rain-dance

contributing to indian cinema's fanfic potential requests are appreciated, not always finished (executive disfunction goes hard)

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

hamzair fic

so this was supposed to be a pride month release but viral fever is homophobic apparently

CONTENT WARNING: hurt no comfort, angst, depictions of violence, doomed yaoi alert, major character death (obviously), unrequited love, cursing, 'a little bit of this, a little bit of that' ahh fic, mild internalised homophobia, my horrendous writing and characterisation of uzair

how come I see you and ache instead?

AU where Hamza kills Uzair instead of Siyahi

based on my face-blind ass who thought it was Uzair being killed instead of Siyahi in the first movie during the movie's climax

It wasn't the first tug of the thorned vines pulling against Uzair's trachea that broke his spirit to fight. It wasn't his fingernails scraping his neck in stringy ropes of dead skin cells, muscle and blood. It wasn't even knowing that Rehman was too far away to save him.

No, it was the realisation catching up to Uzair that Hamza Ali Mazari would be the one to kill him.

—✿—

'Somewhere in South End when you were fun'

Uzair's gaze was soft as he watched Hamza light up like a child with a new toy as he rummaged through the new guns Shirani had gifted them. The day was already filled with festivities, and it was as if the pressure of the Major's demand had completely left Uzair's mind.

'You took my hand and you made me run'

There was something about the way Hamza pranced around with the guns with him, Rehman watching them from far away. Uzair wasn't usually this trigger-happy (who am I kidding, he always had a finger on the trigger, but let's pretend he was a normal man for today), but Hamza's presence had opened some sort of floodgates within him.

"Don't get reckless," Hamza eventually said to Uzair.

The taller man laughed freely. "We'll be fine."

He felt young. Not that he was particularly old, but he never had anyone his age around him. Siyahi liked Donga. Donga was...well, he was Donga. Rehman bhai loved him, don't get me wrong. But Uzair respected him far too much.

'Up past the prison to the seafront'

He always felt a little left out.

Well, that was until Hamza turned up.

Uzair really hoped that he would stick around longer than the others. There was this spark in him. Potential.

'You climbed the cliff edge and took the plunge'

The Major's plans with the ammunition succeeded. Everyone was elated; celebrations ensued and even Rehman didn't show any restraint in getting drunk with Uzair, Donga and Siyahi. The only man missing was...

'Why can't we laugh now like we did then?'

...Hamza.

Where was he? In his drunken haze, Uzair lamented about the man's presence to Donga and Siyahi the whole night.

"Man, is he your wife or something?" Donga nudged Uzair, the taller man flopping around like an overgrown toddler. "Why are you so worried about him?"

That struck a nerve.

Why, someone didn't need to be your wife for you to care about them. Not that Donga would understand that.

"Isse 'attachment issues' kehte hain—" Siyahi began.

"—zyada biology mat chuda—"

"—psychology—"

"Shut up." Uzair mumbled, unheard.

'How come I see you and ache instead?'

The next few days, Hamza was distant.

"Hamza—"

The longer haired man turned away from Uzair as soon as he saw him in the hallway. He wasn't at his kabootar-khana of a house either. Uzair didn't know what he had done to receive this behaviour.

'How come you only look pleased in bed?'

Everyone in the gang was going around whispering, 'Yalina. Jamali. Yalina. Jamali. Yalina Jamali.'

Uzair didn't quite like that.

He followed along with smiles, sure, but the prospect of Hamza getting married was...not good. It surely wasn't bad; I mean, who wouldn't want to see their best friend getting married? And Yalina was a sweet girl. But Hamza getting married would mean responsibilities. Duties. Duties that would hold him back from romping about with Uzair and Donga and Siyahi and all those other idiots whose names he couldn't be bothered with. Why did Hamza need to get married?

And married to Jameel Jamali's daughter, no less. That dumb politician couldn't say something genuine to save his life. Everything about him screamed fake. Artificial.

Uzair couldn't trust him.

And Uzair didn't know how to feel.

'Let's climb the cliff edge and jump again'

Getting blackout drunk at your best friend's wedding seemed to be the natural thing to do.

'Pineapples are in my head'

Hamza looked good. Smart. A little strange, with his hair and beard done instead of being left frizzy and free.

'Got nobody 'cause I'm braindead'

The good thing was that Hamza was talking to Uzair again. The jokes were a little stilted, but it didn't matter. As long as Hamza spoke to him in his soft voice. Looked at him with his mossy green eyes. Smiled at him with—

'Somebody said that I'm a fuckin' slum'

The bad thing was that Uzair felt like screaming every time he saw Hamza holding Yalina's hand? Brushing a lock of soft, curled hair away from her ear? Rehman, a little tipsy, congratulated them every other minute and Uzair's ears had blood rushing into them, blocking away the music and merriment around him.

'Don't know where I belong.'

Uzair always thought these types of whims were faced by those watery-eyed, fair-faced women in films. Not men, surely. He had seen Rehman bhai lament over Ulfat, but this?

'Maybe you're I'm fucking dumb.'

He'd dropped his pocket diary at the table as the Major rambled about more ammunition. Hamza bent to pick it up along with Uzair, and their hands brushed for a moment. Uzair froze, but Hamza picked the diary up without a second thought.

'Maybe I'm just a bum.'

Dazed, Uzair wondered how Hamza would've reacted if it was Yalina's hand instead of his.

'Maybe you're I'm fucking scum.'

'Don't you go psycho chum'

'I want you for the world'

'I want you all the time'

At the end of the night, it was Hamza that carried Uzair's telephone pole of a body out of his seat. By this time, Uzair was far too gone to care about what people thought about him. Even what Rehman bhai thought about him.

'Five thousand footsteps in your wet dress'

"Tu theek hain?" Hamza asked, a smile hidden under his now-freed locks, as if something was funny. "You drank too much."

'Back to the house with your arms around my neck'

"Why did you have to get married?" Uzair groaned as they walked—or, well, Hamza walked and Uzair was dragged.

"I don't see the problem." Hamza rearranged his grip around Uzair's shoulders. "You got free food. I got someone I loved."

"You don't love me?"

'We drank pork soda with tangled legs'

Now, Hamza laughed.

"No, seriously." Uzair slurred. "I love you."

"Kam peeya kar, bhai."

Uzair did something stupid that day. He was drunk. His head was spinning and Hamza was along with it. He planted his hands on either side of Hamza's broad shoulders and pressed his forehead against Hamza's.

His lips twitched and he wanted to ask a plethora of questions, 'wasn't I enough? What's all this about love? You've only known eachother for a few months. What about us? Why not me?'

He just said, forcing a joking smirk, teeth bared more in desperation than mockery, "don't forget about me."

'I won't forget how you looked at me then'

A beat.

Hamza gently pushed him along, thank god.

Uzair slumped as he was dumped to Rehman bhai.

Hamza stopped avoiding him after that. They were friends again, and Uzair couldn't find it in himself to protest.

'I know I'm no sweet prince of love'

Gun forgotten. Running. Head throbbing with the pain of slamming it into the centre console, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Leaves crunching under his feet. Blood ran along his temples.

Hamza. A traitor.

'Those times that we got drunk'

Hamza was the one who got pushed into the thorned bark, but Uzair was the one who felt the pain.

'Maybe Jamaica rum'

Uzair was a hotheaded man from the start. In his rage, he didn't notice when Hamza had tangled him in the thorned vines. His chest ached, and Uzair didn't know if it was the ache of betrayal or the sting of sharp spines digging into his skin.

'Maybe some Johnny Dub'

Hamza pulled. Barbaric.

'Maybe you still think of us'

Death wasn't merciful. Uzair's neck didn't snap. Instead, his throat was squeezed. Spots dancing in his vision.

'Phone buzz, and still I jump'

Their first meeting. Hamza jumping as Uzair's gun shot almost thirty bullets at once.

Another pull.

Football. Picking Hamza's burly self up in joy when he won against Donga and Siyahi.

Hamza lets out a scream. Guttural.

Laughing his ass off when Hamza coughs like an asthmatic after one puff of a cigarette.

Uzair felt the ends of his limbs go numb.

The chase through Cheel-Chowk.

A snap.

Rescuing Rehman bhai from the Lyari Task Forces.

It wasn't the last tug of the thorned vines pulling against Uzair's trachea that broke his spirit to live. It wasn't his fingernails scraping his neck in stringy ropes of dead skin cells, muscle and blood. It wasn't even knowing that Rehman was too far away to save him. Maybe he was dead already.

'Why don't I say it then?'

No, it was the realisation catching up to Uzair that Hamza Ali Mazari was the one to kill him.

'I want you all the time'

—-—-—-

taglist

@idcbru

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

a confession

GUESS WHOS BACK GUESS WHOS BACK GUESS WHO

-—-—-—

"there's this image of you and i"

drunk words are sober thoughts, you know?

“I’m fine—”

Varadha wobbled, two arms swung over your and Baachi’s shoulders as you two tried to drag him up the stairs, and you shuffled your feet to not fall on your face. The man was drunk. Straight-up, black-out drunk. The kind of drunk that would have him bedridden the next day with a horrible migraine.

“I kept telling him,” Baachi hissed, “that, ‘brother, you can't hold your booze, don't drink too much’, but who listens to me around here?” He hurled his elder brother over another broad stair. This was the problem with mansions, the big stairs always looked nice and regal until they didn't.

“I listen to you.” You said, looking at Baachi over Varadha's shoulders.

“Whatever. Can't say anything to him, now that he's the damn Karta and everything.”

The elder man mumbled something incoherent, every other step a misfire. The younger man simply sniffed the air angrily in response.

-—-—-—

The two of you managed to get Varadha to his room, letting him flop down on the bed. Baachi stomped out of the room, muttering curses under his breath. You stood awkwardly for a second, before noticing a steel glass of water covered neatly on the bedside table. So Varadha was prepared.

“Varadha?” With the glass in your hand, you walked over to him, who was sitting, hunched over, at the edge of his bed. He raised his eyes, bathed in the amber light of the dimmed cressets in his room. You held the glass in front of you. “You shouldn't have drunk so much.”

He said your name slowly, dazed. You chalked it up to the alcohol, and smiled at him. “It…it was my coronation.” He took the glass from you, taking small sips. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Refuse?” You half-asked, sitting down beside him, putting some space between the two of you. “You're the boss now; it's not like they can force you.”

“Huh. I s’pose that makes sense.” He looked down at the glass, seeing his own reflection in the water, then up at you. “What're you doing here?”

You blinked. “I brought you up here.”

“...oh.” His eyes drifted to the floor, as if he was bashful about his sudden, liquor-induced loss of memory. “Right.”

“You're really drunk, aren't you?” You asked, amusement barely hidden.

He huffed indignantly and waved a hand in front of your face, movements uncoordinated. “I’m not drunk!” He threw his heavy arm over your shoulder, scooting over to your side. “Just a bit tipsy, I think.”

You chuckled and his gaze turned soft, tracing the line of your nose with his eyes. “I can’t wait for the room to stop spinning, so I can focus on your face again.”

Your quiet laughter died down, and you turned to look at him. “What?”

“Yeah.” He said. “You’re pretty.”

“You keep saying this whenever you're drunk.”

“S’true.”

You rolled your eyes. “Keep drinking the water.”

“No.” He slurred, his arm around you tightening. “I need to tell you something, because…” He trailed off, and you watched him intently trying to rerail his train of thought, eyes narrowed at the glass as if it was the culprit. “...’cause I don't have the courage to say it sober. Baba told me to say it.”

“Say what?” You said.

“Before I tell you,” he set the glass down on the floor, and you knew he was about to topple it over with his foot before you could say ‘seal’, “keep it a secret from me tomorrow. And you can beat me up if you don't like what I'm about to say, okay?”

“...okay.”

He hummed distantly, beginning to kick his feet. The glass fell over, spilling water all across the floor. “I'd let you beat me up anytime.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. “Get to the point, Varadha.”

He grinned at you. When he was sober, the most you got was a gentle smile, hidden from the prying eyes of the others. Now, it was different. He was grinning at you, toothy and free. “I like you.”

“I think you'd have to.” You said. “Me and Deva have been cooped up in your house for a while now.”

“You’re so stupid.” Varadha’s head dropped to your shoulder, looping his arm around your own. “I like you.”

You tensed. “Are you…”

He nodded, nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

“Varadha…” You paused, a hand coming up to run through his hair.

He raised his head, looking at you very closely with bleary eyes. You saw his pupils blow wide at the sight of you, framed by dark brown that always looked black to you. “You're not going to beat me up?”

"Go to sleep.” You said. “I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

-—-—-—

The next morning, Varadha had his head in his hands. Elbows on the dining table, he sat like a hunchback as a great, pulsating throb wreaked havoc on his temples. What was he thinking? His first night as the Karta of Khansaar—holding up the dignity of the Mannar tribe, a legacy he had snatched for himself from the filthy hands of his so-called ‘legitimate’ siblings, hands practically dripping blood—and he got utterly and completely drunk and confessed to you. How cornered you must have felt!

“You said it?!” Baachi yelled, and Varadha grunted. “Why the hell would you confess while you're drunk!?”

“Quiet.” Baba said. “Don't be so loud.”

“Why?!”

The two of them went silent, and Varadha assumed Baba had gestured something to Baachi. He got his answer quickly. The footsteps Varadha heard were far too loud for him this morning. It took him a while, but he recognised them as yours.

"Baba. Baachi.” Your voice was not sharp, but definitely curt. It was unlike you, and it made you sound a little like your brother, Deva. “Can I speak to Varadha for a second?”

The two pairs of footsteps shuffled out of the room.

A chair was pulled adjacent to Varadha, and he smelled your perfume, much more prominent than what he was used to.

“Varadha.” You said. “Can we talk?”

“Please.”

“Right.” You cleared your throat. “You, um, said that you liked me. Does Deva know?”

Varadha shook his head. “I haven't told him yet.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know your answer.” He spoke, voice muffled under his folded arms. “I want to know you. I want to court you.”

“...really?”

“Yes.” He sighed, then raised his head. “I wanted this to be much more sophisticated.”

You blinked.

“I…” He swallowed and wrung his hands. “Would you like to court me?”

So, what will it be?

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

rewatched a lot of movies recently and I have...Thoughts™ about some of them. lmk which one y'all want to see a fanfic or two about.

Lucifer (2019)

Baby (2015)

Voting ended onJun 15

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

continuation

"I know you're waiting in the distance (just like you always do)"

part 2

a small, kinda shitty wrap-up for the raisaar!reader chronicles

“There's something going on.”

You had caught Varadha in the hallway. Again.

Through the din of the evening, the ashen braziers and cressets painted you both in orange-red.

With a sigh of your name, the man stopped, not bothering to turn around, focusing on your shadow instead. It was taller than you (by a lot)—almost imposing upon his, despite the distance between the two of you.

“What do you want this time?” You couldn't see his face, but his deep voice had a pleasantly bemused lilt to it, and you knew that he was smiling.

“You're hiding something from me.”

“Haven't you fussed enough?”

You squared your shoulders, not wanting to get distracted by his…whatever it was. Your shadow shifted along with you, as it always does, and you knew Varadha was watching it carefully. “Don't talk to me like that.” You said. “I’m not a child.”

“Really?” Varadha asked, turning his head just enough for you to catch the slope of his nose, the twinkle of his dark lashes. His eyes were fixated on both your shadows, trembling under the flickering torches. “Because you act like one.”

Your gaze bore into the back of his head. You wanted to strangle him with the ashen metal bands around his throat. “You're avoiding the question.”

“Because it's baseless.” He shot back casually. “Do you want to have tea with me?"

“I—” You stopped. “What?”

-—-—-—

Back at the dining table, you sat diagonally across Varadha’s seat. Two steaming cups of tea were placed in front of you. Varadha seemed to be at ease, as if he hadn't a care in the world. He was a strange man, you could attest for that. You never saw vulnerability in him.

(—I’m…not worried that something might happen to me—)

Except that one day. You wanted to see it again. There was a soft unguardedness about him that day that you had never seen. The walls he had put around himself were as impenetrable as Khansaar’s.

“You can drink it, you know.” His velvety voice snapped you out of your reverie. “It's not poisoned.”

“You can drink it, you know.” His velvety voice snapped you out of your reverie. “It's not poisoned.”

“Why would it be poisoned?” You asked, looping your fist around the cup’s body, grounding yourself with the heat.

“The same reason as to why I’d ‘hide’ something from you.” He said simply, primly looping an index around the cup’s handle. “For my own benefit.”

“Killing me won't do you any good.” You said as he took a deep sip. “Deva wouldn't forgive you.” Kohl-lined eyes observed you carefully as you tried to form proper words without getting flustered. “And you can't match him in strength.”

“I know.” He said. “That's why I won't. As for the rest…” He rested his chin on his fist, leaning just a little closer to you. Your nose twitched as you smelled sandalwood and oud on him. “You don't need to worry about it.”

“But I do.” You replied, recoiling from him. “There's a ceasefire going on. You…you know we'd be—”

“Don't.”

Your nostrils flared as you tried to continue, but he stopped you in your tracks with a large, warm hand over your own.

“I’m here.” His voice was low, comforting. “I won't let anything happen to you or your brother. Drink the tea.”

So you did.

-—-—-—

See, you didn't get it.

Varadha, you mean. Sometimes he was poking fun at you at every third thing you said, with Deva not reacting to any of it other than cracking a small smile. Sometimes, he'd exclude you from everything he and Deva did, leaving you in the manor with the mute kid, as if you were a bumbling infant that couldn't defend itself. And sometimes, he'd get so familiar with you. Joking with you, rather than at you.

And then he'd go right back to his complacent remarks about your short temper.

"You okay?” Deva asked you as soon as he saw you sitting alone in the dining room. Varadha had left a few hours ago after you two finished your respective cups.

“Yeah.” You said, still a bit rattled. The back of you “Just…homesick."

Deva sat in the chair beside you. “It's just a matter of time.” He rested a hand on your shoulder. “Do you want me to ask Varadha to send you back?”

You shook your head.

“You shouldn't have come.” He said. “This is no place for—"

“—for what, Deva?” You snapped. You seemed to be doing that a lot more nowadays.

“Kid, calm down—”

“—everyone's treating me like a liability when I'm just here for you.” You said, turning away from him, folding your arms.

Your brother—the big oaf—grinned at you, nudging you with a broad shoulder. “I don't need protection.”

Melting a little, you smiled in return.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

-—-—-—

“I don't think that's how it works.”

Varadha had a complacent smile on his face as you sat across from him. The two of you were in his chambers—seated around a chess table made from ash wood and some other fancy materials. Eyeballing it, you were half-sure that his bedsheets were made of silk. For someone who considered himself to be oppressed by his peers, you really didn't see anything wrong with his lifestyle.

The only reason you held your tongue was because of the constant humiliation he had to face because of you and Deva.

Anyways, to your current conundrum.

You were talking with Baachi and Baba when—out of nowhere—Varadha had asked you to play a game of chess with him. The newfound attention he placed towards you was…strange, but not unwelcome, since Deva was almost always out, or sleeping like a log. Baachi tried to argue, but shut up as soon as Baba shot him a strange look.

In any case, you accepted and were promptly chaperoned by Varadha to his chambers. Hm.

You weren't too familiar with how chess worked, other than how the pieces moved. So, your strategy was to take each and every one of Varadha’s pieces like you were playing checkers. Not very effective if you wanted a checkmate.

You replied, unimpressed, “I'm trying my best here.”

Eyes flitting over the board, Varadha stifled a laugh behind his hand. “I can see that.”

“You're laughing.”

“Just…” Varadha paused. “Admiring the…unique strategy.”

You began to rise from the chair. “Alright, I'm going to go—”

“Sit.” There it was again. The way he could say something so mundane and make it sound like an imperial command. It made you wonder why the old Karta didn't make him the heir. “We can play a different game.” He said simply.

You slowly lowered yourself back down on the wooden seat, a guarded look in your eyes. “What's that supposed to mean?” You asked. “If you're going to pull out Snakes & Ladders like I’m some kind of three year old, I must dec—”

Varadha laughed this time, catching you off-guard. A regal, airy sound. “No, no.” He waved his hand. “I call it ‘let’s get to know [name] Raisaar’.”

“Well, that's boring.” You picked up one of the white pieces. A queen. “I already know [name] Raisaar.”

“I don't.”

“You've seen me as a baby—”

“—yes, but I'm sure you don't find amusement in beating me with spoons anymore.”

You cracked a smile. “I haven't tried it yet.”

It was Varadha’s turn to look unimpressed this time. “Do you want to do this or not?”

Well, not really. But it seemed that the outwardly princely man had a penchant for bothering the two of you—the two Raisaars, that is—to quench his own boredom. “Can I bargain?"

Varadha cocked an eyebrow. “Bargain?”

“You get one question, I get one. I don't want to be the only one getting interrogated.” You said. “Sounds fair?”

He thought for a moment, eyes darting to the queen in your hands, then released a breath. “Fair enough.” He said. “Favourite colour?”

You answered.

Varadha hummed knowingly.

"What?” You asked, feeling defensive already.

"A little unexpected, don't you think?”

“I don't know.” You crossed your arms. “It’s my turn. What's your favourite film?”

“It changes all the time.”

“I guess it's the same with books?”

He nodded. Then, suddenly, “Are you dating anyone?”

“What.”

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

You blinked. It was hard to keep up with his seemingly-innocuous questions that sounded more like a cross-examination. “Anything that sounds nice. That's two questions.”

He shrugged. “You asked me twice, too.”

“That was a follow-up question!”

“Doesn't matter. Go ahead.”

“...are you dating anyone?”

“No.”

The seamless answer stunned you a little. “Seriously?”

Varadha flicked the king’s piece on his side, letting it fall and roll across the board. “I have better things to do.”

“I'm sure.”

“My turn.” Varadha looked down at the fallen king, then at the queen’s piece in your hand, then directly at you. “Biggest fear?”

The sudden shift of the tone of questions, and Varadha’s unchanged demeanour almost gave you whiplash. “What?”

“Is that all you know how to say?”

You paused. Your biggest fear? There wasn't much that you were afraid of. Except…

You spoke. “Losing the people I care about, I guess?”

Varadha chuckled. “That’s a little disappointing.” There was a hint of a sardonic jab in his words, supplemented by the way he looked at you, eyes flitting up and down.

You felt your jaw tick. “Can I change my answer?”

“I can't believe this is the second time I’m saying this,” Varadha began, lifting his chin in a haughty manner, “but I don't think that's how this works.”

“It is, now.” You said. “Anyways, my biggest fear is not beating you with spoons—”

-—-—-—

It became a pattern, of sorts. Whenever you would try to converse with anyone except Deva or Baba, Varadha would come up to you from somewhere in this labyrinth of a manor and swindle you away—either to his chambers to play chess or to the garden on the terrace, asking you for your opinions on the Bougainvilleas, despite your lack of knowledge on botany.

“For the last time, I don't know.” You said, exasperated at his insistence that, surely, you had something to say about the flowers. “Do I look like a botanist to you?”

The sun had set a few hours ago, and the harsh skyline of Khansaar didn't look too terrible from here.

Varadha, with a broad hand on the small of your back, leading you through the walk like a ‘gentleman’ as if it wasn't just his terrace, sighed with annoyance. “Are expressions such as ‘that looks lovely’ and ‘oh, so beautiful’ beyond the words you can string together?”

“You're an ass.” You mumbled, then looked over the eye-wateringly bright flowers again. “They're fine, I guess.”

“I'll take that as the highest order of compliments you can give.” He said with a playful push to the dip of your spine.

Stumbling a few steps forward at that, you huffed, “I didn't know you liked gardening.” The place where his hand was seemed to grow slightly colder with its absence.

“I don’t.” He said, a little quieter. “I’m told that my mother did.”

Oh.

When you turned your head at him, he was observing the flowers with a sombre expression. “I’m sorry.” You said.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. Varadha batted a hand in the air to dismiss your concerns. “Don’t worry about it.” He replied breezily. “I just let the servants take care of it.”

“Varadha—”

“Let's go downstairs, you still haven't beaten me at chess.”

-—-—-—

"If I didn't know any better," you had said to Varadha on one of the days he had 'abducted' you to play chess with him, "I'd think you like being around me."

The Mannar, who was trying to teach you how to actually play chess, didn't have anything snarky to reply with, simply laying out the black and white pieces on the board.

-—-—-—

“You've been getting pretty cozy with Varadha.” Deva said to you as the two of you were sitting at a tiny old tea stall with a tin roof with Baba by your side. The sun was blistering-hot that afternoon, and the old man had taken you both for a refuge here. You were beginning to suspect that he was Varadha's eyes and ears whenever the two of you were out of his sight.

Taking a sip from the small glass pinched between your forefinger and thumb, you replied, “I don't know what you mean.” The tea was awfully sweet.

“Nothing to be worried about, kid.” Baba coughed with a strained voice, taking a sip of his own tea. “Maybe he just wants to catch up with the little one, right?”

“I’m not a little—”

Deva set his glass down. “I don't like it.” He said, and frowned when he saw Baba’s barely-hidden smile. “No, I'm serious. He seems to like you a bit too much.”

You mirrored his expression. “There’s no way I’m having this conversation with you, Deva.”

After a brief, contemplative silence from Deva’s side, he said, “...do you want me to talk to him?”

Your palm met your forehead, and you massaged your temples. “Please don't give Varadha the shovel talk for trying to spend time with me, Deva.”

“I wasn't about to.” He raised his hands just a little, in a decidedly uninterested show of peace. “I just don't like him getting so…friendly with you.” His eyes caught you, and you saw concern in them. “He doesn't get friendly with people easily.”

“But the two of you are different.” Baba reassured Deva with a wrinkly hand on his broad shoulder. “He trusts you. Both of you.”

“And I trust him too.” Deva grumbled, picking his glass up and finishing the steaming liquid in a gulp, leaving you and Baba looking at him like he was a heathen.

-—-—-—

You couldn't find your brother.There was the distant drumming of a percussion instrument, the shuffling of feet and—above you, a singular, colourful kite flying off into the slums. Following the kite as a marker, you set off on your feet.

-—-—-—

Varadha Rajamannar considered himself to be a very good tactician. It was just that he failed to notice the fact that, if the Khansaar nobles couldn't calculate Deva, he couldn't either.

And that small mistake had led to this.

Vishnu was impaled from the chin on a spear, like the head of a noble from the French Revolution. Deva stood, breathing deeply from the commotion as the women around him parted, letting the eldest Mahara to stumble up to him, touching him with the stubs of her index and middle fingers.

Deva gave a start, moving away from her swiftly.

The elderly woman looked up at him, crows’ feet crinkling as she frowned. “Just checking to see if you were real…”

He looked down, feeling a chill run down his spine as he saw your shadow approaching, then trembling for a moment before collapsing to the floor.

-—-—-—

The heavy van rattled as it carried Varadha, Deva, you and the others—most likely to be locked into a cell until a time could be set for the court hearing.

When you looked up, you could see Varadha’s gaze fixated on Deva, as if he was calculating something in his mind. It wasn't long before he glanced at you, still observing, but a little more apologetic.

He said your name quietly. Deva didn't stir, as if he couldn't hear the man across him at all. “Listen, I—”

“Please don’t.”

-—-—-—

Deva had cut off Narang’s head. For Varadha, no less.

All of you had been given the penalty of death.

In the cold end of the prison cell, you curled further into yourself, your chainlinks and anklets tinkling in unison.

-—-—-—

You felt faint.

You don't remember how long you've been fighting off these dogs for. No matter how many times your fists found flesh, these man-shaped creatures would get back up again. Biting, clawing, scratching at any semblance of life.

They all seemed to have disappeared now, only turning up as stray corpses strewn on the streets.

Absently, you wondered what had happened.

Your blood gushed in your ears, eyes beginning to droop with exertion. You'd have fallen over your feet if a pair of hands didn't steady you, pulling you close to an unfamiliar chest. You sagged like a bag of sand. “Varadha?”

“It's okay.” A low voice murmured to you. “I’m here.”

You felt a sob claw at your chest. “Varadha.” You grabbed at his arms, trying to get your legs to work. “What happened? Where's Deva?”

“Are you okay?” Varadha lowered you to the ground, crouching into his haunches with you. “Tell me you're okay.”

“M’okay.” You breathed, not really sure about that. Your chest hurt with sharp bursts. There were claw marks everywhere you could fathom, your nose was definitely broken and your face was swollen with dark, purpled bruises. “Where is he?”

“He's…safe.”

"The others?"

"They're with him." Varadha said. "I came to look for you."

The dam of your resilience broke. Varadha held you closely as you began to feel your tears fall freely.

You turned in his arms, balling your hands into fists on his chest. “What do we do?” You sniffled, eyes burning with tears as you looked at your own knuckles, split and bleeding.

Varadha dipped his head to meet your gaze. “I'll tell you everything when we get back." He was as covered in blood as you were, if not more. There seemed to be a generous lathering of red paint on him too, courtesy of Ranga, you assumed. You had heard the man’s insane ravings about the ‘creatures’ he had created when you were locked in the cell. “It's not safe for you—us to be out here.”

And it really wasn't—you could hear another wave of those rabid, animal-men clambering down the street from far away.

"Careful."

You were too tired to fight anymore, letting Varadha scoop you up in a bridal carry with your arm around his shoulders.

As soon as your feet left the ground, you passed out, eyelids drooping to the sight of blue-green dripping from your cuts.

-—-—-—

FIN.

-—-—-—

English isn't my first language and yet I am not living up to the stereotype ✊😞 call that 'na ghar ka na ghaat ka'

but hey i FINALLY finished this beastie. this just ended up being 'varadha spends time with you and also deva merks a man'

IM SO SORRY I ROBBED YALL OF THE CONFESSION I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO FIT IT INNNN 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏

maybe another part? (I jest...id rather work on smth else so I don't burn out my interest for salaar it's just such a good film)

statutory reminder that all my fics here are mostly rough drafts that I plan to post on ao3 OR Wattpad, so pls give criticism (both constructive and, like whatever your brain can make up). also I am a shitposter who has just started dabbling in fanfic writing instead of fanfic consumption. in any case if this is shite (which it is lmfaooo) please shoot me out back in the comments

if I end up making a polished version y'all best believe I'm blessing (read: cursing) y'all with it

i apologise profusely for any quality problems 😭🙏

taglist (is it a list if it's just one person lmfaoooo)

@idcbru

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

Omg omg OMGGGG are you really taking requests for salaar?!

Can I please please please get one shot or blurb or Drabble or ANYTHING for Varada x deva's sister!Reader? Like how he finally confesses and all after deva kills those assaulter bastards in that village? Or something, anything you want!

Thank you soo much 😭😭 I'm desperate can you tell?

- @mainyahaankyunhoon

OMG HIII THIS IS SO COOL THANKS FOR THE ASK

okay so I did make it varadha x raisaar!reader but this got out of hand and it's probably gonna end up being a twoshot. maybe more? who knows? not me

also I'm so sure I've read fics by @mainyahaankyunhoon so it's like having beyonce pulling up to my garage band where I was practicing a cello blindfolded so uh

kind of tried to do the thing they did in the movie with a bunch of shots like back to back in no specific chronological order. this MIGHT be ass. (gng tell me if this is absolute buns pls I'm still getting used to the fanfiction thing and I'd appreciate criticism)

anyways without further ado

a twoshot(?)

"who we are from the start, won't you dance with me?”

part 1

a recollection of your visit to khansaar

6/10 your brother's bestie was hot but the wanton violence is a dealbreaker

“Are you well?”

You didn't respond, choosing to carry the bag of groceries close to your chest, looking straight down at the grimy asphalt of the seedy neighbourhood in Bharuch where Deva lived. Varadha looked down too, seeing your feet clad in sandals. You had anklets. They were made of imitated metal, he could tell. Silver would be nicer.

Connecting with Deva was effortless—as if they hadn't been separated for so many years. With you, Varadha's words were stilted. But cut him some slack—the last time he saw you, you were a bumbling five year old running about with your wooden animals. A bundle of cheer that had no business being in Khansaar.

Look at you now. You were much taller, only a few inches shorter than him. Seems like you took after Deva a lot. There was a strange solemness in your face, like you had resigned yourself to this menial life in Bharuch when you could be…

No matter.

He assumed that this conversation would go nowhere and turned to leave, when you spoke.

“I'm okay.”

“...good.” Varadha said, after a moment's silence. “That's…good.” Your sharpness with him reminded him of when Deva had grabbed that live wire and electrocuted himself just for Varadha, and you—in all your toddler-ish glory—had given Varadha the silent treatment for a whole month. It was impressive, especially for someone who was as chatty as you. "Listen, I know—"

"Why are you doing this?” You asked—moreso whispered, your voice trembling with something that felt less like fear and more like anger. So you did take after Deva. Your eyes still didn't meet his, fixating on his septum ring first, then on the thin, whitish scar running across his face.

Varadha bristled at the sudden attention, all fondness leaving him. “I have my reasons.”

-—-—-—

The car ride to Khansaar was quiet. Deva sat at the window seat; and Varadha swore he could see him throw petty little grins at you, who were in the middle seat, with Baachi to your other side. Why you tagged along was beyond Varadha, but he allowed it. From what he could remember, you did always follow Deva around, clinging to his elbow, or his ankle or any part you could reach until he either snapped at you or until you hit your head on something.

Varadha smiled to himself.

-—-—-—

It was surprising, but Baachi was actually talking to you.

It was probably because the two of you were the same age, and often were sent off together so Varadha and Deva could do more important, grown-up things at the age of ten—that is, throwing rocks at Ranga or skipping them into the water.

“Why?”

“Why not?” You said, definitely more cheery with him than with Varadha. You looked him in the eyes, for God's sake. “It's not like I'm hurting anyone.”

“But why would you teach maths?” He asked incredulously. “You're torturing the children!”

You laughed and it was a strange sound to hear. Varadha could have grinded his teeth into his gums with the way his jaw tensed. So it was just him who was getting the silent treatment again. Both from Baachi, and you. How...annoying.

“Oh, come off it—”

“No, seriously, that should be a crime—”

-—-—-—

The sun set and took Varadha's expectations for a peaceful hosting of his guests with it.

You and Deva were just in the other room when Baachi stormed out, a colourful array of words set for him, you and Varadha. You knew Varadha had given up one of his bracelet-things to protect Deva, you and your mother, but you didn't know it had such far-reaching consequences. You also didn't know that it meant giving up a territory.

Seeing how Varadha was getting humiliated on the daily, it did melt your heart a little for the man. Your heart solidified again when it was Deva and you getting picked apart.

You two looked at each other, and Deva shrugged.

-—-—-—

Varadha felt woozy, so he lobbed the cheap bottle of liquor he was holding straight to the floor. The glass shattering looked beautiful under the amber light. He was saying something, but he wasn't quite sure what. Deva and you sat on a bench nearby, looking equally worried, eyes wide and eyebrows scrunched like mirror reflections.

Baba was crying. Why was he crying? Varadha felt great, or, something. There was a heaviness in his throat and that wasn't from the burn of the alcohol. Ugh, this is useless.

Feeling his legs turn into jelly, he stumbled down to sit beside you. You tensed and tried to scoot away. "Careful." You murmured.

Baachi, with swift, agitated steps, came to stand in front of Varadha. “Brother, you're drunk. We should go.”

The elder brother grabbed Baachi with an arm and caught him in a tight hug, slurring out incoherent rambles of coddling like “You're my little brother” and laughing as Baachi struggled against the sudden onslaught of brotherly affection. The younger Mannar did manage to free himself, cheeks darkened with embarrassment as he looked at you, stifling a chuckle behind your hand.

Baachi stomped away into the night with a brisk pace.

Varadha's laughter tapered off, and he looked at the two of you with a gaze that was…soft. Genuine, you supposed. Deva seemed to straighten, anticipating that something was off.

“I’m...” Varadha began. “I’m…not worried that something might happen to me, you know…” He looked down, eyes catching the glint of your anklets. “I'm...worried about my brother. Take care of him for me,” he looked up at Deva, then at you, “will you?”

Deva, wordless as always, nodded. You found solace in counting the glimmering shards of glass on the floor.

Varadha felt his eyes drooping. Without a care in the world, he swiveled around from where he was sitting, the elder Mannar plopped his head into your lap as if Deva wouldn't bat him upside the head tomorrow morning for it. You tensed, hands freezing in the air before you set them down—one in his hair and one on his warm chest. With nowhere else to go, your eyes settled on the Mannar literally on your lap.

His eyes were half-lidded, the kohl around them smudged by sweat and—to your best assumptions—tears. His septum ring glinted and your hand on his chest twitched.

Varadha stared at you, feeling his head swim as your eyes met. You looked exactly how he remembered! But older. And prettier. Varadha thought you looked stupid when you were younger, always stealing Deva's attention from him.

“You're pretty.” He blurted out, grinning as if he hadn't just thrown in a hauntingly honest request of his.

You stiffened as if you had looked into Medusa’s eyes. Varadha wished he didn't remember this in the morning.

Deva resisted the urge to kick Varadha.

Will that count against the ceasefire?

-—-—-—

“—but instead of poultry, he’d—” Baba’s words crackled away with a sob as you and Deva watched him intently. Varadha took this moment to swoop in and distract the three of you.

“Baba, leave this. We have more important things to do.”

But you, being repulsively you, just had to go digging around.

You'd see the kite flying and ask Deva about it. Deva, looking at the infernal thing, would ask Varadha about it and every time the dora had to come up with a new excuse about it.

He didn't know how long he could go before you realised every kite had the same embellishments.

[mainyahaankyunhoon]

Sksksksksksks OMGGG YAYYYYY I LOVE THIS! THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS FOR ME😭 YOU'RE SO SWEET 💖💖💖

[layinglowkey]

SALAAR FICS IN THIS ECONOMY? SHOULD I SELL MY SOUL TO YOU?? OMGG? THIS IS SO GOOD

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

gotta contribute to this fandom so none of us go insane while waiting for salaar 2 release

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

a very short oneshot

"the mirror's image tells me it's home time"

pt. 1.5

a lovely conversation over dinner

do you trust him?

Varadha never had his meals with Deva; it was as if the very sight of that unhealthy amount of chilli powder made his skin itch and his eyes water. It was genuinely worrying how the man could ingest such an amount of spice without any repercussions. He had seen Deva dump a bowl of actual red death into his food and decided enough was enough.

It seemed that you had the same problem.

The Mannar had sat down to eat when he noticed the second plate on the table, placed quite far away from him, along with a spoon (who ate with a spoon here?), then looked at Baba. The older man jutted his chin at the door to show the new arrival. You.

Oh. Oh, this was new. You didn’t have your meals with neither Deva, Baachi and the others, nor with Varadha; choosing to eat right at the end. So what happened?

This question was quickly answered as Varadha looked for a little longer. You seemed to be as shellshocked as him, if not a little bit more. A lot more. Your eyes were wide as they darted from the food to the man sitting at the head of the table, then at Baba, already sitting up, who shrugged and left through the other door.

Eventually, you plodded over to the table and took your seat, keeping your eyes firmly on the plate. Huh, you seemed to be a bit more curt than usual. What happened?

Ah.

Varadha remembered his antics with you last night. Laying on your lap like that. What was he thinking?

“You're staring.” You said, picking at the food with your spoon.

Varadha looked down. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat.

“It's fine.” The food was way too hot for you to touch, and you had no intention of burning your tongue.

“Have you been doing alright?” Varadha asked. “In Khansaar, I mean.”

“Define ‘alright’.”

“Alive?”

You cracked a small smile. “Sure, then. I'm doing alright.”

“I know it's…hard to be here.” He continued. “With Vishnu and all, but I'm glad you two came.”

“I'm sure.”

“No, really.” He said. “I'm glad you came.”

“For your own benefit.”

Varadha tilted his head. “Really?” He said, a smile of his own making its way to his face. “I don't see what benefit I’d get from you being around. Other than your…” His gaze dipped down for a moment. “...riveting commentary.”

Feeling uncharacteristically nervous, you took a bite of your food and grimaced. “There's barely any salt in here.”

“It's how I like it.”

“You're insane.”

“Not as much as your lovely brother.”

“A bit more, I'm afraid.” You swallowed another bite of your food, ignoring its insipid taste. “What exactly is your plan? This isn't some friendly reunion, is it?”

“Maybe it is.” Varadha replied. “Deva doesn't seem concerned. Why are you, then?”

“Because I know you're up to something.” You said, eyes hardening. “And you know that Deva cares about you.”

“And?”

“And I know you're willing to use it for your own benefits.” You snapped, feeling your anger get the best of you. Your spoon clattered loudly on the wooden table, hands trembling. You took a deep breath. “Surely someone like…you doesn't like the treatment you're getting right now?”

Varadha didn't show it, but he seemed to tense mentally, his unused hand clenching, feeling his skin bristle against the rough metal of his armlets. Externally, he seemed to be amused by your display, watching intently as you regained your composure. “Where are you going with this?”

“I mean that you're after the court’s favour, aren't you?” You stood up, walking over to him. You weren't taller than him, not by a long shot. But the sight of you standing over him as he sat at his chair, looking down with barely concealed disdain, like he was the dirt between your feet was an…interesting experience for him. “The powerful rule, and the powerful own the throne. See where I’m going?”

“Careful.”

“I’m just saying,” your voice dropped and so did you, getting down to eye-level with Varadha, one hand moving to grip the backrest of his chair, “you should think twice before letting Deva go and do something stupid for you.”

A moment's silence—a common tongue between the two of you.

Varadha knew Deva would never encourage your behaviour.

Not that he didn't have the courage to speak up, but his emotions always had the better of him. Deva was Varadha's eternal protector. A guard dog, of sorts. You were an obstacle that he needed to get rid of.

Or, better yet, get on his side. You had a temper, and—surely—wits to match, since your ideas weren't too far off.

“...are you threatening me?” Varadha murmured, fixated on your gleaming gaze. The amber light reflected off of the sweat on your forehead. Your brows were furrowed. Your mouth pursed in a frown. You looked a lot like Deva, and nothing like him at all, he realised with strange satisfaction.

You flushed at your sudden boldness, straightening up abruptly and backed away from Varadha, your anklets tinkling, eyes back to their usual gaze at the floor. “I should go.”

Docile again, Varadha thought; there was something lovely about your anger. He would like to see it more. Your timidity was grating and so-obviously-plastic. Just a pretty packaging for something much more alluring underneath.

“You should.”

-—-—-—

There's this thing about the Mannars, you mused to Deva later that night. They had this intrinsic ability to stop and start conversations at their will, like magnets but for social interactions. Varadha had it too, paired with the kind of pull that came with his dignified demeanor, unlike the others in his own family.

Deva said he got it from his mother, not questioning how someone as introverted as you managed to get Varadha to that point in the first place.

-—-—-—

FIN.

-—-—-—

im so okay about him

in case yall wanted a followup to the Deva's sister!reader fic 💀working on part two i swear y'all will get the confession. until then please enjoy this rushed fic of varadha getting intimidated by reader raisaar.

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

Omg omg OMGGGG are you really taking requests for salaar?!

Can I please please please get one shot or blurb or Drabble or ANYTHING for Varada x deva's sister!Reader? Like how he finally confesses and all after deva kills those assaulter bastards in that village? Or something, anything you want!

Thank you soo much 😭😭 I'm desperate can you tell?

- @mainyahaankyunhoon

OMG HIII THIS IS SO COOL THANKS FOR THE ASK

okay so I did make it varadha x raisaar!reader but this got out of hand and it's probably gonna end up being a twoshot. maybe more? who knows? not me

also I'm so sure I've read fics by @mainyahaankyunhoon so it's like having beyonce pulling up to my garage band where I was practicing a cello blindfolded so uh

kind of tried to do the thing they did in the movie with a bunch of shots like back to back in no specific chronological order. this MIGHT be ass. (gng tell me if this is absolute buns pls I'm still getting used to the fanfiction thing and I'd appreciate criticism)

anyways without further ado

a twoshot(?)

"who we are from the start, won't you dance with me?”

part 1

a recollection of your visit to khansaar

6/10 your brother's bestie was hot but the wanton violence is a dealbreaker

“Are you well?”

You didn't respond, choosing to carry the bag of groceries close to your chest, looking straight down at the grimy asphalt of the seedy neighbourhood in Bharuch where Deva lived. Varadha looked down too, seeing your feet clad in sandals. You had anklets. They were made of imitated metal, he could tell. Silver would be nicer.

Connecting with Deva was effortless—as if they hadn't been separated for so many years. With you, Varadha's words were stilted. But cut him some slack—the last time he saw you, you were a bumbling five year old running about with your wooden animals. A bundle of cheer that had no business being in Khansaar.

Look at you now. You were much taller, only a few inches shorter than him. Seems like you took after Deva a lot. There was a strange solemness in your face, like you had resigned yourself to this menial life in Bharuch when you could be…

No matter.

He assumed that this conversation would go nowhere and turned to leave, when you spoke.

“I'm okay.”

“...good.” Varadha said, after a moment's silence. “That's…good.” Your sharpness with him reminded him of when Deva had grabbed that live wire and electrocuted himself just for Varadha, and you—in all your toddler-ish glory—had given Varadha the silent treatment for a whole month. It was impressive, especially for someone who was as chatty as you. "Listen, I know—"

"Why are you doing this?” You asked—moreso whispered, your voice trembling with something that felt less like fear and more like anger. So you did take after Deva. Your eyes still didn't meet his, fixating on his septum ring first, then on the thin, whitish scar running across his face.

Varadha bristled at the sudden attention, all fondness leaving him. “I have my reasons.”

-—-—-—

The car ride to Khansaar was quiet. Deva sat at the window seat; and Varadha swore he could see him throw petty little grins at you, who were in the middle seat, with Baachi to your other side. Why you tagged along was beyond Varadha, but he allowed it. From what he could remember, you did always follow Deva around, clinging to his elbow, or his ankle or any part you could reach until he either snapped at you or until you hit your head on something.

Varadha smiled to himself.

-—-—-—

It was surprising, but Baachi was actually talking to you.

It was probably because the two of you were the same age, and often were sent off together so Varadha and Deva could do more important, grown-up things at the age of ten—that is, throwing rocks at Ranga or skipping them into the water.

“Why?”

“Why not?” You said, definitely more cheery with him than with Varadha. You looked him in the eyes, for God's sake. “It's not like I'm hurting anyone.”

“But why would you teach maths?” He asked incredulously. “You're torturing the children!”

You laughed and it was a strange sound to hear. Varadha could have grinded his teeth into his gums with the way his jaw tensed. So it was just him who was getting the silent treatment again. Both from Baachi, and you. How...annoying.

“Oh, come off it—”

“No, seriously, that should be a crime—”

-—-—-—

The sun set and took Varadha's expectations for a peaceful hosting of his guests with it.

You and Deva were just in the other room when Baachi stormed out, a colourful array of words set for him, you and Varadha. You knew Varadha had given up one of his bracelet-things to protect Deva, you and your mother, but you didn't know it had such far-reaching consequences. You also didn't know that it meant giving up a territory.

Seeing how Varadha was getting humiliated on the daily, it did melt your heart a little for the man. Your heart solidified again when it was Deva and you getting picked apart.

You two looked at each other, and Deva shrugged.

-—-—-—

Varadha felt woozy, so he lobbed the cheap bottle of liquor he was holding straight to the floor. The glass shattering looked beautiful under the amber light. He was saying something, but he wasn't quite sure what. Deva and you sat on a bench nearby, looking equally worried, eyes wide and eyebrows scrunched like mirror reflections.

Baba was crying. Why was he crying? Varadha felt great, or, something. There was a heaviness in his throat and that wasn't from the burn of the alcohol. Ugh, this is useless.

Feeling his legs turn into jelly, he stumbled down to sit beside you. You tensed and tried to scoot away. "Careful." You murmured.

Baachi, with swift, agitated steps, came to stand in front of Varadha. “Brother, you're drunk. We should go.”

The elder brother grabbed Baachi with an arm and caught him in a tight hug, slurring out incoherent rambles of coddling like “You're my little brother” and laughing as Baachi struggled against the sudden onslaught of brotherly affection. The younger Mannar did manage to free himself, cheeks darkened with embarrassment as he looked at you, stifling a chuckle behind your hand.

Baachi stomped away into the night with a brisk pace.

Varadha's laughter tapered off, and he looked at the two of you with a gaze that was…soft. Genuine, you supposed. Deva seemed to straighten, anticipating that something was off.

“I’m...” Varadha began. “I’m…not worried that something might happen to me, you know…” He looked down, eyes catching the glint of your anklets. “I'm...worried about my brother. Take care of him for me,” he looked up at Deva, then at you, “will you?”

Deva, wordless as always, nodded. You found solace in counting the glimmering shards of glass on the floor.

Varadha felt his eyes drooping. Without a care in the world, he swiveled around from where he was sitting, the elder Mannar plopped his head into your lap as if Deva wouldn't bat him upside the head tomorrow morning for it. You tensed, hands freezing in the air before you set them down—one in his hair and one on his warm chest. With nowhere else to go, your eyes settled on the Mannar literally on your lap.

His eyes were half-lidded, the kohl around them smudged by sweat and—to your best assumptions—tears. His septum ring glinted and your hand on his chest twitched.

Varadha stared at you, feeling his head swim as your eyes met. You looked exactly how he remembered! But older. And prettier. Varadha thought you looked stupid when you were younger, always stealing Deva's attention from him.

“You're pretty.” He blurted out, grinning as if he hadn't just thrown in a hauntingly honest request of his.

You stiffened as if you had looked into Medusa’s eyes. Varadha wished he didn't remember this in the morning.

Deva resisted the urge to kick Varadha.

Will that count against the ceasefire?

-—-—-—

“—but instead of poultry, he’d—” Baba’s words crackled away with a sob as you and Deva watched him intently. Varadha took this moment to swoop in and distract the three of you.

“Baba, leave this. We have more important things to do.”

But you, being repulsively you, just had to go digging around.

You'd see the kite flying and ask Deva about it. Deva, looking at the infernal thing, would ask Varadha about it and every time the dora had to come up with a new excuse about it.

He didn't know how long he could go before you realised every kite had the same embellishments.

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

a oneshot

"ghost under the light"

deva tries to take a walk. old memories resurface.

based heavily on the yuri's poem with the same name.

“Don't you have any other friends?”

Deva knew the kid didn't mean it that way; he was just angry at the older man for not having his head in the game. He knew the kid didn't know about what happened in that place. But the words were a little…striking.

It was just a quarter past one o'clock right now. The whole neighbourhood seemed to be silent, except the one drunken old man stumbling back home, having forgotten he doesn't have one to return to.

Deva tried closing his tired eyes, and felt the burn under his eyelids that comes when you forget to blink for too long. He felt lighter when things were dark around him; the near-constant thrumming under his skin receded in the din of the night, and the softer memories would return. His mother coaxing him to go to sleep with a lullaby, sneaking out to cause mischief somewhere, or coming home from said rendezvous and finding a puppy hiding under a box to pet.

Who would he sneak out with, again?

Deva opened his eyes and got out of the rickety bed, feeling the rusted metal creak under his bed. He had never gotten used to how large he became, always the shorter one between his old friend and him. Even the kids seemed to not mind his imposing stature as long as he agreed to take a part in fielding and let them bat. Heavy footsteps padding across the floor, Deva put his shoes on haphazardly, ankles sticking out of the back (he’d get blisters in the morning, but it’d be fine) and walked out of the house.

It was a warm night. The sky was clear. A playful breeze was skittering around, dragging along pieces of plastic and motes of dust with it. Mindlessly walking, Deva looked up and saw the stars jeweled across the velvety night sky. Or something like that. It sounded like a line from those books Varadha would read.

Varadha.

Shit.

To Deva, it was clear that he would never return to Varadha again. And he had made a point to expunge any memories of the man from his mind. That didn't seem to work. He never had as good of control over his mind as Varadha did. It was so late at night, and no one was awake anyway. Deva assumed he could amuse himself. Far away, somewhere, the drunken man had fallen from the stairs and found himself at the bottom with a bleeding head.

He had heard the older teenagers blast songs about forgetting their lovers on their new-fangled phone. Songs about how to get over a lover. Songs about how to move on from a past love. But how do you forget a friend? Is there anything that can replace an old friend? Even now, Deva would see a book from an author Varadha liked, and get the urge to buy it for him; even now he'd say something stupidly cheesy and get the urge to repeat it to Varadha, just to see him roll his eyes in annoyance.

But the maw of a wolf separated them. The same souls in two different worlds. Varadha was the Karta of Khansaar, and Deva was pacified into paralysis in Tinsukhia.

It wasn't an open wound, sure, but it was a bruise that hurt when he pressed too hard. It was the blackened veins protruding out of his left arm, cramping when it was too cold until he felt like he needed to chop it off clean.

Deva stopped under an amber streetlight, looking down to see the colour bathe him. There was a faint heat coming from it. There was a massive hum-buzz of thousands of insects, stuck in their perpetual panopticon behind the cheap glass of the streetlight, burning away for their gravity towards the bulb.

In the distance, a blue-green light flickered. A lone figure crossed its path—a silhouette obstructing the eerie glow. Deva’s heart suddenly started to skip a few beats here and there. The silhouette grew. Closer. Closer.

The figure stepped into the streetlight. The light flickered. A familiar tingle of electricity sped up Deva's left arm, turning the blood in his veins to static. The figure raised his hand, clad in thick iron bangles clinking, all hesitant. Familiar.

Time stopped.

The only indication of movement was the amber light flickering against his outstretched fingers, clad, too, in similar rings. The flickering light was in rhythm with the pounding of Deva's heart.

A voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

“Deva.”

Have you ever heard of a ghost feeling warmth before? Giving up on understanding, Deva laughed. Understanding was overrated. He touched his friend’s hand. The flickering stopped.

Ghosts are blue-green. Deva's heart is amber.

Deva woke up to the sound of his mother berating him for sleeping in, followed along with the clamor of children whom he'd promised to play cricket with. The sun was out. Blinking through the splotches in his eyes, he came to the realisation that streetlights weren’t blue-green.

He was in his bed, blisters on his ankles.

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

varadha headcanons!

see i'd do a full length fic but I don't have the patience rn but i have the itch for salaar so I'm doing this. cheap i know lol.

I like to think that varadha has low spice tolerance. see, deva only eats food if it's spicy enough to scald a normal person's throat. and naturally as a varadeva shipper (but also a self shipper with both but hey man i just work here) i like the opposites between them both.

literature nerd? literature nerd. definitely used to read to deva in their free time when they were kids. I like to think he has the Nibandhanai/Nibandhan memorised.

half-malayali from his mom's side because I said so

were there any pointers to where varadha was when he was a Kapu/Governer? honestly the fact that I can't remember tells me that I need to watch salaar for the fourteenth time. but i like to think he studied abroad :) (i dont even know if khansaar has schools or not man)

professional ragebaiter to deva I'll be honest

pretty good at fighting with weapons. without them? ehhh that's what deva is here for. i think he'd prefer sharp weapons like daggers or swords. who knows man

anyways im gonna go and watch salaar again

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

a drabble

"honey don't feed me, I will come back"

basically just a bunch of bullet points about varadha and a reader who's radha rama's handmaiden

idk what tribe shed'd be. mahara?

definitely, like, three years older than varadha

young varadha having a childhood crush on handmaiden!reader, who mostly ignores him and follows radha rama around

deva leaves and the crush gets worse

she's the one protecting him from the others then. but it's not, like, deva's kind of protection. more quiet. like keeping him around in her quarters when rudra gets too much

right after being made a dora ('sardaar' for the Hindi watchers like me), varadha having his ass beaten and handmaiden!reader nursing him back without saying a word

the ceasefire happens and reader draws away from varadha completely

along the time varadha's getting harassed by the others in khansaar, reader's the only one not participating

obv varadha becomes the Karta of Khansaar

the crush turns to infatuation, infatuation slowly becoming obsession

with varadha as the Karta and radha rama out of the picture, he professes reader as his 'queen'(? idk yaar)

this is it 👍

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

honestly idk what's worse: reader falling into a stockholm syndrome type shi or joining the troops against him. there's a lot of kneeling and deep eye contact and fervent promises from varadha's side like not even freaky style bro is just determined to keep reader. although the freaky is there ig im just not comfy writing it (imagining is a whole lot easier i fear). also characteristically he's incredibly controlling and keeps things obscured from reader even if she does end up agreeing to be the queen; plus, he's not physically controlling.

which brings me to my next point: physically, varadha is very caring and gentle. he knows all of reader's favourites (fabrics and foods both). if reader gets sick then he's the first to get there. if—gods forbid—reader gets hurt, he's there too. and you best believe the responsible party is getting slimed.

mentally, though, varadha knows every pressure point to keep reader around. (un)shockingly enough, he doesn't use them to exploit reader for yknow the weird stuff. just keeps it around to make sure reader never leaves the fortress of khansaar.

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

excerpt from a potential fic

"life choices"

whoever stops the seal, dies.

guess how you spend your saturday evening, my dear reader.

You wake up at the back of a van.

As your body tries to get used to the heavy-duty vehicle rattling through the worst road you've ever felt in your life, you wonder, ‘how did your life get to this?’ You, a young and bright-eyed sub-inspector whose ‘honesty’ (read: stupidity) got them transferred to some backwater town in Northwestern India. You. You.

The truck gives a jerk and your brain fog clears a bit more. The memories are coming back now. It was a lorry, you believe. A lorry you had stopped at the road-barrier when it almost passed unchecked through the solitary highway. There was a symbol on it, which the other officers kept calling ‘seal’ with a trembling voice. A demon, or something? You can't remember. The air in this van is terrible, they should check the ventilation for faults.

…In hindsight, it's probably a carrier for meat. It smells like it. You suppress a gag, trying to pull your hand up to cover your mouth. Which failed, because both your hands, curled into fists in zipties, came and hits you straight on your lip.

“Ough.” You articulate.

There's some commotion at the front, where—you assume—the driver is seated. The words sound something like ‘...finally awake...see what it means...stop the seal...'. You don't know what that means. It's a seal. The presiding officer had quaked out something about ‘i-i-if we even n-name this p-p-place, t-they will kill us’. The truck gives another jerk, harder this time, and you, with your throbbing head, passed out.

—-—-—

You wake up in an ashen, dust-covered cell. The iron bars in front of you are covered in rust. One cut and it's over for you. You look down and check your arms. No cuts, thank god, but the zipties have been replaced by large, black metal shackles. The metal is cold and presses harshly against your wrists. Your eyes follow the thick chains to a large pillar behind you, looped in such a way that you can't shimmy out of it.

—-—-—

Two bulky guards with huge septum rings and dense beards come in and drag you out of the cell by your shoulders after seven hours of you passing in and out of consciousness. They look like bulls.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask, not quite feeling your best as the backs of your (noticeably bare) feet scraped against the rough stone floors. You're being dragged through what looks like a very big fortress, with candelabras lighting up the dark hallways. The walls are charcoal black, the curtains are charcoal black and the floors are—you’re never going to believe what.

The bigger guard on your right grunts. The smaller on your left says, “Karta.”

[i-misread-radiance-as-raindance]

a drabble

"honey don't feed me, I will come back"

basically just a bunch of bullet points about varadha and a reader who's radha rama's handmaiden

idk what tribe shed'd be. mahara?

definitely, like, three years older than varadha

young varadha having a childhood crush on handmaiden!reader, who mostly ignores him and follows radha rama around

deva leaves and the crush gets worse

she's the one protecting him from the others then. but it's not, like, deva's kind of protection. more quiet. like keeping him around in her quarters when rudra gets too much

right after being made a dora ('sardaar' for the Hindi watchers like me), varadha having his ass beaten and handmaiden!reader nursing him back without saying a word

the ceasefire happens and reader draws away from varadha completely

along the time varadha's getting harassed by the others in khansaar, reader's the only one not participating

obv varadha becomes the Karta of Khansaar

the crush turns to infatuation, infatuation slowly becoming obsession

with varadha as the Karta and radha rama out of the picture, he professes reader as his 'queen'(? idk yaar)

this is it 👍