#as i said its usually visible if artist's intentions was harmful from the beginning OR they didn't know what was wrong with it

[vagun1ka]

Uh, who said anything about cancelling artists? I both fully think cancel culture doesn't exist going by fucking Harry Potter being everywhere and JK Rowling is the most famous terf to exist, but also I think the only times I can think of a character changing something would be terrible, is if it's REMOVING a trait, like whitewashing or removing a character's disablity, or if it's aging up a kid explicitly to pair them with an adult or do porn of them. as like... why not just choose an adult character to begin with

maybe "accussing" is a better word, indeed. i agree with you about whitewashing, removing disability and aging in purpose of porn (+drawing canon fat character thin and erasing cultures). im saying that aside from these cases removing even major character changes is just poor choice but not a reason to accuse artist in something in first place. especially when it comes to such projects as honkai star rail and genshin (which are itself a poor artistic choice but it was approved first so they deserve all the critisism). being rightuous is just being harmful to the actual person imo. at least i think we can speak from our own feelings when we discuss artistic choices.

i hope my point is understandable.

[promptbomb]

Ink and Paint : Chapter 2

Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader Previous Chapters:  One Word Count: 1,593  Prompt: You came to Los Santos to pursue a dream of becoming a tattoo artist. Things haven’t quite worked out as you planned and now you find yourself working a graveyard shift at Pandemonium Ink. Things are typically quiet, that is until one of the cities most infamous criminals come through the door. 

The ringing of your phone coincides with breaking news interrupting your binge of San Andreas Diners and Dives.

You mute the tv just as a headline crawls across the bottom of the screen, Del Perro Freeway Car Chase, but you’re more focused on your brother’s name flashing on the caller id and the gnawing you feel in your stomach as you reluctantly answer. The conversation follows a pretty standard format; a greeting, small talk about each other’s lives, until ultimately asking if you had talked to your mom recently. He knew that you hadn’t of course, he lived at home after all, and you were sure your mom was hovering around him, waiting for a chance to sneak herself into the conversation.

The relationship between you and your mother was strained, more so since you moved to Los Santos. She had never approved of your interest in art and had only tolerated you working for your uncle’s parlor because you had told her you were saving up money to enroll in online courses for Medical Coding. Boy, she angry when she found out the truth. She had done everything, save locking you in the basement, to keep you from leaving. You knew that she probably had good intentions, but she was absolutely lousy in trying to show them.

When you hear her asking your brother to hand her the phone you make an excuse that you’re late for work and hang up. At least it wasn’t completely untrue, you had agreed to take on a last-minute late shift at one of your part time jobs, a little sandwich stands named Ruth’s. It didn’t pay well but the tips were decent enough and the owner, a little old lady who the stand was named after, was very sweet, almost a pseudo mother figure, who never failed to send you home with a nice meal when she thought you were looking a little thin.

Ruth was there when you showed up, her short stature barely visible over the counter and no doubt recovering from the lunch rush. It looked like a good day, at least that’s what you gather by all the fry baskets and plastic cups left on the tables outside the stand. Instinctively, you bust them down, tossing the trash into the bin as you call out to Ruth to draw her attention away from a small black and white tv balanced on the counter. “What you watching there?”

“Oh, the news.” That figures, after all, the only channels she got on that antique were local. “They’re talking about that car chase from earlier.”

“I saw something about that when I was getting ready.” You say as you tie an apron around your waist, walking up to look over her shoulder at the grainy picture. You see the chief police talking at a podium with about a dozen microphones shoved into his face. He didn’t appear to be happy. “I take it that they didn’t catch them.”

She brushes you away with a playful flick of a towel, “What? Those morons? They couldn’t catch a cold.” You snicker and she continues. “You know, back when Augustus and I first came here it was such a lovely city.”

“When was that again?”

“Watch it,” she says and shakes a crooked finger at your playful rib. “You may not believe it but this used to be a city of dreams. You didn’t even have to lock your doors.”

You had heard it all before. Los Santos certainly had its problems with crime, but what big city didn’t? The pristine utopia that Ruth often described was no doubt tainted by nostalgia, but it was cute to watch her reminisce about old times. “I don’t know, a little dirt gives the city personality at least.”

“Personality? You think those delinquents running the streets have an inkling of personality? They’re just running around, causing chaos. At least the criminals in my day had some class and kept their dealings behind closed doors.”

“Well, I’m sure the cities finest will catch up with them next time,” you say as you catch a glimpse of one of the mugshots, a dapper looking mustached man, before she turns off the tv as a new customer walks up.

You opt to stay with Ruth until closing, helping her clean up and shut down just as it begins to get dark. You made enough with tips to splurge on a cab, it would give you some extra time to clean up before heading to Pandemonium. Yet, despite your earnest protest, Ruth splurges on the ride for you as thanks for coming in on short notice and for staying later than you expected to. The ride from Ruth’s to your apartment building is a short one and, along the way, you’re surprised when you get a call, from Pandemonium no less.

“Yo.” Bruno’s deep voice bellows as you answer. Bruno was one of the daytime artists and typically who you interacted with the most between shifts, a sort of changing of the guards as he chucked the keys at you and reminded you to lock up the safe. The fact that he was calling was extremely rare.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Yeah. Someone called and asked for yous. Yous specifically.” Your brow quirks, he sounds almost as surprised as you are. “Said yous guys had a consultation a couple weeks ago.”

Your mind races through your memory like a Rolodex, trying to remember. A couple weeks ago? A consultation? Nothing comes to mind. Nothing except- “Oooh. Huh.”

“What’s that?” Bruno asks.

“Nothing. Just, this one guy did come in but we...we couldn’t come to an agreement. It wasn’t even that much of a consultation.”

“Well, if it’s the same guy yous must have made some sort of impression. Said he was coming by tonight.” Great. You hadn’t really thought about that awkward encounter since it had happened. With the way he stormed out you just assumed that was the end of it. “Yous remember what he wanted, yeah?”

“I think so, yeah. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll try to make it in a little earlier to set up.” Bruno grumbles a farewell and your conversation ends a few minutes shy of the cab pulling up to your apartments.

A quick shower and a change of clothes and you’re sitting on the couch sketching. Roses. You remember that he wanted roses, a memorial for a friend. But that was all. You didn’t have a clue where he wanted the tattoo placed, what style, if he wanted color or black and gray. Maybe he didn’t want anything at all. You realize you could be doing a bunch of work for no reason if he simply wanted to come in and show you a tattoo he got someplace else as a means to remind you of your poor customer service. You don’t regret it, though. You still stand by what you said.

You toss your sketchbook on the table in defeat; there was no point in trying to draw something before you even knew what he wanted. You lay back on the couch and glance at the tv, seeing that they’re still talking about the care chase this morning, or at least that’s what you assume as you see the same dapper looking mustache man mugshot from earlier on screen morph into a full lineup of several wanted criminals.

That’s when you see him.

Disheveled hair, ripped jacket, a face completely smeared in paint, yet the recollection of those blue eyes washes over you like a bucket of ice water. Stunned, you roll off the couch and into the floor, nearly missing cracking your head against the table before managing to get to your feet to draw closer to the tv screen. There was no mistaking it. The man in the mugshot, labeled only with an alias of Vagabond, was the same man that you had talked to. The same man you had pissed off. The same man that was coming to see you tonight.

“Shiiiiit.”

Logic told you that no one would call ahead to let you know they were coming if they intended to do you harm. At least that’s what you had to tell yourself in some way of psyching yourself up to go to work. You no sooner get through the door before Bruno and a couple of other artists are on their way out. If you didn’t think Bruno would laugh in your face if you asked him to stay you might have asked. Fat chance he’d be of any help if things turned sour. Even if he believed you he’d be more likely to call the cops and the thought of getting in any deeper than what you already were was none too appealing.

So you settle on running business as usual. If anything the element of surprise was off the table and if you felt threatened, well, that’s what the baseball bat was for. Still, the waiting game had your stomach in knots. You had no idea when the Vagabond was going to show up, or what mood he would be in for that matter. You had to admire his moxie, though; instead of laying low after a high profile car chase he’s out, living like it was just an everyday occurrence. Well, you suppose it could easily be madness as much as it could be moxie.

The hours tick away and you actually have to shake yourself awake when you hear the door open.