#i cannot wait for the absolute havoc we’re gonna wreak together when you make your gen multi

[livesincerely]

[Bits & Bobs] The One With the Letterman Jacket

Jack had thought this would go without saying, but apparently not. “You can’t wear that to the game tonight.”

Davey looks down at himself, visibly confused. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Jack points out the obvious problem. “It’s green.”

“So?”

“Green is Westpoint’s color.”

Davey looks at him, nonplussed.

“Dave, you can’t wear the other team’s color to our first home game of the season,” Jack explains with a sigh. “Especially not when we’re going up against Westpoint.”

“But I like this hoodie,” Davey says with a pout that Jack can only describe as absolutely adorable. “It’s comfortable.”

Jack shakes his head. “You gotta change into something else. Don’t you have anything red?”

“Yeah, sure, in my closet. At home.” Davey retorts. “This is all I brought with me and, no,” Davey amends quickly when Jack starts to interject, "I can’t just wear my t-shirt. It’s supposed to be cold later and I am not sitting out on the bleachers all night without at least a jacket.”

“You can borrow something of mine,” Jack counters.

Davey huffs out a breath, “Do I really have to?” His eyes are wide and pleading, but Jack remains firm. The Green cannot stand.

“Just go upstairs and change,” he says, shooing Davey towards the stairwell.

“But I’m comfortable,” Davey grumbles again, but he obediently trudges up the stairs.

“Pick something red!” Jack calls after him. “Oh, and tell Racetrack to move his ass! I’ve gotta be in the locker room in half an hour and we still have to pick up Crutchie and Specs from the library.”

“Calm your shit, Jack, I’m coming!” Racetrack shouts back from somewhere above him before Davey can reply. “Give a man a second to piss, will ya!”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Just hurry up!”

He finishes gathering his things together while he waits, grabbing a few bottles of Gatorade and a handful of granola bars and stuffing them into his bag, then he crams his feet into his sneakers and laces them haphazardly. He’s just snatching his car keys off of the kitchen counter when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Jack, Albert just texted me—he wants to know where we’re eating after the game,” Davey says as he wanders down the stairs.

“I dunno Davey, anywhere is fine… by…” Jack trails off, suddenly speechless. Davey is wearing his letterman jacket. Davey is wearing his—

Jack’s mouth goes dry. It feels like someone’s hit him, hard, right between the eyes

“Jack?” Davey prompts when Jack doesn’t continue, still looking at his phone. “Did you hear what I said?”

Jack doesn’t answer, can’t answer. His eyes rake over Davey’s form: red is a fantastic color on him—it stands out against his dark hair and emphasizes the blue of his eyes. They’re nearly the same height but Davey isn’t as broad as Jack is, so the jacket is just the slightest bit big on him, hanging down to the tops of his thighs and dwarfing his shoulders.

Davey chooses this moment to notice Jack’s staring; a delicious flush of pink blooms across his face. “You said I could wear anything red!” he says defensively. “This is red!”

“You’re wearing my letterman jacket,” Jack says, and his voice comes out low and raspy.

“You said something red!” Davey insists, mistaking Jack’s tone for disapproval, his blush deepening further. “But all you had was t-shirts and I didn’t want to be cold and—and Racetrack said you wouldn’t mind!”

He fiddles with the sleeves as he rambles, and fucking hell, they’re so long on him that only the tips of his fingers are visible.

“He said you wouldn’t mind, but, uh, I can put on something else if you want me t-“

“No!” Jack growls, startling them both. He takes a deep breath and tries to get a hold of himself before he does something drastic. “No, Dave, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Davey asks, still a little hesitant.

“I’m sure,” Jack assures him, though he’s anything but. “We can’t have you out there in just anything, now can we? Gotta make sure you’re repping for the team. Besides, you look-“

Fucking amazing. Goddamn perfect. Like you’re mine.

“-good.”

“Go team,” Davey says with a wry grin, looking at Jack through his fringe. His eyes are very, very blue. Jack is abruptly aware of how utterly screwed he is.

“That’s the spirit, Dave.” Fingers suddenly numb, Jack digs out his keys and tosses them over to Davey, then manages to to say in a somewhat normal tone of voice, “Go start the car, will ya? I’m gonna go drag Racer away from the bathroom mirror—Coach will bench me if I’m late again.”  

Davey shrugs and heads out the door, blind as ever to the havoc he wreaks on Jack just by existing. Jack stuffs his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Davey as he walks by, biting back the groan that threatens to tear its way out of his throat when he catches sight of his back: KELLY is stamped across Davey’s shoulders in bold, white letters.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He’s gonna murder Racetrack.

[noonmutter]

Antorus Advance Party: oh, Ship

“I refuse to meet a goddess of Life while covered in my own still-damp blood.”

“You'd rather be covered in mine?”

Shedwyn shuddered and shot a glare over her shoulder at him. She knew he was just making a failed attempt at a joke, but she still felt attacked. Guilty, for dying. Later, though. “Absolutely not. Under no circumstances do I want any situation where one of us is covered in the other’s blood.” Her belt creaked as she tried to open the buckle and free herself from Terry’s attempt at first aid. “Fucking tight… Can barely breathe.”

He'd only been half paying attention, trying to think about nothing at all, but at that he reached forward to yank on the belt. It knocked a huff of breath out of her, but it produced enough slack for him to jerk out a handful of wadded, blood-soaked bandage. The slightly sticky sound as it came away from unbroken skin, and the dark stain marring her skin and his hands, he knew they would show up in his nightmares later. For now, he shoved the soiled bandages in her hands and tromped ahead a few steps.

She rubbed at her sore belly, and the bandages went up in flames, followed shortly by the two wads stuck to her front. “If I didn't know you were trying to save me, I'd think you were trying to kill me,” she grumbled.

“I’ll get t’tha’ part later. Business, pleasure. Y’know.” The attempt at humor fell flat again, in part because he was still clearly off in his own head somewhere.

With a few softly-spoken words of command, her armour began to weave itself back together, golden sparks showering around her as her blood and the grime of the last few hours was pulled from her armour and incinerated. She gave the bald patch of her cloak a consolatory stroke before filling it in with a few illusionary feathers. A proper fix would have to wait until after this was all over.

Shedwyn was a touch bewildered to find him standing with a hand out to her, palm up, but staring at her so intensely she was certain she'd done something wrong. She placed her hand in his and he finally blinked, trying not to laugh. “My armour, Dwyn.” He'd never come out and asked her to clean or fix it before, though she'd done it. Embarrassed, she cast the spell on him and held his hand through it, even though he scrunched her fingers a little. The mending spell felt weird, but the cleaning one came just shy of hurting. Anything to have her blood off him, though.

“There you are. As hideous as ever.” She didn't release his hand, instead pulling him along with her as she picked her way down the oversized stairs.

The interior of the temple was only more impressive--and felt more immense--when walking out into the middle of it. Catwalks and great bridges spanned what was once a small valley on the mountaintop before Eonar had chosen to build, and waterfalls seemed to decorate the rim at every possible point. Everything was suspended over the pools below, and despite the immense pillars supporting the structures, it felt as though they were suspended by will alone.

Eonar was waiting for them, of course, but only as a projection, comprised of what seemed like a tiny collection of stars. Terry had heard stories of something like this in Ulduar, but he’d never seen one up close. The display was housed in a relatively small enclosure of vines as thick as Terry’s torso, curling up and around in a spherical formation. From there, the titan “spoke,” ringing through Shedwyn and Terry’s minds and shunting out all thought elsewise.

“This ‘Paraxis’ and I are at a stalemate: it cannot overcome my defenses, but while maintaining them I cannot spare the energy to prepare an attack. However, I sense a second ship approaching, bearing a great many footsoldiers. I have found others to counter the incoming demons, but I require your assistance to bring the stalemate to an end.

“Are you ready to honour your end of our deal?”

Terry nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say or do anything more; being grateful to be alive didn’t change the fact that Eonar hadn’t really given them much choice but to accept whatever terms she set. Dread began to creep in on him, familiar as a security blanket and often serving the same purpose. He had a nasty feeling he knew what she was going to say.

Shedwyn reached up toward the Titan, but hesitated and withdrew her hand. “She sounds broken…. Like a cracked church bell, isn't it? Did the Paraxis do this? Did Magni send us here to fix her?”

“She cannot understand me, and time grows short. Your task is not a complex one. You must board the legion ship and destroy its primary weapons.”

His eyes bulged. “Are you takin’ the piss?” Being right didn’t make the request any less startling.

Shedwyn glanced back and forth between Terry and Eonar. “Wait, you can understand her?” Whatever he’d just heard, she knew it had to be ugly just from the face he was making, but not knowing was already grating at her nerves.

“Gimme a second," he said, not taking his eyes off Eonar’s projection. “I know you just saved our asses, but isn’t that a bit much fer two people? Two people with no gear?”

“Your hesitation is understandable, child, and I cannot fault you. What your task lacks in complexity, it compensates with risk. However, if that ship is able to fire, this place shall be lost, and possibly all of creation with it.”

“What does she want?”

Terry didn’t respond. He couldn’t hear her over Eonar’s “voice” in his head, but Shedwyn had no way of knowing whether he was intentionally ignoring her or not. After spending a few more seconds trying to make words out of discordant chimes, Shedwyn threw up her hands and snuck off to explore.

“You have lost much and nearly lost more, only to be snatched from the precipice by a power you cannot--and will not--fathom. I have been watching you, however, and I know the two of you can complete this task, especially with my power to aid you.”

Terry’s palm met his face and began to scrub. “All right. But even if we can do it, we can't get up there.”

“As I said, I have granted you a touch of my power. She has already found it.”

Shedwyn whooped in the distance, and Terry looked up. Waaaay up… Shedwyn was soaring through the sky on lacy, viridian wings. 

Above Eonar’s shield. 

Terry’s hand closed around one of her ankles before he realized he’d left the ground, drawing an undignified “WARK” from her before they both began to descend.

The chimes were amused again. Smug, he thought. “It seems you are not wholly averse to its uses, either.”

Both humans watched another volley from the Paraxis splash against Eonar’s shield--clearly aimed to pick off the foolish, enticing little target buzzing around outside Eonar’s protection. Before the last of it had dissipated, Shedwyn commented, without really looking away from the fireworks, “If we time it right, I'm sure we can land on the ship's observation platform between volleys. How do you feel about wreaking some havoc inside?”

"Deja vu-y."

Shedwyn gave a little lopsided smile as she tilted her head. "Probably. But probably best not to use the wolf this time. Close quarters, he doesn't like me, et cetera. And even if you do, no eating fel!"

Shedwyn was focused on the display; Terry was eyeballing the ship as best he could through the flashes. "Not sure 'ow much I kin do on a ship. Th' machines're one thing, they build 'em on th' ground an' they're kinda slapdash.” Glancing sidelong at her, he added, "An' there's prolly no fel buffet. Savages."

She chewed on her lip a moment. "I don't have any blasting charges, but I have a few grenades, and if we can get me close enough I have a spell that will take apart most small machines."

"What're you gonna do without 'em?"

"Without blasting charges? I don't know. Is Doc loaded for doorbusting today?"

He looked at the rifle over his shoulder, then sat down and pulled his ammo pack around to his lap. By some miracle it hadn't lost most of its contents after their mad scramble, but he swore anyway. "My tools're gone. 'E's a snipin' rifle or nothin' fer now."

She cussed and looked back up at the ship, head cocked to the side and one hand on her hip. "Remind me to start carrying backups of some of your gear... I can burn through any doors, if it comes to that, though you'll have to cover me while I'm at it." Running a hand through her hair, she cussed again. "Wish we had a plan, but even if you can read schematics and I can read demonic, I don't think we're going to find anything like that just sitting on the ground." She pointed at gunwales as they fired another suppression volley. "Think we could find our way to those from inside?"

"If they din't build it like they never planned t'get out of it without teleportin', probably."

"... How about the controls, then?"

"Those I know 'ow t'find, more're less. They always like 'em in th' fat bit there in th' middle, either on th' main deck or accessible by portal thinger."

Shedwyn slowly grinned and brought her hands together. "Then we have a plan." She puts one hand over her heart and holds the other out to him, wiggling her fingers for him to take it. "Shall we?"

Terry didn’t quite mirror her enthusiasm, but he didn't hesitate in taking her hand, either. "When I suggested th' very same plan fer th' big robot, you were a lot less keen on it..."

“You were going in alone. This time, we go together."

“Oh, well then. What could go wrong?”

“That smart mouth is going to get you slapped.”

As it turned out, that smart mouth did not get Terry slapped. 

It did, however get them both:

captured 

carted across the length of the ship in chains

nearly tortured

separated

briefly disintegrated and reassembled

shown the very face of God (it looked like a guy with a dad bod and a lovingly cultivated white-streaked goatee who liked to voice his own characters in stories)

blown up--once by conventional explosives and once by one of Shedwyn’s grenades, and

into the control room at speed.

And one final arcane bomb got them back to the ground even faster, pursued by fire and demonic swearing.

What seemed like hours later, after they’d patted out the flames on their clothes and were preparing to teleport out, and Eonar was briefing the Meddlers on what was expected of them, Shedwyn asked, "So, what was it Eonar wanted from us, anyway?"

"We just finished it."

“...I hate you right now.”

“No you don’t.”

zoop!

( @shedwyn )