#8 of those times being the hooves

[acewritesfics]

There's a lot of making up to do | Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, a minor side character being a drunk. Former friends to lovers. As usual italics are flashbacks.

Word Count: 2,990

Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"This girl should be out on a farm, with lots of grass and space to run," Y/N says as she runs a brush through the mare her father was keeping at his scrap metal yard. "All the noise and ruckus has her anxious and scared." 

"She's here temporarily," Charlie tells her as Curly starts cleaning the mares shoes and hooves. "Tommy's still looking for a home for her." 

"I see that hasn't changed," she chuckles.  

“What hasn’t changed?” Y/N hears from behind her.  

She pauses her grooming of the horse and turns towards the person who just spoke. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” she says with a small smirk on her face. “Good to see you again, Tom.” 

“Y/N Strong,” a smile also appears on his face. He hadn’t seen his childhood friend in 7, almost 8, years. As soon as there were talks of war, Y/N had left for London to go become a nurse. “It’s been a long time.” 

“It has,” she agrees, “and it’s also Y/N L/N now.” 

“You’re married?” He asks unsure how he felt about it. Y/N didn’t know it but she was the one who got away. The first girl he loved, and the only person he’s loved unconditionally. He thought he had moved past all the feelings he had for her. She was out of sight out of mind except when he over heard his “Uncle” Charlie mention her when someone asked how his daughter was doing. But seeing her here in Birmingham, in Small Heath, those feelings were flooding back. 

“Not anymore,” she tells him, turning back to the horse, her smile disappearing. “You know, you really ought to find her a home, out in the countryside, away from all this noise and chaos.” 

“How long are you back for?” He asks ignoring what she just said about the horse. 

“I have cottage on the outskirts of town,” she tells him.  

“Will you be at the Garrison tonight?” He asks, sounding slightly hopeful. 

“I might be,” she tells him. “Dads invited me out for a drink. He told me it’s under new ownership.” She adds smirking slightly letting him know she’s heard about him buying the pub.  

“I’ll see you tonight, then,” he smiles as he starts to leave. 

“I said I might be there,” she reminds him. 

He turns to face her once again, walking back over to her, this time standing so close, she could smell his cologne mixed with the scent of cigarettes. “You’re never able to stay away.” 

“I was the one who moved away, wasn’t I?” She challenges him but knows she’s last as she realises her words hold nothing. 

“But you’ve moved back,” he points out, his smile still on his lips. “Now why is that?” 

“If you think it’s because of you, think again, Thomas Shelby,” she says before tip-toeing to place a kiss on his cheek. “It was good to see you again,” she goes back to brushing the mare who has seemed to calm down a little. 

- 

Later that night, Y/N walks into the Garrison and is surprised to see how much it has changed. Tommy has really tidied the place up. For her it doesn’t seem as cozy as it use to be. But it’s still nice.  

She quickly spots her dad and Curly sitting at a table off to the side and starts making her way towards them. But she only gets a couple of feet when she’s stopped by someone. 

“We’ll look who it is, looking even more beautiful than she did when she left us.” 

A large smile makes its way onto her face as she turns to greet Polly. “And look at you, as stunning as always, Aunt Polly.” 

Polly pulls her in for a tight hug. Y/N’s mother walked out on her and her father not long after her 2nd birthday with no explanation for her absence and just a note saying goodbye. She was just gone. Charlie always told Y/N when she was older that her mother wasn’t ready to become one when she was born, she couldn’t bond with Y/N and aside from feeding Y/N, Charlie mostly cared for her.  

Until Polly and the Shelby siblings mother stepped up. In the way that her father had become Arthur Jr, Tommy, John, Ada and Finn’s uncle, their mother and Aunt became her Aunts who were like a mother to her. Y/N couldn’t be more grateful for the two woman who helped raise her. Her heart broke almost as much as the Shelby's did when Mrs. Shelby passed. 

"Tommy told me you were back," she smiles, letting her go. "How long have you been back?" 

"A few days," she tells her. "I wanted to unpack and get settled in before I made my presence known again. Dad was the only one I told about me returning."  

"Were you hoping to surprise us or is there a reason you didn't want to tell us?" she asks feeling a little offended that Charlie was the only one she told. 

"Surprise!" Y/N cheers, her smile stretching from ear to ear. "Did you really think there was a reason I wouldn't tell you about me coming home?"  

"And I haven't heard from you in a while. I wasn't sure," Polly admits, voicing her worries.  

"I'm sorry I haven't written or called in a while," Y/N apologises for her lack of communication. "I had a lot going on." 

"I understand," Polly smiles reassuringly. "You can tell me all about it over a cup of tea tomorrow."  

"Sounds wonderful," her smile falters a little. The only people who knew about her husband was her dad and Tommy but they didn't know the full extent of what happened. 

Polly hugs her once more before making her way back to the gentleman who she was occupying her time with. Y/N continues to make her way over to her father.  

An hour goes by before Y/N sees Tommy walking through the door and towards the bar. She politely leaves the table and makes her way over to Tommy before he can disappear into the snug beside the bar where she knows him and his brother go for privacy. 

"Tommy, can I speak with you, please?" she asks as she reaches him. 

"Is everything all right?" he asks her as he gets the bottle of whiskey that he ordered.  

"Is there anything I can get you, Y/N?" Harry asks before she can answer Tommy. 

"No thank you, Harry, I'm good for now," she smiles politely at the bartender and former owner and turns back to Tommy. "Everything is fine. I have a suggestion for that horse of yours." 

"I'm looking for a more suitable space for her," he tells her, trying to assure her the horse will be okay. 

"What's her name?" she asks.  

"Rosebud," he tells her. 

A look of shock makes its way onto her face when she hears the name of the horse.  

“Rosebud?” she asks, wanting to make sure that’s what she heard him say. 

“She looks like her, doesn’t she?” He replies.  

Y/N’s taken back to when they were about 13-years-old. She’d drawn a horse that looked very similar to the horse Tommy now owns, claiming that she’ll one day own a horse that looked just like that. Tommy laughed at her thinking she’d never find a horse that looked exactly like her drawing. 

As soon as he saw his horse grazing in a paddock on one of his drives out of Birmingham, he thought he was hallucinating. The mare was a remarkable resemblance to the one Y/N had drawn when they were younger. Once he realised he wasn’t hallucinating, he hatched a plan to convince the owner to sell her to him. It didn’t take much convincing for the owner to hand her over to him.  

“She does,” she agrees now that she’s reminded of the drawing she drew. Letting out a laugh of disbelief, she shakes her head. “How did you even remember that silly drawing?” 

“I remember a lot of things,” he tells her simply as those brilliant icy blue eyes of his bore into her. “And it wasn’t a silly drawing. You were so sure that horse you drew existed somewhere out there.”  

“She was always in my dreams,” she smiles. “That’s how I knew she was real,” she continues before laughing and gently hitting his shoulder before grasping it. “And now the boy who didn’t believe me has her. What a coincidence,” she chuckles and let’s go of him. “This is wonderful.” 

“What did you need to talk about?” Tommy asks, an amused look on his face.  

“Oh right,” her amusement falters slightly as she remembers that she needed to speak with him. “It’s actually about the horse… Rosebud. I may have somewhere you can keep her. It’s away from all the noise and smoke. She’ll have plenty of room to run and graze. There’s also a small barn that could be turned into a shelter for her.” 

“Where is it?” He asks. 

“Not far out of town. I can meet you there tomorrow, show you it. The owners already given permission for you to use it,” she tells him, adding the last part to reassure him everything has already been set up.  

“How does 9AM sound?” He asks. “Not too early for you?”  

“Not at all,” she agrees to the time and tells him the address. “I have to get back to my dad. I’ll see you at 9.” 

Tommy nods and watches her go back over to Charlie and Curly. 

- 

Y/N checks the clock in the entry way seeing that it is 8:57AM. Tommy would be arriving any minute and the sun had yet to shine through the cloudy skies. The smell and the feeling in the air let her know it was going to rain soon and she wanted to show Tommy where Rosebuds potential new home could be. After a minute passes she decides to stand outside and wait for her childhood friend.  

As she waits for Tommy her mind goes back to the last time she was with him.  

It was the night before she was meant to leave for London. She’d said goodbye to everyone except Tommy who had suddenly disappeared.  

After scouring all the places he could be, she found him sitting on her bed after she returned home feeling defeated that she couldn't find him. Seeing him sitting there she feels relieved but also angry as she glares at him.  

"Where the hell have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you?" she scolds him, letting her anger win. 

"You have no right being angry with me," he glares back at her as he stands up. "You're the one who's leaving, after all."  

"You're the one who encouraged me to go," she shouts back at him. Confusion adding to her frustration. "What was it that you said? You'll be the best nurse this country ever has? You were made to be a nurse, because you're always looking after others? London will be lucky to have you?"  

"Well I've changed my mind," the 21-year old Tommy, backtracks on his words. "Maybe London won't be lucky to have you and you'll make a terrible nurse." 

"Get out," she yells at him, throwing her hand towards her bedroom door and pointing to it. 

"No," he says stubbornly standing his ground.  

"Leave, before I decide I never want to see your face again." 

Tommy sits back on her bed, further proving that he wasn't going anywhere.  

"What is it that you want, Thomas?" she asks, giving into the young man's stubbornness after a few moments go by. 

"I want you," he declares. "Because I am in love with you." 

Y/N is stunned. Her heart is beating out of her chest and there is a lump in her throat preventing her from saying anything. 

"I've been in love with you for so long," he continues.  

"Why now, Tommy?" she says exasperated, feeling tears build up in her eyes. She can't remember the moment she fell in love with her best friend but she knows it was a long time ago.  

"Because I don't want you to go," he stands up and moves in front of her.  

She refuses to look at him, knowing as soon as she meets those beautiful blue eyes of his she'll give into him. "I have to," she sighs resting her head on his chest. "I start nursing school in two days. I can't back out now. It's too late." 

"I know," he says as his arms wrap tightly around her. "Tell me you love me too and give me tonight. Then we can go from there." 

Lifting her head from his chest, she pulls him in for a kiss. 

That night she had gotten little sleep wanting to spend every minute she could with him. Tommy stayed with her until she got in her car to drive to London.  

Once she settled in London, Tommy went to see her on the weekends he wasn't busy with the illegal betting den his father started. They wrote letters every week, reminding each other how much they loved them and missed them. There was a few weekends that Tommy was with her when he talked about moving to London to be with her. He even got as far as packing his trunks with all his belongings but then his dad had disappeared on one of his benders, leaving him and Arthur Jr to pick up the pieces. They were both frustrated and disappointed but aside from that things were going well between them. 

Until the war happened a year later.  

They had both been shipped off to France, Tommy to fight and Y/N to tend to the wounded. Letters became less frequent as the war went on. The letters eventually stopped under the war ended and Y/N sent a letter to Polly to make sure everyone made it out. Tommy was the one to reply to her, telling her he loved her but nothing was the same anymore. That was the last letter she received from him despite her having written to him multiple times. 

Y/N's pulled from her thoughts when Tommy's car pulls up outside the front gate. She waves to him as he gets out and closes the door behind him. Opening the little gate, he walks closer to her. 

"Did you say to meet here so I can pick you up?" he asks her, dressed in nice suit, his peaky cap on his head and a cigarette hanging from his lips as he buttons up the jacket. 

"No, this is the place I told you about," she informs him and takes his hand.  

He allows her to lead her through her small cottage and into the backyard. At the edge of the backyard was another little gate that lead to a paddock and a small barn structure that could indeed be converted into shelter for Rosebud. 

They reach the small barn just as it starts pouring with rain. The heavy rain showed that the barn had a few leaks that could easily be fixed. 

"So, what do you think?" Y/N asks, letting go of his hand and moving to face him.  

"You were right about it being enough room for her and being away from the noise and smoke," he says pleased with the space. "How much do you want for me keeping her here?"  

"I don't want any money, Tom," she replies. "You pay for her feed and upkeep and she can stay here free." 

"What about the barn?" he asks.  

"You can pay for the conversion, if you must." 

"Anything else?" 

"You can let me ride her and let me groom her but you must clean out her stall. She is your horse after all." 

"Fair enough," he agrees and looks at her. She looks back at him before looking away and like she there was more that she wanted to say. "Whatever it is, you can tell me." 

Y/N looks at one of the leaks as though she's inspecting it but the leak is the last thing on her mind as she ponders whether it would be a good idea to bring up the past or not. 

"Why did you never write back?" she asks, unable to stop herself from asking.  

"The man who came back from France wasn't the same one you fell in love with and he wasn't the man you deserved," he answers, his eyes never leaving her. "From when we were kids, I was always told that you were too good for me." 

"And it took a war for you to listen to those people?" she asks now looking at him. "When have you ever listened to other people's opinions?" 

"It's not just their opinions, Y/N," he goes on to explain. "It's what I've done, who I have become. I'm a bad man who's done bad things." 

"We've all done bad things, Tom," she tells him. 

"I never stopped loving you," he tells her. "Seeing you yesterday reminded me that I still do." 

"It's too late," she tells him, thinking about all the time she could have had with Tommy but because of his decision she spent it with a man who was drunk more than sober and eventually took his own life. Was she in love with this man? No, because she never stopped loving the man standing in front of her right now.  

"No it's not," he says moving closer to her. She makes no move to stop him as he takes her face in his hands and tilts it up, making her look at him. "Tell me you still love me too." 

"I never stopped loving you too," she admits out loud. "There's a lot of making up to do." 

"Then let's start right now," he says and pulls her in for a kiss. 

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: A fisher of men and A strange encounter.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 2 - The Snow Is On The Grass Again

The chill of May lingered as Kate set up camp near the riverbank, where patches of snow still clung to the ground. With the water icy cold, bathing was out of the question, but she found comfort in the soothing melody of the flowing stream. Nearby, Lorena grazed peacefully as Kate hummed a tune and cast her line, hoping for a catch to satisfy her hunger.

It had been two weeks since her stagecoach heist with Arthur and Hosea. Since then, Seamus hasn’t given her any more dubious tasks, and she hasn’t seen the two men either. She went back to being a ranch hand for a bit until she told Seamus it was time she moved on again. She followed the river south until she found a suitable spot to set up camp for the night. 

It was a beautiful sunny day, but still chilly enough for a jacket. "It's cold, but at least the fish don't seem to mind," Kate remarked to herself as she felt a strong tug on her fishing line. With a flick of her wrist, she hooked the fish and began reeling it in, “Cmon now don’t fight too hard,” she mused to herself. 

Lorena whinnied for attention "easy, girl," Kate murmured, as she made a noise behind her again. "Let me pull this in first." Suddenly, the quiet scene shattered as Lorena squealed in fear, her hooves pounding the ground. Kate's heart raced as she spun around, spotting a small copperhead slithering toward her mare.

"Sh-shhh, it's alright, it's just a snake," Kate reassured, her voice trembling slightly. But Lorena, in a state of panic, bolted downstream. With a grunt, Kate abandoned her fishing pole and chased after her horse. "Lorena! It's okay, girl, you're alright!" she called out, her voice echoing over the rushing water.

Though reluctant to admit it, Kate knew this wasn't the first time Lorena had been spooked. Usually, the mare's restlessness signaled impending danger, but snakes remained her Achilles' heel. It was a fear Kate couldn't rid her beloved horse of, even if she tried. Not that she ever would.

As they rounded the bend of the river, Kate lost sight of Lorena, but the mare's hoofprints remained etched in the sand. With a silent prayer, she pressed on, hoping her companion hadn't ventured too far.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

"Think this spot looks good, Uncle Arthur," chirped the little boy from his saddle as they neared the riverbank's edge.

"I think you’re right Jack. Let's give it a shot and see if we can reel in some fish," Arthur replied, guiding Belle to the sandy shore and helping Jack dismount.

Taking the smaller fishing pole from Arthur, Jack asked, "Where should we stand?"

"Right by the shoreline, just follow me," Arthur directed, leading Jack to the water's edge. "See those ripples? That's where you'll want to cast your line. Just aim for that, and you'll snag 'em."

“I wanna try!” He exclaimed impatiently while Arthur baited their lines with cheese. 

"Okay kiddo, watch me. Hold the line over your shoulder like this," Arthur demonstrated, guiding Jack's movements. "Now, swing it forward smoothly, using your wrist, not your elbow."

Jack mimicked his uncle's actions eagerly. "Like this?"

"Exactly! Well done, Jack. Now, all we do is wait for a fish to take the bait," Arthur said proudly, as Jack beamed up at him, standing closer by his side.

As Arthur watched Jack with a mixture of pride and guilt, he realized how long it had been since they'd spent quality time together. Since their escape from Blackwater, life had been a whirlwind of tasks assigned by Dutch and taking care of the camp, leaving little room for personal time. He was about to leave camp again when Abigail asked if Arthur would watch Jack for her. Dutch would most likely make a comment about it later, but at the moment he couldn't care.

After a minute of peaceful silence, Jack looked up at him again with a curious expression. "Uncle Arthur, can the fish see us?"

Arthur chuckled at the unexpected question. "Well, not exactly like how you see me. It's a bit blurry for them, I reckon," he replied, scratching his head at the complexity of explaining fish vision to a four-year-old.

"Oh, okay. Can they hear us then?" Jack fired another question.

"Pretty much the same, I suppose," Arthur replied with a grin. "They can hear us, but not as clear as you and I can hear each other. Why all the questions, Jack?"

"Do fish talk?" Jack pressed on, undeterred by his uncle's attempt to change the subject.

Arthur smiled and shook his head. "Well, Jack, do other animals talk?" he countered, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

Jack paused for a moment, pondering the question. "Hmm, nope. Can't think of any," he admitted.

"Exactly. So, no, fish don't talk," Arthur affirmed, looking down at Jack, who seemed lost in thought, gazing at the grasses behind them.

"Uncle Arthur, I'm bored," Jack suddenly declared, breaking the silence.

Arthur let out a quiet sigh, realizing his attempt at fishing with his young nephew hadn't been the most thrilling activity. "Yeah, I figured as much," he muttered to himself. Louder, he addressed Jack, "You know what? Why don't you go explore? Just stay close to me, alright?" But before Arthur could finish his sentence, Jack darted off toward a nearby pool of rocks.

As Arthur continued fishing, lost in his own thoughts, he heard the loud approach of hoofbeats. Instinctively, he jumped to intercept the approaching stranger before they could draw too close to him and Jack. To his surprise, the horse charging toward him was unmistakably Kate's, riderless and wild.

"Ain’t that Kate's horse?" Arthur muttered to himself in disbelief, raising his hands in a futile attempt to calm the agitated mare. "Easy, girl, it's alright," he murmured soothingly.

Jack, drawn by the commotion, hurried to join Arthur, his eyes wide with excitement. "Whoa! Where'd that horse come from?" he exclaimed.

"Stay behind me, Jack. She's spooked, and I don't want her to accidentally harm you," Arthur cautioned. As he tried to assess the situation he recognized it was indeed Kate's horse but was unable to recall its name. Peering down the riverbank where the horse had emerged, he found no sign of its owner.

With gentle words and a steady hand, Arthur coaxed the horse into submission, finally gaining control of the reins. "What kinda trouble you in, girl?" he wondered aloud, stroking her snout.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As Kate followed the hoof prints of her mare, she rounded another bend in the river and finally spotted her beloved horse. "Oh thank god," she murmured, letting out a relieved sigh. Right before realizing there were two figures accompanying Lorena—a burly man and a small boy, both appearing to have been fishing.

About to call out her gratitude, Kate stopped as the man turned, revealing himself to be Arthur, the same man from the stagecoach incident. Surprised yet somewhat pleased to see him, memories of their previous encounter flooded back, particularly their pleasant conversation during the ride back from Carmody Dell. They had talked about their horses and she knew Lorena was in good hands with him.

"Mr. Morgan! I can't thank you enough. I hope she didn't cause you any trouble," Kate called out, jogging to meet them. Arthur looked up at the sound of his name, visibly relieved at her arrival, replied, "Miss McCanon! I was a little worried when I saw your horse come through here without you."

"She got spooked by a snake, that's all," Kate explained, petting Lorena affectionately. "She's a bit dramatic, though," she added with a hint of amusement.

As a small face peeked around Arthur's frame, Kate smiled warmly, realizing it must be his son. "Your horse is very pretty, miss," the boy remarked shyly. 

“Thank you, would you like to pet her?” She asked with a smile, the boy nodded, “she’s a little shy so just go slow, let her come to you.” The child looked up at Arthur and only approached once he nodded a go ahead. 

"Getting tired of Seamus' dubious stagecoach business, I take it?" Arthur teased, prompting laughter from Kate. Their banter flowed effortlessly, she found Arthur refreshingly different from most men she encountered. He had a playful and protective aura, with a bit of something else that made her incredibly intrigued. Or maybe it was just because he was handsome.  

Kate smiled and shook her head with a laugh, “not quite. Just about time I move on I guess. I was only passin’ through. I see you’re still here enjoying the countryside though, haven’t given up on robbing stagecoaches yet?” She teased back. 

Before Arthur could respond, the boy blurted out, "Uncle Arthur and my daddy robbed a—" Arthur swiftly intervened, diverting attention away from the boy's revelation.

"Kids have wild imaginations," Arthur chuckled nervously, steering the conversation back. "So, um, where are you heading? Camping around here?" he inquired.

So Jack is his nephew, Kate smiled to herself, these two were adorably entertaining, her heart panged slightly at the memory of what her life could have looked like. Her grief still makes itself present in the cracks of her being even after all these years. "Just going west, no place in particular. My camp is just downstream," she replied, gesturing in the direction she came from. 

Jack tugged on Arthur’s sleeve and motioned for him to bend down, with a slight roll of his eyes he kneeled down to his level, “can we invite her back to camp?” The boy whispered not so quietly. 

“Jack you can’t go inviting every stranger you meet back to camp,” he spoke sternly, “you know we’re on the run, we gotta be safe around here.” He added quietly, the boy looked up sadly but nodded in understanding. Arthur entertained the thought of inviting Kate back to the camp, he knew she was taking on odd jobs and constantly on the move. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if she stayed for a few days. He would never admit it, but he was a little disappointed they didn't cross paths again in the two weeks since the heist. 

“Ah, hell, why not” he breathed, turning back to Kate, “It’ll get pretty cold tonight, winters still not through in these parts. My camp is up on Horseshoe overlook,” he took his hat off bashfully, “If you’d like a warm fire, and some good company, you're welcome to join us.” 

As Kate was about to respond to Arthur's invitation, the rhythmic thud of hooves interrupted them. Two men in detective uniforms descended toward the water, casting a shadow over their gathering. "What a touching and complex circumstance we have here," one of the men remarked as he dismounted, while the other leveled his rifle at Arthur. Sensing danger, Kate instinctively stayed close to her horse.

Protectively, Arthur positioned himself in front of Jack as the man approached. "Arthur, is it? Arthur Morgan?" he inquired, his tone heavy with accusation. 

"Who are you?" Arthur countered, his voice tight with tension. 

"Yes, Arthur Morgan," the man echoed, “Van Der Linde’s most trusted associate, orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac's silver tongue. And matures into a degenerate murderer.” He finished. 

Arthur's tension escalated, leaving Kate astounded. She harbored suspicion that there was more to him than met the eye, but the revelation of being wanted for murder caught her completely off guard. Despite the shock, she found herself even more intrigued by the supposed outlaw.

“I’m agent Milton, and this is agent Ross,” he gestured to the other gentleman holding the rifle. “We’re with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. It's nice to finally meet you,” he looked over at Kate and added, “and you as well miss. Who might you be?” 

"Madeleine McCanon," Kate responded, opting for a false name to distance herself from whatever was about to unfold. Agent Milton pressed further, questioning her connection to Arthur.

“Do you know this man?” He inquired, but before she could answer he continued, “because we sure know him.” His tone, that of a detective accustomed to authority, carried a hint of arrogance, as if he relished the prospect of confrontation.

“Oh do you?” Arthur said coldly. 

“He’s a wanted man, Miss McCanon,” he said, turning to face her, “There's five thousand dollars for his head alone.” Kate glanced a look at Arthur but made no sign of her surprise. 

Arthur chuckled, "Five thousand dollars? For me?" He glanced around casually. "Can I turn myself in?" he quipped.

Agent Milton's expression remained stern. "We want Van der Linde. A man matching his description robbed a train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall a few weeks back."

Kate's memory jolted as she recalled reading about the robbery in the paper. It was carrying money to fund a new oil rig off the Wapiti reservation. Thousands of dollars were stolen, but none of the passengers on the train were injured. 

“Ain't that a little old fashioned nowadays?” Arthur attempted, trying to sound innocent.

“Apparently not,” Milton deadpanned, “this is my offer Mr. Morgan: You bring us Van der Linde. And you have my word you won't swing.” 

“Oh, I ain't gonna swing anyways agent Milton. You see, I haven't done anything wrong, aside from not playing the game by your rules.” He argued condescendingly. 

Milton's tone grew sterner. "I appreciate this society." 

“You enjoy being a rich man's toy!” Arthur snapped back. 

“You people venerate savagery, and you will die savagely,” Milton emphasized. 

Arthur's voice dripped with defiance. "All of us are gonna die someday, agent, some sooner than others." 

With that, Milton turned on his heel and walked toward his horse. "Good day to you, Mr. Morgan," he said as he departed. "And if you know what's good for you, Miss McCanon, stay far away from this man. Unless you want to end up dead like his friend Mac Callander."

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Arthur cursed under his breath, " fuck ." He turned to face Kate, Jack looking between them, unsure of what to do next.

Feeling like a complete fool for inviting Kate back to camp, Arthur realized he had just given away Dutch's whereabouts and Milton exposed their crimes to her. He had hoped she would be safe for a night or two at camp without knowing their true identities, but now, with everything at stake, he wrestled with the decision. The lives of his gang were paramount, but involving an innocent woman in their mess weighed heavily on his conscience. He would never force her, but with everything at stake now he hoped she would still come back with him. Or else she might go inform the authorities of their whereabouts.

“So, railway workers from the North huh?” Kate questioned, breaking him from his thoughts. 

“If you’ll let me explain miss-” he started, unsure what was about to come out of his mouth. 

With the revelation of Arthur's true identity and the dangers it presented, Kate found herself torn between fear and curiosity. While her instincts screamed at her to flee from these outlaws, there was an inexplicable pull towards Arthur. Despite the fear gnawing at her, she couldn't shake the connection she felt with him. There was something in his eyes, a vulnerability masked by his tough exterior, that resonated with her own struggles.

"I'll come with you," she said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling within her. "I've never been one to shy away from a little danger, and besides," she added with a wry smile, "I've always had a knack for finding trouble."

Arthur looked at her, a mixture of surprise and gratitude flickering in his eyes. He knew the risks she was taking by choosing to stand by him, but he also couldn't deny the feeling of relief that washed over him.

His gaze softened and he bent down to lift Jack up onto his saddle, “well, it’s getting late. Want to head back with us?”he asked, settling himself in behind the boy.

Kate nodded and answered, “I’d be happy to. Let me grab my things from camp and I’ll meet you back here,” she replied, gracefully mounting Lorena. 

With those words, she cantered off downstream, disappearing into the fading light.

“Why did those men ask where Uncle Dutch is?” Jack questioned, his voice tinged with innocence.

“Because… well, those are disagreeable men. And they want to hurt Dutch.”Arthur explained, his tone grave.

“Like they hurt Mac?” Jack's voice was small, filled with concern.

Arthur hesitated, then replied, “Ahh don't worry about Mac, I’m sure he’s alright wherever he is. They were just trying to scare us is all,” he patted Jack's shoulder reassuringly., “the world is full of disagreeable men. That’s why you got all of us, to protect you from folk like them.”

“Is that why you invited Miss McCanon back to camp, to protect her from the bad guys too?” he asked innocently.

Arthur chuckled, masking his uncertainty. "Uh, yeah, something like that," he replied, the corners of his lips twitching. He wasn't sure why exactly he invited Kate to stay with him, sure, he didn't like the idea of her being alone in the cold. But why did he care? Something about the woman intrigued him, and it wasn't just her pretty horse.

Unexpectedly, Jack's voice piped up again. "Uncle Arthur, what does 'fuck' mean?"

Arthur's laughter bubbled up, realizing the boy listens more than he cares to let on. "It means your mother will slap me if she hears you say that word," he joked, relieved for the distraction.

At that moment, the steady beat of hooves announced Kate's return.

[dluebirb]

Alright, so I finally jumped on the bandwagon (for better or for worse) and redesigned the main cast of Hazbin Hotel!

Disclaimer: I am not saying that my designs are better than the ones in the show, I am just saying that this is what I would have done if I were to design the characters, plus addressing some common criticism of Vivziepop's character designs. I enjoy the show, and with that comes some artistic liberties. Proceed.

So I'm going to show each character individually, plus a brief explanation (EDIT: They were not as brief as I thought... I love these characters, so sue me!) of what I changed and why, and then a lineup at the end!! Stick with me please, I put a lot of work into these!

@theosb0rnway they are real and in decent quality this time!! Wow!!

First up, Charlie! I had no idea she was meant to be based off of a porcelain doll. I thought she was a weird hell-vampire thing ngl. Fangs, pastey skin, you get it. The only thing the doll thing had going for it was the cheek marks, and I though that was a design choice for blush, like Mabel in Gravity Falls!

Porcelain dolls are really just those gen alpha tiktok influencer-level skin care routines plus dresses from two centuries ago, so I decided to go with a more puppet-leaning/mouthpiece design, plus some more goat-ish attributes, like her lil hoovsies!

Her color pallatte is brighter than the other designs because I wanted to show how she (while still utilizing the pinks and reds of hell) is the most pure-hearted of the bunch, as she's the only one who really doesn't belong in hell.

If this does well (or I want to) I might do her demon form!

VAGGIE! My girl. I love her.

So my main problem with Vaggie's current design: HER HAIR. I'm sorry, but how are the physics of that supposed to work?? Please? /gen

She also says in the show that she's "not used to fighting with long hair, and the ponytail in episode 8 doesn't really serve that purpose? At least from the viewers POV, hence the bun.

I know she's not technically a moth demon, since she's an ex-exorcist, but I wanted to lean into the imagery. She and Charlie look a little too close to human in comparison to almost anyone else, so I wanted to give her some moth-isms. And I find it more believable that she could fight like this! Ik Alastor's the hotel's protector and all, but old habits die hard n such.

Onto Angel Dust! Okay, I gotta say, I should lower his colors general brightness-

But other than that, I think I did pretty good with him!

I am probably in the minority who thought the eyes thing in episode four was pretty cool, but I wanted to make him more visibly spider-like, and eyes seemed like a good place to start.

I will admit to taking inspiration from the iron spider suit in Avengers: Infinity War for his extra arms. I was a Marvel kid, the legends are true.

Also, PINCERS! I think that's what those are called- They're only sorta there because any other way I tried ended with messing up his general face, but the thought's there!

I did forget his spider ass, but it's there in spirit, trust.

BIG OL' SHOUT OUT TO OZ FOR HELPING ME WITH THE DEER MAN'S FACE. He was giving me a TIME-

His fuck-ass bob is NO MORE. I rest my case. Also the monocle was annoying me, so he gets old lady glasses. I don't know why his shoes look like deer hooves. he's a little fucked up anatomy-wise.

I don't have much to say about him, but I loved drawing his hair. He gets to keep some of his red, because he WOULD. I also have a design of Alastor with a coat/jacket thing that's more time-period accurate, but I really liked this design, so it's what you're getting unless someone asks for it.

I also don't have a lot to say about Husk- I took away a lot more than I added if we're being real.

Hat? GONE

Weird wing design that makes my brain hurt? GONE

Eyebrows? YOU BETTER BELIEVE THEY'RE GONE

(I had a grudge against his eyebrows, leave me be-)

He's also short and fat now, so... YEAH (for a while I thought he was real short, but that was only because I kept seeing screen caps of him next to Angel, and the guy's a beanpole-)

His wings resemble the succubi in Helluva more so now, because Hazbin has a weird relationship with wings, so I wanted to make the distinction clearer than it is in canon.

His eyes glow now because have you SEEN a cat in pitch black, dead of night? Scary little assholes. (/aff, I love my cats.) He's dead and in hell, so they glow perpetually.

As with Charlie, I had no idea Niffty was supposed to be a bug. This seems to be a recurring issue.

I shifted her hair and outfit to be a lil more 1950s-accurate, but it was pretty good before, all things considered. I actually like Niffty's Canon design a lot.

In terms of making the bug-ness more pronounces, I gave her antennae (they can glow because YES) and wings. I imagine the wings are kind of like grasshopper wings, so they make a lil weird noise. I also gave her four legs, because if there's one thing I know about bugs, they have an abnormal amount of appendages.

The quality got CRUNCHED so click on the lineup, PLEASE-

And yeah, there are the sillies! I tried to differentiate them from the RED, but I think I overdid it-

Eh, I like them!

Send an ask or comment if you want me to do any more characters, or send me a screenshot from Hazbin and I'll redraw it with these guys! It'll also give me the chance to work on backgrounds, which I need!

I really hope you guys like these!

[fishiecomics]

Beastober 17: Meal

Season 2 camels fic under cut~

Prompt list Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13 Day 14 Day 15 Day 16

Fishie sat on the floor of the camel’s house, fidgeting with the bottom of her new jacket. There was still work to be done to make the place feel more like home, but for now: it had walls, it had a floor, and it had windows. It was better than anything she’d had before the games, but that wasn’t relevant to what was currently on Fishie’s mind.

She watched as Dingo fiddled around the furnaces, engrossed in whatever her hooves were working on. She said she’d make them both dinner, but Fishie wasn’t sure what could really be done with just the handful of potatoes and salmon. Last season Fishie hadn’t been able to make anything extravagant with what they had. She was in charge of food since Kiki was the one handling caving, so everything they ate just got the job done. Simple bread and cooked cod with the occasional well done steak or mutton if they really needed it.

Dingo suddenly looked over and Fishie quickly looked away. Was she being weird for staring? Did Dingo not like being stared at while she worked? Fishie stared down at her lap. They hadn’t talked that much yet, which was fine. The season literally just started after all, but there was a bit of awkwardness in the air. They were enemies last season, Dingo literally blew up her husband. Well, ex-husband. Death did them part, those are the rules as far as Fishie knows. So while she still definitely loved him and wished he was here with her, that’s just how the things work. She thought it was strange how not angry she was at Dingo about it. She remembers being absolutely devastated about it when it happened and vowing revenge, but for some reason, the fire just wasn’t there. Was it because Dingo died in the end? She didn’t know.

Fishie looked back up to see Dingo still staring, the hog quickly returning to her work when they locked eyes. Was this awkward for her too? Fishie coughed into her knuckle and spoke up.

“So, uh. Do you like cooking?” There was a pause before Dingo responded.

“Yeah.” Dingo stated, not looking away from the food she was starting to plate.

“Cool. Cool.” Fishie scratched her cheek. Where could she take the conversation from there? Does she ask about her favorite food? Or is that too boring? What if she asked about what she made for her allies last season? Or was it a bad idea to talk about last season considering their history?

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt something on her lap. Her new dog had rested his snout on her lap, begging to be pet. Fishie smiled, giving the boy what he wanted.

“You like dogs?” She looked up to Dingo walking over with two plates of food.

“Oh, yeah, they’re cool.”

“Nice.” Dingo knelt down and handed Fishie a plate, then joined her on their jungle wood floor.

“We’ve got to get some chairs set up in here tomorrow.” Dingo leaned back against the wall, setting her plate on her lap.

“What, you don’t like eating on the floor?” Fishie retorted while stopping her dog from gobbling up her food.

“I mean, I can. But it’ll probably be easier to eat without your dogs gnawing at your plate.” Fishie sighed and put her plate down.

“Alright, c'mere you little shit.” Fishie picked up her unnamed dog and set him in the corner next to her other dog.

“You two will get food later. And probably names if we’re lucky.” She’d wanted to do more fishing later. Last season it got her that sharpness book that she didn’t get to use that much, but she hoped she’d have a better go-around this time.

“Do you have names picked out for them?” Dingo asked.

“Maybe, there was a book I read as a kid that mentioned “The Dogs of War” so I might do something with that.”

“You read a lot?”

“Yeah, hobby of mine during uh. The before times.”

“Ah.” There it was again, back to the awkwardness.

Fishie wandered back next to Dingo and picked her plate back up. Now that she wasn’t distracted, she could look at the food in front of her. The salmon was practically glistening while the potatoes’ fluffy insides were bursting out of their skin. She hadn’t seen food prepared like this before, let alone thought it possible in the games. She cut off a part of the salmon and put it in her mouth. Her eyes widened and she immediately started stuffing more of it down her gullet. She could hear Dingo chuckle to her right.

“Taste good?”

“Mhm, ‘s good!” Fishie felt a bit of spit fly from her mouth. She stopped and covered her mouth.

“Sorry, sorry.” Fishie sputtered out. Dingo laughed.

“It’s fine, I’m glad you like it so much.” Fishie could see a glint of pride from Dingo’s eyes.

“I don’t know how you did this with what we had to work with.”

“I have my ways.” Dingo said coyly. “Just wait until we get the cows going. Then we’ll really be on our way to flavor town.” 

Shoving a piece of potato down her throat, Fishie suddenly felt a little more excited about the coming season. 

[sanctuaryoftheodd]

Chapter 8: The Ambush

I made it all the way to the mansion above the prison and looked out through a window. The sun was still out. A nearby clock said 5am. I guess the sun rises at weird times on this planet. I could barely see the street from here, but I could see that it was devoid of people.

I made my way back down to the dungeon, to find that the prisoners had started to wake up. The other girls in the prison were looking at me puzzled, as if wondering why I was out of my cell. I approached my own cell and Raina ran up to the bars upon seeing me.

"Anne? What's going on?" She asked me.

"Everyone's gone." I said plainly.

"What?"

"The guards, the servants, the lord, even the commoners in the town, they are all gone."

Muttering erupted from all around me as I reached into my former cell and picked the lock with another arm mold. By the time I had finished that, Sotakeh and Panchi had climbed out of their bunks and joined Raina and I.

"This is an interesting occurrence." Said Granny Sota. "I wonder if they were lost in the dimensional rift or something."

"Don't be silly." Retorted Panchi. "They probably evacuated or something."

"Shouldn't we evacuate, too? I mean, we could also be in danger of whatever they were running from." Raina suggests.

"Well, we'll investigate in a bit. First we need to get all these people out of their cells in case we do need to make a break for it." Acting on my own suggestion, I walk up to the neighboring cell to pick that lock, too. However, Panchi stopped me.

"Allow me." She then proceeded to pull the cell door right off its hinges with just a small tug. Sheesh, minutians are ridiculous.

"Well, considering it looks like Panchi can do this faster on her own. I'm going to investigate in town to see if I can find some answers." I said.

"Raina and I will investigate the mansion and try to find our stuff." Stated Granny Sota.

"Be careful out there, Anne!" Said a worried Raina.

I climbed my way back to the mansion and made my way out the front entrance. I passed through the front gates and went down main street. Being outside, it hit me how eerie the silence was. Usually I would hear the carriages roving by, the metal hooves of robot horses, the voices of hundreds, possibly thousands of people. All of it was gone, long carried away by the wind. At least I get to see the city from the perspective of a civilian again. I've been carted down to my execution too many times the past week or so, I forgot what outdoors felt like without handcuffs. Maybe I should start wearing them as accessories? 

I scanned with my magical signature sense ability for any sign of life out there. The town really was empty. Well, all except those three signatures out in the distance. They were so far away, they would be practically out of town.

Oh wait, they suddenly veered in my direction, and one of them was very quickly approaching me. Uh, maybe I should hide-

I was suddenly punched in the face and sent flying. I hit the ground hard, bouncing and tumbling a few times before coming to a stop. My upper jaw throbbed from the impact. I tried to cancel my sense of pain. It failed. I was still aching. He was using some sort of energy to block my abilities! Oh god. This isn't happening right now.

I looked up to a short balding man in a gi, a black belt tied around his waist. I scramble to climb back up as he extends his arm out to punch the air.

"Evil doer, surrender to your fate. I, Master Jarek, will be your undoing!"

I really should have trusted my gut today. I was glad this wasn't happening in the prison where the other girls could be hurt.

"Hey um so, I'm not really evil, just kinda misunderstood." I reasoned.

"Like the daughter of the former God of Evil would not be evil herself!"

"I'm really not anything like my father anymore."

"Even he fell to the forces of good during the War of Gods, and so will you!"

"He fought and died on the mortal side though..." I said pouting

"Also, have you not seen yourself, you're clearly a monster! Repent!"

He dashed towards me, I was still wobbly so I couldn't react in time. His fist collided with my stomach at a speed I couldn't imagine. His energy spread into my belly like a virus, making me feel every ounce of pain he inflicted, and trapping that part of my body into its base form. I was sent flying once again, but I was barely able to land on my legs, digging them into the earth to halt my momentum.

I coughed violently, my stomach was in agony, but I had to push through. He can't kill me with his arts, but he can cripple me entirely and I have no idea what he plans to do next. He could be here to kill the girls in the prison. If he incapacitates me I may lose my new friends. They may be only temporary, but I still want them to live. If only I can get him with a whip before he disables my arm.

But, before I could do anything, I felt my body freeze in place and suddenly be forced into a T-pose. I knew this sensation. "Immobilization magic!" I cried out, barely able to move the muscles in my mouth.

Approaching me was a young woman in stereotypical wizard clothing and gown. She grinned. "Interesting you know the spell. Bet you're used to people trying to incapacitate you."

You have no idea.

A third person arrived, a man dressed head-to-toe in full plate power armor, an engine pack on his back was puttering away, releasing steam (probably for the show.) He didn't engage me at all and just stood off to the side and watched.

The Martial Artist approached my defenseless self and locked my arms in place. I could feel his energy coursing through me. I was unable to fight. It was over.

I hope Raina and Panchi can protect the others. I thought

"Alright, Guldar. Time to do your thing."

When I thought they were going to tie me up or something, the martial artist instead gestured to the mage. Wait, what were they planning to do? The artist reached up my back and tugged at the top of the sweater, revealing my hand hole, the one my father's hand left behind 18-years-ago.

Oh, oh no.

The mage slowly approached me, her hand outstretched in the direction of my back. "Soon you will be fighting for the right side, monster."

She wasn't... I-I couldn't... NO! Tears rolled down my cheek as I turned my head to her to beg. "No please! Anything but that! My identity is all I have left!"

The mage was slightly taken aback by my plea, but then her expression stiffened once again. "She's trying to trick you, Guldar. The greater good." She muttered to herself as she continued to approach me.

I tried to wiggle, but I was powerless to escape. I was sobbing pleading, but nothing I would say could sway them. In a few moments, my life wasn't going to be mine anymore. In my desperation I prayed. Please! Father, someone! Please save me!

But there were no longer gods to answer.

I closed my eyes and held my breath in anticipation for the inevitable.

But, it didn't come. Instead, I heard a loud grunt not far away. I opened my eyes and turned to see the mage was on the ground.

POP!

Suddenly the martial artist was jolted downward and the shock caused him to drop me. I looked up to see Panchi standing on his head. She slid off to the side and then spun in the air as she was falling to kick the martial artist in the face, sending him flying against a wall clear on the other side of the street.

I shakily climbed to my knees as I still felt the energy coursing through my body. Panchi landed gracefully in front of me and approached.

"Let me take care of that, Noodle Girl." She said and laid a hand on my belly. I could feel the energy from the martial artist being sapped from my body and into her palm. Before long, there was nothing left of it.

I tested my arm, turning it into a wood plank before my eyes. My ability to shift my form had been restored. The pain still resided, but I was able to cancel that now. I wiped my tears away and turned to my rescuer.

"Thank you, Panchi." I said to her.

"Think nothing of it. Plus anyways, I didn't do it alone." She looked off to my side.

"I was the one that took out the mage." I turned and saw Raina. It was such a relief to see her again!

The two of them helped me back onto my legs. Nearby, the martial artist was digging his way through some rubble. The mage was getting her second wind and was climbing back to her feet. The power armored dude, who was just standing there stunned for a moment, was coming back to his senses.

"Okay, I can handle the marine knight over there. Panchi, can you take care of the martial artist?"

"Gladly. He pissed me off."

"I'll take care of the mage!" Volunteered Raina.

"Yes please! That would be very helpful!" I gave the two of them affirming looks. "Let's do this team!"

[shade-pup-cub]

Febuwhump 2024, Day 8: Warriors, Wind & Chain - ALT Human Shield

Fandom: LOZ/Linked Universe

Summary: The bond between brothers was thick and unyielding between the nine heroes. Some were closer than others, some pretended not to be close, some wore their feelings on their sleeves towards the others. Warriors just wished that the bond didn’t make you throw yourself in front of danger and become the living human shield just so the other wouldn’t get hurt, or in Warriors case, die. He was never going to forgive himself for what happened.

CW: Blood, injury, temp MC death

Shoutout to @spookypanda04 for helping me out on a good ending. Thank you!!

The bond between brothers was thick and unyielding between the nine heroes. Some were closer than others, some pretended not to be close, some wore their feelings on their sleeves towards the others.

There was no doubt that Warriors and Time were close and already brotherly towards each other, even if Time was still called the little brother between them. A story they hadn’t told yet.

Warriors had not quite the same relationship with Wind, since Wind at his current age hadn’t been in Warriors War yet, but the two were still close. Warriors was glad to see that his blue scarf wrapped around the younger still worked on him even if Wind didn’t know how many times he had done that to him during the war.

It still worked on Time too on those night’s where he looked much older than he was.

Warriors just wished that the bond didn’t make you throw yourself in front of danger and become the living human shield just so the other wouldn’t get hurt, or in Warriors case, die. He was never going to forgive himself for what happened, or forget the image of Wind’s bloody smile and how it splattered onto his clothes and skin as the kid coughed.

Warriors knew where everyone on the field was as they fought against Bulblins from Twilight’s era. Four, Wind and Sky were to his far left taking down a swarm of the monsters easily. Time and Legend were ahead of him and more centered on the field. Twilight, Hyrule and himself were off to the right, leaving Wild at the moment up on high ground provided by a small cliff so he could snipe missed monsters or to call out new threats.

From the tree line came a blaring horn and stomping hooves. The cavalry had arrived, charging from the wood line right where Warriors and the other two were fighting. Unable to move out of the way fast enough, Warriors shoulder guard got hooked by one of the Bullbos that were trying to herd the heroes to the center of the fight.

Sword still in hand, Warriors thrusted it through the creature's neck, nearly going deaf from its dying roar. He hastily stood, colliding weapons with the Bulblin that had fallen from the dead stead. These were more of a challenge to fight, but manageable.

Up strike, down strike, swipe right, jab. A few repeats and the monster went down, but where one fell another took its place. As if fighting something over double his height wasn’t bad enough, Wild let out a high pitch whistle to warn them all of a new threat.

Archers lined the front of the field, fire arrows nocked and drawn back. Warriors had lost his shield somewhere in the process of being dragged, but he spotted it only twenty feet away. He could make it. There was no other choice.

“TAKE COVER!!” he ordered so the others knew too what was headed their way.

Sliding the last few feet, he snatched his shield, bringing it to prevent the oncoming arrows that had just been shot. There was one problem. The Bullbo was charging him head on. He wouldn’t be able to block arrows and fight this horrid looking beast. Warriors looked up to the sky, arrows rushing towards the ground, choosing to bring his shield up and crouch behind it. Two arrows were embedded in his shield as others pierced the ground around him.

The roar of monsters falling from the bombardment of arrows was coming from every direction, though his attention was on the Bullbo that was right in front of him. The rideable creature collapsed at a full sprint, throwing its rider through the air, ramming into the Captain and bringing him to the ground in the most horrific way.

Warrior hollered out in agonizing pain as the beast landed on top of him, his back against one of the few downed trees. He felt the shattering of the bones in both of his legs and hips, bone even breaking through the skin. He continued to scream after the monster disappeared into a dark puff of smoke. He tried to move, wanting to access the damage. His eyes were blown wide in fear when he couldn’t move. It wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t move, it was that he suddenly couldn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t feel anything from his low back down. In shock from the realization that he was in fact paralyzed, in the middle of a battle, the pain of it was put to the back of his mind. His ears were rigging beyond what they would be if he was standing next to a cannon going off and his breath was coming out in short puffs of air.

The sky turned dark as a second batch of arrows filled it. Warriors saw it, saw his death coming and accepted it because there was no way he could protect his head, torso and the rest of himself. He honestly didn’t think he could pick up his shield in the first place. ‘What an honorable way for a soldier to go.’ He thought to himself as he laid his head back on the log, eyes closed, waiting for impact. The impact that he got was not of arrows, but a body covering him. Arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, his head against their chest and he took in the scent of the ocean’s salt.

Wind…

There was no time to react, to push him away or throw a shield over him. Warriors couldn’t even reverse it to protect him. He could feel when the arrows met their mark. Wind’s back bowed, hands grabbing at Wars scarf. If he made a sound, Warriors didn’t hear it due to the blood rushing past his ears.

In the distance there were explosions. More than likely from Wild pulling off one of his time manipulation tricks with his bow and bomb arrows, but Wars wasn’t paying attention to the victory of the battle. He was looking wide eyed at the young boy- no- he was looking at the young man that potentially just gave his life for him.

“Wind? Wind!”

The Captain had never been more grateful for the ability to read lips that was taught to all the soldiers in his era. Hey would have missed Wind saying, “It’s okay. I-it’s okay.”

Not believing what was happening, he placed a hand on either cheek of the one still hovering over him, desperately wanting this to be a nightmare. “Wind, why? Why would you do this?”

“We are brothers. Brothers save each other.”

Wind began to cough and wheeze as Wars hearing came back. A stream of red liquid drizzled from the Sailor’s parted mouth. Coughing made it splatter thickly on Warriors clothes and the bare skin of his neck and face. Uselessly he tried removing the blood from the younger’s chin, only to smear it across his left cheek.

Pushing himself to his feet, Wind took a stumbling step back, allowing Warriors to now see the four arrows that ran through the other, tips dripping the same red that was coming from his mouth. “Love ya Wars.” Wind smiled and fell backwards with one last staggered step backwards. The shafts of the arrows broke, but only after pushing through a bit more.

Despite the pain in his back, the fire that started in the nearby dead grass growing closer, the monsters still attacking, Warriors got to his side, then his stomach. He tried to use his arms and abdominal muscles to crawl, but he found that only from his chest up was fully functional. He didn’t care. He was going to make it over to his downed brother’s side.

Clawing at the blades of grass and cracked dirt, he dragged his mangled body closer. With each pull of his arms he let out a holler, but he didn’t stop. He bit down on his lip, nearly biting through it to get his mind to focus only on this one task. Reaching where he needed to be, he cupped Wind’s cheek to move his head towards him so he could see the young face. His eyes were barely open.

“Wind?” He placed his middle and ring finger against the pulse point at the youngest hero’s neck. “No. No no nonono- NO!! Wind? Come on Sailor, open your eyes. Wind please!”

He shook the child’s shoulders enough that his head tossed from side to side. He moved the bleached curls framing his face away, planting a firm kiss to the tanned forehead. He choked on the sob that was building up in his chest. What was the point in holding it in? Warriors buried his face into his youngest brother’s neck and shoulder, ignoring the triangular blades threatening to go into his own skin and let out the most heart wrenching scream.

“LIINK!!”

He continued to weep where he laid partly on top of the departed child until hands started prying him away. He clung tighter, but then a hand grabbed his hip to pull him back and he screamed for a whole new reason. The searing pain was more prominent now that his adrenaline was doused.

“StopstopSTOP! ” he screamed again, placing his hand against his low back.

Warmth of magic covered where his hand was. “Dear gods… His spinal cord is severed.” Hyrule announced.

He sucked in a needed breath and looked up at Time who was now cradling his head between his hands, thumbs stroking the tears away. “S-save him… please, save him before helping me.” The looks he got from Time and Hyrule were grim. “Try, at least try!”

“Okay, okay, we will try.” Hyrule hopped over him to get to Wind’s side, Twilight and Wild replaced his spot.

“Cap?” Time asked in a slightly panicked tone. “Need you to stay awake for us. Cap? Warri- L-k?” Wars gave into the shock, images blurring into swirls of colors until all he saw was black.

Waking up, Warriors tried to slowly filter in the sounds, smells and sights of his surroundings. A fire was crackling in the center of camp, food being cooked by their talented chef. Off to the side, Hyrule was passed out, half lying in Legend’s lap. The Vet was looking down at him while carding his fingers through brown curls. Four was cleaning weapons near the fire, keeping Wild company. Sky was on his side, back to the camp, Wolfies head laid on the Skyloftian’s. Right beside him was Time, sketching or writing in his journal.

Something wasn’t right as he looked over their faces. They were all red eyes as if they had been crying, gazes turned downwards and no one was speaking. What had happened? He looked at them all again. There were only seven, plus him. Where’s- Wind!! His eyes snapped open. Wind was- Wind had-

Wind had died. Wind was dead. They were mourning Wind all because he had to wind up hurt during a battle.

He let out the smallest sound of lament for the young man that died a hero. That sound caught Time’s attention. “Wars, welcome back.”

“Sprite?” The sturdy Captain’s chin quivered as his eyes welled with tears. “I didn’t ask him to, I didn’t want him to. I-I couldn’t do anything about it. He was suddenly there and I couldn’t protect him. Time, I couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

“Why did he do that?” Warriors hiccupped around a cry. “Why did he do that for me? He shouldn’t have done that!”

“Wars, slow down-”

“He’s dead and it’s my fault!”

“Warriors, stop. Link!”

Warriors stopped and looked up, waiting to be told that it was his fault, that he should have done something. He was waiting for a scolding, to be reprimanded physically in any way the eldest felt like he deserved. It was the way in his era, but it never came. Only a gentle, calloused hand was laid on top of his head, fingers scratching at his scalp. Confusion was clear on his face.

Time gave a sad smile, knowing what Warriors was expecting. “Wind is alive.”

“What?” Did he hear correctly?

“Hyrule got him back.”

Warriors looked at the sleeping Healer. There were dark bags under his eyes, skin a bit pale. His magic was drained. It was drained from saving their youngest member. He let his head thud against the hand still placed where it had been.

“Can you wiggle your toes?” Time asked, then smirked some when Warriors did so. “Go slow and easy for now. Hyrule went through hell getting you two back. Don’t ruin it. Want us to bring Wind over here?”

He could cry for a whole new reason now and was on the verge as he looked at Sky who was carrying a Wind Burrito, swaddled in the blue scarf that he loved to steal away.

“He only would calm down when he had your scarf.” Sky told him with a fond smile as he oh so carefully laid Wind down, pillowing his head on Wars arm. Wind sighed and moved closer to him.

For the second time that day, Warriors buried his face into Wind’s neck. He whispered the response he hadn’t had the chance to before, “Love ya too, Wind.”

[priestessofspiders]

The Worst Horse

From the very first moment I saw one, I have always hated horses. I remember the event clearly, that first meeting with one of those wretched animals which shattered my innocence at such a young age. I must have been about 8 years old, my family was attending a country fair, and there was an advertisement for pony rides.

Now, up until this point in my development, I had never actually seen a horse in the real world. I'd seen them in picture books, sure, I even owned a couple of toy ones, but I'd never seen an actual, living horse. The shock of beholding the actual animal itself was a viscerally disturbing experience.

Everything about it was wrong. The sour, sweaty smell, the too-large eyes that seemed to eye me as though I were prey, the sharp-tipped hooves, and those horrible, enormous teeth. I watched the attendant give the pony a sugar cube from her hand, and winced in terror at the thought of it simply biting down upon her fingers and snapping them like carrots.

My parents must have thought that my wide-eyed, silent terror was due to being overwhelmed with excitement, because they wound up pushing me forwards, where the attendant helped me up onto the pony. I wanted to scream as I felt myself forced onto the hideous monster, I wanted to beg to be let off, but I was still utterly paralyzed with fear. The attendant began to lead the pony forwards, oblivious to my horror, but the pony knew how I felt. It knew I was afraid.

Without warning it broke free from the attendant's grasp, the rope loosely held in her hands slipping free quickly, as the pony galloped forwards as fast as it could. Finally, I found my voice, and began to scream to be let off, to get away from this monster.

I got my wish sooner than I might have guessed.

The pony bucked, and I found myself flying through the air, crashing into a fence with a gut-wrenching snap as my arm broke from the force and I experienced the worst pain I had ever felt up to that point in my entire life. Blinking tears out of my eyes, I watched as the maddened pony began to rush towards me, seemingly preparing to finish the job. Mercifully, it was at that point I fainted.

Ultimately I was mostly okay, at least physically. There was no lasting damage, as it was a clean break which healed up nicely. The otherwise incompetent attendant successfully managed to keep the pony from ramming into me in the nick of time. Emotionally, however, I would never be quite the same again. It was the first time in my entire life that I was actually, genuinely afraid of dying, and that changes you.

My parents never believed me when I told them that I knew I hated horses from the first instant I saw the pony. They always assume it is simply a false memory, that I was projecting my trauma backwards, but I know the truth. From the very moment I looked at that disgusting animal, I knew that there was something terribly wrong with horses.

All this was decades ago of course. I'm an adult now, more than that in fact, I'm retired; a "senior citizen" as they say. I suppose people have started to get offended by the term "old woman". My parents are long since dead and buried and in all honesty I am very likely soon to join them. Perhaps sooner than I deserve.

My home out in the country isn't especially large, nor especially extravagant, and until now it has served its ultimate purpose quite well; to be somewhere cheap where I can live out the rest of my days in relative comfort. It is a simple old farmhouse, small but with two stories, in good repair and relatively easy to maintain, even at my age. The major downside is that it is fairly isolated from the rest of the world, surrounded by fields as far as the eye can see, but up until recently that felt like more of a blessing than a curse. Now however, I long to be in the city, surrounded by concrete and people, far far away from this place. All because of the Horse.

I cannot help but capitalize the word when I refer to this animal, for it is surely the purest and most hateful representative of its kind. It is a Horse to surpass all other horses, the most foul and despicable member of a species characterized by foulness and despicability. It is, to put it quite simply, the Worst Horse.

My first encounter with the Worst Horse was a few weeks ago now I think, perhaps a month, though I must admit I am unsure of the exact date. I was out hanging up some clothes to dry, and I recall it was a fairly pleasant, sunny day. Or at least, it was until the exact moment I saw the Horse. Almost instantly, the wind seemed to pick up, rustling the tall grass and putting a chill in my bones. A cloud passed over the sun, darkening the sky faintly as I stared at the creature across the field. It was staring back at me.

Living out in the country, it is not entirely rare to see the occasional horse, it is simply an unfortunate fact of life, and as much as I despise the creatures it is not within my power to criminalize the act of riding one. However, it is considerably less common to see one unbridled and unmounted, standing utterly still and staring at you with assuredly malicious intent.

I was obviously deeply uncomfortable, and found myself paralyzed, as if I were once again the frightened little girl confronted by that fairground pony. The Horse was similarly motionless. I am not a religious woman, laugh at me all you want but it always felt difficult to keep faith after my first interaction with a horse. I couldn't reconcile the existence of a benevolent creator with the existence of horses. In that moment, however, I wished I had something to pray to.

At first, I couldn't tell quite what was causing such an extreme reaction. It was a shock, to be sure, but I am a grown woman, not a scared child. I shouldn't be reduced to a quivering statue from the mere sight of my phobia, hundreds of feet away. It took me a few moments to realize that it was the Horse's eyes that had disturbed me.

Most herbivores, horses and their damnable ilk included, have eyes that face sideways, in order to give them a better field of view to spot predators. The forward facing eyes typical of wolves, lions, and other such animals are due to their need to effectively hunt down and kill prey. The Worst Horse has eyes which face forwards.

As I came to this uncomfortable realization, a crow went flying past the Horse, its cawing echoing back towards me across the tall grass. There was a flash of movement. The bird's cry was interrupted with an abrupt crunch. The Horse chewed the mass of bloodstained black feathers for a moment before swallowing the pulverized bird with a disgusting gulping motion.

It was at this point that I was able to successfully remember how to move again, and found myself running into the house in a daze, locking and bolting the door behind me before running to grab the shotgun I keep in a locked case for emergencies. By the time I had finished fiddling with the lock and loading the shells, the Horse was long gone, thought I can hardly imagine where it could have vanished to. There is nowhere to hide in these vast, empty fields, and I should have been able to see it even if it had traveled a mile away.

I was hesitant to relay my encounter to any of my acquaintances. I have few living friends, and due to never marrying have borne no children, but I do keep in contact with my brother on a somewhat regular basis, and generally try to call him whenever anything interesting happens. In this case, however, I worried that he may question my sanity. Tales of disappearing, carnivorous horses are hardly a sign of mental stability after all. This is not to mention the fact that he is well aware of my aversion to horses, and treats it somewhat disrespectfully as a bit of a joke. Given the probability of being treated like a lunatic or a clown, I decided to keep the entire affair to myself.

A few days passed before I saw the Worst Horse again, although that didn't stop me from feeling paranoid whenever I dared to go outside in the meantime. It was around 11 o'clock at night, and I had woken up in bed with the most unnerving feeling of being watched. My bedroom is on the second story of the house, perhaps not a good idea at my age but frankly I always liked the slight bit of exercise from going up and down the stairs. This made it particularly disturbing to see the Horse's long, terrible face staring at me hungrily through my bedroom window.

I found myself once again paralyzed, feeling rather as though I were a rat staring up at a king cobra. I must have sat there for minutes, eyes wide in pure terror of that awful, terrible Horse. It was slightly too dark to get a very clear look at it, but I could make out those evil, predatory eyes and the faint gleam of its teeth. I could swear neither of us blinked during the whole time we watched one another. Eventually, the face lowered down beneath the windowsill, slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last possible moment. I heard a faint snort that, for the life of me, sounded like laughter, followed by the clopping of hooves as it rode off into the night.

I didn't see the Worst Horse for a while after that, but I could tell it was still lurking around the property. I would find piles of dung with shattered bits of bone sticking out of them, and would occasionally hear the faint sound of whinnies or the clopping of hooves drift down on the breeze. On one occasion I heard it skulking about the back of the house, snorting with that derisive, almost human laughter. I just kept very still, waiting for it to go away. There was another sound, a sort of gagging, retching noise followed by a wet splat that made me feel sick to my stomach, and then I could hear the Horse galloping off. I waited for quite a while before checking the back door to make sure it was gone.

When I did, cautiously creaking open the door ever so slowly, I found a pile of hundreds of faintly yellowed horse teeth on the back porch, covered in a thick translucent slime. I put on some disposable rubber gloves and tossed them all into the garbage.

I took to leaving the gun case unlocked, and would frequently wander around the house with the loaded shotgun in my hands. I didn't leave the house very often anymore, I was always just waiting and listening for that infernal Horse to come back. I still didn't tell my brother. This was just something I felt that I had to deal with on my own.

It was 3 days ago that I woke up in the middle of the night to loud thumping hoofbeats, as if the Horse was trying to break down the walls. This time, I was prepared, I had fallen asleep with the shotgun leaning upon the wall by the bed, and I was fully ready to use it. I had taken to sleeping fully clothed, so after putting on my shoes I marched outside, looking for any sign of that awful, terrible, wretched Horse.

I found it. It stood atop the house, silhouetted against the full moon, staring down at me with those ghastly forward facing eyes.

This was the first time I'd seen the Worst Horse up close and clearly, and it was so much worse than I could have ever imagined. It opened its jaws in a wide yawn, revealing rows upon rows of blunted, huge teeth, seeming to occupy almost the entirety of its mouth. Its fur was covered in the thick frothy sweat typical of horses, but it seemed slightly yellow in color, and gave off a noxious steam in the night air as if it were some sort of acid. The worst part, however, were the legs.

Did you know that horse legs are, anatomically speaking, toes? The reason there is but a single hoof is because that is its toenail. There is a medical condition called polydactyly, in which one possesses additional fingers or toes. In horses, this typically results in additional, smaller hooves sticking out at odd angles from the rest of the leg. In the case of the Worst Horse, however, it just meant that it had multiple stunted, twisted limbs branching out where they ought not to be, some just twitching faintly, others sprawled against the roof of the house like some sort of horrible spider.

I wanted to kill it. I wanted to unload two barrels of hot lead into the thing's disgusting, horrific form, to end this nightmare and allow me to live out the rest of my life in peace. I raised the gun to my shoulder and took aim, lining up both barrels to the horse's general direction as best as I could with my shaking arms. The horse took a step closer, still staring, daring me to act, daring me to pull both triggers.

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't will my fingers to move. It was as if I was a statue. My mind screamed at me over and over again, overwhelmed with hate and fear, shrieking out kill it kill it kill it but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't do anything.

The Horse whinnied with cruel, inhuman laughter before scuttling off the roof and galloping away, the echoes of its foul giggling fading away into the night. I fell to the ground on my hands and knees and began to sob.

As soon as it was morning, I went to go call my brother, to tell him everything that had happened and to beg him to let me stay with him and get away from this awful place and the Worst Horse. I didn't care if he laughed at me, I didn't care if he tried to get me institutionalized. I just wanted to be out of this place. I dialed his phone number, but nothing happened. There wasn't so much as a dial tone. I tried again. And again. And again. The phone line had been disconnected. Something had cut the wire. I was certain that if I ran outside to check, I would find that it had been severed with a set of far too many blunt, equine teeth.

I decided to simply drive down to the city, get a hotel and call my brother from there. I packed a small bag and was about to get into the car when I noticed how low it was sitting upon the driveway. I inspected closer to find that each and every tire was completely flat, as though they had been kicked repeatedly by sharp, stiff hooves. I was stranded.

I'm trapped here. I don't know why I've been writing this all down. In all likelihood none of this will ever be read. I suppose I just want to get it out of my head, to set everything down on paper to organize my thoughts.

The Worst Horse has been circling the house for a while now, day and night, just running around it in circles and whinnying. At first it was perhaps a hundred yards away, but it's been getting progressively closer and closer, spiraling in towards the house. I keep the shotgun with me at all times now, though I'm not sure if I intend to use it to fend off my tormentor, or in case I prefer an easy way out rather than being left to the mercy of its sharpened hooves and rows of blunt teeth.

I wrote earlier that I didn't believe in God, but that's not entirely true anymore. I think that the Worst Horse is God, and I know in my heart of hearts that it hates me just as much as I hate it.

- - -

The above note was recovered from the home of Gladys Rosewood in the summer of 1990, after a wellness check was called for by her brother, Stephen Rosewood. Police found that her home appeared to have been broken into, with the door smashed in and significant signs of struggle within the house itself. A double barreled hunting shotgun was found on the premises, one shell fired, and pellets of buckshot were found embedded in a wall nearby. There was no sign of Ms. Rosewood anywhere on the property, and it is unclear where she could have gone. Most curiously, dozens of muddy hoofprints were found through the premises, including on the walls and ceiling.

Further investigation has failed to locate Ms. Rosewood, and due to the absence of any additional evidence the case is considered cold and she has been declared dead in absentia.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

The Mystery of the Devil's Footprints

Sweeping an unyielding trail of up to 100 miles, they were found in fields and lanes, they scaled rooftops and jumped up drainpipes. They were undeterred by solid objects such as haystacks or walls and were undaunted by rivers. The Devil’s Footprints, also known as The Devil’s Hoof Prints, were an extraordinary trail of imprints in the snow in southwest England that materialised over the course of the night of 8-9 February 1855. The prints looked as though they had been created by cloven hooves, but were, in all other respects, utterly inexplicable. The cloven hoof shape of The Devil’s Footprints were said to resemble those of a donkey, but the gait was not that of a four-legged animal. They were believed to have been those of a bipedal, or two-legged, creature. Each of The Devil’s Hoof Prints measured about 3 inches wide and 4 inches long, which is not dissimilar to that of a donkey’s. The ‘steps’ however, were comparatively small, spaced between 8 and 16 inches apart and in single file. The Devil’s hoofprints were primarily found in the county of Devon, specifically surrounding the Exe Estuary, but some reports included Dorset as well. The exact route of The Devil’s Footprints is unclear. If all accounts are to be believed, the route was a circuitous one, from Exeter in the North to Torquay, 25 miles south and then 12 miles west of that to Totnes, not necessarily in that order. It took in a distance of 40 miles overall, but also meandered and wandered extensively within that area so could have covered up to 100 miles. One of the most unusual aspects of The Devils Footprints were the places they were – and indeed were not – found. There were accounts of them skipping over areas or jumping from one place to another. Of being on rooftops, on either side of the River Exe, and also some solitary prints in fields. One farmer recounted The Devil’s Footprints stopping on one side of a haystack only to restart on the other, with the stack untouched. The Times article of 16 February 1855 spoke of “A vast number of foot tracks of a most strange and mysterious description. The superstitious go so far as to believe that they are the marks of Satan himself.” With the shape of the marks so resembling the Devil’s described cloven hooves, many were quick to ascribe the phenomenon to the Prince of Darkness. This was all the more sinister in conjunction with the myriad marks to and from doorsteps and circling homes and churches, creating rife speculation that He was combing the countryside for sinners. A lack of contemporaneous evidence and witnesses means that it’s unlikely that the source of The Devil’s Footprints will ever be determined. What is certain is that the mystery has continued to fascinate any who come across it. And that, without a firm explanation, some will always believe that it was Satan who wandered Devon on that fateful night in 1855.

[pbandjesse]

I just got out of the shower and washed my hair really good and I feel a lot better. Honestly I felt pretty fine all day except a sort of low level of being uncomfortable and slightly nauseous. I was mostly just fine, also just tired.

It didn't help that our smoke detector started chirping at 130 this morning. I woke James up to get it down but they were confused and went to check the hallway one when I knew it was the bedroom so they were sleepily walking around with the ladder. But they figured it out and got it down and we were able to go back to sleep.

But when I woke up I was just not about it. I gave James a hug and told then I was going back to sleep. And they left for work.

I would get up at 8. And felt a little better. I got dressed and made the bed. I warmed up the hash brown James made for me. They shredded way to much cheese so I gave the extra to Sweetp.

I gathered my stuff and headed out around 830. I arrived at 9 and still beat everyone else.

My plan was to start the embroidery for the bear in the teddy bear hospital. And while in the end I had to undo the whole thing it was very good practice for satin stitches. But I didn't know it was wrong at this point. So I spent like 45 minutes seeing the eyes and was pretty happy with it but it did look. Strange. I couldn't figure it out but the reference picture was at a weird angle where I couldn't see the eyes so I wasn't sure what they were supposed to look like. I would wait until later to text the owner to check in.

As I was finishing that Sarah and Elizabeth were getting in. And so I would actually do work work and not other stuff.

There wasn't a ton of large projects for me to do but thankfully there were more small ones. I started with walking up to the art building to cut more circle looms. I still need like 20. But I made great progress.

I was watching a really excellent 2.5 hour long video about a new arg about a time line switch. I love a very long video. It helps me get other stuff done because I'm not constantly looking for another video.

When I got back to the office I made it known I needed tasks. Heather read out a few from our meeting but I had already half heartedly started them. So I actually worked on those today. I collected ideas for games at programs. And organized my specialty ideas. Sent those off to Heather. And I worked harder on my slang PowerPoint.

This ended up being really fun. I had to check in about a few things with the group. And once I got to a place where I couldn't think of anything else I sent it out for review. Elizabeth said I wrote everyone's titles wrong but I just copied them off the website!!! Which means the website is wrong. She also thought I was very funny because of some of my commentary on what things mean. I just kept telling her that it was based off what people say!! That's the point of this!

But we did come to some agreements about some wording and specifics. One of the big arguments though was which spigot has the best water. I wrote tipi field and art building because that's what everyone tells me all summer. But Elizabeth says it's art and top bar. Alexi said that it didn't work for a long time so that's probably why no one says that one. We decided that we needed to make a flight of cups for each spigot and test then. I refered to this as a spigot sommelier which got absolutely huge laughs and I added it to the PowerPoint.

I had a little lunch. The pasta salad I brought was way to vinegary and I ate it but I did not enjoy it. The peach I had cut up for myself and the yogurt were much better.

I finished my long video. Went up to art to work on some small stuff. I keep getting very dizzy walking up that hill but I am trying to not let it bother me. And when I got back to the art building Heather had me searching for shoes for our horses.

The vet has traced their little hooves and so I measured those and researched these special orthopedic shoes for horses. Which were $100 each! Not even a pair!! And we need 4 of them. So then I spent some time googling and researching and was able to find someone selling overstock, in the correct size, in box, for $55 each. I hope they follow up on that listing because it was a great deal.

I had a few other small things I worked on. I tried to do some research on an enclosure for our terrain. Who needs a much larger space. And in doing that I also found some good prices for tortoise food so I grabbed that too.

I stuck it out until 3. I let Alexi know I may not be in on Monday or Tuesday but I will be there Wednesday and Thursday for sure. She said that was just fine and to have a nice weekend.

I left camp and went right home. While I was driving I was thinking about the bear and thought maybe the eyes weren't actually. Eyes? But eyelashes. So I texted the owner and she agreed it seemed wrong.

When I got home I was texting her more. She sent me another reference but it was still a weird angle. So I tried Google lens. And not only did I find a better picture, a couple different ones, I also found a listing to buy the bear!! I sent it to her and was like. I'm the best googler. And she was so excited. She still wants me to fix the bear but now she'll have two. And she'll gift them to her twin brother. I am so excited that this is all coming together.

I tried cutting the embroidery I did to see if it could look like lashes but he just looked like Tammy Fey Baker. So I would pick those out and see in the lower eyelashes and it looked so much better. I'm very happy with the progress. I will try and repair the nose tomorrow. And possibly go to the store to look for a larger nose. But I'm not to concerned about getting that tomorrow.

When I got home before I went inside to work on the bear I had a nice chat with my neighbor about having babies. And she is always so nice so I always stop to talk to her. It's good community building. And when I got inside I would pull Crabcake from his tank to go outside in the chia plants. Which he crushed and was probably very good enrichment for him.

Sweetp also enjoyed being outside. It was a little to hot in the sun though so I went inside. Made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. And laid on the couch and waited for James to come home.

They got a flat tire so it took an extra couple minutes. But they got home and got to work fixing the book shelf. Replaced the smoke detector battery. And got to work making pizza dough for dinner.

They would come lay with me on the couch. Held my belly. It doesn't have like a full round shape but it's doing something for sure. I do wish it would round out. But also I sneezed and it hurt so bad in my lower belly. Rude.

I came upstairs and laid in bed. Eventually James brought us really excellent pizza. We are together and when we were done they went to go play a game with their friends. And eventually I went to take that shower. And I am real tired but I'm also feeling happy.

Tomorrow I have the day off. I may hang out with Celia. I may work on art. Mostly I want to just chill. I have a weird schedule the next couple days. Day off. BMI event. Day off. BMI event. Day off. Back to camp for a two day retreat. And the. Going to the beach with Jess for the weekend. Busy busy week.

Let's hope it's a good one. I hope you all have fun tomorrow. Good night!!

[gayrobos]

thanks lionizer

[ID: The Stunticons in: “Mutiny, Part 2.” Breakdown dives in front of Mikki just in time to intercept a blast from Dead End’s arm cannon, wielded by Motormaster. She’s already transforming as she hits the ground, and before she’s finished she turns sharply into Mikki to avoid another blast, knocking them in through the hole where her right door used to be. “Woah!” Breakdown burns rubber and screeches to a halt at the mouth of the alley; as Mikki staggers out she tells them, “Stay. There.” Despite her injury she’s not at rest for more than a second--she has to keep avoiding Motormaster’s potshots on the way to pick up the fallen ice gun, which is way too big for her to hold normally. She manages to snag it mid-transformation and gets up with some difficulty to point it at Motormaster, who’s holding Dead End in front of her like the world’s most half-assed shield. “It’s binary bonded to me, Breakdown,” she says contemptuously. “No-one else can shoot it.” The gun aims down on her own, toward Motormaster’s feet. “I can shoot myself. And you know what, Motormaster? I quit.” In a flash of blue light Motormaster and Dead End’s feet are both frozen to the ground. Motormaster’s engine roars as she tries to break free. It won’t hold her for long. And then a thin, focused beam of light neatly and quietly pierces her head. Mikki’s doodles are mostly exclamation marks and complaints. end ID]

marginalia:

below panel 1: Not dying!

below panel 2: WHOOSH

right of panel 4: those are her hooves you ~bitch~

left of panel 5: what

below panel 5: well fuck

right of panel 5, continuing into the middle gutter: SHE’S NOT EVEN PAYING ATTENTION? Yeah I’m being used as a gun by the scariest person in existence NBD XOXO

below panel 6, next to the shitty doodle of ice gun wearing a cowboy hat: PTOO

right of panel 7, next to the shitty doodle of someone holding their hands over their ears: LOUD

left of inset panel 8: OH WORD?

[captainmartinisblog]

Elves, Trolls and the Best Laid Plans…..

Friday 14th June 2024 – Akureyri, Iceland.

The last couple of days, they haven’t opened the pool early enough for me to go swimming before breakfast. No reason is given; it’s entirely arbitrary.

So today, I took the law into my own hands, I untied the rope myself and had a lovely swim!

Today, we arrived in Akureyri, the second largest city in Iceland and capital of the Western Fjords, with a population of nearly 25,000. It’s also the second most popular tourist destination in Iceland and we were followed by Costa Favolosa all the way from Seydisfjordur yesterday.

We docked for the first time this trip, which was refreshing, as all that tendering was beginning to get a bit tiresome!

Anyway, Andrew & I had chosen an 8-hour excursion today called the ‘Diamond Circle’.

We’re not fond of all-day tours these days, as they can a bit exhausting, not to say expensive! But having been to Akureyri before, we chose this one in order to visit the Dettifoss Falls – the second largest in Europe – plus, this trip also mentioned Husavik, which as any fan of Eurovision may know, was the setting of the 2014 movie ‘Eurovision: The Story of Fire Saga’.

However, the bus had barely left the pier when we were told by the guide that we couldn’t visit Detifoss Falls because the area was closed due to heavy snow falls last week, making the trek to it dangerous. Well that put a dampener on things straightaway!

Our first planned stop was at the Lava Fields of Dimmuborgir, where some of the lava formations reach 65 feet high.

Icelandic myth says that this was formed when some Trolls had a wild party and lost track of the time (trolls clearly didn’t have watches in those days) and when the sun came up, they were turned into rocks. In truth, this area was a vast lake or marsh-land when volcanic lava erupted from fissures and solidified – but the story of the trolls is more fun!

We knew we were expecting lunch later but for some reason, we made another stop at this view-point for a ‘picnic snack’ overlooking MyVatn and what remains of the vast lake mentioned above, now pocked with sulphur springs. It was an impressive view but as to the ‘picnic’, we were all a bit puzzled….

Our excursion was also supposed to visit the ‘Whispering Cliffs’ of Hljodklettar in the Vatnajokull National Park but, guess what, that was closed too! Instead, we were taken on a trek through a forest to a pond popular with breeding ducks (except that there weren’t any ducks either!)

Icelandic Joke – Question: What do you do if you get lost in an Icelandic forest? Answer: Stand up! (Icelandic trees don’t grow very high because of the severe climate and lack of daylight 4 months of the year)

The area is known as Myndun Asbyrgis, a horseshoe-shaped canyon with cliffs up to 330 feet. Nick-named ‘Sleipnir’s Footprint’, it is said that it was created when one of the eight hooves of Odin’s horse, Sleipnir, accidentally touched the earth. Yes, well, today’s geologists prefer to believe that it was caused by catastrophic glacial flooding; a bit boring but probably closer to the truth!

Today we were indeed blessed with glorious sunshine all day, temperatures rising to the dizzy heights of 20 degrees – I even took off my woolly!

After a two-course lunch at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere, our next stop was supposed to be in Husavik and Andrew & I were both looking forward to at least finding the ‘JaJa Ding Dong Bar’, named in honour of the 2014 movie set here, ‘Eurovision: The Story of Fire Saga’.

But the bus drove straight through the town and our guide never even mentioned the film! All this was, presumably, so that our tour could stop at Godafoss Falls on the way back to the ship.

At around 30-40 ft, these falls are less impressive than Detifoss but it was here that at the time Christianity was being introduced around 1000AD, the local leader figure Porgeir threw his statues of the Norse Gods into the falls – hence the ‘Waterfall of the Gods’. All well and good but we had been here last time and these falls (quite near Akureyri) were on almost every other excursion apart from the one we chose!

It is said in Iceland that the Elves (or the ‘Hidden People’) often interfere with the lives of humans and that people should be mindful. It’s all twaddle of course, intended to make children behave (and adults for that matter) and follow the rules of the community in what was then a cruel world to survive in. But over 50% of the population still believe in the ‘Hidden People’ (or say they do, jus in case) and maybe, just maybe, the Elves had something to do with the events of today, because I took the rope off the pool to go swimming, instead of ‘obeying the rules’………

[dailyunsolvedmysteries-movedd]

The Mystery of the Devil's Footprints

Sweeping an unyielding trail of up to 100 miles, they were found in fields and lanes, they scaled rooftops and jumped up drainpipes. They were undeterred by solid objects such as haystacks or walls and were undaunted by rivers. The Devil’s Footprints, also known as The Devil’s Hoof Prints, were an extraordinary trail of imprints in the snow in southwest England that materialised over the course of the night of 8-9 February 1855. The prints looked as though they had been created by cloven hooves, but were, in all other respects, utterly inexplicable. The cloven hoof shape of The Devil’s Footprints were said to resemble those of a donkey, but the gait was not that of a four-legged animal. They were believed to have been those of a bipedal, or two-legged, creature. Each of The Devil’s Hoof Prints measured about 3 inches wide and 4 inches long, which is not dissimilar to that of a donkey’s. The ‘steps’ however, were comparatively small, spaced between 8 and 16 inches apart and in single file. The Devil’s hoofprints were primarily found in the county of Devon, specifically surrounding the Exe Estuary, but some reports included Dorset as well. The exact route of The Devil’s Footprints is unclear. If all accounts are to be believed, the route was a circuitous one, from Exeter in the North to Torquay, 25 miles south and then 12 miles west of that to Totnes, not necessarily in that order. It took in a distance of 40 miles overall, but also meandered and wandered extensively within that area so could have covered up to 100 miles. One of the most unusual aspects of The Devils Footprints were the places they were – and indeed were not – found. There were accounts of them skipping over areas or jumping from one place to another. Of being on rooftops, on either side of the River Exe, and also some solitary prints in fields. One farmer recounted The Devil’s Footprints stopping on one side of a haystack only to restart on the other, with the stack untouched. The Times article of 16 February 1855 spoke of “A vast number of foot tracks of a most strange and mysterious description. The superstitious go so far as to believe that they are the marks of Satan himself.” With the shape of the marks so resembling the Devil’s described cloven hooves, many were quick to ascribe the phenomenon to the Prince of Darkness. This was all the more sinister in conjunction with the myriad marks to and from doorsteps and circling homes and churches, creating rife speculation that He was combing the countryside for sinners. A lack of contemporaneous evidence and witnesses means that it’s unlikely that the source of The Devil’s Footprints will ever be determined. What is certain is that the mystery has continued to fascinate any who come across it. And that, without a firm explanation, some will always believe that it was Satan who wandered Devon on that fateful night in 1855.

[eclaire-went-bam]

warning. this post is gonna have a lot of over-explaining simple concepts anyone can observe in the show because i'm autistic thanks

also episode 8 hazbin spoilers

ft alastor homework doodle

someone's probably already said this, but regarding "finale" from hazbin hotel i like;; didn't watch it with subs bcs the service i used just didn't have them

& for the longest time i thought alastor's "and i barely escaped being killed by a hair" was actually "...killed by a hare"

i don't know if this specific wording was intentional or it's literally just me misinterpreting it, but it did made me think about alastor's death. the whole thing is that he was the hunter, before momentarily becoming the hunted. literally.

he went from the most dangerous thing in the woods (swamp?? marsh???) to the deer that gets hunted with ease, the whole being a deer thing is a reminder of that (which obviously isn't new news or anything)

moreover almost every scene he's in seems to be a struggle for the narrative, or for control, or for at least some unspoken acknowledgment that he is The Radio Demon — he does Not enjoy not being untouchable

he refers to most by "my dear" (my deer) — he sees most as potential prey or at least much more feeble/helpless & deer-like. maybe partially why he consistently helps mimzy, for example. he may not see her as a potential victim of his but he does acknowledge a power difference, which both invokes a sense of responsibility & a sense of pride/power when reinforced

but he refers to everyone in this way while also having a preference for vension. and also cannibalising rotting deer corpses. So like.

now back to the actual line. he went into the fight with adam, not even concerning himself with bringing an angelic weapon with him (despite it being clear angels can only be killed by such). yknow, weapons & beings associated with light, while alastor's powers are based in shadows. he thought he could do it alone, and failed. this was the the breaking point of his struggle for control that he's been shown to subtly be experiencing throughout the season. perhaps when everybody forgot about the radio demon, cognisant of the fact vox was broadcasting this attack, he believed he could show hell once again who he was.

(little note i think it's a cool detail that our framing shows alastor as all-powerful, everybody knows him, he's terrifying, and he definitely is terrifying, subtle interactions with those not as involved with our narrative, such as carmilla and lucifer, shows something slightly different. alastor has taken control of the way we see the show, namely himself)

and i mean what he did do was extremely impressive, but nobody's gonna mention that. he was shown, after 7 years, being bested, while being broadcasted by vox. Like !! that's a win to the v's

jesus christ tangential ok i'm just writing off the top of my head

but what's more feeble than a deer?? a 🎶Hare🎶

often hunted

though deer are prey, they can still be dangerous. they can still be intimidating. their antler's are dangerous. their hooves are too !!! those things KILL!!!!‼️‼️‼️

rabbits and the like?? not so much

is it possible that in these moments, alastor saw adam as that hare? talks big, but ultimately unimpressive? if so, how much would it utterly irk him that the hunter was bested by a hare?

anyways thank you for coming to my most delusional ted talk where i spent only the last 10% of this post getting to the point

[cryingtulips]

This Place is Not a Home

He wants to be happy, and he wants that sense of freedom Wilbur was offering. He wants to heal, like Wilbur did.

He didn’t realize how much he wants till that moment.

CW: Religious imagery, religious trauma

crossposted to ao3 || moodboard || Ch 6 || Ch 7 || Ch 8

~+~

Ch 7: I Don’t Want to Just Survive Anymore

The day Tommy meets Wilbur is an ordinary day, not remarkable in any sense.

Puffy had left that morning, saying she had someone important to meet before rushing off. Tommy took advantage of this to preen his wings. He didn’t have anymore white or gold feathers, they had long fallen off. The feathers that did manage to grow back could barely be considered angel feathers; the gray was starting to darken and the damage only seemed to grow to each feather.

It hurt to watch his wings essentially rot around him, but he nor Puffy knew how to fix them. So Tommy took to preening often, hoping that maybe it would encourage healthy feathers to grow back as he pulled on the less desirable ones.

Puffy didn’t know about that last detail, and Tommy had no intention of telling her. He didn’t know what the state of his wings meant, never has heard of such a thing happening. The closest reference he had were the Fallen Angels.

But Tommy wasn’t that. Tommy wasn’t—he wasn’t that unworthy. He couldn’t be. Despite what the Warden and the other angels argued, Tommy cared. A lot. About doing the right thing, and about being good. Sure he didn’t agree with everything Heaven preached, but Tommy wanted to do good, and to serve Lady Clara.

So no, he couldn’t be Fallen. It didn’t, it didn't match him, his state. Sure he hasn’t heard from Lady Clara for almost a year now, and sure he was losing hope. But that was a test of Hers, to see if he would stay faithful. And he was, he was. He prayed, and he followed the teachings, and he remained forever grateful for Her charitable nature. There couldn’t be doubt in his mentality, and if there was. Well. He never indulged in them for long.

He shoved any of those thoughts and worries to the back of his mind, and sorted through the remaining feathers for the few hours of Puffy’s disappearance.

Luckily, the animals were already taken care of, so Tommy didn’t need to fret about how he would do all the chores by himself. Instead, he got out his latest project: a rainbow sheep. It was something he was secretly making for Puffy, a small thing that was the size of his hand and made from colorful yarn with light brown hooves.

It was to thank her for her generosity, for letting him stay and recover back to health. He had never really gotten the chance to, not in a way that was meaningful. Tommy was never good with his words, but his actions, well everyone knew he was good with actions. And with knitting, Tommy could make anything, could create anything, and have it mean something.

It was a struggle to make; he didn't have any patterns and was struggling to figure out what worked. It took him three attempts, the first looking like the mashed form of some alien creature, the second like a deflated ball, and the third looking close to what he desired, but not quite there. This was his fourth attempt, and it was almost perfect. It had the shape he wanted, and had the start of a face that would look cute once he finished the smaller details.

He was working on the horns when Puffy walked in, the creak of the wood before the door opening being his only warning to put the needle down and shove everything underneath the couch. He was so preoccupied with trying to make everything appear normal that he was oblivious to the sound of multiple feet on wooden floorboards and the sound of rushed voices.

It was a sharp gasp that made his head snap up, a question on the tip of his tongue at the noise before his eyes zeroed in on wide, unfamiliar, dark eyes. Time seemed to freeze for Tommy. He couldn’t breathe, and his wings—ever so emotive—didn’t even twitch as all his limbs became stiff.

There was a man in the house. There was—there was a stranger—no, there was a human in the house. There was a human in the house, and it wasn’t Puffy. This wasn’t Puffy, where was Puffy? He needed Puffy, he needed—

“Hey, hey, hey,” the man said softly, his voice smooth as honey as it briefly captured Tommy’s attention. “I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.” Tommy tuned out what the man was saying, frantic eyes looking behind him to look for Puffy. He didn’t care what he had to say, he needed Puffy, he needed her to explain.

She said she was never going to hurt him, he thought as he started to scramble back, wings thrashing and something shattering at the movement. She promised, and—and he thought he could trust her. Something crunched underneath his foot, and his lungs strained from not getting enough air.

More words flowed through his ears like a river, and then he felt something grab his hands. He clung to them, grip tight as he fought to breathe again. He blinked and focused on the sight of Puffy in front of him, the stranger huddled in the corner, out of sight. ‘You promised,” his voice was hoarse and quiet, too similar to when he first arrived. “You promised I would be safe...”

She tried to reassure him, hands squeezing his own to ground him to the present, “You are, you are. Wilbur—” a glance at said man before he focused on her again—” Wilbur isn’t…he’s able to help you.” Her voice was firm, and her eyes earnest in this unspoken promise. She wouldn’t lie to him, not after so long. She wouldn’t.

“Tommy, I don’t—I don’t know how to help you. I’m trying, but it’s not enough.” She’s not wrong, something was flawed with him. He hasn’t heard from Lady Clara in so long, and his wings were getting worse. They were deteriorating, ever so slowly. Something was wrong with him, and he didn’t know how to fix it. “But Wilbur, Wilbur is like you. I—I didn't know what to do.”

“So you went to him for help,” he murmured.

A sigh was an answer enough. “I didn’t know how to help you. Tommy, I think…” she trailed off. Tommy was too tired to question her. “You’re hurting, Tommy. You’re hurting, and Wilbur—his family can help,” she explained.

He glanced back to the man, who was still standing in the corner. He was clear in sight, enough to reassure Tommy that he was no threat. He was away from the door so if Tommy ran, he wouldn’t be trapped. He was sitting down, and Tommy didn’t know what to make of the relief that flooded through him at the sight. “You promise you’re not here to hurt us?” Puffy looked surprised at his words, but Tommy refused to back down.

The man curled up further, making himself smaller and less of a threat at the sight of Tommy raising his wings. “I promise, I mean no harm. I’m only here to help.”

Tommy just stared at him, desperately hoping his face was apathetic as his heart raced. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Well, I mean I would hope Puffy’s judgment would be a good read on my character,” the man chuckled softly, some hidden message behind his words as Puffy’s eyes flashed in remembrance. “But well,” he continued, “there’s also the fact I have these.” Before Tommy was about to question what that meant, wings erupted from the man’s back.

They were so similar to his, but so different.

Instead of gray, Wilbur’s was made from ebony black, wings iridescent as oxford blue shimmered as the wings shifted into a more relaxed position. Unlike Tommy’s wings, small and rotting from whatever was now plaguing him, Wilbur’s were full and shiny, and healthy. It was not like anything Tommy has ever seen, angels wings had never been that enchanting. That was the only way he could describe it, for no Light could ever justify or cover the enthralling wings.

He found himself memorized at the sight, his own wings shifting in response to Wilbur’s. In an odd sense, at that moment, Tommy could only describe the feeling that rushed over him as rapport. At that moment, Tommy knew. He understood perfectly what was happening, who Wilbur was.

“You’re like me,” he breathed out. “How…how is that possible?”

“You think you’re the only angel they’ve kicked out,” Wilbur shifted closer, wings arched as if they were trying to reach out to him. Despite his words, there was no sarcasm or anger in his voice. Only a numb acceptance, no disappointment or accusation, just knowledge of how Paradise operates.

They warn about the Fallen, but they never talk about them. There was no need to humanize those stories, the Warden used to tell him and Tubbo. They were unneeded, just to serve as a warning—a promise to those who are like Tommy.

Tommy followed Puffy as she sat down on the couch, the man—Wilbur, choosing to stay sitting on the floor. Tommy grabbed the nearest blanket, a soft blue that was fuzzy and soft, and wrapped it around himself. “Who are you?” he started. “How did…what happened?”

The man didn’t look phased at the questions, understanding clear in his eyes. He knew Tommy wasn’t being rude, just trying to understand his story, trying to gauge how similar they are. “I’m Wilbur. I fell, hm, a couple of centuries ago.” He waved his hands around. “It’s been too long, I don’t remember the year it happened. I was exiled because I, well to put it simply, rebelled too much in heaven. I didn't agree with how things were running. I fought with the Warden a lot, caused scenes, and tried having protests.”

Tommy drew a sharp breath at the words, finding semblance as the man explained. His only thoughts as he listened were he’s just like me.

Tommy knew what Wilbur meant perfectly well. While in his time in Heaven there were never any protests, he was familiar with scenes and fights. Most of those were caused by him, arguing against the Warden and fighting for those unjustly blamed for the faults of others around them. Nobody was perfect, and it was unfair how they were expected to be.

“At some point, I guess they had enough,” Wilbur continued. Tommy wasn’t looking at him anymore, but at the blanket, playing with the fabric as the story continued. It was soft, and he needed that, needed something to concentrate on. “One day I was cleaning my wings, the next I was being thrown out. I wasn’t lucky like you, to find a safe place to recover immediately afterwards. I was alone for months—almost lost my wings.” A thoughtful hum, and Wilbur looked more closely at Tommy’s wings. “They looked a lot like yours actually. Only mine were a lot worse.”

Tommy couldn't imagine that. His wings were the complete opposite of Wilbur’s; they looked like they could fall off his body completely while Wilbur’s were strong and graceful.

“I find that hard to believe,” he said plainly. “Your wings look nothing like mine.”

“That’s thanks to Phil,” Wilbur explained, eyes trained on Tommy's. “He’s someone like us, Fallen.” He said it so casually, like the label held no meaning. Maybe it didn't, maybe it never has. ”He took me in, nursed me back to health.” A soft chuckle, warmth bright in Wilbur’s eyes. “I wouldn’t be here without him, or Puffy.”

Wilbur leaned forward, pausing to search for Tommy’s eyes, making direct eye contact with him. His eyes were warm, dark but not in the way the Warden was. Where the Warden had cold eyes, Wilbur’s reminded him of the hot chocolate Puffy would make him and mud that he would roll around in with Henry.

Wilbur was welcoming, Tommy realized. Soft, but not calm. He knew he wasn’t, not with his story. Still, he found himself trusting Wilbur more than he ever did with the Warden. Because the main difference between the two, is where the Warden was distant, Wilbur was open. And Tommy, Tommy wanted that openness. He was tired of the distance and immobilizing fear Paradise thrived on.

He wants to be happy, and he wants that sense of freedom Wilbur was offering. He wants to heal, like Wilbur did.

He didn’t realize how much he wants till that moment.

Wilbur searched his eyes before smiling softly at whatever he found, “Phil can help you. He can get you the proper help Puffy isn’t equipped to give.” He reached out to grab Tommy’s hands, grip strong in reassurance, but also soft. Not soft like how Puffy would hold him, as if she was unsure how much he could handle before shattering, unsure of what to do. It was soft in shared experience, shared understanding. It was soft in a way he never knew was possible, because Wilbur was akin to him in everything Tubbo wasn’t, or couldn’t be. It was soft but not gentle, firm but not restricting.

It was everything Tommy needed, and more.

“You just need to come with us,” Wilbur said gently. “Would you like to come with us?”

Tommy didn’t need to think that far about it, already sure of his answer.

That week there was no trace an angel had ever lived with Puffy, only a small rainbow sheep that stood proudly on a bedside table that once sat his altar.

[butterflies-and-blades]

Session 8: Close Calls and the Briefest Brushes

My walk with Verca started quiet. The silence was heavy--it seemed we both had things we wanted to say, or at least knew there were things to say, and were hesitant to break that soundless wall.

Still feeling guilty about not asking Verca how his night had gone, I started by asking how he had slept. I had wanted to jump straight to whatever had happened when he grabbed my wrist, but it felt wrong to try breaking the tension with something that would likely only invite more. He said he slept fine. He also said that things were more intense than usual, which is an odd pair of sentiments to hold beside each other. Confused, I had asked what he meant by that, but he insisted it was nothing important. More of a disruption than anything. Unsure of what else to say about the dream, I reassured him that he can always talk to Talo and me if something is bothering him. I do not know how much he actually believed that, though; the best I can do is hope.

More silence wormed between us the way a persistent breeze separates the previously touching branches of nearby trees. That increasingly familiar ache at the top of my chest--tucked neatly behind my sternum, slid between my lungs--had returned.

Still trying to coax the words from my mouth, my struggle was interrupted when he spoke first, asking how I was doing.

The past day had been a series of heavy weights, one dropping down after another. With each addition, I felt less certain that I really knew myself. I was drowning in feelings, unable to even find the words to properly describe them. And I told Verca as much, which opened the door to ask what had happened before.

He initially tried to play it off as nothing, which was starting to resemble a familiar pattern. Keeping in line with the pattern, I kept pressing. I did not have any expectation of where the conversation would go, but I surely did not anticipate being asked if I had ever been aware of my heartbeat or pulse. Of course I had. I did not understand what that had to do anything, and he explained that he was surprised by how slow it had been--that he must be used to something faster because of being a tiefling. He said he had worried, but now that he knew it was normal for me, it was fine. Seeing my confusion, he took my hand and guided it to his wrist. Like when we first met and shook hands, his warmth was a pleasantly unexpected contrast to everything else.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump. His heartbeat was the pounding hooves of a runaway horse beating against the ground. It sounded like he was on the verge of unraveling--like he might simply fall over any second. Waving away my worry, he pointed back to whatever went into his infernal constitution. And so we continued our walk.

Another handful of minutes later, as we were turning a corner and the fountain was peaking into sight, a frigid thought slid to the front of my mind. There were details surrounding John that had not made sense. As much as I hated entertaining the possibility, I could not look away from the nagging chance that John might have been involved in the orchestration of his uncle's death--whether that be as Rosi's employer or as her partner.

The day we arrived in Legen, John was there, telling Rosi to leave. He had said that they'd been through those motions before. But any time that we had pointed to that interaction, those details had always been failed to be acknowledged. What if that was all a setup to attract the attention of some group of fools like us?

Similarly, John had refused the logistical inconsistencies related to blaming us for the mayor's death. Initially, I thought it made sense to be dubious of a group who had been seen at the crime scene, but then Toma had agreed with us without needing the truth spell. Our points were right, but he would not hear them out. Perhaps because he needed to solidify someone to attract public attention outside of himself. Admittedly, it made his willingness to bring in Toma odd, but it likely would have been more suspicious if he had not.

And then there was the way Toma constantly ridiculed John. I would not be surprised if that kind of treatment came from more people than just the priest. What if he was tired of being treated like that? What if he wanted power?

I also was struggling to wrap my mind around John's lack of care regarding Rosi's fate. He lost his uncle. His family. If something happened to my fathers, I cannot imagine coming back from that. I am who I am because of them. Their love, their care. That's what family is.

Our first mistake upon coming to Legen had been being too trusting; what if we were repeating that mistake again?

I did my best to organize all these jumbled thoughts and laid them out to Verca, half expecting him to wave me off as paranoid. But he didn't. He listened, and we talked through our options, and determined we could not decide on any direction without Talo.

I was tired of all the not knowing. Now John was just another question added to that pile. I do not think I can handle feeling so far from myself much longer.

While we were waiting, Verca commented that he did not know much about his father. He barely knew the man and did not even know if he was simply gone or dead. He put his hand on my shoulder--again, that warmth--and said that he had always not known, but I had fallen into not knowing, losing the comfort that being blind to not knowing had carried. It was that loss of presumed stability that made him think my version of the experience was the worse of the two.

When Talo came back, we repeated the process. We tossed around a handful of ideas--each coming with their own downsides. In the end, we figured it would be best to be direct. We were set to leave Legen soon anyways, so if we ended up burning this bridge, maybe the fire would not hurt as bad. And for some reason Verca wanted us all in the area of the planned truth spell, anyways.

By the time we came up to the guards' quarters, John was the only one there. That buzzing feeling was back in my chest and the tips of my fingers. Looking at John, I felt a snake wrap itself around each of my ribs and squeeze.

From the start, I did my best to let him know how much I hated the conversation we were about to have and asked his permission to cast a truth spell--which he agreed to. Everyone present submitted themselves to the spell's effects without resisting.

And then I asked John if he was involved in the organization of his uncle's death, again emphasizing that we were not asking this terrible question lightly. And I do not think I can honestly say I was surprised when John avoided the question. We pressed, and he kept avoiding--up until he said he did not "hire" Rosi, leaving half of the question unaddressed, and moved to leave.

Verca pinned him to the wall with his two-pointed spear--one prong on either side of his neck--before he could make three steps.

So I asked again, practically pleading with John to be open with us, until he said that the mayor had been terrible. His uncle had treated John, his father, and his mother--the mayor's own sister--horribly. All of which culminated in John having reason to believe his uncle had his parents killed. So he had worked with Rosi to get rid of him, but he did not hire her. That was someone else's work.

The flood of information left me unsure how to proceed. He was involved in what happened, like we had suspected, but the pages of the story about the mayor had more going on than we had thought. The mayor we had met had seemed serious but kind enough; I cannot fathom how he--or anyone, really--could hurt their own family in such a terrible way like that.

I asked John if he had any intention of hurting anyone else, and he said no. That information, alongside a point Verca raised regarding the fact that Rosi was still the real threat to others' continued safety, made our decision to leave him be--rather than turning him into whatever other authorities existed in the city--much easier to stomach.

With that dealt with, Verca asked Talo what they were hiding. As the pattern goes, they avoided answering as long as they could, Verca kept pressing with the caveat that specifics were not needed, and eventually some level of information came out. At first Talo said it had to do with their identity, leading to a brief whirl of confusion until they clarified that they had promised not to say their last name.

I honestly did not understand what the big deal with something as simple as a last name was, but I appeared to have been in the minority in that stance. Both Talo and Verca were surprised to learn that neither my dad nor I had a last name. Verca asked if Da did, which he does, but it never came up enough at home for me to remember it.

They were also both surprised to learn that Dad and Da are not married or even vaguely romantically involved whatsoever. That is not to say Dad does not love Da--he is is his best friend; it's just not the kind of love that gets paraded around in stories.

With our time in the truth spell finished, we left Legen and began our trip into the desert to hopefully find Rosi. Partway through the trip, we went through the same forested oasis that had brought us here about five days ago. While the time there was brief, the return of dirt and roots beneath my feet--much more stable than slippery sand--was a relief. The only thing missing was the familiar dancing of butterflies in the air.

While going through the forest, Talo asked me to help them find some plants and herbs used for healing. I remembered a few flowers Dad had taught me about whose properties related to healing, but I wasn't able to find anything during our time there--instead too stuck in all the stress that was still sticking to my insides.

Back in the desert, we saw the massive dragon skeleton in the distance just as sunset was starting to color the sky. We estimated that we would be able to get there before it got too dark, which was good because we learned that Talo seemingly cannot see very well without an active light source.

Rosi had certainly been at the skeleton at some point given the papers we found at a desk carved into the last rib on the left side of the dragon. The first set of documents were written in nonsense symbols that none of us could read, but there was a drawer with a letter written in Common. The letter, addressed to Rosi--confirming that was likely her actual name and not an assumed or stolen one--detailed her assignment in Legen. It was all information that we already knew from living it, but it was at least evidence of her presence. The letter was signed, "Yours, Sala," which at the very least might be able to point us in the direction of her actual employer. I moved all of the papers into the Bag of Holding. Maybe they will be helpful in the future.

There was only a small amount of light left, and the clear horizon was enough to tell us that we would not be able to get to Greston within that window. Seeing a tent left behind near the remains of the tail, we decided to camp for the night, but before we could settle down, a cloud of white mist drifted down from the spine.

And then a large, shimmering, winged creature dropped down in front of us. The dragon's dark copper scales were the color of wet sand.

And once again, my memory of the resulting fight was blurred by the Mask. However, unlike other incident, I had flashes of coherency this time. The first time, I simply saw the scope of the scene spread out before me before hearing an aggressive voice yell, "NO!" before cutting me off.

The second time, I saw Verca diving between me and the dragon, trying to block an incoming attack.

When I woke up, he was with Talo. The two were close, talking and going over the details of something concerning the dragon. I was lightheaded and had fallen to my knees upon coming to--covered in a caky mixture of blood and sand--, so I wasn't sure of the intricate details.

As we came back together, I was surprised to hear from Verca that he had tried to stop the fight. While it was unexpected, I was proud of the attempt, even if it had not ultimately been successful. When the fight had started, I had told myself I would try talking to the dragon--hoping to appeal to it using Draconic--but I quickly was swept away in the combat. No one is perfect; we can only try our best. With all of the churning feelings writhing inside of me, constantly growing, the familiarity of fighting--returning to Da's years of lessons and the internal calm required to assess a situation--was one of the first substantial things to ease that sensation.

I was not ready to sleep, so I quickly volunteered to take the first shift of watch to delay the inevitable a little longer. Talo was scheduled for second watch and Verca third.

After they had gotten as comfortable as they could in the tent, leaving me alone to scan the surrounding dunes and trace butterfly-shaped lines into the sand at my feet, I realized that I probably should have let Talo watch first so that they would be able to see for a larger fraction of their watch, but it was too late to correct the error. The best thing I could do was search the campsite for anything to potentially make a fire for them.

Looking through the darkness that had draped itself over the desert, I didn't find anything useful for making a fire, though. Instead, I saw the distant silhouette of a tall, slender, feminine figure. And she was approaching the camp. She got closer, and the vague edges of her blurry outline became clear. Long black hair with pointed ears that peaked out from the sleek locks. A gentle expression that shone against sharp elven features.

She said she was looking for a friend whom she was meant to meet in Greston. I briefly worried that the dragon we killed had been the friend in question, but the body was still out in the open, and she did not comment on it, so that seemed unlikely.

I asked her name. Before she answered, she smiled and asked mine. I remembered Dad and Da once mentioned to be careful with names, so I told her she could call me Vesper, and she said she was Lana.

After I apologized for not being able to help her find her friend, the tone of the conversation shifted. She stepped closer, saying I was lovely and that she would not want me to be alone. That I was beautiful despite the marrings.

I am beautiful, but not despite my scars. They are a part of me and they are a part of my beauty.

Lana was beautiful, too, though. So I told her that.

She brought a hand up, touching the underside of my chin. I froze, eyes wide. I had never been touched like that before. Firm and soft, like the petals of a sturdy flower that could not be shaken by the elements.

She tilted my head up. I followed without resistance. There was a new buzzing bouncing around my stomach, unlike any of the pointed blurs from earlier in the day. This was different and made all of that tension slip away. Maybe for the first time that day, I could breathe without feeling like I was about to fall over if I took the wrong step.

Her hand moved to my cheek. I leaned into her touch, the most comfortable I had been in days.

She was so close. "I'd hate to waste an opportunity," she said, her thumb brushing over my cheek. It was like the rest of the massive desert was not there at all.

"Then let's not waste this opportunity," I said.

And then she kissed me, lips just as light and inviting as the hand on my face. Having never kissed anyone before, I had not expected it to be so blissful.

As Lana was preparing to leave, after saying that she hoped we see each other again in the future, her sweet goodbye--spoken with a smile and with glittering light in her eyes despite the night--used the fake name I had given her. A decision I had made before really getting to know her the way I did afterwards. I corrected her as she turned to go.

She looked back to me and said she understood why I had to be careful. Left with a simple "Good girl," those pleasant sparks were back in my gut long after she had disappeared from sight.

The mess of blood and sand on my body had been cleaned away at some point during it all.

With that, it was Talo's turn for watch. A fragment of me felt guilty for never getting to make that fire, but the regret was swiftly forgotten as I went to bed thinking how I hoped to see Lana in the streets of Greston soon.

[cephalopodiums]

I’m building CHICK HICKS in D&D  (Why? ‘Cuz it’s fun and I like the bastard car)

GOALS:  - Be fast - Be furious  - Get ahead of others by any means - Be a cocky celebrity

STATS: Use point buy for this array: (or use some other method, just keep multiclassing minimums in mind)

STR 14 DEX 14 CON 14 INT 8 WIS 9 CHA 13

RACE: 

Centaur (has the most car-like features, and also I am using the version from MP:MotM)

Ability score increase: Increase Strength by 2 and Charisma by 1. Creature type: Fey (more accurate than humanoid at least) Speed: 40 ft Charge: If Chick moves at least 30 feet straight toward a target and then hits it with a melee weapon attack on the same turn, he can immediately follow that attack with a bonus action, making one attack against the target with his hooves attack. (This is the first version of crashing into someone)

Equine Build: Chick counts as one size larger when determining his carrying capacity and the weight he can push or drag. When making a climb that requires hands and feet, each foot of movement costs Chick 4 extra feet instead of the normal 1 extra foot. (Cars are big and strong and also can’t climb very well…)

Hooves: Chick can make an unarmed strike which deals 1d6 + his strength mod in bludgeoning damage. (Let's say these are his tires) 

Natural Affinity: Chick gains proficiency in one of the following skills: Animal Handling, Medicine, Nature, or Survival. Choose: Animal Handling (or one of the others, it isn’t really in character)

Languages: Common and Modron (idk, Modrons are mechanical beings with human facial features, like cars in Cars) 

BACKGROUND: 

Athlete (But switch the language proficiency against a tool proficiency)

Skill Proficiencies: Acrobatics, Athletics (Chick is fit!) Tool Proficiencies: Land Vehicles (of course a build of a car from cars has to have proficiency with land vehicles) and Disguise kit (Chick and Bruiser canonically went to drama class together, where one can typically learn to use costumes.)

Feature: Echoes of Victory: Chick has attracted admiration among spectators, fellow athletes, and trainers in the region that hosted his past athletic victories. When visiting any settlement within 100 miles of where he grew up, there is a 50 percent chance he can find someone there who admires him and is willing to provide information and temporary shelter. Between adventures, he might compete in athletic events sufficient enough to maintain a comfortable lifestyle, as per the "Practicing a Profession" downtime activity in chapter 8 of the Players Handbook. (

LEVEL 1 Rouge 1

Proficiencies: Combat stuff: Light armor, simple weapons, hand crossbows, longswords, rapiers, shortswords Tools: Thieves' tools Saving Throws: Dexterity, Intelligence Skills: Performance (Again, Chick went to drama class), Persuasion (Persuading people not to kick him out for hurting other racers) Deception (to cover up his crimes), Intimidation (Intimidate people not to speak out against him),

Features:

Expertise: Chick gains expertise in two skills, which means the proficiency bonus for skill checks made with those skills have a doubled proficiency bonus. Choose Athletics (for shove checks and other athletic feats) and Performance (Chick has a show, he has to be good at performance)

Sneak Attack: Once per turn, Chick can deal an extra 1d6 damage to one creature he hits with an attack if he has advantage on the attack roll. The attack must use a finesse or a ranged weapon. He doesn't need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 feet of it, that enemy isn't incapacitated, and he doesn't have disadvantage on the attack roll. (shortsword is the best, flavor it to be like his pointy edged chassis, he is a rectangle after all)

Thieves' Cant: Chick knows thieves' cant is a secret mix of dialect, jargon, and code that allows one to hide messages in seemingly normal conversation. Only another creature that knows thieves' cant understands such messages. It takes four times longer to convey such a message than it does to speak the same idea plainly. In addition, he understands a set of secret signs and symbols used to convey short, simple messages, such as whether an area is dangerous or the territory of a thieves' guild, whether loot is nearby, or whether the people in an area are easy marks or will provide a safe house for thieves on the run. (Not in character, but he does hang out with the Delinquent Road Hazards in the games, so maybe he learned some crime stuff from them?)

LEVEL 2 Rouge 2

Features: Cunning Action: Chick can use the Dash, Disengage, or Hide action as a bonus action. (Using Chicks movement and Dash as an action and bonus action, he can move up to 120 ft in a round.)

LEVEL 3 Rouge 3

Features: Roguish Archetype: Choose Scout

Skirmisher: Chick can move up to half his speed as a reaction when an enemy ends its turn within 5 feet of him. This movement doesn’t provoke opportunity attacks. (Using reactions for movement as well is great, at this level Chick could ideally move 140 ft per turn)

Survivalist: Chick gains proficiency in Nature and Survival and has doubled proficiency using these skills. (Not super in character, but maybe Chick takes up camping and nature watching in his free time? Idk)

LEVEL 4 Fighter 1

Proficiencies: Combat stuff: All armor, martial weapons, shields

Features: Fighting Style: Choose Superior Technique: Chick learns one maneuver from the Battle Master archetype and gains one superiority die, which is a d6. The die is regained after a short or long rest and the saving throw DC for maneuvers is 8 + proficiency bonus + strength or dexterity modifier (use strength, of course). Choose: 

Trip Attack: When Chick hits a creature with a weapon attack, he can expend one superiority die to attempt to knock the target down. He can add the superiority die to the attack's damage roll, and if the target is Large or smaller, it must make a Strength saving throw. On a failed save, he knocks the target prone. (This is Chick crashing into someone, Prone causes half movement or uses up half movement to get away from prone, the best way to knock someone down with an attack currently. And gets better with a feat later)

Second Wind: On Chicks turn, you can use a bonus action to regain hit points equal to 1d10 + his fighter level. (This is Chick just strengthening his resolve)

LEVEL 5 Fighter 2

Features: Action Surge: Chick can push yourself beyond his normal limits for a moment. On his turn, he can take one additional action. (So this is a great feature, and now the maximum movement that Chick can move is 180 ft in a turn, or do other things with this extra action)

LEVEL 6 Fighter 3

Features:  Martial Archetype: Choose Battle Master

Combat Superiority: Chick learns three maneuvers and gains four superiority dice, which are d8s. The die is regained after a short or long rest and the saving throw DC for maneuvers is 8 + proficiency bonus + strength or dexterity modifier (use strength, of course). Choose: 

Ambush: When Chick makes a Dexterity (Stealth) check or an initiative roll, he can expend one superiority die and add the die to the roll, provided he isn't incapacitated. (The initiative roll is good, at the start of races, also works well with other Rogue abilities)

Commanding Presence: When he makes a Charisma (Intimidation), a Charisma (Performance), or a Charisma (Persuasion) check, he can expend one superiority die and add the superiority die to the ability check. (This is Chick using his celebrity status to get stuff he wants)

Evasive Footwork: When Chick moves, he can expend one superiority die, rolling the die and adding the number rolled to his AC until he stops moving. (This is good for getting away after crashing someone, we’ll get a feat for this later)

Precision Attack: When Chick makes a weapon attack roll against a creature, he can expend one superiority die to add it to the roll. He can use this maneuver before or after making the attack roll, but before any effects of the attack are applied. (For making sure Chick hits)

Student of War: Chick gains proficiency with one type of artisan's tools. Choose tinker’s tools. (Or something else, but I just thought Chick could tinker a bit with cars)

LEVEL 7 Barbarian 1

Features:  Rage: On his turn, he can enter a rage as a bonus action. While raging, he gains the following benefits if he isn’t wearing heavy armor: - He has advantage on Strength checks and Strength saving throws. - When he makes a melee weapon attack using Strength, he gains a bonus to the damage roll, currently +2. - He has resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage. - He can't cast spells or concentrate on them while raging. - His rage lasts for 1 minute. It ends early if he is knocked unconscious or if his turn ends and he hasn't attacked a hostile creature since your last turn or taken damage since then. He can also end his rage on his turn as a bonus action. He can regain his rages at a short or long rest. (We’ll get some improvements to this, for now this is just Chick getting angry)

Unarmored Defense: While Chick is not wearing any armor, his armor class equals 10 + Dexterity modifier + Constitution modifier. He can use a shield and still gain this benefit. (Depends on how one sees the car chassis, as just a part of him or as platemail or a chest plate or something)

LEVEL 8 Barbarian 2

Features: Danger Sense: Chick has advantage on Dexterity saving throws against effects that he can see, such as traps and spells. To gain this benefit, he can't be blinded, deafened, or incapacitated. (One has to be aware of their surroundings while racing)

Reckless Attack: When he makes his first attack on his turn, he can decide to attack recklessly. Doing so gives him advantage on melee weapon attack rolls using Strength during this turn, but attack rolls against him have advantage until your next turn. (This is Chick crashing into someone wrecklessly- excuse me, recklessly. A crash is not often wreckless.)

LEVEL 9 Barbarian 3

Features:  Primal Path: Choose the path of the Totem Warrior

Spirit Seeker: Chick gains the ability to cast the Beast Sense and Speak with Animals spells, but only as rituals. (Not in character, but comes with the class, so...)

Totem Spirit: When adopting this path, one can choose a totem spirit and gain its feature. Choose: Elk. While Chick is raging and isn't wearing heavy armor, his walking speed increases by 15 feet. (More speed! YAY!)

LEVEL 10 Barbarian 4

Features: Ability Score Improvement: Choose a feat instead. Choose:

Mobile: Chick gains the following benefits: - His speed increases by 10 feet. - When he uses the Dash action, difficult terrain doesn't cost him extra movement on that turn. - When he makes a melee attack against a creature, he doesn't provoke opportunity attacks from that creature for the rest of the turn, whether he hits or not. (More speed! And makes evasive footwork less useful. Guess it’s useful when not attacking I guess)

 LEVEL 11 Barbarian 5

Features:  Extra Attack: Chick can attack twice, instead of once, whenever he takes the Attack action on his turn. (More attacks, means more damage in crashes or more chances to use trip attack)

Fast Movement: His speed increases by 10 feet while he isn't wearing heavy armor. (MORE SPEED!)

LEVEL 12 Rouge 4

Features:  Ability Score Improvement: Choose a feat instead. Choose:

Magic Initiate: Gain two cantrips and one 1st level spell from the spell list of either bard, cleric, druid, sorcerer, warlock, or wizard. You can only cast the 1st level spell once per long rest. Choose: Bard and the below spells

Cantrip: Vicious Mockery (Insults that hit hard) Friends (Chick using his celebrity status to schmooze, until people find out he’s an asshole)

1st level: Longstrider (MORE SPEED!)

LEVEL 13 Sorcerer 1

Features:  Sorcerous Origin: Choose Storm Sorcery

Wind Speaker: Chick gains proficiency in Primordial (Not in character but, whatever he gets it)

Tempestuous Magic: Chick can use a bonus action on his turn immediately before or after he casts a spell of 1st level or higher. Doing so allows him to fly up to 10 feet without provoking opportunity attacks. (For stunts :D  Basically a better jumpy)

Spells: 

Cantrips: Message (For communicating with his crew chief) Blade Ward (Preparing for an attack and making it hit a less vulnerable part of him) True Strike (For advantage, situationally useful for getting sneak attack) Thunderclap (He is called thunder, we gotta give him some thunder damage)

1st level: Silvery Barbs (Distracting a fellow racer, then giving himself the advantage) Color Spray (Flashing his ka-chicka sticker to blind people)

LEVEL 14 Sorcerer 2

Features:  Font of Magic: Chick gains sorcery points, which currently can be used to create spell slots. Spell slots can be turned into sorcery points too. There is a table and all on the link to the class. (Useful later to get more higher level spellslots for the best spell)

Spells: 

1st level: False Life (Temporary hit points are often flavored to be resolve and Chick has a lot of resolve)

LEVEL 15 Sorcerer 3

Features: Metamagic: Chick gains the ability to twist his spells to suit his needs. He gains two of the following Metamagic options. Choose: 

Extended Spell: When casting a spell that has a duration of 1 minute or longer, Chick can spend 1 sorcery point to double its duration, to a maximum duration of 24 hours. (Useful! So useful! Get more use out of speed spells!)

Empowered Spell: When rolling damage for a spell, he can spend 1 sorcery point to reroll a number of the damage dice up to his Charisma modifier (minimum of one). He must use the new rolls. Can be used even if one has already used a different Metamagic option during the casting of the spell. (More damage!!! HAHA!)

Spells:

2nd level: Kinetic Jaunt (Another speed spell, and useful for getting through a lot of other racers)

LEVEL 16 Sorcerer 4

Features: Ability score improvement: Increase Strength by 2 (Make crash attacks stonger and DC’s harder to beat)

Spells: 

Cantrips: Booming Blade (A great crashing spell, encouraging creatures not to move and has thunder damage! The only reason we didn’t get it sooner is because it isn’t on the core spell list of the sorcerer, and added in Tashas.)

2nd level: Shadow Blade (A spell that pairs great with Sneak Attack to get more damage in crashes)

LEVEL 17 Sorcerer 5

Features:  Magical Guidance (Optional): When making an ability check that fails, Chick can spend 1 sorcery point to reroll the d20, and must use the new roll, potentially turning the failure into a success. (Saving face)

Spells: 

2nd level: Haste (The best spell. Best speed spell. Just great. Don’t need to say anything else.) Ashardalon’s Stride (Replace False Life with this, it's cool. Just like kinda being so fast and using like flame boosts like in the game or something. Not super in character for the movies or something but is a cool speed spell, okay?)

LEVEL 18 Fighter 4

Features: Ability score improvement: Increase Constitution by 2 (For more HP and better concentration checks!)

LEVEL 19 Barbarian 6

Features:  Aspect of the Beast: Chick gains a magical benefit based on a totem animal. Choose:

Elk: Whether mounted or on foot, his travel pace is doubled, as is the travel pace of up to ten companions while they're within 60 feet of him and he isn’t incapacitated. (Now he is good at long distance stuff too! And now he and his team won’t ever be late to a race that takes place across the country ever again.)

 LEVEL 20 Barbarian 7

Features:  Feral Instinct: Chick’s instincts are so honed that he has advantage on initiative rolls. Additionally, if he isn’t surprised at the beginning of combat and isn't incapacitated, he can act normally on his first turn, but only if he enters his rage before doing anything else on that turn. (Advantage on initiative rolls are great for races.)

POST COMMENTARY:

I like this build. I honestly wouldn’t try making any other racers with this... D&D is so combat focused while cars other than Chick do not do much combat. (I guess the spies do. So if I’m ever doing another car then it would probably be Finn or Holly) But yeah. The way I got the speed here, with Rouge and Barbarian, is like the only-ish ways to get movement speed bonuses from classes. Revised Ranger, Monk and Wizard Bladesinger and Transmutation also do get movement boosts. Another way would maybe be Druid or Polymorph if you flavor the transformations to just be a stance or something. 

(Man I’m editing this and now I know a way to make him faster with more/better crashing, Monk levels. 5 monk levels for speed and stunning strike, 5 sorcerer levels for haste 5 barbarian levels elk totem for speed 2 rouge levels for cunning action 2 fighter levels for action surge and the trip attack maneuvers then either rouge scout for skirmisher or fighter battle master for more trip attack depending on if one wants more sometimes movement or more crashing BUT that would make this build even more MAD (multi ability dependent) than it already is and the stats needed would make us have to drop Con, making Chick frail.)

Speed: Not the fastest, but definitely fast. Faster than usually needed in D&D games. With Extended Spell and Rages he can consistently be faster than his normal speed, which is and impressive 60 ft (like the fly speed of Fly). And with Cunning Action and Skirmisher he can use basically his whole turn to move. 

With Haste and Longstrider: 40 base + 10 mobility feat + 10 fast movement + 10 longstrider then doubled with haste = 140 ft  Then using Dash during the normal action, Action Surge, bonus action, Haste action and Skirmisher reaction is 630 ft in one round. More than anyone needs. 

With Rage and Longstrider: 40 base + 10 mobility feat + 10 fast movement + 10 longstrider + 15 elk = 85 ft Then using Dash during the normal action, Action Surge, bonus action, Haste action and Skirmisher reaction is 382.5 ft in one round. Also more than anyone needs.

This is how far he can go in 10 min, with prepared Flexible Casting spell slots (five 3rd lvl and 7 sorcery points) and Longstrider, and no enemies: 55300 ft meaning 62.8 mph or 101.1 kph. 

Damage: 

Right, with Shadow Blade, Sneak attack, Trip attack on both attacks and Hooves, Chick could do 6d8 + 3d6 + 9 damage in a round without using action surge. Pretty good. Could maybe take out a fellow racer to near death status like Strip with a crit? Idk, I’m not good at damage calculation. 

Cons and problems:

This build is MAD (multi ability dependent) and that means one can’t super optimize things like DCs for the different abilities.  I didn’t really know what to do with the last three levels. Making crashes like in the movie doesn’t really work in D&D. The shove rules are like super specific with pushing creatures away from the attacker, so one can’t really send people flying like in the movie. There is Shoving Aside rules in the DMG, but then the attacker has disadvantage. (Could be solved by taking Clockwork Soul as a sorcerous origin, I guess) Also, Rage, Haste, Kinetic Jaunt, Shadow Blade and Ashardalon’s Stride are fighting for concentration. 

______

So yeah, that’s basically it. Chick Hicks in D&D. Building characters is like a jigsaw puzzle to me, just a bit of fun... Let me leave on a non-negative note though. If you actually want to play with a character like Chick, i.e. run in, attack and immobilize your foe and run along without consequences, at low levels...  One, get the Mobile feat as soon as possible (maybe through Custom Origin) and two, start with Wizard, get Booming blade as your main cantrip and get Longstrider. Maybe go Bladesinger and a multiclass into Rouge would do you good. Invest in Dex instead of Strength, good for both ac and attack. Or don’t. Just have fun. Have a good one!