#poking and prodding eliot

[geekynightowl1997]

I still can't get over how Eliot and Hardison do their "secret" handshake- even though Eliot is miffed that Hardison ate his sandwhich.

I still can't get over how Parker calls Eliot "Sparky," and he's scared enough to rip open his apple- because he actually thinks Parker somehow got a razor blade in it.

I still can't get over how Eliot tells Hardison that he won't help him if he goes to far with "Ice Man," and when Hardison calls him out on it- Eliot blames Parker.

I still can't get over how Hardison comes to Eliot when he needs help brushing up on wine.

I still can't get over how Parker goes to Eliot when she's looking for something to love and he teaches her to love food.

I still can't get over how Parker is allowed to poke and push Eliot.

I still can't get over how Hardison riles Eliot up and it's just reflex for Eliot to say; "DAMNIT Hardison."

I can't get over how they became a little family all on their own.

#leverage #eliot spencer #parker #alec hardison #all those moments that hardison and parker got a way with #poking and prodding eliot #needing help to get out of a situation #learning about wine #learning to love food #she put a razor blade in that apple #but do you know what doesn't have a razor blade #this orange #the secret handshake even though eliot knows hardison ate his sandwhich #all those little moments #they made a family #i just-i just can't get over it #all those fluff and angst at thebsame time and I just #i connect with all three of them more than i can connect with nate and sophie #damnit hardison

[formosusiniquis]

I don't trust myself to write Leverage fic, I just don't think I could capture the nuance of everyone. But I think if I did it'd be a road trip fic.

It's sometime in the mid-s2 era. Everyone's kinda gone to ground after either Nate's whole going to prison thing or after Sophie has had to fake her death. Either way Hardison, Parker, and Eliot have lost that stabilizing mentor energy they had previously. Not that the three aren't perfectly capable on their own, but it's a rapid, dramatic, and emotional shift in the dynamic you're used to and you've got to part ways with the people you care the most about in the world.

So after some time passes -- enough that everyone can do what they need to do to be sure that they're safe but not enough time to feel settled to leave the safe house and go home -- someone (Alec, probably with his slightly more average childhood, but maybe Eliot who didn't gave the best childhood but we see these moments of average stability throughout the series) suggests a road trip.

So they gather together: Hardison and Parker and Eliot to reclaim the stability that they've lost. While Nate mourns Sophie, or she rages at Nate. And Hardison and Eliot take Parker to the places she asked about in the Three Days of Hunter job. The places where there are real conspiracies, the places that are really just tourist traps, the places that they decide along the way that they want to break in and see.

And along the way they find the things they needed to so they can go back. The trust, the camaraderie, the joy. Things they hadn't ever really lost with eachother but can be hard to separate from the inside this codependent knot of reclaimed family. And maybe it's a ship fic, maybe it's not, maybe when you fit together the way they do it doesn't matter. Either way by the end they're ready to go home and get back to work.

But mostly it's about Parker getting to see Area 52.

#idk guys its like the one fic i think about on every rewatch #and im like should i do that before thinking no thats not something im ready to try writing #this makes it sound very serious but its really just the parker gets to see aliens job #the let them breathe for a minute road trip #the i just want to poke and prod at their relationship because it fascinates me endlessly all the way from the beginning fic #we may end at if we change we change together age of the geek dying together #but even from the beginning they tangled together in a way that is fascinating to me #leverage ot3 #leverage #parker leverage #alec hardison #eliot spencer #long post

[faorism]

(really in my feels about the ot3 because of the @powerpolyculeshowdown so here's some propaganda)

parker and hardison allow eliot to be sillier. more ridiculous. outragous, even. eliot sings the stupid ditties hardison writes special for him, and he rolls his eyes at parkers pokes and prods and the occasional "accidental" face slap, and eliot can express himself for what actually bothers him no matter how nitpicky, versus having to calculate what he should say. (he still argues with hardison that throwing in on a brewpub was a stupid plan given its risk, no matter how many times hardison claims it was always a gift for him.) eliot laughs more. real laughs; you can tell because his smiles look more and more like grimaces: the way his ma perked her mouth which his dad always teased her about (though it was his favorite thing about her), rather than the wide toothy grins eliot learned because he knows, tactically, they are best for charming. parker and hardison let him not feel like he's a monster. or... parker tells him she always thought the big bad wolf had a bad rap, and hardison says some stupid shit about monsterfucking being the hip thing the kids are into these days, anyway.

hardison and eliot allow parker to feel deep. it's food that tastes like a hug and it's gadgets made just for her and it's loving and being loved and it's being one another's real families. she doessn't want to run away, anymore. or... she wants to run but with her friends beside her. or... running cons is all she's ever wanted to do, and all she did, for so long. parker is good at it. she loves it. she loves that hardison and eliot love it too. but... feeling deep is also being deep. she's no longer just her piles of money because she is no longer afraid of herself. her past. the memories that hurt. the habits she thought she needed to grow out of but always missed. these habits, like bleeping sounds that arent words and hands move move moving. hands that were once made to stay now can fly because hardison buys her fidgets and designs some just for her and keeps locks in lucille for when parker feels like infinity and needs the vibrations of ticktickticks to bring her back to herself. and eliot lets her braid and unbraid his hair; he won't let her blow dry it, not yet, but... he lets her pet his hair while it's still hot, now. it frizzes his hair a little, and parker feels her pulse rush throughout the day knowing she did that to him. eliot and hardison kiss her knuckles when they burn.

parker and eliot allow hardison to be mean. vindictive. he is nicer than he needs to be. wants to be... what he needs to be is nonthreatening, for the most part, in many places. he knows what it means to be him: tall and black and queer and gaining muscle and too smart for his own damn good and so very, very tenderhearted. hardison loves so damn deep, and he cares so damn much, but part of caring (the other side of a coin) is not giving a fuck. it's the boiling point of rage and betrayal. the i need to walk away from this fight because you are dead wrong and imma about to say something imma regret, so go fix yourself. the im not gonna forget, im not going to forgive, and im going to get my revenge. parker and eliot would not have questioned hardison's joy at securing the capture of the men that put him in that damn coffin; they hold space for him to be fully himself with all his ugly parts and his petty parts and the parts that do bring hardison shame if he thinks about it for too long. they know he's not perfect, and that? that feels like safety and love and forever to hardison.

#alec hardison #parker leverage #eliot spencer #leverage #leverage ot3 #thiefsome #faorism work #faorism headcanons #of hearth and home and other promises

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch of Redemption-era Parker, Hardison and Eliot, with Hardison in the foreground, turning around to look at Parker and Eliot, and Parker and Eliot looking at each other. Parker is looking disapprovingly at Eliot's shoulder, which has some blood soaking through his shirt, and Eliot is half-glaring back at her with his arms folded. End ID]

-

Day 14: Bleeding through the bandage

Eliot bleeding through bandages beneath his shirt. Silly little random ficlet below the cut.

-

“Do you have scurvy?”

Hardison was pretty immune by now to the unusual things that Parker sometimes said, but every now and then, one still got him.

Like that.

It could have been directed to him or Eliot, the only other people in the room, and turning he saw that it was the hitter who had just been accused of a vitamin C deficiency.

Understandably, Eliot was looking bemused, with that edge of irritated that came when he was trying not to be amused or endeared by them.

“Do you have scurvy?” Parker repeatedly, glaring back at him.

“What?”

Parker sighed and jabbed her index finger at the right side of Eliot’s chest, “You’re bleeding.”

And, he was. Deep red seeping through his shirt. Not a lot, and not quickly, but it was definitely there.

Eliot didn’t bother looking at where Parker was prodding. He was presumably already aware of the blood.

“People’s injuries reopen and bleed again when they have scurvy,” Parker pointed out, accurately, and demonstrating the very bad idea it was for Eliot to have decided to introduce her to historical naval fiction, “And you’re bleeding. Where you got shot.”

“I’ve been shot in a lot of places,” Eliot rejoined, “This ain’t an old wound.”

He jerked away from her finger when she made to poke again, but the thief followed and he didn’t bother attempting the escape more than once.

“If it’s not an old wound, when’d it happen? You said the hitters we ran into on the last job were amateurs. You went on a whole hour-long rant about useless hitters and the idiots who hired them,” Hardison asked, turning fully away from the screens with the job they were planning. 

This seemed more important right now.

“Incident at Paul’s place yesterday,” Eliot said, offering no further explanation, and trusting them not to be indiscrete enough to ask for details.

Eliot had started visiting Paul regularly, sometimes for social visits, occasionally with invites extended to the team, and sometimes to help out at the clinic.

Yesterday, he had been there to help, and somehow had got injured.

Hardison could guess explanations: a patient caught up in the trauma of war grew violent, a fight between people who once served together or maybe a grieving loved one and someone their lost companion had served with, anti-war violent protestors deciding to cause trouble in a small clinic, a slippery scalpel sliding out of Paul’s hand and coming to rest in Eliot …there were thousands of explanations ranging from simple and realistic to Sophie-soap opera level dramatic.

But he could imagine all day and Eliot would only tell them if they pressed, and if it involved no one but him.

“Need a hand with it?” Hardison asked as Parker poked at the injury again, now more out of revenge for his not having told them sooner.

Eliot shook his head, “Tore the stitches trainin’ this mornin’.  Didn’ have time to redo ‘em.”

“Okayyy, well, you have time now, so…”

“I’ll do it later,” Eliot glared, “Just carry on with the…keep doin’ the…briefing!”

The words were broken by a combination of his own ever-present discomfort at expressions of concern directed towards him, and Parker getting in one last prod before they got back to work.

Reassured that Eliot wasn’t in any actual danger, Hardison smirked and turned back to the screens, picking up where he had left off while Parker gave Eliot quiet advice on how to avoid scurvy.

Hardison was pretty certain that the next time Eliot had a beer, Parker would be trying to put lime juice in it.

-

#ailesswhumptober2023 #day 14 #bleeding through the bandage #leverage redemption #parker #alec hardison #eliot spencer #cw blood

[schrijverr]

The Eliot's Birthday Job

Eliot doesn't like celebrating his birthday, the others poke and prod, but he doesn't share. It takes him a while to open up and accept that there are things worthy of celebration.

On AO3.

Ships: background nate/sophie

Warnings: eliot's self esteem issues

~~~~~~~~

Eliot did not care for celebrating his birthday.

His indifference towards his birthday had started long before he joined the military, with too many birthday parties hardly attended and a cake self-made gone unappreciated. But his avoidance of it had only started when his name became a black stripe on most paperwork and his identity was stripped further and further to avoid anyone finding out about Eliot Spencer.

So, he stopped answering when people asked for his birthday and soon no one asked, and if they did it was with bad reason.

Under Moreau the last of his records disappeared from the U.S. government. His blacked out name and files became just splotches until his records held nothing more than E[REDACTED] S[REDACTED] and a whole lot of wasted ink.

He liked it that way. Birthdays were bothersome and full of disappointments with only bad memories attached to them. And why would he want to celebrate the fact that he had survived yet another year? It wasn’t special, nor something worthy of celebration.

It took him a bit by surprise when he found himself working with people who thought differently about that.

At first they hadn’t, it had just been one job. Maybe another one if Nate called. He stayed because it paid well and it was so low level for that kind of money that it was almost laughable. Then he decided that having something steady would be good. Until he couldn't deny to himself that he liked them.

Funny how a betrayal could show you how much you really cared.

Still, that didn’t stop him from getting into the car with the others and returning to the job, even if he was a bit mad at Sophie. She apologized in her own way and he had to admit that he liked her too much to stay mad.

So, they got back together, for just one other job and then another one and one more. It was nice having them there, comforting to hear them banter in his ear. They were his team and he was attached.

Then their camaraderie had to change, all because Sophie was huffy about Nate forgetting something and then he got her something for what she claimed was her birthday, even if Eliot was suspicious about it, though he didn’t care enough to check.

Of course Parker thought it fascinating and she wanted a birthday too, so she picked a date she liked and claimed that was her birthday and Hardison was a sap and trying to woo her, so he had done something nice for her on that day and gotten everyone roped in.

After that it had been a low key cake and some drinks for Nate and something nerdy for Hardison, until it was apparently a thing that they celebrated everyone’s birthday.

Well, nearly everyone’s birthday.

Eliot was having none of it. He had stopped answering the question long ago and if he was honest, he didn’t remember that well either. His birthday just wasn’t important enough and he didn’t want to celebrate it, so he wasn’t telling them when it was.

That was when the nagging started, at first they could have believed that his birthday was before Sophie’s so it just hadn’t happened yet and that he would mention it when the time came, but then they’d went out to the theater for Sophie’s birthday and stole a few diamonds for Parker’s and by the time Nate’s rolled around he still hadn’t said a thing.

So, they started asking him constantly. Whether it was for a cover and his real birthday would be easier to remember or thrown out in casual conversation, they even claimed to check his head injuries by asking him, causing him to roll his eyes and tell them he was fine, never answering them.

He was sure that Hardison had hacked into the top levels of secrecy in National Security to find out, but like he’d said, those records were gone and Hardison had probably only given himself more mysteries he could never solve with the way Eliot’s file had looked.

Hardison’s birthday involved a gathering of nerds of some sort and Eliot having successfully avoided getting dressed up as some sort of Solo, whatever that meant. And he was pretty sure that they had given up on his birthday at that point.

Wrong.

They started asking people he knew. He hadn’t even noticed they were doing it, not thinking it was something he had to watch out for, but whenever he had seemed to know someone they had gone around asking it. They didn’t even try to hide it by the time Shelley came for some poker.

“Hey, can I ask you a question,” Hardison attempted casual, which he had gotten better at on a con, but definitely not as Hardison.

“Yeah, sure, man, what’s up,” Shelley took a sip of beer and lounged in his chair.

“Do you know Eliot’s birthday?”

“What the fuck, Hardison, I thought y’all had given up on that,” Eliot snapped with a frown, what was the big deal about birthdays anyway?

“You don’t know his birthday?” Bonanno asked and Nate softly replied: “Better not to ask.”

Throughout this all Shelley had pulled a thoughtful face and Eliot tried to remember if he had ever told him back when they still served together. He didn’t think so, but one could never be entirely sure.

“Now that you mention it,” Shelley frowned, “I think he never said. Celebrating birthdays is hard enough out there, but Eliot made sure we never made the effort. Secretive back then already,” Shelley laughed it off.

Eliot was silently relieved, he knew the others would be insufferable when they found out and he was perfectly fine, thank you very much.

“Man, are you for real,” Hardison exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I totally thought it was one of your ‘ooh, I’m a scary and mysterious hitter’ things, but you’ve just always been like that.”

“Shut up,” Eliot frowned. “Just because you can’t figure it out, doesn’t mean I have a problem. Now shuffle the damn cards.”

“Alright, alright, no need to be so touchy.”

“I’m not- Dammit, Hardison!”

The topic was dropped for the night and there was enough other shit going on soon that it didn’t come up again after, but now Eliot knew they were still looking and he just didn’t understand. His birthday wasn’t worth celebrating and he didn’t care, so why did they?

However, Hardison picked it right back up again the next day, whining: “Why won’t you just tell us your birthday, man? Is it a hitter requirement to be broody and mysterious about stuff for no reason? Was that in the handbook?”

“Why do you even care, Hardison?” Eliot growled back. “It’s none of your business.”

“Is it something embarrassing?” Hardison asked, continuing on, like Eliot isn’t one of the most dangerous people on the planet. “Is that why you’re not saying? Are you a valentine baby? Is that what it is?”

“I’m not a valentine baby, now drop it, man,” Eliot said.

“Come on, you know I’m too curious. It’s eating at me, man, eating. They blacked out your birthday on your records. Your birthday. That’s nonsense,” Hardison pouted.

“Hardison,” Eliot warned and luckily Hardison realized he was serious and stopped pushing, as he said something else to piss Eliot off, but this time in a way that invited playful arguing instead of Eliot feeling cornered.

It wasn’t that he doesn’t appreciate the team’s interest in his birthday. It was actually kind of nice that there were people, who thought he was worth celebrating. However, Eliot didn’t like the attention, didn’t want a gift from them. They had already given him enough, he didn’t want anything more from them.

Fortunately for him, Hardison must have said something to the others, because they dropped the topic for a good while again.

The next time they brought it up, their operation had moved to Portland and they were settled down and running cons like they always did. Another person from his past showed up. Toby. He owed the man his life and it felt good to give back to him.

However, he did maybe begrudge the man for greeting him at the Brewpub with a: “Eliot, boy, it’s good to see you. Too many birthdays missed.”

“Yeah, Toby, good to see you,” Eliot replied, slapping his back a few times as he hugged the other man as a greeting. He tried hard to not look affected by the comment, to not notice Nate raising a brow at him. It was only a matter of time, before Hardison slid up to him, saying he asked Toby for his birthday. Dammit.

But then the con went on and while Hardison was the most infuriating man to have in the kitchen, he never said anything about.

Throughout the whole con, Eliot was on edge. Both the stunt they were pulling was personal and he could feel this unasked question tickling the back of his neck, like someone was watching him. So, he was grateful when it’s all over.

To distract from it all, he found himself in the Brewpub’s kitchen, doing the prep for tomorrow. The work soothed his mind and helped get out the restless energy.

He was in the middle of cutting up some cabbages when Hardison appeared in the kitchen. Eliot mentally braced himself as Hardison leaned against the counter next to him and offered him a beer, which Eliot took with suspicion as he paused his cutting for the moment.

“Toby knows your birthday?” Hardison asked after a moment of silence.

“Jup,” Eliot grunted. “Was the only one, but I’m assuming you asked and now you’re here to rub it in my face that you know.”

“Nah, I didn’t ask,” Hardison shrugged, surprising Eliot.

“You didn’t?” he asked, unable to help himself.

“You seemed pretty serious about us not knowing, so I thought better of it,” Hardison tells him, as if he hasn’t been asking for years. “I don’t get why you won’t just say, but I’m not gonna push. No is no, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eliot said a little stunned. He decided that, the bit of grace Hardison allowed him, deserved a little explanation. He told him: “I don’t like celebrating my life. Nothing much to celebrate.”

Hardison was quiet for, then he said: “Okay, I am not here to invalidate your little martyr shtick you love so much, but I want you to know that we think there is plenty worth celebrating about you and we want to do something for your birthday. Give back what you give us. Safety, protection.”

Now it was Eliot’s turn to be silent. Objectively he knew the others were not afraid of him, liked him – loved him even – and wanted him around, but hearing it like that was odd, but nice. Emotions welled up in him and he did not want to deal with them.

So, he cleared his throat and gruffly said: “That’s nice, but I don’t need any of that. Plus, you guys have already given me enough. Trust me.”

It was clear that Hardison was surprised by his honesty. To avoid further conversation, Eliot turned back to cutting the cabbage as Hardison got that smug grin on his face that so often happens.

And like that, there was a period to the end of that conversation. The topic, even. They went laser-gaming for Parker, took the boat out for Nate, took Hardison to some tech convention and let Sophie buy as many shoes as her heart desired without anyone saying a word, before ending the day at Broadway.

Then, they stole something that many would think unstealable and Nate and Sophie retired. If Eliot was honest, he’d tell them that he was sure they’d be out there conning people in their free time for kicks within a month, but he let them walk anyway. They no longer wanted to do this and that was okay, the three of them would carry on.

That night was a bittersweet one. It was the three of them, laying on the ground, bottles of wine and fancy finger food surrounding them as they reminisced on all their old jobs, laughing at the memories and pretending none of them could also cry at the fact that it wouldn’t be the same again.

Change wasn’t bad and they would find their footing soon enough again with Parker at the helm, but it was the end of an era and they all knew that. They all mourned it slightly.

However, it was a good night anyway. One of the best. Laughter in the air and the best moments remembered.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Eliot suddenly speaks up. He asked: “Remember that day we took down Dubenich that first time, back in ‘08?”

The other two make noises of confirmation that they still know, Hardison grinning: “That was a good day,” as Parker nodded with a happy grin.

“That was my birthday,” Eliot confessed.

He wasn’t sure why after all his resistance he suddenly felt okay sharing it. Maybe, he’d been afraid that by saying it, he would break up the team, but now they parted ways, but on good terms. On their own terms.

The team needed to be reshaped and rebuild. A new equilibrium needed to be made. More trust had to be shared with fewer people to fall back on. Maybe this was his way to start that.

Both Hardison and Parker shot up from the floor at his confession to look at him. He send them a crooked grin as he said: “Surprise.”

Slowly, the shock got wiped off of Hardison’s face and Eliot knew what was coming, before Hardison had the time to even grin again. Still, he let the hacker smugly comment: “So when you said we had already given you enough, you meant…”

“Yeah, Hardison,” Eliot rolled his eyes. “I meant the team.”

“Ahww, you do love us,” Hardison exclaimed, pulling him into a hug that had Eliot grumbling, but not fighting back.

Parker latched onto his back and fiercely whispered: “You’re also my favorite gift, Eliot.”

Eliot got choked up, so he hugged them both until he got his emotions under control again. Then he grunted: “You better not tell anyone and I’ll punch you if you celebrate it.”

“Alright, alright,” Hardison said and Parker nodded. They agreed suspiciously easy and Eliot should have seen it coming when they found a loophole.

All five of them had still met up for birthdays, but when Eliot’s rolled around for the first time since their departure, Hardison reached out to Nate and Sophie. He didn’t say anything about Eliot, instead wanting to celebrate the forming of the team, claiming it was more an excuse to see each other again.

Nate and Sophie didn’t complain and while Eliot was a little grumpy, he didn’t mind that much either. Because while Eliot did not like celebrating his birthday, didn’t think he was worth celebrating, he could celebrate the team. They were more than enough for him.

~~

A/N:

Look me in the eye and tell me that Hardison would not 100% try to dress up Eliot as Han Solo

#rr writing #leverage #eliot spencer #parker leverage #alec hardison #sophie devereaux #nate ford #leverage fic #leverage tv

[nobodyzhuman]

Leverage fans

Don’t get me wrong I love Redemption but am I the only one that feels like something is missing? Its not Hardison or Nate. 

In the original series the group felt more connected, more like a family, and yes I shipped Hardison/Parker/Eliot because when the three were on screen there was this chemistry and they were fun to watch and it wasn’t just romantic love Eliot took the time to teach Parker about food and let her poke and prod him even when he was hurt and even when Hardison was pissing him off he was still protective and fond and the other two were comfortable around him, invading his space, teasing him and there is so much of that missing in the new show. I know Hardison’s actor is busy and they try and get him in every once in a awhile but that chemistry between Parker and Eliot is gone as well. There is this gap? space? between them that wasn’t there before. 

Even Sophie feels less connected or emotion towards the group and at first I wanted to ignore  cause they killed Nate off and her being stiff and emotionally blocked made sense but its still there. 

Its kinda feels like Breanna and Harry are written to try and bring more emotion to the show but feels so forced. Breanna and Hardison seem to spend most of the time not competitive but trying to one up each other or him being over the top and her feeling like he thinks she isn’t good enough? And Harry’s character as much as I LOVE Noah just feels like he doesn’t fit. I don’t know if its just bad writing or if its because they haven’t quiet figured out his place in the team. but its all really making miss the old show more and more. 

The writers really need to watch the old show and try and bring back some of the love and care these character's SHOWED for each other. 

As well as guest stars.... Seriously were is Sterling and Quinn and Maggie? I feel like one of them should have popped up by now even it was just to check on Sophie.

#leverage #leverage: redemption #thougths

[sweetcatastrophex]

multifaceted me

i miss the chaos of it all  the unruly moment after impulsive moment  a fuzzy socks late night coated with honey laughter melted chocolate chips on our fingertips a rapture of belly laughter from the other room and we cried out  in joy  i miss falling asleep by accident, too early  and creating with abandon. trusting my fingers, never doubting my mind  knowing the process but just knowing  feeling the intuition of it all letting the words flow outward from within me, carefully chosen combinations  i miss doing what i want in the moment that i want to do it  and i resent my imagined limitations. modern reminders of insecurity these lessons forged in my brain that test me, prod me poke me til i’m blue in the face forcing me to recollect. to be steadfast in my foundation, revisit my roots like a brief vacation  a coming to  a remembering and i think. like camus told us we should  we reflect i miss stumbling in the dark on a wooded trail i miss studying the stone carvings in the walkway at whitman’s house i miss the anticipation before my violin teacher would speak  and the praise and the criticism and the growth of it all  i miss the spontaneity of the youth. a camping trip with the girls making handwritten letters and listing our inside jokes  i miss the songs that made me yearn for a magical future  and stoked something within me that makes this passion i miss the nose piercings and the clashing egos and the heartache  the scribbled notes under bedtime pillows or on restaurant napkins  the music, the books, the questions, the arguments, the invigorating conversations the pages of my journal alive and dancing with emerson, whitman, thoreau quotes but also sprinkled with warsan shire, aztra tabassum and andrea gibson reciting my favorite ts eliot poem to anyone who would listen  caring for cold blooded pets and talking to turtles  thinking about the pyramids and the people i met in the red sea  did they like to meet me?  i miss the caring. the opposite of this apathy that knows me well and who has taken up residence at my sister’s house i miss the red hair and the humor of it all. there to be embraced or ignored. i’ve learned it’s really up to you i miss the thrill. meeting new people and learning about the planet  running into the same strangers over and over again and knowing their faces finding my friends in a crowd. sleeping on the floor after too much jager  i miss the free time and the movies. the novelty of first times.  i miss the jumping into freezing cold pools every morning and being alone with my thoughts and running miles and miles and still being alone with my thoughts i’ve considered many things and have formed many opinions and i’m grateful i miss interpreting ray carver however i want and visiting weird museums  i miss getting in trouble for taking so many pictures with my camera  and developing photos in chemical baths and embracing the inevitable imperfections i miss the alone 3 ams, reveling in the silent stillness thinking it’s the perfect time to write poetry i miss the confidence, the polka dots and patterns  the mismatching and experimenting and seeing what fits  the trying and the mistakes the moons and the suns, the printed photographs, the tree sap incense i miss the glitter of the moon over the water  and wondering about later, romanticizing i miss the scratching sound of the ice  i miss the colors, the glints of light that hit all the parts of multifaceted me  most of all  i miss me

#11.29.2021 #poetry #poem #fragments #me #multifaceted me

[pebblesrus]

the team didn’t teach parker how to love. maybe how to say it, but she always knew how. 

parker is considered a flight risk for a long time. especially compared to eliot who pack bonds immediately and hardison who fell in love with both of them from day 1, she was flighty. if nate hadn’t had plans for half the alphabet, she could have gotten out of that building before any of the others even knew they were blown. she could have disappeared after the fork incident. but she didn’t because in her own way, she cared. 

because she didn’t leave archie either. archie, who rejected her, taught her all she was good for was stealing, who was a thief who knew to lock up his heart and never let her into the way she deserved—but she was willing to risk her life to save archie—no, not even archie—archie’s family, who didn’t even know she existed. 

parker wasn’t broken and didn’t need to be fixed. sure, hardison taught her it was okay to feel feelings and not just stow them away and eliot taught her how to like things for the sake of what they are and not what they can do for you. but they didn’t teach her to care about them. 

so, no, the team didn’t teach parker how to love. they taught her that she could be loved back. they taught her that loving someone (needing someone) wasn’t a weakness. and maybe she taught them the same lesson. 

#idk i just had to put into words that parker was never broken (even if she was convinced she was) #like i woke up in the middle of the night and could not stop thinking about this whole dynamic #bc no one (who mattered (aka hardison and eliot but also sophie and nate)) ever thought she was broken #she was never unable to trust or love #she had just locked those parts of her away bc she had been taught that they were a weakness #she had been taught that she was alone #but she trusted these two #and they trusted her #and between all the poking and prodding and bickering she saw them for who they were and they saw her for who she was #and one day they all realized that that was love #leverage #leverage ot3 #parker #alec hardison #eliot spencer

[leverage-ot3]

[texting]

hardison: wyd

parker: just chilling

parker: might scream from the other room to test eliots response time later idk

#she would tho #she pokes and prods at him all the time #parker: *screams* #eliot: *crashes into the room like the kool aid man* whATS WRONG #parker: nothing :) #eliot: *sighs* #eliot: why do i even bother #also eliot to himself: thank god shes safe *clenches fist* i love her so much #hardison finds it HILARIOUS #but hates it when she does it to him #especially since she can sneak up on him MUCH BETTER than she can sneak up on eliot #source: incorrectbucko on twitter #ot3 shenanigans #leverage ot3 #eliot spencer #alec hardison #parker #leverage #parker x hardison x eliot #ot3 meme #leverage meme #leverage humor #humor #mine #someone appreciate the tags pls i work hard on capturing the chaoticness of the ot3

[thieves-never-say-die]

Okay, but like, I was thinking and, what if the Leverage crew went to an Escape Room as like a bonding thing, and then it just kinda keeps happening.

Oh god the Leverage crew doing an escape room would be a nightmare

(Disclaimer I’ve never been in an escape room but I desperately want to)

Nate

Would go wayyyyyy too hard into Mastermind Mode ™️ trying to figure out all the clues and puzzles

Would do that thing where he gets really quiet as he’s putting all his focus into solving it, and when he does solve it he does the whole dramatic monologue reveal

However if he’s wrong he refuses to accept that and will get angry because his answer is obviously the right answer and whoever designed the place did it poorly then

Sophie

For the most part she’s content to sit back and relax and let the others do their thing

But then she’ll use the phone thing to ask for clues and strike up a casual conversation with whoever is working there and supervising them

Somehow manages to get the person to tell her the answer, but she doesn’t tell anyone and just sits on it because she knows the others want to do their thing

Will only reveal the answer as a last minute thing because they can’t lose

(Not that they ever get that close to running out of time)

Eliot

Is only there because Hardison forced him to and complains the whole time

Acts super not interested and bored and gruff but secretly gets very invested after about ten minutes

Will do the whole ‘aloof I don’t care’ thing until Hardison says one thing that’s wrong and he can’t stop himself from correcting it

(No one tell him Hardison did that on purpose)

Would get way too into the technicalities of the thing, like ‘that’s not how a cipher works/you can’t actually use x to do y’ type of thing

At the end will fall back into his gruff I don’t care thing but secretly researches them more after they leave

Parker

Doesn’t understand why she can’t just pick the lock on the door to let them out

It takes her a while to understand the point of an escape room but once she does she’s HOOKED

Accidentally finds the clues out of order bc she just broke into the safe instead of looking for the code under the telephone or wherever it is

Definitely accidentally makes the employee watching over them cry because she keeps like climbing the walls and doing other shit that isn’t allowed/not supposed to be possible

Has suggestions for how they could make it better and leaves a full list of notes with the front desk

(She goes back a week later and finds that they’ve actually implemented some of her suggestions and is ECSTATIC about it)

Definitely goes by herself to the weirdest ones she can find in their free time

Hardison

He’s the one that dragged them there in the first place as a ‘team bonding’ exercise because he thought it would be fun

About halfway through he’s seriously regretting all decisions that led to that point, but after they leave he immediately books them another room for the next month

Is the only one who actually plays by the rules and follows the instructions to get the clues the right way

Still enjoys watching Parker do everything wrong and still get the right answer

Gets into an argument with Nate over the clues because this is one thing that Hardison feels confident in and will 100% fight over

Makes escape rooms/similar team bonding exercises a monthly thing that is required for all members of Team Leverage

Bonus:

Harry

Is just… so confused

Tries his best but gets distracted and can’t for the life of him figure out any of the clues

Continually gets very excited because hey he found a clue! Only to realize that what he found isn��t a clue and isn’t actually helpful at all…

Sophie helps by poking and prodding him and very gently leads him towards the right answer in a way that makes him think he did it all by himself

He’s not fooled by that but he appreciates the effort

Breanna

Is sort of a mix between Hardison and Parker

She’ll follow the rules and try to do it all properly, but also as a maker she’s really good at spotting the secret/hidden buttons and levers and things

Like she’ll walk into a room and immediately notice that oh, you pull on that book and a secret compartment will open

Consequently she finds a fair amount of the clues out of order, but if she notices she skipped a clue she will go back and find the clue she skipped

Afterwards she goes back to the place and offers to upgrade some of their design elements and hidden stuff to make it look/work better

#leverage #eliot spencer #parker #alec hardison #Nate ford #sophie deveraux #Harry wilson #breanna casey #ask #anon #m speaks

[kookicat]

And Let My Sins Become My Armour

Sophie pokes the pale blue serving dish tentatively with the big engraved serving spoon, then lets it drop and rubs her eyes, wondering if she was seeing things, because as a rule Eliot Spencer did not serve orange food, unless it came that way naturally. And even then, it's not usually presented like this, she thinks and pokes the gloppy mess again, strangely fascinated by the odd jiggle. 

"Is that box mix?" Hardison asks, and prods the unholy mass with his fork, grinning at Parker, who smiles back gleefully. He glances at the serving spoon, and Sophie hands it over wordlessly, rising on aching legs to track down their missing hitter-cum-chef. 

The kitchen is cool and dark, spotlessly clean apart from a foil covered plate left on the counter. She eases the foil back, finding a plate of double chocolate chip cookies that she's pretty sure came from the freezer. They smell good, so she munches on one as she continues her slow sweep of the kitchen. 

There's two bottles missing from the six pack in the fridge and Sophie bites her lip, mentally reviewing the job they'd just pulled. It had been touchy, the mark active military, high ranking to boot, and they'd hit plans much further into the alphabet than any of them was really comfortable with. Eliot had seemed okay, in the van on the way home, if a bit more quiet than usual, but Sophie doesn't like the way the pieces are slotting together.  

His obnoxious car still squats sullenly by the curb. Not that I'd put it past him to walk home, she thinks, but her instincts are telling her that he's still close. The heat pump is silent, which rules out any of the bathrooms and she dismisses the idea that he's sleeping, replaying the slight but telling twitch-and-tense in his hands that only stilled when someone was looking directly at him and the instinct to hide those physical tells rose up hard. No, he was too wound up to sleep, and too exhausted to do much else, if the slapdash supper was any indication. 

She finishes the cookie and grabs another on the way upstairs, heading towards the roof access. It's too early in the year for the roof garden to be truly productive, but that doesn't mean there aren't jobs still to be done and it's the only other place she can think of to look for him. It's his safe place, his refuge, as much as he'd hate her calling it that 

The hatch is open, soft golden light spilling down into the darkened hallway and she pauses at the foot of the narrow ladder, wondering if her company will be welcome. Only one way to find out, she thinks, and climbs white-knuckled, up the rickety wooden contraption. It shakes and bounces under her, and she's glad to step off it and onto the roof space proper, looking around. It's cool and quiet, so high up, the air damp and fresh in a way it never is at street level. 

At first, she misses him, lost in the shadows at the edge of the roof space, where the lantern light doesn't quite reach. He's sitting, cross-legged, small pots spread neatly in front of him. Only one is full of compost and it makes her pause again, because while she can't see the expression on his face, the set of his shoulders is enough to tell her that something isn't right. 

His hands are in the compost bin, but he's hardly moving, just running the soft dirt through his fingers in a mindless way she doesn't like one single bit, because it's just not like him at all. Both bottles sit next to him, one uncapped but untouched, like he'd opened it and forgotten it was there. 

"Eliot?" she says, softly. 

He startles, head snapping around to look at her, eyes wide and wild and wounded. The neatly arranged pots scatter under his foot as he swings up to his knees. 

"Eliot?" she says again and sits down on a bag of gravel that is unpleasantly damp so she's not looming over him. 

"Soph?" he asks, voice hoarse and smaller than she'd ever heard it. 

She's never seen him like this, isn't sure how to broach the wall of things unsaid between them, knows that if she treats him like a mark, she'll lose him forever, because even lost, he's too damn smart not to figure it out. 

"Hardison and Parker are thrilled with the choice of supper," she says and watches him blink, the fog lifting from his eyes. 

"Figures," he says and looks down, gathering up the plant pots, stacking them neatly. "Tomatoes. Gotta start the heritage strains early, cause they don't grow as quick." He blinks down at the pots, lips compressing into a tight line. "I thought he was one of the good ones."

The words come out on a harsh breath and he stands in one movement, gathering the planting supplies with quick motions that can't quite hide how much his hands are shaking. 

Oh, Eliot, she thinks, a strange pain lodged high in her throat, and swipes a hand over her mouth, considering. "You didn't say you knew him," she says, softly. 

"I didn't," he says and some of the harshness has leached out of his voice. "Not in a way that should matter." He keeps his back to her, shoulders like iron bars under the smooth line of his dark green shirt. "Way back when Uncle Sam paid me to kill people, my team got into a bit of a tangle overseas. In a place we weren't officially meant to be. Woulda died there, but he wrangled up a rescue mission and got us all out. Caught hell for it afterwards, from what I heard." There's a weight to his words, a weariness that brings out her protective streak. "Fuckin' stupid, to expect people to…" his words trail off, like he's not sure how to finish the sentence. 

"It's not stupid," Sophie says, and stands, snagging the bottles as she crosses the space between them. "Not stupid at all." 

She offers him the opened bottle and he blinks down at it like it might just bite him. There's dirt under his nails and shadows like bruises under his eyes, and for all his experience, he looks lost, like a distant keystone just fell from his bridge and he's just waiting for the rest of it to come crashing down too. 

"He had his reasons for what he did," Sophie offers. "His wife had cancer, then his daughter got sick too. He needed the money." 

Eliot swallows hard, throat working like he's trying to force something unpalatable down. "There are always reasons," he says and swipes the hair back from his face. "Work at it long enough, and you can find a way to justify just about anything." His voice is bitter with experience. He touches the bottle to his lips, taking a swallow. "He killed innocent kids, Sophie. Even at my worst, I nev-" he breaks off, voice catching, because that isn't exactly true. Just once. Just exactly enough times to well and truly damn my soul to hell. Just where it belongs. 

His knees suddenly don't want to hold his weight and he sits down heavily, on the not quite finished edge of a raised bed. There's a heavy ache in his throat that he hasn't felt for a while and he swallows savagely past it, because men like him don't get to wash their hands clean with tears. 

Sophie wraps her arms tight around herself, wishing she could pull him into a hug, but any contact looks like it might shatter the tenuous hold he has on himself. Part of her wants to encourage him to let go, open the floodgates and damn the fallout, but another part of her is scared that the Eliot after the collapse may not be one who they know. 

Her mind catches up with his words and a sick little pit opens where her stomach used to be, churning nastily. "You never-" she can't finish the sentence, because he's turned to look at her and the pain and shame on his face is an answer in itself. "Oh," she says, faintly. Oh, Eliot, she thinks, horror at the idea warring with what she knows about him, with how many times she's seen him put himself on the line to keep them all safe. 

"Once," he rasps, voice so raw the word is hard to hear. "Once, because if I didn't, someone else would. And after I never touched a gun again. Ran as far as I could from it, thought about-" he breaks off again and stands, hands swinging at his sides. "Well, for a long time, I thought the world would be a better place without me in it." 

It's a quiet admission, still rips the air from her lungs like a punch. "We'd be worse off without you," she says, when she can. 

"I don't believe in redemption, Soph," he says, and shoves the hair out of his face again. "I don't believe that doing good things cancels out the bad shit. I don't think it makes the slightest fucking bit of difference. Once somethin' is done, you can't go back and change it." 

"You are making a difference." She reaches forwards, resting her hand on his shoulder. He doesn't shake her off, but he doesn't relax either, muscles so tight, she's getting a headache just touching them. "We made a difference, tonight. Saved those kids. They get to go back home."

"I thought I had this all squared away," he murmurs, so quiet she almost misses the words, like he's talking to himself more than her. "Locked it all up in the pit in my head and then that fucker comes along and shakes it all free…" 

Oh, Sophie thinks, pieces slotting into place. So this isn't about the General at all. It's not quite a relief, but it gives her a path to head down and she takes it, gratefully. 

"That's the worst thing that you did?" she says it carefully, keeping any judgement out of her voice, because while a big part of her hates what he'd done, another part knows for all his armour and violent skills, he'd been just as much a victim of Damien Moreau as the people he'd killed. Manipulated and groomed into doing worse and worse things, until the line in the sand was so far behind him, he couldn't see it any more. They saw it, with everyone else under that bastard's control and she can't see how Eliot would be any different. 

"I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly what I was signing up for, when I went to work for him. Knew just how much of a bastard he was," he says and falls silent again, fingers flexing into a fist on his jean clad thigh. "It was killing, either for him-" he spits the word, like it tastes bad "-or for another shitty PMC in the name of freedom." He says the word with a sneer, like he stopped believing in it miles and years ago. "Was all I was fit for, not sure that's changed much." 

It's not an answer, as such, but the pain behind the words holds more than enough truth. 

"You're not that person anymore, El," Sophie says, deliberately using the diminutive, hoping it'll break through the haunted look in his eyes. 

"Yes, I am." A shudder he can't help runs through him. "Always will be, darlin'," he says, and there's nothing soft about the pet name. It's just another brick in the wall he's slowly but steadily building between them. 

"No, you're not," Sophie says, "because that person wouldn't be torturing themselves like this." 

A damp gust of wind makes her shiver, quick and hard, and she wants to fold her arms, tuck her hands under them, where it's warm. Eliot is shivering too, and it's only getting worse. Feels like the start of an earthquake under her hands, or maybe the way a railway feels, as the train gets closer, bearing down on anyone unlucky or unwise enough to be in the way. This doesn't feel too much different, if she's honest, because there's a crash coming and she has no way to control how much damage gets done. 

He swallows again, hard, the stubbled line of his throat working. There's something terribly remote on his face, a shuttered blankness that scares her, like he's putting himself away, shutting up shop, and the sick twist in her gut tells her how that would end. She bites the inside of her lip, then clamps her hand down as hard as she can on his shoulder, making sure to dig her nails in. It's the left one, the tender one, and he flinches away with a yelp of shocked pain, right hand closing around her wrist. 

"What the fuck, Sophie?" he snaps, then lets her wrist drop like they might burn each other. His right hand twitches, a little abortive movement towards his throbbing shoulder, but he doesn't rub it. You don't show off your weaknesses in front of the enemy and right now he's not quite sure what side of the lines they're on. "Guess I deserved that and worse, huh?" he asks, bitterly and shifts his feet like he wants to run, only Sophie is between him and the ladder. 

"If anyone else did that to you, they'd be counting their teeth, right now," Sophie says, a little breathlessly. She pokes him hard, in the middle of his chest, and he takes a shuffling step back. "Parker pokes your bruises, climbs all over you like a jungle gym, and you never lift a finger to stop her. Anyone else did it, they'd be bleeding." 

He tracks her hand as she pokes him again, jabbing hard, but makes no move to stop her, just watches like he deserves the punishment she's doling out. "Nate lashes out at you, puts you in danger nearly every job and you still save him. You call him on his shit, but you don't stop him." 

The ruthlessness hurts, feels like she's carving strips off him, but she doesn't let herself stop. Doesn't dare, because if pain is the only thing keeping him with them, then by God, she'll use every scrap of it. "Hardison needles you in a way you wouldn't stand for from anyone else." There's a terribly wounded light in his eyes, and she braces herself, bearing down, because losing him would be the end of the team. "I used NLP on you. Bet the last person to try some of that ended up getting their meals through a straw." It's crass and crude, and she hates it. "I hurt you," she says and holds her arm up. "Not a mark." 

"Stop it," he croaks. "Sophie, just stop, please." His hands are clenched so hard there's blood welling under his nails. "I don't- I'm not-" 

"You spend all that time telling yourself you're a bastard, and it gets easier, because a bastard doesn't have to care about anything but themselves," her voice drops, and she lets it gentle, because she's pretty sure she's made her point, if the gutted expression on his face is any guide. "You changed, Eliot. We all changed. You're not that person anymore. You're not, or this wouldn't hurt so much." 

He blinks, heavily, shaking his head, and she gives into the instinct, pulling him into a hug. He folds into her arms like a drowning man, trembling so much she can barely keep her grip on him. It's awkward, and she shifts, tipping their balance so they both drop down onto the edge of the raised bed. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, into the side of her neck, over and over, until the words blur together into one long hiss of sound. 

His chest aches fiercely, all the pain and shame and grief he'd crammed down deep inside rising up suddenly, now that the lid had been wrenched free. The burning tears are a surprise, because he didn't think he had any left inside of him. Thought he'd scorched them out of himself. Wishes he had, because it would hurt less than whatever this uprising is. 

He's not sure how long they sit there, but when he leans back, he's stiff and sore, shoulder aching a little, along with the spot on his chest where she'd poked him. It's more phantom pain than real discomfort, but he can't stop himself from lifting his hand and rubbing the spots. 

"Sorry," Sophie says, quietly. 

"Don't worry about it," he says, and his voice is back to being soft and flat, but it's from exhaustion more than anything else. 

He's pale in the lamplight, eyes terribly bloodshot, shoulders slumped in a way that screams defeat, but she can't help but think that's a good thing, this time around. 

He licks his lips, swallowing and she offers him the open bottle. It takes two mouthfuls for the bitter taste of blood spilled miles and years ago to fade, and another two before he can find the energy or courage to speak. 

"I look back now and I loathe what I did. Hate the person he made me, but at the time… well, he has a way of making you feel special." His lips twist around the word like it tastes bad in his mouth. "I was such a fucking fool. Thought I'd be okay, because I knew what sort of trap I was walking into." He shakes his head, passing the palm of his hand over his mouth. "I'll go, if you want. Parker and Hardison don't need to know and I figure Nate already does, so it's your choice." He keeps his eyes averted, gaze fixed firmly on his boots and waits, wondering if the axe that's been hanging over him for so many years is finally going to fall. 

"We all have pasts, Eliot," she says. "None of us are perfect, and the team doesn't work without you. You might not believe in redemption but we're making a difference and that has to mean something." She pauses, pressing her lips together, then continues. "If you want to go, I won't stop you, but as far as I'm concerned, this changes nothing."

The thought of packing up and leaving hurts like sharp teeth digging for the bone. He shakes his head, carefully, because he has a pounding headache. "I don't know how you can stand to be around me, but I don't want to go." It's an honest confession, but he's to emotionally raw to hide anything. 

Because you were a victim, too, she thinks, but knows saying that will sink like a lead balloon. "Because you always keep us safe. Because you bake me lemon cookies to go with my tea and cook for us so Hardison doesn't get scurvy. Because you sent Parker snapdragons and Hardison the orange soda he likes after the last rough job." She takes his hand, skin roughened from work and chapped from the cold, curling her fingers around his and squeezing until he returns the pressure. "Because you're not that bastard's Eliot anymore, you're ours." She smiles, because he's starting to look a little watery again. "Because if you go, I'll never get to taste that shrimp dish you do again, and that would be tragic," she says, eyebrow lifting, knowing she needs to lighten the mood. 

He sniffs, passing a hand under his nose, blinking back a new wash of tears. "Then I'll stay," he says, softly. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me." 

"Good," Sophie says, and shivers. "Now that's settled, can we go inside? It's freezing." She pitches her voice just right and it startles a laugh out of him. 

#leverage #eliot spencer #fanfic #whump #fanfiction #angst #emotional whump #Eliot spencer needs a hug #damien moreau #sophie devereaux

[geekynightowl1997]

I bet the first time Nana meets Eliot- she sees the God fearing, flag wearing 18 year old boy. (The one that Eliot looks for in the mirror and can't find.) Nana doesn't see a criminal. Doesn't see a man who has blood on his hands. She doesn't see a warrior bleeding and crying out for mercy. Just a over tired, stressed, broken 18 year old- trying to prove to the world he's worth fighting for. That there's hope in saving him. Nana doesn't question Eliot's roaming eyes. Roaming eyes that are either looking for danger or looking for exits. The older woman simply smiles and pulls him to the kitchen. Makes him sit down and puts a mug of coffee near his callous hands. Nana doesn't react when she hears screams, moans, and groans at night. Nor in the morning does she make a remark about walking by the room and seeing Hardison and Parker next to Eliot on the twin bed. (Eliot is in the middle.)

I bet when Nana first meets Parker, she doesn't question her habits at all. Some how (Hardison, obviously,) has Parker's favorite candy and cereal. Some times, Parker will sit right in front of Nana with a brush and a hair tie. Nana will gently brush her hair while she plays with whatever child is in front of her. She doesn't slap Parker's hands away when she grabs extra food. And she definitely ignores seeing Parker sneaking into the room Hardison and Eliot share. (Nana saw it when they walked in- Parker feels safe with them.) In the mornings and the windows are open- she looks out to see Parker and Alec on a bedsheet curled up to each other. She smiles. Nor does she comment on missing things after they leave. Especially since a few weeks later- those things return outta the blue. Nana has no qualms when Eliot shows up with both Parker and Hardison behind him- Parker sick and Hardison injured.

"Sorry, Nana," Eliot apologizes, looking meek at coming to her place, "I can't get them to list'n. Can't get 'em to rest." And together- Nana and Eliot get the two trouble makers on the couch. She might not question the reason why Eliot showed up with the two. However she does give Eliot a sparing look. She see's the ragged, tired look. It doesn't take a whole a lot of brain power to know that the two so called trouble makers- got Eliot into the dog pile. (He was suppose to follow her into the kitchen- he didn't. She knows Parker and Hardison grabbed his wrist.) (What can anyone say? She has eyes on the back of her head.) (Eliot allows to get pulled onto the couch with only mild, gruff, complaining.) When she goes back to the living room to check on her charges- she finds Eliot in squished in the middle- being used as a pillow. (He's knocked out too.)

Nana doesn't mind Parker teaching her kids how to pick locks. Or watching Eliot teach them self- defense. She doesn't question it when she see's little four year old Becca with pig-tails- standing by the counter helping Eliot with breakfast. Nana hums when she opens the door on a Saturday morning and see's Eliot, Parker, and Hardison (though Hardison begrudgingly-) with a tool box. After all she had left a message to Alec that her sink was leaky.

Instead, she makes coffee and pulls out Parker's favorite cereal. She asks if They are staying for lunch and even dinner. Makes causal remarks about one of her more difficult children- and watches as Parker and her baby Alec go and find the kid.

None of them comment about Parker recruiting half of kids that come from Nana's house. They keep it hush- hush when neighbors stop by for a cook out. Many of the neighbors ask about the trio- and Nana only replies with a smile.

"They're my kids." She says fondly- watching as Eliot grills as Parker is poking and prodding the chef. And Alec is simply smirking as he's showing Isak how to hack.

I bet Nana treats Eliot and Parker like her family. Because they are Alec's family.

#leverage #eliot spencer #parker #alec hardison #nana #domestic fluff #little moments where nana sees the OT3 as children #she doesn't see a soldier or a warrior #she see's a child whose looking for love #and she doesn't see a thief #she see's a girl looking for safety #i bet nana treats them like her own #she doesn't question eliot or parker #leverage essay #essay #nana is the best #she doesn't care thay eliot is teaching self defense or parker is teaching the kids how to steal #and does she help recruit for Leverage Incorporated? #absolutely she does

[the-ocean-is-trans]

it really feels like there’s a disconnect between most ot3 fic writers and on screen dynamics between eliot/hardison/parker

like when leverage show writers put eliot hardison and parker into a scene together, they aren’t afraid of the rough edges there. the ways they actually do annoy the hell out of each other sometimes. the hurtful things they say because their pasts have made them rub past each other like sandpaper. and also the tenderness and love and care and devotion. 

most fic writers just....don’t have that. its mostly just the tenderness and care but that feels saccharine and meaningless without the other stuff. i can read fluff about any characters. i read fic about these three because of the contradictions, the ways they are so close to be able to hurt one another but most of the time choose care instead but sometimes that choice isn’t enough to overcome the crap in their pasts so they do hurt one another.

also it confuses me when people write parker as this super nurturing person towards eliot particularly like. she loves to poke and prod his injuries. she is fascinated by pain and yes she loves him but theres something wildly careless and so so so fun about their in show dynamic that gets lost in translation to fic. 

#levereage ot3 #leverage #parker #eliot spencer #alec hardison #this one is from the vaults but i saw it in drafts and was like damn yeah i still agree

[miseryinyou]

The first couple of years Eliot just disappears on Nov 11th.

Eliot doesn't consider himself to be a veteran. The survivor's guilt combined with the things he's done post-military won't let him. That doesn't stop the team from noticing the haunted look that crops up in Eliot's eyes when the boy scouts begin selling poppies outside of grocery stores.

The first time the team tries to thank Eliot for his service on Veteran's day he fully walks out of the room. It scares them, because Eliot doesn't grumble or argue. He just quietly leaves and he doesn't come back for days.

The team learns from that mistake. Clearly, Eliot doesn't want recognition for his service and he certainly doesn't want to talk about it. So, Hardison starts quietly donating mass amounts of money to various organizations that help US veterans throughout the year.

When November rolls around Sophie begins leaving warm blankets all over the brewpub apartment and she makes sure Eliot's favourite brand of green tea is stocked in the cupboard. Just a little something to bring him some comfort and warmth should he choose to allow himself to grieve.

Nate gives Eliot space. He makes sure they don't schedule any jobs around the November 11th. He doesn't want to force Eliot to fight on a day when he should be calm and comforted.

Parker knows Nate means well, but she also knows that Eliot wants a distraction from the thoughts in his head. So she pesters him for anything and everything the entire month of November. She begs him to bake her the fancy chocolate cookies she loves. She convinces him to help her work out the safety details on her new rigs. Mostly though, she just follows him around like a lost puppy, poking and prodding just enough that the hitter knows he's not alone.

One year, the entire team follows Eliot to a cemetery and watches with lumps in their throats as Eliot cries silently next to a row of soldier's tombstones. That's the year they decide that enough is enough. They stop letting Eliot hide from them. They wrap the sobbing hitter in their arms and usher him into the car. They drive him back to the brewpub only to wrap him in blankets on the couch. They turn on a cheesy comedy and sit next to him, letting the manufactured laugh tracks distract Eliot from his trauma.

#leverage redemption #leverage #eliot spencer #parker #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #november 11 #veterans day

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

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Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.

#leverage #miko speaks #fic #my fic #ot3 #check og post for more notes

[trivalentlinks]

I really want an Eliot + or / Quinn emotional hurt/comfort fic where Quinn’s the one emotionally distressed and Eliot’s the one providing the comfort.

There are several physical H/C stories out there with hurt!Quinn, but with emotional H/C I feel like it’s almost always the other way around.

All of mine are hurt!Eliot, anyway, and yeah, I just posted 3.5 chapters of emotional H/C with Eliot being distressed and Quinn being a snarky little shit who pokes, prods, and cons Eliot into being okay. (Well, less not-okay, anyway.)

Now I just want the reverse. Eliot can also be a snarky little shit, too, but I feel like he’d go about it differently and I’d love if someone wrote that.

#leverage #eliot spencer #mr. quinn #quinn(leverage) #eliot x quinn