YOU KNOW THE DRILL – READ ALL THE PREVIOUSLY-POSTED WARNINGS ON ALL THE PREVIOUSLY POSTED CHAPTERS, ETC. (Quick read version: NO BITCHING – THIS IS ALL IN FUN – IT’S A CRACK-FIC FOR A REASON. BRING COFFEE.)
**A/N: I have not, nor will I ever, read SM’s fanfic of her own Twi-series. I just can’t make me do it. But here’s this…**
Emowad looked at the book in his trembling, Adonis-like hands and shook his burnt copper-topped head dolefully and with much sadness.
There was always confusion.
The disdain was usually hidden behind his always-casually-arranged cashmere scarf tossed with carefully arranged nonchalance over at least one – if not both – of his shoulders.
The writer of his favorite Saga – the one he loved and hated and loved to hate and hated to love but usually just mentally masturbated to since he had been told it was wrong to TOUCH HIMSELF PHYSICALLY *he giggled* was wrong – had basically…he couldn’t even say it.
So he thought it.
She’d basically written a fanfic of her own work.
And then had the gall to charge for it.
He couldn’t bring himself to open that first page.
Or the second one.
Or the third one.
You get the idea.
If the roles between the HEA couple were reversed as the propaganda surrounding its release (what, are books in jail before they’re “released”?) had stated, did that mean The (Adonis-Like) Boy Who Sparkled (In An Adonis-Like Way) was now a *114-year-old human man?
Did this mean that The Girl Who Bit Her Lip Too Often Trying To Draw Blood To Force The Twee Vamp-Boy To Change Her Whether He Wanted To Or Not was now a permanently 17-year-old vamp-gurl?
Did this mean that The Girl Who Bit Her Lip Too Often Trying To Draw Blood To Force The Twee (Adonis-Like) Vamp-Boy To Change Her Whether He Wanted To Or Not-Vamp-Gurl was a perma-virgin?
Guess no sex for her, like, ever, he thought. If their skin was all diamond hard and unbreakable and immobile and unchanging (etc., etc., etc.) then he didn’t see that hymen ever breaking enough to allow for normal sex.
Well, he amended to himself in a conversation erstwhile-heroes never actually have with themselves in ‘romantic’ stories, not unless her hymen was already broken while she rode a bike as a kid. Or maybe she broke it already during a sky-diving incident that no one knows about. Or maybe while experimenting with varying lengths of moving sexual playthings (he couldn’t bring himself to think “sex toys”, much less “vibrating dildos”, but he did have another quality giggle). If that’s the case, then she’d be A-OK to have physical relations with the 114 year old human man.
The thought of the 17-year-old vampire being with the 114-year-old human man then made him feel ill somewhere near where he thought his stomach used to be.
And how was that 114-year-old human man supposed to pop and/or poop out the requisite Reneshittynamebaby?
Was it going to be a penis birth?
An MPREG butt-baby?
If the author of his favorite Saga and now unfavorite fanfic of her own Saga had been reading shitty fanfics, anything was – sadly and unrealistically -possible.
He didn’t know.
MamaEsme might, but she never read YA books, much less fanfics of YA books written by the YA book’s writer.
Maybe she would bake him some cookies he couldn’t eat.
Emowad called his MamaEsme. Just because he was holed up in London didn’t mean he couldn’t smell her fresh-baked cookies in Spoons, NotWashington.
Demmett might know about those kinds of…things. He and Bitchalie got up to the strangest shenanigans sometimes.
Well, all the times.
He might fling this book at them once he walked up on the shores of Jersey tomorrow sometime between 8:04:22:02 and 8:04:22:07 – he never knew how those underwater currents would go so it was wise to allow for a few milliseconds difference.
Salt water was hell on cashmere (crafted of only the finest cash and mere, you understand) scarves, though, so he might as well go ahead and toss it in the trash now.
The book, however, he sealed in a heavily zip-locked zip-lock baggie with the heavy zip-lock at the top.
(*Unnecessary A/N inserted in the middle of the “chapter”: Word didn’t yell at me for using “Though” as a single-word sentence yet it did yell at me for using “However” as a single-word sentence. Word is weird.*)
That’s unlife for you, Emowad grumbled and groused and complained to himself about whatever it was he had been whining to himself about. With a heavy, heaving, and faintly unhealthy-sounding sigh, he took his zip-locked book and his twee unscarved body and prepared to enter the sea.
Just as he was about to introduce his Italian leather super-spendy handmade and polished by out of work unicorns and bread elves (not veggie elves, they’re never out of work, but sometimes the sardine elves are only everything they touch seems to smell like, well, bubblegum) loafers to the sea water, he heard something.
*Cue unnecessarily and abruptly abrupt ending of too-short “chapter” that was too short because the writer got bored, tired, her/his phone rang/dog barked/own batch of cookies were finished baking, or she/he wandered off to make a cup of coffee and forgot to return.
*Sources that I forgot to document state that Emowad was born/hatched/fell from the sky on June 20,1901, hence the 114 years old part.
And stuff. Bring coffee.