#Sunfall Blue

[moonfurthetemmie]

Aster (he/she)

Healer, cook, and martial artist. Also a little ball of anxiety 80% of the time. 

He’s very sweet, but his social skills are ass. Blue is not helpful, and Temp and Glaze used to pick on him when they were kids. They are mostly doing it affectionately, but it didn’t feel like it. He’s closest to Wren because Wren was the only one who tried to stop them. Nowadays they all get along a little better, buuut…

Aster had 0 reason to help everyone, but he ended up learning about Corvus and Orion along with the other clones, and decided he wanted to help. He tried to get Blue to teach him to fight, but Blue was like “,,,,aster i get nauseous at the sight of blood. Do you think i know how to fight.” Blue did however help them find ways to learn how to fight. 

Aster learned Vadakkan Kalari, which is one of many styles of Kalaripayattu. Enjoy the wiki link. Anyways, she also learned healing magic, and uses her flexibility from her Kalari training to weave between and around enemies to heal the others in a fight. It took a while for her to figure out quick battle healing, but she managed. She’s an invaluable part of the team.

Of his combat skills, Aster favors a dagger, but he also can use a sword and a spear, and can take down opponents bare-handed. Oddly enough, when he starts fighting, most of his anxiety seems to go away.

Blue

He was really not ready to take care of a kid, and he knew it. He tried his best, though, even if wasn’t great.

In trying his best not to be anything like his brother, he was often overly lenient with kid Aster, until his better judgment overrode those worries and he’d suddenly be like ‘ok no, no more of that.’ He told her that he just didn’t realize just how bad an idea it was, Aster became rather afraid to try things. And very unsure of when something that was ok at one point would suddenly Not Be Okay.

When he was older Blue did explain the actual reason and sort of apologized for being the source of most of his anxiety.

Like I said with Temp and Glaze, it’s probably a good thing he had the others’ help, or Aster could’ve wound up much worse. He’s very glad they invited him.

He did his best to teach her things he knew, though. Cooking, fibercraft, yoga. The yoga helped Aster work on his flexibility a lot, which is the main reason Blue was suggested it. He may have offered earlier on, but he wasn’t going to make her learn. Once they decided to pursue Kalari, though, he was like ‘yknow, yoga could give you some extra flexibility exercises, if you wanted to try it.’ He still didn’t make her, it was just more of a ‘this might help’ than ‘do you want to do this’ then.

Other Stuff

Aster's alignment is Neutral Good

Aster isn’t strawberry blonde it’s just dye. he wants to be but alas, he is the clone of someone with a much less interesting hair color

The scar on Aster’s face was gotten during her lessons. She’s actually very proud of it. 

Fun thing about Kalari, straight from the wiki: "...it is stated that the cardinal principle of Kalaripayattu was that knowledge of the art be used to further worthy causes, and not for the advancement of one's own selfish interests." which is,,,,pretty much exactly Aster's reason for learning to fight. go see the link to read the whole thing it's neat

[littlethingsrae]

🔆AU MASTERLIST🔆(and synopsis')

AU's from me: Flower Maiden AU - (Jin centric) Jin was born a regular celestial and became a Flower Maiden like her Mother, because of this she never had reason or want to leave the Celestial Realm. World's End / Blue Star AU - The Lady Bone Demon succeeds with her plan. The world is remade in her vision and those who would still oppose her are struck down or being hunted. Anguish and Grief have turned the Sun's flame a bright blue - the only thing keeping humanity alive and stable is the large bodies of ice from LBD, because of this; she's seen as their saviour. Mortality and Morality / Sundown AU - (Jin centric) The Jade Emperor is displeased with Jin's interference during S3. Not willing to let the next Sun be out of line, he strips her of her Status, Powers and Immortality in an attempt to teach her a lesson until she's willing to fall back into order. Guilt's Resurrection - (Nysa centric) (Updated) Seeking a way to bring her Clan back, Nysa tracks down the last threads of LBD that she can find, leading her to the false Mayor. He tells her that the only person who could reasonably bring her family back is his Lady or someone of her calibre. With the ‘help’ of another Bone Spirit (Bingxue) they manage to channel enough of LBD’s power into a new being: The White Bone Prince. Sun Shrine AU - Purely indulgent Bullflower AU - where Jin's family are all Mortals living happily and in charge of a prominent Sun Temple, that's when a certain Demon pops by under the guise of being Human just so he can get to know the Temple Head's Granddaughter. Hijinks ensue.

(more will be added as they are created...) --------

AU's from others:

Monster Kid AU (by @/doppel-doodles)

—> Growing Garden AU (collab w/ @/doppel-doodles) Sunfall AU (by @/doodlezpoststuff) Rescripted Twice AU (by @/chuitu)

—> Rescripted:ZERO (by @/chuitu)

-------- If you guys have any questions about any of the AU's on this list, please feel free to ask! :D

[stellarwaffles]

Talya blue hair + pronouns era (post apocalypse)

[apeakintotheunknown]

[cryptidclaw]

Star Tigerclaw

Design Notes:

Here he is!!! Tigerclaw based on a white tiger!!! love this design so much ??? omggg

he has his mother Snowstorm's blue colorpoint gene , but he has dark black stripes like his dad Thistleclaw!

Character Bio:

Star Tigerclaw

Straight; Cis Tom; he/him

Age as of 1st arc's beginning: 4 cycles, 4 moons; ~33 Hyrs

Title meaning: -claw =  a cat who is very skilled in battle; they fight ferociously with their claws; may have distinctive claws, most likely extra large or sharp.

Warrior -> Guard Charge -> Second of Thunder Order; he was in line due to being Star Bluefrost's nephew. He was banished for murder and an attempted takeover of the Order.

Leader of Shadow Order; was in no way in line for Shadow leadership, he convinced the Order that he would be their best choice for leadership, as he came from a long line of powerful leaders and he would keep the Order strong after their many recent losses.

Second: Vulturemask; was in line and should have been leader due to being the previous Shadow Leader (Star Brokentail)'s Second and mate.

Mentor: Star Sunfall

Mother: Snowstorm

Father: Thistleclaw

Siblings: Sky; Shine; Shimmer; Lynxstorm

Ex-Mates: Goldenflower; Star Leopardpelt (Political marriage, ended when Tiger died)

Kits: Swift; Brambleflower; Star Tawnyclaw; Mothwing; Tadpolefrog; Star Hawkfrost

Grandkits: Falconclaw; Jaywing; Dove; Dawnpelt; Goldenheart; Flamespirit; Dovesong; Ivythorn; Junipersnow; Dandeliondust

Other notable kin: Star Pineheart (grandfather); Leopardfoot (Grandmother); Sootfur (nephew); Sorreltail (niece); Rainwhisker (nephew)

Character notes: Tigerclaw actually did truly love Goldenflower, and he was actually a pretty good mate and father before this betrayal was revealed. Golden cat divorced him during his banishment and Tiger chose to become mates with Star Leopardpelt soon after as a political marriage, this relationship was loveless and only for political gain and a continuation of their bloodline through their kits.

Character Backstory:

Tigerclaw and Lynxstorm were Thistleclaw and Snowstorm's second litter, their first was one of three kits which all tragically passed due to a premature birth (their names, Sky, Shine and Shimmer were given in reference to the Stars, as they joined them almost as soon as they were born).

Thistleclaw took great interest in Tigerclaw, as he was the strongest, and most alike him out of the pair of brothers. Due to this Tiger was greatly influenced by Thistle, with his father trying to pass on as much of his ideals and attitude as possible. The tom often gave Tiger extra training sessions in the dark forest, or during the night, sometimes White would be included as well though he never went to the Dark Forest (Thistle knew that White would tell on them).

Snowstorm died early on into her sons' apprenticeships and as a result Thistle became even more rash and cruel which only increased the extreme extra training Thistle put Tiger, and sometimes Lynx under. Thistleclaw's cruelty and actions made his sons hate him (they had also noticed how cruel he could be to their mother before her death as well, and hated him even more for it), White stayed away from his father all together, however Tiger wanted to continue training with him to increase his power and skill.

Despite hating his father and denying that he would ever become a cat like him, Tiger took on much of Thistle's teachings, the tom is adamantly anti-outsider and codebreaking and is very bloodthirsty just like his father. Though maybe Tigerclaw never fully believed the anti mixed blood, outsider and adamant code following ideals, maybe deep down he just liked them because it gave him power over other cats, and a seemingly "devout" and "loyal" exterior.

The first cat Tiger ever killed was Thistleclaw, after Thistle's grooming of Spotted was revealed Tiger joined Bluefrost, Lynxstorm and Redtail in assassinating Thistleclaw. Tiger hated his father and despite him agreeing with many of his views, he was horrified by his actions towards Spotted. He had other motives as well, Thistle was a high ranking warrior who used his power to control Tiger for his own gain, Tiger did not want to be anyone's pawn, he wanted the power for himself. After killing his father Tiger realized how much he liked the power in killing a cat, which wasn't all to surprising, but it was all the more reason he was so willing to kill later in his life.

Despite being an obviously bloodthirsty and increasingly cruel cat, Bluefrost refused to believe that her nephew was anything like his father. She desperately wanted to trust her sister's kits, and Tigerclaw was apprenticed to Blue's pseudo father Star Sunfall who Blue was certain would counteract any of Thistle's impact on Tiger. Of course Blue didn't know about Tiger's extra training, nor did she know about his secret lust for power.

[hannie-dul-set]

sunwater [teaser].

SYNOPSIS. this is how you get a merman boyfriend.

PAIRING. park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. merman! sunghoon, artist! reader, slight college! au, strangers to lovers, romance, modern fantasy, humor, suggestive. WARNINGS. swearning, drowning, dirty/inappropriate jokes, mentions of sex, things might get a lil spicy but No Explicit Smut, mermaid politics, reader says and does a lot of questionable shit (might add more as i progress!) WORD COUNT. full fic: est. 20k more or less. teaser: 1.3k RELEASE DATE. late july to early august.

NOTE. finally thought of a title last night and immediately made the header so i can post the teaser HAUHASDH. stemmed from a convo with a friend of mine (i quote "u reject every man woman person that tries to date u. little do they know, ur type isn't human 🤩").

anyway, send me an ask/dm to be added to the taglist! preview under the cut.

GANGNEUNG-SI, GANGWON-DO. The drive to the east coast is always nostalgic, like fragments of previous summers are powdered into the air and with every inhale of the breeze outside the car window fills you with the past— scraped knees from the rocky beachside, saltwater daydreams under bunny-shaped clouds, and the smell of paint and the sea melting together in early morning dews. It takes a little over an hour for the cab to roll up to your summer neighborhood. It takes twenty minutes of walking to get to your family’s vacation house situated right beside the sea.

“Welcome home.”

Your words echo in the empty living room and your own voice greets you with remembrance. A smile crawls onto your lips. Eggshell walls, sandy brown wooden panels, your favorite blue sofa matching the stripes on the rug underneath it, and the sheer cream curtains painted with the orange spills of the sunset through wall to ceiling windows— it’s a still life painting of last year’s summer. Prior to that, you still had plants around, but they kept dying, getting replaced and dying again until your neglectful guilt finally hit you. Throughout highschool, your family diligently spent time here every December and July. Now, it’s just you every summer and the caretaker that comes by every few months.

“I should call mom after dinner,” you hum, washing the dishes you found in the cupboards. Your first night here always ends early. By sunfall, you have a quick meal, wash up, tuck yourself into bed upstairs and allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by the sloshing waves of the nighttime sea. 

Four in the morning is when you start to feel alive.

The first thing you do upon waking up, pitch black sky with the sun still hiding behind the oceanline, you grab one of the bags you left on your living room sofa, slinging it over your shoulder before picking up a folded up easel leaned against the wall and two of the blank canvas panels stacked beside it. Your body moves mechanically, practiced and familiar movements— sliding the glass door open to the backyard and closing, feeling the sand wither underneath your bare soles until soft grains blend into jagged stone as you climb up the natural staircase of rocks, leading up to a solid flat plateau.

Is it safe to be painting on top of a cliff when you’ve just woken up? No. Have you been doing this every day since you were fourteen every summer you spend at your vacation home? Yes. 

When the sun starts to rise, you become invigorated with life that it almost feels like rebirth.

You haven’t fallen to your death yet, and you don’t have any plans to slip and succumb to its cold hands any time soon. Not until you manage to perfectly capture the image before your eyes at this very moment; neither your memories nor your imperfect renditions can compare to the vibrancy of the orange stained waves, the clarity white seafoam kissing its surface, and the beauty of flaming disk peeking from the firmament where the sky meets the sea in all its ephemeral glory.

It’s five-thirty when the sun fully emerges from the water. Your legs give in, and you fall onto the rocky ground with a sigh. All you could finish is the underpaint today. You’ll continue working tomorrow. 

Whenever someone asks you— why the fuck are you doing this? you never have a satisfying answer. It’s an exercise, it’s a routine; it’s the only time when I feel like I’m painting something worthwhile. You have countless pieces in galleries and exhibits, meaningless works with the highest praises from your professors, but they’re nothing worth the buzz of your fingertips whenever you chase the sunrise with your own paint-stained hands until it inevitably, ritualistically flies beyond your devoted reach.

The strain in your leg muscles takes forever to recover. You should remember to bring a stool tomorrow because although you don’t feel anything besides adrenaline whenever you attack the canvas with your brush, the aftertaste can be a little brutal. 

“Can’t you stay a little longer tomorrow?” you mumble to the orange tinted sky as you lay on the uneven ground, arms and legs spread out in vulnerability. When it doesn’t respond, you groan and pull yourself up. You could leave your painting materials here, but the probability of them getting thrown into the ocean by the wind is too high for your peace of mind.

As you collect your paint brushes and gather your extra paint tubes, your eyes keep getting pulled by the ocean’s songs. The scene before you has been imprinted in your retinas since you were seven. So when something appears amiss or changes, you can pick it apart immediately. A shift in the tides. A crack in the rock formation. Even a floating piece of driftwood from afar can’t slip away from your attention.

So when you find something— rather, someone emerging from the warm blue near the sprouting rocks, you drop your things and pace quickly to the edge to get a better look.

This is odd. This entire plot of land is private property, and it’s the only way to get into the water besides the island across it, which is still at least twenty miles away. Your eyebrows furrow, wondering how they got here, but when you get to the edge of the cliff, the rough terrain biting into your feet, your concerns are suddenly thrown into the water underneath you.

You can see the intruder’s face clearly now. Whoever he is, he’s breathtaking.

He’s gotten closer to the shore, resting his arms on the inky rock, half submerged into blue depths. The saltwater beads glisten like jewels on his porcelain skin, splashing sunlight into the water when he throws his head back before letting the ocean consume him once more. There’s a flicker of gold that splashes above the surface in a steady rhythmic wave, slowly moving further away.

You have found your new ocean sunrise. You don’t intend on letting him get away.

Splash!

Suddenly, all the warmth from your skin is stripped away as your body sinks into the sea, engulfed by the thick raptures of its waves. Though having been enamored by it for the better part of your life, you have never stepped into the ocean’s embrace— never dared to corrupt its ethereal beauty with your feeble humanity— that is, until now. You slowly feel heavier, and each second hurts more than the last, like the sun itself has entered your lungs and is burning you from the inside. Maybe you should have learned how to swim. Maybe you shouldn’t have jumped off the cliff in the rushing hopes of catching a fleeting stranger’s attention.

No one should underestimate the lengths an artist would go for their art. Just when your consciousness starts to slip, you see a spark in the dark water, slowly approaching before your eyelids flutter to a close. You can hear nothing. You feel nothing but the cold, until all of the sudden you’re gasping, coughing out water from your lungs and the jagged rock you’re laying on sinks its teeth into your wet palms.

There’s one person who could have saved you. You can’t believe your deranged plan worked.

You open your eyes and look above, your still beating heart burning into a frenzy and instead of the sunrise sky, your gaze meets a pair of stygian gemstones muddled with concern. A few droplets of water from his damp hair fall onto your cheeks. 

“Are you okay?”

Burnt stars form a constellation on his face. His lips are full and painted by coral hues. 

“I want to burn you in my memory.”

He’s even more breathtaking up close, it’s almost impossible to believe. Your gaze draws down, noticing how you’re caged between his arms, noticing the patchy waist bag loosely hanging on his bare hips over a makeshift skirt of fabric, noticing the iridescent gold flakes blending into his skin, shimmering under the sunlight from where his lower half should be.

You flit your eyes back up. His are now widened in panic.

Splash!

sunwater. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[strangeshoepatrolbandit]

Sunshine follows with Sunfall. Pt. 6

Warnings: Cat?, Jason having a tiny mood swing, mentions of death and bounties.

You guys have no idea how bad I feel for disappearing. Writers block is a bitch. (Short chapter)

Series Masterlist

~☆~

"She's sleeping." You sigh as you hear a window slide open.

Jason climbed through, "I'm sorry..." He apologized before closing the window. "I just had to come see her, even if she's sleeping."

You nod in acknowledgment as you pick up one of Judith's toys.

Jason and you had been talking more and more lately, just trying to become civil and fix the rift in your relationship with each other. But he had mostly been coming around for Judith.

He reached up and took off his helmet, setting it on the couch, keeping his domino mask on. His hands ran through his damp hair, pushing it back from his face as he revels in the feeling of your cool apartment.

"You know I don't like you coming in with all of your gear on." You look at him. "You're a wanted man, Jason. What you're doing right now is dangerous. If a bounty gets put on our daughters head, I will personally kill you again."

Jason knows your paranoia is justified, which is why he nods and looks directly at you as he apologizes again. "I know, Y/N. I'm sorry."

You give him a lingering stare before you turn around, picking up more toys. "Just... stop..." You hesitate as you speak, causing Jason to nod yet again.

He gazes at your back for a few seconds before he decides to go see Judith now. Jason keeps his footsteps quiet, a perk from being an anti-hero who once worked alongside Batman. He approaches the white door to her room, slowly turning the silver handle, for he does not wish to wake her.

The room is dark, illuminated by a small projector nightlight, making artificial stars show on the ceiling. Her room is surprisingly clean for a child, yet still full from the amount of gifts she gets from her family.

Jason cautiously steps closer to Judith's small bed, seeing how she's facing away from him, dark hair sprawled all over her pillow, and her orange sheets up close to her chin.

He crouched down next to her bed, petting her hair. Not running his fingers through it since he does not wish to tug on a hidden tangle and wake her up from the pull. A black cat that is snuggled up next to her stretches, letting out a small meow as he looks up at Jason. A small, soft smile grows on Jason's face as he scratches the cat with his free hand.

~☆~

You hear Judith's door open again, signaling that Jason was walking out.

"I didn't know you guys had a cat." He speaks, voice low and laced his Gothamite accent, something him and Judith share.

"Yep," You sigh, finally done tidying up the living room. "Judith is obsessed with Blues Clues. Specifically, the version with Steve. So when we got him, she immediately named him 'Periwinkle'." You smile at the fond memory.

"Bruce offered to get her a lilac tabby, but she just loved her Periwinkle too much. She didn't want one of the correct breed."

Jason also smiles as he watches you stand in front of your couch, hands on your hips. "She's loyal, loving." He says.

You let out another deep breath and look at him. "So... you going back on patrol?"

He takes a few steps forward. "Actually, I wanted to talk about something."

Your eyebrow raises as you look up at him. "Okay...?"

Jason takes in a breath and closes his eyes for a few seconds. "Look, I've been getting help, and... I can be better now." He tells you. "I can be better for you. I think you and I... should try again..."

You let out an abrupt laugh. "You're kidding?"

There's something about him that just doesn't seem like your Jason anymore. He's so civil and in touch with his emotions.

"I'm not." He shakes his head.

You scoff and look away. "You have some nerve, you know?"

"I know, I know-"

"Jason." Your voice is firm. "You did something that I dont think I can ever forgive you for. What if I allow myself to love you and you end up leaving again, hm?"

Jason looks down at the floor, then the wall behind you. "I'm getting better." He mumbles.

"All you're going to do is fix your relationship with your daughter, don't even think about me like that." You snap.

Jason goes and grabs his helmet, putting it on, his shoulders tense, a way for you to understand that he's annoyed.

The audacity.

You know him well enough to know that his jaw is clenched underneath his mask. You hear a loud breath from underneath the red material he wears on his head.

"Don't even start right now, J-"

You're cut off by a small familiar voice.

"Red Hood?" Judith beams, standing in the entrance of the living room, grinning up at her father, even though she doesn't know it's him.

Jason Red Hood turns to face her. "Hey, kid." His voice is thankfully warped by the voice modulator in his helmet.

"Let me go get my action figure!" She squeals before running off into her room, leaving you and Jason to exchange some tense stares.

~☆~

Taglist: @keira324 @dakotali @22nranjan @skepvids @harpy-space @godknows-shetried @mirrorball-6 @macncheese69420666 @parkjammys @yyxy27 @burningkidanchor @elleclairez @amecchii @chickennugghon @marvelworldlover @oakexists @p0tterhead934 @makhaia @cassini-among-the-stars @tsukishimarawr @flowestallen @attackonnat @90s-belladonna @sucker4seresin @riahpickle-blog

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters (Evening) Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss. Commander Wolffe shows Reader he cares so fucking deeply for his battalion in this segment because that’s important to me, thanks. Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet. 

Word-count: 6,915

The sun is beginning to set on Little Archossi. Everyone has opted to stay, save for some of the crew. Only, that's untrue; most of the crew has left. Save for you. If the Clones are staying behind, you feel you should too. These are not your brothers, there is no familial bond that drives you to remain by their side and swear to keep them safe. 

For Maker's sake, you're not even armed! one of your fellow crewmates says in an attempt to reason with you. That's of no concern thanks to Soapsuds' generosity. (His spare DeeCee now sits tucked into the belt and waistband of your slate gray uniform.)

(There, now I am armed. Will you be leaving now?) 

But you couldn't leave. Part of you burned to know what the peoples of Little Archossi would look like, how this potential first contact would go, what it was General Plo Koon had sensed through the Force… An equally large part couldn't leave Commander Wolffe on his own. 

But… that's a silly notion. He's surrounded by his brothers, flanked by his diligent sergeants, Sinker and Boost, and he's been readily communicating with his pilots like Warthog as they perform aerial sweeps following their return to the atmosphere of Archossi after dropping off the civilian crew on the Triumphant. 

Commander Wolffe is not alone. So why do you feel like your absence would mean he'd suddenly be without company? Why did this equally large, equally loud voice within you tell you to stay for his sake? If he wanted you here, that would be one thing. But he never expressed any such sentiment. And he probably doesn't need you here because now you're one more thing, one more person's safety, to be concerned over. 

Why are you offering to stay with Commander Wolffe, Arcadia?

I feel like he needs my… 

You couldn't answer your crewmate. So you shrugged them off and told them to get on the LAAT without you. What the hell were you going to answer with? My help? My risk assessment? My friendship?

(… and again that creeping, all-consuming doubt: were you friends?)

Joining you on the hill, Commander Wolffe turns his face into the fading light and watches the final signs of daylight melt away; golden amber and candy-soft pinks are surrendering to the deep, swallowing blues of the sea, and the rich, dignified purples that often cloak royalty. 

"No painting in the galaxy would ever do a sunfall like this justice." 

"Perhaps not…" Wolffe murmurs. "But many will try." He says it like he pities the wasted efforts. Or perhaps instead he is quietly sorrowful on their behalf, in his own way. 

"I think it's a wonderful thing that they will." you muse with a soft smile, deciding not to tease him for getting poetic (though it would be so easy to, after all the instances lobbied your way) but to agree with him instead. "Finding something inspiring and hoping to catch a little slice of that moment in time forever? It's like… a tangible form of courage." 

Wolffe turns his face from the fading light, seeking clarity. "Courage?" he asks you tenderly, dark brow buckling just a fraction above the beautiful, cold silver eye. Figuring it's perhaps a measure of facial paralysis due to a severed nerve or two, you take notice that Wolffe's brow which the scar runs through doesn't lift as high as the other. 

Old gods and galaxies… it makes your heart clench and your veins burn with fire in anger just for a moment. Such a mark dealt by the blade of one who shrouds herself in the dogma of the Sith has only added to the overarching tragedy of Wolffe's war service. His brothers, his eye, his paint. How much more would this galaxy rob him of? 

His bravery? The willingness to rise from the dust, bare his teeth and say “again”? Would it take his courage, too? 

(Courage… how terrible a thing to lose.)

Swallowing your swirling thoughts at long last, you think you should answer the Commander's question. "It takes courage to try…" you offer simply, "...creating art is the marriage of an act of courage and emotion. A little snapshot of the soul, some people might say. Like, for example, when I started sketching you today: it was a test of my courage…" 

You explain that while today seems to show evidence to the contrary, it's been a while since making use of more traditional supplies, and you think of your skills as being a bit rough around the edges. 

"I also think I can admit now that when you sat down in front of the tree… it kinda pissed me off. Just for a moment." Your nervous laugh breaks any mounting silence that would have built between you as the Commander considers your admission. "I-I, uh, wasn't planning on drawing anyone at all! But you'd finally sat down… and I didn't have the heart in me to ask you to move. Not when you were finally off your feet, and looking a little more… calmer than before when you were pacing. So I made a decision to add you to the sketch. And… you know the rest." 

Indeed he did. 

The shoulder pad with the icon of the wolf. The request to watch you add the color and ink to the page. How you'd gotten to know each other degree by degree as he spoke of Abregado, of his brothers, showed you he was more than you expected. The buried and measured sensitivity within him. The maroon and the gray paint. His observations that served as compliments of sorts.

You're perhaps too wise beyond your years, Arcadia. 

Sketching… stitching little wolf designs into your uniform… How many other talents are you hiding?

Once, a half-joking statement about being able to tame a battle-beaten wolf was offered. ("I'm sure my brothers will start wishing you were around more, if we ever had more opportunities to "do nothing", Arcadia.") You had been watching Warthog assisting with preparing multiple gunships other than his own for takeoff, then. You had made up your mind to stay behind, but you hadn't yet told Wolffe.

Maybe one day… you'd agreed with a wistful smile, one day, when the war is over. We'll have plenty more days like this. 

Part of you hoped it would be with him. When he would be free of his inner anxieties, when he was certain his brothers, all of them, were safe… would always be safe… maybe then, you could spend more days with him creating rather than destroying. 

"I apologize for pissing you off," Wolffe offers, his voice a welcome interruption to the growing silence, "and now I appreciate your sketch that much more." The sincerity in the sight of his full lips parted in a gracious, charming smile is just enough to make your heart flutter for a mere moment. Mere moments were all he needed before he needed to excuse himself, Warthog was vying for his attention from the portion of the clearing where they had grounded the LAATs. 

He'll (unfortunately) have to leave you to enjoy the rest of the natural, wondrous light show on your own. 

As he turns on his heel, and starts down the hill, you wonder… Was there always this militant elegance to the way the Commander walked, carried himself, simply existed? 

Maker alive… what's gotten into you suddenly? 

There's glee and child-like wonder in the clearing, just paces away as you amble around the edge of the forest. Trying to clear your head, you've traded the durasteel halls of the Triumphant for dew-ladden, fragrant grass to pace. (The smell eludes you. It's familiar, yet hard to pinpoint. Is it the freshness of the water or the silky richness of the life-source in the soil under your feet? (Have you been aboard star craft for too long and just forgotten what grass smells like?))

You're trying to make sense of your thoughts, but there's just too much to filter through both internally and externally. While you're trying to figure out a singular thing - if you've made a friend today - it's impossible to miss the way no one can come to an agreement on what the ever-loving fuck these bugs are called. 

“I'm telling you, lantern bugs are just as correct as fireflies.” Tack repeats himself with increasing emphasis to an increasingly confused Soapsuds. 

“And they can also be called fire beetle?”

“Yes; not to be confused with the flame beetles of Kashyyyk. Those are different.”

Suds stammers in confusion. “H-how?” 

“The flame beetles fuckin’ explode.” is all the elaboration Tack feels like supplying, the grim smile a far cry from comfort.

“What about glowworms?”

“Yes…”

“And fireworms?”

“Yes! You can also call them lampyrids and lightning bugs and candle flies. All of them are correct because they're all different common names for the same bug!” Tack promises, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sucks in his teeth. 

Bless him, he's been remarkably patient with his brothers, veterans and shinies alike, in answering their questions about what the devil these bugs with yellowed-green lights were, and if they could catch them (or were they like those razorwing moths back on another planet that looked harmless, but had wings laced with a chemical irritant?) and other questions without end. 

Yes, they were safe to catch. Yes, his brothers should also be careful not to squish them. They glow thanks to a process of chemicals, enzymes and oxygen, in short. (No really, Commander, I don't mind answering their questions; you don't have to tell them to quit “pestering” me.) 

Yes, they are really pretty, in a strange sort of way, Orchid. The Clone researcher could certainly agree with that. “They’re like… Like…” Tack begins to mutter under his breath in thought, searching for the right sort of descriptive imagery and failing. “Fuck, I got nothing,” he admits with a laugh, “I’ve got connections to another researcher Clone in a completely separate unit, and he's really fond of bugs… I'm certain he'd come up with something in no time.” 

You've abandoned your walk for the time being, too intrigued by Tack’s trouble, and mention of connection to another researcher like him. “How about something like… “living stars”, for a start, Tack? And who's the other researcher you know?” 

Once more, you've opened the door to be teased for potential poetism, but no one takes the bait this time. Instead, Tack and the two brothers who are aging out of being considered shinies look out into the grassy field where the air is softly roiling with maybe hundreds of airborne fire beetles and allow a collective moment of contemplation.

Living stars… 

“Yeah, I can see it.” Orchid offers quietly. 

Nodding in distracted agreement, Tack offers the answer to your last question best he can. “His name is Cypher, and he's with the… the uh… Sh-shit, sorry Arcadia, I can never remember if he's with a legion or a battalion, officially. There's some weird arrangement going on with this unit being led by one Jedi, with one Clone commander and captain under their command.” 

That sure does sound “weird”, you agree. “I didn't think that a Jedi Master would be-” 

“Oh that's the thing: they're not a Jedi Master; just a Knight, according to what we know through the rumor mill, anyways.” Tack clarifies quickly (with an apologetic look for interrupting you). “But, yeah, that still doesn't answer why a singular Force-wielder is leading two forces like this. Trying to get answers out of Cypher that don't involve bugs is like trying to pull rancor teeth, too. No idea if it's some kind of grand fuck-up or maybe there… was… a Jedi Master and they were KIA.”

There's a weighted silence in the air now, devoid of the comfort and ease it once had. “That's… horrible, if it's the second case.” you offer solemnly. You admit your knowledge on the Jedi isn't as great as it could be, in all potential, but you think you understand that a Force-wielder with the ranking of a knight doesn't necessarily “need” the tutelage of their masters anymore (at least if you compare them to say, a Padawan?)... It's still a terrible ordeal to lose someone you formed some bond with. 

“Not to mention… pretty troubling if it was a grand fuck-up.” Borrowing Tack's words, you have to acknowledge that the circumstances of leading two forces like this means someone is saddled with the task of keeping so many soldiers of the GAR safe. That's an enormous responsibility to shoulder. So many souls… so many brave men to lead. “If it's the first… let's hope whoever is… let's say in charge of directing the Jedi, sends someone else to help them. I know I'd want to make sure someone isn't on their own in a situation like that.” 

From time spent in observation of the Clones aboard the Triumphant, when Soapsuds' left hand lifts to shoulder-height, you know that means he's got a question in mind. “Yeah, Suds?”

“Was it surprising to your family when you decided to take a position on a cruiser like ours?”

You shake your head and laugh out loud, the memory of making up your mind and announcing your decision coming back to you. “Oh, stars, no. They weren't surprised that I wanted to help people, but more how I wanted to go about it, I guess. Maybe they expected me to volunteer at a medcenter, rather than… something like this.”

Oh, you can feel it in your heart that this would make for an interesting story to tell, one day. You've definitely given them a decent amount of communication since joining, but it's all been careful and sparsely detailed. No names, ranks or planetary locations. Nothing the Separatists can intercept and use as leverage, or in an ambush. 

You doubt the Separatists could glean anything from hearing you complain that one of your crewmates is a little too fond of loud, thrumming music at 04:00, or that no, you still don't like that one particular vegetable no matter how it's prepared, or no, unfortunately you still hadn't had the time to utilize the art supplies you were gifted, but you kept thinking about it. 

(You had no reason to believe they were listening; to monitor so many channels of communication takes a lot of time and resources, realistically speaking. But, better to assume they are.)

Hmm… you can finally tell them you used the art supplies today, speaking of them. Handful of doodles, and at least two proper sketches. A flower and a… person? 

No, that makes it sound too impersonal and vague, you decide. You drew a flower and a friend. 

You were friends. New friends. 

You don't have to be good or even close friends with someone for a meaningful connection like the one you've developed with Commander Wolffe today. Even decent friends are capable of creating unique experiences… It's no less heartfelt. 

No less heartfelt and beautiful than the way you see so many of the soldiers who have stayed behind romp through the clearing, catching all the lightning bugs they can. Curiosity and childlike wonder abound, especially among the youngest. Giddy despite minor nervousness, shinnies have made a game (of sorts) out of catching as many of these bugs as they can to then “gift” to their older brothers and their Jedi. 

Sinker and Boost take these bioluminescent gifts with readiness; thanking their brothers before counting each little bug before releasing them out into the open air once more. The higher the count, the more impressed they act. 

When Commander Wolffe accepts them, he chooses to hold onto it for a time - if the firefly allows. Some fly away immediately, others will remain, resting their wings by lazily crawling over his gloved hands for a time, then taking flight. Other times he “trades” a few with his general. Really, on most occasions, he's just off-loading his gifted fireflies to Plo Koon, where each Clone is thanked by name.

“These are from Crash, General.” 

He's looking to make his escape from the Jedi’s side, for a moment. The amount of young brothers coming to the highest grassy knoll with their fingers full of fire-bugs must be beginning to overwhelm him slightly. His eyes meet for a moment with your own.

Hello, you, is the silent exchange. 

Plo Koon offers the excuse sought by Wolffe; a carefully masked chuckle of mischief (or delight in his own cleverness) is made by the Kel Dor as he hands one of the many lantern bugs clinging to his arm guard to his rather stoic second-in-command. “An excellent find, Crash; a most impressive size. Here, why don't you take this little one given to me by Arcadia? Perhaps they would like to return to their first friend, Commander Wolffe?”

“Certainly, sir.” 

It should make you laugh to see how obediently, dutifully, a man like Commander Wolffe carries such a puny little thing in his curled left hand down the hill to you. You can't help thinking he looks too serious with such a no-nonsense expression, reminiscent of a predator determined not to let its meal escape them.

A hungry wolf hoping to wear down a frightfully-footed lamb. 

But you are no lamb. 

And you recall his promise from earlier when you call out to him, forgoing rank or respectful title in front of his brothers currently nearby. “Not getting overwhelmed, are you, Wolffe? Is that why the General wanted you to give me back the first firefly?” 

Soapsuds regards you with eyes wider than a porg to hear you tease his Commander so flippantly. What's gotten into you?! the expression seems to scream between the young and bright brown eyes to the sudden drop of his jaw. Where's your respect?!

If you can tease, you will be teased in kind. But first, Wolffe gives you the singular, small glowworm as he was instructed. “I wouldn't say I'm the overwhelmed one, Arcadia. Taking your own turn to walk around the clearing, making more faces than Suds does listening to Orchid swear.”

You chuckle for a number of reasons, first for the ticklish nature of the bug's feet in the palm of your hand, and second for the comparison. “You noticed that, hm?” Wolffe does not answer right away, you notice. He seems contemplative as he watches the little firebug scuttle across each knuckle of your dominant hand, open its wing-covering (Tack called it the elytra) and take off with a buzzy zwit! into the cooling night air. 

“A professional Sabacc player would read you like an open book.” Wolffe responds levelly, refraining from mirroring the curious smile with one of his own. (Noted, you think to yourself.) “You clearly had something on your mind.” 

To say someone was on your mind as a part of that ‘something’ would be more accurate. At least in large part. Before you say anything to the affirmative, Wolffe offers some reassurance that he's not saying anything with the intention of prying for any information. 

“Not that it's any of my business, of course.” 

Not that it was any of his business, no, but he had been watching you at least long enough to make an observation, a guess. 

“Well, there's been a few occasions where I've been told I'm rather… expressive, so, I'm not terribly surprised.” You offer the response in hopes that it'll keep the conversation from going completely dead; something overly-playful seems like the wrong move to make right now. Something too dismissive would likely be seen through, too. 

“You could also say animated, I suppose…” you add with a soft laugh, inspired by the exuberance Orchid shows in tearing after a particularly large firefly that Tack has pointed out rather suddenly. “Or lively or… whatever else. I dunno. Guess it happens more than I'm aware.” 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Tack promises you, “we've all got our quirks.” 

Wolffe nods in agreement to the researcher, a slow roll of his eyes as if to say don't I know it. Adding in a way that's almost an aside, he says, “Comet and Warthog were the ones who noticed. They thought perhaps you might've come to regret staying behind with us.” Here, perhaps subconsciously, his scarred brow lifts when he looks at you again. 

Are you? the action says. 

You lift one brow of your own, eyes narrowing a fraction. “I haven't.” you promise. (Why? (And are you sure it wasn't you?))

His head bobs slowly, thoughtfully. (Fair.) “Only thought I'd mention it. But I'm glad to hear, Arcadia.” 

There's an unusual softness settling into every feature of his face with the last syllable of your name. Something beyond the selfless gratitude typical to hearing someone you care for has had a pleasant day. His brow unfurrows just so. The thumb hooked in his belt just behind his holster - keeping his weapon near - becomes less deliberate now. (Not completely relaxed, but certainly less of a chokehold.)

Not to mention the slight, relieved smile before he turns his concern on one of his brothers. 

“Where's your DeeCee, Soapsuds?” 

Startled by the sudden addressal, Suds yelps and nearly squishes the large firefly Orchid has caught. “Huh! O-oh I'm letting Arcadia borrow it, Commander. One of the other crewmates, uh-” 

Either in the interest of time, or the disinterest in hearing long-winded excuses, Wolffe shortly asks for the firearm tucked into the waistband of your uniform to be returned to Soapsuds. One of the flint-gray commander's own DeeCees is extracted from his belt, no fanfare or fancy fingerwork to make it twirl like Suds had when he offered, and is firmly planted with all the proper weapons-handling etiquette in the palm of your hand. Commander Wolffe's hand is undoubtedly solid - it is not just the form of the blaster that lends to your arm dipping under its weight. 

Even through the raven-dark material of the gloves, the body suit, the neutral-colored armor, you know Wolffe is warm, too. 

“Here. Why don't you take mine?” 

It is not a suggestion.

You don't immediately understand what the big deal is about trading Soapsuds’ weaponry for the Commander's until you spend a little more time thinking about it. Suds has only the one gun with him on Little Archossi, and if the Commander has two, then, it'd only make sense to take his. 

As a precaution, you shouldn't be unarmed; that much was agreed upon between the soldier and his commanding officer a ways off in the clearing now. You could catch snippets of their voices, carried on the stiff, evening winds. 

“I was only trying to help.”

Suds had not intended to be completely defenseless himself, nor would he be, owing to his training instilled in him on the Clones’ rainy motherworld. Push comes to shove, you've seen your fair share of how proficient these men could be with only their hands. Hands that have hoisted and carried a fellow soldier to safety under enemy fire. Hands that have shown tenderness to the frightened and battle-scarred, civilian and brother alike.

(And that's not without mentioning the many knuckles broken against the plating of the CIS battle units by the brazen (or desperate) men of the Grand Army.) 

“I understand that, but you should have considered that we don't know what's out there.” 

You're unsure if the Commander is lecturing this brother and young soldier out of disappointment, or out of worry. You've known many Clones who tend to fret after their ‘little’ brothers, each in their own way and fashion. Only too understandable with everything Wolffe has been through and faced (and lost), he must feel some need to really make sure these lessons stick. He will always lose brothers, from the callous to the curious, but if he can ensure as many as possible make it out of this war alive, he likely would. 

In this lifetime, in the next, and every heartbeat in-between. 

Commander Wolffe cares. About his General. 

“... are you angry at me, sir, for giving away my blaster without thinking again?” 

About his brothers.

“No, Soapsuds. You were thinking… You… You only meant to look out for Arcadia.”

About you.

Though it feels too private a moment, one between brothers, to witness, you cannot turn away when Wolffe lifts Suds' head hung low and gives him a quiet look. “Your blaster and your name. Never forget.” Soapsuds waits a beat before nodding solemnly; there is a seriousness and severity to his brother's reminder. 

Their blasters and their names are among the few things a Clone can own. I own my blaster, I own my breath, I own my Name… 

Never will you forget the mantra you've heard multiple shinies, fresh off Kamino, mutter to themselves in isolated halls in the dead of the night aboard the Jedi cruiser. Suds must be one of the few who still repeats this to himself even now. 

“I won't.” he promises with an emotional grimace, one that prompts his CO to clutch him to his chest.

He can't. No brother would ever let him forget his name, and a blaster can always be replaced in the event it is lost. There would never be another him. Never another Clone who would twinkle, or glimmer, or burn the same way as him in the Force. Every one of them feels, senses different in it. 

(How do you compare, you wonder.) 

Would you feel steadfast, seemingly indomitable like them? Or rather you'd be found out as having a bright, sun-like spirit; not merely hot and golden, but perhaps comforting. Maybe flickering and dreamlike, just the way the fireflies are.

You might go your whole life never finding out how you are sensed, never knowing the details in the thumbprint of your soul. You can make your peace with that. You'd sooner exhaust yourself asking after the likes of the Clones, given the chance. 

Commander Wolffe releases his brother at last, the hand cradling the back of Suds' neck lifting away last of all as he's freed from a needed embrace. The time for tender doting fulfilled, Wolffe once more cautions his brother to be careful as the evening deepens before turning him loose. “Be sure to watch your step. And keep clear of the trees.” It's totally dark with the sun sunken below the horizon, casting this side of the planet with the deep blues of night. It would be wise to give the forest an even wider berth than before. 

After doing some theorizing, the sergeants carried out the test themselves while everyone else had been mesmerized by the emergence of the first fireflies.

You can not see what stares back at you when you peer into the thicket; denser than Kaminoan rainfall, according to Sinker and Boost’s findings. 

(Just what the Commander needed… more reasons to worry.)

Soapsuds bobs his head as if to say no, right, makes sense. “I'll, uh… remind Orchid as well, sir.” he promises almost meekly. If he can help it, he won't make his Commander stop whatever he's doing just to wrangle him back into place a second time. 

He's not stupid. Soapsuds is just… young. Excitable. 

Less experienced. In a moment, perhaps one of mild frustration or fraternal anxiety, Commander Wolffe may have temporarily forgotten that. Which is okay - forgetting is not a crime, much in the same way that being young is not a crime. 

Nor should being unable to help your nature… 

After some time alone, when you come to check on him, Wolffe casts a nearly pained look in your direction, surmising that you've witnessed the entire encounter. The sloping, pinching squeeze of his eyebrows and the haunted expression suggests maybe he believes he's been too harsh. That he's spent the last five, maybe ten minutes beginning to second guess what he's said - or how he's said it - to an almost-not-a-shiny brother. 

No matter how much he's been trying, he's done it again. With every good intention, Master Plo can invite him to relax as many times as he'd like, but it will not come so easily for a soldier. 

Commander Wolffe will not relax completely today, because he can't. At least not on his own, not without someone to reign him in should he stray too far beyond briefly conferring with a soldier or two, or sparing a few moments for a visual sweep across the clearing when it had been light out. 

“Thought I'd keep up my habit of keeping you company,” you offer quietly, setting yourself down in the lush grass beside him to pull out your sketchbook and pencils, “if that's alright.” You won’t mention the fact that while you were giving Wolffe the space you thought he needed, Sinker had extracted himself from where he, Boost and Comet had steered a giggling mess of Clones a little further off when their retellings of their “sexploits” had become a little more colorful. 

You’ve been having better luck than us, Arcadia, Sergeant Sinker had admitted to you, we think you should be the one to keep him company. We’ll keep the lid on things here best we can.

(Force be with you and all that if ‘keeping a lid on things’ involves Orchid and far too many details about sex in any capacity… (Like the time he purportedly ‘froze up’ for a moment when he realized the date he scored himself at 79’s was with an intersex humanoid-species he can't remember the name of.))

You're aiming just to be non-intrusive, out-of-the-way in your company. You're not expecting conversation when you've already done plenty of talking today. You're not even sure what you'll sketch, or if you'll even draw. 

Hearing the words “Could I?” out of his mouth is surprising to you. He almost certainly hears that surprise in your voice. 

“You wanna give it a try? Uh. S-sure, here.” 

The pad is immediately flipped to a clean, unmarked page once it's in his hands; selecting a pencil takes longer, the labels making little sense. Herf. Besh. Herf-Besh. 2-Besh. There's at least two others he hasn't touched yet. 

“What does it all mean?” he murmurs more to himself than you. (He takes the 2-Besh at your coaching.) “Level of the graphite’s softness?” 

You can only shrug. “Apparently. From what little I know, 2-Besh is most versatile, so that should work for just about whatever you had in mind.” He could fill the page with circles until you've gone cross-eyed for all you care, honestly. There's obviously been a lot on his mind today; there's been a lot on yours too. Whatever it'll take to drive the thoughts nipping at your heels back even for a moment, or even slow or halt altogether that tumultuous tailspin of anxiety for both of you would be a welcomed discovery. 

He's made up his mind on what he'll be drawing, but you're not permitted to look. “Not just yet.”

“What? Oh, Wolffe, come o-” 

“Ah-ah. Would only be fair.” He didn't see what you had been working on for a few hours, after all, right? The piece the Commander plans to compose is less involved than yours, so it shouldn't take ‘terribly long’. (Okay, that would only be fair, you concede.) You have one of his pistols, so if you wanted, you could walk around the outskirts of the clearing so long as you were mindful of how close you were to the forest. 

Maybe not right now. Maybe instead you should keep an unoccupied eye out instead. You both did just hear General Plo begin to caution several men only a few yards away that there was a shift in the Force around the planet. 

The inhabitants of Little Archossi might be waking up. 

“Good idea.” Wolffe agrees. He'll be quick about it, he promises. You'll have a look before long, though for now, you'll need to find a way to entertain yourself between the intermittent safety checks. Keep your eyes up, keep your ears perked, and sweep your line of sight often. The only thing he won't tell you to do is keeping a closer eye on the shinies. “I don't know how well you know my men; how readily you can tell them all apart, nevermind who is and isn't newer to the battalion.”

You single out a trooper at random - one who's absolutely covered in grass stains and dirt after rolling down a hill in his full armor kit - and in full confidence declare “That's Halogen. I believe he's fond of rotary cannons as opposed to blasters.” 

He chuckles once, impressed. “And is Halogen a shiny?” You're good; he wants to see just how good you are. The pencil is flipped in Wolffe's hand and he tediously erases something for a moment.

“He’s not. Waves, the brother he's sneaking up on is, though.” 

Another impressed chuckle. You know more than you've let on, perhaps, he admits, but he still won't task you with shiny-wrangling. Leave that to him as their commander. He turns his attention wholly to the spiral-bound book in his hands, occasionally leafing through the previously marked pages until he reaches the first. Comparing? Admiring? 

Or is he thinking, remembering? 

“Like worship…” 

You try not to respond, acting entirely too interested in the busy-work of fixing up your footwear, ensuring all is secure as you wait for those choppy, sweeping skritch!-es to resume. 

And with Commander Wolffe nose-deep in the sketchpad, shielding it from your field of view, you find yourself zoning out somewhat. He won’t show you what he’s working on, but from the sheer amount of times he’s glanced your way, you have a possibility in mind.

You turn your gaze skyward for the moment, higher than the fireflies and beyond the misting of stars. “Wow… would you look at the size of that moon?” you marvel under your breath, more to yourself than anyone in particular. Round and bright, she’s certainly the celestial focal point over Little Archossi, and though it will likely be dark, or perhaps partly back-lit, you know the general location of the Jedi cruiser from your position. 

Will the moon look just as beautiful from the viewports of the Triumphant, or does she lose all her shining splendor in the spiraling vastness of space? 

“I’m not going to howl.”

There’s a beat of silence before the commander either realizes that you had not made the remark he assumed you had, or that you had not reacted to it like he would have guessed.

“Sorry, Arcadia, I…” The graphite pencil halts in his hand as he reigns in his thoughts, sharply exhaling the likely frustration or disappointment. “Terrible joke. There was a trooper named Howell… It was part of a routine with him; he had a fascination with astronomy. Could tell you the name of every moon a planet had. First thing he’d look for every nightfall. “Look Commander,” he’d say, “Look at the size of that moon!” with such palpable excitement, too…”

You can guess why Wolffe’s reply was what it was. You can almost hear how he’d likely say it too, were he less distracted by the sketch in his hands… “What happened to Howell?”

“The half-starved megafauna the droids were using cornered him in a foxhole while we were aiding another Jedi in the Outer Rim. General Plo couldn’t reach Howell in time.” Commander Wolffe's pencil strokes become halting, brisk, as he thinks about this brother. “Without a helmet, it takes roughly 235 kilograms of force to crush a human skull. Or so I'm told.” The afterthought is added in a small, tight voice. A memory he’s jostled loose that’s left a bitter taste in his mouth.

A fist squeezes the material of your uniform over your heart as you infer poor Howell’s fate for yourself. “Fucking shit…” How terrible. You try not to dwell on those thoughts as you glance over your surroundings, even behind you for good measure. (What sort of megafauna is capable of that, anyways?) Nothing appears out of order in the clearing, but there seems to be perceptible activity from the treeline that the Force-wielder is picking up on. 

Why else would Plo Koon be steering the Clones deeper into the heart of the clearing with that kind, almost fatherly cautioning;  “Why don’t you join your brothers near the hills, son? (Why, General?) In the interest of safety, that’s all.” Every opportunity he has, Plo has his eyes trained on the forest as he moves from cluster to cluster of troopers, directing them to move closer to where Sinker and Boost have positioned themselves, or the Republic gunships at the very least. He’s moving with purpose, his stride unbroken and direct through the ankle-high, fragrant grass.

Something must be awake beyond the trees…  You don’t know if you should start feeling concerned by all these precautionary measures, or feel assured. The Commander hasn’t reacted in any noteworthy way as of now, but you know he’s at least noticed your nervous tells once more. Only once he’s taken a more thorough read of your body language - the shoulders creeping closer to your ears, the occasional bob in your throat with every dry swallow, the fistful of your uniform rumpled in your dominant hand - does Commander Wolffe begin to act.

He begins covering and setting the sketchpad aside, just for a moment, to give you and the immediate surroundings his undivided attention. “Don’t hold your breath, Arcadia. The last thing you should do when you’re starting to get nervous is hold your breath.” he advises you, being cautious about his line delivery. Too casual, it comes across flippant at best about your anxieties. Too stern, and it will sound like a lecture. A reprimand. And he’s not here to do that; Wolffe only means to soothe your nerves best as he can - like he tried to do for Suds. “General Plo would be addressing those troopers a little more urgently if he sensed real trouble.”

You bob your head, but want to offer him a questioning look all the same. The Jedi’s behavior seems pretty damn urgent to you. But Commander Wolffe knows the Kel Dor better than you do, so you trust he’s telling you the truth. “That’s good to know.” you reply with a lilt of relief in your voice. 

A lilt he of course notices, and takes as a permission of sorts to resume his sketching. He’s nearly done, he tells you, but he needs to clean up one last thing and add another first before he shows you. Then, perhaps, you could help him decide how he should finish this. 

“That sure was fast.” You don’t know if surprise or admiration for the speed of his work is more appropriate.

Maker have mercy, when he flashes a slightly wolfish smile at you, you’re almost tempted to pinch yourself - just to be sure you haven’t imagined it. 

“It helps when you’re inspired.”

That’s certainly true, in your experience. When you feel inspired by something, feel inspired to create something, it feels like little else matters in that moment. You can become a whirlwind of creative thought, so swept up in the progress, that time just seems to slip away.

Before you can ask what it was that inspired the Clone commander, Wolffe has added his last few pencil strokes, and presents you with the page. 

It becomes very clear right away what it was that has captured his eye, what it was that inspired him. It’s just as you suspected.

“Is… that supposed to be me?” you utter in wonder. 

The figure on the page looks just like you, resembles you at the very least; but the wear is not your own. The slate gray uniform has been swapped for the raven of the bodysuit, and encasing every limb are the segments of Clone armor. The gauntlets sport claw-marks, and you think that partially-hidden phase two helmet at “your” hip has what are supposed to be bare teeth - wolf teeth, no doubt. And the chest plate is clearly modeled after his own, at least in part. Otherwise crisp lines partly ruined by eraser-smudgings, there's a large crack in the direct middle, and in the center there's an attempt at an anatomically-correct human heart.

There is a tiny, tiny little icon of the Wolfpack on the throat of the bodysuit in your favorite color, and that's when you see without further doubts that yes, this is supposed to be you. 

If your drawing was described as worship, you find his to be an equally heartfelt act of devotion. You're drawn with such care, it's nearly… you don't even have the words for it. 

You find yourself almost choking out your words now. “It is me…” 

“And you're welcome to color it as you see fit, Arcadia,” Commander Wolffe says rather abruptly, thrusting the pad into your open hands, “I’m needed to speak with the General.”

Pleading with him to stay is like trying to catch smoke. “Wolffe, wait-” He's quicker to his feet than you expect, trampling the grass underfoot without a moment's hesitation to answer the Kel Dor’s distant summons. He will not wait. He will not explain what the bottom of the page, in tidy, thin Aurebesh means. 

Behind the teeth and claws, there is a beating heart. 

I now have a taglist form, which you can find -> HERE! <- 🩷 Thank you for your patience as the length of this fic spirals out of my control, haha. Clearly it's no longer just the four initial segments like I once thought. (Hey, it's just more Commander Wolffe content, can we really complain?)

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Here] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn part 2]

[ails-of-ardor-au]

Hm thinking about Bluestar contrasted to Goldenstar. ESP if she’s still the formers apprentice. Like okay Blue is told that she is to abandon and cut away any ties she has so she can fulfill her fated purpose, losing a mother, sister, kits. She never stops to think maybe she could keep these things. She has to lose everything to be born anew. She doesn’t just let these tragedies happen, she brings them about.

Whereas Golden wanted connection, she had a family, kits, that she never would’ve wanted to lose. She would’ve changed anything to keep them. And yet fate took them. Her parents (whoever they were, personally a fan of Sunfall and Speckletail), her twin, her mate, her kits. She loses them all and it hurts. And yet she’s supposed to feel grateful for this grief that rips her apart. That she simply can’t shake off. She has to rise every day and act like she earned this by losing them all.

I can’t help but feeling like she would look at Fireheart with such envy that eats her apart. He got to have it all. He goes to bed to a warm nest with the cats he loves. He wasn’t leader sure but at this point, with this much pain it’s put her in to be able to be here, she wishes she could sleep in the place that smelled of family. But she’s all alone, in her den with no one to hold, only their ghosts to show up in her dreams and tell her this was her destiny.

I’m a bit crazy over them actually- cannot wait for the Goldenstar ref I will be hanging her up on my wall lol

Was Goldenflower Bluestar’s apprentice..? That’s a very interesting extra connection between them… I’ll keep that in mind, though I’m not cementing it into the lore for now.

Also ugh… UGH!! They’re both so tragic… Two women of such different circumstances who ultimately fall onto the exact same path.

This was great to read; I love this sort of casual analysis so so much…

[moltara]

it's time for a fun game of "how many xweetoks does niko own at this moment?"

on my main:

Afuni - stealthy xwee

Arketi - faerie xwee

Bulavo - robot xwee

Jittomiru - royal xwee

Muimie - plushie xwee

weetjetokje - starry xwee

on my first side:

7775 - red xwee

7300 - blue xwee

Cijq - red xwee

7m7 - fire xwee

on my second side:

Sunfalls- darigan xwee

for a grand total of: ELEVEN BC I MISCOUNTED

[moonfurthetemmie]

Sunfall Master post

There's individual posts but there's also this big doc with everything in it, and that may be easier if you want to read everything at once. but if you want individual bits here's the posts!

Glaze and Tempera (+ Ink)

Wren (+ Finch)

Orion

Corvus

Xena

Java (+ Cross & Error)

Aster (+ Blue)

✨Plot✨

Endings 1-3

The Maelstrom and the beasts

Random other stuff

[spottyissleepwalking]

“Moonflower leave your husband. I’m free February 14th if you want to hang out on February 14th, I’m not doing anything February 14th, just let me know about February 14th.” - Sunfall probably

Design notes:

She’s huge and she’s fluffy. She sucked up all of Goosefeather’s height into herself; she has the build of their mother, while her brother has her coloration more accurately. All three of them are speckled colorpoints (even though her pose doesn’t exactly portray that very well ^^’).

Also has yellow-and-blue heterochromia like her brother! She hides hers, though, due to being self conscious about it (and Stormtail actively expressing his distaste for it, as it “made her look too much like her freak show of a littermate”).

Her canines are slightly longer than average.

She’s very put together physically; very clean and elegant and well-groomed. Bordering into headcanon territory, I like to think that Moonflower was considered the picture of ThunderClan beauty during her youth: she’s huge and muscular and has an unusual fur color and pattern, and she was aware of this and held her physical appearance to a very high standard, even after getting with Stormtail.

The flower at the base of her tail is, unoriginally, a moon flower! Some fun facts about the moon flower because I’m a botany nerd: they have many, many names! Datura flowers, thornapples, jimsonweeds, devil's trumpets, devil's weed, and hell's bells. They are also highly poisonous and belong to the nightshade family!

LGBT+ headcanon: Mtf transwoman (she/they), and demiromantic-heterosexual.

[Image ID: A digital drawing of a sitting, left-facing Moonflower against a translucent background; her body is angled towards the “camera”, with her back to the viewpoint, and her head turned to face it. She is a massive, thick-furred, very fluffy very pale silver-blue-gray speckled colorpoint cat; her mane is very fluffy and very pale white-silver; she has a thick, long, darker marking running down her spine to her fluffy, pale-tipped tail with darker speckles along her sides, and across her face, muzzle, and ear-tips; there is a crescent moon mark between her brows. The left half of her face is obscured by curving “hair fluff”, with her one visible eye being very pale yellow. At the base of her tail is nestled a datura flower. Against her side is her color palette. Below her tail is the word “MOONFLOWER” written in white, all-caps. Across her mane is the stylized artist signature of “spottyissleepwalking” written in faded lavender. / End ID.]

[joxaren-ebelyn]

strangers pony ocs part 2

right pony is 'sunfall', and the blue/orange pony on the left ran off but iirc their name had dream/daydream in it. possibly not, i was looking at a lot of different people at once.

[cryptidclaw]

Star Bluefrost!

Bonus, Bluefrost post Tigerclaw's betrayal!

Design Notes:

Blue has the slender (Oriental shorthair/Siamese inspired) body type of her father. She looks a LOT like Stormtail, but she's blue instead of brown.

During Tigerclaw's attack, he clawed her chest, leaving her a scar over her leader mark, I like the symbolism, since this can represent her subsequent loss of faith in the Stars.

Character Bio:

Star Bluefrost

Bisexual; Cis Molly; she/her

Age as of 1st arc's beginning: 9 cycles; 52 Hyrs

Title meaning: -frost = a cat with a particularly cold or serious personality.

Leader of Thunder Order; Was in line due to being Star Sunfall's apprentice. Gave up her kits to stop Thistleclaw from becoming Second.

Second(s): Redtail (apprentice); Lionheart (Star Sunfall's son); Tigerclaw (nephew); Fireheart (apprentice)

Successor: Star Fireheart

Mentor: Star Sunfall

Mother: Moonflower

Father: Stormtail

Siblings: Snowstorm

(Ex-) Mate: Star Creekstorm

Kits: Star Mistyfoot; Stonecliff; Moss

Grandkits: Reedwhisker; Perch; Carp; Stonestream; Rippletail; Beechfur

Adoptive Grandkit: Primrosedawn

Other notable kin: Goosefeather (uncle); Whitestorm (nephew); Star Tigerclaw (nephew)

Extra notes: Star Bluefrost is a gray character (literally and figuratively lol)! She does cruel things (Brightheart's og name) and makes some bad decisions (giving up her kits) but that does not make her a horrible person. She was under extreme stress and trauma during the time she gave up her kits, and at the end of her life she was suffering from an extreme mental break that probably involved some dementia. This doesn't excuse her actions, but I love her character for how flawed and complex she is!

This cat is one of my favorite soggy traumatized meowmeows <3

....

[Image 1 ID: A digital drawing of Star Bluefrost, an au version of Bluestar from Warrior Cats. She is standing with her right side showing and a calm expression. She is a slender long legged short furred blue gray cat with white on her muzzle, around her eyes, on her paws, and tail tip, she also has a white spot on her chest in the shape of a diamond/star. Her fur is a darker shade of blue on her back, tail, legs and around her face She has a scar over her shoulders, her scar, inner ears, and nose are all pink and she has blue eyes ./End ID]

[Image 2 ID: A digital drawing of Star Bluefrost, an au version of Bluestar from Warrior Cats. The image is the same as the previous one, but now Bluestar has wide open fearful eyes, her ears are back and she has a scowling expression, her fur is scruffy and fluffed out on her back tail and neck, and her claws are unsheathed. She now has three slash mark scars going across her diamond/star marking on her chest./End ID]

[cosmicfurying]

[A flag with a beige stripe at the top followed by a pale orange stripe, a pink stripe, a hot pink stripe, a darkish red stripe, a dull maroon stripe, a blue stripe, and a dark blue stripe. There are stars present on the two blue stripes.]

Sunfallic

A xenogender connected to both the sunrise and sunset

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coined by me♡

[animalechochamber]

A long standing tradition of formal duels has been around since the old age, brought in originally from the cats who lived on the moorlands that merged with the forming clans.

A duel must be agreed upon by both parties and have at least one witness to have a clear record of what went down. While some are duels till the other taps out most are to the death, as those who’d even risk that much honor on a duel would rather die in the fight then admit they are weaker. Most often it’s been used between two particularly hard to choose deputies but also to nip foreseen wars in the bud. One fight instead of many, that usually end cleanly, and settle things once and for all.

-This is all expanded for the idea of R!Bluefur, Bluemoon and Thistleclaw having a duel to end their competition once and for all. They agreed though beforehand that neither would kill the other, as both had children (Whitekit, Mosskit, Mistykit, Moonkit). But Thistleclaw didn’t follow their one rule of honor. And she in trying to subdue him, ended up shoving him too far. The poisoned warrior would fall into the river unconscious and end up drowning, his body never found as it floated off to the gorge where it smashed against the rocks. This is where she receives her iconic shoulder scar. From his thorny claws which would cut a lighting across her fur. The observer for them was actually Rosetail, who despite being Thistleclaw’s kin, said that he had slipped and fell into the river by his own mistake. She saw who her brother really was and was even relieved that he went out before he was completely unrecognizable to her. Even if it hurt.

Blue and Rose raised Whitepaw, later Froststorm after she comes out (yes transfem Whitestorm is real I love her), and Blue becomes deputy without the competition of Thistle. Unlike canon where it turns out there was no competition there actually was here as Thunderclan was left entirely leaderless without an appointed deputy. So the two were the candidates to take over entirely without having been deputies before.

Notes:

-Sunfall dies before he’s even able to get his lives. I’m thinking either by Thistleclaw OR in a freak accident that really divides the clan apart

-Bluemoon becomes leader and makes R!One-eye, renamed Mottledeyes, her deputy to have a more wise but trustworthy figure on her side. Though she later retires after her daughter Speckletail brings her the first of her grandkits to be born, being Mistlekit.

-Her kits are still OakBlue kits but were given up to secure a peace treaty between the two clans. This both made tensions less high and damaged her reputation. Mistykit and Moonkit went to Oakheart while Mosskit, the first born, stayed with her. Mosskit would end up dying though in an attempt to sneak out to go to her littermates, freezing in the snow. Moonkit renames himself at his apprentice ceremony to Stonepaw to try and distance from his mother as he blames her for the disaster that is their “family”

-She never was a prophecy cat. No great destiny laid out in stone for her. Her uncle Goosefeather did say she would have many hardships but never anything too specific. She got herself to where she is and would go, though the faithful side says it was all preplanned, leading to her shattered beliefs later on

-Dies the same. Leading the dogs off the gorge into the water. She is pulled out by her kits and says sorry for what she put them through, and to her son Fireheart that he will never forget that he has his own trail to blaze. Not one already cleared out to follow.