1️⃣🍎🤏

PLEASE refer to the following images as I list pricing and details below:

HEAD-SHOT:

Full Color -- $20usd

Flat Color Only -- $15usd

Outline Only -- $10usd

Sketch Only -- $5usd*

BUST-SHOT:

Full Color -- $25usd

Flat Color Only -- $20usd

Outline Only -- $15usd

Sketch Only -- $10usd*

HALF-BODY:

Full Color -- $45usd

Flat Color Only -- $35usd

Outline Only -- $25usd

Sketch Only -- $15usd*

FULL BODY:

Full Color -- $55usd

Flat Color Only -- $45usd

Outline Only -- $35usd

Sketch Only -- $25usd*

*added rough colors to sketches may include additional costs

Note: Additional characters (of similar proportion) added to the same commission will come at a 15% discount! Yay!

Note (the sequel): Since these are G/t based commissions, there will obviously be some leeway and exceptions with some of these prices. For example: If you request a full body of a giant holding a full body of a tiny, I won't charge you for the tiny as if they were at full-scale (since they'd likely appear a lot smaller on the page/canvas and not take as much time/effort). Or if you want me to draw a tiny, close up, in the hand of a giant, I will most likely charge the giant hand as a "prop" rather than as an additional character.

If you have any questions please feel free to comment/DM me!

EXAMPLES OF MY ART:

BUT THAT'S NOT ALL KEEP SCROLLING FOR MORE INFO!... Please <3

BACKGROUND EXAMPLES & PRICING:

Simple/Pattern/Gradient -- $2-$5usd

Prop/Non-Detailed Background -- $5-$10 (price may vary based on amount of props)

Detailed Backgrounds -- $15-$50usd (depending on complexity/perspective/etc)

I WILL NOT DRAW THE FOLLOWING...

NSFW/Kink/Fetish/Vore

Complex mech characters

Complex non-human/non-humanoid characters (furries are most likely off the table, I lack the skill u_u... but DM to ask if you're curious and/or don't mind simplifications!)

Intense blood/gore/violence

Hateful/bigoted imagery (if you are bigoted please leave my page!)

Pro-ship (if you are pro-ship please leave my page!)

I hold the right to refuse any commission that makes me uncomfortable even if not listed here. Thank you!

I WILL DRAW THE FOLLOWING!...

Wholesome/soft/fluffy interactions

Cute/romantic/affectionate interactions (cuddling (includes under a shirt/sweater/sweatshirt to an appropriate extent), and kissing, and similar vibes if you have other ideas!)

ANGST! DRAMA! ACTION! HURT/COMFORT!

Light blood, some injuries (such as black-eyes, bruises that imply broken/sprained bones, etc...)

Unintentional fear-play (I do not fuck with the sadistic giants, sorry!)

I CAN DRAW MY LITTLE PONY OCS!!!!!!!!!! G/T-ify AND DRAW YOUR MY LITTLE PONY OCS!!! HONSES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem.

PAYMENT TYPES & POLICY:

I will except payment in the form of ZELLE (preferred) and PAYPAL only!

I will accept full payment upfront, and will not issue refunds unless 6 months have passed and you have yet to receive an update from me.

(I typically finish commissions MUCH sooner than that, but life can get crazy!)

If you're interested, PLEASE DM me on Tumblr! Then we will likely direct further conversation to Discord or email! :D

THANK YOU AND HAVE A GREAT DAY!!!

Again if you have ANY questions, please DM or leave a comment!

Doodles of the first time she accidentally calls Oliver "dad" (BEST FOUND FAMILY TROPE OF ALL TIME!!! GRRAAHHH) and after she is way more well adjusted and comfortable around him (early on she would NEVER EVER EVER thinking about pulling bro away and telling him to "quit the chit-chat." she's usually like "oh my bad sorry for existing" which will be most of the doodles ahead lol)

I also love doodling her with a mad looking expression because she does NOT express that a lot. To cope with her lack of anger management, she plays softball at her high school <3 I also forgot her moles in the second sketch below do NOT mind that.

Also other (usually sad) expressions <3 completely different styles from doodle to doodle I KNOW I KNOW DON'T REMIND ME!!!!

HUGGING PAPA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Talking to (eventual) Mama <3 This woman (her name is Autumn) and Oliver work at the same library and eventually start dating <3

Mya is sad and lonely but she DOES have a bestie (which was created by MY IRL bestie!!!)... Robin is her name and she helps Mya break out of her shell. She's also very good at reading people and very blunt about it. LOL

My favorite cry-babies <3 but also Oliver being a good dad because Mya's grandparents (who are her legal guardians at the start of her story) are terrible and WILL be sent to the nursing home asap.

And here are some random doodles including a soft-redesign (mostly her shirt changing), her THINKING she's getting away with hiding a fever (she looks so smol), and then ACTUAL smol Mya because I forgot I doodled her having an insane fever dream that represented her Fear Of Being Perceived Positively because she doesn't think she's worth it </3 (she's being held in a hand even though it's kinda hard to tell since I drew it in like. 3 lines LMAO)

Then ending things off with a mini comic I made a while ago <3 stemmed from the idea of Mya's awesome super cool Woman Softball Coach (aka one of her only support people, even before Oliver) having to take leave for whatever reason for a bit and so she's replaced temporarily with a terrible no-good mean Man (softball coach.)

The backstory for the shoe-print on the back of her jersey is Male Coach (/neg) having a lot of bitterness coaching a girls softball team and at some point he decides to pick on Mya out of everyone. When she stops running laps for a SECOND he "gently nudges" her to keep going. Well, that's not gonna work for Oliver, no sir.

MY BELOVED OLIVER AND MYA!!!!!!!!!!! They're based in the 1970s <3

These drawings are a couple years old but still pretty much accurate (^-^)

Exhausted.

That’s the only word Eliza could think to describe herself at this very moment. The sun was setting, the next village was still miles ahead of her, her back ached too much for a young fairy her age, and—

“Are you sure you don’t want to catch a ride on my shoulder?”

—And the pushy, dumb human she was guiding to their next destination wouldn’t stop pestering her with pointless questions.

She shook her head aggressively, and continued to walk a couple feet in front of the man, using the sun for direction until nightfall. Usually, she was more apt to be eye-level by crawling across tree branches, or climbing over plant-life. It was safer that way, especially when walking along-side a bigling, but after running around that village like headless chickens, all of her limbs felt like poorly-mixed jelly… Regular ol’ walking on the ground would have to do.

Osweald hummed a thought behind her, causing the already irritated teen to grate her teeth together. She ignored him.

“Hm, hm, hm…” He continued, almost sing-songy. “We still have several hours to go, correct?”

“Yes.” Eliza responded—one of the few words she’d spoken aloud since they left the previous village.

The man continued to ponder for a moment, then he stopped.

It only took Eliza a moment to notice, since humans walked so loudly for no good reason. She whipped around, ready to crane her neck up just to yell at him for delaying their travels, but she froze.

The man was knelt down, a pleading look in his eye. “Please, little one,” He spoke softly, “we’ve had quite the day. You, especially.” He held his hand out, on the ground, waiting patiently.

Eliza stared at him, and then his hand, in bewilderment.

Absolutely not.

She didn’t care how nice he’d been. ‘Nice’ was dangerous. So was ‘dumb’. So was ‘friendly,’ ‘harmless,’ ‘giving,’... It didn’t matter. If she, a flightless fairy, surrendered herself to the help of a human, it was always dangerous. There would be no where to run, no where to hide. It would be her and her sharp teeth versus massive appendages that could crush her in an instant—and what can teeth even do when you’re trapped in a birdcage above a poker table in the cabin of a ship that smelled of booze and tobacco?

Nothing.

“... Eliza?”

The little fairy blinked out of her daze, her eyes narrowing at the hand, and then back up at Osweald.

“We’ll set up camp.” She turned on her heel, her tail flicking behind her, pretending to look for openings in the wilderness to hunker down for the night. “We both need the rest, anyway.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Nightfall came, and the two had their uncomfortable, make-shift sleeping arrangements set up in front of a weak fireplace. Osweald was clueless when it came to wilderness survival, so Eliza had to start the fire with the tiniest flame, while the human went ahead and added more leaves and sticks in hopes of sparking more warmth for the both of them.

Osweald was sat, leaning against a tree, writing in a journal and picking at a loaf of bread—both of which he had picked up at the previous village. Eliza made herself comfortable a couple feet away, atop the stump of a tree long-gone. She stared at the flames in front of her as if it were telling her stories… And maybe it was, but they weren’t stories she could ever understand.

“Are you hungry?” Osweald asked, snapping Eliza out of her hypnosis.

The girl looked over, surprised to notice his hand right next to her, holding out a couple pieces of bread.

“No, I’m—” As if on cue for a cruel twist of fate, her stomach growled. She doubted Osweald would have heard, (she didn’t notice a change in his expression if he had), but that didn’t stop the embarrassment from flooding her face. She cleared her throat, and carefully reached over, “I’ll just take a piece.”

With a gentle smile, Osweald kept his hand still until Eliza took her preferred portion. Then he slowly withdrew his hand, and proceeded with his journaling.

Eliza slowly chewed on day-old bread, glancing between the fire and the bigling next to her. He seemed harmless… And even helpless, as far as the forest was concerned. Still, every second, she waited for the other shoe to drop. For him to lunge forward and cup her in his hands, or to trap her in a jar, or maybe the necklace he so easily gave up was some kind of trap or magic device meant to trick her, or hurt her, or—

Snap!

Eliza tensed immediately, her eyes darting to the sound of snapping twigs in the near-distance. She looked over at Osweald, who watched her with overwhelming concern.

She cleared her throat, and forced herself to relax her shoulders, smoothing out her temporary leaf-blanket. She nervously chewed on her bread, now unable to take her eyes off the darkness just beyond the dim flames of their lame campfire. If she was able to split her focus, she’d notice Osweald staring out into the woods just as intensely, but with a lot less fear.

After about an hour, Eliza couldn’t keep her eyes open to watch out for threats, and slowly lowered herself to the stump she set up on…

The fire appeared dimmer as her eyes slowly closed, her muscles relaxed, and the crackling of flames and the sound of ink to paper lured her to sleep…

And then, for a moment, it was darkness. Dreams even started to form. She was drifting as if she hadn’t had the most eventful week she’s had in six years…

“... Well, you are disturbing us. Leave. Now.”

Osweald? Ugh, she already had to put up with him in real life, now he was in her dreams? Annoying!

“All I ask for is a moment near your fire. I mean no harm…!”

Wait… That was a voice she didn’t recognize.

Slowly, the fairy’s eyes flickered open. For a moment, all she saw was the blurry glow of a dying fire, and then two figures… One of them had to be Osweald. His back was to her, though, and he stood barely a foot away from her stump.

Sitting up, she noticed another man, dressed in a hood he had since lowered during this apparent confrontation. She furrowed her brows, trying to get a better look at the stranger.

The man caught a glimpsed of her—the look in his eye sent a chill down Eliza’s spine. Osweald was quick to block the fairy from the strange man’s view even more.

“I said leave. I’m asking nicely.” Osweald’s voice was low, and carried a weight with it that Eliza didn’t even think was possible from such a smiley fool. Was he asking nicely?

“Listen,” the stranger started, hands up in defense, “I’m not armed. Just a moment by the fire, that’s all I ask…”

At this point, the fairy was starting to seethe. What part of, ‘get lost!’ did he not understand?!

Her fear fleeting in favor of anger, Eliza hopped off her stump and stomped on the forest floor to the two, giant figures.

“Hey, creep!” She called up as if she wasn't 3 inches tall, fists clenched and teeth bared. “He said beat it, so beat it, before I—hey!”

Osweald carefully, but quickly, slid his boot in front of the little fairy, keeping her from getting any closer to the man before them.

Eliza craned her neck up at Osweald, tensed and furrowed brows only softening when she once again saw that pleading look of his. He slowly shook his head—a warning, she understood, of what exactly the stranger before them may be capable of if provoked.

With a grumble, she backed down, but remained peeking behind his leg. She felt like a helpless child.

The unwelcome guest stared down at the fairy, “Quite the little firecracker you have, there.” He let out a chuckle that could only be described as condescending.

“She was trying to sleep before you disturbed us.” Osweald spat.

The other man smiled wickedly, “Even a good luck charm’s gotta rest, yeah?”

“... What?” Osweald’s voice was bone-chilling.

“Hey, I get it. It’s all superstition, but what could it hurt, right? You win any games with that little trick of yours?” The stranger pointed his head towards Eliza, who now felt sickness stirring in her stomach.

Before the fairy could process anything else, Osweald gently pushed Eliza away, back toward her stump, with the back of his boot.

The fire was so dim now, and her vision blurry, she could barely see anything in front of her—but in a matter of seconds, she did hear a loud,

CRACK!

THUD.

Eliza blinked wetness out of her eyes, and looked up at where Osweald stood, now holding his fist close to him. She followed where his gaze was locked, down, down, down onto the forest floor… The stranger now laid unconscious.

Osweald turned on his heel to gather up his things, though it wasn’t much, then he kneeled in front of Eliza who backed away on instinct.

He once again held out his hand, the other one that didn’t crack the jaw of a stranger. “We should go.”

Eliza nodded, her mind feeling jumbled. She stared at his hand.

“You need to sleep, little one.” He continued. “I know what direction we're heading. Please, just for tonight, let me carry you.”

Something stirred within the little fairy... Something warm, and something that, if she were anymore awake and coherent, she'd call 'stupid emotions...'

But then, very, very carefully, and with shaky limbs…

“GIRLS!” Called Ms. Gracious, who was anything but.

Simultaneously, she rang a loud cow bell to further grab attention from anyone who may not have, somehow, heard her powerful voice clearly enough. She was aging as gracefully as any wine, with eyes that could sparkle if they weren’t always narrowed and glaring, and a smile that could light up a room if she wasn’t always scowling. Her dark-golden, slightly greying hair was tied in a bun that had long since given up on staying as tidy as it was earlier this morning. Her heeled foot thudded impatiently on the floorboards, and her arms remained stiffly crossed over her chest, with one lazy hand draped and continuing the ringing of the bell. The thudding sounds of the other girls’ shoes in the home came from all over, abandoning whatever chores or readings they were required to do during the late morning, as Ms. Gracious’s call was top priority.

… Because that usually meant visitors.

And Ginger didn’t quite care much for the people that visited The Girls Home of Birchridge. They were uptight, appearance obsessed, self-righteous little—

“Ginger!” Another familiar voice came from upstairs, this time much clearer and much more welcome. At least, usually… But the aptly-named redhead couldn’t help but groan. She glared at the gadgets and gizmos laid out on the table in front of her, as if the little nuts and bolts were the reason she had to go upstairs.

“Ginger! Didn’t you hear me?!”

“Coming, Val!” The freckled girl yelled back, shuffling all of her scattered tools and screws to the back edge of her desk to imitate a tidy workspace. That’d do just fine!

Running upstairs with heavy boot-fall, she joined the other girls in the drawing room. Valarie stood at the spot next to her, and Ginger looked up at her with a wide grin that was completely overlooked by the dark marks of oil across her face. Dampening her thumb with her tongue, Valarie rigidly erased the smudges on the younger girl’s face.

“Gah, Valarie—!” Ginger tried to shove her away with a huff.

The raven-haired girl rolled her eyes. “Quit moving, I’m just—”

“Ladies!”

Valarie and Ginger snapped to position in unison, eyes focused back to Ms. Gracious, whose stare bore into the two so intensely they both thought it’d burn a hole right through them.

Clearing her throat, Ms. Gracious finally addressed all the girls that had lined up.

“As some of you girls may recall,” she began pacing back and forth, “We are having visitors this afternoon. Inspectors, which consist of Mr. Hurst and Mr. O’Bryan, will be evaluating all of you, and myself.”

Ginger tried, really tried, to focus on Ms. Gracious. The result for zoning out last time was not good. Let’s just say, the poor girl could hardly move her wrists for three days. That meant no tinkering. No drawing out plans. Nothing. For three whole days! That was worse than any pain… At least to the little inventor-in-the-making.

… But Ginger kept finding her eyes drifting to the clock on the wall behind the Matron. Her fingers twitched at her side as the realization hit.

She completely forgot today was Wednesday, which meant she had to get to Mr. Gerty’s before noon… And it was already almost eleven-fortyfive.

And his shop was all the way across town.

Almost as if she could sense Ginger’s antsy-ness, Valarie placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her head when the two made eye-contact.

Ginger wanted to groan with frustration, but interrupting Ms. Gracious would just account for yet another charge.

But if she didn’t make it to Mr. Gerty’s on time, then—

“Savannah! Catherine!” Ms. Gracious shouted, causing Ginger to tense before she realized she wasn’t the one the woman was directing her anger towards (for once.) “Savannah, go stand next to Valarie. Catherine, don’t move another muscle.” With low-hanging heads, the girls followed orders. The old woman sighed, rubbing her temples. “Haven’t I told you all plenty of times? Bad, little girls who don’t listen get fed to the forest!”

Ginger wanted to roll her eyes, but she did not dare. The forest at the edge of town was forbidden territory. No one was allowed in, because no one ever came out. Legends and folklore said monsters roamed the dark forest floors, ate children, and blah, blah, blah! It sounded completely rubbish to Ginger. There had been no one in recent decades that had gone missing in those woods, so she had a hard time believing they were dangerous at all! Then again, there also hadn’t been anyone in recent years that dared step foot beyond the forest’s edge in the first place.

But it was altogether baseless! A scare tactic, if you’d asked her. No one would, of course. Which perturbed her enough as it was. The forest, to her, seemed like it could be one of the only places in this arrogant town of fake smiles and shiny jewelry that didn’t make her feel like an outcast. But, she supposed, she’d never know as it remained heavily guarded ever since Mr. Vard Rilen became mayor.

The redhead’s attention snapped back to Ms. Gracious as she cleared her throat and continued speaking of these visitors.

How long was this going to take…?

Looking at the clock again, it was already eleven-fiftyone. Ginger clenched her half-gloved fists, glancing cautiously up at Valarie, whose attention was now wholly focused on who might as well have been her superior rather than simply her Matron.

Most girls left the home to debut into society at age fifteen, or seventeen at the latest. Valarie was nineteen. She stuck around to help Ms. Gracious with all the other girls, or so she said. And she had, by all means. But, in reality, it was mostly for Ginger. They saw a sister in one another.

And, as Ginger continued to glance between Ms. Gracious and the clock that taunted her, and Valarie, she feared she’d have to cope with having a very disgruntled almost-sister.

She resisted, she really did. She hopped in place as subtly as she could to dispel the energy.

But she had to get to Mr. Gerty’s. And it didn't seem like Ms. Gracious was going to wrap up her spiel anytime soon. This was important—more important than some snooty visitors.

This was a matter of the thirteen-year-old’s future.

And with that in mind, she watched the seconds-hand on the clock, along with everything else, move in slow motion. She eyed her leather bag hanging on the wall by the door. Watched Ms. Gracious’s some-what wrinkly lips move with orders of how to behave. Then back at the door. Then, with an apologetic look toward Valarie, who still had yet to notice Ginger’s internal cogs turning in her brain…

… She darted out of the room.