zeizeizeizei

[zeizeizeizei]

I would kill to see some after sex Obi-Wan Kenobi...

I'm sorry but the Galaxy needs it so I'll be direct about thisssss!!!

He intends to enjoy the aftermath, thoroughly..

[zeizeizeizei]

Obi-Wan #4 - “The Sun Sets and it Rises” (2022)

written by Christopher Cantwell art by Madibek Musabekov & Sebastian Cheng

[zeizeizeizei]

I saw the best dream and needed to draw it with that brush i hate.

The banquet’s call declared “ceremonial garb of one’s homeworld required.”

Obi-Wan arrived cloaked in Stewjon’s sea-jade regalia while Anakin shone in Tatooine’s sun-gold silks—ocean and desert stepping into the hall side by side.

References fyi:

[zeizeizeizei]

I hate this brush just because of that i wrote flirty angst again.

[zeizeizeizei]

This armor...

If only this armor could speak...

Obi-Wan Kenobi | illustrated by Florian Bossonney

[zeizeizeizei]

This is golden. This made my day.

¡Breaking news!

[zeizeizeizei]

I call it,

The Lecture

Thank you very much

(I know I'm never going to draw them being happy and whole.)

[zeizeizeizei]

Can we have sassy Obi-Wan for skin care?

For skin care?

Pffthahaha ! There you go, with his inner dialogue as a bonus.

By every star in the sky, Anakin—there you stand, cracking jokes with Ahsoka while blood seeps through your robes, as if defying orders and courting blaster-fire were cause for celebration. I told you—hold the perimeter, wait for my signal—but the instant my back turned you vaulted straight into the crossfire, determined to save everyone but yourself; now each laugh you force out is laced with a wince you can’t quite hide, and it twists my stomach into knots.

So when the crowd disperses, I’ll take you by the elbow, steer you to the medics, and make it plain: bravery isn’t measured by how long you pretend pain doesn’t exist. You will let them treat you, you will rest, and you will remember that every heartbeat of yours is worth more than any victory snatched by reckless improvisation. I’ve buried enough in this war; I refuse to add your name to the ledger because you couldn’t wait ten bloody seconds for backup.

[zeizeizeizei]

everyone blame drunk me i think i just put anakin skywalker in a maid outfit-

[zeizeizeizei]

Your art is very beautiful!! May I request art of Anakin dressing pretty for Obi-Wan, in lingerie or maybe something suggestive 🤭

Hey, I wrote angst instead. Because why not.

Enjoy~

Mission briefing room on D’rayaan. The lantern light is low and golden. Obi-Wan is pacing by the holo-table, datapad in hand, reciting details of the infiltration. The flap of the tent rustles. Soft footsteps follow—bare feet on the matting. Obi-Wan glances up. Stops mid-sentence.

Obi-Wan:

…What in the Force are you wearing?

Anakin walks in slowly, deliberately. Silk sways around his legs like water. His chest is bare, a sheen of scented oil catching the light. Golden chains shimmer across his collarbones. His eyes are lined in deep kohl. His mouth is... smug.

Anakin:

Local tradition. I thought you'd appreciate the authenticity.

Obi-Wan stares. His mouth opens, then closes. He blinks. He’s gone very, very still.

Obi-Wan:

You look like you wandered out of a—pleasure house.

Anakin:

Oh? And you’re familiar with what they wear in pleasure houses now?

That lands. Anakin tilts his head, clearly enjoying himself.

Anakin:

Should I be concerned, Master?

Obi-Wan:

Should I?

Anakin:

Only if you’re going to faint.

Obi-Wan sets the datapad down a little too hard. Doesn’t meet his eyes. Fights to not look down again.

Obi-Wan:

This is a diplomatic infiltration, not a seduction. You could’ve worn a servant's uniform. Or something that covers your torso.

Anakin:

And risk blending in with the kitchen staff? No, thank you. My assignment is to navigate the upper palace quarters. You read the report.

Obi-Wan:

I wrote the report. I didn’t say you should go in half-naked and painted like—like that.

Anakin:

Like what?

Obi-Wan:

You know what.

Anakin:

Say it.

Obi-Wan glares at him. Anakin’s smirk grows.

Anakin:

Go on. Say it. I dare you.

A beat. Obi-Wan exhales. Frustrated. Flustered. His gaze flickers again—traitorous—down Anakin’s chest, the curve of his hip where the sash sits dangerously low. And then—absurdly, helplessly—he shrugs off his cloak and tosses it over Anakin’s shoulders.

Obi-Wan:

Cover yourself.

Anakin:

You are blushing.

Obi-Wan:

I’m trying to keep you from embarrassing both of us.

Anakin:

Mmm. That’s not what it feels like.

Obi-Wan:

Don’t flatter yourself.

Anakin:

Too late. You haven’t blinked since I walked in.

Obi-Wan steps forward now, barely a pace between them. His voice is low. Tight.

Obi-Wan:

What is this, Anakin? Some kind of test?

Anakin:

Call it... curiosity. About how far you’ll let me go.

They lock eyes. The air between them hums. Obi-Wan’s fists clench at his sides. He looks away first.

Obi-Wan:

You're going to get yourself killed.

Anakin:

Or finally noticed.

Obi-Wan:

Noticed? I’m sure from your tent to here, every single clone trooper and officer on this base noticed the way you walked in—draped in... in whatever that is.

Anakin:

And I didn’t mind. I don’t mind them noticing.

A beat.

Anakin (lower, softer):

But I mind you noticing.

Obi-Wan’s breath catches. His face—already flushed—goes crimson. The air between them tightens like a drawn cord. He tugs at his collar, suddenly aware of how suffocating his robes feel. How hot the room is. How much of Anakin’s skin he can see.

Obi-Wan (biting):

I notice. All right? I notice everything.

He steps forward. His hand shoots out, grabs Anakin’s bare arm—strong, muscled, warm to the touch. He drags him close, the silks rustling between them. Their faces now just inches apart.

Obi-Wan (voice low, trembling with fury):

If you don’t change right now—

He falters. The rest won’t come. The words lodge in his throat like fire.

Anakin (barely above a whisper, eyes locked on his):

You’ll do what?

Obi-Wan’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer at first. Anakin tilts his head, taunting.

Anakin:

Come on. Say it. What will you do, Master?

Obi-Wan's fingers tighten on his arm. And then, quietly—dangerously—he says it.

Obi-Wan:

I will burn every single person on this ground. Including the palace.

If one of them so much as touches you.

Silence. Anakin blinks. The breath he draws is sharp, shaky. That wasn’t a threat. That was a confession.

Anakin (hoarse):

You mean that.

Obi-Wan:

You think I don’t? You think I haven’t imagined it—watching them circle you like hounds, smiling, inviting, and doing nothing? I’m not that strong, Anakin.

Anakin:

Then stop pretending.

Obi-Wan:

This is not the time for this Anakin...

Anakin (quietly):

Then don’t send me.

Obi-Wan stares at him. And for the first time since Anakin walked in, he looks genuinely shaken. Something in him cracks, and when he speaks, it’s not cold anymore—it’s raw.

Obi-Wan:

Do you think I want to send you?

Anakin’s breath stills. Obi-Wan steps forward again—not to intimidate, but like a man pulled by gravity.

Obi-Wan:

Do you think I sleep when you're on these assignments? That I breathe easy? That I don’t imagine you dead in some alley or tangled in someone else’s force damned sheets?

Anakin (softly):

Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan:

You walk in here like a storm—painted and bare and glowing, and you think I can just watch? That I should just watch? You think I haven’t already failed by letting it get this far?

Anakin is silent. His face flickers—pride, guilt, something else. But he steps closer too. Close enough that Obi-Wan can smell the trace of incense on his skin.

Anakin:

Then say it. Say you don’t want me to go.

Obi-Wan looks at him like he’s been wounded. Then—quietly:

Obi-Wan:

I don’t want you to go.

A silence falls. No pretense. Just the truth between them, hanging heavy.

Anakin:

Then tell me to stay.

Obi-Wan (whispers):

I can’t.

Anakin:

Why not?

Obi-Wan (shakes his head, voice hoarse):

Because if I keep you here tonight… I won’t let you go tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or ever.

They just breathe for a moment. Close. Close enough to touch. But neither does. Obi-Wan’s hands are fists. Anakin’s are trembling.

Anakin:

Then I will go.

He steps back. Gathers the robe from the floor. Doesn't put it on.

Anakin:

But don’t pretend you’re sending a Jedi out there.

He turns at the doorway, eyes burning with everything they didn’t say.

Anakin:

You’re sending me, General Kenobi. And you know exactly who I belong to.

And he walks out. Obi-Wan doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stands there—alone in the heat, in the scent of incense and fading silk—burning.

[zeizeizeizei]

If requests are open and you’re cool with it, could I maybe request a doodle of Anakin kneeling (interpret that however you like 👀)—with Obi-Wan in the frame, looking... entirely unimpressed or smug?

(Obi-Wan is not there but his big fat presence is. Enjoy anon!)

The hallway echoed with sharp footsteps and silence between them—an execution march.

Obi-Wan’s grip clamped tight around Anakin’s arm, dragging him like a disobedient cadet down the temple corridor.

“Obi-Wan—”

“Not a word.”

The chamber door slid open.

Empty. Cold. Secluded.

He shoved Anakin inside. Hard.

Anakin stumbled—then Obi-Wan’s hand snapped forward, yanked him by the front of his tunic, and threw him to the ground.

“On your knees. Now.”

Anakin froze.

“I said now.”

He dropped—hard, gasping as his knees slammed the floor.

Then—fingers in his hair. A fist in his curls. Holding.

“You want to scream at the Council like a brat ?” Obi-Wan’s voice was low, lethal. “Then you’ll kneel like one.”

Anakin said nothing. Couldn’t. The room itself was pressing down on him.

“You disrespected Master Windu. You shouted over Master Yoda. You dismissed Master Kolar like he was a senator’s errand boy.”

Obi-Wan circled him.

“And then you looked at me. Like I’d fix it. Like I’d clean up your mess.”

He stopped in front of him.

“Look up.”

Anakin didn’t move.

Obi-Wan yanked his hair—just enough to make him obey.

“I said look up.”

Anakin lifted his eyes, trembling, wide.

“You will keep them there,” Obi-Wan commanded. “You will not look away. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan crouched down. Calm. Measured. Scathing.

“You haven’t earned a voice. You haven’t earned command. You’ve earned this.”

He gestured at the floor beneath Anakin’s knees.

“Say it. Say you don’t know your place.”

“I…” Anakin’s voice shook. “I don’t know my place.”

“Louder.”

“I don’t know my place!”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then stood.

“Oh, but I do.”

He turned away, just slightly—just enough for the words to hit harder.

“And this…?”

A pause. Cold.

“This is where you belong.”

His voice turned razor-sharp.

“Crawling. Kneeling. Against my boots.”

Then—finally—he released his grip.

Anakin whimpered. Quiet. Raw. But he didn’t break eye contact. Couldn’t.

“You wanted consequences? This is your consequence.”

Obi-Wan’s tone turned lethal.

“You will kneel here. Until I return. No matter how long that is. You will not speak. You will not move. You will not so much as blink unless I permit it.”

Obi-Wan walked to the door, slow and final.

“If you're still here when I return,” he said without turning, “we begin again. If you aren't…”

He let the silence finish the sentence.

The door closed.

And Anakin remained exactly where he was.

Kneeling.

Trembling.

Eyes fixed forward.

Chest rising and falling like something was still burning inside him.

He should have felt shame. Humiliation. Regret.

Instead—he was shaking.

With something hot.

Dark.

Addictive.

Something that curled in his gut and whispered that he wanted this.

Wanted more.

Wanted to misbehave again.

Just to be dragged back.

Thrown down.

And reminded of exactly where he belonged.

[zeizeizeizei]

Why do you have a different style in each drawing?

Hi,

A very good question.

Because I'm experimenting, trying to find my style among all the styles.

Pushing myself to draw hard and difficult pieces to improve.

I'm new. Completely self taught/still teaching.

Not very confident in my work.

Which is why I'm only taking requests at the moment, just to find something to sketch everyday.

[zeizeizeizei]

anakin told him how pretty he was today

[zeizeizeizei]

Medbay scene!!!!!

MEDBAY SCENEEEE

AAAAAAAaaaa!!!!!

Medbay. The sterile white lights buzz overhead. Obi-Wan lies on the cot, shoulder bandaged, face pale, eyes heavy with pain. Anakin paces nearby, arms crossed, fury radiating off him like heat from a lightsaber crystal. A tray clatters as he slams it down too hard. Obi-Wan groans.

Anakin (snapping):

“I told you not to go alone.”

Obi-Wan (tired):

“And I told you it wasn’t your mission.”

Anakin (whipping around):

“It became my mission the second they dragged you in half-dead with a huge cut on your side!”

Obi-Wan (through gritted teeth):

“I handled it.”

Anakin (furious):

“You almost died, Obi-Wan!”

“You didn’t handle anything!”

Obi-Wan (raising his voice despite the pain):

“I’m still breathing, aren’t I?!”

Anakin (voice sharp):

“Barely!”

A beat of silence. Anakin’s chest heaves. Obi-Wan closes his eyes, jaw clenched, trying to regain composure.

Obi-Wan (quiet, but firm):

“You’re smothering me, Anakin.”

Anakin (bitter):

“Forgive me for caring.”

Obi-Wan (snapping, suddenly):

“Caring isn’t the problem—it’s your obsession with control!”

“Hovering like I’ll disappear if you look away for a second—”

Anakin (cutting in):

“Because you might!”

That stuns them both into silence. Obi-Wan stares. Anakin’s face hardens, but his voice lowers.

Anakin:

“You keep throwing yourself into every fire like it’s your duty to burn. You don’t let me help. You don’t let me breathe.”

Obi-Wan (softly, but bitterly):

“You’re not my keeper.”

Anakin (stepping closer):

“Your keeper?! Force- Obi-Wan! No. I’m the one left behind to watch them carry you out on a stretcher. Again.”

Obi-Wan (pained and exasperated):

“I didn’t ask for this, Anakin. I didn’t ask for your grief or your anger. I asked you to trust me.”

Anakin (voice low, strained):

“I do. But I don’t trust the galaxy not to take you from me.”

Obi-Wan looks away, jaw tight, refusing to let the weight of those words pull him under. Anakin exhales, rubbing his face, then sits heavily at the edge of the cot.

Anakin:

“I’m terrified... Master."

Obi-Wan (finally, voice cracking with weariness):

“Then learn to live with it. The same way I’ve had to live with losing you… every time you ignore orders, or run off, or—” [his voice breaks, softer] “—or fly through fire without thinking.”

Silence. Just their breathing. The hum of bacta monitors. Neither willing to apologize. Both hurting.

Anakin (quietly):

“I didn’t come here to fight.”

Obi-Wan:

“Then stop acting like I’m your battlefield.”

Anakin (eyes narrowing):

Oh? And what happens next time? Or the time after that? Do I just sit by the comm, waiting for them to tell me you're dead?”

Obi-Wan (bitterly):

“If it spares you the same fate, yes.”

Anakin (growling):

“Kriff it! You’re so damn stubborn—”

Obi-Wan (sharply):

“And you are reckless, impulsive, and so consumed by your feelings you can’t see past them!”

They stare at each other. Breathing hard. Words hanging in the air like blaster fire that never quite landed.

Anakin (softer now, voice thick):

“I would burn this whole kriffing galaxy down if it meant keeping you alive.”

Obi-Wan (closing his eyes, head tilting back against the wall):

“And I would rather die than see you lose yourself to it.”

Anakin (barely a whisper):

“But you’re all I have left.”

A long silence. Obi-Wan opens his eyes again. The fight drains out of him like air from a cracked hull.

Obi-Wan (quiet):

“You’re not. You never were. You just... made yourself believe that.”

Anakin (stepping closer):

“Then tell me. Tell me to go. Tell me you wish to be rid of me. Right now Obi-Wan. Look into my eyes. Say it like you mean it. Say it, and I’ll leave.”

Obi-Wan (looks up, eyes shining—tears forming, through pain):

“… Anakin please ...”

Anakin (voice trembling):

“Then stop pushing me away.”

Obi-Wan exhales shakily. His hand reaches out—not to grab, just to anchor. Anakin takes it gently, sits beside the cot.

Obi-Wan (barely audible):

“Being near you makes everything harder.”

Anakin (without missing a beat):

“Being without you is impossible.”

[zeizeizeizei]

Heyaaaaa

I’m in need of a little mood boost—would you be up for writing some banter between two lovable idiot jedi?

Just something silly and lighthearted to make me smile.

💬

A rocky ledge above a river of lava. Obi-Wan is standing, scorched and tired, surveying the smoldering wreckage of a separatist droid outpost.

Suddenly—out of nowhere—Anakin swings back across the fiery chasm on a thick rope, grinning like a feral loth-cat with a trophy.

Anakin (landing with a flourish, striking a pose):

“Mission accomplished, Master.” [smirking] “Try not to look too impressed.”

Obi-Wan (glaring):

“You swung over lava. Lava, Anakin.”

Anakin (shrugging):

“And yet… here I am. Perfectly intact. Mostly.” [gestures to his missing robe and bare arms smugly] “The robe was slowing me down.”

Obi-Wan (exasperated):

“Slowing you down? It’s standard Jedi attire, not a weighted training vest!”

Anakin (grinning wider):

“Exactly. You wouldn’t believe how much faster I moved without all that fabric. Liberating, really. You should try it sometime.”

Obi-Wan (deadpan, eyeing him up and down):

“Yes, perhaps I’ll strip to my underlayers and leap across a pit of molten rock like a madman. Just as soon as I suffer a head injury.”

Anakin (crossing arms, teasing):

“Oh come on, admit it—you missed me. You thought I fell in.”

Obi-Wan:

“Briefly. And I’ll admit, there was a flicker of hope.”

Anakin (mock wounded):

“Harsh. And here I thought you’d be grateful. I just sabotaged their communications relay, shut down their main power grid, and stole their intel node. All with style.”

Obi-Wan (pinching the bridge of his nose):

“You also lost your lightsaber.”

Anakin (wincing slightly):

“...Temporarily misplaced. It’s in the river. But very dramatically.”

Obi-Wan (fuming):

“We’re not fishing your lightsaber out of lava, Anakin!”

Anakin:

“Good, because I already have a plan for that. See, I marked the coordinates and—”

Obi-Wan (cutting in):

“If this plan involves another rope and less clothing, I’m vetoing it immediately.”

Anakin (mock-pouting):

“You’re no fun anymore.”

Obi-Wan (dryly):

“I was never fun. That was your job.”

Anakin (stepping closer, tilting his head):

“Well, someone’s got to keep things interesting. You’d just meditate the mission to death.”

Obi-Wan (crossing arms):

“And you’d die trying to impress a wall.”

Anakin (mischievous grin):

“Only if the wall was watching.”

Obi-Wan (sighing deeply):

“Force help me.”

Anakin:

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Obi-Wan (muttering as he turns to walk):

“For what, exactly?”

Anakin (walking beside him, smug):

“For keeping you on your toes. Admit it, Master—without me, you'd be terminally bored.”

Obi-Wan (under his breath):

“And alive. Don’t forget that part.”

Anakin (laughing, bumping his shoulder playfully):

“Details, details.”

[zeizeizeizei]

🥵

[zeizeizeizei]

Can you draw me an angsty padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Pretty please?

🥲

There you go...

Obi-Wan stood stiffly at the viewport, jaw tight and eyes stormy as distant stars blurred past in hyperspace. He'd warned Master Qui-Gon—pleaded, even—but as usual, his Master had followed his instincts rather than the Council's guidance. Now, caught in the aftermath, Obi-Wan could barely contain his frustration. A padawan was supposed to learn from his Master’s example, yet here he was again, contemplating how to diplomatically smooth things over with the Jedi Council. He took a deep, measured breath, fingers curled into tight fists beneath the sleeves of his robes.