#i need to write more of these two

[demigods-posts]

imagine sally taking percy to montauk over the years. using the hours that he's asleep to sit along the beachside shore. remembering the nights she had with poseidon. basking in the delicate breeze on a soft bed of sand. stolen kisses under the moonlight. a love she never thought she'd find. and then her world came crashing like the tide. now all she has left of poseidon is a child he can't help her raise. but she loves percy with all her might. and they'll be okay soon enough.

and then imagine sally taking paul to montauk. using the hours he's asleep to sit along the beachside shore. remembering the nights she had with percy. making smores with blue-tinted marshmallows. the two of them staying up too late at night bingeing soap operas. a happiness she never thought she'd be able to provide for her son. and then her world came crashing down once more. now all she has left of percy is an empty bedroom and a missed phone call from the otherside of the country. but word from camp is that annabeth found him. and if that rings true. then they'll be okay soon enough.

[silverskye13]

For a hurt/comfort idea, how about the Red King treating Martyn after he gets back from the rooftop escapades with Tanguish? Poor guy is really not used to roof running and was probably all kinds of sore and bruised from the experience.

To say Martyn walked himself down the cells would be an overstatement of his ability, at the current moment. Being tired, hels, being exhausted were feelings he wasn't exactly used to, but was at least familiar with. Every warrior at some point pushes themselves a little too far and pulls a muscle or breaks a bone, and has to spend long hours recovering even after the health potion hits. But damn, the rooftop running was a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Martyn still didn't know how in the hels Tanguish had intended to keep running.

"Just two more streets and it's a straight shot to the Colosseum--"

Bullshit. Just two more streets and Martyn would drop dead, more like. Everything hurt now. Everything. Of course his arms and legs. But also his back, his ribs, his teeth and jaw. Bracing for impact -- and then actually impacting -- had jangled more than just his nerves. Also every time he took a step on his left leg, pain went shooting through his hip. Also his fingernails hurt. His fingernails. From gripping ledges and shit. Gods and saints, he hurt in places he didn't even know you could hurt! The heels of his feet felt bruised.

He was bleeding too -- no stab wounds, thank the gods. But he'd taken a cut to one arm, and a cut near his ribs where a stab had tried its best to be fatal and he twisted. The cuts were the easiest to deal with, oddly enough. He was used to that kind of harm from the Colosseum. Right now they itched, and made his clothes feel gross and sticky. They would sting when he cleaned them later.

Ugh. He didn't want to take a bath. If he sat down in the water, he really didn't think he'd be able to stand up again.

Martyn blinked, a motion that somehow made the back of his head ache. Stress maybe, or just the unharmed parts of his body getting jealous of all the complaining the rest of him was doing. In front of him, his cell door wavered in and out of focus, his tired eyes denying him sight unless he really, really concentrated. Martyn sighed and opened his door. Then he realized he couldn't open his door, because he locked it when he left. He tried in vain to remember the passcode for his key.

He couldn't remember the passcode for his key.

"Bloody hels," Martyn scowled and kicked his door, and yelped when he felt the kick travel all the way up his leg to sink hooks into his hip. He hopped on one foot, waiting for the tenderness to subside, only for his other knee to decide to stop cooperating. With an inglorious shout and tumble, Martyn crumpled to the ground in a heap of sore muscles and bitter bones.

"Bloody hels!" Martyn whined, drawing out the phrase into a howl that, while unhelpful, at least made him feel a little less frustrated. Martyn lay on the ground, taking some solace in the heat radiating up from the floor. It sank through his coat and into his bones, taking some of the edge off his soreness. He knew if he lay here too long, he would get stiff, and standing would become a crippling labor.

He couldn't bring himself to stand.

Martyn had resigned himself to his fate of sleeping in the middle of the hallway, when the tip-tapping of clawed feet pulled at his attention. Martyn didn't have to see Red coming down the hall. He would always recognize those footsteps. The odd incongruence of muffled paw pads and scraping claws was something that could only be his Lord.

Martyn tilted up his head to peer at Red as he came to a stop in front of his door. Martyn and Red's cells were side-by-side, and Red already had his hand resting on his door, long claws keying through the combination lock Martyn had insisted he keep locked when he was out. With the habit of long memorization, Red keyed it in, opened his door--

-- and stopped just as he took one step over the threshold. The long, wolf-like ears twitched and swiveled. He tilted his head, the blinding crown, pulled low over his eyes, glinting in the dim light.

"Am I really breathing that loud?" Martyn asked sardonically.

Red wrinkled his nose in a confused expression and looked down. He couldn't really meet Martyn's gaze with the crown on, but he nearly did.

"Me Hand," Red said, his voice a low rumble, "how come thee to the ground in our hall?"

"Just dropped something, my Lord."

"Aye? And... What be it that you have dropped, me Hand?"

"Myself, mostly."

Red snorted half of a laugh. Then he sniffed, and sniffed again, and asked, "Why do ye smell of blood and..." He gave another long sniff, his nose wrinkling at whatever the smell was. "Be that... roof tiles?"

"You're uncanny, you know that?" Martyn asked. When Red only waited patiently for a response, he added, "That would be because I got in a knife fight on a roof, my Lord."

"Me Hand."

"Yes, m'Lord?"

"Be ye possessed by a particularly knife-fond soul of a pigeon? Or be ye so bored with the errands ye run, that ye must make challenge for yourself?"

"I don't think that question deserves an answer."

"Need ye help, Hand?"

"What? Me? No," Martyn waved a dismissive hand, and even managed not to wince when he did it. "I'm just... Resting. Give me five minutes I'll be up, quick as a wink."

Red gave him a long-suffering sigh. He reached up to his iron crown, gently wrapping claws around it to begin lifting it away from his eyes. The moment his fingers touched the metal, whispering sprang to life in the air around them, and the lights in the hallway reddened. Martyn tried to get his arms underneath himself to shove himself upwards.

"Woah hey don't that's not-- you don't have to do that--!"

Martyn pushed up, let out an inglorious wince of a noise when his whole body shrieked its chorus of aches, and promptly fell back over into his side.

Red lifted the crown off of his eyes, pushing it back onto his head where it flattened his long ears uncomfortably. He fixed bright, glowing red eyes on Martyn, bloody tears drifting from his eyes to fizzle I to nothing in the air around his face. The whispering intensified into barks, growls and howls, noises that sat just on the other side of true hearing and made the insides of Martyn's ears itch and burn.

Red looked Martyn over, taking in his harms with a cold, eldritch stare. Red had a demon in him. Something to do with black altars and Hermits on death worlds and sacrifice. When the crown was off, the demon stalked forward, and Martyn could see it now, writhing behind Red's eyes, a caged and hungry thing made of teeth and claws and baleful intent.

"Me hand," Red hummed, his voice a resonant double as the demon barked and growled his words along with him. Martyn marvelled that such an evil thing could shriek behind his Lord's voice, and yet still couldn't lessen the depth of concern and care in Red's tone. "Do not hide your harms from me. Ye ken I would give ye the world if ye only asked it."

With that, Red stooped and gathered Martyn up in his arms. So close to the demon, Martyn felt like his bones were vibrating. He felt like, if he could listen hard enough, he might be able to hear whatever the howling thing whispered when it wasn't gliding along the edges of Red's voice. Curiosity compelled him to ask what the demon thought of him, what it whispered to Red in the dark hours sealed behind the crown. Mindfulness told him he already knew what the demon whispered. It was a suspicious creature born of fear, after all.

It was not the demon that carried Martyn into his Lord's room though, no matter how loudly it barked around Red's eyes. Martyn liked the way the demon made Red look. A long red smear followed his Lord when he moved, trailing him in phosphorescence that reminded him of neon signs leaking their plasma. Sometimes he thought something, and the thoughts would turn into visible sparks that danced and jittered like absentminded lightning, his very essence a long exposure ribboned across the world.

Martyn was so transfixed watching it, he didn't realize Red had brought him to his bed until he was being laid gently on it. Then Red reached up to his crown and lowered it over his eyes again, and with a final barking growl, the demon vanished off Red like it had never been. His Lord diminished before his eyes, small, weary and contained -- but more his Lord than he had been when the demon was awake.

"You're uncanny," Martyn said breathlessly, his voice full of adoration.

"I be only what I must," Red hummed, leaning down to kiss Martyn gently on the forehead. He smelled of blood and winter, and his kiss was cold. "And ye be resting where I can keep ye safe."

"Who's going to hurt me down here?" Martyn chuckled, though he sunk into Red's bed gratefully. He had the softest pillows in hels, of that Martyn was convinced.

"Perchance a stray roof tile may swear vengeance upon thee and thy household for thy offence," Red grinned. He lumbered to a dresser and pulled out a rag and some bandages, and after some feeling around the room, returned with a ewer of water as well. He helped Martyn to sit, and with great care removed his coat and shirt, and began tending to his wounds.

"You're not supposed to do this part," Martyn informed Red. "I'm supposed to take care of you, my Lord."

"Aye, but how will ye take care of me when ye be in pieces?" Red asked patiently. When he finished cleaning the cut on Martyn's arm, he kissed just above the spot. A ritual. Something to seal the healing. "Tend to me as I tend to thee, and if my care be lacking, me Hand, leave me to bleed, as I deserve."

"I would never," Martyn breathed, and he meant it.

Red finished cleaning the cut on his side, and kissed him there too. Martyn squirmed at the closeness of breath somewhere vital. He knew Red would never betray him -- it was not in his Lord's nature -- but the paranoid creature that made Martyn him screamed that he would be so, so easy to kill right now, and Red's claws and teeth were sharp. And, though Red would never dream of harming him while he was vulnerable, he was sure the demon would, if given the chance. The demon had done it before.

The demon was not the one who eased Martyn back into the bed, and drew blankets over him. Nor was it the demon that traced a gentle claw over his arm, drawing patterns and symbols into his skin as he hummed, and soothed Martyn to sleep.

It was Red, his Red, who curled up beside him when finally sleep took him, his head resting gentle on the hollow of Martyn's collar, matching their breaths. It was Red, his Red, who hummed quietly for long hours, and brought him cold compresses when he woke in the night too sore to stay asleep. It was Red, his Red, who kept him safe.

The loyalty of a dog and the master who keeps watch for it, Martyn would think, wry and sardonic, as sleep came for him again. I would rather be a hound than a squire, I think.

[dannypocalipse]

Ok, just imagine

Danny using his ghost powers to learn astronomy (and actually discovering new aspect of his powers w/out realizing)

(post with secret eheheh)

[badninken]

Sabotage

[valeriapryanikova]

ominous

(itsy-bitsy fanfic concept/idea/? under the cut)

[A page ripped out of a journal; the owner’s handwriting is messy and barely legible.] 

february, 29th

i'm surprised i'm not dead now.

yesterday, in the late evening, as i was painting, it started storming. suddenly and hard. one second the dark sky is clear from any clouds, and the next moment the droplets are pelting me with a surprising force. i rapidly abandoned my easel and canvas (not like there would be anything lost—the piece was dull and not working out the way i desired) in favor of seeking cover.

i was still near the village, on its outskirts, but just a bit too far from my house to reach it quickly before my whole being was drenched through and through. so i ducked into one of the huts, all of which stand empty, desolate… or so i thought, at least.

only once inside did i spot the dim, ominous, red glow of the overhead lamp; the sound of a muted conversation; the overwhelming sense of “wrong”, like i was not meant to be here. abruptly silence fell and two sets of bright eyes stared me down.

terror froze my body. i felt like a prey caught in between two predators, i could practically feel their jaws snapping around my neck.

the dredger slowly smirked at me, barring her sharp, sharp teeth. (since when are they sharp? i may not have crossed path with her often, but i swear i would’ve noticed if she had shark teeth before.) i did not stay to see if the fisherman would further react to my presence too. the control of my body returned, allowing me to let out a panicked apology for interruption and bolt out of the hut, running home at full speed.

it’s been hours since then. i couldn’t fall asleep. i’ve been up the whole night, haunted by fear. the scene of those two beasts in the darkness, ready to snap me like a twig for overhearing something (i don’t remember what exactly, all the horror of the situation evaporated all my thoughts), got stuck in my mind’s eyes. so i’ve been doing what i know how to do best—painting.

[Attached to the diary entry is a typewritten note.] 

That painter fellow is an impressionable and imaginative type. Needless to say, the actual interaction with the two fish merchants was likely a lot less… Dramatic.

The painter was reluctant to show me the painting mentioned in the last paragraph, but after some convincing I did manage to take a quick look on their recollection of the witnessed scene: it seems mostly useless for my research, but I noted down some details that might be of use in the future (refer to “AudioLog#143” transcript for more information).

Collecting data on “The Fisherman” continues to prove itself annoying. The subject is allusive: there’s not many sources mentioning him, and folk around here rarely witness him out and about. Currently the only lead I have is finding that one old newspaper article about the docks that, if I recall correctly, mentions him in an interview with workers. Perhaps, when I have time, I’ll try asking the collector from the other side of the river if he has a copy of that newspaper issue.

However, for now, I’m significantly more interested in “The Dredger” subject. There’s more than plenty info about her—I would actually say there’s too much info about her, all inconveniently inconsistent. In an attempt to get more reliable data I’m getting in contact with Mined since they have done scientific observation of this area and the people of interest. My request for access to their data has gone unanswered so far and, if shoving my anthropology degree in the faces of those bumbling idiots won’t work, I’m sure that that city nearby has enough hackers willing to do some dirty work for a pretty diamond.

I will get the data I want, one way or another.

[ryllen]

I saw a treyjade fic and thought of you

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63865795

oh, thank you! ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و♡˚₊‧⁺ ₊ ⊹ i love it. it's a good writing, it's really nice & easy to read.

please read it everyone else!

[lockandkeyblade]

Not so Fun Anymore

Gotham is good for a lot of reasons. Excessive amounts of death leading to a lot of ambient ectoplasm, a (mostly) quiet ghost population, and enough problems that Danny could have his slice of the Obsession with protection cake and eat it, too.

There's also Red Hood.

He's not exactly sure what the man is yet. Excessively Liminal or Revenant or some kind of halfa, but that is, admittedly, part of the attraction. Red Hood finds him when he's flying close to the roof tops of Crime Alley-- one moment Phantom is flying through the air, the next there's a hand around his wrist that slams him down into the concrete. Pinning him beneath a body that's got more bulk than his little undead body will ever have.

And... he's a halfa. In that moment, he is strictly more ghost than human, and what Red Hood just did? It's an invitation. An open house opportunity to have some tussles, communicate with the undead like he's used to. So he phases out from underneath the man, chuckling quietly to himself, and pins him right back.

This escalates. This escalates drastically.

Because Red Hood seems to have it out for him now. It takes Phantom far too long to realize that they aren't playing the same game, and by the time he does the Not A Game has culminated into being shot at and grabbed and pinned down the second Red Hood registers him in the vicinity.

He doesn't mind that part. He doesn't mind being held down with another man panting heavily into his ear, and he doesn't think Red Hood is protesting that, either.

But Red Hood seems to find him no matter where he is, these days. And it's still escalating. They're starting to fall off rooftops, several storeys at a time. And though the bullets are honestly useless, there's something... not good, when Red Hood solely aims for places that would likely down a human and stop them from getting back up.

It starts to become worrying. Then, it stops being fun. It stops being fun the day Red Hood comes across him in his human form.

At least he genuinely seems freaked out about the blood staining Danny's shirt, thanks to the bullet he just put in his shoulder.

[kizykoolors]

FINALLY, AFTER A TON OF SKETCHES and procastinating

My designs of Apollo and Hermes are finally complete!! Their designs were highly inspired by Wolfythewitch, Aniflamma ans Gigizets (i don't wanna ping them for this hajsva) and I am VERY proud of them, i didn't imagine myself to make designs like these and woah! I actually did manage to make banger designs!! :DDD

[blluespirit]

A thing about Zuko that is criminally under-talked and underwritten about is his absolutely dry sarcasm. Everyone hyper focuses on how he can’t tell a normal joke to save this life - true - but zuko’s strength is complete deadpan snark. In Zuko Alone when Li throws the egg at the soldier’s head and they think it’s Zuko and they keep pestering him and Zuko just stands there like 😑 maybe a chicken flew over. ICONIC!! The Boiling Rock when Sokka wants to take Appa and Zuko responds with oh yeah definitely I’m sure the most infamous fire nation prison in a VOLCANO will take care of him in their reputable sky bison day care centre 😡 or when they’re at Ember Island and Aang is spiralling abt murdering Ozai and poses his insane gluebending thought and Zuko’s like and then you can show him his baby pictures and that’s going to cure his chronic disease of being a fucking bitch🙄

[bunnieswithknives]

OH MY GOD??? HAS IT SERIOUSLY BEEN A MONTH????? I am so sorry guys

Prev | Next

[starscream-is-my-wife]

This is part 1 of a continuation for my other post where LL Megatron gets trapped in the G1 universe, I was thinking about how someone would go insane in this cartoon world and thought "what if Megatron had someone else to accompany him" so, I gave Starscream an existential crisis

Edit: pt 2 here

[annasofthe11thdimension]

Waltz

[catatonicatnap]

Huge spoilers for Ghost Trick endgame in the sprite edits below. Proceed at your own risk!

Sissel-as-Yomiel's sprites are really expressive, so it bothered me right from the start that his cat sprite really... isn't. Here's my interpretations of all his sprites in cat form! Can you guess which one's which? (I tell you the answers in the alt text, so it's not that hard of a game! 😅)

Bonus: I doodled little Sissels to draft what I wanted each sprite to look like and I'm just really happy I got to draw a bunch of cats.

[elliethefroggy]

What if Eddie had been a little less oblivious and had invited to Buck to trivia-karaoke night.

They’re all three going to hang out at the karaoke bar, and at first Buck’s nervous because Tommy is super cool, but once the trivia quiz actually starts, all the nerves go away, and Buck’s sponge of a brain has a chance to shine.

He gets question after question right, barely having to consult the two others. Eddie’s probably used to this side of Buck, but Tommy gets to sit there, mesmerised because not only is Buck exceedingly attractive but he also has brains (does Tommy have a competency kink? Who’s to say).

By the end of the night, Tommy’s probably forgotten all about trying to answer the questions, too busy watching Buck’s eyes light up every time he knows an answer (and those eyes light up an awful lot). Overall, the night goes well, and Buck’s amazing brain probably wins them a pitcher of free beer or something.

Because that night went so well, all three of them start hanging out more and more. Maybe Tommy somewhat discreetly suggests to Eddie that they invite Buck along, just so he has the opportunity to stare in Buck’s eyes some more.

But Tommy doesn’t do anything at about his developing crush, at least not right away.

Firstly it’s because Tommy’s trying to figure out just what the deal is between Eddie and Buck. Are they dating? Are they the most healthy divorced couple of LA? BFFs? Platonic soulmates? Not-so-platonic soulmates?

Maybe it doesn’t take him that long to figure out that those two are not together, but then he still needs to make sure that there isn’t some unrequited or very-requited-but-they’re-both-oblivious crushing going on between Eddie and Buck.

My guess it takes him a while to finally decide that they’re some flavour of queerplatonic life partners (he decides on this after a lot of subtle and not so subtle questions; Christopher is probably his most helpful informant).

(Realistically, Tommy would have probably just straight up asked one of them if they were together because Tommy seems pretty good at communication, but that’s no fun for me.)

But then, once he’s figured out that Eddie and Buck are definitely not a thing, he still needs to figure out what exactly Buck’s sexuality is.

Because, sure Buck’s only ever dated women and is such an ‘ally’. But Buck spends way too long looking at other men’s asses. Tommy notices this because he’s probably caught Buck staring at the same asses Tommy himself was just looking at (remember the hanger scene when Tommy very blatantly checks out Buck’s ass).

So now Tommy’s having to figure out just what Buck’s sexuality is. Is Buck gay? Is he closeted? Is he as straight as he claims to be? Is he repressed? Also what’s with all the flirting (because of course Buck’s going to be unknowingly flirting with Tommy; Buck just can’t help himself).

Eventually, Tommy and Buck are going to have some one-on-one bonding time without Eddie.

Buck takes him up on those flying lessons which means Tommy gets trapped in a confined space with Buck on a regular basis, having to deal with his growing feelings towards what can only be a golden retriever in human form. Buck is kind and sincere and so so earnest, Tommy has no choice but to fall for him.

But Tommy still doesn’t know where Buck’s sexuality lies, and he’s getting to the point where’s pulling his hair out in frustration, trying to figure it out. Because no way can a heterosexual man stare at Tommy’s lips that often. There is no straight reason for that, right?

He then makes the mistake of also offering Buck Muay Thai lessons.

He doesn’t realise his mistake until they’re both sweaty and shirtless. Buck looks very good sweaty and shirtless. But it’s fine, Tommy manages to cope, he just avoids looking at the large expanse of wet skin right in front of him. He’s not distracted by all that skin. He’s fine.

(Luckily, Buck doesn’t know enough about Muay Thai to notice how badly Tommy is fighting.)

Somehow they both get tangled up and they fall to the ground (I don’t know shit about Muay Thai). Buck lands flat on his back and Tommy ends up on top of him. Tommy goes to get off Buck immediately because Tommy’s not exactly light, but then he makes another mistake: just as he places his hands on either side of Buck to push off the ground, he looks at Buck’s face

Buck’s cheeks are nice and red (because of exertion? Because of Tommy’s close proximity? Both?), Buck’s breathing heavily, his breaths getting faster and faster the longer Tommy stays where he is. Buck’s eyes are near black, his pupils leaving only the thinnest band of colour.

Buck’s staring at Tommy, and Tommy’s staring at Buck. Then Buck once again glances down at Tommy’s lips as Tommy is lying over him, their sweaty chests pressing against one another.

And Tommy cracks.

He throws himself off Buck, getting to his feet, and crosses over to the other side of the mat to put some distance between himself and Buck.

When he turns back to look at Buck, Buck is still lying on the ground, now leaning back on his forearms, looking up at Tommy. Which is a sight Tommy would love nothing more than to see again.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Tommy says, “but are you really straight?” Which is definitely not how Tommy wanted this conversation to start, but sue him, he’s having a breakdown. “Sorry,” he repeats, “It’s just there’s been a lot of flirting and a lot of starring at my various attributes,” he tries again, poorly, “Not that I’m complaining; I would love nothing more than to have you stare at my lips and flirt with me for as long as you want. But I need to know where we stand before I lose my mind trying to figure you out.”

And the thing is, Tommy’s not the only one who’s been struggling these past few weeks.

Buck’s been dealing with these weird feelings towards Tommy since day 1. At first he just figured it was because Tommy was so cool (which he is), and then he thought it was because he was jealous that Tommy was spending so much time with Eddie, thinking maybe Tommy was trying to steal his spot in the Diaz household. But is wasn’t either of those things. Buck’s been wracking his brain for weeks, trying to figure out just what he was feeling towards Tommy.

And here’s Tommy, all sweaty and shirtless, so much glistening skin on display, and Tommy’s offering Buck a possible answer to all these feelings he’s been unable to name.

And what Tommy’s implying makes some sense. Buck thinks over all the instances he’s hung out with Tommy, compares his behaviour to the times he’s had crushes on women, and thinks maybe Tommy’s onto something.

Buck, who is a big believer of the scientific method of experimentation, figures there’s an easy way to test Tommy’s theory.

Buck slowly gets up from the mat as his brain goes into hyper-drive, processing the fastest sexuality crisis known to humanity.

Maybe Buck flexes a bit as he gets up because Tommy’s watching him and he’s always liked attention.

By the time he straightens up, the sexuality crisis has been dealt with and he’s ready to act on these newly revealed feelings.

He likes Tommy’s theory a lot.

“I have been staring at your lips a lot, haven’t I?” He says, purposeful flirty.

(Once again they have both been (knowingly or not) starring at each other longingly for weeks, they are both shirtless and covered in sweat, and had their naked chests pressed up together just moments ago; neither of them are thinking very rationally.)

And Buck (flirty Buck who made picking woman up into an art-form) walks/stalks over to Tommy, leaving enough room for Tommy to back away if he wants to.

“Maybe you should do something about that?” Buck suggests, and very deliberately stares down at Tommy’s lips.

Tommy knows they should have a more thorough discussion about where both of them stand, but he’s only one man.

Tommy closes the gap between them, places two fingers underneath Buck’s chin, and slowly leans in to finally kiss Buck.

The kiss lasts no more than a moment, not nearly long enough for either of their tastes, but Tommy needs to be sure that Evan’s sure.

“So?” he asks simply, fingers still under Evan’s chin.

“Yeah, definitely not straight.” And Evan leans in to kiss Tommy again. Tommy does not mind at all.

(They then spend the rest of their Muay Thai lesson making out.)

[slavhew]

boys cry. real men weep.

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

Occasionally I find it mildly annoying when Palpatine is posited as the one Anakin had always trusted the most, tbh. There's a noticeable shift in how he interacts with Obi Wan and Palpatine in between aotc and rots, and there's an obvious reason why: the events of aotc themselves. He and Obi Wan had plenty of friction, but they were still close, and Anakin did in fact confide in him in his grumpy teenager way. About his feelings for Padme, about his worries for his mother. It's after his trip to Tatooine that he turns to Palpatine instead.