[lunarscribbles]

hi welcome to my blog you can call me solar!

20s and dump my thoughts and feelings about fictional characters here. it's not spoiler free but i try to tag them as spoilers ig? or (content) spoilers

masterlist: here updated 29/01/2023

my tags

.solarflare - my ramblings both personal and fandom

.starshower - anything i write (mostly obey me and gender neutral)

(content) pretty art - i reblog a lot of art so i like to organise it

[lunarscribbles]

mammon in holland march cosplay...

[lawofgravity]

CALEB and ZAYNE → Parallels & Antiparallels

[niima0]

Everytime I think of Dawnbreaker Zayne I imagine him to look like this. Just so tired, unkempt hair and with a bit of a stubble.

He needs a hug :(

[taejyie]

Sketch

[tieflingkisser]

[lesbianslimefriend]

here's where to find it on windows 10

[the-tiny-dragons-tea-room]

Ugh, it was in mine. It's off now.

[the-tiny-dragons-tea-room]

IT GETS WORSE

I had to turn this off, but it's something that allows Windows and anyone using your device to generate text/images.

LOBOTOMIZE YOUR MACHINES

[marougus-the-dragon]

AI is a freacking plague, I share this for any windows user.

[wildzo]

Super belated Eid Mubarak!!!

Made this smol comic and used the movie Anwar for inspiration!!! Thus the jhumkas hehehehehe

[hunterrami]

cat fight (ft. fem!caleb and fem!zayne)

[thedustysocks]

Still not sure how this site works

[lemonbutler]

Belphie!! I started this last year and finished today ^^

Acrylic paint!

[pseudonymphomania]

[demonicmixtape]

beel <3

[reignissleeping]

happy pride everypony (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[tieflingkisser]

[rarilee33]

Also on windows 10!! go to typing settings- how ai has helped you- typing insights-off

[teleport-teapot]

do you see where I'm going

[lunarscribbles]

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 outfit 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.

[lunarscribbles]

belphegor feels the need to scream. the pressure at the back of his head throbs, creeping around to his jaw and squeezing. it's sharp and dull, numbing and excruciating all at once.

the scream is crawling its way to the front of his mouth when he remembers that you are here in the room with him and his eyes fly open, mouth snapping shut and trapping the wail behind his teeth. he's breathing heavily through his nostrils and has trouble lifting his head under the pain as you come back into focus.

the pact mark, he thinks dully.

he nearly retches, collapsing forward onto his hands and knees in front of you at the thought that you're experiencing he same pain as him. he heaves at the thought that he's broken your trust twice now and the humiliation burns. after everything he had done to rebuild the fragile thing, his subconcious had chosen the base of your skull as the place to inflict a binding vow.

he starts to beg for your forgiveness - face pressed to the floor in a dogeza, tears burning tracks down his cheeks, salt in the wound. his words are hysterical murmurs; promises that he'll get it right the next time, please let me try again.

his vision whites out, his nevervous system prickling all over but then, with such haste, the agony vanishes. he nearly vomits with relief. he realises then that you're carding your hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead and coaxing him gently on to his back so his head can rest in your lap.

his breathing evens out as he slowly realises that you hadn't been writhing in agony at all from the pact's placement. there's a faint glow about you as there always is when you come into contact with magic but you otherwise appear unaffected. belphie gazes at you through his fringe and a sleepy smile starts to form as he remembers something key - the placement of a pact mark is mutual. you chose to allow the mark to form in the same place that he'd strangled you. you chose to allow a new era of your relationship to start from the same spot your previous one had ended. you trusted him after all.

belphie's pact mark is so delicate that it's barely visible. fine indigo lines curl along the separation of your skull and spinal cord, fading silver as they trail around your neck and up to your mandible. its pattern is dainty and so intricate that anyone would have to be well and truly into your personal space to see it, shimmering like moonlight.

while this positoning ensures you never wake with a crick in your neck and always have a restful night's sleep, it also keeps you alert. it makes sure you never miss anything crucial and allows you to continue on while simultaneously allowing you not to take everything to heart - unkind words or less-than-ideal outcomes. it allows you to be selfish in some ways, to put yourself first by letting you rest; to turn your brain and body off, knowing that belphie will care for you.

for belphegor this placement allows him to literally be the eyes in the back of your head. it allows him to ensure you're taking take of yourself. to always be a step ahead of those who might seek to harm you by running you ragged with demands and expectations.

it gives him direct access to your dreams—lets him walk through them and erase any anxieties or doubts so you can recuperate from everyday stresses. it let's him plant and overwrite memories to include him, make him the centre of your attention and affection when in reality he'd never been involved in the event.

for him, the placement enables him to always be aware of who you're with and what you're thinking at all times.

for belphie, the shared pact mark is a show of possession. but you chose to let the mark be placed there. you gave him permission to exert his powers on you, to allow him to help you—help you rest, help you relax, help him monitor you, help him correct your behaviour, help you love him.

after all, you chose to form an eternal pact with him. you'd forgiven his attempt on your life. you'd allowed him to place it in prime position.

it's just as well you trust him, right?