#mira muses

[clarkgriffon]

captain swan is so funny because killian is in the midst of a multi-hundred year revenge plot and then he meets emma and goes "oh. turns out i am still capable of love. yeah im gonna go do that instead"

#captain swan #ouat #mira muses

[troutglasses]

Love Live faces

#love live #love live school idol project #muse #not tagging each character bc I don't wanna clog tags ^_^' #mira art #μ's

[neozgifs]

odeio ser esse tipo de pessoa, mas chegou até mim que minhe personagem foi parar na askbox dos anjos da @olhaoqueakrpmefaz, depois de conversar tanto com os irmãos quanto com a moderação da @kyghq, comunidade onde estou jogando com ume personagem não binárie que usa fc cis, achei necessário explicar algumas coisas sobre mim e ê gaeul. preparem-se para textão. tw: transfobia

gaeul é não binárie, usa pronomes neutros e foi designade como homem quando nasceu. a vida delu não foi fácil graças aos seus pais, que forçavam elu a ser hiper feminine pra suprir a falta da irmã gêmea, ao mesmo tempo que a sociedade esperava que elu agisse como um macho alfa.

eu, mira, me identifico como não binárie também e uso qualquer pronome. passei toda minha vida tentando ser uma mulher cis padrão, mas cansei e agora eu decido como vou me identificar, e não nossa sociedade machista. ainda estou em processo de adaptação, assim como gaeul.

fiz elu inclusive para refletir essa minha jornada. gaeul é um reflexo meu, é o que eu espero um dia me tornar, com a única diferença sendo que fui designade mulher quando nasci e elu homem (além de eu n ter tido os mesmos traumas quanto minha família, claro, mas é algo que foi inspirado pelo nagisa de assassination classroom e um drama taiwanes que estava assistindo).

enfim, parece que o fato de eu usar um fc cis, que representa apenas o ROSTO de gaeul, para ume personagem não binárie que usa roupas tanto 'masculinas' quanto 'femininas' incomodou alguém. a foto de um look, tirado do pinterest, incomodou alguém porque simplesmente não encaixou no esteriótipo de pessoa não binárie que a sociedade como um todo tem. porque, parafraseando a ask que mandaram, usei 'foto fem'. o tweet vai estar no source.

a foto não mostra rosto, não mostra seios visíveis na roupa, não mostra absolutamente nada que comprove 100% que a pessoa é uma mulher cis. é uma pessoa magra, com uma cintura mais fina do que o 'padrão masculino', com seios pequenos. pode ser uma pessoa não binárie, pode ser uma mulher trans, mas só por que usei em minhe personagem com fc de homem cis, alguém ficou incomodado. eu mesmo me visto assim de vez em quando. roupa não tem gênero, gente, era apenas uma imagem pra ILUSTRAR o que minhe personagem usou no evento. e não quer dizer que ê gaeul vai usar só roupas assim

se quiserem mostro a pasta no pinterest delu, com o estilo delu se vestir diariamente, e vocês vão ver que elu, assim como eu na vida real, flui entre estilos mais masculinos e femininos. vocês ficam doidos quando um idol homem usa cropped ou cabelão, pintam as unhas, usam saia, mas no momento em que uma pessoa que se identifica como não binárie mas teve o 'azar' de nascer em um corpo masculino faz a mesma coisa, apontam o dedo e gritam "tá inviabilizando o movimento" QUANDO VOCÊS NEM MESMO FAZEM PARTE OU ENTENDEM ESSE MOVIMENTO.

em momento algum a pessoa que ficou incomodada veio falar comigo ou com a moderação, apenas mandou uma ask passivo-agressiva em talker, que felizmente souberam lidar muito bem com a situação ao postar apenas um comunicado breve que fez com que eu entendesse para quem essa ask havia sido direcionada. isso me mostra que não é alguém da comunidade trans/nb, é só alguém que quer reclamar e dar dor de cabeça pras pessoas. alguém que é sim transfóbico e camufla isso tentando pagar de aliada da comunidade de players trans/nb.

se seu objetivo era que eu saisse da kyg, sinto lhe informar que não deu certo. não vou sair, não vou mudar minhe personagem nem seguir o esteriótipo de pessoa não binárie que você tem. na verdade, a única coisa que vc conseguiu foi me dar uma ideia pra desenvolve-le.

a todo mundo que hypou o post com comentários fofos sobre o visual de gaeul e pediu desculpas por acabar errando o pronome delu, obrigade, vocês moram no meu coraçãozinho e no delu também, e à moderação que conversou comigo e entendeu o meu lado, vocês são incríveis e amo vcs.

agora vamos voltar à programação normal como se nada tivesse acontecido. e se eu for citade em mais alguma ask com o mesmo tom, ou com deboche, eu vou descobrir quem vc é te expor pra todo mundo ver o quão transfóbico você é. *** no teu **

#tw: transfobia #rp br #krp br #se eu encontro essa pessoa perco meu reu primário #⊰ 🍀：made in brazil ˎˊ˗ #sobre: fc cis x muse trans #sobre: transfobia #⊰ 🔥：answers & rants ˎˊ˗

[ever-winter]

He's honestly not a big drinker - but he may have had a few - and he may now just be rambling away to anyone who'll listen. Mainly about how amazing his siblings are -

#Muse: Childe #Open #//Ie - Mira is tipsy so have a tipsy muse lol

[ofthornsandfury]

@legends-and-savages sent: you’ve got no reason to be afraid. (From Mira for Zaria)

"So you and Brennan keep saying..." She knew fear was not an option. And to be honest, she had no fear of the dragons. She had spent her whole life around them (as had her brother). What she feared was the lifestyle...what it meant to be a rider. Her parents had been two of the best in Basgiath's history. In the history of Navarre and yet...

They were gone. Leaving both her and her brother behind.

#legendsandsavages #muse: zaria #have my verse where the whole recovered correspondance means they don't survive all this #leaving the kids to be raised by brennan and mira

[mira-annabelles-poke-kitchen]

Can anyone else relate to how hard it is to run a team? I'm only an admin for Team Frost, but gosh, I don't know how my father does it! I don't have any time for my cooking anymore :(

#muse mixup madness #//what changed? well #//mira was recruited into her father's cult!

[diablescharmants]

continued from [x]

     The stress had completely gotten to her, after all. Busy days at the guild hall could be nice and entertaining despite the work she had to get done (serving drinks, chatting and occasionally providing music were all things she handled gladly, after all) but sometimes it became too much even for the she-devil.

     When Mirajane woke up the last thing she remembered was that Freed had helped her clean the bar and they talked a bit once they were done. And… then? Confusion grew as she tentatively removed the blanket she was covered with, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. How had she gotten here and- Oh.

     The sight of Freed in the chair smashed her confusion to pieces as she realized what must have transpired. Blinking again, she felt a bit of warmth rise up in her cheeks. It was a cozy feeling that embraced her and it soon carried over to her lips, a beatific smile forming. Such a considerate act wasn't unexpected from the rune mage but that didn't keep Mira from being positively caught off guard.

     It was an unusual picture, seeing Freed asleep with a book still in his lap but one that made him look kind of peaceful and at ease. Good, that's what she wanted for him. For everyone she shared about. To be at ease, feel safe. At least the cook book hadn't slid off and she could make sure to mark the page with the bookmark he had brought.

     That's what she did after standing up with quiet feet. Hoping that her actions wouldn't rouse Freed from sleep, Mira proceeded to take the book and placed it on a nearby shelf before then grabbing the blanket and returning his nightly gesture as she cautiously covered him with the fabric.

@mirroredworlds

#mirroredworlds #{ interactions: mirajane } #youre right this was way too cute and we had to reply #if you feel like this is finished you dont even have to reply but this was just too cute and my mira muse was very high rn #{ queued post }

[justices-blade]

𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄  [ … ]   𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄,

bold what applies - italicise sometimes. repost, don’t reblog.

fights honourably / fights dirty

prefers close - quarters / prefers range

chats during / goes silent

low pain tolerance / high pain tolerance

attacks in bursts / attacks steadily

goes for the kill / aims to disarm / fights defensively / strikes first

is provoked easily / provokes their opponent / teases

gets visibly frustrated / shouts while attacking

uses strategy / focuses on the battle / experiences conflicting thoughts during battle

rushes in recklessly / tries to read their opponent before engaging

fights wildly / fights calmly / fights apathetically / fights with anger / fights with excitement

fights because they have to / fights because they want to

fights without regard to wounds / runs away when wounded / hides wounds / takes a blow to protect another

prefers a blade / prefers a gun / prefers hand to hand combat / prefers a bow / prefers a shield / prefers a personalised weapon / prefers magic, alchemy or spells

their greatest weakness is physical / their greatest weakness is mental / their greatest weakness is emotional

transforms for battle / fights as they appear

relies on strength / doubts their strength / relies on speed

uses everything they have / proceeds with caution / hides their full potential

exhausts quickly / has high stamina

behaves arrogantly / brags after landing a hit / belittles their abilities

uses psychological tactics / uses brute strength

avoids civilians / strikes down civilians

damages surroundings / avoids damaging surroundings

signature fighting style / makes it up as they go

mastered skill - set / learning their skill - set

fancy footwork / sloppy footwork

messy fighter / elegant fighter

accepts defeat / refuses defeat / begs for mercy

compliments their opponent / insults their opponent

uses unnecessary movements / moves efficiently / barely moves

prefers to dodge / prefers to block

defends their blindside / has no blindside / leaves blindsides vulnerable

uses all available advantages / strictly uses one main method

plays around / holds back / fights ruthlessly / shows mercy

waits for an opponent to be ready / strikes when opponent isn’t ready

fears death / fears pain / fears killing

has ptsd / avoids fighting

has lost a fight / has won a fight

has killed / refuses to kill

wants to die standing / would succumb slowly.

#;now there's an idea! | hc #;hum a work song | musing #yeah theres something wrong with him dont worry about it #ty mirae this ones fun hehe #he uh. suffers depersonalisation under duress so uh. if he goes quiet maybe get a little worried #hes in a weird middle ground between his recklessness early rd and his earned skill late rd so theres a lot of duality!

[clarkgriffon]

not to JATP post but i do think about the Luke/Julie romance sometimes and deeply wonder what that story could have been. like s1 already told a very succinct and moving story of grief with Julie and her mother but I am very curious how they would’ve handled what is a similar situation with Julie and the boys. Like handling the question “what does it mean to grieve someone who’s right in front of you?” with the phantoms because they are ghosts and would eventually have to move on. I’m just fascinated to know how they would’ve gone about it, especially within the lens and context of a kids show. Kenny Ortega if you ever want to release the loose game plan PLEASE do

#julie and the phantoms #Mira muses

[parameddic]

*long-suffering sigh* i might need to make him a fourth wing verse

#i might need to start writing violet i cANNOT write a character named violet that is my sister's name and i FLATLY REFUSE #or mira??????????? #or oooooooooooooooooh. ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i could write brennan. #oh MAN i could write brennan. #i am not picking up new muses i am not doing it i am just #much further into this fandom than i expected to be actually it's not even. the books aren't. but i love them though #does brennan's existence count as a spoiler if i read his name the first time in 'brennan is dead' and thought 'he's definitely alive' #is that really a spoiler. these books don't really do plot twists they just do easy fun existing #IF I COULD WRITE TAIRN I WOULD WRITE TAIRN #'not xaden?' i think xaden could be fun but i also think he is a little uuuuuuum #i don't think i could hit the right notes on his ruthlessness i am not 10000% on exactly when and where that comes from #and i think it's definitely fun like. i would Like to write it. but i don't think i'd get him right and also #it's not ............. that........... #hmmm #i don't think i'd have him right and i would want him to be right if i wrote him

[outoftheirdifferences]

👑 also yeeting one for Mira Nova-

SEND ME 👑 + A CHARACTER NAME OF A CHARACTER YOU THINK I SHOULD WRITE ! 

I’LL REPLY WITH 

WOULD I: YES / MAYBE / NO

HAVE I EVER BEFORE: YES / NO 

ICON & WRITING SAMPLE (IF YES TO EITHER PREV. QUESTION):

(Sure, I'd give her a go in the right context! I technically have tried writing her once before - an RP where a bunch of characters were trapped in a haunted, run-down Disney World -, but the site was short-lived, and it was before I even got close to being a good RPer anyway, so it doesn't really count in my mind! So, new post time it is...!)

Laser flashed out, reducing another Hornet to space dust that was imminently scattered to the four winds as the space ranger shot through the spot it had just been occupying. Adjusting her thrusters to let her hover in mid-air, the teal-skinned ranger surveyed the scene. She flipped open her wrist communicator.

"Mira to Buzz, all clear on my side. Approaching the target now."

"Good work, Ranger." her commander's voice crackled back through the tiny speaker. "Proceed as planned: I'm coming up from the other approach now."

No sooner said than done: wheeling in place, Mira kicked in her rocket boosters again, shooting ahead across the desolate landscape towards the remote fortress in the valley below. Whatever Zurg or his cronies were up to down there, they were about to have unwelcome company. Out the corner of her vision, she noted laser turrets swinging around to target her, and she couldn't help a grim smirk.

This one went out to anyone who still thought that a princess had no business being a space ranger: time to show them just what she could do.

One jet-powered dive and swoop later, and both laser turret emplacements were smoking ruins. She shouldn't let herself get cocky, Mira knew from bitter experience, but that didn't stop her feeling a personal rush of satisfaction.

She cast a quick glance around to check her position then, before any more defences could appear, darted down towards the solid stone-- and then straight through, ghosting into the fortress itself. Allowing a moment to drop her helmet and shake her hair free, Mira nonetheless kept her guard up as she slunk stealthily deeper into the enemy base.

#xperimentalranger #ic #ooc #meme response #sample muse: Mira #I took a while to get to this one sorry #wasn't sure what to write for her sample xD;

[neozgifs]

E DIGO MAIS!!!! "não faço personagem trans porque não sou trans" mas faz o joão cu coreano mafioso comedor de novinhos né maria joaquina da silva santos. hipócritas do caralho, é isso que essa tag é.

#essa é pra toda krp #não coloquei no reblog pq ainda tentei ser educado #mas tia mira tá puto da vida #troca o disco!!!!!! #me sentindo meu filho katsuki agr #sobre: fc cis x muse trans #⊰ 🔥：answers & rants ˎˊ˗

[starlitwishes]

Wrenn, have you ever witnessed one of Tighnari's seizures? The guilt must eat you alive to know it's entirely your fault that he's like that, likely for the rest of his life.

"I already am aware of my own sins, thanks."

He really didn't need the reminder--but now, it's stuck in his mind, and a part of him feels deathly cold.

"But there's nothing that I can do about the past, nor is there any way that I can take back the injury. He has already made it clear that he doesn't blame me, even though it is my fault regardless of my reasons. So in the end, the only thing I can do... is help him until the end of his days. He is my family now, after all--it's the least I can do."

#Muse: Wrenn #oh okay Anon is out for blood today dnaskdjdnak #Wrenn does feel incredibly guilty about it tho hhhh #Unfortunately he cannot heal it nor can he do much to help Tighnari aside from what he's already doing so #rip #Like I'm assuming you mean specifically Shae's Nari here since the only other Nari I rp with is Miras #And Wrenn doesn't have nearly as strong of an emotional attachment to any other Nari anyway so--

[nuhoney1hunnit]

“swaggy innocence”…

love u honey but wtf does that even mean???

#how did i just realize joo changed his insta bio to include that? 🤣🤣🤣 #and we all know DAMN WELL this man isn’t THAT innocent 👀 #he’s not anywhere close to changkyun but his lyrics can def be a bit spicy… #tried to find a good reaction meme for this but i couldn’t find one that fits lol #mira’s musings

[nocentis]

let her kiss his brand...

He sees her in the way that bees see flowers; the way that leaves see sunshine.

╳┆Honey spilled over the horizon and painted the high tide. Gilded fingers twisted into the amber silks draped upon the throne of cloud, wrapped them up in their glittering palms, around their wrists, and the day's ruler hoisted themselves slowly to claim, leaving blood and syrup in their wake. Their white robes did little to shield their pride; their radiance. There was something to be said about that immeasurable beauty and the karmic toll of viewing it. The price of a look, one held long enough to truly see, was to surrender the gift of future sight. There was something to be said about the periphery. Something about those colors, that warmth, that marvel, and how maybe close enough should be good enough, and why couldn't it be? Something about the cost of love, something about moderation, and maybe something about the comfort of cowardice.

Winter and Spring began their waltz, slowly slinking ‘round and ‘round with fingers interlaced high above their heads, eyes locked in lovers’ snares. Winter, condemned to play the role of callousness; of indiscriminate reaping, and Spring, the tender, the nurturer, tasked with the labor of rebirth. They found their compromise in the snowdrop’s bloom; in its frozen dew. They found it in the chill of the morning and the warmth of the afternoon, in the cool breeze, in the jewel-toned sky and the first blades of grass yet bitten by frost.

It must’ve been love, he thought, for what else could compel the harsh hand of Winter, cold and cruel as it was, not to strike, but to dance? It must've been love, he thought, because when Winter slipped from her grasp, Spring, in her loneliness, would begin to weep. Beautiful things bloomed from her pain, and so her pain was expected, demanded again and again. It must've been love that drove Winter to destroy those sorrow-sewn fields so that Spring would come back to him comfortably, and so just for a little while, they could find peace together.

Today, they were dancing.

╳┆The swell in his chest shined through his broadened shoulders, the length of his neck, the lift of his chin. Still, the habit of treading brazenly, maskless, through stone-laid streets, was one he’d yet to pick up. His formal pardon hadn’t barred the eyes from prying, and it certainly hadn’t muted the whispers. If anything, they’d only grown louder, more opinionated, so he'd yet to find comfort in the breeze's naked palms.

The repetitive swish and clang of his garb and the thud of his armored boots against the cobbles were familiar enough to become mute to the mind, like absorbed by his black-bleeding subconscious. Gone with it, the songbird’s tune, the whistle of the breeze, the sway of the trees. But not today. No, today he heard it—the way the wind howled in harmony with the river’s steady rush, the beat of his own pace, the trill tittering above, the cheerful chatter of life—like it was his first time. In a way, he supposed it was. Every other time he’d walked this path, he’d walked it with closed eyes and wool-stuffed ears, in thrall to the rotten echoes of his own mind. But not today. No. Today, his chin held high, as his spirits did.

He must have looked every bit the manic fool that morning, sliding through the doors of the Fairy Tail guild at the first wink of sunlight, sporting that glued-on grin he'd still yet to unstick, with nothing more to present than a pair of mismatched daffodils and their attached note. Thankfully, Mirajane and her sister, Lisanna, were already in-house preparing for the day ahead, undoubtedly taking advantage of the peace and quiet of the empty hall while they still had the opportunity. Though naturally surprised to see him so elated, they were both pleasant in their greetings and eagerly agreed to deliver his message (though he was nearly certain they were teasing him about his intentions with their fair lady Erza).

His cheer was met equally and enthusiastically. Both sisters were practically teeming with glee by the time he turned to leave, giggling and covering their mouths like they knew something the rest of the world was yet privy to. While he found their giddiness puzzling, he surely welcomed the departure from gloom; from the doom-written reeds he so often dragged in. It was nice, he thought, to share weightless words, to have a laugh, to venture beyond Winter's shadow into the first light of Spring.

From there, he'd practically skipped to his next task. Never in so many years of travel had he received such bemused faces from passersby. He'd actually paused once to check his skin, just to make sure he wasn't actually glowing. Heaven knew how long it'd been since he felt something so carefree as genuine excitement. Long enough that he found it uncontainable. Long enough that it felt like sunshine in his chest, crawling up his throat, bursting through his teeth.

Mrs. Ito was no exception to the day's pleasantries. She'd always been kind in the short time he'd known her. Recently widowed, she decided she had too much house and not enough home, in her own words, so she moved in with her eldest son, his wife, and their children. He'd met with them all one evening for dinner (Mrs. Ito wanted to know to whom she was handing over her home), and even after stories were shared and intentions were laid, he was met gently with understanding smiles, warm hands holding his own, and Mrs. Ito's hushed, "It's time to go home, son."

When he arrived to pick up the keys—his keys to his house—she greeted him fondly, like they'd always known one another. Her son stood in the doorway as he exchanged the gift of home with a box of market candies, his smile slowly melting like he'd finally found the bitter side of sweet. He'd waved goodbye with a promise to visit again soon, but as he turned towards his new tomorrow, he missed the pinch in Mrs. Ito's brow and the tears that followed. He missed the shake of her shoulders as her son ushered her back inside and the red-rimmed eyes that lingered on his back.

His elation carried him through thinning streets and into the countryside. Horse-drawn carriages passed him by with blinders on, kicking up dust and bouncing rocks off their spokes as they went. The folks tending their land paused to spare him a sprinkler's glance. Just around the bend, there sat a humble brick house on a quaint piece of land. Its stone pathway stood out in the sparsely grown, mostly browned lawn, and it drew a path straight towards that painted-red front door. The very same one that he was now standing in front of, staring at.

The key poised betwixt his fingers had been left to steep in his pocketful of sunshine long enough for the heat to transfer, and now it was burning, blistering his skin, and it felt something like rejection. Like the soul of the land had its hands on his shoulders and was shoving him backward. Like he wasn't meant to be here. He was never meant to have this.

But he wasn't ready to give it up just yet.

He tapped the door with a single knuckle, just to see if it'd turn to ash. It held steady, materially, before him, just the same as it ever looked. Its bricks spoke no threat of crumble, its roof showed no sign of collapse, and yet none of it truly felt real. Even as his head bowed and his forehead pressed into that cool crimson, even as he traced the ridges of the keys in his palm, even then, he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

A moment of silent prayer. A deep, grounding breath. Eyes open, back straight, he finally found the will to turn the key. The door slowly creaked open, allowing light to pour in through the front door.

His lingering joy was a sweet wine on the brink of spoil, turned to vinegar in his gut. The morn's candied shell cracked between his teeth and its well-concealed bitterness flooded his tongue like it had been waiting for the opportunity all along. It leaked from the corners of his still-smiling mouth, even as his lips began to twitch; even as heat brimmed his eyes and tears threatened to spill. He stood in the doorway, still, watching the walls of that front room stretch higher and higher as the moment dragged on, like he was waiting for something—something like Karma—to come along and destroy it all, strip it all away; to take from him again, as he'd taken from so many others.

He forced himself to step inside, to turn, to close and lock the door behind himself.

And then it was quiet. Devastatingly so. Gone were the wind, the leaves, the birdsong and the horses' trot. Static rushed in to fill its place, skating rings around his ears, and his periphery began to blur, his chest to ache—oh, he felt ill, and the dam threatened to burst, and his throat tightened until he audibly choked. A hand rose to cup his neck, and another to cover his mouth, stifling his upward bubbling sob as heat rose to cloud his vision. He sunk to his knees as the first tears fell, crushed by the weight of overwhelm, one hand scratching helplessly against hardwood while the other heeled at his bleeding eyes.

How audacious could he be? Already living on borrowed breath, daring to walk the path of the benevolent man. Now he dared to seek normalcy for himself, to smile gleefully while so many still woke in a cold sweat, in terror, at the sight of him, and others would never wake at all. A sick joke. He hardly deserved a proper burial, much less a place to lay his head, and yet he wanted it still.

He turned and sat with his back pressed against the front door, and he tried to find comfort in the nothing. He tried to find comfort in the emptiness, the darkness, the hollow and desolate, but the shadows had autonomous hands. Those mangled fingers were rotten down to blackened bone and had mouths where their nails should've been, and they'd been picking at the threads of his mind's drawn curtain, picking, pulling, unspooling, until they made their hole big enough to climb through. When they finally reached him, they were dripping ink like blood, wrapped up in memories' silk that they used to bind him where he was.

How long had it been? He was a child when he'd last called a house like this his home, before the raid. If only his mother and father could see him now, what would they say? Would they smile? Would they cry? Would they be proud of their son, even to this day, with all years considered, and would they love him still? Would they hand their heads in shame, or would they lift their chins in disgust? He never got the chance to know them well enough to answer those questions with any certainty.

His head thumped against the wall, tears trailing unbidden as he stared through the ceiling. His breath shook as he exhaled, voice straining when he pleaded directly to God, "Please," his face curled inward and he nearly choked, "It's more than I deserve, but please, may I have this?"

But it wasn't God who'd condemned him. It wasn't God who'd damned his soul to roam, so God need not answer.

The silence was a swarm that eventually overtook the sounds of his wet misery. The numbness accompanying that insidious peace was a welcome shift. It gathered over his shoulders and draped from him, robe-like, as he finally rose from the floor, intent on washing his face.

A few short steps brought him to the bathroom. He blindly palmed at the wall until he found the switch. Light sprung from the top down, bathing the back of his hand as he turned on the sink. He let it run over his fingers until warm and watched years-old blood run off and stain the porcelain. The water he gathered in his palms was soon spilled over the flesh of his face and beyond his sleeves.

While the salt may have washed clean, the evidence of his deluge clung to the skin beneath his eyes and around his nose in Pollock pink. That much became obvious the very second he met his own glassy stare, though its juxtaposition to the hot iron's bite made its consequence seem all the more fleeting. The tips of his fingers idled against his still-dripping skin, at first tracing the risen path, then covering it. He tried to imagine what he might've looked like without it. Would he look more youthful? Would he look kind when he smiled? Would children be less afraid when he waved to them?

He supposed it didn't matter. The choice was never his to have. That glowing sunset crest lived inside of his eyelids, lurking there, daring him to blink. Within each lapse, he saw the devil's eyes. He saw split-curl smiles and broken teeth outlined in stolen blood. He heard the devil's laugh, shrill and gleeful and giddy, and felt its dank breath against his neck, and he felt its hands curling around his ankles, his wrists, his arms and legs, puncturing his skin with nails of obsidian glass, and he felt it climb onto his chest, crack his ribs, and he felt his face begin to sweat, even though he was so, so cold.

It was so, so cold. White cold. And he was awake. Wide-eyed, shocked mute. His skin shrieked as its moisture fled, and it began to peel away, to bubble and blister and burn—God, it burned, and the smell—

Knock-knock, knock!

His visitor's early arrival nearly sent him out of his skin. He quickly turned the water off and killed the light, and he hoped that his sorrows stayed in the drain depths where they belonged.

The door swung inward, and she was there, waiting patiently, graciously, for him like she always had. His breath turned to dust in his lungs.

In her hands, those inverted daffodils dressed in yellow and white, not a petal out of place. Gold spilled over her crown, revealing that halo he'd always known was there. The breeze tossed her scarlet flames about semblant of Venus, and rosey lips sat in their gentle curve, smiling softly at him, yet before they could split to spill a greeting, he'd already begun to pull her towards him. As he wrapped himself around her, his eyes began to burn again, and the second he felt her hand at his back, returning his embrace, he broke, and the tears spilled forth once more. His head fell to rest against her armored shoulder, and through the rain, he began to laugh.

She pulled away to view him at arms' length, mouth slightly parted as though a question had come to peer through her teeth. He wiped at his face with tremors in his hands, chuckling softly when Erza finally shoved out, "Tears?"

"It's silly, really," he holds up the keys, "I'm overwhelmed."

It didn't take her long to put it together.

Warmth graced his jaw with the weight of a whisper, so faint he'd thought surely that he'd imagined it. That is, until it struck again, soft and sweet against his cheek, beneath his eye, his forehead. His eyes blinked open as she sunk back to her heels, bashfully peering up at him through the veil of her lashes; waiting for him to do something, anything.

The raucous buzzing faded into a melodic hum like the swarm had finally found its queen.

His blood sang as it rushed red-hot through his shoulders, crawled up his neck, and began burning its way through the skin of his face. The ear-popping clarity of his thought-storm's sudden abandon left him staring mindlessly with eyes much too wide and jaw much too lax, narrowly remembering to breathe, until her shy expression began to melt into something more reminiscent of unease, like she was preparing to flee.

Perhaps a touch too quickly, he grabbed her hand, careful to keep his grip loose enough that she could pull away if she wanted. Slowly, surely, his opposite hand reached to tuck her hair behind her ear, and his palm cupped her cheek in a silent plea not to retreat from him. A silent plea to stay here, right here, in this moment, in his grasp, just a little while longer.

And she did. She stayed. She smiled gently, warmly. Her head fell to rest against his chest and she leaned into his sway. There, in the silence, they found their rhythm. They began to dance.

"Welcome home, Jellal." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- @mamorigami

#v: ╳ ┆ x793 ┆◜ main ◞ #♡┆◜ tytania ◞ #ask and you shall receive bb #it's a little bittersweet #hc: jellal's ptsd flares when good things happen bc good things usually precipitate crushing loss #drabble #sorry this took me so long! #also mira and lisanna def assumed he was finally asking Erza out #they're gonna be so disappointed #also… speaking for your muse feels so alien and out of my territory HAH #so I tried to keep it minimal #<3 #long post #very long post #woowee finally posting this #don't kill me yall im still rusty #ik this doesn't really evoke the emotions i was going for but it's good practice anyway #also erza is his home goodbye #and yes there's room for meredy she's just not in this bc uhhhh she's busy

[jacksworddoodles]

Fanfic for Musing Mira ASMR Rather Strange tm series

I don't decide what my brain writes it just does that

The first time you thought it was just a strange occurrence. A person with a weird skin tone and some peculiar habits. You thought the weird hours and stranger customers were getting to you; that maybe it was time for a change in profession. You had always worked in service, around beauty, and you didn't want too big of a change. Maybe just not color analysis anymore. You had already thought of changing careers when someone screamed at you for saying she was a warm autumn when she insisted she was a winter (her name was not Karen, but rather Gertrude according to her profile, who names their children Gertrude in this century?). When you felt mortal peril as a customer hissed at you for holding silver next to them; well you had already applied to transfer to the spa. 

You had never paid much mind to the stories your Nana brought from the old country. Of men who could not walk in daylight with gray skin and pointed ears and fangs for draining the blood from your veins. Of seals who shed their coats to dance on beaches in the moonlight, or the fishermen who sought to keep them by hiding their coats. Of witches and werewolves or The Fair Folk or trees that spoke curses and blessings on orphaned babies lost in the woods. You had certainly never paid enough heed to remember what to do when faced with one of these stories come to life. Because they were just stories. Right? 

The first one was odd, the man with grey undertones who blanched next to any yellows and hissed at silver, and while the interaction scared you out of your wits, that's all it was. A strange, scary interaction, not a bogeyman come to life. The second one…you had begun listening to Nana's stories a little more when the second incident occurred. Nana's stories about families of witches who helped those who Should Not Be Seen blend in to the mortal world as their world shrank. Of witches who helped vampires navigate janitorial jobs in factories because the old country was no longer safe. Of witches who gave apples to kelpies to keep them from dragging off children in the night. And the woman who sat in your first chair at the spa, who said her spouse hid her coat and would not let her return home to the sea, maybe you recognized her story a little more than you let on. 

Maybe when you saw the sea in her eyes you faltered because you remembered stories of selkies trapped by their fishermen and maybe you were kinder than you needed to be. You had always worked in beauty so that you could help people, and she needed help didn't she? And when you turned on the sound of the oceans and she began to cry, maybe you felt a glimmer of a memory passed down through your DNA of witches who helped the lost navigate a world of loss. 

And when someone asks why you have such weird customers requesting you or why your customers don't look quite right when seen out of the corner of their eye, maybe you tell them that Nana's stories are just stories. But maybe you've started listening to those stories with more intent. 

#faerie #fae folk #fanfic #asmr fanfic is a thing right #musing mira asmr #short story #im not sure it makes any sense without having seen the videos but my brain would not let me sleep until it was out