#This clip is almost exactly 1 year old

[royalarchivist]

Phil: [To the tune of "Creeper"] 'CUZ BABY TONIGHT— Chayanne is gonna be Cucurucho again! Baby tonight, he might be Binary Monster as well again! 🎵🎶

One of my favorite things about the early days of QSMP was Phil teasing Chayanne's admin for their multiple roles on the server.

[dollypopup]

interesting that people are still saying that they need to see Colin humbled and criticizing him for being 'smug' in the first views we have of Season 3

almost like. . .they don't actually understand his character

almost like. . .they don't want to

Colin is a character who is consumed externally. Through other people's eyes. Through Marina's and Penelope's and Anthony's viewpoints, through the ton's viewpoint. And that makes him a character you have to dig into and *actively* consider his POV in order to properly grasp the extent of him, since he has been largely denied that POV by the narrative. And when you do that, when you consider his perspective, you realize that the 'smug' veneer people are criticizing? Yeah, that's not actually Colin. It is the view of him. It's the persona he wears. That he shows us. That we consume without question.

Because we? We are the ton. We are who Colin criticizes as only seeing him as an empty charmer. As a smug flirt. As a man with no substance.

Colin is *already* humbled, and his suave exterior is the protection of such, the armor to shield him from society, because when he didn't have it? He was hurt.

Colin loses his father at 12 years old. Colin is sent off to boarding school away from his family almost immediately after Edmund dies. Colin grieves alone. Colin is made fun of by his older brother. Colin is teased for being a virgin, for being earnest, for being a romantic. Colin's first foray into love ends with a public blowup of his engagement. Colin is humiliated to his entire community. Colin is depressed in Season 2. Colin tries finding escape in new places and drugs and letters. Colin is hardly even noticed by his own mother. Colin tries talking about his experiences and people roll their eyes at him, so he stops talking about it. Colin writes on his travels a second time and barely gets a response back. Colin is ghosted by his best friend with no explanation. Colin apologizes. Repeatedly. Wholeheartedly. To Penelope. To Will. To Marina. Colin is told off to his face and *accepts it*. Colin is accused of being a foolish boy caught up in fantasies and bows his head and says 'very well'. Colin is informed that he hurt Penelope and called cruel and immediately apologizes. Takes accountability for what he said with no excuses, praises her, and offers to help her achieve her goals.

When Colin says that charm can be taught, he speaks from experience. He was a sad, lonely young man in Season 2, he is playing a role in Season 3. That's the whole point. Colin *is already humble*.

But furthermore. . .so what if he is more confident in Season 3? What did he do exactly that was so horrible that we need him to be knocked down several pegs? When he is already overlooked even in his own family? And the answer is. . .he didn't love Penelope soon enough.

But that's also not true. Colin has loved Penelope more than anyone else, out loud, and unhesitatingly. It hasn't been romantic and sexual, but that doesn't mean he hasn't loved her. Who asks how Penelope is faring? Colin. Who is the only one in the sitting room in Season 1 to bid her a good day? Colin. Who is the one who is praising Penelope for being smart and sharp and witty and funny and warm and clever? Colin. Who is the one writing to her on the off season, keeping her company? Colin. Who is the one who looks to her home, no doubt wondering how she's doing? Colin.

This fandom has a grudge against him for increasingly infuriating reasons. This is the season he falls in love, and the grand majority of people don't want to understand him, his motivations or characterization. Going so far as to immediately think he's ignoring Penelope in the first 5 minute clip, when she is hiding in the bushes. When the entire family walked down the stairs and didn't notice her right in front of them. We will bend ourselves into pretzels to justify hating on him or insulting him or wanting to see him ground to nothing, and yet accept the most surface level reading of him possible. You can't do that with a character like Colin. His conflict is internal, and the narrative has not given us much glimpse of it. Regardless of whether or not it has gotten overt screentime, Colin is a complex, deep character.

We, however, are a shallow audience.

We are the ton.

[thatesqcrush]

Beautiful Sinner (Priest! Barba AU), Prologue & Ch. 1

Priest! Barba x f! reader | SVU au

Rating: NSFW for language, graphic smut, basic desecration of religious upbringing.

WC: 8.6K

AN: I am so going to hell. One way ticket for lil old me.

AN2: Big thanks to @beccabarba for reviewing and being my soundboard.

Prologue:

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been, It's been too long since my last confession.”

“Go ahead,” the voice behind the screen began. “Tell me your sins.”

You shivered at the tambor of the words spoken. And you know that your sins were also their sins.

“I'm not seeking penance for what I've done, Father. I'm asking forgiveness for what I'm about to do,” you clarified. Your voice was soft.

“That’s not how this works,” the familiar voice replied. “What exactly are you going to do?”

You let out a shaky breath and heat flushed your cheeks. You began to unbutton your blouse. “I think you already know, Father.”

— Ch. 1—

*six months earlier*

It was a blistering summer day in Manhattan, the sun beating down relentlessly, casting sharp shadows on towering skyscrapers. The pavement radiated intense heat, mirages shimmering above the asphalt street. The air was thick with a suffocating blend of exhaust fumes, unpicked garbage bags and urban heat. City dwellers sought refuge in shaded pockets, and the city seemed to pulsate with the collective desire for relief from the oppressive heat.

It also happened to be your first weekend in your new home-a nine-story walk up in Hudson Heights.

You received your pink slip and had to make the hard decision to move. Your aunt was subletting her apartment while she traveled across the Borneo rainforests. Transitioning to a more modest apartment was a challenging shift. You had to adapt to a different community vibe and recalibrate your lifestyle expectations. You had introverted tendencies but you tried to remain resilient, focusing on navigating this life change as a time to reset.

You opened the window and stuck your head out. Spanish music played outside loudly and the normally traffic filled street was closed, with people milling about. It was the annual block party for the neighborhood, with vendors and entertainment alike. The food smelled wonderful and your stomach growled in response. The sound of a knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You ducked your head, making sure to avoid giving yourself a concussion. “Coming!” You called out as your bare feet padded the floor. You knew who it was - Maria, your next door neighbor who you met on move-in day. Maria was friendly with your aunt and you knew that she had promised your aunt that she’d keep an eye on you. She was close in age to you and immediately offered you a helping hand, helping you bring up boxes. You thanked her with pizza and beer and the two of you were on your way to becoming fast friends.

When Maria had texted you earlier in the week,” ‘Block party! Want to come with?’ it was an easy yes.

You opened the door and let Maria in. “Just need shoes and my bag. Help yourself if you want anything,” you called out, heading back towards your bedroom.

You heard your fridge open, the cacophonous sounds of beverages clanking together followed by the click and hiss of a can opening. Soon enough, you were both on your way.

–

Time flew and you found yourself really enjoying yourself. Eventually Maria had to leave - she was meeting her boyfriend and his sister to head into Queens to catch the Mets game.

You were still beyond hot, the humidity was thick, almost choking you. You pulled out a claw clip from your bag and pinned your hair up. Just even having the damp strands off the nape of your neck provided some, albeit, minimal relief. In that moment, you missed your pixie cut from years prior.

The local fire department had opened the fire hydrant and there was a gaggle of kids playing in the water. You looked at the water longingly before you internally said ‘fuck it,’ and ran through the open fire hydrant. The force of the water was stronger - and colder - than you had anticipated and you let out a shriek. You ran through it once more - this time not as close to the hydrant - enjoying the water washing over your overheated skin. Sufficiently cooled off, you continued on your way through the neighborhood.

There was a generalized area with a tent set up for community outreach. Curiosity piqued, you moseyed on over. You picked up a pamphlet - St. Blaise Church. You were religious as a child, it was as how your parents raised you. As an adult, you found yourself straying away, not agreeing with the church’s ideals which contradicted your more liberal beliefs. Sometimes, though, you found yourself missing it - especially during Christmas and Easter, when the congregation would meet up together in mass throngs. There was something about community that made you wistful.

“Interested in the Church?” a voice questioned. You looked up and you locked eyes with a handsome man. That was an understatement. He was obscenely good looking. Almost as if it hurt to look at him straight on. You felt a jolt straight to your core. No one should look as good as he did.

He took your breath away with his green eyes and thick, fitted build. His hair was dark with flecks of gray at the temples. His salt and pepper beard neatly framed his jawline. The man gave you a smile, his eyes crinkling. Crow's feet gracefully fanned out from the corners of his eyes, evidence of a life rich in laughter and stories. Dressed in comfortable yet stylish summer attire, he exuded a casual sophistication. He wore a fitted polo with fitted shorts that were borderline criminal. The polo was slightly unbuttoned, which allowed for a hint of chest hair along sun-kissed skin to peek through. Immediately your brain went to the gutter.

“Miss?”

You blinked. It was as if your brain broke and you had no idea as to how to respond. He raised a brow and inwardly you melted, feeling warmth bloom through you.

“Uh, sorry. The heat is just getting to me,” Nervous laughter accompanied your lame excuse.

“No worries, it happens to the best of us. I’m Rafael Barba.” He offered his hand and you took it. As you shook his hand, warmth bloomed through you.

He offered you a beer from a cooler and you happily accepted. And over beer, you find yourself enamored with every word from his lips. You suspected Rafael was involved with the church with how passionately he spoke about it. And when he invited you to attend the Adult Fellowship group after Sunday’s mass, you found yourself agreeing.

“...the fellowship hour following the Liturgy provides opportunities to develop friendships, meet parishioners or simply exchange information of mutual interest. There are monthly birthday celebrations and seasonal events, such as Christmas and Easter parties, as well as a spring picnic. We are always looking for more—”

Rafael’s cell rang and he apologized before excusing himself. You nodded and rocked on your heels, once again taking in the scene before you as you finished your beer.

This new neighborhood was already looking up.

—

As Rafael took the call, he couldn’t help but turn around to look at you once more. His eyes raked over your form, fully drinking you in. He swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He could feel a slight stirring in his pants, and furiously shook his head.

‘No,’ his brain argued. ‘No.’

He was not being turned on right now. Rafael tried to push the thought away and turned his attention back to the phone.

After the Householder case and resigning from the D.A.’s office, Rafael decided he needed to get away from it all. He spent the next three months holed up in his apartment, avoiding anyone and everyone.

Even if he didn’t want to - there was no one who would understand what he did. His mother was horrified and stopped talking to him. He received more than one gloating, sneering call from the recidivist he should have blocked — Alex Muños. Even Yelina spurned him.

He was truly alone.

So what was an acquitted, former ADA to do?

He prayed.

He had lapsed from religion. After working in the DA’s office and seeing all the especially heinous, depraved, evil out there - he was convinced there was no God.

He couldn’t explain why he did what he did - he did what he had to. Something called him to do it.

Was it God? Was it the Devil?

He wasn’t sure. So he prayed some more.

And then one night it came to him. The calling from God.

After a lengthy period of hemming and hawing, weighing the pros and cons, he contacted the local diocesan vocational director and began the requisite training. That training looked like pre-theology for 2 years followed by a tenure at a major seminary where he studied languages—some of which he already knew -Latin, Spanish, Greek. He also took graduate level studies in theology, including Doctrine, Canon Law, Church History, Scripture, and Liturgy.

He called St. Blaise’s home for three years. He found joy in community and spreading the Gospel. He gave to the community as much as he could possibly give. He thought it would be weird - that people would recognize him and call him a baby killer. And if they did - they never did it to his face. Rather, the community embraced him.

He was still busy as ever - mass was everyday, there were funerals, baptisms and weddings. He did outreach with the youth and began a fellowship for parishioners who were in a similar age cohort. Having saved quite a penny as an ADA, he lived off his savings. A priest’s salary was meager and he still had to pay taxes. So his salary sat in another account which went towards that.

The summer block party was an annual event, but very nubile - only in its third year. It’s where he felt he could give most back and the community could truly come together.

He hadn’t felt an attraction to any form of secular life in ages.

Until you just now.

He could use the excuse that he was a man after all. A man who used to be sexually active with both men and women alike. But before you, he was able to steer his thoughts away and put that energy into something else for the betterment of the church and community.

And then you came along, soaking yourself as you sprinted through a pump before going back for more.

His eyes traveled over you again. You were soaked, the material of your clothing sticking to you. Your tank top - now sheer - showing off your nipples which were diamond hard due to the combination of the cold water and air.

‘Fucking hell, get a grip.’

But he turned around to get yet another look, while yes’ing the person on the phone. His eyes trailed over the shorts you wore, perfectly molded to your ass and thighs. The rest of your legs were equally toned and for a split second, he could imagine them wrapped around his hips.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’

He wanted to talk to you more but this phone call ate up his time. Finally after what seemed like forever, he was free again. He decided at that moment, he needed to clear his head, so he sat back down and willed his cock to deflate. He closed his eyes and was about to cover his face with a hat when you interrupted him again.

“So what’s a lapsed Catholic to do if she wants to rejoin the church?”

Rafael lifted the hat off his face and sat fully. He cocked a brow. “Well, you can start by coming to mass tomorrow.”

“I suppose,” you sighed. “It’s been awhile.”

“How long is a while?” Rafael inquired gently. He gave you a kind smile. You looked away, embarrassed. Heat flooded your cheeks.

“Years,” you supplied.

Rafael nodded and then cocked his head. “Are you familiar with the parable about Jesus and the lost sheep?”

You nodded. “I’m the one that Jesus is looking for?”

Rafael nodded. “Maybe. But what about coming to mass first and checking it out before making any commitments?”

You nodded again. “I’ll think about it.”

“Hey stranger! Long time no see!” a familiar voice called out, interrupting the conversation.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Maria, now accompanied by her boyfriend.

“I thought you were going to the city,” you asked, chucking your beer in the garbage can next to you.

“Changed our minds. Plus Robbie’s sister is being a little bitch.”

That earned a ‘hey!’ from Robbie before he acquiesced. “Yeah, she is being a little bitch.”

You turned back around but Rafael was nowhere to be seen. You looked at the pamphlet once more before folding it and tucking it away for later.

“I cannot believe you spoke to Fr. Barba like that,” Maria continued.

“Wait - what? He’s a priest?”

Maria nodded. She then pointed to your still soaked appearance. “You can see your tits through your tanktop. Wrong day to not wear a bra. You look like you could win a wet-tshirt contest.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment as you looked down and realized Maria was in fact correct.

“Probably thanked God - that celibate life must be rough,” Robbie laughed. “He’s been a priest for how long? I can’t imagine not having sex.”

You weren’t listening though, too consumed in your embarrassment and attraction. Of course the hottest man on the planet is a fucking priest. ‘And of course I would basically flash him.’

Later that evening at home, you poured some kibble in a bowl for your cat and heated up a quick meal. As you waited for your food to finish, you rifled through your closet for something to wear to church. Your eyes landed on a sundress that you knew was probably much too short for church. You frowned and kept looking until you found the perfect outfit.

You told Maria that you were going to attend mass. You had already promised the hot priest you’d come to the fellowship group. If you didn’t show, then you would be a liar, and you couldn’t lie to a priest - right?

—

The following morning you found yourself at church with Maria.

“I want to sit up in the front,” you whined as the both of you shuffled into the pew.

“I’m too hungover to sit in the front,” Maria grumbled. “You think I can get away with leaving my sunglasses on?”

You rolled your eyes. “This is probably the one mass you can get away with that shit,” you replied before slapping your mouth with your palm. “I didn’t mean to curse, shit, oh no, God damnit!”

Maria laughed at your foul mouthed word salad. “You can confess to Fr. Barba after.”

The organ began to play and you stood. You motioned to Maria to stand and she ignored you, instead choosing to rest her head on the back of the bench of the pew in front of her. You watched as the altar servers carried in the items needed for mass - Cross, the processional candles, incense and Bible. Your eyes followed as Fr. Barba walked behind. He wore green vestments and you vaguely recalled that the color of the robes indicated where you were along in the church calendar.

Mass went as typically as you remembered. You sang from the hymnal, prayed along the congregation, and actually listened to the homily instead of daydreaming about being anywhere else. Fr. Barba was straightforward, discussing Jesus’ anger.

“Paul commands us in Ephesians 4:26, be angry and do not sin; don’t let the sun set on your anger. I’ve heard a lot of sermons on the “but do not sin” part: anger can give opportunity to the devil and birth all manner of hell in relationships. I’ve also heard a lot of sermons on the “do not let the sun go down on your anger.” But I haven’t heard any sermons on these two words: be angry.”

Fr. Barba paused before continuing. “Be angry. As we look upon a world of injustice and abuse, even in the church, we can learn how to be angry in love together. And we learn this the way Paul did: from Jesus. Jesus got angry. Regularly. And we see a pattern in his anger: whenever someone vulnerable or powerless suffered injustice at the hands of the strong and powerful, Jesus opposed this injustice with loving anger.”

The Liturgy of Word concluded and then transitioned into the Liturgy of the Eucharist. You watched intently as he performed prayers and rites in Latin that had existed for thousands of years.

It was time for Communion but you didn’t feel up to receiving. So instead, you just watched. As you scanned the church, your eyes locked with Rafael’s. He was watching you, a frown on his face. You felt your cheeks grow hot once more and you turned away out of embarrassment.

Mass concluded shortly after. The fellowship hour was immediately afterwards, held in the basement of the church. Maria had zero interest in attending so you parted ways before heading down. The smell of incense and something very “churchly” permeated in the air as you walked down the dimly lit stairs.

The basement was as expected, acoustic tile ceiling, fluorescent lights, that unique slight churchy smell, boxes of various items, beige metal folding chairs, long tables, pillars in the middle of the room holding up the sanctuary one floor up. There was a life-size nativity in the back, with a Joseph whose hand was broken and an unfortunate beheaded sheep statue. Someone was setting up a coffee maker and someone else was plating store-bought cupcakes.

You chit-chatted with some congregants, majority of whom you met at the block party.

As you made a cup of coffee, you were unaware of Fr. Barba entering the room. It was only when you heard his voice and the sound of people shuffling to sit. You turned, sipping your coffee as you did so. No, Fr. Barba was no longer in those ceremonial robes that hid away everything. Instead, he wore fitted dark denim with a black shirt and his collar.

Your eyes tracked him as you continued to speak with others. You made sure to glance back to the folks you were speaking with - implying you were listening when you really weren’t. You watched as he moved easily through the room, greeting people, making jokes. What a waste of good looks.

People began to slowly sit, the chatting quietly winding down. Eventually, you took a seat. Everyone sat in a circle and you felt as if you were in an AA meeting.

“Welcome,” Fr. Barba began. “Thank you all for taking the time to come today.” He turned his gaze to you and stretched his arm in your direction. “We have a newcomer.” He gave you a small smile, his eyes crinkling in the corner.

You gave a small smile and waved, before introducing yourself.

There was a more in depth discussion of the readings from the mass. You hung onto every word Rafael said. Fr. Barba, Fr. Barba, Fr. Barba you chanted in your mind as if you were trying to ensure that stayed in your mind.

He’s a priest you told yourself. He’s Father - not Daddy.

—

You became a regular at church and also at the afternoon fellowship. You were usually quiet, opting to listen more so than anything. Today was different.

Fr. Barba asked the group to share their most favorite parts of scripture; he had anticipated the majority of responses - Genesis, one of the Gospels, Proverbs. Your comment made his stomach flip.

“I personally enjoy Song of Songs,” you offered. “It celebrates sexual love.”

“Jewish tradition reads it as an allegory of the relationship between God and Israel,” Fr. Barba offered.

“In Christianity, it is read as an allegory of Christand his bride, the Church,” you countered.

“I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me,” Fr. Barba responded.

You flushed. “His mouth is sweetness itself; he is altogether lovely. It is an unabashedly sensuous, even at times quite erotic, paean to love,” you continued as you leafed through the Bible you held.

“No matter what interpretation you choose to believe, the book is a powerful and profound reminder of the beauty and depth of God’s love for us. It is a beautiful book that has been celebrated for centuries and one that can still bring joy and comfort to believers today.”

There was a pause and then Rafael clapped his hands. “I think that’s enough to stop for now. Thank you all for coming. I’ll see you all next week.”

You hung back, helping to clean up. Slowly the group dissipated, leaving you and Fr. Barba alone.

“You’re still here.” Fr. Barba’s voice was thick and dark. You shivered in response.

“I really enjoyed myself today,” you replied softly as you approached him. You closed the gap between you and him. You could press your hands to his chest if you wanted to.

Oh how you wanted to.

Your nipples strained against the confines of your top. You wanted to drop to your knees and show your worth - take another type of communion.

‘Behave,’ you told yourself.

“Did you now?”

His expressive, bright green eyes are now dark and stormy. His jaw is tight. You swallow hard.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I won’t have it,” he continues. His voice is clipped and you shivered in response.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not playing at anything Father. I’ll see you next week.”

Rafael didn’t reply. He watched as you turned about and walked away with a deliberate sway of your hips. His eyes were focused on your ass. All he wanted to do in that moment was to haul you over a pew and spank your ass for your insolence. His cock ached and twitched in his pants.

You turned back towards him, a full smile gracing your face. “I’m really looking forward to being a member of this congregation.”

Once you were gone, Rafael sat down on a folded chair dismayed.

He was so screwed.

God almighty help him.

—

It was a delicate dance. There was a part of you that enjoyed toeing the line with Fr. Barba. And part of you felt a smidge guilty. But fuck, he was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him.

As Fr. Barba. Well, you weren’t alone in the desperate want and lust you were feeling.

He played with you in his fantasies. He knew what he was getting into when he became a priest. He swore to God to not know another’s body. It was the least he could do considering he killed baby Drew.

He wasn’t supposed to have these kind of thoughts.

It had been so long and he was under your spell.

After the group meeting, he had to hustle back to his home - a small home attached to the rectory. He made quick work of removing his clothes. He hissed as grasped his aching cock. Stroke, stroke, stroke.

Self pleasure was also a no-no.

Masturbation involved lust. It’s to use another person for your own selfish pleasure. The person becomes an object and it denigrates their dignity as a human being.

When he was around you, he wanted to throw everything into the wind. The image of your soaked tits haunted him. He threw his head back as he continued to jerk himself. Desire. You made him fucking feral.

He imagined kissing you after the meeting the second you and him were alone.

His lips crushed against yours. He pressed your back against the wall, his knee parting your legs.

One hand tangled in your hair, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot of your skin.

It was as if you released a part of him that he had kept tucked away for so long.

He stripped away your top, before mouthing your tits before dropping to his knees. Your hand moved through his hair.

“Taste me,” you’d beg. You’d beg so nicely and who was he to deny his lamb?

He imagined grabbing your ass, pulling your dripping pussy to his mouth. You would drape a leg over his shoulder, grounding yourself hard against his mouth.

“Fuck, right there. Just like that.”

He would put his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles as he pushed his tongue inside, tasting, licking, and sucking.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” you’d moan. “Don’t stop. Oh God, I am going to come. Please, fuck me.”

He would undo his belt and drop his pants, grasping his cock in his hand. He’d rub the head of his cock along your folds, teasing you until neither one of you could stand it before burying himself deep inside of you.

“I want everything you’ve got. I want to feel it all.”

“Is that what my little lamb wants? To be fucked hard like a whore?”

“Yes,” you’d beg. “Please.”

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“Come for me little lamb,” he’d encourage. You’d fall apart at his words. He could imagine how your wet, soft, pussy would suck his cock in, deeper and deeper. He would imagine thrusting deep and hard, his cock dragging against your sweet spot. He’d come hard, deep inside of you, his come painting your walls.

In reality he grunted and groaned as his cock kicked. He came all over his hand and belly. He panted, waiting for his breath to even out.

‘Shit.’

—

It was a gloomy Tuesday morning as Rafael worked in his office. Homilies were a lot like closing arguments. Instead of trying to sway the jury, he had to connect with his congregants. Instead of evidence, it was the gospel.

He was distracted. His mind kept wandering to you. Were you some kind of a test for him?

You were under his skin. An itch that couldn’t be scratched. Or stroked. You had consumed his thoughts.

He tore the yellow sheet off the pad before crumpling it.

Rafael tried very hard to live a holy life, especially as he had known what life was like, could be like, outside of the church.

And until now, through God’s grace, he had done very well.

He looked at the time. Confession was to start soon. Confession wasn’t popular. Usually before the bigger high holidays, people would come in droves. But a regular, run of the mill Tuesday? Not a chance.

He had his regulars though, who would come without fail. They were long standing members of the community. Being bilingual was a big boost for the church.

Rafael put on his collar, and changed into dark slacks from jeans and then headed out.

—-

You peeked into the booth. Seeing that it was empty, you made your way in and sat down.

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It’s been… um, years since my last confession.”

Rafael was stunned. It was you.

‘Focus.’

You began with some menial, ordinary sins. Rafael focused on what you were saying, ignoring the throb of his cock.

“And, of course, this… all leads to the most wicked one.”

Rafael swallowed hard. “Go on.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Me?” Rafael questioned. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ “What do you mean?”

“You’re so kind and thoughtful. I probably shouldn’t say this because it’s so inappropriate, but you’re so fucking handsome. And it’s resulted in some wicked behavior.”

“Wicked how?” His hands ball into fists before he grabs the tops of his thighs hard, trying to steel his thoughts.

“I— I’m sorry. I need to go.” You’re stammering over your words, your heart racing.

Rafael heard the panic in your voice and he frowned. The confessional creaked as you stood. Rafael was filled with an overwhelming need to get you to stay. “We all sin. Including myself. God made us imperfect and can he really get to be disappointed in us when we do imperfect things?”

“I— I’ve never felt the way I do about you with anyone else. And I am filled with despair about wanting what I can’t have,” you reply softly. “What can I do about this? Can I say 10 Hail Mary’s or something?”

You continue. “And can I be absolved if I don’t feel bad about what I’ve done or said in the past? They’re all things I wanted to do.”

Rafael wracked his mind on what to say.

And before he could, he heard you open the door and leave. He stood quickly and pushed open the curtain. But it was too late. You were already gone.

—

Sunday mass came like clockwork.

As Rafael led mass, he scanned the pews for you. He was disappointed when he didn’t see you. He saw your friend and he made a mental note to talk with her afterwards.

“Fr. Barba, great service,” Maria commented as she shook Fr. Barba’s hand.

“Thank you. I- I am glad you came. You had been coming with your friend—“

“Oh! You mean — yeah, she couldn’t come today. She had some stuff to take care of. She’s new to the area and I know she could really use the community support,” Maria replied. She looked past Rafael and smiled brightly. “Oh there she is!”

Maria called your name. Rafael turned around and he saw you across the street. You were dressed more conservatively and he felt a wave of disappointment.

You half jogged across the street and before Rafael knew it, you had materialized in front of him.

“Hi,” you greeted as you tucked your hair behind your ear. “Sorry to have missed mass.”

“It’s okay,” Rafael laughed. “It’s not like God is keeping tabs.”

You smiled. Maria turned to you. “Was just telling Fr. Barba how you could use some community.”

“Uh,” you blanched. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, help is always needed at the community center or food pantry,” Rafael offered. “Meet plenty of people that way.”

“Yeah, sure. I - I saw in the bulletin you were looking for someone to go over your books.”

Rafael shifted. “Um, I was looking more for a CPA—“

“Well you are in luck!” Maria hit your arm. “You’ve got your own CPA here.”

“I-I am not a CPA. I was treasurer of my sorority years ago,” you explained. “But I lost my job and I need money,” you shrugged. “That’s all.”

Rafael sighed and rubbed his neck. As much as Olivia was a bleeding heart, he was too, especially with his roots. “Um, stop by the rectory sometime next week and we can talk it through.”

You smiled brightly. “Oh that would be great! Really! Thank you.”

Rafael nodded. You turned to Maria. “We have to go. Reservations?”

Other congregants had started to line up to speak with Rafael. He turned towards the line, but not without glancing back, watching you walk away.

Rafael admired you from behind, appreciating how your jeans hugged you in all of the right places. A flash of heat coursed through him.

‘God damnit, what are you doing?’

—

You never came by. Or to mass. Rafael thought you might have had a change of heart. Perhaps your flirtation with religion had flamed out. He found himself longing to see you but also increasingly frustrated with himself. He busied himself as much as possible so that he couldn’t even think of you. You were the absolute last thing on his mind.

When you rapped on his door two and a half weeks later, Rafael was more than surprised. He was downright startled, like a horse with thunder. He had been knee deep in the church’s financial books.

“I’m sorry, I hope I am not intruding. I know it’s late.”

Rafael relaxed. “No, not at all. Please, come in, sit.”

You slunk in the chair with ease and eyed Rafael’s outfit. “You don’t look like a priest.”

Rafael arched a thick brow. “And what do I look like?”

“Like a regular guy. Someone I would meet at a bar,” you shrugged as you waved your arm as if to make a point. Rafael was wearing dark jeans with a button down, sleeves rolled up and brown brogues.

Rafael laughed. “Well, there was a point in my life where you would have found me there. Speaking of bars, would you care for a drink?”

“I thought priests could only drink church wine.”

Rafael laughed again. “No, no, we can drink more than church wine.” You heard the clatter of glass and the sound of liquid pouring. “Here,” Rafael turned to you, his arm outstretched, holding a lowball glass with amber liquid. “Macallan 18.”

You took it from him and swirled the liquid before sniffing. You closed your eyes as you took a sip. You hummed, pleased. “This is good. Dangerously good.” You took another sip. “Oh this goes down way too easy.”

‘I bet my cock will go down easy.’

Rafael coughed and shook his head. “Uh, yeah, it does.” He took a large swallow of his glass and then poured himself another glass.

“You’re wondering why I’m here now. Instead of two weeks ago.”

Rafael perched himself on the corner of his desk. “I am.”

“I wish I had a reason that made sense, but I don’t. The truth is…” you glanced around the office and it became very apparent that the room was decorated more like a legal office than what you assumed an office in a church would be like.

“The truth is?” Rafael prodded.

You stood and started walking around the room. Your hand trailed the spines of the stacks of books lined up. It was then when you spotted the law degree in the corner.

“Wait - you are a lawyer? And a priest? How does that work?”

“Was,” Rafael clarified, before taking a long sip of his drink. “Was a lawyer.”

“You don’t practice anymore?”

“No,” Rafael shook his head. “Not anymore.”

You walked up to the bar cart and poured yourself another drink. You took the chair and pulled it until you were sitting directly in front of Rafael. “Tell me.”

Hours passed. Rafael unloaded everything on you - his time at SVU, baby Drew, the why to choose a life of faith.

And that bottle of Macallan?

You stood very close to Rafael. Your hands pressed on his chest. You swayed slightly and Rafael placed his hands on your hips, steadying you.

“Hire me. I’m really good with numbers.”

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “We aren’t going to have sex.”

You scoffed, before almost losing your footing. Rafael’s hands gripped your hips tightly. “Who said anything about us having sex?”

“Do you think I don’t realize what game you’re playing?”

“Game? I’m not playing a game. I need a job.”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am not. Besides, do you even know how?”

Rafael pushed you away slightly. “Did you not just hear the story of my life?”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Father.”

“The how?”

You walked back and closed the gap between you and him. “Yeah. The how. To fuck.”

Rafael’s eyes darken. He cupped your face and you leaned into his palm. He slowly walked around and behind you. He dropped his mouth to your ear. “I know how to fuck. I’ve fucked plenty. Men. Women. I know how to make someone come.”

A rumble emanated from Rafael’s chest. You spun on your heels and looked up at him. Rafael loomed over you, your eyes growing wide. Your breath hitched. “Is that so?”

Your faces were inches apart. You were breathing each other's air, growing dizzy over the shared breath. Your heart was thumping and you were so needy in that moment you thought you were going to burst.

“Little lamb, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

You let out a whine. “Please.”

Rafael lifted your chin with his finger. Your eyes searched his before settling on his lips. His beautiful pink lips that you knew they knew how to kiss. And lick. And fuck. And make someone come.

“You’re a good priest Father Barba,” you whispered. “But you’re also a good man. And doesn’t a good man deserve a little indulgence every now and then?”

The tension in the room was thick, the air electric. You almost felt moved to tears in the desperate way you wanted him. And he wanted you.

The sound of sirens blaring broke the spell. You both jumped apart. You both stared at each other. Rafael couldn’t help but notice that you were flushed, and that flush was making its way down. You worried your bottom lip.

“It’s late,” you rushed. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.”

You spun on your heels and was about to dash out the door when Rafael gripped your wrist, pausing you in the middle of the door.

You looked back up at him with wide eyes.

“You start Monday,” Rafael gruffed. You nodded, unable to say anything.

You managed to squeak out an ‘okay.’ And before you realized it, the door was shut in your face.

—

Your first week was completely uneventful. As is the next. And the week after. You’re the epitome of well behaved and professional much to Rafael’s relief.

That still didn’t mean he didn’t imagine kissing you and then some. Or how when you leaned over his desk, he didn’t imagine lifting up your skirt and plowing into you. Or that when you chewed on your pen cap, he didn’t imagine his cock between your plump, soft lips.

Under the collar, he still was very much a man.

And you didn’t let him forget it. He lost track of the amount of times he had to get himself off. And still it didn’t nothing to quell the ache for you.

You threw yourself into the work and you actually found it quite fulfilling. You made plenty of friends and found yourself volunteering in other parts of the church - like working at the food pantry or singing as part of the church choir.

Summer ebbed into Fall. The air grew cooler. The days started to grow shorter and the leaves, once a vibrant green, were now tinged with yellow and orange, painting the city in a fiery palette.

You were working in the rectory that morning. When Myra, the arthritic receptionist, ended up in the hospital with pneumonia, you eagerly took over the job. You were busy enough with church duties as it was but it made sense for you to take over.

Utilizing your skills from past work experience, you ended up bringing St. Blaise into the 21st century thanks to Intuit and Microsoft.

Since you started, the more Rafael was able to get to know you. In turn, the more he wanted you. He did everything in his power to not even look at you for too long, at least when you were not not looking. It was hard - but Rafael was a glutton for punishment. Being around you made Rafael addicted.

It did seem as if you heeded his words - you were the utmost professional. You did such a good job that Rafael wondered if maybe he had misread the signals altogether and that one night was just the booze.

Then one particular evening, Rafael saw you walking with Maria, her boyfriend, and another gentleman. He didn’t want to stop and say hi - if anything he wanted to avoid it altogether and cross the street but you and him made eye contact. It would have been too awkward to avoid you by that point. It ended with the five of you at the local watering hole - where this gentleman who had his arm wrapped around you. Rafael didn’t enjoy how jealousy washed over him - he knew he did not have any right to you, or your body. And he would never be - you were never together like that.

You were waiting at the bar, ordering another round when Rafael joined you. You looked over at him and gave a small smile.

“So you’re on date then?”

You looked at him incredulously. “Rafael—“

“You live here, you can go on any dates and with whom.”

“He’s just— you and I— we never…

The bartender arrived with your drinks. You went to pay, but Rafael stopped you. “I got it.”

“Don’t you have to take a vow of poverty?” you asked as you grabbed some of the drinks. Rafael grabbed the remainder and the two of you walked back to the booth.

“One of the most common misconceptions about the Catholic priesthood is that all priests take a vow of poverty. In fact, most do not. Diocesan priests do not even make vows, they make “promises” of obedience to their bishop: chastity and to pray the Liturgy of the Hours. Vows, on the other hand, are typically made by members of religious orders, such as Franciscans, Benedictines, Dominicans, etc.”

You nodded. “Got it.”

You walked ahead of Rafael, a sway in your hips as you did so. Rafael’s eyes narrowed and he sucked in a breath as he followed, exhaling slowly.

When your date - Eric - as he later learned - began mouthing off about theology and religion, Rafael rolled his eyes. Still, he wasn’t going to let himself get bested and using the skills he acquired from all the cross examinations he had ever done, basically annihilated the other guy. You snickered behind the glass of your drink but Rafael saw it and felt his chest puff.

At one point - Eric whispered something in your ear. Whatever he said was enough to make you blush and shift in your seat, smiling to yourself like you had a secret. Rafael didn’t miss it at all and he felt himself stiffen and his jaw tighten. Your eyes met once more, and you witnessed the visceral reaction he was having, saw that little flex of his jaw and the way his eyes glittered with something primal and possessive. You could see that part of him would gladly punch Eric, and even as Rafael’s eyes locked with yours, he didn't hide it. Briefly, the kind and generous priest was all gone. Even the smart and sassy lawyer was superseded: you saw the man, capable of lust and jealousy. Over you. The thought of inspiring those feelings in him made heat pool in your body, and you squeezed your thighs together. His eyes registered your expression: you were certain he knew how you felt.

By end of the night, you went to hug him good night but Rafael dodged you. You frowned and bid him adieu as he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Rafael continued to head home - and had he turned around, he would have seen you still standing, watching him.

Another week went by.

The pounding on the door stirred Rafael awake. He looked over at the clock - it was a little after midnight. A breeze blew through, causing a chill to run through his body.

He tugged a t-shirt on and groused that he was on his way.

Rafael was not expecting to see you.

“Father,” you greeted. There was a very large bottle of Macallan in your hand. Your eyes trailed over the very sleepy priest in front of you. His hair was askew and he looked adorable. You swallowed at his tight white shirt and low slung gray sweats.

“What is going on?” Rafael asked. He reached in his pocket for his glasses.

“Fancy a chat about my existential crisis?” You thrusted the bottle of scotch into his arms and walked in, pushing slightly past him.

Rafael got a whiff of your shampoo and it sent all blood straight immediately to his cock. He looks back outside and satisfied not seeing anyone else, closes the door behind him. “Existential crisis?”

“Do you have any glasses?” You ask, ignoring his question, as you look around. You hadn’t ever been inside a priest’s dwelling and you were surprised at how normal it appeared.

“Wow.” You stopped misstep and looked around. “This is not what I expected.”

Rafael rubbed his neck. “Huh? Oh, what did you expect it to look like?”

“I don’t know. More holy? Crosses everywhere. Stacks of bibles? Not something out of an architectural digest - with a kitchen island!”

Rafael laughed. He took the bottle from your hand and walked over to the island where he placed the glasses. “A lot of this is from…” he waved his arm around. “Before.”

“Pre-priest Rafael.” You clarified as you walked over to where he was and took an amber filled glass.

“Yeah,” Rafael replied before taking a long drag of his drink.

You nodded and hummed before taking another sip. “When you were just a man. Who had sex. A lot.”

“I’m still a man.”

“Come on, you know it’s not the same.”

You knew better. You knew you shouldn’t.

What would your friends say, what would they do if they ever find out? What about the congregation and surrounding community?

This was bigger than you, bigger than him. What were you thinking?

But it’s Rafael. Fr. Rafael Barba. Not that it matters - he’s not actually yours. He belongs to God.

But now when he’s staring down at you the way he is right now, teeth catching his full bottom lip, sleep-tousled hair and stormy, smoldering eyes, you can’t help but fall from grace.

“Kiss me.”

“You know we can’t.”

“So? Kiss me anyway.”

“I’m a priest.”

“Kiss me anyway.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Rafael swallowed the remainder of his drink and let out a huff. He pointed a finger toward you. “You…you’re trouble.”

You closed the gap between you and him. The room felt electric. You pressed your hands onto his chest. “So? Kiss me anyway.”

Rafael sucked in a breath. You press yourself even closer, your hips automatically seeking his. Rafael pushed you away gently. “I told you we can’t. I told you I can’t.”

“Why are you denying what’s between us?” Your hands shook as you poured yourself another glass. You turned and leaned against the island. “God made us to be sexual creatures. It’s his design. It’s his idea, his gift to us.”

Rafael sighed in irritation. “Our sexual desires are no surprise to God. He made us, and He gave us a strong sexual desire to enjoy within the proper context.” He pointed to you and then to himself. “This is not the proper context. If I wasn’t a priest, then it would be different. This is real life. What we do has real consequences.”

“If you weren’t a priest,” you murmured. You swallowed the remainder of your drink and slammed it on the island. Warmth flooded your body and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or him or a combination of both. Likely the latter. “Tell me you want me. Tell me I was never imagining things.”

Rafael remained silent.

“You have the right to lose control. I know you think—”

“You don’t know what I think,” Rafael acerbically spat. “And no, I don’t have the right.” He began to pace. “You don’t know the misery I live in when you’re not around.”

“And you think I am not?” you questioned. Your voice wavered and your eyes welled with unshed tears. “It’s never been like this with anyone. Never. I want you. I can’t have you. But please - let me live in the solace that you want me too. That I was never imagining any of it. I am going crazy.”

Rafael paused mid-stride and looked at you. He took a deep breath.

“What’s it gonna be? I am begging you.”

It was like something in him snapped when you said that. Rafael slammed his own drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He walked over and pressed you against the island. You let out a squeak in response. You could feel how hard he was against your belly. He brushed some of your hair back. Your breath hitched and a flush spread along your skin.

“Say it again.”

“Tell me you want me.”

“No - repeat what you said at the end,” he all but growled. You chewed your bottom lip and nodded.

“I beg you.”

“God help me. You beg so prettily,” Rafael murmured. He pulled at you, hands grabbing at hips, lips crashing into yours in a bruising kiss. It was over before you could register and you pulled back to look into his eyes. You wrapped your hands on his face and then dove back in, returning the kiss, equally as hard.

The momentum was desperate, frenzied, hands everywhere. You let out a gasp as Rafael backed you against the kitchen island. The scruff of his beard dragged against your skin, his lips working your jaw, your ear, moving down your neck, and you let out a strained moan. You pressed your hips upwards into his, feeling his erection. Rafael had to stop and inhale sharply before resuming his attack on your skin. The tips of his fingers find skin under your shirt, and dig into your flesh. One of your hands is twisted in his shirt, the other grasping the waistband of his sweats as he felt a leg curve around his; it was as if your body functioned in tune to keep him as close as possible.

Rafael’s lips found purchase on the hollow of your neck. You let out a groan as you sagged against him, melting into his embrace. The want was overwhelming.

His hands made way to the front of your jeans and he nimbly undid the button and fly before shoving his large hand down your panties. “So wet for me.”

And you are. You’re so fucking wet, it’s obscene.

The tips of his fingers drag through your slit.

“Fuck,” his teeth scraped along your jaw. “You’re soaking.”

He slid two fingers deep inside of you. You keened wordlessly into his shoulder, biting down on his shoulder to suppress a moan.

“No, no, pretty lamb. Look at me,” Rafael husked, his voice laced with an edge of dominance.

You pulled back and met his gaze. His fingers drove deep up into you, pumping, long and needy. His thumb rubbed against your clit. Your blood is boiling, your body vibrating. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers continue their momentum, finding that spongey spot inside of you that most folks couldn’t ever find.

The walls of your pussy ripple against his fingers. “Be a good little lamb and come for me.” It was Rafael’s turn to beg. “Be my good girl and give it to me.”

You chanted his name as if it were prayer as you come around his fingers. Your body is abuzz, vibrating. You whine out his name in three syllables as you coat his hand with your arousal. Rafael swallowed your cries as he covered your mouth with his. The kiss, which was initially passionate, slowed in intensity, to just soft, slow licks that almost felt reverent, worshipful. Eventually he pressed his forehead to yours and you both drank in each other’s air, breathing heavily. You whimpered as Rafael removed his fingers from your cunt. You watched him with wide eyes as he slipped his fingers into his mouth. His eyes fluttered close as he let out an appreciative sound.

“Do I taste good, Father?” Your voice was laced with lust.

“My sweet, decadent little lamb,” Rafael complimented. “But we cannot do that again.”

“Do what?” You asked as you pushed him off slightly to give yourself room to drop to the floor. You palmed his cock through his pants, pleased with yourself as he groaned with want and need.

A car backfired and the sound caused you both to startle, effectively ending the spell. Rafael helped you up from the ground. “This cannot happen again.” His voice was firm. And before you could protest any more, you found yourself back outside, the door shutting in your face.

Rafael leaned against the door, his head pounding, his cock aching.

‘You idiot! You shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have given in to your melodic voice and sparkling eyes. You had no business being in his life.

But the crack he left open for you made him believe that he had more to lose now than when he met you at the block party all those moons ago.

He rubbed his face, tired and frustrated. And he went back to bed to once again to take matters in his own hands again. ‘Fuck.’

TBC.

[ailithnight]

*Whoops. Forgot to title and link previous chapters. Fight me, I just woke up.

A King in Arkham

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

"Tim. Tim you have to get me copies of this footage." Tim is not surprised by the request. In fact, the 'Sure' is already on his tongue when he pauses, a thought creeping into his head, seeded by the notification Tim really hopes Jason isn't paying attention to in the bottom corner of the computer.

"One condition."

"Fuck you, I knew you'd want something. What? You want my cookies? Coffee? For Red Hood to go on camera singing praises for Red Robin? I'll fuckin do it. Just send me the god damn clips."

"Nope, nope, and tempting, but no."

"Name your price, Replacement. I'll pay it."

"Swear you aren't going to go rush in and extract the kid until we're done investigating him."

"What!? Fuck that! I told you was pulling him out next chance I get!" Tim lets himself groan in annoyance.

"Look, anyone that could do that-" Tim gestures to the part of the screen where they'd pulled up The Joker's medical reports following the incidents, showing pictures and descriptions of just how thoroughly Daniel had beat his ass 3 weeks in a row, "without getting so much as a scratch or fucking bruise in return, has got something going on. There may well be a reason they sent him to Arkham!"

Jason's eyes narrow at Tim as he all but growls, "No reason is good enough to put-"

"A fifteen year old in Arkham. I fucking know that, Hood. But we still need to know exactly who we're dealing with when we get him out. What his deal is. If his dangerous. What the hell was so wrong with him that someone thought it was a good idea to stick him in there to begin with."

"He could get hurt while we're sitting on our asses trying to satisfy fuckin Bat paranoia!"

"He took down the Joker! Clearly he can take care of himself."

"Then who has been hurting him!?"

"Maybe him fucking self!" Tim knew he was pushing it. The green growing stronger in Jason's eyes was proof. But he needed to buy them some time before Jason made thing exponentially harder by storming the castle. Still, now he needed to calm Jason down before he went into a full rage. So Tim held up his hands placatingly.

"A few days, Jay. Just give us a few more days. I'm already almost through the Arkham reports, and there are only a handful from Chicago and Oracle is probably going to announce any minute now that she got through the communications blackout around his home town. We just need a bit more time to sort out intel so that we actually know how to help him once we get him out."

Finally, after a tense 34 seconds, green fades back into blue and Jason let's out a heavy sigh.

"Fine. But I get to tell the Bat about Daniel's discipline slips. Wanna see his fuckin face when I do."

"Deal." Tim hurriedly puts a comm in as Jason watches with narrowed eyes.

Batman.

Red Robin. Ready to fill me in?

Not yet, you're about to be busy. I isolated a pattern earlier. Exactly 15 minutes before the locks malfunction, there's been a strange power surge. Always written off. But the surge doesn't seem to be coming from the grid. And like I said, exactly 15 minutes later is when the locks malfunction.

Jason huffs as he catches on. Apparently he hadn't thought to question why Tim was so desperate to buy time before.

Robin responds, since he's on stakeout with Bruce. Mostly because Bruce won't let him watch the asylum alone. Much as the kid hates it, the rest of the family agrees. It's only a matter of time before someone in max security manages to take advantage of theses malfunctions. So far Croc is the only one who had, though thankfully he's not one to start shit on his own. But with Joker, Scarecrow, and TwoFace all inside; any one of them, or god forbid all three, could make for a real bad situation.

Tt. So you can tell before a malfunction happens.

Think so. Last power surge was 8 minutes ago.

And you are only telling us now, why Drake?

Codenames.

Cause he spent those 8 convincing me not to go get our kid out yet.

6 minutes. See if you can stop things before they start.

I'm not far out. Want me to join you?

Tt. I doubt we'll need your assistance, Signal. We shall be done before you get here.

No wait. Signal, head in. See if you can get a read on 26B.

You think he might be meta?

Hood?

Jason glares at Tim betrayed.

"I wanted to see his fuckin face."

Tim just waves him off.

"They need to know. You tell them or I do."

Boys

Jason scowls, but relents.

He put the Joker in the infirmary on his 1st, 7th, and 15th days there. All 3 times took no damage himself. Feral child had to be pulled off and still didn't stop struggling till the clown was out of sight.

All 3 assaults followed by panic attacks, though whether about the Joker himself or what Daniel had done to him, we don't know yet.

The comms were silent for a moment.

A 15 year old...

Did what you've never had the balls to old man.

...I've fought the Joker.

Daniel hits first.

Hnn

I will admit, it is impressive that he can take the Joker down alone. Perhaps he will make for a worthy brother after all.

4 minutes.

We're moving in. Thank you Red Robin, Hood.

The fuck are you thanking me for?

For helping. And giving us time to work this out.

ETA 7 minutes out. Be with you shortly.

.

The advanced warning proved invaluable for Batman and Robin. After alerting the chief of security of their supposed pattern, he had guards already in motion when the doors swung open. Batman took a perch to watch for max security escapees while Robin assisted the guards in keeping inmates corralled. Many didn't even bother to leave their designated areas, having already seen the Bats in the building.

No sign of any max security inmates. Normally, Batman would find this concerning. And while he did file it away to ponder later why no one from max security ever seemed to make it out of that wing, for today he counted the blessing that he would not have to try to keep Robin safe while dealing with someone like the Joker.

Batman tracked motion through the crowds, watching as a black mop of hair moved, seemingly otherwise unnoticed, through the sea of people. He thought to move in to direct the person back towards where people were being herded to, but the small figure merely walked towards the B wing and entered one of the far cells. That gave Bruce a sneaking suspicion of which patient that was. He moved to get a closer look as Signal swooped in.

"Where is he?"

"I believe he just went into his cell. This way." Batman led Signal to the cell he'd seen that tiny person enter. It was indeed 26B and there was indeed a small, too small, frail looking boy lying on the bed there. A red blotch had appeared under his left eye even though Bruce was certain there had been no injury there as the boy had crossed the hall.

Signal froze beside him, breath stuttering. The boy briefly glanced at them through the corner of his eye, mouth twitching into a brief frown. Then his eyes turned back to the ceiling and his face smoothed out. Bruce couldn't help but reach out.

"Hello." The boy said nothing. Signal opened and closed his mouth, seeming to try to say something, but unable to get words out. Batman wondered what he must be seeing. "You seem hurt. Do you need help?" Eyes flickered back to him and away just as quickly.

"Nothing you can help with Mr. Batman." And oh, how Bruce hated the kid's voice. So quiet and so so hollow. Bruce's mind flashed to his children, imagining any them speaking with such emptiness. His heart clenched, wondering what could have happened to this boy to have snuffed the life out of him so young.

Duke found his voice again, just as the doors buzzed and swung shut again.

"What are you?" Bruce frowned, looking at his latest. Who was looking, as Bruce tracked his gaze, not at Daniel but at the space just above him. Daniel himself seemed to take interest all of a sudden, breaking away his upward gaze to roll his head and look at them. Confusion plain on his face, the first hint of life shining dimly in his eyes.

"Signal? Signal, what do you see?" Batman asked. Robin materialized beside them. The daytime hero stepped forward, then back, light sparking and fizzling around his fingertips.

"There's something in there with him."

Daniel looked back up, where Signal still had his gazed trained on something Batman couldn't see. Even Robin seemed confused, though he no doubt trusted Signal's meta sight.

"Don't worry," Daniel murmured, "S'just a ghost. She can't hurt you."

This 'ghost' seemed unhappy either with the teen's words or this turn of events. Daniel's head snapped back to the side again, causing Batman and Signal to wince while Robin watched stoically. 4 red scratches appeared on Daniel's right cheek, as though he had been backhanded by someone with clawlike nails. A light chill brushed through him and Signal tensed, then relaxed, his gaze finally turning from the emptiness above Daniel to the boy himself. Batman took that as a sign that the... entity, was gone.

Daniel did not react to the obvious abuse from an invisible assailant. He mechanically turned his head back, once more dead and glazed eyes returning to the cracks in the ceiling of his cell. "You should go now. The guards will come around soon to make sure I'm still here."

Bruce wanted so badly to say 'Don't worry, we'll get you out of here.' But Batman was more restrained than that. He would get the child out. But he would have a plan first. For now, Bruce placed a hand each on the shoulders of Duke and Damien, guiding them away. Only when they were back outside did Bruce let them go. Only when they were perched on a rooftop half a block away did Batman pause.

"Robin, report."

"No escaped inmates and no sign of any from maximum security."

"Good. Signal, any information on what you saw in there." Duke rubbed at his eyes.

"A ghost, I guess? I don't know. It was weird. She didn't really have an aura. It was more like, an absence of aura. Like she was a black hole, drawing all the light in."

Even behind the domino, Bruce could tell Damien rolled his eyes.

"And what of the patient, Thomas? Was he not the one you were sent to look at?" Batman bit back the reprimand for codenames, more interested in Signal's response. Signal seemed to think for a moment, then shook his head.

"He definitely had a pretty distinct aura. It... felt powerful. But it looked weak. Dim. When the ghost... struck him, it flared up a bit, but died back down almost instantly. I... I get the feeling he was holding it back. Almost like he was afraid of it. Of himself."

"Hnn. Good job Signal. Robin. You two are welcome to head back to the cave. I'll take the rest of this Arkham shift."

At that moment, the comms crackled to life.

Actually B, you may want to come in, also. Arkham should be fine. And I found why they sent the kid there.

[sparxyv]

About oc ask!

For Mousey 8, 10, 17

For Milena 1, 14, 20

Can you also add to them one random silly fact? Something no one expecting 🤭

YESS this is so fun, TY FOR THE ASK 🫶🫶

Mousey

8. What does he like to eat?

Despite his cautious nature, Mousey will almost always eat anything at least slightly 'edible'.

(This landed him in the hospital wing in 3rd year after the Sallow twins convinced him Lacewing Flies were edible and tasted something of candy.)

BUT Mousey's favorite food would be cheese, any type of cheese. 😋🧀

10. What is his fashion sense?

Outside of school uniforms, Mousey doesn't exactly have much of a choice but to wear any hand-me-down jumpers or patchy old trousers he can get his hands on.

The McGregors, despite being a long line of pureblood wizards, fall quite short in terms of income. Much like the Weasley's, the McGregors have a big family and lots of things like clothes are just reused.

It definitely wouldn't be until later in his adult life til Mousey gains any semblance of fashion sense.. and the experimental phase would be... interesting.

17. What are his ambitions?

As a Ravenclaw, Mousey obviously has a love for learning and a general curiosity for just about anything. But above all else, he is very fascinated by wandcraft.

Mousey wants to learn everything he can about how wands work, which is a big part of why he hangs around Ominis so much! (He wants to know how Ominis' wand works SO BAD)

Mousey strives to be one of the most well-known wandmakers in Scotland.

Fun Facts about Mousey 😼

Cats/Kneazles hate him.

Best friends with Anne Sallow, but not Sebastian Sallow.

Fluent in Scottish Gaelic.

Milena

What does her voice sound like?

Despite French being Milena's native language, and growing up in France, Milena chooses to cover up her French accent when at Hogwarts because she feels like it's polite.

She's spoken English for about her whole life, and she has a strange ability to speak in different accents with comfort and ease, so she doesn't mind the little front she puts up with the British accent.

The only time she really lets her French accent come out is with close friends!

(Game clip for example 😽)

14. How does she react to burning her tongue on food?

Milena most likely would have zero outwardly reactions, even if it DID hurt. After so many battles and duels, you definitely harden up.

However, perhaps her high pain tolerance ceases when it comes to a burnt tongue..

20. How would she react to a mystery love letter?

Milena would find it absolutely adorable - most likely read it multiple times just because..

Although, while finding it adorable, she'd also be VERY amused by it, because anonymous love letters are quite childish to her.

Milena would be much more curious as to why it was sent anonymously rather than up front, why they were interested in her in the first place, confused all around.. rather than wanting to know WHO sent it. But - she'd most likely forget about it completely after a few days.

Samantha Dale would be the first person to know.. and she'd be SO invested in it. Someone's smitten with her best friend? You best bet she's otw to crack the case.

(I'm sorry this made me giggle it's so stupid)

Fun Facts About Milena 😋

LOVES birds of all kinds. She knows everything there is about any type of bird, even magical ones. (Because of her love for birds, she was very pleasantly surprised when sorted into Ravenclaw 🥰)

Grew up as a Muggle, despite her mother being a witch.

Most things don't scare Milena, but Mooncalves.. 🙁

[leiascully]

“I wish you would write a fic where…” — Scully is pregnant with (or has already had) baby 2, and Diana is somehow not dead & she comes back into the XF…. Set in either IWTB era (Mulder’s depression) or post s11 (the fall out of CSM and Jackson etc)

1/2

Here you go!

Scully’s in the office looking at pictures of baby Joy on her phone when she hears the knock. It takes her a moment to look up. Joy’s only been in daycare a few weeks, and the only person who ever knocks is Skinner. Instead, when she looks up, there’s a tall woman with an elegant grey chignon and a chic suit with a visitor’s pass clipped to the lapel. Scully’s breath catches in her throat. But it’s not Teena Mulder - it doesn’t even really look like her. There’s just something about the aura she brings that carries that same scent of graceful suffering, like a vintage perfume that’s spoiled somehow.

“Diana,” she says evenly. “Or is it Agent Fowley?”

“Hello, Agent Scully.” Diana gestures to a chair. “May I sit?”

“Be my guest.” Scully sets her phone on the desk, face up. Diana would know she’s recording their conversation. They’ve both learned to keep track of the evidence.

Diana glances at her screen. “She’s a lovely child.”

“Thank you,” Scully says without flinching. “She’s our little miracle.”

“Yes,” Diana says, “somehow they do find their way to you, these miracles. But I suppose you deserve them, after all you’ve endured.”

“Is it Agent Fowley?” Scully presses.

Diana demurs, sweeping away the idea with one hand before it returns to clasp around her crossed knees. “Fox might have returned from the grave to his former employment, but I had no wish to rejoin the FBI’s ranks.”

Scully smiles faintly. “That was a long time ago.”

“Another lifetime,” Diana says. There’s a glint in her eyes, a tension around her lips. Scully doesn’t respond to the jab.

“How can I help you, Diana?” She picks up a pen. “Assistant Director Skinner assured me they’ve upgraded the fire mitigation system, by the way.”

Diana doesn’t react. She seems to be thinking. “I suppose I came to talk to you,” she says at last.

“To me?” Scully tilts her head. “I’m not sure exactly what you think we have to say to each other.” She stares at Diana for a long moment, sifting through the memories. It’s been so long. Another lifetime indeed.

She remembers her last encounter with Diana, the oblique contact, the fear, the rage, the genuine sorrow. “I do owe you a thank you. You’re the one who left the envelope with information about where they’d taken Mulder.”

Diana stirs, as if she’s come back from the depths of her own mind. “Whatever you think of me, Agent Scully, I never wanted either one of you to die.”

Scully smiles, just a little. “Likewise.”

“I believed in the mission,” Diana tells her. “I believed it would save us all. I knew I was working for men in over their heads, but I didn’t see another way.”

“I know,” Scully says, and she does. She does, now that the world didn’t end. Now that the black oil has receded and the shapeshifters have vanished, now that the supersoldier project has been decomissioned, she understands the things Diana did, and why. She will never understand the rest, but she has that.

“I’m sorry for my part in what they did to you. But I wouldn’t change the choices I made.” Diana nods toward Scully’s phone. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you got your miracle.”

“Thank you,” Scully says, and she means it.

They gaze at each other, blue eyes and brown. At last they have taken the true measure of each other, and neither is found wanting. The betrayals of their younger years are old scars now. There isn’t any pain there. It almost doesn’t matter who was right and who was wrong. They moved through different worlds. Of course their paths diverged. Scully, who has loved Mulder and lost him and fought her way back to him a hundred times, understands the urge to reach for him.

Beyond this moment, she knows they will never see eye to eye. She knows Diana knows it too. This is the peace soldiers only find in the middle of the battlefield, when the war is over.

“Thank you,” says Diana.

“For what?” Scully is startled.

“For standing up to the Syndicate, at great personal cost. If their mission was just, their methods were not. Spender’s least of all.”

“Jeffrey came back, you know,” Scully says.

“Yes. He always had too strong a sense of justice to stomach the work.” Diana leans forward just a little. “Thank you for taking care of him.” She doesn’t mean Jeffrey Spender.

“You’re welcome.” Scully’s voice is steady, somehow.

“I can’t say I was deceived,” Diana tells her. “I went into the work with my eyes open. But the world shifted. The plans changed. Whether I couldn’t keep up or I didn’t want to is irrelevant. I wasn’t given the choice.”

“You were a pawn to them,” Scully says.

Diana inclines her head with a economy of motion Scully can’t help but admire. It’s neither agreement nor disagreement, just an acknowledgment of Scully’s own truths. “Well. I’m not any longer.”

“Good,” Scully says.

Diana uncrosses her legs and stands up. “There’s no need to tell Fox I was here.”

“I assumed you came to see him.”

Diana tilts her head and smiles. “No, Agent Scully. My unfinished business was with you.”

They don’t shake hands. Scully watches Diana leave. She taps her phone to stop the recording and then cups her chin in her hand, staring into space. She wonders if Diana will be on the security footage. She wonders if anything has gone missing in the last hour or two. Maybe respect can look like paranoia. Maybe the past can’t be entirely overwritten, but the book can be closed. Maybe this is what peace feels like when a ghost is laid to rest.

Mulder comes in half an hour later and finds her still thinking. He sets a coffee down on the desk in front of her.

“Missing our pride and Joy?” he asks.

“Hmm?” Scully says. “Of course.” She comes back to herself and shuffles the papers on her desk.

“What were you up to all morning?” he asks, settling into a chair with the lazy grace he’s never lost.

“Oh, talking with an old friend,” she says, and it hews close enough to the truth.

[neo-zone]

New 8-minutes Recap and Early Released Scenes of Sweet Home 3

Full un-cut version

Cut into parts version

Alright, let's get started

First is some kind of recap with old scenes from the previous two seasons and some parts of the official teaser and trailer clips. I guess I don't have to explain this one

Sang-won attacking Sergeant Tak scene is done right in front of all the attending stadium residents. While the rest of the residents are understandably freaking out, girlie is unflinching coz "duh monsters are my friend, this is just my daily life". Sang-won approaching her and then dun dun dun.... He knows she's his daughter! And he's smiling so gentle and proud to her, saying he's been waiting for so long. I guess he better pay the child support now after being a fucking deadbeat dad for almost an entire year leaving her to Hyun-su and her mom 🙄

Also confused seeing some people on twt calling girlie Ai. Is that like her actual name revealed on s3 or is it actually a simplified/romanized ahyi (Korean for daughter) that people mistook as her name?

The scene of Kim getting jumpscared by Eun-hyeok while investigating inside a church is followed by Kim asking some questions and Eun-hyeok answering while explaining some stuffs about his new identity. There's also a monster praying there before leaving

Eun-hyeok went with Kim after that church scene, it seems? They are passing by Chan-young and Eun-yu. Pretty sure Chan-young immediately connect the dots that Eun-hyeok is what Eun-yu been searching for all this time

The extended long awaited Hyun-su vs Eun-hyeok is here. Monster Hyun-su (I just realized it from the close-up on his eyes) just done fighting with the Neohuman that attacked Seok-chan in the last episode of season 2 (that burning wing still-cut is from this scene) before being hit hard and thrown straight inside an abandoned bus by the previous military jeep. I don't know if it's Kim or Eun-hyeok's idea, but there's this gut feeling that it might be Eun-hyeok's idea all along (also I noticed Kim unconscious inside the jeep if my eyes didn't fool me, apparently from the harsh crash)

How monster Hyun-su acted during the fight is exactly what I predicted what type of character he is from his appearance on the last episode of season 2. He is more collected and subtle compared to Hyun-su, there's more anger and bitterness beneath his calm and controlled demeanor. Because if it's the real Hyun-su himself seeing Eun-hyeok alive or if that sight reminded him of what happened to Sang-wook's corpse, he would show more aggressions and facial expressions out of strong emotions, like how he reacted to Sang-won's "teasings" back in episode 1 and 3 of season 2. You could see and feel so much sexual tension from them, as expected 👀 Hyun-su really being here having romantic and sexual tension with both Lee siblings, huh?

So, what a plot twist, girlie is the one "creating" the next protein monster that Hyun-su fought on the official teaser clip, with Sang-won watching the whole process (the still-cut of Sang-won and the girl at some outside setting with clear sky is from this scene). Although this one is clearly different than the previous protein monster. Apparently she can now make monster out of non-living thing too?

Another rehashed scenes from official teaser and trailer then done

Please correct me if I'm wrong and don't hesitate to tell me what I missed on the reply section. Thank you

[encasedinobsidian]

6500 words of FIL!javi down in the form of a prologue and a decent chunk of ch 1

snippet below - angst and size kink ur welcome

He also lies through his teeth and says that yes, he was there as much as he could. He lies and says that of course he flew to Illinois every time he had the chance. And every time, Mabel is there, in the corner of his vision, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. He doesn’t look at her when she does it, doesn’t look at a set of brown eyes almost as dark as his own, highlighted hair in little clips, narrow shoulders with little white straps on them, a top with a frilly edge to barely hide a set of tits that are a size too big for her small frame. 

Pouty lips, long lashes, gold rings on skinny little fingers, contempt in her expression. 

All that. 

He does not need a girl, a twenty six year old barely-adult, a few years out of college, to stick her finger right where a grown man hurts and hit a bullseye on her first attempt, to see exactly where his guilt lies, where his sore spots are, where his self hatred lies simmering right beneath his conscience.

The DEA chewed him up and spat him out. Chasing Escobar left him defeated, exhausted, a shell of himself that could barely muster up the strength to ring a doorbell and see, through the frosted window, a boy running into the hallway. 

His daughter-in-law will not be what breaks him.

[jamietarttsdaddyissues]

Okay I’m going to say this and I’m going to say this once.

I do not like how the relationship with Jamie’s father was handled in season 3.

If they wanted to go the route of forgiveness they absolutely could have. If they wanted to go the route of his dad going to rehab they absolutely could have. Those are not inherently wrong or bad. It’s a show about forgiveness and I get that. It’s a comedy and Jamie is not the main character - I get that too.

My issue is this: the show went out of its way on multiple occasions to show just how violent and abusive James is. Just to give a few examples:

Repeated physical abuse

Repeated verbal abuse

Planning, funding, and likely pressuring the sexual abuse of his 14 year old son (a minor and below the age of consent in both The Netherlands and the UK regardless of the age of the girl in the red light district)

The willingness to beat Coach Beard (basically a stranger to him) with a metal pipe in a 3 to 1 fight in a back alley which could have realistically resulted in his death (and calling Beard “son” right before the final blow)

Jamie literally gave up his dream - a job as a professional footballer on a top hometown team - to leave the country on a trashy reality show just to get away from his father. The show traced a large portion of Jamie’s issues back to his relationship with his father. Not all of course - but that was a big theme of his growth and development.

So even if we entertain the notion that this stint in rehab was successful and James is sober - that’s great. That’s a storyline I wouldn’t mind hearing - IF we had the appropriate time to show it. But the thing is, we didn’t. This season was disjointed and rushed in many ways - and I’m not complaining - I still loved it. But if they’re going to tackle a topic this serious, they need to do it right. They need to be clear that alcohol was not the only problem James had and that sobriety does not absolve you of accountability. As important as it is to portray the message that all human beings can change, including addicts, it is equally as important to show the serious work that addicts in recovery put in to address the hurt that they caused through their addiction. It is not easy work to battle addiction and to mend relationships - sometimes part of recovery is accepting that you can’t mend things with everyone you’ve hurt and that is the right of the victim to decide how they feel.

We were shown none of this. What we got instead was:

A speech from Jamie’s mom about how he is still amazing despite his dad while still somehow crediting Jamie’s talent to his dad’s abuse

Ted telling Jamie to forgive his dad as he’s mid-panic about his safety and his dad’s location

Ted making a point to say the forgiveness was for Jamie’s sake, not for James - which was ALMOST good until they ruined it

Denbo and Bug suddenly supportive despite being just as violent as James in 2x09

James suddenly in rehab for 0.2 seconds

Jamie reaching out to his dad via text despite having no idea his dad is in rehab - something that is realistically compromising his physical and emotional safety

A quick clip of Jamie bonding with his father before the season/series ends for good

The reason I connected with Jamie so intensely from season 1 was the shared experience of abuse from my father. I want to be clear that I know I’m projecting - that’s what fandom is - and I in no way expected the show to end exactly as I wanted. However, this is what I would have liked to see as 1) an abuse survivor 2) a licensed therapist and 3) a person:

The message that you can heal without forgiving those who hurt you OR that you can forgive them and still not allow them back into your life (ESPECIALLY if it compromises your safety)

The message that sometimes people don’t change for the better and you can grieve that relationship while still fostering healthier ones elsewhere.

An emphasis on support systems and chosen family when someone doesn’t have the reality of a parent or partner getting better (we saw this with Bex seeking out Rebecca and Rupert’s assistant)

Instead of Man City suddenly cheering for Jamie, which felt insanely unrealistic, having the cheers of Richmond fans drown out the boos and verbal assaults of the Man City crowd - further emphasizing that despite the pain he has attached to Man City and his father, he has a home with Richmond.

So to wrap up this very long rant, I feel very disheartened by this part of the season. I still love Ted Lasso and always will - there were so many parts of this season I absolutely adored and wouldn’t trade for anything - but I feel that they dropped the ball on this one. Most people don’t get to repair relationships with abusive parents. Is it possible? Of course. Is it important to depict that it can happen? Absolutely. It’s a show about forgiveness. But they didn’t need to do it like this for Jamie’s storyline. They could have kept the speech about forgiving James for Jamie’s sake and deleted all of the rehab/texting afterwards. I still wouldn’t have been thrilled but it would have made more sense to me in context of the show. And it would have meant a lot more to me as someone who’s father is unlikely to ever stop being a risk to my safety.

This just felt bad. Jamie Tartt had one of the best arcs I’ve ever seen in media and he deserved better than that.

[bp4545]

The Kitchens (My Sunshine - Part 2)

Word Count: 2000 almost exactly

Warnings: Swearing? (If it bothers you), mentions of sexual activity(barely)

Summary: You sneak into the kitchens for a late night snack, but you bump into someone on the way...

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6.

--------------------------------

It was around 2:16 am in the morning. You couldn't sleep at all. There was just too many things going on in your mind, this year you felt all the pressure coming back in a rush. You were a sixteen year old girl in Hogwarts, fifth year was something you weren't looking forward to very much, I mean you were only 2 weeks in so far. It seemed like this year would be full of boredom. I mean first year was great, everything was new and all, especially for a muggleborn like you, it was all an adventure. Second and third year was all about making new friends and mucking around, Fourth year was all about the excitement of Yule ball and the Triwizard tournaments. Fifth year needed to be real drama filled for it to top last year.

You glanced back at your clock again. 2:23 am. You groaned in frustration, it must've been your period or something, but you were suddenly craving those little French macarons you remember tasting when the Beauxbatons students had come over last year. Surely they would have some in the kitchens still?

You were about to find out. You couldn't sleep anyway, a small snack at this time of night wouldn't hurt?

You quietly shifted yourself out of bed, wincing as the cold air hit your warm skin. You quickly threw on your favourite blue hoodie that was oversized. You slipped on your fluffy muggle slippers that your parents had gifted you and headed out the dorm room quietly; careful not to wake Hannah up.

After you had exited your dorm room, you grabbed the claw clip inside the pocket of your hoodie and clipped up your hair. You slowly made your way up to the kitchens, your craving for any sweet little treats growing stronger with each step. Determination filled your veins as you quickened your pace in search of the kitchens. 

Finally you arrived at the kitchens, you started searching through the cupboards and looking for anything that could satisfy your cravings. You sighed in content as you found the large cupboard full of your favourite muggle sweet treats, macarons, tarts, muffins, muesli bars, chocolate fingers. Grabbing your desired treats, you placed them on the counter and opened them, the plastic wrap making an awful lot of noise.

"Hungry?" You heard a voice behind you and you froze. It was a deep attractive voice.

You turned around, the warm candles of the kitchen illuminated his face perfectly. Draco Malfoy was talking to you. You stood there for a while, trying to think of how else to answer his question. You were usually a really talkative person who could give good comebacks, so seeing yourself tongue tied around him was odd.

"What the fuck do you want Malfoy?" You spat out shocked at how toxic your voice sounded.

"Woah, feisty." he chuckled. God why is his laugh so attractive. "I was just wondering what you were doing in the kitchens at this time of night" he shrugged.

"I could ask you the same question" you shot back at him without a second thought. You were quite good at that. "I'm just hungry okay? And my cramps are killing me." You said in a slightly whiny voice as your period cramps started to kick in once again.

"Cramps?" he said, and you swear you saw a flash of concern in his eyes. But as soon as you noticed it, it disappeared. 

"Yeah. My period cramps." you said, not awkward about the topic.; it was normal

"So that's why you have a hoard of sweets in front of you. Mind if I have some?" Draco eyed at your treats. You defensively covered them with your arms. Why was he even talking to you? It's not like he has ever shown interest in you before. the only time you two ever spoke to each other is if you needed to in class. What was he even doing here.

"No. I found it, go find your own food." you retorted playfully.

"Alright, alright" He put his hands up in defeat and left to find something. He came back with two muffins in his hand. 

"Walnut and coffee" he said as he handed you one of the muffins in his hand. You were feeling a bit curious, so you took the walnut and coffee flavoured muffin out of his hand cautiously. You took a few bites of it and furrowed your brows. Why does it actually taste really good?

"Like it? They're my favourite muffins" he said, as he inspected your facial expressions while eating the muffin.

You didn't answer him, you just looked at him with confusion.

"Draco why are you even talking to me? Don't you have this big thing about not talking to Hufflepuffs, let alone Muggleborn ones?"

----------------------------

Draco's POV

"Hungry?" I asked the girl as I watched her freeze in her place.

Y/n turned around, and stood there for a while. I'd never really talked to her much, I never had anything to say to her, but I did find it particularly amusing to find her roaming the kitchens at this ungodly hour, with snacks laid all over the counter.

"What the fuck do you want Malfoy?" she spat at me. I knew she didn't like me, but I didn't think it would cause such a reaction at just the sight of me. Sure I had made fun of her friends in the past, but I had never insulted her personally. I had respect for her, plus this year I've a change of heart, I want to be a better person, for many different reasons, I'm was just sick of being a stuck up prick.

"Woah, feisty." I chuckled. "I was just wondering what you were doing in the kitchens at this time of night" I shrugged.

"I could ask you the same question" she shot back at me with a glare. "I'm just hungry okay? And my cramps are killing me." 

"Cramps?" I said. I was genuinely confused, and I must admit when y/n said that I did get a bit worried, though I didn't know why. I had no reason to care about her after all. 

"Yeah. My period cramps." Ah, that made more sense. I knew a little bit about girls on their periods. They were usually moody, hungry, and had cramps often. That's what Blaise told me anyway.

"So that's why you have a hoard of sweets in front of you. Mind if I have some?" I looked at the treats that she was defending.

"No. I found it, go find your own food." she retorted. She's probably confused why I'm talking to her. 

"Alright, alright" I went to the pantries to find some treats that I might like. Walnut and Coffee, my favourite. I grabbed two just in case y/n wanted to try some.

"Walnut and coffee" I said as I handed her one of the muffins. "Like it? They're my favourite muffins" I said. She showed no facial expression, so I wasn't quite sure if she was enjoying it or not. She wasn't spitting it our in disgust, so I figured that she found it tolerable at the least.

She was quick to change the subject.

"Draco why are you even talking to me? Don't you have this big thing about not talking to Hufflepuffs, let alone Muggleborn ones?" 

Draco. I wasn't too sure why she was calling me that. It was sort of nice to have someone call me by my first name, most people usually just spat out my last name. 

I thought about her question. Why was I talking to her? I mean, I could've just walked past her and carried on with my patrol, but instead I joined her. I did need her help though, but right now didn't seem like an appropriate time. She was having cramps and was probably really hungry. Plus I don't think I want to mess with this girl on her period. I was enjoying her company though, as much as I wish I wasn't.

"Well I guess my opinions have changed. I think you'll find that I don't mind people from other houses now. I think I'm quite fond of muggleborns now actually." I wasn't lying. I waited for y/n to respond. She just gasped dramatically.

"Draco? Fond of muggleborns? His father must be hearing about this!" And she burst into a fit of laughter. Her laugh was pretty, I can't deny, it's quite contagious too. I ended up joining in with her laughter. She was a nice person to be around, from what I knew she didn't have any enemies at this school.

----------------------

Your POV

You and Draco chatted for a while in the kitchens. You sort of forgot about how stuck up he was, and just started talking to him like he was one of your friends. You started to think that he actually wasn't that bad at all. I mean maybe he has changed like he said so. 

You let out a yawn, and he yawned a few seconds after.

"I think I'm going to go back to my dorms" you giggled "It's like 3:30 am"

"Yeah you probably should go back to sleep" He paused for a while "Do you want me to drop you off to your dorm?"

You were a bit shocked by his kind gesture. I mean Draco being kind to you was a shock in itself, him talking to you was even more shocking, but walking you to your dorm? That seemed a bit fishy in your opinion, but maybe he was genuinely being kind. You hoped he was.

"Uhh" you contemplated what you were about to say next. "Sure I guess". He flashed you a small smile, and the two of you walked towards the Hufflepuff dorms in silence. 

"I've never been to the Hufflepuff area of Hogwarts" Draco said, breaking the silence. "It's quite nice"

"Yeah I guess it is" You said. 

"I've been to every other houses common room and dorm areas, but not Hufflepuff. It's probably because I've never slept with a Hufflepuff girl yet" He chuckled. He was probably hoping that you were going to laugh at the joke too, but instead he watched your face contort into a grimace. You didn't know how to reply to that, talking so openly about the girls that he has slept with was a bit disgusting in your opinion. Though it did make you wonder how good he was in bed.

"I don't do that anymore y/n" he said a bit quieter, he probably noticed that you found it a bit awkward "I used to, but I've changed". You believed him, he did seem like a different person now.

"I believe you" you stated. Then you reached your dorm room. "I guess this is goodnight then"

"Yeah, I had a good time y/n" he admitted, "See you around, goodnight". His kindness once again took you by surprise, and he smiled at you. Softly, but it was genuine. Smiles suited him well.

"Goodnight Draco" You said, and you closed the door as you walked into your dorm.

He found it odd that you were still calling him by his first name. He wasn't complaining. 

You walked further into the dorm room, you were still recovering from your encounter with Draco. You didn't like him like that did you? Then why were you feeling hot all of a sudden? Gosh he was charming, and he was funny, but why does he all of a sudden have a change of heart? You were full of questions, hoping they'd be answered.

---

a/n: hopefully you enjoyed his chapter! I have been struggling to keep up with writing because I have so many ideas but not enough time due to my exams, sorry guys:)

[80345i]

✸      ϑℓ‎ ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈ )ʃ     debut showcase     ;     the first annual garden party ───── 010124 hosted by renaissance @ playlist idea

▊▍ TRACKLIST ⋆ᝆ : THE MOON IS LIKE A STAR. 12 YEARS OF SOLITUDE. GOOD EVENING. OUR SPECIAL PLACE. BUTTERFLIES.

hosted by newcomer renaissance, noonstar's debut showcase — known more popularly as the garden party — was held on january 1, 2024. prior to the showcase, flyers were shared all over social media announcing the event. fans of the old aoi fanbase would receive physical flyers as well as tickets to where the actual party was being held.

others had to settle with a youtube livestream, which could only be accessed with a special code found on rosezip, the fan archive site for all things for romance.

the setlist featured all tracks from the first third of the park series—the park at noonstar. the moon is like a star, which was first shared in a youtube video, was narrated by marchen causing lorefans to start doing what they do best. in between the song performances, they'd talk with the audience even leaving their stage setup to formally greet fans. for the rest of the week, social media was abuzz with clips of the members interacting with fans in such a casual manner. tiktoks, instagram photos, phone calls to family members that had grown up with aoi, and even teaching fans the choreo for some of the songs in real time—noonstar was dedicated to making the interaction as meaningful and memorable as possible.

▊▍ ...     “ an animatronic white rabbit greets you at the golden gates, playful as he says: "it's almost time! it's almost time!" the clouds are fluffy and white, shaped like dogs and cats and hearts all dancing against a sky so blue i almost thought it was fake. there are giant roses we painted bright pink and grass card men that stand guard in front of the centerpiece: the stage — a crystal carousel complete with five stars that are no doubt the true successors of aoi."               //////////               head of aoi fanclub, twitter user rosing

arguably the most talked about aspect of the garden party was it's location. to this day, fans that were invited to the event have refused to share where exactly they went as, "it's a special promise made with the stars." this led even the most casual of fans to turn to rosezip for answers and every single post reached one conclusion: those fans were invited to some version of rosemary. the conclusion would incite jealous back and forths online. many lamented on how unfair it was that only aoi fans were allowed to attend the event. plus the youtube link for the event had expired, meaning no one could view the event again.

on january 15, it was announced that mbc had acquired full rights to the live performance of the debut showcase. they aired the event in three parts — the performances, the interviews, and the interactions with fans. the interview portion was the most watched, thanks to one little comment from konfyt.

sadly, we're nearing the end and we'll have to go back. i want to thank everyone for being so kind to us, but im afraid to say we're not going to meet again after this. oh, come on don't be so sad! how about — how about you meet us at our place instead? yes, you in the crowd and also you watching this. sometime after the summer ends, i'll leave you a map on how to find me, but you have to promise you'll be on time. ( teasing ) you were a little late you know, but then again — i guess you could say i was too.

[vanquishedmelon]

Secret Memories

Prue Halliwell Appreciation Week 2024 - Day 1: Favourite Episode/Season

Season 2, Episode 8: P3 H20.

An alternative version of the conversation between Prue and Sam in the shed. Read below the cut or on Ao3.

Author's Note: I acknowledge that this doesn't even fit within my OWN version of canon but I just love the idea of Prue vaguely knowing about Paige her whole life because, let's be real, she was definitely old enough.

Sliding open the door, Prue barely registered Sam’s presence before he spoke, not looking up from his task.

“I knew I should have given you a stronger dose.”

“I thought you would have learned yesterday that stuff doesn’t work on me.”

Sam froze, but still refused to turn around. “I had to protect you and your sisters.”

“From remembering you? From stopping the demon that killed Mom?”

The moment she saw Sam the day before, there was a fogginess in Prue’s mind, something screaming at her that she knew exactly who this man was, and that he was important. When Leo revealed he was Mom’s whitelighter, the logical part of her told her that must have been what she was missing, but… no, there was something else. And then this morning when Leo helped them break through the memory powder…

They loved each other. Prue may have been a carefree, free-spirited seven-year-old before her mom died—the kind of girl she grew to envy as the years continued on—but she was no blind fool. She could remember them together. No matter how hard they tried to hide it. It seemed so obvious now.

“If you truly loved Mom then you know that this isn’t the answer.”

“Isn’t it? I promised her I would protect you and your sisters.”

With Sam finally turning around, Prue tilted her head questioningly, giving him a knowing look. “I know. I also know you promised her you’d never clip your wings—that protecting the innocent was more important.”

“How do you know that?” He snapped, voice sharper than intended.

“I know way more than you think I do.” The fierceness in her eyes only grew, and Sam almost seemed to shrink back under her gaze, recognising what it was she was referencing. So many confusing memories were falling into place for her. Her mom, visibly pregnant, yet Phoebe was already born...

You’re just getting your memories mixed up, Grams would say. It’s Mom, I wouldn’t remember wrong, Prue would always counter. Now she knew she was right. And Sam looked… afraid.

Looking down at the axe in his hands, trying desperately to draw the conversation away from his secret daughter—how could she know? She was a child! —Sam spoke.

“Protecting you girls is more important than any innocent. I knew you’d come, no matter what I did. I couldn’t let it happen to you, too.”

“So you’d sacrifice innocent lives? Is that what Mom would want? The Sam I remember would—”

“Don’t talk to me about the Sam you remember. You weren’t supposed to remember. Besides, that man is long gone. He died the day Patty did.”

“No. No he isn’t. You still have good in you, Sam. I know you want to stop that demon. But you have to help us. Help us avenge Mom’s death and stop it from killing again.”

He turned away, shaking his head. “I can’t let it hurt you. You’re… you’re so much like her. It’d be like failing her all over again.”

As much as Prue wanted to snap back about how she was nothing like her mother—a rude habit of hers, Piper and Phoebe helped her realise—she instead took a breath. “You won’t fail her. Or me. We can kill this thing with your help. Please. If not for me, or for Mom, do it…” she hesitated. “Do it for your daughter.”

Sam closed his eyes, steeling himself with a deep breath. “What do you need?”

[ryttu3k]

BECAUSE I AM DUMB (and it is almost 2am) I sent you an astarion ask for the ship ask, but my brain meant wyllstarion! (apparently my brain decided that astarion is intrinsically connected to wyllstarion)

Haha, all good! <3

[ship meme]

Ship It

1. What made you ship it?

lmao it was a post about that clip saying that Astarion used to dream of marrying a man like Wyll. Just the thought of Astarion feeling like he's too old and jaded and cynical for this very pure romance, but Wyll still being young and idealistic and intensely romantic and, you know what, he's going to woo the heck out of this mysterious and charming elf he's crushing on.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

Okay so. I have a List.

They bring out the best in each other. Wyll encourages Astarion, by his actions, to help people, to do good, to be heroic. Wyll so wholeheartedly believes in being a hero that it just... starts rubbing off on Astarion too. Conversely, Wyll can be selfless to a fault, and Astarion can sort of reel him back a bit, get him to think about himself and his own needs. I absolutely believe that left on his own, Wyll would agree to Mizora's deal and sacrifice his own freedom for his father, and Astarion is probably the one best positioned to get Wyll to think about his own future and reject the pact.

The contrasts and parallels in their story. The obvious contrast, monster vs monster hunter, starting out (more or less) chaotic evil vs lawful good, but eventually meeting somewhere in the middle (see: above point about bringing out the best in each other). And then the parallels - both of them are heavily under the influence of someone else, seemingly abandoned by the gods and any other important support structures (Astarion being cut off by Cazador from any kind of support, Wyll being disowned by Ulder who I still haven't forgiven, he was seventeen years old!!), and their main narrative arc is about breaking free from their respective tormentors, and working out who they can be as their own free people. Why not do that together?

The romance is so healing for Astarion. More one-sided here, in that it's more of a benefit for Astarion than it is for Wyll, but a slow courtship is exactly what Astarion needs, with this foundation of trust building, knowing that Wyll cares about him for more than just what he can do in bed.

The mutual attraction. They're so down bad for each other. Using your own post here, Astarion critically fails a charisma roll and Wyll is just. Lucky for you I'm into that shit.

The hands the hands. The hands!

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Honestly, I think they genuinely do work best as a poly ship (or like, a QPP thing) with Karlach. I love all three relationships individually, but I also love them together (there's a lovely post on their dynamic as a trio here, looking at them platonically, but it still holds out for a romance). Wyll and Karlach's storylines are intrinsically bound together, and indeed the only way for Karlach to have a happy ending at this point is with Wyll and/or a love interest accompanying her back to Avernus. I... can't really see Wyll being able to brush off not helping Karlach, leading to her death; I think if she does die, he'd be deeply depressed and feel a lot of guilt for it.

Astarion, too, really values Karlach. He's the most gentle about her if Tav is torn between them, there's just this very sweet dynamic between them. And Karlach clearly adores both of them too! She and Wyll become best friends, she's basically ready to go to war against Cazador to protect Astarion, there's just... so much love and care between the three of them that I can't see any one of them wanting to leave one of the others behind. My 'canon' ending for them would be all three going to Avernus (which Wyll openly offers to do and which Astarion is 100% willing to do as well), finding a solution for Karlach's engine and Astarion's sun issues, and then returning to Baldur's Gate to start working out a future - together.

So in conclusion:

Astarion/Wyll: Good shit.

Wyll/Karlach: Good shit.

Karlach/Astarion: Good shit (but please fix the Origin spawn Astarion ending, Larian!!)

Karlach/Wyll/Astarion: 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Spilling All the Secrets

Oscar Piastri x OC!Grid Psychologist

No one knew exactly who was the cause of the newly employed "grid psychologist", they just knew that one had been hired and the entire grid was required to sit down for a meeting to establish a "baseline".

There was a reasonable amount of pushback, but with a lot of convincing from the team principles, everyone had agreed to their individual meetings, they all just had to be introduced first.

"Ok folks, the responsibility has been given to me to introduce you all to the FIA appointed psychologist that you will all be meeting with once a week between media duties on Thursday," Toto explains, glancing to Christian who stands behind him, the two most imposing of the principles assigned to wrangle the drivers. "This is Ms. Beatrix, she pursued a degree in psychology from Harvard, earning her masters from the same institution, digitally."

"Given her degree and understanding of human behavior, as well as a special knowledge of Formula 1, she will be a fantastic addition to the paddock," Christian adds, nodding offstage to a woman with blonde curls piled on her head in a clip, a white button up tucked into black pants, absolutely no clear association to any team. "Come on up, miss."

"Please, just call me Bea," Bea addresses not only the principles but also the crowd, consisting of 20 men who devote their lives to speed. "And hello, it's a pleasure to be here with you all," She greets the boys in what sounds like a Dutch accent. "As you have been made aware, you will each be meeting with me once a week, just to chat. Whether you want to tell me all your deep dark secrets, " Cue an elbow to Max Verstappen from Lando Norris, "Or just use the time to cool down, either is perfectly okay with me. I'm not here to force you to talk, I'm here to make sure you're all in your best head space to safely do what you love."

"Does anyone have any questions for Bea?" Toto questions, looking over the boys.

"Don't be afraid boys, I don't bite," She assures, accent getting even thicker as her smile grows.

"Where are you from?" Logan is the one to speak up, Oscar shoving his shoulder at the bold question.

"I grew up in Zonhoven, Belgium until I was thirteen, and then went to boarding school at Château de Rosemont in near Paris," She answers, having no issue. "The accent just never got the message, if that's why you were asking Mr.Sargent."

"So you know who each of us is?" Carlos asks, one thick eye brow raised in question.

"I do. I was informed on the basics of each of you, Mr.Sainz."

"Will you be traveling with us?" Oscars voice is the next to ask, a faint blush covering the woman's face.

"I will," She answers, nodding gently. "My daughter and I will be traveling with you from race to race."

"Daughter?" Checo asks, accent as thick as his judgement.

And she can't help but sigh, "Yes, my daughter. She's almost 8 months," She confesses, and although you can sense the insecurity, the twenty-two year old smiles at the thought of the baby, their baby.

"Well, I think I can speak on behalf of the whole grid that we look forward to sitting down with you," Lewis says, making her smile.

"As I all of you. Prepare to spill all the secrets."

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 86,931 others

oscarpiastri is thrilled that his wife and babygirl will joining him on the GP circuit this season (does this count as spilling all my secrets?)

landonorris ... is this the same baby as the one that belongs to psychologist.bea?? are you married to our psychologist??

oscarpiastri i can neither confirm nor deny?

psychologist.bea i can. he's my husband, much to logansargeant's chagrin

logansargeant i will be talking about this in my session.

[sgiandubh]

Sunday sounds: Communist Sultans of Swing

1946. The same year Winston Churchill gave his historically prescient Iron Curtain speech, somewhere in Missouri, a humble jazz trio was formed in Bucharest, by the Greek-Romanian Grigoriu brothers.

Both events were promised to have an enduring impact, in two very different and dramatically separated hemispheres. Churchill's self-fulfilling prophecy was the starting point of a very long (and perhaps never ending) Cold War. In the meanwhile, Trio Grigoriu made millions cheekily laugh, behind that same Iron Curtain, with their almost too #silly to be true, 'socialist realism' infused jazzy summer hits. They were the real Communist Sultans of Swing, and you can look at their body of work both as user-friendly Stalinist propaganda or lethally subversive parodies of that same Stalinist propaganda. Their breakthrough hit was Cântecul Satelitului (The Satellite's Song), a light and airy bebop close harmony released on October 4th 1957, on the very day the Sputnik 1 Soviet satellite was launched into orbit, to shrieks of commandeered joy from Budapest to Vladivostok:

But their platinum record (assuming platinum record success is relevant for the local context) was the immortal Macarale (Cranes - as in 'lifting gears', not the birds), released right in the middle of the Camelot Era, in 1961. We all know the lyrics by heart, of course. And its opening line, 'Zeci de blocuri râd în soare argintii' ('Tens of buildings are smiling in the sun'), has become an ironic idiom for 'I can't be arsed to do this job, but I have to, last minute' (usually spoken with an exhausted eyeroll):

Glenn Miller's influence seems very present, here, and it was an instant hit. It's easy to remember and has the earworm quality ensuring it never dies. Gen Z hipsters are still swaying on it, in Bucharest's clubs, as we speak, but they would be unable to tell you the story. They simply like the music and, as everything Commie, find it 'cool'.

The story line is simple: the storyteller is working on a non descript construction site. They are building a new neighborhood, like the cookie-cut ones you see in the above clip (in stark contrast with the older, French inspired, Bucharest staples). They have to work hard and fast, and you can immediately understand there is a socialist competition going on (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Socialist_emulation). But hey, our guy is in love and the object of his desire is singing 'a new song' (everything was 'a new song' back then, as you can imagine: in with The New, out and death to The Old), as 'her little hand is slowly lifting the heaviest crane's arm'. The Socialist woman is, as I already explained, many things at once: the perfect Daughter, Sister, Mother, Scientist, Teacher, Doctor, Cosmonaut (never an Astronaut, that was The Other Bloc). Was she also a Lover? Apparently yes, because the 'heaviest crane's' arm is delicately lowered next to the storyteller's palm and delivers him a short note: 'have a productive workday, I love you'.

No, I shit you not, this is exactly what the song says and this is exactly why we roll our eyes smirking every time we remember that first line, in casual conversations.

In an alternate universe, those guys would have probably hit it big on Broadway. But because we are not living in that alternate universe, they fondly made it on this page.

[breakfastteatime]

Cere leans against the engine room door, watching Cal at the workbench. She'd come to fetch him for dinner and found him tweaking his lightsaber, most likely to keep what remains of the weapon functional. She's seen some busted lightsabers in her time, but nothing quite like his. She'd known Jaro Tapal, remembered his dual-bladed lightsaber that Cal now wields. Cere has not, and will never, ask him what happened to damage it. She doesn't need to, just like she doesn't need to ask him what happened to his own weapon, one that would've suited his stature far better. Cal's obviously grown in the past five years, but he'll never be Lasat-sized.

BD-1 dances across the workbench and spies Cere. He greets her with a cheery whistle and Cal finally looks up from his work, blinking as his eyes shift to a more distant focus. "Oh, hi, sorry. I didn't hear you."

Deciding this is all the invitation she needs, Cere steps in. "Don't worry. It's dinnertime. I just didn't want to disturb you while you work."

"Oh. Sorry. I just wanted to tune the emitter. It feels a little off."

"I see," Cere says. She doesn't, given that she's never used his lightsaber, but Cal's a born tinkerer. She's amazed he hasn't fixed the bottom half of the 'saber yet. She laughs inwardly, knowing as soon as he has the right parts he'll be doing exactly that. "Fixed it?"

Cal ignites the weapon, brilliant blue light shining across the engine room. He lacks the space to swing it, instead listening intently. "Hmm, better," he says, deactivating it and clipping it to his belt. He looks at Cere. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Don't worry about it," Cere tells him.

"Master Tapal always told me if I spent as much time practicing my forms as I did maintaining my lightsaber, I would've been able to beat Master Drallig before my eleventh birthday."

Cere laughs at that. "That man was unreal. I sometimes felt sorry for whichever Knight got it into their head to try and defeat him."

“Did you try?” Cal asks, not quite pulling off the naïve waif act he’s aiming for.

“Absolutely not,” Cere says. “And neither did Jaro Tapal. He was far too wise for such an idea.”

“What about Master Cordova?”

Cere almost chokes herself when she bursts out laughing. “No!”

Cal surprises her with his next question. “Do you… do you still have your lightsaber?”

“Only the hilt,” she says, an old wrench of anguish tugging somewhere deep inside. “You can see it, if you’d like.”

“Are you sure?” Cal asks, leaving the question hanging.

Cere realises what he means and nods at the workbench. “I’ll leave it there for you.”

After dinner, while Cal helps Greez with the dishes and BD-1 watches on, Cere returns to her cabin and pulls out her lightsaber hilt. She stares at it, wondering what Cal will pick up from it. She’s curious to know if she’s being brutally honest. Curious, and perhaps a little terrified. As promised, she leaves it on the workbench for him and spends the rest of the evening fighting the temptation to tell him to go pick it up and report back what he saw.

He doesn’t talk to her about it until the following morning, when he comes for breakfast with a poorly concealed smirk.

“What?” Greez bites out before Cere can even get there.

“Oh, hi, Greez!” Cal says with far too much cheer. BD-1 snickers on his shoulder.

Greez stares at him. “Have you been eating my plants? Did we not discuss the potential side-effects they’d have on Humans?”

Cal folds himself into a chair at the galley table. Cere stares at him, wondering what exactly it was he saw. Nothing bad, based on the look of him. He catches her staring and his grin widens. “Greez, did you know Cere once considered herself such a master with the ‘blade, she contemplated taking on the Jedi’s actual renowned lightsaber master?”

Cere stares. No. He hasn’t. Of all the memories, it’s that one?

Greez is suddenly very interested, and he serves up Cal’s breakfast eggs with a little more flourish than usual. “Go on.”

Cere sighs. Of all the damn echoes…

Cal pours himself tea. “Yeah, she’d just been knighted. Figured she’d better really test herself before she set out into the big ol’ galaxy.”

“Uh huh…” Greez is loving this.

“Cere was on her way to the dojo when she heard the sounds of a pitched battle. It was intense, and the Force burned with energy of the duel. Other Jedi gathered too, knights and masters, all of whom wondered who was mad enough to take on none other than Master Drallig, the Jedi Master who trained all others in the ways of the lightsaber.” Cal’s so caught up in his tale, Cere’s amazed he isn’t re-enacting it with his own lightsaber. “She steps in, and who does she see?”

“Don’t say Master Yaddle, kid, my heart couldn’t take it.”

“Oh no, it was Jedi Master Mace Windu, considered to be one of the top five duellists in the entire Order.”

Cal can’t keep his own wonder out of his voice. Cere remembers it only too well, remembers watching Mace Windu get absolutely wrecked by Master Drallig as her hand squeezed her own weapon, suddenly grateful she hadn’t arrived before Mace. He was indeed one of the greatest duellists in the Order.

But not the greatest.

And Master Drallig reminded him with ease.

“Top five, huh?” Greez says, pouring himself a fresh mug of caf. “Where’d you rank, Cere?”

“Not that high,” Cere admits, more grudgingly than she expects.

Cal’s smile is somehow broader than ever. Who knew there was such a smug little shit hiding under all that Bracca refinery? “When Master Windu finally yielded, Cere decided against her decision and opted to find someone else to spar with that day.” He leans forward, elbow on table, chin on hand. “So I guess what you told me yesterday was true, from a certain point of view.”

Cere musters all her dignity. “Indeed. I never challenged Master Drallig, and I felt sorry for anyone who did.”