I found out on Friday the 22 of May in 2026 that E.E. Nally, one of our prolific writers in the Whateley Academy stories, passed away on April 30^th, 2026. It’s with great sorrow that I bring this news to you all. I had chatted with him almost every day or two for quite a while but he had fallen silent somewhere in the middle of February. I thought maybe he was in the hospital and unable to communicate with me but, as I feared in my imagination, he had gotten worse and eventually passed away.

Torn from his own world and stuffed into the body of a villainess, facing the end of a doomed route he himself wrote, "Amelia" must navigate a world she really should know - too bad she was never great at worldbuilding.

Stuck in a world she (maybe) created, Amelia quickly finds that reality has filled in the details she failed to describe. The characters who were so flat when she wrote them now have nuance, and motives. The kingdom she wrote into existence is experiencing internal strife she never even thought about. And let's not even get into the complexities of the magic system, or the demon that forced her into this situation to begin with...

Oh, and then there's the fact that she's about to be arrested and executed... but surely she can come up with a way to write herself out of that, right?

...Right?

After a man is stabbed in the back and dies, he wakes up in the Labyrinth with a new body, new power, and another chance.

This story takes place in the same universe as my story Invoker.

So... we've come to a sex scene. Be warned.

Chapter 30 March 15th. 2026

Lucy came into Sarah’s room. She was still in her workout clothes from this morning, and sitting at the computer. “Hey,” she said and slid in close behind her. “I think we’re alone now.”

She slid her hand over Sarah’s shoulder and touched her small breast. It was compressed under a sports bra. She gently began to tweak her nipple with her thumb and forefinger.

The Dead Pixel Society

© 2026 Zoë Taylor

He barreled through the extremely heavy door without a second thought.

For those of you who think it would be cruel and unusual punishment to wait for part 2 of this story (Yes I’m looking at both of you!) I’ve decided to post part 2 already today. For those of you unfamiliar with this story a part 2 usually signifies that there is a part 1. Not always but this time it does. You will be less confused if you read part 1 first.

The flight “home” had been pure purgatory for Chrysanthemum Daisy. Why had his parents bought “unaccompanied minor” status for him? For Cripes’ sake he was a high school student. Well, almost anyway. And to add insult to injury he had grown out of his middle school graduation suit (it had been on the small side already before) that he had arrived to camp in so he had had to wear his dress instead. Ok ONE of them. The first one, not the more daring one. So it was Miss Daisy here and Miss Daisy there. They were driving Miss Daisy out of her, sorry, his mind.

Atticus Carver, the star wide receiver, a popular sophomore in a high school in Louisiana, is about to get a change to his life he doesn't expect or want - and it's all in public.

Now the person who changed him to her, in spite of feeling terrible for what they did to an innocent young life and potentially more, wants one-hundred-million dollars wired to multiple bank accounts within a month and all of the CIA's info released to the public, or they'll set the gender-bending spores on the whole of the United States

Atticus is left reeling from everything, having to pick a new name for herself, learn to be a girl in high school, to finding new romances, to keeping her old friends and finding new ones, to picking up a brand-new sport for herself...and making enemies that she has no idea how to deal with...

I will also be posting this story on RoyalRoad.com and ScribbleHub.com.

The character in my dreams was not as common as Nancy or Victoria, but I was still quite familiar with her. Mona was a witch, a sorceress, whatever. A woman who did magic using a magic wand.

Chapter 8: At the Threshold

Morning arrived softly at the Temple of Aphrodite.

Hood up. Hair bundled underneath it, more or less contained. The sweatshirt is the largest I own and it reaches mid-thigh and in the elevator to the lab I stand with my face down and the hood forward.

I get to my desk before anyone else. This was the plan.

I open the overnight logs and they are good — rabbit's margins holding, pathway data clean, projection unchanged — and I focus on this and not on the fact that I am sitting in a laboratory in November in sandals and a hoodie like someone who has not quite finished becoming a person.

Good morning.

"Morning."

After a man is stabbed in the back and dies, he wakes up in the Labyrinth with a new body, new power, and another chance.

This story takes place in the same universe as my story Invoker.