#myro

[before we start, I want everyone to know that Mira is NOT my OC, he's an OC that belongs to @ruby-static, I'm just writing for fun (and also cyz i want Myro too) soo...that's all!)

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After the storm of chaos had finally quieted—after the last pulse of corrupted magic had fizzled into the night, after the wreckage of Talon’s fortress crumbled into the sea like a dying beast—the silence was almost cruel.

The Silvereye household, nestled in the misty cliffs above the ocean, stood weathered but intact. Its stone walls bore scorch marks from earlier attacks, and the air hummed faintly with residual energy, like the echo of a scream too loud for the ears to register. Inside, Bolt Silvereye sat slumped against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes closed in exhaustion. His breathing was slow, steady—a man who had fought too hard and too long.

But Gyro Gearloose didn’t rest. He paced.

Back and forth. Back and forth. The wooden floor creaked with every step, each one heavier than the last. His feathers bristled under his lab coat, his talons clicking against the floorboards. The weight of it all was pressing down—the mission gone sideways, the madness of remote control, Mira’s possession, the way Talon had puppeted the Raven’s body like a marionette made of shadows. And then, worst of all—that moment. The flash of purple light. Mira thrown back like a ragdoll. The scream that wasn’t his own.

Gyro clenched his beak shut as the image replayed behind his eyelids.

Mira lay unconscious now on the reinforced recovery bed in the Silvereyes’ infirmary, bandaged and still. A fresh scar carved a jagged path from his left temple down across the upper eyelid, stopping just short of the nose. The wound was sealed, thanks to an emergency stasis gel and a touch of Bolt’s residual magic, but it had already branded itself into history. This scar would remain. A permanent mark. A story every time someone looked too long.

Gyro stopped pacing. He turned

And stared.

The Raven’s chest rose and fell beneath the dark fabric of his outfit. His boots had been removed. His gloves too. Only the purple collar—embedded with its glowing gem—remained, pulsing faintly, still resonating with traces of dark enchantment. But the gem was inert now. Neutralized. Safe.

Mira’s face was pale. His intense, ever-furrowed brows were slack in unconsciousness. The shadows under his eyes, usually hidden behind that sharp, guarded gaze, were now exposed—dark crescents like ink smudged on paper.

Gyro swallowed

He reached out—just to check the pulse monitor. That was all. Scientific concern. Standard procedure. Nothing more.

But his talon hovered an inch from the device, trembling.

He didn’t come here for diagnostics

He came because he couldn’t stand not being near him.

“Stupid bird,” Gyro muttered, voice low, harsh. “Always being risky. Always thinking you’re the only one who can take a hit.”

He folded his arms. Turned away.But then—a sound.

A weak inhale.

A flutter.

The monitor beeped.

Then again.

Gyro spun.

Mira’s fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered once—twice—then slowly peeled open, revealing eyes clouded with pain and confusion.

They focused slowly, blinking against the dim light. Recognition dawned. Slow. Painful.

“G…Gyro?” Mira croaked, voice raw, as if his throat had been scraped with sand.

Gyro didn’t move at first. His heart hammered. He wasn’t ready. Not for this. Not for him awake and breathing and alive.

“You’re lucky,” Gyro snapped, stepping forward. “Lucky Talon’s spell didn’t fry your brain. Lucky the armor deflected most of the blast. Lucky I came back for you when you were too busy being a self-sacrificing idiot to think.”

Mira tried to sit up. Groaned. Fell back.

Gyro nearly lunged to help—but caught himself, folding his arms tighter.

“I had to,” Mira said, wincing. “He was going after the others. After Bolt. After you.”

“And what? You thought you’d stop him dead in his tracks with what—your charming personality?” Gyro’s voice cracked. “You weren’t fighting him, Mira. You were giving up. One last noble gesture—look at me, I’m the martyr!—like you’re some tragic figure in a bad opera.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Gyro barked, feathers flaring. “I saw you! You ran toward that fight knowing you couldn’t win! You knew he’d hit you with everything—!”

“And if I hadn’t,” Mira shot back, pushing himself up again, bracing against the bed, “you would’ve been the one on the ground! The one dying! I couldn’t let that happen!”

Gyro froze

Silence

The room felt smaller suddenly.

The air thick, electric.

Mira’s breath came fast. Pain flashed across his face—but he held Gyro’s glare.

“You still don’t get it,” Mira said, voice quieter now, trembling. “I didn’t do it for glory. I did it because you matter. All of you. And if I had to burn myself to ash to keep Talon from reaching you—then that’s what I’d do.”

Gyro stared.His beak opened.

Closed.

Then—like a dam breaking under pressure too long held—words spilled out, ragged and unfiltered.

“And what about me, you insufferable raven?! What about my choice? Did you ever think about that? Did it ever cross your mind that maybe—just maybe—I wouldn’t want you to die for me? That I’d rather die a thousand times over than sit here watching you—like this?!”

He stepped forward.

Voice rising

“I came back, Mira! Do you get that? I ran back into that collapsing ruin knowing damn well Talon could’ve vaporized me the second I stepped in! I didn’t care! I didn’t think! All I saw was your body on the ground and I—I—”

And then, in the most devastating moment of his life, Gyro Gearloose—antisocial genius, emotionally constipated inventor, man who once called love “a biochemical malfunction”—spoke the words he’d buried for years

“…I love you okay?!...I love you...”

Silence.

The words hung in the air like a spell cast in error—uncontrollable, irreversible.Gyro’s eyes widened.

His talons flew to his beak, covering his mouth. His face—what little skin showed beneath his feathers—flushed deep crimson.

No

No no no no—

Mira stared. His pupils dilated. His breath caught.

For a long, suspended moment, the room was utterly still. The only sound—the soft hum of the medical devices, the distant crackle of dying magic in the walls.

Then—Mira blinked.

And slowly, painfully, he smiled.

It wasn’t a smirk. Not a tease. Not even amusement.It was something raw. Something real. A smile born from exhaustion, from pain, from wonder.

“…You… love me?” he whispered.

Gyro dropped his talons. Turned away.

“Forget it. Brain damage. Stress. Too much exposure to sentient toasters. Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Mira said, voice firmer.

Gyro didn’t turn.

“Gyro,” Mira said again. “Look at me.”

“No"

“Look at me.”

Gyro hesitated. Then, slowly, turned.

Mira’s eyes—now glistening—held his. “You said you love me”

“I said a lot of stupid things. I was angry”

“No,” Mira said. “You weren’t. That wasn’t anger. That was—you. That was the truth. The real you. The one who doesn’t hide behind sarcasm and lab reports”

Gyro’s feathers bristled. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Mira said. “I’ve seen it. Every time you checked my gear before a mission. Every time you redesigned my gloves to resist magic backlash. Every time you stayed up all night fixing my comms because you knew I’d need them. You didn’t do it because it was your job. You did it because you care.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“It means everything,” Mira interrupted, pushing himself higher on one elbow. “You think I didn’t notice? You think I didn’t feel it? The way you look at me. The way you always come back. Even when I push you away. Even when I’m at my worst.”

Gyro’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe I’m just stubborn.”

Mira laughed—soft, pained, beautiful.“Then we’re both fools.”

Silence fell again. But it was different now. Lighter. Charged, but not with anger. With… possibility.

Gyro stepped forward. Slowly.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, voice trembling. “When I saw you—after the blast—I thought—”

“I know,” Mira said gently. “I’m sorry, really”

“Don’t apologize,” Gyro snapped softly. “Don’t you dare apologize for being brave. I just… I need you to stay. To live. Here. Breathing. Annoying the crap outta me.”

Mira laughs a little—god it's good to hear that again—and reached out. Slowly. Hesitantly.

Gyro didn’t pull away.

Their fingers brushed. Then intertwined

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily Spark” Mira murmured.

Gyro swallowed. Looked down at their joined hands. Then back at Mira’s face—the scar now undeniable, a symbol of sacrifice, of pain, of survival.

Pics and flower crown by Myro photography

SacSummer '13

I’ve been busy (and tired as fuck) wrapping up some college deadlines- But I thought I’d make a quick doodle to de-stress. So here is my Myro BS yet again.

This honestly sums up their dynamic pretty well.

Next commission, this one is for @stormandozone!  Once again, so up my alley as poses go, and such cuties to boot!