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#like I do this to myself and all those who have commissioned me have been wonderful and patient it’s all self inflicted
fursasaida · 3 months
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This article is from 2022, but it came up in the context of Palestine:
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Here are some striking passages, relevant to all colonial aftermaths but certainly also to the forms we see Zionist reaction taking at the moment:
Over the decade I lived in South Africa, I became fascinated by this white minority [i.e. the whole white population post-apartheid as a minority in the country], particularly its members who considered themselves progressive. They reminded me of my liberal peers in America, who had an apparently self-assured enthusiasm about the coming of a so-called majority-minority nation. As with white South Africans who had celebrated the end of apartheid, their enthusiasm often belied, just beneath the surface, a striking degree of fear, bewilderment, disillusionment, and dread.
[...]
Yet these progressives’ response to the end of apartheid was ambivalent. Contemplating South Africa after apartheid, an Economist correspondent observed that “the lives of many whites exude sadness.” The phenomenon perplexed him. In so many ways, white life remained more or less untouched, or had even improved. Despite apartheid’s horrors—and the regime’s violence against those who worked to dismantle it—the ANC encouraged an attitude of forgiveness. It left statues of Afrikaner heroes standing and helped institute the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which granted amnesty to some perpetrators of apartheid-era political crimes.
But as time wore on, even wealthy white South Africans began to radiate a degree of fear and frustration that did not match any simple economic analysis of their situation. A startling number of formerly anti-apartheid white people began to voice bitter criticisms of post-apartheid society. An Afrikaner poet who did prison time under apartheid for aiding the Black-liberation cause wrote an essay denouncing the new Black-led country as “a sewer of betrayed expectations and thievery, fear and unbridled greed.”
What accounted for this disillusionment? Many white South Africans told me that Black forgiveness felt like a slap on the face. By not acting toward you as you acted toward us, we’re showing you up, white South Africans seemed to hear. You’ll owe us a debt of gratitude forever.
The article goes on to discuss:
"Mau Mau anxiety," or the fear among whites of violent repercussions, and how this shows up in reported vs confirmed crime stats - possibly to the point of false memories of home invasion
A sense of irrelevance and alienation among this white population, leading to another anxiety: "do we still belong here?"
The sublimation of this anxiety into self-identification as a marginalized minority group, featuring such incredible statements as "I wanted to fight for Afrikaners, but I came to think of myself as a ‘liberal internationalist,’ not a white racist...I found such inspiration from the struggles of the Catalonians and the Basques. Even Tibet" and "[Martin Luther] King [Jr.] also fought for a people without much political representation … That’s why I consider him one of my most important forebears and heroes,” from a self-declared liberal environmentalist who also thinks Afrikaaners should take back government control because they are "naturally good" at governance
Some discussion of the dynamics underlying these reactions, particularly the fact that "admitting past sins seem[ed] to become harder even as they receded into history," and US parallels
And finally, in closing:
The Afrikaner journalist Rian Malan, who opposed apartheid, has written that, by most measures, its aftermath went better than almost any white person could have imagined. But, as with most white progressives, his experience of post-1994 South Africa has been complicated. [...]
He just couldn’t forgive Black people for forgiving him. Paradoxically, being left undisturbed served as an ever-present reminder of his guilt, of how wrongly he had treated his maid and other Black people under apartheid. “The Bible was right about a thing or two,” he wrote. “It is infinitely worse to receive than to give, especially if … the gift is mercy.”
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scaredpigeons · 3 months
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Deus Auri
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Zhongli x reader (gn)
Word count: 1.04k (smol)
CW: sfw:) mild spoilers for Neuvillettes voice lines about Morax, he calls him Deus Auri, which is god of gold in Latin— might just be a title but any little tidbit of Morax we get I just gobble gobble up. Flirting, zhongli calls you my dear, darling, vixen. No pronouns or other gender specific language used. Some kisses and allusions of wanting more.
Enjoy!
“Deus Auri.”
You can nearly hear the crack of Zhongli’s neck as his gaze whips towards you, but you keep your gaze trained on your book as if you hadn’t seen its comical swivel in your peripherals. 
“I’m sorry my dear, could you repeat that?” He said, though there was an edge to his tone. 
“Deus Auri—God of Gold. What can you tell me about that name?” You said, index finger gliding down the edge of the book. You were no longer reading, but still kept your eyes trained on the pages to pretend like you weren’t vibrating with excitement at his reaction. 
Zhongli was naturally very stoic, a well maintained facade to those who weren’t interested in looking deeper. 
You had been plenty interested, taking one look at him and instantly knowing he was no ordinary man. 
Now the better part of half a year into your blossoming relationship, he still hadn’t outright told you, but he’d grown comfortable. 
You’d catch glimpses of his wrists, normally covered— deep onyx with veins of pure gold. Though this only happened in the safety of his home— there was a time he had to remove his gloves to help you in the kitchen, and his perfectly pale, human hands had distracted you the entire time. 
The glamor he kept up in public slipped a bit when he was more at ease. 
To the eye that was actually looking, zhongli really wasn’t subtle about who he was. 
“Well, why don’t we start with where you heard such a name?” He asked. 
“I was with the traveler last week, helping she and paimon with a commission in Fontaine.” 
You can see the minuscule wince he gives out of the corner of your eye. Just a twitch of the brows as he blinks, so graceful, but you catch it because you’re looking for it. 
“I overheard a conversation she had with a lovely gentleman over there, though I didn’t get to introduce myself. He mentioned the name when the traveler was asking him about Rex Lapis.”
You closed your book, finally turning to look at him, though you kept your gaze coyly through heavy lids, peaking demurely at him through your lashes. 
“And you know, I thought that was very strange, her asking him about Rex lapis, when she could learn anything and everything about him from our resident expert.” 
“The traveler has not visited liyue to see me in some time, darling. And I'm sure there are others who’ve studied the gods. I am not the only knowledgeable one in Teyvat.” 
“I know, I know.” You chewed on your lip a bit for effect, looking puzzled. “So who is this Deus Auri? Is it perhaps another one of Morax’s many names?” 
You looked at him expectantly, grinning as he grew more stiff in his seat beside you. A mere foot of space between you on the couch and he looked like he was ready for you to pounce on him. 
You wanted to, you have wanted to, but he so chivalrously insists upon taking it slow. 
Hand holding in the harbour. Chaste kisses good night. You wanted so badly to break through his barriers but you knew he was holding back.
“You are…” he let a puff of air through his nose. “Correct in the knowledge that Morax was known to have many different names. Unfortunately that is all I can say on the matter.” 
“So cryptic.” You squinted at him. He often shut you out when you pried like this, poking and prodding in places you know you shouldn’t be, but he was always kind and straightforward about it—so you usually dropped it as soon as he denied you. 
“Do you think he had a favourite name that he went by?” You pushed a bit more, hoping to get him to give you just one more crumb before you played your cards. It was time, you were getting tired of hiding it.
He smiled thoughtfully, relaxing into the couch once more. “I’d like to think that he enjoyed the name Rex Lapis, the name given to him by his people. I’m sure it brought him a great sense of pride.” 
You grinned, soaking in his expression and words. Knowing what you know— gods. He really was so cute sometimes. 
You open up your book, stilling your grin to prepare for what was next. 
“Really? I’d like to think Zhongli is his favourite. Retirement is a good look for him.” 
You expected denial, perhaps his neck snapping back to you like it did when you first mentioned the ancient name. 
What you didn’t expect was to be tackled to the floor, a gloved hand supporting your neck instinctively as you and your book tumbled along the floor with the blur of rich oranges and browns that took you down. 
When you finally settled, you were on your back with him looming over you, pining you to the ground. 
“You little vixen. How long have you known?” His eyes were wild, hair a mess, cheeks flushed and breathless. Disheveled.
He looked more beautiful now than you’d ever seen him before.  
“From the moment you opened your mouth.” 
He kissed his teeth in a quick tsk, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Nothing escapes you, does it? I knew I would be in trouble with you.”  
You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him back towards you. 
“And yet you kept me around regardless.” You smiled, giving him a quick, teasing peck on the lips. 
“How could I not? You have an inescapable magnetism that I am completely captured by. I’m afraid to say that you’re unraveling me even as we now speak.” 
You grinned at him, face feeling just as flush as his. 
“How much more unraveling do I need to do to get you to let down those walls you keep around you?” 
“They were gone the moment I saw that you knew the truth, my dear, you should have said something much sooner.” He tilted his head with a soft grin. 
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him ever closer. 
“Kiss me then, you old blockhead.” 
He gave a rumble in his chest that sounded very much like a growl, and it set your nerves on fire.  
“Behave.” He said sternly. 
“No promises,” you said as you kissed him. 
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vixstarria · 5 months
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Another gift
This is a continuation of my headcanon of Astarion’s romance with bard Tav. I can’t remember the actual chronology of cutscenes, but let’s assume this takes place after you’ve started a sexual relationship with Astarion and are beginning to grow closer. I was going to take it in a different direction initially, but these things have a mind of their own once they get going. 
If you like it, check out my first fic. I do plan on writing more! 
P.S. I may have taken some liberties with the game background story and DnD lore and magic system here – if it doesn’t really match up or make sense – sorry! Also I’m still only on Act 2. 
Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion. 
Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav  
Comfort, fluff, budding love, humour, angst, banter, no spoilers, non-explicit 
Approximately 2,000 words. 
 
Astarion was standing outside his tent with his back to the camp, staring into a silver mirror. The man had either lost his vampiric condition, lost his mind, or was simply brooding.  
“Looking at something?” he asked absent-mindedly, as you approached. 
Brooding. Definitely brooding.  
“Looking for something.” 
“Oh?” He turned towards you. “Just my company, or is there something else I can offer you?” 
“I'm the one making an offering, actually. I thought I’d bring you a little snack” 
Astarion grinned and beckoned you inside his tent.  
Inside, aside from his bedroll, was a trunk with a large mirror opposite, a lit lantern and a scattering of weapons, equipment and books. You assumed your usual position, cross-legged on the bedroll, and offered him your wrist. This didn’t take long. Just a little pick me up.  
He finished, planting a light kiss on your wrist, reached for his amulet and whispered an incantation to heal the wound. He kept hold of your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.  
“Do you have any idea how much I appreciate that you don’t sexualise this?”  
“I haven’t thought about it... Really?” 
“Well imagine that any time you went to, say, take a bite of a turkey leg, there was someone staring, groping themselves and wagging their tongue at you. When you’re just trying to perform basic functions to stay alive.” 
“Sweetheart, that’s an average evening at the pub for me, when I perform. With or without me biting on anything. ...But I see what you mean”. You contemplated what he just said in a brief silence. “I can't believe you just compared me to a turkey leg.” 
“You’re more of a ripe, juicy peach” he said. You found yourself oddly pleased to be compared to fruit rather than poultry. 
You glanced at the large mirror standing on the floor of the tent.  
“You own an awful lot of mirrors for a vampire. Why do you even keep this here?” 
“That? Oh, it reflects light... makes the tent appear more spacious... prevents anyone from sneaking up on me. ...Unless they’re another vampire.” Astarion said contemplatively. “And I figured, I woke up once with a tadpole in my brain that let me walk in the sun again – who's to say I won’t catch another parasite tomorrow that might cure my vampirism entirely?” 
“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?” 
“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I’ve lost. I wouldn’t even recognise myself anymore. It’s been two hundred years.” 
“But...” you fumbled, trying to wrap your mind around that. “You could have found a street artist to sketch you since then.” 
“In the middle of the night?” 
“Or commissioned a portraitist, those artistic types would accommodate you any time of day or night” 
“Commissioned a - …I’m sorry, at what point did I give you the impression that Cazador paid us an allowance..?” Astarion was growing agitated. “And before you say I could have stolen – remember, everything I had, anything I acquired by any means, the clothes on my back, my body, my will – it all belonged to the master.” He paused, regaining control of his demeanour. “There was no point in having any possessions, it would all be the bastard’s in the end. I didn’t want to give him any more than I absolutely had to.” 
You kicked yourself in the ass mentally.  
“Well how’s this... We get to Baldur’s Gale. We exterminate Cazador and take over his palace. Then we rip out whatever he’s got as décor, commission all the best artists, and hang paintings of you on every wall. There will be nothing but portraits of Astarion everywhere.” Astarion’s eyes softened as he watched you gesticulating and getting carried away by your own imagination. “Astarion in shining armour. Astarion on a horse. Astarion on silk bedsheets, half-covered in rose petals. Pirate Astarion. Astarion stroking a cat. Historic events, but every single person depicted is Astarion. Oh! And in the main banquet hall, there will be an enormous mural of you, fully naked, lounging on a divan and being fed grapes by a cadre of nymphs.” 
“With a fig leaf covering my unmentionables?” 
“A comically large fig leaf. Or better yet, no fig leaf, just your full unmentionable glory looming over the dining table” You paused, as if sobering up after being lost in your grand vision, and added in a more serious tone: “We can commission busts and statues, too. Get a mold of your face for a hyper-realistic one.” 
“We” he whispered, as if to himself, with a scornful chuckle.  
“Oh? Do you have someone else in Baldur’s Gate you’d rather spend time with?” You realised how callous that might have come across as soon as the words were out, and cringed inwardly. 
“...No, I don’t” he said absently. 
“Elves live long lives... Do you still have real family there? Friends from... before? ...A spouse? Children?” You'd wondered about this before, and figured you may as well lie in the hole you’d dug for yourself.  
“Gods, no!” Astarion blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t even considered a full adult by elven society then. No, mercifully I didn’t leave any little Astarions behind. All my friends from my youth are either dead or have blissfully forgotten me. And I don’t even know where my family is.” 
You gave him a sympathetic and questioning look, waiting for him to go on. He sighed and continued. 
“As you might expect, Cazador placed a restriction on me, preventing me from telling anyone about my affliction. I couldn’t approach my old acquaintances and go ‘Surprise! I’m actually alive! ...Sort of. I’m just someone’s vampire spawn slave now!’. No. I was to turn around and walk the other way if I ever came upon anyone who might recognise me. I was supposed to be devoted only to my new ‘family’.” he scowled. “I feared that Cazador would use anyone he thought might be important to me against me - for fun, or to teach me a ‘lesson’. And he would have, too: the mental torture he unleashed on his spawn was far worse than physical.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t go and see my family, but as soon as I had my wits about me, I managed to arrange for one of the mercenary guilds to quickly escort my relatives out of the city. They were to be told that I made some powerful enemies who had me murdered, and that these enemies would come for them next. That they had to leave, change their names, and never return. I don’t know where they went. I can’t know, if I want them to be safe.” He looked away. “I can’t imagine how much they hated and cursed me. I ruined their lives.” he whispered. 
“You saved them!” you objected, taking his hand. He shrugged but squeezed your hand back. 
“I suppose I might have. Cazador would’ve left their heads on spikes in my crypt by now, otherwise.” He met your eyes again. “So yes, if anyone is going to be helping me decorate a palace, it’s you.” he added with a false cheer, clearly finished with the topic of Cazador.  
You thought he might want to be alone then and were about to leave, but he gently pulled you towards himself. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a trunk. You settled between his legs, your back against his chest, his lips right at your ear, one arm across your shoulders and chest, the other playing with your hair. The large mirror was on the ground right in front of you. He studied your reflection over your shoulder. You appeared to be lounging suspended at an odd angle.  
“How does it even work, anyway... It’s not just your body that disappears, it’s your clothing, too”. You grabbed a hat from the top of the trunk, holding it by its crown, and held it over Astarion’s head, moving it in circles against his hair. “Now you see it...” You let go and watched it disappear in the reflection. “Now you don’t.” 
“I’m actually not sure, darling. Maybe it needs to be supported solely by me. Or it’s got to do with movement” He threw the hat back onto the trunk, where it reappeared in the reflection. 
“Say...” threw your head back to look up into his eyes “Do you think my reflection would disappear... if a part of you was inside?” you bit your lip and grinned mischievously.  
“I don’t think so, but I love how that dirty mind of yours works” he purred in your ear. “Let’s check and find out” His hand slid towards the clasp of your pants, but you swatted it away. 
“Later.” Suddenly you were on a mission. “I have an idea.” 
The rest of your group were gathered around the fire as you made a dash for your tent and grabbed your kit of stage paints and powders.
“Chk, are you doing each other’s makeup in there?” came a scoff from Lae’zel, as you rushed past. 
“Don’t be jealous, Lae. We’ll have a girls night and braid each other’s hair tomorrow” you retorted, making Shadowheart choke on her drink.  
Back in Astarion’s tent, you reached for one of your loose facial powders. 
“You really don’t need to do anything, I’m used to it and nothing will work anyway” protested a confused and weary Astarion. 
“Astarion!” you said gravely, “This isn’t for you. This is for science”, and you blew the powder hard into his face. Sure enough, an outline of his features appeared briefly in the mirror, as the powder flew all around him. “It worked!” 
“Fan-tastic! Too bad you had to blind me to achieve that split second of a silhouette!” he coughed and rubbed at his eyes. 
“It should work with water, too, if you want me to pour some over your head. You need to wash all that powder off anyway, you look ridiculous.”  
He glared at you through the still flying powder particles and pointed a finger at your face.  
“No.” 
“Actually, hang on, I have a better idea.” You heard him groan into his hands behind you, as you ran back to your tent, to return with an amulet.  
“So, the good news is, I am really, really bad at this.” 
“If this involves setting me on fire again...” 
“That was an accident. Anyway... No, this lets me create a fog cloud. Or so it should. I can just barely manage some fog tendrils. Now if I just aim them at your face...” You concentrated on the spell. Whisps of fog appeared around Astarion. “Look...” As the fog tendrils twisted in the air, you could just make out a form that they floated around, in the reflection, one unmistakably of a face.  
“Well...” breathed Astarion, transfixed by the reflection, trying to make motions with his head to make the fog recoil. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve seen in centuries” 
“Come on” you grasped his hand. “Let’s go outside, it needs a different light and a slight breeze” 
Astarion snatched his handheld mirror and followed you. He was actually eager.  
Outside, Astarion spun in the whispy fog, gazing at the mirror in disbelief, as you continued to concentrate on the spell. It was actually working. Your conjuration magic was just bad enough to make the thinnest layer of fog, framing his face like a delicate mask and reflecting in the mirror. What would have been considered incredibly precise work by a wizard, was made possible entirely thanks to you borderline failing.  
“That’s better... I’ll channel the fog right, you turn left against it. No, your other left! No, don’t go into the fire, you idiot, it won’t be my fault this time” 
You grabbed Astarion by the hand and tried to guide him away from fire and anything he could trip over – he was paying exactly zero mind to anything around him, as he semi-stumbled in circles, looking in the mirror. Scratch ran around you, barking, excited for a new game, and eventually tripped you both. 
“Another gift...” Astarion smiled at you, as Scratch did his utmost to lick his face.  
Meanwhile, the group watched the two of you from a distance, dumbfounded. Lae'zel broke the silence: 
“Your people have the strangest mating rituals.”  
“Should I... should I tell them I can probably just cast mirror image on him? I’ve only done it on myself, but it should follow the same principle” added Gale. 
“Maybe tomorrow” said Shadowheart. “Just let them enjoy this tonight.” 
~~~~~
Next in series
AO3
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eggluverz · 8 months
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danheng and reader are interns at the same company and there’s one sided beef from reader’s end cuz they’re trying to compete with him but he’s clueless and just thinks she’s hardworking and cute 😭
— THE INTERNS
In which you view your internship as a competition and Dan Heng is simply attracted to your hard work and determination.
PAIRING. dan heng x f!reader
WORD COUNT. 1788
GENRE. modern au. rivals? to lovers?
NOTE. ty anon for this super fun request!! <3 clueless dan heng the loml… and reader is so chaotic ngl alsjdkdl i hope u enjoy !! ^-^
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“Can somebody handle the emails from the Realm-Keeping Commission?” Mr. Yang asked as he rushed through the intern’s cubicle area. He had a cup of tea in one hand and a handful of folders in the other. “They’ve had a recent breach of contract issue so we should be getting an influx shortly.”
“I can handle it!” you immediately spoke up, sparing your cubicle-mate a brief glance. You had a smile on your face but your eyes were urging him not to butt in.
Dan Heng smiled back. “I’ll help her.”
“Great.” Mr. Yang nodded in appreciation. “We have such hard-working interns this year.“
Your eye twitched as you replied, “Right. Great.”
Once the intern director left, you turned to glare at Dan Heng. He was nonchalantly typing on his computer, no doubt responding to the Commission’s emails already. A job that you should’ve been doing alone. Alongside a million other things that naturally came with being an unpaid intern.
You wanted to prove yourself here. The Astral Express was well known in the industry and you wanted nothing more than a job offer after the internship. But how could you possibly secure that when Dan Heng constantly stole your shine? You had to keep pushing. Keep striving to do more and impress your bosses.
“Hey, Y/N,” said Dan Heng. “If you have too much on your plate, I can take care of the emails today.”
Heat rose to your cheeks as you frowned in indignation. “You think I can’t handle it?”
He titled his head to the side. The innocent look on his face made you more upset. You couldn’t tell if he was making fun of you or if he truly believed you were someone pitiful who needed constant help.
“Of course you can handle it,” he reassured. “I don’t doubt that. I just don’t want you to take on too much of the workload. I’ve noticed you push yourself quite a lot.”
You shook your head. “I’m not pushing myself too much. I can do it.”
Dan Heng’s gaze softened. “You know yourself best. But I just hope you don’t overwork yourself too hard. We’re only unpaid interns, remember.”
You puffed your cheeks indignantly. Of course he could say something like that and still be a top performer. “Thanks for the consideration, but don’t worry about me. Now, if you’ll excuse me… I better get back to work.”
He only nodded in response.
As you started scanning through the emails on your computer, responding to the ones you have already finished, you felt Dan Heng still looking at you. You turned your face away from his desk so you wouldn’t be directly in his field of vision, unsure why he was staring but not really wanting to find out. Besides, you had more important things to get to. How could you possibly get more work done than Dan Heng if you were too busy worrying about why he kept looking at you?
Perhaps his innocence was a facade and he was playing mind games to slow you down.
With a huff of determination, you worked extra fast, not wanting to let his plan succeed. He’d have to do better than that to win.
˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖
It was your lunch break the next day and for the first time since you started (except for those times Mr. Yang wanted to take the interns out for lunch), you were not eating at your desk to work through the lunch period.
Apparently, HR was visiting the office so you all had to follow all the policies, no matter how silly anyone found them.
Instead of your desk, you were eating at a shaded seating area outside of the office. If you weren’t going to work through your break, you might as well enjoy it and get a breath of fresh air while you were at it. With your high ambition and willingness to push yourself for this internship, you were aware it probably seemed like you were a workaholic of sorts. That wasn’t exactly true.
You saw the important of work-life balance and valued it, but you also figured an internship is where you were supposed to work extra hard. Then, once you secured the job, you would be free to relax.
You took a bite of your sandwich you packed as you stared off at the gently swaying trees in the distance.
“Hey.” You almost jumped at the sudden sound. “Can I join you?”
You slowly turned towards Dan Heng, blinking. First, he tormented you in the office as an intern who provided ample competition. Now, he wanted to torment you during your lunch too?
Despite your inner thoughts, you didn’t want to be rude. Deep down you knew he was also just an intern doing his best. You just had to do better.
“Sure,” you acknowledged. “Have a seat, nemesis.” The words escaped your mouth before you could stop yourself. “I mean… Dan Heng…”
His brows furrowed. “I find it hard to believe those two words could get confused so easily.”
You cleared your throat. “Not sure what you mean.” Before Dan Heng could respond, you changed the subject. “What did you bring for lunch?”
As he sat next to you, he showed you his opened tupperware. It contained the yummiest smelling food with very neat presentation. You figured it probably tasted even better than it smelled or looked.
“I packed a bento box for today.”
You looked down at your soggy sandwich. Was even lunch a competition to him? Did he have to be the best at everything? You vowed to look up the most intricate lunch recipe and show it off to him once you made it.
He looked at your sandwich wordlessly before taking a bite of tender meat.
Your face burned in shame.
Tomorrow, you told yourself. Tomorrow you’d show him.
˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖
Today, your internship started around noon. It wasn’t a whole day of work and you knew fully well you didn’t need to pack lunch. Still, you stayed up all night perfecting this recipe and you had to show Dan Heng you were worthy competition as well. You even made enough servings to pack a meal for Dan Heng to try too.
Towards the middle of your shift, you walked over to his desk.
He paused his typing and looked up at you. “Can I help you?”
You held out a tupperware of your homemade food. “Look. I made this.”
Dan Heng’s eyes widened as he cautiously took the container from your hands. “For me?”
“Yeah. I saw your bento box yesterday and wanted to prove that I can also cook! Just like I can do all the work we’re assigned!”
Confusion was written all over his face but he still managed to smile. “First, thank you for making this for me.”
You looked at him, equally confused. Why did he sound so sincere? You simply wanted to prove a point. Not do something out of the kindness of your heart.
“Second,” he continued, “I do agree you can do all the work we’re given. Have I made you feel like I believe otherwise?”
“Not exactly… It’s just you keep offering to help me even when I say I’ll do it!” you explained passionately. “You keep trying to steal my work and do more than me!”
Dan Heng blinked, mouth opening then closing. He opened his mouth once more, trying again. “I wasn’t aware you viewed it as me stealing your work.” He rested his chin on his hand as he thought things through. “I didn’t want you overexerting yourself so I was only trying to help ease your workload… I’m sorry for undermining your hard work.”
“You’re not doing it on purpose?”
“No. I admire your determination and how you always step up to the task— I would never want to take away from that,” he said earnestly. His stare was unwavering as he looked into your eyes. “I more than admire it, actually. I find it quite attractive even.”
You gaped at him, unmoving. “Huh?”
“Attractive, endearing, cute… Do you need more synonyms?”
“Me?” You pointed at yourself.
Dan Heng nodded. “Well, I was referring to your work ethic. But yes. You as well.”
You bashfully stood up straighter. “You’re not too bad yourself, I suppose.”
That wasn’t a lie. You did find Dan Heng rather attractive. His hair was dark and messy, falling around his eyes in a way you could only describe as perfectly framing the vibrant blues. He had a pretty face and a serious demeanor that initially drew you to him— Until he started competing (as you saw it, at least) with you in your internship.
As you stared at each other in silence, Mr. Yang came in with a stack of papers. “Good afternoon, everyone. Can someone run an audit of the company’s stocks?”
You jumped up, startled. You didn’t except to be interrupted like that, but you quickly regained your composure, rushing over to him to grab the papers. A part of you was thankful for the distraction, but another part of you wanted to see where it would’ve lead. “I can do the audit!”
“Great, thank you!” he said in acknowledgment before rushing back out.
Once Mr. Yang left, Dan Heng turned to you and said, “Let me know if you need any help. I’m here if you need.”
You smiled. Now that you knew he wasn’t trying to best you, you were much more open to the idea of working together. “Sure, I’d love some help.” You paused and Dan Heng raised one brow. Though it came from the heart and the sentiment was there, you both knew it wasn’t completely true. You still did want to be the very best after all. “Well… You can help, but only a little though.”
Dan Heng laughed, accepting the small stack of papers you gave him, not even one fourth as tall as your pile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
You hummed in agreement. Before focusing on your work, you thought of one small thing to ask him. “Hey, Dan Heng?”
“Yes?”
“Maybe next week you can bring me some lunch, too? Or, maybe we could go out for dinner even…”
“I’d love to,” Dan Heng smiled and it was the widest grin you’ve seen on his face thus far, “if you give me more of your paperwork.”
You gasped, feeling thoroughly tricked. So he did want to beat you—?
“That way, we can finish sooner and I can take you to dinner tonight.”
Your train of thoughts stopped in their tracks as a light chuckle escaped your lips. “Fine,” you agreed, finding yourself strangely looking forward to having dinner with him. “But just this once, okay?”
“Of course.”
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dan heng: *stares at reader*
reader: he’s playing mind games to make me nervous and slow me down
dan heng: she’s hardworking and passionate and so cute u.u
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re-lmayer · 8 days
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i've found myself in a bad situation. the tl;dr is i have to move, but i can't afford to. i'm a disabled student and just do not have the funds required to rent a truck, hire movers, and cover deposits. so, i'm offering various services on my kofi, but if you don't need those you can also donate there or via paypal. my cashapp and venmo are both erinshelley91 if you'd like to donate on those platforms (i couldn't figure out how to link to those)
if you can't afford to commission me or to donate, reblogging this post and sharing my twitter thread is a free way to help me out and is so appreciated!
more context and stuff under the cut, i just don't want to make a long post on ppl's dashboards
my landlord has been cheating on his husband, and their relationship is rocky. he also has a massive spending addiction according to his husband. his spending addiction is making him not want to perform the actual duties of a landlord, because investment costs are cutting into his shopping spree funds
ex, he is illegally not fixing a leak in the shower of the upstairs tenants, and claims the costs are more than their rent. he told them to "figure it out, or get the fuck out." (verbatim.) he also told me it would be cheaper for him to not have tenants at all bc his utility bills would be smaller. he then left it to ME to inform another tenant to leave (then gaslit me and denied it in front of his husband when his husband questioned it)
in his words, we have 90 days to leave. i am disabled and a full time student and have been living on my fafsa returns, and the last job i had made one of my disabilities worse to the point i've had intensive physical therapy (several hours several times a week) and am likely going to have to undergo surgery
i'm also mi/nd, so even on a good day i'm not very well equipped to handle things, and the recent stress has also caused my therapist to see me several times a week in lieu of institutionalization
all that said, i'm not in a good spot physically or mentally, hence the best i can do right now is offer some of my skills on kofi
i'm currently working with my state's vocational rehab to try and find a suitable job until i can get my degree, but even then i simply would not be able to afford the costs of a sudden move in the timeframe i've got to work with
UPDATE MARCH 25, 2024: i want to invest in a scooter to do gig work like doordash. this will let me work at my own pace, and earn towards the move myself, then i'll have some more independence to continue doing that after as well
they require 50cc or under, which means i could get a scooter for under $1,000. i'd also need to cover fees to renew my license (i let it lapse since i haven't had a vehicle), get a helmet, and get insurance (roughly $100 annually)
i also made some amazon wishlists for folks who would like to help but prefer to know exactly where their money's going. i have one for housewarming stuff here, and one for necessities here
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flamingo-writes · 9 months
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hello >-<
so i have this idea
hobie is a punk musician right? what if he kinda like this artist (their work and all) but the artist is a anon so he got no idea who it was but he knows their art style by heart
he would go to art galleries that will feature the artist
he would even go to the extent of buying a print or two
he would also ask for a commission from the artist
but he would do all of it in incognito (he’s like an idol idoling his idol from the fake acc to ask for comms to disguises just to go to the gallery)
little did he know his fav artist/reader is also a big fan of his band
how would they meet??
(sorry if it’s to long or kinda hard to understand, thank youuu have a wonderful day)
•🍓
You have no idea how much I loved this. I kinda projected myself (like I’ve honestly been in all of my hobie fanfics, but bcs I too, am a punk and do art occasionally) my eco-punk tendencies keep showing, and I’m honestly not gonna stop anytime soon (as you can tell from the constant mention of plants in my writing). This took me forever but I’ve been hella busy 😭
I’ll perhaps do a second part of this
WC: 1.2K or something.
Art is Freedom — Hobie x GN!Reader
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"Art is Freedom" was the signature of the anonymous artist Hobie desired to meet. There was something about their art that simply fascinated him. From murals made out with plants, to your standard mural with spray paint. In galleries, this same artist did installations with all sorts of recycled materials. From newspaper, cardboard, paper, sometimes even stuff like aluminium and glass. Others screen printing on recycled fabric and old shirts, and most recently digital art, with the option of buying prints.
What Hobie liked about this artist was how cold and straightforward could they be with their art to express their thoughts and feelings. With a strong commentary on environmentalism. Also very graphic art talking about feminism and domestic violence. He loved the passion put into these pieces, he gawked at the raw energy expiring from the art pieces.
However, tracking them down was particularly hard. They were good at covering up their tracks. Although Hobie knew what that was like, so he started thinking in a similar way this anonymous artist would do. Sometimes feeling guilty for wanting to uncover this artist’s identity, he wouldn’t like it if someone was waiting for him to make a mistake at covering his tracks and found out who he was. But at the same time, he genuinely wanted to meet this person, have a talk with them, sure that Spider-Man and this artist would get along very well.
One fortuitous day, at the art gallery Hobie liked to frequent, there was a new exposition. This one was a photography show. It was the first time this artist showcased pictures. The theme was punk. And most of the photos were from concerts. Spider-Man was even in most of them. Not only was this artist a fan of his band, but from the pictures, Hobie was able to get an idea of who this artist was.
The group of hardcore punks who always showed up to his concerts, art shows, or were wrecking havoc during manifestations, was for the most part the same crowd. Some faces and even names became familiar not only to him but to everyone else.
And you had a face easy to recognise. You had a reputation for always being in the middle of the mosh pit, jamming and jumping like everybody else. However, you were taking pics. Right in the middle of the mosh, you managed to take the best pictures from the stage and the crowd. How did you manage to take those pics while getting out, not only yourself but your camera intact? It was a mystery many people liked to think about.
Hobie had seen you at almost every gig. And he’d seen the magnificent work you did with the photos. However, for the two years he’s been following this anonymous artist, he’d never seen photos. However, for the three or four years you’ve been following his band, he’d seen you in the crowd and seeing your work.
And now standing in front of your exposition, he could clearly identify the peculiar style of the pictures. Those pictures clearly were taken from the depths of a mosh pit. And keeping cameras intact and photos this good of a mosh pit could only be you.
His eyes widened at the realisation. He knew you all along, and had been watching your work from afar for so long. He didn’t personally know you, but he’d seen you around so much to think you were a cool lad, the pins on your jacket were rad, and that you had good taste in music. And of course, he thought you were a talented photographer.
But now that he’d put two and two together, not only were you a magnificent photographer, but an overall artist. The respect and admiration he felt for you duplicated, as he’d thought he was admiring at two different artist while it was actually one and the same.
“Oh! Look at these!” Some people in the gallery said as they neared the pictures and paid close attention to them. “Dude, this pics are sick! Kinda like the ones you always take!”
He diverted his gaze and saw a couple of people leaning closer to take in the details, and a third person wearing a hoodie. Hands hidden in the pouch and hood over their head.
“They’re pretty good,”
Hobie raised an eyebrow as he paced around the gallery, trying to get closer, wondering if it could be you underneath that hoodie.
As he got closer, pretending to glance at the pictures, he saw you from the corner of his eyes and smirked. Your poker face was actually very good, but he could see right through it.
“You think the artist knows how meaningful their art is to others?” Hobie said in a low voice as he glanced at you.
“They better! They’re fucking awesome!” One of your friends said, clueless of what Hobie was trying to do.
“I’m sure they’ve got some idea,” You said meeting Hobie’s stare.
“Well, they sure are my favourite artist, I’ll tell you that…” He said confidently. “I’ve seen you around in gigs, haven’t I?”
“Yeah, probably. I’m always around in gigs…” You said shyly.
“Especially Spider-Man! You love that guy!” One of your friends said, as you felt your cheeks warming up slightly.
“Do you?” Hobie asked.
“His style is very unique. And he’s amazing. He’s been a huge inspiration for me,” reluctantly, you admitted.
“Really? That’s cool. I’m Hobie,” His smirk flashed across his face with a slight arrogant yet full of charm.
“Nice meeting you,” You introduced yourself to him, telling him your name. “I like your style…” You said, pulling one of your hands out of the pouch of your hoodie and pointed at his pins.
“Thanks,” He said, repeating your name. “So, you said Spider-Man was an inspiration…”
“I do art sometimes,” You shrugged. “I wish I could live off of it but, it’s hard,”
“The world is so unkind to artist, unless you decide to sell yourself like a whore,”
You looked at Hobie, thinking there was something strangely familiar and yet refreshing of him. He was tall, he was skinny, but definitely looked like the guy you wouldn’t want to get in a fight with. And yet, he didn’t look all that intimidating. In fact, you felt curious.
“Yeah, pretty much…” You agreed.
“Wanna go for a beer sometime?”
It was hard for you not to smirk as you looked away. Your friends now further away, having read the room and left you alone with Hobie.
“Excuse me?” You armed yourself with courage to look back at him and meet his stare, his eyes a lighter shade of brown compared to the rest of his skin. He was gorgeous, you thought.
“You seem like a pretty interesting person, I’d like to know you better and know a bit more about the art you make, if that’s okay of course…” He shrugged, nonchalantly, able to read your slightly shy and awkward demeanour.
“Do I know you?” You asked.
Hobie chuckled softly. Knowing exactly what you meant, wondering if you were able to somehow relate him to Spider-Man already.
“Yeah, I introduced myself two minutes ago,” he teased, as you chuckled and rolled your eyes playfully.
“No—I me-mean yeah…” You giggled “But…Before that?”
Hobie shrugged.
“Why you ask?”
“I don’t know…” You sighed looking at him curiously, attentively. “Something about you feels oddly familiar…”
“Perhaps,” He shrugged “who knows, there’s only one way to find out…” He winked.
You smirked.
“Later today? At the Hayfield?” You said, naming your favourite bar, agreeing to his invitation.
“Someone likes artisan beer,” Hobie pointed out with an approving nod.
“Isn’t that the best kind of beer?” This time, you shrugged nonchalantly “Besides, Hayfield supports all the local beer producers and amateurs too”
“Nice. See you then,” Hobie said. “9 works for you?”
“9 it is” You smirked, feeling your chest stirring slightly.
“Nice meeting ya” He said turning around, with a triumphant smirk.
“Nice meeting you too…”
~~~~~~~~~
don’t forget to leave a comment if you like this and reboots always help your local and favourite writers get more traction 🙆🏻‍♀️
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applestoashes · 15 days
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An update on Apples to Ashes
Hi, it's Prima, the creator and sole developer of Apples to Ashes.
Wow, it's been two years since I conceptualized Douglas and the idea for a visual novel. I think about how much has changed for me personally since March 2022, the different things that have happened to and for me. It's hard to sum it all up into a few words, but to put it plainly, there's been a lot of hardships I've encountered in my personal and professional life since starting this journey, along with some blessings that kept me going along the way.
When I first dreamed up this concept, I was experiencing a lot of new things. I was participating in fandoms for other indie "yandere" VNs, I was drawing a shit ton and garnering a following. I was actually becoming the active, well known artist I'd been striving to become since around 2015. I was so inspired and, somehow along the way, I gained the attention and respect from a lot of other creators. It was so insane to think so many talented people cared about what I was making, considered me worth following, etc.
That only grew as time went on, especially when I started the A2A project. From that point, I watched in absolute shock as people engaged with my own ideas, drew my own characters. They were hyped for this visual novel, they wanted to know more. Douglas started to get associated and drawn with other indie VN characters. This feeling of being put beside all these other amazing creators was disorienting to say the least.
Due to a lot of things I've been through, it feels like the magic wore off a bit. A lot of the drive I experienced at the peak of 2022 kind of plateaued, and... lots of things changed for me. I started taking commissions, I started doing more than just art, like getting back into video editing and voice acting. I got hired by a studio, I got a lead role in another visual novel. I told myself that I can do all these things that I want to, despite the additional need to work a regular job, and the fact that ADHD VERY much has hands. Financial hardship and mental illness... double homicide
A lot can change in two years. My inspirations for the setting in A2A came from my experiences with a job I had at the time. Well, needless to say I've had a few jobs since then, and been through a few very... jading experiences. The person I was when I conceptualized Apple to Ashes and the person I am now are two different people. I was very bright-eyed and inspired, especially by my peers. I wanted to attempt to do something I'd dreamed of for a long time: make a visual novel, and it felt possible, tangible.
I've learned a lot since then. There's a lot that goes into making a game, especially considering I'm largely pursuing it alone. Due to that, and the choices I've made, the things I've been through, Apple to Ashes progress has largely been halted. I feel a lot of pressure to make it something satisfying for everyone that's given love to this project. I feel a lot of guilt about the lack of progress, and feel like I'm earning the ire of people who are tired of waiting, or perhaps losing any momentum or interest I had originally garnered.
All that being said, I'm not saying all this to come to the conclusion that this project is canceled. It's not. I want this story to come to fruition. I want to give everyone waiting the experience they deserve. I want to reach the full potential this concept offers. I want to explore the themes I've attached, use the experiences I've had and witnessed. I want to bring light to these issues using this medium.
The TLDR of this is... Apples to Ashes will happen when it happens, but it is going to happen. To those of you who have offered your patience, I really appreciate it more than I can put into words.
Thank you for reading.
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togetherhearted · 6 months
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Commission for @ahhlito [at this point I feel like it is you? After all so many kind gestures towards me 😭]
Topic-Headcanon or drabble about Reader taking care of Pino.
Fun fact,The LoP oc I made is unironically a maid that likes to take care of him like a big sister. I tried my best to not indulge myself too much. I hope you'll like it!
PUPPET CARING
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Pino had left many hours ago. It was supposed to be a quick trip outside;or so Geppetto said. Your eyes often glanced outside in hope to see the familiar puffy brown hair coming close to the hotel. Still nothing, so you went back to your chores, not noticing him passing the gates. The puppet dragged his feet inside the hotel's hall. His head was high like always. He shook his metal arm;dripping of oil. Droplets hit the carpet and floor and Polendina thanked the heavens Antonia was not here to see him making a mess 5 seconds in. Pino was positively drenched from head to toe of whatever substance puppets and those new weird zombies released while dying. Sophia went to greet him but stopped mid-walk -Oh- Was everything she could muster. Pino was looking really messy this time. She made him stay put, near the stargazer and went to call you in a hurry. Her light blue shoes ticking on the marbled floor. Polendina instead grabbed a mop and cleaned the floor around a confused Pino who tilted his head and looked at him through all the chore. You walked downstairs, ready to greet the puppet when you stopped mid-stairway. -Oh- You had the same reaction as Sophia. -I told you this was...umh- The other woman tried to find the right words. You huffed and puffed your chest proudly. -Leave it to me. I can handle this- You walked towards Pino. You extended your hand towards him but when he seemed to extend his greasy one you took your hand back. -Ok, never mind Pino. Follow me. We have lots to do- The puppet gave a firm nod and followed you upstairs. Pino followed you in the bathroom where he was undressed and immerged in the warm bubbly bath you promptly prepared. This was the first time he had a bath;he must have been in a bad shape;luckily he seemed waterproof;except for the metal arm that you removed. As the puppet played a bit with a rubber duck you passed him your hands found their way to his hair. Pino tilted his head up and blinked at the foreign sensation. -Sorry,didn't mean to startle you- Pino shook his head and put your hand back in his hair. You figured he liked to have his hair washed. Since he had no problem with being immerged for a long period of time, you moved your attention to his legion arm; scrubbing away all the oil and dirt stuck in the cranes. -They did a number on you, mh?- Pino nodded as his eyes watched you turning his arm like new. It was sparkly even. After his legion arm it was turn of the clothes. You threw everything in a wooden basin and cleaned them. Pino watched you intently;his cogs made ticking noises;he almost seemed happy someone was taking care of him and his belongings. Once done with those as well,you wrapped the puppet in a warm cloth to dry his body and hair. Pino was calmly sitting at the edge of the tub; enjoying your proximity. He wondered if he could the same to you;take care of you like you just did to him. Then an idea came to his...mind. He was going to wash you to repay your kindness, so he pushed you in the tub;drenching you from head to toe. -Pino!W-why?! Why you did t- Pino put his cold finger on your lips before grabbing a sponge. You did the math and burst out laughing. -Oh, you're so silly...-
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If you'd like to commission or leave a symbolic support you can do it here
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canonkiller · 5 days
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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
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polutrope · 3 months
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Amrod threatens Elrond and Elros by @runawaymun
Illustration for my fic And Love Grew commissioned by my dear friend @melestasflight. I am so grateful to them both for this chillingly beautiful, emotional piece that truly captures the horror of the scene.
Snippet below the cut.
A former follower of Amrod speaks to Maedhros and Maglor of what he witnessed on the cliffs near Sirion:
“My lord, he flung his sword about with such abandon, such hate, that I thought he might slay one of us, or himself. But it was thus stumbling into the night outside the city that he caught sight of a small group mounting the hills in the distance. Suddenly returned to himself, Lord Amrod commanded, ‘After them!’ We gave chase, but Lord Amrod ran so swiftly, as if driven by a fire within, and the men with us were weary and injured, so that all but myself fell behind. I was with him when he caught up to those we pursued, where the hills begin to rise and drop steeply into the sea, where you saw...”
Orfion paused, working his jaw around his next words.
“It was the Lady Elwing with her children and a woman-servant and their guard. I knew him for a warrior of Gondolin by his livery. He turned to engage us, but Lord Amrod paid him no mind. Swift as a hawk, he had snatched the children before the Lady or her servant were aware of him. And dropping to his knees and holding both terrified boys to his chest he held his sword to their throats.
“‘Hand over the Silmaril and they will live,’ he said. One of the children squirmed and a line of blood bloomed wet on his throat. There was no feint in Amrod’s voice. None dared to move or speak for a long moment. Then the servant spoke first, denying that her lady had the jewel with her. Lord Amrod laughed. ‘Of course you have it,’ he replied. ‘In that box you are clutching. Was it that very same in which you smuggled our birthright out of Doriath, where my brothers died in vain? Hand it over or I will slit your children’s throats.’ But Elwing had already silenced the other woman, and she drew the necklace out of the box. I thought she might hand it over, but she clasped it about her neck.
“Its light, my lord — I could scarcely breathe for the beauty of it, and the terror of the Lady wearing it. There were tears on her face that had been hidden by the darkness, and they now shone like little streams in the moonlight. I have never feared darkness before, my lord, but I did then. I fear I will evermore shun the night, having seen that light.”
Tears had gathered in Orfion’s eyes, and he sputtered to a halt. “Please forgive me, lords, I am not one prone to weeping, but the memory— it is impossible not to weep. I do not know why.”
“I do,” said Maglor. Compassion for the simple soldier who had become entangled in their doom warred with envy: it ought to have been him there, and Maedhros, looking upon the Silmaril’s light. Maglor would not have let it slip through his hands.
Orfion collected himself. “Even Lord Amrod was struck dumb,” he said, as if in answer to Maglor’s guilty thought, “and in his moment of faltering the children nearly escaped his grasp. Elwing lurched forward then, but he clutched them closer. He bared his teeth. ‘Hand it over!’ he commanded. She did not speak. She gazed long at her children, as if speaking to them mind-to-mind. She touched the Silmaril on her breast, and for a moment I thought she would remove it. Then a fell cold light washed over the Lady’s face, and she spoke, quiet but hard, in the tongue of Men.
“And then she turned and raced to the cliff’s edge. She leapt, and as she fell she loosed a horrible cry. The light of the jewel glowed along the precipice — and then it was gone.
“All was a confusion of shouts and fighting. The woman-servant screamed her Lady’s name and ran to the cliff’s edge. The guard commanded her to stop, and there was a struggle between them — I saw little of it, for Lord Amrod had risen to his feet and held again the edge of his sword to the throat of one of the children, who stood altogether still. The other wailed, and Lord Amrod drew his dagger and swung it at him. Rising and holding both blades aloft, he cursed them, saying that he would take them both with him. And then suddenly he dropped his weapons and crouched down before them and embraced them, and he murmured that he would save them, that he would spare them the burden— the burden of living.”
Orfion choked back the last words. “Then the guard leapt at Amrod, and dragged him to his feet — but as he did, Amrod drove his dagger deep into his thigh, and the man stumbled, and Amrod dropped the dagger and seized him by the neck. ‘I do not want to kill you, old friend,’ he spat. ‘Stand down, Galdor. This is not your fight.’ Then he threw the man to the ground. Amrod turned on the children again and then — my lord, I was certain he would slay them, and I could not bear it.
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a-casual-kpopfan · 10 months
Text
Reminisce and Regrets
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A/N: “Italic” dialogue indicates it being spoken in English. “Normal” dialogue indicates it being spoken in Korean.
Shoutout to @nojisunnomercy for the commission piece, really make me and Ghost to write and go through to make a sequel to Consquences and Regrets.
~~~~~
I made you my everything. Put my life in your hands and you held the strings.
She really was your everything. Don't know who I am anymore.
Let me down every time and I hit the floor.
Even with what she did, you still forgave her back then, entrusting her not to hurt you again.
And you gave me nothing at all. Only empty excuses to try and break the fall.
Despite your forgiveness, she ended up betraying you again. So, I did what I never could to do.
And I cut myself loose from you.
If she didn’t do it… Would you still be with her?
.
.
.
“Hey!”
.
.
.
“Oi, you bastard!”
With a yell, you snap back to reality, the image of her gone from your mind, replaced by your grumpy friend, frowning at you. “The food is going to be cold if you keep staring into nothing like that.”
At that time, you put your earbuds down, and noises start to flood back into your ears. The clinking of utensils hitting each other’s and the plate. Chattering from nearby tables. Sounds of people walking and cars driving on the road.
No longer are you drowned in your own thoughts. You’re back to reality: a small café near your workplace, where you and your friend decide to have lunch.
“You can just start first you know.” You shrug. “Didn’t have to wait for me.”
“Bro, I already finished half of mine, and you haven’t even touched yours.”
“Oh.” Looking down onto the table, you barely touch your food while your friend is almost done with his.
“You know, it’s not like we are strangers or anything.” Your friend lets out a sigh. “I’m worried about you dude. You haven’t been like this since the first week that you arrived here, and that was years ago!”
“Yeah, well, you know I got cheated on by my ex, what else do you need to know?” You chuckle lightly, starting to dig into your already cold meal.
“The details! The beauty is in the details, my guy.” Your friend responds with a chuckle, which morphs into a worried smile “Don’t you think let it out is better than keeping it all in?”
“Well... I’ll think about the offer, but thanks anyways.” You smile at your friend. A bit mischievous, but a good person at heart. You know he only has your best intention in his mind, and you are grateful for it. But you are not about to ruin her image, it’s the least you can do for her, even if she betrayed you twice.
“Anyways, I got us tickets!” Your friend decides to change the subject, tapping something on his phone before showing you the image of 2 tickets on his hand. “For what, exactly?” You think you know what those tickets are for, but you pray to God that you are wrong, just this one time.
“For the Loona concert!”
Fuck.
You swear in your head. It’s bad enough that the news of their tour, and images of them circulating in twitter inadvertently got you thinking about her again, after all those years. Now attending a concert and seeing them live?
God knows what could happen.
“How did you even get your hands on this?” You ask purely out of curiosity as to how your friend managed to acquire the tickets. You know how fast these tickets sell out. “Heh, what can I say? Lady luck was on my side that day~” Your friend looks incredibly proud of himself.
“So… Who are you going with?” You ask, a futile attempt in hopes that you might not have to go. “You, of course.” You groan at his answer.
“Come on, I know you want to attend it. You’re Korean, for god’s sake!” Your friend beams at you. “Most people don’t even recognize me as a Korean.” You counter. “That’s because you grow your fucking hair and beard out. They look good on you by the way, paired with those glasses-” He does the typical chef’s kiss motion “but just saying.” Your friend nearly explodes, but in a playful way, as he points out your distinct changes.
“I get your point, and?”
“And it might be a nice chance to use your mother tongue again. You’ve been using English ever since you got here, and God bless you for being fluent in English because none of us know a lick of Korean, I just feel like it’s unfair for you.”
“You really don’t have to do that.” You smile lightly. Amongst the various coworkers you worked with when you first arrived, only this guy stuck with you through thick and thin, inadvertently ending up as your best friend… Still, he can’t replace her, but he is good to you, and you gratefully accept that. What you don’t want to accept is the tickets.
“But-”
“Nah ah, no buts! I already paid for the damn tickets; I can use it however I want. And I want you to go with me on that day, and that is final!” Your friend stares at you with his fake aggressiveness that you are oh so familiar already. And you know that he won’t budge at this point, no matter how much you say to him.
“Alright, you win. I’ll go with you.” You let out a light chuckle, to which your friend also smiles at you. “There we go, couldn’t you be like this earlier?”
“Shut up.” Both of you laugh at the banter while enjoying the rest of the lunch. You can’t help but feel dreaded at the notion of seeing her, or the girls again, but they might not recognize you with how much you’ve changed. Ignoring the dull pain in your heart at the thought of them not recognizing you, you still think that it would be for the best. You are not the same as you were back then.
Not anymore.
-----
“Yah! Yeojin! Sit back down, why are you jumping around??”
“I’m so hungry… Do we have anything to eat? Hey, are you listening to me?”
To say that the bus is chaotic would be an understatement.
In typical Loona fashion, the girls are completely turning the bus upside down with their shenanigans, like they have an endless reserve of energy. Well, most of them, anyways.
Sitting at the far back of the bus, Hyeju watches them silently. Per usual, Hyeju isn’t one to participate in the chaos as much as the others, but there’s another reason for this.
See, after the incident with you, it took Hyeju a long time to earn back the trust of the girls again, some longer than others. Thankfully the members gave Hyeju another chance, but things were never quite the same.
Like how cracks can still be seen on a fixed object.
Her mistake has left scars. Some deeper than others.
She then takes a glance at Heejin who is also not partaking in the chaos, but just looking outside the window with a blank stare. Heejin never really did forgive Hyeju. She only held in the anger inside of her for the sake of the others, but with observant eyes, it wasn’t hard to recognize Heejin was avoiding Hyeju.
And honestly, despite how hurtful it is, Hyeju can’t bring herself to be angry at Heejin for that.
You and Heejin were basically glued together.
She introduced you to the girls.
She was the one that was with you through thick and thin.
But in the end, she had to give up on him for Hyeju’s sake.
What did Hyeju do?
She betrayed you.
The reason why you decided to move abroad while cutting off any form of contact.
It’s been 3 years since then.
Hyeju sighs to herself, looking outside to the moving scenery. Three grueling years without you by her side, they say that you never know what you truly had until you lost it, Hyeju understands it fully, now that she lost you.
She never quite realized just how involved you were in her life, until you left. The apartment was never quite the same without you, without your warm touch, it lost its homely atmosphere, now it’s just a cold, empty room. Meals weren’t the same without your soft voice, humming and listening to each of her daily rants, the bed felt cold without your hug, pulling her in and reassuring her that you were always with her.
Why did she do it? Why did she betray you? Even after 3 years, that question still lingers in her mind, as a reminder of her own mistake. She simply took you for granted. After the first time, you were gracious enough to give her your full trust again. And she… She thought that she could get away with it as well. How could some instant gratification be compared with stability?
She was wrong, so, so wrong. She was wrong to even entertain that thought, to even meet up with that man, to be seduced by his mere words.
And that made her lose the dearest thing that she had.
You.
-----
Well, here you are.
Standing in front of the venue, instead of all the excitement that you should be feeling, all you can feel is impending doom or anxiety in short. You start to question yourself repeatedly, “is this a mistake? Should you turn back? Why are you even here-”
“Dude! Less thinking and more walking!” You feel a hand striking your back, nearly making you stumble onto the ground. You glare to the side at your friend, who is smirking at you.
“You’ll thank me for this one day, now let’s get going.” He pulls you to stand straight again, before pushing you into the venue.
“Here goes nothing, I guess.” You mumble, mostly to yourself to brace for what is to come. “See? You’re already speaking in Korean! I know you’re excited, you don’t have to hide it from me~”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You let out a sigh, starting to walk into the venue on your own without your friend pushing you. “Let’s head in, or else we might be stuck outside for a while.”
“I heard you, let’s go!” Your friend’s energy seems to remind you of a certain bunny, causing you to chuckle slightly.
The walk inside the venue is generally uneventful, if you ignore all the crazed fans with the merch gossiping among each other. As you do your best to ignore them, because everywhere you look, you see their damn faces.
On the shirts, printed on handheld fans, posters.
God, what in the actual fuck.
You thought you could handle this, seeing them again, but just the sight of them, of her, on the poster, already makes you feel sick to your stomach. Three years, three long years, and you are still haunted by the memories of that day. Three years without seeing them, three years of you, changing yourself in order to not be weak anymore. Yet just a picture of them, and the wall you’ve built so meticulously has already started to crumble slightly.
“Dude, you alright?” Your friend doesn’t miss the faint pained expression on your face.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, my stomach is just a bit hurt, that’s all.” You harden your resolve once again before reassuring your friend with a slight smile. Your friend says nothing of the matter, but you feel his gaze on you as you both move to your seats on the inside of the stadium.
In an attempt to distract yourself from the fans and pictures, your eyes dart around other places, trying to find a safe haven where you don’t have to look at all the fans and pictures of the girls. You eventually find it, but you don’t know if it’s really a ‘safe haven’.
You spot a figure looking like a man, his black hoodies and jeans a stark contrast from the crowd. Given that you are also dark colored clothes, you can’t say anything about the man. But there’s just something about him, something that you can’t put your hands on, for some reason, he feels familiar.
“Dude, why are you staring at a stranger?” Your friend elbows you in the chest.
“… Nothing.” You disregard your uneasiness to get back to the matter on hand. “I just accidentally look at that direction.” Trying to play it off and walk off with your friend to find your place to watch.
“Pfft, yeah right.” Without looking, you can feel his eyes roll at you. “Let’s head inside before someone call the police on you for being a creep.” Silently, you take one last glance at the man in hoodie, before joining your friend at the seating area of the venue.
“This… Feels weird.” Mumbling to yourself, you look around the place. Now that you think about it, you rarely ever watch their performances from the audience’s point of view. Being a close friend to a certain bunny, and later, boyfriend of a certain wolf, you spend most of the time backstage with them, watching them either on the TV in the waiting room, or directly behind the backstage.
You never had the chance to watch from the audience due to your relationship with the girls, you were important to the members. A big brother, a drinking buddy, a listener, a friend, best friend even, and then boyfriend to her. They couldn’t let you stay in the audience during their performances.
Somewhere deep inside of you, you missed those days, days you spent with the girls, taking care of them and having fun with them, to be with the one you love, no, loved.
You find it hard for yourself to forgive her, you already did that once, after all. All the love and energy spent on her, to be reciprocated with betrayal. Not only once but twice. Who does that kind of thing? Who betrayed the trust of someone who loved them very dearly that easily?
The more these thoughts resurface, the more your heart ached. Not for her, but for the relationship that you lost because of her. How could you stay with the girls, now that your relationship with one of them is strained? They know her longer than they know you, so whose side are they going to take?
While you fall back into your deepest thoughts, you fail to recognize the venue’s light dimming, as screams begin to echo out from the fans. Only when you hear their voices do you awaken from your thoughts, to be greeted by the girls standing on stage, already performing the first song with the fans chanting along with the music.
You turn to the side, to also see your friend excitedly chanting along with his broken Korean, much to your amusement.
As for you, you were never one to like the crowd, so you just stayed seated, watching the performance with mixed feelings in your heart.
Your eyes soon glued onto her.
Your ex, the one you loved so much, but also the one who broke your heart into pieces. She seems to be doing ok, you thought. Her stage presence is much better than before, and so is her confidence. Despite projecting a cold image, she has always been somewhat timid behind the curtains. It took you many hours of encouragement and pep talks to give her the confidence boost she needed, and to see her like this… You can’t help but be proud, just a little bit.
Before your mind can start treading into forbidden memories, you turn to another person.
Your “Bunny”.
Well, you don’t think you have any right to call her that anymore, after all, it was you who cut her off when you moved overseas. Admittedly, it wasn’t right for you to just cut her off like that, when you and she have shared so many things together, the both of you going way, way back. But in your emotional state, you couldn’t bear to see or hear anything that would be remotely related to your ex. And so, in a fit of rage and depression, you changed your number, cutting off every relationship that you had in Korea, except for your family.
As the concert goes on, you barely pay any attention to the performance itself, too busy drowning yourself in your thoughts as you drift back and forth, in and out of your head, between happiness from seeing the girls again, to sadness that you’re seeing your ex again, to depression and guilt of you cutting them off from your life.
Before you even know it, the concert is nearing its end, with the girls doing the encore song while having fun on stage.
I don't need nobody to move my body
All me with no strings attached
I don't wanna be somebody who
Lets somebody hold me if they hold me back
I just wanna dance, dance
Dance on my own (dance on my own)
You can’t tell if there is a hidden message to this song or something, but you feel like this song just hit a little bit too close to home. Maybe that’s why you’ve been looping it a lot these days. And it’s hitting you hard right now, seeing that your ex is one of the people singing it on stage as well.
How ironic is that?
When she was the one that betrayed you and now singing that she can be by herself? You tighten your fists as tears start to gather in your eyes as rage and sadness begin to cloud your mind. How can she sing that so-
No.
Before you can go any further, you mentally restrain yourself. As expected, you’re losing control over your emotions because you can see the worried look on your friend’s face as he glances over to check up on you.
“Bathroom.” You manage to utter one word before standing up and leaving your seat, and your friend behind.
“Fuck.” You swear to yourself once you enter the bathroom. Making your way to the sink, you splash your face with water in some false hope of cooling down your mind. “Get it together.” You look at your drenched face in the mirror.
 “It’s almost done, just a little bit more.” You talk to yourself in the mirror, like some madman who’s off his meds. Luckily, no one is here to judge your weird behaviour.
After a few more minutes of talking to yourself, you gather enough courage to return to your seat. But right as you leave the bathroom, you see the man in black hoodie from earlier walking by.
Now, as any normal person would do, you are going to return to the seating area to calm down an undoubtedly very worried friend. But once again, your gut feeling is telling you that this guy is bad news. And your gut feelings are usually never wrong. After all, it was your gut feeling that made you suspicious of cheating in the first place.
So, you decide to trail behind the guy, lighten your steps in order not to make any sounds. The man just keeps walking forward, his steps heavy and hurried. He’s walking with a purpose, there was a destination in mind, and you can’t help but keep following him, all the way to the backstage area.
Seeing how the guy knows how to avoid security, your suspicions are confirmed by now, but for safe measure, you kept your distance from him.
Then you heard noises, more specifically, chatter and laughter. You can recognize their voices everywhere, even if you aren’t up to date with them anymore.
Oh no.
The man starts to pick up the pace after he hears the voice heading towards a fork in the hallway, prompting you to do the same. You see him pull something out from his hoodie’s pocket. You can’t see what it is, but it’s shiny, you start sprinting after the man now.
You’re catching up to him. But he’s also getting very close to the girls, their laughter can be heard closer and closer.
Faster.
Now’s the time that you put all the efforts you made in the gym to good use. With a short burst, you catch up to the guy, and promptly crash your shoulder into him, pushing him into the wall in front of the girls just as they arrive, earning screams and yells from them. But you can’t hear them.
With the collision, the both of you fall onto the ground, the object the man was carrying seconds before fall off his hand, landing on the ground. A pocketknife.
The man glares back at you, his hood already fallen, yelling “You motherfucker!” in fluent Korean, stunning you for a brief second.
Because, you know this man.
He was the one that Hyeju cheated on with.
That brief stun period is enough for him to land a kick in your face, before scrambling for the knife. Thankfully, the pain is enough to wake your senses up, leading you to get on your knees and lunge for the man, using your entire body weight to land onto him, before your arms quickly find their way around his neck, tightening the chokehold you have on him while he struggles to break free by bashing his elbows against your ribs.
You grind your teeth and tighten the hold even further, ensuring the man has no way to escape, before you feel him going limp on your arms, and you being pulled out someone, presumably the security.
Looking at the unconscious guy, you smile faintly to yourself, maybe those Jiujitsu classes weren’t that useless after all.
Everything immediately afterwards is somewhat of a blur to you, not to mention the adrenaline subsiding and the pain kicking in. The fact that you encounter not one, but the two people responsible for betraying your trust back then and in such a situation as well.
From what you can deduce, Hyeju probably cut contact with him out of guilt, and him being constantly denied contact probably drove him crazy. Looking at the unconscious guy again, you can’t help but let out a sigh. What can you say?
Karma’s a bitch.
Although you feel a tinge of relief learning that small piece of knowledge, you still don’t particularly feel like you are in the mood to answer some questions from the security.
But you are cautious enough not to stand near the girls though, in case they recognize you because they sure did recognize the other man, as evident by Hyeju’s trembling. As happy as you are to see the girls up close again, you don’t think your heart can take any more than this, so, you take what you can get.
After a brief question, you start to head back to the seating area, your head thinking of what excuse to use for your worried friend. Before you leave though, you hear the voice of the girls calling for you, and as much as you want to just ignore them, that would be too rude of you.
“Thank you so much for helping us, mister.” Haseul speaks up for the girls.
“It’s nothing, I just did what anyone else would do.” You smile lightly.
“But your glasses were broken because of it, was it not?” Indeed, your glasses were broken, but you don’t really need glasses to function day to day and you just want to get out of here as fast as possible.
“I can still see fine, so don’t worry Miss. Instead, I think you should focus on comforting your friend over there, she seems quite shaken, no?” Your attempt to divert the conversation is a success as all the girls turn to the shaken Hyeju, talking amongst themselves before heading back, not forgetting to give you a small bow when they leave.
Except for one person though.
“Oppa.”
Shit, of course it’s Heejin. That girl has always been observant when it comes to you. But that isn’t enough for you to give up.
Keeping up with the façade of not knowing Korean, you pretend to not hear it and just keep walking. You can hear her calling you “oppa” repeatedly again. But you aren’t going to stop. The moment you cut her off, you stop being best friends. Not anymore.
“Pooh, is that you?”
Pooh.
Such a stupid name.
Yet, you stop dead in your track at the mention of that name, no one has ever called you by that in years. It was from way back in their childhood. Something your parents lovingly call you due to your chubby figure back then. Something that Heejin also called you, joyful of having another ‘victim’ being called by a nickname, after gaining the ‘Bunny’ nickname from her parents. At least, all the way up to when you started dating Hyeju, at least.
That name should have stayed buried in the past. Why did she- No, the question here should be, how did she figure you out?
“You look surprised.” Standing frozen in the spot, you can see Heejin walks into your view from behind, smiling lightly. “Did you really think that, by growing out your hair and beard, and bulking up, that I would not recognize you?”
Her eyes look up to yours, and you can see the anger, the disappointment in her eyes, but also relief and genuine joy upon seeing her best friend again. “Was our friendship really that shallow to you, Pooh?”
Guiltily, you can’t bring yourself to face her directly, your eyes diverting from her face. You’d rather look at anything else than to see her right now, if not you feel like the wall that you’ve spent years building might not collapse on the spot.
“You don’t have to say anything.” She whispers. You can see streams of tears rolling down her cheek. Your heart hurt more at the notion of Heejin crying, especially because of you. “I’m glad that I got to see you again, even if it was for a moment.” You feel her hand resting on your cheek, gently caressing it with her thumb going along the grooves of your beard.
“My goodness, you’ve really changed, haven’t you.” A small chuckle. “Goodbye, Pooh.” As you feel your palm leaving your face, you can hear the crumbling of the walls surrounding your heart. Years of steeling yourself, but all it took was just a moment with Heejin to bring it down.
“Wait.” You utter, your hand grasping onto hers to prevent her from leaving. Before she can react, you pull her into a tight hug, whispering to her. “I’m sorry, Bunny. I’m sorry.”
Taken back by your action, Heejin seems to be silent.
One second passed by.
Two seconds.
And then you can feel her body trembling as her arms try their best to hug around your huge frame, her face buried into your shoulder as she lets out choked sobs.
“How could you leave us like that? Leave me like that?” She cries into your shoulder. “Was our time together not even worth it for you?” Her grip on you turns tighter. “How could you…”
Her words are like a knife piercing your heart, you know you’ve done something wrong to her and the others. So, all you can do is try to compensate for it. There’s no turning back now, Heejin would not let you leave if you don’t leave her your phone number, and the girls are going to know about this sooner or later.
The girls… Are you ready to face Hyeju again? After all this time?
You forcefully stop yourself from thinking further. That can be dealt with later. You have a crying bunny to appease.
-----
As expected, after a good 10 minutes of crying, Heejin gave you 2 options: either give her your number, or you follow her back to her hotel. Without any real options, you reluctantly give her your number, only then was she satisfied enough to let you leave.
After that, you had to deal with the situation that was your worried friend. Thankfully, he bought your excuse of being stuck in toilet due to constipation and the both of you part way after chatting for a bit.
Which brings you to right now: lying flat on your couch, physically and emotionally exhausted from the chaotic evening. You just want to take a long, long sleep now.
Before you can even drift off to sleep, your phone begins to ring nonstop. Looks like the night isn’t over yet.
“Hello?” You pick up the phone.
“You still awake?” You can hear Heejin’s voice from the other side.
“Yeah, thanks to a certain someone calling me.”
“Hehe~ Anyways, I’m only in the city for tomorrow before heading to our next destination, can we meet?” Despite performing for around 4 hours straight, you can still feel the energy in her voice. Unconsciously, you start to smile as well, infectious of her energy. Just like old times.
“Lucky for you, I have tomorrow off, so let me sleep for now and maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.” Despite losing contact for so long, the two of you still converse like nothing ever happened. Like you were never apart. Joking and teasing like the old times.
“You better show up, you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Go get some sleep Bunny, it’s been a long evening.”
“Mhmm, see you tomorrow, Pooh.” Again, with the nickname. You feel like you’ve already outgrown it. Even your parents don’t call you that name anymore, but Heejin keeps on using it, and you don’t know why.
“Goodnight.” Deciding that it’s been long enough, you hang up first, and without even moving to the bedroom, just lay on the couch until sleep takes you.
-----
“Ah, wait!” Heejin pouts, looking at her phone. “This guy, still hanging up like that, maybe he didn’t grow that much after all.” Even while complaining, Heejin still has a smile plastered on her face.
When you left them 3 years ago, cutting off all contact, she was devastated. In one night, she lost her best friend of 20+ years, and her crush. It was with the joint effort from the rest of Loona that she is still willing to co-exist with Hyeju.
Even as groupmates, she can never forgive Hyeju for what she has done to you. Who would she side with: a groupmate of a few years, or a best friend of 20+ years? Being an idol might be her dream work, but she would never abandon you.
Ever.
And now, after years of sulking and wallowing in depression, she’s met you again with a stroke of luck. Though she can tell that you have changed a lot throughout the years, something just can’t be changed. Like how you were willing to hurt yourself to save others. Heck, you just saved the girls this evening after all.
It’s regretful that she can’t stay here for long, but now having a way to contact with you again, she will make sure to make full use of it-
“Unnie?” She turns to the open door, being caught off guard while thinking to herself. She sees Hyeju standing just outside the door. “What do you need?” Despite her best effort, Heejin’s voice still comes off as quite cold, which is understandable.
“Just now, you were talking with oppa, weren’t you?” she asks with a bit of trembling in her voice. “And it was him who saved us this evening?”
Heejin scoffs, not wanting to let Hyeju figure anything out. “Just a friend, not him.”
“But you only called one person ‘Pooh’.
Heejin’s eyes widened at that. “How much did you listen?” Hyeju turns timid at her glare. “The- the whole thing…”
Heejin faces palms herself. “And what do you want?” She isn’t trying to hide the venom in her voice anymore. “You betrayed him, twice at that. What more do you possibly want to do to him?”
Gathering her courage, Hyeju looks back at Heejin defiantly. “I want to…”
A/N 2: teehee, here’s your 5k words xD
297 notes · View notes
squea · 11 days
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today (i think) is my 5th simblr anniversairy!!!! yuck but also waow
after coming out of what has probably been the most traumatic week of my life, and generally doing not so good mentally for the last few months, I can say that I'm ready to get better and do better for myself. feeling worthless and helpless is a very scary place to be, feeling like dirt for failing at most things, and being barely adequate at others! but im not saying all this to be all boohoo im trying to say the opposite!
despite everythin, simblr has been such a pillar to me and my mental health sdjfsg it sounds dumb ik! but in late 2018 i blocked almost everyone i knew and became a hermit for a bit whilst i was going through some medical things. at that time i set up my simblr and it was so refreshing to be in an environment where my hobbies and interests which had been ridiculed for years irl, were celebrated and shared. i was having so much fun with the ugliest reshade in the world, 0 cc making knowledge but a desire to learn and just interacting with others in the community dfjghdf
and thank you so so much from the bottom of my heart to those who have commissioned me since i started doing commissions last year. seriously you have no idea how much its helped me financially and mentally gfjdhf
anyway!!!!! this is already coming across incredibly yucky but just wanted to say thank you. to anyone ive spoken to once or now talk to daily on discord (u know) because youve helped me more than i can be bothered to find the words to explain ok. this place has given me purpose and stability to improve mentally, learn, and make friends!!!
for a couple months now ive been working on my story with corn. i cant wait to start posting it sdjfhsd. things are getting better for me, i think! :-)
anyway thank u thank u thank u thank u kisses for u
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semper-draca · 8 days
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There's something so depressing about being an artist on tumblr these days that I'm finding hard to articulate. Years ago, shitty one-hour sketches I posted would at least get double digits in the notes. These days, I can post commissions that took over fifty hours and get 5 notes at most. Blah blah do art for yourself, sure, but the important part is -
I Rarely Get Commissions Anymore.
Where I used to have to limit how many comms I could accept at once because I'd get that many requests, now I'm lucky to get two when I open up coms again. People don't reblog the art I do for myself, so no one finds my commission info that way. People don't reblog the art I do for commissions, so no one finds my commission info that way. People don't reblog commissions posts. A couple likes will get tossed at it from people who don't actually reach out in interest, so it doesn't circulate and it's just me reblogging it into the void, desperately hoping for some modicum of cash. I feel like people don't understand these days how little money most artists are bringing in, and the anxiety that comes with drastically declining circulation of art on websites like tumblr. Right now, for example, I'm desperate to earn as much money as I can during the summer because what I earn this summer? Has to last me rent for seven months straight to help offset the inevitable drain of all the savings I have. Normally some of that would come from art - nowadays, I can't rely on getting even a single commission.
I think this anxiety and this real material concern is what is behind all those "please for the love of god reblog art/posts you like" posts that people love to get angry about. If you haven't been here for years, it can be hard to see the ways in which this vanishing reblog culture has severely hit artists and forced many away from this platform. I don't want to leave tumblr or stop posting my art here, but good god is it depressing to see this site, and I cannot stress this enough, almost COMPLETELY VANISH as a revenue stream. I don't know what the solution to this culture shift is, but I do know that it's causing this site to deteriorate and forcing artists to move elsewhere and invest less effort on tumblr because it no longer makes any financial sense. I know that everyone is tired of hearing this, and fair enough, because there are plenty of other artists with louder voices than mine saying similar things, but please, if you like some art, consider reblogging it. Even if you have no interest in ever commissioning that artist. Others might see it and be interested, and that's how most new clients are made. Artists have rent on the line.
anyway, if you've made it to the end of this rant and haven't blocked me for it lmao, I still have commissions open
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anonbeadraws · 3 months
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Hi !!!! I love your works, it's really beautiful and so expressive.
I have a question, how do you have so many commissions ? I tried so hard to advertise them but nobody ever reach out. Is it community? It's probably that...
Sorry for bothering you ^^
Have a great day
Hey there! Thank you so much, that's so kind! And that's a tough question!! So when I started offering commissions, it took me a long long time to get any interest. I was new to doing art like that, and had just been drawing for myself, had a fair few people following but, you know! When people started picking them up, I was very grateful! I think it can be, in a weird way, a mix of luck, community and personality. I've never been an aloof kind of artist, I get very excited at concepts people bring me, and I think that shows! And who doesn't enjoy someone else's passion for something original of their own? What I can recommend, is drawing for yourself, and perhaps for your friends as Requests. Creating art as a 'request', shows that you can draw to a brief! It's showing people what you can do and how well. You don't have to do it for random folks if you don't want to, it's just you're building a very visual and pointed portfolio like; Look! I can do what people ask me for and Well! When you're advertising your commissions, make sure to look at other posts to see what they're offering and how. Styles of commissions, particular niches like avatars or dnd icons or tarot card art! What grabs your attention when you're looking for art, and what would grab other peoples? What shines in your art, that will grab attention? After all, there are artists who do sketches for coms, some who do animations, some full traditional pieces! A wide range and theres a place for all art! There are also tumblr blogs that just, advertise commission posts! Hunt them down and ask for your ref to be added, never hurts to ask for help! And like you say, community! Offering comments and reblogs to other artists can only help us in the long run, but also, help you make friends and colleagues, people who might recommend you to other folks who need art. If you are kind, creative, passionate and dependable, you are what a commissioner will WANT to come back to, when they want more art! And who knows, you might make lifelong friends with those people, it's happened to me like, 8 times and I've made some best friends that way! It's, a bit of a slog to get there, no quick road (Unless you're Very lucky!!!) but it's also, kinda worth it, for the people you'll find. I wish you the best of luck, and feel free to send me your commission post, I'll reblog it! That's what artists do! 💜
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drabblesandimagines · 2 months
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Gift
Clive Rosfield x female reader, 2,856 words Commissioned by the lovely @kianaflame23 who has kindly given permission for me to share with you all x
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You’re up before sunrise, which isn’t unusual. There’ll be an abundance of tasks to do in the Hideaway and you’ve never been one to shy away from work, even if some would claim your Name Day to be the perfect excuse to neglect any semblance of responsibility in favour of celebration.
Not for you – you’d never been all too fussed about it, nor the attention that came along with it, not even as a child growing up in Rosalith. Every year, your mother would hold afternoon tea in celebration, though you never had a say in who was invited, or in any gifts you might receive. It was always the same - dresses of fine silks, jewelry, delicate tea sets, fine threads for your embroidery lessons…
When all you really wanted was the freedom to run around in the fields of the duchy, rough-housing with the boys, ditch your needle and thread for something bigger and sharper within the training pits.
The last Name Day you had somewhat celebrated had been years ago now, though in some ways it had proved to be the most memorable one. It started off as the usual affair of being fussed over by noble ladies, some who still insisted on pinching your cheek as if you were still a babe, commenting on how you had grown into such a fine young woman, and how surely a courtship would be announced forthwith.
You’d asked your mother how true that was after the guests had left, wringing your hands together behind your back so she couldn’t scold you for it.
“Don’t worry, darling,” she’d replied with an assured smile. “Such a decision won’t be made without your father present.”
It hadn’t reassured you at all.
That night, you’d clambered out of your window cautiously after your household had retired. All day, you’d gone along with your mother’s whims with no complaint, surely you could permit yourself this – the gift you really wanted. The streets of the Rosalith are quiet this evening, some Shields posted out by the front gate, some by the main castle itself but neither of those are your destinations. You make for one of the training pits that’s nestled away against the city’s walls, near one of the stables. It’s smaller than the main one the Shields frequent. The real swords will be locked away, but the wooden ones would remind in their racks, so what would be the harm of you having a play?
You pick up the training sword and pretend to thrust and parry, trying to recall the few techniques your father had entertained you with years ago when you were young and pulling at the hem of his robes to be taught, just like all the boys were. It’s not as entertaining without an opponent, but you still feel the exhilarating thrill as you pretend. In the peace of the night, there’s a scuff of a foot against the cobbled streets and you spin on your heels, hiding the wooden sword behind your back. Your eyes soon widen at the figure before you, who looks rather startled in return.
“Lord Rosfield, my sincere apologies. I thought-”
He smiles bashfully, rubbing a hand on the back of his head. “No, please forgive me for startling you, my lady. I thought I would have the pit to myself at this late hour, though I appear mistaken.”
“A reasonable thought, of course. I will go.”
“No.” He says, perhaps a little too quickly. “I mean, please do not leave on my account.”
“You have greater need of it than me.” The sentence sounds wrong as soon as you say it. “Not that I mean you’re not skilled in swordplay, you are the First Shield after all, just tha-“
Clive puts up his hand, cutting you off with a smile. “I understand.” He lifts the latch on the gate and enters the pit. “Though I must ask, what brings you here at such a late hour?”
“It is my Name Day,” you confess – something about the look in his eyes makes you truthful. Clive has always been sweet in your limited interactions with him, ever the gentleman, kind with the Bearers of the duchy too. “Mother has started talking of suitors. I wanted to do something that I’d truly enjoy today at least, as a gift to myself before I cannot. I suppose it is childish.”
“Not at all.”
“It is, though. When I was little, I wanted to fight.” You laugh at your foolishness. “There are no female Shields in Rosaria, never have been.”
“Not yet.” He corrects with a smile. “You could be the first, if that is truly what your heart desires.”
“Even if I could find someone willing to train me, it is far too late.”
Clive muses for a moment, before heading over to the training rack and picking up a wooden sword of his own. “You said it is your Name Day – well, I’d be remiss not to offer a gift.”
“Oh, no, I-“
“A sparring lesson – a gift to you as much as it is to me.”
And thus had begun a series of late night pit meetings with one Clive Rosfield.
--
“My lord,” Ser Tyler murmurs in his ear. “I do believe we are being followed.”
Clive spins on his heels, his knuckles turning white from how hard his grip is on the hilt of his sword, his brow now furrowed. It is his first command, he’s only so far out of the gates and he’s already missed danger? All such feelings of failure are extinguished when he spots the pursuer. Barely obscured behind a tree he sees you, sticking out like a sore thumb.
Clive releases his grip on his weapons and nods to the two Shields. “Permit me a moment.”
“Of course, my lord.”
You remain standing there, sheepishly wringing your hands as he approaches, fearing of a scolding, of interrupting the duchy’s duty as you are not quite able to decipher the expression on his face.
“My lady, I beg you - what drove you to leave the city? It is not safe out here.” His expression turns to one of pure concern, his eyes flitting around you in order to quell any such danger that might be lurking.
“You did not say goodbye.” You pout, feeling childish now you’ve said it aloud. He hadn’t shown at the pit last night and it was only this morning you’d found the reason why – they were to make for Phoenix Gate.  
He feels a warmth prickle over his cheeks and hopes you do not spot it. “True. I did not say it… but only because it is not goodbye.”
“It’s not?”
“No, for I will return anon. You have my word.”
You hesitate, wondering if your next question will be out of turn. “How can you be so sure?”
His hand falls to his side then on a dagger Elwin had given him when Joshua had awoken as the Phoenix. Its only value was sentimental – the dagger having been Elwin’s own as a young lad. It is sturdy and deadly sharp still, and though he still favours the sword in combat, it holds a dear place in his heart.
The same very space that you seem to be burrowing into.
Clive offers the blade out to you, hilt first. “Here, for if my lady has my dagger, then I must return in order to retrieve it.”
“I couldn’t.”
“I insist. As a Shield of Rosaria, we swear on our blades,” he pats the hilt of his sword with his other hand. “And for my return, I swear on my dagger.”
You reach out for it, fingers curling around the hilt. You make sure the blade is clear of his fingers before you withdraw, feeling the weight in your hand.
“I will hold you to this.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He smiles. “May I escort you back to the gates?”
“No. Thank you”, you hastily add. “You have your command – I’ve already held it up. Besides,” you smile as you slide the dagger into your belt. “I have this now, if I am to encounter any bandits.”
Clive’s eyes widen at the idea – a protest on the tip of his tongue. They could still make it back to the gates and then reach the village befor-
Something warm and soft on his skin interrupts his thoughts. You’re stood to his side, standing on your tip toes, having pressed a kiss to his cheek. Stepping back with a grin, you turn and sprint back up the path, back towards Rosalith.
Clive touches his cheek where your lips had pressed.
“My lord, is all well?” Ser Tyler’s voice calls from down the path.
Clive wipes the smitten smile off his face – time to concentrate.
--
The night of Phoenix Gate changed everything.
It took your father away, the Grand Duke, the Phoenix too perished in the attack…
And sweet Clive.
Your mother was lost when the Iron Blood invaded. Aided by the techniques Clive had taught you in the training pit, the lend of his dagger and some luck, you’d escaped the bloodshed and the city, fleeing the only home you’d ever known.
You’d made your way to Port Isolde, seeking refuge – a new start. Your mother had enjoyed the markets there, so much so you’d often spend weeks staying with some distant uncle or aunt, and you thought perhaps you could seek pity off a friendly face there. Imperial guards had shooed you away at the gate, beggars weren’t welcome.
There had been talk of a tunnel from the Lazarus District into Port Isolde, you vaguely recalled, from some of your older peers. Boys sneaking into the city to escape their parents’ watchful eyes. The place had been all but abandoned when you’d clambered over the wall, deciding to seek shelter for the night before properly exploring for a route in the morning.
And that’s when you’d met Ser Wade and a few other Shields, battered and bruised but alive, trying to regroup – later to become the Guardians of the Flame.
--
You’re leaned over the map that Wade has crudely put together upon, marking the points of where he plans for simultaneous attacks to be launched on the Black Shields. You hear his footsteps approach – having spent so many years fighting side by side, you’d recognize them anywhere.
“I still think this is a ridiculous plan, especially you insisting on going on y-“
You turn as you speak, but your words die on your tongue at the man who stands beyond Wade – tall, rugged, shaggy black locks over stormy blue eyes that are so very familiar.
Too familiar.
“It cannot be.” Your heart pounds in realization.
“My lady…” Clive’s eyes widen as he takes you in.
To everyone’s surprise, you drop to your knee, fumbling with something at your belt.
“Here,” you remove the dagger, offering it out to him hilt first. “I must thank you for your gift all those years ago – it has saved my life more times than I wish to count. And now I can return it to you, as promised.”
To your surprise, Clive does not take it but drops to his own knee. “I think it is best left in your possession. I would be remiss to separate the two of you now.”
“But it is…”
“Please. In fact, I insist upon it, for what is a Shield of Rosaria without their first blade?”
You swore you fell in love all over again at that moment.
--
You’d been at the Hideaway a few weeks now – Wade having offered your services to aid with the Cursebreakers a little too willingly to aid with a shortfall in their numbers due to injuries. You didn’t mind, though you knew Wade seemed to have ulterior motives, confessing to you over a pint at Martha’s the night before you left.
“Lord Rosfield was sweet on you – I remember that.”
“That was years ago. A different lifetime, even.” You’d corrected, but to little avail. Though the flames that you had felt for him all those years ago had reignited at your reunion, it was surely not to be.
Clive was your friend and, more than that, he was an inspiration to all those around you, fighting for a higher cause – priorities came first. There was no time for frivolities. Just having him as your friend was enough.
Or so you lied to yourself.
The day passes as it always does – there are supplies to be carried up to the stores, discussions to be had, a ride in Obolus’ skiff to the shore to forage some herbs for the infirmary – the particular herbs only to be found in a place notorious for fiends.
You hadn’t seen Clive that day, but that was not unusual. He always seemed to be pulled in different directions, barely at the Hideaway before he had to leave again.
But every time your eyes met, you were taken back to those nights in Rosalith, a blush heating your cheeks as he’d smile that charming smile of his.
“There you are,” Otto catches your attention as you head to retire to your bunk at dusk. “Clive’s looking for you – down at the pit.”
“Oh?” You look at Otto for more information, but that is all he gives.
You hurry down to the fighting pit – it’s not somewhere you’ve ventured into before, though you’ve seen some of the newer recruits practice. Clive is stood in the middle, shed of his usual leathers but still his laced white shirt. His sword is leant up against the fence and he has his hands on his hips, his eyes fixed out into the horizon.
You clear your throat as your approach and he swings around, a grin on his face.
“Thank you for coming so swiftly, my lady.” He walks forward and opens the latch on the gate, beckoning you forward as he steps to the side.
“I must say I am intrigued.” You walk into the pit, though your heart is beating with uncertainty - what is this all about?
“How could I let your Name Day pass without a gift?”
You blink – your heart skipping a beat at the fact that he remembered, even after all that time, after all that has happened and all that is happening. “Oh, no, that’s-“
“I insist. And as for this gift, well,” he walks over to his sword, “the gift I gave you on the last of your Name Days we shared together seemed to go down quite well - I thought mayhaps you’d enjoy another?”
You grin, reaching for your blade.
“To spar with you again would be an honour.”
It is not a real fight by any means – both of you too wary of hurting each other and receiving a scolding by Tarja. You hadn’t known the healer long, but long enough to fear her anger – but still it is challenging enough, especially as the pit is on the smaller side. The clash of your swords echoes across the blighted waters of the lake, grunts of exertion, sand filling your boots as you step to and fro, entering into some sort of dance as the two of you fight.
You think you’ve bested him, somehow, by the way your thrust sends him off balance and how his eyes widen with the shock of it. He reaches out and grabs for your arm, perhaps to steady himself but failing miserably, only inevitably bringing you down with him, smacking into his chest, knocking all the air out of you for a moment.
You drop your blade as you catch your breath and begin to get up, try to shuffle off of him, an apology on your tongue – though it’s hardly your fault – but the Fire Dominant wraps his arm around your waist as you attempt to do so, holding you in place.
You swallow, not sure if you’ve ever been in this close of proximity of the face that so often haunted your dreams.
“Permit me to give you one last gift, my lady?” He asks, softly – as if the position you find yourselves in is entirely normal.
“Depends on what it is.”
He smiles softly at your response. “Close your eyes and you’ll find out.”
You do – squeezing them tight to not allow a sliver of light through. You feel fingers ghost your face before a hand caresses the back of your head and, suddenly, warm, soft lips press upon yours.
You open your eyes, startled, for a moment, only to see Clive’s are firmly closed as he begins to deepen the kiss. You close yours again, reaching a hand up blindly to cup his face, kissing him back until the two of you have to retreat - breathless and dizzy with emotion.
“I know you are not a fan of your Name Day,” he presses his hand over the one you still hold against his cheek, “but I would be remiss not to celebrate the day that brought you into this world and blessed me with you, my darling one.”
--
Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x
Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi/Commissions
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I wanted to ask how would I go about writing characters that are older then me? I'm 16 and almost all of the characters I wanna write are older then me
the main reason I think I'm having trouble is that I know that due to them being older then me, they would know more things then me and would have a different way of viewing the world around them and I have a hard time trying to "put myself in others shoes" as some people like to say it
Portraying a Character Who is Older Than You
Here's the thing... age alone doesn't change what people know or how they view the world. It can play a role, certainly, because the more time you spend on Earth and the more you move through it, the more knowledge you'll gain and experiences you'll have, but that's also not a categorical truth. People who are 16 can be more worldly and more knowledgeable than someone who is 35. It really just depends on a person's experiences. So, don't think of your older character as being someone who is out-of-reach to you because you're sixteen.
What kinds of experiences do you want this person to have had between the ages of 16 and their current age? Do some research. Learn about those experiences. Acquire some of the knowledge your older character would have gleaned from those experiences. You don't have to know everything they would know, or research every experience they would have had, but you can fill your head with the important things that they would have experienced or would know as a result of those experiences.
My post Guide: How to Write Any Type of Character will help with some of the research. My post WQA’s Guide to Internet Research might help, too.
Happy researching!
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