#fulcrum mention

[blaiddraws]

it appears "tomorrow" has brought sleepy cuddles... 2!!!! nimbasa edition

[kay-elle-cee]

Fulcrum || Read on ao3 || 1.2K Words

James Potter was used to being the center of the world as he knew it. It wasn’t by any kind of careful maneuvering or begging for attention, it was just…natural. Like breathing.

Whipped this up for James Potter Week over on Twitter. I’ve been thinking about it as a spiritual companion to Idolum, a little character study I did on Lily.

[cyber-streak-2]

Today’s Daily Krok: Much to think about… (also, fulcrum’s dainty hand on the very edge-)

The pose he’s in kind of reminds me of something.

[ihateujay]

🎱

[keefscafe]

having a Normal night thinking about cassian as fulcrum and my deep fear season 2 will remove that

[fellthemarvelous]

You ever think about the fact that part of the reason the Rebellion was able to take off was because the 212th and 501st didn't do their due diligence during Order 66?

The 212th didn't actually bother to check if Obi-Wan was dead because "no one could have survived that fall".

The 501st allowed Bail Organa to run off after witnessing them murder a Jedi youngling instead of killing him. Jedi sympathizers were supposed to be executed on sight just like the Jedi, and Bail was the Jedi's strongest ally in the Senate.

Not to mention, the 332nd Company all died without successfully killing Ahsoka because Rex disobeyed Order 66 and they were able to survive with each other's help.

Obi-Wan spent the rest of his life watching over Luke from afar and Bail adopted Leia. Ahsoka became Fulcrum and operated as an informant for the Rebellion. Captain Rex was part of the strike team that liberated Lothal and part of the Endor strike team that helped destroy Death Star 2.

[mintmatcha]

cw: cisfem reader, sex work mention, slight blood mention

“You don’t belong here.”

The man jumps, surprised, then dissolves into a chuckle as he brings his drink to his lips. There's something familiar about this face, hidden under the swollen cheekbone and bruised fat lip, but you can't place where you know him from. You apparently marvel too long, as the stranger cheeks grow redder by the second.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Um, yeah.” You gesture up and down him, “You’re stiff as a board and you tried to order food.”

The stranger scoffs into his drink, genuinely insulted for a moment before he dissolves back into his smile. There's no airs about him - a rare occurrence for the clientele here- and that knows you a bit off guard. "What’s wrong with ordering food?"

You ignore how the bartender shoots you a look when you slip into the seat beside your tall blonde and simply gesture to the place as if it explains itself- dim mood lighting, men in suits, women in dresses that barely cover anything. There's a woman on stage, perched on all fours and writhing ever so gracefully, arching her back as she slinks on the floor. Her quirk activates for a moment and her skin shimmers with a kaleidoscope of colors, a fairy under neon lights.

This place has the decency to call itself a gentleman's club. It has polished glasses and comfortable seats, but that doesn't change what it is. It's a strip club. Through and through. It's lacquered shine doesn't change anything underneath. It still reeks of malintent.

"What’s wrong with ordering food?" he repeats. He places his drink down and you take it before he can react, bringing it up to your lips with a playful grin. When he doesn't protest, instead just watching you with wide, wide eyes, you take a sip. It's strong enough to make your chest bloom with heat.

"I don't think they have food here."

"They do," he replies.

"Then you're going to pay six thousand yen for three bites of food." Your lipstick clings to the rim as you hand it back to him.

"Well," he sniffs, flinching at his own crinkled nose. It must be broken; there's flecks of dried blood lining his fulcrum. "Have you ever tried it?"

"Clearly not."

He takes a long chug from his drink and finished the glass. When he gestures for another, your lipstick has smudged on to his cheek. "Maybe it's worth the money then."

You laugh, and it's not your normal practiced giggle. It's real and loud enough that the bartender shoots you another look. He knows what you're supposed to be doing here, and it's not hanging with the slummiest man in the room. When you meet his eye, there's a bit of a silent conversation between you two.

I know, you try to tell him, Let me have my fun.

"What are you doing here?" You turn back to your current play thing. The man shrinks slightly, a sheepish smile creeping back onto his face.

"Long night," the stranger mumbles, "Needed a drink and, well-"

He looks towards the stage, where a mouse eared girl spins on her pole, dark braids the only thing covering her tits. She's short and thick in the places that make you look longer than you should

"Some pretty things to look at?" You finish for him.

He tears his eyes away and back to you. You don't miss how they flicker down, how they soften when you scooch closer.

"Does that make me a bad person?"

"I think it makes you a guy," you shrug. One of the better guys, in fact. The unashamed ones get grabby and mean; this one talks to you like he considers you a person.

"What's your name?" he asks suddenly. You debate giving him your real one for a second, but then you adjust your legs and feel the bite of your stiletto straps on your ankles.

"Star."

"I'm Taishiro."

You regard him again, soaking in all the little details about him. He's tall- insanely so. There's a fair amount of muscle on his frame and you think maybe, under those bruises, he's pretty.

"You a boxer, Tai?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I am," he hesitates, "How'd you know?"

"Well, your nose is broken, so you definitely fight, but you aren't a hero," you gesture to his clothes. Oversized sweatpants, and a loose long sleeve - he looks like someone that's cut weight lately. "I know all the heroes in the area, and you aren't one of them. I would have remembered your pretty face."

The stranger draws back a bit, brow scrunched with confusion, but a smile creeping across his face. He must not get compliments much. You slyly check his finger for a ring and find it empty. Good, but that doesn't mean anything. Lots of men take off their rings.

"And you aren't a bad guy or a villain. You don't have that scent to you."

He also doesn't smell like anyone else. If he slept next to someone, there'd be lingerings of them.

"Villains have a smell now?"

"To me, they do." You nap the side of your nose, "It's a quirk thing."

Your quirk sounds more useful than it is. There's a scent to bad intentions, something that lingers

He rolls his head to his shoulder and finally relaxes fully. "You can sniff out crime? Full on McGruff the Crime Dog?"

You mirror him. Ear to your shoulder, a slight grin tugged onto your lips, you say: "A dog? Are you calling me a bitch?"

The stranger blanches. His hand flies to his face so quickly that you're worried he's going to hit himself.

"Oh, geez, I didn't-"

You lean forward with a tinkle of laughter and pat his thigh. The muscle is tight and corded through the thick fabric. Messing with him is easy. Too easy. You almost feel bad for riling him up. "I'm teasing. I'm like a bloodhound."

"How does it work?" Taishiro asks, "What do I smell like?"

He smells like home cooking, with spices and herbs you can't quite place. It's homey, it's warm, it's familiar in ways you can't quite place. There's an edge in there you can't quite place, not quite sour or sweet, but just off enough that you know he's not being 100% truthful with you. You suspect his name isn't what he says, or his boxing career isn't exactly that.

You can't judge. Your name clearly isn't Star.

But, then again, he moves so earnestly that you have a hard time assuming he's bad in anyway, especially next to some of these men. One of them, an older man you unfortunately recognize, keeps looking at you. His smell is sweet in the same way rot is.

"It's a secret," you reply, "Just keep on behaving and you won't have to worry about it."

He laughs at that, big and booming enough that a couple of the girl walking around look your way, and you can't help but join it. You think, if you had met him anywhere else, if you were someone else, you'd pursue this further, let something develop between you.

But you aren't anyone else.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, suddenly, and you suddenly are hit with the guilt of reality.

"I gotta be honest with you." You peel your hand from his thigh. "I don't come to strip bars for the tits, baby."

"Do- do you work here?"

"Men buy my time." He stares at you blankly and you sigh. "My companionship for the evening. And my boss is going to get mad if I don't start schmoozing paying customers."

Taishiro furrows his brow, then widens his eyes as the realization hits him.

"Oh. Oh." He swallows and nods, clearly thinking this through. Just as you start to get up, he reaches for you, wide, wide, wide hand on your hip to keep you in place. "How much?"

Something inside you sinks. You should have expected this. "I didn't think you were interested in that."

"I'm not-- I mean, I am, but not like- well-" He staggers through his thoughts, "I just want to keep talking. Really. Maybe even split my food, if you want, but I don't- not that kind of companionship- just, like, normal companion stuff."

You sniff. He still smells the the truth, for the most part. You're not sure if you pity him.

"Two hundred thousand yen for the night," you say. "Ends at sun up- no exceptions."

"Oh," he perks up, head tilted like a puppy again, "That's it?"

"What does that mean?"

"I thought it was going to be--" he pauses and shakes his head, thinking better of it, "Yeah, that's okay."

"Do you think I'm cheap?" you gape.

"No, I just--" he laughs again, clearly embarrassed. "You just look really, really, really expensive?"

Despite yourself, with a roll of your eyes, you smile too. "Nice save."

He mum les to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. Most of your clients are experienced with this life, but the new ones are always like him. Nervous. Scared. You step closer to him, trailing your fingers down his arm. You both watch your manicured nails trace loose patterns.

"You really want to spend that kind of money to just have dinner with me?"

You'd fuck him. Of course you would. You expect him to crumble under the flirtations, just like the others did.

But he surprises you when he nods.

"Yeah, I am," Taishiro says, "Is that okay?"

You shrug. "It's your night. Anything you want is okay."

The hand on your waist squeezes tighter, but it's not sexual. It's comforting, almost normal.

"I guess I'll..." he says awkwardly, "Get cash?"

"Cash is good."

-

Taishiro knows this is a bad idea.

A horrible, awful, terrible idea.

Using his real name was stupid; he's lucky you incorrectly guessed his career. If he wasn't so thin right now, you might have recognized him. He'll if he's not careful, you could figure him out anyway.

If the media gets word of this, his career would be ruined. His poor interns would never meet his eye again. The headlines flash in his mind: FATGUM CAUGHT WITH PROSTITUTE. OR ESCORT. WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?

Well, he's sure they'd be more creative than that.

He shakes it out of his head. This isn't about sex. He's just... lonely. So, unbearably lonely. It's just a dinner, just something to stop him from going hone and wallowing by himself again. Sure, you're the prettiest thing that's ever talked to him-

He shakes that out of his head too.

[penny00dreadful]

Tags: no homophobia universe, 1920s, but with modern vibes, like Bridgerton, Eddie as Evie, Steve as Rick, Robin as Jonathan kinda but not really, Happy Ending, Gun Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Mummies, Non consensual kissing

For @hbyrde36 happy (early) birthday honey. 🥰

More tags and CWs on AO3

Part 2

Cairo - 1926

So…

Listen.

Eddie had never been the best at paying attention, especially when he got in the zone, got distracted by something.

And being surrounded by books on the subject of his own special interest was really just a disaster waiting to happen.

Yes, he was supposed to be sorting and organising.

Yes, he was supposed to be keeping a closer track of what books went where and what they had in stock.

That was literally his job description as a librarian.

But when he’d initially climbed up that ladder, his arms heavy with books to sort and stack, a new one had caught his eye, one he hadn’t read before. One concerning the ancient architect Imhotep, of whom there was very little written, very little known.

Before he knew it, his legs were aching and his ribs were in pain from being pressed up against the top rung for so long while he had stood there and gotten lost in the volume, book balanced against the ladder while Eddie himself leaned heavily against the shelf.

He only really snapped back to himself when the aches in his body were no longer able to be ignored but even then, he couldn’t tear himself away. He knew he needed to get back to work, just in case the curator decided to wander in and scold him again for nothing in particular. His favourite pastime.

But this book was like nothing he’d seen before. It mentioned a mysterious ledger or volume that Imhotep had kept, containing all of his “spells”. But on top of that, it also mentioned an earlier invasion of the Sea Peoples, previous to their first known landing in ancient Egypt and the man that had come ashore with them. Yellow hair, white skin, bright blue eyes. Apparently his thirst for power had been unmatched, even going as far as to siege Hamunaptra, The City of the Dead, to try and find the secret to immortality.

After that… he seemed to drop off the face of the earth. There was nothing else written about him.

With one eye still on his new discovery, already a decent way through, Eddie started to put the rest of the books away, half assed, reaching blindly out behind him.

It was a delicate balancing act, keeping himself upright on the ladder, keeping his book balanced and still within his eyeline as he leaned over and stopped the heavy volume he was supposed to be putting away from slipping through his fingers.

He missed the shelf twice, but finally felt it catch, leaning just that little bit further to slot it in amongst the other books.

But leaning just that little extra bit was where Eddie’s luck had completely run out because in one heart-stopping moment, the ladder shifted, tilting precariously backwards.

As the ladder tipped back, Eddie jerked forward, clutching at the top rung with white knuckled hands, somehow, somehow balancing on a fucking upright ladder like he was in some circus act.

The book he’d been reading went crashing to the floor with a sound of ripping pages that would normally haunt Eddie’s nightmares, but at the moment he was too busy clutching onto the ladder for dear life to give much of a shit.

He was way too fucking high for gravity to be kind to him and he tried desperately to cut through his panic and shift his body weight so he didn’t fall nearly ten feet down to the hard stone floor.

But it seemed that somebody up there either really loved him or really hated him.

Because he didn’t fall, he got his wish, but he did start to slowly tilt towards the shelf he had been leaning against but the tilt was fast and terrifying.

The ladder landed back against the heavy wooden shelf with a hard crack, the weight and momentum of Eddie plus the ladder plus fulcrums or some shit, shoving the shelf back until for a terrifying heartbeat, everything was still.

Eddie leaned against the ladder, heart pounding and eyes wide, the ladder leaning against the shelf and the shelf balancing on its back edge.

And then, everything was in motion again.

The shelf continued to drop out from under him until he landed, the wind being knocked out of him as the shelves continued to crash back and back and back, knocking into each other like some kind of comical domino effect, the whole fucking library coming down around him in a mess of fluttering pages and splintered wood.

The shelves had been set up in a circle so he had only just managed to get his senses back, rolling out of the way, before the ladder he had rested on just a second ago was crushed underneath the last shelf toppling down.

All at once, everything was quiet apart from pages fluttering and Eddie lying on the ground, his heart hammering in his throat against his messily knotted tie and his breathing was ragged, pressing against the buttons of the light blue wool waistcoat he had on, thinking ‘Shit, man, I nearly fucking died.”

If luck was on his side, nothing quite as dramatic as that would ever happen to him again, he didn’t know if he had the constitution for it.

The ceiling above him was placid and white and unmoved by the chaos that had just happened underneath and Eddie continued to stare up at it, trying to figure out just how monumentally fucked he was.

The door to the library opened slowly, almost comically loud amongst the settled silence after the anarchy of a minute ago and Eddie allowed himself one more moment of peace on the floor, thumb running ritualistically over the delicate pocket watch tucked inside his waistcoat, trying to calm himself. He kept his eyes closed and prayed for a miracle that didn’t come. With one last tap against the watch with his ankh ring, he pushed himself to his feet and turned to face his fate.

The curator had arrived, slowly turning, taking the destruction in with a kind of silent shocked horror that did not bode well for Eddie’s future here.

The curator made his final turn and their eyes met, his slack jawed face immediately tightening in anger.

“Do you make it your life’s mission as a Munson to wreak havoc and destruction?” He asked, almost breathless with rage. “Give me all the plagues of Egypt! They would be easier to handle!”

Eddie took a deep breath in and attempted to defend himself, even if he knew it would be futile.

“It was an accident–”

The curator scoffed back at him, throwing his hands up in demonstration. “When Rameses destroyed Syria, that was an accident. You are a fucking catastrophe! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t send you back to your uncle and be done with you!”

Eddie had to stay here. He had to. He hadn’t even gotten to go out on an expedition yet, he was an archaeologist only in theory so far.

“Listen, I’m sorry about this, okay? But you and I both know you need me here. I’m the only one who can translate–”

“Oh.” The curator cut him off with a cold laugh. “I need you here, do I? No, Munson. The only reason you’re here is to pay off your charlatan of a father’s debts. Though I’m beginning to think that just taking the monetary loss would be worth it, just so I could be rid of you.” Glaring at him one last time, the curator spat “Clean this fucking mess up and maybe, maybe I’ll consider letting you stay.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room before Eddie had a chance to respond, just leaving him there to deal with what was admittedly his mess but the guy didn’t have to be such a dick about it.

Fuck.

How the hell was he supposed to deal with all of this himself, he was just one guy and he wasn’t exactly built for like… hard labour.

He was a scholar.

And weedy as fuck.

It was fine, he could admit that about himself.

In what Eddie couldn’t decide was either a blessing or a curse, he had only just picked up a single book before a noise from the back storage room caught his attention.

Thing was, Eddie was not a superstitious man. If he could see it or taste it or smell it or touch it, it was real. Anything else was not something he believed in.

But either way, he’d never really liked the storage room of the museum.

The amount of artefacts back there, stuffed and wedged in so close to each other, crammed into shelves or taking up as much floor space as they could left the space feeling incredibly claustrophobic.

And the lighting in there was barely sufficient, which wouldn’t be the most comfortable at the best of times, but in a room that was full of mummified humans and cats and sarcophagi and canopic jars both symbolic and full of ancient human organs, it was downright eerie.

But honestly, anything available to distract him from the monumental task in front of him, Eddie would take it.

Which is what led to him skulking his way into the back rooms of the museum and trying to ignore the creeping fingers of dread skating up his back and crawling into his hair.

A few steps in, he stopped, almost holding his breath trying to listen out for another noise—and he was given one. A small thump coming from behind a large statue of the goddess Hathor.

Eddie’s throat closed around a swallow and he shook his hands out, hyping himself up to step around her and see what it was. If it did turn out to be some kind of undead walking mummy and he had any luck left, hopefully it would just be one of the cats. He could handle an undead cat.

He had only just managed to step around to her other side, one hand on Hathor’s giant calf (he hoped she didn’t mind) when something behind him grabbed his shoulder and he screamed.

His whole body seized up and he swung around, ready to fight Meresamun if he had to, but his panic was quickly washed away by indignation when he heard the cackling and finally realised it was Robin, doubled over and nearly weak with laughter. She was the one that had grabbed him, not some mummy come to life, of course.

What a ridiculous thought.

Robin was clutching at her stomach, leaning heavily against Hathor, her head resting on the statue's seated thigh (which she probably didn’t mind as much as Eddie’s touch) while Eddie was left standing there, trying to calm his heart down and huffing himself into a frenzy.

“Are you done?”

“You should have seen your face!”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest while Robin continued to giggle to herself. He gave her another five seconds of mirth before he’d finally had enough.

“I don’t need your spooky shenanigans right now, Buckley. I’ve got a lot of shit to clean up in the library, the Baembridge Scholars have rejected my application again because I apparently don’t have enough experience,” he released his arms to use air quotes, “and I am one more fuck up away from being shipped back to Indiana—”

Eddie frowned. Robin was doing nothing but continuing to smile at him, like his complaining was cute.

“What?” He snapped.

She just shrugged, coy and nonchalant.

“Oh, nothing.” She rested her elbow where her head had once been, against Hathor’s thigh. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I have a present for you?”

“Really?” Eddie immediately perked up because who didn’t love presents? He held a grabby hand out. “Gimme.”

Robin tutted at him.

“Say please.”

“Is it something I’ll actually give a fuck about this time?” He glowered at her. “Or is it another one of your ooky spooky haunted artefacts or dense as fuck language texts disguised as a present?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged, pulling something from her pants pocket and holding it out to him. “You tell me.”

He snatched the small metal hexagonal box from her, turning it over in his hands and settling himself down on Hathor’s plinth.

Slightly indented on the bottom, most of the sides equal in size apart from two which felt slightly thicker, and grooves in the top telling him there must be some way to open it, though he could see none.

“It’s a puzzle box.” He muttered to himself as Robin sat down next to him.

His brain was whirring immediately trying to figure it out, so much so, he barely heard Robin speak next to him, “I haven’t been able to figure out how to—”

With a click, Eddie pressed his fingers into two sides, twisting, while sliding a near invisible latch on the bottom and the grooves on the top flipped open.

“Well, now you’re just showing off.”

There was a delicate and almost crumbling piece of paper folded in the middle, almost shoved in like it wasn’t supposed to be there.

Eddie pulled his sleeve over his hand, gently tipping the paper into it and looked down to the mechanism underneath. Indents, more grooves and spokes. It looked like it was meant to fit into something, the metal flaps at the top that had fallen open, indented in a very similar way.

“It… it looks like a key of some kind.” He muttered to himself.

With delicate and covered fingers, he carefully unfolded the piece of paper in front of him, expecting hieroglyphs or maybe some Ancient Greek text but instead he was faced with… a map?

Was he in some kind of pirate novel or something? Maps like this just didn’t exist in the real world.

“Where the hell did you find this?” He asked, casting a cursory eye over it, vaguely recognising it led to somewhere in Egypt, based on the landmarks, the ink, the papyrus paper type and the script.

Robin shrugged, something cheeky in her eye. “From a friend.”

“You don’t have friends.” He replied, glancing up at her before looking back down. There was something itching at the back of his mind. Something telling him this map was important and he just wasn’t seeing it yet.

“I have lots of friends!” She huffed. “You just don’t know any of them.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Worried I'd be too cool for them?”

“Yeah, sure.” She scoffed back. “The girls down at Sappho’s Bar would definitely look at you and think ‘cool’.”

“Hey, just because I’m not their type doesn’t mean they wouldn’t think I’m cool!”

“There’s bi girls there too, you know.”

“Exactly, they’d think I’m cool.”

Robin snorted. “No they wouldn’t.”

He pouted, looking back towards the map, trying to figure out what he was missing when all at once, it clicked. 

This was… no way…

He’d only just read about it in that book before disaster hit and now there was a map… here… in front of him?

What were the odds?

“Fuck me, Buckley.” He breathed.

“I’d rather not.”

“He didn’t even listen to me!” Eddie growled for what must have been the fifth time, knocking back his drink while Robin patted him on the shoulder, again. “Did you hear him? Are you going to chase the Bracelet of Anubis next, Munson? What a fucking asshole.”

He could hear Robin muttering to herself, probably losing her patience with him and his bitching considering how long it had been going on but come on!

This had been his chance.

At this stage the only excavation he would have to his name would be the plaster dinosaur skeletons in the museum's sandbox with the rest of the children.

The fucking curator, his boss had barely even considered a word out of his mouth that this ancient fucking map that had popped out of an ancient fucking puzzle box was something worth pursuing.

He’d never make any discoveries worth while if no one would fucking let him do anything.

“Okay, listen.” Robin plucked his next drink from his fingers, tossing it back her own throat. “I know a guy who can help. He’ll get us there.”

“Oh, really?” He asked, turning his half irritated, half defeated glare her way. “And how is this guy supposed to help? If he’s a benefactor for expeditions, why hasn’t he hired people already, then? Why would he help us? And based on your cryptic ‘I know a guy’, it suggests that I do not know this guy. And I know every eccentric benefactor out there, I’ve sent them all letters and no one will take a Munson on. So either you’re lying to me or you’re being conned.”

“Neither, actually. He’s an old friend.”

“You can still be conned by an old friend. Ask anyone who used to call my dad ‘friend’. This guy is probably gonna jump ship as soon as he gets his hands on some valuable artefact to sell back to some foreign museum because that’s apparently something some consider morally and ethically okay.”

Robin sighed, looking at him with big pleading eyes. “Just… trust me, okay?”

“Okay, fine.” Eddie was powerless against those eyes. “Let’s go see Mr. Richy-Rich McMoneybags who just so happens to have an innocent and purely academic interest in Egyptology.”

“I never said anything about his interests being purely academic.”

“Ah HA!” He pointed at her.

“They’re not profit driven either! Jesus Christ Eddie, would you just—”

“Fine, fine! I said we’ll go, so let’s go.” This was going to be a fucking disaster. “Let’s go see the rich old man.”

“He’s not old.”

“Right, right, yeah sure. Okay, so we’re going to go see your bosom buddy, the not-old Mr. Richy-Rich McMoneybags who has a not purely academic interest in Egyptology.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?” Robin blinked at him, trying to turn her eyes big and innocent but he could tell underneath she was enjoying herself far too much.

Eddie gestured around to the fucking prison she had just lead him into and the empty cell sitting in front of them, waiting to be occupied by this apparently wealthy, not old but also fucking imprisoned friend of hers.

“The guy’s locked up. What good is he to us locked up?”

She shrugged. “We’ll just get him out.”

“Oh, we’ll get him out will we? How the fuck are we going to do that?” Eddie dragged his hand through his hair. “You ever committed a jail break before?”

“No,” she shrugged back, nonchalant and unbothered, “but I’m sure I could learn to. That’s something you’d be familiar with, right?”

Eddie dropped his head back to look at the ceiling. “That was different!”

“Different how?”

“Well it was 6,000 miles away in Indiana for a start.”

Robin waved him off. “Semantics.”

“How did you even get that artefact from this guy? You’re no pickpocket. How do you even know him?”

“I didn’t pickpocket him. I told you. He’s an old friend.”

He scoffed at her, hands on his hips. “You’re such a bullshit artist.”

Eddie turned on his heel, intent on stomping his way out of the fucking prison but Robin grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Eddie, Eddie I swear I’m not bullshitting you. I swear. Just hear the guy out, okay?”

He turned back around to stare her down, searching, practically trying to read her mind but he could find only sincerity.

“Fine, but when this guy turns out to be some kind of con artist or creep or fucking… whatever, you’re buying me my drinks for the next year.”

Robin smiled at him like she’d already won. “Deal.”

A door inside the cell in front of them crashed open and two guards pushed their way in, roughly shoving another man through, covered in tatty rags and looking wild with a mess of unwashed long hair and a thick beard covering the bottom half of his face.

This was Robin's old friend benefactor guy?

Benefactor guy, now down on his knees, behind bars, didn’t even deign to look at him. He seemed for all the world like he was above everything happening and adjusting his rags as though he was in white tie, shrugging off the guards hands on his shoulders.

“Robbie.” He said with a crooked smile. “Nice to finally see you again. Took you long enough.”

Eddie’s body involuntarily tensed as hazel eyes slid over to him, but only for a second, like he wasn’t worth the attention before he looked back at Robin. “Who’s the guy?”

Eddie’s eyebrows flew up into his hair.

“I— He started to bite out, but he was cut off before he could even gather steam.

“This is Eddie. Eddie, this is Steve-”

“This is Eddie?” Steve snorted, giving him a scathing up and down. “Doesn’t look much like an archeologist.”

Eddie’s hands, resting against his hips, balled into his trousers and he ran a tongue over his teeth, trying and failing to hold back his bite.

“Bold words for a caveman behind bars.”

Steve didn't even acknowledge he'd spoken. “C’mon Robbie. I thought you said you were going to help me out, not pick up some… hermit.”

“Excuse you, I am a scholar. Have you seen yourself, who the hell are you calling a hermit–”

“Eddie is everything I told you he is, Steve, and more.” Robin had her hands up now, trying to mediate between the two of them. “And he’s your ticket out of here so maybe you could put the mean girl away for five minutes?” She ended on a hiss.

Steve rolled his eyes, the arc leaving them landing back on Eddie again who continued to scowl.

“I dunno, Robin.” Eddie shrugged, trying to gain an air of nonchalance that probably wasn't working. “I think he looks pretty comfortable here.” He sent a condescending salute Steve’s way. “We’re good without you, man. But thanks for the puzzle box.”

He turned, shooting a wave over his shoulder. He had only managed to get a few steps before Steve called out behind him, teasing and bitchy, stopping him in his tracks.

“But were you able to open it, though?”

Eddie inhaled, deep and settling. Or at least that was the idea. Counting to ten didn’t seem to do much for his mood either but he tried, god damn it.

Mouth set in a firm line, he turned back around.

Steve was grinning at him, that crooked upward tilt of the corner of his mouth just barely visible through the months of beard build-up, smug and challenging.

Eddie crossed his arms again.

“And if I did?”

Robin, who had pulled a guard to the side, chatting to him in rapid fire Masri, hands flying and clearly engaging. She was distracting the guard from the two of them, giving them a chance to talk about whatever which was only made clearer when she sent him a wide eyed stare over the guards shoulder, somehow both telling him to be nice and talk to him.

“So,” Steve dragged his eyes up and down Eddie’s body, bored and unconcerned about his surroundings. “You’re here about Hamunaptra then.”

Eddie blinked at him, his mouth hanging open and his heart thudding loudly in his chest. “How do you even know about that?”

“Because that’s where w–” Steve stopped himself short with an awkward little throat spasm that he tried to disguise as a cough, like that was hiding whatever he had been about to say. “That’s where I was when I found the box.”

“Bullshit.”

Steve flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Or don’t believe me, I don’t care.”

Eddie was almost at a loss for words.

“You’ve been to Hamunaptra? You?”

Steve just smiled, sharp, knowing he'd caught his fish.

Fuck sake. This was all such a major crock of bullshit. But Robin had to have brought him here for a reason. The guy seemed to have Robin well and truly under his spell somehow and despite his previous misgivings about her being conned, he did trust Robin. He trusted her judgement and he didn’t think she would be the type to be so easily taken in by some guy claiming to have been to a mythical city without any evidence aside from the puzzle box unless there was something substantial there.

“Okay…” Eddie sighed, unfurling his fists only to shove his hands into his pockets. “Okay. You tell me how to get there and I’ll get you out of here.”

Steve gave him another look up and down, almost appraising him and with a cocky crook of his finger, beckoned him closer.

“You want me to tell you how to get there?”

Eddie hesitated, not wanting to give into the arrogance but his need to know was stronger. He stepped forward until he was standing in front of the bars, Steve on his knees behind them, looking up at him with big downturned eyes that somehow looked both innocent and dangerous.

Steve gestured him down lower, like he was wanting to share a secret and Eddie supposed he was, in a way.

Eddie crouched down, hands out of his pockets, elbows on his knees, leaning a little further in, desperate to know, to learn, to have the thing that would finally put him in amongst the other archaeologists.

But then he didn’t even have a moment to react, a moment to think.

His chin was grabbed in between firm fingers and he was pulled forward, sending him off balance, only barely managing to catch himself against the bars of the cell.

Eddie’s mouth was open in a gasp and his eyes were wide as a set of dry and chapped lips pressed against his own and there was the barest swipe of a tongue entering his mouth.

“You’ve got a deal.” Steve hissed, pulling back to speak into his mouth before it was all over and Steve was ripped away by the two guards behind him.

One of them cracked him hard over the back with their baton while Eddie was frozen in place unable to do anything but gape in shock.

That fucker just kissed him!

What the fuck?!

A hand closed around his shoulder, pulling him gently back and he looked over to Robin, ready to bitch her the fuck out about her ‘old friend’ who took entirely too many liberties, never mind how Eddie had felt about it at the time, but he faltered at the look on her face.

She was wringing her hands in front of her staring at the door Steve had just been dragged through like she could will him back in front of them.

“So… minor update on the situation.” She said, while Eddie tried to wipe the tingle away from his lips. “Steve’s about to be hanged.”

He nearly choked on thin air.

“Steve’s about to be what?! Since when?!”

“It’s a new development! You can bust him out, right?”

Eddie stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve broken out of prison before, haven’t you? That’s what everyone says about you.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie hid his head in his hands. “That’s a rumor. Shit that’s whispered behind my back because those yuppie fucks wouldn’t know an actual criminal if they came up and snatched the fucking silver spoon from their mouths! They all think because my dad is a lowlife thief, that I’m the same and, okay. Maybe I spent a night in jail back in Indiana but that was nothing and I bribed the guard to let me go so, like, technically—”

“Do you think we’d be able to bribe Steve out?”

“Well you’d better fucking hope so, because if you seriously brought me here hoping we’d somehow be able to smuggle him out of a prison full of guards in the middle of the day then—”

“Okay, okay I get it, it was a stupid idea. At least I have access to Steve’s funds.”

“Wait, what the fuck? You’ve had access to his money the whole time? You could have funded me the whole time?”

“This is an emergency, Edward!”

“God, fine!”

Eddie was forced to watch as Robin attempted to barter for her friend's life, terribly.

Apparently she seemed to think that low balling them first, like they were haggling for fucking spices was the way to go and it was doing nothing but pissing the guards off.

He looked on, heart in his throat as Steve was shoved to stand over a trapped door, a rope being tugged around his neck while Robin frantically tried to raise the price to no avail.

There was a horrible sound of wood clapping as the trapped door fell open and Steve dropped. Only a short distance, not long enough to break his neck but still leaving him slowly suffocating to death, his face turning the most horrible shade of purple as his body began to convulse.

Robin was up to $1,000 which, while it was a substantial chunk of money, clearly wasn’t doing it for them.

“$5,000!” He blurted out, going as high as he could conceivably go without fainting. It was nearly double what he earned in a year, once his repayments in the name of Al Fucking Munson had been taken out, but as long as Robin wasn’t full of shit about how much Steve was worth, the guy could take the hit if it meant saving his life.

Part 2 AO3

My biggest thanks and much love to @pearynice and @hitlikehammers for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

[roy-dcm2]

Ruminations on the Fierce Deity, and other Masks

What is the Fierce Deity? That's been the question since Majora's Mask came out. Aonuma told us something a few years back - The Mask contains "the memories of all the people of Termina."

What does that mean?

Let point out that in the land of Termina, Masks are Magic. This is not limited to Link or the Happy Mask Salesman. In Kafei's sidequest, we see the couple put two masks together, and a new Mask is born out of thin air.

Some fans believe that the Fierce Deity might have been an ancient God. But, with this observation in mind, the Fierce Deity's Mask could have genuinely manifested wholly by itself.

How did Majora get the Feirce Deity's Mask?

(Side note - there used to be a theory that Majora created the Fierce Deity Mask, but I think we can discard that because we never see Majora create any masks.)

Did you know that the Gossips Stones mention the Fierce Deity's Mask? "The Fierce Deity Mask, a mask that contains the merits of all masks seems to be… somewhere in this world…"

Gossips stones are like hubs used to communicate gossip between the Sheikah and their allies. The FDM allegedly contains the merits of ALL masks, not just the ones Link acquires in game, you can assume. So that would make it a very powerful mask.

We know that the HMS likes to collect rare masks, so it is very likely the Happy Mask Salesman had it with him when he was attacked by the Skull Kid. It is also likely that he carried the Boss Masks that would be used to "imprison" the Four Giants.

What are the Four Boss Masks?

Majora's Mask takes place in the three days leading up to "the Carnival of Time" and it is tradition to wear masks during the carnival. Let's remember that The Legend of Zelda series has a lot of it's roots in Japanese Shinto traditions, and in Japan there are several festivals where masks are very popular, including ones of demons.

The four boss masks could be common Festival Masks in Termina, representing powerful monsters from each of the regions folklore.

Or, they might actually be rare masks worn by the real monsters, that he Happy Mask Salesman managed to collect.

Majora imprisoned the Four Giants in the form of each Boss Monster, maybe as a way of mocking their helplessness in the situation. (Or very simply to get them out of the way, while he destroys the world.)

That is also essentially what he did to Link. Skull Kid transformed him into a Deku Scrub to get him out of the way.

(I guess the Triforce of Courage allowed to Link to remain in control of himself, instead of "disappearing" into his new identity. There could be an alternate universe where Link assumed the role of the Deku Butler's son.)

The Four Giants became linchpins of Majora's plans. Since the Giants protect each of the territories, he to get them out of the way. Once the Giants were under his control, Majora could wreak havoc across the four lands. It's a bit strange that the Boss Monsters are disconnected from whatever ails the land. For example, Ghot isn't making things cold, and Gyorg isn't what is making the seas boil. They're just the fulcrum where Majora's curse radiates from.

It could be the Feirce Deity was the one who slew the original versions of the Boss Monsters. Or, more accurately, in the ancient times Termina was beset by monsters, and the feelings of the people of Termina manifested a powerful Mask that a hero wore to destroy the monsters.

Alternatively, an ancient hero performed so many good deeds, that a mask he carried, could have transformed into the Fierce Deity Mask after his passing. Then the mask itself was revered and worshiped as the mask of a Hero.

The Fierce Deity represents the positive energy, good feelings, and good deeds of all the people in Termina. The perfect foil for Majora's Mask, that thrives on the energy of despair and misery.

[blaiddraws]

I like the idea that that comic takes place in continuity with "Ringing Ears": Ingo knows first-hand what Kyurem did, and still wants to help it.

(the comic) ("ringing ears")

it!! does!! if anything, getting that first hand experience made him want to help it even more. It's one thing Knowing something, but to actually experience it as the other did. you can't get more Empathy than that.

but. yeah. he's just. ingo my beloved <3

[oftenlyshitposting]

i just thought of something fucking funny

think of ezra's blaster-saber and how appalling it would be in huyang's mechanical eyes and memory circuits. thought about it?

good, because i'm gonna raise you a more atrocious creation that i think sabine should make.

think of one of sabine's vambraces, imbued with a retractable lightsaber so in case she loses grip of her actual lightsaber, she has a backup saber ready.

like yes, her vambraces are already equipped with a number of offensive and defensive mechanisms like her mini rockets, flamethrower, and grapplewire.

imagine adding a mini, shoto-like lightsaber into it.

that is the perfect Chaotic yet Practical weapon for a jedilorian such as sabine wren, and you can't convince me otherwise LMFAOAJDKSODKSO

say sabine had already built her own new lightsaber; it's beautiful and the hilt is very sabine-like. now, imagine that while choosing her crystal, another crystal calls to her, a much smaller one. so, without ahsoka or huyang knowing, sabine bonds with both.

when she heard mandalore is liberated and flourishing, she went there to see; where she was met again with bo-katan and introduced to the armorer. now that beskar ore isn't as scarce as it used to be, sabine requests the armorer if she could make an upgrade to her vambraces and her beskar.

sabine constructs her shoto lightsaber, and true to her guess, it's small enough to fit just right in one of her vambraces. the hilt of her shoto lightsaber is made of beskar as well, and when she assembles her new and upgraded vambraces, both bo-katan and the armorer was thoroughly shocked at sabine's new creation, but bo-katan wasn't entirely surprised that sabine thought of such weapon. the armorer didn't entirely agree with such creation, but she was impressed when sabine showed it in action.

sabine hadn't told ahsoka yet, but she kinda didn't have to, because bo-katan told the jedi master herself when sabine wasn't around. ahsoka came to mandalore to pick sabine up for a mission, and was welcomed by the mand'alor and the armorer.

"did you know that your apprentice built a small lightsaber and embedded it into one of her vambraces?" bo-katan casually mentioned to ahsoka over a drink, and the mand'alor had to hold her laugh at ahsoka's baffled expression on her face.

"what do you mean sabine built a lightsaber in her vambraces?" ahsoka repeated, still processing the information, fully facing the mand'alor now.

"this is true, i helped her make it," came in the armorer's voice, as bo-katan sips on her drink, "i, too, was like you. completely baffled by her proposition. but, the weapon does come in quite handy. especially for a mandalorian jedi such as her."

"i have an ancient jedi professor droid with me who would consider sabine's new creation atrocious." ahsoka sighed, earning a small laugh from bo-katan and the armorer. the jedi master shakes her head, not out of disdain, only amusement. "but, he doesn't need to know about it yet."

sabine eventually used it in battle with ahsoka, and was rather panicking when the battle ended and ahsoka saw the still ignited vambrace-saber. sabine tried to clarify whatever it is she thought she needed to clarify, but ahsoka only laughed, which further confuses sabine.

"don't worry," ahsoka said at her, patting her shoulder with a lingering laugh, "bo-katan and the armorer had already told me about it when i went to pick you up on mandalore."

"wait," sabine was in disbelief, "you're not... mad?"

ahsoka chuckled. "sabine, i'm not a lightsaber professor droid nor a purist. that's huyang's job. besides," she nudges at her padawan playfully, "we're both very far from traditional jedi. i wield two lightsabers, and you are a mandalorian jedi padawan who technically also wield two lightsabers."

sabine laughs, agreeing with ahsoka. "i suppose so."

"just make sure to keep it away from huyang," ahsoka said as they made their way back to the fulcrum, "that might send his wires loose."

BONUS:

ezra visited the fulcrum crew and sabine showed him the vambrace-saber, and ezra was so impressed and was actually excited about the creation that he was inspired to assemble an upgraded version of his old blaster-saber. he wanted to make a pair; one for himself, and the other for sabine.

huyang found out about both atrocities, and since then, neither sabine or ezra were allowed to set foot inside his lightsaber assembly/storage area without his or ahsoka's supervisions. despite everything, huyang had to admit to himself, against his own will, that sabine's vambrace-saber and ezra's blaster-saber are rather effective weapons.

disney/filoni if you ever adopt this chaotic weapon idea design @ me so i can get my coins

[optiwashere]

Please write your thoughts about the importance of Shadowheart for Shar/Selûne :D

I FEED on character analysis.

SO!!!! This got long as fuck and also morphed into what you asked + a general character interpretation.

I relied on a combination of 2nd, 3rd, and 5th edition D&D lore, R.A. Salvatore novels, and of course BG3 as sources. Shadowheart's characterization adds up the most coherently on the purely romance / "get her away from Shar" path, and that is what I'm using as a basis for this post. Even when you're playing an "evil" route, she behaves in ways that betray a lot of what I get into under the break. This post, however, is biased towards the "good" path of her personal quest for the sake of my sanity and a somewhat reasonable word count.

First, a preamble for people that are maybe less knowledgeable about Forgotten Realms lore.

One of the biggest characterizations of Shar and Selûne in the Forgotten Realms is that they are twin sides of the same thing: night. Night as an aesthetic is symbolic of, among other things: mysteries, being lost without guidance (such as in faith or purpose), and finding oneself when one reaches for the truth. I.e., reaching light from the moon, stars, or daybreak (which is itself a symbol as the natural conclusion of darkness being light for redemption following suffering, goodness defeating evil, finding faith, etc.)

Shar and Selûne are sisters that also share the Night domain in 3e, a sort of fulcrum they both work around — Shar as the "malevolent" darkness with Selûne as the "benevolent" night. There is even a recognized heresy called the Dark Moon heresy in both cults/religions that Shar and Selûne are actually the same goddess playing one gigantic trick on Faerûn (this comes from a 3.5e splatbook called Power of Faerûn) but it's been pushed time and time again that the two sisters are, in fact, two separate entities. But duality of divinity, and how worshipers interpret their god, is a theme we see played up a ton in BG3.

What we know about Shar is that she despises her sister. Loathes her. Not only does she loathe her, she tricked Selûne's followers during the Time of Troubles, about 140 years before BG3, into worshiping her instead of the Moonmaiden. The Time of Troubles was a period when gods walked the Realms, rather than tossing avatars around everywhere. This lead to the formation of a fanatical group of cultists that followed the real Selûne, called the Lunatics (I'm still proud of managing to reference them in a goddamn Explicit PWP fic)

Meanwhile, Selûne is seen as a calming force. She wars with her sister every single night, and does not like her one bit, but she does it as a means to protect others from her sister rather than as a spiteful game. She's not as omnipresent in people's lives, she is just a natural force to a lot of her followers.

How does any of this relate to Shadowheart? Spoiler stuff and the actual character analysis under the break.

We know that Shadowheart was a "chosen" of Selûne as a child, per her parents' dialogue under the House of Grief. However, it's important to note that most religions in Faerûn name potential clerics as "chosen" ones of gods and goddesses.

We know that, throughout the game, Shadowheart learns that she is being manipulated by the Lady of Loss to do acts that go against some sort of internalized moral code that Shadowheart has. We see her approval go up when you do good acts (as long as you ask for compensation, or if it's to help helpless people/animals) and we see her disapprove when you press her boundaries or act unjustly cruel. "Unjust" is left so vague because she does not behave at all according to how the vast majority of Sharrans behave. There are numerous other flags for approval/disapproval such as her enjoying playful chaos, or disliking when you're too trusting of other companions when you first meet them, but we'll focus on the first set I mentioned.

We also know that Shadowheart was continually subjected to memory erasure via the cult of Shar in Baldur's Gate. This gets mildly restored here and there via the tadpoles and Dame Aylin, but her memory is mostly gone. So this moral code is something ingrained in her somehow, because Sharrans don't have kindness training. There's another entire character analysis to be written about Viconia's role in this as it relates to her own character in Baldur's Gate 2, but let's ignore that for now.

In the cloister under the House of Grief, there is a note you can find that outlines the squad sent to find the artifact that protects everyone from the Absolute's domination. The squad has a leader, and it is not Shadowheart. She is listed as "healer" and the text before this explicitly states that the entire squad is expendable. None of them matter to Shar.

BUT!

Divine visitation by a goddess is incredibly rare. It usually only happens to high level clerics, which Shadowheart isn't really even at 12th-level, and to those that the goddess has an extreme, vested interest in. If you free the Nightsong/Dame Aylin instead of killing her, Shadowheart is wrenched out of the Material Plane and made to suffer for an indeterminate amount of time. That, plus literally meeting Shar in the conclusion to her personal question, is very odd given what we know about Shadowheart.

If we presume that Larian did their jobs, and I'm going to because I trust them, then there is an immediate dilemma presented here. Either Shadowheart matters to Shar (she is not expendable), or she is just another zealot (she is expendable.) There is no half-truth in that logic table that really works for Shar, she's an absurdly dogmatic goddess. See: literally any Sharran you encounter in BG3 that isn't Shadowheart. It's possible that the writer of the note didn't know what they were talking about, but I think that's a lazy out that doesn't hold water with the rest of the evidence.

So, which is it? This being the part where I'm mostly in interpretation territory, Shar views Shadowheart as the perfect puppet, a toy to needle at her sister, not because she is important at all as a person, but because she's a representation of Selûne that Shar can mold to suit her image as she did in the Time of Troubles. We hear that in the game when Shadowheart basically says that she was just a thing for Shar to use. She's beaten into (what Shar believes will be) submission for not becoming a Dark Justiciar, but it only serves to sever the tie between cleric and goddess.

Shadowheart is Shar's answering play to Selûne beating that trick from the Time of Troubles, and there will be another Shadowheart after her eventual death. Shadowheart is both incredibly important and utterly worthless to Shar in the same way that an abuser uses affection and trust to hurt their victims. Love bombs in the form of divine power, sending her on this important mission, and offering the title of Dark Justiciar are followed by pain when Shadowheart displeases her. As if, on a whim, all that supposed mutual respect could turn into non-consensual, extreme violence.

Shadowheart is an objectified opportunity for Shar to fuck with Selûne for the entirety of a single half-elf's lifespan (anywhere from 150-200 years) and nothing more. A plaything to discard when all is said and done after a microcosm of time where a goddess is concerned. Whatever Shadowheart thinks she's benefiting from with Shar, it's all a trick. It's a massive delusion with which she's been brainwashed into participating.

And deep down, deep deep way deep down, Shadowheart knows this even in Act One. She spouts random sayings and the sorts of 2edgy4me one-liners that you would expect from a somewhat goth-y, slightly sassy Stock Evil Cleric in a fantasy RPG. For a good portion of Act One, you wouldn't be wrong to assume she's extremely one note and a total zealot. That is, unless you know two things:

That Shar is a fucking menace in Faerûn, and nothing good ever comes naturally from her cult. Anyone that knows FR lore was probably like me when they first interacted with Shadowheart. I know I basically said, "What the fuck, you're not a Sharran lmao. Either Larian goofed hard, or something's fishy here."

That extraordinarily devout people tend not to babble in verse, prayer, and all that unless they are also trying to convince themselves to have more faith in a set of beliefs that they're not entirely sold on. This isn't 100% of the time, but it's something you see in people whose faith is not very strong. People who have ironclad faiths and hold consistent ideologies tend to rely more on personal interpretation of faith, for good or ill. You see this all over BG3 in the people that are more confident in their beliefs, as well. Isobel, Orin, and Z'rell are three wildly different angles on that, for example. It's really all over the game in the NPCs.

That second point is the more important one here. Shadowheart, in Act One, is constantly talking about her goddess. If she's not hiding the artifact from you, she's couching an event in concern over what Shar would think of how she behaved. Like she's still a scared child who doesn't know how to handle what's happening around her despite being completely capable in scenarios as hectic as melee combat with ogres. The difference shines bright as day if you play a follower of Selûne and push back on her beliefs, though you do of course get a lot of vitriol in the beginning. Even so, it's clear that Shadowheart knows something is off about Shar whenever confronted with actual Sharran activity/belief, but she's been brainwashed and abused so horrendously that she constantly tries to "correct" herself to appease her abuser.

Selûne, however, isn't really a "part" of Shadowheart's quest in the same way as Shar. The Moonmaiden is not an active participant, she is not a guiding hand or even a faint idea in Shadowheart's thought processes because of how intense the memory blending got for her. The most we ever really get of Selûne's opinion comes from external sources (pretty much entirely from Shadowheart's parents, Isobel, and Aylin when she's not PROCLAIMING DIVINE RIGHTS.) To the Moonmaiden, Shadowheart is really just another of her many, many children spread throughout the Realms. Yet, Shadowheart retains that sense of inherent goodness that Selûne instils in her followers.

Unlike the Lady of Loss, Selûne's indifference isn't hateful or spiteful at all. For Selûne, the ultimate goal of any of her followers is to find themselves. To illuminate who they are meant to be by moonlight. Two of her domains in 3rd edition are Protection and Travel, and in 5e she has Knowledge as well, while one of her "mantles" (the domain equivalent for psionics) is Freedom. She wants to give her followers the ability to freely tread whichever road will lead to self-actualization.

Selûne demands almost nothing of her own followers so long as they act according to the basic tenets of a traditionally Chaotic Good deity. She accepts flaws, faults, and failures in her clerics as much as she rewards strengths, virtues, and victories. There is no divine intervention from Selûne because she accepts Shadowheart intrinsically as long as Shadowheart finds herself. All it took for Selûne to take Shadowheart back after forty years of being a fanatical Sharran was saving one person, and trusting one of two people that we know she's let in for that forty years (the PC, as well as possibly Nocturne) — Selûne sees that she's an abuse victim at the heart of it all.

Side-note: Selûne's primary holy symbol is two eyes surrounded by stars. She is always a passive witness to her clerics' deeds. I don't think I need to get into that symbolism.

Whenever given the chance, Shadowheart values freedom incredibly highly. Even in someone she can take the entire game to warm up to, such as Lae'zel. Her dialogue after Lae'zel denounces Vlaakith speaks directly to this. It's seen repeatedly in her comments on other characters' personal quests such as Astarion, or Karlach, and with Lorroakan's intent on imprisoning Aylin in Act 3.

Once Shadowheart is pulled away from Shar's influence in the end of Act 2/early Act 3, she is... not a completely different person, but she is absolutely a calmer individual that also allows her emotions to surface more intensely. If you're romancing her by Act 2, she confesses that she wants to be with the PC (forever) IMMEDIATELY after being punished horrifically by Shar; she progresses the romance far faster once Shar is out of her brain; she cries, alone, in front of the PC if she chooses to listen to her parents and spare herself from Shar while also killing them. She's known this entire time that she's purposefully holding parts of herself back, and this is her immediate reaction to being set free.

Of course, it's a video game and things aren't always perfectly paced, especially considering the implementation of the Long Rest system. Much of this interpretation requires you to accept that.

After the small dialogue about Shar's intervention after the Gauntlet, the narrator comments that you're not sure if telling Shadowheart where her divine power now comes from will break her spirit forever. That's interesting, and it makes her almost manic change to "I have to be with this person forever" in the romance so utterly sad. Shadowheart is an almost textbook depiction of someone who struggles immensely with vulnerability and emotional openness due to childhood neglect and abuse. Even worse, she's been suffering that neglect and abuse for forty-plus years and she cannot remember what life was like before the time when she constantly yearned for the approval of her abuser. When she's set free and given the appropriate space to manage her feelings (all of the times she asks to be given space/asks the PC to respect her boundaries), support from friends and loved ones in the way Larian handled the camp crew's reactions to everyone's personal quests, and a purpose in life that extends beyond her abuser, she flourishes almost immediately.

To Selûne, Shadowheart is simply another person finding themselves in a world that's incredibly difficult to navigate. Under Shar's domination, Shadowheart will never be anything more than a useful puppet that dances happily whenever her goddess asks, pleased to be what she thinks is useful as she wears the false title of Dark Justiciar. With Selûne watching but not pushing, Shadowheart can be free of everything but her own choices, her own mistakes and victories. Her own person, freed from expectation.

P.S. "Breaking out of toxic thought patterns" is a common thread in the companion romances and quests. In a similar way to how Astarion uses sexuality to mask a part of himself in his romance, Shadowheart sees all this time she's spent holding herself back as an excuse to reverse course and accelerate ridiculously fast by comparison.

My point is, she is a U-Haul Lesbian.

[random-kido]

Ough you put these thoughts down so well. Fulcrum probably being the youngest yet still being stuck in the past tge most out of everyone is something that's crossed my mind before but for admittedly much sillier reasons

However I've kinda had the thought that due to how much he's missed, the others had to get a hold of one of those history chips that magnus gave to tailgate (probably from brainstorm) so he could catch up with everything that happened the last couple million years while he was asleep. If not one, then a couple of them so he learns in spaced out intervals so he has a chance to ask krok any questions the chips may not be able to give him and that way he's not as wildly overwhelmed by the onslaught of information being fed straight into his brain.

Sort of a ramble, sort of me just writing my thoughts out while I'm stuck with writer's block, but I keep thinking about how Fulcrum was in stasis for roughly 3 million years??

Like, that's a long time, even for Cybertronians. Not a really long time, not an entire lifespan. But still, it's a large chunk of a normal lifespan just gone. Poof.

One second you're crawling across the pockmarked terrain of an alien planet, surrounded by the sound of gunfire, and the shouting and screaming before and after each earth shuddering impact of another k-con hitting the ground. And then it's quiet. You're not there anymore. You're drifting somewhere between not alive and just asleep. Preserved somewhere in the background of a doomed body, ignored by time and space, still here, but also not.

And then there's sound. Not gunfire. Not shouting or screaming. Not the sounds that'll haunt you till your dying days, your own death sentence pounding in your head. No. Just voices, talking, standing out against a silent, dead world. Wondering. Joking. Bickering. Familiar. Just, not familiar to you. And you're awake. Pulled back from the nothingness you've been frozen in, consciousness tugged forwards with the yank of a fuel pump and the nearness of life.

These two moments are roughly 3 million years apart, but only minutes, maybe even seconds, to him. From a hectic harrowing battlefield, to an old silent graveyard in one blink.

How long did it take to really sink in? I mean, he seems to just roll with it. He doesn't seem particularly bothered. But like, what happened outside of what we see? How did he really feel?

Also, his body aged without him. While his mind preserved itself, freezing him as he was right then, his body was left to weather Clemency for all those years. No wonder it crumbled to dust when he jumped off the world sweeper. It's probably a miracle of some kind that it didn't just fall apart each time someone leaned on him.

And even after they rebuild him, give him a better, newer body. His spark, it's casing, all the irreplaceable core bits that make up their inner bodies, it aged in the time without him. Does he feel it? Does it make his body even more foreign to him?

Then he's also a technician with information that's 3 million years out of date. Lucky him that the scavengers probably weren't working with top of the line material. But still it's gotta be weird when faced with anything brand new, because a lot can change and progress in 3 million years, and now some of the knowledge he once prided himself in is obsolete.

Besides those things, his view of the galaxy, of the war, of their kind, of other kinds, is one of the few things actually pointed out when it comes to him being stuck in the past. So, how often were his old views challenged? Facts of life he held close proved to no longer true? There's 3 million years worth of new science, new beliefs, new words, new terms, new views.

And sure, some of it can be familiar, because they're an ever evolving kind, and they have patterns, core beliefs, repeating behaviors, but a lot of it's gonna be unfamiliar at the same time, because it's 3 million years worth of catch up, it's not like missing last week's trend.

In a way, it makes him a living relic of a bygone era for Decepticons. It would've been really interesting to have had that explored a little more.

[heyclickadee]

Okay, to try to explain why the Bad Batch finale is driving me crazy

Imagine if Rebels ended at season three. (Thought experiment time!)

Not that it got cancelled; no one is saying it was cancelled, everyone is saying that this is where they wanted to end that chapter. And the entire season plays out exactly the same as it did in the real world*. Zero Hour, exactly as is, ends up being the series finale.

And the initial reaction is, “Great! They’re alive! They made it out, no one else besides Ahsoka died, we’re so relieved,” except—

What about Lothal? We built up to trying to save Lothal even in the third season—are we really just forgetting about it? What about Ezra becoming a Jedi? The whole sequence with the Bendu was really cool, but what about that foreshadowing line he gave to Thrawn in the end? Where is that supposed to go? Why did we waste a whole episode on space whales? Why didn’t Ezra’s talent for connecting with animals ever go anywhere? What about the side episodes about the Rebel Alliance? The episodes in the season were very good on their own-in fact, a few might be close to the best episodes in the show—but because there’s no payoff and nothing goes anywhere, it all sort of falls apart. Kallus’s redemption arc was fine, but what’s he going to do now, or is he just going to feel bad about what he did? I’m glad they’re all alive and all, but that’s it? Theres no real victory except survival? Why did we spend multiple episodes in the temple on Lothal if that wasn’t going to go anywhere besides getting Ahsoka killed?

Speaking of, Ahsoka really died, and we never dealt with it? Thirty seconds of Ezra crying, everyone looking sad, a sorrowful look from Rex, then we never discuss it, and the only time she comes up is when we’re discussing her job as Fulcrum? It was ambiguous enough to begin with, then we never really got confirmation or any processing on screen at all. We had a whole episode for Ezra to process learning that his parents died, and we never even really met those characters! But nothing for Ahsoka? She’s a fan favorite, and she means so much to a lot of people in the audience. She seemed like she was Dave’s favorite, even! It’s not like her death affected anyone either—all the character motivation was driven either by Kanan’s blindness, the fallout with Maul, or Ezra being tempted by the holocron. It was noble and tragic, sure, but narratively, they just killed her for shock value. If she’s even supposed to be dead! We don’t know for sure!

So you’re thinking through all of that, trying to figure out what the hell happened here and how a show that was otherwise very good only resolved two or three subplots, none of which was the main one, never really dealt with a main character’s death, and never fully 100% resolved anyone’s character arc, all while the showrunners refuse to say that this is the last time we’ll see these characters and insist on using the word “chapter” to refer to the end. So you’ve got a sneaking suspicion that the story isn’t actually over, that there’s something weird going on, but you don’t know for sure, and you can’t just let things lie because it’s not that it’s just a bad ending, it’s that it’s bad in a particularly insane way that would come back around to being incredible if there ended up being any follow through for a series that was somehow 99% set up and no payoff.

Anyway, this is where I’m at with The Bad Batch right now.

* For the purposes of this thought experiment, we can add a except that there’s a little epilogue at the end—not the epilogue we actually got at the end of season four of Rebels, but an epilogue where a fifteen-year-older Ezra has a conversation with Hera (no one else, and no Jacen around, no sign that Jacen even exists) about needing to go do something, and then hopping into a ship that looks a bit like the Phantom and has little mementos from various members of the ghost crew family around. Ezra mentions Zeb, Sabine, and Chopper, so we at least know they’re alive, but he doesn’t mention anyone else, and neither does Hera. Something with Ahsoka’s fulcrum symbol is sitting on Ezra’s dashboard. We learn nothing about what anyone does in the meantime. It’s completely open.

[wendingways]

Well, the writing muse is currently sulking in a corner and tearing out her hair, but the art muse has been feeling extremely chatty!

This is the first part of an intended 4-or-so panel series/comic strip, featuring Ahsoka and Starkiller as Rebels—and yes, they are 100% sending this pic to Vader as a postcard. Hi Master, wish you were here!

Did this one by sketching out one figure from a reference photo, then putting a pic of the sketch into Krita. Copied the outline, then used a colorize mask (ooh, fancy! literally had no idea this was even a thing a week ago, smh), added shading, extra outlining, and background.

Many thanks to the random redditor who mentioned making just one block with the rectangular select tool in Krita and then copying it multiple times to make a stone/brick wall. It makes life so much easier.

The Fulcrum + jaig eyes design in the graffiti is not entirely mine. Ages ago I saw a similar design while scrolling Pinterest, and later decided I wanted to make my own version as part of a 501 design.

If anyone has read this far and knows of any good Ahsoka & Starkiller fics, please share! I didn't find much of anything on AO3, but would love to see people's takes on how they might get along.

[embrose]

I think it's a shame we didn't get to properly see Kallus' redemption arc. He just disappears after S2E17, and then appears again in S3E4 and he's already Fulcrum. He basically had his own little realization, conflict and defection arc off-screen and we only get to see the result. And that result too is pretty short-lived, since Kallus also lowkey disappears after he officially leaves the Empire and joins the rebels

I would've loved to see Kallus gradually come to realize just how shitty Empire truly is, and just how conflicted that made him feel before deciding to defect. Not to mention how exactly he came to be Fulcrum. Did Ahsoka recruit him? Did he seek the rebels out himself?

Just one more Kallus-centric episode before S3E4 would've been fine. I've read plenty of fics where I get to see it, but I would've wanted canon's take on it.