#acolyte fix it

[noodlethoughts]

Since getting over the feelings from the Acolyte finale I've been chewing on an idea for a canon divergence for a while and thought I'd put it here for the writers and artists

So this is years before any Jedi are called to Brendock. I'm not sure of the exact steps involved with the vergence and the twins so I'm fudging some details for plot stuff. I'm going with the idea that the twins were created by Aniseya while still in Korril's womb.

It is confirmed in canon that would take someone immensely powerful in the Force. But what if other parties (Sith) had sensed something of this and gone investigating? It is proven that they'll covet those that are especially strong in the force

Idk if Qimir has joined the line of Bane yet but I'm imagining his wrinkly roommate is definitely involved and being creepy at this juncture

Anyway I imagine the coven would take the Sith showing up about as well as they took the Jedi showing up in the show. There was a fight that killed the rest of the coven; Aniseya particularly allowing Korril to escape the planet while still carrying the twins with an epic sacrificial move (no stabby Sol in this au no sir)

Meanwhile, Sol is a young knight on a solo mission far from the core when he comes across a heavily pregnant but fierce zabrak woman using the force to fight off some mysterious and malicious persuers (raisin had a Sith Acolyte or two perhaps)

Being a Jedi he of course helps her. I'm sure Korril is very suspicious and hostile about another outside force user interfering but by this point she prefers the Jedi over whatever the Sith raisin had planned

Now this is where I got hazy on details

I'm kinda imagining they work together to keep the twins safe, with Korril and Sol even reaching some sort of respectful understanding as they both clearly care for the safety of unborn children. They've been bickering over what would actually be "safe" but they've been working their way towards the temple without any good alternatives since the destruction of the coven. Reaching out with communications runs the risk of being discovered, as Korril was when she tried to reach out to any other coven survivors so they have no backup at the moment.

Unfortunately their final confrontation ends with Korril going into labor after a risky maneuver to protect the twins by cutting off the Sith's head (with Sol's saber after he'd been disarmed in the fight?)

So cue a post battle birthing that ends remarkably similar to RotS. Korril gives birth to the twins, but the battle leading up to it took its toll and now she is dying. She names the twins and makes Sol promise to protect them (and maybe threatens him for old times sake, I can see them having an inside joke over this if they were traveling for a while cuz I'm a sap for enemies to friends)

Ofc Sol vows to protect the twins of his unexpected ally (friend? He wants to say friend but he's pretty sure she would still shank him)

He carries out whatever funeral rites Korril requested prior to her death before heading for the temple.

Imagine everyone's surprise when Sol shows up after being gone for who knows how long without any contact and carrying two very young but powerful infants. That would be a report to the Council that no one would forget for a while

Did I also possibly end the line of Bane with this idea? Maybe so

[eggdrawsthings]

thinking about Osha's first few days at the temple and Sol being there to help her calm down im so normal about them haha wym

[laracrofted]

let me drown

you meet qimir for a morning swim (qimir x fem!reader)... because i couldn't be normal about that scene.

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, an ode to manny jacinto's collarbones and also his shoulders and arms, slightly painful sex (but like... in a hot and consensual way), possessiveness, pwp basically (wc: 800+)

Droplets of water pool in the hollow of his collarbone, running down his broad shoulders in rivulets, shimmering in the morning sun like jewels, as Qimir cuts through the water. His muscled arms effortlessly slice into the still surface, sending ripples in every direction.

He looks ethereal, swimming in the cerulean pool. A long forgotten sea god, waiting to hook you by the ankle and drag you below the surface, drown you and breathe new life into you at the bottom of the sea.

It's beautiful and frightening in equal measures.

You wait on the shore, seawater lapping at your ankles and bare feet, arms around your knees, ignoring the puddling water that's soaking through your bottoms.

You wait for him to notice you there.

He doesn't keep you waiting – or maybe, Qimir sensed your presence from the moment you'd stepped onto the shore, from the moment your eyes had opened in the cave and looked for him, finding him gone.

A suspicion that's confirmed when Qimir lifts his gaze, unsurprised, sweeping escaping strands of damp hair from his face, and calls out softly, "Aren't you going to join me?"

His voice. You love his voice, as smooth as the surface of the water lapping at his strong shoulders, as the salt-licked rocks on the shore and the cliffs, as the weather-beaten pebbles that dig into your soles as you stand.

You undo the robe in a smooth motion and let it fall from your shoulders, baring yourself to him in the morning light, and Qimir doesn't look away.

He catches his lip between his teeth, dragging his gaze down your naked form, drinking you in with a kind of possessiveness that feels heretical; coveting you without so much as laying a finger on you, owning you with his dark eyes.

You wade in, and Qimir drifts toward you, moving silently and swiftly, predator-like.

An uneven rock catches on your foot under the surface, sending you forward. You tumble into him with a soft curse, and Qimir catches your arms with wet hands, steadying you, guiding your hands to his shoulders.

Flexing your fingers is almost an instinct, searching for a hold, like scaling a cliff, digging in to the muscles, and Qimir shudders, long lashes brushes against his cheeks, inclining his head to meet your gaze.

"Careful," Qimir cautions, soft and honeyed, a kind of music, and you don't know if Qimir means to be careful with the rocks or with your wandering hands.

You gamble on the former and let them wander further, moving over him, mapping him like an uncharted planet. One of your arms slips around his neck, giving him your weight, and Qimir's hand slips under your knee to catch you.

His hand is rough, guiding your leg around his hip, finding a balance.

He is pressed up against you now, cock hardening against your stomach. An involuntary gasp escapes from your mouth, and Qimir nips at the sound, sucking at your lip, beads of seawater dripping from his mouth into yours.

"Careful," Qimir repeats, only this time, it sounds like a question.

Should I be careful? Do you want me to be?

You shake your head slowly, a fine mist of salt water blowing in from the sea, coating your lashes, and Qimir's lips part in a half smile, pleased.

He's not careful. Careful is gentle caresses and the press of his mouth between your legs, warming you from the inside out, drinking from you like a nectar.

This isn't careful.

He doesn't get you ready, doesn't warm your cunt with his fingers, doesn't press you open in increments. He invites your legs around his hips, grasping at your ass with one hand for leverage, and pushes into you in one long and interrupted stroke that knocks the breath from your lungs, knocks your bones from your body.

You press your face into his shoulder, biting down with a whimper, probably leaving marks. That's okay. He likes marks, likes the feeling of your nails dragged down his back.

You're at war with yourself, split in the same way that Qimir is splitting you in half with his cock; a need to squirm away from the overpowering sensation; a need to invite him deeper, harder, faster.

He makes a soothing– borderline mocking – sound against your cheek and strokes your hair back from your wet cheeks; and holds you there, pinned open for him, fluttering and adjusting to the size of his cock.

"Oh? How does it feel?" Qimir asks, still stroking your cheeks.

"Good."

He smiles and lifts your chin with his knuckles and drinks a salt water kiss from your lips. "Good. You're ready for more."

It's not a question.

Seawater runs down your stinging cheeks, sensitive from the stubble on his carved jawline, mixing with the moisture that streams from the corners of your eyes as Qimir finally moves inside of you, dragging his cock out and pushing back in with a sweet and lethal slowness that borders on painful, so controlled; reaching inside and unraveling you from a place so deep that no one else could ever hope to uncover it; no one but him.

He likes it that way. Just him.

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

[nolouvreart]

I have no strength for my WIPs rn but OH MY. I Was so hyped after new Acolyte episode. So I had to sketch My baby grl!!

ANOTHER ONE hot Sith THANK YOU

[chevelleneech]

I hope non-Black and non-Asian fans who might also ship Reylo quickly come to understand that while Reylo did get a lot of push back for both valid and bullshit reasons… Oshamir shippers do in fact get to celebrate some of the hypocritical arguments working on our favor, because Black/bi-racial femme presenting and Asian male actors are almost never the leads in popular television and film.

They are either paired off with a white partner or they themselves are the sidekick to a white lead, and usually only date people within their ethnicity. The latter of which is neither bad nor wrong, but adds to the misguided belief that Black women and femmes and Asian men are not bankable or attractive outside their own demographic.

So I’m sorry to say, but if you are a Reylo shipper who feels slighted or even frustrated, that’s fine. Feel how you feel, I’m not saying you can’t or shouldn’t make posts about it, but white people being in corruption arc romances or etl is not a rare occasion. Meaning, when yet another one exhibits traits that are toxic or not so great, it is fine for people to not like it. It’s fine for people to call it annoying or repetitive, because it is. When it comes to non-white characters who either match ethnicities or are in an interracial relationship without a white partner, it automatically becomes something new.

Why? Because we do not often see it play out that way on screen. And no, Osha won’t be dealing with anti-Blackness or misogynoir on screen nor will Qimir deal with Asian stereotyping, because race and ethnicity aren’t played the same in Star Wars as far as I know, but that doesn’t mean their casting matters less in reality. At the end of the day, it’s all fiction, but that doesn’t change the fact that Black people and Asian (Filipino men to be exact) people shouldn’t be allowed this opportunity to seem ourselves reflected back on screen in the same genre based shows white people get.

Star Wars, science fiction, and fantasy in general is so overwhelmingly white and creatured/alien, that people don’t even realize how uncommon the tropes and cliches they’re tired of seeing, really are. Osha and Qimir would kikeky still work yet not be as thrilling if either one of them were white, because a white woman being corrupted by the evil man of color has very racist connotations, and a woman of color being corrupted by a misunderstood white man is very common on screen. And if they’re both white… then it’s just a Reylo do over, isn’t it?

So like I said, I understand people will be frustrated and want to know how Oshamir is different regarding the character journeys themselves, but it’s not always just about what’s on the written page. The Acolyte needs fine tuning in terms of the writing, but it’s not the worst show on tv by far. And the fact that Oshamir is interracial and non-white in the classic sense, is a huge part of why they work and why people are more interested than what may have been for Reylo.

[mylastmoleculeofserotonin]

Ik some people see a plot hole in all the Jedi accepting Vernestra’s coverup since Sol was at the Temple teaching younglings when Indara was killed, but honestly, I don’t get it. If anything I see it as a reflection of how respected and influential Vernestra is. Idk much about her as I haven’t read the comics, but they way the other Jedi treat her have me the impression that she’s one of the most respected Jedi short of the High Council. It seems to me that even if a Jedi was able to get solid proof of Sol’s innocence (which would probably be very difficult as Vernestra would have sealed away the evidence and official records and confronted anyone who tried to reopen the case) they would have to be both extremely courageous to openly challenge Vernestra and have incredible conviction to knowingly cast the Order in a bad light especially since their relationship with the Senate is becoming strained.

That being said, Vernestra still knows there’s a threat to the Jedi (her former Padawan) and there’s a major loose end (Mae) which she is going to need to take care of without drawing suspicion. Hence she gets Yoda involved since she knows she’s not powerful enough to do it alone, which makes it even more unlikely that someone would challenge her cover story. But it also presents a huge risk since if Yoda doubts her, he 100% could and would reopen the case and bring her reputation crashing down. I think that this would have been the plot of season 2: can Vernestra maintain the coverup while also taking care of Qimir, Osha and Mae with Yoda carefully watching her every move?

[turbo-virgins]

Sometimes I get so frustrated when characters discuss an upsetting topic and still somehow leave out incredibly crucial details and context. I always struggle to understand if the miscommunication is supposed to be based on some previously established flaw of Character A OR if it’s just the writers deliberately leaving things vague in order to justify whatever emotional reaction they need Character B to have.

For example: the final confrontation between Sol and Osha in The Acolyte. Sol admits to killing Osha and Mae’s mother but leaves out the detail that she was turning into ominous black smoke and her intent while doing so was not super clear (she seemed concerned for Mae, but even I was like ma’am what exactly are you trying to do). It’s a tragic mistake based on prejudice against force use that doesn’t fit the mold of how Jedi are taught to use it. Obviously that doesn’t justify what Sol did, but it does explain it. And that explanation could possibly allow Osha, Mae, and Sol to come to a mutual understanding about the events of that night - which could still end in Osha having a dark side fueled meltdown, idk! I just have a hard time believing Sol as a character would neglect to explain what he saw and how his actions were - in that moment - motivated by concern for what their mother might have been about to do to Mae. (I can understand Mae leaving out those details btw. Like her mother was murdered right before her eyes, I don’t expect her to take an unbiased stance or consider Sol’s actions in any sort of nuanced way and that’s totally understandable.)

[iracundiias]

if something bad happens to sol in this finale i think i may actually flip a damn table

edit: yeah i'm aware now, no need to remind me lol

[laz-laz-ace-pilot]

Maybe the danger we sensed was the outdated and damaged mining electronics along the way

[space-blue]

SW twitter has turned so rancid and impossible.

People are like "Acolyte sucks, there's even fire in space!"

And you can't argue with them, they'll ignore the 20 million examples of fires in space, space behaving like air and spaceships like planes and Han Solo doing a space walk in nothing but a mouth mask as invalid, because their real complaint is "there's a black woman protag who has two mothers"

I'm not even hostile to criticism, the immense majority of recent Disney SW shows have been honest to goodness dogshit in my humble opinion, but the issues were poor writing, weak direction and acting, uninspired combat, cheap as hell costuming and props, overuse of the volume, and confusing scoring.

As far as I can tell the Acolyte doesn't really suffer from these issues, even if the writing feels a touch so-so to me. There's clearly more quality to it than anything since (and before) Andor (which is the one glowing exception).

There's no dialogue to be had, bigots everywhere. The shows are now just culture war fodder.

Fire in space has become a biggoted dogwhistle in the span of a week it's absolute madness.

[voidartisan]

I normally take character deaths pretty well but I’m actually kind of mad about this episode of the acolyte.

like.

what was the point

[eggdrawsthings]

this show would have been great if it was not for that shit ass death just to justify Osha falling to the Darkside. also why can't we have her eyes glow yellow we already have that sick ass fight and the crystal bleeding, might as well go all the way man 🤷

This post by @gffa and everyone in the tag really summed up every gripe I have for that finale. They made him go on and on about his guilt and regret and he needs to face the Council and then boom "I did the right thing" in the last ep like??? Who are you??? Why tf u suddenly care about the vergence rn??? wtf is this script???

We really don't deserve LJJ man he's too good for this. Once again "great premise, clunky execution". The short running time also runs the whole thing to the ground. Forever mourning my first Asian Jedi Master, they baited me good o(-(

Re the eyes: Ig they still wanna like she was enraged but not enough to have her eyes yellow?? Cus she still wanted to go back to face the Council? (ngl that part was also wtf for me but tbh I'm alr mentally checked out the moment Sol started acting occ lol). idk man but yah it would've been sick af visual-wise and made it even more horrifying w the bleeding crystal. We have all that sick ass fight scenes but at what cost haiya

also lucky Im too poor to buy Sol's saber cuz it's Osha's saber now, and seeing his crystal bled was so upsetting it made me sick. It's Jedi Survivor all over again for me jfc

[evenlarksandkatydids]

imo the acolyte is one of the latest victims of "too short season syndrome" like, so many of its flaws could have been ironed out if we had a couple more episodes to flesh out character arcs and develop relationships.

[oliviabear]

i need mae and osha funkos or im gonna do something very drastic

[thehollowprince]

I think I might actually sit down and write a fic for The Acolyte. Y'know, to make it the show I thought it should have been.