You are a background character in a intense fantasy romance series. Describe what happens when the main character accidently falls for you instead of the actual love interest.
"But it is mine! And I want it to be with you, not Adora!"
"But-" that doesn't make any sense! Who doesn't want their story to go the way it's supposed to? "But that's not how this works! You do what the author writes of you, and you follow along with that!"
"And who's to say this isn't what the author has written!" Evan grabs my hands in his, squeezing. "What if they changed the story while writing it? What if they want me to be happy?" His eyes look between mine, and I want to cry. "Please, just... explore this newness with me. I'm so tired of being the only one who's learning all the time."
I can't help but hesitate. What if it's not forever, like it's supposed to be between him and Adora, who saved him from the Lab he was created in. No one wants to read a story about a college student who's barely passing Magical History. "I don't know." I know it's not what he wants to hear.
He smiles, of all things. "Adora never says that. She always knows what she wants, Sam, and she goes for it. She never muddles in the 'now', too focused on the future." He pulls me close, wrapping me in a hug.
Another thing for @sandalphonshrine! At some point you’ll stop encouraging me!
Beau hears the bell go off while she’s engraving. "Back here!" Huh, she wasn’t expecting anyone today, is it lunch already? She blows off the shavings. Yeah, this is a good stopping point. She quickly puts her tools away. She wipes off her hands, a habit even when they aren't dirty. Her knife is within easy reach, belted to her hip. Just in case. She walks out of the workroom, rag still in hand.
A young girl with blue hair is peering around the corner, and a young dragon flys over her head.
"Are you Siero's blacksmith?"
“One of many, I'm sure." Does this mean the Captain’s hear as well?
They both visibly perk up. "Mariet! We found her!" The dragon flys off, into her shop. There's a clang of falling weapons, and she rushes in after him.
A young woman's trying to put the weapons back.
"Here, let me help with that."
She jumps a bit, turning her head. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
Beau can't help the laugh. "It's alright! This isn't the first time it's happened." Usually it's children, but there's no need to mention that. As she hangs the last sword back where it belongs, Beau can't help but notice the way she's staring at her. Like she's seen a ghost, or something. She ignores it, in favor of straightening the sword. "So, you must be the Captain I've heard so much about." There, it’s perfect.
She nods. "Siero said you wanted to see me?"
Beau nods. "How has my work been treating you?” When she first Siero mention someone having primals as part of their crew, she could scarcely believe it. When she heard they needed weapons for those crew, she couldn’t resist, the chance to show off a siren’s call.
"Oh, yes, they’ve been working well." Just well? The captain, Mariet, shuffles a bit on her feet. "Um, how long have you been on this island?"
How long has it been? "Three years, I think." Does she remember her from some where? That... could be troublesome. So long as she questions her memory though, Beau should be fine. Something tells her asking ‘why’ might be a bad choice. “Has anyone given you the tour? It’s a lovely island, especially at night. The way the water shines on the sea is captivating.”
She shakes her head.
“I could use a break, if you want to join me for a walk? Just a short one.” It’ll help her fine-tune the weapons she makes in the future, as frustrating as it is to make them for someone who isn’t around to answer any questions she has.
Feel free to ignore this, it’s just as the title says
"Doesn't the devastation call out to you?"
"A bit," you murmur.
"No!"
"C'mon, are you really saying you're not even a bit curious?"
"That's the end of the world!"
Belial laughs, and all attention returns to him. "This is rich! A Singularity who doesn't stand behind their own cause!" He saunters to your side and wraps an arm around your shoulders, like you're old pals. You try to shrug him off. This is the first time he's touched you, yet it lights a spark. You don't care to name it. "What'll it take to get you to switch sides, hm?"
You gesture to Lyria. "Convince her, and I'm all yours."
"Oh, I like the sound of that." He looks over his shoulder, you assume at her. "A little young for my tastes, but I’m sure I can think of something."
You grin, all edges. “Good luck.” Yeah, he’s gonna need it.
Go check out @sandalphonshrine & bookoftheazuresky (on AO3), the way these two portray Belial is very inspiring!
Context: You managed to summon Belial to this world, and you’re a college student. Enjoy these 500+ words!
You were just happy about the dogs you saw, and you wanted to share that. You hadn’t meant to cause a distraction in class. You leave the meeting. You start crying soon after, for some stupid reason.
Your door opens. You grab a tissue to blow your nose. You’re a messy cryer, after all. You look up. Belial. Of course it’s Belial. You don’t bother wiping away the tears, there’s no point. He probably heard you crying anyway. He’s wearing one of your t-shirts. It’s too big on you, but it fits his shoulders. He silently walks into your room, closing the door behind him. He sits next to you on the bed. He wraps a hand around your waist and pulls you close to him. When did your head get on his shoulder? Whatever. It doesn’t seem to bother him. You keep crying, blowing your nose when you can see the snot. His thumb rubs against your waist, back and forth. Why is he doing this? Is this fueled by affection, or just a misplaced sense of duty? Are you just a misfit Lucilius to him, an imperfect replacement until he learns how to get back to the real thing? “I’m sorry I brought you here.”
He doesn’t respond right away. “That’s not why you’re crying.”
“I messed up, that’s all.”
“How.”
You sigh. “I just brought up how many dogs I saw in class, through the Zoom thing, and it made someone upset, because” -you puff your chest out and mock the person’s voice- “‘there shouldn’t be any distractions during class’” -you deflate. “It was just nice, seeing people being people and loving their pets, and it made me happy. It was nice, being happy for once.” Well, not that you haven’t been happy since he got here, but moreso “without any effort involved, on my part or someone else’s.” At some point your tears stopped. How long has it been sense you last let yourself cry? You try to relax some, and let him comfort you. The knot in your chest feels lighter now. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. It was nice, just having someone notice when you’re sad. Something nags you about that. When did you become so childish, so weak? Why did your brain call that childish and weak, when your friends seek comfort and you do your best to offer? Are you supposed to be this non-feeling entity, benevolent in your unreachability?
There’s a short, sharp pain in your side. Did he just pinch you? He kisses the top of your head. “I think I deserve some attention, hm? Do you think a simple 'thank you’ is enough?"
You gently shove his side, giggling a bit. Talk about a mood swing. You can’t help it though, something about him can just… make you giddy.
He chuckles with you, pulling you close again. His thumb resumes rubbing your waist, right where he pinched you. He’s serious, but he doubts you’re in the mood for anything beyond this. So, he’ll content himself. Soon you’ll say you have to end the cuddling session, though he’s welcome to help you make lunch if he wants. He’ll take your offer. He always does.
His hand is a noose on yours. You let it stay. He’s trying to comfort you, even if he isn’t the best at this.
“Why did you request me?”
“A war is coming, and I’d like for you to be protected.”
You nod, still numb. Him and his brothers are your family at this point, and he’s always been overprotective of his family.
“I don’t really have a choice in this.”
“Of course you do.” His hand tightens on yours, suffocating you. You know better.
You agree, because he is your brother, and he’s usually good about thinking things through.
The prince, sorry, Diavolo is, charming, if you must label him. Certainly nice to meet someone still alive that trusts Lucifer's judgement as much as you do. Perhaps more, given how quickly he's accepted you as his fiance. He's far more excited about the whole affair than you are. You do your best to put on a show, for Lucifer's sake more than your own, but you can't put your heart into it.
You see Lucifer quite often, him and Diavolo are closer than Beel and Belphie, but you haven't seen his brothers since your unannounced engagement.
Your time is mainly spent getting measured, or getting your affairs in order. You asked if you could still run your father's merchant fleet, but apparently you're going to be very busy, what with a royal education and dinners and deals to attend to, though Diavolo has decided to adopt the company into his own personal fleet, so that's, something.
The day you are officially announced as his fiance arrives, and all you had to do was walk down a staircase and down a little ways on a carpet as he talked. You know it was rude of you, but, as magnificent as he looked up there, and as often as he has reassured you otherwise, the only thing on your mind was how you'll never grow to love him.
His hand is a noose on yours. You let it stay. He’s trying to comfort you, even if he isn’t the best at this.
“Why did you request me?”
“A war is coming, and I’d like for you to be protected.”
You nod, still numb. Him and his brothers are your family at this point, and he’s always been overprotective of his family.
“I don’t really have a choice in this.”
“Of course you do.” His hand tightens on yours, suffocating you. You know better.
You agree, because he is your brother, and he’s usually good about thinking things through.
His hand is a noose on yours. You let it stay. He's trying to comfort you, even if he isn't the best at this.
"Why did you suggest me?"
"A war is coming, and I'd like for you to be protected."
You nod, still numb. Him and his brothers are your family at this point, and he's always been overprotective of his family.
"I don't really have a choice in this."
"Of course you do." His hand tightens on yours, suffocating you. You know better.
You agree, because he is your brother, and he's usually good about thinking things through.
It feels taboo, writing a reader-insert for an MC. IDK why though.
Nearly 700 words below!
You reach for the ringing device, swiping up as you rub the sleep from your eyes.
“‘Ello?”
“Did you even check who was calling?” Oh, it’s Cyn.
“Well, it’s,” you look at the time, “one thirty, so I assumed it was an emergency.”
“A bit? I’m… Just… Not having a fun time right now.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
They take a breath. “A little. It’s not big enough to warrant the conversation.”
You shrug, “Lay it on me.”
“Okay, so my mom found some extended family of my grandmother’s. They have an old bible that used to belong to my great- grandmother, and they didn’t want to just mail it or whatever.” This is going to be a long story, isn’t it? “And they have an eighty-year-old mother who wants to meet us,” you lay back down, “so my mom plans this trip,” yep, “and asks me to come along, in case something goes wrong with the car or something,” gonna be a long story, “but she gives me the option to stay home.” They take a breath. “I was trying to think outside my own comfort, and decided to go on the trip with them, just in case, ya know?”
“Didn’t turn out that way?”
“Well nothing happened on the way down here. Won’t know 'bout the way back for two or three days.” You hear the shake in their next breath. “Anyway, so we do this road trip, and last night we stayed at a hotel, which was fine, even if I didn’t sleep much, had to share a bed with my mom, which was fine I honestly don’t care, but we got to their house today, talked with them for hours, and they put us up in these spare rooms they have, and we go to sleep, and I, I. Had a nightmare, and I don’t have any of my usual comforts, so I. Thought I’d call you. Shit, this was rude of me, I’m sorry-”
You’re quick to interrupt them, “No no no, you’re good.” They consider you a comfort? You don’t fight the smile that crosses your face. “Do you wanna talk about that?”
“I mean, it was just another of my weird ones.”
“Do. You. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”
Their soft chuckle makes that worth the effort. “I was living in my old house, and this security alarm was going off. Now, we didn’t actually have one-”
“But dreams are weird.” You stifle a yawn.
You interrupted them, but Cyn lets it slide. After all, you are letting them talk your ear off. “Yeah, exactly. So anyway, I check it out, and someone’s broken into the garage.” You yawned, they heard that! “I freak out, and call the police while getting the fuck outta there, and I woke up before I actually got out of the house.”
“That sounds,” you trail off, yawning again.
“Go to sleep.”
“Make me.”
“Hold up, lemme look up that one book”
“'Go the fuck to sleep?’”
“No, I was gonna do 'Good Night Moon’ ooorrrr 'Guess How Much I Love You’”
“Those sound adorable, I would love for you to read me a bedtime story.”
They roll their eyes. “Seriously though, that’s the second time you’ve yawned, and it’s like two am. Go to sleep.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m in an uncomfy situation, in a stranger’s house, sleeping on a futon. I’m as good as I’m gonna get for the next couple of days.”
Silence reigns, like a guest who talks too much, but one you don’t mind having over. Cyn rocks back on the futon. They haven’t heard your voice in a few days, and talking with you brought an unexpected smile to their face. Should they tell you that? Maybe not, some things are better left unsaid.
It’s quiet for a while, before their senses come back to them. “How was your day, by the way?” You mentioned having some problems, hopefully those have been resolved by now.
“Good,” you go on, talking about work and some thoughts you had. They ask about the issue you mentioned, and you talk about that some.
They check the clock during the next vibe session. It’s two forty-nine. You really need to sleep again.
“Go to sleep.”
“Hm.” Okay, if that’s all you can come up with, then it’s definitely your bedtime.
“Use your bed for its intended purpose, and sleep.”
You softly laugh, and their small smile widens. Why hadn’t they called you before? They could have made time for you, they should have made time for you.
I would like to apologise for the janky formatting y'all are gonna see from me, but I'm basically stuck on mobile for the time being. I'll fix it all when I access to my computer in a few days.
You’re watching your ship from afar when you notice someone practically running towards you. A tall blonde, who dodges his way through the dock’s usual crowd. He’s holding something, a feather? Whatever it is, it’s apparently super important it gets to you, given how he holds it above the crowd. He looks familiar, is he part of your crew? Or maybe he just has one of those faces. No, definitely not just one of those faces. You recognize those sharp features, he's one of Lucifer's brothers. He's, Satan? Yes, Satan, you remember those peircing green eyes.
He smiles as he reaches you, minus the edge it had when your father introduced you to the crew of your ship. "I have something for you." He lightly waves the feather about, before sticking it in your hair. "An angel's feather. I picked it up while we were in the Celestial realm." Really?
You raise a brow, "Aren't angel feathers supposed to give their own light?"
He shrugs, his lying smile gaining a playful tilt to it. "Maybe this one ran out."
"Hm." You're pretty sure a seagull dropped it.
Lucifer says your name.
You blink at him. You find yourself thinking about that day more often then you’d like, over these past five years.
"Has it really been just been five years?"
His eyes soften, like they've been doing when you bring up Satan. "Yes."
You nod, "Sorry, you," why did you remember Satan, "mentioned a marriage?"
"Yes, the king is falling ill, and requests his son get married before he dies." He grabs your hand. "I suggested you, and he agrees that it will help the bonds between realms if he chooses a human spouse."
Oh, that's right. He basically told you to marry the prince.
@aiixen Here it is! Sorry it took me so long, I was stuck on mobile for a while, and I refuse to publish this without a read more!
1k words & 4 scene changes ahead!
Cyn manages to escape the party, finding refuge skirting the edge of the woods behind the stranger's house. Their jacket hangs from their shoulders, keeping off the night’s chill. Their D.D.D. vibrates once in their back pocket. They pull it out, swiping up to read the text.
It's from Belial, "Where are you?" Mammon, Asmo, and Solomon all came with them, but it's him who notices they're missing?
Whatever. They take a picture of the woods, and send it with "Come and find me." They continue their meander along the edge.
It doesn't take him long to find them. "No drink?"
"Left that inside." They look to his empty hands, raising a brow. "Shouldn't you be cradling a glass?" He usually is, white wine if they have to guess.
He shrugs, easy, like he isn't breaking a pattern. It shouldn't matter, but it sends their mind thinking. Usually he spends parties ignoring them, in favor of antagonizing Mammon and Asmo with his presence. Unless he's found a new way to do that, using them.
Well then.
They nod their head forward. "Walk with me." They could use the company.
He skips ahead a bit, walking backwards to face them. "With a demon who isn't part of your guard? How scandalous~"
Cyn' rolls their eyes, and let some of the smile slip through. How he does this, they don't know, but... Well... His attitude towards the brothers is refreshing. Too many demons care about how much time they spend with them, and, while he may as well, his way of showing it is different, instead of... Well, let's not think about that right now. After all, there's a clever devil with them right now, and he gets pouty if he doesn’t have attention.
Cyn's laugh comes easy in the cafe. "So what wine am I bribing you with next time?"
Belial hums. "How about a Barsac?"
Of course he asks for something they've never seen at the bar. They sip their decaf coffee.
He brings his cup to his lips. Great, he's thinking, or at least acting like he is to make them fret. "Why do you play this game with me?"
Huh, "explain."
He points his drink at them. "You're stalling."
They huff. Per the rules, calling one out on stalling means the one called out must answer, no explanation required.
Of course, they're the only one who obeys the rules. They take another sip, noticing the caramel, chocolate, and that one flavor they keep forgetting to ask about. How is he going to take their answer? Their rules say they either answer honestly, or risk getting called out again.
Fuck it. "Your answers still give me insight into what you think I'll believe, even if I'd be stupid to believe anything 'personal' you tell me." Their turn. Why not lighten the mood again? "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"
His face makes them laugh again.
Cyn' sees Belial at the bar, probably flirting his way past last call. Let them guess, Asmo found someone to bring home, and asked Solomon to walk them home, but Solomon doesn't want to, so he's taking advantage of his 72 pacts to find someone willing to do the job for him. Given certain responsibilities the Brothers were given, showing up arm-in-arm with Belial of all demons was too good an opportunity to pass up.
They roll the comfort candy from one side of their mouth to the other. At least, that's what they've been assuming. They'd never ask though; better their guesses than another lie to try and decipher any meaning from.
They dry off another glass as the demon winks over the glass of what they now know is white wine. Did he go with a Riesling this time? Why's it matter, anyway?
Cyn' hands Belial the Chardonnay, places a glass on the end table next to the couch, then plops down on his other side. Having pacts with six out of, if you include the Demon King, ten of the Devildom's most powerful demons gets you some privilege, it appears. They're certain it has more to do with Solomon telling his demons to keep an eye out for them, though. Whatever. Who cares, really? They bring his arm around their shoulder, pulling out their cell to scroll through Facebook, of all things. It's the only way they've kept in contact with their family this whole time.
"Who pissed you off this time?”
They groan. He won't let up, he never does. He likes attention, and apparently can't appreciate silence.
"They all did," they put their phone away, it's what he wants. "I can't get a moment's peace with them!" If Mammon isn't tearing through the house running from Lucifer, then one of the brothers is trying to steal their alone time, or the Lucifer, you S*CK club is planning a new lame prank, or something! It's always something, they never have a moment to themselves any more!
He laughs! Really, at their misery! He turns them to face him, a finger under their chin. "And you thought being around me would get them to leave you alone?"
Well, he has a point there. They're always more clingy after they find him around them, in their own ways. "I..." Yeah, this really was a stupid decision. They shrug. Oh well, "I've already given you the wine, might as well make use of the bought time." Oh, that rhymes! Maybe they could make a poem-
His thumb traces the bottom of their lower lip. "You like the attention, don't you?"
They really don't. He should know this, he's mentioned how they can't keep their desires hidden around him-
There's a light pressure on their lip, from his nail. "The no-strings-attached facsimile of affection," oh, "the comfort of being honest with me." They swear there's some venom in his voice, but they brush it off. Why would it be there in the first place?
They shrug again, so what if they do? "You can always tell me to stop," if he wants them to.
They pride themself on catching the flash of emotion his crimson eyes give, even if they don't have a name for it. "Maybe I like having your attention too."
They scoff, resisting the urge to elbow him. They settle into his side again, keeping their devices put away. "You like making their lives difficult."
He chuckles this time, "you know me so well."
They roll their eyes, ignoring his hand under their shirt, so long as it stays at their waist. "Could you help me with this thing I'm writing?"
He hums, and the two fall into an easier conversation then feelings, and who they might be pining after.
Decided to write some more with Cyn! Just something boring this time.
500+ words on cooking ahead! On mobile, so apologies for the janky format!
Cyn turns on their headphones, making sure they're connected before pressing 'play'.
"I've been pissin' off all the neighbors," and they set out all the spices they need for dinner. It's just after lunch, but all the pots are charmed to keep food warm when it's off the heat. Besides, chili's better the longer it simmers. They stick the onions in the fridge, and get started dicing the bell peppers. There's a small mountain of them, in what's probably a futile attempt to feed Beel enough food that he'll be satisfied for an hour, let's say.
Oh, 'Happy Days'! They bob their head along with the song, singing along under their breath as they finish the last pepper, dumping its tiny pieces into a large bowl with the rest of them. Now, the onions. Okay, onions can wait, they need to make sure the ground beef's ready. They gently poke all over, making sure the ten packages are completely squishy. Good, then it's onion time.
They're more careful with the onions than the peppers, because onions are a pain in the ass the dice incorrectly. Well, they're a pain to do correctly as well, but less so. They cut the onion in half, then they cut small slices perpendicular to the root, stopping short of separation. They cut into the onion crossways twice, then cut parallel to the root, coming out with a dice. They grab the other half, repeat the process, and dump all the bits into a different bowl. Cool, just gotta do that whole thing about fifteen more times. Yeah, they're gonna be crying at the end of this. They shrug, and grab the next onion from the fridge, humming along to the next song.
Four songs later, and the onions are all diced up and in a bowl. Shit, did they grab cauliflower for this? Please be no, please be no! They check the veggies, and find three cauliflowers front and center. Damn, they gotta steam all that. At home they'd use a microwave, but here they're cooking for three more people. Well, Beel makes that twenty. It'd probably be quicker to just use the stove. They gotta look that up though. Shit. Okay, enough pouting. They cover both bowls and stick them in the fridge, grabbing their phone from their back pocket.
They pause their music. The house is too quiet, did everyone leave? Well, it's a Saturday afternoon. Satan, Asmo, and Mammon are probably off who-knows-where, Luci's catching up on paperwork in his office, Levi's in his room, as is Belphie, so that just leaves Beel, who should be coming down for a 'snack' soon.
They doubt eating raw cauliflower is any good. Hell, they barely touch the stuff when it's cooked. So they still gotta cook it. Okay, look it up. They do a quick search, 'how to steam' fourth one down. They tap it, and take a screenshot of the recipe. They see Beel out the corner of their eye. "Don't touch the bowls or the beef, they're for dinner."
"You're making it already?"
They nod. "The longer chili simmers, the better it is, according to, well anyone I've bothered asking," just their mother and grandmother, really.
These particular stanzas from Dead Girl Walking just vibed well with Belphie & MC…
He honestly is one of my least favorite characters from the game, despite the way he asked to pact with MC to be one of my favorite scenes. The way he did it was so sweet and sincere but I wish the game gave us more closure to what he did… But don’t get me wrong, this cutie has some good points. I just want more closure U-U
Barely two months since they popped up, and Cyn's already letting some of their more theatrical traits out, much to the amusement of the House of Lamentation. Well, most of the House, Samson corrects.
Their love of a certain musical is one of those small things that didn't get revealed by choice, however. How they revel in it now.
"I want freedom, but to get my freedom, I need 'em, to get a living person to say my name~"
Samson and Mammon, "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice?," right on cue. They've had this song on repeat all morning while they cook breakfast, so he's become familiar enough with the lyrics by this point.
"I know that beggars can't be choosers, but did they have to be such losers~ Both of them are deathly dull and lame!~"
Beel joins in this time, "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice." He's already finished the food they brought from work.
"Dear God slash Satan," here they point their spatula at the mentioned brother, who raises an eyebrow over his book, "why'd you send these bed-wetters!" They return to their pancakes, doing a little dance while they can't move from the stove. "Even like a tax attorney would've been better!" The music cuts off, but Cyn' pays no mind. "Somebody with gravitas, somebody to fear-"
Lucifer clears his throat, wearing the closest to 'casual' he'd probably ever be seen in outside his bedroom.
"Some of us are trying to enjoy their days off, without their sleep being interrupted by your caterwauling."
Cyn' flips the pancakes before putting them on top of the growing stack, no longer singing, dancing, or even humming.
It's quite conversations while Cyn' finishes cooking, with only one loud "BEEL!" from them when he tries to grab the bacon off the griddle.
It's after everyone’s started eating that Cyn' speaks to Lucifer.
"You know, that song you cut off's from a musical. A Broadway production, even. And,” they wave their fork at the eldest, “you interrupted a soliloquy."
Oh no.
They get a sharp grin.
Please don’t-
"So you're the one who's being rude." Without taking a breath, "Mammon I will give you my paycheck from Hell's Kitchen if you get me out of here now."
"Got it!" He quickly scoops them up and bolts out the door.
Great.
Asmo looks the very picture of offended, Beel’s grabbing the food from their plate, Levi’s snickering, Belphie has this mix of shock and delighted awe on his face, Satan’s coughing, and Lucifer is taking that about as well as you’d expect.
“MAAAAAMMOOON!”
Mammon comes back Cyn’-less, saying they were able to crash at work. “Yeah, apparently they’re one of the few who actually come back on a regular basis. Guess that has some perks with the boss.”
It’s nearly dinner, and still, no one’s seen them but Beel. “They said ‘hi’ when they came in.” That was about an hour ago, according to Beel’s stomach.
So Samson searches the house. Not in the kitchen, the living room, the library, the planetarium, the attic room, the theater, or the music room. Guess he’ll check their room again.
Their D.D.D. is still there, playing thunderstorms. There’s a new sound, maybe? Is it coming from the closet? He opens the door, and finds Cyn’ sitting in a ball on the floor.
“Everything alright?” Samson sits just outside the closet, facing the door.
They shrug. “Just... Had a bad night at work, that’s all. Ran outta energy in the middle of my shift.”
Oh. Well, “That sucks.”
“Yes, it does. Boss let me take a break though, once I explained what happened.”
He nods.
“And it got me thinkin’, how it always feels like I’m performing, even when I’m supposed ta be relaxing.” They start drawing in the carpet. “How hard it is, pretending to be normal. Making sure I’m making eye-contact, that I’m not ‘acting out,’ that I’m paying attention to what people are saying.”
Samson notices someone’s stopped in the hall, and silently shoos them away.
“Just sayin’ I know what it’s like, to make yourself boring on purpose.” Cyn’ adds a dot to whatever they drew. “You don’ gotta do everything yourself, Samson. I can take care of myself.” He honestly doubts that, and he really feels bad for doing so, but if hunkering in their closet is their knee-jerk reaction to being overwhelmed, then how did they survive in the Devildom as long as they claim?
reblog this with a snippet of a fic you want to write but will never finish + give me the juicy details in the tags.
i’ll start!
“You’ve got a death wish,” Belphie snarls, and Samson’s smile only urges him to grip tighter, hit harder—he has not once said the safe word, despite the spotting in his vision.
Belphie wonders if he ever will. With growing unease, he wonders if it will be in time.
They draw a design in the carpet, “Just sayin’ I know what it’s like, to make yourself boring on purpose.” Cyn’ adds a dot. “You don’ gotta do everything yourself, Samson. I can take care of myself.”
He honestly doubts that, and he really feels bad for doing so, but if hunkering in their closet is their knee-jerk reaction to being overwhelmed, then how did they survive in the Devildom as long as they claim?
