#Glee Anselm

[wooriid]

"Imagine it was you who set the monster loose."

We need more Nautolan art. And more Nautolan characters. And more Nautolan on screen.

Art by the lovely zencultist

[sw5w]

More and More Star Systems are Joining the Separatists

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:04:30

[lightsaberlinguist]

Jedi Headcanon #1

While the Room of a Thousand Fountains and the rooftop gardens are the most well-known green spaces of the Jedi Temple, dozens of other smaller gardens and greenhouses can be found throughout, preserving and recreating the landscapes of some of the hundreds of home worlds of the Jedi. These gardens are used for meditation, education and study in equal parts, preparing young Jedi to survive in a variety of planetary conditions.

[the-dragon-invasion-is-near]

i is alive!

andihavesnailsnow

(this a kinda old photo, but yeah! snails!)

[reliciron]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @sullustangin, thank you! (sorry for taking so long, I couldn't settle on which piece I wanted to share)

A short series of clicks and hums cuts through the quiet tram and Efra and the other people on board get up and move to the now open door. The darkness is so complete that the camera can only see about 15 feet in front of him, and even then the visibility is poor. Moving constellations of bioluminescence hint at other people just out of range and thin glowing lines of phosphorescent paint mark the edges of building that seem to loom out of the dark as he swims down the lane. It’s much less busy here compared to the metropolis beneath the spaceport, which only adds to the eerie sense of emptiness in the deep. It’s another 20 minutes of swimming before something very different emerges from the shadows. A massive citadel made of dark stone towers over the surrounding structures, easily three or four times the size of it’s closest neighbors. It consists of a tall central spire with elegant sloping buttresses flanked by a smaller pair of sister towers, forming a jagged three-pointed structure like the teeth of a great trident soaring up into the dark. It’s shear size only visible to the camera due to the thousands of glowing crystals adorning it’s walls in intricate flowing mosaics. This must be Vallhik-tor.

The tagging part of these games always stress me out, so I'm just going to open this up to anyone who wants to participate.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Trine [16]

Anselm Vogelweide x Blue Jones x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals  •  Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged? | request info • Trine Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Anselm comes home.

Warnings: Edging, teasing, pegging (Anselm receiving), oral sex (Anselm receiving), spiting in mouth, cum eating, cum kissing (I'm so sorry), talking about what Anselm wants to do to Blue and reader, typos, not beta read - as in, really, really not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1859

You’re pretty sure Anselm must have made Fredrick run about three red lights to get home in such record time. 

He comes in sweaty, his tie loosened, and his brace squeaking under the strain of his quick movements. The door slams into the wall under his accidental force and you bite back a smile.

Blue looks up in surprise. He’d been snuggled up next to you with his head on your shoulder as you hug him and stroke his back. He’s still naked, his arms a little sore from being bound behind him but he doesn’t mind. Especially since when you’d untied him you’d massaged his tired muscles and called him a good boy. 

Anselm practically marches towards you, taking your face in his hands and kissing you greedily before pulling back and doing the same to Blue. 

Blue whimpers into his mouth, a little caught off guard by the suddenness, but happy nonetheless. 

“Come, my love,” Anselm keeps hold of Blue’s cheeks as he looks at you and licks his lips. “I was promised things.” 

“Were you?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, unable to stop your smile now. 

He nods. “I was, yes.” 

You pretend to tut. “I don’t know that is quite the attitude you’re bringing home, my love.” 

Anselm pouts and Blue giggles, pressing his face into Anselm’s pams. He gives Blue a look, but there’s no heat in it. 

“My sweet,” Anselm practically purrs as he nuzzles into your cheek, kissing along your jaw and neck, “please, I am so desperate for your touches.” 

You can hear the playfulness in his voice, the gentle tease. 

“I think we should put you in your chair.” You smile and his breathing hitches. “Later.” You add, a little viciously and he shivers. 

“My love-”

“You are being far too demanding, isn’t he?” You look to Blue, stroking the hair at the back of his head.

Blue glances at Anselm, who gives him a stern look, before turning back to you. He nods. “He is.” 

Anselm scowls. “You will pay for that later, meine liebe.” 

“Do not threaten the poor thing,” You tut and pull Blue closer. He quickly takes advantage of the situation by snuffling into your chest and giving you the doe eyes. “See? You’ve scared him.” You stroke Blue’s hair and he nods, pouting. 

Anselm scoffs, thoroughly enjoying himself, but playing along. “This is no way for me to be treated,” he stands and puts his hands on his hips dramatically as he walks around to pose in front of you. “Me, the man of the house.” He gives you a cheeky look, practically begging you to admonish him. 

“The man of the house,” you repeat. “Who left work early?” 

He nods. 

“And who broke the speed limits to get here?” 

His posture relaxes a little. “Fredrick drove.”

“Who you made break the speed limits?” 

He pauses for a long moment. “Yes.” 

You tut again, but this time you’re unable to stop from smiling. “I feel like Fredrick needs a bonus in his wages this month. He has been very accommodating today.”

Anselm nods in agreement. 

“Strip.” You say the word offhandedly, but with a glee burning in your eyes. 

Your husband follows your command instantly, pulling his clothes off with haste. So much so that you have to grab hold of his bicep to stop him from falling over. Jostling Blue in the process, who doesn’t seem to mind. 

You’re still wearing the same matching bra and underwear from the video call, the strap still securely fastened around your waist. 

As Anselm undresses you ask Blue to pass you the bottle of lube, which he does so obediently. You squeeze a hefty amount onto the strap and then look up expectantly at your husband. 

“Well?” 

He bites his lip, a low rumble of a groan vibrating through his chest. You would never grow tired of seeing him. He’s kept his socks, and sock garters on, as well as the brace around his knee. Other than that he is completely bare, looking as radiant as ever. His thick cock bobs against his stomach as he moves. 

He steps forward expectantly, turning his back to you as he slowly starts to sit down on your lap. You take hold of the dildo, positioning it with one hand as you squeeze Anselm’s hip with the other, helping to guide him onto it. 

Blue swallows, watching eagerly as you side your hand down from Anselm’s hip to his ass and spread him wide. 

Anselm gasps as the cool lubed tip touches his hot skin. 

“Now Blue,” you kiss Blue’s temple, “Anselm’s very used to taking bigger than this.” You say, matter of factly, as if you were describing how to change the ink on a printer. 

Blue shivers as he watches the dildo breach and sink inside, Anselm’s soft moans sending fire along his skin. 

You let Anselm move slowly, let him control the pace as he eases himself down onto your lap completely. He groans as the strap bottoms out, stroking his insides so sweetly. 

He arches his back a little, about to start moving, but you place both of your hands on his hips and squeeze, keeping him pressed up against you. 

He pouts, an expression that is very Blue like in that moment as he turns and looks over his shoulder at you. Perhaps he was learning bad habits. “My love?” 

“No, you’re going to stay here.” 

He groans, frustration and arousal mixing deliciously. “Whatever you want.” He breathes. 

Gently you kiss Blue’s lips and then guide him by the chin. You coax him down to Anselm’s heavy cock. “Suck.” 

Blue shivers again and opens his mouth eagerly. 

“But just the tip.” You say and Blue grins, nodding. 

Anselm grumbles. 

Lightly Blue flicks his tongue out against Anselm’s slit, savouring his heady taste before he looks up at him with a cheeky grin.

Anselm’s hands stay at his sides, clenched into fists. Blue chuckles.

“I’ll make you pay for this later, my sweet.” Anselm whispers, but there’s no real heat in the words. 

“Oh, threats is it?” You tease, pressing your chest up against his back and wrapping your arm around him. You pull him back gently, making him relax into you.

“Only light ones, I promise.” He purrs and you kiss his temple. 

“Carry on Blue.” 

Blue softly sucks the head of Anselm’s cock past his lips, swirling his tongue and groaning. Blue’s eyes flutter closed, the pretense of teasing abandoned as he lets himself get lost in the sensation. 

Anselm moans lightly, his muscles flexing as he fights the urge to buck up and fuck his mouth. 

“You alright?” You kiss his cheek.

“Hmm, yes my love, very good.” 

“How was your day?” 

“Well-”

You wait until he starts to answer before you gently roll your hips, thrusting deep and slow. 

Anselm groans, his arms jumping under your hold. “Oh, my love, yes!” 

You let him savour the sensation for a moment before you speak again. “Your day?” 

“It was good.” He hums as you reward him with a slightly firmer movement. “The meetings went well.” 

“How are the expansion plans?” 

“All up to standard.” He swallows, wriggling a little in your embrace, but doing his best to hold himself back. 

“A little more Blue,” you say softly and Blue hums, swallowing more of Anselm’s cock into his mouth. He moves his hand up his leg to gently squeeze and caress Anselm’s balls. 

Anselm spreads his legs wider, more than happy to be at both of yours mercy. 

“I think,” he breathes deeply, getting a better hold of himself. “I think it can start in July.” 

“That’s really good.” You whisper as you mouth at your husband's neck. You let go of him with your left hand, but keep your right arm wrapped around him and press your hand to the back of Blue’s head. Firmly, but not enough to cause any distress, you press him deeper, forcing him to take more and more of Anselm’s cock. 

Both men whine, Blue drools as he swallows around him, his eyes rolling back as he own dick twitches and hardens. Anselm hisses deliciously, rocking back against you ever so slightly. 

You do not chastise him. In fact, you reward him, rolling your hips in a deep figure of eight that has him panting and pleading. 

“We must, oh gott, we must keep playing after this.” Anselm groans, long and low. “I want…” “What do you want?” You tease, your voice low as excitement pools and runs like a current under your skin. 

“I want so many things,” he groans, breathing hard as he watches Blue suck him deep. “I want to tie Blue up and fuck his throat while you ride him.” 

You shiver and nip at his neck. 

“I want to put Blue in the milking machine,” he groans, “just leave him in there for hours until he’s crying from how many times he’s come.” 

Blue whines low in his throat. 

“And I want to tie you to the bed and fuck you in front of him, my love.” He turns his head and kisses you messily. “I want to bury my face in between your legs until I can’t breathe and you are begging me to stop, until you’re sure you can’t come anymore.” 

“Anselm,” you moan against his mouth.

“Let me,” he groans. “Let me take both of you in all the ways I can.” He thrusts up harder into Blue’s mouth, slipping free of your hold and pressing his hand over yours on the back of Blue’s head. 

He kisses you greedily, robbing you of air as he grinds down, letting the tip of the dildo rub over his prostate again and again and again. 

He groans, the sound almost a growl, his eyes lidded and dark. 

“I’m going to come.” He breathes heavily and pushes Blue further down. “And you’re doing to keep it in your mouth Blue,” he says sternly. “Do not swallow.” 

Blue whines, tears in the corners of his eyes as his throat burns deliciously. He tries to sink deeper, to fill his throat with nothing but Anselm. 

He comes with a snarl, spurting hot and thick. 

Blue’s cries increase in pitch, his eyelashes fluttering. But he does his best not to swallow. 

You watch Anselm’s face as the pleasure floods his veins and euphoria overtakes. He shakes, swearing softly, but doesn’t dwell on it. 

Quickly, he’s pulling Blue off of his still twitching cock. “Open your mouth.” 

Blue does as he’s asked, holding Anselm’s come against his tongue. 

Anselm leans forward, squeezing Blue’s jaw, he spits into his mouth and Blue shivers, whimpering. His cock hard and red against his stomach. 

“Close. Do not swallow.” Anselm says sternly and Blue nods, following his instructions. 

Anselm guides him back to you, pressing Blue’s face close as he gives you a wicked smile. “Kiss.” 

You give Anselm a look, and he bats his eyes at you. 

“Please, my love?” 

This time you nod and lean forward, taking Blue’s jaw in your own hand and licking into his mouth. 

Thank you for reading!

Taglist 1:

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @steven-grants-world  @blushingrn @to-be-a-sunshine

 @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin

@reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr 

@spxctorsslxt @novarosewood @pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23 

@sub-aro @killerdollz @maplemind  @mwltwo @loonymagizoologist 

@dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious @homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop 

@oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus @lounilu @avengersinitiative2012 

@pigeonmama @marcsb1tch @iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @DowBaStan 

@faretheeoscar @lonelyisamyw-0love  @queerponcho @twwcs @ingoldthewizard

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[carbon-corrie]

Hi there!! I’m here to request OC lore! One or all! If you wish to share!

💚💚💚💚

YESSSSS another excuse to infodump on my horrible little gremlins!!! I'll cover the ones I've posted on here; Rat, Djinn, Crisis and Nyali.

Rat:

Rat was found by Commander Thorn on the lower levels of Coruscant when he was just a little kitten (tikken?)

Though Fox didn't want anything to do with Rat, Rat immediately clocked Fox as *his* person. It took a total of two days for Fox to give in.

Rat constantly antagonizes poor Grizzer like the horrible little goblin he is. Grizzer is the bestest girl and humors him.

Hound and Fox have a rivalry over whose pet is better. Hound and Fox have a rivalry with everyone who has a pet. Rat and Grizzer are just happy to be here.

Rat always knows when someone needs a little emotional support. He also knows that providing this support results in treats and scritches for him.

Rat is the best and worst kept secret in the entire GAR.

Djinn:

As previously mentioned, Djinn is extremely relaxed. 19 year old retail manager vibes to the extreme. Cuts all the corners and makes friends with everyone. Knows all the policies just so he can ignore them more efficiently.

There's a conspiracy within the 607th that Djinn and Crisis were switched as tubies, and Crisis was meant to be a Commander. Despite knowing it's not true (Djinn is older than Crisis by almost a year), Djinn actively encourages this rumor for shits and giggles.

Don't be fooled by his easy-going personality! Djinn is a brilliant strategist and particularly ruthless on the battlefield. He can switch up his personality in an instant depending on the situation.

Djinn received his name due to a particularly wily tactic he proposed to Maul early on as his commander. Maul compared him to the djinns of legend that would use loopholes to trick their victims, and the nickname stuck.

Djinn is a serial flirt. He flirts with anyone, anywhere. He nearly got decommed on Kamino because he tried to flirt his way out of trouble so often, and the habit did not lessen as he matured.

This also means that he's a bit of a frat bro on his shore leave. He does have a daughter by a Pantoran woman that he tries to make time for. After the events of O66, he never sees her again.

Crisis:

Crisis reads in his downtime. He's not picky; he'll read anything from court documents to fantasy holonovels. He finds reading to be calming and he likes that he can control what information he processes.

He also has a fascination with languages. He's fluent in Basic, Mando'a, Anselmian and can manage in Bocce and Dathomiri.

He's the unofficial third in command for the 607th. Even the captains know to defer to Crisis in extreme situations.

Crisis is FAST. On the battlefield, he's a blur as he administers care and gets his brothers to safety. He out-performed almost all of his brothers when it came to agility, speed and cardio.

Crisis is one of the clones that hates Kamino and anything to do with rain or the ocean. Part of him always knew he was defective - he routinely questioned orders, was never eager to fight, didn't immediately trust his superiors, etc - and he lived in fear of being decommed. Because of his defects, he often faced harsher punishments and re-education than his brothers.

Crisis shot and killed his second in command, Jock, when O66 was issued. Jock attempted to kill Nyali, and Crisis acted on instinct. He never fully recovers from this.

Nyali:

Nyali was found on Glee Anselm at just under a year old. Her birth parents realized that she was strong in the Force when a tantrum resulted in all of the living room objects flying from their places and circling around her.

She was considered a particularly gifted youngling in the Force, but she never quite excelled at combat or defense.

Like many Jedi younglings, she acts much older than she is. She often catches Crisis off-guard with her profound words and insights.

Crisis was once heavily injured trying to protect her. That was the closest Nyali ever got to succumbing to the dark side; her anger and hatred for the Inquisitors and the Empire blinded her to the fact that despite a few scrapes, no one died. Thankfully, Crisis kept her grounded much in the same way she does for him.

Her favorite color is yellow, and she tries to wear it all the time.

Her confidence in Crisis is so unwavering that she stays calm in any situation so long as he remains calm. She heavily mirrors his actions, words and demeanor.

I hope you enjoy this little info dump!! It means the world to me that y'all all love these hellions as much as I do 🥰🥰

@loth-cat-nation Not sure if this is something you care to be tagged in, but since it concerns Rat, I'm tagging you anyway!!

[annoyinglyhardsong]

After seeing some fun AU’s of characters, especially the cat AU I had a though hit my brain of “What would Kit Fisto look like as a human?” And after some careful consideration and some detailed reference research I figured it out.

I detailed some of my ideas and process as notes on the art. But I really felt with his voice actor in TCW and the fact that Glee Anselm was a watery planet with a tropical climate that people from the Caribbean and those cultures and styles would represent him the best. Braids seemed so natural as a substitute for his tentacles. It also gave lots of room for him to pull them back or decorate them like you see him do with his tentacles.

For color palettes I just thought he would be pretty in blues and greens and would be a nice call back to his lightsaber and the fact that in canon he is green. Now we just get to see it in more subtle tones.

Maybe this will inspire more I’m not sure but he was super fun to draw! Enjoy!

[burnwater13]

Concept Art by Ryan Church depicting the interior of the Razor Crest bridge filling with water as the Mandalorian stands within it. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 3, The Heiress.

Back in Reality

It took every beskar enrobed fiber of  Din Djarin’s being to not laugh as Grogu walked back and forth, waving his arms, stomping his feet and then shaking his little green fist. The kid wasn’t having a tantrum. Not really. It was clear that he was angry about something, but he wouldn’t slow down enough to explain what he was angry about. 

The best information the Mandalorian had gotten from his apprentice was when Grogu began to curse in Mando’a and he heard something that could be roughly translated to ‘stupid Sith ruin everything’. Djarin couldn’t disagree with that. Mandalorians might have spent a huge amount of time fighting the Jedi, but the ‘darjetii’ were considered an even bigger problem. 

But why Grogu was ranting about that while they were just having a pleasant afternoon on Nevarro completely eluded him. They hadn’t had any problems with Imps lately. They’d been planning some trips to visit friends like Peli Motto and Cobb Vanth on Tatooine, with a possible stop over on Sorgan or even Takodana. The only thing he’d told Grogu was that he really didn’t want to visit Trask this time. 

The last time they were there he’d found seaweed and a couple of those ridiculous looking, but tasty octo-crab critters. He hated when that happened to the Razor Crest, but it was even worse in the N-1. The stupid thing was scuttling around his seat and managed to get a good pinch in before he had a chance to deal with it permanently. Djarin was glad that he had a small supply of bacta, but he’d had to wait until they actually reached Nevarro before he could apply it. 

He didn’t think that Grogu really cared about missing out on Trask. Niebla and her husband, along with Tad and their other children, were actually off planet visiting family on Glee Anselm. Djarin had checked because Grogu had really wanted to Tad to see how much taller he’d grown since they’d last met. Djarin supposed that every centimeter counted when your species fell somewhere between Anzellans and Jawas on that parameter. 

No, it must be something else. Grogu hadn’t liked Trask very much even when they were just there to visit their frog friends. It had been smelly, cold, windy, and unfriendly, except for Niebla and her family. Even the other Mandos they had met there hadn’t been on anything like their best behavior. He wasn’t really surprised at Axe Woves or even Koska Reeves, but Bo-Katan had been less of an ideal leader and Djarin hadn’t really forgotten that, even with all the time that had passed since that visit. 

Maybe that was the problem that Grogu was ranting about? Djarin had suggested that they make a visit to Mandalore. Axe had asked him to visit and they really didn’t have anything better to do. But between the comments about who Mandalorians were and weren’t, what the Creed demanded and what it apparently didn’t care about as long as the former Mand’alor did it, Grogu had expressed, more than once, his general frustration with all things Mandalorian. 

Grogu had summed it all up in one of his rare comments in Gal Basic. “Not fun”.  He wasn’t wrong. Nothing about that trip had been fun. Djarin still had pains in his back and shoulders from that wretched mech-using critter, among other things. Having to fight so many warriors and then protecting him and the former Mand’alor when Axe crashed the Imp ship into the planet to destroy their dank farrik hidden base there… that hadn’t been fun for either one of them. 

“Hey, buddy, are do you have a minute? I thought we could talk about our next trip.”

Grogu looked up at him and Djarin was certain that he’d seen a brief glimmer of irritation. When Grogu ranted he liked to just do it and get it over and done with. It was pretty clear to the Mandalorian that Grogu was in no way, shape, or form done with whatever internal monologue he was engulfed by and wouldn’t be for a while.

“You know what, I’m sorry I interrupted you. Carry on.”

Grogu trotted off and continued with his silent diatribe and again Din Djarin had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. He was pretty sure he’d just fall down and roll on the floor because there was just something so comical about his son’s behavior. Instead, he went back to the food prep area in the multipurpose room and began to make them both something to eat. 

That was always the best thing to cure Grogu of a bad case of the internal monologue. Feed him. As soon as he’d had a flash frozen froglet, or a gorg on a stick, or even a fire stack, he relaxed and whatever tension had been causing the rant seemed to leak right out of him. He slowed down a little. He actually chewed his food. He grinned at his dad. And as long as he didn’t forget to keep his mouth closed while he did it, Djarin found it kind of endearing. On the occasions that didn’t happen, well, he and Grogu spent too much time searching for errant frogs and cleaning up after them. 

Just as he was heating up a small pot of bone broth for them to share, he felt a thud against his right leg. Grogu was hugging it as if he might never let go.

“Hey, buddy. It’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

Grogu was looking up at him with tears welling in his eyes. 

“Love you, Dad”.

“I love you too, Son. I love you too.”

Dank Farrik! Now Djarin’s eyes were filling with tears. 

This is the Way.

[solitaire-06]

Keeping the train rolling, here’s the Padawan Pack’s second-in-command and aspirant Jedi Diplomat, Emiya Dilait!

The Elegant Negotiator

Species: Nautolan

Sex: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Homeworld: Glee Anselm

Born: 25 ABY, Glee Anselm (Age 15)

Height: 1.84 metres

Eye colour: Black (with maroon undertones)

Skin colour: Light green (with teal and navy undertones)

Weapon(s): Green lightfoil (personal lightsaber)

Occupation: Jedi Padawan

Affiliations:

Dilait family

New Jedi Order

New Republic

Galactic Alliance

Padawan Pack

Master(s): K’Kruhk (Jedi Master)

Note of Concern: Perhaps it should come as no surprise that Emiya Dilait’s privileged background has instilled within the girl a sense of arrogance I honestly cannot comprehend. While her certainty in her own abilities is troubling, however, what concerns me more is the Nautolan’s insatiable hunger for power. Emiya Dilait’s ambition knows no bounds, and from a young age she’s openly expressed her desire to one day sit upon the Jedi Council and enact the sort of reforms that mirror those of her equally ambitious mother, aspirant New Republic chancellor Yolma Dilait. She may be a skilled diplomat with a natural charisma and charm few could even dream of possessing, but her hunger for power and repeated demonstrations of manipulative behaviour make it clear that she cannot be a true Jedi Knight. - Kenth Hamner, 40 ABY.

“Getting to the core of what makes a sentient being tick - uncovering the truest aspects of their character and working with them… that has proven key to the success of many diplomats and negotiators who’ve ended wars and brought peoples together. Don’t think I’m not going to work towards perfecting my recognition of this.”

[adriansvetozaroff]

Inktober with "Outlanders". Part 5

27. Road. When the rainstorms wash out the mountain roads of Phatrong, it is better to go downhill as quickly as possible, and the Kyuzo reach their homes in the fastest and most spectacular way, using their famous hats. The strong gravity of the planet makes such a descent even more extreme, but Sheeku did not shy away from this difficulty and, one might say, mastered this method of movement - it would even be fun if it weren’t for the disgusting weather.

28. Jumbo. Lamarr hates gambling, but the owners of Nal Hutta must be respected, and if they offer to play a game or two of sabacc, you have to do it. He had a chance to beat the Hutts, but, realizing that he was sitting at a gaming table with gangsters, he thought that it would be safer to lose.

29. Navigator. Lamarr's first friend after moving to Coruscant was his colleague Glauc, a gray-skinned Nautolan with dark blue tattoos on his body. He was a lonely nature lover who planned to put a work experience in the capital on his resume so that later, upon returning to his homeland, he would get a good position, and that's why tolerated uninteresting job. Now, several years later, Glauc shows his friend the Glee Anselm nature reserve, where he currently works. And there will be a lot to see here.

30. Violin. Surely every music lover wants to learn how to play an instrument, and Sheeku was no exception - he knows how to play the hang a little. Joint improvisation can become a deep cultural dialogue - this is exactly what happened to him with a pair of Volpai, one of whom was a master of playing the double viol, and the second accompanied both the drum and the double flute.

P.S. Nothing is known about the Volpai right now, not even the name of their home planet, so this could be an after-hours club scene on any planet. Anything related to musical instruments here is my headcanons. I like to think that the Duros may have invented the analogue of hang.

31. Landmark. A special place for this crew is, of course, the "Outlander" Club on Coruscant. If Sheeku and Lamarr had not met here one day, their travel show would not exist. Since then, the club has begun to decline, but it remains, among other things, a suitable establishment to celebrate the completion of filming of the another season.

I can't believe it, but I actually did it! And I did as I intended: I used Inktober tips to tell more about "Outlanders" and show various places and adventures. Frankly, I often had to rush and made mistakes, but this was inevitable, and media made the task more difficult. Let me be proud that I didn’t give up and now have results. Maybe I'll color some of these sketches later.

[wooriid]

"Look at me! You really think I am lovable? Do you think I am capable of love? .... Of course you do. But what if love is something twisted for me, something that causes only torture and pain, something that is as addictive to me as my beloved Death Sticks. The way I love means I possess, I devour, I prey on you. The way I want you means pain and blood, rage and hatred, pure and raw emotions. Do you really dare to give yourself to the monster that I am?" - Iego

Happy Star Wars Day 2025 from your local gory Sith🤍❤🤍

May the 4th be with you!

Art by the wonderful jawbones (BlueSky)

[sw5w]

I Haven't Seen Her in Ten Years, Master

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:07:34

[hereticpriest]

Mercy Ch. 1 - Every Story Has a Beginning

Rating: Explicit 18+

MDNI

Relationship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

To begin with, some warnings about this story: A/B/O Dynamics, Female Alpha, Male Omega, Some chapters may involve messing with the whole 'alphas are always dom and omegas are always sub' because I think nuance exists even in A/B/O dynamics, Fucking with the timeline (this is a blend of Canon, Legends, and original lore), Minimal use of Y/N (Explained in the first chapter), Reader is an alien species of my own creation and thus has a physical description, Familial bonds explored heavily, Clone rights explored heavily, Violence is more graphic than canon-typical however any graphic descriptions will be noted, AFAB reader, Not beta-read so I apologize for any mistakes.

Chapter Warnings: A bit heavy in exposition - I apologize, I have a lot to introduce. Minimal warnings, but there is some discussion of dynamics with children to prepare them for their future. Child abandonment?

Read on AO3

Masterlist - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

A floating holo of Haelstruum rotated in the centre of the room, followed swiftly by a couple of other planets from across the galaxy. Ryloth, Shii, Glee Anselm, Corellia, Stewjon, and even Coruscant joined Haela in a cluster before their teacher, Master Yoda, as he began a slow but engaging lecture on the history of each planet and the Jedi they had produced. Haelstruum was not a common addition to the lecture, and as such, was one of the planets which appeared to intrigue the students in the room most of all. You noticed several eyes glancing back at you, filled with curiosity despite having been taught together for many years now. Your pointed ears flicked with irritation, an unconscious habit you had still yet to gain control of despite repeatedly hearing from your instructors that it gave away your true feelings.

“... not many jedi, Haelstruum has produced. Curious, as many force-sensitives, Haelstruum has.” Master Yoda gave a hum of amusement at the way his students leaned forwards towards him. Their eagerness to learn was often his favourite part of visiting the Heloist and Kybuck clans of younglings for lessons. He looked around the room for a moment, admiring the yearning for knowledge of each youngling, before his gaze fell upon you. The only potential Jedi from Haelstruum in nearly thirty years.

A hand shot up directly to the right of you. Doa’su, a teal-skinned Twi’lek who had always been endlessly curious about your species. Haela were rarely found off of Haelstruum, and strangers were rarely welcomed onto the planet, so the Archives or lessons were the only way to learn more about where you came from.

“A question, you have?” Yoda asked, and Doa’su straightened her back to right her posture, trying to look more adult than she was.

“Yes, Master Yoda. I was wondering why there aren’t more Haela Jedi if Haelstruum has a lot of force-sensitives?” She asked with as respectful a tone as a six year old could manage. Your tail flicked behind you, winding in slow s-patterns like a snake through the sand. You were also curious, of course. You’d been taken from Haelstruum when you were only a babe - no more than a year old if your minder in the crèche was to be believed. Yoda’s gaze found you again, and you could have sworn a smile tugged at his lips. Maybe he’d seen your excitement evident in your winding tail.

“Fiercely loyal, Haela are. And fiercely insular, I’m afraid. Believe themselves capable of teaching their own to use the Force and control themselves, the Haelstruum council does.” Yoda replied honestly, and as Doa’su perked up again as if to ask a follow up, he raised a calming hand palm towards her, “While strong with the Force, Haela are, deeply superstitious they are as well. If born under a bad omen, a Haelan is, abandoned they will be. A deep connection to the Force, Haelan seers have, but not always clear these visions are.”

You had a moment of fear at the idea of being abandoned. Considered a bad omen, or seen through the Force to do something awful. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, breathing in deeply, then exhaling slowly and calmly until the ripples in the serene pool of your mind dissipated to nothing.

“How was I found by the Jedi, Master Yoda?” You asked, bringing your tail into your lap to further calm yourself. To your left, you felt a curious gaze from the Stewjonni boy whose freckles seemed as plentiful as the stars in the night sky. His curiosity seemed to rival that of Doa’su, and it was liable to make you nervous again if you gave either of them any attention.

“Ahh, a very interesting tale, that is. Born under a rare foreseen comet, you were. A bad omen, it was said, for a child with the Force to be born under the watchful gaze of this comet. If I recall, lifted a starfruit to your cradle, you did. In the neighbouring system, Master Dooku was, and contacted by the Haelan council, we were.” Master Yoda replied, and you took some comfort in the knowledge that despite being considered a bad omen by your people, they still gave you to the Jedi instead of whatever alternative might have been possible.

“Thank you, Master Yoda. I apologise for the interruption.” You said politely, quieting down for the remainder of the lesson. The boy beside you kept his gaze fixed on your face a little longer, and you finally looked at him, blinking in surprise at the toothy smile he gave you. He wasn’t in the same clan as you - Kybuck clan to your Heloist clan - but you recognized him all the same. Obi-wan Kenobi, a strawberry blonde ball of rebellion and mischief that you did not need to get involved with. You immediately looked away again, your pale pink cheeks gaining a purple flush as your blue blood rushed to your face.

~

“Names are important,” Master Mundi aurated, his voice soft and lyrical as always as he took ownership of the front of the classroom, “Some cultures use their family name until they are old enough to choose their own name. Some cultures have names that have rich meaning, and are meant to foretell their future, while others simply choose something that appeals to the parents. Some cultures name their children after relatives. There are even some who have a given name that they only use during their youth, at which point it becomes personal and only used between close friends and family. Haela are a wonderful example of this, like our dear youngling Y/N. When Haela begin maturing, they choose what is called a ‘virtue name’. This name can be an attribute that they wish to personify throughout their life, or a calling that they feel deep in their heart. You’re still a bit young for that, Y/N, but I will be very curious to see what you land on.”

You smiled sheepishly, embarrassed by the attention, though Master Mundi swiftly moved onto the topic of titles, and how their importance varied from planet to planet. He was a fantastic teacher, and while his work largely fell into that of a Guardian, he was skilled with introducing Consular matters to the younglings. You quite enjoyed his classes, as even when the topic was boring, his lilting voice managed to keep your attention.

Later that day, while practising with your training saber under Master Yoda’s watchful eye, you couldn’t stop thinking about virtue names. What would you choose? How would you choose something so important without any guidance at all? What if you chose something as a Padawan but found that it didn’t suit you as an adult? You were only eight years old - you wouldn’t have to decide for at least a couple more years, and yet you felt frozen with indecision as if you had to decide this exact moment. From your understanding, the previous Haela Jedi had always chosen their virtue names as they transitioned from youngling to Padawan. That was still years away.

Nearby, Obi-Wan and another human boy had been paired up to spar. The sound of their training sabers buzzed in your ears, though you didn’t look up from the kata you were moving through robotically, far too lost in your head. It was a soothing sound to you, helping you reach a moving meditation state that had you following the will of the Force more than you were consciously following your kata movements. A yelp split the air, and you blinked rapidly as you came out of your trance, ears still buzzing with energy as you turned to see Obi-Wan on the floor with his hand around his ankle. The other human boy whose name you couldn’t remember was apologising profusely, and you could see unshed tears in Obi-Wan’s eyes that he was trying to hide. Master Yoda began to make his way across the room towards them, but you got there first, crouching in front of the Stewjonni boy with a sympathetic smile.

“That looks like it hurts.” You murmured, gently pulling his hands away from his ankle and rubbing your wrists together comfortingly. Despite still being too young for your dynamic to emerge, platonic scenting was common between younglings for comfort and bond-building, even if you barely knew him. He blinked at you, but the tension in his body eased, soothed by your gentle touch. His ankle was already red and beginning to swell, so you placed a careful hand on the joint. You didn’t quite know what you were doing, or why, but you could feel the Force guiding you, breathing through you. You felt bad for Obi-Wan and wanted to take away his pain.

And so you did.

You watched as the swelling began to reduce as quickly as it started. The redness melted back into pale skin littered with freckles, and Obi-Wan’s harsh breathing slowed. He reached for you this time, rubbing his wrist against yours, his body instinctively leaning towards you as he wiped his face in the collar of his robes. You barely even noticed that the boy had clasped his hand with yours, your wrists together while your other hand hovered over his injured ankle. A tingle of connection and thanks shot through you, and you smiled at Obi-Wan shyly as you finished healing his ankle. You removed your hand from his ankle as Master Yoda approached, a fond smile on his wrinkly old face.

“The gift of healing, you appear to have. A wonderful surprise, this is.” Yoda said as you used your grip on Obi-Wan’s hand to carefully help him to his feet. The young human boy rubbed his wrist against yours again a final time, reciprocating that comfort and silently thanking you for it, before he finally, reluctantly, let go.

“Does that mean I will have to stop my training and go to the Halls of Healing?” You asked your teacher with the beginnings of a pout, drawing a croaky laugh from the Master who had trained you for so long.

“Continue to train, you will. Want your help, the Halls of Healing may. But yours, the choice remains.”

~

You were nearly ten when you were brought into a cosy classroom that you didn’t think was still under use. Plants lined the shelving, and at the head of the room stood a Jedi you knew quite well. He often visited the crèche when he was stressed, playing with the youngest of the younglings or rocking the babies to sleep. He told grand stories of his missions, child-friendly of course, and you would always listen with rapt attention to his dramatic tales. Qui-Gon Jinn. Former apprentice of the man who brought you to the Jedi Temple as a babe.

Your fellow younglings shifted anxiously in their seats, all of you unsure as you had not been told what the lesson entailed, simply a time and classroom number. You held onto your tail to keep it from swaying nervously behind you, catching the eye of Doa’su beside you as she watched you. You offered her a shy smile which she returned, reaching out the short distance to rub your wrists together.

“Ah, a wonderful way to begin your lesson.” Qui-Gon interrupted you, making you jump in your seat. Your cheeks flushed purple, and Doa’su stammered an apology, but the Jedi Master simply shook his head and smiled at you both.

“Most Jedi are Betas, though scholars continue to argue whether that is because of the Force, or simply innately because Betas are far more common than the other two dynamics. I personally believe it to be a combination of both, however it is true that there are several wise Jedi who happen to be Alphas, or Omegas. Master Windu himself is an Alpha, as is my former master, Master Dooku. Master Sifo-Dyas and Master Yaddle are both Omegas.” Qui-Gon explained, “In this class, I will be giving you all a lesson in dynamics, including pack bonds, how your dynamic might affect your connection to the Force and the people around you, and dynamic-specific anatomy.”

After a quick look around the room, you gave a nervous giggle. You weren’t the only one whose face was flushed. Doa’su was as purple as you, and the Togruta youngling Orare seemed to be attempting to sink into the floor. Nanga, a Nautolan youngling was trying to cover her face with her tendrils, while Yaris, a Corellian boy simply pulled the front of his robes up over the lower half of his face. Qui-Gon watched you all with a certain fondness in his eyes, a kind but heavily amused smile on his face.

“All dynamics have scent glands, as I’m sure you are all aware. As demonstrated previously by younglings Y/N and Doa’su, pressing your scent glands together can be a way to comfort eachother, and display bonds of friendship. You have scent glands on your chin, your neck, and your wrists. It is generally considered that scenting via wrists is a platonic display, while scenting chin-to-neck is far more intimate. The glands on your neck are used for mating bonds, though only force-mates are allowed to bind themselves this way within the Jedi Order.” Qui-Gon gestured towards the appropriate glands on his own body as he spoke, and you reached up to touch the gland on your chin curiously.

“How do you know that someone is your force-mate?” Nanga asked, shy but very curious. Qui-Gon smiled indulgently.

“When you brush your force signature against your force-mate, it will instantly create a bond between you, stronger than any training bond or pack bond you may create. Should one not be taking blockers, the scent of their mate might be a good indicator, and might throw them both into early heat or ruts. It is said to be instantly obvious when you meet your force-mate, though only if you meet after presenting.” Qui-Gon explained as he walked leisurely around the room, “I have been asked to warn you that finding your force-mate is a very rare occurrence, lest you feel disheartened if you don’t find them. I have also been asked to remind you that while force-mates are respected by the Council, you must always put the living will of the Force, and the Jedi Code, first.”

The Beta Master went on to explain that heats and ruts were monthly, though many species have stronger heats and ruts during the spring and summer seasons. He explained that the possibility of pregnancy, and the genital anatomy of Alphas and Omegas was species-dependent and very complicated, but to be assured that it was very likely that whatever relationship dynamic you fell into would allow procreation, if you found your force-mate. To your immense embarrassment, Qui-Gon Jinn took the time to explain an Alpha’s knot, Omega slick, and general anatomy of each dynamic for each of the species present in the room. He explained Omega behaviour like nesting, and how it could be supported by their pack. You were relieved when he dispelled the misconceptions around Alpha commands, as they had always been unnerving to you. While a command was compelling, it was not all-powerful, and it was generally used to break through barriers like anxiety or fear. Even the worst, most vile Alpha couldn’t force their Omega or Beta into anything they didn’t want to do. 

Betas tend to have soothing scents, Alphas tend towards woodsy or spicy scents, and Omegas often have flowery or sweet scents, Qui-Gon explained as he went into how scent was as good as mind-reading for many people. It was an innate, biological knowledge that everyone shared. Sour smells indicated fear, tang indicated arousal, warmth indicated happiness or contentedness, and the scent of rot often followed anger or hate. Even as younglings, with very little scent of your own, you could recognize these scents in others around you - particularly adults.

The last part of your lesson revolved around pack bonds and dynamic communication. Packs often fluctuated, and the pack you belonged to as a youngling would change as you became a Padawan, and later, a Master. Packs consisted of a variety of members of different dynamics, headed by an Alpha, and balanced by a strong Beta. Multiple Alphas could be in the same pack, however one of those Alphas would inevitably be stronger than the others, or at the very least submitted to. Alphas chuff when pleased, while Omegas purr. Alphas growl or roar when displeased, while Omegas hiss. Omegas make a chirrup sound to get the attention of those around them, a sharp, ear-catching sound. Betas can purr, and it can be incredibly soothing to be around a purring Beta. Betas also bark when displeased, and even the strongest Alpha would feel chastened by a Beta’s bark.

“When you present your dynamic, you will be given scent blockers, and heat or rut blockers as well. You will be given a birth control implant, which can be removed when you get older, should you find your force-mate. It is important to know that while your first heat or rut can be scary, you will be supported by those around you, and the effects will be swiftly soothed by taking your first round of blockers.” Qui-Gon showed you all the birth control implant in his arm to assuage your fears, letting each of you touch the small shape beneath his skin. You had to admit, it made you feel better to have a frank discussion of these things that you knew existed, but were kept so cloistered in the Jedi Temple.

By the end of the lesson, despite the uncertainty surrounding it, you felt a little more at ease about your future. Most Jedi were Betas, anyways, so you likely didn’t have much to worry about. And you likely wouldn’t present for a couple of years still - the average age for presenting was 12-14. It was a distant worry if anything. There was no way you would be an Alpha, or an Omega. There was no way.

~

Space was cold.

It was your first clear thought since you’d boarded the small cruiser that would take you on your first mission with your new Master. You stood proudly behind him and the pilot in the cockpit, feet carefully shoulder-width apart, your chin tipped up regally as your Master had instructed you. Your hands were folded carefully behind your back, hidden in your sleeves, and you relied entirely upon your balance to keep yourself upright for the journey despite any turbulence. Most younglings become Padawans closer to the age of twelve, however your Master requested you a little early, believing you would benefit from one-on-one attention sooner rather than later. At the tender age of ten, you looked up into the proud eyes of your Master as he carefully twisted the strands of your hair into your Padawan braid, and you knew you had been right to hope for him to be your Master for all of these years.

“Have you chosen a virtue name, my young Padawan?” Your Master asked as he got to the end of your braid, beginning to tie it off with a teal band.

“Yes, Master. I will be known as Mercy from now on.” You replied, hope stirring in your belly that you had chosen correctly. Your Master smiled fondly as he finished tying off your braid, tucking it back from your face.

“I’m pleased to know you, Mercy.”

~

“One must master oneself to master the force, my young apprentice.” He had told you as he helped you with your new Padawan robes, “and one must always present oneself the way they wish to be viewed. Project strength, and you will be seen as strong even when you do not feel it. Project regality, and you will be treated with the respect you deserve, despite your youth. Poise and elegance are important for not only consular abilities, but also your lightsaber training, and your force abilities.”

Your Padawan braid swayed against your neck, and you were tempted to tuck it behind your ear to keep it from tickling your skin, but you don’t want to move. You want your Master to know how seriously you take his instruction. You want to prove yourself to him. The journey is long, with a jump through hyperspace that threatens to knock you over, though you use your prehensile tail to balance yourself. Four hours you stand behind your Master and the pilot, who had initially attempted to argue on your behalf that you be allowed to sit. It was kind and thoughtful of him, though you had insisted that you would be perfectly fine standing before your Master could even respond. His approving smile warmed you enough to keep you standing even when your legs began to go numb.

Your arrival upon the small planet is greeted with much pomp and circumstance, and your Master rests a strong hand between your shoulder blades to support you as you walk through the streets of a bustling market. The sights and smells are nearly overwhelming after a lifetime of the cool serenity of the Jedi Temple, but you try to act unbothered and simply wrap your tail around your leg to keep it from getting in the way. You’re too tired for it to truly overwhelm you. Perhaps that had been the point. If you were being honest with yourself, you remember very little about your first mission considering it had largely been a diplomatic mission between your Master and the hierarchy of the planet. Your fondest memories are largely unrelated to your actual goal upon the planet.

Your Master calmly introduced you to the wealth of indulgences available in the small market, starting with a meal in a restaurant by the shipyard which he informed you was your first reward for your impressive standing meditation upon the ship. He ordered several dishes to share, calmly explaining what each food was and the way it should taste as you ate. When you mentioned that the Council might see it as an overindulgence, he simply smiled at you with an eyebrow cocked and asked, “Is the Council here, my young Padawan?” You giggled, taking another bite of a sweet fruit that made your mouth water to hide your excitement.

After your meal, your Master bought you a tin of candy from a booth with a shopkeeper who smiled bright as the sun as she handed it over to you. He bought you a bead for your braid to celebrate your first mission, and a lovely copper-coloured cuff for your tail that was originally meant to be a bracelet. He told you stories of some of his previous missions, and his last Padawan many years ago who was now a Jedi Master in his own right. After meeting with the leaders of the planet and completing the mission, he took you back to the cruiser, however he did not make you stand this time. Instead, he sat with you in the small cargo hold and showed you how to massage the pain from your legs after a busy day. He promised you that while he would demand a lot from you, he would always take care of you.

And you believed him.

For a long, long time, it was true. Your Master taught you his preferred lightsaber form, Form II - Makashi. He praised your elegance with the blade, your prowess with the force, and your poise in the face of all obstacles. He bought you more small indulgences, like hair oils and creams with bacta that would help soothe your aching muscles after a hard day. He filled your datapad with countless books about the force, or history, or poetry. With each one you read, he would indulge you in grand, invigorating discussions that often gave you new perspectives and made you feel more equal with your Master. He brought you to see a couple of plays in the grand theatre on Coruscant, along with an opera for your eleventh birthday.

Your Master disagreed often with the Council, and had many indulgences unbefitting of a Jedi. He was stern when you made mistakes, and far more demanding than many of the other Masters, but he was so nurturing every step of the way that you truly excelled under his tutelage. He would drill you for hours in lightsaber training until you could barely stand, then make you sit in meditation for hours longer until your body ached. He pushed you further than other Padawans your age, and if questioned about it he would simply tell you that you were better than them, and thus more would be expected of you. He made you sit under waterfalls until your body was numb, or balance in a one-handed handstand while using the force to hold rocks in levitation. He expected perfection. And yet, he always rewarded you for meeting his standards. He would rebraid your Padawan braid with new beads and clasps with each achievement, and praise you for your skills. On a mission to a rather rich, lush planet, he bought you a new cloak in your favourite colour to wear over your brown and cream robes.

When you were twelve, you presented as an Alpha, and your Master smiled proudly as he wiped the sweat from your brow and tucked you into bed. He gave you scent blockers in the form of patches for the scent glands on your neck, and cream for anywhere else. He gave you rut blockers to take every day, and explained their importance. Not once did he falter or appear embarrassed in his explanations of your dynamic. Despite the heavy scent of your rut filling the room, he was perfectly composed as he braided your hair to keep it from getting tangled while you rested.

“I knew it.” He said, “You will be a strong Alpha, regal and poised. A paragon of your designation.”

Your Master brought you a robe of his, knowing it would provide comfort as the blockers took effect. Thankfully, you’d only have to endure a couple of hours of this torment. He brought you water, and your favourite foods, cheekily putting a finger to his grinning lips as if to shush you as he did. As if you’d ever tattle on him to the Council.

The following morning, after a long turn in the fresher, you finally felt like yourself again. You took your bedding and clothes to do the laundry, then applied your scent blocker carefully in the mirror. You were sitting on the cushion in the shared space of your rooms when your Master finally joined you. He carefully settled down across from you, his force signature brushing against yours through your training bond to assure himself that you were alright before he sank into meditation with you. When you were feeling calm and collected, and balanced within the force, you finally spoke.

“You have let me waste the morning away. I have training to get to. I am ready, Master Dooku.”

[the-dragon-invasion-is-near]

wanted to share a pictue of the sillies (snaillies?) when the surprise babies were still smol

[furashuban]

Bilberries and the Nimble

A surprise new OC story! Had a lot of fun getting to write this one and drawing the lil companion art for it :> It introduces a new creature/character in the series and Ramona meeting them is the focus of the story. Really hope everyone enjoys reading!!

Words: 3.2k

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60209836/chapters/153642853

Summary: As Ramona spends the day eating bilberries at the park, she encounters a mousy new friend who tells her they're not ripe.

A comfortably cold and cloudy day at Länsijoki Park, one of the myriad of parks in Kuluufia nestled by the Latomäki River west of the city. A little girl, freckled and donning a red beret over her wavy hair was rummaging through the park’s many bushes with a small raven perched on her shoulder. For every few bushes they stopped to look at, the little girl plucked out a trickle of bilberries from the branches until her palms could no longer hold any more, and the raven would let out a caw with each berry snatched, which made the girl giggle and imitate a caw back. There was no way she could have known, but the raven she found had a name, and it was Ramona.

“We’ll leave them riiiight here,” the girl kneeled down, releasing the bilberries below a shrub. Ramona hopped off her shoulder and inspected the berry pile. “That way other birds can’t find and steal them while you eat.”

“Phoebe?” a woman’s voice called out, “time to head back to the bookstore, sweetheart!”

“I have to leave now,” Phoebe sighed. “Me and my moms live in a bookstore, isn’t that cool?” She gently stroked her black-feathered acquaintance as to bid farewell, the raven in turn closed her eyes while her tailfeathers flapped up and down in glee. “Welp, enjoy your bilberries, miss raven��!”

Ramona watched as Phoebe ran towards two women smiling and waiting for her. The taller woman knelt with open arms as she embraced her child tightly, then she carried Phoebe up while the shorter woman suiting round-rimmed glasses gave her a kiss on her freckled cheek. “Moms, guess what? I made friends with a raven today, and she was really friendly!” was the last thing Ramona heard from the girl, coupled with the affectionate laughter of her moms as the family walked off to Main Street.

Her attention was now back to the bilberries. Seeing the various shades of blue, and imagining the juiciness sloshing inside her beak had made her stomach rumble. There was nothing else to do but dig right in.

“Wait, wait, wait, stop!!!” a voice from who-knows-where begged aloud, startling the raven.

Soon, a figure as tall as a perfume bottle sprang out from the shrub. While most of its body was covered in a little poncho, its arms and legs were nonetheless brown and furry, while behind it appeared to be a long pink tail. It donned a tricorne hat in between large and floppy ears, and finally, its mouth and nose protracted into a whiskered snout. The tiny figure waved its arms against the raven, and all Ramona could do was leap back and spread her wings out as she squawked endlessly in hopes it would be too scared to hurt her.

“No, it’s okay!” the figure continued, “I’m sorry for alarming you, but I had to tell you that some of your berries are, well, not ripe yet. I-I’m a surveyor around here, you see,” it then tipped its tricorne hat and bowed awkwardly. “Anselm is the name, and I fancy any labels but the ‘sir’ variety would be more preferable.”  

Ramona brought back her composure, twitching her head and letting out a softer caw as though to say “okay then”. Anselm gestured towards the bilberry pile, “I can’t let wild creatures eat unripen fruit under my watch, so, if I may?” he asked. The raven rocked its head up and down to tell him yes; what a kind gesture, she thought.

And so, Anselm went to work separating the ripened berries from the not-so-ripened ones, all the while he was mumbling to himself every action he was doing. “Put one here…Another one here…Right, that should do it,” he rejoiced as soon as there were two different piles of bilberries. “That pile with the most bilberries is the ripe ones, lucky for you I might say.”

“GWAH” Ramona cawed.

“Oh, um, perhaps I was not being structured enough before?” the little creature said, “I’m Anselm, a surveyor from the Hyllpunki settlement, that’s who I am.”

“GWAUGHH” Ramona cawed again.

“What I am, you mean? Why, I’m a Nimble, of course.”

From there, Ramona did a little hop before her entire body grew and changed from a raven to a young girl in the blink of an eye, whose skin was as pale as chalk and her hair short, black and unkemptly swerved. She was garbed in a gray dress under a black cloak upon transforming. The raven-turned-girl crouched to the point her chest almost completely touched the ground and her face pointed close to Anselm, who could not help but notice that her iris’ were as blue as a bilberry itself.

“How did you know what I was saying from just a caw?!” Ramona asked, her brows raised in a surprised arc.

“All creatures can naturally interpret each other, humanoids included,” Anselm replied. “Speaking of which, I had no idea there were any Vikorppit living in this city. I’ve never encountered one before.” He then brought out a little notebook to write down his discovery.

“Just like how I’ve never seen a Nimble before,” Ramona sat upright, bringing her legs close to her chest and offered her hand so that Anselm could hop on and be lifted closer to her face; there was no comfort in crouching for too long. “And about that, I’m pretty much the only one of myself around here, at least that’s what Arrowwood and mum tell me.”

“Eliott Arrowwood, you mean?! You know him?” Anselm jolted.

“Yeah! How do you know him?”

“He’s only the savior of my people after our first settlement was lost to a blizzard, the man who helped made Hyllpunki possible for us with nothing but a bookcase to build our homes in.”

“This Hyllpunki place sounds pretty cozy,” Ramona grinned, picturing a miniature version of Kuluufia on a library shelf with hundreds of whiskered Nimbles running about in her head. She then picked a couple ripen bilberries from the ground and shoved them into her mouth, and the sweetness of the fruit made her hum a gratified mmmm after swallowing. “Want one?” she asked, holding a bilberry in front of Anselm.

“Oh, no thank you, um…”

“Ramona. Girl labels for me,” the raven-child answered cheerily, then she tossed the politely-turned-down bilberry into the air before it fell straight into her open mouth.

“Bravo, miss Ramona!” Anselm applauded; Ramona giggled with her mouth closed as she chewed. She tossed another, which went into her mouth successfully yet again, the impressed Nimble cheering on the Vikorppi of her skills; she continued her trick for another two bilberries until one finally hit her cheek instead of tongue, but the two creatures were still amused and laughed uncontrollably.

“So, do all Nimbles look like you?” Ramona asked, “poncho and fancy hats and all?”

“Oh, no, not really,” Anselm chuckled, “this is just how I like to dress during surveyance, but everyone back in Hyllpunki is free to dress however they fancy. You would find, however, that we Hyllpunki Nimbles make an effort to only decorate everything in dark shades of red and green.”

“Say, where is this Hyllpunki place anyhow?”  

But before she could get an answer, the pair were distracted by the sound of the clocktower chiming its bell over at Main Street. “Oh no, speak of the stars,” Anselm sighed, “I’m supposed to return there now for communal supper, but it takes me ages travelling from here. Oh dear, how I never should have worked overtime today…”

Before he began to sulk, he had an idea. “Wait a minute, perhaps you can fly me there! I-If you’re willing to, of course,” he suggested. “To answer your question, miss Ramona, Hyllpunki is exactly where Arrowwood’s abode is.”

“But that’s all the way in the Outskirts!” Ramona recoiled in shock, “I never fly all the way there on my own, not unless I’m with my mum.”

“You’ll have me,” Anselm tried to reassure, “don’t worry, I’m an excellent guide and can make sure the both of us can make it unscathed.”

“It’s not really that either,” Ramona continued to protest, “it will take me so long trying to fly from this park to there, and I really don’t want my mum to be worried sick wondering why I’ve been gone for ages.”  

Anslem heaved a nervous sigh. “But you’re my only hope at the moment of returning to my community in time. I’ve already missed out on so many suppers with them”

“I…” Ramona stammered, her expression now tight with strain, “I’m sorry, Anselm, I’m just no good at making decisions like these,” she lowered him to the ground as she looked other way; she knew she wanted to help, but to fly a Nimble to the farthest parts of the city on her own was new and risky for a girl like her, “I’m really sorry…” she whimpered.

Anselm stood frozen on Ramona’s palm, looking upwards at the crestfallen Vikorppi. “It’s no hard feelings, miss, I understand. I don’t want to push you into saying yes if you really can’t,” the Nimble promised as he stepped out of her palm, “I’ll be okay finding another way back. I’ll just…leave you to your bilberries for now.”

When Ramona felt like Anselm was no longer paying mind to her, she glanced down to see the tricorne-cladded Nimble pull out a big map from his poncho and mumbled indiscernibly to himself looking for all the quickest routes to the Outskirts. It was hard for the raven-child to stop thinking about her newfound little friend and his difficult journey back. She thought about how gloomy the other Nimbles would be once he’d be late for supper, like how worried her mother would be if she hadn’t flown back to their apartment once the weather got cold—the who-knows-how-many people whom he was meant to have supper with together, whom he’d lose time spending with because he was too far away from home.

Ramona’s heart sank, it was an unbearable thought to bare for her. Mum would understand why she would be home late; she would also try to help a Nimble return home to his loved ones if she was in her shoes, the Vikorppi thought.

“Is there anything you can pack those bilberries with, Anselm?” Ramona asked.

“Pardon, miss Ramona?” the Nimble turned away from his map to see a now grinning, determined little girl.

“I’m flying you home,” Ramona nodded, standing up from her spot on the grass. “I can’t let creatures miss out on supper with the people they love under my watch, so…” the little girl then hopped a tad before her body shifted back into a raven. “GWAH”she cawed— “if I may…” Anselm interpreted.

With Ramona’s bilberries stowed away in a magic bottomless rucksack Anselm carries around, the Nimble hopped on the raven-child’s back and readied himself for lift off. “All good now, miss Ramona!” he tipped his tricorne hat.

And soon, Ramona flapped her wings with vigor, the little voice of Anselm yelping as he held on. The raven flew so high that she and the Nimble could see all of Länsijoki Park and the streets abounding it as they soared. They could see the river and its long stretch into the clear lake over yonder, and patches of orange and brown leaves blown away from the branches littering every street. It was a long way to go from the city proper to the Outskirts, and the familiar manor-like buildings of Kuluufia would no longer be there for Ramona to traverse nor see. It was enough to make her feel apprehensive, but she was already flying, too. She had to be brave for her Nimble friend.

They swerved through the clock tower and glided above the crowded Main Street. They braved through the cluster of brick apartment blocks and followed along the steel-constructed Niemi Bridge just in time to see a cable tram run along its way to the City Square. Everywhere they went had a park and pristine bridge on one side and ginormous buildings of brick and granite on the other, and they were never short of everyday people enjoying a stroll, busking folk songs and selling wares in little wheeled-kiosks to pass through in between. Anselm loved the bustle and closeness of Kuluufia, and so did young Ramona.

“We’re almost there!” Anselm announced.

The buildings they passed through now dwindled and were getting smaller and smaller, and the sunset had become clearer and more orange than it ever was. The land below them was soon dominated by untamed meadows and unorganized trees as opposed to concrete pavements. There were still buildings to be found of course, but they were more cottage-like and varied in brighter colors of wood (though a majority were in a deep, luscious red), many had sod roofs and were built far apart from each other instead of being clumped together in rows. The only street to speak of was a fenced dirt path that bordered everyone’s yards in its trail, and among the adjoining homes was the biggest one in view.

“Okay, down there, miss Ramona!” Anselm pointed to the biggest house.

“CAWW” Ramona squawked in festive affirmation. She angled her wings to glide herself downwards until they were lowered more and more to the house. While big, about two stories high and as wide as an inn, Arrowwood’s house was the only residence in the Outskirts that was not painted in any color; the surfaces were all naturally wood. In fact, the entire house was put together with only wood tightly stuck together with no help from nails nor rope, yet it stood perfectly neat and robust like any other house. It had all been built by Arrowwood himself from almost a century ago with the knowledge of his people he had once lived together with in the Nordic forestlands.

Ramona and Anselm landed by the doorstep. The Vikorppi pecked the door thrice and as hard as she could to get Arrowwood to come for Anselm. As the Nimble got off the raven-child, Ramona turned back into a girl, heaving heavy breaths and leaning against corner beside the front door.

“Are you okay, miss Ramona?” Anselm asked, beginning to feel rather guilty.

“I’m fine,” Ramona said in a clearly exhausted tone, “I just…need a break as all.”

Anselm remembered the leftover bilberries he had stowed away in his rucksack and let them all out on the floor beside Ramona. “Here,” he offered, “to help you back on your feet.”

Ramona scooped a handful without looking, chewing on the bilberries before cringing a little as she swore she had eaten some unripen ones by mistake. “Thanks, Anselm…” she expressed anyway.

“I should be the one thanking you, you know?” Anselm said, “I practically owe you everything. I promise to return the favor someday.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ramona grinned, “I just want you to enjoy your supper with your family for me,” and Anselm smiled back softly.

The front door suddenly opened, and the figure of a tall bearded man with scruffy brown hair peeped his head out. “Hello? Whose out there?” Eliott Arrowwood called.

“Arrowwood!” the Nimble waved his arms high in the air.

The bearded man looked down. “Anselm! There you are!” Arrowwood kneeled down and gave his palm for Anselm to hop on. He saluted with one palm, to which Anselm took off his tricorne hat and bowed. “We’ve all been wondering about you. We were worried that you’d miss supper again, but you made it just in time.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Anselm heaved a sigh, “I was worried, too, but I couldn’t have gotten here without miss Ramona.”

Hearing the name took Arrowwood by surprise, he looked around for Ramona until he saw the Vikorppi child still rested against the wall and looking back at him. Ramona stood up out of courtesy, holding her hands together under her cloak. “Good evening, Arrowwood,” she greeted shyly.

 “You flew all this way to bring Anselm home?” Ramona gave a little nod to that, and Arrowwood grinned softly. “You really are a brave one, dear Ramona, we’re all deeply thankful for you.” The girl was flattered, her pale cheeks now flushing a light tinge of pink.

“I see you’ve gotten yourself some bilberries on the way, too,” Arrowwood regarded Ramona’s pile of berries still on the floor, “some look a bit unripen, but they’d be great to make bilberry syrup with.”

“It’s why I decided to bring them over,” Anselm said proudly, stunning Ramona in curious surprise.

 “Since it’s supper, why don’t I make you just that with some pancakes to go with it, too, Ramona?”

“Really?” Ramona’s eyes lit up.

“Mhm, I can make them as better as the ones your mum makes, but no promises though,” Arrowwood chuckled, “We’ll give her a call, too, let her know you’re here so she doesn’t worry.”

“While we’re at it, I can show you what Hyllpunki looks like.” Anselm offered, “now that you’re invited for supper, it’s only fair you get to join us in my settlement for ours, too, if you don’t mind standing by the shelf with your food, of course.”

Ramona stood there quietly for a moment, unsure of how to express her gratitude. So instead, she lunged at Arrowwood with a great big hug around his waist, to which the bearded man failed to resist patting the girl’s head in return. Anselm hopped down to his newfound friend’s shoulder so that he, too, could give an embrace on her cheek.

And so, after the bearded man collected Ramona’s bilberries, the trio went inside and enjoyed the warmth of Arrowwood’s abode, the little girl eager for bilberry syrup and her first time seeing a Nimble settlement. The Nimbles of Hyllpunki shouted in rejoice when Arrowwood returned Anselm to the rest of the community; they all huddled around the Tricorn-cladded surveyor as they welcomed him home, and Ramona gasped in excitement at the sight of what his home was like exactly. It was a modest bookcase with each row occupied by wooden mouse-sized dioramas of buildings akin to the Outskirts. Red and green cloth banners decorated the little neighborhoods and little streets occupied by tenths of equally little whiskered Nimbles. They all dressed in coats no different from humans in Kuluufia, but as Anselm explained before, even their colors coordinated with each other in dark shades of red and green. Fairy lights dangled above each row, and Ramona could only ask if whether they were like lanterns or like stars for the settlement.

In one row, a long table stretched at the center filled with tiny food items resembling various types of pies and cakes. Word got out around the settlement of Anselm’s adventure with the Vikorppi child, and each Nimble faced out their home to wave at Ramona with a cheer.

“It’s lovely to meet you all!” Ramona chirped, her hands clasped together as she basked in the honor of being greeted by all of Hyllpunki, “I’ve never seen such adorable creatures before.”

“Neither have we!” a handful of the mother Nimbles complimented back to Ramona, the rest of the settlement giggled in agreement.