in my head after the events of camlann merlin returns to camelot and, still riddled with terrible guilt and grief, confesses to leon about everything that had happened and everything he had done, magic and all. and instead of outrage or betrayal or scorn or judgement (or even death, as he had briefly considered) leon shatters him with a deeply apologetic expression and a whispered “my friend… you must have been so afraid, and so tired.” and merlin collapses into heaving sobs against him and doesn’t get back up for a long time.
Rain getting fucked with a monster dildo and mountain walks in on him, watching him?
oh anon. sweet, sweet anon. you're getting a treat tonight.
i had a little too much fun with this one
Mountain watches him from the doorway, the heavy wooden thing cracked open just a sliver. From his angle, he can see Rain on his bed, lasciviously fucking himself with a dark purple toy. It’s a large one, spiraled and tentacle-like. Mountain watches as he slides it in and out, matching the twisting movements over the length of his cock. He can see it shining with precum, even in the dim evening light.
It’s hot. But he can’t help the pang of jealousy—Envy? Possessiveness?—that hits him in the chest. He palms himself over his jeans, hissing at the contact.
“Oh fuck, Mountain.”He freezes, hand still over his clothed cock. “I can—ah—smell you in the—mmpf—h-hallway.”
Mountain steps into his room and shuts the door behind him. “What’s this, tadpole?”
Rain turns his head lazily in his direction, thighs clamping together to keep the toy fully inside him while he reaches a sticky hand out to the earth ghoul, still pumping his cock with the other. Mountain steps close to him but doesn’t take his hand. Rain lets it hang limp.
He looks up at Mountain, mouth parted. “Cirrus gave me a new toy.” He looks at Mountain’s crotch, smiling at the bulge in his pants. “I like when you watch me,” he says quietly, breath hitching when he shifts his hips.
Rain nods, eyes fluttering shut as he teases the tip of his cock.
“Bigger than me?”
The water ghoul shakes his head and opens his legs, silently inviting Mountain to see for himself.
“Hm,” he thinks. He runs a finger down Rain’s body, from the end of his chin all the way down to the base of the toy. Rain whimpers as Mountain presses on it. He feels a little devious, mean even. “Pretty close. I’m not enough for you?” he says with an edge, raising a brow. His eyes trace a line back up to Rain’s face, who’s blushing a deep violet—almost as purple as the toy he’s fucking himself with.
But he’s not shy. “You don’t have a tentacle for a dick,” he says, a little brattiness rising to the surface. Oh, but that really gets Mountain going.
“Maybe not. But I can fuck you better than you’re doing by yourself.”
Mountain chuckles darkly. “Sure, raincloud.” He grasps the base of the dildo and pulls slowly, each inch shining with slick as it reveals itself. Now that he’s closer, Mountain can see the swirls of indigo that run throughout the silicone, curling around the molded suckers that spiral from base to curled tip.
“Perfect for a horny water devil, hm?”
Rain whines as the tip grazes his prostate on the way out, making him twitch. “’S nice, yeah.”
Mountain sets the toy aside. He looks down at Rain, taking in the sight beneath him; the wet little tendrils of hair stuck to his forehead, the glint of small white fangs poking into his bottom lip, the slick coating his inner thighs, and the violet tinge to his skin, from the tip of his ears to the tip of his cock, which was still appearing and disappearing in Rain’s fist.
Mountain can’t hide the way his cock kicks in his jeans. He palms himself again as he tugs Rain to sit on the edge of the bed. He nudges Rain’s knees apart, sliding between his legs and towering over him. Mountain tips his chin up, admiring the adoration and need on the water ghoul’s face.
“You’re so pretty. Pliant. Aren’t you?” Mountain leans down to kiss him, licking into Rain’s mouth hungrily. Rain moans into his mouth and clutches at Mountain’s shirt. He’s trying to pull Mountain on top of him, pull him onto the bed with him so he can take him like he always does.
But Mountain isn’t having any of that.
“No, no.” He pulls away and rises to his full height once more. He puts a hand on Rain’s shoulder. “On your knees. Want to fuck that pretty throat.” Rain whimpers, swallowing thickly.
He takes one step back, then another. Rain’s hands grab the air as he disentangles himself from the water ghoul. “And you’re going to watch.” He beckons him over to the large, gold-framed mirror in the corner of the bedroom.
Rain rises on shaky legs, slinking over to Mountain and the mirror. His cock is hard and leaking between them, and Mountain can’t resist giving it a quick squeeze, right at the base. Rain keens, knees threatening to buckle.
Mountain leans into him, hand dipping lower. “Knees,” he purrs into Rain’s ear, pressing his fingers into his taint.
Rain’s legs really do give out at that, and he drops down in front of the earth ghoul. He presses his face into Mountain’s crotch, mouthing over his fly. Mountain cards his fingers into his hair and closes his hand, gripping lightly. The pressure is nice, but the way Rain drools over the fabric is nicer. He rocks his hips into his face, just to enjoy the debauched look already settling there.
Mountain pulls him off his crotch so he can free his cock from beneath the fabric. He unzips his jeans and pulls the elastic of his underwear just past his balls; he doesn’t disrobe any further, not for this.
Rain is back on him in an instant, mouthing over his length with his wet tongue. He laves against the underside, moving upwards to flick his tongue against the frenulum. Mountain growls and grabs his hair again, pulling him off. A string of saliva follows him, connecting tongue to tip.
“You’ll take what I give you, tadpole.” Rain’s eyes go wide, and he nods, almost imperceptibly. Mountain drops his hair and the water ghoul sinks back down a fraction of an inch.
Mountain traces his parted lips with the tip of his cock, not missing how a bead of precum catches on Rain’s tongue. The earth ghoul groans and turns his head to watch himself in the mirror.
Rain is a picture of debasement with his eyes just barely open, showing only a sliver of white and the bottom half of his pond green irises. His hands rest atop his quivering thighs, cock drooling onto the floor between them. Rain just lets Mountain smear his cock wherever he wants: around his lips, down his cheek, across his jaw. And it’s really fucking hot. It nearly makes Mountain forget he’s a little bit mad at the water ghoul.
He keeps his gaze on the mirror. “Open,” he says lowly, eyes fixed on Rain’s mouth. He opens obediently, tongue lolling out and waiting. His fingers dig into his thighs, leaving crescent moon marks in the flesh. Mountain bites back a fuck just starting to form on his lips as he pushes in.
Rain’s mouth is always nice—cool and wet, just like the rest of his body. Mountain looks back down at his actual figure, watching as he takes and sucks on the first half of his length.
“Yeah, take it all. Wanna make you a mess,” Mountain mutters, thrusting shallowly. He returns his hand to the back of Rain’s head, resting the other on the small of his own back. Rain moans in the back of his throat, drool already escaping from the corners of his mouth.
Mountain pushes in further. “More. That’s it,” he coaxes, smoothing the hair off his forehead absentmindedly. Tears are streaming from his eyes now; Mountain knows it’s not from discomfort, just another way he lives up to his water ghoul nature.
“You’re being so good, Rainy,” he praises, any anger now effectively dissolved. Rain just whines through his nose, taking him deeper. Mountain looks back in the mirror, groaning at the sight. “Touch yourself. Let me see.”
Rain lifts a shaky hand to his cock, jolting at the touch and sinking further onto Mountain’s cock.
“Oh fuck, look at you. Look at yourself.”
He does, eyes fluttering open and craning sideways. Rain moans immediately, eyes rolling back into his skull as he jerks himself faster, suddenly desperate.
“That’s good, fuuuck, that’s good,” Mountain groans. He’s panting, infatuated with their reflection.
Rain takes him as deep as he can go, the head of his cock visibly going down and past the back of his throat. He doesn’t know how he does it without breaking his jaw, gagging, anything. But he doesn’t wonder for long, because Rain is constricting his throat around him, swallowing him down. It’s completely sinful and he can’t hold back the sudden rush of pleasure that it sends straight to his gut; his eyes are rolling and he’s cumming with a surprised shout, hot spurts sliding down Rain’s tight throat.
“Oh fuck Rain you—seven hells,” he says, voice cracking. Rain’s milking him through it, not backing off. His eyes are squeezed shut tight, eyebrows upturned, cheeks and lashes wet with streaks of tears.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Mountain chants, breath completely stolen from his lungs. Vaguely, he registers Rain’s hand flying over his own cock, jerking himself with fervor, frantic and wanton.
Rain lets out a strangled cry as he spills over his hand, spurts of cum dripping onto the floor. Mountain pulls out before Rain can accidentally clamp down on him. The water ghoul swallows and sucks in a breath, ragged and gasping.
“Mountain, oh, oh Lucifer unholy Father,” he coughs out, folding over himself and resting his forehead against the earth ghoul’s hip. “Wow, oh fuck,” he huffs, chest heaving.
“Unholy shit, Rain,” Mountain mutters. He pets his head, tracing around his horns. “That was . . .”
“You,” Rain laughs suddenly, the noise bubbling out of his throat, “you need to spy on me more often.”
Flufftober 2021, Day 29 - Up Against The Wall Kiss
You can track my progress here on my Flufftober list, and you can find the official flufftober tumblr here!
Ship: Matt Murdock x Reader
Warnings: some kissing, and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen being a little bite-y and scent marking, but it’s in a fluffy way ok.
Brief references to TRT - your job and a code pattern you use to signal with Matt, but other than that, you don’t need to read the fic to get this. <3
The two of you had been far too busy.
Your conflicting schedules at work had kept you both on your feet and away from your shared apartment for three weeks now, leaving you with little free time for each other. It was neither of your faults, really, that your time together had grown limited to the early morning hour before you both left for the day, and those late-night moments just after he came back from patrolling the city and just before you fell back to sleep, his exhausted form curled around yours. Hell, you hadn’t even seen him that much in the past three days—you’d been so tired you hadn’t woken up when he'd come in, and you’d been forced to leave before him each morning. It was time to fix that.
Fortunately, you knew where the Devil liked to hang out.
It took time, of course. Your own job occasionally brought you up here to the rooftops, though, and you’d bumped into him up here before, up above the hard, bloodied streets and the chaos of traffic and pedestrians hurrying this way and that. Here, the air was a little cleaner and the breeze could whisper along your skin; here, scents could carry to him, sounds not so cluttered, muffled by brick and cement. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before you spotted him four buildings over, prowling along his own rooftop. He was moving slowly, his pace steady and even. He wasn’t hurt, you didn’t think. He was just… listening, alert for some sign of danger, some call for help. You were downwind, so he hadn’t caught your scent yet, unaware of your presence. You grabbed a metal pipe lying nearby and rapped it against the brick in a familiar rhythm—one he and you had worked out early on.
Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap.
The Devil paused before tilting his head towards you, the distant glow of the red eyes in his Devil mask almost eerie where they reflected the light.
Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap.
The horned head still wasn’t moving.
“D, come here,” you said, not bothering to raise your voice. “I have something to ask you. It’s important.”
He was too far away for you to see his expression, but you got the feeling he was amused as he started towards you. He was all smooth, casual grace tonight, a sinuous prowl that confirmed you were definitely interacting with Devil Matt at the moment. As he often did when he was out at night, he moved in absolute silence even when leaping across wide gaps, vaulting easily over obstacles with the lazy air of someone taking an evening summer stroll and not someone parkouring across frighteningly massive openings between buildings. And with every leap, that broad, deep-red shadow came closer, growing larger and larger, tinted lenses in the mask glowing whenever they caught the ambient light of the city just right. It would have been intimidating if you hadn’t known him and if he hadn’t been yours.
His landing on your rooftop was made without a sound, his body dropping into a crouch to absorb the impact along hard lines of muscle and bone. You tossed the pipe aside, keeping your eyes on him as he tipped his head, the quirk of his mouth a clear, ‘yes?’
He was toying with you tonight.
You cleared your throat and crossed your arms. “I called you over because I want a kiss. Kiss me and then you can go back to what you were doing.”
He remained in a crouch, the silence somehow more baffled.
“It’s been three days,” you continued awkwardly, suddenly unsure. You… had interrupted him, after all. What if he’d been doing something important? Chasing someone, hunting down some robber or murderer. He did the Daredevil thing for a reason, after all. Jesus, why did you have to tell him it was important? But there was no way to back out of this now, not when he was here. “I’m… it’s kiss withdrawal. I just need one, and then you can… you know. Devil on, or whatever.”
He rose smoothly to his feet, the slant of his mouth unreadable. He lowered his head as he stalked towards you, the motion almost predatory, and you took an instinctive step back. It wasn’t that you were afraid of him, afraid he might hurt you. It was just that this stance generally only happened with you when he was chasing you in play, the hungry Devil snapping at your heels as you did your best to pretend you didn’t want him to catch you. Your body reacted without thought, responding to his energy, retreating from every slow, slinking step he took until your back hit cool brick, trapping you.
He kept coming, a slow inhale deepening the broad line of his chest as he licked his lips once, tasting the air. Whatever feedback he received must have been enough for him. He hummed thoughtfully, stepping in closer until he could brace his hands on either side of you, a massive wall of heat and smoke and red leather hemming you in.
He paused there over you, the glimmering lenses of his mask completely opaque, the color of blood and heat and passion. All you had to read him was his mouth, and he wasn’t giving you much to go on there. You stared up at him a little nervously, unsure if you’d stepped over a line somewhere. “So is that a yes or a no on the kiss thing?”
He tilted your chin up gently with one finger, the corner of his lips at last quirking up into a crooked smile. “Always a yes for you,” he murmured, before slanting his mouth warmly against yours.
Kissing Matt at night—kissing the Devil—was always a little different than kissing him during the day, at his office or in the lazy morning hours. The kiss was a little rougher at times like this, sharper around the edges, sharp like glass and city streets, touched with hunger that sang like embers on your tongue. Each and every time, it felt like you’d somehow caught lightning in your hands, against your mouth—something wild and primal, fire trapped in human skin. Yet despite it all, this kiss was about as gentle, warm and affectionate, as the Devil could manage. He took his time as he caught first your upper lip and then your lower lip between his, breathing fire and life and heat into your lungs, air shared from him to you, your arms wound around him.
He rumbled softly, leaning into you until his weight had pinned you back against the brick, one of his gloved hands sliding up along your throat to cradle the shape of your quiet moan. His other hand went further, cupping your face, his thumb dragging fondly back and forth along your skin like yours were doing to his suit, your fingers tracing the shape of hidden muscle beneath warm leather. His bite to your lower lip was light, almost playful, the sting soothed by a swipe of his tongue that quickly turned into a languid, affectionate lap into your open mouth. You melted at the familiar drag of his tongue, sighing happily at the first taste of him you’d had in three days.
“Missed you,” you whispered when he pulled away. He dipped his head to your throat and you rolled your head back, giving him room. “Missed you so much, Matt.”
He made a low, rough noise of agreement before he bit carefully at your neck. He held there for a moment, a faint sting making you ache as he worked his throat, sucking hard. Your eyes fell shut and you shivered, your fingers curling against the suit, your nails scraping. Only once he was satisfied that he’d re-marked you did he purr quietly, lapping fondly at the mark he’d just left. “Three days is too long,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Tagging 🔥The Church of Saint Murdock🔥 taglist (to be added, click here): @thenerdlordparade @nurisiliel @psychedelic-star @weeb-verine @acrabbybish @nostalgicslumbers @shadows-echoes @the-bluest-hour @tashas-cauldron-of-tomato-soup @coolhairdocroissantpickle @andthewishingwell@juniebugg. @[email protected]
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Ouch the Heart Foreshadowing
Oh man this scene in 1x06 The Art of F**kery is so great (sorry everyone having to suffer my OFMD posts “late”, but it only just got released in the UK, on the BBC).
Blackbeard totally bullshitting, Stede freaking out, Izzy losing his jealous MIND cuz he thinks they’re screwing on deck (which, of course, they are, metaphorically).
But the best (worst) part is Blackbeard “forgetting” that the frigging heart is on the left side of the body (a pretty important organ dontcha think!) in a massive case of foreshadowing, because Stede is about to break his heart into a million pieces and he never saw it coming.
And he’s right - being stabbed in the body with a flesh wound you can survive is one thing, coping with that pain on adrenaline and drink and the mania of his Blackbeard persona, he’s done it so many times before. And, being stabbed in the heart means death, so that’s it, you’re done. But getting your heart well and truly broken for love? Well, that’s another thing; the pain lasts so much longer, and when you finally heal, you’re never quite the same person you were before. Poor bastard, he’s so happy here, with his intimate flesh-wound.
pairing: nathan bateman x reader
word count: 737
a/n: cs prompt challenge, week 4: “I want you to marry me.”
~ nathan makes a proposition you absolutely can refuse... right? | read on AO3 here~
It had been 6 months since you became an assistant to the infamous Nathan Bateman. At least the view at his home in the mountains was nice because you weren't doing much assisting, more like standing around being an ear for him to talk off. Sometimes he wouldn't even let you do your work, insisted you follow him around as he worked and tested your knowledge as well as making sure you were listening. It was exhausting. Not because you didn't know most things he asked, but because the air of arrogance that followed his every waking moment too, was exhausting.
But he seemed to be going through a change. His last project failed and he fired the PR team as well as many others ‘teams’ about a month into your stay with him. You ended up mostly fielding calls between his investors, lying about his new projects to the company.
It was around this time he started looking at you strangely, like he was trying to study you... more than he did before anyway. A few weeks passed and he only got more intense. You'd had enough. You stood against the door frame to his office as he worked on his computer, looking up at you every so often.
"Would you just tell me already?"
He gave you a quizzical look, a look you hated.
"You're obviously thinking something every time you look at me and I can't take it anymore. Just tell me what it is!"
He sat back in his chair, rubbing his beard and looked you over for a moment. "I suppose I should." There was a long pause where you thought you might jump out of your own skin, but he spoke eventually.
"I want you to marry me."
You stood there, tried to blink away your confusion before coming to the realisation that he was dead fucking serious. All the blood drained from your face. “What?!” You spoke curtly, it was all you could manage.
"I think it's a good idea." He said with all the seriousness in the world, crossing his arms and looking even more relaxed than before.
"Oh my god, it's done. You've done it. You've finally gone actually insane." You held your head in your hands for a moment before turning and practically speed walking down the hall muttering ‘unbelievable’ to yourself. It may have been the dumbest thing you'd ever heard him say.
You groaned when your stupid key card didn't open the door to let you out and heard Nathan trailing after you, his footsteps almost featherlight on the floor. "Hear me out..."
"For once I will absolutely not be hearing you out. Oh my god, I don't even want to know."
"I’ve thought it over. Extensively. Obviously. There are many advantages, for PR purposes especially." He said with an amused lilt to his voice.
"Oh my God!"
He dared to look at you over his glasses, fully grinning. "You should really stop saying that, it makes you look dumb."
You shook with annoyance. You hated that you noticed it seemed like he was saying he thought you weren't dumb already... You filed that away for later. Now was not the time to dwell.
He continued. "People are wondering what's going on. They're questioning what I'm even doing here anymore. Well, what if I got married? 'Nathan Bateman finally settles down'. Pretty shit headline but it’s what they’ll use most likely. That alone will be great for the continuation of BlueBook at least."
"Oh I'm so thrilled you finally found a use for me." You blurted out with a sigh.
He eyed you with a smirk, the lines around his eyes crinkling. You knew that look.
"No!" You pointed your finger at him in caution. "I'm not fucking marrying you." You tried the key card again but it flashed red.
"Fucking while married? Now that's a thought." He all but whispered beside you.
You let out a strangled scream. "Open the fucking door Nathan."
He leisurely reached into his pocket and took out his own key card, hovering it above the reader. "I think I'll be able to change your mind."
The door opened and you bolted through it. "You absolutely will not." You said over your shoulder. As you walked back to your room, determined to pack your things and leave immediately, you wondered what it was he might do to change your mind.
[Power Trio Incorrect quotes]
Marinette : I hate you sometimes.
Felix: Well according to this picture Adrien drew of us holding hands that's not true.
Marinette : Felix, you drew that.
Felix: It doesn't matter.
The emotional intelligence of this child...
Here he is again, trying to resolve this longstanding conflict that has not been properly addressed in who knows how long.
“I wish to honour him by getting the inkards to mark me with his memory” aka Kotallo wanting to get tattoos in honour of Varl 🥺
Saw a picture of my parents with my sibling after their musical. Holy shit they look so proud.
My sibling doesn’t like me (none of them do). It’s okay because I don’t like any of them either.
It just hurts to see all of them being so fucking special and making my parents proud and happy when I’ve done nothing. I’m a bum who works a dead-end job. Yeah I got the best grades and make the most but what does that matter? I’m the most mentally ill. I’m the least talented. My sister is the artist, my brother is the musician/actor, and my sibling is all of the above. I’m nothing.
How could you be so cruel?
William: You're still sure about killing Luis?
Vanessa: I already ordered the thumbscrews...What did you think I was planning to do with them?
William: It's nice you want to torture him first, but risky. He could escape. He could make too much noise and get someone's attention. You'll need to be quick about it. Here, I'll make a stabbing chart.
William: If you're going to do it, do it correctly, bunny.
popping in to say i read the first part of little fires + i love where it's going so far. the idea isn't smth i've rlly seen before w this fandom, so it's super intriguing to read. but also - i love how you write touya. his internal voice feels very fitting, especially for the alternate reality ver of him + as always, i really really look forward to seeing what comes next <3
AHH hello my love thank you so much for giving it a read (๑>ᴗ<๑) I’m having a lot of fun! and it’s a relief to know you think his voice fits cause I was fretting a bit about that. dabi and touya are v different yet they are still the same. I thought it important that I stay true to my image of him while still applying it to different circumstances. this ver. of touya does not know the things that dabi knows yet, and what he DOES know he has never truly accepted. so I think I may have set myself up for a lot of pain lmao!!!
I appreciate you and your support more than words can say!! ily and hope you’re having a good start to your week bb <3
Am I sick? This made me sad
Manga: Killing Stalking
Okay now I’m curious but and I’ll probably read it anyway but what the hell did Anakin do in Secrets of the Jedi that would ignite such violence 😂
Ok, so, the book is split over two timelines, the first set back when Obi-Wan was a Padawan. Basically, back when Master Qui-Gon was grieving the death of another Jedi who he loved, Master Tahl, he would walk the halls, sleepless, and Padawan Obi-Wan would try to take care of him by bringing him tea:
Behind him, Qui-Gon heard soft footsteps. The smell of rich tea came to his nostrils — his favorite, a blend from the leaves of a sapir plant, green and fragrant.
It must be near dawn, then. Obi-Wan had taken to brewing him tea and bringing it to his quarters in the early morning. Qui-Gon had gently tried to discourage him; he didn’t want his Padawan to wait on him. But Obi-Wan, in his own stubborn way, kept showing up. Qui-Gon was both irritated and touched by this. Obi-Wan didn’t know the details. But he was eighteen now, old enough to make a good guess as to what had happened on Apsolon between his Master and Tahl. He could sense the depths of Qui-Gon’s sorrow, and he felt he had to do something to help, no matter how small.
And then like 20 years later, in the war, Obi-Wan loses Master Siri Tachi, a former love of his own. They both chose duty over their love when they were young, and it was incredibly painful, and her death still caused him incredible grief. He almost kills her killer in anger, but at the last moment restrained himself and turned him over for trial. Like Qui-Gon, he turns to pacing.
For several nights now, Obi-Wan had not been able to sleep. He lay on his sleep couch. He closed his eyes. He hoped to dream. He could not.
So he walked. Through the Temple, the glow lights a faint blue. He did not seek the places that reminded him of Siri. He couldn’t do that, not yet.
Oddly, he thought of Qui-Gon on these walks. He remembered, as he had not remembered in years, how he had known that Qui-Gon had walked the Temple halls at night. He had taken him sapir tea, he remembered. He had tried to comfort him, even though he knew there was no comfort to him.
If Anakin knew of his grief, he didn’t mention it. He, too, had risen early — Obi-Wan had seen him heading toward the exit. Anakin had always been restless, had always needed to escape the Temple to think. Something was between him and Padmé. Obi-Wan would not ask. In some ways, he envied it. Let Anakin make his own decisions.
Anakin, motherfucking goddamn dipshit Anakin, thinks this:
Anakin’s eyes lifted to the Jedi Temple. What did they know, Yoda and Obi-Wan and Mace, of this? Of this moment of agony, being torn from his wife? He fought for them and alongside them, but they no longer had his heart. They no longer understood him.
He had thought for a moment on Azure that Obi-Wan had loved Siri. He thought he’d seen it in his Master’s eyes after she had died. But Obi-Wan had stood over the man who killed her and spared him. If he had loved Siri, could he have done that? Of course, it was what a Jedi should do. But the way Obi-Wan had spoken had been so measured. With a temperament like that, it was impossible to love, Anakin was sure.
Basically, Obi-Wan cared about Qui-Gon enough to notice his grief, and stubbornly tried to take care of him. Anakin is so caught up in his own passionate love for Padmé that he literally cannot recognize how Obi-Wan feels deeply. He is so self absorbed, so unable to recognize that loving someone doesn't mean being eager to kill in anger. Love can mean seeing their killer brought to trial too.
Obi-Wan deserved to have a Padawan who would notice his grief and take care of him, in the way that he had taken care of Qui-Gon. I think he deserved that much. I want to smack Anakin so much lmao
For a group of reasonably intelligent men, frev dudes were truly a bunch of dumbasses.