#🚨🚨🚨 HOT WEEPE MOMENT 🚨🚨🚨

[deer-watcher]

Been listening to Midst

[the-most-humble-blog]

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🧠 BRAND OPS ANALYSIS — "THE MONSTER SHE BECAME" Was a BILLION-DOLLAR Script. Disney just… didn’t run the play.

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📉 CASE FILE: DISNEY'S MOST EXPENSIVE FEAR

Let’s be blunt:

Rey turning Sith with no apology was the only narrative choice that would've made the sequel trilogy iconic.

A Palpatine embracing her bloodline? A female lead who didn't U-turn into virtue?

That's not just powerful. That’s profitable.

We're talking:

Merch that prints itself

Expanded Universe trilogies

Fan film hysteria

2027 kids showing up to Comic-Con in black robes whispering, “I breathe the dark.”

But nah.

They handed us “✨girlboss with lineage confusion✨” and wrote Finn out like an Uber driver with a crush.

—

💀 THE FINANCIAL AUTOPSY:

→ Instead of the most iconic female villain in science fiction history, we got “I’m all the Jedi” and post-battle cuddles.

→ Instead of Palpatine 2.0 but hot and vengeful, we got “…but her dad was nice and a clone, so she’s redeemed!”

→ Instead of Finn completing the Jedi prophecy arc, we got “Also, Lando’s your uncle now maybe? Bye!”

—

🎥 THE ALTERNATE UNIVERSE:

You don’t understand what you lost.

You lost:

💣 The chance to reintroduce female villainy as mythically tragic 🎭 The chance to make Rey the Shakespearean inverse of Luke 🧠 The chance to make Finn the incorruptible myth the Jedi Order never had 🩸 The chance to write a love story where the cost of loving evil was killing it

That’s not just a better story.

That’s iconography.

—

📊 RETURN ON ICONOGRAPHY: 101

You know how Joker made a billion dollars?

It had teeth.

It didn't ask permission to be violent, ugly, broken.

You could’ve had that with Rey. You could’ve had your own Vader-moment — but female. Modern. Beautiful. Terrifying.

You could’ve had headlines like:

> "Disney Finally Writes a Female Villain Without Apology."

Instead, we got:

> "Rey Skywalker: The Wholesome Queen™️ Who Just Needed a Hug"

Y’all turned Satan’s granddaughter into a motivational speaker.

—

🪙 FINANCIAL HEADCOUNT:

You nuked your villain arc

You disrespected your only Black lead

You tried to make evil cute

You neutered the myth

And now?

You’re writing another Rey trilogy like we forgot.

We didn’t.

We’re watching. And we’re bringing notes. And if we hear the word girlboss even once?

We are hanging up the phone in your face and publishing an 18-part Patreon exclusive called:

> "How Kathleen Kennedy Rewrote the Apocalypse Into a Pinterest Board"

—

🚨 OPEN DOOR POLICY (CONDITIONAL):

Disney.

Lucasfilm.

I’m talking directly to you now.

You want to be taken seriously again?

Cool. Here’s your checklist:

✅ Let Rey turn dark ✅ Let Finn become myth ✅ Let women fall for power, not romance ✅ Let tragedy pay the bills again

And for God’s sake—

If one of you mentions empowerment arcs without consequence, I swear to the Force I will write a trilogy so good it causes your marketing team to unionize.

—

🔥 FINAL OFFER:

You want your studio to matter again?

Then stop being afraid of evil with a face you recognize. Let women fail. Let men weep. Let characters break.

Or don’t.

And keep releasing oatmeal until your once-galactic empire becomes a cautionary tale taught in film school next to “The Mummy 3.”

You had a god-tier villain with the face of your franchise.

And you benched her so you could sell toothpaste.

Embarrassing.

---

🔁 Reblog if you're tired of safe writing 🧠 Save this if you know tragedy sells better than slogans 🎥 Tag a writer who could’ve fixed Star Wars with one sentence 💀 Follow for lethal myth rewrites and narrative scorched earth 🩸 Patreon for exclusive scrolltraps and doctrine-level reprogramming

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[darthmaulification]

i will wait | boba fett x reader

A/N: i’ve been mentally unwell. i did write this for me but if it helps, it’s for you too.

i’m hoping to be back in the swing of things soon, but for now take this and all of my love with it. 💗

summary: for you.

content: hurt/comfort, angst, mental illness, spiraling, 🚨 suicidal ideation 🚨, just warm soft boba, all i want is someone to hold me, and say it’ll be okay

word count: 637

Boba’s warm.

His heartbeat is strong, and the patch of skin your head rests against is rough from age and scars. It’s wet too, the tears that are still steadily sliding down the apples of your cheeks soaking your face, Boba’s chest, and the collar of your shirt.

“I hate being this way.” You blubber through gasps, sniffling when more tears form in your eyes at the confession. Everything hurts, not completely physically, but the iron grip on your insides tightens everything in on itself. You want to scream more, but your throat is raw and tingly from doing that earlier.

Everything hurts, everything hurts, a migraine pulses at your temples and pulls behind your eyes. Boba holds you tighter, his arms are grounding. You’re barely able to focus.

“This will pass, cyar’ika.” His voice is a low rumble, gravelly like boulders falling off the side of a mountain, and deep down you know he’s right— these episodes do always pass— but right now it feels like you’re dying. The entire world is crumbling around you, and you can’t stop thinking about plunging into the abyss.

“I want...” The words falter then return in a whispered confession that stings, “I want to die.”

“No you don’t.” Boba says and his voice holds no judgement, no scrounged up sympathy that would make you deny it. Instead, he’s only truthful and honest, even if your vision is too blurred by tears to see it. Another sob rips through you, making you shudder in his arms like a leaf on a branch.

“I’m just so tired, Boba,” You weep against him, digging your face into the skin of his chest, “Why me?”

Boba hums low in his throat, a melancholic sound, as he presses his nose to your hairline. His lips brush your forehead in a kiss so soft it reminds you of butterfly wings. The tears rolling down your cheeks begin to subside, but the headache is still there.

“I don’t have the answers for that, little one,” He starts and tenderly kisses your forehead again, like a gentle blessing, “But I do know you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“You’ve escaped this Hell over and over again,” Boba uses two fingers to tilt your chin up so that you’re looking at him. You must be a sight, eyes bloodshot by tears and despair, face hot from crying, nose stuffy and running— but Boba only smiles, “You persevere time and time again.”

And with that Boba presses his forehead to yours and your eyes flutter shut. Exhaustion and warmth flood your system at the Keldabe kiss, the action Boba reserves only for you. Sniffling, you’re able to focus on his breathing and it helps your throbbing head and aching heart.

“’s because you’re always waiting for me.” You mumble, nuzzling against Boba and relishing in the rise and fall of his chest, the softness of his belly, the warmth of him. He is grounding, he is safety— Stars, Boba is love.

“I will be here forever, cyar’ika.” He pulls you in closer, as close as you can go until your body is pressed against him. It’s at moments like this when you wish you were able to sink into him, to match your heart with his, to be one. Boba wishes this too.

“Thank you.” You whisper, the rhythm of his heart pulling you into the kind lull of sleep. Boba chuckles in his throat and shakes his head.

“No, little one, thank you for surviving.” He sounds distant, sleep muffling your hearing until all you hear is a steady drum, the ocean, and the dull roar of an engine— his strong heart. And there is warmth, too.

“Thank you for being you.” Is the last thing you hear Boba say before you drift off, cradled in his arms.