#filed: headcanon.

[aspnss]

something safe to read about izidora while i finish editing the (very long) timeline / things that won't fit in the post that i think is important.

izidora, her grandmother tala, and the rest of the women in her paternal family practice a form of filipino-based magic called albularyo & mangkukulam, which she learned from both her grandmother & her mentor, shah. she considers herself a bruha, and while she primarily uses albularyo / healing magic for positive reasons — such as assisting with the residents of her apartment building & community with a number of ailments as well as the magic actively used in the longevity pact for her immortality — izidora also uses a black magic form of mangkukulam in its' criminal punishment form. as a killer-for-hire, this is her main method against any abusers & those who harm others. (these jobs are always, always done for free.)

shah is the one who placed izidora in the apartment she now lives in after her escape & secured her a job as a waitress at a diner until she got on her feet & became involved in tattooing. she also continues teaching izidora, and helps with her poor eyesight. once izidora turned twenty three, she binded with her familiar — a large, black wolf named dante. she is highly thought of at her apartment complex as they protect her as much as she protects them.

i explained this before, but izidora is currently immune to death due to entering a knowledge & longevity pact with the guides within her spirituality. it is a soul pact, and she is given regenerative abilities sustained by a rare elixir — this is the reason why she is able to return to living after an extensive period of hours following a lethal injury. she is not yet immortal; just really close.

izidora is currently the primary caretaker of both her sister carina & her grandmother. she pays all of her grandmother's medical bills after lula suffered a stroke & required frequent care following the kidnapping of the banks sisters, and continues to practice healing magic with her despite tala no longer able to actively remain a healer in her community — most other witches are aware of & respect izidora as an extension of tala for this. carina, after being separated from izidora for four years, was found when she was nineteen & izidora was twenty two. she suffered from far more injuries than izidora did: while izidora herself suffers from legal blindness without the use of magic & has a large scar on the right side of her face after being cut from her right eye & cheek down to her jaw & neck area, carina’s physical symptoms are far worse. she required numerous hospital stays for withdrawal, underwent surgery for traumatic brain injuries that now leave carina with seizures, speech delays, night terrors, & mood stability issues, and is fully blind in her left eye & hard of hearing in her right ear — izidora continues to pay for her sister's care as a result of her regrets. carina is now twenty three, occasionally lives while izidora while not in treatment centers, and visits / facetimes frequently. their relationship, initially rocky, has improved tremendously. in fact, carina thinks her sister is 'the fucking coolest bitch she's ever met.'

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo learns something about himself 🏳️‍⚧️

Based roughly on this old post.

Bonus:

[Leo is taking the fact that he was born biologically female simultaneously very well and also not so well but overall he’s mostly coping with the fact that it was Draxum that just essentially gave him the turtle equivalent of ‘The Talk’.]

[zephyrchama]

Water Wrinkles

Seven demon brothers sat solemnly in a circle around you. You did your best to ignore them. It wasn't often that you got to spend time at the human world villa, and you were intent on soaking up as much sun as you could before returning to the Devildom.

You reclined your beach chair back, crossing your arms under your still-wet hair. It was a gorgeous day. Perfect for being at the pool.

Leviathan let out a muffled sob. As the demon with the highest affinity for water, he blamed himself.

"Let us take you to a hospital," Satan insisted for the tenth time.

"They're going to laugh us out of the ER," you nonchalantly repeated.

Satan lowered his eyes and muttered, "I couldn't find any traces of a curse in the water... So how...?"

Asmodeus had his head in his hands, unresponsive. Sometimes his fingers curled around the ends of his hair. You briefly glanced over to make sure he didn't pull his hair out - that would be grounds for a real emergency.

"I can't bear to watch. Lucifer, do somethin'," Mammon whined. He was fidgeting all over the place and winced whenever he looked at your feet.

The oldest glared at you. You knew it was out of concern, but his fears were unfounded. Even Lucifer refused to listen to reason when he thought you were in danger.

"Actually, yeah. Lucifer, can you pass me a towel?" you asked. It was embarrassing having seven shirtless demons intensely staring at you. If they wouldn't let you go back in the water, maybe covering up would make you feel less self-conscious.

Lucifer didn't move. It was Beelzebub who plucked a spare towel off his younger twin and handed it to you with a shaking arm. He looked like a wet puppy, having been the one who first discovered your "condition" and swept you out of the pool.

Belphegor hadn't gone in the water that day. He only hogged the plush towels because of how comfortable they were and, following Beelzebub's lead, dumped them all onto your chair. Now he sat, wide awake. He was anxiously squeezing a loose chunk of concrete but at some point, without realizing, it got crushed to powder in his hand.

You had more than enough towels now.

"In half an hour you're going to forget this all even happened," you said to reassure the worry warts.

"In half an hour, you might be gone!" Mammon snapped back.

"You're going to be a wrinkled mess of skin and bones," Asmodeus weeped quietly.

Leviathan pressed his hands over his ears. Though, with nothing to cover his eyes he was forced to look at your wrinkled hands again. Based on the noises he was making, you'd think someone was torturing him.

"As I've said!" you reiterated. "All humans get wrinkly in water. Look, now that I'm drying off it's going back to normal."

Beelzebub grabbed your ankle, raising it for the brothers to observe at eye level. "I don't see a difference."

You didn't expect the sudden manhandling and slunk several inches down the lounge chair while the demons stared at your foot. Kicking and twisting your leg was futile. You modestly crossed your free leg.

"I think it's getting worse," Satan said.

"We need to take action," Lucifer decided.

Asmodeus was actively quivering now. Belphegor and Leviathan had crept behind you and started picking at your wrinkly fingers. You tried to swat them away to no avail.

"Give me 25 minutes! Literally! Probably even less, this will go away on its own! I just need to dry off."

"We need a solution now," Mammon asserted. The cogs in his brain were turning. "We need fire."

You tried to sit up, to jump up and stop Mammon before he burned the whole villa down in an attempt to dry you off, but Beelzebub had not let go and you stumbled. You grazed your knee on the concrete and winced.

A second round of panic overcame the demon brothers. Beelzebub let go, Lucifer picked you up, and Belphegor wrapped your knee with every available towel he could lay his hands on. Asmodeus and Leviathan were crying on each other's shoulders. Mammon came running back, oblivious to the second disaster that just occurred, with a flaming stick in his hand that Satan tried to keep at bay. If you got burnt on top of everything else, they'd probably go insane and destroy the human world.

In the midst of the chaos you caught a glimpse of your hand. It was practically dry. You couldn't even see the wrinkles anymore. You angrily wiggled in Lucifer's grasp as various hands fussed over you.

"Stay!!" you shouted over the clamor.

The brothers went tumbling to the ground, save for Lucifer who fought to stay rooted in place. You could finally hear yourself think again. There was primarily one thought on your mind.

"I just want to go swimming."

[charlietheepicwriter7]

"Grandfather."

Ra's knew who the boy was the moment he'd snuck into the room. He'd allowed the child--more man than child now, but everyone was a child compared to him--moments to steel himself while Ra's refrained from acknowledging his presence. The boy's breath was barely audible but unsteady, and a drop of something fell to the floor.

His grandson was injured. "Danyal," he greeted and finally gazed upon him for the first time in seven years.

Danyal had grown into his father's height, yet stayed lean in regards to his musculature. His black hair had grown out of the League-regulation haircut, held back in a messy braid. He held himself as strong as he could, but kept an arm wrapped around his stomach. His shirt--standard American teenage garb, he dismissed--was spotted with blood and he could see bandages poking out from under the cloth.

With great care, Danyal knelt before the Demon Head and recited the Oath of Loyalty.

Ra's watched.

The boy's tongue, fat with English, spoke the League's variant of Arabic with the grace of a mace to the head, yet his words were clear. He took his time speaking the oath, carefully sounding out words, working hard to avoid mispronunciation. The Oath in question was the older version, from before Deathstroke's insurrection, but Danyal spoke it with a calm certainty that it would be accepted.

And without a doubt, it would be accepted.

Talia's eldest son had been born from her body instead of through science, a mistake that nearly cost her the child and damaged him upon birth. While the best doctors in the world saved his life, Danyal Al Ghul would always be weak in a fight, always prone to illness, always struggling to excel. When it became clear that the boy couldn't become the next Demon Head, Ra's sent Talia to create a replacement while arrangements were made for her first child to be taught business and science, for the betterment of the League. Danyal, very much his father's child, thrived in his intellectual pursuits while Damian grew and developed into a budding assassin.

But Danyal was more like his father than he'd ever knew. Ra's couldn't miss the signs of one of his family turning away from the League. Not the mission--Danyal had written several university level papers defending the environment by the time the boy was 10--but Ra's methods...

Ra's had a conundrum. Danyal was a dedicated conservationist; once the boy was an adult, Ra's was certain he'd take the world by storm and bring the League to new heights. But if he forced his methods onto Danyal, he could create an enemy of him, just as his father was.

Ra's gave Danyal an offer; Danyal would be allowed to leave the League and live a normal life if and only if he faked his own death in such a way that reinforced Damian's loyalty to the League of Assassins.

Danyal had been hesitant at first, but past his test with flying colors. Instigating one of the more unstable assassins into organizing a coup, cutting the insurgents off near immediately, but "dying" protecting both his younger brother and mother. It was a masterful performance. Even Talia hadn't known about the deceit.

And yet, here he was, on his knees, pledging loyalty. Danyal knew what that meant, knew what he was returning to, which morals he would be allowed to keep.

"And what do you bring with you, child of no one?" Why should the League accept the return of this child, who left once before?

Danyal met his eyes. "I bring with me, my team, who are loyal to me and me alone. I bring with me, research surrounding the Lazarus Pits, in origins and further uses for the waters." Ra's raised an eyebrow, and Danyal smirked. "I bring with me, my knowledge, nurtured within this very home and sharpened in the world outside. I bring with me, my weapons, built with my own hands. I bring with me... my body, finally healthy and whole." He brought his head down to the floor, trembling with pain. "I bring my whole self to the Demon's Head, for Him to accept or reject."

Ra's smiled. "By the shadows that guard our order and the blood that binds us, I accept this oath. From this day forward, you are an instrument of the League, a harbinger of justice, and a weapon in the hand of Ra's Al Ghul."

Danyal returned to his feet, swaying percariously. He needed immediate medical attention. Despite this, he continued, "Long live the League of Assassins. Long live Ra's Al Ghul."

And he collapsed onto the floor.

[blondeaxolotl]

You guys are getting these small unfinished close ups of a flojami drawing I was working on before my laptop bluescreen'ed and killed the clip studio file so unfortunately it's never getting finished 💔💔💔💔💔

[unpersoniverse]

Skén:nen sá:sewh

as promised, here's Precious boy™ getting kissed by Precious wife™ because he deserves all the love in the world :cc

translation: Get home safe

[hoodoptish]

some strange doodles ok

[kaliforniahigh]

You thought that if you did this sneakily, no one would ever notice and you would totally get away with it.

So far, it's been working in your favor. Last week, you went around Noah's house and gathered all the scissors you could possibly find, put them in a bag and stored them safely at your house, away from any wandering hands.

Noah's been known to trim his hair at home from time to time, and you definitely couldn't let that happen.

The next part of your plan was a little trickier. But you were sure you could get it done. And this was the perfect moment.

You and Noah were having one of your movie nights, when he excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving his phone unattended on the couch.

As soon as he disappeared, you grabbed it and unlocked it, going to his contacts and finding "Josh Barber".

Your thumb hovered over the delete option, and started to wonder if this was the right thing to do, hesitating a bit.

But then you thought about how nice his hair felt in your hands and how you were able to play with it so much more now. Running your hands through it and feeling the strands in between your fingers.

And obviously, how nice it was to grab it, how much firmer you could do it right now that it was longer.

You pondered for way too long, because next thing you knew, Noah was standing in front of the couch, with a confused expression.

"Why are staring at my barber's contact on my phone?"

You gaped at him like a fish out of water.

"Hmmm, I was just.....I just..." you stammered, not being able to find a good enough excuse. Finally, with a big sigh, you told him the truth. "I don't want you to cut your hair", you said in a small voice, actually embarrassed a little at your actions.

"And you were going to delete my barber's number because you don't want me to cut my hair?" he asked and you nodded, not being able to look him in the eyes.

A few seconds later, you heard his beautiful laugh fill the room, and this time you looked at him, as he sat back on the couch, still laughing.

"Babe, you know I could've gotten the number from Nick, right? We go to the same barber", he pointed out.

"I know, I guess it was an act of desperation"

He got closer to you and grabbed your face in his hands. "I don't plan on cutting my hair anytime soon, baby. Especially now that I know how much you love it"

"So is it safe for me to bring the scissors back?", you asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I grabbed them all and brought them back to my place", you looked at him from under your eyelashes, a small smile playing at your lips.

"You hid the scissors from me? That's why I was trying to open a package the other day and couldn't find one", he laughed again and laid down on the couch, bringing you with him.

"You're the best, I love you so much", he told you, giving you a kiss on the forehead and chuckling a little at his girl's actions.

"I love you more" there was a pause to your sentence, and he waited for you to keep going "But only if you don't cut your hair".

[lightseoul]

ooooo could u do 30?? love ur writing sm!! ur an inspiration!!

yes, i can! and thank you so much <3 this one was a bit of a doozy to write, since i really tried to take the unexpected route. enjoy!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

30. "WE SHARE THE SAME NAME!" (1.4k)

he was in the middle of opening the mysterious package—cautious as ever, of course, lest it be a bomb threat sent to the #2 pro-hero dynamight—when he hears the barrage of knocks echo from the door.

he’s not used to visitors showing up unannounced to his home, what with privacy being one of his most deeply held values, especially now that he’s a top-ranking hero in his early 30s.

but it’s not the prospect of having to deal with an intruder that sends his heart racing and his stomach churning with equal parts dread and excitement.

he can easily deal with a non-savory—no doubt about it.

but the person who’s responsible for the all-too-familiar three consecutive, not too heavy but not too light-handed rapping on his door?

not so much.

despite himself, he crosses the distance between him and the entrance in just a matter of few strides, and he takes a deep breath as he steels himself for what’s about to greet him at the other side.

he doesn’t even bother to look through the peep hole, opting to grab the knob and turn it with conviction.

and sure enough, there you are in your—no, his—front porch, decked out in your casual clothes with no makeup on, looking like you just hurriedly dressed yourself to run to his place in a fit of urgency.

it’s that thought that causes his face to morph into worry, even though a million other things are racing in his head, like how long it’s been since you two were alone together, or how fucking pretty you look despite looking so bare and winded.

he gives you another once over, eyebrows further furrowing in confusion, because why the hell would you go out of your way to see him amidst everything? “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you start, “it’s just—well, of course it’s not nothing. i wouldn’t bother you if i absolutely had no business to—”

bakugou feels himself frown at your words, but you don’t stop.

“—but i think my package got sent… here…”

you trail off, gaze shifting from him to the cardboard box he was just trying to pry open with his bare hands a few minutes before you unceremoniously arrived at his doorstep, and the second you land on it, your eyes widen, and before he knows it, you’re toeing off your shoes and barging past him and into the living room.

you reach for the package that has been sitting on the kitchen island this entire time, clutching it to your chest and turning to face him, looking absolutely horrified. “you opened it?”

bakugou stammers for a beat, not knowing what to say, before finally settling with: “what else was i supposed to do? we share the same name!”

that must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because your face falls, and for a millisecond he thinks he shouldn’t have went there, but just as quickly you school your face into a neutral expression, before heaving a deep sigh.

“they got my address fucking wrong again.”

neither of you say anything for a while after that, the both of you just standing there in tense silence.

because in bakugou’s case, what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

that he thinks the universe is telling you two something? that the delivery men can’t even move the fuck on so why should he? that, after all this time, you two do still share the same name, and that it should stay that way—the bakugous—and not separated by a fucking ‘versus’ in the middle?

but he doesn’t say any of these, opting to stare at you instead as you fumbled with the package.

you’re being extra careful with it, he notes, your body angled slightly away from him, perhaps purposely obscuring his view of the parcel.

but then your hands slip and you yelp; down goes the box onto the pristine, hardwood floor, and out tumbles the contents so important that you raced all the way here to what used to be your shared home.

and when he sees it, everything suddenly makes sense.

because sprawled over the ground are what looks to be at least three matching sets of revealing underwear.

before he can even react, though, you swiftly crouch down and stuff the lingerie back into their container.

“they’re not mine—it’s my friend’s.” you then abruptly stand up, awkwardly smoothing back your hair, “she had it sent to my place to save on delivery.”

bakugou doesn’t know how he manages, but he hears himself reply in a surprisingly steady voice. “you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“well, i want to,” you toss back without missing a beat, and he legitimately feels a seed of hope and relief being planted in the pit of his stomach.

because, sure, your reason for filing a divorce against him might be something he can never wrap his fucking head around, but he knows you’re coming from a place of immense love for him.

always, always coming from a place of love.

immense love that he knows hasn’t died out despite your insistent efforts to pull away and keep him at arm’s length.

still, he must’ve been looking pained, because your face softens the way it always did when you were about to soothe him. “i don’t want you to misunderstand, katsuki.”

he doesn’t get the chance to respond to you saying his first name again after what has felt like ages, though, because you reach for the undergarments again before dangling them in the air for him to look at.

“see?” you wiggle them for further emphasis, cringing at the fabric. “you’d catch me dead before you see me in these.”

and he agrees, that type of style was never your cup of tea, and he knows that better than anyone else.

but the way you just said that?

“don’t fucking joke about you being dead.”

“i was just kidding,” you retort defensively, the playful expression that was just etched on your features now long gone. you drop your hand to your side, and you heave such a heavy sigh it wracks your entire body.

you’re exhausted, but so is he.

who wouldn’t be, fighting for a marriage where your spouse is your motherfucking opponent?

bakugou clenches his eyes closed for a second, before opening them and fixing his gaze onto you. you must’ve felt his piercing stare, because your own, timid gaze drifts to him.

and he knows it’s stupid for him to ask, but he just can’t help it—not when you’re looking oh so vulnerable in the kitchen where you’ve cooked a thousand meals together, watching him with palpable longing.

“…are we still doing this?”

this being divorce by litigation—something he never would’ve imagined would be part of his future.

imminent death, life-threatening injuries, global destruction, maybe.

but not this.

and when you nod, he curses himself for even asking in the first place, because no matter how many times you’ve gone over this, the scalding pain that stabs his chest doesn’t get any less excruciating.

“i’m not gonna get any better, kats,” you add on, voice small. “i’m way beyond recovery.”

“and so naturally you have to divorce me?” he snaps, although he instantly regrets it.

you purse your lips into a thin line like you always did when you willed yourself not to cry. “i’m just trying to give you a second chance at love while you still have the time.”

bakugou’s about to spit something along the lines of why you’re talking like you’re already dead but he bites his tongue just in time.

he already knows what your answer is going to be.

so, instead, he shakes his head, muttering to himself. “…whatever the fuck happened to in sickness and in health?”

if you heard him, though, you don’t make it obvious. instead, you gingerly gather your things and start heading for the door.

his eyes only follow your movement as you put on your sneakers, and as you straighten up, he has to fight the lump in his throat at the sight of you leaving.

something that you’ve been doing a lot these days.

“‘m sorry again for the hassle,” you speak up, sheepishly gesturing to the parcel in tow.

he shakes his head. “‘s nothing.”

only it isn’t just nothing.

because at this point, every excuse for him to get to see you is everything.

[denyeverything69]

Alex Krycek:

[aspnss]

THE HOUSE IS FUCKING BURNING & YOU CAN'T KILL THE WITCH.

timeline of the events leading up to, during, & after the kidnapping of izidora & carina banks.

disclaimer: please read this at your own risk. please read this at your own risk. this post will deal with topics regarding d/omestic v/iolence, d/rug a/buse, s/exual a/buse, s/ex t/rafficking, & m/urder. i do not plan to go into detail about any of the specifics for my own comfort as well as yours, but it is something that this muse has dealt with very extensively, and it does shape a lot of her mannerisms & actions moving forward which is why i felt the need to break certain events down by age/events. if you would prefer to read a far more redacted version of her history, i encourage you to read this headcanon post instead. stay safe, love you, please read this at your own risk.

YEAR FIFTEEN. izidora & her twelve year old sister carina are living between the households of her protective paternal grandmother tala (a bloodline witch based in the philippines) and her uncaring maternal aunt sherise, with her grandmother maintaining primary care. at this time, izidora has awoken her own powers, and actively practices a blend of albularyo & mangkukulam magic with her grandmother as her teacher. most of her magic is dedicated to healing at this age, as well — the reason for this being on account of the extremely volatile relationship that her aunt entered with a boyfriend, nico. while nico did not directly harm either of the girls just yet, he was incredibly abusive towards them verbally: belittling them often, picking fights at random, berating their aunt in front of them to establish dominance. he also began to get their aunt hooked on recreational drugs, escalating quickly to the use of narcotics such as o/xy & h/eroin openly. their grandmother attempted to intervene — but the relationship between the very little maternal & paternal family left had been far from amicable after izidora's mother noelle was sent to prison for the murder of her father angelo.

YEAR SIXTEEN. izidora is physically hit by nico for the first time after defending a thirteen year old carina from another spew of bullying. their aunt becomes fully addicted to narcotics & entirely dependent on nico, leaving him as the head of the household via more sinister income. as such, he starts to impose 'rules' within the house, including limiting their phone usage & how often they went to live with their grandmother. once he begins to conduct business meetings within the house, izidora & carina are later forced to withdraw from after school activities and are no longer allowed a bedroom door after another round of arguments. because they aren't living with their grandmother as frequently as they were in the past, izidora is unable to continue practicing albularyo or, by extension, kulam — she is only able to use surface level healing magic for their minor injuries. izidora begins to secretly apply to colleges & universities early into her junior year, hoping to move her & carina out of the state for a degree in graphic arts. their grandmother falls ill, and nico forbids them from seeing her at the hospital.

YEAR SEVENTEEN. the final argument happens only days after her 17th birthday passes, brought on once izidora acquired a cell phone from a classmate so that she & fourteen year old carina could speak to their grandmother tala. once nico discovers the phone hidden in izidora's school bag, her & nico enter a screaming match that turns physical — after which he forces izidora & carina to pack a bag with a week's worth of clothing & loads them into a truck, telling an inebriated sherise that he was taking them to his mother's for discipline. instead, he drives them to a townhouse in staten island in the middle of the night, placing them alone in an empty room with a single bed for hours. he is not alone when he returns to pick them up. from this point on, izidora & carina are held with a handful of other girls, and are forced to endure s/exual a/ssault. izidora, after a full month of refusing to comply, eventually breaks after nico threatens carina and lula in front of her.

YEAR EIGHTEEN. izidora comes to terms with her & carina's situation & that they likely aren't coming home. they are constantly moved between houses in different boroughs, are t/rafficked for 'parties' with a group of girls throughout the city, in new jersey, and as far as pennsylvania, & are forced to remain in dark, windowless rooms for the majority of their time in each location; often for days & weeks at a time. this is when izidora's eyesight first begins to decline due to staying in dim lighting conditions, infrequent eating, & beatings. after izidora turns eighteen, she & carina are forcibly separated following an incident, with carina being sent "upstate". izidora goes through a period of grief & distress following this, and she begins to bond with the other girls in captivity after developing an attachment issue.

YEAR NINETEEN. carina remains upstate, and has not been seen by any of the other girls that come & go from the locations. izidora's eyesight continues to subtly decline, suffering from frequent headaches around certain light types & blurry, spotty vision. after being punished by one of the older women in captivity for burning food too many times, a sympathetic errand runner is able to convince the captors to keep a nightlight in the girls' room — they are also occasionally given additional clothing, snacks, and items of distraction in secret whenever certain errand runners visit the locations. this is the year izidora receives a small sketchbook to continue drawing in.

SHAH. at some point during the year, izidora meets a woman whom she called shah. once they are alone, shah reveals herself as a former pupil of tala — after spending hours gaining izidora's trust, she begins to teach her & help her continue with albularyo & kulam, introducing black magic forms of mangkukulam in order to defend herself. she gives her a concealment charm & encourages her to sneak out whenever possible to meet at their mutually agreed upon spots. despite receiving lessons on albularyo & using healing forms often with the girls she's bonded with, izidora develops a fixation with black magic & seeking revenge against her captors. after months of convincing shah & eventually begging for her help, shah teaches izidora her first deadly curse with a promise — you'll use it when you know you'll need it.

YEAR TWENTY. many of the original girls that izidora first bonded with have either ran away, were forced upstate, or were dead. she hears plenty of rumors & is taunted frequently by her captors, but still believes that carina is alive. izidora & the girls who remain resolve to run away for good, often discussing what they would do & who they would become when they leave. they never get to run, though — once one of the less sympathetic women kept captive discovers their plans, izidora is d/rugged, attacked severely for hours, & nearly killed. hardly able to breathe through a bloody broken nose & unable to see, izidora remembers the last thing shah told her after their lessons — once she's taunted into giving her last words, she recites a cursed incantation six times; grinning while each of the abusers in the house fall to their screaming deaths, their organs boiled bloody. once izidora eventually frees herself, she returns to the girls' rooms, eye swollen shut & covered in blood, and politely tells them to get their shit & go.

YEAR TWENTY ONE. after being cleaned & clothed, izidora returns to shah. she is able to actively practice kulam properly with shah, as well as plot her revenge. over a period of ten months, izidora tracks down each of her assailants & sends every single man & woman complicit in her abuse to their cursed deaths while freeing any girls remaining. once she finally tracks down nico, she curses his soul with permanent unrest. when she watches his house burn down with his mangled body inside, she can't stop laughing.

YEAR TWENTY SIX. izidora has gained far more than she's lost: including her craft, her sister, tala, her girls, and an immunity to death from the spirits that guide her. she heals her community, & curses those who try to destroy it. every so often, she looks at her kulam altar fondly — souls filled with anguish, swimming inside of an amulet — they all died so that she could live.

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo!!💙💗🤍💗💙

[zephyrchama]

Sending Simeon the most dramatic, over-exaggerated fan letters. They're covered in stickers. They're multiple pages long. There are doodles of characters and important scenes from his novels.

They always start out with some variation of, "Dear The Incredible and Fantastic Mr. Peugeot," and end in "Sincerely, Your Number One Fan Of All Time (For Real) (Love You)." You hope that they at least stand out a little among the mountains of other fan letters people that send.

You'll never tell him you're the one sending these letters.

Simeon absolutely knows it's you sending these letters.

He recognizes your handwriting and the quirks in your vocabulary. He gave you a pen one day in the hopes of receiving a letter written in its ink. Your heartfelt messages always get a chuckle out of him and on mail day he finds himself trying to guess which envelope might have been handpicked by you.

They're kept under tight lock and key in his writing desk. When he's hit a block and is struggling, he finds himself turning to them for a quick mood lifter. He'd hang them up so that they're always visible, but he doesn't want anyone else reading the words that are for his eyes only.

[xf-cases-solved]

headcanon/fic idea where during the cancer arc, mulder is over at scully's place on a saturday morning going over a case file (that probably could have waited until monday, but he wanted to check on her, and scully knows that, and mulder knows that scully knows, but they both just keep it to themselves). and at one point, scully checks the time and sighs and says she needs to call and cancel her nail appointment for that afternoon, and when mulder asks her why, she says it's bc her dr prescribed her a new med and it's giving her slight double vision, and "it's a common side effect and it's temporary, but i don't want to drive until i adjust to it, and it's not worth it to pay for a cab just for a manicure"

and mulder is like, "i'm not doing anything today, i'll take you"

and obviously scully dismisses the offer, but he keeps insisting, and the truth of it is, with all the constant med adjustments and (occasionally gross) physical side effects of medication and just being sick in general, she hasn't felt particularly attractive in weeks, and while it's not like she is trying to impress anybody, she takes a lot of pride in her appearance and how she presents herself to the world, and her nails are so brittle and the polish has completely chipped away from her last manicure, and honestly, this one little thing, no matter how inconsequential, really would go a long way to making her feel more like herself

so she eventually relents (which pleasantly surprises mulder bc she is stubborn af)

on the way there she's already apologizing for how boring he'll probably find it -- how frivolous and feminine -- and "it shouldn't take too long, i'll tell her to skip the hand massage," and mulder is like, "if you tell her not to give you a hand massage i will hold you at gunpoint until you let her do it" bc he is NOT about to let her skip out on some self-care bc she's worried he'll be judging her for indulging in something "girly"

(he knows she constantly walks a fine line between expressing her femininity and keeping it to herself bc she's worried it will make her male peers view her less seriously)

her nail tech immediately asks if mulder is her husband, even tho she knows damn well he's not bc she asks him if she's found a man yet at every gd appointment, and when she says no, the nail tech is like, "why not? he's handsome and he took you to your appointment, he seems like good husband material"

(they side step out of the conversation, but she is painfully aware of mulder's smirk)

her nail tech asks mulder if he wants a manicure too, and scully thinks she's probably joking, but mulder is like "hell yeah," and scully feels like how she does when he talks about aliens with random cops and witnesses with a straight face -- like, a little embarrassed, but also in awe of his complete lack of giving a fuck

so they are seated side-by-side and get manicures at the same time

mulder doesn't get any polish, but he lets his nail tech shape his nails and apply cuticle oil and, yes, give him a hand massage

he and scully have a brief debate about her nail polish, bc she always gets a super light pink or just a glossy finish (bc anything bolder would feel like overindulging in her femininity and she doesn't want to give any of her misogynistic peers more ammo), but mulder is mercilessly persistent, saying shit like, "that peach color would look good on you" (it wouldn't, she thinks, she's too pale for it) or "that burgundy one would match the new dark lipstick you got a while ago," and she's sat there wondering when the fuck he noticed something as trivial as the shade of her lipstick, and does that mean he's paid attention to other aspects of her appearance? and if so, what does he think of them?

(eventually she lets him talk her into an insanely light shade of baby blue, mostly bc he said it would complement her eyes and she was too caught off guard to tell him to stuff it, and the nail tech makes another casual quip about how good of a husband he would be, and a teeny tiny voice in the back of her head that she can barely hear is saying, "yeah, actually, he would")

when they're finished, he slips the nail tech his credit card while she is searching for her wallet in her overcoat pocket, and he does not look remotely remorseful when she reprimands him, that bastard

in the car, she can't help laughing at the way he keeps checking out his nails, tilting them so the sunlight hits them through the window and he can see how uniform and shiny they are (his nail tech talked him into a clear top coat)

he offers to drive to the chinese restaurant a few blocks from the lincoln memorial, bc she mentioned to him two weeks ago that whenever she is too nauseous to want food, she can for some reason always stomach that restaurant's egg drop soup, and even tho she's not nauseous rn and has also eaten enough egg drop soup lately that it actually sounds a little abhorrent, she says yes anyway, bc she's so touched that he remembered that small detail

they end up getting an order to go (she orders a full entree of vegetable shrimp along with her soup, and the look of relief and delight on mulder's face when he realizes she has an appetite for once makes her blush)

they go back to her place and watch The Thing, and then a rerun of jeopardy (they're pretty evenly matched in terms of useless trivia knowledge, but the final jeopardy question is "this man is the only doctor in history to have a 300% mortality rate," and scully was saying "dr. liston !" before mulder had a chance to process how that was even possible)

she gets drowsy early (another side effect these days), and mulder is discreet in not pointing it out, and instead makes an excuse about needing to feed his fish so he should probably get going, and once again, they both know what he's doing, but they both keep it to themselves

she walks him to the door, and before he leaves, he takes her hand. she lets him raise it up beside her face, even tho she's not sure what he's doing, until he says, "yep, i was right, these make your eyes even prettier," and like ??? what is she supposed to do with THAT??

in the end she does nothing except let him kiss the tips of her fingers, right on the light blue polish, and then lets him kiss her on the forehead. (she tries not to think about where else she'd like him to kiss her, and fails miserably)

they part with shy goodbyes, and it's only in retrospect that she realizes she hadn't actually thanked him, not really

when she is dressed and ready for bed, she slides under the sheets and calls his cell

"mulder, it's me," and somehow he sounds delighted to hear from her, as if they hadn't just spent the entire day together

"i just wanted to thank you for today. i really needed it"

she isn't able to express her gratitude in full, bc that would require being emotionally vulnerable and she's not v good at that, but she suspects mulder hears what she isn't saying anyway

"anytime, scully," he says, and she knows he means it sincerely. "my hands are so soft, i might have to make this manicure thing a regular occurrence"

she laughs

"goodnight, mulder"

"goodnight, scully"

in the morning, the first thing she notices is the blue of her fingernail polish, and the warm feeling it gives her stays with her through breakfast and all the way through the afternoon

[pinechild]

Yandere! Backrooms Entity x Reader

—> Gn!Reader

Warnings : yandere themes, stalking, non-con touching, depersonalization, reader going a little bit crazy, overall creepy behavior

Yandere! Backrooms Entity not being able to move away from the scene, seeing you panic and heave through your delicate lungs stirs something inside them - an odd feeling they can’t categorize yet. Sure, they’ve seen humans (mostly unwillingly) enter this liminal plane as they pass by to travel to other realms, seeing them freak out and lose their sanity to only rot away on some corner - it didn’t matter to them or even phase them—helping out creatures who can only see in three dimensions was a fools errand on their part. But with you, it was different. They’re not sure how, but they’re willing to find out.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity watches you from afar at first, seeing you aimlessly wandering the empty, uncanny spaces as you try to hold on to your sanity. Your watery whimpers don’t go unnoticed, and rather, it makes their fingers itch to touch you, to comfort you and eat all the anxieties that ruminate in that fragile little mid of yours. Oh how helpless you are.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity gets bolder in their actions, getting more up close to you, smelling your hair and skin while you remain none the wiser to their presence, still locked on finding an exit to leave this transitional plane. But only if you knew you couldn’t; that your mere biology would never let you see such things, that you were doomed from the mere start you slipped away from your own reality. But don’t worry, they’ll take good care of you, they promise.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity that starts to touch you, invisible fingers caressing you through your clothes and massaging all the supple, delicate flesh your person has. It’s not your fault you can’t see a 6th dimensional being, nor the constant exists that litter around the place; it’s not your fault you can’t see them, they just weren’t made for you.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity can’t help but to keep touching your skin, seeing you squirm and look around in confusion with a pathetic whimper, feeling their presence burn holes into your clothes. Have you finally lost your mind? Are you watching yourself rot in real time in this inescapable, empty hell? Oh no, little one—they’re right here: you’re just at a biological disadvantage.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity that helps you keep your sanity by offering you foods you can eat and necessities they know humans need, all while you cautiously take them, fragile hands shaking like leaves. Without them, you’ll surely die and decay like the others — and the mere thought of that makes their insides surge with an acidic rage. They have to keep you alive, they just have to— Because the more and more they think about it—

They love you. And they want to keep you.

And maybe someday, they’ll even talk to you once they see you’re mentally fit for it.

And surely, y̴̳̆͗͒͗͛̽o̶̪͈͈̝̜͐̎̿́û̸̬̙͙̳̣̯͍͚̔̒̃͐̋̈̈’̷͚̈́͊̄̎̈́̅̃̾͗̾l̶̨̧̡̳͇͕̩͙͈̦͉̩̫̒̓̐͆̆̽ĺ̴̢̩̥̗̬̱͈̩̤̖͈͔̤̠̈́̀̈́̎̾͐̈́̊͆̔̚̕̚͜͝ ̵̢̯̼͑̄́͊͜l̸̗͉̺̗̗̬͈̉̃́͜o̴͇̲̥̍͠v̵̜̝̲̤̬̥̖͎̥͙̯̐̄̂͊̅̃ȩ̴̼̊͗̈̽́̓͐̽̓͐̌̕̕͝ ̶̢̞͉͇̩̠̙̟͍̦̦̞̻̫̎̈́̉̄͗̒̐́̅̋̄͘t̴̢̘̖̀ͅh̶̥͎̖͊͊̑͂̾̄̆̆͊͂̿̔̊̚͝e̸̯̜̣̞͉̟̬̼̭̹̦̩̥̯͑̌̅͐ḿ̵̝͔̥͇̜̀͜ ̶̞̯͔̲̻̍̃̌̌̍͛̀̅̏̓͝͠ͅb̵̲̗͓̮͍̮̅͑̈̚̕a̵̡̟͍̻̹̩̦͑̐͛͒̌͛̓̾̊͠c̵̻͍̙͓̥̳̓̉̑̕͘ḱ̴̛͘��̪͇͕̀̋͐̌̉̂̿.̷̧̙͕͎̯̦̮̮̱͗̀̌͊̌͊̄͊͛̌͝ͅ

[i-made-a-bg3-blog]

Look, it’s not like Astarion intended on becoming a Harper, it’s just - well, burglary and pickpocketing are a little more difficult when you can’t enter homes without an invitation or go outside during the day, and he’s grown rather accustomed to a certain elevated lifestyle. There are other places he could turn to for money: the city owes him an estate and a title at the bare minimum. But, there’s something to be said for self-sufficiency, and, though he hates to admit it, he wouldn’t make it through three weeks as a noble without being bored out of his mind.

The Harpers need warm bodies (or cold ones, as it were) to rebuild their ranks after Orin’s doppelgangers, and Jaheira’s a savvy old crone who never learned to take no for an answer. She pinpoints Astarion’s two weak spots: a heavy coinpurse and kidnapped children, street kids, the kind no one would miss.

They’re decidedly amateurish criminals, and it doesn’t take him long to track them down and dispatch them, messily and painfully. Four children sit huddled in a cage, and Astarion knows he must look every bit the monster as he picks the lock with hands covered in gore, but they don’t shy away in fear when he opens the door. One of them slips his chubby little hand into Astarion’s and refuses to let go until they reach the safehouse. It’s…odd.

“Good work, Harper,” Jaheira tells him after, and Astarion makes it explicitly clear that he’s simply an independent contractor, an expensive one. 

Jaheira just smirks like the witch she is.

So he contracts. He infiltrates the Guild (and feels insulted when Nine Fingers doesn’t recognize him; he’d like to think he’s rather unforgettable), foils an assassination plot or three, even teams up with Minsc and a turncoat Thayan to stop a gaggle of Red Wizards from doing…whatever it is they do. It’s a good business, he supposes. A hero’s reputation is a small price to pay for a hero’s coffers.

Jaheira’s wise enough to know when to hang up her blades, and it makes her more of an insufferable busybody than ever, which - somehow - becomes Astarion’s problem. First, it’s his own cell, then suddenly he’s the field contact for four others. He’s dragged to the most dreadfully tedious logistical meetings imaginable. The only reason he agrees to any of it is that Jaheira can turn an offhand comment and a raised eyebrow into the kind of challenge that itches beneath Astarion’s skin. It should be all too familiar and just as unwelcome, that burning need to prove himself, but it’s not. It’s different, perhaps, when he isn’t being set up to fail.

Jaheira passes away peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of one hundred and ninety-two, and Astarion’s convinced he can hear her grumbling about that all the way from the Fugue Plane. She would have rather gone out fighting, but, privately, Astarion feels like she deserved something gentler than bleeding out on a battlefield. He never did tell her how much he admired her (though he doubts she would have appreciated such open sentiment: ‘I did not realize I looked so terrible that you’ve already started my eulogy.’), but she must have known. He thinks he’s really going to miss her.

Right up until the moment Rion is handing him a pin and leading him to a library full of dossiers and documents. Then, he’s ready to cross the Astral Sea just so that he can bring her back and kill her again. Independent. Contractor. What part of that did she not understand? 

He goes home and locks the door with the full intention of ignoring every Harper that comes knocking. But Harpers are nosy little shits, and after he nearly disembowels one who surprises him by breaking into his house just to tell him the most idiotic plan to dismantle a smuggling ring he’s ever had the misfortune of hearing, he realizes hiding isn’t going to be an option. Besides, Astarion cannot be privy to such levels of incompetence and sit idly by. 

So he helps. Provisionally. Just long enough to find a decent replacement, and then he can wash his hands of the whole thing.

Unfortunately, it’s not as easy a task as he had hoped. Every potential candidate lacks something: consistency, creativity, confidence, the common sense to understand Astarion’s eminently logical filing system. It takes him three decades to accept that not only is he excellent at the job, but that he enjoys it immensely. 

When they make him take a title, he chooses Spymaster. It suits him - dashing, mysterious, questionably moral, because he’s never been a hero, and it would be foolish to pretend that he is.

They all call him High Harper anyways.