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court-jobi · 1 month ago

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((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/characters))

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (biker!prohero reader, afab pronouns used)

Words: 5.1k

Rating: T+

Warnings: CH 362 SPOILERS, Pro-Hero! Bakugou x reader, angstttt, HURT/COMFORT, light PTSD, anxious stomach/vomiting, discussions about death, lots of comfort, est.relationship and lots of softness + trauma sharing

Summary:

When you love someone, you love their past, present, and future selves-- even if you were not part of their story for the hills and valleys that have made them who they are. This was the way of heroes: risking it all, even to death. You should know this threat by now, as it's the life you make for yourself as well-- but it's so much harder to keep the mentality when it's your loved ones on the line. You learn the extent of one of the biggest trenches in Katsuki Bakugou's life, and it shakes you to your core.

A/N: since I first envisioned my lil biker! reader, I've had this exact interaction on loop in my head. Making it the internet's problem now. apologies in advance for the feelings I've dumped in this fic. Signed, "Bakugou would hold your hair back" Club President

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Weekday mornings pass by generally uneventfully nowadays, leaving you with not much to do except to wait for calls for hero pickups when the shifts change over. It makes you feel like a bit of a taxi service, but the relaxed vibe makes up for the emergency response times you’re faced with in the dead of night when you get a message from the on-call line.

After a brief stop by your office space to glance at your inbox, you take a lap around the Service Lab in order to catch up with Hatsume.

There’s no one better fit to upgrade your helmet models and even take a special interest in how to bulk up your hero costume in order to protect you better. That’s a revolving topic from Bakugou’s lips as well, so your bringing up the idea wasn’t a foreign one– a revelation that touched you, deep under the professional front you keep here in the office.

Hatsume is highly sought after nowadays. Time in her own lab is where she should be calling home, but given her sporadic interest in all things support tech, she has been prone to taking outsourced Technical Outsource calls for nearby agencies– especially when said agencies employ her dear old schoolmates.

When you join her today, she’s busy talking shop and ropes you right into the conversation by pulling you right into her personal space. As far as subject matter, it’s hit or miss if you can contribute anything to the conversation, though today you’re pleased to see that she's in full ‘Dynamight’ mode.

A favorite topic of yours– and of all the tech assistants in the room. Mei, however, holds a far more casual opinion of Bakugou out of familiarity. They’re hardly on a first-name basis as you are, but hearing her peel back details about the larger-than-life sweetheart of yours is both fun and enlightening to hear.

Through your visits with her over the last year or so, you’re still not one hundred percent sure she actually knows what he means to you, because she barely looks you in the face as you cut your attention over old footage of him across all of her schematics monitors. Had she studied you as much as she studies Bakugou’s shoulder cannons, she’d spot your particular brand of appreciation by the tracing of a finger on your lower lip.

"Yeah it's kinda nice sometimes to jump back to basics with Blasty,” Hatsume drifts into a relaxed state back at her table, “Simple fixes like this -darn thing- hmmmthere we go!- Yep, some things never change! Always smart to figure out how to store more sweat, defer more exhaust. Lil harder now that it used to be, having to worry about the magnets."

“Magnets,” you throw in a word, catching up to her thought process, “What, on his belt?”

“No, those clip into place! The way he complains about ‘em with his gloves though, I should probably look into making them easily detachable, too.. But no, I mean the ones he used to have across his chest, back when we made the first suit edits at UA: Year Three,”

Hatsume keeps a long, archived track record with Bakugou, if her nearby drive bogged down with version files is indication of how many changes she’s made to his hero costume and support items…

“-- because we were trying to offload weight from his arms, I tried to strap ‘em to his torso. Only we learned pretty quick the strength of magnet grade was affecting the charges where it was hitting along his chest.”

"Charges–” you pay more attention now, inspecting what she’s doing. Hatsume doesn’t look your way, but is listening, “In the grenades?"

Do they go off at any second?? You assumed Bakugou’s smaller bombs were pulled in traditional fashion with a pin, as you’ve seen him use them in action firsthand. Hatsume has hard work, if she’s having to check each and every one of those, too…

"Oh! Haha no!" she chuckles brightly, "Sorry hun, shop term: ‘electromagnetic charges’! Each baby bombie has them, even when they’re not in use– but they don’t go live unless triggered. But in the rare event of a preemptive ignition, I didn’t want the chain reaction settin’ off his heart! Couldn’t use the strap anymore after that hoo-hah; too close to the loop device in the ‘ole ticker~"

Now that she’s talking organs, you start to get a pang of nerves.

You know Bakugou’s quirk is biometrically dangerous, but till now, you’ve not worried about the risks it would cause him in that way. Even more, you didn’t know of any internal monitoring device he’d have to check for that sort of activity. Bakugou went to the doc here in this building, when he’s in too rough shape to handle himself. But beyond that, you’re stumped.

"Whyyyy would that matter? What’s inside him, again?"

Hatsume handles the internal wiring of Bakugou's cannons with ease-- now that nothing is connected to an active, explosive vial of sweat. With her outfitted eyes set on the tiny soldering work, Hatsume's got Bakugou’s chart up and briefly flicks it over to the shared screen.

"'Dat one, 'hurr," the a teeny tool in her teeth drops at her need to speak, "I pull a read on his heart monitor whenever I come around to keep tabs on things- same as the core staff here does! Works like a charm with the new heart, now that he's had time to build up muscle around it~"

You look for yourself at the screen as she chatters-- and are horrified at what you find there in a continuous crawl across the screen.

Can't move. You can't breathe.

Can't understand how the hell Mei is still talking with such pep in her voice, when these pictures are taking nearly all of your composure away:

Nothing in your career prepared you to see stills of Katsuki lying stock still and caked with blood.

You're pale as the ghost you're looking at– as gutted as he is in this photo: frozen in time. The archive thumbnails are mostly drone footage, but this much you can see clearly- and wish with everything in you that you could unsee it.

The reference photos on his hero account don't show the extensive medical layover you see here in his technical file. You run through every tiny detail in the stills above you on the screens.

He's incredibly young. The soil around him, plants barely peeking out from the battle-torn ground; it's gotta be the big fight he rarely talks about. It's where he's got certain scars across his arms, chest, and the one cutting across his face; that much he's told you. They’re scars you’ve kissed and shown love and care for in his quietest moments, in which he felt the need to tell you why they stand out more than the others. In that much, Katsuki was honest… but not enough about this.

He never once mentioned organ replacement.

He's never told you his arm was torn to shreds by his own doing.

He never told you he’s living his second chance at life at the expense of another Pro Hero he’d never mentioned either--well, third if you could the brief blip while he was on the operating table after the battle. Didn't flatline for very long, according to these surgery notes, but still...

Surgery notes. Plural. There's many here. Wires sustain his oxygen and bloodflow, putting color back in his face. There's streaks across his cheeks- marred with tracks of soot and old blood, mixing with what must have been tears of pure exhaustion and rage and resolve. Yours sting at your own lash line. Every nerve ending clams up in your body: worse than the wreck that almost put you out of commission.

In your mind, Dynamight’s professional headshot is a flat, grumpy one. No smile to be found, but at least there's a spark behind the eyes.

He's not dead.

He literally brought you a can of coffee this morning.

He stopped you from getting up from the dining table too soon, needing to turn the clasp of your necklace around first because it was 'pissing him off'.

You know he's not dead– but you wish you'd never set foot in this room.

That old coffee's turned to lava in your gut.

"And these boots of his– they make too much noise! Talk about stealth-”

"Scuse- me, Hatsume.."

"--I know he’s not necessarily a known stealth hero, but– hey, when did she leave??”

He may not like how slick they go on when applied, but Bakugou had to admit it, these counterirritant patches were the best dang thing to ever happen to his shoulder blades. Menthol flooding his senses by heat activation, he was feeling better already after his first catch of the day.

After getting the note from Hatsume that his gauntlets were ready to pickup from R&D, he traipsed into her room while texting you. Just a short n’sweet message, hoping that he’d be able to cross paths with you before he’d need to go out again. The messenger app showed you were active within a few minutes ago, but you haven't responded to his messages.

He comes in, half listening to Hatsume’s rant to the staff technicians once again. He catches sight of his file, streaming up at the top of her video wall.

"Ugh, this again?” Bakugou barks out, “What am I, a sideshow to you science freaks?!"

"Hardly when we're the ones you need, Blasty," Hatsume huffed his way, "and besides, I think you better watch who you're talking smack to about this stuff anyway! And it wasn't online for my freaks, anyway. They know your work orders inside and out~ you should be nicer to them!"

You tell him as much, in his more crotchety moments… and you are always right.

Bored of the medical records, he turns to his completed support items out on the reception table, "Then what're you blasting all this shit for? Haven’t had any arrhythmias for months."

“Just because you haven’t had any doesn't mean it’s not a good idea to circle back and check. We can learn plenty from stable periods, just as much as emergencies, ya know!”

Bakugou simply rolls his eyes, throwing a grumbly word of thanks to the technician who brings over the case for said equipment, and starts packing it into place.

Hatsume slips her goggles up her face. Trying to read the Pro Hero before her wasn’t a hard task; he usually deflects when his weaknesses are on full display.

"You want my advice Mr. Murder God?” Hatsume turns more solemn– an attitude she rarely radiates.

“Sounds like you’re gonna give it anyway.”

“I think your teammates outta know what all's happened to you, cuz it sure isn't obvious to everyone. ‘Specially the ones who hang around you all the time… I think it’d be smart if they kept an eye out any emergencies, too- like your transport queen around here– Joyride, isn’t it?"

Katsuki flinched. He turns back from the table -past Hatsume- and centers back up to the full view of the record up on her computer.

He’s not so irritated by its presence anymore… but rather worried about how long it’s been up there, in full view of the room.

"...She saw all this?..."

"Mmmmyea, pretty sure?" Hatsume was already engrossed in her current project, "Was in the middle of your pieces when she came by. She normally doesn’t as so many questions, but she sure was today till she-”

Kaminari slides into the lab -winded and nervous as all getout- nearly colliding with the reception table altogether. He almost hit Bakugou square in the face, since the hothead had turned ready to bust out of the room himself.

"Oh geez, (heh) there you are, Bak- (heh) listen-- your girl's barfing her brains out! You know if she's sick or something??"

Bakugou grimaced and seethed at his own negligence-

"fuuuUUUCK," he hissed rounding the table, before he remembered Hatsume- "YOU, DUMBASS-"

"Scuse you???!"

"TURN THAT SHIT OFF, AND WHEN I GET BACK, WE'RE HAVIN' WORDS-- AND YOU-" Bakugou yelled back to Kaminari, carrier of bad news as he was, "WHERE. IS SHE."

"Bathroom by the rec room- but, hey man, it's locked!!"

Bakugou didn’t take time to listen more as he books it down the hall, making a beeline to where you'd be.

Down the hall just a few corridors away, you hadn’t made it far to take your leave. Bakugou approaches where a couple sidekicks hear you coughing behind a door, and are presently failing to be let in. The sound is heart-wrenching, hearing you sick, but he’s in full protective mode and ready to take out the door himself if need be.

He’s breathing hard, and scares them as he snaps and points harshly for them to move. They do, but not without one of them looking soured that he's getting in their face when they were only trying to help.

Coming to the door, Bakugou tries the handle despite Kaminari’s clear warning that it is indeed locked. He immediately rears up to bang his announcement, but rotates that fist to use just knuckles and taper his knocks down to a reasonable level. He's no less frantic in speech though, calling for you hoarse and breathy -mindful of his audience, only at first-

"Joyride...hon', it's me. Open up."

You're crying on the other side, but gasp when you hear him speak. An urp of a gurgle hits you in the quiet that follows, then another stomach-churning cough.

The rant of expletives that runs through his mind is enough to turn Bakugou’s own stomach... He palms his face for a minute, before letting his forehead drop to the door and speaks again.

"I can't help you if I can't see you, sweet’eart. I… know I got a lot to answer for."

The chances of him greeting a furyless version of you all gone, Bakugou accepts his fate.

"-And I figure if you're gonna yell at me, you should do it to my face. Please open the door."

After a sniffle and an incredibly uncomfortable beat of quiet where Bakugou is staring at the doorknob below him -gripping it in wait to open the second he hears the upper safety lock move-... he finally does, the moment you release it.

Bakugou steps in the single stall room -deftly fast- then locks it right up behind him. The girls on the other side fuss again, but he doesn’t give a spare thought to their efforts.

Down on the floor, not even fully sat back yet from your reach to catch the door, you're the most miserable sight. Stuffing a used-up paper towel that’s in reach by your stash, you're folding the unsoiled side to try and clear off your face and blow your nose for good measure.

What's worse, you can't bear to look at him.

With a careful sigh, Bakugou knows he's got a world of explaining to do- but has a greater worry over your slumped self on the tile floor. He’s seen you with the flu, and you weren’t this sick.

"Baby–"

One word and you're crying again, head down into your knees. Bakugou can only imagine what headspace you’re in, and the list of what he thinks he can say to console you is now down to zero. Actions it is, then.

Bakugou kneels down, swiping your hair back into a rough pony by teething off a hair tie from his wrist to secure it. Just in case you feel sick again, it wouldn’t hurt, he reasons. Once freshened, he takes away your trash bucket next without a word. Collects all the used bits of your attempt at cleanliness into the trash, barely a care for how many there were to clean up. Whatever he’d need to do -whatever you’d allow him to do- that’s how he’s determined to serve.

Finally, he shifts from a kneel to a sit. The blonde crisscrosses his stance under him, bringing you by both arms to pull you forwards, into his lap.

At first you're confused at his hands' insistence, but since he's made himself in prime position to hold you, he's glad to see you fall to the open invitation even in a dire time like this. A little shaky, but still you clamber over to his lap on your knees until he can get you settled the rest of the way himself.

Chest to chest, legs astride him, he'd hoped he'd catch a better look of your face as you came over-- but no such luck as you duck your head in. His chance at helping you remains though, as you’re holding him tight around the neck and shoulders and clearly aren’t averse to him. Frightened enough for one day -maybe even a lifetime- Bakugou lets you cling on, and simply holds you tight in return.

All that matters to him is that you're positioned as close as humanly possible. Protected. Safe to cry and ready to just absorb it. He knows it's what he deserves, and considers himself your personal sponge.

To your hiccups making you jump against his chest, he just pets through your hair quietly hushing you to stillness.

"I'm here." He takes a tepid breath. "I’m not there, baby, I'm right here."

You stutter, but simply try to control your own breaths.

"i--... I'm so.. so.. 've never been so upset.."

"I know."

"I feel so'sick.. y’looked–"

The impulse to kick aside that damn puke bucket is raging within him-- but knowing your possible need for it, he brings it close instead.

"I know, babe.”

He'll get you set before you head out on patrol today. If you ever settle… but for now, he's focused on the one thing he can control, and that’s getting you as comfortable as possible.

From here, you can't look at him, but you can look straight ahead- which shows you Bakugou's full back in the mirrored wall. The movement when he breathes, his neck craning as he lowers his head to sink over your shoulder. How you're being held so tightly it shows in each muscle group.

You can't see it, but feel it: cold breath blown from his lips, to comfort onto your heated neck. Bakugou's lifted up your haphazard ponytail, trying to introduce some cool touch to you in this small space.

You gather it's an apology, done his way-- seeing as he's unintentionally created this catastrophic response in your body.

As you've told him in your most private moments, you've only really felt this raw outlash of emotion in the workplace once before: the day you found out your sweet brother in arms, T’challa, passed away so expectedly. You suppose that's why this is jarring you so strongly now; losing him was the first major loss in your life, years before you met Bakugou.

This is so different, but all the same. A core figure in your support system- your inner circle– here one minute and gone the next. This was the way of heroes. You should know it by now, but it still breaks your tender heart. Even looking at snapshots of Katsuki at his lowest has you heartbroken and shocked.

You're a dichotomy of strength: tough enough to ride headfirst into a mission, but also prone to such intense emotion in your most private moments that you retreat into yourself and deal with an anxious gut all by yourself. Anything to protect the image you keep.

Only today, that exterior means nothing to Katsuki. Not when he alone can try and hold you back together while you try and fix yourself enough to speak coherently.

He's been holding himself together solo for far too long, too; you’ve known this from the first day he out and out confessed ‘I’m bad at this’ when he asked to simply hold your hand in public. You can feel it in your conjoined breaths, cycling back and forth for comfort. He’s unsettled, too– his new heart’s going far too fast.

“Did you actually die out there?” you manage in broken whispers.

Tell me I just thought the worst.

“... I did,” Bakugou answered calmly, “But I didn’t wan’ you to see how. Not alone.”

“Would you have shown me? Ever?”

“Doesn’t exactly come up at the breakfast table, angel.”

‘But it should have by now.’

Bakugou senses the retort and simply pets through your hair again, another apology written by touch.

“But… I coulda picked any other time, by now. You know everything else. I swear.”

Everything meaning injuries, you hope to God… “No more?”

“No more surprises. I promise.”

Secure enough to take a deep inhale, you try to lift your sights heavenward.

Such a sobering thought you have to operate in on the daily, knowing hero work is among the deadliest professions. You could lose your best friends at any time, anyone you love. In that vein, you are trying your best not to be selfish with your need for Bakugou’s safety…. Yet you still hold that small hope that as long as you have each others’ backs, you have a shot at staying ahead and staying alive- together.

Back then, you didn’t know each other. Katsuki Bakugou lived an entire life before he met you, one you were still learning.

"I didn’t know how bad it was for you…” you remember the site of the attack, what surrounded him- or rather, what didn’t. So much of that battlefront had been laid low. That told you as much as the injuries, how bleak everything looked.

Bakugou takes a centering breath himself. His grip on you never lessens.

"It was the worst day of my life,” he shares, “I fought the world's greatest villain. Almost watched my hero die… Almost lost my best friend, all on the same day. Bad memories all around, for all of us."

Memories that seep into sleep.

"S'that what you dream about? When it gets bad?"

Taking the shot at Shigurake, sent flying back by his own ricocheted blast, giving it all- fruitless as it might have been in the moment when every bone in his body felt like it was bleeding out of every pore.

You know somewhere in that event, the best friend Katsuki speaks of must have been on the brink of death in an emotional full-circle moment, for he never speaks ill of him in all the ways that matter. He’s a dork, but he’s his dork. You identified their relationship as special from the moment you’d met Izuku Midoriya but… in a deeper way than you’d found the words for yet. They’re twin stars, bound by something stronger than you even think you share with Katsuki some days. Or maybe it’s just different– not one bond that’s better than another.

You've heard him waking in a panic those nights: how he calls for Izuku, and wakes up in tears. Even in recent months, he doesn't always explain why he’s crying, only that he wants to bury it for the night… and that you help him do that.

On the subject of those nightmares, today’s discovery of that era of Bakugou’s past becomes painfully clear.

And so, he answers honestly, "...yeah."

“That’s so scary, Katsuki. You were so young.”

He feels around with one hand between your crammed bodies- for yours. Your head's still hung over his shoulder, but you crane back to watch what he's doing.

He puts it in place over his heart, forehead knelt to yours.

"Here. This is me, now."

The heartbeat under your palm is strong- a little fast, at the moment.

"They asked me if I’d do it again, if given the chance. N’for the longest time, I woulda said ‘yes’. That’s what I figured heroes say, in the face of the unknown.”

Before you can let that thought gut you again, you feel Katsuki press his thumb in one singular spot: your empty ring finger.

“But I faced the unknown. It was– really light, actually. But all I wanted was more time. I wanted the time to say words. Say more, or- do more. I had to make it right to the ones who mattered. I’m still trying to make it right. And I was given that chance to raise hell, and won. So when I see that shit, I’m grateful. I’m stronger now because of what happened then.”

You look to his face now; the older, stronger, seemingly immovable version of that younger self that still makes its appearance when he’s more pensive. He is still stuck on the look of his thumb where your third knuckle should be…

“Looking at it today though, there is more that war gave me than just making me the hero I am now.”

You press into his heart, “What’s that?”

“If I’d stayed dead,” he treads carefully, “I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t have someone who– cares for me, like you do. Who would care about that shitty kid who just barged ahead, even with warning signs going off everywhere.”

With a raise to kiss your hand, Bakugou lets his voice go raspy.

“You looked at that idiot and threw up- all because you cared,” he sniffs with a laugh, “Got a second chance at life, and got a complete knockout who gives a shit about me.”

Abrasive but honest; you laugh in full force. The odd thought passes you: why people watch gory, scary movies for ‘entertainment’ makes no sense to you. If they want horror, just take a gander at a pro-hero’s medical file.

You cradle Katsuki’s head in for good measure and lay an appreciative kiss on his head.

“Of course I give a shit,” you say hoarsely, “tho I prefer to say things like that with honey than vinegar, Kats.”

“Yeah, I know ya do… I count on it.”

When you hug him now, it’s a gentler connection. Bakugou still rubs his hand up and down your back, but out of affection instead of dire comfort.

Finally you feel assured enough for now: you reconciled his past enough to have confidence in his present. He’s bold and never short of giving his all, but to know he acknowledges this living on extended time and has a unique appreciation for the cornerstones around him gives you calm again.

Bakugou truly is your hero– who you know will drop everything to make sure he protects what’s closest to him first and foremost.

When you sniffle and lick at the corner of your mouth, it still tastes sour and you finally register a pang of self awareness. You have to smell foul talking so close to him right now.

“I shoulda thought about gum or something..-sorry.”

“Would you stop,” Bakugou droned, taking out your insufficient ponytail now that you finally seemed settled, “I’m with you just about every morning the second you wake up, and I don’t give a fuck.”

Sweetly you silently thank his efforts with a sweet nod to how he put the hairtie back on his wrist. “Still, don’t mean to make it your problem.”

The hint of a smirk starting to come back to his face, you couldn’t completely eradicate his worry with one little bat of the eyes.

“You are my problem. One I’m happy to fix up when I break it. We’ll get you freshened up when you’re ready. And only when you’re ready.”

You notice your position now on the floor of this bathroom and find it endearing how he managed full cuddle mode in such limited space. Surely the locked door was the straw that secured this.

But the knock was sure to halt it–

“Hey man, leave them alone!-”

“Um, hey ‘Joynamight’?~” Kaminari tested from the other side, “Haven’t heard any hurling in a while, are y’all good?”

“We’ll be GOOD when I SAY WE’RE GOOD!” Bakugou fired back, “HOLD YOUR DAMN HORSES, SPARKPLUG!”

Muting all laughter at the old school rivals was a challenge, but you did so while trying to gracefully detach from your loving partner. He let you with a steadying set of hands to yours to help push yourself up. You offer him steadying arms to pull him back up as well before putting your trashcan back to where it belonged.

A rinse of your mouth later, you fan your face as best you could in a last-ditch effort to look like you haven’t been bawling like a baby. While he awkwardly stood to the side to give you a minute, you caught Bakugou thumbing at his waterline, too, with a stiff upper lip to get himself back in business.

Once you rejoined him for a last hug, he readily accepts you with a rush of kisses to your forehead– just how you like it. It’s the mushiest he gets with you physically– guaranteed to get you back to your happy-go-lucky self. Once done, he smirks back at you pleased, petting your hair perfectly back into place.

“You good?”

“I’m good~”

“OKAY, WE’RE GOOD, SHITTY HAIR!”

“Hey I was the one tellin’ him to lay off you guys!!”

“YEAH AND I CAN HEAR YOU SNICKERING FROM HERE.”

“Damn, for a guy with hearing loss, he sure can pick you out pretty well-”

Bakugou finally swings the door open, pissy as usual, “I HEARD THAT!!”

While Kirishima and Kaminari jog on, Bakugou pockets his hands and holds back for you. Once you exit, you figure you better brave a trip to the kitchen and make a round 2 of breakfast.

“Something easy, ok?” he warns gently.

“I will. Won’t go fainting on ya~”

Knowing you’ll be on the roads later, Bakugou will impress a stable diet on you more than most.

“And no coffee.”

“Well, tie my hands completely, why doncha, Dynamight?” you sigh dramatically in the doorway.

He takes your chin in a bossy move, “Hey- m’lookin’ out for you, dummy.”

He sounds gruff and looks like he means it in the coolest of ways… but you hear everything in between the fussy brows and piercing eyes:

I care about you-

I’m sorry-

I know you’re this way because of me-

Never again-

Find me if you need me-

I love you- I love you- I love you-

“I know you are, Blasty~”

“UGH, she’s still calling me that shit too?!” Bakugou recoils further, shooting daggers down to the Tech Room, where he knows Hatsume is the one who fed you that old nickname.

You giggle as he stomps away, but he still throws back a last threat that you need to drink a fucking water before you go the fuck anywhere.

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orlesianhennin · 1 month ago

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I love the banter between Vivienne and Solas so much, but these two in particular stand out to me because they represent how similar they are at their core in their worldview, but also how Solas recognizes this and respects her enough to try and teach her (in his vague, condescending manner) without giving too much about himself away. Vivienne sees small-mindedness, mockery, and venom in his "lessons," but I don't think that's his true intent. I don't think he cares about her, of course, but I think he could, possibly, if he allowed himself to. I think she frustrates him because she is just like him.

They definitely do not consider each other peers. To Solas, for all her brilliance and talent, Vivienne is a dogmatic and close-minded mage who willingly limits herself. To Vivienne, Solas is clearly more than he appears - she knows he is up to something and more than he seems - but there is nothing that he could teach her. She has achieved the highest position and enlightenment a mage in her society can; he is a vagabond who doesn't value what she values (power, influence, standing), and therefore his insight must be worth little. Little does she know, the spirit of what she believes in has a lot in common with the things that Solas believes in. That is the irony of their relationship; Vivienne is who Solas might have been if he had been in her position. They have nothing in common on the surface only because they exist in different worlds. Bring them together with all other things being equal, and they are undeniably peers, who could work together and even develop a friendship/rivalry and deep mutual respect - if things were different.

I used to think the "Dirthara-ma" banter was pure spite from Solas at Vivienne because she, on the surface, represents all that he despises (speaking only from what the Inquisitor knows about both of them during their journey when Solas would say this to her). But I don't think it is just sneering (though that's part of it - his reaction is genuine and I'm not arguing otherwise - his delivery shows his disgust for her arrogance). I think that he is warning her where this kind of grandiose thinking leads... because he learned. He believed the world was better off with him "setting its course" and now believes it was a mistake and he lost everything because of it and will destroy everything to undo it. He knows the folly of being a powerful, ambitious, and idealistic mage; he knows it is nothing more than arrogance to wish to shape history and command empires. And while he certainly grows frustrated at Vivienne's barbs and constant challenges, he clearly respects her a great deal, and I think much of that respect stems from Solas seeing a younger version of him in her (because, Solas is, lets face it, a bit self-involved). It doesn't ultimately matter to him if she doesn't heed his wisdom, of course. Because she is a product of a world that is wrong and nothing she does ultimately matters.

I like to think that if things were different, Solas would have been a great mentor to Vivienne. I see them as kindred spirits even though they are so distanced in history and context. I think if he does see some of himself in Vivienne (including some flaws in common) it adds a layer to his experience with the Inquisition and his time walking Thedas in general. "Neither of us is a fool" means a lot coming from Solas, especially a Solas who would see this world destroyed; he sees value, commonality, in someone like Vivienne who is so totally a product of a world that he despises. She could have been a peer, a rival, even an apprentice to him if things were different. She is a proud, powerful, determined mage, doomed to learn that she doesn't have all of the answers. She is him, or someone he's known, and he can't save her. But in spite of this, he does warn her, again: "Only a fool would ignore such a stark reminder of the destruction of an empire.. but neither of us is a fool." One way to read this is that Solas is telling her of what is to come; destruction of an empire from the very relics and magic that they are agreeing are dangerous. He is careful enough with his words that one may not even recognize the threat, and I don't think Vivienne does in the moment. He tells her in this instance that she is right, and she is no fool, and she may be suspicious but she doesn't truly know what he is saying. We see this with her interactions with Iron Bull, too; Vivienne is susceptible to flattery and quick to believe that her superiority is being recognized.

And does Vivienne heed anything he says, or recognize his wisdom? I think she, at the time, sees little value in what Solas tells her, and when her suspicions are validated by his betrayal, all that it does is strengthen her resolve to stop him. But these comments in Trespasser...

... make me think that his warning gave her a lot to think about. I do think this commentary demonstrates an evolution in Vivienne's worldview, as much of her prior commentary involved restoring order by her own hand, and valuing being in control, and "steering the world's course." I think her comments show that she knows these things are illusions and impermanent. I won't give Solas all the credit here, but I do think he gave her things to think about.

#i have more to say about them but i'd like to replay inquisition and pay close attention to them again.#IDK if all of this makes sense?#vivienne #solas #dragon age

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twoidiotwriters1 · 1 year ago

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I’ve learned something new (Monkey D. Luffy x Fem!reader)

A/N: I'm so excited for this One Piece era.

Words: 746

At this point, it becomes a special tradition for y/n and Luffy to always search for something to share. When the Sunny arrives at a new island, they have to find something new to share with the other one.

A new fruit, plant, color, secret paths, traditions, words, games, jewels, a new handshake, rocks, bugs (Luffy’s favorite), etc.

One day, she’s already on board at the Sunny, waiting for him.

“Y/N! Y/N!” She smiles recognizing the voice.

She turns around at the same time Luffy lands in front of her. They both smile at each other.

“Yes, Captain?” she asks making him giggle.

“Guess what?” he answers.

“What?” she follows the same dialogue they always use.

“I’ve learned something new!”

She laughs at her enthusiastic captain.

“What is it Lu—” she gets interrupted by Luffy’s lips against hers. Her eyes stay open in shock for the few seconds the kiss lasts.

Luffy ends the kiss, and he looks at her with a big, pleased smile.

“What? Why? When? What?” Y/N stutters. Luffy chuckles. “You- you kissed me.”

“Yep!”

“Why?” She frowns confused at Luffy’s reaction to the kiss.

She knows him, they have been close since she joined the crew, and maybe, just maybe, she had a small, tiny crush on him, but being his friend, she could read how he processes many things, and relationships are something complicated to know for sure whether he gets them.

He knows the meaning of friendship, nakama, and family, yes. But boyfriend, girlfriend, and all of that, she’s not sure.

“I’ve learned something new at the island,” he points out.

“You learned how to kiss?”

“No,” he sings. “I found some nice people with Sanji and Nami. And they told us that, if you love someone, you must kiss them, so,” he chuckles, “I did it.”

She stays in silence for a moment trying to figure out if he’s joking, or what. But Luffy’s innocent and excited smile confuses her.

“I- I think you misunderstood them, Lu.”

“Uh?” he tilts his head. “But, Nami said- wait,” he pouts. “You didn’t like the kiss?”

Her heart jumps on her chest and her face blushes hard.

“No- I mean yes. It- it’s not that,” she stutters confusing Luffy, as he keeps looking at her with his puppy eyes. She sighs. “Listen, what they mean… is for uh- a romantic partner? Like a boyfriend and girlfriend. It’s when you want someone more than a friend or a crewmate or nakama.”

“Could someone be more than my nakama?” He asks surprised.

She sighs again.

“It’s different, Luffy. You must feel different for that person.”

He keeps thinking her words while she’s having a mental debate, wondering if he had kissed her as a mistake or…

She waits but Luffy gets distracted by something else, and he steps away. She lowers her shoulders in disappointment. Y/N wants to walk away and cry about how stupid she was, but Luffy’s hand wraps around her wrist and stops her. She turns to him.

“No, wait, I was thinking something,” he adds with a frown.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s okay.”

“Nami and Sanji scolded me today,” he remembers. “’Cuz I said I wanted to kiss you, but then they explained to me like you just did and I-” he returns to his enlightened smile, “Sanji said that I could kiss you whenever I want to if you’re my girlfriend —or something like that—and that sounds amazing! So, will you be my girlfriend?”

She looks at him surprised as he waits with a smile. He kind of understands what she said before, and now that he has Sanji, Nami, and Y/N’s information, he just takes whatever he likes about it.

“Luffy...” she blushes.

“I like the idea of being more than Nakamas, and I want to kiss you every day and hug you and be with you. And it’s different than the others… I don’t want to kiss Usopp, ew!” She chuckles at his disgusted face. “Do you want to kiss me too?” He asks with hope in his eyes.

All the anxiety disappears, and she doesn’t want to think about anything but Luffy… or his kisses.

“Yeah,” she answers shyly.

He screams and laughs with joy as he wraps his arms many times around her waist to pull her closer to his chest.

They kiss again.

“Your lips are soft, I like them!” He informs. She giggles.

“And I like you, Captain.”

#one piece #twoidiots writing #one shot #monkey d. luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece luffy #straw hat luffy #monkey d luffy #strawhat pirates

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dragon-ascent · 2 years ago

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The Prank

Rex Lapis thinks he's the subject of a prank. Centuries later, he learns the truth.

★彡use of 'wife' but gn reader, april fool's special except it's more heartwarming than funny

Rex Lapis is taking a stroll through the harbor when it happens.

A cloud of dust followed by a beam of light, and then he sees you running toward him almost at the speed of sound. At first, Rex Lapis is on his guard, but when he sees that you are weaponless and wear a huge grin on your face, his brow furrows.

You are dressed funny, your somewhat tight clothing a stark contrast to the loose hemp outfits the people of Liyue like to dress themselves in. A foreigner, perhaps? You don't look like you are from around here.

Coming to a stop mere inches from him, you gaze at him with the light of a million dancing stars in your eyes. Mirth, pure mirth at the sight of him. "Hi Zhongliiiiii!"

Rex Lapis turns around, assuming you must be talking to someone behind him, but notices how your ecstatic gaze is fixed on him alone. Who..?

"Oh, that's right! Silly me! You're Rex Lapis!"

"That I am," the archon affirms, relieved that he wasn't standing between you and someone he had failed to see. How embarrassing if that were the case. "Is there any way I may help...oh-!"

You're circling him, oohing and ahhing at everything about him - his attire, his horns, his tail, and you make a comment about his hairstyle and face remaining largely unchanged. He doesn't understand it, but this kind of attention on him makes him feel slightly...flustered.

"Oh my gosh, you are so cool!" you exclaim when you're done appraising him, bouncing on your heels excitedly. "I wanna put you in a jar and shake you around!"

Rex Lapis blinks, unsure how to respond. Finally, he says, "While I may be able to change my form at will to be able to fit in a jar, I doubt I would like being shaken around violently."

You giggle, and Rex Lapis feels slightly warm inside. Something tells him you should feel familiar to him, but his photographic memory tells no lies - he has never met you before.

"Well, that aside, do you want to know who I am~?" you ask, leaning close so that your face is a breath away from his. This proximity is ballsy on your part, but the archon, curiously, doesn't mind it one bit.

"I do, please enlighten me."

He didn't think your smile could get any wider, but he was wrong. You beam. "I'm your wife, silly!"

Wife..?

Rex Lapis opens and closes his mouth, wondering how on his green earth this could be. Clearly, you are mad. You are mistaking him for someone else, surely...but how many other Rex Lapises are out there?

He manages to form some words. "I...I am afraid I do not follow."

Laughter erupts from your lips. "It's quite simple really! You and I got married, so we are husband and wife!"

"I am aware that is how marriage functions," Rex Lapis says slowly, "but I do not recall ever binding myself to such an important contract with anyone, mortal or not."

You snort. "Well, like it or not, we do share a bed and live our lives together! And we are suuuuuper in love! You'll see! Bye, I love you!" And with that, you pat his butt and skip away.

He is still processing the fact that you patted his butt to notice that you've disappeared completely. Shaking his head, he assumes this is what mortals must call a 'prank,' one of their many ways of making merriment.

*****

Zhongli awakens from an unexpected nap one afternoon, and calls to memory that incident all those centuries ago... yes, something interesting had happened that day.

He looks down at you, his wife, sleeping so peacefully in his arms.

Smiling, he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

#zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #sini writes #zhongli x you #fluff #drabble #rex lapis #april fools

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dresshistorynerd · 9 months ago

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European history is not white

Someone commented this to a post I reblogged, which message is basically "we shouldn't venerate the Dead White Man HistoryTM and we should elevate other history too, but we still need to learn Dead White Man HistoryTM to understand the world today". It's basically a response to the attitude you sometimes come across in the internet that sees learning about those Dead White MenTM as not worth our time. And this person, who seems to be following this blog because they responded to my reblog, takes it as a personal attack against all white Europeans. For some reason. Well I take these comments as a personal attack against historical understanding.

Firstly, the post clearly didn't say you shouldn't venerate any European history, because not all European history is Dead White Man HistoryTM. Obviously this person thinks European history is white, which is not true, but surely, surely, they know it's not all men? Secondly, what is "west culture"? When did it start? There is not one western culture, not one European culture. The first concept of some shared Europeanness was the Christendom in Middle Ages, but it was not exactly the same as we think of Europe today, because it did not include the pagan areas, but it included a lot of Levant and parts of Central Asia, where there were large Christian areas. And Europe was not "very white" nor was the Christendom. The more modern concept of West was cooked in tandem with race and whiteness during colonial era and Enlightenment, around 17th to 18th centuries. And Europe was certainly not very white then. The western world also includes a lot of colonized areas, so that's obviously not white history. Thirdly, implying that asking white people to apologize for European history (which no one did ask) is as ridiculous as asking black people for African history is... a choice. Black people do exist in a lot of other places than Africa, which white people should be the ones apologizing for, and really white people also have a lot to answer for about African history. Lastly, if you think the quote "anyone who thinks those dead white guys are aspirational is a white supremacist" means you as an European are demanded to apologize for your existence, maybe - as we say in Finland - that dog yelps, which the stick clanks. (I'm sorry I think I'm the funniest person in the world when I poorly translate Finnish sayings into English.)

The thing is, there is no point in European history, when Europe was white, for three reasons. 1) Whiteness was invented in 17th century and is an arbitrary concept that has changed it's meaning through time. 2) Whichever standard you use, historical or current, Europe still has never been all or overwhelmingly white, because whiteness is defined as the in-group of colonialists, and there has always been the internal Other too. In fact the racial hierarchy requires an internal Other. 3) People have always moved around a lot. The Eurasian steppe and the Mediterranean Sea have always been very important routes of migration and trade. I've been meaning to make a post proving exactly that to people like this, since as I've gathered my collection of primary images of clothing, I've also gathered quite a lot of European primary images showing non-white people, so I will use this opportunity to write that post.

So let's start from the beginning. Were the original inhabitants of Europe white? Of course not. The original humans had dark skin so obviously first Europeans had dark skin. Whenever new DNA evidence of dark skinned early Europeans come out (like this study), the inevitable right-wing backlash that follows is so interesting to me. Like what did you think? Do you still believe the racist 17th century theories that white people and people of colour are literally different species? I'm sure these people will implode when they learn that studies (e.g. this) suggest in fact only 10 000 years ago Europeans had dark skin, and even just 5 000 years ago, when Egypt (an many others) was already doing it's civilization thing, Europeans had brown skin (another source). According to the widely accepted theory, around that time 5 000 years ago the Proto-Indo-European language developed in the Pontic-Caspian steppe, which extends from Eastern Europe to Central Asia. These Proto-Indo-Europeans first migrated to Anatolia and then to Europe and Asia. Were they white? Well, they were probably not light skinned (probably had brown skin like the other people living in Europe around that time), the Asian branch of Indo-European peoples (Persians, most Afghans, Bengalis, most Indians, etc.) are certainly not considered white today and a lot of the people today living in that area are Turkic and Mongolic people, who are also not considered white. I think this highlights how nonsensical the concept of race is, but I don't think Proto-Indo-Europeans would have been considered white with any standard.

Around Bronze Age light skin became common among the people in Europe, while in East Asia it had become wide spread earlier. This does not however mark the point when "Europe became white". During the Bronze Age there was a lot of migration back and forth in the Eurasian steppe, and the early civilizations around Mediterranean did a lot of trade between Europe, Africa and Asia, which always means also people settling in different places to establish trading posts and intermarrying. There were several imperial powers that also stretched to multiple continents, like the briefly lived Macedonian Empire that stretched from Greece to Himalayas and Phoenicians from Levant, who didn't built an empire but settled in North Africa, Sicily and Iberia. In Iron Age the Carthaginian Empire, descendants of Phoenician settlers in current Tunisia, build an Empire that spanned most of the western Mediterranean coast. Their army occupying that area included among others Italic people, Gauls, Britons, Greeks and Amazigh people.

Iron Age also of course saw the rise of the Roman Republic, and later empire, but it was preceded by Etruscans, who populated Tuscan, and possibly preceded the Indo-European presence. However, weather through trade and migration with other Mediterraneans or the continuing presence of darker skin tones of the early Europeans, their art quite often depicts darker skin tones too, like seen below in first two images. Roman Empire at it's height spanned from Babylonia to the British Isles. They recruited soldiers from all provinces and intentionally used stationed them in different areas so they wouldn't be too sympathetic to possible rebels or neighboring enemies. Historical sources mention black Nubian soldiers in British Isles for example. They also built a lot of infrastructure around the empire to ensure protection and easy transportation through trade routes inside the empire. During this time Jewish groups also migrated from Levant to both North-Africa and Europe. Rome even had non-European emperors, like Septimius Severus who originated from Levant and was Punic (descendants of Phoenicians) from his father's side, and who was depicted with darker skin (third picture below). Various ethnicities with differing skin tones are represented all over Roman art, like in the fourth picture below from hunting lodge in Sicily.

Eurasian steppe continued to be important source of migration and trade between Europe and Asia. Scythians, Iranic nomadic people, were important for facilitating the trade between East Asia and Europe through the silk road during the Iron Age. They controlled large parts of Eastern Europe ruling over Slavic people and later assimilating to the various Slavic groups after loosing their political standing. Other Iranic steppe nomads, connected to Scythian culture also populated the Eurasian steppe during and after Scythia. During the Migration Period, which happened around and after the time of Western Rome, even more different groups migrated to Europe through the steppe. Huns arrived from east to the Volga region by mid-4th century, and they likely came from the eastern parts of the steppe from Mongolian area. Their origins are unclear and they were either Mongolic, Turkic or Iranic origin, possibly some mix of them. Primary descriptions of them suggests facial features common in East Asia. They were possibly the nomadic steppe people known as Xiongnu in China, which was significant in East and Central Asia from 3rd century BCE to 2nd century CE until they moved towards west. Between 4th and 6th centuries they dominated Eastern and Central Europe and raided Roman Empire contributing to the fall of Western Rome.

After disintegration of the Hun Empire, the Huns assimilated likely to the Turkic arrivals of the second wave of the Migration Period. Turkic people originate likely in southern Siberia and in later Migration period they controlled much of the Eurasian steppe and migrated to Eastern Europe too. A Turkic Avar Khagenate (nation led by a khan) controlled much of Eastern Europe from 6th to 8th century until they were assimilated to the conquering Franks and Bulgars (another Turkic people). The Bulgars established the Bulgarian Empire, which lasted from 7th to 11th in the Balkans. The Bulgars eventually adopted the language and culture of the local Southern Slavic people. The second wave of Migration Period also saw the Moor conquest of Iberia and Sicily. Moors were not a single ethnic group but Arab and various Amazigh Muslims. Their presence in the Iberian peninsula lasted from 8th to 15th century and they controlled Sicily from 9th to 11th century until the Norman conquest. During the Norman rule though, the various religious and ethnic groups (which also included Greeks and Italic people) continued to live in relative harmony and the North-African Muslim presence continued till 13th century. Let's be clear that the Northern Europe was also not white. Vikings also got their hands into the second wave migration action and traveled widely to east and west. Viking crews were not exclusively Scandinavians, but recruited along their travels various other people, as DNA evidence proves. They also traded with Byzantium (when they weren't raiding it) and Turkic people, intermarried and bought slaves, some of which were not white or European. A Muslim traveler even wrote one of the most important accounts of Vikings when encountering them in Volga.

By this point it should already be clear that Medieval Europe was neither white, but there's more. Romani people, who originate from India and speak Indo-Aryan language, arrived around 12th century to Balkans. They continued to migrate through Europe, by 14th century they were in Italy, by 15th century in Germany and by 16h century in Britain and Sweden. Another wave of Romani migration from Persia through North-Africa, arrived in Europe around 15th century. Then there's the Mongol Empire. In 13th century they ruled very briefly a massive portion of the whole Eurasian continent, including the Eastern Europe. After reaching it's largest extent, it quickly disintegrated. The Eurasian Steppe became the Golden Horde, but lost most of the Eastern-Europe, except Pontic-Caspian Steppe. They ruled over Slavs, Circissians, Turkic groups and Finno-Ugric groups till early 15th century. The Mongolian rulers assimilated to the Turkic people, who had been the previous rulers in most of the steppe. These Turkic people of the Golden Horde came to be known as Tatars. Golden Horde eventually split into several Tatar khagenates in 15th century, when the khagenates, except the Crimean Khagenate, were conquered by the Tsardom of Moscovy. Crimean Khagenate was annexed by the Russian Empire in 1783. Crusades were a movement from Europe to Levant, but they also meant intermarriage in the the Crusader kingdoms especially between the European and Levant Christians, and some movement back and froth between these kingdoms and Europe, trade and a lot of movement back after the Crusader kingdoms were defeated in 13th century. Generally too trade across the Mediterranean sea was extensive and led to migration and intermarriage.

And here's some example of people of colour in Medieval European art, shown as part of the majority white European societies. First is from a 15th century French manuscript depicting Burgundy court with dark skin courtier and lady in waiting. Second one is from a Flemish manuscript from 15th century of courtiers, including a black courtier, going for a hunt. Third is a 15th century Venetian gondolier with dark skin.

In Renaissance Era Europe was only increasing it's trade and therefore had even more connections outside Europe. The first picture below is Lisbon, which had strong trade relationship with Africa, depicted in late 16th century. People with darker skin tones were part all classes. Second image is an Italian portrait of probably a seamstress from 16th century. Third one is a portrait of one of the personal guards of the Holy Roman Emperor. Fourth image is a portrait of Alessandro de' Medici, duke of Florence, who was noted for his brown complexion, and the modern scholarly theory is that his mother was a (likely brown) Italian peasant woman.

Colonialism begun in the Renaissance Era, but the wide spread colonial extraction and slavery really got going in the 17th century. Racial hierarchy was developed initially to justify the trans-Atlantic slave trade specifically. That's why the early racial essentialism was mostly focused on establishing differences between white Europeans and black Africans. Whiteness was the default, many theories believed humans were originally white and non-whites "degenerated" either through their lives (some believed dark skin was basically a tan or a desease and that everyone was born white) or through history. Originally white people included West-Asians, some Central-Asians, some North-Africans and even sometimes Indigenous Americans in addition to Europeans. The category of white inevitably shrank as more justifications for atrocities of the ever expanding colonial exploitation were required. The colonial exploitation facilitated development of capitalism and the industrial revolution, which led to extreme class inequality and worsening poverty in the European colonial powers. This eventually became an issue for the beneficiaries of colonialism as worker movements and socialism were suddenly very appealing to the working class.

So what did the ruling classes do? Shrink whiteness and give white working classes and middle classes justifications to oppress others. Jews and Roma people had long been common scapegoats and targets of oppression. Their oppression was updated to the modern era and racial categories were built for that purpose. The colonial powers had practiced in their own neighborhoods before starting their colonial projects in earnest and many of those European proto-colonies were developed to the modern colonial model and justified the same way. In 19th century, when racial pseudoscience was reaching it's peak, Slavs, others in Balkan, the Irish (more broadly Celts), Sámi (who had lost their white card very early), Finns, Southern Italians, the Spanish, the Southern French and Greeks all were considered at least not fully white. The Southern Europeans and many Slavs were not even colonized (at least in the modern sense, though with some cases like Greeks it's more complicated than that), but they looked too much and were culturally too similar to other non-white Mediterraneans, and they were generally quite poor. In many of these cases, like Italians, the French and Slavs, it was primarily others belonging in the same group, who were making them into second class citizens. All this is to highlight how very malleable the concept of race is and that it's not at all easy to define the race of historical people.

However, even if we would go with the racial categories of today, Europe was still far from being all white in this period. You had Roma, who certainly are not included in whiteness today, and European Jews, whose whiteness is very conditional, descendants of Moors in Southern Europe and Tatars and Turks in Eastern Europe and Turkey, which today is often not thought of as part of Europe, but historically certainly was. And then colonialism brought even more people into Europe forcibly, in search of work because their home was destroyed or for diplomatic and business reasons. There were then even more people of colour, but they were more segregated from the white society. Black slaves and servants are very much represented in European art from 17th century onward, but these were not the only roles non-white people in Europe were in, which I will use these examples to show. First is a Flemish portrait of Congo's Emissary, Dom Miguel de Castro, 1643. Second is a 1650 portrait of a Moorish Spanish man Juan de Pareja, who was enslaved by the artist as artisanal assistant, but was freed and became a successful artist himself. Third is a 1768 portrait of Ignatius Sancho, a British-African writer and abolitionist, who had escaped slavery as a 20-year-old. Fourth painting is from 1778 of Dido Elizabeth Belle, a British gentlewoman born to a slave mother who was recognized as a legitimate daughter by her father, and her cousin. The fifth portrait is of an unknown woman by (probably) a Swiss painter from late 18th century. Sixth is a 1760s Italian portrait of a young black man.

In late 18th century England abolished slavery in British Isles first, then in early 19th century in the whole British Empire, thanks to the continuous campaign of free Black people and some white allies, notably Quakers. Around the same time slavery was abolished in France (briefly till Napoleon got to power) after the French revolution. This meant there were a lot more free black people in Europe after that. In 18th century the Europeans, British especially, were colonizing Asia as much they could, which meant that in 19th century there started to also be a lot more Asian, especially Indian people in Europe. First picture below is of Thomas Alexander Dumas, who was son of a black slave woman and a white noble French man and became a general in the French revolutionary army. His son was one of the most well-known French authors, Alexander Dumas, who wrote The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers. Second portrait is of Jean-Baptiste Belley, a Senegalese former slave, who became French revolutionary politician. Third portrait is from 1810 of Dean Mahomed, an Indian-British entrepreneur, who established the first Indian restaurant in London. Forth is Arab-Javanese Romantic painter Saleh Syarif Bustaman, who spend years in Europe. Fifth is a 1862 photo of Sara Forbes Bonnetta, originally named Aina, princess of Edbago clan of Yoruba, who was captured into slavery as a child, but later freed and made Queen Victoria's ward and goddaughter. She married a Nigerian businessman, naval officer and statesman, James Pinson Labulo Davies (sixth picture).

So any guesses on at what point was that "very white Europe" when the "west culture" begun? It kinda seems to me that it never actually existed.

#history #poc history #black history #historical art #european history #history of race #colonialism #racism #slavery #painting #photograph

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charmedreincarnation · 3 months ago

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How am I supposed to deal with anti-shifters and people literally calling shifting a mental illness? I know it’s real, and it's baffling how some people want me to confine myself to a reality that doesn’t serve me. It’s like they can't comprehend that our realities can be fluid and personal. And don't even get me started on the pretentious, usually well-off, white shifter content creators who make videos about how perma-shifters are selfish. It's as if they can't see past their privilege and understand the deeper connections and meanings behind shifting. I sometimes wish I could permanently delete this account from existence because it's just so frustrating to navigate through all this negativity and misunderstanding. I know now I’m in a world filled with possibilities, and yet some choose to limit themselves and impose those limits on others. I can be happy one day, truly happy one day and jt makes me angry that it makes some people mad I believe I can wake up in a new world with wealth and money and a family that doesn’t abuse me and visit my favorite movies. Im not hurting anyone

Not trying to be mean because I get it and went through this as well, but some of you are addicted to arguing and stirring things up. Some people become complicit in their own suffering because you don’t have to consume that type of content! you can avoid it if you train your algorithm hard enough.

If there’s one thing you can learn from religious people, it’s their “I’ll pray for you” mentality. If someone doesn’t believe in God, they just say they’ll pray for you so you don’t got to hell or whatever

When you encounter anti-shifters, just hope that one day they open their minds and discover there's more to the world than meets the eye. If they never choose to do so, it doesn’t affect your journey. One thing YOU SHOULD NOT take from religious people is making shifting your entire identity. Yes, it’s part of who you are, but it's not everything. When you don’t believe in God, some religious people become upset because religion is their identity, not just a belief system. Shifting and the loa are similar in that way—if you’re secure in your journey, would you really care if others believe or not?

You can block them and move on, but I know that’s easier said than done. It makes you angry because you’ve made it your identity instead of just an inherent way of life. Everyone shifts, even anti-shifters, so whether they believe in it or not doesn’t matter.

They’re like flat-earthers to me—I just roll my eyes and move on. It shouldn’t take a toll on your inherent being or mental health. If it does, take a step back. Stop diving into communities you know will make you angry. You don’t have to drag ShiftTok drama to Tumblr or rant about them. Avoid reblogging blogs that share misinformation and arguing with them. You don’t have to share YouTubers who think perma-shifters are delusional or self-harming.

Really sit down and think: if you genuinely believe in shifting and believe you can do it, would you go around trying to prove it to those with no interest in it? Are you trying to convince them or yourself? Don’t tie shifting or anything spiritual to your worth or identity. It’s just your inherent being. Everyone is God in their own right, whether they recognize it or not. It’s not your job to force enlightenment on others. Focus on yourself, use the block button, and defend yourself when attacked without meaning but if there’s no progress in the conversation, still use that block button. Stop entering spaces you don’t agree with.

LOA vs ND, be states vs A and P—some of you guys genuinely just want to live out your high school clique fantasies on Tumblr. Stop arguing and do your own thing. Engage in the free will you have and stop turning spirituality into pretentious Reddit philosophy echo chambers of people who have lost sight of the teachings. This isn’t politics no one focused on their journey and life cares okay; no one cares. It’s should be very fun, engaging and simple—just remembering who you are. I know humans love labels and categorizing because we’re so diverse and versatile and three-dimensional, and sometimes that’s a lot so we want to find our “place” but your own label and true essence and limitless. take a deep breath, close your laptop, and remember you already know who you are.

I totally get that shifting has been life-changing for us, especially when so many of us have come from really challenging backgrounds. It can be incredibly disheartening to see someone tearing apart something that gives you hope. That’s why I find it frustrating when people casually say, "The only thing you have to lose is trying." Hope is a huge factor when you feel like you’ve got nothing else, and the belief that something can save you is incredibly powerful. You work tirelessly, holding onto hope despite facing the same difficulties that dragged you into a tough mental state and life situation in the first place—that's disheartening, and I’m not trying to downplay that at all.

But when you truly realize it’s going to happen, and when it finally does, you won’t even care about the naysayers. I’ve been there, looking back and realigning my thoughts, thinking about all those times others doubted everything. They argued and criticized, but in the end, their opinions won’t matter. It’s about that personal journey and the shift within yourself, the kind of change that makes all the worth it, because when you get past all that useless noise, it’s just you and the incredible things that you did that matter. This is your life so make the most of it.

#my asks #law of assumption #manifesting #reality shifting #shiftblr

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sepublic · 3 months ago

Text

When discussing the benefits but also the dangers of fantasy in TOH, it makes me consider how this ties into Belos’ bigotry, religious superiority, white supremacy, etc. Because I see how in the parallels to Luz and the depictions of his witch hunts as a ‘game’ he played as a kid, the show is getting into the thought process behind white supremacy and the like; Specifically, by suggesting that it comes from the same core principle of “I was born special, I’m a hero.”

Because think of it this way; I was born inherently better than others, it’s in my blood, I have to defeat evils? These aren’t unlike what white supremacists believe about themselves. After all, TOH is coming off of Harry Potter, which is criticized for the “It’s in his blood” trope with the protagonist.

This is foiled by Luz, who wants to believe at first that she’s special and things will automatically come to her because of it, but then Eda has to explain; Sorry kid, but if you want things you have to work for and earn them, just like anyone else. Some things can be attributed to luck on Luz’s part, but it’s not as if she’s blind to this and saying it’s ‘destiny’ (unlike someone else), plus in general we all have a bit of privilege in some ways.

And again, that ties back into Christian white supremacy, particularly the Puritans, who believed their colony would be a "City upon a Hill." That it’s their goal to enlighten people, or else root out the evildoers; You can see how this evolves into evangelicalism in the U.S. and the right’s obsession with anything new as satanic, even if it’s something like Elvis Presley or Pokemon (which Dana grew up with, coincidentally), or more recently, furries.

(No really, this actually happened I kid you not. It seems like an exaggeration but I swear it genuinely happened and it truly is absurd that it did.)

Anyhow I think that’s important, because it’s not just the message that Christian white supremacy is bad, it’s why people even believe and buy into these things to begin with. A lot of alt-right 4channers and the like fall into these rabbit holes because they feel cheated out of the implicit, unconscious promises of white supremacy and feel as if they’re owed something; So obviously women and PoC, the queers, the ‘diversity hires’ and affirmative action, this is what’s cheated them.

And you can see the connection between white christian ideas and how that can translate into a lot of fantasy stories, hence “It’s in your blood” and “It’s destiny,” as well as Isekai Colonialism; The idea that what if another world and its inhabitants just existed for you. These tropes are inspired by outdated ideas that Christian white supremacy, an outdated belief, has plenty examples of and sometimes even inspired.

And this is why it’s important to engage with these things critically and question them… But at the same time, Luz is still allowed to love Azura, it’s just about maintaining a critical eye and being self-aware of what you internalize and don’t. Hence her learning to differentiate reality from fiction and not become delusional; Hence King doing the same!

By making that connection, it does explain this type of bigotry by framing it in a way that viewers can actually relate to, even if they also condemn it just as much, if not moreso after understanding. It ties even the genocide with tropes like the dragon slayer, the endless horde of monsters you don’t ever have to feel bad about or question killing, or the DnD Evil Race; Which on their own, these stories aren’t necessarily in advocacy for genocide of course, some of them are just inspired by previous ones without making that connection. And most people know not to let it affect how they see reality.

Because it’s one thing to let yourself be petty and find catharsis against a genuine, extreme example who has gone out of their way to hurt you (those definitely exist, alas); But it’s another to actively search for people to feel angry towards, amidst groups unrelated to you, and provoke them until they give you that ‘justification’. Because you’re not responding to anything, you are the aggressor; In essence, you are performing a witch hunt, in a need to feel like a hero enacting righteous judgment.

Because you’re desperate for the power of putting someone else beneath you, which is what the mundane bully does, out of the belief this conversely translates into you being above others; Again, the ‘chosen one’ beliefs, the Christian white supremacy. And suddenly you better understand why Evangelicals raged over something as innocuous as the Pokemon games that Dana grew up with, back when they first came out.

So Luz understands; She does understand, better than some people, in fact. She understood the Collector. But just because she understands, doesn't necessarily mean Luz approves or excuses; She still has every right in condemning Belos because she never let herself go that far, and this behavior would be condemned even by those trying to make up for it; It’s why they try to make up for it. And the fiction Luz wants to happen for herself (which isn’t the same as the fictions one enjoys) isn't centered around there being hidden bad actors amongst the populace to constantly root out; Luz is only going to react, not act, and consistently, predominantly sees the best in others.

In the end, Belos latched onto Caleb marrying Evelyn, and then the Grimwalkers, and finally Luz, as a way of a proving a point to himself; That wiping out witches WAS in service of humanity, it would actually help them, by showing how he 'rescued' a human from temptation. I'm sure he genuinely loved Caleb, but in an extreme form of Luz's Wing it like Witches, at some point he subsumed Caleb's input and agency to instead make him into a docile trope to make decisions for.

And when Caleb didn't go along with that story, pointed out how it didn't fit the reality of the situation; Philip killed him! His priorities shifted from doing it for Caleb's sake, for the sake of HIS fantasy; He saw an opportunity to live out the Witch Hunter story and it mattered more to him than actually helping someone, or realizing in relief he didn't have to.

Hence the Titan saying Belos "fears what he can't control" due to "his need to be the hero in his own delusion." It’s a quote applicable to real life conservatives who look for things to outlaw, because hating makes them feel like righteous saviors; Remember Pokemon? Gotta save people from themselves and any potential temptations… Belos couldn't control Caleb, and the Grimwalkers? Belos' way of re-attempting his 'side quest' to again, prove that what he's doing is for the sake of humanity, in the absence of actual humans to work with.

Not that he cares about this for fear of hurting others, but because he fears it means he isn't the special hero. Note that Belos doesn't feel guilt over any witches and demons he killed in For the Future, it's telling; As is the assumption that even if he was treated with hostility when arriving in both Gravesfield and the isles, Belos still understood that murdering the colony was wrong… Yet ignores this lesson when it comes to demons because of hypocrisy, choosing to go after the world that was canonically accepting and would be much harder to attack.

And when Luz shows up, Belos abandons Hunter (showing how much he really cared) because Luz is a real human to save, even if she's technically a queer girl of color; But if you remember how Americans kidnapped Native children and assimilated them into Christian society and culture, it actually makes perfect sense because it's another form of genocide. And it's just as racist and insincere as the murder. And just like many homophobic Christians, Belos selectively chooses what to apply from the Bible because he knows it speaks contrary to what he does and he fears that, it’s something he can’t control despite his attempts to.

#the owl house #emperor belos #Philip wittebane #meta

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commodorez · 10 months ago

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What is the appeal of vintage computers to you? Is it the vintage video games or is it the programs? If so, what kind of programs do you like to run on them?

Fair warning, we're talking about a subject I've been passionate about for most of my life, so this will take a minute. The answer ties into how I discovered the hobby, so we'll start with a few highlights:

I played old video games starting when I was 9 or 10.

I became fascinated with older icons buried within Windows.

Tried to play my first video game (War Eagles) again at age 11, learned about the hardware and software requirements being way different than anything I had available (a Pentium III-era Celeron running Windows ME)

I was given a Commodore 1541 by a family friend at age ~12.

Watched a documentary about the history of computers that filled in the gaps between vague mentions of ENIAC and punch cards, and DOS/Windows machines (age 13).

Read through OLD-COMPUTERS.COM for the entire summer immediately after that.

Got my first Commodore 64 at age 14.

I mostly fell into the hobby because I wanted to play old video games, but ended up not finding a ton of stuff that I really wanted to play. Instead, the process of using the machines, trying the operating system, appreciating the aesthetic, the functional design choices of the user experience became the greater experience. Oh, and fixing them.

Then I started installing operating systems on some DOS machines, or playing with odd peripherals, and customizing hardware to my needs. Oh, and programming! Mostly in BASIC on 8-bit hardware, but tinkering with what each computer could do is just so fascinating to me. I'm in control, and there isn't much of anything between what I write and the hardware carrying it out (especially on pre-Windows machines)! No obfuscation layers, run-times, .dlls, etc. Regardless of the system, BASIC is always a first choice for me. Nova, Ohio Scientific, Commodore, etc. I usually try to see what I can do with the available BASIC dialect and hardware. I also tend to find a game or two to try, especially modern homebrew Commodore games because that community is always creating something new. PC stuff I focus more on pre-made software of the era.

Just to name a few examples from a variety of systems: Tetris, terminal emulators, Command & Conquer titles, screen savers, War Eagles, Continuum, video capture software, Atomic Bomberman, demos, LEGO Island, Bejeweled clones, Commander Keen 1-3, lunar lander, Galaxian, sinewave displays, 2048, Pacman, mandelbrot sets, war dialers, paint -- I could keep going.

Changing gears, I find it funny how often elders outside of the vintage computing community would talk about the era I'm interested in (60s-early 90s). [spoken with Mr. Regular's old man voice]: "Well, computers used to be big as a room! And we used punch cards, and COBOL!" I didn't know what any of that meant, and when pressed for technical detail they couldn't tell you anything substantial. Nobody conveyed any specifics beyond "that's what we used!"

I noticed that gaps remained in how that history was presented to me, even when university-level computer science and history professors were engaged on the subject. I had to go find it on my own. History is written by the victors, yeah? When was the last time a mainstream documentary or period piece focused on someone other than an Apple or Microsoft employee? Well, in this case, you can sidestep all that and see it for yourself if you know where to look.

Experiencing the history first hand to really convey how computers got from point A to B all the way down to Z is enlightening. What's cool is that unlike so many other fields of history, it's near enough in time that we can engage with people who were there, or better yet, made it happen! Why do you think I like going to vintage computer festivals?

We can see the missteps, the dead-ends, the clunkiness, the forgotten gems and lost paradigms, hopefully with context of why it happened. For the things we can't find more information on, when or documentation and perspectives are limited, sometimes we have to resort to digital archeology, and reverse engineering practices to save data, fix machines, and learn how they work. The greater arc of computer history fascinates me, and I intend to learn about it by fixing and using the computers that exemplify it best, and sharing that passion with others who might enjoy it.

#commodorez #retrotech crew #computer history

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blommp717 · 4 months ago

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I try to follow what you are saying, but I find your content confusing, and based on some of your repeat asks, I’m not the only one. The way you explain ND could use improvement, in my opinion. Maybe it’s because English isn’t your first language or because your understanding of ND is more theoretical than experiential—it seems like both. This is fine, but have you considered improving your English (or teaching in your mother tongue and paying a professional translation service?) and actually living in the ND state of being (not just reading or watching videos about it) before attempting to teach in a language you seem to struggle with? You could be more successful and less misleading.

There’s a lot of misunderstanding and inaccuracies in your writings, and your pinned post gives the impression that you aren’t the type of person to humbly take advice and cultivate self-awareness. Which in and of itself doesn't really reflect what one would expect from a guru or someone who has reached a profoundly deep nondualistic understanding and wishes to guide others. You seem bothered by critique or questions that you haven't already read the answer to. Maybe you could sincerely cultivate Self-awareness of how you are appearing to people who have genuinely experienced the ND state of being, not just an intellectual understanding, and those who have not. Maybe I’m wrong (I very well could be), but it seems like you read about it but haven’t actually had experiences beyond reading and thinking about it. It feels shallow and without real rooting in experience, not just theoretical knowledge. This is just a humble observation from another seeker on the path, so take it with many grains of salt. May you find equanimity and authentic awakening and be of genuine assistance to others. Peace.

I most definitely think you’re coming from a space of aggression instead of actually trying to inquire firstly, moving forward. I don’t really get how people asking questions is an indicator of me not knowing what I’m really talking about as opposed to people learning to accept how easy it is. Allot of these people come from LOA so they think there’s a process, they think there’s work to do, so having such a drastic shift will obviously not feel easy at first 🤭and secondly I’m baffled about the language comment, I have zero clue what makes you think that kind of stuff is okay to say to anyone, regardless of if it’s true or not, please seek some humanity and get it together. You don’t want to be saying all of that b.s to the wrong person. I reallllyy hope you don’t act like this in person with anyone.

Alright so, to what the actual focus of your text should have been.

If you notice, my pinned post was allot more recent than when I started posting, it was more of a response to someone claiming I’m giving false hope and that explaining the idea of “manifestation” alongside non-duality is wrong. Which I’m literally not, im not sure if your truly following up on what I’ve posted because I make it very very clear since the beginning and almost in every post with a long ask that I. Am. Not. Teaching. You. How. To. Manifest. There’s absolutely no such thing, it might look like it and feel like it but it’s not. I even have a post where the entire thing is me talking about why there’s no such thing as manifestation. And I have zero clue where you got any of that information about who I am as a person from that post alone when all I’m stating is how I’m not going to stop helping people? 😭😭

I think another confusion people who “enter” NonDualism have is they think awakening is real. You told me to reach a state of ND being or the State of ND which I’m not really sure what you mean by that because it doesn’t exist. It’s sadly time to burst the bubble. There is no awakening, if you truly understand nonduality, there is no journey, there’s no goal, there nothing that you can do to achieve enlightenment because it doesn’t exist, these are concepts and ideas self realized to give the “self” and “I” a reason to exist. I perfectly well understand what nonduality at its core is and have hundreds of what I’m sure people would call “succes stories” with it. My old posts have plenty of explaining as to what, just, no duality states regardless of getting what you want. How can there be a journey? There is no self thst has a journey, just ideas and thoughts spinning together in a flurry and naming it “self”. You don’t exist.

And for you, you want to understand no duality? I’m going to try not to be cryptic but here we go. You can’t and neither can I , no one can understand and seek, you’re not a seeker and there is no path, this is the truth. And no one can have a journey because there is no identity in any of this, there is no self as a person, there is no “me” on a “path”, there is no “one” here who understands anything. It’s all self actualizing thoughts making it seem like there is a journey, the “I” or what people call ego, needs purpose to exist. It feels like a threat when everything is dissolved. The idea that there is more to do, will be true for as long as you pretend it is. And without the false idea of a journey this “self”or “me” loses its purpose. It can be “hard” to accept but truly it doesn’t matter because the nature of existence will not change. Think about it why does the idea of something higher, a bigger step, some grand moment seem so enticing? And for who does it seem so enticing for? The false identity, the “me” the “self”. It’s just another story. You might sit and be, it may lead you deeper into sensations in the body and most likely a “profound” sense of understanding, but quite honestly if your looking for a tiny spark of magic to keep you going on and thinking there’s even more and even more to experience, it would be absolutely useless.

You are already all, whats there to find

Understanding nonduslity is realizing, how can any of this be more grand if there is only one, how can more be achieve if there is a constant state of nonduality? How can the illusion reach a higher state… the higher state is also just illusory, the self, body and world is just illusory. You as everything are pretending to be a person pretending a self and pretending that this person is also self and needs to understand and reach more profound states of being.

This is how “manifestation” is possible. There is no one and nothing “happening” all there appears to be is what you appear as, it’s hollow, almost like a projection. This can’t be turned off, you appear as all there is and as long as the body is here thoughts will appear, ideas will appear, visualizations will appear, you take it as just thinking or talking to yourself or daydreaming or predicting what might happen next, but that’s all what “manifesting” is. In every timeless moment (instant is not fast enough so I say timeless) stories are realized, you take it effortlessly as how your life is. Simple things like how you expect your parents to respond to you not picking up their phone, or what kind of day at your gonna have at school to literally everything, it’s constant, it’s everything, it’s always “on”. Your luck, the compliments you receive, how things work or don’t work out for you, all of it. This is not just life as it is but the entire “manifestation” it’s an experience of what “it” (you) appears as. And if all is what you are and the appearance relies on the perception of the appearance, then perceiving any type of story like, having brown eyes but you want blue. Okay, “I have blue eyes” this is not an affirmation, this is a truth, this is what “ “ (you) now appear as, timelessly, and needing proof or evidence is useless as it puts the attention back at “has it changed it”. If you understand its all you, you also know needing evidence or proof is truly completely useless. “But I checked the mirror and my eyes are still brown” with what understanding did you move to the mirror with. An expectancy of brown eyes? Hmm.

Well I think this is getting long winded, I’m not gonna make this even longer than it is, hopefully you find some clarity in this and I strongly urge you, before making random comments or being just rude, ask yourself with what state of mind am I moving forward. Do I really need to say it this way? Because truly, I’ll remain here doing what I do, I’m incredibly grateful that I can be able to help so many people so it brings me a sense of joy (though unreal 🤭). But I hope you understand there is a proper way to question and criticize, and well, your claims feel like they were based off reading 2 posts and calling it a day 😭😭. Anyways I actually will thank you regardless, I’m sure many people can learn from what you’ve initiated me to explain, have a great life, I hope to see you come again in future posts 🫶🫀🪷🪷☀️

#manifest #nonduality #master manifestor #blommp717 #manifestation #law of assumption #nondualism

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mswyrr · 1 month ago

Text

why i think agatha has never walked the Road before

Based on the song lyrics, if she had walked it before, she would have needed a coven to do it, and we have every reason to believe she hasn't had a coven since her first betrayed her.

Gather sisters fire Water, earth and air Darkest hour, wake thy power Earthly and divine Burn and brew with coven true And glory shall be thine

Even if she had previously bamboozled some poor bunch of witches into the Road, if they didn't become her "coven true" in that process, the attempt would have been a failure. Perhaps she has survived a previous, failed attempt, but she's never walked it successfully. To walk it successfully would mean to have community at the end, and that would require her to be changed in key ways.

Another lyric talks about "fate" and another about facing your "fears." If Agatha had faced her fears or fate successfully in the past, she wouldn't be the person she is imo. She's currently someone who is in constant flight from her past, her own feelings, other people. Only Wanda's magic trapped her, pinning her in place, forcing her into community with others. And that has just (for the moment) made Agatha double down on running and using. At least at the surface level.

Moving beyond the specific lyrics of the song, there's two broad categories of how to handle magic in stories. The first treats it like a possession--like a powerful weapon or tool in a character's hand--something that belongs to them and they can do with it what they wish and, pivotally, who they are is separate from it. The second treats magic as something that transforms you -- it's not a tool you wield, to wield it creates/requires a change in your very being. I think the way they're writing magic on the show is the second (to me, vastly superior) approach rather than the first.

The song itself and the use of a Road both point to this. The idea of a walking a path or road and being changed by it is widespread in global spiritual practices -- many religions articulate the religion itself as a road/path to walk -- the process of walking the path is supposed to bring you more and more into alignment with the power/enlightenment you seek, rather than the power becoming a thing YOU own.

Agatha herself is so deeply unenlightened at this moment in her life that she is TREATING the Road as if it is the category one kind of magic. Just a tool or a weapon she can grasp and possess without changing. She's treating the magical commitment she's made to this coven similarly, as if it has no weight to it. But I think she's dead wrong about all of that. That the magic in this story is of the second category, and through walking the Road--and committing to a coven-- she will experience change and find a "coven true." Not that she will become all nice; not that the coven will be all sweetness and light. But that it will simply be real and true.

As Jac herself has said about community:

"I hope what people take from the show, is that yes there is a tremendous amount of benefit from the circle, from the tribe, that you can have communal power, and your can find your own internal power in that circle. But also it was really important to me to show that there can also be in fighting in that circle. And there can also be bad decision-making and backstabbing, and the complexity of these witches no being able to get along. The goal for them (coven) is to harmonize both literally and figuratively, and they fail at it! You know, in a number of occasions, a circle can give you so much. But it's always going to be an imperfect thing." --podcast interview with Jac Schaeffer, quote transcribed by the lovely @isagrimorie (thank you! <3)

Even at its best, community is hard work. A "coven true" doesn't mean easy. Just real and sincere. Agatha lost the "grounding" of herself in her youth (my meta on that is here) and she will be more grounded again.

At its worst, as Agatha learned in her youth, community can become monstrous and terrifying. A prison rather than a home; a death sentence rather than a safe place to live and grow. But even when things aren't in that failure state, it can be painful and difficult -- its own hard road to walk. But on that journey you *become*. And others become along with you. By committing to each other, you are not instantly made whole and enlightened. But you allow yourself to live and breathe and become. To do the hard work of becoming. And it is that process of becoming (of living) that Agatha has cut herself off from by cutting herself off from people.

#agatha all along meta #agatha all along #agatha harkness

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leviathanswingman · 10 months ago

Text

dear lucifer; dear diavolo

pairing: DiaLuci

rating: explicit

words: 13886

chapters: 1/1

summary:

"Diavolo,

This letter shall never reach you, as it is nothing more than a way to express these bewildering thoughts that have been plaguing my mind as of late... Diavolo, in spite of everything and even more so, in spite of myself, I seem to have fallen enamoured with you."

“Lucifer…” Diavolo started, his voice uncharacteristically soft and careful. “I don’t think I understand. Won’t you enlighten me as to why you addressed such a letter to me?” Lucifer's heart stopped in his chest. “What was your intention?”

Lucifer gets drunk and writes a love letter to Diavolo to get it all out of his system. Through a series of unfortunate events, the letter ends up getting published by Mephistopheles.

“Lucifer, would you lend me an ear for a moment?”

Simeon sat down on the couch, patting the empty space right next to him. Lucifer let out a breath but still sat down, one leg crossed over the other, keeping a good amount of space between them. The moment Simeon had invited him over to Purgatory Hall for tea he'd known that something was up.

“I suppose so. What is this about?” he asked while reaching for the teapot standing on the coffee table. “Have my brothers been causing you trouble again?” he added nonchalantly, yet the slight furrow to his brow betrayed his otherwise calm exterior.

Simeon quickly waved his hands in front of his face. “Oh no, not even in the slightest! As far as I can tell, they’ve been behaving quite well!” For a moment, he stopped talking. He pushed his hair behind his ear, lost in thought as he let his eyes wander across the teacup. “Actually, I wanted to talk about someone else, if I’m being honest.”

“And who might that be?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Lord Diavolo,” Simeon then said carefully. “There is something I wanted to confirm with you. I do apologize in advance, I know this might be a bit uncomfortable for you to talk about, but I believe it's necessary. I have been keeping an eye on you and I cannot help but worry.”

Simeon held up his teacup and Lucifer poured in tea for him, remaining silent. The fresh scent of green tea began to waft through the room.

“This is about?” he asked after a moment.

“The nature… of your relationship, would be the best way to put it, I think,” Simeon answered and was immediately met with silence, followed by another heavy sigh. Lucifer sat down his teacup and pushed his hair out of his face.

“Have my brothers put you up to this? For the love of everything unholy, how often do I have to tell them-”

“I’m sorry,” Simeon prefaced as he interrupted Lucifer. “Your brothers have no hand in this, I am here out of my own free will. I am not mocking you, nor am I trying to tease you right now. I simply worry about your wellbeing. I’ve made some observations of my own and would like to hear your thoughts on them. Will you indulge me this once?”

Simeon put down his teacup and placed one hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. When he felt the demon freeze at his touch, he quickly pulled back, placing his hand back in his own lap instead. For a second a conflicted expression clouded his handsome features. “Are you sure you don’t favour him?” he then asked without prior warning.

Lucifer looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “You want to know whether I favour Diavolo or not?” he repeated.

“Exactly.”

For a moment, he remained silent. Lucifer was considering his next words carefully. “Romantically?”

“Of course.”

Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows. “Well I certainly don’t-” he started before stopping in his tracks, apparently taking a moment to gather himself. He took another heavy breath and then gave a much more collected answer. “There is nothing for me to favour, since he is the Devildom’s crown prince. I believe my sentiments are entirely irrelevant, no matter which way you turn it.” Although his words sounded sensible enough, it was clear that they were learned and rehearsed to perfection.

Simeon tilted his head as he watched his friend. “What was that?” he asked. There was no fooling him. The way Lucifer was dodging the question was painfully apparent to him. After all, there was nobody else who knew him quite as well, and there were certain things even a fall from the heavens wouldn’t be able to change.

“What was what? That little moment right there,” he kept insisting. “If I’m not mistaken, you just did that thing you always do. You pushed something back.”

Lucifer straightened his back and stared Simeon down. “Now why would I feel compelled to do something like that?” he asked, his tone icy. There was something in his expression that made Simeon want to dig deeper. “There is nothing for me to ‘push back’.”

“Lucifer, you have never known how to deal with relationships outside of your professional life, let alone how to allow yourself to be happy and at peace.” He put down his cup of tea.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, raised one finger and opened his mouth as if to retaliate. Shortly after he closed his mouth again, taking a sip of his tea before putting down the cup.

“I don’t ever-” he started, voice furious.

“But am I wrong?” Simeon suddenly threw in. “I may not have Lord Diavolo’s gift when it comes to telling a truth from a lie, but I’d like to think I know you well enough to be able to tell regardless. Let me be frank with you. Ever since the day you met him, you have made exception after exception for that man. You bowed down before him, yet remain of equal standing despite it all. He bends over backwards to keep you by his side. It is obvious that he’s quite taken with you. What’s so scary about taking it one step further when you’re already halfway there?”

For a moment, Lucifer simply looked at him. Sure, there had been signs here and there, little behaviours Diavolo tended to show that crossed the lines of their carefully crafted boundaries. Recently, Diavolo had started to use an old voice recording of Lucifer scolding him as his new alarm. Despite himself, Lucifer had flushed at the realization that for some reason, his voice seemed to be the first thing Diavolo wanted to hear when he woke up. It was as baffling as it was infuriating.

His posture relaxed ever so slightly, his head dropped down as he ran his hands across his forehead, massaging his temples. “I shouldn't-,” he started, then quieted down for a moment, reconsidering his words. “I cannot allow myself to even entertain such sentiments, you should know that better than anyone else.” He was back to massaging his temples. Then, he continued and there was no need for Simeon to prompt him anymore. “I am aware of his…advances. One would have to be both blind and a fool to ignore them. Still, even if I wasn’t his right hand man, there would be nothing for me to pursue. He's our crown prince.”

“I think you should give him more credit than that.”

“And yet I won't,” he replied coolly. This was a sensitive topic he would prefer not to think about for longer than necessary, but Simeon just had to storm in and rip open a wound that had been carefully stitched shut. Lucifer was tired of it all. “Diavolo needs me, that is true. Perhaps, he even wishes for me to be by his side. But do not misunderstand. He doesn’t want me.”

“You think he doesn’t want you in the same way you do?”

Lucifer’s face contorted and he picked up the empty cup of tea, staring down into the leftover leaves. “If you insist on continuing this conversation I'm going to need something far stronger than this.”

Simeon threw him a concerned look. “Drowning your sorrows won't solve your problems and you know that.”

Lucifer tutted his teeth in reply and Simeon hummed. “Alright, I think I still have a few bottles of Demonus left in the fridge.”

“My Lord,” Barbatos began. “Excuse my insolence, but do you finally plan on pursuing the one you fancy?”

Diavolo almost choked on his biscuit, coughing violently. “Barbatos?!” He pounded his fist against his chest, trying to breathe again.

“It's been years, Young Master. Don't you think it's time for you to secure your match?”

Diavolo’s eyes were almost comically big, his cheeks dusted red.

“There must be a misunderstanding,” he started, laughing awkwardly. “How did you even assume that I have someone in mind for that kind of endeavour?”

“You are many things, but inconspicuous is not one of them, My Lord. You shan't keep him waiting any longer. Perhaps he will continue waiting for you, but I don't think it will be beneficial to his health.”

“Him? Who has been waiting for me? I fear I do not understand what you’re getting at, Barbatos. Please speak freely.”

Barbatos poured Diavolo a cup of coffee to prepare him for the bomb he was about to drop. He was aware that his Young Lord still hadn't caught on to his own feelings yet, but enough was enough. He had given him ample time to do so by himself. There was only so much Barbatos was willing to observe over the years. Perhaps a push was what was needed.

“Lucifer, of course,” he stated simply, a small smile on his lips. “Who else would I be referencing?”

“Lucifer?!” Diavolo repeated in disbelief. “Now, now, Barbatos. This must be a misunderstanding. You believe I fancy Lucifer?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“To a degree where I would undoubtedly approach him with romantic intent?”

“Exactly so, my liege. You may correct me if I’m wrong, but have you not been doing so already?”

A caught expression ghosted over Diavolo’s face. “How did you arrive at that conclusion, if I may wonder?” he asked quietly. “I have always believed that my intent towards Lucifer has come off as nothing but pure.”

Barbatos, who for once had agreed to sit opposite him, folded his hands and leaned forward. “Young Master, when you first met him you wouldn’t talk about anything or anybody else. Only his fall and pledge of allegiance have calmed that certain habit of yours. You talk about him like one would talk about their spouse.”

Diavolo shifted in his seat, his thumb rising to his lips. “I never intended for my actions to be interpreted in such a way.”

“Sometimes, intentions and wants are closely intertwined, even if one isn’t aware of them.”

Diavolo lifted his head and faced him. “Barbatos, I fear I will have to disagree with you on this for once.”

Barbatos sighed quietly. “Young Master. Shall I put you to a little test then? Lucifer’s personality, how would you describe it?”

“His personality?” For a moment, Diavolo seemed taken aback. He lowered his head and allowed his mind to wander. “Well, he is awe striking and dignified, a demon of true grandeur. He is gifted in both speech and action. Although he appears stoic, he does have a bleeding heart for his family. His -”

Barbatos lifted his hands before he could keep going. “ That should suffice. And his appearance?”

“I hardly see how his appearance should matter right now.”

“Young Master, please humour me.”

“Obviously, he is the most handsome man the Devildom has ever seen. Both his aura and presence are truly beautiful. But that is hardly a secret.”

Barbatos simply hummed. “Do you hear yourself, Young Master?”

Diavolo looked at him with a conflicted expression, his mouth open and eyes wide. Then, he dropped his head into his hands. “I fear I do,” he groaned after a moment. Barbatos patted his back sympathetically. “Say, what am I supposed to do now?”

RAD breaking news! Lord Diavolo’s secret brooding admirer? Anonymous letter writer urged to step forth!

Dearest Readers, the following letter has found its way into your trusty editor’s hands. It seems as if -to no one’s surprise- our very own crown prince has found himself a secret admirer. Truly, I am astonished it has taken this long for something like this to take place. After all there's no one who can hold a candle to him! Although a bit on the dramatic side, I myself cannot help being curious as to who would be this daring.

Who doesn’t love a tragic, one-sided romance?

Share your opinions, thoughts and concerns with yours truly, Mephistopheles. If you have any information about who the anonymous lovebird may be, call the RAD newspaper hotline or leave your suggestion in the bloody suggestion box.

PS: We bear no responsibility for possible injuries or deaths caused by the bloody suggestion box.

“Diavolo,

This letter shall never reach you, as it is nothing more than a way to express these bewildering thoughts that have been plaguing my mind as of late. In no way or form do I intend for this letter to reach the light of day. This remains between you and I and the horn of Demonus in my hand, for I am solely writing any of this down to clear my conscience and get rid of these daunting feelings which have taken me over. The “You” in question, of course, isn’t the real you. It is more of a concept, a supposed version of you which I will allow myself to share these sentiments with.

Diavolo, in spite of everything and even more so, in spite of myself, I seem to have fallen enamoured with you.

Of course, I am aware of how foolish a thing it is, but no effort of mine has been big enough to smother these flittish feelings at their core. Not once have I planned to burden you, yet somehow here I am.

So I will put it down in writing, just this once: I have fallen in love with you, and as much as I cannot justify it, I seem to have made up my mind already. Thick-headed as I am, there is nothing to change the fact. To think that I would display behaviours of such childish nature, how preposterous.

Falling in love puts you at a disadvantage which I cannot afford. I have always seen it this way, have I not?

All that is left to do is hide these feelings of mine until they become nothing more than a fleeting thought, a minuscule distraction perhaps. A pearl in its clam, sitting at the bottom of the ocean, barely perceived but appreciated for its beauty nonetheless.

This is nothing more than an acknowledgment of my feelings. A way to be finished with all of this, for both our greater goods. A way for me to admit what I shall never live down. A way to admit that even though your actions can be infuriating and quite often, you're a headache to be around, you have caught me in quite the predicament. For my biggest failure lies in the way my breath catches when your brilliance and charm come to show, and I find myself breathless in the face of your regality once more.

I look next to me and there you stand, a familiar shoulder pressed into mine. The warmth you radiate scorches me at my very core yet I shall never dare reach out.”

Lucifer stared at the newspaper in his hands, frozen in place. The ruckus his brothers were causing at the breakfast table had long turned into nothing more than background noise.

For a moment, there was a certain kind of tranquillity in the air, the calm before the storm, until reality sat in again and sheets of paper creased under the grip of his tense fingers. It was about that article, that ever so cursed piece of literary waste that had somehow found its way into Mephisto’s grimy hands and, inevitably, onto the front page of RAD’s newspaper.

Truthfully, Lucifer was all too familiar with the piece Mephistopheles had published. And although his memory was admittedly muddy at best, for he was currently nursing a particularly nasty hangover and was barely able to recall the events of that evening, there was no denying that those words could be anyone else’s but his own. Perhaps drinking with Simeon had been a bad idea after all.

He read the article once, read it twice, skimmed it from beginning to end and gave it a disgruntled look. Perhaps throwing it in the fireplace would do him some good. Certainly it wouldn't help resolve the issue itself, but perhaps the action would offer him some much needed relief.

After all, to put it rather plainly, it was a letter of admiration, written in a moment of weakness at Simeon’s suggestion; a foolish love letter Lucifer had carelessly crafted in a moment of self-pity, fueled by three bottles of Demonus and aggravated by his troublesome week. It was a letter he had certainly intended to write, but that never should’ve seen the light of day.

Yet here it was, black on white, in pristine print. The only blessing was that Mephistopheles had taken the time to copy the letter instead of simply scanning the original. After all, both his brothers and colleagues were more than familiar with Lucifer’s penmanship. There would've been no way of denying that he was the author.

Like this however, there was still plenty of room for damage control.

Suddenly, Lucifer felt a familiar presence leering behind him, calm and collected, yet with an undeniable underlying volatility.

“Well look at that,” the young demon said, letting out a long drawn whistle. “Looks like you're finally getting some serious competition.”

Before Lucifer could turn around, Satan had already snatched the newspaper out of his hands.

“Have I not told you to cease these sort of jokes? I have no idea what you could possibly be getting at,” Lucifer grumbled as he lifted his cup and took a big sip.

“Diavolo. In spite of everything and even more so, in spite of myself, I seem to have fallen enamoured with you,” Satan repeated, putting on an overly dramatic tone of voice. “What do you say, is Lord Diavolo the type to fall for that?”

“Ooooh Satan, what do you have there? Did I just hear Lord Diavolo and love in the same sentence? Show me, show me!” Asmodeus put his chin on Satan’s shoulder and grappled for the newspaper himself. Satan offered it to Asmo, pointing at the article in question.

“Look at what Mephistopheles just published.”

For a moment there was silence as Asmodeus read the letter carefully, glossed lips mumbling every second to third word as he scanned the letter. A smile was starting to pull at the corners of his mouth.

Lucifer felt his fingers twitching, tempted to rip the newspaper out of their hands. However, yelling at his brothers for being interested in the letter would be far too obvious now, wouldn't it? So he bit his tongue, ground his teeth and waited for Asmodeus to be done.

Shortly after, Asmo looked up from the newspaper, his big eyes shining with glee. “Oh Satan, could you even imagine?” he started, a dreamy tone to his voice as he clasped his hands together. “A partner for Lord Diavolo? They must be so lucky!! Imagine being able to pull the next Demon King! I’m almost jealous!”

At that point, Lucifer felt ever so inclined to intervene. He uncrossed his legs, placed both elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Pray tell, Asmodeus. Why would you think a letter as foolish as this one could coax Diavolo into a relationship? Let’s not pretend that such carefree writing alone would be enough to make a demon as important as Diavolo develop deeper feelings. Based on his status alone, he cannot afford to engage in such childish acts of freedom. There is a time and place for everything, and this is most certainly out of line, don’t you think so?”

“Lucifer, come on! Would it hurt for you to be at least a tiny bit more romantic? You can't tell me you haven't noticed how lonely Lord Diavolo gets. ”

“It would only create more issues for both Barbatos and me in the long run.”

“Boo! You old spoilsport! It's about love! Love!! What could be more important or exciting than that?!”

“Work,” he suggested drily. “Securing the Devildom’s position. Keeping Barbatos sane,” he added on. “Do you need more suggestions? I have plenty.”

Asmo’s mouth pulled into a small pout. “You're no fun.”

“That I have been told before. How else would things get done in this family?”

Lucifer put down his cup of coffee and smoothed down his dress shirt. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was already time to leave. “I have to go. Barbatos and Diavolo are awaiting me on some pressing matter.” He'd received a call requesting his presence shortly after he’d woken up.

Asmo waved at him. “Ask Lord Diavolo about the letter for me!”

“I will not,” Lucifer grumbled back as Satan let out a loud cackle, slapping Asmo’s shoulder in delight.

Unluckily enough, that cursed letter seemed to be intent on haunting Lucifer further throughout his day. He arrived at the Demon Lord’s castle 5 minutes prior to their appointed meeting time, as per usual. Barbatos was already waiting for him at the door, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the halls.

“Good morning Lucifer,” he greeted.

“Barbatos. A good morning to you too. I take it you’re doing well?”

“Of course. The Young Master has already awoken, so let’s not keep him waiting for much longer. Shall we?”

Lucifer followed him to the tea room in comfortable silence. Before they entered, Barbatos stopped in his tracks, throwing him a side-glance.

“Perhaps I should warn you,” he started as he smoothed down his vest. “The Young Master has become quite taken with the idea of-”

Before he could finish his sentence, the door was pushed open with much enthusiasm. There was a big smile on Diavolo’s face as he greeted him with far too much energy considering the early hours.

“Lucifer, there you are! Come in quick! We have important things to discuss!”

Barbatos’ shoulders seemed to stiffen some more and Lucifer followed him inside, immediately suspicious. Diavolo’s little sparks of genius hardly ever promised good things.

As always, the table was already set and there were tea, coffee and amuse-bouches waiting for them. Diavolo plopped down on one of the chairs and waited for Lucifer to follow suit. Barbatos rounded the table to fill both their cups with coffee, preparing a third one for himself before allowing himself to sit down as well.

Just as Lucifer lifted the cup to his mouth, Diavolo began to lean forward, an excited smile on his face.

“So,” he began, the smile on his lips tender. “I am sure you’ve read the newest issue of RAD’s newspaper.”

Lucifer lowered his cup again, his expression wary. “I managed to catch a glimpse over my morning coffee before my brothers started to cause mayhem again. Why?”

Barbatos politely placed his hands in his lap. “Today’s breaking news were quite exciting for the Young Master,” he threw in. His face was directed towards Diavolo, but for a split second, he let his eyes stray back to Lucifer, who suddenly felt a dreadful sense of foreboding.

“Are you trying to tell me that appalling letter has caught your interest?”

Diavolo laughed gently. “That it has.”

The handle of the fine china cracked beneath Lucifer’s fingertips and Barbatos narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say another word.

“Why? It surely can’t be more than a letter filled with wishful thinking and nonsensical fantasies.”

“True as it may be, I still owe them an answer, don't you think so too?”

Lucifer shivered. “No, I do not.” He had to squash these nonsensical ideas before they evolved into something much worse. “It might as well be a ploy to isolate you. Who knows what that person's intentions are.”

Diavolo placed down his teacup. “Whether it's real or not is unimportant. Even if it's a simple ploy to assassinate me, don't you think it should still be looked into? And I believe if it were a threat against my person Barbatos would have spoken up already.”

Curses.

“That is correct,” Barbatos threw in. “I sense no evil intentions.” Interestingly enough, Lucifer thought his expression looked almost unhappy.

“That’s… a relief.”

Diavolo leaned closer towards Lucifer. “Barbatos, the newspaper please.” The butler handed it to him and Diavolo pointed at the printed letter. “Look at this line here. Don’t you think it implies I must know the author?”

Diavolo scanned the writing, his finger following each and every line until he found the one he'd been looking for. He pointed at it. Lucifer hardly wanted to read the letter a second time, yet he had no other choice.

I look next to me and there you stand, a familiar shoulder pressed into mine.

“I would hardly interpret it as a poet’s way of exercising their artistic freedom.”

“And how do you intend on finding that person?”

“Perhaps Mephistopheles knows more about it. He is the one who published it, after all.”

Mephistopheles.

Lucifer wished he could blame the demon for meddling once again. How had he gotten his grimy hands on it in the first place? Annoyingly enough, Lucifer still didn't remember much aside from getting incredibly drunk at Purgatory Hall, then stumbling home when he noticed Simeon was out cold on the couch. Once he was home, listening to Simeon’s advice and writing a letter to get everything out of his system suddenly sounded like a sensible idea. Perhaps he really should stop drinking.

“I must hear them out before letting them down kindly so they can move on. Isn't this exciting Lucifer? My first confession!”

Lucifer hated that sooner or later, someone would have to burst his bubble.

“Mephistopheles.” Lucifer was standing before his desk with crossed arms, his chin jutted out defiantly. Mephistopheles looked up at him with knit eyebrows, donning a discontent expression that he did not care to hide. With an annoyed huff, he leaned his cheek against his hand and mustered him from head to toe. “Lucifer. What gives me the displeasure?” he asked, his tone blasé.

Their interaction was just about as icy as he’d expected. After all, it was hardly a secret that they could not stand one another. Mephistopheles had hated Lucifer from the first moment he’d set eyes on him. The fact that Lucifer, disgraced as an angel, then distrusted as a demon, had somehow managed to become Diavolo's right hand man, a position Mephistopheles had been trying to secure for years, had put the last nail in the coffin. Lucifer on the other hand did not care for Mephisto’s attitude. His thoughtless devotion and almost aggressive loyalty reminded him of Michael, uncomfortably so. The fact that he had been openly volatile and borderline rude towards his brothers from the start certainly hadn't helped.

Lucifer tapped his foot impatiently. “Diavolo sends me.”

Mephistopheles immediately perked up. “Lord Diavolo? What does he need? Is my presence needed? If it is needed, then I-”

Before Mephisto could jump up from his seat, Lucifer lifted his hand in a rude manner, stopping Mephisto in his tracks.

He realized how tense his jaw was and unclenched it. “There’s no need for that. It’s about the letter you published. Diavolo wants to see the original.”

“The original? I assumed he already had a copy. It was between the documents you gave to me after all.”

So this was how he had gotten his hands on it. Lucifer had practically hand delivered the letter, served to Mephistopheles on a silver platter. Apparently his drunken self must have placed it on his stack of documents, already forgotten by morning since until this day, he did not remember any of it.

He cleared his throat. “He does not. I hardly deemed it important enough, considering how the author chose to remain anonymous.”

Mephistopheles tutted his tongue. “As expected. How arrogant of you to assume Lord Diavolo would see the issue the same way you do. I fail to comprehend how engorged your ego must be to support this sort of behaviour.”

Mephistopheles threw Lucifer a displeased glance, but he still opened the drawer at the bottom of his desk, thumbing through various documents before finally pulling out the letter.

Lucifer recognized the lettering paper almost immediately. His only saving grace was that Mephistopheles tended to avoid him like the plague and was thus unfamiliar with his writing and the stationary he preferred to use. Were it anybody else they would have recognized it straight away.

Lucifer did not thank him for his cooperation.

Mephistopheles pushed the document towards him. Before Lucifer could touch it however, he pulled it back again. “Do make sure Lord Diavolo gets it this time. I would prefer not to have you in my office a second time around,” he quipped.

“I was not the one who published an insignificant fan letter without permission,” Lucifer simply retorted.

“At least I wasn't the one who misappropriated it in the first place,” Mephistopheles bit back.

Lucifer ignored Mephisto’s last remark and left his office with nothing but a stiff goodbye. No matter how dignified Lucifer liked to present himself, his debates with Mephistopheles were unending in nature and admittedly, a bit embarrassing for either of them at their grown ages.

A few minutes into his walk back, his DDD rang and upon seeing that it was Diavolo calling, he picked up after the third ring.

There was no greeting needed. They had moved past the need for polite platitudes many decades ago. “Diavolo. Yes?”

“Mephistopheles just sent word that he gave you the letter. Do you perhaps have the time to bring it over? I would like to read it straight away.”

Inwardly, Lucifer let out a flurry of courses. Of course, Mephistopheles just had to call Diavolo so he could look good and tattle. As expected of him.

“Your opinion is important to me and you've always given me good advice,” Diavolo said slowly. “So if it won’t inconvenience you, I would like to request your presence as well.”

Originally, Lucifer had planned on getting rid of the letter, or at least doctoring with the writing, but now there was no other way out, was there?

“Haven't I already voiced my opinion on the matter? I don't see what my presence would be necessary for.”

“Lucifer,” Diavolo pleaded. “I simply wish for your presence by my side. Is that too much to ask for?”

“I suppose not, it's just…” That I do not wish to embarrass myself even further than I already have. He took an exhausted breath. “I will be there in half an hour. Do not expect me to sugarcoat my words.”

“Of course. Treat me as harshly as you see fit.” His warm laugh rang through the speaker and Lucifer had to swallow the incoming sense of dread. Wars and conflicts he could handle. Feelings however? It would be much easier if he had never gotten back in touch with them in the first place.

It didn't take him long to return to the Demon Lord’s castle. Barbatos seemed to be out on an errand, so he was greeted by a Little D that led him to one of Diavolo's chambers instead.

The door opened after a few knocks. Diavolo was lounging on his chaise longue and his expression lit up the moment he took note of Lucifer walking in. He greeted him warmly and beckoned him to step closer with a curl of his finger.

The letter, now placed in an unassuming envelope, felt like hot coal under Lucifer’s fingertips. For a moment, he considered his options. There was still time to accidentally drop it in the fireplace or fling it out of the window. For a moment, he humoured the thought. Still, that wouldn't change the fact that he had to face that there was no way out of this mess of his own doing. With gritted teeth, he had to admit his defeat.

“The letter,” he said calmly.

Diavolo sat up so he could reach out and Lucifer handed over the letter without much ado. Their hands brushed shortly.

“Are you certain about this?” he asked one last time, hoping Diavolo would return to his senses before it was too late, but the demon prince simply tilted his head and smiled. “As certain as I can be. Whoever wrote the letter did it at the perfect time.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “Now why would that be?”

Diavolo scratched the back of his head in a sheepish manner. “Oh, it was simply something I previously discussed with Barbatos. Pay it no mind.”

“If you say so.” For now, he chose to drop the issue. There were much more important things to worry about.

Lucifer watched Diavolo's every move as he pulled the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it carefully, smoothing over the creases before beginning to read.

Lucifer saw the way his eyebrows pulled together almost immediately.

He desperately wished for the ground to swallow him whole. Still, he stayed where he was, his feet planted firmly on the ground, his back leaning against a shelf in a false show of relaxedness.

Diavolo shifted in his seat, then tilted his head to the side. “Uhm, say Lucifer. Did you by any chance… copy the letter by hand? Did it get damaged or were there any other issues I should be aware of?”

Lucifer refused to move. He kept his eyes fixed on the top of Diavolo’s head as he crossed his arms behind his back. “I did not alter the letter in any shape or form,” he answered calmly. For a moment, he allowed his gaze to slip. His eyes met Diavolo’s. “The letter is unchanged. Mephisto will surely be willing to attest to that,” he admitted.

The demon prince was looking at him with parted lips, his eyes blown wide open. The expression on his face was a mix of shock, disbelief and a third thing Lucifer found himself unable to interpret.

There was nothing else to say. After all, lying to Diavolo would be completely and utterly useless.

He hesitated, then straightened his stance further. “If my presence isn’t needed anymore I would like to take my leave now,” he stated, his tone of voice a carefully crafted thing. Perhaps leaving him no room to discuss would be the most sensible way to go.

Diavolo did not excuse him, but Lucifer still turned around to head towards the door. Less than three steps in, he felt a presence behind him, right before a hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. Lucifer stared at the door in front of him and held back a sigh.

“Lucifer…” Diavolo started, his voice uncharacteristically soft and careful. “I don’t think I understand. Won’t you enlighten me as to why you addressed such a letter to me?” His heart stopped in his chest. “What was your intention?”

Lucifer turned back around, making sure to push off Diavolo’s hand that was still holding him back. “That letter…” Before he could continue, their eyes accidentally met. Diavolo looked conflicted enough for Lucifer to know that there were no options aside from damage control. Attempting to explain himself would be pointless.

That specific look was all he needed to be put back in his place. Perhaps being treated like an equal had spoiled him rotten.

“I never intended for you to read it,” he eventually settled on. The words left his lips slowly, carefully. “I would appreciate it if you could be generous enough to pay it no mind.” There was nothing left to do but respect their duties and play it down. The hopelessness of the situation was nothing new to him, so why should the confirmation he'd finally received change anything?

Diavolo pulled himself closer, his eyes an honest shade of gold as he watched him with questions in his eyes. “But doesn’t this sound like a-”

“Like a letter I wrote in a moment of inebriation? It is quite alright,” Lucifer cut in. Defensively, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and averted his gaze. “Allow me to apologize for overstepping. It was uncalled for and inappropriate.” His cheeks were burning with shame.

He nodded towards the letter. “Just throw it in the fireplace. If you don’t plan on doing it yourself you can just hand it over and I will do so in your stead.” It was an easy way out and Lucifer would have to allow Diavolo to take it. What other choice was there to make?

“Oh,” Diavolo said, biting his lip. “Of course.” With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the letter into the fireplace and Lucifer watched the flames hungrily eating away at the page, turning its remains from white to black to ashes. Oh, he thought. So it had been that simple all along. Although he should feel relief, Lucifer found his eyes stuck to the fireplace; stuck to the graveyard where his feelings would have to remain buried.

Quietly, Diavolo began to speak and Lucifer listened to the sound of his voice without turning his head. “I trust you, Lucifer,” he said. “I appreciate your words of gratitude, but seeing as they cause discomfort, nothing will have to change.”

Strangely enough, Lucifer felt taken aback. A damp sort of pain was running through his body, and he was surprised to feel it as vividly as he did.

Nothing would have to change. It was for the better.

“Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth, the words bitter on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to chew them up and spit them out, but forced himself to swallow them down instead.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Diavolo replied blankly, his eyes set on the fireplace as well. It was an entirely absurd exchange.

They did not talk about the letter any further. Lucifer did not feel like making eye contact with Diavolo just to see that disappointed expression again.

Simeon was standing in front of the Demon Lord’s castle, the warm Devildom air caressing his cheeks and tousling his hair. He raised one hand and knocked against the heavy wood, his knuckles grazing the door hard enough he feared it would leave behind gashes.

It didn’t take long for him to be welcomed in. Barbatos seemed to still be up and about with Asmodeus and Solomon since one of the Little D’s allowed him to enter and led him through the halls until they reached another heavy door.

For a moment, he had to wait until a voice called him in and he was allowed to enter. The clacking of his heels against the marbled ground were filling the silence as he approached the Devildom’s future ruler.

“Lord Diavolo. Good evening,” he greeted harmoniously.

The demon prince was sitting at a table and there were several documents and maps spread out all over its surface. He looked up at his visitor, his eyebrows rising in surprise. It seemed like the unannounced visit had caught him by surprise. “Simeon, how have you been faring? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Simeon rubbed his hands together. “I am doing well, thank you. Solomon, Luke and Raphael have been keeping me on my toes. But I did not come here to talk about them.”

“Sit down, Simeon, sit down. What might be troubling you then?”

Simeon gingerly sat down as Diavolo attempted to move the mess on the table aside. “Well it’s a rather delicate issue. I hope you'll lend me an ear regardless. It’s about Lucifer.”

Diavolo stopped in his tracks and lifted his head. “Lucifer? What may be the issue?”

There was a knowing look on Simeon��s face. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Truthfully, I worry about his health. He’s always been one to overdo it with work and his duties, but the past week, it’s been much worse than usual. He is moody and unpredictable and I am not the only one who has noticed. Do you know if anything happened that could’ve sent him astray? I know his brothers have been behaving quite well, so I don’t think it is related to them this time around.” He allowed a beat to pass before he threw Diavolo a knowing look. “Perhaps…Excuse my bluntness, but is it possible that something happened between the two of you?”

For a moment, Diavolo remained quiet. “It saddens me to hear that he hasn't been doing well,” he said shakily, before making eye contact with Simeon again. “It truly does.”

“So something did happen. Was it about-”

“It's nothing,” Diavolo cut in, his voice suddenly quite unwelcoming. ”Even more so do I find your little act of innocence quite daring. If there’s something you want to say, then say it without restraint.”

Simeon felt a wave of exasperation rushing through his chest. “It certainly doesn't look like nothing happened,” he countered. “I think you are well aware of that.”

Diavolo raised his voice. “What did or did not happen between him and me should hardly concern you.” They hadn’t talked like this ever since Simeon first came down to the Devildom. The hostility was strange, but not unfamiliar to them. It was a quiet thing, almost imperceptible to an outsider's eye.

There was a firm look in Simeon’s eyes. “It is when I see an old friend in unnecessary pain.”

They found themselves locked in a stalemate. Diavolo was the first to give in. He dropped his palms down on the tabletop. A few sheets of paper were sent flying from the impact. “He said I should forget about the letter, so I did. Everything should be alright.”

Simeon didn't ask about the letter. There was no need. He had already known in his heart that Lucifer was the one who had written it. “And you didn't insist on talking about it further?” he asked.

“It wasn't my place to do so. Why should I have acted differently when it was what he wished for?”

“Because he is your friend who has sworn utmost loyalty to you and refuses to put either of you in a situation that could jeopardise your relationship. Tell me Lucifer would not act this way and I won't say another word.”

Diavolo didn't answer for a beat or two, then mellowed down considerably. “How could I let myself think in such ways when it took us decades to rid ourselves of the shackles of my status? My feelings, grand as they are, should be insignificant.”

“Yet they aren't. Not to you and most certainly not to him. Are you that keen to let it ruin your relationship? Do you truly want to go back to how things were?” Simeon asked bluntly, receiving him a disbelieving stare. “We both know how Lucifer gets when he sees the need to distance himself. He gets cold and impersonal and that is incredibly painful to experience.” Simeon fixed him with a sharp glare. “Excuse my bluntness, but you already know he loves you. Things have already changed. Not dealing with it will get you nowhere. Stop stringing him along for your own sake. Giving him a straight answer is the least-” Before he could finish his sentence, there was another knock on the door. Both Simeon and Diavolo turned towards the noise.

“Yes?” Diavolo asked unnecessarily. After all, there were only two people the Little D’s would invite in without a previously scheduled appointment. Barbatos was still out on a mission with Asmodeus and Solomon, so that left only one other person.

The door swung open. Lucifer was waiting in the hallway with a stack of papers in hand. His hair looked just as perfect as it always did, making Diavolo wish he could run his hand through it just once more, allowing his fingers to wander through the silky strands, his palm brushing over Lucifer’s forehead with the utmost care. The RAD uniform he wore was ironed to perfection, without so much as a speck of dust to be seen. In spite of his flawless appearance, there were heavy bags under his eyes. His gaze was a cold, detached thing that he hadn't worn out in decades.

Diavolo swallowed once, his eyes rushing over to Simeon, who fixed him with a solemn expression.

When Lucifer caught sight of the angel, he stopped in his tracks.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked warily, his hand still on the door handle.

Simeon stood up and shook his head. “Not at all. Thank you for the talk, Lord Diavolo. I hope you will consider my words of advice.” He threw Lucifer a quick glance and nodded shortly before he left.

As soon as he was gone, the atmosphere turned awkward.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo started carefully. He cleared his throat. “What may I help you with?”

For a moment, Lucifer mustered him. “I was planning to deliver a few documents.” A beat passed. He prepared to put them on the table, but when his eyes wandered downwards, he frowned. “Now what happened here? Barbatos leaves you to your own devices and you decide to throw the castle into disarray?”

He surveyed the mess and began to shuffle a few stray papers around in an attempt at creating at least some semblance of order. “What did Simeon want from you?” he asked while he kept sorting, his eyes fixed on the documents.

Diavolo motioned for him to come closer. When Lucifer remained in place, still busying himself with sorting the documents, Diavolo sighed. He felt a twinge of regret pulling at his conscience. He knew that somehow, he had to fix what he had damaged. Simeon had been right after all. They wouldn't get out of talking about what passed between them if he wished to save their relationship.

Slowly, he stood up and walked over to Lucifer. When he tried to put his hand on his shoulder, Lucifer pulled himself back just enough to avoid the touch. Rejection was a cold sword twisting in Diavolo’s gut.

“Forget it, it’s not like it’s any of my business. There is no reason for you to tell me anything.”

Diavolo felt desperate to keep the conversation going. “He was simply giving me a piece of advice. There is no need to worry.”

Lucifer threw him a cold look. “Why would I be worried?” Finally, he handed over the stack of documents he'd been carrying with him. “Do Barbatos a favour and file them away appropriately. That would be all. Have a good night, Diavolo.”

And just like that, Diavolo watched Lucifer’s backside as he exited the room, one last hand raised to wave goodbye. The words he had left him with stung like fresh pearls of water dripping over fresh wounds. Lucifer hadn't truly looked him in the eyes even once.

He had to fix this.

Lucifer was sitting at his desk with closed eyes, his heavy head cradled in his hands. It was difficult to tell whether what he was doing was an act of self-punishment or his newest attempt at repentance.

All he knew was that every single cell of his body was screaming for the comfort of sleep. But he couldn’t. His mind wouldn’t allow him to.

Today’s trip to the Demon Lord’s castle had been enough to unravel his carefully constructed restraints all over again.

Something had been in Diavolo’s eyes tonight. Lucifer wasn't enough of a fool to call it sadness, but it couldn't be too far off from it. All things considered, he couldn’t allow himself the luxury to be openly cross with him and let it tarnish their relationship even further. For once, he found himself unable to turn off his feelings or push them to the side for later consideration. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes for the shortest of moments.

When he opened them again, something felt off. It was as if the world was blurring around the edges, the details losing clarity when he tried to look at them for too long. All colours seemed brighter, but the noise of the House sounded much duller than usual.

This must be a dream, Lucifer found himself thinking. He must’ve fallen asleep after all. Ever since Solomon had tinkered around with the dream world, jumping from dream to dream without much consideration of what it may cause, more vivid and sometimes even shared dreams had become somewhat usual. Leave it to that pesky sorcerer to send the Devildom's ley lines into disarray.

Suddenly, there was a voice next to his ear, deep and smooth. “Did I hurt you with my actions?” Diavolo was suddenly standing behind him, his eyes big and guilt-ridden, his hand held high enough to take hold of Lucifer’s shoulder if he so wished to. Still, his hand remained halfway lifted, reluctant to connect.

Lucifer let out a sigh. So not even his dreams were kind enough to spare him. At least the dream world seemed to dull his feelings enough to soothe his bleeding heart. “Why would you concern yourself with that?” he asked, slowly standing up to face the demon prince.

Finally, Diavolo placed his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. “Because it was never my intention to cause you grief,” he admitted quietly.

“And yet you continue to do so,” Lucifer replied without hesitation. It was easier to be truthful when their entire relationship wasn't at stake. “However, it would be ridiculous of me to hold you accountable for my own unrequited desires.” He lifted his head and, knowing it was a dream, smiled reluctantly. “It was I who acted like a fool.” For once, he allowed himself to be soft, allowed his heart to beat quickly despite the emergency band-aid he had forced himself to plaster across it. “There was no need for change, yet my letter caused all sorts of unrest.”

Diavolo took his hands and held them gently in his own. Lucifer couldn’t help but find it cruel. Still, he didn’t ask to be released. The sensation was nice enough and more so, not real. The closeness they were maintaining was unattainable in real life. Perhaps it was time to wake up again before the dream could progress further. Dreaming would only get him so far.

He closed his eyes and breathed out. Diavolo’s hands felt warm against his skin. Slowly, the world started to blur at the edges again. He was ready to go.

“Wait.” Diavolo suddenly whispered as he squeezed Lucifer’s right hand. “Please stay,” he added. “Just for a moment longer. I have missed you dearly.”

Lucifer mustered his face. Diavolo’s symmetrical bone structure, his regal nose, his golden eyes, the dimples that only showed whenever he laughed; his mind seemed to have replicated them all perfectly. He allowed it, lifted his hand and even let his thumb swipe across his soft cheek.

“What is it?” he asked as he mustered Diavolo’s face. Even in his dreams, it was hard to face him when rejection was still a leaking wound.

Diavolo closed his eyes and sighed. “Your touch, it melts me at my core.”

Lucifer felt his heart rate accelerate.

The world seemed to blur at the edges once more. Now, they were standing opposite one another. Quietly, Diavolo placed Lucifer’s letter on the table between them and slid it over towards him. “I did read it from beginning to finish this time around. Will you be so kind and hear me out?” He tipped his head to the side, an apologetic smile on his face.

Lucifer fixed him with a composed gaze, keeping quiet for a moment. In the end, he still couldn’t say no. He ran his finger over the unharmed paper.

“I already told you, there’s no need to discuss this any further and you agreed. Your answer was quite clear. Why can’t we let bygones be bygones?”

“Because I do not wish to lose you.” Diavolo lifted one hand to Lucifer’s face, brushing it across his cheekbone, then up to his forehead and into his hair until he was carefully pushing it out of his eyes. “No matter what you say, I think you need me to acknowledge this. Please hear me out one more time.”

Slowly, he was leaning closer and his nose brushed over Lucifer’s cheek, his lips a breath away from leaving a feather-light peck on Lucifer's lips. Diavolo’s voice whispered a string of words he was unable to make out against his skin.

Lucifer awoke with a startle, his mind uncertain and his body bothered.

Solomon and those cursed ley lines.

“Big bro. There’s a letter for you.”

Lucifer raised his head and put down his cup of coffee, his mind split between his last talk with Diavolo and the dream that had continued to haunt him throughout the night. “Hand it over then.” It was the middle of the month. There were neither bills nor other documents to be expected, so it had to be something personal.

“Tell me where you put Baby and I’ll think about forkin’ it over,” Mammon tried to bargain.

Not even a beat passed. “No. Did you believe I would simply agree? What a foolish suggestion.” Lucifer let his eyes travel through the room. If he were Mammon, where would he put the letter?

There. With a quick movement, he lunged forward, trying to grab Mammon by his lapels. When he dodged, Lucifer saw the opening he’d known his action would create and successfully managed to pull the letter out of the back of Mammon’s waistband. “You’ll have to wake up earlier if you plan to outdo me.”

Mammon spun back around, his hands on his back. “Hey! Unfair! Give it back!”

“Why would I do that now? It’s addressed to me, is it not? Legally, you have no claim to it.”

“What’s all this ruckus about?” Asmodeus asked as he walked into the living room. He was wearing a lavish pink robe and the fabric rustled expensively as he approached. He let out a big yawn and stretched his back with a satisfied sigh. “You really had to ruin my beauty sleep with all of that pesky noise. Will no one apologize to little old me?” Despite his words, Asmodeus seemed rather chipper.

He was leaning his arms, one was folded over the other, against the backside of the couch and tilted his head curiously. “Oh! Lucifer, is that a hand-written letter? Who is it from, a secret admirer maybe?” His voice brightened with excitement. “Oh, oh! First Diavolo, and now this! Maybe it’s your turn! Do you think Barbatos might be next? Now wouldn’t that be darling!”

Mammon swung his legs over the back of the couch, landing safely as the sofa’s spring core let out a pitiful creak. “Are you coo-coo? Who would go after Barbatos?”

Asmodeus tapped his chin and angled his head. “I would,” he said without hesitation.

Mammon pulled a face and threw his brother an annoyed look. “Well, you’re weird, so… doesn't count.”

Asmo returned the look with a shocked expression. “Are you trying to tell me you wouldn’t?! It’s Barbatos we’re talking about here!”

“Exactly! The guy freaks me out!”

“And?”

“What and?!”

“And if you two won't shut up I will throw you out of this room before you even have the chance to take a single breath. Understood?” All it took was an unimpressed look from Lucifer to get them to quiet down again.

Asmo walked around the couch, lifting his skirts as he sat down next to Lucifer. Carefully, he folded his hands in his lap. “It wouldn’t hurt to indulge us from time to time, you know?” he complained light-heartedly.

“I do believe that would in fact hurt my health and sanity,” Lucifer countered as he retrieved his letter opener and cut the letter open with a quick flick of the wrist. There were several pages of paper inside, made of the finest material and sprinkled with a familiar eau de cologne.

Lucifer shuffled through them, then brushed his thumb over the first page. The words were hard to miss as they were written in crimson ink.

“Do you know who it’s from?” Asmo whispered curiously, his eyes big and cheeks pink.

Lucifer knew exactly who wrote the letter. He was intimately acquainted with the penmanship and lettering, yet it made no sense regardless. There were no words left to say between them, so why would he now decide to write a letter? To reject him in writing as well?

“I have an inkling,” he muttered as he began to read the letter, his eyebrows creased.

For a moment, it was quiet. Mammon was playing around with a coin, flipping it in the air from time to time to fight his boredom. Asmodeus was leaning closer towards Lucifer, his expression curious. He was close enough to read the letter with him, so he did. To put it more correctly, he skimmed through the letter, desperate to read the juicy parts before Lucifer could get there.

All of a sudden, Asmodeus squealed. Lucifer looked up at him in alarm and flipped the letter over to hide the writing. His little brother had both hands slapped over his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he whispered before throwing both hands on top of Lucifer’s shoulders, shaking his older brother ever so slightly. “Oh my god!!”

Lucifer quickly pushed his hands off his shoulders. “What made you think you could infringe on my privacy and get away unscathed,” he growled. “Reading my letters, really Asmo?”

The threat went straight over Asmo’s head. “Of course I did, it was right there in front of my nose! I'm curious by nature, you know that! But nevermind that! The letter, it’s a-”

Lucifer lifted his pointer in warning. “One more word, Asmodeus.”

Mammon watched them from the side and pocketed his coin. “Uh oh, he pulled out the government name, dude… better skedaddle…”

When Asmo seemed to remain blissfully unaware of the danger he was putting himself in, Mammon threw his head back with a groan and grabbed him by the collar. Asmo let out an undignified squawk when he was pulled away with little care for his sensibilities. Lucifer could hear the beginning of a fight from further away. For now, he did not consider it his problem. Both Asmo and Mammon could stand their ground perfectly fine by themselves.

Lucifer returned his attention to the problem at hand: The letter Diavolo had addressed to him for unknown reasons.

Quietly, he began to read it.

Dear Lucifer,

In spite of all difficulties, your letter has reached me. I have to thank you for taking the time to put your feelings down on paper, and even more so, for your patience. I apologize for the time it took me to formulate my response, for I have been foolishly conflicted.

Truthfully, it took the intervention of a friend to make me return to my senses. Now, I am more certain than I have ever been. Hopefully, you will accept my sincerity.

First of all, I would like to apologize: for inconveniencing you, but more than that, for hurting your pride. It was never my intention. I would bend at the waist and grovel in front of your feet if only that could bring me your forgiveness.

In the meantime, I shall offer my honesty as atonement and hope that my words will suffice to reach your soul.

Lucifer, the first time I saw you, your beauty and grace were so mesmerising that for a moment, I found myself entirely out of breath. When I stood up from my seat, robbed of my senses, you only looked down on me from the tip of your finely shaped nose. The words you directed towards me did not even register for I could not fathom the existence of a man who was able to redefine my understanding of perfection in the span of mere moments. You were righteous and proper, your existence so blinding I had to avert my eyes in exhilarating shame.

Throughout the years, we have built and nurtured a sort of companionship and trust I have never been able to experience before. I never thought it strange how close we had become and how difficult it was for me to say no to your every request. And when finally, you started to let down your guard around me, I assumed my feelings were quite natural. I made it a habit to make memories with you; I started to keep recordings of your voice and pictures no one aside from me would ever know about. The thought of being special was invigorating, I thrived knowing I was the only one allowed to pull you so close.

My life without you is something I do not dare imagine even in my darkest hours.

When I find myself in need, your unshakeable hand is always by my side, firmly planted onto my shoulder, giving me safety and reassurance.

Despite the want that filled my chest whenever I was near you, I always assumed this would have to be enough for us.

Lately, I have found myself forced to face reality. My feelings for you have long passed the boundaries of friendship. That is a fact I cannot afford to ignore anymore. The repercussions of my foolish actions, led by a fear of change, have started to hurt you. Sometimes, I catch myself thinking that I have already ruined everything with my refusal to act upon what we have been dancing around for years.

Your touch, it melts me at my core. I believe I have told you so in a dream. Oftentimes, I find myself staring at the fine bone of your overworked wrist and wonder, would my hand break it? Or would you break mine in return? I do not believe I would mind if you did.

Lucifer, if you will allow me to do so, I will cherish you more than anyone would ever dare to.

Please tell me, have I waited too long? Is all hope lost? Or can I allow myself to dream of a future together?

Yours truly and entirely,

Diavolo

It made no sense. For once, Lucifer found himself at a loss for words. Although the proof was right there in his hands, he refused to believe what he was reading. These were words he’d heard from Diavolo before, but seeing them put together in red ink, so intricate and careful, painted an entirely new picture.

Thoughtlessly, Lucifer stormed towards the entrance, letter still in hand, ready to make his way to the Demon Lord’s Castle once again. When he ripped the door open, he had to take a stumbling step back. There was a familiar face waiting for him, right on his doorstep.

Diavolo was looking at him, then looking down at the letter in his hand. Lucifer pulled him in by the collar and the front door fell shut behind them with a loud bang. In the distance, he could hear his brothers scurrying away like rats afraid to be caught by the house cat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lucifer hissed through gritted teeth as soon as they were in the privacy of his home. Perhaps he’d finally lost it after all.

“Ah, so you’ve received it,” Diavolo chuckled quietly. ”I see you are upset.”

Lucifer took one step closer as he released his collar. The anger behind his eyes was fiery and wet. “I am upset, as you have put it, because I do not know what to do with you. May I repeat that it was your choice to keep things as they were? I was preparing to be okay with that.”

It was rare for Lucifer to lose his temper around him, so Diavolo knew to be cautious.

He lowered his gaze. “It was a mistake on my part. I was unaware how much my feelings had already bled into our every interaction. I was so used to you being by my side that the nature of my feelings blindsided me. I thought it would be better to have you by my side as a friend than lose you entirely.”

He grabbed Lucifer's hand and pulled it close to his chest. “Please, listen to the way my heart beats for you. Would it lie?”

Although he had half the mind to pull his hand away in anger, he allowed Diavolo to keep holding it for the moment. “The letter,” he said slowly. “What were your intentions?” His hand formed a fist beneath Diavolo’s warm hands and his expression remained cautious.

Slowly, Diavolo lifted Lucifer's hand to his lips and placed a chaste kiss against his knuckles. “Normally, I may not be prone to nerves, but the prospect of losing you made me act quite uncouth. As soon as I regained my senses I knew I had to make my feelings known. If you will have me, I will repeat them to you each and every day, as often as you need so you can believe my words.”

“There is no need for you to do that,” Lucifer said quietly. The tips of his ears were tinted red. “Stop it.”

Diavolo reluctantly let go of his hand. “Then what is it you want?”

Lucifer felt conflicted. When he furrowed his brows, Diavolo pressed his thumb against the crease between his brows, smoothing it over. “What do you wish for?” he repeated.

“My opinion shouldn't matter.”

“Yet it does to me.”

Lucifer let out a sigh. “Yesterday's dream,” he started. “I had an inkling you were there too. Your letter… confirms that suspicion.”

Diavolo nodded slowly. “It was not my intention to intrude. Truthfully, I only realized we were sharing it halfway through,” he admitted sheepishly. “Still, everything I said remains true. Your letter, it showed up for you as well, didn't it? Did you know I revived it from the ashes after you left?”

A surprised expression ran over Lucifer's face. “Why would you-?”

“Because despite my actions, your words shook me at my very core. I did not wish to let them disappear. Barbatos thought me a fool for it all.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, he scolded me throughly. I cannot blame him for it.”

Lucifer let out a deep sigh and pushed his hair out of his face. For a moment, he considered his options. “This is no topic to discuss in the hallway. We should take this to my chambers,” he finally settled on.

Diavolo flushed a darker colour. “Your chambers?! Well, of course, I suppose-”

By now, the anger had disappeared from Lucifer's features. He held up one hand. “Don't misunderstand. I don't wish for my brothers to eavesdrop,” he explained quickly.

“Oh, yes. Naturally!”

Lucifer took a hold of Diavolo's wrist, hidden between the frames of their bodies. If anyone were to watch them, it would simply look as if they were walking a bit too closely next to one another. Although he still seemed undecided, the stiffness had disappeared from the line of his shoulders.

They made their way upstairs and Lucifer threw a quick glance in the direction of one of his brothers’ rooms. A door was quietly pulled shut and he let out an annoyed huff.

“They are quite curious about your private life, aren't they?” Diavolo mused.

Lucifer shook his head. “They are too nosy for their own good.”

He led Diavolo to his room and pulled the door shut behind them. His back was turned towards the door when Diavolo stepped into his space. He placed one hand against the door and leaned closer. “Where were we?” he asked, his voice low against Lucifer's neck.

“We were negotiating, were we not?” Lucifer replied.

“Of course,” Diavolo mumbled. “I have half the mind to offer to grovel at your feet, if that will earn me your forgiveness.”

“There is no need for that,” Lucifer answered, knowing that Diavolo might not shy away from actually doing so.

“Then what will it take for you to accept me?” he asked. Diavolo let one hand come to rest against Lucifer's waist as he buried his face in the crook of his neck. His breath tickled against the sensitive skin. “Please.”

“We shouldn't lose ourselves,” Lucifer mumbled.

“But are we not on the same page? Just say the word and I will be yours.”

He wrapped his arm tighter around his core, pulling himself flush against his body.

“This is impossible. You have duties you cannot walk away from. I should know my place.” Despite his words, Lucifer did not pull back. He knew putting distance between them was detrimental, yet the touch felt too good to deny.

“Is it so wrong to want you by my side? I have had my eyes on you ever since our first chess match.”

Lucifer tilted his neck further back.“Your father wouldn't be pleased to know you have set your mind on courting a former angel. You will have to marry someday.”

Diavolo lifted his hand and pushed Lucifer's hair out of his face, letting his palm brush over his forehead. “My father should be pleased that I chose to court one of the most feared demons of the entire realm. There is no one aside from you that I desire. If it is marriage you worry about, then I will vow to bear responsibility.”

Lucifer flushed red, astonished by this answer he hadn't expected. “That is not what I was- Have you lost your mind?!”

Diavolo ran his hand through the soft tresses of his hair, catching a whitening strand between his fingertips. “You would make a fine husband. There would be no soul who wouldn't be jealous of me,” he murmured.

“Diavolo! That's quite enough!” He lifted his hand and placed it against Diavolo's cheek. “How can you be so certain about this?” he asked as he looked him in the eye, his eyebrows pulled together in question. “You will grow to dislike it.��

“Shall we put it to the test then?” Diavolo asked, his eyes set on Lucifer's. The air was heavy around them. “Shall we?” he repeated more quietly. “I promise you won’t get rid of me that easily.” A dejected smile appeared on his face. “Unless you ask me to step away, of course. Then, I will have to oblige.”

Lucifer slid his free hand around the back of Diavolo's neck, his palm curled over his nape, and slowly pulled closer. He did not break eye contact, simply tilted his head and considered the demon in front of him. Carefully, he closed his eyes as he crossed the distance between them. Diavolo followed suit, his chest flush against Lucifer's as their lips met. It was a soft and quiet thing. Diavolo made a small noise as Lucifer moved his lips against his own, angling his head ever so slightly. “I won’t ask for such a thing,” he admitted between breaths.

Lucifer found himself pinned against the door by Diavolo's sturdy body. His hand was travelling down, brushing past reliable shoulders, discovering the taut muscle hidden beneath his uniform. Diavolo let out a forlorn sigh as his mouth strayed off course, leaving Lucifer open mouthed as his lips pressed soft kisses against the corner of his mouth, exploring the sharpness of his jaw, the small hint of skin that his dress shirt allowed to be exposed.

“You are so beautiful,” Diavolo mumbled against his skin and Lucifer shivered at the sensation. “How could I grow to dislike you even in the slightest.”

The demon prince sucked at the skin experimentally, his purpose quite clear.

“Don't think I don't know what you’re trying to achieve,” Lucifer breathed out. “Have you always been this possessive?”

“When it comes to you I try not to be. Do you want me to stop?”

A slight pause for consideration. “No, you can go ahead.”

He could feel Diavolo's smile against his skin, moments before he pulled the skin through his teeth, gently sucking a dark mark against his neck.

Lucifer allowed a shuddery breath to break free.

“Are you absolutely certain about this?”

“As certain as you will allow me to be. If you so choose to accept my sincerity.” His hands were wandering, discovering tight muscles and tender skin until coming to rest against the sides of Lucifer's neck. Slowly, he cupped his cheeks. “Lucifer, do you like me?” All things considered it was a surprisingly innocent question.

“Has my letter not been enough?”

“I want to hear it from your mouth. Please, I implore you.”

It was strangely frightening to have his soul laid bare, exposed to the privacy of his own four walls. “Diavolo.” He leaned closer, allowing his lips to ghost along his ear. Lucifer shut his eyes and let out a deep breath. “Although I shouldn't, I long for you,” he admitted, his voice quiet enough to be not much more than a whisper.

Diavolo pulled back, his eyes warm like honey as he studied Lucifer's face. “As do I,” he breathed out, astonished. “Now where does this leave us?” He played the ball right back into Lucifer's hands.

“What can we afford to be?”

“Boyfriends?” Diavolo asked hopefully, but felt his heart drop when Lucifer pulled a face. “Have I misunderstood?”

Lucifer shook his head. “It's not that, just… that term. How old do you believe us to be?”

“Partners, then? Or lovers, perhaps? Youthful Fun 101 certainly will have more suggestions if those displease you as well.”

“That I can live with,” he replied quickly, his heartbeat a thrumming constant in his ears. “There's no need to consult that wretched book.”

“Marvellous!” Diavolo wrapped his arms around Lucifer and embraced him tight enough to push all air out of his lungs. “I vow I shall make you the happiest demon the Devildom has ever seen!”

Slowly, Lucifer patted his back. “I'll take that with a grain of salt.”

Laughing, Diavolo buried his head in the crook of his neck. “Now don't be like that, Lucifer. I am being nothing but truthful.”

Lucifer locked his arms around Diavolo's neck and shut him up with a kiss. For now, he couldn’t answer whether or not he could believe Diavolo’s words. Both love and established relationships were still uncharted territory to him, but in spite of it, it still felt surprisingly comfortable to share such closeness with Diavolo. He shouldn't enjoy it as much as he did, but for once, Lucifer allowed himself to indulge.

Diavolo swiped his tongue over his bottom lip and Lucifer parted his lips in reply, exploring the way Diavolo’s mouth tasted under his warm tongue. It was invigorating.

Diavolo started to move, unwilling to part as he was pulling him away from the door and closer towards his bed.

“You own such a large bed, doesn't it just beg to be shared?” He wriggled his eyebrows and Lucifer let out a huff in response. “You are inviting yourself in? Now isn't this quite the shameless behaviour?”

Diavolo laughed against his lips, his voice deep and smooth. “I am trying to proposition you, is it not working?”

“That remains up to debate.”

“Allow me to convince you then.”

Diavolo pressed Lucifer down by the shoulders, getting him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Slowly, he lifted his hand to his lips and pressed a kiss upon his palm. Lucifer pulled him closer by his collar, lifting his head defiantly. “What, pray tell, do you plan to do?”

Diavolo dropped down onto his knees and looked up at him, his hands coming to rest against his thighs. Lucifer buried one hand in the sheets, gripping them tightly for support.

“Kneel until I have your forgiveness,” Diavolo said with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

Lucifer flushed red. “I told you there's no-”

Slowly, he rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, gently massaging the taut flesh. “Tell me you do not enjoy this and I will step away.”

Lucifer pushed his hair out of his face as he stared down at the Devildom prince, flushed and excited between his knees. It was undeniable that it fuelled his pride to have the man he longed for beneath him, one cheek pressed against the fabric of his trousers, looking up at him with devotion in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

When Lucifer noticed his pants growing tighter at the thought, Diavolo’s eyes strayed as well.

“You desire me,” he murmured. He was running his hand over the inside of Lucifer’s thigh, going up dangerously high just to travel further down towards his knee again. “Look at you, my morning star.”

“Does that excite you?” he asked. For once, he did not feel the familiar pull of shame he had grown accustomed to. “How could it not? The most brilliant demon the Devildom has ever laid eyes upon is right above me, looking positively roused.”

Lucifer averted his gaze. “Enough with the praise.”

Diavolo's eyes wandered downwards and he ran one hand up towards Lucifer’s waist. “Will you let me serve you this once?”

“Serve me? What do you-”

Their eyes met and Lucifer could see his own desire reflected back to him in Diavolo’s eyes. His hand had stilled, as he was waiting to hear Lucifer's explicit consent, and his finger was tapping against his trousers in anticipation.

Lucifer slipped his hand over Diavolo's. “I shall allow it this once,” he finally agreed.

Diavolo did not wait much longer, his impatience having grown with each and every second wasted. He parted Lucifer's knees to create more space in-between his legs. One hand returned to its former occupation, fondling his thigh, while the other inched closer towards his zipper.

It was invigorating to watch the way Lucifer shifted under his touch, his eyes dark with want, his hand buried in the sheets.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo mumbled. “Do you even know what sort of expression you are making right now?”

For a moment he pulled himself up again to kiss Lucifer slowly, his hand coming to reach his nape. While he did so, he let his fingertips ghost across his pants, finding the zipper and pulling it down slowly. Lucifer panted against his lips when he experimentally began to run his hand along his considerable arousal. Slowly, he palmed him through his briefs, enjoying the way it clearly excited Lucifer. Some part of him wanted to stay like this forever. It was a side of Lucifer he had never seen before, and an irresistible and sensitive one at that.

“Let us take these off,” Diavolo mumbled as he ran his fingers over the impressive bulge. He watched Lucifer as he shuffled out of his pants, left to sit on the edge of the bed in nothing but his dress shirt, his expensive black briefs and sock garters. The demon unbuttoned the top of his shirt and leaned back, his eyes heavy in ways Diavolo had never seen before. It was intoxicating.

He pulled himself up, crawling onto the bed as well until he was close enough to push Lucifer onto his back. And so he did. Lucifer raised an eyebrow at him, and the corner of his mouth pulled upwards ever so slightly.

“Eager, are we?” he asked.

“Verily,” Diavolo breathed out, his excitement barely hidden as he shrugged off his coat. He laid himself on the side and pulled Lucifer’s body against his own, his lips soon discovering the exposed expanse of his neck again while his hands ran across his sturdy chest. While he nibbled at the skin, Lucifer’s hand explored the taut muscles of his back, one coming to rest against his hip, the other travelling further down as he pulled closer, reaching Diavolo’s ass. A satisfied chuckle escaped Lucifer’s lips and before he could feel embarrassed about it, Diavolo pulled him in and kissed him hard. His hand slipped past the waistband of Lucifer’s briefs, exposing his proud member. His fingertips trailed upwards, giving it an experimental pump as it was already half-hard. Lucifer exhaled sharply. For a moment, Diavolo opened his eyes. Lucifer’s eyes were squeezed shut, his cheeks flushed with the slightest bit of colour. Diavolo swore he had never seen something quite as beautiful before.

He swiped his thumb over the slit of Lucifer’s cock, collecting a droplet of precum and spreading it across, his fingers gentle and painstakingly careful. With one hand, he travelled further down, massaging his balls. Lucifer buried his face in the mattress. His arm was slung around Diavolo’s neck. He reached between them and undid Diavolo’s zipper, freeing his boner. Although his eyes were shut, Lucifer could tell it was a thing of majestic length and girth. Not that he hadn’t noticed before, but tracing his cold fingers over the feverish skin gave him an entirely new perspective. He opened his eyes and gazed down. It was huge.

Lucifer kissed Diavolo’s jawline, then his neck.

“I very well can’t be the only one getting satisfied,”he muttered. Diavolo laughed and planted a kiss against his cheek.

“Your pleasure alone would be satisfying enough for me.”

“That certainly won’t do,” Lucifer countered as he nipped at the warm skin of Diavolo’s throat. He let one finger trail over the vein lining his dick, then wrapped his hand around his member, stroking it lazily. Diavolo’s breath was heavy in his ear. The sounds he made were deep and needy.

“Shall we come together then?” Diavolo wrapped his hand around both their members, guiding Lucifer to join him. His hand came to cover Diavolo’s. It was a warm and slippery thing, uncoordinated with the way they were rutting together to reach their final high.

Diavolo could tell they were both close. Lucifer wrapped his arm around Diavolo’s neck, pulling them even closer together. Diavolo’s body was heavy on his own, but he liked to feel the weight against his chest. Somehow, it was grounding.

They picked up their pace and when he felt he was close, he grunted, burying his hand in the back of Diavolo’s hair, pulling him in to meet in a messy kiss. Lucifer was the first to come, his eyes shut and his breath out of order. It did not take Diavolo much longer, the sight of his partner, lost at the edge of lust, was enough to tip him over. He spilled over their hands, the liquid hot and thick. Diavolo let his full weight drop on Lucifer.

Lucifer pushed his hair out of his eyes with a shuddery breath. “When did we get so off topic? Rutting against one another like unrestrained teenagers.”

Diavolo buried his head in the crook of his neck, leaving a small kiss behind. “We have talked around the issue for a while now. Perhaps it was long overdue.”

Lucifer shot him an irritated side-glance. “Perhaps it would have been faster if you hadn’t rejected me straight away.”

Ah, still a sore point. A demon’s hurt pride was not easy to repair, especially not when it came to Lucifer. Diavolo lifted himself up and cupped Lucifer’s face. “I shall continue to apologize to you with both actions and words.” He kissed him slowly. “Until you believe me.”

Lucifer grabbed his face. “Then show me your best,” he replied stoically.

The expression made Diavolo laugh boisterously. “Anything for you, my dear.”

Lucifer squirmed under the newfound affection, the nickname still foreign to his ears.

Perhaps he would have to get used to this after all.

#fanfiction #writing #my writing #obey me #omswd #dialuci #diavolo x lucifer #lucifer x diavolo #getting together #angst #they are so dumb and so smitten #i hope this looks alright i did this on mobile #fingers crossed

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