#leverage writing prompts

[aprill-99]

Assistant: “This whole criminal empire thing takes a lot more paperwork than I thought.”

Boss: “It’s called organized crime for a damn reason Sheryl.”

[defire]

Gang whump prompt

Whumpee is in medical school when they are kidnapped by a mob boss to be a live-in doctor for their injured members.

[spacedace]

Oh hey here’s the lil prolog thing I wrote for my DP x DC Leverage AU. I’m gonna actually write more of one day I swear but for now have this opening bit and feel free to use it as a prompt if you want :D

-

The station went utterly quiet as they brought her in.

Room after room going as silent as the grave when the young woman in handcuffs stepped through the door. Chatter stopped. Bodies stilled. Heads turned. Eyes widened. It almost felt like everyone was too afraid to even breath as she walked by. Cops and crooks alike watching with fear and awe in equal measures as Jim Gordon led her past them to the interrogation room.

She didn’t give the gaping crowd any mind. Head tilted up at an angle, shoulders back, steps sure. The solid heals of her boots clicked upon the scuffed linoleum, echoing loud in the stifling quiet. Like a royal herald announcing her presence. She held herself like a queen, which was fitting Jim supposed. Until tonight, the only name anyone had to call her by was Queen.

The blood, unnervingly, only made her seem more regal.

Batman was already in the interrogation room when they arrived. Jim didn’t even have it in him to sigh at the broody bat looming in the corner. He knew he’d be there. There was no way he would miss the interrogation of someone they’d been chasing for so long. Especially not now considering…well.

Considering.

Jim largely ignored the vigilante in the corner as he moved through the familiar process of getting the young woman handcuffed in place to the table, starting the recording and rattling off the relevant details: date, time, the - many - charges the young woman had been arrested for. If he faltered over the victim’s name of the young woman’s most recent crime no one commented on it. In the corner, Batman watched and lurked. Nearly lost in the shadowy corner of the room while still being impossible to ignore.

They’d done this before. Good cop, bad vigilante. It was usually effective in getting the truth out of stubborn criminals.

Jim rather doubted it would work in this case.

“Please state your name for the record.” He said, only to be met with the same cool silence Queen had given everyone since her arrest. She shifted in her seat, not a nervous fidget but an easy, languid movement. Even the uncomfortable metal chair seemed like a throne when she was involved. Jim bit back a sigh. “We have your information. I’m asking as a courtesy.”

Queen tilted her head faintly, looking at him with something almost like amusement, one brow twitching slightly upward. “You’ll have to forgive my disbelief, Commissioner Gordon.” She said, polite as ever. “But I’m rather sure that you won’t find me in any system you run my fingerprints or face through.”

She was right about that. They’d tried a hundred times over the past few years she and her team had been operating in Gotham. Her face never appeared in any pictures or recordings - not even in her mugshot during processing, all that was visible was her red hair and a mess of corrupted visual data where her face should be. The most her fingerprints had ever led to where the other crimes they already knew she’d taken part in. Batman had done everything to try and circumvent whatever meta ability kept her from being recorded on film, had done even more to try and find her and her people in every system he and the Justice League had access to. Nothing. Jim had grumbled a few times about how Queen and her crew might as well be ghosts for all the proof that they existed officially.

Turned out, ghosts was exactly right.

“The Ghost Investigation Ward reached out to us two hours ago.” He said, leaning back in his own seat, watching her carefully. “I’ll repeat, Ms. Fenton, my asking is a courtesy.”

For the first time in the years he’d known her, Queen - real name Jasmine “Jazz” Fenton - looked scared. Beyond scared, even. Completely, and utterly terrified.

Her body went rigid, eyes growing wide, breath picking up as she sat up sharply. Any semblance of that calm, collected presence she always held even when she was at her most cornered and vulnerable vanished in an instant. He’d seen her breath in a cloud of Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin and laugh. Watched as Bane wrapped large hands around her throat and tilt her chin up to stare down at her attacker imperiously. A mobster pressed the barrel of a gun to her head and she’d smiled, coy and confidant and untouchable. Queen always, always was calm. Aggravatingly so, even. Utterly unshakable as she waltzed into every wild and insane situation carrying the undeniable air of one who was complete control of everything happening.

She hadn’t even looked scared when the Joker had held her hostage.

And now? Now all it had taken was those three words. Ghost Investigation Ward. A nonsense name for a government agency with a ridiculous purpose. And yet there the unshakable Queen sat, looking terrified out of her mind at the mere mention of them.

Not for the first time since he received that call, Jim Gordon felt uneasy.

[theladyragnell]

if you’ll indulge my continuing Witch King obsession, Kai/Bashasa for 19? Or if you don’t feel like writing for a random novel you read once, leverage OT3 for 16?

(Tragically, much as Witch King delighted me, I do not have a strong enough sense of the characters after one read to feel as though I would do them justice! So here's some Leverage instead, for "naturally gravitating together"!)

Parker doesn’t want most people anywhere near her. She says that once, early on, and Sophie prompts her with a “No offense” that she probably means Parker to say, but she kind of does mean the offense, for most people. Parker’s spent her whole life slipping away, making sure nobody ever lays hands on her, because if she’s caught, that’s it, game over, and being touched is being caught. There’s nobody she trusts enough to catch her.

Except.

Except she trusts Eliot to boost her up and catch her when she jumps. She lets Hardison throw an arm around her shoulders. Sometimes she throws an arm around his. And they don’t try to catch her, either. They hold on, they let go. She doesn’t know what to do with that.

Maybe it’s having a team. She hasn’t had one of those before. None of them has. It definitely seems weird for Hardison, who usually does crime for a totally different from than the crime is actually happening in. Which sounds boring for Parker, but she sees it in his eyes, sometimes, hears it in the way his voice gets all high: if somebody’s close enough to lay hands on him, he’s already lost.

And Eliot touches people all the time, but usually to hit them, or get hit by them, so probably he doesn’t like being too close to people either, she figures, and at first she thinks that’s the nice thing about the team, that maybe they all feel like that and they know it so they won’t ever expect it of each other.

It changes, though. Like how Eliot and Hardison have a secret handshake now, and they have to be standing next to each other to do it, and it’s only when she counts how often she’s seeing it that she realizes how often they’re close enough to touch. And like how Eliot makes muffins sometimes, and Parker likes to watch him mix them up. Or how Hardison mutters to himself while he’s working, and Parker wants to hear what he’s doing, so she gets closer and closer while she listens.

And at first, she has to decide to get closer, every time. When she stops thinking, she drifts away, out of arm’s reach. That’s what she does, what they all do. They back off.

Sometime between team meals that Eliot always cooks and Sophie always chooses the wine for, between late nights planning jobs, between Hardison opening doors and Eliot standing between her and other people’s grabbing hands, she starts thinking about having to move away, instead.

It’s a quiet night, when she realizes that. Nate finished the job briefing and then he and Sophie left to do some of their weird grift-flirting or maybe to different places, she doesn’t know what’s going on with them and doesn’t really want to think about it enough to figure it out, so it’s the three of them getting the pieces ready to start. And by that Parker mostly means that Hardison is getting the pieces ready to start and Eliot is making sarcastic comments and Parker is watching.

But when Parker watches people, she watches them from the ceiling or across the room or across the street. She doesn’t shift a little closer to hear a whispered joke, and then even closer to peer at somebody’s computer screen, and then just a little closer for no reason she cares about. But when she thinks about it, actually shakes her head and realizes what she’s doing, she’s six inches away from Hardison on the couch, and he’s alternating telling her and Eliot what’s going on, and she’s been answering and asking questions. Not watching at all.

“What do you think, Parker?” Hardison asks.

Parker’s throat is gripped by panic so strong she completely loses her place in a conversation she’s been having without realizing it for—how long, exactly? Eliot, on Hardison’s other side, is watching her like he gets it. Eliot always gets it. That’s new too, and just as scary. “It’s really cool!” she says, too bright, and is so glad Sophie isn’t there.

Hardison’s weird look tells her maybe that’s not quite the response she was supposed to give him, even though it’s what he wants to hear at least sixty percent of the time. “Yeah, the software is cool, but I mean the schematics, and whether you think Nate’s infiltration plan is going to work with the non-standard vent sizes?”

Those are words she can deal with, ones that take the panic down to a manageable level. Parker breathes, and thinks about vents. Nice comforting vents, keeping her in and the world out. She’s shifting in closer, though, her knee almost pressed against Hardison’s knee, her chin almost touching his shoulder, while she scowls at the schematics and tries to figure out how close it’s going to be.

Hardison’s elbow digs companionably into her ribs, and Eliot watches her like he sees as much as Sophie does, and Parker feels caught, held, but maybe for once like that might make her safe.

[youraveragebtsstan]

Guys, I have so many fics in the works right now and they're all so smutty and the filth is bleeding together and I just, UGHHHHH.

Do any fellow writers have any prompts they use as a pallet cleanser? Like, I just need something to dial back the smut meter. Lol.

[my-beloved-lakes]

I decided that after all the excellent whump from whumptober it's time for some comfort, because I want to see my favorite whumpees get all the love and comfort they deserve! So I came up with my own 30 prompts for the comfort side of the hurt/comfort trope. One for each day of November.

November fluff Prompts:

1. Self-care

2. Rescue

3. Nursed back to health

4. Bandages

5. Friends/family by their side

6. "You're safe now."

7. Protection

8. Gruff caretaker

9. Resting peacefully

10. Finally reunited

11. Gentle hands

12. No one left behind

13. Soft caretaker

14. Hugs

15. Warmth

16. Waking up in a hospital

17. "I'll stay as long as you need."

18. Hand holding

19. Comfort after a nightmare or panic attack

20. Cleaning away the blood

21. Support/"lean on me."

22. Clean clothes, good food, warm bed

23. Resting on friend/caretaker's shoulder

24. Antidote

25. Cuddling

26. Soothing touch

27. Pain meds kicking in

28. Carried to safety

29. Borrowed jacket

30. Free space (make it sweet!)

[united-under-skyfall]

leverage fic prompt bc it wouldn't leave me alone but i sure as hell still don't know how to write these chucklefucks:

"You're saying that's Excalibur? Like, the Excalibur? King Arthur's sword? Of myth? And dragons and magic and all that nonsense?"

"It's a very distinctive sword!"

[thieves-never-say-die]

Leveragetober prompt: Crossover

Have fun with it!

Thanks for the prompt! Posted here on ao3, it's a Leverage/White Collar crossover (obviously lmao)

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

Alright I need some help getting my confidence back to posting my kinda okay writing. So I am asking you all to fill up messages/asks and send me requests for one shots or short stories that may or may not spiral into a series, or which of my series do you want a new chapter written?

I guess I should also mention my second page @coffee-shop-girl is where I would post my stories under and that is where they all live. Now you’re probably wondering why I am not posting this on that page? Well I don’t know how to get my message/ask section back. It seems to have disappeared a while ago and that kind of when I stop writing and posting. So for now this page still has access to messages/asks so fingers crossed I don’t lose it on this page.

So what fandoms do I write for?

* Supernatural

* Chicago Fire, P.D.

* Animal Kingdom

* Leverage

* 9-1-1

* Suits

* The Walking Dead

Are my top fandoms, but send me anything, it will be good exercise in the creative process. So read through my meteoric work, see my style of writing, and send me a prompt.

I am tagging a few accounts that seem to have recently found my works, or that I have started following or that use to follow me. hope you don’t mind, I just really want to get eyes on this. I promise I will only tag you in posts moving forward if you want to be.

Thanks again for reading

@dreamtofus @dinahjane97 @lucid315 @winchesterwild78 @hobby27 @dw19791967 @zepskies @spnexploration @clarinette07 @snffbeebee @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @deanwinchesterdaily @deans-spinster-witch @deanwinchestersgirl87 @lyarr24 @jackles010378 @wotinspntarnation @prettybubblesintheair

[suddenrundown]

ot3 camping is a great scenario (to Me) because from eliot’s perspective it’s the most romantic thing he could possibly be doing (pre or post relationship, doesn’t even matter), from parker’s perspective it’s a Challenge she has to Survive (which is a challenge she’s up for...for like 10 minutes before she’s bored) and Hardison’s like “i’m in hell” from the word go

[whumpy-bi]

Whumper/Caretaker Dialogue Prompt

“Watch it, watch it! We’ve got your little friend, you know.”

“…What?”

[asirensrage]

Ah prompts... Yandere prompts, about Eliott Spencer maybe?

"2. You know, there’s only so much you can do to ignore me when we’re this close."

🫠

No pressure or expectations, am already happy to be able to post a gif of this stud.

OKAY! This took way longer than I thought (but not as long as the other prompts in my ask box) so I'm sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoy it, even if it's not that long!

Rating: M...ish? Fandom: Leverage Pairing: Eliot x unnamed!female!oc Warnings: suggested obsession? Persistent interest despite being shut down. Sexual themes? Being trapped in a closet. I don't know what else tbh. Un-beta'd!

Honestly, she’s been in worse situations. 

She’s not worried about being trapped in what can barely count as a supply closet, or the fact that the guards are searching them. It’s the man pressed up against her, trying to protect her from whoever might open the door as he crowds her space. There isn’t any room for her to move back, but she’s tried. All she got for the trouble were the shelves digging into her back. 

She tries not to look at him, praying that they are given the go-ahead to get out of here. Or that the dark will swallow her whole. Anything to get away from the way she can feel him staring at her, from the heat of his arm around her waist. 

“You know,” his voice is soft. “There’s only so much you can do to ignore me when we’re this close.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” she murmurs. It’s a lie. She’s tried to distance herself from him since she became aware of his interest. She doesn’t believe in mingling work and pleasure. 

“Sure, sweetheart, and I’m Santa.”

“Technically, you were,” she says, thinking back on one of Parker’s favourite Christmas stories. 

“You know what I mean.” 

She does but she falls silent. The warmth of him is sinking into her and she finds herself focusing on the way he’s holding her. His grip is tight, as though he can stop her from retreating from him despite the fact that there’s nowhere for her to go. 

“Sweetheart,” his voice is laced with a warning. She swallows tightly, trying to ignore it. He bends down slightly, lips brushing her ear. “I ain’t interested in your games.”

“Then what are you interested in?” She says it before she can stop herself. 

“Thought I made that clear.” His grip tightens, as though he can pull her closer. 

“Eliot.” 

“Yeah?” His voice lowers. “You gonna tell me to stop?”

“Pretty sure the team is listening,” she mutters, trying to dissuade him. “Eliot, don’t do this.”

His lips brush her cheek. “They ain’t listening. Why you still runnin’ from me?” 

“Why are you so persistent? Can’t you take a hint?”

“Because I know when a woman’s not interested, and you are. You’re just scared.” 

She snorts. “Of what?” She won’t admit that his tenacity continues to surprise her, but she knows he’s dangerous. She’ll get lost in him if she lets him close. She also doesn’t want to be the target if his enemies decide to come after him. It’s bad enough she’s working as a part of this team. 

“That I know how to give you what you want. That you ain’t never going to want to leave.”  He lowers his face, lips pressing against her neck with a soft kiss. It’s enough to make her breath hitch and make her flinch back only to be blocked by the shelves. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes her side where he holds her. 

“Eliot…you can have any woman you want. I’ve seen you. Why are you–why are you chasing after me?”

He pauses for a moment and she shivers when she feels him exhale across her neck. “Something about you that I can’t stop wanting.” She goes to protest and he stops her, squeezing her waist. “It ain’t the chase. Ain't anything but you.” 

She moves carefully before putting her hands on his chest. His muscles are firm under his shirt and she tries to ignore that as she pushes him slightly. He doesn’t budge. 

“Still running…” he says softly. He presses a kiss against her cheek. “You want this as much as I do. Wouldn’t be this determined if I didn’t know that, sweetheart.”

“You don’t know that.” 

He shifts, his grip tightening for a moment before his thigh pushes its way in between her legs. He pulls her closer, making her rest on it. She bites the inside of her cheek, keeping herself from making a sound at the sudden increase of pressure and friction between her legs. 

“Ain’t lying,” he says before one of his hands moves to her cheek and he bends forward, capturing her lips with his. Eliot knows how to kiss, how to ease her into opening up to him so he can deepen it. He groans as he does. It’s strange to taste him, to feel the way his grip tightens as his tongue moves against hers. Her hands on his chest clutch his shirt, unsure whether to keep him close or shove him away like her survival instincts demand. 

The door suddenly opens and Eliot is off of her faster than she can process. He takes down the first guard before going for the second. She stays where she is, mind reeling over the fact that she just gave in to him until he leans back in, looking at her. 

“Come on! We gotta move!”

She shakes the feeling out of her head before running after him. It’s fine. She just needs to get through this job and then…she’ll take a break. Get some space. 

His hand suddenly grabs hers, fingers wrapping around hers. “We’re continuing this later,” he tells her, as if he's read her mind. “You ain’t going anywhere until we do.”

She snorts. That’s what he thinks. 

(don't ask me why the team isn't listening. i'm using my artist license so i don't have to explain...aka come up with a reason. maybe they were. who knows.)

[free-to-be-no-one-but-mee]

Eliot, also known this weekend as “Chef Merino” (after his favourite type of wool), chopped seasonal root vegetables on a large wooden cutting board. Carrots, beets, turnips, shallots, everything spread out on several baking trays lined with parchment paper, oil and a special herb mix his mother taught him to make as a child.

He’d just taken his earpiece out, as everyone had told him to abandon post. These potatoes didn’t cut themselves, did they, and they wanted their alibis to hold for another two days, damn it. It was imperative the meal he put in front of the Ambassador and his wife was flawlessly executed, and he did not have the time to be a hitter if he was also going to be three Michelin Star Chef Antonio Merion. Only one of them was strictly needed right now, and it wasn’t a guy who could incapacitate another with a pinky and a one-liner.

When the chatter in his ear disappeared, there weren’t much else than the soothing staccato of blade against wood, and the solemn tapping of vegetable cubes sliding off metal. There was also a ticking noise.

A very distinct ticking noise. Eliot turned towards the pre-heated ovens.

Ticktick. Ticktick. Ticktick.

That was the sound of two Culinary Maxator Four-Thousand-And-Three X hitting their breaking curves after being used too hot for too long for too many consecutive days. In itself, this wasn’t anything strange, but the fact was that these were newly installed ovens in a newly renovated house in a newly bought villa, and, to the best of Eliot’s knowledge, this was the first time anyone had even put them on.

“Oh, no, you won’t,” he said, pointing a finger at the ovens. “No. You are not.”

He stepped up to them and put a hand on the glass. Heat radiated from the oven door to his skin and he held just a little too long before pulling back. The ticking continued, and amped up in volume. He pressed his thumb to his red palm. His skin stung, but he picked up the earpiece and put it back in. “Guys, we have a problem.”

Sophie answered first. “Eliot, what’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with the ovens. They’re breaking.” 

“Breaking how?”

“The pressure is building in the internal pipes and they’re about five minutes from busting from the inside.”

“How do you know?” Parker piped in.

“Because!” Eliot groaned. “It’s a very distinct sound. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, they’re going to burst and there will be no dinner and the Ambassador can’t be blown away by the taste buds because he won’t be able to taste--”

“Eliot!” Sophie chimed. “Is there a backup plan?” 

“A backup plan? Of course, there’s a backup plan! It’s not my first rodeo, Soph. But this is not going to be a walk in the park, let me tell you.”

“Did I hear my name?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Okey-dokey!”

“All I’m saying is that I need...” He looked around the counter at the half finished meal still waiting for heat. “Twenty-eight minutes extra.”

“Shall we say thirty?”

“Twenty. Eight.”

Sophie laughed. “You heard the man! A twenty-eight-minute distraction, guys.”

Eliot took the earpiece out again, muttering. If there was one thing he was going to make damn sure of, was that nothing would ruin his dinner.

Written based on this prompt from @firefly124​ : Eliot, by some other name, while cooking for the team, notices the oven making a very distinctive sound. Maybe it's breaking, maybe it's sabotage, but it is damn well not ruining dinner.

[allsassnoclass]

omg I just saw the drabble prompt thing!! if you're still doing it, can I request 54 for mashton? -megs 💙

hi @igarbagecannoteven, whipping this out from a year ago!

mashton: “Finally, some common sense.”

Michael walks into the dining room to find his table covered in what look like blueprints, copies of some old documents, and a photo of what appears to be a very fancy, very blue painting, printed on plain printer paper and wrinkled from the ink.  Luke, Calum, and Ashton are all seated around the table in various states of disarray, and the conversation immediately dies when Michael enters the room, which isn’t suspicious at all.

“Uh, hi guys,” he says, looking at Calum still in his pjs, Luke all dolled up, and Ashton in his workout gear and his hair messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it in frustration.  “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Luke says mulishly.

“Luke wants–ow!  That was my shin, you fucker!  Luke wants to steal a painting,” Ashton says, glaring at the guy in question.  Michael tilts his head and steps closer, wrapping an arm around Ashton’s shoulders.

“What the fuck, Luke?” he asks.  Luke sighs.

“You know my friend Sammy, right?” Michael nods because he has, in fact, met Luke’s friend Sammy on multiple occasions.  “His grandma had this painting.  It was a gift from his grandpa, the artist was a friend of his, but they lost touch and it’s just been a painting ever since.  Two weeks ago some guy approached them about it, said he was the grandson of the painter.  He gave them a whole sob story about lost art and how difficult it is to find works by small artists, then showed them a will saying the artist left the painting to him.  He offered them a couple hundred bucks and they felt bad, so they gave him the painting.  Well, it turns out it’s going to be part of a museum exhibit and this guy wasn’t the grandson, he’s some random art collector who knew this piece is worth over a hundred thousand dollars.  He lied to them to get the painting, and the police said they can’t do anything about it because Sammy’s grandparents technically sold it.  I want to get it back for them.”

“Luke, you can’t steal a painting,” Michael says, grabbing the museum pamphlet with the painting front and center.  “You’re way too clumsy and gangly.  You’ll get arrested, and the grandparents would have to keep the painting hidden anyway or they’d be charged with harboring stolen property.”

“Finally, some common sense!” Ashton says, throwing his hands up.

Michael opens the pamphlet and reads the short piece on the exhibition while Luke grumbles.

“I can’t stand that this guy got away with stealing from them and there’s nothing anyone can do,” Luke says, laying his chin in his hands.  Calum rubs his back in sympathy.

Michael glances at Luke and feels a pang in his chest at his dejected expression.  Luke has a big heart, and he doesn’t like it when people get hurt.  He can be the most cynical out of all of them, but he also constantly hopes that the world and the people in it won’t prove him right.  This must be eating him alive.

“You can’t steal the painting,” Michael reiterates, “but you could grift him out of it, or at least distract enough for Calum to steal it.”

Ashton’s head hits the table with a thunk that makes Calum wince.  Michael rubs his back while he works through this betrayal.

“Me, grift him?” Luke asks, lifting his head slightly.  “I don’t know if I can.  I’m so awkward.”

“Think about it,” Michael says.  “Yeah, you can be awkward, but once we get some confidence in you, you become a completely different person. Remember how easily you charmed the manager of that restaurant into giving us a free meal?  And you completely dominate on stage.  You totally could do it.”

“You know, he has a point,” Calum says.

“And you!” Michael says, turning on him.  “You’re quiet and unobtrusive, plus you’re fast and surprisingly agile.  You could totally sneak in if the grifting doesn’t work.  Sure, you’re too big to fit in an air vent, but maybe we can get Sierra to help.”

“You’re all insane,” Ashton groans, rubbing at his forehead.  “You realize that museums have security, right?  If this guy is into shady stuff like stealing paintings from grandparents, he’s going to protect the stuff he stole.”

“Good thing we have someone here who works in cybersecurity and did a brief stint testing security systems for an insurance company,” Michael says, doing jazz hands.

“Baby, no,” Ashton says, turning big, sad eyes on him.  Normally they would have an effect, but not when Michael knows he’s right.

“Baby, yes,” he replies, cupping Ashton’s cheek.  “We can do this.  We just need a good plan.”

He raises his eyebrows, waiting.  He doesn’t dare look away from Ashton, but he can feel the force of Luke and Calum’s pleading, too.

“No,” Ashton states.  “Absolutely not.”

“I mean, the other option is that we try to do this ourselves and get arrested,” Michael says.  “I don’t think you can afford bail.”

“I’d leave you in there,” Ashton says.  Michael pouts, then threads his fingers through Ashton’s hair.  It’s a dirty trick, but it works, because Ashton tilts his head up to meet Michael’s eyes again.

“This guy stole a sentimental work of art from an elderly couple, and he’s probably done it to others.  Our justice system is too fucked to do anything about it.  Someone should.”

“‘Someone’ doesn’t mean us.”

“Why not?” Michael asks.

“Why not?” Ashton repeats, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up.  “Why not?  I don’t know, Michael, maybe because none of us have stolen anything bigger than a candy bar from Walmart? Or because if this goes wrong our lives will be ruined forever?  Or because we don’t know anything about this guy or his security system?  Or how about how you can’t hack an actual human security guard, which the museum has a lot of?”

“Every team of thieves has to start somewhere,” Michael offers.  “We won’t let it go wrong.  We’ll do our homework and be prepared.  As for the security guards, you’re literally going to go teach a self-defense class at the gym this afternoon.  You can take care of it.”

“You’ve got to admit, it sounds almost feasible,” Calum says.  Next to him, Luke has a cautiously hopeful look on his face.

“Almost,” Ashton insists.  “Almost doesn’t mean it’s a good plan.”

“That’s what we need you for,” Michael says.  “You’re good at plans.”

“I thought you needed me to knock out security guards,” Ashton counters.  Michael beams.

“What can I say?  You’re invaluable.”

“Don’t flatter me right now,” Ashton says.  “Flattery will not help you, especially when all of us get arrested.  What happened to the grandparents harboring stolen property?”

“That won’t matter if we take him down,” Luke says.

“Exactly!” Michael agrees, pointing emphatically.  “If we prove that he stole the painting or ruin him in some other way, then the physical stealing will be an afterthought.”

“If that doesn’t work, we can swap it with a copy, then have someone authenticate it and make him look like an idiot,” Calum offers.  “The authentication papers he already has are fake because the grandparents didn’t have any.  Maybe we just need to give authorities an excuse to look closer at them.”

“If we can’t get him arrested for stealing, let’s get him arrested for forgery,” Michael says.  He wants to rub his hands together and laugh maniacally.  Oh yeah.  Everything’s coming together.

Ashton sighs, long and heavy.

Right.  They still have to convince him.  As crazily feasible as this plan seems now, Michael  knows that they won’t have any hope of pulling it off without Ashton’s eye for detail and careful contingencies.  Michael may bring the drive, Luke the heart, and Calum the glue of their little group, but Ashton gives all of them direction.  He always has.

“Hey,” Michael says, kneeling next to Ashton’s chair with a hand on his thigh, thumb swiping over the skin his shorts leave visible.  “If you really think this is impossible, we won’t do it.  We can’t pull it off without you.  But if there’s a chance that we can help Sammy’s grandparents, I think we should.”

Ashton sighs again, looking at Michael long and hard.  He turns his gaze over to Luke and then Calum in turn, taking in their pleading and hopeful faces, then gives his attention back to Michael.  Michael holds his breath.  Ashton searches his face, and Michael doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he hopes he finds it.

“When is the exhibit?” Ashton asks eventually.

“It starts next week and runs for two months,” Luke says, pushing the museum pamphlet closer to him.  Ashton presses his lips together, then nods.

“Right,” he says.  “That means we have two months to think of and execute a plan.  We’d better get started.”

Luke whoops.  Michael leans forward and presses a kiss to Ashton’s cheek, then pulls up a chair.  They have a painting to steal.

[trinity-trouble]

Nathan: haven pd open up

Duke: sometimes i get sad

Nathan: that's not-

Audrey: no, let him speak

[abubblingcandle]

🌹 if you are still happy to send them???

Always! Please do as it motivates me to keep going.

I've been writing little bits of the Leverage AU as I've plotted so here's a little bit of Ch4 (which is based on The Studio Job if you know leverage) 🧡🧡🧡

--

"I have just realised in this whole the fiddle job thing, am I the fucking fiddle?" Jamie's voice cut through the quiet on comms.

"Why yes, good deductive reasoning," Ted chirped back with a grin to Roy. Jamie was learning!

"Cool, yeah, so just referring back to the whole the fiddle job is where you sell a fiddle for more than it's worth thing," Jamie continues and Ted watched a slightly manic grin form on Roy's face.

"That is correct," Ted prompted, looking at Roy with an arched eyebrow.

"Selling my act for more than it's worth, like hell. I'm damn priceless. More than he's worth, ha" Jamie squeaked down the line. "I'll show them not worth a thing. I'm gonna kill this crowd. I could be a legit popstar if I applied myself."

"You've certainly got the attitude of a pop star," Roy contributed when Jamie finished his moaning.

"Thank you Roy," Jamie replied and Ted could just imagine the amount of preening that was going on backstage at very rare praise from Roy towards his protégé. "Yeah, juvenile, pretentious, egotistical, self absorbed," Roy started to list off, still grinning.

"Haha very funny, fuck you Roy!" Jamie shouted back.

"Keep the bickering off the comms!" Beard shouted. All fell quiet again apart from the sound of Roy's snickering.