Sleep Aid
As Lord of Indolence, one might think a demon like Belphegor would jump at any excuse to go to bed. But every sin has its benefits and drawbacks...
(This is just a vent fic. I'm going through a flare up with my chronic illness and just needed an outlet. It's been really hard to make content lately.)
TW: slight non-con (small scene, not the whole fic), depressive thoughts, mentioning of death, disturbing/ scary content. (This is definitely 18+. If there are any other tags you'd like me to add, please reach out and let me know!)
One week has passed. One, which he has worked countless hours, early morning to late night, every single day. Belphegor looks at the work laid out haphazardly across his desk. His eyes stare at the whole of it, letting the drafts really sink into his gaze, not unlike fire melting down wax.
In one week he has achieved nothing. Really, how is that possible? Is there not a single thing heās completed, or at least made some sort of headway on? He set out at the beginning of this week with such manageable, reasonable goals. Not one of them was seen to completion. The more he stares at the āworkā the more his mind, desperate to keep pushing on, clashes with his body. Pain makes itself more present by the passing minute. Standing up had been a mistake, apparently. A feverish ache stabs at his sides, legs, and back. His spine especially feels stiff. Making any wrong movements feels like heās pushing a bone to bend in a way itās not supposed to. Thereās a sharp pain in his lower stomach that scares him more than anything. The demon isnāt sure what it is, but heās even more afraid to find out. Above all, heās tired. Keeping his head up at his desk had been a chore, which started a couple hours ago and has persisted since. He should have taken a nap earlier, but that would have been dangerous. A few days ago, when he allowed himself to lay down for twenty minutes, he never got out of bed the rest of the day. Yet it seemed like every day Belphegor worked until his body won over his mind, and he took himself to bed with a defeated, āIāll get more done tomorrow. Hopefully Iāll feel betterā.And sure, he wakes up the next morning, surviving yet another night of paranoia and dread, after wrestling with his anxiety while awake and dreaming- not without nightmares, of course. And he would start his day with a brief, glimmering sense of hope, just to be met with the same results. Other times he woke up feeling just as shit as when he went to bed, but he pushed on with the day anyway. That was how today had started. Now at the end of it, he feels just as wrecked.
His fingers and wrists scream when he picks up his coffee mug, yet itās distant and muffled in the back of his mind. He shouldnāt have more caffeine. Itās not doing anything anyway. He should have a drink. He should smoke. He needs the edge taken off for a whileā¦ but that would make the sharp pains worse. Perhaps he should feel worse. Heās wasted days of time trying to complete a project that ultimately gained him nothing but āpotential personal gratificationā. Sure, he could try and justify it with, āItāll contribute to my future workā. But does he really believe that work has a chance of success, one worthy of investing time in? Does he honestly think he can invent something thatās promising enough to be funded by Mammon, or even approved by Lucifer- let alone Apollyon? Why would he even consider that? No, he should have spent this time working on what he knows would have been approved. He should have contributed towards a fundable project, one that didnāt run such a high risk of being shot down by Judiel. Wasted time and energy for nothing but stackable failures staring back at him.
Is this how his victims feel? Surely not. Belphegor kills them while allowing them to at least be under the belief that they are creating some ingenious invention that is destined to make profits. They bask in indolence, blissfully unaware that they are about to be tortured and devoured, believing they will be the founder of something revolutionary. Yet, they never lift a finger, and they poorly compensate the ones underneath them bringing their creation to life. Ignorance is bliss for livestock. It makes their meat far more tender, and allows them to grow fatter. That is why the farmer kills them with their backs turned. Stress makes the cuts thin and meat tough. Perhaps he should attempt to replicate what he is currently experiencing on his next victims. The flesh would taste poor, but agony makes their soul so much sweeter. Maybe he should hunt, that might make him feel better. That might give him some energyā¦But the thought of eating made him nauseous, and that sharp pain returned in his abdomen. He should just sleep, curl up in a ball and wait for the pain to subside. Heāll wake up still feeling like heās breaking. Something is wrong with him.
āBelphie?ā
His ears perk up at the sweet, slightly off note. Hands slide around his sides from behind his body, resting their palms on his belly as she hugged him. Belphegor could feel it press her soft body against his back. Itās even mimicking her scent, chamomile and rose. Belphegor shuts his eyes when lips kiss his neck with the lightness of a feather. It would be too easy. Letting this thing hold him would be the easiest thing heās done all week. He wouldnāt have to bear his own exhausting weight any longer. He could just keep his eyes shut.
ā...Get off me.ā Belphagorās tone isnāt convincing. Itās rough from lack of use. Itās more irritable and stressed than a firm, tempered command like he wanted it to be.
āBut, baby, I miss you. Come one, I can take the edge offā¦ā Purring near his ear, she lets one of her claws leave his upper torso, going further and further down. āLet me take the pain awayā¦Maybe I can offer a little sleep aid.ā That voice isnāt herās. The other claw curves up his stomach and chest, grazing her nails against him lightly. They reach their destination on his throat, ever so innocently curling her fingers around it.
āNo. I mean it.ā Please, let him really fucking mean it. Heās tempted to press his throat against the black points of her nails. They would sink right in.
āOh, you donāt really mean thatā¦ā Her hand thatās been toying with his fly moves down further and cups him through his pants. That other hand finally squeezes his neck a little too hard. Thatās what makes him wedge his elbow between his back and her chest, pushing himself away with the strength he didnāt know he had at this moment. Now that heās out of its grip, Belphegor quickly places his coffee mug down, pulls off his gloves and coat, and throws them all on his desk chair. He turns sharply towards the exit of his lab. Itās completely silent, save for the hasty sounds of his foot falls and a low, insect -like droning.
āEisheth listens when I say no. Youāre not very good at mimicking her.ā He makes the mistake at glancing into a mirror sitting on his desk. He caught a glimpse of it. It must have realized that, as the droning only got louder, gradually shifting into an enraged buzzing. Its black body twitched, jerking itself to follow his movements. Its mouth- its head- opened, flaying out like a flower. A flower that let out a few small, black dots flying erratically in the air.
āCoward. You sit here and cry over how big of a failure you are, yet you canāt face one of the few things you have managed to create.ā That once sweet voice distorts into a harsh croak. Belphegor doesnāt turn around to face it. He can hear sharp taps, pretarsi, hitting the floor over and over to close in on him.
āYouāre pathetic, everyone thinks so.ā
Heās out of the lab now. He needs to keep going down this hallway.
āStop running. Are you expecting a different outcome again tomorrow? Give up!ā
He turns the corner. He can see the staircase.
āYouāre an embarrassment to the people who believed in you.ā
This flight of stairs has never felt so long to go up, and heās practically running. Each step up pounds in his ears. Something briefly snags at the back of his shirt, but he doesnāt stop. Heās out of the basement now.
āI hope you really are dying!!ā
He crosses through the living room, keeping his gaze tunneled on the second staircase leading to the second floor. That gross tapping shifts from the floor behind him to the wall on his right. The taunting has also changed into incoherent, hissing breaths. How he manages to fly up the stairs without his footsteps pounding and echoing through his home is beyond him. But now heās at the top. He can see his bedroom door. He can hear that insistent, ruthless buzzing. Something brushes against the back of his neck and tugs his sleeve, making him almost trip. Itās right behind him.
Finally, Belphegor opens and shuts the door abruptly, locking it without a shred of grace. Itās quiet now. The silence is making him aware of the copper taste in the back of his throat. Then, a rustling in the sheets off to his left. Itās completely dark in the room, but he knows it came from the direction of the bed. Slowly turning his head towards it, he can make out the outline of a body laying in his bed, bundled up in his covers. His wife is fast asleep with her headphones in, which is why she didnāt wake up from the sound of him shoving the door open and flinging it shut, practically strangling the handle to keep that thing from twisting it while he locked the door. Their cat, Furcas, was curled up at the end of the bed in his usual spot that lined up somewhere between them. Belphegor lets himself stare at the succubus for a couple minutes. He doesnāt move until tears obstruct his view of her, forcing him to take off his glasses. Blindly, he gets himself out of his clothes and into something suitable for bed. He carefully crawled under the covers and closer to Eisheth, starting to shake. The adrenaline crash was hitting him hard, combining with his earlier pains. He would feel awful waking her up, so his arms are careful to wrap around her waist. His face hides near the nape of her neck. All he could do was try and control his breathing and keep quiet. Itās nearly enough to shatter him when Eisheth grips his arm gently in her sleep. His tail coils around hers under the covers. Belphegor can hear Furcas purring a little.
Eventually, he does fall asleep. His mind gives up, allowing his body to shut down. Maybe itāll be easier tomorrow. Maybe it really will be different. Belphegor silently thanks himself for coming here to sleep, knowing now heāll actually wake up in the morning to find out if tomorrow will be better. The sound of something scratching and tapping at the door stops at some point. The buzzing ends, and the croaking, hateful growls leave with it. The thing was gone, but it will try again tomorrow too. It never goes away.
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GET KOSA TRENDING.
STOP SCROLLING NOW!
AS OF FEBRUARY 21ST, 2024, WE GOT FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE DAY OF DECISION OF THE KOSA BILL, WHICH WILL CAUSE MASS CENSORSHIP ROUND THE INTERNET IF PASSED. OR DOOMSDAY. WE NEED EVERYONE TO KNOW ABOUT THIS AND CONTRIBUTE. I'M NOT GIVING UP ON YOU ALL.
WE'RE DOWN TO THE WIRE BUT WE CAN'T GIVE UP YET. IF WE GIVE UP, EVERYTHING IS OVER. IF WE DON'T, AT LEAST WE HAVE A CHANCE.
I'M THE ONE WHO SOUNDED THE ALARM, AND I'M NOT GOING TO CURL UP AND DIE YET.
Reblog this post in every LEGAL way you can under the Tumblr guidelines with the appropriate tags. TELL AND TAG EVERYONE YOU KNOW, then add the tags to see below... and more if you can think of any complying.
Visit badinternetbills.com if you want to find a way to defeat KOSA. It WILL NOT take much of your time. Reblog with any other information or sources, too-- but make sure to reblog if you can.
Reblog if you support lgbtq+ content.
Reblog if you support questioning queer youth and/or abused youth getting the information they need.
Reblog if you support Ao3 and/or other sites that wholeheartedly preserve talentedly made media.
Reblog if you're going to repost this on other sites than Tumblr and spread the word across Twitter, Tik Tok, Pinterest, or elsewhere, alongside the link to badinternetbills.com.
Reblog if you think KOSA is unfair and shouldn't be anyone's problem -- including the adults ALL OVER THE DAMN EARTH forced to face the mass censorship it causes because "think of the American Children!".
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Reblog if you value the internet in any way at all whatsoever.
CHECK THIS PETITION, TOO! https://www.change.org/p/stop-the-kosa?recruiter=1331807538&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=sms&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf&recruited_by_id=57368c40-d0fd-11ee-98f7-2175430f819f&share_bandit_exp=initial-36809664-en-US
(Also, please reblog with at least "stop kosa" as a tag and not "kosa". I made the mistake of not adding just "kosa" as a tag...)
We won't let this stand any longer. Let's start a riot and get this trending.
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