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.
There was a rivalry between them because attitude was the only thing she had ever been better at - his composure wouldn’t beat her gung-ho momentum purely in terms of results. When it came to weapons she was a wicked, creative shot with a rifle - she threw herself into things, exposed her belly to catch the other guy off guard more than North would. He was steady and accurate. She threw herself in whole-hearted.
On the only Christmas on the Mother of Invention, she resolved to eschew all the cutesey echoing traditions their parents had foisted on obliging kids (it was like a work of art to watch North patronize his own father.)
an old draw of my favorite freelancer from RvB, Agent North Dakota
Mumblybee wrote a scene where York talked about coffee in his sleep. Then I had to write this. Set in happy suburban AU where no one dies but some are still recovering…second person perspective thanks to Rae.
You can’t sleep. Maybe it’s the air changing, starting to get crisper. Maybe your sister moved in her sleep half an hour ago and the sound has only drifted down to your dreaming consciousness from the other side of the room now. You know that it wasn’t Theta who woke you up, because you know the feel of that, and he hasn’t manifested. The hallway is dark, the gentle cold feeling at the back of your neck still resting with the unmistakable mien of a child sleeping.
redid this North and Theta pic [ ☆ ]
hashibainthefandom asked you:
For the Fic War: An AU in which Connie is able to convince Wash to join the insurrectionists and he finds himself having to fight York and North.
This may not be what you expected, but I hope you like it. I could have done a lot of different versions, and could write one with more actual fight if you want. But I couldn’t help but feel that if Wash was really given the chance to go back, he would…
Wash delayed his encounter with the others as long as he could. He was supposed to stay hidden, after all. There was no use going out there, not with the other troops already assigned to keep the Freelancers out of the warehouse where CT was staying. He heard her voice in his head: I didn’t think they’d find us this quickly.
But he leaned out into the hall after Florida dispatched the two heavy gunners, because he wanted to see York and North and the others, wanted to know — whether they’d be killing him or trying to talk about it first. He wanted to protect CT and her data and he wanted to fight. And he wanted to see them.
He wouldn’t have much time.
York and North were hanging back with Florida while Wyoming, South, and Maine cleaned up outside, and Wash was going to have seconds, split seconds to talk before Carolina dashed over here.
Luckily, York got to the point.“Why are you doing this, man?”
“Because nobody asked her that,” Wash said, his rifle steady and still pointed at the point between North and York where they would be in a few seconds if they decided to move forward to attack him. “You’re coming to kill her!”