A/N: This is the Self-aware Obey Me! Fanfic that 🌊 anon requested. It's been sitting in my drafts for months and now it's finally released after some touching up! The pronouns used for the character to be inserted are he/him since the only ones we can add on screen are the brothers and the dateables. This fic could either be platonic or romantic depending on how you view it, but I highly doubt it fits Luke, even if the fic is not intended (by the author) to be romantic, due to the slight swearing, so apologies to those who have the sweet child on their homescreen.
He had never paid much attention to the taps that he'd hear every day.
The first tap that reached his ears every morning without fail was his cue to open his eyes. Be it a force of habit or a mere reflex, his body had grown accustomed to waking up the moment this unusual alarm of his sounded.
It was indeed bizarre, but the world he lived in was already fantastical in its own way and so he brushed it off as some sort of magical phenomenon that he lacked knowledge in. As long as it did not affect his daily life, he had no need to spare any care for it.
That was not all though. He was also wrapped in a warm bubble of music despite not seeing any players. The melody was his cue, though he'd be lying if he said it wasn't like an opening theme song.
Huh, perhaps someone left their gaming device on?
That song was nice, though he had begun to get sick of it. Now that it served as his work alarm, it irritated him more than ever. But by some unknown power, he could only slap on a professional, customer service smile as he started another day on the stage, facing the dark, empty auditorium and prepared himself to speak his lines.
He knew not when those started, but he was aware that the day those rhythmic beats reached his ears, he had started sleeping like a baby every night — quite ironic, considering his age and how his kind, or well, him especially, never needed as much sleep as the humans living above them do. It was also from that moment onwards that he lost the grogginess that usually accompanied a peaceful slumber.
Sure, they were pretty annoying at first, but he slowly got used to them. He was grateful that they didn't follow the same rhythm every time, or he was sure he'd go insane. Following the same routine every day was already boring enough, and he was grateful for the unpredictability. When he got bored enough of speaking his usual lines to an audience invisible to his eyes, he'd busy himself with predicting how quickly the next tap would sound. Naturally there are no rewards for getting the timing correct, though it is no less satisfying for one who has to entertain an unknown audience very single day without fail.
.....An unknown audience? Ah right, he was in the spotlight this time. He had been for quite a while now, reciting the lines and dishing out the dance moves he was best known for, though to whom he had no clue.
Then one day, he started hearing a voice. Like a phantom in the opera, it was fleeting, soft, toying with his senses and luring him into a false sense of security. Feeding on his loneliness, making him desperate for more social interaction after YEARS of being alone on this damn stage—
All he knew was their voice, the occasional mumbles that notified him of their seemingly random thoughts. Occasionally about Devil Points, other times about Demon Vouchers, and perhaps a few complaints about "events" or "card strengths" here and there.
He thought about visiting the psychiatrist—perhaps he'd just gone mad from the solitude and started hallucinating.
But he could swear, on the one above, that as the days went by, the voice started to get louder and clearer than ever. The sound waves hitting his eardrums and being transmitted to his brain left him tingling, as if his neurones were a trail of gunpowder and the electrical signal a burning flame.
And the FAWNING— were they fawning over him? HIM? He finally had a fan? A seat taken up in the audience? After so many years?
The answer he got was the relieved yet slightly hysterical laughter that bounced off the walls. Perhaps it was a sign, that there were people alive in this blasted world. He couldn't say the same for the others he knew and loved, their eyes dead and empty, devoid of life and light. No longer did those orbs sparkle or light up, and no longer did their voices crescendoed. All that was left was flat emptiness, just like he's always been.
Eventually, he had a face to match the voice. Small glimpses, like the trailers of the movies he once loved, were teased. Sometimes it was of their eye, perhaps their nose and if he was lucky, their lips. He no longer focused on his work, opting to piece up the imagery he's got like a puzzle. Never had he been so determined to figure out the complete features of a person's face. So as he was trying to burn the colour of their eyes into his memory, he noticed that he could see a reflection of himself in those mesmerising orbs.
Strange, wasn't he standing on a stage? Why was he on this weird bright background and those weird apps to his left? He recognised a few, being those he often used, such as Akuzon, Devilgram and whatnot. But there wasn't a speech bubble in front of him either, he could swear up and down, even pinch himself as hard as he could and he still did not see what was apparently beside or in front of him.
So why? Why was it that their eyes were reflecting something entirely unknown and otherworldly? Why was it that their eyes weren't reflecting the reality he sees? At least the music was the same, but it didn't make any sense!
Why was there music? Why did the people he know have to work? What did "coming home" mean? Who was this person? Why did he have to come onto an empty stage and was forced by some unknown curse to stand there like a string puppet and recite lines he's never practiced but somehow knew? Where in the Devildom was he?!
Multiple questions demanding answers filled his mind but one thought stood out most: he had to get out of here immediately. He needed to see those he cared for, to make sure they're okay, Alive and safe. He needed someone, ANYONE, to tell him that what he saw was just his imagination and that everything is fine, he's just overthinking and that everything was normal.
A teleportation spell spilled from his lips in a quiet murmur. The person still gushing in the projection most likely wouldn't know if he did it sneakily. There was just a bit more to go, and he'll flee when they're distracted and then—
Red, blue, magenta, teal.
Flashing, glitching, static, seal.
Blank, troubleshoot, troubleshoot—
Reboot.
The magic flowing from his fingertips was the last thing he registered before darkness engulfed him.
Taps were once again transmitted to his brain via the vibrations reaching his eardrums. It was another day, another start. He's got a job to get to and he knows that well despite his exhausted groaning. What he couldn't comprehend was the question, a glowing engraving on the sole of his shoe, seemingly a warning from himself, telling him all that he needed to know:
"Where i̶n̶ t̶h̶e̶ D̶e̶v̶i̶l̶d̶o̶m̶ Ǭ̵̡̙̱̳̞͓̩̲̮̯̮̪̹͚̄̉̌̽̂̔̍͘͝n̷̮̒̀̍̅̍̕ ̴̞̼̮̩̪̝̐̀̎̂̏̉̔̃͋̅̓͠Ȩ̴̨͚͉̻̪̣̤̱̽̈́͛́̑͒́͋̽ͅa̷̬͐̐r̷̨̧͇̞͖̣͍͇͖͎̥͋̓͆̅̚͝ͅt̴̨͚͔̱͕͐h̸͔͍̺͈̼̀͋͊̏̓̎͠ are we?"
