No NSFW. Maybe I will post some thirsts but that's about it.
Please be nice. I'm very insecure about many things so I tend to overthink.
I am allowed to deny or accept your requests and please be patient. I'm a student and I tend to have a lot of tasks at hand especially on weekdays.
đ Extras đ
I like food, especially something that is sweet and savory. Like hotdogs on waffles.
I'm a student so don't be surprised is you see study tips on my blog.
I like Rhythm Games. I've played Project Sekai, Bandori, Ensemble Stars, Tapsonic, Sonolus, etc. I deleted some of my accounts though since I have no storage.
@catboychuuuya wanted me to elaborate on that bit in my Soukoku post about Odasaku not really understanding Dazai. I aim to please, so here I am.
Letâs begin
Part A: Buraiha Trio
Oda wasnât necessarily a bad friend. He just didnât really know what to do with Dazai. I actually think Ango was both a better friend toward, and had a better understanding of, Dazai (Oda pushed Dazai toward the light, but Ango was the reason he got to stay there).
Oda decided that Dazai should live in the light, but I think Ango always thought he belonged there. Like he knew that Dazai had the potential to be good.
In the prologue of the Dark Era light novel, Ango is the one truly bothered by Dazaiâs apathy and suicidal tendencies. Oda has very mild reactions to all of it. Dazai is basically crying out for help, and Odaâs reactions are very indulgent (kind of âthatâs nice, sweetieâ).
"'Oh yeah, I created a new hot-pot recipe. Would you guys be up to trying it next time we hang out? I call it the 'superhuman stamina pot.' You can run for hours without getting tired after eating it. Itâs a dream of aâ'
'Not in a million years,' Ango sternly declined.
'If it keeps you from getting tired, then it might be pretty useful before a hard day's work,' I added.
'âŚOdasaku, that's exactly the problem right there. You're enabling Dazai. You don't speak up, and that's why he goes off the rails.'
I see. So this was what Ango meant by 'enabling' him. You learn something new every day."
Now, again, Oda was not a bad person or friend. Itâs normal to joke around with your friends. But also, I think itâs pretty clear (Particularly in Storm Bringer and the Dark Era) that Dazai was genuinely struggling in the mafia. He was extremely unhappy.
Another problem with Oda is that he put Dazai on a pedestal like almost everyone else in the mafia (exceptions are Chuuya and Ango for sure).
"No matter what he did, Dazai seemed to reach heights that normal people couldnât."
The difference between Odasaku and the rest of the mafia is that Dazai greatly admired Odasaku. He admired his belief system and resolve. Thatâs why I think itâs so sad that Oda didnât really understand Dazai, because Dazai took Odaâs word as gospel.
Thereâs one last quote from the prologue that I want to talk about:
"We had a saying in the Port Mafia: 'The greatest misfortune for Dazaiâs enemies is that they are Dazaiâs enemies.' If he wanted to, he could even have a picnic in the middle of a firefight. Dazai was practically born to be in the Mafia."
This is the first case where I think itâs clear that Oda has a fundamental misunderstanding of Dazai.
Dazai was not born to be in the mafia. He was groomed to be in mafia by Mori. Mori picked him because he was an extremely intelligent, yet directionless child. I think we all spend so much time thinking of Dazai as a puppet master that we forget that he is also capable of being manipulated himself.
Dazai is eighteen during the Dark Era. Eighteen. Heâs a teenager. Heâs not a mastermind. Heâs a lost kid in desperate need of guidance. He spent four incredibly formative years of his life suffering under Moriâs thumb (One before officially joining the mafia, three after). Odasaku was Dazaiâs hope, someone he could look to instead of Mori. He wanted to be like him so badly.
Part B: Something to Live For
âOdasakuâŚ,â Dazai said softly. âForgive me for the absurd wording, butâdonât go. Find something to rely on. Expect good things to happen from here on out. Thereâs gotta be somethingâŚâ
Yeah, you read that right. Dazai just presented an optimistic outlook on life.
Heâs speaking to someone who has just lost his main purpose in being in the mafia, taking care of those orphans. Yet, heâs begging him to find a new reason to live anyway.
Part C: Last Words
That brings me to Odasakuâs final moments.
ââYou wonât find it,â Odasaku said in almost a whisper. Dazai stared at him. âYou should know that. Whether youâre on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity.ââ
Okay, so, Odasaku is right that Dazai wonât find purpose in the darkness, but heâs wrong about why. Dazai is not an empty person incapable of happiness. Even though Dazai thinks this means that Odasaku understood him well, we canât forget that Dazai doesnât really understand himself. His feelings. His mind. Dazai genuinely believes that nothing can make him happy, but heâs wrong and the consequences to Odaâs words are huge.
Now, Dazai thinks heâs a villain pretending to be hero. He thinks heâs inherently empty. WHICH IS WRONG.
Think about why Dazai went to Odaâs side in the first place. Because Oda was his friend. Dazai put his personal feelings first in that situation, and he does that more often than people tend to notice. Heâs actually motivated by emotions a lot.
During Storm Bringer, Dazai basically moves Heaven and Earth to stop Verlaine and keep Chuuya in the mafia.
ââI joined the Mafia because of an expectation I had. I thought if I was close to death and violenceâclose to people giving in to their urges and desires, then I would be able to see the inner nature of humankind up close. I thought if I did thatâŚâ Dazai paused before continuing, ââŚI would be able to find somethingâa reason to live.ââ
We have to remember who prompted Dazai to think that, Chuuya. An idea born from Dazaiâs relationship to another person, not the idea itself, was what made him join the mafia.
Ranpo is definitely autistic coded, but so is Dazai. Since No Longer Human was extremely influential on BSD, and that novel has a lot of autobiographical elements in it, it makes sense that Dazai seems autistic. After reading No Longer Human myself, I really do think that Osamu Dazai (the author) was autistic. YĹzĹâs (the protagonist of No Longer Human) behavior is very autistic. I mean, at one point, he describes masking verbatim.
Iâm mentioning this because I think that what Dazai hopes to understand is not a reason to live itself, but other peopleâs motivation to live. Itâs an extension of the very autistic feeling of alienation from other people. Dazai thinks thereâs something wrong with him because despite caring about other people a lot, he has trouble understanding their illogical behavior. He also struggles to understand his own illogical behavior.
I also think this is why Oda struggles to understand Dazai. Because people who arenât autistic usually struggle to understand autism. Autistic people often get profiled as âsociopathsâ (an outdated term that refers to Antisocial Personality Disorder) and are seen as emotionless monsters.
Dazai distances himself from other people as a defense mechanism. In his own words, âI always lose the things I donât want to lose the most. Thatâs why I donât feel anything anymore. The moment you get your hands on something worth going after, you lose it. Thatâs just how things are. There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.â I think that indicates that he cares very much about the people in his life, but that he also lives in constant fear of losing them.
Conclusion
I donât know how well I articulated any of this (Iâm neurodivergent, can you tell?), but my point is that Odasaku took a lot about Dazai at face value, instead of trying to peel back the layers and understand him as a person. He ended up dehumanizing Dazai a bit in the process.
Dazai is far from perfect, but heâs also not inhuman.
I think about this quote from Atsushi a lot, âPeople need to be told theyâre worthy of being alive by someone else or they canât go on.â Like, what would have happened if someone told Dazai his life was worth living even without some grand purpose?
The link is only in the original post inside an image, not as text, so here it is as plain text: https://glaze.cs.uchicago.edu/
and the paper about how it works: https://arxiv.org/abs/2302.04222
A bit of a TLDR for some questions I saw in the notes:
The team that created Glaze is from the University of Chicago. Their names are each listed in full on the Glaze download website. (This group of students/professors did this for their SPRING BREAK đą so go give them some love lol)
It is free to download. No, they wonât ask for or raise money from/for this project.(stated by one of the lead professors of the project).
Glaze is designed to protect artistsâ STYLE--which a bunch of ai people have been deliberately fine-tuning their models to mimic (and specifically of current living artists--small or big).
It currently does not protect against composition/trace-like theft (as seen when run through img-to-img) but that would be protected by copyright anyway while STYLE is not.
The University Team has stated that they are dedicated to continuing to improve the tool, like fixing bugs (like overheating older computers by taking up lots of energy when Glazing--it currently runs on CPU so theyâre trying to change that to GPU, I believe) and expanding the type of protection given to artists (like working against img-to-img theft).
It currently only works directly on your computer (phones not advised due to current overheating issue, no tablets, or iPads, and no website runthrough since that would be insecure to breaches/scraping/hacks)
It currently works best on painterly artwork, but can still be used on other forms (team is working on improving this)
IT WORKS BY calculating the changes each image needs for the best protection against style theft by AI, and adds tiny changes throughout the piece, so that your style will, for example, confuse the ai into seeing van gogh. But the ai thieves will see a regular image in your style, feeding it into their model labeled as your work (thus starting the âdata poisoningâ).
Do not post the original unGlazed piece of your artwork after posting your Glazed version (obviously)
The Team worked directly with over 1,000 artists that were being impacted by the ai theft. Because the team listened to those artists, Glaze accounts for regular art thieves too (i.e. Glaze canât be removed/cropped etc. like signatures or watermarks when reposted. Itâs just part of the image, so even if it ends up on another site and scraped, the Glazing is still in effect)
When you run your artwork through Glaze, no information is sent back to the Team. (Aka, no scraping on their part. The app receives information from the Team (like updates) but no information from you is given to them through the app. Basically Team servers ---> You and NOT Team servers <--->You) One-way data street.
Brief misunderstanding happened over an open-source license for the front-end part of the app. (Used open-source coding for front-end, not knowing that codeâs use-license states it is only for other open-source uses, not closed-source (the back-end code of the app is private to prevent counter-counter measure developments)). The Team took down the app until they replaced the front-end code with code written from scratch by the team. They are now not in violation of that open-source license since they are no longer using it. (you have 30 days to remedy a license breach once informed; they did so in 2)
The Team is currently in touch with Japanese artists to better expand the tool for use to protect their art styles
From what I understand of it, Glaze is an AI tool designed to be anti-AI (Think Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator 2: one Terminator robot vs. all the other Terminators đ)
You can download it from their website and also contact them through email there with any questions, problems, or bugs. The website: https://glaze.cs.uchicago.edu/
Fufufu after all these months, hereâs another Herbarium epilogue with more dark fluff and comfort. It was nostalgic to write for Capitano and his darling again (*á´ÍËŹá´Í)ę¤*.ďž
Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, psychological trauma, Stockholm Syndrome
⥠1.2k words under the cut âĄ
The astilbeâs beauty has faded.
The pressed flowers are only a phantom of the radiant clusters you picked weeks ago. The petals have lost their brilliance. The feathery plumes have been reduced to flat shapes.
This is a natural consequence of preservation, one which occurs to all of your flowers. So why do you feel particularly mournful for the astilbe?
Maybe the flowers arenât the problem. Rather, itâs you.
Your wedding ring twinkles on your index finger, an unavoidable sight. The sculpted flowers serve as a constant reminder of your marital status, disregarding the fact that you and your captor never had an official ceremony.
CapitanoâŚwhat time will he be home? You usually accompany him to Zapolyarny Palace but he decided against it today. Important business, he claimed.
Nonetheless, he treated you so kindly before his departure. Heâd given your new guard a stern warning which, even in his formal tone, sounded more like a death threat. You received a soft kiss, some new books, a promise of his immediate return.
Your life has never been happier. So why are you still plagued with your bad days?
You are used to this feeling, the ever-present melancholy which has haunted you even before you met Capitanoâthose hours spent trapping flowers in your notebook, escaping reality through storybooks, reliving memories better left forgotten. Perhaps it is your subconscious upset with you, the double curse of your self-awareness and resignation.
How can you believe in his love, knowing it is a twisted delusion?
Despite this, youâve never smiled more since the day you accepted your fate.
Since meeting Capitano, you even remembered how to cry. Compared to your past tears and âtantrums,â the action feels oddly cathartic nowadays. Like a call for help finally answered by your own devoted knight.
The sound of heavy footsteps interrupts your thoughts.
Your husband is home.
The door opens. Capitano enters the room.
â______, is everything well?â
âCapitano.â You leave your desk and meet him halfway. âDid you miâhow was work? You arrived earlier than usual.â
He feels warm. You lean into his embrace, letting him be the first to pull away. His hands remain on your waist.
âThe new recruits show potential.â He looks down at you, face hidden by his mask. After a short pause, he adds, âDid you take kindly to Sergeant Naiad?â
âCyane was all right,â you reply, shrugging. âThey just kept quiet and watched me from a distance. They are nothing like Ceres, if that is what youâre asking.â
The change in his tone isnât lost on you. âThat is acceptable. Should they infringe on your personal boundaries, inform me at once.â
Is that even necessary? He already has his spies to monitor your behavior.
Your notebook is still open to the astilbe. Capitano walks over to your desk, keeping one hand on the small of your back.
âI presume that your astilbe has been fully preserved.â He taps the corner of the page, careful not to touch the pink and white flowers.
You make no motion to retrieve it. âYes. TheyâreâŚnot as pretty as when I first saw them. Or maybe thatâs just my perception.â
He turns to face you. âIf you desire more astilbe, we may revisit the botanical garden.â
âNo, itâs fine.â
Shouldnât this be enough? What more must he do for you?
âWhich flowers do you want?â You return to your chair, feeling a familiar stab of guilt. âIâll let you pick first this time.â
âMy darling, what troubles you?â
Huh?
Capitano caresses your cheek this time.
âYou are in low spirits,â he observes. Anger creeps into his tone, faint yet palpable. âDid you tell me the truth about Sergeant Naiad?â
You quickly nod. âI was! I just feelâŚitâs nothing, really! Nothing worth your trouble.â
He remains adamant. âI would be an inattentive husband if I fail to care for my wife.â
What kind of expression is on his face? Even with his face concealed, you donât want to look at him. Anything to prevent him from perceiving your distress.
From your peripheral vision, an image catches your attentionâa framed drawing on your desk, illustrated by the same artist who painted the family portrait in your living room.
-
âSuch an odd couple,â they muttered.
You had to agree with them. With his mask and fine armor, Capitano was an intimidating subject. You, on the other hand, looked small and delicate in your lacy gown. But your close physical contact left no doubt that the two of you belonged to the same picture.
The artist spent more time on you. They took a while to capture your face, describing your gaze as a dim mystery. You didnât mind; it meant more time in your husbandâs arms.
During a short break, you faced Capitano to chat with him. That was when the artist froze, staring at you with renewed interest. A silent look from the former, however, was all it took for them to fearfully return to their canvas.
The finished portrait came with a small pencil sketch. You were looking at Capitano with bright eyes and a fond smile, unrecognizable even to yourself.
-
â______?â He holds your hand. His own ring twinkles above your interlocked fingers.
âIâŚItâs not important,â you insist. Despite yourself, you feel your heart racing for reasons not borne from fear. âIâve dealt with this before. The issue will go away on its own.â
Foolish girl. Since when was your captor one to leave you alone?
Ever the patient man, Capitano kneels down to meet your gaze.
âOne word from you, and I will do anything in my power to alleviate your sorrows,â he tells you. The soft declaration is juxtaposed by his firm grasp on your hand. âHow could I be at peace when my beloved flower is in pain?â
Words fail you. You stare at your lap, gripping the armrest with your free hand. It is his next words, spoken with quiet resolution, which spell your defeat.
âBut if you refuse to smile, that is also acceptable. I will stay by your side regardless.â
You give up.
At first, Capitano tenses when you throw your arms around him. The hesitation which followsâthe way he carefully reciprocates your hug, measuring his strengthâŚit only tugs at your heartstrings all the more.
âThank you,â you whisper. Your eyes feel damp; are you crying? Your tears donât match your mood at all.
What is there to worry about? Time and time again, your husband has proven his unwavering devotion to you.
Why should you torture yourself with the truth of your marriage? Freedom is nothing compared to this false happily ever after.
Who cares about the astilbe? You already have the most beautiful, eternal flowers wrapped around your finger.
Capitanoâs heartbeat is comforting. He traps you in his embrace, rubbing circles on your back. You donât need to see past his mask to know what tender emotions lie in his gaze.
âYouâre welcome,â he says. He lifts your wrist to his mask, imparting a soft kiss on the back of your hand.
A small smile tugs at your lips. âI feel a bit better thanks to you.â
âĄ
Side Story ŕš Epilogue ŕš Another Comfort Fic
A few months ago, I started this fic cuz I was sad. And now that Iâm less sad, I decided to finish it and cry over Capitano again. Aahh he and Damsel always put me in a soft mood TvT
Once again, thank you to @diodellet for your support as my bestie and peer reviewer. Last year, she actually wrote her own Herbarium-inspired comfort fic which I beta-read and linked above. Her smut is amazing and well-written, so pls check it out <3
Do share your thoughts on this fic!! And if you read the teaser for Astilbe, look at me in the eye and tell me that the Captain isnât the best at comforting his darling ･ďž(ďžÂ´Ď`ďž)ďžď˝Ą
yandere harbingers (minus pierro, capitano and pulcinella) x reader
cw: yandere, some not sfw themes, gore stuff if you squint, darling is a little unstable
wc: 1.4k+
The Harbingers are cruel.
With their prowess and influence they were as infamous as they were well-known. As such, their methods of acquiring what they desired were no secret to Teyvat, because, as it is often said ; the walls have ears. But you alone have been doubting that ever since your feet were bounded in shacklesâthe shackles of their power, resources and adoration to be precise. Because, if the walls truly had ears, why were they rendered deaf before your pleas for freedom?
Word around Zapolyarny Palace travels surprisingly fast as there are always bored guards and agents who were more than happy to ignite the sparks of gossip. Yet, there's not a single syllable uttered when you're seen strolling by, dressed in lavish garbs and jewelry so obviously gifted by Pantalone. The guards don't even raise their masked eyes as the banker pulls you closer than what should be appropriate for public display. Or perhaps, they don't even seem to be breathing due to the exact reason of his presence.
You offer no struggle either having already learned your lesson. Even still, the Regrator makes sure to tighten his possessive hold, a warning to bahave and the aching marks on your neck statue you to obedience. How you would've loved to slap that God-forsaken smile that tortures you even in your dreams.
Even as Arlecchino is more or less ripping Pantalone's gifts from your body and dressing you into newer, finer garbs (as she likes to say), garbs that were owned by her ; you don't feel the least bit of comfort. Even as the Knave delicately caresses you, showers you in feather light kissesâgestures that felt more possessive and meant to comfort her instead of you ; you feel no warmth. Your heart no longer skips a beat at her princely charms, not when her demands are on par with the Balladeer's.
Ah, Balladeer. An implacable bastard. You know a fraction of his eventful past from the once-in-a-blue-moon moments of quietude, vulnerability. When he would cling to your being like a drowning man to a wooden log, making you swear to not betray him, leave himâan ironic contrast to daylight, when he would toy with you like the sadist he was. A pitiful creature he might be but you can't bring yourself to offer him that remorse.
Sometimes, you place your palm utop your heart to check if it's still beating. Your brows crease to the unfortunate thumps and you wonder, if so, why do I feel nothing? Why is it so cold? The boreal winds froze everything in its wake. You muse if you should accept Dottore's offer, perhaps then, you could feel happiness again? You're no stranger to the Doctor's eccentric âideasâ and âexperimentsâ, not anymore when he offers you a front row seat to them. You're forced to sit through his passionate fits and although you don't understand half of what he says, you know the gist and, it's as horrifying as his exclamations of love.
Despite knowing Dottore's unhinged nature well, you still entertain such morbid thoughts with a blank face. Perhaps, Damselette's dark humor has rubbed off on you. But you know there's another one after your anatomy. When it's her turn to lock you in her laboratory, you silently take a deep breath to face the incoming madnessâcan it even be called such when The Marionette says those things with the most innocent face in all of Teyvat? You don't know anymore.
Even when the moon would replace the sun, snowstorms becoming deadlier outside and chalendiers would be lit, you had no rest. The sun's fall signalled respite for the others in Zapolyarny, but for you, it rang like the midnight bell signalling Lady Columbina's turn. Her songs that once lulled you to sweet dreams, now sound more like requiems. It's still much preferable to her mind games and playful threats, although. You'd only wish her embrace wasn't so suffocating.
Even the weakest of them spares you not. Seeking to be a silver-adorning knight in a sea of blood. You welcomed his sympathy at first, when you were still clinging to the last scraps of sanity. You didn't push him away from mock embraces of comfort when you still had the chance to. You thought you had a chance, an escape route ; oblivious to the fact that you had just nurtured a new impediment. You're a fool, an idiot. Because you forgot, weakest of them Tartaglia maybe but he was still stronger than you.
Their individual toxicity is still nothing compared to the theatrics that played in those damned dinner-parties. The environment of when the Harbingers gathered are so tense that you wonder if the knife would break if you tried to slice it through the air. All it takes is for one of them to make a comment on you and boom, it feels like a second Cataclysm has broken lose. If Lord Pierro or Pulcinella aren't there to stop them in time, you might as well start praying.
The Harbingers are cruel, so so cruel. Their cruelty extends further than just their treatment to you, their dear little doll. It implicates itself through their provocative whispers against each other, it hides itself betwixt the bloody remains of those who were foolish enough to interject and the only thing that's keeping them from lunging at each other is probably the Tsaritsa's sentence.
But did you deserve to be caught between this crazy charade? This game of being thrown from one lion's den to the other, reduced to nothing but a stress toy for them? And they, the starved beasts they were, had made you understand very well that in this lifetime, freedom would not be a privilege you could have. Your soul, so deprived of warmth, of life. Your heart that continues beating pathetically, rendered incapable of true emotionâjust like they wanted.
Even now, as the moonlight shines upon the Fair Lady's coffin surrounded by fake mourn ; you feel nothing. The Fair Lady, or Rosalyn, had a share to your misery, too. If you closed your eyes, you could still recall her vice grip and that strange mixture of warmth and cool ; something you used to be curious of until they threatened to consume you. She was as heartless as she was someone with one and like all of these souls under the Tsaritsa's decree, she too, was a pitiful soul. But you're no less selfish than them, maybe that's why Rosalyn's passing had no effect on you.
Lady Columbina's song truly does feel like a requiem now, you felt a chill run down your spine ; from the cold or from the eerie sound that travelled all around the hall you didn't know. You can hear the other Harbingers' voices in the background, an ensuing squabble over La Signora's passing or something. You don't really pay it any mind, seeking comfort in the fur coat that Arlecchino so graciously draped over you earlier.
ââBut Dottore, what of Scaramouche and the Gnosis from Inazuma?â
âConventional wisdom holds that Divine knowledge cannot be rationally comprehended. After conquering the Divine Gaze, he'll make his next move.â
The Doctor's masked eyes leave the blue vile to your laying figure by the coffin's side and a smirk creeps up next.
âBesides...he has a reason to return, after all.â
When you open your eyes next time, a scarlet fire moth descends upon her coffin, one so familiar. You watch unblinking as it slowly dissipates in the moonlight, becoming one with the icy winter. You can't help but wonder if Signora's doom had been a result of her karma, the thought surprisingly pleasing. If that were to be true, then surely the other Harbingers' would catch up sometime, no?
It's such a shame, the northern lights accompanied by the moonshine seemed so heavenly tonight but the person who'd promised to share this view with you one night, is already buried beneath layer upon layer of ice. Far, far away in a land where you were away from her reach and you couldn't wait for the day the others would join her, too.
You're thankful for the fur coat actually, not because it stave off the biting cold â but because it hid the first genuine smile that bloomed on your face in months.
It would've been a beautiful sight, had it not found amusement in such a circumstance.
how abt mammon and MC who gets super clingy/needy during PMS/their period?
Mammon was burning alive under your warmth, plus your heated blanket, plus the fact itâs the middle of winter and the heat is on blast. But it was worth it since you were finally resting after a long day of bathroom trips, overwhelming emotions, and just⌠stress. Just stress.
You were clinging onto him, clenching your eyes shut, trying to nap while your stomach was in knots. You pressed the heat into your stomach and pursed your lips, Mammon saw your expression and stroked your hair.
âItâs okay, I gotcha.â He kissed your head.
âI love you.â You told him. âI really really really love you.â You rubbed your face against him almost like how a cat would. He was red, either from the heat or your claims.
âLove ya too.â He said softly, heart warming as your smile stretched across your face. âWhatcha makinâ that face for?â He teased you, hoping he didnât step too far.
âBecause I love you.â
Man, if you werenât as cute as a button right now. He hates seeing you in pain, but your face was absolutely adorable how you nuzzled into him. âYa gonna just answer all my questions with that?â
âI love you.â Was your answer, albeit, confirming his suspicions. You went from laying on your side with your hand and face on his chest to just plopping on top of him. He canât believe that he wishes for a fan now in arctic like weather. He rubbed your back, slipping his hands underneath your top. You let out a little noise, approving of his actions. âYour hands are cold, itâs nice.â
âI dunno how theyâre cold, but if you like it.â He reminded himself that the furnace (you) on top of him was his partner, someone he loves dearly, and for you to be this clingy, you must truly be suffering.
Mammon could barely feel your heartbeat syncing with his. He had turned off his tv and every other sound so you could nap and he could only hear your breathing and his. He could feel how you wiggled your feet, moving the blanket around and he could also tell when you were bracing for another cramp, your body tensing up. Mammon felt as though he was fully in tune with you and that nothing else was there. Just you and him.
He remembered when he got up this morning and went to go get water and then returned to find you looking distraught. You were embarrassed to tell him that you were sad that he left but he was even more humiliated when he found out that you upset about that. Also, yesterday, when you were in class and decided to text him every 2 minutes, begging for his attention. Mammon, of course, indulged, how could he not? Or last night, when you kissed him and wouldnât stop even after he, yes the avatar of greed, was exhausted. He was somewhat familiar with the menstrual cycle, but he wasnât surrounded by demons with uteruses all the time let alone humans, so you really educated him fast.
Now, he had you down to a T. All that mattered was that you needed to be on him 24/7 and that you needed comfort. He was so used to being material and to buy you everything you wanted, to get you every bit of chocolate or every French fry or every pair of fuzzy socks you wanted. You loved that but you loved him more. Truth be told, nothing made him happier to know that he was your primary comfort. He was what you needed.
He looked down at you, angling his neck awkwardly to peek at your eyes. You were asleep, finally. He smiled to himself and kissed your head, still tracing his hands up and down your back. âLove ya, treasure.â His voice was lower than a whisper, only for him to hear. âI love ya so much.â
Seeing them in a different way after a long time apart.Â
Lingering looks.
Bed sharing, but only platonically. (Regretfully).Â
Inside jokes.Â
Late night [texts]Â
Smiles that hurt.Â
Always being each otherâs +1 to any event.Â
Forced proximity, that wouldnât be such a problem if things werenât changing between the two of you.Â
Home cooked meals, made special by the other.Â
Walking each other home from work.Â
Falling asleep on the couch, intertwined.Â
Fake-dating; either because you have to, (friends, family, a wedding, job) or because you two made an agreement when you were younger to get married.Â
Having to vet the otherâs SOs.Â
Soft touches. A brush on the shoulder, across the waist, through the hair.Â
Everyone knowing that, oh, itâs those two.Â
People asking whereâs the other if only one is present.Â
Minted keys to each otherâs apartment.Â
^ (Bonus if itâs the only copy).Â
Sleepovers because you're sick and they donât want to leave.
Their parents always asking how youâre doing, and yours asking about them.Â
Bets on your relationship.Â
That kind of laughter that ends up like squeaking because you canât hold it in anymore.Â
Confessing your love in the worst ways. (In the middle of an argument, while in danger, in a drunken stupor, simply because youâre tired.)Â
Using them as a seat, because thatâs what youâre used to.Â
Slow dancing. Totally platonic.Â
Prom with one another.Â
Spending sad anniversaries on the couch with buckets of chocolate, their arms curled around your shoulders.Â
They only trust you with their problems.Â
And you only have them to cry on.Â
âGoodnightâ and âGoodmorningâ texts.Â
âDid you get home safe?â texts.Â
âIf anything ever happens to you, call me.âÂ
Self-sacrificing behavior because neither of you can live without the other.Â
Chiding the other while patching them up, inches away from their lips.Â
When they throw themselves into danger, youâre there to pull them out.Â
âCanât sleep, come over?âÂ
Movie marathons.Â
Hiding each other whenever youâre not supposed to be in their room, giggling.
âI canât imagine being with anyone but you.âÂ
Petty jealousy.Â
âWhere are you?âÂ
Always sitting by each other in [school].Â
Fixing each otherâs clothing; ESPECIALLY tying their ties, fingers brushing against their sternum.Â
âIâve wanted this forever.âÂ
Them being the only person who notices the small changes you make to either your appearance or house.Â
Emergency contacts.Â
Sleep-deprived nights because the otherâs in the hospital.Â
Platonic love proclamations, until they're not.Â
An accidental kiss to the cheek that leaves both of you stunned.Â
âI canât keep going without telling you how I feel.âÂ
That awkward phase after you start dating where everything is new and you really donât want to mess it up.Â
âItâs just me.âÂ
The whole exaggeration about their dating. (E;g, weâve been dating since Iâve known them.)Â
âI didnât know you loved me.â âI didnât know you loved me.âÂ
Semi-protective behavior.Â
Knuckle kisses that get progressively longer.Â
Dreams shared in the darkness.
Working togetherâwhich means no productivity, basically.Â
Playful arguments.Â
Being able to resolve actual arguments because they both value the friendship too much.
âTake the bed.â âNot without you.âÂ
Stargazing, your head on their shoulder.Â
Being there when things go bad with each otherâs families.Â
The âdo you want to talk?â with pinched eyebrows.Â
Knowing the exact shade of each otherâs eyes from memory.Â
Coffee trips in the middle of the day.Â
Dropped off lunches.Â
Random midnight snack runs.Â
Nighttime road trips.Â
A shared music taste and a bass that rocks the car, windows down.Â
âDonât replace me⌠please. I canât lose you, too.âÂ
Straight-faced covering for them, even while they sneak out the backdoor behind you.Â
Mutual shenanigans despite the consequences of said shenanigans.Â
âHey, what if weââ âNo.âÂ
That first kiss thatâs a tentative touch, then turns into a fervorous kiss, hands on shoulders, jaws, cheeks, squeezing their sides.Â
Wanting to take their relationship slow.Â
Each milestone meaning more than the last.Â
Soft singing to put one another to sleepâperhaps a song that theyâve sang since childhood.Â
Being ready to drop everything to go help them no matter what.Â
Smiling when thinking about them [and being called out on it].Â
Objects that you have to get for them.
Board Game competition.Â
Zipping up their dress, or tying their tie and fixing their cufflinks.Â
Secret languages.Â
âWhat are we?â âWhat do you want us to be?âÂ
Standing in front of them on the [train].Â
Memories that you canât forget.Â
Growing old with one another.Â
Kids who they canât decide which looks like who.Â
The most outlandish anniversaries you can think of.Â
âHappy That Time We Almost Died For the Second Time!âÂ
Communicating through simple expressions.Â
And finally, the ability to trust utmost in one another.Â
