bearakero

[bearakero]

[bearakero]

(based off the official account's newest post)

[bearakero]

“I just so happen to be fond of ___, okay? Sure, we’re talking  about a human…but a very impressive one. One who can handle even Lucifer and his brothers like a pro. Also, I’m fascinated by anyone who can stand being the apprentice of that eccentric weirdo Solomon. And Diavolo and Simeon both respect ___, and what’s more— What? What’s that look for?”

“I’m just shocked that you’re suddenly so talkative. You really like that human that much?”

“Of course I do. I’m a stan.”

“A stan…?”

“Yeah, a stan. Haven’t you heard of stanning?”

“…I’m not even sure we’re speaking the same language anymore.”

— Thirteen and Mephistopheles (Nightbringer Chapter 19-14)

[bearakero]

Bouquet? Okay!

summary: thirteen x gn!reader. thirteen knows her human courting rituals, okay? just don't ask her about how to give someone flowers. 959 words. ao3 here

a/n: i really need to kiss her rn. this is stupidly self-indulgent and the idea came to me long before game 3's announcement lol. also was totally winging the grammar, tenses and povs. i gave up xoxo.

The first time you gave Thirteen a bouquet, she didn't know what to do with it.

Well, she did in theory. She knows she should have taken them from your outstretched arms with more enthusiasm than she had done. She knows she should have taken them home, unwrapped them, trimmed the stems and arranged them meticulously in a vase. Given them plant food and admired them for a week at least. Maybe even secretly - shly- pressed a bloom or two between the pages of her diary.

Instead she'd gingerly taken them from you with a bit of grimace, fingers clutching the brown paper and knuckles nearly white. She'd noted the way your bashful smile flickered but couldn't find a way to vocalise her hesitation, the reason. She liked you, surely that was evident, but you were human. She had taken the flowers home but left them wrapped on the kitchen counter until three days later they'd started to wilt and she'd panicked; shoving them in a vase too full of water and too late to preserve them.

They were flowers you'd brought back from the human world but she didn't recognise them- nothing like the chrysanthemums, lilies, carnations or marigolds she usually saw on her travels. These matched her hair- tall stalks with violet bells and tightly spiraled pinks. The greenery matched her eyes. It made her flush, the thought that you'd made a conscious decision to pick a bouquet that resembled her, and a laugh shuddered out of her. It sounded insincere at the time, and she cringes now, but she was flustered and nervous in the way only you can render her.

It took a few of these awkward courting moments before you caught on and she confessed that she was scared, absolutely terrifed that her touch would cause the flowers to rot and wilt the moment you passed them to her. Rationally Thirteen knew there was no reason to be afraid; she had sat with you, faces turned towards the sun and weight supported with her palms flat to the grass, and no scorched earth had remained beneath her palms. She pressed dried leaves into pages which didn't disintergrate, ran her fingers reverently over funeral wreaths as she offered safe passage to chosen afterlives. She'd even picked herbs for Solomon's many potions without incident, so why was she so scared?

She knows the answer now though- a projection of her insecurity. Your relationship was young at the tim, the first flush of romance in a spring, tenatively unfurling like magnolia petals ready to be torn off in a harsh breeze. She never told you that though, you'd accepted her confession of anxiety and drew your own conclusions.

After though, you persisted with this human ritual only the flowers were never freshly cut anymore, though always in that same green-pink-purple-blue palette. You started bringing her little potted arrangements through the Devildom's summer months - a hanging basket of pansies one week or a a posy calla lily the next. Somehow, even years later Thirteen has managed to keep these alive and thriving, despite the pansies being annuals. She's not sure how she managed it and neither are you.

The winter months saw you bring her carefully arranged boquets of crocheted flowers. The first time you presented her with one on the doorstep before leaving for a date night, brought her to tears. It was a little rough around the edges with poorly connected sections and dropped stitches everywhere, but you'd looked so proud. The gesture was so full of adoration that she'd had to retouch her makeup and even then her remained red-rimmed for the rest of the evening.

Now though the memory makes Thirteen laugh as she trimphantly holds up the bride's recently tossed bouquet, breathless and beaming under the delicately strobing pink lights of the reception. She'd lunged for it and jumped without hesitation, thoughts of it rotting and droopping and decaying in her hands long gone. No real thoughts given to that option at all, really, instead replaced by a determination to nurture, to ensure it blooms again and again and again.

The arrangement this time is in hues that compliment your eyes, she realises, rushing across the dance floor towards you, grinning and ready to sweep you up into her arms. She narrowly avoids knocking over the little flower girl in her haste

You watch her leap from the sidelines, her stormcloud grey dress billowing behind her and wince as she lands bent-kneed in her platforms like it was nothing. You can'thelp but match her expression, eyes crinkling with delight as she barrels into you with breathless laughter, her hands slung over your shoulders and the hard earned favour loose in her grip as she pushes her forehead against yours, expression softening as she leans in for a chaste kiss.

There's a swell of cheering and tipsy laughter from your audience before attention turns back to the new spouses who are now encouraging everyone onto the dance floor. Thirteen pays them no mind, instead pressing another tender kiss onto you and another and another, each warm and flushed like a summer breeze. Her lipstick smears like a painted waterlily, softening the dark mulberry stain. She pulls back then; giddy and thrusts the bridal bouquet into your arms. The blooms seem to brighten in your grasp.

Thirteen might not have known what to do the first time you gave her flowers, but now the roles are reversed and all of that hesitation and premature ache is gone. She's over the fear that your relationship will wilt. So yeah, she might not have known what to do the first time you'd given her a floral arrangement, but she definitely knows how to return the gesture in style.

[bearakero]

thirteen and her sister that she hates (and more candy sketches below

[bearakero]

STUCK BY THE GLUE

✦ PAIRING: thirteen x f! reader ✦ SUMMARY: Growing up with Thirteen and all the turns that come with it. ✦ WARNING: high school au, reader will have a personality, author doesn't know when she will finish this............... ✦ WC: 7.2K

PART ONE | PART TWO | MASTERLIST

“Are you sad?” 

Thirteen stares at the outstretched hand with tears running down her cheeks. Her vision is blurry as she glances around the playground before locating you before her.

A bright light from your sneakers catches her attention, and she can’t tell if the ugly feeling within her is envy. The mysterious girl stomps her foot, and her snot-filled sobs subside for a second.

“Sad?” The girl asks again, continues to stare curiously at her, hands now dropped to her side. For some reason, she stomps her feet again.

“Are you sad?” She repeats.

Bewildered by the constant barrage of questions, Thirteen stops crying. She nods once, and then twice. Then she shakes her head.

She’s not sad, particularly. She just doesn’t know how to stop crying.

There is a silence that lasts a minute as the two of them engage in a stare-off. Finally, the girl sits beside her and holds out her hand again with a determined look.

“Don’t be sad anymore.” 

This time, Thirteen gets a better look at the outstretched hands, now that her eyes weren’t filled with tears. They were small and splattered with gooey paint from the earlier activities. 

“I know.” Thirteen manages to choke out, hands flying up to rub at her eyes. They’re now itchy and irritated, and she could feel the tell-tale leaking of saline water starting up again.

“Nooo.” The girl pushes her hands away and rubs at Thirteen’s cheek gently. She continues to fidget at her eyes, trying hard to hold back her tears when you let out a huge gasp. 

“Paint.” You mutter, trying to pull back your hands, but Thirteen’s face follows with it.

“Huh?” Thirteen says, grabbing at you even while sniffling in your grasp. You desperately try to wiggle your fingers off, but it stays solid.

In retrospect, it certainly is a fascinating way to meet someone for the first time, being stuck together in the most physical of senses.

.

Thirteen scrunches her eyes as she tries to blink away the swollenness. Now that her stream of tears has stopped, her nose feels raw from the constant sniffling.

The nurse calls out your name in a disapproving voice, and she clings to the sound of it. Thirteen’s parents are in the room, dishevelled as they talk with the nurse while yours are nowhere to be found.

She knows she’s going to get an earful when she gets home, and her face drops into a pout. She might not even get dessert on the way home today.

Lost in thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed you sidling your way up to her. It seems like the nurse had cleared you, seeing as your hands are now clean and without blemishes.

“Hi.” You say, holding out your hand to grab hers again with bright, innocent eyes. “My mother always tells me I have to introduce myself.”

In a quick ramble, you say your name and a list of things you like. Thirteen barely catches the whole slew of it before you end off, “And I like your hair, pink and blue like a butterfly.”

Thirteen subconsciously touches her hair, peering closely at the strand of it.

“Butterfly?”

You nod, letting go in favour of raising both arms to mimic what you thought was a butterfly. You toddle slightly, losing your balance, and she tampers down the urge to steady you.

“They’re very pretty like you!”

She doesn’t know what to do with your enthusiasm. Lost for words, she just stares at you, albeit for a second too long.

Seemingly deflated, you push your lower lip out while slouching before perking up again and sticking your hand in front of her, waiting for a handshake. “What’s your name?”

“Thirteen.” She replies, trailing off but making a move to grab your finger before you put it down. “Where are your parents?”

You shrug.

Instead, you hopped up on the table she was residing on, and Thirteen mutters your name softly under her breath. You smile at her and say your name again.

Both of your legs swing, and Thirteen’s eyes follow the motions before she musters up her bravery to start tracing stars into your thighs. She’s starting to get bored of waiting, but she likes being in your company.

“My sister’s there.” You point out in the silence, and her eyes flit over to a disgruntled girl crossing her arms. She studies the navy blue and white uniform, recognising it from the school her sister attends.

“I wanna be friends.” You abruptly say, pinning her with a determined look. Thirteen glances sideways, hesitantly, before shyly nodding.

No one has ever wanted to be her friend before.

A shout of her name catches her attention, and it’s her parents. She hesitates to go over, hands still clasped tightly in yours. Thirteen doesn’t want to leave you just yet. 

Her mother comes over with a hushed voice, pulling her gently by the arm. She wrenches free and runs to hug you, rubbing her cheek against you.

She doesn’t know why she likes you so much — the girl with the light-up shoes but she knows that she never wants to go a day without you, her first friend.

.

With a girl like Thirteen, trouble was bound to follow her wherever she went. 

“Shh..” You hold a finger up to her lips, tugging her down as both of you squat in the closet. Thundering footsteps boom outside of your hiding place, and Thirteen grabs onto your shirt in terror.

It had been an accident, but she knows your mother would never accept the reasoning.

“Come out!” The voice snaps, and your fingers wrap around her, shaking without a preamble. Thirteen scoots towards the back of the closet, dragging you with her.

That was the wrong move to make.

The closet let out a loud creak, and Thirteen couldn’t help but let out a loud gasp in shock, even as you shushed her frantically. It was too late for any regrets as the door to the closet swung wide open.

“Auntie–” Thirteen starts, scrambling to get up on her feet, but she couldn’t get another word in before your mother starts going on a rampage. With spit flying everywhere, she drags you out of the closet as she glares at Thirtee,n who tries to follow behind.

In all honesty, it was Thirteen’s fault for spilling the hot chocolate (that you wanted but didn’t dare to get in fear of getting scolded) and then tripping over the stupid carpet in the living room (she got distracted by the blinding smile you flashed her).

And, how would she have known that the piece of clothing she had picked up on the sofa to wipe the mess was worth thousands? It looked like a dog’s chew toy with how tattered it was but apparently, it was fashion.

(“It’s still ugly.” You had whispered to her after the scolding, forearms filled with red welts after getting your punishment.

Thirteen was holding back tears again, as she hurriedly grabbed a cloth, soaking it under the running tap, to cover your arms. It had been her fault, as usual. Yet, you had stepped forward to take responsibility for it.

You had managed to sneak out of the house, making your way over to hers. Your mother had shoved Thirteen out the front door before slamming it shut in her face. Behind the closed door, she could hear the crack of a belt and your silent whines.

She wishes she could have done something, but all she managed to do was wait outside the door for an hour and flinch whenever she heard shouting.

In the end, your mother came out to chase her away.

“I’ve always wanted to throw it away.” You go to ruffle her hair, brushing away her tears even as you wince at the movement. “You just managed to do it before me.”)

.

She’s ten when she comes to terms with the fact that you might just be her favourite person.

You had brandished her with a set of rocks after a weekend trip out of the country. Thirteen had missed you terribly, moping around the house to the point that her parents had brought her out to get ice cream.

It still didn’t lift her mood.

“They reminded me of you.” She thinks that’s what you had declared. With two of your front teeth missing, she couldn’t be too sure if that was what you meant.

She stares at your cupped hands, counting the rocks mentally before looking up at you in disbelief. “How many did you bring back?”

You shrug, smile still bright as you gently place them on the ground. On one hand, your fingers close, leaving only your index and middle fingers up. “About twenty?”

Excitedly pointing at the one in the middle, you kneel and present the stone to her. Your nose was still running from the allergies you had earlier, but it didn’t dampen your mood. “I got this from the gift shop!”

Her heart swells, and the words tumble out of her mouth before she can think twice.  “I love you.”

Your nose scrunches up, and you press the rock into her palm. Arms wrapping around the back of her neck, you tiptoed to hug her. “I love you too.”

Or, at least that’s what she thinks you said. She still can’t be too sure with your lisp.

(That night, she lies in bed thinking of your words. She doesn’t understand the funny feeling in her chest.)

.

You had finally managed to convince your parents to let you go over to Thirteen’s house for a sleepover.

Thirteen had ended up banned from your house after the last fiasco, where she had accidentally trekked mud into the house, and that ended up being the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Though that had been months ago. She wondered just how long they were going to hold a grudge against her.

Thirteen’s legs are tangled with yours as both of you giggle at whatever is playing on the screen. It doesn’t matter what they were doing as long as she gets to spend time with you.

The popcorn she had warmed up was nestled in the space between both of you. Before your arrival, she had pleaded with her parents to get the caramel flavour, and they had begrudgingly done so, even if no one in the house ate caramels.

Her hands were sticky with butter and residue as she tried to wrestle the remote from you.

“No, no!” You screeched, a high-pitched screech broken by the onset of puberty, but it was ever so endearing to Thirteen. 

The house was empty since Thirteen had begged to stay home with you instead of heading out for dinner. She didn’t want to postpone the sleepover any longer, afraid that your mother might change her mind. 

(Her parents were starting to worry about her relationship with you. Was it normal for a little girl to be so attached to another?)

Thirteen eventually lost the battle when you pulled out your winning move, The Pout. After finding out that she was weak to this, you had been using this against her on every occasion. 

Thirteen could never resist you, so she settles into the couch, ready for a bore of a movie. She prefers something more… thrilling, but all you like is romance.

The movie finally starts playing, and she’s already bored, but a promise is a promise. So, she tries her hardest to keep her eyes glued to the screen.

The only comfort she had was you snuggling up beside her as you gave commentary on the scenes playing on the television. When the movie gets to the climax, you quiet down while tightening your grip on Thirteen’s sleeve. 

She lets you do so, curious as to why you were so captivated. It was just a confession scene. She couldn’t find anything special about it except maybe the kissing part.

Your breath was hot on her neck as you stayed buried to her side. She turns and looks at you, eyes falling onto your lips. 

She wonders what it would be like to kiss you.

.

A new boy joined the class today. 

He had introduced himself as Mephistopheles. Thirteen doesn’t like him; he’s prudish and irritating, and she could tell that she wasn’t going to get along with him.

Or maybe it’s the fact that he tried to steal Thirteen’s seat next to you while she was in the toilet. She had shoved him out of her rightful place, and he had tumbled to the ground.

It wasn’t even a bad fall, but he had ended up sobbing with tears running down his cheeks and complaining to the teacher. She didn’t understand him; it wasn’t even her fault that he fell when she only gave a little push.

Yet, the teacher had sent her into timeout to repent for her behaviour. Being the dutiful friend you are, you got up to follow her to the side of the classroom before getting called back.

With her being gone, the idiot (she had learnt this word from her sister but got in trouble for it) had ended up sitting next to you. Thirteen could barely resist the flicker of jealousy within her, but you had ignored Mephistopheles, and it made her feel much better.

Her timeout lasted till lunch, and you had sneaked away from the rest of the class to come and find her, bringing your lunchboxes along.

“That idiot.” 

“Yeah?” You responded while munching on the sandwich Thirteen’s mother had prepared, before frowning at the choice of words. “Isn’t that a bad word?”

(Sometimes, your parents forget to pack your lunch, so Thirteen always ends up sharing her food with you. But it’s never enough for two little girls.

Afraid that you wouldn’t have enough so she pleaded with her parents to get another portion.

It worked, but now she’s saddled with extra chores. She doesn’t mind, though, seeing your smile is enough for her.)

“Is it?” Thirteen feigns ignorance, bringing out a piece of tissue to wipe at the side of your mouth. “I don’t like him.”

Chewing on the mouthful of food slowly, you wait for her to elaborate. Instead, Thirteen just goes back to munching on her sandwich. You’re usually the voice of reason between the duo, but even this time, you had nothing good to say.

“He keeps pulling on my hair.” You pouted, crumbs littered around the corner of your mouth. Thirteen’s face immediately turned into an ugly expression. She knocks your knees against hers and grasps gently at your hair.

Seeing your crestfallen expression is Thirteen’s least favourite thing in the world.

.

Mephistopheles became Thirteen’s first enemy.

In retaliation for her behaviour, the teacher swapped their seats around so Thirteen was no longer sitting next to you. With some luck (or string), Mephistopheles ends up sitting next to you. He is the founder’s son, and thus, he gets away with many things, even if the teacher sees it.

Thirteen dislikes him, second to your parents.

You’re not someone who cries easily, but that idiot has achieved that feat when he smashed your artwork to the ground. He called it an accident, but Thirteen doubts so. There must be something evil residing in him.

With that, he had solidified himself as Thirteen’s mortal enemy, and so, she decided to take things into her own hands.

.

During the recess period, she sneaks away from the rest of the class (and you) to the boys’ lockers. Quietly, she opens the locker named Mephistopheles and grabs his shoes.

She fills them with glue. 

She lines the side of both shoes with the glue she stole from the art room and then places them back where she found them. Her hands are sticky, so she stops by the washroom before heading back to the cafeteria.

“Thirteen?” A familiar voice calls out, and she freezes.

Instinctively, she hides her hands behind her back even if she knows they are clean.

“Where have you been?” You questioned with a small voice, stopping a couple of steps away. Your eyes fall on her hidden hands, and your eyebrows furrow. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” She puts on a wide smile, one that stretches too much and hurts her face as she pushes you ahead. 

This was the first time Thirteen ever lied to you.

.

The teacher yells at the class the moment Mephistopheles comes crying to her. The whole class had gotten punished because no one had owned up. 

Thirteen doesn’t care about it. Doesn’t care that innocent students got dragged into this, or that she had to write a two-page reflection on the effects of bullying. 

She doesn’t care about anything else because seeing your smile when Mephistopheles came running in made everything worth it.

(After school, you walked back home together, hand-in-hand as usual. But this time, it feels different. You seem more giggly than usual, and there’s a bounce in your step.

Thirteen isn’t good at observing people, but she seems to be better when it comes to you.

You grab her hand and interlace both of your pinkies together before suddenly stopping in your step to twirl Thirteen around. She lets you do it.

She thinks she would let you do anything if you asked her to.

When Thirteen sends you to your house’s doorstop, you thank her with a toothy smile, one she hasn’t seen in a while, ever since your mother made a comment about it. You let out a soft huff of laughter before tugging her down to place a kiss on her cheek. 

“Thank you.” You say, eyes bright and glinting. She wants to keep this in her memories forever, and can see it imprinted on the back of her eyelids when she closes her eyes. 

Thirteen feels like she’s been punched in the guts, her stomach churning with that funny feeling again.

(She stays up that night, replaying the memory in her head.)

.

(“Have you ever wanted to kiss someone?” You ask her randomly one day.

She grins down at the sight of you, legs kicking up in the air. You lie face down, resting on the thick of your arm as you doodle something. You never had a flair for the arts, and your work always turned out clumsy, with all the artistic prowess of a five-year-old.

She pauses at the question, shifting to stretch out on you. She hears a muffled whine, but you make no move to get her off. 

“A little.” She admits, mind flitting back to the movie she had watched with you. If she were braver, she would have propositioned trying the action.

You make a cute noise of affirmation, and the room sinks into silence again. It almost lulls her to sleep, drool starting to collect on the side of her mouth. A moment later, you poke her in the side with the back of your colour pencil (It’s pink, your favourite).

“Mephistopheles tried to kiss me today.”

She scrambles to get off you at your revelation. Sour at the thought, she squishes your face in between the palms of her hands. Your eyes are still glued to your doodle, and your eyebrows are knitted together in confusion.

“Did he?” She demands. Thirteen is furious, swallowing past the fury stuck in the back of her throat.

The clock in the back chimes, and that breaks the haze that she was in. She coughs, clasping her hands with yours instead. You drop your pencil, peeking at her inquisitively.  

You shake your head, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“I kicked him, don’t worry about it.”

Thirteen’s jaw tightens again, and a flash of blinding anger makes her chest ache. She grumbles under her breath while you pick up your pencil to go back to doodling.

She can’t tell if she’s exaggerating the severity of the situation or if you’re just that unbothered by it.

“He tried to kiss you.” She repeats again, the words tasting acidic on her tongue. She hates it. “That asshole tried to steal your first kiss.”

This time, you shrug casually before stifling a yawn. She finds this perplexing, for someone who cares so much about romance yet doesn’t care about it at the same time. 

She curls her fingers into fists, frustration bubbling up inside her. She doesn’t know how to get it in your head, doesn’t know how to get you to understand the seriousness of the situation. 

“Your first kiss is special! You have to share it with someone you like and not some idiot like Mephisto–”

You shoot her a warning glare at her use of language before sitting up to face her. You use the back of your pencil to poke her forehead before you loom over her, reaching out to brush back Thirteen’s messy hair.

You run your fingers through the mess, gently closing the gap until there are only millimetres between both of your faces.

This close, she can almost trace the barely visible freckles splattered across your cheeks, and she can feel her words die in her throat. Thirteen glances down at your lips and feels her heart stutter (she can hardly believe it, this vision is something she has only seen in the midst of her dreams). 

You raise an eyebrow curiously before leaning in to close the gap.

Her world stops spinning on its axis.

This hardly lasts a second: hot breath clashing against each other, and it should feel like nothing.

 But Thirteen tastes the strawberry milk you had drunk earlier, and the hint of sweetness. She presumes it's the leftovers from the berries her mother had packed for you earlier.

”There.” You said happily as you pulled back. You tap her nose with the pencil before shifting back to your original position to continue doodling.

Thirteen takes a while longer to stare blankly at the wall, gulping loudly in the silence. A call from her mother breaks the stupor she’s in, and she takes this chance to escape, her heart thudding loudly in the cage of her chest.

You don’t mention this again, but Thirteen doesn’t forget about it.)

.

It’s the summer before they turn fourteen.

You have grown taller, and so has she. Puberty had done you good; your fuller cheeks are now shaven down, and your eyes are sharper than they used to be. She still thinks you’re pretty, even if your hair is now shorter than it used to be. 

(The sound of your sobs over the phone had terrified her.

Somehow, you had managed to make your way to her house. She had swung open the door, one foot in her shoe, ready to run to where you were when she came face-to-face with you. She barely had a chance to catch you when you threw yourself at her, crying into her shoulder.

Only managing to make out pieces of information from your sobs, she found out that your mother had made you chop your hair off because “proper ladies do not have unkempt hair”.

Thirteen thinks otherwise. Your long, messy hair was her favourite, but she couldn’t bear to tell you that when you spent hours crying into her shoulders and the damage was already done.)

She spots you from afar. 

You’re early today, bouncing on the tip of your feet impatiently as you glance at the time on your phone. She grinned at the sight of your fluorescent pink backpack (your mother had opposed it, but it had been a gift from Thirteen’s parent,s so she had begrudgingly accepted it), and she tugged on the strap upwards as you flinched in surprise.

“Thirteen!” You scowl, but nothing can spoil your excitement, and you’re swinging your hands, pounding on her arm. “It’s the first day of school!”

You grab her arms, pulling her along, and Thirteen just sighs, redirecting you in the correct direction. She watches as your skirt swishes behind you, and the sound of your chattering dims as she swallows.

Recently, her heart has been thumping more than usual. She has yet to find out the reason why.

Gripping your hand tightly, she swerves you out of the way of a pole as you continue to titter on. She doesn’t understand the appeal of the first day of school, but you’re excited, and so she is too.

Oh.

Thirteen comes to a realisation. She’s perfectly fine having just you in her entire universe. She doesn’t need anyone else.

.

In the first year of high school, they meet Raphael, a new addition to their duo.

He’s a boy their age, and he sits next to you in Mathematics. You think he’s the coolest person you have ever met, and you tell Thirteen so.

 She sees nothing special in him. He’s just a lanky boy with a perpetual unhappy face, and he carries around a makeshift spear (she thinks it’s simultaneously the lamest thing yet also the coolest thing ever).

Raphael had fixed her with an unreadable gaze the first time you introduced him to her. It could merely be a flicker from her imagination, but she thinks he stares a second too long at her hands around your waist.

(Her hands tighten at his glance, and she pulls you in closer. It’s only natural to establish dominance at the first meeting. She doesn’t want Raphael to get any funny ideas about you.)

She doesn’t care. He’s harmless enough to be around you, and she sees the way he stares at that upperclassman sometimes. She would even go as far as to say he’s kind of cool because he lets her do anything she wants. 

It’s rare for anyone to let her in their vicinity nowadays.

Raphael acts older than them even though they’re the same age. He scolds them at times, but he backs down when you pout at him. You’re especially persistent in getting to know the mellow boy better. He had broken out in a sweat at your constant questioning. 

(Thirteen shifts his ranking up from ‘someone you like’ to ‘an okay person’. That’s a pretty high position for him to have, but he will never beat yours.)

.

They never leave Raphael out, not on purpose – they drag him everywhere, to the park, to Thirteen’s house, to the mall, anywhere they can think of. One day, Raphael brandishes a skateboard, and that just establishes Raphael as one of the coolest people she has ever known.

You had constantly pestered the silver-haired boy to teach you, but he refused, citing your clumsiness as a reason.

So, Raphael always skates beside them as they skip along. Sometimes, Thirteen carries you on her back (she knows you get sore when you walk for too long and she doesn’t like to see you in pain), even when you complain that you can walk.

Raphael offers to carry you sometimes, saying it’s his responsibility as a man (Thirteen looks at him and only sees a stick insect), but Thirteen refuses. Taking care of you is her responsibility, and even if Thirteen considers him a friend now, this is something she cannot give up.

(Adults have called her possessive, and Thirteen hasn’t fully grasped what the word means, but she doesn’t care. Why would someone else take care of you when she is right here?)

After a long argument, they settle on having you on the skateboard as Thirteen or Raphael pulls you along by the arm. 

One day, Raphael accidentally let go of your arm, and you fell off the skateboard. Thirteen had run to help you, while Raphael left to find aid.

“Don’t cry.” You crowed at her, beckoning for her to come over. Thirteen had swiped a hand past her running nose, crouching down in front of you. She chews on her bottom lip, frantic hands looking for something to do.

Her vision was blurry, and she dabbed her shirt to the edge of your wound.

She winces at your scraped knee as if your pain were hers to bear. She can tell it was hurting you, but you put on a brave face, trembling in her grasp. 

Thirteen sniffles, brain going into overload, thinking of ways to soften your pain. She takes a quick look at the surroundings before leaning in to peck at your cheek. It may be childish, but it’s the only way she could think to smooth your pain.

There’s a sudden twinkle in your eye, and you stifle a laugh.

“Again.” You requested, lifting a finger to poke at your cheek. Thirteen is nothing but a servant to your whims, so she leans in to press a light kiss on the skin again. 

She continues to pepper kisses on your face until a shout in the background breaks them apart. Thirteen jumps back as if she was scalded, face burning hot in something akin to shame (she doesn’t understand how she can ever be ashamed of you).

She sees her parents in the distance, and they run over to support you, dismissing Thirteen from her temporary caretaker role. 

“I’m sorry.” The silver-haired boy says stoically, skateboard clasped under his left arm. He sticks out a hand gingerly, leaving the ball in Thirteen’s court.

Her eyes follow the sight of your hobbling back view as you make your way down the road.

She couldn’t find it in herself to be mad when she thinks back to the kiss with you (a peck, really, but Thirteen is nothing but positive). So, she calms down and grabs Raphael’s hand, swinging it back and forth.

“You’re forgiven.” She says haughtily instead. 

.

Thirteen furrows her eyebrow at the question. 

She’s seated around a round table as part of a bonding session, with you on her right and a random girl (she presumes to be her classmate, but she doesn’t care enough to remember her name), who has started talking about boys.

“Do you have someone you are interested in?” The girl asks, lips cherry red from the lollipop she was licking. This makes Thirteen’s mind wonder about you; she thinks the colour would look good on you. 

The image of your lips springs to mind, and she shakes her head to clear the thought.

“Yeah.” She says distractedly. With her hands resting on the table, she stares at the edge of the table. Wondering how your strawberry lip gloss would taste (it’s a birthday present that Raphael and she had gotten for you), she almost misses the gasps from the rest. 

The girl taps on her arm playfully, lashes fluttering to try and get Thirteen to spill her secret.

It irritates Thirteen badly, and she so wants to rip off her glasses and stomp them on the ground. But the disappointment from the imaginary you barely holds her back. 

She feels disgusted, shifting in her seat to lean against you so that Glasses would get the hint and stop.

When she turns her head, you have a confused expression on your face. To her surprise, you mouth at her, “Who?”

Thirteen frowns.

Wasn’t it already obvious? 

There was always only one person in her mind.

“Tell us!” Glasses asked, persistent, hands still pawing at her. In the midst of the chaos, Thirteen points a finger at you.

Silence falls on the table before a sharp burst of laughter breaks out, spiraling the whole table into a mess.

“Thirteen, if you didn’t want to tell us, you could have said so.” Glasses had laughed so hard that tears were leaking out. Bent over laughing, she clapped a hand on Thirteen’s back. 

“You’re a girl, right? You’re supposed to like a boy.”

It somehow felt like she was being mocked. 

“Why not?”

Glasses blundered for a second before straightening up. She could hear whispers in the back, but she stayed focused. 

“Girls are supposed to marry boys. That’s what people say.” Even Glasses doesn’t look convinced by what she said.

Her face knits into another frown. Opening her mouth, she planned to argue more, but a squeeze on her thigh caught her attention.

Once. Twice. Thrice. 

She flinches, and she barely resisted the urge to turn and look at you.

That was their secret code that you had come up with in situations where they were unable to talk. Thirteen doesn’t understand why you are using it now, but she stops obediently.

The awkwardness in the air fades, and the topic soon shifts naturally.

But Glasses continues to avoid her eyes for the rest of the year.

.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Thirteen doesn’t see the appeal in the celebration, but you, a hopeless romantic, had been talking about it since the start of the month. With her minuscule allowance, she had only gotten discounted chocolate-covered strawberries for the past few years. 

(You dislike chocolate but still insist on getting it every year. Apparently, it’s the principle of things.)

In lieu of her first year in high school, her parents had finally increased her allowance. She wants to make the day more special for you, so she has made up her mind.

The gaudy, bright pink and blue card she holds in her hand feels heavy. 

After walking you home yesterday, and chasing Raphael away when he insisted on sending her home, she had run to the nearest craft store to get art supplies.

She had made the whole card from scratch, buying glitter and various knick-knacks and even enlisting the help of her sister to make the card look nicer. She douses the whole card in blue glitter because that’s her favourite colour, and pink is yours.

You spot her in the distance, hands shooting up immediately to wave her over. Her seat is next to yours for the first period, and so she makes her way over, keeping the card and box of handmade chocolate behind her back.

Her heart is in her throat. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous either, but she is. Her eyes stay glued to your smile until you pull out the chair, and she sees the stack of letters on your desk. A pit grows in her stomach, and it must show on her face because you stare at her.

“Why are you sad?” You questioned, only looking at her. You bring up both hands to squash Thirteen’s cheeks together, making silly faces in an attempt to cheer her up.

Her grip on her presents tightened, and she stared at the pile on your desk as if they had done something to personally wrong her. 

“Did many people give you gifts?” Her voice comes out all wrong, warbled, and shaky.

You nod, still keeping your eyes on her. 

“But I don’t care about those. I’m waiting for your chocolates!” You mentioned, swiping the letters and gifts onto the floor before moving your chair to face you. You make grabby hands at her, clearly expectant.

The bundle of nerves inside her loosened just a bit.

“Mine?” Thirteen says. Her arms are getting tired from hiding the items behind her back, so she presented them to you. Your smile lights up your face, and you grab the card to hug it against your chest.

“I love you!” You proudly declare, cheekily pinching Thirteen’s side. You gently set the box of chocolates and her letter on your desk before reaching into your bag to pull out a similar-looking card.

“Tada!” You hold out the card to her – it was slightly crumpled around the edges, but Thirteen notices that you had scribbled blue hearts all around the title.

“Blue hearts?” Thirteen asked, a similar lip-splitting smile on her face.

“You’re blue and I’m pink.” You explain it so simply, before brandishing a box of chocolates to her. Thirteen feels her throat get stuck at the admission. “I may have burnt some of them, so just eat one and throw away the rest.” You say sheepishly, eyes widening as Thirteen immediately unwraps the ribbon to open it.

Thirteen pops one into her mouth, chewing it, and even though she could taste the burnt tinge on the roof of her mouth, it was the best chocolate she had ever eaten in her life. She eats a few more and tells you so.

“You’re so silly.” You rolled your eyes and nudged her shoulder, but she could tell that you were pleased with her compliment, back straight and swinging your legs.

(She secretly hopes this tradition will continue to happen every year.)

.

They’re out at a party today. Candy, Thirteen’s sister, had extended an invitation to them. (You think it’s because Candy had accidentally broken one of Thirteen’s props for a prank and had felt apologetic, but Thirteen thinks otherwise.)

Giggling and all dressed up, you knock on Raphael’s door, waiting for the boy to come and open the door.

“What do you want?” His voice, curt as usual, holds a hint of curiosity this time as he peers at them in the small gap in the door that he had created.

Thirteen blows a raspberry at him, and you nod beside her, clinging onto her arm. “We’re going to a party!” 

Raphael looks at you, and then he looks at Thirteen before shutting the door — but Thirteen sticks her leg into the gap before wincing at the impact as Raphael tries to push her leg out.

“You’re coming with us.” Thirteen declared, finally managing to manhandle the door and forcing it open.

Raphael only sighs as the door inches open.

.

Thirteen had gotten separated from you the moment she joined the fray. Candy had begrudgingly pulled her aside the moment she made her presence known in the room.

(“Hello bitches!” The door slams open, but it does nothing to mute the loud bass of the party booming above.

Raphael had slammed a hand over her mouth, and she had almost stumbled from the impact of it. You, on the other hand, let out such a huge laugh that it had you bent over, smacking your knee.

Candy spots the three of you from across the room and marches over to grab Thirteen by the ear. Next thing she knows, she’s being introduced to her sister’s friends, but she couldn’t be bothered.

She wants to find you.)

Thirteen is in the middle of the room, swaying her hips to the beat. It’s not something she would normally do alone, but the shots of alcohol had furthered her courage. She had lost you in the crowd, and Raphael had probably skulked away to the kitchen to keep up with his mysterious air.

The steady bass of the music pulses through her, and for once, she’s enjoying her time.

Thirteen finds it intriguing, too. Through all the blurs of faces, your face stands out as the only clear one in the sea.

You’re looking at her again with amusement, but Thirteen feels like her head is underwater; she can’t hear you, but all she can see are your soft pink lips. The smell of strawberry wraps around her, and she can’t help but think of your lip gloss, the one she gave you for your birthday.

Your eyes flutter down too. She saw it. 

You get inside her head, worm your way in with your sticky glue hands, and it makes Thirteen so insane. She presses her forehead against yours, noses brushing past each other, and she’s about to close the gap–

“Thirteen!” You admonish her gently, pulling back to pinch your nose. “Your breath stinks of alcohol.”

Thirteen’s grasp tightens on your shirt, and when she looks up, she finds your eyes wandering, looking for someone else. Her throat closes up, and she takes a step back, the haze around her mind lifting up.

Right. She needs to bury this feeling.

A steady hand lands on her back, and she turns to see the disgruntled curl of Raphael’s mouth.

“Home.”

.

You squint slightly when you read, too focused on maintaining your image. The rooftop has become your usual hangout, though you had initially complained about it being too hot.

(“Thirteen.” You whined, tugging on the sleeves of her shirt as you backed away into the staircase. “Why here?”

Thirteen adamantly does not move, fingers curling around yours to tug you forward into the sunlight. School had been hell, with too many people and so much to do. She could tell you were overwhelmed too, your smile slipping out of place.

It might be selfish of her, but she would rather steal you away from your classmates in this short moment of break.

“Everywhere else is crowded, and this is the only place that we can have alone time.”

She silences your complaints with a glare. Adjusting the blanket on the ground, she pats it down and gestures for you to come over.

“Where did you get that?” Amused, you take your place on it before closing your eyes at the strong sunlight beating down on them. You scrunch up your nose adorably, folding your arms across your chest.

Thirteen brings up a hand to shield your eyes. “Home.”

“Come on, don’t be a big baby and stay here with me.” She goaded, but she quickly scanned the area to find another place for you.

“But I’ll tan!” She hears you mutter under her breath, but you quietly follow her around, still sighing even as you sit beside her.)

It becomes a routine, you slump down under the shelter and pull out a book to read. Thirteen, on the other hand, sprawls over your lap to take a nap. Sometimes, Raphael comes along with them when he ditches his other friends.

(Simeon, she had heard through the grapevines. It seemed like Raphael had found himself attached to an upperclassman.) 

Thirteen’s heart thuds loudly, and she finds herself unable to sleep this time. Folding her jacket into a makeshift pillow, she lays it over your lap as she settles into her usual position. 

She studies your expression, captured by the way your lips purse when you’re focused. “No contacts today?”

You startle, fingers taut on the page as you consider her question. “Forgot.”

Thirteen hums, turning on her side to get a better look at your face. You’re still squinting, but she couldn’t tell if it’s from the sun this time.

“Glasses?”

Biting your lips, you consider your words carefully before answering nonchalantly. Your posture straightens as you clear your throat. “Mum threw them away.”

She bristles, a scowl pulling at the sides of her lips. “Damn bitch.”

“Language.” She hears you sigh under your breath. A tap on the spine of the book. “She’s right, though.” 

You flick open another page, even as you’re distractedly answering her. “I look better without glasses.”

Thirteen watches you for a second and then blurts out. “You’re still pretty with or without.”

You still before letting out an exhale, you didn’t know you were holding. “I see.”

Thirteen frowns. “I mean it.”

Turning over another page, you laugh, a gentle sound that burrows deep into Thirteen’s chest. It’s that funny feeling again.

“Thank you, Thirteen.”

(She stuffs this feeling down and locks it away, throwing the key away. She doesn’t need this emotion. She’s forgetting something important.)

a/n > yes this is an edited version that has been locked in my drafts for MONTHS.... i will actually try to finish this, this time.... ehhehehe sorry

[bearakero]

summer look (x2 because i couldnt pick

[bearakero]

Huh. I wonder why🤔

Based on this

[bearakero]

The mysterious phenomenon of water droplets turning into flowers is something that is in the devildom.

[bearakero]

It’s Thirteen x reader. I cast Thirteen domination. (Short 350 words)

Some demon confessed to you the other day. It was sweet, at first. But the more you tried to politely decline, the more they clung to the idea, insisting, pressing you. The next morning, they were found hanging upside down from a tree crying for help. Apparently, the magic that had a hold on them only tightened the further they struggled, refusing to listen to their pleas to let go. Unlucky.

Another demon from your fan club asked so boldly to take a photo with you, and once you finally relented only to get them off your tail, they scattered away to use it for bragging rights. When they walked into class the next day, they looked like they’d aged a century. They flinched at the smallest of sounds, constantly scanning the room as if a trap would spring at any moment. They sat far away from everyone else, and didn’t speak a word— they were practically mute. It seems like paranoia doesn’t make you any more confident. So much for so being bold.

And to the demon who sent 66 love letters to you the other day? Detailing how they watched you, admired you, noticed every detail about you, now sent in 666 complaint letters detailing various traps scattered around the building, threatening to leave the school premises if it didn’t stop. The complaint followed through and the demon soon left the premises for their own safety and paranoia.

Thirteen doesn’t really care who she tests her traps on, an exception is that sham of a sorcerer, but this method makes it easier to make way and spend time with you. What an amazing solution, in fact she’d love to show you the finalised version of the trap she’d used on the demon who had the nerve to pester you the other day. Then she’ll treat you to a new cafe that opened up, you can thank her properly once you get there by recommending what you’ve already tried, she’s been curious and dying to try something you’d recommend.

You’ve got great taste, after all. You chose her.

[bearakero]

Thirteen loves freedom. Her symbol is a butterfly which also represents freedom. She speaks her own mind, dresses her own style, lives on her own terms and rather spend time alone so others aren’t a problem.

MC in contrast who felt as if they’ve lost their freedom. Who felt burden ever since S2 (ironically Thirteen's first unnamed mention the lesson before the disaster) and since then were bound by duty to hone their sorcerer skills to protect the human/ 3 realms.

They'd caused damage to it. If they don't work hard to atone and protect the 3 realms they should have been the one stabbed instead

By S4 they were essentially blackmailed into joining the student council and since then worried about contributing with council duties, appearances, demons and their opinions on a human in power, nobles convincing Diavolo the human is a threat, RAD students protesting, Sorcerer’s Society who don’t trust them, all while still keeping up with Solomon's classes, continuing to improve their magic, keeping up with RAD classes and homework, and fitting in as the good human who brings everyone together, spending time with their— when was the last time they've spent time with their friends and loved ones? Once you think about their situation returning from the NB timeline it gets even worse. They still have to figure out what happened and who Nightbringer is, all while MC’s powers spiked up and were then tested by the ones they trusted and while there’s clearly tension between the 3 species & realms.

And then there’s Thirteen.

Thirteen exists outside it all. A reaper who isn’t bound to the Devildom, Celestial Realm, or Human World. She’s also said to be different from other reapers and operate her own way. She’ll only ever involve herself if it interests her —which mainly includes you— but otherwise she doesn’t care for the most part.

MC somehow makes enough time to spend with Thirteen at times in a cafe or walk around shopping helping her find new trap materials. Thirteen doesn’t ask anything from MC except their presence (and compliment her traps, of course). MC doesn’t feel like a threat, burden, or see expectations laid out for them. Even with all her chaos and unpredictability, it somehow brings a sense of comfort. Anyone else would question whether you’re right in the head for that. But with Thirteen MC feels something they don’t feel often anymore: Freedom. They admire her sense of freedom and relish in theirs when they have time to spare with Thirteen. It won’t break them free or entirely unbound, but it makes them feel less trapped. Less alone. They’re not alone.

[bearakero]

🥰

[bearakero]

[bearakero]

i was supposed to post this on lesbian visibility week but i forgot

anyway heres a redraw of that one art i made

[bearakero]

Reapers don’t place too much importance on marriage. To them, it’s another part of the human cycle. A means to unite two souls and often spark the birth of new ones. Although, in the more recent century, it’s a more personal vow to share one another’s days and trust one another to stay until the day their candles burn out. Demons, on the other hand, use it as a symbol of power, a declaration that their legacy will remain for many more centuries. To keep up nobility and heritage, prove their demon blood strong enough to remain in power.

And that’s currently the topic you’re rambling about. Going on about a wedding ceremony you attended, it was an invitation from a family friend the other day, “the arch full of flowers was beautiful… I’m pretty sure they were peonies” you went on recalling details of the venue. So if she made a trap that’d explode into flowers would that impress you? No, that’d look like some wizard trick, something that ridiculous sorcerer would pull off, she’d have to do better. But it was noted— flowers, peonies specifically. Recently Thirteen found learning even the smallest things about you compelling. She’d made a hobby out of it. While she was also interested in your big guarded secrets, she found every single detail about you mesmerising to learn, even the small, mundane ones. Every piece that contributed to your shining soul, every detail, every experience, she wanted to know it all, after all.

You, meanwhile, were taking full advantage of today’s “Thirteen Time” as you liked to call it, one of the rare moments where you’d actually catch Thirteen at RAD while you were free. You were grateful the subjects which were bound to be more hectic and cause later problems would take place after break. Except, not even half a day has passed yet and you were already waiting to pack up to go home.

Which is why you were glad, currently sitting under trees you and Thirteen were sat on a bench, away from the overcrowded cafeteria. Thirteen was enjoying a box of sweets she’d gracefully accepted from you which you’d handed her as a gift from the wedding venue given to all the guests. You wondered if reapers really didn’t have any dietary repercussions with her preference for anything sweet in snacks or dessert. Catching Thirteen up on all your day-to-day shenanigans, or simply events like this one, felt like you could let go of responsibility a little, although… you wished she were also involved with your day-to-day life more. Well, she was, but under the burden of work whether it was council, RAD or sorcerer training it's hard to see someone when you don't live with them. Live… living together would be nice. Although it wouldn’t work out. Thirteen liked her own space, although she also considered you as her own space.

“Hellooo? Otherworld to MC?” Thirteen called you out of your thoughts and you blink, refocusing your gaze.

She was pouting, clearly offended you’d decided to opt out mid conversation. Perhaps if you’d let her know your thoughts were still focusing on her, she’d feel more forgiving, give you a teasing comment and move on. Except you haven’t felt like you broke out of your own thoughts completely yet. You were aware, but mind still slightly clouded, or was hazy the right word? You glanced over at the flowers planted behind the tree. They looked familiar, like pom poms from a further distance. Are they similar to or the Devildom equivalent of peonies? I wonder…

“What kind of flowers would we get at a wedding?” You thought— out… loud. Suddenly reality hit you and you were overcome with a sense of having to justify yourself in the moment. “I… meant since we were on the topic of wedding but my actual question was what’s your— our aesthetic decoration sense!”

Thirteen blinked at you. “A wedding? Would we really need one?”

Ah. Right. As a reaper, maybe she’s never thought the concept applies to her… The need to justify yourself still lingered. “Well— I mean, it’s just a human thing so it’s fun to think about…”

Thirteen's expression seemed unimpressed for a moment.

“Hm, well aren’t they a hassle? A celebration thrown for others to enjoy themselves while the ones standing make promises they hope to keep. Promises are nothing if you have to shout them in front of a crowd to make them real.”

You blinked. Maybe the sharpness of her words caught you off guard. After all… you did hope to, well… maybe it was because she swept aside something you found kind of… beautiful. Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers curling slightly in your lap. Maybe it really was just a human thing. But still…

“I don’t think the vows are a performance… well at least the ones I’ve gone to, the vows seem to be genuine and you’re supposed to see no one else but each other… a promise you’ll stay with each other. No matter what. It seems really nice. Or at least that’s what I think.”

Thirteen was quiet for a second. Then she looked at you, thoughtfully. And her expression changed, still focused on you but with a layer of excitement.

“Well, if the human tradition is making vows, wouldn’t you say we’ve already accomplished better? After all”, she went on, leaning towards you with a smile. “you’ve promised your soul to me, an oath not even death will achieve doing us apart” She was practically gleaming and pleased at mentioning so, you could tell, even without her leaning into you smiling with accomplishment as if she’d hit the jackpot— which she absolutely did consider with you— she always brightened at the mention of your soul.

As the words settled in your chest, your heart blossomed, and you felt your heart lift and reach for her, leaning in to kiss her.

A vow that’d last for eternity. A promise to be bound together, as long as time lasts.

Eternally yours.

And maybe, Thirteen thought, she wouldn’t mind playing along with the idea of a marriage after all, not if it was with you. You’re her only exception, of course.

[bearakero]

Vamp 13

[bearakero]

“AAAH! AAAAAAH! I CAN’T HEAR YOU! I CAN’T HEAR YOUUUU! Don’t say his name. Just hearing it makes me sick to my stomach.”

— Thirteen about Solomon (Chapter 80-17)