#i don’t remember their exact wording but

[narnian-neverlander]

What Could’ve Been [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: In which you find yourself in a world so similar yet so different to your own and are simply too tired of life knocking you down again and again to still play the selfless hero.

Word Count: 3,9k

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane Season 2, talk about character death and illness, suicidal thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

A/N: I saw that alternate timeline and went ‘Ekko’s a stronger man than I am’ and went with that; actually wanted to write sth fluffy and happy, and this is wholesome-ish, but with some very bleak undertones so I might have to write some actual fluff to compensate. Also, the religious imagery wasn’t planned from the get go but it kinda happened and it is on brand for this man, I just decided to turn it on its head a little 🤷

“Interesting. When I told you about this last, you advised the exact opposite.”

You freeze mid movement, plate hovering an inch or so over the table you were setting. “Well I… I suppose I’ve changed my mind.”

The soft tap of a cane against the floor alerts you to him crossing the room, appearing in your peripheral as you put down the porcelain with shaky fingers. “A rather… hm, siginificant change in such a short time, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention you acted like I was telling you for the first time.” He doesn’t receive an answer, so he keeps going. “I’ve had a theory for a while. I don’t believe I’ve told you about it, because really, it’s only a pipe dream at this point, but entertaining for the duller moments nonetheless: alternate timelines. The possibility of several different realities, all co-existing with each other simultaneously. Some would call the mere idea preposterous, I’m fully aware, but then again, how would we know for certain? How could we know? Unless one or more of said timelines happened to… overlap.” The silence that follows is deafening and heavy; a precursor of what’s to come. “You’re not originally from this world, are you?”

While he knows this is a conversation that needs to be had, the way you curl into yourself and seem to wither and grow small before his eyes makes him wish he could take it all back. He tries to catch your gaze, but you purposely avoid his as you drag yourself over to the couch. Body heavy and tired, you all but slump down into worn cushions, blankly staring into space as you weakly reply with “No. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move, nor does he speak, cause while he’d been expecting your answer to a degree, now that it’s out in the open he’s… unsure what to even do with it. It isn’t a worry for long, though, as you continue speaking, slow and weary. Like you had been expecting, dreading, this moment just as much as him.

“It wasn’t a… conscious choice. To come here, I mean. It was an accident really, I didn’t even know what had happened at first.” A weak chuckle. “This was a shock to me as much as it must’ve been for you.”

And what a shock it had been for you. To have been standing with your friends in the bowels of the Hexgates one minute and to wake up in an unfamiliar bed the next. Dizzily traipsing through a space that had felt familiar yet foreign all at once; pictures and mementos from times you couldn’t remember staring at you from every surface. And to have had Viktor come through the door, bag of baked goods under one arm, to find you in the living room of what should’ve been your home, looking every bit as lost as you felt. It had been a miracle you’d stayed standing then and there, with the way he’d looked: same lanky figure supported by a cane, same messy chestnut locks, same two beauty marks against the pale skin of his sharp face, same concern in his honey colored irises when he took in your state. But no dark circles borderlining bruises under his eyes, no hollowed, sunken in cheeks, no blood on his lips to betray another attack. And no Hexcore devouring him whole. Your downfall had come in the form of slender fingers gingerly wrapping around your forearm to try and steady you; a silent question and a gentle offer of help. One of those fingers wearing the very same ring you usually kept on a chain around your neck, because you’d always been too busy or too in your own head to just ask him. To offer him your heart, your life, your everything, if only he wanted it. Always too terrified of rejection, of losing him to his illness; too scared of fucking something until it was too late. And when your hand had come up in search for said necklace, a nervous habit that had developed at some point, and you’d found a matching ring on your own finger instead, you’d finally dissolved into a wailing, sobbing mess against his chest, never wanting to let go again.

And what a shock it had been for him. To have talked to you, not twenty minutes prior, an exchange of sleepy, lazy kisses and quiet murmurs, telling you he’d go get breakfast and be right back, watching as you’d curled back up under the blankets with a content sigh. To come through the door, expecting you still in bed and instead finding you in the middle of your living room, looking utterly lost and misplaced in your own home, an almost manic look in your eyes, staring at him like you’d seen a ghost. He’d approached you, carefully, like one would a wild caged animal, and then a simple touch of his had sent you into a meltdown. And at an absolute loss, he’d simply held you. Let you cry yourself to utter exhaustion in his arms, the both of you a heap on the floor, propped up against the back of the sofa. When you had finally, finally calmed down, you’d played it off as the aftershocks of a nightmare. The kind that makes you believe they’re real and keeps you trapped in them for what could feel like a lifetime. And Gods you’d looked like you had aged a lifetime while he was gone. And ever since that night you’d been… different. Getting lost in your own head more often than not. Suffering from nightmares almost every night. Migraines and something akin to epileptic seizures every once in a good while. He had let it go on, assuring you that if you needed anything he would be there for you, and in the following months, you’d seemed to settle and things had gone back to normal. Relatively. But it had been the memory loss that had made him suspicious. Or more so the fact that while some things remained, others seemed to have happened differently for you and some had never happened at all. Never having been able to leave well enough alone, he’d started digging for explanations. And now, at the end of his research, his most impossible theory proven right - he’s yet again at a loss of what to do. How to help you.

“I didn’t know how I got here, much less how to get back. From what I do understand about all of this, and it ain’t much, the thing that sent me to this world doesn’t even exist here. So at first I didn’t have much of a choice but to just… live. To pretend like everything was normal and I belonged here. But eventually I realized that even if I got the chance to go back, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be selfish, I wanted—“ Your voice cracks, thick with emotion and he watches your head drop forward like a doll’s whose strings have been cut, eyes downcast at your trembling hands. “I wanted to be happy again. And for once in my damn life I wanted it to last. It just never fucking lasts…”

Stride over to you and hold you tight, kiss you and tell you that everything would be alright, that you would figure this out together, like always. That’s what he should be doing. Every bone in his body tells him to, but just like so many other times in the past, his oh so brilliant mind prevents him. Tells him that there is no ‘together, like always’ because the person in front of him isn’t the person he’s known his whole life. Isn’t the person he married. Everything’s an ugly mess and he doesn’t mean for his next words to come across as cruel, doesn’t perceive them that way; blissfully unaware of the implications, he’s simply, truly curious.

“What would you do if you were to go back home?”

An inelegant snort leaves you and you wipe the back of your hand over your eyes in a desperate and vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

23 seconds.

You were counting, just to give you something to occupy your spiraling mind with, really.

23 seconds.

That’s how long it had taken him to no longer refer to this world, this apartment, him as your home. To prioritize whatever might be going in your other life. And you know it’s not fair, to be this upset with him, this version of him that you’ve been deceiving from the start; even though he has never wronged you. But you can’t help it. Guilt and regret would soon be all you’d have left again, so might as well leave him with some, too.

“Well… if I hadn’t gotten sucked into this mess, I would’ve killed myself by now. I guess I’d be getting back to that.”

The breath that escapes him sounds like you actually just sucker punched him in the gut and immediately makes you feel terrible about how casual and bitter you’d made it sound, but he’d wanted the truth and that was it. Limbs heavy und unsteady, you rise from your position on the couch and make your way over to the front door. “I’ll go take a walk or… you know, go do… whatever. Give you some space, time to think.” Your hand’s already on the door handle, but you pause and somehow find it in yourself to turn around and at least give him the courtesy of looking at him for what you’re about to say. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to let it go this far. It just became so… easy to pretend like things had always been like this. You made it easy. And while I’m sorry that I lied to you, tricked you, intentional or not, I got the chance to fall in love with you all over again. And I could never be sorry about that.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him move as fast as he does now and before you know it, you’re wrapped in a hug almost too tight, his cane landing on the carpeted floor next to you with a dull thump. “You cannot say things like that and expect me to just let you walk out of that door, I-“

Readjusting his hold on you, he cradles your head against his shoulder and loops his other arm around your middle, continuing in a hushed, gentle tone. “I can’t bear the thought of harm befalling you. Even worse, you harming yourself. In any timeline. Please, just stay. No matter what might happen in the future, just… stay with me. Right here.”

He means for it to be reassuring, comforting, loving, you know that. It’s not his fault that it has the exact opposite effect.

Wincing, a new wave of tears springs to your eyes and you remove yourself from his hold, but can’t bring yourself to let go completely; hands now linked between the two of you. “Viktor, I stole the body and life of a person you actually love. I don’t want you to force yourself to try and love me out of pity.”

“And why are you so certain that’s what this is?!” It surprises you, how genuinely upset he sounds, and a gasp is forced out of your throat when he wrenches his hands out of your grasp and his palms find your face, to force your gaze onto him and keep it there, wether you want to or not. The expression he’s wearing almost scares you; thick brows furrowed in anger and lips curled back in what could nearly be a snarl, but as soon as gold eyes find yours, red and puffy and so very desperate and grieving, whatever fire seemed to have been burning him up inside goes out all at once.

His shoulders drop and he rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, warm breath fanning over your face. “I’m sorry, moje láska, please forgive me. I’m not angry with you, I just… I can not comprehend why you are so ready and willing to accept rejection, but will not even entertain the possibility that loving you comes as easy to me as your affections for me do to you. Why can you love every version of me, but I’m not allowed the same with every version of you?” He watches you blink owlishly, your mouth opening and closing several times and he’s not sure wether it’s endearing or heartbreaking, how clear it is that this possibility never even crossed your mind. “You act like this entire situation only penalizes me, when in reality, I’m not actually your Viktor, either, am I?”

He expects this to help, to give you a new perspective. To make it clear to you that you are both the same; you are not a villain in his story. And there is a smile on your lips, but it’s so small and sad that his stomach drops at the sight. “No, you’re not. You couldn’t be. My Viktor is gone.”

And all of a sudden, it makes so much sense. How sometimes you’d stare at him with the most haunted look in your eyes, like he was a dead man walking, ready to collapse at any given moment. How you’d grow frantic when he came back late from the academy. How you’d insisted on tagging along on the most mundane of tasks, always under the guise of wanting to spend more time with him, but really just keeping a close eye on him at all times. Though he suspects the former to be true; the chance to spend even a few more precious hours with a loved one you’d thought lost, who wouldn’t jump at that chance?

His world would simply seize spinning if you were no longer in it, he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. How tormenting it must’ve been to see him everyday, a second chance dangling right in front of you, but never certain if you were to wake up back in a world where he was gone.

You’re in his arms again in a heartbeat, one hand carding through your hair, the other rubbing soothing patterns into your back; whispering sweet little nothings into your ear as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and sob. All so much like the day you arrived and saw him for the first time, and yet… softer. More intimate.

You stay like this until your bawling dies down to whimpers and sniffles at which point he gingerly coaxes you to look at him.

“Miláček, listen to me. As it stands now, you have no way of going back to your original world.” He doesn’t call it your home anymore, you notice. “You did not ask for this, you did not choose this; you had it thrust upon you while going through enough pain and grief you considered taking your own life. For the love of everything, you needn’t feel guilty for wanting to use this chance to find happiness again. And you shouldn’t feel guilty if you continue to do so.” Still sniffling you gently caress his face, thumbs running over his chiseled cheekbones and heart stuttering when he leans into your touch. But then you catch sight of the ring on your finger again.

“I’m not… I’m not the person you married, Vik.” Unknowingly, you parrot his own thoughts back to him, but surprisingly enough, he finds he doesn’t much care anymore. He’s flabbergasted how he could ever even doubt for a second that it would matter which timeline you were originally from. Because it’s still you. Damn it all, it’s still you. “Maybe so. But I’ve seen the same kindness in you in those past few months that I’ve always known. The same wit. The same ambition and passion. All the things that made me love you in the first place. You said this gave you the chance to fall in love with me again; would you allow me the chance to do the same?”

The truth is, while you want to try and build a life here, you feel guilty. Guilty about the friends you left fighting a war. Guilty about taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. Guilty about forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. All these months, you’d only ever reciprocated his affections, never initiated them, had barely let him touch you at all, because you’d always felt like somehow you were coercing him into cheating on someone he actually loved. But here he is now, telling you that he wants you, this version of you, all of you. Could you really do it? Leave behind everything and everyone you’ve ever known, for a chance at happiness, a fresh start? You had no guarantee that things would go smoothly in this universe either, after all. Wouldn’t you just be playing pretend for the rest of your life?

“So what, we’ll just… pretend like it’s the first time then?” you ask, a quiet breathless laugh accompanying your question. He shrugs and smiles at you. “Something like that. Falling in love with you again and again and again? I could imagine a worse fate.”

So could you. Much, much worse, in fact.

Your expression shifts somewhat without you even realizing and he immediately recognizes that he must’ve triggered some form of painful memory. He places tiny little kisses all over your face, murmuring apologies all the while and when you sigh in contentment it finally dawns on him that this is very much the first time you’ve let yourself enjoy being close with him since you got here. He doesn’t blame you; the moral dilemma that was forced on you would put anyone on edge and make them anxious about what they could allow themselves to experience without some form of consequences. He would prove to you that there would be none, he’d make sure of that; singlehandedly destroy them if they did decide to raise their ugly heads. That you didn’t always need to give and give and ask for nothing in return. That you could take what you wanted and not be punished for it. You’d taught him that after all.

“Moje světlo…?”

Gods have mercy on your soul, you never could say no to him when he used those damn pet names on you.

You crash your lips to his, desperate and practically starved; in direct contrast to all the sweet promises and gentle reassurances you just shared, there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s all tongues and teeth and absolutely filthy and it’s exactly what you need right now. Your back makes contact with the door you’d been oh so insistent on walking out of not even fifteen minutes ago, that thought now the furthest thing from your mind as his hands are already under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Your head falls back against the worn wood with a thump as his lips find your neck, leaving marks and bruises for everyone to see and maybe the moan that escapes your throat with a broken version of his name coupled with how weak your knees already feel could’ve been embarrassing, but you don’t have it in yourself to care; it feels like it’s been years since he last kissed you like this. Touched you like this. The whine of protest as he pulls back is cut short when he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your hips to keep you in place and placing on last kiss on your stomach before he puts some distance between you both, not more than a few inches really, but still too much for your liking. One hand goes to cover his own, while the other cups his face, trying to tug him closer again, but he refuses. Brows knitting together in confusion and frustration, you’re about to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but he beats you to it.

“I won’t go further unless you tell me you want this.” You almost laugh, because he can not be serious. How much more obvious could you be? Your own body is doing half the talking for you, really. But of course that’s not exactly what he means. “I want you to admit to me, and more importantly to yourself, that you want this life. I want you to realize that it is perfectly alright for you to be selfish every now and again.”

His words trigger a memory from long ago, when you’d found him passed out on the desk in the lab one too many times. After you’d been done yelling at him, you’d told him that he couldn’t just always give and give and give until there was barely anything left of himself. That it was okay to be a little selfish and take things for himself every once in a while.

Take your own advice, liar.

A voice somewhere in the back of your head purrs bewitchingly and it’s right. You are still lying. Not to him though - to yourself. Telling yourself that you feel guilty for wanting to stay here, when in reality that’s how you should be feeling. But the truth, the real truth, is that you’re scared.

Scared of how little you actually care. About the friends you left fighting a war. About taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. About forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. You haven’t truly cared about any of it from the get go; always too self righteous to admit it to yourself, though.

Practiced fingers slip from his cheek to the hair at the nape his neck and pull; he goes along willingly this time, head forced back and his eyes lock onto yours, right as fresh, hot tears start to travel down your face. But you’re done grieving; you are livid, plain and simple. “I want this…” you breathe out, so quiet he almost misses it. You don’t stay quiet, though, you can’t anymore, and your voice rises in volume with every sentence spoken. “I want to stay. I want a life with you. All blissful boredom and domesticity. It’s all I ever wanted. Why…? Why was even that too much to ask?!”

He doesn’t have the answer, but he does have the solution, delivered with a slight turn of his head and a kiss to your wrist.

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

Breaths heavy and irregular, you simply take in the sight of him: all disheveled hair and kiss swollen lips, pretty blush all the way down to his neck, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, only a thin ring of gold left, looking at you so longingly, on his knees for you and you alone; like a worshipper ready to commit any atrocity for the sake and love of their god.

“You can take what you want, anděl. No one will punish you for it. I won’t let them.”

Angel. Oh, the irony. Irony turned certainty. Certainty turned reality.

So take you would. And you wouldn’t bother looking back at the things you’d left behind.

[amblebamble]

Arcane Season 2 Spoilers - RE: TimeBomb

“Her name was Isha.”

Ekko does not stop painting her arm, neon green on cloudy blue. His lines are knife-sharp, thin where the tip of the brush caresses her skin, and the paint barely runs as she watches an hourglass unfold.

“Who?”

“You said something… about creating a better world for someone,” she can’t remember his exact words, “her name was Isha.”

“A friend?”

“A baby, really.”

She doesn’t care to elaborate, and Ekko doesn’t ask for more. He releases her elbow to drag his fingertips down to her wrist, pausing a moment, then slips his hand into hers. Jinx does not reciprocate.

Instead, she locates the paintbrush previously dipped in neon pink, the brush-end fatter than Ekko’s choice, and – ignoring how paint splatters across Ekko’s trousers – paints a streak across his chest. He jumps back, a half shout bitten down, hands flying to his chest and patting around. Jinx waits for him to look back up at her to raise a brow and wave her brush with an eyeroll.

Ekko doesn’t apologise for the misconception. Jinx doesn’t apologise for every action it took to lead him there.

He settles back down in front of her, scooting his stool closer until their knees are slotted together, giving her access to his chest. Her hand trembles. His hands remain face-up in his lap, a slight curl to his fingers, lax. She prefers the caution.

The second line she draws with involuntary care, an X forming unhurriedly where her brush ghosts his sternum.

“Sorry I’m not her,” she says.

Ekko had told her of his time away, of a world without Vi, of green trees and abundant produce flooding the clean streets of Zaun, of a Powder that—

“I don’t want you to be.”

He takes the brush from her, and without it she is bereft of places to rest her hands.

“It was—” everything “—a good place, but I left it.”

His own encase her face, a palm cupping her jaw, the other hand curled around the paintbrush and resting on her cheek. It is cold where he swipes beneath her eye.

“I realised I had given up on you,” he ducks lower, peering up at her until she meets his gaze, “Jinx.”

Her eyes flutter, stinging with stale air as he paints another line beneath her other eye. When the brush is set in his lap, his hands return to her face. Her fingertips graze his chest, curling back into her palms, but when he remains in place she settles more securely against him, poised to push, instead snagged on the erratic pulse white-hot against her palm.

“I’m not coming back,” she whispers, eyes wide, her own pulse off-beat. “Whatever happens, whatever outcome, I don’t make it back.”

She had decided, when she heard him out. A private thought. It seems an impossible secret now - had burst from her in traitorous confession.

“Okay,” he says, though the word catches in his throat, and he repeats, “Okay.”

Jinx presses her lips tight together, rocketing forward to wrap her arms around his neck, her nose shoved in the crook of her elbow. His own arms encircle her, one hand at the base of her neck, simply holding her.

"You've wasted it - on me,"

Always a dance with them; cyclical, endless repetition. She speaks every word around 'sorry' without ever saying it, can never say it, isn't sure anymore who she means to apologise to.

"It was a choice," he tells her, "not a waste."

Silco had said killing was a cycle, was a mistake. This is another kind, a different cycle, she's just not sure where the mistake starts. She simply has to leave.

--

Later, when they’ve let go and Jinx fiddles to wrap a pink tie around Ekko’s hair, he’ll jokingly point to the transferred X along her chest and pick up the paintbrush to define it better, all while they ignore their reddened eyes and the pink trailing alongside her mascara.  

[mythmerth]

fluff vs feel good merlin fics…?

It has come to my attention from my last post with the ask about a long fluffy merlin fic that I, perhaps, do not know how to separate the definition of fluff from my own definition of feel good fics. When I think of fluff I tend to think of lovey dovey feel good hehe type of fics. HOWEVER, my definition of feel good may be different than other people and thus may not actually BE fluff…. oops!

In order to make up for this I’m gonna list off more merlin fics that I consider to be on a “fluff — feel good” scale, but first I’ll give my own interpretation of “fluff” and “feel good” so you know what to expect!

— When I think of the definition of fluff, I think of things very lighthearted, low stakes, very lovey, being emotionally and PG physically intimate (soft), playful in a sweet way, and generally just not really having the highs and lows of angsty fics.

— When I categorize something as feel good it tends to be not very stressful, minimal angst, quickly resolved/humorous relationship issues, powerful characters, has a hopeful tone/no doubts about a happy ending, makes me laugh multiple times, and high in emotional and physical intimacy (and yes I am a Smut Enthusiast). Some feel goods have more or less of these than others for me but that’s what the scale in my head is weighing them on.

that being said, to the best of my ability here is the list ranked from fluff to feel good merlin fics! fluff fics are often a lot shorter than the plotty ones (but I tried to throw some longer ones in as well that I’d consider to have a good amount of fluff BUT these also tend to have more angst so you’ve been warned)

fluff

Twitch Your Whiskers and Pull My Tail by BlueSimplicity. Soft, sweet bonding, a bit silly

The Great Merlin Bake-off by Elizabeth. Long, low stakes, silly, so many pastries

Merlin Myrddin the Muralist by deanpendragon. So touching, very soft, strong and healing bonds

Nobody Expected Uther to Approve So Damn Hard by Nakyrah. Silly, soft, quick developing relationship

Tales of Magic by amithia. Soft, developing relationships, gentle magic/love

I know why the birds sing your name by ironfamjam. Long, hopeful, developing characters with gentle moments/love, some angst

We Can Always Run by kairennart and queerofthedagger. Long, some angst, strong bonds and soft moments, adventureful

Ironing Out the Kinks by Lex18. Long, so smutty, like 90% smut but also soft, quickly resolved issues

All Things Loved and Lovesick by horsecrazy. So funny, strong bonds, humorous miscommunication

We Are All Diamonds by Footloose. Long, strong bonds/love, soft moments, power duo, quickly resolved issues

The fools will still be fools by horsecrazy. So silly, smutty, low stakes

Evil Overlord Inc by Footloose. Long, very silly, power duo, high stakes but also not worried about it

feel good

I feel like with BBC Merlin fics it’s hard to find low stakes/no angst fics! maybe it’s just my lists, and also that I was trying to avoid making this all lower word count fics (there’s definitely some 40k’s I left out if anyone’s interested), but once the word count rises it’s tough to find. hopefully this agrees well enough, I scoured the fluff tag I swear but the angst sneaks up in there too

I also have noticed that I might not actually read a whole lot of pure fluff? I very specifically seek out mature and explicit merlin fics, which I think is partially the cause of that. Also merthur and fluff are hard earned; the rivals/strangers/enemies to lovers goes STRONG and so rarely do we get to fluff very quickly. There’s always some stressful situations these two are in I swear to god. also please note that I have read SO goddamn many fics that any rank inaccuracies are likely also due to my memory blurring on fic specifics,,, my apologies for this! so take the specific ranks with a grain of salt- I don’t remember the exact details of all of these, more so the impact they left on me as a whole!

anyways, I hope this is accurate enough and that you can find some fics here that are what you’re looking for <3

~ feel free to send asks if you’re looking for specific recs, I’ll do my best to find some that fit the bill :]

[kuiinncedes]

🤡🫠dhdddhdhdbdbdhjj

[luckiestmushroom]

I am still in complete fucking awe that Duel Links just had Kaiba flat out say ‘it wouldn’t matter if all 8 billion people on the planet were here, because the one person I need wouldn’t be here’ like absolute insanity whoever is writing Duel Links knows exactly what’s up

[eggy-tea]

I was at the beach with my sister and my niece the other day, splashing around in the water, and the subject came up (as a follow-up of a previous conversation, not because of where we were) of a guy from our area who got attacked by a shark while on vacation. And we’re in the water, not anywhere near a place where sharks have ever attacked (on account of they don’t live there), but still in the ocean, and my niece can be a bit of an anxious kid sometimes, but it doesn’t occur to either of us adults until a moment too late that maybe this topic of conversation would be better suited to somewhere, anywhere else. 

And the reason I’m sharing this story is because of what my niece did next. She immediately put her hands over her ears and said, “Mama, I don’t want to listen to that, it’s scary for me.” To which my sister replied, “That’s okay, sweetheart, you don’t have to listen,” and then finishes what she was telling me. When that part of the conversation was over a minute later, she waved to my niece, who had moved a bit farther away to help avoid overhearing, and let her know that the scary part was over. My niece came back over and we went right back to splashing and playing in the water, no harm done. 

And I can’t help but thinking, what a healthy response, actually. My niece knew that she was likely to be freaked out by the topic of conversation, and just opted out. She wanted to keep having fun at the beach, and that wasn’t going to happen if she was worrying about sharks. She expressed her boundary, showed what she was going to do, and did it. My sister’s response respected and validated her boundary, but also made it clear that the existence of a personal boundary doesn’t necessarily dictate other people’s actions when their boundaries are different. And the way it went down, so calm and direct from both of them, felt very much like a learned behaviour.

My niece is really lucky. She’s got good parents who understand her and do their best to give her what she needs. But at the same time, if an anxious 8-year-old can learn to take ownership of her experience of the world and avoid the things that will upset her without feeling the need to control everyone else’s actions and/or demanding things be completely eradicated from existence just because they bother her personally, it kind of behooves us older people to try and do the same.

[o-vera-nalyzing]

just had a dream that there was a scene in tsc where jean bummed a cig from kevin to share w jeremy but like the way he said it was so homoerotic that coach rhemann blushed

[dinowatermelons]

Was rewatching stampede with some friends and there’s a part where Sabo is like “I trust Luffy’s friends :)” and law is like “ugh, we’re not actually friends”

Damn dude, will you just kiss luffy on the lips already

[aalghul]

two seconds from finally falling asleep and then I remember when bruce said “he always seems to return” about a villain and jason was like “but so do we, right?” And and and

[msfcatlover]

Fucking love when a word is so evocative of what it’s describing that you get a reaction just by saying it, even from people who’ve never heard that word before. Language working as it should, right there.

[myloveforhergoeson]

online flighting for my life screaming to the void saying james diamond ISNT as selfish and shallow as they make him seem and that he really cares for and loves his friends and then the scene where he’s asked why he likes lucy comes on behind me and the only two reasons he can think of is because she’s hot and smart…

[lesbianlenas]

so i have to keep doing this every day forever and ever…..

[dashiellqvverty]

they are NOT doing crazy shit to this man’s cervix on ao3. but they should be.

[counselor-elijah]

Thinking about that moon drunk beast magnet poem

[starswirly]

[ * realizing that what I want the most is the words to understand and articulate what I think and feel ]

[alitheia]

nonbinary professor chronicles episode two: talking about q-slur literary criticism and he brings up Judith Butler. I ask if this is the same Judith Butler who won a worst writing award. Giddy smile drops off his face and he says real quiet “yes, but you should know that those kinds of awards are often used to target minorities”

Buddy that shit was EARNED 💀