#✘ || First one's free ( asks )

[nohtora]

chúc mừng năm mới ! hope this lunar new year is one full of good luck and good health for everyone !!

( i wanted to have a bit of fun with patterns with this one - the designs are inspired by encaustic tiles i've seen around vietnam, with a bit of tết flavour :D )

[hinamie]

fire nation festival wear aka a blatant excuse for me to push atla clothing design conventions to the absolute Limit

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[thisisnotthenerd]

thinking about riz gukgak and how he feels so alone and yet how his words, his works, are the first thought for his friends when they don’t know what to do

thinking about how love is work, how love is the act of giving and giving and giving until you have nothing left and yet he cannot ever prioritize himself

thinking about how he takes every nickname, every gift, every moment of care with an eagerness that far outstrips the gift in its giving

thinking about how his every stress comes from a moment of devotion and care for his friends, from unraveling the mysteries that permeate their lives

thinking about how he could call them to action with a single warning because they trust in him so much

thinking about how he justifies what he gives to his friends even as his mother asks him to consider himself for once

thinking about riz ‘the ball’ gukgak

[johnslittlespoon]

this is me hitting y'all with a "hear me out" on bikeriders!gale and college student leaving!john. pleasepleaseplease think of the cliche daddy issues. the slow burn angst. strong intimidating but softie biker bf pulling up to pretty college bf's house. gale passing his helmet to john while john's parents watch from the kitchen window in horror as their son gets on the back of a rugged tatted man's motorcycle. john stealing gale's hoodie when he stays over so he can 'accidentally' wear it home the next day and bury his face in the smell of gale's cigarettes and cologne and gasoline and open road.

or, alternatively, bikeriders!gale is leaving!john's friend's single dad lmaoo. classic dilf crush trope. john makes a new friend at college and the first time he goes to his house he meets his dad and is like fuck. well, that's it for me. he crushes hard from day one and has no idea gale feels the same way because he's dense and gale's not gonna make the first move obviously. and god, the miscommunication and the secret flirting and the hookups and dancing around feelings because neither is sure if it's more than sex for the other. i could fill three books with this shit genuinely <3

idk i just think the contrast of both of them would be such a fun dynamic to explore and they'd look fucking beautiful together :-)

(this is definitely not me gauging the interest were i to make this my next chaptered fic btw. absolutely not. xx)

(edit: we're going with the first idea lads. world building is happening. i'm in my mind palace. we're yapping under #leaving bikeriders au lol)

[gildedmuse]

Hey, I was just reading one of your FICS and suddenly I started to wonder about Zoro — or most strawhat — just jumping into the water whenever a devil fruit user falls into the sea, like because of Luffy the moment they hear the sound, their bodies just go into auto pilot.

Did Luffy — Robin, and Chopper— Pavlov them?

There's actually a scene in Zou where they're climbing up the elephant on the poorly drawn Ryunosuke; which of course means holding on tight since it's a poorly drawn dragon scaling a straight cliffside. But the second Luffy appears to fall off you see just how pissy Zoro gets, because Zoro knows, if he hears a splash he is going in that water. It doesn't matter how turbulent it is, how far the drop, how much an elephant might have just shit in it, he isn't even holding onto the dragon - his arms are folded over his chest this whole time - but you know the SECOND he hears that splash he's relaxing his thighs and taking a straight up dunk into that water.

I mean, just look at Zoro, Killer, Bepo, Rayleigh, Beckman. What do they all have in common? They have arms as thick as my thighs because these boys are use to dragging their captains up from the deepest depths (note: Rogers and Shanks might not have devil's fruits but that doesn't make them not fucking idiots. "There's a GODDAMN WHIRLPOOL and - you know what? I'll just drag his ass back to the shore myself, you guys just try and keep from dying while I'm gone.")

I believe that on your First Mate resume, one of the questions has to be, "how fast do you jump into the water after hearing a splash?" and if the answer isn't IMMEDIATELY you are OUT.

Can you imagine how fast I the water Heart! Zoro is. Don't worry, I did it for you. Instantaneous. Some part of first mates is just written differently in their DNA. It commands they save their captains from the sea.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

This election day, I'm thinking of my Nana.

I'm thinking of how as a young woman, she fled political violence in her native Colombia to build a new home in a more stable country. I'm thinking about how she lived a long life, but not long enough to see her home country elect its first ever progressive president (just a few months ago!).

Coincidentally, I was living in Colombia at that time (in the very city she grew up in), and I was able to witness what felt like a miracle. A very conservative country, suffering from the violent inheritance of colonization and catholic invasion and the war on drugs, against a backdrop of the dangerous global rise of the far right--this unlikely country managed to elect one of the most progressive heads of state in the world, in 2022. That's a pretty big deal.

And I'm thinking about this, this election day, because that election was won by a very thin margin. I'm thinking about how it almost didn't happen. I'm thinking about how it was only possible thanks to the highest voter turnout in 20 year. And I am thinking about the countless number of voters who chose to vote for the first time. I am thinking of the poorest and most disenfranchised citizens who showed up at the polls. I am thinking of the indigenous women who rode 12 hours on public buses to vote at the 'nearest' polling stations. I am thinking of all the money and corruption that went into preventing minority citizens from voting, and I'm thinking about how they showed up in the millions and voted anyway.

I am thinking that I would like to see a miracle like that in my own home country.

So if you're on the fence about waiting in line today to cast your vote, I hope that you will think--about the country you want to live in, the future you hope will unfold, and about all of the people it takes to make a miracle.

Because history may deem us nameless and faceless, but when we show up en masse, we are the ones who make history happen.

And yes, maybe also spare a thought for my Nana. Who was in fact a very angry and judgemental woman who supported the republican party for 50+ years, and who would be turning in her grave right now (if the family hadn't had her cremated). Think about the mean angry ghost of my Colombian grandmother, who very much wants you to not show up at the polls to support abortion and other sinful progressive values. Think about her. Do it for her. Do it for Nana.

[goldengrecha]

How are we feeling today, people who read pokespe?

[sunbloomdew]

he's not fooling anyone

the og meme

[drkcatt]

>>🌟 NEW COMIC SERIES: HEAR / FEEL / THINK / ANSWER 🌟<<

Shortly after the Scions' return to the Source after their time in the First, Krile receives a mysterious missive from Hydaelyn with a perplexing message: Minfilia awaits. Pulling the former antecedent from the Lifestream, Minfilia now finds herself with a second chance after her divine duty-- and she isn't quite sure where she fits into this story anymore. Her return has left everyone with countless questions, and she wants answers.

Hi everyone !! so... it's been a long time coming. I'm making an official collection and attempt at making my Minfilia Comes Back AU, which is my own version of canon, into a comic series to share with everyone. This series is a side passion project and will vary in page quality with the main goal of sharing the story. Pages will also be in the vertical scroll format, and hosted on Comicfury! This comic assumed the reader is familiar with MSQ past Patch 5.3 and will contain spoilers!

The first update will be *coming soon,* for now there is the cover, a small explanation post, and the 11 page "burial" comic that flags the beginning of the AU.

Check out the comic site >>HERE<<

[inexplicably-spookified]

Lea… do you remember what a clear sky looks like at night?

Out in the countryside, no town or city nearby?

I hope one day you will…

[hollypies]

Redrawing/remaking my HLVRAI flowercrown au!! Benrey and Gordon are up first!! (If anyone's curious you can go looking for my old flowercrown au stuff, just be noted its was made four years ago LOL and all the old info is completely irrelevant) click for better quality, tumblr killed it 💀

Up next, Tommy and Gman Coolatta!

In the old version of the plot for this au, it had a lot to do with it being a game and such. However over the years it's changed! No longer a game, instead the Rescas explosion seemed to have had a .. strange affect on Gordon, due to him being right next to it. At least, that's what they all believe at first.

[mizuski-broken]

Pac stealing Fit's blood homoerotically the other day gave me an idea for a Mad scientist AU :0

I definitely don't have the skill to do anything with it so if anyone wants to adopt it feel free lmao

I might explode into brainrot about it on here occasionally tho 👍

Think combination Frankenstein+ Monster and Capitan America style scientifically created supersoldier... But reverse.

So Pac is a scientist who specializes in chemistry and biology (with a dash of mechanics... Unless Mike handles that) who recently signed up to rehabilitate, heal, and re-humanize chemically-created supersoldiers after the end of a recent war (because leaving them crippled, traumatized, and dehumanized in more ways than one is no way to honor them for their service... As long as they're no longer of good use)

Fit was a particularly powerful and infamous super soldier, one of the first actually. (So leaving him on active duty would be seen as a threat to other countries). But... Beyond that, he's also very very badly injured.

Becoming a chemical and partly mechanical monstrosity isn't exactly good for you, so it's sort of expected that even if you don't die during the transformation process, you'll either die sometime afterwards or at least much earlier than the regular human life expectancy. Going through a whole damn war definitely didn't help. (I'm thinking maybe blown up by specially designed "End" crystal explosions at least 35786543 times). So by the time the war was over, he was more or less found in an explosion-torn ditch in the middle of the wasteland, surrounded by corpses, entirely unable to move, and in constant unimaginable pain (he's still pretty much in constant pain all the time btw. Everything hurts). There's little-to-no chance he'll ever fight again.

This is where Pac comes in.

[mye-chi]

‎    APHVERSE ASK GAME

01. how were you first introduced to aphmau?

02. favorite main character, side-character, ship, and villain?

03. which characters do you think deserve better? which characters do you think deserve less?

04. what are your favorite episodes/scenes?

05. favorite minor character? like barely a fraction of the fandom acknowledges them but you adore them?

06. what are your favorite and least favorite skins?

07. best dynamic in the series? like, whenever these characters are onscreen your brain just explodes?

08. alternatively, what's a dynamic you really want to see in canon?

09. personal bias aside, who do you think is the best written character and why? 

10. what is your ideal ending for the series?

11. do you have a rewrite, character reinterpretations/redesigns, or any aus? if so, is there anything you'd like to talk about or snippets you want to share? 

12. which roleplay, excluding minecraft diaries and mystreet, is your favorite? (my inner demons, mod mod world, meteora valley, etc.)

13. have your sentiments towards any characters/ships changed over time? (for instance, you didn't care for them at all but now you're obsessed with them, or you used to love them but it's faded over time.)

14. if you could choose an opening and ending theme for the series, what would it be?

15. alternatively, if you could choose a theme song/ost for your favorite character, what would it be?

16. favorite blogs, artists, and writers?

17. any headcanons you're attached to?

18. is there anything about the fandom you dislike?

19. which character would you like to cosplay as?

20. you can only change one plotline in the entire canon—what would it be and how would you alter it?

21. have you ever had a crush on any of the characters? (and do you still have one?)

22. who's the character that you most identify with and why?

23. you get to design an official aphmau game! assuming money or time wasn't an issue, what would that look like? (for example, a visual novel, TTRPG, fighting game, etc.)

24. if you could design your own line of merch, assuming money or time wasn't an issue, what would you choose?

25. aphmau got a cafe collaboration! what food/drink do you think your favorite characters would be?

26. you're tasked with writing an official side story/spin-off roleplay (like void paradox, mermaid tale, upside-down story, etc), what would that look like?

27. what's something really interesting that you wished canon decided to explore more? alternatively, what's something interesting that you wished the fandom acknowledged more?

28. if you could ask jess one question about the series and recieve a direct answer, what would it be? 

29. any general unpopular opinions?

30. freebie!

[carlyraejepsans]

Do you enjoy underfell? I thought you disliked aus /genq

i don't dislike the concept of AUs itself, I'm just not a fan of like... the subculture that spawned around them in the UT fandom specifically and how it eventually took over almost all canon content (especially when it limits itself to the bros)

i like aus visually! i am an artist at heart after all. it's just that, if I'm going to care about them as stories and not just fun design ideas, my bar is uhh almost impossibly high the further you move from canon lolol.

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

[jxmey]

actual conversation between me and my bf

convo between me and my bf after i showed him this shitpost

EDITED 5.24.24 BECAUSE I DID INDEED SCUFF THE RUSSIAN AND ALLIGAYTORSWAMP VERY KINDLY CORRECTED ME SO THANK YOUUUU ALKDSFGKLF