I'm sorry but Grian's last stand!!! hello??!?!?
My man took on a 3v1 and was fucking WINNING. He lowered all 3 of them by so much! He alone in that fight dropped Scott from 35 to 12 hearts and Gem from 49 down to 5 (+10 for killing Grian) (I've not seen Impulse's ep yet).
But like?? yes King pop OFF
He even fought until his shield BROKE, fighting till the very last minute!!
Say what you want about this man and his easy flightiness with alliances when they begin to break apart, but this man had a mission and he fucking delivered on it and we stan a committed man
He managed to hold his own against a very good PVP player and he fucking owned it
The tragedy of it? He knew he wasn't going to win. Of course he wouldn't against the best PVP player in the server, a previous winner, and Impulse who consistently performs well in these games. He was surrounded, taking and blocking hits from all directions, throwing himself into the fray when he could have just walked away and waited for a better moment. But no, taking and giving swing after swing, fighting until the very wood of his shield splinters and breaks. He wasn't expecting to win, he could never win with how low his hearts were, but he knew he could bring them part of the way down with him. He just knew Gem and the Scots couldn't be left with their abundance of hearts, and my man sacrificed himself to make sure other players had a fighting chance.
Without him, Gem probably would have won with her stacked hearts
I hope the community milks the ever-loving shit out of this moment
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imelda was from the get go supposed to be the femme fatale but that makes her quick marriage to lance even more important to me
the femme fatale is often characterized as a someone that draws the detective into a mess of shit that usually gives “self destructive”, and originally this is set up to be hunch as her connecting detective but LANCE MAKES SO MUCH MORE SENSE
hunch has his own arc, the detective taking himself more seriously, a detective who makes himself known and finally gets proper recognition. meeting imelda didn’t ruin his life, nor does he revolve around her storywise.
so imelda hits all other femme fatale beats and doesnt Need a male counterpart but we also get TROPES!! she, a wanted woman who is known to the police as a mad-woman who turned from an honest life to crime, meets a police captain (basically stand in chief of police currently) and immediately smooth talks circles around him. lance questions his boss, his job, and his life to chase after this sudden Excitement that he hadn’t allowed himself. literally, brennan says that lance has never felt so Alive.
imelda, the true version of femme fatale, finds her cynical and disillusioned “right side of the law” man, lance, and immediately they run together. then we learn that lance’s concerns is the reason that copper is so easily found in mentopolis doubling down on the “morally ambiguous” trope. she doesnt look at lance and go, actually dont be so wary of everyone, she (because she is impulse and because of how aware she is of the situation they are in) connects to him on his need to just Act.
imelda pulse is such a good femme fatale character and her moment with lance has lived in my head all this week. i cant wait to see how fast this marriage falls out once elias is no longer in that all or nothing space, though trauma, maybe they will stick together for a little longer than any of us are ready for.
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I need everyone to know that speedsters are allergic to nanobots.
No, seriously. They're allergic to nanobots.
Speedsters have absolutely insane metabolisms, which means that they have an absolutely insane immune system. They don't get sick. Ever. Their immune system works at warp speed and takes out germs the second they enter their body. Call germs 'the Rogues' because they're getting tackled by super speedy blurs before they can even think about causing issues.
Okay, so they have a great immune system and don't get sick ever. What does this have to do with nanobots?
Great question! When nanobots are injected into a speedster's body their immune system sees them as a threat. Only problem? It doesn't matter how fast or efficient their immune system is, their body can't destroy a bunch of tiny metal robots.
Because their bodies can't fight off the nanobots they start to display typical cold/flu symptoms instead. Vomiting, fever, runny nose, coughing, being tired, ect. The nanobots aren't causing this reaction. Their own immune system causes this reaction. The fever is the bodies attempt to kill off the 'germs'. The vomiting, runny nose and coughing is the body's attempt to expel the 'germs'. They feel tired because their body is putting everything into fighting off the 'infection'.
In a normal person the nanobots wouldn't even be an issue because they'd be able to avoid detection. They can't avoid detection in a speedster body because their immune systems are dialled up to 500 out of 10.
As a result you get instances like this:
(Inertia had injected Bart with nanobots and Bart had a reaction)
Just an FYI for people because this is extremely fun and versatile information. Especially because none of the speedsters are really aware of this and it doesn't kick in right away. I could totally see a situation where a mission requires nanobot injections and mid mission the speedster goes down out of nowhere. It's also great if you want to do a stereotypical sick fic or something and want to get around that pesky speedster immunity.
Anyway, it's fun information so I thought I'd share
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Knives and forks clink against the dinner plates, metal scraping and laughter, their base drips with water from above. Drip, drip, drip. Impulse watches. It seeps into the center of the table, a growing patch on the wooden grain. Right between the steaks and loaves of warm bread. Nobody pays it any mind. Drip, drip.
(…Nobody but him.)
Etho says something he doesn’t catch, a bark of laughter from Tango. Beads of water splash onto the surrounding food.
Impulse’s hold on his fork goes tight.
He needs to fix that.
“Impulse buddy, you with us?” Skizz shakes his arm, “You agree Scar’s acting weird right?”
“Yeah yeah,” Impulse answers on auto-pilot, “I heard rumors he’s been trying to get kills. Yellow Scar, man.”
Tango cackles and the conversation cycles on. Impulse steels his jaw, he can’t zone out again. Keep pretending, he reminds himself. It wouldn’t be good to stab his teammates at the dinner table. He’d have to clean the table out. Maybe pull out the entrails from the cracks in the grain of wood.
(Drip, drip.)
No, focus.
Focus.
(A faint, metallic scent permeates his senses– gone in a moment.)
Impulse bites into a piece of steak. Buttery juice slides over his tongue and between his teeth. The taste of blood makes his grip on the fork creak. For what feels like the first time in millenia, his glamor itches at his skin. The careful control over his form twitches and squirms like a coiled snake poised to strike.
Show them what you really are, hums in his mind. The dripping echoes like a wardrum. Show them your true face.
Impulse licks at his lips, “You did a nice job, Tango. It’s delicious!”
“Aww!” Tango coos, his flames crackling a soft orange-red, “Etho lent me some seasoning but he won’t tell me where he got the happy happy sauce.”
Impulse takes another bite, canines digging into flesh and bone, and the rip is loud. Or is it loud for him? Again, infernal magic bubbles at the back of his throat. He swallows, appraising the flavor. It doesn’t drown out the sickly sulfur like he hoped.
“Bdubs?” Impulse guesses with a tease.
“Oh come on,” Etho groans, “Ah I guess that was way too easy.”
“He married me too, remember?” Impulse laughs at Etho’s expression, “Can’t blame me for forgetting the best meals I’ve ever had! Bet he’s feeding his family around now.”
Etho waves him off as they cackle at the blush rushing up past the mask. Impulse cuts another piece off the bone. Rip, snrk, clink. Idly, he wonders if human skin still made the same noise.
The clink of metal against the plates, the dull pounding of water. The snap-crackle of Tango’s fire. Buttery-sweet blood coats his tongue.
He remembers the musky smell of Etho's burning hair and flesh, his screams turned into bloody gurgles as he flailed in lava in the first game. Just minutes before everything ended.
Impulse tears off a chunk of meat.
(Snrrk, clink.)
People die in so many ways. It’s why he loves the variety poison provides— stomachs twisting and lungs seizing— and yet he wonders if anybody’s tried skinning someone, if the server would even allow it.
Impulse swallows a dark laugh, is vivisection on the table? His glamor shivers.
Metal catches the light, the smooth shimmer taking him back. To sharp arrowheads and snapping magma, to a castle reaching into the sky.
He remembers a golden clock.
(Rip, snrk, clink.)
Impulse remembers the way Bdubs’ flesh bubbled and blistered from the Wither. The way his Red bloodlust sang at the way his corpse crumpled to the ground. Bdubs’ skin growing dark, mottled with blackened streaks and bruised from the Withering and regular battle.
The worst of it healed over, scars stitched into flesh. But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t revel in it, the stained canvas left on Bdubs’ face and arms.
He kissed that face. Peppering them along wither-cracked ribs and arms, tracing every dark and poisoned line with a smile. I’m sorry, he had said. I’m sorry.
He meant it. (Yes, really.)
Impulse hadn’t meant to curse Bdubs with chronic pain and scars, especially since he had to feel the echoes of it through the soulmate bond. He loved Bdubs. Loved him since the beginning.
And he remembers the rip-schk! of the ax in his back.
The way his blood pooled on the grass as everything went dark.
The phantom feeling of Pearl’s wolves tearing flesh from bone in long strips and bites. Riiiip-snrk-crunch.
Blood dripping from between their teeth.
(Drip, drip.)
Impulse stabs his fork a little harder into the next cut, picturing a handsome face with a cute and crooked grin. Damn him. He glares down at his plate. No, focus. Pretend, he tells himself, you’re good at that, aren’t you?
There’s a hand over his, warmer than it should be. He looks up.
Tango has cocked an eyebrow up with a cute little nose crinkle, “You in?”
Impulse blinks, the words registering in his head.
“Yeah, sure,” He grins, “A walk sounds great. I think I’m tired of Skizz’s stink overpowering the place. We really need to install some ventilation.”
“Hey!”
And they laugh, bright and loud as Skizz pouts, checking his armpits. The glasses shake as Tango rattles the table with a smack, a cackle on his lips. Etho’s eyes twinkle with amusement.
Impulse’s focus drifts. Back to the present, away from the blood.
(Drip, drip.)
And yet.
(Rip, snrrk, clink.)
…The hunger prevails.
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