Disclaimer: I do not own Toy Story

A/N I would like to thank everyone that has reviewed, sent a suggestion, added this story to alert, added to favourites or has even taken time to read it. What would I do without y'all?

I'd conclude 'Poker-Face. But 'DrWhoLover815' suggested that I should write a fluffy moment, so I'll give it a shot. It may turn out horribly, but oh well... A/N

Mr Pricklepants had been wandering aimlessly around the room for half-an-hour by this point as he patiently waited for the time where the inspiration would hit 'him'.

Yes, it was inspiration he desperately needed in order to continue with the play he wanted to produce. However, like every great (a melodramatic term of course) script writer has been through, the Porcupine had a sense of MAJOR writer's block. And, to him, Writer's Block could be the worst thing to ever encounter. In many ways, it was sort of like an anchor that loomed over his mind, refusing to leave until it had destroyed every source of creative thought that had the ultimate potential to have been roaming through his mind on this day; and boy did he hate this.

Sighing, he came to a halt in front of one of the end legs of Bonnie's bed and frowned. What did the great writer's do when they had 'Writer's Block'? Surely the best of the best writer's (or poets for the matter) must have come across something, similar to what he has been going through for quite a while now, like this some time during their 'great' lives, right? They surely could NOT have gone through their amazing lives without hitting some type of rough patch, where the ideas (that should have been flooding in at the speed of a mile per minute) in the process.

Sighing for yet another time (was this for the fifth, of the sixth time this day? He couldn't really remember at all), the stuffed porcupine extended his hand to rest on the wood of the bed leg, as he thought over the matter long and hard.

'Hmmm...' Mr Pricklepants began to mentally murmur to himself as he closed his eyes to scan the insides of his thoughts. 'What would Shakespeare have done in this kafuffle."

Wait - was 'Kafuffle' even a word?

At this - somehow - rhetorical question, Mr Pricklepants allowed his frown of disappointment, to slowly form into a ponder of thought. The question seemed to be a very curious matter indeed. Had he ever thought of this before? Or had it just occurred to him now? Had he ever thought of the 'metaphorical' word before, or was his head just coming up with nonsense (as per usual, but there was NO way in the world that Mr Pricklepants would ever admit this aloud)? In all retrospects, of whoch had been scanned by the top areas, specializing in all sorts, of his mind with thorough precision - Mr Pricklepants had no idea whatsoever. He was beyond 'Kafuffled' in this situation.

And there he went with that word again - he should really learn to keep a hold of his own thoughts, or else they WILL run lose and practically overwhelm the rest of his mind as the porcupine knew it. And, when they were in that position, well...he preferred not to think of it, or else he will officially be branded completely bonkers. And he should know: It's happened before.

Oh the joys of being in an overcrowded family.

Wait - now his thoughts certainly were steering themselves of track as they mentally conflicted with themselves, seeming almost as if they were desperate to win the race that would certainly crown them 'Thought of the Week' for sure and that they were not afraid to force others off track, in order to win the race they were desperate to gain ultimate victory over, in the slightest.

So, coming to the realization this his thoughts weren't making any sense whatsoever, he sighed for yet another time and forced his concentration over to the fact that he had been hit with a MAJOR sense of writer's block.

Hmm... What would Shake spear have done during his time of being a writer? He certainly would not have given up, this was for sure. So what had he done to overcome Writer's Block? Did he read other scripts?

Wait - no. This would have been impossible for a writer during those times.

Did he walk through the streets for some inspiration?

As Mr Pricklepants thought over this possibility, he then came to the realization that this may have just been what Shakespeare had actually done in order to cure the inevitable form of Writer's Block, especially since there would have been absolutely loads going on in the streets during those ages. Well...at least the Porcupine presumed so.

But going for a stroll through the streets was completely out of the question for Mr Pricklepants. There was no way he could. Not to mention the fact that the Sheriff would kill him if he even tried.

Sighing, Mr Pricklepants felt the fact that he was not a human who possessed the ability to walk freely through the streets settle upon his high spirits like an overwhelming anchor.

Instead, he was a toy in a toy's room.

... Which was why he was in the perfect place!

A/N Will be continued :)

I know, a bit of a sappy ending, right? (Wait - is 'sappy' even a word?)

I know that I said there would be some fluff in this chapter, but I've held it off until the next chapter for now.

Anyway, thanks to DrWhoLover815 for offering the suggestion! You rock! ^_^

Feel free to send a review or a suggestion if you want!

xxxxxxxxxShannonxxxxxxxxx