Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything. PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, ETC, Full starter or pic prompt, drop it like it's hot Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with Tag and go!
The Freelancers were being separated out, but that didn't really change the fact they favored certain places when they actually got time off. Not that there was a lot of that, but the occasional weekend was something of a relief. Put away the armor and try to remember how to be a normal person
Not that their taste in bars didn't mean splitting up either. Penn preferred more quiet places, somewhere he could relax and just enjoy a beer or three, which was why he'd ended up in the current bar.
It wasn't one of the normal hangouts either, but he hadn't been feeling all that social. A half empty beer sat on the table in front of him and there was a plate of food beside it and when someone joined him?
He'd sort of been expecting it. "Decided to ditch the leaderboard?"
"Reggie's in a mood." And when Wyoming's in a mood? Everyone in the top ten gets to deal with it unless they scatter. Carolina's probably holed up with Wash and Maine, the twins somewhere with Connie- Florida does whatever the hell it is he does and York called not it on putting up with that asshole so Florida is probably trying to keep Reggie from getting himself or anyone else killed.
Like he said. Not his problem today.
York's got a beer in hand and half an eye on the door inside- Usually when one of them is kicking up shit whoever's playing babysitter swings through to try and get backup. "I think Utah beat his range score or something."
"Well, there's always someone better at something." Unless you're Carolina anyway, or at least so far. Penn lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug before taking a bite of his burger.
"If it helps, I haven't seen anyone come through here so you're probably safe." He lifted his beer to his lips and took a drink. "Think the kitchen's still open if you want food too, though."
"That's just it. Utah's terrible at ranged weaponry. So Reggie either fucked up or Utah got lucky but it is not my problem." Utah's hiding with Georgia somewhere and as long as he's safe? Things should be okay. "Nah, I'm good. North and I grabbed burgers before Reggie found out about the score and had a tantrum. I think his mustache puffed up- you know- like a cat?"
"He probably fucked up, somehow. As for the mustache, I wouldn't be surprised if it gained sentience one of these days." So definitely surprised if it doubled in size due to his moods.
"Florida'll calm him down. He's got a gift for handling Wyoming or so I hear anyway."
The windows shudder with another heavy rumble of thunder overhead. The demon sighed, vaguely content, her wings tucked around her as she enjoyed the view from the shadows. Though they had yet to extend her reach for roaming beyond the apartment building and its local streets, she'd begun to relax once she'd sensed York's aura.
He had returned to the city after his family visit, arriving back a few hours before, though he had yet to rejoin her in the apartment. She was not concerned. No doubt he would have news for her, or perhaps he'd seek pleasure first; sex was good for regulating mana flow, after all, and he'd certainly left town with plenty to spare.
Though he still owed her dinner (yet another, atop the agreed decades) for being a day late. Though delays instigated by ties of blood could not be helped.
It had been, all around, a decent trip. How the hell his grandmother didn't catch on that maybe some shit was a little weird with him and that he'd actually been dipping into the magic koolaide is beyond him. Apparently that selective obfuscation charm worked. That's- one not to put on the show, honestly.
Too many ways people could use it to A) break the law or B) hurt people. The strict critera by which he releases shit to the internet. Don't be a dick with magic.
Long drive- stop for takeout because he owes Carolina so many dinners- park, swear under his breath about the rain, etc, etc. "Honey, I'm home!"
"I am not sweet." But there's a hint of amusement in her voice as she turns around, making no effort to approach and help him with bags or takeout. Though her tail swishes much like a cat as she catches the scent of hot, fresh meat.
"I see you are unharmed, and unmarked by your family. All fared well, then?"
"Well-" He smirks a little, handing off the bag that's meant for her. Korean style spare ribs, extra hot. Plain ole Shrimp lo-mein for him. "You can be. And yeah it went pretty well. No one really asked about what I was doing, they were just glad I made it out there and wasn't talking to the walls."
She's done her research. She always does. It's that research that's going to get her in trouble (or has gotten her in trouble, there's the possibility), and it's the research that pushes her onward. Leaving home is hard, but necessary.
Also necessary: changing up her identity. At least...at least for the time being. She'd find lurking on some of the darker sections of the net distasteful if not for the fact that she's already done plenty of perfectly illegal hacking into sensitive databases and files. So. Don't really have a leg to stand on, there.
If she's going to get out of here and stay gone, if she's going to get where she needs to get gone to for the sake of her family, then she'll need some adjustments. She's already got on some baggier clothes, boyish in nature, and her hair's cut in a way that reminds her all too much of her brother. Might as well add a pair of unnecessary glasses--and old pair of Matt's he kept as backup. With a pack of essentials hefted on a shoulder, she waits nervously at a designated meeting location for her 'contact'. Man...what a word. Sounds dangerous. Seedy, even. Maybe if she thinks of herself as a spy, it'll take some of the edge off?
Just another identity rewrite. No big. Anonymous emails encrypted (with some pretty good work on the client's part if he did say so himself, he's a little impressed and a lot curious) sent back and forth till they decide on a price, a time, a place. York didn't really know what to expect as he pulls up on his bike, scanning the curb for- well.
Ideally an adult with a lot of money.
In his last email he offered the identifier he'd be wearing, a Bea up leather jacket and a helmet with green trim. The green tracking lights on the bike are kind of extra but hey. Homage to old friends is what one does. Rolling up and seeing no one but a kid? Dude must be late. Fantastic.
She doesn't move at first, watching the biker. Wants to make sure before she ends up on the wrong side of town with the wrong side of guy. But the jacket and the green trim and green trimmed bike, and stopping here? Must be them.
Deep breath, Pidge. Her face is schooled to seriousness, business, as she approaches, determined. "Nice ride." Best way to say hello. She doesn't...know anything about bikes, actually, but she'd be willing to bet it's nice for what it is.
"Thanks, kid." Being polite never hurt anyone. "You waiting for a ride or something?"
Meeting a contact is one thing but- kid. All alone. Weird side of town. Could get hurt! A prickling of concern rears up that 'hey maybe' but nah. Kids don't have their identities rewritten when they run, they aren't smart enough or in deep enough shit to need that.
Even though this is what he'd signed up for when he'd been forcibly recruited joined the Project, he's still not entirely sure he likes the idea of having an AI plugged into his brain. He's seen AIs before of course; his home colony had been mostly run by a dumb AI, although not one half as snarky as FILSS. The smart AIs he'd rarely come into contact with, but they'd seemed very different. Almost human. And that unsettles him.
Still, what choice did he have? He's here in this project. He can't back out now.
He attends the implantation as ordered. Wishes they'd knock him out entirely before they do the implantation, but they say that they need to check his reactions to the upgraded neural lattice first.
Then they knock him out. There's blackness for a long time, and then a voice in his head.
"Wow it's roomy in here." A beat. "Not calling you dumb just- storage is cramped, you know? One sec-"
There's a sense of unfurling, a weight like a warm blanket, like a wash of sunshine tingling along the neural lattice, poking at the edges of this little box he's supposed to live in. This box in a brain in a soldier. Neat. "Agent Washington- That's a mouthful. I'm gonna call you Wash, ok? Quicker and less formal. I'm York. Nice to meet you."
Wash would yelp but he's pretty sure that he's still mostly unconscious. Nothing seems to connect right for him to move. He's sure his startlement shines through though. he can feel the AI rummaging through his mind, spreading out inside him. It's a warm feeling though. Not even close to what he'd expected which was cold code and clinical dispassion.
"See, nothing to worry about! Just you and me and the Director watching like a creeper, oh sweet I can tap into FLISS' security network to check the cameras. Looks like everything's going fine on the outside. A plus, smoothest implantation yet." Maybe, maybe not, but he's confident. "You and me are gonna work great together."
No matter how amazing last night was, the three of them tangled together and staving off the rest of the world, the morning draws in hard. Wash can feel it, the ache in his backside, in his muscles, and it feels like they've burnt themselves into him. It takes him time to remember where he is when he wakes; he stares up at the ceiling trying to place it. His first thought is the MoI, that he's back there and he half expects to hear the Counsellor speaking to him. It's a feeling he's often woken up to.
It isn't the Charon base, or the New Republic either. He doesn't know... he needs to be fixed. Needs to be...
He remembers like shards of glass when he feels the warm bodies cradling him, arms wrapped around him. Remembers... oh... York in the Meta armour and escaping and... Fuck his head hurts. It doesn't go away. He feels like he's trying to think through fog, still trying to process that he isn't where he should be and the boss is going to be so fucking pissed.
Breakfast is brought to them and then York vanishes for a while, leaving him and Carolina sitting aimless in the room, jittery with the lack of purpose right now, and the thought that this could have been a terrible mistake.
Wash is on his feet when the door opens and York steps back in. "What are we supposed to do?"
"Train." York's dressed- though explaining his, uh, bruises and state when he'd stepped out the day before had been fun. Kimball hadn't been enthused. Doyal had- well. Hadn't met him and couldn't really make a judgement but he'd sounded like he'd known what he was talking about and spun a satisfactory line of bullshit for both parties. "Dr. Grey's gonna take a look at both of you afterward. I don't know what the fuck that chair was they had you in but-"
He shakes his head, leaning back against the door. "We need to run a few training exercises cuz from here on out? I'm taking point. I'm the boss."
It's...weird looking at Carolina and saying that. Looking at WASH and saying hat. But one of them needs to be on top of their shit and it is unfortunately looking like that's gotta be him.
Training. That makes sense. Training has filled their lives ever since the Project, and Control had put them through their paces, preparing them for... well, for this. Wash looks distinctly uncomfortable when York mentions a doctor though. Can't hide the kneejerk reaction and memory of the doctors who'd treated him after Epsilon, or the ones in Charon's employ.
"It was nothing," Wash says. "Just wires and electrical pulses. It was... for my own good."
He hates the words as soon as they're out of his mouth, frustration pricking. And thankfully York gives him something else to think about when he speaks.
The boss. He's the boss. He wants to protest, because Carolina has always been the boss. But then he glances over towards the suit of armour and that... that relaxes him somehow. York has the armour. The armour is command. Carolina looks more conflicted.
"Bullshit." He's not letting them think that if he can help it. "Shock collars are what assholes use on prisoners and dogs. It's not behavioral correction, it's brainwashing, torture, and abuse. So no. Fuck that. You need course correction, you run laps, do push ups, or sleep on the ground."
Like. That's a thing he can tell them to do. Like that's part of what they're doing. Like he can use sleeping next to him as a bargaining chip for good behavior and it's sliding sideways into something he half understands in a whole other context but this shit sure as hell wasn't framed up in a safe, sane, or consensual way. All they got is winging it and all he's got is a few rules he needs to hold onto if they're gonna do this and not get killed.
"They aren't ever gonna trust you to run point, Carolina." Not after this. "It has to be me."
When the project had been disbanded, brought down after evidence of its crimes had been brought to light, it's assets had been taken over by the Oversight Committee and redistributed to more deserving endeavours.
One of those assets has been locked in this room for... for... he doesn't know. The days long since stopped being differentiated. Some days the staff come in and administer injections and runs tests, hook him up to machines. Sometimes it hurts. And sometimes he can't even remember who he is.
Most of the time he's on his own though. Like now. On the single bed staring at the ceiling. Can't sleep. It's too bright. The lights have been on for ages and he can't tell if he's imagining it, or if they've just stopped changing them to reflect a vague sense of night and day.
Keeping his head down while guilt was gnawing at him every hour of every day isn't easy. It turns out to be impossible, in fact, enough so that York spends what time he's got away and what bare resources he's got on hand to find the right time, the right place, and the right way to break back in (a third time) to wherever they've got Wash locked up.
Whatever he'd been expecting-
It wasn't this.
Decoys running through the system at the other end of the complex and he doesn't have time to really wonder at what the fuck he didn't see on the records when he pops the lock and levers the door open, armored up same as always. "Rise and shine, cupcake, we gotta go."
The door opens and the asset doesn't even bother to look. He knows the routine by now. He's done it a thousand times. He doesn't bother speaking, because they don't want him to speak. What could he tell them that they haven't found out with needles and wires by now? He isn't sure he remembers how.
He pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, hands on either side of him and easily visible. And then he just... waits.
"...Rookie?" What the hell. This isn't- this wasn't- he's supposed to bitch. Supposed to ask if he's serious. Supposed to look up at him with wide eyes and call him a jackass for leaving him behind- there should be any other mix of emotions in those eyes not this weary slump of resignation.
What the ever loving FUCK did they do to him?
York slips further into the room and reaches out, resting his hand on Wash's shoulder. "Come on. I wasn't kidding, we gotta move."
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Not that their taste in bars didn't mean splitting up either. Penn preferred more quiet places, somewhere he could relax and just enjoy a beer or three, which was why he'd ended up in the current bar.
It wasn't one of the normal hangouts either, but he hadn't been feeling all that social. A half empty beer sat on the table in front of him and there was a plate of food beside it and when someone joined him?
He'd sort of been expecting it. "Decided to ditch the leaderboard?"
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Like he said. Not his problem today.
York's got a beer in hand and half an eye on the door inside- Usually when one of them is kicking up shit whoever's playing babysitter swings through to try and get backup. "I think Utah beat his range score or something."
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"If it helps, I haven't seen anyone come through here so you're probably safe." He lifted his beer to his lips and took a drink. "Think the kitchen's still open if you want food too, though."
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"Florida'll calm him down. He's got a gift for handling Wyoming or so I hear anyway."
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Demon AU continued~
He had returned to the city after his family visit, arriving back a few hours before, though he had yet to rejoin her in the apartment. She was not concerned. No doubt he would have news for her, or perhaps he'd seek pleasure first; sex was good for regulating mana flow, after all, and he'd certainly left town with plenty to spare.
Though he still owed her dinner (yet another, atop the agreed decades) for being a day late. Though delays instigated by ties of blood could not be helped.
Demon AU 2.0, this time it's SEXY
Too many ways people could use it to A) break the law or B) hurt people. The strict critera by which he releases shit to the internet. Don't be a dick with magic.
Long drive- stop for takeout because he owes Carolina so many dinners- park, swear under his breath about the rain, etc, etc. "Honey, I'm home!"
Yeah he never gets tired of that.
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"I see you are unharmed, and unmarked by your family. All fared well, then?"
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Also necessary: changing up her identity. At least...at least for the time being. She'd find lurking on some of the darker sections of the net distasteful if not for the fact that she's already done plenty of perfectly illegal hacking into sensitive databases and files. So. Don't really have a leg to stand on, there.
If she's going to get out of here and stay gone, if she's going to get where she needs to get gone to for the sake of her family, then she'll need some adjustments. She's already got on some baggier clothes, boyish in nature, and her hair's cut in a way that reminds her all too much of her brother. Might as well add a pair of unnecessary glasses--and old pair of Matt's he kept as backup. With a pack of essentials hefted on a shoulder, she waits nervously at a designated meeting location for her 'contact'. Man...what a word. Sounds dangerous. Seedy, even. Maybe if she thinks of herself as a spy, it'll take some of the edge off?
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Ideally an adult with a lot of money.
In his last email he offered the identifier he'd be wearing, a Bea up leather jacket and a helmet with green trim. The green tracking lights on the bike are kind of extra but hey. Homage to old friends is what one does. Rolling up and seeing no one but a kid? Dude must be late. Fantastic.
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Deep breath, Pidge. Her face is schooled to seriousness, business, as she approaches, determined. "Nice ride." Best way to say hello. She doesn't...know anything about bikes, actually, but she'd be willing to bet it's nice for what it is.
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Meeting a contact is one thing but- kid. All alone. Weird side of town. Could get hurt! A prickling of concern rears up that 'hey maybe' but nah. Kids don't have their identities rewritten when they run, they aren't smart enough or in deep enough shit to need that.
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AI York
been forcibly recruitedjoined the Project, he's still not entirely sure he likes the idea of having an AI plugged into his brain. He's seen AIs before of course; his home colony had been mostly run by a dumb AI, although not one half as snarky as FILSS. The smart AIs he'd rarely come into contact with, but they'd seemed very different. Almost human. And that unsettles him.Still, what choice did he have? He's here in this project. He can't back out now.
He attends the implantation as ordered. Wishes they'd knock him out entirely before they do the implantation, but they say that they need to check his reactions to the upgraded neural lattice first.
Then they knock him out. There's blackness for a long time, and then a voice in his head.
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There's a sense of unfurling, a weight like a warm blanket, like a wash of sunshine tingling along the neural lattice, poking at the edges of this little box he's supposed to live in. This box in a brain in a soldier. Neat. "Agent Washington- That's a mouthful. I'm gonna call you Wash, ok? Quicker and less formal. I'm York. Nice to meet you."
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"Oh. Okay. I- nice to meet you York?"
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Meta York+Murder Puppies Continued
It isn't the Charon base, or the New Republic either. He doesn't know... he needs to be fixed. Needs to be...
He remembers like shards of glass when he feels the warm bodies cradling him, arms wrapped around him. Remembers... oh... York in the Meta armour and escaping and... Fuck his head hurts. It doesn't go away. He feels like he's trying to think through fog, still trying to process that he isn't where he should be and the boss is going to be so fucking pissed.
Breakfast is brought to them and then York vanishes for a while, leaving him and Carolina sitting aimless in the room, jittery with the lack of purpose right now, and the thought that this could have been a terrible mistake.
Wash is on his feet when the door opens and York steps back in. "What are we supposed to do?"
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He shakes his head, leaning back against the door. "We need to run a few training exercises cuz from here on out? I'm taking point. I'm the boss."
It's...weird looking at Carolina and saying that. Looking at WASH and saying hat. But one of them needs to be on top of their shit and it is unfortunately looking like that's gotta be him.
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"It was nothing," Wash says. "Just wires and electrical pulses. It was... for my own good."
He hates the words as soon as they're out of his mouth, frustration pricking. And thankfully York gives him something else to think about when he speaks.
The boss. He's the boss. He wants to protest, because Carolina has always been the boss. But then he glances over towards the suit of armour and that... that relaxes him somehow. York has the armour. The armour is command. Carolina looks more conflicted.
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Like. That's a thing he can tell them to do. Like that's part of what they're doing. Like he can use sleeping next to him as a bargaining chip for good behavior and it's sliding sideways into something he half understands in a whole other context but this shit sure as hell wasn't framed up in a safe, sane, or consensual way. All they got is winging it and all he's got is a few rules he needs to hold onto if they're gonna do this and not get killed.
"They aren't ever gonna trust you to run point, Carolina." Not after this. "It has to be me."
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Angst and Trauma
One of those assets has been locked in this room for... for... he doesn't know. The days long since stopped being differentiated. Some days the staff come in and administer injections and runs tests, hook him up to machines. Sometimes it hurts. And sometimes he can't even remember who he is.
Most of the time he's on his own though. Like now. On the single bed staring at the ceiling. Can't sleep. It's too bright. The lights have been on for ages and he can't tell if he's imagining it, or if they've just stopped changing them to reflect a vague sense of night and day.
so much of both
Whatever he'd been expecting-
It wasn't this.
Decoys running through the system at the other end of the complex and he doesn't have time to really wonder at what the fuck he didn't see on the records when he pops the lock and levers the door open, armored up same as always. "Rise and shine, cupcake, we gotta go."
Re: so much of both
He pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, hands on either side of him and easily visible. And then he just... waits.
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What the ever loving FUCK did they do to him?
York slips further into the room and reaches out, resting his hand on Wash's shoulder. "Come on. I wasn't kidding, we gotta move."
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