#meme before fic day

[sissytobitch10seconds]

[charlie-artlie]

Bonnie in the real world 💖

[sorinethemastermind]

For the cuddle dialogue! How about Rayla and Callum with 7 and 13?? <3

Callum opened his eyes, the familiar ceiling of his room at the Moon Nexus coming into focus above him. He pulled an arm out from under the covers and rolled over, draping it over Rayla, still sleeping beside him. This, he thought, is an improvement over the last time we were here.

He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest as she slept, listening to the whisper of her breathing. She was perfect. This morning was perfect.

The sunlight filtering through the high, arched windows slanted across her face and she yawned, moving instinctively away from the light and burrowing into Callum's chest. Some part of him still couldn't believe that this was real. Why hadn't they been doing this from the start?

Well, he knew why. But still.

He let her wake up slowly, enjoying every quiet moment of their first peaceful morning in... well, it sort of felt like forever. The world was saved. They were saved. Every day could be like this. From now until forever. That was a better kind for forever, Callum thought.

"Callum?" Rayla asked, groggily. "Why are you lookin' at me like that?"

"Oh, nothing." Callum replied dreamily.

"Stop it." she laughed, batting him away.

"Never!" he teased, wrapping his arms around her again. "I think someone needs a good cuddle."

"Callum!" she squealed, laughing. Her silver hair was in his face, and he planted a big kiss on top of her head. But his victory didn't last long, because then there was a pillow flying into his face and he fell backwards, nearly toppling off the bed.

"I told you these were dangerous weapons." Rayla said, standing over him with her pillows raised defensively.

"Only in the right hands."

She threw another pillow at him. "Quit being all soppy."

"Can't help it." Callum said, tossing the pillow right back. Then he dove forward, pinning her to the bed again. She let out a small shriek of surprise.

"You're only winning cause I just woke up!"

"Mhm." Callum replied, quickly snatching the pillow away before she could reach it. "I'm not letting go, so you can stop fighting it."

She sighed, relaxing into his arms and resting her head on his shoulder. Her hair, still unruly from sleep, tickled his face.

"Hm. Fine. I do like cuddlin'."

"So do I win then-"

They were interrupted by the door opening, both of their faces tinging bright pink as Runaan stuck his head in.

"Lujanne wanted me to inform you that breakfast-" he broke off, eyes roving over the scene before he let out a long sigh. "Nevermind. You're clearly busy."

He withdrew his head and closed the door before either of them could say anything. Which was probably good, because all they seemed to be able to do afterwards was giggle.

[raayllum]

RAYLLUM S5 MEME:  quotes [1/4] 5x04, “the great bookery”

Rayla, we've been through a lot. And a lot has changed. Well, some things have changed. But... not everything.

[kindlythevoid]

Me, upon receiving one (1) SORTA mean, maybe-off comment out of hundreds of super nice comments that I love, now staring for even MORE hours at the draft of the next chapter I need to write: Well, fuck. Now what? Also Me, .02 seconds later, gritting my teeth and strategizing: Well, I write this fanfic for me. This is my fanfic. People can think what they like. I will take this comment and use it to think of new ways to improve my writing, but I will not internalize it. I write this fanfic for me. This is my fanfic. People can think what they like. I will take this comment and use it to think of new ways to improve my writing, but I will not internalize it. I write this fanfic for ME. This is MY fanfic. People can think what they like--

[blackjackkent]

Rasaad/Jaheira (from Rassad's POV this time) - feeling a flutter after something they've done dozens of times

Karlach/Hector - accidentally referencing them as "my"

Rakha/Wyll - holding hands and that's all they can think of

("What Are We" moment prompts)

Karlach/Hector - accidentally referencing them as "my"

(NGL I really loved and got immediate ideas for all three of these so the others will probably be making an appearance in their own posts soon. XD But we start out with this one bc the idea amused me the most.)

-----

The mountain pass gets terribly cold at night - for everyone except Karlach.

She's always run kind of hot, even back before the Hells ripped her open, but these days it's just a non-issue. At the best of times, the engine keeps her temperature regulated, and with how bad it's chugging right now, it feels like she inhaled burning coal. Double bonus, she thinks with dry black humor. Keeps me warm as fuck and also means I have way bigger problems to worry about.

It must be about two in the morning. Most of the others have already retreated to their tents, and she should really do the same. The engine's feeling real bad tonight, though - it's been getting worse for days. And if she's honest, she doesn't really want to be alone right now.

So she drifts, half-asleep, dozing in the omnipresent heat, against a large rock near the campfire, where she can listen to Shadowheart and Lae'zel - the only others still awake - bickering.

"We should not have wasted our time in the Underdark," Lae'zel is saying sourly, tossing another few sticks onto the fire.

"You can stop complaining," Shadowheart answers. "Based on what that Esther woman said, your creche is practically within spitting distance."

"I begrudge any wasted time," Lae'zel grumbles, "when the threat of a ghaik transformation hangs above us."

"Carlisle listened to you," Shadowheart points out. "You might do well to just accept the victory rather than finding ways to poke holes in it."

"Carlisle is callow at best. Competent enough with his fists, I grant you, but in sore need of guidance."

"Which you can provide out of your wealth of experience," Shadowheart says, with a hint of mocking humor.

Lae'zel audibly bristles at this. "I would see us all survive, istik," she says icily. "I gave him the answer almost at our first meeting and it took him this long to recognize its worth. It was infuriating."

"Mmhmm. And that would of course be why you propositioned him this afternoon in front of all of us in the middle of the roadway," Shadowheart murmurs dryly.

Karlach, half-asleep, stiffens a little, squirming against the rock where she's been slowly drifting off. She was present for this little display of Lae'zel's earlier - and if she's honest, it's probably a big part of why her engine is acting up right now, because Karlach spent the whole conversation vibrating with agitation.

(Which is stupid, right? He doesn't even know how she's starting to feel about him, and even if he *did*, she couldn't touch him, and even if she *could*, he might not want to touch her back. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But still... it stung, watching Lae'zel of all people try to get with him. It was real fucking clear the gith didn't want him for anything more than his body. And hells, Karlach doesn't have room to judge; she was once that twenty-year-old horndog herself, climbing on anything with a pulse.

But Hector... Hector's different. She can tell he is. He wouldn't want a quick fuck. He'd... he'd want to *love* her, properly, like in those romance songs the bards always sing...)

"That was a different matter," Lae'zel says defensively, oblivious to the way Karlach's nearby half-asleep form is starting to incandesce like a candle flame. "The body's satisfaction has no bearing on our practical needs. He would be a convenient outlet, no more."

"I see. How very pragmatic of you," Shadowheart deadpans. "You do know he's a Selunite, right? I'm not sure they even know how."

Lae'zel snorts. "He need only accept, and I would take what we both needed."

"Of course," Shadowheart says in a tone dry as sandpaper. "No accounting for taste. He's not bad to look at, I guess, but personally, I can think of a lot of better candidates for a romp than an old moon-drunk--"

"Hey." Karlach's still half-asleep but her engine is roaring with sudden irritation and the words snap out, slightly slurred, before she even means to speak. "That's my Hector you're talking about. Show some fucking respect." The bit of profanity emerges so sharply that she startles herself, jolting fully awake-- and as she does, she registers the full import of the words she just spoke.

Opening her eyes fully, she finds that Shadowheart and Lae'zel have both turned to stare at her. They make an interestingly asymmetrical tableau, as Lae'zel's eyebrows have hooded tightly down over her eyes, while Shadowheart's have shot to her hairline.

"'Your' Hector?" the cleric asks with visible amusement.

"I--" Karlach can feel herself flushing with embarrassment; luckily it's dark and she's already so red that the others won't be able to tell. Probably. "You know what I mean," she says hastily. "He's our leader. So you should treat him with respect."

She looks at Lae'zel. "You should know this - you're a soldier," she points out, and her voice calms a little on this subject where she's on firmer ground. "Chain of command, right? Morale?"

Lae'zel grunts. "Yes," she says warily. "You speak true."

"Yeah." Karlach nods several times. Her engine is raging with sudden adrenaline and her chest aches with the heat. "So. Y'know. Don't be pricks about it," she adds, just the slightest bit sourly.

Shadowheart is still watching her with a thoughtful expression, and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth - although, to Karlach's surprise, it doesn't seem sarcastic. If anything, she seems rather chastened, and even touched by Karlach's abrupt interjection. "Message received," she says mildly.

"Good." Karlach nods again, and an awkward silence stretches between the three of them. "Fuck," she mumbles, rubbing a hand down her face. "I'm going to bed."

Without waiting for a response, she gets up and trudges in the direction of her tent. It takes several minutes (and several of the calming mantras Hector taught her) before she can actually get her engine under control enough to sleep.

What the fuck was that? she thinks ruefully as she finally stretches out on her bedroll and stares up at the ceiling of the tent. And what was that 'my' business? It had slipped out in her drowsy state so naturally that it had taken a moment to realize it didn't make sense.

Wishful thinking. She sighs. That's all. You should know better than to go down that road and start hoping. Go to sleep, before you make more of a fool of yourself.

[antivanruffles]

❤️ or 💛 for Cassaric?

❤️ first kiss / realization 💛 reunion kiss / relief

.... Why not both?

______________________

It is going to be all right. Everything is going to be all right.

Cassandra repeated it like a mantra.

They had been well prepared for the fight. The Inquisitor's trainer, Kihm, had given them what they needed to complete the task.

So they had been prepared. In theory.

The Pride Demon was expected, as were the wraiths that flanked.

The bear had been a surprise though.

As they stumbled up the path to where the Demon was located, all had been chaos as a bear had managed to get itself involved as well. Cassandra barely remembered much of the fight, everything seemed to have happened so fast.

She did remember being close to the edge of the bluff, the sheer cliff side at her back, and the damned bear charging her instead of the wraith had been attacking it. She also remembered something heavy hitting her side and knocking her off her feet.

Cassandra was dazed as she sprawled on the ground, trying to discern what had happened. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the bear careening off the edge of the cliff, unable to stop itself in time, and a flash of red that she belated realized was Varric.

There had been no time to reach out to try to grab him, only the split second where realization hit and then worry settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach.

She was thankful that the fight was over as the Inquisitor had managed to dispatch the final wraith causing problems. That let her leave and try to and her pick way down the cliff side; the Inquisitor and Dorian not far behind.

It is going to be all right. He is going to be all right.

Cassandra stumbled and slipped her way down, having found a gently worn path several yards back from the point of the bluff and the steepest part of the incline. She circled back around, uncertain and worried for what she would find.

Varric was a heap at the base of the incline. Although he was swearing up a storm so she figured that was a good sign.

"Varric!" she called once she grew close enough.

"I'm here! Oh shit," he swore as he tried to sit up, wincing.

"Is anything broken?" Cassandra sank down beside him, reaching out to check him over for wounds.

He had some superficial cuts and scraps, and probably more bruises than she could count, but over all he looked no worse for the wear.

"All in one piece. You haven't gotten rid of me yet, Seeker." He sat up slowly, favoring his side. He could have broken ribs. Or he could be bleeding internally.

"Seeker, I'm fine," Varric said, and she realized she had been speaking out loud.

"You may feel fine, Varric, but if you hit your head or lost consciousness for even a moment---"

"Cassandra," he said gently, but firm enough to gain her attention. "I'm fine."

She wasn't sure she had ever heard him say her name before. Or if he had, he certainly hadn't ever said it like that. So softly... so fondly. Cassandra looked up at his face then, met his gaze straight on.

He had been incredibly stupid, and beyond reckless... and for what? To save her? She could have easily been the one tumbling over the edge to break a limb or crack open her head.

Then again that could have easily happened to him as well.

"You stupid, dwarf!" She glared at him. "You could have died!"

Varric looked as if she had slapped him. "Well excuse me, next time I'll just let you die instead!"

"Good! I do not wish for you to die, least of all on my behalf!" She felt stricken at the idea of losing Varric; to death or even something less tragic and more mundane. She simply couldn't bear the idea of Varric not being there.

He opened his mouth to argue back or complain or something. Cassandra didn't give him the chance to speak, instead she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward in order to press her lips to his.

The kiss was impulsive and stupid, she knew, but she couldn't regret it. Not when Varric was alive and whole. She didn't intend for the kiss to be anything more than a press of lips, but the moment Varric started to return her kiss all other thoughts went out of her mind.

When they broke apart for air, Cassandra leaned back enough to look him in the eye.

"If you ever die, I will kill you."

"Uh, noted." He laughed and shook his head, incredulous.

Cassandra wasn't entirely sure what else she should say, or if she should apologize? She opened her mouth to say something, but Varric didn't give her the chance.

"Just remember, though, that goes both ways." Then he slipped his hand behind her neck and tugged her down for another kiss.

[weather-mood]

Canon divergence: Louis says no to Lestat in the church.

Aka: Meme-board for Is this too much? 49k. Complete. Sequel in progress.

For ‘canon divergence’ for Saint Louis of the Vieux Carré @iwtvfanevents

[silverskye13]

For the fic writer ask, number 14? :D

14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick?

A Good Ol Fashioned Hell-Raising. A Good Ol Fashioned Hell-Raising.

We are so, so lacking in good modern Westerns with queer rep, that also fall into the "Weird West" genre. I need to see a fire elemental with a rifle and a skeleton with a six-shooter being gay and killing bandits. Also? Imagine the absolute buckwild VFX they could make for the magic?? Goddddd I would love love love to see that in live-action specifically. It'd be like watching Nick Cage's Ghost Rider for the first time all over again. When Sam Elliot got on his flaming horse??? Christ sakes.

Oh whoops. Sorry. Went feral for a second there. I'm back. What happened?

[bunnyinatree]

I was checking my Near and Mikami folder to remind myself which drawings I still want to finish, and I found this gem, which I used to pitch the idea for this fic to a couple of friends! C:

[image ID: an edited version of the presentation meme from Despicable Me. Gru is labeled "Near," and the presentation reads as follows: "I write Mikami's name in the Death Note and use him to produce concrete evidence that Light is Kira; I add a bunch of extra clauses for shits and giggles on the off-chance that the 23-Day Rule is fake; We end up happily married to one another (and we're both aroace)." This last step, of course, causes Near/Gru to do a double take. End image ID.]

[sadaveniren]

How old are you?

As someone who began using the Internet in the early 2000s I learned very quickly/was taught never to share my age, name, or location on the internet and even in this day of social media I still maintain that privacy by not publicly posting my exact age, birthday, legal name, or location✌🏻

[sissytobitch10seconds]

[lenievi]

wip 🤔 & 🛠

🤔 What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

At the moment, it's a Valjean/Javert story set during the Montreuil-sur-Mer era, that's very confusing for both of them because they get entangled (because of fanfic reasons lol) and feelings get involved, and it all feels really good in my head but what are words? How do I turn it into a story? :D Most likely, I will combine it with post-Seine, because I like the idea of them having to untangle the Madeleine era stuff too (especially when they get closer and then Javert just gets angry and petty and turns Valjean in anyway) ... idk it's all very vague because coming up with "but how would they get closer during the Montreuil era is HARD" LMAO But funnily enough, because it's a book with so many adaptations that just do whatever, it feels kind of freeing because I don't feel the pressure to really stay 100% true to the characterization because people who make adaptations don't either, so I kind of hope that trying to write Valjean/Javert fic will be less pressuring than writing Star Trek fics.

🛠 Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I do have a Valjean/Javert wip that's based on Les Misérables 2000 - I just want to use the scene where Javert walks into the Seine, his wrists handcuffed, and I like the dynamic Valjean and Javert have in that series - so far, it's also the only adaptation I've seen that has Valjean talk about Javert after Javert's death (and it also feels that if he got that chance, he would follow Javert and stop him from killing himself, more than others) - but I just can't figure out how to make Valjean take Javert home after Seine because my brain is like, but would he truly? (ofc not, but I want him to, brain!!!! :D idk maybe he should follow Javert to his home instead? 🤔)

[titanbabyeams]

Roy Mustang never fully connected with the concept of ‘giving your daughter away’ until he released her after walking her down the aisle.

Logically, he knows it’s been a long time in the making. He’s seen less and less of his daughter as she’s grown-up but it’s strange to sit at her wedding reception, knowing she’s officially a part of a family he will only have limited contact with. That she will have an entire life separate from him, regardless of how close they are.

He’s okay with that. It doesn’t feel wonderful, no, but he trusts the man his daughter has chosen to marry. A half-Ishvalan, open-minded and extroverted fellow. They dated for five years before even approaching the topic of marriage. Now, at 23, his daughter is married.

“It’s a dry wedding, I can’t even drown my emotions,” Jean bemoans as he worms his way between Roy and an empty chair.

“Sophia isn’t a fan of alcohol,” Roy explains as if Jean doesn’t already know this, “And we do have at least one sober alcoholic in attendance.” Edward Elric’s oldest child, who is currently pretending to cry in a picture with his newly-wed daughter. He’s quite the character but has always been gentle with Sophia.

“Yeah, yeah. How ya feelin’, Chief? Like you’re losin’ her forever?”

“Please.” Roy tears his eyes away from her—clad in traces of Ishvalan culture, blending with a classic white wedding dress—and to his friend. “She still crawls into bed with me if Simeon leaves early enough. I will not be rid of her, even in death.” Roy’s eyes find his daughter again. She’s beautiful, he’s so proud of her.

Jean barks a laugh, good-natured even after everything. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

Sophia laughs at something Winry says to her, and Simeon is at her side grinning along. Roy isn’t sure either of them have stopped smiling this entire time. The reception is exclusive only to close friends and families, and neither of them have slipped from their ‘slightly higher than normal’ cheerful demeanor.

“Have you taken a picture with her?” Roy asks Jean. “A serious one, don’t think I didn’t notice that photo you took with her earlier.”

“Hey, it was Fuery’s idea!” Jean defends, “And Sophie loved it so much, she was the first to pose. We did take a serious photo, thank you very much.”

“Good.” Roy smiles, “Good. As eccentric as they may be, I am sure even they will be glad for some more sentimental photos.”

“I’m not sure the Elrics are physically capable of a serious photo,” Jean reaches onto the table to snag a chocolate mint, popping it in his mouth. “Ya should’ve seen Ed earlier, he’s having more fun with this wedding than his own, I swear.”

“Less stressful that way, I’m sure,” He remarks quietly.

“What was that?” Comes the ever-familiar voice of his dearly beloved.

Roy laughs, somewhat nervously. “Nothing, Dear,” He looks over at Riza, “You look lovely. Did you do your hair today?”

She rolls her eyes—but he can see the smile. He’s won. “Come. Sophia would like pictures with her parents.”

“Wow, Chief,” Jean shakes his head, low and disappointed, “Getting on my case and ya haven’t even taken a photo with her yet.”

“Go fuck yourself, Havoc.” Roy stands and pats his friend’s shoulder as he breaks into laughter again.

He takes his wife’s arm in his own. “How did we get so lucky?” He asks her as they weave around the tables.

“Luck.” Riza pats his arm, “And maybe the tiniest bit of paranoia.”

“Funny.”

Sophia catches sight of them and she brightens, as if she wasn’t already the brightest and most gorgeous person in attendance.

He truly, truly regrets nothing that’s led him to this moment.

[aceofstars16]

I need to get ready for bed but I’m just sitting here thinking about the things I want to write and draw but just…time…🤪

[aparticularbandit]

Monochromatic vs. Technicolor!

WIP Title Game!

SO this is my file name for Fragments of Color!

I started this over a year ago because I wanted to write Harximoff fluff and then got distracted with the mechanics of living in the Hex more than I wanted and then switched to writing Kisses Through The Decades because really I just wanted to write Harximoff fluff.

I'd actually considered it abandoned for the past several months and then went back and read through it and I like the interplay between the mechanics of living in a sitcom and rewrites and reshoots and reruns and how that might play out in terms of real stuff in the Hex (while, you know, Harximoff all the things), so I've been thinking about going back to it.

And by thinking about going back to it, I mean I started writing a bit more in it again.

Which! Snippet below the cut!

There had to have been a Westview before Agnes.

Wanda considers this in her free time, every now and again.  It’s in the first few words Agnes spoke to her – that indicator that Wanda was around while Agnes was avoiding her mother-in-law, that Agnes returned and found she had new neighbors – but….

For all that Agnes speaks of Ralph (mostly as the butt end of a joke, which makes the world echo with peals of laughter that Wanda pretends she can’t hear because it isn’t there, that’s all in her head, and it’s not there either), Wanda can’t believe that she would leave him alone with his mother.  It doesn’t sound like he can quite take care of himself adequately, let alone an entire other person.  Then again, if it was his mother—

There had to have been a Westview before Agnes.

And yet no matter how much Wanda wracks her brain for any memory of it, she can’t find it.  As far back as she can remember, Agnes has always been here, in one form or other, as much a part of her life as the living room couch or the stove top burner that flickers a few times before it alights properly.  It’s soothing.  Comforting, how ever-present Agnes is.  Like having a friend for her entire life—

His name was Pietro, Wanda hears herself saying, even if only to herself.  You’re thinking of Pietro.

Sure, yes, of course, her brother, a full ten minutes older than her, who’d been by her side her entire life, up until—

~

Sometimes, when Wanda thinks of the past, she only sees static.

It’s the craziest thing.

What’s crazier is that other times, instead of seeing static, she hears, Our episodes don’t go back that far, as if she would want to relive any of that!  That’s why she’s here, isn’t she?  So she doesn’t have to—

~

….

What she was thinking was that Agnes’s presence is comforting.