Too Much Kindness I Don’t Deserve

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Now presenting a clean, dustless Dust Sans! The first of his kind!

Air lock

being a self-taught artist with no formal training is having done art seriously since you were a young teenager and only finding out that you’re supposed to do warm up sketches every time you’re about to work on serious art when you’re fuckin twenty-five

Week 8 - Waking Up Dead

Creator: me :)

word count: 478

notes: Implied character death.

Basically, sometimes Cross has dreams that he’s living in a past timeline, and wakes up after he died in that timeline, and he’s unsure of his reality for a moment.

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He gasped, sitting up straight as he started at the empty training room.

He remembered taking a seat, just for a rest, but he must have fallen asleep.

“Damn it,” Cross groaned, trying to stand up. “I forgot to stretch.” He was sore. 

But that was just a distraction. A distraction from the countless lives he just witnessed. Memories he didn’t experience. Times he never lived. Moments he never saw. 

Deaths he never really felt.

How many timelines were there? At least ten… right?

Each time… he was overwritten. Sometimes painlessly, suddenly, without his knowledge. Other times though… not so much.

He was not hurt. He didn’t feel pain, but dream-Cross didn’t know that. Dream-Cross felt that pain. Felt that fear. Saw the blood. Witnessed the death. Faded into nothing. 

Even when he woke up, completely physically fine, everything within him was screaming something was wrong. Something wasn’t functioning. Something shouldn’t be.

He shouldn’t be alive

He just died.

Or at least… that’s what he thought.

But looking around, trying to remember his techniques, the more he saw that wasn’t true.

The training dummies, the powered off lights, his own hands, the windows leading to the rising sun, his daggers tossed away on either side of him.

His light weight training clothes, the training room floor beneath him, the cold concrete wall behind him, his soul beating in his own chest.

Pots and pans clanging in the distance. Killer’s loud voice occupying it. The sound of his own breathing.

The reminisce of dirt and dust lingering in the air, faint hints of breakfast wafting in.

Blood.

He could taste blood in his mouth.

Wait….

No he didn’t.

That was morning breath. 

He needed to wash up, a new day had started already.

Cross sat there a moment more, replaying what he thought was reality, over and over again in his mind.

He was dying. He did die. Didn’t he? Countless times. Over and over. Timeline after timeline.

Those were him dying.

He wasn’t just dreaming. He was remembering.

He did die. He has died. He was dead.

But… then how could he see the training room get flooded with light so easily as the sun peeked over the horizon. Feel the dirt between his fingers as he was reminded it was chore-day today. Nightmare walking downstairs to the kitchen in the old, creaky castle. The reminder of the old fluff that he tore out of the dummies last night. A reminder he went to sleep last night. 

And he woke up again this morning.

He wasn’t dead.

He was alive.

He was living.

And he had to live today.

He groaned, getting up, sore all over. He steadied himself in the wall and dissipated his daggers. 

He gave another deep breath, before he walked.

Walked away, out of the training room, and into his life.

He was alive.

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Small Vent about Art Progression

Man. It’s really strange seeing Highschool and even Middle School artists be so GOOD at art.

I’ve spent YEARS, basically all my life, drawing. Not everyday and not every year, mind you, but enough to where I don’t understand how well some people can draw so well at such an early age.

I’m not angry or upset about it. I actually really admire young artists and hope they excel!!!

I’m more puzzled than anything… Like- how the hell did they do it. Ya know? I drew almost everyday in highschool. I drew backgrounds and characters, and pushed my limits (I thought), but my drawing skills were and still are very slow to implement.

And the thing is I KNOW i work slower than most. It’s been like this all my life, even with tests and homework. But dang does the feeling still feel awkward.

It’s not like I’m obsessed with comparing my art. I don’t do that. I’m very glad I don’t.

It’s a subconscious stress, from noticing others have an easier time drawing than I do. Even if we enjoy it the same.

Eh. Anyways feel free to add you own stresses about art to vent. I’m doing fine mentally!!! Just confused tbh.