#Can tho guide

[travelguidearticle]

Travel Guide Can Tho Vietnam

[empiireans]

yet another ANOTHER brief assortment of sketches from the past week

ty and have a blessed day/night

rip

[toubledrouble]

You know what we should bring back?

Older christianity. I mean the anti government, anti military, community based christianity. The one that cared the most about peace, equality, mercy, kindness, and radical love. The one with shared property. The one that didn't conform to society but instead existed mostly outside of it. The one where noone considered one sin worse than another because in the end, we are all sinners trying our best to be better.

[michi-chelle]

these might be the cutest towas ever. sorry i don’t make the rules.

[bonefall]

Does leopard still have 3 lives in her final battle? Or was that changed?

Yep. I think she drowned her once, then Leopardstar lunges up refreshed, and she gets the upper paw on Mistyfoot with 2 lives to go.

(MAYBE tw gore, but I really did try to be tasteful about a head being smashed on a rock.)

On her back, splashing and thrashing furiously against Leopardstar's claws dunking her head under, Mistyfoot glimpses a wave breaking just over the tip of a stone-blue rock. Her only chance.

With a surge of power, her claws sink into her leader's golden shoulder and they tumble and roll to the right. Before the tyrant even realizes what's happening, she's yanked up, and then whipped backwards with a wet CRUNCH

And then again

And again

And again, until Mistyfoot can't even make out what's left of her leader anymore. All she can see is that it's a red, brown, and yellow blur, because her eyes burning with salty tears and her whole body is trembling.

She drops the corpse onto the stone and it slides into the water, lifelessly. After a moment it spasms aimlessly one last time, like an insect does after its head is bitten off, unlike the deliberate, agonized throes of Tigerstar suffering through his doomed lives. And then it's still.

There's only the tranquil sound of bubbling water, and Mistyfoot's frenzied panting. Her pounding heart makes it hard to hear either.

The blood is carried off by the shallow water in scarlet swirls, but the lake runs pale red as if it's washing it away. Some were aware of this prophecy, but Mistyfoot was not.

It isn't closure to her, or a fulfillment of divine decree. It's just blood that should be on her paws, slicked away by the complicit river. She wished it could feel like it's over, but she's smart enough to know the truth. Has been through enough terrible events like this to understand what comes next.

Her body will move foward. Her mind will need to consider her deputy. Her paw will come down on code-defying cats like Blackclaw and Greenflower. But her heart will stay here, next to the remains of Leopardstar, the same way another piece of it remains at Stonefur's side across space and time.

[monarch-moon]

Manifesting the ultimate match of my dreams: Performance vs Grandma

I can't be the only one who imagines these matchups as a shounen anime tournament arc, right??

@bestestspirit

[hellsite-hall-of-fame]

Do you sleep with socks on

this is such a random ask that I feel like i’m morally required to answer it lol

and the answer is- this ✨mysterious✨ museum curator obviously never sleeps soooo that answers your question :)

[missholloween]

DID YOU SAY WEREWOLF OWEN AU?!?!

TELL ME MORE

YESSSS thank you so much, this is like one of my favorite aus ever (I haven't posted anything on tumblr about it yet) (this is going to be long)

So, in this universe, Curt and Owen wouldn't be spies, but werewolf hunters. They are still two of the best agents on the field, working together as a pair both professionally and romantically.

One day, during one of their missions, Curt doesn't clean up the area as well as he should, but neither of them give it enough importance. However, when the wolf is chasing after them, Owen trips and falls. Curt doesn't stop running away, not even turning when he hears Owen scream in pain. He thinks it's too late for him.

Little does he know, Owen isn't dead, but mortally wounded: the wolf's claws had pierved Owen's skin too deeply in many parts of his body. It is in the pain of the wounds and the rage of the betrayal that Owen transforms for the first time.

In this au, Owen wouldn't quite be the deadliest man alive, but the deadliest werewolf: he would've given in to his instincts and emotions, that are a swirl of anger, betrayal and grief. He'd use being a werewolf to become one of the monsters he and Curt used to hunt, luckily taking him with. It's an easier way to cope with his new self, it's an easier role to fill. After all, it's only a matter of time that one of the hunters gets him. He can give them a show before he goes.

(I must add that, although in this universe, werewolves are like really linked to their emotions, they can control themselves. Owen wouldn't be trying to do it tho, giving in to the bloodlust).

Cut to Curt, that would've retired after Owen's "death", as he wouldn't be able to kill anymore. However, after 4 years, the other werewolf hunters would ask him to return, as Owen would've been targetting hunters.

During the investigation, Curt would notice small things that reminds him of Owen in the places the wolf has allegedly been in. Curt would mostly attribute this to grief. Until he's face to face with Owen, and he cannot deny it anymore.

I'd like to think they'd start a long-term chase, à la One Step Ahead but longer, (or like Daisy and Basira in tma, iykwim), with both of them clashing and maybe talking? Ish? Through the violence? It would be enough to make Curt realize that, behind the wolf, Owen's still there.

However, instead of putting a (silver) bullet in his partner's brains, I think I'd be interesting to see Curt transforming too, and see both of them deal with it. Maybe it would fix them (certainly not, but wouldn't it be cool to see werewolf!curtwen fighting?)

TL;DR: I love lycanthropy as a metaphor of things, and Owen is the perfect fit for most of them (anger, rejection, being queer, being othered, etc.). Being a werewolf woulnd't fix him, it would make him worst, but maybe after like so many deaths it could save him! He might even be forced to get a healthy coping mechanism to deal with lycanthropy! And if Curt becomes a wolf too, he might finally understand the horrors of staying alive.

[puhpandas]

coming up with a fic where Tony is a ghost tethered to Gregory after GGY kills him and it's just Tony having watched Gregory be mind controlled and then free himself unknowingly and wake up with memory loss and survive a night at the pizzaplex all while Tony cant talk to him or even help him.

afterwards Tony finding out how to show himself as a ghost and Gregory seeing him and just being reminded of GGY and everything that happened and remembering it all and freaking out.

the idea of Tony being a ghost and stuck tethered to his killer + ex-friend but maybe hes actually good? and he doesn't know how to feel about it because as a detective he realizes that Gregory isnt himself while doing all of these things but also... Gregory killed him

[thefourfan]

I fw Exclastar guys.... smite me NOW!!!!!!!

Oh yeah I gave them a shipkid too because uhhhh fuck you

[keicordelle]

Momo confirmed: there can never be a Banri-centric three:vale

And actually, his logic behind this is really interesting. Because at it's heart, the difference is that with Banri, Momo could never have formed the same sort of codependent relationship that he does with Yuki. Banri is capable of taking charge and taking care of himself, and so Momo wouldn't feel the need to step forward and try to help him.

Hell, it's only after he realizes that no one's taking care of Yuki that he reaches out to him in the first place. Momo establishes very well in Re:member that he needs to feel needed and useful to feel loved, or to express his love, and Yuki lets him do that in spades. Banri, though. Banri doesn't need someone to dote on him (or at least so judges Momo) and therefore Momo's acts of service (his declarations of love) are unwarranted at best and unnoticed at worst.

Whether or not this is actually true is a whole separate question. Banri does seem to rely on Momo when he's helping them out backstage (Momo valiantly kills the dreaded spider for him) -- but he does it in a moderate sort of way, taking the time to make sure Momo's not overexerting himself (ie, when he's lugging around more equipment in one trip than he probably ought to be) and that he is generally taking care of himself as much as he's taking care of others.

But Momo seems to want someone who relies on him too heavily. He needs to devote himself fully and completely to another person (perhaps because he feels he can no longer fully devote himself to his own dreams, so he seeks some other outlet, someone else's dream to latch onto to replace that). He gets drawn in by Yuki's sopping wet meow meow nature and the fact that Yuki so clearly needs someone to take care of him, because Yuki is the only one who enables him to express his love in the way he wants to. Needs to, perhaps. Regardless of how (un)healthy that expression and the resulting relationship is.

That's why MomoBan won't work with just each other. That's why they need Yuki to draw them together: Momo needs someone who he can devote his everything to, and Banri can never be that person for him.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hi im back with more Out Of Context lines from my outlines/snippets that i find mildly entertaining when going back through it all: Fantasy Au Edition!

[grapecaseschoices]

So do we put blood on the Urn or no?

[catacthonios]

disclaimer: graphic design is not my passion. edit: rip i FORGOT to specify that its the BG Manga that has no EN subs rn. BG stageplay has EN subs everyone say thank u to frog/veggie sub

[druidonity2]

Dragon Noodle Soup :3

[whumble-beeee]

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life pt. 2

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping

Cont'd from Part 1

CW: disabled whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), past captivity references, tied up, knives, gun

* * * * * * * * [First impressions are extremely important when taking a hero hostage, whether you're nemeses who have fought countless times, or whether this is your first time formally meeting the hero. These first impressions will set the mood for the entirety of your and your captive's time together, so make sure to think long and hard about what initial impression you want to give off to the hero; do you want to be suave, cool, and calculating? Silly, coy, and unpredictable? Or maybe violent and dangerous, one not to be crossed or trifled with. The choice is up to you, you dastardly villain, you!

And if you're having trouble crafting a persona that will strike fear and invite obedience in the heart of your captive, just remember that above all else, you are the one in control. Have confidence in yourself and project that to your hostage, and the rest will follow suit!]

* * * * * * * *

All air left the room.

“I, a-ah–...” Stan couldn’t take his eyes off the blade cradled in the mercenary’s hand. His breath fell ragged as he forced his eyes away from the knife and into the gaze of the man holding it. And smiled. Hopefully, it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “I don’t like kni-ives…”

“Really…” 

The mercenary slowly ambled up until he literally blocked out the light coming from the center of the room, and gently pushed the sharp end of the knife up under Stan’s chin. 

The world went blurry for a moment as Stan tilted his chin up to accommodate, and the blade just went up with it, until Stan’s vision tunneled directly into the man’s eyes. He couldn't move.

He knew those eyes.

Staring down at him over the barrel of a revolver.

The bounty hunter glanced him up and down, before meeting his stupefied gaze again with an almost pitying grin. “This is gonna suck for you then.”

He whiffed the knife out and flipped it around in his hand as he circled behind the chair, barely nicking Stan’s chin with the razor-edge as it slid out from its place under his throat. The small sting of the cut was enough to bring the world crashing back to him.

Stan blinked. “Hey! Hey–... don’t do– Where– where, uh… Where are you going?”

“Behind you.”

“No– no shit, really?” he retorted, voice still embarrassingly shaky. The bounty hunter disappeared from his line of sight. “I meant– I mean what’re you–”

Stan gasped as the ropes tightened around his stomach. 

“Hey, hey! Stop! what’re you doing?!”

He immediately balled up his fists and tried to thrash away unsuccessfully for what felt like the thousandth time since he woke up, all the while attempting to twist around enough to see what was going on behind him.

“Cálmate, chiquito.” The ropes vibrated lightly. “I'm just cuttin’ the ropes.”

Stan stopped dead in his tracks. “What? Why?”

The bounty hunter’s voice took on that playful lilt Stan was already getting tired of. “I mean, I was just gonna put you on a leash in the corner, so you can actually move around a bit, but if you want to stay tied to the chair for some ungodly amount of time…”

Stan’s mind completely skipped over the leash part. He had to get out of this chair. “No, no, I don’t!”

“Really? Not sure I’m convinced, you seemed super panicked just now–”

“I wasn’t panicking!”

“Nah? Then I’m sure you’ll stay just as calm when I do this…”

The bounty hunter snatched his hand and strained it up against the twine. Stan instinctively flinched.

“Hey, what–!”

A prick on the top of his hand. Stan froze. Another prick. His heart rate spiked. The cool metal of the knife broke the skin a third time, longer, deeper this time, gliding through the skin barrier, stinging. His vision tunneled. Cool metallic threads shot through the top of his mouth, and he could swear he could feel the blood rushing from his brain and pooling down, down, down.

“Stop, STOP, PLEASE!!” He tried to break free, wiggle away from the knife and kick out and fight back against the man who was holding him hostage and tormenting him for no reason other than his own sick pleasure, but everything was starting to go dark and fuzzy and everything felt so hot, he was sweating, he was burning, he needed to get out now–

Stan's chair suddenly lifted and the entire thing spun around and landed hard back onto the floor with a clatter, accompanied by a fearful yelp. The bounty hunter’s hand moved from the top of the chair to the scruff of Stan’s neck, forcing Stan forward as he planted his knee on the seat of the chair between Stan’s legs and leaned on the unused armrests of the chair. Their faces were only inches apart. Stan strained to lean away, but just like the last million times, there wasn’t anywhere he could go. He sucked in a stilted breath.

“Y’know,” the hunter whispered as if he were sharing a damning secret between just the two of them. “If you’re gonna be all hysterical about it, I could just leave you right here…” 

Stan’s breath stuttered. The world was just the two of them. Focus on the now. Don’t pass out. “I– I kno-ow. Please don’t. Please.”

He pushed his little sister Chloe further behind his back and stood his ground. His sister pressed her face into his side.

He glared at those eyes before, snarled at them.

He felt dizzy, he couldn’t breathe, and more than anything he wanted to spit in the bounty hunter's face. He found that the best he could do was stare up at the bounty hunter with a stunned, blurry gaze as he tried to fight off the cotton that blanketed his mind.

“People get tied to the chair because they’re panicky and I don’t want them to hurt themselves, because they’re my responsibility. Like you were doing when you woke up. You were screaming and thrashing around, did you know that?”

“N-no…”

“I know you didn’t know.” His eyes dark brown eyes almost seemed to glitter red. Stan felt a visceral terror snaking up his gut for reasons he couldn’t explain. “That’s why you were tied to the chair. I’ll gladly keep you here if you keep struggling and being difficult, do you want that?”

The crackle of the walkie-talkie, the distorted voices.

“I think I found them.” The voice sealed his fate. “Uh… just– just one of them.”

The rope itched against his wrists. “No, pl-please don’t– Let me go.”

“I’m not sure I’m feeling so charitable anymore Stan, I gotta be honest. I think you should ask really nicely if you want me to untie you from this chair.”

He took a gasping breath, one he didn’t realize his body was screaming for. When had he stopped breathing? Where was he?

“Please un– uh, untie me from the chair”

The hunter nodded. “Alright, and?”

“I, uh... I would be so, so grateful?…” Stan tapered off with a squeak as his captor rolled his eyes at him and shook his head.

“No, no, look.” The hunter prompted. He squeezed the back of Stan’s neck. “You’re not going to…” 

Why couldn’t he just pass out? 

“I’m uh, I’m not going to… be panicky or, or difficult?…”

“Mhm, and?”

And?! He was already begging! What else did this guy want?!

Stan’s befuddlement must have shown on his face, because the hunter gave another hint with only the slightest annoyed groan: “What’re we gonna do instead?”

“Put me on a– a leash…” Stan felt his face burning red. He wanted to curl up into a little ball and rock himself until everything went away. He felt so small. He could never hide. “... in the corner…”

“And that’s a privilege because?”

“... you could just leave me in the chair. Captured.”

The hunter leaned back a bit and smiled. “There you go, you got there. Repeat it all back now.”

Stan squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a shaky breath, and breathed out some of the clouds dimming his mind. He forced his eyes to focus.

“Please untie me from the chair, I won’t be panicky or difficult and I know it’s a– a privilege–” The words almost caught in his throat. “– to be on a le-leash in the corner instead. Because you could just leave me in the chair. If you wanted. And you’re not… I– I– um, thank you…”

The hunter’s hand slid up from the neck of his shaking captive and ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, that was good. Good job.”

Stan hated how much he relaxed at the praise. At how much effort it took to even jerk away from the petting.

Right up until the very large pocket knife entered his field of vision, heading straight for his stomach. 

He screamed, wrenching his eyes shut and throwing himself as far back as possible, hoping he would just phase through the chair entirely and fall through the floor and be away from the horror show of agony that was sure to be his stomach now, away from this entire humiliating and hopeless situation, away from the flashbacks and the terror and the ropes and the captivity and the experiments and the pain–

Eventually, a realization broke through the frenzy that he wasn’t in screaming agony.

He wasn’t dying.

He was still here.

In fact, his restraints felt noticeably looser.

He tentatively opened his eyes to find a few of the ropes from his front now lay cleanly cut in his lap or hanging at his sides.

The bounty hunter chuckled into his hand, trying to hold it together. Then when he noticed his captive staring at him, he practically doubled over in a fit of laughter.

“Not gonna–” He had to look away, covering his mouth as a fit of giggles overtook his ability to speak. “Not gonna panic or be– be difficult, huh? No panic at all?”

Stan sputtered, ears red. How could he be laughing? “I– I– you– didn’t…! I– AUGH!”

His yell echoed through the room. He wanted to scream at the man, or at least run for the door now that he was technically free. But lashing out would get him nowhere, not here, not now.

He gave up on trying to speak and instead seethed while he worked at shaking off the rest of the ropes.

About half the tendril twisting around his stomach were still intact, so it took much more struggling than his dignity would have preferred to squirm out. He even tried to use his good knee to help nudge the ropes aside, since his wrists were still securely tied behind the back of the chair and useless. That didn’t really help.

But he managed, same as always.

“It's really not that funny.” Stan deadpanned as he finished working on the bindings and carefully lifted his bound wrists above the back lip of the chair.

The bounty hunter still hadn’t finished his giggle fit.

“Y'know, you're– you're really good at the whole, uh, submissive thing,” the mercenary snickered. “Suits you.”

A heavy ball knotted in the pit of his stomach. “What.”

“I mean, as soon as I got up in your face, you just stopped dead in your tracks and immediately got all cute and scared and agreeable.”

Stan clenched his teeth. He should cut through the twine tying his wrists right now and strangle this guy with how horrible–... 

Wait… Did the mercenary even know Stan could still use his powers without his cane? He mentioned earlier that it was a shame Stan couldn’t use his powers without it, but he could.

Not very well. But it was better than nothing.

“I wouldn't have done that,” he growled. “If you hadn't decided it'd be fun to fuck with me and set off my fight or flight!”

 “That wasn't fight or flight, bud, that was fawn.” The mercenary gave a condescending tilt of the head before holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“I’m just saying you'll probably do just fine as a prisoner. It is gonna be the rest of your life, all the better that it suits you well.”

“I don't–! It doesn't suit me, I-I'm not–” The bounty hunter nodded at him with false interest, patiently waiting for him to go on. Stan cried out in rage.

“Whatever! You're abusing your power over me for no reason!”

A pause. Both men stopped breathing for just a moment.

The mercenary’s gaze suddenly turned barely narrower and icy cold.

“I'm abusing my power?” He stepped forward, barely out of arms reach and absolutely towering over his captive.

“I could show you a real abuse of power, chiquito.”

Stan shot up to his feet with a loud stomp to finally match the mercenary. He was still a solid foot shorter than the man, but it still got the point across. 

He hoped.

The movement also served another purpose: he’d slammed his feet down hard enough to feel the reverberations throughout his body, just hard enough to create enough force to transfer up through his fingers into a very small point. A point just fine enough to slice through the bindings of his wrists.

He was finally, finally unbound. 

He still held his arms behind his back.

“How dare you.”

The mercenary hummed in surprise, curious where this outburst would lead. He nodded for Stan to go on. 

As if Stan needed his permission to go on. He took a step forward, and the man actually stepped back in turn.

“I don't know who you think you are, but if you can think you can just hold me captive like this and talk to me like this and expect me not to fight back, you’ve got an entire ‘nother thing coming!” Stan yelled.

“I’m not gonna just sit back and let you mess with me because you think it’s funny! I’m not going to sit there and let you do whatever you want to me, and I’m not going to let you, or whoever you work for, or anyone else for that matter, keep me captive for the rest of my life! Not gonna happen! I’m going to escape, and then I’ll find you and everyone you work for, and make every single one of you wish you had never been born. Got that?”

And for a moment, everything was still. 

Stan’s labored breathing echoed throughout the room. He’d backed up the mercenary several steps in his tirade, much to the screeching protests of his bad knee. More surprisingly, the mercenary no longer looked down on him with that condescending smile. 

Instead, his eyes quickly shot up and down Stan’s body, before meeting Stan’s scowling gaze with his own challenging stare. 

Right before he took one more step back and slid his hands comfortably into his pockets.

“Well, if you’re going to try to run, now would probably be the best time.”

Stan gawked at the man. Then shook his head out. He must have been hearing things. 

“What?”

“You said you were going to escape, yeah? You’re not gonna let me hold you captive, you’re gonna escape and take revenge?”

Stan had to suppress the urge to go back on his own words. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m about to put a manacle on your ankle and you'll be chained to the corner over there,” he nodded over his shoulder, to the corner of the room farthest away from the door.

“You’re more or less free right now. Now would be the best time. You wanna try your luck?”

“But– you– you’re standing right here! You could just reach out and grab me!” 

“That’s how it’ll always be, runt.”

A chill bolted from his head all the way down his spine.

“Uh…” his voice shook again. He hadn’t prepared for this. What was the endgame here? “Aren’t you gonna be mad?”

“Oh, I’ll be furious.” His dark eyes glittered the smallest sparkles of crimson, a light smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“And when I catch you and bring you back, you’ll have to deal with the consequences of that. Can’t say it’ll be pretty either. So you gonna try your luck, or nah?” 

Stan turned to look at the door. Then back to the mercenary. His heart pounded against his ribcage, and he could already feel the quick in and out of his breaths making his brain feel buzzy and light. 

He looked to the door again. How far could he even get without his cane? Certainly not as far as someone who didn’t have a dud for a knee.

He looked to the mercenary. Could he even fight him off with such limited use of his magic? Did it even matter that he had already cut his wrists free?

His eyes shifted once more to the holster on the man’s belt. What about that? Was he willing to risk a gunshot wound in an escape attempt that had almost no chance of working? 

The cold metal barrel of the gun bit into his windpipe.

He never felt so frozen before.

A rough hand grabbed him, shoved him forward.

He screamed for help.

No one came.

His jaw clenched so hard it may as well have shattered. His eyes burned. He just wanted to go home.

“No.”

The hunter raised his eyebrow. “Come again?”

“I ca-an’t–” his voice cracked. He wished he could hide the way his chest heaved and his face contorted to try and hold back the tears. He wished he could hug himself as some sort of self-comfort. But he kept his hands firmly clasped behind his back. “I can’t.”

The mercenary nodded lightly with a small hum. At least that stupid grin hadn’t made a reappearance. 

“All right then, come here. You uh, need help walking?”

He turned around to walk to the corner of the room, motioning for Stan to follow.

Stan didn’t follow.

He ran.

* * * * * * * *

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy