#looking at his paper knives and thinking really hard lmfao

[lostandbackagain]

dustfinger spends 90% of his life seeing how close to getting his ass beat he can get without actually getting hurt and guessing wrong almost every time

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Wedding Job

leverage 1.07

Nate: No. No, it's-it's not right. But, you know, uh, we're not detectives. And if you want to prove your husband's innocence, there are plenty of agencies I could recommend.

eliot and hardison share tired, annoyed looks and I felt that in my soul

- - - - - 

Teresa: I understand. Thank you. Where did my daughter go?

Hardison:I think she was with Parker.

(Parker is teaching the little girl how to pick locks)

Parker: Go! 

(they both begin to work on the locks, after a few seconds, the girl gets hers open)

Parker: 6 seconds! Give it up! Good job.

parker can be good with kids and it’s adorable

- - - - - 

Hardison: Just take the mob out of it.

Nate: What? Take the mob out of it?

Hardison: Hear me out. Isn't this just a breach of contract?

Eliot: These guys had a deal, right? And your boy, Ray, he lived up to his end, but Moscone didn't. And for that, there's not a court of law in this world this lady can go to.

Parker: Which is exactly the kind of case we take

the ot3 immediately jumping in to support sophie’s idea

- - - - - 

Hardison: We can't. That thing's a fortress, man. I clocked four armed guards, a Tikva security system. That thing's Israeli-Made. It's used to protect their military bases. It's unhackable. Oh, and then there's the FBI parked around the corner.

Parker: FBI? Where? (looking through camera lens)

Hardison: You see that crappy van that says "plumber"?

Sophie: Did you say "plumber"? That's their cover? Oh, that is so cute. It's like it's 1978 all over again

- - - - - 

Parker: I saw some rubber gloves. What do you do with those?

McSweeten: Oh, actually, we've just been kind of blowing them up and playing volleyball. But, uh, yeah, if we need to do any kind of investigation…

big boredom during quarantine mood

- - - - - 

eliot being proud of the one (1) thing he did on the computer 

- - - - - 

parker winked at mcsweeten that poor boy, I’d be smitten too

+

fic writers get on this, parker smells like jasmine

- - - - - 

Hardison: All you have to do is rip them on my flash drive and run.

[FBI Offices]

(Eliot closes the door)

Eliot: I don't have to type anything, right?

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: No, just plug it in. It does the rest.

Eliot: All right, 'cause you know I just learned the Photoshop thing you told me.

Hardison: I-I know. Baby steps.

[FBI Offices]

Eliot: So I just plug it in.

(Eliot forces open a set of cabinet doors and they open, revealing stacks of cassette tapes. He looks at the flash drive in his hand)

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: Now, audio files, they can take a little while to run, but, uh, the servers are pretty loud, so that should give you some cover.

[FBI Offices]

Eliot: It's tapes.

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: Wha-hold, wait. Did y-you just say "tapes"?

Eliot: I just said "tapes"!

Hardison: Cassette tapes?

[FBI Offices]

(Eliot picks up a cassette case and taps it with the flash drive)

Eliot: Your little thing, it's not gonna work.

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: But at least you ain't got to type nothing.

[FBI Offices]

Eliot: Hardison, how am I supposed to get out of the FBI offices with a boxful of surveillance tapes, huh?

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: Punch somebody.

[FBI Offices]

Eliot: Oh, I’m gonna punch somebody

- - - - - 

Nate: Can you break the codes?

Hardison: The codes? The codes to the Cayman Bank and Trust, where the Cali cartel and the African dictators keep all their dirty money? The ones that Moscone changes anytime he damn well pleases? Like, it's-c-come on. Dude, are you kidding me?

Nate: You know, you're-you're very negative lately. 

Eliot: Yeah. 

Nate: And the sass, it doesn't-doesn't help.

bruh lay off hardison

- - - - - 

[audio of mob family fighting playing off of hardison’s computer]

Sophie: It's a bit like an opera, isn't it?

Eliot: You mean 'cause I want to run away

- - - - - 

Nate: Sophie. Where are we at?

Sophie: Huh? I don't know, Nate. I think you need to ask yourself that question. You called me, remember? And now we're working together every day. I don't know what you want. And to ask me that dressed like a vicar? You're a very strange man.

Nate: No, no, no. I meant where are we at with finding the money?

Sophie: Oh.

chaotic sophienate 

- - - - - 

Nate: How are we doing? How's the search?

Eliot (chopping vegetables): I haven't started yet.

Nate: Okay, you know, I haven't gotten one answer I was looking for today. What is it that you're doing? What's going on?

Eliot: I'm cutting onion, deveining shrimp, uh, pan-searing some scallops. I've got 200 people I got to feed, all right? Back off.

Nate: Okay, okay. Hmm.

Eliot: What, you think the only thing I know how to do is bust heads?

Nate: No, well, yeah.

Eliot (demonstrating): Look, hold a knife like this, cuts through an onion. Hold a knife like this, cuts through, like, eight yakuza in 4 seconds. Screams, carnage. People are like knives. Everything is in context.

Heather (enters): Okay, hors d'oeuvres.

Eliot: Yes, ma'am. Stuffed mushrooms, pine nuts, kiss of basil, some sun-dried tomatoes, and the finishing touch, lemon juice. (gives her bite)

Heather (spits it out): Does this look like a food court? Does it? I want high-End food - High-End! What are you— (walks out)

(Eliot starts to go after her with the knife, Nate stops him)

Eliot: I know.

NEVER GET BETWEEN ELIOT AND HIS FOOD

also, eliot only becoming murderous when someone insults his food? iconic

- - - - - 

Sophie (to bridesmaid): You look lovely.

Cindy: You don't think it makes me look fat?

Parker: Oh, definitely. I mean, why do you think I had to let out the waist? To make you look less skinny?

Sophie: She... she didn't mean that.

Heather: Oh, suck it up, Cindy. You'll be fine.

if someone did this to me I would c r y and that’s the truth lmfao

- - - - - 

the ot3 eating pizza and laughing as nate verbally fucks himself over with sophie lmao

- - - - - 

Hardison: Yo. No way in hell I could ever imagine getting married. I mean, it's just - It's just a piece of paper.

(Eliot, eating an apple, looks at Hardison)

Hardison: I take it you've never been married.

Eliot: No.

Hardison: Ever come close?

Eliot: No.

Hardison: What was her name?

Eliot: It was a girl I grew up with. But anyway, she married somebody else, so...

Hardison: Hot-hot damn, what did you do?

Eliot: What did I do? I liberated Croatia. (leaves)

Hardison: Oh, see, now, me, I would have just got fat and started up a comic-Book shop. That's you and me right there.

relationship foreshadowing in s1 we love to see it

- - - - - 

Hardison: Now, I know that you're in charge of the bridesmaids' dresses, but why are you wearing one?

Parker: A bridesmaid's dress is like an all-access pass at a wedding. Plus, I kind of said something, and the maid of honor cried. And Sophie said I should make it up to her. 

Hardison: By looking much, much better in the same dress? Yeah, you let me know how that goes.

Parker: Hmm, you really think I look good?

Hardison (pinning flowers on her dress): And now you're perfect

they’re BABIES your honor

- - - - - 

(of course the trashy mom wears a sparkly white dress to her daughter’s wedding) 

- - - - - 

(Eliot walks up to the rest of the team)

Eliot: What is it? I got bacon on.

Parker: The Butcher is here.

Eliot: Does he have the baby lamb chops?

Hardison: No. The butcher of Kiev.

Nate: Think he'll recognize you?

[Flashback]

(flames surrounding them, the Butcher has Eliot by the neck and is trying to cut him with a meat cleaver. Eliot is barely holding him off)

Butcher: I kill you!

[Exterior House]

Eliot: Yeah, I think he'd remember me

I live for wacky eliot flashbacks

- - - - - 

Nate: You're staying? Sophie, Sophie, it's the Butcher of Kiev.

Hardison: Have you ever been to Kiev? The cake-maker of Kiev would whup all our ass. This is the butcher.

Sophie: Uh-Huh.

this isn’t that notable, but it’s funny

- - - - - 

parker smushed up against the glass door ,,, just imagine if anyone saw that lmao

- - - - - 

eliot using a frying pan to fight the butcher of kiev,,, iconique

- - - - - 

we need to start making a list of things that are Specifically Not Weapons™ that eliot uses as weapons:

for this episode, a frying pan, a whisk, an appetizer platter, the platter itself 

- - - - - 

Hardison (eating appetizer): This is pretty good, man.

Eliot: Thanks, man. I squeeze, like, fresh lemon juice on it.

Hardison: Cool. Cool.

(they follow Nate out of the kitchen)

eliot is so genuinely happy when someone finally appreciates his food, you can see it in his face ,,, he starts to love hardison just a little bit for that

- - - - - 

Nate: Did you clear out Moscone’s accounts?

Hardison: I left him five dollars for socks

we love the team being petty

- - - - - 

the girl immediately jumped into parker’s lap at the restaurant I’m soft

- - - - - 

soft chef eliot serving his -friends- family is everything 

- - - - - 

I understand that this was technically supposed to be the third episode, so this would have been their first meal as a family and I stan them so hard for it

[staarshines]

Broken: Chapter 2 || A.H.

Warnings: spoilers for s9e5 (but this is an og case i wrote up), getting tortured physically (stabbing, punching), blood, blood loss, bloodstains, mental torture, extreme feelings of guilt, being duct taped down in a chair, mentions of knives, mentions of other victims

WC: 2.8k

You try to tell the team you know where the unsub is, but Hotch blows you off. Angry, you go to the location where the unsub is holding a hostage to prove yourself, but you forget about the consequences of facing a murderer alone.

[A/N]: lmfao i’m sorry for all the cliffhangers guys also i’ve proofread this like 10 times there’s no mistake in the plot/description (*cough* wedding band *cough*)

The sound of radio chatter, police cars, and the rustling of trees in the wind is overwhelming, but Aaron Hotchner is in his own world. 

How could I just have let her go? No, I didn’t let her go, I told her to go. This is my fault. She’s going through who knows what right now because of me. If I had only listened…

“Hotch? Are you okay?” He snaps out of his guilty thoughts, looking at Emily.

“What did you find?” he asks, ignoring her question. They had been here hours; J.J., Reid, and Morgan had left to the P.D. to see if they could find any other clues. She understands that he’s dodging her question and doesn’t push.

“CSI found some fibers in the shaft, but we have to run them through forensics.”

“Call J.J. and tell her to tell forensics that an agent’s life depends on this sample. They need to rush it.”

“On it.” He swallows and looks around, disappointed when he checks his watch. 3:47. The sun would set in another couple of hours, and you would be subjected to continual torture through while they tried to figure out where you were. Nobody was sleeping tonight; not until they found you.

“Hotch, this isn’t your fault,” Rossi starts, approaching him. The younger man shakes his head. 

“I thought we agreed not to profile each other.” 

Rossi sighs. “We’ll find her. She’s a smart girl; she knows how to stay alive,” he tries to reassure. It doesn’t work, not in the slightest.

“Yeah, but for how long? I’m the reason she’s in his hands. If I had went with her, sent someone with her, hell, if I had even told her not to go, she’d be here, safe.” With me. 

A sharp jab to your left shoulder wakes you up, gasping for air. Your eyes fall to your left, where a knife is sticking out of your flesh. Your torso is bound to the back of a chair with duct tape, your feet taped to the chair legs and hands to the armrests. You try moving the chair with your body weight, but the chair is bolted. 

Eyesight blurring, you try to get a feel for where you are and notice that you’re in a room full of bloodstains and tables of torture equipment. This must have been where Giles held his other victims. Victims. The word makes your jaw clench. You wouldn’t be one of his. You couldn’t be.

“Good afternoon,” he says in a singsongy voice, entering the room. Your shoulders tense up at the sight of him. 

“Where am I?” You ask, not returning his greeting. He picks up a knife and inspects it, the silence killing you. “Twenty-Six Oh-One Noble Drive?” He freezes for a split second, and you know you have him. That was the second address on that piece of paper. The team had him now. But where had you dropped it? Was it still on you? Did Reid see it back at the P.D.? You furrow your brows as you try to remember, and then it comes to you. 

You left it in the SUV. 

Now, the question was who had driven the car back. Anyone from your team would notice it and find the second address, but the police would just bag it as evidence. Connor turns around, a smug smile on his face. You can tell from his rigid posture and clenched jaw that he’s not relaxed, although he’s trying to control his body language to look like it. 

“Mind games now? Is that what they teach you at the F.B.I.?” You roll your eyes, ignoring the knife in his hand. 

“It’s called behavioral analysis, genius.” He smiles and approaches you, caressing your cheek with the cold metal. 

You don’t even flinch.

“And behavioral analysis is supposed to catch killers while saving the agents?” He lets out a low chuckle. “That didn’t seem to work for you. Or Agent Hotchner, for that matter.” You bite your tongue. Hotch? Was he okay? What did this idiot mean?

“Hotch? Please, he stares into the face of death every day and wins.” He shakes his head.

“Well, today was an exception.” Today. That means you haven’t been out for long. What time was it?

“An exception?” you question, starting to worry.

“He’s dead.” You laugh for the first time since the team had taken this case.

“Aaron Hotchner? Dead? You really didn’t do your homework, did you?” you ask him, trying to control your laughter.

“If Aaron isn’t dead, then whose is this?” He holds up a silver wedding band and your bottom lip parts ever so slightly, breathing quickening. That looked exactly like Aaron’s. It had to be his; he would still wear it after Haley’s death, idly fiddling around with it when he was in deep thought. He never thought anyone noticed, but you did. 

“How the hell did you get your hands on that?”

“And what about this?” Ignoring your question, he walks behind you and comes back with a laptop. He opens it and clicks the play button on a video of J.J.

“Ma’am, ma’am! How invested would you say the team is in this case? Six bodies have already been discovered and the killer hasn’t been caught. Rumor is he has one of your agents,” one of the reporters calls out. She freezes for the slightest second, and you can see the fire in her eyes. 

“We had one of our own taken from us today, so I’d say we’re very invested,” she nearly yells in disbelief, eyebrows scrunched. “No further questions.” Taken from us? Fuck, did she mean you or Hotch?

“What exactly are you trying to accomplish?” You ask him, trying to sway the subject away from Hotch. The team thought the entire thing was physical torture. This is something else. He wouldn’t waste precious time telling you Hotch was dead.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be asking questions, sweetheart.”

“And I don’t think you’re in the position to be holding me hostage as the F.B.I. and Tallahassee’s entire police department look for me,” you mock. He just shakes his head, rolling up his sleeves. 

“Aaron Hotchner is dead, and it’s all your fault.” You raise an eyebrow, but your gut is twisting. Hang on, you don’t even know if he’s dead or not. But you saw the ring and watched the video. He’s gone, because of you. 

No, he’s not. 

You start to overthink, resisting the urge to squeeze your eyes shut.

“I want proof, Giles,” you snap. “I want cold, hard evidence that he’s not alive.” He shrugs. “If you say so yourself.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. You frown, trying to figure out what he was doing.

“Tallahassee’s anonymous tip hotline.” A woman answers. Well, she had no idea what she was in for.

“I’d like to speak with Jennifer Jareau, the B.A.U.’s communications liaison.” She hesitates.

“May I ask who this is?” 

“Jennifer Jareau, or this agent dies,” he answers, looking at you. You hear her call J.J. over and she’s there in seconds. You can only imagine the team’s condition right now. 

J.J. would be trying to calm everyone down. Morgan would be on the verge of snapping. Reid would’ve lost himself in the evidence. Emily would be panicking on the inside. Rossi would be trying to push the possible outcomes out of his head focusing on the profile, nothing else. Hotch— You swallow thickly.

“Hello? Who is this?” He puts the phone to your mouth. 

“J.J.?” you whisper.

“Oh my God. Where the hell are you?” You ignore her question.

“Where’s Hotch?” you ask in a panic.

“Um, he— he’s not here right now. Why?” Her hesitation is enough for you. 

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“What do you mean? I need you to tell me where you are. Hotch is—” He ends the call, slipping the phone back in his pocket.

“Is that enough for you?” You don’t answer, not being able to comprehend that he was actually gone. He leans into your ear and whispers, “You loved him, and now he’s dead. Not to mention it’s all your fault.” He withdraws, leaving the room. A single tear falls down your cheek. 

“I’m sorry, Aaron.”

Hotch nearly slams open the door to the conference room, Prentiss and Rossi on his heels.

“We came as fast as we could. What did you find?” 

“Giles called us,” Morgan starts.

“And we weren’t here,” Rossi mutters, clenching his jaw. “Play the tape.” J.J. side-eyes Spencer and Morgan. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Emily’s voice rises a pitch.

“The tape is… confusing at first.”

“Play it.” J.J. sighs, pressing the play button. Your dry, panicked voice comes through the speakers. Hotch inhales and closes his eyes, hoping, praying that he wouldn’t have to listen to you be tortured. He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding until the tape was over.

“Wait, does she think Hotch is dead?” Prentiss asks, not understanding. Morgan shakes his head. Hotch bites his lip and opens his eyes.

“J.J. didn’t say anything that pointed to that.” 

“But Emily is right,” Reid interjects.

“What’s this supposed to mean, then?” Emily inquires, resting her weight on the wall.

“The unsub is telling us something we didn’t know about him before; that he mentally tortures his victims before he does so physically. In her case, it’s getting her to think that, well, you’re dead,” Reid answers, looking at Hotch. Hotch purses his lips.

“She mistook your confusion for hesitation,” Hotch concludes, looking at J.J. She frowns.

“But she’s a profiler; she doesn’t slip up like that. Plus, she knows us, which makes differentiating our emotions a lot easier.”

“We don’t know what her physical or mental state is,” Rossi adds. “A couple hits to the head and she wouldn’t be able to think or profile like she normally does.”

“J.J., this isn’t your fault,” Emily tells her. She nods with a forced smile but doesn’t believe it.

“But why would that hurt her any more than it would hurt her to think anyone else on the team was dead? Was it just easier to fabricate mine?” The tension in the room returns, and Hotch looks around. “What?” The truth was, he knew why. She had a liking for him, but he wanted to make sure it wasn’t hopeful thinking getting to him.

“Hotch, she…” J.J. doesn’t know how to continue.

“She has the hots for you,” Morgan finishes. 

“She’s… She’s liked you for a while. The so called flirting didn’t go unnoticed, especially in a room full of profilers,” Emily’s voice strains.

“It wasn’t really flirting, it was more making sure you were alright. That’s her love language. It’s funny because our love language is what we were deprived of in our childhood. She’d do your paperwork when you had to take care of Jack, make sure you were eating, sleeping, checked in on you frequently after Haley, drove you back and forth after Foyet… Hotch, it’s all there,” Reid explains gently. Hotch sighs unsure of what to do for once.

“We need to go back over the evidence. There has to be some indication of where Giles went, even if he doesn’t have any paper trail. Get Garcia to go over everything again.” The team nods solemnly and files out, leaving Hotch and Rossi. Rossi puts his hand on the Hotch’s shoulder.

“Your ‘flirting’ didn’t go unnoticed either.”

Another blow to the chest leaves you gasping for air, your vision blurring. The three stab wounds in your thighs aren’t assisting your efforts to keep yourself awake.

“Is that all you’ve got?” You ask him, tiredly cocking your head to the side. You had vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t give him the fear that he needed to get off and dispose of you.

“Oh no darling, I’m just getting started.” Another punch to the face and you hear your jaw pop out of place before you feel it do so, inhaling shakily. Pain blooms from various different points on your body. It had to have been hours. Where the hell was the team?

“My team—” One more to the stomach and you groan, nearly blacking out. 

“You and your pretty little team. They’ve already lost their supervisor. How well do you think they’re faring right now?” You take in raggedy breaths, trying to keep your eyes open.

“They won’t leave you standing,” you spit out. He grins and yanks your hair back, your vision going black. The last thing you hear is:

“They need to find me first.”

Sixteen hours. That’s how long you had been gone. How long you’d been subjected to endless torture. 

How long everyone on the team had tried to keep the thoughts of you being tortured out of their heads. 

How long Hotch had tried to hold his emotions in. But he was barely doing so, knowing that it was a game of chance about whether or not he would ever get to tell you that he loved you.

“This isn’t working,” Morgan groans, throwing a file on the table. The entire P.D. was deserted except for the B.A.U. “It’s three A.M., and where are we? Nowhere. We have nothing.” He gets up from the table, putting his hands on his head in defeat. Everyone was exhausted, but nobody was willing to go to the hotel and sleep. The team wouldn’t be able to survive without your bubbly laughter, cocky remarks, and sharp mind; everyone knew that. 

“Have we been over everything?” Garcia asks through the computer in a sleepy voice.

“Everything. Every shred of evidence that we have from this case,” J.J. sighs in disappointment, holding her head in her hands. Hotch absentmindedly fiddles with his wedding band.

“You guys need to sleep. Wake up fresh tomorrow, well, today, and work the case,” Garcia starts, but Emily cuts her off.

“We all know nobody’s sleeping until we find her.” The team nods and sighs in agreement. J.J. furrows her brows, eyes falling on Reid.

“He’s been standing still there for a full ten minutes just staring at the board. Is he okay?”

“More importantly, is his CPU dead?” Prentiss asks, smirking.

“Let the genius work his brain. He’ll come up with something sooner or later,” Derek murmurs, still pissed off at the lack of leads.

“I got it!” Spencer yells, startling the entire team. Hotch snaps out of it and Rossi nearly jumps out of his seat.

“That timing was impeccable, kid,” Rossi admits, massaging his temples. The entire team shares a laugh, barring Hotch and Reid, while Reid looks around, confused. Shaking his head and realizing he missed whatever it was they were laughing about, he begins to unravel his genius.

“Hotch, where’s that piece of paper she was talking about in the morning?” Hotch shakes his head, trying to remember.

“Um, I don’t know, I think she took it with her.” Reid nearly runs from the glass whiteboard to the evidence boxes, rummaging around in them. Morgan and Prentiss join him, knowing exactly what he was looking for. 

“Reid, what are you getting at?” Derek asks, looking through the boxes for that piece of paper. 

“I didn’t get to read it, but there was another address on the back of the paper.” The entire team goes silent for a moment, then “organized chaos”, as you had once memorably described the team’s dynamic as, ensues.

“Rossi, you’re coming with me. Reid and J.J., and Morgan and Prentiss. Have Garcia send the addresses to the GPSes. We’re going in soft without SWAT or the P.D. Comms on, and there’s no need to use sirens. Vests are in the trunks. Let’s go!” Hotch yells at the team, grabbing a set of keys and sprinting out the door, Rossi in pursuit.

“I found the paper! Garcia, Twenty-Six Oh-One Noble Drive!” Prentiss shouts, pulling it out of the plastic bag and reading off of it. 

“Done, done, and done. That’s a five minute drive from here.”

“Oh, I love you so much babygirl.” Garcia smirks at Morgan’s remark.

“Go save our girl.” The transmission ends, and everyone is out of the P.D. in less than thirty seconds. Hotch’s heart is beating so hard that it’s the only thing he can hear. 

Were they just in time, or were they too late?

Masterlist

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