#shymaidxn

[shacklda]

📖 + granblue fantasy (poses w/ the wiki character tier list just in case you need it)

Send me 📖 + a fandom, and I’ll tell you a muse (or several muses) from this fandom I’ve thought about writing

I know not a lick of Granblue Fantasy even though I OWN Granblue Fantasy: Versus but that’s only because it was a PS Plus game........ But I’m down for checking it out, give me that list-

[convxction]

❀☽ (*shakes your hand* a friend of wars is a friend of mine...but i've also seen you for a million years and heard how great you are, and have been very unsure of how to approach SO)

pspsps | accepting lol | @shymaidxn

❀: i’m shy to approach you

☽: i don’t know how our muses can interact

[ [ SHAKES HAND YES HELLO. wars! a nakahomie! *insert it all comes together meme* hoho. lol im not great but thank you for the compliment haha; if anything i barely try to write lmao. (shenanigans and useless posts yes, actual replies--i die.) *slaps chrom* this bad boy got many verses and among them granblue verse so fear not! we can think of something! i stopped playing GBF but i can always search up things if needed !! basically chrom is a guest on the Grandcypher so we can think of ideas they can interact with each other. take care of him and me because we noobs haha. fair warning chrom and gran and two man-children they will be pranking each other. so maaaybe Diantha might get ... er ... mixed up as well haha~ you didnt hear from me hohohoho~

[aaetherius]

@shymaidxn​

♝ (Diantha sees Lucifer looking at the journals she has for the Xolotl book she's been writing, so she goes over all the stories she's heard throughout the different islands, partially just to excitedly show off.)

Acts of intimacy || Accepting (feel free to turn into threads)!

                                                                 ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ―☼ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

    A thin veil of steam wafts up from the warm cup of coffee settled upon the table in front of him, and warms his skin against the frigid air nipping at the hull of the ship. The scent of freshly roasted coffee beans with a hint of vanilla slipping in fills the kitchen, and he inhales softly against its welcomed heat. Fingers wrap delicately about the smooth porcelain of his cup - handling it with more care than is likely needed, but he has shattered a fair few with somewhat clumsy wings since his revival, and though he is always forgiven, he would prefer not to make too much of a habit of it. The drink is still burning hot when he brings the cup to his lips to take a sip, and nearly singes his throat on the way down, but he’s always been one to drink his coffee as bitter and biting as possible when he makes it for himself - as close to his original creation as he could get. Though, he’s taken a liking to the various blends and styles mortals have come up with since, and occasionally indulges on them as well. Handle balanced upon his index, middle finger, and thumb, he glances around the steam at the small, but neat pile of books and journals sat in front of him. He’s always made a habit of reading whatever he could - even going through Lucilius’s impressive collection of tomes at least half a dozen times over thousands of years ago. But he finds himself thumbing through texts even more often now that he has more time to invest in them, and millennia-worth of information to study up on. From the girl in blue’s journals she often lent him to the flyers handed out from the various islands they’ve visited to research papers dating back centuries to absurd romcoms lent by various members of the crew, and everything between - he could often be found with his eyes trained on the page of a book. 

      Much had changed since he had last interacted with mortals, and if he wished to live amongst them while encouraging the remaining Primarchs to do the same, he wished to have a better grasp of their customs and culture. Yet, despite all of his reading they proved a constant source of surprise for him. In the short time since he had been welcomed into the crew, he had learned more about them than the centuries he had spent brushing up on their legends and beliefs in the hallow, but lonely walls of Canaan. And he was ever eager to learn more. To listen in on the conversations that took place around him and see how the various islands had changed or come to be. Though he largely kept to himself and rarely sought others out so as to not become a burden to them, he knew quite a bit about the more talkative members of the crew or the ones who were most often present simply from overhearing their conversations or reading about their adventures in the colorful journals he had been entrusted with. And he intended to pass today in much the same manner, studying the books he had been lent while enjoying a few cups of coffee in the quiet of the kitchen during the off hours between when the crew normally ate - resisting the urge to slip into the cafe to try to help Sandalphon run it, at least until he has a slightly better grasp on his new body so he doesn’t add to the damage that’s already been done. 

       So free hand reaches out to grab the first piece upon the pile - a journal whose cover he opens carefully as if it were something precious, though he tilts his head ever so slightly upon being greeted by the neat handwriting and tale contained within. It’s not one of Lyria’s - hers are always filled with colorful drawings, and her penmanship isn’t nearly as refined. Truthfully, he can’t recall who had given him this one, or where he might have picked it up - perhaps it had gotten mixed up with his budding collection by mistake. Brows furrow slightly in thought, but he finds himself drawn in by the contents of the notebook. ‘Ti Icniuhtli Xolotl’ - he has heard that phrase before, centuries ago, though his knowledge of the Primal Beasts that came well after him was limited at best thanks to the time he had spent largely isolated and in complete solitude as he watched over the ever evolving skies. It pushes him to read on until the sound of footsteps upon the wooden floorboards of the ship draws his attention away from the text - the sound of voices mingling, and he can just barely make out the conversation beyond the door - someone searching for a misplaced journal, and ah - a young woman enters the kitchen just as he’s rising to return the book to its rightful owner.  

         “Forgive me, it seems I somehow came into possession of your work, and I must confess that I found myself reading through it. From what I have read, it is a wonderful tale. If it at all possible, I would like to hear more of it.” He draws the cover shut, gingerly running his fingers across the soft leather as he offers it back to her. But, to his surprise she chooses to humor him instead. A soft smile quickly blooms upon his lips as he sets the journal down once more to listen to her with his undivided attention as she flips through the pages and excitedly begins to recount her story to him, and the information she’s been able to gather since. About the loyal canine turned Primal Beast who had felt terribly lonely after his dear friend had rejected him upon his return - the tale making an ache settle in his newly formed core, but it lessens the more she speaks of him and of the island. How they had accepted the Primal as a companion through the use of song, though the meaning of those words and that tradition had been lost with time until fairly recently. His attention never wanes - her excitement is contagious, and he is ever eager to learn. By the time she’s reached a point where she’s able to pause for a breath, his coffee has gone ice cold and been forgotten about entirely, having set it down some time ago without noticing. “It seems I still have much to learn, and I would be more than eager to hear the rest if you wish to continue, but you have my gratitude for sharing what you have with me thus far - it is a truly fascinating story. This is for a book you are working on? If you are ever in need of someone to review what you have, I would be more than willing to continue reading.”        

[caeruleis]

@shymaidxn​ asked:

♤ for a kiss on the palm ( for gran please~ )​

Softer Prompts || Accepting (feel free to turn into threads)!

                                                           ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ― ☽ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯​

     He’s always been reckless. He tends to listen to his heart more than his head, even when he’s had a knack for strategic thinking since childhood, but, more often than not, those reckless things were necessary for coming out alive from the countless close encounters he’s faced. He can’t hold a candle to a famed knight or a renowned mage; he doesn’t stand much of a chance against a primal beast or monster on his own, without his wit and utter abandon for his own safety. Ironically, it’s his own disregard for his life that’s managed to save it more times than he’d, frankly, care to count. That was typically the reason he was covered in bruises and scrapes and ugly wounds that rarely ever had enough time to heal into anything beyond the jagged scars that covered the vast majority of his body. Today; however, informed recklessness was not the reason he was currently seated in a creaky, wooden chair in the mostly empty kitchen as Diantha tended to the burn he had somehow managed to get on his forearm. The skin still tender and dry to the touch as his lips pursed with each uncomfortable touch - something he wasn’t helping at all by restlessly rocking his legs back and form where he sat, making the entire chair flop around. If not for his aversion towards fire, he likely would have gotten himself burned far worse than he had - if what is left of the sleeve of his blue hoodie is anything to go by. Charred bits of the once colorful fabric clinging to the still intact shoulder that meets the remainder of the, thankfully, unsigned hoodie. And it smelled. Of course it did, but he had forgotten just how bad it did - it’s been a while since he had last burned himself. Not that he had ever done it willingly, but fire had, of every element in this world, always been the one he had struggled with the most, and his natural gift, or rather hard fought one, had never seemed to carry over to it. His hands were a mass of callouses and burns and thick, rough patches of skin from the days he had poured himself into practicing, and many of them climbed upwards onto his arms as well. There’s a few patches nestled not far from the one she’s currently treating. 

      ‘Sorry,’ he signs easily; the word only involves using a single hand to begin with, but the sheepish smile that forms on his features implies he both is and isn’t all that sorry about the entire ordeal. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ That he has a bit more trouble with, but he’s never really a by the books type of person when it comes to the language, though he still tries to convey it in a way Diantha will understand. Seemed being the keyword here as he wiggles nose in vague disgust. Sure his own burn doesn’t smell all that pleasant, but it pales in comparison to the horrific stench that’s wafting out from the oven right now. Hell, at this point he’s pretty confident anyone walking by would mistake his own cooking for Katalina’s, and that was a nightmare he shuddered to even consider. He wasn’t exactly the Grandcypher’s top chef or anything, but he was pretty decent if he’d have to admit his honest opinion. He couldn’t hold his own against Vane or the Lowain brothers, but who could? Otherwise, he was of the mind the dishes he could make were fairly standard. Nothing impressive, but nothing awful either. It may have been a hit minute since he last cooked -- okay, maybe it had been a few months. Maybe a solid year. He can’t remember. As Captain his time was typically too packed for him to even think about joining the others for a meal, let alone making one himself. But he was trying to get just a little bit better at well...being a halfway decent boyfriend, he supposes. And it was with that train of thought that he ended up being a spectacularly awful boyfriend instead - with flying colors nonetheless. 

      Which was why, he was sitting in a chair in the kitchen with pillars of smoke still funneling out from the oven to let it air after he had severely burned a heaping helping of crisp bacon (set on actual fire more like) for the gourmet omelette he had been preparing for her...at half past thee in the morning. Why, one might ask, was he making her breakfast at some unholy hour of the night? Well, an excellent question - she had been up working on her bookkeeping and journaling while he had been jotting down the shopping list into something that made a bit more sense than the mass of notes he had from the various members of the crew - time had gotten away from the both of them; he never slept much to begin with, and the only thing that had stopped the ticking of the clock had been the mutual groan of their stomachs so he had offered to cook them up something so she wouldn’t lose her flow. And, well, he’s pretty certain she had most certainly lost the net of inspiration she had managed to cast when she had walked into the kitchen only to see him with his arm halfway in the stove with a pan of burning bacon clutched in his hands as he haphazardly cast a handful of water spells onto it to put it out. Was it a horribly stupid thing to do? Absolutely. Had he managed to put it out without waking anyone up? Shockingly, yes. Cooking breakfast for your significant other at three-in-the-morning while burning yourself, setting the oven on fire, and being half drenched in water thanks to unleashing a handful of spells on said burning oven to put it out - the height of romance; he’s aware. 

      Awkwardly he rubs the back of his neck - little flyaway strands of auburn locks poking at the back of his neck as she finished healing the small burn. It’s by far not the worst one he’s managed to give himself, and that much is painfully clear just being exposed to only one of his arms - both of with are almost always covered in thick sleeves to hide the sheer amount of abuse he had put them through during his training. ‘I really am a decent cook, promise.’ That cheeky smile isn’t helping his case, nor is the breathy, hoarse, and throaty laugh that rumbles in his throat, and stings his lungs and his chest where he can still feel the weight of the thick scar that had rendered his voice close to useless. ‘But I guess I’m a pretty awful boyfriend, huh?’ It’s not that serious of the situation, and the burn really isn’t all that bad so it’s easy for him to shrug it off, but he knows she worries, and he can’t blame her. Not when he’s always throwing himself headfirst into the stupidest of situations and praying everything works out. And it doesn’t always happen the way he hopes - sometimes he comes out with a few extra scars, and other times he barely manages to come out alive at all. He can’t even begin to count the number of times he’s looked death in the face at this point. But it was three am, and the smell of burnt bacon and cold eggs as heavy in the air, and he’s seriously rather not go through his nightly midlife crisis in the middle of the kitchen. So, he inhales sharply, gagging on the unpleasant odor before his expression softens considerably, and he gingerly reaches out with hands already covered in bandages from all of the nicks he gives himself on a daily basis, and takes her hands within his own - flipping them palm up before offering her a smile. His way of asking for permission when he can’t convey what he needs to say before lowering his head in a silent bow to express ‘Thank you,’ in his own own as he places a kiss to each of her palms for the work they had done.          

[againthemartyr]

@shymaidxn​​:  Early morning rays peered through the windows of the cafe, illuminating everything in the room with a soft glow, Sandalphon included. She wondered if she was perhaps too early for his liking, but she tried to store that worry away in her mind. Diantha had actually gotten up earlier than even she thought she would, but she knows she should’ve expected this as well. This holiday always made her heart skip a beat, thinking about all the chocolates she had to make being so  pressuring, exhilarating, and lovely all at the same time. Care was put into each and every batch she made, and she swore her chocolates alone took up an entire fridge while they cooled (which of course would make her feel bad if she thought on it for too long, and so she stored that thought away too). And then there were loving thoughts directed towards every person who touched her life on this ship, and helped her, in one way or another, to grow into the person she was today.  And, even if he probably didn’t expect much from this holiday, he was a friend that she considered helped her out more than most, even if he couldn’t see it. “Sandalphon,” spoken loud enough to hear, but not too loud amidst the quiet atmosphere, walking close enough to hand him the box of chocolates, “Sorry that this is so early. But I couldn’t really go back to sleep, so...Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It was a celebration Sandalphon was all too glad to avoid, even if the Captain insisted on it. Throughout the years the primarch seemed to get used to it, offering something in return at a later date. But that did not mean that he was entirely comfortable with... a day where you are supposed to celebrate with the people you cared for. And this did not include poor simulacrums of Lucifer - as much as a certain artist would enjoy pestering him at any occasion. 

Perhaps this was why Diantha’s visit takes him by surprise. And her gift more so. It would be comical the way Sandalphon froze, mug in hand. Blinking a few times before finally registering what was happening. It was not necessary, and besides the Usual Culprits... it was a day most people chose to leave him alone. Understandably so. 

But to see Diantha brought a smile to his face, and one that he was all too slow to hide.  

“... Thank you.”

This is sincere, as is the hand that gently covers his mouth. A gentle reminder to do something as a return gift is added to his mind. After a bit he seems to lower his hand, expression going back to normal -- even if it is very hard to conceal the amusement in his tone. And the gratitude. 

“You did not need to. But if you are not pressed for time, you can stay a bit and drink something. You have other people to give these to, don’t you? It will compensate for you having to start these procedures so early.”

[lunarcry]

@shymaidxn  ( s.c. )

oh, how annoying. people laughing and screeching in cold water, chasing each other across the beach and building useless things in the sand — what was the point of all of it. they were loud and piercing in fenrir’s ears, and worse so than the grandcypher crew. how did she get roped into this anyway?! why couldn’t they’ve let her stay (and eat the food in the storage room in peace)?!

“ oi, you “, words threathening when a somewhat familiar face passes by, “ where’s the food. “

[desusstella]

@shymaidxn​

He was sitting on the deck, enjoying his tea and the view of the sky.It always brought peace for him but during his observation he saw Diantha she was one of the idols that joined the crew due to the captain helping her put on a concert with her friends but it was interrupted because of a monster attack.He noticed the girl was by herself and he got up and walked to her.”Hello Diantha I see you’re by yourself today would you like join me for tea and lunch I believe tea taste better with others.”

[blazeblade]

@shymaidxn​ wants a starter!

“Diantha, wasn’t it?” The Lord of Flames greeted the young maiden with a small smile upon his face as the wind blew across the deck of the Grandcypher. “A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Percival was, at the captain’s urging, trying to become a bit more personable in his dealings with the others on board. The prince could be a bit stern and harsh most of the time but showing his better side was not the sort of thing he was opposed to doing.