Is it just me or does flowey get humbled in both genocide and pacifist routes?
Genocide because he felt the pain and fear he caused others
Pacifist is pretty self explanatory
to say flowey was humbled would be an understatement. bro really did all this just to lose LMFAO
on a serious note, you're right. flowey does get humbled. in every route, actually. that is because he is destined to lose. to me, the world seemed like it just never accounted for his revival, nor did it consider anything that might spring from his existence.
flowey's entire life was built around frustration, a world that spun on without him, leaving him behind like an afterthought. no matter how many resets he triggered, how many paths he took, he never found meaning. nothing he did felt real, nothing produced anything that lasted. he was drowning in the monotony, in the overwhelming sense that the universe was dull and utterly uncaring about whether he was there or not.
this is where his delirium n obsession begins. if the world wouldn’t offer him anything worthwhile, he’d take it. if the universe ignored him, he would force it to notice. he became consumed with the need for control, desperate to pull the strings, to carve out something, anything meaningful in a life that had none.
but regardless of what he did, it was never enough. he saw every outcome, lived every route, read every book, burned every book. he spared everyone, he killed everyone. none of it ever amounted to anything.
the same faces, the same hollow conversations, the same endless loop. every time, it brought him right back to where he started, as if he hadn’t done a thing.
that was the real cruelty. whatever he tried, the outcomes were always the same, predictable and unfulfilling, none of them going in a way that truly satisfied him. they bored him, wore him down, as though the universe was mocking his every effort. every route he took, every decision he made led to nothing substantial. he was losing interest. his reasons for living were dwindling, fast.
the world went on, indifferent to his suffering, and that very apathy ate away at him. it drove him crazy out of his mind.
then you came along. suddenly, there was hope. a perverted kind of hope that maybe this time would be different. you could finally bring about something authentic into his life, your unpredictability a breath of fresh air. it was a flutter of change in a universe that had otherwise forsaken him.
in geno, flowey is almost thrilled by the chaos you cause. he praises you, revels in your violence, as if your cruelty is proof that his worldview was right all along. you become the demon he always believed you could be. and for a brief instant, he feels justified, even vindicated. but even that falls flat bc in the end, you take things further than he ever could. you tear through the world with a coldness that makes even him tremble. he’s staring down the barrel of his own logic, realizing that in a world where you’ve killed everyone, you’re going to kill him too. the power he used to reset everything, to cheat death, means nothing now. he’s left with nothing but terror. whoever convinced him he was in control? #humbled
in neutral, flowey tries one more time. he taunts you, eggs you on, hoping that at least in death, he can prove that the world is as cruel and merciless as he always believed.
but when you spare him, when you refuse to give him that twisted validation, it’s the ultimate rejection of everything he stands for. mercy is the one thing he can’t handle because it'll just mean he was wrong. you don’t have to be violent to win. you don’t have to be cruel to survive. so... he flees. #humbled
in pacifist, flowey is convinced this is it. he is god. he finally wields the power to keep you here with him. you'll play his game over and over again, and this time, he’s sure it will work. but as fate would have it, you break through his defenses, restoring the lost souls and calling out to him with a warmth that disarms him completely.
he’s left flabbergasted as his power falters against your unwavering spirit. for all his might, he realizes he’s lost control (again). all his efforts to grasp at godhood collapse, leaving him to reckon with the reality that his power meant nothing in the presence of true compassion. #HUMBLEDD
all flowey ever wanted was a single victory. just One. in a life stripped of everything dear, where he was left with only emptiness, he yearned to believe that if he held on tightly enough, if he played his cards just right, he could finally win. but that outcome was always just out of reach.
it slipped away like everything else. it simply was not meant to be.
flowey's most formidable foe was ultimately himself. as it turns out, his refusal to let go is what truly condemned him.
for letting go meant accepting chara was gone, and nothing could ever return to how it was.
for letting go meant remaining a soulless flower, trapped in a dismal existence, endlessly tormented by his loss and incapacity to love as he once did.
for letting go meant confronting the unsettling possibility that he might never find joy again.
for letting go meant accepting that perhaps, after everything, there genuinely was nothing left for him.
...is it really any wonder, then, that he sought out control with such pitiful desperation?
siiiiiigh
i'm not sure how we ended up here, but.... thanks for the ask, anon!
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I read so many neat fics this summer thanks to the @ficreadingchallenge and managed to black out my bingo card! Not only did I finally get to stories that had been languishing in my TBR for literal years, but I discovered tons of delightful fics in genres I wouldn't have sought out otherwise.
Thank you mods for organizing this, I’m already itching to do it again. Bingo card below the cut, plus my unhinged ramblings about the 24 fics I got to read. (Mostly Stucky, but also a smattering of Sambucky, MattFoggy, a Winterhawk, a Captive Prince, and a Catwin.)
WIP: on the shore of the wild world by verger_de_pommiers
MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 19k | Civil War AU
In which a fierce little Steve shelters wounded union soldier Bucky in his remote cabin. Gorgeous prose, immersive historical detail, and tender protectiveness. I lucked into finding this as it was posting (it’s now complete!) and felt like the author had been reading my dream fic journal because it ticked so many of my very specific boxes!
No powers AU: Broken But Mending by Lissadiane
MCU | Bucky x Clint | M | 15k | Modern AU
Bucky is a recovering war vet who starts rebuilding his life one instagram post, coffee, and plant at a time with some motivation from Clint Barton’s weekly sex advice column. Spoiler: the advice isn’t so much about sex as it is about trying again, and accepting that we’re all scared and scarred and worthy of love anyway. Read this on a day where your heart needs a big hug of happiness.
Secret relationship: Don't Ask by AnnaFugazzi
MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 21k | WW2
I’ve seen this fic recced a lot for wartime stucky but was admittedly apprehensive because it’s canon-compliant and we all know where that train gets off, ya know? This is not a lighthearted premise either: Steve and Bucky get outed and because they’re a propaganda machine, the Howlies are ordered to keep their relationship a secret, despite their intense discomfort—all told in a devastatingly effective outsider perspective from Gabe. I appreciate that the author didn’t shy away from depicting unflattering (and hard to read!) period-typical attitudes, including those Gabe and Morita would have faced in the service.
Newest fic in the tag of your choice: Cabin Fever by missbeizy
MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 5k | Cabin PWP
Missbeizy never fails to deliver on beautifully written stucky smut that caters to my tastes, so when I got that notification you better believe I jumped on it stat. Even in their shorter fics, they always build up a lovely setting and tension, which makes the eventual hot, hot sexy times feel even sexier. (All their stucky fics are *chefs kiss* — Foothold and Number of Years are my favorites.)
Mission fic: (With eyes shut) it's you I'm thinking of by Yavannie
MCU | Sam x Bucky | E | 3k | Partners with Benefits
Gosh only knows I enjoy a dynamic where it’s easier for two closed-off people to communicate physically than to actually talk! About their feelings! Good stuff!
Found family: Only the Good Die Young by ZenaidaMacroura / @zenaidamacrouras1
MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 23K | Shrunkyclunks
There’s banter both awkward and charming, sweet sweet crushing, and a whole cast of wonderful characters who care so much (even when it’s hard). I love the dynamics between everyone in paramedic!Bucky’s crew and the way they look out for each other.
Pets: no years of silence in the shadow of regret by Ginny_Potter / @hipsterdiva
MCU | Steve x Bucky | G | 9k | De-serumed Steve
I don’t usually have the strength for post-EG fic, but look at me now, I read three this summer! Here, Steve is irrevocably changed by everything he’s endured, and he suffers for it in the most perfectly Steve-ish way: very, very quietly. Such a satisfying balance of grief and hope as Bucky tries to bridge the distance Steve’s put between them (and his acquired pet, The Dog) in order to protect himself from the possibility of loss.
Mythical creature AU: all this and heaven too by spinawren
Captive Prince | Laurent x Damen | M | 15k | Selkie AU
I may never get over how perfect a Lighthouse keeper / selkie AU is for these characters. There’s Laurent, whose sense of self-preservation is so integral to his sense of self that giving love feels like giving a part of himself away—because it means giving up your armor. And Damon: unwaveringly devoted, who knows that love isn’t taken, it’s a choice you both keep making. I want to live in the lush world of this fic forever.
Oldest fic in the fandom: Genie In A Bottle bykupcake_goddess
Dead Boy Detectives | Cat King x Edwin | E | 2K | Missing Scene
Edwin was hot for that hot cat guy and they should have kissed about it. Fanfic is great.
Fake dating: The Constellation of Touch by what_alchemy
Daredevil | Matt x Foggy | E | 19k | Pretend Relationship
What’s juicier than fake dating your best friend? Fake dating your best friend while actually going through a messy (law partnership) divorce! Featuring: wonderful Nelson family dynamics, a singular bed, and the intimacy of getting to know the person you thought you knew best all over again. I’ve read a lot of gorgeous depictions of the way Matt experiences the world, but these might be some of my favorites.
Author’s oldest fic: the wrote and the writ by stewyonmolly
MCU | Steve x Bucky | G | 10k | everybody lives, nobody gets serumed
You know when you read the first paragraph of a fic and go, “yes ha ha ha YES,” like a sicko, but what you’re really sick over is the author’s style? That’s how I feel about this fic. I would eat the dialogue if I could! While it includes one of my favorite soft premises (everyone home safe in post-war Brooklyn, the end), Bucky doesn’t come back unscathed. But Steve–and this is a wonderful, wonderful Steve–never dances around Bucky’s amputation and Bucky never coddles him back.
Parallel universe: Except it Abide in the Vine by spitandvinegar
MCU | Steve x Bucky x Sam | M | 27k | Multiverse Shenanigans
If you’re afraid of the summary just know that there is a place for every Steve and every Steve in its place, which is with a Bucky (and/or a Sam)!!! And by golly are there a lot of Buckys to love in this one, including a scrappy 616!bucky with the most pockets and everyone’s favorite cannibal, Sweetpea. There are plenty of melty exchanges (and breathtaking art!) but my favorite multiverse moments are always when a WS!bucky gets to see a small Steve again. I could read it a million times and it would never be enough.
Free space: When I Put Away Childish Things by hansbekhart
MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 14k | Prewar
One of the most vivid and immersive prewar settings I’ve had the pleasure of reading, which is saying something, because I have read a [redacted] quantity of prewar stucky. The narrative structure is so powerful and effective, even if you already know what we’re building toward. The author also has my new favorite take on Bucky’s enlistment status, which felt nicely refreshing (and this is a 10 year old fic!) given the otherwise ubiquitous fanon.
Space AU: We'll meet again in Brooklyn by Gfawkes / @gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes
MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 33k | Scifi AU
Amazing dystopian premise and world building featuring the bravest small nurse Steve and a devoted and self-sacrificing soldier Bucky. They’re both so loyal to each other but also to their separate friends and teammates.
Werewolf AU: you touch me within and so i (know i could be human once again) by notcaycepollard
MCU | Sam x Bucky | E | 12k | werewolf!bucky
In this canon-adjacent-verse, Bucky is freed from Hydra’s clutches, but they turned him into a (very soft and sweet) werewolf who just needs to be cuddled and petted and maybe bossed around a little bit. Sam is understandably beside himself…and also up to the task.
Vampire AU: the blood is the life by obsessivereader
MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 3K | vampire!bucky
When Bucky keeps sneaking off to bite a lot of strange young men, Steve’s biggest concern is, “Why not me????” I love the trope that the super soldier healing factor makes them great vampire companions.
Short fic: give up on trying to save us by returnsandreturns
Daredevil | Matt x Foggy | E | <1000 | Hate Sex
They’re rival lawyers, they banter, they are not going to have sex with each other again except that oh no, yes they are! What’s not to love!?
Slow burn: Steve Rogers, PA by sparkagrace / @sparkagrace
MCU | Steve x Bucky | T | WIP | Hunkyclinks
Hopefully you all are reading this one already because it’s a freakin delight all around. The premise is incredible and very funny, but there is also action and wound tending and my favorite thing ever, which is Steve and Bucky always managing to know each other better than anyone.
Holiday fic: Teshuva by JHSC
MCU | Steve x Bucky | T | 6K | Recovering Bucky
I could not find it in me to read a holiday (lbr: Christmas) fic over the summer, but ‘tis the season for atonement, y’all! That’s right, Yom Kippur is upon us, and this was a really lovely read on Bucky coming to terms with his memories, his relationship to his mother, and what it means to seek forgiveness.
Medieval AU: The Tale of the Silver-Armed Knight by BeaArthurPendragon
MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 5K | medieval AU
I had never come across a medieval fic in my journeys before, so this was a fun scavenger hunt. I managed to stumble my way into some sexy, sexy treasure by way of smithy!Steve measuring knight!Bucky for a special suit of armor. Amazing historical detail including—and I am very serious—D/S dynamics that felt so period appropriate.
Video edit: Evidence by @bromcommie / vivelarevolution
MCU | Bucky Barnes
Why are you reading this rec list (or whatever this is) when you could be watching and reblogging this fucking edit! Are you watching it yet? Are you??? OP’s perfectly matched dialogue, parallels, and transitions will destroy you and you WILL thank them for it. (Thank you, Max.) The build up from the quiet of Bucky’s therapy session to the blurred violence between Bucky, the Soldier, and everyone he’s been in between is beautifully gutting.
Inspired by another fanwork: [Podfic] If They Haven't Learned Your Name by quietnight
MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | Post-CATWS
I’m far from the first to praise quietnight’s incredible voicework and podfic production, but holy heck, I’ll do it anyway. I have a hard time getting into audiobooks, and have never had a problem feeling fully immersed in their works. Silentwalrus’s story deserves all the praise it gets, too. A lovely balance of humor and heart, action and character work.
Fluff: Invisible Ink by ctimene
Daredevil | Matt x Foggy | E | 16K | Tattoo Parlor AU
Hard to write a rec that isn’t just keysmashing and squealing sounds but OKAY FINE I’ll try. This ‘verse manages to parallel canon in ways that are both delightful and heart twisting, with all of Foggy’s heart, kindness, and snark translated to tattooing instead of lawyering. And they were still avocados! And also: sexy. Really, extremely sexy.
Time travel: Some legends are told by chaosmanor, rufferto
MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 26K | Neolithic Wanderings
In which Steve will go to any length to find Bucky, including 4 thousand years into the past (while wearing a very short tunic). I absolutely devoured this and was beside myself with delight over its uniqueness and all around nerdery—so many amazing and specific historical details.
Domestic: t'aimer sur les bords du lac by burning_brighter / @burnin-brighter
MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 17k | Post-EG
Lovely and soft wish fulfillment: put those boys in a cabin until they can get the rest they deserve…and also talk about their feelings! I loved how careful they were with each other until they slowly found their footing again.
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Amidala the Resilient
Media: Revenge of the Sith
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,942
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, pregnancy, Force-choking, blood and injuries, traumatic labor and delivery, death in childbirth, no happy ending.
Art Credit: Iain McCaig, The Art of Star Wars, Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
Summary: In a universe where Anakin gradually descended into the Dark side of his own volition from the beginning— where his ambition and love were genuine and admirable, but the temptation of power too much— his turn is something much more destructive and purposeful. Amidala’s plan for retaliation is just as much so.
Padmé Amidala can feel tension twinging in her back and thighs. The pit in her stomach has coalesced into a tight knot as she steels herself for what she must do, bringing a mattock and salt to the ground where pruning shears should have been used long ago.
Anakin had been too far gone for a long time, and the fault lay in her and everyone in his life willingly turning a blind eye too often to his myriad of faults. In the past two hours she has seen actions the result of which came from an upbringing where his temper, jealousy, and ambition were allowed to slide because those who thought him destined for some great cosmic good were willing to overlook occasional— and often objectively justified— acts of wrath and ruthlessness. He had always been so good at justifying his reasons and putting his actions in a more favorable light, showing enough willingness for correction over the years people thought he was receptive to guidance and change.
What she’d come to realize with dawning horror was that the seeds of destruction had been sown long ago, and though the vines had borne occasional good fruit, they had always grown with selfish intent, inevitably choking out everything around them in an effort to keep his own desires hidden behind the barrier of thorns.
In the next hour, she will come face to face with the monster of a man he’s become.
The Jedi master doesn’t know. Kenobi knows she has some plan but wrongfully assumes it is to appeal to whatever mistaken shred of humanity might remain in Anakin. Obi-Wan— even now, even after what they saw— cares for him as a brother and would sooner cut off his own hand than see Anakin completely lost to the Dark. Padmé however has finally seen clarity of purpose.
For Anakin to be stopped, he must be killed.
The ship arrives on Mustafar. Padmé wrenches herself away from the viewport as Obi-Wan lands and she gingerly lowers herself to the cargo hold, donning a cloak. Obi-Wan hurriedly finishes the landing cycle, calling her name as she gathers her strength, but she’s hardly listening to him at this point and she knows she must conceal herself from him so he has no chance of stopping her.
A hand on her shoulder makes her flinch, and the Jedi lets go almost in surprise. “Padmé, you don’t have to do this. I will talk to him.”
“No,” she says, keeping her left hand secured across her waist beneath the voluminous sleeve as she cleared a path to the lowering gangway. “He’s made it very clear he’s past the point of reasoning with the Jedi. I will speak with him, and if I cannot convince him to come with us calmly, or I cannot ascertain his next move, I expect you to do what’s necessary to end this treasonous rebellion. That is an order.”
It was all false diplomacy, of course, for his sake. Padmé had no intention of believing Anakin was anywhere close to the realm of negotiation. They were far past that.
But she needed assurance that she could get close enough to Anakin to act decisively. She couldn’t have Kenobi interfering, not at this juncture.
Oppressive heat surrounded her as she swept down the ramp to the barren ground. Magma roiled and churned, flames flickering at the edge of the peninsula as Padmé approached the figure so cloaked in darkness an aura of blackened energy almost seemed to emanate from his form. The grip of the hidden dagger dug into her hand, grounding her as she approached.
Padmé’s eyes burned with a ferocity to match her husband’s. It was time for this to end.
When Obi-Wan had seen her determination in the hold of the ship he had never for a moment anticipated what it would lead to.
Padmé steadily approached Anakin, cloak and hood protecting her from the blaze. He could see her speaking forcefully with him, her face hidden from view but Anakin’s darkening by the moment in response. His right hand, devoid of glove, clenched the hilt of an already ignited saber, the bloodshine blade standing in stark contrast to his own cloak. Its presence alone was alarming, but Obi-Wan had been subject to so many tragedies that night already, he merely assumed Anakin had readied it in the expectation of facing his master.
What Obi-Wan hadn’t known was what Padmé concealed until she tried to close the distance between them, her own blade in hand. What followed happened in the span of a heartbeat.
Anakin’s saber blocked it on instinct, easily halting the approach of Padmé’s dagger, his eyes widening in surprise. In the following moment his left hand raised and with it, so did Padmé.
Obi-Wan’s astonishment lasted only a fraction of a second as he yelled “NO!” Padmé’s feet left the ground as an invisible force clutched her neck in a crushing, intangible grip, and in the breadth of time Padmé scrabbled at her throat, Obi-Wan acted.
Anakin stumbled back from the force of the bolt hitting his shoulder, releasing his hold on Padmé. Padmé crumpled to the ground in a heap, and Anakin’s sights zeroed in on Kenobi, standing at the mouth of the ship with both blaster and lightsaber in hand. Snarling, Anakin stalked towards his old master and brought his lightsaber down, red clashing against blue.
Padmé Amidala, heartbroken and dying, drags herself bleeding to the communication console.
Kenobi can hear her movement in the bay and yells her name, telling her not to move, that he’ll come to help her as soon as the ship breaches the atmosphere, and she stalwartly ignores him, cradling the underside of her belly with one hand and using the other to support herself on the railing around the sparse artillery deck. Her broken ankle protests at every movement, sending lightning arcing up the leg where she puts her unsteady weight. The cramps in her abdomen spread like bone-coral, sharp and hot and agonizing in her pelvis, sides, back— Every tendon and muscle in her body screams at their owner to relent, to succumb to the creeping darkness pressing around her vision, but she cannot allow herself peace until she finishes what she started.
Padmé staggers at the ship’s turbulent acceleration, her forearm slamming out against the bulkhead as the lights flicker, and she curses the unsteady pilot she thought was her friend. Perhaps if she’d been accompanied by someone more decisive, someone whose fatal flaw wasn’t a love too great for a brother that no longer existed, Anakin would have been dealt with and she’d have the wherewithal to fight against the added pain of a labor she was sure would tear her in two.
Sweat pours from her brow and forces her already shaking, slippery hands to scrabble for purchase on the blasted polished finery of a spoiled noble’s ship. Her muscles spasm and she gasps in abject terror as she feels something inside her snap; the membrane within her had ruptured.
Gravity pulls on her bones as her muscles betray her, and she collapses against the bench. Fingernails scrape vinyl and she chokes out a guttural, rending cry of pain in the effort it takes to haul herself upward into the seat.
Obi-Wan is yelling again. Traitorous coward.
Padmé punches in the covert frequency on the transmitter. Her other hand rests on her stomach, her infants moving restlessly under her touch. She forces the hot flashes of pain back, shoving down every instinctive response to curl in on herself.
“Sabé—,” she says into the comm, gritting her teeth and tasting blood once more; the contractions were stronger and with a strangled grunt she yanks the comm closer, ignoring the frantic waves of worry rolling off of the useless Jedi in the pilot’s seat.
“Sabé, if you find the man who was my husband,” she chokes, the creeping black at the edges of her vision beginning to overtake her.
“Kill him.”
Obi-Wan sat listlessly on a bench in the hold, what bloodied clothing he still wore sticking to him like a second skin. His hand rested on the makeshift bassinet, a gun locker repurposed into a cradle.
He could only imagine what directive she’d felt necessary enough to strain herself to get across the sublight waves; he could only imagine because the message was encrypted and the recipient unknown, and her mind had been shielded from his probing. He didn’t know whether to blame his failed use of the Force on the heartbroken, distracted nature of his psyche being pulled in a thousand directions as he’d manually flown from Mustafar’s orbital pull in order to make the jump to lightspeed, or to blame some unknown energy stalwartly blocking him from Padmé’s mind. Reaching out to her had felt like hitting a steel wall.
The tumult of their departure had preoccupied him until he was sure he’d escaped whatever enemy fighters Anakin’s new master had sent after them, the maneuvering less of a dogfight and more of a half-cocked evasive prayer for the hull to remain intact long enough for them to break atmo. Klaxons blared and the astronav’s interface barked orders, warning him of too many systems he already knew were damaged enough that if they took even one more hit to the hull they would be obliterated; shields were failing, exterior panelling being shorn off, the pursuing fighters gaining on them— Until by some stroke of luck he’d found a slip in space to pull through and immediately jump to lightspeed.
Lightspeed jumps themselves were already hazardous to expecting parents’ health. He was terrified of the condition she had been in when he’d finally gotten her onboard, and the fact he could sense her moving with purpose somewhere below decks while he tried to shake the fighters had sent his heart rate skyrocketing.
Piloting had never been his forte. As soon as they’d hit hyperspace he’d slammed a hand against the autopilot controls and bolted from the dash, scrambling down to the hold below.
He swore under his breath, calling her name and skidding to a halt beside her. Her face twisted in agony, her hands clutching the underside of her abdomen. Obi-Wan knelt beside her, hesitant to move her and instead ran a quick check over her vitals, astonished at what he found.
Broken bones in her leg, fractured ribs, internal bleeding, damaged trachea— how had she even moved?! By all rights she should be dead and yet something had propped her up long enough for her to drag herself to the terminal and send a message.
And now she was in labor.
“Kenobi—” she spat derisively, grabbing his tunic. “Get— up—”
“Padmé, hold still, let me—”
He was cut off as a violent shudder wracked her body, her limbs curling in on herself with a gurgling cry. Panicked desperation lanced through him as he reached out and grasped tendrils of the Force, gingerly cradling her neck and attempting to delicately, swiftly mend ligaments he couldn’t see. If he was even a millimeter incorrect, she would die.
A misaligned vertebrae shifted back into place, and Padmé screamed.
Obi-Wan bit back a sob, carefully tracing his fingers on either side of the back of her neck with as much force as he dared in an attempt to still her and provide what pain relief he could as his own energy was leached from him. Padmé gasped, her eyes flying open, her expression stricken as she looked up at the ceiling. Her iron grip loosened as the tension dissipated, if only in one area. She gulped air as if coming up from the bottom of a lake, and Obi-Wan settled as he felt his strength wane. A concrete task was better than guesswork at unknown variables.
The reprieve didn’t last long; Padmé grunted in pain, convulsing as a contraction rippled through her torso again. Further assessment revealed her leggings and the floor beneath her to be drenched, and Obi-Wan’s panic flared again.
“I have to get you up—”
“If you move me I will kill you,” she spat harshly. She trembled despite the ferocity of her glare, her hand still twisted in his robe. “There is no time— Here and now, Kenobi. Make do.”
“Padmé—”
“Look around you,” she seethed. “There’s no level surface in this blasted ship big enough to work. There are no other choices. There is no one else to help. Sleeves up. Now.”
Kenobi’s brow remained twisted as he stripped off his outer tunic, knowing it was laden with silicate and volcanic dust. Padmé propped herself up on her elbows as he raced to scour his hands and forearms, coming back to remove her boots so he could work her outer garments free. Whether the blood seeping between her teeth was due to the injuries she’d sustained or because she was gritting them hard enough one had cracked, he didn’t know.
Padmé gasped again as the fracture in her shin shifted— He wanted to settle her, to fix this, but the contractions were coming more quickly and closer together. They were running out of time.
He finally seated himself before her, kneeling and shaking in just his undershirt and trousers, feeling acutely unprepared for what was to come. Battlefield triage and casualty care were the extent of his healing knowledge, and though he was adept at relieving or numbing acute nociceptive responses, it was usually with soldiers whose minds were open for him to assess areas of injury. A commander with a blaster burn would be focused on the point where his plastoid hadn’t covered. A civilian’s attention after suffering a fall would be turned to the joints and bones that took the brunt of the effects of gravity.
Labor and delivery were far too different from his experience in the medical field.
And Padmé was still blocking him out.
Her knuckles gripped bone-white to a ridge of floor plating, one knee bent and her foot planted flat. The other lay weakly to the side, and Obi-Wan grit his teeth as he raised it up to rest over his thigh despite the lancing pain he felt radiating from her, tucking a blanket beneath her and readying his hands for whatever instruction he prayed she could give. With him gathering his wits and her gathering her strength, they set to work.
The whole ordeal couldn’t have lasted longer than ten minutes, and it was the longest and most arduous process of their lives. Between her strangled cries, his intuition, and the muscle spasms that told him everything about this was wrong, Kenobi’s concern grew with the pool of blood beneath her, and she forced him to focus on the children, refusing to allow him any modicum of time spent healing her injuries between her screams. Untended bone cracked further as she thrashed, her screams echoing back in the cargo hold.
By the time Kenobi had swaddled the two squalling— living!— infants in what sterile dressing he could find from the field kit, Padmé had gone a sickly pale. Her skin was waxy under the recessed halogen lighting, her hair sticking to her forehead. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and different muscle groups continued twitching of their own accord as if sparked by electricity. Obi-Wan was torn between ensuring the infants had been properly cared for, and wanting to drag Padmé to the captain’s berth to fully assess her wounds and heal her: Padmé kept stubbornly shoving him away, tears tracking unnoticed down her face as she continued to choke out instructions for the care and keeping of her children.
He’d finally been forced to stop when that iron grip returned in full force— Padmé grabbed his arm and yanked him down to where she had propped herself up against the wall. Kenobi lurched forward, her ashen face now level with his. She forced her voice to obey despite the strain in her throat, rasping the words she needed to say.
“Keep them away from him.” The venom in her tone was undeniable. “You keep them safe, Kenobi, get— get them as far away as you can—”
Kenobi grunted, refusing to let her continue her orders. He pressed a palm to her chest, willing those wisps of energy to sustain her just a few moments longer as he tried to haul her up into his lap, coax her arm around him so he could lift her— If he could just get her somewhere comfortable, somewhere clean, if he could focus—
Padmé shrieked in pain, clawing at his chest and arms, and the sum of their separate fights came crashing down on him as the Force dissipated from his mind’s grasp. His knees gave out, his strength sapped from the energy he had poured into her, and they lay heavily back against the terminal yet again. The children cried distantly behind them.
“Padmé, please…” Obi-Wan pleaded, tears streaking down his face, but she shook her head yet again.
“Keep them safe,” she coughed, begging for the first time. “Get them away f-from—”
“He’s gone, Padmé, Anakin is gone—”
She shook her head fiercely, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. He’s there. I can feel him.”
“Listen to me— Anakin is dead, I saw him—”
“You’re wrong,” Padmé said. Her breath rattled. Tears dripped from her chin. “If— If you won’t k-kill him then t-take care o-of them. Wh-Whatever it takes.”
Her chest hitched as she gasped around the liquid filling her lungs. Her bloody hand trembled against his neck. She hiccuped, her eyes went glassy, and her hand fell away.
And in the stillness of hyperspace, Padmé Amidala Naberrie passed from one life to the next.
It had been an hour since then. Only an hour since Obi-Wan had had to keep himself from buckling under the weight of his grief, an hour since he’d sobbed on the floor of a ship as one of his oldest and dearest friends died in his arms. The former queen of Naboo, dying in the bloody cargo hold of a stolen ship, her own life stolen from her by the one person the two of them had trusted beyond measure while her infant children cried out for comfort he felt wholly incapable of providing. Obi-Wan wept alongside them, digging his fingers into the cold, unfeeling floor, wanting to scream as the agony of heartbreak threatened to overwhelm him.
So many dead, or lost. There was no solace even in the Force.
But as Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself doing so often in his life, he shoved his feelings down into the furthest recesses of his broken heart, let go of another loved one returned to the Force, and turned himself back to the task at hand.
The infants were asleep now. He’d shakily scrubbed at his face and arms with cold water and spared only enough time under the sanisteam to ensure he was clean enough to handle them before finding a spare undershirt for himself. He fed them, cleaned them up, and held both of them together against his chest as they squirmed, dissatisfied at their situation before accepting their present accommodations and falling asleep. By the ship’s chrono he had roughly two standard hours before the ship was due to drop out of hyperspace.
He sat unseeing in the captain’s berth with the ad hoc bassinet nearby. Padmé was still in the hold; he couldn’t be two places at once, and he couldn’t stay down there with the children.
Something bothered him about the infants in his arms, though. Once the girl had passed from Padmé’s body, it almost seemed like the barrier keeping him from sensing Padmé’s thoughts had broken. He was too drained and scattered to dwell on it as his last moments with her had been focused on her well-being, but despite his utter exhaustion he had a suspicion that had already begun to crystallize under the sheer openness of the twins’ young presences within hyperspace.
It troubled him.
Whatever message she’d sent was evidently received by the people she’d needed it to. Bail Organa met him at the hastily assembled but covert rendezvous, his ensuing shock and horror upon entering the ship’s docking ramp turning to commanding resolve as he followed the trail of destruction to Kenobi’s station. Organa had to shake him from his stupor before Obi-Wan could tell him of Mustafar, of the newly appointed Sith and Padmé’s scheme, and of Padmé’s last words. The senator’s brow furrowed. He knelt next to the Jedi, looking over the sleeping children.
“What of Anakin?”
Obi-Wan shook his head tiredly. “I cannot sense him. I don’t believe Anakin is alive.”
“… Who else did she contact?” Bail asked.
Tears dripped onto Obi-Wan’s shirt. “I don’t know.”
Bail sighed, bringing one hand up to rest on his shoulder. “I am truly sorry, Obi-Wan. For everything.”
Obi-Wan couldn’t respond.
Bail’s team, handpicked and vetted by the senator himself, worked below decks as the men weighed their options. The aftermath of the despotic coup was rippling out and changing by the minute; the Jedi had been slaughtered and scattered, the clones had broken all communication, and the Senate had reached a fever pitch of chaos. Anything that needed to be done had to be done now.
The feeling of loss that bordered on consuming him was one he’d rarely felt in his lifetime as acutely as he did now. The comfort he found in the Force was absent. He’d felt like a ship unmoored when his master was killed. Now it was as though he’d been dropped into the middle of a hurricane.
Bail’s hands were clasped loosely together against his forehead, elbows resting on his knees as he bowed his head in thought. Kenobi could have been a corpse for how still and gaunt he was.
“Obi-Wan…” Bail began. “Are you certain Skywalker is dead?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “I cannot sense him at all.”
Bail was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “… But you, of all people, couldn’t sense what must have been growing within him. Is it at all possible the body of Anakin remains, but the reason you cannot find him is because the man we knew is entirely lost to the Dark?”
A chilling fissure of clarity cut through Obi-Wan’s senses. His reaction told Bail everything he needed to know.
Even if it was only a suspicion, they could not afford to waste time figuring out the emperor’s next move. Anything that could be used to motivate Vader had to be hidden from public knowledge. They couldn’t leave a trace of his past behind.
Bail mulled over his thoughts, then stood, gesturing for Kenobi as his resolve hardened to steel. “Come. We have work to do. We will mourn when we are done.”
Sabé trembled with the effort it took to control her breathing. She stowed her bag behind the seat of the starship and brought the engine to life, moving with purpose as tears streamed unbidden down her face.
The ship rose, coordinates locked in place to meet the others of her gathering retinue. These weren’t the orders of former nobility, of a governing senator— This was the last request of a dying friend, someone whose very existence was woven into her bones. Padmé Amidala’s death would not be in vain.
Sabé looked out beyond the stars, her breathing finding stasis despite the ocean of grief beneath it.
“My hands are yours, Padmé,” she said to herself. “For as long duty compels them.”
She wasn’t going to kill Anakin. Not until he felt every bit of the pain and suffering he deserved.
Notes:
The line “clarity of purpose” comes from Saw Gerrera in the Andor TV show
I wrote Sabé’s line before seeing that one similar was used in one of the books. Good to know I was on the right track with a character I know very little about lol
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