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helenanell · 14 days ago

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Butchered Tongue | Remmick

Remmick x f!reader

(Although, reader is mentioned as having an Irish father, so this does lean towards being an OC.)

Summary: Lost and alone in Mississippi, you go to a bar and sing a song of Irish rebellion. Something follows you home.

Notes: Angst, sexual tension, Remmick being alluringly dangerous, manipulation, heavily features discussion of colonialism and the British Empire.

This story is based upon and inspired by the song ‘Butchered Tongue’ by Hozier, as well as his earlier ‘Foreigner’s God’. I wanted to explore Remmick’s backstory and the pain and history of English colonial rule in Ireland. I have done my best to research, but I am English (I can only apologise) so if you spot a mistake I’ve made in terms of the history please let me know!

WC: 4.4k

I was not going to write for Remmick, but then I read the phenomenal work of @ay0nha and @spikedfearn and was so inspired, so go and read their far superior stories! Here's my attempt.

America will be cruel to you.

That was what you had been told before boarding the ship bound for the New World, dragged, kicking and screaming, by your parents.

You had sneered at those who had warned you with those words. A place was not cruel, only people.

London, your home, held no malice within it; it did not consume with a slavering maw. Yes, the Thames was filled with blood and filth, polluted with the sorrows of the doomed and drowned, but the current had no say over what it carried. It was burdened by the evil acts of men.

That was why your mother and father had wanted to leave: other people. Not because of the earth beneath your feet or the smog-thick air.

That was why you had not listened to the warnings. You would not be wary of America, only the people that you found within it.

New World. That was another lie.

An ancient tree found in the middle of the forest was not new because you had not seen it before. Its roots that were embedded deep within the earth, had likely felt you coming. You were small and insignificant in its shadow. It should be revered. Respected.

But men would see something beautiful and take an axe to it, burn it for warmth and then turn their noses up at the piles of ash left behind. Then they would demand someone else clean it up.

America was not new and it had not been ‘discovered.’ It had been invaded. Stolen.

That was why, when you had found yourself settled in Clarksdale, Mississippi, you had set about asking its true name; the name it had always been known as to its native people.

But no one could or would tell you. No one cared, or thought to care.

A year after you arrived, your mother was taken by sickness, a consuming kind of ailment that left her with barely the skin in her bones by the end.

Then, your father went. Everyone else said that was from the drink, but you knew it was a broken heart: your mother was gone and he was homesick, not for London, but his true home, the place of his birth. He had died yearning for and dreaming of a free Ireland.

It was only when both of them were long-since buried and you were utterly alone, that you finally learnt the origins of the name of the county, Coahoma.

It was derived from the Choctaw word, ‘Co-i-humma’ which meant red panther. According to the old man who had told you, the upper Delta was ‘infested’ with them.

You hated the word infested when he used it, mostly because you had heard it said with the same derision by people speaking of the Choctaw. As with the panthers, it was their home. You couldn’t infest what belonged to you.

You hadn’t wanted to come to America, but how could you leave? And where would you go? Like you father, London had been where you had lived, but it had never felt like home.

But Ireland…you felt you had no claim or connection without your father. You were half English, but that could not be heard in your accent; a reminder of tyranny. You would likely not be welcome.

Nowhere was safe, so you simply stayed put. You stayed trapped in Mississippi.

Your antipathy for your existence was what drove you to the local bar most nights and if you could, you would get up and sing, or recite a poem.

Irish lyrics that told of the joys and despairs of the Irish people and yet all of the words were English.

Irish Gaelic had been cut from your ancestors mouths, which had left your father mute when it came to what should have been his native tongue. And you were too.

Most of the time, your peformances were met with bemusement. Occasionally the locals would cheer or clap, but it never felt right. They didn’t understand; it only ever felt like they were humouring you.

It was why you had stormed out of the bar at closing time in a foul mood.

With the low-light of evening ceding its rights on the landscape, the warm hues vanished from the street as you walked down it. Nothing gold-edged anymore, just shadow-bound.

Also bound to you was a stumbling lecher, who seemed to feel that your reluctant conversation with him in the bar had been an invitation to walk you home.

Benny dragged his feet, kicking up dust that clung to your moisture-slick skin. The sun had departed,but its heat remained and that felt like a dirty-trick to you.

You had never adjusted to the climate and whenever you were in the grip of the sweltering heat, it left you feeling as though you were teetering on the brink of madness.

But something in the air that night had sympathy for you and it thrummed with its own insanity.

Your skin prickled when Benny drew up to your side and your fingers twitched, aching to lash out and slash at his skin.

‘Come on, baby.’ he drawled, hot, disgusting breath on the side of your face as he leaned in. ‘You sang so pretty, but giving me a smile would make you beautiful.’

You kept your eyes forward, grimacing at the stench of him. He had been festering in the back corner of the bar when you arrived, so God only knew how long he’d been there. All day, probably. He was hot and foetid, like something left to ferment.

You had almost reached your home, so you wanted to shake him off. You couldn't be sure that he wouldn’t force his way inside once you unlocked the door.

‘I have a way you can make me smile.’ You said, your voice sickly sweet.

‘Tell me. Anythin’ for you honey.’

It was a struggle not to gag as Benny flung his arm around your shoulder, fingers digging in like you were a peach he was prodding to feel its ripeness.

When you turned your head to glare at him, his nose almost brushed yours. You smirked nastily. ‘I will grin from ear to ear if you stop following me home like a stray dog.’

His smug expression disappeared from his face with a violence, almost as if you had reached out and torn it right off. It gave you a sadistic rush of satisfaction, heart beating a little quicker beneath your flushed skin.

Before he could open his mouth again, you shrugged off Benny's hold and kept walking, picking up your pace.

You had just reached the wooden steps of your front porch when you heard footsteps scrambling to close the distance. You underestimated how fast he could move in his intoxicated state and didn’t turn around before Benny’s hand clamped down on the nape of your neck, fingers twisting into your hair.

‘Now why did you have to go and be so nasty?’ He hissed in your ear, ‘you should be grateful for the attention. Everyone else thinks you're strange. Lonely little girl with her strange songs, parents dead and rotting–’

Benny broke off into a cry when you lifted your elbow up with violent force and slammed it into his stomach. You were released from his hold as he stumbled back, doubled over and gasping. He looked up at your with the promise of retribution in his watering eyes.

‘You whore-’

What happened next unfolded too quickly for your eyes to keep up with. One moment Benny was spitting venom at you, prepared to strike, and the next he was down in the dirt.

There was a man who had appeared like an apparition, pale and lined in spectral moonlight, the edges of him silver and shining. He had his boot pressed against Benny’s neck, who was on his back and scratching madly at his attacker's leg.

‘That is no way to treat a lady.’ The man glowered down at Benny and pressed his boot down even harder. A strangled gurgle came from his captive’s throat. ‘You should apologise.’

You watched with an unmitigated, dangerous thrill when the man's boot lifted off Benny’s neck and he sputtered out a barely coherent apology.

The man who had appeared from nowhere turned to you with a charming grin and a feral glint in his eyes.

‘Miss, did you find that apology sincere? Because in my humble opinion it was severely lackin’.’

On the ground, Benny had raised himself onto his hands and knees, his panicked breaths no doubt had him inhaling yet more dust and dirt. His face was as red as a tomato and seemingly fit to burst like one under the strain.

But some malicious instinct that was foreign to you rose up and took hold of your tongue.

‘No.’ With a smile growing on your face your eyes moved back to the mystery man who was considering you with searing intensity. ‘I don’t think it was good enough.’

The words had barely left your mouth before the man grabbed Benny by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to his feet, the tips of his boots dragging in the dirt. He held him up before you like a scolded puppy.

‘Apologise.’ The man shook his prey in his grip and if you weren’t so perversely entranced by the display, you would have questioned the inhuman strength he seemed to possess.

‘I’m sorry!’ Benny shouted, fear flashing in the whites of his eyes, ‘I’m really sorry! I-I was rude and crass-’

‘And you shouldn’t have laid your filthy fuckin hands on her.’ The man snarled. ‘Go on now, repeat it.’

‘I-I shouldn’t have laid my filthy f-fuckin hands on you!’ Benny was so distressed, he sounded as though he was being choked. A dark patch spread on the crotch of his pants, liquid running down his legs.

‘Really? You're gonna piss yourself now?!’ The man exclaimed derisively. He wasted no more time and tossed Benny away, throwing him as though he weighed no more than a pebble.

You laughed in crazed disbelief, both at the ease the man had thrown Benny and how he then scrambled away, whimpering and mewling.

Your gaze moved over to the man and found him glaring at the fleeing drunk. His lip was curled, his teeth far too pointed to be natu–

‘I’m terribly sorry, I’m afraid I may have gotten a little carried away,’ the man said, sounding far from apologetic as he met your eye.

You had been in the middle of a thought, but his attention had dispelled it.

He was so very handsome, with unruly brown hair that fell just above his eyes which in the darkness seemed to be blue shot through with green, or perhaps the other way around. It was the colour of the roiling ocean. He wore a striped shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing a smooth expanse of chest. Suspenders held up his pants and rested on his broad shoulders.

When he stepped closer to you, he moved with such intention that it was as though he’d long-since charted a course to you. His closing of the distance felt inevitable.

It was the very reason you felt so instantaneously drawn to him that you knew to be wary. When you retreated a step, your heels hitting the edge of your porch, he smiled knowingly and held up his hands.

‘Ma’am, I know my behaviour may suggest otherwise, but I promise you that I come in peace.’

‘Where did you come from?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

You and Benny had been walking the street alone and it was quiet enough that you should have heard any approaching footsteps, especially at the speed at which this man had appeared.

‘If you speak of my physical body, then I came from right here. But if you speak in terms of belongin’ to a place…well, that has a long, painful answer that not even this dark night can outlast.’

Your brow furrowed at the strange winding nature of his words. ‘Were you following us?’

The man hummed impishly. ‘I was followin’ you.’

Your heart faltered in your chest and struggled to regain its rhythm. You knew then that you had not escaped an attack, not really, because this man, whoever he was, was the true assault. An assault on your senses and upon your will.

‘Why?’ You asked tersely, grateful your anxiety could not be heard in your voice.

The man placed a hand on his heart, signalling his supposed sincerity. ‘I just could not bear letting you go without telling you how beautiful I found your singing.’

Caution was supplanted by hostile suspicion as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

‘You weren’t in the bar.’ You said.

It was a small, packed place and you knew you would have remembered seeing a man like him.

‘My name is Remmick.’

While his smooth, sultry voice worked to lull you into submission, you would not let him get away with refusing to answer you.

‘You weren’t in the bar.’ You repeated sternly.

Remmick tilted his head tauntingly. His smile grew. ‘Well, maybe I dreamt of you then and that’s where I heard it.’ He stepped closer, so close the two of you were almost toe-to-toe. ‘Maybe I’m still dreamin’. Yeah, that's the only way to explain it.’

‘Explain what?’

He leant down, eyes set upon yours. There was a flash of something, a firefly against the darkness of his irises, a red glow. So very red. But then you blinked and it was gone.

‘Well, why was an English lass reciting ‘The Wind that Shakes the Barley’?’

Those words snared you, wire tightening around your throat. His voice had changed, no longer a Southern drawl, but an Irish lilt. And his tone had become abrasive, harsh enough to draw blood. There was anger in his eyes.

But, defiance bloomed within you, fed on soil rich with the anger of the last few years of your life. Rebellion unfurled.

‘Why is an Irish boy pretending to be southern?’ You countered heatedly.

His lips pulled back in a sneer, revealing sharp, slightly crooked teeth. ‘Boy, is it? Oh, no darlin’, I’m no boy. I was born beneath an Irish sun that still shone on land that your people hadn’t yet stolen.’

‘Those are the words of a madman.’ You answered, breathing growing ragged at his proximity.

The Empire had first invaded Ireland hundreds and hundreds of years ago.

‘Oh, yes, mad is what I am. Mad with grief.’ You gasped when his hand shot out and grabbed your chin. He moved in closer, lips brushing your cheek until he pressed them to the shell of your ear. ‘And what is a lunatic to do, when he hears a song of Irish rebellion fall from English lips? Full, pretty lips, aye, but English all the same? All your lot know how to do is steal, isn’t that right?’

‘I didn’t steal it,’ you say, finding strength in indignation, ‘my father taught me the poem. He said I should know it, seeing as I was descended from the fighters.’

Your ancestors fought and died in the Rebellion in County Wexford in seventeen ninety-eight, when Irish rebels revolted against oppressive British rule. They were violently struck down, countless ending up in mass graves, barley oats in their pockets that then grew up out of the earth. The poem, named after the rebellion, was written sixty-three years later by the poet Robert Dwyer Joyce.

The poem was one of the first things you remember your father teaching you. He had been born in Ballymurn, not far from Wexford. Hundreds of years had passed and his family hadn’t moved far from the sight of that rebellion.

Remmick's grip tightened for a second, nails digging in as a warning, but then he let go. He pulled back just enough to peer down at you, the sweat-slick front of your dress brushing his shirt.

‘Oh, an Irish girl?’ He taunted. He was evidently still riled, but there was a sort of excitement shimmering in his eyes. ‘An Irish girl with an English accent, singing of rebellion in a bar in Mississippi.’

You narrowed your eyes at the challenge in his voice. He didn’t believe you. Or at least, he didn’t want to.

‘Afraid to get your hopes up?’ You goaded.

‘What exactly would I be hoping for?’

You smile teasingly. ‘A mad Irish boy, who claims to be hundreds of years old, approaches me with anger when truly he is just sad. Sad and alone. You are seeking something, aren’t you? Some piece of home?’

He chuckled, but it was brittle. When he reached out his other hand and took your flushed cheeks into his hold, thumbs brushing the line of your jaw, you found yourself not trying to flee, but fighting the instinct to lean in.

‘Is that what you are to be, love?’ He whispered. ‘Are you to be my piece of home?’

‘You miss it,’ you said, voice hoarse with pain that was not yours, but what you felt from him.

His eyes ran over the curves of your face, mapping them as if he’d find a glimpse of Ireland there.

‘I miss it,’ he affirmed darkly, fingers pressing in, ‘but what I miss I can never return to. I miss living without a foreigner’s God in my mind, without my tongue mutilated to speak the language of the invader. Both mind and body torn apart. I am eternally bloody and bleeding.’

When his voice cracked, you found yourself reaching up, your hands curling around his wrists, not to pull him off you but to keep him there.

Unbidden, the poem poured out of you as it had in the bar, only this time it was without music and your only audience member was him:

‘I sat within a valley green,

I sat there with my true love,

My sad heart strove the two between,

The old love and the new love, -

The old for her, the new that made

Me think of Ireland dearly, –’

You were cut off when Remmick swayed forward, almost as if in a trance. He bent down and dipped his head low, his hot breath fanning against your neck. When your recitation stopped, he let out a disgruntled huff, almost animalistic. When his next words came you felt the shape of them on your neck where he pressed his lips.

‘Don’t stop.’ He murmured, teeth scraping your flesh.

You swallowed down your trepidation and kept speaking. As you did, his lips stayed pressed on your neck as if he was using them to feel your pulse:

‘While soft the wind blew down the glade

And shook the golden barely

‘Twas hard the woeful words to frame

To break the ties that bound us

‘Twas harder still to bear the shame

Of foreign chains around us

And so i said “The mountain glen

I’ll seek next morning early

And join the brave United Men!” -’

When you stopped, he planted a proper kiss on your neck. Then his tongue met your flesh and he dragged it up teasingly, gathering drops of sweat until he reached that tender spot just below your ear. It was tantalising in its promise, but already a mere promise was not enough.

As if he tasted your impatience on your flesh, Remmick chuckled, the noise vibrating right down into the core of you.

‘Eager little thing.’ He whispered into you ear, nipping at the lobe.

Growing burdened by the heat rising in you, you moved your hands to mirror his on your face and cupped his cheeks. You repaid him in kind by digging your fingers into his skin. That seemed to please him no end and he groaned wantonly, pulling you so closer to him.

‘Remmick,’ you began, ignoring your better sense that was screaming at you to shut your mouth, ‘do you want to come i-’

Before you could finish your request, he pressed a finger to your lips and shushed you, gently, but urgently.

There was unbridled desire in Remmick's eyes, you could practically feel him shake with it. And yet, his expression pinched as he fought against himself.

‘No- no darlin’ you don’t want to do that yet.’ He spoke the last word as if it was a prophecy: you would let him in, but he did not want it to be now.

‘Why don’t I, Remmick?’

You knew why.

Even after only a few minutes spent in his company, you knew there were ample reasons for you to be much more afraid of him than you had been of Benny, and yet you wanted his reasoning. Remmick intrigued you when instinct said you should be horrified.

Remmick pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth and pulled away, but only by a hair's-breadth, to answer you.

‘Because when you invite me in, you will do so knowing all the ways you will be consumed. I will have you in your bed, I will know every inch of your flesh, but when we are truly joined, I will know all you feel and see all that you have seen.’

It shouldn’t have made sense and yet the words brought you clarity. Perhaps not clarity of his meaning, but of yourself. You knew, in that moment, that you would end up letting him subsume you.

Remmick was shattered, but you would let him embed the broken pieces of himself within you if it meant you were no longer alone. You would bleed to escape the despair of solitude.

‘Why wait?’ You asked, grabbing his shirt and twisting the fabric so hard that another of his buttons came undone. ‘Tell me the truth of it now and you will have me now.’

Remmick took your mouth in a bruising kiss and it was soon followed by a sharp pain when he bit down, hard, on your bottom lip. You barely tasted the metallic of your blood before his tongue came and gathered it up, licking you clean. He groaned into your mouth as his hands landed on your hips, coasting down to squeeze your backside.

‘You still don’t understand, do you?' He said, 'My lust isn’t for your body alone. Once I have fucked you, I will not slip out into the night. I will live in the darkness of you and you in mine.’

‘You sound like a madman. Again.’

‘I told you already, I am mad.’

Then, with jarring speed, Remmick pulled away and shoved you back. It sent you sprawling painfully onto the steps of your porch. Spine hitting hard-edged wood.

Equally disorientated and outraged, you looked up at him, prepared to hurl more than a few nasty words, but they all died in your throat.

Remmick's eyes were alight with red, the burning end of a cigarette in the dark. His teeth had changed too, as sharp as dagger. And then there were his hands…instead of nails he had claws.

‘This is what becomes of a boy from Ireland when his soul gets trapped, darlin’, he said darkly, ‘My soul is shaped by the hand of oppressor’s and I cannot be rid of it, even in death. I will never go home and I can never be home, not even in my own mind. I was drawn to your sweet song, the poetry of pain and resistance. Now, you must decide if you want to resist the pain of me.’

‘Would it change anything? If I chose to resist now?’

‘No. But it will be oh so delicious to watch you try. Do that for me, won’t you? It’ll make it so much sweeter when you finally give in.’

‘What are you?’

‘I am exactly what you said. I’m lonely.’ He began to step backward and his eyes did not leave yours. ‘Lock your doors, sweet girl, there’s all sorts of evil that might try to get in. And unlike me, it won’t ask nicely.’

As he was absorbed into the shadows and became one with the darkness, his voice remained reciting another part of ‘The Wind that Shakes the Barley’:

‘While soft winds shook the barley,

While sad I kissed away her tears,

My fond arms ‘round her flinging,

The foeman’s shot burst on our ears,

From out the wildwood ringing, –

A bullet pierced my true loves side,

In life’s young spring so early,

And on my breast in blood she died

While soft winds shook the barley!’

You did not sleep that night. Not true sleep, anyway. Remmick stalked your dreams, remaining in shadow even in your subconscious mind.

You awoke aching. You ached with the desire for him to return. You ached with pain, the same sort of pain when your bones grew as a child: uncomfortable, inevitable and signalling a great change to come.

You did not trust Remmick and knew to fear what he was. Maybe you even resented him. Yet you did want him to return to you.

Maybe you would welcome him in, or maybe you would leave him scratching at the door.

You had a bone-deep knowledge that he would seduce you eventually, but even the illusion of that choice made you feel more alive than you had been in years.

You didn't know it yet, but the man who brought death had reminded you that your heart still beat. He would also be the one to stop it.

But when?

And what would come after life?

Thank you for reading! Comments are so very welcome, author's thrive on feedback!

Part II - Fall On Me Like Night

#remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick sinners #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #jack o'connell #sinners #sinners fanfiction #remmick fanfic

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communistkenobi · 4 months ago

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you know when I first read Cesaire’s line about how Hitler resides in the heart of every European I was broadly on board with that, like it’s a polemical generalisation but I can definitely get behind it. like any honest Marxist I love me some historical generalisations. and so at first I took it as a very cutting metaphor to describe the general political disposition that comes from living in the colonial centre of the earth. And then you read European history - does not especially matter the country, group, or time period - and realise he is making an empirical claim, there is no hyperbole involved, he is just straight up factually correct

#book club

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mide404 · 11 months ago

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Greetings everyone,

Please save what's left of my family

In a tent that does not exceed (3×3 meters), my torn family lives a life filled with misery and suffering after being displaced by the war. The tent, which my brother built from a pile of scrap, has become their home after their simple house was demolished. When you look at it, you see colonies of sadness that have taken over that enclosed space, a place heavy with grief and turbulent pain. A life torn between a reality full of distress and sad scenes, spoken by the worn-out fabrics of that tent in the book of (Pain and Suffering).

When you look at my brother, my mother, and my sisters, you feel as if all the calamities of the world have fallen upon them as they struggle in vain to adapt to living after the extinguishment of my father’s spirit, their beacon of strength.

The harsh circumstances of life overwhelmed my family after the innocent souls of my brother's daughter and my sister's daughter were claimed by the merciless grip of conflict. What followed was displacement, hardship, and despair. Their world darkened when they found themselves homeless, suffering from exhaustion at times and from distress at others. They endure the harshness of life, living under the scorching sun with nothing to protect them but a pile of scrap.

This is what my family is enduring in the tent—a harsh and unparalleled tragic situation. Sadness engulfs their bodies, smiles have turned into tears, joy into disaster, and peace into panic. It feels as if the earth has narrowed around them as they have lost the ability to live in safety and peace and to provide the best living conditions for themselves.

@punkitt-is-here @sar-soor @pcktknife @blackpearlblast @ibtisams @90-ghost @flor4zul @opencommunion @nabulsi

I, Mahmoud Saleh, plead with you to look upon my torn and displaced family with compassion and give them the opportunity to continue their lives in peace. I stand before these compassionate hearts with all hope to help what remains of my family and provide them with a better living condition so they can enjoy safety and peace.

Please donate if you can and share our story widely as you're able to🙏🙏

#palestine #save 🍉#all eyes on rafah #🍉

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sexhaver · 2 years ago

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the thing about the Zionist accusations of Palestinian baby-beheadings and wartime rapes is that even if they were true (which they aren't), there is no ethically consistent way to denounce Hamas for those actions while still supporting Israel. if you accept the axiom that "any group that kills children/civilians or rapes women from a specific demographic is irredeemably barbaric and so is the cause they're fighting for and everyone in the same demographic as them and anyone who supports them", you would have stopped supporting Israel as soon as you learned how to use Google, because they have been killing and raping Palestinians for decades. you cannot claim to be taking a principled stand against rape and civilian killings by supporting the settler colony that proudly wields both of those things as tools in their ongoing genocide against the people you are mad at. Israel loves killing civilians as an act of ethnic cleansing so much that they sent weapons to Azerbaijan LAST MONTH to help them do exactly that in Nagorno-Karabakh. Israel is the schoolyard bully who never gets in trouble because they're the principal's kid but any of their victims who hit back with a fraction of the force are instantly expelled, except instead of giving out swirlies and purple nurples they're running the largest concentration camp on earth and violating human rights like it's going out of style

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nonbinarynow · 1 month ago

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Do you ever notice how the majority of nonbinary characters are just straight up not human beings? The majority of our non-binary rep is inhuman, which shows how binary society still views us as a literal societal impossibility despite us being here, real people, on earth with them.

I feel like this feeds into the whole thing of enben being seen as like "eldritch horrors" or "other worldly." Even though it might be claimed to be only in jest, it still displays how we are implicitly seen as a human impossibility because of the pervasiveness of the gender binary in society. It's taught to us as "natural" and how "humans have always functioned" despite our modern bourgeois, patriarchal, white-supremacist gender binary originating as a tool of colonialism. That was very recent in anthropological history. (Also note how capitalism is intertwined with binary supremacy here.)

When you delve into this it's wild. It starts surface level but it reveals the core exorsexism and classism of the capitalist society for one, but how it permeates into jokes ("I can identify as an attack helicopter!" "Nonbinary people are little frogs/eldritch beings!"), representation (most nonbinary representation is of inhuman characters) and our legal status (inexistent, which means no civil rights or legal protection of any kind.)

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xenodelic · 10 days ago

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Why We Left the Alterhuman Community

Hello, again. Some of you may have noticed our inactivity on this account. There is reason for this beyond our own personal life making us busy.

The main reason for our inactivity is that we no longer consider ourselves part of the alterhuman community. We are still nonhuman, but we can no longer involve ourselves in the alterhuman, otherkin, therian, or adjacent communities because of rampant racism, colonialism, ableism, and human-centrism.

Particularly in terms of the hatred and exclusion of physical nonhumans and those whose nonhumanity is intertwined with indigenous and/or traditional cultural practices.

The alterhuman community promotes and enforces western colonialist hegemonic ideology of the self, the individual, and social reality. It centers humans as the primary and only true intelligence of the Earth, it enforces strict, socially constructed definitions of human vs nonhuman, it erases traditional cultural practices and spirituality - especially that of indigenous cultures - and it enforces institutional ableism and sanism against those who experience different realities.

Much of the community, especially the "big name" popular accounts, are aggressively opposed to any claim of physical nonhumanity beyond a strictly philosophical approach ("I am nonhuman, this is my body, therefore my body is nonhuman"). And if someone does claim to be physically nonhuman, they are required to admit that it is only within the confines of a personal subjective reality, and concede that their personal reality is lesser than the supposed "objective reality" - in which all of us are demonstrably physically human and can only think we're nonhuman.

One is essentially required to admit that their experiences are not actually real and that they are solely constructs of the mind. You're required to either identify as a delusional individual of some kind, or state that it's only a philosophical viewpoint.

And even when one does state that they are experiencing nonhumanity through the lens of delusion or mental illness, they are still excluded from the community by means of constant reality checking and enforcement of hegemonic reality.

The concept of physically shifting to something nonhuman is possibly the most viciously attacked experience. They completely ignore the fact that physical shifting to other forms is extremely prevelant within indigenous and non-western cultures, and that the erasure of such beliefs and practices is a direct result of colonialist enforcement of hegemonic norms.

The promotion of hegemonic "objective reality" as the be-all-end-all of what is true, possible, and acceptable has led to the complete exclusion of people who cannot make their experiences compatible with it. And if one cannot make their experiences compatible, they are often labeled as dangerous, manipulative, or accused of grooming young nonhumans into certain belief systems.

The irony being, that these social values are the result of centuries of propaganda, indoctrination, and genocide. The ideology of what is and isn't human, especially regarding physical traits, is one of the core pillars of institutional racism. Wherin people of color as defined by their phenotypal traits as being subhuman, and those who actually identify as nonhuman in some manner have their autonomy removed and also treated as subhuman. Subhuman doesnt mean "nonhuman", but rather less than human.

When people encorce this ideology, they are actively contributing to the subhumanization of many groups, human and otherwise. We can no longer stand by this. As much as we have enjoyed participating and having discussions over the years, we've realized that unfortunately these ideologies have an absolute strangehold over the community. We've tried time and time again to break through it, but we've been shot down repeatedly and people just won't listen, despite our position of relative privilege and respect within the community.

We will be continuing to interact with other nonhumans and people with alternative experiences online. We won't publicly reveal our new account here but it should not be difficult to find us. We are far less active online in general, but when we are we will be discussing our genuine experiences without the limitations of these restrictive social norms.

If you wish to continue interacting with us, feel free to DM and we will give you some form of contact.

Thank you, and we wish best of luck to those in the community who will continue trying to break down these harmful ideologies.

#alterhuman #otherkin #therian #therianthropy #we are generally in support of the following communities #Tagging them for advocacy purposes #holothere #physically nonhuman #Clcz #clinical lycanthropy #clinical zoanthropy

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justwinginglife · 15 days ago

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Royal Pains

You had thought that the title was a joke at first.

Recently you’d received a letter in the mail congratulating you on becoming the new duchess of a small island colony in the south, but you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Sylus was always pulling ridiculous stunts, paying whatever copious amount of money would allow him to name the new planet that had been discovered after you, or to have your name painted across his newly purchased yacht, or to buy the hotel you were staying the night in and have it renamed so that your name was perched atop it in big, glowing letters.

So when you received the news regarding his newest acquisition, you simply thought to yourself, “There he goes again, buying more things in my name,” and smiled to yourself, before depositing the papers atop the rest of your legal documents, claiming you the owner of this and that, thinking nothing more of it.

It wasn’t until Sylus proposed a trip to go see the island that you realized how mistaken you were.

“My lady.” He held out a hand to help you out of the jet.

Thinking him humorous, you decided to play along, taking his hand with all seriousness. “Ah, yes, my lord. How very kind of you to assist me.” And when your feet had properly landed on firm ground, you even gave him a curtsy to finish off your performance.

He gave a light laugh before continuing with the charade. “Excellent form, Your Grace.”

You raised your chin to him, straightening as best as you could. “Why, of course. As you know, I was raised from birth to be this land’s Duchess and as such, I have always been held to high standards, so I expect my form to be nothing less than pure perfection.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “I see Your Ladyship is also quite humble.”

You rolled your eyes, shoulders slouching again as you broke character. “Alright, alright- I’m done with the whole prim and proper thing now. C’mon, I want you to show me around!” Your eyes glimmered with excitement. “Isn’t that the reason we’re here?”

He smiled warmly, eyes gazing fondly at your enthusiastic expression. “Yes, love. I wanted to show you all the sights this island has to offer.”

Taking you by the hand, he led you through the forests and meadows, over bridges and through tunnels, until you’d been over every hill, admired every flower, and pet every creature you laid eyes on. Every inch of this island was covered in life, covered in light, and every inch of it was yours. And for no reason in particular. Just because you had someone who loved spoiling you as much as he loved you.

Eventually, the two of you made your way into town.

You were so focused on oohing and ahhing all the quaint houses and little gardens, that you almost didn’t notice every villager staring at you. Almost. And it wasn’t until you dragged Sylus to a nearby stall to purchase some sweets from the local baker that you understood why they were all watching you so intently.

“You’re the new lady of the land, aren’t you?” He asked as he bagged up your treats.

You blinked at him, gears rotating in your mind, as you tried to figure out what on earth he could possibly mean. Then it hit you. The Duchess thing. That was probably what they called whoever had ownership over the land. Made sense. It was an old fashioned town. Titles like that were still being used around here. “Well, technically, my fiancee here is the one who bought the land, so I guess that would make him the… ‘lord of the land,’ I guess? But yes, we are the new owners, and we are very happy to be here.”

You could tell Sylus was biting back a laugh but you just chalked it up to him being thoroughly entertained by the whole situation.

“Your fiance?” The baker gave Sylus a lookover. “I didn’t hear anything about there being a new Duke, just a new Duchess.”

“That’s because there isn’t a Duke.” Sylus confirmed.

“Or Duchess, really.” You added on.

The baker’s brows furrowed as he turned back to face you. “But you’re the new owner, aren’t you? So you’re the new Duchess.”

You could tell he wasn’t going to let this matter go and you really just wanted to disappear over some hilltop with Sylus and enjoy your snacks together in peace, so you decided to give in. “I- yes, yeah. That’s me. I’m the new Duchess. Caught me. Nice to meet you.”

Upon hearing your admission, more villagers started to crowd around you, to ask when you intended to move in, to ask your thoughts on how they could run the town better, to ask if you’d attend their baby’s christening or their daughter’s wedding or the unveiling of the new building in town. All things you did not have the answer to and did not know why you were being asked in the first place.

After answering as best you could, as politely as you could, you gave a proper little wave (a wave you thought -or simply hoped- was befitting of a Duchess) before snatching Sylus’ hand and scurrying off with him. As much as you liked the idea of playing nobility, you were getting tired of having to keep up the charade. Especially with random people you didn’t know. And on your vacation. You honestly just wanted some alone time with your fiance and it seemed like you weren’t going to get it if you stayed in town any longer.

“My, my. It appears the new Duchess is shy.” Sylus teased.

You pouted. “Syyyy. Enough with the Duchess stuff. We both know I’m not royalty.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you so sure about that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Sy, I think I would know if I were secretly a Duchess my whole life.”

“Not your whole life. Just recently.”

You laughed. “What do you mean just recently? I think I would have remembered someone dubbing me ‘Lady of the Land.’” Then you stopped in your tracks. “Sy…you didn’t.”

Sylus didn’t even bother to hide how pleased he was. “I didn’t what?”

Those eyes. That damn smile. He absolutely did what you thought you did. Suddenly, you began to quickly rummage through your purse. Where had you put it? Where was that damn letter? Finally your fingers caught the edge of an envelope and you yanked it out hastily. Skimming over the words again, your jaw dropped as your eyes landed on the information you were looking for.

He snickered into his hand.

“Sylus! You BOUGHT me a title as a FREAKIN DUCHESS???”

“Guilty as charge, milady.” He gave a pronounced bow.

You flicked him in the forehead once he’d bent low enough. “And WHY did you buy me a title??”

He shrugged like it was only natural. “I thought I might as well since I was already buying the land.”

“And WHY did you buy me the land??”

Another shrug. “I thought I might as well since I was already buying the castle.”

“And WHY did you- wait. What castle?” You’d explored every inch of this island; you think you would’ve remembered seeing a castle in the distance.

“That castle.” He turned you around, and there, hidden at the edge of the forest, was the castle of your dreams.

You stumbled towards it in a daze.

It was just like walking into a fairytale. There was a large courtyard with a decorative fountain in the center, ornate details carved into its stone. Hedges lined the entrance, making it feel like your own private paradise. A grand staircase lead up to an even grander set of double doors, and past those doors, there were towers to climb, rooms to admire, foyers to gape at, and even more proof of Sylus’ love with every awestruck step you took.

“You…you didn’t have to do all of this. Why…why did you buy me a castle?” You murmured under your breath, eyes still glazed over, as though you were still wading through a dreamscape.

“You said you wanted to get married in a castle, didn’t you?” He mused.

You blinked.

You had said that. Once. When you had first started dating. Oh. Oh, this man. If he wasn’t careful, you’d just marry him right here and now, with no one to witness your union but the sun streaming in through the windows and the birds flying by.

“Do you like it?” He asked softly.

“Like it?” You let out a laugh. “I love it, baby. I love you.”

“Oh, good, so you’re not still mad about the Duchess thing.” He teased. “Because you do still have to go to Moira’s baby’s christening and Sheila’s daughter’s wedding and-”

“Oh, no, no, no. If I’m the Duchess, then by default, you’re the Duke. I’m not ‘Ladying’ over this land without my lord. You got me into this mess, now it’s your mess too.”

“It’s a shame, I only bought one title. It’s not enough for the two of us.” He grinned.

“Then, I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got money too, now isn’t it? Better straighten your crown, pretty boy. You’re stuck with me for life.”

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @tbaluver

#han's library #sylus lads #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #lads #lnds #love and deepspace #love and deep space #l&ds #lds #lds sylus

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forbidden-sorcery · 4 months ago

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The devastation of nuclear colonialism, which permanently destroys Indigenous communities throughout the world, is outright ignored by some of the most devout climate justice advocates. They claim nuclear energy production is also a green solution to the climate crisis. More than 15,000 abandoned uranium mines are located within the so-called US, mostly in and around Indigenous communities, permanently poisoning sacred lands and waters with little to no action being taken to clean up their deadly toxic legacy. There are currently ninety-three operating nuclear reactors in the so-called US that supply 20% of the country’s electricity. There are 60,000 tons of highly radioactive spent nuclear waste stored in concrete dams at nuclear power plants throughout the country with the waste increasing at a rate of 2,000 tons per year. In 1987 the “US” Congress initiated a controversial project to transport and store almost all of the US’s toxic waste at Yucca Mountain located about 100 miles northwest of so-called Las Vegas, Nevada. Yucca Mountain has been held holy to the Paiute and Western Shoshone Nations since time immemorial. In January 2010 the Obama administration approved a $54 billion taxpayer loan in a guarantee program for new nuclear reactor construction, three times what Bush previously promised in 2005. In April 2022, the Biden administration announced a $6 billion government bailout to “rescue” nuclear power plants at risk of closing. A colonial government representative stated, “US nuclear power plants contribute more than half of our carbon-free electricity, and President Biden is committed to keeping these plants active to reach our clean energy goals.” They, along with Climate Justice activists cite nuclear energy as necessary to combat global warming, all while ignoring the devastating permanent impacts Indigenous Peoples have faced. There is nothing clean about energy produced from nuclear colonialism. From its weapons (including depleted uranium) to its mining and its waste; Indigenous bodies, lands, and waters continue to be sacrificed to heat water with radioactive materials which creates steam that moves generators to charge batteries made from lithium extracted from other Indigenous sacred lands so Teslas can move you forward into a “just” climate future. A green economy sustains and advances colonial progress, which means mitigated selective and ongoing destruction of Mother Earth.

Klee Benally - No Spiritual Surrender: Indigenous Anarchy In Defense of the Sacred

#Klee Benally #indigenous anarchy #anticiv

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needlepine · 4 months ago

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Surprise set of on-base charity adopts to support the wildfire aid efforts in the LA area (base by SunglowCrafts)

I've lived in SoCal my entire life. It breaks my heart to see how many people have been displaced by the LA fires. I need to do my part to help our community, so I made this set of adopts all based on California and our flora/fauna

These designs are PWYW with a $15 minimum, first-come, first-served. In lieu of paying me, I'll ask that you donate to one of these vetted campaigns from displaced families and send me a screenshot as proof. If you donate $30 or more, I'll throw in an extra headshot of the adopt

DM to claim and please read my rules here before adopting! List of claimed/unclaimed adopts under the cut (go to the original post to see up-to-date status)

1. Chollatail: CLOSED

Based on cholla cacti, some of which "jump" off of their colonies and stick to you with the slightest brush against them

2. Coyotecall: CLOSED

Based on coyotes and their howling. Packs of coyotes can scream so loudly when they want to! And it's infectious. EVERYONE joins in

3. Brightsand: CLOSED

Based on SoCal chaparrals, which are hot scrublands with infrequent burns every several decades. Most of the SoCal coast is chaparral

4. Orangepeel: CLOSED

Based on citrus, which was historically CA's biggest export. Though production has declined, citrus groves are still a symbol of CA

5. Angeles: CLOSED

Based on the view of far-off city lights at night. Dark hills with houses twinkling between them will always look like home to me

6. Sequoiascout: CLOSED

Based on Sequoia/Kings Canyon Nat'l Parks. Giant redwoods are massive, and our General Sherman is the largest known tree on Earth!

#even if these all get claimed please pick a campaign and donate if you can!#any little bit will help #it's so inspiring and heartwarming to see ppl coming together and helping each other out here and i absolutely need to #leverage my platform and help out if i can as well #for all its faults socal is my home and i love my home #cat art #adoptables #adopts #cat adoptables #warriors #warrior cats #warriors oc #warrior cat oc

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system-to-the-madness · 3 months ago

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Perfect - Zuko x Reader

Pairing: Zuko x fem!Reader Word Count: 2 715 Warnings: mentions of kidnapping of children, child slavery, war Summary: After the war is over, Zuko shares his worries with you A/N: Can be read as a oneshot; Part Eleven (aka the Last Part) of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

Zuko's fingertips were grazing the surface of the pond's water, creating gentle ripples in their path. A turtle duck chick came paddling over, nudging his warm fingers with its cool beak. Pushing his hand underneath the hard shell, he fished the chick out of the water, which, used to the motion, relaxed its legs and patiently waited to be settled down in the folds of his dark red robe where his fingers absentmindedly stroked the top of its feathered head.

It had been two months since the war had ended, since Aang had defeated Zuko's father and Zuko been crowned as Fire Lord. And if he had thought he could relax a little after that, he had been completely wrong about it.

There were treaties he had to make with the other kingdoms. Under his command the colonies in the earth kingdom had started to be dissolved. And there was the matter of these re-education facilities for kidnapped earth kingdom children. Together with him you had freed your sister from one, but as Fire Lord he had learned of three more of these schools. A total of almost two thousand kidnapped kids. Some had been separated from their parents at such a young age for such a long time that there was no hope of finding their families. Some children had been already reunited with theirs, others were still searching. And if Zuko was being honest, it was a tragedy.

There were families that had been whipped out, no parents left, children who would forever keep looking for their mothers or fathers and never find them. There were parents, who's infants had been taken years ago, who now looked at the faces of a bunch of school children, trying to figure out if either of them was theirs. And in all cases, this was the most important to Zuko, it was necessary to always consider the child's happiness and wellbeing before anything else.

If there was a chance that the people claiming a child was theirs were in the wrong, there had to be thorough investigations. If people offered to adopt a child, their backgrounds had to be checked, leaving no stone unturned to figure out if there was any indication the child might suffer with their new parents. It was a hard affair. Emotional, and yet brutally rational.

It was hard carrying all this responsibility atop of his already overwhelming duties as Fire Lord, and even though a capable team was helping in the matter of the kidnapped children, he still felt like he was carrying all the weight himself. If it weren't for you, he probably wouldn't be able to catch a single wink of sleep at night.

He knew it was hard for you to be separated from your sister again, but Xiang had decided against moving into the palace with you and instead moved to Ba Sing Se with Uncle Iroh, who she seemed to have taken a liking to. Even knowing your sister was happier in Ba Sing Se than she would have been here, Zuko knew you missed her terribly.

As if the thought of you had summoned you, he heard the familiar pattern of your steps approach the pond along one of the gravel paths. Zuko lazily leant his head back, his hair falling into his neck as he watched you walk over to him, a soft smile on your face as you approached him. Your hair was bound in a style that seemed like a mixture of traditional Fire Nation Fashion and Earth Kingdom techniques. Your long dress played around your legs in the warm breeze of the sunny morning, and Zuko once again was hit by the realization and wonderment that this perfect person approaching him was the girl who let him love her. A smile tucked at his lips, but yours seemed to falter as you closed in.

“Am I interrupting something,” you asked, making him furrow his brows as you crouched down beside him.

“No,” he answered, although it sounded more like a question. “Why would you?”

“You look… stressed,” you observed, as you reached past him, to run your fingertips over the tiny head of the turtle duck in Zuko’s lap.

“I’m not!” He was aware himself how defensive he sounded, even before you raised your eyebrows at him. But you didn’t comment on it.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” It was a question asked without offence, one that really just asked what he wanted, and Zuko knew that if he told you he wanted to be alone, you would understand without being hurt about it. Still his answer was quicker than his own thoughts.

“No, please stay.”

You smiled at him softly and settled down in the grass beside him. The turtle duck quacked as if welcoming you.

For a while you sat in silence, Zuko occupying his hands with petting the small animal in his lap, while the only sounds around you were the soft gurgling of the brook that fed the pond and the birds singing from the roofs of the palace.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly apologized. “I know I’m terrible company right now. It’s just- there’s so much going on and-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you interrupted him. “I know you have a lot of things to take care of, to think through. It would be a lot even if you had been properly prepared for this position.”

“But I’ve been neglecting you and that’s inexcusable,” Zuko frowned, unable to meet your eyes.

He flinched at the soft touch of your fingers on his cheek as you turned his head to face you. His eyes wandered from your lap over your arm, past the scar he had inflicted on you, up the curve of your neck and the bow of your lips to your mesmerizing eyes. They were warm and compassionate as you asked: “How do you think you have been neglecting me?”

Zuko furrowed his brows and bit his lip, but under your gaze it was impossible to not answer honestly. “I haven’t spent much time with you recently, haven’t been talking to you as much as I should. I want to take better care of you, but in the evenings I’m so tired that I can’t even read to you or enjoy making music together. I feel like I’ve cast you aside and you must feel as if I only use you to find comfort.”

“Do I not bring you comfort,” you asked, running your hands from his cheek down his neck and settling it in his nape, playing with the strands there. The sensation sent a shiver down Zuko’s spine, and he closed his eyes while he hummed appreciatively.

“You do,” he confirmed, “But I don’t want you to think that’s the only reason I want to be with you. I love you,” the words slipped over his lips so easily that he didn’t even notice. “And I want to be able to make you feel loved but instead I’m either locked up in councils or behind a desk the whole day and when I’m not, I’m too lost in my mind, worrying over the responsibility I carry, to pay the due attention to you.”

Zuko’s eyes were still closed, so he startled at the sensation of your lips brushing against his, an innocent kiss, much more innocent than the ones you had begun exchanging recently behind locked doors. But it was more than enough to make his heart skip a beat and his breath hitch. His eyes flickered open to finding your face right in front of his. He occasionally had to remind himself that you were a capable fighter and an increasingly skilled fire bender, because the love in your gaze made it all too easy to forget how dangerous you could be.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, pecking his lips again under his observing gaze, before you gently guided him to lay down in your lap. The turtle duck chick in his own lap adjusted to the new position, cuddling into Zuko’s hand. “And I understand that it’s hard for you. There are so many duties all of a sudden. You took over a kingdom that has been at war for the past hundred years, and now you’re trying to bring peace, righting wrongs that were committed generations ago. Nobody would claim this to be an easy task, and I hope you know how proud and impressed I am at the work you are doing alongside everyone.” As you were talking Zuko closely watched your face, the honesty and love that didn’t just shimmer in your voice but also your eyes. “I know you must feel like you are prioritizing your work over us, but please know that I don’t feel neglected at all. I know you make time to have every meal together with me, even if it doesn’t fit your schedule as nicely as your advisors would like to. And maybe you don’t talk to me all the time. But you don’t have to. You are allowed to have your own private thoughts. Which isn’t to say I am not interested in hearing what’s going on in here,” you tapped his forehead gently. “But you don’t have to feel pressured into talking to me. Or listening to me, but I’ve never felt like you didn’t listen when I wanted you to. And you are allowed to just want to sit in silence, too, you know. It’s okay, we don’t have to spend our time together always talking. We can sit in silence, too. That’s okay.”

“But wouldn’t that been boring for you,” Zuko asked, his free hand absentmindedly reaching up to the hand print shaped scar he had unintentionally left on your left arm all those months ago. “I often feel like I don’t want to talk, but I want you around. But can’t ask you to just keep me company without any entertainment.”

“Do you really think I’d only enjoy spending time with you if you entertain or reward me,” you wondered quietly, sounding almost hurt.

Zuko’s fingers brushed over the well healed, slightly raised tissue of the scar, not meeting your gaze and not answering.

“Has it ever occurred to you, that I enjoy spending time with you just because I get to be with you?”

Zuko swallowed thickly as you leant over him, your face covering the blue sky above you.

“You’re an idiot,” you accused, softly knocking your forehead against Zuko’s with a pout.

“Sorry,” he smiled embarrassedly. “It’s just… hard to comprehend, you know.”

You hummed. “I knew I agreed to date a whole bunch of insecurities alongside this pretty face, so I shouldn’t complain.”

Zuko knew you were teasing him, but the compliment didn’t fall on deaf ears and a blush crept into his cheeks.

“You know,” you sat up straight again, your fingers coming to comb through his dark hair, “I enjoy just sitting with you, we don’t have to talk or read or make music. I enjoy sitting just like this. I know you have so many things to do, that you need some time to sort out your thoughts and feelings, I need that too, sometimes. And if you want to be alone for that, you can tell me, and I’ll give you space. But if you want me to just sit with you, I’m happy to do that, too. You don’t have to be afraid to ask.”

Zuko pressed his lips together to hide their quivering. Instead, he focused on tracing your scar again while he felt the turtle duck chick in his other hand nap off.

“Do you remember that one conversation we had once? About having to give feelings space sometimes,” he asked.

You nodded quietly, beginning to braid his hair before undoing it again.

“I think I sometimes just need to do that. I don’t want to be alone for it, because I’m bad with feelings and sometimes they are scary, and having you with me makes me feel safe enough to confront these feelings. But it’s important to do it, to do it this way. And I feel like you understand me.”

You hummed quietly. “I think I do,” you agreed.

For a moment both of you were quiet, you playing with Zuko’s hair and Zuko watching you closely. The light reflecting from the surface of the pond was dancing across your face, lighting up your eyes every other moment, making your hair glow. Zuko suddenly realized that he had probably never felt as peaceful as right now. He felt comfortable, resting in your lap, feeling your warm legs underneath his head, your hands tucking his hair carefully. He felt understood by you, and appreciated. Not something he had a lot of experience with. And he wasn’t quite sure how he deserved someone so perfect at his side. He had never told you, he thought, how perfect he thought you were. So, taking this quiet moment as his chance, he voiced his feelings.

“I sometimes feel scared, because I don’t know how I could ever deserve being with someone as perfect as you, and it makes feel like I might lose you at any moment,” he confessed.

You continued playing with his hair, not meeting his eyes as you answered. “You’re not losing me,” you told him, and the confidence with which you said this was almost enough to convince him of it to be true. “Besides, I’m far from perfect.”

“No, you’re not,” Zuko disagreed determinedly. “You’re perfect. You’re perfect to me.”

Your fingers stilled in his hair and your eyes finally met his. There was a vulnerability in them, that made Zuko’s heart stutter and if your gaze hadn’t frozen him in place, he would have sat up and wrapped you in his arms.

“You really think that,” you asked quietly, and he nodded quickly, hoping his confession wouldn’t scare you off. But instead, you smiled even though he was certain he had seen tears beginning to rise in your eyes. “It makes me very happy to hear that,” you admitted and leant down to kiss his forehead.

You didn’t tell him that you thought he was perfect, too. And Zuko was glad you didn’t. Somehow it would have felt like it would have taken away from the importance of his message to you if you had, and he was happy you accepted his sentiment the way it was without feeling the need to repay the compliment. Instead, you returned to sitting back up, and braiding filigree patterns into his hair while he held the sleeping turtle duck in one hand and had the other wrapped in your dress, while watching your face over him. There were no further words exchanged between the two of you until almost two hours later a bell rung for lunch, and Zuko couldn’t deny that he had never felt more refreshed and relaxed after a break than after sitting with you, even if it was in silence.

It wasn’t until a good while later that you eventually told him you felt like he was perfect to you. It was a compliment Zuko had neither wished nor hoped for, nor expected. But of course, it made him happy to hear, although at that point it had been a knowledge that had settled deep into his soul already. It was the way you treated him every day, the way you treated each other every day, that had woven the subconscious realization into his very being. It was a form of respect you paid each other, not the respect you paid someone of authority but someone you admired. You were teasing each other, laughing with each other. You could sit in silence for hours or talk all through the night without ever growing bored of each other’s company. Of course you had disagreements, but even then, it never felt as if they threatened the bond that connected you now. And when Zuko told you about how he had fallen in love with you while saving you and Aang from Pohuai Stronghold, he admitted you your amusement and his shame, that he still didn’t know why he hadn’t understood from the first moment on how perfect you were.

The End

A/N: This concludes the series! Thank you all for reading! I've had the idea for this first almost a year back, and am now in a very different place than i was then. I finished writing my last exams of my Bachelor's degree today (assuming i don't fail), and can fully focus on writing my thesis from march on. I'm glad i finally got this story out in the world and am happy and greateful for everyone who enjoyed reading it!

Taglist:

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@banished--prince

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