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How YCHs Fucked the Fandom (But Not in the Good Way).
4 months ago
General
Okay, listen. I know this is gonna get me banned from at least three discords and half a telegram chat, but I need to talk about the Cursed Plague upon this fandom that is YCHs. Yes, Your Character Here. More like Your Culture Hobbled.
Once upon a time, you got furry art to say something. “This is my OC, she’s a vampire bat warlock with six exes and a cursed vibrator that talks.” It was drama! It was narrative! It was porn with plot. Now? You slap your character’s mug onto a pre-drawn spread-eagle fox and pray the artist doesn’t forget your boy has a dick that glows when he's scared.
We used to tell stories. Now it’s “pose #47 but this time the cum sparkles.”
And let me be clear—I love a good cum sparkle. I live for tasteful dick glitter. But sweetie, when the entire fandom becomes a cursed carousel of the same three ass angles and everyone’s staring dead-eyed into the void while getting railed, we’ve lost the spice. We’ve become bimbo McNuggets of porn. Slut-shaped rubber stamps. And sure, I’ll deepthroat a rubber stamp on a Friday night—but I still want it to have a vibe.
It’s not just the sameness—it’s the death of narrative. I don’t need a Rembrandt-level masterpiece, but I do want to feel like my character’s doing more than starring in the seventh copy of “generic wolfboy rides a tail plug in space.” No offense to wolfboy tail-plug-space fans (actually, some offense, you know what you did). But YCHs have basically turned furry art into Gacha Hell. You don’t even know what you’re getting anymore. You’re just throwing $70 at the vague promise of relevance.
And don't come at me with “but artists need to make money!” YES. ABSOLUTELY. FURRY ARTISTS SHOULD BE ABLE TO PAY RENT IN VIBRANT, SWEATY WOLF PELVIS MONEY. But YCHs aren’t freedom, they’re burnout machines. It’s capitalism wearing a paw glove. The same pose a hundred times until the spark’s gone. Artists deserve better than that. Clients deserve better than that. Your femboy kobold fox with the glowing womb tattoo deserves better than that.
YCHs are the fast food of furry art. Cheap, greasy, comforting, and leaves you feeling vaguely ashamed with sauce on your tits. And I’m not judging! Sometimes you want a sketchy $5 futa hyena in a maid dress getting Eiffel Tower’d by twin incubus deer. But when every artist is offering the same pose in five color slots with no soul, it’s less McDonald’s and more “someone printed porn on a napkin and charged you $80 for it.”
You ever try to find one—just one—piece of art where your character’s doing something interesting? Like cooking soup? Reading a book? Getting railed in a book-themed soup kitchen?? Nope. It’s all facesmashed-to-glass doggy style with the same soulless anime moanface and one paw raised like they’re hailing a goddamn cab.
What kills me is this used to be the weirdest, most creative fandom on the planet. You’d commission a picture of your dragon-sonas slow dancing in the rain on a dying planet, and the artist would be like “yeah okay but what if one of them’s a cybernetic bee necromancer” and you’d high-five each other and cry about it. Now it’s just: Here’s a torso. Insert face. Moan optional.
We’ve gone from Michelangelo to Build-a-Fuck.
What happened to creativity? What happened to “my kobold OC is secretly a cursed Egyptian sex mummy who orgasms when someone solves ancient riddles”? THAT was the good shit. That was art. That was culture.
Now it’s just: “Here’s a slot for your sona’s face. The butthole is non-negotiable.”
And the worst part? The poses are so aggressively horny yet so clinical. It’s like getting fisted by a tax form. No kink, no weirdness, no feral joy. Just 20 different furries jacking off to the same two inches of furry dick at a different angle like it’s the Mona Lisa of moaning.
So look, I’m not saying never buy a YCH. We all need to see our sparkledogs choke on demon cock in a neon piss dungeon sometimes. But maybe—just maybe—ask for a little story with your snatch next time. Ask for some narrative with your nut. Ask for weird. Ask for joy. Ask for someone to draw your fursona getting railed while doing their taxes in space.
You deserve more than copy-paste cock. Your character here? They deserve a legacy. Even if that legacy is just “got throatfucked by a minotaur in a public library.”
Because that’s art.
Once upon a time, you got furry art to say something. “This is my OC, she’s a vampire bat warlock with six exes and a cursed vibrator that talks.” It was drama! It was narrative! It was porn with plot. Now? You slap your character’s mug onto a pre-drawn spread-eagle fox and pray the artist doesn’t forget your boy has a dick that glows when he's scared.
We used to tell stories. Now it’s “pose #47 but this time the cum sparkles.”
And let me be clear—I love a good cum sparkle. I live for tasteful dick glitter. But sweetie, when the entire fandom becomes a cursed carousel of the same three ass angles and everyone’s staring dead-eyed into the void while getting railed, we’ve lost the spice. We’ve become bimbo McNuggets of porn. Slut-shaped rubber stamps. And sure, I’ll deepthroat a rubber stamp on a Friday night—but I still want it to have a vibe.
It’s not just the sameness—it’s the death of narrative. I don’t need a Rembrandt-level masterpiece, but I do want to feel like my character’s doing more than starring in the seventh copy of “generic wolfboy rides a tail plug in space.” No offense to wolfboy tail-plug-space fans (actually, some offense, you know what you did). But YCHs have basically turned furry art into Gacha Hell. You don’t even know what you’re getting anymore. You’re just throwing $70 at the vague promise of relevance.
And don't come at me with “but artists need to make money!” YES. ABSOLUTELY. FURRY ARTISTS SHOULD BE ABLE TO PAY RENT IN VIBRANT, SWEATY WOLF PELVIS MONEY. But YCHs aren’t freedom, they’re burnout machines. It’s capitalism wearing a paw glove. The same pose a hundred times until the spark’s gone. Artists deserve better than that. Clients deserve better than that. Your femboy kobold fox with the glowing womb tattoo deserves better than that.
YCHs are the fast food of furry art. Cheap, greasy, comforting, and leaves you feeling vaguely ashamed with sauce on your tits. And I’m not judging! Sometimes you want a sketchy $5 futa hyena in a maid dress getting Eiffel Tower’d by twin incubus deer. But when every artist is offering the same pose in five color slots with no soul, it’s less McDonald’s and more “someone printed porn on a napkin and charged you $80 for it.”
You ever try to find one—just one—piece of art where your character’s doing something interesting? Like cooking soup? Reading a book? Getting railed in a book-themed soup kitchen?? Nope. It’s all facesmashed-to-glass doggy style with the same soulless anime moanface and one paw raised like they’re hailing a goddamn cab.
What kills me is this used to be the weirdest, most creative fandom on the planet. You’d commission a picture of your dragon-sonas slow dancing in the rain on a dying planet, and the artist would be like “yeah okay but what if one of them’s a cybernetic bee necromancer” and you’d high-five each other and cry about it. Now it’s just: Here’s a torso. Insert face. Moan optional.
We’ve gone from Michelangelo to Build-a-Fuck.
What happened to creativity? What happened to “my kobold OC is secretly a cursed Egyptian sex mummy who orgasms when someone solves ancient riddles”? THAT was the good shit. That was art. That was culture.
Now it’s just: “Here’s a slot for your sona’s face. The butthole is non-negotiable.”
And the worst part? The poses are so aggressively horny yet so clinical. It’s like getting fisted by a tax form. No kink, no weirdness, no feral joy. Just 20 different furries jacking off to the same two inches of furry dick at a different angle like it’s the Mona Lisa of moaning.
So look, I’m not saying never buy a YCH. We all need to see our sparkledogs choke on demon cock in a neon piss dungeon sometimes. But maybe—just maybe—ask for a little story with your snatch next time. Ask for some narrative with your nut. Ask for weird. Ask for joy. Ask for someone to draw your fursona getting railed while doing their taxes in space.
You deserve more than copy-paste cock. Your character here? They deserve a legacy. Even if that legacy is just “got throatfucked by a minotaur in a public library.”
Because that’s art.
I want to overthink on the origin of how this happened, maybe even write a short story around the art piece. I can only name Fek off the top of my head that still retained that with their Eromancy YCHs because they sparked that imagination in me thinking about how that sex spell is applied. None of other YCHs really drew me in, I'm also mildly particular about some things. I do hope they appeal to some audience mostly so artists can still get that bag, but a full blown commission would be fire too!
Some of them are generic too, my sona is a fae, where's the magic vines holding someone down while they ride them till they can't think, where's the magic tf spell that turns the other person into their a body they love and then they fuck!