#this is not prompted by anything other than the fact that im constantly tormented by the fucking 10000 years
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btw ultimately I can never take any Deep Serious Critical Thoughtful worldbuilding/worldbuilding related meta seriously in this fandom bc no one seems to comprehend that in actual real life human history, the wheel was invented 6000 years ago. THE WHEEL
#there can be no right or wrong worldbuilding in this series bc it couldnt be more clear that the dates are made up & the history dont matter#and THAT'S OKAY#self#for direct reference of 10000 years. 10000 years ago humans had just started CULTIVATING WHEAT.#CATS were DOMESTICATED 12000 years ago#earths population 10000 years ago was 1-15 million. at a conservative estimate the population 525x'ed.#10000 years is a very. long. time.#if u are not in this fandom to goof around and do what makes you feel happy you. need to take a long hard look at what the source material#is asking you to buy into. and then hopefully leave#this is not prompted by anything other than the fact that im constantly tormented by the fucking 10000 years#i never stop thinking about it on some level#can frequently be found clutching my head in my hands weeping 'but how do they speak the same LANGUAGE?'#ngl a small part of me is holding out hope there will actually be a reveal related to this
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Hi! how's your day going?
I'd like to request the ninja from Ninjago and an older sibling reader if that alright? You know just cute fluffy days with siblings.
Ninjago Older Sibling!Reader Headcanons <3
A/N; Ahhh hi!!! my day is good ty <3 tysm for this ask this is so cute 🥺🥺 i hope u dont mind hcs, but if u do feel free to ask again and i'll gladly make smthn longer :] jus thought hcs fit the vibe
warnings; none! just fluff <3
Kai and Nya
Absolutely the most chaotic sibling trio
Nya constantly getting upset with you and Kai for playing the "i'm the older sibling" card
Nya: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GUYS DIDN'T SAVE A PIECE FOR ME?
You and Kai: older siblings get cake first that's just the rule. sorry <33
But Kai gets just as upset as she does when you do it to him
You guys all love each other though so it's okay
Just the vibes of being their older sibling would be the most competitive basic sibling rivalry type stuff yk
Lloyd
Constantly doting over him
You might as well be his parental figure since MISAKO AND GARMADON WERE THE WORSTTTTT
You and Kai take turns mother henning him
You and Kai are bffs btw like. I don't make the rules. Kai is just his adoptive older brother in my head, so you two bond over caring for Lloyd
Definitely his comfort person after a long day <3
You're the one Lloyd trusts the most in his life and he isn't scared to tell you his fears because, despite any assumed sibling teasing, he knows you'll take him seriously on that regard
Jay
You guys make annoying each other a full time job
Constantly fighting over who the favorite is
Y/N: At least I help out at the junkyard!!
Jay: I'm literally out saving the world everyday!!!
*aggressive slap fight ensues*
OMG no. he's definitely the younger sibling to pull the rapid fire kick tactic
His elemental abilities go out the window when y'all fight. Just straight up, falls on his back and starts kicking up at you
All fun n games until you're able to catch one of his legs
You totally embarrass him as much as you can in front of Nya too
As Jay's older sibling, you're legally obligated to be Cole's bestie since Cole is Jay's bestie. you guys lovingly torment the lightning user together <33
Cole
The most chill sibling duo to ever exist
you both didn't appreciate Lou's insistence of the singing and dancing shit so y'all just decided to be ride or dies for life
much like cole, you get along so well with the rest of the ninja
idrk what to say here
nvm i do
You guys play video games with each other and you are infinitely salty at the fact that your younger brother is better than you at most video games
like wtf? isn't it supposed to be a god given right for all older siblings to be better at video games???? the FSM screwed you!!!
but you've never let him live down the one time he lost to you at super smash bros
you have refused to play with him since
Zane
See, idk if you'd be his ACTUAL sibling yk since he's a robot? maybe more like you were supposed to be a protege to dr. julien, but decided to just be a 4 lyfer with zane after his passing
you've helped zane understand human culture so much and he's real appreciative of your existence
the ninja absolutely fucking ADORE when you're around because what's better than one zane? TWO ZANES !!!
well, obviously you're your own person but! i could see zane adopting a lot of your mannerisms so you two end up being very similar
quality time is y'alls bread and butter
working around each other perfectly as y'all both cook in the kitchen
words never need to be shared between the two of you. just hanging around the other is enough yk? like y'all are bonding just by existing near each other and it is magical
ANOTHER A/N; i tried my best to highlight reader being the older sibling but </3 idk if i did it that well. i saw "sibling fluff" and RAN!! im willing to do a pt 2 or like a one shot or anything with a prompt similar to this !! im the youngest sibling myself tho so idk if i can properly portray being an older sibling (only in a mean light. yk like greg heffley and rodrick. do NOT recommend having older siblings y'all /j)
#ninjago headcanons#ninjago#kai smith#nya smith#jay walker#zane julien#cole brookstone#lloyd garmadon#ninjago kai#ninjago nya#ninjago jay#ninjago cole#ninjago zane#ninjago lloyd#lego ninjago#reader insert#gender neutral reader#sibling reader#ninjago x reader
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Ah do Krishna and Bhishma in Hogwarts
this is so late i cant even say anything im so sorry but still i hope u like it!! i really enjoyed writing for it and surprisingly enjoy writing these two together more than i expected – i always make bhishma nicer and better than he is in canon but i also truly think that krishna brings out the best in him. thank you for the prompt!! please send more since i def have more time now that it is summer
1.
Bhishma does not watch the trial – like most of the Wizarding World, he listens to it broadcast on the radio, barred from the Wizengamot by his vow to pass the family seat through the blood of Satyavati. Bhishma does not watch when the boy Krishna is brought into court in chains and at the wandpoint of five aurors, does not watch when Kamsa stands from his seat at the head and accuses a child of treason, of exposing magic to muggles, of genocide secondhand – for that of course is what the Magical World apparently has to fear from their muggle counterparts.
“I disagree, Uncle.”
As one, the Wizarding World gasps. It is Him, then, this boy Krishna. The Chosen One, the fulfillment of a 20 year old prophecy that keeps Kamsa’s sister Devaki and her husband Vasudev falsely imprisoned to this day. It is Krishna who, 15 years ago, had the audacity to be born even inside the pit of human despair, whose disappearance from inside Azkaban had hastened the death of Wizarding democracy in the guise of Kamsa’s Emergency.
“You admit that you are their son?” Kamsa for once speaks for the entirety of Wizarding Britain. It is the question every person wants to ask, after years of Kamsa’s iron fist slowly strangling Magical Britain’s throat in pursuit of his predestined killer. “You admit that you want to kill me, the Minister for Magic.” Bhishma scoffs at the way Kamsa, claims democratic legitimacy even as a dictator.
There is a sigh that travels through the radio, deep and long, one that seems more suited for a man of Bhishma’s years and experience than Krishna’s sixteen. The whole of Magical Britain pauses for breath.
“I do,” Krishna says, voice calm at what every listener knows clearly to be a death sentence. “I am.”
Kamsa’s voice shifts to a register of glee. ���This is treason!” No assembly could be complete without Kamsa’s favorite word. The punishment for actions against the Minister have grown more and more stringent in the last decade in wait for this moment, where Kamsa has set enough precedent to order an immediate execution. Neither Bhishma’s power nor his vows allow him to breach the doors of the Wizengamot. After all this time the Emergency will end like this, he thinks in sudden, overwhelming despair: the body of Devaki’s son cold on the ground, his death broadcast throughout Kamsa’s new kingdom.
But then, incredibly, over the radio Krishna begin to laugh – the sound grates against the tautness of Bhishma’s nerves for all that it is full of joy, of reckless abandon. It is only later that Bhishma will realize that the discomfort he felt at that moment was not discomfort at all – hope had been lost so long that he had forgotten what it felt like, swelling inside his chest, burning inside of his veins.
“You are untrained,” Bhishma hears Kamsa sneer, the last of Krishna’s laughter still echoing against the Wizengamot stone, “you are untrained, and with magic so low that you were not deemed worthy of a Hogwarts education. You cannot kill me.”
A gasp. “The chains,” someone shouts, “they’re gone!”
Members of the Wizengamot are not allowed their wands in session, and while Kamsa and his aurors are almost certainly armed, there is none amongst them that would banish the boy’s chains. Krishna has no wand, and what Kamsa said was true – a boy untrained, with so little magic that Hogwarts records did not deem him worthy of an invitation, could not have banished his chains.
And yet.
“You’re right,” Bhishma hears amidst the uproar, and then in the silence that follows he hears a slight rustle, the sound gentle enough that it could only be clothing shifting against skin.
“I am untrained,” Krishna says, tone as easy with this fact as if he were listing the color of his hair.
There is a click, and then Bhishma hears an explosion.
“And yet, Uncle,” Krishna says before the shock fades and the screams begin, “you are dead all the same.”
2.
There is a great furor in the aftermath of Kamsa’s assassination: the Wizarding World is unprepared for the death of its benign dictator, only more so when faced with its cause.
“I will take him,” Bhishma announces, blowing open the doors and standing carefully outside the Chamber. “The boy Krishna.” He blinks as members of the Wizengamot move so that Bhishma can have a clear view of the proceedings inside. Krishna, who he assumed would have been hurried out of the room instead sits cooly on the ground, hands busy with some sort of contraption. Bhishma does not speak of his brief childhood amongst Muggles, but he remembers something much larger, something that could not have been concealed under clothes.
“It is a gun,” the boy confirms, face blank as he refuses to meet the Wizengamot’s gaze. Kamsa’s bloody body cools on the ground only a few meters away. “Father purchased it after my uncle sent the Grindylows four years ago.”
Bhishma clenches his jaw. Kamsa’s obsession was renowned, but every new example of its consequences is cause for disgust– under the Emergency all dissent has been quelled as Kamsa combed both Magical and apparently Muggle Britain for those who stepped out of line, in seeming solidarity with Devaki’s mythic son.
Today’s trial had been triggered by a dementor attack on a Muggle hamlet, repelled, Kamsa claimed, without his official sanction by a sixteen-year-old boy without enough magic for a Hogwarts invitation. Or at least, that is what they had assumed.
“How did you repel them?” Bhishma hears from a member somewhere in the gaggle ahead. Whether they mean the grindylows or the dementors he does not know.
Krishna stands, neatly slipping the gun into his waistband. A moment passes where he gazes at the crowd in front of him, the most powerful of the British Wizarding population, people who together decide the present, who bend the arc of the future. Each person, later, will claim that in that moment Krishna was looking only at them, was laying bare their personal ambition, their excess, their very essence.
Bhishma standing tall behind the Wizengamot threshold feels small as he has not in more than a hundred years, suddenly a child once more clutching at his mother’s fingers inside the halls of the Kuru family home, waiting to be claimed by a father he had never known.
“He is one of you,” Ganga had told Shantanu, “so you must keep him safe.”
Bhishma locks eyes with Krishna and nods – he is not Shantanu, has no ties of blood, but the boy will be safe all the same. Krishna exhales, closes his eyes, brings his hands forward, and pulls.
The room gasps together as swirling spikes rise from the stone. Everyone is frozen at the sight, eyes glued to the floor Krishna mutates in perfectly deadly concentric circles. He has no wand.
“By Merlin,” someone whispers, the tones are familiar enough that Bhishma’s believes it to be Vyasa, court witness and the first son of Bhishma’s venerable stepmother, Lady Satyavati herself. The muttered oath is more accurate than he thinks he means. Bhishma swallows at a display of raw talent the types of which he had assumed no longer existed.
Krishna opens his eyes. As one, the Wizengamot steps back – only Bhishma tries to step forward, catching himself only at the end when his toes threaten to cross his self imposed boundary. A small, wry smile graces Krishna’s lips.
“Hogwarts it is, I suppose.”
3.
The decision to release Vasudev and Devaki are released even before Kamsa’s body is taken away – that is an easy decision after all, taken by people racked with guilt at the plight of two individuals without even a magical core to sustain them locked in Azkaban for almost half their lifetimes. Vasudev, only son of the late Surasena whose family sat on the Wizengamot for generations, is a squib. Even worse is Devaki, half sister of the half-blood Kamsa, the first Muggle to know the eternal chill of the dementors outside her cell. That they even live should be considered extraordinary. That they managed to produce a child, that said child could grow despite it’s magicless mother’s physical malnourishment and mental torment, that the child was born and lived and left: this is what even the Magical World can only consider a miracle.
And yet, there is not a wizard alive who would consider the pair after such an ordeal fit guardians for any magical child, much less one of Krishna’s apparent abilities. Bhishma is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and so any child of school-attending age comes under his jurisdiction. Bhishma also remains the Grand-sire of the Kurus, who now count Surasena’s daughter Pritha one of their own. His great-grand nephews may lawfully call Krishna Vaasudev “cousin,” and when Bhishma looks to the other families who might claim the same connection, Damagosha and Vridhasharman avert their eyes.
“A vow,” Vyasa calls out, shedding the guise of humble stenographer at this time of crisis. “I want you all to swear an Unbreakable Vow that you will never reveal what you just saw.” He glances at Bhishma, still standing outside of the room, and looks away, biting her lip in an now uncharacteristic show of emotion. He turns to Krishna.
Krishna shrugs, closing his eyes once more and pushes at the air above the floor. The spikes smooth, leaving the ground as it was before.
“It is May,” Bhishma says into the silence, as they all try to envision the shape of this new world. “I will take Krishna until September, when he will be enrolled as a fifth year at Hogwarts.”
The Wizengamot, unruly and contentious even at the best of times, assents.
The Kuru family home was once the pride of Wizarding Britain, teeming constantly with life and activity and culture. When Krishna, having been instructed in Floo usage, tumbles out of the Great Fireplace, it is almost like that again. The entire family, from Dhritarashtra to Kunti’s Sahadeva is gathered, voices echoing off of the famed ceiling Hogwarts’ Great Hall is said to have been based on. Bhishma clears his throat, and as one, they turn.
It has been years since Bhishma has been able to command the room like this, at least outside family feasts – but even those slowly dwindled as the children came and left Hogwarts. He would not claim enjoyment in this moment, but perhaps deep down there is something of satisfaction.
“This is Krishna,” he calls out, though from the looks on his family’s faces this is something they already know. “He will be staying with us for the summer from now on.”
“Actually,” Krishna says from behind Bhishma, “I have to go home.”
Bhishma turns on his heel. “What do you mean you need to go home?” It is a tone of voice that has quelled even Duryodhana at his most irascible, and yet Krishna only raises a brow. Bhishma presses on, ever aware of the studied stillness of his family behind, all trying to pretend that they are not in the room. “Do you even know what you have done? Kamsa had the backing of powerful men, crafted an auror force almost slavishly devoted to his every word. Do you think they won’t try to kill you if you set foot outside our door?”
Again, in the face of danger, Krishna only laughs. “My parents, Nanda and Yashoda, are Muggle. My entire village is. If I am in danger, then what are they, who have no knowledge of this world, no power to protect them from retribution.” Krishna purses his lips. “If you mean for me to live in this world can you guarantee me their safety, their well being, and their happiness until the day they die of natural causes?”
Bhishma cannot. “What will you do?”
Krishna swallows, looking uncertain, even lost for what Bhishma believes to be the first time since he set was dragged into his trial. “Mother does not understand, she never has. Everytime Kamsa sent another monster, she demanded we move, as if every place we lived in was cursed instead of it being me. I tried to tell her when they came, but she only cried and begged for me to leave it all and come home. The memories will haunt her, when I don’t.”
Bhishma, whose mother left him on Shantanu’s doorstep and told him to never look back, who still remembers her every day since, feels a wash of sympathy for what Krishna must do.
“Only them?” Bhishma does not question if Krishna knows how to erase his parents’ past – for one, memory erasure outside of Ministry authority is one of the High Crimes even in times of peace. Yet, to work with the Ministry in this case would only put those poor Muggles at risk. It is the nature of the Wizarding World, he knows, to forget inconvenient parts of people’s past: Bhishma who was once the half-blooded Devavrata now stands the venerable head of the Kuru clan. With his birth parents still alive, no one will question who raised Krishna Vaasudev. Bhishma will go to the Ministry himself and make sure the relevant documents are destroyed.
“And a girl as well,” Krishna says, lips turning of their own accord into something of a wistful, longing smile. “I asked her to come with me, but she refused.” Bhishma, whose easiest pledge was the one in which he forswore a wife, in that moment can only feel a voyeur.
His voice, when he speaks, is gruff. “You will be back in September?”
“Before that, even, if I can,” Krishna says, nodding at the silent Kauravas still gathered motionless in the Kuru Great Hall. “I look forward to meeting you all in the future.” His smile slips into something just slightly sad. “It will be nice to still have a family when I return.”
4.
For a single moment, Bhishma feels fear when Krishna is sorted into Slytherin. It is the house Kamsa had been sorted into, a half-blood almost dripping with charisma and eager to climb as high as the ladders would take him – and then to construct further rungs where they stopped. Is this to be the fate of the Wizarding World, to only exchange one tyrant for another?
It is a moment that shames him, he who is supposed to look at the four houses with only benign indifference. Yet he is not the only one who seems wary, a strained type of silence seeming to follow the boy whenever he enters the Great Hall at mealtimes, which is all Bhishma sees of his students at school. For weeks, everyone waits for the knut to drop, for Krishna to bend rooms to his will and gather supporters at his feet.
A month passes, and Krishna Vaasudev continues to eat alone. Every once in a while one of Drona’s Hufflepuffs tries to catch his eye when he enters, her face falling when she is ignored time and time again.
“Subhadra,” Drona mumbles, “Second year Muggle-born.” He frowns “No,” he says, seemingly in anticipation of Bhishma’s next question. “I don’t know why.”
Another fortnight, and Bhishma has almost convinced himself that what he saw before was an illusion, or perhaps a stroke of fate that overtook the young Krishna’s body. Perhaps the Chosen, when their prophecies are fulfilled, become one with the rest – what Bhishma recalls of Krishna’s smile, his triumphant laughter, has faded with Kamsa’s influence over Magical Britain. He thinks this, and then he stumbles upon Krishna laughing like Bhishma remembered with someone in an abandoned classroom.
“Grandsire!” Krishna’s companion rises and Bhishma is shocked to his core to recognized Arjuna, famously private, and almost notoriously sullen bounding to Bhishma with a smile Bhishma has not seen in years. Each of his great-grandchildren have made their peace with knowing that Bhishma at Hogwarts cannot be the Grandsire from their homes, but Arjuna, in particular, has always been scrupulous about maintaining the distance between student and teacher, Great-grandfather and favorite son. Bhishma in his surprise, and in something of a slight longing for affection from his favorite, allows himself an embrace.
“Arjuna,” Bhishma smiles, helpless at the sight of Arjuna’s grin, no matter the cause. “What are you doing here?” It is not a warning, or even truly a complaint – the pair is not out of bounds or our after hours, but it is curious to find Arjuna outside of his room when not in class, stranger still to see him in the company of someone not his brothers. It is almost extraordinary to know that Arjuna has been laughing.
Arjuna’s face smoothes into something that Bhishma struggles to name, until he realizes it is something like contentment, so alien to the character of his Arjuna, always taut with one anxiety or another.
“Krishna is teaching me how to cast a patronus.”
Bhishma raises an eyebrow, looking past Arjuna to the other boy who has risen but stands, ankles crossed, leaning against the wall in what must be carefully constructed insolence.
“A patronus is complex magic,” he hears himself say, and it is. But Krishna Vaasudev was brought to the Wizengamot for warding off the dementors, and he had never answered the Wizengamot’s question that first day. Krishna smiles, bypassing the question implied.
“Ask the Headmaster, I’m sure his answer will be the same as mine.”
Bhishma raises another eyebrow. “I can’t cast a corporeal patronus,” Arjuna says, his wry smile so different from his carefully controlled frustration when faced with an obstacle he cannot overcome through single-minded practice. “Krishna thinks it’s because my memory is too weak.”
Bhishma frowns. Normally, especially with children so young, he would attribute this to a lack of control over one’s magical core. But Arjuna has trained so long that he remains in school as a matter of formality, his control over his power already a thing approaching legend.
“I would agree,” Bhishma admits, “if only because I have seen you accomplish more complex spells with less training.”
Arjuna snorts, turning towards Krishna so that Bhishma, his headmaster, his beloved Grandsire can only see his back. “Like you said, I am an utterly miserable individual.”
Bhishma stiffens in anticipation: when Arjuna was only a child of prodigious talent and surprising will, his anger would fill the room. It is something that takes time and talent to decipher, but his magical aura so used to the weight of Arjuna’s iron control seems to seep into the air around him, swelling until the rooms feel like they are made of rainclouds, each on the verge of bursting. Arjuna, who is always so careful with his anger and measured with his words, has not spoken like this since he received his Hogwarts letter.
Krishna only rolls his eyes. “Is this what you’re like with all your friends? Besides, you seemed quite happy a few moments ago.”
When Bhishma concentrates, Arjuna’s aura is the same as it was before. His mind strays to Krishna’s words – does Arjuna have friends? Arjuna has brothers, cousins, and perhaps he even has Drona’s son Ashwathama. But Bhishma would call none of these a friend, and when he looks to his great-grand nephew, who looks faint at the thought, he feels a pang of regret for the training regiment he demanded of so young a child. Forced to outstrip his peers, and in the company of men so much older for so many years it is easy to see the boy’s self imposed isolation as fear, or awkwardness. Arjuna’s shoulders are newly stiff, and Bhishma can only thing that he must have been very lonely all these years, even if he never showed it.
“Oh,” Arjuna says, poleaxed. “Is that what we are?”
Bhishma slowly begins to step backward, but he is still in the room when Krishna’s face melts into something brimming with empathy. For that, Bhishma thinks, he could forgive almost anything. At the very least, he can begin to trust. “I’m certainly yours,” Krishna says, eyes locked with Arjuna, “but whether you want to be mine is up to you.”
“Yes,” Arjuna says, soft, disbelief warring desperately with hope. “I am.” It echoes to Bhishma like a vow. I am. I am. I am.
5.
Krishna Vaasudev, as told to Bhishma by his instructors, is a bright student. Eager to learn, with near perfect recall and an apparent childhood history of reading a Muggle-born neighbor’s old textbooks. The mystery of young Subhadra is thus solved: the Muggle-born sister of a Muggle-born Gryffindor graduate, Balarama, both of whom lived, until this May, in the village named on the records Bhishma destroyed. Bhishma thinks, and recalls Balarama towering at 17 followed by the sniping shadows of Bhima and Duryodhana, each desperate to learn Beating from the greatest talent Hogwarts has seen in generations.
“Krishna knows the theory,” every teacher repeats, “but it is the execution where he struggles.”
That’s only to be expected, they add, “considering the poor boy’s circumstances.”
Bhishma nods politely, and asks for an interview.
“Is there a reason,” he asks when the pleasantries have been disposed of, “that your teachers believe you to be only slightly more capable than a squib?”
Krishna, sipping at the tea he has been offered, puts down his cup to laugh. “Many, but I assume you have at least one theory that concerns you more than others.”
Bhishma grunts, taking a sip from his own cup. “I watched you transfigure the stone that makes up the foundation of one of the cores of Magical Britain with your bare hands. You should be able to change a teapot.”
Krishna hums, and it is as if somehow it is he, the sixteen-year-old, is in control of the conversation instead of Bhishma. “It is different, with a wand. I never had one before.”
It is a lie, but a very good one. There is just enough truth that it might even have worked if Bhishma himself was not one of the few capable of wandless casting.
“No,” he corrects, “the wand inherently acts as a focus. If it was difficult, your teachers would report that you were struggling with too much power, not too little.”
Krishna smiles: wide, and golden, and knowing. A test, then, instead of a mistake. “I had wondered if the rumors were true. I’m glad not to be as rare as the Wizengamot reactions made it seem.”
“I did not bring you to lie,” Bhishma says, but when he leans back in his chair he finds himself pressing his lips together to keep them from twisting up in response. Curious he thinks, that where he might have been enraged he is instead amused. He thinks of Arjuna, of how small he had sounded when he asked if he and Krishna were friends.
The patronus. “How does Arjuna know that you can cast a patronus?”
Finally, Krishna seems caught off guard. “Because it is Arjuna,” he says, voice slightly snappish, as if that were all the answer needed. And in a way, to Bhishma of all people, perhaps even to Bhishma alone, it is. “He needed my help.”
Krishna sighs, standing up. “I am not a threat, Headmaster, and if you need me to prove it I shall.” His gaze for once is hard, shoulders straight and eyes blazing. “Expecto Patronum.”
Krishna Vaasudev calls forth his guardian with the same tone someone might order a meal, and when Bhishma looks to Krishna’s hands neither is gripping a wand. His hands are slightly in front of his body, molded as if they caress the edges of something, as if they seek to shape life from an invisible lump of clay.
Where there was nothing, suddenly there is. Krishna Vaasudev’s patronus spreads its wings, taking one lap around Bhishma’s study before flying to perch on Krishna’s shoulder. Extraordinary.
“That is a phoenix,’ Bhishma says, staring at the bird with trepidation. With exultation. “Which means you lied – you are in fact the greatest threat I have ever seen.”
#puppyloveblog24#mahabharata#krishna#bhishma#mahabharata fic#maya writes#i think this version comes off nicer to bhishma than he is in canon but that's mostly because i think he comes off best when with krishna#also im not entirely sure what the wizengamot looks like so i had vyasa just like.. chilling for no reason lol#not super sure how any of this universe really works out tbh#i dont even know what krishna's job is#like the politics are probably distressingly similar to canon given how they rule by hereditary seats#but do they need a political fixer/diplomat/go between?#which is what krishna is literally#i dont even know how jarasandha works other than like the equivalent of a wizard ceo funding kamsa as his pet dictator?#i think kamsa had way too much power given that hes basically a two bit no body to everyone else#but i didnt really know how else to do this#if anyone has ideas please send!! i really enjoy this verse and would like to write more in it!!#alSOOOOO IM SO SORRY THIS WAS SO LATE OMG!!!#i hope you like it... so so so late :( <3
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