#seriously i love this guy design so much

[rainingcatsandjune]

guy finally becomes a REAL MAN || honey teaches guy how to saw wood

guy design heavily inspired by @pycth your guy is so RAJFSJFBFNFF 🥹🥹🥹 its 100% how i see him

(OG video: unus annus' "Ethan finally becomes a REAL MAN" rip unus annus)

[mimimar]

i've been completely charmed by witch hat atelier♡

(art prints)

[qui-gg]

I have got to release these gijinkas already or i’ll go insane. AAHHH finally have an oj a taco and a nickel.. i fixed mic up also

[quicksilv3r]

guys i LOOOOOVE her SO MUCH. i really cant wait to see her in the game and im super sad the update comes out while im at school 💔

[slasherflicks999]

I am the only one remembers Crosshatch Creepypasta. Look her up, I felt like she is one of most forgotten Creepypasta characters. I do miss some digital and gaming creepypastas. TwT

She is like female Ben Drowned lol.

i swear i feel like i saw her on amino once in middle school or something she looks SO familiar but not enough to confidently say i knew who she was before now

SHE DOES LOOK SO COOL THO i appreciate i appreciate :o any BEN adjacent character honestly gets an automatic nod of appreciation tho LOL

if you have ever played or heard of the game OFF…. her design reminds me a lot of it

so hyped for that game to come to switch btw TOBY FOX IS GONNA BE ON THE SOUNDTRACK IM DEAD /POS

[the-girl-who-didnt-smile]

(Scrapped Concept) Maman la Vie

This is the last time I’m planning to draw this character, and her male counterpart, as they were both conceived in poor taste. 

Lengthy explanation / rant below cut: 

WHY THIS WAS A TERRIBLE CONCEPT FROM THE START

Long ago, I grossly mischaracterized the real-life Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte like so: 

…In the actual mythology Baron Samedi is like a womanizer who is cheating Maman Brigitte all the time. Maman Brigitte is also really promiscuous…

…In Voodoo, Maman Brigitte is portrayed as a white or light-skinned biracial woman because Maman Brigitte is the only one of the Loa that is European in origin, not African…

OOF! I CRINGE!!!

In all seriousness, the above is an incredibly offensive mischaracterization of the lwa. 

Let’s start with Baron Samedi: I confused him with a different category of spirits, called “Gede”. The male Gede are known for being overtly sexual, but it is not because they are adulterous lechers. They celebrate sexuality because sexuality is the process by which life is created, for death is entwined with life. They also do this for the purpose of mocking social hierarchy - namely, the race/caste system that emerged out of chattel slavery. Zora Neale Hurston describes this at length in Tell My Horse. The reason why the Gede wear top hats actually pertains to this. The Gede are often portrayed as dark-skinned, for they are the spirits of enslaved people. Hence, the favorite spirit of the Black peasantry adopts the dress of the white slave-owning class - the top hat - for the purpose of mocking this social hierarchy. Their overt sexuality also serves this purpose - to alienate the white upper class.

My description of Maman Brigitte is yet more egregious. She is not promiscuous at all, nor is she Caucasian, biracial, or light-skinned.

Here is how the lwa are portrayed by the master painter, Andre Pierre:

Pierre portrays the lwa with a range of skin tones, where some of the lwa (e.g., Ezili Freda, Damballa Wedo) are portrayed as lighter skinned. Maman Brigitte is shown next to Baron Samedi in the bottom right corner.

Here is closer shot of Maman Brigitte, alongside Baron Samedi and Gede Nibo:

Maman Brigitte is portrayed as dark skinned, with the same skin tone as Baron Samedi and Gede Nibo. Additionally, she is not promiscuous, but a dignified and reserved older woman. 

Andre Pierre is not the only Haitian artist to portray her in this manner. She is consistently portrayed this way by Haitian artists, such as Gerard Paul: 

And Roudy Azor: 

Eziaku Atuama Nwokocha describes Maman Brigitte (Gran Brijit) like so: “Gede, like all lwa, has many incarnations, including Bawon Samedi, a guardian of the cemetery; Gran Brijit, an old woman, keeper of the cemetery, and Gede’s partner; and Gede Nimbo, a male spirit who is often honored by queer ­people and who appears as an effeminate dandy.” (p. 37)

Elsewhere: “Gede’s delighted embrace of sexuality is an undeniable display of male desires. The spirit manifests in multiple genders, like his female counterpart Gran Brijit, but only the male version are so explicitly sexual. No female deity in the Vodou pantheon expresses sexual desires so emphatically or bluntly in a ceremony. There are female spirits who are coy, mysterious, vengeful, or wise, but not one proudly proclaims her sexual desires…” (p. 39-40)

Much like her male counterparts, there is a lot of nuance to the portrayal of Maman Brigitte’s sexuality (rather, lack thereof). This too pertains to the history of slavery and the manner in which racism is gendered: “During the centuries of enslavement in Hispaniola, enslaved Black women were subject to routine sexual abuse from White enslavers and others with the power to dominate them. To justify this commonplace brutality, Black women were constructed as hypersexual temptresses and prostitutes who were always available for sexual conquest...To combat the construction of Black women as hypersexual, their sexual desires were ignored entirely, characterized by reductive binaries that placed whores on one side and good, chaste Christian women on the other: there was no room for the actual desires of real women."

Source: Nwokocha, Eziaku Atuama. Vodou en vogue: fashioning Black divinities in Haiti and the United States. UNC Press Books, 2023.

Hence, my description of the lwa was incredibly offensive. I read it from a source that turned out to be not reputable. I apologize for being so careless in my research. 

I do not know why the portrayal of Maman Brigitte as a White or Half White woman has persisted in the public consciousness. Surely, it is because it reinforces racist stereotypes of Black men and colorism against dark skinned Black women. But I think it is also because her name sounds so similar to the Celtic Saint. This does not mean that she is White. For example, the name “Baron Samedi” sounds European. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he is French, as “Samedi” is a French word. But the “Samedi” in “Baron Samedi” is distinctly non-European in origin. It is either derived from the indigenous term Zemi, or it is African in origin. Similar statements can be said to the lwa that arrived in New Orleans; Damballah became “Dani Blanc”, Ogou Feray became “Joe Feraille”, etc. Vodouisants were forced to Europeanize the names of these ancestral deities, who can trace their origins back to Africa. I remain uneducated about the true origins of Maman Brigitte, and it is something I have been meaning to research.

A while back, I spoke to a guy from Haiti on this topic. He got really ticked off and started talking about how terrible portrayals of Baron Samedi and Gran Brijit are. One of the main things he emphasized was how they play into fucked up, racist stereotypes of Black people. He got so pissed off I never got a chance to get to the root of the matter. Now that I’ve taken the time to research this more carefully, I realize just how horrendous the mischaracterizations are. Incredibly offensive descriptions are written in books, which turn into characters in various media that perpetuate these stereotypes. Just look at how common it is to see Baron Samedi portrayed as a lecher, and Maman Brigitte portrayed as a Caucasian or biracial woman! I didn’t fully grasp the gravity of what this man was trying to impress on me, until now. I completely underestimated the volume of misinformation that exists, and the appalling degree to which Vodou has been disrespected. 

I really cannot stress this enough: The lwa are comparable to Catholic Saints. They are not these Satanic demons, and have only been mischaracterized as such due to the demonization of African religions that is rooted in the history of slavery. As far as I can tell, Baron Samedi really is one of the most misrepresented of the lwa; so is Maman Brigitte. Should they ever be put into Hazbin Hotel, I think it would be best to pay tribute to the great Haitian painters of the 20th century. To do otherwise is deeply disrespectful to people in New Orleans, Haiti, and other places in the diaspora. But perhaps this whole endeavor illustrates why it is a mistake to put either one of them into the show - that it does cross the line into cultural appropriation.

My depiction of the “Maman Brigitte”-type character and her male counterpart for sure crosses the line of cultural appropriation... It’s. SO. BAD!!!! I for sure deserve to get canceled for this one… Hence, I intend to correct this egregious error. 

I might not have communicated this well in my previous post, but this is my intention: I have no plans to proceed with the old concept of “Maman la Vie” or “The Baron of Death”. This is the last time I plan to draw either one of them. I want to proceed with what I have been calling “the alternate concept” (i.e., “Baron of the Dead” and “Gran Maman”). I want to swap this “alternate concept” in, and move the old concept into a scrapped folder. If I had the time, I would for sure just go back, redraw old drawings, and delete the old concept. Unfortunately, I work full time, so I probably do not have time to do this. But the old concept bothers me so much, if I have time I will go back and fully redo this. In the meantime, my plans are to develop and proceed with the “alternate concept” (i.e., “Baron of the Dead” and “Gran Maman”). At minimum, I want to draw both of them at least once and refine their character descriptions. These would be moved into the main folder, replacing the old concept.

I hope that makes sense… it probably doesn’t…. Sorry, my brain is tired and communication is not my forte…my creative process is a hot mess and the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma…

ACTUAL IMAGE DESCRIPTION

I still drew her one last time because she is very fun to draw. I would be lying if I said I did not love this character on some level… Her personality is so outrageous, it is really funny to me. This tiny, under 5’ woman is the craziest sexual sadist in all of existence…!

In my brain, this makes so much sense. If you’re the immortal goddess of life who can heal any injury… your mind probably would go to that place, wouldn’t it…?

But yeah. This was totally conceived in poor taste…just, just start firing nukes at me!!! However, I love this character too much to completely scrap her, so instead I am going to reinvent her as a demon. A character with this personality clearly belongs in the setting of Hell. It’s so easy to just turn her into a demon, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this from the start. 

That demon character is named “Lavi”. I guess these outfits would be outfits she might try on if she were to ever assume a human disguise… But she would probably only wear them briefly before stepping into a discount Harley D. Quinn fit. 

The dress on the left is inspired by Nina Kristofferson as Billie Holiday. The dress on the right is inspired by a dress worn by Josephine Baker on May 5th 1953, when she appeared as Flower Girl at the Famous Charity Ball of the "Little white Beds" held at the Moulin Rouge, Paris. At that, I totally think someone in the cast of Hazbin Hotel has got to be styled after Josephine D. Baker herself - ideally, Alastor’s mother. I like that idea so much, I’m actually tempted to try to draw my take on canon Alastor’s mother…

[scriv3lloirl]

HELLOOOO ALL!!

I come bearin Kitt Todd art cus I know how much y'all love them, plus I was in th' mood t' draw them a bunch. (Thank you MSI fer bein what I listen too while drawin.)

I have plen'y of Kitt lore here—it isn't 100% historically accurate.. but I'm tryin here. History was nev'r m' favorite subject.

Feat. Pre-trans Kitt n their four younger siblings.

Tfem goals tbh

I know it says "9 years old" in th' first drawin—but I meant t' write "10 years old" whoops. I fuck up ages quite a lot here lol

Not m' favorite drawin I've done; fucked up th' face.

Kitt (Todd) is the eldest of five!! They were born in 1926, a few years b'fore The Great Depression n all'at.

Their parents are neglectful. Wit their mom sufferin from severe Postpartum Depression n their father nev'r bein home cus of work, th' responsibility of raisin their siblings was left on their shoulders. They were only six.

Douglas n Todd are best friends!! They met when Todd moved into a trailer home/park down in the South (sometime durin the 1930s) fer' their father's work.

They were both each other's first crush!! They were some of the older kids on the lot (who didn't have t' work yet) so they gathered a lot of the kids t'gether n they all had fun.

When Douglas was 12-ish he moved out of the park n t' a different state cus his father found a better job elsewhere.

Finally th' siblings!! (In age/birth order)

First is Kitt, who we all know n love. They're the (Oldest; age 34—they/them pronouns. Transfemme Non-binary, Gay.)

They legally changed their name t' Leslie in order t' start a new life after gettin out of a horrifically abusive relationship. (That ex is th' reason why they became a sex worker in th' first place. (They've been in the Sex Industry since they were 18.))

They moved away from their family, out of th' South, when they turned 22—b'fore endin up in Skid Row (age 26.)

They started workin at The Gutter (age 30) as it was the only place that'd higher "someone like them." There they met Audrey, who is one of their best friends, n, eventually, their love interest, Orin.

Second is Eugene. (Second Born; Age 32—he/him pronouns. Cis Male, Heterosexual.)

There's not much t' say bout Kitt's other siblin's, mostly cus I finally started thinkin bout them more a few days prior. But he's a door-to-door salesman.

He has a wife named Kathleen n a daughter, Tamsin. They're expectin a baby boy soon. (Named Archie)

Third is Lester!! (Middle child; age 31—(ignore how it says 34. It's wrong)—he/him. Cis Male, Panromantic Asexual.)

He's a hippie n he's pretty cool. Th' only kid that still keeps in contact wit Kitt after all this time.

Last are the twins.

Virginia (Second Youngest (but older by two minutes); age 28—she/her. Cis Female, Biromantic Heterosexual.)

She's works at a hair salon as a stylist!! She's single and own a pet cat name Jewels.

An'

Constance (Youngest; age 28—she/her. Cis Female, Heterosexual.)

She works as a school teacher, n is engaged to a pilot named Herb Brewer. She's already expectin a baby, who they hope to name Peter (or Polly.)

I feel like I should mention that I nev'r came up wit a family name fer' these guys.. uhhh... I guess suggestions are open fer that?

If there's any misspellin's or anythin.. ignore it. I've been drawin n starin at a phone screen fer th' last 10 hours lol

[sweetandglovelyart]

I attempted to make a Taranza AMV because I like this song and I thought that it was fitting for him. The song is I Want to Be Your Boyfriend by Hot Freaks.

[kubota-crackhead]

brainrot

[the1trueanon]

thinking about how Sage/Rosemary's plant motif and gardening connection started out as an aesthetic choice, but have actually grown into being very strong symbolism for how Rosemary is meant to represent life and being lively and being alive versus simply living

because Rosemary is meant to encompass the idea of being human and being alive. while Sage is like everyone else and is very much simply living, her general character being muted and soothing and just existing, Rosemary is designed almost as an exact foil for Wally. where Wally is unsure of expression and emotion and doesn't quite grasp it all, Rosemary is extremely emotive and lively, almost to an overly animated degree. BUT! Rosemary isn't just animated, like the other puppets are. she isn't just bouncy or excitable, or gets frustrated at simple problems. she has crises. she goes through human struggles, as a soul who once was human. she knows what death is, but is grasping to understand her own. she's unpredictable. she's happy and enjoying time with her friends one day, and unable to leave her house from the crushing weight of everything she's experienced the next. she puzzles through existentialism. she doesn't just feel happy or sad or upset, she gets depressed and anxious and lost. Wally can't predict her, he can't tell how she'll react (which I 100% think he can for the others. he's too observant not to, observation is his whole thing), he doesn't understand but he wants to.

and what makes all that even better is she doesn't just go through these things alone, she talks them through with the others. she shares it, she lets her emotions and experiences and overall livelihood overflow into the others. she's so full of life that she passes it on to characters who, frankly (hehe :3), shouldn't have been touched by it previously. and yet by sharing it, she doesn't hurt them more, but instead ends up helping all of them understand and reason through the -- honest to the puppet gods horrifying -- breakdown of a world that once was simple and happy and innocent and safe. they mature with her, and she somewhat unwittingly acts as their guide through that (WHICH. ANOTHER FOIL MOMENT. BECAUSE WALLY IS ROSIE'S GUIDE THROUGH THEIR WORLD AND THE TWO'S ABILITIES TO REACH OUT BEYOND IT).

and I've always loved having that idea brought up, about Rosemary being so lively. "You're so full of life" -- practically the most accurate way to describe Rosemary at any state of being (and, ironically, spoken by Wally, who again, I unwittingly ended up making Rosemary a sort of foil for). She is meant to symbolize life, she and Sage are meant to be this sort of "living vs. alive" thing, where neither is bad but its obvious how different they are! and I just! the idea of Sage, a character essentially set to be a sort of vessel for this human who brings this idea of truly being alive to these guys who desperately need it in a time where just living isn't enough to brave whatever horrors are coming for them now, also bringing things to life as her job and aesthetic is just!! augh, it's such nice symbolism and even a nice lil taste of foreshadowing maybe?? and I love it so much!!

and like! genuinely this all kicked of subconsciously and I didn't start connecting it until I thought about trying to maybe change Sage/Rosemary's motif (which, tbh, I started thinking about because I've designed her Reboot AU version (who I'll be sharing soon ;3 wanna get a good collection of doodles to share with you guys before doing so), who instead has a fashion aesthetic instead of plants. I'm not sure why yet other than I like it and I've been influenced by the dress making videos I keep seeing lol)! and I realized that I genuinely can't because it's not just aesthetic anymore! it's ✨symbolism✨!!

ANYWAYS I REALLY FUCKINNG LOVE THIS PROJECT AND I LOVE CLOWN AND THEIR BIG BRAIN AND I LOVE MY LIL RABBIT AND I LOVE EXISTENTIALISM AND I LOVE SYMBOLISM AND CHARACTER DESIGN AND IM SORRY FOR RAMBLING ABOUT IT FOR A REALLY LONG TIME OKAY BYEEE 💖

[meadow-mellow]

Made a Soud OC from the ongoing comic Unsounded by @unsoundedcomic (if you like well written and complex characters with nuanced morality, extensive world building and lore, unconventional magic systems, realistic nations and governments, etc Check it out ASAP! I do caution new readers to look into trigger warnings since the content is PG+15.) Here's a little info drabble I cooked:

•| 1st Cousin Adrian Tolbert[6ft - 32yo] Wavy, Golden with light/dark blonde highlights, slicked back, short beard/Kaki green eyes (dead fish eyes? Resting bitch face). Is the one who taught his Nephew how to fight with a Polearm and two-handed sword, had him under his wing (Urien was 10yo when he started training seriously with the objective to latter join the army of the Temple of Song, guy beat that kid blue and purple without restraint, bet he got a bunch of concussions too). Is now working at the Temple of Wind (moved out of Durlyne), hasnt visited in a while (7 years). A stoic man almost bordering on dispassionate? hmmm… He is quite wily though. If he knows he can get away with it, he will be underhanded. Does genuinely like Urien. Would kill him in a hearbeat if he ever stepped out of line.

[logansdoll]

hammered

you get a little too turnt during girls night, and logan comes to your rescue.

CW: heavily suggestive, profanity, Logan's your white knight, Ororo's gettin lit, men are creeps, you're actually drunk as a skunk, etc.

"You guys got together?! Why didn't you tell me?!" Ororo gasped, loudly, sitting up straight in her seat.

Your brows furrowed, eyes widening at her volume, a few passing party-goers sharing concerned looks.

"Say it louder. I don't think the rest of the city heard you..." you grumbled, face burning as you took a sip from your strawberry daiquiri.

She sat next to you on the little leather couch situated at the back of the club near the bar, which had began to trickle with activity.

The three of you had been there for only about thirty minutes, the buzz of the night starting to pick up, the dance floor packed with dancers and drinks flowing.

And the eyes, still staring.

"Ignore her, (n/n)," Jean smiled, kindly, as she rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I think it's sweet you two took it at your own pace. It shows how serious you both are about this."

The three of you were having easy conversation, drinking and gabbing about whatever came to mind, when you and Logan were suddenly brought up.

And Ororo nearly died of shock when she found out you two were official.

"And speaking of seriousness... I believe we have an audience..."

Another group of three in particular, whose gazes were piercing you and your friends from across the way.

The three intense pairs of eyes belonged to three men in their best designer.

They each had their own outstanding feature: the tallest one sitting on the right had long, black hair, while the one on the left had arms roped in tattoos and lip piercings, the final one having a buzz cut and a snaggle-toothed smile.

Their lustful stares all but ignored by the two sitting next to you, your mind preoccupied with downing your second daiquiri that soon turned into a third.

You barely paid the men any mind, already knowing a man ten times hotter than all of them combined.

You actually missed him a whole damn lot.

You both were supposed to have a date night, but he got called last minute to round up Rogue and her friends who were causing havoc at some far off arcade.

So the girls dragged you out to the club, much to your protest.

'The kids just had to choose tonight of all nights...'

Ororo scoffed, gulping down another jell-O shot, "Waiting on him to come?" she chuckled, the flashing club lights making her light eyes sparkle.

You flushed in your mini dress, feeling hot despite the blasting AC and your exposed skin.

"You'll be waiting a while," she sighed, crossing her smooth legs over one another. "I heard Scott over the phone... those kids are in serious trouble."

You'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed that he wasn't there, resting his hand at the small of your back, giving you those lustful stares on the dance floor, and complimenting your outfits in his own Logan way.

You'd done so much to make sure you looked hotter than hot, too.

You had raided your closet and pulled out a short, backless mini dress that made your legs look longer and showed off the curve of your spine sliding down towards your ass.

You loved, loved, loved it—how beautiful the black fabric looked against your skin; how sexy it made you feel.

Not to mention it was one of Logan's favorites.

He'd torn it off you many times.

Combined with your stiletto heels, fresh mani-pedi, the perfume adorning your wrists and the back of your knees, and hair that gracefully caressed your shoulders, you felt like a damn vixen.

Ororo sat up, taking your hand in hers, "No sense in sitting around while you wait, eh?"

She smirked at you, mischief in her eyes.

"Let's dance."

You paused a moment, hesitant.

But in that instant, those three daiquiris hit you like a truck, and all inhibitions went out the window.

'Fuck it.'

You stood up, chugging the last of your drink before taking her hand.

"Let's do it."

Famous last words.

Smoothly, you glided your fingers up your body, swaying your hips in rhythm with the beat as Ororo danced with one of the men.

You two had been dancing so well, you called the attention of the entire club. And with you about seven daiquiris in, it felt as if the music was coursing through your veins and melding with your bones.

The men of the establishment were hounding you both relentlessly—Jean having escaped to the bar to strike up some friendly conversation with the bartender—and even with your inebriated state, you fought them off vigorously, smacking away hands and returning advances with a sharp tongue.

Though the novelty was beginning to fade, and the urge to go home had began to set in.

As if on que, your phone began to buzz, taking your attention away from your thoughts.

"Hold up! I'm getting a call!" you laughed. "I'll be right back, 'Ro!"

She gave you a wink before you went stumbling off the dance floor, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You decided to go to the nearest ladies' room, leaning against the wall where the long line started, before flipping open your phone.

You looked down at the caller ID, grinning to see the name of your favorite guy on the screen.

"Heyyyy, Logan," you sang into the phone with a drunk giggle.

"There you are," Logan let out a sigh of relief from the other side of the phone. "I've been tryin' to reach ya. I just finished roundin' up the kids and droppin' 'em off back home, so I'm free for the rest of the night if ya still wanna go out."

"Oh!" you chuckled, "Sorry!"

As you paused, Logan suddenly became confused.

"Where the hell are you? It's so loud, I can barely hear ya."

You placed one foot up on the wall, leaning your back flush against the cool tiles. "'Roro 'n' Jean took me to the club 'n' these guys tried to join us," you slurred. "Oh, they bought us drinks, too. And one said he liked my dress. He wasn't as good looking as you."

"You wearin' the backless one?" he asked, sounding intrigued.

You giggled giddily in response, finding humor in his quiet curse.

"Damn... ya had to pull that one out?"

"Oh, you should see me, Logan... I look gooood," you smiled, looking down at yourself. "But it's not the same... s'not as fun without you."

You lowered your foot back down to the ground and crossed your arm over your midsection, suddenly feeling cold and small.

"I miss you, Logan," you said, quietly. "Could you pick me up, please?"

His chest warmed at your tone, unable to fight the smirk on his face.

Despite the fact that you were absolutely sloshed, your mind still drifted to him, and even missed him when he was away.

It was adorable.

"Sure, sweetheart. Where are—?" "Wait!" you shrieked, a smile blooming on your face as you got quiet.

Logan cocked a brow.

'Huh?'

It was your favorite song.

"Logan! It's my song! I'll be right back!" you smile into the phone before hanging up, scrambling back to Ororo.

When you shimmeyed back onto the dance floor, she happily greeted you, moving in sync with the rhythm as you began your own moves.

"Oooo, what's that?" you asked, pointing at the glass she was holding.

It was orange and topped with ice and chopped oranges and strawberries, reminding you of a tequila sunrise.

"Want it?" she giggled, holding it out for you to take.

Which you gladly did, tossing it back lie it was water, humming approvingly at the taste as you licked the remnants off your lips.

The two men next to her were close to falling out from the scene.

"Fuck," one of them groaned. "Can you do that to me?"

You turned to them, brows furrowed. "Fuck off. My guy's gonna be here anyyyyy second."

Ororo gasped as she threw an arm around you, pulling you close to her perfume-soaked neck, "He's coming? That's great!"

You both cheered together, throwing your hands in the air as you continued to dance.

"C'mon," a man smirked from behind you. "What's he doing leaving a pretty lil' thing like you alone?"

Your face fell, expression annoyed as you turned to him, "Didn't I tell you to go somewhere? He's gonna show up sooon..."

The man had gotten closer, so close that you could see him lick his lips, expectantly.

He scoffed, leering down at you under the strobe lights, "But he ain't here, is he?"

"I wouldn't put money on it, bub," Logan replied from behind him.

Your eyes lit up like stars as soon as you laid eyes on your dark, handsome bodyguard.

He stood there behind the man with his thick, leather-clad arms crossed over his broad chest, which was covered by his white tee.

And he looked less than pleased.

"Logan!" you smiled, moving to stand by his side like a magnet.

The man turned to face him, watching as Logan snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

"This is the boyfriend?" he laughed, amused.

His words hardened Logan's expression tenfold, and it took everything in you not to giggle.

"Yeah, I am. And why the fuck are you still here?"

His words forced the man's expression to meld into one of frustration, and you bit back an amused smile at the sight.

You were drunk out of your mind, but you knew better than to interfere.

The man swallowed thickly, "I was just—"

"Harrassin' my woman."

You felt your heart flutter at the nickname.

He'd been calling you that for a while, but somehow it always felt like the first time.

"I didn't know she was yours—"

In a flash, his Logan's fist was up, his claws were on display and right in front of the man's face, scaring the shit out of him.

"I don't like repeating myself," he spat, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Fuck. Off."

You both watched the man scatter, eyes wide as he scrambled toward the bar.

Damn.

'What a bitch...'

"You alright?" Logan asked, taking off his leather jacket as he glared around the room, taking notice of the other leering men on the dance floor. "This place is full of fuckin' sleazeballs."

You shrugged, running a hand through your hair, "Eh, I managed."

Wordless, he handed over his jacket, your nose wrinkled in confusion.

"What's that for?"

"You're shivering, (n/n)."

You looked down at yourself, realizing that you were, indeed, shivering.

"Oh."

"C'mon," he sighed, draping the jacket over your shoulders before resting his hand at the small of your back, steering you toward the exit. "I think that's enough fun for one night."

Glancing back at Ororo, he gave a small look, slightly concerned.

"Scott's on his way for you two... You gonna be good?"

"Tipsy, but okay!" she gave him a thumbs up, along with a little wink. "Have fun, you two!"

He ignored the innuendo, but nodded, going back to ushering you out the back door.

"I missed you, Logan," you confessed, a slight whine to your voice as you practically clung to him.

"I know you did, sweetheart," he sighed, approaching one of Cyclops' cars. "Let's get you home."

The moment you hung up the phone, he sped over to the club, breaking about fifteen different traffic laws in the process.

An annoyance he decided to deal with the next day.

Without warning, you grabbed him, shoving him up against a wall of the alley you were in, interlocking your fingers as your free hand traced mindless shapes in his chest.

"You look so good, Logan," you purred, eyeing him up and down with hungry eyes, heating him from the inside out. "So good."

Suddenly, your lips attached to his neck, lazily peppering the flesh with kisses and pecks, with the occasional nip.

"(n/n)... you're drunk," Logan stated, moreso for himself, as he weakly tried to pry you off.

"I'd do this anyway," you grinned into his skin, pulling back to look at him, gaze half-lidded. "You look so sexy..."

Slowly, your lips curled into a hazy, loving smile, your eyes staring up at him like he was the only thing in the world.

Fuck...

You'd think he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

'This woman's gonna be the death of me...'

"What's wrong?" you asked, lips pouty and eyes glassy as you looked up at him, your expression one of hurt. "You're not touching me..."

"Doll," he sighed, voice slightly strained. "As gorgeous as you look... and as much as I wanna pin you against this wall... you're fuckin' hammered. And I'd like to feel you up when you actually know what yer doin'."

He pulled back to see your reaction, only to find you were already out like a light, softly snoring and drooling all over his shirt.

A soft smile fell onto his lips at the adorable sight, the man brushing some of your hair out your face before scooping you up in his arms, pressing a long kiss on your forehead.

'Somethin' else...'

[meowdei]

content includes: female reader, drunk reader + mentions of alcohol, modern + non curse au sukuna, established relationship, unnamed friends, reader makes one (1) dick sucking joke, reader dips fries into shakes because she’s elite like that, he carries reader

It’s half past midnight when he comes to pick you up. Your face sours as soon as you see him, taking an instinctive step back.

“Nuh uh,” you say, wagging a finger back and forth in his face as he scowls. “It’s girl’s night. No men allowed—we’ve been over this!”

“As if I wanna join your stupid girl’s night,” he scoffs. Sukuna is tired. (Of you). It’s too late at night to be worrying about what ditch you’re going to end yourself up in after lord knows how many drinks, so regrettably, he takes matters into his own hands.

It’s a good thing he does, too, he thinks with a flare of his nostril as he eyes the drunk, mess of a woman that’s supposed to be your ride home. Designated driver my ass, he all but grumbles under his breath.

“Hey—” he looks over to the side with an irritated flick of his eyes as a hand smacks his shoulder. Your friend (in not better condition than you) levels him with a snarky look before she hisses, “You heard her! It’s girl’s night. Go away.”

Sukuna ignores her—because, well, that’s what he always does anyway. She talks far too much to be considered a normal amount, and he doesn’t like the shrill sound of her voice. Instead, he turns to you, gives you a firm, scolding look before he grunts, “We are going home. Now.”

You seem to catch onto the stern tone of his voice because within seconds, you’re slumping against him as you whine, “Fine,” with a pout. “Mean.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “You know what’s meaner? Nasty men who find girls passed out in the middle of the streets. Now let’s go. We’re going home—all of you.”

A chorus of whines and petty insults makes him want to grab a drink himself—being inebriated seems like the only way your friends are tolerable, but as annoying as they are, he refuses to leave them here wasted.

So he does the noble thing, and sacrifices his ear drums as they play whatever stupid pop song is trending on the radio at full volume down the streets, heads sticking out of the windows and screaming the lyrics out to innocent passerby’s.

Sukuna is just a guy. Not the best, most chivalrous or charitable guy, maybe—but just a guy, all the same. He’s not done anything wrong to deserve this torture. He’s been nothing but a kind (usually) boyfriend that loves you unconditionally (most of the time), supports you wholeheartedly (when it suits him), listens to your problems (if he’s in the mood), and makes you feel special (as long as it doesn’t inconvenience him).

Still, he’s stuck basically being an uber driver—for free, no less—to your ungrateful, bratty, obnoxious friends that aren’t pretty enough to enjoy your company in the first place. They don’t even thank him when they get out as he drops them off one by one to their homes, opting to say goodbye to you as if you’re the one who pays for the gas in his car.

Finally, the last of your friends (who he likes to consider nuisances) leaves, freeing him of anymore radio pop songs and unnaturally loud giggles.

He grumbles as you ask, “Can we get milkshakes?”

“No.”

“Please?” You whine, “I want strawberry.”

“That’s great,” he says sarcastically, “The answer’s still no.”

“Please, please, please, Kuna? I’ll suck your dick on the drive there—”

“Jesus, what’s the matter with you?” He hisses, fighting back flushed cheeks as he glares at you once the car rolls to a stop at a red light.

Usually, he’s the one making such lewd comments and getting under your skin—but lacking in sobriety is seriously forcing the two of you to switch roles. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he should be nicer to you—you deal with a lot. (Not that he’s mean. He considers himself a pretty generous boyfriend).

“I’ll even pay,” you offer.

“You didn’t bring a wallet, so it looks like I’ll have to pay,” he says blandly.

You grin, giving him an innocent smile as you excitedly ask, “So that’s a yes?”

“Are you going to be quiet if I say yes?” He clicks his teeth in thinly-veiled irritation.

You grin, nodding enthusiastically.

Well, he thinks bitterly, so much for no more pit stops.

It’s not long until he’s pulling into the drive-thru of the nearest fast food joint, rolling his window down to order your stupid, late night request.

“We’ll take one strawberry milkshake, please,” he says gruffly.

“Anything else?” Comes the tired reply of whoever is taking his order.

“No—”

“And large fries, please!” You lean over him to shout out the window and make sure the poor worker hears you. Sukuna glares, (gently) pushing you back into your seat as he hisses, “Put your seatbelt on! And you asked for a milkshake, not a damn meal.”

“Fries aren’t a meal,” you huff, “And they’re good dipped in the shake. You can’t have one without the other.”

“No—”

“I’ll scream that I’m being kidnapped,” you warn, “I want my fries.”

“Fucking fine,” he throws his hands up, exasperatedly caving to your request because, yeah, having some drunk, half-conscious woman in his front seat screaming bloody murder about being abducted at two a.m. is not a good look to a stranger that doesn’t know any better. “One strawberry milkshake and large fucking fries and that’s it,” he growls to the other person through the drive-thru speaker.

It’s not the poor employee’s fault, and he knows it, but he’s too tired and sleep-deprived to care about his snarky attitude.

“It’ll be ready at the window,” the man speaks tiredly, completely unphased.

“Yay!” You squeal.

It’s a pretty bothersome task to have to stop the car five minutes after receiving the food just to open the lid of your cup for you so that you can dip your fries into your milkshake easier, but he figures it’s better than a tiring drive home. Or worse, a spill all over his car seats at your own attempt.

He glances over at you wearily as he finally (hopefully) starts to drive home, watching as you dip your french fries into your frozen drink and happily eat away. He crinkles his eyes at the combination.

He’ll never understand people’s unnatural obsession with pairing anything remotely salty and sweet together.

“My friends think you’re weird,” you hum, taking a handful of fries to your mouth as you say between chewing, “They say you’re intense. Like, scary intense. But I told them, that’s just his face.”

Finally, a small smile cracks on his face, breaking through the grumpy, tired exterior. He snorts, shaking his head. “Drunk you has way too much to say.”

“Drunk me is honest,” you retort, clutching your fries to your chest as you huff, “Now I’m not sharing my fries anymore.”

“You weren’t going to anyway,” he rolls his eyes.

Finally, his car pulls into a familiar parking spot, just outside of your shared home as he parks and turns to you. You giggle at him before humming, “How’d you know?”

“Because you never do,” he rolls his eyes.

“That’s because this relationship is 50/50! You buy the food, and I eat it.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, shaking his head—still, there’s something endearing about the way you clutch your fries close to your chest, as if guarding them with your life. He leans over, snatching one easily anyway, smirking in amusement when you gasp and pout at the gesture.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grunts, fighting back a fond grin before he asks, “Let’s go. We’re going in.”

With that, he comes around to your side of the car, pulling you out and hoisting you up to carry you bridal style as he marches over to the front door. Sighing happily, you admire his face as he walks.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He raises a brow, mildly shocked. “For?”

“For bringing me home. Same time next week?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely not. No more girl’s nights with those shit shows.”

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Trophy Boyfriend

Word count: 450

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando Norris fully embraces his role as Y/n L/n’s devoted trophy boyfriend, happily standing in the background while she steals the spotlight.

________________________________________________________

Lando Norris had a lot of titles to his name—Formula 1 driver, McLaren’s golden boy, future world champion (hopefully). But none of them mattered quite as much as the one he held now: Y/n L/n’s boyfriend.

It was a role he took very seriously. Not because he was the main character in this relationship—he wasn’t, not even a little. Y/n was the main event, the superstar, the reason photographers nearly toppled over themselves trying to snap pictures when they walked into a room together.

She was everything. And he was just… well, Lando.

He didn’t mind.

“I love this dress,” he said, watching Y/n twirl in front of the mirror. It was something sleek, designer, probably gifted by a brand that wanted her to post about it.

“You think so?” she mused, adjusting the straps.

“I think,” Lando said, sliding his hands around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, “that every single person at this event is going to wish they were me.”

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m right.” He grinned. “I’m literally dating you. Do you know how crazy that is?”

She turned in his arms, smoothing a hand through his curls. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“I mean, look at you,” he continued dramatically. “Gorgeous. Talented. Everyone loves you. And then there’s me—your little trophy boyfriend.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Little?”

“Well, figuratively.” He leaned in closer, voice dropping. “Not literally.”

She smacked his chest, but he could see the way her lips curled up. “Behave.”

“Never,” he murmured, stealing a quick kiss before she could stop him.

The gala was exactly what Lando expected—Y/n’s show, and he was just happy to be a part of it.

People flocked to her the second they arrived, showering her with compliments, gushing over her latest projects, asking for pictures. Lando, in the meantime, sipped his drink and stood a little off to the side, perfectly content to let her shine.

Occasionally, she would reach back for him, lacing their fingers together like a silent reminder: You’re still my favorite person here.

He liked that.

At some point, a well-meaning (but oblivious) businessman clapped Lando on the back and said, “Must be nice, huh? Being with someone like Y/n.”

Lando just grinned. “Mate, I wake up every day and wonder how I pulled it off.”

It was true. He had no delusions about who the star was in this relationship. Y/n walked into a room and owned it, and Lando? He was just happy to be the guy holding her purse when she needed both hands to take a picture.

And honestly? Best gig ever.

[kiszjuli]

MY GIRL .ᐟ

✸ shy!mark x fem!reader | genre. fluff. | w.c 2.2k | ♡

↳ synopsis. in which mark has apparently claimed you in his heart, and to no one other than his friends. hiding his feelings thinking that he didn’t have a chance, he gets extremely jealous when someone tries to ask you out for valentine’s day. you’re his girl.

↳playlist. designer - nct 127, just the way you are - bruno mars, can’t take my eyes off of you - frankie valli, when im with you - nct dream, night poem - nct dream, can’t help falling in love - elvis presley.

the student lounge was buzzing with laughter and chatter, the sounds of friends catching up and making plans for the upcoming 3-day weekend. mark sat at a corner table with his group of friends, jeno, donghyuck, and jisung. but his gaze and attention kept drifting to you. you were seated at a nearby table with your own group of friends. you were always effortlessly surrounded by people, your laugh ringing in his ears like his favorite song. mark had always admired how easily you lit up every room you entered, how everyone seemed drawn to your warmth and energy. and how-

“earth to mark,” jeno’s voice broke him from his thoughts, and Mark blinked, seeing his friends hand waving in front of his face. he looked up at his friend with a forced smile.

“huh? oh, yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, fixing the hat on his head, trying to look more engaged but failing.

jisung raised an eyebrow, noticing the direction mark was looking. “you good, man?” he asked, his voice casual but with an underlying hint of curiosity.

nodding quickly, mark then shifted in his seat. “yeah, i’m fine. just… trying to focus, you know?” He waved his hand brushing them off, though his eyes couldn’t help but flick back to you for a moment.

donghyuck catches where his eyes dart, and a knowing look forms on his face. “you sure? you’ve been staring at her all afternoon,” donghyuck added with a grin.

mark immediately blushed, feeling heat rush to his face. “what? no! i wasn’t staring,” he protested a little too quickly, tugging his hat lower to hide his face. “i just—uh, i’m just lost in thought.” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

jeno smirked. “uh-huh, sure. if you say so. but you’ve been acting kinda weird lately. you sure there’s nothing going on?”

mark swallowed hard, his heart racing at the thought of you. He had always admired you from a distance, but you were popular, way out of his league. his friends knew about his little crush on you, but he didn’t think they understood the full extent of it. he wasn’t even sure you saw him as more than a mere friend.

“i-idon’t know,” mark muttered, his voice quieter than usual. “it’s just… she’s always so surrounded by people, you know? she’s pretty much got everyone’s attention all the time.”

jeno leaned back, a teasing glint in his eyes. “she’s definitely got yours” his comment earning a laugh from the other two.

mark’s face flushed deeper, and he slumped in his seat. “no guys, seriously,” he mumbled, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “she’s just… i don’t know. she’s popular, and i’m just… me.”

“yeah, well, ‘just you’ is exactly why you’ve got a shot,” donghyuck said, his voice light but encouraging. “you think she doesn’t notice? she does. she’s not blind, mark.”

“exactly,” jisung added, leaning back in his chair. “you’ve been acting like a nervous mess every time she’s around. maybe it’s time you do something about it, yeah?”

mark shot a small glance toward your table, his heart skipping a beat as you caught his eye for a second. he quickly adverted his gaze, pretending to be interested in something in front of him.

jeno chuckled and patted him on the back. “mark, you’ve got this. you just have to take a chance. she’s not some unreachable goddess. if you really like her, go for it. stop hiding behind your ‘I’m fine’ act.”

mark gave him a small, unsure smile. “maybe. i’ll think about it,”

but deep down, mark was terrified. he could never imagine you looking at him the way he looked at you. you were popular, funny, and effortlessly charming. he was… well, just mark.

as you laughed from across the room, mark’s heart gave an involuntary flutter. maybe his friends were right—maybe it was time to stand up and stop pretending he didn’t want more. more than to just watch you from afar. but for now, he stayed where he was, silently watching, unsure if he’d ever have the courage to tell you how he truly felt.

—

classes were now over, and small groups of people were in the large theater, helping set up for valentine's day. your school was hosting a valentine's day fundraiser, where the campus would raise money for local charities. this year's theme 'music for the heart'- likewise, the main attraction was the music appreciation raffle.

you were there of course, running the “song dedication booth” where students could pay a small fee to have a song dedicated to someone during the open mic. you decorated the booth yourself: choosing some white fairy lights to outline the sign, with red heart balloons all around, and of course some cut out music notes that you had done earlier.

“okay, so you want ‘can’t take my eyes off you’ for your girlfriend? great choice,” you said with a smile, writing the request onto the list. “she’ll love it.”

mark watched you from the edge of the stage, where he was tuning his guitar for his performance later. he could hear your cheerful voice as you talked with students, helping them pick the perfect songs. the way you talked about music, your passion shining through every suggestion and question, made his chest tighten.

“she’s really into this,” jisung remarked from behind the drum kit, glancing between mark and you. “you’re playing tonight, right? finally gonna make your move?”

mark glanced over at his friends—jeno adjusting his bass strap and dongkyuck pretending to help. he quickly averted his gaze, nervously strumming his guitar. “i don’t know,” he muttered. “she’s got so much going on. she’s busy.” he made excuses.

donghyuck rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “she’s running a music related booth, mark. if there’s ever a chance to make conversation, it’s right now.”

hesitant, he glanced back at you as you laughed with another student. “but what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” he said quietly.

“dude, she smiles at you differently than anyone else,” jeno chimed in. “i don’t think you realize how obvious you are. she’s into you too, but you can’t wait forever.”

the idea of putting himself out there, of confessing how he felt in front of everyone, made his palms sweat. he just couldn’t.

“why not dedicate your song to her?” jisung spoke up, his voice softer

mark’s heart pounded knowing that his song was already dedicated to you, having thought about it for weeks beforehand. he was going to perform ‘just the way you are’ by bruno mars.

mark glanced up, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw you looking his way, the fairy lights illuminated your features in the best way as you gave him a small, bright smile. he awkwardly waved back, his stomach flipping as you returned your attention to the students walking your way.

“smooth,” donghyuck muttered, biting back a laugh.

“shut up,” mark mumbled, his face heating up.

—

the lights in the theater dimmed, and the crowd hushed as mark stepped onto the stage, his guitar slung over his shoulder. you stood near the back of the room, watching as he adjusted the mic, his hands trembling slightly. you felt a smile creeping to your face.

“this one’s for someone special,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

your best friend, winter nudged your shoulder and you glared at her with a laugh. she always teased you about your slight crush on the boy.

as the familiar chords of “just the way you are” filled the room, your heart skipped a beat. mark’s voice was soft yet filled with emotion, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.

when he sang, “her eyes, her eyes make the stars look like they’re not shining,” you felt your cheeks flush. feeling like you were looking too much into it, you shook your head slightly and glanced down at your shoes.

by the final verse, everyone was entranced by his voice. when the song ended, the applause broke the spell, but mark’s gaze lingered on yours, his lips curving into a shy smile.

—

the rest of the fundraiser went extremely well. the crowd winding down and now you found yourself starting to pack up your things at you booth.

“hey,” a voice interrupted, making you glance up.

It was a guy from one of your classes, holding a small bouquet of roses in his hands. he looked nervous but determined as he stepped closer to your booth.

“oh, hi!” you greeted warmly, taking a pause from packing up.

mark saw it from across the student center—the way the guy nervously walked up to you, clutching a small bouquet of flowers, his face tinged pink, your kind but still friendly smile. frozen in place, his chest tightened. he couldn’t hear the conversation, but he didn’t need to. the way the guy was smiling at you and the way you politely smiled back made it clear what was happening. but you were his girl. even if that guy didn’t know it yet.

of course someone else would ask you out. he knew it was going to happen at some point, always surrounded by people who admired you. and mark? he’d spent months hiding his feelings, thinking you’d never look at him that way.

but now as he sees the guy walk away from you-missing the slight frown on his face-he can’t stop his own two feet from moving towards you. his mind was racing. did you say yes? were you off limits now? labeled as someone else’s girl?

as he approached, you were gathering the last few things from your booth. you noticed him and looked up.

“oh, mark?” you asked tilting your head, still with bright eyes.

“hey,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing as his voice cracked slightly. “i, uh… i saw you talking to that guy just now.”

you raised an eyebrow, catching the uncertainty in his tone. “huh? oh yeah, he was just—”

“did you—did you say yes?” the words spilling out before he could stop them, and he winced as soon as he realized how frantic his voice sounded.

you blinked in surprise. “what?”

“to, uh… whatever he asked you…” mark said, rubbing the back of his neck, his face flushing. he was getting more and more choked up by the second. “i mean, obviously it’s fine if you did..it’s probably none of my business and- he seemed nice. i just…” he trailed off, his words stringing along as he avoided your gaze.

you stared at him for a moment before realizing what he was getting at. a soft laugh escaped your lips, and mark’s eyes darted to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “what’s funny?”

“no, i didn’t say yes,” you said simply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i told him i wasn’t interested.” you said looking up, your grin still lingering on your face.

mark felt relief wash over him as a small smile tugged at his lips. however, disbelief still clouded his mind. “you..didn't?”

shaking your head you spoke. “nope,” your smile was warm yet teasing as you say his rosy cheeks darken a little. “i think i’d rather wait for someone i actually want to say yes to,”

mark just blinked, not knowing how to react. what did that mean? could you be talking about him? or was it someone else? why would you-

“mark,” you called out, breaking him from his thoughts. “if..you have something to say, now would be the time,” you said softly, stepping a little closer.

“well, i-i have been wanting to say something for a while now,” he started, taking a breath. “i like you a lot, like- a lot..but i just didn’t think i had a chance..”

your smile widened feeling a small heat rise to your cheeks too. “you always had a chance mark,”

relief mixed with disbelief washed over him. you felt the same way the whole time? he let out a nervous laugh, his shoulders finally relaxing. “so, does this mean i can ask you out now?”

“i think you just did,” you teased, your fingers fiddling together, as your heart beat a little faster.

mark grinned, his confidence growing. he reached out for your hand, still shaking but sure. “well, then… will you be my valentine?” he wanted to ask ‘will you be my girl?’ but this would do for now-slow steps, he told himself.

“i’d love to,” you replied, your eyes sparkling as you smiled at him.

“y/n! can you come here for a sec?” winter called for you from the studio room. she apologized later once she found out was was happening, but you brushed it off saying it was okay.

you looked to mark and stepped closer. you softly pressed your lips to his cheekbone and pulled away slowly. “come find me later?”

he nods with a hum, too star struck by you to form a sentence, or even a word. you smiled and walked off, now knowing that you finally had the guy you wanted. and mark walked back to his guitar to his teasing friends with a dopey, cheesy smile knowing that you were his girl.

and in that moment, mark felt that every doubt, every little hesitation, had been worth it.

—

⁀➷⊹ ࣪ ˖~ THE LA LA LOVE SERIES .ᐟ

taggies(open) ↳ @kittydollzz @huffnpufffckk @completelyjae @lovesuhng @nae-vm @ayibdorrt @chocoriki @yowmaman @yukisroom97

[chyarui]

Have been catching up on this fic “Careless to let it Fall” by @artemisdesari-blog on ao3 and holy shit guys. It’s beautiful. I love the Anakin and Ahsoka master-padawan dynamic, don’t get me wrong, but I have NEVER forgotten that Ahsoka was meant to be Obi-Wan’s Padawan before Yoda meddled.

This fic is BEAUTIFULLY LONG, really well written, and guys, Mandalorian Jedi (and *spoiler BATTLEMASTER) Obi-Wan hfgdhfgddhisdhfiuhsrfhihsrhfibrw it’s perfect. Apart from the colours and Pauldron symbols and some other descriptions about it being lightweight, the armour design is mostly my interpretation. I’ve wanted to draw obiwan in armour for AGES and this was the perfect outlet

AND INTRODUCING MY FIRST DRAWING OF AHSOKA EVER AHHHHHHHHHHH. My baby girl, I love you so much you could never do anything wrong in my eyes.

READ THE FIC GUYS SERIOUSLY, ITS AMAZING, it explores so much of Mandalorian culture (at least w the goran’e) AND!!! It’s codywan <3