RP Open Post

[goddamngrenades]

Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything.
PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, whichever
Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with
Tag and go, baby!

Comments

[tactical_alert]

"I'm--I'm sorry, what? No, she doesn't have to do that. Tell her not to do that. I don't need any sweaters."

[goddamngrenades]

"Nope it's gonna happen." He scrubs at his eyes. "It's how she shows affection. Are you gonna tell my mother you're too good for her sweaters?"

[tactical_alert]

"Maybe! If I ever meet her! Which I won't. Why does she do this."

[goddamngrenades]

"Cuz it gets cold in the dome and she worries."

[tactical_alert]

"Your mother knows she's not, in fact, Mrs. Weasley, right?"

[goddamngrenades]

"Nope, she's Doctor Murray and she'll knit you something ot keep you warm if it kills her." He snorts a laugh, elbowing Malcolm. "Come on, what's the harm?"

[tactical_alert]

"It's a bit silly. And, I don't know...something about spontaneously getting gifts from your mother just seems like it's a little...familiar? Did you pick up knitting from her?"

[goddamngrenades]

"She's mad I'm better at it than she is." His sweaters turn out fantastic, even if they take forever to make. "You're my partner. That makes you family."

[tactical_alert]

"It makes me your partner. Though I suppose if I know every little thing about you, then I'd be something like family by default."

[goddamngrenades]

"Mhmm. DOn't fight it. Embrace it." He settles back against the pillows, watching the action unfold on screen.

[tactical_alert]

"Bit of a foreign concept, that. But I'll...try to keep an open mind. Literally and figuratively."

[goddamngrenades]

"Relax. We'll be okay. It's just a test."

[tactical_alert]

"This isn't, though. This is...us. This is us being us and watching movies in your bunk."

[goddamngrenades]

"Tomorrow, I mean." He shrugs and turns enough to nuzzle into Malcolm's hair. "We're good."

[tactical_alert]

"We'll have to sleep at some point, else go into it like zombies. Not the best first impression to make as a dynamic duo."

[goddamngrenades]

"Probably should eat something to. Tell you wat. You sign the waiver- s'on the tablet next to the bed, I'll get dinner."

[tactical_alert]

"Do you think I should talk to your doctor first, get the official medical opinion, or just say to hell with it because we're both apparently jumping into this cannonball style?"

[goddamngrenades]

"Canonball." He smirks. "Go big or go home."

[tactical_alert]

"Seems like this generation's motto. All right. I'll sign it, you get food. Lord, the students are going to be jealous when they find out..."

[goddamngrenades]

"Yeah. I'm the luckiest bastard in the Shatterdome." He squeezes Malcolm's shoulder and slips out of bed, loose and fluid and easy. He won't be gone long, just needs to slip into the mess and sneak what he needs with a wink and a smile.

[tactical_alert]

No, at this point, he thinks he's the luckiest. It's...strange. A little disconcerting, even, to be so casual and relaxed around someone, but it's such a wonderful sensation to slip into. Does he really want to let that go? Even if it's...this side of terrifying? Malcolm calms down, chills out, just a little while York's gone, enough to feel a slight bit more normal, and he's okay with that.

[goddamngrenades]

So the mess isn't open and it's been awhile since he's last really broke and entered but- hey. How hard can it be? The locks aren't all that complicated and he does make note of what he grabs up for dinner- in Chuck's handwriting not his- and packs himself a little bag of chicken, veg, a can of soup, a can of coffee- pudding cups because why the hell not, and juice boxes. He ducks back in without getting caught and slips back into his room with his spoils in his bag. "So it's not much but it's dinner."

[tactical_alert]

He stares at York for a moment, then peers into the bag of goodies, and back again, trying and failing to contain a smirk. "Really putting some of your skills to good use, I see."

[goddamngrenades]

"I signed it out." A beat. "With Chuck's handwriting." Because the kid could use a kick in the ass.

[tactical_alert]

"You're terrible. If you really wanted some good food, we could've gone out to see what's still open and serving at this hour." Not that he's complaining. Not really. Not when he nabbed some pudding cups.