Queer cisgender person who is trying to be a better person and really likes equality, compassion, books, people who cares about others wellbeing, horror stuff, body positivity ,old punk rock, cheesecake and art.
arthur offered himself as your shooting teacher, quite unexpectedly, but nevertheless, the bounty on his head was put in more than one city, which means that he knew his business well, especially shooting, any weapon in his wide hand lay confidently, lightly, as if it did not weigh a gram, and even with a loud, throwing shot, his brawny body did not move even half a meter.
not that you complained, he explained well and in detail, was not rude, quite understanding, especially when you needed to be guided — running his calloused fingers up from your wrist and to your elbow, thankfully not feeling the goosebumps you were covered with under the fabric of your dress, letting him bend your hand correctly, whispering in a gravelly, tobacco bearing voice — “just like tha'” right in your ear.
everyone had to be able to survive, and in your world, one of the points was the ability to defend oneself — with hands, feet, teeth, knives and guns, in any situation that required it, so arthur was very serious about what to teach you, what movements, what weapons, frowning wide eyebrows and squinting his aquamarine eyes, gleaming with the colors of the coleidoscope, definitely distracting you, even if not on purpose.
though, after about half an hour, it begins to seem completely different, while looking at how the short strands of brown hair fall on his forehead, swaying in the wind, how the muscles tense, playing under the skin with strong veins, just below the rolled sleeve of his button up on biceps, how you can see a scattering of dark hair on his chest, the buttons are unbuttoned, almost teasing, and damn, it's not at all your fault for the words that slip off your tongue, making him shoot sharply, loud bang swallowing down your breathy whisper of — “huh, no surprise they called him a pretty boy”
now, you have to absorb the picture of arthur disheveled, embarrassed, his eyebrows raised in surprise, beautiful eyes wide open, and the red blush which slowly creeps from his chest to his forehead accentuates the small freckles on his scrunched nose before he turns away, mumbling and stuttering something under his nose, clutching the weapon in his hand almost to the crunch of wood, before throwing it over his shoulder and sliding past you like a bullet, rubbing the back of his burning neck with slightly shaking fingers.
— “w-we.. god dammit, we will continue our lesson later!” the only thing you hear before you stay alone, in the midst of the hum of the light wind and the chirping of birds, feeling your cheeks lift from a little grin on your lips, while arthur practically darts away, pulling at the loose collar of his shirt, feeling a suffusing rush of heat, intending to hide in his tent so as just not to meet you again, to forget how your voice sounded at that moment, how almost hungry you looked at him through your drooping eyelashes.
it's all your fault, that now arthur will have to cope with his hard cock, rubbing painfully against the fabric of his clothes, forcing him to hastily unbutton his pant, biting a dull moan on his lower lip, trying to erase your gaze from memory, how lightly you licked your lips, what you possibly could have thought about, while calling him a pretty boy, as he palms down, rough callouses catching on the aching, tender skin of his rudy tip, and he groans low, legs stretching, head rolling back as his chest expands rapidly.
damn it all, now and forever, as he cums with your name curled on his tongue, bitten down by teeth, and your gaze never leaving his mind, avoiding your gaze even the next day, but maybe if you come to apologize, and try to ignore the way his cock hardens again when you remind about that compliment, when he can pull himself together to continue your lessons.
ᰔ summary: you walk in on dean watching porn, and the girl? looks just like you. one thing leads to another, and it gets way too real.
⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, best friends to lovers?, oral sex, p in v, breeding kink, swearing, porn watching, dub-consent (you did walk in on him), spoiler alert: dean is NOT your average best friend, accidental discovery, intentional fucking, you wanted slowburn? lol, no. welcome to chaos.
⤿ notes: new format?? mhm! also, i’m pretty sure this is the exact moment i crossed all boundaries. but hey, it’s dean. enjoy… or don’t. but you will. you’ll definitely enjoy.
You were supposed to be asleep.
The bunker was dead quiet, the only sounds the soft hum of overhead lights and the occasional creak of ancient pipes. You tiptoed out of your room in nothing but your usual sleep fit— those stupid little pink shorts and that baggy tee with a faded band logo, barely awake, just craving something cold to drink.
What you didn’t expect to find was him.
Dean. Lying on his bed, legs sprawled out like he owned the place — which, to be fair, he kinda did; laptop propped open on his thighs, the soft slap of skin echoing off the walls, low moans slipping from his lips like sin.
Your brain didn’t catch up right away. You blinked, thinking maybe it was just some dumb movie. Something graphic on late-night cable. But then he shifted. Jaw tight, chest heaving, one hand moving under the thin gray waistband of his sweats, and the sound from his laptop speakers made your stomach drop straight to hell.
Wet. Rhythmic. Desperate.
You froze in the doorway.
It was porn.
Very, very intense porn.
You were about to turn and bolt when you actually looked at the screen— and saw her.
Saw you.
Or, okay, not you exactly. But enough like you that your breath caught in your throat. Same hair. Same curves. Same little whimpering gasp when the guy in the video; who had messy hair, broad shoulders, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dean’s, gripped her thighs and pushed in deeper.
Your eyes went wide.
And that’s when Dean looked up.
He didn’t panic. Didn’t scramble to close the laptop or hide what he was doing.
Instead, he smirked.
“Well, well,” he drawled, voice gravelly from arousal. “Didn’t think you were the sneaky type.”
Your whole body went numb. Your knees locked in place and your voice came out squeaky and stunned:
“I—I didn’t mean to— Dean, I didn’t know you were— what the fuck!”
“Mhm,” he said, not even flinching. So casual. One hand finally moving away from his waistband, resting on his stomach like he wasn’t still hard as hell beneath the fabric. “Didn’t know I had an audience tonight. You like what you saw?”
“That girl looked like me,” you whispered.
He arched a brow.
“Did she?”
“Dean.” Your voice trembled, shame twisting in your chest. “Why would you… why would you watch that?”
He clicked the laptop shut like it was nothing.
“Why d’you think?” he said, standing up slow, that cocky saunter in his step, towering over you before you could even think of moving. “I’ve had to sit around for months watchin’ you prance around here in those tiny fuckin’ shorts, crawlin’ into my bed when you get nightmares, sleepin’ next to me like you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”
Your mouth opened. Closed. Your brain had shut down.
“You ever think about me like that?” he asked, voice dropping an octave. “You ever get curious what I sound like when I’m inside you?”
You choked on your own breath.
“Jesus, Dean—”
He stepped even closer. Barely a foot between your bodies now.
“Don’t get all shy now, sweetheart. You walked in. You stayed. You looked at that screen and kept watching.” His eyes dragged over your body, slow and hot and possessive. “So if you’re gonna act like a good girl, tell me the truth.”
You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, heart racing.
“…Was it really about me?”
He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, voice dark and full of sin,
“Every fuckin’ time.”
You swallow.
His breath brushes your skin.
You hate the part of you that wants more.
“So what happens now?” you whisper, voice barely there.
He grins, but it’s not playful anymore. It’s dark. Focused. Hungry.
“Now,” he murmurs, “you tell me if you want this. ‘Cause once we start, baby, I’m not gonna pretend I don’t wanna know how you sound when you moan anymore.”
Your whole body lights up like a goddamn fire alarm.
You nod— slow, shy, unsure, and Dean’s hands find your hips, big and hot and grounding you before you can float away from the sheer weight of this moment.
“Fuck,” he mutters, like it’s physically painful. “You’re actually sayin’ yes to this.”
You look up at him, wide-eyed. “You thought I wouldn’t?”
He lets out a sharp laugh— shocked. His grip tightens, and his mouth brushes your cheek before he growls into your ear,
“You’re my best fuckin’ friend, sweetheart. The girl I’ve been tryin’ not to fuck for years. But now? You’re standing here all pretty and wet for me after catching me jerk off to a video of someone who looks just like you.”
He steps back just long enough to grab the laptop. “So we’re gonna watch it again. Together.”
You blink.
“Dean—what?”
“No no,” he says, pulling you into his room, sitting down on the bed and tugging you into his lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world. His hard length presses up against your ass as you straddle him. “You’re gonna watch what I was watching. And you’re gonna feel exactly what I felt.”
The video starts again.
The moans fill the room.
Your cheeks burn.
His hands start roaming, slow at first. Just resting on your thighs. Then sliding up under your shirt, thumbs grazing over your hips. “See that?” he murmurs, mouth brushing your neck. “How he’s got her pinned down? How deep he’s fucking her?”
You nod, breath stuttering.
“That’s what I was thinkin’ about,” he says, pressing a kiss to your pulse. “Pushing you back on this bed, spreading those pretty legs, and just ruining you.”
You let out a shaky little gasp.
“You always get this wet just from watchin’?” he teases, fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “Or is it me?”
You can’t speak. He doesn’t need you to.
One thick finger dips into your panties and he groans— low and deep, like he’s just tasted something addictive.
“Ohh, fuck, sweetheart…” He nips at your jaw. “This pussy was made for me.”
You whimper.
“You want me to fill you up like that?” he asks, gaze flicking from the screen to you. “You want me to make you so full of me, you’ll be feelin’ it for days?”
You nod helplessly.
And then he’s flipping you beneath him, pushing your shirt up, yanking your shorts down— his mouth hot and hungry as he kisses down your belly, his voice ragged,
“You better be fuckin’ sure, baby. ‘Cause once I start… I’m not stopping ‘til I’m all the way in and you’re begging me to put a baby in you.”
You don’t even get a chance to breathe before Dean’s dragging your panties down your thighs, slow but greedy, like he wants to savor it, wants to remember what you look like like this forever. Laying on his bed, flushed and wide-eyed, already soaked for him.
And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.
The video’s still playing on the laptop beside you. Your own soft moans mixing with hers, the sound of skin against skin driving Dean insane.
“Fuck, baby, look at you,” he mutters, dragging his mouth across your inner thigh, leaving open-mouthed kisses. “Shakin’ like a virgin on prom night.”
You let out a breathy little whimper, thighs twitching.
“I’m not—”
“No, but this pussy’s mine,” he cuts you off, voice all grit and possession. “And I’m gonna treat her like she’s never been touched before.”
And then his tongue’s on you.
Oh. My. God.
No teasing. No slow warmup. Dean dives in like he’s starved— like he’s been dreaming about this for years and now that he has you, he’s gonna take his fucking time.
His tongue licks a long, slow stripe up your slit, then circles your clit until your hips buck against his mouth. “Dean—Dean, holy shit—”
He groans into you like he can’t help it. Like you taste like heaven and he wants to drown in it.
One thick finger slides into you, curling just right, his mouth never stopping. You’re shaking. Moaning. Whimpering his name like a prayer.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growls, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin slick with you. “You’re squeezin’ me so good, baby. So fuckin’ tight for me.”
He slides a second finger in. Pumps slow. Deep. Crooks them just enough to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back.
You gasp, fisting the sheets.
And then he leans up, hovering over you, eyes dark as sin.
“Wanna know somethin’ sick?” he rasps, rubbing slow circles on your clit. “When I came earlier? I imagined this pussy. You— on your back, beggin’ me to put a baby in you.”
You let out a choked moan.
“Dean—”
“You gonna let me, sweetheart?” He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your lips—hot, messy kisses between every filthy word. “Gonna let me fuck you raw? Fill you up so deep it sticks?”
You nod like you’re drunk on him.
“Please.”
He groans—feral now; like that one word snapped the leash clean off.
He yanks his sweats down, and his cock springs free. Thick, flushed, leaking. You’ve never seen anything so hot. He lines himself up with your entrance, and pauses, just for a breath.
“You sure?” he asks, voice tight.
You reach up, grab his face, and whisper, “Dean, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.”
That’s all it takes.
He slams into you— slow but deep, dragging it out, like he wants you to feel every inch.
You cry out, nails digging into his back. He groans like he’s dying.
“Fuuuck,” he hisses, burying himself to the hilt. “So fuckin’ tight, baby. You were made for me.”
His hips start to move. Slow at first, grinding into you, heavy and rough and intentional. He kisses you like he owns you. He fucks you like he’s claiming you.
And the whole time?
He doesn’t stop talking.
“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s my cock stretchin’ you open, fillin’ you where no one else ever will again.”
“I’m gonna fuck you full, sweetheart. Breed you so good you’ll feel me for days.”
Your body’s writhing under him— shaking, trembling, your orgasm building like a tidal wave.
“You close?” he growls, thrusting harder, snapping his hips against yours. “C’mon, baby. Cream on my cock. Show me how bad you want it.”
And when you fall apart?
It’s a wreck.
You clench around him like a vice, crying out his name, and he loses it— slamming into you once, twice more before burying himself deep and groaning, “Fuck—take it—take all of it, baby—fuckin’ take my cum—”
He holds you tight, grinding into you as he empties himself inside, thick and hot and endless. You’re both panting, covered in sweat, trembling from the aftershocks.
He doesn’t pull out.
Just collapses on top of you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“Told you we’d make a better video,” he mumbles against your skin.
ᰔ summary: you walk in on dean watching porn, and the girl? looks just like you. one thing leads to another, and it gets way too real.
⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, best friends to lovers?, oral sex, p in v, breeding kink, swearing, porn watching, dub-consent (you did walk in on him), spoiler alert: dean is NOT your average best friend, accidental discovery, intentional fucking, you wanted slowburn? lol, no. welcome to chaos.
⤿ notes: new format?? mhm! also, i’m pretty sure this is the exact moment i crossed all boundaries. but hey, it’s dean. enjoy… or don’t. but you will. you’ll definitely enjoy.
You were supposed to be asleep.
The bunker was dead quiet, the only sounds the soft hum of overhead lights and the occasional creak of ancient pipes. You tiptoed out of your room in nothing but your usual sleep fit— those stupid little pink shorts and that baggy tee with a faded band logo, barely awake, just craving something cold to drink.
What you didn’t expect to find was him.
Dean. Lying on his bed, legs sprawled out like he owned the place — which, to be fair, he kinda did; laptop propped open on his thighs, the soft slap of skin echoing off the walls, low moans slipping from his lips like sin.
Your brain didn’t catch up right away. You blinked, thinking maybe it was just some dumb movie. Something graphic on late-night cable. But then he shifted. Jaw tight, chest heaving, one hand moving under the thin gray waistband of his sweats, and the sound from his laptop speakers made your stomach drop straight to hell.
Wet. Rhythmic. Desperate.
You froze in the doorway.
It was porn.
Very, very intense porn.
You were about to turn and bolt when you actually looked at the screen— and saw her.
Saw you.
Or, okay, not you exactly. But enough like you that your breath caught in your throat. Same hair. Same curves. Same little whimpering gasp when the guy in the video; who had messy hair, broad shoulders, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dean’s, gripped her thighs and pushed in deeper.
Your eyes went wide.
And that’s when Dean looked up.
He didn’t panic. Didn’t scramble to close the laptop or hide what he was doing.
Instead, he smirked.
“Well, well,” he drawled, voice gravelly from arousal. “Didn’t think you were the sneaky type.”
Your whole body went numb. Your knees locked in place and your voice came out squeaky and stunned:
“I—I didn’t mean to— Dean, I didn’t know you were— what the fuck!”
“Mhm,” he said, not even flinching. So casual. One hand finally moving away from his waistband, resting on his stomach like he wasn’t still hard as hell beneath the fabric. “Didn’t know I had an audience tonight. You like what you saw?”
“That girl looked like me,” you whispered.
He arched a brow.
“Did she?”
“Dean.” Your voice trembled, shame twisting in your chest. “Why would you… why would you watch that?”
He clicked the laptop shut like it was nothing.
“Why d’you think?” he said, standing up slow, that cocky saunter in his step, towering over you before you could even think of moving. “I’ve had to sit around for months watchin’ you prance around here in those tiny fuckin’ shorts, crawlin’ into my bed when you get nightmares, sleepin’ next to me like you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”
Your mouth opened. Closed. Your brain had shut down.
“You ever think about me like that?” he asked, voice dropping an octave. “You ever get curious what I sound like when I’m inside you?”
You choked on your own breath.
“Jesus, Dean—”
He stepped even closer. Barely a foot between your bodies now.
“Don’t get all shy now, sweetheart. You walked in. You stayed. You looked at that screen and kept watching.” His eyes dragged over your body, slow and hot and possessive. “So if you’re gonna act like a good girl, tell me the truth.”
You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, heart racing.
“…Was it really about me?”
He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, voice dark and full of sin,
“Every fuckin’ time.”
You swallow.
His breath brushes your skin.
You hate the part of you that wants more.
“So what happens now?” you whisper, voice barely there.
He grins, but it’s not playful anymore. It’s dark. Focused. Hungry.
“Now,” he murmurs, “you tell me if you want this. ‘Cause once we start, baby, I’m not gonna pretend I don’t wanna know how you sound when you moan anymore.”
Your whole body lights up like a goddamn fire alarm.
You nod— slow, shy, unsure, and Dean’s hands find your hips, big and hot and grounding you before you can float away from the sheer weight of this moment.
“Fuck,” he mutters, like it’s physically painful. “You’re actually sayin’ yes to this.”
You look up at him, wide-eyed. “You thought I wouldn’t?”
He lets out a sharp laugh— shocked. His grip tightens, and his mouth brushes your cheek before he growls into your ear,
“You’re my best fuckin’ friend, sweetheart. The girl I’ve been tryin’ not to fuck for years. But now? You’re standing here all pretty and wet for me after catching me jerk off to a video of someone who looks just like you.”
He steps back just long enough to grab the laptop. “So we’re gonna watch it again. Together.”
You blink.
“Dean—what?”
“No no,” he says, pulling you into his room, sitting down on the bed and tugging you into his lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world. His hard length presses up against your ass as you straddle him. “You’re gonna watch what I was watching. And you’re gonna feel exactly what I felt.”
The video starts again.
The moans fill the room.
Your cheeks burn.
His hands start roaming, slow at first. Just resting on your thighs. Then sliding up under your shirt, thumbs grazing over your hips. “See that?” he murmurs, mouth brushing your neck. “How he’s got her pinned down? How deep he’s fucking her?”
You nod, breath stuttering.
“That’s what I was thinkin’ about,” he says, pressing a kiss to your pulse. “Pushing you back on this bed, spreading those pretty legs, and just ruining you.”
You let out a shaky little gasp.
“You always get this wet just from watchin’?” he teases, fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “Or is it me?”
You can’t speak. He doesn’t need you to.
One thick finger dips into your panties and he groans— low and deep, like he’s just tasted something addictive.
“Ohh, fuck, sweetheart…” He nips at your jaw. “This pussy was made for me.”
You whimper.
“You want me to fill you up like that?” he asks, gaze flicking from the screen to you. “You want me to make you so full of me, you’ll be feelin’ it for days?”
You nod helplessly.
And then he’s flipping you beneath him, pushing your shirt up, yanking your shorts down— his mouth hot and hungry as he kisses down your belly, his voice ragged,
“You better be fuckin’ sure, baby. ‘Cause once I start… I’m not stopping ‘til I’m all the way in and you’re begging me to put a baby in you.”
You don’t even get a chance to breathe before Dean’s dragging your panties down your thighs, slow but greedy, like he wants to savor it, wants to remember what you look like like this forever. Laying on his bed, flushed and wide-eyed, already soaked for him.
And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.
The video’s still playing on the laptop beside you. Your own soft moans mixing with hers, the sound of skin against skin driving Dean insane.
“Fuck, baby, look at you,” he mutters, dragging his mouth across your inner thigh, leaving open-mouthed kisses. “Shakin’ like a virgin on prom night.”
You let out a breathy little whimper, thighs twitching.
“I’m not—”
“No, but this pussy’s mine,” he cuts you off, voice all grit and possession. “And I’m gonna treat her like she’s never been touched before.”
And then his tongue’s on you.
Oh. My. God.
No teasing. No slow warmup. Dean dives in like he’s starved— like he’s been dreaming about this for years and now that he has you, he’s gonna take his fucking time.
His tongue licks a long, slow stripe up your slit, then circles your clit until your hips buck against his mouth. “Dean—Dean, holy shit—”
He groans into you like he can’t help it. Like you taste like heaven and he wants to drown in it.
One thick finger slides into you, curling just right, his mouth never stopping. You’re shaking. Moaning. Whimpering his name like a prayer.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growls, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin slick with you. “You’re squeezin’ me so good, baby. So fuckin’ tight for me.”
He slides a second finger in. Pumps slow. Deep. Crooks them just enough to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back.
You gasp, fisting the sheets.
And then he leans up, hovering over you, eyes dark as sin.
“Wanna know somethin’ sick?” he rasps, rubbing slow circles on your clit. “When I came earlier? I imagined this pussy. You— on your back, beggin’ me to put a baby in you.”
You let out a choked moan.
“Dean—”
“You gonna let me, sweetheart?” He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your lips—hot, messy kisses between every filthy word. “Gonna let me fuck you raw? Fill you up so deep it sticks?”
You nod like you’re drunk on him.
“Please.”
He groans—feral now; like that one word snapped the leash clean off.
He yanks his sweats down, and his cock springs free. Thick, flushed, leaking. You’ve never seen anything so hot. He lines himself up with your entrance, and pauses, just for a breath.
“You sure?” he asks, voice tight.
You reach up, grab his face, and whisper, “Dean, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.”
That’s all it takes.
He slams into you— slow but deep, dragging it out, like he wants you to feel every inch.
You cry out, nails digging into his back. He groans like he’s dying.
“Fuuuck,” he hisses, burying himself to the hilt. “So fuckin’ tight, baby. You were made for me.”
His hips start to move. Slow at first, grinding into you, heavy and rough and intentional. He kisses you like he owns you. He fucks you like he’s claiming you.
And the whole time?
He doesn’t stop talking.
“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s my cock stretchin’ you open, fillin’ you where no one else ever will again.”
“I’m gonna fuck you full, sweetheart. Breed you so good you’ll feel me for days.”
Your body’s writhing under him— shaking, trembling, your orgasm building like a tidal wave.
“You close?” he growls, thrusting harder, snapping his hips against yours. “C’mon, baby. Cream on my cock. Show me how bad you want it.”
And when you fall apart?
It’s a wreck.
You clench around him like a vice, crying out his name, and he loses it— slamming into you once, twice more before burying himself deep and groaning, “Fuck—take it—take all of it, baby—fuckin’ take my cum—”
He holds you tight, grinding into you as he empties himself inside, thick and hot and endless. You’re both panting, covered in sweat, trembling from the aftershocks.
He doesn’t pull out.
Just collapses on top of you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“Told you we’d make a better video,” he mumbles against your skin.
This is what I have to dig through every time I look for new jobs to apply for.
For non-artists, let’s give you a little perspective.
For me, an illustration takes a bare minimum of 6 hours. Mind you, that’s JUST the drawing part. Not the research, or the communications, or gathering information. Just drawing.
That’s if it’s a simple illustration.
My art deco or more detailed stuff can take 20+ hours each.
Even simple, cartoony things still take at least 3 hours.
Let’s go with the second one. 2 illustrations for $25. Figuring 6 hours each. 12 hours total, for JUST the drawings. That’s approximately $2.08/hour.
Asking these prices is an insult. But what’s even more hurtful is there are people out there that will take these jobs. Which only encourages rates like this to be acceptable. And there are people who will try to say these are just what you have to do to get started.
I believed that. So my first coloring gigs were just $10/page. The day someone offered me $25/page for just flatting work, I realized just how wrong I’d been. I’m still not making the rates I’d like, but now I refuse anything below $25/page. Because there is value in my time.
In any standardized industry, even ones that pay piece rate over hourly, these numbers are criminal.
Do your fellow artists a favor. Never accept jobs like these. There are others that pay legitimate rates. Or at least closer to legitimate.
Such baby bullshit. Don’t even get out of bed for these rates.
If you are an artist who wants to make money off their art, I highly suggest you buy The Graphic Artist’s Guild Handbook. It goes in depth about copyright issues and even contains contract and model release templates. The 2013 book *I believe* states the average professional charges $72 an hour. This article calculated that to make a 40k annual salary you would need to charge about $60 per hour.
After graduating from Art Center in 2012, I think I asked for somewhere between $35-45 an hour and got laughed at by multiple big name clients, which was infuriating, sadly expected, and terrifying with over $100K worth of student loans staring me in the face. If they tell you it will be “great exposure” that’s a red flag. Ask yourself how their exposure can compare to your Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Flickr and Facebook pages combined?
And when you do get a decent paying gig, PROTECT YOURSELF. You have the right to negotiate and revise a contract. Do not start a job until you have a contract signed. If they don’t provide you with one, MAKE ONE. And make sure you have your bases covered. You can specify in a contract that maybe two revisions are included in your cost, and if they ask you to revise the piece more than twice, they will have to pay extra. In terms of payment schedule, I usually do the 50/50 Method (50% before, 50% after) or the 3/3/3 Method (1/3 before, 1/3 in the middle, 1/3 after all work has been received). Both of those are pretty standard in the industry, as they guarantee you will get compensated for your time, even if the job goes bad.
Remember you have a skill, and you have spent time honing that skill and you deserve to be adequately paid for that time and effort. You will have clients dismiss you because, honest to God they think, “Well, I could do that if I wanted. Hell, my five year old does it now.” No they can’t, because they didn’t, they don’t, they won’t and they probably never will. And good luck hiring a five year old. They can’t keep a fucking deadline.
And in a last ditch effort they’ll say, “But that drawing only took you an hour!” Son, that drawing took me 20. fucking. years.
I second this book! I’ve had it for several years now, and it’s been a HUGE help in my work as a freelance artist. It gives great advice on what to charge for different areas of art!
Please remember. Your art is worth a respectable payment! Accepting ridiculously low prices actually hurts the arts/illustration/animation communities because it makes employers believe they can employ people without offering decent pay.
Check the internet if you need help figuring out what you should be charging for your commissions. Invest in the books that will inform you professionally, and put your foot down if you think someone is trying to cheat you out of your time and hard work.
You have a right to refuse a job, and/or request decent payment. If your employer denies a you decent pay, well then they’re probably not a very good employer.
Do not undersell your skills. it is bad for the art community and you are worth more then that.
Reblogging because I have a lot of great artists on my dash and they need to see this if they haven’t already. Don’t sell yourselves short, my lovelies.
Bear in mind that ambulance companies aren’t diverting EMTs away from a heart attack or traumatic amputation to answer your call. They’re much more likely to be diverting EMTs from:
Sitting in an ambulance station or a random parking lot playing Words With Friends and/or developing elaborate company-wide romantic intrigues
Sitting in a hospital EMS room doing giant stacks of paperwork no one will ever read while trying to make dinner entirely out of saltines and condiments
Routine transports of people who have to travel by stretcher, who maybe are not happy to be late, but are hardly going to die from it
Transports which are technically emergencies, but are stuff like vomiting or a sprained ankle where the urgency factor is more like “yeah, you should get that seen” than like “STAT CODE RED CODE BLUE CODE POLKA DOT STAT STAT STAT.”
So if you think you might need an ambulance, call one. You are not going to single-handedly take down the EMS system by daring to use it.
Furthermore, guys, we have dispatch. Dispatch makes sure that we’re all where we need to be, so you’re not taking an ambulance away from someone who “needs it more.”
Let dispatch worry if an ambulance needs to be somewhere else. You just worry about taking care of yourself.
Oh wow, you guys are still trying desperately trying to paint Sanger as a racist huh? Okay, if you’re gonna flat out lie like this you can at least try not to be lazy about it.
You’ve given no context to this quote and conveniently left of the first half of it. The sentence in it’s entirety is “ “We do not want word to go out that we want to exterminate the Negro population.” I know you manipulated it that way because you wanted to make Sanger seem as evil as possible, and also because literally the only thing pro lifers know how to do is lie, but admittedly the full sentence by itself looks damning enough. I think you know this, which is why you provided no context. If you had, your entire argument would have fallen apart. Here are Sangers words with context;
“It seems to me from my experience where I have been in North Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee and Texas, that while the colored Negroes have great respect for white doctors they can get closer to their own members and more or less lay their cards on the table which means their ignorance, superstitions and doubts. They do not do this with the white people and if we can train the Negro doctor at the Clinic he can go among them with enthusiasm and with knowledge, which, I believe, will have far-reaching results among the colored people. His work in my opinion should be entirely with the Negro profession and the nurses, hospital, social workers, as well as the County’s white doctors. His success will depend upon his personality and his training by us.
The minister’s work is also important and also he should be trained, perhaps by the Federation as to our ideals and the goal that we hope to reach. We do not want word to go out that we want to exterminate the Negro population and the minister is the man who can straighten out that idea if it ever occurs to any of their more rebellious members.”
The article I linked goes into better detail about Sanger, the so called “Negro project”, and the lies spread about her by the pro life movement. I encourage you to read it the next time you feel like spreading lazy, manipulative propaganda bullshit like this.
TL;DR: The full quote states that Planned Parenthood wanted to hire Black doctors in order to make their Black patients feel safer and respected. It also states that Planned Parenthood wanted to work with Black ministers, and encourage the ministers to tell others that Planned Parenthood was a safe clinic for Black patients.
Reblogging not just to spread this out there but so that I have it on hand the next time someone tries to feed me this crap, I can provide them the facts.
Shiiiiit. I reblogged, and I got $750 in two days for basically nothing! The first day this client/POT asked my agent to invite some girls and I to his end. We basically sipped wine and left with $500 each. He called me yesterday and we took a ride on my highway and gave me $250😂😂😂. Money blogs everyday any day!
Actually that’s pretty standard size for a micro pig. Pigs are ENORMOUS, dude. The average pig on a farm is 7 feet long and over 700 lbs. A normal pig would be much bigger than Hilton.
EDIT: This is a photo of the world’s smallest recognized breed of pig, the kune kune. I’m sorry cartoons lied to you all.
This is the pot bellied pig, another famous “small” breed.
I NOW KNOW WHY WILD BOARS WERE SO DANGEROUS IN THE DARK AGES HOLY SHIT; RICHARD III I TAKE BACK ALL THE TRASH I TALKED ABOUT YOUR HOUSE CREST GOOD GOD THAT’S TERRIFYING.
The woman in the bathroom is trans and is scared that if she comes out of the stall the women that walked in will insult or harass her. but when she comes out they compliment her on her dress instead. The add ends with saying “stress tested for women.” It means Secret is including trans women in their definition of women.
I have reblogged this three times now, each one mentioning the fact that Secret not only included a trans woman, but that they /had the other women compliment her dress and treat her with respect/. I will reblog this every time I see it because it’s so important. More companies should involve trans people in their marketing - we do exist. Props to Secret for getting in on this movement. It makes me really happy to see more of the trans community represented in daily television.
