“Excuse me,” says the battle droid. R2 cannot roll his eyes, but he twitters in binary, something hard to translate but best summarized as:
you heard me arsehole [the literal translation here would be: human excrement funnel]
“I will shoot you,” says the other battle droid. B-1 models, flimsy in the face of a lightsabre – or a blaster, or a well-aimed stick – but more than a match for R2.
“No you won’t,” says the first one, “the General needs him.”
“Well at least let me threaten him a little,” pouts the second droid.
“Why?”
“It’s so –”
boring chips in R2 right, it’s boring?
“Yes!” says the first droid. And then he adds, more out of a sense of duty than any real conviction: “Republic scum.”
“It isn’t boring,” says the second droid. “Last week, Grevious killed my best friend. At least. I think he was my best friend. I can’t tell us apart, really.”
you have no names
“I’m B-1,” says the first droid.
“And I’m B-1,” says the second.
“Mass-produced,” says the first.
“Could be worse,” says the second.
I was mass produced, R2 says hurriedly. but Anakin takes care of me.
“What do you mean?”
I’ve never been shot for target practice, says R2, and I’m allowed a name and –
“It isn’t that bad,” says the first. Maybe the second. Hard to tell. “Anyway, you’re Republic scum and – “
The smack-shriek of a blaster. The first/second droid collapses, minus head. His companion says, “Never shot for target practice?” in a tone of voice that is, somehow, different.
never ever, says R2. my friends wouldn’t let it happen.
“Friends,” says the droid. “He wasn’t really my best friend. He just went on patrol with me more than the others and I got used to him. Familiar face, you know. When the General killed him – uh – I kind of felt….bad.”
wanna get out of here?
“Roger roger,” says the droid, with feeling. Then: “Roger. That’s a name, right?”
yup, says R2.
“Great. Great,” says Roger. Then he hesitates. “What’re your orders?”
I don’t order you – oh, fine, babysteps, look just get me out of here.
“And make sure that your Jedi doesn’t lightsabre me.”
Roger, roger, trills R2.
“Fuck you,” says Roger who, it seems, is a very fast learner.
Where are the fic where the super-slick super-spy is thwarted by their seduction target’s complete lack of self-esteem and inability to believe for one second that someone that hot wants to fuck them?
….
I don’t know if I need to read this or I need to write this, but I need this.
This desperately needs to be a thing.
OOoh, how about the complete lack of self-esteem and disbelief is married with cynicism…that there’s no way that this person wants to fuck them, they must want something,
And that’s when the spy takes it as a personal challenge. He can hear the suppressed laugher in his handler’s voice. They’ve never failed like this.It is ON.
I love this addition
This was longer than I meant it to be, but once I started writing I got caught up:
000
His suit was less expensive than he was used to – he was
playing an attorney here, not a jet-setting billionaire or dashing playboy –
but the game was the same as it always was. Approach the target, charm them
into letting their guard down, then talk his way into their home to get access
to, in this case, computer files. He didn’t even have to feel guilty about this
one – either she was manipulating phone software for terrorists, in which case
she deserved everything she got, or she was being used by someone who was
manipulating phone software for terrorists. In which case, he was saving her.
She was just the type who could use a little saving, too.
Eating lunch in a mall food court, hunched over a tablet while she ate sesame
chicken one-handed without looking. Hair pulled back in the most practical
hairstyle possible, he was sure their interaction would be the most exciting
part of her week.
Shifting his grip on his briefcase, he sauntered over to her
table. “Pardon me for being rude, but I saw you sitting over here and I—“
I hope you continue it but even if you don’t it’s still more than I was expecting and it’s awesome and you should be very proud!
You’re very welcome. Have some more;
After a few seconds, he realized the muffled noise he could
hear over his comm sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Shut up,” he muttered, voice low enough that
casual passers-by wouldn’t be able to overhear.
Naturally, D did exactly the opposite and stopped muffling
the laughter entirely, letting it boom over the comm loud enough to make him
wince. “You know I’m saving the audio forever, right?” D managed, laughing so
hard she was wheezing. “I’m going to insist we start an agency Christmas party,
just so I can play it for everyone and we can all laugh at you together.”
There are good reasons to not want to personally punch a Nazi in the face but let’s be clear, none of them are because a Nazi doesn’t deserve it.
I remain staunchly pro-choice on Nazi punching.
“Should I, personally, punch a Nazi right now?” That’s up to you, whether or not you feel safe in doing so, your own personal beliefs on violent vs non-violent protest, etc.
I made these in response to hate crimes in my community. They are full size and free to download and print if you’d like to use them, too.
Since these are going around, I wanted to fill in some of the gaps! Here are seven more posters for communities under threat. As with the first set, these are completely free to download, print, share, repost, etc with no credit needed. This is open source activism.
did u actually punch a nazi in a food lion tell the story please
i call it the time that @flaminganakin became my lawyer and spent an amount of time panicking. here it is, the highly dramaticized because it is not actually that impressive story:
so it was one of those days, you know the ones. where you’re just having a bad existence, and you’re not about to stand up for any bullshit, no siree, not on this here day. the kind of day where you just really want to choke people for chewing too loud, seriously, lady. or strangle people for eating pork rinds. they’re too loud, and the smell makes me nauseous, and i’m not about this life, but i procrastinated on the grocery shopping so there i am, suffering my way through food lion. fucking pork rinds, hate that shit, just eat pringles
anyway, i grab my hamburger helper, and i’m in the aisle waiting for the moment i can not be here. i knocked over a stand, earlier, and it sucked, and i just wanted to leave.
the dude in front of me pulls out this galaxy - the kind you can land airplanes on, and i’m caught up for a minute thinking about what an ostentatious phone that is. it’s huge. no one needs a phone that huge, i can see what you’re typing from three stories away - wait. what is that. so i lean around him to peer closer, and you know what i see? the fucking stormfront website. i’d know that stupid gray face and the ‘boyle’s law’ shit anywhere, that’s the fucking stormfront website, i’m losing my mind here. stormfronters are supposed to be, like, the moon. they have no business being out during the day, and yet, here they are, using up perfectly good air boy please go apologize to some plants for wasting their hard work
so this guy, he’s reading. intently. he puts his shit on the conveyor, mostly ignoring the cashier, a lovely black lady. you can see where this is going. but, as it is, she’s not going fast enough for him, and then this bitchass starts yelling slurs at her. really awful shit, like ‘go back to the circus if you can’t work a computer monkeyass ‘n****r’! i lose it the second he yells ‘n****r’ at her and i turn him around with his shoulder and clock him in the face. it was totally worth the sore hand, i can verify that the look on his face was the best thing i had ever seen in my life. the cashier nods to the door, i got a free box of hamburger helper, personal pride, and i haven’t been to jail yet
he may have not been a full nazi, only a racist, but it was worth it anyway
In light of threats to the National Park Service on Twitter, follow @AltUSNatParkSer on twitter for more of the National Park Service’s unexpected rebellion.
