#silverlinedrival

Well, here’s the place to prove it! If you head on over to the Masterlist, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people you can show just how much stronger you’ve become-- and they’re all very excited to meet you, too!

FLOWER GARDEN SECRETS! || [Closed. No Longer Accepting!]

Butterfly-Weed: What is one thing that always makes you stop and admire, no matter what you were doing prior?

An innocent question, one that just thinking about the answers brought a smile to the ninja’s lips. He listed out a few with a jovial tone. “The sharpness of a blade, the deadliness of a poison-type, the frustration and look of hopelessness on my opponent's face.” A nice rear end. “Such things can always captivate me if done well.” 

Yellow Cosmos: What is your favorite constellation? Why?

[Do what with STARAPTOR?]

> Examine

> Mating Call

> Boop

> Peck

[[You examine this glorious, feathery falcon with such intensity that it begins to blush. Seriously, what are you thinking? Birds have rights too, and it’s always been rude to stare!

Send me “talk about us” and my muse will tell your muse:

Send me ♡ + a word, and I’ll write a headcanon.

Red finds symbolism in the winter. It’s when he was born, just a day shy of spring; it’s his reality now, high on Mt. Silver where the bitter winds and heavy snow never quite stop. People call him strange for finding solace in the frigid weather, but he’s never been bothered by the cold. Maybe it’s a testament to his character. Or, maybe that’s how he’d like people to think of him.

Alternatively, it’s likely not surprising that summer finds Red a bit too warm and uncomfortable. It’s not that he can’t stand it, or that you’d ever find him complaining. He’s simply never been taken with the way his shirt clings to his skin and his footsteps grow heavy under the unrelenting sun. It’s a time of year that’s always dragged on a little too long for his liking.

Blaise has a particular talent for getting into these kinds of situations--unfortunately, Lysandre has had to learn this the hard way. Ultimately it isn’t too surprising (a Pyroar, at heart, is still a very large cat, no matter how proud and noble the species of Pokemon is supposed to be), though the last time Lysandre had witnessed Blaise getting stuck in a tree had been a good ten or so years ago.

“Please calm down,” Lysandre implores through the pathetic yowls of the Pyroar, a rare hint of desperation coloring his words. Blaise’s yowling only gets louder, and there’s a distinct crack from the branch he’s stuck on... and still, the Pokemon refuses to move.

Lysandre assesses his options. He has none. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he supposes, and with a resigned sigh, makes for the tree himself. If he has to pull Blaise down himself, so be it.

The climb is not as bad as he expects it to be, hauling himself up the first few branches, and then, barely audible over the ruckus Blaise is causing, another crack like the one before.

He feels the branch creek under his feet, then give way, and in the last possible second, he jumps. The next branch is sturdier, thicker, and Lysandre is able to haul himself into a sitting position, just long enough to get his bearings, catch his breath.

No longer is there a clear path to the stuck Pokemon, nor back to the ground. A fleeting, bitter smile curls over his lips at the irony of it all. “Useless,” he murmurs to himself, and casts his eyes over the ground. A passing trainer will likely be his best bet--

Oh I’m not so sure, my sleep patterns are very um… irregular?