"Do I Even Have A Purpose?"

Look, writer’s block is not some giant, mysterious monster. It’s you, in your head, holding yourself back because you’re afraid what you’re writing sucks. And here’s the truth, yeah, maybe it does suck. But you know what? That’s okay. Writing something bad is still better than writing nothing at all. You don’t wait for inspiration to strike, you show up, write the garbage draft, and then fix it later. Writing isn’t about perfection, it’s about getting it done. Even if it’s one crappy page at a time.

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.

Prompt (517)

“People don’t take me seriously enough,” the villain said. “How can I look more intimidating?”

“Well, for starters, you can stop inviting your enemies to lunch dates to survey them,” the hero said.

The villain chuckled sarcastically, but wrote the answer down anyway. The hero sipped their coffee. A wry smile curled their lips.

“You’re paying, right?” The hero asked.

“Shut up. Yes. Next question.”

Scraps

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The medals we earn adorn their necks

The food we prepare they rend and scrape

Their clean homes, our cracked skin

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

The spreadsheets, waivers, all-nighters

The mandatory overtime, 'voluntary' vacation

As family, friends, community becomes strangers

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They bathe excess in bleach

Destroy 'out-of-season' and 'imperfect'

Unwanted treasure that never trickles down

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They shrink the box and raise the price

Formula and cinnamon with lead filler

Locked away from desperate hands

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

They take your words and art

Remove the feeling and the context

But most importantly, the watermark

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Big words not meant for us

They'll pulverize until the pain means nothing

Your screams are taken as aggression

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

Cries in the waiting room, unheard

Life is precious, they'll say to bodies

Who in neglect, turned to corpses

We're scraps to feed for larger mouths

In fear, they cut us smaller

Yet they shovel mouthfuls much too quickly

The scraps will make them choke

Prompt #82(pt. 2)

(Y'all begged for a part 2, so here it is! Enjoy ;)

Part 1

By @writingpromptsworld

The villain huffed, their cheeks tinting a shade of red. They hoped it wasn’t noticeable to the hero. They were already feeling so embarrassed. “What do you know about being a villain.” They tried to sound annoyed.

The hero didn’t stop, though. They snorted, taking another step forward. “I was one, a long time ago.” The villain looked into their eyes; all they could see was honesty. 

“Right, sure. I believe that.” They babbled. How could the number one hero ever have been a villain? From what they could recall, the hero had endangered their life more than multiple times to save the civilians. 

The hero’s lips widened again, their eyes crinkling at the corners. It was hard not to stare at the hero. The villain licked their lips nervously. 

“You’re rather cute, you know that?” The hero teased further. 

The villain swallowed. “You–...what?” Their eyes widened, caught off guard. They were about to lose their cool and fall to their knees. It wasn’t fair– what the hero was doing. Using the villain’s inexperience to their advantage. 

“What? You are. First of all, you come in here, again,  sniffing my coat rather confidently. And lying about it–you’re not hard to read even in the dark. Then you ogle me shamelessly. I mean, how cute can you get, you know?” 

The villain let out an involuntary whine. 

The hero brought up a hand to the villain’s cheek, and the villain immediately nuzzled into it. “You should leave.” 

The villain didn’t move. 

“So desperate, it’s almost pathetic.” The hero mused, their thumb gently caressing the villain’s cheekbone. The villain sighed in response. 

The villain opened their eyes; their faces were a breath away. They stared at the hero's lips. The hero smirked, before closing the gap and kissing them.

The villain, in fact, stayed there the whole night.

2024 Art Wrap

This was a big animation year for me. It’s really nice to do these art wraps to remind myself all the work I’ve accomplished.

See how I make room guardians on my Patreon!

Part 1

The Beast (Part 2)

The hero awoke. Still disoriented, they stared at their hands.

Claws.

Last they knew... They had transformed into some kind of beast and taken refuge in the villain's warehouse. The villain then tranquilized them.

The room appeared to be some kind of kennel. Concrete floor and walls, and sturdy iron bars with a locked door. Something soft beneath them-- a bed and blanket. They rolled to stand. Something clinked, and they felt a pull on their neck. A collar chained to the concrete wall.

A beast chained to a wall.

Ironically, they were in the one place where being a beast was safer than their real form. If they managed to escape, they weren't safe outside--

Deep breaths.

They just needed to call--... Well, text someone the situation. Surely someone would come save them.

They reached down and felt only fur.

Only fur.

They couldn't focus. They couldn't breathe.

Even their breathing sounded monstrous--

Their thoughts were interrupted by the creak and scrape of the kennel door opening and closing. They scurried under a blanket.

Villain.

"Good morning, darling," the villain cooed. They were dressed head to toe in protective clothing. "How did you sleep?"

The hero grit their teeth. They wanted to demand to be let out, to scream for help. They wanted to proclaim they were a human, not some beast--

All that came out was a horrible yowl.

"Shh sh-shhh... Don't worry, I'm here now." They brushed the hero's face with their fingertips. "Are you hungry?"

The beast snapped.

"I'll take that as a yes," the villain chuckled. They pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Bring him in."

A horrible scream echoed through the corridor.

"What's going on? Where are you taking me? I'll make you regret this!!"

Two henchmen stopped at the door holding a writhing prisoner. They wrenched a bag off his head. His indignant cries became a small whimper.

"Meet my beloved new pet." The villain threw a hand around the prisoner's shoulder. "They haven't been fed recently. Do you know how hard it is to find good, fresh meat? Do you have any pets?"

"W-what is that thing," the man stammered.

I'm human, the hero wanted to scream. I'm human, and I can help you. They pulled hard against their chains, even as the man trembled in fright.

"Gorgeous," the villain said proudly. "And very hungry."

"Fine! I'll give you the codes! Anything! J-just get me away from that thing!"

That thing.

The hero shrank back.

That thing.

They retreated to the back of the cage.

That thing.

Tears sprang from their eyes. They tried to wipe them away with furry hands.

The villain seemed to notice their struggle, and that made it all the worse.

"Take the prisoner to the drawing room," the villain said. "I'll follow in a moment."

Both the prisoner and henchmen, eager to leave, clamored out of the room.

The villain turned to the beast before them.

The hero curled into a ball, hiding their tear-streaked face.

"What's wrong, darling?"

A small, plaintive whine. The hero shook in a futile effort to contain their sorrow. They hated themselves for crying in front of the villain.

The villain laid a gentle hand on their back.

"Look at me," the villain said.

The hero turned to them with haunted eyes.

"I'm sorry, darling. I can tell that upset you deeply." The villain softly stroked their fur. "The way he yelled at you. I'll make him regret those words. I promise."

The hero shook their head vigorously.

"No?"

The villain pet them absentmindedly, deep in thought.

"Wait... You can understand me, can't you?"

The beast hesitated. Nodded.

The villain looked a bit taken aback. "Oh. I see. Oh my. I thought-- well, can you speak?"

A yowl. The hero shook their head. They pulled at the fur on their arm.

"This form is... New?"

Nod.

"You're trapped in this form." The villain gave them a look of intrigue. "Oh. Oh my. What caused this? Do you know?"

The hero shook their head.

The villain clapped their hands. "Oh, oh, very exciting, very exciting." They patted the hero's back, who snarled indignantly. "We'll get to the bottom of this, you and I. This is fascinating."

The hero had a very, very bad feeling about this.

Part 3

CW: Violence

Beware, friend

story by @yeehawpim and illustrated by @rvicta

Beautiful arc and a good sense of weight

jumping fishboy :3

also quality is bad as before womp womp :c

Malcom had lived a good five centuries on Earth, and not once had he seen such stupid, brazen audacity. He rubbed his eyes and blinked tiredly at the man in front of him. "First-- Goodness... What... What makes you think I want to help you?"

"I'll give you blood, sir," Emmett said, yanking his sleeve much too readily. "Or... Money? Please say blood."

Malcom crinkled his nose and gave him a once-over. "Listen, I don't know where you came from, or what you're in, but what makes you think you can just walk up to someone on the subway a-and just ask for something like that?"

"Why's it so weird? I want my mind stronger." Emmett clapped Malcom on the back, and Malcom glared daggers. "Maybe we can even help you fix your... Uh... Mind control difficulties? Make a game out of it."

"Listen, hush, will you? Also, what difficulties?! My mind control is fine!" Malcom took a deep breath and worried his lip. "Also, quit saying vampire this, mind-control that. You're freaking people out." He shook out a newspaper and hid behind it.

"Oh wow. I didn't even know they still made those." Emmett said, flicking the paper. "Do they? Is that from this century?"

"They sell them in supermarkets," Malcom sniffed.

"Oh wow, so they do. Sorry to question you, grandpa." Emmett grinned cheekily. "Hey, maybe I can teach you what we use in modern times. Do you know what the internet is?"

Malcom gave him a deadpan look and held up his smartphone. "Sometimes I just like print better," he said. "Now go find some other poor sucker to pester."

Emmett stared at him with an almost hungry look, and gripped the newspaper. "Make me," he said.

Malcom grimaced. "This is some sort of weird fetish, isn't it? Let me sit you down and tell you about a little thing called consent. No means no."

"Listen," Emmett said, suddenly very serious. He seemed like he was having difficulties getting the words out. "I... Killed... Under a demon's orders. It was... I swore I'd never do it again. And I've seen you around. We take the same route almost every day. And you seem... Safe."

Malcom was at a loss for words. Emmett's pleading tone moved him, to be sure. But more than that, he knew how it felt to be a puppet.

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret this," Malcom muttered. "Listen, Emmett... Fine. I take Venmo. I won't say no to a little blood too. Nothing from the vein. All the hair and arm sweat-- just-- no. Get some sterile needles, wipe it down, get it in a bag or bottle for me. You're not diseased, are you?"

"Not that I know of, sir," Emmett said.

"And quit calling me sir. It makes me feel old."

"Good day, good sir. I would like to be put under mind control" "I… I'm sorry… It's just… People usually don't offer volunter to do that." "Oh, it's just that I need to practice how to get free once in a while to not get rusty."