#you & i rewritten

[astralleywright]

spent like an hour trying to find a post abt the disparity of origin companion's content in bg3 and couldn't so, hey, this fucking sucks

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

oh hey! i was reading a fic the other day where Wangji was once misspelled as Wangu. which leads me to: MDZS Pingu-style??? noot noot!

Do you think love can bloom on the sea ice?

[muffinlance]

Wait, what’s going on with Embers???? That fic has been on my read later list since 2021, what’s happened with it???

Brief overview, then I'm likely never touching this topic again, because this is not a Drama Blog:

Context: Embers is a super old AtLA fic that was written during the early fandom days, read widely at the time, and was the origin of the widely-used fanon name of "Wani" for Zuko's ship (kind of by default that it was one of the first popular fics to give his ship a name, I think?), even though most fic writers don't seem to realize it's from there anymore.

"What's Going On": I used to include a link in all my stories to it, because I believe in crediting other writers for borrowed elements, and I was using "Wani" in all my fics. But BOY did I not want to be sending readers that way anymore, so I've adopted a new name for Zuko's ship, and removed all Embers links.

None of the criticisms about Embers itself are new; I'm assuming they date back to when the fic was being written, because this isn't an "it aged badly" thing, this is an "actually yeah this gets worse the longer you think about it and I shouldn't have ignored my bad feelings just because some of the worldbuilding was interesting" thing.

An Incomplete List of Why I Made the Change:

I don't actually like the story that much anymore, and don't want to rec it

I tried to re-read it recently to see if some things were as bad as I remembered and it turns out they were So Much Worse Oh Yikes. More specifically, the treatment of Katara and Aang and their respective cultures has... rather a lot going on. One example: The Fire Nation and Air Nomads are both given multiple backstory elements in an attempt to make the average Fire Nation soldier's participation in the genocide/war in large part the fault of the Avatar and the Air Nomads themselves, and also fully justified from the Fire Nation perspective. And I do mean fully. One of its core tenants is "People from the Fire Nation (and only people from the Fire Nation) who don't follow orders Literally Die, therefore murdering pacifists and babies and continuing the war (and their regularly scheduled war crimes) is the only thing it is physically possible for them to do". I cannot emphasize enough how literal that is.

Also the name "Wani" means "Alligator" and is... objectively a pretty lame name for Zuko's ship? Where's the personality, where's the deeper meaning, where's the resonance with Zuko's themes? @tuktukpodfics initially thought I was calling the ship "Wanyi", and that's what I've switched to, because it is Objectively So Much Better. In their words: “Wànyī (萬一): Literally ‘one in ten thousand,’ ‘perchance.’ Used grammatically in Chinese to mean ‘what if’ or ‘just in case.’ I think a ship called ‘The Perchance’ is perfect for a boy clinging to false hope.”

TL:DR; I don't rec Embers anymore, because I don't actually like the story anymore, and there are things about it that get worse the more I think on them. I've removed links to it and renamed Zuko's ship to "Wanyi" ("The Perchance") because our boy deserves a ship name that reflects his character arc.

[mobius-m-mobius]

mobius in season one // loki in season two (insp)

[vaggieslefteye]

ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ ↳ anonymous asked: HUSK and ALASTOR or angel and valentino?

[myokk]

Her whole body was on fire.

Not the pleasant, tingling sort of fire that had been consuming her as she kissed Sebastian just moments before.

These were terrible, burning flames that made her nerves scream in agony as her body tried to purge itself of the curse. Once her coughing stopped she tried her hardest to straighten her spine and pretend that it wasn't what they both knew it was. But everything hurt so badly, and she knew she wasn't fooling Sebastian.

Eloise was terrified. She had seen how Anne's body had wasted away due to the curse, and Eloise wasn't hopeful she would survive. Even if Sebastian hadn't given up hope when his sister was cursed, he had already been researching relentlessly for a cure for over a year without any breakthroughs - and his research was in addition to Nurse Blainey and St. Mungo's fruitless attempts to heal her.

But...she could take a small measure of comfort from the fact that she had managed to save Anne.

Even if it was at the expense of her own well-being.

"What did you do?" Sebastian whispered, voice raspy, eyes wide and horrified as he looked at her.

Her eyes darted away from his accusing glare, down to the white sleeve that was now peppered with tiny spots of the blood she had just coughed up. They were slowly growing, the tiny spatters expanding and mingling with each other. "I..."

Throat constricting, tears welling up in her eyes, a sob that she was trying to swallow back down.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Eloise shook her head helplessly. "I have no idea."

She wasn't lying. When she had run to help Anne in Feldcroft all those weeks ago, she had been acting on pure instinct. Just as she had when Leander had hit Sebastian with diffindo. It was the most natural thing in the world to dip into whatever ancient magic reserves she was privy to and just use them. Even if she didn't fully understand these instincts.

"What did you do?" Sebastian repeated, voice rising with every word. He started pacing in front of the fireplace, running an agitated hand through hair that Eloise had already messed up. "I...oh, god. This can't be happening again."

"I would do it again. I saved Anne." Eloise's voice sounded very small to her ears and she shrunk away at the expression on his face when he turned to look at her. It was incredulous and devastated and furious and she couldn't look at him any more. She turned her head to watch the flames. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his agitated, jerky movements.

"At the expense of your own health! Merlin, this is all my fault. I -"

Eloise couldn't hear whatever Sebastian was about to say as his words were lost to another fit of coughing. His anger slipped away and was immediately replaced with concern as he moved to stand in front of her, gently reaching out a hand to her shoulder.

She was lost to the pain and flames screaming - was she screaming? - their way up her throat, the hacking coughs so gratingly painful that it was all she could focus on.

"Fuck," she heard Sebastian say. "Wait..."

He put an arm around her waist and helped her move the short distance to the bed. As soon as he let go of his hold on her, she fell to her side. Her arms were useless at the moment, and the side of her face met the mattress as she fell without being able to catch herself. Tears were streaming down her face as she coughed and coughed and coughed and -

"Here. Please..." A reassuringly solid presence at her side, leaning her body against his chest, her head lying limply across his shoulder. A gentle hand grabbed her jaw and then forced a potion down her throat.

Eloise immediately started gagging and tried to wrest herself from his grasp. The potion was thick and viscous and tasted like mud, slowly sliding its way down her throat. If the curse had manifested itself in all-encompassing flames, this potion was its antidote in the form of shards of ice that burned in an entirely different way. Her ears were ringing and her head swam in pain as she whimpered.

But...

The coughing had stopped.

Her eyes slowly opened.

Sebastian's face swam in and out of her vision as she blinked away the tears. There was a sharp stab of pain through her head when she tried to focus her vision, so she just closed her eyes again and moved her face into the crook of his neck.

Her breath came out in ragged gasps, but at least she wasn't coughing anymore.

She felt his arms tighten around her, one of his hands starting to massage the base of her neck as he cradled her body to his. Sebastian was warm, reassuring, solid. That, she could focus on. Eloise breathed in deeply, and the faint smell of cinnamon mixed with what she was now recognizing as Sebastian filled her senses. She tried to move an arm so she could caress him the way he was, but her arms were numb and tingling and she was just so tired.

She felt herself drifting off to sleep in his arms, the overwhelming feeling of safety and comfort being her last fleeting thoughts before sleep overcame her.

the scene after their first kiss, that I drew a while ago😇😇😇

[old-desert]

sum blushing Loop sprite edits for the soul

[donutdisturblivball]

do you ever think about how mabel wanted to stay in an eternal summer with dipper not only because she didn’t want him to leave her behind but also because she didn’t want to go back home to a place where her parents got into daily screaming matches and the very foundation of her immediate family was constantly shaking under her very feet and how she wanted to stay in a place where her relationships were secure and how everyday was a new adventure and yet a constant she could rely on in a way she never could at home or are you normal

[lorelune]

six drinks, first time

|| jing yuan x f! reader || E/18+ || drunk reader + adoring jin yuan + kink reveal || wc: 2.5k  || ao3 ||

Jing Yuan covets the fact he knows you better than anyone else. It’s unfortunate for him that plum wine makes you sweeter and more honest, revealing a piece of yourself he hasn’t considered. 

minors & ageless blogs dni

a/n: jing yuan has rotted my brain i need him so badly fr fr :salute: enjoy!!

CWs: drunk reader, engaged jing yuan and reader, possessive jing yuan, corruption kink, virginity kink, reader visibly blushes, light exhibitionism/threat of exhibitionism

It's rare for Jing Yuan to see you this way. So carefree, so weightless, so unabashed, despite the many bodies around you and looks that your display is inevitably drawing. Jing Yuan is too old to care for decorum in this setting, it's a party after all. Though he'll only nurse a drink or two during the evening, lest lose himself, he appreciates seeing his compatriots enjoy themselves.

He wasn't expecting you to partake as much as you have, though.

Jing Yuan has been counting your drinks— five, sipping on a sixth (some plum wine that he’s sure has a taste that will linger on your lips. He wants nothing more than to find out himself). You'll undoubtedly have a headache in the morning. He's less concerned about that (he'll treat you well, he always does, the lovesick fool he is). You rarely drink so much, usually just stealing sips from his glass and remaining sober by his side, so it's quite the treat for him to see you lose yourself in this way.

You cling to his arm, cheek pressed into his shoulder as you listen to Fu Xuan drone about a trivial bit of gossip. Jing Yuan entertains her, and you watch them both, entranced. Lips parted and a bit chapped, cheeks flushed, with a thigh thrown over his own. You're rarely so affectionate with him in public, or anywhere other than your home. You insist upon decorum, but after your third drink, it's been thrown out the window. You're practically in his lap.

At the thought, Jing Yuan tests his luck. It takes no effort for him to wrangle you over his thighs, and you throw an arm around his neck, pressing the other over his chest. You bear your weight into him. It's horribly precious of you.

Though your relationship isn't a secret, it's something you don't answer common questions about. Even if Tingyun tries to twist your arm for information on the general, you always skillfully decline (or, tell her off with equally flowery words. It's impressive to watch considering he's well aware of the other contexts you use such vocabulary and tone in— in war rooms at the side of long tables, or while sitting over his hips, smearing spit across his lips.)

You gasp at something Fu Xuan says. Jing Yuan squeezes around your hip. When your flesh gives way under his grip, Jing Yuan sees stars. It's so rare he gets to indulge in this way. He'll milk it for all its worth.

You're unaware of it— the gazes that you draw, from colleagues, foes, strangers. Jing Yuan is terribly attuned to it. You'd probably be alarmed if you knew the extent to which Jing Yuan is acutely aware of each wayward glance or longing look you receive. You have admirers. Your lack of public acknowledgment of your relationship (besides the engagement rings you both wear. Identical, cast in the same metal, sharing halves of the same stone) allows room for it.

Jing Yuan never lets them get far. For how little you both say of it, he isn't shy about standing closer to you than anyone else. Inviting you to the seat of divine foresight, whenever he bothers to actually be there. He asks for you on daily walks and you're the only other person his finches will eat from the hand of.

If an admirer of yours doesn't get the message after such clear signals, Jing Yuan takes a more direct approach. A hand on the small of your back, leveling you a gaze that screams 'I will be splitting you open on my cock the first moment you allow me' in an open market for all to see, or making eye contact with said suitor and provide them a particular hardened, venomous look that Jing Yuan's only been able to forge through time and his feelings for you.

He'd never considered himself a possessive man before you.

Look at what you've done to him, made him selfish and desperate at your hand.

Jing Yuan has little to lose. You've finished your sixth drink. He kisses your jaw— just a drag of the lips over the curve of it. He feels you give a full-bodied shudder, balling up his robe in your fist.

He’d never considered himself needy either, but with you, he is. He hides it well. He doesn't even think you know, though you could see it if you looked hard enough.

"Dearest," he speaks against your ear, only for you to hear. "May I take you home?"

You turn to pout at him. He's patient, horribly, perhaps to a detriment at times— but you're testing him.

"Noooo, not yet!" You whine. "The party's so nice and Fu Xuan's fun when she's tipsy."

You hide a giggle behind your palm, and you don't see the way Fu Xuan bristles behind you.

"Can I convince you?" Jing Yuan asks you. He squeezes your inner thigh. He'd put his hand to your skin directly if he could, if he didn't value your modesty—

(Though, perhaps he's been entertaining the thought of having you in a courtyard for the past half hour. Who is to say.)

You hum, thoughtful, "You will have to be very persuasive. I'm enjoying myself thoroughly."

"Noted. You know I can be."

"Hmmm... I'm listening."

Jing Yuan hums, "Such things would be better discussed in private. Take a walk with me?"

You frown, "I don't want to get up."

"I'll carry you."

"You wouldn't—" you flush at that. Jing Yuan cups your face so he can feel your cheeks heat.

"I would. Happily, in fact."

You shouldn't be surprised when he rises with you in his arms, only depositing you back to the ground when you squeal and squirm. You still grab his hand as you depart from the crowded party room. Jing Yuan feels each gaze that follows them. He rubs over the ring on your left hand.

Jing Yuan takes you to an overlook. The city is deserted so late. There's no need for his knights to be stationed so close to the celebration, considering the amount of soldiers teeming just inside.

He crowds you against the railing, slowly, leveraging you with a hand on your side. He'd never let you fall, especially when you sway with the drinks you've had.

"You've been so sweet this evening." Jing Yuan noses down the line of your throat.

"Am I not sweet every evening?"

"You are, of course." Jing Yuan could spend days, months— years even, telling you in all the ways. He's long since become accustomed to the unique heartache you give him— like a wound that never heals or a bruise that will never yellow. The only way to soothe it is with your words, your touch, your presence in his bed and by his side— and wrapped around his arm when you so cutely drink yourself into a stupor. "It's rare that I get to see you partaking in the way you have. It's lovely to see you enjoy yourself. I simply wish to enjoy you myself. If you don't wish to return all the way home, I happened to see a few spare rooms—"

"Jing Yuan!" You tug at his hair. He suppresses a moan. "That would be— indecent. And unbecoming of someone of your rank."

"My rank is unmoving and unchanging, regardless of any sweet sounds I could draw from you. But, I suppose, you are quite the shy thing, aren't you—?"

"You're awful." You say with no bite. You kiss him stupid and Jing Yuan feels stupid. He never feels undone or outwitted, but you silence him so easily. A few touches and he's nothing. "Scoundrel."

"And, you love me for it."

"Well, yes, of course." You assure him and nip at his bottom lip. "Enough to want to marry you, in fact."

"So, you'll allow me to walk you home and keep you from work tomorrow?"

"Why would you keep me from work?"

"I don't expect you to be walking with any ease when I’m finished with you." Jing Yuan, perhaps, desires to mark your neck as well. It's a rare thing, and when he does, he revels in the way you futz with your collar all day to try and hide them. He thinks he'll give you one that you can't hide, right over your pulse point.

"How do I know you're not just trying to get out of those meetings that are on the books for tomorrow morning?" You bat at his chest, a smile burgeoning on your lips. He's got you.

"I only wish to spend the rest of the evening pleasuring you." He lilts his voice and squeezes lower on your hips. "Does my lover not trust me?"

You bury your face in his chest and shudder. He chuckles, running a palm over your hair, cupping the back of your neck. So easily undone, choice words and you unravel.

"You make me think all these weird things."

"Weird how?" He asks, already cajoling you into linking arms, matching your stride.

"I— I've been having this thought and I can't get it out of my head." You avoid looking at him and Jing Yuan’s interest is piqued. 

"Will you share with me?"

"It's... embarrassing. And lewd."

"Dear," he presses your ring into your finger. "I have promised myself to you in all ways. If it's a desire you have, I want nothing more than to hear and indulge it."

"You're spoiling me."

"You're avoiding telling me what has plagued you so." Jing Yuan reminds you.

You pause and chew on your words.

Jing Yuan is... curious. Your desires are not a mystery to him. You've been forthright with your wants, and he has in turn, and very little has been vetoed. If anything, you've given him much to think about. You occupy his thoughts in a way that is probably distracting, but so close to retirement— he can let himself daydream about a future where keeping you in bed and flush to him is his only job.

"It's just that—" You shift from foot to foot. You're not far from home now, and you drag your feet. "That, you know? We'll have forever, and it makes me think about all the stuff from before that."

He hums. You've revealed fragments to him, unpleasant bits of the past you've moved beyond. 

"And like... What if— Just. Maybe. I think about it sometimes." You kick the metal and stone at your feet. "I think about you being my first. I'm gonna be with you forever, you know? I wish you could just unmake me, and take me for the first time."

Jing Yuan stalls. Almost stumbles. He catches himself by the barest fringes of his finesse because Aeons and stars, what the fuck did you just say—?

(He considers himself an expert in you. He knows your mood, the way your skin changes with the artificial weather and your favorite fruits, and how you best like them cut. He knows the ways to curl his fingers inside you to bring you climax within just moments or hours, if he so deigns.)

(Yet, he never knew this desire. Never considered it. Foresight means nothing when you obscure his vision in the same way a comet's tail bursts as it hits solid atmosphere— blinding and forged with wishes.)

"Jing Yuan? Are you okay?" You ask him, voice gone soft and timid. "Was that... bad?"

"No." Jing Yuan steels himself. He has much to consider. He must act. He scoops you into his arms and throws you over his shoulder.

"Hey!" You let out a little ‘oof’ and pound on his back. "What's this for? If you're upset with me, just say it."

"You didn't upset me at all." He runs a hand over the back of your thighs, his palm coming to rest over your ass. "The opposite, actually overjoyed. You've been so gracious, I couldn't possibly let you tire yourself out with a walk home, could I?"

He squeezes a cheek and feels his cock twitch at the squeak you let out.

He's going to ruin you, he decides. Perhaps not now, but another night. If you wish him to rewrite a poor memory, your first, he will. He wants you dead sober for it.

"... Why do I feel like you're thinking really hard?" you slap his ass and he snorts. "You're scheming. I can tell."

"Only planning, dear. I promise it's in your best interest."

It's all he thinks about as he sets you on the threshold of your shared home. He feeds you rice with egg and tuskpir belly and it’s all he fucking thinks about. He fucks you stupid and drooly and full into the sheets, and it consumes him.

He intertwines his fingers with yours as he fucks into you from behind. His cock hasn't even been this hard, he thinks, it almost hurts. You make the sweetest sounds below him, sticky tears clumping your lashes as you squeeze his hand back. Every thrust pushes you into the mattress. He's blowing out your back, surely. He knows the ache you'll have in the morning and he'll chase it away.

He presses his chest to your back, licking up your neck and stilling the cant of his hips. You breathe in time.

"I'll take you like it's your first time— I'd love nothing more." He licks over a high patch of skin on your neck. "We can even play pretend, if you'd like. Would you like to be a blushing virgin who's never taken cock before?"

You laugh, tilting your head back to bonk into his, "Sounds like you'd just like to corrupt my hypothetical innocence."

"And if I did?" Jing Yuan speaks so seriously that it stills you. He thinks of every set of eyes that looked at you that evening, every ogling glance that traced a figure that is only his. He bites down into the flesh of your neck, sucking a bruise so dark it'll last for days. "If I want to undo you and be the only one who's ever fucked you, seen you like this, would I be wrong to? I think that you may even enjoy that."

You let out a shaking breath. Your cunt squeezes like a vice around his cock and he groans into the mark he's branded on you.

"You're going to ruin me." You smother your voice into the sheets as he picks up his pace. The slap of skin is wet, you're drenched, it's filthy and Jing Yuan never wants it to end. Perhaps he should rethink his views on immortality.

"I am." He will. It's a promise, a vow that's sealed with the faltering rhythm of his hips and the way he spills inside of you. He eats himself out of your cunt, until you're cumming on his tongue and thrashing against the hold he keeps on your hips.

Jing Yuan feels so pleased when he finally lays down at your side after wiping you down. You doze, rolling into his warmth the moment he's under the covers.

He will ruin you. He will reshape you for him, if that's your desire.

He keeps a hand between your sticky thighs and pushes his spent that dribbles from your cunt back inside you.

[ghostlysage]

HELLO MY GOOD NATION, IT’S ME. SAGE 🌀

hi everyone! sorry i don’t post as much as i’d like to .. but i’ve come to make an art dump post again! i haven’t been drawing as much as i’d like to with online school but thats okay …. WE WIN ANYWAY

welcome to my five fluctuating interests ^_^ … also redid my human designs for thr pizza tower fuckers <3 FOLLOW ME ON DISCORD @psychotic.alienz !!!!

[reluctanttrabbit]

fnaf movie 2 save me.......toy animatronics save me..... jeremiah save me....... gregory save me......

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Made some icons for the HL aus I have (mainly for my spotify playlists)

from left to right: Project: Freeman, Aftermath, Our Benefactors

[nvskyprospekt]

i’m here, i’m here/on the border of the circle

[swagliostro]

Some big bad Bossbots! I have my own body designs for all of the four cog bosses :]

[magnusbae]

Hi! What about "Can you stay with me?" (and if you'd like it my bonus prompt is "drunk") 💗

The initial draft was written while I was quite literally fainting late at night & the second one fully rewritten while I am dazed and out of it. I would say that I was method writing Obi-Wan who is indeed very much drunk in this one, dearest anon. Thank you for the prompt~ 😊💖

+++

Obikin || 4,004w || Drunk Obi-Wan is agonized by the prospect of his freshly knighted Padawan leaving him behind— and more. 😌 Some flavors of gentle lime in this drink, very light, very sweet. 🍋💖

▾▾▾

"Can you stay with me?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi sounds properly pathetic and he knows it. Grasping at Anakin’s Tabards as he is, mind swirling in hazy circles around the notion he was doing his very best to avoid thinking about for the past few months. It is not long now that Anakin would look at his Master and see him for what he really was. Perhaps even today. Inebriated as he is, he makes for a good serving of disillusionment. All Anakin needs to do is look, and see, and then…

It seems inevitable—his Padawan will leave.

Former Padawan. Anakin is no longer his Padawan, and that is the heart of it, isn’t it? The severed braid was the firs step. Them having each a battalion of their own, stationed light years away from each other with only the occasional joint mission, a second. The third and final step would be for Anakin to finally open his eyes and look, and see.

It won’t be hard to unveil the carefully crafted Jedi Master facade Obi-Wan had cultivated for the past decade. No, it won’t be hard at all. If Anakin were to stop glorifying him, stop shaping him to be what ever form of idol he had needed for while growing up, if only he were to take an unbiased look at him…

There will no longer be, Kenobi and Skywalker.

For the naked truth was, Anakin had outgrown him, had become more powerful and capable than his Master. There’s little left that Obi-Wan could still offer, still teach. He should be proud. The only one still refusing to see it, is Anakin himself. Once that revelation comes to pass however, it will be complete. A true break, as befitting the Jedi way. Obi-Wan finds no peace in the thought, no completion nor satisfaction in the successful completion of his Padawan’s training—a symbol of his own Mastery.

Not when it means losing him. Not then.

Given his state of drunkenness, words slurred and feet unsteady, he thinks that it’s worth putting to question whatever or not he was a good Jedi at all, least of all a Master. Try as he might, he finds it hard to ponder further. His choice to look inward is as always an avoidance, an escape. An easy detour from looking outward, from looking at Anakin. Anakin who’s eyes he can feel like a physical touch, boring into his very soul.

Obi-Wan’s avoidance is nearly as strong as Anakin’s natural magnetism. One is counseling him to avoid looking, save himself the pain of witnessing the exact moment in which the realization dawns upon the boy. The second, stronger still, demands his undivided attention on him, demands him to look. Demands him. 

Obi-Wan looks up, he meets those eyes, his demise.

Anakin’s eyes widen and he blinks, endless blue clearing as if coming out of some sort of shock.

“Can I—” Anakin splutters “—Obi-Wan, even if the council explicitly ordered me to go save the entire karkin universe just now, I wouldn’t be leaving your side— stars you’ve any idea what you look like right now?

Obi-Wan’s tongue is heavy but he parts his lips to answer, something clever to be sure, he always finds something to say.

“No, never mind.” Anakin cuts in before he could speak. There’s such decisiveness in his tone, such confidence. His former Padawan stands tall, his arms are strong and sure as he handles Obi-Wan closer, making him lean more of his weight against his chest. It’s broad and firm. Obi-Wan should not be noticing those things, should not be aware of those things. It is a further evidence that his Padawan is well and truly grown. Further evidence of his own failing as a Jedi, as a Master, as a…man. Obi-Wan should not be inhaling and smelling home. Should not be leaning closer, itching all over for more, more.

“You’re so wasted that I am surprised you’ve even recognized me at all.” Anakin continues talking, as if the universe is not shifting beneath Obi-Wan’s feet as it is him who finally looks with his gaze unbiased. “The drunken messages though, those you will be seeing tomorrow” there’s dark mirth in that dear voice. “I bet you wanted to send them to— someone else.” Anakin glances at him, eyes narrowed.

Obi-Wan’s offenses at Anakin’s assumption he could ever not recognize him dies over under his gaze, dark and rich, his eyes are captivating. Before Anakin, he did not know that a blue can hold such multitudes. Both the clear morning sky, and the moon lit sky. Beautiful. They loosens his tongue as well as any truth serum would. That or the bottle he had finished on his own finally soaked through.

“I will always—”  His voice comes out so thick that he coughs, starting Anakin from his dark contemplations, whichever those might be. His eyebrows furrow and he quickly snatches a cup of something clear off of a passing robo-waitress’s tray. Irritated with the distraction, Obi-Wan accepts it and drinks if only to make way for the words to follow. He will not let it go. Not now that he’d started. “I will always recognize you, Padawan Mine, drugged, beaten, or otherwise preoccupied— I will always—” “Drugged?!” Anakin cuts in again, arms tightening around Obi-Wan and strangling the annoyed huff at being cut again “You did not mention anything about being drugged, what the kark’ Obi-Wan?!”

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry, similar to how being drugged would feel. His mind swims and all he sees is Anakin. There’s warmth in his chest, there’s a burn in his gut, there’s a tug in his— 

“It’s hard to tell” he says sheepishly, embarrassed, eyes straying away from Anakin’s strong jaw and up, up to the lights on the ceiling. He should not be thinking of how Anakin’s proximity is enough to replicate a strong drug. How out of orbit he feels around him as of late. “They all start the same, so…” 

Anakin is hardly listening. Instead he is surveying the club with a look of fury that is bordering on homicidal, freeing one hand to rest it on his lightsaber. There’s the distinct feeling of Anakin stretching his force signature out, covering the room, no doubt attempting to locate anyone within their proximity who might have dared drug his former Master. Oh if only he knew that he was the culprit all along. 

Obi-Wan snorts, finding an odd sense of humor in it.

Anakin’s gaze darts back to him, sharp and accusing. He looks so handsome under the colorful, dim lights. He looks so… 

“Ah-nakin.” Obi-Wan sighs out and shuts his eyes lest his spinning head forces him to sober up in the most un-jedi manner.  

“Stay with me,” the request comes so easy, what was it that he was so afraid of? It’s so easy, too easy. Frighteningly so, to reach and touch Anakin’s forearm. There’s skin beneath his touch, warm and human, tense muscles beneath. “Ah” Obi-Wan sighs out in realization. Anakin had rolled the sleeves, so very unofficial for a Jedi and yet so very Anakin of him.

Master Windu would have hated it. It wouldn’t surprise Obi-Wan if this was exact reason why Anakin did it to begin with, after all, he was most adept to handling heat and was not bothered by it even while all else were. Obi-Wan really should have reprimanded the boy more often, should have stopped Anakin from executing all those harmless little vendettas of his while growing up.

If only he did not find them to be so endearing, so amusing. If only he was a better Master, a proper Master. He would have. 

His brain is foggy and he had already forgotten what was it it that he had hoped to achieve by touching Anakin, only that his fingers are circling his wrist and touching the spot at which he can feel his life pulsing. What a terrible habit it is, being intoxicated while negotiating. You should only ever drink enough to appear drunk, never more. How is he to get what he wants, when he has no ideas what it was? 

Obi-Wan’s eyelids are heavy when he tries to blink them open and focus on Anakin. There’s the signature frown, so familiar Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. Anakin is chewing his lips, a compulsion he had never managed to rid himself of. He looks torn between the need to locate and deal with the ‘enemy’, and…. Obi-Wan. 

The way Anakin looks, that should not be reminiscent of the targets Obi-Wan opts for charm as the main form of negotiation with. Should not stir the excitement of a hunt, of a game to be won. Obi-Wan should not use his looks to achieve his goals, he should not use them to get what he wants, he should be a better man than that.

Obi-wan is not a better man. 

Licking his own dry lips, he let’s go off of Anakin’s wrist and reaches for Anakin’s cheeks. There’s a tremble in the touch, his, Anakin’s? He is not certain. 

“Dear One, you can chase your enemies tomorrow.” He speaks in a hushed murmur, he hopes he sounds soft and alluring “Tonight, will you guard this drunk Master of yours?” he looks up, through his lashes, breathing shallowly, feeling hot, hot, hot all over. 

Anakin let’s go off of the lightsaber. It’s an answer enough to what he had picked. It still is deeply gratifying to feel the boy’s hand cover his own, guide it until he wraps his arm around Anakin’s shoulders. It’s an awkward angle, with Anakin being taller than he— he cares very little for it when Anakin wraps an arm around his waist. 

“Let’s go.” He is tight lipped and determined, guiding Obi-Wan out and into a speeder that is parked not far off. If Obi-Wan was even slightly more aware, he’d realize just how much attention the pair of them had draw, how all of the eyes had followed them out. Sometimes he forgets, how famous they had become during this accursed war. Sometimes, he is glad to not remember. 

Anakin is terribly efficient at getting them to the Temple. One blink of an eye they’re flying through the busy highways of Coruscant, the next he is tossed unceremoniously onto a bed that feels and smells familiar. His bed.

They’re in his quarters. Their quarters until very recently. He is breathing harder and he does not dare to think of why. If he does not think, it does not exist. He is self aware enough only to feel how disheveled his robes feel on his body, how messy his hair is, how hot his skin feels all over. He is a mess. 

“Dear one?” he questions. He refuses to acknowledge how his own tone drops, refuses to admit he is rolling his vowels in a way he knows thickens his accent in the most attractive of ways. He doesn’t know why he is flirting with Anakin Skywalker when the boy is barely out of his knighthood and is Anakin. His Anakin, his Anakin on whom he just looked in a way he really should not be looking at, through his eyelashes, with a heavy, wanting gaze. 

The redness of Anakin’s cheeks is evidence enough that he hears and understands the situation well enough. That he is very much aware of what his Master is doing. That he is… perhaps affected. 

Obi-Wan swallows, trying to push himself up to his elbows. He needs to sober up, he must tell him that he is merely jesting, that it is all a little tease, a little laugh, nothing more, just….

Anakin cuts him to it. Before he can excuse, or joke, or explain.

“Not while you’re drunk.” Anakin bites, sounding frustrated, lips swollen red from biting. Obi-Wan startles, surprised. 

What did Anakin just say? Imply?

Blatantly threw straight into his face, more like. 

Yes, but not while he is drunk.

Absurdly, a swell of pride fills his chest to the brim. Anakin’s manners and chivalry surprises him, pleases him. He had raised him well after all, he did not fail him, at least not in this.

His pleasure must bleed into the Force as Anakin regards him with a dark, baffled look. It’s so dark, most would find it intimidating, but for Obi-Wan it’s… dear. He can see the gentleness in that look, the care. There’s warmth in the force when Anakin insist on tucking him in, fingers methodical in the short, careful gestures. Tucking him in as if he was a child. Him, his Master. Former. 

Obi-Wan was tucked in only once in his lifetime, at least as far as he can remember. His first night in the Jedi Temple. So tense he was, so out of his depth, that the he was taken pity of, tucked in with a quiet promise of everything making sense soon. It helped.

It had never happen again. 

“Ahnakin.” he tries to protest, tries to pull a face of offended indigence. It’s hard to do when he is practically shining within the force. A single look from his apprentice is enough to quiet him down. 

“Master.” Anakin replies, and there’s a little eyeroll there. His cheeks are still flushed but he seems as determined as Obi-Wan to not address the Bantha in the room. “You really should be more careful” he lectures him in a way Obi-Wan can distinctly remember doing a few years back, when Anakin had gotten drunk for the first time. 

He leaves then, without a word. Obi-Wan’s throat closes and there’s a pang of pain in his heart. No this. He remembers now. Him. Leaving. That was the whole reason, that was why—

“Master?” Anakin sounds concerned, a glass of water and a container of what looks to be painkillers in his hands. “Are you sick?” a few strides and he is by Obi-Wan’s bed again, placing he glass and container at the bedside table. He looks well and truly worried. 

Unthinking, Obi-Wan sits up. So sudden that he does feel sick from the motion. He ignores it. He reaches for Anakin’s face with both hands, cupping his cheeks with a grip that is too strong, too desperate. A Jedi should not hold onto things with such fervor. 

All it takes for him to lean is to Anakin, is to stop resisting if only for a moment. Anakin’s pull was always there, stronger and stronger until it had become a daily challenge to ignore it, to pretend he does not feel it. All it takes is to stop resisting and his lips find Anakin’s, pressing against that plush softness, inhaling his exhale and finally, finally feeling anchored, inside the orbit he was always meant to circle.

He tilts his chin, leans in, knowing his beard will scratch pleasantly against the smooth jaw, kisses in deeper—

“Mahster—!” Anakin gasps into the kiss, a pang of shock and uncertainty clouding the force around them, sipping through the open nerves of their broken bond.  He does not want to take advantage of his Master, does not want him to end up hating him, does not want him to wake up and be disgusted, appalled— but he wants, he wants so badly. 

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan breathes out, unsure if it’s endearment of relief that fills him up with warmth, with lightness. One thing he is certain of, no one had ever been, or will be, as sweet, as kind, as dear as Anakin is to him. “I could never hate him.” There’s a drunken lisp to his voice, he needs a moment to correct himself. “You.” He manages, meeting Anakin’s eyes and not blinking, not wanting to miss a single moment. Wanting to see the exact moment in which Anakin realizes he is serious, that he is the most honest he’s been in years. 

Anakin seems to be realizing it too, his eyes widening and cheeks coloring a deeper red than before, he bites his lip.

“I might be…” Obi-Wan’s gaze drops to Anakin’s lips and he thinks about… “intoxicated…” he forces himself to look up, away from temptation, away from sin. “Drugged, possibly.” He is still not fully certain if he is, or it truly is just Anakin with a touch of alcohol. “But I am very much aware that…” he smiles before completing the sentence, it widens so much further with the words to come “…my Padawan simply cannot take advantage of his Master…” there’s really no need to be using this many terms of belonging, especially when they are outdated and irrelevant, but he just cannot… “On the contrary, I am the one who should be deeply ashamed for…mnnn-” 

Anakin’s lips quiet him up, he was never a patient listener, never could hear his Master finish a thought. This is the most effective he had ever been at cutting Obi-Wan’s line of thought, by far. He kisses him in a way Obi-Wan would have never guessed him capable of— it’s soft, sweet, patient. A tender thing, careful, loving. Obi-Wan gasps. Thinking, dazedly of how Anakin will grow to be an amazing lover, so attentive, a beast holding back his fangs in favor of gentle lips… 

The thought sets a burning coil of arousal deep in Obi-Wan’s gut.

Not good. Beyond not good. He should…. 

The thought is present and yet he licks at Anakin’s lips, asking for permission. He is granted one without resistance, without hesitance. Anakin’s lips part and he can taste him and oh, oh. Obi-Wan groans, muscles tensing as he shifts to sit straighter, moving a hand to Anakin’s nape and pulling him closer.

He nearly chokes when the boy sucks on his tongue, arousal shocking him into near soberness. 

“Anakin…” he knows, there’s not enough alcohol in the universe to convince him that this is not going too far, he knows and yet… 

He kisses Anakin again, a little hungrier, a little more wanting.

He must stop this madness. To think that he had started it, to think that he had taken advantage of his trusting, sweet—

“No, Master.” Anakin answers, and Obi-Wan wonders just how much of his shields is truly left if his thoughts can be read so easily, so plainly. “You’ve asked me to stay, and I will stay.” That assuredness is back, firm and leaving no space for argument. This is the same man who leads men on a battlefield, who commands, who leads. Obi-Wan finds it impossibly, undeniably, devastatingly attractive.

“You will sleep.” Anakin decides then, tearing his eyes away from Obi-Wan long enough to gesture at the lights, turning them off with the force. “And I will stay with you.” His eyes land back to Obi-Wan, dark mirth dancing in what Obi-Wan can still see of him. “To keep you safe, Master.” He is teasing him, the little devil.

“How will it even…” Obi-Wan doesn’t want to mention how narrow the bed really is, Anakin would know, with his constant complaints about how leg room and… 

“Don’t worry about that.” Anakin answers, confidence so cocky, so boyish that Obi-Wan huffs a surprised laughter, breaking into giggling when Anakin practically falls on top of him. They struggle like that, laughter mixing, limbs tangling, hair in a mouth and fingers against sides— Anakin captures him then, they’re on their sides, Anakin’s back is firm as he pulls Obi-Wan all the way to himself, forming….

“Absolutely not!” Obi-Wan’s voice raises and breaks a little, attempting to wriggle out of the trap he inadvertently fell into. There’s still some pride life in him. He will not permit this Jedi Knight, his former Padawan no less, big spoon him, 16 years his senior and former Master. Force be his witness, he will not allow it.

Anakin makes a suffering, exasperated exhale when Obi-Wan manages to slip out of his grip— only to be yanked back by the force. All he manages is a choked gasp of protest before the air is knocked out of him, his back hitting a firm chest a little too hard. There’s a vindictive sort of satisfaction in hearing Anakin chokes out a surprised exhale too, clearly, he did not account for the impact being this strong.

“Karkin’ hell…” he hears the boy muttering and snorts out, laughing even while Anakin wraps his mechno-arm around him, pulling him back into the not-as-offensive as before little spoon position. Fine, he thinks. He’ll allow it, just for this one night…. 

His eyes close and he shudders when Anakin’s nose press against his nape, he can feel the slow, deep inhale— can feel the content exhale that follows. 

“Finally.” Anakin breathes out, as if he was waiting for this moment longer than the few minutes  just now. Like he needed it, himself. Like it was not Obi-Wan, pathetic and alone, messaging his former Padawan while drunk beyond reason that led him here, but his own needs, own wants. Like he needed this too, him. Like he needs him. Obi-Wan. 

“Oh Force…” Obi-Wan calls upon it without realizing, without meaning it. Only the force can stand witness to this moment, judge it, measure it. Guide him, tell him right from wrong. “Force.” His voice trembles with it, realizing for the first time that Anakin does see him, in truth, does and still…

“It’s fine with it.” Anakin remarks, nonchalant, amusement coloring the timbre of his voice. “You don’t have to shout at her, I don’t think she like it very much” Anakin refers to the Force differently every time, Obi-Wan suspects he does it simply for the joy of throwing off the younglings.

It unsettles Obi-Wan as well, he will not admit that much, though. Anakin’s connection with the force was always stronger, always different than anyone else’s. If he’s saying that the Force is not finding this offensive…. Obi-Wan will trust him. Anakin enjoys messing around at times, stretching the truth about how the Force works, but he’d never lie about this, not to him. 

Obi-Wan’s body relaxes so completely that he practically sags into Anakin, relief, so much relief. It feels…. Good. There’s rightness to it that even without the Force humming pleasantly in his ears, he’d recognize. Like sharing a sleeping cot in the war zones, minus the blood and gore and pain… it feels secure, it feels…good…. 

He feels himself being lulled to what he suspects will be a long and restful sleep. Such a luxury as of late. “Mnh..” He jolts a little when a hand moves across his side, resting at his hip bone and then back up to his side. He should not permit Anakin this much leeway with him and yet…. He likes it… oh he likes it.

So he doesn’t comment it, allowing him to continue, to stroke him and care for him, and hold him. He is not leaving. 

Sleep comes ease, as easy as an inhale. One moment he is aware of all that surrounds him, the scent and warmth, the weight and touch. The next he is sinking into the open embrace of rest. Distantly, he feels the touch of a Force Signature he knows as well as his own. It is the only half of it, after all. Accepting it, is as easy as breathing too. 

There’s a distant shift, even in sleep he can feel the bond snapping back into place, like moons falling into a familiar route, circling a singular sun. Maybe it was not Anakin who was the sun around which Obi-wan was revolving all along, but their shared….

[themagicalghost]

Cog x toon ships