Be sure to tag each post with #teamamber and #prompt # (ex: #prompt 1)

Do NOT tag these posts with #shernanigans

And this should be it! Sorry it’s not good enough! Dx 

Satire: Genre characterized by the variety. A satire can be about anything, ANYTHING at all. Usually short compositions with an incisive ending.

Lucilian Satire: Main theme is the varied attention on all aspects of quotidian life in an amused and witty way, but it’s also very strong the erotic theme. Mostly used with moral intents, and to define a virtue while condemning its counterpart vices. The style was also aggressive, biting and poisonous.

Menippean Satire: a mix of both prose and poetry, its tone is both serious and jokingly. (Seneca used it to write a satirical pamphlet at the death of emperor Claudio, whom he hated, in which he arrived to heaven, was chased away and reached hell, where was turned into a pumpkin by the Gods.)

Horatian Satire: Conversational style, similar to the spoken language. Similar to the comedy with daily and familiar themes, still witty and humourous. (For example, in a satire Horace talks about a man that, meeting him in the street, started bothering him with philosophical questions he didn’t want to answer to; another one is a monologue, in which he talks about his country house that Mecenate presented him with, praising the friend; another one is the story of a trial for magic; and so on.)

Petronian Satire: Very parodistic, it has the satirical style but it’s applied to a novel that is the parody of a novel. To better say, Petronio’s novel is the parody of the classical Greek model, with a faithful couple as the protagonists. In Petronio’s novel, the protagonist is a man who loves a young boy, and they cheat on each other constantly. Other characters have very marked vices, like women who are too voluptuous and men that are too greedy, which is a critique to his contemporary society (and it contributes in making the novel very realistic).

Satiric epigrams: Very short compositions (about two-four lines) written in a daily, common language, occasionally vulgar or dirty. Its objective is expressive immediacy. In more elevated compositions, the style is (of course) more elegant and refined.

Juvenal Satire: Usual themes, less refined style and no solutions to the vices, just a hard critique on the contemporary society, with lots of complaints about groups of people or a separate person, labelled with this or that defect.

Alright! I asked my teacher, but she had to rush so her suggestion is very simple: 

To write satire, focus on something you want to critique and then write a story about that.

In the Latin prose, usually the satire is against the Emperors or the society.

(i.e. I don’t like this behaviour most people have, so I’ll write a story in which the protagonist is an animal/a person/a god and give him this quality as his only quality.)

So, let’s say, a satiric version of Sherlock could be he being only a smug smartass, Irene could be too voluptuous, ad so on.

Hope it helps, later I’ll do a list of other kinds of satire!!!

So I added another skelly (this time with wings WOO) because I didn’t think I’d have time to put him in but I did since I missed the deadline anyway.

Now to catch up on the class I missed (for sweet nothing). See below for my sop story.

Prompt 5: Danse Macabre by Saens

by astudyinfangirl (Team Sextras)

i’m sorry it’s so terribly written but i’ve barely had any time to myself today…

and i feel like submitting anyway :)

Sherlock’s head felt funny. It hadn’t felt this odds since Irene drugged him. Looking around, he could see he was back in Dartmoor – the exact place where he’d confronted the Hound. Eerily, mist drifted through the night air. Mixed with the night sounds – was that violin? Sherlock rubbed his head. Surely he’d been drugged again?

The floating mist circled in the air, twirling and pirouetting in the damp night. Sherlock watched it in awe. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He was surrounded by fog no longer – but by dancing maidens. Their white foggy hair flowed around them as they turned to the swooping music Sherlock knew he heard. Graceful and light as air, they leaped. Joining them now was a tapping, clacking sound. Sherlock, in a daze, spun to see what it was.

A skeleton?

Many of them, now, each joining with a fog-girl. They slowly danced in tune to the music, slowing and speeding with it. Sherlock’s awe was being replaced by a new sensation. Fear. He simply couldn’t accept this as true – but his own eyes were showing it to him! Racing, the music was now, crashes of percussion sent the ghostly girls and skeletal men into a frenzy before the tune evened out again.

Sherlock was backing up, almost unconsciously, away from the demonic dance. The music was slow and soft now, and could hardly be heard. Then, the sharp sound of a violin. Sherlock had backed into a tree now, and a rock behind that. Startling, he turned to run. His own senses were betraying him!

As Sherlock rounded the rock, the macabre dance behind him continued. Skeletons offered their hands to the women. He could see through them! As the music yet again reached a crescendo, Sherlock saw her. Gliding gracefully through the fanning skirts of the maidens, there she was.

“Sherlock,” she smiled. The sweetness was gone now. “How nice of you to come.”

Sherlock stuttered out the only thing he could: “M-molly?”

“Oh, yes, it’s me. You never noticed me, Sherlock – I was too boring. Do I interest you now?”

Sherlock, still backing up, had left the dancers as only a spot in the corner of his eye. He realized he was now standing in a graveyard. Molly’s sweet face was no longer so, it looked menacingly dark.

“A nice touch isn’t it, the hollow,” Molly continued. “And the music, that was for you – do you like it?”

Sherlock was still bewildered. “Why am I here?”

“Oh, just for a little fun. A good ghost story…”

Two red eyes peered out of the darkness. In great bounds, the Hound came to stand before Sherlock. “It’s real?”

“Oh, no, but I just had to create one! You see, Sherlock, I’m not some innocent mortician. Oh, no, I am the Dark Empress here, to them,” she pointed to the whirligig dancers, “and you’ve come to stay. We’ll have such fun together, Mr. Holmes.”

~~O~~

With a jolt, Sherlock grabbed at the familiar hands shaking him. “Jawn? Jawn?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“It was so strange - she was - she was evil - dark - not sweet – Jawn - what happened?”

“What are you going on about? You’ve just still got a bit of the HOUND drug in you, that’s all.”

Sherlock nodded. Of course. There was a logical explanation. Yes, HOUND, that was it. Sherlock straightened himself. “Thank you, John. I have an experiment to conduct at St. Bart’s.”

~O~

At the morgue, Sherlock was gleefully whipping a cadaver when –

“Molly, what music is that?” He could swear he’d heard it before.

“Danse Macabre.”

In the corner of his vision – surely still a side effect of HOUND? – a spiraling girl, caught midleap as she danced to the music.

When they finally came face to face, it was not with rage and fire, but with absolute exhaustion.  Both men had seen days of better upkeep, when presentation had mattered, and the rest of the world had cared to look.  Sherlock could see his own tired desperation in the other man’s eyes, but it was tinted with acceptance: at last, the game would end.  At last, there would be a clear winner. 

“You don’t seem very afraid,” Sherlock noted.

“Should I be?  It feels as if I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.  Maybe now I’ll be able to get some sleep.”

And Sherlock laughed, hollow and tired, but at least alive, as he finally raised the gun to Sebastian’s head.

I NEEDED TO LET MY SHERLOLLY FEELS OUT TO BREATH, OK

The song made me think of this AU where Lestrade has some sort of illness and he’s doing his best to just carry on, but he knows that it’s all coming to an end, a bit AOTW-esque, but he has one case that he’s trying to get to the bottom of. And I had Asleep by The Smiths playing while I was making this and I was just like :’( But anyway, rather proud of this :)