and Rukmini. 

Who knows when this alliance would play a role in her future? 

By the end of the first prahar, her entourage had reached the beautiful green hills on the borders of Dwaraka which made Aarnika feel nostalgic about the moment she had first arrived here and witnessed their majestic beauty. 

The morning sun fell on a slope of one of the hills, illuminating that section. The trees on the hill gently swayed with the soft sea breeze and its leaves shone bright under the rays of Surya. The sea breeze allowed its into the palanquin and gently blew over Aarnika's face. She closed her eyes and imagined the sea waters of Dwarka. She hadn't found time to visit the sea shore. 

The gentle sea breeze slowly lulled her eyes to sleep with fun filled memories of the wedding and new companions until she would find herself back home in her palace, devoid of those friendships. Aarnika loved Kanakgarh and her people. She also had some of her trusted handmaidens who would swear their lives on her, but she also yearned for such loving friendships in her lives, for people to be with her and not only in curved letters of a letter on paper. 

Maybe someday I wouldn't be this alone. 

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

This was a filler chapter because I wanted to wrap up the wedding so we can get back to aarnika's work life in her city, Kanakgarh.

Also do read and tell me how it was I wrote it after a long time so maybe it won't be that good but I would still love your reblogs and comments.

Have a good day! 🌸💕

Taglist: @ma-douce-souffrance @ishoulnotbehere @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @krishna-priyatama @morally-gayy @bambioleo @jessbeinme15 @arachneofthoughts @reallythoughtfulwizard @kaal-naagin (if I have missed anyone or if anybody would want to be a part of the taglist, do tell me in the comments or send an ask. I might have forgotten some too because the list was saved in my old phone which I don't have right now)

[friend-shaped-but]

❄️

for the emoji ask game?

Something from "Hey, brother" because it is a very precious fic!!

“Where does your strength come from?” He asked Bheem once. 

He closed his eyes, and thought. A wild animal prowling around the campsite they were spending their childhood in, and him rushing forward to drive the beast away. Mother’s relieved face when that happened. A vague image of someone heckling the twins, and him breaking up the fight to put a stop to it. Sahadev’s devastated face in the Lakshagraha, learning that their life in the palace was one filled with deceit and if they wanted to be truly safe, they would have to leave. Hidimba. Her wide grin, their matching leopard-claw necklaces. How the first thing he did when they reached the city limits was putting it on. Ghatotkach, a mere baby when he left them, an infant who spanned from his fingers to his elbows, laughing as his father threw him up in the air. The determination in Arjun’s eyes as he took aim and fired at the fish, Panchaali’s smiling face. Yudhishthir, radiant on the throne. Nakul’s fear when he was staked in the game of dice, like a mere object. Yajnaseni’s screams as she was disrobed, Dusshasan’s cackles as he tried to take off her clothes like she was an object and he was a little girl playing with a doll. 

“My family,” he answered, his head held high and his back ramrod straight. He wasn’t going to apologise for that. His family kept his humanity alive, and he was pretty sure he would be some feral bloodthirsty creature, stripped of all humanity, without them. 

[dragonsbluee]

I have a request for batfam/Jason Todd fanfic writers:

I love the "Jason Todd is a bookworm/theatre nerd" fics as much as the next person, don't get me wrong, but can we please diversify his interests?

90% of the time when I open a fic with that tag, we see Jason reading Jane Eyre or Pride and Prejudice or quoting Shakespeare. And not to say that there's anything wrong with any of those being his favourite but even if he loves to read "classical" books, come on!

You're telling me Jason raised-in-crime-alley-spent-his-formative-years-between-an-eccentric-billionaire-and-an-assassin-cult Todd only reads books by dead white people?!

I refuse! Give me a man who takes to books more than ever after his return to Gotham. Jason, who reads books like I am Woman, A Really Good Brown Girl and White Tears/Brown Scars, then recommends them to the working girls as he establishes his territory. Who reads in multiple languages, and who loves Arabic poetry.

Give me a little "Robin is Magic!" Jason scouring Bruce's library and picking up a copy of The Mahabharata after he's done The Iliad, and spends weeks obsessed with Journey to the West.

Give me a Jason who's read Things Fall Apart, and One Hundred Years of Solitude! The number of quotes and references he could pull that would further support his dramatic tendencies? It would make him so happy!

[blackknight-100]

Thank you so much for writing about Vrishasena and Arjuna. Could you please also write something about them but in an AU where Kunti tells them the truth (before the dyut sabha)? Something fluffy, please!

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for four months. I'm so sorry anon, fluff is really not my thing, but I tried. I hope you like this little thing. Previous angst version is here.

1.

It is a bitter winter morning when Arjuna finds his mother in the royal hall, prepared to sweep his world from under his feet. He huddles together with his brothers, glancing warily as the Kaurava retinue moan and complain among themselves about being summoned. Pitamaha is here as well, as are the King and the Queen, and Uncle Vidura.

“Has something happened?” the later inquires.

“We are awaiting the arrival of Angaraj,” Mother Kunti says, white knuckles wringing at her saree.

Duryodhana perks up like a hunting dog. “Why do you need him?” he demands, possessive as ever.

“I am sure Her Majesty has her reasons,” Uncle Vidura tries, but Duryodhana is on a roll.

“You keep trying to speak to him, cornering him at court and courtyard, trying to turn my friend against me! Why else would the Pandava’s mother be so interested in the man that trounced her sons? I think-”

No one manages to hear his what he thinks, because Kunti interrupts this tirade by screaming, “He is my son!”

 

2.

In hindsight, it is only meet that Karna – who is apparently his brother – gatecrashes the party halfway through Kunti’s sobbing explanation. Arjuna is reasonably sure the man has never given up the chance to barge into situations with the discretion of a charging bull. Perhaps that is why they call him Vrisha.

Much to his chagrin, Karna and his sons are immediately swept up into the Kaurava ranks even as their mother speaks of floating the baby in the river.

Duryodhana speaks right over her, like the churlish prince he is, and asks, “What took you so long?”

“The storms felled quite a few trees.” Arjuna’s newfound brother shrugs and turns to Mother Kunti with a look of abject concern. “Who is this baby in the river? Should we send out search parties? Surely, it is not right to just leave him be.”

Half the gathering stares at him. Uncle Vidura lets out a long-suffering sigh. Pitamaha smacks his forehead into a pillar. All in all, the Kuru family never fails in being predictable.

 

3.

For his own part, Karna takes the news surprisingly well, right up until Pitamaha reveals that he would now be officially part of the family and one of the contenders for the throne. This sparks a terrible debate – for all his meddling in Duryodhana’s plans, the King of Anga appears to have little interest in being king of anyplace else. Brother Yudhisthira, with all his half-divine morality, protests being a part of any contention that involves his older brother as a competitor. Uncle Vidura, who is the Pandavas biggest advocate in the Kuru court, takes this about as well as expected, which is to say: not well at all.

Arjuna has migrated to a corner to escape the shouting, rubbing his forehead to put off an oncoming headache. A figure sidles up to him and offers a small canister.

“This might help, Uncle.”

For a moment Arjuna nearly mistakes him for Karna – which should not be possible, given that his new brother is still yelling about something, and would never call him ‘uncle’ besides – but then he notices the differences. Anga’s Crown Prince is as fair as his father, but his cheeks are still adorably round, and his hair is several shades darker. He is also smiling, which is not a reaction Arjuna has ever garnered from his father, although he has seen Karna laugh often enough in his cousin’s company.

“Vrishasena, is it? Well met. What is this?”

Vrishasena bows. “Yes indeed, uncle. My greetings. This is for your headache.”

Arjuna takes the canister with raised eyebrows. Inside, there is a familiar slimy green paste. “You carry balms around?” he asks, smirking.

Vrishasena shrugs easily. “People are annoying,” he says, then winks cheekily at him and adds, “not you though. You have pretty hair.”

Arjuna’s startled laughter lasts a very long time.

 

+1.

“Father is wonderful,” Vrishasena says, nocking an arrow on his bow, “but he and mother kind of fought and now he’s upset.”

“I think he is mad at you for taking lessons from me,” Arjuna says, pressing gently down on his shoulders. “Stop being so tense, or you will miss.”

Vrishasena shrugs his shoulders and tosses his head obligingly, then stands much looser. “Nah,” he says, then releases the arrow. It pierces the swaying mango halfway through and carries it into the bushes. “He has stolen Abhimanyu, so he thinks it’s a fair deal. Besides, he likes having brothers.”

Arjuna would like to contest that, but it is true. For all his follies, Karna is astonishingly adept at micromanaging a hundred and five siblings, plus the two extras, without resorting to moralizing or murder. He’s still not ready to give up their reputation as rivals though, so all he says is, “Good shot.”

Vrishasena smirks at him. His nephew has grown quite a few inches in the months they have been away, so they are mostly eye-to-eye now.

“Just good?” Karna’s son definitely has Karna’s cockiness. “Not ‘excellent’ or ‘magnificent’ or ‘sublime’?”

“No,” Arjuna slaps him behind his head, laughing, “you do not need a bigger ego.”

“It’s not that big, uncle,” Vrishasena protests.

Arjuna laughs again. “If you stop pestering me for compliments, I will help you sneak into the kitchen. The cook is making special sweets today.”

Vrishasena pouts, thinking. “I also get to braid your hair.”

Arjuna will never understand the boy’s obsession with his hair, but who is he to deny his nephew anything, especially when he is getting a braid out of it? So, he shrugs and says, “Sure,” and off they go.

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

KaJu Masterlist

Pt.1

Pt.2

Pt.3

Pt.4