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sonoftatooine · 3 years

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Whumptober 2021

DAY 1: ‘ALL TRUSSED UP AND NOWHERE TO GO’ - BOUND

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Jabba the Hutt, Grand Inquisitor

Warnings: Slavery, implied assault, attempted mind reading (?)

Summary: AU - The Clone Wars started early, and Anakin was never found by the Jedi on Tatooine. Instead, he was sold to Jabba the Hutt after his success in the Boonta Eve Classic. Years later, the Empire has formed, and its Emperor has set his sights on Tatooine and the Force sensitive slave that has been discovered there.

***

"The mighty Jabba bids you welcome, Grand Inquisitor."

The voice of TC-70, translator droid to Jabba Desilijic Tiure, kadijic lord of Tatooine, sounded clear through the halls of the Hutt's palace amid the echoes of his master's booming chuckle as the pale, yellow-eyed alien that had introduced himself as the Grand Inquisitor, Master of the Inquisitorius of the Galactic Empire bowed his head before the slug's raised dais in a show of respect as false and as manufactured as Jabba's show of welcome. Animosity was thick in the air, so tangible that each and every one of Jabba's slaves could sense it like the crack of a whip across their backs. This too was known to Anakin Skywalker, in the way that things had always been known to him—inexplicably, instinctively, no matter how much another being may try to hide the truth of their feelings—as he knelt on the hard stone at the tip of his master's tail, held down by by the rough grip of two Gamorean guards on his shoulders. He paid it little mind—he doubted he could make the slug any angrier with him, and soon, his opinion would no longer matter. Instead, he tried to focus purely on sensation. Of the pain in his head from the blow he had been struck when he'd tried to run the night before. The taste of the dry, dusty cloth that had been forced into his mouth, and the burn of the rough robes that had been twined tight around his wrists, rubbed raw and bleeding from attempts to escape. Anything not to have to think about the Inquisitor. About why the Inquisitor was here. About what was going to happen next.

"The great Jabba wishes to ask how you found your journey from the Core," TC-70 said courteously. "He expresses concern over whether you faced any complications on your way here."

That, Anakin thought, a little woozily as the wound on his temple throbbed painfully, was a pretty way of translating Jabba's words, which were something closer towards "this Imperial scum had better have a good reason for making me wait" than any true concern towards his guest. But this was a man that, for once, Jabba could neither afford to deride nor intimidate. The Empire's power was reaching ever further into the Outer Rim—ever since it had risen from the ashes of the Republic several years ago, when Anakin was fourteen. Now it had turned its attention to Tatooine, and the continued non-interference with Hutt rule on the planet had a price.

That price, it seemed, was Anakin.

"No complications, Lord Jabba," the Inquisitor replied with a sharp smile, a glint in his eye that said he knew that the Hutt's word had been nowhere near as polite as the droid had made them appear. "But the work of the Empire rests for no one. I am not hear to exchange pleasantries. Shall we get down to business?"

Anakin felt the slug's anger in the back of his mind, but it didn't show on his face. Instead, he let out one of his rumbling, full-bodied laughs, and waved a small, stubby arm towards the place where Anakin was held restrained in a gesture that was almost a shrug.

"If you think I have any intention of allowing you to overstay your welcome, you are a fool as all Outlanders are," he sneered. "Take the little shag and get off my planet."

"Glorious Jabba," TC-70 translated, ever obsequious, "invites you to inspect your purchase."

The Inquisitor's yellow eyes turned slowly towards Anakin, like an anooba that had caught the scent of blood in the air. An overpowering sense of wrongness, of danger shot through him, worse than any he had ever felt before, and he reeled back, tugging against the grip of the two Gamorean guards that held him in place. Two pairs of hands clamped down on him with bruising force, and he was hauled roughly to his feet. The cry of protest that escaped his lips was muffled by the gag, and his bound hands flew up to his chest, desperately trying to shield himself as he was dragged in front of the Inquisitor and held there in an unrelenting grasp. He never stopped struggling—anything to get out of the reach of this man that felt dark and dangerous and whose strange eyes were fixed on him with an unwavering intensity that he could neither understand nor explain—but after the beating he had received last night, and the meal he had been denied that morning, he felt as weak as a newly hatched bonegnawer chick. Small and helpless, fallen from the nest. No one to protect him from the cruel mercies of the desert. Defeated, he slumped in the guards' grip, head lolling down to the floor.

"Look at me, boy," the Inquisitor hissed.

No. Anakin felt the command reverberate in his head, but he refused to obey it. He screwed his eyes shut and held himself stock still, head bowed.

"I said look at me."

The only warning he had was a sense of a strange malevolence filling the air before his head was caught in an intangible yet vice-like grip, like an invisible hand wrenching his chin up to stare into the man's face. Startled and alarmed, his eyes shot open wide, crying out beneath the gag. What—? What was—?

He froze, suddenly choking on a terror so absolute that it stole what little of his voice the cloth forced into his mouth had left him as the malevolence he had sensed surged to supercritical. It whirled around him, stinging raw at the edges of his mind like grit against exposed skin in a sandstorm. Then, it was pushing against his barriers, pushing deep into his head. Even further, into the depths of his heart, where his most precious secrets were kept, scrutinising relentlessly until the hall of the Hutt's palace seemed to melt away in shadows. He had to get away, had to get this man away from him, but he didn't know— He didn't know how—

Consumed by panic, he felt something in him push back. Push and push and push, burning out the darkness like the blazing heat of Tatooine's binary suns. Faintly, like a distant echo across the horizon of the Dune Sea, he heard a shocked yell and an angry roar. The darkness retreated, and he was dragged back into reality by the remorseless tug of a Gamorean fist in his hair. Another fist, he saw as his vision cleared, was poised to strike a blow across his face, but it was held back by the same invisible grip Anakin had been caught in not moments before.

"No." The Grand Inquisitor's voice cut through the tension in the air like a vibroblade. A gesture of one long-fingered hand, and the guard's arm dropped sharply to his side. "No, this is fascinating. Fascinating. Yes, he shall do very nicely indeed."

Even confused and disorientated as he was, not sure what had just been done to him, nor what he had done in turn, it did nothing to stop the wave of horrified nausea that threatened to overcome him at those words. The fear that had been festering in him ever since he had been hauled before Jabba's throne and informed that he had been sold to the karking Emperor of the Galaxy in exchange for the Hutt's undisturbed sovereignty on Tatooine had reached a fever pitch that was on the verge of burning him from the inside out—and anyone else who happened to be in range along with him. He had spent all his life being passed from master to master—from Gardulla, who had seen no use for him except as winnings to throw into a betting pool, to Watto, who had valued his talents but hadn't had the strength to keep him, and finally to Jabba, the champion podracer who had defeated Sebulba another addition to his collection of costly slaves that he surrounded himself with in lieu of rich jewels and lavish furnishings. But this master, this master who wanted him for reasons that were a mystery to him—reasons that he wasn't sure he would have understood even if he were told, who wanted him so much that he was prepared to part with a considerable sum of money and potential territory, however insignificant, on the Outer Rim in order to acquire him... At least he had known why Jabba had torn him away from his mother after he'd won the Boonta Eve Classic. This master, poised to tear him from his homeworld, was an unknown, and one that terrified him beyond anyone or anything he had ever encountered on Tatooine.

"What happened here?" Anakin flinched as he felt the fingertips of the Inquisitor's black-gloved hand brush lightly across his injured temple. He didn't want the man touching him. He didn't want him touching him. But the guard still held him by the hair and he couldn't—

"The boy is defiant," came Jabba's voice from behind him. Ha, defiant. The slug had always called him defiant. Maybe defiant enough that the Emperor wouldn't even want him and—"He tried to run. My guards were forced to subdue him."

The sound of TC-70 dutifully repeating the slug's words in that officious tone of his lit a spark in Anakin's chest that turned his fear into a blazing inferno. Rage and terror, remembered from the previous night, from his flight across the desert under a binary sunset, guided by the whispers on the wind that had led him through the worst of Tatooine's dangers ever since he was a child. Those whispers had been so insistent that he must not under any circumstances fall into his new master's hands that in his desperation to get away, he hadn't even cared that his transmitter chip was still in. He had known, instinctively, that Jabba wouldn't detonate it—not when he still needed him alive. But those whispers had failed him. The guards had caught up to him, knocked him unconscious when he'd tried to fight back, and dragged him, bound, back to the Hutt's palace to be thrown into a cell to await the arrival of the Emperor's representative the next day. The whispers hadn't saved him, just as they had never freed him from a single one of his masters. They had left him to his fate, and he could see no way out of it.

"Is that so?"

The Inquisitor's finger trailed down from his temple to his cheek. Again, Anakin tried—futilely—to jerk away. He would have bared his teeth if he could, but instead he made do with a hot glare and a faint growl behind the gag. Anger wasn't safe for a slave, but he doubted he would ever be safe again now, and anger made him feel far less small than fear.

"Such fury...," the Inquisitor murmured, with a soft chuckle that set Anakin's teeth on edge. He made no move to withdraw his hand from his cheek. "The Emperor will be most pleased."

Your Emperor can choke, Anakin snarled in his head, but he could fast feel himself spiralling back into terror. The Emperor, who had sent this man to fetch him, who would surely rule over his slaves as ruthlessly he ruled over the Galaxy. He wouldn't let him take him. He couldn't— But he was bound, injured, helpless, and the Inquisitor had already proven that he didn't need to lay a finger on him to restrain him.

There was nothing he could do.

"I wonder," Jabba scoffed derisively; though Anakin couldn't see his face, he could easily picture the expression that was on it - bulbous eyes narrowed to slits, "how your Emperor keeps control of the Galaxy if he finds disobedience so appealing in a slave."

Once again, TC-70's translation rang throughout the room. The Inquisitor smiled, sharp and cruel.

"Not disobedience, Lord Jabba."

His smile widened and his eyes, fixed on Anakin, glinted with a promise that chilled him to his core.

"Besides, disobedience can be curbed. Some traits, however... They are more valuable than you could possibly imagine, and I'm afraid those cannot be taught."

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #bound #fandom #fic #slavery #implied assault #mind reading #star wars #star wars fic #star wars au #anakin skywalker #jabba the hutt #grand inquisitor #mine #my fic #sfw

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padawanlost · 3 years

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How advanced was Anakin when it came to his Force abilities people seem to believe he didn't really care about it nor seem that interested besides power which seems kind of true

He was ‘extraordinary’ :P

Don’t ever feel bad for being extraordinary, Anakin. – Obi-wan Kenobi in Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth by Karen Miller.

He wished he did. If it was a simple matter of Force-leaping the perimeter fence, no problem. But it wasn’t just the fence they had to deal with, it was the laser grid in front of the fence—and more than likely on its other side as well. “You’ll be fine, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan. “I doubt anyone will ever break your Temple leap record.” The one he’d set just over a year ago. The one that had smashed Mace Windu’s leap by nearly fifteen meters. No, probably no one ever would break that. But it wasn’t himself he was worried about.[Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Childhood in the Temple. Playing hide-and-seek with his fellow students because he was still too young to travel the Republic with Obi-Wan. Vanishing was one of a youngling’s most important lessons—but the Temple Masters hadn’t needed to teach him. He knew that Jedi trick already. Much later, he realized he’d been doing it for years. That slavery had given him this one, priceless gift: the ability to disappear at will. He’d used it to hide from Gardulla—eventually, not soon enough—when she came ranting with her whip. From his mother when he didn’t want to come in to bed. From Watto, when he was tired of chores in the workshop. From Sebulba and Aldar Beedo and Gasgano, when the Podraces’ most vicious pilots were out for blood and fighting them wasn’t an option. He’d even used it twice while racing. Had somehow managed to vanish not only himself but his Pod, startling his targets so badly they’d both crashed out as he zoomed by, laughing. He hadn’t told anyone in the Temple that. Knew they’d never believe him, because that depth of vanishing wasn’t meant to be possible. Certainly not for a child of eight. But it had been. He could do that. So now? A man grown, with the Force obedient to his will? Hiding from a stupid security cam was a piece of poodoo. No sweat. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

THE NEXT STORM-shield generator overloaded just as Anakin reached it. He had a split second’s warning, one hammer blow from the Force. The storm seemed to hold its breath— —and then exhaled in renewed fury as the generator erupted in a burning light show of sparks. With a scream like a wounded animal the shield directly overhead collapsed and a maelstrom of theta particles poured through the gap. He acted on instinct—and out of sheer bloody-minded terror. Throwing up his hands he used the Force to hold back the stream of theta particles, and with a shout of rage became one with the storm shield. Rejected the storm. He thought he could feel his blood bubbling. He was losing himself, disappearing within the scarlet vortex of the Force as it consumed him and transformed him into fire. And there was his mother, whispering again. He can help you. He was meant to help you. Furious, Anakin stood alone against the storm. … ON CORUSCANT, in the Temple, Taria Damsin and Ahsoka shadowdance with their lightsabers. Shadowdance within the Force. Open and trusting they swim its light tides—and as one are swept up in a tidal wave of fear. Shock twists them and they stumble, fingers loosening. Lightsabers fall. Shocked younglings whisper and wonder what to do … … as Yoda, in meditation, is shocked out of his communing by a sense of danger sharp as pain. Hand pressed to his head he seeks for understanding, seeks to see what has happened. But the dark side is a jealous shroud. It keeps its secrets close. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Siege]

Mace took a shallow breath and closed his eyes. “Look inward, Anakin.” “I don’t want to,” Anakin said breathlessly, his voice jerking. “I don’t like what I see.” “Is it possible you see nothing more than the tensions of approaching adulthood?“ Mace asked. “No!” Anakin cried. “I see… too much, too much.” “Too much what?” “I burn like a sun inside!” The boy’s voice rang out in the chamber like a bell. [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

“No! Stop it, please!” Anakin yelled. “Help me stop it!” The rumbling of his ascending power drowned out this plea for his master to come and prevent a hideous mistake. I am so afraid, so full of hate and anger. I still don’t know how to fight. […] Anakin raised his hands in the twin and supremely graceful gestures of Jedi compulsion. Pure willful self flooded his tissues. The urge to protect and to destroy became one. He straightened and seemed to grow taller. His eyes became black as pitch. “Stop it, please!” Anakin shouted. “I can’t hold it back any longer!” […] Ke Daiv stepped toward her and lifted a hand. She was almost too afraid to look at his face, but when she did, she screamed. His eyes had turned white, and the flesh around his head and neck had cracked. He was bleeding profusely, and his dark orange blood dripped down over his shoulders. He was trying to say something. Jabitha backed away, speechless with terror. [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

"Could you give us just a little boost. .," Anakin pleaded. "You know, up and out?" Obi-Wan did, and Anakin lit off their jets at the very same instant. The jolt did not distract him from reaching out with out stretched fingers, grazing a curve of worm skin, and grabbing a scale. Somehow they lifted to the first shield and slipped into the updraft of a discharged canister. Spinning, knocked almost senseless, they were drawn up through a port. Obi-Wan felt Anakin's small arms around his waist. "If that's how it's done. .," the boy said, and then something-was it is his Padawan's newfound skill at levitation? — lifted them through the next shield as if they lay in the palm of a giant hand. Obi-Wan Kenobi had never felt so close to such a powerful connection with the Force, not in Qui-Gon, nor Mace Windu. Not even in Yoda. "I think we're going to make it!" Anakin said. [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

#ask #anon #anakin skywalker #sw meta #meta: anakin #txt

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badger-writes · 3 years

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@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt Filled: Jealousy/Envy

Fandom: Star Wars

Ao3 Link

The children of Mos Espa seek out each others’ company, as children do. They are slaves, orphans, scrum-rats – peasants, all. They don’t all like Greedo, exactly, but they do tolerate him. He can accept that – stars know he’s not fond of every one of them, either.

They seem to congregate around one boy in particular, like planets around a blazing star. His name is Anakin. He still lives with his mother. They are both slaves, owned by the junk dealer Watto. Though a slave, he lives well, and is growing up hale and healthy. He’s building a podracer in the back lot behind Watto’s yard, and to hear him tell it, he’s working on a protocol droid in his home that’s almost finished. He’s cheerful and kind and seemingly all of Mos Espa likes him. The children all think he’s wizard.

Some people get all the luck, Greedo fumes to himself.

===

There’s only one other Rodian in their little clique – he’s three years younger and about a head shorter than Anakin, and goes by the name of Wald. A nice kid, Greedo supposes, though his attitude could use adjusting. No one with so little to be happy about should be that happy, even if it’s still more than Greedo has.

Eventually - because Wald is a perceptive sort of child, the kind that doesn’t keep his mouth shut - he asks, “Hey Greedo, how come you’re so jealous of Ani?”

Greedo scowls. He’s always scowling, but this one is worse than usual. “I’m not jealous,” he insists, rubbery Rodian brows scrunching up his forehead.

“Pfft, yeah, and I’m the Tusken King!” Wald cups his hands around his snout and twirls around in place, hooting his best imitation of a Tusken Raider war cry. It is, as one might expect of a Rodian child aping a Tusken Raider, not very good.

“Stop making fun of me,” Greedo pouts, crossing his arms.

“I’m not making fun! I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so jealous.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not!”

“Yes you are!”

“Well, why shouldn’t I be?!” He spits, and feels something wound tight deep inside him come unpinned, like steam breaching a gasket and hissing into open air. “He’s already so much better off than the rest of us!”

“I dunno about that,” Wald says. He’s halfhearted, wishy-washy. “He’s still a slave, after all.”

“What other slave gets to build his own podracer? Or his own droid? Or race in the Boonta Eve?” Greedo shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks at the dirt as he walks. “I never get to do anything like that. It’s not fair.”

“What can I say? Ani’s a lucky kid,” Wald says, shrugging. “Then again, he’s still living in Slave Quarters Row with his mom, so what can you do?”

“At least he has a mom.”

The corners of Wald’s mouth pucker inwards. He plays with his fingers behind his back and tries to look very interested in the rivulets of sand shifting around on the ground.

Greedo grunts. “Whatever. It’s not like he’ll ever leave Tatooine.” he mutters. The slave tracker inside him would see to that. Wander too far away and … poof. “No matter what, he’s still gonna waste away on this dustball like the rest of us.”

“Is… that supposed to be a good thing?”

“It sounds good to me.”

Wald gives him a funny look. “You’re a weird kid, Greedo,” he says, chortling. Then he tugs on the sleeve of his roughspun tunic. “C’mon, let’s go toss rotten tip-yip eggs at Nobot. That always makes me feel better.”

===

Anakin wins the Boonta Eve podrace, along with his freedom. He’s going to leave Tatooine forever and fly with his offworld stranger friends to live in the Core, in the Republic capitol. He’s going to become a ‘Jedi’, whatever that is. All of this happens in the space of maybe a standard hour.

Greedo doesn’t buy it.

“You cheated,” he hisses at the boy after the race.

The radiance of victory hasn’t left Anakin’s face. He’s clearly taken by surprise at being accosted so while basking in the moment of triumph. It gives Greedo a sickly sort of pride that he’s able to strip the sheen off his hull plating so easily.

“No, I didn’t!” Anakin insists. “I won that race fair and square. Everyone saw it!”

Greedo had seen it, too. No one could have pulled an upset like that off. “Yeah, right. Against Sebulba? With a busted engine? No way.”

The fix had to be in, somewhere. Maybe Ani’s ‘Jedi’ friend paid Sebulba to take a dive, since apparently he likes him so much.

“I did win,” Anakin whines again. “You’re just jealous.”

Greedo snorts rudely through his snout – but the other street-rats are already listening, picking sides, tittering quietly amongst themselves. He can’t very well back down now.

“You did cheat, you little sneak. They’re gonna find out how, and once they do, they’re gonna drag you back to Mos Espa by your hair and give you back to Watto.”

Something in Anakin’s expression cracks. Greedo can see the fear in his eyes. “No, they’re not.”

“Oh yes they are,” the Rodian sneers. “They’re gonna put your tracker back in and make you polish scrap and work you til you’re old and gra—”

He would have said ‘gray’, if not for the tiny fist connecting with his jaw; the impact throws him down onto the sand. Anakin is on him just as quickly, pounding his face and shoulders with wild jabs, blinded by anger. The crowd of children around them settle into the familiar chanting which accompanies any street fight.

And then –

The moment is parted, like wind cutting smoothly over the dunes. There’s a man here now that wasn’t here before – tall, long haired, middle-aged, human. His clothes are simple, but he bears himself almost regally, as if detached or above the squabble unfolding before him. The crowd is hushed; the beating stops. In the lull, Greedo is finally able to push the little cheater off of him and sit up.

When he speaks, it’s with the voice of a father. Or at least, what they imagine a father must sound like. “What’s this all about?”

“He says I cheated,” Anakin says from the ground, fuming.

“Did you?”

“No!”, the boy replies, incredulously.

The man looks to Greedo expectantly. “Do you still think he cheated?”

His tongue probes a sore spot inside his mouth, tasting copper. “Yes.”

“Well, Ani, you know the truth,” the man says as the two climb to their feet. “You will have to tolerate his opinion. Fighting will not change it.”

Anakin is visibly not satisfied. Neither is Greedo. Both of them have lived long enough to know that this is how adults settle most disputes between children.

The man spares Greedo one last look before turning and striding away; Anakin, pointedly, does not. Neither of them offer so much as a token apology.

#bad things happen bingo #star wars #the phantom menace #greedo #anakin skywalker #qui gon jinn #fanfic

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capricornus-rex · 3 years

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A Shadow of What You Used to Be (1)

Chapter 1: A Child Can Dream | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: I AM SO HAPPY TO BE BACK! Our house is clean, power and wifi is back on, and we’re slowly getting back on our feet now! ❤ It was a tough 2 weeks, but we survived. My neighborhood is getting back on its own feet as well. We just need more time in flushing out whatever trace of the flood remains. Thank you so much to @glxy-otter and @someoneovertherainboww for sending me lots of love & support! It really made me smile 💜🥺

Also in AO3

Previous: Prelude | Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

2 of ?

The garage was filled with the same perpetual noise. For a seven-year-old, this is no suitable place for a child—but this is the normal she grew up in.

“Hurry up with that chassis!” barked a male Twi’lek with orange skin in Huttese.

The girl answered, in the same dialect, “Can’t you see that this thing is twice my size, Pelug!?”

“You’re lucky you’re faster than those pit droids, otherwise, I would’ve put you in concessionaire duty!”

A pair of hazel eyes shot a piercing look at the humanoid, a scowl forming in her eyebrows.

The orange Twi’lek’s pair of lekku wagged along with his finger pointed at the girl, his threat didn’t scare her as much as he wanted to—though it’s common knowledge that concessionaire duty was the worst, one is essentially demoted if put there. But she thinks she’s proved herself highly unlikely of being in that position.

Not receiving help—not expecting to either—she hauled up the chassis on a crate while shooing the doddering pit droids. When the path was clear, the hatch had already been opened—thanks to those little ones—to screw in the part before the big race. The speakers crackled and echoed across the entire garage, reminding us that the participants have less than thirty minutes before the racers are required to bring their rides on the starting block.

“Irele,” Pelug called in Basic, but immediately went back to speaking Huttese. “You got tiny hands, hold this open for me while I close off the hydraulic seals.”

Irele obeyed. She had a few seconds of relaxing her fingers one seal after the other.

After the tech work, their contender—a male Togruta named Gelesh with uneven lekku—hopped onto his podracer. A few switches and clicks, the Brazen Bullet roared to life—lights flickered across the entire dashboard, the engines belched, and the turbines thrummed.

“Hey, if Sebulba fights dirty—”

“I’ll fight filthier!” he cuts Irele off laughing, but she let it pass. The exchange was somewhat tradition for both of them.

The speakers in the garage crackled again, startling many who are inside, and the croaky announcer prompted the racers to prepare at the starting block; in less than a second, a second translates everything to Huttese. The announcer was the two-headed sentient of species she still doesn’t know the name of.

Gelesh’s entourage—including Irele—strolled out of the garage and made for the exit. The Tatooine sunlight abruptly blazed its rays over their heads, luckily, they were wearing headgear. Gelesh was confident although the nervousness was somehow getting to him, the girl can sort of sense it—along with a few more emotions that she didn’t want to point out to make it worse for him.

“Hey, Gel?”

“Yeah, Irele?”

“Relax.”

That took a load off of his chest, his lips stretched to a friendly grin, he pulled himself together first and then his goggles next. To each racer, they followed the instructions as the two-headed sentient said so. All the technicians began scrambling back to their pit stop when the mufflers have fired up. Little Irele went further into their pit stop, crawling through spaces that only she can enter; she then scaled a spire with makeshift handholds she herself installed until she could reach a ledge on the spire that apparently supported one of the spectator boxes.

The seven-year-old was small enough to seat herself on such a narrow edge; from there, she has as good as a view of the spectators in the towers and stands. If the crowd was already rowdy before the racers lined up on the block, the noise got wilder and louder that perhaps one can hear it all the way to Mos Pelgo. Each podracer had their characteristic noise for each action: ignition, acceleration, compressor activation, and what have you—Irele can identify the Brazen Bullet and its every sound with her eyes closed.

“Alright, racers, rev up those engines because we start in five…”

A collective of podracers engine noises rung and rumbled the circuit. Three seconds in, their ignition sent dust clouds flying over the heads of the poor people in the bottom row of the stands. The people in the bleachers joined the countdown, and so did Irele as she kept her eye on the single podracer whose body plates are forged with bronzium.

“ONE!!”

One by one, the vehicles zipped past—their noises abrupt like the firing of a blaster, the mufflers thunderous as they pulled the accelerators—some of the audience members had the hems of their clothes flying to the direction of the podracers, nonetheless arousing their secondhand adrenaline.

Irele’s little heart went with Brazen Bullet speeding right in the lead, the bronzium finish of the vehicle were fleeting specks of light over her glossy, hazel eyes. She scaled the spire some more until she could sneak a peek on one of the watchers’ tablets to see who’s in the lead and dead last. For everytime Gelesh completed the lap, Irele could almost feel her heels floating, as if she was the one driving the pod and feeling the exact velocity, the thrill, the sheer focus—driving one was a dream, though her mother forbade her, begged her even not to try it, but said so with a softness that compels Irele to obey, despite her desires.

Everyone had their eyes on the rising star, Gelesh, who was also leaving Sebulba in the dust. Hot on his heels, the Dug desperately cranked every possible lever his hind legs could grab on—in the hopes of catching up to the Togruta. The Dug, unwilling to accept defeat after the destruction of his streak by the victory of that one human boy years ago.

That boy was Anakin Skywalker.

Irele had heard stories of him: how he defeated the Dug despite all odds, and snagged the top place in the race, and how he was an underdog in everyone’s eyes. She wondered if they might have been friends somehow, given their mutual penchant for podracing albeit preferring different aspects.

“This is it, people! This is the last lap of the circuit—Gelesh Odibra and Sebulba are practically neck-and-neck! Who will cross the finish line first!? They’re all so close now!! It’s Gelesh!! No, it’s Sebulba!!”

The sentient argues with its Huttese-speaking head, looping what the Basic-speaking head kept saying in a continuous effort in riling up the crowd. Irele was literally on the edge of the tier when the Brazen Bullet and Sebulba’s podracer were within view. A twin-trail of sand, clouding the tail-ends of the podracers approach the starting line—with the third light blinking green, eager for the victor to zoom through it.

It was all such a blur. The crowd cheered, nonetheless, believing that their eyes didn’t deceive them and that they saw their contender stay ahead of the other by a hair. Not long after, a scuffle was developing when two differing spectators argued on whose champion went through the finish line first. Irele spotted it across from where she sat, but she didn’t watch the scuffle for long; she turned her attention to the announcer’s tower.

“Wow, did you see how close that was! Everything was such a blur I’m not even sure if I saw it right!”

The second head agreed, speaking in Huttese, in the same enthusiasm as the Basic-speaking one.

To finally calm the crowd, and settle it once and for all, the sentient clicks a pattern of buttons on their control panel to project a snapshot of the two racers at the finish line—determining who was closest to the line. Showing images from all angles, it’s clear that the Brazen Bullet’s nose was basically under the sensors of the light—thus triggering all three lights to indicate that a racer has completed the circuit.

“I don’t believe it! This is Gelesh’s third win in the streak—cementing his record just right above Sebulba’s!”

By the hum of a gong echoing across the circuit, a large portion of the crowd jumped and roared in a united cheer—ribbons and petals of sorts flew in congratulation, showering the youthful Togruta in his victory. He hopped out of his podracer, his entourage comes sprinting out of their pit stop with Irele at the tail just getting down from her perch.

“GELESH, YOU DID IT!” squealed the girl, sprinting and shouldering her way to his view.

A host hands over a trophy to Gelesh who then let Irele—perched on his broad shoulder—hold the other side of the trophy. People have gotten out of their seats to surround the defending champion. They chanted his name, the rest of the spectators showered him with flowers, petals, and ribbons.

Every victory was wonderful for Irele. Perhaps, it equaled to the exact same thrill as driving her own podrace. This went on for two more years, and in those next years, they enjoyed the sport—win or lose.

–

24 BBY

It seemed that the garage manager was feeling gracious today. The Rodian boss let Irele go home earlier than her normal shift, in which the girl celebrated with a grin whose ends pierced her plump cheeks, a squeaking cheer as she scrambles to put away her things, and a sprint that sent the dust floating behind her heels.

Irele didn’t head home right away, she went the other direction—towards the junkshop where her mother worked, employed by the blue, pungent Toydarian, Watto. The chimes rang as she burst through the door, startling the creature—who hoped it was a customer, but much to his chagrin, it was only the girl, and so he returns to his chair with a groan.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Over there,” Watto lazily pointed and croaked with his native accent running thick in his voice.

“Mommy?”

Shmi paused at the workbench to meet her daughter, “Irele? You’re out early.”

Irele threw herself into Shmi’s arms, embracing her as tight as her scrawny arms can, “Yeah, Selek let me out early today. Good thing he did!”

Her mother simply smiled, perhaps too overwhelmed by her daughter’s energy.

“You didn’t forget, did you?”

That somehow jolted Shmi enough for her realize that she had caught herself spacing out. She shook her head and mouthed the word “no,” she saw the concerned expression in Irele’s face and took her daughter by the shoulders.

“No, darling, I didn’t forget,” she pursed a sweet smile and tapped the tip of Irele’s nose with her forefinger. “How could I forget my promise to you?”

Irele’s eyes lit up, the sihght of it delighted her mother. Shmi then finished up whatever work she’s been busying herself with before getting off of work. Mother and child strolled out of the junkshop, Irele trottd off happily while keeping her hand clasped in Shmi’s—who was walking in her normal pace, with a few occasional tugs from the child because of her prancing.

By the time they got home, Irele impatiently put her things away in her room, got washed, and eagerly waited for Shmi to join her in the kitchen. The promise was that they were going to cook something together—a house favorite of Irele: Shmi’s own, delicious recipe. They had saved enough from their wages separately, and in total, they had enough to buy ingredient for a hearty, full supper consisting of meat, a medley of mushrooms and vegetables, and fruits and pallies for dessert.

They could only do this once for their individual pay was rather low.

All of this is a celebration of Irele turning eight.

A simple celebration with fulfilling food on the table, with no one else but her mother and herself, in the coziness of their cottage—to Irele, it was wonderful. And perfect.

It was everything she could ever ask for.

–

Months after their promised celebration, Irele had been seeing a man with sandy brown hair and a scraggly stubble. Maybe once or twice, she saw him clean-shaven. She always saw him frequenting Watto’s shop, either to buy or play Sabacc—but oftentimes, the latter in which Watto had a questionable win record. One should not be surprised if the blue Toydarian won through his swindler’s methods.

This man was Cliegg Lars.

Apparently, Shmi had caught the eye of Cliegg, as he frequented the junkshop in search of parts mostly for speeders and other machines he uses. Despite being a child, Lars’s feelings did not escape the insightful Irele; in her opinion, he’d been coming over to the shop a little too often for someone who kept fixing speeders. Although, she cannot be certain if his motives are true; it’s still a lead nonetheless. Even she had drawn attention to herself from the man, shying away from his gruff yet friendly hello’s, and then curiously watching him deal with Watto whilst hiding behind walls.

It wasn’t long until Cliegg began to fall for Shmi, rooting from their day-to-day interactions with one another whenever he would stop by. He pretended that he doesn’t feel Irele tailing them, but he didn’t let that bother him—she’s a child after all, he thought.

Shmi presently being a mother with a daughter in tow didn’t trouble Cliegg. A man of ethics—a rare trait in this lawless ball of sand—he could not imagine buying off Shmi from Watto, but then leaving the child to the Toydarian. Fortunately for Lars, it was evident that Watto’s gambling—with a not-so-impressive track record to boot—had gradually collapsed his business. Little by little, Watto’s wares had either been disposed of or been sold to the lowest possible price in the hopes of keeping the business up. When there was nothing else to profit from, Watto would be forced to sell his remaining property—the mother and child slaves. Cliegg took it from there.

From a certain point of view, his proposition of buying Shmi and Irele intrigued the Toydarian.

“How much you gunna pay fo meh two slaves, eh?” rasped Watto, irreparably pronouncing “slaves” as slehvz in his thick, native Toydarian accent.

“I can pay you twenty thousand each,” Cliegg bobbed his head for the dramatics, pretending to be pensive. “I’ll pawn off my X-class landspeeder to pay them.”

A single holodisk produced a projection of the item in question. The speeder—brand new and in its prime, only seven months old—was an interesting wager in and of itself. The rusty-reddish paint job would stand out in the desert, whether up close or in the horizon, sunlight would bounce off on the sheen of the thrusters’ metallic sections. Truly a shiny new toy.

Cliegg could have sworn he heard the clinking of credits when Watto’s eyes lit up with greedy intrigue.

Good, that’s gotten his attention. Thought the man.

Watto hovered himself closer to the projection, his flimsy wings struggled to carry his weight as they flapped erratically, and rubbed his fleshy chin at the same time. To the flying sentient, it wasn’t a bad deal, at least for Lars’s expense in his mind—the ratio of the trade somewhat balances out: Lars wants two things from him, thus he wagers something in the same worth.

“You must think me a fool, Watto,” Cliegg noted the perhaps long silence of Watto examining the images. “To pay you the price of a single landspeeder for two slaves.”

The Toydarian chuckled, then gestured defensively, “No, no. I don’t that, Lars, meh friend. In fact, this is quite an int’resting investment.” His emphasis on the word “investment” made him enunciate the S into a harsh, buzzing Z.

Perhaps, it is in the nature of every Toydarian to call anything an investment—even a gamble on a card game. There aren’t many of Watto’s kind here in Tatooine, but that is the only impression Cliegg can pick up from Watto for his opinion on the species. Not having any of the suspense, the man tried to broke the deal until they can shake on it. Watto came so far as making an event out of it, but Lars insisted to refrain from the grandeur, to which his beneficiary gave in.

They finally shook on it. The two males were clueless that Irele had been eavesdropping on their exchange. It was a bad habit that Shmi had gently reprimanded her of, but just this once, she had never been invested in someone else’s conversation—only because the subject was their freedom at stake, and it was this stranger who dared to go through this length of settling an agreement with their current slaver. Irele’s mind was in a whirl—would he be a kinder slaver than Watto? More generous or more cruel? With their conversation going on what felt like hours, she had resorted to sitting on the floor, her back against the wall as she listened in on their voices.

The girl heard the door chimes followed by the silence, then she scrambled to her feet when she heard the flapping of Watto’s wings grow louder and disappeared as quietly as she could.

Two days later after that agreement had been set in stone, today’s the fateful day: Shmi finds out only now that she and Irele had been sold to Cliegg Lars. When Watto announced that he’s sold them together to this man, understandably, the woman was taken aback from her lack of prior knowledge, and she had every right to be surprised. Her daughter, on the other hand, feigned it—her false silence fit in with the mood of the room.

Shmi and Irele Skywalker watched the pouch of credits transfer from Cliegg’s hand to Watto’s, signifying that they now belong to Cliegg Lars.

“Take them,” Watto says, although somberly. He hovers in place as he watches Shmi and Irele join Cliegg out of the shop.

“I wish you good luck on your business, Watto,” Lars bade, however, it felt backhanded.

At the entrance of the junkshop awaited a pair of eopies—tall, quadrupedal animals that served as mounts for people and carriers of cargo—handled by a Jawa that Cliegg hired for a few hours.

“I’m sorry if I couldn’t give you two a more comfortable ride to your new home,” there was a sincerity in Lars’s voice, warm and genuine, something that Shmi nor Irele had not heard for a long time.

“It’s fine,” Shmi stuttered while trying to be polite. “I’m more used with the mount than speeders.”

“Ah, well, where you’re living—you’ll get used to it, but I’ll let you do it in your own pace.”

With a simple waving gesture from Cliegg, the Jawa hauled the animal pair then coaxed both to go down on their knees—level enough so the humans can hop on their backs. Each eopie grunted when they felt more weight on themselves; Shmi and Irele shared one saddle, Lars took the lead from town to their new home.

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luvvewan · 4 years

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WIP Wednesday

A long-fingered hand squeezed his knee. “The Force often has unexpected plans for us.” Qui-Gon said. “Finding the reason can be difficult, especially if it seems...meaningless. Or cruel. A damaged hyperdrive forced the Queen’s ship to stop on Tatooine. A meaningless detour, except it was how I found you.”

Anakin ducked his head to hide his smile. Qui-Gon kind of reminded him of Mom—they were the only two people in the Universe who acted like he was a treasure or something. Him. Like it didn’t matter that he couldn’t really read, or that he’d spent his whole life as a slave, or all the mean things Watto and Sebulba and some of the other kids said to him. To Master Qui-Gon, Anakin was special.

And it hurt to know Qui-Gon was hurting.

“Maybe this is a detour too?” Anakin ventured, glancing up. “What happened to Obi-Wan isn’t good, but something good might come out of it, you know? It’s just hard to see the reason yet.”

Qui-Gon smiled at him with his eyes, for the first time since before the hangar on Theed, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Warmth seeped into Anakin’s chest. He looked around the room. It was easier to imagine the people who struggled in this room and then left it, moving on, going forward.

The future would be bright as long as there were still people lighting candles.

—-

Qui-Gon found the boy some prepackaged food and juice bulbs. He remembered then that he’d uncovered Anakin’s rucksack—it had been lost in the jumble of the last several days. When he presented the sack to Anakin, the young, blue eyes brightened.

“My stuff!” and he immediately began sifting through the contents. He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “Thanks.”

He felt the happy flutter of relief in the Force. Qui-Gon allowed himself a moment to smile. So many things were about to change for Anakin Skywalker. For the better, he hoped.

But his fear for Obi-Wan darkened his musings, and he stepped toward the door. “I need to be with Obi-Wan now, Ani. If you need anything else, let me know.”

Anakin was hugging the rucksack to his chest, legs dangling over the side of the bed. He looked like the innocent child that he was. “Sure thing.”

——-

-The Transport, part 2 of the Recovery Series, to be posted this Sunday 8/16 on AO3.

Check out Part 1: The Injury written by the incomparable @firondoiel (also the creator of this whole beautiful AU).

#star wars #obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #obi-wan #qui-gon #anakin skywalker #wip wednesday #obi-wan fanfic #obi-wan and qui-gon

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cienie-isengardu · 7 years

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Thank you for such interesting ask! And sorry it takes so long for me to answer. I needed to check out a few sources to answer as fully and coherent as it's possible.

And yes, I do think that women were an important part of Anakin's life since the start. I would even dare to say, that his relationships with women in general were one of the most heatlhy & positive relationships he ever had. Just look at the authoritarian figures that have the biggest influences on Skywalker when he was growing up - in slavery it was Watto, then for another ~10 years Obi-Wan, Yoda & Mace Windu on one hand, on another - Palpatine. All men, and all have their own interest to keep eye on Anakin. Watto, because he was his property. Jedi, because of his connection to Force and some old, incomprehensible prophecy. Palpatine, for the same reasons that forced Yoda to take Anakin into Order. That, and desire to make Skywalker his new apprentice. And Anakin had very difficult relationships with them all. With exception of Palpatine, at least for the first decade of their familiarity (and we know that all the closeness and support given by Palpatine was a way to manipulate Skywalker through the years).

Watto constantly verbally and physically abused Anakin (and Shmi) and frankly, young Anakin all of his life was exposed to violence of any kind. When he lived on Tatooine there were few good and honorable men ("the kind that had always been in short supply in Anakin's upbringing"), what was pointed out by Vader's POV in The Rise and Fall of Darth Vader. It was Shmi alone - his mother - who loved him unconditionally. Not because he was special, or talented, or could be used so easily. She loved him even despite she didn't know herself how or why he was born ("there was no father") and being single mother in slavery must be hard thing. Anakin sometimes worried her, tested her patience and once admitted that even she didn't really know what to do with him [Roque Planet]. Still, she loved him, supported him, tried to protect him from abuse and stood up against Watto's greed that forced her son - a child! - into very dangerous podracing that no normal human had a chance to survive or finish.

Frankly, TPM movie alone showed that contast between women and men in Anakin's childhood. There is Watto, a slaver. There is Sebulba, a famous and rich winner of podracing who was quite violent and awful person ("Next time we race, boy, it will be the end of you. If you weren't a slave, I'd squash you now"). During podracing, we see Jabba the Hutt, criminal boss, who benefit from both sport and slavery. Then we have Shmi Skywalker, who despite being slave herself, taught her son importance of helping others. She may not be happy to allow her son to risk his life in dangerous podracing, but she believe he can help stranges in need and DO NOT ASK ANYTHING IN RETURN, the same as Anakin never did. There is also a old saleswoman who was warning Anakin about coming soon sandstorm, telling him he should go to home as soon as possible. And if anyone look at additional sources like books and comics, that saleswoman (named Jira) helped slaves to run away, or make sure that food for Shmi will not get wasted when her refrigerator broke down. Frankly, beside Anakin's childhood friends I don't remember that much male characters that Anakin liked or trusted or thought how honorable they were. Beside space pilot(s), who always told kids stories about space and planets and took care about them when fights began in cantina or Sebulba threatened Anakin. It's no wonder why Anakin was so heart-broken when his mother died in his arms and how guilty he felt - both for not saving her and for killing Tusken. Jedi didn't teach him how to copy with his loss, always told him to control his emotion, to let it go. Jedi made him felt unhappy though the years, and his relationship with Yoda was never good. Even Obi-Wan Kenobi damaged Anakin in many ways, like: avoiding deeply personal conversations especially about boy’s past or not understanding how slavery affected Skywalker and not showing him enough support or being too harsh, too critical to the point that Anakin felt sometimes his master didn’t trust him at all. Kenobi loved Anakin, but he never was capable to see him in different way than Jedi's.

Then we have Padme, a kind but strong-willed woman who showed him a support when he needed it the most; when he left Tatooine and mother as a scared boy, or when he killed Tusked Raiders and were full of grief and remorse. I like to think that Anakin's love for her is not based on stricte heterosexual reason (gender), but he loves her first and foremost for what kind of person she is. Skywalker said once [TCW Gambit Stealth] that Padme is the only person he can shows weakness - who allow him to be human, validate his good AND bad feelings. While others (Jedi, Republic, later Sidious & Empire) always expects him to be strong, indestructible. Of course, there is a lot things they didn't agree on or see in the same light. What mainly is rooted in their different upbringing and environments in which they grew up (slavery on Tatooine / Jedi Order vs peaceful and rich Naboo & political career). Still both grew up with the feeling that duty comes first before anything else, a sense that quite often made them push their own desire away for the sake of Republic. Padme as queen and later senator couldn't have kids or family due to lack of time for personal matters while Anakin, as a Jedi, were forbidden to love and marry because Jedi responsibilities shouldn't be corrupted by emotions. They married and maybe it was the first time they were truly selfish. Their relationship was difficult one, mainly thanks to ongoing war and forced discretion to keep their marriage a secret as long as possible. I may be wrong here, but as far as I remember, Anakin was willing to left Jedi Order for his family (and planned to do so after war for sure), but Padme wasn't ready to give up her senator role. She was scared when she told his about pregnancy. For Anakin that day was one of the most wonderful moments of his life. Padme was sure the child would be boy, while Anakin thought it will be a girl ("With a kick that hard? Definitely a girl").

I know that romance between Anakin and Padme is usally seen as awkard or boring, but I think it's worth to note that every time when Padme said she felt uncomfortable during their interaction in AotC, Anakin always backed off. Like I said earlier, Anakin grew up in abusive environment, so he was much more aware about sexual violence toward women than most of people were. Despite his feelings (and knowledge that Padme feels something toward him too) he agreed with Padme's first decision to not pursuit forbidden relationship - after that there wasn't any more flirt between them. Padme took him to Tatooine, so he could seek mother in danger and she comforted him after Shmi's death. It was also Padme's declaration of love that for truly started their relationship:

[Padme] I've been dying a little bit each day since you came back into my life. [Anakin] What are you talking about? [Padme] I love you. [Anakin] You love me? I thought that we had decided not to fall in love... that we would be forced to live a lie... and that it would destroy our lives. [Padme] I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway. I truly deeply love you... and before we die, I want you to know.

The words were said before their execution, but both decided to marry despite everything else. It was Padme that gave permission, and until that moment Anakin didn't try change her mind after she rejected his feeling on Naboo (”You're studying to become a Jedi. I'm-- I'm a senator. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion... it'll take us to a place we cannot go regardless of the way we feel about each other. I will not let you give up your future for me. [...] We'd be living a lie... one we couldn't keep even if we wanted to. I couldn't do that. Could you, Anakin? Could you live like that?“).

Anakin never had many good friends in Jedi Order; he was liked in general but only few became his truly confidants. Despite that, Anakin had positive relationships:

with Thracia Cho Leem (who called both Yoda and Mace Windu on their shitty behaviour towards 12 years old Skywalker and was responsible for helping him after traumatic mission)

with Aayla Secura, who was one of few Jedi that showed Anakin support and gave advice in a way he actually could understood and I suspect their familiarity is based a lot on their awarness about female Twi'lek bad situation and violence against them.

with most(?) of female padawans/Jedi we had a chance to see him interact. Zule was the unwanted padawan, the Council dislike her (so I assume their have a lot in common) and during his time in Padawan Pack, Anakin was protective(?) about Aubrie that according to additional sources was 13 years old at that time. There was Siri, who he liked when he learned the truth about her secret mission (until that moment he assumed Siri betrayed Order and joined Krayt, a famous pirate & slaver). He showed his worry for master Tohno, who was sent for dangerous (suicide) mission. Kenobi mistook his interest as romantic one, and then were brutally reminded that Anakin's is still affected by Jabiim and his concerns are only about her well being. He tried to save her, but couldn't. There is also Legends!Barriss Offee. And what is important - for me at least - is the feeling that his relationships with women aren't sexualized. Anakin is no "macho" who flirts with every female around him (not like Kenobi, the sassy master). Padme is the only one women he loves in romantic (and sexual) way and I hope it will never be changed.

There is also Ahsoka, a padawan he was forced to take, but who became an important part of his life during Clone Wars. Ahsoka, the same as him, cared a lot for clone troopers and people in general. I wouldn't say she was for him real confidant, but she understood him much better than most masters from Council even could.

BUT!

As much as Anakin respected women, he didn't blindly idolize them. He knows that women can be evil, selfish and cruel as any other being. He lived under Gardulla's regime long enough to see how the female hutt* mistreated slaves, what included killing them for fun or as the show of her power. Asajj Ventress was one of the most dangerous foes he faced during Clone Wars. In animated series Clone Wars [2003] he killed her in rage during battle, after she murdered clone trooper unit that Obi-Wan sent after Anakin while in Republic series he killed her to protect his and Padme's secret marriage. There wasn't any doubt or attempt to explain her behavior - you know, the standard formula she is woman, she must be just hurt or misjudged, because woman are good and kind by nature and just need help of hero. She tortured Obi-Wan (and Alpha), she killed Jedi and Republic troopers, Anakin definitely didn't like her. It was Obi-Wan who wanted to redeem her and was quite obsessed about that. He even guilt tripped Anakin, because Asajj's life could be his own fate if Jinn didn’t find him before Sith.

Any slaver, male or female, was despited by Anakin the same (though I would need to look at TCW comics Slaves of the Republic again, to see how his relationship with the Queen went there).

Frankly, there is so much thing to talk about Anakin's relationship with women, but to not bore anymore, I generally think that female characters played a big role in his life. He respected women and didn't see or treat them as objects. He was aware about various kinds of violence against them, including the sexual ones. Frankly, I don't remember much scenes when Skywalker invaded personal space of people he wasn't close with, and it's not just about women. Anakin never striked me as person fond of touching other or being touched by others. He admired kind women (Shmi, Jira, Mazzie) - because kindness and helpfulness are traits he very appreciated and had himself but at the same time I don’t think he told a woman (or anyone, really) that she should be kind and nice or obedient (beside the standard Jedi’s “follow my/Council orders” toward Ahsoka and even then he tried to teach her that following order doesn’t mean she can’t be creative about the way she is doing demanded things). What was seen with Zule for example. When she made a comment about clone Alpha at the war meeting, Skywalker didn’t ignore her behaviour, but didn’t say she should be more nice either. I guess, Anakin understood that not everyone can be so detached from feelings like Yoda or... Kenobi. What is worth to note, a lot women that affected his life were brave and willing to fight for what they believed or for their families.

Anakin was also very affected by violence toward women (and children) or by their death. Maybe it partially was rooted in his childhood experiences when women were the kind but also mentally strong adult figures in his life and partially because Skywalker never copied well with Shmi's death. So women (espiecially those older) reminded him of his own mother he couldn't save. Sometimes he was aware of that connection, sometimes it hit him by suprise. I also have the feeling that Anakin relationship with men (especially male figures of authority) are harder due to growing up on Tatooine full of scums and slavers who were mostly men. I may be wrong here, but I think that happens a lot in real life, that men who grew up in abusive families & environments tends to be more protective towards women, more respecting them than men who try to contol (once again) their life.

It's also worth mention that no matter how Anakin changed because of dark side, as a Vader he treated people around him the same - with pragmatic brutality. Vader killed a lot characters, regardless of race and gender, sure. But I personally don’t remember him killing any female characters with more gore than he would kill any male counterpart. Vader's violence toward women is not sexualized and I hope it will never change. We seriously don't need any more creeps like that, the pop culture is already full of that trends.

Also, Vader had a lot disciples, and many of them were females. Not sure how new canon presents Empire’s view of gender, but back in the old days, a lot imperial women were discriminated due to sexism. And Lord of the Sith never cared for race or gender, he cared only for results and skills. And some of his best (trusted) agents were women, including Shira Brie a.k.a. Lumiya. Not to mention difficult relationship between Vader and Leia, because there is so much to talk about!

So yeah, Anakin had interesting relationships with various women. Even as a Sith. But that he respected women (for kindness AND mentally strength) doesn't mean he wouldn't hurt or kill them if they were his enemies.

* to be fair, I'm not sure how TCW/new canon works around gender of Hutts, because in EU members of this space could switch their gender whenever they liked.

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