#THE HYPOTHETICAL SCENE

[aashidoodles]

shiguang cosplaying as a couple at a con

Thanks for the prompt! 🦇

[sualne]

i only wanted to help (wip)

[corvigoth]

you could've picked me.

[rabbit-rays]

the mad stone!

let it control you!

[ozymandien]

later, ouyang thought esen wouldn't even had noticed: the moment his stillness of anticipation flicked into the stillness of shame, as quickly as capping a candle. his blood ran cold; his body burned. it was the feeling of a blade slid gently into his heart.

[naomistares]

would u guys be mad at me if i do another ianthe and harrow centric comic

[worfs-glorious-hair]

Tav: I could kiss Gale very quickly before we leave… :)

Gale: :) Yes you should!

Astarion *groaning and rolling his eyes*: You obviously can. You have proven that to us in the past *pretends to check the time* FIFTEEN MINUTES OR SO! I have another interesting proposal for you, you could also KILL KETHERIC VERY QUICKLY LIKE WE ARE SUPPOSED TO!

Tav: Just one more, then we will go!

Gale: :)

Astarion: Tell me, dear druid friend of mine, do they teach you in druid school this fascinating definition of „just one more“ that you are showing us or did you come up with it on your own? BECAUSE THIS WERE ROUGHLY TEN „just one more“ KISSES!

[adastra121]

Belated Vere birthday art…but it's drawn by my Hound OC, Alon.

Alon: Vere did a real bang up job with those birthday portraits, I reckon he deserves some nice art for himself, too. So for our favourite foxy's birthday, I drew him this! Ta-da! *presents to the others* Leander: Oh! :D ...Who is that? Alon: It's Vere! :D Leander: Oh. Ais: ... Ais: Why is his ass on fire? Alon: Wh—That’s his TAIL! D:< Mhin: Is he...strangling a fish? Alon: No! He's enjoying a nice glass— Mhin: Of fish? Alon: A nice glass of fish-free fruit tea! Kuras: I can't deny the demon horns suit his character, but I doubt he would appreciate that specific exercise in artistic liberty. Alon: Those are his ears! D: Kuras: ...Ah. Mhin: Then why does he have three of them? Alon: And that's a party hat—Y'know what? None of you appreciate art!

*later, presenting it to Vere*

Vere: Why is my ass on fire? Alon: That's—! *defeated sigh* 'Cause you've got a smoking hot ass.

The birthday drawing:

[odetojupiter]

i love that the zombie apocalypse conversation appears so often in fics like the foundation of andrew and neil’s relationship is based on them knowing each others survival plan

which is funny because in the book neil actually doesn’t actually contribute to the conversation it’s a convo between renee and andrew that neil gets fixated on (and then quotes back to andrew later in the book)

and do u know what. i love it, because that conversation is like a perfect demonstration of their characters - renee, concentrating on creating shelter for survivors, andrew concentrating on keeping his group protected, and neil, thinking that he’d probably cut and run and lamenting that fact UNTIL he realises he would want to go back for andrew. that conversation that neil isn’t even eally part of sets up perfect proof of neil’s character development even in the final book - i mean, the fact that neil says ‘chances were it would be instinctive to abandon all of them’ which he acknowledges as an ‘ugly truth’ already displays a change in his character since the first book - because in that one, he has no qualms about leaving, is prepared to do so as soon as necessary. but then the conversation comes back and neil says he ‘doesn’t want to be that person anymore’ he ‘wants to go back’ for andrew. and just. isn’t that beautiful.

so yes, every time the zombie apocalypse comes up in the most random places in fics i eat it up so hard. cause like, what a perfect hypothetical for them to talk about for 1 - because both of them spend most of their life having to learn to survive in different ways, and so their different approaches to the situation is a great way to demonstrate their different characterisations and show how their traumatic experiences shape the way they react to new dangerous situations - and 2 - because we can starkly see the change in neil when he realises he wouldn’t be able to just leave.

[bearloonz]

a tadc fan for the fun of the content but also for the fun of analyzing it from a writing perspective and as an internet phenomenon

[syndrossi]

Now I REALLY WANT something where Ser Thoren DOES rescue the boys and reunites them with Daemon earlier, largely because I want to see what happens when the Volentenes attempt to kidnap them while they're with their father.

Oooh, that WOULD be spicy, wouldn't it? I imagine the way it plays out initially is:

Ser Thoren brings them back up north to catch a ship to King's Landing.

Allard dispatches his men in search/pursuit of them.

After a week of failed searching (Crayne convinces Allard to keep it on the down low), Allard finally informs Rhea via raven that the boys are missing. She reaches out to Rhaenyra to have a raven sent to Daemon in the Stepstones and sends out ravens throughout the Vale to be on the lookout for the boys. Ser Thoren and the twins set sail from the Fingers.

Rhea rides south to Gulltown chasing a rumor about the boys, accident (or is it?) occurs just before Daemon arrives in Runestone for answers. Ser Thoren and the twins arrive at Dragonstone, as he wants the matter somewhat discreetly handled. Rhaenyra is here, just as in canon, and sends a raven to Runestone.

Daemon confronts Rhea, forces the confession, and this time the raven that reaches him isn't of the boys' kidnapping, but Rhaenyra's that the boys are safe in Dragonstone, which he immediately sets out for.

The big meet happens there, and Daemon and Rhaenyra fly the twins to King's Landing. There is much fanfare, but none of the urgency of Resonant, because the boys were never truly kidnapped. Viserys is pleased that Daemon's a father, but there's no "hand in the hearth" debriefing, so he has no reason to believe the boys are prophecy children. There is no 24/7 knight rotation, and boys are far less traumatized (though Rhaegar is still mourning Rhaella and Rhea) and Jon's not hurt.

Probably a few weeks pass without incident. The boys settle in, Daemon escorts them around the Dragonpit, though without success. (To Rhaegar's utter heartbreak.)

Daemon has no catalyst to set him after Volantis, so he's trying to figure out what to do now that he's a single dad. He also feels fairly safe taking them out into the city.

Meanwhile, the Volantenes + Jephyro are already aware of the new circumstances and have sailed into King's Landing to set up an attempt there...

Here's part one of an innocent outing in the city that may be about to turn into something quite a lot more dangerous...

x~x~x

"What about this one?" Daemon pointed at the clasp that had caught his eye—and clearly Rhaegar's—against the dark velvet that held the jeweler's various works: silver shaped into a dragon curled around a deep red garnet. "Do you have another?"

"Another, my prince?" the man repeated, before comprehension dawned. He looked between Daemon's two sons. "I could fashion a twin to it easily enough."

Daemon stole a glance at Jon to gauge his interest. His other son had proven himself to be less enthused about the finery afforded him in his new station. Allard Royce and whatever passed for clothing in the Vale were partly to blame for that, he presumed.

Jon's gaze was on a different piece, however, that of a silver wolf's head with eyes of smoothly-polished sapphire. It had no relation at all to their own house, better suited to the houses of the southern Crownlands and northern Stormlands who bore wolves upon their crest. But the longing in his face was clear, along with an undercurrent of sorrow.

He does not know to ask, Daemon thought with a familiar simmering anger at the reminder that his sons had spent their childhood being denied all that they were due.

It would not have been his choice, but boys formed all sorts of fascinations, and although wolves were no dragons, they were worthy enough in their own way. "Would you like that one, Jon?" he asked, reaching for the clasp.

He was immediately met with a grey-eyed stare so filled with uncertainty that his own heart ached. "It is a beautiful piece," Daemon said.

"I—" Jon swallowed, gaze returning to the clasp, then flicking up at the jeweler. "Could you change the eyes?"

The jeweler, sensing a sale, smiled encouragingly. "Easily enough. What suits your fancy, young prince? I have some emerald stones that could be fitted."

"What about the red stone in the dragon clasp? Do you have more of it?"

"The garnet? I do. I also have ruby, should that be more to your preference." The jeweler disappeared into his work room, emerging after a moment with a small cloth of both garnet and ruby gems, some rough and others worked, that he laid out on the table.

Jon looked between them. He seemed drawn at first to the ruby, touching a finger to it, but his mouth firmed with decision as he pulled back. "The garnet." He glanced at his brother. "So that we match."

"I shall have the modifications completed by tomorrow," the man said with a bow, before turning his gaze back to Daemon. "Is there anything else that you seek, my prince?"

"I have been told you have experience working with dragon scales."

The jeweler's expression brightened, this time with interest. "I do. I have done work for Princess Rhaenyra, and even Queen Alysanne herself, many years back."

His sons watched him with nearly identical expressions of curiosity as Daemon withdrew a thick red scale from his pouch, partly split by a glancing blow from one of the Triarchy's small ballistae that they lugged onto the shores of the Stepstones in hopes of a lucky shot before their inevitable destruction by dragonflame.

"What can you make of this?"

The jeweler took the scale from him with a hushed reverence, examining it from various angles. "I can shape it into smaller pieces and fashion a fetching pendant. Several, even. A gold setting would be striking, or--" He glanced at their silver-and-garnet selections. "Or silver, if that is more to your liking. If my prince cares to return in half an hour, I can make some sketches for your review for the pendant itself."

"Can you design one of a dragon's head?" Rhaegar asked. His look at Daemon held an uncertainty not unlike Jon's earlier. "We could have one apiece."

"The three heads of the dragon?" Daemon kissed the two heads within reach. "That feels fitting to me."

"I shall focus my efforts on dragon designs, then," the jeweler said with another bow, and Daemon could not tell if his enthusiasm was from the opportunity to work with such a rare material, or the growing purse he anticipated receiving.

Even if Viserys weren't cheered enough by his return and meeting his sons to see it paid directly from the royal treasury, Daemon had spent very little of his own allowance these past few years. There were scant opportunities in the wastes of the Stepstones.

It was getting past midday, long enough since breakfast for hunger to make itself known in the growling stomachs of growing boys. The taverns at the base of Aegon’s Hill catered to visiting nobles and rich merchants of the area, their fare a good deal finer than would be found just a few roads further south, near the harbor.

A royal visitor was not uncommon in these parts, though it still afforded them a quiet table away from the small pocket of knights well on their way to a drunken stupor not even halfway through the day. He would have numbered among them once, Daemon mused. Not the knight part, of course. But he had drunk his way through most of the taverns in the city in his youth, often dragging Viserys along. His brother had been a more exuberant drunk then, prone to wild capers he would not otherwise consider when sober.

I wonder if he might consider stealing away some night. Even a king could wear a cloak, and if any tavernkeep were to notice, he would wisely pretend otherwise. It would do him good to remember life outside those walls.

And it would scandalize Otto Hightower, which was reason enough in itself.

Daemon turned his attention back to the twins, both of whom seemed comfortable enough in the tavern, though he imagined they would not have seen one growing up isolated in the Gates of the Moon. “I take it Ser Thoren brought you to a few inns along the way,” he said.

“Only a few,” Jon said. “On the road north through the Vale.”

A carafe of wine was brought to the table, along with bread fresh enough from the oven to be steaming. Slices of cold meat and cheese were brought out soon after. Daemon limited himself to a single cup, and let each of his sons try a sip, taking in their mutual nose crinkles at the taste with fond amusement that turned faintly bittersweet. There were many expressions he had still to learn, to discover which emphasized their similarities and which their differences.

Each delighted him, though he had a special fondness for when they mirrored one another. It spoke to an extra bond between them that comforted him somehow.

A special treat of warm, gooey raspberries served in a bowl with a generous heaping of cold cream atop it had been sent to their table, and both his sons had eagerly devoured theirs before turning faintly envious eyes to Daemon’s own half-eaten portion.

“Is there anything else you would like to see before we return to the jeweler, and then the keep?” he asked once they had finished off his dessert.

[coffeebanana]

the ladynoir interaction in revelator makes me think they've discussed alternative uses for his powers before... and i think someone should write that fic...

[kalied0skull]

my writing process is so funny because i scrunch down the visual in my head into one or two tiny paragraphs so that way i can roll back around and turn it into 3 or 4 really big paragraphs — WHICH IS NORMAL but sometimes I'll look back at it and it'll look like

" he's sat there thinking "oh, god, this cannot be happening to me right now." scene happens, and "OH, GOD, IT'S HAPPENING." "

or further more

"he closes his eyes and the scene replays in his head, visuals fluttering around in the back of his head. he slams his head against the wall. maybe that'll shut the thoughts up. (it doesn't.)"

followed by "screaming and agonizing pain from the fight in his head, trying to escape himself. clawing at the walls, at his face, his throat, something."

and they're NICE it's just... it's funny to me, idk man 💀 it's like looking at a synopsis and skipping to the middle only to be jumpscared by spoilers of the plot-twist

[tenderjock]

"They're giving them souls, Giles."

She's not sure how the Initiative has figured out how to do it, with military machines and experimental scientific equipment in place of a dusty Romani curse. She thinks they're not entirely sure how they've done it either, that it's a lot of trial and error - Dr. Walsh basically admitted to that, when she told Buffy about their vampiric "re-consciencing" program.

"Dr. Walsh says it only worked for vampires," Buffy tells her Watcher. "She says other demons, they got zilch. Just nothing happens at all."

He finishes polishing his glasses, turns them over and starts polishing them again. "That makes some amount of sense, I suppose," Giles says. "Most demons have souls or - something that functions closely enough as a soul as to be called one, anyway. Vampires are the only demonic entity that are known for lacking a soul - or rather, that their evil comes from their lack of a soul rather than simply innate bloodlust or longstanding cultural practices or something of the sort."

"Whatever." Buffy resumes her pacing. "I'm supposed to do this tour of the Initiative tonight, so maybe I'll learn more about their re-consciencing department. It's giving me the wiggins, Giles."

"I know."

In preparation for going into potential enemy territory, Buffy puts on her cutest, most favorite halter top that doesn't come untied even when she does cartwheels and back flips, and a pair of sensible square-heeled boots. She puts her hair in a pair of neat French braids. She stows away two stakes, a small knife, and a scarf that could double as a garrote or a sling. Finally, she laces a cord choker around her neck, with a big cross pendant hanging on her collarbone, and surveys herself in the mirror. As ready as she's gonna get.

Buffy had been kind of worried that she'd have to hint and lead towards the whole soul-giving deal, but Dr. Walsh is more than happy to show off the program. She's bragging about it as soon as they're in the facility, which is giving off major evil-mad-scientist vibes.

"It took several trial runs to get the process stable for successful result," Walsh is saying. Buffy peers around, marking the exits in her mind, trying not to notice the way she's being deliberately flanked by Riley and Graham. "And then, after we succeeded in stabilizing the procedure, we had two subjects terminate."

Buffy looks at her, blinking. "Terminate?" she asks.

"Killed themselves," Riley says. "The subject we're studying currently, we've had to restrain so it doesn't do the same."

"You have one vampire right now?" Buffy asks. She'd thought that this soul-giving process was, like, a larger scale than one vamp. She'd assumed they'd be shoving souls up in dozens of the undead, as distasteful as she finds the idea. "How many - uh - 'subjects' have you done this with?"

Dr. Walsh gestures the three of them over to a cordoned-off lab set up, where Buffy sees a bunch of stuff, clothing and boots and stuff, laid out. It gives her an uncomfortable feeling - like that vamp girl that killed freshmen and stole their shit. How is this any different?

There's a familiar coat, a big black leather coat. Buffy stares at it for a second. She misses the first part of what Dr. Walsh says.

"- successfully managed to keep it restrained. Hostile 17 has proven very useful to our studies since it was re-conscienced."

"Hostile 17?" Buffy says, mouth dry.

Walsh pushes aside the sliding screen to show the rest of the room. There, naked, gagged, and tied to the operating table, is Spike.

He looks like shit. He's thin and kind of gray, the way a lot of vampires get when they're underfed, and he's got about a quarter inch of mousey brown roots. There are red marks around his wrists and ankles where it looks like he's pulled at the restraints until he's broken the skin, and he's got fresh, clinical-looking bruises on his left forearm and the left side of his abdomen.

Spike's looking at her. He's looking directly at her, and his eyes are wide and wild and agonized.

Buffy breathes in slow. Then she looks at Dr. Walsh.

"Do you keep the re-consciencing machinery here?" she asks. She knows damn well they don't. "Or is that in a different room?"

Dr. Walsh smiles, pleased by Buffy's interest. "We'll show you. It's fascinating, how it all works. This process could really change how we fight demons."

"Yes," Buffy agrees. She fumbles with her purse as they're leaving, spills makeup and tampons across the floor. Riley bends down to help her pick her stuff up. "Shit! Oh, no, I got it."

Spike's watching her still. He looks less upset, now. There's a little wrinkle in his brow.

Dr. Walsh and Graham have gone ahead; Riley is waiting for Buffy, but he's waiting at the open door, turned half away from her, giving her space to organize her feminine products.

She glances up at Spike, meeting his gaze. Swallows. And murmurs, under her breath so Riley can't hear, "I'm gonna get you out of here. Okay? Hold on. I'm gonna get you out."

Riley's still not looking, so she creeps a bit closer. Spike's leaning against his restraints like he's trying to get closer to her.

Quickly, Buffy touches Spike's bare shoulder. He goes tense and still, and closes his eyes. He's freezing, like he hasn't eaten warm blood in days. She nods, mostly to herself.

Then Buffy turns and leaves, without looking back.

[dinomintz]

They're fun to draw

[burinazar]

I've always wondered why there's generally more interaction between English fanfiction writers and Chinese, Russian, SEAsian ones than Japanese ones when there's such a thriving fic tradition in Japan too and speculated about all sorts of potential reasons slash vaguely wondered if this could somehow be remedied thru fandom context outreach and whatnot

but to be honest one of the most obvious reasons didn't really sink in for me until fully encountering the state of english education in japan, which i already vaguely knew was like this but didn't really think could be quite such a big part of it

all of those other people truly are just more likely to speak english to the degree where they can recreationally enjoy fic and chat with fans in english without relying fully on translators

a lot of ESOL people around the world, especially in countries with some mandatory english education in schools, have absorbed enough english that they can browse fic and talk to writers without relying on them, and this is just... much much less likely to be true for japanese people than a lot of other countries in spite of years of english education being mandatory for most students. the mandated curriculums are frustratingly inefficient and not likely to lead to a functional grasp of the language