Art & Writing Commissions
Hi y'all, I am struggling financially right now with bills, tuition, etc. so I am looking to offer both writing and art commissions to help in addition to the job I already work.
Writing
100 - 500 words: 5$
500 - 1000 words: 10$
1000 - 1500 words: 15$
1500 - 2000 words: 20$
Here are some fic examples of my work:
(The Adventure Zone - Amnesty) knock a little louder, sugar (cw: smut): https://archiveofourown.org/works/76090851
(Rusty Quill Gaming) RQG A to Z - M is for Memory: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66302143/chapters/170943388
(The Adventure Zone - Amnesty) he's as pretty as sin like the sun sinking down on the California coast: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64792369
(Rusty Quill Gaming) and i'm possessive, it isn't nice: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41707260
oh, my love, how i'd brave the snow for you: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44359795
(Rusty Quill Gaming) Chestnuts- Or the Object of Your Hunt- Roasting On An Open Fire: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61592161
Some unpublished snippets:
[ Barclay hates parties.
Hates the way that suitors dare approach his prince with cocky smiles and shoddy attempts at wooing his Royal Highness. He snorts. His prince is far too smart for these suitors, too witty and attentive. They wouldn’t know what to do with him, wouldn’t know how to soothe the Romanian Mioritic Shepherd that paces the confines of his highness’ mind, how to guide him with a firm, yet gentle, hand. They don’t deserve that knowledge anyhow. Don’t deserve to learn the intricate enigma that is Joseph Stern.
In short, Barclay hates parties.
Nevertheless, he stands dutifully at his prince’s side, a gloved hand sitting carefully on his highness’ shoulder. His prince turns back and flashes him a smile, blue eyes shining with mirth. Barclay’s fingers tense, heat crawling up his neck at the attention.
“Are you well?” asks his prince, grinning. “You’re looking rather flushed.”
“Merely the warmth of the ballroom, your highness.”
His prince muffles a snort of laughter behind his hand at the formality, melting backwards as Barclay’s hand falls from his highness’ shoulder to his hip, the rough leather of his glove a stark contrast to the deep navy of the prince’s outfit.]
[Stern clutched his lighter in frustration, hoping that his hands would warm it enough to strike a flame. He flicked it a few times, shoulders dropping in relief as it finally lit the cigarette in his mouth. He inhaled, tilting his head back and letting it rest against the outer brick wall of the TD Civic Center Arena in Brantford, Ontario. His team, the Rouyn-Noranda Huskies, had taken on the challenge of the Brantford Bulldogs. He snorted to himself, how could the team be if they’d switched between three cities in the last forty-something years? Belleville Bulls, Hamilton Bulldogs, and now the Brantford Bulldogs? Give him a break.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke here.”
He rolled his eyes, taking another drag.
“Where the fuck did you even get that, dude? You’re, like, eighteen. You can’t buy those here <em>or</em> in Québec.”
Stern turned his head to the newcomer, quirking an eyebrow at the Bulldogs’ captain, Barclay Cobb.
“You offering to buy?”
Barclay wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No.”
Stern laughed, “pity. I’d reward you quite handsomely.”
“Are you trying to get in my head before the game?”
Stern tilted his head to the side.
“Why would I need to do that?”
“What?”
“I’m a good player, I don’t need to seduce someone to win.”
Barclay gaped.]
[Flower's fingers comb through her hair as she watches the blades of grass waver back and forth with the wind that flows around her. She hums, turning her gaze to the ivy that twines itself around the brickwork of Woodstone mansion.
"Flower?"
She looks up, startled for only a moment, before she breaks out in a grin.
"Hey, Sass."
She watches as Sasappis takes a seat next to her, sinking to the ground with ease. At least as ghosts, they were reprieved from the joint pains that would limit their mortal forms.
"Can we talk?"
"About what?" Flower asks, lazily trailing her fingers over the grass.
"I was thinking about yesterday." Sasappis starts, not yet looking in her direction. "When you walked through Gabe."
"Oh, right."
"What was that?"
Flower sighs.
"I don't remember it in much clarity." She pauses. "But I remember the feeling. The futility. It felt the same as everything before the commune. And the cult."
"What came before that? You've never spoken about it before." Sasappis broaches carefully.
Flower turns to look at him with watery eyes. Sasappis feels his heart twinge.
"I was going to be a lawyer." She breathes. If the wind had been any heavier, Sasappis doubted he would have been able to hear her at all.
He sits, and he waits. Flower is in pain; he can tell that much. He had spent 500 years honing his observation skills. He places a hand next to hers on the grass. A gesture of support, one to indicate he was listening to her, nothing more and nothing less.]
Art:
Full Colour/Plain Background: 10$
Full colour/best attempt at detailed background: 15$
Examples of my work:
Limits:
gore
abuse (physical/sexual/etc)
I will draw animals, but you must know I'm not good at it
Depending on what you would like, I am happy to discuss it.
Orders can be done by messaging me on instagram (wilde_stfae) or on discord (vampiric finch) and payment over Ko-Fi.
https://ko-fi.com/wildestfae
