I want an inverse spy flick. The spy is a woman. Her whole team is made up of diverse women. All the villains are women. There is only one man in the entire movie and he is a Strong Male Character who is like 25 and decently ripped and has a scene where he slowly steps out of a pool wearing speedos because he is Confident and In Control of His Sexuality. We see his ass when he has to tug down his pants to get at the knife strapped to his thigh. His nipples are always erect for no fucking reason.
They are undercover in a nightclub. In order to keep their cover from being blown, he has to kiss another man.
He knits to relieve stress and to keep his mind sharp. It is never discussed by any of the characters.
Someone asks him how he knows how to do Traditionally Feminine Thing. “I have four sisters,” he answers.
This is also how he knows how to fight while armed with nothing but a purse, a high heel shoe, and a can of hair spray. During this fight, he is, for no apparent reason, shirtless.
The lead spy is Helen Mirren. She nails the Action Boy in the shower. There’s a lot of lingering closeups on the way the shower spray runs across his breathlessly ecstatic face. We also hear every breathless whimper of his climax, while out in the hallway Lucy Liu is smoking impatiently, a duffel bag full of rocket launchers slung over her shoulder. The President isn’t going to kidnap herself, here, christ.
Action Boy emerges in a small towel, sheepish yet radiant. Helen Mirren emerges in a tuxedo, also smoking, also with a duffel bag of rocket launchers.
In one scene, the lead villain captures the Strong Male Character. He is, once more, inexplicably shirtless as she ties him to the chair. He makes some quips about his sexual independence before he is rescued by a sweat-drenched Helen Mirren, who kicks down the door and nukes everyone in the room. Strong Male Character’s hair remains perfect throughout the ordeal.
okay but seriously: what if Finn is the revolution
what if the story gets around the barracks in whispers – you know a stormtrooper can’t scratch an itch without everyone knowing – and some of the whispers are horrified (treason, betrayal, a trooper gone rogue) but others are trembling with hope. he wouldn’t kill for them! he stole a ship and they couldn’t stop him and he’s free!
and suddenly the AWOL rate spikes as stormtroopers on assignment see their chance and slip away into the night. I could find my family. I could live a normal life. I never have to hurt anyone again.
but there are a few who stay, too. they cautiously seek out others like themselves. they work out codes and signals. at first it’s just the rank and file, but then a disaffected squad leader tells them about a conversation between officers that he wasn’t supposed to hear. and so the conspiracy spreads.
hardly anyone remembers Finn’s number, but every last one of them knows who he is. he’s the one who got out. he’s the one who wouldn’t kill for the Order.
two years later, when the conspirators seize a capital ship and deliver it to the Resistance, the captain asks if her crew can meet “the stormtrooper who made it out.” He was the first, she explains. We all should have known it was wrong, but he was the one who showed us.
General Organa smiles – it’s too rare a sight, these days – and thinks maybe now he’ll understand just what a miracle he is.
I love that this post inspired a couple of fanfics already
I’ll be honest, whenever a work of speculative fiction (fanmade or otherwise) goes out of its way to describe an intelligent species with bizarre and complicated reproductive biology, the first question that invariably pops into my head is: “How do these critters masturbate?”
what if masturbation was uniquely a human experience though
Okay, I know that you meant “what if humans are the only intelligent species that’s anatomically capable of masturbating?”, but now I’m picturing a universe where humans are the only ones that ever thought to try it.
Human masturbation specialists traveling the galaxy to offer our gift, undertaking rigorous study and enormous personal risk to teach weird-ass aliens how to rub one out.
Calculating the exact harmonic frequencies to allow ancient, vacuum-dwelling crystalline intelligences to self-stimulate.
Descending into the crushing atmospheres of gas giants in specially constructed aerostats to design sex toys for the vast, jellyfish-like super-predators that prowl the hurricane slipstreams.
Wanking is our genius. Our legacy.
That last addition is possibly my favourite thing Tumblr has ever done for the world.
