Decided to finally draw some femme bots like I said I’d do :D “but lazychimken shouldn’t you finish answering the asks-“ IM GETTING TO THEM JUST LET ME HAVE THIS 💔
Anakin Skywalker does in fact have a biological father!
Now if only someone could get the man to pick the up the damn comm so they could do a paternity test to confirm!
Initially brainstormed on tumblr here.
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Shmi is twenty-seven years of age, in transit as chattel, on the day she meets Jango Fett. They do not share any duties, as Shmi has been deemed more useful as a face to sell for maid work or bar service than in the hold, processing spice. Not pretty enough for a brothel, maybe, but enough for service. They still want to get some use out of her, for time she is with them, and so she is set handle the injured until they see fit to sell her.
Jango is what they deem 'strong-willed' and 'poorly-behaved.' Words better suited to an eopie than a sapient being. He is punished more often than the other slaves, and sent back to work twice as soon. Shmi sees him over and again to bandage him with diluted, expired bacta, to stitch up broken skin and press ice to bruised eyes. She is no true nurse, but nobody expects her to be. Not the slaves, and not their masters.
"If you ever get out," Fett tells her, "You could probably get a degree in this. Be a medic. Your hands are steady enough for it."
"There is no getting out," Shmi says, "not for the likes of us."
She will change her tune eventually, but this, now, is a low point in her life. Not the lowest it'll ever be, no, but she is not yet climbing out. It will be years she stops digging.
"It'll be a damn long time before I give up my dreams of vengeance," Fett tells her. He says it with a mad grin that doesn't meet his eyes. "It's what keeps me warm at night."
The sleeping cells are freezing at night, in contrast to the hellish heat of the spice processing room.
"There are other ways to stay warm," Shmi says.
She thinks nothing of it at the time, but when she heads to bed, Fett grabs her wrist and raises a brow.
"Staying warm alright?" he asks.
She considers, then, "I'm looking to get some more sleep, I'll admit."
when he looks, iseris is smiling with teeth. “ i suppose so. if you’d been naughty enough. ” astarion doesn’t own such a basement ( doesn’t own anything ) anymore so this is, rather tragically, all hypothetical. pale brows dent at their inner corners nevertheless, his lips forming an uneven dusty pink pucker as he takes the moment to assess her, what he knows of her. “ .. but could you behave as though it were actually torture ? ”
Cuts and scrapes were not uncommon in Ku Shen’s line of mischief; It had been early morning when he’d snuck out of the pharmacy, abandoning his duties of grinding and cutting herbs to later be turned into proper salves and medicinal cures when Baizhu returned from his journey. Time that would be far better spent, he had thought, wandering the plains and woods of his home in Guili. It was as he was doing his adventuring- or rather his practicing, large stick in hand twirled and spun as if it were one of the spears he so longed to arm himself with- that Ku Shen had made a terrible miscalculation. Though typically aware of his surroundings… Today was an exception, and in his focus on weapons and fighting he’d let his feet carry him far too close to the sheer face of a rock and tumbled right over-- Landing on ground covered in leaves and sticks with a thump and a yell. Though not a terribly abnormal situation…
The warmth of blood staining his sleeve and running down his arm was a good enough reason to worry. Dirtied fingers carefully grazed around the spot of pain, the sticky blood, and it is with a deep sigh that the young adeptus realizes he’s gone and given himself a cut. Were it not for the multitude of lessons he’d been given on infections and improperly healed injuries, Ku Shen might have been able to ignore it and continue on with his playing, his ‘practicing’... But, alas, his mind conjures not thoughts of battle but worries of infection and healing gone wrong. Perhaps something that is for the better-- as he steps out from the woods and into the waning sunlight of the evening, it is then that he realizes how late it truly is. An issue only in that Baizhu would most likely return to the pharmacy soon and discover that Ku Shen had shirked his duties of herb preparation in favor of running off to play warrior again, and that simply could not be allowed-- If only because the poor boy would be driven insane by even one more lecture, far more by even another overly disappointed sigh.
( Why was it that the subtle sound of disappointment was often what felt worse to him? )
“Yo! Lǎoshī, you home?” a call answered by naught but the silent confirmation that the older adeptus has not in fact returned quite yet-- One that leads Ku Shen to breathe both a sigh of relief, and a sigh of newfound tension. His outer robe was taken quickly off his shoulders, tossed carefully against the back of a nearby chair. Sleeves rolled up to reveal both hands calloused from hard work as well as the sticky red wound on his lower arm, the soft pulse of pain and the sense of the evening growing later driving him to his work. The herbs could not be prepared while he was dirty and bloody-- and so the washing of dirt beneath nails and the bandaging of the injury is one that is rushed, disinfectants and salves forgotten for the moment in the growing panic that Baizhu would soon be home. Qingxin crushed beneath pestle, Silk Flower petals steeped in boiling waters, Glaze Lilies torn petal by petal and placed gently in jars that he sets aside on the table to be marked once his teacher returns home. By the time he is done with his chores the evening sun has cast the pharmacy in the gentle glow of the waning sun's warmth, and Ku Shen raises a hand to rub at his sore arm and finds that his bandage has long since been bled all the way through. A step taken back from the table as Ku Shen sighs, stretching his arms far above his head. Now that he would be free of any lecturing from Baizhu...
Bloodied bandages stripped carefully from the wound and tossed aside to be disposed of, gracing his fingers carefully over the injury before he sets about the task of gathering purified water to wash it out with. Scrubbing despite the pain, until the dirt and grime of his earlier practice is well washed out alongside blood both dried and new. He could leave it here, wrap it in bandages and forget it ever happened, wait for his inhuman healing to take the reins, and there would be naught but the slightest scar by tomorrow’s morn…
But he wants to try something. The memory of a salve that Baizhu had taught him only yesterday, an adeptal medicine that- if done right- could perhaps help heal the wound by tonight at latest. Better for larger injuries, true, but the best practice was done when there wasn’t a patient dying before him and his teacher. He’s long since memorized the layout of the pharmacy, the drawers and their contents, the paths taken as he gathers the proper herbs and elixirs to make the salve for his injury. Violetgrass petals and silk flower stamens, crushed powder of starconch and leaves off of qingxin. Dried mist flower corolla plucked from its drawer and crushed into fine dust for a soothing cool to the stinging injury, and… Unmoving essential oil, for the bleeding. When used in too large a quantity do the essential oils become far more of a harming substance than a helping one-- and due to the affliction of blindness bringing the higher likelihood that Ku Shen will pour too much oil and cause a problem instead of helping one, this area of the pharmacy is admittedly one less travelled to- Especially now that he does more than simply fetch things for his mentor. Careful hands feel the shapes of the bottles, straying quickly from the zapping of electro oil, the heat and contrasting cold of pyro and cryo, which leaves him with four different bottles.
Dendro, geo, anemo, hydro. His elemental senses have never been the keenest, an unpracticed art that he’d never truly put the time into with his own lack of a vision and only mild elemental capabilities. Oils, of course, are of such concentrated energy that he managed to narrow it down to what he’s quite sure is the bottle of Geo oil, carefully setting the others back in their places-- And it is then that he hears the sound of footsteps coming through the doorway.
“Lǎoshī!” He chirps, turning for only a moment to acknowledge that his dear mentor has entered the room-- It is only a moment, and still… It is within that moment that his hand drifts, and when he turns back to retrieve the bottle, IT IS NOT THE BOTTLE OF OIL THAT HE GRABS.
“How was the trip to Qingce Village? Did you say hi to your mama for me?” small talk made to the shuffling sound of Baizhu putting away what he’d gathered, the careful movements of the young adeptus as he mixes the herbs he’d gathered, palming the bottle carefully in his hand before pouring what he BELIEVES is a little more than half its contents into the mix of floral smelling herbs… To find it… Well, it’s much more watery than he expected. Shit. And this was why Baizhu was the one who dealt with the liquids. The somewhat irritated huff the young adeptus lets out is one hardly heard as he gently scoops the mixture into his hand, cringing at the sting of it as he rubs it over-- into his wound-- wrapping the fresh bandages loose around the limb.
“Hey, Lǎoshī, you got anything else for me to prep for you?”
“All I wanted was for you to be happy.” (Smutty version)
Link had been on edge and snippy all day. Rhett had been doing his best to stay out of his way, and not provoke him further, but Link felt powerless to stop himself from being unfair to Rhett. It was if he subconsciously wanted to piss Rhett off and feel the fire of him lashing out at him. It would serve him right. It was what he deserved.
It was only when Link rolled his eyes at him in the dressing room when they were changing outfits to shoot the next episode that Rhett seemed to have felt left with no choice but to call him out on being an asshole.
“Okay. So now you’re pissed off that we’re wearing the same underwear?”
Link didn’t respond, just shook his head in an unnecessarily exasperated way.
“It’s a shared sponsorship, man. And the pattern has bacon on them! It’s not so far-fetched that we’d wear them on the same day. It’s not like I planned it. Tell you what, tomorrow I’ll text you a picture of me in my undies, and then you can plan your day around that?”
“Can you just shut up, man? I’m not mad about the dang underwear, or at you at all. I’m just in a crappy mood, and you just gotta say stuff like THAT to provoke me.”
“What is it about me talking about photographing my underwear that provokes you, Link?”
Link’s skin began to turn a hue that would not exactly match his skin wall in their new home.
“If it makes you feel better, I can take ‘em off right now?”
Link’s jaw fell open. Was Rhett really going to make it this easy for him?
“Or would you rather I take yours off? I wanna help you, but you gotta tell me what you need.”
Link couldn’t believe what Rhett was saying. He hadn’t offered this kind of stress relief since college.
“That’s not what I—. You don’t have to…”
“I’ve seen you like this before, wound up so tight.”
“This ain’t like finals week, man. And we’re not horny kids.”
“Grown men are allowed to have needs, too.”
Link’s chest felt tight with how badly he’d ached to hear that kind of validation.
“Let me help you unwind, Link. We might be a little rusty, but I bet I remember how things work.”
Link didn’t answer, but he did back up to lean against the counter, hands resting precariously close to the button of his fly.
“Let me do this for you. You don’t have to move or think. Just let me…”
Link nodded.
And nodded again.
He beckoned Rhett closer with a crook of his finger and Rhett was drawn forward as if by an invisible thread. Rhett ducked his head down to kiss Link and Link kissed back. Roughly. Of course Rhett had been right, and Link did need this. He kissed Rhett until their lips were pink and swollen. Link nipped at the air between them and Rhett offered his bottom lip for him to gnaw on.
Instead, Link raised his hands to Rhett’s shoulders and guided him down to his knees. Rhett tucked his fingers into the elastic band of the breakfast-themed underwear and in a jerking motion, lowered Link’s jeans along with them.
Link’s cock hung heavy and full directly before Rhett.
Link didn’t waste any more time going back and forth over whether or not this was what Rhett wanted - after all, when had he done a dang thing he didn’t want to do?
“You tell me if you want me to stop.”
“And you don’t stop until you’re satisfied.”
Sliding his cock past Rhett’s soft lips was like slipping into a crisp pool on a hundred-degree day. Why had he waited for so freakin’ long, knowing good and well how refreshing the waters would be?
He thrust shallowly at first, getting reacquainted with the feel of him. Savoring the sensation over every inch as he moved in and out of the welcoming heat. The constant swirling mix of everyday decisions and existential uncertainties stilled in his mind as he bathed in the feeling of having Rhett’s lips wrapped securely around him. He threaded his fingers through wavy hair, the other hand gripping onto Rhett’s shoulder - desperate for as many contact points as he could cling to.
Rhett was good, taking him with only a few delicious sounds of struggle. But when Link would try to ease up, Rhett doubled down on pushing him until the head of his cock agitated the back of his throat. And Rhett held close to Link’s hips even as he choked and gagged.
It was rough, raw, and nasty sounding. It was every filthy thing Link had been yearning to feel. Had been ashamed to need.
His brain was disintegrating into static as he emptied his desire into Rhett’s mouth, watching his come spill over to drip down into his beard like sloshed paint over the edge of the can.
He didn’t love that beard, and didn’t feel bad for sullying it. But he had nothing except for love for the man that wore the beard. And he hoped he hadn’t damaged anything there.
“You really didn’t have to do this, Rhett.”
Rhett was still wiping his face as he told Link, “All I wanted was for you to be happy. You haven’t been happy lately.”
“I’m happy now. And I was happy when we rode bikes the other day for the vlog.”
“That was eight days ago, brother! I don’t want that for you: being happy only one out of every eight days. I want you to be happy eight out of eight days, if that’s a possibility. Now that we’ve… cleared your head a little. Maybe you can open up about what else is going on.”
“Yeah,” Link smiled. Sincerely, for the first time in eight days. “We can talk about that.”
Faustian Castle Qui-Gon with caretaker Obi-Wan. Sometimes Qui-Gon manifests as a ghostly apparition but usually he’s just the literally talking walls. Obi-Wan thinks this is all normal, has been changing light bulbs and cleaning spider webs since he was thirteen here.
Grievous is tucked away in the sub-sub-sub-sub-basement they pretend doesn’t exist. Every few weeks this weird monster comes sprinting out of the woods to claw at the windows and screech KENOBIAAAAGH until dawn, where it seems to dissolve into mist. There’s an ancient troll living in the ‘pond’ that’s really more of a tiny swamp. People are fairly certain that the old guy in the fancy cape that visits twice a year is probably a vampire. Obi-Wan refers to him as grandfather and pretends to not know what anyone is talking about whenever they ask about the man.
Anakin and his little sister are lost, on their way to visit Anakin’s girlfriend in another town, when they stumble across the weird ‘haunted’ castle that the nearby townsfolk told them to avoid, not because it’s really good at killing trespassers, but because the castle’s spirit is really fucking annoying.
This AU is mostly just about Obi-Wan pretending not to notice that people are freaked out by his Really Weird House (it’s not his, he explains, but he’s responsible for the upkeep and gets one of the nicer bedrooms) when giving tours, and Qui-Gon scaring the shit out of tourists because this entire building is his body and You’re All In It.
