#he was too kind to osha there

[bisexualmikisayaka]

i also feel like sol’s character flip flopped a lot - he had some moments where it felt like he had realized the extent of his damage like. Personally and also to osha’s (and Mae’s) life but then it almost felt like. they wanted to make the audience like qimir more so they kind of nerfed how evil he was and made him like. Hot Softboy Who Just Wants You To Use Your Power And Will Make You Soup In A Cave 🥺 and then made sol turn into this overbearing reactive asshole who couldn’t admit when he was wrong a few episodes after being like… i was wrong and i have to tell the council about what i did. Lol.

[onceandfutureoshainspector]

- there’s a lot of FERAL GHOULS in this place, but not a whole lot of intel so far.

- o shit, it’s wife time!

    - been going over the list of companions who have proven flirtable (CURIE, MACCREADY, DANSE, PRESTON, CAIT, and of course HUSBAND and WIFE here), and i think PIPER and HANCOCK will probably be the only ones i end up romancing. even aside from the fact that CURIE is technically my granddaughter or my sister (gross, TODD), and MACCREADY has a wife and kid whom he’s not gone home to yet for some goddamn reason, i’ve kinda been viewing the rest of them as my children, so it’d feel weird anyway.

        - i think the thing that makes me go “my child” or not might be the degree to which they seem to have relatively healthy (on the level of execution if not initial motivation), self-driven lives independent of me? like, PIPER has PUBLICK OCCURRENCES, HANCOCK has GOODNEIGHBOUR, NICK has his agency, DEACON has his spy shenanegans, whereas on the other side, PRESTON has the MINUTEMEN but not in a way that seems remotely good for his health (rest! sleep! these things are necessary my dude!), DANSE has the BROTHERHOOD which, ditto, and the rest of them are kinda adrift on their own. idk, that’s just the pattern i’ve noticed at least.

            - (STRONG and i guess now LONGFELLOW are kinda outliers in this, the former because i’m honestly not sure yet what could make him tick beyond “smash”, and the latter because whatever else happens i doubt i can ever stop seeing him as a forcibly-adopted grouchy granddad.)

- lol. gay.

- goddamnit, there’s another pattern!

    - first encounter with PIPER: she makes me her unwitting accomplice in fraud and picks a fight with an authority figure while wearing a bitchin’ coat.

    - first encounter with HANCOCK: he shanks a motherfucker for preying on the unsuspecting and makes a speech to the tune of “welcome to PUNKVILLE, of the people, for the people”, while wearing a bitchin’ coat.

    - first encounter with NICK: he busts out of prison by picking key-only locks with his fingers and fast talks a mob boss into letting us go, while wearing a bitchin’ coat! we are Learning things today.

- awesome. let’s roll, RED (wait, fuck, no, that’ll get too confusing, nevermind).

[snowwhitedraws]

could be nice to see Yord mirroring Sol in another timeline when he's not dead.

Trying his best to do the right thing while suppressing his emotions for Osha, be it platonically or romantically.

Him trying to stick to what the jedi thinks is right will always be the catalyst to his demise because the world is not fair. It will not take a pause and adhere to rules.

Justice can only be truly attained by the powerful and wealthy.

Justice is determined by the reigning governing body

[your-mums-nuts]

Really do love this scene because it had the opportunity to make Qimir/the stranger be real convincing here, as like a last push to the dark side thing.

But instead we have Qimir barely catching up to Osha as she confidently approaches his ship so she can drive it, and then, because Osha is showing no sign of slowing down he eventually has to call her name in a way that’s kind of too loud.

Then he stands and waits for her to turn around and acknowledge him, which she reluctantly does. Followed by a very unsubtle nudge “you should be trained.” Which is followed by an even more pathetic “would you ever consider?” HES SO NERVOUS.

Only for my girl to laugh at him and give him a flat fucking no. And he’s all like “last chance.” Like you are not fooling anyone Qimir. This is getting embarrassing.

[gffa]

When Sol said that he felt a connection to Osha, when he felt that she was meant to be his Padawan, Indara's response was to make sure he wasn't confusing what he wanted with what the Force wanted, and that's it, that's exactly it! Sol's statement isn't criticized because that kind of destiny doesn't exist--it pretty clearly does, sometimes people are meant to be Master and Padawan, they're drawn together by the Force, that's a thing the Force does in Star Wars, that's part of the worldbuilding that exists. It's criticized because Indara isn't sure that he's not bringing his own baggage to this, as that's something that often happens. The Force is not separate from a Jedi, it's not a tarot card that you read, it's a mystical energy Force that works based on your emotions, that's why the Jedi strive to be as selfless and careful and calm as they can, so that they're not putting their own feelings into the Force and saying that's what the Force wants. Who knows if Sol was right that the Force was pulling him towards Osha, I tend to think he was feeling something very genuine there, but that tragedy struck and it all went horribly wrong, dealing Osha a wound that she could never quite recover from. But also he did desperately want it and was reckless in going about it, he was unbalanced in a deeply understandable way, a way that he could just spend some time looking inward and rebalance, it's not like he was in grave danger, just a misstep that happens to any Jedi, it's normal, it happens, you recover and you find your footing again, that's what Jedi do. And that's why Jedi have to be so careful, because it's so easy to confuse what you want with what the Force is guiding you towards. It's so easy to center on your own anxieties and think the Force is warning you of a danger, when it's just your own thoughts. It's so easy to think this person was meant for you, because you care about them, and you move too fast and people get hurt. Which got me thinking about how often Masters choose the Padawan in canon, because that makes sense, too, with how hard it is to really center yourself and to be able to perceive what is what you want versus what the Force is guiding you towards. How a younger Jedi may not have the same amount of experience at that Perceiving Yourself that a Master or even a Knight would have. That Indara doesn't say Sol can't be drawn to Osha, the Force doesn't work that way, says a lot about how the Jedi and the Force work, but also the show really nailed that you have to be careful with that, it's not a magic crystal ball that you can read with impartiality no matter what mood you're in or what you wish would happen. But you need to understand yourself and what you want is something that's at the root of Jedi philosophy and action.

[nyaagolor]

How do you rank the prosecutors on order of homophobia

forgot about this in my drafts for literally months oops. Anyway. Finished now!!!!

So I made this post a while ago that has some of the prosecutors and antagonists, but if you want a ranking of EVERY prosecutor (not including DGS bc i haven't finished yet) huzzah!!

Simon Blackquill: Not actually homophobic but he gets points docked for siccing Taka (known homophobe) at Klavier (known bisexual) for stealing his pretzels from the office pantry that one time. 3/10

Blaise Debeste: I think he's gay but he made me look at that ugly ass beard for far too long and I consider that disrespectful. out of principle? 8/10

Sebastian Debeste: Just look at him. 0/10

Miles Edgeworth: Bratworth was simultaneously gay, homophobic, and a misogynist, and eventually develops into a man who is only like 1.5 of those things. he's getting better. 5/10

Byrne Faraday: I don't really think he cares much about gay people he's busy being a single father and stealing shit. For the apathy? 2/10

Klavier Gavin: He's extremely gay and does a lot of work for the gay community but making Ema Skye deal with him is explicitly lesbophobic so 4/10

Godot: He has a lovely wife but whatever he was doing with Ron DeLite was probably not osha-compliant. I don't know what that means for his sexuality or stance on gay people and neither does he. ?/10

Ga'ran: I think she has a lot of other problems she should deal with first but considered she's bigoted to defense attorneys I don't think her being homophobic would be that out of pocket. Not sure I want to find out. 7/10

Neil Marshall: Have you ever been a gay bar? This guy would do NUMBERS. Also, real cowboys support gay rights. 0/10

Gaspen Payne: Being homophobic is actually why he got fired by the prosecutor's office and Winston is really fucking embarrassed about it. 10/10

Winston Payne: You'd think he'd be homophobic but you can't work for the Japanifornia Prosecutor's Office and hate gay people or you would actually go insane. He's like that one suburban guy who uses terms from the 60s but has the spirit. However, his ally lapel pin is really ugly so 3/10

Jaques Portman: He was calling Edgeworth slurs even before realizing he was gay. 9/10

Lana Skye: Dated Mia in college but refused to explain that to Ema because she has a lot of internalized homophobia and other weird issues of self. Repressed yuri personified. 1/10

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: He supports gay people but gets all his talking points from the internet so even though he's supportive he's also incredibly fucking annoying about it and no one wants to invite him to brunch because of it. Stop using twitter for fact-checking you jackass. 2/10

Franziska Von Karma: Despite the fact that her lesbianism is so strong it borders on misandry, I think she has a lot of internalized homophobia so she spends the first 25 years of her life being a judgmental little shit. She'll get better dw about it. I believe she can bring that number down with time. 6/10

Manfred Von Karma: I think when he finds out Edgeworth is gay he starts going to gay bars and picking up dudes just to show Edgeworth he has way more rizz than him. Considering how people in my notes have told me on numerous occasions how much they want him carnally, I think he could actually pull it off. In that respect I think he's done a lot for the gay community. It ends up cancelling out somewhat because I think he'd be kind of an ass about it. 4/10

[coralinnii]

Hello! If u dont remember me I'm the person that requested the villainess au Trey x reader from a long time ago, just wanna drop in and say I really look forward to your works and hope you have a great day/night/time! Sorry for bothering you if this message ends up being a bother

‧₊˚✧ Being Reincarnated into a New World as the Bad Guy‧₊˚✧

feat: Trey

genre: slow burn, coworkers-to-something more

note: no pronouns were used for reader, reader is implied to be old enough to work, mentions of poisoning and assassination attempts, reader is somewhat emotionally constipated.

extra note: While Trey is not quite in-character as I would like, he is supposed to be younger than his canon version, so I wanted him to be more unsure and inexperienced than his future self.

I did it, I finally got this done. Praise me (don't)

Being Reincarnated as the Bad Guy aka Villain/ess AU masterlist

You don’t get paid enough for this nonsense. No, you seriously don’t.

One minute you were finally getting off a particularly bad shift at work, only to be in this strange world you don’t recognize…as a low-ranking servant to the bloody royal family!

The rules, the standards, the pretentious nobles you have to smile in fear of having your neck sliced…where’s OSHA when you need them?

At least your coworkers were decent and you’re not in charge of anything too major like waiting on the Queen or her son, unlike that young aide-in-training you see running up and down the palace…poor Sir Clover.

Not your problem, though

…Until a couple of greedy noblemen forced a vial of poison into your hands, promising you a grand reward of money and status for your compliance. They wanted you to spike the drink of the crown prince’s closest aide-in-training so they could plant their own men by his side.

With your best service smile on, you handed back the vial back.

“No ❤️”

When they try to threaten you, you kindly remind them that if they plan to drag you in the mud, you’re not above pulling them along with you.

“If I’m going down, I’m dragging everyone with me.”

Once that was over, you wanted to cleanse yourself from this ugly conspiracy. You were way too busy worrying about your own neck, and you assumed that Sir Clover was cautious over his own safety that you, a mere worker bee, have nothing to contribute.

However, you do notice that the young green-haired man seems to prioritize others over himself, and the lights to his room are often still lit until late into the night. An honest young man burdened with responsibilities; his defenses may not always be on guard…

Ugghh, what a pain in the-

“Um, excuse me?” You looked to the tall nobleman trying to capture your attention.

“Yes, Sir Clover?”

“Were you originally scheduled to work today?”

You held your urge to click your tongue. Of course, Trey would be aware of at least who was scheduled to wait on Prince Riddle and him. What an annoyingly conscientious man.

“My colleague was feeling unwell so I offered to take her place for today. I apologize for not informing you beforehand.” You bowed politely which made the bespectacled man a little flustered.

“No, I’m grateful she could take a rest. Thank you for taking up the role but please let us know next time so we can offer some medical help if needed.”

That wouldn’t be necessary, you thought as you nodded regardless. Your coworker wasn’t really sick in any way but she was more than happy to switch schedules with you.

Many of the servants are under the impression that you harbored a crush on the admittedly cute aide-in-training since you were caught glancing at his direction more often than usual. It wouldn't be surprising if your “crush” in question is also aware of the gossip, which leads to his tenseness around you. Be it kindness or hesitance, Sir Clover chose not to reprimand you for doing as you please.

“What a pain, but I guess it works in my favor anyway.”

A knock rang through the room and with Riddle’s permission, an anxious maid came in with a tray carrying a tea set, confusing everyone in the room.

It’s not time for afternoon tea yet.

“What is the meaning of this?” For someone so young, Riddle’s sharp tone ran a deadly chill down everyone’s back. “Afternoon tea is not for another 13 minutes.”

The maid stuttered in fear, the tea set clattering slightly in her hands. “T-The servants thought that His Highness and Sir C-Clover have been working tirelessly today and perhaps some tea could help.”

You had too much of a survival instinct to dare look at the prince but the silence and building heat in the air was evidence enough that the thought was not appreciative.

Trey was quick to clear the tension with an awkward cough and a smile. “Thank you, I could use some.”

At his words, you dutifully proceeded to reach for the set when the maid hastily pulled it away from you.

Strange

“I-I can do it. Please excuse me” Without sparing a glance towards you, the maid quickly set the tray down on a nearby table and worked to pour a cup.

You’ve seen this maid only a few times. She was a new addition to the roster, too new to approach the royal family but here she was. She hadn't even learned how to properly hold the pot which was noticeable to everyone but was ignored (at the behest of Trey’s wordless plea) due to assumed inexperience.

“She’s so nervous but here she is, so adamant about serving some damn tea…”

A suffocating feeling rising in your throat, you watched with trepidation as the maid walked towards Trey while holding the teacup almost too preciously.

“Eek!” The maid shrieked when your hand squeezed her wrist in an unforgiving grip. She turned to question you but your glare kept her silent.

Trey looked at you with confusion, but your attention kept on the shaking maid and the teacup. With your other hand, you reach for your silver brooch given as part of your uniform to symbolize you as a person of the royal family.

The confusion in Trey’s eyes turned to disbelief when he watched your silver brooch become a damning color as you dipped the silver into the tea.

The broken maid would have crumbled completely onto the pristine floor if not for your hand still on her wrist. While she seemed to be a bumbling mess begging for her life, you couldn’t risk her making a run for it.

You don’t get paid enough for this nonsense.

”So, it was a plan to replace me…permanently.”

You stood silently in front of the solemn man in his office. After arresting her, it was easy to extract information from the maid and prince Riddle is gathering evidence for their act of treason, including your own interrogation.

“You are the trusted aide-to-be of the prince that cannot be bribed. You’re considered an obstacle.” You bowed your head. “I apologize for not speaking out sooner but if it were just my words without evidence, I could have my tongue removed for accusing nobility.”

If it was just you, then you wouldn’t be as confident. But to think that those corrupted nobles managed to convince someone else to do their dirty work. They were desperate and now that there was an attempt, the higher authorities have to take action.

“I shouldn’t feel bad for that maid…why should I for the choice she made…” you could still feel the sensation of that woman’s shaking body in the hand that held her. You don’t like it.

“Ha, you really don’t sugarcoat your words.” Trey’s voice pulled you back as he tried to laugh but his young body felt too heavy to put his whole heart into it.

But it’s finally over. The poisoning failed and those stupid noble scums were on Prince Riddle’s hit-list. That feeling of guilt that ate at your heart could finally rest in peace…right?

Even when he was the victim of all this, Trey was still sitting in his office in charge of investigating his own assassination attempt, on top of his usual duties in assisting the Royal family.

“Thank you for your time,” he even dares to smile kindly at you with dark circles under his warm eyes. “If you could, please call over the head staff to plan on interrogating the rest of the servants.”

“No.”

“N-No?”

“I won’t be doing that. I could ask the head staff to leave his schedule open if needed or if he could handle it with the guards since that’s his f*cking job,” You stared right into Trey’s eyes which widened in surprise. “For now, I humbly suggest Sir Clover to take a rest in his room or to work on something other than your assassination case.”

You didn’t wait for your stunned employer to reply as you bowed politely once more. “If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave.”

You moved away, making your way to the door before pausing. You glanced back at the young man in such a large office and your consciousness felt heavy. Your body was physically no older than Trey or Riddle but the weight on their shoulders was immeasurable, too much for either of them to handle on their own.

“Sir Clover,” you refused to look him in the eyes, “if you ever need anything…I’m willing to assist however I can.”

Immediately regretting your embarrassing words, you quickly added “but during work hours only!” before hastily leaving the office.

A shame really, since you missed the way Trey let out a genuine laugh after so long.

[stonegoldsxcrxt]

Ah, Star Wars fans. Once again perpetuating the Draco in Leather Pants trope to the point where we're all sick of it. Do I have to beat someone with the 'He's-Supposed-To-Be-Evil' Stick or something?

yeah. the acolyte itself as a show is straddling a line right now that, I'm sorry, I kind of don't think the Star Wars fandom at large is media literate enough to understand.

I've already seen a number of tiktoks and tumblr posts saying, "omg now I understand reylos," which besides being exhausting and annoying, immediately proves my point. There's obviously some differences between reylo and whatever osha/qimir is called within both production and the narrative, but overall what I'm baffled by every. single. time. is how weirdly everyone in the star wars fandom reacts to an attractive male villain blatantly manipulating a young woman.

I think the acolyte is clearly aiming for us to see and understand that Qimir is manipulating Osha. We know Qimir is clever. We saw him successfully worm his way out of being caught by the Jedi by playing up the "quirky sidekick" shtick. What I don't think a lot of the audience picks up on is just how smart he is. During one of his and Osha's conversations, he lets her suggest things and make assumptions, ie:

Osha: Where’d you get that scar?

Qimir: How do you think I got it?

Osha: Looks like someone stabbed you in the back.

Qimir: Someone who threw me away.

Osha: Your Jedi Master?

And then he doesn't correct her or elaborate. He lets her assume the worst. He lets her imagination wander. He's not interested in explaining because he knows the real story, whatever it may be, doesn't make him look as favorable as her idea. It's exchanges like that that are subtle examples of his manipulation, less obvious than the outright goading he uses against her when he gets her to admit she thinks of herself as a failure and that's why she left the Jedi.

There's also the earlier exchange:

Osha: He’s found me before, and his strength in the Force is very powerful.

Qimir: You think that’s his strength? That’s your strength in the Force, Osha. Someone ought to teach you that.

To a lot of people, that sounds like a compliment. But it isn't. Qimir makes a statement vague enough that successfully implies the Jedi have been lying to Osha about her own strength in the Force while also keeping just enough information to himself that he knows Osha will stick around to find out what he meant, instead of swimming to the ship he points out to her right after. And she does exactly that, continues to follow and engage in argument and conversation with him.

In fact, Qimir knows the more Osha talks to him, the more Osha even entertains the idea of talking to him instead of leaving, the more he can get inside her head. His naked swimming jaunt isn't him flaunting or showing off for Osha in some genuinely romantic way– it's yet another manipulation tactic. Though, if she is seduced, that helps him too.

Qimir purposefully makes himself into a vulnerable state in front of her to lull her into a false sense of security. He leaves his weapon with his clothes so she has the opportunity to take it; he is signalling to her that he is "completely" disarmed, though that is not true, since we know he is far stronger in the Force and in combat, and, perhaps, more cunning than Osha. His nudity forces Osha to acknowledge he is human, and Qimir benefits from Osha thinking of him as just a quirky, charming loner who's the victim of the Jedi, who offers her soup and disrobes in front of her.

The reason I know that none of this is genuine is simple. He goes back and forth between flat out acting as if he pities Osha ("Why do you love people who can only go so far?") but that doesn't get him the reaction he's looking for, so he bounces back to antagonizing her ("Why aren’t you a Jedi, Osha?) to finally, convincing her that she is similar to him ("I understand.") None of these things are actually Qimir trying to get to know Osha. Sure, he needs to understand her to manipulate her, but he'd do or say anything to get her to stick around and allow him to corrupt her further.

to me, Qimir is kind of the Star Wars equivalent to like a mimic species in the animal world. He's smart enough to know that in order to get what he wants, he has to act a certain way that isn't necessarily his real personality, and he can exploit Osha's (and anyone else's, for that matter) feelings by molding his personality and actions to achieve his goals so his victims are less likely to notice that he's using them.

The problem is that a big portion of the audience doesn't appear to recognize it, either. We know the rules of the Star Wars universe very well by now. Force Users this deep in the Dark Side cannot actually love someone. Sure, they can be obsessed with someone, but they cannot actually reciprocate feelings as the Dark Side corrupts them.

I've come to the conclusion that the majority of people watching Star Wars are not watching with the intention of picking up on any of this, despite the fact that the acolyte is actually doing it quite masterfully. They are paying attention to Manny Jacinto's muscles, and little else. You cannot argue or convince people who do not want to listen. They did not want to listen in 2017, when the reddest of red flags "You're nothing, but not to me," line was delivered, which had all the subtlety of being hit over the head with an anvil, and they are not listening now. If people are able to be gaslit by Kylo Ren into believing his victim card was validated, they will certainly and inevitably be gaslit by Qimir, who, so far, is much more cunning.

the acolyte even *plans* for this though, deliberately and suddenly cutting to the scene of Jecki's lifeless body, reminding the audience that Qimir is not the quirky, charming, harmless loner who he presents himself to be, but actually a man who we know to be capable of unspeakable acts of violence towards even children. at this point, I can't actually see any reason why the fandom continues to act like he is in love with Osha in any kind of genuine manner when it's so mind-blowingly obvious that he is male manipulator #1.

I think does a huge disservice to the story the acolyte seems to be trying to present at this point to be so blind with lust or whatever it is the fandom feels towards this guy that his own tactics have begun to work on them. it's actually so incredible that it makes me a bit ill. they may find him hot all they want, but for the love of Leia Organa's Star Wars at least recognize his tactics for what they are instead of also allowing yourself to be fooled!!

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

I came in making some REAL confident statements about the Lodger designs and these guys are just proving me so wrong lmao. I still love them though

I still stand by some of my points about the goggles and gloves? In that it makes the Lodgers uniquely science-y. I also still think that the various states of protective wear tells you something about how each of the Lodgers works. But I don't think it's as important as I had previously thought. Still, in the interest of overanalyzing for fun and because this is just how my brain works, on with the show! I have to remind myself that I'm doing this for fun and because I love this comic and art, not because I'm any sort of expert in design philosophy. Which to be clear, I am extremely not. I'm just a massive nerd. I'm overthinking this

Having gotten farther into the cast, I'm noticing three rough categories that you can put the Lodgers into:

Goggles/Gloves. At least partially geared up for their work.

Aprons! They maybe don't have any specialized equipment on them at the moment, but they do have some coverage.

None of the above! Helsby, Bryson, Flowers, and Luckett apply here. Helsby and Bryson make sense, their work doesn't happen within the Society itself, so they don't need to have any of their gear on them, if it's attached to their person at all. Bryson also has the consideration of being a parody of a pre-existing person, and you don't really want to change up the iconic look too much at risk of losing the joke. Luckett is kind of the same way I think, in that he's a homeopathic scientist. Literally the point is to use as little as possible. Though he should probably invest in some fireproof duds. Not entirely sure about an in-universe reason for Flowers, I think just putting in more detail would've made her feel overstuffed and busy. Sometimes you just gotta go with what looks best on the page!

I keep giving the female Lodgers really fun dynamic poses and then remembering that I have to cover it with their massive skirts lmao

I don't think Luckett is as irresponsible as him flicking fire into who-knows-where implies but I thought the pose was cute, alright? Also the thumbs up is definitely in response to someone asking what he was doing. He did not hear the question, his ears are still ringing. This will continue for at least the next 15 minutes.

Between the umbrella and the rosy cheeks and the candy I feel like Doddle is what would happen if Mary Poppins took over for Willy Wonka. Step 1 is implementing a billion child safety measures and making this madhouse OSHA compliant. But like, in a fun way

[benijbol]

ꔫ Melancholy

A/N; My mind is an OSHA violation,,, genuinely dk if i wanna continuously post my writing on here or just goof around el oh el ,,,

Summary; Your father betroths you to some old lousy lord and Davos helps take your mind off of it . Davos Blackwood x Fem!reader.

Warnings; 18+ smutty. choking?

3630 words.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The sun hangs heavy in the sky, beating down with an unforgiving heat that’s almost unbearable. The air is thick and stifling, the kind that clings to your skin and makes every breath feel like a struggle. The meadow stretches out in front of you, a sea of wildflowers in full bloom—pale blues, deep purples, vivid reds, and soft yellows. You wander through them, one hand trailing lazily over the tops of the tall grasses, the other clutching a single wilted daisy that you had picked without thinking. 

The news of your betrothal still echoes in your head, like a bell that won’t stop ringing. Some lord whose name you barely remember. Old, balding, with the kind of belly that speaks of too much wine and too little work. You can’t quite picture his face, but you can picture your father’s, stern and unyielding. “It’s a good match,” he had said, as if that would somehow make you forget the man is twice your age and rumored to have a temper as fierce as a summer storm.

Your stomach twists at the thought of him. Lord Selwyn or Ser Sefton, was it? You don’t even care to recall his name. You were always told your duty would come someday, that your family’s honor and the weight of your name would eventually fall upon your shoulders. You just never thought it would be this soon or this… distasteful.

The sun catches in your hair, and you brush a few damp strands away from your forehead. The humidity is unforgiving, clinging to your skin like a second, stifling layer. Your dress, made of light cotton, sticks to your back, and you curse under your breath as another bead of sweat trails down between your shoulder blades. You feel the sting of it, itching, irritating, but you make no move to brush it away. 

You pause at the edge of a small stream that winds its way through the meadow. The water is clear, trickling softly over smooth stones, and for a moment, you think about plunging your hands into it, just to feel something cool against your skin. But then you hear footsteps—clumsy and unmistakable—and you know who it is before you even turn around.

“Davos,” you say, not bothering to mask the irritation in your voice. You don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus on the flowers, on the soft rustle of the wind through the tall grass. 

He’s been following you since you left the hall, and while you’re not surprised—he’s always been a persistent shadow—it’s not a comfort today. Today, you’d rather be alone with your thoughts, even if they are bitter.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Davos replies, a bit too cheerfully for your liking. There’s a rustle of leaves and a grunt as he climbs over the low stone wall that separates the meadow from the woods beyond. He’s trying to sound casual, but there’s an awkwardness to his tone, a hesitation that you haven’t heard before.

“What gave it away?” you mutter. “Was it the fact that this is the only place I go when I’m trying to be left alone?”

He chuckles, a little breathless, as if the walk has winded him. “That, and the fact that you’ve been glaring at anyone who comes near you since the news of your betrothal.”

You whip around to face him then, the wilting daisy crumpling in your grip. He looks exactly as you expect: messy dark hair that curls slightly in the heat, his tunic sticking to his chest in a most unflattering way. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and his expression is somewhere between sheepish and amused.

“If you came here to mock me, you can go back to wherever it is you skulk about these days,” you say, voice sharper than you intend.

Davos blinks, taken aback, but he doesn’t leave. He never does. “I’m not here to mock you,” he says, a bit more seriously now. “I’m here to… I don’t know. Keep you company, I suppose. Seemed like you could use it.”

“I don’t need company,” you snap. “Least of all from you.”

His smile falters, and for a moment, you almost feel guilty. Almost. But then he shrugs, trying to play it off. “Well, you’ve got me anyway,” he says, plopping down on a patch of grass beside you. 

You sigh, exasperated, and turn back to the stream. The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable, like the humid air around you. You can feel him watching you, feel his gaze lingering on your profile, and it makes your skin prickle with annoyance.

“Do you even know who he is?” he asks finally, breaking the silence. “This lord they’ve promised you to?”

“An old fool with a red nose and yellowed teeth. My father would trade me to the highest bidder if he thought it would earn him favor at court.”

Davos's face twists in an expression of distaste. “He’s an ass, then.”

“An ass, yes,” you agree, “but an ass with land and men. Apparently, that’s what matters most.”

There’s a bitterness in your voice that you don’t bother to hide. You bend down to pick another flower—a bluebell this time—twisting its stem between your fingers until it snaps. Davos watches you, his eyes flickering over your face, searching for something in your expression.

“You could run away,” he suggests, only half-joking. “Steal a horse and ride to the edge of the world. I’d go with you, if you asked.”

You snort, shaking your head. “And where would we go? To the Riverlands, where your father would have us both dragged back in chains?”

“Could be an adventure,” he replies with a grin, his teeth bright against the dirt on his face. “We could join a mercenary band. Or a pirate crew. You’ve always looked good in leather, after all.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “Leather would be too hot in this weather,” you quip back. “I’d rather not die of heatstroke before I get to taste freedom.”

Davos chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar. It eases the tension in your shoulders a little, though you’d never admit it. He shifts closer, just a fraction, his knee brushing against yours. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to make you acutely aware of how close he’s sitting. How close he always sits, now that you think about it.

“Maybe you just need to cool off,” he says, his tone light but his eyes watching you carefully. “The stream’s right there.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I dunk my head in the water?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” he replies with a smirk. “Might knock some sense into you, too.”

You swat at him, half-heartedly, and he catches your wrist with surprising ease. His grip is firm but not rough, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist where your pulse is fluttering a bit too quickly. You glare at him, but he doesn’t let go. In fact, he holds on a little tighter, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity you’re not quite used to from him.

“What?” you snap, more to break the moment than anything else.

Davos' smile fades, replaced by something more serious, more uncertain. “Nothing,” he says softly. “Just… you don’t have to go through with it, you know. Not if you don’t want to.”

You pull your hand away, feeling a sudden wave of frustration. “And what choice do I have, Davos?” you demand. “Run off with you to join the pirates? How noble. How honorable.”

“Maybe honor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he mutters.

You scoff. “And maybe you’re just a fool.”

Davos looks like he wants to argue, but then he shrugs, a resigned sort of smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I am. But I’d rather be a fool than see you miserable.”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat of silence that stretches on too long. You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing, turning your attention back to the flowers at your feet. But then, you feel his hand on your shoulder, tentative and awkward.

“What are you—”

Before you can finish, he’s leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I mean it,” he murmurs, his voice low. “You could have more than this. More than him.”

Your breath catches, and you don’t know whether it’s the heat or his words that make your skin feel like it’s on fire. You twist your head to look at him, and there’s something in his eyes—something you haven’t seen before. Or maybe you have, and you’ve just been too blind to notice.

“Davos,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You’ve always been too good for them,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Too good for any of them.”

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “And what about you, Davos Blackwood? Are you saying you’re good enough?”

He doesn’t answer, but his gaze is steady, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your neck, thumb brushing the line

 of your jaw. There’s a reckless determination in his eyes now, something bold and unrestrained, and it sends a shiver down your spine despite the oppressive heat.

“You could find out,” he suggests, and there’s a hint of a challenge in his voice.

Before you can stop yourself, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his with more force than you intend. He makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hands come up to cradle your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss.

It’s awkward at first, all teeth and misaligned mouths, but then he tilts his head just right, and your lips slot together more easily. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing tender. It’s heated, desperate, like you’re both trying to prove something. You taste salt and sweat on his skin, feel the press of his chest against yours, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of your dress.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice rough. “Tell me to stop if you want me to.”

You don’t. 

Your hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin through the damp fabric of his tunic. You can feel his breath, hot against your cheek, hear the unsteady rhythm of his heart beneath your palms. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, surprising yourself with how much you mean it.

He grins, and it’s a little wicked, a little wild. “You always did like playing with fire,” he says.

“Shut up, Davos,” you reply, but there’s no venom in it. Only want.

His hands move down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he pushes you back against the rough bark of a nearby tree. The sudden contact makes you gasp, but he covers your mouth with his again, swallowing the sound. His lips move against yours with a new urgency, a kind of raw hunger that sends heat pooling in your belly.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his forehead resting against yours. “Is this madness?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse.

“Probably,” you reply, breathless, and he laughs softly.

His fingers find the hem of your dress, skimming up along your thigh, and you shiver despite the warmth of the day. “Then let’s be mad together,” he whispers, and there’s something fierce and determined in his tone that makes your heart race.

He leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dark, “tell me what you want.”

Your voice catches in your throat. “I—”

He cuts you off, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple through the thin fabric. “Tell me,” he insists, a little more forcefully now.

“Touch me,” you breathe, and he obliges, his hand slipping lower, beneath the hem of your dress.

He watches you closely, his expression intense, waiting for the slightest sign of hesitation. But there is none. You feel his fingers brush against the dampness between your legs, and your breath hitches, a low moan escaping your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and there’s something darkly triumphant in his voice. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and the heat between your legs only grows more insistent. You feel the roughness of his palm against your inner thigh, his fingers deft and exploratory as they tease along the edges of your smallclothes. You should be embarrassed—should feel some kind of shame at how wet you are, how much you want this—but you don’t. Not with him.

His eyes never leave yours, even as his fingers dip beneath the fabric, brushing over your slick folds with a lightness that makes your breath hitch. He grins at the sound, his mouth hovering just inches from yours, and there’s something wicked in the curve of his lips.

“Sensitive today, aren’t we?” he murmurs, a teasing lilt in his tone. You shoot him a glare, but it lacks any real venom. Your body betrays you, arching into his touch, wanting more, needing more.

“Don’t play with me, Davos,” you warn, though your voice comes out breathier than you’d intended.

He chuckles, low and dark. “Oh, I think you like being played with,” he counters, his fingers slipping between your folds, finding the spot that makes you gasp and clench around nothing. “Like a fine-tuned lute… I just have to find the right strings to pluck.”

You bite your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape, but Davos seems to notice, his eyes lighting up with amusement. His thumb circles slowly, deliberately, around that sensitive bundle of nerves, not quite touching it, just enough to tease. You can feel your breath quicken, your skin flushed, heart racing like a wild thing.

“Davos,” you growl, and he laughs again, that soft, husky sound that sends heat pooling low in your belly.

“What? You want more?” he asks, voice mockingly innocent. His fingers press deeper, stroking, exploring, and you can’t help the small sound that slips past your lips.

“Say it,” he demands softly. “I want to hear you ask for it.”

You glare up at him, trying to muster some shred of defiance, but it’s hard to think with his hand between your thighs, with the rough pad of his thumb brushing over your sensitive clit, making your head swim with sensation. The heat is unbearable, the humid air wrapping around you like a shroud, but all you can feel is him—his breath on your skin, his fingers inside you, coaxing, teasing, filling.

“Please,” you finally whisper, hating how desperate you sound, but unable to care. “Please, Davos.”

“Please, what?” he presses, his grin widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You have to be specific, my lady. I’m not a mind reader.”

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. You’ve never been good at asking for what you want, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something dark and intense and… hungry. It makes you feel bold. Reckless.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathe, barely recognizing your own voice. “Now.”

For a heartbeat, he freezes, as if he can’t quite believe what you’ve said. Then a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face, and he leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “As you wish,” he whispers, his voice a low, dangerous rasp that sends shivers down your spine.

In one swift motion, he pushes your dress up over your hips, his hands firm and demanding. You feel the cool breeze against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing against yours. He steps back, just enough to fumble with the laces of his trousers, his eyes never leaving yours.

There’s a hunger in his gaze now, a wild, reckless glint that makes your pulse quicken. You want to say something, anything, but words fail you. All you can do is watch as he frees himself from the confines of his clothing, his cock hard and thick in his hand.

He looks at you, almost as if seeking permission, and you nod, a small, jerky motion. His grin returns, sharp and wolfish, and he steps forward again, pressing you back against the rough bark of the tree. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you with surprising ease, and you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the head of his cock brush against your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice rough, and there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes, something almost… vulnerable.

You nod again, and he doesn’t wait for further confirmation. He pushes into you with one smooth, powerful thrust, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips at the sudden, overwhelming fullness. He stills for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“Gods,” he groans, his hands tightening on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. “You feel… perfect.”

You can’t respond. All you can do is cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he starts to move, slow at first, then faster, each thrust deep and sure and deliberate. The rough bark of the tree scratches against your back, but you barely feel it over the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body.

His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing over your skin, and you shiver at the sharp sting of it, a delicious contrast to the heat of his tongue as he soothes the bite. His hands are everywhere—gripping, squeezing, exploring. One hand slides up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin, his voice a low, husky growl. “So needy. So desperate for me.”

You should be offended, should slap him for his insolence, but instead, his words only make you moan, make your hips buck against his, wanting more, needing more. He chuckles, dark and amused.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs. “You like it when I talk to you like this.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to spill from your lips, but he’s relentless. His hand tightens around your throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp, to make your blood sing with the thrill of it.

“Say it,” he commands. “Tell me you like it.”

Your voice comes out in a ragged whisper, barely more than a breath. “I… I like it.”

His grin widens, and he leans in to press a rough, hungry kiss to your mouth, swallowing your gasp as he thrusts deeper, harder, making you cry out against his lips. His hand moves from your throat, sliding down to where your bodies are joined, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice low and husky, and the praise sends a rush of heat through you, pooling between your legs. “Come for me. I want to feel you come.”

You don’t know if it’s his words or his touch or the sheer intensity of it all, but you feel the coil tightening in your belly, winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, a wave of pleasure crashing over you so intensely you see stars. You cry out, your body shuddering around him, and he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate.

“Fuck,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it almost hurts. “Fuck, you feel so—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, his words dissolving into a low, guttural moan as he comes, his hips jerking against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. You feel him spill inside you, warm and wet, and for a moment, the world seems to blur around the edges, the only thing that matters the feeling of him, the weight of him, the heat of him.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of your heavy breathing, the pounding of your heart in your ears. Then, slowly, reality begins to seep back in. The heat of the sun on your skin, the sticky humidity of the air, the rough bark of the tree at your back. You feel Davos’s breath against your cheek, hot and uneven, and you realize he’s still holding you, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he’s afraid to let go.

Finally, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and uncertainty. “Are you alright?” he asks, and there’s a note of genuine concern in his voice.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. “I… yes. I’m alright.”

He studies you for a moment longer, then nods, his grip on you loosening slightly. “Good,” he murmurs, and you can see the relief in his eyes.

You both stay there for a moment longer, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around you slowly coming back into focus. You know you should say something, but the words elude you, tangled somewhere in your throat.

Davos seems to sense your hesitation because he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You know,” he says, his voice light, teasing, “if you wanted to distract yourself from this betrothal nonsense, you could have just asked.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, but there’s a warmth in your chest that you can’t quite deny. “Next time, I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply dryly.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

I feel like i should be making a taglist of some sorts idk UHM,, if ur up for itttt... im so awkward sorry

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Supersons +1 propmt fill Part3 Tr3s

The sprinklers activated in an instant and covered the centre in a deluge of water. Whatever scientists remained scrambled to recover what remained of their creations before the water could irrevocably damage them. In a hidden corner, one Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent made knowing glances to each other, a mutual agreement reached in seconds after decades of friendship. With the help of a crowbar, the men quickly pry open one of the exit doors, making way for panicked civilians to exit the premises, 'Brucie' giving comfort to those distressed by the recent events. It wasn't long before they had to make themselves scarce. They had their sons to rescue, there was no time!

As Bruce and Clark snuck out into the empty hallway, having been quickly evacuated by a Gothamite's natural self-preservation instinct and discipline from years of attacks. They nodded, and went their seperate ways. Clark to go change into his Superman outfit, and Bruce to calm the inevitable deluge of reporters before changing into his own costume.

Cameras flashed over the front entrance to the event, blinding the last few stragglers to leave, and Bruce, standing tall against the crashing sea.

"Mr Wayne! What can you tell us about the new villain that Joker has teamed up with?"

"Mr Wayne, how does Wayne Industries intent to secure future events from attacks on this scale?"

"Where is Damian Wayne? Sir how can Wayne Industries secure the future of Gotham if you cannot protect your own children?"

"Mr Wayne is it true that you allowed Jack Fenton to attend the event despite knowing he was a quack?"

And on and on and on. Bruce never intended to give these people what they wanted. He had children to save, and investigations to conduct. Before he could excuse himself, however, a roaring boom echoed down the street like summer thunder. Reporters screamed as they trampled over each other to escape the path of a silver behemoth charging down the road. Thick metal plates lined its exterior. A large satellite dish adorned its top, and jutting out from the sides were massive guns. The van sported too many OSHA violations to be anything less than a tank on four wheels than any civilian vehicle. Batman will have to crack down on whatever corrupt whitecollar criminals allowed this monstrosity on the roads.

The van charged right up to where Bruce was standing on the pavement, before coming to a terrifyingly rapid halt, so sudden that the entire vehicle jerked forward from its momentum. It would have been cartoonish if it hadn't stopped cleanly right in front of him. The front door slammed open, and a pair of black-gloved hands grabbed Bruce by the shoulder. In public surrounded by cameras, Bruce was helpless but to comply.

"BRUCIE WAYNE! I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU!"

Bruce scanned the interior of the van in an instant, clocking in the undignified Clark Kent clinging to his seat like a child to their parents leg, tie messed up and suit creased. His classes were crooked on his face. "He just scooped me up like I was paper mache, Bruce!" The man's voice was shaking.

"Strap in Brucie, because the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle cares for no trivial matters like traffic laws, or even physics laws!"

What kind of branding was this? "The Fenton Family wha-" Jack slammed the gas. The GAV rocketed into max gear in an instant. The force threw the poor man off his feet. Bruce went hurtling into the backside of the GAV and crashed with a bang. The G-forces kept him glued to the wall like a black-suited starfish, at least until Clark extended an arm to peel him off.

"I'm starting to think you might be right about him being a supervillain." Clark whispered.

Bruce grimly nodded.

"Alright so now that we're all together, here's the plan folks!" Jack said, tone all too cheerful for the chaos he was creating on the road. Innocent cars swerved out of the way of the advancing war machine. Pedestrians clung to lampposts and fences as gale force winds blasted them from its wake. "Let's start with the bad news: Our kids have been spirited away by suffering spooks! The good news: The Fenton Radar works!" Jack tapped on a screen on the van's console, showing two beeping dots on a radar map.

"BUILDING!" Clark yelled. They were rocketing right into a townhouse.

Jack yanked the wheel to the left. The GAV turned 90 degrees in about half a second, turning both passengers into ragdolls thrown across the side. On the outside, a subtle Superman-shaped dent was visible. "Thanks for that, Clarkie! Now I'm sure you guys aren't as experienced as me and my lovely wife Maddie are in hunting ghosts, but don't worry! I can give you a crash course."

"Please don't say crash course." Clark quivered.

"Could you maybe slow down?!" Bruce yelled over the roaring engines.

"No can do, Brucie! Any slower and the GHOSTS will leave the Fenton Radar's range, and then we'll never get our kids back!"

"I think I'm going to be sick." So Kryptonians can get nausea from high-speed vehicles, interesting. He'll have to update his file.

"The Joker and his associates entered your portal and set it to blow, how can we even get the kids back if they're on the other side!"

Jack turned around with a smile. "That's what the Fenton PortaPortal version 2 is for! Never leave home without a spare, my grandpa Fenton always said!"

"Dr Fenton, that bridge was destroyed in a gang fight!" Bruce shouted. Construction workers were already scattering, but a thick concrete barrier stood in their way.

"No need to worry, Fenton engineering can handle a little hole here or there!"

"The entire bridge was destroyed, we're going to fall off!"

"I love your sense of humour Brucie, but even if we did it wouldn't matter!"

"I really think it does, Dr Fenton!" Clark gripped the bottom of the nearby seat hard enuogh to dent.

"Nonsense, watch this!" Jack pushed the gas even further, as if that was even possible. The GAV reduced the concrete barrior to smithereens. "Go go Fenton Famliy Ghost Assault Vehicle: Aerial Mode!" The mad scientist's shouted in glee. He pulled another lever, activating a pair of wings from the sides.

Clark would deny screaming like a girl to the end of his days.

~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the Zone...

Danny shifted nervously in his position, atop the swarm of Lydia's bats, and flanked by the freaking Joker of all people on one side and Freaking Freakshow on the other. What did he do to deserve this?

If It was just the Joker and Freakshow, he would just happily transform and kick the snot out of these clowns, but sadly he's not alone.

Also tied up with rope both human and ghostly were one Damian Wayne and Jon Kent, the former of which looked none too pleased about the current situation. While Damian spat vitriol upon the Joker and his "D-list half-rate assisstant," with man himself largely ignoring his words to fawn over the chaos of the Realms, Danny contemplated his options. Good news: Freakshow hadn't blown his secret yet, which was cold comfort for the moment, seeing as if he had, he'd just be able to punch these suckers and be done with it, but nooo. Maybe he could overshadow the other boys and hypnotise them into forgetting? Was that a thing that can be done? Would've been convenient, and because of that, Danny suspected it's wishful thinking. If it worked, great, if it didn't work, well Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne have ties to the Justice League, who have ties to the government, who hire the GiW, so there's a non-zero percent chance such a stunt would end up with him on a dissection table.

Which means he's left playing the waiting game, spectating the Joker jumping up and down like a fangirl over all the green, and purple, and fighting, and death. First day in Gotham, guys.

"Psst." Jon whispered to him.

Danny said nothing, but leaned a little on Jon's side.

"Don't worry, we're gonna be ok, I'm sure the J-J-Justice League will be here. Just sit t-t-tight, ok?"

Wow, that was really touching that he was trying to comfort Danny, but the ghostly part of him didn't even need to feel Jon's shaking, or hear his stutter to know the kid was absolutely terrified. Now that he thought about it, it really should be him doing the comforting.

"Eh I wouldn't hedge my bets on it." Causing the other boy to squeak in fear. Curse you, snark instinct. Why can't you be heroic and reassuring instead.

"Neither would I, boy." Freakshow said, almost like he was rubbing in just how much danger his secret was in.

"You will unhand us, or you will know the meaning of pain in every sense of the world. This I tell you. I will feed you to my chickens. I will cut up your flesh and grind it into paste and then fertilise my vegetable garden with it. You will regret crossing me."

Jon let out the faintest whisper, something Danny would've never heard if he wasn't a ghost, and a master of quiet sounds. "Really selling the normal kid act here, Damian."

"On the contrary, lovely chlidren, I believe it is you who will soon become ghosts. NEYEHEHEYEHEH" Oh god here comes the gratuitous laughter. "I can't believe such a t~~tttttTANTALISING opportunity has been out there for me this whole time! AHAHAHAHAAH. And for you, my little children, to have come to this wonderful little science expo alongside your dear old daddies only to become part of the exhibit?" The Joker cracked into laughter, slapping his knees and collapsing in fitful giggles.

Each of the free boys gulped, each of them considering how to save the apparent civilian(s) among them without exposing themselves...

@impyssadobsessions

[fulcrum-art-fox]

Been thinking about Sol’s controversial attempt to shoot Mae down in the last episode, like, it’s one of the decisions that he makes in the finale that comes seemingly out of the blue and shocks most greatly; he says his biggest regret is being unable to save both twins, and more selfishly, he needs both twins alive if he’s to prove that the vergence exists on Brendok. So why does he try to shoot her down when she escapes him? It makes no logical sense, and that’s exactly it: it’s not a logical response. It’s an emotional response. He’s falling, a different kind of fall to the dark, one where he is crushed under the weight of his own choices, his guilt the years of lies. Mae is alive, and back on the scene, and she knows what he did. The clock is ticking till Osha knows it too. We’ve seen him become more fraught, desperate and unsettled with every episode. The lies he’s been telling for nearly two decades are coming unraveled. He’s losing control of the situation, and now he’s lost control of Mae. So him attempting to shoot her down when she escapes him, an action that shocked and confused the audience and that even Bazil wasn’t down with, whilst an extreme and unexpected response, fits. It’s not a logical response: it’s an emotional response; an angry response; a controlling response

[erythriina]

Crozier: Stage manager. Runs an extremely tight ship; rehearsals start and end on time, and woe betide you if you show up late. Suffers no fools, especially when it comes to safety. Fell in love with theatre as a young kid, but became jaded after years of running into educational, financial, ‘who do you know’ barriers and dealing with the kind of bigots and assholes you only get in this industry.

Fitzjames: Originally Franklin’s AD, but is officially promoted to director when Franklin has to step down for health reasons. Used to be an actor—and a pretty good one!—but moved to directing because it seemed more prestigious and respectable. In the end, he wouldn’t choose to go back, but he will twist your ear with stories of his time trodding the boards. Studied on scholarship, does everything possible to keep this a secret.

( I went back on forth on switching these two roles, with Crozier as director and Fitzjames as SM, because in canon Crozier technically outranks JFJ. In the end though I think this is more fitting, since JFJ and Franklin may have big ideas, but Crozier is the one with his head firmly in the reality of the situation; as the SM and as Franklin’s canon second, his job (whether he gets to do it or not) is to reign him in, to make sure what he wants to happen is both feasible and safe. )

Blanky: Production manager. His job is to get the things necessary for JFJ and Crozier to do their jobs. He and Crozier have worked together for years and are a tight unit.

Little: Originally the technical director, (essentially the head of the scenic department: lights, sound, set, costumes, props). Becomes official AD when JFJ becomes official director. Briefly enjoys a stint as acting stage manager in Crozier’s stead, and by ‘enjoys’ I mean he hated every moment of it.

Jopson: Wardrobe head. Woe unto anyone who eats in costume. He and Crozier have worked together before—they come as a pair—so he becomes the unofficial liaison bw Crozier and the rest of the prod team (it’s a “dad likes you best” sort of situation). Crozier eventually asks him to become acting ASM (they didn’t have one before; Franklin didn’t think it was necessary). Did some acting as a kid/teen, but prefers production; if you hound him enough when he’s in a good mood, he will, after a long sigh, perform the most perfect triple time step you’ve ever seen.

Hodgson: Dramaturg and I won’t elaborate. Is also the fight captain when it’s called for, and is extremely good at it; he’s great at teaching one-on-one and encouraging the actors while still prioritizing safety, and his flair for the dramatic lends itself incredibly well to choreographing fights. He does, however, tend to lose it and make poor decisions when given any more solo responsibility than that.

Irving: Scenographer, in charge of the overall design of the production. Stressed out 24/7. Keeps absolutely pristine and lovingly detailed piece lists, is very good with the maths for measurements. Seems too uptight for such a creative job, but in actuality is very creative, just also very shy.

Tozer: Master carpenter. He didn’t start as master carp, but his superiors kept leaving and now he has more responsibility than he expected. Outwardly seems like he doesn’t give much of a fuck, but takes pride in his work. Main operator of the power tools; will box your ears if he catches you using them without proper PPE.

Hickey: Just kind of hangs around the scene shop most of the time. Presumably he’s in charge of gluing various bits of wood together, or something. Irving once caught him hooking up with his boyfriend behind the wall of old plywood backgrounds. Later, when Irving has an ‘accident’ one night whilst working late alone in the shop, Hickey is somehow the first on the scene…

Peglar: Master electrician, head of lights and sound. Doesn’t get to do it often, but adores operating the theater’s single spotlight (getting to it involves some climbing that OSHA would not approve of). Can untangle a mass of wires faster than anyone else and knows what each and every one of them goes to. Closest he ever got to performance was dipping his toe into standup comedy (iykyk. sorry honey you fit the type)

Silna: Perennial unwilling house manager, because her family owns the place and her dad always makes her. Basically in charge of the space as a whole. Not a huge fan of her job, but finds some amusement/comfort in getting to sit in the shadows and watch the prod team bicker and make fools of themselves, bc it makes her feel competent in comparison.

[chevelleneech]

Leslye’s latest interview kinda makes me seem like a writer or something, idk🧐

J/k! But on a serious note, I do think my interest in screenwriting informs a lot of how I interpret the things I watch. I’m not pretending to be exceptional or better than anyone else, but I am going to pat myself on the back the tiniest bit, because I said something similar to what she said about Qimir knowing Osha wasn’t Mae in the apothecary. He knew, and her power drew him in almost instantly.

As well, in this post about Sol confusing Mae and Osha when they were younger, I said I was pretty sure it was done to highlight just how little Sol understood his emotions and his supposed connection to Osha. He felt one, yes, but that doesn’t mean he knew enough about the twins to decide he had a right to act on it.

Anyway, this was fun to read and kind of learn what I (and many other people surely) were right in our interpretations of. Sol meant well, yet acted wrong. And although Qimir was painted as the antagonist this season (even though I think the secret of what happened on Brendok is the true villain) he still sees Osha for who she is, no matter the fact that he wants her to tap into her power for personal gain, to an extent.

This understanding also informs why and almost how Leslye foresees Oshamir coming about. Because in other parts, she speaks about how Qimir still doesn’t say directly he is a Sith, and above she mentions how he feels the pull of her power and wants to train her same as Sol, and how that points to who her true Master will be.

If her words are to be taken at face value, Oshamir will happen, I think, because their Master and Pupil relationship won’t work. Sol was a Jedi raised on honor, peace, loyalty, control, and authority. Yet he struggled well into adulthood with most of those things, which caused mass murder. Qimir, based on what he’s said, was also raised on those things yet realized the latter three were unsustainable. Which Osha has felt since she was a child that unquestioned loyalty to authority figures whom only give you a semblance of control wasn’t what she wanted forever.

So Qimir is going to be training someone who is almost too much like him in beliefs, yet someone who likely isn’t as non-discriminate in her killing. Meaning they’re going to butt heads over what is right and wrong, and end up having to talk more to understand each other’s side better. And getting to know each other’s moral lines and triggers to avoid, inevitably grows them closer together. Therefore, their Master/Pupil dynamic is thrown out the window, because there’s already sexual tension between them and they haven’t even fought for real yet, lol.

[dotthings]

Couple of points I haven't seen discussed a whole lot yet:

The decisions of The Jedi council and Indara in The Acolyte ep 7 (until Indara decided to lie) were reasonable and mindful and respectful of another culture. It's a massive leap to go "the Jedi are systemically corrupt" when the council and team leader were being mindful. Individual Jedi and their feelings and impulses were the wild cards, along with some things from the witches' side too.

Sol and Mae are both demonstrating basic 101 on why possessive love is an issue that can cause destruction

Osha didn't seem to be demonstrating basic 101 about possessive greedy love, but she has a lot of unacknowledged rage in her and it seems that she isn't any more able to let go than Mae

Haven't seen a lot of talk about how of all the major players, Mother Koril is the only one leading with violence. Koril wanted violence. She purposefully stirred Mae up, she manipulated a little girl into using her rage as a weapon. Mother Koril and Qimir are following the same line of thinking. Qimir seduces Osha with the idea that rage is her strength and she should immerse herself in rage to become powerful. Koril and Qimir are both giving classic dark side vibes.

While Mother Aniseya and all the Jedi tried de-escalation and actually did their best to not let it spiral to violence. What ensued was the very last thing the Jedi wanted. But Sol was as heedless as Torbin, for different reasons. Indara also did her very best to try to contain the situation and wasn't listened to.

Torbin's flaw was lack of patience, but it's more complicated than that. An inexperienced Jedi who thrives in an urban environment, stuck for 7 months weeks on a mission in the woods [7 weeks is still a long time, certain personality types would get restless, and Torbin is still a kid], and his mentor, Indara, in turn wasn't listening to him, or working with him on a compromise or a way to help mitigate his restlessness or giving him 2 week's leave or anything.

People have come up with all kinds of theories and ideas of how Qimir got the way he is and even decided already that Venestra is to blame (there's no evidence either way on what happened to Qimir yet) yet Master Sol gets automatically dismissed as "Jedi bad" by some people. So here's a question: what is Sol's back history, what's his trauma. Why did he want to be a father so intensely. He wants to rescue two children from what he believes is an abusive situation. We need Sol back story.

When Sol killed Mother Aniseya, he panicked. Mother Aniseya started turning into a shadow form and Mae started to dissolve into shadow as well. To witches, this is normal. To a Jedi, and the audience even, that looks...scary. Sol did not in any way intend to kill anyone, he didn't go into this wanting to kill Mother Aniseya. Why did Mother Aniseya start to transform, why was Mae dissolving into shadow, was she taking Mae to safety? It's not Mother Aniseya's fault, but Sol panicked over something he doesn't understand and believed it was self-defense. Then found out, to his self-horror, that Mother Aniseya wasn't actually a combative, or a threat to him

I don't think Indara knew that severing Kelnacca from the witches' mind control would kill them all. She wasn't trying to kill them. They all collapsed. As someone else pointed out, do we know they were dead?? Could the coven actually have survived?

[shesnake]

sorry to talk about star wars on main but

Leslye Headland is truly the funniest person alive for saying on record that oshamir was inspired by reylo. like it's the most transparent marketing line to simply tell you that they're "enemies to lovers" (pending) and to bait the reylos (who are arguably the strongest voice in the disney era fandom... like look what they achieved [derogratory]) into caring about non-white characters because yeah The Acolyte Does need the numbers.

and sure this is bringing people into the show for the wrong reasons and also deterring people from the show for the wrong reasons but it's a TRAP lol ms Headland has a comically large shovel-shaped lightsaber and is digging a hole in the ground right in front of us all. and I am DIVING IN HEAD FIRST before she's even sprinkled leaves over it. because oshamir is nothing like reylo, because The Acolyte is nothing like disney era star wars!

The Acolyte is critical of the jedi order and the absolutism of the dark side. it's not about Anakin but it does Understand Anakin and what went down in the prequels (unlike the kenobi series which essentially nullified his whole corruption arc...) and the jedi order's unique form of oppression through repression. up until this point we've only seen our protagonists being lured to the dark side through grooming and sabotage by a sith actively turning them away from the jedi.

but in the acolyte, our protagonist Osha has already been fucked over by the jedi without the influence of any sith! they killed her family, they killed her PEOPLE/RELIGION, they left her sister Mae to die (after they already decided she had terrible vibes), and they abandoned her as a "failure" because after all they did to cut her away from her life THEY DIDN'T WANT HER because she was affected by the trauma THEY CAUSED.

and they did say to Sol from the start that she was too old to be recruited. how many other padawans must they have done this to while they were too young for that trauma to grow and could still be groomed to believe in the force in the way the jedi order do. Sol is horrified at Qimir/The Stranger for killing a child and he just shrugs and says "you brought her here" because it really is on him.

but yeah Osha at this point in the story with her lived experiences is an adult who cannot be manipulated like that, by a jedi OR a sith. and so what other approach can Qimir really make to lure Osha over to the dark side except to... talk to her? sure there's a seductive subtext to it, but this is the first time we've seen someone with the force, sith or jedi, have to present their case like an adult To an adult.

and as the no.1 jedi order hater this is SO compelling to me because everything Qimir has to say is SO true and yeah manny is hot and amandla is hot and when you think about it he did kind of give her a knife lightsaber because he wants someone on that same level of enlightenment with him which does expose him to creating someone who could very well destroy him but he's taking that risk with her because he does Know her already from what he sees of himself and he's just going to get to know her better and they're both just going to keep talking it through and developing that set of beliefs together in That Beautiful Separation They Felt and she'll learn more about him and his particular history his real name and the scars on his back and also there's what he represents as a minority in the world and Headland's connection to him as a lesbian and how it feels like they don't want you to exist and let's not forget the colonial metaphors the manifest destiny of the way the jedi operate she'll see how alike they are and she'll be able to come into herself as an empowered user of the force and that'll be thanks to him and the journey will be Glorious!

but none of that is going to change the fact that before he made this intellectual/civilised/human/seductive approach with her as an adult HE STILL GROOMED HER SISTER and Osha is NEVER going to forget that because if she and Mae are the same person she's the only one left to remember he did that to her/them and I cannot fucking WAIT to see her lightsaber turn green when she finally runs it through his chest god bless 🥰