Anonymous asked: 8,17,44 and 96 pls

Oh, yay!  From this ask meme!

8: How often do you listen to music?

CONSTANTLY.  I hate silence, I desperately hate silence, if there isn’t music playing then I’m probably humming, or singing, or talking, or muttering.

17: When was the last time you cried?

Let’s see…about a month ago.  It had been a long day and I’d had a long shift and a creepy dude sat outside my workplace for over two hours staring inside at me and the two girls working with me until we had to call the cops, I have a long and nasty history with creepy dudes who think they have rights to stuff they do not at all have rights to, and that night after I’d managed to get to bed and come down off the adrenaline I cried.  For me it was bursting into hysterical sobs, but for anyone else I think it would have looked like…mildly distressed sniffling.  When I cry, it tends to be extremely quiet with very little in the tears department.  My roommate says I cry like a movie star and that it’s not fair and honestly I don’t know what either of those things mean.

44: What’s the best part about school?

Having stuff to DO, Jesus Christ, I hate sitting around.  Also I shamelessly enjoy feeling like I’m smarter than other people, largely because it’s very rare that I feel like I’m better at anything than anyone, so that’s nice too.  (Insert that one part of Non-Stop here)

96: Don’t lie to me, was the last person you texted attractive?

Uh…the last person I texted, like proper texting, was my mom, soooo?  I mean, yes, my mom is beautiful.  But yeah.  And the last person I texted for a more generous definition of texting was @twistedangelsays and while she is both STUNNINGLY BEAUTIFUL and TOTALLY BRILLIANT, not to mention being my very favorite conductor of light, I am not now and nor have I ever been into her.  Our mutual lack of interest in dating each other is a great complaint of ours, our lives would be MUCH easier if we could just fall in love/lust and get married and never have to deal with dating anymore.

Anonymous asked: *skids in wearing a fake mustache* hey moran! you and your writings are a blessing on this earth and i know that you are incredibly busy, but do you have time to talk about elliot spencer? or leverage in general? thank! *skids out again while refixing the mustache*

ELIOT SPENCER.  THE LOVE OF MY LIFE.

Okay, for those of you poor deprived souls who have NEVER HAD THE PLEASURE OF WATCHING LEVERAGE, here is my rapid-fire pitch: take a hitter, a hacker, a grifter, and a thief, add an ex-insurance agent who hunted them all at one point or another and has a guilt complex that is…well, very Catholic.  Mix with a helping-the-helpless motto, and point at the nearest righteous crusade.  It’s Robin Hood for the modern age.  It is the five-season-long, genuinely enjoyable, never grimdark but always sincere, emotionally wringing show you have looked for.  The characters are a delight, the writing is witty and soulful and real, the women are treated excellently, they have racial diversity, every episode is a whole different flavor of wonderfully wicked glee, and it’s obvious in every moment that everyone involved loved working on it.  The found family feelings spill off the screen.  Here is a pitch, here is a pitch, also here, here is MY pitch, there’s another here, here, here’s a spoilery but super detailed one, here, here, and I could find more BUT THIS IS A LOT ALREADY.  It’s on Netflix, go forth.

Eliot, my hitter darling, I love him so much.  

Okay, like, let’s talk about how devoted he is to the Leverage crew.  Eliot is one of the ones who, quite frankly, does A-OK solo.  He doesn’t need Sophie there to grift, he can do it, he can steal stuff even if he’s not as expert as Parker, having Hardison around is helpful but not mandatory, and, as we see when Nate’s taken out of play in the Zanzibar Marketplace Job, Eliot’s a good enough tactician to wing it successfully.  Like.  He’s fine on his own, maybe even more fine than Parker or Hardison, who are a little hit or miss on the others’ fields of expertise.  He’s there because these are his people and he is going to take care of them.  It’s all about taking care of his people.  And I think the thing about Eliot is that that’s always been a part of him, one he’s had to throttle into nothingness for years.  The mercenary life doesn’t lend itself to emotional connections, and for Eliot, who–even if he’s gruff and irritable about it–loves his people with his whole self, that must have been a very lonely life.  Trust no one, because they might be hired to kill you tomorrow.  Love no one, because they might sell you out to the highest bidder.  Be alone, be safe, keep everyone more than arm’s length away and watch for the glint of a knife or the press of a gun.  Touch nothing but the object of the mission, let nothing touch you.  

And then…and then he meets the Leverage crew–only, they’re not the Leverage crew yet, they’re four people hired for a job.  Four, Eliot has to admit, brilliant people, even if they’re all their own unique flavor of bonkers.  And then one of them’s holding him at gunpoint, and then a building is blowing up and he’s pushing them ahead of him out of a building, and let me ask you something.  Do you think he knew, then?  With the fire at his back and his hand in Hardison’s shirt as he dragged him to his feet?  Do you think he had a moment of clarity, running out of that building, or waking up in the hospital, where he knew that his carefully constructed walls–cold and hard and strong as diamond, be alone, be safe–were already down?  

I do.  I think he sat there, handcuffed to a chair with ink on his fingers and Nathan motherfucking Ford out cold in the bed beside him, and wondered when it happened.  Because he pushed Parker ahead of him–Parker, who had pointed a gun at him and lived anyway–and he dragged Hardison along and he made sure Nate was outside.  And it wasn’t a job, he can’t tell himself that, because he wasn’t getting paid.  He just…had a moment of weakness, he tells himself.  He never believed in collateral damage, it’s sloppy, it’s messy, so he avoided it.  He might still need them to get his paycheck from Dubenich.  It’s okay, he’s fine.

I think he might have convinced himself of that right up until they each get a check pressed into their hands by Hardison, a huge check, a go legit and buy an island check.  And then…and then they walk away and for the first time in a lot of years, Eliot thinks I don’t want to go.  And for the first time in a lot of years, he realizes that maybe he doesn’t have to go, and he comes back.  From the very beginning, he comes back, because he’s been a hitter and a hunter and a killer for so, so long, and maybe this is a chance to be a protector instead.  Maybe this is a chance to reach back in time a little and find some scrap of that kid with a flag on his shoulder, who believed in what he was doing.

Maybe this is a chance to have a family.

Anonymous asked: I saw you were doing mini fics for Marvel and I thought you mentioned something about being a huge X-Men nerd in the past. Any chance you could write something short and fluffy for Kitty and Colossus? If not I totally understand but!!! Yeah!!!

All right, let’s fucking GO, Kitty/Piotr is everything to me, the dearth of fic is painful.  Pertinent details are as follows.  Movie-verse (and honestly FUCK the whole Kitty/Bobby plot, I do what I want) because otherwise this is gonna be obscure as shit.  Timeline: right after the mansion is stormed by Stryker in the second movie, after Logan orders Piotr to get as many kids out as possible.  For reference, he does, and takes as many students as he can get his hands on out into the forest, per the novelization.  We’re going to pretend that they actually cast someone Russian for Piotr.  Canon ages, so Kitty’s 16, Piotr’s 20.

Kitty sighed and leaned back against the tree, wishing that she could slide down to the ground.  It was dark outside, especially almost a mile into the forest behind the mansion, and the adrenaline was making her hands tremble.  She just…wanted to sit for a while, or go back to sleep and wake up from this nightmare.  But, of the ten students she’d managed to get out, she was the only one who was a full member of the team, and the others needed her to be an X-Man.  

“Shadowcat?” Rahne asked, tugging gently on her sleeve.  Her eyes flashed in the moonlight, tossing back the glow like something wild.  “Are you a'right?”

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Mulan means a lot to me, okay

When I was a little kid, Disney’s Mulan was one of my very favorite movies (between that and my unwavering love for Robin Hood, a lot of my current personality traits should be easy to guess).  And there were a lot of reasons, not least of which are:

a) the gorgeous animation (the avalanche, the smoke, the fire, it’s just so incredible);

b) the music (LET’S GET DOWN TO BUSINESS); and

c) Mulan, come on guys, it’s a girl who cheats her way into the army and becomes a hero even when no one–not even herself–believes in her, you had to know that was going to be my JAM.

But…like…it was also one of my favorite love stories (I also really love Beauty and the Beast, which will get its own rant someday), which I recently discovered is not a standard opinion.  A lot of people spend a lot of time making smart remarks about Shang’s gay crisis.  And…this might have just been me, but the change between Ping/Mulan never struck me as the pertinent part of the relationship.  I figured that, yeah, Shang was 100% Here For That even though Ping was his subordinate and therefore off-limits.  And then I figured that Shang was still 100% Here For That after watching Mulan dismantle a palace and light a warlord on fire, with the added bonus that she wasn’t his subordinate.  So my assessment was that Shang was in love with the person, the earnest but slightly awkward person who almost flunked out of the army and specializes in haphazard plans based on blowing shit up and looks startled whenever people like them.  And since he was in love with the person, his anger was because that person lied to him, not because that person had a different set of bits than he’d originally assumed, and his interest was in the person, not in their face or their clothes.

And that meant a lot to me as a kid for reasons that I wasn’t really sure how to articulate.

Here’s the thing.  I am conventionally fairly attractive, through a combination of good genes and good fortune, and I recognize the inherent advantage that entails.  I’m not a show-stopper or anything, but my features are symmetrical and my skin is usually clear and…well, to be honest, the triple-D cup size means that the rest of that stuff almost doesn’t matter.  My shoulders are too broad to look like a pinup and I’m too short to look leggy and curvaceous and I’m too curvy to be ‘petite’, but I did okay on the physical end of the spectrum.  I could probably understand if someone came up and asked to buy me a drink or something.  I consistently cannot understand when someone shows interest, romantic or otherwise, in me once I’ve opened my mouth.  You know the running joke of ‘well I’m not stopping traffic but at least I have a good personality’?  Yeah, my assessment of myself is the exact opposite.  None of my self-esteem issues related to the way I look, they’re all about the person who lives under my skin.

And Mulan is pretty, she’s lovely, no one questions that, she doesn’t ever seem to question that.  But she always looks surprised when people like her, and she tries so hard to act the way people expect her to act, and she looks ready to take punishment for acting outside the expectations, even when she’s been killing armies and slaying warlords and saving emperors.  I like to think she’s like me: she knows the skin is pretty, but she’s terrified that the person underneath isn’t lovable.  And then she goes to the army and breaks laws and dishonors her family.  And she makes friends who risk their lives for that person, and she gains respect for that person, and Shang falls in love with that person, and it’s all done on that person’s merits, whether you want to call that person Mulan or Ping or whatever, not on the merits of how pretty her face is or how busty she is or how elegant or well-mannered she can act.

And…that meant a lot to me as a scared, damaged kid.  It means a lot to me, now, currently, in my differently scared, differently damaged almost-adult self.  I probably haven’t made a lot of sense here, come to think of it.  If you persevered all the way to the end, I tip my hat to you.