A Little Hand/lighting Study I Did Over The Summer

A little hand/lighting study I did over the summer

pfffft that's rich I mean upper middle class

Our fandom forbearers did NOT suffer through Anne Rice, strikethrough, and other bullshit for fucking ACOTAR and Harry Potter fans to fucking ruin it for all of us by selling fanfiction. I am not losing novel length yaoi epics because some of you don't know how to act in fannish spaces and yes I do blame the booktokification of fanfic but I also blame those of you that treat fandom like content to consume and not a community to engage with.

My 2024 commissions are open!

Commissions will take anywhere between two weeks and a month to complete (and occasionally longer depending on irl stuff!)

If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me in my ask box or direct messages!

If you're interested, please fill out My Commission Form so I can composite your commission info!!

You can also submit a commission via My Ko-Fi!

(If you're interested in buying physical artwork from me, you can visit my Etsy or my Redbubble !)

Sometimes I try to remember how your hands felt in mine, how calloused your palms or cold your jewelry or gentle your touch. Instead of memories of sharing a coat pocket, I find instead a pain I’d forgotten I could feel, and my heart clenches in its cage. I feel the weight of dying all over again. I think that’s what grief truly is. Dying over and over and over again until a version of yourself is born that has not touched or held or comforted that of which you grieve. Drying until a version of you is born that knows how to live without them. Sometimes I wake up with the ghost of your breath dancing across my skin, and I am grateful to have been the version to wake up this morning. Perhaps those versions of me that have died are somewhere with all the versions of you that they have loved. Perhaps they can be happy. Perhaps they do not remember the ache of not having you. Some version of us deserves happiness, after all.