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Mammoth - Birthday (???) behold an actually mammoth of a cat -Fur Baby in fact, Mammoth just showed up to the Tsukasa encampment one day enticed by the smell of food. Can’t say how old he is because this cat was enormous when he showed up (we’re talking 20+ pounds of cat) but at the same time never seems to show his age through the years? A nasty disposition towards everyone except a few select chosen ones. He knows not to bite the hand that feeds him (aka me) and Mammoth spends most of his time laying on Gen’s chest when he’s not eating, knocking over Senku’s stuff or terrorizing any of the villagers that aren’t Suika. Mammoth does love babies though even if he is something straight out of Steven King novel for anyone else that tries to impose on his highness. Really has it out for Senku though and that’s Gen’s favorite part about the cat

Umeo Asagiri - July 19th, 5761 Sun Cancer, Moon Aires, Rising Libra -ISFP, only child that skipped having siblings to encompass equal parts oldest child, middle child and youngest child vibes in one soul. He is as affluent in charm and perception as his father while also being as enthusiastic and curious as his mother. He’s a sensitive child with a strong will and a presence to never be underestimated by those who know him or not. Quirky, funny, creative, thoughtful and outspoken; Umeo can also be overly influenced by people’s ideas of him, a little competitive in his ideas as well as overwhelmed if taking too many tasks on at once. He is quick to move on and try a new even more creative approach once he re-centers himself with our without the help of either parent. 

How would your muse react to being handed a baby? {Keni}

Soft, Silent, Sweet || Accepting

 "Wait. W-w-what....what are you doing?"

The young Jedi stands surrounded by a group of village women. All of them seem to be petting and pawing at her. In the fading dusk the blood and filth of battle drying on her face looks like a primitive mask even as cooling breezes begin to tease her hair into ribbons the hue of dark wood flowing down her back after escaping their confining ties. For now her sabre is sheathed though for just a split second it looked like it was going to see further use with the way her fingers flex near its hilt on her belt.  One of the bolder women offers her a gap-toothed smile, and murmurs in the local tongue, too softly to be heard. She takes hold of Melakeni's arms and pulls them away from her body. Into them is deposited an infant. It squirms and squawks. Gurgles spit bubbles on its lips. Keni’s stomach, no bigger than her fist, lurches at the sight. Tries to shrink into itself as much as the rest of her wants the very same. The Force becomes immediately awash with a deeply abiding sense of disgust, a shudder that could potentially if not so thoroughly repressed shake the ground and make the collection of huts around them collapse. This is one of those mammalian things that Keni has never quite gotten her head around. Certainly she has treated younglings by the score in the Temple, every kind of imaginable illness from the contagious poxes to scrapes and bruises and wobbly tummies. Almost to the last they have wanted for a small word of kindness, a kiss on the head. A promise that she can make them well again, but the younglings she treats are capable of speech, of independent thought. She has nothing to do with the creches where those too young to be sorted into clan are kept, tended like plants. Except most plants do not drool and do not defecate in their own clothes. They neither screech nor wail ~at least as far as most sentients are concerned~ with their little faces scrunched up and turning hues. They do not have that indescribable smell like old milk and crusty skin that particularly female humans seem so entranced with. She has often in the past teased Anakin that Zelosian nurseries are full of large jars full of nutrient rich soil and its own little watering apparatus, and sometimes, especially rare children of her species require an aquatic environment. None of that is true. As far as she knows, she doesn't remember that far back, after all, her people are born and raised in the same way. She just has no experience to mark the occasion and she is absolutely certain she'd never made a mess of herself or smelled like that. What's more is she doesn't understand the biological imperative of breeding. Her eyes turn toward Anakin. A human. And he is the depth and breadth of her soul. She has absolutely no doubt that the Force had made them for one another. And Melakeni has dreams. Some of them do involve him and the requisite acts that would be required to produce tiny offspring. All beautiful lines and commingled breath. The feel of his skin burning against her own. Tender kisses and every pleasure that is forbidden to them. Unbidden, others come along with those fever-dreams. She has at least once imagined what one would look like with his hair and long limbs, her eyes and teeth. But that was only once. The reality of it is, even if they were to ever desire such a thing, it would be impossible. They are genetically incompatible, mammalian and viridiphyta respectively. She could never imagine wanting a child of her own, she doesn’t even really want a padawan. And of those children she doesn’t fantasise about, the only possible source for one would be from Anakin. For all that some people might think otherwise, and to no shame, Anakin is not the kind of man who would make for a good father. He would want to be, he would love any child to the very depth of his soul, but therein lies madness. Anyone who has seen him with his droids and his Clones could predict a future where only tragedy could unfold. He would be unable to separate himself from his fears. They would become mania. She has seen what happens when Anakin loves too much. And she knows, much to her own regret, that sometimes, love is not enough. It would kill him as surely as poison. Children are not their future. They will both be content with that.  The infant latches onto her hair and gives it a yank, a hideous little sound coming out of it that she soon enough realises is a laugh. Melakeni flashes Anakin a look that can be felt like direct shot from one of the blaster rifles carried by a nearby handful of Clones who immediately proceed to look away although one looks like he’s overcome with a fit of amusement that his brothers are now trying to save him from. As politely as possible Keni pries the little thing’s fingers apart and rescues herself from the situation. She turns to the translator who accompanied the women and murmurs platitudes. Yes, yes. Adorable child. Many blessings on the family, thank you. Excuse me please. She means none of these things but if she has one ability to surpass all others it is emotional mimicry. She hands the creature back to its parent. Hands come up in a peaceful gesture which she half nods-half bows over. Begins to extricate herself from the group.  The translator asks if they need anything. Keni asks for a tub and as much hot water as the village can muster. They have already been offered food, and a few dozen spare huts at the far edges of the camp. It is all they have to give for their salvation. She tells them that everything is fine, and that they ~Anakin, herself, and their Troops~ will make as little trouble as possible. When they are finally alone, she allows herself to shudder all of her natural revulsion. “The Living Force spare me, it was so gross.” Her face screws up tightly, which pulls the corners of her mouth down, as if she’s having trouble trying not to retch on the spot. “And so...grabby. And squishy. Honestly, Anakin. I’d much prefer dealing with slugs.” There’s meaning in that declaration the likes of which only he can understand. After all, he’s been the one to rescue her from them for years now.  She flings her tunic at him, and lets the rest of her uniform flutter and fall to the ground. She slips over the edge of the wooden tub and sinks into the water, disappearing beneath the surface for a few seconds before rising back up. She can still feel all the infant’s various fluids on her skin. “Next time, you hold the babies and get fondled by the civilians and I’ll stay with the boys.” Anakin laughs and agrees with her before he climbs into the bath opposite of her and she can almost hear his bones shriek in gratitude.

~*~

The twin suns of this dying world bake the sand beneath her boots. There is little shade to be found anywhere and the air feels as if it is scorching her lungs from the inside out. She could never have imagined a time in all of her life where she misses the cold dark of space, nor that she would be counting the seconds before she could return to her ship and erase the memory of sunlight on her skin. She’s done her best to blend in with the locals. To survey her target at every opportunity while remaining out of sight. Until now.

She beckons the boy with a delicate, airy hand. Curiosity draws him near, of course it does. And something she does not possess cracks in her chest leaving a space awash with grief and love and a thousand different yearnings still. Though he’s approaching his tenth Empire Day, he is small for his age. Wind-whipped, carved out by the vast nothingness of his little kingdom. The same suns that sear down have bleached his hair pale gold and in places there are certain cowlicks that will never be tamed, no matter how gentle but unforgiving the hand is that attempts it. His eyes are painfully blue. More so than the sky above them, more than shimmer of sea that does not exist here. The shy grin he offers her harks back to another era that seems like lifetimes ago. If she ever had a doubt, it evaporates here and now. And this is how perhaps the most feared and loved woman in the galaxy comes to kneel before a child. Fixes the boy with a softly-shaped smile, one that hides the fine points of her teeth but that gives warmth to emerald eyes. From some secret pocket, perhaps from the force itself, a gloved hand produces not one but two crystallised honey-sticks, tinted by berries and juices into a chaos of colour. He is cautious. Does not immediately reach for them as one might expect. This pleases her immensely, he has inherited his father’s great wisdom. She continues to hold them out, and inclines her head. Nods a little. He takes them. But then his aunt calls for him, and he looks back toward her over one scrawny shoulder before returning his gaze to his mysterious benefactor. She lifts a finger to her lips.  A secret it is to be. She is gone before Beru comes looking for him.