#feel free to ask me where i got the custom cloaks and capes and little grogu bag for the black series buddies

[trashquisitor-shirozora]

Gotta say im not usually an action figures kinda person but seeing your utter delight and joy with these hot toys is making me reconsider. Didn’t know toys could look that good honestly lol

The world of articulated, fancy shmancy, absolutely ridiculously priced collectibles is absolutely wild, Anon. It also feeds my desires to Collect All The Things, Pose All The Things, and also Pose For All The Art Things. For the longest time I was satisfied with whatever I could get from the local Target and Toys "R" Us because I was a kid who knew fuck all about anything and came from a family that knew fuck all about these things, but around the time I got deep into Transformers, I also made my way to my first conventions, AX and Comic Con, and seeing those displays with fancy expensive Transformers? Blew my goddamn mind. Seeing the Sideshow booths at Comic Con and LA Comic Con? I crave all the things. If only I had the budget and space to collect even more.

If you're interested and want to dip your toes in these waters, I suggest looking at Hasbro's Star Wars The Black Series. It's more budget-friendly, will take up less space on your shelves and display cases, and the Internet is FULL of all kinds of extra props and dioramas you can buy to stage whatever scenes you want.

Still waiting for an updated Din Djarin from Hasbro, though.

[letitrainathousandflames]

There Was No Father

Rating: Mature/18+

Warnings: force pregnancy, forced pregnancy, force rape (technically), sith mind tricks, foreshadowing, slavery, sexual slavery mention, childbirth, ask to tag

-

The atmosphere is hot, stifling. The black-haired woman squints at the sunlight, standing in line with other slaves, some human like her, others from different species.

The only thing she carries from the life she had before slavery is the name her mother had given her. Shmi. If she closed her eyes, she could still picture her mother’s face, feel the scent and warmth of her embrace back when she was only a child.

Now Shmi is twenty-eight, and her mother is long gone, worked to death as a slave at a mining planet. Her current owner, an angry-looking Rodian, pokes a nautolan slave with a shock staff. The nautolan screams.

“Fix that posture!” The slave master barks “We have a very important client arriving! If any of you wanna be purchased by this rich looking fellow, you better look decent and get me a good deal!”

The slave master walks away, most likely to greet the new customer.

Shmi sighs heavily, squaring her shoulders as best as she can with little hope. She doubts any new master will be much different from this one, of the one before. Being a slave is always a nightmare and all she could hope is that this one wouldn’t be amused by hitting her or not allowing her to eat.

She hears her master approaching and keep her eyes low on the dirt. She knows better than daring to look a potential buyer in the eyes without permission.

“-sure you don’t want to take off that cape? It’s very hot out here, sir. I hear the only place hotter than this is Tattooine, a couple of sectors away. If this one sun is nearly baking me alive, can’t imagine what two of ‘em must be like. By the way, where did you say you were from?”

Shmi hears a voice that is somehow soft spoken but at the same time carries a coldness that’s sends shivers down her spine.

“That is none of your business.”

Her master seems displeased at that.

“Now, listen, there is no need to-”

Shmi could feel the temperature drop, which would be pleasant any other day in this scorching planet, but all she could do was shiver, her entire body tensing up.

“I have crossed several systems looking for something that is in your possession. I do not have time to exchange inane words with an ignorant creature in this speck of uselessness you call a planet. You will show me your slaves, now."

The slaves held their breath, already anticipating their master's explosive outburst. Instead, he spoke in a dazed tone:

"I will show you my slaves now..." at the corner of her eye, Shmi could see the master and a man clad in a black cloak stand before a lean, battered wookiee "This one's mighty strong, good for hefting heavy stuff, can work for hours on end-"

"No. This isn't what I'm looking for."

"Well, then there is this human here, he's good at fixing stuff, got a couple droids back in business when-"

"This is not the one."

They kept going through the line quickly, approaching Shmi at every step and every discarded option. Shmi swallowed down, setting her jaw. At their steady approaching, she felt colder and colder, shivers creeping down her spine. Her breathing was shallow, her chest feeling tight.

The man in the cloak stood right in front of her, and Shmi felt like she was being engulfed by the cold, her body sweaty from the weather but every hair on her body standing up with her shivers. Her eyes were still on the ground, and she could notice the expensive material of the man's cloak and the robes underneath it, everything black, a strange choice of clothes for such a hot environment.

"...this one. Where did you find her?"

"Ah, I bought her off at an auction in Saleucami. Don't be fooled by her frail looks - this one is strong, can work all day long even without food."

The man's sharp tone shifted into a much softer, gentler one.

"Look at me, young one."

"Ah, sir, don't bother talking to the slave, I can tell you everything you need to know-"

"You will stop talking now." the man spoke harshly to the master "I can appraise her worth myself."

Once again, unexplainably, the master merely nodded, taking a couple of steps back and standing in silence. The man in the cloak spoke again, in a low, gentle voice:

“I said look at me, young one.”

Shmi forced herself to raise her face, looking up at the man in front of her. His face was partially hidden in the shadow of his hood, but with the closeness she could make him to be a man in his late forties or early fifties. His eyes gleamed at her, yellow irises surrounded by a red rim shifting into a gentle blue so quickly she wondered if she had seen it wrong.

The man brought a hand to her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone. His touch was strangely cold and unwelcome but Shmi tried her best to stay perfectly still. However, she swallowed down tensely, taking the risk of stating her limits, even though she knew that doing so might’ve warranted a slap across the very face he caressed.

“Sir, I am not that kind of slave.”

The man clicked his tongue dismissively, moving his hand to tuck his pointer finger under her chin and making her face him properly.

“How old are you?”

Oh, moons, he was looking for a bedchamber slave. Shmi gulps down, trying to keep the disgust off her features. Her master would often tell her to lie and take about five years off her actual age, but since he was being so complacent and Shmi would rather work to death like her mother rather than losing the very last shred of dignity she still had, she said the truth:

“I’m twenty-eight, sir. Will be twenty-nine in a few rotations. I-I am good with crops. A-and droids, I’m not as good as Jayden there, but I can fix a wiring or two. I’m strong, as my master said, quite used to heavy work.”

She raised her hands between the two of them, showing the scrapped and chipped nails and the dry, calloused fingers of a worker. Most men were put off by this, and Shmi would purposefully have her disheveled hair tied up in an unflattering low bun to warrant off any advances. At twenty-eight she was still a virgin, and she had no interest in laying with men, masters or otherwise, without any kind of connection, of love between them.

“Twenty-eight…” the man repeated, sizing her up with a gaze that swept up and down her form “Pity. A tad too old, I’m afraid.”

Shmi was simultaneously offended and relieved, lowering her hands at her sides; did that mean the man wasn’t interested in keeping her as a bedchamber slave?

“However, I cannot let this go to waste. Such power… If only you were young enough to be trained.”

Suddenly, Shmi could feel her entire body stiffen, as if she was being held by invisible ropes that tied every inch of her from head to toe. The man tilted his head to the side, smirking, and he brought his hand to her middle, right over her lower stomach.

“Hey!” her master shouted “Hands off the merchandise!”

The man ignored him, and Shmi could only whimper, trying to break free from the power holding her still.

“This will be very interesting.” The man muttered, and Shmi could feel a sudden warmth in her stomach, her skin tingling and her abdomen tightening; the feeling was as unwelcome as the cold that preceded it

Get your hands off me! Shmi thought, her face cringing in disgust, Stop touching me!

The man released her with a smirk, pulling his hand away. Shmi felt the power restraining her finally release her body and nearly collapsed, struggling to stay on her feet. Her body felt strange, and the warm sensation in her stomach did not cease.

“I believe this will be all. Goodbye.”

The man turned and left, leaving Shmi unsettled and her master furious, screaming at her to never say her true age in a sale ever again, but Shmi wasn’t really listening, her hands falling over her stomach. Something had happened, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t understand what it was.

A month later she had long forgotten about that particular incident, finding it very strange that she missed her period. On the following weeks, she would start feeling nauseous every morning. Two months later, she would notice her stomach swelling despite her poor diet. Several months later, on one late night of work all alone in a tool shed, she would collapse on the floor with the pain of her stomach contractions, muffling her screams in a cloth not to wake up her master and struggling for hours until she gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby.

“There was no father”, she would say, and no one would believe her.