#eliot's a part of their forever and i can't even

[constantvigilante]

“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

I do not think that they will sing to me.

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws

Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

[aardvaark]

having just watched the Rundown Job. that fucked. I feel like this is what it would be like if the Big Bang Job had just an iota more self respect. for some reason BBJ is just toooooo corny I can't take it seriously, smth about eliot trying to have his emo backstory and big gun fight in one episode, but hardison and his magic Hacker Overlay and the trio drift compatible action movie-ing thru without a mastermind had me by the THROAT

the rundown job is THE ot3 episode. whether you prefer parker/hardison/eliot, or parker/hardison & eliot, or any other formation of those three, they certainly undeniably work very well together. they move in sync. they know each other so well that they don't even have to talk half the time. they've developed so much trust for each other when you compare this episode to season 1 jobs, and that mutual trust has brought all of their already-incredible talents to a new level.

you'll find that the leverage producers/writers/etc call it "competence porn", ie having scenes of the characters being extremely competent at what they do. it's fascinating and awesome just to watch them, don't even need much dialogue or plot pressure or anything. and that's really a testament to the actors' acting abilities & the stunt performers' skills.

plus we get all of their paired dynamics too! i love the parker & eliot dynamic where they’re both very task-oriented, logical, dangerous people. in the lost heir job episode commentary, john rogers had this to say...

[from @leverage-commentary]

...which i love. i love that dynamic, and you can see it in the rundown job too. except the lost heir job was season 2, and the rundown job is season 5, and that makes a difference in some respects - they're not so much hiding that from hardison, for one thing. and hardison doesn't need them to hide it, cause he seems to mostly think they're super fucking cool. except for when they're scaring the shit out of him, like parker burning the disease at the last second or eliot getting shot etc etc. mostly he thinks they're super cool though lol.

and while i tend to think that the "seeing math in the air" thing is usually a cheesy trope (like the spencer reid version. why is jesus there), i honestly really liked seeing inside hardison's head for once. it wasn't just random numbers like the confused math lady meme:

no, he's mapping the whole thing out in his head: we see some if-then-else flowcharts, he's picturing the direction the gears will turn, etc etc. he's figuring out how it will logically work and how it will mechanically work. to figure out all these problems in his mind, which he does every episode... well, he really is a genius, never forget it!

plus of course we get parker showing off her skills by jumping on trains + laser gymnastics + upside-down bomb defusing, and we get eliot skills of disturbingly calm negotiations + of course the fight scenes. they've each come such a long way too... eg hardison being way calmer about leaning on a bomb (again!) lol... ugh i could rant forever about how much i love these characters!!

i think the big bang job's gun fight is part of the eliot angsty stuff cause he had to shoot (and therefore likely kill) people for the first time in a long time. for action movie enjoyers, The Implications TM certainly dampen the action fun, so i get what you mean. i don't mind eliot angsty moments though. eliot IS kinda emo deep down sometimes - however, if hardison or someone called him that, there'd be hell to pay lol.

thank you for the ask, i love discussing this show!! :)

[sorcererinthestars]

A Quiet Reassurance - Leverage OT3 (if you squint) aka, I wanted an Eliot focused fic for the quiet days WC: 854

It wasn't just that it was raining.

It was a mixture of those dark, cold days when the weather is just on the warm side of freezing but the atmospheric pressure is off, leaving you kind of feeling unbalanced. When the world feels heavier, the ground feels a bit closer, like you're being crushed by some force you hardly feel exists.

That's the day when Eliot's bones ache; the wounds his body has taken over the years get to remind him that he's not invincible. The ache that goes so far deep its almost one with him, a heat in some way that goes all the way down to his toes.

He hurts. Over his life, he's fought. He's bled, he's been beaten with every weapon known to man. He's been clubbed, slapped, punched, kicked. He's had his bones broken, he's been knocked down over and over again and always manages to haul himself back up, finish the fight, protect those who need protecting - no matter what side of the fight he was on. He was always able to keep going.

But mornings like this? Every scar, every phantom pain flares back up to haunt him, to the point where he doesn't even think he can haul himself out of bed to get to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee (or god, a beer) and hunch over the table like he's aged sixty years. It's hard not to curse the weather - a fucking bullet can't stop him, can't bring him down, but a stiff breeze and a change in pressure can lay him out harder than any knife.

He rolls over painfully, staring at the ceiling, and tries to do what he's learned helps. To - painfully! - tense each muscle to their breaking point before releasing it, that rush of endorphins enough to make him groan with the pain and intense pleasure of it. It's a personal ritual, one every fighter like him has to learn to go through. The aches were going to be there forever, even after he fucking finally quits and leaves this whole life behind.

His shoulders and back are the worst of it. He's used to doing this alone, rolling his shoulders and painfully clawing himself to a sitting position, grunting as the simple movement is almost too much, pain blooming from sleeping in one position too long.

Finally, he lets out a string of curses as he rolls his shoulder and the pain of an old bullet wound sends white hot heat rolling down his arms and his chest, the joint having seized and the movement tugs on all the wrong nerves. Gritting his teeth and riding the pain, he almost misses a soft hand on his shoulder.

Because... that's right.

He wasn't alone this time.

This time, there was another set of hands to gently, wordlessly, knead the pain out of his shoulders. A soft pair of thumbs carefully working through the knots of scar tissue that bound up across his skin. Painstakingly rubbing the pain and then the numbness out, leaving such sweet relief that he almost cries with it, head slumping down.

He doesn't even turn his head to look and see who's hands it is. He knows them enough by now; can tell just by the slightest touch. The ache remains in every part of his body, but the warmth that ignites in his stomach helps soothe it. The hands lay him back down, not letting him take advantage of some of the easing pain and head towards the kitchen for breakfast (as if nothing ever happened).

No, the hands seem to say. You're in pain and we're going to remedy this, you and I. Stay put, we'll work through this together.

So he lays back, on his stomach this time, as a warm body straddles him ever so lightly, hovering above as the talented hands take the time to work out every kink, every bit of soreness the weather brings on, up and down his arms, across his sensitive shoulders, down his back - riddled with scars, remnants of another time - and across his hips. Then even lower, his thighs, his calves, even his ankles. No part of him was spared from weapons over his rough life, and so the hands work every piece of it out.

He is left, twenty minutes or twenty hours later, a puddle. The pain is gone - for now, never forever, but for now, peace. The air seems warmer, almost, despite no one turning up the heat. The hands leave and they could almost groan, wanting them to return. But instead they're replaced by a soft kiss between the shoulder blades.

A promise, almost. You're not alone anymore. You don't have to face it alone anymore.

The hands slide off and the bed shifts as a warm body slides off and pads towards the door, slipping off to start the morning.

And he - alone again, but with the knowledge of love just one room away - closes his eyes and sleeps again. This time with a body free of pain and full of warmth.

Peace at last.

[incomingalbatross]

I've been thinking a lot about redemption arcs lately, and I have a theory that people inherently sense that redemption is something that comes from Someone Else, but the incorrect assumption is that person must be the victim. (Mixing redemption with reconciliation, which really only applies in a Divine Context? Didn't think that part out.)

The kind of harsh truth here is, the victim does not have the privilege of refusing redemption. The villain doesn't need the permission or forgiveness of the person they hurt to become better. Obviously trying to repair the damage done is part of becoming better, but sometimes that's rejected or just flat out impossible. Redeemed Villain honestly just has to let that go and move on.

I think you're very right!

Redemption does seem to get mixed up with (human) forgiveness/reconciliation, which immediately makes things weird. Because on the one hand, the villain has zero right to demand forgiveness from their victim(s), let alone positive reconciliation. But also YES the victims have no say in the villain's redemption, and the villain DOES have the right/ability to become a good person regardless of what the victims think about that.

...I think this is also part of why repentant characters who refuse to forgive themselves strike a chord, sometimes. Like Eliot from Leverage, who seems to have rejected any idea that his past IS forgivable but is trying to do the right thing going forward anyway. If you look at forgiveness/redemption as something granted by the victims, it shows a lot more dignity and even selflessness for him to refuse to even consider it possible. He knows he can't make amends to his victims, and has no right to their own or their families' forgiveness for his vague-yet-murderous past, so he's resigned to carrying the weight of his sins forever. It shows he's taking his crimes seriously and he's also not asking for handouts - it's very Stoic.

It takes the addition of a Christian perspective, though, to say "yes but maybe that Goodness you are trying to serve now CAN, and WILL, forgive you - already has, even - regardless of whether the human people you hurt can. Maybe you don't have to make amends for your sins yourself to have them lifted from you."

Because that's ALSO challenging. The idea that someone's sins can be blotted out even when they really can't make amends for them. But that's what forgiveness IS.

[aceofwhump]

ooo just saw your top 5 tropes and do you have any good trapped under rubble recs?

I SURE DO!!!!

Tv Episodes:

Stargate SG-1 2x05

Hawaii Five-0 4x19

Arrow 7x20

Torchwood 2x12

Teen Wolf 3x12

Krypton 2x09

Hudson and Rex 2x14

Stargate Atlantis 5x01

Lost 1x07

Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

Lost in Space 2x05

BBC Casualty 34x01

Transplant 1x01

Castle 6x11

Agents of Shield 5x22

see this whumptober set for several examples

Fanfics:

My OCs:

Lucifer - Before I Go by Kay_kat: Chloe finally knows— finally believes the one thing that he’s been telling her since the beginning. That he is the Devil. By some miracle they’d worked past it and picked up where they’d left off, solving crimes together and maintaining a loosely defined and somewhat confusing personal relationship. He’d told her a lot of things since she found out, only... there is still one thing that he hasn’t told her that weighs on him every time he sees her beautiful face. It threatens to slip from his lips every time she rolls her eyes at one of his puns. The feelings that had bloomed that night on the balcony. So, when he ends up trapped under a building, with Chloe by his side as he struggles to hold on, will the feelings he’s been keeping inside finally spill free? He’s not sure he can go without telling her.

Hawaii Five-0 - Baby, Stay With Me by Horndog333: Steve and Danny are trapped inside when an explosion destroys and levels a parking structure. Danny is seriously injured by the falling cement and debris. Seeing no way out, Steve confesses something that will change both of their lives forever.

Leverage - but don't you shake alone by tragicallynerdy: Trapped in a collapsed building, an injured Eliot and panicking Hardison do what they can to keep each other alive, safe, and whole.

911 - Thicker Than Blood by altschmerzes: Bobby and Buck are in a parking garage when part of the structure collapses, trapping them both inside. The collapse itself isn't too bad. The problem is that Bobby can't find Buck, and is too concussed to remember that Buck is no longer on the blood thinners that could make even a minor injury lethal. Bobby struggles to communicate to the incident commander outside, a stranger, as well as to Athena, exactly why it's so important that he remain inside the collapse. But Buck's never left him behind, even when ordered to. He's not about to betray that in return.

Murdoch Mysteries - S-O-S by Horatio13: He was pinned in a pretty tight pocket, but not tight enough that it was impossible to breathe. Uncomfortably difficult, yes, but definitely possible. His ears were ringing. Something sharp was stabbing in his thigh. He couldn’t feel his fingers on his right hand, but he couldn’t see enough of them to figure out what the problem was. He could feel something wet and sticky starting to pool underneath his legs and stomach. Well, thought George numbly. This is fun.

Loki - you must know you are beloved; by unintentionallyangsty: When Loki risks his own life to save Thor's, he ends up trapped aboard the Statesman in a room quickly draining of oxygen. Thor is, understandably, less than thrilled at this development.

911 - the urgency of now by wayfarer: Buck is pretty sure the universe is actively trying to murder him at this point. There’s just no other explanation. In the last two years he has been blown up and subsequently crushed by a fire truck, suffered from a pulmonary embolism, nearly drowned in a tsunami and now this. How many times can he almost die before it stops being an accident and starts being some kind of cosmic hit put out on his life? Or, a building collapses on Buck and Eddie. Confessions ensue.

Tony Stark - To Prove a Hero is Allowed to Have Some of His Own by Era_Penn: Or, five(ish) times Tony thought a teammate would leave him behind, and one time he knew they wouldn't. (Chapter 7)

The Man From Uncle - One Day in Morocco by el_spirito : A fulfillment of the following prompt: One where they're in a building that collapses for nefarious reasons and Napoleon is injured and Illya, it turns out, is severely claustrophobic, so Napoleon has to simultaneously try and keep the giant Russian calm and not die. Featuring trapped boys, determined Gaby, and Waverly being great.

[notmuchtoconceal]

bro, confession -- i love watching weird conservative nerds on the internet talk about gay people like they're mutants and it's all projection.

oh my fucking god, bro. it is absolutely fascinating how insecure and pathetic they are --

and yeah, part of it's because of how much of myself i see in them.

empathy is a beautiful thing.

think like t. s. eliot and quentin tarantino and how they're weird neurotic geeks obsessively cataloguing a dead time that'll be gone forever because bro why youldn't you want to preserve some memory for time immemorial of a land you thought you knew and never knew

gone from the earth already before you had the foresight to remember

what are we but these bodies and our memories

some meager reputation prone to flux in the eyes of gullible men who fall to the lures of black anglers into blacker fancies corroded down to merely another cochhead on a wall of sieves

for there had already been so much lost and so many things you never got down and only so much time to remember as still you hurdle faster

for all time merely moves faster

so much more space with fewer things between as some stockpile like uranium builds up like plaque and all is black and gold beneath some radiant emerald green --

while we fancy that our imaginings, our infinitely superior realities, all sealed so hermetically as preserves catching dust on a shelf of grey moss on red oak where no longer the moon even shines, but those faint rays that turn back on them for the warmth of their cool,

for they saw futures by looking back as they built presence by looking forward

as a man is himself, all the things he is,

that he does and he dreams,

and my hands must handle more than spongey keys which drip in the nubs of their locks

or courtyards of sterile bit harshing my eyes with fluorescence so i see the trees as merely bearing square fruit,

cell walls in breast plate on keratin-bricked melons --

and it makes ya realize so much of the so-called "progressive" rhetoric in this country is people pathologically ashamed of their bodies cause they only know how to control others.

gotta get em as canned meat, nothin better than some substance under all the packaging.

gotta give em something to throw away.

can't fertilize en mass without the destructive act.

for the brutality of eroticism is the brutality of stark naked exposure and what revelations divine are our inspirations,

for we know well that to be ruled insincerely will always be unflattering,

and yet to truly explore a foreign consciousness will break us of our arbitrariness, break us in all the ways we yearn to be broken --

yes, oh yes -- the degrees of separation into some great other.

as we are he, she must be she, as we are fair, she must be rough, as we fancy women she must fancy women --

wait, we fancy MEN so she must fancy women --

homosexuality is *not* the state of nature,

we are ballerinas, twirling, twirling, twirling towards freedom

(escape velocity, bro!)

rocket number 9 awaits the evening star!

hammer hammer

armie hammer hammerhead.

your vessel is a thundercloud,

how she departs to the scorch of lands unseen.

our invisible sister frostbitten by the void, your skin is no stain of ours. you simply came from a distant land, nurtured by the light of our selfsame star --

by what names do you address him? they are as plentiful as his rays and the fruits bore below his arches --

by what magnificent shapes you have molded them to!

could i ever love you outside the bonds of politeness?

what yokes us to our decorum, some manifold headdress.

would i not encroach on you by knowing you, for you could not be what you are by knowing me? or do i fear simply, in spite of myself --

that for you to know me would break me, and i am simply this frail and fragile thing, some porcelain boy belonging to a delicate interior among the dust of the trees in the casings we flayed.

you love so me without absolution and i know only the absolute --

do i trespass upon you simply knowing not what to say?

what do you read into me, i who am a mute who harbors no infinities but what you see in me -- i could die when i see i have failed to love you, for i have failed you so truly that now you long to die -- there would be no cave deep enough, no epoch long enough to outlast the shame of the abortion i would sire would you to collapse in our lifeblood.

stop.

your silence could never hurt me. my silence is but a means to hurt yourself. i would never cease to speak to you, for i am unceasing in my speaking, though i use so much more than these meager gashes you catalogue in those denser smog infinities of your every fractionating light towers -- my beautiful algorithmic structure.

smoke bred the hydrogen bomb as mirror beget the sweatshop.

when you limit you, you limit me an i resent solely for i am as beyond limitation as you -- foolish boy. these potentialities which are your all -- you are always me, as i stroke your amber mane.

iridescent under an oyster shell, i flip you now to the light so that you may shimmer.

you who are eager to pull the trigger, may you find some infinity in your moment of hesitation.

you, who would not draw the blood of a traitor when called upon by the shade of your father, may you lay down the rapier of your mind and fence with two swords at once.

bro, it's like -- it's way more work to keep yourself cut off. from other people and the world, like -- what's the point.

not really any point when what ya wanna get away from's yourself,

cause buddy you ain't ever gonna get rid a that guy pointin a gun at other people.

you'd probably like him if ya got to know him.

he has a lotta good qualities.

i'd probably be into him if i didn't already know all his secrets.

[pierrai]

Hello!! I have an unusual request—I'm very curious about which ocs of yours would be into branding their s/o!!

Thank you for the request! I've answered this one first because it was easier to write but it was fun! I hope you enjoy ^^ I wasn't sure which OCs you'd want included so I just did all the OCs I thought capable of it!

Character: Multiple Word Count: 1086 Scenario: What OCs would be into branding their S/O? Warnings: Blood, abusive dynamics, implied death

Mira wouldn't intend to brand you at all. He doesn't want to.

He hates hurting people and so intentionally branding you is something he wouldn't even think of while he's still sound of mind, however if you're around him long enough, being 'branded' by him might be something that happens regardless.

You'll find your skin tainted pitch black where he's touched you or where you've touched him. He can't help it—he doesn't want this, please. He'll beg you to leave before it's too late, but it probably is already too late. Why, why didn't he push you away sooner? Why didn't you leave? He got too attached. He liked you far too much and now look what he's caused. His brand is a mark of death.

Though it may not actually get to that point, Eliot would at least think about branding you, especially if the topic comes up at some point.

Any way he can prove he owns you is one he's enamoured by, and though he doesn't want to actively harm you, he selfishly thinks that the small amount of pain it'd cause is worth it for seeing his own personal mark on your skin, and you should think so too. He's thought of simply branding you with his name or the mark of Filomena. Whether he's forsaken his god or not doesn't matter. The crescent moon is his to claim you with.

He wouldn't want to carve the mark into you—he's squeamish when it comes to blood and the sight would probably make him squirm—but using a branding iron would be fine, wouldn't it? If he brought it up... would you get mad at him?

Regardless of how far his fantasies get in his mind, he'll likely never be able to act on them. Luckily for you, his threats are largely empty and his jokes equally so. Unless he thinks he could truly get away with branding you or you bring it up yourself, branding will remain just that: a fantasy.

If your relationship is stable, Haine won't want to brand you. There are other ways he'll happily mark you up that don't hurt as much and aren't as long lasting. After everything you've both been through, leaving a permanent scar on your delicate skin is something that would turn his stomach rather than turn him on.

However if your relationship isn't so stable, he's not opposed to branding you. He hates you but you belong to him. Your mind, body and, most importantly, your soul, all belong to him, and why shouldn't he leave evidence of that?

Maybe he can use his nails or his teeth... bite and carve deep enough that it scars forever and ever. Not like you'll have your body long enough for it to matter, but you're fine with that, aren't you? Even when every piece of you is gone—when you've rotted to nothing but dust, your soul a part of him and your entire being reduced to nothing but a memory to him and him alone—he wants to make his mark on you before that happens.

He's not buying time. He's not delaying what he original intended to do with you. He simply hates you, and he wants you to suffer as much as you possibly can before he finally erases you into nothingness.

Damien's way of branding you is indistinguishable to anything else he already does to you. You probably wouldn't even be able to tell that branding you was his intention if it wasn't for the elated way he told you that was what he wanted. There's no point asking him why he suddenly thought of it. You were well aware by now that Damien was simply sick and twisted and his degeneracy was only amplified when you were involved.

He'll want to cut into you with a scalpel, his preferred choice of medical apparatus. A nice sharp blade that allows him the most delicate of cuts. He can carve whatever he wants, it doesn't matter. He just wants to enjoy the tenderness of your skin as it splits open, the hotness of your blood when it spills over his fingers. He wants to see your insides. They belong to him.

He won't go overboard and leave you tattered with cuts and scars—he's not a sadist, he gleefully tells you—he just wants one area of your skin to cut into and leave a nice scar on purpose. Though he usually only makes incisions for experimental purposes, this one has no other purpose but to entertain him and you. He wants to feel the thrill of leaving a very intentional mark on you. He wants to watch your expression when the blade sinks in, wants to smear blood across your lips and kiss them. The way he cuts up his cadavers and living subjects is calculated and cold, but this is an expression of his love.

You won't need to worry about it getting infected. He's a doctor. He'll make sure it heals up into a nice satisfying scar.

The thought of branding you will naturally cross Alastor's mind at some point. He's possessive and controlling, and he'd simply love to leave his mark on you somehow.

It doesn't have to be a painful way of marking you so to speak. He's perfectly content marking you up with hickeys when you're being intimate with each other. He'll suddenly become eager to trail kisses down your jaw and neck instead of kissing your lips.

He's left hickeys on his one-night-stands before, but usually only one. For a while, doing so was a way for him to amuse himself. He liked watching his partners have to carefully cover up their shame. For you, however, he wants to leave as many as possible in places you can't always cover. He wants people to see that you're his.

If he's feeling especially jealous or possessive, he'll bite you instead. He doesn't care if you protest. He wants this mark to last.

You best hope you don't ever upset him too much, or he just might start thinking of more permanent ways of proving you belong to him. Hickeys will eventually fade, but a brand from a branding iron won't. He should brand you with his own version of his family's emblem. How would you like that?

It might sound like a threat to scare you at first, but if Al suddenly starts investing in an artist or a blacksmith, you might want to start with some damage control.

[wewringmagicfromtheordinary]

#she also says it all out loud to Eliot--and like yes obviously to some extent she's saying it to us the audience but also--to Eliot#who she knows will understand exactly what she's feeling right now#she knows Eliot agrees that Hardison and Nate and Sophie are better than they are in this way. she knows Eliot feels bad about it sometimes#and she knows--she hates it but she knows--that they cannot bring the dead man back down the mountain. they can't.#and she knows that Eliot has already made peace with it#with not bringing the body back to his wife but also with being a bad man. having done bad things before. still doing bad things.#and I think more crucial than anything else in this scene Parker also knows that Eliot can and will help her with all of this#he can understand what she's saying he can articulate a response he will agree with her points and he won't think less of her for any of it#everybody on the show is so observant and so clever and so good at putting things together but Parker is the best at it#and here a full season before the French Connection Job she's trusting Eliot to help her with her feelings and I'm so /proud/ of her via ereborne

#THIS SCENE#these tags#forever emotional about this scene#the way eliot sees parker#the way they understand each other in a way that's just theirs#they can't be hardison#not in this moment#but they can be them#and that is exactly who they need to be via kekela717

#i'll never be over the way that eliot keeps letting parker try#he already knows it won't work but he's willing to slowly let her come to that realization#eliot is often impatient with parker and with hardison#he loves them obviously and a lot of times i think he's playing it up#like as part of their dynamic or even is way of showing affection#and also like he has to keep them just a little bit apart from him to keep them safe i think#but also this scene contrasted with the scene where parker asks him what the worst thing he did was#and he asks her not to ask him because he'll tell her and she backs down in understanding#like#eliot and parker do understand each other on a slightly different level than say hardison#anyway i'm going to run out of tag room so#just#the way that parker WANTS to be redeemed wants to be a good guy#her desperation here#and the way that eliot takes it and says essentially being survivors is who they are and that's neither good nor bad via theladywyn

#them!#god this scene hurts so bad everytime#it's not wrong to be sharp and it's not wrong to save yourself#what i like most about leverage is that people do get better but they don't get any less weird or dangerous. they just put those skills#towards better purposes#because it isn't wrong to be dangerous it's wrong to hurt people for bad reasons via thoughtformtheuniverse

[faorism]

(some/all of this will be going into my current wip coming out soon but i need to riff for a sec about leverage international deciding to actually consider their hitters' limits. significant contributions from my bud cecil.)

there won't be another eliot spencer.

for a lot of reasons, obviously. perfection was achieved early with that hot piece of punchy hands eye candy, and it's hard to become a boogeyman when eliot's name is already a whisper in the night. but there won't be another eliot spencer because leverage international does not fucking allow shit like the (un)knowing exploitation of a hitters body anymore. there won't be another hitter spending their retirement with pains that wont go away and mornings they can't get up and a fog in their brain that steals memories and thoughts and words with the precision of a thief, but these are stolen objects not even the best retrieval specialists could ever bring back.

there won't be another eliot spencer, not under parker and alec's watch.

masterminds (or whatever they decide to call their point) have to budget field time for hitters. as such, teams usually have at least two, so no one is doing consecutive jobs or working after a bad hit. hitters join a team and their masterminds must have a proposal to parker within the year of what alternative role hitters will be trained for over time. eight years is the absolute limit for hitter only assignments, four after that for mixed roles inclusive of hitter, but those twelve years total is pushing it to the very max.

theres no private hot nurses you pretend are just a hook up and are rly actual nurses. theres a league of health care professionals recruited to help. they are better trained than typical US health care orders. no "black people feel less pain/have stronger bones/extra muscles" or "women complain more/have a lower pain tolerance" bullshit in their medical network. no gender essentialism bullshit about bodies or transphobic language or practices. therapy aint mandatory but damn is it recommended hard.

the episode in 2.0 with the woman whose cop ex stalked her planted a seed. like, fuck why dont we check in. and even if there's not an active bad guy doing shit,, getting your life together and recovering from the trauma of victimization? that is hard.

leverage international becomes an ecosystem.

social worker has a bad taste in parkers mouth, so they call it something else. people who care. people who will check in. you are part of our protection forever like let's change the world. you guys are the good guys and can do things we can't imagine. so we are going to make sure you can do your thing, because theres only so much of an arms race we can do with bad guys vs bad guys.

truly an arms race: if it was nate's leverage international, they would be running fire through the world and taking down every fucker around and itll be warfare, as eliot says in the finale of 1.0. and that's how it starts with just them three but idk they didnt have to live like that. they shouldn't, and they teach others they shouldnt either. because how many bad guy security folks are told they have to start hitting harder & bring bigger guns, but they weren't so sure about this job to begin with, and maybe now is a good exit time? and then they end up on leverage's payroll instead.

nate would be disappointed about how slowly they are taking own the bad guys with so many people involved.

but nate would never have come up with this in all his plans. this kind of collaboration just wasn't in his alphabet. because as @july-19th-club argued so well, god love that ornery bastard but nate? nate never had that vision, you know? because this truly an extension of hardison's love. alec is here to make the world a better shelter for those he loves.

and by bre's time, recognition has shifted to "actually, this isn't just the scaled up adult version of a bully on the playground. this is the system. they have a network. we need to build our own."

the jobs are slower and paced because (1) the bad guys are spooked because the fuck is going on why cant anyone keep their money why is everyone going to actual jail; (2) their hitters are getting more ruthless; (3) leverage is like trying not to destroy their crews thru exhaustion; and (4) Plan Fucking Ms are goddamn unacceptable like the fuck nate thr fuck,,, parkers three jobs in tryna run leverage like nate and like how did you joke about that how do you have so casually in your brain like, oh yeah hardison the """"weak"""" one dies.

people are going to get hurt and die, because what they do is dangerous and you cannot account for it all and no one can replicate the magic skill/luck that was working with the OG leverage crew. but. but. if they need to scale back and slow down and have bigger teams and more training or whatever to protect their fucking family then fuck it. that's what they will fucking do.

there won't be another eliot spencer, but he will always be remembered. known. but the legacy of eliots work is not that he was an indestructible force. but the knowledge that every life is sacred and to be protected, not just the ppl you are putting your body in front of to defend but also yourself. and thats? thats love. thats a world truly changing and changed.

[wistful-giselle]

Hello Giselle! I don't know if you have seen my two other asks, but I wan't try my luck three times. I hope you would answer this because I have no one to talk to. My days are very dull and dark, I am an aspiring writer/poet, people like us are made to love and be passionate...but these past few weeks I could not write my heart out. I am very heart broken, and the thought of being lonely kills me. I have been depressed, but what's more painful than sadness is the fact that you can't feel anymore and that is what I'm going through. Hope you advices to ease my pain and longing. As I mention that I am an aspiring writer, can you recommend me some steps and what to do to a procrastinating and chaotic mind like mine? My vocabulary is also not that good as English is not my first language, I hope that you can suggest me many words that reflect beauty and ethereal. And also poetry and books that can help my way out of this. My heart goes on to you, my sweet fairy💓💗 I really hope that you get to see this... :)

oh my love, I genuinely feel so heartbroken after reading this... I might cry... I am so sorry that I have not replied sooner; I very very rarely check my inbox and often asks get lost in the aether. I am deeply glad that you persisted though, I want to help as best I can. you write beautifully by the way- even with english not being your first language you are able to express yourself in a way that holds a lot of emotion and intensity. ♡

I understand loneliness; I understand being unfeeling. although, strangely, I feel that when I am so dissociated from the world, I write best. I simply write what I feel- I don’t try and make it ‘good’, or beautiful, just a reflection of what is happening within my mind or soul. even when one can’t feel anything, there is still something to encapsulate- a hollowness, an absence, a white, blank space or a dark, winding forest that can objectified and made less engulfing for being put into words.

as for some words that I feel are some of the most beautiful in the english language, they include for me:

♡ pearlescent, ephemeral, drowsy, moonbeam, languid, selkie, ethereal, mellifluous, enthralled, lull, ambrosia, translucent, lilting, twilight, enchanting, murmurous, dream, eglantine, wistful, aurora, reminiscent, dewdrop, seraphic, liminal, melancholy, faery, ineffable, haunting, sylph, enamoured, iridescence, lavender, spectre, eerie, luminescence, illicit, petrichor, perfumed, sublime, gossamer, lithe, ingenue ♡

as for books- I put so much of my faith and my heart in children’s books. it might have something to do with nostalgia, but I also believe that children’s books- especially older ones- are often so steeped in messages about light and love and generosity of the heart. and subtle, joyous threads of magic. my very favourites are ‘the little white horse’ by elizabeth gouge, ‘the secret garden’ and ‘the little princess’ by frances hodgson burnett, and ‘howl’s moving castle’ by diana wynne jones. when I find my mind to be ‘chaotic’ and unfocused, I know I can find solace in these books and others- there is a joy in rereading books over and over until reading them takes no effort at all, just like falling asleep or daydreaming.

if you, like me, are particularly drawn towards more ethereal and metaphysical elements of language, shakespeare is unparalleled- parts of ‘a midsummer night’s dream’, ‘the tempest’ and ‘romeo and juliet’ especially are truly, truly exquisite. similarly, there is some victorian and romantic poetry that is completely hauntingly beautiful. I adore ‘the lotos-eaters’ by tennyson, for instance, and absolutely anything by keats. I have been reading ‘to autumn’, of course, as it is late september- but I always return most of all to ‘ode to a nightingale’ when it comes to loneliness…

the passage where the monster is describing his flight in ‘frankenstein’ by mary shelley also makes me cry- it is also about loneliness, heartbreak, grief. and I feel so profoundly glad whenever I cry at a novel- it makes me feel human and connected to something and someone else and so relieves that ache of isolation. virginia woolf uses language in intricate and lovely ways too- ‘to the lighthouse’ and ‘orlando’ have such an innate musicality to them, they cut deep to what it is like to live and be alive. ‘jane eyre’ by charlotte bronte too, as well as ‘david copperfield’ by dickens and ‘adam bede’ by george eliot. they are long novels, and require patience and a little love, but perhaps finding a book like that might help relieve that ache for you too.

find a dream-like corner someplace quiet, light a candle, absorb yourself in someone else’s world and their troubles. please be kind to yourself, truly; you won’t feel like this forever. I promise you are not alone, and you may come and talk to me anytime, I promise I shall pay extra care to my inbox and private messages from now on. you have my sympathy and love and friendship if you need it angel ♡

[party-gilmore]

OH OH OH AND THE WAY THE "ANNE"/MARIA PLOT WOULD SHAKE OUT IS LIKE

So because Head and Heart - (who Eliot ended up making fake names and personas for, since they're becoming such a big part of his life he's started to refer to them here and there, talk about stuff they've told him, so they're now "Parker and Hardison," his friends he met online and live in Canada but they still talk a bunch) - just assist with combat instead of taking over, Eliot doesn't REALLY know the extent of what they can do, physical morph wise.

They've done like... tentacle arms, and assuming their shape over parts of Eliot's body, but that's about it. They've had no reason to do other stuff.

So he starts seeing Maria because he's "looking for something... more" and his symbiotes are... Supportive, because they want him to be happy, but confused. After it ends, he's lying back in his bed with a groan hoping he'll get a quiet night, but knowing he'll have no such luck.

hands. what did you mean by something more.

Haha yeah, c'mon, we not enough for you, E?

Eliot groans again and settles in for what he assumes will be another hour or so of what Hardison jokingly refers to as 'pillow talk' before he can finally get some sleep. The male symbiote always found it easier to slip into human colloquialisms and culture, cracking the same kind of jokes and using Eliot's own name (and variations thereof) more easily. Parker, on the other hand, preferred to stick with what she already knew, and showed no more intent to change than some mild curiosity - like humanity was a puzzle for her to figure out.

The two symbiotes complimented each other so perfectly. A sad smile spreads across Eliot's face, and he takes care not to let it slip across his mind as well.

"Nah, don't you two worry about it. You're stuck with me for good."

till our dying day. you said.

"Yeah darlin', till our dyin' day," he chuckles, lost for a moment in that golden haze of a hard fought, hard won, too good to be true victory ten years ago.

In the middle of a decimated San Lorenzo villa, dropping to his knees in front of Damien Moreau's headless corpse, he'd promised himself forever to these two strange creatures that had become his friends. His family. Who'd helped him free himself. Who, even in their own fear - running from their own demons, hiding out in his body as the only refuge they could find strong enough to hold both of them - had risked everything on a bigger job than they'd ever pulled before. Risked calling attention to themselves. Risked exposure. Risked their lives.

So he'd given them his.

Alright then man, what is it? Not that we don't want the best for you, after everything, but like... seriously Eliot, what can she do that we can't?

Eliot laughs a little, rolling over to his side.

"C'mon Hardison, I know you're the Heart of this little operation of ours, but that don't mean you ain't one of the smartest beings I've ever known. I'm sure you can figure out some basic physics."

Now that's just hurtful. Like you don't have a history of working all your feelings up into the most complicated damn knots we've ever s-

we really don't know, hands. need you to say it.

"A body, Park," Eliot sighs, voice going soft. "Humans... we need that kind of thing. Not just touch, but... holding. The weight of somebody in your arms. Being able to grab tight to them and them to you, something more than just... a hand here and there, or a glimpse of you in the mirror. We... some of us, we starve without it, in a way. They same way you would without the supplements we buy. Might not kill you, but... it makes you weak, when you can't get it."

It's quiet in his head for moment. Which is unusual. And unsettling. It hasn't been quiet in his head for twelve years.

"Uh... guys?" Eliot shifts, starting to sit up. "I didn't mean... I hope you don't think-"

He startles as two thick tendrils wrap around from behind his shoulder blades with none of the usual warning - Head's thick inky blue-black and Heart's bright white, the perfect compliments as they wrap and twist and elongate down his sides.

He's seen them reach out before, move things around, extend his reach in a fight, but never with this much... bulk. They wrap around themselves, folding over and over, building up shape and form into two separate distinct entities along either side of him.

Bodies.

They solidify, into bodies.

Warm, humanoid (if perhaps... still a bit unsettlingly alien, but no more so than when Eliot was first learning what their tentacle-like limbs could do), unique bodies.

Parker blinks up at him unnervingly, wet white lenses squelching quietly in the otherwise silent room.

Hardison tilts his head in a cocky, sly manner, grin splitting his face and filling Eliot's vision with sharp teeth, saliva dripping from his long tongue as he speaks-

"You're a fucking idiot, Eliot."

I'm just going to say it was a VERY short, slippery slide from "Hardison and Parker take Eliot to see Venom 2 and Eliot connects a little too hard with Eddie and Venom's situation" to a "Head and Heart are bonded symbiotes on the run from the hive because you aren't supposed to DO that, and the they find refuge in the body of an ex-mercenary named Eliot. Neither of them know how to fucking fight, and Eliot can't fucking believe this, so they lend him their strength (and even sometimes let him in control of their full symbiote body) to do all the combat for them, and start jokingly referring to him as Hands" fic plot bunny

[eyesaremosaics]

Howdy :) questions, seeing as you can't sleep: have you had any experiences which majorly helped to shape who you are today? Dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would it be? Where do you feel most safe? How would you describe what love feels like for you? One fundamental element of who you are?

Hi there! Thank you for asking!

I believe all my experiences have shaped me into who I am today. All the characters I’ve played, the people I’ve met, the trauma I’ve survived, the deep connections I have formed. My psychic grandmother had a huge impact on who I grew up to be, as did my impetuous and fiery mother. My father also shaped me with his “rebel without a cause philosophy” and his independence. My significant relationships shaped me for sure. In both good and bad ways. Being forced to move out at 18 and support myself entirely with no financial support whatsoever was a big thing. Moving to Berkeley, and then to SF definitely shaped me.

I also think, that doing hospice care for a friend who was dying of cancer, and raising her two little boys really significantly shaped me. More than anything else I suppose. It was the most meaningful experience of my life.

Dinner with anyone… Living or dead… That is hard. There are so many. Nietzsche, Sylvia Plath, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda, Bowie, Walt Disney, Queen Elizabeth, Clara now, Greta Garbo, Alfred Hitchcock, Winona Ryder and Johnny Depp when they were together, along with Tim Burton, Edward Gorey, Jhonen Vasquez, Alan Rickman, Anais Nin and Henry Miller, J.D Salinger, J.k Rowling, Oscar Wilde (you KNOW he would be hilarious), Edgar Allen Poe, Anne Sexton, Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, Ralph Fiennes, Al Pacino, Kate Winslet, Aleister Crowley (I’d be terrified yet fascinated), man ray, Frida Kahlo, Salvador Dali, Edie Sedgwick, Aldous Huxley, Judy Garland, Dario Argento, Stanley Kubrick, Louise Brooks, Stuart Townsend, Martin Luther King, Louis CK, Rasputin, Aaliyah, Josephine Baker, Nat King Cole, Joanna Newsom, James Earl Jones, Robert smith, Siouxie Siou, grace Slick, HUNTER S. THOMPSON, Obama, Carrie Fischer, Audrey Hepburn, Clark Gable, Hattie McDaniel, Abraham Lincoln, Cate Blanchett, Juliette Binoche, Viola Davis, Edward Albee, Shakespeare, Marilyn Manson and Twiggy Ramirez (back in the old days), Tori Amos, Bjork, Lauren Graham, Simone de bouvoir, Socrates, Jean Paul Sartre, Jack Kerouac, Aristotle, Gene Tierney, Lupe Velez, Rose McGowan, Liz Frasier, Fiona Apple, Diana Ross, Lindsay Kemp, Kate Bush, Bill Hicks, Cillian Murphy, Ibsen, Joan of Arc, Brandon and Bruce Lee, Cleopatra, Nefertiti, Helena Bonham Carter, Prince, Peter Steele, Ray Charles, Billi Holiday, Eva Greene, Martin Scorsese, Marlon Brando, Orson Welles, The entire cast of golden girls, especially Bea Arthur, Robin Williams, Miyazaki, Kevin Aucoin, Nico, Anne Frank, Chris Rock, Mary Pickford, Elfride Jelinek, Anne Rice, Marlene Dietrich, Mary Shelley, Gia, Howard Hughes, Vincent van gough, Dustin Hoffman, Vincent price, Hans Christian Anderson, Gary Oldman, Daniel day Lewis, Michael Caine, Rumi, t.s Eliot… Laurence Olivier And God so many more.

Overall though, I would choose to have tea with Vivien Leigh. My one true hero and inspiration.

Where do I feel most safe? Disneyland, my bedroom, and my grandmother's house.

Love feels like… A drug to me. It feels like the entire world is suddenly made beautiful–even the ugly parts. I feel like my heart has wings, I feel more excitement and desperate passion than I have ever felt, I feel a warm glow, a blue lagoon reflecting the sky. It feels like suddenly everything in the world makes sense, and like I am a little girl again in awe of the world for the first time. When the initial honeymoon phase passes… It feels like… A heartbeat in my head. Like my right arm. Something that is always with me, and very deeply a part of me, everywhere I go. It feels like an omnipresent thing. Like the feeling of suddenly knowing you are alive, it feels like a warm blanket to cuddle up with. Like flowers blooming in the spring, or the sun shining through the clouds. Though in my sad and limited experience… It often ends up feeling sad. Like an echo, a stain on your consciousness. A shadow slinking along the walls… At least romantic love. Live for my friends and family, is something eternal. The power of miracles. That which shines, and it can never be diminished or destroyed. My love once given, is forever.

Fundamental element of who I am? Empathy.

Sorry so long! Thank you for keeping me busy on this long sleepless night. I wish you much love my dear! 💋💋