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cepheusgalaxy · 6 months ago

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"So, you wanna make them ace?"

Asexuality 101: Making your characters asexual

Indroduction: Ok, so, from what I've seen in fandom and in general, most people don't really know how to write an asexual character. Many just quit it and make them allosexual, others just struggle their way without having much of a guide. Prime example is Alastor from Hazbin Hotel, whom many people want to involve in sexual scenarios so they go with the "asexuality is a spectrum" route. Problem is, they don't understand how asexuality is a spectrum exactly and then they just end up writing their characters as allo. Now, how to avoid this? Teaching them!

If you're looking for a good way to get started with your own asexual oc, an ace headcanon or a media charater, I've got you! (i mention sex briefly here in some parts)

My credentials: I'm ace.

The basics

What is asexuality?

Asexuality is a sexual orientation that is generally defined by the lack of sexual attraction, or a very little amount of it. Sexual attraction is many times confused with libido, which is the sexual desire. Sexual attraction is more accurately, "the desire of having sex with this specific person." Therefore, some ace people do have a libido, and do want to have sex, but mostly are just not attracted to a person.

Myths and misconceptions

Asexuals can't have sex - as many shippers say, "asexuality is a spectrum", and while some aces don't have sex indeed, they can want it and have it as well. Person to person scenario

Asexuals don't know nothing about sex - unless the ace in question is a child, they probably may know, in fact, a lot. Many ace people like reading, watching or consuming smut, and by this and other means, even if they don't have sex themselves, they pretty much know how it is and how it works. Sex is everywhere, after all. Hard to miss

Asexuality is caused by trauma - it can be! Just not always, and most aces are simply born this way

Asexuality is a medical condition - much like homosexuality, asexuality is frequently treated as an illnes and many ace people are forced into conversion therapy. Some people also hold the belief that asexuality is caused by an anormality in a person's hormones, a mental illness, etc. But it is not true! Asexual people can obviously also be mentally ill in some way, but these are different things. It is just a sexual orientation like any other!

Asexuality is caused by HRT - hormone replacement therapy, ie. taking testosterone or estrogen, is one of the most common type of medical transition for trans people. Some hold the belief that taking hormones like those can "break" your sexuality (estrogen does sometimes decrease a person's libido, but it depends on the person's organism and it doesn't take your sexual attraction away from you), and turn you asexual

Asexuality is caused by autism - this myth may be originated from the fact that many autistic people are in fact asexual, or by the fact that both asexuals and autistic people tend to be infantilized a lot. However, as much as autistic people are very commonly also ace, asexuality is not, in fact, a symptom of autism

Basic terminology

Ace - short for "asexual".

Aro - short for "aromantic"; someone who experiences little to no romantic attraction, aka typically "doesn't fall in love".

Allo - somebody who does experience attraction. "Allosexual" is someone who is not asexual, and "alloromantic" is someone who is not aromantic.

Aspec - short for "a-spectrum". The a-spectrum is an umbrella term for anyone who is in any way ace, aro, aplatonic, afamilial, or other identities that fit here.

Acespec - short for "asexual spectrum/ace spectrum". It's a part of the a-spectrum and contemplates all asexuality.

Aesthetic attraction - finding someone pretty or beatiful, without necessarily wanting to have sex with them. Many ace people who didn't know they were ace report to having used to mistake it with sexual attraction.

Sensual attraction - similar to sexual attraction; the desire to touch someone, but without wanting to actuall have sex with them. Many ace people also confused this with sexual attraction.

Aphobia - discrimination against aspec people.

Amatonormativity- the belief that everybody is happier in a relationship, wether they want it or not, and should want and seek to be in one, and the general root of aphobia.

The Split Attraction Model

If you are looking on the ace community for a while, you might have heard of the split attraction model--if you haven't, here it is:

Image description: The Split Attraction Model, a cross chart inside a square, with four ends. The first end of the cross is labelled "ace", its opposite is labelled as "alloce", the third end is labelled as "alloro" and it's opposite is labelled as "aro". The section on the "alloro" and "ace" square is labelled "alloromantic asexual", the section in the "ace" and "aro" part is labelled "aromantic asexual", the section on the "alloro" and "alloce" square is labelled as "alloromantic allosexual" and the section on the "aro" and "alloce" section is labelled "aromantic allosexual". /end ID.

The split attraction model divides all orientations in four groups: The aroaces, the aroallos, the alloaces and the alloallos. It is usually shortened to "SAM".

Many people find this model useful, because it sorts your attraction into two groups: allo- and a-, and yes and no. It's simple and easy.

Many aces do not use this model to explain their attraction/lack thereof though! Hence the first distinction of aces we have here: SAM-aces and non-SAM-aces. Basically aces who use the Split Attraction Model and aces who prefer not to!

A non-SAM ace may define their asexuality as their romantic orientation as well, or label themselves differently altogether. While a SAM ace could call themselves an "asexual aromantic" or an "asexual alloromantic", a non-SAM ace could call themselves just "an asexual". In this case, they can be neither "alloro" nor "aro".

If your character is aware of their sexuality and identifies as ace, it's good to know wether they use the Split Attraction Model for themselves or not.

The spectrum

You may have heard that "asexuality is a spectrum" a thousand times, but what does it mean?

Just like "non-binary", "asexual" can be an identity on its own, but it is actually an umbrella term for a bunch of orientations. When we say that it is a spectrum, we are saying that there is Nuance. "Ace who doesn't date", "ace who dates", "ace who experiences just a little bit of sexual attraction", "aces who like sex" and so on. 'But Angel', you ask me, 'didn't you say that asexuality is when people don't have sexual attraction?' It can be! But there IS nuance, and that's what I am here to tell you.

There are two more factors beyond the SAM that you can consider:

"Are they sex repulsed, sex favorable, or sex neutral?"

Here is the "aces can still have sex" thing. A sex repulsed ace is probably what the majority of people think when they hear "asexual". It is an ace person who doesn't like sex. Doesn't want to have it, is disgusted by it, despises sexual intimacy, etc. They are the aces who tipically just don't want to have sex, and are very happy without it.

A sex favorable asexual is someone who likes it. Sure, they don't feel sexual attraction, but who's letting it stop them, right? They like sexual acts, they are fine and happy with having sex in general, and that's what the "aces can still have sex" point means. Yes, they can, if they want to! Maybe your character themself doesn't define themselves as neither repulsed nor favorable, but it's good to know what their instance on sex is.

Sex neutral asexuals are aces who are not repulsed by it, but are not really into it either. They may have sex, they may be fine with it, they may like it even, but they generally don't have a desire or strong feelings regarding it. It's just sex, after all.

Sex ambivalent asexuals are another thing I want to touch on. They are tipically aces whose instance on sex changes! Sometimes they may feel repulsed by it, sometimes they may want it, sometimes they may not care. They are neither strictly one, nor another. Their feelings change!

It's good to see where in this categorization your character or blorbo would be.

Inside the asexual spectrum, where do they stand?

If I were to represent the ace spectrum as a linear thing, I'd do it like this:

Image description: A linear representation of the asexual spectrum, in the shape of an arch. In one end, it is written "asexual", on the other, it is written "allosexual" and on the very middle, at the top of the arch, it is written "gray-asexual". /end ID.

or like this:

Image description: Another linear representation of the asexual spectrum. One of the ends is a black circle and the other is a white circle. Between them, a gradient goes from one circle to another, passing through different shades of gray. The black end is labelled as "asexual", the white end is labelled as "allosexual", and the gradient with shades of gray is labelled "different kinds of Gray-As". /end ID.

What is graysexual, you ask me? We all know that the world is not black-and-white, and as so, sexuality is also not. Grayace is a term for a person that is also asexual, but not strictly: that is, they are the "feels a little of sexual attraction" part of the spectrum. It is called like that because when we put asexual and allosexual in two ends of a spectrum, graysexuality stands in this gray area.

Gray sexuals may:

Experience sexual attraction only sometimes

Experience light sexual attraction

Experience sexual attraction under certain conditions in certain scenarios, for example, when they are already very intimate with a certain person

And many more! Graysexuality is on itself a spectrum, but having an idea of allosexual -> graysexual -> strictly asexual is already a good guide. Graysexuality can also be described as "having partial sexual attraction".

Fun fact about gray-aces: The asexual flag has four stripes; purple, white, gray and black. The purple stripe is meant to be a color signifier of the community, the white means allosexual, the gray means the gray aces and the black stripe represents people with strictly no sexual attraction. Hence the term "black stripe asexual" (which is not very popular but I personally like).

Micro-labels

You already have a basic understanding of the asexual spectrum and how it works, so you can think on where exactly in the spectrum your character/blorbo is. To help you out further, I present you the microlabels! Much like non binary is an umbrella term with many microlabels like genderqueer, xenogender and demigender, that help one explain their identity with more and more specific explanations, asexuals also have a lot of microlabels! Here are some:

Cupiosexual - asexual person that wishes to have a sexual relationship (example: i am cupioromantic person and i am basically a hopeless romantic and a yearner. cupiosexuality is similar, but with sex)

Gray sexual - asexual person with partial sexual attraction

Demisexual - asexual person who can only be attracted to people they already have a bond with

Abrosexual - person whose sexuality is fluid, and may be asexual at one time, bisexual at another, gay at another, etc.

Aceflux - asexual person whose sexuality changes, like abrosexual, but only between asexual identities

Aegosexual - asexual person who likes the idea of sex or fantasises about it, as long as it doesn't envolve them

Lythosexual - asexual person who is only sexually attracted to people they are not close with, and their sexual attraction fades out once the become closer

Myrsexual - asexual person that uses multiple asexual identities to describe their sexuality

Aroace - aromantic asexual person

Alloace - alloromantic asexual person

Apothisexual - sex-repulsed asexual person

These are not all micro labels in the asexual spectrum, but they are quite a lot. Maybe even if your charater is not sure if they are in a certain label or not, you may find them in some of these descriptions.

Links to resources with more microlabels: Tumblr post by @aroacesafeplaceforall (no images) /

/ A slightly longer list on asexuals.net (undescribed flags) /

/ Another guide for microlabels on lgbtqia.fandom.com (undescribed flags)

Bonus questions

Is it okay if I make my asexual character autistic? Is it not stereotyping? Yes, it's okay. There are actual asexual autistic people, and I'm sure they'd love to get represented as well!

Is it okay if I make my asexual character have sex? Is it not erasure? Yes, you can do that too! As long as it is where they stand in the spectrum (as explained in the topics above), you are doing a good thing by representing sex-favorable asexuals.

Do I have to make a romantic orientation for them too? No. Your character may be a non-sam ace, and identify as ace alone!

I heard that it is erasure if I make smut fanfic of ace character X. I don't get it how! While it is true many ace people have sex, many people when writing that just ignore their sexuality when writing/drawing smut of them! The spectrum is wide, so when you are doing that, remember where they stand on it.

Why can't I headcanon this ace character as allosexual? I headcanon straight characters as gay/bi/pan all the time and nobody says it's wrong! If people don't like my headcanon why can't they just look away? Because asexual people are a marginalized group, unlike straight people, so it is as okay to make them allo as it is to take an asian or black or jewish character and make them white. Because it is not just an individual headcanon; it's a part of a much bigger problem, and by avoiding headcanoning ace characters as allo, you are confronting your own internalized aphobia, which is a good thing! If you still want to make them have sex, well, that's what I made this guide for! So you can make them have sex as you wish without erasing their identity.

I am ace and am basing myself or my own experiences here. Is it okay if I...? The answer is generally yes. If you wanna write about a different ace experience than your own, a little bit of research won't hurt, though!

Is this enough for me to write my ace character? It is a start. This is a general guide, and there are some things I haven't touched on this guide (like aphobia) so I'd advice you to do more in-depth research on topics you want to focus more on, but this should get you pretty far.

Extra

"Is Alastor from Hazbin Hotel canonically ace or aroace?" (slightly related, because some people looking for this guide to write this guy might want to know this too)

Answer: link to a post clearing this up this with some sources. Short answer though, is that he is confirmed to be ace, not aroace.

"If I didn't understand something here, or I have more questions, can I ask you?"

Answer: Yes! You can reblog this post with questions, and my inbox is also open, and I make sure to always let anon on. I will be happy to help if I can.

"One of the image descriptions on this post was off or confusing, can you change it to X so it is better to understand it?"

Answer: Of course! I will need you to signal me in either the notes or in the inbox what I need to change, though.

"Are asexual people queer?"

Answer: Yes! Because the queer community, as the name suggests, is for people who are different, odd, and are not considered "normal" because of that. Asexual people are not a part of "the norm", because we don't feel sexual attraction, and therefore, we, and by extension your ace characters too, are queer.

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saintslewis · 4 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐄

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!oc; Nadia

summary: party time pt.2? (no <3)

warnings: a bit of angst, crying, reassurance from both sides, a bit shorter than the rest lol.

saint’s team radio 🪩: heyyyy!! so sorry this is long overdue but there’s a reason! i wish i could name this chapter anything but thique but that’s the title of the song and we’re not crying today 🫵🏽 don’t jump me for taking so long lol

pls like, comment and reblog!

fc: @/unclewaffles_ on ig!

renaissance: the series • previous chapter

New York had never been more quiet than in that very moment. Nadia wanted to blame it on the fact that the penthouse was far too high up or that it was 2:36 am.

‘Bambi’ played in the background on the large tv, the light illuminating on the many faces in the living room. The friend group had celebrated Lewis’ Silverstone podium since the second they stepped out of the paddock, opting for tonight to be calm and have a group movie night with snacks and all types of pastries (Nadia baked those btw) laid across the table. Everyone was underneath blankets as they watched the tragic scene of Bambi’s mother dying.

Making the terrible mistake of looking at her ever buzzing phone, Nadia could see that Tia tried to contact her within the past few minutes but she internally rolled her eyes. Rea decided to play with her feelings and cause her heart to drop only to find out that the younger girl was lying straight out of her teeth about her marriage being leaked. Wanting nothing to do with social media for the week, Nadia kept herself busy. Spending time with Lewis and spending his money, one of her favourite things to do.

Her job was at stake and she knew that. With each passing day, Nadia’s sudden fame had taken a toll on her and her mental health and she was not sure if she wanted to continue working full time because it was taking a strain on her. She inwardly groaned at the thought of slightly proving her boss right who was consistent in reminding Nadia that this double life was not going to work in her favour.

Swiping further into her phone, she quickly understood why Tia was blowing up her phone.

Time felt slow and her body went numb as she read the headline over and over again. This wasn’t something that was light and airy and she could easily brush off her shoulder with just a flick of her hand. Every piece of jewellery she wore felt heavy, her clothes felt tighter than ever and her blood went cold.

Clearly not being the only one on their phone during the movie, Charlotte’s hair bounced as she snapped her head to her friend who’s tearful eyes were glued to her phone. At first, the woman couldn’t believe what she was seeing but her heart immediately sank when her eyes connected with Nadia’s.

All the food Nadia consumed earlier was rushing back up with intense speed and she quickly threw the blanket off her, running to the nearest bathroom. The blanket landed on Lewis’ confused face as he took it off to whip his head around. The men of the group were utterly confused as all the girls stood to their feet and quickly followed Nadia to wherever she ran to.

Lewis spotted Nadia’s phone on the floor, lifting the screen to his face. His eyes adjusted to the bold words written and as short as the title of the article was, it felt like reading an encyclopaedia written by the vultures within the media.

‘NADIA HAMILTON BATTLES INFERTILITY, ANON SAYS’

The article went on to explain how close the anonymous source was to Nadia, citing that they had kept this secret with themselves for years and hated the new found fame that Nadia attracted. All types of nasty connotations were made against her, calling her out of her name. This anonymous source also spoke on who she saw before Lewis but never exposed their fake marriage.

“Bro..” Andrew spoke up first, all the boys scrolling through their phones and seemingly looking at the same thing. Lewis knew he had to stop himself from reading on after the author wrote that he should divorce her because she’s ‘unable to give him a family’. He quickly locked Nadia’s phone and ran a hand down his face before he stood up to make a few calls.

With her head on Amara’s chest, Nadia wept as she struggled to keep it all together. She did not want to show her vulnerability to her friends so quickly but seeing the headline broke everything she had worked on to be private. Natalia moved Nadia’s hair back as she continued to rub her back.

Charlotte stood with her phone in her hand, immediately shutting down anything that was objectively negative about Nadia. Every single time she heard her friend sob, her heart broke. After what felt like hours of her friends consoling her and encouraging her to stay strong without bugging her for any information, she sat up and wiped her tears.

“Not to chase you guys away but I really wanna see Lewis right now.” She chuckled as she wiped her tears from her cheeks. The girls laughed at their friend’s ability to smile after something so terrible.

“We’ll let him know to bring up some water.” Amara nodded and stood up, giving Nadia’s hand a squeeze. Once her friends left, Nadia began pacing around the bedroom, the New York skyline still shining ever so bright although it was nearing 3 am.

She heard the door and she watched as Lewis walked in with a water bottle in his hand, his ring catching light from the ceiling lights. His eyes landed on her, cheeks hollowed with her trying to breathe as easily as she could, her hands shaking.

Eyes connected and neither of them had to say a word. He brought her head into his chest as her arms went around his waist. Nadia sighed softly as she leaned into her husband’s warmth. “I’ve sorted everything out, baby. You don’t have to worry about anything else.” He spoke, keeping his hands still as his voice vibrated through his chest.

Nadia sniffled before she spoke. “Thanks,” her voice quivered. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. Wanted to be the first one to tell you, you know.” She chuckled through her tears.

“None of this is your fault, love. Please don’t blame yourself, you have done nothing wrong and we’ll get through this together.” Lewis said. “We could try find out who-”

“It was my mom and Rea.” She deadpanned, lifting her head to look in his eyes. His eyebrows furrowed at the quickness of her revelation. “Nads.” He started.

All she did was look at the bed and he took that as a hint to sit on it and she followed. “I’ve only ever told my mother and Rea about my…infertility. Not even my friends. My mom found out through a fight we were having during high school.”

She took a breather and continued. “I completely changed my career path to become a teacher because if I couldn’t become a mom myself, I could be that teacher for my kids. I love those kids more than anything in the world, Lewis. When you introduced me to Willow and Kaiden, my heart was already attached the second I saw them so if we didn’t work out, I was going to feel like absolute shit.”

“To do this properly. Lewis, I am infertile and I won’t be able to have kids with you in the future because of my shitty anatomy.” Nadia finished with a smile gracing her face, always finding a way to lift the mood.

He didn’t want to smile but it crept it’s way on his face. Lewis reached his hand to hold hers. “Love, you are something else,” he chuckled. “I never want you to worry about me in this circumstance, I still want you for you. For everything. You’re my family and I never regret signing those papers, Nads.” Lewis finished, his gaze softening as she looked at him.

The tension in the air eased but there was still a lingering feeling hanging. This was an extremely vulnerable moment for Nadia and she was feeling all types of emotions. Lewis didn’t want to invade on her feelings and make her uncomfortable as she dealt with all this. She deserved the best, if she asked, he would give her the universe. He’d build a kingdom and worship her as his queen.

Feeling her manicured finger poke as his exposed shoulder, he snapped out of it to see a smile on her face. “I thought I lost you there, bruv.” Nadia smiled, her eyes swirling with so many emotions.

A beat or two passed.

“I love you.” Lewis blurted out.

Lewis Hamilton wasn’t someone who usually got nervous. He was learning to express his emotions to people around him and was confident in himself at most times. Now was one of those time where he felt his stomach become queasy, his hands suddenly feeling sweaty and he swore he felt the world had stopped spinning.

Nadia was taken aback at his sudden confession but never showed it on her face. If anything, she felt as if Cupid shot her with a heart shaped arrow. Her body felt warm and relaxed, the butterflies swarming as if her crush just looked at her and smiled. Her cheeks felt tight as she full on grinned.

“I love you too.” She confessed and Lewis swore his world became brighter as she spoke those magical three words. He couldn’t believe it. “Say it again. Please say it again, my love.” His accent became a tad bit stronger as he spoke, his large hands enveloping her smaller ones.

Nadia laughed. “I love you, Lewis.”

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you that. I love you so much, Nadia Thandeka Hamilton and never forget that, my angel.” He scooped her up into a hug, falling back into the bed in a giggling mess.

Nadia’s hands were stuck in her hoodie pockets when she stepped out of the bathroom, her face feeling fresh as ever as she had just taken off a new face mask she had wanted to try out.

Los Angeles was a place she would definitely call home if she chose to settle down in that very moment. The couple had flown over after two days of friendship therapy and a crazy amount of ice cream as a way to distract her from touching her phone.

The woman had no clue of what was going on surrounding her and that damned article but one thing she did know was that her ears were not deceiving her.

She had known that Lewis always woke up before her as a force of habit but he had vowed to not wake her up until she was ready to. She even moved her hood to hear properly.

The faint sounds of Minnie Riperton’s ‘Lovin’ You’ rang throughout the house speakers but the volume was clearly amplified in the living room. With her eyebrows furrowed, her ugg boot clad feet slowly led her through the hallway and right downstairs.

Her breath felt like it had been snatched out of her as she looked at the current state of her living room. Pink balloons were scattered across the roof and the floor, two bouquets of tiger lilies sat pretty on the coffee table along with several, several boxes from all her favourite brands. From small boxes to large bags beautifully arranged with a small note sat within the bouquet.

“Oh my god…” Nadia’s hand was over her mouth as she walked further into her living room, not even noticing that Lewis entered from the kitchen with his hands behind his back. “Hope you like it, love. Wanted to make it perfect for you.” He licked his lips as he watched his wife glide her hand all over the bags.

“Like it? I’m absolutely speechless, Lewis.” She softly spoke. “You’ve just…oh my days. You make me feel like a princess.” Nadia turned to look at him. “You tellin me all I have to do is tell you that I love you?” She joked.

“You existing is enough for me.” He spoke. “Boy.” She laughed. “Tryna make me blush knowing damn well I can’t.”

“Well, yes and no.” He scrunched his nose then chuckled with her. A beat or two passed before she spoke. “Let me say thank you.” She tilted her head as her hand went under his simple black shirt.

“Oh?” Lewis expressed. She didn’t have to say anything except look up at him and give him a smirk then he was ready to go.

“Say less, Mrs Hamilton.”

lewishamilton

liked by charlottiee, fencer and 2,394,447 others

lewishamilton the mrs. 🤍

view comments

nadiahamilton i love you

lewishamilton i love you more

user lord, guide this type of love to me

megantheestallion absolute cuties 🥹

fencer la familia!

serenawilliams my favs! 👑🤍

user aren’t they going to speak about everything?

user they don’t owe you anything!

sza 💗💗💗💗

saint’s notes: long overdue. love you guys!

tags: @non-stop-imagines @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @thisismeracing @myescapefromthislife @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @jamie2305 @cocobutterqwueen @like-fire-love-blog @sugardontbesweet @simpfortoomanymen @mauvecherie-writes @queenshikongo3 @eugene-emt-roe @deepgothfiremuffin @18754389 @cherry2stems @anubisnoir @littlelizzies-world @httpsserene @apenasumlug4r @eddiesbitch83 @arshiyuh @alika-4466 @peyiswriting @sunfairyy @vsfavs @louvrepool @mistruscity @tian-monique @hopefulromantic1 @exotic-iris13 @yeea-nah @nichmeddar @gg-trini @lifeless-firefly @vellicora @takeoffz-tookoff9876 @serpenttines-library @emjayewrites @royallyprincesslilly @lewisroscoelove @purplelewlew @xoscar03 @kidsol-ar @nothaqks @tremendousstarlighttragedy @ggaslyp1 @henneseyhoe @saturnville

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#saint writes #renaissance: the series #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x oc #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton fanfics #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x oc #f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 imagine

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hrhmimieucliffe · 3 months ago

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⚠️⚠️Another Mimi Rant Incoming (ik, not again) ⚠️⚠️

Love and Deepspace.

I love the game. I've met so many kind and wonderful people within this fandom. But no fandom is without its problems.

If you know me, you know what my page is all about and how I advocate for the inclusion of more Black women in different fandom spaces and consumable media. We are often either forgotten about, used as comedic relief, stereotypes, or as an antagonist who is loud, bitter, has an attitude, etc.

Cool, fine, whatever, over it.

But one thing I will address is the fact that some people in the LADS fandom seem to have forgotten one major thing about the game. Pertaining to the MC.

SHE IS FULLY CUSTOMIZABLE AND DOES NOT HAVE A CANON APPEARANCE.

Yes, I'm aware the devs use a 'base' look for her on some of the cards and in the previews of new battle mechanics/ five-star kindled scenes. But they're not how she canonically looks. She looks that way because Infold is an eastern based company with certain beauty standards, cool, not asking you to suddenly change her. I'm cool with that.

But people in the FANDOM seem to be forgetting that you can customize her yourself. Into an OC or a self insert, it doesn't matter.

So if you know this, why is it that people with a tan or dark MC receive hate and harassment for making fanart of their self-insert MCs who look like the real them with the MLs?

Why is it that as non pale/fair skinned women, we are expected to always sit back and relate to a pale MC who has a personality that usually doesn't match some of us, either? If we can bear it for our entire lives, why is it a problem when we get a *small crumb* of inclusiveness in making the MC customizable to shape her how we want, it's not a problem until someone actually makes fanart of their MC with an ML and that MC is not the same pale/fair-skinned one?

How is that fair? It's like some people deliberately ignore it or are part of the problem. Especially those who make excuses like

"Oh, but they're not a western based company." I know that. Which is why I'm not aiming this rant at Infold themselves.

"Oh, don't bring politics into the game". First of all, how is the existence of dark or tan people politics? It's not "politics" when it involves someone who is part of the usual beauty standard, is it? Second of all, Infold themselves practically brought those said "politics" in by having tan/dark skinned options into the game in the first place.

Do you all see what I'm getting at, here?

This all came about because I'm part of (both) LADS subs on Reddit, and someone recently made a post about how they were attacked on Tiktok by LADS "fans" for her MC being dark in some *FANART* she made of her MC (based on herself) with her favourite ML.

Why can't we just have peace as women who don't conform to the outdated beauty standards? Why does it matter so much if MC is customizable?

What, do people think that as dark or Black women, we're not allowed to have certain interests? We're not allowed to like certain characters, games, movies, shows, etc? Why?

Wake UP and start calling it out when you see it!! You can't claim not to be a part of the "bad part" when you sit back and let it happen which makes those people get comfortable doing it.

Rant over. Have a nice day girls.

#love and deep space #love & deepspace #loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #love and deepspace mc #lnds #lnd #lads #love and deepspace rant #STOP #Another Mimi Rant #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace fanart #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne

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angelicguy · 8 months ago

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i also think its crazy that dragon ball z was one of the only pieces of media that activated something in young boys in america. like everything else they were set to consume (generally made in the west) was absolute trash designed to pass thru them without inspiring them in any way then dragon ball got HOW many kids to trace goku. make OCs. sketch out fight scenes etc. thats because it was made with some actual consideration and passion for its art direction and you could pick up on it

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whatislovevavy · 4 months ago

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Tia Maria and Whiskey on the Rocks

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OC (Cherry)

Masterlist

Author's Note: hey y'all, apologies for the extremely late posting, I've been going through some life transitions and finding time and motivation to write has been difficult, but here it is now :) This is part two of Most of Freedom and Of Pleasure, and is apart of @thedroneranger 's Pick Your Poison Writing Challenge with the prompt being Espresso Martinis I'm glad I got to include one of my favorite drinks with one of my favorite songs with a character I love writing for <3 I'm most likely going to do a third part with smut in it, so let me know if that would be something you lovely people would like to read :)

Warnings: Mentions of Smut, Fluff, Alcohol, Pilots catching feelings

WC: 5.2k

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.

Goddamn it.

You slid the end call button as Phoenix didn’t pick up, fighting with the raindrops that fell and streaked down your phone screen, and trying to keep your jacket secure around your frame that didn’t seem to be saving your red dress from being soaked by the rain. The overwhelming damp and cold feeling seeped into your scalp and made the floodgates that held your tears back crack and crumble all the more.

You regretted this date, much more than all of the others.

A shaky sigh left your lips, frustration, and anger forming its potent mix in your mind.

You tried to keep your eyes on your phone and to stay calm; you didn’t need the people eyeing you on the sidewalk feeling sorry for you. They had nothing to feel sorry for anyway. You were just a person that had a disaster of a date and was stuck out in the rain trying to get home. Absolutely nothing to feel sorry for. You huffed, tensing your jaw as you found cover under an awning of a bookstore. Trying not to look at anyone that gave you that characteristic look of pity as they walked by. Biting your lip, you contemplated calling the last number you wanted to be calling late on a Friday night.

Just get it over with, you thought.

You quickly tapped the call button next to the infuriating little contact icon. Biting into your lip harder, finding the puddle reflecting the San Diego city lights more appealing than attempting to meet any passerbyers gaze as each tone brought you closer to a ride home. Or the teasing of a lifetime. Maybe both.

“Cherry.”

That familiar silk laced drawl made you shut your eyes and wish anyone else had picked up when you called. But alas, here you were.

“Wasn’t expectin’ to hear from you. I thought you were busy entertainin’ what’s his name, Dylan? Derrick?”

The humor in his voice brought a hot surge of frustration to the tips of your fingers as you gripped your phone harder, jaw tensing.

“Look, I’m not in the mood for this right now…” Your voice losing its bite, but only by a little, “I’ve had a really shitty night, and,” you took a shaky breath, the frustration of the evening coming in full force on your psyche, “I need a ride home.” Jake's teasing grin wilted. You never would have called him, unless it was serious. He licked his lower lip, turning to look back at his friends finishing up a game of pool from the corner near the bathrooms, the steadily growing chatter in the bar making it more difficult to hear you as the seconds passed. He rubbed the back of his neck, swallowing. “Ok, sit tight, sweets. I'll come get you, you're still at Benny’s?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. That’s…odd. You never told him where you were going. The wind and rain made you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. The evening rain makes you shiver, jaw chittering. Taking a deep breath, “yeah, I'm outside,” eyes diverting from the passing traffic to the worn, gold tinged cursive on the window, “Clara’s bookstore.“Your eyes trained on the rain soaked overhead awning dripping to the sidewalk in front of your painted toes peeking from your heels as you waited for his response.

Jake's eyebrows furrowed, eyes diverting from his phone screen to the rain streaked windows facing the beach. That's a decent walk from where you ate, he thought, eyebrows raising. Must've been quite a guy to make you leave early. And in the pouring rain, no less.

“I'll be there soon, Cher. Are you somewhere safe? Somewhere out of the rain?”

If you didn't know any better, you'd say the insufferable, look-out-for-number-one-only, selfish, arrogant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, who spent each free moment he wasn't peacocking around base, making your nerves burn and fray, sounded concerned about your well being.

As soon as Jake heard your dreary, evidently rain soaked confirmation, he opted out of the game, forcing Bob to take his place with little to no explanation besides that a commitment came up,” striding down the Hard Deck steps to his parked truck.

He's not ditching you. He wouldn't do that. You repeated what felt like mantras as the minutes ticked by. Hot tears started to brew at the corners of your eyes. You clutched your now soaked jacket over your dress, your toes sinking into the soggy faux leather of your heels as you leaned back against the concrete column of the closed store. The amber overhead lights making warped reflections in the puddles of the buildings and cars passing by.

Your breathing was ragged as you felt the familiar flames of frustration lick at your brain, something that had only stopped when Jake said he was going to go come get you.

You felt so stupid. Wearing this dress. These heels. Your smudged make-up that, at one point, looked presentable. You just wanted to go home and eat a pint of ice cream.

God, why hadn't Phoenix picked up?

You clenched your eyes in frustration, a rigid breath leaving your throat as you leaned your head back against the column.

The familiar hum of Jake's truck brought your teary gaze up to the almost barely visible silhouette in the driver's seat.

Jake's door flew open, jogging with a jacket clutched in hand. Your eyes widened as he got closer to you, wrapping you up in his jacket.

By the time he reached you, his hair was drenched, now a more dull golden hue. His charm remained, unfortunately, in the city’s downpour.

“Come on sweets, let's get you inside.” Your mouth parted slightly. The sight of his shirt clinging to his biceps and broad shoulders, and the subtle scent of sweat, his natural musk, and rain almost made you miss his statement.

His rich jade eyes traced the soft reflection of the street light off of your soaked hair, to your smudged make up, to the drenched portions of your dress and jacket to your slight shiver you were evidently trying to repress.

His lips curved into a slight frown. You didn't deserve to be treated this way on a date. Especially not when you looked so-

His eyes returned to your deep brown ones, undertoned by your smudged mascara, finding them already on his; sharper than a moment ago, daring him to pity you.

He carefully wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders, guiding you to the passenger door of his truck, headlights still blinding, and refracting with the incoming rain.

The car ride was silent except for the quiet sounds from the radio. Jake would take occasional glances your way at stop lights, but your gaze remained on the road ahead; head leaned against the side rest of his car, body still wrapped in his jacket. You had to stop yourself from unintentionally cocooning yourself deeper into it.

“You want me to drop you off at your apartment?”

You glanced at him, “yeah.”

His frown curved deeper. Your tone lacked the usual spitfire attitude you always bared him, instead replaced by a sense of accepted defeat. A few beats of silence passed before Jake cleared his throat. “This Dylan guy must've been some date…you want to talk about it?” Your lip quirked up a bit. His name was Derrick, but you didn't have the heart to correct him.

You adjusted closer to the side of the passenger seat, leaning your head on the window.

“Not really.”

There was that same defeated tone again, the one that made Jake's heartache in a way he had never felt before for you. Or for anyone for that matter.

Jake brought his truck from a coast to a stop in front of your apartment building. His comforting gaze settled on your face, gaze still avoiding his. “Thanks for the ride home.” Your cherrywood eyes met his, giving him a tight smile before grabbing your purse, soaked coat, and leaving his jacket on the leather seat. His frown deepened, jaw tensing a bit as he watched you open his truck door. How dare this pathetic excuse of a man bring you to this state, a complete 180 to how he saw you every day since he met you.

“Wait,” you looked back towards him, expecting some usual hangman-esque comment that would surely make you throw your soaked shoe at him. “Look, Hangman, I appreciate the ride home, but I'm not in the mood to sleep with you as a ‘thank you’.” His eyebrows pinched. Did you really think that low of him? And in that same defeated tone? “That,” he sighed, “that’s not what I was going to say,” he reassured, pushing his hair back with his hand. Opposing hand still on the steering wheel, watch gleaming in the glow of the radio.

“Let me buy you some food and a drink, I know you like the Cajun fries at that bar downtown.”

You were taken aback by the offer. Frankly, you weren't in the mood if this was a joke. “It'd be my treat,” he lightly pressed with a comforting tone. You bit the inside of your lip, examining his face for any sign of ill intent, but you found nothing in his warm sea glass eyes or the defined features of his nose and jaw.

Cajun fries sounded nice.

Really nice.

And a drink sounded even better.

“Plus, I heard your stomach grumbling so you can't lie to me.” A smile almost broke out across your lips.

Almost.

“I don't know, Hang,” you sighed. The thought of snuggling up on your couch in a warm blanket, with a pint of ice cream and watching some trash reality show sounded appealing. But you were hungry and you had yet to go grocery shopping. And you had no booze.

“I promise, I'll make it worth your while…”

You bit your lip, “a drink does sound really nice…”

His lips twitched into a smile, eyes twinkling.

“Don't make me regret this, Hang…”the familiar spark in your voice slowly returned, making his heart skip a beat, “let me just change shoes first.” You grimaced as you remembered just how soaked your shoes were as the rain finally let up.

“Wouldn't dream of it, Sweets,” he reassured as you left him towards your front door, a concealed smile on your face that cracked with each stride to your door. He let his eyes skim from your bare back to your concealed hips with an appreciative gaze as the red material of your dress flowed around your bare thighs. His view closed off as you shut your front door.

You let your eyes drift across the interior of the bar at your booth, leaning your cheek on your hand. Jake had left you at the booth to get you a drink. You tried to give him a request, but he left before he could hear you. At least whatever concoction he brought you would be free. You let your eyes drift shut, listening to the sound of the bar top and the music player in the corner.

“One Tia Maria Espresso Martini for the lovely lady, and the fries are on their way.” You opened your eyes to see the almost onyx colored elixir with a layer of frothy foam in the glass, a triage of espresso beans that looked almost weightless on the foam layer.

How did he know this was your favorite? You had never ordered them at Penny’s since she didn't have Tia Maria. You looked at him, eyebrows raised, expecting some sort of explanation for how he knew about this.

“I remember you tried to order one of these at Penny's and thought you'd like it,” he said with a subtle tone of shyness, like he was apprehensive that he had overstepped, making your eyebrows knit together.

“I don't fully understand why you like them,” he teased, stirring his whiskey on the rocks in his glass, an effortlessly charming smile beginning to form on his lips, “but it makes sense.”

Your eyes narrowed at his playful ones, “what's that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back against the booth, eyes tracing the pretty features of your face and caramel skin tone, the neon lights above your seat adding to the gleam of your wavy, soft, dark hair.

Taking a sip from his glass, you tried to focus on his face and not the subtle bob of his adam’s apple as he took a warming sip of the amber liquid.

“You're kind of an acquired taste,” he took another sip, “bitter, but have a sweet side deep down.” Your eyes narrowed, “I'm not an acquired taste, you're just annoying and insufferable 99% of the time, so you never see my sweet side,” you clipped, eyes slowly sharpening. His lip quirked. To anyone else it would seem like you hated his guts. But he knew better, knew you better. He playfully put his hand over his heart, “Oh, Sweets, annoying and insufferable? You wound me.” You rolled your eyes, a smile slipping around the rim of your martini glass. The bittersweet elixir flowing down your throat. His grin widened, “there's that smile,” he teased. Before you could quip him back, the root of your culinary desire was placed on the table with a soft tap and a gentle "enjoy" from the waitress. The savory, warm smell of the spices and fries almost made you moan, only now realizing just how hungry you were. You had left your date just as you were barely through your starting salad.

“Easy there, Sweets, don't want you to choke,” he teased, giving you a wink.

You rolled your eyes at the poorly disguised innuendo, “don't tell me how to eat my fries, Bagman.”

He barely held back his laugh at what was essentially a growl. He contemplated telling you that technically they were his fries, but he opted to keep them to himself. If having three sisters had taught him anything, it's to never get between a woman and her food.

A comfortable silence fell over the table as he glanced around the bar and back to you, still picking at your fries. Eyes tracing over the defined round edges of your sinful red colored nails that he tried to not think about how they would feel pressed into his shoulder blades, to your necklace that dipped teasingly between your breasts. The subtle rise of your chest. The sprinkle of freckles and gentle flutter of your eyelashes on your cheeks. The touched-up mascara on your eyelashes. The soft flush of your cheeks. The cute curve of your nose. The gentle slope of your lips.

“You listening?”

His eyes shot to your own, his face a bit pink after having been caught.

“Of course, Sweets,”

Your eyes narrowed as you put your fry down in the basket, scoffing.

“I asked,” you leaned forward, arms crossing on the table, his eyes doing their damnedest to not dart down to your cleavage, “why you brought me here, because I don't buy it was only because my stomach was making noises.”

Your tone wasn't sharp or accusatory, but it still put him a bit on edge.

He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to get comfortable in his seat. You had a habit of putting him on edge, but in a way that made him crave more. It was almost adrenaline inducing.

“Just wanted to treat you a little, that not allowed?”

His collected, charismatic answer made you narrow your eyes.

“You're not a very good liar.”

His lip quirked into a grin, diverting his gaze down to his empty glass before bringing his warm eyes up to your own again. His grin settling into a thin line. It wasn't exactly a lie.

“I didn't want you to wallow on your couch thinking about that Danny guy. You don't deserve to feel that way.”

Your eyebrows rose, lip quirking. That definitely wasn't the answer you were expecting and it was still the wrong name, again.

His eyes dart away from yours to the bar top. Clearing his throat, “you want another martini?”

You blink, breaking your thoughts, toying with the empty glass, “yeah, I'll take another.”

Your eyes followed the way his body moved under his button up shirt that exposed a delicious amount of chest hair, and his worn, rich burnt sienna leather jacket. The way his stride exuded a rare sense of carefree confidence. The broadness of his shoulders under his jacket. The thickness of his fingers around the delicate glass of your martini. The way his golden locks of hair reflected the overhead lights of the bar and various neon signs on the wall you both were seated at.

It made you almost forget that you knew what it felt like to have his bare skin against your own. It made you forget, for just a moment, that you’d been fucking this man with no strings attached.

“Here you are, Sweets,”His smooth drawl derailed your train of thought that would have surely made you clench your thighs.

He placed the martini on the table with an almost silent clank against the table, eyes bright and playful, the rich green color added by the neon cloverleaf above his head.

Your lip quirked, “thank you…. You know I don't like it when you call me, Sweets, Hang.”

A smirk grew on his lips, “I think it suits you,” his gentle gaze on yours.

You scowled, trying to repress the smile that threatened to break through. He didn't need more encouragement to call you these…you wanted to say demeaning titles, but that felt a bit cruel. It was more like a pet name, a source of teasing that wore your nerves down faster than any other trick he had in his well developed arsenal. He'd always been something akin to a wart. Once you caught him, he was hard to leave.

“Fries any good?”

You looked down to the near-empty basket to his teasing features. A small smile broke through as you gently pushed the basket to him. After all, he did pay for them.

You watched as he took a few and brought them between his perfect teeth, eyes darting between the sight of him dipping a few more in ketchup, to picking at your red manicured nails. A comfortable silence fell over the table and quiet conversation followed, from what plans were set for their work colleagues to hang out next, to whether Bob was going to ask Admiral Simpson’s new secretary out.

“I don’t think he’s gonna do it.” Jake said confidently as he leaned back against the booth, his arm over the back, his other hand holding his near empty glass of whiskey. Your eyebrows rose, feeling a bit more loose and warm since first sitting down, mostly attributed to the fact you were finishing up your third martini. You cracked a smile, eyes comfortably heavy, “you don’t know Floyd very well then.” His eyebrows rose, encouraging you to go on. You leaned forward, eyes bright and intense, just how Jake liked them, “you do know what Bob stands for don’t you?” His lip quirked, eyes bright and mirthful, “of course, baby on board.” You took a sip from your glass, rolling your eyes at his typical cocksure tone, “No, it stands for…” His brow quirked waiting for you to finish, his grin starting to form as he watched your eyes dance across the ceiling looking for the words in your impaired state.

You leaned forward closer across the table, putting your pointer fingers up, biting at the inside of your cheek, losing your battle with the grin that wanted to gleam on your face, “it stands for Big Ol’ Balls.” His own laughter bubbled up in his throat as he watched you crumble into near hysterics at what had just left your mouth.

His laughter settled while yours continued, failing to do anything else but just listen to the sweet noise. He had heard your laugh before, but he’d never had any significant part of bringing it out of you. He let a smile grace his lips at the sweet noise. As your laughter died down, he let his eyes wander to the jukebox in the corner and the thinning out crowd at the bar. He bit the inside of his cheek, the creases of his forehead showing as he listened to the song emulating from the speakers.

“Do you wanna dance?” Jake asks, not fully thinking about the question.

Your espresso martini almost did a full stop in your throat. Tonight had been a series of firsts with Hangman; sharing fries, him buying you drinks, and seeing you in your romantic element. Dancing together was an oddly intimate first. Sure, you’d both fucked each other’s brains out almost every other day, but dancing, well, dancing was something that seemed to be a step further than that. It didn’t involve a physical closeness attributed to taking your frustrations out on each other; it was two people flowing together, not trying to wrack each other’s physical resolve. It completely contradicted the original purpose of getting physically close to this insufferable, arrogant man; an outlet for pent up frustration through deeply satisfying, carnal escapades.

Before you could stop yourself, you nodded.

He rose up out of the booth first with a squeak, offering you his hand. Your deep brown eyes looking up at him, then darting to his outstretched hand, your lips parting.

This was new, uncharted territory.

“I promise I won’t bite,” he reassured with a smile. He tried to not think about the way your red dress hugged your curves so deliciously, or how your cleavage almost spilled over the top of your garment. You had already had three martinis, and were definitely feeling the effects of them. He didn’t want to make you feel pressured into anything that you both typically took part in when you were this close physically. But he still wanted to be close to you.

You bit the inside of your lip and, for reasons only God could tell you, you took his hand.

He led you to the corner near the jukebox that was otherwise mostly emptied out. The beginning of England Dan and John Ford Coley’s I'd really love to see you tonight flowed from the speakers as Jake settled his hands on your waist, your own apprehensively around his neck, keeping your body upright as you let the initial beats flow through you in your relaxed state. His evergreen eyes traced over your melted brown ones, admiring the subtle flush of your cheeks to your low, lidded eyes.

Hello, yeah, it's been a while

Not much, how about you?

Your eyes darted around his face, avoiding his eyes that seemed to solely focus on your own. His hands squeezed your hips. In attraction or comfort, you couldn’t quite tell.

I'm not sure why I called

I guess I really just wanted to talk to you

You should have felt more alarmed by the close proximity and unorthodox reason behind it, but, and you didn’t want to admit it, the proximity felt nice. Maybe it was because of the drinks? It had to be because of the drinks.

And I was thinking maybe later on

We could get together for a while

One of his hands left your hip to softly, ever so softly, to lift your chin up to meet his eyes. “What are you getting shy about?” The gentle smirk on his lips paired perfectly with his rich green eyes.

It's been such a long time

And I really do miss your smile

You swallowed, eyes trapped in a jade coated trance. “I think I just had too much to drink.” His lip quirked at your soft, almost whispered tone, holding you as you both swayed to the music. He knew you could hold more alcohol, but didn’t press.

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

He brought you closer to him, resting his head against the side of your own. Savoring the soft smell of citrus from your hair and the warm skin of your lower back against the palm of his hand, and the silk texture of your hand in his own.

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

This felt like the most alien and natural thing he had done with you. It almost made him forget that within only the last few hours, he was fucking you against the hunter green lockers, feeling you cum on his cock.

We could go walking through a windy park

Or take a drive along the beach

He tried to not ruin the delicate moment he was having with you, and he figured his dick pressing into you might make you forget about all the good the night has brought between you two. A larger part of him than he cared to admit didn’t want to go back to the no-strings-attached arrangement he’d had with you for the past few months.

Or stay at home and watch TV

You see it really doesn't matter much to me

He wanted more moments like this with you. But he could feel the apprehension that, as much as he didn’t want to admit, was mostly attributed to his reputation. In the months since first feeling you fall apart under him, he hadn’t slept with anyone else. Not even the desperate tag chasers in form-fitting maxi dresses at the Hard Deck. And that had to count for something.

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

He couldn’t help the pang in his chest; you were definitely open to dating other men. Could he really change your mind about him?

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

You had to admit, if someone had told you months ago that you would be slow dancing with Hangman in a nearly empty bar, and you wouldn't be trying to claw his throat out, you would have told them they’d been breathing in too much jet fuel. As much as you hated to admit it, it felt nice and, dare say, comforting being here with him.

I won't ask for promises

So you don't have to lie

The soft texture of his jacket, warm hold, and soothing scent around his neck made you sigh. It was different from his usual mix of jet fuel, sweat, bergamot, and cedarwood. A part of you really hated how anything looked good on him and that he smelled amazing in whatever scent wafted off of him.

We've both played that game before

Say I love you and say goodbye

“I’m sorry your date didn’t go well tonight,” You gently leaned back from his head, eyes meeting his own. Your eyes drooped comfortably as you looked over his face, trying to detect any sense of pity or ridicule. But all you found were warm, soulful, malachite eyes looking back into your burnt sienna ones under the neon lights. If your mind was clearer, you’d say it was romantic. But this was Hangman, and what he did best was no-commitment hookups in the dead of night. Not romance. It would take more than three martinis to make you forget that.

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

“Yeah, me too,” you muttered before leaning your head back on his shoulder. He swallowed gently, afraid that the movement would disturb you.

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

Jake continued to hold you close as slow songs continued to ebb and flow from the speaker, one after the other; trying to not let his mind drift to how this would play out tomorrow in your more sober mind, until he could feel your weight grow heavier against his body as you swayed gently.

“Hey, Sweets,” he whispered against your hair. You hummed, eyes fluttered closed. “I should get you home.” You hummed in agreement, not having the strength to fight him on the pet name. Your sequoia-colored eyes peeking open, making him smile.

He settled the tab, placing his leather jacket around your shoulders that wrapped you in warmth and the soothing smell of cedarwood and cinnamon.

He walked you back to his truck, opening the door for you and making sure you were settled before closing the door.

The car ride back was silent as you tried to stay awake, listening to the slow country song on the radio, your eyes drifting shut. The smooth stall of the truck made your eyes flutter open. Jake gently reached out to you, gingerly rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger against your exposed forearm to get your attention. You flinched at the unexpected, soft, almost non-existent contact, body tensing. “We’re here, Sweets,” his gentle tone letting your body ease back into the seat.

Before your mind thought to open the door, he was already on the other side opening it for you, and offering you his hand to step down. It was truly unfair how good he looked under the streetlights outside your apartment, with his unbuttoned shirt, sunglasses hooked in the front, and slightly disheveled hair. It made you wonder how you came to hate this man in the first place. But then again, hate was a strong word and maybe he didn’t deserve to have it placed on him. Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis he bought you, tinting your vision of who he was tonight.

Jake didn’t ask if you wanted him to walk you to your door. He held your hand gently in a way that seemed unusual for him as he walked with you up the stone steps to your front door. “Thanks for tonight. I really needed it.” His face broke out into a soft, sincere smile, “anytime, Cherry.” Your lips tugged into a smile, diverting your eyes to the house keys in your hand. His eyes couldn't stop drawing to the strand of dark hair that kept getting in your eyes. Your gaze shot to him as he let his forefinger sweep the hair behind your ear.

“You deserve to have fun every once in a while.”He murmured, eyes tracing over the fine features of your face and the rich color of your hair under the porch light. His soft eyes brought a certain warmth that you'd never experienced with him.

You gave him a smile, as you fiddled with your keys, fighting off the blush that threatened to break through.

“Do you think,” you swallowed, “that you could not tell anyone about my really shitty date?” Jake, putting on a small smile, nodded, “yeah, of course, Sweets. I mean, I think I did a pretty good job at rectifying the experience.”

His gentle, carefree smirk made your lip tip up into a small smile and shake your head.

You let go of his hand, resisting to admit that you missed the contact already.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Hang,” you bid farewell.

He watched with a gentle smile and warm eyes as you closed the door behind you, giving him a soft wave.

His lips pursed, morphing back into a smile as he walked back to his truck. The night seemed to fulfill him more than all of your trysts combined.

It had to count for something that you didn't ask him to never mention your... date? if he could even call it that...

You leaned back against your shut front door, a smile on your lips that he had never brought past your lips.

Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis and this haze would lift in the morning, and he’d go back to being Hangman.

Or maybe, just maybe, he truly wasn't as bad as you thought.

People who may be interested <3

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#pick your poison challenge #hangman #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x Cherry #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x f!reader

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anamericangirl · 5 months ago

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As a Furry AND a Warhammer 40k fan, there is tragedy in both walks when it comes to the encroachment of LGBT.

For 40k it's been less profound but still VERY noticeable. Factions like the Adeptus Mechanicus, for example, are constantly being dragged into the Identity Politics Mud by midwit tourists who just discovered the hobby and can't think of any other lens to observe the media through. I remember somebody who painted her Tyrannids - TYRANNIDS - Giant Insect-Lizard Beast aliens that, ironically, invade planets to assimilate everything into their biomass in an all-consuming hive that leaves planets nothing but rock by the time they leave - in Trans Pride Colors because she herself is Trans and wanted to express her gender.

I get that it's her plastic, but it's so creatively bankrupt and narcissistic how these people take the communities and twist them to no longer be about the media itself but "How I can project myself into it."

It's one thing to have an OC in the universe that just so happens to be male/female/trans/gay/etc, but it's another when the first thing you say about them has to do with their special pairing of genitals and what they do with them.

As for the Furries, because so many of them fall into that spectrum (I'll admit I do too but I reject being called "LGBT"), the "Community" has largely been consumed by it. I went to my first Furry Convention and half of it was about Pride, which, if anything, felt even more arbitrary in its sheer propagation in the community.

Going to a furry convention and saying "I'm Gay" and expecting that to be your unique feature when you're surrounded by Gay Furries is ridiculous - but they encourage it anyway! HALF of the panels were about LGBT and PRIDE. They just jump into the collective without a second thought because it gives them validation kudos and backpats without ever talking about the thought process behind their Sona or what media they enjoy - heck, it's at the forefront of so many of them to wear Pronoun Tags or have Pride Pins or just outright put a pride symbol ON their fursona to express how "Important it is to them."

But WHY is it important? Is it really important or are you compensating for the reactionaries in your life by BEING a reactionary and quadrupling down on it to try and seek validation?

It's so redundant and takes away so much from any real "Community" as it just becomes a monotonous sludge of rainbow flags.

I feel you dude it sucks when your hobby or anything you enjoy becomes all about lgbt activism and just focuses on diversity and pride more than anything else.

I never delved into the furry community but with the way it’s portrayed it pretty much comes across as another letter in the alphabet soup because it focuses so strongly on who’s gay and what you want to identify as more than it is about the actual hobby, which sucks for people aren’t invested in it for those reasons.

I remember going to a Broadway convention a while back because I’ve always loved Broadway musicals and while a big portion of Broadway lovers are lgbt it certainly is not about gender and sexuality but if feels like it is now. Everyone had pride pins and there were so many panels on diversity and sexuality and being an lgbt musical fan and representation and it was like um hello can this just be about musicals again? Why we are we focusing so much on one group of fans? This is something we can all come together on and appreciate together and instead you’re making it about you yet again.

#anon #answered

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girlbloggerbae13 · 4 months ago

Text

Against Better Judgement - Part 1

I have re-entered my hyperfixation of The Boys due to season 4's release. Unfortunately I am a maladaptive daydreamer and can insert an original character into any given piece of media. So this is a Butcher x OC story, where OC is Hughie's big sister...so it does fit the story of the show pretty much to a tee (that is just how my brain cooks it up, sorry) - but there will be more details, side stories, etc to make it more fun for the Butcher storyline! And of course, it's written in OC's pov, so you get to know her backstory and thought process quite a bit. Please let me know what you think!

At 2 o’clock in the afternoon, Mickey should have been awake. A functioning, stable, put-together 29 year-old would be. Not Mickey. She was passed out in bed (a full size mattress resting on the floor in her room), her body still trying to process all the alcohol she had consumed the night before. And the morning before. As well as the few consecutive days before that. That’s how it had been for as long as she could remember, at least since –

The phone rang. Mickey groggily lifted her head from the pillow, reaching for her cell phone. She had apparently neglected to plug it in before she fell asleep last night. Hughie? She stumbled over to the corner, where her charger was plugged in, not quite able to reach the bed. I’ve been meaning to call him.

“Hughie? I’m sorry, I really have–,” she started, already guiltily rambling, but she was cut off by her brother’s wails. “Hughie?” He wasn’t stopping. “Hugh? Hugh? Hey, what happened? Hughie?” Mickey was already standing up and putting her shoes on, despite the hangover-induced migraine that was making her ears ring.

Hughie sniffled, gasping, then went silent. His breath was shaky. “Hughie?” Mickey warily said to her brother.

“She, she was j-just standing there,” he started.

“Who was? Hugh. I’m on my way, but I need you to tell me what happened.”

“We were just…I was leaving work, and she…,” his voice cracked as Mickey grabbed her keys, wallet, and flask. Empty. She’d grab something on the way to fix whatever had ruffled her little brother’s feathers. He was a sensitive kid, always had been. It was probably just some car accident he had seen while going on lunch, or even worse, he had been riding his bike and, distracted by the great Billy Joel, accidentally hit a kid. That had happened before. That would make sense. Everything is okay. The bad stuff happens to me, not him.

“Robin.” He was gasping for air now. Mickey’s heart dropped. “She was one step off the fucking…and he just came out of nowhere…she– I, I didn’t have time to…God, Mick, oh my God, Mickey…Robin, she’s gone.”

Mickey was about to open the door, but she turned around and threw up in the kitchen sink.

—

“The service was beautiful,” Dad said. Mickey had to stifle her laughter. She always did during times like these. Funerals, memorials, the like. The drinking helped, for a little bit at least. When it stops helping, it just means you need to drink more.

Mickey took a sip of her drink – some shitty wine her dad had likely bought to assuage the “divorcee blues” – and took a look at her brother. He was staring forward, scowling, with blank eyes. She knew what he was thinking. Hughie was asking himself what he could have done differently. What he could have said, or in his instance, where he could have stood differently. He’s wishing it was him instead of Robin. Maybe he’s thinking about joining Robin in death, or maybe that had just been Mickey when her husband died.

She had stood, motionless, next to Liam’s casket, as friends and family came up to her and gave their condolences. Mickey had sat with her head down, avoiding eye contact with Liam’s mother and father. He had been an only child. Perfect Liam. Hughie had nudged her to signal that it was the part of the funeral where she was supposed to stand for the family honors. Had they never married, the “honors” would have gone to his parents. She was the one that wanted a big, white wedding.

Mickey’s eyes had been squeezed shut as the rifle volleys were fired. Why do they fire blanks at a military funeral? The loud noises can’t be good for attendees suffering from PTSD. Like Liam had been. Mickey counted the shots.

One. Liam's face flashed in her mind.

Two. She squeezed her eyes tighter.

Three. Everything Mickey had ever wanted. Gone.

One of the other soldiers started playing Taps. She didn’t even have tears left, just rage. Mickey wanted to grab the stupid fucking bugle and slam it on her husband’s casket until it split open. She wanted to pick Liam up by the collar of his stupid fucking uniform and shake him back to life. She wanted to scream at him for leaving her a stupid fucking mess. For leaving her alone. All alone. She wanted to smash his head into the pavement until he died. Again.

They handed her – the next of kin – the neatly folded American flag. Mickey didn’t want it; she would have happily given it to her in-laws. She didn’t need another reminder of the mess he had gotten himself, or herself into, for that matter. Liam and his stupid patriotism. He had worshiped Supes, but unlucky for him, wasn’t gifted with any super ability. So he joined the military. For what? A couple years overseas firing at whatever your commanding officer told you to, a shitty government job where you’re just another cog in the wheel of the “Great Big American Dream” (the military industrial complex), and a never ending B-roll of whatever tragedies you had bore witness to. Mickey’s superiority complex had gotten her into psychology, then into the FBI’s training program to be a special agent. But this happened. And when you fire a gun at your officer’s foot – it was the ground next to him…it was never going to actually hit him…she had fantastic aim, and he was pissing her off – you can’t be a special agent.

That left her a widow at 26. Jobless. And an escalating alcoholic.

That wouldn’t happen to Hughie, though. Mickey wouldn’t let it.

She was brought back to reality by her dad. “Michaela, please make sure your brother signs the papers today. It’s what Robin would have wanted” She waved off her dad, scoffing.

The Vought attorney? Paralegal? PR motherfucker. Had some sense of entitlement coming in and asking Hugh to keep his mouth shut. And for only $45,000, as if that could immediately fix his grief. Obviously, it would work in Vought’s favor. No one would ever know that A-Train had run right through Robin, leaving only her hands, still holding on to Hughie’s. And the TV “apology” the asshole had given was disingenuous, to say the least, and a cover-up, to tell the truth. In the middle of the road? Yeah, right.

“Can I think on it?” Hughie asked the suit. Mickey breathed out a sigh of relief. It’s not like she hated Supes in general, but they reminded her of the military – especially Homelander – so each day her distaste for Vought, The Seven, and any asshole with super-strength grew exponentially.

“Good choice,” Mickey told her brother after she hastily escorted the suit out the door. “I know the money seems nice, but in my experience, it only pisses you off more. Plus, you’ll probably blow it on something stupid.”

“Like booze?” Hughie gave a half-smile to his sister for the first time since the accident.

“Ha-ha, asshole. Exactly like booze. I’ll stop when I’m ready to come back to real life.”

“Well while you continue to bury yourself in liquor, I’m going to bury myself in work.”

“Not any time soon, though, right?” Mickey asked, standing up.

“Why not? It’ll be a good distraction.” Hughie shrugged. This behavior wasn’t like Hughie at all, granted she had never witnessed him after he lost a significant other before, not like this. Maybe it will be beneficial, at least more beneficial than the coping mechanisms she chose. Everyone handles grief differently, right?

—

“Sorry, we’re closing–” Hughie turned to see Mickey walking through the tech store door. “Oh. We are getting ready to close.”

“I know, I know. I’m not here to shop. Now that you’re back at work, stupidly, might I add, I wanted to offer my free labor. I figured we could do the opposite of what we did when we were little and had chores. You get to sit and boss me around, and tell me what to do,” Mickey dropped the Tupperware of funeral food on the checkout counter. “Plus, I brought you dinner.”

“Really? Funeral leftovers?”

Mickey rolled her eyes. “Look, dude, it was already made. Now will you tell me what wires I need to put where so we can go home and–”

Both the Campbell siblings turned to the door. The bell rang, and the door was open, but neither of them could see a customer.

“Who are you?” A voice said.

“What the fuck?” The siblings said in unison.

“Right in front of you, pricks.” They were staring at the voice when whoever it was held up a small disc, waving it in Hughie’s face. “You think I wouldn’t find this thing?”

“What did you do, Hugh?” Mickey asked her brother, gritting her teeth. Wanting revenge on A-Train was one thing, but if her hunch was correct, this invisible guy was none other than Translucent. How did he get tangled up with one of the other Seven?

The Supe grabbed Hugh’s badge. “Hughie,” he jeered, then without warning, slammed Hugh face down into the counter, cracking the glass case. Hugh was launched over the counter. “Pussy! I followed you from the fucking tower,” Translucent said, lifting Hughie up again.

“The fucking tower?” Mickey was now yelling, but still frozen. “What the fuck, Hugh?”

Hughie was then launched into one of the store’s windows, cracking it. She had to do something. “Oh, and who’s this, Hughie? Your little accomplice?” The voice got closer, and Mickey could hear footsteps making their way towards her.

An invisible hand grabbed her by the hair, and she instinctively raised her knee, hard, hoping to hit Translucent where it mattered. He groaned, releasing her hair. Mickey tried to dash over to her brother, but was yanked up by her hair again and thrown backwards into a shelf of routers. Now her and Hughie were both on the ground, coughing, and Mickey still had no fucking clue what was going on. She propped herself up against what was left of the shelf, blinking and trying to reset her eyes.

“Who’s that guy you were with? In the car?” Translucent asked a panting Hughie. “Who was he? He put you up to this?” Now he was screaming, Hughie trying to escape, and Mickey was trying to get herself on her feet.

“I, I don’t know! He was just some Uber driver, okay?” Hughie’s voice cracked as he pleaded with the Supe.

Mickey grabbed an extension cord from the ground and slowly prepared to blindly wrangle their attacker, but unable to see the Supe, she didn’t see him making his way over to the wall closest to her, and in one fell swoop, Translucent grabbed the extension cord and threw it, and Mickey still holding on, to the opposite side of the store. She landed behind the shattered glass counter, still faintly able to understand what was transpiring through the ringing the blow had left in her ears.

“Oh don’t give me some bullshit! Uber driver?” Translucent mocked Hughie. Mickey could see a TV being lifted off its wall mount. “What, you think I’m some fucking idiot?” Translucent was walking over to Hugh, the flat-screen lifted high. “Why’d you plant the bug?”

“Please, please. Please, please, no. Please,” Hughie pleaded.

“We’re The Seven. Earth’s most mighty.”

Mickey had to do something. She propped herself up and took position to leap onto the invisible asshole.

“Champions of the innocent, motherfuc–”

A car drove right into the shop, shattering the windows, knocking down merchandise, and just barely missing Hughie. “Sorry about the mess,” a bearded man said as he exited the vehicle. “You should fuck off, Hughie.”

Mickey stood up shakily. Now she was really confused. “Who the fu–”

The Cockney-accented man turned towards her. “You must be the sister. Sorry to meet’cha under these circumstances, but you two need to scram.”

Holding a tire-iron, the man slowly walked towards where Translucent had landed, smirking. “Well if it ain’t the invisible cunt,” he chuckled to himself, then began swinging blindly around the TV wall. Moments later, he was launched into a rack of pagers.

“Hughie, Hughie, you heard him, we need to go,” Mickey said, trying to usher her brother onto his feet and away from the store.

“No, no,” Hughie stood up, brushing her off. “We can’t leave him here.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Yes, we can!” Mickey was practically pulling Hughie to the emergency exit when he stopped in his tracks. “Hugh. Hugh! No, don’t even–”

Hughie stepped back into the floor of the store with such force that he yanked her back with him. Mickey huffed and ran her hands through her hair. She inhaled and blood ran down her throat, greeting her with the familiar metallic taste.

Brit was attempting – and failing – to wrestle Translucent to the ground. Looked like he was tasting that red metal too, because with an erratic grin, he spat blood all over the Supe, revealing Translucent’s position. Smart. The bearded man then had the upper hand after headbutting the “invisible cunt” and landing a few punches, whilst slowly covering more of the Supe’s body outline with more bloody spit.

Though England put up a good fight, Translucent got one good lick in, and the man was down on the ground. Translucent looked up at Mickey, who, overcome with agitation and confusion, had not moved her feet, and she was now standing directly behind the groaning Brit. She swallowed a mouthful of blood. She was trained for this at one point in time, right? She at least had the pent-up anger for this. Mickey stepped over the Brit’s body.

“Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you just come back to the Tower with me, and I’ll make sure you don’t ever have to see these assholes ever ag–”

Mickey cut him off with a punch, slugging Translucent right across his face. Predatorial asshole. “Fuck,” she hissed, shaking her hand. She forgot how much she hated hand-to-hand combat.

Translucent stumbled a little, but popped back up, rubbing the side of his jaw. “Look, lady, I’ll give you that one, but let’s just–”

Mickey hit him again, this time with an uppercut. He charged back at her, grabbing her hair – again? – and landing a few blows to her stomach. Mickey snapped back into it, grabbing his forearm and pulling herself around so that her back was against the Supe’s chest. She flung her head back. Hard.

The Supe instinctively launched her into the wall. Now she could really taste the blood. But before she could steady herself, Translucent kicked her in the stomach, knocking her through the wall of TVs.

Thankfully, this had given England enough time to regain his strength, and he stood up, ready to attack, when Translucent gave him the same swift kick he had just given Mickey.

“So who are you?” Translucent asked. “Fucking spy?! For who, huh? You’re gonna fucking tell me!” Translucent picked up the Brit’s tire iron from the ground. “Or I’m gonna smash your fucking scalp off! Who the fuck are you?”

Through the Mickey-sized hole in the wall, she could see Brit propped up on one of his elbows, smirking. “I’ll tell you who you are,” he said. “A fucking moron. Translucent doesn’t even mean invisible. It means semi-transparent.” England made a quick glance to the other side of the store, where Mickey was able to faintly see Hughie holding an exposed wire. Hughie’s wire couldn’t reach, so England quickly kicked the Supe, sending him backwards where he waltzed right into the wire.

Translucent screamed as he got electrocuted, lighting up the store. Hughie kept screaming until Translucent’s limp body fell backwards onto the ground.

England stood up with a groan, and through shaky breaths, Hughie asked, “Is he…is he dead?”

The bearded man kicked the Supe. “Well he ain’t movin’.”

Mickey, limping, emerged from the wall she had been kicked through, and ignoring the mystery man and the Supe, yelled at Hughie, “I’m gonna need some answers, Hugh. What the fuck have you gotten into?” She gestured back at England. “And who the fuck is he?”

England put up a hand to silence her. “Whoa, whoa, darlin’, don’t fret. Name’s Butcher, and I’m just a friendly neighbor helpin’ out’ya brother here, alright?” He turned to Hughie. “Now, kid, how’d you know the electric could do the job?”

Hughie was still sitting against the TV wall. “Skin’s carbon…highly conductive. I saw it on, uh, Jimmy Fallon…”

Butcher raised an eyebrow, “Would have taken me forever to work that one out. Good job.” One thing about Hughie is that he knows the most random shit. This time it might have just saved them. Butcher made his way to Translucent’s lifeless body, and against her better judgment, Mickey followed his lead. Hughie wasn’t going to go down for this. “Let’s get ‘em in the boot.”

Hughie brought his hands up to his head. “W-wait, wait what?”

“The trunk,” Mickey and Butcher said in unison.

“See, your sister knows the lingo,” Butcher said while trying to get a grip on the Supe’s upper half.

Hughie looked at his sister, then at Butcher. “No, no, I mean, what are we doing with him?” Hughie was panicking now.

Butcher looked up at Hughie. “Well, Hughie, you just offed one of The Seven, mate.”

Mickey let out a mix of a scoff and a laugh, much to Hughie’s dismay. “Me? I…I…,” He turned his gaze to Mickey. “You’re okay with this, Mick?”

“Well no, but…I mean, he has a point, and I’m not getting in trouble for this.”

“What?! I…I…Butcher, you hit him with a fucking car!” Hughie shouted.

Butcher dropped Translucent’s torso. “Look, potato fucking potahto, we’re all in a shitload of trouble–”

“No, no! No, no, we’re not. He attacked us, and you’re…you’re a federal officer, you know?” Hughie argued, and Mickey dropped the Supe’s legs, standing up to cross her arms. This smug, sloppy, arrogant asshole is not a federal officer. “Just…just call the fucking FBI!”

The hesitation in Butcher’s voice confirmed Mickey’s suspicions. “Yeah, o-okay, so look…technically I’m not a fed,” he said, shrugging, as if this wasn’t just the atomic bomb of all bombs to drop on Hughie right now, let alone a less-than-awesome first impression to have on Mickey.

“Jesus, fuck,” Mickey started, holding her head in her hands, shaking it.

“WHAT?!” Hughie practically screeched. “Then who the fuck are you?”

#the boys #the boys s4 #the boys tv #hughie campbell #billy butcher #butcher x reader #eventual smut #slow burn #maybe #the boys oc

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canonkiller · 8 months ago

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Hi, I'm trying to do art commissions, but no one has commissioned me yet. Do you have any advice for attracting customers?

I wrote a lot of words for you in hopes that at least some of it will be helpful, so I'm putting the bulk of this answer below a read more to save people the scrolling. The quick and easy two tips that I find people forget to do the most are:

Is your art easy to find? Having a pinned post with a tag for your art, a link in your bio, or an art-focused / reblog-light blog (like this one!) make it so that people know you draw, and knowing you've been posting art for a while makes you less likely to be a scammer.

Is your commission info easy to find? People can't buy things that they don't know you're selling; clear and accessible links to your prices and terms are important.

Now for the real bulky meat of advice giving, where I say a lot of words that may or may not be relevant:

I have a lot of advice, but I do want to say before getting into it:

A lot of selling art (especially in a non-industry setting, like with social media commissions) is luck.

There is no one size fits all method for selling art, and it's best to go with what feels right to you (I'll go more into this later)

Tips for selling are not necessarily tips for creating, and there will be advice in here that I don't apply to myself. Determining what you do and do not implement is something you should decide for yourself and your work flow.

Your art not selling doesn't mean nobody cares about it.

Personally I think the idea of intentionally curating a single subject demographic of Customer and Consumer for your work is limiting and doomed to burnout in a non-industry space. I will also touch more on this later.

Now for the rest of it in varying orders:

✨ Attracting Customers

This one is going first because you mentioned it specifically. It is kind of vague though, by nature of the term, so what I advise doing is specifying.

When you are thinking of a customer, are you trying to appeal to:

People who will buy pre-made art products? (Pins, stickers, prints, etc)

People who will buy custom work? (Commissions for specific subject matter)

People who will buy art resources you've created? (Fonts, bases, texture packs, 3d models etc)

There's also frequency: a repeat customer of custom art will usually be appealed to more by a wide range of options (like illustrations), while you might get more single-purchase customers if you only offer a limited range of options (like only icons).

Demographics also, of course, play a substantial role in just custom art commissions; furries get lauded as high spenders, but they're also a huge community that is focused around OCs, so by statistics alone they will have more people with spending money and will be frequent customers of people drawing OCs. A narrower audience means fewer people, but often the spread of the people within that audience is the same - and at the end of the day, selling an art piece only requires one other person, it's just a matter of happening to find them.

The follow up question is of course the finding: the average artist in fandom spaces selling commissions does not have the platform or budget for an ad campaign. This, however, is also its own category:

✨ Posting Online

Right out the gate: anyone who has told you that just drawing x thing is the way to get easy money is wrong.

"If you draw more fan art, you'll -" wrong.

"Nobody cares about that, you should be drawing this instead -" wrong.

"if you need to sell fast, just sell porn -" wrong. And also re-evaluate your perceived lack of quality or value about the subject.

The things you will be able to create easily and consistently will be the things YOU, SPECIFICALLY, like to create. It is also entirely impossible that you are the only person on earth to have ever liked those things, which means that if you create them, there are people out there who will enjoy them.

It feels itchy to be like "and those people are Potential Customers", but it is true; your work will resonate with people. They will want you to create it. It is vitally important to your own well being that the things you create, that you want others to enjoy, are things you enjoy as well.

(This is also why the "just draw porn" joking advice that gets tossed around is particularly fucked up. You as the artist should not feel forced into drawing things you aren't comfortable with, and the vast majority of customers for explicit content also don't want the people making it to feel forced into doing so. It's basic consent. I have strong feelings about this.)

If you are creating things and putting them out into the world, they will find an audience. That audience may be one singular person! The number does not matter, because that's still a person who - again, sucks to frame ig this way - has the potential to buy things from you.

If you're constantly chasing a bigger follower count, more interactions, etc etc for the future, it can genuinely be pretty taxing on the people who want to support you in the present. When you enjoy someone's work, and want to support them, being told constantly that that support is not good enough is frustrating. Trying to follow your work should not lead to seeing more "likes are WORTHLESS and NOBODY reblogs my things" posts than it does art. You are a person making things to share with other people, and you have to remember it or you will burn yourself out into a desiccated husk.

TL:DR consistency is key and the easiest way to be consistent is to just draw whatever the fuck you live drawing in whatever ways you want to draw it, and then slap it on the internet somewhere and Keep Doing That

✨ The Actual Commission Information

this one is just factual really. A lot of artists have really shitty commission sheet layouts, because advertising graphic design and illustrative art are different skill sets. That's fine. You don't have to remake the wheel. A good commission sheet should include:

More images than text (if you can't see what the examples are when zoomed out, you have to rearrange or cut down on words)

Examples organized by price / type, and clearly labeled

Your personal favourites for examples - one really strong example piece is better than twenty tiny images of work you think is just "okay"

Contact information - having a method that works WITHOUT a social media account (email.) Is important and way easier to keep organized, imo

A SIMPLE list of strengths (the things you draw the best) and things you won't draw (common example: mechs). You do not need to list every fandom or subject matter. Limit yourself to a top five.

A clear and easy to type link for your terms of service. Carrd, and sites like it, is good for this. This will go into details about your process, what you will and won't do, permissions granted to the commissioner (like "no, you can't make an NFT with this"), your privacy policy (saying you won't sell commissioner details to third parties), and other stuff. You do not want to have all of this on your original post, because it should be thorough and you want your main post to be showcasing your work and not your legalese. Here's mine as a reference; if you have trouble writing your own, feel free to copy from it and make the necessary alterations for your work.

✨ There Was More I Was Going To Write But I Forgot

I have a different document of commission related talk here, which is also incomplete but in a different way. It's in my nature. Hopefully some combination of this and that can be useful to you. Sorry if they're not. I love you have a nice day

#not art #ask #ne0nwisp #i feel like this is a profoundly unhelpful word count but I Tried.

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