#weight gain as a symbol of healing >>>

[silasbirchtree]

thinking abt how stanley spent years on the road, living in his car, doing anything just for a scrap of cash, and could barely afford food. and then he finally finds his footing with the mystery shack and he's able to afford and eat comfortably for the first time in over a decade

[nyarumitsu]

the concept of franziska gaining weight over time after she starts taking care of herself more and healing from Everything ... soft and fluffy franziska

[catboygirljoker]

new lamia dropping????

ya im hoping to participate in khoc week :]!! good opportunity to draw him in contexts i might not otherwise, and draw other characters who are important to him besdies That Old Man

[epicdogymoment]

local tumblr guy busy diving himself insane over nothing again tonight. anyway. like its MY fault that characters looking starved pairs so well with vore imagery

[justhereforsubsevika]

Sevika gains a bit of weight (fluff)

You watch Sevika stare at herself in the mirror. She's unaware that you've woken up, too trapped in her own mind to notice that your breathing's changed. You watch her as she sighs, slumping her shoulders, pinching at her belly. She flexes in the mirror and groans when she sees she's lost some definition. She's well into her 40s now. Her skins looser, her metabolisms slower. She hasn't needed to fight anyone in so long, that exertion no longer a daily occurrence.

She slaps her palm against the mirror and pinches the bridge of her nose with her prosthetic, grunting before turning around. "Oh. Morning baby." She says it plainly. You've noticed that her tummy spills out over her boxers, but it saddens you to know that she thinks that's a bad thing.

"I know what you're thinking. I know, I've really let myself go." She sighs out, tucking her tummy away. You gasp at the fact she'd be so mean to herself. The fact shes gained weight is a symbol of her survival, of the fact she's been allowed some peace in her life. She was so skinny when everyone around her was dropping like flies, when she was forced to fight people on the daily. Now she's eating good food, resting 8 hours every night, not in constant fear that Vi'll end up dead like everyone else she ever cared for. She has no more family to lose, and that's let her relax.

"What? It's true. Im fat now." She laughs, but you see the insecurity in her eyes. You don't think fat is a dirty word, neither does sevika, but the way her throat caught on the "a" let you know it was dirty when she saw it on herself. "Baby?" You're silent, trying to calculate what to say.

"I think its cute." Is all you can manage. She sits on the bed and strokes your hair. Her stomach folds up in rolls she's never been able to have before. You smile. She's healing. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, i think its sweet. This is clearly how your body is supposed to look, Sevi," and it's true. She's still working out, she isn't any less fit. She's quit smoking and drinking, she's literally never been healthier. She's just softer. Just at peace.

[loveemagicpeace]

🍓Jupiter In Cancer🌙🦋✨

⚡️Aries Rising- During this time, you may travel more, or find out where your home is and where you feel more at home. You may find your home outside of the area you have been in so far. It may mean a longer trip with your family or being a little estranged from them during this time. During this time, family traditions may be different or you may spend major holidays in a foreign country. You can break free from comfort or familiar things and go outside your comfort zone. During this time, you can also decorate your house, the space you live in, more.

✨Taurus Rising- During this time, you can travel more and your travels can include more short spontaneous trips. You can be more considerate of other people's mindsets and you can also express yourself more optimistically and you can learn a lot during this time. You can meet people who are wiser and give you advice. You can express your opinions much more and stand by what you say. You can also meet your relatives more. You can buy a new car or drive longer distances than usual. You may meet people during errands, short travels, online interactions, or even in your neighborhood. You can also hear more clearly what people really mean, especially when it comes to tone, hidden meaning, or intention.

🍋‍🟩Gemini Rising-You can expect more luck with money and financial matters. If things have been more reserved until now, new options and new possibilities will now open up. You can gain money from traveling. You can improve your memory. You can have a better relationship with food and you can prepare different meals than before - it can also mean changing the way you eat or what food you eat - you can try a lot of foreign foods. Your inner feelings and the feelings of those around you may become more optimistic and lighthearted. You may gain greater belief in yourself and your worth. Maybe you can get back the things you thought were lost. You can experience greater comfort and get more gifts.If you have children, their success or recognition may bring you pride during this time. If you don't have children, this could also symbolize the "creative offspring" of your efforts-such as projects, investments, or business ideas-that now start to gain respect or value.

🍊Cancer Rising- During this time, you can express yourself more, your desires, your opinions, and you can find happiness on your own. Jupiter can give you a sense of being able to do things on your own and confidence in how you present yourself. Especially if you don't like being alone or doing things alone, Jupiter can bring you a sense of losing that fear. You may experience many happy coincidences during this time. You can start doing some sport or something related to your body. You may become more aware of inflammation, weight, or digestive issues (upiter rules the liver and metabolism). There's a greater need to balance expansion with discipline-watch for overindulgence in food, drink, or overexertion. Healing childhood impressions by rewriting your personal narrative with greater faith and optimism. If you're a parent, your child may become more curious about philosophy, religion, or foreign cultures.

🐯Leo Rising-During this time, you will be more intuitive and will be able to perceive things differently than usual. You can be more connected to your subconscious and spiritual things. This transit often coincides with temporary or long-term stays abroad, especially for spiritual, healing, or retreat purposes. Jupiter here brings divine support, but it's still a time of inner work, letting go, forgiveness, and closure. Your sleep, dreams, and downtime become more meaningful and healing You will sleep more deeply or need more rest, have vivid or symbolic dreams, discover spiritual ways to relax (yoga, meditation, water rituals). Jupiter expands your subconscious, psychic, and intuitive faculties. Jupiter brings a chance to merge with the divine, your higher self, or the universal flow. It's a sacred time-often quiet, misunderstood by others, but rich with insight.

🐠Virgo Rising- during this time you can socialize more and spend time with friends. You can meet a new circle of people and connect with people from abroad. You can also meet someone new from abroad. You can find a new path that suits you better and makes you feel more like yourself. You can manifest things more easily. You attract allies, mentors, or groups that help your dreams grow faster than you imagined. Receive more income or bonuses. Get recognition or support for your work. Jupiter brings a wider perspective. Your dreams may become more collective-you want to make a difference, help people, or create something meaningful beyond yourself. Humanitarian, global, or innovative causes may call to you now. It brings social luck, dream expansion, greater confidence in your vision, and meaningful allies. It's a powerful time to network, share your purpose, and receive the blessings of the seeds you've already planted.

🌸Libra Rising-During this time you may get more luck related to work or a reward for work. Maybe you can adjust your path or career depending on what stage of life you are in because you can also take a break from work during this time. You have more freedom, period, and you don't have to work as much anymore. You can change careers or achieve a desired goal during this time. You can experience many fateful moments and things that take you in a completely different direction. Jupiter in this house can also mean getting married or engaged because it also represents a sign of getting married in a more serious way or making a serious commitment to someone. Earning money through international or digital means. Outgrow certain friendships. See friends experience hardship while you're focused on your path. Feel disconnected from your old community. This is a classic "success can feel lonely" kind of theme. Stay grounded and compassionate. These interpretations reflect possible major karmic closures connected to visibility, status shifts, or public transitions. They are not guaranteed outcomes: Bring status changes (e.g., divorce, loss, or major transitions in family structure), Trigger ancestral or karmic events (especially if Saturn or Pluto are also involved). Success or outer growth leads to inner questioning. You might feel the pressure of status and crave authenticity over ambition. You could step back temporarily to redefine your mission.

🦋Scorpio Rising- During this time you can travel more and travel longer distances, which are further away. You can go on the trip you've always wanted. This usually symbolizes larger journeys that give you more meaning in life or through which you find yourself and your faith. Dive deeper into philosophy, theology, or law. Develop or restructure your belief systems. You can move abroad, connect with foreigners or foreign culture, study or teach overseas. You might join or leave a religious/spiritual group. Explore new belief systems. You may find faith and meaning in new or deeper ways. Even skeptics may have a spiritual awakening during this transit. You might: Publish your work (books, blogs, creative content), gain recognition for your philosophical or visionary ideas. More fun, optimism, and expansion in your romantic life. You feel freer to love, play, and express joy-especially when it connects to meaning and passion.

🍒Sagittarius Rising- you can get a lot of money from other people. Jupiter acts as a guide through the underworld-not in a negative sense, but by expanding your access to depth, mystery, intimacy, shared resources, and spiritual power. Access deep spiritual states (meditation, astral travel, dream work). Receive messages from spirit guides or the unconscious. Experience personal death and rebirth moments-symbolic or energetic. Support from others financially (partner, bank, inheritance, grants, investments). Opportunities to manage or benefit from pooled money. Jupiter brings abundance when you combine forces, not when you try to do everything alone. If you're in a committed relationship, your partner may come into new resources or be more generous. Some may literally receive an inheritance (money, wisdom, or property). If single, you might attract a partner with financial stability-or someone who opens the door to emotional or material transformation. You may deepen your emotional and sexual bonds. Learn to trust and be vulnerable at new levels. Heal from past trauma around intimacy, abandonment, or power struggles. Jupiter brings expansion through surrender and soul merging. You learn that true intimacy is a gateway to freedom, not loss of control. Gain wisdom through loss, endings, or psychological breakthroughs. Jupiter can also save you from accidents or saves you from illness.

💍Capricorn Rising-During this time, you can enter into a serious relationship that will bring you a lot of joy and happiness. You can find someone who will really suit you and even a person who can be from another country. Someone who is wise, adventurous, optimistic, and fun. You can usually get into a relationship with someone you know from before, or a relationship that may have started recently can turn into something more serious. You can also get engaged or married during this time. You can also meet a serious partner or soulmate-type figure. Attracting partners who are wise, foreign, older, or more spiritual. You may be drawn to someone older, well-traveled, or with a teacher/guru vibe. Your partner could bring new belief systems, worldviews, or cultures into your life.Realizing the spiritual purpose behind your relationships. You may see clearly who truly supports you and who doesn't. You can also start your business or attract business partnerships or collaborations. Some friends may leave your life if your values no longer align. Jupiter teaches us that others are often mirrors, showing us what we need to grow through. If you have saturn & jupiter in this house it can means you will very serious about commitment.

🌌Aquarius Rising- The focus will be on your routine, daily life and work. You can get the job you wanted. During this time, you can have more job interviews and people can see potential in you. Your relationship with your body can change and you can start to love your body more and accept yourself for who you are during this time. A shift in how you see your physical body-more respect, less shame. A desire to treat your body like a temple, not a machine. Jupiter brings optimism and expansion. Can expose issues if you've neglected your health (inflammation, overindulgence, liver or weight issues). Encourages holistic or natural healing approaches-herbs, nutrition, body-mind awareness. You may feel more enthusiastic about structure, or even crave it after chaos. Jupiter helps you expand your daily rituals into something meaningful-morning walks, gratitude practices, or study routines. You may adopt or foster pets. It teaches that growth isn't only spiritual or romantic-it's in how you treat your body, how you serve others, and how you care for your space, pets, and work.

🌙Pisces Rising- During this time you can meet someone new and have a new romance. This is a highly romantic transit—new love can come in, or an existing romance can be rekindled with more joy and adventure. Jupiter attracts partners who are fun, creative, and possibly foreign, spiritual, or generous. If you're healing from past heartbreaks, Jupiter brings light, confidence, and hope for love again. Creative investments (like starting a business, selling art, etc.) are favored more than reckless gambling. You might become pregnant, give birth, or be surrounded by children more than usual. If you have children already, this transit brings growth, travel, joy, or spiritual learning through them. You may write poetry, music, or stories. You may feel more drawn to play, leisure, and pleasure. Sports and performance activities may bring recognition, fun, or healing. Play, laughter, romance, and creativity become your medicine. Relaxation now often comes from doing things you love. Travel, dance, painting, nature, or falling in love might all feel like soul restarts.

���U can book a reading here✨

-Rebekah🌊🦋

[ay0nha]

How Many Miles to Babylon? | Remmick (ii)

GIF by leftoversl1ce

SUMMARY: In the bible, "Babylon" is used as a symbol of sin and rebellion. Based on originally on this request and influenced by others in my inbox.

"How many miles to Babylon? Three score miles and ten. Can I get there by candlelight? Yes, and back again... If your heels are nimble and your toes are light, You may get there by candlelight." Nursery Rhyme, Unknown, 1801

PAIRING: Remmick x f!reader (human)

WORD COUNT: 6.8K

WARNINGS: Canon-typical things, tension-filled 'enemies' to lovers, religious themes, blood/violence, inner turmoil, smut (18+), m!masturbation and the aftermath, angst, pervy landlord, protective!Remmick, angsty!Remmick, inspo from Robert Frost, other authors, web-weaving on Pinterest (credit goes where it is due always), etc.

A/N: I blacked out writing this fr. I incorporated some requests into the story as well, so I'm not ignoring my inbox. An overwhelming thank YOU to @fuckoffbard for helping me SO much and listening to me and everything in between, you literally inspired this with this one shot! Comments HEAVILY encouraged, it makes writers' hearts full and encourages me to continue writing. Enjoy.

part i

Remmick didn’t run—couldn’t. 

He tumbled over his own feet, hands barely able to catch him before he hit the dirt. The sun left nothing untouched, even his palms blistered. 

The still air created a dance of light that wavered against the heat; a deceptive shimmer, a fleeting, false delight. Remmick followed it until he collapsed. 

The scene was explicit—nothing could be saved from the carnage. 

The gore set the air with dust that could never settle; a blood-warm heat had set into your marrow, never to be forgotten; Remmick had crawled to your doorstep like a cat bringing in fowl.

“Was always curious ’bout what happened to the fallen angel once he hit the ground…” Your shock was instantly buried so deeply that you doubted it would ever surface. “...here you are.”

The shade of the porch helped, but Remmick’s skin didn’t heal. It festered. His breath felt hot in his lungs as if he were burning from the inside out.  It had nearly burned the wit out of him. 

“Pretty, ain’t I?” Remmick squinted, afraid of more light entering his body. 

“Act like you have some sense—” You gestured for him to get up. Even if he couldn’t, he’d have to. “—c’mon, before I change my mind.”

You couldn’t refuse him, and in any case had no choice of doing so; your body reacted long before your mind did, and the meat of your meat and the flesh of your flesh invited him in. 

The door was left open, your words a lingering invitation that Remmick was slow to process. He wasn’t sure how many steps he gained from adrenaline alone, but he entered your home. 

Regardless, relief was found behind the lace curtains that hid you well from the outside world. 

Like lace, Remmick recognized you and your position in the very fabric of society, a tapestry of togetherness that consisted of holes, but also threats that tied you both together for what felt like until the end of time. 

“I was fixin’ to do some washin’...” You called from another room. Remmick’s daze continued, his posture adjusting to something entirely unfamiliar; an intrusion. “Reckon you could use some too.” 

Your voice was deep and warm. Remmick drank it in like sweet wine, its lure willing him to worship anything he could taste. He moved slowly, like every inch of him ached, and maybe it did. 

The doorframe caught his weight as he leaned there, eyes on you. You were kneeling by the tub, fingers curled under the faucet, testing the water. The pipes groaned. The water was cloudy, untrustworthy. But you didn’t flinch.

“You hearin’ me?”  You prompted again. “Clean up, quick. The pipes are rusty and the water runs cold.”

“Pity don’t suit you, darlin’.” He rasped, rough but quiet, like he didn’t really mean for it to sting.

You moved past him gently, your shoulder brushing his arm. Not a tease, not a challenge. Just contact. Real.

“Mercy neither.” You confirmed. “You’re barkin’ up the wrong house if that’s what you’re hopin’ for.”

“I ain’t askin’ for mercy,” he said, voice low, brittle. “Just… somethin’ that don’t hurt too much.”

You paused, but you didn’t pull away. And the silence you eventually left him with held more than anything else could.

—

Remmick hung his head low, his condition catching up to him. 

It was rare, but he was tired. Exhausted. His body begged for reprieve, for comfort, for something that he no longer required. His skin puckered, sensitive and raw. His breathing hadn’t calmed. It refused to.

The day was quiet, giving time for Remmick’s skin to recover. Each layer he removed revealed every minute it took for him to arrive in one piece.  

The blood was so ingrained in his nails that it looked like birthmarks on each of his fingers, ten reminders, ten crucifixes.  His fingers trailed the old wood of the bathroom, not quite ready to drown himself in your scents. He wondered its history. 

Your home was smaller than quaint, fitting for someone alone.  There was very little Remmick knew about you, but your home told him enough; everything was in the right place, even the towels were folded with awareness. 

Remmick watched the oils separate in the tepid water of the bath, floating away in bubbled clusters. The impromptu serenity became too sacred to disturb. This was an indulgence you hadn’t realized you provided. 

This place was too real. It didn’t belong in the world he knew. He kept staring at the frayed rug, the chipped tile, the bar of soap whittled to a sliver. The intimacy of your life. The places your feet had touched.

He couldn’t see you, but knew you soaked in the remaining sun as you took down your laundry. The domesticity made him ache. Normalcy mocked him, and it hurt. It made something depraved sit deep in his chest. It mimicked hunger—thirst. But Remmick didn’t want blood.

The water threatened to spill from his intrusion, making his breath tight. The porcelain was old, cracked in places, but it held him steady. 

The water was cold like you promised. The sting felt righteous. The frigidness made him feel. Alive? Alert. 

The grime was ready to leave his skin as he pressed his palms to his eyes. It reminded him of the fresh-water streams that mazed through the forests he once knew. 

Then, he was able to find the minotaur at the center, but it had been long enough that he had taken its place; Remmick no longer trusted his own memories. There was a lingering thought in the back of his mind that his instincts were the next to go. 

Remmick overlooked how that feeling in his chest weighed further, settling in his stomach. 

No, further than—

Remmick stopped himself. He dampened his hair, brushing it tidily like it mattered. 

Eyes closed, he tried to feel you. Hear you. 

You hummed lightly. The tune didn’t belong to a hymnal or any blues he’d heard before. It was something light without a consistent beat. It kept your mind busy while your hands continued to work. 

The sunset was warm and reflective. It wore you down quickly, but you didn’t give way. You hummed. It was something that had been stuck in your mind, lurking and prodding when you were both asleep and awake. 

Just a few notes you chased. You’d never thought to run from them. 

Remmick rested his arms on the lip of the tub. He repeated your weak notes, attempting to remedy the concoction. Only he could hear the harmonization that was created. 

It took a few adjustments, but once it had clicked, the song revealed that you listened closely to Remmick. 

It was a song he’d brought to you. 

Heat had bloomed in Remmick’s stomach to cultivate lower and lower.  That thirst grew wild, his hand now gripping the rim of the tub. His other hand was still slack in the water—adrift, shamed, unsure of what it had asked for.

The shame settled slowly, crawling up his spine like a rash. The kind that stays hidden until it's too late to treat. It laced with every flicker of memory, the way your laugh caught between your teeth, the scent of your skin after hours in the heat, the hollow in your throat where he’d once pressed his mouth and almost begged.

Something twitched deep in the water. 

His skin pricked. 

Remmick felt no longer bloody. Nor broken. But…breathing. The moment stretched, his breathing split between frenetic and flustered. 

He refused to move; there was satisfaction in the self-torment, in the way the water suddenly turned warm, so warm…too warm. 

The window was propped open, not with purpose but because the hinges were another thing rusted. A breeze came in carrying the humidity and your heartbeat. There was a little preemptive truth-telling to the way it beat; it trilled at the company you had. 

Remmick had disappeared for months. The days blurred together, and at times, you felt enough time had passed for him to be nothing more than a fairytale. You had crossed a line that you both teetered from the start. 

It wasn’t something fast and all-consuming. It was something always present and consistent. You didn’t realize you’d feel his absence. It was something different than missing him.

That shared feeling brought him back against his better judgment. A feeling that he’d hoped would never get old. Every time he’d admit that to himself, he felt like he’d just been handed a secret. 

Needful. Cathartic. A moment of weakness—None of those sounded right.  Remmick sat there, water up to his ribs, hands limp, breathing uneven, like some pathetic martyr bathing in guilt instead of blood.

The water lapped softly at the porcelain walls, whispering sins Remmick didn’t remember speaking. It sounded like your voice when you said his name—quiet, curious, uncertain if you should say it at all. 

The echo of it licked his ears like flame.

A throb had finally won him over. 

Remmick’s hand submerged, trailing down apprehensively. 

The weight of his hand felt unfamiliar, as if it weren’t his own; a softness was in the touch, a gentleness that couldn’t belong to him. He ached to recognize it as yours. 

His free hand clutched at the edge of the tub while the other continued to search for sensitivity. Remmick had to be delirious from the sun, it felt too good the way his thumb circled his tip, not quite touching its point.

Stuck in his own hold, Remmick rolled his hips. He was sure his cheeks were just as ruddy as his excitement. He moved his hand once, twice, and then stopped.

Shame bloomed red-hot across his neck. His stomach turned. He wasn’t doing this because he wanted to. He was doing it because you had touched him without touching him.

Then, once more, twice more, he moved against himself. Up and down. Up. Down. Up down. 

The pain he had slowly melted into syrupy sweet pleasure, and everything quickly became overwhelming. He leaned into it, like he didn’t know how to get more; it was impossible to pull away. 

The water had rippled at his repetitive motions, at the confidence in his hold. At the faint memory of his hold around the soft skin of your neck. 

Remmick’s lips still burned at the memory of the salty skin he found under your jaw.  He remembered restraint and how much it had cost. 

He was hungry; a man so starving he imagined the heady taste of more of you. 

It was the gentle offer of trust he didn’t deserve. The steady hum of your presence on the other side of the wall. It was the mercy of clean towels and cold water, of folded linens and a house that smelled like rosemary and sun-warmed wood. 

It was everything he had been denied—everything he had forfeited—and now, held like a sacrament in the small, careful ways you lived.

He moved without pattern, without pride—just pressure, just friction, chasing something nameless that built in the pit of him like floodwaters against rotted levees. 

A picked up force. A raw need. Strokes of desire.  Slick and hot. The ache deepened. His breath hitched. Solid. Warm. Present. 

Muscles drawn taut, his hips moved on their own accord, driven by a dangerous mélange of frustration and lust. The next thrust was rougher than intended, forceful in a way that bordered on needy.

Remmick pressed deeper. Edged further. Harder. Thumb stroking exactly where it was needed. 

A choked breath escaped him as his release overtook him—sharp, voiceless, spent.  It was grief made physical. He let it come, whatever it was: sorrow, want, remorse, hunger.

You had undone him, and you hadn’t even touched him.

The tension shattered like old bone, leaving only the aftershocks to ripple through his limbs. 

Remmick’s forehead fell to the edge of the tub, and he gasped like he’d drowned and come up begging.

The water shifted, swirling in soft spirals. It took him a long moment to look down—too long. When he did, his breath caught.

The water had changed.

 Not violently, not obviously. But something delicate now drifted there, pale and suspended in motion like a prayer released into the wind. He watched it coil and dissolve in slow, ribboning threads, weaving into the bathwater like it belonged there. Like he belonged.

Remmick’s chest ached. It should have felt vile. Contaminated. A defilement of the clean you’d drawn for him. 

Instead, it looked… joined. Blended. Something of him, something living, swirling with what could only be imagined as the essence of you. The oil from your soaps, the faint trace of your skin, the quiet peace that had settled into the room simply because you had touched it.

It shouldn’t have been possible.

You and he, your warmth, his ruin—should never have touched. But here it was, suspended in front of him, proof that even in his solitude, something had mixed. Become inseparable. 

Shared.

Remmick leaned forward, his hair dripping into the water as his chest shuddered. He watched the ripples distort his reflection, the surface stained with a milky swirl that turned the bath into something shameful. Sacred.

A flutter of wind pushed through the broken window hinge. The scent of the outside world drifted in—laundry soap and cedar, wild grass and the faint salt of your skin—and with it, the cruel reminder that you were close. Just beyond the wall. Humming.

The water stilled.

Remmick stared down into it, unable to look away from what lingered there. It felt like evidence, like he’d left a part of himself behind, like he had shattered something so delicate. It unraveled him more than violence ever could. 

Suddenly, to be made of flesh was humiliation. 

—

“That new?” 

The cross hung short, like the chain had belonged to you since you were a child. It was never long enough to reach true redemption. It was created to be plain, to ward off vanity, and to remind you that sin was innate. 

“Old.” You shook your head. “Been collectin’ dust.”

“Silver?” 

“Look like I can afford gold?” You narrowed your eyes, wary of the sudden prodding. “What, plannin’ on robbing me?”

You came into your home and were met with quiet. The sun was gone, and you assumed so was your guest. Until you saw how his face was pale and without expression, like that of a man submitting to fate.

Remmick’s skin was as fresh as your environment would allow. You read the effort he took to pull his hair back evenly, like a boy meeting his maker. Vulnerable and boyish. Must have been the sun, you told yourself. 

He seemed drained to the point of melancholy, like his presence was wrong. Like he had a chestful of regret. It was easy to read when his suspenders hung at his waist, soiled shirt ridden and lost forever, only an undershirt to hide his sensitivity. 

You stalked towards him now, always audacious. 

“Or what? You don’t like that I’m displayin’ my sin?” You pushed, necklace looking forlorn. 

“Prefer a locket.” His smile seemed…innocent. Unfitting for a mongrel dog like him. Unfit for someone addicted to the unholy. “At least that holds meanin’.”

Remmick met you with a few steps. 

Your eyes flicked to his neck. The knotted gold chain was wound up together, left to right, top to bottom. You couldn’t see the end or the beginning because it had been tangled by the water into a ball that let no light through the crevices. 

It was useless the way it was and not fulfilling its intended purpose. It begged to know who would take the time to gently rub it between their finger and thumb to loosen the sphere so that little by little a small portion could be freed; once that piece was free, the rest was sure to follow as long as patience was applied. 

Then, the snarled mess could begin to add beauty to what it was placed upon. 

“I prefer this one.” You said, brushing your fingers along the edge of the gold at Remmick’s collar. 

The metal caught the low lamplight, warm and ancient. But it wasn’t the gold that held your gaze, it was the skin beneath it. Worn. Weathered. Touched by time that hadn’t been kind.

“Nothin’ gold can stay,” Remmick warned like he was reciting something older than scripture. Something fleeting, even for him. “Nature’s first green was gold, but it’s her hardest hue to hold.”

Your fingers ghosted over the chain again, teasing the space between closeness and invitation. You tugged, just a little. Not enough to break, but enough to tempt.

Remmick came closer, fingers twitching to invite you to finish what he had started. Instead, he stood there and offered only silence.

“You’re no fun tonight.” You admitted. “No fussin’, no fightin’. What’s gotten into you?”

You didn’t say the rest, but it lived there, thick between you: Isn’t this what you wanted? 

He had finally crossed the line, left carnage behind for something like calm. You should’ve felt relieved, but you didn’t. You waited with bated breath for something lethal. You waited for a flicker of something cruel in his eye; the thing that made you feel alive. 

Instead, he tilted his head, a mockery of reverence. ���And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…” 

A conditional request for forgiveness, tied to your willingness to forgive him for his state. Maybe forgiveness would mend his wounds more than his own touch. 

“But deliver us from evil.” A smirk curled your lips before you could stop it. “Guessin’ that makes you the devil?”

Remmick’s eyes darkened. “Depends who’s prayin’.”

Your laugh was light, but it skimmed the edge of dangerous. It carried something unintentionally provocative straight to his core.

“I been nothin’ but good to you. Reckon a ‘thank you’ is in order.” Your voice was a little too close to a dare. “Or are you really no fun?”

Then—a knock.

Not gentle. Not polite.

A harsh, heavy-handed bang against the door, cutting clean through the air like a threat.

You froze like a sinner caught mid-confession.

Another knock. Not unlike a summons. Not unlike a warning. The rhythm of someone who didn’t care if they were welcome.

Another knock followed—slower, heavier. Like the hand behind it wasn’t just asking for entry. It was declaring its right to take it.

You muttered something under your breath and moved toward the door. Something sharp. Something that sounded like a plea, a prayer. 

Behind you, Remmick didn’t stir. But you felt him shift. A presence too vast for his frame, like the weight of judgment itself, had stood up inside him.

You cracked the door open.

“Evenin’, sugar—”  Your landlord slurred, breath ripe with bourbon and whatever cologne he thought masked it. 

His eyes dragged over you like molasses spilled on hot pavement. Slow, sticky, unwanted. 

“Sorry to come knockin’ so late, but the Lord don’t wait for the righteous, and neither does rent.” He continued, eyes flicking into the room behind you. “But seems rent’s still sittin’ in the red. A few months now, ain't it?”

You said nothing. You didn’t need the reminder.

“Now, I been patient…” His tone tightened. “Gave you time. Sympathy. Hell, I gave you grace, didn’t I? Let you wallow after whatever loss you was nursin’. But grief don’t pay the bills, sweetheart—”

He tsked and leaned in a touch too close.

“—that little mourning period of yours? Over and done with. Ain’t my job to carry it.”

Your jaw clenched. Pride and shame curled in your belly like twin serpents, both too stubborn to back down. Behind you, Remmick shifted just slightly, and the air grew colder.

“I don’t have it tonight.” You replied flatly.

“Well, then, maybe I come inside, see if there’s anything I can… take in trade.” His eyes dipped lower.  “Collateral, y’know? Just ’til you catch up.”

Your spine stiffened, hand tightening on the doorknob. 

Before you could speak, the door creaked wider, not by your doing. Remmick stepped into the light. Slow. Measured. The kind of movement that didn’t feel rushed because predators didn’t need to be.

He stood just behind your shoulder, posture relaxed.  His body was a cross between temptation and wrath, framed like a prophet at the end of the world. His expression didn’t change, but the atmosphere around him did. Suddenly too still, too sharp. Like God holding His breath.

Your landlord blinked, taking a small, instinctive step back.

“Friend of yours?” He asked, voice faltering, his bravado slipping lamely. 

You didn’t answer, nor did Remmick. Rather, he looked at the man as if measuring his worth and finding him painfully mortal. 

Remmick’s voice, when it came, was low and smooth. “You’ll take what’s given.”

The landlord tried to puff himself up. “Now hold on—this is between me and her. You can’t just—”

Remmick reached into his pocket. What he pulled out didn’t belong in this century: three gold coins, not modern, not clean. They gleamed with old weight, marked with symbols that no nation claimed anymore. Coins you paid with when souls were the currency.

He didn’t hand them over. He dropped them into the landlord’s palm—

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Each coin fell with finality. Each one louder than the last.

“Paid,” Remmick said, voice soft and dark, like a secret meant only for the dead. “Don’t come round knockin’ like this again.”

The landlord looked down at the coins, confused, then up at Remmick. And for the first time, he saw him.  Not the coins, not the charm, but something else; something ancient that had survived wars and winters and worse. 

Red eyes gleaming, Remmick smiled. No teeth, all intimidation.

“If you’ve got horse sense, you’ll be forgettin’ tonight…” Remmick added, voice like smoke curling under a door. “If not, you’ll come back, and we’ll see what else I’ve got in my pockets.”

The landlord’s mouth opened, then closed again. He backed away, fast this time.

“Right. Well—appreciate’cha.” He muttered. And then he turned, nearly tripping over the bottom step of your porch in his hurry. “Didn’t mean no offense. Just business.”

You closed the door. Not fast. Not loud. Just steady. Controlled. But your fingers were trembling at the latch.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said without turning. 

“Didn’t do it for you,” Remmick said from behind you. “Did it so I wouldn’t have to bury another fool.”

When you did turn, when you saw the way he was looking at you, jaw tight, eyes still shadowed from whatever almost broke free, you knew he had done it for you. And that was somehow more terrifying than if he’d snapped the man’s neck. 

Because whatever line Remmick hadn’t crossed…he would. For you.

“I don’t need protectin’. ” You turned on him, pride rising like fire on dry kindling. “I’m not helpless.”

“No—” There was something in his tone that almost hurt, like he knew you’d take it wrong. “Just broke and cornered by a man sniffin’ at your door after dark like a dog.”

“Ain’t that what you do? All those nights, showin’ up, askin’ for something…” You snapped harshly. “...just don’t like it when it’s someone else’s doin’, that’s rich comin’ from you…”

The silence between you hung thick, heavy with all the things neither of you had the guts to admit. Not yet.

Finally, Remmick glanced toward the window. The dark pressed up against the glass like a beast trying to sneak in. He should’ve left by now.  The night didn’t bother him, but it whispered to him. Called him elsewhere. Still, he didn’t move. 

He always lingered. You watched him, arms crossed, war still in your chest.

“You can go now.” Your fingers curled at your sides. Not from fear, not exactly. Frustration. Shame…Something too close to want. 

It was arrogant, assuming he’d listen.

Remmick didn’t look at you. Just ran a slow hand through his hair, fingers catching on the drying knots near the nape of his neck. His movements were sluggish, heavier than usual, like something primordial was settling back into his bones.

“Reckon I’ll stay the night.” He said it almost offhandedly, like he was commenting on the weather. 

You narrowed your eyes. “That right?”

“Feel like hell.” He shrugged. Non-committal for his benefit only. “Tired.”

Your brow rose. “You expectin’ me to believe that?”

“No…” Remmick started. “...but you’re gonna anyway.”

You let the silence stretch, just long enough to prove you didn’t buy a word of it. The way he said it wasn’t casual. It was heavy. Like the weariness he claimed wasn’t about sleep at all, but something deeper.

You hated the way his voice sounded in your home. Low and warm and wrong. Like a hymn sung backward. Like temptation, you’d already failed to resist.

“Plannin’ on killin’ me in my sleep?” Your gaze cut to him like a blade. 

That finally earned something from him. It was a flicker of amusement, faint but real.

You stared at him. Waiting, wanting something—you weren’t even sure what. A fight, maybe, or an apology. But all he did was exhale through his nose and glance toward your couch, like the conversation was already over. 

You both knew the answer to your question. It made something hot rise in your chest. Anger again, but not clean or simple. It rubbed against all the places in you you kept carefully buried.

“I don’t need your help, Remmick.” You said, voice flatter now, quieter but not softer. “Not with that fella. Not with money. Not with anything.”

He didn’t flinch. “Didn’t say you did.”

You blinked. Thrown by how simply he said it. No sarcasm. No challenge. Just the truth. It disarmed you in a way you weren’t ready for. So, you looked away first.

The pride in you roared, still burning fiercely, but the rest of you, the tired part, the one that’d been clawing to survive the last few months like a sinner begging for a second chance, let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

Remmick cemented his presence further in the house. Quiet as dust settling. He didn’t ask where to go, didn’t need to. Just drifted toward the couch like it was something he’d earned.

You hovered in the hallway, half-turned, pretending not to watch. It was a strange thing, watching a man come undone in your house. A stranger once, dangerous once. Now barefoot and standing in your domain, unsure where his edges ended.

He didn’t look at you, but maybe that’s because he felt you. Felt your eyes on him.

You didn’t realize how tightly you’d been holding your arms around yourself until they ached.

“There’s a—” You started, but stopped. Your throat felt dry. You tried again, trying not to show how rattled you were. “There’s a blanket over there, in that basket. Couch can be stingy with warmth.”

Remmick wasn’t looking at you,  just toeing off his boots with an unceremonious practice. Not rushed. Not cautious. Comfortable, like he meant to stay.

That made it worse, or better, you couldn’t decide. He wasn’t posturing, wasn’t making a show, just coming undone in your space with the quiet confidence of a man who knew you wouldn’t send him back out into the dark.

Something inside you twisted—not fear, not want, but something sharp.

He looked smaller here. Not weak, but stripped. And you, quiet and still as the grave, just stood there and watched him ease himself down onto the edge of your couch.

The room stretched long between you.

You tilted your head, just slightly, studying him. The way his shoulders curved inward, hands resting heavy between his knees. A man shedding armor he hadn’t even realized he was still wearing.

You watched him become something less. Not weaker—no. But softer. In your house, that made him more exposed.

“…don’t haunt the place too bad.” You offered, leaning against the frame of your bedroom door. The words came out quieter than before, but they held a weight, a subtle kind of dare.

He didn’t answer at first. Just sat there, elbows on knees, hands clasped, like he was waiting for judgment or absolution.

Then, after a breath:“...I’ll try not to.” 

Remmick drew on his southern twang, nodding politely with promise. Soft, almost reverent, like the house might spit him out if he lied.

And you, in turn, didn’t close the door behind you. You left it open. Wide as an invitation scrawled in blood and fire. A choice Remmick couldn’t unsee.

You disappeared into the bedroom, knowing he’d notice the absence of a latch clicking into place. That he’d sit there in your quiet little living room, in the dark hum of the house, wondering what it meant.

Wondering who, exactly, was safer with the door like that.

—

The hours slid by like oil over water, slow and thick with silence.

The house held its breath. Only the occasional groan of old wood marked the passing of time, the weary bones of the place shifting under the weight of night and memory.

Remmick sat still, shoulders hunched in the half-light, his fingers twitching like they itched for violence or prayer. His eyes were open, unfocused, fixed on a point no one else could see—seeing nothing, and seeing everything.

His thoughts were a fever dream: snarled things with teeth and thorns, looping endlessly through want and warning, desire and dread.

You haunted them. Not you exactly, but the shape of you. The myth of you. The altar you’d become.

He reached into his pocket. Not for the gold coin, not the one that bought him your landlord’s silence. This one was different. Older. It came out like a secret — dull with time, warm with the ghosts of worn edges and too many nights like this one.

A worry piece, polished by regret.

He turned it between his fingers, slow and methodical, the weight of it a tether. A small ritual to keep the dark inside from spilling out. From blooming sharp beneath his skin.

Your scent still clung to the air, low and stubborn. Not perfume, not false sweetness —no, it was you. Soap. Sheets. Skin. That stubborn, ordinary risk of the living.

It stirred something feral in him. Not hunger, not just hunger, but hollowness. Like he’d missed a thousand meals and forgotten what fullness was supposed to feel like.

Remmick stood after a long while, slow as a man trying to outrun his nature. 

The movement was slow, like a man not rising, but unraveling. His shadow stretched long behind him, and his body moved with the silence of something that knew how to stalk without being heard.

Your door was still ajar, left open like an omen.  You were there. Curled in sleep, soft and folded into yourself like something untouched by the rot of the world. Breathing steadily, chest rising and falling like the tide.

His hand clenched the coin until his knuckles gleamed pale in the dark. He hadn’t expected to still be here, standing in front of your door, watching you as though you were a rare treasure he’d found—and then just as easily destroyed.

Remmick had seen sleep before. He’d seen bodies stilled by time, by death, by the quick flick of a blade. But not like this. Not you.

Remmick could feel the heat of your blood, the soft hum of life just beneath your skin—God, he could feel it. That slow, molten throb beneath your skin, the rhythm of your life calling to the worst in him.  

The hunger was raw, clawing at him. He could do it, he could cross the threshold and sink his teeth into that sweet warmth. It would be easy. 

So easy.

The temptation burned behind his lips, pooling in his throat. His tongue brushed against his teeth, slow and deliberate, measuring the hunger that rose in him like a tide he couldn’t hold back. 

But then—

He stopped. And the words scraped out of him like gravel: “But I won’t, will I? Not this time, not last time.”

Remmick’s gaze roamed over you again, slower now. Reverent. Like he was standing before a holy thing he had no right to touch.

That kiss—your skin against his lips—it could’ve been more. It should’ve been much more. 

He could’ve taken your life that night, could’ve hollowed you out and made you part of him forever. Should’ve. But instead, he hadn’t. Not because of you, but because some crooked, crumbling thing inside him had whispered that to do so would damn him beyond saving.

And Remmick knew damnation. Lived close to it. A place he feared, even if he belonged there.

That had been months ago. And he hadn’t come back. Not since. You made it too hard.

“You made it too hard,” Remmick whispered, barely louder than the wind nudging the windows. “I thought if I stayed gone long enough, it’d bleed out of me. I thought it would rot and die.”

He had told himself it would be enough; the distance, the time away, the silence, but none of it had worked. The weight of you, of your breath against his, the pulse of your heart beneath his lips, it was still there. 

He’d made it months. Months of wandering through the wilderness of his own thoughts, his soul a barren landscape where nothing could grow. But it didn’t matter how far he ran, how many nights he spent in the dark, trying to outpace his demons. They always caught up.

And now, now he was back, but it hadn’t.

He gripped the coin so tightly that the ridges biting into his palm, sharp enough to sting.

“Yet, here you are.” He muttered, eyes pinned to you like a confession. “Like a wish I never should’ve made.”

Remmick’s eyes fell to you again, softer now, the hunger turning in on itself, folding into something heavier. Lonelier. He lingered there, just long enough to memorize the shape of you against the dark.

There was reverence in him. A violent kind, the kind that hurts at the touch of anything else.

And so, he walked away.

— 

The night stretched on, thick and suffocating. The moon hung low, thin as a grin carved into the dark. The air outside was cool, but inside Remmick’s mind, it burned.

The town was a quiet blur in his peripheral, the houses crammed together like teeth in the mouth of a corpse. Before him, the trees stood like sentinels, ancient and unmoved, their limbs clawing at the sky in supplication or threat.

He didn’t bother wiping the blood from his hands this time. Let it dry. Let it crust beneath his nails like penance. His boots sank into the mud where old rain hadn’t yet dried, and every step he took left a print that something might follow. Something hungry.

Remmick welcomed it.

His breath caught in his throat, ragged and wet, and the copper tang of violence lingered thick on his tongue. He leaned against a tree slick with moss and memory, its bark biting into his spine like it knew him. Like it had grown tall watching men like him rot from the inside out.

The cold bit at his cheeks, sharp and clean, but the heat beneath his skin throbbed with something else—something primal. Something wrong.

He’d carved his way through the night, through flesh and fear, looking for a place to set it all down. The hunger. The ache.

But nothing had sated it. Not the pleading. Not the blood. Not even the kill that had started it all. 

The sound of the man’s voice still echoed in his mind as he stood over the limp body, the familiar wetness of blood staining his hands. The landlord’s death had been a spark, not a balm. A reminder that the line between control and chaos had always been thinner than he’d liked to admit.

And now it was gone.

The line was gone.

Remmick wasn’t a fool. He knew what he had done. The death of the landlord had been easy. Too easy. But it hadn’t cleared the mess in his mind. The mess of you. Of your laugh, of the way your body had shifted under his touch, of the way you had made him feel in ways he couldn’t explain. 

Still, the rage gripped him just as you bloomed inside his chest like a stubborn weed in a field of bones.

His teeth ached.

He needed more.

Remmick had never truly wanted to kill you, not like the others. You were different, a reflection of everything he had lost. Everything he shouldn’t want. The hunger for your life was almost unbearable, but the act of taking it would mean something worse than death.

“I should’ve…” He rasped to the trees, to the night, to himself. “I should’ve ended it.”

You, he meant. But he couldn’t say your name. Not here. Not like this.

The wind sighed low through the pines, carrying with it the scent of honeysuckle and smoke. It reminded Remmick of you. Of your skin warmed by sleep, of your breath on his throat when he lingered too long outside your door.

You were in everything now. That was the cruelty of it.

He had broken the world trying to cut you out of it, and still, there you were—woven into the marrow of his ruin.

“I keep trying to bleed you out…” His voice cracked. Not from weakness. From truth.. “...but you just keep coming back.”

Because no matter how far he walked, how many lives he poured into the thirsty earth, your shadow stretched longer. You hadn’t tamed him. God no. But you’d marked him.

And now he was more beast than man, more hunger than heart.

Remmick looked up, through the latticework of limbs and stars, and his jaw clenched so hard it clicked. Somewhere behind him, the town would stir. The sun would rise. The bodies would be found, but none of that would matter.

Not if he went back. Not if he touched you again. Because the next time, he wouldn’t stop. And he didn’t know if that would ruin him—or set him free.

Remmick closed his eyes.

He could still feel your warmth in his bones, like the last fire he ever sat beside. And he made himself a promise—quiet, dark, and cold.

If he couldn’t burn the memory of you out, he would burn everything else down trying.

—

Morning came like a mercy.

Soft light seeped through the curtains, casting pale gold on the floorboards. The air held the hush of a chapel after mass, something sacred, something hollowed.

You blinked against it, slow to rise, limbs heavy from sleep—or whatever passed for it. The blankets clung to your skin. You felt too warm. Too watched. 

You reached instinctively for the chain at your throat. 

Your breath hitched. You sat up. You remembered taking it off last night, just before lying down, the clasp stiff from disuse. You’d laid it on the nightstand, right beside the lamp with the crooked shade and the half-drunk glass of water. The necklace, gone.

In its place, on the smooth wood surface, right where your necklace should’ve been, was a coin. Gold. Warming lightly from the weak light. Gleaming like a sun dropped from heaven.

You stared at it.

Not the same kind Remmick had pressed into the landlord’s palm, but not different either. It had weight. Presence.  It knew it didn’t belong there.

You picked it up. Held it in your hand carefully as if it had a pulse of its own.

A tithe. A token. An intrusion.

You swallowed. Stood. Moved through the house barefoot and slow, like stepping through a dream you weren’t sure would hold.  Remmick’s boots weren’t by the door. Not a trace left—except everything.

Your laundry, the pile you’d left forgotten, had been folded and stacked with the precision of something ritual. The front door was closed, but not locked.

You hadn’t dreamed of him. He had been here.

You should’ve felt safe. You should’ve felt honored. Instead, the stillness of the house pushed in on you like pressure behind the eyes, like a headache before it bloomed.

You looked again at the coin in your hand. You didn’t want to close your fist around it, but you did. It felt like it belonged to him, but it felt worse knowing he’d given it to you.

Your gaze drifted to the window, to the tree line in the distance, quiet and bristling in the breeze. You should go. You should move. But your legs didn’t listen.

Something had shifted in the night, and you couldn’t name it. Couldn’t touch it, but it was in the walls now. In the air. In you.

And yet... A part of you—deep and secret and wrong—wasn’t afraid.  Because Remmick had been here. And whatever else that meant, it meant something.

You whispered his name into the silence, just to see if it answered back.

It didn’t.

But the coin was still in your hand. And the necklace was still gone.  And the morning, pale and bloodless, kept rising all the same.

[dinosus]

₊˚.༄ Bonds That Run Deep₊˚.༄

[Sully Family x Lost Sibling! Reader (reader is Na'vi)] Synopsis : Years after a devastating loss, the Sully family is reunited with their long-lost eldest sibling, a moment that reignites both joy and heartache. Once thought gone forever, their sibling returns as a formidable warrior—precise with a bow, swift to tame an Ikran, and gifted in strategy—leaving the family in awe of their strength and resilience. The reunion reshapes their bonds: Neteyam finds a steady partner to share his burdens, Lo’ak gains a rival and confidant, Kiri discovers a spiritual kindred, and little Tuk showers her newfound sibling with endless love. For Jake and Neytiri, it’s a bittersweet journey of healing, balancing pride in who their child has become with the weight of time lost. Warnings : very wholesome you will combust

━━━━━━━ 𓆟 ━━━━━━━━

-Jake and Neytiri had spent years mourning the loss of their firstborn, their hearts heavy with the weight of a child they believed Eywa had taken back. They never spoke about it openly in front of the other kids, not wanting their grief to cast shadows on the present. -When they first hear rumors of a lone Na’vi wandering far from the clan’s territories—someone who doesn’t quite fit in—the hope seems too fragile to entertain. -Neytiri dismisses it at first, her voice hard with pain: “It cannot be. Eywa has already decided their path.” -But Jake, ever to hold onto that speck of hope, feels something stir deep within him, a nagging sense that they need to find you. “What if it is them? Yawne, we have to try."

-When the family finally sees you for the first time, it’s almost surreal. -Your features are unmistakable—your eyes, your build, the small markings that Neytiri remembers tracing when you were just a baby. -Jake freezes in his tracks, his normally steady composure cracking as he whispers, “It’s you... It’s really you.” Neytiri’s reaction is more visceral. She falls to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she reaches out, her voice breaking: “My child... my baby...” -Neteyam is silent at first, the realization hitting him like a storm. He had heard stories of you but never imagined he’d see you. His hands tremble as he approaches, his voice soft but shaking: “Is it true? Are you... my sibling?” -Tuk clings to Kiri, confused but excited. “We have another sibling? Really?!” Lo’ak, ever the joker, tries to lighten the heavy moment: “Guess we’re not the favorites anymore, huh?”

-The initial reunion is a flood of emotions—tears, laughter, disbelief. Neytiri holds you close, her hands shaking as she cups your face, her words a mix of apology and joy: “I thought we lost you. Eywa has brought you back to us.” -Jake struggles to maintain his composure, his voice thick with emotion as he says, “We thought we’d never see you again. Look at you... You’ve grown so much.” While they’re overjoyed to have you back, Jake and Neytiri also carry immense guilt. -Neytiri often stays up at night, staring at you while you sleep, whispering quiet apologies to Eywa for letting you slip away. -Jake tries to make up for lost time by teaching you survival skills, even if you already know them. “I should’ve been there for you. Let me show you, just in case.” His attempts to reconnect often come with a tinge of overprotectiveness, something you can’t help but find endearing. -They both shower you with subtle but heartfelt gestures—Neytiri weaving intricate beads into your braids, Jake carving you a small totem to carry as a symbol of family.

━━━━━━━ 𓆟 ━━━━━━━━

-Neteyam, being the oldest after you, feels an immediate kinship. He idolizes you in a way that catches you off guard. “You were always the strong one, weren’t you? Mom and Dad used to talk about you like you could do anything.” -From the moment the family reunites, Neteyam is drawn to you. His role as the responsible older brother has always been his identity, but now, seeing you—capable, strong, and wise—he feels a weight lift. -One evening, as the two of you sit on a high branch overlooking the forest, Neteyam glances at you, his voice soft: “I always wondered what it would feel like to have someone like you to look up to. Now I know.”

-Lo’ak’s first instinct is to test you. He’s always been the rebel, and he wants to know if you can keep up. -He constantly challenges you to races, sparring matches, or daring climbs. “Bet you can’t beat me to the top of that tree,” he taunts, already halfway up. But when you outpace him, he groans dramatically. “Okay, okay, maybe you’re a little cool.” Beneath his playful teasing, though, is a deep admiration. -Lo’ak rarely says it out loud, but the way he watches you when you're literally doing anything—speaks volumes. After a particularly close hunt or winning a race, he slings an arm around your shoulders, his grin boyish and proud: “You’re just showing off now, aren’t you?

-Kiri feels an almost spiritual connection with you. She’s drawn to the way you carry yourself, and often spends hours talking with you about Eywa and the balance of the world.

-“Do you feel it too?” she asks one evening, her voice soft as the bioluminescent forest glows around you. When you nod, she smiles, her eyes filled with quiet wonder. “I knew you would. You’re one of us.”

-She loves showing you the hidden wonders of Pandora, her excitement bubbling over as she guides you to a glowing grove or a stream filled with darting, luminous fish. “This is my favorite place,” she confesses, her voice a whisper. “Now it’s ours.”

-You often catch her sketching in the dirt or weaving patterns inspired by your adventures together. When you ask about them, she shrugs, a shy smile on her lips: “Just trying to remember these moments.”

-Tuk is absolutely smitten with you. From the moment she met you, she declared you her new favorite sibling. She’s always by your side, her small hand slipping into yours as you walk through the forest. “Can I come with you?” she asks, her big eyes shining with hope. -You find yourself teaching her little tricks—how to shoot a tiny bow, how to climb trees safely—and her laughter fills the air as she tries to keep up. “Look! I’m like you now!” she cries, beaming with pride. -At night, she curls up beside you, her head resting against your arm. “Don’t ever leave again, okay?” she whispers, her voice tinged with the innocence of a child. -The Sully siblings have always been close, but with you, their dynamic shifts in the best way. -You quickly become the target of their good-natured teasing, but you’re not afraid to dish it back.“I think you’re losing your touch, Neteyam,” you tease after a sparring match, earning an exaggerated groan from him and laughter from Lo’ak. -Lo’ak and Tuk team up to prank you, only to get caught when Kiri casually spills their plan. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets,” Lo’ak mutters, glaring at his sister. -One night, under the stars, the five of you sit together, the forest alive with its soft, glowing hum. Tuk is nestled against your side, Kiri is braiding your hair, and Neteyam and Lo’ak are arguing over who caught the biggest fish that day. -You take it all in—the laughter, the warmth, the love—and feel an overwhelming sense of belonging.“We’re stronger together,” Neteyam says, breaking through the chatter. He looks at each of you, his gaze lingering on you last. “All of us.” -Lo’ak groans dramatically, “Alright, enough of the sappy stuff.” But he doesn’t pull away when you ruffle his hair, nor does he hide the smile tugging at his lips.

━━━━━━━ 𓆟 ━━━━━━━━

-Jake has always carried the pain of losing you deep within him, a wound he thought would never heal. As much as he’s overjoyed to have you back, there’s a part of him that struggles with the guilt of all the years you spent apart. -He watches you carefully in the first few days after the reunion, his sharp, observant eyes catching every movement, every expression. His voice, usually confident and steady, softens when he speaks to you. “You okay, kid? You settling in alright?” It’s casual, but there’s an unspoken fear behind the words, a need to make sure you’re truly here. -Jake’s pride in your abilities is almost immediate, but it grows tenfold as he watches you adapt to the Na’vi way of life with such ease. -When he sees you take down a target with a single, precise arrow, he lets out a low whistle, a grin spreading across his face. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. You’re a natural, just like your old man.” -Jake has always been fiercely protective of his family, but with you, it’s different. It’s not just about keeping you safe—it’s about making up for lost time. He wants to be there for every moment, to catch up on the years he missed. He’s quick to jump to your defense, even when it’s not necessary. -If anyone in the clan questions your place, Jake steps in before you can even respond, his voice firm but calm: “They’ve earned their place here. You’ve got a problem with that, you talk to me.” -As much as Jake wants to protect you, he quickly realizes you’re more than capable of handling yourself. -This both surprises and humbles him.“You don’t need me hovering,” he admits one day after watching you dispatch a group of enemies with precise, calculated movements. “But you can’t blame a dad for worrying.” His grin is sheepish, but there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes that makes your chest ache. -Jake doesn’t always say the words outright, but his love for you is evident in everything he does. The way he checks your gear before a mission, the way he pats your shoulder after a successful hunt, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention—all of it speaks volumes. -One night, as you sit beside him under the stars, he breaks the silence with a rare, heartfelt confession. “I thought I’d lost you for good. And now, having you here... I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank Eywa enough.” His voice is rough, filled with a mixture of gratitude and regret.

━━━━━━━ 𓆟 ━━━━━━━━

-Neytiri’s reaction to your return is a whirlwind of love, grief, and relief. She holds you tightly the moment you reunite, her tears mingling with the warmth of your skin. “You are home,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she cups your face, memorizing every feature. -At first, she can’t let you out of her sight. Years of fearing she would never see you again have left her protective, almost overbearing. Her eyes follow you wherever you go, her instincts sharp, ready to shield you from anything. -Neytiri is in awe of the person you’ve become. When she sees your precise aim with a bow or the way you ride your Ikran with effortless grace, her heart swells with pride. -She takes great pride in teaching you the finer details of Na’vi culture, even if you’ve already mastered much of it on your own. “You are part of us, my child. This is your place.” -Neytiri’s protective nature manifests differently than Jake’s. Where Jake might give orders or try to shield you, Neytiri approaches with quiet understanding. -When she sees you tending to a minor injury after a hunt, she rushes over, her hands gentle but firm as she insists on helping. “Let me see. You may be strong, but even warriors need tending.” -Neytiri takes you to her favorite places in the forest, sharing the beauty and serenity of Pandora with you. She points out the hidden treasures of Eywa’s world, her voice reverent as she speaks of the balance in all things. -One evening, she brings you to the Tree of Voices. Together, you connect to the tendrils of the tree, and she whispers, “They have watched over you. Eywa has always known you would come back to us.” -Neytiri enjoys teaching you skills you might have missed during your time away, like the subtle art of weaving or the ceremonial dances of the clan. But she’s also open to learning from you, impressed by the strategies you devise and the clever ways you solve problems. “You have your father’s mind for battle,” she says with a grin one day, “but your heart... that is mine.” -Neytiri makes it clear that she will fight for you, as she always has for her family. When anyone questions your place in the clan, her voice is sharp and unwavering: “They are my child. That is all you need to know.”

━━━━━━━ 𓆟 ━━━━━━━━

-It doesn’t take long for the Sully family to notice you’re more than just their lost sibling—you’re a force to be reckoned with. -Neytiri is the first to notice your precision with a bow. She observes silently as you nock an arrow, your stance firm and your aim deadly. The arrow sails through the air, splitting the fruit on a distant branch perfectly in two. Neytiri’s lips part in astonishment before a quiet, proud smile spreads across her face. She tilts her head, her voice carrying a rare, gentle tone: “Who taught you this?” -Learning to bond with an Ikran is no easy feat, but you take it as a personal challenge. The family watches anxiously as you ascend the rocky cliffside, Jake muttering under his breath, “They should take it slow. No one gets it on the first try.” -But you surprise them yet again. The bond happens so seamlessly that Jake stares in stunned silence, Neytiri gripping his arm as if to confirm it’s real. -Lo’ak blurts out, “There’s no way! It took me three tries!” Tuk, wide-eyed, tugs on Kiri’s arm. “Did you see that? [Y/N] is amazing!” Kiri smiles, watching them with fondness in her eyes. -When you soar through the skies for the first time, the exhilaration is clear on your face, but the family’s awe is almost comical. Neteyam watches you with unshaken admiration, his voice barely above a whisper: “I don’t think Eywa has ever made someone like them.”

-As the Sullys adjust to your presence, it’s clear you’re not just “the lost sibling” anymore—you’re an integral part of the family. Every member looks to you in their own way, whether it’s for guidance, comfort, or simply a shared laugh. -You’ve become a bridge between the past and the present, a reminder of what the family has endured and how much stronger they’ve become together. -Around the fire one night, Neteyam says it best: “We’ve always been strong, but with you here, we’re unstoppable.” And as you look around at your family—the warmth in their eyes, the love in their smiles—you realize he’s right. -This was your family, your fortress..

━━━━━━━ 𓆟 ━━━━━━━━

(Edited, yes i did.) sorry if this is too long lol Hope you LOVED it, if not then haha i'll try to be better <3 pls leave a like TvT and go drink waterr >:0

━━━━━━━ 𓆟 ━━━━━━━━

Ignore these haha <3

[darkcircles4lyfe]

it's a story about hands (reprise)

Yeah, okay, today's the day.

I gave my blog that title for a reason, you know, and it has loomed over me for years because the hand motif is absolutely everywhere and you could go on about it forever.

Maybe that's something I'll never actually attempt to do, but this chapter, we reached a breaking point.

Before I continue, I need to give a big, big disclaimer: I do not have a physical disability, so I'm not able to speak about that from the standpoint of representation as a first-hand perspective. I have at least listened to enough disabled people to know that fictional characters who become amputees only to miraculously gain their limbs back is, um, a trope. Disabled people in general being "healed" is a conception we would really prefer to avoid here. Not to call people out, but I don't think we're giving enough space to acknowledge that.

I don’t feel comfortable making the judgement call about what should happen. I’m leaving that open. I also don't want to downplay people's emotional reactions. Honestly, I don't know if I can accurately define the line between acknowledging real pain vs. ableist pity. But I’d like to talk about the possibilities of what could happen. Other characters have definitely gotten permanent disabilities as a result of their hero work, or even just the side effects of their quirk. But, for better or worse, I don't think this case is really about representation. Not that Horikoshi won't do that justice. He might. What I'm saying is that's not his purpose for having Izuku lose his arms. It's meant to be symbolic, so we can explore what it means. The other thing I’m keeping in mind here is that Horikoshi is notorious for playing with our expectations, like, alllllll the time. I mean, just take a few chapters ago for a classic example. Eri appeared at the end, and we all assumed she was about to take some sort of action to save someone with her quirk. Then, immediately following, we were given an explanation for why that wouldn’t be happening. And now it’s clear he wanted to do that “fake out” not just as a silly cliffhanger prank, but specifically so we would know not to suspect that Eri could be the miraculous solution to Izuku’s loss of his arms. Rest assured, there is no easy way out of this.

The expectation at play in this particular instance is an old one. It’s very understated, but its subtext has burned so brightly, you’d be a fool not to notice it. It sits with anticipation like one half of a call and response. Man, I was so certain. Lots of people still are. I was really looking forward to printing the panel where it happened onto a t shirt and wearing it proudly. All the hand motifs in this story radiate thematically from a single moment, the one that started it all for Izuku.

It raises all kinds of questions about the act of saving, who needs saving, why, what does it mean, what are the dynamics of power, politics, honesty, exploitation, compassion, pity, disdain, sacrifice. Katsuki has dealt with many of these since he first rejected Izuku’s hand. While Izuku was the one who was convinced Katsuki would keep on rejecting him…

…Katsuki was the one who kept that moment in his mind all these years and eventually came to regret it.

Katsuki is the one yearning for that hand-hold, the one who has imbued it with so much more weight than it ever originally had. Izuku, in contrast, does not allow himself to dwell on what he wants. To illustrate this difference, we need to look at another piece of foreshadowing:

Ugh, do y'all remember when lots of folks were complaining about how there never seemed to be actual consequences for Izuku's destructive treatment of his own body? I don't blame them, I was concerned and confused about it too. There were several "fixes" along the way. Recovery Girl healed him, but left a physical reminder. Then he started training to fight with his legs… sometimes. Then he got support items. All of these were unsatisfying non-conclusions because they didn't present Izuku with a lasting enough impression to change in a meaningful way. They didn't address his core, his origin.

Of course, that all changed this chapter. Now it looks like our frustration was inflicted intentionally. With the current context in mind, all of these moments look more sinister, like this day was always gonna come because they kept putting bandaids on a deep emotional and psychological wound. The problem is pretty much spelled out for us here:

As Katsuki put it, he just doesn’t take himself into account, ya know? He doesn’t care what happens to him. And he lies about it, to keep others from worrying, to keep them safe. To keep them from returning the favor and putting themselves in harm’s way for his sake. His motivations are noble,

…but what about the little boy inside Izuku? Who saves him?

This is all about Izuku giving himself up to the point that he literally has no more to give. The thing is, I bet he saw this coming. He knew his limits and decided to keep going anyway, because his personal safety and wellbeing are not important. Now that way of thinking has come back to bite him because the fight isn’t over yet, and he’s already made his sacrifice. So now we know who will be more distraught over this. Not Izuku—Katsuki.

It’s not about Izuku becoming disabled, it’s about how Katsuki wanted to use the intertwining of their fingers to communicate that he would never let go. Never stop valuing him most. Never let himself make the mistake of rejecting him again. Never let Izuku be so reckless with his life. To say: “we are in this together.”…if only Katsuki believed he deserved to be able to say such things. To reach out his hand would have been the ultimate way to simply imply them and let Izuku be the one to decide. Then, to feel their hands clasped together would be more than either of them dared hope for, but so beautiful, so right. A moment they’ve waited their whole lives for.

Yeah. That’s what we were expecting. We’ve been so comfortable. Horikoshi gave us all the signs. He tempted and teased us over and over. BUT. You know he does this thing were he gives us a desirable, completely plausible and simple thing to look forward to, and then he snatches it away. And THEN he replaces it with something much better, something we were not expecting at all because it seemed too good to be true. That’s exactly what happened when Himiko snatched Izuku away, and we were robbed of the chance to see him and Katsuki fight together. In hindsight, though, I’m glad things went a different way because now there’s so much more depth and angst on display. Likewise, in the present moment, we may consider how, as one door closes, another opens.

As wonderfully meaningful as the hand-hold would have been, perhaps it is still too simple a resolution for Izuku, for his and Katsuki’s relationship. Tbh, it could have been done like 100 chapter ago. At this point, there’s so much more potential. There are a couple of ways it could go. If Izuku stays armless, Katsuki will be forced to use other methods to get his point across. He’ll have to do something else, or say what he means, or both. Yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. If I say it, I just might jinx it (lol), but I mean it. I’m being serious. Either way, if Izuku did get his arms back in the end, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. It would be hard-won against Izuku’s self-destructive mindset, and/or by Katsuki’s conviction. Again, I say this knowing it is not meant so much as a representation of disability, but as a representation of Izuku’s greatest character flaw taken to the extreme. I know this might sound harsh, like, hasn’t he been through enough? I get that, but… I’ve said it before and I say it again: Izuku is stubborn as hell.

I wish I had a resounding final note to end this on, but I kinda don’t. I’m not sure what’s best. Now we just have to wait and see what Horikoshi has in mind.

[fatliberation]

What are your thoughts on weight gain being used as a metaphor for healing/character growth? It’s incredibly rare but I think it’s wonderful imagery that needs to be explored more. The only example I can think of weight gain being used as a positive symbol/metaphor for anything was in Bojack Horseman where the character Diane Nyugen gains weight from her anxiety medication, making progress as a much happier and stable person as time went on, it also helps that no one pointed out her weight gain throughout the show’s run either, it’s treated as not only normal, but a positive change for her character and I love the show so much for that ❤️❤️❤️

I absolutely felt the same way about Diane’s story, that was so refreshing and heartwarming to see, especially now looking back on it as someone who has gained a lot of weight on antidepressants. MORE WEIGHT GAIN BEING A GOOD THING!!

oddly enough, the only other example I can think of where weight gain was normalized in fiction was in trolls 2??? the one band member who was known as the “hot one” was ripped and clearly under a lot of pressure to exercise - then later in life he’s fat, totally happy, has a wife and kids, is doing what he wants, and there’s no joke or gotcha about his weight whatsoever. just a happy guy. gave me hope for children’s films.

[wc-confessions]

Big fan of the idea of ravenpaw going from skinny with sleek fur to rounder with fluffier fur as a symbol of him feeling safer, like tigerstar cant hurt him anymore, like hes safe and okay enough to relax and heal.

Idk i just am a sucker for the weight gain as a sign of healing trope and thus want to put my childhood favourite through it as well :)

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

[blurrymind11]

The author, Sixer, twin brother,great uncle, its Ford Pines!

I never actually drew Gravity Falls art because i was still tracing while i was watching it as it came out

Heres my Ford headcanons if anyones interested! (Some might just be factual)

Was devastated when finding out Princess Diana died and was possibly a conspiracy

Has always been somewhat chubby, but looked skinnier after returning because he was malnourished and got chubby again after his family kept feeding him, hes happier now (i love the trope of characters gaining weight to symbolize healing)

He learnt to be more protective of the kids from Stan

He bonds with Mabel more after realizing he neglected her (mostly adventures and art)

Aroace (feels bad about fiddleford liking him and not being able to reciprocate that the way fiddleford would want, doesn’t feel bad about bill liking him he hopes he’s dead)

Found out he probably shouldn’t be new jersey style swearing around mabel, dipper and Soos from Stan

Is deathly afraid of smile dip

Is very emotionally unintelligent

[seriallover]

Shatabhisha- Stuck in a loop!?⭕️

Ruled by Rahu and situated in a sign governed by Saturn, Shatabhisha Nakshatra intertwines the themes of Rahu and Saturn.

Rahu represents obsession, addiction, perfectionism, illusion, desires, and the material world. Saturn, on the other hand, symbolizes restriction, ambition, delays, and discipline. This nakshatra is intriguing to observe because Saturn is often seen as the only planet capable of controlling and restricting Rahu. Addiction is a recurring theme for those heavily influenced by Shatabhisha Nakshatra.

Rahu, symbolizing the insatiable head/mouth, constantly seeks satisfaction. People with strong Shatabhisha influence may struggle with feeling perpetually unfulfilled.

The main symbol of Shatabhisha is an empty closed circle, representing restriction, karma, and limits. ⭕️

This reminds me of a snake eating its own tail, a metaphor for self-destruction often seen in these natives. They may feel stuck in a loop, constantly desiring more than they have, feel, or can access. This symbol illustrates their urge to break free from patterns and limitations.

Shatabhisha also embodies the power to heal, represented by the 100 physicians and healers. Individuals influenced by this nakshatra often have a strong desire for self-improvement, healing, and spiritual growth. They are driven to push boundaries and explore their limits, often oscillating between extremes—addiction to unhealthy behaviors or a "perfect" lifestyle.

Lewis Hamilton is an excellent example of someone who effectively harnesses the energy of Shatabisha. His ascendant lord, Venus, is in Shatabhisha, conjunct his Mars in the 5th house. His Rahu is in Krittika of Taurus, with Venus as the dispositor. Lewis follows a plant-based diet and is very strict with his fitness regimen, as even a small weight gain can affect his racing performance.

This year, he launched a non-alcoholic Blue Agave Spirit, Almave, produced in Mexico.🥃

Krittika, associated with the deity Agni, the god of fire, governs cooking, drinks, and digestion. Agni has the power to burn/purify, reflecting his disciplined approach to diet and lifestyle.🔥

Another example, she’s Shatabhisha Moon.

Another example that comes to mind is Emily Blunt, who has her Sun in Shatabhisha, fittingly playing a role in “Edge of Tomorrow” that mirrors the themes of this nakshatra, as well.

In the film, her character, Sergeant Rita Vrataski, helps Major William Cage (Tom Cruise) break free from a time loop by repeatedly facing and overcoming challenges. Rita’s journey in the movie reflects the Shatabhisha themes of perseverance, healing and ultimately, breaking the cycle to achieve a greater purpose.

Dealing with Rahu's influence can lead to excess, a desire to experience, feel everything or nothing.

However, understanding one's restrictions and seeing the bigger picture can bring freedom. Recognizing and accepting personal limitations allows one to channel obsessive desires into sustaining something meaningful in the material world.

By acknowledging and respecting these restrictions, individuals can transform Rahu's chaotic energy into focused ambition and disciplined action, leading to significant achievements and personal growth.

[imloyaltoscoups]

i'm ready | yoon jeonghan

After seven long years, you finally find yourself in a place of true peace and contentment. The journey to this point hasn't been easy - the scars of heartbreak and betrayal ran deep, and it took time to heal and rebuild yourself.

But you did it. You persevered through the nightmares, finding strength in your own resilience and determination. With each passing day, you focused on your own growth and development, pouring your energy into your studies and your personal pursuits.

Completing your PhD was a milestone, a testament to your dedication and perseverance. It wasn't just an academic achievement: it was a symbol of your triumph over adversity, a tangible reminder of how far you've come since the pain of your past.

Along the way, you learned valuable lessons about self-love and self-care. You realized the importance of prioritizing your own needs and desires, of carving out space for yourself in a world that often demands so much of us.

The first years were undoubtedly the hardest. You struggled to find your footing, grappling with the weight of your emotions and the uncertainty of starting over. You were cautious with those who approached, wary of opening yourself up to the possibility of hurt once again.

But with time, you learned to trust yourself again. You rediscovered your worth and your strength, and you refused to let the pain of your past define you. You learned to allocate love and care for yourself, recognizing that you are deserving of the same kindness and compassion that you so freely gave to others.

You pause mid-packing, taken aback by your friend's unexpected enthusiasm. They shake the ticket with excitement, their smile infectious despite your initial reluctance.

"Y/N!!! We're going to Koreaaaa!" they exclaim, their voice filled with enthusiasm.

You hesitate, the memories of your past trip to Korea still lingering in the corners of your mind. The thought of returning to the place where so much heartache had occurred fills you with a sense of apprehension.

But before you can voice your concerns, your friend speaks up again, their tone resolute. "You're okay now, right? So it's okay to visit that country again. And besides, who knows when we'll have the chance to see our friends first ever exhibit. If you're worried of bumping with that piece of shit. Don't worry—I'll give him a piece of my mind. Maybe even a punch and a chokeslam for good measure!... I should have been with you when you went there" she pouted.

Their words catch you off guard, but you can't help but laugh at their fierce loyalty. Despite your reservations, their unwavering support gives you a glimmer of courage.

"Alright," you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "This is for our girl."

With a newfound sense of determination, you resume packing, knowing that this trip will be different from the last. Armed with the support of your friend and the strength you've gained from overcoming your past, you're ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And who knows? Maybe this time, Korea will hold new memories of joy and adventure, rather than pain and heartache.

As you arrive at the exhibit of your best friend, you're filled with a sense of pride and excitement. You rush forward and envelop her in a big hug, a smile spreading across your face.

"Congratulations queen, you did it!" you exclaim, squeezing her tightly. "I'm so proud of you for pursuing your dream of being an artist. Look at the crowd!"

She returns the hug with equal enthusiasm, her eyes shining with happiness. "Thank you so much! I couldn't have done it without you guys. You two kept on pushing me to do this and here we are."

She then shows you around the exhibit, pointing out each piece with pride, you can't help but marvel at her talent and creativity. Each painting tells a story, a reflection of her passion and dedication to her craft.

As you admire her work, she offers you two a glass of champagne, a gesture of celebration for this momentous occasion.

"Cheers to you and your incredible talent," you say, raising your glass in a toast. "May your art continue to inspire and captivate audiences around the world."

She clinks her glass against yours, a wide smile lighting up her face. "Thank you, and cheers to our friendship. I'm so grateful to have you two by my side."

Together, you three sip your champagne and continue to explore the exhibit, basking in the joy of this special moment shared between friends. And as you revel in the beauty of her art and the warmth of her friendship, you know that this is a memory you'll cherish for years to come.

Time pass by and your best friend excuses herself to greet other visitors, you nod understandingly, letting her immerse herself in the moment. Beside you, your other friend suddenly excuses herself to rushed off to the bathroom, leaving you alone amidst the bustling gallery.

As you scroll through the gallery, admiring the artwork, a familiar voice calls out your name. You turn around and are surprised to see Jeonghan standing there, holding a glass of champagne. To your own surprise, you feel no shock or hurt at his presence. Instead, you feel a sense of calm and resolution.

"Hi," he says, his voice tentative as he approaches you. "How are you?"

You offer him a small smile. "I'm doing better than ever," you reply confidently. "I got my PhD and now I'm planning on doing my residency."

Jeonghan's eyes light up with genuine pride. "That's amazing," he says, offering his congratulations. "I always knew you would achieve great things."

You exchange conversation for a while, catching up on each other's lives. Eventually, Jeonghan takes a deep breath and admits once again that he is truly sorry for the pain he caused in the past.

You nod, feeling a sense of closure wash over you. "I've forgiven you," you say simply.

His eyes widen with hope, and for a moment, you see the flicker of longing in his gaze. But before he can say anything else, a commotion interrupts the moment.

A little kid comes running towards you, calling you "mama." You glance down and see your baby boy, and you can't help but smile as you scoop him up into your arms.

"Where's Papa?" you ask, and just then, a voice responds—a man carrying your one-year-old daughter.

Jeonghan stands frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the sight of your family. You introduce your husband to him, and as you do, your baby boy innocently asks who the man you're talking to is.

"He's one of the singers mommy used to love," you reply gently, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

Jeonghan introduces himself to your family, his emotions held back as he struggles to maintain his composure. But as the moment stretches on, you can see the glass in his hand trembling, a silent testament to the storm of emotions raging within him.

"Mama, can we look for Tatie?" your baby boy asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

You smile down at him and give a nod. "Of course, sweetheart. Let's go find her," you reply, your heart swelling with love for your children.

Turning to Jeonghan, you offer a polite smile. "It was nice meeting you again," you say sincerely.

Your baby boy tugs at your hand, eager to leave. "Goodbye, Uncle!" he chirps before running off with your husband and daughter.

Jeonghan watches them go, his face a mixture of shock and sadness. You offer him a sympathetic smile before turning away to search for your best friend.

As you walk with your husband by your side, his arm wrapped around you protectively, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. You lean into him, grateful for his unwavering support and patience.

"Thank you for being so patient love," you murmur, pressing a quick peck to his cheek.

He smiles down at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "You're very brave, you know that," he says simply, his voice filled with admiration.

You feel a surge of gratitude for the life you've built together, for the love and happiness that surrounds you. And as you continue to search for your best friends, you realize that maybe visiting Korea isn't so bad after all, especially when you have your family by your side.

In that moment, you realize that the greatest revenge you can provide to Jeonghan is finding your own happiness without him. And as you find your own people who cherish and support you, you know that you've already won.

part 1, part 2

....... ≿━━━━━༺MASTERLIST༻━━━━━≾ .......

[michanvalentine]

"I just feel numb".

I've come across interpretations of this line or scene that differ drastically from my own perspective. Some even seem to deliberately downplay it, stripping it entirely of its weight and meaning. But to me, it goes far beyond the immediate emotional state Astarion is plunged into in that moment. It’s deeply tied to his past, his future, and even to abstract concepts that echo throughout the psyche of our favorite vampire spawn.

The concept of revenge is both fascinating and complex, because it touches deeply human chords: pain, anger, humiliation, the need for justice. Revenge often arises where justice is absent or perceived as inadequate, and for this reason, it can initially seem like a legitimate or even cathartic response.

From a narrative point of view, revenge is a powerful driving force. From Hamlet to Kill Bill, from The Count of Monte Cristo to The Last of Us, the desire for vengeance pushes characters down dramatic paths that often transform, consume, or destroy them. Revenge promises relief���but rarely delivers it. As Francis Bacon once said, “A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green.” The pain never truly closes, because revenge cannot rewrite the past. And this is a key point to keep in mind—especially when talking about Astarion.

In certain contexts—particularly narrative or symbolic—revenge can also be interpreted as a form of reclamation, especially when it involves recovering one’s identity, breaking free from an oppressor, or achieving a form of social justice. In that sense, it’s not so much “revenge” as it is reparation or liberation. But it all depends on how it’s carried out, with what level of awareness, and whether it leaves space for something afterward: rebirth, change, a future.

That’s the premise. Astarion craves revenge for everything that was done to him. He longs so deeply for vengeance, for vindication, that he’s willing to let it consume him and harm anyone in his path. So what happens the moment that revenge—or, in the vampire spawn ending, that liberation—actually takes place?

Is Astarion sad? Is he depressed? No. Astarion is overwhelmed by the realization that the satisfaction he hoped to gain from Cazador’s death isn’t enough to erase centuries of suffering and humiliation.

Astarion reacts the way any person would in such a situation. Astarion reacts exactly the way a human being would. In that precise moment, Astarion is more human than ever.

He’s overcome by everything he’s lost, and everything he’s gained, as he himself says. He needs time to internally reorganize—his thoughts, his feelings, his very sense of self. There’s so much, and it’s all so intense, so painful, that the only thing he can do is shut down. This is shock, in the clinical sense of the word. After prolonged trauma, it’s common for the body and mind to react not with euphoria, but with numbness.

For years, Astarion yearned for this moment. He built his sense of identity around the need to survive Cazador, to be free of him. And when he finally succeeds, he finds himself… empty.

Because pain was a pillar. And now that the pillar has crumbled, he has nothing to lean on.

Cazador, monstrous as he was, was the gravitational center of Astarion’s existence. Hate and fear kept him alive, motivated him. Removing Cazador from his life also means having to redefine himself from scratch. It’s not just the end of a tormentor—it’s the collapse of a psychological structure. And that’s disorienting.

As if that weren’t enough, we come to the heart of the matter: killing Cazador doesn’t heal Astarion. It doesn’t erase the wounds, it doesn’t return lost time, and it doesn’t remove the trauma.

Revenge offers a conclusion—but not meaning. It’s a final act that doesn’t resolve the pain. And that’s why he feels emotionally frozen as he comes to terms with it all.

This is a theme that, within the game itself, does not concern Astarion alone. We can see the same dynamic in Karlach after she confronts her nemesis, Gortash. The tyrant’s death changes nothing—Karlach was dying before, because of what was done to her, and she’s still dying. She will die regardless of the justice achieved. And that realization hits hard—it flattens, destroys, and drains her with its brutal clarity.

Karlach is different from Astarion and reacts with anger, but when even that—her ever-burning fire, the strength that sustains her even in battle—begins to fade, she temporarily leaves the party. She seeks solitude, retreats inward to reorganize, to come to terms with what happened, what she feels, and what awaits her in the future.

Even more significant—and, narratively speaking, a clear piece of foreshadowing for both Karlach and Astarion—is Dame Aylin’s confrontation with the wizard Lorroakan. Even Selune’s daughter is overwhelmed after the battle. The villain is dead, but the aasimar’s suffering is more alive than ever. The valiant warrior, the beacon of hope, is literally on the ground—and both Astarion and Karlach will have something to say about it.

And it’s no coincidence. From a storytelling perspective, this prepares us for the moment when both of them will face their own abuser.

And it’s almost tender, almost heartbreaking, to hear what they both say: they don’t understand why Dame Aylin is so downcast. And when Tav/Durge suggests the fear of feeling just like her once they’re standing over their own nemesis, both of them dismiss the idea, saying they’ll laugh and dance on the corpses of Gortash and Cazador.

But that’s not how pain works. That’s not how trauma works. That’s not how revenge works.

"That's it. He's gone. After all these years – these centuries – it's really over."

This is the first thing Spawn Astarion says to Tav/Durge after being addressed at the end of the battle. And he says it in a tone of voice that already says everything—a tone that perfectly conveys what he’s feeling and how much that feeling is crushing him.

Let’s break it down: "That's it. He's gone." Just like that, Astarion—centuries of suffering, torture, loneliness, exploitation, and fear, all gone in the blink of an eye. A single moment, one that doesn't even begin to make up for the slow passage of the years—nor the ones still to come. How dare Cazador vanish so quickly? How dare he not take all those feelings with him? Above all, why—despite the hatred, the contempt, and the anger—has he left such an enormous void inside you?

"After all these years – these centuries – it's really over." Yes. It’s over, and you barely had time to process it. You almost didn’t catch the details of what happened—and yet, the memory of the torture, of the people who “had” you, of all the humiliations you endured, is still there. And it will stay with you for the rest of your unlife.

"I just feel numb." That’s okay. Rest, love. Breathe. I’m here with you. You’ve already done more than enough—you were incredible. We’ll take care of the rest tomorrow.

And now you tell me if this isn’t the most wonderfully imperfect and profoundly human vampire spawn to ever exist.

[mktournament]

Semifinals: Collei vs Furina

(Propaganda under the cut)

Collei:

MY DEADALIVEGIRL!!!!!!!!!! i genuinely don't even know where to start. collei is such a beautiful beautiful character who's entire story revolves around a girl who's been dehumanized and exploited for her entire life, healing through compassion and a recognition of her own humanity. first of all, when we meet collei in the genshin manhua, she is full of vitriolic anger and hate at both the world and herself. she's been dehumanized over and over and over again and because its a repetitive experience, she fully believes that her lack of worth is something innately true. this only changes when someone (amber) shows her unrelenting compassion and trust. amber goes against everything that collei believed about herself. amber tells her that she is not only capable of good, but she is good. amber reinforces this novel idea that collei deserves goodness. and that realization is the moment that collei begins recognizing her own humanity, and thus, recognizing her own potential to grow, heal, and be the good person that amber knows she is. every moment thus forth is a demonstration of her attempts to grow and be kind!!!! she decides to go through with cyno's sealing ritual even with its conditions! she asks lisa to help her write a letter at the end of the manhua! she mends amber's tattered clothes like she promised! she decides to go to sumeru, a land of wisdom! it's so pertinent to her character that she gains her vision (representative of her ambition) during a show of compassion (protecting a child during a dangerous storm)! it's even in her symbolism with the way she's constantly referred to as a sproutling. NOT EVEN MENTIONING HOW THE REBIRTH METAPHOR THATS APPLIED TO HER CHARACTER (re: sprout of rebirth, revived serval, cyno and anubis and their ritual) IS SO DEEPLY CONNECTED TO SUMERU (her being the first sumeru character we know of and having that rebirth metaphor hinted at in the manhua! that rebirth metaphor carrying over to the actual sumeru plot w nahida! the rebirth metaphor tying in with the snake and cat symbolism that she and the archon residue complete!!!!!!) she's just such a loaded character!! AND collei's one of the few genshin characters with canonical cptsd who has identifiable and realistically common triggers. most importantly, the game acknowledges that its there and in spite of that, shows her resilience in still trying and healing!!!! my disabled deadalive mummygirl i love her so bad.

Furina:

the girl who saved fontaine. condemned herself to a life of silent pain and suffering without any warning or preparation. she could confide in no one, seek out help from no one, all while bearing the weight of her entire nation on her shoulders. not only did her willpower save everyone in fontaine, but after the prophecy was averted, she was finally allowed to live a normal life.