a bloody crumpet (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
apocalyptical) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
theshatterdome2013-08-26 11:30 am
apocalyptical) wrote in theshatterdome2013-08-26 11:30 amopen rp post
OPEN RP POST
Pick a character, leave me lyrics, prompts, tags, texts, whatever. Lets play.
apocalyptical) wrote in theshatterdome2013-08-26 11:30 am
OPEN RP POST
Pick a character, leave me lyrics, prompts, tags, texts, whatever. Lets play.
for whoever you want bb
probably 1 of many
What she hadn't expected was something that accompanied being someones lifetime companion and lover - a proposal.
She'd said yes and it was one hell of a wedding, though there would always be those that were never sure about Gipsy Danger. The wedding itself was small and held on the outer deck of the Hong Kong Shatterdome on a day that it wasn't pouring. Most people were happy to see their Marshal moving on after the death of his only son, finding solace in the arms of a Jaeger turned biohuman. It's a gorgeous affair despite its simplicity; her hair has grown and it's been gently curled to frame her face, ivory flowers tucked into braided strands. The dress itself is simple and Gipsy adores it and the way it makes her feel.
It's the night, though, that she's been most looking forward to. She's sprawled out on the bed of the beachside hotel they'd acquired somewhere in one of those rare, untouched islands in the pacific, still in the dress and resting against the pillows, watching him move around their open air hotel room.
"You are going to wear a hole in the floor with your pacing."
Just saying.
give me them allllll
Yes, so she's a biohuman, an android, whatever. She's also become one of his closest, if not the closest friend he has, and he loves her. So he doesn't give a damn what anyone else says. It had only been logical to ask her to marry him; sure, it wasn't like they really needed to get married, and it wasn't like they were going to have kids or anything, but some things should be marked, and their relationship was one of them.
The ring he got her wasn't exactly flashy, but it was still beautiful and sparkling, something perfectly fitting the woman that Gipsy'd become.
He'd broken out his dress blues for the ceremony, grinned at her the whole time, and honestly, if asked, he probably couldn't detail what happened. Not that it matters that much, because there were pictures taken in case he needs a jog to his memory, and besides, now they're on their honeymoon.
"I'm not pacing," he protests, pulling his tie out from under his collar. It gets thrown aside and he stops his pacing so he can crawl onto bed beside her, ducking his head to steal a kiss.
Re: give me them allllll
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And don't ask what he did to get Max in there with him.
He scratches angrily at the sling, the stupid injury that kept him out of Striker and had Herc--his dad and Stacker sacrificing themselves. Max, possibly noticing Chuck's thoughts turning dark, nudges his head under his elbow so the human is forced to scratch his ears instead of his own shoulder.
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Mako’s voice had brought him out of it – that and her exceptionally tight grip.
Medical had insisted that he be monitored for a few days anyway, just in case. Mako was in the next room over and for the first few hours, they hadn’t been able to pry the pilots apart but after some sedatives and fluids, Raleigh slept quietly in his own hospital bed, and Mako in hers.
The sound of a jingling collar wakes him up from his drug induced sleep even now and bleary, unclear eyes settle and try to focus on Chuck.
“Hansen,” he croaks, brows up even now. “What—“ Excuse him while he coughs. “What’re you doing here?”
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"Nothing," he says shortly, standing up unsteadily. "Wanted to see you without your mouth open for a minute." He's not looking at Raleigh when he whistles for Max to follow him.
Max, the traitor that he is, trots up to Raleigh's bedside and sniffs at his hand, stubby little tail wagging.
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Well. Maybe one way.
He waits until Raleigh's done eating and gets up a minute after, to not so obviously follow him. When he does catch up to him, he grabs the back of his shirt and tugs.
"Kwoon," he says shortly by his ear.
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Hansen.
"Okay," he says simply, hands flexing by his sides and he changes direction. Kwoon it is.
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He starts stripping off his jacket as soon as they're inside, kneeling to unlace his shoes. It's blessedly empty in there, no one to watch them, no one to compete for.
A part of him wants to fill the silence, partly with idle chatter or partly to bug Raleigh, maybe ask him if he's as jumpy as Chuck is, but the silence is a buzzing comfort. He steps onto the mat, waiting for Raleigh.
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text; for hercules
Marshal?no subject
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[ shit. she's texted him and she's curled in bed and she feels like crap and now she doesn't know what to say. ]
are you busy(no subject)
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1/2
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TONY
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
Like you expected anything other than angst from me. Can be for either of them or both of them because God knows they both have heaps of shit to deal with.
OH WELL HEY tell me if this works omg im so rusty /watches the movies
She's shooed him out of her garage more times than she can probably count at this point and Tony - he's tried to sleep, honestly, he has, because he knows he needs to do it but things have just been crowding into his head and these days he finds it hard to do at any suitable time.
It's why he's crashed where he sits, in her study and flopped in an oversized chair, and it's why he's dreaming there instead of his rooms, twitching a little every so often, hissing and gripping at the plush arms of his chair.
THIS IS BEAUTIFUL also omg I ship them so badly already
She can't imagine what that's about. As a child, she never caused half of the trouble Tony does. The comparison is ludicrous.
Regardless. The point. Making sure Tony doesn't wind up dead. Which is why, when she doesn't find him in her -- their -- bedroom, even though she wants nothing more than to collapse on the bed after a long night of patrols, Mary goes to track him down. Garage, kitchen, smoking room (she's often found him at the bar in there)... Nothing.
Then, on her next try, working through the logic of Tony Stark, is her study, and there she strikes gold.
At first, she's relieved just to have found him in one piece. He's sleeping and she's almost tired enough to turn around and leave him to it. Almost. She wouldn't be Batman - she wouldn't be alive - if she didn't notice the little things, and so she notices he's having a nightmare. No stranger to nightmares herself, she also knows how there's usually a moment when she wishes someone would wake her up.
So, after straddling him to make sure he doesn't lash out as she breaks him out of the dream, Mary taps his cheeks hard enough to be felt but a few levels down from a slap.
"Tony, wake up."
SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER
THAT'S OKAY BB
Gipsy, do with this what you will
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It definitely doesn't count if they spend most of the night no closer than a couple of feet.
Anyway, Chuck's having fun talking to other people. And if the guy's not shy in his interest in Chuck's arse (if he stares any more his eyes might fall out), well the conversation's still pretty good, and the attention isn't entirely unpleasant. If he insinuates himself any closer into his personal space, there might be a problem.
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Not so much keeping an eye out as he is just...watching Chuck. Because it's Chuck and as much as they'd sort of agreed on the no talking thing that doesn't eradicate the things going on in Raleigh's head.
When the guy chats Chuck up, Raleigh drinks a beer and laughs at something someone is saying to him. When he briefly touches Chuck's hip, Raleigh twitches.
When the guy goes for Chuck's ass? Raleigh is handing someone his beer, coming up behind Chuck with a friendly smile, moving him aside, then decking the piss out of the guy that's just grabbed hold of Chuck's caboose.
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He's really not expecting Raleigh to be the one to do it.
"Oi what the hell!" He shouts, mostly out of surprise than an actual objection. He grabs a hold of Raleigh's arm and drags him outside before they get kicked out or before the dude gets back up.
There's something hot uncurling in his stomach that he's ignoring while he shoves Raleigh against the wall outside the bar. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He hisses.
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But being a pilot means dealing with adoring fans and soon enough he finds the next year of his life is a whirlwind of conferences, interviews, TV shows, and radio spots.
He keeps in touch with Hansen as much as he can through texts, phone and video calls, and emails. Eventually they do stop in Australia and Raleigh calls him and tells him he's standing in an airport, needing a ride because he's got a few days off to himself.
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He's giving him shit, of course, Raleigh knows where Chuck is and Chuck's on his way.
They'd left things pretty last minute and...weird at the shatterdome, but Chuck couldn't really stand to be there, feeling useless and besieged by ghosts on every side. The communication's been nice, and since Chuck hasn't really felt up to actually inserting himself back into the public quite yet, Raleigh's helped to stave off the crushing loneliness.
Hopefully Raleigh's up for the sight of Chuck in shorts. because it's those and a t-shirt he's in when he gets to the baggage claim and wanders around until he finds him.
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Dammit, Mako.
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Mako opens the door to a very dour-looking Chuck Hansen, and her features settle into those of sympathetic concern.
Apparently this was a very, very important code that she'd made him break, and he still seems unforgiving. She sighs quietly.
"...I told you I was sorry, for the text." She leans on the door. "Do you believe me, now?"
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chuck.
ignore me if you want.....
It's post Pitfall, he survived, somehow, but Chuck doesn't really call it surviving. He calls it existing, something he's fucking terrible at because this sure as shit isn't living. He's useless and that's what he's thinking about as he pounds another shot back, feeling the hot burn of cheap tequila slide down his throat, scarring up his throat until he can't taste it anymore and it doesn't matter what he shoots so long as it gets the job done.
Maybe Becket feels the same way; shitty and useless and fucking worthless because Chuck spies him across the bar, sitting at an equally shitty and rickety table all by himself with a glass of brown liquid.
Chuck pushes the empty shots away, orders another round of beers and saunters over to Becket's table, sitting down hard opposite him, slamming a bottle down in front of him.
"Cheers, mate," he drawls, eyes red rimmed, bleary, but still so sharp.
"To the fuckin' PPDC."