#egg on the left and mundi on the right
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INSOMNIA WITH THE TF2 TEAM
Thinking about...Thinking about insomniac tf2 members....
Thinking about how Sniper sits in his camper van, staring at the ceiling in the dead of night, with a pissed off frown on his face.
He hated the fact that he couldn't sleep like other people, it was a bloody talent that they had to just pass out whenever they needed.
He would spend his nights sitting in his van, drinking those sleepy-time teas and so many different brands and types of melatonin gummies that he couldn't count.
He would walk into the base to try and get some more of these sleep meds, probably nabbing them from Medic and engie's labtratory (Doctors have sleeping drugs, right?) and would just be overall pissed with the scenario.
He'd probably run into Engineer, who had been crankily working at 2AM because of his own sleeping endeavors.
When he couldn't sleep, he'd work. When he could sleep, he would probably just keep workin' and it would fuck up his whole sleeping schedule, making it harder to sleep the next night and...It just keeps goin.
Both Mundy and Dell would stare at each others bags, and mentally realize how the other was in their same boat.
"Can't sleep?" Dell would mutter, abandoning his desk to talk with the Aussie.
"Somethin' like that. You?" the sniper grumbled, face groggy and tired.
"Yeah, you're not far off." He would repeat, chuckling to himself. "I think I have some Valerian around here..." He shuffled over to Medics line of cabinets, looking for the capsule.
The two would probably head out to the "lounging room" that the team had designated, to relax a bit. They'd talk, and lay around in comfortable silence for sleep to take them.
In the room, there is a large couch and blankets for them to use which they took gratefully, but still nothing worked.
Sniper would groan into the pillow he laid on, and Engie would chuckle but still feel the same annoyance with the mistress of sleep teasing his eyes.
Around now, another member of the sleepless crew would enter the open room, probably to reach the kitchen.
Spy was still adorning his iconic balaclava mask, but wear some long silky robe, eyes dragged down by bags. He would make eye contact with the two, who still held those same groggy and pissed off expressions.
"I am willing to guess that you two are also having trouble to fall asleep?" His voice is broken, like he had been crying out into the night for hours. That was semi-true, but thats another story
Engie mutters out a response in the tangle of limbs. Sniper shuts his eyes and shifts the blanket up so Spy could enter the mess of blankets and pillows.
He hesitates, but shuffles into the dark embrace of comforters.
The three lay down in silence, the scent of sleep begining to hang in the air, and the automatic drain of their eyes becomes too good to pass up.
It was a rather okay night after that.
______________________________________________________________
Sniper would obviously wake up first, and feel the arms of a Texan sit on his waist, and a frenchman laid in the Australian's own arms. He'd take a second to drag it all in, to sit in the air of semi-consciousness for a bit longer then normal, more slipping out of the hold.
He'd probably take the morning by making something to eat, like a few eggs. Both Mundy, Spy, and Dell were always the first ones to wake up anyways, so He only intended to plate three.
Dell would wake next, now staring over to the indent Mundy left in the couch, and the soft breathing of a sleeping Spy. You don't see that everyday.
He would walk into the kitchen, and greet the Dell with a simple nod. He'd brew some coffee, and make small talk with the Aussie in a comfortable smog of relaxation.
Spy would muster up the energy to walk in, and drink coffee with the two.
It became ritualistic after that day whenever one felt like they couldn't sleep (which is often) they would knock on the door of one of their rooms.
The Van, which held a comforting chill in the usual sweaty air of the base.
Engie's lab that would soon transfer over to the lounging room that was only a door away.
Or Spys bedroom/smoking room that held the comforting sound and smell of a lit fireplace.
It was one of the only domestic acts that the men got to please themselves in with a whole life of mercenary work. It was something the men would barely speak on too.
It was never talked about often after that first day, but it just happened after getting the whole idea that the three had sleepless nights all the same.
If by their obvious undiagnosed (For Mundy and Spy at least undiagnosed) insomnia, the effects of a texan's obvious obbession with working and getting one last test done, the drag of an empty bed leaving one frenchman oh so very cold and left weeping for what once was, or the sudden shock of a short-temper that a normally patient Australian man had with the drag of sleeping.
All they knew is that they slept much softer as this silent promise was agreed on.
______________________________________________________________
So uh yeah, I hope you liked reading this! It's a strange trio that I really enjoy in my own work, and I hope to see more of the guys!
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just took the kittos to the vet. they're very well-behaved and certifiably healthy men
#3 out of 4#because gansey was a shitface and i couldn't wrangle him#he's going on his own next time#fish tag#egg on the left and mundi on the right
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Un-alone, Chapter 9
Here it is!
“Y’like following rugby, son? I can probably find a channel with it…”
Philip was switching from channel to channel on the remote.
“I like it but not as much as Dad. I’m ok if you wanna watch somethin’ else, eh.”
“Ah, well… Oh, look, that’s the stuff I’m sure your mum would like, heh.”
Mundy and his uncle were on the sofa with a beer.
“Oh yeah, she follows a show like that back home. Y’know the kind where it’s all about drama and all…?”
“Yeah, good thing she’s asleep or she’d have started to follow this one, eh?”
Both chuckled between two sips on their fresh beverage.
“Oh by the way, I wanted to thank you, Micky.”
“What for?” Mundy’s head swung to his uncle.
“It’s nice to have someone help me with the physio exercises. It gets borin’ when I’m on my own. I feel like it’s goin’ better since you’re here.”
“Oh, well, you’re welcome, it’s not much, eh?”
“Still, makes a difference to me. Thanks, Micky.”
Mundy nodded to his uncle with a smile.
“Mum got tired today, eh?”
“Y’know your mum, restless she is.”
“Yeah…”
“What did you two get to in town this mornin’?” Phil asked and drank a bit more of his beer.
“Ah, uh, Mum wanted to check the big mall she’d seen when she arrived. And we saw it was market day so I drove her there too. Allowed me to have a drive around with the van, get her used to American asphalt, eh?”
“I bet you’re more used to drivin’ in the desert, right?”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“Your mum’s been tellin’ me a lot about your job.”
Mundy’s head swooshed to his uncle.
A half surprised, half apprehensive “Oh…” slipped out of his lips. He averted his eyes.
“Apparently you’re real good… I’m proud, son.”
Mundy’s eyes snapped wide.
“Oh, uh, I mean… Thanks.”
“She even said you worked for the police and all. Y’know, it’s hard for us to admit we’re not big enough for the job and go get help from the outside. You should be proud.”
Mundy nodded but kept his head lowered.
“I’m serious, Micky. I know your parents won’t tell you, but I’m sure at least part of them are proud of you too.”
Mundy blushed and in the dimness of the evening, it was invisible to his uncle.
“I’ve uh…” Philip resumed. “I’ve called back at work.”
“Oh, is there a problem?”
“Nah, I just wanted to know what kind of job they gave you.”
Mundy’s eyebrows jumped.
“You could’ve just asked me.”
“You’d never have answered, Micky.”
“Yeah, well…”
They exchanged a smile.
“So they told you?” Mundy asked.
“They didn’t. They said it was sensitive info.”
“Ah…” Mundy scratched the back of his neck.
“Real proud I am, son. If they call you for stuff like that, then you’re really somethin’!” He gently punched Mundy’s shoulder and the young man chuckled out of nervousness. “C’mon!”
“You told Mum?”
“Nah, I didn’t. She’d worry and make your dad worry with her. But I wanted to chat with you about it. They said they called you in because you’re a brilliant hunter.”
“Y-yeah, I guess.”
“C’mon, quit the modesty, son! You’re amazin’ with a rifle, and talking about your mum, I wanted to ask you somethin’.”
“Yeah?”
“She told me a few things about your work.”
Mundy sighed. He knew it would come, his uncle being proud was too good to be true.
“She’s worried, isn’t she?” He made the call himself.
“Yeah. She’s worried cause-”
“I know, I’m gonna get at the wrong end of a gun one day, I know... “
“Nah, Micky. Not that.”
“What?” Mundy raised a curious eyebrow.
“I mean, yeah, your job’s dangerous and all. But there’s stuff she doesn’t really get about you, you know…?”
“What?” Mundy repeated, oblivious as to where his uncle was going.
“Listen,” Phil lowered the volume on the TV. He looked left and right, as if to make sure that his sister wouldn’t appear out of nowhere. “Your mum’s… not really worried but uh… let’s say curious.”
“About what? Is it about the long trips out with the van?”
“A bit… I mean… Is it for work?”
“Sometimes, yeah. Hunting stuff sometimes takes days, even weeks. But if I know I’m gonna be away for a long time, I sometimes make the trip back home, for Mum and Dad to not get anxious or anything.”
“Why not just tell them straight up that you have to be away for work?”
“Because they don’t like my job.”
“So what? You prefer to go and not say anythin’?”
“Better than pick up another fight with them.” Mundy said. “I’m just tired of it.”
“Of your job?”
“Nah, I love my job. I’m tired with them not likin’ it. I get it, it’s dangerous and I get bruised sometimes. Beasts are rough but… It’s the only thing I know how to do and I love doin’ it. It’s challengin’ work, outdoors. You see beautiful species, get to work with them and all. Beautiful beasts out there in Oz, you know?”
“Look at you… All dreamy eyes and lazy smile.”
Both chuckled. One out of shame in front of his uncle.
“You really like it, it’s awesome.You looked like you were talkin’ about some girl there.”
“Yea-I guess.” Mundy looked away.
“Hey, now, c’mon, it’s alright, don’t go all red and all, eh?”
“Yeah, well…” The nephew scratched the back of his neck nervously.
“Y’know, I fancied a lot of girls back in my days.” Philip started, hoping that Mundy would yield and tell him more about himself. “They looked nice and all but… In all my time, y’know, I was like you now, all red in the face and didn’t really get what they wanted.”
Mundy nodded politely, still uncomfortable.
“But now look at me… Never really managed to talk to them or anything. See, there were a few that were really good.” Philip stared in front of him and Mundy could see that this uncle saw these women in his living-room, as if they were really there. “Oh, they were something, really, and I remember my mum bein’ pushy with me and all…” He shook his head. “Got me in the same state as you are now.” Phil finally made eye-contact with his nephew.
“Hm.”
Philip waited, hoping for Mundy to open up, but to no avail. When the silence became more than awkward, with the low volume on the TV not enough to distract them back to the screen, Phil broke it.
“So, uh… You got anybody?”
“You mean…?”
“Yeah, a girl.”
“N-nah, I don’t.”
There was a pause.
“Anyone in sight?” Phil asked.
“L-look, I’ll uh, I’ll go to bed. It’s late.”
And as furtive as the wind, Mundy went to the guest room and closed the door before sliding between the sheets.
His eyes stayed open and his heart was beating faster than he had let it on. Thank God people couldn’t feel the heat rise on his body, or sense his discomfort. If he had been facing beasts, it would have been a completely different story…
Mundy closed his eyes but his brow was still furrowed.
Ha. It would have happened sooner or later. “The talk”.
Not the teenager edition of it though, no. The grown up one. The “you’re forty, where are my grandkids” one.
The truth was that Mundy had had that argument - not really a discussion at this point - with his father. It was a few years back, he was alone with him, collecting the eggs around the garden on an early morning, giving Caroline a few extra hours of sleep.
“So, son… What about sheilas?”
Mundy’s eyebrows twitched but he kept focused on the task at hand.
“Got anyone you wanna introduce to us?” His father Mike insisted.
“N-nah, not really.”
“Oh… I know we never really talked about it but uh… It’d be nice if you found someone, get yourself a nice sheila and all… Maybe kids?”
Mundy stopped sharp as he was bending down to grab some eggs.
“Have you thought about it?”
“N-nah.”
“I know that findin’ a good sheila these days is pretty hard but uh… I’m sure there are some left. If you’re a good boy, then there must be a good sheila for you!”
Mundy was red on the cheeks. He looked away.
“Son? Hey…”
Mike put a hand on his son’s shoulder to turn him around and face him.
“What is it?”
Mundy raised his eyes to him, he looked and wished he could tell him more. Well, there’s a few things he could tell…
“I uh… They’re complicated.”
“Ho, yeah, they are…!” Mike chuckled and nodded. “When I first met your mum, she was a puzzle and a half to me!”
Mundy smiled. That wasn’t exactly what he had meant but as long as his father got an answer that he deemed satisfactory, then he wouldn’t talk about any of that for a while. He wasn’t proud of it, but that had always been Mundy’s strategy, buying time. Until what? God only knew. One thing was for sure, the Aussie couldn’t tell the truth to his parents. They would never understand and it was hard enough to impose his job on them. He didn’t have the strength and patience to try to impose anything else.
And what was the truth in the end?
Well, to put it simply, Mundy had had a few adventures, here and there, a few girls.
The last one was years ago. Julia she was called. Outgoing, funny, and quite pretty she was. They had met in a pub and of course, she had taken the first step to him, as he went to get a pint after his little performance with the sax.
They had joked and laughed and spent quite a nice evening, all the way till the pub was closing. They found themselves outside, the cold air of the deep night hitting their skin in the most pleasant way after simmering in the hot pub for hours.
"Can you give me a ride home?" She had asked.
"Uh, sure. Me van's right there." Mundy carried his saxophone case in one hand and pointed to his van as they both approached it.
"Wow, that's cool…! Livin' on the roads, huh?"
"Sometimes."
"Free as a bird."
They exchanged a look and a smile as Mundy unlocked it.
"I'll just put the sax back, gimme a sec."
"Oh, uh, can I see what it looks like inside?"
He had blushed.
"Uh, I-I didn't tidy it up or anything. The place is a downright mess right now…"
"Please, c'mon, just to see how you fit in there." She joked.
"What?"
"You're so tall, I'm sure you have to bend down once you're in!"
They chuckled.
"Nah, I don't."
"I don't believe you…" She teased and Mundy sighed. "Right, right, come and have a look then…"
He opened the backdoor and jumped in. He put the saxophone away and as he turned back to Julia, she also had slipped in.
"See how - oh… Uh… I mean…" Mundy was confused. She could have asked before entering and why was she closing the door now? "Julia? Uh… Oh…"
She had walked to him, in the dark, and pushed herself against him. Lacing her hand around his neck, she had pushed herself to the tip of her toes to reach him. She pushed her lips against his and Mundy's eyes snapped wide.
Julia let her hands slowly trail on his polo shirt, while Mundy was petrified, a billion questions fusing in his head.
She pushed him gently until his back was against the ladder leading to his bunk bed. That's when she slid her hands under his shirt and started to feel his bare skin, his stomach, soft, but not too much, his lean chest and his ribs making his skin wave right above them. Hairs on the chest and a trail down his stomach until her fingers bumped on his trousers and belt.
Mundy didn't know how to react, what to say, so he let it happen.
She unbuckled the belt and lost no time. Julia pushed them down, along with his boxer shorts and started pawing at his hips before her hands slid behind. Small but soft, and it all fit in her hands. He felt her smile against his lips. He closed his eyes and frowned.
"C'mon, get up there…" She said, as if she had owned the place, and afraid as he was, Mundy obeyed.
He wasn't scared of Julia herself. He wasn't scared of what she would do to him. Nah, of course not. He was scared of his own body and its reactions.
Or rather, the lack thereof.
When both were on the bed, Mundy started feeling Julia's hot and naked skin against his. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to imagine what he needed.
She went down on him, taking a taste of every bit she pleased until her head was between Mundy's thighs.
"Oh…"
She took it for a moan, but it was only surprise. That sheila was losing no bloody time.
She worked on him and Mundy tried. He waved his hips in rhythm, shutting his eyes and curling up his toes, holding his breath. His efforts got him sweating and more embarrassed by the minute.
At some point of course, she stopped. Not because she didn't want to proceed, but because Mundy's body wasn't reacting at all. He wasn't moaning, he wasn't relaxing, he wasn't enjoying himself.
"Is there a problem?"
Her voice made Mundy's eyes snap open in a fraction of a second. He felt ashamed, embarrassed beyond what words could describe. God damn it! Even drunk he couldn't fake it! Even trying to picture someone else in her stead he couldn't get his body to warm up to the idea?!
"N-nah, I mean…"
"Don't lie to me, Mundy. It's been a long while of me ignoring it but I can't do anythin' to you. You don't like it or what?"
"No, nah, I do like it, it's just… uh…"
"So it's me? You don't like me? You find me ugly or somethin'?"
Mundy's eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could see Julia's naked silhouette. All the curves were where a man would dream them to be.
"No, you look fine - I mean, you look great…"
"Look, just be honest with me or I can just leave and get back home."
She waited and Mundy's brain was running faster than a hamster in a wheel.
"Uh - I mean…. Uhm…"
He tried to find a way to say the words but his mouth was petrified, his skull was pressing hard on his brain and his vision had tunnelled to her eyes.
"M'sorry…" He said and looked away.
"Fuck's sake…" She sighed and got down his bed before dressing up hastily and leaving, slamming the door shut on her way out.
Mundy was left as he was right now: on his bed alone, thinking about himself.
Bloody hell.
He had tried everything with sheilas, nothing had worked. He had tried to go for tomboys, for the most masculine of them all, trying to convince himself that they were his style but no. As close to a man as he found them, they were never a man.
The Aussie turned in his bed and now faced the wall, in his uncle's guest room.
He had tried very hard, for his parents, for himself. He had tried cheap magazines with all kinds of girls, he had let his friends set him up with women they thought would suit him.
It was always the same. The same bloody curse.
Chatting was fine. More than that? He didn't feel like it.
He had stopped seeing his friends. He had run out of excuses to give them as to why the girls they sent him didn't suit him. They had stopped looking for him too, they just thought he was atrociously picky and naturally, the distance grew between those people that Mundy once used to call “mates”.
Between his parents not liking his job one bit and his friends not understanding him either, Mundy found himself alone. At times, he wished it was different but most of the time, he lived perfectly in his little bubble.
It was only when people challenged his bubble, came a bit too close with a needle and poked, that he retracted within himself, like a snail to his shell.
Thinking about that night with Julia again, he felt it all come back to him. The indescribable shame, the look she had given him of disappointment, frustration, and the fact that he had led her to think that she could have more fun time with him, a lie? Nah, he had never dropped any, uh, hints, or anything to make her believe that he wanted her on his bed and between his legs, fiddling with his intimacy, in vain.
Mundy could hardly face the truth himself.
On the occasion of his body asking him to take care of his needs, he would close his eyes and imagine a tone and lean body, soft skin of any color, he couldn’t care less. The only thing he asked of that image, was that it was of a… male body. No feminine curves, no tiny waist for large hips. Mundy liked a bit of hair on his model, on the chest, on his forearms, his thighs and of course, in between them.
He fantasised vividly about the lean silhouette slowly peeling his clothes off of himself, the fabrics gently sliding down like the petals of a flower that opens to reveal all its colours. Oh Gosh, the shoulders, slightly smaller than his own, a thin waist, the V-line on the hips that slipped under his trousers… Bloody hell.
Mundy closed his eyes.
The silhouette turned to give him his back and he heard the metallic click of a belt being unbuckled, before he saw the trousers follow the thin legs all the way down to the floor in front of him. As he raised his eyes again, he saw that the underwear had been pushed down too and his gaze met with what had some effect on his body.
Mundy bit his lip.
In his mind, he extended his hands and touched, just a graze of the tip of his calloused fingers on the man’s backside before he cupped it and squeezed. Mmh, soft, yet one could feel the underlying muscle. He pulled him closer and the silhouette turned to face him. Bloody hell, what a sight…
Mundy went on in his dream and fell asleep.
A thought had always stood at the back of his mind, whenever he imagined what his body wanted. He had never imagined the face, never imagined anything that could make that person special or recognisable. And it was crucial that it stayed that way. Mundy didn’t want to imagine anything specific.
It could be anyone, he could be him, he could be that one, it could even be...
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Lego Star Wars 3 Wii Game Cheat Codes
LEGO Star Wars III: The Clone Wars Cheats. The insanely popular and better-than-bad LEGO Star Wars series returns, this time covering the Clone Wars that were featured in the popular animated series.
Lego Star Wars 2 Cheats
Lego Star Wars 3 Wii Game Cheat Codes Ps4
This page contains LEGO Star Wars III: The Clone Wars cheats list for WII version. Now we have 3 cheats in our list, which includes 1 easter egg, 1 glitch, 1 secret. We hope information that you'll find at this page help you in playing LEGO Star Wars III: The Clone Wars on WII platform. If you didn't find needed cheats put request or ask. Cheats, Tips, Tricks, Walkthroughs and Secrets for Lego Star Wars 3: The Clone Wars on the Xbox 360, with a game help system for those that are stuck. The best place to get cheats, codes, cheat codes, walkthrough, guide, FAQ, unlockables, tricks, and secrets for Lego Star Wars 3: The Clone Wars for Nintendo Wii. This page contains Cheats for Lego Star Wars 3: The Clone Wars organized by sections for Nintendo Wii. This game has 'Action Adventure' as genre, made by Traveller's Tales, released on Mar 22, 2011. If you can't find a hint or secret in our list, then please check this page periodically for the latest updates.
Cheats |
Unlockables |
Hints |
Easter Eggs |
Glitches |
Get the latest Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga cheats, codes, unlockables, hints, Easter eggs, glitches, tips, tricks, hacks, downloads, hints, guides, FAQs, walkthroughs, and more for Wii (Wii). CheatCodes.com has all you need to win every game you play!
Use the above links or scroll down see all to the Wii cheats we have available for Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga.
Buy the Red Brick Detector
If you go through Mos Espa Podrace, when youpass the giant holes go on the far left side andgrab the Red Brick. Once you get it save up250, 000 studs and go to the extras section atthe counter in the cantina and purchase it.
Play As Car
Only on two player. Have one person get in the car and start driving around. Then have a second person, most effective as a jedi or sith, keep pressing the change person button while facing the car, while the car is moving. Once it shows that the second person isn't in control of anything, have the first person get out of the car, and the second person can pay as the car. It only works if the person in the car is second player, while the person to turn into the car is first player.
300,000 Studs Or More
Go to episode 3 chapter 1. Chose droid tri-fighter. After you shoot the first set of guns,crash. Keep doing this until you have 300,000studs or more.
Unlocking Stuff
My advice is to play through the levels first thengo back and play it 'free play'. This way you willhave the characters you need to get into specialareas.
Extra Lightsaber Damage Combo (Wii Only)
This move only works on lightsabers, but if you press the B button AND swing the Wii remote, it will create extra damage (you have to time your swings, don't just attack randomly)you can create different combos yourself like B+B+Swing.Also if you swing the Wii to do a super-smash (double-jump+attack) it will create more damage.You'll have to practice a lot to get it perfect (remember; timing is everything) but it really comes in handy in two-player duel and things like that.(P. S . The third attack, or final blow, can cut through anything on a person, even if they are blocking of are a droiddekka with their shield on. ).
Red Brick In Mos Espa Spaceport
To get the red brick in the mos espa level in episode 4, head forward right when the level starts. Right when you walk under the broken bridge turn left. Then with Luke or Obi-Wan, destroy all trash can's in front of the wall. Then you should see a little door with nothing behind it. Use the force with Obi-Wan to take the parts off the ground and put them on the wall. There then should be a panel with R2's face on it. Activate the panel with R2, walk in the door and you then should have unlocked a special secret.
Throwing/Pushing Enemies Into Walls/Trees
Switch to a person that is from the Dark Side, (Darth Vader, Emperor, etc.) and force him using Z. Do not hold him into the Air for a long time or they will die. While in the air, push him intoa wall/tree, and he will die. It is almost like a Jedi pushing droids.
Ghost Character
To buy the ghost character, you need to all-the-way complete story mode/All Episodes.He cannot get hurt and is not paid any attention by troopers, unless in cars.
Unlimited Studs
If you go to level one of episode IV in The Complete Saga there will be a machine with a lever. Pull the lever and out come about 10 silver studs. You can keep doing this to get money but it is slow so you may want a studs x cheat on. So far this has worked and is a good way to get cash.
StarKiller
Go to build-a-character and select luke's head, darth maul's body, black waist, legs and hands, skin arms black hair and a red lightsaber and then you have STARKILLER as a playable character!
Random Stormtrooper Sounds
First go to the level 'Jedi Destiny' and select any character. Then when you take out the all of the Emporer's hearts ECEPT two. Then (make sure you have extra toggle turned on) change to the Imperial Egineer and jump once and then you'll here Stormtrooper noises.
Minikit Detector
Go to 'Cloud City Trap' (Episode 5) throw bomb atmetal gate beside R2D2 picture (unlockable point).The minikit detector is behind where the gate was.
Cheats Listing
Type in AASDF.
R2-q5
Type in bobazxc.
Boss Nass
Type in GIJ989 at the bar.
Tie Interceptor
Type in HUT845 at the bar.
Boss Nass
Enter CLZ738 at the cantina.
Battle Droid Commander
Type in H6J9P56
Darth Maul
Type in BDC866 at the bar.
Rules of The Cheat, How to Play the Card Game To play the Cheat card game, you need: A deck of 32 or 52 cards (which can be doubled depending on the number of players). Be at least 2 players. The rules of cheat card game. Any player who suspects that the card discarded by a player do not match the rank called can challenge the play by calling 'Cheat!' Then the cards played by the challenged player are exposed and one of two things happens: 1. If they are all of the rank that was called, the challenge is false, and the challenger must pick up the whole discard pile.
General Grevious
Type in EVILR2 at the bar.
General Grievous
GGF539 or ACK646
Tie Fighter
Prx482
Padme
Lum521
Adi Mundi
CUH850
Disguise
Mbox 2 number pad tv game cheats 9. Type in ZZR636 at the bar.
Count Dooku
Type in HJF584 at the bar.
Zam's Speeder
Type in PLL967 at the bar.
Ewok
Type in NBN431 at the bar.
Jango Fett
Type in AAB123 at the bar.
Captain Tarpals
Type in HHY697 at the bar.
Force Grapple Leap
Collector
Complete the game to 100%
Secret Master
Sell your landspeeder to the Jawas.
A New Hope
Finish Episode VI in story mode.
Undecided.
Crossover: Destroy Jango Fett with Boba Fett
Arcade Master
Shoot First
Unlock Indiana Jones
Go into the 'Bonus' doorway in the Cantina, then go through the door markedTrailers and watch the trailer for Lego Indiana Jones. You can then buy him for$50,000.
The Phantom Menace
Finish Episode II in story mode.
Revenge Of The Sith
Finish Episode V in story mode.
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Collect all mini-kits.
Lightsaber Master
Perform 200 perfect lightsaber deflections.
Dodger
Destroy 300 stormtroopers.
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Destroy 50 TIE fighters.
Yee Haw
Break Jar Jar 20 times.
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Destroy 5 people with one attack (Jedi super slam).
Harmless?
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Destroy 10 characters with one thermal detonator.
Let The Wookiee Win
Set off all three Discos.
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Start a Cantina Fight with 50 casualties.
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Max out the Stud counter
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Wear Every Hat
Unfaithful
Revenge: Destroy The Emperor with Mace Windu
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Revenge: Destroy Darth Vader with Obi Wan
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Long, Barely Coherent Thoughts about The Rise of Skywalker
Since some of you wanted to hear my thoughts about “The Rise of Skywalker”, I’ve taken some time to write them up and provide context for why I responded the way I did.
A small preamble: I didn’t hate it. Hate is a strong word. And there were moments that I liked. Some that I even loved. However, the aggregate feeling for the movie overall was disappointment. For certain elements, it went beyond that into something genuinely painful and I don’t think that will make sense unless I also go into why I loved the previous two installments of this trilogy.
Also, if you loved this movie, I’m very happy for you. This is about my personal response to a piece of media and I make no judgements on those who enjoyed what you saw. I wish I could join you.
Finally, I will be talking about some sensitive subjects, including child loss and abuse. Please be aware of that before reading further.
Okay, so what was my overall impression of The Rise of Skywalker?
Soulless. Cowardly. Incoherent. Badly paced.
I spent large portions of the movie unable to get into the action because the pacing was so breakneck. There was no time to breathe. Consequently, there was never enough time to recover from one rush before another started. If everything is exciting, nothing is.
I think that this was a deliberate choice to cover up the lack of sense behind the exposition. Oscar Isaac’s Poe Dameron looks dead inside as he temporarily takes up the mantle of Basil Exposition to explain that somehow or other, Emperor Palpatine has returned and there’s a hard time limit on destroying his fleet.
This is a fine example of a running problem throughout the movie. Whereas both The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi used visual storytelling to move the story forward, things in TROS were explained through dialogue time and again. And the dialogue was incredibly clunky.
But back to the story. We are given a paper thin explanation of the Emperor’s return, and immediately are thrown into a fetch quest to find the Big Bad. I’m sure it will make an exciting video game adaptation.
The thing though is that the fetch quest makes no sense. One of the wayfinders is found in the first two minutes of the movie. Yes, it’s in the hands of the bad guys. But does the audience not remember that our heroine is bound to the villain? Why couldn’t she try to use that bond to get at the directions? Why does the Resistance not try to use that bond? Has she hidden from them her connection to Kylo Ren? Either she’s built up a wall of mistrust between her found family and herself by keeping the bond a secret, or she’s revealed all and no one thinks to try to use that bond to their advantage. It’s just conveniently overlooked.
Oh, a sidenote. Wayfinder. Why? There is an in-universe word for such objects already. It’s a holocron. Why not use holocron? We throw Star Wars-isms at the audience all the time. It would be an Easter Egg to the diehards while not bothering the general audience one iota.
Back to our fetch quest. We head to the desert planet of Pasaana. There’s a festival going on. A festival about family. Rey looks longingly at children and infants. A child gives her a fertility necklace. And then suddenly she’s connected by her bondmate through the force.
Now it’s no secret that the Rey and Kylo dynamic is one of the reasons I loved the first two movies in the trilogy. The actors have great chemistry. More importantly, the characters have interesting conflict. And yet that conflict seems off in this movie. TLJ left them complicated enemies. But they feel out of character. I don’t understand what each is trying to get out of their encounters. I have to do massive amounts of work to understand their actions and the dialogue doesn’t help. Because it doesn’t ring true.
Setting such details aside, Kylo rips off the necklace in a moment worthy of the Phantom of the Opera and for once it’s an action that makes sense, having both the subtext of obsessive love and jealousy, and the text of offering a clue for analysis to Rey’s location. Bravo. The writers did something right.
Meanwhile, we get a clunky reintroduction of Lando Calrissian. Has he been stuck on this desert for over 7 years? Longer? We just don’t know and he doesn’t tell us. Our heroes hitch a ride and then we get a fun speeder chase.
Okay, a couple more questions. There’s some good stuff here. The omnipresence of the First Order helps convey how thorough their control is. But why doesn’t Rey hotwire the speeder? It was established two movies ago that she’s a good mechanic. And on Jakku that kind of skill makes sense. Why hand that off to Poe? And why this Trio stuff. It’s fanon. We have just been assuming that Finn’s best friends would form the new Han, Luke, and Leia. Because reasons. None of them textual. It was a failure of TFA to not establish this dynamic if this was an essential element of Star Wars that had to be there from the start.
Which gets to the heart the problem in fandom which is that Star Wars is different for every fan. What is essential to the series is subjective. For me, Star Wars is light sabers, hyperspace, the Force, epic battles, strange world with one biome only per world. So I’ve never felt like something was missing. But if an essential element was a very particular character dynamic (like a good guy Trio), then I can see why some fans felt let down. As if all the pieces were there but never got put together.
Back to Pasaana. We have a brief descent into the underworld in which Rey has a moment of true Jedi compassion and is rewarded when her compassion for the monster leads to an exit from said underworld. Nice. Mythically coherent. And hey, we also get one of the MacGuffins we’ve been searching for, so, bonus.
Now we get the arrival of Kylo and his backup band. What was the point of these dudes? I mean, they look cool and I can’t wait to edit videos of them to classic NKOTB. But narratively, why are they there? Why did Kylo reforge the mask? Why all these questions in the third act when we should be in the process of tying up loose ends.
Rey, in a moment reminiscent of bull leaping from Crete, goes out to stall them? I guess? And then ends up in a battle of wills with Kylo that leads to her inadvertent use of Force Lightning.
Okay, another side trip. Are they trying to make out that Dark Side Powers are genetic? Because that’s all I can figure. Really, it’s kind of gross because it suggests that darkness isn’t a human trait that we all carry and must confront, but rather that Rey’s specific problem is a dark legacy. Which, that’s Kylo’s story. He’s the one grappling with the legacy of Vader and how that led his family to fear his darkness rather than aid him in confronting it.
Anyway, we have Rey briefly thinking she’s killed Chewie and that sets our heroes off to our next quest location and another set of problems: Why did we make the Latino man a drug runner and car thief? No, this isn’t just putting an unneeded real world spin on the universe. This is about narrative consistency. Because in a bid to make Poe Dameron an ersatz Han Solo, they broke his actual in-universe back story that had been established in comics and novels. That Poe Dameron was a pilot in the New Republic Navy, the child of war heroes Kes Dameron and Shara Bey. He grew up on Yavin IV. When did he have time to be a smuggler? He’s only a few years older that Ben Solo.
See Lucasfilm has a Story Group that is supposed to help keep narrative consistency between the various media released. And I can’t help shake the feeling that the Story Group was ignored or stonewalled. To please who? The fans? Which fans? Because I would be under the impression that the fans who read the novels and the comics, who dig the trivia aspects of the universe, would be the first to desire the universe to remain coherent.
The Kijimi stuff is fun. Babu Frik is adorable. C3PO is touching. There’s good moments. There really are.
We now go to the infiltration of the Star Destroyer (Does it have a name? Nerds, help me out here. Usually I know this sort of thing.) Again, good moments. I like the implication that Rey’s Force Powers disturb Poe, but it’s never brought up again. One of dozens of Chekhov’s guns left unfired. This is incredibly sloppy in the plotting. Hux is the mole!?! Fun. Yet, again, wasted. And out of character, but I’m sure that’s not going to bother the general audience. Rey gets caught sneaking around in Kylo’s bedroom? Priceless, and some good imagery (smashing the altar to Vader) combined with incredibly clunky dialogue and some more serious questions that never get answered.
The whole time Kylo thought Vader was talking to him it was Palpatine? Why the hell does he still have that mask on a pedestal? He just couldn’t bear to get rid of a collectible? He hadn’t had time to konmari yet? And just what does smashing the pedestal symbolize? Is this the start of Kylo breaking free? We’ll probably never know.
Rey escapes on the Falcon. After getting the worst character reveal in the Saga. I’m sorry. Rey Palapatine is just dumb. I liked that she was a nobody. It allowed her to be the Forces solution to the manipulation and abuse heaped upon the Skywalkers. She was brought into the story and bound to the last scion of House Skywalker as a corrective. She wasn’t overpowered. (No really. She executed a few very basic Jedi skills in the first two movies, none of them exceptional.) And her skill level makes sense the moment you understand that she is bound to Ben Solo. She is literally downloading his training. She can do what he can do. Even her fighting style mirrors his. Fun fact: if you watch the scene in The Last Jedi where she’s practicing sword forms on Ach-to, and compare them to Kylo in his duel with Luke, they’re identical. To a move. Rey is powerful because the Force chooses its vessels. No one was asking who Mace Windu’s parents were. Or Ki-Adi Mundi’s. But Rey is skilled because a very clear in universe device means she has access to Ben Solo’s mind and that included every skill he ever learned.
Alrighty, so now our team is on to the next step in the quest, the ocean moon of Kef Bir, one of the many moons in the Endor system. (No, it’s not the Forest or Sanctuary Moon with the Ewoks.) We meet Jannah, another wasted character. She is pretty and could have been cool. But she exists for us to realize that Finn is probably Force Sensitive and that he broke conditioning not due to innate morality but because he’s not a Muggle.
Which brings me to my gripe with how Finn’s character was treated. He spent the whole movie running around shouting Rey. That’s it. That’s his arc. I don’t mind that he can feel the Force. But I feel like his development was regressed. He had a clear character arc in the first two movies. From a man running away from responsibility to one willing to fight for a friend, to a man willing to commit to cause. This movie should have had him building on that, and perhaps like Moses returning to free the rest of the Stormtroopers who are canonically child soldiers brainwashed into fighting for the bad guys.
Back to the plot. Rey takes off for the Death Star, searches the haunted house and yet again has her moment in the cave, this time confronting a dark vision of herself. Dang that was cool. Would have liked to see more of that. Anyway, she confronts Kylo and he smashes the holocron. Emphasizing for us how pointless this fetch quest has been. Girl could have hopped a ride in his TIE at any point and dealt with the fallout after they dealt with the emperor.
They fight. It wasn’t a bad fight. Just not my favorite. It did emphasize though that Kylo is never ever fighting on the offensive with her. Never in three movies has he ever taken an advantage of an opening for a killing blow, and never was it more obvious than in this fight. Kylo gets distracted, Rey stabs him mortally, and this act seems to wake her up from whatever possessed her in the throne room. She heals him and runs away.
This brings up another thing that bothers me. I know the filmmakers were working with some severe challenges with their footage of Carrie. I don’t think it was badly used for the most part. But I was left baffled at what exactly was going on here.
I was not baffled at Kylo/Ben’s confrontation with Han. This was the high point of the movie for me. It was pitch perfect in tone, and touched on the one an only sin Ben ever committed that wasn’t connected to a war objective, the murder of his father. And it made clear that the prodigal was loved and wanted and it wasn’t too late to come home. The heart of Ben’s problem has been the conviction that he has done too much wrong to come home, and while it is only a memory, it is a true memory of the man who loved Ben enough to walk straight into Hell though he knew it would probably be the death of him. I can forgive this scene for throwing the lightsaber into the ocean. I realize that most of the audience doesn’t know that you can heal kyber crystals. Yes, the saber was a metaphor for Ben’s damaged and unstable soul, and yes, it would have been poetic (and badass) for him to show up later with a healed lightsaber, stable and blue and looking like something an angel would fight with. But I’ll forgive that for the poetry of what happens on Exegol.
And then we go to my low point. I’ll set my costumer’s beef with Luke Skywalker’s wig aside. It looked cheap and that’s all I’ll say. It was more the deliberate middle finger to TLJ in the lines while ignoring that Luke’s most iconic and Jedi-like moment in the original trilogy was casting aside his lightsaber in an act of compassion. Yes, Rey was burning her ship and throwing away her weapon for the wrong reason. And it was a deliberate echo of Luke who also was appalled when his fear was twisted by the Dark into an attack on his nephew. She is overcome with the same shame and fear of self. Luke can speak to this in a real way. With better dialogue, it might have worked for me. Alas, it didn’t. Instead we got more exposition to provide us with an extra lightsaber. And more questions about why everyone in this family gave up on Ben Solo.
Here’s the thing. If Leia remains untrained, lots of things make sense: her instinctive but infrequent use of the Force; her fear for her son and sense of inadequacy in dealing with he struggles with darkness, her unresolved issues with her father which lead her to hide her parentage not only from the galaxy but also from her own son. All of this is undone by the training reveal and makes us wonder why everyone was willing to help a descendent of Palpatine but not their own flesh and blood. And in a movie that used dialogue to explain nearly everything, these lacunae stand out more than they would in a film that trusted the audience more. See you could have had Luke say “We messed up. We gave in to fear. And we didn’t want to make the same mistake with you. Rey. I’m the son of Darth Vader. I know more than any man that we are more than our bloodline. And forgetting that with Ben was the worst mistake of my life.” But he didn’t. Which in a movie which tells as much as or more than it shows seems like a deliberate choice.
Have you noticed that I’m ignoring the space battles? That’s because they’re forgettable. I just didn’t care about them. Especially since the galactic conflict remained essentially unresolved. Back to the Force Plot, the only plot that matters.
Rey confronts Palpatine. Yawn. At this point I just don’t care. For most of the movie, she hasn’t seemed like my Rey. I couldn’t relate and by this point I’ve lost interest so I’m more wondering where did all these people come from. Are there concessions? How much does a hot dog and Coke cost on Exegol? Does this stadium have bathrooms? Nice to see that it’s built like the AT&T one down the street with the sliding roof panels. And then my boy Ben Solo arrives and the film is good again. Without a word of dialogue (besides “ow”) Adam Driver delivers the best performance of the movie, showing that the Han Solo of the trilogy was there the whole time in his son. Was there ever a more Han Solo thing than running into a Dark Side temple in your pajamas, armed only with a blaster? And then Rey passes him Anakin’s saber. OMG. Brilliance. The best part of the movie. For a moment I thought that they would at least wrap it up well. And for a moment they’re side by side and all is right in the world. And then Palpatine throws Ben in a pit.
I hate this. I don’t hate this movie but I hate this moment. For three movies we’ve set up that Rey and Ben (He’s Ben now; don’t’ @ me.) are equals in the Force. They have a Yin/Yang dynamic that made this work. The natural conclusion here should have been that they take out Palpatine together. Because both have a beef with him. This is the man responsible for ruining the lives of four generations of Skywalkers. And while Ben is at the bottom of a pit, Rey stands alone, calling on the Jedi to help her.
The Jedi that are ignoring the Skywalker at the bottom of the pit.
Including Ben’s grandfather that he’s been begging for years to help him.
Including his uncle who promised to always be with him. (We were robbed of Ghost Luke trolling Kylo. Robbed I tell you. Mark Hamill would have nailed that.)
Ben is at the bottom of a pit being ignored while the Jedi transform Rey into their sacrificial lamb for Girl Power points.
So, yeah, I hated how Rey defeated Palpatine. It was wrong. It wasn’t in union with her bondmate. It wasn’t through the power of love and compassion. It was Space Wonder Woman meets Harry Potter. And then she dies. Because the Jedi only ever viewed people as tools in their grand battle with the Sith.
But Ben. Oh, Ben loves Rey for who she is. And he climbs out of the pit without a lick of help from anyone and cradles her lifeless form in the most heartbreaking Pieta, and you can see on his face the moment he make his decision and gives everything of himself to bring her back. It was beautiful, and they share the most pure, the most perfect kiss.
And then he dies.
And that’s where the movie breaks me. Because he didn’t have to die. It doesn’t make sense. Why does Leia hold on until this moment? Why does Maz seem satisfied? Where did Ben go? Why does he go unmourned? Where is his Force ghost? This movie just leaves us with more questions.
And the very end kills me. Rey is on Tatooine. A dead world that holds no importance to her (or Leia, I might add). She buries the Skywalker sabers. A funeral. She sees the ghosts of Luke and Leia bless her as she takes on the Skywalker name. A name that she could have taken in a life-affirming way through marriage, but that appears as scavenged from the dead that she has surrounded herself with as she ends the movie an eternal child, side by side with a stolen droid.
It makes no sense.
But whence my nerd rage? Why do I care? Why have I devoted over 3K words to this?
Because the first two movies in this trilogy made me care about these characters.
When I first saw The Force Awakens, I connected immediately with her loneliness. Loneliness is something I get viscerally. I have always been socially awkward and had difficulty making friends. I rarely felt known or understood and I understood that deep longing to belong. When Rey was being interrogated by Kylo Ren, that was what struck me. He notices her loneliness.
And you realize that Kylo is projecting. That he is seeing in her a kindred spirit. He too is lonely, and trapped by fear into being stuck in a place that he knows in his heart of hearts is a dead world. He too is trapped by relics of the past.
So, you see, Rey and Kylo were both me. I had lived that loneliness. I had experienced profound isolation and the sense that no one truly understood me. I desperately wanted them to find their belonging and heal their wounds. And that’s certainly the story that TLJ picked up on and continued.
But there was more. I became fascinated with the question of how the son of Han and Leia fell, and I could see the possibilities in the pattern of their characters: Leia, the woman driven by duty, trying to build the New Republic to make a better galaxy for her son, and leaving her son vulnerable to predation in the process; Han, a man who had only just stopped running from responsibility, and who’s own lack of father figures left him feeling inadequate as a father. Throw in a villain who can groom and psychically abuse their son and you have the ingredients for a tragedy.
And because I identified with Leia, Ben became, in a way, an additional child. A parent’s greatest fear is that in trying to do the right thing for your child you inadvertently make things worse. Poor Leia. She needed a mother to tell her child mattered more than a bill in the Senate. That the galaxy could wait. But Palpatine killed her mother. Both her mothers, because he was as complicit in the death of Breha Organa as he was in the death of Padme Amidala Naberrie.
So when Ben Solo died, it was like losing a child. And anyone who knows me personally knows that I do not choose that phrasing lightly. And being a mother, there is always a sense of survivor’s guilt. The sense that if you had done the right thing, it wouldn’t have happened. It doesn’t matter if that isn’t the truth. It’s how it feels.
I have met so many people online who identify with Ben Solo because they were abused as children. Who like him processed their trauma in unhealthy ways. It’s not where I come from, but I have the capacity to empathize and hear the message they’re inadvertently being told: that if you do bad things because you’ve been groomed and manipulated and brainwashed, you can’t come back. Even if you turn your life around, it won’t matter. You’ll only find peace in death and you will die unremembered as punishment for your sins. And your family will replace you with someone nicer and easier to live with.
But I can hear you saying: It’s not that deep. It’s fake and in space. It’s just a story.
Well, here’s the problem:
1) The brain does not distinguish real people from fictional characters. The part of the brain that produces serotonin and dopamine can’t distinguish fact from fiction. This is actually why art has the power to heal. The catharsis experienced in a work of art can help us process trauma because we relate to the characters in the story. But the flip side is that stories can cause genuine trauma. If we related to characters in a story and they are treated unjustly, we feel that injustice and it hurts as badly as if it were real.
2) Ben Solo was written to be sympathetic. He is the child of beloved characters. His backstory is one filled with pain. He was failed by every family member who should have protected him. He was abused physically and mentally for years. Recently published materials exonerate him from the destruction of the Jedi temple. It was all part of a plot to push him to the Dark. All Ben ever wanted was to be loved for who he was. And that was snatched away from him.
3) I can’t turn off my brain. I can’t stop asking questions and trying to make sense of things. I can help but see the Chekhov’s guns and the symbols and the messages, however inadvertent.
4) It is a grand failure of a movie if it only works on a surface level and not when you start digging deeper. Every other Star Wars movie, including The Phantom Menace, rewards the person who can’t turn off their brain. This was the first one that falls apart so completely the second you start asking questions.
I wish I could like this movie. I was prepared to like it if not love it. And while I got Ben’s redemption and the Rey and Kylo romance that I wanted, I feel like I got nothing. Like they don’t matter at all.
I am planning to start new hobbies in the new year. I got some war gaming miniatures painting sets for Christmas and I’m glad I have a new special interest to pour myself into. I have enjoyed sharing my love of Star Wars trivia with my kids but it just hurts too much at the moment to spend time thinking about a franchise that has been so badly mangled. I’m probably in the bargaining stage of grief at the moment. I wholly buy the theory that there was happy ending filmed and someone blinked in the game of chicken, leaving us the mess that we were handed.
I’m also planning to get back to writing. If even Disney can’t tell a fairy tale properly anymore, it’s time for a new batch of writers to get out there and tell the stories I want to hear. I am sick of grimdark fantasies and cynicism masquerading as sophistication. I may write a fanfic or two to fix the story in my mind, but I think that ultimately I need to be creating original works. I know that there are children eager to believe in happy endings, plenty of women who believe that Byronic heroes can be redeemed, and not a few men who will buy both if the story is well told.
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Uh, 7: Speeding Bullet/Spydad fic based (if you don't mind) on that iconic scene from 22 Jump Street plz?
anon you’re a fucking genius. not gonna go word for word but that’s just an incredible scene as a basis (warnings for just SO much cursing and some extremely saucy implications, but no actual saucy scenes)
7.) “I don’t understand.”
Stumbling into breakfast ten minutes later than he usually did earned Sniper some glances, which quickly transformed into stares.
Shuffling to the coffee pot and not even bothering to check what brand was in it, Sniper poured himself a cup. His shirt, the same shirt he wore the previous day, was rumpled halfway to hell, collar sitting all wrong and sleeves half-pushed onto his elbows. His boxers were equally mussed up, and as Sniper tipped his head back to chug his mug of coffee, hair sticking up in every direction, Heavy and Medic glanced at each other with raised eyebrows as a bright red mark under his ear became fully visible. Pyro was clearly trying their damndest to further muffle a laugh. Sniper just rubbed at his eyes, clearly still half-asleep.
Sniper plopped down in one of the two empty seats left at the table, the one to the right of Demo, who had to bury his face in his arm to keep from laughing, his shoulders shaking wildly, as the room got a view of his neck under his collar, still unbuttoned, which appeared to have been attacked by a wild animal.
Sniper didn’t notice the barely-stifled laughs of almost everyone else around the table. He also didn’t notice who was sitting directly across from him and looked about five seconds from committing the real kind of murder or exploding.
“Good morning,” Spy said, voice perfectly even, facade of calm almost perfectly intact except for the various muscles in his face twitching with hardly-repressed rage.
“Mmhmm,” Sniper hummed, voice slightly hoarse, head falling to rest on his arms.
Further chuckling from the table. Engie tried to hide his smile behind his mug, glancing at Spy, whose rage was somehow still growing.
“So Scout is late,” Spy observed neutrally.
“Mmm,” Sniper agreed, blinking at his coffee cup a few times before burrowing into his forearms.
“Any idea where he might be?” Spy asked, voice the kind of perfect calm that nobody in the world used.
Sniper’s head slowly lifted, revealing a mask of horror. He glanced around the table, suddenly fully awake, and for the first time noticed the way the whole team seemed to be mere seconds from collapsing into laughter.
Demo, still nursing a hangover, suddenly connected that last pair of dots, and started laughing in earnest. “Aye, finally got around to it, did ya?” he cheered, knocking his elbow against Sniper’s, who tried to repress his own grin under his coffee mug. “Took ya long enough, Mundy!”
“Stuff it, Tavish,” Sniper replied back easily, rolling his eyes, not without fondness. “Not anyone’s business what goes on in my bedroom.”
Heavy needed to gently hit Medic on the arm as the doctor almost collapsed under the force of trying not to laugh. Spy was going beet red under what little skin his mask showed of his face. He was clenching his fists so hard the leather of his gloves creaked. Neither of the pair across the table from him noticed.
“Wait, really?! Thought you two just had a pash, you’re tellin’ me—“
“Leave it, Tavish,” Sniper said, shaking his head to himself with a little grin.
“Can’t hardly! One’a my best mates gets with another of ‘em, can’t expect me to tone it down!” Demo protested. “And that’s not hardly an answer! Yes or no?”
“As if I’d say yes here in front of everyone,” Sniper huffed.
Demo was off and laughing again, rocking back in his chair with the force of it. “Damn well right! Up top, you saucy assassin you!”
Sniper took the high-five, his reluctance act slipping for a moment and showing that he was indeed clearly rather proud of himself.
Engie’s willpower cracked for a moment, collapsing forward with a short wail of laughter in his place on one side of Spy. Suddenly Spy’s hand was on the inside of his own suit jacket, and Engie hurried to take his shoulder as he tried to stand. “He doesn’t know, Spook, c’mon now,” he protested quickly even as he continued laughing, “he doesn’t understand!”
Spy shook him off, and leaned both hands on the table before him, cigarette case in one of them.
“What? What doesn’t he know?” Demo asked, looking over at Spy, eyebrows raised.
“I don’t understand,” Sniper agreed. “What are you lot still laughing about? What’s funny?”
Spy set his jaw, taking a deliberate breath to calm himself. “Bushman, being that I hate you more than every member of the other team combined, and that likewise you have no particular fondness of me, there is something that I believe you should know, should you decide to continue this behavior,” Spy said stiffly.
“Yeah?” Sniper asked, mirth fading a bit.
Spy opened his cigarette case, maintaining a venomous eye contact with Sniper as he fished through the slips of paper that made up the space behind the cigarettes themselves. No, not paper—photographs, Sniper realized as Spy slapped down two photos on the tabletop in front of him and Demo.
One, the one on the left, was a picture of Spy, a woman, and a baby. Spy looked largely the same, albeit a bit more lively, even in the faded photograph. A phrase in French was written at the bottom, and while Sniper had no clue what it said, Demo hummed in confusion, glancing up at Spy, who looked stony.
The second photo was something else—a picture of a boy, surely not even in his teens yet, wearing a baseball uniform, grinning widely at the person holding the camera. A distinctive pair of big, buck teeth and slightly-too-large ears were what really rang a bell in the back of Sniper’s mind, and he suddenly realized who the person in the photo was, and through a few more leaps of logic, what is meant that Spy had these two photos with him at all times.
He went white as a sheet, staring up at Spy with a horror unlike anything he’d ever felt before. A muscle in Spy’s jaw ticked.
It took Demo another few moments, his hangover fighting him all along the way. But suddenly he understood, and he was out of his seat in an instant, positively beaming.
“HOLY CHRIST,” Demo shouted, “SNIPER FUCKED SPY’S SON!”
Sniper was frozen in much the same way that most prey animals froze in the moment before they were killed. Spy appeared to be earnestly trying to murder him with a stare, and those around the table couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t manage it.
In the mean time, Demo had started in on some almost hysterical laughter, and a good portion of the rest of the team was following behind him.
“SNIPER FUCKED SPY’S SON! LADS, SNIPER FUCKED SPY’S SON!” Demo repeated over and over, taking a lap of the table and high-fiving everyone in turn. “HE FUCKED SPY’S SON! HIS SON!!! SWEET SHITE—“
“Understand that every time he shouts it,” Spy intoned to Sniper below the sound of Demo and the team hooting and hollering and making a ruckus, “I will kill you one more time, each more painful than the last.”
Sniper was still frozen, and therefore didn’t reply.
“LAD, YOU BRAGGED,” Demo insisted, shaking Sniper by the shoulders for emphasis. “YOU BRAGGED ABOUT FUCKIN’ HIS SON, RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM! RIGHT ‘ERE ACROSS FROM HIS EGGS! YOU FUCKED HIS SON LAD! YOU HIGH FIVED ME OVER IT!”
Spy drew a pistol from within his jacket, putting it on the table next to his cigarette case.
Demo cleared his throat, sitting back down. “Not funny. Not funny at all. Very serious,” he amended, voice quiet. “Very serious situation.”
“I, er,” Sniper began, eyeing the gun on the table. “I feel the need to clarify, that’s not what happened.”
Spy raised an eyebrow. Demo blinked. The remainder of the team followed suit, each recovering quickly from their own laughter. “What? What d’you mean, lad?”
“The, er, the other…” He spun his finger in a circle, then thunked his forehead against the surface of the table, scratching idly at the hickey beneath his ear. “Other way around.”
A beat of complete silence before utter pandemonium, and the first of several times that Spy killed Sniper following the incident.
#sniperscout#speeding bullet#tf2#team fortress 2#spydad#shut up me#my fanfiction#my writing#galaxy brain takes anon
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Epithet Half-Baked!
I saw through @selfshipimagines that @nougatships is having a Yuletide F/O event...and I know I’m kind of a flighty, shadowy entity in this community, but I do like to write, and thought, what the hey, this’ll be fun. So here I come out of nowhere to contribute a thing.
The F/O? Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. The S/I? Rachel Scribere - mundie, writer of much fanfiction, independent contractor supervillainous minion who has also given up on adulting. (Most of those things apply to me IRL!) I decided to go with something a little on-the-nose for the “catering” theme and write about the two of us trying to arrange party food - expect much food talk and many headcanons (e.g. I see Gio as ace, even though that may not end up being Word of God). For optimal results, please listen to the Mariah Carey/MCR mashup “Welcome to the Christmas Parade” while reading this. Not to mention that song will change your life anyway. (Freeman DNI unless you’re going to get the name of the band CORRECT)
***
I wouldn’t say Christmas was my favorite holiday, because it really wasn’t. Nor would Giovanni ever say Christmas was his favorite holiday, because he wanted to look like a cool guy who didn’t care about Christmas. That said, when our invitation arrived in the mail, neither of us needed to do much cajoling to get the other to agree to attend as a plus-one. Almost immediately, we’d begun work on what we were going to wear to the occasion.
Well, to be fair, Giovanni was doing most of the work in that department. I’m still trying to figure out how a needle and thread even works for something besides a dangerous impromptu sushi fork. I did play a role in the design of my formal wear, however – a full-skirted red-and-green gown that served the purpose of making me look like the princess of Christmas and thereby able to pass laws banning the repeated playing of “Jingle Bell Rock” more than three times per night. As for Giovanni, he was dead set on creating the World’s Ugliest Christmas Sweater, and boy, did it ever deserve that capitalization. I don’t have the words to you to describe properly the conglomeration of non-coordinating colors and mismatched winter-holiday symbolism that went into that monstrosity. Which basically meant we were going to be the two best-dressed people in attendance.
However, that still left the important factor: the catering aspect. This was essentially a potluck, and as much as we would have loved to skim off everyone else’s hors d’ouevres and pretend we “dropped” ours on the way there, eventually, our need to show off our cooking skills combined with my compulsion to contribute to community activities won out over the dark side of our consciences.
My first mistake was going into that kitchen with no idea what Giovanni was planning on making. Me? I was set on a hot-chocolate-and-marshmallow cake. Festive and full of my two favorite flavors! Not to mention I’d baked in the past as a hobby, though it had, admittedly, been a while. I was actually rather looking forward to this.
“So, Composer,” Giovanni asked as I set up my laptop, “can we expect any musical entertainment?”
“Damn right,” I said as I clicked through playlists.
“Just please tell me you’re not gonna stick us with three hours of Christmas music bullshit.”
“Oh, trust me. We are going to get enough of that at this party.” I set off a rather jaunty emo-pop number with guitars that were just obnoxious enough.
“Oh, yeah,” Giovanni cried, “this is PERFECT! Totally captures our debonair yet badass essence. THIS is why I let you pick the car music.”
I gave him a playful bow. “Okay. Let’s do this thing.”
I began rounding up my ingredients: flour, sugar, cocoa powder, et cetera, et cetera…
“Done.”
Wait…”What?”
I had only just gotten my ingredients lined up on the counter, yet Giovanni was leaning over the other edge of the island, elbows on the countertop and head in his hands to give me a playfully innocent look, as an enormous pot of something steaming, golden, and tantalizingly scented sat before him.
I peered into the vessel, making note of the contents. “Is this…butternut squash soup?”
“You know it.”
“…You made soup.”
“Is there a…problem with that?”
“Your Epithet is literally soup.”
“Aaaaaand…?”
I marched around to shake my index finger at him on every word: “You. Fucking. CHEATED.”
He rose, pointing right back at me: “I’m. The. BAD GUY. So I don’t care!”
I gave my eyes a sufficiently dramatic roll. “You realize this is gonna take me like two hours.”
“I’ll watch.”
“You could at least help. You’re good with this stuff, you know.”
“Hmm…” Giovanni pretended to think it over. “No, don’t think I will.”
“I hate you.”
“That’s too bad, because I love you a lot, Composer.”
I blushed, then muttering “IloveyoutooandIdon’thateyouandIwasjustkidding.” Quickly followed up with “Okay, I’m gonna start doing this shit BY MYSELF, then.”
Baking an entire cake with your boyfriend just smugly staring at you is…an experience. Not a bad experience. But an experience. Still, I thought I was on a good track so far. Until it came to the electric mixer.
As a disclaimer, I stated, “It’s been a while. I’m a little rusty.”
“It’s just an electric mixer.” He shrugged. “Even I couldn’t screw up – I mean even SOME LOSER LIKE SYLVIE couldn’t screw up using it.”
Well, now the pressure was on. I flicked the appliance to life, dipping it into a pool of eggs suspended in buttermilk, and immediately plunged into chaos. The thing about electric mixers is that they are an extreme balancing act. Too far down into the bowl, and the blades will make a horrible grinding noise against the bowl bottom, making a catastrophizer like me worry about glass shards ending up baked into the dough. However, it is very important that if this happens to you, you do not do what I did and overcompensate by yanking the still-spinning blades out of the bowl, thereby splattering eggs and buttermilk all over yourself.
As I was attempting to figure out damage control, I became acutely aware of Giovanni trying to hide an absolute fit of giggles. “You know,” I growled, “this wouldn’t HAPPEN if you would HELP me.”
I absolutely did not want him to help me. See, I have an inferiority complex the size of the sun, and even that feels weird to say, since it’s admitting I actually possess a large quantity of anything. I wanted to make this monster cake my goddamn self, and I wanted him to be fucking impressed. Still, I was pretty sure if I didn’t ask for his help, I would just end up with some kind of inedible toxic waste.
I wasn’t sure if he was just playing coy or if he knew me all too well when he said “No. Don’t feel like it.”
“Come on!”
“Composer, this is YOUR time to shine! I’m not getting in the way of YOUR masterpiece blowing away the competition?”
“…Gio, it’s not a com – “
“OF COURSE IT’S A COMPETITION! EVERY POTLUCK IS A COMPETITION! WHY ELSE HAVE EVERYONE BRING DISHES OF VARYING QUALITY IF NOT TO DETERMINE THE SUPREME CHEF AT THE PARTY?”
Well, if it meant somebody might think of me as supreme chef, I sure wasn’t going to argue. Unhealthy as that might be for my ego.
So I let Giovanni actively not help me. Even when I tried to crack another egg and it rather exploded from my overuse of momentum. But thankfully, the rest of it seemed to be coming together well. As it baked, I decided to use that time to put together the icing. The recipe, of course, called for cream cheese icing, but that is not real icing (don’t @ me) and I absolutely refuse to sully any of my confections with it, ever. I was making the real stuff – just butter, chocolate, milk, and way too much sugar.
However, that meant a rematch with my archnemesis: the electric mixer. I gave it a very sour glare as I picked it up again.
“Ooh, someone’s mad,” Giovanni teased.
“Damn right I’m mad,” I told him. “This thing fucking hates me.”
“No…I think you’re just bad with it.”
“WHAT THE – “
He was at my side then, using one hand to guide my face upward to meet his gaze: “Because no one and nothing could ever hate you, my beautiful, beautiful Composer. And anyone who does can EAT SOUL-SLUGGER DOOM-BAT.”
Well. Now I was a flustered mess. I gently leaned forward to rest my forehead temporarily on his collarbone. “No, you,” I teased. “I mean it. People who hate you don’t have souls. End of discourse.”
“And this is why we GO TOGETHER!”
“Damn straight.”
It would have been a beautiful moment if I hadn’t been thwarted, yet again, by the mixer. The grinding of the glass, the startled removal of the blades, a chocolate splatter –
Except this time, it missed me. No, the stuff made a direct hit on the tall, pink-haired, and handsome card-carrying villain standing next to me.
I gaped at him momentarily, unsure what to say. Then it all came rushing out: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – “
“Sorry?” he repeated, and at first, I thought he actually was angry. “You’re SORRY? Oh, it’s too late to be sorry, Composer.”
When he picked up the quarter-full bottle of vanilla extract from the counter beside us, I realized his game. “This means war,” he growled in a not-very-growly-at-all way.
Our eyes locked. His way of asking permission. I gave the slightest of nods; “I guess I deserve it. But you know I’m not going down without a fight.”
The vanilla sloshed onto me. I smashed an egg onto his shirt. He dumped about a half-gallon of soup down the back of mine.
Now, what you must understand about a food fight that takes place in the Potage-Scribere kitchen is that anything, and I mean absolutely anything, becomes a weapon. Even things that weren’t part of the dishes we were cooking. The refrigerator was raided, the cupboards stripped bare for the ensuing battle. Whatever we could hit each other with, we did. Smashing tomatoes against each other. Sneaking ice cubes into each other’s clothes to try and get a shriek. Several different flavors of soup flying through the air, of course. Retaliation in the form of grabbing the sprayer from the sink and brandishing it like a Banzai Blaster standard-issue pea-shooter.
Then my timer let out a “ding” to inform me that the cake was done baking. Giovanni froze, standing perfectly still as I transferred the cake to the fridge to let it cool down.
Then we picked up right where we left off.
It came to a head when Giovanni had ended up with two cans of aerosol whipped cream, dual-wielding them at me. I had an ice cream scoop in a tub of whipped cream, ready to lob it like a snowball.
Wait -
“Gio, why do we have three things of whipped cream?”
“Well, I picked these up when you texted me our respective assignments for grocery day last weekend.”
“I told you to get toilet paper. I was gonna get the whipped cream.”
“No, you said YOU were getting the toilet paper, and I should pick up whipped cream.”
“DID EITHER OF US GET TOILET PAPER?”
“…I’m thinking no,” Giovanni mused.
“Okay, emergency store run after this for toilet paper,” I declared. “Resume.”
Instead of turning the cans on me, Giovanni spun to kick an apple off the counter so that it would hit me in the sternum. I recoiled, but only slightly. “The fuck was that?”
“That? Oh, THAT was…well, Composer, have you been keeping track of how many hits I’ve landed on you?”
My eyes widened. “SON OF A BITCH.”
“THAT’S RIGHT!” Giovanni crowed. “TWELVE! WHICH MEANS WHEN I LET THESE CANS LOOSE ON YOU, IT’S GONNA BE CRITICAL!”
I let go of the ice cream scoop; it clanged to the floor. “Okay, okay!” I put up that hand in a gesture of surrender. “I give!”
“…Seriously? But it’s no fun if you – “
“I am NOT in the mood to get blasted by critical whipped cream, Gio.”
Giovanni shrugged, not letting go of either can. “All right. Then it stops here.”
I pouted. “I really am sorry I started it. Can we just…you know…kiss and make up?”
“Absolutely.”
I had counted on this. I let him shut his eyes, pucker his lips slightly, lean forward. I advanced.
And then, screaming “WORTH IT!”, smashed the tub of whipped cream directly at his face.
The resulting blast of the aerosol whip was like getting hit with the blast of twenty-six cans of aerosol whip – which, really, isn’t that harmful at all. Just a lot messier and with some added momentum; I ended up skidding across the kitchen floor. “Okay!” I laughed. “I really do give in now! I promise!”
Giovanni was already scooping the cream off his face and shoveling it into his mouth (and this is the part where I want to remind you that as ripe of a picking as this seems for innuendo, neither of our sex-repulsed minds would have it). He then slumped down onto the tile next to me, leaning onto me.
“Well played, minion,” he said with a grin. “We’ll make a bona fide villain out of you yet.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m not already there.”
We actually did kiss then, tasting all the sweeter for being covered in sugar.
#yuletide f/o event#selfship#hoooo boy putting myself out here like this#kinda wanna write more of these?#they'd be tumblr-exclusive though#not for my ao3
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Video Killed The Radio Star
Paring: Billy Hargrove/Reader
Tags: female reader, tutoring, teen angst, hurt/comfort, implied/referenced child abuse, canon related, Neil Hargrove Is an Asshole, angry Billy Hargrove, 1980s, set Post-Snow Ball Stranger Things s2.
Summary: Reader isn't exactly Brooke Shields -- she's quiet, prefers books to people, and likes to listen to the newest hits on the radio with her friends. But when she's paired up with the Billy Hargrove by her math teacher to help him from falling behind, the status quo of her life with her dad and sister, and of Hawkins High is interrupted.
Word Count: 2,769
Current Date: 2018-10-15
“Why do you want me to hate you so bad?” you whisper to him.
You were sitting on the porch of Mr. Hargrove’s house on the edge of Hawkins, drinking soft drink and trying to tutor the newcomer to Hawkins High on math. His credit transfer from his old school in California might have been good over there, but in Indiana, in this small town where there wasn’t anything to distract someone from their studies other than sport or dating, it wasn’t up to scratch. Thus, you were here, trying to get Billy to pass the next quiz.
Billy blinks, and with a straight face that makes you want to punch him right between his pretty eyes, he says, “Because, sweet cheeks,” he looks away, down the driveway that Neil Hargrove could drive up any minute, “I am bad.”
“Yeah?” you ask him. Shoving the maths textbook away from you, and your hands into the pockets of your jean jacket, you bite your tongue. It was cold out, and your Dad warned you before you took your bike here, but you liked your jean jacket. “Well, then Hargrove…why is it you want me, and everyone else to believe you’re a Danny Zuko, when you’re just a Brad Majors?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He says, voice sharp like broken glass underfoot. He clicks his lighter to life and lit up the end of a cigarette.
You shrug. “I don’t know, Hargrove, why don’t you tell me?”
He takes a pull of his lit cigarette. “You don’t like Grease?” he replies.
You shake your head. “No, Hargrove.” Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, “Who are you trying to fool? I know you’re a nice guy. Under all of that.”
It’s then he chokes. Coughing, he wheezes, “Nice guy?” he laughs, “_________, I’ll have what you’re smoking.”
You huff. “I’m not smoking anything!” you cross your arms, feeling a little mad. “I know you’re not half bad –,”
“First nice, now half bad? _________, who’re you – I’m Billy Hargrove, asshole, king of Hawkins High. I am not nice. I’m an asshole, and you know it.” He’s nothing short of angry, and in his temper, he tosses his cigarette on the porch, and crushes it, still lit, under his boot. “Is this because I agreed to let you tutor me? I don’t need pity, much less from a nerd like you.”
You blink, watching him. “What are you saying?”
He doesn’t respond. He just sits there, looking at his shoe which smashed his cigarette into the wood of the porch, and it is then when you take a deep breath, and begin gathering your books.
“Whatever,” you say, trying to not show how much his words hurt.
Nerd.
Nobody had called you that in years, since you were in middle school, and Nancy threatened to beat up anyone who called you that. “This took up too much of my time anyway.” You shove your books into your backpack, and in the hurry to pack up, some of the textbooks become dog-eared. You don’t care. He’s on your nerves. You turn to look at Billy to say a goodbye but doesn’t meet your eyes at all.
With a huff, you march to where your bike rests against the porch, and flip the bird to the King of Hawkins High, “Good luck passing math.”
---
The next time you will see Billy Hargrove, you’re seated in the back of the math classroom, using your free period, and the availability of the empty room before math class for some alone time. It’s nice. Nancy is off holding hands with Jonathan in the shade of their favourite tree in the schoolyard, and Steve is off working on his American history report last minute in the library. You’re thirty pages into To Kill A Mockingbird when you realise that the little office off the back of the math room is not empty – as there are voices coming from there.
“It’s either be tutored by Ms. __________, or you fail this class.” Mr. Mundy’s voice carried, slightly louder than his usual tone.
You frown, placing your homemade bookmark in place, lowering the book. It’s then you hear a bang! like small thunder, or a fist upon a desk, and you hear, “No! No. I can’t fail. Isn’t there anyone else who can…” there’s a silence, “tutor me?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hargrove, but no.” His tone is firm. “I cannot bend the rules for one student.”
Your heart beats faster, like a rabbit learning there’s a fox nearby. Instinct wants you to run out the math room before anyone sees you. Your more logical part of the brain thinks it’s better to duck under the table. Instead, when Mr. Mundy and Billy come out of the backroom, you freeze, and amidst your panic, you fall from your chair.
“Ah, Ms. _________,” Mr. Mundy says, as you look up from behind the desk you toppled behind. You know your face is heating up in embarrassment, you can feel it in your ears. “I was just speaking to Mr. Hargrove about the little issue between the both of you. I know you said you don’t have the capacity to tutor Billy anymore, but, is there any off-chance you would take him on again?”
You stand, brushing the dirt from your knees, and look to where Billy stands, behind Mr. Mundy. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket that the other girls at school might think is bitchin’, but to you, it’s uglier than lumpy Christmas sweaters, and reminds you of his father. Billy’s scowling, too, and if you know a scowl (they’re commonplace on your sister’s face, especially when she doesn’t get her way), he hates your guts.
“Mr. Mundy,” you start, shaking your head. “I told you that I don’t have the time for tutoring. Or the patience. He’s quite behind.”
“Yes, I know –,” Your teacher wiped a hand over his stubbled chin and huffed. “I didn’t want it to get to this… _________, if you tutor Billy, I will personally write a letter of recommendation to your preferred college, come senior year.” You look between Mr. Mundy and Billy, and, as you do this, he adds, “I’ll organise this to be written as an extracurricular –,”
“Fine.” You look at your shoes. If your Dad heard how hard you changed your mind, he’d march right into the principle’s office and demand a hearing between them both. “I better get a great recommendation.” You say, as if a curse under your breath. As Mr. Mundy goes to move, perhaps to the staff lounge for his pre-class cup of coffee, or behind the gym classroom for a sneaky cigarette with the English faculty, you add, “And if I quit one more time, I’m not tutoring him again. No matter what recommendation I get.”
Mr. Mundy walks out, mumbling in agreement. But as Billy turns to go, you address him, staring him down. “Tutoring starts at eight in the morning, my place.” Fishing in your backpack, you tear the back cover off, and write down your address. “Be there or be square.”
---
This time, you have Billy over at your house. It’s nothing much – your Dad lived sidled up to the woods in a tiny house. It has enough room for you, your Dad, his collection of music, and your little sister. It feels weird to have Billy Hargrove over, especially since you thought you rid yourself of him already. You’re set up at the dinner table when he knocks on the door, and when you greet him wordlessly, and lead him inside, you know he’s staring at you.
“What?” you ask, deadpan. “Do I have two heads?”
He shrugs, dropping into chair opposite where you’re set up. “Nothing, nerd.”
You frown, jaw set. “Okay, if I’m going to tutor you, Hargrove, we need some ground rules. Like, don’t call me a nerd. Or any names. Just _________.” You grit your teeth. “Just because I’m good at some subjects at school doesn’t mean you or Tommy H can walk all over me.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, I won’t do those things.” He wipes a hand through his long hair, and with a groan, he rolls his eyes, “Can we start? I gotta be done before noon.”
You nod, moving to take a seat. “Yeah. Um, this week was basic algebra, so I found these problems from the textbook, so we can practice some examples…” before too long, you delve into the problems, and explain the fundamentals of how to understand the problems.
When it got to ten o’clock, you noticed how hungry you had gotten, and how broken Billy’s attention was getting. It was when Billy worked on the latest batch of examples, you moved to the kitchen, and began preparing the oven for pizza rolls. Your sister had really taken to them, and there were lots of them in the kitchen. It wasn’t until you shoved them in the oven that you realised that Billy had been watching you.
“What?” you demand, hands posed upon your hips. When he doesn’t say anything, you turn to the egg timer beside the oven, and clock the right amount of time, and return to your seat opposite Billy. But he’s still staring at you. “Have you never had pizza rolls before, or…?”
He shakes his head. “You’re different.” He says, and adds, quickly, as if speaking as he’s thinking, “Every time you open your mouth.”
“What, you’ve never met someone who’s progressively more pissed off at you?” you retort, rolling your eyes. When Billy says nothing, you pick up your pencil where you left it before you got up and go back to the algebra problem you had begun to sketch out for him. “Anyways, it’s not like you’re being horrible to me now, so I’m sorry if I’m not spitting fire.”
He shrugs. “I was going to say that you’re not half bad.”
You chuckle at that. Didn’t you say that about him, before? “Don’t get soft on me, Hargrove. We’ve got limited time before the pizza rolls are ready.”
---
There’s a drive-in cinema just on the outskirts of Hawkins, and your father has the night off from work. You’d think that as police chief, he’d be able to work out more times off with his family, but no. It’s nice – you’re in the backseat of the station wagon with your sister Jane, and as you pull into the lot and pay for the tickets, you watch as Jane skirts away from a kiss goodbye from Dad when she goes off to find her friends. As you watch her find Steve Harrington’s car – your friend often took her and her friends to the movies – you clamber to the passenger seat beside your dad.
“So, what’s this movie about, again?” your dad Jim Hopper asks you, pulling on the handbrake.
You roll your eyes. “It’s in the name, Dad.” You point at the flyer you picked up at the ticket booth, pointing at the title. “Superman III. The third Superman movie. You know, about…”
“Superman?” he guesses.
You laugh, but midway, you choke on it. Because walking this way is none other than your tutee, Billy Hargrove. He’s wearing a button-down shirt that’s actually decently done up, and there isn’t a cigarette hanging out of his lip. In the split second between you noticing him and your dad noticing something’s up with you, you bend as if you’re going to tie your shoelace to hide your face. But you forget the dashboard that’s between you and your task, and you headbutt it in the effort.
You’re rubbing your sore head when Billy sees you, and, your father. His step falters, and, as if it never happened, he keeps on his path, and walks away.
“What was that?” your father asks you.
You shake your head. “Nothing, Dad.” You give him a withering look. “What, a boy looks at me, and now this?”
He nods in earnest. “Yes, _________. Because that’s the Hargrove boy who’s always making trouble around town.” He replies, and narrowing his eyes, he adds “Don’t tell me you’re friends with him.”
“No!” you cry out. “No.”
But internally, you’re not sure. Now at school, he actually acknowledges you in the hallways, and when you meet up at Hawkins library for tutoring – a neutral location that isn’t his house with Max or his father around, nor your family – he’s, well, not an asshole. Passably nice. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re seeing less bruises on him when you meet up, or if it’s because you’re not noticing his bloodied knuckles wrapped around a lead pencil anymore, but whatever it is, it’s working.
“Alright then,” your dad raises both his hands in surrender. “Sorry, kiddo. I just don’t want you mixing with the wrong crowd, you know?”
You frown, facing your father. “I know you mean well and all, Dad, but I’m not a kid anymore. I can be friends with nice Nancy Wheeler, quiet Jonathan Buyers, cool Steve Harrington and bad Billy Hargrove if I wanted to.” You look at your lap. In a quiet voice, you add, “besides, I think I am.”
“Didn’t you just say…?”
“I’ll be right back,” you tell your dad.
Before he can protest, you dash out of the car, following where you saw Billy walk off earlier. Weaving through the parked cars on the open field, you stand on tip-toes, trying to see where he got off to. You can see Mr. Clarke’s car parked nearby, Tommy H and Carol making out beside the popcorn booth on the edge of the field, but no Billy.
“Didn’t know you came here,” you hear a family voice behind you.
Turning, you see him. He’s holding a small popcorn, and in the other hand, a packet of sweets. A girl beside him groans when she realises Billy has stopped walking, and tugs at his sleeve.
“C’mon, the movie’s starting!” she urges.
Billy shakes his head, “Yeah, I know Max.” He passes her the food, and adds, “You go back to your friends, I just want to say hi.” She makes a face, but silently walks away. When it’s just you and Billy, standing between stranger’s cars at the drive-in, you clear your throat, unsure where to go from here. You hadn’t thought it this far. “Hi.” He says, after a beat.
You give him a little smile. “Hi, Billy.” Nervously, you bite your lip, and add quickly, “Um, are you here with your sister?” you ask, watching as the little girl walks away to Steve Harrington’s car where the other kids are hanging out.
He nods, playing with his shirtsleeve. “Yeah, just dropping her off.” He chuckles, looking at you. “I didn’t know you came out here.”
You shrug. “Didn’t you hear? Video killed the radio star.” He laughs at that, but after, neither of you say a thing. A beat passes between the both of you, and you speak up. “You know, if your dad gets too much for you, my Dad can step in.” you say, voice low so anyone listening in around can’t hear.
Billy frowns. “Wait…that guy who you were with in the car – your dad is –,”
You nod, pocketing your hands. “Yeah. Chief Hopper.” you shrug. “Well. If that’s not enough of a buzzkill in itself, I’m sure you’re itching to go back into town to hang out with your friends…” you say.
He shrugs. “Or I could hang out with you.” He says. “if that’s cool.”
You blink, unsure if what you’re feeling is shock. “Yeah, um. I’m just here to watch the movie.” You motion to where your dad is parked with your shoulder, and add, “Would it be more of a buzzkill if we watched it with my dad…?” you propose. “He won’t admit it, but he’s lonely without my sister and me.”
Billy takes a deep breath, and after a moment’s consideration, he says, “What the hell, why not.”
You watch Superman III in the backseat of the police station wagon, ignoring your father’s wide eyes. When it comes to the credits, you ignore Jane’s wide eyes, as well as the quiet stares of her friends, including Max and Steve Harrington. The drive home is quiet too, with the exception of the moment in which your dad took the key out of the ignition once you all got back to the house.
“If _________ has a boyfriend, I want to kiss Mike.” Jane pipes up.
In the rear-view mirror, you watch your father’s face pale. “No!”
#billy hargrove#billy hargrove x reader#billy hargrove/reader#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfic#stranger things x reader#chaotic--lovely#pendragonfics#Female reader
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Foster Kid PT2*Magnus Bane
A/N: 1st thing 1st, I know I posted pt 1 ages ago. I'm sorry. It was after a comment asking for part 2 I realized how many 1 parters I have.
So...2nd thing is if there is anything that doesn't have a part 2 or isn't a completed series that you want completed comment the name under this chapter and I'll do them next.
And thirdly I, for the time, no longer have word meaning no spell check meaning errors. I tried to use Grammarly on tumblr but it isn't great. I also only learned to spell because when I was 14 so I'm sorry for any idiotic mistakes.
Part 1
Masterlist HERE
Wattpad HERE
Magnus X Platonic reader ---- Mentions of Malec
"Ah shit," Magnus mumbled, looking over the mundane. No serious marks that he could see but that wasn't the issue. What was the high warlock of Brooklyn meant to do with a half-dead mundane who'd already been exposed to the shadoworld?
The sound of an alley cat made him jump but also pushed him into action. After all, it could've been a shadowhunter who would assume the worst.
Thank the lords for magic, Magnus thought as he summoned a portal. He pulled the mundanes arm around his shoulder and dragged her up. She groaned lightly and her head lolled to the side. It was a pitiful sight.
Magnus clicked his fingers to make the bag beside her follow them through the portal. Once home Magnus dragged the mundane to the sofa, clearing his makeup he'd left there off with magic.
Chairman meow gave Magnus what he could only assume as a questioning look before walking away. He couldn't be distracted though. The only thing worse than having a half-dead mundane is having its corpse on your couch.
They were a teen after all. Someone had to care about them surely.
Sun shining across (Y/N)'s face woke her up the next morning. The first thing she felt was confusion as she stared at the chandelier but it didn't last long as an aching pain took over her body. Her limbs felt heavy and her head stuffy.
Despite the pain, she propped herself up on her elbows. The blanket that had been over her slipped down. Blanket? She wondered.
Looking around the room didn't help her confusion. Elaborately decorated with ornaments that by themselves cost more than her foster parents home. Not to mention antiques carelessly scattered across the place.
A meow made her jump. Along with the blanket, she'd accidentally pushed a cat off her stomach. It meowed angrily at her, moving down slightly to lay down on her lap, falling back asleep.
"I see you've met chairmen," A voice made her jump. The cat scurried off her lap, sending a quick hiss, before settling on an armchair. "Ignore him, darling. How are you feeling?"
"Okay?" It came out as a question. The man came into view and (Y/N) took in his appearance. A tall Asian man dressed in turquoise skinny jeans, black shirt, and more rings than fingers. He had on a better cat eye than she could ever achieve and several earrings on. "Magnus?"
"Indeed," He sat on the armrest of the sofa by her feet. (Y/N) sat up, pulling the blanket to cover her "I'm afraid we'll need to check your wounds before you go,"
"Wounds?"
Magnus looked down for a moment "From the monsters," he looked back at her, "the ones that you saw before. Looks like they want a clean job,"
"Monsters?" she questions. Her brain felt like it was unraveling "Their not real. Thugs killed my parents. Monsters aren't real."
"Who said that?"
"Miss Claudette. And all my other therapists."
Magnus summoned a coffee, knowing this would be a long day. (Y/N) flinched slightly but didn't seem completely shocked, "Well these shrinks would say that. Shadowhunters aren't too keen on mundane relationships,"
"Shadowhunters?"
"This is gonna be a long morning," Magnus muttered.
Realising all his plans for the day were now not optional he called to cancel his appointment with the queen. He could extend her life tomorrow anyway.
"So shadowhunters are the ones with tats, vampires are very stereotypical but don't sparkle, and wolves run the precinct?" (Y/N) tried to clarify.
"Pretty much," Magnus shrugged "The faes are the trickster and the warlocks the queens of the downworld."
"Course you'd think that," Magnus shot a fake glare, "What about me? What am I?"
Magnus looked the girl over with pursed lips "A headache," he decided. He got up from his spot on the couch and headed to the kitchen "I'm making eggs want any?"
"Sure, but-" she jumped off the couch, following him, "what do you mean a headache?"
Magnus sighed as he started cracking eggs "I don't know. I'm a warlock, not a psychic. Probably either a mundane with the sight or your mum was friendly with the milkman," (Y/N) glared at Magnus. Her mum was no cheater "All I know is that if you were a downworlder by birth it would've showed by now. Maybe a half but the clave would know and you wouldn't be with mundies. Speaking of which would you like to call anyone?"
"No one to call."
"Really?" He asked. (Y/N) shrugged "What will your fosters parents say when you don't come home?"
"Yay free cheques no kid. Win-win for them."
Magnus looked back to the frying pan. Some people. "What's your plan?"
"At first it was to crash at a schoolmates house but I'm not even sure where they live. Figured I'd try being homeless. Heard its a great diet," She tried to joke.
"I'm not letting you be homeless," he deadpanned.
(Y/N) shrugged "Then call it backpacking,"
Magnus magicked over some plates to serve the egg on "I've got a spare room. If you want you can have it."
"I don't want to be a freeloader," She insisted.
Magnus handed her the eggs with a smirk "Never said it was free darling. You can have the room if you clean and look after Chairman. After a long day of appointments, I cannot be bothered cleaning the place. Magic or no magic."
"So you want me to be a live-in housemaid?"
"Sure, call it what you want. If not I'm sure cardboard is a comfy bed. How're the eggs?"
"Good," (Y/N) thought about it "Sure. I mean thanks really. I don't get why you're being so nice though,"
"Treat people with kindness," Magnus shrugged. "Besides I know what its like. Being exposed to the downworld with no clue. Its only right you have someone to help guide you through it."
"Thanks. Really. I don't think anyone's ever so nice," Magnus' heart broke a little. All he'd done is give her a job and eggs. "Hey wait?! Isn't treat people with kindness what Harry Styles says?"
"Wise man, great body."
The full day was spent helping (Y/N) recover and explaining more about the downworld. And shadowhunters. It was still gnawing at Magnus. How would he explain the mundane working for him?
With Valentine seemingly coming back and the Lightwoods persistence, how would he hide it? How could he potentially date Alec and harbor (Y/N)?
Unless she wasn't mundane.
"How would you feel about doing some tests? Finding out what you are possible," Magnus asked while they were flicking through TV channels.
"Id love it. Can we? Like is it possible?"
Magnus nodded hesitantly "It is but... it is Complicated. If your potential shadow or downworlder side hasn't shown yet then your probably a mix. Which means more intense tests. Mm taking a lot of magic, blood tests, and spells. Maybe a couple rituals here and there. It could take a while but...you'll get your answers."
She was silent for a few moments "Do you think it'll help with my parents? Like, find out who they were?"
Magnus nodded "Possibly. What do you think?"
"Whats with the sudden interest?" She asked "not even an hour ago you were telling me it wasn't that important right now? Whats with the change of heart?"
"You remember the shadowhunters?" She nodded "Yeah well they're sticklers for rules. If they find out I'm harboring a mundane they'd send me to the silent city which is a whole other lesson. Plus I'm kinda curious, aren't you?"
"First of all, of course, I'm curious. It's my blood. Second of all why would they find out? Do they do house checks or something?"
"Only if there something suspicious. But theirs this shadowhunter who might be around sometimes."
(Y/N) seemed to realize "Oh! Your dating one of them, I get it."
"Not yet. Maybe, probably. I don't know. But for now, you need to lay low."
"Okay. I'm down with that," They settled on a channel but neither really cared. It wasn't until "Magnus and shadowhunters sitting in a tree," (Y/N) mumbled with a sly grin.
"What have I got myself into?" He muttered.
Chairmans meow caught their attention. Magnus picked him up to sit him on his lap but he scurried out of his lap to sit with (Y/N) "Betrayed!" Magnus cried. (Y/N) laughed lightly, petting the cat who purred. It was nice seeing her smile. Not in the way Magnus lit up when Alexander did it. More like...brotherly?...parental? Magnus almost shivered at the idea. Him, a dad?
Part 3
#shadowhunters#shadowhunter smut#shadowhunter cast#shadowhunter ships#shadowhunter imagine#shadowhunters imagine#Magnus Bane#MagnusBane#alec lightwood x magnus bane#magnus x reader#magnus bane x reader#magnus bane imagine#shadowhunter x reader#platonic magnus
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CHARACTER INTERVIEW
BASICS !
NAME . Mick Miles Mundy
NICKNAME . Sniper, Mick, Stretch
AGE . 32
SPECIES . Human
PERSONAL !
MORALITY . lawful / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true .
RELIGION . None
SINS . greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath .
VIRTUES . chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice .
KNOWN LANGUAGES . English
SECRETS . Right birth place and who are his real parents.
PHYSICAL !
BUILD . scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average .
HEIGHT . 6′2″
SCARS / BIRTHMARKS . Scar on his left cheek and nose, multiple faded bullet scars and stab wounds, mostly right under his neck on his back. Bruised nail bed on his left thumb and constant bruising on his right shoulder from the recoil of his rifle
ABILITIES / POWERS . Decently fit, able to climb or run when necessary. One hell of an aim and knows how to live off the land.
RESTRICTIONS . Allergic to cats and has trust issues.
FAVORITES !
FOOD . Pea and ham soup
DRINK . Coffee
PIZZA TOPPING . Bacon and eggs
COLOR . Yellow
MUSIC GENRE . Jazz, Soft rock
BOOK GENRE . Romance / Nature
MOVIE GENRE . Documentaries / Action / Suspense
CURSE WORD . Bugger
SCENTS . Fresh laundry
FUN STUFF !
BOTTOM OR TOP . Switch (Not that you could ever get him in bed so easily)
SINGS IN THE SHOWER . Sometimes
LIKES PUNS . No (you know like a liar)
tagged by : @talariis
Tagging : @pissfirstaskquestionslater @dastardlydapperbastard
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Thoughts on Reysabella's monolouge and why there’s always been a red light in my head about this trilogy
So, a few hours ago I made a few hysterical posts regarding the last force bond scene in Jedi the Last, among others saying I really hope it's all heading for dark!Rey. As I already mentioned, her monolouge in that scene gave me strong Isabella from Measure for Measure vibes and she's a character I really dislike. Basically the scene reestablishes Kylo as dastardly villain and Rey as an unfaltering maiden of light, which is the interpretation so many view as the right one. Regardless, the play isn't of the official Disney-LF material, so it's not like there's room for hysterics as it being an argument against reylo or bendemption. As I also wrote, the scene upset me esthetically above all. But I had to ask myself, why did it rub me the wrong way, why did it give me a sensation of a needlessly false note in an otherwise good opera? At first I told myself - as you pointed out, you dislike characters like Isabella, you're entitled to do so but don't let your preferences cloud your judgment. But then I realised something more - one of the reasons I dislike such characters is exactly having grown up on Star Wars.
What followed was a flood of realisation why ever since TFA I had this red light at the back of my head that this trilogy may break into some dramatic sh*t before the end, why interpretations of the last fb such as above were leaving me esthetically upset, why this entire trilogy, while excellently complementig the symphony the entire saga makes, seemed to me to have a... not exactly false note, but a too loud trombone? some misplaced arias? some keys that could have been better? too few instruments? those details that can make sense in the overall composition but it’s impossible to tell before the music’s over.
And then it dawned on me - this trilogy is that of doubtless believing. Or rather it seems to be. And more importantly, that’s what many viewers want it to be.
Now I know that at a first glance it’s very much what Star Wars has always been about but I’d object. When the characters and themes in hitherto saga are analysed it becomes apparent that doubtlessness, feverish belief is far from being complimented, as I’ll elaborate below.
First of all, OT. Now, the political subplot of OT seems pretty doubltess, but I wouldn’t say it has always been so. Back when the movies where being aired, viewers hoped, most probably hoped very surely and well groundedly that the Rebels will win - but that’s the basic hope we all have that good triumphs, it didn’t have that vibe the sequels have to them that vanquishing evil empires is *Moriarty voice* WHAT STAR WARS DO!!! Turning to the personal plots. Luke is easily the runner up to the title of the most doubtful protagonist of all time, second only to Hamlet. He tries, not does or does not, impossible to him everything is, he can take Obi-Wan to Mos Eisley but not any further. When he goes to face Vader in RotJ he does so fully bracing the idea that he can never come back. When he goes to the Cloud City, he does so half admitting Yoda and Obi-Wan probably have a point that he’s not yet ready to face Vader - but he just can’t leave Han and Leia. Overcoming his self doubt is a great and positive step in his journey. But, it is exactly when Luke develops a sort of overconfidence in himself, up to the point of thinking he can creep up on someone at night and read their thoughts, that he fails. Leia is in many ways an opposite of Luke, she’s a very unfaltering believer, she always knows right from wrong and she’ll always fight the latter in the name of the former. And while her struggles pay off politically, sequels introduce an unpleasant concept that it came at a price of her motherhood. When her child shows himself to be not simply a ball of light, she freaks out and has her miracle working brother who magically saved their father exorcise the darkness before it lays eggs. And on the other hand, there’s Han. A self proclaimed scoundrel who’s actually the good guy, nothing short of a walking self-doubt. Sadly, his is the case where too much doubt brought failure. But neither was he fervently believing in anything else.
Turning to PT. In terms of politics, it’s obvious prequels are far from hero worship. Liberty dies in thunderous applause, Palpatine becomes emperor according to every democratic rule, jedi asses are dragged like hell. Doubts galore. What about characters? Anakin is a serial monofidelist. First he fervently believes in the jedi order, then as firmly in Palpatine as a leader, and finally for a short while in himself to eventually have nothing left to believe in and spend 20 years as an empty shell. So, Padme? Yes, Padme firmly believes - in freedom, human (alien?) rights, peace, general welfare, democracy - but not republic or its representatives. She doesn’t believe in the republic beacuse there’s nothing to believe in, she can methodically explain to Anakin why this system works, there is no supernatural connection between republic and freedom in her head, that’s just how society and politics work. She also has little hesitation to call a votum against Valorum, is a leader of opposition in the senate and finally wonders outloud if the republic hasn’t become the exact evil they wanted to fight - to which Anakin of all people accuses her of talking like a seperatist. And finally, Obi-Wan. Again, apparently firm believer and undeniably, he has a couple of axes mundi that he just believes in - the light side, democracy, jedi beacuse not necessarily jedi order... I’d also say he really believed in Anakin to be the chosen one, which I think is - alongside their friendship, another of his few axes mundi - why his fall hurt him so much. But other than that? I’d say his serene confidence is far from fervent belief, he has no problem letting Anakin continuously break the jedi code (imagine if Windu had better knowledge of where little padawans come from...), when Han mocks the idea of the Force he just confidently has him watch Luke train with the ball - compare that to Darth Anakin force choking a man for a similar “offence”.
Turning to ST. There’s something almost grotesque about TLJ spoonfeeding us how dire Resistance’s situation is at the end of the movie and audience just going yeah, yeah, sure, they’re good guys in Star Wars, if they don’t win now you’ll give them another trilogy. As for characters - well, that’s exactly where interpretations differ. Of all mainest characters, Finn is the one most indisputably having had some sort of epiphany, a turning point in his perception, even if he hadn’t have time to maul over what DJ told him about war as business and Rose stopping his kamikaze. But as far as Rey and Ben are concerned - well, exactly, are their stories from doubt to different certainties, as some believe? If we assume TLJ was a journey from point A through some sidetracking to point A only more firmly - which is basically what Renperor throwing a tantrum and Reysabella expressing outloud Resistance’s moral superiority during the last force bond imply - then indeed, some trombone sounds out of place in the overall symphony. Now, Kylo Ben is arguably the character that had a word “conflict” put next to him most frequently, and it basically depends on whether this assertion is correct that he’s either a broken abuse victim or a cold psychopath the only sure argument right now is that latter makes a boring story. But Rey... Rey’s a believer. More, she’s a denier. A believer capable of wasting over a decade of her life in the name of denial. New puzzle pieces take time to make her reconsider the picture: no no, Luke, you’re wrong, jedi were awesome. No, you didn’t fail Kylo, Kylo failed you. Liar, she calls Kylo fun fact: Obi-Wan to Dooku telling him senate is controlled by a sith lord: I don’t believe you; Anakin to Padme on Mustafar: liar when he tells her his version of the Dolorous Night - even though a part of her knows that what he said is closer to truth than what Luke told her. When she goes to Supremacy she does so firmly sure she’s right and Luke’s wrong. Now, of course, she progresses through the movie, but, interestingly enough, the hesitation before the third act isn’t adressed as firmly as it should be at the end of the second movie - if it is in fact acknowledged. AotC ends with Yoda informing everyone there was no victory, only a beginning of clone wars. ESB makes a fine case of Luke quite quickly calling Vader father and painfully asking Obi-Wan why didn’t he tell him the truth. Rey seems... exactly, back in the place she was, only more firmly.
Case in point, to a naive eye it appears Rey had something of a paradoxical perception twist, and that was her only twist in the entire story - she changed her perception to find out her older perception was right. And that of course applies to Kylo Ben, and him alone. For many, even the truth about her parents shouldn’t be a table turner which expresses our escapist society disturbingly well. But more importantly, it’s not a misinterpretation. I know there are plenty of excellent meta explaining how Rey isn’t actually as firm in the last fb, but tbh, an intuitive impression is probably the right impression in a blockbuster. The actual question to ask is what does this firmness mean in the overall story.
Too high minors, too low majors, too self assured this allegro con brio seems.... Is it to establish a new key? Maybe.
#reylo#episode ix speculation#dark!rey#jedi the last#again it's not like the play should have anyone go hysterical#but that monolouge had every bit of my inner arbiter elegantiare throw a tantrum
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This engraving in Robert Fludd’s Utriusque Cosmi Historia (History of Both Worlds, 1617 - 1621) has the title ‘The Mirror of the Whole of Nature and the Image of Art’ and it displays the links between the heavens and the earth, mediated by the eye-catching woman. She is connected to the heavens by chains, ‘Above’ to the hand of God emerging from a cloud bearing the divine name YHVH and ‘Below’ by another chain to the earth.
It is interesting to see that God holds the first chain, with the other end manacled to her wrist; she in turn holds the second chain, the other end manacled to a small ape who is holding a model of the earth with a pair of compasses. The woman is the personification of ‘Nature’, the Neoplatonic Anima Mundi or Soul of the World, while the Ape represents ‘Art’ (human ingenuity) as the Ape of Nature. While Nature’s head is in the Super-celestial realm of the angelic heavens, her torso is in the celestial realm of the planetary spheres and her feet are in the terrestrial realm of the elements of Earth and Water, the lands and seas, surrounded by the elements of Air and Fire. Her feet stand in different elements, symbolizing alchemical conjunction of Sulphur and Mercury.
The diagram is split into male correspondences on the left and female on the right; grouped into Animal, Vegetable, and Mineral categories (Man, Lion, Serpent, Dolphin/Grapes, Trees/Gold, Lead, Antimony, Talc) and (Woman, Eagle, Snail, Fish/Wheat, Flowers and roots/Silver, Copper, Orpiment, Sal Armoniac).
In the central circle within which the Ape works, are 4 bands. The outer is the ‘More Liberal Arts’ (Arithmetic, Music, Geometry, Perspective, Painting, Fortification, Motion [Mechanics], Time [Time-Keeping], Cosmography, Astrology, and Geomancy). Then we have ‘Art supplementing nature in the animal kingdom’ (Silkworms, Apiculture, Hatching of eggs, and Medicine), ‘Art helping Nature in the vegetable Kingdom’ (grafting of trees, cultivation of earth), ‘Art correcting nature in the mineral Kingdom’ ([Alchemical] distillation with cucurbits and distillation with retorts). Aspects are interconnected, such as the minerals with the related planet: Sun/Gold, Saturn/Lead, etc.
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Horizon Light - Part 2
~2800 Words
Chapter Tags: Violence, Strong Language, Hastily Researched Disability Sorry If I Fucked Up
If the jaeger bay is the heart of every shatterdome, then LOCCENT is the brain. Even in the off hours, it remains hard at work: monitoring the breach, coordinating jaeger launches, keeping in contact with those still out in the field. Obi-Wan hasn't visited much since Qui's death, reminded too starkly of their final briefing before the disaster with Maul, but he finds himself there in the early hours before his compatibility test.
He’s drawn up a chair at Ki-Adi-Mundi's station, listening to the technician as he makes his morning contact with the rangers out on patrol. Mundi's voice is soothing, familiar; easier to listen to and obey than some of the other techs. He'd been a ranger himself once, years ago, before the instability of the mark ones took their toll and he was banned from the harness for the sake of his health. He's worn beyond his years, hair prematurely white, but still dedicated to the cause. You can take a soldier out of the fight, but you can't take the fight out of a soldier. He'd gone back to the academy when Obi-Wan was there and worked his way up to the position of J-Tech Chief. Now he's one of most respected officers on base.
"Eat, Kenobi," he says in the brief moments where he switches between com frequencies. "You're going to need your strength today."
Obi-Wan does, because he's right. The tray of powdered, rehydrated eggs and slightly stale toast is hardly the most appealing thing he's ever eaten, but the war has taken its toll on even the taste buds of its soldiers. Governments have been reduced to rationing food, trading labor for meals along their coastlines as more and more funding is subverted to the Wall of Life program. Bread, however old, is a gift; very few ports are left open for trade in the wake of the Kaiju attacks.
His stomach churns uncomfortably, a mix of nerves and the nausea that comes with indulging in a heavy meal after a few days without. If he didn't need energy for the fight, for putting Skywalker on his ass, Obi-wan would've skipped this meal as well. Time will tell whether or not he'll keep it down, but for now he forces himself to focus on the upcoming sparring session instead of the grainy texture of his eggs.
"What can you tell me about him? Skywalker, I mean?"
Anxiety must be obvious in the tone of his voice, because Mundi glances away from where he's monitoring the Ironclad Glory's patrol to study him. For all the other copilots the brass has put up, Obi-Wan has never bothered to look into them beyond a brief scan of the file Windu presents him with. He knew their type: inexperienced, overly eager to get out in the world and make a name for themselves. They'd drifted once or twice in a test harness with their classmates, but didn't understand the intensity of a true drift—didn’t understand the bond it forged between pilots. Obi-Wan suspects that's why he rejected them so intensely.
Skywalker, however, is a wild card. An unknown variable. He's been in the harness and knows what it is to be connected to another person in the most intimate way possible. He knows combat—true combat—not the glorified, idealized crap they air on the news every time a Kaiju goes down. Real combat is messy and ugly; blood, sweat, and the desperate cling to survival. It’s knowing that every decision is life and death, and knowing that there’s consequences for more than just you if you choose wrong. Obi-Wan has no idea what to expect from the other pilot.
“I’ve only worked with him once, so there’s not a whole lot I can tell you I’m afraid. He’s reckless, rebellious, but you would know that already if you’ve seen read his file. When he gets out there, he gets caught up in his own head and won’t listen to instruction.” Mundi pauses then, turning his gaze back to the terminal and fiddling with some switches. “Honestly, I think it was only a matter of time before he hurt someone. I’m just sorry it was Tano; she was a great pilot.”
If Obi-Wan thought he was going to be sick before, it’s nothing compared to how he feels now. His gut twists violently, anxiety only worsened by Mundi’s words. Honestly, what is the brass thinking? Are they trying to kill them? There’s no way Obi-Wan is going to be compatible with someone like Skywalker. Even if they get past the initial spar, even if their combat style is compatible (Obi-Wan’s preference for melee weaponry has turned off many potential, range-specialized rangers), they’ll never be able to align themselves in the drift.
When it came to his and Qui-Gon’s dynamic in the drift, Obi-Wan had always been the cautious one. Qui had a habit of not looking before he leapt, and Obi-Wan’s patience had balanced him out in a way that made them a formidable team. While Anakin seems to have a similar temperament, preferring to charge right in rather than pausing to consider his option, Mundi has explicitly stated that he isn’t going to be willing to listen to reason. Obi-Wan will never allow someone to drag him heedlessly into a dangerous situation. They won’t ‘balance each other out’ as the brass seem to think will happen; they’ll just end up tearing each other apart.
He needs to make sure that he and Skywalker never set foot in the same Jaeger.
A glance at the clock reveals that he needs to head down toward the training hall if he’s going to get there on time and avoid a lecture from Windu. Muttering thanks and a short goodbye to Mundi, he slips out into the ebb and flow of the shatterdome’s halls. There seems to be a great number of other pilots and technicians heading in the same direction as him, but this isn’t surprising. His status as a single pilot and inability to drift has made him the center of his fair share of gossip; there’s even a betting pool for whether or not he’ll ever find a compatible partner. As such, there always a crowd when word gets out that he’s up for testing with another pilot.
When he arrives at the designated hall for the spar however, pushing his way through the crowd hovering outside the doorway, Obi-Wan finds the room suspiciously empty of… well… just about everyone. It’s just him, standing there in his workout gear, and Marshal Yoda seated on one of the benches that line the walls. It is both underwhelming and foreboding at once. If Yoda wouldn’t have his ass for smoking, he might have fished a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit up in attempt to calm his nerves. Seeing as he can’t, he takes to pacing instead.
Yoda, for his part, doesn’t seem particularly taken aback by this situation. The aging Marshal doesn’t hold any official power any more, having passed his title to Windu a few years back, but the respect he’s earned over the course of his life has made him instrumental in the shatterdome’s operation even now. He’s consulted on everything from deployments to pilot pairings, which is why he’s here to oversee Kenobi and Skywalker’s spar. Being one of the founding members of this shatterdome and having watched dozens of pilot pairs come and go, he’s got a keen eye for picking out who will and who won’t be compatible in the drift during these initial spars.
Obi-Wan desperately hopes that he doesn’t like what he sees.
There’s no clock in the room, so Obi-Wan doesn’t know how long they wait for the rest of their party to arrive. It feels like hours, but he’s well aware of the way anxiety can warp his perceptions. In truth, it’s probably no longer than a few minutes before he hears the racket announcing their approach. And boy, does he hear it. Hissing and spitting, somebody shouting, the thump of flesh against flesh and a pained noise as somebody winds up on the receiving end of a blow. None of it helps to assuage his fear that this is going to end in anything less than disaster.
When Skywalker does arrive, he does so in style: thrown into the room by the back of his shirt by a flushed and furious Windu. The Marshal’s nose is bleeding, clearly having been the one to take Skywalker’s punch as he attempted to wrangle the protesting ranger through the gathered crowd and into the hall. Skywalker hits the mats hard, splayed out motionless for a long moment as he attempts to get his bearings after the impact. Obi-Wan can smell the alcohol on him from here.
“Try that again, and I’ll rip your fucking arm off,” Skywalker snarls, pushing himself to his hands and knees and turning his face up to glare at Windu. Obi-Wan feels his breath catch in his throat when he gets a good look at the ranger.
The Skywalker before him is not the same man that smirked up at him in the photo included with his personnel file. His right arm glimmers in the low, unobtrusive light of the room—a prosthetic, seemingly modeled after Jaeger tech. Wires and gold plating have replaced his right hand and forearm, meeting scarred flesh just short of the elbow. From there the scarring travels upward, creating a trail of pale patterns against his tanned skin. Up and up, over his shoulder and his neck, then across the right side of his face. It bisects his cheek and his eye, stopping around halfway up his forehead. The corresponding eye is covered in a milky film, unseeing.
Skywalker may have fared better in his Jaeger’s fall than his copilot, but he certainly didn’t make it out unscathed.
“Get up, Skywalker,” Windu snaps, clearly having had enough of the younger man’s antics. “You know damn well you couldn’t even take down a green cadet right now.”
The ranger rises unsteadily to his feet, wobbling as muscle memory clashes with what his brain perceives to be his center of balance. “Why don’t you come over here and try me?”
“No need,” Windu says, not rising to the bait. He strides over to a bin on the far side of the room instead; Obi-Wan knows its contents to be a variety of practice weapons for the sake of training and compatibility spars. Long staffs are typically used in this situation, so Obi-Wan feels a flash of surprise when the Marshal draws two wooden swords from the bin. Skywalker, he realizes, must also prefer bladed combat to the guns and gadgets favored by many of the other pilot pairs. “That’s what Kenobi is here for.”
One of the swords is tossed his way; Obi-Wan catches it, spinning the hilt in his hand to get a feel for its weight. Skywalker is less successful, fumbling the weapon when he misjudges the distance. “I don’t want another copilot,” the younger man hisses.
In this, they are agreed.
Skywalker’s gaze shifts to him for the first time since he entered the room, taking him in with a critical sneer. Obi-Wan doesn’t have to be told that he looks a mess—probably nearly as bad as Skywalker, actually. His clothes hang off his frame from the weight he’s lost, there are dark bags under his eyes from the sleep he’s missed, and the bandages on his wrists tell an unmistakable story. He hasn’t even bothered to cut his hair or trim up his beard, both of which have gone a bit shaggy in the passing weeks. They make a ridiculous pair, he and Skywalker; this is never going to work.
“Take your positions,” Windu announces, stepping off the mats and over to Yoda’s side. “First to four points takes the match.”
Obi-Wan finds his place at one end of the mat while Skywalker moves to the other, apparently giving up on words. Windu is notoriously stubborn, and no amount arguing will get them out of this now that he’s made up his mind; it’s the reason Obi-Wan hadn’t even bothered. Better to simply get the spar out of the way and prove their incompatibility through action. Each falls into their opening stance, waiting for the Marshal to call the start of the first round.
When it does, Skywalker charges—as reckless as Mundi said he would be. Obi-Wan easily dodges the younger man’s swing, side-stepping and catching him across the back with the blade as he passes. Skywalker is nearly upended by the impact, the lack of balance suggested in his earlier movements made painfully clear. The contact wins Obi-Wan the first point, and Skywalker grits his teeth as they fall into their opening stances once again.
The second round ends much the same as the first, lasting only marginally longer. Skywalker is completely defenseless against Obi-Wan’s attacks as he tries to keep the older pilot in his limited field of vision, only to be caught across the ribs with a strike when he stumbles halfway through a turn.
“You’re overcompensating,” Obi-Wan hears himself say, the correction more reflex than conscious decision. He and Qui-Gon used to spar with the younger rangers, once upon a time, in hopes of helping them live a bit longer on the battlefield. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn’t. “Your body knows what it’s supposed to do; just listen to it.”
“Fuck you,” Skywalker spits, and Obi-Wan takes what is perhaps an undue amount of pleasure in the sound of his blade cracking against the younger ranger’s jaw at the end of the third round.
There is no official start to the fourth round. Skywalker pushes himself to his feet and charges Obi-Wan once again, but for all his stubborn attitude, he seems to have listened. He falls into a form naturally counter to Obi-Wan’s own, allowing muscle memory to take over as they dance across the mats. Neither of them see the flicker of something across Windu’s face when Skywalker successfully deflects a blow aimed at his blind side, having read Obi-Wan’s body language and anticipated the attack.
They can, however, feel it—the unmistakable pull of connection. Obi-Wan hasn’t felt it with anyone, anyone, since he was a fresh out of the academy and facing Qui on these very same mats. He feels it in every blow Skywalker successfully blocks; feels it in the way they weave around each other, locked in a stalemate.
They’re drift compatible.
It’s horrible, unthinkable, and Obi-Wan hates it. He hates knowing it and hates knowing that Skywalker feels it too. The younger man is growing increasingly flustered, face reddening with his frustration as the realization of their connection sinks in, and suddenly the tone of their fight feels less and less like a spar. This is not what either of them wanted; this is not what either of them expected. Anger and blame fuel every strike and stab as they slide further from the purpose of the exercise. It’s no longer a test—it’s about causing the other pain.
Obi-Wan’s blade comes to a swift halt when Skywalker unexpectedly drops his own weapon, the ranger’s prosthetic hand catching Obi-Wan’s sword mid-swing. The blade is wrenched from his grip, sent skittering across the room, and then Skywalker is on him. The younger man tackles him to the floor with an animal snarl, and Obi-Wan can only struggle weakly under the following assault.
He may have had the upper hand in swordplay, but Obi-Wan is at a severe disadvantage in a bare-knuckle brawl. Skywalker is bigger and heavier than him even on a good day, and Obi-Wan hasn’t had a good day in weeks. The meals he’s missed make themselves apparent when Skywalker easily pins him to the mat, his flailing all but useless in the face of the other ranger’s power. He’s been taught a dozen ways to get out from someone’s hold, but fear and pain wipe them all from Obi-Wan’s mind the instant Skywalker’s prosthetic makes contact with his face. The metal easily breaks skin, breaks his nose, and he can feel hot blood oozing down his lips and chin as Skywalker hits him again and again and again.
It only stops when two of the other rangers observing their spar—Quinlan Vos and Kit Fisto—rush forward, dragging Skywalker off him and to the far side of the room. Fisto’s copilot, Bant Eerin, kneels at Obi-Wan’s side, helping sit up any steadying him when the pain threatens to double him over again. Skywalker spits and snarls abuse at him, writhing in the other rangers’ grips, and Obi-Wan would probably throw it right back if only he could think straight.
His eyes tick up to where Windu stands at Yoda’s side, and dread pools cold in his gut at the calculating look in the two Marshals’ eyes.
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Chapter 89 - SBT
Here it is!
"Here, Micky, a bigger bowl."
"Oh, thanks, Mum! Come along, babies, Dad is gonna show you stuff."
Caroline opened the French window for Mundy and the cats to step in the garden.
"Careful with the chickens, they aren't toys or food, eh?" Mundy told the cats who froze when they saw the few ginger hens. "Eggs first?" He asked his mother who nodded.
"Yes, please, you'll find them on your left, you'll see your father built them a little coop."
"Oh, alright." Mundy cast a glance over the cats. Soot had stepped between Perle and the curious hen pecking at the grass.
"Meow…" He slowly lowered his body closer to the ground and his pupils went wide.
"No, no huntin' of the hens, Sooty boy…"
Soot looked up at Mundy.
"Meow!"
"No, they're nice, look." Mundy put the bowl down and crouched to take a hen and sit on the ground. He petted her gently while Caroline watched the whole scene unravel before her eyes. "C'mere and touch, she's soft."
Soot hesitated but Perle trusted Mundy and came closer, albeit prudently. She raised a paw and Mundy held it between his fingers.
"Good girl, don't be scared… Here, see? The hen is a friend."
"Meow?"
"Yeah, a friend. She's not scared of ya, see? She's just curious. C'mon, Sooty boy, man up and c'mere."
Soot approached but positioned himself such that Perle was always between him and the chicken.
"Don't be shy… Gimme yer paw."
Soot averted his green eyes and looked down.
"C'mon…"
Perle turned to him and after a few affectionate licks and some purrs, her charms worked and Soot raised his paw.
"Good boy… Here…"
"Meow?" He raised apprehensive eyes to Mundy.
"It's safe, don't worry. You trust your Dad, right?"
There was a second of hesitation and Soot meowed again. Mundy gently pulled his paw and his black pads came into contact with the hen's feathers.
"Here we go… Gently… No, we don't slap her… Pearl, show him, baby… See? The wifey's not scared, eh?"
"You still are as good with animals as you've always been." Caroline said with a sweet grin. Mundy smiled back at her as she came to ruffle his hair. He was sitting on the grass, his legs open, with the hen in his hands and Perle and Soot between his long legs.
"Especially these two, they're adorable."
"Aw… And you really behave like their Dad, eh?"
Mundy blushed.
"Y-yeah, well, I raised them… L-let's get the eggs eh?" He stood up and released the hen. "Oh that's a gorgeous little house they have..." He discovered a quite large wooden coop. "How many chickens d'you have?"
"A dozen maybe? And a couple of roosters, too."
Both approached the coop and the chickens cackled happily.
"Ladies and gents, hey there…" Mundy ran his hands on their feathers. "I'm surprised they're not scared."
"I hold them in my arms all the time."
"Why not get a cat or a dog? Better pet than chickens, eh?"
"Yeah but after what happened in the farm, it's hard to even just have those few hens." Caroline sighed.
"Hey…" Mundy went closer to her and, bending down, he hugged her. "What happened at the farm won't happen again, Mum."
"I know but… I'm always scared… Who knows what could happen here?"
"There's no oil or anythin' here, and even if there was, Duchemin's dead."
"Yeah…" Caroline hugged her son back. "Micky?"
"Yeah?"
"I missed you so much."
"So did I, Mum. Went mad without you. I even missed my fights with Dad."
She tapped him on the back.
"Such a good boy you are… C'mon, let's get the eggs."
"Sure."
They both helped each other and collected all the eggs in the coop.
"Leave just one or two, in case there's a chick inside."
"Okay. What next?"
"Next, you can fill the basket with whatever veggies you like, come follow me."
"Really? Mum, no, c'mon, you need the money…"
"Nonsense!" Caroline turned and walked away, heading for the little vegetable farm. "I'm gonna make sure you can eat before I can sell anything, you're my son and baby, no way I'm feedin' people before I feed you."
Mundy smiled.
"But Mum, you need to keep stuff to sell it - oh, my God! That's amazing!"
Mundy's sentence and his breath altogether cut short when his eyes fell on his parent's garden.
"You have such a big garden, Mum, it's great!" Mundy's eyes eagerly scanned every plant, every stem and every leaf of the green lines of fresh vegetables that all beckoned his eyes.
"Aw, it's smaller than what we had back in the days but it gets us enough money."
"Mum, this is great…!" He crouched next to the melons. "Babies? C'mere, let me explain, now, no, no claws, only touch with your little paws… There, good babies… Look at these flowers, see them?"
"Meow…!"
"Soot, don't put your face in the flower… Scared but curious you are, eh? Yeah, it's a melon flower, you can't see it, but it's orange. And you know what? They open when the sun rises and then close for the night."
Perle came closer and sniffed the flower.
"Meow."
"You like it?"
"Meow…." She purred and Mundy scratched her head.
"And look here. What are these, d'you remember them? Papa loves them." Mundy pointed at some vegetables.
"Meow!"
"Yeah, it's peppers! Good girl…!" Mundy kissed Perle's head.
"Papa?" Caroline repeated as she picked a melon and put it in the basket.
"Yeah, that's Lu's name for Pearl."
"He's Papa and you're Dad?" Caroline picked a few bell peppers.
"Y-yeah…" Mundy blushed. "B-but yeah, uh, Lu', he likes those bell peppers. Makes ratatouilles with them." He tried to justify himself and lead the conversation away.
"You like it?"
"What?"
"His ratatouille?" She asked.
"Yeah…? It's… It's nice. It's a French thing. Smells really good too when he cooks it. The entire house smells of it."
Caroline smiled and Mundy's eyes went back to the vegetables. He walked through among the rows, stopping at each new kind of plant and had the cats touch it, sometimes even let them have a taste.
"Sooty boy, cherry tomatoes aren't toys, stop slappin' them, there, good boy. Wanna taste one? C'mere. Baby Pearl, c'mere too. Here… Y'like it? Yeah, you do! It's nice, isn't it?"
Caroline followed her son and filled his basket with whatever was ripe.
"Oh by the way, Micky, I have a few other things I want to give you."
"Mum, you've already filled this big basket with stuff, you shouldn't have…!"
"Yeah, I should have! Now, be a dear and carry it back home and follow me."
"Right. Babies, wanna follow? Oh, yeah, they do. Alright, c'mon, chop, chop!"
They made it back inside of the house and Mundy put the basket on the kitchen table.
"I made these things a few weeks ago now," Caroline started as she went to the tip of her toes and opened some cupboards. She took some glass jars out and adjusted her glasses to read the stickers on them more easily. "Ah, that's the one." She took one of the jars and added it to the basket.
"What's that?" Mundy took a look. "Oh! Apricot jam? Really?" His face brightened with a smile.
"Still your favorite, yeah?" She asked.
"Oh yeah, still my favourite, always! Thank you so much, Mum…!" He hugged her dearly.
"Aw, sweetie, it's nothing…"
"Nah, don't say that, it's the best jam ever." He closed his eyes and tried to remember the last time apricot jam had a strong effect on him. His eyes snapped open when he realised that it was at Victoria's diner, when he was sharing the crêpes with Lucien…
"I'll wash a couple of apples and we can sit and have them, yeah?" She suggested.
"Sure." They broke the embrace.
"Wanna have it inside or out under the sun?" She asked as she rinsed two red apples.
"Outside?"
"Alright, here, let's go." She gave him one and he opened the French window for her. They both stepped outside again, followed by the cats. Caroline took a seat on a chair while Mundy preferred to sit cross-legged on the grass in front of her. Perle and Soot jumped between his thighs and laid there, in a pile of fluff. The sun and Mundy's scratches gently soothed them to sleep.
"Aw, look at your cats, they're sleepin' together…" Caroline tilted her head on the side and smiled.
"Yeah, they're adorable. I love them."
"They love you too, listen to them purr…"
Mundy grinned. He looked around him and took a deep breath. The Aussie loved being in a grassy lawn with his mother. They both took a crunchy bite of their apples.
"Mh…! Super juicy. Is this from the garden too?"
"Yeah, we got a few trees, apples, pears, apricots… The basics."
"Meow." Perle opened her eyes and yawned. Mundy scratched her head and she blinked slowly.
"Hey, baby, short nappy, eh?"
"Meow…" She hopped off of Mundy's lap and stretched in the grass while Soot was still sleeping. She played with the straws of green and fresh grass before going to Caroline's legs and brushing herself on her.
"Aw, Pearl, y'like me?" Caroline asked.
"Meow." She answered.
"That's your Grandma right there, baby." Mundy answered.
"Grandma?" Caroline repeated. "I thought only Soot was yours and Pearl was Lucien's?"
"Y-well…" Mundy blushed again. "I-It's a shared custody… I mean she obeys me as much as him, eh."
Perle sniffed Caroline's trousers on her legs before looking up and jumping on her lap.
"Aw, hello, Pearl… Can I pet you?"
"Yeah, she's very easy, go ahead."
"You're so soft…! Does she shed a lot of hair everywhere in the house?" Caroline asked.
"We're used to it now, we find long white hair everywhere. If it's medium length, it's her, if it's proper long, it's Lu's few white streaks."
Perle lay down and blinked slower and slower under Caroline's strokes.
"Look at her, she likes you, Mum."
"I guess she does. She's beautiful…!"
"Meow."
"You're welcome." Caroline answered with a chuckle. Both Mundy and her soon finished their apples. They were under the sun, for the cats' greatest delight, and were silently appreciating each other's company.
"Micky?"
"Yeah?"
"Your friend, Lucien, you trust him, right?"
"Yeah, I do, why?"
"Well, I don't know… I'd say be careful, eh? You never know."
Mundy frowned.
"What d'you mean? Why d'you say that?"
"Something's… off with him." She answered.
"What?"
"Don't you think it's a little bit odd?"
"Mum, you gotta be clearer."
"Right, right… His suit last time, remember it?"
"Yeah, the beige one? What about it?"
"It's a Lemercier, it's the most expensive tailor in town, and yet he said to be struggling with money…?"
Mundy's pupils retracted to a dot and his breath stopped. Bugger, his mother had to be that observant…
"And when you came before that, I saw him with another suit through the window. Looked as neat as a Lemercier."
Mundy bit his lip and lowered his head.
"All I'm saying is that he might be hiding things from you, and those things might be heaps of money he doesn't want anyone to know of… Look, Micky, were the circumstances different, I wouldn't care a bit. After all, this is none of my or your business."
"But…?" Mundy anticipated, raising his eyes to his mother.
"But you both… dealt with a guy. You're both supposed to… not be free." She looked right and left and whispered, just in case. "What do you know about that man? He could report you to the police, or even be the police for that matter!"
"Mum, I'm sure he won't, don't worry. He just likes to dress fancy."
"Alright, fair, but where does the money come from for him to pay custom-made suits where he is a teacher for poor kids? Surely that isn't his only source of money? And why pretend he can't afford to live alone if he clearly can?"
Mundy started sweating. Of all the lies and well constructed nonsense that he and Lucien had told his parents, it was the one thing they hadn't talked about that had planted the seed of doubt in Caroline, namely, Lucien's clothing style.
"Well the answer's clear, Micky!"
"What?"
"If he pretends to not be able to pay for the rent on his own but has to live with you, it's because he needs you close!"
Mundy blushed.
"W-what d'you mean, he needs me close?"
"He can't afford to have you walkin' around on your own far from him!"
"W-Why?" Mundy's heartbeat accelerated and Soot woke up.
"Because you both did what you did to that guy!"
Mundy sighed in relief. For a second, he thought his mother might have guessed that they were more than partners in crime.
"Yeah, well…?"
"Yeah! And he wants to make sure you won't turn him in! So he keeps you close!"
Mundy couldn't hold back a smile.
"Mum, no, don't worry…"
"How can you be so calm about it?! First, you live with… well… a criminal."
"I'm one too, eh. He didn't do it alone."
"Yeah, but contrary to you, he's a liar." She answered and it sawed Mundy's heart in half. He wanted to protest and defend Lucien, but he couldn't do much without telling Caroline the truth. "And if he's lying about one thing, God knows how many other things he lied about."
"Mum…"
"No, Micky, look at me… I'm worried for you, sweetie. You live with a dangerous man is all I want you to understand and…"
"Did you tell Dad about it?"
"No, I didn't. If I had, he'd have gone mad worrying. And we both know that your Dad isn't the best when it comes to reactin' to situations like that, eh?"
"Yeah, thanks for not tellin' him."
"I'm not telling him but…" Caroline raised an index finger and Mundy, a curious eyebrow. "I'll ask you to come here and live with us instead. We have a house, an extra room, you'll be back home and I won't worry so much about you."
"But Mum, I finally did it! I got a job and a place, you want me to break all that cause Lu' wears fancy suits?!"
"Micky, you know it's not about the suits. It's about you bein' safe. The man is elegant, has good manners, and everythin'. But he is hiding things from you, important things, stuff that could be scary to you and us, and maybe it's dangerous, who knows? I'd rather have you here with us than there with him."
Mundy sighed and covered his face with his hands.
"Micky… Look at it that way. If he's lyin' about one thing, he might be lying about a billion more, who knows? That story about his fiancée and son, maybe it's all made up? Maybe he wasn't in the army at all? Why did he then travel all the way to Australia and help you? Nothin' makes sense!"
"No." Mundy answered and removed his hands off his face. "It's… It's… I mean… It's all true, the fiancée and son, I saw pictures of them with him. And what he did to Duchemin… He…" Mundy looked left and right and whispered. "He carved their names with his knife on the bloke's chest, on top of the burns I made."
Caroline's eyes snapped wide and her eyebrows jumped.
"If none of that's true, surely he wouldn't have done that, would it? And he wouldn't have wanted to get that guy, right? Nothin' makes sense because you don't get it, Mum."
"What?" She asked.
"I… I appreciate… that you're worried for me. But I know what I'm doin', ok? I know Lu', I know him very well and he knows me very well too. Just… Just trust me."
Caroline took a deep breath.
"Micky… I'd love to trust you, but I can't. That man is hiding stuff from you and it could be dangerous." Caroline gently nudged Perle who jumped out of her lap and joined her son on the grass. She sat next to him and cupped his face. "I lost you once, Micky, I don't want to run that risk, or any risk, ever again." She added.
Mundy sighed.
"Mum… I can't do that." He said, lowering his head.
"Why? It's ok, I'll deal with your Dad, I'll tell him what I think and he won't think any less of you, don't worry."
"I'm not worryin' about that." Mundy admitted.
"What's the problem then? Tell me, sweetie."
Mundy raised distraught eyes to his mother.
"I can't tell you. But you have to trust me, please."
"Micky, you're startin' to worry me now, what is it?" Her hazel eyes darted left and right behind her glasses to Mundy's.
The Aussie lowered his head and laid it against his mother's chest. She hugged him dearly.
"What is it, Micky? Please, tell me, I promise I won't be mad and I won't tell your Dad."
"I can't…"
"Why? Is he forcin' you to keep your mouth shut?"
"No, not him."
"Who then? Who's preventing you from speaking?" She asked, determined to change that for her son.
"You." He answered.
"What?!" Her eyebrows jumped behind her glasses.
"You and Dad."
"What?!" She repeated. "Micky, we never want you to keep important stuff away from us."
Mundy nodded his head against his mother's chest.
"No!" She answered. "Never, ever, did we ever ask you such a thing! What are you talking about?!" She hugged him tighter.
"I can't tell you, because you don't want to hear it." He said and his breath hitched.
"Micky…? What is it? Bloody hell, if you're crying, it's really scary then…!"
Mundy raised his head off of his mother's chest and wiped his face with his sleeve.
"I can't tell you here." He sniffled. "We have to go out."
"We're already out in the garden!"
"No, out of here, far from Dad. He's in the house."
"Where d'you want us to go?"
"I'll take you home and show you. But Mum, you gotta promise to never ever tell Dad about it, ok?"
"Well, depends what it is!" She almost exclaimed. "If it's dangerous, I have to tell him."
"Mum, it's really not dangerous, but you gotta promise. If you think you might tell Dad, then I'm not showing you."
"Micky…"
"No, no, you gotta swear."
She sighed.
"That's blackmail, Micky."
"It was blackmail too when you asked me to come live here otherwise you'd tell Dad that I'm in danger." He answered and her eyebrows jumped up. "But I don't mean to blackmail you, like you didn't mean to do to me, I just want to tell you." He was begging with his eyes. "Please, Mum, please, let me tell you… Swear you won't tell him and I'll tell you the truth."
Caroline looked at her son's distraught and pleading eyes. She took a deep breath and didn't hesitate long.
"Alright, I swear I won't tell him."
"Swear on somethin' that matters."
"Micky…!"
"Mum-!" Mundy stopped himself and lowered his voice. "Mum, please… I want to tell you, I want to tell you so, so, much, but I'm scared… I'm so bloody scared I feel like I can't do anythin' and I'm just in a prison of lies." He sniffled and his breath went hitched again.
"Ssh… Wipe your tears, baby." She hugged him dearly. "Sweetie, I swear on your father's head that I won't tell him a thing. I love you, Micky, you're my only baby and I don't want you to be so scared of your Dad that you keep things away from me too. Oh, Gosh… Alright, let it go, sweetie, it's ok, it's ok…"
Mundy cried against his mother's chest. He was about to hit a point of no return. Telling her the truth about his relationship with Lucien might liberate him, or it might lock him up in his closet forever.
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Why the Cats are losing their claws, plus: stopping Adelaide
Why the Cats are losing their claws
GEELONG couldn’t tackle a problem right now.
But the Cats need to, and quickly.
In the first half against Essendon on Saturday night, they took bananas to a gunfight, laying just 14 tackles to be dead and buried at the long break.
• Five talking points: Cats sink to 11-year low v Essendon
They weren’t the lowest first-half tackling numbers the Cats have recorded for the season either.
The Cats laid just 13 tackles in the first half against North Melbourne in round two.
The last rites were being read at half-time in that game before the Cats made a Lazarus-like comeback to defeat the Kangaroos by a point.
In the past three rounds, however, the comebacks have fallen short, with the Cats losing and conceding more than 100 points for the first time in three successive weeks since rounds 8-10, 2006.
And they’re slipping down the ladder as a result, struggling to get a grip on each rung to cushion their fall.
The effect that such poor pressure has is enormous, as it allows the opposition to slip out the front of stoppages and makes it hard for defenders in aggressive positions.
In an instant the system can look worse than it is, as the backline looks like it’s doing a mannequin challenge rather than trying to intercept the ball.
That’s why Cats coach Chris Scott must look at some individuals to turn things around.
Mark Blicavs is one in the firing line.
He didn’t record a tackle against Essendon, the second time this year he has left a duck egg in the tackles column.
Blicavs is spending less time around stoppages with the third-man up banned, but he was top 15 in the AFL for tackle numbers in the past two seasons, laying at least one tackle a game.
This season he averages 2.8 tackles per game, down from six in 2016.
Even skipper Joel Selwood has dropped off in that part of the game in the past three rounds, down from an unsustainably high 8.2 tackles per game up until round five to just 3.3 per game in the past three rounds.
Rather than a lack of effort, the fall-away is more likely due to a breakdown in the mechanics around stoppages that allowed pressure to be applied.
That breakdown led to Essendon kicking four goals from stoppages in the first quarter, skipping away from the congestion to outrun Geelong in a manner that has become too regular in the past three weeks.
The Cats land a rare tackle against Essendon on Saturday. Picture: AFL Photos
The Cats are being slaughtered on the spread, having gone from +5 in the uncontested differential in the first five rounds to -46 (the second worst in the AFL) from rounds six to eight.
The opposition is running through the corridor in the same manner as it did in the first five rounds (33 per cent of the time), but they are able to do so with less pressure being applied.
As a result, the opposition has averaged 15 marks a game inside 50 since round six against Geelong, the fourth worst result in that time in the AFL, and throughout the season it has conceded way too many uncontested marks to be -22.7 on the differential since round six.
The Cats are giving their opposition way too much time and space, not defending high enough up the ground to force turnovers in the attacking half of the ground.
And when they do get the ball and their opponents block the corridor they have too often stopped attacking, instead kicking backwards and sideways in search of the perfect entry.
If they are going to turn things around on Friday night against the Western Bulldogs, tackles must stick and the source must be plugged.
Rory Sloane is officially the Adelaide barometer
If teams quieten him down, the party stops raging.
The Crows’ loss to West Coast in round 23 last season when Sloane was suspended highlighted his importance.
North Melbourne reminded everyone of that fact in round seven when Sam Gibson was sent to him and turned the music off. Now it seems the neighbours have caught on.
Stop the troublemaking Sloane and the rest of the Crow midfielders will not cause any problems.
One year apart, two very different outcomes for the Tigers
Exactly 12 months passed between Richmond forward Sam Lloyd’s post-siren winning goal against the Sydney Swans on May 14, 2016, and David Mundy’s winning goal after the bell on Sunday.
It was the third time in Damien Hardwick’s coaching career he has watched a goal after the siren decide a Tigers’ game … Karmichael Hunt anyone?
Why they don’t like Mundys
Fremantle has won four games in its short history with goals after the siren, with Mundy now adding his name alongside Quinton Leach, Jeff Farmer and Justin Longmuir as Dockers’ post-siren heroes.
Mundy was a good man to get the ball to, as he is a dead-eye in the final term when it comes to set shots.
Mundy is more reliable than the champ who succeeded him as skipper since both went into battle together in the 2013 decider
Games Goals Scores from set shots Q1 Q2 Q3 Q4 David Mundy 73 35 18.7 6.3 4.0 1.2 7.2 Nat Fyfe 53 56 27.13 6.2 9.3 10.5 2.3
We are living in tight times
Sunday’s last-second win by Freo was the 11th game this season decided by five points or fewer.
That is the biggest number of close games in the first eight rounds since the Gold Coast entered the competition in 2010.
The Dockers had time to spare
It took 12 seconds for Fremantle to win the ball from the centre bounce and get it into Mundy’s hands. Dockers coach Ross Lyon joked to Fox Footy that he was in a pub in Fitzroy on his second pot by that time.
There were 23 goals kicked from centre bounces in round eight.
In 15 of them, the goalkicker had possession within 20 seconds of the centre bounce.
The fastest? Hawthorn’s Ricky Henderson had the ball in his hands seven seconds after a centre bounce against the Lions before kicking a last-quarter goal.
Want more?
• Read more from the Stats Files
• Who starred for your club in this weekend’s state leagues?
The post Why the Cats are losing their claws, plus: stopping Adelaide appeared first on Footy Plus.
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star wars episode 1 jedi power battles dreamcast
http://allcheatscodes.com/star-wars-episode-1-jedi-power-battles-dreamcast/
star wars episode 1 jedi power battles dreamcast
Star Wars: Episode 1 – Jedi Power Battles cheats & more for Dreamcast (DC)
Cheats
Unlockables
Hints
Easter Eggs
Glitches
Guides
Get the updated and latest Star Wars: Episode 1 – Jedi Power Battles cheats, unlockables, codes, hints, Easter eggs, glitches, tricks, tips, hacks, downloads, guides, hints, FAQs, walkthroughs, and more for Dreamcast (DC). AllCheatsCodes.com has all the codes you need to win every game you play!
Use the links above or scroll down to see all the Dreamcast cheats we have available for Star Wars: Episode 1 – Jedi Power Battles.
Check PlayStation cheats for this game
Genre: Action, Adventure
Developer: Unknown
Publisher: Lucas Arts
ESRB Rating: Teen
Hints
Flame-out
At the end of “City of Theed”, when the flame droids come to get you, go all the way back to the place where you left the ATT. Then go back to the place the droids should be. They wouldn’t be there. (Note): Only the flame droids will be gone.
Points Needed Per Level For Maximum Experience
LevelPoints124000221000331500439000534000651000730000876509140001012000
Level 13: Gungan Round-up
The Gungan Round-up level is accessed by finding the three Gungan artifacts throughout the game. They are in the following locations:Naboo Swamp Near the end of the second level down in crevice.Tatooine On a medium size plateau up against the screen. Jump forward in a leap of faith. It is inside the hut with the Jawa in front of it.Gungan Ruins Near the end after the covered trap, right next to a tree and a large patch of bushes.
Level 14: Survival Challenge
Successfully complete the game with Mace Windu.
Ultimate Saber
In level 14, fight 100 opponents, including all the troop types from the game to unlock the Ultimate Saber. The Ultimate Saber enables one-hit kills on all enemy characters excluding Bosses. You can turn it on or off in menu that appears when the game is paused. Note: You only need to get it once with one of the characters for all characters in that mode (one or two player) to be able to use it.
Ki-Adi-Mundi
Successfully complete all seven training levels and save the game to unlock a Jedi named Ki-Adi-Mundi.
Play as Darth Maul
Successfully complete the game with Qui-Gon Jinn to unlock Darth Maul. The version of Darth Maul you will play as is the one you fight on the final level.
Play as Queen Amidala
Successfully complete the game with Obi-Wan Kenobi to unlock Queen Amidala. She fights with her fists and a laser gun.
Play as Captain Panaka
Successfully complete the game with Plo Koon to unlock Captain Panaka. He fights with his fists and a laser gun.
Level 11: Droidekas
Successfully complete the game with Plo Koon.
Level 12: Kaadu Race
Successfully complete the game with Adi Gallia.
Cheats
Radar Map
Pause the game and press Up, Down, Up, L, R, L to display a radar map at the top of the screen that shows enemies and hostages (Handmaidens in level 4, Pilots in level 9).
Return to Last Checkpoint
After losing all lives during a level, continue the game, and enter the same level. Pause the game and press L, R, L(2), R(2), L, R(2), L to start at the last checkpoint passed before dying.
Jedi Power Battle Mode
While playing a game in two player mode, press R + A + B + X + Y to activate Jedi Power Battle mode and allow one player to damage the other and vice versa. Repeat this code to disable it.
Unlockables
Currently we have no unlockables for Star Wars: Episode 1 – Jedi Power Battles yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.
Easter eggs
Currently we have no easter eggs for Star Wars: Episode 1 – Jedi Power Battles yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.
Glitches
Currently we have no glitches for Star Wars: Episode 1 – Jedi Power Battles yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.
Guides
Currently no guide available.
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