#who wrote the damn script

[miyukisluv]

my hannibal experience

[hislittleraincloud]

Y'all be heaping Anons on me when I got probably 30 Anons I never finished responding to in my literal 600 drafts

and I'm TRYING to get Afterburn 8.1 done but I might have to utilize that "30 day Draft" longer than I'd hoped (the draft was started the week of Dec. 20).

Yap, yap, yap, yap...all a distraction from the inevitable darkness we'll all face in the end.

But I get it...it's fun watching the massive Wenclair/Jemma meltdown over WSSF. It's the least we could've been gifted with after that FUCKING novelization.

I hope the Wenclairs just remember that this who they're fighting over

Shit, hold on...this is who they're fighting over

Agh, crap, still the wrong one.

THIS is who y'al fighting to 'free' from fugly men

ETA! before I hole myself away to write again: I think the reason why this photo amuses the living crap out of me is because I screencapped this WILD comment from some dude under...Natalie's(?) IG back on 11/8...I don't remember whose IG post it was because I just snagged the comment.

I DIED...y'all are fkn mean af

Gordita crunch wrap 😭😭😭😭😭🤣

[the-winterstorms]

[the-most-humble-blog]

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION // BLACKSITE LITERATURE PROTOCOL ACTIVE --> <div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta honor-integrity="corrupted-lineage"> <script>ARCHIVE_TAG="REY_PALPATINE::THE_MONSTER_SHE_BECAME" EFFECT: narrative vengeance, myth injection, algorithmic destabilization of brand control </script>

🧠 STAR WARS HOT TAKE — THE MONSTER SHE BECAME A Blacksite Literature™ Transmission (Because sometimes the chosen one burns the temple down.)

—

You want to know what would've saved Star Wars?

Rey turning into a Sith. No redemption. No apology. No narrative backflip to avoid bruising her image. Just evil. Cold. Inevitable. Tragic.

She didn’t get there because she was weak — she got there because the darkness made more sense.

Let me put it in the bluntest terms I can: She should’ve become the fucking monster. Not Kylo. Not some grey-area anti-hero. Not a conflicted girl with a lightsaber fetish. A monster. Just like her grandpapi.

But no. Instead, we got the most sterilized, agenda-drenched narrative in sci-fi history. A trilogy so frightened of letting a woman be flawed, powerful, and damned that it neutered its own potential. You want to know why that upcoming Rey trilogy will be DOA? Because they already wasted the only ending that could’ve saved her arc:

Her fall.

Not a stumble. Not a moment of “oops, dark side temptations.” I mean a complete possession. A willing descent. A new Empress. Palpatine 2.0 — but better.

—

Back in the day, we told stories to scar the soul in a good way. Greek tragedy. Shakespearean collapse. Anakin’s scream. > “I HATE YOU!” Burning, legless, crying in the ash of everything he once was. That wasn’t just cinema. That was myth.

And you know what made it powerful? It wasn’t safe.

Now? Disney thinks danger is offensive. That tragedy is too problematic. That every female protagonist must somehow double as a PR mascot for a toothpaste commercial.

The Force is female? Cool. Then let her fall. Let her fail. Let her choose evil, like any other real character might when backed into a moral corner and seduced by the very blood running through her veins.

But no. Rey had to stay pure. She had to redeem him. Because her ovaries wrote the script, apparently.

Let me ask you: If the dark side can’t take anyone… Then what is it? A glorified emo phase?

Seriously. If you have to already be broody, edgy, or half-insane to fall to the dark side, then the dark side is neutered. Defanged. Just an aesthetic.

But what if it wasn’t? What if the dark side could seduce anyone? Even the girl who smiled. Who loved. Who gave a damn. What if it made sense for her? What if it gave her power that felt natural — like breathing?

—

Here’s the thing they never dared write:

Rey has every reason to fall.

She’s a nobody. Her parents abandoned her. She was manipulated, hunted, deceived, isolated. Her identity stolen, retconned, and twisted — first by lineage, then by narrative.

And when she finally learns she’s a Palpatine?

They should’ve made it hurt.

Not a five-minute lightsaber therapy session followed by “I choose the light, teehee.”

No.

Let it destroy her.

Let the name Palpatine sink in like venom. Let it pull her apart. And then?

Let her put herself back together — not as Rey the Jedi… …but as Rey the Sith.

Let her accept it. Let her say, out loud, “I am what I am.” Let her choose it.

> “You wanted balance? I’ll give you symmetry. > You got your Skywalker that fell to darkness — now you’ll get a Palpatine that never climbs out.”

Imagine the scene: Finn, standing across from her. Lightsaber drawn. She’s wearing black. Her eyes like twin eclipses. No hate. Just serenity. The kind of calm that only a godless tyrant can possess.

And he begs her: > “Come back.”

But she laughs. Like it’s a joke. Because to her, there’s no coming back from truth.

> “You still don’t get it, do you?” > “There was nothing to come back to.”

And that’s when he realizes: She’s gone. Not possessed. Not confused. Gone.

She isn’t drowning in the dark.

She’s breathing in it.

—

You want to know what would’ve shaken Hollywood? A love story inverted into a execution.

Finn trains. Finn ascends. Finn becomes Jedi not because of fate, prophecy, or birthright — But because he has to kill the woman he loves. Because she became something worse than even Palpatine dreamed of.

And when the moment comes — She screams in rage as he drives his saber through her heart. Not in fear. Not in regret.

> In hatred. > Like Anakin. > “I HATE YOU!” > “I WOULD’VE KILLED THE GALAXY FOR YOU AND YOU CHOSE THEM.”

Her last words are not a redemption arc. They’re a final, unrepentant, curse.

And Finn? Finn whispers: > “I loved you anyway.”

That’s cinema. That’s fucking Star Wars.

—

But no. We got a PowerPoint deck on empowerment. We got “I’m all the Jedi” and hugs and Skywalker cosplay. We got the girlboss ending that no one asked for — And everyone forgot the monster she was born to be.

Disney was so afraid of letting a woman be evil that they stripped her of being interesting.

Newsflash: Flawed female characters are compelling. Villainous women are iconic. Tragedy is beautiful.

> You want to put butts in seats for that next Rey trilogy? > Have the balls to make her the villain.

Start the first scene with the galaxy on fire. The Jedi temples smoldering. Children missing. Acolytes chanting her name.

Not Empress Rey. Not Supreme Leader Rey.

No. Just Rey. One name. One legend. A goddess of wrath forged from legacy and betrayal. The shadow that even Palpatine never cast.

—

And Finn? He’s the myth now. The one who loved a monster and still raised a generation of incorruptible Jedi. Not because he was chosen. But because he had to end her.

Because she never came back.

Because she didn’t want to.

---

🔁 Reblog if you're tired of fake stakes in storytelling 🩸 Follow for mythic alt-timelines and weaponized narrative 🎥 Tag someone who thinks Star Wars is too “sacred” to critique 💀 Patreon for uncensored doctrine & biological weaponry scrolltraps

</div> <!-- END TRANSMISSION [TRACE REMNANT IMPRINT IN: 06:06:06] -->

[orangesaek]

‘simping 101: get roasted & love will follow’ | pre-simp Haechan

summary: Haechan’s origin story? Got roasted so hard he fell in love AKA reminiscing how you entered his life, what happened during your relationship + uni + present

pairings: haechan x afab!reader (ft. 6DREAM)┊genre: fluff (with a sprinkle of comedy), simp haechan (yes, it’s a genre now), established relationship┊wc: 1.4k┊cw: minimal cursing/swearing

to new readers: I highly suggest u read the below stories first so u’ll understand the references better (if u haven’t yet!)

╰⪼ PART I - 'choose me' (wc: 0.8k)

╰⪼ PART II - 'choose me, PLEASE' (wc: 2.8k)

I feel like this 'haechan simp' thing just evolved into a mini-series 😂 but I'm happy & extremely grateful 💓 tysm my precious haechan-simp-loving readers xoxo

a/n: slightly proofread—literally wrote this at work w/ no coffee 🥲 might update the story later once my braincells recover

3 MONTHS AGO

“And now—”

You reached over and yanked Haechan’s hood down from his head.

“Dude, you’re not walking up there looking like a damn SoundCloud rapper.”

He scoffed. “I’m setting trends.”

“You’re setting my freaking blood pressure off.”

The dean’s voice boomed across the auditorium. 

“Lee Donghyuck. Summa Cum Laude.”

Cue dead silence. Followed by confused applause and sideways glances.

People clapped, sure, but it was that awkward ‘wait, what the heck?’ kind of clap you give when someone drops a bomb no one saw coming.

Students from other departments whispered, “Wait, him?”

Because to them, Haechan was the walking definition of ‘should’ve been a K-pop idol’.

Jaw-droppingly attractive, dangerously charming, and way too distracting for anyone trying to focus.

He was better known for dance covers in lecture halls and for being the loud, chaotic senior who gave more attention to the vending machine than his textbooks.

He wasn’t just famous on campus—he was also infamous for being completely and embarrassingly obsessed with the university’s notorious Tinder girl (you). 

No one expected the guy who could barely sit still in class to be the academic dark horse of the year. 

But the truth was, Haechan didn’t even need to try that hard—he was just freaking smart without breaking a sweat. The type to nap through finals and still wreck everyone’s GPA.

Now, with his name echoing through the auditorium and confused applause still rippling behind him, he walked across the stage in confidence.

You jumped up, screamed, and clapped like a proud (slightly crazy) soccer mom. 

“THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND!”

The entire row turned to stare.

“Sit your butt down,” Haechan mouthed from the stage but winked anyway, diploma in hand.

You beamed, eyes sparkling with pride.

Three months later, you now live together. For real. 

You weren’t just his girlfriend anymore—you were his roommate. Well, co-lessee if you wanted to be technical about it, but to Haechan, the moment you signed that lease was cosmic. Like fate flipping the script.

It still felt surreal.

One fridge, one bed, one Netflix account, and a shared chore chart (that he sometimes ignored).

You were snoring lightly with your face smooshed into his shoulder, dead asleep in pajamas, but somehow still looking ethereal.

Haechan lay on his side, warm from the shower, your arms draped around him like you were clutching something precious. He liked to think it was him.

He sighed and his eyes fluttered shut as he let himself fall into that rabbit hole again—the memory of how it all began.

──────

THE FIRST MEETING

“Jisung, why the heck are you bringing some stranger to our table?” Renjun asked, sipping his iced americano like a grumpy old professor.

NCT DREAM had gathered in the cafeteria for lunch.

“Y/N's not a stranger,” Jisung said all innocent. “She’s in my club.”

“The astrology club?” Jaemin raised a brow. “Didn’t you join by accident?”

Jisung blushed. “Not the point.”

“It kind of is,” Chenle chimed in, cackling.

“You thought it said astronomy. Quit lying.”

“It was an honest mistake!”

Haechan chuckled but stayed quiet. Truth was, he was curious. He had never seen your face for some reason.

Everyone knew your name—the infamous 'Tinder girl' of campus lore.

Some mocked you, some envied you, some were full-on crushing.

But Haechan? He didn’t give a flying fuck about gossip. He knew gossip had the nutritional value of a rice cracker: empty and usually flavored weird.

You did your thing. That was way more impressive than half the campus clowns.

What shocked him was that the girl Jisung dragged over was you—the pretty stranger he’d caught eye of a few times. The one he had put on his 'casual uni crush' mental list. You were the Tinder girlie.

And now you were walking right up to him, oozing confidence.

“Guys,” Jisung grinned. “This is Y/N.”

You lazily waved and plopped into the seat across from Haechan.

“Sup.”

“Sup,” Haechan replied, trying to play it cool despite his brain crashing five seconds ago.

You sat next to Jisung, unbothered, while Haechan stared like he’d just seen his entire future flash before his eyes.

You talked about aliens, ghosts, reincarnation, horoscopes—basically everything wild and weird.

Renjun tried to bring up science, and you shot him down as a ‘typical Aries’ (he was impressed, by the way).

You bounced from conspiracy theories to memes to your dream of buying a pig farm one day.

Haechan smirked. You were sharp, witty, beautiful, and seriously dangerous.

He didn’t stand a chance.

You had the whole table cracking up, but Haechan found himself trying way too hard to get your attention.

He cracked bad jokes. Made weird noises. Tried to juggle cheeseballs and hit Jeno in the face.

Finally, you gave him that look—that straight-faced, deadpan, iconic moment that haunted him ever since.

“Did you take something, or are you just naturally this annoying?”

And just like that, he fell in love.

From then on, he watched, waited, and suffered through your rants about crappy Tinder dates. But instead of mocking, he just listened—and it broke his heart.

Every. Damn. Time.

He vowed to never be the jerk who broke your heart if you gave him a chance. Just one.

Even after people made fun of him for being a simp. Even when you dated other guys. Even when he told himself to give up.

He never could.

He started paying attention to everything. 

He memorized your moods, dreams, food preferences, even your period schedule (mentally tracked, he wasn’t that creepy).

So when you asked him out first, he melted.

And when you said, “Can I be your girlfriend?” he panicked and blurted “I love you” because that was the truth and he meant it more than anything.

Now, here you were, wrapped up in each other. The soft rustle of sheets and vanilla body wash filled the air.

He was still wide awake. Today had been too special for sleep.

You’d celebrated your first anniversary. One whole year with you—chaotic, sarcastic, absolutely irresistible you.

Haechan, being the show-off he was, went all out. 

He pulled a mini “K-drama boyfriend” stunt. 

Rented a fancy restaurant and even paid for the whole thing like the chaebol he pretended to be in a past life.

The surprise on your face when the staff brought out the candlelit dessert and played that cheesy love song he secretly told them was “your song” (you didn’t even have one, but he just really liked that one Taeyeon ballad), was priceless.

You looked like a movie scene. No filter, no edits, just raw, real you—soft-eyed, beautiful, and most importantly, his.

He smiled as he unlocked his phone, your sleepy breath tickling his neck.

His lockscreen was that stolen photo from your first date—the one where you caught him and flipped him off, demanding he delete it. He didn’t.

His homescreen? A more recent stolen shot of you trying to look like a confused hamster but still somehow looked more beautiful than anyone had the right to be.

He scrolled through the photos from today, grinning at the selfies, the blurry laughing shots, the one of you trying to bite his hand when he stole a piece of meat from your plate.

His smile softened.

God, he loved you.

A cute couple selfie popped up and he let out a soft giggle.

“Should frame this,” he muttered. “Kitchen, living room, heck, even the bathroom.”

He glanced at your sleeping face again, your mouth was slightly open.

Still the prettiest.

Still the love of his life.

Still his.

He still thought you were the most beautiful person in the universe even when you drooled a little.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead softly, lips lingering.

“Future wife,” he whispered with a fond smirk. People always thought he was joking when he called you that, but he meant it. 

Because you were it for him. The quiet in his chaos. The one his soul just knew. 

Then, now, always.

You stirred.

“Mmm. Why’re you whispering creepy stuff?”

“Just being romantic.”

“More like suspicious.”

He laughed, pulled you close, and whispered again.

“I love you.”

You mumbled something like “love you too, weirdo”, then passed out again.

Haechan grinned like a man who had everything. 

Because he did.

And tomorrow, he’d pretend he didn’t cry a little from too much happiness tonight.

[physalian]

Your colloquialisms are ruining the immersion (or, non-contemporary dialogue)

I am no expert here! Whenever I wrote historical fiction it was anachronistic historical fiction. This advice is from a reader’s perspective and from my experience writing high fantasy.

So what’s the deal with immersive dialogue? I’m going to ignore writing dialects and accents and so-called “old English” with the thee, thy, thou and such. Solely focusing here on the narrative telling me this isn’t set in present times, and yet the dialogue being painfully colloquial like present times.

This is coming from a book I had to read set in HRE times. In it, characters were spouting modern curse words, tacking on verbal tics and crutch words like “or something” and “um” and drawing out words like “daaaamn” and “nooooo”. Rip out the dialogue and toss it in a script with zero context and it would read like two high schoolers from 2009, not two adults from the Holy Roman Empire. Which is a problem, because it completely shattered the immersion. —

1. On so-called “formal writing”

Everybody knows that nixing contractions doesn’t do a damn thing to help your writing look more “formal”, it just looks robotic and stiff, right? We’ve gotten past this as a society? There’s a time and a place for replacing contractions with the full words, but not for every single sentence.

I swear this show keeps creeping into my writing advice but here we go. Transformers Prime. The context for Optimus’ dialogue has a lot to do with his aging voice actor, Peter Cullen, and the perception of the character over the decades from the corny 80s paragon hero everyman type leader to the grizzled and wizened old soul type leader. Optimus isn’t “one of the guys,” he’s old. Very old. He’s the dad of the group (one dad, his grumpy medic is the other dad).

So he gets lines like:

“I fear Megatron’s ambition is at its zenith.”

“But if his return is imminent as I fear, it could be a catastrophic.”

“I bore Skyquake no ill-will.”

He doesn’t curse like the other Autobots. His voice only raises in surprise, horror, or rage. He doesn’t go “um/ah/so/but/eh” and always thinks about what he’s going to say well before he says it. Despite him, Ratchet (the dad medic), and Megatron all being very old, Optimus is the only one who’s “proper” and collected and dignified with his lines. The writers didn’t achieve this simply by omitting contractions, he gets them where necessary and removes them when effective (e.g “We do not.” / “We don’t.”)

2. Thesaurus Rex

Continuing with the Optimus example, no other character in that show would use “zenith” unironically. Or “ill-will”. This doesn’t mean crack open and abuse a thesaurus but there’s a huge divide between:

“Megatron’s gone crazy and he’s going to implode soon” and “Megatron’s ambition is at its zenith”.

I can’ think of a better word to use than dignified, perhaps distinguished to describe his dialogue.

He doesn’t say “what?” when he’s confused, he pauses and says something like “please elaborate”.

This is both word choice and a syntax issue so if you’re struggling to fit a non-contemporary vibe for your work, pay attention to both.

3. When to abstain from cursing

There’s something very special about the dialogue in the Lord of the Rings movies: It’s PG-13 so they can’t curse, but if they had, it would have probably ruined the trilogy. These characters are able to yell in rage and anguish, spit vicious insults at their enemies, and stare down armies that are determined to kill them, all while never breaking the immersion.

Insults like:

“Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear.”

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, you witless worm.”

“Your words are poison.”

And all three were said by or about Grima Wormtongue.

Characters aren’t dumbasses, they’re fools, with the exception of Gollum’s insults toward Sam, the “stupid, fat hobbit”.

Even devoid of name-calling, Denethor absolutely trounces his second son by asking (and I’m paraphrasing) “Is there any man here willing to do his lord’s bidding?” right after Faramir expresses some apprehension about a suicide charge with his remaining soldiers, completely ignoring him and implying that he’s not a real man.

LOTR is full of juicy lines beyond curse words, too. One of my absolute favorites is: “Dark have been my dreams of late” as opposed to “I’ve been having nightmares lately.”

Do you see?? It’s poetry. The motif of Shadow and Darkness as if they’re real, physical things, all the lines of poetry pulled straight from the books like Theoden’s “where is the horse and the rider” monologue just before Helm’s Deep.

It’s dignified.

—

This one was a bit harder to, ironically, put into words without doing a full-blown case study into either franchise’s ability to write dialogue and monologues. I didn’t even talk about Ratchet’s several monologues (one of which was done perfectly in the sound booth on the first take) because Jeffrey Combs has a voice like ambrosia.

TLDR: Immersion goes far beyond your vivid setting descriptors and the clothing or the names and languages. I mostly write fantasy and sci-fi and whenever I read or watch fantasy and sci-fi that isn’t meant to be a world different from our own, or about characters who don’t speak modern English, and they go off with modern slang, syntax, and verbal tics, it just feels sloppy and weak. Pay attention to the following:

Syntax

Modern slang and jargon

Filler words/verbal tics

Curse words/curses

Flat, unmotivated vocab

*All of the quotes were from memory because I watch both of these franchises way too often. So apologies if I got any wrong.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Scripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 5

Propaganda

Renée Minkowski (Wolf 359):

Please. I beg of you. Read all the propaganda I wrote, and then vote Minkowski. If you're still not convinced:

She's a first-generation Polish immigrant, and a huge part of her arc is about feeling like she had to hide her identity and prove herself to make it in the US. When she lets her accent slip out in episode 52, it's the sexiest thing to ever happen.

She has the entire rule book for her space mission memorized so she can better take care of her ship.

She talks to ghosts on multiple occasions.

She has a gay little dynamic with the 2024 sexiest podcast character, Isabel Lovelace.

She expertly navigates multiple hostage situations.

Along with musicals, she's ALSO really into Sylvia Plath.

She lives under a rock and does not know anything about pop culture, which is adorable.

She writes show tunes!

vote for the commander you fools, vote like the wind!!!!!!!!!

John Doe (Malevolent):

VOTE JOHN DOE EVERYONE!!!! LOOK AT HIM!!!!! MY BELOVED YELLOW GLOWING EYE CREATURE!!! HE CERTAINLY DESERVES YOUR VOTE !

PLEASEEEE VOTE FOR JOHN😭😭😭 he’s so GODDDD HES AN ELDRITCH GOD THAT JUST WANTS LOVE😭😭 (if you know me PLEASE VOTE FOR JOHN I KNOW YOU DONT KNOW HIM BUT PLEASEEEE HES PERFECTTTT!!! And also listen to Malevolent 🤩)

(vote John tho, he's such a baby, you wouldn't hurt a baby!)

i wasnt gonna say anything and just see how it turns out but PLEASEEEE VOTE FOR JOHN PLEASE MY POOKIE💔💔💔💔💔FAVOURITEST GUY EVER HIS VOICE IS SO NICE PLEASE PLEASE💔💔

Let’s not let this trans icon down guys. He didn’t fight to be who he decides for nothing. And that is the sexiest thing imaginable.

John was absolutely an eldritch nightmare BUT is literally getting better and learning empathy and consent which is very sexy

Hello my friends and random people in my phone. Please consider voting John Doe for Sexiest Podcast Character. He is barely beating Helen Distortion and eyes are so much cooler than spirals. John deserves one (1) nice thing and if that nice thing is being voted the Sexiest Podcast Character of 2024, who am I to deny that to him? Who are we to deny that to him? Use your voice, tumblr. Vote for John.

The one who’s changing and growing, powerful and terrifying but can be tender and good, capable of mind-fuckery but instead trying to be a better being and make up for thousands of years of terrible choices

John's entire identity is about defying the rules you were forced into at birth, and deciding you can be whoever you decide. And nothing is sexier than that.

Hello, we the good people at John's campaign headquarters, come to you with a very special message about our candidate and why he deserves your vote with a compilation of his best hits.

A vote for John is a vote for justice. And being your true self. And choosing your own name. And being really really cool.

John Propaganda video by @lunaescribe and @rotflea.

JOHNDOE2025 video by @curbledmiilk.

John Doe Acceptance speech by @malevolentcast.

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Renée Minkowski (Wolf 359):

the most badass commander there is. she spent a week hunting a plant monster living on the air ducts of her station with a goddamn harpoon. she managed to keep her people alive and get them home. she managed to keep Eiffel alive for like five years and for that alone she deserves a fucking medal

She did not just spend one week hunting the plant monster, she spent TWO WEEKS hunting the plant monster. Later on, she used the very same harpoon to murder an evil capitalist WHILE SHE HAD A BULLET IN HER CHEST.

She's haunted by the memory of the first time she took a life, and what's sexier than a character with regrets?

She works out. Muscle women. Enough said.

She's devoted to protecting her crew above all else, and despite her self-doubt, she's REALLY damn good at it.

She's a theater kid! She loves musicals! She writes showtunes! Sondheim is her favorite composer!

She Russian-Roulettes a guy into not blowing up her ship, and does such a good job of it that he never even realizes there aren't any bullets in her gun.

She's been trapped in a time loop, possibly multiple times.

She's the best character in all of audio drama, I love her, she's beautiful, she's sexy, and she deserves every vote.

#minkowski my beloved. love of my life. other half of my heart. sexiest woman in podcast ever. i love her

#MINKOWSKI!!!!!! #i love her sooo much fun fact

#my girl! my favorite girl! she won! #let's keep this energy going everyone!

I don't really remember anything about Wolf 359 since I only listened to a few episodes so I'm throwing my lot in with whoever has the most compelling/funniest propaganda. I think this would be funny and I commit to nothing if not the bit

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

But. MINKOWSKI. Please read all that Minkowski propaganda I wrote and then consider voting for her. She's the love of my life and THE sexiest podcast woman, bar none.

MINKOWSKI

John Doe (Malevolent):

A fragment of the Eldritch Deity that has gained independence, attached to possibly the world's most pathetic man. Also have you heard his voice

JOHNNN, JOHN I BELIEVE IN YOU

Gonna need everyone to vote for John plz

Don't let John down, he needs a win, he's had a miserable time lately : (

his voice is jsut. really good

sorry but queer rumbling voice John Doe is too powerful to not vote for here. Also no one in canon will tell him this and he deserves to know.

ok but the way John Doe said labrynthine

If John wins I'll write him kissing Noel

Trans Icon

LISTEN TO HIS VOICE

Threatens to disembowl anyone who hurts the person he loves

Once tried to kill a priest for making goo goo eyes at his man

Was an evil warlord turned soft poetry lover

Can still throw hands when needed

Clever as fuck

Wants to see a movie SO BAD

Memorizes poems just for his wet cat -V protective of his wet cat partner

VOTE JOHN

Crew we can't let trans icon movie lover, most jealous husband in the universe John Doe lose...

If John wins I'll cosplay him again

Vote John!! he's everything. eldritch god, in a codependent relationship with a feral cat of a man, nice voice, he even likes poetry

I've actually nutted to John's voice before. /hj

like this isn't even his full power s2 voice but mannnnn he sounds so hungry and feral for Arthur all the time...

ASSEMBLING THE MALEVOLENT CROWD. POOKIES FOLLOW YOUR DUTY AND HELP THIS MISERABLE MAN OUT!!!!

do NOT let my glorious goat LOSE!!!!

JOHN JOHN JOHN JOHN JOHN J

Vote John Doe!!!

MOOTS PLEASE VOTE JOHN 💔💔💔💔

VITE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN

LETS GO JOHN DOE

malevolent fans RISE

JOHN LETS GOOOOOOOO

hey all my mutuals, do some work for your favorite yellow boy

Vote for John!! Joohn!!!!

IM SORRY BUT PLEASE VOTE JOHN HES AWESOME I PROMISE

VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN VOTE JOHN COME ON GUYS

Guys vote John Doe as sexiest podcast character please he deserves this 🙏

CMON FOLKS, JOHN DOE JOHN DOE JOHN DOE

JOHN SWEEP!

IM SORRY JOHN!!!! (I’m really not)

VOTE FOR JOHN!!!

PLEASE VOTE JOHN PLEASE

[straw-eri-chan]

Tim dropped Conner's head, secretly delighted at the sound of his head hitting the ground in the grunt he let out. It barely hit anyway, but the sound was satisfying.

“Nice acting,” he snarked, standing up and taking the towel that was offered to him to dry his uncomfortably wet face. 

Conner scoffed as he sat up. "Thanks, Rob. Make the invulnerable character get hurt. Not the damn bird.”

Tim scowled at the annoying nickname. 

On the first day filming Young Justice, Conner, who was playing Superboy, took one look at the script and decided to shorten his character's name. It got on Tim's nerves which Conner enjoyed, but the directors heard and loved it, adding the stupid nickname to the script. 

Now they were filming season two of the show, and because so many people in the audience liked Superboy and Robin pairing, they wrote it into the show. So now they were on the Romance Arc.

[jingyichickenwings]

This is less of a Deep Cut and more of a case of schadenfreude, but I love when various members of a creative team are messy in public about their high budget group project. Reality TV for nerds. It speaks to a profound lack of media training or fucks given. You guys realize that future employers can Google you, right? Unintentionally hilarious.

Linke and Yee were told in no uncertain terms that their season 1 storyboard was shit, so they hired Overton, who hired half a dozen actual writers, and they did basically a full overhaul. The script was objectively much better. But this was Linke's baby, and several years later you still see signs that he is Big Mad that he didn't get his way, and that he doesn't know or care about what actually became season 1 canon. I'm sorry that your Jewish stereotype villain didn't get to be a pedophile, I guess? Idk. Yes, yes, I am sure your version of Svengali is really innovative. Maybe someday, buddy.

Meanwhile they start writing season 2 in early 2020, while the season 1 air date isn't until November of 2021. So, they don't have public feedback on the script yet, just, yanno, actual writing professionals. Anyway, according to Overton, they needed to fire the non-management part of the writing team because of the pandemic?! Lmao babygirl you do your best and I respect commitment to the official PR excuse but nobody sensible believes this. Netflix writers average 110k/year, and you needed six or so from season 1. That is not a big part of the overall budget. Also, y'all could have saved money with Zoom meetings.

So the very thing that saved the season 1 script got line-itemed "because of the pandemic". That sounds like an extremely convenient excuse for Linke to be like, no, fuck you all, we are going back to Plan A, the rough draft of season 2 based on his shitty version of season 1. Honey. That ship has sailed. You already lost this argument.

So presumably some combination of Linke/Yee/Riot/Netflix was like, it's important that we have at least one actual grown adult writer on staff. So Overton gets to keep her job.

Now, I want to preface this by saying that season 2 would have been even worse without Overton. That being said, there is a reason they needed a deeper bench of writing staff. Overton and Linke over-connect with the characters Caitlyn and Jayce respectively, to a degree that they frequently forgot to evaluate how other characters would likely behave in certain situations. It led to contrivances, plot holes, etc. There is a lot I could add here but tbh go read any of the meta already out there.

In addition to the Mary Sue type behavior, Overton thought it would be Neat to make the writing more like Avengers, like multiverse time travel fuckery is a shiny beach pebble and not narrative napalm. What in the ADHD was she thinking? Even if they had the run time to world build enough for this, there was nothing in season 1 to even suggest this as an option. And let's be fucking honest, multiverse a lot of why Marvel is on a downward spiral. If Viktor can go to Build-A-Bear Workshop and 3-D print a million Jayces, why should I give a shit about his kill count? He can just be kind, rewind, and try again. Actions are decoupled from consequences.

Anyway, moving back to the topic at hand of the Arcane team. Apparently, Overton, Linke and Yee only half-wrote season 2?! Linke said something about how they "extensively collaborated with Fortiche on the story"? Which, it's not inherently a bad idea to get creative feedback from your art team, but ummm, maybe the writers and Fortiche should have worked to a point of agreement on basic story beats. Based on a lot of what Fortiche has said, the art for season 2 passive aggressively advances what they wanted the writing to be against Linke's wishes. They literally have just been straight up disagreeing with Linke and getting paid for it. Which, to be fair, I respect the sheer pettiness! Linke can't write his own damn show but wants to slow down the very expensive art team? When the actual writers that got fired "because of the pandemic" would have caught a lot of the season 2 issues?

So post airing of season 2, Overton is all about that girlboss copaganda, Linke is having multiple public meltdowns and getting fired by Riot(?), and multiple voice actors and artists at Fortiche are being like "yeah, we actually wanted something else so there are now multiple competing narratives for season 2". Which is hilarious. The way in which the show is messy is the same way in which the creators are messy. These bitches are a cautionary tale about hubris and the need to engage in team-building.

(EDIT MARCH 11: the fired rumors seem to be old/inaccurate, see comments for details)

[aer1berry]

I genuinely shifted last night - story(ish) time.

Hi everyone! This is my first post here in shifting tumblr but I wanted to share this experience I had with shifting! First, some background information:

I was one of the people that saw the “I just came back from 8 months at hogwarts” video of the girl sobbing her eyes out back in 2020. I fell into a rabbit hole then of shifting, engaged in shifting content, wrote my first script on the notes app of my school issued ipad, downloaded Amino and joined a community where I made a lifelong bestfriend (shout out to you) and where I fell into the slump.

the slump was the three years straight that I tried and didn’t shift. They were the years that I would try a method, it didn’t work instantly, and I would roll over and go to bed. I wasted years doing this. I made a shiftok account that helped others shift, but I still had never even had a dream about my reality. I had never gotten close.

I have tried everything. Raven method? Check. Void state? check. Train method? check. Fucking shower method??? check. Nothing was working. I didn’t understand. I had all the pieces of the metaphorical puzzle : the script, the visuals, the playlist, I was a maladaptive dreamer for crying out loud! I could see and hear and visualize stuff my friends never could.

First Two ‘Shifts’:

In 2024 everything changed. First off, I met my lovely girlfriend who I love so much (mwah mwah mwah) and second, I had two close shifts.

TWO.

BACK TO BACK.

The first happened when I was downstairs, around this time I think it was summer because I don’t recall having school - I had fallen asleep on a recliner chair and was fully relaxed - dreaming of nothing in particular. But I kept accidentally waking up, or catching glimpses of my living room. This was weird to be however, because when I fell asleep - which had only been probably fifteen minutes before this, my mom was wide awake and watching tv. But in the glimpses I was getting, my mom was asleep or she wasn’t there at all. And it was so strange. That’s when I felt my body sort of warm, and my limbs felt oddly like they were lifting??? IT WAS SO FUCKING WEIRD BRUH I FELT LIKE I WAS ASCENDING OUT OF THE CHAIR BUT I GOT SO SCARED. I tried to tell myself to think of my dr but I freaked completely and ended up waking up back in my living room where my mom was - awake.

The second time it happened I was recreating what had happened before. My mom had left to go get my brother from work, and I had been EXTREMELY tired this day - a few months had passed since the last attempt so I was back in school, and I want to say this was in november? I remember falling asleep in the chair for only a brief second when it happened AGAIN. The tingles, the lifting, and of course - my stupid ass panicking 😭😭

I think my mom began to find something weird because I then because obsessed with sleeping on that damn chair trying to recreate the magic 😭 it did in fact not happen LMAOO.

Last Night:

So since those attempts some things have changed:

changed (ish) how I script

completely disregarded shifttok and I don’t even go on their anymore

started reading shift tumblr and a bit of r/shifting

started to learn about the law of assumption

no this is not a post detailing the LOA, I don’t even get it I just wing it cuz it’s too complicated for my tiny brain to maneuver LMAO

Anyways so last night I didn’t go to bed until 2 AM. I was on twitter and then I finally decided I needed to sleep because um I actually do in fact have school today. anyways so I lay down, with Caseoh playing in the background, I wasn’t trying to shift so I didn’t turn him off. Instead I let it play on low, and being the neurodivergent idiot I am - I put my hands in the air and started playing a fake piano to sleep LISTEN I KNOW ITS STUPID ITS JUST MY BRAIN BRUH 😭😭 ANYWAY once I got tired enough I let my hands rest back down (one on the bed one on my stomach) and I ended up drifting between asleep and awake. I had a dream of sorts about my school and some people in it- but at one point in time in my dream I where I just couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. And I was confused so I tried to open my eyes and that’s when I fucking felt it again. My arms were so HEAVY, they felt so weighted to move, my eyes felt like they were being weighed down by damn anvils - I quickly recognized these and went “uhhh streamer reality!” in a panic, felt my surroundings feel like they were changing, and panicked more - AND THEN MY BITCH ASS WOKE UP.

BRAH I WAS SO MAD I GENUINELY THINK I SHIFTED AND IF I HADNT PANICKED AGAIN 😡😡😡 anyway lmk what yall think I have to school

[usomads]

Finisher // Roman Reigns x Reader (Pin Me Pt. 2)

Author’s Note -> Hiiii everyone! So many of you requested a part two to Pin Me, which again thank you so much for all the love on the first part. I honestly didn’t think of making it multiple parts when I first wrote this, but here we are and here it is lol! Happy reading!

Plot -> After pinning the Smackdown Women’s Champion in your mixed tag-team match with Roman Reigns, you gained popularity and with that your first singles title opportunity. You’ve never been more nervous for anything in your life, so your Tribal Chief helps ease your nerves before your match…

Pairings -> Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader (Y/N)

Warnings -> Cursing, Oral Sex (Fem!Receiving), Fingering, Gagging, Implied Smut, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 3.0k

(time skip to the first Smackdown episode after Saturday Night’s Main Event)

“I’ve been your Smackdown Women’s Champion for nearly five months now, and since becoming your champion I have proved that I am the irresistible force and nobody can take this title from me. Not Bayley, not Naomi, not Tiffany, and esp-” Nia’s promo was cut short by your entrance music hitting, the crowd rising to their feet and popping loudly for your theme. Since pinning Nia at Saturday Night’s Main Event, you had taken the WWE Universe by storm; your social media following went up, more and more people were recognizing you in public, you had gotten exactly the recognition you wanted all along- and it was all thanks to Roman Reigns.

Since last Saturday and your “celebration” post-match, you’ve grown closer to Joe. You were getting to know each other better, spending more time together, and what you initially thought was a one-time thing in the heat of the moment was clearly not. Joe got his hands on you every chance he could, it didn’t matter where or when, if he wanted you he was going to have you. And who were you to turn down your Tribal Chief? 

Now, you two hadn’t defined your “relationship” just yet but you both were perfectly fine with the way things were at the moment- taking things slow and really getting to know each other (among other things) before making anything official. You were doing pretty well for yourself; you were gaining more traction than before and you had a fine ass man to go home to- you had zero complaints with how your life and career were going at the moment.

You emerged from backstage, microphone in hand, as the crowd roared at your entrance. You signaled for production to cut your music, walking confidently to the ring as you spoke. “Now, Nia, I know damn well you didn’t come in the ring to talk all this mess about ‘no one can beat me’ after last week… did you hit your head too hard during our match or something because I,” you paused, signaling to the crowd filling the arena, “as well as the entire WWE universe remember very clearly that I pinned you last week at Main Event.” The crowd cheered in response, boosting your already high confidence as you smirked at Nia. “If you’re soooo confident you can beat me one-on-one, then do it. Put your title on the line next week and let’s see how much of a ‘force’ you really are.”

“Oh, Y/N…” Nia mocked you, “it’s so adorable that you think you’re a threat to me and my title. That win you got last week, pinning me? Was pure luck.” Nia stepped to you, with little distance between you too as she glared down at you, “But unlike you, at least I don’t have to sleep with anyone to get my main event spots, I work hard for what I have. Do that first, then come talk to me.” That wasn’t in the fucking script, is she serious right now? Oh, if she wants to improv, best believe I can too. You swung without thinking twice, using the microphone in your hand to hit her on the side of the head. It was time for a fight. 

You and Nia took turns trying to go at each other, both of you countering the other until she blindsided you out of nowhere with a hit that made you see double for a second. You knew you were done after that, feeling blood trickle from a cut on your head created by her. She continued to attack you while you were down, the crowd booing with every hit she delivered. After your body had slumped in the center of the ring she grabbed you by your hair and pulled you up, showing your beaten and bloody face to the crowd and cameras. “This isn’t fantasy, Y/N, stop playing pretend with Roman and go back to catering where you fucking belong.” She threw your head back onto the mat and exited the ring as security and medical personnel rushed to the ring. You dragged your fatigued body out of the ring and backstage, refusing treatment from medical despite their protests. You walked into the locker room Joe and you now shared, while Joe was screaming at someone on the phone.

“Nick, are you fucking kidding me? There’s gotta be some form of punish- I don’t give a shit what the higher ups thought about it, she could’ve seriously injured Y/N, I-,” Joe paused, turning around and seeing you enter the locker room, “I gotta go. This conversation isn’t over.” Joe hung up on the GM and rushed over to you. “Baby, are you okay? Did she hurt you? Have you gotten looked at by-”

“No, Joe, and I’m not going to. Just please, drop it. I’m over it.”

“Well, I’m not. Why the fuck would she even say something like that? How would she have known about us?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, Joe! Now leave it alone, seriously, I’m not in the goddamn mood.” You went silent, thinking about what you were going to do about Nia. You needed to do something different, something she would never see coming. Your priorities shifted completely after that segment, you now no longer wanted just the title. Your biggest priority, maybe even more than wanting the belt, was to beat the shit outta Nia Jax, no matter what it took.

“Babe, c’mon, you need to sit down. You’re gonna stress yourself into a heart attack if you don’t quit pacing around the room like that,” Joe was currently attempting to calm you down, you had been completely fine this past week you were training and promoting the match, but now that the show had officially started your overwhelming amount of confidence had completely vanished.

“Easy for you to say, title matches are second nature to you. Muscle memory. I  have never competed for a title before, I have every right to be freaking the fuck out right now, Joe,” you sighed. “It feels like everything just did a 180 degree turn, like I have so many eyes on me now and they all want me to beat Nia’s ass, and I just don’t know if I-”

“Hey, none of that. Y/N, look at me,” you slowly brought your head up to meet his eyes, the same ones that completely captivated your being just a couple weeks ago. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. That crowd out there knows exactly what you’re capable of, you know what you’re capable of, and I know what you’re capable of. I believe in you, baby, and if you can’t find it in you to believe in yourself then I’ll believe enough for the both of us. You got this, Y/N, I know you do.” Your heart melted at his words, the soothing and reassuring tone in his voice providing you some much needed comfort. 

“You still nervous, baby?” You nodded your head, looking down at your lap as he scooted closer to you on the couch. “I think I have an idea on how we can fix that. Do you trust me?”

“A-always, Joe.”

“Good girl.” He lifts your chin with his finger and passionately presses his lips to yours, resting his palm on the side of your face as you moan into the kiss. Your stomach flutters at his soft demeanor, feeling some of your nerves dissipate as his lips caress yours. He lays you down on the couch, hovering over you as he deepens the kiss. Breathless, he pulls away, leaning his forehead against yours and looking lovingly into your eyes. “You still feelin’ nervous, baby?”

“Y-yeah,” you breathed out, “a little less, but still pretty nervous.”

“I guess I’ll have to keep going then, don’t I?” His lips find their way back to yours, resting there for a moment before trailing along your jawbone and down your neck, leaving a few wet kisses at the base of your throat before continuing his path downward. Your breathing had picked up, and you were now looking down at him as his lips left a trail down your abdomen.

“A-are you sure we should… now? I mean, I have my match later and I-”

“Shhh, I promise I’ll be quick. Just wanna take care of you, help my baby out,” he muttered against your hip bone as he teased the lining of your ring gear you had been wearing. You sighed contently, leaning your head back against the arm of the couch and allowing yourself to relax into his touch. His fingers interlock in the lining of your bottoms as he looks up for you, asking for permission to remove them. You lift your hips off the couch, allowing him to slowly drag the material down your legs and throw them to the side. He snakes both hands up your legs, kneading the soft flesh of your thighs before splitting them apart and exposing you to him. Your body was so reactive to him- Joe loved how goosebumps would scatter across your skin at the brush of his lips or how your eyes would flutter closed and your eyebrows would scrunch together with just his touch, but most of all, he loved how how wet he made you without doing a thing to you. 

“Fuck, ma, always so ready for me,” you moaned loudly and bucked your hips, desperate for any sort of friction, “you gon’ have to be quiet for me, don’t want nobody to hear us, right baby?” You nodded and bit your lip, trying to hold in your cries and his fingers danced up the smooth skin of your inner thighs and through your folds, leaning down to make his face level with your core and presses a soft kiss on your clit before wrapping his lips around the swollen bud, nipping and sucking while he continues to drag his fingers along your slit before pushing a finger inside. His thrusts are slow, putting his focus on his mouth as he eats you with a burning intensity. His tongue works itself in ways that set your body on fire, the scruff of his beard along with it only adding to the sensation he’s giving you. The lip you’re biting to keep quiet is nearly drawing blood. You want to cry out, you want to moan his praises loud enough for the crowd inside the arena to hear, but you know you can’t so you continue to restrain yourself despite wanting to do the complete opposite.

He replaces his fingers with his tongue now, pumping it inside of you and using one to pin your hips down and the other to draw slow circles into your clit. This time you can’t help yourself; your clit is so sensitive that the second his fingers brushed it, you were done for. He pauses for a moment to remove his t-shirt he was wearing and you whine from the loss of contact, watching as he morphs the cotton material into a ball and hands it over to you, bringing his hand back down to your clit. “Bite down on this, since you can’t keep yourself quiet, I’ll make you.” You hesitate for a moment and look down at him, his features darkening and giving you a sly smirk before nodding his head. You bring the material to your lips before biting down on it, your senses being completely filled by Joe. He goes back to eating you as you moan into the cloth, the material successfully muffling your cries. Joe’s movements become more and more desperate, moving his tongue and fingers faster as he can sense you’re close. You can’t stop your moans now, saliva drooling from the corner of your mouth as you feel yourself getting closer to your release. Your legs begin to shake and Joe, noticing you were close, dives his head deeper into your pussy, trapping you with his mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut as you inhale, breathing in his scent and cologne you were using as a gag, triggering your own orgasm. You came on his tongue hard, shaking and moaning into the fabric of his shirt as he laps up your juices like an animal deprived of water. You even your breathing and throw his shirt back at him, the both of you laughing as he crawls on top of you.

“Oh, you wanna throw things at me do you? I might just have to teach you a le-”

Joe was interrupted by someone knocking on the door to his locker room. “Excuse me, Ms. Y/N? It’s almost time for your match, we need to head to Gorilla to finalize some things real quick.” You both sigh, him getting off of you as you put your bottoms back on in a rush. You make a run for the door to hurry and get to your position, but he grabs your arm to stop you. “You still feeling nervous?” You smiled at him and shook your head, going to thank him but getting cut off. “Good luck out there, baby. I’ll be waiting for you in Gorilla for you to show me that new title,” he kisses your cheek and you blush.

“Thank you, Joe, for everything. I mean it, I wouldn’t be doing this without you.” He gives you a soft smile and ushers you out the door, as you prepare yourself for possibly the biggest match of your entire career.

“Ughhh,” you groaned as Nia dragged you from the center of the ring to the corner, preparing to give you an Annihilator and win this match. From the jump Nia had punished you, much to the crowd’s distaste. It seemed like everybody in the arena had been behind you and you felt it, right up until the bell rang and she started throwing heavy combinations your way. You managed to sneak in a couple pieces of offense but none were convincing enough to give you any sort of edge. Nia got on the ropes, and performed the move. She remained seated on you, trying to get the pin. 1… 2… kick out. You pushed her off of you and sat on your heels, gripping your side. Jesus, my fuckin’ ribs. 

Finally to your feet, you unload on Nia as she laid on the ground. Kicks, punches, springboard moves, you threw the whole arsenal but each pin attempt gave a 1 or 2 count, and never close calls. You knew deep down you were going to have to do something completely insane to get this win, so you start stringing things together to get it done. You start by giving her a drop kick to send her to the outside, following her out, then throwing her into the steel steps. You dragged her by the hair to the announce table, laying her on it as you ran to the ring and climbed to the top rope. You made sure everyone near the table had cleared before crossing your heart and doing a senton, landing on Nia as the table and collapsing along with it. You could tell that Nia was nearly to the breaking point, so you mustered all the energy and strength you could to drag her back into the ring and climbed to the top rope once more. You hit your finisher, but wasn’t satisfied. You wanted no doubts, so you climbed up and hit it again, straddling her shoulders and hooking your arms around her legs. The arena was so loud you could barely hear the ref’s count. 1… 2… 3… ‘Here is your winner, and the NEW… WWE Women’s Champion… Y/N!’

You couldn’t even process what had just happened, all you wanted to do was get the hell out of that ring so you snatched the title from the ref and escaped. You slowed down when you made it to the stage, clutching the title in your arms and looking down at it with tears brimming your eyes. Your knees felt weak, and your heart was beating out of your chest. You did it. You triumphantly raised the title in the air, tears starting to fall as you smiled and took the moment in. After the cameras had cut and you had taken a few pictures with fans, you walked backstage only to be greeted with cheers. You made your way to everyone, getting pictures, hugs, and everything else in between before locking eyes with the man you wanted to see ever since your hand was raised. Joe. You practically ran to him, jumping into his arms and wrapping yours around his neck, hugging him tightly. He spun you around and smiled from ear to ear. 

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, baby. You had a helluva match out there, I knew you had it in you,” he kissed you sweetly right there, not caring who was watching as you grinned widely. “Now, let’s get you home,” he winked at you, setting you down before whispering low in your ear.

“We’ve got some more celebrating to do tonight.”

[nouvxllev]

Hi, just wanna say I love your stuff! I was wondering if you’d do a Jenna x reader who is the daughter of Winona Ryder and Jenna meets her on the set of Beetlejuice 2. Winona acting as a wing woman for Jenna.

head over heels, your hand over mine

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: ^ request!

Words: 5.0k

Warnings: longer than i intended it to be

a/n: first of all... tysm!!! and second of all, thank you for the request!! means alot to me and i wrote it to the best of my abilities, hope you'll like it!!!

seq. || masterlist

Shit, shit, shit...

Jenna cursed under her breath as she practically hammered down the first-floor button as if that was going to make it go faster.

She glanced over to the indicator right above the door, the numbers slowly inching towards the ground floor. Her foot kept directing her side to side in the elevator, a stressed back-and-forth pace she caught herself on all while she gripped the Beetlejuice 2 script right in her hands, the paper almost being punctured with holes and such.

Jenna could almost blame herself for this.

Actually, she does. She damned herself so much she wouldn't be surprised if she got hit by a bus, really.

It wasn't any other day you'd get a role in Beetlejuice, 2, might she add, and even landing the role of the daughter of Winona Ryder who is possibly one of the most outstanding actresses out there and a 90s icon.

And now she's just slightly fucking it up with first impressions with how she's atleast 10 minutes late to their set because she spent her entire night in reading and rereading the script over and over until she perfected her lines to the point it's probably better if she'd just make Beetlejuice herself.

When the doors slid open, Jenna bolted out until she made her way to the entrance, her hand tightly clutching that damn script and her other gripping the strap of her bag.

Fumbling with her phone to call an Uber, she couldn't help but grimace at the thousands upon thousands of texts saying that she was late and her alarm clocks repeatedly being turned on to snooze just minutes before.

Of course, this day of all days just so happened to be the day that the universe decided that it had a grudge on Jenna for whatever reason because all Ubers were somehow booked and it would probably take atleast 30 minutes for another one.

So, like the hardworking actress she is determined to get a first impression even with punctuality falling behind her, she ran.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't long, thank-fucking-god, till Jenna got to set. She slowed her pace a little when she saw the cameras and people surrounding a particular area.

She took a moment to compose herself as she approached them, smoothing down her pants and fixing her hair all while she tried to catch her breath before possibly collapsing on the ground. The crew members spared her a glance, how comforting, even if they all had concerned looks on their faces.

Jenna always worked with such talented actors and directors, and now here she was working with Winona Ryder meanwhile she was looking like she ran a marathon on the side while going to set.

"You're here!" Winona called out, lowering the script in her hands while she offered a warm smile. "We almost thought there were some complications in your schedule."

The young actress offered a sheepish smile, embarrassment flowing in her mind as she offered a weak hand gesture. "I'm so sorry, all Ubers were somehow booked and I woke up late." She admitted before introducing herself. "I'm Jenna. Ortega." She added.

Winona chuckled, "No worries. The tech team is sorting out some equipment issues, so it's a bit of free time right now." She explained, offering a handshake. "Winona Ryder. Your mother. Well, on-screen." She joked while Jenna laughed with it.

"God, sorry if I look worn out. I really admire your work, it's all so amazing." Jenna took her hand, reciprocating the gesture. She was almost going to add something until a figure approached Winona, looking like a split-perfect resemblance of her. And oh how she did the fastest double-take in her whole life.

"Oh, right!" Winona pulled, possibly the most prettiest and gorgeous, girl Jenna has laid eyes on in her 21 years of continuous breathing by the shoulders and pushed her in front of the young actress. Now life without you suddenly looks like something she just completely wasted her precious time on.

Just by looking at Winona and how excitement reflected in her eyes, Jenna could tell how much she beamed with pride for her daughter; it made her heart swell.

"Meet my daughter, Y/n."

There were things Jenna should do when she meets someone. She introduces herself in a calm manner and maybe engage in some friendly talk with them whether if it's the most awkward-est thing in her life or one of the moments she'd like to spend forever in.

What she shouldn't do is slowly have a mid-introduction nosebleed, completely throw out the knowledge that she has the ability to speak and say words while her mouth is half-agape and her eyes wide and never blinking. This rule seems to be more strict when she's convinced she has met the love of your life.

It's safe to say that Jenna checked all the boxes on the latter.

Jenna met your gaze, and oh how that was the stupidest decision she had ever made in her entire life. She felt a blush creep up her cheeks, breath caught in her throat, she tried to speak for a second but nothing came. It was like she was drowning but in the best way possible. And also falling head over heels in the worst way possible.

It's concerning how she almost wants to drop down and marry you on the spot; she's already rehearsing her vows inside her brain.

Jenna raised her hand, a shaky one at that, to offer a handshake. "I'm Jenny," she managed to squeak out, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at fumbling her own damn name. "I mean, Jenna! Sorry, not Jenny. I'm Jenna. Jenna Ortega." Oh, fuck, please just slit my throat already.

In every bad and awkward introduction, there's always someone from the other line slightly concerned but plays with it.

Your eyes crinkled, a bright sight to see that would put all sunrises to shame, and your lips parted like how the clouds part after a gloomy day, letting out a laugh that calmed Jenna's heart almost immediately. It was still running and skipping a fuck ton of beats per second, but your laugh seemed to warm it all.

"I'm Y/n, of course." You held Jenna's faltering eye contact as you reciprocated her gesture, "I'm really only here to accompany my mom," you explained. Please stay here forever. Better yet, be with me. Jenna almost said.

You shook her hand in the most softest way possible, her palm fitting right into yours. "Can't believe I met you, honestly." Jenna heard you mutter under your breath, a squeal following it.

Oh, if falling head over heels over you was a sin, she'd gladly be the epitome of something so mortal.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that was only a week ago. Just imagine how much internal panic she goes through whenever she sees you now.

Jenna repeatedly cursed under her breath, staring at the reflection of herself in the mirror as she gripped the cold parts of the sink, glaring at herself in complete thought.

Almost so serious as if her mind wasn't battling with something so completely stupid she'd rather drown in self-pity and misery.

Jenna Ortega, deemed as America's #1 IT girl who practically swooned all seven continents by now, almost had a near anaphylactic shock when her hand grazed over yours and how you gave her possibly the most sweetest and soul-crushing smile with that stupidest crinkle in your eye to ever exist on this damned earth, holy fuck.

Why should she be so head over heels for you?

She lowered her head in defeat, a heavy sigh escaping her as the same image of your smile flickered in her mind, and now a stupid grin from your stupid image graced her lips.

It was only a week in being on the Beetlejuice set, and she damn near lost her mind.

You were always there, well of course you were there since you were Winona Ryder's daughter, but she didn't expect to be so obsessed with you to the point she needs to go to the bathroom to silently scream whenever she hears or sees your intoxicating smile.

It's sweet. Almost endearing to her.

As if she even has the right to even think about you in that way.

Jenna stepped outside, patting her hands dry by the hem of her shirt. her name already being called out by the directors, their voices only getting louder and louder until it dwindled down to nothing and she could only assume that Winona stopped them, it was still her break after all. She was almost like a real mother to her, a comforting one at that.

She started to take a pattern in her steps before she saw you sitting on the railings of the trailer. More importantly, Jenna's trailer.

Okay, she shouldn't have seen this as a sign from the universe that you liked her back, but she did and that was all the hope that the fate or whatever deity could do because she was too desperate and too drunk on the lack of attention and attraction you were giving her.

But how could she not do that when you look so perfect just being... you? Being everything she wanted? Needed? Just being so damn perfect almost feels like Jenna could die.

"You like my daughter, don't you."

Jenna looked behind her, the sudden voice that crept being Winona, the mother of the daughter she had been smitten for, a noticeable faint smile on her lips. It was more of a statement than a question. A fact, really.

Jenna could almost deny it if it wasn't so accurate. But what was she supposed to say? "Yes, I do like your daughter, in fact, I love her so much I would absolutely give up my very career to buy her the most expensive wedding ring to ever be created from the hands of a human, or even a Greek God perhaps, to show that she owns my entire heart, body, and soul."

Panic was evident, Winona could clearly tell by the way Jenna looked like was scramming to think up of a half-assed excuse.

"Yes—I mean, not like like. I love her, really. She's talented, hardworking, and passionate in the things she talks about. But that's really it; I love Y/n, in a friendly way." Jenna stammered. Even if she was spouting complete lies and nonsense about how she doesn't have a massive crush on you, her gaze was stuck on, of course, you yourself.

Winona arched an eyebrow, "Jenna, I know when someone is horribly in love with my daughter and who’s not."

"The both of you were always somehow joined together, even if none of you were talking. You’re always finding a reason to bring her up in a conversation even if no one was even talking about her. Also, everyone takes notice of how your gaze was always focused on Y/n. Even on scene, you couldn’t take your eyes off of her for a second."

Yeah, that seems about right.

Jenna sighed, her line of sight never laying off of you. It's amazing how you still haven't noticed she and your mother was staring at you like a bunch of stalkers.

"Y/n deserves someone like her, someone in her league," she turned around, now walking in the opposite direction to her original one. She almost sounded like a teenage boy who realized they couldn't get with the popular girl. "She looks like someone even from the heavens above couldn’t fathom they created her from their own mind and hands."

Winona's expression softened as she caught up to Jenna, now walking beside her. "If you, The Jenna Ortega, fail to get her attention and love then it's all over for us." She never heard someone talk so romantic about her daughter, it's truly unfair how the ones who love the most always fall short.

Jenna's steps slowed, her body slumping against the fall as her gaze was fixed on the ground. God, why was she acting like this over you?

The young actress nodded, her hands going up to her face and sliding them down as she spoke, "She's like this incredible and unattainable dream you want to continue after you wake up, Winona." She mumbled through her hands, "Y/n's gorgeous, gentle, charming, and just… perfect." She let go of her face, her hands now on her sides. "It's intimidating just by looking at her, knowing she's the essence of beauty and perfection. Like, how do you compete with that? Overall be someone who she wants to stick by her side?"

The actress observed the young one, Jenna's head down and fidgeting with her rings. Winona could almost say that this was the most vulnerable sight she ever saw from her. "You don't have to match her perfection, let alone measure yourself up to that; you just need to be the missing piece she didn't know she needed. "

Jenna took a deep breath, her head slowly rising, "I just don't want to mess it up. She deserves someone as awesome as her, and if she ever likes me back, I'm afraid of waking up and realizing I'm not enough for her to be someone she loves."

Winona tilted her head, crossing her arms, "Tell you what, I don't know much about my daughter now. She's not closed off, but she isn't open either." She could see how Jenna flicked her head upwards, listening attentively. "But I do know that she's been watching all of your movies and shows up to this point."

Jenna's eyes widened in surprise. She doesn't wanna take any risks, but she doesn't wanna lose any chances either. "She... she has?"

Winona nodded, a soft and warm smile playing on her lips, just like the one you always have if not more comforting.

"I could never hear the end of it. She says you have this genuine charm whenever you speak, you're calm but you're also being true to yourself. Y/n admires you so much, I almost get sick of it," she laughed that pulled a chuckle from Jenna. "You're perfect in her eyes, but that's not what she likes about you. She likes you because you're authentic, yourself." She reached out for Jenna's shoulders, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "I'll be your wingman. I'm sure you're the perfect girl for my daughter."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that was maybe two to three months ago.

Now Jenna's thinking that you might be the most oblivious person to ever roam this entire globe. She's been dropping hints everywhere you go and you still wouldn't catch up that she has feelings for you!

Ever since Jenna got into Winona's wing, she knew everything that makes you happy. Your music taste, what type of flowers you like, what type of outings you like, clothes, scents, foods, colors, even legos, just basically everything under the sun she gave to you within a heartbeat.

Jenna gives you flowers everyday, hell even bouquets if she's feeling fancy. Reads and writes you letters, and ever since Winona gave her your number, she's been sending you voicemails of your favorite songs every morning as some goodmorning text. She's been nothing but romantic to you! Was she just missing something?

The only thing that really progressed was something of strangers to friends. The two of you were as close as ever to the point if one of you were needed, somebody probably would need to surgically remove both of you.

But that was it! No nothing, just friends. It was selfish for Jenna to want something more when she has the love of her life close to her as a friend, sure, but she needed just a little bit more before she mentally goes insane.

"I mean, come on!" Jenna complained to Winona, sitting across from the other chair just right beside her trailer, script in her hands but she was paying more attention to Jenna. "Flowers, letters, voicemails… I'm practically screaming 'I like you' at this point." She slumped over the table, "or maybe she's just really ignoring them."

"I think you're thinking too deeply, Jenna," Winona stated, looking over to somewhere far, "maybe you should confess. She's right there."

Jenna was about to stand up and say it all out and die in a hole if she gets rejected until she realized you were wearing something so... fucking gorgeous? stunning? breathtaking? ethereal? She needed a stronger word than all words combined.

It wasn't your everyday casual wear, in fact, it was something you'd wear to go on a date. A date that meant something, a date that you'd go with another person and to confess their love.

Oh, don't fucking tell her she was too slow to confess and some random dude confessed earlier.

"I don't..." Jenna stammered, she could sense that agonizing feeling of her heart sinking, a stinging pain but it was mixed with immense pressure, like she was almost drowning. "I don't really think it's the right time."

Winona let out a sympathetic sigh, "she did tell me that she was going somewhere important." She waved in your direction, grabbing your attention. "Y/n!"

Jenna didn't know it was possible to drown without having any bodies of water near you, now she was fully experiencing it by how her heart sank even further as she heard Winona's words.

She shouldn't be surprised, after all, somebody actually had the guts and mindset to actually confess to you personally without having to hide behind a facade and without having to drop a fuck ton of hints instead of saying it out loud.

It stung. Thinking that someone out there was that one for you. And how that someone was never Jenna. But it was sweet. She winced.

Jenna couldn't shake the pang and sting of disappointment as she watched to walk over to Winona, a smile on your lips like you've met the most wonderful person to ever be in your life. She couldn't read if it was real, and she hoped to God it was fake.

"What's with the get-up?" Winona asked, standing up while giving Jenna the look.

"Going on a date with this guy, he asked me." You smiled, yet again, but it was even brighter.

Yeah, she figured. When did she even assume that you liked women anyway?

"Can I borrow your car, mom, please?" You asked of her, your puppy eyes going in action while you mentally crossed your fingers.

Jenna wasn't the one to brag, but she could drive a car! Not that idiot guy who couldn't even take whatever vehicle to fetch her as a nice gesture. Hell, it was a date for godsakes!

Winona sighed, glancing between Jenna and you. "Sure, you can borrow the car," she stated before digging into her pockets and fetching her car keys, plotting it down to your hands, "but make sure to bring it back in one piece."

Jenna bit her lip, suppressing the urge to completely pull herself out of her chair and scream 'I love you so goddamn much, Y/n! Can't you see I'm the one for you and not some guy who couldn't even go the mile to drive you to the damn date!?' But no. Instead, she stayed in her seat, nodded as a goodbye, and forced yet another smile.

"Thanks for the flowers by the way, Jenna! I should really pay you back sometime." You chuckled, before hugging her head as your way of goodbye. "I'll tell you all about it when I get home."

"Don't worry about the flowers. No need to pay me back," Jenna replied, doing her damn best to keep her tone light and her knuckles not so light. As you hugged her, Jenna couldn't help but savor the moment, imagining that it wasn't a goodbye to go off on some date with some random dude but rather a lovely gesture. "I'll be waiting to hear all about it."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was atleast three to five hours ago.

Jenna never knew how a 2$ caesar salad bought from a suspicious vendor on the sidewalks could be so depressing but still mock her on how she just lost the love of her life to someone who actually had the guts to confess until she actually experienced it.

It was a slow day on set. Probably because it was already so late at night. There were still some scenes being recorded, but most of it was Winona's.

So along those hours when Jenna wasn't with you or she couldn't text you through the phone, all she could really do was stare from afar and hope that you'd magically have some miraculous change of mind mid-date and maybe you'll soon believe and realize Jenna was the one for you after all.

Of course, life wasn't like a damn movie and that damn date was still going to happen no matter what she does.

Winona sat beside Jenna, offering a sympathetic look at how Jenna was poking around her lettuce. "You know that's her quote-on-quote I don't really give two shits outfit but I still need to look good for a requirement that is people's feelings."

Jenna let go of her fork, damn even it looked sad. "But she looks beautiful."

Winona could almost roll her eyes if not for the young actress wallowing in her own thoughts. "It's because you're head over heels for her, Jenna. She could wear some obnoxious color-clashing clothes and she'd still look like a goddess for you."

Jenna sighed, picking up her fork again and halfheartedly stabbing a folded lettuce leaf. "I mean, don't you?" she asked, glancing at Winona. "You're her mother."

Winona shrugged, "Her clothes, her choice, but I still absolutely would not." She laughed, and her smile brightened when Jenna allowed a smile to crack through her lips.

Jenna could almost face-plant herself into the salad bowl if not for a notification pinging in Winona's phone. A notification that Winona only applied for you.

"...Or you could tell her that she's much better off with you rather than some guy that stood her up." Winona showed the phone to Jenna, your message illuminating on the screen.

y/n

mom can u pick me up? karaoke room 217 stood up on me lol come quick, pls. thx

Jenna would've been lying if she said she wasn't jumping, screaming, throwing up in literal joy.

Well, of course, she was mad that you of all people were stood up, but she was semi-glad that you were.

Jenna's urgency was visible as she scrambled to get out of her seat, grabbing her bag with such hast and making a sudden beeline for the exit.

"Tell her that you can't go! I wanna surprise her," She yelled to Winona, her excitement in her voice echoing through the room. It's almost weird and insane how happy she was about how you were stood up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You waited for 2 hours.

It wasn't disappointing. You already knew it was just some sort of dare or a prank that one of his friends pulled, but you showed up anyway. Not like because you wanted to play with his feelings; you couldn't do that if you didn't have any.

In fact, you had feelings for Jenna.

Ever since she showed up on your screen, she was the only actress you could ever think about. She was charming, alluring, the only person who could make the daylight so dark if her smile was out of place.

You didn't know her, personally then, but you loved her. You were willing to start wars with the world, may it be against you or may all odds and fate oppose you, you’d do everything for her even if it kills you to be someone who would take all her hidden suffering and plead for tears with your palms locked and thrown away.

And now that you were working with her on set, you couldn't help but be someone you're not. All thanks to you and your mother on reluctantly giving up on the idea of not bringing you to set. You wanted to confess, you really did. It was just a silly little crush like you'd always have but this one with Jenna seemed real and your life would've ended if your feelings were rejected.

Though, even after all that, Jenna was the one you wanted to be with. The one you hoped would walk through that damn door and hug you until your worries and thoughts all disappeared, only met with her voice and her comforting arms.

That would've been a fleeting memory, wishful thinking. That is until the very girl that made you go insane rushed into the room.

What the fuck.

She was exhausted, you could tell by her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, you couldn't help but smile at the sight of her; looking like she had gone the extra mile and maybe even drove a car on the way instead of running, just to be there with you. You could almost start laughing and be that snarky person you've always been to her if not for everything else fading into the background until Jenna was the only one left.

Without hesitation, she pulled you into a tight embrace, wrapping her arms around your body as she tightened the hug as if you'd die if she ever let go of your body. The warmth of her touch, the comfort in her soul, and her very being brought something so grand as you hugged her back. You feared that letting go would mean losing her forever, and she thought the same way.

"I love you." She murmured on your shoulders, closing her eyes. You notice how her voice cracked with vulnerability and almost sorrow as you tightened your hold on her.

"I love you," she whispered yet again, as if you didn't hear her the firs time. "I love you, I love you, I just love you." She dug her head under your neck, her breath warm on your skin as you waited for her to finish.

You could feel Jenna's heartbeat against your chest, fast and beating while it synced with your own. "I love you, Y/n. You don’t know how many lifetimes I would kill myself for you to look into my soul, everything beneath, and even the darkest parts of my heart so then you’ll see how I perceive you to be everything I look for. I can't understand how you don't understand how much you mean to me. How much your laughter was something I didn't know would be the cure to whatever terminal illness I had in life, your actions being my motivation, your soul being my guiding light, and your smile being something so bright that not even the sun could beat its glory."

Jenna slowly pulled away from you, her eyes searching yours for a reaction. The room was always so silent, but it never felt like it was the funeral of sound itself.

"I'm sorry—That—That wasn't... I didn't—" she stammered, her body already getting up and pulling away from you.

Gently, you reached out and cupped her face with your hands, your thumbs brushing away the newly formed tears that had welled up in her eyes and dripped from her cheeks. You could feel the warmth of her skin beneath your touch, her freckles, and everything that made Jenna her was right beneath your palm. You want nothing but to cherish it.

You couldn't think of a reply. You could, but it would never beat the confession Jenna had for you. It was more than a mere confession, but something out of a book that would put every writer to shame.

"Is this okay?" Your eyes searched for Jenna's consent in hers as you leaned in ever so slightly, her breath lingering on your skin until Jenna's lips met yours in a hesitant, gentle kiss. The touch of her soft lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine, her hands coming up to cradle your face as she melted into you while your own hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.

Life felt like something you wasted without her lips touching yours. How you felt everything and how you were everything under her soft touch, her presence. It was if every moment before her had been leading to this one. Every heartbeat, every breath, every time you've experienced something happy, sad, or even something conflicted was building up to the moment your lips finally met hers. You felt whole, alive, reassured, and comforted.

Her touch felt like a warm embrace from something so indestructible, a star so far away that only you could see it shine from afar but yet you could feel every inch of its presence.

Then it stopped. The both of you pulled back.

But your heart never did.

"You know I asked for your mom to be my wingman."

"Please don't destroy this moment we have by mentioning my mom, Jenna. I'm serious."

Jenna chuckled, her eyes twinkling, "give her some credit. I never would've confessed to you without her."

You couldn't help but smile, realizing she was still the Jenna you fell in love with. "I guess, but I don't really want to talk about my mom after I just got stood up and then kissed the girl I love."

Jenna's chuckle turned into a soft giggle, her hand finding it's way to your palm as she intertwined her fingers with yours. "Also, for the record, that guy was an idiot."

You nodded after shared laughter. With everything that's going around between the two of you, you almost miss how Winona arrived just in time. Standing by the door with a smile on her face.

But even with Jenna's hand over yours, she'd still fall head over heels for you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

just some fuckass aftermath dialogues:

W: "You finally confessed." J: "Did she tell you?" W: "Well for one she's been awfully cheery and gave me a questioning I love you mom and offered me to go shopping with her."

[l1v-jzn]

thesis of the damned au — geum seong je #3

pairing: geum seong je x reader

genre: psychological thriller, dark academia, slow-burn romance, supernatural mystery, alternate universe (au)

summary: you transfer to an elite private university on a prestigious academic scholarship. Everyone there seems to know each other. Secret handshakes. Closed doors. Whispers you’re not invited to.

you meet Geum Seong je—sharp-tongued, perpetually late, smirking like he knows every secret in the building. He’s brilliant, bored, and definitely hiding something. Rumors say he wrote a paper so controversial it was buried by the faculty.

you find it. It’s not just a thesis. It’s a manifesto. Buried in it… are clues. To a secret society. To a missing student. To a crime that never made it into the newspapers.

and you?? You’re the only one smart and reckless enough to keep up with him.

taglist (only for this series): @mishh2728 @ellaaa505 @heeknow @ruruyinn @yinyangcchii (please just comment here if you want to be tagged only for this series)

— Previous Part — — Next Part —

you must’ve shifted in the cot or maybe just breathed, because suddenly, Seong Je stirred.

his eyes blinked open, slow and heavy-lidded—like someone who hadn’t slept in years and definitely resented being caught doing it now.

then, in a flash of ego preservation, he sat bolt upright like he hadn’t just been passed out next to you on a questionable mattress.

hand over his face. Hoodie bunched at his neck. Dignity? Welp, unfortunately zero. You stared at him—almost like judging.

he tried to play it cool. “I don’t sleep,” he muttered, voice gravel-edged. “I shut down for scheduled updates.” You blinked slowly. “You were snoring.”

“Lies. I breathe assertively.”

you let out a soft laugh before you could stop it. “That was a wheeze with a vibrato.”

he narrowed his eyes like he was debating whether to argue or self-destruct. “Okay, Mariah Carey. Calm down.”

it was stupid and petty. But the banter felt normal, like the world hadn’t tilted sideways in the night.

you almost smiled—key word almost.

until there's buzz—not a sound, exactly. More like a pressure. You looked down.

the charm on your wrist flickered. A pulse. Gold threading through the cracks of the stone like veins. Your fingers tingled and then pain—sharp. Under your skin. Like a tattoo needle with no ink and too much spite. You hissed at the sudden pain.

Seong Je was up in an instant. “What? What is it?” You didn’t answer. He grabbed your arm, not rough but urgently gentle, and stared.

the writing appeared like frost on glass. Fast and impossible.

the words were there—fresh, black, carved in script that shimmered faintly in the dim light of the safehouse.

“She who bears the name not given, walks the path twice cursed.” He read it out loud. Voice low. Flat. Like he already knew what it meant and hated saying it out loud.

you swallowed hard. “What the hell does that mean?” His eyes didn’t leave the writing. His shoulders tensed—subtle, but not small.

“It means,” he said, voice clipped, “someone just rang a very expensive, very cursed doorbell.”

you stared at him blankly. “What?”

he looked at you then. Sharp. Tired. Brutally honest. “It means,” he said quietly, “they know you’re an anomaly. They know you slipped through the cracks. And now… they’ve started watching.”

the door to the conservatory shuddered on its hinges. You both froze. Not a knock. Not even a kick.

it’s like a test. Like something out there was deciding whether it needed permission.

the vines near the back wall rustled again, like they were reacting to sound or scent.

Seong Je grabbed your arm—gentler than you expected—and pulled you behind him.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Okay. We hide? or We fight?”

“Nope,” he said, turning toward the cracked conservatory wall. “We run?”

“We vanish.”

he grabbed his coat—your coat—didn’t matter, really—and his hand closed around yours with quiet precision. His fingers were steady. Warm. He didn't yank. Just pulled, like he already knew you’d follow.

with a grunt of frustration, he shoved the planter aside, revealing a hollow panel in the stonework. He looked over his shoulder, sarcasm razor-sharp even now. “Unless you feel like negotiating with cloaked freaks and haunted botany?”

the conservatory had another exit. Of course it did.

a loose panel behind a crumbling shelf of planters. He slid it aside like muscle memory, not hesitation, and revealed a narrow tunnel barely tall enough to stand in. Root-cracked earth. Cold air. Smelled like moss and secrets. “In. Now.”

you crawled through first, the panel barely wide enough to squeeze into. He followed, pulling it closed behind you.

the only light came from the charm still clutched in your hand. Dim. Flickering.

you pressed forward. Neither of you spoke—not even when your shoulder brushed his. Not when his hand pressed lightly to your back to guide you left, not right. Not when your breath clouded in front of you and his didn’t.

the tunnel felt like it went on for miles, every footstep sounding too loud and not loud enough. Moss bloomed in the cracks. Faint, arcane symbols were scratched into the beams—barely legible in the charm’s low glow. You saw a number. A name. A date. Your birthdate.

you walked. Crawled. Climbed. It felt like forever. Finally—wooden slats. Another hidden panel. Seong Je pushed it open with his shoulder.

you tumbled out into what looked like a forgotten janitor’s closet. Storage shelves. Dust. The faint scent of cedar and mildew. A single, high window showed the back lawn, still soaked in moonlight.

he didn’t let go of your hand until you were both inside, door bolted, lights off. Then, and only then, did he exhale.

Seong Je finally spoke. “Don’t go back there alone again,” he muttered, voice low and rough like gravel underfoot. But it wasn’t just a warning.

it was a fracture. A slip in the armor. A scar reopening right there in his throat, bleeding into the quiet between you.

you froze. Not from fear. Not from guilt. But instead from the sound of it.

because Seong Je never sounded like that. Not calculated, not cocky. Not like he’d been here before, not like he’d lost someone before.

you wanted to joke. To say something snarky. Light. Anything to pull the weight off his shoulders.

but the warmth of his hand still ghosted on yours—like the memory of touch was braver than either of you.

he wasn’t looking at you. Not really.

Like if he looked at you now, the dam might break. And still, neither of you moved. Not yet.

because there was a shift in the air—small, quiet, but real. Like something had reached forward in the dark and brushed its fingers through the space between your breaths.

like maybe, just maybe, this moment wasn’t about running or hiding or survival. Maybe it was about staying. Right here. In the stillness. Together.

you turned to him. “You’ve done this before.” He didn’t deny it. Just peeled his hoodie off, threw it onto a chair, and ran a hand through his rain-damp hair. “I told you,” he said finally, eyes on the floor. “This place doesn’t forget. And it doesn’t forgive.” You sank onto the crate, charm still clutched in your palm like it might vanish.

until you fish something in your coat’s pocket—your phone, maybe—until you grab something, a paper, you pull it out, unfold it.

“This is only the first warning. Next time, we’ll carve it into something you can’t hide.” at the bottom of it, there's a symbol. A crude, single-line eye. The Tower’s Eye. Until—something ring. Sharp. Piercing. Warped at the edges, like it was passing through water—or memory.

your spine went cold. That sound didn’t belong here. Nothing electronic did. Your phone had been dead since yesterday. Seong Je’s screen was shattered, permanently stuck on a black flicker. And yet it still kept going.

the sound echoed in the cracked tile, growing louder, like it was inside the walls.

you and Seong Je stared at each other, the flickering bulb painting his face in jittery strokes.

then suddenly, it stopped. There was a moment of silence. Then, again—it rings, but this time, closer.

Seong Je moved like he was walking into a war zone. Every step cautious. Every breath calculated. He crouched by an old metal cabinet—half-swallowed by shadows—and yanked it open.

the inside smelled wrong. Like dust and rot and something trying to pretend it was still human.

he found it. A phone. Early 2000s burner style. Plastic yellowed. Battery cover missing. No signal bar. No charging light. But It was glowing. Still ringing.

you whispered, “That’s not possible.” He didn’t argue. He just picked it up.

the moment his fingers touched the casing, the ringing stopped so abruptly it hurt. The screen turned on. 00:00. No date. No reception. Just… nothing. Until the text appeared. One line. Centered. Sharp as a blade.

“She’s almost awake. You’re running out of time.”

you stepped back. Your foot knocked over a mop bucket. It made no sound when it hit the floor.

behind you, the wall groaned. Breathing? And from behind the shelves—a long, slow scratch. Fingernails on concrete.

Seong Je’s voice was clipped, low. “Don’t move.”

you didn’t. You couldn’t. The light flickered once more—then shattered. Glass rained down. You barely felt it hit your jacket.

and in the dark—a third sound. Not ringing. Not scratching. A whisper. Your name.

spoken not like a greeting. But a claim.

Avemhall Hallway — 10:57 a.m

the hallway lights buzzed overhead as you and Seong Je ducked around a corner, the sound of your own breathing loud in your ears. The janitor’s closet door shuts behind you hours ago or maybe just minutes. Time had stopped making sense somewhere between the phone ringing with no signal and the whispery voice that definitely hadn’t come from either of you.

back in the upper halls now, you were still shaking. You rubbed your arms, trying to look less like you were about to fall apart. “I–I thought it was just the Society watching us,” you muttered.

Seong Je didn’t answer right away. He was still holding the phone, staring down at it like it had personally offended him. “No. They’re not the only ones watching.”

you reached for the device, but he tucked it into his coat like it was a live grenade.

“No touching cursed objects before lunch,” he added, dry as bone. “Let’s add that to the rulebook you’re very obviously not following.” you tried to smile. But it didn’t stick.

Seong Je’s dorm — 11:13 a.m

he didn’t say where you were going—just walked fast, sharp turns, the kind of pace that didn’t leave room for questions. You only realized where he was leading you when you hit the familiar scratch of his dorm door.

“Wait—are we—”

he unlocked it, shoved it open with the same force someone might use on a monster closet, and stood aside. “Get in.” You blinked. “Seong Je, it’s not even night—”

“Not. Asking.” The look he shot you was all tight jaw and shadows under his eyes. His voice didn’t rise. Didn’t snap. It was calm—too calm. That’s how you knew he was spooked.

you stepped inside, and he closed the door behind you with a decisive click.

“Okay…” you muttered, glancing around. The room was still chaos—books, notes, salt lines drawn half-rubbed into the wood. Organized paranoia. “So what’s the plan? Wait this out?”

he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the basement. “You’re staying here. At least for today.” You blinked. “Because of the phone?”

“Because of everything.” He looked at you, really looked, like he was trying to gauge if you’d shatter if he pushed too hard. “I don’t know who’s messing with us. But I’m not gonna let you walk back into your dorm like some cursed sitcom bait, okay?” You crossed your arms. “And what, you’re my babysitter now?”

He gave a crooked half-smile. “Please. I’d be the worst babysitter. I’d teach you Latin hexes and how to hotwire a surveillance drone.”

“…You can do that?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

his face sobered again. “Just—stay here. It’s safer if we’re not separated. At least until I can figure out what kind of horror-movie subplot we just stumbled into.” You hesitated, then nodded. Slowly.

because underneath all the sarcasm, all the snark and swagger, was the raw truth, Seong Je was scared. For you.

and that terrified you more than any phone call ever could.

still in Seong Je’s dorm — 2:00 p.m

afternoon light filtered through Seong Je’s dorm window—dusty gold beams cutting across the cluttered desk, the bed left unmade, the mug on the windowsill long gone cold. The kind of quiet that made your ears ring.

you sat on the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled to your chest. He was across from you in his desk chair, legs sprawled, arms folded like a barricade. Neither of you spoke.

not about the phone call.

not about the look he’d given you when you almost touched it.

you could still feel it. The weight of his gaze. The way his fingers had curled—like he’d wanted to pull you away from all of this and couldn’t figure out how. And now?

now he was acting like none of it happened. Like he hadn’t just dragged you into his dorm and declared it Switzerland. Like this wasn’t… a line crossed.

He tapped a pen absently against his knee. You watched the rhythm. Anything to avoid looking directly at him. But of course he noticed. “You’re staring,” he said, not looking up. You blinked. “I’m not.”

“You were. That’s why you stopped.”

you opened your mouth, closed it. “You’re incredibly annoying, you know that?”

he smirked without joy. “And you have no poker face. Great team.”

you dropped your head back against the wall. “This is the most awkward sleepover I’ve ever had.”

he made a thoughtful sound. “Give it time. I haven’t even offered you ghost repellent or emotionally repressed trauma yet.” That got a laugh out of you, even if it was a little hollow.

silence settled again, thicker this time. He glanced at you. Once. Twice. “…You okay?” It was quiet. Offhand. Like he was trying to pretend it didn’t mean anything.

you looked at him. And for a second, all the noise and mess and fear peeled away. He wasn’t the sharp-tongued, smug boy who knew too much and trusted too little.

he was just Seong Je. Sitting across from you. Asking if you were okay. And meaning it.

your chest ached. You wanted to say something real. Honest. Break the tension with truth instead of jokes. But instead, you said, “Define okay.” He snorted. “Touché.”

you both looked away at the same time. Outside, a crow landed on the windowsill, cawed once, and flew off.

you watched its shadow disappear into the trees and whispered, “I’m scared.”

he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his foot nudged yours under the desk. Not on accident. Not quite touching. But there. Anchoring.

you glanced up. He wasn’t looking at you. He was watching the light on the floor, like maybe if he stared long enough, it would explain things.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

your breath caught in your throat. Something cracked—quietly, softly—between your ribs. You realized, He wasn’t just afraid of the Society. He was afraid of losing you to it.

still in Seong Je’s dorm — 5:39 p.m

the golden hour sunlight slanted low across the dorm, catching in the dust motes like glitter in still water. She sat on the floor, legs crossed, back resting lightly against the bed frame—close enough to his desk to feel the heat from his tea mug, but not close enough to touch.

Seong Je was in his chair, one knee pulled up, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows. He was spinning a pen between his fingers like he hadn’t almost fought a ghost situation in a janitor’s closet an hour ago. Neither of you said anything for a while. Until you spoke. “Sometimes I fake being brave.”

he looked at you, eyebrows barely twitching. No smirk. No sarcastic jab waiting. Just… attention.

you didn’t meet his gaze. “Everyone back home thought I had it together. Like I was the girl with the plan. A scholarship. A strategy. But I’ve been faking it so long I’m starting to believe my own act. And I hate that.”

the pen stopped spinning. “You’re not that good of an actor,” he said eventually, but there was no bite in it. Just a low warmth that surprised you. You looked up. “Thanks?”

“It’s not an insult,” he said, eyes unreadable. “You let it show. Just enough. Like armor with cracks. But I don’t think that’s weakness.”

he leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees. “I think it’s the only reason you’re still sane in this place.” Your breath caught. Something shifted.

and for one charged second, he almost said something else. Something real. You saw it press against his teeth—some sharp confession hiding behind his tongue.

but then he scoffed and leaned back, arms crossed. “Anyway. Let’s circle back to the creepy Latin tattoos and untraceable phone calls before the campus swallows us whole.”

you exhaled, a quiet laugh escaping despite yourself. “God, you’re allergic to sincerity.”

“I break out in commitment hives,” he replied dryly. But he was watching you again. Not just glancing. Watching.

and when your knee bumped his under the desk—by accident or fate—you didn’t move. Neither did he.

and in the silence that followed, the golden light flickered like it knew something neither of you were ready to say yet.

the sun had dipped behind the towers of Avemhall hours ago, but the light still clung to the window—soft, dusky gold bleeding into shadow. It wrapped the dorm room in a half-light glow, enough to blur the edges of the world and make everything feel… closer.

you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, the cursed phone long tucked away, the Society files sprawled around you in a chaotic, paper-strewn constellation.

Seong Je had settled beside you, arms resting on his knees, that damn unreadable look back on his face. Like he was thinking too loudly but didn’t trust the words to come out. Your shoulders were nearly touching. But not quite. You both pretended that meant something.

he tilted his head a little, glancing over at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re humming,” he said, voice quieter than usual. Not teasing. Just noticing. You blinked. “Am I?”

“Mmh.” A pause. “Off-key.” You nudged his knee with yours. “Maybe it’s a spell. I’m cursing you.”

he smirked but it faltered halfway. His eyes lingered on you for one second too long. Two. Then dipped to your lips, barely-there. Then snapped away like he’d touched a live wire.

he cleared his throat, eyes forward again. “We should… probably organize this stuff before someone dies of Latin exposure.”

you let out a soft laugh, but it stuck in your throat.

because something had shifted. The space between you buzzed now. Charged. Heavy.

you reached for a paper just as he did. Your fingers brushed. You froze. So did he.

neither of you moved for one long, shattering second.

you could hear his breathing—slightly uneven. Could feel the warmth of his skin like your whole body had become tuned to him. Like your heartbeat was learning his name in Morse code.

still, he said nothing and you said nothing.

until—so softly you almost didn’t hear it—he whispered, “You always look at me like that?”

your eyes snapped at him. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t joking.

just watching you now, gaze too vulnerable for someone who usually wore sarcasm like armor.

you panicked. Deflected. “Only when you’re being weirdly poetic. Who are you, Edgar Allan Bro?”

he blinked. Then gave a laugh—but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was brittle. Cracked down the middle.

but he leaned his head back against the wall and let the silence fall again, not touching you anymore, but not far either.

and eventually… when your head dipped and the exhaustion folded you under again, he stayed.

and when you leaned sideways in sleep, onto his shoulder this time, he didn’t move.

he just tilted his head slightly. Rested it against yours. And let the quiet stretch around you like a secret neither of you were ready to name.

part 3 guyssssssss 🫡🥹✊🏻🤗🙂‍↕️😚 loved writing this part 3

© l1v-jzn

[yandere-yearnings]

Okay but see I'm so petty I would ignore vio forever now until he apologized that man needs to get on his mf knees if he even wanted me to look his damn direction fr

the promised continuation of the vio angst🥰 i didn't screenshot all the asks requesting for it bc then this would just be a very long post of nonnies slowly cursing vio out more and more violently with each pic ahaha (which i love tbh😩💕) but know that i've read each and every single one🥺🩷 i wrote this one in his third-person limited so there's a bit more insight into his thoughts❗❗

(that being said, there isn't much grovelling and his asking for your forgiveness here which i'm really sorry abt. i did try to go that route originally to align w/ some of the requests i've gotten, but vio actually just isn't the type. at least at the point in the relationship being depicted!! gotta keep in mind he is super arrogant and has probably never apologised once in his life😔💔 tho, he is suffering in his own way, rest assured. the silent treatment kinda broke him haha)

warning that there is a bit of violence here and gaslighting (??), ig just typically what you'd expect to see in a yandere work,, this really ran away from me bc it's like 800 words😭

Three days had passed. Vio sat inside his trailer, feet up on the dressing table, more annoyed than he’d ever been in his entire life. Blue hair in his reflection, mussed from his constant ruffling, looking unkempt and barely like himself — and it was all your fault. His agency was paying you a salary in five figures and your only job was to take care of him, which inherently, you were doing, but you were also ignoring him and Vio couldn’t stand it.

His eyes flicked over almost instantly when you walked in, tracking every movement from your shutting the door to hanging your coat over the back of the closest chair. All Vio could see were the snowflakes in your lashes because that was all you’d let him, your gaze downcast, avoiding his. Pride made him bite his lips, because actually, he fucking missed the way you’d look at him. He missed your voice and he missed your pretty words, and it was all lumping in his throat so he couldn’t admit it although he wanted to.

Something weak sounded from him; a desperate grab for your attention that didn’t work. He kicked his script to the floor knowing you’d pick it up, then watched with a clenched jaw as you did exactly that, not even a fleeting glare in his direction. Somehow, Vio felt like he was running out of time, papers placed back neatly and your back already turning, it was the curl of worry in his gut that had his hand snapping to your wrist and tugging you back to him.

“You,” he gritted, frustrated at the pull back, at your resistance — no, your refusal of him. “Don’t fucking ignore me!”

Clearly, you weren’t listening, for all that Vio wrested you into his lap, your eyes wouldn’t even meet his through the mirror. Your bones solid against his palm, and he squeezed, hard enough to take you in, to let out the anger. Though, watching your face twist in pain, tendons in your neck constricting just to cut off the whimper, Vio didn’t even know who to be mad at anymore. 

All he wanted was for you to give in. 

He’d missed you so much, he would dream of you saying his name again. As you always would, and give him that love he was addicted to — yours, that tasted like kisses to open flesh. Raw and sincere to the point that Vio would rather stay splayed and bloodied instead of getting help. He didn’t feel like he could come back from this, or who he’d become because of you. If he was falling from grace, he’d hale you with him.

“Y/N…” This time, it came as a whisper, erratic mind lulled quick to the sensation of your pulse pressing firm against his fingers. Counting throbs, taking breaths for you, telling himself to be kinder, kinder. “Talk to me,” his forehead rested on your shoulder blade, “let’s not do this anymore, hm?”

Gentility got a rise out of you, it seemed, in the form of a gasp and the violent twists to free yourself that followed. “Don’t you dare,” your tone was accusatory, yet when Vio leaned away he saw the tell in your tears, “you’re not allowed to act fucking civil after what you did.”

His brow twitched. Irritation. He didn’t have a clue what you were talking about. Either way, acting was already his whole career — it might as well have been his entire damn life, and he wasn’t going to be reminded. If you weren’t a director and he wasn’t the star of your show, he didn’t need you telling him what he could and couldn’t do. His grip on you tightened.

“I didn’t do anything,” he hissed.

Outside it had begun to rain, heavy droplets melting the sleet from the windows. Steady patters the furthest thing from therapeutic in his current headspace, Vio almost missed your broken, “liar.”

Knocking his knee to white wood had the make-up brush holder tipping, contents rolling around, more noise buzzing in his head as he adjusted you. Finally, you were forced to focus on him, and Vio's eyes were unblinking, boring into yours. “You’re making baseless accusations.” 

“You told me no one would love someone like me.”

“I asked you who could,” Vio bit back instantly, then, his voice softened, “...and the answer is me.”

Purple dotted into red when he let you go, wiping at your wet face. Speckled like poison in a garden of roses — what he was to you, and what you were to him. Vio thought it was fitting, beauty in that you were both to die of each other. His incurable illness. His darling disease. You shouldn’t have gotten so close to that gaffer.

“Only I can. Only I am allowed. Remember that, and love me in turn.”

[ckret2]

Why do you ship billford? i want to hear all ur handcanons and reasons hehehe

ALL of them? My friend I do not think you comprehend the magnitude of the task you have requested. I can tell you some of them.

Here's a post I already wrote listing why I like them, and here's a post about what Ford thinks about Bill, and I just made a post about what Bill thinks about Ford because I've had it typed up on discord for ages and decided it needs its own post.

So, some headcanons:

⭐️ While most people who ship it headcanon that they had a romantic relationship of some kind pre-betrayal, my default headcanon is that they DIDN'T have a relationship—mainly because I enjoy making Bill, specifically, miserable, and I like headcanoning that Ford violently lost interest in Bill at the EXACT moment Bill developed a sincere interest in Ford.

Meaning that Bill "LOOKS LIKE MR. BRAINIAC FINALLY GOT SMART" Cipher destroyed his own chances five seconds before going "no no wait I actually want to keep this one," and that's SO funny. I made a graph!

⭐️ From Lost Legends we know that Ford used to date a siren. In the original Greek mythology, sirens didn't woo sailors by singing prettily; sirens offered knowledge about distant and future events. Sailors wrecked their ship upon the sirens' shores and starved to death at their feet just to listen to them sing about the secrets of the universe.

What I'm saying is: Ford has a type.

⭐️ This is a mutual monsterfucker 4 monsterfucker relationship. They look at each other and go "wow you're such a weird-looking alien" and they're attracted to each other BECAUSE of that, not in spite of that. I don't want any of this "oh how could I be drawn to something so strange..." shame out of Ford, as far as I'm concerned his first crush was Mothra, a floating triangle is nothing.

⭐️ Consequently, this means that if you take an AU where Bill gets stuffed in a human body, rather than making things easier, it ironically means that any PHYSICAL attraction Ford had for Bill instantly evaporates. A humanized Bill could be the sexiest damn thing in the room and everyone else in the vicinity is going 🥵💦 but Ford's going 😐. If they hook up with Bill in a human body it's in spite of Bill's current appearance and it's because Ford knows that, underneath the body, Bill's still Bill. You could hand Ford a perfect Tumblr Sexyman supermodel and he'll be fantasizing about a three-tiered pyramid with more teeth than a shark.

⭐️ Bill WILL play Dungeons Dungeons & More Dungeons with Ford, voluntarily, for fun. However he always wants to DM and he's brutal.

⭐️ I think that the majority of the Henchmaniacs used to be like Ford: young, naive, USEFUL aliens that Bill was trying to manipulate into getting access to their universes, probably by trying to get THEM to build portals. None succeeded, but they got far enough along that either they chose to join Bill, they were forced to flee their dimension and join Bill—or, due to Bill, their home no longer existed, so they might as well join him. I think that every one of them was once his ✨favorite✨ person. I think he sealed the deal in winning their friendship & loyalty with a calculated, scripted display of vulnerability—the exact same one he tried to use on Ford: I liberated my constricting, flat world; I want to liberate yours...

He may have dated some of them, too, especially right after they joined. Because he wouldn't have recruited them unless he thought they were JUST ♥ LIKE ♥ HIM. They're special, they're important...

... and after a few years, Bill realizes they're not that much like him after all and loses interest, and they sink down into the rank-and-file with the rest of the Henchmaniacs. The Henchmaniacs are FULL of people who were once Bill's Favorite—his best friends, his confidants, his lovers—and most of them are desperate to catch his eye and be that important to him again. They gave everything they had to Bill only for Bill to get bored.

So when he shows off the human who enabled Weirdmageddon and invites him to join the gang, they know EXACTLY what they're looking at: Bill's newest favorite. They know how this goes, he'll be gaga over this earthling for the next 5 to 500 years and then Ford will be just another regular Henchmaniac. The fact that Ford doesn't seem eager to join is no problem. Ford isn't the only soon-to-be Henchmaniac whose world Bill ended; some of them had to be talked around into joining, too.

⭐️ I think that, if you took Bill with his canon personality, didn't give him any character development, and then made him GENUINELY fall in love with Ford, and had him SINCERELY try his hardest to be a good, loving, healthy partner... he would still be toxic as hell for Ford.

Part of what draws Bill to Ford is that he sees SO much of himself in Ford—some accurate, some just projection. (You who crave power and fame and fortune like I do; you who also hunger to be all-knowing; you who would also sacrifice your world and your family and everyone you know and love to get what you want; you with an ego the size of the moon, oh, you deserve an ego the size of a star.) And so he assumes that what Ford really wants is what BILL would want in Ford's shoes.

And if Bill was Ford, what he'd want is to REALLY be the man who changed the world. Bill thinks he's fulfilling all Ford's wildest dreams if he gives that to him. Naming Ford the orchestrator of Weirdmageddon is the most generous gift Bill could ever offer.

Even if Bill is Really Really Trying and accepts that okay Ford doesn't want his world invaded: his idea of showing Ford love will be pulling the strings to get Ford fame & fortune. Teach him secrets of the universe that he can publish in a dozen groundbreaking scientific papers, arrange meetings with politicians and celebrities, get him a Nobel, get him an Oscar-winning bio pic, get him a billion dollars, get him EVERYTHING Ford's ever imagined as a marker of success and then double it.

When Bill's manipulating Ford, he offers praise and approval in little drops periodically leaking from the faucet, to keep Ford thirsty for more. When Bill's LOVING Ford, he just breaks the fire hydrant and lets it flood the street.

But the thing is, that's not good for Ford. That'll never make him truly happy. Ford's only ever learned how to measure his success by external markers, but the more external markers he collects the more he'll feel like he hasn't Made It yet. It's even possible that knowing Bill's helped him get this far will make him feel like he hasn't really EARNED it. He could have the whole world handed to him and he'll feel just as dissatisfied as he was on the day he first summoned Bill.

And Bill, even if he's trying his HARDEST to do this right, wouldn't be able to understand why this isn't working. A trillion years old and the only way he knows how to show love (or to receive love) is by showering someone in praise and gifts and favors. If that doesn't work, he doesn't know what's left.

[mcrdvcks]

okay okay abigal just listen, what about au!star wars with logan?????!!!!!! He is more like Rebel, Jedi, Sith or Mandalorian? what u think?????

okay, i went a little bit off-script, but hopefully this is okay i wrote it in like 30 minutes! <3

In my opinion, Logan would be a rebel. He’s basically Han Solo’s twin. He’s the hero that was only there for the money but stayed (for a pretty girl).

Let’s be real, no matter how much Logan tries to argue that he’s “not a hero” he does the opposite, proving he is a hero.

He doesn’t have a copilot, he’s a loner who smuggles—has probably run into Han before.

For this, let’s just say you and Leia are close. Maybe you grew up together on Alderann. So, you met Han, Chewie, and Luke when they rescued you from the Death Star.

After Luke blew up the Death Star, you and Leia are trying to arrange safe passage for a small group of refugees fleeing an occupied system. Your usual contact bails. Logan shows up in his beat-up freighter—smoking, scowling, and swearing under his breath as he looks you over.

“I’m not part of your damn Rebellion,” he mutters. “Just here for the credits.”

But something shifts when you glare at him and reply, “Then take your money and go. We’ll find someone with a soul.”

He doesn’t leave.

Him and Han don’t get along very well, again, they’re practically the same person. Han taunts and teases Leia, Logan you.

Luke gets tired of the arguing during meal time, hearing Han arguing with Leia, and Logan arguing with you makes him want to willingly spend time with Threepio.

Missions are the worst—the 5 of you stuck in a ship with Artoo and Threepio is always a disaster.

The worst part? There are only 4 seats in the cockpit, and Han and Chewie are always in the pilot and co-pilot’s seats. That means you, Luke, Leia, and Logan have to argue about who gets the two seats.

You and Leia argue you both should get the seats since you’re the only women. Luke usually shrinks and offers to stand. Logan? Crosses his arms, grunts, and refuses to budge. “You got legs, sweetheart. Use ‘em.”

You threaten to shove him out the airlock at least once a day. He starts bringing random crap into the cockpit just to take up space—like his boots, a cigar, or his coat—claiming “this seat’s taken.” Leia rolls her eyes. You plot his slow, dramatic death.

But then on longer flights, when you fall asleep in the back, you always wake up with his coat draped over you. He grunts and claims “Chewie did it.”

He says he’s only in it for the money, but he’s always volunteering for the dangerous missions.

Han tries to call him out: “You’re worse than me, old man.” Logan replies, “Least I don’t run when things get messy.”

Logan has zero patience for droids. Artoo shocks him at least twice.

He teaches you how to fight dirty. “No such thing as a fair fight in a war, darlin’.”

When someone questions Leia’s leadership, Logan is the first one to growl, “you got a problem with a woman in charge?”

He never salutes, never calls anyone “sir,” and never follows protocol—Luke finds it endlessly stressful.

The only person he half-respects is Chewbacca. They grunt at each other across the ship like war veterans.

You’re the only one who can get him to actually do anything without arguing first—but only if you call him out in front of everyone.

He has his own sleeping bunk but is rarely in it—he falls asleep in cargo holds, under tables, or sitting upright in the cockpit.

Hates flying. Claims he likes his feet on solid ground. Will gripe the entire time during takeoff.

Has a scar across his knuckles from punching a stormtrooper helmet clean off—didn’t even flinch.

Calls the Force “hocus pocus” and Jedi “laser stick weirdos”—until he sees Luke nearly die and then helps carry him back, muttering “kid’s got guts.”

Has killed at least three bounty hunters who came looking for him—on the same day.

Refuses to wear a Rebel uniform. Only ever wears his beat-up leather jacket, black shirt, and whatever boots he didn’t lose in the last skirmish.

You’re the only one allowed to patch him up. If anyone else even tries, he growls and walks off still bleeding.

One time a rookie pilot asked if he was your bodyguard. He cracked his neck and said, “Nah. She’s mine to protect.”

When you’re cold on outer rim nights, he doesn’t offer his jacket. He just mutters, “Get over here,” and opens his arms. You roll your eyes. But you always go.

If a mission goes wrong and you’re separated, Logan always finds you. “How?” you ask once. “I can smell you. You use too much soap.”

Hates being thanked. “Don’t get soft on me, sweetheart. Makes me itchy.”

The first time you kissed, it was after an explosion. You were yelling at him for being reckless. He grabbed your face and kissed you mid-rant. “Shut up before I start liking your voice too much,” he growled.

Refuses to use comms unless absolutely necessary. When he does use them, it’s to say something like, “I’m out. Five bodies. You good, sweetheart?”

Keeps a holopicture of you—one Han took while you were laughing and flipping Logan off. He pretends it’s not in his locker, but Chewie saw.

You once caught him fixing something on your blaster in secret. He denied it. “Must’ve been the maintenance droids.” “It was set to stun, Logan.” “Yeah. Can’t have that.”

Has a special, terrifying growl reserved only for when someone tries to flirt with you. One poor rebel tech is still recovering from the death glare Logan gave him for calling you “gorgeous.”