Guess what tag I’ve been reading through all day???
I have yet to find one that mentions our weird dietary habits, I mean, some will eat the same food over and over again despite the health risk. We’ll cram our bodies so full of food that sometimes we’ll throw up, and then probably keep eating. Fast and deep fried food are a thing here, and they are SUPER unhealthy but humans still eat them. Or think of cravings! Sometimes I get such bad cravings that it’s the only thing I eat (*cough* carbs *cough*). Imagine a crew having to deal with a human who has severe cravings.
Another thing, people who ignore allergies. I’m allergic to dogs and I flat out ignore it. Like, ‘oh I’m going to swell up and be really itchy then probably pass out, yeah. But doggo’. Or someone who’s severely lactose intolerant eating ice cream because it’s fucking delicious and you can’t stop them.
You know what would be rad? If Rip hears someone on the crew (*cough* Stein *cough*) make a disparaging remark about Mick’s mental health/Leonard Snart/intelligence/etc., and scolds them. Stands up for him. He doesn’t always like Mick, or that way Mick does things, but the way the Legends treat the big guy just rubs him the wrong way.
Maybe because they still hold everything Mick did as Chronos against him, while they have seemingly forgiven Rip even though he’s in the same situation.
So basically Lance and Shiro meet while breaking Shiro out of a high security galra prison. Shiro was captured while being drawn to the black lion and was then labeled as the most dangerous criminal to the galran empire. The voltron crew, -cough- keith -cough-, thought it would be a good idea to break him out as a way to show the empire has no control over then and should feel threatened. First words out of Lances mouth when he sees shiro would be something along the lines of “You didn’t tell me he was hot keith!”
Max stumbled as he ran through the wood as fast as he could. He heard barking behind him, mixed with the foreign shouts of guards from the Stone Fortress. Considering what he had just done, they’d probably sent every hound in the kennels after him, with an entire platoon armed to the teeth. Great. Once again, he has gone and dome something incredibly reckless to try and save Klaus. Despite his high-quality boots, he still occasionally slipped over the wet, moss-covered stones and stumbled over roots that came just above the ground. He took off his jacket and flung it as far away from him as possible, hoping it would confuse the dogs as he ran through a small river.
Okay, focus. Inventory. What do you have to work with to get out of here in one piece, what can you do to survive? His spirits rose as he remembered the gun in his sweater pocket, but then they promptly fell again as he remembered that he had used the last of his ammo getting out of the keep. No wand either. Damn, he had to remember to tie one to a bungee cord next time, he seemed to lose them like they were pens. He had a knife, but considering the sheer number of pursuers he might as well have a candy bar. On the bright side, the forest was too tightly packed to use tanks or carriages, so at least he didn’t have to try and melt steel. Although if he could melt steel, their musket’s probably wouldn’t be a problem. No. Focus. He tried to remember any other ways of using magic that he might have seen over the years, stored in some dusty corner of his mind next to the safety instructions for half a dozen weapons of mass destruction.
As he ran he heard the voices and barks get fainter, and figured that his jacket must’ve held them off for a little while. He slid behind a large rock and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. As he examined the knife he remembered one other way to use magic that could help- power sigils. Similar to runes of old, they’d focus magic into a powerful and often raw form, and Max could remember just the one he’d need to take care of a large group like this. Of course, it’d be tricky to spread sand on the ground in the shape with such limited time, but he could always carve it into something.
He heard a large amount of shouting from behind him, and the barking picked up in full again. They must be mad about the jacket, and Max hoped he hadn’t left anything important in it as he got up and started to run again. He needed more time, he needed to formulate a plan. Something with such a faint smell like the jacket wouldn’t cut it a second time. He stopped for a moment and pulled off both his boots before setting off again. He frantically tied the laces together and flung them between the trees as far as he could. He was starting to reach the base of a small hill now, and there wouldn’t be anything worse than getting stuck in between some hills. There were a lot more fallen leaves on the ground here, and as he ran in between the trees his socks snagged once or twice on sharp rocks and his toes knocked against hard roots. The trees here all had incredibly hard bark, and with his relatively dull knife it’d take a good 5 minutes to carve so much as a small line into one. He didn’t have that kind of time. He smashed his feet against more rocks. It was no use, his flesh was just too soft, too squishy…
The man in the eyepatch followed the baying hounds. This man had caused trouble for the last time, and he’d personally see to that. His men informed him that once again, the dogs has gotten distracted with something else belonging to the man, this time his pair of boots. He hated interruptions like this, and made it clear to his men. If only the man had chosen to run over a nice clear plain, he could chase him down with a horse and cut him down personally from on high. But alas, beggars can’t be choosers, and in any case this man’s death promised to be a satisfying one. He ran, leading the charge with his sheath and holster bumping against his legs. No muskets for him, if he had the opportunity he’d take the man out by his own rules, damn it.
He began to jog along with his men again. Their target would have to rest soon enough, after all he was only human. Despite rumors of what he’d accomplished to get in and out of the keep in the fortress of stone, there was nothing else he could be than a man with a bag of tricks. The man in the eyepatch has a good sense for these things, and he was pretty sure that their target was all out of cards to play, and sooner or later they’d have him. Maybe they’d even be able to take him alive, and be able to painfully unravel each dirty trick from his skull. According to the commander-in-chief, he deserved it. After that, he’d be able to do whatever he wanted to the man. He knew most didn’t quite see it, but there was a certain peace and beauty in watching someone else’s hope and life extinguish before your eyes.
His train of thought was interrupted by the dogs, who had gotten a lot louder in a very small amount of time. They must smell blood. Despite being loud, dirty beasts, the man in the eyepatch had to admit they did their job well. There was something primal in their barks, something that made him feel his bloodlust rise up from inside him full throttle, screaming and shouting for more with an unquenchable thirst that had been made known to him all those years ago. As he and his impromptu firing squad reached the peak of a hill, they saw their target at the bottom. He was resting against a tree with his backs to them, seemingly exhausted. His men began to shout again and rushed down to surround him, but something wasn’t right. The man with the eyepatch felt uneasy, there was something off about this. It was too simple, and after all the stunts this man had pulled there was no way in hell he’d let himself get caught that easily. He shouted a quick retreat order, but it was muffled out by the din of the dogs. The man with the eyepatch quickly scrambled for cover, and seconds after he had jumped behind a large tree there was a sound like an explosion as a violent blast of bluish light burst out from the center of the valley. The man with the eyepatch sat underneath the tree for what seemed like half a minute before he heard a creaking sound. He looked up, only to see the thing that protected him from the blast falling towards him, ready to crush him in an instant. He tried to scramble away, but his boot was caught on a root, and he fell face first onto the moss-covered ground. The only thing he could do is scream before he was snuffed out forever.
Max laid on the ground, unable to believe that it had actually worked. He glanced at his chest. It was red and raw, with the carving still etched into his skin and a painful sensation that came with it, as if he had been skinned and cauterized in an instant. He lay his head back down on the ground, and then turned it slowly from side to side to survey the damages. The entire valley had been cleared of trees, as if an arsonist or a sadistic man with a bulldozer had gone to town on it. Amidst the smoking and fallen trees lay the carnage, with some of those closer to the blast still sizzling with a sickly smell. Max didn’t care. He was alive. He raised one hand in the air triumphantly, and then put it to his mouth as he began to cough. His pickup crew would be here shortly, all he had to do was wait. It might not be the comfiest spot, but a short nap couldn’t hurt.
We all know I love Uma. Everyone loves Uma. Uma is my life. But I haven’t talked about her as much as I said i would, so here it is! The reasons I love Uma! But I’m also going to make this about ME so be warned, I’m gonna talk about myself a lot.
I’m planning my DSC zine now, and it follows episodes 1&2 before diverging completely.
So many of the notes are “this thing from the episode doesn’t happen because why would it have happened? So this other, less-overly-dramatic, thing happens instead, so that the escalation is slightly more gradual and not immediate.”
Blaine couldn’t sit still. He was twitchy, nervous, and he’d
just checked his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. His legs swung back
and forth as he fidgeted in the plastic reception chair and he kept tugging on
his bow tie to stop the choking hold it had around his neck.
In just a few minutes he would have to go in and face
whatever was awaiting him. To say he was beginning to have second thoughts was
an understatement. After he’d received a phone call asking him to take part in
this project, he’d thought about accepting the offer for a week, before deciding
enough was enough and that he had to face his demons.
And that was why he was nervous. He was about to face his demons. He was here to see Kurt Hummel for
the first time in a year.