Putting in work

anonymous asked:

((@daily--cuteifly)) Bee flies up to Frajyle nervously, one of the yellow flowers from her home in her hands. She offers the flower to him, hoping he likes it!


Frajyle happens to be on the outskirts of the forest, muttering to himself as Bee approaches. He’s unaware of her presence, seeming to be too focused on something else to notice her.

“Should I gift these to her? It seems positively silly… For her small size, and despite my threats, she does not seem to fear me. It’s strange… How can–”

He cuts himself off when he finally hears the fluttering of Bee’s wings and turns in surprise to see the very pokemon he was just talking about, offering him a flower. Though her sudden appearance had surprised him a bit too much that he shot upward and turned to flee, only to crash into one of the nearby trees. He had been too much in a hurry to faze through it.

His mask cracks, and the flowers he was holding fall from his hands. Frajyle’s a bit too flustered to care about the state of his now broken mask, or retrieve the fallen flowers. He felt the need to hide and quickly disappeared into the forest, hoping Bee did not overhear him talking to himself.

The mask, and the flowers he was going to gift Bee with still remain. An Almond Blossom, symbolizing hope and contemplation. As well as a blue periwinkle, symbolizing the beginning of a friendship.


“We have to help them. We can’t leave them.”

Dia had clearly spoken for herself when she said she had no such reservation, and yet here she was anyway, knee deep in dead bodies doing all the rescuing. 

Dia could vouch right now she didn’t feel the allure of playing hero. It felt neither honourable nor glorious to be covered in gore, hunkered down in the dirt under heavy fire with a brewing headache hammering at the base of her skull. She couldn’t call Brass or Zaki an idiot for getting in to this mess when she was right in here with them. But April had cried and Link her had given her that look: ‘I thought you were Nine Knives. What are a couple guns-for-hire to you?’ A damn inconvenience, that’s what.

Thing was, it wasn’t just a couple dumb guns-for-hire. Dia had felt her muscles seize on instinct as soon as she’d smelled the tell-tale tang of witch blood upon re-entry into the underground bunker. It had assaulted her senses like cloying perfume with a thickness that almost entirely masked Brass’s own distinctively smoky scent. This witch was more powerful, and who knew what they could do?

A surge of heat nearly scorched off her eyebrows when Dia peered around the ledge she was hiding behind. She shrank back, swearing and blinking away the sting of smoke that left her eyes watering.

“You fucking moron, Brass. It’s me!”


“I explicitly ordered you to get out!” Zaki shouted over a spray of gun fire that rat-tat-tat-ed around the claustrophobic stone walls, spraying down debris and dust in a suffocating cloud. Dia unsheathed her knives and grunted. He wouldn’t be saying that if he saw the trail of bodies she’d mowed down in her wake.

“How many are there?”

“I counted fifteen, of which we took out at least four,” Came the answer. She’d taken out five more herself upon re-entry.

“One’s a witch.”

“What?” Zaki snapped the question like it was Dia’s fault they’d sent one after them. As if she’d been the oaf who’d tripped the alarm. “You saw them?”

She could hardly admit that she’d smelled them out like a dead rat in a barrel. “Sure.”

“I call dibs!” Brass called, and as Dia peeked out of her hiding place, saw his tattooed figure barrel roll between two pillars and shoot a blinding ball of fire into an assailant’s abdomen. The bright white flames had them engulfed in an instant and they let out a scream that could barely be distinguished as human, let alone male or female. It petered out into sickening silence before they’d even hit the floor, and the pungent odour of scorched flesh made Dia’s stomach turn.

Dia was about to yell out that perhaps Brass ought to leave the witch for them to tackle together when she suddenly felt their presence behind her. The reek of the still-smouldering corpse had briefly overwhelmed all other scents, but the electric pulse of witch-blood cut through it all like a hot blade. They flared like lightning, wild and lashing with dormant magic. Dia flung herself forward on impulse, rolling into a coiled crouch with her knives at the ready and turned to face the immediate threat.

The witch was a woman. A pretty, fair thing with long auburn curls that bounced around rosebud cheeks like a doll. She couldn’t have been much older than Dia, but when she smiled her little white teeth looked pointy and malicious. She reminded Dia of Gaff with his subtle instability.

The witch tilted her face to the side and pouted, looking her over through narrowed eyes. Her hands were still raised, fingers curled bare inches from where Dia had been only moments ago. Dia was familiar with the unique scent of a witch’s blood, but each ones was different, particular to their powers. She could hazard a guess what this witch could do to make her skin crackle with static just by the smell of her.

“How can you sense me?”

Dia handed it to her, she was good at sneaking to have made it so close. It was a threat enough that she was magic, but she seemed trained in combat or at least some essential skills. Whatever this place was and whatever they did here, they spared no resources protecting it.

“You smell,” Dia answered truthfully. Judging by the way the witch’s brow pinched, she’d interpreted it as a petty insult instead of an honest answer. Dia didn’t feel the need to correct her.


Lorna: Haha, wowww… That’s a fancy mask. You put a lot of work into that, huh…?

Lorna: Oh, right…! Want a peach blossom?

T… Thank you… H… Here…

M… Miss?… Um… Do you need to rest? You look really sleepy…


After They Get Together
  • Sun Jing: There's one thing I never told you.
  • Qiu Tong: What is it?
  • Sun Jing: When you knocked me down and got on top of me... I think I was really flustered.
  • Qiu Tong: What?
  • Sun Jing: My Heart started racing, and my chest felt hot.
  • Qiu Tong: *bluntly* Is that your way of seducing me?

                          i   couldn’t   reach   you   with   a   spaceship.  
                         (  alfred foster jones   &&   ivan vremyaevich braginsky.  )

a little aesthetic thing for fiftystars because i’m trash for space gays.

anonymous asked:

stopping by to say how absolutely wonderful you are, as a writer it can be difficult to put your work out there but for you to do not only that but stand up for and support other writers is truly inspiring 💜 much love to you bean

Thank you I really appreciate this <3 

I think the best way to explain why I’m standing up for and supporting other writers is this..

Originally posted by subdued-nostalgia

anonymous asked:

blocking me solves nothing. just makes you look like a faggot. not my fault people are too lazy to put the work into becoming citizens ^_^ so yeah, enjoy your losing battle agasint common sense ya salty cumrag of a person.

Tag yourself im literally the salty cumrag

so i see a lot of articles and thinkpieces where people critique things, especially millennial movements, for being “all talk no action” or “not willing to put in the real work to get things done”

and i’m curious like

am i the only person sitting here going “well that’s nice but i literally have no idea what that looks like? like give me a step by step?”

i’m just curious as to if our issue isn’t laziness, it’s a lack of information/knowledge

or if i’m just alone in my ignorance


(part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (X)