#but also LITERALLY because he is IN THE FLOOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[cressidagrey]

Brighten Up the Sky

This started as a prompt from the lovely @satiresunflower, (though it is pretty much unrecognisable from the prompt she actually gave. She did give me permission to go wild though, so this is what you get lol) 

This starts in Chapter 14 of ACOWAR, so some of the sentences are taken verbatim from the original text. I did change it into 3rd person, because me trying to write in 1st person never ends well. I also think there is a longer story in this particular idea, but quite frankly, I don’t have it in me to write it right now. 

Summary:

A Mating Bond between her younger sister and the Night Court’s shadowsinger was the last thing Feyre had expected to spring up…but then, maybe it did make sense. 

Warning:

Public Displays of affection, kinda Nesta bashing, but like...she has her reasons?, Cassian being annoying

(Lovely dividers thanks to @cafekitsune)

“Where are my sisters?” Feyre asked, the thought clanging through her head as jarring as a pealing bell. 

Her sisters

Rhys paused for just a moment, his hand slipping from her hair as his smile faded. “Elain and Nesta are at the House of Wind.” He straightened, swallowing. “I can—take you to them.” Every word seemed to be an effort.

But he would, Feyre realized. He’d shove down his need for her and take her to them, if that was what she wanted. Her choice. It had always been her choice with him.

Feyre shook my head. She wouldn’t see them—not yet. Not until she was steady enough to face them.

“They’re well, though?”

His hesitation told her enough. 

“They’re safe,” Rhys answered quietly. 

"That’s good," Feyre murmured as she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the swirling, churning emotions inside her chest.

Her sisters...her sisters were safe. That was something. That was enough. For now. 

Only then she realised something else.

“You said Nesta and Elain are at the House of Wind,” Feyre pointed out, her hands clenching, her heart beating faster. “Where’s Alana?” she demanded, singling out her younger sister…singling out her half sister. 

The result of their father’s dalliance with a maid during her mother’s pregnancy with Feyre. Alana was just 6 months younger than her. Alana’s mother had died during childbirth…so their father had been saddled with another squealing infant that his wife was ill-pleased with. 

Nesta liked to say that that affair had eventually killed their mother. Feyre thought it to be ridiculous. It had been a fever and Alana had nothing to do with it, because she had been a literal child…and Alana had lost her voice to the very same fever. Feyre could still remember her singing like a pealing bell when she had been a child…and then…then she hadn’t been able to anymore. Even talking was near impossible for Alana, her throat unable to produce any sounds. 

Even as Alsna had been thrown into the cauldron…Her mouth had been open in a silent scream, but no sound had come out of her mouth. 

A shudder ran through her at that memory.

Alana. Her sweet, quiet younger sister. The sister that always smiled too sweetly and saw too much with those sharp eyes of hers. 

"Where is Alana?" She repeated. The silence in the room hung thick in the air as Rhys continued to hesitate.

A prickle of unease started to make its way up her spine. 

“Rhys, where is Alana?!” she demanded, her voice rising. 

“She’s safe, I swear,” Rhys hurried to promise her. “She’s not staying with Nesta and Elain but she’s safe. She should be here soon. I think…everything else…you should ask her about that.”

His words did little to soothe her worries, the unease that now clawed up her spine stronger.

“You’re not telling me something,” she pointed out, her brow furrowing. “Rhys, what are you not telling me?” 

She thought back to the last time she had seen her sister…thought back to her being poured out onto the wet stone floor from the cauldron…not a noise had come from her…nothing. She had…She had been poured out of the cauldron and had just kneeled on that stone floor as they had forced Nesta into the cauldron after her. 

She hadn’t…she had been…absent. Like the cauldron had taken too much from her. 

And then, in the moment as Mor had pushed Lucien away from Nesta and Elain, Feyre had seen Alana lunge. 

Not for the King of Hybern. Not even for Mor, who would have been closer to her…But for Cassian and Azriel for some reason. She wasn’t sure what had been Alana’s reasoning. Wasn’t sure what…Rhys had grasped all three of them and winnowed them away. 

Her heart was now hammering.

“What did you do with her?” Feyre demanded, her voice growing panicked. “What did you do with Alana? Why isn’t she staying with Nesta and Elain?” Feyre asked, her voice forcedly calm. “Rhys, what is going on?”

There was another moment of hesitation, another moment of silence, before Rhys finally replied. "She just…opted to stay elsewhere."

Those words did little to reassure her.

"Where?" Feyre pressed, her eyes narrowed. 

Rhys sighed. “How about you get into that bath that should be ready by now?” he suggested. “I’ll…tell you some of what happened. But I do think that some of the things should come from Alana and not from me,” he pointed out drily. 

The last thing she wanted to do right now was take a bath, the last thing she wanted to do was to be pacified with pretty words and nice things. That was the last thing she wanted.

But...he was right. She needed to be clean. 

Feyre growled at her mate, but stomped into the bathing chamber, stripping out of her clothing. Her fingers were near-black with dirt and caked blood. 

Rhys snapped his fingers, and her skin was nearly instantly pristine again. “Tell me what happened,” Feyre said flatly, as she sunk into the blood-hot water. “Why isn’t Alana staying at the House of Wind?”

Rhys was silent for a moment as he looked at her, his mouth in a grim line.

Then he let out a deep sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bathing tub. “A lot of things happened,” Rhys said drily. “But the biggest reason why Alana isn’t at the House of Wind is mostly that…I can’t guarantee Nesta’s safety, if she keeps spewing some of her venom in Alana’s direction.”

Feyre’s brow shot up at that, her heart skipping a beat. “What?” she demanded. “Rhys, what are you talking about?” That didn’t sound—didn’t sound like...

To say that Nesta and Alana didn’t get along was an understatement. Nesta gave Alana the fault for seemingly everything and Alana…well, she played deaf. And even more mute than she normally was. Even when Feyre‘s sister hadn’t been able to talk, she had been more than able to communicate if she wanted to, either with her expressive face, or her hands. And still, Alana had pretended like it wasn’t happening. Elain was no better to her…Elain liked to ignore Alana’s very existence.

But Alana wouldn’t have done anything…Alana wouldn’t have…

“Alana doesn’t lose her temper,” Feyre said carefully as she looked at Rhys. “She doesn’t.”

“She didn’t,” Rhys said drily. “My spymaster did.” 

A puzzled frown crossed over her face at that. “Azriel?” Feyre asked, her eyebrows furrowing. “What did he do?”

Azriel had lost his temper with Nesta? 

“If Cassian hadn’t been there, I think Azriel would have torn out Nesta’s throat with his bare hands,” Rhys said with a grimace. “It was…bad.”

Feyre’s jaw dropped.

Azriel, tearing out Nesta’s throat? With his hands? That…that didn’t sound like him. Not at all.

“I...” Feyre had no idea what to say. Why would Azriel have done that?  Feyre couldn’t…Of course, she knew that Azriel was capable of great violence, but he had never…she had never seen him lose his temper with a member of his family. Had never even through that that was a possibility. Whatever Nesta had said, must have been…

If he had gotten this angry on Alana’s behalf…What exactly had been said?

"What did Nesta do? What did she say?" Feyre asked, her voice hard. "What did she say to warrant that reaction from Azriel?" 

Rhys grimaced, shaking  his head. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice low. “Trust me, you do not want to know what she said. It's...complicated."

"Complicated, how?" Feyre demanded as she towelled herself off, walking back into the bedroom and pulled on comfortable clothing, her worry mounting. "What could possibly be so bad that you don't want to tell me?" 

If it was bad enough that Rhys didn't want to tell her what exactly happened...what exactly had been said.

"Well, that…” Rhys trailed off.

"Tell me," Feyre demanded again. "What exactly happened after…Hybern?"

Her mate gave in, holding out his hand and she joined him sitting on the edge of their bed.

Their bed.

She was home. Finally.

Rhys sighed.

“After Hybern…Mor dropped Nesta and Elain off at the House of Wind and then came back to the Townhouse. I had…I had Azriel and Cassian, and Alana too” Rhys said quietly and Feyre swallowed. Azriel and Cassian were healed. Rhys had told her that…but somehow she hadn’t been able to believe it…until she had seen it. 

“Amren tried to stop the blood flow from the literal hole in Azriel’s chest. I didn’t notice at first…Alana was kneeling at Azriel’s side…covered in his blood…holding his head on her lap…” Rhys’s violet eyes seemed to be far, far away, as he nearly shuddered, just thinking about it. “Azriel was…in and out of consciousness…but he was just…he was just holding onto her.”

Feyre’s heart was lodged in her throat. Azriel, nearly dead, was just…holding Alana. Her head was spinning as her mind worked hard to comprehend this. 

“The mating bond snapped for them,” Rhys finally said quietly. 

Feyre’s eyes widened. Her mouth went suddenly dry.

The…the mating bond? Alana and Azriel? Mates?

“The mating bond,” she echoed faintly. “The…the mating bond.” 

Feyre was quite sure that her jaw dropped. And that she stared at Rhys like he had just grown a second head.

“Azriel and Alana?” Feyre asked, unable to believe that. Azriel and Alana?! The brooding shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court and her youngest sister?

Azriel, who seemed to have a thing for Mor and had never looked at another female as far as Feyre was aware?

Rhys winced at her look.

"Yes, I know," he said quietly, wincing. "That was…my reaction too. I didn’t see it coming. I don’t think that anyone saw this coming...especially not Azriel." 

Feyre’s mind was racing.

Azriel and Alana. Mates.

She couldn’t…she never would have imagined it. Never seen it coming. Not in a thousand years. 

“Have they…” she wasn’t even sure what she was asking.

“Three days late,” Rhys said with a sigh. “They were not willing to wait.” 

“Three day?!” Feyre demanded. As far as she knew, Alana had never even entertained the thought of a suitor. Not that there had been any men that had looked over the fact that she was a bastard…and mute. They had never bothered to look further and Alana had never fussed about it either. 

"Three days," Rhys repeated. "The moment Azriel was well enough to be mobile again, they mated."  Rhys shuddered, his face scrunching up in distaste. “They are insufferable. The both of them.” 

"What do you mean, insufferable?" Feyre asked. A million thoughts were running through her head. Alana and Azriel…mates. They mated. 

"They could not stay away from each other," Rhys said, shuddering again. "They were...touchy. All the time. And so very...cutesy and sweet with each other. Gods, they are nauseating."

Feyre’s eyebrows rose at that. Alana and Azriel. Touchy? Cutesy and sweet? She could barely even imagine it. Alana...and Azriel. Being affectionate. 

"She’s sitting on his lap constantly," her mate groaned, rubbing his eyes hard. "And he is just…constantly touching her. I don’t even think that they have gone a whole five minutes without touching each other."

"And the looks," her mate continued drily. "Gods, they are exchanging these  looks. You would have thought that they are the soppiest, lovesick couple in existence. I did not ever need to see Azriel making heart-eyes at Alana. That was…traumatising."

Feyre pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle a snort. Azriel, making heart-eyes? That was a sight that she could not quite imagine. She…she hadn’t even thought that Azriel was even…capable of making heart-eyes. 

"Cassian and Mor kept poking fun at them. At every opportunity, which they definitely got often. Alana just…ignored them. But Azriel…" Rhys’ lips curled into a smirk. "He was not as amused as Alana by their teasing. He kept threatening violence every five minutes."

Feyre’s eyes widened at that, a laugh escaping her.

Azriel threatening violence for every five minutes that someone teased him about his new mate? She could not picture that either. 

"Cassian started making kissy faces at Alana just to see if Azriel would lose his temper," her mate said, a broad smile on his face. "And let me tell you, he nearly clawed out Cas’ eyeballs for it."

"So she's staying here?" Feyre asked carefully.

Rhys shook his head, his expression growing more serious. "She's at Azriel's house," he explained with a sigh. "It's...the cauldron left her with some...abilities. She’s a daemati…of sorts, at least,” Rhys said with a grimace. “We are still trying to figure out…how exactly it works. You and me…we need to concentrate if we want to read somebody’s thoughts. Alana…she said it was like she was standing in the middle of a market square and everybody is shouting at her,” Rhys said quietly. “We haven’t yet found anybody with shields solid enough to keep her out.”

Feyre swallowed at that. Alana, a daemati…of sorts. Having no control over whose thoughts she heard. No control over how loud everything was. 

“It’s like every mental wall, doesn’t even exist for her," Rhys said with a sigh. "Being around Amren gives her a headache too apparently. Azriel and Cassian are the most relaxing to be around according to her. There minds seem to be...even, analytical."

It sounded like a living hell. No control, no shields. Nothing.

“Is she…” Feyre’s voice was quiet. “Is she doing alright? Considering everything that happened.” 

“She’s fine,” Rhys promised her. “Alana is probably doing the best of them all,” Rhys said, something like amusement bleeding into his voice. “She can tell you all about it."

There was a knock at the door at that moment.

Feyre tensed as her eyes flew to the door.

“That’s her,” Rhys said quietly, placing a soothing hand on her leg. “Are you ready?” 

Feyre took a deep, steadying breath, pushing down her worry and her nerves.

“I’m ready,” she said. 

“Feyre!”

Her sister's voice. Her sister's voice.

Feyre’s heart skipped a beat as her body went rigid.

She couldn’t…she couldn’t believe it. After so long…after believing…believing for so long that she would never hear Alana’s voice…

Feyre remembered with a shudder the sight of small, slight Alana in her translucent nightgown…being poured out of the cauldron onto the stone...She looked nothing like she did now.

She looked well.

That was the first thing Feyre realised. Colour on her cheeks, dark, pin straight hair pinned away from her face and these devasting doe eyes…

Feyre’s eyes roamed over her sister, drinking in the sight of her. Alive. Well. Whole.

She could barely believe it, her mind struggling to catch up. 

"You can talk," Feyre whispered as Alana hugged her.  

She grimaced.

Kinda. This is easier though, she answered, her mental voice slipping into Feyre's mind without her even noticing. My throat hurts if I talk too much.

It was strange, having a voice in her mind that was not her own. Different from when her mate spoke to her down the bond. It was more…pronounced. Clearer, somehow. 

"Are…” Feyre’s voice broke again, her eyes roaming over Alana again. “Are you really alright, Al?” 

She drunk in her sister's face, the pale skin, the freckles that covered her face...she had been pretty as a human but as a fae...as a High fae she was gorgeous.

Alana’s eyes, her sister’s eyes, were still the same. Still that same dark, endless brown that had always seemed to hold so many secrets. She had never met anyone who could hold as many secrets as Alana had.

She looked so healthy, so well and Feyre felt a lump form in her throat. 

She had to fight the sudden urge to cry, as she pulled her sister into another hug. Her sister’s slender arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight. Like she was never going to let her go again. 

I am alright, Alana promised fiercely. I am better than alright. I am...I am so happy, Fey.

The thought in her mind brought another wave of tears to Feyre’s eyes. She held on to her sister tighter, burying her face against her neck as a sob escaped her and she inhaled her sister’s familiar, comforting scent. Pomegranate and Vanilla, with an underlay of Azriel. 

He treats you well? she asked, cradling her sisters face in her hands. She didn't think that Azriel would...mistreat her but...

Alana’s eyes darkened as she thought of Azriel and her expression softened as a faint smile crossed her face. 

Feyre swallowed again. This was different. This was…her sister had never smiled like that. So open. So happy. So filled with…love. 

And then, very carefully, Feyre felt how Alana pulled at her mind in some sense and then dropped a memory.

For just a moment, it felt like she was in her little sister's body. And she stared at Azriel who looked at her, at Alana with utter and complete adoration, scarred hands cupping her cheeks so gently.

Feyre’s breath caught in her throat at that.

She could feel, could understand the feeling of Azriel’s warm, scarred hand against her skin. The way how the pads of his fingers ran over her jawline, the way how his thumb traced over her lower lip. The way how those hazel eyes of his were filled with nothing but love. 

A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine. That look, the way how Azriel had looked at her sister…it was like the expression in Rhys’ eyes when he looked at her. 

Her eyes flickered to Rhys, where he was patiently waiting in a corner.

He was looking at her with that same look in his eyes. The same look that Feyre knew was mirrored in her own eyes. It was the same, that look. Pure, utter devotion. 

It was the look of a man completely and utterly in love. 

Feyre swallowed as she turned back to Alana, her mind whirling. This was…Alana, her sister…her quiet, shy, closed-off little sister. And Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court. The one that no one saw as anything but sharp and deadly and a ruthless killer. 

He didn’t hurt you, did he? Feyre asked weakly. She didn’t think he would but…

Alana’s expression softened. Her hand gently came to rest on Feyre’s arm and she shook her head, a small smile on her face.

He was gentle as possible, Fey, Alana promised quietly. Gentler than I would have expected. He made sure to go slow, to be careful. He was…he was everything I could have wished for. He has never hurt me more than I wanted. 

Feyre let out a long, shaky breath she didn’t know that she was holding.

She…she had been worried. Worried for her sweet little sister, being together with a man like Azriel. Who was dangerous and deadly and…and lethal. 

What do you mean with no more than you wanted? she demanded suddenly. Alana just grinned at her, her laugh like a pealing bell.

A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine again. Alana’s…her sister’s voice, the sound of her laugh. It was the most wonderful sound that she had ever heard. She could’ve started bawling like a child, but the thought that Alana dropped into her mind just completely derailed her.

He knows what I like, and he’s happy to oblige. 

Feyre’s eyes widened and she choked on nothing.

She…oh Gods. Her face heat in a blush as Alana just continued smiling at her innocently. 

This was her sister. Her quiet, shy, closed-off sister. That was how she remembered her. And now…and now…she was standing in front of Feyre, smiling at her like a cat who had just devoured an entire bowl of cream, telling her that her stoic, broody, deadly Spymaster of a mate was apparently…into things… 

Her sister smirked at her. Alana! Her shy, little sister, who had never even so much as looked at a male with interest, stood in front of Feyre, a smirk on her face as she told Feyre that her mate knew what she liked. 

I was surprised too, you know, Alana’s voice echoed in Feyre’s mind. But well…I like it, and he’s happy to oblige. He’s very good at it… 

But the look on Alana’s face, the utter contentment in her eyes, and the feeling of…of lust from her sister, made it even more mortifying. 

Alana was happy. Her sister was happy and well, and she just radiated happiness. Feyre’s heart soared, seeing her sister like that after so long.  And even the horrifying bits, Feyre could push past.

Seeing her sister happy like this…that was worth a bit of mortification and discomfort. 

So she swallowed her mortification, and just pulled a face at her smirking sister.

Enough with the gory details, for the love of the Mother. she chided her in her head. Alana just let out another pearly bell kind of laugh.

You should come downstairs. Nuala and Cerridwen have given Lucien some clothing and showed him to a bathing chamber. Lunch should be served soon, if you are hungry, Alana said into her mind.

I am famished, Feyre confessed in her mind. “Lead the way,” she said aloud and Alana just rolled her eyes, taking her by the arm and pulling her downstairs. 

And then something else came to her mind. What did Nesta say to you?

Alana sighed. Nothing that matters, her sister said easily as they reached the dining room. Azriel and Cassian were waiting for them.

And then Feyre saw how her sister turned from happy to radiant as soon as she saw Azriel. 

Feyre watched with ill disguised horror, as the spymaster’s shadows came over to Alana, seemingly swarming around her. Whatever bits of naked skin they could find…in this case her hands and face, because she wore a long sleeves high necked gown, they caressed. Nearly sweetly. 

Alana absentmindedly drew her fingers through one tendril as she floated over to Azriel, sitting down onto his lap like that was an utterly normal thing to do. Feyre could just stare as Azriel pressed a kiss against her sister‘s cheek, one scarred hand possessively spanning her waist.

Like this was normal. Like this was something they had done dozens of times…like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this was their usual routine…and Alana smiled at him, broadly, pressing a kiss against his cheek in greeting. 

It was...it was surreal, watching Alana like this. So much more open, less reserved than Feyre had ever seen her. And the way how Azriel looked at her...Feyre had never seen him express such open and utter adoration before. 

Cassian made a retching sound, catching Feyre’s attention. Azriel’s eyes darkened as he threw an icy look in Cassian’s direction. Alana just snuggled deeper into Azriel’s chest. 

Azriel let out the smallest of chuckles at Alana’s behaviour in his lap, one of his hands coming up to gently play with a strand of her dark hair as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. 

The quiet, brooding Spymaster of the Night Court, who could be downright terrifying when he wanted, completely and utterly smitten by her little sister. 

Feyre could just stare. 

She had not for one moment thought that they would…would be a good match. But here they were. 

Alana...Feyre had never seen her sister like this before. So open, so happy. So...unreserved. She was like a cat, settled in the lap of her male, letting him pet her like she was...like he owned her. And it seemed like Azriel would gladly claim ownership too. The possessive, proprietary look on his face told Feyre all she needed to know. 

“Get a room, for the love of the Mother,” Cassian drawled with a disgusted look on his face as Azriel buried his nose in her sister’s hair and Feyre shot him another dirty look. Alana just stuck her tongue out at him. 

Azriel just bared his teeth at Cassian, a silent warning to watch his tongue in the direction of the woman in his lap, who was busy playing with the buttons on his fighting leathers. 

“What did Nesta say?“ Feyre repeated as she sat down herself. 

The reactions were immediate. 

Azriel growled.

Feyre couldn’t help but flinch slightly. That growl...she hadn’t heard him make that sound before. It sounded utterly terrifying. Alana didn’t even flinch. She just touched Azriel’s chest in a soothing gesture and Azriel immediately quieted down, holding her even tighter. 

It doesn’t matter what Nesta had to say, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind.

“It absolutely does,” Feyre muttered, feeling some anger rising in her. Her sister deserved better than what Nesta had to say. 

I don’t care what she says, Alana replied in her mind. She can believe whatever she likes. She is entitled to her opinion. 

“She can be quiet about her opinion,” Azriel hissed. Only then Feyre realised that her sister must have been projecting her mental voice so that everybody could hear it.

"Azriel." Alana's voice was soft. "It's alright. We both know the truth. It doesn’t matter what she believes"

Azriel looked down at her and a slight frown appeared on his face. He gently cupped her sister's chin, his hazel eyes staring into her dark ones. Feyre could practically hear the silent conversation between them. 

Cassian sighed. "Nesta found out about the mating bond between Azriel and Alana and she didn't take it well," he told Feyre drily.

Of course, she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. Feyre ground her teeth together. 

"So what exactly was said?" she asked sharply.

Cassian and Rhys shared a look as Azriel let out another warning growl. Feyre ignored him. 

I want to know, Feyre snapped towards Alana. Her sister stiffened. 

Feyre, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind, a hint of warning in her tone. Feyre pushed down a wave of irritation. 

Tell me, Feyre demanded. She was done with secrets. Done with not knowing things. 

It’s nothing, Alana tried to brush her off and Feyre’s irritation flared up in her stomach. 

It is not ‘nothing’. Feyre snapped at her. Her sister’s face was a stoic mask as Azriel let his hand span across her stomach. 

Nesta made a comment about how she was surprised that Azriel hadn't ripped me apart during our...mating. But maybe she shouldn't be surprised because I was a whore anyway, Alana finally answered. How a brute like him was all I amounted to, given that I was a bastard...and then there was some more stuff in that rant about how unfair it was that I had landed on my feet but Elain is...well...Elain isn't doing so good, Alana answered flatly.

Feyre felt her blood boil in her veins. Of course, Nesta would say something like that, the bitter, twisted...- Feyre bit down on the string of curses burning on her tongue. 

Nesta isn't doing well, Feyre. You can't take what she is saying right now to heart, Alana warned her softly. You haven't been in her mind...it's...it's bad.

Feyre felt some of her anger cool down ever so slightly. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t pissed off at Nesta for what she had said. Even if...even if Nesta wasn’t doing well. 

That doesn’t change anything about what she said, Feyre said through gritted teeth. 

I am not defending her, Alana said firmly. I love Nesta. Doesn’t mean that I like hearing her talk about Azriel like that. But Feyre... her voice grew softer. I have seen her mind. Her thoughts. She isn’t in a good place right now.

Feyre grimaced, feeling her anger slowly disappear. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to. But...maybe Alana was right. Nesta was her sister, and Feyre loved her. Even after everything that had happened between them. 

Still...what she said... Feyre said weakly and Alana’s lips quirked. 

I know, she said gently. I was angry too. I nearly tore her head off. But Azriel...he was furious. I’ve never seen him like that before. 

Feyre didn’t need to be told how furious Azriel had been. The look in his eyes, the clenched jaw and the growl that Feyre had heard...she didn’t need anyone to tell her how the usually stoic male had been absolutely furious about what Nesta had said. 

"I'll talk to her," Feyre said aloud.

She ignored the dubious look that Cassian and Rhys were giving her. Her sister just smiled at her softly and nodded. 

Talk to her gently, she urged in Feyre’s mind. Please. And don’t...don’t try to defend me. It will only start a fight. 

Feyre winced. Even though, she didn’t like the thought of it and not defending her sister went completely against her nature, she knew that Alana was right. And her sister could read her thoughts with ease anyways. 

I’ll bite my tongue, Feyre promised her. Alana smiled at her again, that smile that lit up her entire face. Feyre felt her heart clench at the beautiful sight. 

“Thank you,” Alana said happily, her voice like the most wonderful sound. Feyre had a feeling that that was the thanks not only for agreeing not to defend her but for just...not making a scene. Feyre felt a small, answering smile tug at the corners of her own lips.

Instead, she watched her sister pick up a piece of bread from the plate in front of Azriel and hold it up for him to eat without another word. A silent gesture of acceptance.

Azriel’s lips twitched as he looked at his mate, sitting on his lap like she belonged there. But he obediently opened his mouth, a subtle sign of complete surrender to Alana. 

Cassian made another retching sound. Alana ignored him.

Azriel was the one who kissed Alana.

Feyre could have gone quite a long time without that sight. Especially because it wasn't a simple peck on the cheek or a quick kiss to her lips. 

Feyre could have gone forever without seeing her sister like this, settled in the lap of her mate, their bodies pressed together tightly as Azriel kissed her, devoured her, his hands possessively splayed out on her slender waist. 

"Now you are just fucking with me," Cassian said with a sigh.

Alana just broke out in a fit of giggles as Azriel threw a glare in Cassian’s direction. 

“Maybe I am,” Azriel mused, as Alana settled back into his lap. Azriel’s one scarred hand was back to playing with a strand of Alana’s hair. “Jealous?” he asked lightly and  Cassian actually growled at him.  Azriel snorted, his hand possessively covering Alana’s stomach, who was smiling like the happiest person in the world. 

“Shut up,” Cassian huffed. “I am not jealous. I just don’t want to know what you two get up to at night.” 

"Only at night?" Azriel asked drily. "Brother, you have much to learn."

Feyre groaned internally at the hint in Azriel’s voice as Cassian looked a little ashen, while Rhys burst out laughing and Alana let out another one of her pearly-bell like laughs. 

“Stop tormenting him,” Rhys said with a chuckle as Cassian tried to recover. “He’ll have nightmares for weeks if you continue like this.” 

“That sounds like a you problem,” Azriel replied, completely unrepentant, “not ours.” Alana was still giggling, a sound like tinkling bells in Feyre’s ears. 

“Of course you say that, you bastard,” Cassian said with a sigh as Azriel’s hand on Alana’s stomach started to slowly wander upwards. 

Feyre could see how Alana’s cheeks flushed slightly in response to the possessive touch. How her breathing quickened ever so slightly. Azriel’s lips twitched as he noticed it too. 

"We'll let you deal with Lucien," Alana said suddenly, gaining her feet quickly. "We'll see you at dinner. Az?"

“Coming, sweetheart,” Azriel said and Cassian made another retching sound as Feyre could feel the waves of possessiveness coming off Azriel in waves. Her sister was his. 

In a matter of heartbeats, they were gone. Feyre was left with Cassian and Rhys who were both looking at her intently. 

"Yes, they are always like that, if you wondered,” Cassian said with a roll of his eyes. "I think they are still in the Mating Frenzy."

“Most likely,” Rhys agreed with a chuckle. “But they also don’t seem to care who sees it. Mor is still horrified from walking in on them a few weeks ago.” 

“So would I be in her shoes,” Feyre said honestly and Cassian snickered. 

“They are insufferable, aren’t they?” He said with a grin. Rhys just chuckled. “So utterly happy.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed, the image of the two of them, completely oblivious to the world around them still in her mind. “Unbelievably so.” 

“They’re also completely and utterly devoted to each other,” Rhys mused. “It is…kind of sweet.” Feyre nodded thoughtfully. 

It was sweet. The way Azriel looked at her sister, how he was so utterly possessive about her. And Alana…there wasn’t a hint of hesitation about her when it came to Azriel. 

"As long as she's happy," Feyre said quietly. As long as Alana was happy.

[ashenquill]

It's time to info dump about my character headcanons some moreeeee I love spreading my agenda on the internet hehe

Mumbo Killsalot Jumbo is one of those ambiguous types where you can't tell if he's actually a hybrid or not? Like, there's something a little bit... off about him. Something distinctly non-human. Also he's a really weird guy, which makes even less sense, because at this point hybrids are like 60% of the population, and nobody bats(ha) an eye at them anymore, so it's not like he needs to hide it. But he is, in fact, secretly a vampire. Or at least, he's 1/16th vampire or something like that. He just remembers this one guy named Vlad who he refused to believe was actually his great-grandpa because he's literally, like thirty? How on Earth would he have been old enough to father children with children with children? Mumbo started believing it when he saw him again ten years later and he hadn't changed in the slightest. Suddenly, the strict nobody open the curtains rule made a lot more sense.

Now, even though Mumbo is technically a vampire, his family is primarily human. The only reason they even have vampiric origins is because Great-grandpa Vlad got turned at the ripe age of 27, and wasn't about to abandon his wife over his new and very serious garlic allergy. She thought it was all one big prank he was pulling to get out of working on the farm, but after twenty years and seven kids, she realized that being a stay-at-home dad was definitely not taking the toll it should.

Mumbo and his immediate family have retained a few of the traits they inherited from Vlad, but it manifests in very mild coincidences. His mom is allergic to garlic and his dad has a strange Scarland-Princess-like affiliation with bats. Mumbo, meanwhile, really got the short end of the stick, as he can't expose his shoulders to sunlight without them miraculously burning (he's gone through more bottles of M-77 brand sunscreen than he'd care to quantify). Not to mention the insomnia! He'd be lucky to get two hours of sleep on an average night, and the fact that the only affect it really has on him is making his eyes look baggy is truly an injustice. Wasn't insomnia supposed to cause other serious health problems? How could he even complain about it if he wasn't constantly overtired? Rather inconvenient, that.

Don't ask my why I have so much lore for this guy when I don't even write him that often. It's just the Mumbo Jumbo allure, I guess

Here's some other fun facts:

Smells like iron/copper (metallic)

Book smart - special knowledge of redstone

Likes: cloud gazing, embroidery, old westerns/duels/guns, rubix cubes (only to look at though, bro can’t solve them for shit)

Dislikes: designing floor plans, social interaction, eye contact

Passions: philanthropy, travel

Habits/other details: Super fidgety like holy shit he never stops moving, picks at his nails and has lots of scabs & hangnails bc of it, he is littered with cuts and bruises of unknown origin, also usually covered in redstone & he mistakes his blood for it half the time, can’t tell if he’s ADHD, ASD, or both (deffo both)

Reactive to their environment - does not like to be around danger most of the time, would rather watch from afar, would rather not even watch tyvm, too bad he’s always a victim, #easytarget, your honor he’s just a wet cat

Special, plot-relevant skills: good w/ redstone, rich asf

Insomniac, also has RLS, always tired but it’s not very obvious, mostly just has dumb blonde moments, his intelligence would be 10% more if he actually slept, what the heck Vlad why'd you have to get bit by a vampire

[hayanwulf]

IronStrange:

One of them performs CPR on the other.

Fun fact: a defibrillator can’t actually revive a patient who ‘flatlined’.

Shocking, I know. I guess that’s modern media misrepresentation for you.

PS: At the cost of being a lil hypocritical.. the chance of getting an unshockable cardiac arrest (aka flatline or ‘asystole’) in our scenario, and then also surviving it with CPR, is ridiculously, laughably low. So, Stephen really shouldn’t have survived here, or flatlined in the first place... But hey, the movie itself threw realism out the window, so you can’t tell me shit.

The empty mug comically slipped from his grip, meeting the floor in an ear-deafening shatter.

Tony did not hear it, however, not over the pounding of heartbeat in his ears that immediately followed the almost-heart attack he got at the sight of a literal portal on fire inside his workshop, out of which stumbled his ex-fiance who he had not seen for eight months, hands clutching bloody chest, face drained of color and contorted in pain, steps staggering and making him crash against an equipment.

“The hallucinations are getting crazy,” Tony murmured.

“It’s not a hallucination, Boss,” FRIDAY announced, an urgency to her voice, pulling Tony out of his disbelief-induced state of shock — bless his AI. “Doctor Strange needs immediate medical attention! He’s been stabbed on the chest.”

Tony’s heart only lurched further at the last bit, but he forced his feet to move, shoved all thoughts to the back of his mind, beelining straight for his very mortally injured ex-fiance who was now leaning against god knew what, looking up at Tony with wild, terrified eyes.

“Cardiac Tamponade,” Stephen muttered, his voice weak with a bit of tremble to it, as Tony came to his side to carefully support him. “There’s blood in the pericardial—”

“Shut up!” Tony snapped, felt Stephen flinch against him, and immediately cursed himself for lashing out like that for no reason. He just.. god, this was the first time Tony was seeing Stephen after seven goddamn months, and it was to find him injured — mortally injured — and the first thing Stephen spoke to him was godforsaken diagnosis of how severely close to death he was.

He looked back at the portal once and suppressed a shudder, before shifting his focus back on Stephen to help lead him over to the small infirmary that was built right next to his workshop. “Just.. what the fuck, Stephen?”

Stephen winced, throwing a glance behind his shoulder at the portal, misunderstanding what Tony truly meant. “Sorry, that’s..” He made them pause and waved a hand at the tear in reality behind them.

Tony watched in awe for a moment as the portal quickly shrank and disappeared, remnants of glowing orange dust in the air the only evidence that something had even existed there a moment ago.

“What just—” Tony cut himself off. Not important right now.

He shook his head to dispel all other thoughts and focus solely on Stephen because oh god there was so much blood, Stephen was hurt, Stephen was dying—

“FRIDAY!” He called out, voice wavering with the panic that grew in him with each passing moment as he led Stephen to the adjacent infirmary.

“There is no medical staff at the Compound, Boss..”

“Why!?” Tony asked as his heartbeat spiked at the realization, even though he already knew why.

No one lived in the Compound anymore. All of the staff had been long since dismissed.

As he led Stephen towards the nearest operating table, Tony spared only a brief moment to wonder why, despite there being nobody and nothing in this large establishment, was it that Tony continued to stay here.

He helped Stephen lay flat on the operating table and began to undo.. whatever it was that Stephen was wearing, all the while chanting under his breath, “I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this..”

“Tony,” Stephen spoke, grabbing hold of Tony’s wrist and looking him in the eye. “You can, I know it.”

Tony helplessly shook his head because he couldn’t. How could Stephen think that he could?

But, god, there was no time, no choices.

Stephen either had him, or nothing.

Tony felt the exact moment Stephen’s grip on his arm grew weak, saw his eyes flicker as he fought to keep them open.

“I trust you..” Stephen said weakly, and then passed out, his hand going limp over Tony’s.

Tony stared for a moment.

“Boss?”

FRIDAY’s voice pulled him out of his daze. He looked up at the heart graphs, then back at Stephen’s limp body, and then back up at the heart graphs to be absolutely extra sure he hadn’t lost Stephen yet. His mind was nothing but panicked haze and adrenaline, and logic fought emotion as he struggled to simply act, to do something because he was losing Stephen right in front of his eyes and oh god he needed to save him—

“FRIDAY, w-what—” He swallowed as his voice wavered, “what do I do?”

“Boss, you are close to having a panic attack—”

“And he’s close to dying, dammit! What do I do!?”

“He needs a pericardiocentesis.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Just get the needle, second shelf from the top.”

FRIDAY guided him through the surprisingly simple, yet downright horrifying procedure of stabbing a needle straight into Stephen’s heart to drain out the blood stuck in his pericardium, decompressing the pressure on his heart. There was a large stab wound on the left side of his chest. The sight of so much blood — of Stephen’s blood — made Tony feel lightheaded, its suffocating metallic scent tangible in his mouth, tasting like copper, all the while his eyes watched the screens of vitals with sharp attention, witnessing as Stephen’s heartbeat grew weaker and weaker, every digit of drop in the heart rate making dread pool heavier in his stomach, making his gut twist sickeningly.

He was holding Stephen’s delicate, precious life in his hands and god, it was terrifying.

How did you do this every single day? Tony silently asked the man lying unconscious in front of him, the back of his eyes stinging as tears formed in them.

If Stephen died now, here, like this, Tony could never forgive himself.

It was those thoughts that roared loud in his mind, in tandem with the beeping of the heart monitor, as he held onto the needle drawing out a nauseating amount of blood.

Even after most of the clogged blood from the walls had been drained out, Stephen’s heart remained weak, his low heart rate not recovering.

And then it happened, just as he pulled out the needle.

Tony’s entire world came to a halt at that sharp, ear-deafening beep of the heart monitor.

“You need to start CPR, now!” FRIDAY spoke up immediately, voice loud and clear over the shrill beep.

“I—the defibrillat—”

“That won’t work, you have to do CPR!”

Tony didn’t question her. He trusted his babygirl, trusted her to help him save Stephen’s life, and moved up to Stephen’s face, tilting his head up, chin held in his hand.

30 compressions, 2 breaths.

He would not lose Stephen. He would not.

Steadying his resolve as he inhaled a deep breath, he pinched Stephen’s nose and then dipped down to seal their mouths together, before blowing into Stephen’s mouth, watching from the corner of his eye as Stephen’s chest rose. He repeated the action, blowing a second rescue breath into Stephen’s mouth, and then quickly moved to his chest.

Taking care to not place his hands over the stab wound currently sealed with nanites, he pushed down forcibly at Stephen’s chest and set up a fast pace, counting the compressions in his head, acutely aware of his speed as well as the relentless beeping of the heart monitor that continued to echo in the background.

After 30 compressions, he repeated the two rescue breaths, and moved to performing compressions again.

Seven.. eight.. nine..

Tony froze when the incessant beeping of heart monitor stopped, to be replaced by a barely there pulse, the graph displaying a weak heart rhythm that was all over the place.

Tony could’ve cried right then. Maybe he did.

“Don’t stop,” FRIDAY’s voice instructed him, and so he didn’t, continuing with the chest compressions.

Two more cycles passed by the time FRIDAY said, “You can shock him now, Boss.”

Tony didn’t waste another second in fetching the defibrillator. He applied the conductive gel over the two paddles before placing one on the right side of Stephen’s sternum and the other below his left nipple — thank the science gods Stephen’s injury didn’t get in the way of their placement — and let FRIDAY decide the appropriate voltage. He pressed down hard on the paddles, steering clear of any other contact to Stephen’s body as the equipment delivered shock.

The heart rhythm graph reacted immediately, and Tony watched in awe as the entire electrical activity was reset and started producing a much healthier, stable rhythm. The pulse reacted to it, quickly gaining strength.

Tony’s knees nearly buckled from the sheer intensity of relief that washed over him, watching Stephen’s heart gain its strength back right in front of his eyes.

Stephen’s eyes flew open with a start and a gasp, and Tony was immediately by his side, the defibrillator abandoned. He panted, eyes glazed and darting wildly at first, until they slowly regained focus. Tony placed a hand on Stephen’s arm, wanting to help him, wanting to give him something to anchor himself to.

But mostly to reassure his own self that Stephen was still here.

“God, that feels weird in the astral plane,” Stephen murmured, his voice a little raspy, before a weak laugh escaped his lips.

“You think this is— wow.” Stephen was laughing. It hadn’t been five minutes since Tony had pulled this man out of the claws of death and now here he was, laughing. Tony felt his body vibrate, his inside burning up with this infuriating mix of anger and.. and.. ugh! He didn’t know.

Never had he felt something so strong, so nauseatingly gut-churning before.

Christ, was this the anger that Stephen felt every time Tony had looked death in the eyes and walked the other way with a victorious smirk on his lips? Was this the exasperation he had always seen in Rhodey’s face when Tony had dismissed his own near-death experiences? Was this the horror Pepper felt every time, as she watched Tony’s gruesome injuries be patched up by Stephen?

“Tony..?” Stephen called out in a small, uncertain voice, causing Tony to turn back to him. Whatever Stephen found there, it made him flinch. Good. After a second, he tentatively added, “I’m.. sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Tony snapped. “You.. you fucking walk out on me without ever telling anything, not even a message, a note, nothing. A-and the next time I see you, you’re walking out of a wormhole with.. with a stab on your chest, bleeding all over my lab. And you’re sorry. You fucking died, Stephen!”

Tony realized that he was visibly shaking now, his breath coming in hitches as thick tears streamed down his face. He sat himself down on the edge of Stephen’s table, wiping both his hands over his entire face, just trying to collect himself. God, it felt like someone was squeezing his heart trying to make it burst.

What would he have done, had Stephen died here today? Because of his inadequacy, because he didn’t know what to do, how to act fast, how to save the life of his fiance?

A shaky hand landed on his arm, making him remove his hands from his face to turn and look down at Stephen.

His ex-fiance had a remorseful look on his face as he interlocked their fingers.

“You did an amazing job, Tony. You saved me.”

Some of Tony’s tense energy melted, and he exhaled a shaky breath with closed eyes.

Stephen was alive. Stephen was here. Because Tony had managed to save him.

“Thank you,” Stephen added after a moment.

Tony opened his eyes and glanced at Stephen from the corner of his eye. “Fuck you.”

He felt it more than heard when Stephen’s chest rumbled with a laugh, and Stephen immediately winced.

Right, the wound must hurt like a bitch.

“Hold on,” Tony said and went to fetch a fresh needle and a vial of painkiller.

A minute later, he unceremoniously dumped the used needle on the appropriate bin as he spoke, “So what’s up with the glowing wormholes and your LARP wizard costume?” He leaned himself against an equipment near Stephen’s table, who was now sitting upright, putting the said LARP costume back on. “Or do we wanna talk about who wanted to roleplay too realistic murder mystery with you? Oh, I have a better idea. How about we start from where the hell did you fuck off to in Nepal?”

Stephen winced, and this time it wasn’t from the physical pain. “I shouldn’t have left you like that?”

“Yeah? Well, good thing that I’m used to being left behind by the people I trust,” Tony spoke, voice laced with venom. A memory flashed in his mind. Blood tainting the white of snow, the feel of metal growing lethally cold all around his body, the dead weight of a dead arc reactor sitting over his chest.

He suppressed a shiver, shoving the memory away.

Stephen, of course, knew nothing of the said memory, and a hint of confusion mixed with hurt flashed over his features. “I.. I’m really sorry, Tony. I have to go.”

Tony blinked, doing a double take of what he’d just heard. “I’m sorry, did you just say that you have to go?”

“Yes.”

“Where!?” Tony snapped, not quite able to hide the irritation in his voice.

Stephen bit his lower lip, expression twisting in contemplation, clearly weighing his options about what he wanted to tell Tony. He then sighed and looked up at Tony.

Tony didn’t know what answer he had expected to hear.

‘I moved on.’ ‘I have another life now, one without you.’ ‘Stop trying to follow me.’

But what he got wasn’t something he’d have expected to hear in a thousand years.

“I was learning magic in Nepal.”

It left him staring dumbfounded, simply trying to grasp what he was hearing.

Stephen sighed again, averting his eyes. “You saw the portal, right?”

Tony swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling too dry as a new, terrifying kind of realization dawned on him. “Yeah.”

Stephen closed his eyes. “There are.. more like us. Good and bad. And the bad ones are going to try to destroy this world, with magic.” He got off the table then, getting on his feet, and stood a foot away from Tony, looking him in the eyes. “I have to go, Tony.”

Too much. This was all too much. First he watched Stephen stumble out of the goddamn portal, watched him die on the table, resuscitated him.. now he was learning that..

Magic.

Stephen was magic.

He’d been learning magic on Nepal, all this time, while Tony was left fumbling alone trying to gather even the tiniest scrap of information on this man, just enough to know that he was fine, that he was alive.

Tony was left with an odd mix of unadulterated fury and debilitating fear bubbling beneath his skin.

Hesitantly, Stephen reached out and took one of Tony’s hands in his shaky grip, brought it to his mouth, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the back on his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said one last time and let go of Tony’s hand, turning to walk away.

Tony caught his arm before he had fully turned, making him pause and look back at Tony.

“I’m coming too,” Tony declared, letting his determination shine in his tear-streaked eyes.

Stephen slowly shook his head. “There will be magic, Tony.”

Tony spread his arms, summoning Mark XLVII, which flew into the infirmary from his workshop, opened up and quickly wrapped itself around Tony’s body in one quick, flawless motion, only leaving his head uncovered. He could see it in Stephen’s awestruck expression that he was impressed by its smoothness and elegance.

“I’m coming,” Tony repeated, “and that’s final.”

Coming because he would not back down in the face of magic. Coming because he had a duty to this world.

Coming because he would not let Stephen walk into danger all by himself.

Stephen looked at him from one eye to the other, swallowed, and nodded once.

“Close your eyes, I have to open a portal.”

Tony did, trusting Stephen.

[writeriguess]

I think this is where I send requests?

Could you maybe do a Bakugo x fem reader where the reader is a transfer student from the UK? It could be crack or fluff I just think that would be funny.

Could it also specifically be more someone from the north and not like the typical posh London person. I think it would be cool if they just came from a random little town in the north and no one can understand her accent.

Thank you!

You fidget with the hem of your uniform, feeling your nerves spike as you step into the hallway of U.A. High. Your shoes click softly against the polished floor, and your gaze flickers to the nameplate on the door ahead. Class 1-A. This is it. You feel your heart race a little faster. It wasn’t the typical first day nerves that got you—it was the fact that you were a transfer student, plucked from your little northern English town and dropped into this highly prestigious Japanese school for heroes. You barely knew any Japanese, and on top of that, your thick northern accent had already gotten you some confused stares from teachers.

Right, you think to yourself, deep breaths, it'll be fine. Just stay calm, smile, and don’t panic if they can’t understand you.

The door slides open, and a tall man with wild, unkempt hair, half-hidden in a yellow sleeping bag, stands at the front of the room. His eyes are half-closed, and he looks like he’s fighting off sleep. You can’t help but feel a little taken aback. This was your homeroom teacher?

“Ah, the transfer student,” he mutters in a bored tone, barely lifting his head to acknowledge you. "Introduce yourself."

You clear your throat, stepping up to the front of the class, feeling the weight of several pairs of eyes on you. The classroom falls silent, all eyes on you. There’s a mix of curiosity and confusion in the air. You swallow hard.

“Uh, alreet,” you start, flashing a nervous smile, “I'm from t’north of England, came 'ere to transfer 'cos, well, it's U.A., innit? And I reckon I could learn a lot, y'know?” Your voice is confident enough, but you can already tell from the blank stares that they don’t have a clue what you just said.

You shift awkwardly. Of course, you think. The accent.

You try again with that little Japanese you knew, as slowly as you could. "I, uh… I’m from a town in the north of England. Here to train as a hero. Nice to meet you all."

There’s still a pause, but you can see some of the students starting to nod, like they’re piecing together what you meant. Except for one boy. You notice him immediately because of the way he’s glaring at you, arms crossed over his chest. His ash-blonde hair spikes aggressively in every direction, and his sharp crimson eyes are practically burning a hole through you.

“You speakin’ some kinda foreign language or somethin’?!” the boy snaps, scowling deeply. “What the hell did you just say? Speak properly!”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you feel the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. You take a breath, steadying yourself. Right. This must be the infamous Bakugo, you think, recalling the brief description you were given before the transfer. Fiery, loud, prone to explosions—both literally and figuratively.

“I am speakin’ properly,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “I speak English, just not posh London English like y'might be used to.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrow further, and he stands up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh? You callin’ me stupid?”

“No, I’m callin’ yer ears broken if y'can’t understand a bit of a northern accent!” you snap back before you can stop yourself.

The class erupts into laughter, some of them trying to hide it behind their hands while others, like a girl with pink skin and horns, outright cackle. Even the teacher, though he looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else, quirks a brow in mild amusement.

Bakugo’s glare intensifies, and you swear you see sparks flicker from his palms. Oh, brilliant, you think, first day, and I’ve already wound up the most temperamental student here.

Before Bakugo can explode—quite literally—a boy with glasses and a serious expression stands up from his desk, waving his arms wildly in a chopping motion. “Everyone, calm down! This is no way to welcome a new student! Let’s maintain order and professionalism!”

“Shut up, Iida, I don’t need you telling me what to do!” Bakugo growls, but he sinks back into his chair nonetheless, arms still crossed and glaring daggers in your direction.

The boy with glasses, Iida apparently, adjusts his frames and turns to you with a formal bow. “I apologize for the disruption. I am Tenya Iida, the class representative. If you need any assistance adjusting to U.A., please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Cheers,” you say with a smile. At least he seemed nice.

You’re shown to your seat, which happens to be near the back of the class. As you sit down, you catch a few of the other students stealing curious glances at you. A girl with short brown hair and a round face leans over from her desk. “Hey! I’m Ochaco! I like your accent—it’s really cool!” she says brightly.

You give her a grateful smile. “Thanks, pet.”

She giggles. “Pet?”

You laugh softly. “It’s just what we say where I’m from. It’s like saying ‘love’ or somethin’ like that.”

Before you can explain further, Bakugo scoffs loudly from the other side of the room. “Tch. ‘Pet.’ How about you speak like a normal person so we don’t have to decode every word?”

You roll your eyes, feeling the familiar frustration bubble up. “How about you learn to keep up, yeah?”

He opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by the sound of the classroom door sliding open again. The tension in the room dissipates as a tall figure walks in. You recognize him immediately—All Might, the legendary Number One Hero, in his debonair yet far-too-cheerful form. The air practically shifts with his presence, and all eyes, even Bakugo’s, turn to him.

"Ah! A new student! Welcome!" he booms, his voice full of energy, completely oblivious to the simmering tension from before. He grins at you, giving you a thumbs-up. “It’s always exciting to see new young heroes join us! I’m sure you’ll do splendidly!”

You nod, not trusting your voice just yet. Your stomach is still doing flips from Bakugo’s outburst.

The day drags on with lessons and training exercises. Most of the class seems welcoming enough, though you catch Bakugo’s glare on you more than a few times. You try to shrug it off. He clearly had some sort of superiority complex, and you weren’t going to let that get to you. Not on your first day.

It’s later in the afternoon when you’re paired with Bakugo for a training exercise. Of course. You sigh, mentally preparing yourself for whatever was about to unfold.

The task is simple—defeat your opponent or capture the flag. But with Bakugo, you know it’s going to be anything but simple.

The second the buzzer goes off, he’s on you like a storm. Explosions crackle from his palms as he charges, eyes locked on you with that same fierce glare from earlier. You barely have time to dodge as he barrels toward you, his attack leaving scorch marks on the ground.

“C’mon, newbie! Don’t just stand there!” he yells, clearly irritated that you’ve managed to evade him.

You grit your teeth, your mind racing as you try to think of a strategy. You might not have the same flashy quirk as he does, but you’re quick on your feet. You duck under another explosion, your muscles coiled, waiting for an opening.

“Yer gonna ‘ave to try harder than that, mate!” you shout over the noise, dodging his next blast with a quick roll.

Bakugo grits his teeth, his eyes blazing with fury. “I’ll wipe that smirk off your face!”

The tension between you and Bakugo only seems to grow with every passing second. It’s a clash of stubbornness, of fire against wit. He’s relentless, and you… well, you’re not about to let him win that easily.

Not today.

Bakugo charges at you again, his palms crackling with raw energy. Each explosion is like a thunderclap echoing in the training arena, but you remain calm, dodging just out of reach, your reflexes kicking in. You’ve faced tough situations back home—just because this is Japan and the world’s most prestigious hero school doesn’t mean you’ll crumble under pressure.

“Hold still, you damn extra!” Bakugo snarls, eyes blazing as he unleashes a barrage of blasts, determined to corner you. The intensity of his attacks makes the ground tremble, smoke rising in swirling plumes from the spots he hits.

You duck behind a large piece of rubble, your heart racing, the vibrations of his attacks reverberating through your body. You can feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins, the fight-or-flight instinct pushing you to your limits. But instead of fear, there’s something else—a challenge.

“Yer daft if y’think I’m just gonna sit ‘ere and let you blow me to bits!” you call out, glancing at him from your cover.

His eyes flick to where you’re hiding, a growl escaping his throat. “I’m gonna blow you up, and then we’ll see who’s daft!”

You grin despite yourself. He really is just as bad-tempered as they said.

You catch a brief glimpse of the flag, just a few meters away on a raised platform. If you could just get to it before Bakugo realized… Your mind races, formulating a plan. You’ve noticed that Bakugo is all about speed and power, but if you can outmaneuver him—if you can get into his head—it might just give you the edge.

You dart out from behind the rubble, and he’s on you immediately. You sprint, weaving through debris and obstacles like a fox evading a hound. The explosions light up the arena, and you can feel the heat of them as they just barely miss you. Bakugo’s attacks might be powerful, but they’re wild, almost too focused on brute force.

“You keep runnin’, but you’re not getting away from me!” he yells, his voice hoarse with frustration.

You smirk, adrenaline sharpening your senses. “Oh aye? Y’sure about that?”

He charges at you full speed, completely focused on taking you down. It’s exactly what you wanted. At the last second, you feint to the left, using the momentum to slide under him just as his explosion misses your side by inches. You can feel the heat from the blast lick your skin, but you don’t stop. Your body twists as you pop back to your feet, heading straight for the flag.

Bakugo, furious, spins around. “You little—”

Before he can finish, you leap toward the flag, your fingers just grazing the edge of the cloth.

Bakugo is right on your tail. You can practically feel his breath as he dives for you, his hand reaching out, but you’re faster this time. You grab the flag, twisting your body to dodge his final attack as his palm comes inches from making contact with your side. Instead of blasting you away, he crashes into the ground, narrowly missing you.

You hold the flag up, your chest heaving as you grin victoriously. “Looks like I’m the one still standin’, mate.”

Bakugo lifts his head, his face a mix of shock and rage. He glares at you from where he’s crouched on the ground, dirt smeared across his face. “What the hell…?”

You shrug, smirking as you twirl the flag in your hand. “Told ya. Might be from a small town, but we don’t back down easily.”

For a moment, Bakugo doesn’t move. His eyes burn with frustration, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Then, with a low growl, he pushes himself up, dusting off his uniform, though it’s clear he’s more angry at himself than you.

The buzzer rings, signaling the end of the match. The other students begin filing in from the viewing platform where they had been watching the battle unfold. Some of them are whispering, while others openly grin, impressed with your victory.

“Not bad for a newbie!” Kaminari calls out with a grin, giving you a thumbs-up. “I didn’t think anyone could keep up with Bakugo’s explosions on their first day.”

“Yeah, that was awesome!” Kirishima adds, his sharp teeth showing as he smiles broadly. “You’re one tough cookie!”

“Impressive,” Todoroki says quietly from his spot on the sidelines, his mismatched eyes watching you with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

You can feel a swell of pride in your chest. It’s not easy fitting in, especially when you’re thousands of miles from home, but maybe—just maybe—you’ve started to prove yourself.

Bakugo, however, is less than impressed. He storms past you, shoulders stiff, muttering something under his breath about “dumb extras” and “cheap tricks.”

“Oi, Bakugo!” you call after him, unable to resist poking the bear just a little more. “If y’ever wanna learn ‘ow to outwit someone instead of just blowin’ ‘em up, gimme a shout!”

He stops dead in his tracks, slowly turning to look at you with a dangerous glint in his eye. For a second, you think he might actually explode. But instead, he just glares at you, his voice low and venomous. “Next time, I won’t miss.”

You smirk, unfazed. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

The rest of the day goes by in a blur, but the atmosphere in the classroom feels a little different. People aren’t just curious about you anymore—they’re impressed. You’ve already shown that you can hold your own, even against someone like Bakugo.

Ochaco leans over again as you’re packing up your things. “You were really amazing out there! How did you manage to dodge him like that?”

You shrug, trying to be modest, but you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips. “It’s all about payin’ attention. Bakugo’s strong, but he’s predictable. Once y’get a feel for his rhythm, it’s not so ‘ard to dodge.”

She nods, eyes wide. “Wow, you make it sound so easy.”

“Yeah, well, it’s easier when y’don’t get distracted by all the explosions,” you say with a chuckle. “But I reckon Bakugo’s got more up his sleeve than just brute force. I’ll have to be on me toes next time.”

“Next time?” Ochaco giggles. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”

As you step out of the classroom and into the cool afternoon air, you feel lighter than you did this morning. Maybe it’s the victory, or maybe it’s just the relief of surviving your first day, but for the first time since you arrived in Japan, you feel like you might actually belong here.

It’s just the beginning, you think to yourself, glancing back at the towering school behind you.

And with a small smile, you step forward, ready for whatever comes next.

It had been a few months since your chaotic first day at U.A., and life had become a strange mix of normal and, well, still chaotic. You’d settled into your role in Class 1-A, made some friends, and even managed to navigate your way through most of the Japanese language barrier. But there was one thing you still hadn’t quite figured out: Bakugo Katsuki.

Your relationship with him was complicated, to say the least. On one hand, he was still loud, brash, and always seemed ready to pick a fight. On the other hand, he’d stopped openly berating you every chance he got, and while you’d never call him friendly, he was… less hostile than before.

You were sitting in the common room one afternoon, chatting with Mina, Ochaco, and Momo during a break. The conversation was light, drifting from gossip to training stories, until Mina brought up something you weren’t prepared for.

“So,” she started, her voice taking on that teasing tone she always used when she was about to stir up trouble. “Have you noticed anything… different about Bakugo lately?”

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion. “Different? Like what?”

Mina leaned forward, eyes twinkling mischievously. “I don’t know, maybe how he doesn’t yell at you as much? Or how he actually listens when you talk? He’s definitely warming up to you.”

Ochaco grinned, nodding along. “It’s true! He’s not nearly as aggressive toward you anymore. And I’ve seen him watching you during training.”

You blink again, utterly baffled. “W-watchin’ me? Nah, yer ‘avin’ a laugh.”

Momo, who had been quietly sipping her tea, chimed in with a thoughtful look. “They’re right. Bakugo’s behavior around you has shifted in a noticeable way. He seems… less combative, more focused. It’s almost like he respects you.”

You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief. “Respects me? Yer jokin’. We barely get through trainin’ without ‘im threatenin’ to blow me up.”

“Yeah, but that’s just how he is!” Mina laughed. “For Bakugo, that’s like a love language.”

Your eyes widened, and you felt your face flush with heat. “Whoa, hold up. ‘Love language’? Yer not seriously suggestin’—?”

Ochaco giggled, covering her mouth. “Oh, come on! You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed! He’s been way less explosive with you lately. And it’s not just that. There’s a vibe, you know?”

You shook your head adamantly, crossing your arms over your chest. “No way. No bloody way. Bakugo doesn’t like me. He barely tolerates me. He’s always barkin’ orders or glarin’ at me like I’ve done somethin’ wrong.”

Mina waggled her eyebrows. “Oh, he definitely glares, but maybe he’s just frustrated ‘cause he doesn’t know how to act around you. You know how he is—he’s bad at this kind of stuff.”

You stared at them, dumbfounded. “Y’really think Bakugo’s softenin’ up to me? Like… that way?”

“Absolutely,” Mina said, her grin widening. “Trust me, I’ve got a sixth sense for these things.”

Ochaco giggled again. “Yeah, and we’ve all seen how he interacts with you compared to everyone else. He might not know how to be nice, but he’s definitely different with you.”

You shook your head, still refusing to believe it. “Nah, y’lot must be seein’ things. Me and Bakugo, we’re still… tense. He’s still rough around the edges, and it’s not like we have nice, friendly chats or anythin’. Half the time, I’m dodgin’ his attacks or tryin’ to avoid a full-blown argument.”

Momo set her cup down gently and gave you a calm, knowing smile. “It’s not always about what’s on the surface. Bakugo is difficult to read, but he’s not as closed off as he seems. There’s a reason he hasn’t been as harsh with you lately. He respects you, and that respect could easily grow into something more.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. It all sounded so ridiculous. Bakugo? Liking you? In a romantic way? You didn’t know what was crazier—the idea itself, or the fact that these girls were convinced it was true.

Mina poked your arm, bringing your attention back to her. “You’ve gotta admit, it makes sense, right? You’re one of the few people who can actually stand up to him and not get blown to bits.”

Ochaco nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! He’s probably just not used to someone who can keep up with him like you do.”

You frowned, still unsure. Sure, Bakugo had calmed down a bit around you over the months, but that didn’t mean anything romantic was going on. Right?

“I dunno, girls. He’s still Bakugo. And let’s be real, the guy can barely stand havin’ a civil conversation with me, let alone somethin’ more. Plus, he’s way too focused on becomin’ the Number One Hero to even think about stuff like… relationships.”

Mina gave you a sly smile. “You’d be surprised. The toughest ones are usually the ones who fall the hardest.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, the door to the common room slammed open. Speak of the devil.

Bakugo strode in, hands shoved in his pockets, his usual scowl plastered across his face. His crimson eyes scanned the room briefly before landing on you. He didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes like he was trying to size you up for some unknown reason.

You tensed instinctively, bracing yourself for whatever snide remark he might throw your way. Instead, he just huffed, turned on his heel, and walked out as quickly as he’d come in, his footsteps heavy with irritation.

The second he was out of earshot, Mina burst into laughter. “See?! Did you see that look? Oh, he’s definitely got it bad.”

Your jaw dropped. “That’s what yer callin’ interest? He looked like he wanted to bite me head off!”

Ochaco giggled again, shaking her head. “No, no, that was totally his awkward ‘I don’t know how to talk to you’ look. It’s classic Bakugo.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “Yer all mad. Absolutely mad.”

Momo chuckled softly. “Maybe. But don’t be so quick to dismiss it. You might be surprised by what Bakugo is capable of when it comes to emotions.”

You peeked out from between your fingers, still feeling embarrassed but also a little intrigued despite yourself. Could they really be right? Was Bakugo actually starting to… warm up to you? You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

But as you replayed the interactions between the two of you over the past few months in your mind, you had to admit… something had changed. Whether it was respect or something deeper, you weren’t sure.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Alright, fine. Maybe there’s somethin’ different goin’ on. But don’t go gettin’ any ideas. We’re still more likely to end up yellin’ at each other than havin’ a nice chat.”

Mina grinned. “We’ll see. We’ll see.”

Requests are open. Send as many as you like at once.

[peijizerojournal]

re: 'khaos reigns'

i have SO much to say about it lol but i'm still gathering my thoughts. all i know for sure is : even though the bar (in regards to quality of story and characterization) was on the floor, i am still, yet again, extremely disappointed !

(rant/review/spoilers below. will maybe add to this, but also maybe not. just purging some of my thoughts lol)

in a nutshell,

the way liu kang, kuai liang, cyrax, sektor and bi-han's characters were all deviously misrepresented was just appalling.

kuai liang is depicted as heartless, arrogant and temperamental. posturing as a 'grandmaster' even though he's done nothing but usurp authority by establishing a 'clan of his own' and pointing the finger at everybody but himself. lecturing cyrax about honour... pfft.

liu kang is strangely unforgiving and not very compassionate (he was literally more gracious in how he handled shang tsung/quan chi over bi-han?? like what??) not to mention his lack of urgency with dispatching of havik and rescuing geras. instead of extending some authentic benevolence to bi-han, he instead goads and chastises him after his transformation, and fails to elaborate further when they have their brief interaction regarding his hopes for a different future. the miscommunication between them -- in other words -- continues to be infuriating.

sektor doing nothing but being comically op and fawning over bi-han every three seconds is so all over the place, like they couldn't decide or couldn't find a nuanced balance in her persona (an issue with many characters, it seems...). while i thought she was the most accurately characterized out of all of these major players, her defining traits such as her obsession with the cyber initiative and boosting the lin kuei's position are not made so clear in the actual story? instead the writers chose to focus on her over-the-top, one-sided adulation toward bi-han. it makes her so hard to take seriously as a threat or as the next acting-grandmaster. another storytelling fail!

cyrax starts off the dlc defiantly, standing up for what she believes in and deciding to help the shirai ryu, yet during the rest of the story, she has no agency and just follows kuai around profusely apologizing for something she didn't even do (and kuai was relishing in that shift of power.... gross.)

and bi-han... i think that situation speaks for itself. missing chunks of the leak script and clever editing in the trailers left most of the fanbase baited and switched, and not to mention literally anything could happen next because of the lack of commitment to any of the lore and to even the timeline itself. many of the tower endings contradict much of the intro dialogue and the campaign itself. i guess by introducing alternate timelines and universes so early on, it gives the writers fair game to retcon anything and everything. which, effectively, pulvarizes any meaning for liu kang's 'new era' going forward.

i could keep ranting but, in short: 'khaos reigns' was rushed, boring, full of poor characterization and enough 'macguffins' and 'red herrings' fit for a superhero movie. so many plot holes and loose ends that weren't followed up on (like hello, what's with the hand on noob's hip? and where the hell did titan havik go at the end? was he banished? what about the kamidogu???). there were so many missed opportunities to flesh out preexisting conflicts too, and the pacing of everything from dialogue to the transitions between chapters was completely disjointed. all the characters actions were seemingly shortsighted and many of the decisions made led to nowhere and nothing really changed by the end. nobody went through any real character arc or growth, nobody knows what happened to our over-hyped 'villain of the week,' and the tower endings cancel out the dlc's true ending, essentially making all of it, and none of it, 'canonically accurate.'

it's clear whoever's writing this has no respect or insight for the source material, and is just doing whatever they want: whatever's popular, whatever sells, right? the one thing about a multiverse story is, you can keep that going forever. the possibilities are endless, and if they don't like something... it can be changed with a snap of the finger. kind of reminds me of one of supernatural's awful later seasons, or destiny 2's "shadowkeep" expansion. 'khaos reigns' comes across as a shoehorned seasonal narrative that exists solely to sell noob, cyrax and sektor and little else.

oh yeah, and the future dlc's that are sure to come.

[not-pollux]

𝕭𝖆𝖉 𝕱𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊 ℌ𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 ⋆

╭ ・── ・ ꒰ ☆ ꒱ ・ ── ・ ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ ᳝ ࣪  ⊹

  ˚   ₊˚ˑ  💙💜❤️🧡 ‧ ₊ Future ROTTMNT ༄

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Warnings: Unedited, lowkey kinda long, discussions of bad habits

Word count: 1772

Leo 

Stressed 24/7

Constantly working + horrible at time management = chronically overworked

Like he's so bad at taking breaks 💀

If he does manage to take a break aside from sleeping or eating he's thinking about all the work he has to do

If I'm being honest, he thinks about work while eating and probably dreams of work too

Speaking of sleeping, he doesn’t

Stress induced insomnia wont let him. He would really like to sleep, if he could. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He just can't.

He eats pretty well though. Sometimes skips meals when he's super busy, but he's otherwise pretty good. He understands that a well fed body is an efficient body!

Definitely has a poorly kept personal quarters

He has pretty good personal hygiene, though.

He takes showers regularly and brushes his teeth, he has an image to uphold and he enjoys taking care of himself

He's more unsanitary in his own personal space. He doesn't change his bedsheets often, hasn't swept the floor in forever, lots of unwashed clothes, etc

Because he’s chronically exhausted, these super simple tasks tend to be really hard for him. If they aren’t essential to his image and performance as resistance leader, he won't do it.

In my opinion most of Leo's stress comes from the fact that he is overly concerned about how people perceive him and his leadership skills. 

He doesn’t want to take breaks because he doesn’t want to be judged for it. He thinks people will go “Oh my god, how can the leader be taking a break when there is so much stuff to do?”

He doesn’t ask for help, or ever show any signs of weakness because he feels the need to be everyone’s personal Hamato beacon of hope. 

Everyone is counting on him. He only lets himself unravel in his locked room where no one is ever allowed to go. Not even his brothers.

On that note, would rather move a whole mountain on his own than admit he needs assistance.

He will actually tell people to stop if they try to help him out. He’ll guilt trip people by saying that they made him feel like he wasn’t doing his work good enough, or he isn’t enough for the resistance. 

He fully believes that he isn't good enough when people try to help him.

People love to bother him. With every single minor inconvenience. And he is expected to deal with them all. 

He honestly shifts from his very outgoing personality to a lot more closed off as he gets older.

He’s definitely not rude or anything, he’s just trying to ensure his interactions with people do not go on longer than they need to.

Its for his own sanity.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Donnie

Also chronically overworked

I agree that Donnie would lock himself in his lab and work excessively.

He tends to believe his worth is only determined by what he can offer intellectually, and therefore pours his life and soul into his projects

His tech is also more or less what is keeping everyone alive. Their base is secured with Donnie’s tech and fortified with Donnie’s tech and armed with Donnie’s tech

Also really bad at taking breaks. 

They are so twins.

I see the headcanon that he literally survives on only coffee everywhere, but I don't think that's super realistic for an apocalypse. 

Non essentials are not easily accessible.

I also think he sleeps pretty well because he understands how quickly the brain deteriorates when he doesn’t sleep. 

He knows how inefficient it is, and he hates inefficiency.

Doesn’t usually eat more than one meal a day. 

Sometimes he'll skip eating for a full day if he's really busy.

He could possibly be malnourished. It's most likely very common in the apocalypse and he is a giant mutant turtle who needs more food.

And he probably only consumes quick and easy food that gives him the bare minimum of nutrients to function. Nutrition is important, but not as important as sleep

I'm so sorry Donnie lovers but I lowkey think he doesn’t have super great personal hygiene

We know he's a bit of a germaphobe so I don’t think it would be too bad, just skipping showers and brushing his teeth occasionally when he’s super absorbed in how work especially because it doesn’t affect his performance at all

We know he's a neat freak (and control freak) so I believe his personal space would be really clean.

It makes him feel like he’s not loosing his mind

Exact opposite of Leo.

Lowkey a hot take, but I think Donnie has the best mental health out of the four. 

Not to say that it’s good. He is stressed and overworked, for sure. They all are.

But I do think he’d have a semi private lab, and people wouldn’t be constantly harassing him

I like to headcanon that he has a little mail system for when people need repairs done around the base

You put this little slip of paper into his little mailbox and that way he has a written report of everything he needs to get done AND he didn’t have to interact with anyone.

Win win!

Being a control freak, he is controlling everything he is physically able to, and as of right now, it’s helping him stay somewhat sane.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Raph

I'm so excited to explore how and why Raph would lean into the ‘anger issues' stereotype that holds most iterations of Raph in a choke hold.

Being released from his duties of leader, I think Raph feels less inclined to keep himself put together

He copes with stress through punching shit. We know this.

I believe as a response to stress, Raph would yell more frequently (out of fear) and eventually that would translate to physical violence.

We see this at the beginning of the movie with Leo.

I believe this physical violence is directed not towards allies but more to enemies. He becomes a formidable warrior due to his anger. I'm talking crazy strong and insanely vicious. 

Although because of his size and violent tendencies most mutants and people in their base are afraid he'll explode and use that violence on one of them one day.

They treat him like he's a bomb, and if they rub him the wrong way he'll blow up in their faces

This irritates Raph further. 

We love circular conflicts!

I believe he sleeps well. Actually, I think he sleeps a bit too much.

He feels isolated because of the way people talk to him and refer to him. To cope with that he sleeps 12-18 hours a day. He tries to spend as much time away from people as possible.

He pretends he does it to slow his metabolism so he doesn't have to eat as many rations, being the biggest guy in the resistance.

I think he would be pretty clean himself, but his room wouldn't be.

I love portraying people's personal spaces/rooms as a reflection of their minds.

Not necessarily messy, just extremely disorganized.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, he feels like his strength is his only use, and people don’t see him as strong and powerful, they’re just scared

And that reflects in how he doesn’t really know what to do with the stuff in his room. Things that he holds dear to him or felt like they represented everything he believed pre apocalypse don’t really have a distinct home in his room anymore

They’re just… laying on the floor somewhere.

This might be a bit of a reach but I think he meditates to deal with this too. Specifically with Mikey when they’re both not busy.

He eats less than he should be because of the way they hand out rations, but for the circumstances he eats pretty well.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Mikey

Mikey is swamped with a LOT more responsibility than he is used to very very quickly.

He becomes “the mystic guy”. He’s in charge of most (if not all) of the mystic mojo that goes on in the resistance.

I think Draxum and him created some sort of mystic force field that blocks the Krangs powers to hide their base

If you remember that scene where the Krang finds the key by going into Raph’s head and finding their base?

Yeah the force field basically prevents the Krang from being able to do that.

He has to replenish the force field every once in a while, which drains him a lot, and even more so if (when) Draxum dies and they can’t split the burden 50/50

So this boy is OVER. WORKED.

One of the few future headcanons I really like is the fact that Mikey looks significantly older is a result of mystic overuse

It makes a lot of sense in my opinion

In my opinion his body is deteriorating and aging a lot faster because he doesn’t have access to adequate amounts of sleep, hydration, or nutrition, and on top of that he’s basically putting his body through the equivalent of running a marathon every single day through his mystic powers

I think in his early days of training he actually overate a little

He was trusted in the rations kitchens, so he’d take a little extra and he would steal rations from Donnie and sometimes Leo and Raph when they didn’t eat

In his head it wasn’t bad if it was to a good cause, refueling his super tired and achy body

He learned better though, he doesn’t do that anymore. I do think he is the best at eating all three meals every single day, though.

I also think he sleeps really well, against his will. He’s always so physically tired, so he always goes to bed early so he’s well rested.

I think he’s also pretty hygienic all around, just a little goodie two shoes

Due to his mystic powers, I headcanon him with chronic pain in his arms, along with terrible migraines.

Donnie making compression sleeves for Mikey is like, my favourite headcanon ever

I don’t think the damage would be similar to Good Future (too much power all at once), but instead normal amounts of power used way too many times way too close together.

TLDR; Overworked muscles, basically.

I think Mikey is the favourite turtle for people to ask for guidance (Leo is a very close second), so he also has to deal with a lot of people asking him questions all the time. He gets swarmed whenever he has a break

Meditates with Raph for his migraines.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

AN: I'm just took each turtle's worst traits and amplified them for future headcanon purposes :3

I might do a good future headcanons version of this or a April, Splinter, Draxum, Cassandra, Casey Jr mini drabble next. Not completely sure yet.

I hope you enjoyed reading this! This was super duper fun to write!

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

[cozylittleartblog]

had a(nother) nightmare

[brother-emperors]

I love how much Lucullus can't stand Pompey, and also this

Pompey the Great: A Political Biography, Robin Seager

with something from this thrown in for extra flavor

Crassus and Pompey, on the other hand, ridiculed Lucullus for giving himself up to pleasure and extravagance, as if a luxurious life were not even more unsuitable to men of his years than political and military activities.

Plutarch, Lucullus

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[omegadazai]

Naomi should've beaten Light's ass

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

Neuvillette's body language in my mind ranges from curious feline, to Long Cryptid that lingers just outside the door when you're falling asleep

[fleshdyk3]

god i fucking hate my dad

[californiaquail]

i bring a sort of not wanting to do pointless waste of time shit to the job that employers really don't care for

[doctorweebmd]

a really nice comment on 'nothing else fills' made me actually reread it for like, the first time in its entirety and.

wow. its... actually really good. like. i teared up multiple times and i'm the one that wrote it. why was i so mean to myself about it.

[widevibratobitch]

(not quite logging back in just venting dont mind me <3 ill reply to everyone later mwah)

[theyarebothgunshot]

.