#wee's writing workshop

[weeinterpreter]

Part 6. All is Revealed.

What’s a Trope Bingo?

What’s the Evil Association of Evil Villains?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5][Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

Artemis swallowed. 

"Don't move, Butler," he ordered. It wasn't the best thing to tell a bodyguard. Butler's hand twitched. Several more red dots appeared on the bodyguard's face and chest.

"I'd listen to the boy, if I was you," a voice said from the shadows. Artemis and Butler turned to the familiar woman, stepping into the dimly lit reading room. It was the librarian. Except whereas she had been a mousy bookworm with dull and baggy clothes in the afternoon, she now sported a bloodred figure-hugging suit.

Artemis cleared his throat. "There seems to be a misunderstanding."

"Really? To me, it looks like you tried to break into my library to steal a book."

Two more people joined in the reading room. A gangly man with wide-rimmed glasses pushed a boy forward, a shotgun pushed between his shoulder blades. Artemis' eyes widened when he recognised the boy.

"You?"

The boy looked around with wide eyes. 

"Where am I?"

The librarian stemmed her hands on her hips.

"Really?"

The boy shrugged. "Sleepwalker. It's a horrible condition and-"

"And a lie. Don't play games with me, Alex."

Alex stopped himself, paling at the familiar address. The librarian pushed her hands into the pockets of her tailor-made suit, her cool demeanour returning.

"Yes, I know your name. Knowledge is everything, my dear Alex. Something that would have kept you from getting into trouble."

She gave the man behind Alex a nod, turning to the stairs. 

"Follow me. You can try to flee, of course. In which case, Mr Iljitsch will shoot you in the back. He or the sharpshooters I have positioned throughout the library."

Artemis placed a hand on his bodyguard's arm.

"We'll follow. No need for violence."

The librarian looked over her shoulder and gave him a knowing smile.

"How lovely." 

***

The librarian and her henchmen manoeuvred Alex, Artemis, and Butler to the back of a jeep, keeping them separated from the driver with a darkened screen. A one-way mirror, no doubt about it.

Butler wasn't too worried, despite their captors driving in circles and turning at seemingly every corner. They weren't trained. They hadn't even frisked him. He was still armed and had his personal tracker hidden inside the left sole of his shoe. Arno would easily track them down.

Eventually, they stopped. Butler had to keep himself from rolling his eyes as they were led through an empty warehouse. Such a cliche. He wondered if there would be chains hanging from the wall somewhere. 

Two giant steel doors at the end of the warehouse separated it from another smaller room. It was just as bare, save for three chairs and the hall's back wall, filled with rows and rows of computers, all sending and receiving a plethora of information. 

Butler sighed. The sound reverberated in the space like the sneeze of an elephant in a mausoleum. 

The librarian turned back with a frown.

"You find my lair ridiculous?"

Butler shrugged. "Cliche."

"Do you know what this is?" the librarian asked, pointing up.

Butler, as well as Alex and Artemis, followed her finger and looked at... 

"Books?" Butler asked.

The librarian's frown turned into a grin.

"Indeed. Suspended above your heads are, in fact, 2 tons of books. 1000 copies of War and Peace. Some heavy stuff, isn't it?"

She laughed at her own joke. Her henchmen joined in.

"Are you planning to kill us now?" Artemis asked once their laughter died down.

Butler groaned, but she only chuckled, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Is that what you villains usually do with your prisoners? How diabolical,” she said as she bent over a keyboard, sending out commands. "I need you to get off my back for a bit."

"Then why are we here?"

The librarian leaned against the console, crossing her arms over her maroon suit jacket.

"Your little shenanigans were impeding our progress. First, the almost brainwashing of the entire planet. Then the almost volcano eruption. Then the almost poisoning of the drinking water. You wannabe villains are truly busy."

Butler frowned. "Are you also villains?"

The librarian scoffed. "Geez, of course not. We're the Association of Librarians."

Butler knitted his eyebrows, but he couldn't place this Association. He had heard of the Association of Evil Actors, the Association of Evil Whisky Drinkers, even the Association of Evil Coffee Drinkers, but Librarians? That one was new. 

Regardless, they needed to distract the librarians for a little while longer until Arno arrived. All he needed to do was to ask a few questions to keep the librarian engaged. Standard procedure.

"Is the Association of Librarians part of the Evil Leprechaun Coven?"

The librarian glared, but before she could answer, a white cat sprinted into the room. Following her was Opal Koboi. And following her, albeit slower, was Jon.

"No, Diamond!" Opal screamed, as the cat jumped into the arms of the librarian. "Don't run to the evil woman!"

"Diamond?" The librarian made a disapproving sound and stroked the cat's fur. "Her name is Mata Hari,” she said and noticing the understanding dawning on Artemis' face, the corners of her mouth turned up. "Much better suited, wouldn't you say?"

Her henchmen pointed their weapons at the newly arrived villains, who had the decency to look ashamed.

"We have run out of chairs, but please make yourself at home," the librarian said.

"What's your plan, then?" Butler asked through gritted teeth. "World domination?"

"I'd rather call it a new world order."

Alex snorted.

"Let me guess. Everybody has to bow to you, the new Queen of the World?"

The woman scoffed. "I'm not interested in power, boy. I want the world to pick up books again, rather than wasting their time on social media. I want to educate the world."

Now Alex laughed. "You want to get rid of social media? How?"

The librarian straightened with a sigh.

"Do you like your social media, Alex? Friendstagram, Chirper, ClickClack? Do you surf the internet?"

Alex nodded cautiously.

"What would you do to access these platforms? To open the internet?"

Alex didn't answer, and the librarian turned towards the screens again. "Launch the program, Mr Foaly."

Artemis chuckled. "I see."

Butler lifted an eyebrow. "You do?"

"It's actually quite clever, although not very diabolical."

The librarian inclined her head. "That's why we are the Association of Librarians. Note the missing Evils in the name?”

Alex groaned. "Can somebody please tell me what the plan is?"

"As soon as the program has launched,” the woman explained with a glint in her eyes, "everybody who wants to go online has to solve questions. Anything from General Knowledge to Quantum Physics. If you and your friends want to spend your time watching silly dance challenges or, even worse, compete in them, you'll have to study first. Quite ingenious, if you think about it."

Butler blinked. "That's it?"

Artemis shook his head. "I told you. Not very diabolical. Your plan has a major flaw, though. I know the answer to any question you could ever ask me."

"Who directed Some Like it Hot?"

Artemis opened his mouth. And closed it again. The librarian smirked. She tapped the side of her head.

"Knowledge."

Butler shook his head. "And who decides the type of questions?"

"I'll choose them depending on progression tests as well as the history of consulted books and learning materials."

"Isn't that a violation of my privacy?" Butler asked.

"Looks to me like you are not not evil," Alex chimed in.

The librarian shrugged. "Perhaps I'm not. A good leader sometimes has to utilise force if it's for the good of the people."

"Machiavelli?" Artemis asked. The librarian beamed.

"Very good, Artemis. Keep it up, maybe you can join the Association."

"So, what will happen to us?"

The librarian crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Once we have launched, you can go. Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to do a speech.”

She was almost out of the room when she turned around once more.

"Oh, and one more thing."

She gave Butler an almost apologetic look. "I really didn't want to do this, but it was necessary."

To be continued.

[moon-0f-m4rs]

Mercs with a borrower friendo :3

(this is my 1st time writing anything so ummmmm...... hiii)

Scout

Yaps, yaps and yaps more,, and ya gotta bear it. Like, whenever he was annoying anyone else in the team, they'd just walk away or get him to get away. But now,, cant do nothing about it. At first he definitely took advantage of it, but over time i feel like he'd pay a bit more mind to not being too insufferable. Also, therapy sessions every now nd then. Man needs a bit comfort even if he can't admit it. Hes not that bad when it comes to handling, can be gentle, but also sometimes can get a bit too careless. Oh but he teases alot, alooot. Would get u snacks, but never try bonk..... u'll explode 😓😓

Solider

Before even getting found out by him, you had to have a tiny american flag in ur bag whenever you went out. If you didnt, this guy wouldnt adopt you as THE AMERICAN BORROWER YOU ARE!!! And since, say, you did.......... best dad ever. 10/10. Well i mean,, accidents happen quite some timesss.. (racoons.. or his idiocy) He keeps an eye on ya tho, 24/7. Also, youre probably his only voice of good sense that could shush him down whenever he gets a bit dum dum, thats appreciated by everyone.

Pyro

Dress ups, tea parties and some arson on the side since he provides u matches. At first he was way too curious about you to be gentle, but over time he learnt to be carefull. Likes touchin u, prodding and tapping and stuff. Keeps him aware ur real and not am image in his head. He would definitely make crafts for u, like just minature sized objects or something like that. Would get really attached, so, you get scary dog privilege :3

Demoman

Wee lil' friend you are hes rather fond of. Hes caring and protective all the time. When he gets sloshed, he just becomes grabby, clingy nd loud. At times, just cuz hes used to do so, tries to get you to drink sum with him (if you're an adult ofc). This guy stuffs pepole up with granades on a daily, but would never hurt someone smaller than himself. Sometimes u gotta remind him to be quieter, but tbh, if youre living next to an everyday battlefield, your ears should be well used to it by now.

Heavy

A presence he doesn't rrly mind. When hes not in battle hes a quiet man, just going through his day, so having a tiny bud on the shoulder is no issue. He'd be pretty scared of handling said bud tho, ees hard to be careful when being beeg man. But you can always just stay in the pocket or as i said already, shoulder. Guaranteed food around him too. Heavy does not mind sharing sandvich with leetle leetle friend.

Engineer

Workshop assistant :D Every borrower must know how to make tools, atleast the basics, and i feel like he'd be amused by these but in a positive way. He would definitely make tiny functioning thingys for ya. And now if we dont care about the amount of noise, a small wrangler to you and you can shoot with his sentry meanwhile hes occupied with something else on the battlefield. Super fun and caring guy, one of the few that know what personal space means tbh.

Sniper

Rather antisocial typa guy, so if you're around him then its either just sitting in silence or a small talk about either his job or whatever you have to offer. I also dont feel like he'd be overly touchy in any situation. He sometimes can offer you resting somewhere on him; hat, shoulder, pocket, whatever you like. But thats for whenever he's not sniping. He'd rather not get startled by a move and miss the shot.

Medic

It all.. ALL depends on how he found you, what mood he had and overall what was his first thought he had about you. And if it was all somewhat positive, then another assistant you are. He could get a full review of how it is when inside of a human body from u!!!! fun ain't it? :D He wouldnt really go out his way to be careful, at first at least. Later on he might give some respect, if you prove yourself to be productive and entertaining that is. Archimedes would definitely be interested in you, taking you as their own.

Spy

He wouldnt be too invested in you, maybe sometimes taking you on the battlefield as a extra set of eyes or something. Also it would be a pain to even spend time with him since his smoke room would be a literal gas chamber. But maybe he'd let you just ride along in some pocket, as long as you kept it clean, and just.. do spy duties idk. Maybe if he got you some of your own mini gadgets then mini spy???? hhhmmmm??? im outta ideas for him idk

hon hon france

uuhhh... yea (this took me like 2 weeks my god)

[fortloser]

Hello again! Sooo kinda a personal question but what was yalls childhoods like?

(Also, hope u feel better snipes!)

-Terror

Hallo everyone! I finally got my hands on those portraits! Now most of the others became rather uncomfortable when I started questioning them about their youths. I got answers ranging from “why are you so bloody intrested in how im doing! There’s nothing special about me or my childhood, now bugger off.” to more reasonable explanations. I tried calling Scout on his cellular device but he seemed very preoccupied. Oh well, he’ll get back to you on that, onto the testimonies! Brace yourself friends this will be somewhat lengthy.

I first approached herr Demo, and getting him to open up was fairly easy. His favorite alcoholic beverage and a snack did the trick!

“ It must be me birthday if yer spoiling me rotten doc, I guess I can share something about me youth if yer willing to lend an ear. I grew up in Glencoe Scotland, a great place if you like trails and hiking. Me mum and dad were professional monster hunters and me being the wee little lad that I was wanted to impress em with the greatest catch any child could give their parents, the Loch Ness monster! I did it all on me own but it came at a cost,,”

After that herr demo just stared off in the distance and I made a mental note to ask him more about that later, The Engineer was also very open about his youth! I came to him shortly after dinner knowing he would be busying himself with one of his long-term projects and would enjoy some company, his leg was still a little stiff from a rather nasty fall and so movement was difficult at times. He was more than happy to talk while I assisted.

“Luckenbach Texas, everybody is somebody there. It was recently bought by a goat farmer. Can you believe that? He called himself an Imagineer and after that, a bunch of hillbilly musicians started moving in. Can't complain though, It breathed new life into my home, I hated going back and seeing the state it was in. My mom and pop own a small pig farm there, and I still try to visit though unlike my good-for-nothing twin with his stupid fancy job at “NASA”,,

I don't think I should share his personal frustration about his twin with the public so let's move on, yes? The next day I approached Heavy, he was last on my list and seemingly already aware of me interrogating the entire team, and as he was cleaning his minigun he told me to take a seat.

“You want to know about heavy, Da? Then I will tell you about heavy. Grew up in big town near mountain, you would not know it. Had big family, many sisters and brothers but Heavy was oldest. Family was poor but happy, loved summer, snow would melt and grass and flowers would show, heavy likes this. Went to good school had many friends, now heavy works to give family same life. Doctor is happy  with answer?”

I was surprised he was so willing to talk about his youth, I politely thanked him and left to prepare for that day's battle, I suppose that only leaves me left.

I was born in Germany, my mother was German and my father was Dutch and they both moved to Germany so my mother could be close to her family, he was a watchmaker and she was an artist, this relationship did not last and they got divorced. My motherstayed in germany allowing my father to raise me on his own back in the netherlands. I spent a lot of time in my father's workshop while he was trying to fix up old clocks. I didn't have many friends but who needs them when you have books and wildlife to observe? I excelled in all of my studies and pursued medicine, and eventually ended up here writing to you after I just finished up patching the last of my colleagues.

Stay healthy

With kind regards medic

[petruchio]

sorry, this is SUCH a specific ass question (and SO not a criticism of your work i love it!!!) but why do you think both Annie and Finnick would have volunteered? I know 4 is a career district, but I thought that it wasn't until graduating the academy that the tribute-to-be would volunteer - which in turn added to the careers' lethality in general. surely, if someone from the academy volunteered every year, the fear of being actually chosen in the reaping would be way less effective? I had always assumed that the academy was less an established and open school but more under the (official) radar but still known 'workshop' - and that there might not have been a 'graduate' willing to go every year. I think its a really interesting angle to go with that at 14, Finnick put himself in the arena so to speak, rather than an unlucky child who made the best out of a bad situation of being reaped because of his looks and could then never escape fully etc and then Annie?? who seemed frightened in the arena to begin with? hiding not hunting? did she bite off more than she could chew?? when did the game become too real?? what happened if two graduates wanted to volunteer at the same time?? much to chew on, it's not that deep, sorry, but I just love having a wee discussion xoxo

nooo it's an AMAZING question and also like, i love nothing more than talking about the INSANE thoughts i have about thg as well as the EVEN MORE INSANE thoughts i have while writing my fanfics so i am SO HAPPY to discuss!!!

so the reason i think they both volunteered is honestly bc i think like... it makes it even more interesting?? so obviously i have reasons for doing what i did in the fanfic and i also just have some general thoughts about 4 as a career district so i'll try to answer my general thinking first and then explain why i did what i did in my story

so -- generally i just think 4 being a career district is SUPER interesting given the winners that we have being finnick, annie, and mags. because katniss tells us in the first book that 1, 2, and 4 are the career districts but i think it's clear from the jump that 4 is kind of the dark horse in that lineup -- because even in book 1, she focuses WAY more on the tributes from 1 and 2 as the "careers" that she's the most intimidated by and the most threatening to her -- we don't really get all that much about district 4 in book 1 at all, so it kind of piques your interest -- because if 4 is *as much* of a career district as 1 and 2, why don't we get anything about those tributes like we do on the level of marvel/glimmer/cato/clove?? we DON'T!

and then ofc we get book 2 and the first person from 4 we meet is finnick, and at first he SEEMS like he's just another capitol pet -- but the more we get to know him, the more we realize he ISN'T, he's actually probably one of the biggest rebels we have in the entire series. in a way, he's kind of the centerpiece to the whole thing (and he shows up at like, basically the exact midpoint of the series) (i'm thinking, just for example, of the fact that finnick and annie parallel katniss and peeta in so many ways, the way that finnick ends the story by dying but his child lives on meaning the story ends with a child from a fatherless home just as it began, the way finnick is the one to point out katniss' genuine love for peeta, the way finnick is the one that creates "real or not real" by suggesting that it's "what annie does," -- i could go on. but he's genuinely one of the most central characters of the whole series and his introduction sets in motion basically the entire back half of the narrative)

so that's all to say that, i DO think 4 is a career district (bc the text establishes it) but i also think we're sort of meant to understand that it's DIFFERENT -- but it’s up to you in what way you imagine it to be different beyond what we're told in the text (basically that bc their industry is fishing/procuring food, they just have a natural tendency to be like, well fed and fit, which means training for the games is probably a pretty easy thing to do, and they can all swim/handle weapons (similarly to how we see johanna being able to wield an axe -- the industry of the district has a large effect on its people))

SO. kind of how i imagine it in my head, is that while 4 *is* a career district, the idea of winning being an honor is a bit different than it would be in 1 or 2. so when i was brainstorming, basically my thought is like, let's say they do have some kind of training academy (i agree with you that it would probably be less formal than what i wrote it to be, but that's just what i did for that story haha) but my thinking was what if it was kind of like ... a last chance kind of place? as in, it's not a competitive honor like it would be in 1 or 2, but like, if, for example, you're poor or an orphan or your parents need to get rid of you, they send you "away" to train for the games as a way of kind of controlling you. kind of like an extension of the tesserae system that we see enacted in all the districts. because four has enough resources (food-wise) that people probably aren't signing up for tesserae in the same way they would be in twelve, the sort of proxy for it that i imagine would be training for the games. if you win, you get money and glory. if you don't, well, you were probably going to die or have a terrible life anyway, so what's the loss?

because yeah, it IS weird that finnick won at fourteen and annie won despite being "mad" if they have some sort of formal training. but what if the reason they were pushed to volunteer is because they were the best of whatever crop of people that four had that year? (is this making any sense??) like, they were the best because although four might have "careers" they aren't really there because they WANT the glory of winning, but because they have no other choice than to try? (and also on the topic of annie not really fighting -- we actually don't really know that. we only know that she runs off "after" the partner gets beheaded, but we don't know when that was in the games. i kind of imagine it was like, halfway through or something, so she could've been holding it together/fighting fine for the first half but that moment was what tipped her over the edge. just some food for thought.)

so for the purposes of my story, i tried to figure out backstories of both finnick and annie that would've tracked for them being kind of "sent away" to school -- i was kind of thinking of the trope of being sent away to boarding school or some kind of military school that you see often in teen shows -- so in the story i wrote, finnick is this sort of "naughty" kid that gets by on charm and looks and his parents, in their attempt to keep him out of trouble, send him to train for the games as a way to kind of whip him into shape. and then my backstory for annie was that her mother died and her father didn't really want her around, so she put herself into the school as a way to get out of a bad situation. so for both of them, it was a *choice* -- but it wasn't really THEIR choice, it was more like, this was their best option in a world where they had pretty terrible options available to them. so that's how i landed where i did for the fic.

anyway all of that is just like, purely from my head!! i don't think there's much textual evidence to support any reading any which way, but it was one of my impulses when writing the story to try to find a way to fit all of their backstories together in a way that aligned with the very few lines we do get in the books about them -- so i was like, how do i make them career volunteers but ALSO make them make sense as the characters we meet in catching fire and mockingjay? and that was what i endeavored to do!!

[riddle-me-ri]

Since you want Smut what about Arkham Mad Hatter fem!S/O riding him while saying “You look so good beneath me.” 

A/N: whelp, looks like i’m gonna go cry…asdffgh I haven’t even gotten the opportunity to write Jervis like…well not normal..but non-smutty rip. Well, nothing like going off into the deep end of the pool (I’ve actually done that at the wee age I don’t recommend it but I miss that fearlessness tho) shout out to @mischievous-marchie whose loving, adoring ramblings of him has helped immensely with this.

Trigger Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI explicit sexual content (cowgirl position, unprotected sex, biting), and strong language

Word Count: 1.9 k

Arkhamverse Mad Hatter x F!Reader - A Midnight Surprise 

It truly was a miracle. 

Your sweet, loving, devoting Jervis was back home. 

After being under Strange’s selfish, cruel, and calculated thumb for a few years. Jervis was a free man like his other fellow rogues after the Protocol 10 ruling. Albeit stripped of his equipment, his work, and the time away from you. Strange had spun a convoluted tale of your demise to Jervis, beginning his quest for Alice anew. 

You were always there though, always alive. Jervis didn’t even believe it was you, he was so twisted and confused from Strange’s shrilling cacophony of lies. 

It’s been slow going, but your Jervis was finally coming back around. His eyes lit up whenever they met yours, his neutral smile ultimately widening like the Cheshire Cat’s in delight at the sight of you. Fractured as his mind was, he was able to piece back the memories of you. 

However some habits don’t change, no matter how much trauma one goes through. 

“Jervis…darling, it’s time to go to bed.” You called from behind the door to his work room. 

“In just a moment, my dear. I’ll come join you in a minute, did you hear?”

You groaned. Pulling this man away from whatever project plagued his mind was almost as difficult as defeating the Jabberwock. 

You had a card up your sleeve however, one that would benefit both you and Jervis. 

You cleared your mind from the lewd tactic you had planned…in exchange for coming up with a decent rhyme. You have been with Jervis long enough to detect when he was experiencing an overwhelming amount of emotion…he tended to rhyme. Not to mention whenever you rhymed back, you could almost see his pupils turn heart shaped.

“Oh, Jervis, please would you join me in bed and stay until morn? Especially if there is a reward..in return?” Okay, that sounded more clever and flirtatious in your head.

Whatever effect you were hoping for, it worked. Jervis spun around from his desk on his beat-up swivel chair and almost rabbit-like bounced up from the seat. 

“A surprise? Ooh what a delight! Perhaps I can turn in with you proper, if just for tonight.”

Okay, it’s kind of stupidly unfair how good he is at that. 

Nevertheless you grab his wrists and gently drag him to your shared bedroom down the hall. Everything was going exactly according to plan…well, except for however the hell you were going to rhyme what you needed him to do. 

“Errm..uhh…Jervis…it’s imperative for the surprise to be underway, that before you lay down, your clothes must go…away.” 

You got an adorable chortle in response, unsure if it was from him understanding the implications of your surprise or the fact you were struggling to rhyme. 

“I am under you control, for you I’ll do as I’m told.”

Unceremoniously, Jervis began stripping off his dress shirt, pants, and different colored socks. His signature hat, long hung up in his workshop. 

“I admire your efforts, they don’t go unheeded. But if it’s troubling, you don’t have to rhyme, it’s not needed.”

You took a relieving gasp as if you were drowning and finally came back up for air. “Okay thank you, but I was doing all right, huh?”

Jervis chuckled in glee. “Indeed.” He made himself comfortable on top of the mattress, nude as the day he was born. 

You could hear him softly whimpering behind you as he watched you strip off your nightgown. The only clothing you wore were your lacey sky blue panties. His favorites. 

Stealing a glance over your shoulder, he looked absolutely delectable. Stretched out in the middle of the bed, about to be completely at your mercy. 

You turned around and got on all fours on the bed. Slowly inching closer and closer to Jervis. His breathless pants becoming more erratic and loud as you got closer to him. You were hovering over him, slowly lowering yourself on top of him. 

You felt the slightest pressure to your lace cladded core. Despite his rather short and lanky stature…he was decently thick and had a slightly above average length. That length was surely getting hard and was already trying to make headway to it’s final destination. 

Chuckling, you rested your forehead along his. “Seems someone’s excited for their surprise.” 

Jervis nodded, barely affirming with a whisper, “y-yes..”

You smiled sweetly at him, before cupping the sides of his face in both your hands. “My handsome hatter.” You purr before softly locking your lips with his. 

As you two locked lips, you started to softly grind on Jervis’ member. You giggled as Jervis’ gentle moans tickled your lips, but you kept steady with your movements. Your hands raked down from his face towards his chest. You could feel his warm hands encompassing around your arms. His fingers traced your collarbone down to your chest. 

It was your turn to moan into his lips, as he began kneading your chest. You had to break the kiss when he teasingly pinched one of your nipples. 

“T-Two can tease, my sweet.” He breathed, somewhat pleased with himself. He pushed you back, to where he was sitting up against the headboard and you were straddling him.

You let out a small huff…so much for being in control, but this was his surprise. You figured you’d get what you wanted out of him, just as long as you were on top. 

“I couldn’t have asked for a better teaser.” You whispered, before directing his lips by his chin back onto yours. 

After more kissing and groping, you decided to give attention to the aching member just below you. You reached your hand down, and started to softly tighten your grip, with every tightened grip you languidly stroked him. 

Words couldn’t describe what the piercing whimper he let out did to you. It made you dampen your underwear more than you cared to admit, but damn the sounds…his sounds were addicting. 

You leaned in to the side of his face, you began kissing and softly suckling on his soft skin. Breaking his breathing between pants and soft moans. You swear you could almost cum then and there from his noises alone. 

Abruptly, you broke your kiss from Jervis as you laid back on your haunches. You slowly began sliding your soaked garment off of you through one leg at a time, before tossing it to the side. You returned to your straddling position over Jervis’ lap. 

You kept slowly pumping his cock, spreading the pre-cum from the head down to the base. After a few more pumps, you lowered yourself onto him, finally becoming one. Jervis let out a sharp hiss as your walls already began clamping around him. His fingers clutching your love handles for dear life. 

After a moment to get used to the new pleasurable pressure. You grabbed his shoulders and slowly began going up and down, up and down, occasionally tightening your walls every time you went up. 

Jervis was an absolute mess. Whimpers, stifled breaths, moans, and groans. He was like a naughty music box, and you were adamant to keep him wounded up, to keep him playing. His unruly hair, somehow became more so, caked to his forehead in sweat. His lips raw from kissing yours and biting his lower lip. 

You began picking up your pace for a little bit and then slow down to a medium speed. Just when you were sure he’d reach his high, you slowed down. 

“Aaahh…mmm…Ali-Y/N…please…stop…mmm…d-don’t tease..” He whined. 

You couldn’t help the satisfied grin on your face, one that’d rival the Cheshire’s and even Jervis’.  

“I can’t help it, darling.” You leaned your head to the side of his. Lips just centimeters from his ears. “It’s just…You look so good underneath me…” You kissed the skin just below his ear, before softly nibbling at it, causing Jervis to moan more. 

Jervis’ nails pricked and poked your skin, you wouldn’t be surprised if it broke your skin. You knew he’d leave bruises no doubt. You wrapped your arms around his neck and bring him in for another passionate kiss. 

Never once did you stop grinding on his cock, keeping a steady pattern, only speeding up occasionally. You had no doubt though that both of your peaks were near. Your walls anchored down as you began bouncing faster than before, and much longer too. All the way down to the base, and up, where just the tip of his head barely stayed in between your lower lips. 

“J-Jervis…mm..fuck.” It was your turn to be a moaning mess. 

In Jervis’ eyes, you were like the sirens or nymphs at sea, constantly luring him into a state of euphoria. When he was with you, the prospect of Wonderland wasn’t such a delusion, if not the evidence that it exists wherever you are. You are Alice, after all. 

You didn’t recognize the piercing wail you let out, as you felt Jervis begin thrusting into you. Perfectly thrusting into you the exact moment you bounced down on him. 

“Y-Y-Yes…shit…J-Jervis…please, please, please…”

Your hands reached down to the middle of his back, gripping onto him and whatever skin you could sink your nails into. Red irritated lines went up Jervis’ back, as you dragged them up and back to his shoulders. 

The two of you kept a fast sloppy pace. Just trying to chase that inevitable sweet release that’s been building up slowly but surely. You could feel your gut tighten, and tighten with every collision of both your hips. 

“Jerv..Jervis…s-s-so close.” You whined in his ear. You whine reached to a higher pitch when you felt him sink his teeth into the middle of your shoulder. Jervis stilled, you felt this cock throb and shake between your lips. Your walls in turn began convulsing around him, choking him like a vice. He brought his hand lower and began rubbing your clit with his thumb, giving you that final push over the edge. 

“Jervis…” You squeaked, as your fingernails painted his skin in red again at the shoulders. Your nerves were shocked with vibrations and warmth all over. Your legs shook rapidly, Jervis placed his hands on your thighs to calm the muscles. 

The two of you stayed still as an undisturbed pond on a golden afternoon. Trying to catch your breaths and revel in the delicious afterglow. Once you started gaining feeling in your legs, you began pulling off of Jervis, the emptiness causing you to let out a pathetic whimper. You collapsed on the other side of the bed beside Jervis. 

You could feel the mixture of both your climaxes begin seeping out between your folds, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You felt Jervis flip over onto his side and you could feel his eyes on you. Stretching your legs, to keep the nerves from rapidly going back to sleep to recover, you flipped over on your side to look at him. 

You brought your hand up to his face, softly caressing the prominent cheek there with your thumb. 

“Did you like your surprise?” You whispered sweetly, as if you snuck him a cookie he wasn’t supposed to have this late as opposed to riding him to infinity. 

“Oh, very much so yes, loved it even, dearest.” He took your hand that was on his cheek, and brought your palm to his lips, kissing it. 

“I surmises…on future nights there will be more surprises…” He leaned his head against your shoulder. 

“We’ll see, my handsome hatter. We’ll see.” 

You both drifted off to a peaceful slumber, knowing as well as the sun would rise tomorrow. 

There would be more surprises to come.

[hillnerd-art]

JANUARY HANGOUTS

SUNDAY JAN 8TH   -  creative collaborative chat      

TOPIC- SHAKESPEARE’S ROMEO & JULIET and HAMLET

You know them- you might love them? You might hate them! Are they Overblown? Or are they all they’re cracked up to be? 

6:30 PM GMT (10:30 AM PST)  

MONDAY JAN 16th  -   creative collaborative chat      

WIP workshop- ANY FANDOM OR ORIGINAL CONTENT WELCOME! (though keep it pg-13 in the main chat)

talking about all our WIPs and exploring our current creative projects (be they writing, art, cosplay, knitting etc)

7 PM GMT (11 am PST)  

SUNDAY JAN 29th- zoom chat BOOK CLUB

The Wee Free Men Novel by Terry Pratchett

We’ll discuss the book, characters and fave moments.

5 PM GMT (10 AM PST)                                                

OPEN TO ALL !! :)

PLEASE DO NOT ASK ME FOR A LINK TO THE DISCORD

LINK WILL BE POSTED ON THIS PAGE ABOUT 15 MIN BEFORE EACH EVENT

the discord is not open unless I have an event going on :)

All discord creative collab chats are places for WIPs and creative issues of ALL sort to be discussed- I will always open with that even on ‘set topic’ days.

TIMEZONE CONVERTER

[halalgirlmeg]

Sorry if this is silly but i dont instinctively understand why it might be bad to share the excerpt of your novel? Is there a pattern of stealing with workshops or smth? Sorry again if this is an obvious/silly question, am really not in the writing world.

No I'm just incredibly anxious and my novel imo opinion my best work and my own personal favorite and I'm questioning if I can handle getting a rejection on that piece. I've applied to work shops before i usually just make it up on the fly or use a short story but this app is due in like 13 hours.

Long Story Short: No problem at all I'm just a wee bit scary. I mean the risk is always there but I'm just nervous

[sparrowsarus]

😄 What part are you most excited to write? for SAR and ✏️ Have you deleted any scenes or strayed from your initial plan? for the blue knight

I am most excited to write about how cotton and peanut response to all the frequencies and polarizations, because as far as I'm aware that has never been done in a north american context, and never for multifrequency. The others? poked at. Cotton and peanuts? never.

✏️ Have you deleted any scenes or strayed from your initial plan? for the blue knight

Oh boy, did I ever! For one, it wasn't supposed to be chaptered. For two, I meant to make it a bit more of a pastiche, but there were factors that I wasn't comfortable with writing, especially considering the fact that, uh, Zia is a Black woman! Probably uncool to shoehorn her into a seductress role, especially since her canon personality has no evidence of that!

But Ed likely wouldn't go off and make out with a guy behind his wife's back either, so. We're workshopping that a wee bit.

[lindseymcdonaldseyelashes]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

Thanks for the tag @ghostlyarchaeologist!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Just 2 (Not counting previous, abandoned AO3 accounts)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

4,684 (plus another 6k words in a note that needs to be reckoned with)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Leverage and Angel

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Rooftop Job - Leverage, 6 kudos

"The Sky's Gonna Open" - Angel, 5 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I've gotten one comment, and yes, I replied to it!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably neither. Also I'm bad at ending things on angst. Usually I like endings to be warm and cozy.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The Rooftop Job, just because it's the only one with an ending (yet)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not enough people have read my fic to hate it

9. Do you write smut?

I do... but haven't gotten there yet this time around

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have in the past, and there's so much potential in the "Every character Christian Kane plays is actually the same person" universe that it'd be fun to tackle

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not stolen exactly, but I've had people kudos and comment on a story and then write basically the exact same story afterward?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I'm probably a bit too precious about my writing to co-write, but I've definitely workshopped ideas with people that turned into awesome stories

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Probably self-insert x Eliot Spencer hahaha

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I have a 300k+ fic out there that's half-finished for a dropped hyperfixation and part of me wants to keep it going but I do not have the will power or time

16. What are your writing strengths?

Probably just coming up with fun concepts that make my brain tingle

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Actually doing the writing

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I try to avoid it unless I know I'm saying exactly what I think I'm saying.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, back when the show was still on and I was a wee baby writer

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

"The Sky's Gonna Open"—I've really only just started but I'm very excited about where it's headed

And I'm tagging @curious-phenomenon :)

[weeinterpreter]

Part 7. The thing about brackets.

What’s a Trope Bingo?

What’s the Evil Association of Evil Villains?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5][Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

A shadow fell over the librarian as she spoke. She stepped to the side.

Butler felt it even before he saw it. His heartbeat increased as manic giggling accompanied the figure, stepping into the light. It was a huge clown. And he was armed.

"Please make sure they don't leave while I'm gone, Vincent," the librarian said. 

Vincent cackled and loaded his shotgun.

"A clown?” Alex laughed. "How is he going to stop us?"

Butler breathed through his nose. He wanted to laugh it off, too. It was a man in a clown costume. There was nothing to be afraid of. It wasn't even the same one. He knew all this. Then he glanced at the clown and felt his hands go sweaty.

Suddenly, he was eight years old again. The strongest eight-year-old there was. He was invincible. Felt like it, anyway. He'd soon learn that no eight-year-old would stand a chance against a full-grown adult with an axe in his hands. The smell of the shrill screams, the sound of the metallic blood rose around him like the walls of an impenetrable fortress. It was all in the past. And so was the trembling child, praying fervently that someone would come and save him.

Artemis grimaced as he tried to move his wrists.

"Butler, anytime now, get us out of this mess," he hissed. "If you couldn't tell, I'm in discomfort, something I pay you to get me out of."

Butler only stared at the chuckling clown. Surely coming up with a plan to rescue them all. He could have at least acknowledged him, though. Artemis turned his attention to the boy, who was tied up next to him.

"I suggest you let my bodyguard take care of the situation," he said.

Alex threw him a sour look, but didn't answer. Misinterpreting it, Artemis felt a jab of annoyance and the urge to straighten his tie that he knew was immaculate.

"Judging from your look, my criminal endeavours disgust you."

Alex snorted. "As far as I'm informed, all your criminal endeavours are hardly successful. That lady is a bigger criminal than your whole association combined."

Artemis couldn't decide if he wanted to point out all his successful missions first or find out how Alex knew about the association. He decided on the latter.

"Your association is interested in us, then?"

"For some reason," Alex said through gritted teeth.

"We can't be that unsuccessful then," Artemis said confidently.

"No," Alex spat out. "The MI6 thought you all so inept at committing a crime, they were more worried that you might succeed by sheer idiocy. We actually thought you had somehow messed up the Internet by accident."

Taken aback by the outburst, Artemis frowned. "Well, we didn't and your anger seems a tad inappropriate."

Red spots of anger appeared on Alex's face, but he kept his voice low. "You're such an idiot."

"Actually, my IQ is higher than Albert Ein-"

Before Artemis could finish, two things happened. First, a bang. Then the crumble of stone. And then…

***

Arno Blunt was many things. He was big, and mean, and deadly. He was a professional. One thing he wasn't, was subtle, though. It was the reason he failed to win the scholarship at university. It was the reason he didn't know how to talk to Sid Commons. And definitely the reason the events in the warehouse went down the way they did.

It didn't take him long to locate and find Butler after he didn't return from the nightly… whatever he did. Arno didn't really care. What he did care was having to pause his favourite podcast on gravitational waves just as it was about to get interesting. The giant man parked his truck with a grunt and jogged to the warehouse. He went to the back and, climbing onto some empty barrels, easily jumped to the ledge of the second storey. After shimmying through a half-open window, it was only a matter of minutes to pinpoint where his fellow villains were.

Sneaking along the metal gangway, high above all the chaos, he was tempted to pinch himself. Surely, he was dreaming. There was no chance a ridiculous clown with a shotgun would antagonise Opal Koboi and Jon Spiro (how did they get there in the first place?), Artemis Fowl and Butler (the Butler), and a random blonde teenager.

Villains. You just couldn't let them out of your sight for five minutes.

Looking around his vantage point, Arno focussed in on the huge number of books suspended in the air. He could tell that the ropes holding them up were industry grade. No point in trying to cut them. Cable brackets, on the other hand, were a notorious wild card in construction. One wrong hit, and the entire building would crumble. Arno learned that the hard way during a stint in Bangkok in 1993. What had started as a scare tactic ended up with the collapse of the hotel complex. Time to see if he could pull it off again. Drawing his pistol, Arno aimed and shot.

And then…

***

Vincent, the clown, stopped giggling to look up. The last thing he ever saw was the ornate decorations of a thousand copies of War and Peace coming at him at an incredibly rapid pace.

***

Arno jumped off the ledge, ignoring Artemis' glare as he loosened his ties.

"May I remind you that this stunt was highly dangerous?" Artemis said in a clipped tone.

"How so?" Arno asked.

"If your calculations had been wrong, this copy," Artemis said, pointing at the book that had landed a hair width away from his foot, "would have hit me in the head. Next time, I suggest you consult me before you decide to kill us all." 

Arno shrugged, swaggering over to Butler to punch him on the shoulder. 

"We'll have to have a talk about those clowns, mate," he murmured under his breath. Butler gave him a sharp nod, busying himself with freeing Opal and Jon. Artemis, in the meantime, inspected the wall of computers before he began typing furiously on the main keyboard.  

Alex jogged over, watching him silently, until Artemis made a disappointed sound.

"What is it?" 

"The program has already advanced too far to be stopped, but…"

Alex kept glancing from the screen to the pale boy with a quizzical look. "But?"

"But I could probably change its target protocol to stream another outcome–"

Arno, who had come over as well, slapped a hand on the console. "Okay, in English would be good, smarty pants."

"Instead of knowledge questions, I can prompt something else to be displayed," Artemis explained. "Are you following, Mr Blunt?"

The giant nodded. "Hey, I understood that. So, what are you waiting for? Change it."

Artemis rolled his eyes. "Would that I could. It needs to be something that someone with a pea brain can understand. Any suggestions, Mr Blunt?"

"How about the time I need to bash your face in, kiddo?" Arno snarled.

"Recognising landmarks?" Alex interjected, while Butler held Arno back. "Or objects?"

Artemis considered it. "I don't have any pictures and it would take too long to download them from the internet."

Opal held up her phone. "What about these pictures I have of Diamond? I've got tons."

"That could work," Artemis murmured.

To be concluded.

[ramrage]

fic concept: "dear simon"

ive been playing with the idea of writing a fic but it's told entirely through the pages of soap's journal, which have at some point become a collection of letters to ghost. of course he's never going to give them to ghost. he just needs a way to puzzle out their interactions because ghost is a cryptic pain in the ass and does he hate me or like me what's going on?

it definitely is chock full of limitations, but were i able to work around them and somehow make it benefit the narrative, it would be electric. the "truth" wouldn't matter or exist at all. it would be limited to soap's perception, colored by overthinking and shame/embarrassment despite trying to write something completely honest and for his eyes only.

shit i wrote at 3am below the cut. any suggestions/crit/feedback would be GREAT (plsplspls)

Dear Simon,

Yer never gonna read this. I’ll probably take a match to it when I’m done because yer a sneaky bastard and writing all this makes me feel like a cunt. I take to my journal, have been forever, to make my thoughts more real, yknow? not sure why i’m explaining myself to ye like yer ever gonna read it…

You’ve been getting on my last bleeding nerve, is the thing. Not like yer doin anything out of the ordinary for yerself. just the normal mysterious, aloof, fucken terrifying thing you do. with the stupid mask. fucken. i just didn’t know that /your thing/ also involved making fucken shite jokes bein endearing not as terrifying as i took ye fer. and that’s grand, except when you’re not being that way and i’m left to wonder how things went tits up.

i remember meeting you. they told me ye were some big scary fucker, and ye were, jesus, but i wanted to crack ye. after graves turned and left us to claw outta las almas, i thought i was. i didnae think ye’d wait for me, didnae think ye’d be in my ear with some of the most shite jokes i’d ever heard, but ye were. made me wanna push ye. see yer limits. i’ll be honest, i was full on with callin ye a good ol boy and tellin ye to take yer mask off. sorry bout that. but ye coulda shut me up and i know ye wouldnae struggle to. so i thought i found a boundary.

but you’ve been short with me all week. today, ye fucking head case, i do nothin more than nudge ye in the gym, tell ye yer liftin light + ye come at me like ye got a stick up yer arse. not even a quip back. whatdye say? some bullshite about respecting your superiors, /mactavish/. ye didnae strike me as a man who gave a quarter shite about vanity lifting and ye still don’t. im probably making somethin outta nothin and i dinnae ken why i even give a damn, give a damn enough to write it out like a wee fucken lovesick school girl, but here i am. i’ve not cared about people liking me for bleedin ages. and people tend to like me, no? charming and handsome bastard that i am.

maybe i don like thinking i can’t figure you out. yer rank pulling stunt has me wanting to punch the head clean off ye, but i still think i can crack ye. it’d do ye some good, lt. i told ye as much in las almas, and i meant it. not sure if ye got it, though.

well. i’ve not got anything left to tell ye, not today, and my hands are cramping somethin awful so i’ll sign off. until next time, ye jackarse.

J

notes to the readers that might exist:

in addition to literally any feedback you have, i have some specific questions about bits im particularly unhappy with/insecure about. but dw bout being too harsh or honest, i was in writing workshops (you wouldnt be able to tell smh) with liberal arts students with something to prove so my skin has been thickened yk. if by the grace of god you wanna beta pls lmk and ill have a child just so i can give you my firstborn xx

how do we feel about the strikethroughs? personally i think they can help me say shit that i want the reader to know but dont think johnny completely means or is ready to say

should i push details like that which reinforce that this is written by hand? like shorthand, writing + instead of "and"

i put slashes around things that i would otherwise italicize bc that's what i do when i journal. does it work? what would work better?

should the entries include dates?

how severely does it sound like an american trying to sound scottish lol? lmk what works/doesn't work im dying out here

i have an idea for the last chapter (despite not having a plot) and tbh it's predictable as hell but it could be zesty (;

[therehavebeenstranger]

tagged by @theresa-of-liechtenstein :) yay i love talking about me

1. are you named after anyone? my middle name is after one of my great grandfathers (first letter the same)

2. when was the last time you cried? ah the other night after seeing sweeney todd i had had many emotions that day (some very negative, some, like the ones from seeing the show VERY POSITIVE) and then i must have dropped this shmatta i had brought in case the theater was cold, this pashmina, which i'd bought in college which i'm very attached to and suddenly it was gone and hit my Emotions Limit and had a wee breakdown

3. do you have kids? no! maybe someday

4. do you use sarcasm a lot? sometimes! im more of a quips person

5. what sports do you play/have you played? when i was a little kid i played rec softball (i was terrible at it), soccer, and basketball. i fenced in high school; my weapon was sabre.

6. what’s the first thing you notice about other people? hair. then how they dress. but very much hair

7. what’s your eye color? brown

8. scary movies or happy endings? these things do not feel remotely dialectical to me. this is not an opposed question. false premise. scary movies can have happy endings. non scary media can end in tragedy happy endings, i guess?

9. any special talents? maybe writing counts? but i went to school for that. um, crochet? i can do a pretty good ramona singer impression

10. where were you born? essex county, nj

11. what are your hobbies? crochet. reading. comic books. painting quite badly. reality television. regular television.

12. do you have any pets? this is rosie she's the light of my life

13. how tall are you? 5'2 but im loud so that makes up for it

14. favorite subject? i was an english major w a creative writing minor then got an mfa in creative writing so. english :)

15. dream job? full-time writer. so--publishing and selling lots of books, doing readings, leading workshops, judging contests. teaching at a prestigious university but somehow being famous enough to not have to do a lot of academic committee bullshit. mostly having freedom and time to make cool shit. i'd really like to make some comics too. (any artists who wanna collab hmu lol but for real for real im dying to make a thing with another person)

im supposed to tag 15 people but im just gunna tag till i get bored: @stankhead @autumngracy @bisexualbeckett @apocalypse-friend @camillekaze @hopelesslyfree @pintobordeaux @januariat

[uttering-joyous-leaves]

hi nat I would love to hear about your day + any book/tv shows/movie/song recommendations! 🧁🍓🍰(<-vegan snacks i bought to our sleepover)

pelin i can't believe you brought snacks, you are simply the best <3 <3

okay so my media consumption is at an all-time low, but i did rewatch jim jarmusch's night on earth recently and highly recommend that. delightful and weird. also this is mildly ridiculous but i've had andy warhol's kiss (1963) open in a tab on my laptop for the past like week and a half and keep watching it in like 2 minute increments to...make myself insane i guess

anyway now it's the wee hours of the sleepover and conversation is about to get real so...today was another step in the process of being okay again after putting myself in a wretchedly embarrassing situation on saturday night (college kid behavior, i'll let you take an educated guess). today, between bouts of essay writing, i hung out with friends who variously offered advice, helped fill in some of the blanks, and made me feel maybe 30 percent less shitty. then tonight: painstakingly workshopped and sent an apology text. so, you know. onward and upward ig!!

[amethysttribble]

Empty Spaces; Left Behind

On the night after their brother’s would-be twentieth birthday, Percy and Cassandra sit down and- for once- talk about it.

I was possessed to write a Critical Role fic over the course of the week because the blorbos beckon like sirens, just take it.

Also on Ao3, because it’s long.

Percy spent most of the day and evening in his workshop pinching his fingers, shattering glass, and snapping fine metal.

A right horrible mess, with absolutely nothing to show for it. A completely wasted day, wherein not even the work of his fingers could draw his mind away from the distracted place where it wanted to sink.

Tary dropped by some hours ago, bringing him dinner and a brief distraction, asking if he wanted help. Percy declined, teeth grit and eyes squinted.

“No, thank you. I am perfectly capable of constructing a pair of glasses.”

“Yes, well, it must be terribly hard to make glasses without glasses. If you need them, that is, which I don’t, so-“

He’d glared until Tary took the hint and slunk off.

Percy kept on with his task into the wee hours of the night when his vision began to blur not just from far-sightedness but also exhaustion. The clock struck midnight and the 24th of Sydenstar drew to a close and he… was just tired. He set down his failed creation with fingers beaded with blood and decided that maybe he could learn to live without glasses. Or maybe he could swallow some of his excess of pride- as Vax’ildan put it- and take Taryon up on his offer of help. Or maybe he should just get a drink and sort this out in the morning.

That sounded appealing.

But as he stood from his hunched position for the first time in hours, the pain in his cracking back nowhere near matching the weight in his chest, Percy wondered if it would be best to go to bed instead. Vex’s bed, actually. He could traipse down to her house, knock pathetically on her door, and-

And what? No, he didn’t have the energy to love her properly tonight. He wasn’t even sure he had it in him to be able to let her hold him and be sad. This strange feeling that was weighing him down felt so soft and personal.

Best to retreat to his own bed.

It was with this intention in mind that Percival took up a lit candle and began to weave his way through Castle Whitestone’s halls. He made it out of the lower levels of the keep as planned, ascended the stairs to the second level. As he trailed bare finger over the filigree on the walls, though, his feet wandered. Bed would mean thinking- it wasn’t nearly late enough for him to pass out- and the chiming of midnight had not relieved him as he thought it would.

This weight was so strange, so annoying. Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III felled by a date. By a spot on the calendar, when this had never bothered him so much before. All those days, all those forgotten anniversaries, he was five years gone and before the dates past him by with no more inconvenience than a little extra anger in his chest.

But now, he had… sat down. Rested. Settled into a home with no intention of leaving it- either physically or by leaving the mortal plane- for a long time, and grief had caught up with him like a stalking beast.

And today the creature is digging in its claws, Percy thought as he pushed open the door his aimless wandering had brought him too. Rather than make his way to the royal family’s quarters, he ended up in the portrait hall. A good place to wallow.

The Briarwoods’ desecration of Whitestone never felt more deliberate than it did while walking down this long corridor of history. The missing pieces must have been so carefully picked, because many of the portraits Percy knew so well from his childhood remained.

For example, there was the Repose of Wolf and Melanie. Still mirrored on the other wall was the landscape painting of Melanie’s Garden, wedged between two windows so that one might theoretically be able to compare the rendition to the real thing.

There posed Lord Conrad II with his son, Julius Conradine I- the only, really, because Julius Conradine II never ascended to his seat- and his lady wife, Elisabette.

Slightly further down was Percival Nathaniel II with his bow and horn and hunting hounds.

The wedding portrait of Leona de Rolo I and her husband, Balthus Klossowski, a lord of Westruun; it was their union that truly tied Whitestone and the de Rolos to Tal’dorei and the depiction of that event tried imparted that importance by using an obscene amount of metallic paint.

Lady Cassandra II sitting at her desk, her own glasses perched delicately on her nose.

Georgine Vesper IV- ‘Georgine’ being a name so overused by the de Rolos in the 700s that not even Percy’s sisters bore it- sitting across from her wife, Lady Taya Frederickstein, with niece Georgine Frederica V bouncing in her lap.

They were all here, the revered ancestors whose names and stories Percy was taught so intently. But still, there were pale gaps in the walls. Great Uncle Nathaniel was missing. Grandfather Ludwig and Grandmother Ophelia’s last official portrait from their teneer as lord and lady? Gone. Percy’s cousins- Leonette and George and Cordelia, son and daughters of the now defunct Second House- were conspicuously absent.

The most obvious hole, though, was the pale yellow wound upon the wall that used to house the portrait of Lord Frederick Wolfe Klossowski de Rolo III and his lady wife, Johanna von Musel de Rolo with their seven children.

Percy knew the names and stories of all the historical de Rolos lining this hall, but the Briarwoods has murdered the memories of everyone he knew.

It stung. Stung was an understatement. It bit and burned and bored like a bullet wound in his side, especially tonight. That he and his family were so viciously yet callously ripped from these walls, that it was made to look like no de Rolos had walked these halls for fifty years, it was an insult. This wasn’t just business, it was a personal affront.

And the bitterness of it all choked him so thoroughly that he could not tear his eyes from that mockingly discolored spot on the wall as he drew near, not even to notice-

“Percival.”

He went completely stiff and was half reaching for the pistol that never left his side when he looked down, and it was… it was only Cassandra. Cassandra, sat on the floor under a window, a faint lantern at her side. She looked like a ghost with her features washed out in the gloom and her nightgown pooled around her.

Just Cassandra. Percy was still shaking. Why was he still shaking? Fuck. Would he ever feel safe in this castle again?

No, he knew, no he would never feel safe in his home ever again. Hotis’s attack had proven his fears true, and every stray anxiety since had reinforced them. All it took was one sound, sight, piece of furniture out of place for the jumpiness to appear.

Even Cassandra. Even her hiding and sneaking- this most natural thing in the world- frightened him. So much so that he was seized with the desire to take a queue from Vax and just walk away rather than force himself to sit with her on this night.

He didn’t turn away, though. He didn’t, because Percy was coming to the… horrifying realization that he might live. Might want to live. And that he would do that living in this horribly haunted castle and that meant talking once in a while to its foremost specter: his sister.

Without a word, he gingerly moved to sit beside her- not touching, but close enough to share body heat- and set his candle down on his other side. Percy didn’t look at her as he settled into place, instead keeping his gaze on the patch of carpet that Oliver stained with sword oil once, before turning back to the awful wall. He was breathing heavily when he settled, upsettingly loud next to her near silence.

Neither of them spoke. Not for a long time.

Percy had honestly expected Cassandra to say something. Perhaps some gripe about him interrupting her peace, or a scold about his still blistered and bloodied and ungloved- the worst crime someone of their station could commit- hands, or maybe even an acknowledgment of why they were both here. But that was probably too much to hope for.

Percy forced himself to look at her after a moment, and her eyes were on her knees, which were pulled protectively against her chest. He copied her. Yes, he was feeling rather small and miserable himself. Not that he had a right to, not compared to Cassandra, not when she-

“Today-“ he started and immediately stopped.

Technically it was yesterday. Yesterday, and they both knew what yesterday was. It would have been Ludwig’s twentieth birthday.

And Ludwig and Cassandra were always so close.

They were- they’d been- little more than a year apart in age and thick as thieves. Not that Ludwig ever made trouble; he was too disinterested in mischief for that. But not even the wrath of the gods could have made him snitch on Cassandra, who always confided her naughty little plans in him. They used to play chess, checkers, backgammon, anything really, together.

That’s how Percy remembered Ludwig most clearly, fourteen years old and bored with the world, bent over a chess board trying to puzzle a way out of Cass’s check.

He and Ludwig used to fight horribly. He was probably the sibling he got along the worst with, all things considered. Percy bickered most consistently with Whitney and Oliver, but Ludwig was the only one he’d ever had true fights with. Pathetic, really. A boy almost five years his junior and he’d get so intellectually insulted because Ludwig was probably as smart as him but preferred philosophies and poems and he thought clockwork frivolous.

Gods, what had he said that made Percy’s blood boil so badly?

“‘Your inventions might gauge the time, but never the age of a man’s soul’.”

He drawled the words slowly, giving Cassandra time to remember them. If she even did. His and Ludwig’s latest- last- spat about whether the sciences or humanities were more valuable to the human condition had been pretty standard. The fact that Percy had knocked over a chair in his haste to storm away after that comment might have only been significant to him.

But when he looked at Cassandra out of the corner of his eye, she was smiling faintly. Tiredly. The expression faded in an instant, but it… it was something.

It had to be something when she said, “He was quite, ahem, earnest wasn’t he? He wanted to sound so smart.”

“I did too, in fairness.”

“You still do.”

“True.”

What laid bloody and raw between them was that Percy might yet live to change- and wasn’t that a novel thought- and Ludwig never would. Wasn’t, actually might be the correct tense. He wasn’t alive to outgrow being a teenager trying too hard to sound intellectual, picking fights with an erudite older brother to prove something.

“He’s still a little boy in my memories,” Cassandra whispered into her knees, so low Percy wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t straining for it. “We were peers, and I… I can still almost imagine the twins as older than me, Vesper and Julius still are, but Ludwig…”

Ludwig died with baby fat on his cheeks.

Not that Percy knew how he died. How any of them did except- except Julius and Whitney, slaughtered at the dinner table with Mother and Father. The dungeons were a blur of pain and disoriented clips. Vesper was there and growing thinner and wanner, and then she wasn’t. Oliver went away and Ripley came back cursing the ‘weak ones’. Ludwig was… crying. And then he wasn’t. Unsettling still, right up until they walked him upstairs.

Percy didn’t know what happened and he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t. He efficiently blocked it out and moved on.

Further suffering wouldn’t help, he was learning.

Cassandra, though, Cassandra was wallowing in sorrow tonight.

“I still remember him as a child, and even that is getting… blurry. I know it’s wrong. He wasn’t nearly that tall, I was just looking up. It’s warped and fading and of a child. I come here sometimes, as if being near what used to be here will help me- I don’t know. Imagine what should be there; and update. It hurts worse, though, that there isn’t anything."

Percy wanted to say, We’ll commission a new portrait.

But his mind was already churning and washing that platitude away. How would they commision a new one? It would be based on memory and Cassandra… Cassandra’s wasn’t the only memory fading. It was only a few weeks ago that Percy was recalling Whitney and had to spend a terrifying few minutes trying to remember her eye color.

The other option was to try and find old portraits and make a recreation, and in a fair world that would be so easy. There had been so many portraits of the de Rolo children at varying ages, littered all throughout Whitestone Castle.

Frederick and Johanna had been incredibly doting in the way that only noble parents raised by noble parents could be, and as such their gestures of undying love had been faint and hidden under years of tradition- Vex and Vax, Keyleth and Scanlan, Pike, and maybe even Grog would laugh at him if he tried to explain that a slight pat on the cheek from his father had been enough to instill him with confidence for months and his mother straightening his collar could convince him he was the most beloved person on earth- but they were there. The most consistent sign, though, of their utter adoration for their many children had been that they commissioned a lot of portraits of said children.

One every two years for all seven children- individual, and then some together, because the painters were already here and doesn’t Percival’s coat match Vesper’s dress nicely today? Go lounge like you do when you read together- until the age of nineteen. Even then, that age-cap was only imposed because Julius exasperatedly complained once that, “I look no different than I did for my last portrait! Please, save some paint for the rest of Whitestone.”

Ever practical, Julius.

That was perhaps the only thing that kept the castle from being overrun with renditions of Frederick and Johanna’s brood, who were displayed mostly prominently in the lord and lady’s respective chambers, but also the family parlour, and the dining hall.

At eighteen, Percy would have given anything for that terrible portrait of him at the awkward age of eleven- a six year old Cass on his lap- to be taken down, and now… Now he knew what giving up anything, everything meant, and he’d sell the soul he didn’t even have ownership of to get that painting back. All of them. They were conspicuously gone, and likely not coming back, with one exception that was half-burned and faded in a closet.  

Only Percival and Cassandra remembered what Ludwig looked like at the age of fourteen.

Only them, and one day-

“I can’t remember Vesper’s laugh anymore,” he confessed. He felt more than saw Cassandra turn to look at him as he studied the wall, trying to will the memory of Vesper’s face to appear there.

“I could describe it, if asked. With words. Breathy, quiet. More a slight chuckle than anything else, unless you really caught her off guard, and then she almost screamed before regaining control. But that’s- it’s like I’ve transcribed my own memories. I’m remembering a memory, and I can describe it, but I can’t conjure the actual sound. And I ask myself constantly, will that be enough?”

Were he to write it all down for future de Rolos to read, if he were to- to tell those stories to his own children, to nieces and nephews, would it be enough?

No, never, not for him and Cass at least. But probably not even for the rest of the world. Percy could never write something well enough, true enough, lovely enough to make history remember his siblings correctly. He wasn’t bright Ludwig, he wasn’t literary Whitney or artsy Oliver, and he’d long since forgotten how to make beautiful things, if he’d ever known. Percival de Rolo only made ugly, ugly weapons.

Cassandra seemed to agree.

“Their names are going to be footnotes in our story, Percy,” she muttered wretchedly into her knees, “in our story. Us! Cassandra the Betrayer and Percival-”

“The Monster.”

They did not correct each other. Percy knew they should, how this should go. How Vex and Vax would do it, him viciously defending her first and then her calling him stupid and correcting his poor opinion of himself in turn. But Percival and Cassandra were different.

They hadn’t broken together, but apart, and none of their jagged edges fit anymore.

Besides, her words were true. Cassandra was a betrayer. She betrayed the name de Rolo, she betrayed Whitestone, and she betrayed herself. It was a simple fact, and not something Percy was angry about. Nothing he reviled or hated her for. Nothing that could make him love her less.

But she was a betrayer, and Percy? His monstrousness didn’t even bear explaining.

“What a right mess,” Cass whispered, “that it should be us.”

That drew Percy’s eyes over towards her, he even turned his head, heart suddenly in his throat and pounding.

“Do you- do you think,” he stuttered, “that the others would have done better?”

Cass shrugged.

“Whitney was so sweet and so graceful. Her manners were always better than mine; so was her dancing and playing and smiling. She could have survived better too, I think. Maintained a- a mask, without coming to believe it was the truth. And Vesper. So well-spoken. So wily and clever. She would have figured out how to be a triple agent for the revolution in Whitestone, I know it. But not me.”

You were so much younger, Percy could say, but he was selfish. So instead he said-

“Ludwig would have never left you.”

Cassandra went rigid.

They’d not spoken about it since she hurled her accusations and named herself dead in the snow by his negligence. They weren’t going to speak about it now.

Percy, in a strangled, wretched voice, with no intention to continue that thought, whispered, “Julius was ever charming and ever sensible. He would have marshalled outside help, instead of selfishly thinking it must all be done alone. We would have been free in two years. And Oliver? Oliver the swordsman, Oliver the sociable one, Oliver the honorable who couldn’t sneak cookies without feeling guilty-"

That actually drew a weak snort from Cass.

“-Oliver would have been chosen by the gods.”

Instead of what I was chosen by.

Percy lifted his head enough to look back at the blank wall and the shadows from outside that played there in place of his family. He imagined that he saw a shape of a raven there, taunting him. Broken, broken, broken; even without the demon he probably would have made a mess.

“The gods,” Cassandra mused quietly, voice as taut as he felt. “The gods, yes, I suppose so. And instead it was you and me, and I slew the Dawnfather’s servant in Whitestone. Do you suppose we’re cursed?”

“No,” Percy replied, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “Just abandoned.”

Cass hummed in consideration, and they lapsed into silence.

Damn, he was tired. Why had he come here again? To feel sorry for himself long enough to be able to pass out, and he’d certainly succeeded on that front. Cassandra being here dragged the pain and the rage and the bone-deep exhaustion out of him too easily. She had a strange ability to do that.

And in the last few months, when everything was dragon conspiracies and breath-stealing terror and the looming inevitability of death, he couldn’t afford to even look at her. What kind of person would Percy be, after all, if he grew to rely on her or she on him and he finally died? He had died; by his own hand as much as Ripley’s.

Death was painful, though, and when he was dragged back by love he hadn’t realized was there… Cassandra came to see him. Ran her fingers through his hair.

That was the first time it occurred to him that Cassandra might prefer that he was alive instead of dead in the snow beside her. For the first time, it occurred to him that maybe he preferred that he was alive and not- martyred, peaceful, pure- dead in the snow.

And as life slowly started to seem not only possible but desirable, the less it felt like an imperative to avoid Cass.

Which was why Percy did not turn away the moment he saw her sat in the portrait hall, as he would have immediately a few months ago. But that didn’t mean he was strictly comfortable sitting here right now with her. Everything about her chafed at Percy- her obvious wounds felt like they had been done by his own hand, and the constant reminders burned- and it made the space between him and Cassandra feel like barbed wire.

But if they were both soiled and both abandoned and both sleepless tonight… Well, his hands were already spotted with cuts and blood and he was too tired to be afraid of a little more pain. “You saved some memories of them, though,” Percy said, and he even forced himself to turn and look at her stunned face. “The portrait in your room. I know you can’t see Mother and Father, Whitney and Vesper, but it’s… I’m grateful for that. Thank you.”

Cassandra was looking at him like he’d said something truly vile.

“You know about that?”

Percy nodded.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, sounding almost aghast, which made his heart squeeze. “That I haven’t shared it with you myself. You deserve-”

“Don’t. Don’t be sorry,” Percy cut in, waving a hand between them. “It’s yours, it’s…”

He hesitated for a heartbeat, before the words almost fell out of his mouth, something he’d never said aloud before.

“Sylas Briarwood stole the pocketwatch I made for Father.” Silver, three hands, the Sun Tree cast upon the front; it was a particularly striking insult to unearth it among the clothes and ashes. “I found it and I kept it and it’s mine now. I… I don’t carry it, I keep it in a snuff box in my room, but I take it out sometimes and think about- about everything. Just for me. You kept the portrait for that same reason. I understand.”

It was at the word ‘understand’ that she flinched, but she didn’t look away. Cass studied him for a long moment, wherein the silence began to eat at Percy. He was almost ready to break-in or turn away when she hesitantly said, “I have gems that- that made up Vesper’s favorite necklace. The one she was wearing- It broke. Into a thousand pieces. But I have them.”

This time, Percy flinched, eyes fluttering as tears suddenly gathered. Vesper’s favorite necklace, emeralds and sapphires and bronze, an old family heirloom. He could almost see it, the pieces scattered across the ground with the blood drops; Cassandra on her knees gathering them up as if the act could draw the life back into their elder sister’s heart.

It hadn’t, it hadn’t, it wouldn’t, none of the bits and pieces either of them had pulled from smashed remains of something intricate and beautiful meant anything, and yet-

“I’m glad,” Percy whispered back, and was able to spare a slight smile for his sister as he fought past the blockage in his throat.

In his desire not to start wailing in front of his baby sister, he was forced to swallow the instinctive urge to offer to fix the necklace- not like he could even make his own glasses- but that seemed to be for the best. As he turned his gaze on the carpet once more and sought to compose himself, Cass must have gathered herself, as well.

When Percy looked up again, she smiled back at him.

Then she said, “I’d not thought about that in years. Oliver’s guilty heart, I mean. It really was bad, wasn’t it? Ludwig and I used to say he had chronic snitch syndrome.”

Percy snorted, louder than he meant to, and then actually laughed. No, no, he’d not thought about Oliver like that in years either. Cass’s presence had dragged it out of him. She made him say-

“Whitney, too. She was nearly as bad.”

“Oh, absolutely. All of them were. Honestly, I think besides Ludwig, you were the only one I trusted not to rat me out.”

This time, the huff of a laugh that drew from Percy was startled but even lighter. The words were coming so easily now, familiar banter long lost sliding back into place.

Like freshly oiled gears, he thought.

“I just couldn't be bothered to try and enforce discipline,” he drawled, shoulders relaxing against the wall and Cass copied him. “And Vesper wasn’t like that with me and Julius. It was just because you were the baby that she was strict.”

Cass hummed, annoyance and amusement and warmth in her tone.

He watched her as she tilted her head back towards the far wall, but this time the silence wasn’t oppressive. They were nineteen and thirteen, chafing at the expectations their positions placed on them and hiding together. One stray word would alert Mother or Julius- surely right around the corner, any second now- to their position so they sat in silent solidarity instead.

It was a different, strange, bitter sort of solidarity that united them now, but Percy pushed that lingering reminder away. He was lost in thought, imagining ghosts gliding down these halls. He and his sister were ensconced in the past now.

And the illusion wasn’t broken when Percy looked back at his sister and she was grown and scarred and lonely. Because there was a streak of white in her hair to match him and they were both little more than breathing haints in these empty halls. At least for tonight.

In the morning they would go back to being Lord and Lady de Rolo, but at present they were Percy and Cass, a pair children- murdered and reanimated, the smoky voice that still haunted him whispered, made monstrous and traitorous and unrecognizable- mourning on their brother’s birthday. If Percy was ever going to bring such subjects up, it would have to be now.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said as steadily as he could.

Cassandra turned her gaze back to him and she nodded indulgently, here own eyes far away with memories.

“When I caught you and Ludwig,” Percy said slowly, and her mouth parted a little in surprise, “snooping around my workshop, what were you doing? Because I was so paranoid for weeks that you’d played some trick, or took something, or broke something, but then nothing came up. Which made me even more paranoid.”

It was Cass’s turn to laugh, a breathy giggle that trailed into coughs. He watched as she had to work her throat a few times to speak and even wiped slightly at her eyes.

“It was the silliest thing, really,” she was finally able to croak. “We… we were looking for Ludwig’s birthday present. For fourteen. You’d mentioned you started making it, and I guess- gods it’s hard to remember, but I think you’d had a fight? About his maths scores. And we thought you were making him an abacus or something else spiteful, and we wanted to prove you were being mean. But you weren’t.

“You labeled the box. ‘For L’, it was easy to find among your unfinished projects. So organized, Percival, so predictable.”

“Hey now,” he scolded without heat, voice wet. He knew where this was going.

“The colors weren’t finished, paint smudges everywhere from the first coat, but it was obvious what we found. A metal quill designed to emulate Arcanist Agrupnin. I think Ludwig almost cried when he saw it. We felt so bad. So we just put everything back into place and that’s when you found us.”

“I… Goodness.”

Percy leaned his head back against the wall with a thud, completely overcome.

Yes, yes, he remembered that present well. Oh, Ludwig. He’d finally advanced to reading wizard texts and his long-standing fascination with the Calamity had lead him to Maya Argupnin, and then he couldn’t stop quoting her at the stupidest times. It had driven Percy mad, Vesper too. The pair of them- both well read themselves, and just far enough out of adolescence to mock behaviors they’d only just grown out of- had found Ludwig’s open and smug admiration obnoxious. They made fun of him for it, Vesper teasingly, Percy meanly.

But it had been his life’s chief pleasure at nineteen- such a spoiled boy, not a drop of ambition- to make toys and accessories and trinkets for his family. Each one personalized, each one better than the last, and inspiration for Ludwig was easy. A metal quill seemed like a fun challenge, the Agrupnin colors personalized it.

And Ludwig was weirdly silent when Percy presented it to him, which of course he took offense to. How dare Ludwig not appreciate it. What a brat!

But no. No… Ludwig had liked his last gift.

An embarrassing sound welled up from Percy’s throat as the tears finally escaped his eyes.

Oh gods. He brought a hand up to wipe them away, but he didn’t have his glasses. He always had to push his glasses up when he got teary, and the motions calmed him, pushed the reaction away, but now he didn’t have them. When he his fingers rubbed at his eyes, more tears just came and he was crying.

Percy was truly crying now.

“Are you- Oh my.”

Cassandra was watching him break down, dammit, he couldn’t- couldn’t do this in brought of her. Percy hunched forward and gasped, drawing in deep breaths to try and drag himself together, then sat up. He looked towards his sister, tears still streaming down his face, to apologize for the lapse in control and promise her all was well, but-

She was crying.

Cassandra met his eyes, and they were the same: red and watery, deep bruises underneath that not even the most perfect expression of noble-indifference could hide. And she was crying.

“I miss him,” she gasped around the tears.

And Percy… his friends would reach out and hold. Five years ago he would have at least rested a hand upon his little sister’s shoulder. But if he did that now, a few tears would be the least of his and Cass’s trouble.

They would both shatter and Percy’s hands weren’t steady enough to try and put them back together.

So, for now, he just choked out, “Me too.”

For now, Percy and Cass sat on the floor of their ancestral castle, side-by-side but not touching, and cried for everything they had lost and would never get back.

For now, it was enough.

[joshth647]

Sonic the Hedgehog & TADCarnival Oneshot (Name Pending)

So to practice my writing skills, I thought it'd be fun to do a small little fanfic crossing over my two favorite media: Sonic the Hedgehog and The Amazing Digital Circus, specifically one of its well-known AUs: The Amazing Digital Carnival! (AU by @sm-baby)

It's a wee bit short but I hope you guys don't mind.

...........

Sonic has been known for going in the strangest, wildest and sometimes jawdropping adventures imaginable... so much so that it could very well be treated as a hobby.

But this "adventure" would be different than others...

One day, Sonic paid a visit to Tails in his workshop at Mystic Ruins, many years after rescuing Station Square from the flood caused by Perfect Chaos.

It was 7 in the morning when he arrived at Tails' door. Granted, such thing didn't matter one bit to him, because Tails would probably already be awake by then.

An adventure would be upon them once again, and the blue blur was going to make sure his friend wouldn't miss out on it.

Sonic: *knock knock* Hey, Tails! Ready to go?

...Strangely, no response.

Sonic: *knocks again* Uhh, buddy? You there?

...STILL nothing.

Sonic: Hmm. He's probably sleeping again. I think I should check.

Sonic opened the door and walked in, seeing the workshop exactly how he remembers it: well organized and clean.

After looking around the workshop, he deduced Tails wasn't there. He'd normally be working on a brand new invention like a plane, a gadget or something else.

Looking to his right, the hedgehog saw a computer; the same one Tails uses for research and other stuff.

Sonic: Tails is pretty good with technology. He got this computer last Christmas, if I recall. Quite the gift.

He took a quick look at the computer's screen to find it was open on a game... a game called "THE AMAZING DIGITAL CARNIVAL".

Sonic had never heard of such a game before. Tails didn't even tell him about it when they met yesterday. This was one hell of a surprise to him.

Sonic: A game, huh? Well, time to see what this is all about. I do wonder what Tails has been up to, though.

...Before he could even start the game proper, however, Sonic started to feel... something was happening to him. Almost as if he was starting to get...

...sucked inside the game...

Sonic: Alright, I'm pretty sure th- wait, what's going on?

Sonic noticed his own body was starting to vanish...

Sonic: Oh crap, this doesn't look one bit good.

...but before he could do anything about it, a flash of light engulfed him...

...and within a few seconds, he spawned in the game itself. Face first on the ground.

Sonic: Ugh... my head...

Sonic tried to regain his senses before taking a look at the new area... which turned out to be a hallway.

Sonic: Well, not sure what to think of this. I'm guessing that computer had something to do with it. But given Tails isn't the type of guy to make his stuff so dangerous, then it's gotta be Eggman's doing. Time to explore... whatever this place is.

After walking for a little bit in the dimmed hall, Sonic started to see rows upon rows of doors... each of which with their own little portraits, seemingly depicting the inhabitant of the room he would enter.

Sonic: Guess I'm not alone here- oh wait, that sounds too creepy. *snrk* Oh, what am I doing.

Sonic turned his attention to the first door he stopped at:

The Jester.

To the left of the door, a sign read: "STAGE 1: The Jester".

To its right, another sign read: "Help the Jester appeal to the audience, and she will support you for the rest of your stay!"

Sonic: Well, I guess since this is the "first stage", then this "game" might go easy on me... we'll see about that, though. I'm ready for anything it throws at me.

The blue porcupine then opened the door and hastily went inside, the door closing itself as Sonic wandered off into the darkness.

LOADING, PLEASE WAIT...

(TIP: You can find gift boxes around the circus which you can give to the bosses to unlock alternative outfits for them!)

—————

Sonic: Gee, really wish Tails were here right n-

Sonic interrupted himself as he looked down and saw none other than the Jester herself, with a sleek long harlequin hat, bells on all ends of her outfit and black leggings.

Sonic: Alright, jester girl, let's see what you've got. Surprise me.

He then jumps down to the ground, flipping mid fall before accidentally "breaking" his nose, humorously falling face first.

Sonic: Ungh. Thanks a lot, floor!

The Jester: YAAAAAAAAAAAAH! WHO'S THERE?! Another hu-...

Awkward silence rained down onto the two as The Jester stared wide-eyed at Sonic, incapable of forming a single word due to sheer shock. But she soon regained her composure:

The Jester: Wait... you're not... a- a human...?

Sonic chuckled before spinning around and doing his trademark "finger wag":

Sonic: Who else could I be? I'm Sonic, Sonic the Hedgehog! The fastest thing alive!

The Jester: Sonic, huh? I suppose I've heard about you before...

Sonic: Ya have? Can't say I'm surprised. But if you need help with anything, then I'm here.

The Jester: Okay then, but first of all... I don't think I've introduced myself, have I...?

Sonic silently shrugged.

The Jester: Okay, s-so... the name's Pomni, and this... er...

She couldn't bring herself to continuing before her anxiety got her, kneeling down and panicking.

Sonic: Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, calm down, it's fine!

Pomni: AAAH, OH GOD! I- I'm- I'm sorry! I- I just get really nervous when I'm doing this!

Sonic: Alright, just, try to keep it cool for a sec, you can do this.

Pomni sighed deeply before getting up and restarting her speech from the beginning.

Pomni: Okay, so, the name's Pomni, and this is my stage: the circus tent!

Sonic: Cool. So what exactly is all of this about?

Pomni: It's simple! I need your help in getting my audience to laugh, and since I'm a jester, the audience likes acrobatics! And other stuff, of course.

Sonic: Uh-huh, alright. Sounds like fun.

Pomni: I fear what my king would do if I fail my duty...

Sonic: Your WHAT?

Pomni: Er... y- you heard n- nothing! Let's- let's get started!

Together, Sonic and Pomni performed various circus acts, ranging from aerial acrobatics to riding in the Globe of Death to jumping across fire rings.

After the finishing act, the audience cheered and clapped as Sonic and Pomni made a final dance, ending off with a dual bow and uttering "Thank you!" in unison.

STAGE 1 COMPLETE!

Pomni: Phew... that was fun! Probably the most fun I've ever had... you did an AMAZING job back there!

Sonic: Haha, thanks. Probably should practice acrobatics myself one day.

Sonic looked around before taking a deep breath.

Sonic: Anyways, I'm taking my leave. Got other stuff to take ca-

Before he took a step forward, however, Pomni tapped on his shoulder. The suddenness of it made Sonic turn around in confusion.

Sonic: Huh? What now?

Pomni: Sorry for that, but I almost forgot! Since you were so kind to help me out, from this point onwards I'll be your supporter!

Sonic: My... supporter??

Pomni laughed before getting close to Sonic:

Pomni: Exactly! I hope it doesn't bother you or anything.

Sonic: Er... not at all, actually!

Pomni: Excellent! May I guide you to the next stage?

Sonic sighed in relief, knowing he now had someone to look out for him.

Sonic: No ladies first....... is what I would say, IF I was a complete jerk!

Sonic and Pomni laughed in unison before hugging each other and making their way to the next room...

THE END?

[pretensesoup]

How to teach writing

I wound up talking to a couple of other writers this weekend (big-name poets and people who write solely for their own pleasure as well) about the inadequacies of our writing workshops back when we were wee undergraduates. Poets recount being told not to write from anger, not to write political poetry. I myself never received information more useful than "dare to suck" in my workshops.

I imagine some of this is a hesitancy to be prescriptive--beyond the actual mechanics of English, it's hard to say anything with any real authority about writing, because most things you can say can be contradicted by famous examples. But anyway, here are some things I would do if I were teaching a class:

Discussions of representation, consent, anatomy, and how to learn about these things.

Encourage people to write in a genre that moves them. We're not here to explain to everyone else how smart we are; we're here to stretch our wings.

You have to write at least two pages per week and hand them in so I can read them.

Explain to students how to give good feedback. I used to get very frustrated and resentful of the stuff I had to read, and my comments were often veiled versions of "I hate this story, the characters, and by extension, you."

Maybe read actual books about writing, rather than just dragging students through an endless packet of terrible short stories.

Fight scenes! Sex scenes! When do we need them, what do they accomplish, how do we do them?

The role of a writer's biography in fiction.

How to get published.