Quick North, I couldn’t really concentrate, but I have a weakness for snipers.
North was soooo cooool in RvB Guns For Hire: Episode 0 〜(￣▽￣〜)
well what do you do when you don’t wanna draw a helmet but you also don’t wanna disrupt anyone’s headcanon.
an exercise in avoiding drawing washington’s face.
i was looking for some achievement hunter cosplays and i found this im about to cry i swear this person is so perfect marry me
fyi this is lethal1ty on the roosterteeth site. he’s really cool, you guys should check him out!
so long to all of my friends
every one of them met tragic ends
with every passing day
i'd be lying if i didn't say
that i miss them all tonight
and if they only knew what i would say (x)
will i ever truly be over project freelancer?? ? nope. probably not. ever.
Fought through hand cramps to try and do another rvb fanfic fanart haha. Because I love North and Theta.
He walks in broad-shouldered and sharp eyed, with a five-dollar bill in his hand and sweat stains in the armpits of his gray t-shirt. The sun is going down just enough that the reflections on the windows bounce him back and forth across the panes of glass. All the other customers too, but it’s him who makes Connie angry at the two banks of windows and the classic rock album covers on the walls and the tube of syrup in her hands. He’s going to be inconvenient; she can tell. Something about this is going to be work.
He puts his elbows and the five on the counter and lies, badly. Stammers that he’s new in town and wants the house special.
These three were already bros, so it made total sense to cast them as Musketeers a la the BBC’s new (and incredibly awesome and sexy) show of the same name.
York thinks he’s as charming as Aramis but jury is currently out on that score; North is totally the best fit for Porthos. And while younger!freelancer!Wash was probably more of a D’artagnion-y fit, RecoveryOne Wash is totes Athos, y’all.
(watch the show. it’s great.)
…I’ve gotta watch this show.
For every thousand hacking at the leaves of evil, there is one striking at the root.
CT lay in bed and looked up at the item hanging like a mobile from the ceiling of the Recovery ward. It swayed against a stationary background. The air was warm, the blankets thick against her shoulders, and she had not been lying here long enough to get clammy. The warmth stayed even when she lifted up her arm, even when the IV cord ticked against the blanket.
[So I said I would write something for dickie-b's headcanon about Carolina assigning laps as punishment — particularly the part about York having to run around the ship all night — and I did. I kinda feel sick right now so i did a bad job of setting and it doesn’t really match the original post perfectly and there might be tons of mistakes but I TRIED.]
”How long has he been running?” asked Wash, furrowing his brow as York jogged by for what felt like — and might have been — the hundredth time.
“I’d say about three hours,” North said, watching York closely. He was going a whole lot slower now, and North didn’t think he’d heard a single stupid comment from the guy’s mouth in a whole twenty minutes. Bad sign.
Wash raised his eyebrows, then frowned. “How long till he collapses?”
North folded his arms, watching as York waved weakly at some of the pilots on their way to the mess hall. Normally he’d have jogged in place, asking everybody how their day had been and how many meteors did they have to dodge and how’s everybody’s families, and, and, and. Now he just kept on jogging by, head lowered a little, his feet starting to drag downward.
“I’d say about five minutes,” North said.
You write such great Freelancer camaraderie.