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#Shmi Skywalker
star-wars-forever · 2 days
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putitinbrackets · 2 days
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Yes you have to pick one – Star Wars Prequels edition
Semi-final round
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spiderbae2319 · 4 months
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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.
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stealingpotatoes · 4 months
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gigachad qui gon would never leave shmi in slavery. source: i said so
(commission info // kofi support!)
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im-yotsu · 3 months
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Child of the force
Commission info
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getooine · 6 months
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Anakin and Shmi’s goodbye
A little piece I did as a present for my sister but now she’s seen them I’ll be sharing the rest of what I did gradually :) this one was quite fun bc I painted the background with acrylic and then added the characters digitally
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mmelolabelle · 7 months
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Shmi Skywalker’s granddaughter coming to Tatooine with Shmi’s face and strangling a Hutt to death with the chains he tried to enslave her with is justice.
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thatforkedroad · 3 months
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Sun-hearted
[ao3] Anakin Skywalker is not human. The people around him try not to think about it.
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Shmi had always known her son wasn’t like her. 
At first, she had assumed that the pregnancy had simply happened without her knowledge. Or that perhaps her mind had blocked out the event — a slave knew better than anyone how the brain killed the past to protect the present, to keep you surviving. 
But the more she tried to dig up the memory-that-wasn’t-there, the more she ran through scenarios, the more she realised that nothing that made sense. If it had been… any of her theories, she would have known, there would have been evidence, Watto wouldn’t have been so angry when he found out. Eventually, she realised she had to give up logic alltogether. Anakin’s father was not something knowable to her. He (it?) had been something else. Something impossible. 
A miracle.
The theory only grew more convincing as her pregnancy progressed. She began to sense things no human should have been able to. Objects falling before they’d even been knocked. Watto’s bad mood from two rooms away. Her baby’s strong soul, loudly proclaiming it would be a survivor. 
She held her new sixth sense dear for those nine months she had it — but not as dearly as she held her baby boy, to whom the sense really belonged. Her darling miracle baby boy, who always knew too much too soon, who read intentions as easily as he read schematics, and whose quick hands and quicker mind did the impossible on Boonta Eve. 
Slaves were supposed to cling to their miracles, so few and far between as they were. But a mother was supposed to do what was best for her son, and Anakin was her boy above all else. She let him go, hoping the Jedi would understand and care for his impossibility better than she ever could. 
(And as Shmi died, she did not need Anakin’s sixth sense to feel the anger running through his miracle veins. She did not need it to know what would happen next, either. 
She knew with all the certainty her slow-beating heart had that her son’s grief would raze the galaxy to ash.)
Obi-Wan knew Anakin didn’t fit in with the other younglings and padawans.
He wanted to believe it was just because of the boy’s upbringing, that it was only because he’d grown up in a much crueler, realer world to the others. Or perhaps it was because Anakin was already a padawan or because of how annoyingly easily it was for him to call the Force. Maybe they just heard the Council had tried to reject him. There seemed to be a few hundred thousand reasons that the children of the Temple would consider him an outsider — but one stood out like a sore and mythical thumb. 
There was no Chosen One or such thing as a child born of the Force. There was certainly no chance that the other children (even the ones who tried to accept Anakin with open arms) could sense otherness in his blood. He was just like any other Jedi, if a little more reckless. 
As Anakin and the other padawans grew, they grew together. He became like well-sewn patch on an old shirt — the difference was there, yes, but only noticeable if you were really looking. It was better for everyone if Obi-Wan stopped looking for the gap, so he did. 
Anakin had never seemed to notice it, anyway. 
(And as he watched Anakin’s slaughter of the Temple, the hot drowning of dread and horror and nausea was joined by a cold, parasitic realisation. The gap between Anakin and the other Jedi had never grown smaller; Obi-Wan had only grown more blind. 
Jedi were taught from a young age that they could not hold or control the Force, that they were to let it flow freely else they would face the consequences. Obi-Wan had been a fool to think that something made of one half Force and one half heartbreak could be held any more than its parent.)
Anakin grinned, and Ahsoka felt every clone in the hangar’s mood lift. Ahsoka couldn’t help but smile in return — and then he cracked a joke, and the worry and grief of the battle became a distant, shrouded memory.
It always went like this. They came back from the latest campaign dirtied, injured, and with a tiredness that ached into their very bones. They all wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep and mourn and not talk to anyone for several hours. But then Anakin — still riding the high of a good fight — would clap Ahsoka on the shoulder, make a stupid comment to Rex, and everything would feel fine. Better than fine even. 
Morale seemed so reliant on him that if her master was angry or sad or upset, so was the entire ship. When he was in a mood, meditation became impossible, no matter how at peace Ahsoka felt. She once considered that it was more than just moral, more than just his stupid jokes, but she had grown up in the Temple, raised on lessons of a Jedi’s few limits. A single man could not project his emotions onto an army. 
Anakin just had a friendly smile, was all. 
(And when Maul told her — warned her — of what her master would become, she did not listen. She could not listen. She thought only of his grin, and the sunny sureness in her chest that always accompanied it.
And so she fought for it again.)
Rex knew, theoretically, that General Skywalker was human. 
He’d seen enough medical scans from Kix (on the unusual occasion that the general submitted to care) to know that Skywalker’s biology was just like any natborn human’s. He didn’t have strange-coloured blood or an extra eye and all his (mostly-intact) organs were in the right places. The records showed that he was completely, one-hundred-percent human. 
Theoretically, this made complete sense. 
And it made sense he would seem slightly off. Rex had spent the first decade of his life surrounded entirely by his brothers and Kaminoan scientists; his idea of a ‘normal’ person was someone who looked and sounded identical to him, not a tall, barely-tanned Tatooinian with the wrong accent. Even if it hadn’t been, Rex knew Jedi were different from your average natborn. They could do all these crazy things that belonged in storybooks and myths, not the battlefield. Swaying people, moving objects (or clone captains) with their minds, seeing the future — if Rex hadn’t been trained to do so, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it. 
But if being a Jedi had been the reason, wouldn’t Rex have noticed the same thing with Commander Tano or General Kenobi? He understood that maybe Commander Tano wasn’t old enough to develop whatever it was General Skywalker had — but Kenobi was older, more trained in the Force. Surely Rex would have noticed the same thing, that same surely-not-quite-human feeling with him? 
Maybe he just spent too much time around the General. Maybe this thinking was just a part of having a good natborn friend.
He hoped it was, at least. 
(And when Rex heard of the attack on the Temple, he understood his hope was for naught. 
He and his brothers weren’t an isolated incident, he knew; Ahsoka had felt the deaths across the galaxy. He had no doubt the clones on the battlefield cut down their generals — who trusted them like they trusted their own right hand, who stood alone in front of a one-thousand strong army — with an alarming ease. 
But he heard reports of the Temple, of blue-painted clones massacring all there, and knew they couldn’t have done it alone. Only one Jedi was strong enough to take on a Temple of their own kind and win.)
Padmé wondered if her husband was made from the stars themselves.
It seemed like the only explanation, sometimes. How could anything mortal be so beautiful? How could anything born on solid ground hold that much love in its heart? He was impossible. He looked her in the eye and saw right through every mask she wore, saw that all she was at the core was an overworked girl from Naboo — and still beamed like she was the most perfect thing in the galaxy. He loved her for who she was, not what she could do for him nor for the stature of Amidala. That seemed rarer than stardust. 
She would see him and her breath would catch with something that had to be more than love. He stood by the window and stared into the Coruscanti night like he could hear every thought in the city-planet, his golden-brown hair catching the edges of the hundred-colour lights. She ought to walk up to him, hold him, tell him she loves him and pepper him with kisses — but all she could do was stare. In those moments, he was perfect and divine, and she could not interrupt them with her mortality. 
(And as Padmé lay dying, her life force dragged out by some dark presence, she thought of her star-husband. And she thought of the refugees she had once helped when their sun imploded. It should have been a lesson learnt; stars were beautiful in the night sky, warm in the summer, but dangerous. Able to end entire planets in their own cosmic pain. 
Some small part of her knew this when she first said I love you. But she could not listen. She saw only the star-beauty in his eyes and all the love he held in his sun-heart.)
Anakin Skywalker had long questioned whether he was human or not. 
But as Darth Vader looked down at his mechanical hands, heard his pressurised breathing, and ignored the pain that followed his every half-sedated movement, he found his humanity was no longer a question. 
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bbygirl-obi · 8 months
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on today's episode of "shmi skywalker was force sensitive"
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jewishcissiekj · 3 months
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Anakin Skywalker - Darth Vader in Star Wars: Darth Vader (2017) #25
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marvelstars · 2 months
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“He should have known better.” Leia passed the electrobinoculars to Han. “He was a Jedi.” “He was a kid with a dead mother.” Han raised the electro-binoculars, but he seemed to be looking more toward the banthas than the bones. “He vented his anger on the ones who killed her. I might have done the same thing.” “That doesn’t make it right,” Leia said. “And it doesn’t make me a Sith monster, either,” Han retorted. “What he did wasn’t evil, it was human. Later, he became Darth Vader and did a lot of terrible things, but don’t forget that he’s the one who killed the Emperor.” “You’re saying you forgive him?” Leia asked. “After he froze you in carbonite?” “I’m just saying that without him, Palpatine would still be Emperor.” “You’re saying Darth Vader saved the galaxy?” Han shrugged. “Well, Anakin Skywalker. Think about it. If he’d have been a nice guy, do you think he’d have ever gotten that close to Palpatine?” Han continued to watch the banthas through the electrobinoculars. “Maybe that was your father’s destiny all along, to save the galaxy just like his mother thought he would - well, maybe not just like she thought. But he did save it.”
Tatooine Ghost by Troy Denning
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padawanlost · 3 months
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But despite the good fortune that had brought those three into her life, improving her lot a millionfold, Shmi Skywalker had always kept a special place in her heart reserved for her Annie, her son, her hero.
And so now, as it seemed the end of her life was imminent, Shmi’s thoughts focused on those memories she had of Anakin, while at the same time, she reached out to him with her heart. He was always different with such feelings, always so attuned to that mysterious Force. The Jedi who had come to Tatooine had seen it in him clearly. Perhaps, then, Annie would feel her love for him now.
She needed that, needed to complete the cycle, to let her son recognize that through it all, through the missing years and the great distances between them, she had loved him unconditionally and had thought of him constantly.
Annie was her comfort, her place to hide from the pain the Tuskens had, and were, exacting upon her battered body.
Every day they came in and tortured her a bit more, prodding her with sharp spears or beating her with the blunt shafts and short whips. It was more than a desire to inflict pain, Shmi realized, though she didn’t speak their croaking language. This was the Tusken way of measuring their enemies, and from the nods and the tone of their voices, she realized that her resilience had impressed them.
They didn’t know that her resilience was wrought of a mother’s love. Without the memories of Annie and the hope that he would feel her love for him, she would surely have given up long ago and allowed herself to die. [R.A. Salvatore. Attack of the Clones]
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jaguarys · 6 months
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Oh :(((
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skyguygeneraltano · 1 month
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Ranting time
So weird how Anakin is always seen as hating women in the fandom when literally the people he respects and love the most are all the women in his life: Shmi, Padmé and Ahsoka. Even with the other female Jedi, Anakin obviously respected them and never tried to cross them like look at his friendship with Aayla in legends, he was friendly with Adi Gallia and Shaak Ti. Even though he didn’t agreed with Luminara’s methods he never tried to put her down. With Yaddle’s death in legends he was heartbroken and guilt ridden. It’s obvious Shmi raised him to respect women.
But you could argue Anakin had his worst issues with the male figures in his life (besides the clones of course). But that is a topic for another post.
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stealingpotatoes · 10 months
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various shmi lives au stuff because 1. i love her and 2. i don't draw the skywalker-lars family enough <3
(ko-fi requests are open!)
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david-talks-sw · 2 years
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Got so many feelings and thoughts, the quickest of which is can we talk about just how scared Owen must’ve felt seeing Reva in the distance?!
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Last time he saw a family member being carried in the arms of a figure cloaked in black was when his Mom died…!
Look at his face!
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That's the face of a man quietly praying "please not again".
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