Rip Velrisa Grayrock You Wouldve Loved Alt Fashion

HIOOLY SHIT

in 2025 i'm restarting my tradition of drawing velrisa annually :)

Runaway cowboy

no matter how many years stretch by, so long as both of us are alive, there is still a chance my father will permit me to die in his memory as something other than his daughter. that permission means he will die as something other than his father’s son. something better. something kinder.

in the ether of my mind, no matter which way it goes, we will meet on the other side. he will be twenty, thirty, again, trying to light a cigarette. i will stop, and hold out my lighter. the flame will dance; offering. it is up to him if he takes it.

there are theories that the self is all there is; the self is the universe’s entire consciousness, that you have been and will be every single person and thing in all of existence. all i know is that i keep my lighter forever topped-up with fuel. if i meet my father, on this corner or the next or the one after that, i will keep offering. in one of these worlds, on one of these corners, he accepts. in one of these worlds, we exhale plumes of tobacco smoke, soothing ourselves with nicotine as the world around us melts, warping into the open flame of the zippo.

in one of these worlds, we stand on the corner, watching the cars drive past, and my father walks down to a payphone and calls his father. when he hangs up after the first ring, i pick the receiver up. the operator asks where i’d like to call; tells me i paid for five minutes’ conversation. i stub my cigarette out underneath the keypad and tell her nevermind.

in the distance, the lights of a church basement glow up through barred windows at us. in another world, my father and i sit side by side, and pick up 24-hour chips, and drink shitty coffee. in another world, my father and i wear nicotine patches and lay brick. in another world, when i pick up the payphone, the operator informs me time is out on this receiver. please insert a quarter.

HIIII LOVE UR ART VEL REQUEST PLS :3 OR LITERALLY ANY FATED CHARACTER UR ART IS SICK

VEL <33333 VELRISA <333333333333 added some older doodles that i dont think ive postsd. crazy how i managed to draw her horns differently Every Time

missing an old favorite recently

@parallasso

also song of solomon 6:3 (the neon orange line) is “i am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.” and it was the very first connection i drew. it doesn’t get the smeary-edged overlap every other overlapped line does. i just wanted to say that. because it makes me insane.

hey is this anything

(fated relationship chart)

you can tell i’m writing a fanfic when my search history gets weird as fuck. like.

8:08 pm : psalm 23

9:46 pm: late eighties prom dresses

9:47 pm: mid eighties prom dresses

10:50 pm: how do tape recorders work

10:56 pm: what are those doors in truck cabs called

11:23 pm: what’s 9% of 5600

11:24 pm: what percentage of us citizens are 18

11:27 pm: what’s 3% of 5600

art for the lovely @mastofthecast as part of the @jrwi-art-exchange!! i really hope you like it!!! :D <33

this is also why they’re so gayjts like a les miserables thing

The Bizly trope is GRIEF and a deeply internalised self-hatred.

There is either s gaping wound in their chest where a loved one was violently torn from their heart. OR a belief that they are something undeserving of love because destruction is all that they leave in their wake.

Volatile, lonely people in a world of glass that cuts deep.