can’t run quite as fast as Link but has more stamina so can run for longer
ditto swimming, less likely to straight up fkn drown
ditto climbing, can’t do the jumpy thing either
not as good with close combat/melee weapons but does more damage and is faster/more accurate with a bow and arrow
HOWEVER she does some SERIOUS damage if you Flurry Rush and her backflip is graceful as fuck
not unlike the Master Sword, the Bow of Light doesn’t break, just needs time to recharge
doesn’t have any of the champions’ abilities (those were intended for Link and will stay that way) but her sacred power has attack, shielding and healing elements depending on the situation in which it is used
elixirs last twice as long cos U KNOW SHE’S BETTER AT MAKING THEM
can wear Link’s armour without it magically moulding to her body and becoming Sexy Armour™
LOOKS FINE AS FUCK IN THE DESERT VAI OUTFIT THOUGH
via a friend: A dispatch from a friend on the ground in Portland yesterday:
“I would guess 4,000 people showed up in downtown Portland today, to shut down an alt-rigt, racist, neo-nazi event. Even anti-fa was nonviolent, and really we acted the way you would expect Portlanders to act. Largely passive, glowingly Caucasian, and way too polite (in an self policing sort of way). This went on for hour upon hour until the police got bored and decided to pick a fight with two thousand of us that were standing in the park that anti-fa had rallied in. I was like, “are they really doing this? are they actually doing this?” Which are ridiculous questions for me to be asking myself because I was a LEGAL WORKER for almost a decade, and specifically worked on dealing with PROTESTS, and have had plenty of experience really critically analysing these riots afterwards. I damn well know THAT THEY DO THAT. That being said, it still spun me to see it happen AGAIN. Tear gass, flash bang granades, rubber bullets, dramatic orders and commands. WHY? WHY?
The police completely protected the group of Nazis, and decided to incite the locals to make us appear violent. And you should have seen us all. It couldn’t have been a nerdier group of people. Anyone who thinks antifa is made up of agro dudes, has it wrong. They are a very young, principled group. Our kids? They were giving out ice cream. For sure, many of them have never been in a fight in their lives. You can tell. And this is Portland, after all.
So PLEASE do not believe the local tv news that protestors rioted today. I wish we had, but we didn’t. The police got sick of waiting and attacked us. A very political move to paint a very specific story where the white racists, and perhaps the television viewers at home, are the real victims here…“
i’ve heard the police are claiming a brick was thrown and that’s why they HAD to start the violence.
I’ve heard from people on the front lines that someone threw tampons and one person threw a water bottle.
regardless, even if a brick HAD been thrown, that was one brick, 4,000 people, and cops covered in armour and helmets using gas, noise grenades, and batons against thousands of people who were unprepared for any of it.
and in the meantime the people in body armour with the guns chuckled and sang that basketball song.
(this is a sequel to THIS ‘I think there’s someone in the house’ fic!)
The paramedics hammer on the door, and Neil looks up, teary-eyed, from where his face is pressed into Andrew’s damp hair. He’s feeling for his breath with the back of his hand, waiting moment to moment for Andrew to die in his arms, silently like he does everything else. Urgency keeps stunning Neil all over again, hysterical defibrillators. The EMT’s are calling out through the wall, muffled but calm.
It feels unthinkably wrong, their absolute evenness and ease outside his door when his life is an exposed neck and Andrew’s death is the whirring blade of a saw.
He realizes that he has to get up to let them in, and it seems as impossible as it would be for Andrew to spring up and answer the door himself. He feverishly wants them to crumple the door to splinters and be inside already.
It’s a herculean effort to ease Andrew to the ground, like he’s gritting his teeth and cutting off his own leg. He touches Andrew’s clammy face briefly but he can’t bring himself to try and slap him awake. He props Andrew’s bare feet up on the rim of the bath so the blood will flood towards his head, at least.
He feels untethered to his body when he stands, a helium balloon with its usual weight passed out on the bathroom floor. He falls into the wall immediately, adrenaline neck and neck with exhaustion.
He finds his way to the front door without his mind’s help. His head is in the bathroom with Andrew, and he knows that no matter what happens it’ll be there for a long, long time.
The next time he blinks, a man in uniform is holding his biceps and peering down at him seriously.
“—sir? Sir, are you hurt at all?”
“No,” Neil says, lips numb. “Bathroom. He’s in the bathroom. He’s bleeding to death.”
He turns, easily slipping the paramedic’s grip. There’s a procession of them, hefting a gurney and a couple of kits, and they’ve brought all the cold from outside in on their heels. They’re such a foreign object in their warm, messy apartment — uniformed, official, and precise.
It’s deadly, walking in and seeing Andrew spread out in his boxers, blood oozing through his t-shirt from his loose stitches, pale enough to match the porcelain. Neil’s seen enough corpses to recognize what they look like.
He falls heavily to his knees and puts his head directly to his chest, listening, tears slipping hotly over the bridge of his nose.
“Please,” he slurs. His heartbeat is a tentative thud, a knock from an unexpected guest. “Help him. Now, help him now.”
“We’re going to try our best Sir, but you’ve got to get out of the way,” someone says gently.
He topples backwards onto his hands. It’s a cramped space, and he knows it would be easier if he waited outside, but he also knows he’d rather die than leave them alone with him.
The first guy kneels down and takes Andrew’s pulse, and Neil shakes his head. They’re too slow, time is feeding directly into a wide open drain.
“He needs an IV. He’s two litres down, at least. You’ve got to—“ A petite woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs her off violently. “No! You have to listen to me.”
“We know what we’re doing,” she says. “Are you an MD?” She eyes him doubtfully, gaze flitting from his scars to where her colleagues are taking vitals and cutting through Andrew’s clothes.
“Yes,” Neil says wildly. “And he needs an IV. Possibly two. Large-bore, normal saline. He’s not getting any oxygen, and he’s been like this for as long as it took you to gather your meager response team.”
She purses her lips, but she’s a professional. He can see her repressing her anger and it infuriates him. He feels like he’s crashing, over and over again, and he’s watching someone daintily pump the breaks.
“He’s right,” one of the EMT’s says distractedly. “We’re gonna need to get some fluids started, he’s in hypovolemic shock, sats below 50.”
“You want to tell me what happened?” one of the men asks.
“No,” Neil says as evenly as he can manage, reaching out to graze Andrew’s cold fingers.
“Did you do these stitches?” the woman asks, pulling at Andrew’s skin to get a better look at them. He suddenly sees how they must look to them, sloppy and angry red. Neil bends her arm away without thinking about it.
“Don’t touch him,” he snaps. He could break her arm and it would make him feel better. He drops her, disoriented by his own violence.
“There’s no need to be antagonistic,” the first man says. “We don’t want to have to remove you.”
“You really don’t,” Neil agrees. “You won’t succeed.”
2017; in a time of revolution and a land of turmoil, otherwise known as Wales, Merlin, still waiting for Arthur; is living a quiet life spending his days as a librarian and his nights in a small, yet cosy flat close to the lake. Though in recent years he knows the quiet isn’t going to last, there’s a crackling in the air: he can feel the change, an awakening. On one of these nights Merlin makes his usual way home, says goodbye to his colleagues, pops in for a cup of tea and a chat with the lady who works at his favourite cafe, and takes a detour to past the lake to his flat. Turning on the radio that night (he owned a television once, but after accidentally stumbling onto an episode of Camelot that was the end of that) he hears another another tale of disappearances. There seems to be one every day now; completely random it would seem, but he knows better.
The next day on his way to work Merlin senses that same unease in the air. He feels the air is quite literally being knocked out of his lungs but sees nobody there, he falls to the ground. The next thing he remembers is waking up in an operating theatre. “You’ve been in an accident,” a soothing voice tells him, “You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He doesn’t remember losing blood. He doesn’t remember anything. “Your memories will come back to you slowly. We’ll refer you to a psychiatric,” says another voice he thinks he’s heard before, but it’s gone with another dose of morphine. As it happens, his short term memories, however fragmented, do return to him quite quickly. It’s not until three months later when he’s on his way to work that he notices something quite amiss: a man in full body armour following him.
“Your memories will come back to you slowly.” A year gone past since the accident and Merlin hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in months. The man is everywhere, infecting every memory he has - chasing him, haunting him, teasing him, even in his dreams. He faintly remembers other things, like waking up to strange conversations on a hospital bed, but they’re gone as quickly and sporadically as they come. His outpatient treatment is going well according to the doctor. She says he’s healthy, and the man is just a figment of his imagination he conjured up to help with the pain. They give him more drugs and sent him on his way. It never occurred to Merlin to seek a second opinion. He goes back to his old routine, says goodbye to his colleagues after work, pops in for a cup of tea and a chat with the lady who works at his favourite cafe, walks home, and turns on the telly.
Indian armor, khula-khud (helmet), char aina (curaiss), dastana (vambrace/arm guard), dhal (shield), a traditional Sikh warrior outfit from the nearly 80 historical artefacts on display in central London at the world’s first major exhibition on the Golden Temple of Amritsar, north India. A full-sized mannequin of a Sikh warrior dressed in the way a high-ranking warrior would have been at the height of the Sikh Empire, head to foot in original, ornate, gold body armour and weaponry.
And so, there is this idea about an alien movie that has been floating in my head.
The movie starts with a black screen and a gunshoot. Fading in, you see a parent running away a gun in hand pulling their child behind them being scared the crap out as an alien (type AlienTM franchise) is stumbling outside their house, clutching their chest where the gunshot obviously hit them. The parent all but tosses the kid in the car and drives away from the isolated area they live in.
The alien doesn’t give up and starts following them.
The parent make contact with some special agents who take upon themselves to take the parent and child to a safe place. It’s when they start asking the kid questions to sympatise that flashbacks start to come in. At first, the flashbacks show the place the kid lives in from the outside. The kid plays in the garden but feels like they’re being watched. They don’t think much about it though and keep going with their game.
Back in the present, the kid is mostly silent and one agent is playing with their smartphone, using an app to register their voice and make it high pitch or low pitch. The parent is a bit annoyed by it and the other agent tells the first one to stop. The agent pockets their smartphone but winks at the child who gives their first smile in a while.
As they keep driving away, more flashbacks come on the screen, showing the child playing outside always alone and the alien eventually making contact with them. At first, the alien tries to avoid the contact but eventually warms up and touches the curious kid. It gets eventually shown that the brown shell on the alien body is actually a body armour and the skin under is pale and translucent. The child eventually asks the alien their name but the scene cuts before the alien replies.
In the present time, the alien manages to track and eventually gets back to the group and tries to attack as they make contact again. The parent panicks and out of anger, pushes the child off a cliff to a certain death. The kid screams a name.
As the alien jumps down after the kid, shoving the parent aside, we get to see the last flashback where the alien peeks in the house the child lives in and sees the parent beating them. The alien gets very angry and irrupts in the house, breaking a window. That’s when the parent grabs a gun and shots at the alien, breaking some device that is attached to their chest, linking to the first scene of the movie. As the kid is pulled away, we get to understand it’s of the parent it’s scared.
In the present, the agents bring the parent under control as they’re losinng their shit and pretty much say that wasn’t it for the child, they would have never had any problem. One of the agents looks down the cliff to see the alien slowly climbing up with the kid in their arms.
As they get on the top, the child starts talking to the alien and that’s the first time we get to hear the kid’s voice in present time and they tell the alien how they had been waiting for them. The child pauses as if listening to the alien but there is no sound. The child seems to be answering some questions and that confuses the agents. The parent is being delirious and says it’s because the kid’s crazy and the agents get fed up with them and locks them away in a car.
Then as the parent’s voice is muffled, some form of rumble can be heard from the alien and the smartphone agent realises it’s speaking on very low frequencies; the kind children can hear but adults loses the ability to. They take their smartphone out again and approaches the alien, turning on the recording. As they modulate the voice to higher pitch, they get to hear that the alien was saying it was sorry for being late. The kid answers it believed they’d come to get them.
The agents start discussing what really happened although they start to have a good idea from piecing stuff that happened while they were together. The alien explained that the gunshot damaged their comunication and modulation system but they managed to fix the device that calls the spaceship at least.
As said spaceship appears, the alien says they have to go and the kid asks if they’d ever see each-other again. The screen faddes to black as the alien answers they promises they will come back to get them.
After credit scene, we get to see a pre-adult teenager at school, looking bored. As the final bell rings, they get out and the smartphone agent is waiting for them outside. As they follow them in car and then in a large room, the teen doesn’t recognise the large white creature that is standing dressed in colorful clothes until the alien speaks up their name. They run to them hugging them and crying saying they always believed they’d come back.
This turned out longer than I expected…
But I mean, does the alien always have to be the bad guy?
Request: ‘Hi could you do fan fic where Shiro
gets back from a hard mission with the team and his s/o helps him destress you
can make it smutty or not Ps love you blog!’
A/N: I love this request a lot. I
will try my best to make it smutty, but I’m not really good at smut anyway. So
I hope you enjoy regardless of the fact!
Also this got really deep and I‘m
Heathers trash so…
Song- Seventeen (The Heathers)
You and Shiro
were inseparable. As soon as he got in through that door, he had your lips on
either where your shoulder and neck met or the shell of your ear and he would
place a fond kiss on either of those places. Either way, he really cared about
you, no matter what. That also meant he gave you the responsibility that you
had to cope/calm him down when he was either stressed or angry…or both. Which
you knew was the worst combination.
Shiro as the
leader of team Voltron, knew that he had to take the most responsibility. He
had to take the fall when it came to his whole team messing up. You knew he
took the brunt of the force of the dealing blow. He would risk his life for his
team…because it was his sole duty as a paladin of Voltron. That means…you had
to be there for him when he needed it the most.