I BLAME OTHER PEOPLE!
Because apparently not_eurotic will be offering fanfic in his new Kickstarter campaign, I decided it is time to finish this epic masterpiece of Caustic/Twilight fanfic I starrted back in 2009.
Other people may or may not have helped with some of the epic plot and they know who they are!
Edward Is Gay For Caustic, Part 2
The dark oppressive grey clouds upon London's sky like a TV tuned to a dead channel back before we went all digital kept Edward from Sparkling. Indeed the only sparkle was that of his keen wit and astounding intelligence and humor, second only to his moody good looks as he brooded greatly upon his obsession.
Oh, but Caustic had fled! This was intolerable: it stabbed like the blades of the Venturi, like the fire of a thousand suns. He could not bear to be parted from his chosen!
He had traveled long and wide in search of his one true love and he was here now, in the city of London, and he had tracked down Caustic to this den of iniquity and idolatry; A wretched hive of scum and villainy and preposterous posturing, before him the Tate Modern spread like an in-depth study on space-time and the artist's depression and hatred of anti-colonialism expressed in the bold strokes of black crayon and menstrual blood.
Caustic, the man, the myth, the legend was here in search of inspiration - what now, to inspire him into even greater heights of artistry to wow generation upon generation like the true masters of the craft before him?
Speaking of before him - His eyes light up like a new morning upon ice as he sees it. her. She is large and edgy, blocky almost - All lines and no soft curves. There is no form, only function.
He approaches her - it - the beauty with no pronoun can ever apply: He touches, gently, over the corrugated metal. He knows he shouldn't, he knows this is wrong but he has to..
"HEY SOME DUDE IS HUMPING A DUMPSTER OUT BACK!"
The shout startles Edward out of his self-described malaise; He wonders, briefly. Could that be...?
Edward raced to the back of the museum like a lightning, greasier than an oil tanker. Before the brave London bobbies had a chance to arrest Caustic for public indecency and molesting the property of the City of London, Edward whisked his beloved away in a totally not sparkly at all movement that left everyone on the spot baffled and disgusted.
For Caustic, being whisked away was an experience not much akin to any actual whisking; no implements of metal nor plastic were involved, albeit the end result was that when he was unceremoniously deposited in a luxurious hotel room, he felt as if he'd had his innards not only whisked but beaten and stirred as well.
Promptly, he threw up on Edward's shoes.
"Oh my beloved don't fret!" Edward cried out dramatically, still not sparkling in the artificial light. "Come, come with me!"
Because this is a work of fiction, we urge the reader to please take a moment to suspend their disbelief that pure, virginal and chaste Edward would act so wanton. Bear with me guys, this is true art.
"I am so gay for you" Edward's voice was impassioned and resembled that of a donkey in heat. His eyes wide, he threw himself to the bed, amid the luxurious satin sheets that had been super glued in place to keep them from sliding off the manky hotel mattress that had previously housed a corpse that did not walk around.
"Take me!"
Caustic, eyes bleary and ears aching from the preposterous overuse of exclamation marks, eyed the creepy dude on the bed. Creepy dude who appeared to not to be breathing despite talking too much.
With a shrug, he dropped his pants. he'd been interrupted with the inspiring piece of art, might as well finish.
And that, dear reader, is how Edward decided he was not so gay after all and limped back to ass-end-of-nowhere to prey on teenage girls, and Caustic crossed necrophilia off his purity test list. That, and for once not being the one getting sodomized.
Teh End.
Other people may or may not have helped with some of the epic plot and they know who they are!
Edward Is Gay For Caustic, Part 2
The dark oppressive grey clouds upon London's sky like a TV tuned to a dead channel back before we went all digital kept Edward from Sparkling. Indeed the only sparkle was that of his keen wit and astounding intelligence and humor, second only to his moody good looks as he brooded greatly upon his obsession.
Oh, but Caustic had fled! This was intolerable: it stabbed like the blades of the Venturi, like the fire of a thousand suns. He could not bear to be parted from his chosen!
He had traveled long and wide in search of his one true love and he was here now, in the city of London, and he had tracked down Caustic to this den of iniquity and idolatry; A wretched hive of scum and villainy and preposterous posturing, before him the Tate Modern spread like an in-depth study on space-time and the artist's depression and hatred of anti-colonialism expressed in the bold strokes of black crayon and menstrual blood.
Caustic, the man, the myth, the legend was here in search of inspiration - what now, to inspire him into even greater heights of artistry to wow generation upon generation like the true masters of the craft before him?
Speaking of before him - His eyes light up like a new morning upon ice as he sees it. her. She is large and edgy, blocky almost - All lines and no soft curves. There is no form, only function.
He approaches her - it - the beauty with no pronoun can ever apply: He touches, gently, over the corrugated metal. He knows he shouldn't, he knows this is wrong but he has to..
"HEY SOME DUDE IS HUMPING A DUMPSTER OUT BACK!"
The shout startles Edward out of his self-described malaise; He wonders, briefly. Could that be...?
Edward raced to the back of the museum like a lightning, greasier than an oil tanker. Before the brave London bobbies had a chance to arrest Caustic for public indecency and molesting the property of the City of London, Edward whisked his beloved away in a totally not sparkly at all movement that left everyone on the spot baffled and disgusted.
For Caustic, being whisked away was an experience not much akin to any actual whisking; no implements of metal nor plastic were involved, albeit the end result was that when he was unceremoniously deposited in a luxurious hotel room, he felt as if he'd had his innards not only whisked but beaten and stirred as well.
Promptly, he threw up on Edward's shoes.
"Oh my beloved don't fret!" Edward cried out dramatically, still not sparkling in the artificial light. "Come, come with me!"
Because this is a work of fiction, we urge the reader to please take a moment to suspend their disbelief that pure, virginal and chaste Edward would act so wanton. Bear with me guys, this is true art.
"I am so gay for you" Edward's voice was impassioned and resembled that of a donkey in heat. His eyes wide, he threw himself to the bed, amid the luxurious satin sheets that had been super glued in place to keep them from sliding off the manky hotel mattress that had previously housed a corpse that did not walk around.
"Take me!"
Caustic, eyes bleary and ears aching from the preposterous overuse of exclamation marks, eyed the creepy dude on the bed. Creepy dude who appeared to not to be breathing despite talking too much.
With a shrug, he dropped his pants. he'd been interrupted with the inspiring piece of art, might as well finish.
And that, dear reader, is how Edward decided he was not so gay after all and limped back to ass-end-of-nowhere to prey on teenage girls, and Caustic crossed necrophilia off his purity test list. That, and for once not being the one getting sodomized.
Teh End.