#tatooine slaves

[spiderbae2319]

We don’t talk about Leia killing Jabba enough. Her grandmother and father were born into slavery. Her blood was that of the desert sand and the shackles of bondage. Leia was never more a Skywalker than the day she strangled her slave master with the very chains he used to bind her. The daughter of Anakin Skywalker was the one who killed Tatooine’s most notorious slaver, and I find that really beautiful.

[froglover7789]

luke skywalker would absolutely get eloped and tell no one.

like.... on tatooine marriage isnt a big thing bc everybody is a nobody. you exchange your vows and japor and i guess thats it. i dont think the hutts would give a shit so long as they got their taxes. and we know that marriage between slaves was something only the married knew of. maybe luke would honor that

during the rebellion everything would happen so fast and everyone would love so hard and die so young that i imagine elopement was common. "i cant have you forever so ill have you now" sort of thing. maybe there was just a form you could fill out and a ceremony wasnt needed. maybe there was no time to tell anyone and so no one was told

in the new republic luke is the last jedi. hes a war hero and a killer and the last of his kind. hes dangerous and valued and a public figure whether he wants to be or not. marriage and connections in general would have to be kept on the downlow to keep his loved ones safe. he is unkillable; his friends are not.

therefore luke would def get eloped at Some Point (depending on your ship of preference) and tell absolutely no one bc hes a moron. imagine the hijinks that could ensue...

[mylordshesacactus]

Today on Posts That Will Serve As A Blocklist but whatever:

It's genuinely at the point where people who act all dismissive and superior about the Star Wars animated series, and ESPECIALLY of Ahsoka specifically as a character--snidely dismissing anything that involves TCW-original characters or arcs--are just. Objectively hysterically wrong.

Like.

Phantom Menace released in 1999.

Revenge of the Sith was six years later, in 2005.

TCW started airing in 2008. Ahsoka started existing in the narrative literally three years after RotS dropped.

Even if you start counting as far back as you possibly can, back in TPM (wherein Anakin was an actual baby), the prequel era only existed at all without her for nine years.

Ahsoka Tano has been a narratively significant, load-bearing major protagonist of the Star Wars franchise for, as of this post, sixteen (16) years. Very nearly twice as long as her era ever existed without her! At this point, if you are determined to act like she's some handwavey 'new' star war idea whose impact on the living tapestry of the GFFA can be easily dismissed, that's...

...like, full offense but that's kind of on you, man.

[phoenixyfriend]

Today is the day to think about what the Tatooine government and justice system look like beyond "Jabba is in charge and taxes water"

[pedroam-bang]

Ryan Church - The Book Of Boba Fett (2021)

[ani-and-the-corries-au]

There are some things that all troopers know Nat born's will never understand.

All the troopers grew up in a world where perfection was the standard and anything less resulted in death. Where individuality was a crime and being anything more than just another number was a danger, Where saying the wrong thing in front of the wrong person could get you killed.

All troopers know this, but post Kamino the Guards have had it drilled into them all over again. If they want to survive In the Senate they have to fall back on the lessons they learned on Kamino.

The Corries know that there are some things that nat born's will never understand. Things that Nat born's shouldn't understand.

So no one in the guard quite knows how to feel about the strange fallout of the Shiney squad's Jetti Cadets apparent discovery of the Guards position on Courcant.

It starts small, the guard notices that the boy stops being weird about the fact that most of the Corries don't use their names, when asked, the boys. "It's because I know that you have them now." raises more questions than answers, because apparently the boy just figured out that they used their designation numbers around the Senate because their names were a secret on his own. He also seemed to get an unreasonable amount of joy from the fact that all the clones chose their own names.

If it has stopped there then it probably wouldn't be so weird, but it didn't. From sneaking in extra medical supplies and food, (actual food, not just ration bars) when he discovered that 'depur' was cutting their budget for stuff that they needed to function, to the way he seemed to intrinsically understand their need for secrecy, and their reasoning for it. "secrets keep us safe." Without anyone seemingly telling him.

They all agreed that they weren't gonna ask about how the boy had managed to rangle several senators around to the truth of the situation and his point of view with only a few words to one of them. A point of view that not only had them working on trooper sentient rights bills, but also had them aiding in his more under the table helping.

At first it was weird and confusing, both because this kid was a nat born, and because how did a Jetti Cadet develop this kind of understanding, he was a child. It took them a while to connect the dots, Even as the boy started unconsciously dropping hints.

At first it was that weird little nickname he had for the Senate and Senators, in a language that even the most nerdy of Corries didn't seem to understand. They weren't sure what a Depur was, but apparently it applied to the Senate and was probably not a good thing.

The next clue was the stories, because as Anakin spent more time with the guard, becoming more of a Vod'ika than a Jetti Commander and subsequently beginning to learn more and more about the secrets that they kept from the rest of the Senate.

As the boy learnt about the lighter side of the inner workings of the guard, and how to speak the clones particular brand of Mando'a, the guards began to learn stories about Ekkreth, Leia and Ar Amu, stories about secret plots and tricking the The infamous Depur in ways that resulted in the freedom of those he enslaved.

About secret Languages, Tzai, Jappor snippets and secret rituals. About the ways one could steal back some control from the Masters in ways that they would never even notice. About things that the boy claimed that all Slaves should know, lessons that would help keep them safe from their Masters. A term that by now the guards suspended was not referring to the kind the Jedi had.

By the time the boy causally mentioned that he and his mother had been enslaved prior to him being taken to the temple, the Guards already had a pretty decent picture of the situation.

The fact that the boy had been adopting them into his own culture right under their noses had been vastly more surprising. He'd been a little awkward when he'd admitted it. Saying that he knew that they were sort of Mando'ade, but they could be Amavikka too if they wanted.

And sure, maybe it was a little dark that part of the reason the boy spent so much time in the barracks was because it felt familiar, but also this kid cared about every single one of them, to the point where he apparently sees them as family.

Well it really was no wonder that it was agreed that the entire guard would do just about anything for their Ad'ika. Including possibly stopping said Ad'ika from doing the same for them. (Bloody Skywalkers)

[adragonsfriend]

Upon reflection, having it implied that saying "Anakin can both be traumatized and responsible for his actions, (which is not the same thing as blaming him for his trauma)," means that I don't like his character, or that I think anything along the lines of "he's inherently bad," is actually hilarious and I'm no longer mad about it. Like,,,

My dear critics, I did not write over 100k (so far) of fanfic about him going on a time travel redemption arc, in the relatively famous in SW fandom "Anakin actually was already redeeming himself thru stories and being a double agent and is possibly the coolest character ever AU" because I think he's inherently bad person. I am so incredibly down for the fact that he is capable of so much good. For 24 years he makes literally the worst choices possible, and then he is still capable of making a good one. That's the WHOLE point.

His potential for good is why it's sad that he makes bad choices. No one gives a fuck when Palpatine does war crimes because he's presented to us narratively as a force of nature, not as a person. Anakin IS presented to us as a person. He could always choose differently.

But he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't. And he doesn't.

AND THEN HE DOES!!!

Writing a fix it centering on him is largely just a matter of choosing any one of those "And he doesn't"s, and changing it to an "And then he does!"

[nittusidhe]

New Amavikka god just dropped. And I am so ficking obsessed with this idea. Like yes, the personification of the night, goddess of secrets and safety. Bringer of community for the night is when people can safely gather. The one that hides escapes and carries little freedoms of her own. I’m screeching rn.

anyway, expect more ramblings about Nittu in the future. Am a little obsessed

[lawsofchaos1]

Star Wars Promptlet

In one universe Obi-Wan Kenobi bows shallowly at the end of his formal report of the Battle of Naboo and requests the Council free the mother of his new Padawan from slavery on Tatooine. The Council makes agreeable noises and Obi-Wan tells himself that they will act on his request. However, wary of being accused of attachment, wary of his Padawan being taken away from him because he's too young, too inexperienced, too emotional, too much of a failure, Obi-Wan never checks and he never asks again.

In another universe, Obi-Wan Kenobi sees the dismissive body language of the Counselors during his report - it can't possibly be a Sith they whisper in the eddies of the Force - and he doesn't make a request before he leaves. Instead, he shows up at Quinlan's door in the middle of the Temple's night cycle and his creche mate takes one look at his face before putting on his Shadow blacks and sneaking them past the Temple guard.

Forty one cycles later, Obi-Wan picks Anakin up from where he'd been undergoing the crash course of So You Think You Want To Be A Jedi Knight in the Initiate's hall (which went shockingly well, Anakin making friends left and right and filling in some severe baseline knowledge gaps most of the Temple inhabitants took for granted). He hands his Padawan a small, carved bracelet - a broken chain - made from one of the few native plants of Tatooine, a gift from Shmi, and watches Anakin's eyes grow liquid-wet in joy and wonder.

Most people gloss over that Qui-Gon had bought Anakin and not Freed him, Anakin had noticed. Obi-Wan never needed to be told the difference. And Obi-Wan hadn't bought Shmi, he'd simply provided her what she needed to Free herself. And maybe a substantial portion of the Mos Epsa slave quarters along with her. (But that pesky little slave rebellion that started while Obi-Wan and Quinlan just so happened to be on planet absolutely definitely for sure couldn't be traced back to them. They'd made certain of that.)

The Temple still just shy of outright forbids Padawans contact with their birth parents, but every so often - although at least once a year - Obi-Wan sends Anakin on some strange errand that inevitably ends with him slipping into a booth and finding himself sitting next to his mother for a few precious hours of catching up. Their first meeting (after hearing all about how his mother Freed herself and so many others of course) is all about the new friends he made during his moon-cycle in the Initiate's dorms and how four of them have decided to claim him as a crechemate since apparently every Jedi needs crechemates and he came in too old to get them the normal way. Anakin thinks from watching Obi-Wan with Quinlan and Bant and Garen that this means he has siblings now.

(A few years later Anakin's definitely-siblings get sent with him on his weird errand that happens to be on Anakin's life-day and Shmi makes them all a cup of desert-scented tea and welcomes them into the family. Anakin doesn't cry, it's just the steam from the tea making his cheeks wet.)

When Palpatine starts showing a little too much interest in a young Padawan, Anakin listens when Obi-Wan warns him something might be wrong. After all, his Teacher is a Chain-Breaker- why would Anakin doubt him when his words suggest that Palpatine may be too close to a Depur to be trusted? His crechemates also don't like it and his mother says words he didn't know she knew in her own reaction.

The anonymous report Anakin submits to the Senate Guards that they might want to check in on Senator Palpatine and his creepy obsession with young kids stays anonymous, but it does get leaked and the ensuing media storm starts strong and ends stronger with the discovery of a Sith Master.

In short, Obi-Wan helps Shmi Free herself and a war that breaks a galaxy never starts.

[fandumb-thoughts]

I love the idea of Anakin sneaking people into his bedroom or whatever to surgically remove slave chips and everyone thinking he sleeps around (I have ZERO clue what fanfic that might’ve been from, but it 100% came from a fanfic that I read) because imagining a conversation about it is so funny.

Obi-Wan: So, you and Padmé. Anakin: Since when is this your business? Obi-Wan: Since you made me turn a blind eye at every goddamn opportunity you had to sneak someone into your room. Anakin: Okay, but—to be fair—I didn’t sleep with any of them. Obi-Wan, who has operated thus far as under the impression that his former padawan was a high-key slut: You never what.

[obikinwhore]

Tatooine culture au

Obiwan gifts Anakin black melon that he comes into contact with somehow. Obiwan thinks it will maybe a little taste of home for Anakin. Not knowing that in the slave culture of Tatooine, this is seen as a marriage proposal. Anakin is shaken… does Obi-Wan truly mean It? Does he want to marry Anakin? Anakin thought that his master didn’t want him this way. He had tried to make his desire for Obi-Wan known in the past year since he became 15, but Obi-Wan had subtly shot him down. All this time with his heart cracking and thinking Obi-wan didn’t care for him, didn’t love him like Anakin loved him… his master was just waiting. Maybe Obiwan was just shy, his master has such a hard time with these kind of emotions.

Of course Anakin takes the fruit. Of course!! How could he say no? He’ll make a great husband to Obiwan. They can be married for each other in this way and he knows they’ll have to hide from the council but it will be worth it. Anakin with watery eyes says “Yes.. thank you Master." Sniffles just a bit and with emotion reiterates "Thank you Obi-Wan” he holds onto the outstretched hand of his master which holds the fruit out. Both of their hands encompassing the fruit. A completed engagement proposal.

Anakin cant keep his emotions down. Obi-Wan is a little surprised by the strength of Anakin’s reaction. Can feel his unfettered elation and joy through the force. Perhaps Anakin was just really touched by this gift to remind him of home. The boy has always kept that part of his life so close to his chest, the emotions of it both horrible and yet filled with love for his mother that the love bleeds into some other aspects of Tatooine too. Anakin rushes in close to Obiwan and hugs him trembling a bit. They’re tied together now, a promise between them to stay together forever. Through anything and everything.

He pulls back and looks into Obi-Wan’s sort of surprised eyes, Did he really think Anakin would say no?, and he kisses him right on the edge of his mouth. He knows Obiwan took a long time to propose, he’s shy. Anakin can be slow too, be tactful and keep Obiwan's pace. Anakin lingers there, the edges of their lips touching is electric. When he pulls back again, Anakin sees the shock of color in Obi-Wan’s face and he smiles. He licks the corner of his mouth to savor the taste of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan who flushes further after seeing the act. Well… who says he can’t play with his fiancé for a bit 😋

OG Tweet

[looseleafteeaves]

Skywalker and the Rug Merchant

Ekkreth-e-Ruklappa Veltak

I tell you this story to save your life. Ek marst te nao me lanal.

As everyone knows, Ekkreth is clever and cunning and the best at tricking Depur. But occasionally, Depur is able to trap Ekkreth for a little while. This is when Ar-Amu steps in.

This is one of those tales.

Ar-Amu looked upon her children, stone faced, and sad. Her children were still bound up in chains. Ekkreth was missing. So Ar-Amu spun the moonlight into water and gazed into the thin film in the bottom of the bowl, searching him out.

She found him, in a small town tucked far from the larger space ports. None of her people spoke her language, not even Ekkreth. None called each other by name. At night, no stories were shared, or dancing, or plays. They sat inside their homes and made useful things for their work the next day.

Ar-Amu was shocked-never had she seen some of her children this separated from her. So she called out to them from the desert. She called for any of her children to come.

None did.

Ar-Amu called for 7 days, and still none came to her.

Except for one figure, who was not one of her people. Everyday, they would cross the desert, heading to the slave quarters. And everyday, the figure- a simple rug maker- would pause, and stare out into the desert like they could hear Ar-Amu's voice.

Finally, on the 7th day, the Rug Maker stepped into the desert.

"Excuse me? I have heard you calling from the desert for 7 days. Do you need help?"

And Ar-Amu saw her chance.

"My people have lost themselves, and I need someone who can remind them of that. I need you to make a rug that tells them a story."

The rugmaker was shocked. "How can a rug tell a story? Why must it tell them a story?"

Ar-Amu's unveiled mouth turn from stone into a gentle smile. "Because a story can save your life. I will teach you to weave stories, and you will carry the stories to my people who do not have them."

The rug maker paused. "Who are your people?"

"My people are the ones bound in chains. The ones who must be enduring and sneaky and fierce and strong and pretty for the wishes of a being who calls them property. My people are slaves, and one day, they will be free."

The rug maker nodded. "So I will weave a story to save their lives. How do I do that?"

Ar-Amu turned and walked deeper into the desert.

"You follow me, and learn."

Now, while I am sharing the story, the secret of how to weave a story into a rug is not for you. Just know that Ar-Amu guides the Rug Maker into making a rug telling the story of Ar-Amu's promise. While the Rug Maker can't understand what they have woven, they can sense the importance of the task, and they do so with care. They study the pattern so they can weave the story again if they need.

They next day, the Rug Maker trekked into town from the desert, the pinks and reds of the dawns warming the sky. They guide the bantha who carries the rugs into the market, and they settle into an open spot, laying out the rugs and setting the one they had woven with Ar-Amu a little out of the way.

That day, many people stop by. Depur and freeborn and jawa and slaves. None of the people except the slaves stop and glance at the rug. And none ask for the cost except one.

"Rug maker, I am interested in this rug." The figure, bird like in facial structure, and built with hidden strength. Red embroidery wraps their old clothes.

The rug maker smiles. "But of course! It is one of my least popular- I would give it to you but for some water or pika juice."

The figure looks closer. "Why would you give something that takes many hours of work for so little?"

"Because the work does not belong to me, but to the people it was meant for."

The figure- Ekkreth - blinks, reaches into a pocket, and removes a small fruit, and a pouch with water. "You would trade the rug to me for so little?"

"Tell me, Customer, do you feel called by the threads?"

"I see myself in them, if I can look long enough."

"Then it is yours." The Rug maker says. "I gift it to you."

And the Rug maker packed up their supplies, and went on their way.

The slave who has the rug, took it to their home, and looked at it for a long time. But in daylight, it held nothing. After finishing their work for the day, is when the rug changed.

In the moonlight. the figure- Ekkreth gazed upon the story of Ar-Amu's promise, and remembered who they were. They turned into a red bird, and spread that knowledge across all of the slave quarters, and the quarters were able to find their names and their stories.

They could hear Ar-Amu calling from the desert.

They found their way to her.

[aravenlovesfanfiction]

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Masterpost

[phoenixyfriend]

Tatooine slave revolutions that take explicit inspiration from Haiti tho

There are so many fics with slave revolutions on Tatooine but I think I want to find a fic by a historian who knows actual historical slave revolutions to do a fic that uses real history as a source without it having some of those side-eye moments that more generic slave revolution fic can have

[innercreationyouth]

Where the Force leads

In honour of the person who created Tatooine Slave culture, it's not mine, clearly, as many know. It's a very interesting culture for sure, but I know too little about it and I really like mandalorian culture more.

Also I adore time-travelling Ben. He's tired, weary and would like a drink. And I also adore blakkats (gosh, did I write it right? I'll have to check) portrayal of Jon Antilles.

Chapter 1. A Master without a purpose.

Chapter 2 here

In the deserts of Tatooine, Ben Kenobi lives in exile, haunted by the fall of Anakin Skywalker. When the Force whispers cryptic visions of a distant planet, Korda Six, Ben is drawn into a mysterious journey that challenges his solitude and guilt. As he uncovers the truth about his past failures, Ben must confront his role in the galaxy’s fate. This is a tale of loss, hope, and the enduring power of the Force.

The twin suns of Tatooine hung low in the vast, unforgiving sky, their relentless heat bathing the planet in an oppressive golden light. The sands stretched to infinity, shifting dunes whispering secrets to the dry, desert winds. It was a harsh world, where life clung desperately to whatever shade or moisture it could find, and every breath felt like a struggle against the elements.

Outside a modest, weatherworn shack perched on a ridge overlooking the desolation, an old man sat cross-legged on a simple wooden porch. He was draped in rough robes, his face lined with age, sunburn, and sorrow. Ben Kenobi—known once as Obi-Wan—closed his eyes, the faint hum of the Force stirring within him like a dying ember. He meditated, letting the stillness of the desert mirror the stillness he sought inside.

But there was no peace. Not today.

His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the boy he had raised like a son. Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One. The memory of his wide-eyed, eager smile burned brighter in Ben's mind than the twin suns before him. Then the smile twisted, darkened, became the visage of Darth Vader—his greatest failure. The air around Ben seemed to grow heavier as he relived it all once more.

What could I have done differently? The question plagued him daily. He had loved Anakin, trained him, guided him. And yet, the boy had fallen so far, taking the galaxy with him.

Ben sighed, the sound heavy with guilt. He whispered into the silence, “Was it my fault?”

At first, there was no answer. Just the faint hiss of the wind scraping over sand. But then, soft and clear, a voice echoed in his mind. Young, curious, and yet carrying an unmistakable weight of insight.

"Do you truly think it was your fault?"

Ben's eyes snapped open, his heart skipping. The voice wasn't his own, nor was it a memory. It felt... present. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. He looked around the empty desert, scanning the horizon for something—anything—that might explain it.

He closed his eyes again, reaching deeper into the Force, letting it flow through him. The voice lingered, steady and calm, as if it came not from outside but from the very heart of the Force itself.

"You did what you thought was right. But was it? Or are you just trying to carry a weight too heavy for one man?"

Ben clenched his fists, the wind tugging at his robes as if to pull him back to reality. He swallowed hard, a bitter lump forming in his throat.

“I was his master,” Ben whispered. “I failed him. If I’d been better... if I’d seen the darkness sooner...”

"Would it have changed him? Or would he have fallen all the same?"

The words stung, cutting through Ben’s practiced defenses. They forced him to question the narrative he’d clung to for years. The old Jedi sat in silence, the desert wind his only companion as the voice faded, leaving him alone once more.

The twin suns dipped lower, casting long shadows over the sand. Ben opened his eyes, staring into the horizon. He didn’t have an answer—not yet. But the question lingered, echoing in the corners of his mind.

And for the first time in years, he wondered if he could let go.

___

The twin suns were dipping below the horizon, painting the Tatooine sky with streaks of orange and purple as Ben Kenobi trudged back to his modest shack. His arms carried a small bundle of supplies he’d picked up in Mos Eisley—a few dried rations, some water, and a handful of vegetables he’d bartered for with what little he had left. The desert winds swirled around him, tugging at his robes, carrying the faint scent of sand and dry stone.

His thoughts were simple as he walked: survival, reflection, and the quiet monotony of the days stretching before him. But as he approached the ridge leading to his home, a familiar sensation brushed against his consciousness—like a whisper carried on the wind.

"Would you change anything if you could?"

Ben froze in his tracks, his grip tightening on the bundle of food. The voice was back. The same young, curious tone that had spoken to him weeks earlier. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, shaking it off as some trick of his weary mind. But something about it was undeniable—its presence felt rooted in the Force itself, as real as the ground beneath his feet.

He exhaled sharply, setting the bundle down on a nearby rock. “I’ve thought about it,” he said aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Of course I’ve thought about it. But I did everything I could with what I knew at the time. What’s left for me now is to reflect.”

The voice responded with a soft chuckle, its tone light but tinged with something deeper—understanding, perhaps.

"That’s what your Master would say."

Ben sighed heavily, running a hand through his graying hair. The mention of his old Master stirred a deep ache in his chest. “Well, I suppose he was right about many things. Though I doubt he’d approve of me standing here, talking to myself like a madman.”

For a moment, silence reigned. Then a thought flickered through his mind, unbidden but persistent: All is possible through the Force.

The voice seemed to sense it.

"What if everything began to spiral far earlier than you think it did?"

Ben’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “Why does that matter now?” he asked, his tone edged with frustration. “The galaxy’s already fallen to darkness. What good does it do to dwell on the past?”

The voice didn’t answer immediately. Instead, it whispered one word, so soft it seemed to blend with the wind itself:

"Patience."

And then it was gone. In its place, an image bloomed in Ben’s mind—vivid, clear, and unmistakable. It was a planet, foreign and unfamiliar. He could see jagged cliffs, dense forests, and a sky that seemed to shimmer with strange hues. And with the image came a name, etched into his thoughts as if burned there by the Force itself: Korda Six.

Ben staggered slightly, gripping the rock beside him for balance. He whispered the name aloud, testing its weight on his tongue. “Korda Six... What does that mean?”

There was no answer. Only the whistle of the wind and the endless expanse of desert stretching before him. He stood there for a long moment, the food bundle forgotten at his feet, staring into the horizon as the suns dipped below the sands.

Korda Six.

He didn’t understand it. Not yet. But the Force was stirring, and Ben Kenobi knew better than to ignore its call.

That night, sleep did not come easily to Ben Kenobi. He lay on the small cot in his shack, staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with questions. Korda Six. What does it mean? Why now? The voice’s whispers had unsettled him in ways he couldn’t quite name, yet there was an undeniable pull.

The desert winds moaned outside, their steady rhythm lulling him into uneasy slumber. But even in sleep, his mind felt restless, skimming the edges of dreams that shimmered with light too brilliant to hold.

When morning came, Ben awoke slowly, the golden light of Tatooine’s twin suns creeping through the slats of his window. At first, it seemed like any other day, but then he sat up and froze. Something in the air had changed.

The oppressive weight of the desert heat, the dull heaviness that had hung over the planet for years—it was gone. In its place, there was a stillness, a balance, a lightness so profound that it took Ben’s breath away. He closed his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if he were a child again, before the war, before he’d even been taken as a Padawan. Back when the Force had been pure and unclouded.

He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the sensation washed over him. He didn’t know why, but the sheer scale of the light present in the Force was overwhelming. It was everywhere, suffusing every particle of air, touching the farthest corners of his consciousness. It was as though the galaxy itself had momentarily remembered what it was to be whole.

He stood, his movements slow, almost reverent, as he took in his surroundings. His shack—weathered and rusted by years of Tatooine’s harsh climate—looked... different. The walls seemed sturdier, the metal less corroded, as though time had rolled back. Yet, stepping outside, he saw that the planet itself remained unchanged. The sands still stretched endlessly under the twin suns, and the heat still beat down with relentless intensity.

Ben frowned, his mind racing. What is happening?

Shaking himself from his reverie, he decided to stick to his routine. Whatever this shift was, he couldn’t afford to lose focus. His life here depended on careful habits, and the trek to Mos Eisley was one of them.

Gathering his belongings, he wrapped himself in his robes and began the familiar journey through the desert. The sands crunched beneath his boots as the heat rose in shimmering waves around him. But as he walked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Force itself was walking beside him, whispering a single word in his mind:

"Patience."

It was as though the voice, the presence, wasn’t just lingering—it was guiding. Ben glanced back over his shoulder at his home, then ahead toward the distant outline of Mos Eisley. His steps felt lighter, though his heart remained heavy with questions.

And so he walked, through the sands, under the burning suns, with the whispers of the Force as his only companion.

Mos Eisley was alive with the ceaseless hum of activity. The sprawling, chaotic spaceport buzzed with the energy of its denizens—humans, Rodians, Twi’leks, Jawas, and countless others, all hurrying through the dusty streets. The harsh desert sun reflected off metallic droids and ships parked haphazardly near cantinas and markets. It was a brutal existence, but here, survival was business as usual.

Ben Kenobi stepped cautiously into the fray, his hood pulled low to shield his face from both the sun and prying eyes. He wove through the crowds, his senses tuned to the ebb and flow of the Force, as he always did when venturing into town. But as he passed a merchant stall laden with strange fruits and a group of traders haggling over salvage, something struck him as odd.

The usual murmurs of Mos Eisley life—grumbles about harsh conditions, bartering disputes, and whispers of fear regarding the Empire—were strangely absent. Instead, the air was thick with chatter about a name Ben hadn’t heard in years: Gardulla the Hutt.

He paused near a cluster of merchants, feigning interest in their wares while tuning into their conversation.

“…she’s been tightening her hold on the spaceports again. Trying to bring in more spice routes through here…”

“…Gardulla’s not one to cross. You remember what happened to those Trandoshan smugglers…”

“…Jabba might be watching, but Gardulla’s the one with real power right now. Always was.”

Ben’s brow furrowed beneath his hood. Gardulla the Hutt? That didn’t make sense. Gardulla had been a prominent figure on Tatooine once, true—but that was long ago, before Jabba had taken control. Anakin had spoken of it once, back when he was still a boy on the cusp of his Jedi training. He’d said Gardulla lost a high-stakes game of sabacc to Jabba shortly after he was born. That game had been pivotal, marking the transfer of power between the two Hutt crime lords.

Yet here, people spoke of Gardulla as if she were the reigning Daimyo, her influence as strong as ever. Ben’s stomach churned uneasily. Something was wrong.

He drifted further into the crowd, listening carefully to other snippets of conversation. Everywhere he turned, the same name arose. Gardulla the Hutt. Her control over Tatooine. Her dealings with off-world syndicates. Her dominance in Mos Eisley. There was no mention of Jabba’s reign, and even stranger, there was no mention of the Empire—no stormtroopers, no Imperial edicts, no fear of the Emperor’s shadow.

Ben’s pulse quickened as realization dawned. The world around him felt familiar, yet the details were out of place. It was as though he were walking through a memory—a Tatooine from decades past. He clenched his jaw and drew his robes tighter around him. He needed confirmation.

He headed toward a cantina he frequented sparingly—a dark, loud place where smugglers and pilots often gathered to exchange information. The air was thick with smoke and the low hum of conversation when he entered. He scanned the room quickly, noting the usual mix of species crowded around tables and at the bar. The cantina band played a jaunty tune in the corner, but Ben ignored it.

He approached the bar, catching the attention of the barkeep, a grizzled human with an impatient scowl.

“Water,” Ben said quietly, sliding a few credits across the counter.

The barkeep nodded and handed him a small glass. Ben leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low. “I’ve been hearing talk of Gardulla the Hutt. Is she really... in charge again?”

The barkeep raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Again? What’re you talking about, old-timer? Gardulla’s always been the Daimyo ’round here. Ever since I was a kid. You feeling alright?”

Ben’s heart sank. The man’s words confirmed what the Force had already been whispering to him: something had shifted, pulling him into a time that wasn’t his own. Or perhaps it wasn’t time at all—perhaps it was something far stranger.

He drained the glass of water, the cool liquid doing little to calm his nerves, and placed it back on the counter. As he turned to leave, the barkeep called after him.

“Hey, if you’re worried about Jabba or something, don’t be. Gardulla’s got this place locked down. Always has.”

Ben didn’t respond. He pulled his hood tighter over his head and stepped back into the glaring suns of Tatooine, his mind racing.

What is happening? Why here, why now?

The Force was pulling him toward something—he was sure of it. And whatever it was, it had begun with Korda Six.

Gardulla’s rule over Tatooine was brutal, a reign of cruelty that eclipsed even Jabba’s infamous tenure. The streets of Mos Eisley bore silent witness to her greed and ruthlessness: more slaves shuffled through the dusty markets in chains, their eyes hollowed by exhaustion and despair. Public executions were a grim spectacle in the town square, their frequency a warning to any who dared resist. Food and water were scarcer than ever, hoarded by the Hutt for her own indulgence while the rest of the population scraped by on meager scraps.

Ben Kenobi walked through the chaos, his hood pulled low to conceal his face. His once-vivid ginger hair, now streaked with gray, remained hidden beneath the heavy fabric. It was dangerous to be seen here, especially as a Stewjonian. His sharp features and fair complexion would stand out far too much in this region, and his heritage alone could invite trouble. Worse still, being Force-sensitive—an Aethe’rith, as the Amatakka called it—would mark him for far greater dangers.

Keeping to the shadows, he approached a modest fruit stand at the edge of the market. The vendor, an older woman with weathered skin and a sharp gaze, was arranging a basket of pali fruit. Ben lingered just long enough to catch her attention.

“Looking for something, traveler?” she asked, her voice low but wary.

Ben leaned in slightly, keeping his tone measured. “Just information,” he said, his Amatakka hesitant but serviceable. It had been years since he’d spoken the language, a skill he’d picked up long ago in the mines of Bandomeer.

The woman’s eyes widened slightly, her hands pausing mid-motion. Her expression shifted from suspicion to something warmer, almost reverent. “Aethe’rith,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “You are Dai'Je, aren’t you? A freed one.”

Ben stiffened, glancing around to ensure no one had overheard. The market was noisy, but the wrong pair of ears could turn her words into a death sentence for them both. He gestured quickly for her to lower her voice.

“Please,” he said, his Amatakka faltering as he searched for the right words. “Speak... quieter. We might be overheard by depur.”

The woman immediately dipped her head in apology, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Forgive me, Dai'Je. I meant no harm. It’s just... I never thought I’d see one of you here, in this place.”

Ben’s gaze softened, but he remained cautious. “What do you mean?”

She glanced around nervously, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her shawl. “I’ve had dreams,” she said, her words coming slowly as though she were choosing them carefully. “Dreams of a man in a hood, a Dai'Je, walking these sands. I didn’t know if it was real, but now...” She looked at him with a mix of awe and desperation. “Now I see it was true. You’ve come.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I don’t know what you’ve seen,” he said carefully, “but I’m no savior. I’m just... passing through.”

The woman shook her head firmly. “No. You are here for a reason. I feel it. The Force brought you here.” She leaned in closer, her voice barely more than a breath. “I will help you however I can—when my depur isn’t watching.”

Ben hesitated, his instincts urging him to retreat, to disappear back into the anonymity of the desert. But the conviction in her voice, the light in her eyes—it reminded him of something, of someone. He nodded slowly, his heart heavy with uncertainty.

“Thank you,” he said, his Amatakka halting but earnest. “But be careful. Helping me could cost you everything.”

The woman smiled faintly, a trace of defiance flickering across her face. “Gardulla has already taken everything from me. She can’t take my dreams.”

Ben lowered his hood just slightly, enough for her to see his face and the gratitude etched into his features. He turned and melted back into the crowd, his mind racing. The voice in the Force, the whispers of patience, the image of Korda Six—everything was connected. And now, it seemed, the people of this harsh world were beginning to sense it too.

The sun was setting over Tatooine, painting the desert sky with deep reds and purples as Ben Kenobi made his way through the quieting streets of Mos Eisley. The market stalls were closing up, merchants packing away their wares as the day's trade dwindled. He spotted the woman from the fruit stand gathering her meager belongings into a woven sack, her movements slow and weary.

As he approached, she looked up and gave a faint smile. “You came,” she said softly, glancing around to ensure no one was watching.

“You offered your help,” Ben replied, his voice equally quiet. “I wasn’t sure if it still stood.”

“Of course it does,” she said, slinging the sack over her shoulder. She gestured for him to follow. “Come. It’s not safe to talk out here.”

Ben trailed her through the narrow streets, keeping his hood low as they wound their way toward the outskirts of the settlement. Her small house was barely more than a hovel, its walls cracked and weathered by years of sandstorms. It reminded Ben painfully of his own shack when he’d first begun his exile, its decay a reflection of the harsh life endured here.

She unlocked the door and ushered him inside. The space was sparse, with little more than a cot, a rickety table, and a few cooking implements. A single, flickering glow panel illuminated the room. She set her belongings down and turned to him with a weary smile.

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to one of the two wooden stools by the table.

Ben hesitated but eventually sat, his movements careful. The woman filled a small cup with water from a clay jug and placed it in front of him.

“You must be thirsty after the walk,” she said.

He looked at the cup, then at her. “You need it more than I do,” he said gently. “But thank you for offering.”

She shook her head and pushed it closer to him. “It’s all I have to give, Dai'Je. Please, take it.”

Reluctantly, Ben lifted the cup and took a small sip, the cool water soothing his parched throat. He set it down, offering her a grateful nod.

After a moment, he leaned forward, his voice low and intent. “I need to ask you something. Is space travel... possible for one person? Discreetly?”

The woman frowned, her brows knitting together in thought. “It’s... possible, maybe. But dangerous. Especially for you.” She paused, considering. “My brother works at the spaceport. I could ask him in a couple of days, but I can’t promise he’ll help. It’s not safe to aid an Amatakka. The depur would punish him severely if they found out.”

Ben nodded slowly, understanding the risk. “I won’t ask him to put himself in danger. All I need is information—details about ships leaving the planet, their routes. If he can provide that, I can handle the rest.”

She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded. “I’ll speak to him. Quietly. But it will take time. These things can’t be rushed.”

“I understand,” Ben said. “And I’m grateful.”

The woman gave a small, tired smile. “You remind me of the stories my mother used to tell. Of the Dai'Je who walked among us, bringing hope even in the darkest times.” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d live to see one. But here you are.”

Ben looked down at his hands, his heart heavy. “I’m no bringer of hope,” he said quietly. “I’m just a man trying to make sense of all this.”

She didn’t respond, instead turning to tend to the small fire in the corner of the room. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but weighted with unspoken truths.

As the stars began to peek through the small window above them, Ben felt the Force stir around him once more, its whispers faint but insistent. Patience.

He sighed and settled into the stillness, waiting for what was to come.

Three days later, the scorching heat of Tatooine was as relentless as ever, the twin suns glaring down as Ben Kenobi made his final preparations. The woman's information had been invaluable: a Weequay cargo ship was set to leave the planet that evening. It was the opportunity he needed, though he still didn’t fully understand why the Force had led him here—or where it would lead him next.

The night before, she had come to him, her face lined with exhaustion but her voice steady.

“The ship will leave under cover of night,” she had said. “They’re smugglers—no manifests, no questions. If you’re careful, you can slip aboard unnoticed.”

Ben had paused, studying her intently. “Why did you help me?” he asked quietly. “I wasn’t here to free you. Or anyone. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

She had smiled faintly, her eyes soft with understanding. “You don’t need to know yet. When the time is right, you will.���

Her words had struck a chord deep within him, stirring echoes of lessons long past. He had thanked her profoundly, bowing his head as he handed her the remainder of his food and water.

“You need these more than I do,” he had said.

She had tried to refuse, but he insisted, pressing the bundle into her hands. “For everything you’ve done. I owe you more than I can repay.”

Now, as the night descended on Tatooine, Ben moved carefully through the shadows of Mos Eisley’s outskirts. The spaceport was a labyrinth of ships, cargo crates, and scurrying workers, their movements lit by the dim glow of scattered floodlights. He kept his hood low, blending into the darkness as he approached the Weequay vessel.

The ship was a battered freighter, its hull marked with scorch marks and rust. A group of Weequay crew members was loading crates onto the ramp, their voices gruff as they barked orders to one another. Ben waited, watching their patterns, his instincts sharp.

When the moment came, he moved swiftly, slipping between crates and shadows until he reached the ship’s open cargo bay. The hum of machinery and the low murmur of the crew provided cover for his movements as he found a narrow space to hide behind a stack of supplies.

The minutes stretched into hours as the crew continued their work. Ben remained perfectly still, his breathing steady, his senses attuned to every sound. Finally, the ramp groaned as it lifted, sealing the cargo bay with a heavy clang. The ship shuddered as its engines roared to life, and Ben felt the subtle shift of liftoff as they left the planet behind.

He stayed hidden for a long while, his mind racing with thoughts of the woman, her words, and the strange pull of the Force that had brought him here. He didn’t know where this ship would take him, but for the first time in years, he felt a glimmer of purpose stirring within him.

As Tatooine faded into the void of space, Ben Kenobi closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Patience, the Force whispered again, steady and unyielding.

He would wait.

___

Ben Kenobi moved cautiously through the industrial sprawl of Corellia, keeping to the shadows of the bustling starship yards. The Weequay cargo ship had docked hours ago, and he had slipped away unnoticed, his hood still drawn low. Corellia’s vibrant and chaotic spaceports were filled with ships of every size and design, and while that made it easier to blend in, it also meant finding the right vessel could take time.

He searched for something inconspicuous, a ship that wouldn’t attract too much attention—nothing too sleek or militarized, but sturdy enough for interstellar travel. Eventually, he spotted it: a battered freighter with peeling paint and mismatched panels, docked near a quieter part of the yard.

Ben approached cautiously, scanning the area to ensure no one was watching. The spaceport workers were preoccupied with larger, more lucrative ships, leaving this one relatively unguarded. He placed his hand on the hull, the cold metal humming faintly beneath his fingers.

This will do, he thought.

He reached for the control panel near the access hatch, his fingers brushing the buttons as he focused his mind. The memory came unbidden, warm and vivid—a flash of his younger self, sitting cross-legged in a training room, watching Quinlan Vos demonstrate the technique.

“Not everything requires finesse, kid,” Quinlan had said with a grin, his hands working quickly to short-circuit a panel. “Sometimes you just gotta get it done.”

Ben, still an initiate at the time, had furrowed his brow, frustrated by his own attempts. “But Master Yoda says patience and precision—”

Quinlan had cut him off with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, patience is great. But sometimes, you need to improvise. The galaxy isn’t always going to wait for you to do it Yoda’s way.”

He had knelt beside Ben, showing him the sequence again, the Force flowing effortlessly through him as he manipulated the circuits. The air had felt alive then, the Force warm and welcoming, a shared connection that made the galaxy seem just a little smaller.

Ben smiled faintly at the memory, his hands moving instinctively now as he bypassed the freighter’s security. The panel sparked softly, and the hatch slid open with a quiet hiss.

Once inside, he quickly made his way to the cockpit, settling into the pilot’s seat. The ship was old but functional, its controls straightforward enough for him to manage. He powered it up, the hum of the engines filling the cabin as he accessed the navigation computer.

“Korda Six,” he murmured, typing the name into the search interface. The computer processed for a moment before displaying a set of coordinates. Ben entered them into the hyperdrive, locking in the destination.

As the ship prepared for the jump to hyperspace, he turned his attention to the datapad left on the console. It connected to the Holonet, offering a sparse collection of information about Korda Six.

The planet was remote, with a population primarily composed of non-advanced locals. It seemed to have little interaction with the wider galaxy, though there were mentions of Mandalorian activity in the region.

Ben sighed, setting the datapad down. The mention of Mandalorians was no surprise. Somehow, everything in his life seemed to circle back to them. It was a peculiar echo of how the Force had always drawn Anakin back to Tatooine, no matter how far he tried to run from it.

The freighter lurched as the hyperdrive engaged, the stars outside stretching into lines of light before dissolving into the swirling blue of hyperspace.

Ben leaned back in the pilot’s seat, his gaze distant. The Force was still guiding him, though its purpose remained unclear. He would find out soon enough.

For now, all he could do was wait.

[halfhumanhalfasleep]

anakin: why doesn’t anyone want to sit with me? :((

how anakin thinks he looks:

how he looks to the other padawans: