hello love, my invincible friend.

Not all Odysseus' skills have translated easily to modern life. The use of sword and spear, for instance, impress no one but LARPers, and while he might be capable of great feats of endurance, the convenience of travel hasn't exactly called for them. But one talent he's found he still has is that of noticing exactly what other people wish he wouldn't.

A man banging his hand into a wall, then shaking off the blood and flexing his fingers, for example, and the knuckles healing over, good as new.

Wrong time and place is his specialty. He's quite sure no one was meant to be in this alley, and indeed, this man may not be taller than Odysseus himself, but his anger issues take up most of the space.

So he shouldn't be surprised when he gets spotted.

But the little flat the Red Lady put him in, over the back of the nightclub, hasn't got a thing in it that would stand the punching. And him being in debt up to his eyeballs to her and her organization is a generous portion of the motivation behind the punching. So he can hardly afford to shatter her furniture or put holes in her walls.

Can't say he would've guessed he'd get spotted by some wandering minstrel (misses his guitar, all of a sudden) but here we fuckin' are.

Fynn just stares back for a second or two. Letting the awkwardness of the silence soak in.

Then admits: "Somethin' very Irish in invitin' a total stranger along for a pint."

Was guitar man close enough to see the particularly weird parts of that? Probably. Probably why the lingering instead of scooting off like most reasonable people when they witness a piece of trouble like himself picking a fight with a wall.

Her nose wrinkles, and then her mouth flattens, a quick-change of genuine expressions between confusion and offense.

Why's he doing THAT, either?

"Pretty sure there's some sort o' acid involved."

He just mumbles this, to himself, while rubbing a hand over his mouth. Though she can probably hear anyhow.

He's eaten a lot of candy in his time. He should know. He doesn't.

"I like candy." THIS he says at full volume. With full conviction. (He does!) And then doubles down, because may as well throw himself all the way into the inevitable pit of her scorn. "Sour and sweet an' anythin' in between."

I'm a thief. I steal. I break the rules. Sometimes I break the rules because the rules let people get hurt. No. The rules say it's okay to hurt people. To be cruel. And it's not. People need to be kind. And if they're not kind, I will steal their stuff and Eliot will punch them in the face until they are kind. But the main to do this my way is...it's our way. And doing this lets us be us. And that's enough.

Beth Riesgraf as Parker in season 3 of Leverage: Redemption (2021-2025) created by John Rogers and Chris Downey

endless favorites ♡ parker (leverage)

"I ain't dancin'," is the first thing Eliot says as they walk in.

"It's a gay club, Eliot. Gonna be either you or Nate—" And before Hardison's even finished the sentence, a look of disgust or possibly horror crosses Eliot's face, and Hardison has to grin.

"Also—" And here's the clincher! "—it's for my birthday. An' I mean to party like I didn't when I was twenty-one, 'cause I was too busy saving all y'all's asses."

And thiefing. Thieving? And being an awkward geek with muscles in all the wrong places. The point is, Hardison is a hot commodity now and he has the confidence to back it up. He deserves this.

Hardison is already turning on the move, walking backwards, when Eliot stumbles into him as if Parker gave him a shove. But as Hardison knows from experience, it's very hard to budge Eliot if he doesn't want to be budged. There was something awfully performative about the protest, anyhow.

He catches Eliot's hips. Hooks his long fingers deftly through the big ol' belt loops, and tugs him in.

"You a lot prettier than Nate."

Contrary to her usual preferences (black) she'd glammed it up for Hardison's birthday and the club. Which works, because everything in here is flashing lights and sequins and glitter body paint and holographic foil, and she's blended right away into the pulsating music and flailing bodies.

Air's already so hot with other people and other people's sweat, Eliot can't even tell if he's blushing or not.

"Too damn tall is what you are," he growls in response to the flirtation. "Shut up."

But he's looping his arms up around Hardison's neck anyway. Gripping the base of his skull with a strong hand.

The EDM's gonna make his ears bleed before the night's over. But there's a throughline beat in there somewhere, if he listens for it, so he lets go. Just a little. Lets his body flow into it. Just like Parker flowed away — to rob the crowd blind in pursuit of a(nother) birthday gift for Hardison, he would guess.

"Now you got the image in my head anyway, I almost—" he can barely hear himself, good thing they're pressed this close, or he'd have to be fully shouting, "—almost wanna see you get Nate dancin' with you to somethin' like this."

The blackmail potential would be worth it, if nothing else. And the priceless opportunity to point and laugh.

Eliot tosses hair back from his face. "Di'you TELL him this is where we were goin'?"

Ford had been remarkably poker-faced when they pulled up to the curb and the music could be felt in the car windows. (Eliot knows this because Parker had slung herself across his lap to plant both of her hands on the one next to him to appreciate the vibrations.)

The bass drops and some of the dancers start to scream in approval, so now he does have to yell. "This ain't exactly his scene!"

Is it Eliot's?

Hell no.

His workshop has a different, though not notably more intuitive, semblance of organization than the store. Less labyrinthine, with more space than it implies from outside. Where the store is stuffed with glass shelves and display cases, this room has only a few solid cabinets that rise up like pillars from floor to ceiling. Doors of various sizes go all the way up, and all the way around. What's visible of the floor is patterned in such a way that space distorts, but Géraud strides across it with assurance. Floating lights in crystal balls follow him to his work table. He plucks one from the air and sets it beside the box, where it stays.

Here magic is made. And unmade. And taught. And shared. And used. And used up.

And so is tea. There's a smaller table by the outlet to plug in his electric kettle.

On the subject of fees, he lifts an eyebrow. "I'll throw in the garden gnome?"

Géraud may not relish working through distraction, but he has a lot of practice. He picks white chalk off the table and inscribes a circle. It doesn't have to be elaborate, for this purpose; it only has to direct power so he doesn't channel too much himself. It takes only a moment. Géraud taps the stark white line with the ball of light.

Briefly, the circle flares with fire, and the contents are exposed. A handful of red and gold feathers flutter, then settle at the bottom.

"Ah, good." He gives his retrieval specialist a dry look. Your gopher? Cara asked, when he told her that her lesson would have to be postponed until after his other appointment. Because he goes-fer... He doesn't suppose O'Malley would appreciate her sense of humor. "It's the right box."

Not much chance of him giving more positive reinforcement than that, but O'Malley shouldn't need any any, no? That's what payment is for. The flame dies in a whoosh, leaving no mark on the table. With a soft cloth, Géraud wipes the chalk. Then to one of the cabinets, to open it with a murmur, to slide out a much smaller box, to fish out a silver chain.

"You've earned this."

He holds it up. It shines like a river in winter.

"It isn't just enchanted. The enchantment is the chain. You'll have to wear it to reap the benefits; fortunately, it ought to blend in with your... appearance." Such as it is.

And then there's the floating lights. Doesn't trust those, either. Half expects one of these days they'll come up off the counter and start launching magic lightning bolts or some shite at him. Like the combat training droids from fuckin' Star Wars.

Fynn remains in exactly the same spot, exactly the same pose (him and his gnome, his new friend) as when he came through the curtain.

But he's watching Géraud the entire time.

Wizard knows his stuff.

About the only positive thing you can say about him.

Fynn's eyes narrow at the flare of flame. (He may have a twitch, now, about sudden fire. Thanks for that. Can only hope eventually he'll stop smelling his own skin burning. …Not that today was the first time.)

"Oh. Yayyy." His eyebrows bob up sardonically. Nice to know he didn't burn half alive on a fruitless whim. "It's got feathers?" His eyebrows remain up. "Phoenix?"

What, he knows stories. He reads.

Géraud probably won't tell him. He's the paid fetcher, not a partner. Doesn't need to know the hows and whys. Just needs to deliver the gear intact and on time.

He doesn't expect the chain. Or the statement that accompanies it.

Tries to hide his surprise, unsure if he succeeded. Probably only find out if Géraud mocks him for it.

…appearance? Why the fuckin' PAUSE?

Fynn lifts a hand to dip his fingers into the collar of his shirt, finding his own worn and familiar chain. Or, technically, Bunn's chain, and cross. "Y' don't have t' believe. Less y'r memory's goin'. Saw it well enough last month when that protection sigil went off an' I was speed-strippin' in here thanks t' the magic bees generated inside my fuckin' clothes."

Is he annoyed about that still? A bit.

The Fuck You gnome gets set aside on an available shelf. Then Fynn slips his necklace up over his head, unclasps it, and slides the scratched-but-gleaming Celtic cross off and into his palm.

Eyes Géraud's chain warily before putting out a hand for it.

"Aren't you full of innuendo today?"

Other than a snort through her nose, she doesn't comment further. Which is quite restrained, all things considered, and personally she thinks she deserves to be acknowledged for that; nothing too special, maybe just a burst of confetti and glitter. You know, on the theme of restrained.

"Timey? All timey? You can't imagine the dimensions I perceive any more than a straight line can imagine a sphere. Every particle of you is younger than the newest beam of light from the star that made me." She grabs his waggling finger and squeezes hard enough to generate heat. "Think of yourself as a baby dinosaur. Time is the one thing you have plenty of. Stop worrying."

Fzzsshh goes the finger. Well, she warned him.

Not that, 99% of the time, he's ever wanted to "have game."

Been busy.

And then he pulls a different face, mouth all mushed up, sort of biting at the insides of it. "Never said I was wor — "

He goes taut, muscles locking up. A soft, "Shhhhhhhhhhite…" escapes his teeth, to go along with the faint hiss of — well, aye — his flesh doing a bit of a sizzle.

But is he going to yank away? From the heat, or the pain, or her?

Fuck no.

Might be a hint of sweat starting to bead on his forehead. His eyebrows twitch. His voice is about as even as he can get it. Definitely no catches in his breathing. Oh no, definitely not. "Maybe you...? That mean y' DO know what'll do me for keeps? 'Cause y're plannin' it?"

every leverage dynamic ⮎ maggie collins & parker

dialogue prompts from sunburn by chloe michelle howarth.

i am at a very tricky age.

feeling adult was everything to me.

i function far better with you than without you.

you're so cute. everybody likes you.

you're always looking at me like you hate me.

i want you to feel understood.

the silence says a lot.

i've never known a person like you.

it was easiest just to hate _____.

i suppose it's nice to live somewhere quiet.

stories carry weight, even when nobody really believes them.

being busy isn't the same as being satisfied.

you're not as harsh as you seem.

i need to stop acting my age and grow up.

i wouldn't make sense without _____. i might not even exist.

i pretend so well, i almost believe myself.

we all have secrets. everybody is hiding something.

there is no more room for grey areas.

sometimes i just hear what i want to hear.

do you even realize all the things people say about us?

it was a human mistake.

all i want is to avoid how i feel.

i can't say the things you deserve to hear.

i would like you to know me authentically.

you could do worse. you have.

you belong everywhere you go.

what a wonderfully big heart you have.

you are just so easy to look at.

the way i feel about _____ isn't the way i feel about anyone else.

i've always seen what i want to see.

i like you. that's all.

i can't believe you stood up for me.

do i even have the right to be angry?

in every life but this one, we would probably be together.

you are such a cure.

this is no time to be afraid.

why won't you look at me?

if you want me, i'm yours.

i used to stare at your mouth so much.

i don't know if i've ever felt so secure with another person. with myself.

i didn't realize this feeling existed. i didn't realize how badly i needed to feel it.

it just felt so good to know you were there.

a few minutes of you would really be enough to keep me going for years.

i don't know where you end and [name] begins.

i didn't realize i was ever unhappy until you made me this happy.

just because you don't see it doesn't mean it isn't happening.

normalcy is something i can't afford.

be honest: how long did you fancy me before we got together?

it costs nothing to be nice. that's what ____ says.

chaos always begins with peace.

i need to get out of this house.

when are you going to grow up?

you look unreal in [color].

there's nothing to do now but hide and wait.

i love you a lot more than i know how to say.

it's easy to be a hero when you're not around enough to be a villain.

it feels so good to hug you again.

we both have parts to play.

it might be nice if we didn't talk tonight.

i don't want to be anybody's ____. i want to be my own person.

do you want to be safe and secure, or do you want to be happy?

sometimes the best thing to do is the hardest.

i know what loving you can do to a person.

you're so amazing. i don't tell you often enough.

you deserve all the love in the world.

i'll look after you, and you'll look after me.

i'd never be safer with anybody else.

darling, please stop talking.

can we just be happy for a few days, then?

for a little while, it really was bliss.

you have been wonderful all your life.

it's nice to see some life in you.

i'd like to clean the house for you. make you dinner.

i can't wait any longer for you to be brave.

you've existed without me before. you could do it again.

i've seen what being motherless can do to a person.

you are the first and last thing i want, but you are not the only thing.

why are you making small talk with me?

even when there's nothing there, it's so hard to go.

i'm so tired of disappointing you.

i've actually never done this.

i was trying to be another person.

don't rush to figure yourself out.

i've decided never to fall in love again.

i always let myself go too far.

i was always endlessly impressed by you.

before today, i was doing really well.

not everything is a symbol.

i ought to feel guilty, but i don't.

you are the sun. you always have been.

i don't even have the same heart anymore.

you wouldn't love me if you knew me now.

hate me, if you want to hate me. i'd love the attention.

all ____ ever wanted was to disappear.

i wish it was different. i wish i was different.

The box stops when Géraud sets eyes on it, as if intimidated. If only that trick would work on everyone.

"Suffering such burning curiosity in your customary forbearing silence must have been very painful."

Holding it by the brass-reinforced corners, he squares the box on the counter. The spells that seal it better than a lock could remain in place, which is good for O'Malley on multiple counts.

"Most of them are made of resin nowadays. Cheaper. People like the gnomes." (He likes the gnomes. He doesn't like specialists. His greatest preference, of course, would be to work with his own people, but students are so much more flammable.) With a helpful gesture: "Perhaps you just haven't found one that speaks to you yet. Try that one; it's making rather a rude gesture."

Not right now, though. Their business hasn't quite concluded.

This miserable old wizard uses a lotta big words.

He's got half an eye on Géraud — and on that box, because he doesn't trust it, as he doesn't trust any magical object he handles — and half an eye genuinely roaming the titular offerings of the shop. (And, look, see? He can use fancy words too. Fuck you very much.)

Géraud receives the dirtiest, most scathing, frankly a bit murderous look Fynn's capable of. Probably for the best that the curtain's already swung shut behind him by the time it's targeted in full force on the back of his who-knows-how-expensive suit.

Back bloody entrance. The venomous look shifts into a petulant sneer as Fynn mouths the words, head bobbing back and forth.

Like the sight of him would lessen the real estate value. Or drive away the clientele. Of THIS place.

Just for that, he, in fact, stretches across the counter and plucks the impertinent gnome in question off the shelf. Gives him a little flip, catches him, holds him up to the light.

"Aye," Fynn praises him, with low, deep sincerity. "That's the spirit."

And then (only then) does he make to follow the wizard into the depths of his closely-guarded inner sanctum. The sense of derision and judgment and entitlement positively radiates back there, even more so than out front amongst the knickknacks and nonsense.

Fynn does so by using the gnome to hold aside the curtain.

And he does so with words offered in a tone that couldn't be any flatter than Kansas.

"Bark. Woof." He steps through. Forearm resting on its little hat, he props the gnome on his hip. Facing Géraud. "Y' gonna tell me t' sit an' stay, next?" Juts his jaw a bit off at an angle. "I already fetch. But if y' want me t' beg, my fee goes up."