#they just happen to overlap more than others

[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.

[giggle-guru]

Okay, so here is the audio you’ve been waiting for! I’m not entirely confident with my abilities to do Lucifer, but I gave it my best shot. I utilized one of the AI websites for my voice overlap (because I cannot make my voice go that deep or anything for the life of me, I’ve tried) so some parts are slightly glitchy but other then that it seems to have exported okay. I’d love to hear your feedback, other things you’d like to hear, etc etc! Thanks for listening :)

Background: Alastor and Lucifer joined Husk and Angel Dust in a few rounds of poker. Of course, Angel managed to coerce Lucifer into having one too many drinks, and Alastor ensures that he gets back to their room within the hotel safely. He figures this might be the best time to point out a little…quirk he’s noticed in Lucifer’s behaviour.

Script is below the cut for those interested (note I did go off of it a few times and sometimes didn’t write out effects I was planning aha):

[Sound Effect: Two sets of footsteps. One stuttering. One consistent.]

Alastor: [chuckling softly] Lucifer, my dearest... you really must be more careful with how many drinks that charming little Spider manages to convince you to indulge in. I’d hate to see you so... inebriated again. You know what happens when you’re under the influence. [He chuckles slightly.]

Lucifer: [grumbling, defensive] Relax, Bambi. I hic I am the King of Hell! I can… I can handle a few [hic] drinks…

Alastor: [mocking, with a wide grin evident in his voice] Of course, my liege! Why, how could I ever doubt the infinite prowess of the almighty Lucifer Morningstar? [chuckling] Though, if I may be so bold, your "infinite prowess" seems to have trouble walking straight at the moment.

Lucifer: [grumbling, defensive] It's... hiccup the floor. It's uneven. You should fix it.

[Sound Effect: A stumble, followed by a quick grab.]

Alastor: [amused] My, my, such treacherous flooring! Let’s not test gravity further, hmm? Hold still, my darling. Let me get the door.

[Sound Effects: A door creaks open, and the two step inside. Alastor guides Lucifer toward the bed.]

Lucifer: [grumbling, slurring slightly] Hah... you fuss over me too much. I can take care of myself, you know.

Alastor: [with a smirk in his voice] Oh, of course you can! Why, you’re practically a paragon of self-sufficiency... when you’re not half-conscious and leaning on me for support.

Lucifer: [small chuckle] You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

Alastor: [teasing, delighted] Oh, my dear Lucifer, you wound me! Enjoying this? Why, I’m simply being a concerned partner, making sure my precious King doesn’t topple over like a drunken mortal. I do think it’s time we get you out of that dashing suit and into something a bit more... comfortable, hmm? Sit.

[Sound Effects: Bed creaking. Clothes rustling.]

Lucifer: [groaning, slightly annoyed] I don’t need help with this, Bambi. I can undress myself.

Alastor: [with a teasing voice] Oh, Lucifer, darling, I’m sure you can. But let's be honest, you’ll never manage to get those buttons undone without my assistance in this state. [pauses, his voice dropping to a more affectionate tone] Once I finish changing you, my dear, why don’t we simply cuddle for a while? After all, what’s a night of indulgence without a little rest and relaxation?

Lucifer: [huffs, but there’s a soft smile in his voice, small giggle] Fine... fine. But I’m not some... helpless creature.

Alastor: [grinning] Of course not. You’re the most powerful being in Hell... when you’re sober.

[Sound Effects: Clothing changes. Bed creaking as they get under the covers.]

Alastor: [grinning] Are you comfortable, my dear?

Lucifer: [mumbling, relaxed but still with a hint of his usual pride] Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just... stop smothering me for a second, Bambi.

Alastor: [teasing] Oh, but I can’t help it, darling. You’re so much more charming when you let your guard down. [pauses, his voice softening slightly] Besides, what could be more relaxing than being pampered by your favorite radio demon?

Lucifer: [grin in his voice] Pampered, huh? More like nagged…

Alastor: [Teasing, amused] My, my... is this how you treat me, darling? After I spend all night taking care of you—guiding you to bed, making sure you’re comfortable—this attitude is the thanks I get? [Pauses, his voice lowering with a mischievous edge] I’d watch your tone, my dear.

[A soft chuckle as he moves closer.]

With how much you’ve had to drink tonight, I’m sure you’re quite sensitive… [His voice turns playful, teasing.] Don’t try to hide it, Lucifer. I know you’re feeling it now.

[Sound Effects: A light shift in the bed, followed by the faint sound of a finger trailing lightly over skin.]

Alastor: [Teasing, delighted] Hmm... What’s this? [His finger traces gently up Lucifer’s side, the movement soft but deliberate.]

Lucifer: [Chuckling softly but with a slight edge of excitement] Bambi, don’t—

Alastor: [Mockingly innocent] Don’t what, darling? [He trails a finger higher, a light tickle along Lucifer's ribs.] I’m just trying to help you relax.

Lucifer: [Trying to suppress a laugh, but fails and giggles softly] Alastor, I swear— [His tone softens as he shifts slightly under the touch.] I told you, stop that…

Alastor: [Chuckling softly, playful amusement] Oh, quit pretending you don’t enjoy this, my dear. I’ve seen the way you act—always teasing me, poking at my nerves, just to get me to... [He pauses for effect, leaning closer as his voice drops slightly.] do exactly this. [He chuckles again, a hint of mischief creeping in.]

How naïve do you think I am? [There’s a slight hum in his tone, as if savoring the thought.] Ever since that first time I tickled you into submission. [Sing-song] Admit it, darling, you’re simply begging for attention in the most roundabout way.

Lucifer: [Pausing, his voice stumbling slightly, trying to sound defensive but failing miserably] W-What? That’s—ridiculous, Bambi! I don’t— [He shifts uncomfortably, a faint blush creeping into his tone, betraying his embarrassment.] I-I don’t try to get you to do anything! You’re just... imagining things! And even if I did—which I didn’t—you wouldn’t be able to prove it... [Soft giggles, soft voice, a hint of defeat mingling with his embarrassment.] ...J-Just shut up and stop grinning like that. And stop with the light touching! [giggle]

Alastor: [Sly chuckle, his voice dripping with mock innocence and teasing delight] Oh, dear. It seems I’ve struck the nail right on the head, haven’t I? [He leans in closer, his tone dropping to a smooth, mischievous murmur.] Tell me, Lucifer... do you enjoy being tickled?

[He pauses, letting the question hang in the air, his grin practically audible in his voice.] You can’t hide it from me, darling. Not in this state.

Lucifer: [His voice falters slightly, embarrassed and defensive] I-I don't enjoy it, Al! Stop trying to twist things! [He shifts uncomfortably again, trying to hide his reaction, but failing to suppress the soft giggles that escape him.] I-I don’t need you to do... whatever this is. [He trails off, unable to fully argue, as his voice still holds light giggling]

Alastor: [Grinning widely, his voice laced with amusement and satisfaction] Oh, Lucifer... You can deny it all you like, but your body is betraying you, my dear. [He trails a finger gently across Lucifer's ribs once more, his voice laced with playful menace.] How many times have you tried to get me to do this? Teasing, poking, all those little comments, your lack of the ability to speak the word tickle just now... I’m not blind, darling. I see right through you.

[He pauses, lowering his voice as he leans in closer, enjoying the subtle shift in Lucifer’s reactions.]

Alastor: [Softly, almost a whisper] So are you going to admit it? Or do I need to tickle it out of you?

Lucifer: [His voice cracks slightly as he tries to maintain his composure, a mixture of indignation and poorly masked laughter] A-Admit what? There’s nothing to admit! You’re just being your annoying ass self—and making things up! [He squirms slightly, his voice trailing into a nervous chuckle.]

Alastor: [Delighted, with a smooth, teasing edge] Oh, darling, denial suits you so poorly. [He lets his fingers glide teasingly down Lucifer’s sides, savoring every little twitch and suppressed giggle.] But don’t worry—I have all night to help you... [His grin audible as his tone becomes lower and conspiratorial] come to terms with the truth. [Alastor begins to ruthlessly tickle him.]

[Sound Effect: Bed sheets rustling.]

Lucifer: [Bursting into a fit of laughter, his attempts to hold it back completely failing as his voice becomes higher-pitched with each giggle] N-Nononono, Al—st-st-stop it! [His body twists and jerks, trying to escape the relentless tickling, but he can’t stop laughing.] Th-this isn’t funny, you—hic—you’re not going to—[He lets out another startled laugh, voice cracking as he squirms helplessly.]

Alastor: [Mockingly gasping, his voice playful and light] Oh, how terrifying! The mighty Lucifer, undone by a bit of... [He pauses, drawing out the word with a chuckle] tickling. [He leans in, his voice dropping to a sly whisper as his hands continue their assault.] Admit it, darling. You love this. You’ve been begging for it without even realizing it.

Lucifer: [giggling] No- I haven’t! I don’t enjoy this! You’re just being an ass!

Alastor: [Amused, continuing his tickling] Oh, my dear Lucifer, you're absolutely adorable when you're like this. [His voice lightens, teasing with a hint of mock sympathy] What was it you said about not liking it, hmm? Sounds to me like you're thoroughly enjoying yourself—don't worry, I won’t tell anyone. [He chuckles darkly, the sound of his fingers dancing over Lucifer’s stomach now, filled with a teasing melody.]

Lucifer: [giggling] No! Nonono [squeak] not there!

Alastor: Oh, not there you say? I see, this little spot on your tummy seems particularly effective. Let’s explore that a little more, shall we? Tickle tickle tickle!

Lucifer: [giggling] S-shut up!

Alastor: What’s wrong? Do you not like that word? How unfortunate, I happen to love it! Tickle tickle tickle! Oh, you have the sweetest little giggles, don’t you Luci?

Lucifer: [giggling] I can’t! I can’t!”

Alastor: "My, my, you’re squirming so much! Are you trying to get away, or are you trying to stay close? Something tells me it’s the second option!”

Lucifer: [giggling] You’re so mean!

Alastor: [In a low, teasing voice] Mean? Why, how rude. I’m just giving you what your heart desires! You can’t deny it forever, darling. Every laugh, every squirm... it tells me everything. [He wiggles his fingers around Lucifer’s stomach, delighting in the way he reacts]

Lucifer: [giggling] [trying to push Alastor’s hands away] You— [laughing] You’re impossible! Stop it already!

Alastor: I’m yet to hear an admission from you. Alas, desperate times do call for desperate measures!

Lucifer: [squealing] Ah! Not my wings, not my wing!

Alastor: "It’s almost like I’m discovering new things about you every moment, Lucifer. Who knew you’d be so sensitive here? Tickle Tickle! Just admit that you enjoy it and I’ll cease my attack on your sensitive little spots! Or would you want me to continue, hmm? Do you want me to keep going for the rest of eternity?

Lucifer! Okay! Okay! Okay, I like it! I like it, please stop! It’s too much!

Alastor: [grinning in his voice, pulling back slightly] But darling, you’re far too cute when you’re a little... flustered. [pauses, his voice softening slightly] Though, I suppose if it’s really too much, I’ll stop. For now.

[Sound Effect: Fixing blankets]

Lucifer: [sighs deeply, but with a soft chuckle, clearly enjoying the attention despite his protest] Thank you. You were getting close to a limit, Bambi.

Alastor: [teasing tone] Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior... for now. [humming lightly as he settles in beside Lucifer, his voice warm and affectionate] Wouldn’t want to push my luck too much. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

Lucifer: [muttering with a slight chuckle, eyes still closed] I’m going to get you back for this, you know.

Alastor: [laughs lightly, still teasing] Oh, I’m sure you will, my dear. But for now, I think it’s time you let go and just... relax. [pauses with a softer tone] No more teasing, promise. Come, let me cuddle you to sleep.

Lucifer: [relaxing again, a quiet smile in his voice] Fine. [yawn] You’re lucky I love you.

Alastor: [smiling warmly] You aren’t wrong, my dear. I’m beyond lucky.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

How reckless could a race of people be if they could heal rapidly? If someone got hit by a car in real life and needed a few months to start walking again, and over a year to do anything like martial arts again, for these people, they'd be walking in a few days and doing martial arts in two weeks. If they would die on impact, then yes, they would die. If they would die in an ambulance, it depends but they would still have a chance. In real life, cuts that take a few days to heal will be healed in several minutes. They definitely do feel pain of course, but as a whole, the general populace has pain tolerance just below those of elite athletes in the real world. I'm imagining these people might be the daredevil type.. could it be very common to get cuts and bruises, not strange to see some of the worst kids or teens getting cut nearly every single day, multiple times a day. I mostly want to focus on the injured = not a big deal bit. Or getting injured as part of normal daily life. But what else might this affect? More surgeries happening because people decide the recovery time isn't an issue (doesn't eliminate other factors of course) How about piercings? If someone goes half a day without piercings, their hole would close. Maybe... medicine that stops the healing process? But how expensive could those medicines be vs getting pierced again?

Tex: So there’s this plant, called plantain. One of the common varieties is known as Plantago major. One of its primary uses in herbal medicine is to heal wounds - and it’s very good at it!

A little bit too good, unfortunately, and it often comes with a warning to clean out wounds first before applying it, because it has the tendency to work so quickly at encouraging skin to knit back up that infections can easily be sealed underneath. This is a problem, because in order to heal the infection, the skin must be cut back open, lest someone risk the infection spreading to the blood and causing sepsis (if not, in bad cases, necrosis).

“Super healing” has many of the same flaws. In practice, the process of healing is rather complex, and while there is some overlap in steps (excess blood cleared away, immune system response to pathogens, phagocytosis, signals sent to regenerate broken tissue or other affected organs), doing too much of only one process can have detrimental effects on the patient in question. It’s the reason why in first aid you clean a wound first, then apply medicines, then apply bandages.

Things like bones, and the squishier bits called organs, take time to heal, because they’re not only reallocating resources to grow new cells (i.e. neurogenesis, osteogenesis, etc), they’re also going through the entire pathway of fighting infections (i.e. B cells, T cells, etc) and checking for cancerous markers of cells that duplicated incorrectly (uncommon, but non-zero possibility). It’s a lot, lot more than “add calcium to bone” or “make skin whole”.

Regeneration of tissue is also rather itchy, and uncomfortable. That, barring anything else, is going to make a lot of people think twice about how many injuries they’re willing to risk. Compounding injuries compounds the discomfort, and most people wish to avoid being uncomfortable if there’s any other option for a situation.

On top of that, rapid regeneration would require a large amount of resources for both calories and micronutrients. This translates to being hungry all the time. Humans can generally heal quickly with a good diet and enough sleep (the brain regulates the flushing of metabolic waste during sleep, Patel et al.), which is why it’s seen as a good sign for hospital patients to have an appetite and also to have a regular sleep schedule.

You can handwave as much of this as you like in your worldbuilding, but to borrow SAW’s general rule, “you break it, you bought it” in terms of internal consistency.

[wxndswept]

OMG Sk.IrK LoOkS JUST LIkE Jin.GlIU

Oh my God I can't escape this nonsense

[ruporas]

in a mood (ID in alt)

[starry-bi-sky]

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

[aalghul]

to me, tim and duke occupy a similar position in the batfamily where they're clearly not (or previously weren't, in tim's case) bruce's sons but also clearly have a connection to bruce's children that separates them from barb, steph, helena, jean paul, etc. none of the latter three are dick's siblings, but tim nearly always has been, and then he's cass' too. even if he hadn't been adopted, this would be true. duke is jason's brother, and is implied to have a sibling relationship with cass and damian, and has even shown up in tim's picture of his brothers. this is not changed by the fact that duke should never be adopted.

[sysig]

Does this hurt? (Patreon)

Bonus:

I love surfacetable.txt <3

[fredricwertham]

[theygender]

This has been on my mind for weeks and I talked to my therapist about it today and told my girlfriend about it too so now it's time for me to update the gay people in my phone: I may have schizotypal personality disorder

[athenaholmesartistsguild]

Texture used for Majima's jacket

Okay. This painting is pretty epic (In my opinion anyway).

I was trying something a little more ambitious with this piece and that's probably because Death is my favorite tarot card! It was a lot of fun to play with value and color theory with this one.

I'll write a little more about that on the Patreon post if you'd like to look at it. It's free to view and also has a high-res download available!

I also found a website that broke down the symbolism of the cards in a really comprehensive way and that was super helpful to understanding the meaning of the card. Here's the page with all of that info.

Interpretations are below the cut:

Death as a tarot card is not literally about death (not technically anyway). When it shows up in a reading, it's more likely indicating a spiritual or personal death-- an end of an era or period of your life as well as a transition to a new state of being.

Death is unavoidable regardless of whether you're ultra-rich, in deep poverty, or somewhere in between. It's so unavoidable that we refer to it as 'the circle of life'. People are born, they grow up, they pass away, and new people are born in their place.

The inevitability of death is usually scary to people who aren't quite ready to die yet. This is natural, as the idea of no longer existing in the way you were used to is a change that takes time to process.

The Death tarot card encourages you to embrace the change and view it as a rebirth, a second chance.

When it appears upright in a reading, Death usually signals that you're in a period of massive change. You might be shedding the parts of yourself that aren't beneficial anymore. You might have a new opportunity that completely changes the course of your life.

Regardless of the circumstances, the message of this card is that you're not going to be the same person you used to be. Rather than being scared and resistant to change, consider approaching the whole situation with curiosity. What parts of yourself do you feel no longer fit who you are (or who you believe yourself to be)? What opportunities have entered your life and what changes do they bring?

Reversed, we see someone who's resistant to the change that's so inevitable. Whenever I pull a reversed Death card, it always felt as if I was a zombie. Not capable of doing much more than shuffling around, stagnant and rotting and so clearly somewhere I didn't belong.

Never changing is unnatural and oftentimes brings more emotional distress than the circumstances you're scared of ever could. The inevitability of death as a concept drives home that the changes you're resisting are coming whether you want them to or not. Becoming receptive to them will oftentimes make the transition period smoother and quicker. Yes, discomfort might occur (in fact, discomfort is probable), but this discomfort is likely necessary to your development as a person.

In regards to Majima's arc in 0/ the rest of the games, my main idea was inspired by the 'Mad Dog' transformation.

While I was initially hesitant to include actively violent imagery (namely Mad Dog Majima seemingly trying to kill his Y0 self) since the original card has none, I ultimately chose to keep it since the original imagery in the Rider-Waite-Smith card is so initially terrifying.

Death is an unsettling card to look at and I believe that's the point. We're quick to view death as evil and malevolent when, upon closer inspection, you notice that the grim reaper-like figure has no weapons. He's simply carrying a flag with a Tudor rose on it (considered a symbol of peace after the prolonged War of the Roses).

I wanted to create imagery that was a similar level of unsettling, while still showing that there's not any malicious intent. After all, can you really call something murder when someone's just taking a part of their personality and hiding it away?

The Mad Dog persona is simply that: a mask. We see throughout the series that the Majima from Yakuza 0 is still there, he's just hidden behind a flamboyant, violent, shirtless persona who few are able to accurately read.

Majima's core personality is always there, but he isn't able to return to the person he was in Yakuza 0. He can't return to who he was before the '85 assassination, either.

The old Majima can't come to the phone right now. Why?

'Cause he's dead.

One of the main themes of Death's original card is the juxtaposition between those who resist death, and those who accept its inevitability. Compare the Bishop, who welcomes death with open arms to the king lies who dead in the mud, his crown having fallen. There's the impression that the king did not die peacefully, and likely was trying to evade his mortality. As such, he's not only stripped of his power and glory, but also of his ability to have a dignified death.

He chose to use his final moments on Earth to try and escape his fate, rather than making the most of his time alive and as such, he loses more than the Bishop once Death rides into town.

In my interpretation, I focused on Y0 Majima's inability to kill. While it's a good thing that he didn't kill an innocent woman, Majima created a situation where someone had to die.

Yet, he refused to decide who. This is an unfair thing to ask of anyone, especially when innocent lives are on the line, but Majima barrelled into this situation before completely thinking out what it meant to murder someone. He agreed to trade someone else's life for a spot back in the Tojo Clan.

And because of this, Lee and a woman who never asked to be involved end up being murdered in Makoto's place.

Majima doesn't have the ability to kill, but he isn't able to manufacture a situation where no one has to die, either. He's attempting to circumvent the consequences of his actions and in the end, he loses not only the lives of innocent people, but also his ability to remain himself.

Majima's Mad Dog persona, however, is able to keep the people he cares about safe (to some degree). His enemies are very, very rarely able to understand his actual motives and what he actually cares about and as such, attack targets that Majima is okay with losing: money, his own freedom, even his life at one point.

I wanted to include some of the human figures from the original card in mine as well. It's hard to tell in the actual painting, but the hand near the bottom left corner is Lee's and the figure hanging in the upper right corner is Saejima who's been executed for the '85 assassination.

Both Lee and Saejima represent the guilt Majima feels for his inadequacies. Who he was as a person wasn't enough to keep them from receiving all of the punishment for his actions (Majima didn't *necessarily* do anything wrong in either of these situations, but I'm talking more about his own feelings rather than reality). In a way, the Mad Dog persona is an attempt to atone-- a commitment to making sure what happened in the 80s doesn't happen again.

But for that to be possible, Majima has to kill his previous self and become something entirely new.

[exopelagic]

okay facing consequences of my actions

[froshele]

this guy is also called a manul and he is my favourite failson in the world

this guy suuuucksss he can't catch anythingggg

[s-soulwriter]

Things Real People Do in Dialogue (For Your Next Story)

Okay, let’s be real—dialogue can make or break a scene. You want your characters to sound natural, like actual humans talking, not robots reading a script. So, how do you write dialogue that feels real without it turning into a mess of awkward pauses and “ums”? Here’s a little cheat sheet of what real people actually do when they talk (and you can totally steal these for your next story):

1. People Interrupt Each Other All the Time In real conversations, nobody waits for the perfect moment to speak. We interrupt, cut each other off, and finish each other's sentences. Throw in some overlaps or interruptions in your dialogue to make it feel more dynamic and less like a rehearsed play.

2. They Don’t Always Say What They Mean Real people are masters of dodging. They’ll say one thing but mean something totally different (hello, passive-aggressive banter). Or they’ll just avoid the question entirely. Let your characters be vague, sarcastic, or just plain evasive sometimes—it makes their conversations feel more layered.

3. People Trail Off... We don’t always finish our sentences. Sometimes we just... stop talking because we assume the other person gets what we’re trying to say. Use that in your dialogue! Let a sentence trail off into nothing. It adds realism and shows the comfort (or awkwardness) between characters.

4. Repeating Words Is Normal In real life, people repeat words when they’re excited, nervous, or trying to make a point. It’s not a sign of bad writing—it’s how we talk. Let your characters get a little repetitive now and then. It adds a rhythm to their speech that feels more genuine.

5. Fillers Are Your Friends People say "um," "uh," "like," "you know," all the time. Not every character needs to sound polished or poetic. Sprinkle in some filler words where it makes sense, especially if the character is nervous or thinking on their feet.

6. Not Everyone Speaks in Complete Sentences Sometimes, people just throw out fragments instead of complete sentences, especially when emotions are high. Short, choppy dialogue can convey tension or excitement. Instead of saying “I really think we need to talk about this,” try “We need to talk. Now.”

7. Body Language Is Part of the Conversation Real people don’t just communicate with words; they use facial expressions, gestures, and body language. When your characters are talking, think about what they’re doing—are they fidgeting? Smiling? Crossing their arms? Those little actions can add a lot of subtext to the dialogue without needing extra words.

8. Awkward Silences Are Golden People don’t talk non-stop. Sometimes, they stop mid-conversation to think, or because things just got weird. Don’t be afraid to add a beat of awkward silence, a long pause, or a meaningful look between characters. It can say more than words.

9. People Talk Over Themselves When They're Nervous When we’re anxious, we tend to talk too fast, go back to rephrase what we just said, or add unnecessary details. If your character’s nervous, let them ramble a bit or correct themselves. It’s a great way to show their internal state through dialogue.

10. Inside Jokes and Shared History Real people have history. Sometimes they reference something that happened off-page, or they share an inside joke only they get. This makes your dialogue feel lived-in and shows that your characters have a life beyond the scene. Throw in a callback to something earlier, or a joke only two characters understand.

11. No One Explains Everything People leave stuff out. We assume the person we’re talking to knows what we’re talking about, so we skip over background details. Instead of having your character explain everything for the reader’s benefit, let some things go unsaid. It’ll feel more natural—and trust your reader to keep up!

12. Characters Have Different Voices Real people don’t all talk the same way. Your characters shouldn’t either! Pay attention to their unique quirks—does one character use slang? Does another speak more formally? Maybe someone’s always cutting people off while another is super polite. Give them different voices and patterns of speech so their dialogue feels authentic to them.

13. People Change the Subject In real life, conversations don’t always stay on track. People get sidetracked, jump to random topics, or avoid certain subjects altogether. If your characters are uncomfortable or trying to dodge a question, let them awkwardly change the subject or ramble to fill the space.

14. Reactions Aren’t Always Immediate People don’t always respond right away. They pause, they think, they hesitate. Sometimes they don’t know what to say, and that delay can speak volumes. Give your characters a moment to process before they respond—it’ll make the conversation feel more natural.

Important note: Please don’t use all of these tips in one dialogue at once.

[arolesbianism]

Thinks abt oni pmd au oh so hard. When you get a second chance at a relationship only to re experience drifting apart from them all over again

[sysig]

Red Eyes and Evil Time, practically the same thing right (Patreon)