willowcrowned:

The great thing about Obi-Wan and Anakin is that Obi-Wan thinks “I’d die for you” is an appropriate confession of love and Anakin thinks “I’d kill for you” is an appropriate confession of love, but both of them are supremely horrified that the other person would ever say anything like that

liminal-zone:

I love to win.

“For me, across the prequels, through the original trilogy, there’s a love-story dynamic with these two that goes through the whole thing,” Chow says. “I felt like it was quite hard to not [include] the person who left Kenobi in such anguish in the series.” What intrigued her was the idea that despite what Vader had become, Kenobi might still care deeply about him. “I don’t know how you could not,” she says. “I don’t think he ever will not care about him. What’s special about that relationship is that they loved each other.”

‘Obi-Wan Kenobi’ show director Deborah Chow about Obi-Wan and Vader relationship.

kefalion:

This is for everyone who could use less things to worry about and some better sleep, but it is especially for @intermundia who inspired this by speaking of sleeplessness and his worries and because a tumblr post of his got a lot of undue bad attention.

I bring comfort by proxy of Obi-Wan and Anakin

I had a blast creating this. Working with moving images added a new dimension to the drawing that I really enjoyed. It’s probable that I’ll do more of it.

iamurako:

bi-wan:

Just one more kiss

Birthday countdown: 7/7!

Happy birthday to me!

Ko-fi

hanjinart:

midnight comfort sketch

demigoddessqueens:

You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you

merrysithmas:

the best thing about obiwan and anakin is that despite enduring EVERY SINGLE trope of utterly delicious yet soul-wrenching literary star-crossed agony, is that somehow, on top of ALL that, we know in irrefutable CANON they are happy together for all eternity in the force

intermundia:

fellas is it gay to bury your weapons together in a shared coffin box entombing the lives you shared while wielding those blades as complementary halves of a single warrior

My

starlight in a bottle boy,

burning up from the inside.

My beloved supernova.

Finally come to end it all?

Finally going to let us rest?

Solar flare,

don’t you dare

burn

our house

down.

Time can only

heal the entry wound of the

poison barb

you left inside me:

rotting love,

festering longing -

purple toxin living in my

blood.

Your hand in

my hand,

but

time struck and

you stumbled —

down,

down,

down —

oh,

were our shattered knees

and

scraped hands,

blood-tinged teeth —

were they worth it?

(Was it worth it to

clasp

our hands

so tightly that

one circle, two —

rings of fire,

surrounding us both

forever?)

My once known shadow,

but my forever estranged enemy,

held me so tenderly when I gave him what he longed for:

goodbye.

You love that little blade:

cradle it’s handle oh so gently.

Sing it soft songs to sleep.

Warm it’s metal with your rest laden body.

You love that little blade -

even when it cuts.

Have you ever loved in scales?

Perfect balance?

Perfect symmetry?

Each step mirrored -

where one goes, the other

follows?

The smallest shift in weight can

jar the balance -

a breath,

a kiss,

a tear,

a moment.

A clang as joints disband.

A crash to the floor as you

spin out of orbit.

It will never be the same.

You will never be the same.

But -

But,

once,

you were lucky enough to

love

in scales.

Once,

you were whole and

perfect.

Oh,

sweet memory,

the icy blade between my

bones.

Oh, sweet love,

the ailment lingering in my

blood.

Oh, sweet agony,

burning through my

lungs.

Oh, sweet lover,

lost from me

forever.

Oh, sweet sadness:

eternal companion and

penance.

And he saved you from

disaster and ruin,

your beautiful fire-starting boy.

The flames he lets lick your

salt-soaked remains

don’t change that.

Many times,

he saved you.

Many times.

(It only takes once for

destruction

to lay waste.)

(It only takes

forever for a

heart to break.)

Carved your name into my

cold bones

and was stunned when you showed yours:

pristine.

Something tender,

something sweet;

loveliness found in

rotten meat.

And what of falling stars,

and crashing waves?

What of split tectonic plates?

What of

you,

me,

us,

and the yawning chasm

between?

(Do you still say my name like

the only

prayer

you’ve ever

known?)

And I wonder when I’ll stop

seeing your face

in every

tragedy and

betrayal.