https://twitter.com/bencsmoke/status/1608578741554368516
So many things to say about this:
1) How many times do you see 20 police together in the UK these days? Situations like this and football matches- all about oppression.
2) Racism from Spoons is unsuprising, but this is unfortunately ridiculously common for travellers in the UK.
3) Unfortunately, the comments on twitter will show you a lot of otherwise “liberal” people think this is acceptable, or it’s fine to make generalisations about travellers- really is the last acceptable racism in the UK. There’s literally someone with a free palestine flag in their twitter handle defending the police here.
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TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog
“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”
High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”
Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.
Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.
“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”
“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.
High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.
Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”
“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”
Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”
“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.
“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.
He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-
Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.
Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.
Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!
And catch him, High General Windu sure did.
“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”
“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.
“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”
“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.
Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”
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I've been at school all day and haven't really had a chance to open stream today but I've been seeing in some posts that Ricardão is leaving?
I can't really describe how devastated and heartbroken I am because I'm in a class right now and I'm trying so hard to keep myself calm, not bawl my eyes out and embarrass myself in front of my other people. But god. Richas was my favorite. He was a little gremlin, but he was the sweetest and best little gremlin ever. He was always there, and I loved every minute that Richas was there and I'm trying to just tell myself that it's only the goodbyes that are sad. That an ending is just a new beginning. And I'm really trying to remember all the happy moments but it's so...bittersweet and I never knew how much a little egg could mean to me when Richas was first introduced.
Ricardão, thank you for everything. I hope you know how loved you are. And we miss you already. Thank you for everything... See you in another time, saudade Richinhas...
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“You know, this could've been avoided if you just handed over the book.” Veronica said as she stared into the eyes of the black-haired girl underneath her with a slight smirk.
Duke groaned. “Or if you learned to respect personal space.” She responded.
“Now get off me before someone decides to make this disaster a school legend.” She tried getting Veronica off of her but the brunette wouldn’t budge.
Veronica smirked before leaning closer to Duke's face. “No.” She replied. “And besides, you look good under me, Heather.” She whispered.
Duke's eyes widened slightly at her words, a mixture of surprise and irritation crossing her features.
“Get off of me right now.” She demanded, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush.
Veronica, seemingly unfazed, finally got off of Duke and stood up. The brunette grinned down at the ravennette before offering her a hand.
“Come on, Duke.” She said. “It was just a little harmless teasing.” She added. “No need to get all worked up.” She laughed lightly.
Duke swatted Veronica's hand away, standing up on her own.
“Go drink drain cleaner, Sawyer.” She spat back before turning around and walking away from the brunette.
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*distant whistling noise* *you look up, squinting against the glare of the sun. it is bright out. the birds have stopped singing.* *whistling increases* “oh brother!” you cry in fear, but it is too late, I have blown you to bits. *you get blown to bits*
unrealistic bit. I've never said oh brother
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