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yandere--stuck · 3 years

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Hello, okay I. am. Obsessed. With you’re joker fics 💕💕💞💞 if you ever write anymore don’t be shy to tag me in them if you want. Kay? :D

Have a nice day! :DDDD

@thephantomnoseblower

Aaaaaa thank you so so much!! I'm so glad you like them! Also I'm so happy to meet another Joker Liker. He's the best!! 💚💚💚

And! You inspired me to write more, so I made some general Yandere!J Headcanons. I hope you like them ^^

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💜 When it came to love, the Clown Prince of Crime could find it most anywhere, if he looked hard enough. In his mortal enemy, in his former psychiatrist, and… In you. You don't have to be anyone of particular importance, or of a particular personality - really, Joker could build rapport and hit it off with most anyone. Or, at least, that's what he believed. Joker liked you, grew to love you, exactly as you were. After all, you accepted him and took him exactly as he was, without pleading to be let go or have mercy, begging him to change and reform. No, no, no, you were different. Sweet. Charming. Funny!

🃏It's a hostage situation, when he first met you, got real up close and personal with you. The other hostages all trembled and whimpered in the corner, looked over by his men. But you seemed calm, whether you were brave enough or so afraid you had gone frozen didn't really matter. It was a bore waiting for the news crew and the Bat, so he went around, talking to the civilians - a mix between making idle chat and intimidating them to tears. None of them could bother to even speak, some bursting into tears. Finally, he made his way over to you, kneeling down to your level. "How about you, dear? How's your night going?" Your heart rabitted within your chest. You could barely breathe, but you tried to steel yourself. Show no fear. You managed to exhale with hyperventilating, a breathy chuckle escaping your throat. "Eh, could be better, I'm not gonna lie." The Clown snickered, which egged you on. This was good, right? You continued, "It's my first time as a hostage, so I hope I'm doing it right." The Joker beamed as he barked out a laugh. "You're doing just fine! At least someone here has a good sense of humor."

💚 It wasn't long before police helicopters began to swarm the building the Joker had stashed you in. Through the glass exterior of the high rise, you watched as the choppers circled the building, circled the Joker and his men, circled you and your fellow hostages. Somehow, dread managed to sink even further into the pit of your stomach. The GCPD had a poor reputation for a reason - filled with corrupt, crooked, and reckless cops. The entire police force was filled with more bad apples than good. Someone here was going to get hurt. God, why couldn't they have just waited for Batman to deal with this?! Through the glass, you could hear the voice of an officer shout something unintelligible. The Joker turned to one of his men, tilting his head toward the copter. "Tell 'em I'm not talking to anyone but Bats." The lackey seemed to hesitate, but only for a second, fumbling to pick up a speakerphone while also keeping his weapon in hand. He approached the chopper, stepping out onto the balcony, raising the speakerphone- and you let out a scream as a shot rang in the air, the man flying back as he was shot.

💜 The other hostages descended into hysterics as Joker's men began firing back at the chopper. "And I thought I was crazy," The Joker spat. "I thought these guys were supposed to be protecting you." You winced as glass shattered, shards exploding into the room. You opened your eyes, staring straight down the barrel of the helicopter's aerial gun- and in an instant you were pulled away, pressed against a solid chest as you were pulled away. You began to hyperventilate, heart beating so hard you could barely comprehend what was happening, vision swimming as you began to lose consciousness in your panic. As your vision faded, Joker's visage came into view. You felt a hand cup the side of your face. And then, it all went black.

🃏 You woke up not long after. People don't really stay passed out after fainting, just a minute or two, really. Long enough for police to storm the building and find you, taking you to safety. You were transferred to a hospital, where you were overlooked. You had minor cuts and bruises, the only major damage being that of psychological trauma. Before they released you, you watched a news report of the crime - the one you had just been a victim of. The Joker had managed to escape. Most of his men were taken out. It was a miracle that none of the other hostages hadn't died, and Gordon reprimanded his men and their reckless actions. But, you knew nothing would change. In spite of the traumatic experience you had been through, you knew you couldn't seek help for it. Mental health was a very, very touchy subject in Gotham. If someone caught you going to therapy, they'd probably think you're just one bad day away from becoming Gotham's next supercriminal. Life returned to relative normalcy… Until you received a package. It was specifically labeled "CARE PACKAGE" on the side in black marker. It was heavy, slightly damp at the bottom, had a foul odor, and had no return address. You hesitated, not knowing what to do with it… Before deciding to bite the bullet and open it. It contained a bouquet of flowers, (containing one trick flower that spurted out water, drenching your face), a whoopee cushion, a teddy bear, a heart-shaped box of chocolates, and… Your eyes widened in horror and disgust. The last three items were a note, a Joker playing card, and… A human heart. You hesitantly reached in, making sure not to touch the organ as you did, shaking as you read the note. "So sorry the other night, my dear! I didn't expect things to get quite so hairy. Those animals! If they had hurt a hair on your head, it'd be no more Mr. Nice Joker! I wanted to check in on you and make sure you're doing well. I know that if I don't get proper care after something nasty, I go a bit looney, myself. I just wanted to look out for my favorite hostage! … And perhaps, something more? See you soon, love. ~ J" Oh, God. Oh, God. Your legs went weak as you slowly sunk to the floor. You suddenly realized you had been crying.

💚 Joker liked you. Joker more than liked you. After your first meeting, he couldn't get you out of his head. He was obsessed! He was… In love. He was so glad that Harley understood and was supportive. You and he were meant to be. He'd ask Harley or his men to spy on you, gathering the information they knew. What you liked, your schedule, your favorite foods, what made you laugh. And if he got any word that his fellow Rogues were targeting places you frequented, they'd get an earful from him! And a bullet to the brain if they didn't take him seriously… He couldn't let harm come to you. And he had to make it perfect for when he finally took you home, with him. Forever.

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ziamhaze · 4 years

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Hi, I hope you're well! I just want to start off by thanking you for all the wonderful fics you have blessed me with!

I just finished Red vs. Black and was hoping you wouldn't mind answering some questions I have. As someone who risks his own life to save others, how does Liam justify being with someone he knows has killed innocent people? It'd be one thing if Zayn had only killed those directly involved with what happened to his family, but he's killed innocent civilians over minor inconveniences (such as the teenagers in the convertible). Does Zayn still think he is justified in doing so? Does he ever feel guilty about it? If not, how would Liam and Zayn be compatible if their moral compasses are so different?

Also, did Zayn's father ever make his way to the UK? Or was that just a lie he told Zayn to comfort him? Does Zayn ever find his family, especially his younger sister?

I know it's a lot, but I'd really love to hear your answers if you want to give them! Again thank you for all of your wonderful works!

So sorry it’s taken me this long to reply, but I didn’t forget!

To start I’d like to thank you for clicking, and finishing, Red vs. Black. It isn’t the shortest of fics, nor is it the most delicate - to put it lightly. For the latter alone, thank you.

These are such poignant, important questions. Ones that are nearly word for word what I asked myself while planning the ending.

SPOILERS FOR ALL OF RED VS. BLACK

1) How does Liam stay with Zayn after learning of all his senseless killings?

Honestly, I questioned this the most when feeling out the concept. As a fic writer it’s expected of me to write not only a romance, but also a happy ending. Of course fics exist that do neither, but they’re very rare and not exactly well-loved. And truthfully, a massive point that I wanted to get across - and which in effect answers this question - is that despite people’s pasts, they cannot overcome them without being given the opportunity. 100%. No ands, ifs, or buts. For a prisoner to assimilate back into society and not go back to their old ways, they need to be trusted with a job. With a salary (no matter how small), they need to trust themselves to be able to not buy anything that may contribute to poor habits: drugs, alcohol, weapons, gambling, a means of transport that will give them the ability to visit bad influences (more of a psychological thing, but still). A lot of prisoners are never given this opportunity (especially in the United States), and therefore fall back into their old ways, which are more often than not coping mechanisms to deal with the fact that they can’t fit into society as easily as privileged people to begin with; it’s a terrible cycle. However, there are plenty of success stories of those that truly wish to change and are lucky enough to stumble upon an employer or mentor or sponsor of some sort that hands them an inkling of hope/trust that they use to fight their way back up. The fic is fantasy, and while Zayn’s story is rooted in real world PTSD, I think the prisoner analogy is easy for us to envision and therefore, understand why Liam acts the way he does. I also made it a point in the last scene when they’re talking things out to have Liam voice his contingency: if Zayn so much as spits at anyone, he’s done for. That’s to say, he’s not wiping his slate clean just yet.

2) Does Zayn still feel his useless killings were justified?

I’m going to answer assuming that you’re referring to the time after the fic ends.

Looking back at his actions is something that would be inevitable when he starts therapy, and this is a perfect example of one of the questions his therapist would ask. You may not like my answer, but as an author I find it imperative that I speak of my characters realistically and to keep them true, not how I want them to act. That said, yes, Zayn would still find justification in why he’s done what he’s done.

There are a few instances in the story where this is actually explained. Take the scene in the bar with fancy mixologists. Zayn begins to get aggravated over the people in the room simply because they’re ignorant to the feeling of significant pain. There’s also the scene where he’s back home in Cheshire and Harry straight out tells him, he may be furious at the unfairness of the world, but he needs to learn how to come to terms with it. It’s not going to change. This right here is what a therapist would work with him to do, and also why I had Harry be the one to bring this up in the story - he is one.

I know it sounds incredibly foreign to the average person, but trust me when I say that people struggling with anger problems founded in (un)fairness, exist. I’ve spoken with professionals about it. Add on crippling childhood PTSD and a villain like Zayn can definitely be born. It’s why treatment is needed, and why the answer is ‘yes’ in the beginning of Zayn’s journey to peace. When his answer switches over to ‘no’, that’s when it’ll be outwardly apparent that he’s beating his ailment. Unfortunately, for many, the inner battle with mental health is lifelong; the answer ‘no’ will never turn solid.

3) Does Zayn feel guilty about the above?

Again, there are a couple times when I write Zayn to literally mention how he feels zero guilt. However, if you really really pay attention you’ll notice that these instances aren’t villain related.

For example, meeting Liam’s parents:

After handing his father and Zayn each their tea, Liam looks between them suspiciously. "Leaving the two of you in a room together was a bad idea."

"Don't know what you're on about," Geoff replies innocently. "We were just talking about cars, weren't we Zayn?" Even with all eyes on him, the pressure of lying doesn't get to Zayn. It never does.

"Yeah," he agrees, bringing his drink up to his lips carefully, "cars."

Or, after Zayn walks out from the comedy club:

"It takes a lot of courage to get up there and do something like that, don't you think?"

"Not really."

Liam looks to the side, hoping that he can interpret more from Zayn's answers by seeing the expressions that go with their frankness. "So if I signed you up, you would do it?"

"Why would I want to make a room full of strangers laugh?" Zayn retorts, his right eye scrunching up in distaste, like it's a mannerism of his provoked by moronic questions. "I don't have a superiority complex." Liam thinks he might, but. "I know I'm better than those people, no mediocracy to cover up here."

So we’ve got those, but then we’ve also got this massive character point:

Right as the last of the snake's body emerges, Zayn snaps his fingers, triggering heavy hip-hop music to flow through his headphones and drown out the man's blood curdling cry.

If he could permanently damage people who deserved it, not always because they did something to Zayn, but because he liked to play god and throw them a massive curveball like life had done to him, then why shouldn't he? So long as he pulls his soundproof headphones off the little robot on the inside of his right arm to avoid listening to the pain his choice brutality caused, there's no valid reason he shouldn't take advantage of the gift he was given.

From where he's sitting, he probably won't be able to hear anything, but he fastens the equipment over his ears just in case.

All at once, the atmospheric sounds of central London, mixed with the terrified screams of those in the burning building beneath them, hit Zayn at full force. The sensory overload alone would normally be enough to piss him off, but tack on his protection from audible trauma being taken and being spoken to while in villain mode, and he's seeing red as deep as the pits of hell he knows he's destined for.

I wrote Zayn’s headphone usage as a way to alert that the reader that he does, in fact, feel villain-related guilt. He can’t act on his anger without them on. He’ll have his victims screams stuck in his head, and he’d never be able to handle that a.k.a. there’s zero satisfaction from their literal pain. Think about that and it’ll answer your follow-up question.

4) What happened to Zayn’s family?

Zayn’s father meant what he said - he’d do whatever he needed to reunite his family. That wasn’t a falsity at all. The problem is money. And politics, but let’s start with the issue of money. It took Yaser nine years to save up the amount he paid to have Zayn and Waliyha smuggled across the border. The whole concept of smuggling is that it’s a cheaper option than the legal one. So if we look at this, you can see how long it would take him to save for three adult visa fees, three adult plane tickets, and enough to stay afloat for a month or so when they get to England. Now add in the politics of the early 2000s and the Afghanistan/Pakistan region. We know that Yaser fixed air conditioners for a living. No person with that average of a background is going to have an easy time immigrating anywhere. Even so, would it really take him over 18 years? While it’s plausible, perhaps a man with such determination would find another way. Or...was that unnecessary because he was fed lies?

Think about it. After several weeks and no word from his children, don’t you think he’d cause a riot? He’s the type to drive over to Badar’s house and demand his relatives get in contact with him to find out what’s going on. But, given the flashback Zayn has, it’s obvious that Badar never planned on accompanying any of the children to the UK, and if that’s the case, he clearly couldn’t return to Quetta. I imagine a fully rehearsed story was told to all of the children’s parents about how they were killed somewhere along the way.

As for Waliyha, her whereabouts were told to my gang over on Patreon a while ago. In short, yes, she’s still alive and I plan on pitching the book’s sequel to publishers as a graphic novel series revolved around her location. Louis’ dark web bot finally found a hint as to where that might be, so Zayn and Liam go on a journey across Europe to find her. Each issue would (probably) take place in a new city and involve both fighting a single bad guy.

Just a quick reminder to anyone who reads this, Red vs. Black and all involved characters are my intellectual property and cannot be replicated, manipulated, or stolen.

Again, thank you for your question and time! I know my fics aren’t short and take a huge time commitment to finish. If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to send them my way! I’m super busy writing the next story and doing critical work, but I promise I’ll get around to it.

#thank you for the questions and for CARING #I think the collective of fanfic readers get a bad rep for not being mature readers and caring about things other than fuzzy feelings #so thank you #my writing #red vs. black #anonymous

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dragonwitch77 · 5 years

Text

Sick: Wolfgang

Warning: Small mentions of blood

Log date: Day XXX

It’s been some time since our thieving friend WX-78 left our base along with Chester. I wish I could say things have been going okay here but… Well, it’s not.

Willow certainly hasn’t let anyone forget about how much our robotic friend was going to burn if she ever sees them again and Webber… Oh geez. The poor boy is still broken hearted about the fact that WX stole Chester. Not that I would blame him.

Chester was like a faithful companion and trusted friend to Webber. He would spend hours on hours talking to that furry chest or run around with Chester following like regular walks or a substitute game of tag. Now a days, poor Webber just usually sits around moping or crying his little heart out. Doesn’t skip out on his jobs thank goodness, but it’s really depressing to seeing him like this.

Willow and I have tried to cheer him up on survival occasions, and results have been… variant. Sometimes we managed to succeed to make him smile, other times not so much. How I wish I hadn’t fixed that robot, then we won’t have to deal with this whole mess. (And Webber wouldn’t have to be so sad…) But there’s a lot of things I wished never happened.

A lot…

Anyway, preparations for winter have been steady. Since nothing was stolen… aside from Chester, surviving winter should be simple enough. We have enough food to get us through till spoilage or until we run low enough to be forced to forage. Though that is not my main concern for this winter. No. If my studies are correct (and when are they not?), this winter promises to be very cold.

Colder than our other experienced winters. Maxwell must be stepping up his game a little. (HATE THAT GUY) And if that’s true, then I’m very concerned for the well being of-

“Willow are you reading my journal again?!” Willow blinked sluggishly as the journal was snatched out from her grip, looking up at perturbed Wilson.

“Oh hey Wil. When did… you get here?” Willow asked slowly, sniffing and rubbing her nose against the blanket.

“Willow that’s unsanitary.” Wilson groaned, clutching his journal close to his chest. “And what are you doing out of your tent? I told you to wait in there till I got back!”

“But it was boooorrrrring! It’s no fun when you’re not here!” Willow whined.

“Willow, you’re risking your health if you continue to do stuff like this!” Wilson kneeled in front of her, feeling her forehead. He tsked, shaking his head in disapproval. “Your fever’s gone up. Get back inside your tent Willow, I’ll cook up something for you to help with the fever.”

“Nooooo. Don’t leave meeee!” Willow latched onto Wilson’s leg as he stood up, clinging onto it.

“Willow this is really not necessary!” Wilson tried to pry her off as gently as he could, but the fire starter would simply not let go. “I’m not your bear Willow! I’ll only be gone just a moment.”

“NonononononononononononononononononononoNO!” Wilson sighed, turning his head to look over his shoulder.

“Webber? Webber?” The spider child, sitting next to the fire and poking it with a stick, looked up. “Could you throw in some monster meat, frog legs, and a couple of carrots in the crockpot? I’m a bit… occupied at the moment.”

Webber didn’t say anything for a moment before nodding and getting up. “Thank you!” Wilson smiled, turning his focus back on Willow. “Willow, please. Let go of my leg.”

“No!”

)*(

Wilson wasn’t sure who was more childish.

Willow or Webber.

While Webber was arguably younger and technically a child himself, Willow acted more like a child on temper tantrum than her real age when she was down with the flu.

Honestly, she was a grown woman yet she needed nearly twenty-four hours of care and treatment. Wilson was always scared to leave her alone because that woman would wander away or get herself into trouble. And all the while she would whine, moan, cry, and act like a young child than be reasonable and let Wilson help her. And clingy. Very, very clingy.

For reasons unknown, Willow got very clingy to every personal object she was deeply attached to. A.k.a. Bernie, her lighter, occasionally Wilson, Webber (if he ever got close enough to grabbing range), fire pits, anything fire related, and the Life Giving Amulet Wilson gave her back in fall. (He was surprised she still had that. He was certain that she had used it when she went into the marsh to gather blue mushrooms.)

And for someone down with the flu, Willow certainly wasn’t frail. Her grip surely spoke for her. (And the small bruising on his legs.) Luckily, with persuasion (bribing) she relented her death grip.

“Feeling a bit better now?” Wilson asked, poking the fire with his stick. Willow sat across from him, snuggled deep in her cave of every blanket they had in the base. She so buried in deep that only the top portion of her face showed, along with a half-buried Bernie. She nodded, snuggling deeper into the pit of Beefalo skins and spider webbing.

“Good. At least that’s some good news.” Wilson hummed, throwing the stick in the fire. “… Willow. Stay on your side.”

“Aaaaaawwwwwwww! But you look so cold!”

“Willow, I appreciate that you’re concerned for me, but I must remind you that I have this.” Wilson pointed to his beard. “Along with this jacket and added thermal stone to keep me warm. You on the other hand…” Wilson trailed off.

He didn’t need to clarify anything. They both knew Willow was weak to the cold. It was her main big weakness (aside from the rain of course). Wilson had taken all precautions at winter in keeping Willow warm, less he would have to deal with her health and mental stability.

But of course it wasn’t a solid 100% plan.

Deerclops and added Hound attack helped see to that plan in shambles.

Thankfully they had stopped at the spare base that day when the attack happened. (Though not so thankfully it meant that all the healing supplies were back at the main camp.) No one died, which was good (and rare on his part), but they all took a pretty hard beating that day. Physically and mentally. Wilson practically had to drag Willow to the main base when she started screaming out death threats to the shadow creatures that were slowly coming into form.

Still, they had acquired some valuable resources that day, so it wasn’t total loss and disaster.

Until Willow came down with a cold.

It wasn’t as bad of a cold like Wilson first feared. Just a simple fever and a few sniffles. Nothing overly dangerous or life threatening. Still, he needed to keep an eye on Willow, just in case she did anything that could result in making her fever worse. (Just like their second winter together. That was a nightmare.) This winter seemed alright though. Small fever, no crazy antics, a well-stocked food supply, maintained walls for added protection, and plenty of wood for the fire.

The only thing they needed to worry about was another hound attack. But that wouldn’t be for a couple days now. So this should be a relatively easy winter this time.

Wilson should be able to relax and not worry about any—

“Gah!” Wilson jumped as he felt a poke on his shoulder, twisting around to find Webber standing behind him. “Webber! By science, how many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that? I could have had a weapon in my hands and attacked you.”

“… ‘m sorry…” Webber mumbled, not looking at Wilson and kicking the ground with his toe.

Wilson frowned. He wasn’t used to seeing Webber like this. So unhappy and sad. He hadn’t seen Webber be happy ever since WX-78 took Chester. “No no it’s fine. I’m sorry I acted that way. Is there something you need?”

Webber was silent for a moment, kicking the snow covered ground. “… we’re out of spider glands.” He finally said after a moment’s pause.

Wilson’s eyes widened. “What? That can’t be possible.” Wilson got up, heading to his chest and looking inside. Sure enough, there were no spider glands in his chest. “How can this be? We had twenty of them! We shouldn’t be out already!” He went over to Webber’s chest, finding it empty of glands as well. “Why are we out of glands?”

“We’re out of *achoo!* of glands?” Willow spoke up.

Wilson ran his hands through his hair, grabbing the strains and shook his head. “This can’t be right! I made sure we were well stocked up just before we left the fall base!”

“But didn’t you use some when we were attacked?”

“Well yes but—” Wilson stopped short, his eyes widening. The attack! Of course! They must have used up their glands when fighting Deerclops and the Hounds! How stupid was he?! Wilson slapped his forehead, running back to his chest.

“… what are you doing?”

“I’m going out for a bit.” Wilson took out his spear.

“WHAT?! DON’T LEAVE MEEEEEE!”

“Willow we need those spider glands!” Wilson hooked his Tail o' Three Cats whip to his belt, grabbing some torches as well. “They’re essential to our survival! Without them we won’t be able to heal, make any hearts, or healing salve!” He went over to the fire, picking up a heated thermal stone.

“BUT I DON’T WANT YOU TO GOOOO!” Willow whined, getting up from the ground.

“Willow, stay. You’re in no condition to leave this base.”

“BUT YOU’RE LEAVING MEEEE!”

“You’re sick! I don’t want you getting any worse!”

“Then don’t leave!”

“I have to! We need those glands! Another Hound attack is coming soon and we need to be prepared.” Wilson turned to leave. “Just stay here with Webber.”

“NOOO!” Willow lunged at Wilson, but thanks to her sickness, she was incredibly sluggish and slow. Wilson jumped out of the way, dodging her attempts to grab him.

“Willow please! I need to gather those glands before night fall!” Wilson pleaded as he dodged another lunge.

“But then I’ll be lonelllly!” Willow whined, making a grab at Wilson. Her hands managed to grab onto his spear, but Wilson still managed to escape her grasp.

Desperate for an escape, Wilson’s eyes landed on Webber. Poor sweet depressed Webber. Silently promising to make up for what he was about to do later, Wilson grabbed the surprised boy, using him as a decoy when Willow lunged and tossed him into her open arms and ran out from the base as fast as he could.

“WILLLLSSSSOOOOOOOOON! COME BAAAAAAACK!” Willow whined pitifully.

“… Miss Willow? Can… you let go of me?”

“No. You’re comfy.”

)*(

“Really Wilson, that wasn’t very nice of you to do that to poor Webber.” Wilson muttered to himself once he was far enough away from the base. He felt sorry for doing that to poor Webber, but the circumstance couldn’t be avoided. Though he would have to make up for it later to the poor boy.

“Okay, let’s see where we are.” Wilson took out his map, looking over the land marks before heading off.

Spider dens were far off from the base. Had to be since they posed a threat to develop a Spider Queen at level tier three. If their silk and glands weren’t so useful (and Webber enjoyed hanging out with creatures that were somewhat of his own kind), Wilson would have let Willow burn them all down and be rid of it all.

Though to be honest, it was rather easy to farm these creatures. Added with some help from Webber, the spiders were located somewhere safe and manageable to farm these small dangerous insects for their uses and keep the danger level low. But what Wilson loathed about it was the long walk getting to the spiders.

Yes, the spider dens were a good safe distance away from the base. Something Wilson both sighed in relief and groaned with disappointment. While he felt safe having the spider dens far away from the base, he hated how far of a walk he had to take once he needed to restock in spider glands.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Oh no! Spider gland collecting usually fell onto Webber since, well, being part spider he was the least likely to ever get hurt. So if he ever had a run in with Warrior Spiders or a Spider Queen, he would just be fine and dandy! Wilson on the other hand? He would be mauled to bits if he wasn’t careful!

(Those experiences were never a fun way to die…)

“Okay, you can do this Wilson.” Wilson took in a steady breath, unhooking his Tail o' Three Cats and tested the tension. “You’ve done this countless times before you met Willow and Webber.” (And WX-78.) “It should be easy. Webber’s bound to have set some traps down earlier, so you probably won’t need to worry too much heh heh… ehh…” Wilson gulped nervously as the familiar sign depicting a spider. (Webber hadn’t realized that he didn’t need to hold his breath while Willow sketched his head on the board. Poor boy almost fainted from lack of oxygen.)

Hyping himself, Wilson stepped out from the tree line… and did a double, then a triple, then a quadruple take as he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks him.

But they were not.

To Wilson’s greet horror, there was not one, not two, not three, but SEVERAL tier three spider dens.

“One, two, three, five, nine… oh dear science.” Wilson murmured with horror as he counted up the numbers of dens. Last time he checked this place, there had only been five newly placed spider dens. But now it seemed to have not only gone up to tier three nests, but had multiplied as well! “Oh dear science. Oh dear science, oh dear scienceohdearscienceohdearscienceohdearscience!”

Wilson wasn’t panicking! Panicking wasn’t very gentlemanly or refine! (If only his mother saw him now, how disappointed she would be to see him fall.) He most certain wasn’t wishing that Willow—no, wait, scratch that—that Webber was here right now with him!

“Pull yourself together Higgsbury!” Wilson hissed, pulling on his hair. “This is no time to panic!” He looked about the (oh dear science) tier three spider dens, clutching his whip to his chest tightly. He HATED spiders! (With the only exception of Webber.) And seeing this was a total nightmare for him!

“Look at this in a good way! At least none of them are out and roaming about!”

Maxwell decided to prove him wrong as the next two seconds dusk fell, and all the spiders left their dens. Even a (BLOODY SCIENCE) Spider Queen emerged and started walking about.

Wilson wanted to scream. So. SO. SO. SO BADLY right now! Scream to the sky high above. Scream at Maxwell’s stupid face. Scream at anything to vent his frustration out. (Or probably burn something down to the ground like Willow would do when she had too much pent-up emotions.)

But then again he would only be giving Maxwell the satisfactory in seeing him suffer. And he did not want to give that jerk any pleasure.

“Okay, new plan.” Wilson ducked behind a tree. “There’s at least a good number of normal spiders around. Just need to lure some of them away from the dens.” He checked his whip. “This whip won’t last very long against a group of warrior spiders, so best to be careful.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay. Okay. Lead away some normal spiders, don’t attract any warrior ones, don’t get spotted by the Queen Spider, and get back to base before Willow starts worrying and comes looking for you. Good plan Wilson. Good plan.�� Wilson nodded, peeking out from behind the tree.

Looking right into the eyes of the Spider Queen.

“… bloody science.”

)*(

Wilson was an excellent runner.

Or, he rather believed himself to be a good runner since he kept finding himself running away from danger hot on his tail. Really, it was much too often that Wilson ran for his life from dangers, it was almost comedic!

At least he getting a fair amount of exercise from all this running Wilson thought as he rounded a tree, missing the Spider Queen’s attempt to lunge at him. Still, he knew he was in trouble. For one, his whip was no good against a Spider Queen. He had done plenty to tests of every weapon that he managed to craft against every hostile creature he’d encountered so far. (And the many deaths that followed.) He knew the worn down whip wasn’t going to last him against a Spider Queen at its peak. There was just no way.

He didn’t have any other weapon on him (Willow took his only spear) and he didn’t have the time or material to craft one. Looking back, Wilson nearly had a heart attack as he saw that the Spider Queen was gaining on him! And it didn’t help that she was being followed by a small horde of spiders.

Great. Just. Great.

He was probably going to die and waste a Meat Effigy. And lose his beard! WHAT ELSE COULD GO WRONG?!

At that moment, while Wilson was too busy glancing behind himself, he stepped on an ice patch. His footing slipped sharply to the side, making the poor scientist cry out in alarm as he fell face first on the hard cold ground. His jaw took a hard impact, almost biting down on his tongue, and his beard did little to nothing to cushion his fall. Stars swirled in his eyes before he shook off his daze and tried to get up.

There was a hiss and Wilson cried out in pain as teeth sunk into his leg. His body acted before he could think, whipping out his Tail o' Three Cats and cracking the whip at the Warrior Spider, sending it flying off his leg. It bounced once or twice before rolling to a stop against a long thin leg. A leg that belonged to a very large spider.

Wilson tried in vain to scoot back as the Spider Queen advanced towards him, her army of spiders getting closer to him with dead set intentions to kill.

The Queen narrowed its eyes at him, poison dripping from its fangs.

Wilson knew he was going to die. He just knew it. His leg was throbbing with pain and he was too tired to run anymore. He kept cracking his whip as the spider kept advancing, backing away more and more as they kept getting closer and closer.

Seeing his doom and with no escape, Wilson closed his eyes and waited for the first spider to jump at him.

There was a hiss, then a growl, then the sound of snow being disturbed and—

And Wilson was yanked back by the collar of his vest.

Wilson didn’t have time to open his eyes before he was suddenly tossed aside, but he was almost certain he heard a deep voice yell something that he didn’t understand. The hissing of angry spiders didn’t go unnoticed, with the accompany of angry yelling and the sickening sound of spiders being squished. The sound made Wilson’s stomach turn, and the scientist curled up on himself, covering his ears to muffle the sounds.

It was a while before the sounds died away, leaving Wilson in silence. Before he could open his eyes, footsteps (heavy ones) reached his ears. Weak was never what Wilson thought of himself. He had taken on many monsters, giants, and other worldly beings and managed (barely or none at all) to survive against them. But right now, though he would never admit it, he was feeling rather small at this point for such a huge oversight of dangers this winter.

And his wounded leg felt too numb to move, so running away was still not an option.

“Крошечный человек в порядке?” A deep voice rumbled above Wilson, making the scientist flinch and curl up even more on himself. In no doubt of his mind that Wilson knew that this was a person, a survivor like him, Willow, and Webber. But was this survivor friendly? Or we’re they another WX?

Wilson flinched again as (ohscienceohscienceohSCIENCE THOSE HANDS ARE HUGE!) he was lifted up off the ground. “Не хорошо спать в снегу. Снег хорош, но земля не удобна, чтобы спать на маленьком человеке.” The deep voice rumbled in what Wilson could only assume was laughter. If Wilson hadn’t felt tiny before, he certainly did now. “… Крошечный человек говорит по-русски?”

Wilson really wished to be back at the base where it was safe.

“… Is Tiny Man alright?” Wilson’s head perked up. “Leg is bleeding lots. Does not look good to Wolfgang.” Wilson blinked open his eyes, looking up at the… blurry person? Why was there a blurry person before him?

… And why did he feel so light… head… ed…

)*(

Yelling.

Wilson awoke to the sound of yelling. And a painful headache.

Groaning, he sat up, rubbing his temples. (It shouldn’t be this early for Willow to be yelling.)

“Oh! Tiny Man is awake! Good morning!”

“Morn’.” Wilson mumbled, yawning.

“Did Tiny Man sleep well last night? Wolfgang was worried for friend when Tiny Man didn’t respond to Wolfgang’s voice.”

Wilson sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Slept as well as anyone could in this place.” He turned to look at the owner of the voice… doing a double take. There was a very thin man sitting on a log next to Webber. A man only wearing a red and white striped jumpsuit that hung baggy on his body.

“Oh good! Wolfgang is happy new friend slept well! Now, could Tiny Man stop Fire Woman?” The thin frail looking man pointed to where a large smoke cloud was coming. “She has not stopped burning spiders for long time now.”

)*(

The man’s name was Wolfgang, and apparently he was the ‘world’s strongest man alive’…

Which was very doubtful in Webber’s eyes.

“Wolfgang does not lie! Wolfgang is strongest man alive!”

“But you look so thin. You couldn’t lift Mister Wilson up.”

Wolfgang scoffed, flexing his thin arm. “Wolfgang is thin because Wolfgang has not eaten in some time. When Wolfgang’s belly is full, he will be mighty again!”

“Where did you find this loon at?” Webber heard Miss Willow mumble to Mister Wilson as she helped him walk back to the base, which he just shook his head and shrugged.

)*(

It was hard to decide how to feel about their new ‘friend’.

For one, he was a slight improvement of their last friend. He helped around the base as much as he could, though… help wasn’t the right word as most of the help he tried to give required strength and… hoooh boy. Wilson kept patching the poor guy up more than she could count. At least he was trying. That, Willow could not deny. Not the best help, but still, he seemed okay enough for Wilson to vouch for him to stay.

And she was only letting stick man stay because one, he was super thin that bones could be seen against skin (yikes), two, he claimed to save Wilson’s life (which was still very hard to believe given how puny the guy was), three, he was trying to make himself useful in his temporary stay (which was… was not very helpful), four, the guy hated Maxwell (which was a small plus since who didn’t hate that guy?), and finally… he was at least friendly to Webber.

“And then what happened?”

“That’s when the elephant charged to Wolfgang! Swinging trunk around like angry tree!” Wolfgang swung his frail arm around his head as he told his story, engrossing Webber with his tale.

Willow wasn’t sure if it was alright to let the strange guy around Webber at first, but Wolfgang really didn’t seemed to be all that bad with the kid. In fact he was rather nice (once he got over the shock at first sight of him) and openly friendly with the spider. And Webber seemed to lighten up around Wolfgang, even cracking a few giggles and smiles.

“Well, they’re certainly getting along.” Wilson sighed.

“He seems to be okay. Though, I’m still doubting the ‘strongman’ thing.” Willow huffed, applying the salve against Wilson’s wounded leg. “Sorry.” She apologized as Wilson hissed with pain.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. The stinging means it’s working.” Wilson reassured her. “I’m just glad nothing vital was cut when that spider bit me. Still a nasty bite though.”

“And I’m still not believing that that guy saved you.” Willow pointed her thumb at Wolfgang.

Wilson frowned, looking at Wolfgang as he finished up his story. “Well, I… don’t actually know if he really was the person who saved me. The guy who did save me had big hands.” Wilson held up his own hands. “BIG hands. It made me feel so small in their grip.”

“Really?” Willow looked at Wolfgang with a raised brow. “That guy? Huge hands? As if!”

)*(

The howl signaled the attack before they could see the bloody beasts.

The first rays of sunshine signaled the new day, but the howl signaled the sign of the attack that was coming towards them. Wilson had hopped they had a few days to heal more before the next attack, but when was luck ever on their side?

“Mister Wilson! Mister Wilson! I can see them coming!” Webber, sweet Webber, shouted at his lookout point on the wall (the wall they had managed to build and worked so hard to ensure their base’s safety from attacks). Wilson cursed silently as he limped over to his chest and took out his Tentacle Spike.

“Friends have trouble with puppies too?” Wolfgang peeked out above the wall.

“They’re not puppies. They’re hounds! Mean doggies who like to bite us!” Webber explained as he got down from the wall. “And they’re going to tear our base apart if we don’t stop them!”

“Oh! Wolfgang will help defend friends!”

“No!” Willow stepped up, coughing into her fist. “No, you stay here and watch Webber. Wilson and I can deal with it.”

“Willow, no. I’ll handle it. You’re still too sick.” Wilson placed a hand on her shoulder, but she brushed him off, gripping her fire staff tightly.

“And you’re still hurt! You can’t expect to handle all those hounds on your own! You’ll get killed!”

“You’ll be killed too if you go out there!” Wilson countered.

“So?! At least both my legs can still get me out of danger instead of hobbling away!”

“There’s no guarantee that you’ll be able to out run them! And what if they bite you?! Do you know how many germs could be in a hound’s mouth?! You’ll be down with something much worse than a simple flu!”

“Uh guys?”

“So?! At least I won’t be torn to shreds!”

“Guys?”

“Oh don’t start on me with that!”

“Guuuyss?”

“And why not?! You get mauled to death nearly every month!”

“Not on purpose if that’s what you’re—”

“GUYS!”

“NOT NOW WEBBER! CAN’T YOU SEE WE’RE ARGUING?!” The adults yelled at Webber. Their anger vanished when a yelp sounded out and an Ice Hound’s head smashed through the wall. They had no time to process what happened before an angry yell tore through the air.

Sprinting (and hobbling) towards the entrance, Wilson and Willow peeked out to see the biggest, beefiest, human man either of them had ever seen, punching Hounds left and right, laughing like he was having the time of his life as he tossed the beasts as if they were just ragdolls.

Jaws hit the floor as both adults could only stare in shock as the man single handily took on the Hounds. Only Webber was the only one cheering the man on from his lookout spot on the wall, watching them punch an Ice Hound’s face in.

“Go Wolfgang go! Hit ‘em left and right! You’re gonna win this fight! Stick ‘em up to those mean doggies then go attack the froggies! Go go Wolfgang go! Yaaaaaay!”

)*(

When the last Hound was dealt with (and once their shock had worn off) and every Monster Meat, tooth, and any blue gems that were dropped were collected, there was only one thing on everyone’s mind.

“HOW THE BLOODY HECK DID YOU GET SO HUGE?!” Willow screamed (with some minor coughing), poking the thick muscle of Wolfgang’s chest. “You literally were nothing but bones in a skin suit minutes ago!”

Wolfgang smiled, flexing his massive arm. “Fire Woman impressed?”

“Very. Very impressed.” Willow nodded her head, looking Wolfgang up and down. “But how did you get so big and beefy so quickly? And why are your hands so huge?!” She grabbed one of his hands, placing her own hand against it and awed at the sheer size comparison. “You’re hands are like meaty hammers! Wilson! Look how huge his hands are!”

“I saw Willow.” Wilson mumbled, eyes trained on Wolfgang’s arm, examining it thoroughly. “… This doesn’t make any sense. Just moments ago you looked to be on death’s door, and now? Now you’re in perfect health! How could this have happened?”

“Ha! Tiny Man funny!” Wolfgang laughed, lifting the arm Wilson was examining and by extension Wilson himself. “Wolfgang said it before! When Wolfgang’s belly is fully, he becomes mighty!”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Wilson dangled on Wolfgang’s arm, kicking his legs (and suddenly missing being on solid ground) and trying to hoist himself up.

“Oh! Oh! Pick me up! Pick me up!” Webber came running up, holding his arms up and bounced in place. “Plllllease pick me up Mister Wolfgang! I want to be held too!”

Wolfgang chuckled, scooping Webber up with his free arm and set him on his shoulders. Webber’s eyes sparkled as he viewed his new high point. “Does Spider Child like being tall?” Wolfgang asked.

“YES!”

“Uhh Wolfgang? Could you please be so kind to put me down? My feet can’t touch the ground…”

“Hey why do you guys get to play with Wolfgang? I want to join in! Lift me up big guy!”

“Willow please! Don’t encourage him!” Wilson’s pleads fell on deaf ears as Wolfgang lifted Willow up, holding her high as she smiled at Wilson.

“What’s the matter Will? Feeling tiny?”

“You’re only taller by two inches Willow! I’m not short!”

“Tiny Man is tiny to Wolfgang.”

“You don’t count!”

“I’m so taaaaallll!”

“I think I’m going to like having this guy around! We could use the extra muscles!”

“Wolfgang is mighty!”

“Please Put Me Down!”

“TAAAAALLLLLLL!”

And at that moment, Wolfgang’s stomach growled and shrunk. Everyone screamed out in alarm as the now wimpy Wolfgang struggled to hold them all up, only to fall backwards and land in a pile. Sitting up, each survivor glanced at each other before bursting out into fits of laughter.

)*(

“Disgusting. What a revolting sight.”

Maxwell hissed as he watched the sickening display shown in the orb before him, frowning deeply as the frail strong man brought the group into a hug.

“You certainly are surrounding yourselves with sickening joy aren’t you?” He summoned a lit cigar, biting down on it. “And got yourself a new member in your rag tag team.” He waved his hand, summoning another orb. “Well, you’re not the only ones I suppose. Few of the others are teaming up as well.”

Taking a long drag, Maxwell let the smoke sit in his mouth for a moment before letting it out. “Frankly, I was hoping for bloodshed and backstabbing than team ups and tagalongs.” He glared at the new orb. “Especially from you.”

The new orb showed a small little figure sitting on top of a fallen pillar in one of the Chess Biomes, gazing intently at a small flower held protectively in their hands.

“Really, I wasn’t expecting you of all people to want company from others. Since you’ve already have someone to watch your back.” The small figure looked up from the flower to the distance, tilting their head a bit before carefully pocketing in their skirt and sliding off the marble. Maxwell’s eyes narrowed, taking another drag of his cigar. “Then again. Maybe you need the extra protection. Can’t always rely on your sister on can we?”

The small figure moved to a certain distance before another figure’s image appeared, stopping before them and looking up. Their mouth was moving, but the orb couldn’t produce a single sound. Or maybe the figure was speaking quietly and he just couldn’t hear it over the (agonizing, horrible, torturous, never ending, hellish, unbearable, excruciating, accursed) Gramaphone’s music. Whatever or whichever it was, he did not care.

What he did care about was the survivors suddenly mingling together. How and why they were able to suddenly find and mingle with each other was still a mystery to Maxwell. In normal circumstances, there should only be one survivor for each of his worlds. That was how it always started and began for each survivor that he took.

That all changed however when Higgsbury somehow landed in an already occupied world. (Or was it the fire woman that landed in Higgsbury’s world? He couldn’t recall which one occupied the world first.) He was sure the fire obsessed woman would certainly skewered the man through when she first laid eyes upon him. (He could certainly remember the times her spear almost getting him in the head.) But NO. No she spared him, letting him live and forming their small ridiculous group that faced his world with renewed energy and hope that made him want to vomit blood.

Although, he did rather enjoy watching the rather amusing misfortunes that fell upon Higgsbury thanks to the fire woman. He certainly didn’t think a man could scream that high and fret over such little things stuck in their hair. What man obsessives over hair? And seeing all his work go up in flames was very satisfying.

But as amusing as it was for a while, the fun didn’t stay long as more survivors somehow kept winding up in the particular world.

The spider child he could overlook as a small mishap. Dead was dead, yet he didn’t think the child would be revived so easily like that. Then again, Higgsbury was quiet a sentimental man Maxwell had ever encountered. He still didn’t understand how burying the skull in a grave brought the child back to life, but he had more things to focus on than figuring that one out.

The robot however was a completely different story. Somehow the automaton stumbled into that world, and still sustaining its injuries from the other world it crossed over from. Maxwell had searched every corner of both worlds, and still could not find out how the robot managed to cross over to that world and then to another world later on.

And now there was the strong man.

Maxwell had been unsure before, but now he was certain that there was something with this certain world that was allowing survivors to cross over. But what was it? A vial? A thin crack in the worlds? Or was it a force that was messing with him?

A force like… her.

His stomach dropped as the thought of her crossed his mind.

No. No, this was not her work. She wouldn’t do something like this. Whatever it was. There was no clear pattern and there was no motive Maxwell could think of that would clear things up.

Still, he had to wonder. What was causing survivors to cross paths in different worlds?

He looked at the first orb again, watching the group sitting around the fire eating breakfast. The strong man was back to his muscle form again, letting the spider child sit on his head. Higgsbury seemed to be fretting over the child’s safety as the fire woman was (literally) sitting in the fire.

How such a ragtag team managed to survive for so long was beyond him. (Higgsbury’s track record of survival certainly didn’t help very much.) He certainly didn’t want this to keep going. Yet, it was intriguing to see how far they would go to surviving working together.

This group was managing by so far. Others were struggling to trust one another before back stabbing and traitors started popping up here and there.

Though, this world wasn’t the only one with compatible team work.

There was a few other groups who were managing to survive together. Small, and don’t tend to last long, but still managing to survive none the less. Though the last group got trampled by a Deerclops and all perished. Not a single ghost appeared though. Pity. He did like that group.

None the less, he would have to keep an eye on Higgsbury’s group for a while. Who knows who else might pop up next?

#don't starve #Wilson P. Higgsbury #willow #webber #wolfgang #maxwell #don't starve wilson #don't starve willow #don't starve webber #don't starve wolfgang #don't starve maxwell

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ask-jungshook · 7 years

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can i be real for a sec?? you are so amazing and im about to cry bc you're everything i wish i was. ppl love your art so much and your angst and you're so talented. you are so so talented. ok im sorry i just needed this off my chest

// OMG NOOOOOO NONNY PLEASE DON’T CRY!

For me, my ‘talent’ is probably an accumulation of ‘natural’ talent (basically your base stats in gaming terms lol), motivation, experience, practice, and personal drive.

So to get a general sense of where I’m coming from, let me tell you a story of a YOUNG DISSU and how her ‘talent’ developed. (aka my art journey LOL)

So let’s started!

Base Stats

When I first got into drawing (this was around middle school, so I was around 12 years old????), my base stat for drawing was probably a 1 out of 10 – pretty horrible tbh because all I did was just to try and replicate my favorite mangas characters as they were drawn. (At the time I think it was Yu Yu Hakusho LMFAO). If I were to make an analogy or any type of comparison, let’s just say, my stick figures had better proportions than my actual drawings but I digress. But as much as I drew poorly, I found myself loving drawing and loving art because it was an outlet for me to relieve stress. (But looking back oh boy was I a hardcore weeaboo haha) This period of time was the time where I gave no shits if I drew poorly, I drew because I had fun and that was pretty much it. (So there was like pretty much 0 improvement since I didn’t really bother to learn anything technique-wise)

Motivation & Practice

Around high school was when I first started digital art (I around age 16 at this time) and this was the time period when DeviantArt was the ‘go to’ place to post drawings and literature. (pretty sure tumblr and twitter didn’t exist back then and facebook like just became a thing lol) Avatar sites like gaiaonline were also super popular and filled with a bunch of talented artists. I remember distinctly being like ‘holy shit these people are so good and so talented and thinking that I could never surmount to anything like that’. But at the same time, another part of me was like AWE INSPIRED of their talent and would like obsessively see if they had any tutorials on drawing. So while yes, there was a portion of me that wanted to be like my art idols and draw the way they did, at the same time, I kinda knew in my head that that was impossible? (But it didn’t stop me from trying to emulate them)

So while I kept on drawing because it was fun and I liked it as a hobby– BUT this time, I had people to look up to in terms of the ‘I want to draw like you’ aspect of it. They were my art idols and pretty much everything I wanted to be from an art standpoint hahaha. But those artists were my main source of motivation for wanting to improve throughout high school. So this was the period of time that other people’s art lead to me wanting to develop a better style and to improve my technique. (I drew a lot, but never really finished anything major because I was really impatient back then, but my style was HEAVILY impacted by my art idols lol – VERY VERY GRAPHIC NOVELY/DATING SIM-ESQUE)

Experience & Personal Drive

I think in recent years, I did a lot of growing not only as an artist but as a person. One thing to note about growth and improvement is that seeing improvement/seeing growth does not happen overnight, and I took many art hiatuses during high school and most of college simply because I didn’t have time due to my course load. So after cycling through various styles, my art kinda just stagnated for a long time. At that time, it was a bit disheartening and frustrating for me, because at that point I drew for like 6 years and made like small baby steps. (I had a variety of styles, but I never really had the solid groundwork of like anatomy, how clothing works, or color theory.) So it did put a hamper down on my motivation to draw back then– simply because I didn’t think I was improving as fast as other people – which in retrospect, was mistake number one.

I also went through a pretty bad battle with depression while I was in college that ebbed down a bit, then resurfaced after I graduated (this was roughly a 3 yr span), which hindered a lot of my art growth substantially as well because my mentality simply wasn’t there. (Music and art hold emotional ties for me, so whenever I’m depressed, everything relating to the creative side of me goes to shit and I will have 0 motivation to draw and basically just sleep all day.)

But to be brutally honest, this is where personal drive comes in. There was one day where I just had full blown out sit down with myself where I basically told myself that I was so sick of being sad all the time, so tired of just being tired, so sick of hating myself– and that I missed being happy and that I missed that sense of joy. So what did I do? I pushed myself and forced myself out of my bubble in an effort to crawl out of that pit that is depression. But one of the things that helped me the most was reconnecting with a bunch of art friends that I met online in high school on one of those avatar sites. I’m a lot stronger of a person mentally thanks to them. :) And with the help of my friends, I basically began my journey of a 360 degree change– my friends, music, art and the past depressed me were all sources of motivation for me to fight to win that mental battle against myself. (One of the things I did was delete all my social media and just start over– that way it’s easy to filter out unwanted things if you start with a blank slate. I also bought my dog around this time which helped my mentality exponentially.)

Getting started was probably the hardest part, because depression is a cycle of ups and downs– but in order to break free, YOU have to be the one to initiate change and stick to making it happen no matter how uncomfortable you may be. I understand that not everyone can be like me and resolve to do everything yourself. Some people need therapy, and some people need medication and that’s fine because as humans, we’re all different in how we cope with things. In my case, it was all about mental fortitude and my own will power. For me personally, I extended my art hiatus and took several more months off of art and just solely focused on myself and my mental health more than anything. I did a lot of soul searching during this time. Ironically, I think my main motivation for crawling out of that hell hole was just hating how much I hated being sad all the time because that’s just a place that I would never want to go back to.

And even now, it’s still a lot of self exploring of what I want for myself and understanding myself. I’m a person with many layers of personality (like an onion!) – and I’m still learning how to embrace all of those layers (even the bad ones) because in the end, your layers combined are what makes you who you are. If you try to reject a part of any layer, that’s pretty much you trying to reject a part of you– which may lead to or cause a lot of internal turmoil. (On a not so serious note, I realize this ‘layer’ thing was a totally unintentional analogy taken from Shrek, imsosorry lol)

And I just realized I took a HUGE tangent, but going back to the experience and personal drive, I think it was some time around 2016 and going into 2017 when I officially made it to be one of my goals for the new year as to get ‘better’ at art. At this point, I had like 10 years of ‘experience’ in digital art (probably a lot less if you factor in my hiatuses but I digress lol), so based off of those past experiences, I know what I’m good at and what needs improvement. (so I know where my groundwork is lacking and what I should focus on) From a mental perspective, I also understand myself more in the sense that I knew what caused mental stress on me, which in turn allows me to not put myself in uncomfortable positions mentally. At the same time, understanding myself has also allowed me to know my limits and understand how much I can push myself.

But more importantly (from an art standpoint), I’ve learned to take a lot of inspiration from other artists and a lot of art friends instead of wanting to have their style of drawing. I think it was important to me to realize and recognize that I will probably never draw like some of them (because they have a lot more experience than me), and that that should be taken as a positive thing because my art should reflect who I am. So remember that onion I was talking about? All the people I look up to and all the people who I’ve befriended through art also play a HUGE role in my many layers because without them, I personally wouldn’t have that personal drive to learn and get better. So def find something that motivates you to be a better version of yourself! (For me it’s music, books, and other people’s art!)

So going back to my main point of talent:

Don’t think of someone else’s talent as something you should replicate. Because honestly speaking, you can’t, since you literally are a different person– and no two people are the same. (Nor are two onions the same) Instead– take an opportunity to view it as a source of motivation and inspiration to grow and foster your own talent and your own personal growth. Because talent is something you CAN cultivate into something beautiful given time and patience. (Related note: I wrote like an essay in my meet the artist link about my thoughts regarding art and improvement and about comparing yourself to other artists– dunno if that’ll help, but feel free to check it out here lol)

It took me 12 years for my art to evolve to what it is now (I’m 24 now), and I still think I have a lot more room to grow because there was so much I missed out on when I first started out. So while yes, I would consider myself as ‘talented’, there were so many things that have attributed to and molded my base ‘talent’ from when I was 12 to what is it now. And beauty is, is that that everyone’s base stats are different– heck there are people HALF my age who draw better than I do now and that’s amazing! (Also don’t let someone’s age be a reason to put yourself down either! I personally find young artists super inspiring :’))

But honestly, the most important thing is that in the end, art should be about yourself! As I mentioned before, art and music are linked to me emotionally, so happiness is the main thing that I want my art to bring to me. You shouldn’t do things for the sake of others (like getting notes/being popular), you should do it because it makes you happy. (Because if you’re doing things for others, you’re literally putting your own happiness in the hands of other people– and it shouldn’t be that way) For me, drawing makes me happy because I like to see my progression over the years as well as that sense of accomplishment once you finish a piece.

I’m so sorry that this turned into a really long essay/rambling about my life (i tried to keep it as short as possible, but it still ended up long af weeps), but I just felt the need the type this because I’ve been in a similar position as you before. (When I first read this ask I had like a lot of mixed emotions because I was like yes, it’s a compliment, but at the same time, why do I feel really sad? lol so yeah … sorry about the wall of text)

So don’t wish you were me! LOL :’D (lol trust me bc I am far from perfect) Instead, embrace yourself, (& to paraphrase the chorus of Cypher 4) know yourself, and most importantly, love yourself because you are ALSO a blooming talent in the garden that is life.

:) So what I really want to see is the phrase of “you’re everything i wish i was“ turn into something like, “thanks for inspiring me to improve” or something along those lines.

As artists, we all learn off from each other. And personally, I would be honored to be some sort of inspiration to you – but as I said before, please don’t think that you’re any less than me or think negatively about yourself because you are amazing and talented in your own right! :’) And if it helps, I’ll be rooting for you to continue cultivating your own ‘talent’ into something even more spectacular! Nonny HWAITING!

Also if you ever want to talk, feel free to message me! (I hope I don’t come off as intimidating, I’m just very scatterbrained and get distracted easily lol i also apologize for any spelling mistakes in this because im too lazy to proofread lol)

#// unshook #// admin faq #// nonasks #// sorry i wrote a book lol #// but this is kinda important to me?#// @___@ unless if I'm interpreting this ask wrong lol if thats the case im sorry #// but i just wanted to put it out there #// that talent is made up by A LOT of factors #// my talent now vs what I had when i started are completely different #// so think of it as us being in different stages in our art journey :D #// keep on growing and striving to improve #// but remember to be happy too!#// i'll leave this off with what I try to live my life by- be hungry be humble but most importantly be happy #// also sorry if not everything makes sense #// i woke up sick today so im like trying not to die right now #// as snot keeps on dripping down from my nose lol #// my thoughts are rlly muddy right now lol #// ahhhhhhhhh i hope that whatever i typed makes some sort of sense #// watch me wake up tomorrow and be like dissu wtf did u type lol #// art faq

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