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say-hi-intrepid-heroes · 11 months ago

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alright let’s go over the junior year clues we got in the rick perry documentary thing (disclaimer: i’ve definitely missed stuff, but i think i got the big things, feel free to reblog and add with stuff that i missed though)

[at the bottom of this post I've typed out the decipherable words that plan out some combats and NPCs from Rick's screen. it's the most interesting thing but it's super long so it's at the bottom under a cut]

We get a blurry look at some minis. I’m seeing at least the PC’s minis, as well as what looks like Baxter the Gryphon.

There’s some major shots of this battle. Includes a Baby mini, the Hangvan with some kind of laser canon on top, a stingray-esque monster that is likely Night Yorb (see below), something that looks like maybe an ice elemental or the crystal (see below), and some large bugs and shirtless people. Clearly set in the Red Wastes. Detailed info of the planning for this battle below.

One of the shots had reference boards in the background. One is clearly for the Hangvan (see earlier screencaps), but the other is unclear. It looks like it includes some sort of tennis or tennis-adjacent sport.

Confirmation that Mordred Manor is a set piece.

Finally, one shot showed Rick’s computer screen with some critical info about planning. I’ve put what I’ve been able to decipher below the screencaps. and under a cut, as it’s very long.

EP. 701 DEFEATING NIGHT YORB CHASE (RED WASTES) Hangvan, Night Yorb is giant flying Manta Ray thing? Rainbow road, being chased by night yorb while trying to throw crystal into portal. Crazy gun on rough [roof] that gorgug made, I can’t get a lock on it. Just need one last final thing to defeat night yorb. Red wastes, chasing the night yorb around, flying bats teleporting onto rough [roof] of van, NPC allies, Balthazar, two other cars they are in contact with, tiefling bakers or sidekicks are reveals Stormchaser twister, trying to get a lock onto it, Night Yorb is escaping the world. Maybe night yorb gets away, why didn [didn’t] you get it? And Balthazar died? Murph invented the Night Yorb. Don’t fuck with the Night Yorb. Exploded out of riz’s chest, needs to be dumb as hell. it’s the jabberwocky, it burbled, hugely terrifying, Horrifying cursed thing. Unending night for two months. Dragon sized, bigger than the Hang Van, 30’ wingspan Stars and moon. While the night yorb flies it is night and not day. Not malevolent force, but everything on earth will die Have giant ghost busters canon, Honey I shrunk the kids cannon Driver, mechanic, gunner, navigator (using SW 5e mechanics) Hang Man - Fabian motorcycle Tether is attached to night yorb, either magic or harpoon Night Yorb could out pace them. Could smash van. Cultist of the night yorb appearing on the road, mad max style ”The night yorb is our god” Red Wastes Cultists: Riding skeleton horses, classic fantasy cultists, Manta ray night yorb masks Sword and Sorcery vibes, MUSCELY, oiled, black leather, rings Shadow of Night Yorb Tether must be reeled in over 4 rounds Success Meter - 4 rounds or it escapes Pop up cultists in the middle of the road 4 maps Straight away, gully bridge crossing, rap popping up, giant portal It’s going to another world but if it gets away thats just as bad Ayada [Ayda?] thing built in. Chekov’s gun. Gun has cool helix of energy that is getting cranked in. Gun is on the back and on the hood is a binding circle that Adaine does. Cultists are making the portal. YORBIES if they catch it, it gets bound into the paint of their van Gun is gorgug’s stuff and circle is adaine 6 cultist perusing them, 4 or 5 at the portal, 1 or 2 back up Single person traps, Vulture with cactus MINIS: Night Yorb - Giant shadowy manta ray, inky black dripping, made of liquid, different underbelly, deep indigo or bone white. Made of shadows, dripping aberration, flat plane, long tail, two weird eyes coming off front on stalks. Second set of PCs TERRAIN: Red Wastes! NOTES: favorite crazy dnd monsters, beholder, [unclear word, bu…ette] Fungal Black light portal battle! Dr. Strange battle set, pseudo pods of elder pod night yorb, day glow run fragments, purple stone castle night yorb temple, floor is octopus made of shadows. Starting mid battle. [blank sections] PROJECTION: Counter here of some kind?

POTENTIAL LOCATIONS Basrar’s icecream shop? Mordred Manor Seacaster Manor [crossed out] Strong Tower Luxury Apartments SAT Prep class [screen cuts off]

EP. 704 DENTENTION [detention] STEALTH CHASE SEQUENCE/ QUIET LIBRARY/ Aguefort chase sequence? Combine sets interrupted by having to make it past a hall monitor Underwater? Books suspended floating, everything is affected by water Don’t wake daddy? Start in Library to get to Aguefort’s office Hallway Classroom Bathroom Lockerroom [blank sections] DYNAMIC ELEMENT: Water

CONCEPTS Dicks! SPIRITUAL GUARDIANS - Full service on minis, summons, etc Psycadelic fungal giant, black light, trippy, beautiful Revisiting old set [screen cuts off]

[fyi everything past this point was very blurry, so I could only decipher pieces here and there]

EP. 706 OUTDOOR CONCERT COACHELLA Music feature? Flaming [?], giant [?] [???] Fig and Gorgug on stage [???] Lighting effects, [???] Floating stage or something [???] Demons? PROJECTION: Lasers?

NPCS/ VILLAINS/ MONSTERS/ ETC. PORTER CLIFFBREAKER is secret servant of nightmare king tactical battlefield combat that [?] 2-3 times larger than PCs LED buried inside him [???] Porter was [???] basketball player [screen cuts off]

[the rest was too blurry to make out anything other than a blank section titled ROLE PLAY/ NEUTRAL BOARD and a section that seems to be for EP. 708 and says EXTRA with some blurry words after it]

#dimension 20 #d20 #fantasy high #brennan lee mulligan #fhjy #rick perry #dropout #fantasy high junior year

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cryptidclaw · 2 years ago

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My new Clangen clan, Kittyclan, a year (12 moons) in!

I thought it would be fun to draw my clan every 12 moons or so! (though after these first 12 moons I prob wont draw every cat! this took forever...)

The backstory of this clan, is that they were all Kittypets who decided to run away and start their own clan in the woods!

More info on the clan so far below! v

My first starclan cat, Onetree, used to be a warrior, and then a med cat, in a old clan, but in her old age she was guided by starclan to the Twolegplace nearby. There at the twolegplace she was taken in by two twolegs, and was named Granny Cat. Her Housefolk had another cat, a kitten named Milky, and Granny knew once she met him that he would one day do something great. Milky would take a group of cats into the forest and create his own clan. Granny knew Starclan had guided her here to teach Milky of the clans and the skills of a warrior and so she tried her hardest to do just that, taking Milky in as her own.

After Granny Cat passed away Milky became determined to live in the forest that Granny had once lived in. Not only this, Milky decided he should create his own clan! He convinced several fellow kittypets to join him in his mission and he named their new clan Kittyclan for their kittypet roots. He took them into the woods to find a territory and camp and Starclan guided Milky to a gully in the woods, perfect for a camp, and the new clan knew that this would be their new home. That night after settling Milky received his 9 lives from starclan, and was given his Leader’s name, Milkystar!

Notable things that have happened so far:

Milkystar has already lost two lives?? He lost one to a border skirmish where Onyxpelt also died, and he lost another falling from a tree (tho I suspect he was very distracted that moon due to his mate announcing that he was expecting kits lol)

For some reason Milkystar and Sweetpea have little to no feelings about each other. They slightly like each other and slightly hate each other?? all the other cats og cats have at least a good amount of platonic like towards each other (except for Lint ig)! I guess their Leader and deputy relationship is like an awkward coworkers relationship lol.

Milkystar and Fredheart are mates! they both had the beginnings of romantic feelings for each other and I wanted kits so I got them together! Idk if this was a good decision however because their dislike bars towards eachother are starting to go up :/. Love hate romance. They are going to have kits tho!!

Fredheart and Sweetpea are BFFs for ever, they have such high platinic love bars! its kinda funny since Sweet does not care for Fred’s mate lol.

Poor Fluttershy lost her leg in a twoleg trap...

I got three new additions to the clan! Jessicapuddle, Onyxpelt and Splashmoth! Onyx almost immediately died in that border skirmish, but luckily that's the only death so far!

Jessicapuddle came out as a trans man and i think that’s hilarious bec this is one of the only times when i have seemingly got a female kittypet name on a female cat.

Splashmoth’s name kinda sounds like Smashmouth.... also I designed her to look kinda similar to Onetree/Granny bec they have the same personality traits, and spotted pelt pattern... maybe they r related, who knows. (I also like the idea that she eerily reminds Milky of Granny)

Lintheather has no friends??? like at all??? nobody has strong platonic feelings towards him at all!! its so sad... I feel like hes so lonely and kind of regretting joining the clan now :(

Beanzsong on the other hand is everyone’s favorite omg... he’s also very close with his mentor Sweetpea!

Creatureivy is also very close to her mentor Milkystar and i like to think that Milky treated her as his daughter since she was a kit at the start of the clan!

#cryptid plays clangen #Kittyclan #clangen #warrior cats #warrior cats design #clangen ocs #warriors oc #warriors ocs #oc design #warriors

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theredofoctober · 10 months ago

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MANNA- CHAPTER TEN: RABBIT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm, fatphobia, body dysmorphia

This is chronologically the tenth chapter in the series.

Read beneath the cut...

Napalm is the slow fire of waking from a terrible dream, blind, gasping, burnt. The pain, though delusive, is made actual by the action of nerves.

Only a hand at your shoulder, vigorous in its attentions, hauls you up from the putrescence of slumber into the light-dark of four in the morning. You find Hannibal's shape through lashes gummed with sleep's adhesive.

His face is as impassive as a star, but his hair, ever coiffed, is displaced from the friction of his pillow.

“You were screaming,” he says, as you sit, stunned, in his arms. “What were you dreaming about? Do you remember?”

“No,” you say, although the scenes remain briefly in your vision, doubling like silk screen prints upon the walls.

Hannibal fills up a glass with fresh water and bids you to drink, his eyes pensive, unconvinced.

Only the notion that he may suggest you share his bed or else intrude upon yours impels you to honesty.

“I dreamt that I was trapped in one of the Silicone Lover’s dolls. That he was trying to squeeze me inside, and I wouldn’t fit. He said, ‘You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you. I’d better do something about that.’

“Then he started cutting me up with kitchen scissors, and I couldn’t stop him.”

You pause, choking on a breath, a verbal stagger.

Dr Lecter offers you the water again, which you take in both hands and drain to its end.

“Take your time,” says Hannibal. “When you’re ready, go on.”

Lying will fail you before the all-seeing eye, so it is with a flat honesty that you say, “It wasn’t what the Lover did in my dream that scared me. It was what he said to me. Because he was right.”

You reach down to pull the quilt up across your stomach, which Hannibal, with a subtle gesture, prevents.

“To agree with such a statement there must be some basis of comparison for you,” he says. “You knew the person standing in as the Lover in your dream. Can you name him?”

Hannibal could guess it, from the little you’ve told him of your unclean past, but if memory conjures the name from the gully of silence he does not say so.

Instead, he comments, “I think it’s unwise for you to sleep again until your mind is settled. Perhaps we may take advantage of the hour to continue your therapy, in an informal fashion.”

He sits in a chair by your bed, producing a notepad and pen from a pocket of his dressing gown.

You see that he will not move.

"What if I don’t talk?” you ask, softly. “What if I say I'd rather take the punishment?"

Hannibal's slender lips upturn.

"I wouldn't be inclined to take such a claim seriously.”

In sullen defeat you flounce back against the pillows.

Dr Lecter takes his cue.

“I’m curious about the friendships you’ve formed throughout your life. Have there been any notable examples?”

“Not many,” you answer, looking at the raw edges of your fingernails. “I was kind of the weird kid. It was like looking through a dusty museum window at everybody passing by, not really knowing how to get out there and talk to people. Like I was too old and too young at the same time.

“I got bullied, kind of. Nothing worth talking about. Just dumb kid stuff.”

“Even persecution of a childish nature bears painful resonance in later life,” Hannibal comments. “Moreover, isolation from one's peers may disrupt development in those vital years.”

You think of dolorous hours patrolling a fallow playground alone, three hundred children staring through you with adult hostility.

“I did make one friend,” you say. “First year of high school. Amy Glass. She was a weird kid, too.”

Hannibal scratches deftly on his notepad.

"Describe how you met."

Closing your eyes, you find your way back through the forests of the past to a corridor whose tiled floor squeaks under your shoes. You smell textbook paper and saccharine body spray. The sweat of young bodies, and the stale cafeteria fare you’d never tasted throughout your time there.

“Between classes Amy would sit in a window listening to music, or reading,” you say. “Stephen King, usually. Sometimes Anne Rice. She seemed to be up there all the time. I don’t think she was getting shit from the other kids or anything; she just preferred hanging out on her own.

“I wished I was like that, not caring. I wished I was her, period.”

“In what way?” asks Dr Lecter, and in the hallway of your mind a slender figure appears, brown of skin and eyes, blue hair cut roughly to the chin, its roots seeping in atop it like a stain.

Amy.

“A lot of ways,” you say. “Before I really knew her, it was about how she looked. She had piercings— ears, lip, nose, eyebrow. Teachers would tell her to take them out, then the second she was out of their eye-line she’d put them right back in. And even back then she had these awful stick and poke tattoos of bats and crosses she covered up with band aids for classes.

“She did all of them herself with a safety pin. God knows how she didn’t get an infection or anything.

“Then there was the fact I knew we liked some of the same music because of the patches on her bag, and her t-shirts and stuff. Nothing you’d approve of,” you add, as interest touches the face of your listener. “Jesus, I can’t even imagine playing stuff like that in this house. Anyway, I didn’t want to just be like, ‘hey, you like that band, too’. It would have been too weird. Stalkery, maybe?”

“Music isn’t such a terrible way to form a connection,” says Hannibal, amused. “I was once approached in friendship through a shared taste in cheese.”

Picturing his restrained derision you cannot help but laugh.

“Oh, god,” you say. “What were they thinking?”

“It was a naive assumption of commonalities. Besides, my commitment to professionalism would never have allowed us to be as close as he would have hoped.”

You give a little start of affront.

“You’ve made friends with other clients.”

Dr Lecter’s smile remains.

“Only with those whom I feel my presence benefits.”

“Benefits you, you mean,” you say, pettishly. “Whoever it was, you just didn’t like him that much. That’s why you turned him down. Or maybe he was too like you.”

Without appearing offended, Hannibal turns a page in his notebook.

“I'm unconcerned with debating my personal relationships, little one. Let’s return to Amy. Who initiated the friendship between you?”

“Amy,” you say. “It was after this councillor was trying to get something out of me, and I didn’t want to talk. I walked out that room feeling so... heavy, and grimy, and embarrassed. Then there was Amy, heading to the same office I just walked out of. She looked at me, scrunched her face up, and said, ‘Wish me luck.’ Next time I saw her I made the same face back and asked, ‘how was it?’

“‘The worst, just like always,’ she said. ‘Where’d she get her certificate, anyway? Clown school?’

“I burst out laughing. ‘She’s so bad, right?’

“And that was it. Friends. We went everywhere together. Amy really liked me. I don’t know why. I think maybe she thought I was sort of mysterious and interesting rather than just depressed, probably because I didn’t want to talk about what was going on with me.

“She told me everything about her. How her dad didn’t believe in mental health issues even though he was just like she was, and how her mom just ignored everything, hoping it’d just... go away. But I didn’t tell Amy even one little thing about me, really. Not one.”

Guilt you’ve never truly confronted falls like a petal from a late summer bloom, cloying the dark with its flavour.

“Did Amy ever indicate that she’d recognised your particular illness?” prompts Hannibal, and you shrug glumly.

“A couple of times. I ignored every hint. Changed the subject. Acted like it wasn’t a thing when it obviously was. I knew that she knew. That was the dynamic. She was softer, around me. She got it. She got me.”

Suddenly your breath feels very high in your chest, catching on a rib.

“I can’t help but notice your use of the past tense,” says Dr Lecter. “Might I assume that you are no longer friends?”

“We grew apart after school,” you mutter. “I think she would have liked it if I stayed in touch, but then sometimes I wonder if that’s just wishful thinking, and maybe she didn’t care all that much when we drifted apart and stopping talking.

“I have her on Facebook. That’s all, really. She was never a social media person anyway, but still. I could have tried harder. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Hannibal allows the silence between you to ferment before he speaks again.

“Looking back, what do you think prevented you from maintaining contact?”

“I felt like after school was over she’d find other friends, and I’d just end up being left behind. So I got out of there before I had to see it happen.”

"You abandoned a friendship on the basis of a prophecy that might never have come to fruition."

"It would have,” you insist. “All my life I've had senses about things. Like, if I get a feeling something will or won't happen, I'm always right. Like I was right about you."

Swanlike, Dr Lecter’s hands move across his notebook, tactfully punctuating a note.

"It's common for sufferers of complex post-traumatic stress disorder to misinterpret their hypervigilance as psychic premonition. A heightened awareness of your surroundings and the behaviours of people in your vicinity develops in order to predict danger before it occurs. Pattern recognition is more mathematical than clairvoyant."

"What about my dreams?" you ask, sharply. “Are they math, too?”

"You've had other nightmares?” asks Hannibal, and leans forward, poised to digest you answer.

Canny, you hoard the matter like a serpent its glittering lair.

Hannibal accepts his defeat with grace.

Gathering up his notebook and the empty glass, he says, "That's enough therapy for now, particularly so early in the morning. I'll make you some tea, and you may return to sleep. Peacefully, this time, I hope."

Later, there is a meal that sits, sinking in a bath of bronze on Dr Lecter’s dining table, so much of it that you’re gorged merely from the arithmetic of its makeup.

“Arroz de Cabidela,” says Hannibal, as he pulls out his own chair. “A Portuguese dish made with rice, chicken, or rabbit cooked in its own blood. Today I’ve chosen rabbit. Have you ever eaten it before?”

It occurs to you that he expects you to be disturbed by the notion, but you are not. Meat is meat, all of it equally cruel. That life must end for the furthering of your existence has driven you to veganism many a time.

Little chance of sustaining such a diet now that you sleep in the devil’s slaughterhouse.

“No,” you say. “I’ve never tried rabbit. I heard it’s really... gamey.”

Your palate is scarcely educated enough to comprehend the statement. Still, it is apparently accurate, for Hannibal makes a low hum of agreement.

“It has similarities to poultry, in flavour, though it’s rather lean and dry. The blood stew adds a richness you’ll find complimentary, however.”

The scent is certainly inviting, but you are so committed to rejecting whatever is served to you that you feel lightheaded, succumbing to the altitude of starving heights.

“Couldn’t you have given me a smaller portion?” you ask, piteously. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s so... much.”

Hannibal glances from your plate to his own, his visage neutral.

“I’ve served you a great deal less than I’ve given myself,” he says. “That said, I’m sure we can settle our differences. I’m not unyielding, if I can see some effort is being made.”

You look him in the eye, hoping you appear more bold than frightened.

“Dr Lecter, you make me all these courses, and they’re crazy even for a normal person. I feel like you do it on purpose. And afterwards my stomach hurts.”

“That’s normal, after a period of fasting. Your body will adjust. Now, please eat.”

You don’t. The cut on your plate makes you think of the Lover’s dolls, how even at your slightest you wouldn’t have fit into such a shell. How, changed as you must be through Hannibal’s cooking, you would ooze over every edge.

“I could use the feeding tube, if you’re unwilling,” says Dr Lecter, rising from his chair to stand at your back. “It would be relatively easy for me to administer. But I’d hate to sour an otherwise pleasant meal with brute force.”

He cups your throat in his smooth hand, and you envision how lovingly he’d coil about you in restraint, guiding the pipe down through you as you choked and flinched in his grasp.

“I’ll eat a quarter,” you say. “That’s it. Then... then nothing else until tomorrow. I won’t sneak out of bed, and I won’t do anything that breaks the rules. Please, Dr Lecter. Uh... Daddy?”

Your confusion between roles endears you to him, as does your breathless, eager willingness to beg.

“Should I allow you to barter?” Hannibal muses, still caressing the wand of your stiff neck. “It’s a symptom of your illness, after all.”

“Just let me choose how much and I’ll try anything you offer me.”

Dr Lecter releases a small breath of laughter.

“I wouldn’t like you to eat your words, little one.”

Gnashing your teeth, you say, “I won’t. I can do it. Please let me. You’re supposed to dote on me, aren’t you?”

You feel Hannibal’s lips against your hair in a kiss of paternal indulgence.

“Always so spirited,” he says. “Very well. I cannot deny my little beauty her request.”

What beauty does he refer to? You’ve only recognised it in the mine shafts of furthest hunger, mistaking a shadow for some precious stone.

Yet clearly you are not so low quality as you believe if both men have fucked you so freely over other women, whom they could conceivably draw into the net of the house.

Then again, there is no accounting for the tastes of madmen, and mad they both are, even Hannibal in his gelid divinity.

From the topiary of his language and flippant games you are beginning to see that you interest him in your very opposition to his being. Were you to succumb completely you would not be so worthy: all men bow to Hannibal, after all, seduced and deceived until they’d lick his fingers like lambs for the milk of his approval.

You, like Will, resist and evade enough of his passes to set yourself apart from the flock.

You may yet throw a halter over the head of the horned man, if only in as much as he allows himself to be reigned.

Quartering your meal as neatly as you're able, you glance up at Dr Lecter, afraid that, by some caprice, he’ll break his code and force you to eat down to the bare plate. But he merely stands by, retaining his honour, and as you look at him you picture his mild hands breaking the neck of the rabbit to drain as though for a ritual of blood.

Frequently through your days with Hannibal he immerses himself in hobbies and work about the house, cultivating a necessary solitude after the long hours of ingesting others’ anxious thoughts.

He reads, or writes music, sketches, telephones his friends and past lovers—of whom there are many—or else sets his pen to journals, having seen you safe to your locked room, where he need not prepare for misdemeanour.

In this way your residence in Hannibal’s home does not impede upon his individual pursuits, but rather compliments them, an accent of his sempiturnal glamour.

You are, after all, but one of his many pastimes. It is indulgence, then, when he insists on attending your evening bath.

As he kneels beside the tub to dampen a washcloth his intentions surface, another infringement upon the flesh.

“I don’t need you to help me,” you mumble, arms taut across your chest. “I’m not your baby.”

“Your inner child wails for the tenderness your illness has long obstructed,” says Hannibal, calmly. “Your independence would have you die like an infant abandoned to the forest. Let me carry you, at least in this small act of service.”

You look at him with eyes as dull as old blades and picture the futility of your struggle, his lithe arms holding you, kicking and airless, beneath the foam.

“Don’t you have your own daughter you can do all this with?” you ask; you’ve not yet needled him on his familial relations, and feel yourself more than entitled to know.

Hannibal begins to work the flannel over your naked form, paying no heed to your twitching affront.

“Abigail would have served the role admirably,” he says. “But it wasn’t to be. As for my own children, I have none.”

The revelation passes you without surprise. It’s only possible to imagine him having elegant, adult offspring, absent of the soiling indignities of rearing an infant.

“So you took me away for you and Will to raise,” you say. “Guessing he doesn’t have kids, either.”

The washcloth folds beneath the water, and you gaze studiously at the opposite wall so as not to think about the hand behind the fabric, how it has touched you in other ways, pleasantly, horridly.

“Will is also childless,” says Dr Lecter. “He has never known family, as you have. His mother left him when he was only an infant, and his father was a distant figure, though present. Now it seems that they’re estranged from one another. One can only imagine the loneliness Will has known in his life. Perhaps, with your assistance, this will change.”

Cloth, skin, hands, touch. Gentle and beguiling their trap, to distract from the permanence of this suggested triptych as fingers play against you underwater.

Unsteadily, you ask, “Is Will your boyfriend?”

Hannibal turns you an indecipherable look.

“Do you perceive our relationship to be romantic?”

A strange question, considering the violation with which you were inducted to their company. But not once did either man kiss or grasp the other— a technicality, certainly, yet one, it seems, that holds weight.

“Yes,” you say. “For you, anyway. I don’t know about Will. I know he thinks highly of you. He just sees me as something that’s in the way.”

You kick a foot testily, splashing water over the rim of the bath.

“What are you in the way of?” asks Hannibal, as he begins to lather your hair.

“Not sure. Your friendship, I guess.”

“Do you believe him when he implies that you're only an obstacle to him?”

Water pours over your head, and you close your eyes, enduring the sensation.

“He told me I’m unwanted,” you say.

“When you attempted to kill him?”

Fear bowls over you with a black suddenness.

“He told you?”

“I came to my own conclusions. You weren't quiet, either of you, that night."

You look at Hannibal, at the stag man of your dreams, and taste something like dirt, something like blood, at the back of your mouth.

“Had you seriously injured him or succeeded in your bid to end his life I would have been forced to conclude our treatment,” he says. “But you did not. I’m thankful to have been provided with a truth I hadn’t yet drawn from you: I know that you are not a killer, at least not at this present moment.”

In a strengthless whisper, you ask, “What do you mean?”

Hannibal draws a comb through your hair, unmoved by the conversation.

“As time changes the continents, people come apart through circumstance into new being. That shift may one day lead to the birth of murder’s country.”

A thought stings you like the cold: Will and Hannibal want you to be capable of killing, if not of them, then someone of lesser consequence, the hereditary illness emerging in the child.

That is the secret under this house, the whisper in the walls, its present haunting.

“I hope that never happens,” you mumble. “Never. No matter what you do.

“And yet the whetting of your blood thirst didn’t begin with Will and I,” says Dr Lecter, mildly. “Until you admit your liking of its flavour you will remain unsatisfied, little one.”

You do not ask how he knows you’ve thought of killing, once before, which you yourself had forgotten; having been in your home, the chill sanctum of your childhood bedroom, he may have learned, of you, a myriad, his interrogation merely a practice in contextualising his findings.

“I’d rather starve,” you say, at last, and sink your chin beneath the water.

Dr Lecter takes a razor from a nearby cabinet and begins to shave you with slow precision. He does not ask if you wish for it, only glides the razor across your underarms, groin, and each leg until you run silken beneath his hands.

That done, Hannibal rises, brushing unseen dust from his knees.

“I’ll bring you some fresh clothes,” he says, and leaves the room, a ghost departing the stage.

You look at the razor, entrapped in its plastic guard on the rim of the bath.

Had you a pair of scissors you might have cut the metal free to make a weapon, or else an escape into realms unknown to the living. Though its edge is still wickedness manifest, it would take a great deal of pressure to pursue death by this angle, though it would not be impossible.

It is not death you want to meet, however, but another, nameless coward.

You take the blade to your arm, and the pain is like eating, a sin that sates the freak of misery.

The bathwater turns like a devil’s baptism, and though they are but shallow cuts you feel suddenly faint. Lying back, you lay your arm against the porcelain, thinking murky thoughts of your mistake.

Hannibal returns carrying a muted lilac dress and pale stockings, stilling at the sight of you, of the water, red as autumn mud.

He sets down the clothing and kneels beside you again.

“Let me see.”

You let him take your arm and touch the crude little gashes softly.

“Shower, quickly. Then I’ll treat your wounds. Fortunately, they aren’t so deep.”

How gentle he is with you, this beast dressed as a man in his pressed shirt and waistcoat, guiding your numb form about with a soothing authority. You’d once yearned to be handled like this, to be absolved and set free of any and all expectation. That it comes from him is like being spit in the eye by the Fates, one after the other.

Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos: what have you done to so offend them?

It’s only after having bandaged your forearm and settled you, dummy-like, upon his bed, that Hannibal speaks again.

“What motivated you to do this?”

“You know.”

“Elaborate.”

You lie, face down, in the pillows. The cotton smells like him.

“To feel better,” you say. “Amy said it helped her, sometimes. Cleared her head.”

The mattress tilts slightly as Dr Lecter sits down beside you.

“You mirror her pain to feel closer to love lost. Has it helped you?”

“No. I feel stupid. I feel—”

Restless, you turn onto your side and feel a tear, compelled by gravity, mark your jaw.

“I feel like a kid,” you say. “It’s humiliating. I hate that I always feel this way. Don’t make me live like this.”

Dr Lecter presses a tissue into your hand, as much to save his bedclothes as to comfort you.

“Fighting the expression of necessary emotions will only stunt them further, little one. Will and I would dearly like to see you flourish. Amy would surely wish that for you, too.”

Cradling your wounded arm to your chest, you flick the used tissue to the floor with the other.

“Screw you,” you say. “Both of you. That’s what Amy would tell me to say to you, Dad.”

Hannibal stares at the tissue, and you sense the inward twitch of his irritation as he bends to pick it up from the ground.

“Your parents called again, this afternoon,” he says, offhandedly. “I informed them that you were struggling with your treatment. I advised that we continue your residence here a month longer than previously agreed.”

He casts you a pitying look, and you’re reminded of the futility of going to war with Hannibal Lecter.

“It seems that I made the prudent choice,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”

#hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal fic #yandere hannibal lecter #manna fic #tw eating disorders #tw fatphobia #tw self harm #dead dove do not eat #darkfic #hannibal darkfic

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cairavende · 7 months ago

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Worm Arc 19 thoughts:

Hopefully this is the only time I have more than a month wait between arc recaps. I was distracted.

Not a long arc really, but god damn did a lot happen.

My daughter is no longer eaten . . . ate . . . aten . . .

My daughter is no longer inside of a creature. That's good. Even though I was obviously 100% fine at the end of arc 18. I'm just more fine now.

Big props to Weld for just going swimming in a giant flesh pool and pulling people (and dogs!) out. He's an ok guy.

Based on the weird "dreams" Skitter was having while inside Echidna I am running on the assumption that the clones are pulled from alternate reality versions of the consumed person where said person had died. Well, not the clones themselves really, but the powers of the clones (and possibly their personalities/memories). Not sure it will end up mattering, with Echidna being dead.

But basically I think the dreams were partially visions of alternate realities.

I've been on the "alternate realities are gonna play a big role and are tied to powers and everything" boat for awhile now, but this arc finally brought that all to the forefront of everything. Just with Scapegoat and Scrub's power, clone Eidolon's powers, the door, and such. So that's cool!

Speaking of Scapegoat, I love his ridiculous little power. I saw it coming the second I saw the name and I was enjoying every second of it.

"She’s fucking blind!?" has gotta be one of the best moments in Worm so far.

Skitter finally realizes that Tattletale has been very clearly taking actions to portray her as the leader to everyone else. Cause bad ass lesbian super villain trio is everything.

Skitter hard carried the second Echidna fight. Everyone would probably be fucked if she wasn't there.

Starting off with taking out the teleporter Grue clone. My girl knows rule number 1. First, GEEK THE MAGE!

And of course she was using her bugs to monitor the entire battlefield, but then she starts giving information and direction to everyone. Kept track of clones, preventing any (hopefully) from escaping). And taking out a fair share of them herself!

Fucking just full on use swarm speech to speak to everyone across the battlefield at once! FUCK YES SHE IS BADASS!

I'm sure Shatterbird won't show up again and isn't going to be an issue at all!

And she's the one that sets up the trap to cut Echidna in half and contain clone Eidolon so Miss Militia can take him out! Clockblocker gets partial credit for helping I guess. But still, Skitter saved all their asses 10 times over.

Also Clockblocker is obsessed with my daughter. Kid has it baaaaaaaad.

I love that in the first few chapters there is some teasing of Cauldron's secrets being spilled a little bit, then Legend completely reveals that Cauldron exists but lies about details, and then suddenly clone Eidolon just dumps everything out there!

Faultline and crew - "We…worked on finding info on Cauldron for a year…and…he just…he shouted it out."

And through all of this Tattletale just out here like "I'm gonna tear a hole in reality!" God I love this reckless chaos child.

Gully deserves to punch a few Cauldron people. As a treat.

Lisa "I took one look at you and instantly knew I would take over the fucking city just to see you smile" Wilbourn over here! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!

SERIOUSLY IT'S SO GAY!

"OH NO LOOK AT THAT POOR TRAUMATIZED CUTE GIRL, I CAN FIX HER!" IS THE MOST LESBIAN THING

Real quote: "Maybe- maybe when the interuniversal trade takes off. Can you imagine? With me and you as the top dogs? The whole world will pay attention to us." HOW CAN SHE BE THIS LESBIAN?

CHATTERBUG CHATTERBUG CHATTERBUG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (SMUGBUG SMUGBUG SMUGBUG if you prefer)

THEY CAN RULE THE WORLD TOGETHER AND I WILL FORGIVE ALL WRONGS DONE TO REACH THAT POINT CAUSE GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!! (Also obviously Rachel will be there too.)

(I'm sure Taylor crumpling the papers from Dinah in her fists at the end of the arc isn't ominous at all.)

Blasto Interlude thoughts:

Sucks to be Blasto I guess

Accord is terrible as always, glad to see more of him. Love his minions.

Colin can't do anything right. Seriously dude you cut Bonesaw in half and still lost! You have magic cut through anything and turn it to dust tech and you couldn't kill her! God.

Dragon is hard carrying this SH9 hunting team.

She got Manton! That's crazy! Good job robot daughter!

I 100% do not expect Siberian to stay gone. I mean outright Bonesaw is gonna be cloning people and she can probably get some of his DNA. But even without that, it was just too convenient, happening off screen like that. I dunno. It's not safe.

Also Blasto, I'm really sorry about what happened to you but also you tried to make a half Simmy clone! God damn that was the dumbest thing you could ever have done. You are so lucky it didn't work (probably), cause if it did it would have been because she planned it. God damn.

Time for the Slaughterhouse 99 or whatever. Gonna really suck for people.

Parahumans Online Interlude thoughts:

Timeskip!!! Shortish timeskip but still! It's been so day to day for so long so suddenly jumping ahead was surprising.

Greg from act 1 is back! And also kinda a dick. And probably has a Thinker 1 power. Tattletale light basically. Fits with what Taylor said about him in act 1 too.

GstringGirl is probably Sveta, that feels right.

Glad to see the Case 53s making their own team, that's a good start.

WagTheDog wanting to work for Bitch is super cute! I'm glad it seems like that is going to work out.

Loved seeing some of the stuff of people talking about Skitter. I've been wanting to see what the general public has been saying about her cause from an outside perspective the stuff she has done seems 10 times crazier than it is, and it is already crazy.

Emma Interlude thoughts:

Fuck this bitch

Sure she went through a really hard situation and she has terrible parents and it is easy to see how she got to where she is, but that doesn't excuse her actions. I still don't like her at all.

I don't know how much more I need to say, except that Alan shouldn't have left his traumatized daughter home alone with the instructions "If you feel like doing something bad please call the therapist who's number I put on the fridge" christ dude. You are worse every time you show up.

Like learning that Alan knows everything about Sophia as well? Just makes him even worse! Probably upgraded from a 3 fire asshole to a 4 fire asshole by now.

#Worm #Worm Web Serial #Parahumans #Cairavende reads Worm #Taylor Hebert #Lisa Wilbourn #Chatterbug #Smugbug #The Travelers #Sucks to be the reality where Bakuda is part of the Nine. That seems pretty bad.#Seriously Lisa is so gay! “I overthrew a criminal empire cause I thought it would make you happy!” I love her.#Skitter saved every one of those heroes lives and possible the world from Noelle making a bunch of Eidolon clones or something.#She deserves a little villaining as a treat!#I also still think Tecton should join the Undersiders #Bonesaw shoving her spine down Blasto's throat is fucking WILD. God damn she is terrifying. The whole clone thing is gonna be bad.#WHY DID THEY KEEP SOME OF CRAWLERS DNA? OF ALL THE STUFF TO KEEP PART OF THE CREATURE THAT CAN REGROW FROM ALMOST NOTHING SEEMS BAD!#Super exited for arc 20

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limerental · 2 years ago

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here, have a half-finished witcher americana retelling I've been sitting on for years now. I didn't quite have the gusto to go everywhere I wanted with it but here she is. I got in my yenralt & ciri feelings mostly :')

It did not go like this:

Yennefer was born the unfortunate eldest daughter of a local farmer of dairy goats and hogs, the sort of farm built into a gully that boiled up with mud and shit when it rained. Born all twisted up in the womb, her spine curved in a permanent hunch.

Some devil got to her mama, her daddy always said, leaning on a fencepost, hard-eyed and jeering as he spit tobacco into the dust.

Some devil had likely looked a lot like the young man her mama fancied just a few months before she was married quick to her daddy.

The devil long vanished off to the city.

Yennefer was no good for farm work, but she could do well enough bussing tables at the diner off the main road. She worked there more hours than not for less than scraps, but she did her work and ducked her head and kept mostly quiet about it. If she was just patient enough and careful, she could find her way out of there in time.

Yennefer kept a secret.

She'd been born with witchcraft hidden in her crooked body, the sort that ran in rich veins through the land itself. The kind that sang in the creek-carved ravines and thrummed through the gnarled roots and swaying branches of the forest.

She could call the animals to her and find anything lost and drive out the snakes from the chicken coop with a word, and she'd heard stories about things like that all her life so wasn't surprised by the possibility at all. Except for the fact that no one had ever taught her those things, and nobody knew she could do it.

In only a few short months she'd come into the full depth of her magic and the Witch would come for her and changed her life for good.

Before that, she met Geralt.

Yennefer'd long given up fantasies of being spirited away, thinking about strangers' lives with the kind of detached daydreaming of a girl who did dull work for ceaseless hours.

She wondered who this man was, old enough to have seen the war but younger than her daddy, who had been exempt from the draft on grounds of being a farmer. Which was good fortune, because he would have made a bloodthirsty soldier.

Geralt was a simple man who worked in travelling pest control. His beat up company van coughed over the miles, tools of the trade rattling in the back, big cartoon rat grinning evilly painted across the side.

Geralt kept a secret.

He knew every trick and gimmick to eliminate a rodent problem, could give his usual spiel about baiting and trapping to any fellow who asked, but had never employed anything that mundane even once. The pests he controlled and catalogued tended to be bigger and meaner and not as pretty splashed over the panels of a van.

Monsters were real, and he knew them by name. Kept tabs on the quiet ones and put down the loud and messy ones.

Always respectfully, that is.

Most of them weren't evil, just creatures as old as the land or older, the growing civilizations on this Continent encroaching more and more on the wild places they had once owned.

The war was many years over, and they said the future was bright. The future was now. Geralt didn't know by what metric they measured those things, because to him the world looked the same as always.

He'd done pest control enlisted in the war too, chasing the sort of monsters that paled in their wretched cruelty in comparison to men. Most of the things he sought out were just trying to survive with shrinking odds in a world rapidly forgetting them.

Geralt got that.

Got it in ways rural poor America did, living the same rusted out life they always had, going on in the usual quaint and tragic ways.

Yennefer didn't quite get it yet, but she was going to.

She poured burnt coffee for the grey-haired stranger in the far booth, a typical dusty midday silence settled over the diner. The slanted cartoon eyes of the rat on his sepia-toned van stared at her from where it was parked beside the pumps.

Places in towns this small wore many faces, general store, filling station, and diner in one. The main road was a common route north, and Yennefer liked to wonder where passersby were going, what lives they led. Imagine what faces they hid from the world, same as her.

Geralt had a job out this way with a few hours left to drive, hoping the company van didn't shit the bed again before he made it there, and he watched the waitress' hands shake as she poured him his coffee. Crooked through the shoulders, she limped when she walked and seemed to have trouble with the weight of the full carafe. Geralt smiled at her, an ugly, little smile on a face unused to such gestures, but the girl smiled back. He hoped they paid her fair. She had nice eyes, sharp and a cool violet.

Yennefer brought him a slice of apple pie and wondered where the stranger'd got his scars. He had a number of them on his face and hands alone, pink puckers and angry mauve ridges and was sure to have more hidden by his dark coveralls. Probably the war. If it had been the other waitress working, the chatty one, she would have asked, mister, did you get those in the war, must have gotten half blown to hell, but Yennefer didn't ask.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her starched apron and got back to work filling salt shakers, and neither spoke a word to the other.

Geralt didn't make much of a living on the road, but he lived simple and didn't need much anyhow. The pie was an extravagance, tart and sweet. The girl had working hands, calloused. He thought of saying something to her, making conversation, but he didn't. There was the sound of flies humming against the dust-streaked glass, the occasional rumble of traffic on the road, the quiet noise of his fork on chipped china.

He didn't stick around to watch his dollar tip fluster Yennefer's cheeks red. Didn't look back at all. If he had, he would have seen her pause in the screen door to watch him drive off, wondering about what sort of work he did in a strange vehicle like that, what sort of man he was.

The van's ignition choked and then caught. He had some miles to go.

Neither left a lasting impression on the other at that first unremarkable meeting, but when Yennefer next saw him two decades on, she knew him at once in the way that witches always know those sorts of things.

How fascinating it was to see that the stranger looked exactly the same despite the years. Same greyed hair, same dour expression, probably same pale orange van parked at the edge of the festival grounds. Witchers didn't age the same as men, after all, and that's the sort of thing she saw he was. Perilously slow heartbeat, calculating look in his newspaper yellow eyes, scars curved by talon and tooth and not shrapnel.

Geralt had known what she was by her description, whispered low and reverant like something holy, that this woman was no ordinary medic. Knew before he parted the canvas flap of a shabby tent in some muddy, over-trodden field and stepped into an opulent throne room, the stone walls hung with erotic tapestries, the high ceiling shimmering with a cloud of stars.

The witch herself sprawled perfectly naked on a high-backed throne with a seat of red velvet. Alone, she looked on in detached interest, still as a statue, a haughty and omnipotent sentinel. Geralt thought her ethereal, beautiful, enthralling.

Trouble.

In truth, Yennefer was wretchedly hungover after a riotous orgy the night before and could avoid the throbbing of her temples if only she kept perfectly still.

It was by her eyes, shrewd and violet, that, with a jolt of surprise up his spine, Geralt recognized her as the crooked waitress from the diner many years past.

There'd always been witches hidden behind any great power, old world or new. King Arthur ruled by the guiding hand of the wizard Merlin and JFK by a blonde starlet in a snow white dress, though none would ever have taken the latter for a sorceress.

How tiresome it was, thought Yennefer, how empty, how thankless.

Geralt sighed and adjusted his hold on the unconscious Dandelion's thighs, hitching his friend higher across his back as he wheezed into Geralt's ear. Would have rather gone elsewhere. Would have rather the idiot had not offended the ancient, moth-winged creature Geralt had come to reason with into making less noise.

But there was no talking sense into Dandelion. Damn lucky the creature the locals here called Mothman hadn't thought to curse him with something more severe than whatever ailed him.

It didn't take kindly to flirting.

Dandelion was a poet and a philanderer and a starchild and a balladeer and a free spirit and a scholar and a conscientious objecter and a right pain in Geralt's ass, except that he was also good to talk to and steadfastly humorous even all these years on and the sort of friend who remembered little details like your brand of cigarettes or your favorite candy, who Geralt liked even for his numerous flaws because Geralt liked most people truly and was a good man and loved deeply and loved consistently with his whole damn too-big heart.

"A friend?" asked Yennefer and Geralt shrugged.

What happened next happened the way it always did in every version of the story.

Two broken, fragile-hearted people and something close to tenderness.

It didn't happen like this:

Somebody had a pest problem, a wealthy widow with a pretty young daughter. Somebody'd cursed a poor son of a bitch into beastly form. Said he roamed the hills howling by night and walked the streets a man by day.

The curse broke in the usual way, just as Geralt said. The daughter's kiss on a full moon. True love and all. Happily ever after.

Except a new war broke and in time, it widowed the daughter too and her poor heart couldn't take the grief, and then the market turned sour and the wealthy widow lost her fortune and hung herself in the pantry. Geralt got a letter naming him next of kin by some questionably legitimate legal twist of fate and then, he sighed deep and resigned and drove north to pick up the girl.

It wasn't so unusual in his line of work, strange orphans scattered all over like grisly flotsam. But he didn't usually see to raising them. He'd never had a father besides the old man, and he'd never thought much of having his own children.

He couldn't know the true dark web of conspiracy around her and would never know the whole of it. The sort of man her daddy was to bear a curse like that in the first place. The old and intricate magicks, bound up in blood and circumstance. The sort of woman young Ciri would be.

Even if he'd known, Geralt would have drove to get her even so. He found the girl buck-toothed and scrawny and lugging a too heavy briefcase down the slumped front stoop of the elderly neighbor who'd been putting her up. Hair the pale color of woodsmoke, eyes like her mama, green as a copper kettle.

And just like her mama, young Ciri had some whisper of something else in her. Something carried over from older lands than this and bolstered by the ancient things here, passed on like the detritus of trauma gained generation to generation. Something tainted and bigger than he had the know-how to suss out.

Geralt sat down and fumblingly wrote a letter.

Meanwhile, young Ciri passed an idyllic summer and cold as tits winter on the isolated Morhen ranch in the rural mountains. She'd never worked a farm before and never even seen a farm animal up close, especially not a ranch like that one which was straight out of some pastoral fantasy.

A painted red barn and swaying, golden fields and a willow tree with a swing beside a white farmhouse on the ridgeline and a little cliche collection of animals. A black and white cow and a billy goat and a pair of checkered chickens and an old, whiskered horse and a little, scrappy dog.

Keeping up appearances, old Vesemir said and made her go muck out the pen. She wished they'd keep up appearances with mucking too and when she said that, the old man's eyes bugged out his head and Uncle Eskel wheeze-laughed folded over smacking his knees.

But the others didn't come until later into fall when the harvest needed brought in. For many long, humid, dust mote days of summer, it was just Ciri and her new, mysterious guardian and the old man who trundled on his tractor with a pipe dangling from his lip, mowing grass and cussing when the tires dipped into a whistlepig hole.

Most days, Ciri was expected up early to feed and muck and clean, which she did with a healthy amount of complaining. Her little pink hands sloughed red with oozing blisters, and Geralt held them in his rough palms to apply salve, feeling like he wished he could give this girl something more, something grander, but this was what they had, this was what he knew.

But Ciri liked the idea of it, her hands going rough and calloused and big like his, her body going hard and lean. She wondered about his scars and his lined face and how strong he was when he lifted her up in his arms.

The lightning bugs came out over the fields each night, so numerous that she could cry over it, and Geralt taught her how not to be afraid when catching them cupped in her hands, kneeling before her with the flickering light held out like a solemn offering.

He prayed it would be enough, the small things he could give her, but Ciri had never known anything bigger. Her daddy sitting on the creaking edge of her bed in the attic to tell her a bedtime story. One with the true monsters and evils smoothed out into a fairytale.

Geralt told her many stories. Long ago, there were elves and giants and wizards and queens and all of them tangled up together in mysterious and elaborate ways. Ciri reminded him about the knights, and he said, ah yes, the knights, and told her about the quests and the riddles and the labyrinths and the dragons. Ciri liked the dragons best. And the swords that slayed them.

When she asked about his own monsters, he said only that there were things in this land older than all of them.

Sometimes the land itself resisted occupation.

And if she was ever on a dirt road along a field of corn or alfalfa at night, never stray in, no matter what beckoned. And if the screams of the coyotes took on a different pitch, don't go looking. And if the cicadas and the crickets went silent all at once and the woods gathered a hush, run home and run fast and don't glance behind your shoulder.

She brandished a pitchfork out in the animal pen, playing at killing beasts, and Geralt watched from the front porch of the farmhouse wishing he could make it all true for her. Heroes and legends and noble truths.

Instead, he whispered a prayer to the wind rattling through the corn fields and held tight as he could to her little, calloused hand.

It all went more or less the same in the end.

"And that's it!" says Ciri, waggling her fingers in a dramatic flourish. "Well, it didn't happen like that." She keeps her voice low and steady in the manner of storytelling, perched up on a fence rail, hands dangling between her legs. "Well, it all did happen. But not like that. Not in those places at that time."

The farm boy she is speaking to looks at her with big eyes, dumb as a newborn lamb. He doesn't know where this America is or half of the words she uses.

Ciri yawns. She doesn't think she'll tell that version again. Or else be choosier with her audience. The sky has started to go red with fading light, and the bats loose themselves from the eaves of the barn to take wing over the fields.

"Don't you have evening chores to do, boy?" she asks, and the boy startles as though awakening from a dream. "Those sheep won't feed themselves."

Later, when his mama cuffs him over the head for his tardiness, he will not be able to explain the reason for the dawdling. He remembers the dark silhouette of a stranger on the border of the fenceline and a peculiar sort of hollow sadness.

In all the darkest and strangest days of his life afterward, his thoughts will return sometimes to that shape in the cradle of dusk.

And one night when his own young, sleepless daughter asks to hear a story, he will close his eyes and draw a breath and tell her one.

#the witcher #yenralt #ciri #my fic

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red-headed-mrs-den · 5 months ago

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Guess who's crawled out of the pits of Hell to upload fanfiction again?

Sneak peak for some GaaSaku:

...was how Sakura found herself trapped in a muddy gully somewhere off the map in the Land of Rivers in November straddling the Kazekage.

#gaasaku #sneak peek #upcoming fic #no beta we die like men

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wemissyoupyo · 5 months ago

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Followup from my previous post

Made a new one because changing and reposting I feel would confuse.

Any bios/relationship info from Gris' and Miyahara's character pages, and other versions of other characters' pages which are Vladimère (past) and Rosie Hougokoro outside of their character arts which were not archived. Aside from that pages from Charlie Crocker and Lamington Sinclair I exists but their pages were not archived sadly. Only thing that was known is that they do not have arts.

Images and character descriptions of the hidden characters Gully and Paionara. On top of that their bios/relations too.

Paragraphs that came with the joke Homestuck-inspired webcomic SUCKSUHAN. The only one that is archived is the one that came with the first paragraph on the first page:

"A MORON IS TRAPPED IN HIS ROOM. IT IS ALSO HIS BIRTHDAY FOR WHATEVER REASON BUT NOBODY CARES. YOUR NAME IS SATSUKI SERIZAWA AND YOU ARE A MORON. LET'S DO SOMETHING BEFORE PYO'S ATTENTION SPAN WEARS OUT."

Old character arts that are lost circled. Question marks mean I'm not sure if I already have it.

Any videos on his Twitter account that were not archived. I have some archived Twitter videos on my YouTube page but they are low quality and choppy so if anyone has better versions and has some I could not find PLEASE SEND THEM TO ME.

The new written 2020 informations of the species pages in the glossary section. NOTHING from them were ever archived let alone a cropped image of the appearance featured in my post about the website and some images from there I have.

And finally, possible things from Pyo's Toyhou.se and old CuriousCat accounts that were not saved, which includes art and info that is important.

That's all for now from the top of my head I think.

#pyohato #nebulamancers

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cascadeclan-gen · 3 months ago

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Moon 5

Pebblepaw slinks through the undergrowth, setting his paws down carefully. He doesn’t want to startle his quarry. The greenleaf sun shines on his fur. He imagines he looks quite handsome and impressive, stalking through the territory like he is.

He finally reaches his prey, and prepares to spring. He can’t help a satisfied flick of his tail before he leaps. He arcs through the air, keeping his legs and paws tight to his body, then extends his front legs as he collides with Otterdive. “Gotcha!” Pebblepaw cries triumphantly, pinning the warrior beneath him.

Otterdive laughs. “Nice job, Pebblepaw! I had no clue you were there!” Pebblepaw lets him stand up, and they both shake dirt off of their pelts before joining Hyssopbloom, who is watching them with a small smile.

“Why are you here, Pebblepaw? Is Snowstar with you?” she asks, looking around for their leader.

“Snowstar isn’t feeling well,” Pebblepaw replied. He lowered his voice and spoke from his chest, imitating his mentor. “I don’t do so well in this heat anymore! Go and join the hunting patrol.”

“We’ll have to travel a bit further to hunt, we probably scared off all the prey around here.” Otterdive didn’t sound all that disappointed. Pebblepaw knew that he and Hyssopbloom liked the hot weather. It’s probably why they’d been chosen for the midday hunting patrol.

They travelled in amicable silence, stopping once or twice for Otterdive to point out an interesting flower or pretty beetle. Hyssopbloom stopped them at a gully. Snowstar had taught him that the gullies were carved out by water and snow, and that you had to be careful not to dislodge any debris in them. Pebblepaw usually avoided them. Otterdive had no such worries, though, and quickly sprang forward to catch a shrew. Hyssopbloom followed quickly after to stalk something.

Pebblepaw decided to keep his hunt to the top of the gully. He smelled the air around him, searching for something to catch, and easily found a warbler. The kits hadn’t had many birds. Pebblepaw knew they’d be excited for this one, and that knowledge carried his paws to his prey. It didn’t have time to notice him before he killed it. He gave thanks to the prey and the territory, like Snowstar taught him, and then set his sights on a swallow.

A loud crash interrupted his hunt, and he raced towards Hyssopbloom’s yells. He understood the situation as soon as he poked his head over the top of the gully. One of the trees half-sunken into it had toppled over, trapping Otterdive beneath. Pebblepaw raced down the slope, nearly crashing into Hyssopbloom as he stopped. “Are you hurt?” he asked Otterdive.

The older tom looked frustrated. “No, I feel mostly fine. A little squished. I just can’t quite get out from underneath this.”

Hyssopbloom began studying the situation as Pebblepaw asked a few more questions. Did he know the Clan’s name? Was he feeling present in the situation? Did he have any aches or stings? He’d heard Skystripe ask them often to assess injuries. Otterdive patiently answered them.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Hyssopbloom announced, beginning to push a thick branch into position. “We balance this on that round rock there, with one end under the tree and the other up in the air. When we push on the end in the air, it should lift the tree enough for Otterdive to wiggle out.”

Pebblepaw privately worried that they wouldn’t be strong enough to move the tree, with him not being fully grown and Hyssopbloom being a bit smaller and delicate than the other Clan cats. But her plans often worked, so he would give it his best try. It would be a great story for the kits.

He and Hyssopbloom worked quickly to maneuver the branch into place. Otterdive provided updates on his situation, often ones that Pebblepaw felt were a touch unhelpful, such as “it’s so hot in here, I think I may be melting” and “I’m so hungry, I fear I may starve before you finish wiggling that in”. But when they finally were ready to push, Pebblepaw could see uncertainty in Otterdive’s expression. He felt bad for being annoyed. Otterdive was being crushed, and Pebblepaw couldn’t hold his poor taste in jokes against him.

Pebblepaw stretched upwards and dug his claws into the wood. Hyssopbloom did the same, and counted down. Together they pulled the branch downwards. For a moment Pebblepaw worried that Hyssopbloom’s plan had failed, but then he felt the branch shift. He put everything he had into it, and slowly but surely, the tree moved upwards.

Otterdive slipped out quickly. As soon as his tail was clear Pebblepaw released the branch, exhausted and already aching. Otterdive shook out his legs and let Hyssopbloom fuss over him for a moment. Once she was sure he could make it back to camp, the patrol quickly picked up what they’d caught and began the journey back to camp. The walk home took longer than the walk out. Pebblepaw was tired and sore but pride moved him forward. He’d helped to save his Clanmates life! They’d gotten Otterdive out safely. Pebblepaw felt like he could do anything. Nothing could ruin this moment for him.

At least, until he stepped into camp. Silence greeted the patrol, the mood somber and quiet. When Pebblepaw dropped the warbler on the fresh-kill pile, the scents of honeysuckle and sage hit his nose, and dread filled his gut. The last time Skystripe had used that combination had been to stave off the death-scent from Ridgepelt’s body before burial.

Lightkit and Currantkit watched the patrol wide-eyed from the nursery. Pebblepaw couldn’t help but be relieved. At least it wasn’t the kits. He waved his tail at them and followed the rest of the hunting patrol to the healer’s den. His mind filled with images of what he may find there; Snowstar could come back, but Skystripe could have been attacked by wolves or dogs; Doveshade’s sickness could have proven too much for her to handle. Hyssopbloom and Otterdive filled the den entrance, but Hyssopbloom quickly turned away. She slipped away to the warriors den, and Pebblepaw took her place.

Doveshade was draped over Mistyfur, quietly sobbing. Otterdive laid next to her, comforting his former mentor as best he could. Snowstar and Skystripe sat next to each other, speaking in hushed tones. Pebblepaw walked over to them, and they made room for him to sit between them. Snowstar laid his tail on Pebblepaw’s back. Skystripe rubbed their heads together comfortingly. “His infection progressed too quickly for Skystripe to treat,” Snowstar murmured to him. Pebblepaw nodded. He knew Skystripe would see it as her own failing, even if it wasn’t. “We will hold vigil tonight, and bury him tomorrow.”

Pebblepaw leaned into Snowstar’s side. He couldn’t help but remember Ridgepelt’s vigil. Mistyfur’s would be held in greenleaf instead of leafbare, but they would all share memories of him and honor his memory. For a moment, an old fear crept into his mind, of starvation and sour red blood. But he knew that this was being a warrior. Sharing in sorrows and joys. Supporting each other.

Lightkit finds a tuft of Pebblepaw’s fur, and adds it to his nest. Pebblepaw isn’t sure if he should feel flattered or not.

Snowstar suffers from heat exhaustion.

Currantkit gets fleas.

Snowstar amends the rule allowing Healers to have kits. A Healer can only have kits if there is another fully-trained Healer.

#clangen #cascade moons #warriors #warrior cats

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merseyrod · 4 months ago

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Benefits of Using a Gully Tanker for Onsite Maintenance

The Gully Tanker is a modernized and multifunctional piece of equipment that has been designed specifically for cleaning mainline sewers, gullies and drains. This high-pressure equipment has a large hydraulic powered hose reel and a heavy duty unloader valve which provide responsive jetting control necessary for effective operation over long periods of time.

#Gully Cleaning Services #Gully Tankers #Road Gully Cleaning #Gully Trap Cleaning

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theunboundwriter · 10 months ago

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Find the Word Tag

Thank you for the tag @oh-no-another-idea !!

My words are: lemon, despair, entertain, slant, and survey!

Lemon: couldn't find it.

Despair:

June slammed the door shut to her room, crumpling to the floor in a pitiful heap. She shoved her fist between her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. She would not allow herself to cry, for she wanted the despair and anger to fester in her throat. A punishment she well deserved.

Entertain:

June didn’t sleep that night. She was too restless to even entertain trying to sleep. Her head was pounding from having cried as hard as she had, the ache in her skull not pairing well with the one in her heart. Her hands fidgeted with the silver ring strung around her neck, the metal warm from her skin.

Slant: surprisingly couldn't find this one either.

Survey:

She held the bear to her chest as she surveyed the bedroom, leaning against the crib as if she were still a child trapped inside. June had no memory of her mother when she was alive, but she could remember being stuck in her crib as she helplessly watched her writhe around on the floor. She was gasping for air, clawing at her throat as if she couldn’t breathe. Blood splattered from her lips with each lung-filled cough, her dark hair stuck to her face with sweat.

Tagging (with no pressure) @lingeringmirth , @eriquin , @acatwrites , @sunlit-gully , @berryzxx , @creatrackers

Your words are: Tear, Frown, Skin, Heard, and Lean

#writeblr #original story #original character #wip: the sea is in her blood #find the word

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chowtrolls · 9 months ago

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fun fact the gully Dia got trapped in as a child is the same one that Festur died in later in life.

#its probably more inbetween a gully and a ravine. deep?#dia lived because he tumbled down where as Festur was pushed and then crushed #but i thought itd be funny #chow.txt

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unofskylanderspages · 11 months ago

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Listed below are the hats in Skylanders: Giants, along with their stat bonuses and their locations in both versions:

Anvil Hat (+5 Armor): Autogyro Adventure (C) Head Hunting (3DS)

Archer Hat (+10 Critical Hit): Secret Vault of Secrets (C) Area Stuck in the Mud (3DS)

Atom Hat (+25 Critical Hit): Lost City of Arkus (C) Westernland (3DS)

Balloon Hat (+2 Critical Hit +2 Armor): The Dread-Yacht (C)

Battle Helmet (+7 Critical Hit +7 Armor): Molekin Mountain (C) Phantom Tide Rising (3DS)

Beret (+15 Critical Hit): Drill-X's Big Rig (C) Head Hunting (3DS)

Birthday Hat (+2 Critical Hit +1 Speed): Rumbletown (C) Head Hunting (3DS)

Biter Hat (+5 Critical Hit): Junkyard Isles (C) Through the Ruins (3DS)

Bone Head (+3 Speed +7 Elemental Power): The Dread-Yacht (C) Head Hunting (3DS)

Bottle Cap Hat (+15 Armor): Autogyro Adventure (C) Daring Rescue (3DS)

Bowler Hat (+2 Critical Hit +2 Armor): The Dread-Yacht (C)

Bowling Pin Hat (+10 Critical Hit +10 Armor): The Oracle (C) Westernland (3DS)

Bronze Top Hat (+5 Critical Hit +2 Speed +5 Armor): Reach Quest Rank 1 (C)

Caesar Hat (+20 Elemental Power): Bringing Order to Kaos! (C) Cannon Fodder (3DS)

Carrot Hat (+15 Armor): Rumbletown (C) Head Hunting (3DS)

Chef Hat (+10 Critical Hit +10 Elemental Power): Darklight Crypt (C) Lost and Found (3DS)

Combat Hat (+15 Elemental Power): Drill-X's Big Rig (C) The Wingwarrens (3DS)

Coonskin Cap (+10 Critical Hit): The Dread-Yacht (C) Winterwatch Keep (3DS)

Cossack Hat (+10 Elemental Power): Empire of Ice (C) A Walk in the Park (3DS)

Cowboy Hat (+2 Critical Hit +2 Armor): Junkyard Isles (C) A Walk in the Park (3DS)

Crown of Light (+15 Armor): The Oracle (C),Sand Trap (3DS)

Dancer Hat (+6 Speed): Kaos' Kastle (C) Phantom Tide Rising (3DS)

Dangling Carrot Hat (+4 Speed +10 Elemental Power): Molekin Mountain (C) Phantom Tide Rising (3DS)

Elf Hat (+2 Speed +5 Elemental Power): Rumbletown (C) Sand Trap (3DS)

Eye Hat (+5 Critical Hit +5 Elemental Power): Wilikin Village (C) Through the Ruins (3DS)

Fancy Hat (+1 Speed +2 Armor): Rumbletown (C) Ships Ahoy (3DS)

Fez (+5 Elemental Power): Cutthroat Carnival (C) Through the Ruins (3DS)

Firefighter Helmet (+20 Critical Hit): Glacier Gully (C) Westernland (3DS)

Fishing Hat (+5 Elemental power +5 Armor): Wilikin Village (C) The Windy Dunes (3DS)

Flower Fairy Hat (+2 Speed): Time of the Giants (C) Cannon Fodder (3DS)

Flower Hat (+2 Critical Hit +2 Armor): The Dread-Yacht (C)

Funnel Hat (+7 Elemental Power +7 Armor): Lost City of Arkus (C) Cannon Fodder (3DS)

Future Hat (+10 Speed): Autogyro Adventure (C) A Walk in the Park (3DS)

General's Hat (+7 Critical hit +7 Elemental Power): Aerial Attack! (C) Windjammer Bay (3DS)

Gold Top Hat (+10 Critical Hit +4 Speed, +10 Armor): Reach Quest Rank 3 (C)

Graduation Hat (+15 Elemental Power): Kaos' Kastle (C) Tunnel of Love (3DS)

Happy Birthday! (+2 Critical Hit +2 Armor): The Dread-Yacht (C)

Jester Hat (+1 Speed +2 Elemental Power): The Dread-Yacht (C) Sand Trap (3DS)

Knight Helm (+15 Critical hit +6 Speed +15 elemental Power +15 Armor): Defeat Kaos in Nightmare Mode (C)

Kufi Hat (+2 Critical Hit +2 Elemental Power): Junkyard Isles (C) Overgrowth (3DS)

Lampshade Hat (+5 Elemental Power): Cutthroat Carnival (C) Tunnel of Love (3DS)

Lil Devil (+9 Speed): The Dread-Yacht (C) Through the Ruins (3DS)

Mariachi Hat (+10 Defense): Cutthroat Carnival (C) Murky Waters (3DS)

Miner Hat (+7 Armor +7 Elemental Power): The Dread-Yacht (C) Wighthaunt (3DS)

Moose Hat (+2 Speed +5 Armor): Troll Home Security (C) Sand Trap (3DS)

Napoleon Hat (+5 Armor +5 Elemental Power): Lost City of Arkus (C) The Wingwarrens (3DS)

Nefertiti Hat (+10 Critical Hit +10 Elemental Power): Aerial Attack! (C) Tunnel of Love (3DS)

Officer Cap (+3 Speed +7 Armor): Secret Vault of Secrets (C) Tunnel of Love (3DS)

Pan Hat (+2 Armor +2 Elemental Power): The Dread-Yacht (C) The Tar Pits (3DS)

Pants Hat (+15 Critical Hit +6 Speed): Troll Home Security (C) Overgrowth (3DS)

Paper Fast Food Hat (+2 Critical Hit +2 Armor): Time of the Giants (C) Murky Waters (3DS)

Pilgrim Hat (+2 Armor): Rumbletown (C) Murky Waters (3DS)

Pirate Doo Rag (+4 Speed): Pirate Seas (C) A Walk in the Park (3DS)

Pirate Hat (+20 Critical Hit): Pirate Seas (C) Windjammer Bay (3DS)

Plunger Head (+2 Elemental Power): Junkyard Isles (C) The Tar Pits (3DS)

Police Siren Hat (+4 Speed): Junkyard Isles (C) Stuck in the Mud (3DS)

Princess Hat (+3 Speed +7 Elemental Power): Kaos' Kastle (C) Daring Rescue (3DS)

Propeller Cap (+3 Speed): Glacier Gully (C) Winterwatch Keep (3DS)

Pumpkin Hat (+10 Armor): Darklight Crypt (C) A Walk in the Park (3DS)

Purple Fedora (+1 Speed +2 Armor): Glacier Gully (C) Stuck in the Mud (3DS)

Rasta Hat (+7 Critical Hit +7 Elemental Power): Bringing Order to Kaos! (C) Stuck in the Mud (3DS)

Rocker Hair (+7 Critical Hit +3 Elemental Power): Wilikin Village (C) Lost and Found (3DS)

Rocket Hat (+6 Speed): Molekin Mountain (C) The Tar Pits (3DS)

Royal Crown (+10 Critical Hit): Dragon's Peak (C) Through the Ruins (3DS)

Safari Hat (+2 Speed +5 Armor): Drill-X's Big Rig (C) Overgrowth (3DS)

Sailor Hat (+4 Speed +10 Armor): Aerial Attack! (C) Overgrowth (3DS)

Santa Hat (+20 Armor): Empire of Ice (C) The Tar Pits (3DS)

Scrumshanks Hat (+10 Critical Hit +4 Speed): Bringing Order to Kaos! (C) Ships Ahoy (3DS)

Showtime Hat (+25 Elemental Power): The Dread-Yacht (C) Cannon Fodder (3DS)

Silver Top Hat (+7 Critical Hit +3 Speed +7 Armor): Reach Quest Rank 2 (C)

Sombrero (+5 Critical Hit +5 Armor): Troll Home Security (C) Murky Waters (3DS)

Spiked Hat (+7 Critical Hit +7 Armor): Aerial Attack! (C) Ships Ahoy (3DS)

Spy Gear (+2 Speed +5 Critical Hit): Secret Vault of Secrets (C) Wighthaunt (3DS)

Straw Hat (+2 Critical Hit +2 Armor): The Dread-Yacht (C)

Tiki Hat (+10 Elemental Power): The Oracle (C) The Windy Dunes (3DS)

Top Hat (+5 Armor +5 Critical Hit): Glacier Gully (C) Ships Ahoy (3DS)

Toy Soldier Hat (+5 Critical Hit +2 Speed): Wilikin Village (C) Daring Rescue (3DS)

Traffic Cone Hat (+15 Critical Hit): Drill-X's Big Rig (C) Phantom Tide Rising (3DS)

Trojan Helmet (+10 Armor): Troll Home Security (C) The Windy Dunes (3DS)

Tropical Turban (+2 Speed +5 Elemental Power): Secret Vault of Secrets (C) Lost and Found (3DS)

Trucker Hat (+25 Armor): Molekin Mountain (C) Daring Rescue (3DS)

Turban (+5 Armor): Time of the Giants (C) Phantom Tide Rising (3DS)

Umbrella Hat (+20 Armor): The Oracle (C) Daring Rescue (3DS)

Unicorn Hat (+12 Armor +12 Critical Hit): Bringing Order to Kaos! (C) The Windy Dunes (3DS)

Viking Helmet (+5 Critical Hit): Cutthroat Carnival (C) Ships Ahoy (3DS)

Vintage Baseball Cap (+8 Speed): The Dread-Yacht (C) Westernland (3DS)

Wabbit Ears (+5 Speed +12 Armor): Lost City of Arkus (C) Lost and Found (3DS)

Winged Hat (+12 Speed): Dragon's Peak (C) Sand Trap (3DS)

Wizard Hat (+25 Elemental Power): Bringing Order to Kaos! (C) The Windy Dunes (3DS)

#fun fact: i almost couldn't make this post because i kept getting a 'text character per block' limit error #until i messed around with text settings until it stopped popping up lol #<- mod note #Skylanders #Skylanders Giants #Items #Collectibles #Hats #Lists

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