#librarians-leverage fusion au

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by @rngaredead :)

For simplicity's sake I'm going to go with just my biDEMONium/trentcrimminallybeautiful ao3 and not try to combine it with my thesorrowoflizards one (why do i have more than one? because i was, among other things, an idiot who didn't know how pseuds worked next question) even though that would probably double some of these numbers lkfjgh

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Again, just on this account? 171 (some of those are oneshot compilations though)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

661,851 for now

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Ted Lasso, The Mysterious Benedict Society, The House on the Cerulean Sea, House MD, Death by Dying, Instinct, King Falls AM. Also, sort of Gravity Falls. Mostly those first two though, tbh. This one I think I will include other fandoms I've written and posted for on other accounts because it's fun and less about math. So also Shadowhunters, The Librarians, The Mentalist, The Dresden Files (TV), Roswell New Mexico, The Sandman, Star Trek, Professor Layton, Sanders Sides, Miraculous Ladybug, and sort of The Legend of Zelda. Also see, for unposted or posted a very long time ago and no longer something I would willingly share, Supernatural, Dirk Gently (both 2016 and 2010), Doctor Who, Warehouse 13, SurrealEstate, Person of Interest, Haven, Leverage, Bones. Psych, and probably more

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Ted Lasso Kisses Trent Crimm On The Mouth (Trent/Ted - 1,157 kudos)

semaphore (Trent/Ted; Trent & Colin - 997 kudos)

off the handle (Trent/Ted - 736 kudos)

linger (Trent/Ted - 709 kudos)

a preacher, a bikini, and a kiss or two (Trent/Ted; Diamond Dogs - 673 kudos)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to but I always get really busy/tired and then it's been so long it feels like it would be weird if I did. Plus, sometimes my answers by nature of the comments can get repetitive and then even though I'm being sincere I feel insincere which sucks. However, if a comment has a direct question or something I actually have like, something unique to say about, I'm much more likely to respond sooner rather than later/never. I appreciate every single comment soooo much though literally my motivation to get through the day like 80 percent of the time

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm going to stick with Ted Lasso fics here since I have so many fics posted and this is my Ted Lasso sideblog and say... well, most of the time I have a bittersweet ending and then some sort of hopeful epilogue (such as with ink sunset and make a mess of you) but I guess betrayal's sting / absolution's balm or something to get off my chest may qualify?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uhhh, honestly, most of them are happy endings. I think trick & treat and matters of the heart end on particularly high notes?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not in this fandom! Yet

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh, yeah, baby. So much. Not sure what "kind" means in this context. It sure is explicit smut. I have tended almost exclusively towards hot transgender sex the last few years because. yknow. hi. but somehow I don't think that's the intention in the question.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do, but I haven't posted a lot. Only one on this account (a Gravity Falls x The Mysterious Benedict Society crossover that started as a joke because of a shared actress) although I had an interesting Shadowhunters x The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess fusion on my other account. I've written some pretty weird WIPs, though. And I've got some posts about Ted Lasso crossover/AUs, like a Sarah Jane Adventures AU, a Pushing Daisies AU, a Stardust AU... You can find that kind of thing in this tag on my blog.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. Not in this fandom, though, as far as I'm aware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Again, not in this fandom, though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Oh, man, I don't know if I can decide. Magnus/Alec (TV version only I'll die on this hill) will always hold a special place in my heart, but I've got other "obsessed with this when I was a kid" ships and also recency bias/current hyperfixation means Trent/Ted screams as an immediate answer, and so on and so forth. I'm bad at picking favorites. Overall, I'd probably say one of those two, or both.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Sticking to Ted Lasso again (I have. so many MBS WIPs. god.) I'd say lost sight of (who you are) (lost motivation, want to finish, fuck!!) or sweeter than heaven (hotter than hell) (got mad at it), or!! oh!!! ink sunset (stuck) and possibly the next installment of matters of the heart. Yeah, I have a problem

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty good at being funny and also at eloquent but perhaps a little too verbose metaphors. I love me an elaborate metaphor

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

It's hard for me to focus and get what I have in my head out sometimes, even when I really want to. Whether it's being unable to organize or just my brain flat-out refusing to cooperate and do anything. Also, I'm way too like. easily discouraged with lack of feedback, and even a little negative feedback can kind of ruin my week and make me never wanna go back to that story ever again.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I just realized. The questions seemed familiar but I wasn't sure why and now I know, now that I've gotten to this question. I have done this game before and I remember bc of this question. I was confused bc it was under a different name, I think the questions were in a different order, and it was sometimes slightly differently worded but nope! This is the same one! Weird Anyway, just for this particular question, I'm going to copy-paste my old answer because I'm lazy. I’m extremely bad at linguistics in general, so if I must include someone talking in another language in my fic, I think I’d tend to cheat and do italics or some other indication that this is ‘in another language’ (ie “Where are you going?” she asked in Russian), but that’s admittedly a lazy approach. But I also think it’s probably better than butchering it with an auto-translator? Also, when people just include the translation in the end notes, even with a link (although that makes it marginally better) it breaks the flow of the story and makes it hard to read. Making an effort to at least match grammar is good (which I would do if it was for longer than a single scene, probably) but I think the best solution is when people know what they’re doing and like, have an actual translation with a little html code so you can click on it and it reveals what it means? Or if you’re clever, revealing what it means using context around it, but that has its own limitations. So that both like, uses the actual language and doesn’t break up the flow. It balances accessibility, flow, and respect for the other language in question well. But you’ve got to both know what you’re doing with the language (either asking someone/hiring someone/knowing the language yourself) and the html (although there are guides for that you’d have to spend time figuring it out + know it exists in the first place to look). And this is fanfiction, something we ultimately do for free in our spare time, so the lazy approach, I think, can be understandable. Maybe not in every context, but it’s not worth stressing a lot over in a few random lines or anything, you know? It is really cool when people do know a language well enough to include it properly in a fic, though, it can say a lot about a character or dynamic; and their background(s) and like. it’s neat :)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Ever? Doctor Who. And I don't remember the order, but after that I know I wrote some stuff about Star Trek (mostly TNG but I believe also TOS), Supernatural, A:LTA, Marvel, WTNV, and the Stanley Parable? I think I first posted either Supernatural or WTNV

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I have no idea. Some of my top ones (for Ted Lasso again) would be matters of the heart and trick & treat I suppose?

Tagging: whoever wants to do this man, I probably tagged everyone I'd normally tag last time so if you see this and you wanna do it, go ahead and tag me and do it!

[benjaminrussell]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @may-be-magic

How many works do you have on AO3? 185

What’s your total AO3 word count? 553,811

What fandoms do you write for? I've written allsorts, but the most recent ones are 911, 911 LS, Ted Lasso, and Bodies

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? These Are My Stompin' Grounds, This Is How You Bring Me Back to Life, Are You Listening?, Caught in the Crossfire, Hold It Steady

Do you respond to comments? Yes, although I struggle to think of replies sometimes

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? And the End of the World - because MCD

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I'm not sure one specifically stands out tbh

Do you get hate on fics? Not normally

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I have written a few fics

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Yes, although they tend to be more fusion than actual crossovers. Legit crossovers wise, I wrote a Leverage/Legends of Tomorrow fic?

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of

Have you ever had a fic translated? No

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Talked about it but not actually done so

What’s your all time favorite ship? Me/Not having to pick faves XD

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? A Librarians fic focused on Ezekiel/OMC which was going to be a paired fic with one my friend was writing about Cassandra sacrificing herself for The Library

What are your writing strengths? I think maybe coming up with fun/out there ideas and AUs?

What are your writing weaknesses? I often struggle with my mind going blank and I'm not very fast

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Go for it, but best to get it checked by someone who speaks the language if you don't.

First fandom you wrote for? I think it was Ricstar (Marvel)?

Favourite fic you’ve written? Probably Wake the Dead or Welcome to Texas, Ma'am as the two longest

Tagging anyone who wants to do this!

[princesssarcastia]

Cassandra Cillian: Hitter

this is titled “you don’t have to be a ghost here amongst the living” because I was going through a F+TM phase when I started writing it.  

remember like, a year and a half ago when I planned out a librarians-leverage fusion (and also a leverage-librarians fusion?) because I do!  And I finished the first bit.  

here’s 3k of not!fic about how Cassandra Cillian starts down the road to being a legend. 

              ________________________________________________________

my first concrete though when I started daydreaming about this was “oh my god Cassandra is the hitter”

no, really

I blame the apple of discord episode. her analysis of force needed to kick ass and take names and initiate a nuclear meltdown makes her perfect.  utterly ruthless, just hiding under a cutesy facade instead of Eliot’s dumb-hick one

with the tumor in her head ticking down, down, down to zero, her self-preservation is pretty low.  not necessarily in a death wish way, not yet.  but when she fights there’s no holding back, and no fear of what the other person can dole out.  what could they possibly do to her that she isn’t already doing to herself?  death looks like Cassandra Cillian staring in the mirror.

I’m willing to negotiate about anything else you find here but this.  in this house we stan Cassandra as the hitter in the leverage fusion au.

all this begs the question, of course: how does sweet cinnamon roll math geek Cassandra Cillian become a mean lean recently reformed killing machine?  and this is where our story begins.

Cassandra Cillian is a teenager who’s just been told she’ll never see the other side of 35.  there’s a tumor sitting in her brain sending her senses haywire, giving her visions that break down every aspect of the world around her to the smallest components.  math isn’t just like breathing, anymore: it’s her heartbeat.  even though its killing her, she can’t help but enjoy it a little. and it’s not just math.  everything around her is worth noticing, studying, learning.  the doctors are calling it hyper-vigilance, like her new fascination with her surroundings is just a way to channel all her rage and grief into something she can control; like since she can't cut her death out of her brain she’s going to make damn sure that nothing else gets to get near her without her consent.

they’re probably right, but she’s not going to admit that. all she knows is that the way her senses are linked to each other and her visions, there’s not a goddamn thing going on around her she doesn’t notice and catalogue immediately.

the next step, of course, is her shitty parents.  when they hear the news it’s like Cassandra’s already dead.  they take away her trophies, all those shiny pieces of proof that she was worth something, that mom and dad were proud of her sometimes, gone.   the pair of them loved their dreams for their daughter more than the person she was, and those dreams had just been crushed.  they pull her out of school, because her visions were “a disruption to the other students”

no one needs the crazy dying chick breaking down in the middle of calculus crying with a nosebleed, apparently.

maybe she could have lived with this.  maybe, in another life, another world, she could have buried all of her hopes and dreams deep inside herself and forgotten about it, until a man and a woman burst into the hospital looking to save her life (oh, the irony). this is not that world.

instead Cassandra gets furious.  

how dare they decide her whole life is over just because this tumor is going to cut it short.  how dare they take away everything they said made her special: her grades, her stem fairs, her college applications. no; no, they don’t get to do this.

so she runs away.  seventeen years old and in the wind.  fine.  if they won’t help her live her life, she’ll do it on her own.

she lands in Boston eventually.  crossing state lines helps confuse jurisdiction over her missing persons case, if her parents even decide to file a police report.  hiding in a larger city decreases her odds of being found, because cities are big places. easy to get lost in, to find a job in, and everyone seems to have a rule about asking questions.

where in Boston, you might ask, does Cassandra end up staying? where does she work?

well, funny story, actually

She ends up working at John McRory’s Place

god this is so long I'm sorry

it turns out mob bars don’t ask too many questions about why a just-18 young woman with no emergency contact needs a job.  Cassandra just gives them her bright, fake smile and says she's applying for classes at the local college and means to pay her own way.  they respect her secrets and her work ethic, and voila! a job busing tables and occasionally manning the bar when the owner has special customers to see to in the back room

her bright red hair and Irish heritage don’t hurt, either

it’s not an Ivy League school, nothing like what she imagined her future would be a year ago, but it’s something, which is more than she’d be getting at home.  all it took was a request for records from her old high school, some placement exams to confirm her genius level intellect, and the college was giving her a spot in their line of incoming freshmen.  

even with merit scholarships, tuition is a bitch to pay for.  it gets worse once she has another attack and needs some of her funds to go to the hospital bills, and the drugs the doctors there prescribe her.

Cassandra expects her boss to kick up a fuss at all that time missed, but he waves her off with a kind smile and says she can take all the time she needs to get back on her feet, because he’s never had someone so smart working for him before (she helps out with the accounts for the bar, sometimes)

one night after she starts back to work, it’s late, and the bar is empty of everyone except the Irish.  they’ve taken over the pub and the territory surrounding it.  Cassandra is cleaning up, closing down the unused tables and being as unnoticeable as she can

because let’s face it, she is not stupid.  by now, she knows exactly what’s going on here.  and maybe before it would have bothered her more, maybe her principles and respect for the rules would have had her out the door.  but she needs this job so she can continue her classes and pay rent on the space above the bar (which she’s getting at a discounted rate), and pay for her pills and the occasional overnight in the hospital.  besides, the owner is kind, even if his friends aren’t quite so nice, and his little girl is adorable.

anyway.  the Irish are here, letting off steam and worried, because their “accountant” just got put in jail.  everyone in the Family is prepared to play patsy, but losing an enforcer is nothing compared to losing the guy who keeps track of their money, their lifeblood.  those people aren't a dime a dozen, and pretty soon the Irish won’t have two nickels to rub together if they don't find someone new fast.

and cassandra just.  pauses.  just for a moment.  glances up to meet old McRory’s eyes behind the bar, just for a minute.  because.... she could do that.  Cassandra started balancing her father’s accounts for him when she was twelve, and they were hardly middle class: the Cillian’s had money in savings, but also tied up in investments and stock, and assets, too.  but that was nothing to her mind.  she could do it in her sleep near the end. hell, she’s been helping John with the bar’s funds for two months now, and not all of their revenue was clean , but she kept her mouth shut then and made the numbers work.

John wasn’t exactly a member of the Family, but he was a, a Friend of the Family.  so when she nods at him, I can do it, I need the money, just give me a chance, he casually picks up a glass to clean and mentions that she’s got a head for numbers, if they’re really that desperate

they are.

they take her to Callaghan, and he might be a little charmed by her bubbly smile and her red hair, but what really gets him is the way it takes her thirty minutes to decipher the codes the old accountant used for the ledgers, balance them out, shift funds between businesses and make sure to account for the statistical probability of amounts of cash-paying customers they can make up for car washes, bars, laundry mats, mattress firms, and movie theaters.  

that’s how she becomes the numbers guy for the Irish mob.  

Cassandra was never going to be Eliot, running away to the military with god in her heart and a flag on her shoulder and becoming disillusioned with doing dirty work for her country.  she needed to get slowly pulled into the criminal underworld.  I figured Irish mob was a good way as any to start, and what better way to pull her into that then math?

she spends some time doing that.  becoming more and more involved.  and she’s cute, like a little puppy, so the others like her.  enough to maybe give her a few self-defense lessons, because this is a dangerous life she’s leading now.

they go...okay??  taking care of her body is one of the first things the doctors recommended to her when she started getting sick, so she’s already in pretty good shape.  It’s just the basics at first; keep your thumb outside your fist, always go for the throat first—Cassandra calculates that three fingers-width above the hollow in a person’s throat would be the best place to strike, because then their voice box gets damaged, too.  

None of the lessons ever go much further than that, because these are brawlers who prefer to use a gun to send a message.  Sometimes the way they move when they show her something tickles the back of her brain, like there’s more to uncover there, but she can’t figure it out until the first time a brawl breaks out in the bar

Two of their patrons start throwing punches right in front of her and suddenly their movements are all angles: she catalogues their weight and height and how drunk they are and how much force they’re putting behind their swings and just…neatly steps out of the way, perfectly avoiding getting elbowed in the face. This…this has never happened before.  But, like everyone always says: there’s math in everything.  Even fighting—especially fighting.

When it looks like the two men are going to start breaking chairs, she hesitates for a moment, but…the knee is a hinge joint.  Thirty pounds of pressure pushing it the wrong way will snap it; twenty-five will seriously damage the attached ligament.  She blinks. Steps up to the closest one.

He’s on the floor before John can make the corner of the bar, screaming his head off, and the other guy is backing away with wide eyes, shocked sober by fear.  Cassandra pulls back, letting her right foot settle behind her and point away from them, and balances on the balls of her feet for a moment.

John gives her a startled look, because she’s never done something like that before. Someone calls the guy’s friends to pull him up off the floor and drive him to the hospital

She grabs a rag to wipe up the mess they made of the counter and thinks.  Because that felt…good.  Really good. Using her hallucinations to dosomething, to affect the real world, gave her a rush of adrenaline and satisfaction.  Not just theory, like in her classes, but real application of the way she sees the world.

Like any good academic, she does her research (in her mind, this is ostensibly still for self-defense—just in case something like that bar fight happens again.  She ignores the giddy little voice in her head talking about how much fun this will be).  Her upper-body strength isn’t great, so something that uses joints and core muscles would be best.  Her size is a disadvantage, too: she can’t afford to go to the ground grappling with someone twice her height and weight.  She’s not looking to compete in a tournament, and she can’t afford to buy any equipment.  The best technique for her will probably be Krav Maga.  (For now, the excited voice in her head whispers)

Her search turns up a little studio on the west side of town that teaches Krav Maga to women for self-defense.  Perfect. The instructor, Miriam Epstein, was a course instructor for the IDF for twenty years before she immigrated to America and got certification from the KMAA.

Cassandra goes to observe a class before she signs up, and the moment she steps through the door her brain is set alight:  everything she sees goes a deep, brilliant hue of scarlet, finding the angles of their feet and arms and their centers of mass based on weight and height; herfoot is seven centimeters too far to the right and that strike would give hermore leverage if she moved three centimeters up from the elbow.  She has to stop for a moment to breathe and process all the information her brain displays in front of her.

That becomes the hardest part: not the constant exhaustion, or the bruises everywhere, or her aching muscles, but the overwhelming flow of information about body movements and the correct place to strike.

She is tired, though; working at the bar takes time, if not mental energy, and her classes take both. Add in balancing the ledgers for Callaghan and now these lessons twice a week, and the exercise she does on her own to keep up, and her schedule is completely full.

The Irish start letting Cassandra layer their funds, obscuring where the extra profits in their businesses came from.  Turns out she’s pretty good at that, too, though it’s not like it’s hard given they own a bank in Boston.  Loans are a great way to integrate funds, and their interest rates are always better than the next three competitors.  She tries not to think about the other differences, how the people she’s working for go to collect that debt.  

Construction is another great way to hide their funds, and from what Cassandra can tell from watching the stock market (which is considerably more than most people) real estate is on the rise.  When she carefully suggests that Callaghan try investing more money in that area, he actually listens to her.  Puts her theories and calculations into practice because he trusts her to be right.  

It feels almost as good as tearing that man’s quadriceps tendon.  Practical applications, she muses.  Sometimes she lets herself wonder how it would feel to take her theories all the way down the rabbit hole

Meanwhile, it only takes her four months to move to P2 in Krav Maga.  The average time spent practicing moves for each level is six months; she’s learning 33% faster than that.  Her muscles are adjusting better than she expected, and her skin stops bruising as easily, but she suspects she’ll always tire quicker than everyone else.

Miriam pulls her aside after class one day and asks why she hesitates so much when they practice moves on each other.  Nothing but the lightest sparring, of course, and nothing dangerous.  But Cassandra can’t turn her brain off, and now that she’s starting to learn the more painful moves, she can’t help but see them every time she stands across from someone.  (thirteen pounds of pressure at 125 degrees from her back to hyperextend her arm; plant your foot six inches from her spine and pull to dislocate her shoulder; 3,300 newtons of pressure delivered at 1.5 seconds would have a 25% chance of cracking her rib and sending a fragment into her lungs.  All this would take less than thirty seconds)

None of this makes it past her lips, but she thinks maybe Miriam can see it in her eyes.  We’re moving on to fighting armed opponents next week, she says, maybe you’ll feel more comfortable with that than basic strikes and take-downs.  She taps the side of her head in farewell and Cassandra tastes copper and sees the spot on her temple where the cranial bone is weakest; a quick jab with the second knuckle of her index finger extended could put her on the ground.  Shaking her head, she dislodges the scarlet diagram and shoves down the curious voice of, but you could do it, you could actually do it.

In another four months she’s at P3, and Callahan is actively seeking out her opinion about investments because she’s been right every time.  

Another four months and she’s almost 20 years old.  She’s almost gotten her degree in mathematics, somehow, even though she can’t qualify as a full-time student.  Part of it is the half-ton of college credit built up during high school, part of it is testing out of a third of their program when they wanted to place her, and the rest is just her ruthless pursuit of academia.  

Her attacks don’t become less frequent, or less powerful, but Cassandra still feels better.  Maybe it’s because she’s actually living her life on her own, even if it isn’t what she thought it would be; even if what she’s doing is wrong.  Because not only is she learning more, but she’s usingit.  She’s using her brain to dothings and affecting the world around her instead of just living in it. No matter what happens, no matter how much she changes in the years to come, she’ll treasure that.

Enter Lamia, stage right

See, Dulaque is Damian Moroe; boogeyman and semi-god of the criminal underworld.  You can’t spend more than six months involved with dirty money without hearing about the man who bankrolls terrorists and buys countries to launder his money through. He’s a legend, untouchable.

Almost as infamous is his right-hand woman, Lamia.  A trained killer with no hint of a past before she showed up as Dulaque’s chief…well, he’s too classy for the word enforcer, and so is she.  But if they were anyone else, that’s what she’d be. As it is, just a whisper of her name will send some grown men running to give up whatever she wants in exchange for safe passage.

And see, Dulaque has caught wind of the irish mob’s sudden financial success and wants to know how it’s happening.  Take advantage of it if it’s luck, invest in it if it’s skill, and perhaps recruit whatever or whoever is responsible into his own enterprise.

Lamia doesn’t always like to trade on her name, though, so she comes to Boston quietly, and investigates how the Irish are doing so well—not just in the American markets anymore

(Callahan called his friends in the old country and told them about the redheaded accountant with a genius-level intellect who could analyze the stock markets to a T; suddenly Cassandra had a whole lot more to balance than a few local business and investments. Suddenly, she’s the lodestone to an entire financial criminal empire that’s only growing.  And that little voice in the back of her head sighs in contentment as her reach extends, her area of effect getting bigger and bigger. Whenever the air in front of her lights up blue and smells like oranges, she smiles a little and hums, because this feels right.  Follow the money and see where it leads, all the way down)

It doesn’t take long before she finds John McRory’s place, where a petite little redhead still waits tables and occasionally mans the bar; locks up more often than not, now, because her place is right upstairs.

There are a couple ways she can do this.  She can go from the top down, approach Callahan and demand to speak with the girl. She can have her brought directly to Dulaque, where he can make an intimidatingly persuasive offer the girl won’t be able to refuse.  Or…

Her eyes are rather striking, in the warm light of the bar.  

After Lamia finds Cassandra Cillian, she spends another week watching her, and the girl is interesting.  Balancing all that money, layering and incorporating it in three different countries and seven different cities, would be too much for any one person.  And yet she seems to slot all that work neatly into her afternoon, after her classes at the local college and before her shift starts at the bar.  What really draws her attention, though, is that little studio she visits twice a week for “defense lessons.”  

Krav Maga is brutal and straightforward, a beautiful Frankenstein of a martial art that takes the easiest parts of a handful of the others and sharpens them into something dangerous.

Lamia sits in on one of the sessions.  The instructor she immediately pegs as former military, that’s a very distinctive stance, but the way the girl holds herself…now that, that’s something to watch out for.

P3 after less than a year of training is impressive, but not unusual enough to matter.  What matters is the way the girl locks her eyes onto the instructor while she demonstrates a move, all cold and calculating; the way her gaze flickers over her sparing partner’s feet, hands, arms, shoulders, hips, like she’s finding every angle and weak spot there is to be found.  

Finally, Lamia smiles as she hesitates just before moving into action.  Oh, that look.  Not fear of her opponent; fear of herself.  And buried beneath it, a bone-deep desire and curiosity. Ah, she thinks.  Gotcha.

Cassandra is smarter than probably everyone Lamia has ever met, so there won’t be any straight-up conning her into what she wants, and that visit to the hospital had been unfortunately enlightening, because threatening probably won’t work either.

Dulaque, she knows, will want the girl’s head for numbers.  And he’ll get it.  But perhaps if Lamia asks very nicely, he’ll let her keep Cassandra to herself for a little bit and show her what she could really be capable of.  A little push, someone to tell her it’s okay to crave that violence, and Lamia can have danger thrumming under her skin right next to those numbers in her brain.

She waits until the class is over, nods to the instructor, and walks up to her.  Cassandra squints at her face for a moment, but it isn’t long before a bright and surprisingly genuine smile breaks out.  “Hi!  You know, you look really familiar.”

Lamia smiles; it’s more of a smirk, really.  Lying is a bad idea, so, “I think you work at that bar I was in the other night.  What was it…”

“McRory’s?”

“Oh, yes, that’s it.  I was kind of surprised to see you here, actually, you don’t really seem the type.”

“Well, knowing how to defend yourself is important!”  God, everything about her is bright and bubbly, isn’t it?  It begs the question how much of that is real, and how much is a front, a persona.

“Anyway.”  Lamia holds out her hand.  “Lamia.”

“Cassandra.”  The girl takes it, and she makes sure to grip her hand warmly.

“Cassandra,” she rubs her thumb over the back of her hand and curls her lips.  When she leans forward, Cassandra does, too.  Neither of them lets go.  “Have a drink with me.” Not a question, not a demand.

Her eyes focus intently on Lamia’s, something like real happiness lingering around her mouth. “Yes.”

And so it goes.

[echo-bleu]

Writing thoughts: October 2019 (Whumptober) 1

Since this wasn’t a regular months as I did Whumptober, I’m going to split this into two parts: this one for the regular writing thoughts, a general look at what I wrote this month and where I’m going entering November, and the second specifically about the experience that was Whumptober.

Let’s dive in. So I wrote and posted 28 fics this month, almost one a day. That’s 74k, which is pretty good! I reached 100k words of RNM fics a few days ago too.

Roswell NM Fandom

Power Through: I posted only one chapter this month and didn’t write anything new, for obvious reasons. But it’s still going strong in my head. I have one more chapter finished, and will get back to writing it this month.

As of yet unnamed Leverage AU: For Whumptober day 26, I posted a sort of prequel to it, that come just before the beginning of the story proper, Peel back the dark. I don’t have anything more written, but I have a pretty solid idea of where I want to go.

Lines of Fear and Blame series: I posted two new parts during Whumptober, which makes it four. I intended to post a fifth part for the prompt Trembling, but I realized that I wouldn’t do justice to the themes I want to get into (suicide ideation and self-harm) in just one day, so I decided to wait. I want to take my time with this one and do it right.

I have a bunch of new series and AUs that I may or may not come back to as well. Stains is complete in my mind, but I wouldn’t be against writing glimpses of Alex and Michael’s life in the time gap between the first parts and Ink Stains, or maybe afterwards. All Of You is an ongoing series that can welcome more Established Malex fun and fluff. RNM Teen Camp AU could be continued, if I find an idea I like. The three fusions I wrote a glimpse of, Impossibility (Hogwarts), By The Sword (Musketeers) and Wandering in our heads (Sense8) could be developed, if anyone is interested and if I start daydreaming about them again.

Other projects include: A pod squad+neuro/queerness exploration in vignettes, a post-season 1 movie night at Alex’s, a possible thing where Alex visits a comatose Jesse in the hospital every day and ends up talking at him, and an AU where Alex calls Michael from the hospital after losing his leg.

So there’s a lot of possibilities there. I’m a bit burnt out, but my imagination is still active ;)

The Gifted fandom

Ouch. I’ve been getting away from the fandom more and more (not that there is a fandom anymore) and obviously I was busy this month, so I got nothing. I didn’t write a word. I’m so sorry.

I still have about one chapter and a half of The Underground that aren’t posted, but I’d have to get back into it before posting. On All We Stand To Lose, I have very little. I also meant to have a look at the World sequels I started to write to see if anything is near publishable, and I will. Just...I don’t know when. Hopefully soon. The Underground is still very much dear to my heart, so I don’t want to abandon it, but I’m clearly much slower writing it.

Leverage/The Librarians fandom

I don’t think anyone here really cares, and it’s not like I have much to show. Just wanted to say that I still mean to post stuff from the Every Chance We Get AU. I have a lot written, but it’s very far from linear, and every time a part is written, I realize that I need to post another one first so it makes sense. But I’ll get there eventually.

For November

Last year I did the NaNo on all of my projects, just as a word count. It jumpstarted me into writing everyday, and I’m very grateful for that. This year though, I’ve found my rhythm, I already write a lot and keep a word count, and obviously I’ve reached and passed 50k this month. As for doing it on one project, well I don’t want to put everything else aside. Plus, I’m tired. So I’m not going to commit to anything for the month of November, especially since I have my thesis defense in early December. The only thing I’m committing to is the two RNM secret santas I signed up for.

Part 2 will be up as soon as I write it :)

[princesssarcastia]

I JUST HAD A TERRIBLE IDEA

okay so you know how in leverage 1x09 they needed someone with a life-threatening brain tumor for their scam??? hey you know who has a life threatening brain tumor?? Cassandra Cillian.  for the librarians-leverage fusion au.

“Look, mate, I can’t ghost an image that will pass an actual doctor’s inspection, so unless you can find someone to play a doctor–” 

“Can you get another chamber?” Her skin is too tight, like it’s constricting over her chest.  The air tastes wrong, cinnamon-adrenaline instead of the normal odd tinge of whatever filter the hospital is using.  Hospitals.  They always use the same filtration system, she remembers the smell from the hospital in New York when they sat her down and told her– “Then all you would need is a brain with a tumor in it; just send the image from the tumor-chamber to the monitor in here, and voila! We can spoof whatever doctor he brings in here.”  

Jake eyes her, either because the cheer in her voice is too forced or because she’s clenching her fists where they’re resting between her arms and her sides. Ezekiel blinks.

“Oh.  Yeah, that could actually work!” He almost sounds surprised and Cassandra feels her smile crack just a little more.  No matter how many times it happens, it always rubs her the wrong way when they don’t expect her to be smart.

“Yes, that’s all well and good, Ms. Cillian, but then we still need a brain with a tumor in it.”  Jenkins is being condescending again, wonderful.

She hasn’t said this out loud in so long that doing it now feels like pulling teeth; though, pulling teeth isn’t actually that difficult, you only need a pair of dental premolar pliers and two-hundred and ten newtons of force per millimeter squared–the warehouse in Berlin, they wouldn’t give her the access codes, so stupid, she can taste the copper in the air still–

“Cassandra.”  Jake takes half a step toward her, putting him right in her space.  He doesn’t try to touch her, which is good.  She stares at him, and the air makes her eyes sting.  How does he keep doing that?   

“No, we don’t.”  Cassandra swallows.  “We already have one.”

“One what?” His voice is so soft, it feels like her favorite shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

“Brain.  With a tumor in it.”

“Uh, no we don’t, I think I’d know if we were just–keeping brains with tumors in them around the office.”  

“Of course we do, silly.” Now the skin around her mouth is tight, because her smile is fake.  “We have me.  I–the tumor in my brain should be big enough, I think.”

I think maybe this is an angsty reveal scene?? maybe??? maybe this won't end up fitting in with where I go with the main story; it depends on whether Cassandra’s brain tumor is like, common criminal-underworld knowledge or not.  but if its not common knowledge, then this could be her, revealing incredibly personal and secret information to her not-quite-a-family-but-more-than-a-team.

this just popped into my head while I was watching the snow job.  idk.  let me know what you think!

(also, in case you were wondering, those are real numbers about how much force it takes to pull teeth! the government does some real creepy studies, y’all)