I Love The Expression Transition And The Cute Little Bounce, And The Secondary Animation On The Ascot

Ohhh no, this hit me right in the feels.

"That smell. What is that?"

"I'm not sure."

"I've smelled it before. It's so familiar."

"You're imagining things."

"No, no, it's this tea. You made me this tea before."

"...You should go."

Hi, welcome. I'm chaotic-scraps and I post scraps on here. Pronouns are dealer's choice.

If I complete a story on here, you have witnessed a miracle. I occasionally reblog other stories and/or art/comics/animation.

Feel free to leave asks/requests.

"You chose a bad day to infiltrate my base," the villain says.

"Because you're planning something?" The hero demanded. "I've seen people in and out all day. What are you up to?"

"It's a holiday, Hero, in case you've forgotten," the villain sighed. "I'm just trying to survive my family."

"O-oh." The hero looked lost in thought. "I, um, forgot."

"You know what?" The villain put an arm around their shoulder. "You might as well join. Everyone else wants to poke their nose where it doesn't belong. You'll fit right in."

"Oh, no, that's okay." The hero's eyes went wide at the crowd they were being dragged to, digging their heels. "This is for family, and I really should be going--"

"I'm introducing you as my fiancee," the villain stated with a mischievous grin. "Aunt Bertha will hate you."

How to Stay Motivated as a Writer.

I ran a poll to celebrate reaching 50 reblogs because you guys are amazing, and this topic won the poll.

(This is a bit lengthy, but I advise you to read to the very end. These are the kind of tips you rarely find without a fee, but for your amazing support so far, you get this from me for free.)

Let's dive in!

Before I became a writing coach, lack of motivation was something I battled with. Writing started to feel like a waste of my time, but whenever I stopped, I still found my way back somehow.

After a few more months of struggling and finding a clear routine that worked for me, I became a writing coach. Believe me when I say that it was such a commitment, and you'd never know until you get your first student.

I only knew how to stay motivated as an individual. After two students, I realized that motivation was also something they struggled with, and as their coach, it became my duty to offer solutions. In fact, nine out of ten writers struggle with this same problem, so I came up with the 'why and what' technique.

What is the 'why and what' technique?

This technique is a template to figure out the main reason a writer isn't motivated at the current time, which allows for the provision of tailored and personalized solutions to solve the specific problem. In other words: Understanding the why (the main reason for the lack of motivation at the time) to figure out the what (effective solution to solve the main reason).

Lack of motivation is pretty subjective and varies widely. Giving a particular piece of advice may work for some and not for others, which is why I ensured my technique benefits all.

I'll give examples of common reasons writers lack motivation for writing using the template. If you don't find any that relate to you, write it in the comments and get a personalized solution from me.

1. Lack of Inspiration

Why:

- Feeling uninspired by current projects.

- Overwhelmed by the vastness of ideas.

- Stuck in a creative rut.

What:

- Change your environment: Sometimes a new setting can spark creativity. Try writing in a different location, like a park or a café.

- Consume creative content: Read books, watch movies, or listen to music that inspires you.

- Engage in Free Writing: Set a timer for 10 minutes and write whatever comes to mind without worrying about structure or grammar.

- Take a step back: You are no less of a writer if you decide to take a break and watch other writers from afar. Personally, it's difficult to write when I'm not inspired. I find myself editing more than usual and, at times, discarding the piece I spent hours on. So for a little while, I only engaged online and learned other ways to improve my skills with the time on my hands.

2. Fear of Failure

Why:

- Worrying that your writing isn't good enough.

- Comparing yourself to other writers.

- Fear of negative feedback.

What:

- Set small goals: Break down your writing project into manageable tasks to avoid feeling overwhelmed.

- Seek constructive feedback: Share your work with trusted friends or writing groups who can provide supportive and constructive criticism.

- Celebrate small wins: Acknowledge and celebrate your progress, no matter how small. Always remember that our writing styles differ from one another, and that is what makes us unique as writers. 

3. Lack of Time

Why:

- Busy schedules and other commitments.

- Difficulty prioritizing writing.

What:

- Create a writing schedule: Dedicate specific times in your day or week for writing and stick to it.

- Use writing prompts: Short prompts can help you get started quickly and make the most of limited time.

- Eliminate distractions: Find a quiet space and turn off notifications to focus solely on writing.

- Create or join writing challenges: Activities like the 3-day writing challenge, writing a novel in 6 months, the 7-day character creation challenge, the fantasy writers challenge, etc., have specific guidelines tailored to helping writers stay motivated and at the same time productive in limited times.

4. Perfectionism

Why:

- Striving for perfection in every sentence.

- Reluctance to move forward until everything is perfect.

What:

- Embrace the draft: Accept that your first draft doesn't have to be perfect. Focus on getting your ideas down first.

- Set time limits: Give yourself a set amount of time to write and then move on, even if it's not perfect.

- Practice self-compassion: Remind yourself that it's okay to make mistakes and that writing is a process.

-Listen to writing podcasts or join a valuable writing newsletter: You will learn more about the writing industry and writing processes of other established writers, their wins, struggles, difficulties, appreciations, etc., which can serve as an assurance that you are facing the processes of a typical writer. 

Here's a podcast and newsletter for writers I totally recommend—The Shit No One Tells You About Writing. You can listen to The Shit No One Tells You About Writing on platforms like Apple Podcasts and Spotify or sign up for their newsletter.

5. Burnout

Why:

- Writing too much without breaks.

- Feeling exhausted and mentally drained.

- Stressed out from other engagements 

What:

- Take regular breaks: Schedule breaks during your writing sessions to rest and recharge.

- Engage in other hobbies: Spend time on activities you enjoy outside of writing to refresh your mind.

- Practice mindfulness: Techniques like meditation or deep breathing can help reduce stress and improve focus.

- Listen to music: It's an amazing mind therapy. 

6. Lack of Support

Why:

- Feeling isolated in your writing journey.

- Lack of encouragement from others.

What:

- Join writing communities: Connect with other writers through online forums, local writing groups, or social media.

- Find a writing buddy: Partner with another writer to share progress, provide feedback, and offer mutual support.

- Attend workshops and events: Participate in writing workshops, conferences, or webinars to learn and network with others.

- Get a writing coach: Find a coach that will dedicate their time assisting you through your writing processes. 

7. Working on Too Many Drafts Simultaneously

Why:

- Overwhelmed by multiple projects.

- Difficulty prioritizing which story to focus on.

- Constantly switching between drafts, leading to a lack of progress.

What:

- Prioritize projects: Choose one or two main projects to focus on and set the others aside temporarily. This helps you concentrate your efforts and make significant progress.

- Create a project schedule: Allocate specific times or days for each project. For example, work on one story in the mornings and another in the afternoons.

- Set clear milestones: Break each project into bit-sized, manageable tasks with deadlines. Celebrate when you reach these milestones to stay motivated.

- Limit new ideas: Keep a notebook or digital file for new ideas, but resist the urge to start new projects until you complete your current ones.

- Use a timer: Work on one project for a set amount of time (e.g., 25 minutes using the Pomodoro Technique) before taking a break or switching to another task.

8. Frustration of Not Completing Any Stories

Why:

- Feeling stuck or losing interest in projects.

- Perfectionism preventing you from finishing.

- Lack of a clear plan or direction.

What:

- Set realistic goals: Define what "completion" means for each project (e.g., finishing a first draft, reaching a certain word count) and work towards that.

- Embrace imperfection: Accept that your first draft doesn't have to be perfect. Focus on getting the story down, and you can revise it later.

- Find accountability: Share your goals with a writing buddy or group who can help keep you on track and provide encouragement.

- Reward yourself: Plan small rewards for completing sections of your work. This can be anything from a favorite snack to a relaxing activity.

- Reflect on your progress: Regularly review what you've accomplished to remind yourself of your progress and stay motivated.

- Set a clear outline for your story: Having a clear and detailed outline for a story makes it difficult to run out of ideas. 

- Share your achievements with others: Achievement posts are one of the posts that receive more engagement from people. I'm quite aware of Substack. The notes with the highest engagement have to do with achievements. People find those notes empowering and inspiring. Share your wins with others and let them celebrate with you. 

9. Working on Too Many Drafts

Why:

- Perfectionism leading to endless revisions.

- Difficulty deciding when a draft is "good enough."

- Fear of publishing an imperfect work.

What:

- Set a draft limit: Decide on a maximum number of drafts (e.g., three to five) before moving on to the next stage.

- Establish clear goals for each draft: Define what you want to achieve with each draft (e.g., plot consistency, character development, grammar).

- Seek external feedback: Get input from beta readers or a professional editor after a set number of drafts to gain fresh perspectives.

- Create a timeline: Set deadlines for each draft to avoid getting stuck in a cycle of endless revisions.

10. Trying to Earn with Your Writing

Why:

- Financial pressure to monetize your writing.

- Balancing creative passion with commercial viability.

- Navigating the competitive market.

What:

- Diversify income streams: Explore various ways to earn from your writing, such as freelancing, self-publishing, blogging, or offering writing services.

- Build an online presence: Use social media, a personal blog, or platforms like Tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram to showcase your work and connect with potential readers and clients.

Remember, If you don't find any that relate to you, write it in the comments and get a personalized solution from me.

- Offer exclusive content: Create special content or giveaways for your audience to increase engagement and loyalty.

- Learn marketing skills: Invest time in learning about book marketing, SEO, and social media strategies to effectively promote your work.

- Network with other writers: Join writing communities and attend workshops or conferences to learn from others and find opportunities for collaboration.

Remember, If you don't find any that relate to you, write it in the comments and get a personalized solution from me.

Reblog to save for later 😉. Once again thank you for supporting my blog!

The Monster crawled out from under the bed. "You saw that, right?" He asked in his low, scratchy voice.

He skittered towards the light in the back of the closet, now dim. He felt along the edges of the wall with his claws and growled, "The portal's already closed."

Rainbow Panda stared at the closet, breath caught in his fuzzy throat. "We need to go after him."

The Monster's lip curled. "We? You want to work together with me?"

Panda sighed, world-weary. "I don't agree with your methods, but..."

"But you admit I was right," The Monster finished, a somber edge to his voice. "I tried to make him more afraid, more cautious. Now he's been taken who-knows-where."

"Oh, just admit you like scaring people," Panda scolded. He adjusted his bow-tie, a habit for whenever he was agitated. "If he wasn't so desperate to prove himself, he wouldn't have ignored his gut."

The Monster shook his head and pulled back the clothing in the closet, looking for a seam or crack left over from the portal. He seemed to be lost in concentration, and didn't reply. "We can return to our squabbling after the boy is safely home," The Monster said finally.

Panda bowed his head. "You're right." He slid off the bed and hobbled over to the closet. He picked up a small keychain flashlight from underneath a pair of discarded socks. "What even was that?"

The Monster shook his head. "I have lived in this house for many years," he said. "I have seen all kinds of imaginary creatures manifest into being, but I have never seen one promise a life reborn in a new world. Much less see a human take that promise at face value."

The teddy bear stopped in his tracks. "Isekai. Portal fantasy," Panda explained, voice quivering. "He's been reading webcomics and watching anime."

The Monster stopped to look over his shoulder. "Web... Comics?" He grunted. "How do humans use webbing in comic-making? That sounds made up."

"Do you not-... Wha--... That's not important!" Panda shrieked. "The boy is in grave danger! A key component to most isekai is being reborn into a fantasy world after dying!"

"But... How do we find him? Where did he go?"

They sat in silence, wheels turning.

Quietly, the teddy bear hobbled to the bookshelf. "We need to read," he said. He shook the bookshelf, causing some of the books to fall off.

The Monster groaned. "You read. I'll keep looking for a way to get through."

"These stories always start with a character feeling powerless and inferior in life," Panda said. "Oftentimes isolated."

"We should like such stories, then," The Monster laughed. He crawled under the bed and returned with a box of crayons.

"I need you to take this seriously. He followed that... That charlatan because he didn't see other options," Panda huffed. "What are you doing with those crayons?"

"Drawing a portal," The Monster said. "I know not of these new webbed comics--"

"Stories," Panda corrected. "Just say stories."

"--but I know of the old tomes, and the old tomes drew doors with crayons," The Monster finished.

He gently pulled out a red crayon between thumb and forefinger, and drew shakily over the moulding, an imperfect straight line up to his height. The line sloped angular, then back down. Finally, a doorknob, jaggedly circular.

"Did it work?" Panda asked, uncertain.

The Monster pushed on the door. It pushed in, ever so gently. The doorknob, like a writhing ball of yarn, floated from the wall.

Panda abandoned the book and padded over to the makeshift door. With bated breath he tried the knob, and sure enough, the door opened.

"O-oh," Panda said. "It... It opened."

He seemed to hesitate at the opening. The Monster tilted his head. "Are you afraid?"

Panda nodded, and grabbed his hand. They jumped into the abyss together.

Down, down they fell.

Swirling around them were strange lights and discordant sounds.

Laughter.

Music.

At the end of it, a large field of grass.

The boy was hunched in the center of the field, shaking.

Panda ran to him. "Wait! I'm here! You don't have to be afraid."

The boy turned, tears in his eyes. He was... Laughing? His smile died seeing the small stuffed bear.

"What are you doing here?" The boy said. Annoyed.

A girl and boy around his age emerged from the long grass.

"What is that thing?" The girl said.

The Monster backed into the shadows of a tree and hissed at the sunlight.

"We came to save you!" Panda said proudly, chest puffed out.

The new boy snickered. "Save him? He just destroyed a lich, and you think he needs you?!"

"Maybe the little bear is going to save him from loneliness," The girl said with a snarky smile. "Oh, wait, he doesn't need you for that, either."

Panda, taken aback, looked back at The Monster helplessly. The Monster shook his head.

"This world is dangerous," Panda tried.

The boy huffed a laugh. "So is my old one. At least in this one I have the power to fix it."

Panda wilted. "You... You can change the old world too," He whispered. "We could change."

"I'm not a child," the boy said. "I'm sick of being treated like one."

"But--" Panda grabbed his arm, and he pushed him back.

"I'm not going back," the boy growled, and pulled out a sword. "Back off or I'll run you through."

Panda backed away, tears in his eyes. Then, stupidly, foolishly, he lunged for a hug. "I'm not letting you--"

The boy was true to his word. The Monster watched from the shadows as the sword pierced through the back of the stuffed toy. Panda went limp.

The boy laughed, high-pitched.

"That was a bit dark," the girl said, a little disapprovingly.

"Well, he did warn him," the new boy said snidely. "Besides, he was probably a spy from the Iridescent Wastes. Why else would he look like a rainbow puke bear?"

The boy discarded the teddy bear, and the three left the field towards a path to the edge of a small town. The Monster rushed to the stuffed toy and clutched him tightly.

"My old friend," The Monster moaned.

Panda did not respond. His little bowtie lay crooked, held on by a string.

The Monster sobbed, because how couldn't he? He was alone in this strange world to save a boy who didn't want saving, and lost the closest he had to a companion.

The sun melted into the horizon and cast long shadows over the grassy fields, and The Monster craved his little hideaway under the cozy bed. He crept to the edge of town, skittering across cobblestone streets. He knew well how to camouflage, and that he did when townspeople passed by with their oil lanterns.

A small tailor's shop sat at the corner of a long strip of shops, and The Monster scuttled over to the rich fabrics and glistening buttons in the window. He clutched the teddy bear tightly, and crawled in through the open door. The tailor, done with his long day, closed the shop door and locked it. He blew out the lamps that lit his workstation and proceeded to bed.

The Monster waited until the coast was clear, and searched around for an appropriate needle and thread. He wasn't adept at stitching, having only seen it as a small Monster many years ago, but gently he poked the stuffing back in and jaggedly stitched closed the hole in Panda's chest. He took a small piece of ribbon and wrapped it around his wrist to keep his small friend secure.

The Monster waited for the tailor to retire to bed. He crawled underneath, holding the stuffed bear aloft. He hoped the Under-the-Bed network worked in webbed comics. He felt around with his clawed hands until they grabbed onto the crook in the wooden floorboards. He smiled, sharp and toothy, as a jagged passage revealed itself to him.

--

Panda woke up in a sweat, which was strange because he had never once sweat before. He shifted in bed, and felt strange, like he was much, much too long. His fur was all on top of his scalp, the rest replaced by soft, smooth flesh. His eyes had lashes, and his little bowtie was replaced by a pajamas.

"What am I?" he asked, and even his voice was different, less squeaky and more... Human?

"We await your orders, my Prince," a soldier announced from the door.

"Prince?" Panda repeated. "Prince of what?"

The soldier looked at him with mild concern and embarrassment. "Apologies, it is early still. I will ask your personal attendant to assist you."

Suddenly a whole team of people were poking and prodding Panda, and he remembered idly how he got passed around and brushed and dressed and tossed about during a birthday party once, and wasn't this sort of similar?

He was brought down to breakfast, and that was a little more out of his depth. He didn't quite have a mouth, or teeth, or any sort of involvement with food before. He pushed the food around with a fork, trying to judge what was and was not supposed to be part of the food. The cloth seemed safe enough, but he got strange looks trying to nibble that. Thankfully the attendants assumed he had no appetite, and he was able to skip the whole thing.

In the drawing room, scary-looking men were peppering him with questions. "I believe we are at a disadvantage trying to flank them from the west side," the General said. "I say we sacrifice the new recruits to get them off-guard, then head them off in the mountains. They'll think they're winning and get sloppy."

"S-sacrifice people?" Panda said. "No! Don't do that!"

The General gave him an odd look. "My Prince, are you well? You yourself proposed the idea."

"W-well, it was a bad idea," Panda said, eyes sparkling with tears. "It sounds like we have a lot of big feelings, but we should use our words when we're hurting. Not hurt other people."

The General crinkled his nose. "My Liege, are you mocking me?"

Panda crumpled into tears. "No! No, no no and I don't get what's going on!" He wailed.

The military commanders and lords looked helplessly at the Royal Advisor, who in turn looked upon the Prince with a mixture of morbid fascination and disgust.

"Perhaps you should retire early, my Prince," the Royal Advisor said.

Panda grimaced. He looked over the map before him and whimpered. He tried his best to be brave, but this was far outside his element. The Royal Advisor gently guided him out the door.

"Perhaps he has... Reverted to a more child-like state as a result of the accident?" one of the Lords in attendance murmured.

"The Prince did take quite a fall," another agreed.

The door shut behind them, and the Royal Advisor guided Panda back to the Prince's room.

"Rest now, sire," the Royal Advisor said. Panda nodded uncertainly. The door closed and he dropped to the floor.

"...Monster?" He called from below the bed.

It was silly to half-expect his old friend to be underneath, but-- apparently not silly enough. From the floorboards appeared the telltale fanged creature, long claws climbing up from a set of endless Nightmare stairs.

"Monster!" Panda cried, and threw his arms around the beast, who flailed and hissed at the unexpected embrace. The Monster slipped out of his grasp and fled to a far corner, wild-eyed and heaving. The teddy bear slipped from the ribbon and fell to the floor.

"Who are you," The Monster said, baring fangs, "Who calls upon a wretched creature such as I."

Gently, Panda picked up the teddy bear and tilted his head. "You... You kept me," he said softly. He hugged his old body close. "You do care."

A low, beastly rumble from the back of the beast's throat. The Monster slowly lowered his shoulders, anger and fear replaced by curiosity. "...Panda?" he asked, uncertain, "Is that you?"

"Yes, Monster. I explained isekais to you, right?" Panda explained. "Death in an old world, and rebirth in a new one!"

"But you died in the new world," The Monster said. "Are you trapped here?"

Panda shook his head. "I don't know. What's important is getting the boy to safety. We'll figure the rest out later."

A child goes missing late one night after investigating a light emanating from their closet. The Child's teddy bear and the monster that lives under the bed must put aside their differences and form a truce in order to rescue the child.

The Green Scarf

CW: blood, head wound, hospitalization

Gerard kept a brisque pace in the snow-covered sidewalk, the frigid air colder still as the sun sank into the horizon. It was hardly the time to dawdle, but something in the air seemed not quite right, almost sinister in its unnatural silence.

It was then his eye caught the little droplets of red scattered in the snow, leading up the steps to the main school building. Probably nothing, he told himself. Best keep moving.

He heard a soft whimper.

Reluctantly Gerard ascended the steps to a small bush, behind which lay a prone figure, face-down and much too motionless.

That scarf.

He'd know that obnoxious green scarf anywhere.

"Blair?"

His heart thrummed in his chest. He gently rolled the body over. Blair. The absolute thorn in his side since day one of university.

He shook him briskly.

"Blair!"

Scoff.

"I should leave you like this after the way you embarrassed me yesterday," Gerard said aloud, mostly to himself. "Serves you right."

No response. It settled like a lead weight in his stomach.

Blair's skin was much too gray, much too dull. His breathing, much too weak.

Red... Pooling from the back of his head. He wrapped Blair's stupid scarf around the wound.

He checked his radial pulse. Faint.

Gerard groaned and glanced around for anyone to shove this responsibility onto.

No one. Of course not.

"Blair. BLAIR." He patted his cheek insistently. "Wake up. I am NOT carrying you."

Why wasn't Blair wearing gloves? Or a coat? Where'd he get that head wound?

That wasn't his business, Gerard decided. Well beyond his business.

His rival getting hypothermia, on the other hand...

He called emergency services.

"High than normal call volume. Wait time is 2 hours--"

He screamed a curse.

Moving Blair proved tricky. Not just the dead weight, but he had no way to determine if there was a neck injury on top of the head injury. The stairs would also be tricky.

He needed something to drag him with, and there was really only one thing that would do.

"You'll owe me BIG for this," he grumbled, pulling off his overcoat. He rolled Blair onto the overcoat unceremoniously and began dragging him down the stairs. The snow kept bunching into piles, slowing the forward pull. The cold made Gerard's teeth chatter, and he kept muttering curses with each merciless gust of wind.

He reached his apartment and threw open the door, snowflakes scattering across the front entry. With one final pull Blair was in, and he kicked his legs out of the way to slam the door shut.

"God, even when you're unconscious, you're still trouble," Gerard grumbled, turning on a space heater with shaking hands.

He felt Blair's pulse. Weak, but still there. He assessed the head wound. The bleeding seemed to have slowed. His hands were cold. Gerard pulled him near the space heater and bundled him in a blanket.

With little other option, he gathered first aid supplies. Antiseptic on the head wound, proper dressing.

The warmth was bringing color back to Blair's cheeks. Gerard's eyes pricked with tears, and he picked up Blair's cold hand in his.

"You'll be okay," he muttered. "You'll be back to that obnoxiously chattery self in no time, right? I'd better enjoy the silence while I can."

He laughed at himself for that, and quickly wiped away a hot tear.

A voice in his pocket broke the silence, and he quickly dropped the hand.

"Emergency services. What is the nature and location of your emergency?"

Oh. Right. He'd been on hold. He picked up the phone and explained the situation to the best of his ability, a bit flustered.

Emergency services arrived. Gerard rode with him, because wasn't that the right thing to do?

Blair came to about an hour later.

"Blair!" Gerard started towards him.

A moment of relief cut short.

"Gerard?" Blair spat, a note of disgust.

"Oh, shut up," Gerard grumped. Sat back.

"What the hell are you doing here? And-- wait, is this the hospital?!"

"Well, it's not the morgue," Gerard snapped.

"Why the hell did you ATTACK ME?!"

"Me? ME?!" Gerard held back the urge to strangle Blair. "I just dragged your sorry ass across town, and you're blaming ME?!"

Blair felt the back of his head. "Well, SOMEONE hit my head!"

"It'll be me soon if you don't drop the attitude," Gerard growled. "I didn't do it. I hate your guts, but I would never stoop that low."

"You wouldn't?" Blair quirked his brow skeptically.

"You're so much cuter when you're concussed," Gerard grumbled.

Chattering down the hall.

"Your friends are here," Gerard said. "Maybe ask one of them who had enough of your bull."

He stood to leave, but Blair caught his wrist.

"No. Wait. You really didn't do it?" Blair searched his eyes. "What d'you mean, you dragged me across town?"

Gerard yanked at his wrist. "Let go," he said.

"You brought me here?"

He didn't want to meet Blair's eyes.

"You really brought me to the hospital?"

"You were in front of the school," Gerard didn't answer. Didn't meet his eyes. "Just... Did what anyone would do."

"Yeah. Okay." Blair let go. "...Okay."

"Get better soon, asshole," Gerard said. He stormed out just as the group of well-wishers rushed in.

Arrived home. Realized Blair's stupid green scarf was still on the floor of his apartment.

Blair would definitely come back for it.

He kicked it across the room in frustration. Then proceeded to wash it in cold water.

//AN Sorry for not posting much this last week! I've been struggling to write and not really happy with anything, but I felt I should try to post something. Anyway, I hope you're all doing all right in the New Year. Thank you so much for reading!!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The Beast (Part 4)

The soft hum of cooling fans and the clacking of keys were the only sound in the small and dimly lit room. A CCTV feed trained on a small kennel displayed on a screen in the far corner. The villain glanced over at the first sign of movement.

Their patient was waking up, but they would have to wait. The villain was on the verge of a discovery.

Their patient's blood had been genetically modified. Expertly, gorgeously. Though the effects seemed to be leveling out over time, their muscular growth was abnormally rapid. Any small injuries showed accelerated healing.

The growth affected their larynx, unfortunately. Given the patient was able to preserve a certain level of cognition, other organs adjusted appropriately...

Loss of speech was a... Strange side effect.

The bones and muscles were proportionately mutated, practically symmetrical. Organs matched the rapid growth of the body. Their patient grew into a theoretically sustainable form. The fact that they survived at all was a miracle.

Their patient might not be so lucky if they attempt to revert back.

Whoever was responsible did not stop at one. The mutation was much too precise and refined. This was a team and decades of research. Money.

So, who had the resources for this kind of human experimentation?

The MRI offered something of a clue. A small device, implanted at the base of the patient's skull. Whoever set this transformation into motion expected the patient to roam free. The villain extracted the device too late, well over 24 hours. It was active.

Someone would come to collect their experiment soon.

The villain best prepare for their guest.

-

The hero paced the kennel with growing panic. They had misjudged the villain's capacity for harm, clearly. They kept running their hands along the stitches on the back of their head.

Breath in. Breath out.

They needed a plan of escape.

The floor and walls were solid concrete. Thick iron bars reenforced the door. There was a small gap between the door and floor. A much larger gap between the iron bars and the ceiling. Not large enough to squeeze through.

The first rule of imprisonment, find your captor's motive. Their eyes flicked to the CCTV trained on their kennel. There wasn't enough room to escape, but their inhumanly long claws could reach the camera.

They smiled devilishly. If their captor wanted to spy, they'd have to work for it. They climbed up the iron bars and reached for the small camera. Their claws clamped around the device, and they yanked.

Wiring crackled as the connections snapped.

They threw the camera on the concrete as hard as they could. Surprisingly sturdy.

Good.

They grabbed the camera and beat it against the ground, over and over, until it cracked into was a mess of circuitry and plastic. They imagined the villain's skull.

Shouting down the hall, followed by a loud THUD.

Silence.

The hero readied themselves to lunge, but they stopped short.

Their breath caught at the unexpected figure before them.

"Hero, it's me. I've come to save you."

The hero sobbed in relief.

Superhero.

AN// Thank you so much for reading and asking to be tagged @sausages-things @whump-till-ya-jump @jumpywhumpywriter @galaxysmask !!!

Gorgeous. I could stare at these all day.

This year has been quite trying, but I'm happy that I discovered a love of making these horse animations in 2023.

"That's what I keep saying!" you cry. "I'm mid at best!"

"You are," they growled.

You fidget in your seat.

"And yet," their eyes flicked at you, seething. "And yet, they chose you."

Your eyes cast downward. "Y-yeah."

"Why?"

"I was... There, I guess," you say with a shrug. "It was chance. They needed a writer, I just wanted to be part of something. I didn't know I'd be creating a whole new dimesion to save the world. I swear."

"They should have chosen me," they growled. "Do you know how long I worked for this? And they pass me up for some rando they found on the street?!"

"Y-yeah. I mean... Yeah!" You stand up. "Why would they choose me? I'm not ready for this yet! I should quit."

"Wait, wait, wait," they said, gripping your arm, looking even angrier. "Don't just quit. Do you have any idea the kind of opportunity you have right now?!"

"Wait..." You look at them, anxious and unsure. "I thought you said--"

"You can't just throw away an opportunity like this!!! Do you even know what you have?!" they pulled you back down to your seat. "You don't deserve this opportunity-- frankly, don't quit your day job. But... But you walk away, and there's no way you'll get back in."

"So..." You nibble on your lip. "What now, then?"

They give a long suffering sigh. "You're going to need my help." They pulled out a pack of red correction pens.

"So you're the so-called writer I've heard soo much about, huh" flips quickly through the pages of your drafts and scoffs "pathetic"