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Snowball in Hell, acrylics, 30cmx20cm
I used a random piece of wire to paint the smallest details..!
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thanks for trusting me enough to let me bite you, it means a lot to me, i promise i'll be ge[kill shakes] fuck sorry i [kill shakes] sorry oh my god i just [kill shakes][kill shakes] i have no idea where that came from are you o[kill shakes] okay?? i[kill shakes]
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Five of Swords
The tarot card No. 55 is done.
Created with Krita and Blender
Copyright © 2024 Sylvia Ritter.
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This is the 1 hour sketch my beloved made of me ♥️ I truly am experiencing the deepest gender euphoria right now, looking at this.
Having my lover draw my body is nerve wracking and enlightening. She’s such a splendid, wonderful artist. She’ll draw exactly what she sees because this body is what she’s in love with, not the imagined perfect body of my mind. I will see it and I will see a reflection, not a proof that what I see isn’t real. What I see is real. The subjects of my insecurities are real. But so is the proof that they are loved. She loves what she sees with all her heart and she would never avert her eyes from a single part of it. She struggles to look away, really. Dreamily stares and ogles me all day long. Yearns for me to be with her without a shred of clothing to get in the way of what she desires. A constant, endless reminder to ward off evil.
I tell her she can pose me and realize I have to do it, actually. She holds up the mirror and I start contorting my body til it looks right, flexing different things til my hips feel acceptable. There’s plenty of rising distress. Eventually I get it just right. Then it’s wrong again and I get it right one last time. I am soon enough struck by revelation and memory; I need to remember that my body is not a cis woman’s body, it is a trans woman’s body. It’s a piece of another spectrum, similar yet distinct and all too splendidly wonderfully beautiful in its own way. I ask her to raise the mirror one last time and I readjust myself, now with the lens of being beautiful for what I am, instead of what I think I’d look more beautiful as. I look better than ever before.
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this too shall pass
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🌙 moon & star ⭐️
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The Watcher: Unsealed (1 of 2) - Kez Laczin
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Having my lover draw my body is nerve wracking and enlightening. She’s such a splendid, wonderful artist. She’ll draw exactly what she sees because this body is what she’s in love with, not the imagined perfect body of my mind. I will see it and I will see a reflection, not a proof that what I see isn’t real. What I see is real. The subjects of my insecurities are real. But so is the proof that they are loved. She loves what she sees with all her heart and she would never avert her eyes from a single part of it. She struggles to look away, really. Dreamily stares and ogles me all day long. Yearns for me to be with her without a shred of clothing to get in the way of what she desires. A constant, endless reminder to ward off evil.
I tell her she can pose me and realize I have to do it, actually. She holds up the mirror and I start contorting my body til it looks right, flexing different things til my hips feel acceptable. There’s plenty of rising distress. Eventually I get it just right. Then it’s wrong again and I get it right one last time. I am soon enough struck by revelation and memory; I need to remember that my body is not a cis woman’s body, it is a trans woman’s body. It’s a piece of another spectrum, similar yet distinct and all too splendidly wonderfully beautiful in its own way. I ask her to raise the mirror one last time and I readjust myself, now with the lens of being beautiful for what I am, instead of what I think I’d look more beautiful as. I look better than ever before.
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It’s so sad when my own writing style doesn’t even resonate with me 😔
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