I’ve successfully avoided major spoilers for Trespasser so far, except for one but it’s alright because I kind of found it inevitable and it was already my headcanon for my inquisitor anyways so thats fine anyway it’s the (seriously stop reading if you are avoiding all spoilers for Trespasser) fact that the Inquisitor loses their arm. And I’m losing my shit about it. In a good way. In an excellent way. In the best possible way.
Prosthetics, you guys. So many different kinds of prosthetics.
Mages with runes etched in to their hands, with focusing crystals embedded in to knuckles, with veins of lyrium literally at their fingertips.
Knight Enchanters whose Spirit Hilt is built directly in to their prosthetic. Who trained for hours and hours under the mantra of This blade is an extension of you. It is part of your body. It is part of your soul. Knight Enchanters who can now embrace that truth more literally, who modify their Spirit Hilt so that it runs the length of their prosthetic. So that the magic can come sweeping out in different shapes or forms–a slash of light running alongside their arm, a burst of energy in the form of a repelling shield, or the original swath of magic like a sword sprouting from their body.
Rift Mages who create a prosthetic of their own out of latent sympathetic magic. The powers of the Fade still whisper to them, still catch around their arm where flesh used to be in swirls and eddies, trying to embody what once was there, what memory still holds in fine detail. Rift Mages who have temporary prosthetics made out of condensed magic. Who cast Stone Fist quite literally now as their formed hand goes rocketing forward. Rift Mages who can curry the favor of small wisps and delicate spirits that will hover around their arm and perhaps hold a thing or two until it is needed.
Necromancers who stride in to battle and capture the spirit of fallen enemies in order to create an ethereal prosthetic that’s faster and stronger than any human hand. Raising the dead to guard their left flank because they are not so readily able to defend it now. Necromancers who know exactly what a raised corpse is capable of depending on its state of decay, on what it still has, on what it is missing–and who know exactly how much they are still capable of.
Rogues with weapons built in to their forearms. Crossbows easily winched and fired. Static hands that can hold a bow steady.
Artificers who well know how to make, and maintain an articulated prosthetic–just as delicate as any one of their carefully spun traps. Artificers who embed their prosthetics with traps, who make little compartments full of dangerous things. Rogues who rig their prosthetics as a last resort, leaving it behind to explode and rain hell on unsuspecting enemies.
Assassins who hide deadly poisons in the spiked fingertips of their prosthetics. Who store terrible venoms in small vials carefully slotted in to the thing. Assassins who use the fact that their enemies will underestimate the false hand–see it as a weakness and a liability. Assassins who play that to their advantage, use it to strike when it’s least expected. Assassins with retractible blades hidden in the wrist in such a way that would make Ezio envious.
Tempest rogues who coat their arrows with concoctions embedded in their arms. Who can release compressed smoke from hidden compartments. Fast. Chaotic. Pulling one alchemical mystery after the next out of thin air, rigging their prosthetics like the Artificers do–except this one explodes with fire and ice and fury.
Warriors with heavy-wrough prosthetics to suit their more aggressive fighting style.
Champions who have shields latched on to their arm–quick release built in, in case of emergencies. Who can throw their entire body in to a shield blow, because the shield is part of them now. Champions with prosthetics of gilded silver and gold that can be raised, gleaming to catch the light and inspire defiance in the face of overwhelming odds. Champions with prosthetics that are essentially an extension of their armor, throwing their arm forward to take the blow that would have slain a friend, and continuing fearlessly where their flesh would’ve other wise been torn asunder.
Reavers with prosthetics embedded with spikes. With rivulets carved so that streams of blood flow along it with grotesque ease. Reavers with prostetics permenantly stained with the blood of each enemy felled, who can work themselves in to the beginning of a frenzy by scenting the blood that has seeped so deeply in to the limb. Reavers who charge on ever further, ever more enraged if the prosthetic is damaged–their fury only fueled by its destruction.
Templars who–like mages–have lyrium imbued in to their prosthetic, and may call upon it when it is needed. Templars who have etched their crest or passage from the Chant in to their new limb. Templars who summon the Wrath of Heaven with their glowing prosthetic, lifting it to the air as the lyrium in it burns and sizzles, and then slamming it down with the pillar of light like the fist of the Maker himself.
If not imma be up all night trying to figure out what tf these boys are doing at this after party
Tae (talking to some random artist):
"See this watch *smirks* Gucci"
*busting out lit, sexy, amazing dance moves causing all the girls (even me just thinking about it) to drool*
*probably hanging out with the other under age stars who can't drink but are still getting lit. Not to mention causeing lots of women to stare at his breath taking visuals* lol or just hanging out with JB.
*not letting the award out of his hands and paying more attention to it than anything else*
*trying every edible thing in the buffet... and coming back for thirds*
*getting lit everyday possible. If he breaks something all the girls will probably laugh and think it's the great thing ever because he did it (lol I would)*
*searing for Camila HA* *smirk* probably getting his sexy dance on with hobi
Merthur!au : After a heavy blow to the head, Merlin finally regains consciousness. But it turns out Merlin has forgotten everything about his life at Camelot. Arthur tries his best to help him remember : he tells him how they met, where they stand now, and everything in-between. As it doesn’t work, Arthur suggests Merlin should resume to his usual chores, that maybe the routine will ring a bell. But as time goes by, Merlin still can’t remember anything and Arthur starts to think he’s lost him forever. However, and as always, it is when you expect it the least that the sun comes out….
Random 5am thought I had instead of sleeping last night…er, morning. I’ve been in this fandom 2 years and somehow this never occurred to me:
Did anyone ever think about the logistics of having that many puppies in one room when they keep the recruits in the same dorm? They are tiny puppies. A bunch of tiny puppies who haven’t been trained yet. Was part of Kingsman training seeing how they survive sleep deprivation? Did the recruits take shifts to try and get at least some sleep, leaving someone awake to deal with tiny puppy bladders and accidents and any other assorted chaos at 4am?
I’m now imagining a bunch of crying and sleep deprived recruits in the dorm just begging the puppies to let them sleep. Just one hour, please for the love of god.
The puppies just blink up at them with their big innocent eyes. The puppies are the real test to see who the strongest are.
Stressing what stress ? I can totally do this ! *internally* I'm gonna die I'm gonna die oh god I'm gonna die fuck fuck I should have gone to sleep earlier instead of learning the inner mechanics of a bomb - breathe. You can do this - Nononono I can't !
I am prepared. No way am I going to fuck this up. And even if I fail, I won't die.
I HAVE READ MY LESSON WHAT MORE PREPARING DO YOU WANT ? C'mon, let's do this. I am fine. *internally* I'm not prepared crap i knew I should have worked more and not watched that last ep well too late to go back now
*rereads the lessons* I almost know these by rote sshhh don't disturb me.
<b>Me:</b> it's bad today. Really bad. I should tell someone. They said I need to reach out when I need help.<p/><b>BPD:</b> don't be childish, you're 22, you can't ask for help forever, you should be fucking able to care for yourself! Also you don't really need help, you're just seeking attention you manipulative bitch! Now grow tf up, take way too many meds, get drunk, think about why you're all alone and should die and don't forget to cut before you cry yourself to sleep!<p/><b>Me:</b> ...right<p/></p>