Posts tagged york.
RvB: The Family Business
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” York asked, his hand trailing over hers in the small bed. Carolina turned to him with a small hint of a mocking smile.
“What is this, York. A date?”
“Hey,” he said defensively, kissing her forehead. “We’re cuddling. Cuddling totally means a date. And this is the conversation people have on dates, I think.”
She laughed, quietly, and laced her fingers through his. “I think a date involves much more than post-sex cuddling. There should be flowers. And some degree of nearly incapacitating nervousness.”
“You weren’t nervous?” he whispered while kissing her neck. She smiled in that self-assured way that made him a little dizzy sometimes.
“I don’t have any brothers or sisters. You?”
“Two brothers. I was a middle child. What’s that look for?” he said as she laughed it off her face hurriedly. “What does your mom do?”
“Oh.” York backed away ever so slightly to see her face. It was simply passive.
“It’s not a big deal, York. She died when I was very young. Soldier of war. I don’t remember much about her anyway.” She smiled at him as proof that he hadn’t upset her. “What about your parents?”
“My mom is a doctor. Not an army one, just one that lives in a hospital and visits home for family dinners. My dad is a historian. The house was always full of vintage, dated, somehow-still-functioning technology.”
“Have you told North and his obsession with DvPs? I bet he’d love to hear that.”
“DvDs, actually. And yeah. I had my dad pull some strings and got him a vintage Captain America movie. He just about kissed me.” His fingers were tracing a pattern on her hip bone as he asked, tentatively, “and your father?”
She sighed before answering, “dying, somewhere. He was never quite the same after my mother. At first he was convinced that she was just missing, not dead. He went from a small, wiry watch maker to a soldier overnight to look for her. I guess he’s still alive, because no one from the army has come to tell me otherwise. He wasn’t really there when I was growing up, either.”
“So you became a soldier.”
“I couldn’t help it. After my mother and my father decided that our legacy should be lives lost in the name of war, who was I to argue.”
“That’s silly,” York said, burying his face in the pillow next to her. “You’re much too smart to die in battle.”
Carolina looked up at the white ceiling and smiled to herself. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
RvB Drabble: Terse
“You’re sure about this?” Tex said, again. York rolled his eyes, the effort lost behind his helmet. “We can’t come back to save them.”
“She told me to go,” York muttered finally. That shut Tex up as they were packing, taking armor and ammo and weapons, taking data and provisions and proof.
“I’m sorry,” she said, putting the message from CT on a chain around her neck. “What about your bunkmate? He’s still-“
“He’s not going to wake up.” There was a sigh in every syllable of that sentence.
“But the doctors said-” she started, unsure why she’s spending this time convincing him out of the act she had spent months persuading him to consider. Something felt weird. He was too quiet.
“Wash isn’t coming back. Not from that. It doesn’t matter if he wakes up.” He picked up his weapon. “I don’t like ghost stories, Tex. Let’s just…let’s go.”
For AJ! RvB: Extraction
When I have a moment, I will write you something more because it’s your birthday so you need more fics. But for now, here’s that one we collaborated on a long time ago that I found and finished this morning as a small, timely gift (to come before the belated one) :P
“I don’t see why we have a random trooper on this mission,” Wyoming said, staring at the offending man in plain, unenhanced armor.
“It is the mission. Protecting a civilian,” South said and the malice was obvious in her voice. Wyoming and Connie laughed.
“Come on, guys,” York said with an easy shrug. “Just give the guy a chance, it won’t kill us to learn how to play nice with others.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Maine growled.
“Hey, we could all use a little more teamwork.”
The new guy laughed, and betrayed that “he” was actually a “she”.
“You’re not helping my case,” York muttered and the girl raised her hands in defense and defeat.
“You can carry your own weight?” Carolina demanded, speaking for the first time since the Pelican took off. “We’re two minutes from drop point.”
“Yeah, no sweat,” she said and that seemed enough for Carolina.
“If I had known we were going to babysit, I would’ve brought my gold stars to give you for doing a good job at not dying,” South muttered with a smile.
“Who would ever let you within a mile of their kids?” York retorted. North’s small, instinctive laugh came over the radio and died just as suddenly as South’s head whipped around to face him.
“She used to babysit all the time,” North said, suddenly very interested in defending his sister’s credibility to watch over children. “Tons of people in our neighborhood would hire her, all the kids were scared shi—-loved her. Loved her, yes.”
“I’ll have to make due without that validation, then,” the girl said, her voice smothered in sarcasm.
“I see why you stuck up for her, York,” Wash chimed in from across the soldier. “She’s got your terrible, obvious sense of humor.”
“Hey, I have a fucking awesome sense of humor,” both of them said at the same time, and Wash sat back smugly with his arms across his chest, his point sufficiently proven.
“Get ready,” Carolina said firmly, cutting the other replies from the agents short. “Showtime.”
“Really?” York snickered and Carolina’s helmet turned to glare at him. “Sorry, sorry, I just…really?”
The doors opened before anything else could be said, and the agents rushed out, a surly Carolina behind them.
“Are you mad you didn’t get to have the last word,” York asked, head tilted towards the leader in an oddly apologetic stance.
“No,” she growled simply.
“Right, because that would be silly.”
York nodded. “Sorry.”
She looked at him for a moment, her expression softening slightly under the helmet, and then - “You know, I could’ve sworn you were taller.”
“Must be how I’m standing or something. We ready to go?”
She gave him an odd look- as she normally did -before shaking her head and jumping out. The cement cratered under Carolina’s feet, knees nearly touching the ground. The others had taken up observational cover around her and she was momentarily caught in the revelation that their guest, crouched between the twins, had to be taller than South. The thought was jarred out of her head when York hit the ground hard, stringing together curses as he got to his feet and- was he limping? -moved to cover next to Maine. Carolina just shook her head and barked out, “What’ve we got?” She’d long since come to terms with the fact that, so long as he wasn’t hampering the mission, York just did whatever York did.
“Looks like a full house,” North said, scoping the place out on his sniper rifle. “Couple of guards and a lot of traffic in the halls.”
Carolina took in the building and surroundings, forming and discarding plans until she said, “Alright, we’ll go for the tried and true method. Maine, you and South make a nice big diversion on the east end. I saw some fuel tanks there and possibly a generator on the drop in. I want you drawing as many to you as you can. North and Wyoming will scope out sniper positions and cover you. The rest of us will head into the base. Connie, we’ll leave you at the data center to get our secondary objective. Wash, watch her back. York and I will get out guest here through to our primary objective. We’ll move once North and Wyoming are in position. Everyone clear?”
They all nodded, “Got it.”
“Get to it, people!”
The Freelancers split up and as Carolina led hers close to the building entrance, she heard York whispering to the newcomer: “She sounds like some cheesey action movie.”
The newcomer whispered right back, “Hey- everyone’s got their kicks.”
“That doesn’t make it any less ridiculous.”
“Hey,” Carolina snapped at them. “We’ve got a mission to focus on.” They held up their hands in almost identical apologetic shrugs.
By Carolina’s elbow, Connie snickered. “What’s wrong, Carolina? Jealous that York’s got a new banter buddy?”
“Try keeping up this time, Connecticut.”
Connie just shook her head and laughed which was not the reaction Carolina was going for but at least she didn’t say anything again. In the end, that was fine by Carolina because, even though she’d never admit it out loud, she thought this was pretty useless training mission. Get their special guest party member to the center of the facility to gain access to some prototype only she knew the codes for. Carolina didn’t know why she couldn’t just explain how the Freelancers could get it on their own but the Director had decided and she wasn’t about to question him about it. He already shot down Connie’s attempts to ask, anyway.
RvB Drabble: Overthinking
She had thought about how to greet him, too. She thought about punching him out of anger, or rolling her eyes in that familiar way he always inspired. She thought of taking out a lighter or stealing his, because of course he’d have a lighter if he met her again. She thought about laughing to his joke, for the first time in so long she can’t even remember.
She thought about doing something she was afraid, without him, she’d forgotten how to do. She thought about showing her affection, for once, with kindness and sincerity rather than a thinly veiled jab or playful violence.
She thought about how he would greet her for days and nights, months, weeks, years. She thought about it until Wash unceremoniously pronounced him dead, and dreamed about it until she went to where it had happened.
She was too busy listening to the memory file journal entries to think, but after they finished that missed meeting was all she could see in her dreams, some kind of masochistic cruelty playing all of the scenarios he mentioned and a bigger part - bigger than the hurt or loss or pain - wished it would never stop.
She thought, naively, that more violence and death and holding the director accountable for everyone’s sins would make it better. She thought just one more thing, one more mission, and it would all be worth it.
She thought, but really she hoped, and she imagined it was a fitting tribute to the one guy who had always hoped the best for her.
“Carolina, you’re not ok.” She looked at him like he’d just slapped her, and York fought every urge to recoil from the glare. “Stop pretending to be.”
“I’m fine,” she said firmly. “I’ll be fine, and more than that, I am fine and I was fine, got it?”
“But Sigma-” he said, hopelessly, falling silent when she cut him off like he knew she would.
“Sigma is fine. We’re integrating. It’s a work in progress. I’m fine.”
“So I’ve heard,” he mumbled.
But she wasn’t fine. It’s been weeks and Carolina was still struggling and it showed. It’s been showing. York was the only one brave enough to say anything. She got implanted the same time Maine went into surgery, and by the time he came back after his physical therapy, he found the leader he almost died for a broken woman.
That was when York had to say something.
That was when York had the idea.
“Carolina,” he said quietly, noting how she gave her attention to him, divided, haphazard, unfamiliar. “I’ve been thinking. You do just fine without an AI.”
“But the Director told me-” she started loyally.
“I know, I know. But, you know, Maine is getting ready to start going on missions.”
“He passed his physical exam two days ago,” she rattled off, and it was detached, robotic, almost an echo.
“Well, he’ll need a way to communicate.” She nodded, and he pressed on. “None of the other AI are really ready yet, so…”
“I can give him Sigma,” she whispered, keeping the secret from herself.
“It’ll be in everyone’s best interest,” he desperately encouraged. She grew quiet, like she always did these days.
“It’s my responsibility as squad leader,” she told herself, convinced herself, and York could hear the relief in her voice just as clearly as she felt it in his muscles.
“I think it’ll work out better, especially for Maine.”
After they carved him back out of her, Carolina could still feel him burn in the back of her mind. She could still hear the cackle of fire at the edge of her ears, and when he showed himself next to Maine, silent, looming, the freelancer’s visor reflecting the way the flames danced, she almost took a step back. But she stood there, willed herself to stand there, as the AI smiled as if taunting her weakness masquerading as kindness and said, “thank you, Agent Carolina. I feel I will be much more useful here.”
Anonymous asked: York+Delta
York had to have a conversation with Delta about the art of the finely crafted innuendo and how much it ruins the joke when Delta jumps in to explain it.
A few months later he had to have another very pointed conversation with the AI about how it’s totally not cool to show up and read off statistics of the likelihood the woman York is currently trying to get to sleep with him has some kind of STD or mental instability.
Delta killed York’s ladies’ man rep. He would have rebuilt it, but then he started having hobo adventures anyway and got distracted by the whole feeling guilty over Carolina and Wash and whatnot. (One night, he had to explain guilt to Delta, too.)
raynarvaezjr asked: YORK
I think I’ve written pretty much every thought I’ve had of York. Ever. I just can’t help myself.
A random list of things I keep in mind when writing him: York loves coffee (thanks mumblybee), he’s completely a ladies’ man and tries his best to get his friends laid when they’re out on shore leave together (usually succeeds, except for Wash and Wyoming - Wash because of awkward and Wyoming because of that moustache), he’s usually the first to get drunk but also the one who retains the most common sense while drunk, he’s obsessed with being Superman until his eye gets taken out and the obsession spreads to Nick Fury (again, mumblybee and nem), Carolina leaving/dying/whatever lie he gets told depressed him deeply until he had to leave the program after which he has many heartbreaking hobo adventures where he almost runs into Carolina or someone who looks like her, but she’s always out of reach, and he’s a sucker for model trains.
“Shut up a minute, I’m workin’.”
Wash sighed and looked over to York’s face, five inches from his own and whisper-yelling in his ear. “Fucking what?”
“Are you seriously trying to break into a tiger cage?” York’s eyes were having through focusing on Wash’s face of thought, and he was quietly swaying back and forth on his heels in an alcohol-induced temporary inner ear problem.
“I’m not,” Wash slurred proudly. “I’m trying to break into - into - I’m trying to free Calvin.”
“The tiger they’ve got locked up in this cage.”
York stared at his very drunk friend, frowning gracelessly through his own haze of alcohol. “Lemme try again. Are you failing to break into a fucking tiger’s cage which has a combination lock a child could pick apart?”
Wash looked from York’s face to the offending metal barrier in question and sighed tiredly. “Fine, Mr. Infal-infel-inter-inf… Mr. Lock Guy, you do it.”
York huffed in importance and knelt down next to the lock, listening to it as he turned the number dial before straightening up and frowning at his companion. “I’m not going to break into this cage so you can steal this tiger, Wash.”
“Libari-liberati-libetari… free. I’m going to free him, and his name is Calvin.”
“Why the fuck is he named Calvin?”
“So we can play Calvinball.” Wash pushed York’s shoulder out of the way and went back to twisting the numbers on the lock at random with no show of effort to actually make the item yield.
“You’re going to make him into a ball?” York said slowly, looking around at the dark abandoned zoo and slowly remembering that he was the one who broke the main lock and disabled the alarm on the door when they stumbled in half an hour ago.
“No, that’s not how you play Calvinball,” Wash dismissed, letting himself be pulled to his feet by his friend who is slowly remembering more and more of how much shit they’re going to get for this tomorrow morning.
“How do you play it, then,” York asked because sometimes, there were more pressing questions than unpleasant consequences.
“Well,” Wash said knowingly and with an unsteady finger pointed at York’s nose. “First, you need a Calvin.”
York stared at the man he was leaning on and holding up simultaneously, then scoffed through a smile. “Well, we’re not getting one tonight, buddy. We gotta go, Niner is picking us up tomorrow morning.”
“But my tiger…”
“There’s no room on the pelican, Wash. You know how Niner gets when we don’t follow her flight plan.”
Wash seemed to have sobered up for a moment as he remembered the last time Niner had yelled at him. It was two weeks ago. “There’s no way we’d be able to add a passenger to her roster without twenty-four hours notice.”
“Yep,” York encouraged, patting Wash on the chest, the biggest target he could reach.
“I’ll be back for you,” Wash told the sleeping predator, and let himself be led away from the breaking and entering crime scene.
havefuncarolina asked: Here, have a random prompt because it's Saturday. :) And you didn't mean to do it/So I don't have to believe it/If you didn't really mean it/Then magical thinking gets us by
“It wasn’t her,” he bleated out, a haze of drugs distracting from the slow flow of blood. South looked at York for something, a sign, a lead, a word of comfort that she wasn’t sure how to give. But North, predictably, was the one holding the bandage over the gunshot, helping the health pack keeping Wash alive, and it was he who answered.
“We all saw it, Wash. It was CT.”
Wash’s eyes focused, eyelids half closed, as he said with determination, “Connie wouldn’t do that. She didn’t mean to. She can’t have…”
South said, quietly, in a voice so unlike her usual, “Connie wouldn’t…but CT might.”
Wash shook his head in disagreement, but didn’t offer more. They rode back to the ship and to the medical bay in silence.
“Ready for training?” York asked, clapping Wash on the shoulder in the process with a little more force than necessary.
“Sure,” Wash coughed out. “Yeah. You know, it wasn’t my fault that you got run over by another car last mission.”
York scoffed his sarcastic agreement. “What kind of friend would I be if I held onto a thing like that into the next training mission?”
Wash gave this some thought. “A vindictive, cruel, takes-a-joke-way-too-far, unprofessional, total dick kind of friend?”
“See?” York said enthusiastically. “I am none of those! Well, maybe some of them, but not all of them.”
“Yeah,” Wash answered, unconvinced, and the mission started.
It pleasantly surprised Wash that the oddest thing about the training mission turned out to be his teammates. Of course, with the exception of York, who behaved himself quite well and maturely and Wash was now convinced that his friend had something even more sinister planned.
North was first, when he passed Wash at the start of the mission he turned around and clapped his hands together as he said with a very noticeable mocking smile, “we always hoped you two kids would get together!”
His twin wasn’t far behind as she muttered “about damn time, too,” and left it at that.
Wyoming spoke towards the middle of the mission, while he was reloading his gun and Wash was covering him. “It’s great that you two finally felt comfortable enough to make it public.” By the time Wash thought to ask what the hell he was talking about, Wyoming had already jumped over his cover, gun at the ready, and ran into battle.
Carolina, right at the end, grabbed Wash by the shoulder while they waited for the others to catch up to their safe point and said, very flatly, “don’t think this changes anything,” before rushing off to finish the objective.
“What did you do?” Wash whispered to York as they were walking back to the locker room.
“What?” York said. “I was professional! Did you see how professional it all was? I didn’t even hit on Carolina while I opened the lock!”
“Oh, give me a break, Mr. Paranoid,” York muttered and Wash could clearly hear the eye roll which accompanied the words. Wash dropped the subject.
It was only after Wash removed his shoulder plates that it all clicked into place, and when his head shot up looking for the offender, he found that York had perfected almost-light-speed armor removal because he was no longer in the locker room. The back of Wash’s left shoulder had a very white, very obnoxious sticker that read “Team I LOVE NY!”
((Inspired by this post.))
queen-of-france asked: Ahahaha ALL OF THE SHIPS. York/Carolina (in light of more recent episodes)? Wyoming/Tex? Sarge/Tex? Kara/Batgirl? Harley/Ivy? Cas/Dean?
ALL OF THE SHIPS. ALL OF THE AWESOME SHIPS.
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 10! They were my first real not-canon-approved ship in RvB. They’ll always have a very very special place in my heart because of that.
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: I love how their personalities interact and fit together, how they can find strength in each other, and I hate/love how tragically they end.
- Write a small fic: York was kind of curious why, exactly, the twins had asked to watch him and Carolina during sparring practice. He got his answer when, after they were done and he was walking past South, she grinned and said, “so is the sex just as good, or…” North smacked his sister in the arm, which didn’t seem to faze her, and York turned around with a grin and answered, “better.” North’s cheeks got a little more color and South just grinned in triumph at her brother’s flushed face.
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: Would have been a 3 before this week’s episode and the mustache. Now it’s a 2. I can see it, but I can’t see her tolerating that caterpillar. Or Wyoming himself for very long.
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: What I like is the potential for hilarity. Especially now with the mustache. What I don’t like is, I guess, is the dynamic of them. I just have a hard time seeing them as anything but a complete crack ship.
- Write a small fic: “Remember how we met, Wyoming?” Tex would ask smugly. He’d frown under that mess of facial hair and murmur something like “yes, I tried to kill you,” and she’d respond with “‘tried’ being the operative word,” and they’d go back and forth with the snark that came so easily to her, and so often easily to him, until she sometimes called him Church. He’d let it go, but for the rest of their conversations his voice would droop a bit lower, his smile a bit forced, his speech a bit more British, futile efforts to distinguish himself from a memory.
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 4, and it’s all because of Nem. Before her fanfics and ideas, the thought of Sarge and romance was kind of…not an option. XD
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: What I like is Sarge and robots. What I don’t like is the idea of Sarge and
anyone other than his shotgunwomen.
- Write a small fic: Sarge couldn’t deny the absolute efficiency of Carolina, but there was something off about the new freelancer. Perhaps it was all the ways she was so very similar to the old one, and the one flesh and blood and human way she was so very different, but efficient or blue or freelancer or not, Sarge had a small space in his heart that resented the newcomer, even if he could never really figure out why.
Kara/Batgirl (I’m going to write in Steph Brown Batgirl here)
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 10 as friends (loooove them!) and probably a 6 as romantic anything because Steph has got her eyes on other people. And Kara might too?
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: THERE IS NO BAD. THEY ARE PERFECT TOGETHER AND BESTEST OF FRIENDS AND BFF (which is already plural).
- Write a small fic: “It’s weird,” Steph said, frowning. “It’s not weird, it’s…super.” Kara’s text insisted. “I don’t see why we can’t just use phones,” Steph pressed on. She was talking to herself out of her window while Kara was…somewhere. Across town, maybe? Somewhere within range of super hearing, anyway. “Or at least let me text you back rather than just talking to myself-” “This is better, it’s like high tech soup cans with the wires…isn’t that what Earth children do to communicate?” Steph rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Kara, just let me actually call you. Please? You’re trying to recreate a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon.” “A what? I’m not sure how to use this thing. It does voice?” Kara’s text read, and Steph finally sighed in defeat. “Nevermind. But you’ll have to explain to my mom why I’m sitting in my room talking to myself with the window open.” “Like that’s unusual for you. ;)”
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 10. 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10!
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: The only way to make these two more crazy is to put them together. Of course I love this pairing. :D
- Write a small fic: “I can play doctor,” Harley said firmly. “I got one of them degrees hangin’ on my wall next to the toy gun and the acid-spitting flower!” Ivy looked at her friend with a sigh and said, calmly, “any degree hung up next to a deadly clown prop is invalid.” Harley crossed her arms and sat down on the couch with a huff, until Ivy rolled her eyes and handed the girl back the stethoscope.
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 10. We all know it’s there, even if some of us (including me) are still clinging to denial.
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: I love all of the undertones of them and being together, romantically or not, all their interactions and every heartwrenching easy-to-read-into-glance. I hate that it’s not, technically, canon.
- Write a small fic: When Dean handed him the trenchcoat - full of symbolism and hope and more than a twinge of desperation - the first thing Cas noticed was the smell. It didn’t smell like him anymore, or the swamp he lost it in, or the trunk of the car it had supposedly been sitting in for the longest time - it smelled like Dean.