It was a quick altercation in the hallway, most wouldn’t think anything of it.
Fanfiction Minion was heading off with a stack full of papers to run over to her club meeting in Sketchy Tower, and Literary Short Form Minion was taking her finished short story to the competition.
Comedic Prop Minion had forgotten to clean up after his routine, and so the stage was set.
“Whoa!” one shouts.
“Watch it!” another yells.
With a spinning, flying crash involving bananas, a shopping cart, three lemurs and a suspicious amount of body lotion, the two minions have let fly their folders with their contents: both white cleanly-stapled flaps of pages, but both with decidedly different contents.
“Careful.” Fanfiction Minion bleats sassily. “I didn’t back this up so if something happens to it it’s your fault,” she adds without a twinge of irony in her voice.
Literary Short Form Minion draws back with a defensive look of accusation. It’s true that she also didn’t back up her work, because it was all done on typewriter, but she’d never admit to not saving something so valuable.
Literary Short Form Minion brushes her tasteful flower-print smock off with her hands. It’s not that she needs clothing or anything, but somehow it completes the look of being a writer of short stories. “Sorry,” she says with a voice that just scarcely underlines the disgust in her voice.
“Whoa, are you two okay?” Slapstick Minion asks as he moves in to clean up Comedic Prop Minion’s mess. “Looks like you two took quite a fall there!”
Neither of them respond, they’re both too pissed.
“Normie loser,” Fanfiction Minion mutters under her breath as she disappears around the corner.
“She is so below everything I am,” Literary Short Form Minion muses curtly to herself as her expression steadily intensifies during the entire trek down the three large flights of steps in Towerne’s central to approach the entry desk.
The crowd is dense with all manner of minions.
Lumberjack Minion is holding onto a stack of papers detailing his adventures doing woodcutting in the Towerne woodlands.
The grinning Business Minion keeps safe in his briefcase a manuscript for his super motivational, actually quite pretentious non-fiction self-help book: “Leader Serviceship”.
Cooking Minion has a slim account of his adventures encountering knights, overlords, monsters and wizards in his quest to find the omniverse’s rarest ingredients.
Even Geometric Shape Enthusiast Minion, often such an outcast, has come to pitch in his massive seven-volume series titled: Symetricus and the Shapes of Destiny. He’s been working on it for years but has never shown anyone.
Such as it tends to be at The High Overlord’s decennial Written Brilliance Competition, in which minions have ten years to prepare their greatest work and present it to a long panel of judges. Winner gets placard, a luxurious vacation package over at the Resort Tower, and a personal antennae massage and grape-feeding session from the High Overlord himself as he reads their work out loud for everyone to hear: the true apex of narcissism.
Literary Short Form Minion takes a deep breath from the ink-infused air. This is her time.
While she hasn’t wasted all of her time doing long form, nor took the lazy route and went with “poetry”, she has consolidated her thoughts wisely over these past ten years and carefully, wonderfully teased out every single word. No letter is misspent, no punctuation misplaced. She’s rewritten it every year for these ten long years, and finally, the paramount example of fiction has been born.
She is certain she’s made a short piece so utterly untouchable by every other canon that the second the judges lay eyes on it; they will declare it to be in an echelon even higher than the classics.
With great, almost acetic-like forbearance, she waits patiently until she reaches the entry table.
“Name,” the minion at the desk asks with a smile.
She does a gentle, dramatic wave, underpinning both her humility and her certainty of victory in one, ironic swoop of gesture. “Literary Short Form Minion… I trust you will find everything as it should be,” she says, handing over her folder.
How brilliant, how understated of her! “I trust you will find everything as it should be.” – absolute genius. She mentally congratulates her on her razor-sharp wit.
The minion at the desk takes up the manuscript like a precious relic. “Of course, thank you,” she says before turning to serve the next person in line.
And that’s that. She’s won.
Literary Short Form Minion is on the brink of tears as she walks away. Maybe she should stop by one of the tea shops before the judges get to work. She’ll need to stay hydrated if Chaos is going to read the entire, glorious work of unadulterated majesty.
She spends the next hour thinking up witty and deep-sounding quotes for her imminent “writer’s wisdom” book.
What a wonderful day.
“-‘What a wonderful day, don’t you agree? Aimon spoketh to the winds.’
The winds, they called back. ‘ ’Tis only as wonderful as you see it to be, dear man.’
Aimon looked up to the sky, and he laughed. The sky was red, and the clouds… they had gone East.
Vampire Romance Minion slowly, steadily lowers the manuscript from her face as she finishes the reading. Her look is one of pure confusion.
There’s an awkward, cold silence all around the table. The tea has since run dry since they started, because drinking tea was the only way to distract themselves from what they were hearing.
No one in the Hot Fiction Minion Reader’s Club wanted to speak up first, because they all knew that they would be the one branded as an absolute and utter cunt.
One must support others in their artistic endeavors, after all, but what is one to do when such is utterly unsupportable?
Paranormal Fantasy Minion gently tugs on the artsy, stupendously-long scarf around her neck. “I… I uh… it sounds like you’ve gone through a lot of artistic growth since last week,” she says with a quaint smile, addressing Fanfiction Minion, who looks more like a caged animal about to have its skull bashed in with a hammer.
“I…” she cannot respond past that, her little chest is rising and falling too quickly. She can’t even think about how she’ll justify this.
Her glowing white eyes scan around the other black and white bodies staring back at her. The judgement… it’s so palpable, their gazes are like needles cutting into her. The only face that’s a clear smile is, as expected, Forum Bitch Minion, the most hated person of the club and as such is also considered the leader.
“Gee,” Forum Bitch Minion starts with a growing smirk now that she knows it was all a mistake, “I guess you have some explaining to do, don’t you?”
“Wh-what do you mean? That’s… that’s not mine!”
Forum Bitch Minion looks over to Vampire Romance Minion, who only needs to look at what she’s holding.
“It’s your folder, girl,” she says.
Fanfiction Minion shakes her head as if there were a viper attached to it. “N-no, look… there… there’s been a mistake! This isn’t mine! Look at the title page again, please!”
The minions all look to Vampire Romance Minion, who shrugs and leafs through that page that she actually skipped.
“Huh… a Literary Short Form Minion?” she reads off.
“AHA!” Fanfiction Minion shouts at an irritating volume. “There you have it, I must have accidently switched my fiction with her when that idiot ran into me.”
“She ran into you?!” the sweet Slash Fiction Minion bleats with surprise.
“Y-yeah! She was just like ‘move over, beyatch’ and just shoved me into some bananas and weasels, or something. I couldn’t even!”
Forum Bitch Minion gives a poised, nasally scoff. “Yeah, that’ll be the day.” She looks up to the wall clock hanging over the door to their wonderfully cozy, reading-nook maximized club room. “We’ll have time for you to read it if you can get it back in the next three hours, I guess.”
Fanfiction Minion is at her feet immediately. “In the name of good writing, I will get my fic back!”
“You go girl!”
“You better be quick,” three of them say in unison.
Like a bolt, she’s out the door to fix what has been broken.
Forum Bitch Minion clears her throat amidst the creaking of the door’s hinges.
“Sooooo in the meantime, who wants to hear chapter seventy three of my-”
It’s all like a dream for Literary Short Form Minion.
Her contestant number is rising past one judge booth to the next at a speed she only believed could be possible in fiction enjoyed only by plebeians, the kind devoid of any magical realism.
Postmodernist Narrative Minion said it is “a joyous and playful usurping of my expectations.” Of course he said this between drags of his blunt, which he kept hidden between the pages of whatever he was currently reading.
Classical Deconstruction Minion smartly noted that the main character was a subconscious projection of the author coming to terms with her post-war society, which Literary Short Form Minion feels like she should take offense to, but hadn’t prepared any witty quotable remarks to fight back with.
Romanticism Minion boldly declared that it was “A triumph of unhinged beauty in the sensory scope of literature!” Even though she knows he says that about any fiction half worthwhile.
Ethical Criticism Minion was at first insulted by the subject matter of her work, but he knew like any good critic there must be some deeply seeded metaphor for all of this surface level intensity.
Prudish Low-Level Error Minion sniffed that “there were quite a few errors,” but there’s literally no pleasing her because she hasn’t even read a manual of style in the last twenty years, after all, it’s not like anyone cares about grammar anyway, right?
Artistic Spirit Minion took a long sip of her kale kombucha and crooned that “This work holds the great spirit within it, and the muses, and the fates.” Everyone listening just sort of smiled and nodded at her.
The horn-rimmed glasses-wearing Feminist Literary Criticism Minion touted that it was a “liberated work” filled with “the struggles of a young spirit upon a masculine landscape of temptation”. Literary Short Form Minion doubted it heavily, considering she didn’t have any females in the piece, but then again, perhaps the wind was female all along.
Minions far and wide across the scope of literature pass her work but most importantly, it was Tolkienian Fantasy Tradition Minion who took a long, savoring puff from his pipe before uttering the magic phrase “It’s not derivative.” This is, of course, the most perfect compliment anyone can give about anyone’s art ever.
She couldn’t believe it. She’d made it through all of the preliminary judges.
Now all there was to do was to wait for the top three. The final judgement is made by the top three minions in Chaos’ cabinet, usually reserved for the titles of “Strongest,” “Smartest,” and “Most Helpful”. Of course, any minion that stays away from crime and coffee are welcome among the general minioning public of Towerne, but there are always those that do more than the bare minimum.
This time the panel is held by Scout Minion, Magic Minion, and Geometric Shape Enthusiast Minion.
Everyone agrees that The Overlord needs to tweak the process a little further than reading down a list of minions and going “hey, I like that one, let’s put them in there!”
Undoubtedly, Scout Minion is super hideously deadly as a fighter, and Magic Minion literally has “Magic” in her name, but Geometric Shape Enthusiast Minion being “helpful” seems like a stretch by the standards of most.
It was then brought up by Spiteful Bureaucrat Minion that Geometric Shape Enthusiast Minion had, in fact submitted his own work into the competition, and was summarily disqualified. He insisted that he didn’t know there were any rules, but then he just got distracted by Bee Keeper Minion’s fancy honeycomb-shaped folder and started following her around everywhere, which she was not a fan of whatsoever.
That put it down to two judges.
Over the past hour and a half the competition has been whittled away to only five final manuscripts. Minions are called to the final table when their reading starts, which usually takes only twenty minutes each. Once one of the judges finishes, she would write down her score secretly aside and pass the work in the queue for the other to start reading.
Literary Short Form Minion’s masterpiece lay at the bottom of the stack. With her little antennae perked up in to drop eaves, she overhears Magic and Scout Minion mulling over one story after another, giving short, but surprisingly respectful whispers between each other about the content.
Finally they get to hers, and finally, Fanfiction Minion pushes to the very front of the crowd next to her target.
“Hey!” Fanfiction Minion starts with a bated breath.
At first Literary Short Form Minion ignores her, too busy gauging Magic Minion’s expressions as she scans over her work. The tall minion’s slender gaze becomes ever more slim as her eyes slowly, but coldly glaze across the pages.
“Literary Minion, hey!” Fanfiction Minion starts again with a wave.
Literary Short Fiction Minion takes a long, sharp breath. “Yes?” she says with that classically unhurt “mature” form of disgust and disrespect so often found among poised college students who mistakenly believe they are above even argument.
“I think that… when we… look: when we crashed I think our manuscripts got swapped.”
Literary Short Fiction Minion’s antennae jut to straight attention with the thought, but she quickly relaxes.
“That’s quite a lofty claim,” she responds with a gracious, punchable smugness.
Fanfiction Minion notches back in confusion. “Eh, what do you mean? What’s lofty about us getting our…” she double takes between her insulting conversational partner and the judge’s desk.
Literary Short Fiction Minion submitted her story into the competition, and now it’s made it all the way to the final judges.
Her face blushes with an uneven grayish white.
“Wh-wh-…what?” she mutters out in a daze as a smirking Magic Minion hands Literary Short Fiction Minion’s folder over to Scout Minion, who cracks it open immediately and starts reading.
“Oh my, don’t tell me you think your ridiculous masturbatory garbage got all the way to the final selection?” Literary Short Fiction Minion asks with a broodingly-superior smile. “Please, leave me be so I can savor this moment.” She looks away to the judges and past them up to glorious Chaos, laxing back as he mentally prepares himself for his reading of the winner’s story. “The greatest moment of my li-”
“BAHAHAHAHAHHA!” Is the guffaw that cuts through her budding monologue.
Scout Minion left hand is pressed firmly against her forehead with a look of brilliant, hilarious disbelief, as if her eyes had just been opened to a new realm of humor, a new form of cosmically ironic comedy that she has not yet been privy to.
The two minions below exchange a quick glance of confusion as the crowd quiets down. The loudest thing in the massive crowd is the sound of Scout Minion turning the pages back to the front of the folder. Her glowing eyes double check the name on the folder, and out of all of the judges for the entire competition she actually compares it to the author name in the title page. She had rushed through it the first time, but she’s the first one to make the connection that it may not have been an alias.
There’s a pause in the center of Towerne: the Minionry’s universe.
Scout Minion slowly, slyly slides her gaze down to the two minions, Literary Short Fiction Minion’s eyes completely clueless as to the massive blunder that’s taken place.
Scout Minion smiles, and it is a cruel smile. She leans over to Magic Minion and whispers a few words, winning a nod and giggle from the taller one, and she then reaches her little arm over to the table bell.
*Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding!*
Scout Minion clears her throat with a truly shit-eating grin. “Heya, kiddos. We’ve deliberated and we’ve selected the winner for this decade’s competition.” She clears her throat. “Could Literary Short Fiction Minion please present herself?” she adds, looking down right at Literary Short Fiction Minion.
There’s a pause, and she slowly raises her hand with a confident, clear gaze. “That’s me.” She assumes Scout Minion just heard a hilarious joke; that must be it.
Scout Minion gestures up to the makeshift throne formed out of the piles of thousands of other manuscripts. It is there that Chaos awaits. “Congratulations,” Scout Minion says with a hint of irony in her voice.
There’s an uproarious cheer and Literary Short Fiction Minion’s heart leaps for joy as two large minions take her up on their shoulders to deliver her to the overlord’s fancy demon-skin recliner.
It’s an ethereal moment for her, as she’s lifted up from the dregling crowds to meet with their master, their lord. She spares only a passing glance at the face of Fanfiction Minion. She looks horrified, shouting “wait!” even though her voice is drowned out by the heaving crowds of celebrating minions. Literary Short Fiction Minion smiles to herself. “She must be so jealous” she thinks to herself as she and her retainers hit the halfway point up the mountain of defeated manuscripts, like a million fallen bodies with only one victor.
In bliss and simple, angelic peace, she takes in the air as the upper walls of The Center Tower come into view, with all their shops and institutes for various sciences. The sky, installed upon the enclosed dimensional space by arcane means, is now displaying a dramatic, Olympian sunset.
She has made it. It’s all up from here.
Looking forward, she sees High Overlord Chaos smiling at her with the same excited, paternal love that he affords all of his minions, but now he loves her the best, she’s sure.
Literary Short Fiction Minion is laid gently next to the overlord, them both sharing the same wide, plush seat crafted lovingly out of the corpses of his enemies.
Grape-to-Mouth Delivery Minion eases from around the corner of the recliner with a bowl full of the Omniverse’s rarest and most delicious grapes, a hardly seen crop even among The Overlordship’s immense realm of wealth and mastery.
With a quaint smile, he gives a simple bow and raises up the first length of delicious, literally glowing fruits.
“For you, champion,” he says with tone of simmering privilege.
It’s music to her ears, and she cutely opens her mouth just wide enough to accept one as Chaos is then given the folder containing the winning manuscript.
He takes a moment to consider what he’s looking at, peering over every inch of the page with a warm, fatherly care. He then reaches out his hand and begins gently scratching her antennae.
She relaxes and stretches back into his touch as the attendants of the competition, nearly seventy percent of all the Minionry, behold her: lionized in her victory.
Finally, the reading begins, so they can all understand why she is the greatest writer among them all. Chaos takes a deep breath, and with an unjudgmental, gentle smile, begins reading.
“This story was written by Literary Short Fiction Minion,” he proclaims with his outside voice for the multitudes to hear, “and it is titled ‘The Overbull Dominates a Slut Knight Bitch’.”
Literary Short Fiction Minion turns slowly to face him, her expression frozen with unprecedented, galactic horror. Her greatest dream has transformed into the darkest imaginable nightmare.
“Ehem. Let’s begin:
Her body was hot with sweat.
She knew the chase was over.
The second Knight Harmony strayed too far into the dark woods of the overbull her fate was sealed, and she knew it.
His dark, rippling physique appeared behind a grove of trees.
His incredible, supple, yet sharp body flexed subtly under the waning moonlight, displaying his profane, delicious body plainly to her.
‘Ahh, and just who dares to enter my lands!!?’ he asked, his domineering manhood crudely awaiting her answer.
‘Oh noooo I’ve been caught by the overlord?!’ she bleated lithely, her body contorting in fear.
His yummy abs flex brutally, as rock hard as any rock…..
‘You certainly have. You do know what happens now, don’t you!!?1’
She quickly casted a teleportation spell to escape, but he was already behind her.
‘Nothing personal, kiddo,’ he said as he knocked her down into the warm grass, as soft and inviting as any bed.
‘Ugh! You can’t! I’ll tell EVERYONE!??’ she pleaded, her ass aiming up immediately with a wiggle.
‘Hah’ the dark master chuckled with glee, ‘after I’m done with you the only thing exiting your mouth will be moans!’ he said as he descended upon her with amazing, delicious strength.
Turning her around to face him, she screamed, but cried out in pleasure the same time as his foot long overlord tongue slithered out of his mouth and began licking her!!!?!
‘You taste like fear!!!!’ he yelled cruelly as he pinned her down.
‘N-no! I’ll never EVER give in, overlord!!!!’
He only laughed again, sexually, and cruelly, like someone who is very sexual and cruel. ‘The only thing giving in will be your body against my FOOT LONG OVERLORD C-’… oh my.“
Chaos clears his throat for a moment as he looks over the next few lines in the story.
“Oh, well this won’t do for public reading at all!” he notes with a mixed expression. He turns down to look at the “winner”: the spiritually and physically frozen Literary Short Fiction Minion. “I’m terribly sorry, but I do not think we’ll be able to go through with the reading with subject matter like this. Did you forget to note to the judges that this was for mature audiences?”
Like a dead, pale insect, she only stares out, her mouth gaping wide and motionless as Grape-to-Mouth Delivery Minion continues serving grape after grape into her maw. She’s stopped eating them for so long that he’s made a nice little hill of grapes poking out of her jaws.
Chaos gains a perplexed glance.
“It appears as though she fainted,” he observes.
Grape-to-Mouth Delivery Minion finally glances over to look at what he’s doing, and flinches. “O-oh! Goodness! Wonder what happened?”
He shrugs. “Probably in awe at the moment.” He grins while he looks aside. “I suppose that can be a natural reaction to being this close to me,” he muses. “No matter. We’ll have to skip the reading and simply send her home with the awards.” Chaos gives the shocked-stupid minion a gentle pat on the head as the minions in the massive crowd below exchange muffled whispers.
None of them thought she’d be capable of writing something so… liberated.
She is sent back to her room for recovery, and Fanfiction Minion comes forward attempting to clear up the issue that is was, in fact, her that wrote the story, and that she needs it back for her club. She also very carefully explained that the characters represented had nothing at all to do with him nor the actual Knight Harmony of The Royal Knights.
Chaos doesn’t much understand her explanation, but he also pats her on the head for good measure.
“Thank you for letting me know,” he says with a gentle smile as he hands over the manuscript. “Despite all the confusion. I feel like she had fun. Quite a wonderful day it’s been, hmm?”