#pseudoneiric :{ homura

[confettisuite]

nine of pentacles | random tarot card starters | @pseudoneiric​​ { homura }

“Ooohhhhh...!”

She’s splendid, in an aesthetic sense. She has an air around her that emanates a maturity far beyond the middle school campus she inhabits (a campus that Manabu should not be inhabiting, but nevertheless... here he is.) Her hair is long and dark, she moves, alone, like an elegant shadow, melancholy in a way that is simultaneously unfathomable to his foolish child mind yet simultaneously stirs his nature as a detective. He can’t begin to imagine what mysteries she might contain, what problems she could bring for him to solve as a pretty boy detective.

He ponders this as he approaches, closer and closer, entranced by the prospect of potential mystery, until he’s hovering less than a foot away from her before he realizes.

[confettisuite]

one muse who is usually antagonistic finds the other muse injured and ends up helping them (ok for magical girl liddell, from either lili or homura) | @pseudoneiric​​

Fighting fair is a sign of poor tactics. Not that Liddell has ever especially tactical. But she kind of has to be nowadays. Her powers as a magical girl are a lot more limited than when she had been a witch (her kind of witch; the right kind of witch). But she remains as scrappy as ever -- maybe even moreso -- and not above swooping in to finish off a witch (”witch”) and steal the kill from a fellow magical girl.

One more well-placed crack of her trusty umbrella and the abomination disintegrates in a swirl of smoke. A maze of giant moths and monster frogs hopping around on psychedelically flashing mushrooms cracks like a broken mirror and falls apart in shards around her. When it fades completely, Liddell is standing in a town she barely recognizes in front of the grief seed, speared into the ground. She scoops it up with a gloved hand and taps it to the jewel at the center of her bowtie, where it disappears. She has to do it before she turns to the magical girl crumpled on the ground, so that no amount of guilt can undo the theft.

“Hey!” she calls out, looking down at the strange girl with pity in her eyes that she can’t stop from turning to genuine sympathy, “You okay?” Liddell offers her a hand to help her up. In another life, healing her would be child’s play -- a quick Thera she could have done in her sleep -- but her magic no longer thrums in her blood like it used to, instead it radiates out from her soul gem, kneecapped, and no longer truly hers, “C’mon, we both know you’re not gonna die from those injuries, so don’t be a baby.”