#but the cape and belt are still owned privately...at least i hope so!

[lllsaslll]

The Thunderbird Cape

June 30th, 1973 at Atlanta's Omni Coliseum: Just before the first show of the day, someone told Elvis that a five year old Robbie Barnes was attending the show and that he would be dressed up like him in his own lil' jumpsuit. During the show Elvis asked to turn the spotlight on the boy and at the end of the concert he gave Robbie the cape off the Thunderbird suit he was wearing that night. The Thunderbird's cape is regarded as one of the heaviest and most expensive of all of Elvis' jumpsuits. And in addition, J.D. Sumner mumbled to Elvis, "Elvis, give the boy your belt too!" and naturally Elvis did.

[mando-of-esverr]

Tycho blinked up at the man towering over him. He drew himself up and folded his hands behind his back, expression carefully bland as the other man's extreme emotions washed over him.

"...If this has nothing to do with the recent trial, or my history before the Rebellion, then this must be a personal issue and I am at a loss as to what that could possibly be."

Darius had been jubilant! Tycho had been acquitted of all charges and made famous as bait for real Imperial spies. Though the Mandalorian wanted to string up the intelligence head who came up with this idea, it was still a relief to know Tycho was, for the moment, out of harms way. Though he knew he might not be remembered, he'd hoped to perhaps catch Tycho in passing, make his greeting and introduction. He’d even thought about asking if Commander Antilles would be willing to arrange it.

But it seemed Lavinia had beaten him to the punch. She’d been all smiles when she’d given him his own invitation to the Rogues’ private celebration of Horn & Celchu’s acquittal and return. He could’ve been walking on the cloud cities of Bespin for how light he felt! He’d even brought his friend and pilot, Theo, as his plus-one!

More importantly… he’d come without his armor. Well, most of it. He didn’t exactly have dress clothes, as his wardrobe was mostly casual clothes, his flight suits, and his armor. With very little in the ways of nice clothing in his closet, he had intended on wearing the nicest thing he had that wasn’t armor, but the sight of him had made his pilot balk. Theo had insisted on making him wear something nicer, and though he could appreciate some of the pilot’s choices, most of them left Darius looking less like a Mandalorian and more like a Corellian spacer!

As much as he appreciated Theo’s efforts, playing doll for the pilot was not on his itinerary for the night. Still, he utilized a few of his style suggestions, with only a few modifications. Dark boots and pants were easily accepted, but he was determined to wear something of his Mandalorian heritage. So he’d managed to commission a unique vest with which to wear his chest armor; a valid compromise to avoid having to wear the whole flight suit.

When he came to the party, he wore dark dress pants with polished brown dress boots, matching gloves, and a dark shirt and vest with his bronze chest plate half hidden beneath a short shoulder cape in the same style worn by Lando Calrisian. He felt… awkward, almost naked without the rest of his armor, but at least with his chestplate he could breathe easy. And he could justify leaving his helmet as he was meeting with family. Sort of. However, all thoughts of awkwardness vanished when he saw Tycho Celchu enter the party with Lavinia Heraldy.

She was beautiful.... Her warm, brunette curls had been done up just for the party, their ends resting elegantly on the high collar of dress. It was a two part gown, a dark undergown with a high collar with in a long, elegant, white wrap-around dress that fanned at her shoulders. A vivid red sash wrapped around her waist, accented by a white headband in her hair. Small rubies trimmed with silver hung from her ears and ornamental necklace, while her wrists jingled lightly with silver bracelets. She was a vision of beauty and high society, vibrant and assertive... And she was on Tycho Celchu’s arm.

Beside her, Tycho’s dress uniform shone as well as hers. He wore a brilliant white blazer over black dress pants and boots, the collar of his black body stocking reaching nearly halfway up his neck. Slanted down across the front of his blazer was his own red sash with a golden pin or buckle, and across his waist was a smooth, white belt. 

Darius’s jaw and fist clenched. Where he could have forgiven them simply showing up together, clearly only as friends. But the cut of their clothes, the matching of their styles, how Tycho held her arm with the firm gentleness of his own… It was enough to make his blood boil.

So setting his glass down, Darius fixed a hard expression on his face as he approached the pair.

Unfortunately, his helmet didn’t hide his expression and Lavinia was quick to catch on and deftly moved to intervene by greeting him with a warm, open smile.

“Darius! There you are! I was wondering if you’d made it.” She grinned up at Tycho, tightening her grip on his arm. “Tycho, this is Darius, an old friend of mine from Esverr before the war. He’s the one who arrived with you after your time on Akk’ritar. Darius, this is Tycho, RA fighter pilot, hero, and my beau of five years.”

Darius had opened his mouth to tell her that they’d met before, but hearing her last words left him stunned. He blinked, his expression that of someone who’d just been slapped. “Five years?” he asked, bewildered. “You’ve known him for five years?”

“Yep, five years,” Lavinia replied, her smile becoming a little more firm. “We met met not long after Alderaan. I was one of the Y-wing pilots at the time and was the one who welcomed him after his defection.”

Darius looked from Tycho to Lavinia with disbelief on his face before he narrowed his gold-green eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Not only had she met him before Darius even knew she was alive but had been an item with him since??? 

“And you know who he was, right?” Darius asked, “What he did to us and your brothers?”

Lavinia’s back straightened and she fixed Darius with a firm, diplomatic gaze. “Yes,” she said firmly. “I know exactly who he was and what he did, and he’s not the first defector I forgave for what happened on Esverr, and he won’t be the last.” She fixed Darius with a hard look and he turned his gaze to Tycho.

Several emotions flashed across Darius' face as he looked between the two; Shock, outrage, betrayal, and uncertainty. She had known him–of course, she’d known him! He’d seen her on the Mercy when he’d still been there, even before he was cleared to go home with Tajur and Mathafew. He’d learned she was one of Tycho’s emergency contacts. Her own videre even admitted that she had come for Tycho and had only learned that he, Darius, was still alive when he’d turned up with the pilot. 

Finally, he straightened, took a breath, and swallowed. It was a hard pill to swallow… jealousy over a first love… but even as his jealousy burned, Lavinia smothered it with her cool gaze. Darius composed himself and tried to put on at least a mask of civility. 

“I see,” Darius murmured, glancing around as if to look for an escape. “Well, I’m glad you made it, I hope you… enjoy the party.” With a curt nod, the dark-haired Mandalorian turned on his heel and strode away. He didn’t see the hand Lavinia extended to stall him, or the look of utter confusion on the other man’s face. He didn’t see the confusion or concern on Theo’s face. All he saw was the small crowd part for him and the door he took on his way out.

[reluctant-mandalore]

💕 Valentines Day with Din Djarin 💕(gn!Reader)

Warnings: Fluff, keldabe kiss, kissing, cuddling, scandalous chin/lips reveal (you’ll see what I mean), established relationship, valentine’s day celebrations.

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader (gender neutral) 

a/n: Hey! I fell asleep after work yesterday so Valentine hcs are coming out today instead lol. Anyway, here’s how a valentine’s day with din would go. Hope you enjoy! I had a lot of writing these up ^-^ 

+ Din hadn’t ever celebrated Valentine’s Day until he had begun dating his significant other.

+ Honestly he didn’t even know it was something until they had brought it up to him. 

+ It didn’t take him long to figure out what exactly the day was all about and he had soon gone to work planning out the perfect Day for the two of them. 

+ He’d try to keep it mostly a surprise, but the secret would slip out eventually. He just couldn’t seem to keep his excitement about the day planned hidden. 

+ The night before, the Child would be sent to be looked after by a friend (probably Uncle Boba), so that him and his partner could spend time alone together. 

+ Din would wake up before his significant other the day of, letting them sleep in and wanting to get everything ready before they had a chance to see. 

+ He’d have their favourite flowers set in a vase on the table in the hull, some clumsily wrapped gifts sitting next to it, and would even have brunch almost made by the time they woke up. 

+ He wasn’t the greatest cook, but he had at least wanted to make them something a little more extra special than what they normally ate as a meal.

+ He’d also try to make them something that he knew they liked, even if it wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed himself. 

+ After they had finished eating Din would have them open the gifts, watching intently to see their reaction to what he got them. 

+ He had got them quite a few gifts, various things he saw that he knew they would like or needed. He just couldn’t seem to stop himself from buying them so many things. 

+ “Din you didn’t have to get me so much! Just flowers and chocolates would have been enough.”

+ “I know... but you deserve so much more than anything I could ever give you and I wanted to show you just how much I love you cyar’ika.” 

+ The main present was a beautiful dagger he had found at a vendor stall some months ago. He thought it was something nice that could protect them when he was away. 

+ Sure they had complete access to his blasters, but having something like a dagger was better than not having one at all—in his opinion at least. 

+ He did get his partner a box of chocolates too of course (or a treat he knew they’d enjoy if sweets/chocolate weren’t something they would want/like). 

+ After they finished opening their plentiful gifts from him, they’d hand him his own—something which he wasn’t expecting in the slightest. 

+ Din was surprised to see that they had also handed him his own set of flowers and a box of chocolate. He really wasn’t expecting to receive any sort of gifts, much less chocolate and flowers, but he honestly couldn’t help feeling happy at receiving them. 

+ “No one’s ever given me flowers or chocolate before...”

+ “Really? Everyone deserves some flowers and chocolate every now and than! Even you Din.” 

+ His significant other had gotten him a special gift as well and he opened it with unrestrained happiness. 

+ He hadn’t gotten many gifts throughout his life, and seeing one wrapped so beautifully just for him made his heart flutter in a way it had never done so before.  

+ The gift in question had been a small charm with three figures etched into its surface. His significant other explained how it was meant to represent their growing clan. Also mentioning how it was able to be attached to his belt so he always had them with him now matter where he went. 

+ It was safe to say Din may have cried after hearing that and his partner had held him in a tight hug, as he found himself overcome with emotions in that moment. 

+ Din isn’t overly comfortable with showing affection in public just yet, so instead  of going out to town to celebrate, the rest of the plans for the day involved something more private. 

+ The main plan of course involved heading out to a pretty meadow where him and his partner would enjoy the sunset before stargazing together later that evening. 

+ Before than, Din and his partner enjoyed their time together at the ship. They spent most of the afternoon cuddling and talking. Sharing in romantic gestures to one another while letting the time pass on by without a care. 

+ His partner even convinced Din to dance with them at one point, rocking slowly together to the music in the middle of hull, their foreheads pressed together while murmuring sweet compliments to one another. 

+ Later, the two would walk together hand in hand, Din insisting on carrying most of the supplies along the way, as his partner leaned into him with each step they took. 

+ When actually at the meadow, they would sit on the blanket, cuddling close and chitchatting as they watched the sun go down so the stars could come out. 

+ They laid like that together for a long while, their bodies intertwined as they took in the stars. His cape had been used as an extra blanket to keep them warm, their bodies pressing together tightly and keeping each other close. 

+ Din would look over at them at one point, taking in the sight of their smile and wondering how he could be so lucky to have them. 

+ “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” 

+ “I love you too Din.” 

+ The Mandalorian would do something risky then after their shared confession. He knew he shouldn’t, that there was a chance it could all go wrong, but with his significant other looking at him like he was the most important thing in the Galaxy he couldn’t resist. 

+ He slipped his helmet up just above his lips, inching closer to press his lips to theirs softly, like he was afraid they’d break under the gesture. 

+ They didn’t of course, and soon both had melted into the gentle kiss. 

+ It was short and sweet, ending quicker than what either of them would have liked, but still making it one that would neither would ever forget. 

+ Din would have put his helmet back in place then. His mind now filled with thoughts of what it would be like to kiss them once more. 

+ The two of them would stay cuddled like that together for a little longer. Laying under the stars, whispering the most sweetest and kindest of praises to one another, before finally deciding to make their way home. 

+ Both knowing that this was the best Valentine’s Day either had ever experienced, and looking forward to their future together as a couple hopelessly in love.  

[mattzerella-sticks]

Lonely Together (3k, Barry Allen/Bruce Wayne, M)

ao3 link

Barry needs others, yet whether by his enemies or his own actions, he ends up alone. After Iris leaves him, Barry feels as if he drifts through life. Like lightning humming in the air without a rod to ground him.

Until he struck another lonely soul and entered a relationship he never thought possible. Now, months since he and Bruce began sleeping with each other, Barry feels settles. At peace in a way he hasn't felt in a long while. Since he and Iris started petering out.

But it's not love... is it?

           Barry wakes unintentionally, consciousness stirring without say. Currents of electricity that relentlessly hum under his skin strengthen in another’s presence. Especially when it’s familiar. They spark like lightning, striking until he surfaces from sleep’s drowning tides. His eyelids flutter open, though his head remains pillowed by soft down. He watches, shadowed in darkness, as Bruce sneaks around the room. “Hey,” he drawls, voice scratchy from sleep. Grin unfurling lazily while Bruce’s form tensed, “you just swing in?”

           Bruce sets something down on a neighboring dresser, turning. He can’t see fine details, like his self-disparaging frown or furrowed brows interrupted by a wrinkled comma, but Barry imagines them easily. Knows these features intimately. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

           An unnecessary apology. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here,” Barry replies, then drags his hand across the comforter. Thumb brushing against a loose seam. “So, I guess we’re even.”

           “You didn’t mean to?” Bruce asks, advancing. He sits on the opposite side of his bed, finding Barry’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “What were you doing then?”

           “Waiting for you.”

           He arrived earlier, vibrating past security and locked doors. Shouted into an empty apartment where his voice echoed, unanswered. Half-a-second spent checking each room, Barry knew Bruce wasn’t there. Slowly, Barry retraced his steps. Stood near the front door, wondering. Debated if he should leave for Central City or stay in Gotham. Both options similar in that no matter what he decided, he’d be alone.

           They were different types of loneliness, however. He left Central tonight because what he faced was too suffocating. Barry ran and ran, only it waited there behind every corner. Inescapable on well-tread streets he loved. Growing from cracks on sidewalks like weeds, strong despite how many times crushed. Returning even if ripped out of the soil. And while these desolate sprigs littered his city, it didn’t compare to the jungle in his home. Wild, vast, with hanging vines that slithered across his shoulders. Tickled his neck during particularly quiet moments that made Barry acknowledge how empty it seemed after Iris.

           At least, in Bruce’s apartment, it was different. Like being alone in an elevator that crawled upwards.

           Less insistent. More manageable. Its presence didn’t insist recognition, merely a temporary visitor. Disappearing soon as Bruce arrived back. Barry walked towards Bruce’s bedroom, resolute, shedding his clothes along the way. He grabbed a book he hadn’t finished reading since last he was there. Settled down and opened to a bent age corner.

           He can’t feel the book. Bruce must have removed it. Maybe it’s what woke him.

           Leaning forward, Bruce presses a tiny kiss at the seam of Barry’s lips. Pulls him free of his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he tells him, “I was out later than I expected, than I wanted to be…”

           “It’s okay,” Barry whispers. His other hand slides into his friend’s hair, playing with it. Brunet curls soft and damp from sweat. “I’m okay.”

           He nods, yet Bruce still looks troubled. Dark gaze piercing, staring deeply into Barry’s own. Drifting closer, their noses brush. Bruce speaks again, breath ghosting over his mouth. Warm and intoxicating. “If you’re able and… in the mood…” he offers, “We can…?” Bruce trails off, not bothering with saying the rest. Barry understands regardless. Because of how he hovers, braced atop him, Barry caged in on either side by Bruce’s arms. Because Bruce asks his own way, through gentle squeezes of their joined hands that he repeats in rapid succession. Because they’ve done this before and grew far beyond the rushed unsurety from their first time.

           Barry kissed him, accidentally. Compelled more by a longing for touch than of Bruce. For a distracting, newer sensation besides the soul-crushing hollowness that roared inside his chest since Iris ended things. Needed some reminder he was alive after another harrowing mission that almost cost the League their lives, again. Again.

           Like a rowdy storm, Barry thundered with unexpressed adrenaline that demanded release. A lightning rod he could cling to, grounded and tethered in the present.

           Bruce was there. Offering Barry coffee from their conference room’s private pot, a gesture of solidarity at being forgotten while everyone else fled for home. He accepted the gifted novelty Superman mug, sipping absentmindedly. “It’s decaf, drowning in cream, smothered in sugar…” Bruce said, “that’s your usual, right?”

           It was. Bruised, bloodied, and exhausted from battling ancient, cosmic entities hellbent on planetary destruction, and Bruce remembered how he liked his coffee.

           The mug shattered as he dropped it, but Barry did not hear more than a tinny pop. His drink splashed their feet, leaving brown, splotchy stains he noticed hours later. Barry jumped Bruce, hauling him close by his cape. Kissed Bruce as his mind played static. In rapid succession, that static disappeared. Rationality descending with vengeance, circling, bombarding Barry with explosive truths.

           He kissed Batman. That’s his friend. He kissed Batman. He’s a man. He kissed Batman. Inside the Hall of Justice, where anyone could find them. He kissed Batman. He kissed Batman. He kissed Bruce.

           Drifting apart, he ignored tingling skin to pry a coherent thought out from the overgrown bramble that was his mind. “Bruce,” Barry choked, grip on Bruce’s cape loose and dangling. Gaze dropping, he focused on his chest. Bat fluttering with every exhale. “I… I don’t, I’m so – “

           Bruce wouldn’t let him explain, roughly capturing Barry’s lips in response. Frenzied, trapping Barry between his body and the table. With a passionate reception like that, Barry felt his worry melt. Became a gentle tide coaxing him deeper. Willingly swept farther than his cares might reach. Bruce’s deft fingers trailing, tickling, at his sides made thinking about the empty bed in his apartment very difficult. When he pulled his cowl back, pinning Barry with an indescribable hunger burning behind his eyes, any disappointment over an understocked fridge waiting at home disappeared. And as Bruce slid one glove off using his teeth, second hand preoccupied teasing Barry’s waistband, Barry’s sole concern was unhitching his friend’s belt.

           “Yeah, like that,” Bruce sighed, “let me make this good for you…” He touched Barry’s already half-hard cock, cupping it. Rhythmically sliding his hand while their hips ground together. Barry softly cursed, pressure mounting. Bruce’s dick throbbed against his and tempted him further, headed for the edge. Plummeting when he twisted his wrist, Bruce sucking an aggressive mark below Barry’s chin that joined a loose collection of already fading bruises.

           Barry came, panting, chasing those last few seconds of bliss until his muscles sagged from fatigue. Kept upright by his friend’s strong hold. Bruce joined him with a strangled curse, head resting on Barry’s shoulder. Panting, they lingered in each other’s embrace. Aware that this meager amount of pleasure had redefined their relationship.

           Hours later, Barry lay awake in bed. Mind restaging their sordid affair, body igniting at the memory of where Bruce grazed him. He fondled pale skin, unblemished now that his accelerated healing factor kicked on. Barry wished it hadn’t. Admitting that, then, even as a whisper from his subconscious, terrified him. Grabbing the pillow on Iris’s untouched side, he held it across his face. Screamed his frustration, and again when he realized her scent finally faded from the fabric.

           Those next few weeks were awkward. During meetings, sitting feet from where he orgasmed and pretending it never happened while evading Bruce’s searching gaze. Boundless excuses, lies, of where he needed to be. Fleeing before Bruce could reach him. Volunteering for any mission, throwing himself into heroics where bad guys needed defeating, lives were saved, and he could act like nothing about his world changed.

           Anything that kept him from asking questions he could not answer truthfully.

           Despite his best efforts – his superhuman speed – Bruce pulled ahead. Running a marathon instead of the sprint Barry hoped it was.

           “We need to talk,” he said, “about… coffee, the other night.” Bruce’s grip tightened on the Javelin’s yoke, glare firm and unwavering out at space. Barry, meanwhile, shrunk in his seat. Conversation he dreaded crashing into him like a meteor.

           Oliver radioed Barry for a mission, about a distress signal League channels recorded. From what they deciphered, the code was obsolete and most likely false. However, sparing resources, he figured a small team could check. Confirm their prior suspicions. Barry agreed, racing over. Only he hadn’t realized his teammate for this mission would be the same man he was avoiding.

           Following debriefing and takeoff, they traveled in uncomfortable silence broken with Bruce’s demand.

           Barry reigned back telltale vibrations, hiding his nerves. “Okay,” he said, “Yeah…” He squeezed his fists and chuckled, “You know how I take my coffee?”

           Bruce allowed him this short reprieve. “It always struck me odd, and… hypocritical, how you liked it. Why choose decaf if you’re adding that much sugar?”

           “It offsets the bitter taste, is all.”

           “Barry…” He wrangled their conversation onto its path once more, tone absent of any levity. “What we did, I…” Bruce paused, testing what he wants to say. Lines around his mouth shifting as he cycles through his thoughts. “I’m not sure how we should proceed.”

           “Neither do I,” Barry shrugged, “Not talking about it was working well for me.”

           “You’ve been acting noticeably strange during missions. I’ve been… unsettled, too. At times.” Barry’s chest twinged, an annoyance he dealt with by crossing his arms and scowling. “If this continues, affecting future missions –“

           “Because it’s always about this mission, isn’t it?”

           Bruce sighed, then Barry felt a gentle brush against his elbow. Leaving the Javelin on autopilot, he let his hands wander. They settled on Barry. One at his elbow, another squeezing Barry’s knee. “Do you…” Bruce strained, forcing his next question past with serious effort. It piqued his interest, wondering what he might say. Obviously difficult, Barry sloped forward as the silence grew. “Do you,” he finally continued, “regret… what happened?”

           He should. They were teammates. Friends who stupidly jerked each other off. Bruce… was the first man he ever let touch him that intimately. Combined, these arguments battered down like a hurricane, reasons how everything about what he and Bruce did – what Barry initiated – was an enormous misunderstanding. A mistake that never should have been. And yet he could not cobble together some form of regret.

           Worse, Barry still yearned for more.

           Barry did not believe he deserved more. The ink from where Iris’s name was tattooed on his heart hadn’t fully disappeared; a relic of what he lost, stinging with each beat. Those scant moments, lost in the throes of passion alongside Bruce, were some of the best he had in months. He made Barry forget his failed relationship like a strong drink or the best drug. How was it possible?

           Determined, Barry turned his neck slightly. Readied a false speech, about being tired and shaken. That their tryst meant nothing and should be forgotten.

           Except he caught Bruce’s stare. His naked gaze, cowl discarded when he wasn’t looking. Layers peeled backwards, exposing a vulnerable side of his friend Barry rarely saw. Shoulders hunched, weighed heavily by an answer Barry hadn’t given. Wisps of disappointment hung in the air like smoke from an ashen cigarette. He cleared his throat, going over what he wanted to say.

           Then tossed the script.

           “I… No,” he confessed, surprising both of them. Bruce’s jaw shifted and a small gasp escaped. “I don’t.” It was his turn. “Do you?”

           His hand slid across his forearm, covering Barry’s hand. “No.”

           “…What do we do now?”

           Humming, thumb petting his upper shin, Bruce offered a suggestion. “It’s been… hard for both of us, hasn’t it? The lives we lead… there’s little chance for that kind of peace. Boats with no safe harbors to rest at, not anymore.” Not since Iris, in a cold whisper, explained how claustrophobic and helpless Barry left her feeling most days. Not since Selina and Bruce came upon a crossroads and chose different paths. “I think that if we want to… engage in activities like – uh, like coffee, then why shouldn’t we? As long as we’re mature about it, and what we do won’t interfere with our duties…”

           Barry weakly snorted, Bruce’s clinical description goading him into it. He laid the idea out logically and he found no flaw in his reasoning. A small crack of doubt shoved its way in, that he misheard. Bruce suggesting, put crudely, a ‘friends-with-benefits’ arrangement? But then Barry remembered how eagerly Bruce flew, chasing his lips. That it was his hand edging him into completion. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like the wishful thinking he assumed.

           Especially as Bruce’s hand crept towards his waistband. “What are you -?”

           “Incentive,” Bruce smirked, “Showing you how good this will be. That I can make it.” ‘Let me make this good’ was what he said, while jerking him inside the Hall. “Is that okay?”

           Chuckling, Barry brushed his wavy bangs back. “I thought you didn’t want this to get in the way of our jobs?”

           “Autopilot is an amazing invention. Doing our job at double the speed, leaving more time for… coffee.”

           Barry kissed him, punishing him for such a lame joke by nipping his bottom lip. Soothed it with his tongue while he helped Bruce, shimmying his hips. Pants bunched near his knees, Barry’s cock bobbed between his legs.

           Bruce climbed out of the pilot’s seat, kneeling at his feet. “So,” he growled, breath hot as it hit his twitching cock, “that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”

           “This is dumb. Dangerous. And it’s going to end poorly for the both of us,” Barry muttered, grip twisting in Bruce’s hair after he licked a strip up his cock, “Of course we’re doing it.”

           He was mostly right. During a particularly harried affair, Barry caught sight of his costumed reflection in one of the League’s interrogation rooms’ one-sided mirrors. Watched as he thrust his cock, Bruce’s ass accepting its length. His face, masked, contorted pleasurably. Barry stuttered, taking in the full picture. Flash fucking Batman, like they were a bad porno. If only the camera wasn’t disabled… Scoffing, he relaxed his grip on his friend’s hips. Instead reaching for Bruce’s cowl, ripping it off. His, too, in the next beat. “What?” Bruce asked.

           “This is so stupid,” he huffed, hips rolling slower than before, “What are we even doing?”

           “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

           Barry sighed, “No, like… objectively. Aren’t we too old to be doing this, or… I don’t know, better than it? I doubt this is what most people imagine heroes do in their spare time.”

           “We’re only human, Barry,” Bruce said, grunting as he slammed into his prostate, “We can… can afford a few minutes off the pedestal.”

           “I guess…”

           “Hey,” Bruce twisted, catching his eye in the mirror, “are you having second thoughts?”

           “No.”

           “This is good?”

           He languidly traced Bruce’s spine, cautious of every bump. “The best.” Then, pressing hard at the dip of his ass, he added, “Even if Oliver expected us at training five minutes ago.” Barry orgasmed, Bruce’s laughter booming and stretched hole choking his cock.

           Dumb. Dangerous. Although their situation actually improved since they began, and Barry cannot picture this ever ending.

           Bruce noses at his chin, stubble scratching his neck. “Hey,” he asks, “is this good?”

           “It is,” he responds instinctively, “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

           “Was it?” Bruce lavishes a spot under his ear, one that electrifies his entire body, “Then I guess I’m not really being good, am I?” He sits on Barry’s cock, sliding his ass along its length. “Are you still with me?”

           “I never left.” Barry kisses him, smiling wide enough he ruins their embrace. His hands roam, active participants now. Crossing the planes of Bruce’s body for purchase. However, in his search, he brushes against cuts and wounds different from those he knows. Passing a deep valley at his ribs, Barry’s thumb dips into a small lake. Bruce’s breath hitches, coughing a low whine. Barry ends their kiss to study his wet thumb. Copper invades his senses, and his eyes adjust enough he sees red. “You’re hurt.”

           “Not badly,” Bruce amends. He rests his forehead against Barry’s. “It’s nothing, I… I took a hit, earlier. Harley didn’t see the blade and – it doesn’t matter –“

           “It matters Bruce,” Barry tells him, “Of course it does.” He taps on Bruce’s shoulder, signaling for a dismount. Bruce listens, wincing as he settles onto his side. “This shouldn’t be good for just me. You deserve it, too.” As he speaks, Bruce’s head lists, lashes fluttering. Barry notes the bags pillowing his eyes were puffier and more purple than ever. “Are you up for this?”

           Bruce sighs, “You came all this way –“

           “Yes, I did. But I didn’t ask about me, Bruce.” He caresses Bruce’s face, unbloodied thumb grazing his lip. “What do you want?”

           “I…” Bruce levels his focus elsewhere, gazing past Barry. Afraid. “I’m tired, and I could really sleep. But I, uh… I’d rather not sleep alone.”

           Neither would he. “Okay.”

           “Okay?”

           “I mean,” he turns, staring at the ceiling, “I was already asleep before you got here. And I bet you were gonna slip in beside me, weren’t you? If I didn’t catch you?”

           “I… I was.” Bruce collapses, head landing atop Barry’s chest. Hairs tickling his chin, arms curling around his waist. Yawning, Bruce snuggles him close. “We can finish this later, in the morning… if that’s okay?”

           Barry threads his fingers through Bruce’s hair, smiling. “We don’t have to. If we can’t, then we can’t.” He repeats this, a melody that helps his friend drift off. Barry’s voice fades, soon silence overpowering the mantra.

           Body leaded but unbidden by shame, Barry continues lazily stroking Bruce. Petting him felt nice. Somehow better than the heavier actions previously done. Reminds him of better nights, when he and Iris lay together in bed. Exchanging tidbits about their day until they fell asleep. Before those cracks in their relationship spread and it shattered.

           Thinking about Iris stings, but not like it used to. Dulled by Bruce’s very presence. A man who lived in shadows bringing a new light into his life.

           He glances down at Bruce while he slumbers, heart sparking wildly. A possibility flashing like lightning inside grey rain clouds. That Barry could one day fall in love with Bruce, if he hasn’t already.

[lady-divine-writes]

ACITW AU Inspired fic - “The Vacation Ultimatum” (Rated PG13)

Summary:

Sebastian wants to go somewhere different for summer vacation this year, but Kurt has his heart set on the beach house. He promises Sebastian he'll at least entertain other options. ... In his defense, he finds something very entertaining. (2316 words)

Notes: This is an ACITW inspired fic I started writing last summer before my computer died on me.

Read on AO3.

“So, babe, I was thinking …” Sebastian leaps over the back of the sofa to sit beside Kurt scanning the pages of the latest Vogue magazine.

“That’s dangerous. Real dangerous,” Kurt comments, not lifting his eyes from an ad for Gucci footwear. Kurt seems particularly interested in a pair of blue-and-black brocade loafers, checking the fine print for price and sizing information. Sebastian, knowing by now what Kurt’s long, thoughtful look (narrowed eyelids, scrunched nose, sucked in lips) means, takes note. “Didn’t we talk about that?”

“Ha … ha … ha. Anyway, what if this year, instead of going to the beach house for the summer …?”

Sebastian doesn’t get farther than that before Kurt drops his magazine and glares at him with the ice-cold burn of a lover scorned.

“Wh-what!? Not go to the …! Why!?”

“Babe…” Sebastian knew there was a chance Kurt would react this way from the second he opened his mouth. Kurt is always at his most deadly when he won’t let Sebastian finish a sentence. But Sebastian had hoped he might be persuaded to listen to reason, especially since he’d mentioned wanting to go on a pilgrimage to the House of Alexander this year. If anything could break them out of their summer vacay rut, it should have been McQueen. A jaunt across the pond would have been a welcome change from their usual trip to North Carolina. But apparently Kurt is too sentimental to break from their routine, even for a journey to the temple of his idol.

Sebastian had been hoping against hope … and he lost.

“Because we go to the beach house every summer!”

Kurt’s eyes shift left and right, waiting for a more compelling argument. “Yeah, and …?”

“And aren’t you getting a little tired of it? Don’t you think it’s getting old?”

Kurt’s jaw drops in silent gasp. “Who … who are you right now? How … how can you say that!?”

“Because over a decade of summers at the same beach house can get kind of stale, Kurt!”

Kurt shakes his head slowly, disbelief deepening fine lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes. “You’ve known me for over a decade! Am I getting stale?”

“Do you really want an answer to that?” Sebastian jokes before self-preservation and common sense have the chance to shove his size nines in his mouth and stop him. Kurt’s mouth snaps shut with frightening speed, his teeth making a sound when they meet like the cracking of bone.

“If that’s how you feel,” he says, words short, over-enunciated, clipped at the ends as if with razor-sharp shears, “then I can go to the beach house alone this summer, and you can go somewhere fresher!”

Sebastian sighs. He should have known he wasn’t going to win this one. He was defeated before he began. “Kurt …”

“And while you’re there, maybe you can find yourself someone less hard and crusty since I’m becoming so stale!”

“Jesus Christ, Kurt!” Sebastian’s hands find his hair and pull in frustration. “Stop twisting things around! That’s not what I meant! Arguing about the same thing over and over is getting stale!”

“Then stop arguing,” Kurt poses with a wicked grin. “There. Problem solved.”

“I happen to have good reasons for not wanting to go to the beach house this summer!”

“And those are …?”

“For one thing, it’s nowhere near private.”

Kurt chuckles humorlessly. “It’s on a private beach! That your family owns!”

“Olivia and Brian drop in with the kids all the time, unannounced.”

“So? I love Olivia and Brian! And the kids!”

“So do I! But I also love being able to walk around naked and fuck in the kitchen!”

“No one ever stops you walking around naked here at home! And we’ve fucked in the kitchen so many times, we’ve worn ass marks onto the floor, the island, and the table! You can’t throw a robe over yourself and fuck in a bed like a normal person for one month?”

“Kurt! Don’t you think it’s nice to do something new every once in a while?”

Kurt carefully picks up his dropped magazine so that he has something to toss sassily aside and crosses his arms over his chest. “Have you met me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sebastian says, mirroring the gesture … minus having anything to throw. Not that he didn’t look around him for something suitable, but the only things within reach are coffee mugs and Yankee Candles, and he doesn’t want to accidentally give Kurt a concussion. “You’re stubborn and annoying!”

“Exactly!”

Sebastian snorts at the word Kurt wasn’t quick enough to catch before it flew out of his mouth, turned around, and slapped him in the face.

Kurt closes his eyes on his own faux pas and shakes it from his head. “I mean, about being stubborn. How many times do I stray from the familiar? I wear the same designers all the time, I order the same dish at every restaurant, I’ve driven the same Navigator since high school …”

“Yeah …” Sebastian clears his throat before he accidentally guffaws “… by the way, that’s something we really need to talk about ...”

Kurt’s offended face becomes comically dramatic. “My life is stressful, Sebastian!”

Sebastian pauses his argument to look Kurt over from head to toe - his significant other reclining on the sofa in his pajamas and robe with his feet propped up … at three on a Thursday afternoon.

“Yeah …” He leans over, catches the end of Kurt’s untied belt, and flips it across his waist. “The rigors of your life must be crippling!”

“It’s my afternoon off, you deranged kumquat!” Kurt snaps, tossing the belt back and smacking Sebastian on the chin. “The point is I value our summer together. Most of all, I value the fact that I don’t have to stress out about it because I don’t have to put any energy into thinking about doing something different! It’s a no-brainer!”

“So you’re saying it suits you.”

Kurt points at Sebastian, very reminiscent of a circa 2000 Cooper Anderson. “Watch your step, Smythe, or you’re sleeping alone tonight.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sebastian relents, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. That one went a bit too far.”

Kurt breathes in deep, exhales long. “Look, when we first got together and divvied up responsibilities, you put me in charge of planning summer vacation.”

“Because I thought you’d send us to all sorts of exotic locales with clothing optional activities.”

“We do those over spring break! And on our birthdays! And over New Year’s! We’ve flashed more people than Tara Reid! I like going to the beach house in the summer! It’s tradition!”

“But we can go anywhere in the world!”

“I don’t wanna go anywhere in the world!” Kurt parrots in a whiny voice. “I wanna go to the beach house!”

Sebastian slaps his hands on his thighs and pushes up to his feet. “Fine. Whatevs. Just do me a favor. For me. Because you supposedly love me.”

Kurt rolls his eyes so far back in his head he glimpses his soul. “I guess …”

“Get on your phone and check out some other spots that you might want to go to. Any spot, regardless of distance or cost. Then we’ll compare, list pros and cons, and together we’ll make an educated decision. That way we’ll know one hundred percent for certain that there isn’t somewhere else that tickles your fancy.”

“I already know …”

“Just this once,” Sebastian says, cutting into Kurt’s grousing, “and again, because you love me.”

Kurt’s face pinches, his lips pulled tight to avoid creasing. He drops his head back on his shoulders in exasperation and reaches in his robe pocket for his phone. “All right, all right. But shoo. I don’t need any distractions.”

Sebastian leans in to give Kurt a kiss, grinning when he swats him away like an irritating insect. “Your wish is my command, oh benevolent dictator.”

“That’s Expedia God to you.”

***

Sebastian makes himself scarce for more than an hour running odd errands - one of which includes buying Kurt his favorite cheesecake from the bakery down the block. He’s both encouraged and relieved when he returns home to find Kurt still in the living room when he should be at yoga, bent over his phone, staring intently at something on his screen.

He missed yoga for this, Sebastian thinks. He must be taking it seriously.

Even more than that, Kurt is smiling, lower lip pinched between his teeth, his eyes positively glowing.

‘Yes!’ Sebastian cheers silently, slipping into the kitchen to put away the cheesecake while allowing himself a moment to daydream about spending this upcoming summer vacation on the French Riviera, which they admittedly did last Christmas. Or in Jamaica, where they’d gone two falls ago. Or, like he’d thought, London, which is where they’d spent Fashion Week. Sebastian stops with his hand on the refrigerator door, chewing his own lower lip in thought. Looking back on their lives together as a couple, they have done their share of traveling around the world, even if they do spend every summer in North Carolina. So … spending another one there isn’t exactly a big deal. They’d recently booked a flight to Rio to coincide with the start of the school year, winging over after the egress of promiscuous co-eds vying for one final fling before hitting the books.

Jesus Christmas!

Is he being a jerk about nothing!?

Sebastian pulls out his cell phone and checks his calendar. Nearly every box of every month is filled with meetings, assignments, appointments. But aside from that, it’s cluttered with trips they’ve planned - the Cape for their anniversary; the Poconos for Kurt’s dad and stepmom’s anniversary; Munich for Oktoberfest, which happens to be a tradition that Sebastian started - one that Kurt hasn’t always been so fond of. He can appreciate the food. He can appreciate the beer. He can appreciate the authentic costumes and the lively music and dancing.

But the second people start hugging and slapping each other, he gets a little skittish.

Last year, Sebastian flew Kurt to Milan last minute for Arbor Day, just to give him a reason to make the stupid day memorable. Thus is one of the perks of being rich. He’d planned on making that a tradition.

So that’s two of Sebastian’s traditions to one of Kurt’s.

Sebastian sticks his head in the fridge, smacking his forehead against the butter dish, and groans.

If Kurt wants to spend this summer - and every summer until the day they die - in North Carolina, is it really such a big deal?

But seeing Kurt stare at his phone with a huge smile on his face intrigues Sebastian. Even after everything, their whole argument, he did what Sebastian asked. He gave it a chance. What if he actually found somewhere else he wants to go? Skydiving? Spelunking? Scuba diving? Another hot air balloon ride?

Sebastian swallows hard remembering …

… they can do all those things in North Carolina.

He removes his head from the dairy section and closes the door. Then he strolls back into the living room, nonchalant smile on his face.

“You’re looking pretty focused there, babe. Did you find something you like?”

“Yup.”

Sebastian’s spine tingles with the possibilities. “Willing to share?”

“Well, in order for you to appreciate where I ended up on my journey, I’ll need to walk you through my process.”

“Do tell …”

“I didn’t have any particular locale in mind, but I knew I wanted to go to the beach, so I started looking up beaches.”

Sebastian nods. “Not venturing too far from the comfortable, I see, but still promising.”

“Tropical beaches, exclusive beaches, private beaches, beach resorts, islands …”

“A-ha …”

“I saw a link for this beach in San Diego called Dog Beach.”

“Very nice. Quaint. I’ve been there once or twice. Lots of nice little communities with bungalows …”

“I thought so, too. But I was clicking through the website and I saw the most amazing thing. Something I wouldn’t mind seeing in person.”

“Really?” Sebastian says hopefully.

“A-ha. It had pictures of a surf dog competition …”

Sebastian’s smile dips at the corners. His voice becomes a little tight. “Okay …”

“I clicked on it and …”

“Let me guess …” Sebastian drops his head into his hands, blunt nails digging into the cold spot on his forehead “… you’ve been watching videos of surfing dogs.”

“Yup.”

“For how long?”

“Oh, I don’t know. When was the last time you were in here?”

Sebastian’s arms drop to his side revealing his disgruntled expression. “You’ve been watching videos of dogs surfing for two hours!?”

“I guess. Time’s just … flown by …”

Sebastian watches in agony as Kurt switches to another tab on his phone, bringing up a YouTube video of a bulldog riding a skateboard. Kurt chuckles and shakes his head.

“How’d you learn how to do that?” he baby talks the screen. “You’re the goodest boy, aren’t you? 12 out of 10.” He scrolls down to the comment section to type that in.

Sebastian slaps his forehead. He turns on his heel and heads for the bedroom before he has the chance to go insane. To be honest, he should have known better. He walked into this one, what with his cockimamey ideas about going somewhere else over the summer. “Beach house it is.”

“If that’s what you think is best, dear,” Kurt mutters to Sebastian’s retreating back, deeply enthralled in another dog video. He waits till he hears Sebastian open the door to the bathroom, then closes out the video and composes a text:

To: Olivia

False alarm! We’re on for the beach house!

He giggles conspiratorially when a message immediately pops up.

From: Olivia

Thank God! See you there!

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 4

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Crossposted to AO3 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Carrick Station was a hub of activity as usual. The little T3 unit navigated through the crowds of soldiers, Jedi, privateers, and every other walk of life in between as it sought its quarry. 

It was sending a feed directly to Theron via his implants, but he was only half paying attention to its progress as Darok briefed the essential personnel on the strike plan. They’d already gone over it with everyone in person, but the SpecOps officer seemed like he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Theron could almost admire that. Almost, because if the man asked one more time about the status of their guest of honor he was going tell the Colonel exactly what he could do with that stick shoved up his ass.

The Defender was already docked on Carrick Station, it was just a matter of finding its commander so Theron could formally extend the invitation to their little party. Technically she and the crew were here on R&R after their latest mission, a somewhat clerical error that had accidentally been slipped into their duty roster the moment he’d gotten authorization to bring her in on the operation. Ideally he preferred to try and recruit assets face-to-face when at all possible, but the short timeline on this mission made that difficult.

“Oh, hello there.” An amused feminine voice drifted across the feed from the astromech. “Are you looking for something?”

“You = act casual,” the little astromech beeped at the woman seriously, “T3-G2 recruiting for classified operation.”

“Of course.” 

It was hard to tell just from the voice, but Theron thought it sounded like she was humoring the astromech.

“T3, get me a visual confirmation,” he muttered to the droid, slipping out of the main room as Darok shot him an annoyed look for speaking out of turn. He ducked into an alcove just as the video feed treated him to the image of a woman a few years his junior kneeling in front of the droid, unsuccessfully hiding a tiny smile at it. The freckle-kissed complexion and light hair swept back up into a neat ponytail matched the holo in the file. The indulgent smile she treated the droid with was more unexpected. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from his first look at the famous Jedi, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“That’s her. Good job, T3.” Theron quickly pulled out his holocomm before she lost interest and established an encrypted two-way video link.

As soon as his image shimmered to life in front of her, he saw her brow raise in curiosity, and she pulled herself to her feet so she was on an even height with the holo in front of her. The fond amusement smoothed into a carefully neutral expression as she tucked her arms behind her back in a composed stance more typical of a member of her order.

“Ah, just the Jedi we’ve been looking for,” he said by way of greeting. “You know, you’re a hard woman to track down.”

“I see you brought a friend on your recruitment drive.” The comment was directed to the droid.

“T3-G2 = muscle,“ the droid whistled. “Recruitment = new job duty.”

“Well, you’re doing a very good job.” She graced the astromech with another smile.

“Hey, remember me?” Theron waved to regain her attention, acutely aware of the lack of security of an extended conversation in even a relatively deserted corner of an open hallway.

“And you are?”

“SIS.” He saw the careful expression slip for a moment, brows drawing together in concern for a moment before smoothing back out again. “We’ve got a little bit of a special event coming up. The guest list is very exclusive.”

“That sounds very nice. I hope it goes well for you.”

“Well, seeing as you’re on the guest list, I’d hope you might make an appearance.” A flare of irritation began to light up in him, but he tamped it back down, suspecting she might have been trying to gain some sort of reaction from him. That calm politeness was surely some sort of facade.

“I don’t recall ever receiving an invitation.” She arched an eyebrow. 

He snapped his fingers. “I knew I forgot something.” 

“That’s usually an important step in party planning.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for my next shindig. Are you interested in attending this one?”

“That all depends. What kind of party is this exactly?”

“The kind the Empire won’t enjoy.”

That got a reaction, her neutral expression smoothing away into concern. “Exactly what’s the dress code for this event?”

“Come as you are,” he said casually, waving a hand at her armor and the lightsabers clipped to her belt. “Besides, I have a feeling our hosts are going to be too busy to be very picky about fashion.”

“Uh huh,” she said disbelievingly. “Are you going to be joining this affair, or does your astromech need to finish taking you on your walk first?”

Darok peered over into the alcove, flashing him an impatient look for the lengthy conversation. Theron pressed his lips together in a thin line as he turned back to the call. “More details when we meet in person—see you soon.”

“Wait, you didn’t—”

Theron cut the line, trying not to roll his eyes. “T3, will you escort our guest to the briefing room?”

He heard the droid beep an affirmative, and dialed down the audio on the feed so he could address the impatient SpecOps officer glaring at him.

“Are you finished?”

“Just wrapping up the guest list,” he tossed back.

“About time.”

“Yes, well, if I’d had more than a few days notice on this entire operation and the ability to speak somewhat freely, maybe that would have gone faster.”

“Neither of which is a luxury we have.” The taller man crossed his arms, gaining a few extra centimeters as he pushed his shoulders back. “What’s our ETA?”

Theron’s teeth ground together as he reminded himself of the larger objective, that unfortunately at this moment, wasn’t taking the uptight soldier down a notch. He stalked back over to the holo-table that had the battle plan mapped out and swiped at one of the holographic representations of the ships to relieve some frustration — but the image just flickered at his touch.

“My astromech is bringing her here directly for the briefing.”

“Good.” The response was just as curt as the rest of the man’s demeanor. He returned his attention back to the holograms depicting the strike team’s narrow window of opportunity, and re-enabled the mic on his earpiece. “Yes, yes that’s correct.”

Theron crossed his arms, listening to the fifth recitation of the battle plan. He kept an eye on the progress of T3’s journey across the station, absently pacing as he listened to Darok with half an ear. 

“…bombing commences on signal ‘aurek’.”

A quiet trill echoed across the line, and distantly Theron thought he heard it outside of the room. He shot a glance back at Darok, who was still aggressively pacing in front of the holo-table.

“Wave one shuttle will land on Korriban’s surface and secure the landing zone—”

“And then wave two comes in,” Theron piped up, just as the doors swished open to reveal the woman he’d been talking to on the holo. He caught her eye, nodding ever so slightly in greeting. “Perfect timing.”

 It would have been inaccurate to say that time itself seemed to slow as the Jedi swept into the room — time didn’t work like that. The chrono continued to tick on regardless, but maybe it was just the perception of time itself that seemed to stop for just a few seconds.

Highwind only glanced at him briefly, gaze zeroing in on Darok. While holos were good at capturing the likeness of someone, they usually did a poor job of communicating the presence of a person. Each step she took was deliberate, confident, with her shoulders thrown back and a resolute set of her jaw transforming what should have been a graceful flow into a commanding presence. Her armor glinted as she passed under the overhead light, the brown embroidered cape billowing behind her, and the air of authority in every step left no doubt that this was the famed Hero of Tython.

She didn’t demand attention out loud, but she had successfully captured the attention of every eye in the room without having to utter a single word. It really was quite the trick.

“Did I hear you correctly?” Her words seemingly broke whatever the spell she had weaved with her entrance, time jerking back into motion. While her tone was cordial on the surface, there was a hint of underlying reproach. “You’re actually planning to attack on Korriban?”

“Yes,” Darok turned to face her, crossing his arms as he drew up to his full height, “we are.”

Despite that he practically towered over her, she didn’t look the least bit intimidated or even moved by the taller man. She crossed her arms, the large shoulder guards seeming to add an extra bit of presence to the petite form as she gazed at the colonel placidly. “I see.”

“You’re critical to this mission’s success, Master Highwind.”

“I don’t recall us having been introduced.”

“This is Colonel Darok,” Theron chimed in, “he’s in charge of our little shindig.”

Her eyes cut across the table at him, recognition dawning on her expression. “Ah, the party planner from the holo.”

“In a way.” He shrugged, tilting his head to side. “I’m Theron Shan, SIS.”

He saw it the moment the words left his mouth. Her blue eyes widened ever so slightly, blonde brows arching together as she suddenly took a second, closer look at him even from across the distance. A recognition lit in her eyes, and she didn’t need to actually speak for him to know what she was going to say next, but that didn’t stop her. “Shan—you look—you… don’t happen to be related to Satele Shan, do you?”

To his credit, he didn’t groan, but he couldn’t check the annoyed mutter. “This is why I keep asking for a codename.”

A really cool one too. One that distracted anyone from any stupid family resemblance.

Her guarded expression softened into open curiosity, and she looked like she wanted to continue that line of questioning further. Theron was saved from further scrutiny by Darok of all people, who cleared his throat to regain the attention of the room.

“You two can discuss genealogy later,” he said firmly, “at a less critical time.”

“Of course.” She gave just the barest of nods to Darok, but didn’t tear her gaze away from Theron. “Why did you not tell me the target up front?”

“Open comms aren’t the safest place for honesty.” He frowned, getting the feeling she was still trying to puzzle out his connection to the Grand Master. “And considering the target, I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“And if I had walked away?”

“I would have gone for the direct approach, if I needed to.” He shrugged lightly. “I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

“Can you now?” One of those blonde brows arched again, obscuring that brief, soft expression that had crossed her face the moment she suspected he was related to Satele. 

That familiar annoyance was trying to surge to the front, but he was able to keep it tamped down. They needed her for this operation, so he needed to stay on her good side. “I have my ways.”

“Invading the homeworld of the Sith is not a task to be taken lightly,” she admonished.

“Oh, we’re quite serious, Master Jedi,” Darok rumbled. “This is a chance to make history.”

“A Jedi does not seek fame or glory, Colonel.”

Theron’s lips twitched, but he managed to suppress a smile even as Darok glowered.

“We’re not here to seek glory—”

“Then what is your purpose? And exactly how am I to factor into it?”

“We’re raiding the Sith Academy,” Darok rumbled. “More specifically, the databanks held inside the Dark Council chambers.”

“Really… the Dark Council. Is that wise?”

“Considering who you’ve gone up against,” Theron said lightly, “I’m going to lay a bet that you’d be able to pull it off.”

A brief shadow passed across her face, so quick Theron wasn’t sure if he hadn’t just imagined it. “You certainly seem to know a lot about me, Agent Shan.”

“I read a lot, what can I say?” He crossed his arms as he sized her up, trying to find the best tactic to get her to agree. “The information inside of those databanks could be the key to ending the war.”

He didn’t mention the benefits of ending the war, instead let her fill in the blanks herself. It was a stalling and fishing tactic. Let out the line, see if the target took the bait. Adapt and hone in from there. 

This was the problem with only getting to know an asset through a file and public records — it was difficult to tell what exactly motivated her. She could have been a glory hound, a uptight traditionalist, or anything really. Ideally he’d have observed her for a lot longer time, would have sliced her communications, studied her before ever initiating contact. But he didn’t have the time for that, and this was why he was the best. Because he was adaptable — which was good, because thus far, she was not lining up with any of his expectations.

Whatever the complicated machinery that made Highwind tick, apparently he’d hit the right note. The lingering resistance drained out of her expression and she gave him the barest of nods. “What do I need to do?”

“The first attack wave is going to clear the landing zone. You’re in the second wave, just head into the Academy and go get the plans.”

“I doubt I’m going to just be invited in.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got those, then, isn’t it?” Theron indicated the set of twin silver sabers clipped to her belt. “Word is you’re pretty handy with them.”

She gave him a look, expression indicating she was about to say something, but pressed her lips together in a thin line instead. After a moment, she glanced at both of the men. “Have the Empire’s forces really become so weak that we can charge straight in like this?”

“Not exactly,” Darok said, “we’re exploiting a brief gap in their patrols, which is why we have to move immediately.”

“I take it this gap doesn’t occur often then?”

“No,” he said flatly. “And before you ask, we won’t have time to land necessary hardware for a full-scale demolition.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that,” she said, almost sounding offended. “That seems unnecessary for the task at hand.”

Ah, so she was one of those kind of Jedi, Theron mused. He probably needed to guide the conversation back on track before Darok derailed it with his military overzealousness. “What I believe the colonel was trying to say, is that we need you to be quick about this”

“I don’t really wish to spend a great deal of time on Korriban. Once I find my way into the inner sanctum of the Dark Council and retrieve this data,” she was choosing her words carefully, but the tone was laced with skepticism, “exactly what am I supposed to do at that point?”

“Exfiltrate immediately and rendezvous back here,” Darok said. “With a payload this sensitive it’ll need an escort.”

“And what of the Sith Academy?”

“My associate, Commander Jensyn will be securing the rear. He’ll remain behind to collect secondary objectives as time allows.”

“And what are those?”

Darok’s rebuke of the question came quick and sharp. “Your immediate concern should be securing our primary objective, Master Jedi, and any obstacle that stands in your way of achieving that.”

She frowned at him, crossing her arms and raising her chin up defiantly. “You mean, the people standing in my way, Colonel.”

It appeared Darok wasn’t very good at first impressions in general, not just with overworked SIS agents. On one hand, it was nice to see someone else stand toe-to-toe with the blowhard, but unfortunately he was right about one thing, and that was the ticking countdown on their opening.

And since Highwind was his asset, it was his job to keep her focused on the mission at hand. Factoring in what he’d observed so far, Theron decided that the softer approach would probably yield the best results. “Look, I know it’s a tough job — this is one of the most secure facilities in the galaxy. And that’s even before you get to the Dark Council chambers.”

Highwind shot him a glance, a little bit of the umbrage bleeding away as she met his eye. “I really hope you have a map. It doesn’t sound like there’s much time to get lost.”

“I’ve got a schematic of everything right here.” It was only a little bit of a white lie. But he’d be able to fill in the blanks once the strike team got on the ground. “I’ll let you know if you’re about to take the scenic route.”

“You know what kind of scenery I should expect?”

“You mean other than sand?”

“Funny.” Her nose wrinkled as she tried to keep from smiling. There, that was the right reaction. “Are you planning on coming along, or is your astromech going to take you on another stroll?”

“Figured I’d stay here. I’ve gotten plenty of exercise for the day.” He motioned for her to join him on his side of the table, and she seemed glad to put some distance between her and Darok. “Let me take a look at your comm before you go. That way we can stay in touch.”

She handed over her earbud, and he quickly began to make some modifications to it. It was standard-issue fare, which would suffice for most operations, but since no one in the Republic had actually set foot on Korriban it was hard to tell if anything would interfere with the signal once she got out of range of the landing zone. There were a few extra bands that were typically locked out that he could route to if they encountered any interference. He paused in his work, feeling her watching more than just his work on the earbud.

“Sorry,” she said quietly when he met her eye, face flushing ever so slightly, “just now that I’m looking for it, I really can see the family resemblance.”

He narrowed an eyebrow, trying to keep the normal rise of irritation to a minimum. They were getting along so well, what with their mutual dislike of the colonel glowering at them both from the other side of the room. “I really wouldn’t know. It’s not like she and I have spent much time together.”

“Is she your…?”

He rolled his eyes, but decided that satiating her curiosity would probably cut the conversation short in the long run. “Yes, she’s my mother.”

On the other side of the room, he thought he saw Darok perk up, as if listening in, but when Theron looked the other man was occupied with something on a datapad. He returned his attention back to the Jedi, whose expression had taken on a curious softness as she studied him. Recalling that their names seemed to crop up together a lot in the file, he wondered again exactly how close this woman was to his mother.

“It’s not something I like to advertise,” he added. “For obvious reasons, on both sides.”

“I understand,” she intoned quietly. “I apologize for prying, Agent Shan.”

“Call me Theron.” Perhaps she’d be a little more apt to let the subject drop if she wasn’t constantly reminded of it by the use of his surname. He made a few final adjustments before holding the earbud back out to her. “You should be good to go. Now I’ll be able to hear what you hear.”

“Will you now?”

“Every word.”

“I was hoping to speak with my crew before I left. I hope that you will not begin eavesdropping until we reach Korriban.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. Any reason I should?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “Just keep your head up. If we’re successful, we could learn more about the Empire’s moves than every SIS operation from the past decade combined.”

“This is not the first mission of this kind that I’ve gone on, Theron.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She fixed the earbud back into place, and gave him a measured look. “I’m starting to feel like you know a lot more about me than I do about you.”

He returned the look in kind. “We can always exchange backstories when you get back, if you really want to.”

“Why do you not sound so enthused about your own idea?” She shot back easily.

He grimaced slightly, not expecting to be caught and tripped up by his own sarcasm. “Fine, how about this? If you pull this off, the first round’s on me.”

“The first round of what?”

“Drinks.” He rested a fist on his hip. “To celebrate.”

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I’m going for optimistic here.”

She pressed her lips together, unsuccessfully smothering a smile. “Very well.”

“Our forces are ready,” Darok barked. “Victory for the Republic depends on you.”

“No pressure,” Theron added.

That did summon a smile. Just a small one, but it still seemed to light up her face, the freckles on the bridge crinkling with the motion. “Then I should probably go now. I need to inform my crew of the change in plans.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Theron tapped his ear. He hesitated for a moment, the standard phrase feeling awkward on his tongue, but he forced it out anyway. “May the Force be with you.”

She dipped her head gratefully, that small smile still playing at her lips. “And with you both as well.”

Next Chapter

[ironstrange-is-the-endgame]

Hypothermia

Whumptober, day 11

Tony didn’t hear from Stephen in the last week which was usually weird, but the man had his own work to protect the reality as everyone knows it and Tony wasn’t the one to complying about that. Not that he had any right to, to be honest. They were friends, maybe close ones since he convinced the man to be his ‘awesome facial hair bro’, but that was all. He had no idea what happened between him and Palmer after that Tony himself reversed the Snap, but he was pretty sure they both were head over the heels for each other. And Tony didn’t plan to ruin whatever relationship the doctor had for a stupid crush. Though he couldn’t even deny that he had a stupid crush for Stephen Strange. They somehow speak every day at least one of them was out of the country, or their dimension if was Stephen, and keep updated about stuff both in Kamar-Taj or with the other Avengers.

With the passing of time, they started to speak about more personal arguments, and Tony understood how lonely Stephen’s life was, he spoke a lot about Christine and Wong and his students in Nepal, though he sounded always happier when Peter swung by. It was like listening to the kid, only less over-enthusiastic. Not that Stephen let Stark understand, but the man could recognize some scheme he used in the past.

That day, he was working at the new War Machine Mark III after having tried and failed to call Stephen four time. ‘He’s probably chasing some student in the Forbidden Forest’ He repeated to himself, still tinkering with the suit. Rhodey repeated to him over and over again that he didn’t need an update, but it was like speaking with a wall when it came to Tony, and anyway, he felt better to keep his friends safe. Which was the reason why he was also working on something for Stephen, but, again, it wasn’t like the Sorcerer needed to know.

He let one of his hard rock playlists play in the background and came back to his blueprints, trying not to think about Stephen and the fact that he shouldn’t have missed the man so bad. Anyway, it was easy for him to be dragged again in the workshop routine and rapidly any thought he may have had on Stephen was dismissed in favour of his researches on how to integrate nanoparticles braces which could replace the real ones Rhodey needed to walk.

His hands were flying over the touchscreen keyboards and through holographic projects and data. Somehow, it was the best place where to be, for the genius. He could pretend to feel comfortable among people and he usually was, though he was never as happy as he was when he could close everything outside the workshop doors and work on whatever crossed his mind. Bruce told him he was two different men, one who he showed to the world, and a more private one. Tony knew Banner was right, he also knew he showed that side of himself only to Rhodes, Banner, Peter, probably Nat, and Stephen. The people he really cared about.

He glanced to DUM-E which was moving dangerously close to his workbench with the fire extinguisher and backed off immediately with a sad beep, and went back to his work. Which was why he didn’t notice the golden sparkling portal opening in the middle of the lab until Stephen stumbled against the concrete. The portal collapsed at his backs a moment later and that was weird.

“Stephen?” He asked, dismissing the projects with a fast movement of his hand. From the other man, no answer came, and Tony all but jumped over the table.

Stephen was lying on the floor and his hands were fumbling, though Tony couldn’t understand if it was because of the nerve damage or there was something wrong with the Sorcerer. “Dumbledore…?” He asked, again, hoping that the ironic tone could hide the fact that Tony was definitely worried.

It took some minutes in which Stark was mildly panicking to Stephen to speak. “Where am I?”

If that was supposed to calm Tony, it didn’t work at all. Stark cradled the other’s head in his hand, trying to understand what to do and bringing his steel-blue eyes at his owns height. His eyes were almost black, and it was clear that he couldn’t really picture where he was, again, Tony couldn’t say if it was panic or something else. But it was a terrible view.

“Fry,” He ordered, without even needing to tell him to run scanning on the man. Then he went back looking at Strange. “You are in the Compound, in my workshop.”

Stephen nodded, very, very slowly. And now Tony was sure that there was something wrong with him. He wasn’t like it was the first time Stephen did something strange, no pun intended, but he usually came back from some dimension who left him high or extremely clingy which was something Tony was more than willing to help with. Whatever THAT was, well, was a fucking mess and Tony didn’t know what to do to help the man.

“Strange, I need you to speak with me, ok?” He asked, but Stephen seemed to doze off again and, fuck, why was Friday so slow? And why the wizard’s pulse was so weak?  He was going to ask his AI to speed things up when her voice filled the workshop.

“Doctor Strange seems to present symptoms of hypothermia, boss.”

What the fucking fuck? Stephen’s hand wrapped around Tony’s arm as if he was trying to tell him something, but he had no idea of what to do. He knew for sure that he couldn’t leave Stephen like that but, again, he didn’t want either to do something which could bring things to a worse point. “How do I help him?”

Stephen was barely conscious, by now, and his breath was terribly shallow. He knew nothing about hypothermia, but that, for sure, wasn’t a good sign. While Friday’s voice went on again, he started to search for Bruce’s number on his mobile. “You should strip him off of wet clothes and give him warm ones, boss,” Friday informed him. Tony nodded.

“Send the bots in my room, and call Bruce,” He ordered, a moment later the beep of the line was all over the workshop. Tony’s hands ran on Stephen’s clothes, stripping him off from his too many layers of sorcerer robes. “Goddamned belts!” He almost screamed it took him some seconds to realize that the Cloak was helping him, undoing the belts for Stark. “Thank you, pretty carpet.”

Once they managed to take Stephen’s clothes off, and Tony tried not to stare but the man had a very fine body and how he didn’t even see it before, the Cloak wrapped itself around its owner. Tony looked at it, knowing that, of course, that wasn’t enough for the time being and everything he had to raise the temperature in the workshop could as well burn Stephen.

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice came from his mobile.

“Bruce, thank god you picked up,” Tony tried not to sound too panicked, though he knew he had to be fast. Stephen was still passed out and it didn’t matter how tight the Cloak was protecting his body. “Stephen isn’t feeling well. Friday told me is hypothermia… I took his clothes off.”

Despite everything, Tony could hear Bruce chuckle before answering. “Do you have something like an electric blanket? Or hot packs. You have to warm his torso, neck and groin…”

“I have the Cloak,” Tony answered, looking at the red cape which was clearly trying to do whatever in its power to increase Stephen’s body temperature. “I’m in the workshop, and I don’t want to leave him.”

From the other side of the phone everything went silent for a while, then Bruce continued: “Ok, it’s not the best way but can work in the meanwhile. Try to use your body to warm him. Just, get under the Cloak as well, it will steady your temperature.”

Tony nodded, hoping that his bots will arrive with new clothes soon and then he looked at the Cloak. “Have you hear the other doc, pretty carpet?”

The Cloak nodded in that weird way it had to make others understand what it said. It rose from Stephen’s body what was necessary to Tony to reach the other man. His workshop floor was one of the most uncomfortable superficies on which Tony had ever lay, and holding Strange like that was the sweetest hell ever for Stark. He tried not to think about that and focus on the fact that Stephen’s pulse was too slow, while he let run his hands on the sorcerer’s torso and neck, as Bruce said.

His skin was freezing. “Friday, turn the heating on in the workshop,” He said. It took almost too long, in his opinion, but after some minutes, when the bots already arrived, Stephen started to shake, grasping at Tony’s shoulders and reducing the already minimum distance between their bodies. Tony wasn’t going to complying, repeating to himself that the other man was looking for his heat.

The genius had no idea how long they stayed like that, but Stephen’s breath stabilized after a while and when he opened his eyes they had again that light that Tony loved so much.

“Why am I naked?” He asked, in a whisper. At that question, the DUM-E beeped, bringing both of them to turn and see the bot with Tony’s clothes.

“Hypothermia,” Tony let out, forcing his eyes to go to the ceiling which was better than looking at Stephen’s face, right now. “I was keeping you warm.”

A soft smile cracked through Stephen’s lips, and Tony started to move back, leaving the other man his space to get up and get dressed again. Once he rose from the floor, Tony took his good time admiring the man’s back. He was in his underwear and one of Tony’s worn t-shirt in an eye-beat. And then Stephen turned and was staring straight at Tony.

The genius ran a hand in his hair, trying to do something which wasn’t looking at him. It wasn’t so easy but Tony was used to wearing the perfect society man mask. “Well, this had been fun, but let’s try not to do it again, ok? You scared the shit out of me.”

Stephen nodded. “I’d rather not to reply the travel in the icy dimension which isn’t the one of Frozen before you decided to call it like that, but I don’t mind the ‘I’m naked in your house’ part.”

And then he opened a portal, leaving Tony there, his jaw almost on the floor, while he tried to understand what the hell did that mean. A moment later, the sound of an incoming text came from his mobile phone: “I meant it for real, douchebag. -SS”

[chibinightowl]

Home for the Holidays

For the Batfam Christmas Stocking 2017:

For @connanro-chan​

Prompt: vigilantism with a light side of burglary (to be fair, this didn’t turn out the way I wanted, but I think it worked out in the end!)

Cassandra crouches on the edge of a building in the Bowery, her cape wrapped tight around her in the chill winter air. Fresh snow had fallen during the day leaving the landscape all pretty and white under the clear skies. But it’s also bitterly cold and she wishes she still wore her original Batgirl suit as at least that had a full-face mask, unlike her Black Bat uniform. But she’s here with a purpose and she will not be deviated from it, not on Christmas Eve.

Earlier this week, Cass learned what Bruce wants most for Christmas and she’s bound and determined to make it happen. But bringing a wayward bird home is no easy task, especially one who will fight tooth and nail to avoid it. She’s willing to try, especially since it will do both of them good in terms of patching their relationship. It’s as plain as day to her that Bruce misses Jason and that Jason wants to come home, but doesn’t know how.

She knows that not everyone sees things the way she does, but even Stephanie has picked up on it. Her best friend says they’re being stupid boys, which is true, but there’s more to it than that. Years and years of harsh words and even harsher actions have brought the two men to where they are now. It’ll take more than just an apology from either of them to start fixing things.

It’ll take action. And that’s something Cass knows she can help with because to her, actions speak louder than words.

Tim has mentioned before that Jason has an uncanny ability of knowing when someone Batty is in his territory. She hopes she counts, even though they’ve rarely crossed paths on the streets before. Jason is not someone she needs to be wary of, at least physically. Tim has also commented on how quick their brother is with his mouth, which is still something she struggles with. Words are hard for her while Jason wields them like a weapon.

She waits with an inborn stillness that’s been drilled into her since childhood. It’s not too long before she senses movement behind her. There’s no sound, but Cass knows she is not alone.

As the person gets closer, there’s a purposeful crunch of gravel and snow under a heavy boot. It takes skill to move silently in conditions like this, skill Cassandra appreciates. She doesn’t move, but she doesn’t have to. Jason steps up beside her, dressed in full Red Hood gear, including his helmet. She glances over and suppresses a smirk at the slightly poufy look to his clothes. Just like with her uniform, there’s a layer of winter thermals beneath the armor, not that it’s doing much good in this weather.

Jason eyes her carefully. He’s not sure what she’s here for and it makes him…not nervous, but he’s uncertain. It’s easy enough to read even with the purposefully relaxed stance he’s forced himself into.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks finally, his voice lower and raspier with the modulator in his helmet.

“I am here for you,” Cass replies, not seeing a point in lying. She turns to face him directly.

“For me?” Jason doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. “Why?”

“Because it’s Christmas.”

The man stiffens and takes a cautious step back. He knows he’s trapped even if she has barely moved a muscle. “So what?” he snaps back. “I got a bar I’ll be headin’ to shortly. A few beers and a bottle of Jack are waitin’ for me.”

Cass stands and shakes her head. “No. Eggnog. Alfred says it is tradition.”

“Are you gonna try and drag me back to the Manor then? I don’t fuckin’ think so.” They both know that’s a lie. It’ll be hard, but Cass can carry him if she needs to, even if he’s been nerve-struck into unconsciousness.

“Bruce wants you there, even if he won’t say so. I will settle for tonight and am willing to bargain for it first.” It goes unsaid what the second option is.

“What am I, your Christmas gift or somethin’?” Jason snaps defensively. He’s looking for an escape but there isn’t one. Not here, not with her; the one Bat he’s truly afraid of.

Interesting. Cass knows she’s never done anything to him before, so he must have heard about her from the others. Or even the League as he’s got old ties to them, just like she does. But as with any telling, her story grows more and more impressive. This can work for her. Finally, a leg up on Jason that doesn’t involve violence.

“No. I already bought gifts for everyone. Including you.” From a pouch in her utility belt, she withdraws a carefully wrapped package and holds it up. “You are my brother after all.”

Jason chuckles darkly, the sound more ominous through his helmet. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Cass insists. “We are both adopted by Bruce.”

“I died. Pretty sure that makes my adoption null and void.”

“Not to Bruce. Or Alfred.” She knows better than to say any of the others. “You are Bruce’s son the same way I am his daughter. We are family.”

Her words are making Jason angry. “We’re not shit. Leave me the fuck alone.” He takes a step back, which forces Cassandra to jump down off the ledge. She doesn’t close the gap though.

“Tonight is all I want,” she says. “I am still prepared to bargain, little brother.”

Jason snorts in disbelief. “Little brother? You’ve gotta be kiddin’.”

Cass shakes her head. “I am older than you by two months.”

“I was dead for longer than that.” Jason’s way with words is distracting her. She knew this could happen and it annoys her a bit that he’s doing it without even trying. What did Tim say Jason was good at? Yes…deflection. He does it too. All of her brothers do. They get it from Bruce.

Her voice hardens as she speaks, “I am still older so you’re the little brother. Now, my bargain.”

Jason doesn’t run, but it’s still a close thing. Cass can see that he wants to. Very badly. It’s only his pride that’s keeping him here now. “Fine,” he snaps. “What is it?”

Cass allows a small smile to appear. “I will owe you a favor. Any favor you want, save for killing someone or hurting someone in our family.”

She hears a low whistle from under her brother’s red helmet. He understands how big this is. A favor owed. A debt. It can be anything that Jason could call upon her for, if he accepts. Even with the restrictions, there is still a wide range of possibilities.

“That’s almost anything I can think of,” Jason says slowly. “Not just the standard vigilantism with a light side of burglary either. You must be desperate.”

“I am not,” Cass replies simply. “I want you to come with me willingly. Unconscious is still an option, but is harder on both of us.”

She waits while Jason thinks it over. Her favor is something he wants, that much she is certain of. It is what he has to do to earn it that is tearing him up.

“How long?” he finally asks. “How long do I need to show up at the Manor for?”

Cass grins and walks smoothly over to Jason, making no sound as she does. She holds out her present for him to take. “Two hours. Eggnog and cookies. Maybe a movie.”

Jason fingers the wrapping on the small box as he looks at it, then at her. “I didn’t get ya anything.”

“I know.”

He toys with the wrapping some more before ripping it off. Opening the small box, Jason takes out the slip of paper and reads it. He starts laughing. “An IOU note? Really, sis?”

“Why not?” Cass replies. “Next year I can get you a better gift.” The only things she knows Jason likes are guns, knives, and books. She won’t get him the former and the latter is difficult unless someone helps, which she can’t ask for without giving the whole thing away.

“Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cassandra sits curled up in an armchair, her hands wrapped around a warm mug full of hot chocolate. She’d decided eggnog isn’t to her taste after her first glass. That’s okay, Tim was more than happy to finish it for her. Next to her on the edge of the sofa, Bruce sits with his own eggnog and stares in amazement as his four sons battle it out over who’s getting the last of the spice cake Alfred made. Behind her, standing, but not looming, Alfred watches them all, a cup of tea in hand. He’d said he sampled the eggnog during it’s making and didn’t need more.

“How’d you do it, Cass?” Bruce asks quietly. His eyes never leave Jason, who is currently shoving his hand into Damian’s face to push him away from his prize. That’s a risky move as Damian can and will bite, even at thirteen.

“We made a bargain,” she replies, wrapping her free hand in the overly long sleeve of her Christmas sweater. Tim told her the sweater Dick gave her earlier is an ugly sweater (and explains the story behind why ugly Christmas sweaters are a thing), but she doesn’t think it is. The red reindeer on the green sweater is cute.

“Do I want to know what it is?”

Cass shakes her head. “It is between me and Jason. You only have an hour left, Bruce. Enjoy it.”

Jason had announced to Bruce in no uncertain terms when they arrived via the Cave entrance earlier that two hours is all he’s giving him (them). Alfred didn’t waste any time and promptly brought everyone together in the private living room reserved just for family (the one where the family Christmas tree stands with its mismatching ornaments, riotous lights, and one side that has more tinsel than the other). A movie is playing in the background, but no one is paying attention to it. Dick is glued to Jason’s side, trying to get in as much brother time as he can get. Tim and Damian are warier, but so far, no blood has been shed.

But Cass sees all and senses the undercurrent of…what’s the word…bittersweet. Yes. It’s bittersweet because they all know Jason won’t stay for long. Her brothers know better (for now) than to ask what brought him in the first place but she doesn’t miss the glances sent her way.

Damian knocks over a plate of cookies in his battle with Jason over the last piece of cake. That’s apparently the signal they’ve all been waiting for as Dick whoops loudly and picks up Damian, tossing him across the coffee table and onto the other sofa with a laugh.

“Richard!” Damian shouts as he tries to recover, but Jason’s there in a heartbeat, grabbing him by the foot with one hand as he finishes his cake with the other.

“So this is what it’s like to be the big brother,” he muses and raises his arm.

Damian dangles limply for a moment, in absolute shock that someone is doing this to him. But the moment doesn’t last long as he wriggles and lunges for Jason’s legs. “I will end you, Todd!”

But Jason doesn’t miss a beat and drops the teen back onto the sofa. “I need more eggnog,” he announces and walks back to the trolley Alfred wheeled in earlier.

Dick laughs even harder and Tim quietly puts away his phone and winks at Cass. There will be a video of this sent to everyone later.

“Excuse me,” Bruce says and finishes his eggnog with a quick swallow. He rises to join Jason in getting more.

Alfred takes Bruce’s place on the sofa. “Thank you, Miss Cassandra, for the wonderful gift you’ve given us tonight.” His voice is low, almost too quiet to be heard over the din. Dick is trying to get Tim eat more.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, just as softly. “He wants to come home. Just doesn’t know how.”

“I hope this is the start then.”

“Me too.” With that, Cass finishes her hot chocolate and sets the mug aside. Rising, she darts quickly across the room and jumps onto Tim’s back. He staggers at the unexpected weight and almost falls before he grabs her legs and recovers. “Cookies,” is all she says as she rests her chin on his shoulder.

Tim grins brightly at her. “See, Dick? Here’s someone else you can feed. I’m stuffed.”

Cookies in hand, Cass directs Tim to the trolley where she can get something to drink. Jason and Bruce are having a stilted conversation, but Jason starts laughing when he spots them. “Damn, Pretender. When did you grow an extra head?”

“Two heads are better than one,” Tim replies without missing a beat. “This one is thirsty.”

“She’s definitely the better half.” Jason pours a cup of eggnog and hands it to Cass, ignoring the face she makes. “This is all that’s left. Bottom’s up.”

Cass drinks it quickly. Alcohol isn’t something she enjoys and this cup tastes stronger than the last one.

“You don’t like bourbon?” Bruce asks. He is amused by her reaction.

“No,” she replies and hands the cup back to Jason.

He laughs and takes a metal flask out of one of his pockets, shaking it lightly as he holds it up. “It needed some help.”

Bruce nods and doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest.

Tim laughs some more and tries to set Cass down, but she tightens her arms around his neck. “A little help here?” he asks plaintively.  

“Nope.” Jason shakes his head. “I already learned my lesson tonight, I don’t need another one.” His words say one thing, but Cass sees deeper than the surface as his eyes lock on to hers.

Thank you is what he really means.

She grins and mouths the words back to him. Perhaps next year, he’ll be able to say them out loud.

[sqoiler]

Cassiestepkara taking each other's patrols/calls for the day.

there is mentions in here of my headcanon that steph is ace!

Steph stood on a smooth roof, looking down at the glittering city below.

“Help me, Supergirl,” she said into the air. “How will I be able to tell who needs help?” The inner Bruce in her head said, “You could grapple around and do a normal patrol, Brown.”

“Sure thing, Inner Bruce,” Steph said. “I will definitely survive all these graceful arches and curves. I won’t die at all.”

“Death isn’t so bad,” Inner Jason said. “I should know. I died once.”

“So did I,” Steph scolded. “Whatever. YOLT.” She pulled out her grapple and pushed away the Inner Tim asking what the heck “YOLT” meant. She unhooked it and flew into the glittering National City below.

______________

“Where’s Wonder Girl?” Kara heard Red Robin ask as she raced for the Tower. She soared in through the window.

“Here I am!” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

“You aren’t….Wonder Girl….” Red Robin said, squinting up at her. He and Superboy and Impulse were gathered around a table, a computer pulled up.

“Sure I am,” Kara said, landing. “What’s the mission for today?” Red Robin gave her a weird look but turned back to the computer.

“Flash wanted us to cover Central City while he’s off world,” he explained. “But Batman wants me to head back to Gotham for a secret mission.”

“And Superman called me and Supergirl to help deal with Lex Luthor,” Superboy said, an eyebrow raised in Kara’s general direction. She shot him a fake grin. She hoped Steph would be able to handle herself.

“So that means it’s just you and me, Super–I mean Wonder Girl,” Impulse said, speeding around her.

“Coolio,” she said. “Let’s hop to it. Shall we run or fly?” Bart gave her a weird look.

“I run, you fly, remember?” They’re calling her bluff, Kara knew.

“Of course,” she said. “Let’s go.” She smoothed her shirt and took off, Bart right behind her.

——–

“Batgirl,” Red Robin’s voice startled Cassie out of her thoughts. She turned, her lasso flipping against her kevlar-covered leg. She smiled at him.

“Hey, Red Robin,” she said, smiling widely. “Whatcha doin?”

“Just…checking on you,” he said.

“I’m all good!” she said cheerfully, shooting him a thumbs up. His mouth twisted.

“Okay,” he said, and he vanished. Cassie would never get used to the bats doing that. She flew up into the air, her cape flapping around her legs. She still didn’t have the hang of flying while wearing a cape. What would Gotham think, seeing a flying Batgirl, she wondered. With a glowing lasso at her side.

There was a scream from across town, and she raced to find the source.

——

“You okay?” Kon asked.

“I am one hundred percent fine, how are you,” Steph said, leaning over Clark and picking up the Kryptonite that was still laying next to him. Kon mumbled a curse word and Steph grinned, putting the Kryptonite in a lead-lined box in her utility belt.

“I can take that,” Clark said. Steph figured that Kara would probably let him have it, probably bring it to the Fortress or whatever. But she was a bat at heart, and–

“Nah,” Steph said. “I’ll take it to You-Know-Who and he’ll put it You-Know-Where.” Kon cursed again and she laughed.

“Well, it’s a good thing you girls did your little experiment today,” Clark said, standing up and going over to Kon. “You saved us.”

“It’s what I do,” Steph said. “Now I’d better get going. Do you need anymore help?”

“No, you get home,” Clark said. “Kon and I will be fine soon.”

“Cool,” Steph said. “He’ll be wanting this, anyway.” She patted the pocket of her belt with the Kryptonite in it, and flipped out the window.

—–

“I gotta say, having someone else with superspeed is super-awesome,” Bart babbled, running around Kara. “It was so nice not having to slow down, and I think the red in your shirt made the Rogues think you were the Flash.”

“I guess,” Kara said, rubbing her temples.

“Though I gotta say I missed that lasso. Hey, you wanna race?” He zoomed away.

“No,” she yelled after him. “Hyperactive little—”

“What was that?” Bart asked, reappearing. “Should I tell Diana that Supergirl is Wonder Girl?”

“No,” Kara said. She did not want to deal with any Justice League members. “I’m fine. I think I’ll go home.”

“Home? Like hq? I’m staying there tonight, too! I’ll walk you! Well, run you, but the phrase is ‘walk you’ so I feel like–”

“Impulse,” Kara interrupted. “I have a headache and I’m staying at my own apartment. In National City. Cassie will be back tomorrow. Good night.” She flew away, realizing belatedly that that whole conversation had been in superspeed.

——-

“Dangerous, irresponsible,” Batman ticked off. “You should have told me before you decided to do this little ‘experiment’.” Cassie scuffed her shoe on the ground, abashed. She felt like a little kid.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“I’ll be having words with Stephanie about this, and with Diana and Clark,” Batman said, towering dangerously. “I know this won’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” Cassie muttered. Nobody responded for a long time, and when Cassie looked up from the ground, Batman was gone.

“If it makes you feel better, I thought that was hilarious,” a voice said from behind her. She whirled around. Red Hood, Jason Todd. The Robin she knew the least.

“Don’t mock my pain,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“I’m not,” he said. He sounded like he was smiling from under his helmet. “Okay I totally am.” He walked over to her, pacing around her. “So what, Princess is in your costume?”

“The real Batgirl’s in Supergirl’s, Supergirl’s in mine,” Cassie said, crossing her arms,

“Well, at least you got the ‘no names on the field’ thing right,” Jason said. “If not the ‘no metas in Gotham’ thing.”

“What about Superboy?” Cassie asked. “Because believe me, he’s here, in Gotham, in Batman’s house, I’d dare say, frequently.” Jason snorted out a breath of laughter.

“In Red Robin’s bedroom?” he asked. Cassie nodded and he doubled over.

“I like you, Wonder Girl,” he said. “You’re not so bad.”

“You don’t seem as bad as Donna said, either,” Cassie said, and Jason laughed again.

“Donna loves me, kid,” he said. “Now you’d best be gone before B blows a gasket.”

“I guess I’ll just head to Batgirl’s bedroom, then,” she said mournfully. Jason chuckled and shook his head.

“More like Supergirl’s, kiddo, sexualities don’t stay private here.”

“Who said we were doing anything sexual, pervert?” Cassie asked, lifting off the ground.

“Nobody,” he relented, putting his hands up. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Same,” Cassie said. “I guess.” He shook his head again and Cassie flew away.

——

“Batman was mean to me and Jason is funny,” Cassie moaned into the pillow. Kara patted her back soothingly.

“I have a headache and I blame it entirely on Impulse,” she said brightly.

“Sorry,” Cassie mumbled.

“Clark is a wonderful human being–sorry, Kryptonian–and I think Kon still hates me,” Steph said thoughtfully from her spot next to Cassie.

“Anyway we can never do this again,” Cassie said, rolling over. “Bruce yelled at me for like three hours. Steph, be prepared.”

“I’ve already sent Dick to distract him,” Steph said. “And Dick said he’d recruit Alfred.”

“I didn’t even see Diana,” Kara said.

“She’s off world with Barry,” Cassie said, taking off her cape and boots. “But she probably wouldn’t have approved.”

“Clark sure did,” Steph said, taking her utility belt off and putting it on the nightstand. “Speaking off, Kara don’t go in my belt until I make it back to Gotham.”

“Okay,” Kara said. “Green or red?”

“Green,” Steph said, flopping back on the bed, sans cape, boots, and belt. Kara laid next to her, Cassie’s costume still mostly intact. Cassie flung off the last bit of bulk–the gloves–and laid back down, half on top of her girls.

“We can never do that again,” she said again.

“Nope,” the others agreed.

“Also I’m never going back to Gotham, sorry,” Steph said. “I want to live.”

“I want you to, too,” Kara said, and Cassie grinned up at the ceiling.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

How to Wear a Bright Yellow Blouse 5 Days in a Row

http://fashion-trendin.com/how-to-wear-a-bright-yellow-blouse-5-days-in-a-row/

How to Wear a Bright Yellow Blouse 5 Days in a Row

Born in London and raised in Ghana, Natasha Nyanin is the creative mind behind The Ecstatic Flash. In this installment of 5 Days 5 Ways, she chronicles the journey of one yellow Tome blouse over the course of a recent work trip to Costa Rica. Scroll down to see how it went.

Despite my desire to be the perfectly put-together traveler who struts through the airport clad in imperturbable grace, I am, instead, the one you see at the check-in counter immersed in my hurried ritual of rearranging my clothes in an attempt to defy the laws of physics and reduce the weight of my luggage — because I am also the one too cheap to pay the penalty.

I am Natasha Nyanin, a writer and creative consultant who does not know how to pack light. When Amelia approached me with the idea of styling one item of clothing five different ways for five days, the memory of hand-carrying a six-pound silk taffeta robe aboard a flight from Casablanca to New York was still fresh. I thought it would present the perfect opportunity to whittle down the weight of my luggage on a work trip to Costa Rica.

Of course, I picked the lightest item possible — a yellow silk Tome shirt with blouson sleeves — and then proceeded to weigh down my luggage with myriad options with which to style it. So, you see, I defeated myself from the onset. At least I had an excuse: Four projects, one story to research and a wedding to attend in the space of five days demanded a girl have her options. Photographer Colby Blount and I stayed at Florblanca resort in Santa Teresa, Costa Rica: a conglomeration of villas a stone’s throw from the ocean’s roar. Inspiration abounded.

Day 1: Travel Day

I am living what I like to call my “Year of Yellow,” and as such, the hue had to make its unalloyed debut in the drama that is Travel Day. I usually travel in some form of a suit, but I don’t always do so as an incarnation of Katt Williams. This time I did, going full-tilt monochrome yellow in a Zara suit and comfortable Rothy’s flats. My travel suits are, in my private little fantasy, a petit homage to Yves Saint-Laurent’s Le Smoking and the influence that moment in fashion had on me personally.

The Tome blouse here exists only as a whisper, a suggestion, yet enough to make a statement. To address the small matter of the bitter New York cold, I broke up the sunny color and added texture with a brown teddy bear coat from Ducie London.

Most importantly: How was I going to transport a working closet to Costa Rica? Enter three carry-ons that I find as perfect in their practicality as their presentation: Lotuff Leather’s No. 12 Weekender is androgynous and all-American; Mansur Gavriel’s new travel bag speaks deliciously to my delusions of being a minimalist; and the suitcase sample from Globe-Trotter is steeped in history and yet somehow quite modern. I find each piece of luggage speaks to aspects of my personality and the confluence of the three serves the practical purpose of allowing me to pack far more than I could ever need for a short trip. And so the stage is set for the comedy that is traveling United Airlines.

Day Two: Lounging

To say I have no aversion to color would be an understatement, but I live for the simplicity of monochrome ensembles in crisp white or dominating black. Our home for the stay, Florblanca, inspired this look, which brings together the freshness of white and the joie de vivre of print: large swaths of uninterrupted color pitted against a swirl of pigments in a headwrap by Brazilian swimwear designer Adriana Degreas. The wrap skirt, with its whimsical ruffles, seemed apropos for Costa Rica. The white Zara crop top (acquired for £5 in a long-ago sale), worn back-to-front as a bolero, was a spur-of-the-moment addition as we walked out of the door of our villa.

Day 3: Married to Yellow

“I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way.” – John Keating, Dead Poets Society

This corny quote is a cardinal point in my style. I don’t have a huge wardrobe — in fact, most of it’s in storage as I make a transition from my life as a Centers for Disease Control Scientist in Atlanta to a What-Exactly-Am-I? in New York. So I re-wear my clothes with pride, and am not married to what an item is advertised to be. I wore this yellow dress — which my Atlanta seamstress, Miss Anh, fashioned out of six yards of Marc Jacobs silk chiffon in the spirit of Rihanna’s ruby red Giambattista Valli dress — while Colby and I were working in Tuscany last autumn. When I was invited to an old friend’s wedding in Costa Rica (which I used as an impetus to devise this working trip), I loved the idea of wearing it against the greens and blues of a tropical beach.

Inspired by the prior day’s look, I decided the Tome top could be worn as a headwrap to re-contextualize the dress. (One of the best things about being African is learning the joy of headwraps at an early age.) I don’t wear earrings often, but I find this pair, given to me by Brazilian jewelry designer Bia Daidone, to be elegant with an unmistakable presence.

Day 4: Horsing Around

Borrowing Delpozo’s notion of unexpected color-play (or perhaps inspired by a pack of Starburst), I paired this geometric jacket, which the brand loaned me, with yellow and pink and ecru and navy and a hint of maroon for an afternoon spent riding through the Costa Rican rainforest. In the spirit of equestrianism, I thought the Mansur Gavriel travel bag would make a fine complement; it reminds me of the rigidity of saddles and saddle bags. I did not wear heels to ride (though the ridiculous idea did cross my ridiculous mind), but had I been sporting this ensemble on any other terrain, my much-loved navy No.21 bow mules would have been the shoe of choice. For all its cliché-laden implications, riding my mare, Blanquita, against the backdrop of the setting sun was the perfect benediction to our quick stay in Costa Rica.

Day 4, Part 2: Not Fishing for Compliments

In my opinion, there’s little quite so ladylike as a blouson sleeve. Ocean-bound for a morning of fishing, comfort and sophistication had to find their middle ground. The Tome top is worn here in its purest form over a white, wide-legged jumpsuit by Cinq à Sept. The hope with this look is that sophistication is borne of simplicity. But still, for a bit of added spice (and to keep the sun out of my eyes when I wasn’t saving the hat from the wrath of the wind), I added this jumbo hat seen ubiquitously atop the heads of market sellers in Ghana, which I implored my mother to source and send to me before a trip to Chile last year. Who knew yellow matched tuna so well?

Day 5: City Mouse

Back in the city and hitting the pavement running with one more day of yellow-blousing to go, I reverted to my uniform. I wear these black stretch leggings from Club Monaco like it’s my job, just as I do these sensible Jimmy Choo boots, which are the only pair of boots I own.

To mask the unflattering waistband of the leggings and to break up the blouse and the bottoms, I added a velvet and gold belt from Tara Jarmon, which I adore for its vintage-feeling clasp. But this look is truly anchored by the coat, which was made for me in 24 hours by the sweetest seamstress in Fès, Morocco named Bouchra. I’d been ambling through the medina searching for lining for a cape (long story) when the fabric merchant, Rais, pulled out 2.5 meters of striped wool to entice me. The minute I saw the wool, all I could see was a coat, and so Bouchra sewed the dream into reality.

Wearing the same blouse all week was more than an exercise in creativity, it was a study in sustainability: a reminder that I can make so much out of one thing. Most importantly, having to analyze my approach after the instinctive process of throwing things together made me realize just how incidental clothes are in my life (well, as incidental as something so deliberate can be). I’ve always thought of getting dressed as a situation in which the whole transcends the sum of its parts. Yet, in parsing the parts, I found that the memory each piece carries within it — whether a crazed day in Fès or the sound of a piano at my first Delpozo fashion show — holds the most water. Realizing that these pieces culled from all over are the threads that link my world and dissolve its borders brought me so much joy. It reminded me of my favorite quotes from The English Patient:

“We die. We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we’ve entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we’ve hidden in – like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. Where the real countries are. Not boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men…That’s what I’ve wanted: to walk in such a place with you. With friends, on an earth without maps.”

Photos by Colby Blount. Follow Natasha at @natashanyanin.