Valkyrie's fingers skimmed over her new MacBook Air in the near-darkness of her living room. A stack of books had toppled over next to her and now lay part-way across her back, becoming more and more dislodged by her breathing, but she had no real desire to move them. They were like cardboard-and-paper blankets that didn't really cover much. Whatever rug is usually on the floor of Gordon's living room was the one that she was laying on, and I guess you could just say that she was laying on her stomach on the floor of her living room with her laptop.

But you're not lazy enough to do that, so you decide to break the fourth wall and also mention the rain is tapping against the roof three stories up, and that for some reason that you really don't know, Skulduggery was in the room all along. Never mind that he has a house of his own, he's at Valkyrie's now because apparently he can't stay the hell away from her for more than a few hours before he turns into a psychotic wreck. Fletcher is also clingy enough to share the mansion, and I guess that's where he's living because Derek never really bothers to tell us.

"Aren't you cold?" Skulduggery asked, reminding both you and I that this story is supposed to be a satire, not a rant.

Valkyrie shrugged. "Yeah, it is pretty dumb of me to be wearing extra-small short shorts and a camisole when it's raining outside and I'm wearing an unpadded sports-bra, isn't it? Unfortunately, since I desperately want you to notice me, I've reduced myself to dressing like this for your viewing pleasure. I really have no idea what's going to happen once we fall into eternal love or whatever, but whatever. Have you noticed me yet? I think my underwear covers more than these shorts do."

She lifted herself off the carpet to turn and look at him, regretting the loss of heat building up between the cooperative floor and her abs. He had turned himself away, staring into the depths of the couch to grant her some privacy.

"Please put some clothes on," he said quietly. "This is reminding me too much of my dead wife and son."

"I thought you had a daughter?"

Skulduggery shook a little bit, making his approximation of a sob. "I'm really not sure. The canon hasn't told me and every single fan has its own name and face for my offspring."

Valkyrie giggled. "Yeah, I saw. Apparently she has flowing (insert color here) hair and her given name is Mary while her taken name is Penelope or Grace or Unity or something. I guess she likes the long 'e' sound at the end of her names."

"Don't remind me. The fanon just kind of depresses me a little. And by a little, I mean it depresses me a lot and I would be cutting myself if I had wrists. Clothes, please."

Valkyrie stood, shuddering as the cold air chilled her from all sides. This author decided that Gordon's mansion didn't have central heating- and by the way, I guess she's over eighteen because she's living there. Did I mention that? Oops.

Anyways, she finds some respectable warm clothes and puts them on, relishing the feeling of feeling returning to her legs. For a moment she sits on her bed rubbing the goosebumps from her arms and appreciating the quiet that generally accompanies fanfics of this kind, and not expecting anything actiony to happen at all.

But then Sanguine walked through the wall with a copy of the script in his hand, with Fletcher close behind him doing something ineffectively. It's been decided that Fletcher is forever going to be an annoying frat boy, and that the character development from the fourth book means absolutely nothing.

But back to Sanguine and his impending potty-mouth. "What the fuck is this shit."

Valkyrie swore. "We're not supposed to swear, there are kids that read this!"

"You just swore," Fletcher pointed out.

"Yes, but I didn't swear swore. There's a difference."

Sanguine muttered something unpleasant under his breath.

"See? Even serial killers know how it's done."

"Shut up, both of you. I need a red pen. There's definitely something wrong with this script."

Fletcher agreed, but his words weren't important enough to warrant the confusing of quotation marks.

"It involves the two of us acting like lovesick birds doesn't it?" Valkyrie asked, searching her desk for a writing implement of any kind. She usually doesn't have one at hand. She is far too busy kicking asses to take names what is wrong with you people.

"Worse. You and Dusk."

Fletcher corrected with something along the lines of "Don't you mean Dusk and I?"

Valkyrie reacted with scorn. "You're doing it wrong, Fletcher. Go flirt with Tanith or something equally punchable. What was that about Dusk and I?"

"Flirting like lovesick doves," Sanguine said. "I mean, I usually don't care, but Dusk will kill everyone if he's forced to film that with you. That includes me, because I'm involved in that scene and it's scaring the shit out of me."

Valkyrie shuddered. The idea of Dusk within arms-length... touching her... No just no. "I need to ask Skulduggery for a pen.

"Won't he shoot me on sight?"

"I think he'll make an allowance for this. He doesn't want me raped by a vampire I hate any more than you do."

Fletcher said something and ran down the stairs, managing to slip on the carpet and roll down like that one comic of Dr McNinja. Only he isn't a ninja and his hair left scratches in the woodwork.

"You're repairing that," Valkyrie informed him loftily as she passed.

"What did he do this time?" Skulduggery called from the living room. "Also, are you wearing clothes?"

"I am wearing clothes. Also, Sanguine is here but please don't kill him."

Surprisingly, Skulduggery didn't burst into the room brandishing his gun. Sanguine exchanged looks with her and warily pulled out his razor.

"Put that away," Valkyrie hissed, then called, "Skulduggery?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine? My wife and child are long dead but I can't get over them, I killed my rival, bad things keep happening around me and I blame myself for all of it, I just spent the last few months being tortured by gods, and now I'm in a god awful fanfiction. I'd say everything is peachy. Can't you see my smile? Or hear it, or however you sense that I am smug and self-confident?"

Sanguine shrugged. "That sucks dude. And you're in the other room. I'd say your voice is sufficiently muffled enough that we can't tell what your feelings are other than you sound like a crying teenager telling her parents to go away. As much as I'd like to read something about you dealing with all that, it appears that you also become more girly than Valkyrie does in a Valduggery fic so I guess nobody will be willing to write that ever."

"Did you just say 'sufficiently muffled'?" Valkyrie asked suspiciously. "Aren't you supposed to say 'ain't' and 'yeehaw'?"

"Yeah, but this author ain't from the Deep South- god damnit now I'm saying ain't. Thank you for reminding her that she hasn't ever really heard a southern accent that didn't come from a book, and you don't hear things in books. That is also why she pronounces 'herb' without a silent H."

Fletcher said something unimportant on that subject.

"Weren't we talking about how Skulduggery should have all sorts of problems like the fact that he's pretty much gone insane?" Valkyrie asked.

"Yeah, but we're easily distracted. It's past midnight and the author has convinced herself that that's when she does her best work. Why am I the one talking to you all friendly-like, and why isn't it Tanith or someone?"

Fletcher raised his hand.

"Or I guess it could the wonderfuckup over there."

Fletcher shook his head and said something. From now on you can assume that he is Kenny from South Park and the other characters kind of block out the boring shit that he says.

Except to summarize it. Valkyrie does so for us so that we can move on. "That's right Fletcher, it's obviously because like many other girls under the age of SENSIBLE, this author has some sort of perverse sexual lust for this woman-hating serial killer that really hasn't killed anyone since his introduction."

"Hello!" Skulduggery called. "I've been curled up around my pillow for far too long. Somebody come pat my back or something."

"Nose goes," Sanguine said. Everyone's hand flew to their nose, with Fletcher's landing last.

"Was it Fletcher?" Skulduggery asked.

"Yes."

"Screw that. I guess I'll go beat up some guys about to harm an innocent female that can heal me with the powers of love or something. Maybe SHE will pat my back." He slammed the door behind him and stamped out to his car. I can only imaging that he got mud all over his shoes and coat and stuff.

Fletcher said something in a curious manner in order for the author to make a point.

"I don't know," Valkyrie said. "I think that you are being pretty in-character. Something is definitely wrong with the rest of us, but don't expect it to be resolved, though; in order to be a good fan-fiction writer, apparently all you need to do is write a collection of one shots with unlikely pairings."

Sanguine grinned. "That's a good drinking game."

"What is?"

"Open the Skulduggery Pleasant page on and take a shot every time you see a collection of one-shots. Take another shot every time you see a summary that begs people to read their story in all lowercase or all uppercase letters. Take another shot every time any variation of 'Skulduggery Pleasant' is in the title. Take-"

"Please stop, we'll all get liquor poisoning."

Fletcher asked something.

"No, I don't think liquor poisoning is fatal."

Fletcher looked sad in a way that had nothing to do with the plot. Seriously, he's treated like jewelry to a story most of the time. Poor guy. Needs some love.

A/N: To those of you who believe that I made fun of your fanfiction in this satire, please douse yourself in cold water. Valkyrie has had her ass admired in no less than four fanfictions that I have read, and WHY DOES EVERY ROMANCE FIC SHE'S IN TURN HER INTO A FUCKING GIRLY GIRL. STOP IT.

Screw conclusions, screw editing, I'm posting this and then going to bed.

As a side note, would it kill you to just post something saying "Hey I read your thing"? Even if you say "It was boring offensive shit" I'll be glad to know that I'm not preaching to an empty auditorium.