#as i am aware many are very tired of this

[magentacravat]

@greatqueenanna I am sorry i just replied you rn (4 years later), i got overwhelmed, didn't know how to reply and forgot about this post lol.

Despite them each other having different tone of skin, hair, eyes, etc to each other, i think they are still looks pretty distinctive looks that makes them still different from Arendellian. I don't think it even need deep analysis to notice.

All Northuldran have higher cheekbones, more structure face, and dark hair. All of them looks the same, and it's understandable. Even the picture of sami people (that they use as inspiration and reference for Northuldran people) are all have their own distinctive look. Like i can see they have features you can say "Oh they looks like sami people". Honestly, i don't see them as diverse, except different hair color.

Only Arendellian that have diverse look to it's people.

Of course they have "Eurocentric" features, Norway is in Europe hehehehe

I don't think it was deceptive of me to compare Iduna and Honeymaren because at the time the movie only explained that Iduna was from Northuldra, Honeymaren is from Northuldra, thus why i was questioning "Why she looks different alone????" Why is that made me deceptive? It was the most logical thing to compare them.

Of course it was before "Dangerous Book" released, so no explanation for Iduna being adopted. If i do that now, sure it makes me stupid. But still, if they have intention making Iduna as "Native" so they can make her as the representation of certain group they tried to represented, why didn't they make it more vague? Like, simply made some of the Northuldran have similar face like Iduna.

I didn't mean to deny Iduna's heritage, i surely should have wrote it better, but please forgive me for my lack of skill for the languange (I am not english speaker and sadly it happened a lot). I am more into feeling enough and complained a lot how Disney and several Hollywood's movie production at the time very "shamelessly" making movies that said they want to represent certain minority group but only if it is fit to their narrative or if it is fits for the plot only but never taken seriously. It's like making a biography about black person that have skin and look as Viola Davis, then choose Zendaya to play the part. Or making the plot with the character from SEA native, yet casted an East Asian actor/actrees for it. I hope you get what i mean and what i aim to.

Sure it sounds insensitive when it just simply taken "Oh you surely not A-Race cause you don't look like it" But, that's what based on my though about it, so i also feel it's pretty insensitive for people to refuse to acknowledge that things like that happen too. Things like "the presented group doesn't really presented as how they should be".

Disney have many routes to play this "Oh they related to Northuldra", they can make Kristoff related to them, they can make Elsa-Anna's grandma related to them, they can make them their early ancentors, etc. But they choose to label an already existed character with already well known look to fit into a certain group of people just so they can make it a love story and suddenly the genocide never happen and suddenly the Northuldran just "have to" forgive the sisters, like do you realize how terrible that sounds? Many movies, stories, anything use this kind of plot to make people tolerate colonizers being colonizers in their colony's land, look at Pocahontas story made by Disney (althou i LOVE that movie), it happened a lot and i just feel tired when i see it Disney did it in Frozen 2 too.

But, thankfully, in the last of 4 years, more people seems to be more aware of it and dare to speak up about it. I am truly sorry, i just realized how it seems like my topic went everywhere. I really appreciate your reply in the reblog, i've seen you have a pretty trustful reputation in frozen fandom community with your dicussion, so hopefully i get to deliver my reply pretty well 😓

“PART OF THEM”

It still absurd to me whenever i read articles or when Disney said “Idunna is actually native Northuldran”. Like…. Wheeeere?

They portrayed this Northuldran have their own characteristic like higher and prominent cheekbones, wider space between eyes, almond and upturned eyes, wilder nose, stronger jawline, and DARKER SKIN.

And then they show Idunna who is looks like nothing resemble and Northuldran. They tried to show her part of “native” with her darker skin while she was A CHILD like that even not making more laughable.

She have this pretty princess normal Arendelle type face, extremely pale, nothing like the Northuldran. Does our appearance can drastically change depends on where we live? Will i be suddenly have caucasian’s characteristic if i ever move to North Europe?

“Skin can be lighter when you grow up.”

Yeah, then at least we can see some Northuldran have skin as light as Elsa then, especially since they never got the sun touch all this time.

I also find it so ridiculous for the part when Elsa and Anna said they are part of them and the Northuldran suddenly just accept them and be like “the past is in the past, forget that they betrayed us and tried to colonize us” despite they just reach there not even 10 minutes ago.

It’s make me thinking, is that how westerners still see native people? Especially to the place they was trying to colonize?

“We are part of you.” Yeah. I think that’s the magic words it seems. At least that’s what they seems to show in the movie.

Maybe because it’s the easiest way to make a community suddenly fond of you and accepting you (althought it’s tacky indeed.)

If they stuck like that because Idunna’s face already default from F1, they can make the Northuldran’s face looks more like Idunna instead. Or maybe making Agnaar’s mother as the one from Northuldra considering we never saw her and they have more freedom to create new character. Or just not making them related and completly making Arendelle have redemption arc towards the Nortuldran.

Not like making Idunna as part of the Northuldran despote she doesn’t resemble anything from her tribe. What is this? Avatar live action by Night M. Shyamalan?

[ziskeyt]

i went to bed early last night cause i was pretty ridiculously tired, and i knew staying up would not change what I would see upon waking. i may not live in the country, but it is the country of my birth, where i still vote, and where all of my immediate family live. it is where my friends are, where people i care about have made homes and lives. and it is also where other people live and i care about them even though i'll never know them. it's devastating to see that he's got such a lead, that news outlets are calling it when i'm not even sure every vote has been counted. we know there were many mail-in ballots this year as with the last time. we know that it took days for Biden to be called the winner. we have lived through this before. and also, we haven't. i wanted to see a voting record unquestionably in her favour, as a florida voter i'm always hoping that we'll turn the state blue again. i was joking around with my dad about it last night, even. and to wake up and not see that? it's not. well. it's not unexpected. I am a person who strongly, strongly lives in hope. i'm also a very pragmatic person. i'm aware of the reality that i live in, despite how disconnected i feel from it, and despite how much i hope for better. trump's lead is not surprising me, it is devastating nonetheless. you don't want to live in a reality where people gladly vote for an idiot to run their economy because he's good at lying about how smart he is with business and the media props him up, you don't want to live in a reality where there are other countries interfering with the election cycle from day one to push people from voting democratic, you don't want to live in a reality where people again, gleefully ate up interference and refused to vote. and you don't want to live in a reality where a large number of people just refuse to see your humanity. but as a Jew. as a disabled, trans, Jew -- i know i live in this reality. as busted and unpleasant as it is. and despite living in this reality, i also know that there is good out there. that we do persevere and survive. we continue to fight for a better future, for our children and their children, for the waterways, the animals, the prairies and the forests. we do not stop because hatred is loud and easy. we continue because we know that love and compassion are a through-line of humanity and we, all of us, get to decide how that continues. we will dance again.

[live-from-flaturn]

American Television after 5 years of pushing for queer representation: I hope you wanted unnecessary drama, angst with a maybe resolution, and three unfulfilling seasons of questionably written flirtation. And that all comes before anything is half-confirmed with a singular lukewarm kissing scene between two conventionally attractive, white bisexual women!

Thai Television .3 seconds after they figured out queer content is marketable: Did you want something kinky, soft, or stupid? Did you want cat ears? We’ve got cat ears! We’ve got safe/sane/consensual OR off-the-charts bad etiquette BDSM. We’ve got college students out the ass! As long as they’re an engineer or architect, choose your flavor. Do you want an age gap or classmates? Something for adults? Teens? Everyone was childhood besties, how about that??? This is a short order restaurant and I will flip you some gays like they’re hotcakes, just tell me what you want.

[crossbackpoke-check]

yOu'Re gOiNg fOr a LiTeR? | "Habs react to Quebec Maple facts", 10.22.24

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hey, no worries! I understand life gets in the way sometimes, haha. Sorry to hear you're feeling under the weather, Maia! ❤️‍🩹 But hey, always a good excuse to curl up and do a bit of reading, at least~

I love that there's a clone grapevine and no one is safe from it. From the shinies all the way up to Fox, everyone's going to hear about what they've done!

Yessss. I took a bit of inspiration from things my brother told our family about during his time in the service. They called their rumor mill the "PNN", or Private News Network. (I was 🤏this🤏close to calling it the 'Clone News Network' in the fic!) Using a rumor mill felt like the perfect way to start the fic and explain how Wolffe would have heard about what happened on Coruscant.

Some inspiration for meeting Fox in a diner was taken from @the-bad-batch-baroness's heart-aching and amazing Where's Mommy? series; the idea for it being Dex's Diner in particular came a bit later in the pipeline.

But it became the perfect setting the more research I put into this fic for so many reasons.

Canonically speaking [depending on the sources used], Dex's Diner made for a good meeting spot for criminals because Dex is welcoming and doesn't believe in intruding in other people's business. (He's also got his own criminal past, so, who's he to judge?) FLO promising Wolffe no one would know what he was there for was very deliberate. It essentially ensured the discussion would never disrupt or change canon.

Pointing out that Dex is a Besalisk would become the PERFECT way to bring up not just Pong Krell, but the other (in)famous instance that Fives had a blaster turned on him by his own brothers. (Something that, again using the C.N.N., Wolffe would have likely heard about at some point or another.)

FLO scanning Wolffe was not intended to be dystopian, but I completely understand why it reads that way! Somewhere in my research I did into the WA-7s said they had facial-recognition software to identify regular patrons. I felt that was something Wolffe would likely be aware of and would fit perfectly into his hypervigilant nature. (Which would make him more likely to reflect on the style of the diner and the way things change around him all the time!)

And the unease. Every little fact about Fives' death would have caused Wolffe unease no matter what. But put him somewhere that is not affiliated with the GAR (or the Jedi) in any way, and it will be the perfect breeding ground for doubt and uncertainty to grow unchecked if Wolffe isn't careful. Coupled with the fact he hasn't seen Fox in a while?

You're right that Fox would be able to tell just how shaken, how stressed out Wolffe would be over this, no matter how much time they've been apart, too. No matter how little time they've been given to work together.

Even if Fox was tired. And I mean really tired.

I imagine (headcanon?) that after killing Fives, Fox would have thrown himself hard into Guard-work in order to avoid dwelling [read as: second guessing] on his call he had to make that night. The order he was given by Palpatine amounted to "ARC trooper Fives is a fugitive. He's armed and dangerous." and he had to act on his own authority from that point. And we know the rest from there.

But we'll still say it was Palpatine who made that call, because he's easier to blame. (Between the chip and his training, Fox never truly had a choice.) The Chancellor certainly won't need to know why he can't get ahold of the Marshal Commander for an hour or two while he and Wolffe get that nap.

Force knows they need it.

Woof. This took a couple hours to write on-and-off because I had so much (sorry lmao!) I wanted to share about what went into this fic; and I am incredibly honored to hear that you enjoyed it not just once, but twice. That means a lot, truly. 🩷

Hey Frost 💙! Happy 200 Followers 🥳!!

For the event I would love to submit an idea! What about an angsty Wolffe confronting Fox after he shoots Fives 👀?

Congrats!

The Tragedy of Level 1325 [Commander Wolffe Fic]

Warnings and Information: Clones killing their own kin is always an awful occurrence, more often than not a rare and accidental thing. So when Commander Wolffe catches wind of what happened on Level 1325, he meets with the other canine-themed Commander to get answers. And none of them will be easy to get, or, to hear. Set after the Clone Wars season six episode “Orders”. Lots of angst and heavy stuff in this one, folks! Heavy references/allusions to Fives’ death. Heavy references/allusions to canon-typical death, violence and injury. Reference to Pong Krell. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Minimal Mando’a. Narrative and stylistic use of italics.�� **This is not a cloneship/clonecest fic. Tag it as such and you will find yourself blocked.**

Word count: 4,287

How fast word travels in the GAR is both a blessing and burden. 

Regardless of the distance, time of day, or paint color, brothers will hear what the others have gotten up to in-between their conquest to defeat the Confederacy of Independent Systems. A rookie’s foolish notion to prank his superiors that ends with him earning himself a month’s worth of latrine duty. The terrible pick-up lines learned from holomags (and their success, or lack thereof) used on other patrons of 79’s. Brave charges lead out of killboxes and ambushes.

Clones turning on their own kin - that bitter pill was hard to stomach. 

Commander Wolffe found himself choking down one such pill upon hearing the events of the night before. 

It didn’t make a difference how many times he consulted the datafile in front of him, the mingling of horror and disbelief settled just as heavily in his heart each time. The primary commander of the Coruscant Guard had been the one behind the blaster used to end a Clone’s life on Level 1325, and it had not been an accident either. This was not another case of some sleemo stealing and wearing a Clone’s full kit; it had been, without question, a brother. 

Clones were less uniform than many nat-borns would like to believe. They may look the same from the texture of their hair, to their face-shape, and the warm-brown skin, but that’s often as far as the similarities go. They found their originality in names, speech-patterns, scarring, the way hair was cut (or bleached or dyed or styled), the addition and location of injected ink. There were the occasional (minor) aberrations, too, of course; like the brothers who ended up ocean-eyed, or blond. 

(They at least knew where the blondeness came from; a dormant echo in the genetics of the man who served as the master mold for the Grand Army.)

Not to mention the paint, and the patterns. The paint job was perhaps the biggest, most important piece of their individualism (at least externally). Those working in tandem with the soldiers relied quite heavily on the personalization to their second skins when first introduced. 

So when the datafile in Wolffe’s hands tells him the armor worn by the dead trooper was not his own, a sense of confusion as well as a wave of mild horror washes over the flint gray commander. The deceased was one of the 501st Legion’s cobalt crusaders, yet the ARC trooper had been killed in an unpainted, second skin that had been stolen from another. 

Why?

So many why-s.

When asking if his brother would agree to meet with him, it had taken some convincing. Fox’s agreement ultimately came with conditions, which were thankfully simple. Find somewhere in CoCo Town - as he was due to patrol that near that sector in a few hours time - and find some caf that didn’t taste like droid oil. 

There, Commander Fox would attempt to provide as many answers to Wolffe’s questions as he could. 

Though he couldn’t promise there’d be answers for all of them.

Entering the eighth eatery, Wolffe tries putting a little more trust in this diner’s advertising than each of the establishments he tried earlier. ‘Best food this side of the Senate District!’ A tagline like that would have to do a lot of heavy lifting for a greasy diner in a dilapidated industrial area. 

Inside, the diner has been furnished with several deep booths with shiny red seats as well as a long countertop that offers a glimpse into the kitchen through a narrow viewport. The decor is a mix of chrome and neon. While it’s perhaps not what Wolffe would call his favorite style, he had to give whoever ran the place credit for a cohesive, and constant, theme. 

This place looks like it hasn’t changed in years. Too often, Wolffe finds once-favorite establishments rehauling their menus, revamping the theme, gutting whatever charm the place had between his deployments. It’s a damn shame. Corsucant changes too quickly top-side; all of it fueled on someone else’s pursestrings, no doubt. 

Noticing his arrival, a WA-7 waitress droid, idly chatting with a pre-dawn client, pardons herself to welcome the prospective customer. Assuming he’ll be subjected to a facial recognition scan, Wolffe holds himself in near-militant attention until the droid speaks. 

“Welcome to Dex’s Diner! What can I get for you, hon?”

The first question he has for the waitress is the state of the diner’s caf. 

“Is your caf instant?”

The droid’s feminine programming and friendly inflection does its best to make up for an inability to smile. (He finds it a little unsettling all the same.)

“It’s brewed in-house, every hour on the hour.” 

Wolffe regards a small chronometer on the wall, displaying what his body-chrono already knows. Just a half-hour before dawn. Perfect. Depending on how far away Fox is, it shouldn’t take long for his vod to find his way here. Coruscant had been under the watchful eye and capable hand of the crimson commander very shortly after the start of the war; if anyone knew their way around this massive labyrinth of a planet, it would be Fox. 

“Good enough.” Wolffe says with a thankful nod. “Saves me the trouble of finding another place.”

“Looking for something to eat?”

“Not exactly. I’m supposed to meet with someone.” he explains, sending the name of the diner to Fox’s comlink while the WA-7’s back is to him, asking him to follow behind. She’s got just the spot for him. 

She shows Wolffe to a booth in the back-left corner, where he can already tell at a glance that the padding under the seat material is worn thin and unevenly. (Well, he’s sat in worse seats.) It’s secluded, just enough, that it should afford him and his brother a little more privacy. He unseals his helmet as quietly as he can to avoid disturbing the other patrons, and sets the sunbonnet down on the table. 

“Your business isn’t our business,” the droid promises to Wolffe’s great confusion as he works to seat himself as gracefully as possible with the kama, “so rest assured that whoever you’re meeting, we won’t tell a soul.” 

“Okay… I appreciate that.” 

Wolffe straightens out his modified phase two helmet on the tabletop, dismissing the waitress’s offer to get him something to start with while he waits. Glass of Jawa Juice, perhaps? It’s a house special. 

A mash of bantha hide and fermented grain so early in the morning doesn’t sound particularly appealing. 

“Nothing right now, thank you.”

The WA-7 nodded. “Suit yourself, hon. Give a holler when you’re ready.”

It wouldn’t be long from now. Fox had sown the seeds for a system the Corries called ‘Zeros and Fives’ when it came to meeting their vode for non-military matters. Seeking out Fox for answers wasn’t technically an emergency, but it should hopefully be treated with a little more urgency seeing as Wolffe couldn’t wait around all morning. With the General’s help, he had to fabricate time-sensitive duties to excuse his presence on Coruscant earlier than expected. 

Some poodoo about retrieving something-or-other under the General’s orders. Records of research from the Chief Librarian of the Jedi Archives, Jocasta Nu. 

Records of what kind of research, he wasn’t sure. 

That comes later. Now, he was waiting for Fox.  Wolffe checks his comlink for any response to his choice of locale, finding only a silent ‘Seen’ status. Well, he’ll take it to mean his vod won’t be waving down the suggestion.

With little more than his comlink and the datafile to keep him occupied, the flint gray commander settled in for what could end up being a long wait in the event Fox ran into trouble on patrol. How long he would end up waiting would be inconsequential, so long as he got answers and insight to the root of this tragedy. Something to rationalize the reality of losing brothers to something other than Separatists and their sympathizers. 

He just had to ask himself why he was doing this. Why he cared so much, what he hoped to find. Maybe even who he was doing all this for. 

Was it for Fox, hoping to get ahead of the inevitable boiling point the rumors might reach?

Was it for Captain Rex, finding some shred of information that may bring closure to the death of one of his best men?

Was it for Fives, given the death of an ARC trooper was no insignificant thing? Was he hoping to find reason, or just cause?

Or was it for his own morbid curiosity, given other details of the deceased’s service file?

Commander Wolffe couldn’t be certain until his brother was dragging his over-caffeinated carcass through the doors of the diner, and down to the last booth on the left. He couldn’t be certain Fox would be forthcoming with those answers, either. Or the state the other commander would be in. 

Fifteen minutes before the next hourly pot of caf is made, Fox shuffles into the diner, quiet and wordless. Not in the sense of stoicism; rather fatigue. Ignoring the greetings of the waitstaff, he walks himself down to the booth once he’s found Wolffe in his visor. Like his fellow commander, Fox’s helmet remains over his head until he reaches the table, at which point he unseals, and drops it with a dull thud half an inch over the table. 

“Good to see you, Fox.” Wolffe says.

That was a lie. Perhaps only partially. He wished if he was paying the crimson commander a visit here on Coruscant, it would have been under better circumstances. With better beverages as well. The last time Wolffe had seen his brother, he was promised a splash of spotchka and the opportunity to properly talk about the Abregado disaster when next they met. To mourn the loss of Wolffe’s men and the change to his armor. They started this war named after members of the Canidae and painted in beautiful shades of red. 

Now they were just a couple of canines. 

Fox makes no immediate greeting. With a tired grumble, he drops into the booth, a small betrayal to the tireless façade the Corries had come to be known for. 

“Sorry to make you wait,” he says at last, propping his elbows on the table as he begins rubbing one bleary eye, “Patrol took longer to button up than anticipated.”

“That’s fine.” Wolffe replied, just relieved the other canine commander was here. 

Doing her rounds, the same service droid as before approaches the brothers’ booth and asks if they’d like anything to eat while they conduct their business. (She doesn’t suggest Jawa Juice this time.) Wolffe takes her up on the offer for the freshest cups of caf that would be ready not too long from now. Just as the droid goes to send in the order to the back-of-house, she takes another look at Fox— currently in the process of falling asleep at the table —and thinks better of it. 

“... I’ll tell Dex to make it a carafe.”

When the caf is prepared, instead of sending it out with the service droid, FLO, Dex himself brings it out from the kitchen to the front-of-house. 

And Dex had certainly not been what Wolffe imagined him to look like. 

Standing roughly 1.88 meters tall by the commander’s estimation, the owner of the diner was a heavyset Beskalisk who wore an ill-fitting, heavily stained white shirt and apron that had certainly seen better days. Making use of the four arms in his possession, Dex carried the carafe with the lower set, and a pair of mugs in a third, upper hand. 

Wolffe hides any surfacing unease after meeting the owner’s eye by fixing Fox’s helmet beside his own to clear space on the table. He came here to question his brother about an ARC trooper’s death over a decent cup of caf; he didn’t expect to be reminded of someone who put his brothers of the GAR through a gruesome campaign on the lightless word of Umbara. 

A Force-wielding Besalisk named Pong Krell had tricked the 501st and 212th into turning their blasters on each other some time ago. His style of leadership was firm, his fighting form aggressive. Krell’s war record boasted several successes at the bloody cost of countless Clone casualties; the highest of any Jedi. Having been seduced by the allure of rising power, he betrayed the Order, the Republic, and weaponized the absolute loyalty of the men under his command. 

It would be Fives, Jesse, and Hardcase of the 501st’s bravest blue to defy orders and take stolen ships to cripple enemy forces. They proved successful, though only Fives and Jesse would return. Krell had tried to order their execution as a result of this disobedience. But brothers in blue and orange mutinied against the fallen Jedi, and attempted his arrest. Once they managed to capture him, Krell had been interrogated and his treasonous plot was brought into the light. 

Fives had been faced with the business end of a blaster at the hands of his own brothers twice. 

He only survived it once. 

Wolffe could only hope Fives’ mortal remains were being treated with far more respect than whatever had been afforded to Krell. 

One thing was soon clear at least, the longer the diner’s owner was working to serve them the fresh caf: Dex was nothing like Krell, save for being a Besalisk. 

Dex was far kinder, friendlier. 

He first poured out a generous portion for Wolffe, chuckling warmly as he spoke. “You’ll want to be careful, gentlemen. Quite hot. Should do a fine job of perking you right up, though!” Wolffe was sure to thank Dex before carefully kicking his brother’s boot under the table to stir him. Fox hadn’t fallen asleep, but he certainly was heading in that direction the longer he sat in the booth. 

Tiredly scrubbing a hand over his face in an effort to wake up, Fox took hold of the mug that had been carefully pushed in his direction by the four-armed cook. 

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it! Matter of fact, I’ll leave the rest with you two and let you get about your business.” Dex carefully set the metal carafe on the tabletop and lumbered back into the kitchen, as promised. 

Together, the commanders would take their first sampling of the diner’s caf; Wolffe found it of decent quality, nothing more. There was nothing special that set it apart from other diners, but it was a step above the instant powder in his and his men’s rations. 

Fox on the other hand drank like the caf was no milder than water. Maker. That couldn’t be healthy. Once the mug had been lowered for a suitable amount of time, Wolffe voiced the first of his concerns. 

“When’s the last time you slept, vod?”

With a heavy exhale, Fox set down the mug and leaned against the backrest. “Same time as the rest of Coruscant.” he said, too focused on the patternless web of scratches in the table to see the displeased furrowing of his brother’s brow. 

“Coruscant never sleeps. Are you telling me you’re running on empty?”

“No. I just don’t remember, cub.” 

Wolffe grit his teeth, full lips pursing as his displeasure deepened. This was no time for the kit-and-cub routine they had developed fresh off Kamino, possessing a curiously bright-eyed quality that would be lost before long. This was serious. All of this was serious, and Fox is choosing now to be sarcastic and apathetic with him?

He has to stop and take a measured breath before acting on any kind of anger. Should he be short with Fox, Wolffe’s opportunity to get sensible answers might slip between his fingers. So instead, he nurses his mug of caf before saything or asking anything else. Maybe it’ll help him hold on to his tether a little longer if he combats his own budding fatigue. Crossing several galactic timezones in order to get to the heart of the Republic could make even the most tireless of men weary. 

Settled, Wolffe begins again. “What do you remember about last night?” A glance is cast over their helmets; the thought of scrubbing through helmet footage flickers in his mind. 

“Might need to be more specific,” Fox replies, wantonly tracing the rim of his mug with his forefinger. “What part of last night are you asking about?”

“The part that ended with a dead ARC trooper.”

For a moment, the other commander remained unnaturally still, and equally quiet. Now that the reason behind the visit Wolffe was paying him had been revealed, Fox felt the atmosphere of the diner tangibly shift. So that’s what this visit Wolffe was paying him was about. He was aware from the beginning Wolffe was coming all the way to Triple Zero to question him; not the subject matter of these questions. 

It was time to establish a baseline for the brothers. 

“What have you heard?”

Propping up the datafile, Wolffe presents the timeline as he understands it. 

Alongside the Kaminoan Nala Se and General Shaak Ti, ARC trooper Fives had traveled to Coruscant from the Clone homeworld and met with Chancellor Palpatine at the Grand Republic Medical Facility. Shortly upon their arrival, Fives presented a potential Separatist plot that he believed responsible for the death of a trooper by the name of Tup to General Ti, the Chief Medical Scientist, and Palpatine. Agreeing to hear him out, Fives was granted limited audience with the Chancellor. 

Per protocol, shock troopers and the Red Guard remained in the room when Palpatine requested to speak “alone” with Fives. This meant when the Chancellor was suddenly attacked, the response was almost immediate. 

Under threat of apprehension, Fives would escape the Medical Facility, and remain unaccounted for for some time before making contact with a member of Torrent Company - namely their medic, Kix. Coordinates would be given to a location on Level 1325 with the request General Skywalker and Captain Rex meet him there, as soon as possible, and importantly, alone. His commanding officers would go to Hangar 18 in Sector I-9, where Fives had been spotted by a probe droid, and find themselves caught in a ray shield. 

While effectively at his mercy, Fives would tell his commanding officers he had been set up, framed, before the arrival of the Corries. 

“Did you hear anything Fives might have said when you arrived with the Guard?”

Fox, just about to take a drink, paused. “Not everything.” Once they had made it inside the warehouse, he and his men were more concerned with finding safe cover before moving into action.

A minor tell of annoyance, the twitching of the scarred brow over his brother’s cybernetic eye, did not go unnoticed by the red commander. 

“Obviously. But what did you hear?”

“General Skywalker questioned why his ARC trooper believed the Chancellor was capable of orchestrating this… Separatist plot when an assassination attempt had failed. Said the Chancellor was incapable, though his soldier insisted.” Fox replied, considering the dregs in his mug for the moment before pouring himself another serving.

“At what point did you step in?”

Not long after, his vod tells him. 

“His back was to us. Didn’t see us draw our DeeCees.”

“Why didn’t you stun him?” Wolffe nearly demands. 

Fives had been declared a fugitive, the commander understood that. When he had taken part in the manhunt for Ahsoka Tano following the declaration of her own fugitive status following the bombing of the Jedi Temple and death of a suspect, Letta Turmond, it had been under orders. Tano had been a dear friend to General Plo; the Kel Dor often spoke so kindly of her… she had saved his life in the aftermath of Abregado.

But given the evidence at the time, he believed she was the primary suspect behind the blast that had killed Clones, maintenance workers and six Jedi, and left many more injured. A belief that would be buried once he heard General Skywalker had found and brought the true perpetrator before those who put the Togruta on trial. Firing upon someone he cared about, in his own fashion, while she was dazed and unarmed, would be the last time Wolffe ever saw Tano. 

The guilt still gnaws at him.

Maybe if they had taken Fives alive, the real perpetrator could have been discovered. Like Barriss Offee had been.

“Why,” he repeats himself, determined to break Fox’s continued silence, “Tell me why, Fox.”

“We didn’t exactly have much of a choice, Wolffe. I ordered him to stand down, warned him not to do it; but he drew a nearby weapon. He was acting erratically.”

Fox had to make a split-second decision with highly volatile variables at play; the way he had been trained. The way both of them had been trained. Trained to make the tough calls that came with the lofty status as Marshal Commanders, before Wolffe had been stripped of such a rank. Robbed of the red. 

It would be replaced with gray, to honor and remember the dead. 

The innumerable, tragic dead. 

Try as they might, the Kaminoans could never hope to train the sting of a brother’s tragic death out of the men of the GAR. 

Following a break to use the diner’s refreshers and collect themselves, the commanders return to the table, making use of limited time before Wolffe is supposed to act upon new military-wide orders from General Plo. 

“What orders?” Fox asks, brow pinched in confusion. 

He hadn’t seen any such notification. Just a report from Thire and Thorn that more surveillance footage had been acquired of the events from last night; they now had an answer for how ARC trooper Fives avoided the shock troopers checking IDs in the Clone bar. A damn hat given to him by a corporal from another unit, of all things. 

“I’m supposed to report to the nearest Republic med center to receive some kind of vaccination. For a parasite.” 

Continuing to read the message on his comlink, Wolffe learns soldiers on other planets will need to await the arrival of the inoculation that was being mass-produced to protect every Clone, whether their deployment was peaceful, or on the front lines. 

“They… think some kind of rare parasite native to Ringo Vinda was responsible for what happened to Tup. For the behavior Fives displayed before you-” 

Something about this didn’t feel quite right. 

This answer was too convenient. How was it possible that a parasite was missed by the Chief Medical Scientist during Tup’s thorough examination on Kamino, but discovered by the Chancellor’s personal doctors in a rushed autopsy? (They had been thorough, right?) How did invasive organisms cause these “aggression inhibitors” to decay? How many more men of the 501st Legion were potentially infected, and how did the organism spread? Something about this wasn’t adding up. 

Maybe by asking the shock troopers who had been present during the conversation Fives had with the Chancellor, he could find something they missed; maybe they had heard something-

“ -ffe. Wolffe,” 

Failing to get the flint-gray commander’s attention, Fox has reached across the table and taken hold of his hand just as he finds it beginning to tremble. Minor stress tremors such as these have plagued him since the ill-fated naval battle, though they’ve been dormant for a long time with a combination of strict rest and discipline. And typically, they’re almost unnoticeable. 

But Fox has always had sharp eyes with even sharper ears. 

“When’s the last time you slept?”

A slow burning behind his eyes—the feeling stronger on the right—served as an uncomfortable reminder that he had been unable to find much meaningful rest after hearing what happened in Coruscant’s sub-levels. Another brother’s tragic, untimely death. Resisting the urge to rub his eyes and rid himself of the discomfort, Wolffe instead returns the steady squeeze rather than pulling away. 

Voice soft, he heaves a quiet sigh. 

“Not recently enough, kit.”

Perhaps it was his own fatigue that had him jumping to absurd conclusions. The demise of an elite ARC trooper had reminded him of his own heavy losses, and his composure was beginning to suffer for it. That was unacceptable. He needed to sleep. Both of them needed to sleep. 

But more importantly, Wolffe needed to leave. He had a set time to arrive at the med center by, and it would be imprudent to be late. Gathering the datafile, his comlink, and his helmet, Wolffe took one last gulp of caf before standing to bid his brother farewell. 

Then, he had an idea. 

“Maybe… after I’ve gotten the inoculation, we should both crash in your quarters for an hour if you’ve still got that shitty old couch stuffed in there since the last time I saw you.”

Fox chuckled, a lazy smirk settling over his features. 

“It’s still there and shitter than ever,” the crimson commander promised, “Been too busy to remove it.”

Wolffe resealed his helmet so Fox wouldn’t see the grim smile, one grateful for the meager space to sleep and troubled by the responsibilities his brother has had to shoulder that have kept him so busy, he can’t rearrange a stained sofa. 

It was no wonder Fox was sporting some silver around his temples prematurely. It probably wouldn’t be long before Wolffe’s own raven-dark hair did the same, given his own burdens and losses. This war would make old dogs out of both of them. 

Assuming they lived long enough to see the supposed end of it. After all, only the dead will ever see the true end of war. 

And that was a tragedy for the living.

Thank you for making such a uniquely heart-breaking request for this event Maia; I hope I did these canine commanders justice and made it appropriately angsty enough. I hope you enjoyed! 🩷

Fic taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636

[Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: OPEN]

[hiraethwrote]

don’t mind me, just going to queue up some amazing fics while i sulk a little about not participating in kinktober 🥲

[fraternum-momentum]

I CANT I CANTTTTTTT I WILL LITERALLY EXPLODE RJIKNHGKRSBKFUCKNHJHFBNJEA JFHBAEJHBFJHBHBHBHBHBBAZHJDBAJHDBAJKHBDJKNA????A//////!?!!!!!!!!??!!???!?!?!??!! I CANNOT I LITERALLY NOT THE CAN I CANTTTTTT RAUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[oh-cramity-its-amity]

Hey, what do you listen to your cds with:)?

my stereo + 5 disc cd changer ! :]

bonus of all of the cds i picked up this month <3

(the 3rd is pool kids' s/t album. the quality isnt great w lighting but i found them recently and liked this album!)

[piplupod]

feels like the isolation is a gushing wound and going to the centre is just a small bandage. i think perhaps i am not really ever going to feel okay unless something miraculous happens. i am retaining some semblance of sanity now that I'm leaving the house and socializing with non-family more than once a week, but i am still hurting more than I can really tolerate and I don't know what to do about it. there doesn't seem to be a fix for this that I can enact.

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

//rant.

[starmoji1]

Quick Sims Ramble

I know I don’t post sims stuff on my blog (plan to in the future), but I’ve a simmer since 2017 and I’ve got thoughts.

I still remember some cc creators throwing tantrums bc EA threatened to uphold their 2-3 week (14-21 day) rule for paywalls—and proceeded to do absolutely nothing. Many of those posts from back then are still up btw, you can easily see what your favs think of you and how some of them see you as a walking wallet.

Speaking of cc creators and modders crying over money, Curseforge, why do you continue to use it? It’s been months now since that tweet of Overwolf (CF’s owner) explicitly stating they’re donating to the IDF, so I’m gonna assume most of you have had sufficient time to read about it and understand why it’s an issue. Of course, grace is to be afforded to those who are late to the party, but I think it’s crazy to know what they’re doing and willingly continue to support. It’s got to be the money.

The website ugly and janky as hell, too, so it’s GOT to be the money. 😭

And if money is the problem, doing Early Access via Patreon is always an option. Ko-Fi’s an option. Gumroad’s an option. You got options that actually look good, raise your standards, I beg. And there’s free alternatives such as Google Drive, Mega, OneDrive, SimsFileShare; there’s simmers on this platform right now who are willing to give you a SFS code for free. And what about NexusMods? I’ve seen people post their cc and mods there.

Point is, you got options. So, why are you all acting like deleting your content off one gutterbutt platform is gonna bring the end of the world? All you have to do is release it for free after 14-21 days, and if you do so consistently, people will willingly donate money to support you—because you’ll be showing yourself as a reliable content creator who makes good content they like. You can get your money. CF is not the end all, be all of modding platforms.

So, please stop throwing tantrums and giving fifty-leven reasons why you can’t migrate off one platform.

[binders-and-beanies]

.

[citrinesparkles]

having a moment about comics again. love those silly little things

[buckynats]

.

[phagodyke]

okaaaayyy finally watched I saw the tv glow :^)

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.