**A/N: Repeating from last chapter because I’m pretty sure not everyone actually READS this part (maybe I should underline it??), but once more for the money anyway: Remember, not only am I far from being a perfect writer – hell, I also make fun of my own self in these bits-o-fluff – but, again, none of my crap here is meant specifically toward any one writer. While I hear LOTS and LOTS about more current fics (not just about the TB/SVM genre, either, mind you…), most of my peeves and material (?) come from older fics I’d read (and rolled my eyes at) before I got more seriously into my own writing (edited to add: which was in 2012…).
The rest of this crap comes from conversations with my surprisingly large (you’d think they’d have higher standards, right?) circle of friends. They love to regale me with bits and pieces of fanfic fuckery that have tickled their funny bones and/or made them roll their eyes repeatedly and/or made them throw up in the back of their throats just a wee bit… Finally, I mostly want to thank my readers (those who comment, those who send me the fanfic fuckery that they’ve found hilarious and/or disturbing, and those who just read without commenting) for having the grace to see this tomfoolery *exactly* for what it is: snarky, irrelevant, irreverent, sometimes self-aimed, hopefully giggly fun. No Emotwats were harmed in the making of this fic.**
Emowad sat in his OLDER MODEL BUT STILL A VULVA grey, still all 50 misogynistic, abusive shades of it, purr-mobile twiddling his ironic scarf, and watched as St.Efan grabbed WhinYlena’s head and kissed her hard for a minute and a half, then started lapping at her lips.
“You’re so puffy…and swollen…and pink and juicy,” he said between licks as he lapped at her luscious and wet lips.
Confused about what he was doing – he was supposed to be kissing her, not lapping at her luscious wet lips – WhinYlena did her patented Confused Face #24, and when no answers or Cdamons magically appeared, she initiated Patented Hair Toss Procedure #94 instead.
Eventually, when St.Efan started sucking on her front teeth, WhinYlena decided that she had had enough and stepped back daintily yet forcefully. She chose Hair Toss #7 at that point as she decided that it would best fit the scene.
“Hey, are you still a vampire or did you switch supe-versions and become a werewolf instead? And what’s up with all this lip lapping and licking anyway?”
“I’m not through with you yet,” he growled-slash-whined instead of answering her question, his face changing to reflect his inner vamper-dude. He chose Vamp Face #2 figuring it was best to stay with the classics. St.Efan started to slip/slide/glide/elide into lecture mode and expound upon the myriad of ways in which the classics were far, far better than whatever smelled/tasted/looked current, but for once held his breath.
Lectures could always come later.
There was always time for lectures later.
He posed for an invisible camera before lowering his massive head, and then kissed her again, more of a real kiss than a lip lapping contest, then suddenly rammed his tongue down her throat a few dozen times. He finally stopped when she started gagging, and leaned back with an odd look on his still-half-vamp’ed face.
“You had barbecue for lunch, didn’t you? Holstein’s, according to the taste of it,” he said in contemplation. “You should consider investing in an electric toothbrush, by the way.”
With a shrug, he returned his mouth to hers, and started lapping yet again at her moist, juicy, swollen, wet, pink lips. When she made an impatient sound, he changed to sucking on those moist, juicy, swollen, wet pink lips, and continued patiently as he waited for her to orgasm.
Girls were always supposed to orgasm when you lapped at their lady lips, right?
Exactly 23 seconds later – Emowad counted – WhinYlena made the oddest, most grotesque noise he had heard recently…Demmett and Frozalie’s love life not included.
After screeching, covering her face with her hands, dancing around, and generally doing all she could to draw attention to herself without seeming to draw attention to herself as she drew attention to herself, the object of the blond vampire’s obsession finally giggled.
“I meefed,” she squealed between hysterical giggles.
St.Efan shook his head side to side as though trying to dislodge a bug from his ear in slow motion. “Meefed?”
“Yes,” the not-quite-so-hysterical girl replied in semi-frenzied (Word’s thesaurus said “frenzied” could be used in place of “hysterical”) tones. (Word’s thesaurus is an idiot.)
“A meef is a mouth queef!”
St.Efan turned around and promptly threw up the delicious, delicious burger he’d shoved down this throat earlier. And the fries. And the pickle. Oddly, the brownie stayed down.
Brownies are smart. Too bad the writer can’t eat chocolate.
You could always go eat a brownie in my honor. I won’t tell. Honest.
Emowad wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about and then decided intelligently and with lots of intelligence to consult the interwebs. Surely someone must know what would be so funny about “meef” and “queef”.
(I hope you didn’t go eat that brownie after all considering, you know, EMOWAD…)
3.592 minutes later he gazed out the window in stunned disbelief. Horror oozed from every pore he didn’t actually have. Even his ironic scarf now had a (*gasp*) wrinkle in it!
Why, you may ask?
He now had knowledge he had never wanted.
He needed to call his MamaEsme. She would make it better.
She would make it alllll better.
Maybe she would hum Eddie’s Lullaby to him again.
She answered before the phone had even rang on her end because of her superior vampire hearing.
“Yes, my darling boi? Have you missed your mummy today?”
“Mu’mEs’me, I learned something bad today. Really, really bad. I have defiled my previously-already-non-virginal mind. You many need to tie me up and spank me.”
“What? What did you learn? And why would I need to spank my good boi?”
“You need to spank me because you love me and if you love someone you’re supposed to punish and abuse them in some way, right? “
“No, Emo, you have that all wrong as usual, baby. Abuse of any sort does not equal love in any way. How many times do we have to go over this? Now, what did you learn that’s so bad? Go ahead and tell mama all about it. I mean, mummy.”
“I was sitting in my 50 Shades of puerile gray purr-mobile, you know it’s a Vulva, right? Well, I was sitting here minding my own business spying on some of those other vamps when…when…I can’t even say it. I finally had to look a word up on the interwebs because for once I didn’t know what it was, and I couldn’t read the definition from either the vampire’s mind or the girl with the vampire because he kept shoving his tongue down her throat trying to taste her lunch and then he threw up and he has a nice tight ass for one of those other kinds of vampires so I looked the word up and found out what it meant and MOMMY – MAKE IT STOOOOP! (insert many more words here to make this paragraph unGodric’ly long)”
MamaEsme just shook her head sadly. Her little emo-boi would never grow up, and she felt truly sorry for him since he was so obviously determined to be the stuck-up emo-brat of the family. He would always be too snobby and self-absorbed to see the humor in a situation (just ask Malice), who couldn’t recognize fun for what it was even when it was served on a silver-fucking-platter (just ask Demmett), and naturally he wouldn’t ever like honest people who don’t pander to others (just ask Frozalie), and of course he would always love nice, tight vampire asses – well, who wouldn’t? Nice, tight, firm vampire asses…
(Remember, I make a lot of fun of my own self here…)
At the speed of not-being-able-to-see-her she blurred and vamped and ran really, really fast around the mansion/estate/really big house 297 times to refocus her vampire thoughts, then stopped so abruptly/fast/quickly that her feet drug trenches in the soft, moist, loose/lose dirt.
She truly didn’t want to ask what he had looked up on the interNET – silly little freak…with his “enhanced vampire perma-memory” he STILL failed to remember to call it the interNET – but she was afraid he was going to tell her all about it whether she wanted to hear it or not.
Suck it up, buttercup, she said sternly if silently.
*triple double latte grande Eric-has-a huge-dong-we-get-it-already sigh*
“Well,” she started and began to say when she was interrupted rudely yet silkily with the silky voice of her not-son.
“I…I have to go…bye!”
Suddenly the call ended abruptly and without (much) warning.
MamaEsme grinned, then skipped/glided to the kitchen to bake a useless lasagna, make a tossed salad, bake a 6 layer cake, and make some brownies that no one would eat.
After setting the table with the tons of food that she would let “air” for exactly 1.693 hours on the dining room table that no one used for anything but arts and crafts and building DIY alarm clocks and zoo animal dioramas, she ran herself a nice bubbly bubble bath full of bubbly bubbles. While she soaked, she was sure to hum the “rub the nub” version of the “rub a dub” song while naturally manually rubbing her nub because that’s what all women do in the bubbly bubbly bathtub right after fondling their boobies then tweaking/pinching/rolling/pulling their nipples and gasping/moaning/screaming/whispering their man’s name silently/loudly, right?
As she diddled and fondled and pinched (ouch) and rubbed and scrubbed and stroked and tweaked and tapped and rotated and checked the tire pressure of her clitoris, she realized that her neighbor 29.503 miles down the road really needed to change her cat’s litter box.
**A/N: Again shared from last chapter because, you know: Remember, none of the crap I come up with here is from any one person or story. And bluntly, even if it were, I still wouldn’t say so. It is not my intention to hurt any writer’s feelings as my purpose in life is to NOT bring ill-feelings or humiliation toward anyone specific. The purpose of this exercise in snarkery is purely for fun (mine, that I choose to share with y’all because I’m told it’s hilarious and sadly on-point) poked at the expense of trite, sad, stale, over-used, inane, misogynistic, abusive, ridiculous, dysfunctional, “but it’s just a fanfic so it doesn’t matter how many mental and physical rape/abuse/torture buses I toss a female character under” themes I’ve had the extremely dubious pleasure of reading (or clicking out of very quickly because UGH!) in the past couple of years. You may also note per that exact reasoning that I no longer READ the offerings of most (edited to clarify: TB/SVM) fanfic writers (and only partially because I’m still in a writing mode myself). I get to choose what I allow into my brain, and I do not choose to allow overused notions of sleaze, smut, abuse, rape, torture, EMOWAD SULLEN, silly Dom/”Master”/slave bullshit (and so on and so forth to the point of puke’age) to set up camp in my already-snarkalicious brainbox. “Pam” ain’t got nothin’ on me.
Now, all that being said, I also FULLY realize that not everyone on this mudball planet will get my anti-sleaze, anti-abuse, anti-unrealistic humor, and that not everyone who does understand it will then appreciate it. And that is perfectly fine! No one on this planet is required to read one single word I write.
And, on that note, have a great day imagining Emo bustin’ his sparkly-cum wad over the male facilities in Merlotte’s because FATE! CRYPTIC!**