#so maybe not the man to call in a stealth situation

[dork-a-doodle]

Well if it isn’t Mr Goodtimes himself! The only character (so far) who’s hero name in no way reflects his miraculous lmaooo

His power, Pinpoint, is effectively just the Allay’s basic function? If given an item he can instantly locate others of that item in a certain area. Ex: if you gave him a chocolate bar, he can know where every other chocolate bar in a mile radius is (exact distance not concrete, haven’t made up my mind on that yet). V much one of those powers that needs to be used creatively to be useful.

He’s also the only character whose day job I have nailed down: he’s a zookeeper! And the Canadian Lynx exhibit, home to the one and only Jellie, is his favorite to work in. He’s also the only one Jellie lets pet her.

Somehow, most of his scars are not from working there.

And of course as a hero he’s partnered up with many others, but his first and most trusted ally is ConVex, aka Cub. One of the few people who know his identity (and vice versa).

Fun fact: while designing HotGuy I pulled inspo from more modern hero designs, but while designing ConVex I pulled from Silver Age costumes 😁 I wanted their costumes to be a contrast and also a reflection of each other, and that was one way I thought to do it, among other things (their “wings” being a personal favorite of mine)

I’ll get to Cub’s ref sheet eventually, tho I can’t promise it’ll be next

[velvetvexations]

hello velvet this is going to be a lot abt hate crimes in abstraction (by which i mean, not about an Actual Hate Crime That Happened) but i wanted to warn u in case that was too much for comfort <3

my partner is stealth transmasc, and when you say this i think a lot of people interpret it as "Passes All The Time, Every Time". of course that's not what "stealth" means (it means low/no disclosure... it's flexible bc it's slang, but "stealth" tends to imply intention, it's something you do on purpose for safety reasons). the misconception is irritating most of the time, but i also think its actively dangerous and contributes directly to the erasure of transmasculine oppression. like, i keep seeing people refuting the statement "being stealth is a hostage situation" with "well im stealth and im not scared of being outed" as if it has anything to do with personal sense of fear. youd think that would be obvious.

we live in a blue dot in deeply red state. the difference between our city and where my partner grew up, in the surrounding area, is stark. contrary to popular belief, this doesnt make us safe. he gets threatened with violence walking home alone, he gets called slurs by people that think theyve clocked him as any number of things. you walk fast and dont look behind you when stuff like that happens. none of my friends have been able to answer me when i ask "did they follow you home? do they know where you live?" transfem friends too! it's almost like we're more alike in experiencing transphobia than we are different. who'd've thought.

im thinking abt this bc we travel via greyhound and the last station we left was very very poorly maintained - arent they all? - and in the mens restroom, every door to every stall had a broken lock. my partner joked abt taking a "risky pee" lol, and if it wasnt for where we were, who we are, and the time we are living in, maybe the little icepick of fear wouldnt have gotten stuck in me and i wouldve laughed.

the thing that irritates me abt this discourse is that this type of white knight, tme-in-bio transmasc (or associate) does not at all seem to recognize the danger inherent to being stealth, to looking sort of like a man if the ppl around you are not violent transphobes looking for a fight. they are so consumed by this idea of trans-male privilege that they dont even recognize the danger they are in. often times i think its bc of their own individual privilege. maybe they live in a more trans-friendly region than i do. maybe theyve never met a transphobe, never been called slurs from a speeding car that almost hit you, maybe theyve never been loudly transvestigated in public. i really, sincerely hope they never do. but they take that and apply it to other transmascs far less fortunate and dont even recognize the erasure they are contributing to. bc everyone knows only transfems get hate crimed! who else ever would?

they think that no one has ever clocked them (how? are you a mindreader?), they think that if they look enough like a cis man, "other" cis men wont hurt them, cis women wont be Able to hurt them. they think thats true of every transmasc thats been a year+ on t. it's juvenile. it's icarian. it's misogyny dressed up as solidarity and chivalry. and it's not even fucking true. the vast majority of Any trans person who is trans in Any number of ways is going to face fear and anxiety and the potential for danger in a bathroom.

thank you for sharing anon <3

[project-sonadow]

Happy Hour drabble 1

Sonic on a stealth mission? Honestly, Shadow didn’t know what Rouge was thinking. She might as well have sent Omega.

“Woah, check that out!”

Shadow mentally prepared himself with a deep sigh, turning towards the voice that was the current source of his woes.

On second thought, maybe he would have preferred Omega in this situation, guns and all.

What Shadow was met with was Sonic standing on the curb at the edge of the property, back facing him with a hand pointing out towards a building on the other side of the parking lot. Shadow stepped forward, joining Sonic on the curb and squinting out at a scuffed red and yellow sign on top of the awning.

“Speedy’s Drive-In Diner.”

Shadow crossed his arms judgmentally. It was exactly the kind of establishment Shadow figured Sonic was intimately familiar with. He could practically smell the chili dogs from here.

”Getting distracted already?” Shadow prodded, the contempt evident in his tone.

How typical of Sonic to start thinking about food of all things in the middle of a mission. He could practically hear his whining already—insisting that they drop everything to go get whatever vile concoction he was craving that day.

But surprisingly, Sonic just shook his head.

“No, look at the servers over there. They’re serving food on roller skates!”

Shadow stared across the parking lot. Sure enough, he could see three servers maneuvering around the tables and cars that surrounded the diner, each of them balancing trays of burgers and fries and precariously placed milkshakes. They moved with an unexpected amount of poise, sailing around the lot and delivering food to waiting customers without spilling drop nor crumb.

Shadow was almost impressed. Almost—and that was certainly something he wasn’t about to admit. Sonic’s entrancement, on the other hand, was plain to see. He let out a long whistle.

“Man, that looks pretty fun!”

“We’re not here to have fun, Arthur,” Shadow snapped, emphasizing the code name as if the other needed a reminder.

“Yeah, yeah, you’d never let me forget that.” Sonic rolled his eyes, arms thrown behind his head dismissively. Even so, the sly look didn’t leave his face, and his grin only seemed to grow as he shot a look at Shadow.

”Say, I think you’d be pretty good at that. Since you already….y’know…”

Sonic pointed down at Shadow’s rocket skates.

Shadow didn’t know whether he wanted to smack Sonic’s head or his own. Regardless, he wasn’t about to entertain him with a proper response.

“I think you should learn to focus.” He scoffed, preparing to walk back towards the repair shop. But before he could take another step, there was the unmistakable sound of quick feet against pavement—not exactly “Sonic-fast,” but fast enough to steal back his attention.

By the time he looked back, Sonic was already halfway across the parking lot.

“I think I’ll take a closer look,” he called back with a wink. “Don’t wait up for me, Lance!”

I’m going to kill him. Shadow thought, fists balled at his sides. And then I’m going to kill Rouge.

[synthient]

Other misc mind of evil stuff:

The Doctor's "I am a scientist, and I've been one for thousands of...!" line as retroactive timeless child slip

Scene transition where the Doctor's face is superimposed over/morphs with the Master's (or maybe it was the other way around. Either way Hello)

Jo Grant shooting her way out of the hostage situation. Jo Grant ending up in two back-to-back hostage situations because she refused to leave the prison/stop checking in on the amnesic man after getting kidnapped the First time. Jo Grant carefully breaking the single tiny tea biscuit in half so they can share. Jo Grant

I just really like the scene where we cut to the machine Being Evil By Itself in an empty room, and we just sort of start flinging the camera around to convey its Evil Machinations

The Master listening to Evil Music on his Evil Radio....I did in fact think it was nondiagetic! (Nonzero chance that this is what that line was stealth-referencing)

Everything about The Two Of Them & particularly the "frantically trying to restart your other heart" scene is of course insane. No new ground I can break here I'm sure, I just don't think I fully understood how On Purpose it all was from Day 2

When they decided to use a stock still-image establishing shot featuring a Very Prominent And Visibly Motionless Body Of Water for no reason <3

Outfits. (Jo's leather jacket and turtleneck combo doesn't go quite as hard as the skinned-a-cookie-monster coat and ludicrously big parasol, but I still respect it. The cape.........)

The dragon (moral: there was a dragon)

The Doctor's entry point into the plot isn't actually the Unit-involvement that would've pulled him in anyway. It's that he heard about the "brainwashing prisoners into Goodness" machine and independently decided that it was evil & he should try to get it shut down. And if this is the Master (either consciously or unconsciously) calling back to the brainwashing-into-goodness machine that the Doctor used on him....

The Doctor's worst fear (before even the daleks) being fire....retroactive regeneration baggage....he's a star, a solar energy source, and yet he was raised to to believe that all he could do with that power/heritage was burn himself alive, so now all he associates it with is pain....

Oh man I forgot about the scene where the Doctor is trying to explain Bessie. You Know, My Car, Whose Name Is Bessie to a 😑 faced Master. The Doctor goes "my, you know," [does a little mime routine of a steering wheel], and the Master hits it right back moments later with "my..." [gay little pantomime of fisticuffs to indicate that he's talking about his Goons]

Wait the wiki trivia says Delgado slipping on the spilled water jug was an accident that they kept in. Their unscripted looney tune antics

[camo-art]

MTA OC WARDROBE:

Pearce – Virtual Adept

Before the general data I'll explain more about the clothes my man here usually wears – This ended being longer than expected so is a presentation as well.

BTW, someone asked me the Mage the ascension ways. I'm aware of your question, and I'm working on the answer, but please be patient because Mage is a complex game and I want to give you and everyone who want to play Mage a good explanation. Now, lets gooo!

Tradition: Virtual Adept

Rank: Master

Areté: 5

Favorite magik sphere: Correspondence/Data

About Pearce:

He is a computer engineer and a hacker technomage that focusses on getting information for other Mages and sometimes for other supernatural clients if he thinks they won't cause trouble and have good intentions.

He spend most of his time in the attic of the house the Virtual Adepts and the Society of Ether share in the great Shelter because he has his setting there and he can connect with other Virtual Adepts online.

Sometimes he has to go outside to obtain information and, in specific situations he even has to fight Pentex guards so he is trained and carries equipment for melee and range combat.

He loves riding his motorbike btw.

About his clothing:

From top right to bottom left we have:

1.- The electronic maks he uses, with it he can see more elements like night vision, electronic connections, comunicate, record and is a good helmet for the motorbike, he wears the same base and changes the front masks usually.

2.- The techwear clothes he wears when he has an infiltration mission that requiere brute force, usually to Pentex industries.

3.- Stealth sneakers to infiltrate.

4.- When he goes to a more casual mission where the previous clothes can call attention, he wears dark but common clothes so people thinks is just another random person.

5.- Pearce wearing one of his electronic masks 😄

6.- He always wears a mask to hide his face, he also has the Arcane background so people usually don't remember him. His hairstyle is pretty similar too so the group think he looks like Chisaki.

7.- He also wears anti AI clothes so cameras fail when trying to identify him.

8.- When at home he wears the most comfortable clothes possible (which is like 90% of the time).

9.- Yep, he is a system engineer after all, so he wears a protogen mask when he is alone at home. The characters haven't seen him wearing it but I told the players and now they want to see him wearing it so maybe soon?

I'm tagging @golcorneta because we all want them uploading more content e-e

And @sweetened-condensed-rage because the Mage bingos were a cool interaction, thank you for that idea 😄

[lordmaddie]

Enderal: Forgotten Stories — Ultimate Prophet Asklist

Thank you to jilljoycearts for working so hard to create this massive asklist! You can find the template here.  Answering this for my Prophet OC, the Marksman 😌 Keeping things under a readmore, since it’s long!

[Some things that need to be clarified first!   1) The Marksman isn’t the “intended” Prophet; in his eventuality he caused so much shipping disruption that the Morning Dew would not have made it to Nehrim to pick up the “true” Prophet and Sirius. Hand forced, the Veiled Woman sunk his ship and made him the Prophet instead.   2) He does not have dreams of the Nehrim house/Daddy   3) He didn’t wash up in the same part of Enderal as other Prophets, and so didn’t go through the Abandoned Temple   4) He arrived in Enderal ~2 years before the “true” start of the game (where you meet Jespar in Riverville)  5) There’s a number of quests he's simply not done/even picked up! I have edited/removed some questions to reflect this!]

Basics: 1. Let’s start simple — what’s your Prophet/ess’s name, age, race, etc.? Name: ▮▮▮▮▮▮ [The Marksman] Age: ~25 Race: Kiléan (birth), Half-Kiléan (blood) (doesn’t know he’s only half-Kiléan; other half is something northern, maybe Enderalean) Height: Nice round 6’0” Weight: Heavy. Don’t ask me for specifics ^-^’’

2. Show us what they look like, or describe their appearance in detail. All his art is available on his Toyhouse page. The Marksman is tall and broad at the shoulder. He has black-ish hair, red eyes (unrelated to the Red Madness, I just think it’s cool), and pale skin (though the latter’s due to underexposure to the sun - he’d tan very quickly if he ever went out much in daylight). Years of repetitive use of a longbow has left him with osteophytes (bone spurs) in his shoulders and wrists that impede some of their movement (however their growth was halted when he was made Fleshless). One arm is also larger than the other (but I will never draw this).

Personality: 3. What’s their personality like? During his former occupation (assassin) and unpleasant upbringing (understatement) he got too used to learned helplessness and ignoring his own emotions. Even now as a free man this has left him numb and apathetic; unable to have an emotional response to most situations that call for it. If one occurs, he often finds it confusing or unparseable. Besides that, however, he is confident and fairly easygoing - after all, what could anyone possibly do to him? Complain to the guards? They don’t get paid enough to deal with him. 

4. What do they usually wear — for fighting, traveling, being in the city, relaxing at home? Combat- Layer 1: Shirt, trousers, leather arm-sleeves. Layer 2: Leather torso+shoulder armour, leather armguard (right arm only), leather archery gloves, leather trousers, either soft leather shoes (for stealth) or hard leather boots. Layer 3: Cloth hood+collar+mantle, shoulder-belt (bow + quiver are sheathed/clipped to this), leather double-belt (dagger sheath is buckled to this), leather greaves. Travel- The above, his pack, and sometimes with the addition of a cloak. Non-combat (at home/in the city/etc): Shirt, belt, trousers, “walking about town” boots. Usually also his cloth hood+collar+mantle. All of his clothes and armour are dyed or stained black. If asked, he’d say because it’s practical and “hides stains”. In truth it’s because he’s a little vain, thinks he looks good in black, and likes that people find it intimidating. He owns six of the exact same shirt, which he purchased in bulk.

5. What’s in their travel bag? Varies depending on length of expedition, but usually: food+water rations (dried meat, oats or barley, dried fruit, salt), cooking/eating utensils, needle+thread, bandages, shaving mirror, shaving cup+brush, shaving razor, soap, flint+steel, tinderpouch, whetstone, spare bowstrings, string wax, oil (for his bow), small amount of woodstain (black), spare clothes.

6. Any pets or mounts? None - he’s a poor rider, and has no desire to be responsible for the welfare of an animal.

7. Do they have any treasured possessions? None - the Marksman’s failed to make any emotional connection to or gain any particular fondness for any objects - even his bow.

8. Do they drink/smoke/do drugs?  He’s always up for a pint! (Or eight…). Prefers ale or other beers, but’ll drink almost anything. Absolutely refuses to smoke anything, finding the thought of smoke in his lungs incredibly off-putting. Has no desire to partake in any other drug.

9. Do they have any markings — scars, tattoos, birthmarks? No tattoos or birthmarks. Purposefully rubs salt into wounds he wants to keep the memory of, so they scar. Two major scars: bite scar on left side of neck/shoulder, cut scar on right leg.

10. How would you describe their combat style? The Marksman uses a heavy-draw longbow (warbow) and bodkin (non-barbed) arrows. This is capable of piercing even heavily armoured targets.  Shoots targets from stealth or distance; excellent aim and marksmanship, usually only requires one arrow per target. Middling skill with a dagger, recently learned; agile on his feet but not particularly when striking. Dodges until an opportunity for a lethal blow presents itself, else seeks to disengage. Only engages in melee combat if out of arrows. 

11. Have they ever killed before? Ha ha ha How do they handle combat emotionally? He feels absolutely nothing during combat, and nor in victory or retreat. He used to - he enjoyed fighting - but there’s nothing now. Sometimes he thinks that maybe he should have some kind of feeling about this, but…

12. How did they react to discovering their magical powers? Do they actually use them or hesitate to do so? Has a trick to ‘become precenceless’ - not literal invisibility, rather a confusion of the observer’s senses: in reality he is still visible, but the observer(s) brains do not accept the information from the eyes. If an observer witnesses him engage this trick they remain aware of his presence whilst they are still ‘looking’ at him and concentrating - if they look away or lose concentration, then he cannot be located again until he disengages the trick. This was originally a joke at how stealth works at very high levels in Skyrim et al, but I suppose in his ‘lore’ it’s a kind of Psionics he doesn’t realise he’s casting. Eventually he also learns how to Ghostwalk, but only does it very rarely. In the fanfic I wrote with him, he has a number of other powers pertaining to literally being the Main Character… But that’s just flavour for that story, and not truly part of his ‘lore’. Other than that, he has no magical talent or senses.

13. What’s their education level? How intelligent are they? He’s of no significant intelligence and only rudimentary education - though he did receive tutelage in Inal (Kiléan is his mother tongue). He has a knack for speaking languages, but learns best from exposure and immersion. He can’t read Inal for shit, though.

14. What are they proud of in themselves? What are they embarrassed about? The Marksman is proud of his strength, prowess with his bow… And though he’d never admit it to himself or others, his skill at killing. He’s good at it. He’s rather embarrassed about his awful skills at lying, though… It’s so easy to put fear in people, and yet the second he attempts to utter any untruth it seems everyone possesses a curious telepathy that clocks it immediately!

15. What, if any, aspects of their mother's culture influenced them growing up?  He was not raised in traditional Kiléan culture, rather in an insular and cruel cult of assassins. The children of the cult were purposefully raised without cultural influence to keep them isolated.

16. How honest are they? Under what circumstances would they lie Well, since he can’t lie and the consequences of regular people are ineffectual to him, he generally always tells the truth. He’d attempt to lie if circumstances dictate it, or to attempt to spare the feelings of someone he cares about.

17. What’s their worst memory? How about their best? Worst: The various means employed by his family to turn the children of the cult into killers. He does not talk about it. He does not allow himself to think about it. Best: The dust of the Pit. The baying of the crowd. His bow in his hand. A black-armoured Rhalâim across from him, twin swords drawn. The first time he felt something real and true in years. Let’s see you dance, Marksman!

18. Fight, or flight? Fight, almost always. He doesn’t start them, but by god does he end them! That said, he’s not above a retreat. Honour is no use to a dead man.

19. What motivates them? What do they seek? Absolution. The guilt of his past weighs heavy and choking. The only thing that keeps him from putting himself out of his own misery is the fact that one meagre death - his own - would not right the scales against the sin he’s committed. He allowed himself continued life only so he could, even in part, make up for what he’s done.

20. How do they feel about death? Do they fear it? No. It’s what he deserves, after all. He only asks for a good death - either in pursuit of atonement, or at the hands of someone he trusts to judge him.

21. What (else) are they afraid of? The sea - He never learned to swim, and nearly (actually) drowning will certainly put a fear in a man. He’s likely never getting on a boat again. The Father and Brother Sorrow - At least, when he didn’t have backup. The Petrified - He’s very aware that he’s only ever been a cheap knockoff. Myrads - Yeah he’s never flying on one of those fucking things.

22. How do they act around people they like? People they dislike? And how do they behave when they’re alone? It might be difficult to tell the difference at first… But for someone he likes, he’s loyal; willing to help them, spare a thought for them, to back them up even unasked. An enemy of his friend is, well… A very dangerous position to be in. For someone he dislikes, he’s not willing to listen to them, or even be in their presence. If unable to leave, he makes his displeasure clear by being as difficult and/or as threatening as he can get away with being.

23. What do they do to lower their considerable stress? Describe their perfect day off. The Marksman’s got an awful habit of trying to ignore problems he can’t resolve. Stomp down on that stress, shoulder those burdens, plumb the ever-decreasing mines of ‘It Is What It Is’! A perfect day off, though: A nice breakfast (salted porridge, bacon, tea, an orange), going to see the minstrels capering or listening to the bards, getting some house-chores done, the evening spent with a loved one (😏).

24. List three of their favorite things and three things they hate. Favourite: Ale - bitter, for preference. What can I say, he’s a bit of a fiend. Oranges - the sweetness, the intense taste! Plus it keeps scurvy away. Eggs - eggs are truly the perfect foodstuff. Filling, nutritious, and so easy to cook! Hated: Bright sunlight - Hurts his fucking eyes, limits opportunities for stealth, usually means he’s awake long past he wants to be (naturally inclined to be nocturnal). Snow/slush - The cold night or even the chill of winter is fine, pleasant even, but snow? It sticks and melts and makes your clothes miserably wet. Impractical opulence - Sometimes opulence is practical, such as when some authority wants to show off how powerful it is by having a fancy building, or a merchant wants to advertise their business acumen by displaying their wealth. But most times? Why do you need to much stuff, especially when it doesn’t do anything? Oh, your family is rich? Literally who asked?

25. What makes them angry? And how do they act when they’re mad? Anger no longer comes easily to him - but when it does it takes him by surprise, making him lash out unthinkingly. Nailaq and Aixon made him angry, the former by saying that he reminded him of Qalian, and the latter by being super annoying.

26. What do they regret? All the murders he did as a former assassin, and the pride + professional satisfaction they took in it. Also: not pushing Arantheal off the Sun Temple when he had the opportunity.

27. In moments of despair, who or what do they turn to for guidance? Oh, he bottles that shit up big time. Even if he’s literally in the trenches of misery, won’t talk about it (unless someone he loves asks…).

28. Let’s talk about their nightmares. Have they always had them? Yes - most nights, he dreams something about his past in Kilé. It’s a product of his guilty mind, and he’s long resigned himself to it. The nightmares get worse/more frequent the more stressed he is.

29. How would they describe themselves, in their own words? Would most likely misunderstand the context of the question and answer in literal terms: “Kiléan. 25. I have a bow. You have eyes, why are you asking?”

30. Is your Prophet/ess inspired by any other characters? I fear greatly that my subconscious has produced them from some source that would embarrass me if intuited. The Marksman didn’t exist as a character until I’d finished the Rhalata questline in my recent Enderal playthrough - I accepted the consequences of my choice with Qalain, but I did have a niggling thought that I could come up with an argument that would’ve saved Tharael even with Qalain unspared. The Marksman was designed to be a mirror to Tharael - someone who’d done equally bad things, but importantly still thought himself capable of atonement for them.

31. Share a song (or a few) that remind you of them. LISTEN TO MY MARKSMAN PLAYLIST: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLZc5-Jlvqmo2zV4f3eHYgmdghoGWa-S6-&si=iL1aLHjcf0PtkK4s Carrion (Corpse) at the end… Because that’s how he leaves you >:)

32. On the topic of music — can they sing? What does their voice sound like? Can they play any instruments? The Marksman sings like a strangled cat, and only after he’s had a drink far too many. No musical talent whatsoever, and would struggle with the finesse required for a lot of instruments due to the loss of dexterity in his fingers.

The before: 33. What was their life like before coming to Enderal? Pretty shit! Of course there was the various unpleasant means that were employed by his cult to train the children into assassins. After, they’d be sent out on contracts: supervised at first, then on their own. They were started out with easy kills - people you’d want to kill, murderers and rapists, and you’d be told all about their crimes. The contracts would slowly, subtly transition into more and more ‘normal’ people, and increasingly vile murders.

39. What led them to the decision to leave Nehrim Kilé? He didn’t want to be with his family anymore. Fleeing Kilé was a necessity; if he’d stayed on the islands he’d surely be tracked down. The Marksman chose to escape to Enderal as he knew some Inal.

40. What subtle cultural differences did they notice when they arrived on Enderal? What did they struggle with the most — unfamiliar food, strange traditions, or something else? The concept of the Paths was extremely confusing and nonsensical. He never bothered to wrap his head around it, since being foreign means he’s Pathless anyway.

Main quest: [Note: Tharael joins the Marksman for the entirety of his main quest journey]41. How did their journey begin? What were their feelings about being thrown into a major investigation right from the start? After completing the Rhalata questline and adventuring with Tharael for a number of months, the two decided to start taking on bounties. This sent them to Riverville, where Jespar found them at the bounty board and offered to buy them a drink - which is what convinced the Marksman to hear him out (even though it was like 9/10 in the morning…! They had small beer and breakfast, though, nothing major). Since Jespar’d paid, and they were there to make use of themselves anyway, they agreed to help him.

43. How did they react to meeting Tealor Arantheal and learning about the Cycle? Arantheal dangled the promise of absolution before the Marksman like keys jangled in front of a baby - claiming that all sins would be forgiven if the Cleansing was averted. The Marksman fell for it hook, line, and sinker - helping Tharael kill the Father was supposed to be adequate atonement, and in the wake of that failure he was desperate for another purpose.

44. The visions of the Echo of the Past and the true nature of the Prophet — how did they respond to those revelations? Honestly, the Marksman kind of didn’t listen to a lot of the stuff he was told - filing it away in his mind as “wizard nonsense I don’t understand”. He does not like experiencing the Echo - it makes all his muscles lock up, he sees a flash of bright light, the vision/voices are far too loud, and he gets a headache. Experiencing too many Echoes consecutively starts giving him heart issues.

45. What were their thoughts on joining the Order? Did they feel honored, wary, trapped?  It was done on sufferance, only because Arantheal insisted it was needed, and he did not mean a single of the vows he uttered.

46. How long did they spend in Aixon’s realm, and what was that experience like for them? All of five minutes, probably - Aixon pissed him right off from the get-go. He couldn’t stand his whining, insults, and tiresome comments on the philosophy of reality (who spends time thinking about this shit? If reality is real? Who CARES if you can’t DO anything about it??). He lashed out, ending the dream.

47. How did their first encounter with the High Ones go? What was their reaction to facing such beings? Like Aixon, he didn’t listen. He was in no mood to pay attention to weird ghosts telling him how shit he was.

48. How hopeful were they after discovering the old Pyrean Beacon prototype in Old Dothulgrad? Cautiously hopeful… And yet it felt like looking at an hourglass and noticing how little sand was left in the top bulb. He never expressed this feeling to anyone.

49. What are their thoughts on the Aged Man? The Aged man had a lot to say to the Marksman, mostly about how he’d “fucked everything up” and “made too many changes” (he knew, of course, that one such as the Marksman was never supposed to be an Emmisary, knew the Marksman’d never successfully stop the Cleansing, and was resigning himself to yet another Cycle)... The Marksman’s thoughts on the matter are basically summed up as “Creepy house. Weird mannequins. Was quite rude.”

50. How did they process the news of an impending war with Nehrim — Taranor Coarek’s warships nearing Enderal’s shores? By not processing it at all. He had enough on his plate with the Cleansing! Besides, it’s not as if he has a particular love or loyalty for either Enderal or Nehrim.

51. Coming across their own dead body in the Living Temple must’ve been horrifying — how exactly did they react? He was going through an awful lot at the time (the cleansing, the suspicion that his own time was rapidly running out, having just killed his only true brother, having Firespark die so wretchedly…) so in all honesty he had a total breakdown. Afterwards, when his awful emotions had finally spent themselves, he shouldered his burdens again and tried to Get On With It. He felt a bit guilty about his outburst… Tharael was there to witness it - another lost soul inhabiting a false vessel. Thankfully, Tharael forgave him very easily. Later, once he’d gotten over the shock… Did it really matter, that his body was something fake, made by another? It was his now, belonging to him… And he’d carry on doing whatever he wanted with it.

52. What did they think of Coarek and his companions? How did they feel about the failed negotiations with Arantheal, and the mission's ultimate failure? He found the whole ordeal an utter pisstake and waste of time. Of course two men with egos that size would never agree on anything. He felt resentful that Arantheal managed to convince him on the fool’s errand.

53. Finding Lishari murdered was a major shock most likely — what was going through their head at that moment?  Not a lot… “Damn, what a shame. Anyway.” It occurred to him only later that he probably should’ve had more of an opinion on the events.

54. How did they go about retrieving the three Black Stones? In what order, and why? What emotions came with each journey? They went for the Dal’Galar stone first, as they thought it was in the Undercity. Calia headed them off and set them on the right path. The discoveries in the castle were… Unpleasant, to say the least. As was being forced to listen impotently as the Kiléan mercenaries attempted to have their way with Calia… Then Calia shredding them to paste. The Marksman was greatly concerned for her well-being… But lacked any comfort to give, even though he tried his best. Second stone was Dal'Geyss’. It was easy enough to break in, easy enough to blackmail the man (not easy to be in the presence of a Petrified, though…). But Silvergrove… It hurt. It hurt to know the place was so twisted and wrong, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It hurt to have the child look at him so lovingly, the hope in his voice when he called the Marksman a brother. It hurt to be begged to give mercy, at the end. Not help. Not comfort. Everyone sees him for what he is: a killer. And death is all he has to give. Last stone was Dal’Varek’s. Jespar had received the courier’s package and found his sister’s notes… Fearing the worst, he asked for the Marksman and Tharael to accompany him as backup. Events transpired tragically. Looking upon Jespar’s corpse… He felt it, truly felt the grief of a friend lost. A slippery feeling that defied all attempts to wrangle it, yet thrashed and bit and clawed inside him. Then, of course, the Veiled Woman and Jespar’s resurrection. Again, the Marksman utterly failed to provide any comfort.

55. With Ark under siege and the Nehrimese in the harbor, everything falling apart — how do they take it all in? It made the world finally make sense again, for a brief time. Here were enemies to kill. He had his bow. He knew this dance.

56. What’s their impression of Kurmai and his starship, Gertrude? How did they feel about flying to Star City in search of answers? The starship felt much safer than a Myrad - he’d never seen Starling machinery go wrong, but beasts can be temperamental… He got to enjoy looking at the clouds and the world below. Although… When people said it was a STARship, he expected to go above the stars, and sail through them like a sea. Should’ve called it a cloudship, in his opinion.

57. Do they believe the Beacon can be lit safely using the consciousness of a High One? After all the betrayals, do they still trust Tealor? What’s keeping them going at this point? Well, yes. It was really rather too late in the game to start having doubts… The only thing keeping him going was the desire to finally be absolved… Even though he knew it’d take everything from him.

58. What was their experience like in the City of a Thousand Floods? Harrowing. The fighting was desperate and the Echoes felt like they were going to kill him.

59. When Yuslan makes his move and Tealor abandons them to trigger mass extinction — what goes through their mind? He hardly had time to react to Yuslan’s betrayal. He was unconscious for Tealor’s.

60. How do they react to the Black Guardian’s revelations? Didn’t listen to him either, lmao (and so was spared the 40 minutes of dialogue -_-). Pretty much just hung back, didn’t approach… And certainly didn’t press that button.

61. What’s their final choice — self-sacrifice to save the world, escaping with someone they’re close to to become the last people on Vyn, or… did they take the time to brew a certain special potion? What drove their decision? The Marksman was ready to sacrifice himself to stop the Cleansing - he truly thought he could manipulate things and still do it… But he knew it’d be his end. Tharael convinced him otherwise - the world didn’t deserve to be saved, and the Cleansing was a mercy upon it! They escaped to the Star City, vowing to prepare the way for the Final Prophet, and the true end of the Cleansing. However, if you’ll indulge me… I’ve been musing over a kind of AU, Everything Turns Out Ok in the End (working title). Together, to their end AND the Cleansing’s, Tharael and the Marksman sacrifice themselves into a rudimentary Numinos… The Prophet, a tool of the High Ones and the Cleansing - and a human soul, the source of High Ones… It works, just about. A blow is struck; not lethal, but enough to let this Cycle continue for a time unmanipulated as the High Ones nurse the wound. It takes everything from them. But… There stands the Veiled Woman. An easy task, for her, to subtly alter the terms of their sacrifice: The Prophet, yes… But just that part, not the whole man. And a false human vessel, so similar to how a High One is a false amalgam of human soul. Just similar enough to be adequate… And to allow the men’s souls to be unconsumed. She fashions them new bodies: Same as the old, but utterly mortal. Usual. No more prophetic powers, no more ‘Main Character’ abilities, no more relentless drive of the Fleshless nature. One last round in the arena of a world, yes? A hero’s reward… After all, they did such a service, did they not? And the Veiled Woman gets to take a holiday. She goes to the seaside - all of them, everywhere. With the defeat of the High Ones and the aversion of the Cleansing, everyone comes to their senses… It seems so obvious, in its absence, that events were being maliciously influenced by an outside force. So… Everyone downs arms. Sorts it out. Carves out what peace can be gained. Enderal becomes a vassal state of Nehrim, religion outlawed. But… What people really want is for tomorrow to be like today. Despite everything, everyone wants normalcy back. Those who worked under Arantheal are allowed to live if they swear service to the Free Order (working name; the Nehrimese government in Enderal). They’re allowed to work on seeding clues for the Final Prophet who will avert the Last Cleansing when the High Ones return (which, views on religion aside, everyone can agree is necessary… Plus it keeps Arantheal’s people out the way). They seed the message thusly, all over Vyn: I: IT ALL STARTS WITH THE DREAMS. REMEMBER. II: THE BEACON WILL DESTROY THE ENEMY. III: THE BEACON NEEDS A TARGET; USE THE ESSENCE OF THE ENEMY. IV: THE RULER WILL ABANDON THE PROPHET V: DO NOT ALLOW THE RULER TO BRING THE LIGHT They hope that it’ll be enough. And yet, for Tharael and the Marksman… It doesn’t need them. Oh, Calia and Jespar are useful, and the mages, but… No-one needs a pair of killers, or a former Prophet. Tharael joins the Free Order; the world still needs people like him… Especially to temper the idealists. The Marksman joins the Rhalata.

Characters: 62. What was their first impression of Jespar? First time they met, Jespar offered to buy him a drink so they could discuss Magister Yero… And the Marksman’d never turn that offer down. Initially didn’t have much of an opinion on the man, but found him amusing.

64. Does your Prophet/ess share Jespar’s views on life? Mostly. Living in the moment, for your own happiness… As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else (and, of course, as long your personal scales are fairly balanced…), why is that any worse a life than anything else?

65. What about his views on relationships — are those something they agree with or challenge? He’d agree, even if he does think that Jespar has an odd way of putting it. If you’re not going to be loyal to your partner, if there’s no love, why continue the appearances of a non-existent relationship?

66. How does your Prophet/ess feel about Jespar’s family history? And what are their thoughts on Adila in particular? Remembers to think sympathetically about it, because Jespar makes it clear that it’s something that affected him, but otherwise doesn’t have particularly strong opinions… Everyone has had something awful happen to them. As for Adila… Well, she’s dead now (and Jespar isn’t), so that’s the end of that.

67. Would your Prophet/ess consider escaping with Jespar before the Nehrimese invasion of Enderal? What about after everything is over? No. The end of the Cleansing will be his atonement. Nothing would’ve swayed him from that course. And afterwards…? He’s not getting on a fucking boat ever again, so that rules out leaving Enderal 😅.

68. What does the Prophet/ess like about Jespar? What do they dislike?  He loves Jespar’s stories of his adventures and experiences, and always listens raptly. He finds his jokes funny, even if he doesn't get some of them (Jespar is FLIRTING WITH HIM and the Marksman is oblivious). Plus, the man's always down for a drink!

Seeing Jespar's sorry state in the Silver Cloud was difficult - he honestly thought better of him.

69. What was their first impression of Calia? Appreciated how she was at least polite, unlike the other novice.

70. How did learning about Calia’s childhood and the disturbing story from her past affect your Prophet/ess? He wishes he could be the kind of friend she needs.

71. What was it like meeting her “second soul” in Old Dothulgrad? How did they handle it? Gave her a little round of applause - didn't realise this wasn't something she was doing on purpose.

Forgave her the needless brutality of the kill - sometimes you just want to make sure the dead stay dead, you know?

72. How exactly did your Prophet/ess manage to grow closer with Calia? What are their common views and opinions? They both agree on attempting to make the world a better place (though of course for the Marksman, it's to atone for his misdeeds).

Calia thinks she sees some good in him… She might be right.

73. Was discovering the full truth about Calia’s past a shock? How did your Prophet/ess choose to support her? He can only settle for being a cautionary example for what happens if you fail to resist your own evils.

74. Does your Prophet/ess believe that embracing Calia’s demonic half is the right path forward? Or do they see it as a weapon to use — or something that needs to be purged permanently? It would be nice - fairytale, even - if it could be purged… But that's not how the word works.

Everyone has the capability of evil within them… Calia is no different, even if her’s is a separate entity placed there against her will. 

He thinks her demonic half should always be resisted.

75. What does the Prophet/ess like about Calia? What do they dislike? The Marksman greatly admires Calia’s fortitude, bravery, and willpower for resisting her demon. He also recognises that she's genuinely a good person, and that she's managed to hold onto that despite everything she's been through.

He's found little to dislike her for.

76. If your Prophet/ess ends up in a romantic relationship, what is it like? How do they express love, and what’s their dynamic as a couple? The Marksman is loyal, unflinchingly, though often finds little opportunity to express it. He tries to show his care through little things - boiling enough water for two, remembering to pick up something needed from the Marketplace, taking on his partner’s chores or tasks to make things easier… He has no experience with romance, and his observation of other people's relationships seems to glean no useful pointers for his own with Tharael. If asked about love, he would describe it as someone who’ll bring you back from the cliff’s edge, if you can't come back yourself. Someone who'll take the blade you hold to your throat… Or tell you if you should cut. A loved one is someone who can judge you.

Lastly… He's a bit of a dog, ngl. Greedy with his desires, if the leash is allowed to slip.

Factions: Rhalata: 77. Has your Prophet/ess fought in the Dust Pit of the Undercity? What made them do that? Yes - it made him nostalgic for home, as his siblings-in-training would fight one another to keep their combat skills sharp. Earning a bit of gold was an afterthought.

78. What are their thoughts on Tharael’s ideas? And what do they think of him as a person? The Marksman desired him from the get-go, though never made a move at the time (and Tharael was far too concerned with his revenge to even notice). As the questline progressed, he saw a lot of himself in him and had great sympathy for the horrors he’d been forced to endure. He fully agrees with Tharael’s view of the world, though his views on relationships and the like… He did agree. Until he heard Tharael say it, at which point he had a major “is that what I sound like??” moment. He realised it was a sad and empty existence.

79. Do they believe Nailaq deserves to live? Absolutely not! Would’ve killed him himself, had Tharael not deserved the kill.

80. When it comes to Sister Pride — did your Prophet/ess choose to kill or spare her? Why? The Marksman would not compromise the mission. Even if she hadn’t begged for death, he would’ve killed her.

81. Tharael or the Father — who did they side with, and what was the reason behind their choice? Tharael, all the way, from the very beginning - their situations were so similar, after all. The Father’s arguments (“The children were sick and would’ve died anyway.” “I am a scientist.”) utterly failed to convince him… And he suspected the Father was lying about a lot of it to make himself look good, anyway.

82. What do they think about the Father's goals? And what about the methods he uses to pursue them? Utterly reviles them, and agrees with Tharael that the Father is evil incarnate. It was nothing but sensless torture and slaughter of children for personal gain!

83. If they chose Tharael, how did the ending of the questline go? Before fighting the Father, they vowed to each other: His end, or ours. The Marksman took that quite literally… He would not allow Tharael to go off that cliff alone. Thankfully, he convinced him to have a second chance at life.

84. If things went well — how is their life now with the new housemate? In the Refuge, the Marksman presumed Tharael utterly uninterested in anything besides perhaps friendship, so he politely locked away his feelings to mourn later. After the Rhalata questline, he dedicated himself to looking after Tharael - keeping them both busy to distract from… Everything that’d happened. Eventually they return to Ark and Tharael settles in the spare room. However, despite his promises of a path to atonement for them both, the Marksman has no idea how to actually move towards that goal… And a life of quiet domesticity was not for the likes of them. Eventually it was Tharael who suggested taking on bounties. Some time after the end of the Rhalata questline - maybe half a year or so? - The Marksman decides it’s time to open that lock in his mind, so he can move on from his unrequited feelings. This does not go as planned… His feelings are insistent, distracting, and he cannot dismiss them as he intended. Worse, he doesn’t know what to do with them and doesn’t know how to shoot his shot… He borrows a book on romance from the Ark library, but it’s all flowers and poetry and other useless advice. Tharael clocks him acting more and more strangely, quickly works out the reason, and gets increasingly fed up with it until he takes matters into his own hands.

Golden Sickle:  85. How did joining the Golden Sickle go for your Prophet/ess? He turned up, agreed to beat up the beggar for Rogash, was cursed out for it, and told to join the Rhalata. So he went to the Undercity to (attempt to) do just that. The Golden Sickle has since been ignored.

World, game and lore: 93. How is their story paced? How long does it take your Prophet/ess to complete the main quest?  It goes by incredibly fast, I think - a matter of months, less than a year. Not enough time to question what’s going on.

94. Do they change over the course of the story? In what ways? Most of the Marksman’s personal growth occurs during and after the Rhalata questline. For the main quest… He is fully self-deluding himself and tunnel-visioned on the goal of stopping the Cleansing, so there’s little room for reflection.

95. How do they view the concept of fate versus free will in their journey? Do they believe they’re destined for something, or do they shape their own path? He believes he’s shaping his own path and doing what he wants…

96. What do they think of Enderal in general? Thinks it’s alright, strange religion opinions aside. He doesn’t want to go back to Kilé and doesn’t feel any desire to explore other countries, so…

97. What is their opinion of the gods (or lack thereof)? And what about Tealor Arantheal in particular? The Marksman was never a religious man… The gods never helped him, so he doesn’t dedicate any headspace to them. He finds Tealor pretty unlikeable - the man is far too used to giving orders and having them obeyed unquestioningly, which the Marksman finds grating.

99. If given the chance, would your Prophet/ess ever side with Coarek? Tell us more about their political views. No - thinks him exactly like and as bad as Arantheal. He considers politics (and laws) something that happen to other people. A fine enough system for society in general, to keep order (very important)... But personally, he only obeys laws he agrees with.

101. If they had one question to ask the Living Temple, what would it be? “Can you put Firespark back to normal, please.”

102. Is there good in the Black Libra’s activity? Can the Night of the Blind Daughters be justified by everything else they presumably did to punish sinners protected by their status? He was cautiously agreeable with their goals until Tharael revealed it was all based on the dreams/visions of some magic child. Plus he sees no value in the Night of the Blind Daughters - especially in the unnecessary and abhorrent way the killings were done.

103. How did it feel to witness Lishari’s final hours from within her mind? Do they find the Word of the Dead useful as a tool? Or do they feel like some lines should not be crossed? Bad - I headcanon that the Word of the Dead forces you to experience and feel the deceased’s entire death - and when it releases you, there’s a horrible moment where your own body thinks that it’s dead, too. He didn’t have a chance to develop any particular attachment to Lishari, though, so the fact that it was her death wasn’t significant to him. He wouldn’t consider it a line to be crossed - if he bothered to think on it, he’d consider the Word of the Dead as a tool that produces some kind of vision like the Echo, not some intrusion into another.

105. Speaking of, do they carry a shard of the Sigil Stone to protect themselves from the Red Madness? Why or why not? Yes, he believes what he’s told about it protecting him.

106. What do they think of Magister Yero — his ideas, his life story, and the conclusions he came to? He can’t read Inal very well at all, so he read none of the letters or diaries - they were given straight to Jespar.

107. Were they familiar with the concept of other eventualities? If they had full access to the Plainswalker, how would they use it? Any and all “wizard nonsense” is ignored… He doesn’t bother to even try to learn about magic. He wouldn’t use the Plainswalker… There’s nowhere he wants to go. He did not help Yuslan with this quest.

109. Any particular place they want to visit on Vyn? And on Enderal? Why? Nowhere else on Vyn, but in Enderal he’d like to spend more time exploring the Suncoast and Farmer’s Coast - the climate agrees with him, and he’s less likely to encounter annoying enemies such as Crystal Elementals.

110. How do they spend their time when staying in Ark? He doesn’t like spending much time idling about in Ark. When in the city, he deals with purchasing supplies, keeping his house, weight-lifting or sparring with Tharael, going drinking with Tharael, Jespar, and/or Calia (the latter when she’s not busy with her Keeper duties). If he wants to practice archery he goes off to the woods to shoot at deer or birds - he’s banned from the butts in the soldier’s barracks. He can’t butcher his kills, so he trades the carcasses with hunters for already butchered meat.

111. Do they enjoy the Ark theatre? Do they have a favorite play — or do they prefer bard songs? Or maybe they’re more drawn to the art gallery or museum? Tell us about their cultural and artistic tastes. The Marksman is a HUGE fan of jesters, minstrels, joculators, clowns, and magicians (the kind that use sleight-of-hand… actual magic is boring). He’s never before heard any of the jokes and always laughs. Loves to hear bardsong, too, since he hadn’t heard any of the songs before coming to Enderal. His favourites are “Wayward Wanderer”, “Wildmages”... And, of course, “Night of the Raven”, from the black-eyed bard in the Undercity.

112. Where do they stay while in Ark? How do they feel about owning a home? How did they manage to earn enough money for it — if they did? He stole as much money as he could carry from his family before he fled the cult that raised him… Though, in truth, as the cult’s best assassin, he’d earned most of the money himself in the first place. It miraculously washed up alongside him when he arrived in Enderal. Of course, it’s a terrible folly to be wandering about with a literal fortune. He purchased a house to have the gold tied up in property (where it can’t be stolen). Having a house is convenient. He has privacy when he wants it, and a place to store his things.

113. Do they enjoy city life, or do they prefer the countryside? Is there a specific region of Enderal they particularly like — or avoid? It’s nice to have many amenities so close, though sometimes it’s a bit too much to be surrounded by so many people… Especially when they keep making comments in passing.

114. What are their feelings and opinions about the Undercity? Honestly, the Marksman really likes the Undercity, and probably live there instead if it wasn’t for Tharael. The darkness suits him, he’s more familiar with the etiquette of such places rather than the nicer Ark, and people know not to ask inconvenient questions such as “why are you buying so many arrows” or “where did you get this from”.

115. If offered to join the Rhalata, would they consider it? If so, what would their new name be? He understands and even agrees with the need for the Rhalata - as loath as he is to admit it, the Father was right about one thing: without them, the resultant gangs and militias would only cause chaos and suffering. Even the Dust trade… People will always cook up foul shit to sell. At least the Rhalata has an incentive not to kill their users (too quickly), because they want the money and the shadow tax. He has no truck with the weird religion/cultish elements, however. In his eventuality, following the Father’s Transcendence and the death of the High Seer and most of the remaining Seers (by the Marksman’s hand, to stop them tracking down Tharael), the Rhalata goes through an upheaval and schism, resulting in the new Rhalata discarding their old religion. There’s no opportunity to interact with them further as he’s busy with the Cleansing, of course… But in Everything Turns Out Ok in the End AU (working title), feeling useless and directionless, he joins the Rhalata properly to help keep the Undercity in order. He trusts the new High Seer (who they call the High Speaker… Because he doesn’t). Mostly he’s their assassin… (Negative character growth, baybyyyy! You can never escape what you are!!!!!!!!)

116. How do they feel about the idea of leaving the human shell behind? Would they prefer Apotheosis or Transcendence?  (The Marksman never did the Apotheosis questline) He’s a big fan of fleshly pleasures, so giving that up to… What? Be some kind of dreaming ghost? Seems utterly shit. Part of him hopes the Father and the others simply died horribly.

117. Speaking of, what does their moral compass tell them about Psionics, Sinistra magic arts in general and Phasmalism? Do they find it ethical enough to justify its use? Very much not a fan of these magics, especially when they’re aimed his way. The Father in particular has given him a very disparaging view of Psionics. He’s not encountered any Phasmalism.

119. What are their thoughts on the cult of the Veiled Woman? What do they think of her persona and what she does to people? (The Marksman did not do Esme’s questline. This is his opinion on the Veiled Woman herself) He tries not to think about her, to be honest. She’s obviously extremely powerful and not an entity he can affect at all… But she seemed to be an ally? Or, at least, he seemed to not be her enemy…

121. Do they take on bounty quests? If so, any particular ones that they remembered? Why? Yes - He views those with a bounty on their heads as wasting their chance to atone for whatever evil shit got them a bounty in the first place. If the guards could catch them, they’d be on the gallows already… So they could flee, change their names, repent. But they don’t. So he takes the opportunity to better his life by ending theirs. None stick in his memory as particularly notable - he’s not completed that many.

122. Have they heard of lycanthropes? Or could they be one themselves? How did that happen, or how did they discover it? The Marksman had heard of lycanthropes in passing, so was aware of their existence before he fought the one in the Dust Pit. He wouldn’t become one himself, but if he did… He’d be a terror. As a man, he seeks to atone for his past. As a beast? Aren’t you angry? The beast asks. Aren’t you tired of paying back a world that made you this way? It made you to kill, so kill! Kill! Wash away the glitter! Paint the world in it’s true colour: red! Red! (He’d have the Ravager affinity)

124. How do they feel about myrads, leors, or other creatures they aren’t used to? What about monsters or the undead? Are there any that they fear? He fears no creature, but he’s also not stupid enough to take on something like a Boneripper without a lot of range. Many enemy creatures annoy him greatly: mainly Crystal Elementals (because they break his arrows) and Fire Elementals (because they explode). He has no significant opinion on Leoran… But thinks Myrads are the height of stupidity. At least if you fall off a horse, you only might die…

125. Was there anyone — other than companions or major characters — that they were particularly close to or disliked? He’s friends with Uajaan, since they’re fellow Kiléans. Uajaan’s teaching him scamming tricks, and they’ve got a bit of a Game Penny back-and-forth.

Choices and reasons: 128. Do they spare or arrest Hallys, the farmer-turned-bandit in the quest Deus Ex Machina? Why? This decision was left to Calia, since she was the only one who would make a lawful decision. The Marksman would’ve killed him and been done with it.

Lastly… Thank you so much for reading this much about my silly man! As a reward, I’d like to talk about the Marksman’s name. He does have one - all the characters know it, and refer to him as it. The only time anyone calls him “Marksman” is in the Dust Pit, or if the Free Peoples of Nehrim refer to him at all (since he does not give them his real name), or maybe Tharael continues to use it as a nickname. But you? He’s not your friend, someone you know, someone you see in the Marketplace. He’s a character, a non-real thing… The Marksman :) I’ve seeded a number of clues about his real name for people to work out. As a little bonus for anyone who made it this far, I’ll collate most of the clues here: - His name is 6 characters in length - In some of his art, I’ve scribbled out his name… But not quite. See here and here. - In my fic Absolution, when he reveals his blood-brother’s name is “Jackdaw”, Tharael comments that it is similar to [The Marksman’s] own. - He also states that the cult “named them all like that, after birds and beasts”. - In my fic To Right the Scales, the Marksman reveals that his other siblings were named Wolven, Ox, Goshawk, and Rat. There’s a few more clues in the fics, but I can’t point them out without basically stating the answer ^-^’’

[an0ldworld]

hello there! i just found your blog and i love your writing for hobie, so i’d like to request another thing for him.

would you mind doing something about a transmasc vigilante reader who tags along with hobie on patrols and late night hangouts? hobie and the reader could diy their own costumes together :) maybe reader is black cat, another spiderperson, or whatever you want to come up with. thanks in advance, and i’ll probably request again soon!

hobie brown with a transgender, vigilante reader (ftm)

RAAHH thank you so much :]

i chose for the reader to be another spidersona, probably anarchist and super cool, hope this is okay! let me know if not

warnings: unsafe binding (there’s a warning ahead)

pairing: hobie brown x transmasc!reader

requests: open ! PLEASE

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

for you and hobie to get along so well and hang out outside of missions n such, i imagine you’re a spider-man who rejected miguel’s “invitation” to spider society. this is what might have led to you becoming a vigilante who’s occasionally recruited by spider society after some begging- or you’ve just been a vigilante from day one in your dimension.

but ! who’s likely to notice such a person? hobie, obviously. you two become menaces and no one looks forward to being in a room with you. hobie destroys their faith in the constitution while you’re reinforcing everything

during missions, you make a hell of a team ! there’s somehow this real nonchalant feeling to the atmosphere even if you’re punching down baddies

banter, plenty of it back and forth while swinging about and fighting for ur life

probably makes fun of your form or something playfully, makes a comment or two about a punch you’ve thrown “you call tha’ a punch?” “Naaah, nahnahnahnahnah. watch this,” probably does worse let’s be honest, throws the dirties punch known to man but it does the trick

you’re more stealth while hobie’s way more out there, style n all that

hobie dropping in on some operation to take down the big baddies while shredding away at his electric guitar, meanwhile he’s able to see you picking off people from vantage points

whenever you’ve gotta wait about for some patrols or just observe for a night, you two will find some sorta rooftop to perch on top of and patrol from there. but the view kills

you two probably have a sort of routine: completing missions together for the spider society, hobie then tags along for some vigilante work, then you both kick back at his place once the days come to an end

chill night consists of hobie subconsciously strumming at a note occasionally on his guitar while you talk about whatever together

a lot of complaining about the institution, probably how much miguel fucking sucks

depending on ur current situation with transitioning, given that hobie knows, mans is probably the most supportive person you’ll meet

hobie lives in a society that he actively chooses to protect despite being apart of the margin of people that are still severely oppressed to terrible degrees, be it for his race or how he chooses to express himself (in my head, hobie’s also a boy kisser). so i think that he has a certain passion for protecting those minority groups. you, as a trans man, sometimes get the hobie brown special treatment.

let’s you crash at his place whenever you need it, let’s you borrow his clothes n shit if they help you feel more masculine, will give you tips n tricks that either he uses or has heard work great for presenting masculine

does your makeup if you want it, like making your face look more chisel, fake facial hair or brows more blocky- that kinda shit.

if you’re yet to go through the execution process (top surgery), hobie’s ur guy (a terrible terrible influence)

if you have a binder, good for you- hobie is going to find it and customise it for you because he’s hilarious

probably does some like web stitching into it, lil embroidered parts that match his pins or something like “hobie was here” in his clapped handwriting

this isn’t anything new, you two have this little game going on where you just steal and tag each others things for shits and giggles. his best work? punk-ifying your binders with those like spikes he has on his jackets shoulder pads

firm believer in trans men being shirtless in a binder is normalising something that should’ve been from the beginning- probably also marched a free the titties campaign for all body types and identities cause they aren’t inherently sexual and shouldn’t be (if cis men can, why can’t cis women, y’know?)

if he accidentally damages your shit he’ll either fix or replace it, maybe even make something to compensate

or it becomes part of the fit

these lil things have helped personalise your things greatly- there’s nice little details all over that make you both crack smiles

makes sure that throughout missions you’re good if you’re binding, which he honestly just doesn’t dictate. won’t be the type to tell you off for wearing it too long or during missions, it’s not your fault that you’re just doing what makes you feel more like yourself

instead just makes sure that you’re well rested after the missions over and does things for you so you don’t strain

(DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. I WILL FIND YOU.)

if by some unfortunate twist of fate you don’t have a binder, hobie will probably diy you one. argues that they can be mass produced by corporations, why can’t he make one by hand? just one more win for the anarchists

diy binders are dangerous, especially if they’re not made right. i’d like to think hobie would try his best, but i imagine he doesn’t have access to the right materials

in this case, he probably rips apart his shit trying to find the right elastic cloths for your safety

that, or he makes a makeshift binders just a bit looser than it should be to reduce the risk of hurting you.

absolute worst case scenario ? could honestly fashion something out of webs (i have a spidersona that does this) mans a genius, he’ll figure something out

positive ? binder looks sick since he makes it

(ok ur safe, continue)

if you’ve got top surgery, good for u, hobie will have ur head if you don’t take the appropriate recovery time

if you are involved with spider society, he either takes your missions for you or absolutely terrorises miguel into not giving you any

you think it’s just a subconscious, casual thing that hobie does but he always manages to slip a “lad” “boy” “man” into his sentences whenever speaking to or about you. gender affirmations innit

that being said, hobie views you as a man wholeheartedly

hobie’s into physical touch so probably got an arm slung around your shoulder, tons of playfully nudges whenever he sees fit (often)

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

i also wanna stress rq that the way i portray hobie; he’s so incredibly supportive, hype man, but he’s not this sunshine and rainbows thing i’ve seen some people portray him as

he’s laid back, nonchalant but can get excited (like w the whole “miles my guy” scene where he’s so hype)

thinks/knows he’s hot shit but it doesn’t make him arrogant. man just knows what he’s capable of and gets to be laid back thanks to it

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 ✠ ❝𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬❞

(A/n) ➳  I welcome you all to my mini-series. I had planned to make it longer but came to the conclusion to do five chapters but long ones. So please forgive me if chapters take awhile. But enjoy!

Word Count ➳ 1.2k  

Content Warnings ➳ Female reader/Assassin reader, alcohol use, death of a parent, violence, mentions of death, mentions of marriage...

Dreamers Masterlist

NEW YORK, 1747 

Shay stumbled through the crowded tavern, his sense dulled by alcohol and his grief. He had lost track of time since his father’s death and the storm that claimed he and the crew’s lives. His thoughts were chaotic, swirling around his head, and unable to focus.  

The air reeked of ale. Shay now found himself hunched over a wooden table, nursing a drink. He barely registered the commotion around him, but he could feel the glares from other patrons of the tavern. 

They surrounded him, at the neighboring tables, seemingly drinking. And if Shay thought correctly, it was going to be another tavern fight... He reached for his pocketknife, ready to attack the presence behind him until a voice cut through, sharp and familiar yet distant in his drunken stupor.  

“Shay! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  

Startled, Shay looked up, squinting to focus his blurry gaze. Though the blur, he saw the silhouette of a man standing in front of him. But his face was blocked by the terrible lighting of the tavern.  

He leaned over and when he couldn’t see him, he tried to stand. But gentle hands steadied him, helping him to his feet with tenderness. It was then that he felt the soft touch of another person, their presence was soothing, unlike his mind. 

“Easy now.” The voice spoke, laced with concern. “You’re in no state to brawl, let alone stand on your feet.” 

Shay blinked, confused, trying to make sense of the situation. And then, like the fog in his mind had lifted, he saw him, Liam, his best friend. He stood in front of him with a mix of frustration and worry.  

“Liam?” Shay muttered, his voice hoarse and filled with confusion. 

“That’s right.” Liam replied sternly. “And if weren’t for (Y/n) here, you’d be lying in a gutter somewhere.” 

Shay's gaze moved, and for the first time, he saw her.  

You, the young girl who had come to his aid. He can see the nervousness in your eyes, watching him and managed to keep him up straight.  

You, (Y/n), Liam’s younger sister. You were the same age as Shay.  

Despite the chaos of his life, despite the pain and the loss, there was another pang in his chest. He was in no state to think about it further but pushed it down.  

Yet one thing became clear, though his suffering alone and in the dark, you had become his lifeline. 

And for that, Shay knew he would be forever grateful.  

DAVENPORT HOMESTEAD, MARCH 1752 

"Quickly now!” Hope called out, hands on her hips as she watched a group of assassins scramble around, looking for you specifically. “She’s in the trees! On the ground! Behind you!”  

They scattered across the training grounds, Hope’s eyes followed their every move. She watched with amusement, her laughter echoing through the air as they failed to find your lurking spot.  

You moved like a ghost but graceful, blending into your surroundings as if you were part of them. Your ability to remain unseen was something Hope hadn’t seen before. Maybe as good as Achillies. 

Shay and Liam stood at the sidelines, watching as well. Shay couldn’t hide the happiness that swelled every time he saw you emerge. He exchanged a playful look with Liam, a smirk tugging the corners of his lips.  

“She’s something else, isn’t she?” Liam remarked. “She might be better than all of us in stealth.” 

Shay snorted. “I can count the number of times Chevalier wet himself whenever (Y/n) comes out.” Shay was careful when he said it, making sure Chevalier wasn’t around or else he’d be in another fight. 

“I heard.” Then Liam sighed, it was heavy and solemn. “Achilles shouldn’t have allowed her to join the Brotherhood. I promised my father I’d protect her, keep her safe, I didn’t want her to come. She should be back in the city, married by now, enjoying her life.” 

Shay's brows furrowed. “You know as well as I do that (Y/n) would never be happy with a life like that. She's a fighter, just like you.” 

Liam knew Shay was right. You were young, could barely remember him but he could see how happy he made you.  

When Liam discovered that Achilles was in contact with you, he lost it. Shay attempted to talk him down, noting that you were grown and can take care of yourself. But Liam felt betrayed. He confided in Achilles that his biggest fear was losing you and now you were at risk.  

It took him a couple of days for Liam to calm down. That same day, he found you on the training grounds with Hope and Kesegowaase, you were ginning, just happy to be here. 

Liam promised himself that he’d do whatever he could to keep from harm’s way, even if you were an assassin like him.  

“Wrong! Again!” Hope’s shouting made him focus once again, seeing you jump from a tree and into a pile of leaves. He saw the smile on your face as you fell.  

“Even if she was back at the city, you would approve of no man.” Shay scoffed, shaking his head. 

And how no man was worthy of you. 

And he had a feeling that Liam wouldn’t approve of Shay. 

They were childhood friends, best friends, nothing could tear them apart... Almost nothing. Shay always kept quiet for the years he had met you and when you joined the Brotherhood.  

He would rather die than admit to Liam that he wanted to be with his sister. They were in the middle of looking for the Manuscript, there was no time or room for starting a relationship.  

But he couldn’t stop himself from staring when you’re near, how his smile became bigger whenever he heard your voice, and how he wanted to seek you out every time he returned from a mission. 

You made him want to forget you entirely, you were a distraction to him. Blocking his mind when he tried to fucus, thinking of his future with you when he knew there was a possibility of not having one.  

Yet when he stood on that cliff, Manuscript in hand, his eyes locked with yours for a second. Everything he dreamed of flashed before his eyes.  

You and him on the deck of the Morrigan, it was just the two of you. You were smiling as his crew sang, his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and your soft lips against his.  

You were his dream, and he didn’t want to lose you.  

But it was only a matter of time before you heard what happened in Lisbon. What would you think of him then? Were you going to be disgusted, horrified, angry? He didn’t want to look you in the eye and see his answer. 

Shay engulfed you tightly, he was trembling. Not cause of the cold but because of fear. You were in his arms, demanding answers, wanting to know what the shouting was about but he didn’t what you to know.  

His tears soaked your shoulders as he felt your arms come around him.  

“It’s okay.” He heard you say. “Everything is going to be okay.” Rubbing his back. 

And as he fell over the cliff, feeling the pain of the gunshot running through his body. He remembered you shouting his name and Liam having to hold you back from trying to chase after him.   

Maybe Shay could die in peace, at least he stopped the assassins, even if it was just for a couple days or weeks before they found the Manuscript. His only regret was making you cry, he hated seeing you in pain. 

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. 

» » YOU’RE HERE « « ⊰ TWO ⊰

[dykepuffs]

People are talking about "Who Can Participate In Discourse" again and I just don't understand the issue.

Nobody has "The DEFINITIVE XYZ EXPERIENCE" because we all only experience what we have experienced and have only seen what we've seen - it's not like one morning you wake up, realise you're gay, and suddenly get a 2tb download of All Gay Knowledge so in the morning you think "Huh maybe I DO fancy my best friend?" And by evening you know the meaning of lilac-with-two-crimson-stripes in the hanky code as used in West Thursden in the 1990s, the exact words that a woman who loves other women would have called herself in Banda Aceh in the 1930s and what kind of professions she would have likely worked in, and the innermost thoughts of a trans girl twelve years younger than you who speaks only French.

Just... Be honest when you talk About Our Experience. If you know about something from being told on the Internet, say "I saw online", if you know something because it happens to you personally, say "In my experience-"... But likewise, think about what other people say - If you see "Every gay man knows...", you don't need to say "Uh not EVERY!" you can just think to yourself "Hm, if this feels like 'every gay man' to this person, what does that say about their experience with gay men? What kind of gay men do they know? Why is this important, and if it's not something that I also experience, do I want to?"

I see loads of posts that are "about" trans people... then I realise that they mean medically-transitioned-and-passing trans people, or out-and-not-stealth trans people, or out-to-their-friends-but-still-closeted-in-some-situations trans people, or legally-fully-transitioned-but-medically-still-awaiting-surgery trans people, or hiding-their-hormones-from-their-parents trans people, or out-as-gay-only-recently-named-themselves-as-trans-rather-than-a-queen trans people, or came-out-at-11-with-their-parents'-help trans people, or divorced-after-thirty-years-to-finally-transition trans people, or deep-stealth-and-only-their-doctor-knows trans people... And all these people have totally different needs and experiences and crucially aren't possible to place on a hierarchy of "most to least trans" because all of them will have experiences that the others by definition will never have.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 55 (1/2)

Sun Furrows Hunting Grounds

I headed back east to Brin as the sun was rising to deliver his breakfast of Thunderjaw blood. 

He recounted his clearest vision yet. The Thunderjaw is a young beast, he told me—which I knew already from those who lived in these lands before the Derangement. Unlike the Stalker, it was built to kill us, to kill hunters, built in the back and forth reflection as we used their metal to build our armour, our weapons and our cities, and they observed us. Learnt from us, maybe. They are the metal world’s answer to our call. 

It was Hephaestus he saw, it must have been; its mad ambition to cull machine hunters, reset some sort of balance between flesh and metal. Harmony in the machine song, as the Shamans would say. Should I have told Brin that he was right—would he even understand? I don’t have all the answers either. 

Besides, if I told him about Hephaestus he’d probably ask for its blood next, or at least one of those infectious purple cables to gnaw on. No thanks.

Instead, he turned his attention to the Stormbird—one of the only machines he hadn’t tasted. I wonder what he’d divine in the fluid of a Fireclaw. Again, best not to tell him they exist. Stormbird it is. Maybe later; the more I get out of Brin, the more sense he makes, and the more confused I grow. How does he know these things?

I rode back to Meridian to deliver my marks to the lodge and news to Ravan.

I found him sitting outside his house, waiting for news. I started to explain the situation to him, but it turned out that Kindiv and Keadi already had. Given my reputation, I guess they took it as a given that I would return Nasan to them alive. They returned the sword and after explaining their motives, Ravan agreed to donate voluntarily to the cause. I don’t exactly blame them for working in secrecy up until now—I’d wager that most Carja highborns aren’t so willing to part with their shards, especially to help perceived ‘traitors’ in Sunfall. Not only did Ravan agree to donate, but he said he planned to petition his friends as well. 

Next, I stopped by the lodge to speak to Aidaba, exchanging all fifteen of my marks for a new Ropecaster, blast sling, and war bow. The war bow is nothing special compared to the one I bought with Bluegleam in the Cut, but the other two weapons are perfect additions to my arsenal. Gold plated and everything—not that that matters in a fight, but the metal is sturdy. 

I took the elevator down to the village to pass the news of Nasan down to Kindiv in the mill. The Shadow Carja were bound to be scrambling after I cleared out their frontline fortress too. Hope this doesn’t disrupt the ceasefire…Maybe I should have thought that through. I doubt they’ll believe that a single, politically-neutral huntress attacked the fortress. Guess it’s Avad’s problem now. 

Since uncovering terrain data from the Tallneck in the Spearshafts, I realised that the location Sylens marked is up on the ridge on the northern side of the Jewel, in Shadow Carja territory. Makes sense, it just means the road to it is lined with their fortresses and patrols. I decided it would be a better idea to climb the ridge as close to the coordinates as I can get, hopefully bypassing their watchtowers. Also, I just really wanted to climb the ridge.

I still didn’t actually know where I was going, but whether ruin or simple encampment, stealth in greenery was a given need. I changed into something more suitable and picked up a mount across the river, riding out into the Jewel once again.

The ridge had an almost vertical face the whole way around, but I found a place under a waterfall where the water had worn the surface into steps and easy hand-holds. I wasn’t the first to notice it either—someone had added a climbing path further up. Bad news was the Shadow Carja fortress sitting just shy of the precipice. 

Not many soldiers manning the fortress, and none saw me coming. Simple to distract the patrolmen with a single thrown stone. Every time. It’s hard to know with Shadow Carja. The soldiers at Unflinching Watch were fine with me passing through, even staying the night, but the ones at the fork Fortress attacked on sight. I guess it depends on how trigger happy their commanders are feeling. 

Moving through the jungle, it felt dark as night though it was only late afternoon. Dust storms and thick grey fog swept through as I picked up another mount and rode onward to the west. 

Sylens contacted me as I approached the coordinates, but was once again light on the details. He said there was a climbing path further on, and a campsite. So he’s been here before. 

Once at the campsite, Sylens told me to wait for dark. Best chance to catch the Eclipse off their guard, I suppose. I couldn’t see any old ruins around; I figured it must be one of their bases then, with some sort of machine they used to create their Focus network. 

A few hours to wait yet. Time to prepare myself as best I can.

[yanderes-galore]

I know how much you love this man so here you go! Could you do Overwatch Junkrat concept?

YES. HIM! Here's the pure brainrot :) Not entirely edited so I am sorry about spelling errors!

Yandere! Junkrat/Jamison FawkesConcept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Jealousy, Isolation, Violence/Murder, Forced relationship.

Junkrat is such a chaotic fellow.

Jamison is very passionate and clingy when it comes to you.

There's times the Junker even gets out of hand.

He's a dangerous yandere due to his unpredictability and affinity with destruction.

He can set up traps and even has Roadhog to help him out if he can't obtain you on his own.

I'm on the edge when it comes to his obsession speed.

I want to say overall it's moderate -> fast.

He quickly fixates on you yet also can't quite figure out the feeling at first.

When he sees you/is around you he feels something similar to an adrenaline kick.

It's a similar excitement to heist or trying a new bomb.

He can't quite pin point why he feels this way around you.

Yet eventually he figures it out.

Jamison is certainly one to be overbearing and clingy.

When he realizes he feels fantastic around you he never wants to leave.

Roadhog/Mako no doubt has to hear Jamison ramble dreamily about you.

He can tell his friend/partner in crime is in love even if he doesn't know it.

It's obvious when only praise comes from his mouth about you.

Jamison would follow you around just to recreate the excited feeling inside him.

You may question it but he simply says he admires you.

That or he does it in secret and out of sight.

Junkrat is rather problematic when jealous.

If he doesn't like someone around you, he'll make that known.

He'll groan and grumble around you, often trying to wrap his arms around you.

He'll insert himself into conversations just so the attention is no longer directed away from him.

He'll only be calmer when you're away from others.

In terms of if he'd kill for you... I can see it.

It's easy for him to construct a bomb small enough to kill yet cause minor destruction.

He'd rather their death be flashy and eye-catching though... he can do both.

That or he calls Roadhog for help.

Junkrat can only be sneaky for so long.

Stealth hasn't ever been his strongest skill.

So Jamison will quickly go from 0 to 60 when it comes to his obsession.

Soon he's going to get tired of watching and waiting, much quicker than most yanderes.

Even Roadhog's obsession is slower than Junkrat when it comes to when they'll take action.

Give Junkrat a month or two, he quickly wants you and him to be beside one another.

When he wants you he's rather... flashy with abduction.

If Roadhog doesn't help him, Junkrat would want to use a couple small explosives while abducting you.

He adores any sort of attention.

If Mako helped him then Jamison is much quieter with abduction.

You could probably consider Roadhog supportive of Junkrat's obsession.

If catching you makes Junkrat happy then anything after that isn't his business.

Say this takes place after Jamison does all his heists with Roadhog.

Maybe the two of them have a base of some sorts.

Once Jamison has you he is adamant in keeping you with him and Roadhog.

Roadhog acts like some sort of guard at times.

Meanwhile Jamison gets to work on traps to keep you in.

You'll have a room that's for the most part safe... outside of that is bear traps and similar things.

One step outside and you could get seriously hurt.

You may be scared and isolated, but Jamison is over the moon.

In terms of affection Junkrat is passionate and intense.

He will drag you to a bed and curl around you, arms tightly wrapped around you.

He'd probably be the type to nuzzle into you, be it your neck, chest, hair, etc.

Even when you're no laying down he'll pull you into his lap or hug you while standing.

He seems like if he loved someone he'd be such a love bug.

Which would normally be cute... if not for the situation.

His affectionate and passionate hold on you, along with the kisses he peppers you with, make you uneasy.

He means well when he kisses your lips and mutters ramblings about you.

Yet you're still scared.

Especially with Roadhog... the constant threat of his friend harming you if you don't give in looms over you.

I said this in my Junkenstein concept but Junkrat may also be the type to building gifts for you.

He's skilled in tinkering, he could bend a piece of metal in a certain way to give to you.

He prefers to make bombs... but giving you that is just a horrible idea.

Jamison would definitely ramble about stories and experiences he's had to impress you.

In fact he does a lot of rambling.

He just loves to talk to you and hold you.

He just wants to love you forever and ever.

Jamison overall is incredibly passionate, clingy, overbearing, and unpredictable as a yandere.

He loves you so much and would do anything to have you...

What's wrong with stealing one more treasure, especially if it's the person he loves?

[trailblczed]

Deep Dive Character sheet ;

Stolen from just about everyone

Name: Caelus "The Galatic Baseballer" Nameless

BODY

Height: 172.72cm / 5'8”

Strength: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( Blessed be the Aeons for granted him typical protag op powers- also Synthetic body go BRRR )

Dexterity: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( Sometimes he is clumbsy, but otherwise you will see him in the weirdest poses for no sort of reason. Or if he does give a reason, it's always a "it works. trust." )

Health: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( Synthetic body has it's advantages.. )

Energy: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( Each new path makes him more and more exhausted- makes his narcolepsy get worse. )

Beauty: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( Caelus doesn't think he's the prettiest person in the comsos, but he knows he ain't that ugly. [ BABY BOY YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL PLEASE. ] )

Style: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( He just grabs whatever he has and chucks it on. He has no fashion sense whatsoever. He has to rely on March to make him actually look nice should the need arise. )

Hygiene: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( Do I even need to explain this one? Mister TrashCan Dumpster Diver? He does bath or shower daily though- cue the 12 in 1 bottle soap. )

SKILLS

Perception: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( He may be lacking in educational skills, but he's not blind. He is very sensitive to other's and their feelings. And while he might not UNDERSTAND what he's picking up on, he does know there is something. )

Communication: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( Boy is just trying his best, and some things he doesn't even consider need to be expressed verbally, or at all. )

Persuasion: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( Have you seen the amount of debates this dude gets into? And that he win's pretty much all of them )

Mediation: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( This man cannot sit still, nor has he even heard the word. )

Literacy: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( If I could give this a half star I would. Bro was just born a few years ago. Though he has had help from one Dr Vertias Ratio, so he is at least improving. He can read much better than he can type- and his hand writing is simple atrocious. )

Creativity: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( He isn't the most creative person, though can obviously enjoy art and other's creative endeavors. He just doesn't have that type of drive himself. )

Cooking: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( He can make buffs and potions, but forget actual normal food. )

Tech Savvy: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( He can typically figure most things out pretty quickly. Trial and Error, but a fast learner. May or may not be the help of [outside influences, oh the voices of trailblazers everywhere {or aeons}] being intellitron-adjacent. )

Combat: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( Quite literally built to take hits and smack a fool up. )

Survival: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( Again, tanky a.f. However, like.. knowledge of how to survive in a life-or-death situation is probably lacking. Especially not how to get himself out of the situation, but just how to live long enough to get rescued. )

Stealth: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( Stealth section in a videogame? Yes. Stealth mission irl? Absolutely not. May be able to keep it up for a short while, but definitely nothing in depth or lengthy. )

Street Smarts: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( Similar to survival, built to last long enough to get by, and figure out a way to at least stay standing. )

Seduction: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( He doesn't even know what this is. Though he has been called a Master Rizzer before by others, so who knows- )

Luck: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( RNGezus please bless he. )

Handling Animals: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( This dude has Puffball, Tuskpir, Trash Cake, and a Chimera. And Mem, though I don't know if they technically count. He takes care of what is "his" and often spoils them. )

Pacifying Children: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( He treasures children. He plays with the Moles every time he visits the Underground, and has quite literally calmed Julian in an event quest and I think during a main quest as well. Plus, Hook's entire story quset where he helps her get money for her father and such. Very Big Brother vibes. Or maybe because he is child-like himself that he gets along great with them. )

MIND

Intelligence: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( He is not overtly strategic or knowledgeable amount much when he is first found on Herta's. Both grow bit by bit the longer he stays with the Express and the more missions and planets they visit. But definitely do not put him as the first to make a suggestion for a plan unless you already have a backup to your backup plan. )

Happiness: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( This one is very timeline dependent. Because at the very beginning of the story, it would be a 4 or 5. After Penacony? A 3 or a 2. Amphoreous? 2 or 1 [as the story goes on]. )

Spirituality: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( He can have out of body experiences, but definitely nothing in a positive light, or that he willingly participates in. )

Confidence: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( Varies on the situation. Overall, Caelus thinks he's rather dependable and helpful, and thinks he can do a lot as long as he at least tries. )

Humour: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( Caelus is always cracking jokes, though sometimes not always at an appropriate time. )

Anxiety: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( He is not the biggest fan of meeting new people, especially the longer the trailblaze journey goes. Caelus wants to help absolutely and likes exploring and traveling. He's been blind-sided or backstabbed and fallen for tricks due to his naivety too many times. )

Patience: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( For the most part the guy is pretty gentle or relaxed. But if you come after any of his loved ones, the patience is extremely thin. Or, you know, if you're an ass it won't last long. )

Passion: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( He feels things so deeply. His burning [Stellaron] heart makes him put his all into anything he's doing. If you're going to do something, do it right. )

Nice ☆ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ Mean ( Pretty easy going, very rarely will you see him actually angry. )

Brave ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Cowardly ( This man steps onto monorail tracks to take a picture for his friend and thinks nothing of it, even after he gets mowed down. )

Pacifist ☆ ☆ ☆ ★ ☆ Violent ( Aeons/Paths/Stellaron Influenced at times. )

Thoughtful ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ★ Impulsive ( Very much a "do now, ask questions later" kind of guy. )

Agreeable ☆ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ Contrary ( Who is he, a little lad with little knowledge, going to be one to argue. )

Idealistic ☆ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ Pragmatic ( The world is beautiful with peace and rainbows-- but no, it is not. )

Frugal ☆ ☆ ★ ☆ ☆ Big Spender ( He is not in charge of his own finances. Caelus has little understanding of the actual value of money and commerce. )

Extrovert ☆ ☆ ★ ☆ ☆ Introvert ( Semi-Situational/Company-Dependent )

Collected ☆ ☆ ☆ ★ ☆ Wild ( x )

ambitious⠀/⠀possessive⠀/⠀stubborn⠀/⠀jealous⠀/⠀decisive⠀/⠀perfectionist

SOCIAL

Charisma: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( x )

Empathy: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( x )

Generosity: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( x )

Wealth: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( He is not in control of most of his finances, but I'm sure with all the commissions he does and the work he does for Herta and Screwlum, he probably has a decent amount of funds. )

Honest: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( He is not a good liar, no typically sees any reason to do so. )

Both these groups are kinda self-explanatory.

Leader ☆ ☆ ☆ ★ ☆ Follower ( x )

Polite ☆ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ Rude ( x )

Political ☆ ☆ ★ ☆ ☆ Indifferent ( x )

BELIEFS

Higher Power: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( Caelus has literally been blessed by several Aeons already, and more to come. Of course he believes in them. Not to the point of worshiping, but a sort of co-existence. )

Magic: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( Had to imagine it doesn't exist when they got all these gods and spells and wacky shenanigans going on. Or, if we can do all of THAT, what would magic even be? )

Fate/Destiny: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( "Reach the of the STORY in your own way." )

Soulmates: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( Caelus is a bit of a romantic underneath his goofy exterior. )

Good and Evil: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( Caelus definitely sees things in a middle/grey area. He doesn't )

Luck: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( How can you imagine a guy who gets killed/nearly dies on every planet he visits is lucky? RNGezus and gacha are a 50/50, as all things must be in balance. )

PRIORITIES

Family: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( The Express Family is EVERYTHING to him. )

Friends: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( His friends are also extremely important to him- just a step or two down from the fam. )

Love: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( He would enjoy finding love, or learning more about it. But who has time for that when you're trailblazing and dying every few months. )

Home: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( His Family IS his home. )

Health: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( He does not take very good care of himself. At first, just not something he thought about. After finding out he was "just a body created to specifically host a Stellaron", he doesn't see the point in being super on top of it. He's not gross, don't get me wrong. Bathes and such normally. But if he gets injured or has some issues [ie his narcolepsy or seperation anxiety], he's not going to discuss it or manage it well in the slightest. )

Praise: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ( He appreciates praise. Makes him feel like he is doing something right or being helpful. )

Truth: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ( He just wants to know man. He doesn't care if it's good or bad, just be honest with him. )

Fame: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( He likes to brag about his brand of being the "Galactic Baseballer", but he doesn't really care if it spreads or sticks. More of a "personal running gag". )

Power: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( Power as in simple strength and capability to fight and defend himself/others? Very. Power in terms of status and social hierarchy? Not in the slightest. )

Wealth: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ( He barely understands finances as it is, but understands money is pretty important to have. )

Others' Opinions: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ( He's sort of building himself [*drum riff*] from no memories of what he was, if he was someone before. He wants to be "a good person", or at least a LIKEABLE person. So he does care very much about how people perceive him, or what they themselves like or think about things. )

[lamuradex]

Short Story: Day of the Demons

Tales of Hero City Collection

Wordcount: 12,289

Synopsis: Following Laser Lad's vision of the future, the city is still imperilled, with only the Guild of Heroes to save it. And the only one who can guide this spandex clad bunch of crazies through is an angel… an angel with a clipboard.

Sanctimony, celestial emissary, has been leader of the Guild of Heroes for over a hundred years, mainly because he knows where all the paperwork goes. But with a plan just crazy enough to work, the hero's will need a level head and a bureaucratic hand to lead them to victory, even if the Guild doesn’t appreciate Sanctimony's efforts.

Because today, the heroes stage the apocalypse.

What could possibly go wrong?

[Follows on from Hand of Fate]

AO3 Link for those that want it:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65408770

Full Story Below The Break

Day of the Demons

The Guild of Heroes was in turmoil. A few dozen costume clad crusaders were all crammed in to the hall, all arguing at the top of their lungs to be heard over everyone else. A grand assembly, definitely dignified, turned to chaos by the crisis.

…But grand may have been an overstatement. The much heralded Hall Of Heroes was, in reality, an old, dilapidated, and frankly rotting theatre. And on top of that, the childish arguing sort of lowered the tone.

Only a few heroes weren’t arguing. Omi and Cron, of Team Cronomi, both in silver, Omi accented in blue and Cron in red, sat watching the fracas with looks of disappointment and a impulse to start brawling, respectively. Another was Stealth Watcher, dressed all in black, who by reputation, and possibly social anxiety, remained hidden in shadows. Finally, there was Justice Man in his orange and blue, who sat quietly twiddling his thumbs. For all his usual bravado, he wasn’t really one for arguments like this.

On the theatre stage, a tall angelic figure stood. Long white robe, flax-blonde hair, he was literally glowing. A halo hovered over his head, producing the glow, and gently rocking as he turned to look at the crowd. At regular intervals he tapped the microphone, but to no avail. Everyone had been shouting for a solid ten minutes, and now the angel, named Sanctimony, was trying to remember his anger management classes.

“10,” he whispered, breathing deeply, “9.”

Leading a portion of the argument was Judgement. She was a younger hero, mid-twenties, dark skin and black hair, and while she’d initially been trying to order silence, that time had long since passed. The moment one of the older men told her to “sit down, sweetheart” the possibility this would end peacefully fell off the table.

“6. 5. 4,” Sanctimony continued, his cheeks flushing hot.

The other side of the debate, which was long since off track, was just general disapproval of the situation. Why had they been gathered? What was so important to need all of them? Why had Sanctimony interrupted their dinners? None of them really cared. They just thought if they shouted enough, maybe they could go home.

“3. 2. 1.” Sanctimony’s anger wasn’t fading, the flush spread to his forehead. As it reached his halo, the circle of light began to redden like heated metal. It span faster and faster over his head, whining like a spinning top.

“0.” His anger hadn’t faded. Sanctimony exploded.

“EVERYONE SHUT UP!” he bellowed, rattling the chandeliers. His halo burst into flames, horns sprouted from his forehead, and his wings spread like a cockatiel defending its nest.

Everyone shut up. Sanctimony sighed, breathed, and then returned to normal.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said with all the jubilation of a camp counsellor. “Now, you may all be wondering why I called you here today.”

“Just get to the point!” came a heckle from the back.

Sanctimony glared, pinpointed the heckler, and mentally noted their name for later. Honestly, some days it was like herding cats.

“If you insist. I’ve gathered you all here today because of a serious issue. A potential apocalypse level event,” he said with a smile.

The room fell deathly silent. Well, almost silent.

“What?” someone asked flatly. The world could be ending before their eyes, and some hero would have to have the last word.

“An apocalypse level event,” Sanctimony repeated. “We’ve recently received word that the world might be ending, possibly just the city, but we know something bad is certainly about to happen. As such, we need to do something about it.”

“And what is this apocalyptic event?” Omi asked from the crowd.

“To tell you that, I’ve invited the legendary hero, Laser Lad, to come and speak. He’s the one who foresaw this disastrous future, and so he should be able to tell us all about it.”

With grace, and a little polite applause, Sanctimony stepped aside and a man entered from the other side of the stage. For being called Laser Lad, he didn’t look much like a lad. He was in his 50s if he was a day, wearing a very casual T-shirt, shorts and sandals, unlike every other hero present who were all in full costume. The man walked up to the mic, straightened up his greying hair, and smiled with a youthful vigour at the crowd.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Laser Lad, or Tod Shiner to those in the know, a former member of The League of Titans.” He paused as if expecting applause. Nothing came. He cleared his throat. “Now I know real names aren’t exactly de rigueur here, but I’m hoping it will instil some trust when I tell you all this. I mean, I see a lot of impatient faces who are wondering who this old coot is,” he smiled understandingly.

He was right. About half the crowd were watching in bored confusion, the other half were just bored. Then there was Justice Man, who was bobbing up and down in his seat like a child who got to meet Santa.

“Anyway,” Laser Lad proceeded, “for those that don’t know, I suffered a bit of an incident a while back. I was fighting Dr Refracto, accidentally light jumped into a prism, and wound up scattered all across space and time. No big deal,” he said with a casual grin.

No one looked too surprised. This was a room full of supers, after all. This stuff happened.

“So, scattered all over time,” Laser Lad continued, “I saw the past and the present and the future. I saw the founding of Hero City, or Greystoke Town as it was back then. I saw spaceships and machines you can barely dream of. I also saw the Super Bowl in 2079, tie game all round. But, most importantly, I saw this apocalyptic event. The city on fire, a hellish wasteland, and a whole lot of wreckage. Now, I’ve since realised it was definitely Hero City, as I could see the Pinnacle Building and Cosmo Tower, two famous landmarks even in my day. I could also see a newspaper on the ground with a headline proclaiming some sort of prosperity parade.”

“And said parade is set to happen in a few days’ time,” Sanctimony stepped in.

“Yep,” Laser Lad nodded. “So, the end of the world could be later this week. Any questions?”

The room was properly silent this time. Not even an awkward cough. A few people looked deathly pale.

“So, any suggestions?” Sanctimony asked the crowd.

A hand raised in the audience. “Do we know what’s going to destroy the world?”

“No, we don’t,” the angel shook his head.

“Precisely when?”

“Not really.”

“Who’s responsible?”

“No.”

“So, what do we know?”

“Well…” Sanctimony hemmed, “We do know the city newspapers have already found out about the potential disaster. This was today’s headline.”

He held up a newspaper that read “END OF THE WORLD! More details on page 4,” then went on to a front page article about the parade.

Laser Lad stepped up again. “Not to concern anyone, but that is the exact newspaper I saw in the future, strewn across a hellscape.”

More people in the crowd went pale.

“So, no suggestions?” Sanctimony checked. No one answered. “Alright. Then I’m enacting Prophecy Procedure One.”

The room collectively groaned.

“What is Prophecy Procedure One?” Laser Lad asked.

“Well, we heroes deal with prophecies and future visions so wearily often that we have a few protocols set up,” Sanctimony explained with a worried smile. “Procedure One is to learn all we can and assess the threat. Procedure Two is to react. Three is to fix it or panic. So, question one: Is this a prophecy?” He pulled a pen and clipboard out of a pocket. “Did Laser Lad see the future or did he just foresee it?”

“He didn’t predict anything,” someone yelled. “He time travelled. What he saw seems pretty concrete.”

“True enough,” Sanctimony jotted it down. “That’s the problem. Prophecies are malleable, but time travel…” the angel considered, tapping his clipboard. “Now, Laser Lad, do you remember seeing any alternate timelines? Paths less travelled and not part of our universe? Parallel universes with different choices or anything like that?”

Laser Lad shook his head. “Honestly, I could barely remember who I was at the time. I was made of light. I can only tell you what I saw, not what universe it was from.”

“Then we’ll leave that one blank,” the angel said, ticking a box. “Now, Laser Lad, can you be sure you weren’t affected by any of the following; Evil wizards, hallucinogenic toxins, or powerful fear demons. Any sort of perception altering elements.”

“I don’t think I had organs to be altered.”

“Then I’ll just tick ‘No’.” He did so. “So, to sum up, as far as you’re aware you actually glimpsed a singular future?”

“I think so, but who can be sure.”

“Then can we avoid it?” a voice called from the audience.

Sanctimony twisted his face uncertainly. “Apologies, but I don’t think so. If Laser Lad did glimpse the future, then current theory suggests it can’t be changed. If it is possible, then we may wind up in an alternate timeline, but I’m not willing to bet on that.”

“So, what? Do we just get ready to die?” another voice asked.

“No. I do have a plan,” the angel said sternly. “We enact ‘The Wiggle Room Protocol’.”

No one dared move. Not out of awe or shock. It was just no one knew what he was on about. This was to be expected though. Wiggle Room hadn’t been enacted even in Sanctimony’s long lifetime.

“What?” asked the same voice as before.

Sanctimony nodded. “The Wiggle Room Protocol is that we, as heroes, try our absolute best to weasel our way out of this. We can’t change fate, but maybe we can cheat it. Loopholes, technicalities, tricks and deceptions. Anyone? I’m looking for suggestions.”

The room almost fell into frenzied discussion, before Sanctimony realised how bad an idea that was. He needed to keep control.

“Alright,” he called over them. “Let’s start with what we know. Some kind of disaster near or in Hero City. Anyone have a plan to deal with that?”

“Move the civilians?” someone yelled. “We could move everyone out of Hero City until it’s over?”

“Interesting,” Sanctimony considered, jotting it down on his clipboard. “It would remove civilian casualties, though the city would still be destroyed. Not a bad idea though. We know that Hero City will be destroyed, likely unavoidably, as Laser Lad identified Cosmo Tower. But, he also mentioned The Super Bowl, which implies other cities survive. So, what next?”

“We blow up Cosmo Tower!” someone suggested. “Can’t see it in the future if it’s gone.”

Sanctimony grimaced. “…That’s more trying to avoid fate, but thanks for trying. Not that we’d ever do it. We couldn’t afford to be sued by Cosmo Derringer.”

“What about the person responsible?” Judgement asked. “Who could actually cause that level of devastation?”

“Another good question. There aren’t many villains who could,” Sanctimony nodded.

“Dark Dragon, maybe? He seems most likely,” Laser Lad contributed.

Sanctimony wobbled his head indecisively. “It does seem a little obvious… But I also can’t argue. For now, let’s just assume Dark Dragon’s responsible.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“I know! We kill Dark Dragon!” someone shouted.

There was a moment of silence. It was broken by biting, sarcastic laughter.

“Oh my, what a crack up,” Sanctimony wiped a tear from his eye. “As if we could take on the demon knight himself. Hands up who’s ready for a suicide mission?”

No one moved, even if he was joking.

“Exactly. Oh!” the angel realised something. “Laser Lad? You said that you saw some heroes in the future, right?”

“Oh, yes,” the old hero nodded. “I didn’t recognise them then, but I see one or two of them here now. Justice Man is one, Judgement another. To be fair, I couldn’t see the heroes too clearly. But I heard them talking. They mentioned ‘The Hand of Fate’. ‘The Hand of Fate was key, Justice Man’,” he recited.

Stealth Watcher stepped from the shadows. “We’ve already investigated that, and The Hand was no help whatsoever,” he called out.

“No help so far anyway,” Sanctimony tempered.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Wandering Fist proclaimed, a hero wearing full karate gi, now standing in his seat. “Why don’t we just get stunt doubles to do it? Leave them to get seen by Laser Lad, and we run for the hills… with all the civilians. I know just where to find some good doubles too. We used them for my most recent movie ‘Wandering Fist: Enter The Punchening’!”

“Hmmm. Maybe…” Sanctimony stroked his chin.

“Pfft,” someone blurted derisively. “I saw that movie and the casting was terrible. Your Stealth Watcher had a Brooklyn accent.”

Fist pouted. “We thought it would add character.”

“Your Justice Man had hair!”

“The actor refused to shave his head…”

“Your Judgement was white!”

“She was what?” Judgement turned sharply, glaring at Wandering Fist.

“Okay, look, I didn’t cast the film. I just starred in it,” Fist defended. “And before anyone gets angry, I checked and, legally speaking, heroes without public identities cannot have image rights. You can’t sue.”

Judgement scowled. Her clenched fists began to glow.

Before any violence could begin, the entire hall was silenced by a single raised hand. Normally, this would have been ignored, but it was who had raised their hand that did it. It was Justice Man, waiting politely like a child talking to a teacher.

“Yes, Justice Man?” Sanctimony called on him, erring cautiously. Justice Man was a great hero, a true icon, but he also wasn’t the sharpest knife in the box.

Justice Man stood. “Okay, I might be wrong here, but I think I have an idea,” he began, a little less verbose under the gaze of his idol, Laser Lad. “So, I know we can’t avert this catastrophe, but why don’t we make it happen instead?”

Everyone stared, an odd, curious silence holding them.

“Go on?” Sanctimony prompted.

“Well, why don’t we create the disaster ourselves? We could use props and special effects, just like in Fist’s movie. Then, if we get it right, maybe that’s what Laser Lad saw. He just saw us re-enacting what he saw… in the future.”

The entire room fell silent. A few people went cross eyed trying to follow the logic. However, as no argument was presented, Sanctimony just ticked a final box on his form.

It was labelled Bootstraps Paradox.

* * *

The plan was put into motion. A group of heroes were gathered, with Justice Man and Judgement in the lead roles, as they’d already been established to be there, joined by Omi and Cron, for technical support, and Sanctimony, as the organiser. And Stealth Watcher came too, just in case anything went wrong.

Supplies were gathered from Wandering Fist’s film company, with further resources like pyrotechnics borrowed from Intellitron Resorts, though Henchman 14 was furious when Justice Man just tried to take them without asking. The effects were carried to the outskirts of Hero City, where Cosmo Tower and the Pinnacle Building were visible, setting up in a Cosmo Industries construction site, a wasteland of abandoned concrete about a mile across. There was supposed to be a new mall there, but if you squinted, it could easily be mistaken for a hellscape.

“Okay. Explain it to me again,” Cron asked Omi as he hefted lights into position.

“It’s all about potential. As long as Laser Lad saw the future, the potential exists for those events to happen,” Omi answered, directing his brawny friend, placing the rigging. “What we are doing is trying to fill that potential with a harmless solution before something else fills it with a dangerous solution.”

“Filling the potential?” Cron said doubtfully. “I thought we couldn’t change the future?”

“Yes, that’s true, but we’re not. The future Laser Lad saw exists as potential. It’s certain to happen, but we lack context. As such, temporally speaking, the potential is like an empty space. A vacuum.”

“And nature abhors those,” Cron added, glad to know something scientific to contribute.

“Exactly. Something is going to fill that gap. Some event is going to become what Laser Lad saw, and by fulfilling it ourselves, and thus recontextualising what Laser Lad saw as a performance rather than a disaster, then we stop the disaster from happening by proxy.”

Cron just stared, trying to straighten it out in his head.

Omi continued. “It’s all probabilities. There are dozens of possible causes for the apocalypse, each with their own probabilities. What we’re doing is bypassing chance and locking in one possibility by actually acting it out. By doing this, we aren’t really stopping a disaster. We’re making it so a disaster was never going to happen in the first place.”

“But if we didn’t, a disaster could still happen?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s like Schrodinger’s Cat?”

“Yes, it is…” Omi shot a confused look. “How do you know about that?”

“As it stands, it could be a disaster or not a disaster,” Cron pressed on. “But we just don’t know. And because we don’t know, it has to be considered as both at the same time. But by doing this, acting it out, we make one event happen, collapsing the uncertainty and fixing the possibility to one rather than the other.”

“That’s… That’s precisely right,” Omi said in hushed awe.

“Now, as long as no boxes or dead cats get involved, then we’re golden.”

The awe vanished.

“Yes, Cron. Now, go put that light over there while I check the wiring.”

Elsewhere, Sanctimony was directing the rest of the project. With a clipboard, a pen, and an officious attitude, he was guiding the production, making sure no one was slacking off.

“And the pyrotechnics will have to go over there,” he pointed in one direction, “and the fuel will have to be discreetly hidden over there,” he pointed to a small hill, “and the catering table goes over there.” He pointed to a small gazebo which had been set up.

“Catering?” Judgement raised an eyebrow, her forehead slick with sweat, carrying the massive fuel tanks.

“Well, this wouldn’t be a production without a catering table, would it?” the angel scoffed.

Stealth Watcher, in his shadowy garb, paused from programming the holographic projectors. “And who’s providing this catering?”

“Oh, we can send out for something,” Sanctimony waved a hand.

“Ooo, I could go for some burgers,” Justice Man cooed, positioning a fake battle-damaged tank behind a slope.

“No no no. I was thinking something classier,” the angel dismissed. “I just need one of you to go and get it.”

“Bit busy over here,” Judgement grumbled, trying not to blow them all to kingdom come.

“I have another ten exploded vehicles to position,” Justice Man excused.

Stealth Watcher just turned a dark glare.

“Well, I can’t do it. I’m supervising,” Sanctimony complained.

“Wiring’s done,” Omi called, appearing over a rise. “The red lights to make everything look on fire are almost in place.”

“Good. Now you can go and get the catering,” Sanctimony smiled.

“Um… Alright, as long as one of you can supervise Cron. He keeps putting the lights in the wrong places. Plus, I don’t have any money.”

“Well, that’s not a problem,” Judgement said casually. “Haven’t you guys ever gotten a free meal just for being a hero?”

She received a few curious looks, though Justice Man whistled inconspicuously.

“How dare you abuse your hero credentials!” Sanctimony tutted. “We are people of dignity, and the world relies on our decorum and respectability.”

“We are literally using Wandering Fist’s shameless cash-in film props to save the world,” Watcher countered.

Sanctimony huffed. “Well, I don’t really approve of that film either…”

“None of us do, but that’s beside the point,” Judgement piped up, putting down the fuel tanks carefully. “Why do you think you can just boss us around like this?”

“Well, I am the leader of the Guild of Heroes. I run it, ipso facto, I am the leader,” Sanctimony answered proudly.

“Flawless logic,” Stealth Watcher rolled his eyes.

Judgement flew closer to check if Sanctimony was joking. He clearly wasn’t, so she upgraded her expression to bemusement. “And you’re serious? That’s why you’re in charge?”

“Well that, and I am the hero of the highest calibre,” Sanctimony went from proud to smug.

“Really?” Judgement almost laughed. “To be honest, Sanctimony, and I don’t want to be rude here, but I’d be hard pressed to call you a hero of any calibre.”

The angel froze, absolutely aghast. He seemed to be waiting for someone to object, glancing around in astonishment. When he realised no backup was coming, he grumbled and looked back bitterly.

“Genuinely, Sanctimony, how many people have you saved?” she asked.

“Look here, young lady,” he snipped. “I’ve been a hero of this city for over one hundred years. I was a hero back when it was still called Greystoke. I stopped the Nocturnal Nightmare, I fought the villain Havoc, and I have saved well over fifty people in my career.”

“I think I saved fifty people last week,” Justice Man thought aloud. “That was a busy week though.”

Sanctimony raised his nose pompously. “And that isn’t even what matters. I, little lady, battle evils and terrors in dimensions you cannot conceive. Celestial threats, demons of the deepest pits, shadows of the darkest realms, near and far. I serve the deities of reality that I dare not name. I guide you heroes through your darkest hours, bringing order to your chaos. Also, I do all the paperwork! I am a legend. A saviour. I, mere mortal, am the hero Sanctimony,” he finished, hands dramatically on his hips.

“Really? Because before I joined the guild, I’d never even heard of you,” Judgement said honestly.

There was a general murmur of ascent, even as Sanctimony looked appalled.

“What can you do anyway?” Omi asked, wandering closer. “Your powers, I mean. All this time with you in charge, and I never thought to ask.”

“I have a vast array of powers!” Sanctimony blustered, puffing his wings like a bird. “I have a Truth Beam for one,” he said grandly.

“Well, I guess that’s good,” Judgement nodded reluctantly. “A beam that forces people to tell the truth would be useful.”

“Um… No,” Sanctimony deflated slightly. “It’s a beam that makes people see the truth. It can make criminals realise the error of their ways, you know, if they have doubts.”

“And if they don’t have doubts?”

“Then…. it doesn’t really work,” he said in a tiny voice.

The staging area fell silent. It was a little too sad for them to even laugh. Judgement just stepped forwards, patted him on the arm, and smiled.

“Do you want to get the takeout, or do we have to keep doing this?” she said kindly.

* * *

Sanctimony soon returned with Chinese food, and one burger for Justice Man. The rest of the set was prepared, the scene covered with debris, the holograms and lights arranged to make the surroundings look apocalyptic. Overall, it looked like a total disaster, which was good.

As lunch was eaten, and the final preparations made, Judgement continued to steal glances at the angelic figure. Sanctimony had reclaimed his managerial position since returning, firing out orders, though his targets were usually already doing what he asked, while refusing to lift a finger himself. Sneaking up to Omi and Cron, Judgement shared her frustrations.

“Seriously, I get that admin needs to get done, but Sanctimony is getting on my last nerve.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” Omi shrugged, working on a lens for one of the hologram emitters. “Someone needs to be in charge, right, so why not him?”

“I say we riot,” Cron said nonchalantly, leaning against a light post.

“Not funny, Cron.”

“Who was joking?”

“Anyway,” Judgement got them back on track, “If he tries to boss me around again then-”

“Oh, Judgement?” Sanctimony called with a sing song voice. Judgement ground her teeth. “There you are.” He alighted beside her.

“What do you need, Sanctimony?” she growled.

“Well, since you don’t seem busy, I was wondering if you could help Stealth Watcher with some heavy lifting. The poor thing can’t seem to move those crates,” the angel cooed.

“And can’t you do it?” Judgement answered with a targeted slyness.

Omi and Cron stopped what they were doing to watch, purely to reinforce the tension.

“Well… Well I can’t,” Sanctimony flustered, his wings fluttering. “Not all heroes have super strength, you know.”

Judgement quirked an eyebrow. “But you don’t have any telekinesis or anything? You’ve got no way to lift a heavy box? Or do you just not want to do it yourself?”

Sanctimony narrowed his eyes. “Look, missy, I’m not some brute. I am one of the guardians of a higher plane of reality. I am the scholar of the 6th Realm, and a warrior of the 12th to boot,” he said pompously.

“And what does that mean?” Cron asked, joining in on the fun.

“I couldn’t explain it in your terms, mortal,” the angel hissed.

This time Omi twisted a brow, joining the brewing argument. “But you are a warrior, right, Sanctimony?” he targeted with trademark precision. “You must have weapons, right? Weapons of these higher beings? They wouldn’t have sent you to fight evil empty handed, would they?” He fired the words, and Sanctimony ruffled as they hit home.

��Well, of course they gave me weapons,” he struggled, thinking quickly. “They armed me with all I need. Blessed tools to serve my purposes. Behold!” he announced.

He held out his ballpoint pen and clipboard, clicking the pen a few times for emphasis.

Omi, Cron, and Judgement looked on, but they couldn’t hold back anymore. They burst into laughter as Sanctimony went red in the face. As they kept laughing, he only grew redder until his halo began to glow again.

“Don’t laugh at me!” he exploded, horns manifesting, and punching a lighting pole.

The pole creaked and whined in a metallic way, and then toppled over… Right towards Stealth Watcher, who was looking away as he inspected the nearly finished scene.

“Watcher!” Judgement cried out, hurtling towards him to pull him clear.

Omi and Cron sprang into action. Cron buried his fingers in the tower’s metal with super strength, while Omi grabbed three metal poles and hurled them with fearsome power into the ground beneath the collapsing tower. The tower landed on the poles and hammered them in, slowed by Cron’s grip, which gave just enough time for Judgement to drag Watcher clear. The structure crashed down, breaking in two in the process.

All four heroes turned to Sanctimony, who hadn’t moved once during the whole affair.

“Good job team,” he called gamely, earning death glares in return.

* * *

As the heroes set to repair the damage, Sanctimony slipped away for a bit, claiming to check the last of the paperwork. In reality he just couldn’t stand the glower from Stealth Watcher any longer. When he finally made his way back, Omi was working on the powerlines to the newly repaired tower, while Judgement was on a control box flipping switches.

“So, how’s everything going?” Sanctimony greeted like nothing was wrong.

“Almost done, but I think a fuse blew,” Omi reported. “Judgement?”

She hit the button, but nothing happened.

“Well, we are on a schedule. Let’s get a move on,” Sanctimony stated primly, earning a glare from them both. “Is that the only problem?”

Omi put down his tools. “One of the plugs is fried. It’s just a simple rewiring job, no big deal. Do you think you could do that, Sanctimony, since everyone else is busy?”

The angel paused, wings fluttering in surprise. “Of course,” he said finally.

“You can change a plug?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“I mean, it’s something that many ordinary people can do. You sure?”

“Ab-so-lutely,” Sanctimony said with the obvious confidence of someone who had no clue. And off he went.

Both Omi and Judgement waited, ready for what came next. On cue, there was a spark, a loud “Oops”, and every light on the site went dark.

“You know,” Omi said mournfully, “I would have been fine if he just said he couldn’t do it. Cron’s never managed it either.”

* * *

Sanctimony was wandering across the faux-barren landscape, kicking his heels at the dirt. He’d tried to help, but they just weren’t happy with him. He had tried. But…

A little bite of sanity kicked him in the brain.

Sanctimony, you’ve only caused trouble today, it told him.

I deserve a bit more respect though, his ego battled back. I am the great Sanctimony after all!

Are you though? his rational side pitched in.

Well, yes, I am. I am Sanctimony. Why are we questioning that?

But are we great?

Sanctimony paused, then shook it off. He was great, surely, they just couldn’t see it. And neither could anyone else apparently… It really had been a while since he’d done anything truly heroic, at least on this plane of reality. But he’d show them. He’d show them all… somehow.

As he kicked up more dirt, his sandals getting grubby, he crested a ridge and looked down into the next canyon of the builder’s yard. It was more of a quarry really.

There were dozens, if not hundreds, of people, all in pitch black robes, working to operate a frankly terrifying looking machine that lanced red lightning into the air.

“Oh,” Sanctimony said quietly, then turned and broke into a sprint.

* * *

As the last repairs were done, and the lights repaired, everyone save Sanctimony was gathered outside the catering tent. Judgement had two cables, one in each hand, squeezing her eyes shut with concentration. She generated energy, her hands glowing, and poured it into the cables. With a squeak and a sputter, the generator restarted, followed by the lights and the hologram emitters.

Everything was set.

The lights and pyrotechnics transformed the builder’s yard into a blasted, seared hellscape. The earth was crimson, fires burned at irregular intervals, and ruined vehicles pockmarked the land, while the hologram emitters painted the sky a scarlet hue. And in that hologram skyline was a blasted Hero City, burning, with the Pinnacle Building and Cosmo Tower perfectly visible. As a final touch, they’d bought ten copies of the Hero City Times and scattered their front pages across the battlefield.

The five heroes inspected their hard work. They had really made a proper mess.

“So, what now? Makeup?” Justice Man suggested.

“I’m not sure. Do we have to wait for something to happen, or do we just get on with it?” Judgement said. “Maybe before Sanctimony gets back?”

“I really don’t get why he came today.” Omi concurred. “He only got the food.”

“And barely that,” Cron added.

“Hey, he isn’t so bad,” Justice Man defended kindly, more out of good guy habit.

“You try saying that after he nearly crushes you with a lighting rig,” Stealth Watcher countered.

“I mean… He is the leader of the Guild. That has to count for something,” Justice Man shrugged, losing ground fast.

“And who elected him?” Judgement returned. “Because I didn’t.”

“People?” Justice Man fell quiet. Stealth Watcher gave him a kindly pat on the arm.

“Honestly, do we even need to be out here?” Judgement thought aloud. “I know Laser Lad supposedly saw the future, but this whole Wiggle Room Protocol seems pretty shaky.”

“The science is sound,” Omi contributed.

“But it could also be hogwash,” Cron added.

“But none of this has really played out like we thought,” Judgement crossed her arms. “Laser Lad and Sanctimony might be heroes, but that doesn’t mean they’re right. They might both be old coots.”

“Hey!” A fire lit in Justice Man. “Laser Lad is a legend, a member of the League of Titans.”

“But nothing he told us has come true. The Hand of Fate was key, Justice Man. But what happened? The Hand was useless.”

-Unseen by anyone, a little spark of light flickered in the air, took note of one of the newspapers and something Judgement said, and then vanished back into the timestream.-

“Laser Lad is a great man. A saviour of the city!” Justice Man defended.

“And what about Sanctimony?”

“He’s… good too,” Justice Man deflated.

Before more barbs could fly, everyone turned to an odd noise. It was low and constant, but was growing louder and higher by the second. Far off, it was the distant form of Sanctimony, barrelling their way, screaming in a panicked tone.

“Oh, here comes our fearless leader now,” Judgement snarked.

It was a minute before Sanctimony actually reached them, but that was enough time to realise something was very wrong. He was winded and puffing for air, but using a combination of charades and desperate pointing, he managed to tell them what he’d seen.

* * *

The heroes regathered on the ridge overlooking the army of cloaked figures. It didn’t take long to identify them. They were wearing bone masks, arrayed with medieval weapons, and some of them were chanting.

“The Apocalypto Cult,” Judgement assessed. “Dark Dragon’s servants.”

“Here, of all places,” Sanctimony said in utter disbelief. “Perhaps we aren’t cheating fate.”

“But, if they’re here, where’s their master?” Justice Man said, scanning the crowd.

They didn’t need to wait long, as the air stirred and the sound of a helicopter descended. The chanting below grew more intense, and the cultists who weren’t chanting rushed to line up in formation, a select few running over to the controls of the sparking machine. It was a set of two pylons, each bent to resemble horns or an inverted omega symbol. Or maybe a gateway.

The helicopter flew in, flying low on the opposite side of the gorge, but it didn’t touch down. It flew close to the archway and deposited a passenger, then flew away again. The passenger was a fearsome sight. Tall, armour plated, and coloured coal-black. The terrifying form of Dark Dragon stood before his minions. His armour was intricate, but colourless, designed to resemble a serpent with an open maw for the helm. The only sign of the wearer within were two glowing red eyes. Even from across the quarry, the heroes felt their stomach’s tighten when the fiend’s glowing gaze drifted near them.

“Progress report,” Dark Dragon commanded in a voice which could tumble rocks.

“The archway is nearly ready, my lord. It only needs your final touch,” a cultist said, flapping a hand at another cultist working the controls.

A switch was flipped, red lightning coursed through the machine, and bolts converged between the curved pillars. Dark Dragon stared into the sparking tumult, relishing the horrid sight.

“Then let us begin,” the demon knight snarled, and extended a hand into the storm.

His gauntlet touched the gathering chaos, and the lightning fled from his hand. Every bolt shot back into the archway, receiving their marching orders. The bolts danced in the metal, then a select few fired back into Dark Dragon’s clawed gauntlet. With a thrust of his hand, the energy erupted, and power filled the arch like a wall of static. Then the static died away, leaving only a red-tinged void between the two pillars.

“Do it,” Dark Dragon ordered, stepping back from the portal.

“Right away, my deviousness,” a cultist saluted. He ran up with a large book and frantically flipped through the pages. Once he found his target, he held up a hand and read: “Oh, I summon thee. I summon thee, oh Cladeus of the Dark Harvest!”

With a crack of thunder and a surge of red light, the portal opened and something came through.

First came an arm and another arm beside it. Then a leg and another leg, then another pair of legs and another pair of arms, though no head or face was ever visible. The creature had to bow to fit through the arch, easily twenty foot tall. The monster was a giant with two arms and two legs on each side, each pair moving together like one limb. Its torso was featureless, though vaguely muscled, but most noticeably was missing a head, the shoulders merely ending in a neck stump. In the giant’s left hands was a massive trident, which reached from the ground to where its head should have been, the demon leaning on it as it stood.

“Cladeus, do you report for your duty?” the cultist called up, taking the demon in good stride.

“Yes,” the beast droned in a low calm voice. “I serve Dark Dragon.”

“Very well. Stand over there,” the cultist directed, and the demon did as instructed.

Back on the ridge, all the heroes dropped low and turned to face each other.

“He’s going to raise an army of demons,” Judgement panicked. “We need to stop this.”

“Can we stop this?” Sanctimony worried.

“We have to,” Justice Man said proudly. “Hero City needs us.”

“Then we need to make a plan,” Omi suggested.

“I could write it down for us,” Sanctimony offered, though no one paid attention.

“Or we could just rush them,” Cron countered.

“We can’t take Dark Dragon lightly,” Stealth Watcher warned. “The only one of us who’s dared fight that thing before now is Justice Man. So, JM, what do we do?”

“We need something.” Justice Man tapped his chin. “What we need is… a plan.”

Everyone sighed.

“What sort of plan, big guy?” Stealth Watcher pushed.

“We break the machine?” Justice Man guessed. “It’s my usual standard. But first we need to get to it.”

“Which means fighting our way through the cultists,” Judgement considered dreadfully. “There are a lot of them.”

“And a demon,” Omi added.

“And Dark Dragon,” Cron finished.

“I’m not liking our odds,” Sanctimony raised a hand. “Maybe we should-”

“If we flank from the sides, we might get around them,” Judgement talked over him.

“Maybe we can form some sort of distraction with the equipment we brought out?” Stealth Watcher considered.

Beside them, Sanctimony stopped. He looked to the sky, made a few calculations, and then listened carefully. He raised a hand, trying to catch everyone’s attention.

“Um… guys?” he said meekly.

“We blow up a few fuel barrels and we could draw some of them away,” Omi planned.

“Or throw them at the cultists and blow them up,” Cron countered.

“Guys? The helicopter…” Sanctimony tried.

“Justice Man could attack from above?” someone suggested.

“The helicopter will see…”

“Watcher, you could slip up behind and-”

“The pilot will see the set we made.”

“If Omi can hit the lights from here-”

“Guys, that helicopter has guns on it!” Sanctimony said frantically.

He was too late, as it turned out. The sound of the chopper blades had been constant, but suddenly the aircraft rushed over a nearby hill, and bore squarely down on the heroes, charging them like an angry manager.

“Bugger,” Sanctimony swore, as the group scattered in all directions.

Bullets hammered into the earth as the team dodged away. Unfortunately, between the machinegun fire and Cron having dodged over the ridge, it was fair to say the cultists had spotted them. Half the eyes turned on them, the rest still busy with other things. Anyone that hadn’t been looking though did, as an energy blast from Judgement blew up the helicopter, its pilot leaping to the ground below.

Everyone stopped. The heroes looked down at the army before them. The army drew swords, hammers, and a few rifles at the back. The towering demon Cladeus turned its non-head. And at the far side, beside the portal, Dark Dragon glared, locking eyes with each hero in turn.

“Kill them,” echoed the dark voice, ignoring conventional physics, being audible to everyone at precisely the same time.

“Charge!” yelled a cultist.

The small army charged.

The fracas that followed was difficult to keep track of. Justice Man and Judgement were first into the fray, throwing fists and energy blasts with reckless abandon. Stealth Watcher slipped between boulders to sneak behind, but was intercepted by a small battalion. Omi slid down to join Cron, picking up pebbles along the way, and launching them like bullets while Cron joined the melee.

And up at the top of the slope, Sanctimony stood watching, clipboard held to his chest like it would save his life.

“Alright, Sanctimony,” he told himself, “You can do this. You can be great.”

With a last shaky breath, he took flight and dove into battle… Well, dove would be an exaggeration. He fluttered down the hill, slowly, trying to work out where he might be useful. Justice Man, Judgement and Cron had all split off groups of the army for themselves, fighting their way through past swords and other melee weapons. Omi had taken care of the riflemen, five small pebbles and a screw knocking each one out. That only left Stealth Watcher, who was currently in the thick of it.

While Stealth Watcher didn’t have powers, he wasn’t weak. Fist met face, boot met stomach, and one by one the dozen cultists surrounding him were felled like chopped trees. Still, if any of the heroes needed help…

“I’m coming to help, Stealth Watcher!” Sanctimony announced.

“About… time…” the hero grunted, locking two men in a choke hold and simultaneously dodging a knife.

Sanctimony swooped towards the chaos, as three men split off to greet him. The angel fluttered to a stop yards away, eyeing their swords worriedly.

“Any time, Sanctimony,” Watcher called from inside what increasingly resembled a cartoon fight cloud.

“Of course,” Sanctimony mustered his courage. He raised a hand. “Truth Beam!”

A ray of gold shot and cascaded over the three men. They all flinched, but did little else. Then all three looked up in a moment of revelation.

“My wife didn’t like her birthday present,” one realised.

“I shouldn’t have eaten that burrito,” one said despairingly.

“I really shouldn’t be here,” the third admitted, and wandered off.

Well, that was one down, Sanctimony thought.

“Something more useful, Sanctimony?” Watcher said bitingly, biting one of the cultists.

Before Sanctimony could answer, Judgement leapt from her cluster of soldiers, gathered an energy sphere the size of a beach ball between her hands, and hurled it towards Stealth Watcher. The blast barrelled into the cultists like a bowling ball, carving a neat path for Watcher to regain some ground.

“Thanks, Judgement!” Watcher called, leaping down the path until his boot met a face.

“Yes… thanks, Judgement,” Sanctimony said, looking on sadly.

* * *

On the other side of the field, Dark Dragon watched with callous hatred. He was growing impatient. The cultist beside him, who was quite senior in the ranks and thus had a well-honed survival instinct, realised why.

“Cladeus,” he called up to the headless demon. “Join the battle and end these wretched heroes.”

Cladeus looked down at him… or turned his body as if to do so, and then looked back out at the battle. The cultist noticed all four of his hands shaking, wrapped around his trident.

“Is something wrong? You said you’d serve your master,” the cultist said sharply.

“Well, yes…” replied the booming voice of Cladeus. “However, I didn’t think I’d be fighting.”

The cultist froze. Anger took hold. “I’m sorry? Could you repeat that?”

“I didn’t think I’d be fighting,” the demon cowered.

“I mean… What did you think you’d be doing?”

“Farming!” the demon said honestly.

The cultist stared. “You thought you’d be farming? Why did you think that?”

“Because I’m a farmer! Cladeus of the Dark Harvest! Not all demons are warriors, you know. Someone needs to keep the crops growing.”

“But… But…” the cultist floundered. “But you’ve got a massive trident!”

“What? This?” Cladeus gestured to his weapon. “This isn’t a trident. It’s a three pronged pitchfork. You know, for hay.”

The cultist stared blankly, even as his honed survival instincts detected the subtle shifting of Dark Dragon’s eye.

“Go,” Dark Dragon snarled.

Cladeus didn’t need telling twice. A little nervous, he strode off onto the battlefield, his pitchfork aimed vaguely in a threatening manner.

“Find me a warrior,” Dark Dragon turned an eye on the cultist. The man frantically nodded, ran back to the massive book he’d been studying, and hurried through the pages.

* * *

Sanctimony was not having a good battle. He’d tentatively tried out Truth Beam on a few more cultists, but so far had only inspired realisations that their parents really did love them and one who recalled where his car keys were. All of them were still fighting.

Not that the other heroes needed help. Stealth Watcher had whittled his lot down to three swordsmen, Justice Man was toying with his, and Omi and Cron were working together to fire rocks like a machinegun into the horde.

That was when Cladeus arrived.

Like a charging bull, not really caring for the cultists in his way, the demon sprinted into battle, his trident aimed low. Justice Man saw him first and flew into the demon’s path, his indestructible cape blocking the demon’s spear. This meant that Judgement inherited all the cultists Justice Man had been fighting, who swarmed her and more than doubled her opponents. Omi and Cron tried to provide support, but a clever section of the cultists split off and targeted Omi specifically, cutting off the ranged weapon of the team.

“Sanctimony! Don’t you have any spells or something? Anything bloody useful?!” Judgement called, hovering above the horde to avoid being drowned beneath them, until a cultist threw a chain and lassoed her leg, dragging her back in.

Sanctimony looked at the madness before him. The chaos. The… disorder. A spark lit in his mind. A long forgotten power, one from the celestial realms, one of true law and order.

He stood on the slope, raised his hands to the heavens, and proclaimed in a voice that rattled the clouds: “Celestial Sanction!”

There was a pulse of divine energy, and everyone on the battlefield paused. As they stopped, the cultists looked down. A piece of pink, official-looking paper had been pinned to each of their robes. One of them pried theirs free and read it.

“Caution. You are in violation of interdimensional law. Stop your incursion at once or there will be harsh fines,” the cultist read to himself.

All at once, the Apocalypto Cultists threw the papers aside, already being criminals and so not caring about fines, and Cladeus threw his aside, because he couldn’t read it.

The fracas renewed.

“I said something useful!” Judgement called, vanishing under a dozen cultists.

* * *

 Back at the portal, the cultist who was now de facto second in command found something. He stepped up to the portal and raised his hands.

“Oh, Invelopede, the Bone Crusher. I summon you.”

The portal split and a limb emerged. And then another, and another, and another, and another. The creature that emerged had a dozen limbs like a millipede, each with a hand on the end, its body long and chitinous. Its head however was disconcertingly uncanny, like a mask of skin being worn by something decidedly not human. Invelopede laughed, its mask mouth moving with its words. Its tail came last, revealing a long blade-like stinger on the end.

“Oh, Invelopede. Join the battle and smite our enemies,” the cultist commanded.

“What?! Go out there?” the demon pointed a manicured hand, speaking with a voice like a tin telephone.

“Yes?” the cultist said obviously, feeling the rising dread of repetition.

“But I’m no warrior, sir.”

“But… you’re Invelopede the Bone Crusher.”

“I’m a chiropractor, mate,” the giant creature waved a hand candidly.

“But what about that?” he pointed to the massive stinger.

“That? It’s just my tail. I use it as a letter opener.”

The cultist needed a break, stuck between being responsible for this and not knowing how he could have avoided it. However, he was saved by a slight turn of Dark Dragon’s head.

“Fight,” the demon lord commanded. “Kill those two in silver on the hill.”

“Yes, sir!” Invelopede saluted with eight different arms. She sprinted off onto the battlefield, her limbs clicking as she moved.

“I said warriors!” Dark Dragon snarled.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but the old timey names are a little confusing.”

* * *

The terrifying centipede creature scuttled across the battlefield, banking around the edges, charging for Omi and Cron. This caused yet another shift to the layout of the battle. Stealth Watcher was almost done, only one last tenacious swordsman still standing. All the cultists who had been heading for Omi and Cron abandoned the plan and fled from the path of the demon, joining the mass that Judgement was currently running from, firing energy blasts randomly into the crowd behind her.

Sanctimony saw only one option. He had to use the secret technique.

With some precision flying, he landed in the centre of the battlefield. A number of cultists noticed, but none cared to stop him. With a grand gesture, a few arcane symbols drawn in the air, and some words in a language lost to time, the angel began to glow. The glow began in his halo, channelled down his head, through his shoulders, down his arms, and then gathered in a burning sphere between his hands. While no one had been paying attention to start with, a few turned to look as the orb brightened like the sun. With a throw of his arms and one last ringing cry, the orb flew into the air and exploded.

“Sunshine Celebration!” Sanctimony proclaimed.

“Sunshine Celebration?” Judgement repeated.

Above his head, the explosion took shape. It formed a circle, with two smaller circles within and a line curve beneath. The entire battlefield watched as a smiley face took form and spoke.

“It’s a happy sunshine day! Hurray!” the face announced in joyous tones. Then, like a balloon, it drifted into the sky above and vanished amongst the grey clouds.

“That was your plan!” Judgement cried incredulously.

“Just give it a minute,” Sanctimony urged.

“That was nothing!”

“Give it a minute.”

“You are useless!”

“I said give it a minute.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t have a minute, as the portal opened again.

* * *

A hulking form emerged. It was as tall as Cladeous, but twice as broad. The creature thudded with every step, a massive hammer held in one hand. The beast most resembled a tortoise on two legs, a spiked and ragged shell on its back, and a solid, jagged beak tipping its maw. Its eyes glowed scarlet as it looked down, and then knelt to its new master.

“And this one?” Dark Dragon asked his underling.

“Definitely a warrior,” the cultist answered.

Dark Dragon didn’t speak, but his eyes demanded more.

“This one is certainly a warrior,” the cultist assured.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he is Terrapain, The Warrior.” The cultist held up the book as proof.

Dark Dragon tilted his head in a look that words could never truly convey.

“Look, the book is very difficult to translate,” the cultist explained desperately.

This seemed to be enough, as Dark Dragon turned to his newest demon.

“Are you a warrior?” he asked, his tone gently threatening.

“Yes, my lord. I have won hundreds of battles, crushed thousands, and devastated entire legions,” the beast answered in an uncomplicated growling voice.

“And will you lead my armies?”

“Yes, my lord. I will lead your forces to victory.”

“And will you obey my every command?”

“Yes, my lord. I live only to serve you.”

“Good,” Dark Dragon audibly grinned, his voice edged with a purr of satisfaction. “Once I have my demons, and I have gathered the villains of Hero City, those that The Hand of Fate has so graciously created, then you, Terrapain, will lead them all to purge and crush this wretched world. You will destroy this accursed city and its population of heroes. And then, with them gone, nothing will stand between me and my true goal!”

“Yes, my lord.”

“But first, I command you to kill that angel. His weakness disgusts me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

* * *

The giant turtle emerged from the portal, took one look across the battlefield, and sprinted straight at Sanctimony, its war hammer resting on one shoulder.

Sanctimony floundered. He turned to run, but there was nowhere to go, cultists and demons on all sides. He looked for a weapon, but there was nothing that would hurt that beast. It was charging like a bulldozer, thundering like an elephant. Then, about twenty feet away, a dark shape shot out of the crowds and hit the beast in the side of the head.

The shape was Stealth Watcher, landing both feet roughly where the creature’s ear would be. Even with its size, the blow rattled its head and sent the titan tumbling, as Stealth Watcher landed on its carapace like a particularly aggressive flea.

“Sanctimony, if you can’t do anything, then go get help,” the cowled hero ordered, avoiding the clawed fingers of the demonic terrapin. “Go to the guild and-”

Something darker shot past, coal black and armour plated. Dark Dragon sprinted past his army, past the brawling hero and demon, and aimed his rage straight for Sanctimony. The demon knight had decided that something was going to die, and so it was going to die.

Sanctimony leapt back, flapped, and barely landed clear of Dark Dragon’s fiery blade. The six-foot sword, materialised from fiery air, embedded up to the hilt in the earth.

Sanctimony gulped, eyes wide and scared.

Dark Dragon continued his advance, his blade carving rock like butter as Sanctimony retreated. They reached the slope and Sanctimony prepared to climb, until a fireball missed his ear and set the slope ablaze. Dark Dragon lowered his smoking gauntlet, two handed his blade, and raised the weapon for a killing blow.

“Truth Beam!” Sanctimony cast, aiming straight between Dark Dragon’s eyes.

The beam struck true, and the dark warrior stumbled back. He shook his head and looked the angel in the eye. Then he laughed, a deep and terrible laugh.

“You foolish creature!” Dark Dragon rattled, full of cruel amusement. “There is no truth to learn. I have no doubts about who I am. No doubts about what I’m doing. And I certainly have no doubts about what I am about to do to you-” He stopped suddenly. Something occurred to him.

He eyed Sanctimony. Sanctimony eyed him back. The knight’s features shifted, a movement in his glowing eyes implying a raised eyebrow. Sanctimony raised both of his in answer. All eyebrows lowered, as Dark Dragon, for what may have been the first time in his life, wore a faint look of concern.

“The truth is: you don’t think you’re about to die?” he realised.

“No. I don’t,” Sanctimony answered, a little confidence slipping in.

“And what do you believe will save your worthless hide?” the demon knight snarled.

Sanctimony smiled. He pointed up.

Suddenly, the air crackled, like static before a storm. The ground shook and the sky began to shift and swirl. High above, the heavens opened, dark grey clouds parting to show the glorious light of the sun.

And painted on that glowing yellow sun… was a smiley face.

“It’s a happy sunshine day!” the face proclaimed in an unsettlingly deep voice, its light only growing brighter, forcing everyone to shield their eyes. Rays of light surrounded the sun, like you’d see in a cartoon or a children’s drawing, lines of light orbiting the orb like swinging blades. “Hip hip,” it continued, the rays spinning ever faster. “Hurray!” it cried, and with a sound like trumpets, the sun rained down.

Literally.

The rays span so fast they broke from the sun’s orbit and fell towards the ground like harpoons, a hail of them. They crashed down, machinegunning the earth, exploding in gouts of golden light. Thousands fell like raindrops, blasting the soil, filling the sky with erupting dust. A few cultists were unlucky enough to receive direct hits, and all that was left of them was their boots.

Justice Man leapt onto Stealth Watcher, shielding him with his cape. Judgement flew to Omi and Cron, using her energy to deflect the bolts. Cultists ran for cover or fled, never to return, while Cladeous and Invelopede hid beneath Terrapain’s shell.

“I did say it takes a minute,” Sanctimony said calmly, raised a hand, and pulled one of the light bolts from its course, guiding it squarely into Dark Dragon’s back.

It hit like a missile, and sent the demon knight careening, skidding across the ground. With the poise of a veteran, Dark Dragon regained his footing, his armour smouldering. He shot a death glare at the angel, his gauntlet crackled, as he resummoned his sword.

“Oh no…” Sanctimony’s nerve broke. He held up his hands apologetically.

Dark Dragon leapt at his foe. Sanctimony fell back in panic, hands in pockets, reaching for anything to save him.

CLONK!

Even amongst the sunshine bombardment, the other heroes turned to look. The sound tolled dully like a muted bell, and with it the light barrage stopped. Sanctimony was on the ground, arm raised, his golden ballpoint pen the only thing between him and Dark Dragon’s blade.

Dark Dragon, again possibly for the first time, actually looked confused. The tiny golden pen had blocked his sword, and wasn’t even damaged. With a furious snarl, he drew back and swung again. Sanctimony sprang to his feet, reached into his robes, and met the sword with his clipboard. The crimson blade landed with a disappointing wooden thunk, stopped like a pin against a sheet of iron. Sanctimony flicked the blade away with the clipboard, then used the small wooden board to slap Dark Dragon square across the helm.

* * *

The other heroes watched in amazement as the sunlight storm died down, until they noticed the demons getting back to their feet. The three giant things meandered across the battlefield towards them, alongside the few cultists who were brave enough to stay.

“For Hero City!” Justice Man cried, leading the charge.

Judgement and Justice Man met the demons head on, Justice Man battling Terrapain, while Judgement fought both Cladeus and Invelopede. Meanwhile, Stealth Watcher met the last of the cultists, most of them shaken and scared. With everyone else distracted, Omi and Cron made a beeline for the portal, intent to shut it down.

The lead cultist, who was remarkably still beside the portal, was now scouring the book for more soldiers. Omi saw this, grabbed a discarded sword from the battlefield, and flung it like a javelin. The cultist was lucky to take a step back, as the blade shot past him and pinned the book to the machine like a lawn dart.

“Time to put a stop to this,” Cron roared, running up and doing what came natural. His fists landed like cinderblocks, denting and wrenching metal, ripping the archway to pieces. Omi came up behind, pulled the sword from the book, and pointed it at the cultist leader.

With a final crash and the whine of a machine powering down, the archway crackled and died. The portal however remained hanging in the air, like a patch of red TV static.

“Um, guys? We’ve got a problem!” Cron called to anyone who could hear him.

“The portal is self-sustaining,” the cultist said gleefully, clapping his hands. “Nothing can stop us now.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have broken the machine,” Omi thought. “There might have been an off switch.”

* * *

Across the battlefield, Dark Dragon was growing increasingly furious. Blow after blow, swing after swing, this petulant angel dodged or blocked or fluttered away. But it wasn’t like he was some skilled warrior. No, the accursed cherub was panicking! Sanctimony was genuinely fearful, fighting for his life, but Dark Dragon just couldn’t land a fatal blow!

Sanctimony, meanwhile, was just trying to keep a cool head, and failing. But one wrong move and…

“Um, guys? We’ve got a problem!”

Sanctimony looked to Cron and Omi beside the portal, the machine smouldering nearby.

“Got to do everything myself,” Sanctimony mumbled, and walloped Dark Dragon in the face again with his clipboard.

“AHHH!!!” Dark Dragon roared, gripping vaguely where his nose should be. “I’LL RIP THOSE WINGS FROM YOUR BACK AND BEAT YOU TO DEATH WITH THEM!”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to make an appointment,” Sanctimony said distractedly, writing something on his clipboard.

With a flick of his hand, he flung the board and its paperwork clear across the battlefield. It span like a throwing star, past Justice Man, past Judgement, and landed with a thud in the metal of the broken archway, embedding by one corner.

“Bloody hell,” Omi said, admiring the distance. He picked up the board and read the paperwork clipped to it.

“Notice of Breach: All demonic entities are hereby in breach of dimensional law 9-F and must return to their own dimension. This portal is hereby closed and cannot be reopened without permission from the local celestial agent,” he read aloud. “What do I do with this?”

Over the battle, and the distance, the officious voice of Sanctimony called: “Attach it to the portal! And make sure all demons are properly filed before the paperwork is put in!”

Omi looked at the paperwork, then out at the trio of demons, and then at the portal again.

A plan formed.

* * *

Back with Sanctimony, Dark Dragon had recovered and was eyeing up his opponent like a tiger in a cage, gauging his adversary. Sanctimony twirled his ballpoint in his hand like a conductor would a baton, tracing lines in the air, which could mean anything.

In reality, Sanctimony was trying not to whimper, falling back on his calligraphy lessons as a comfort. Dark Dragon was terrifying, and now also wanted to murder him, which certainly made things worse. The pair paced, circling each other, as Dark Dragon’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you, angel? A warrior or a bureaucrat?”

“I’m neither. I’m… an organiser!” Sanctimony said proudly, his voice cracking with nerves.

“And now you are without your shield,” Dark Dragon hissed, and attacked.

He swung to cleave Sanctimony in two, but again the ballpoint blocked. Blade bounced off biro, as Sanctimony was forced to dodge and dance.

“How long do you think you can keep this up?” Dark Dragon wondered, chopping overhead, but only meeting the writing instrument.

“Well-” Sanctimony struggled beneath the blade, Dark Dragon pressing down- “the pen is mightier than the sword.”

“What a wretched cliché.”

“Yes, it is,” Sanctimony admitted. “But this pen, this stationery, was made for beings far greater than either of us, Dark Dragon. Bigger too.” He clicked the nib.

There was a flash, a burst of radiant light. Dark Dragon leapt clear, his sword ready. Sanctimony emerged from the glow, his pen now the size of a medieval lance, holding it by the pocket clip like a rapier’s guard. The palatial pen was shining golden, engraved with filigree, and finished with ancient unknown silver runes down the side.

“Told you,” the angel said smugly, and lunged.

The pen, while still just a very large pen, was long enough to force Dark Dragon to retreat. He barely escaped its reach, until the nib clicked out and carved an inky scratch in the warrior’s armour, a golden pen stroke on the metal.

Sanctimony withdrew, dancing his weapon in the air, the nib leaving a golden trail. While the pen was a few feet long, Sanctimony moved it with such precision that Dark Dragon could read the insults he was penning. Loser. Idiot. Others lost to modern language. One so long forgotten that it reignited Dark Dragon’s ire, the insult penned in his mother tongue, and very crude in nature. The warrior roared and charged.

* * *

Omi, Cron, and also Stealth Watcher, who had dealt with the last of the cultists, were formulating a plan. Three demons, a portal, and a group of heroes. They headed out.

Meanwhile, Justice Man danced around Terrapain, its hammer crashing into the earth again and again, so far unable to land a blow. That wouldn’t last though. Justice Man was sweating, dodging and diving, and every punch he threw barely fazed the beast. Terrapain was wearing him down. Justice Man landed, dodged the inevitable hammer swing, and grabbed the head of the weapon with his telekinesis, pulling it from the demon’s grip. The demon let go and the hammer flew back, but before Justice Man could turn it around, Terrapain leapt and planted an elephant sized foot square onto the hero’s chest.

“Oof!” Justice Man wheezed, the air forced from his lungs.

“Night night, hero,” the turtle snarled.

Something small and S shaped embedded in its cheek.

The projectile exploded, shrouding Terrapain’s head in smoke and fire. As the demon swatted it clear, the foot came up, and a dark cowled figure pulled Justice Man out.

“Thanks, S.W.,” Justice Man bid, rising quickly.

“We’ve got a plan,” Stealth Watcher directed.

“All ears.”

“Uppercut. On its shell. Bowling. Got it?”

Justice Man furrowed his brow, then realisation hit. “Understood, old friend.” He gave a thumbs up. Then he looked up to the titanic turtle, baring down on them, hammer back in hand. “Now to deal with this problem.”

“I’ll crush you both!” Terrapain snarled.

“Aw, you took back your hammer. I thought we were sharing,” Justice Man teased. “I mean, you needn’t be so… shellfish!” He flew, landed a fist like a bullet train in Terrapain’s jaw, and the beast tumbled. It landed on its shell, rocking back and forth, unable to right.

Stealth Watcher folded his arms. “Shellfish? Really? He’s a tortoise, big man.”

“I know, sorry. I couldn’t think of anything better,” Justice Man apologised, and kicked Terrapain with all his strength, skidding the demon like a puck.

Elsewhere, Judgement was struggling between Cladeus and Invelopede… not that she wasn’t winning. She was between them, but this just meant they were more likely to hit each other. However, her punches weren’t doing jack. She’d land hits that could level buildings, but the beasts were like punching diamond. They didn’t seem to have bones to break.

“Ow!” yelled Invelopede, as Cladeus stabbed her for the sixth time with his trident.

“Sorry,” the farmer demon answered, and swung a pair of fists at Judgement.

Judgement went to move, but Invelopede’s tail slashed the air, cutting her off. Cladeus’s fists came down like hammers, trapped Judgement beneath them, like Atlas holding up the world. To one side, Invelopede’s bladed tail danced, taking aim to strike.

Until Cron leapt in and punched the centipede in the back of its fat head.

Invelopede lolled sideways, stabbing reflexively with its tail. The attack missed Judgement completely, the bladed tail landing in Cladeus’s lower middle finger.

“Bugger!” the demon cursed, recoiling.

“Sorry,” Invelope said, rubbing the back of her head.

Judgement slipped free and landed next to Cron, squaring up against the two demons.

“Got a plan?” she asked.

“Yep. Line ‘em up.”

“You mean like they are now?”

“Exactly.”

“What are you two-” Invelopede began, before the skidding form of Terrapain barrelled through them. It picked up her and Cladeus, and kept on skidding.

“Bye now,” Cron waved sarcastically.

Back at the portal, Omi was hard at work. He’d gathered everything he could find, swords, old girders, suitable pieces of rock, and had thrown them down to create a ramp.

Just in time, as the three demons, struggling and screaming, skidded up, bounced off a bit of stone, launched off the ramp, and flew into the portal with all the grace of a three legged cow on ice. And then they were gone.

“Beautiful,” Omi said proudly, then stuck the notice to the portal.

Nothing happened.

* * *

Sanctimony and Dark Dragon continued to duel, but it was taking its toll. Dark Dragon was covered in little golden lines, one alarmingly close to his throat, but Sanctimony wasn’t much better, his robes covered in nicks and scratches.

“Hey, Sanctimony! The notice isn’t working!” Omi called from across the wasteland. Dark Dragon turned a degree towards the noise.

“Well of course not,” Sanctimony grinned, taking advantage of the split-second distraction, and cracking Dark Dragon upside the head. “I still need to sign it!” The angel took off like a bat out of hell towards the portal.

Dark Dragon wasn’t done. He straightened his helm, glared after Sanctimony with true hatred, and breathed a deep breath. He inhaled so deeply that dust swirled towards him, then he exhaled, breathing a scourge of dark flames. The fire swept after Sanctimony, like a homing missile, one the size of a truck. The fire tracked him, gaining on the hero, taking the shape of a dragon’s skull behind his heels. But Sanctimony kept flying, aiming his pen for the paper.

Then a few things happened in very quick succession.

Firstly, all the heroes turned to see Sanctimony approaching, the fire serpent right behind him. Judgement and Omi tried to return fire, aiming to hit the inferno, as Stealth Watcher and Cron jumped to safety, while Justice Man flew towards the flames. As Sanctimony reached the proclamation, in the pitiful few feet between the angel and the fire, Justice Man leapt between them, using his cape to shield Sanctimony.

The fire cascaded around them, flowing harmlessly over the indestructible cape, as Sanctimony moved his sword sized pen with the deft skill of any scrivener. In perfect cursive, he wrote: “Sanctimony P. Sol, Celestial Defender of Earth”, signing right on the dotted line.

The paper answered. It glowed, expanded, and wrapped around the offending portal breach. It enfolded it and shrank, compacting and contorting, folding in, until it was the size of an envelope. Then, slipping through a slot in reality, it posted itself somewhere and disappeared.

When the fire cleared, the portal was gone. Dark Dragon looked on. He saw his defeated unconscious forces, he saw his missing demons, and he saw that he had failed. With a wave of his hand and a flash of red light, he and his remaining cultists vanished, leaving the battlefield silent and abandoned.

Gradually, the heroes regrouped, all quite tired after the day’s events. There were pats on the back and kudos all round, as each congratulated the others on their work. Last of all, Judgement turned to Sanctimony.

“Well, Sanctimony. That was… pretty awesome,” she admitted.

“Oh, it was nothing,” Sanctimony dismissed in a tone that begged for more praise.

“Seriously, you’re powerful. Why don’t you fight like that all the time?” she asked.

“Well because…”

On cue, a golden portal appeared, accompanied by a cherubim in a postman’s uniform.

“Delivery for Sanctimony?” it addressed. Sanctimony nodded. The cherubim snapped their fingers, depositing a mountain of papers on the floor. The pile was as tall as Sanctimony, halo and all.

“Because you cannot imagine the amount of paperwork I have to do just to use one of those powers,” Sanctimony answered with a sigh, signing for the forms, and looking to Cron and Justice Man to carry the heap back to base.

As they headed back, ready to celebrate, Cron stopped.

“So, did we actually stop the catastrophe?” he said, arms full of papers.

Everyone paused. It had genuinely slipped their minds.

“Who knows?” Omi said tiredly, continuing walking. “I just want to go home.”

“Do we need to set everything up again?” Justice Man wondered.

“It’ll still be set up from before, big man,” Stealth Watcher reminded, “but how will we know when we’ve actually done it?”

“When a dead cat and a box show up,” Cron said, earning a dire look from Omi.

“Look, I told you…”

What followed was a few seconds of bickering, though it felt like hours. Each hero joined in, most getting lost in the fray, and forgetting their hill to die on. Sanctimony sighed.

He raised a hand and spoke over them. “Everyone!”

They fell silent.

“Everyone, the parade’s tomorrow. If this disaster hasn’t happened by then, then I think we’re safe,” he guessed, taking the role of expert. “So relax.”

“Is that your final word, oh mighty leader?” Judgement said, some of her cheek returning.

Sanctimony turned an eye on her, annoyed at even the playful challenge. But a sly smile graced his face.

“Yes, it is the last word,” he said assuredly. “However, that does remind me, Judgement. I recall you wondering why I was in charge of the Guild of Heroes. Now, I’m a fair minded celestial being, so how about it? If you think you could do a better job, here’s your shot. Do you want to be in charge?”

Judgement examined Sanctimony’s confident expression. She looked at Omi and Cron, still bickering like children. She recalled the hall of heroes, full of yet more bickering. Then she looked at the mountain of paperwork Justice Man was carrying. Finally, she returned her gaze to Sanctimony.

“No. No thank you,” she answered. “I think I’ll leave it to you.”

“Smart move,” he agreed.

Some days, it really was like herding cats, Sanctimony thought to himself. But sometimes, you could at least get them all chasing in the same direction.

And with that, they headed back to the city to watch the parade, and hope the world wouldn’t suddenly end.

[builder051]

NaNo day 1: There isn't even a den in this apartment!

Chasing Ghosts

Warnings for drug use, badly behaved college students, sickness/gore, very tiny allusion to eating disorders (blink and you'll miss it), mentions of politics, references to war (Operation Iraqi Freedom) and associated violence, strong language, and references to criminals/violent crime

_________________

James is used to the walk by now. Every Tuesday when his academic day is finished, he traipses around the University's man-made lake and sculpture garden as he makes his way to student housing. James tries not to seethe with discontent and forces himself to focus on the task at hand. He's being helpful. He's being a good big brother. He is not angry at Tasha for neglecting to submit a mail forwarding request.

James doesn't need to know the apartment number; the pile of damp-looking envelopes and sales ads on the doormat make his destination visible all the way down the block. He wonders for a moment what Tasha's would-be neighbors might think. She's slobbish and self-centered to the point of true oblivion? If James is honest, the description isn't far off. He just happens to love the little turd and can't help his instinct of automatic forgiveness, hence his dedication to clean up the studio and continue the charade that it's inhabited. Tasha's much safer living in James's spare room, but he hates to think of the consequences that will come if a protective service worker comes knocking at Tasha's technical address.

Shaking his head, James scoops up the paper and newsprint. It's mostly grocery store coupons and political flyers destined for the recycling bin. When Tasha eats, it's Steve's home cooking, and in the political realm, her opinion is already clear. She probably doesn't know half the candidates on the ballot, but James has heard her say that she'd rather vote for "the girl" instead of "the troll."

Tucking the junk mail under his prosthetic arm, James fumbles the apartment's key out of his pocket and into the lock. When it doesn't make the telltale click, his brow furrows. Anxiety prickles down his spine. James is sure he locked up after last week's tending. He trusts his paranoia more than his memory. He tries to think of legitimate reasons for the door to be open. Maybe maintenance? Someone to fix the plumbing? But James can't hold onto it as an option. It must be someone unwelcome. An intruder. An ax murderer. A terrorist planting a bomb.

As James tentatively turns the knob and eases the door open, it finally processes that the apartment's just unlocked. There are no signs of a forced entry. The lock doesn't even look picked, but it’s still far from reassuring.

James automatically jumps to worst-case scenario. The break-in must be premeditated. He thinks of careful surveillance and copied keys. Tasha might not notice a stalker. She's vulnerable. And now in desperate need of protection from what could be a serial killer. James just hopes he can head the guy off before he realized where Tasha actually lives.

The door momentarily sticks; the pile of unopened mail that’s made it through the slot over the last week makes crumpling and shredding sounds as James forces it open. So much for stealth. But this situation calls for a soldier, not a sniper. James squares his shoulders, shoves the door inward as far as it can go, and calls out in a clear, if not threatening, tone.

“Sergeant James Barnes, U.S. Army. If anyone’s in here, make yourself known.”

James’s nose is hit with the scent of smoke. Maybe a tinge of something chemical? He wills it not to be a bomb.

A throaty cough comes from deep within the apartment’s interior, along with a soft, “The fuck?”

Is it Tasha? James’s head is filled with white noise, and his hearing aids only increase the volume of the tinnitus. Whomever it is sounds impaired. Bound and gagged?

“Step out where I can see you. Hold your hands above your head.” James goes for his thigh holster, but of course it’s not there. He settles for holding his keys out like a many-bladed knife. The pieces of mail spill from under James’s arm as he brings his prosthetic hand under the other for support.

“Jamie?” A swath of frizzy red curls appears over the arm of the sofa. “Ugh.” Tasha’s pale face comes into view, her pointed chin dug into the upholstery.

James wants to sag with relief. He recognizes the thick smoky odor as cannabis, accompanied by the bitterness of bodily fluids. He can’t lose his nerve yet, though. Tasha still might not be alone.

“Anyone else?” James easily maintains his authoritative tone. “Clear the building.”

“Jamie, seriously, what the fuck?” Tasha’s eyes crinkle around the edges as she squints at him.

“Are you here of your own free will?”

“Yeah…?” Tasha raises an eyebrow. “Shut the door. You’re making it all bright.” She speaks the last sentence with a very familiar whine. As far as proof of identity goes, that’s definitely the ticket.

“Are you here of your own free will? Nobody is forcing you to be here?”

“Uh…no.” Tasha blinks slowly. “Shut the damn door, will you?” Her voice cracks, and Tasha’s head disappears, and she retches painfully.

James dutifully closes the door. A catalogue and a few credit card offers catch at the door jamb and tumble back out to the front stoop, and James suddenly remembers his original mission of sorting and recycling. He’ll get back to it. Tasha’s wellbeing is the priority, and from what he's seen so far, he has a feeling she's south of the mark.

James isn’t comfortable putting his keys away yet, but he folds them int a less threatening fist, which he grips so tightly the metallic points and ridges indent themselves into the pads of his fingers. He takes a breath to steady himself. Threat avoided, James thinks. Mission complete. He can drop his militaristic pretence for recon and rescue. Tasha does better with a more sensitive touch. If only he could be sure his body will behave.

The essence of marijuana becomes stronger as James steps into the apartment's tiny living area. His eyes burn and his head starts to buzz as if he's taking a joint himself. "Hey," he says quietly, stepping out of parade rest and into a more casual stance.

Tasha's bent double; she sits on the couch with her feet on the floor her torso draped down between her knees. She spits into a small bathroom trash bin, then raises bloodshot eyes to meet James's.

"Not feeling that great?" James asks. He kneels and steadies the bin for her.

"Nah." Tasha shakes her head, then squeezes her eyes closed and snuffles. She seems to notice James's vice-like grip on his keys as she uses the sleeve of her t-shirt to wipe her nose. "You, like, gonna stab me or something?" she asks hoarsely. "I'm not doing anything illegal."

James chooses his words carefully. "I was making sure no one was doing something illegal to you."

"By calling a bomb threat?" Tasha slumps back into the couch cushions. "I was tripping really good. Did you want me to start hallucinating desert rats or something? I hate it when the other side is all creepy."

Tasha's not one to respect anything, but James wishes she could see the situation from his side. Well, actually he doesn't; the 19-year-old has enough to deal with without wartime flashbacks to boot. James swallows his annoyance. This time is for helping Tasha after all. Postal pickup, sober friend. Same difference.

"Let me guess." James takes the slightest peek into the bin. "Robatussin and..." He pauses to think. The red fluid is easy enough to read. The green, though... "Bile from the deepest depths?" He greatly doubts Tasha would have blenderized spinach in her system.

"Bingo." Tasha slowly brings her arm around her head and leans toward her horizontal position again. "But your timing sucks. I have at least another hour before the pretty pictures go away, and you will not subject me to a moving vehicle in the meantime."

Seeing as Steve's currently at swim practice, the only available mode of transport is the city bus. James decides not to drop the news.

"You can stay put," he concedes, but he sits back on his knees and straightens his spine. "But we have to talk."

"I promise I'll never, ever do it again." Tasha doesn't bother to open her eyes.

"Hey, you're supposed to listen first."

Tasha puts a hand over her upward-facing ear.

"Stop." James folds Tasha's arm back down to her side, then gently prode her with a thumb between her eyebrows. "Seriously."

"Ok, what." Tasha gives him a glare, but her eyes gloss over almost immediately.

"This place reeks of weed," James states.

"It's a fucking college dorm." Tasha's whine is back. "It was like that before I moved in. Or, well, you know."

James doubts it, but again, he lets Tasha's words fly, leaving no meaning behind. "How often are you coming in here to smoke?"

"I don't know. Once? I guess?" Tasha's voice is thin and watery.

James nudges the bin a bit closer to Tasha's leg. She dry retches a few times, then brings up a trickle of pink-tinged spit once she's well over the trash can.

"I don't believe you," James says in all seriousness. "Are you going to your classes? You're going to flunk out if all you do is hole up and get high." He can't stop himself from going on. "Or is this where you go on Friday nights in your tube tops and high heels? Is there alcohol in here? Do you, like, have people over?"

"God, Jamie." Tasha wraps her arms around her stomach and gulps.

Guilt begins to sicken James's own gut. Is he being too direct? It's always a careful balance to strike; too lax, and she'll ignore him. Too harsh and she'll spite him. James wishes he still had the ability to hear his own tone.

Tasha looks like she's about to cry, but she doesn't. She just vomits again, then cringes. "Cherry," she mumbles. "What is a fucking cherry? Do these people actually eat fruit?" She shoots an accusatory look at a the smashed boxt halfway under the sofa. James recognizes it as the packaging from the Robatussin.

"Tash." James won't stop until he gets some actual answers. "Tell me you're not hosting intoxicated orgies in here."

Tasha takes a long time to spit and wipe her lips on the back of her hand. "If I did that, there'd be no carpet."

It's a valid point. The low-pile beige running wall-to-wall is as clean as its last shampooing. James considers. Tilts his head to the side. "Ok. I'll give you that."

"Gee, thanks."

"But are you cutting class? How often--?"

"You're being kind of an idiot," Tasha says with remarkable patience. "How many days in a row can you hit up without becoming a permanent benzo zombie?"

James struggles to hold the upper hand. They have an unspoken agreement not to talk about James's usage. He's a grown ass adult with his own legal prescription. The fact that Tasha's a grown ass adult as well with her own ID to buy over-the-counter hallucinogens isn't supposed to be in the same league.

James sighs. "Yeah. Fine. I get it."

"Do you now?" Tasha murmurs. She's heading toward unconsciousness again. "If you need somewhere to, you know, convalesce. The door's open."

"Hmm." James finds his keys and rattles them close to Tasha's face. "About that. I expected this place to be empty, but then the door was unlocked."

"So you went into ninja mode?" Tasha laughs, as if James's militaristic behavior was just a party trick.

"That's not actually funny." James's expression goes hard. "I can't stop once that switch turns in my brain. You know that."

"If you've got oxy on you, there's plenty of room." Tasha waves vaguely at the opposite end of the couch."

"You are not making this place into a drug den. It's, what, 400 square feet? There isn't even a den in this apartment." James laughs as well, but it's cold and incredulous.

"Well, I'm going back to lights and colors," Tasha says decidedly. She looks to the bin, then seems to decide she's done evacuating stomach contents. She flops back to lie on her side and lets her eyelids slide shut.

James gives it one last try. "I'd rather you do this at home. It's all legal; I really don't care. Just, safety, you know?"

"Sure." Tasha lets out a deep, peaceful breath. "Or you could just stay here."

There's no hope in moving her now, and James's inner vigilante hasn't completely gone back into hibernation. "I'll stay," he acquiesces. "But just for today." He turns back to the entryway.

"But-" Tasha points again to the couch. "Where are you going?"

James stoops and gathers the mess of mail into two great handfuls. "Entertainment," he says simply, then taps a few envelopes on the top of Tasha's head.

James sits on the couch, crosses one leg over the other, and begins to sort. He peruses the Walgreens mailing, but puts it directly into the discard pile as soon as he sees the perforated coupons offering half-price cold and flu medications.

[thesightstoshowyou]

~ Three, Two, One…. ~

Lochlan (lok-lin) Smith

A Sight’s Slasher OC

“My friends call me ‘Lok.’ You will call me that too.” Dumbly, you nod, quickly stilling when you realize what you’re doing.

Age: 29

Pronouns: He/him

Location: East Coast

Language: English

Sexuality: Bisexual

Profession: Job-hopper. Whatever pays the bills and funds his “hobby”

Slasher type: Self-aware sadist

Weapon of choice: Anything and everything

Skills: Persuasion, hypnosis, stealth, blending in, silver tongue

(Warnings below: Mentions of violence, suicide, hypnosis, murder, gore, torture, noncon, and supernatural elements)

🕜 Appearance:

Height: 6’0

Weight: ~180lbs

Hair: Copper red, short on the sides, longer on top

Eye color: Green

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Notable traits: His hair and piercing gaze

Body type: Athletic

🕥 Personality:

Lochlan is a chameleon. He will adjust his personality to compliment those with whom he interacts. He can be charming, funny, quiet, boisterous, or whatever you need to feel comfortable. He can blend seamlessly into any group or situation and he always has something clever to say.

Lok knows his name is silly. He doesn’t care. In fact, he kind of likes it. It makes him seem less threatening. Go ahead, crack a joke about it. He’ll laugh with you. You’ll let your guard down. Now, he has a way in.

Lok is much different in private. He’s a condescending bastard with a god complex. He is a true sadist; he never feels more pleasure than when he’s hurting someone. To Lok, people are things to mould and destroy as he chooses.

🕚 Method:

Lok loves to people watch. He’ll search a crowd and single out someone who looks impressionable. The more susceptible you are to hypnotism, the easier it is for him to talk you into a trance.

He’ll follow you for a few days, when he has the time. He’ll learn your schedule, formulate a plan, find an opening.

Next, he’ll put himself in your path. Maybe he stands behind you in line for coffee. “I noticed your pin. I love that band! What’s your favorite song?” Isn’t it a coincidence it’s his favorite song too? And what are the odds he has the exact same coffee order as you?

When Lok speaks, you find yourself almost compelled to listen. When your eyes meet his, your mind becomes just a little fuzzier. You can’t help but relax, letting the sound of his voice fill your head. His words are so calming. What’s that, he wants you to follow him? Yeah, that sounds nice. His car? Yes, you’ll get in. You are feeling pretty sleepy, after all. It will be nice to sit down.

When you wake, you’ll find yourself restrained in a small room. The walls will be littered with tools and other evil implements. You won’t know how or why you’re here.

This is the extent of Lok’s planning.

Now, he can chase whatever ideas come to him in the moment. Should he rip out all your teeth? Break your fingers? Carve away flesh? Dissect you and fuck the wounds? He’ll figure it out as he goes and he’ll do whatever makes you scream the loudest.

However, his favorite past time is playing with your mind.

🕣 Background and Hypnosis:

Lok has always been persuasive, even as a child. It seemed as though—if he concentrated hard enough—he could talk his classmates into doing things they would never normally do. Once, he convinced the kid bullying Lok about his hair to stick his finger in the pencil sharpener and crank the lever.

A year later, at 8 years old, he would convince his mother’s boyfriend to blow his brains out all over the bathroom walls. Technically, this was his first victim, but he wouldn’t kill someone with his own hands until he was 17.

When Lok was 12, his mother took him to a family event downtown. It was some kind of fair organized by the local businesses. Because it was free, they could go, he remembers her saying.

There was a magician. Lok remembers the stupid card trick he’d flubbed. None of the other kids noticed.

Next up was a hypnotist. Lok assumed it would be another fool in a cape, but this man proved him wrong. He was self-assured, smooth, and practiced. When he counted backwards and placed audience volunteers under his spell, Lok’s eyes grew wide in astonishment. The man made them cluck like chickens and pretend to bob for apples! He could make them do whatever he wanted….

Curiosity turned to obsession. Lok spent months at the library, studying different hypnosis techniques and reading testimonials. Hypnotherapy piqued his interest in particular. Imagine what things he could learn from someone in a trance, things he could hold over then once they were lucid.

As Lok grew, so did his skill. Using hypnosis, he could force victims to say and do things no other hypnotist in history could manage. To Lok, this meant he was a prodigy, a genius, far superior to the average man.

But, unknown to even Lok himself, there is an explanation for his unnatural talent.

Lok possess an inkling of supernatural ability. An inhuman ancestor, long ago, passed down abilities through the bloodline. After hundreds of years, only small traces remain. In Lok, this manifests as persuasive skill beyond the realm of natural human ability.

“You’ll like it, when I bring you down. All the way down. But when you come back, I’ll be waiting right here. And I make consciousness hurt.”

~~

(Read my first fic starring Lok here)

[getitfrenchship]

Hello, friends! Hope you're all doing well. In fact, I'd like to know what you're all up to so I can reconnect with friends again. What things are you watching/playing/doing now? Any new things in life you'd like to discuss?

Below the cut I'll say what I've been up to!

Just got back from my local con today and while I did spend a lot on game collecting + VA stuff, I'm glad I went. Thankfully I got paid Friday (though that means I'll have to wait to get paid again in 2 weeks) and my financial situation isn't dire. It's kinda like when you go to Disneyland and get caught up in the spectacle of things. Oh yeah, an IRL friend from high school helped me with a lot of the VA stuff since she had a VIP pass & could skip long lines. (On that note FUCK F//UNKO SCALPERS FOR HOGGING LINES AND MAKING ME WAIT 2 HOURS FOR ONE VA AAAAAAAAAA)

Thankfully, no insurance adjuster lady to drive me up the wall this past month at work. A few eh client encounters but overall it's been way more pleasant than it was a few months ago. ...Might still need to figure out vacation time just so I can take a longer break (and maybe find a government job if I'm able to find something so I have guaranteed holidays).

That being said, S//aimon's series is starting to see a spike of discourse and one of the servers I'm in keeps talking about it. It's making me feel bad as a result. Thankfully, none of the people in it are starting the discourse, but they tend to go "getaloadofthisguy" a lot. Along with usual self ship discourse that I see on my dash (that again thankfully neither friends nor I directly participate in), it kinda just drains me.

Seasonal anime I'm watching are Detergent (hopefully one of Shitsui's big scenes will happen next week; they took a break this week), Und//ead Mur//der Far//ce, Hel//ck (though I'm admittedly not really paying attention to this one), Happy Marriage, J J K season 2 (i am not ready for this arc AAAAAAAAA), and Z//om 100. When there isn't a seasonal anime for me to watch at work, there's Sai//ki K (I think watching Bla//ck Lag//oon kinda helped make me more bitter at work, but I'm feeling better now that I'm watching Sai//ki). Oh, I might check out OPLA since I hear it's an actual good adaptation. Aaaand F//ionna and C//ake too! God, I went "kindred spriits" with Simon's episode

Currently I'm playing Se//a of St//ars and I really like how it looks & plays so far! (Of course, I loved Chr//ono Trig//ger, so the gameplay feels right at home). I wooould continue Gh//ost Tri//ck, but I'm at a stealth section and like I expected, I'm looking up a lot of the puzzle solutions online instead of figuring it out for myself. Curse you, time limits!!! (And for Bom//b R//ush, I feel like I need to play with music, but I keep forgetting to bring my wired headphones. Bluetooth is for my phone mainly due to personal preference). I also watched the endings for OT2 and AUGH I LOVE THIS GAME SO MUCH!!!

Oh, a new manga I found called "Inv//isible Man & his soon to be bride" is cute so far.

someday i will find balam merch. somedaaaay

I might do a separate post showing my current ideas for S/I's/OCs, but hhhh I'm hesitant. Right now I just know for a P3 OC he takes inspiration from "The Stranger"

boy howdy i sure hope bluesky finally makes my account or i can get an invite because i really want tweetor to die. ...though i'd miss posting switch screenshots directly