headcanon: burning books is fun and okay!
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I seethed with hatred, an icy hot glare focusing itself on the subject of my resentment. A Mr Chad Deltoid was standing before me, an aspiring young writer with toned abs that suggested he was neither an intellectual nor a creative, he was an athletic. The few books I had read by athletics had left something to be desired, and they were always about sports. Romance was supposed to be written by romantics, inspiring football novels were supposed to be written by athletics, the ones that are all about teamwork, sports, and somehow religion as well. The ones that are always really about how ever single football player is probably gay because otherwise why would they slap each others asses so much? He was the kind of "straight" guy to write that kind of book. Romance couldn't even describe the story I had just read, I kind of wish it was a sports novel instead.
Chad's mental age was a thirteen year old girl.
My favorite Bic lighter felt suddenly cold in my jacket pocket, even through all five layers I was wearing beneath it. I only wasted a moment contemplating how Bic makes both lighters and pens before I lunged. I ripped the lighter out of my pocket with a force that could sail a thousand ships, flicked it on, and threw it straight (a/n haha) at the pile of neat Courier-print pages in Chad's hands. They were engulfed within moments in an inferno that rivaled the one that one night, on Samantha's nursery ceiling, took my mother away from me.
Chad watched in horror as his type-written cringey fanfiction smoldered in its rightful place, I hoped that those pages could keep burning, preferably for eternity in hell. I would see them there.
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In an undisclosed location that the demons are keeping hidden from humanity.
Arsemis sat in his throne again and waited, mindlessly passing the time. It was fairly late in the day when a demon sped through his door and raced to bow before his throne.
"Your Majes Ty! The most peculiar thing has happened!"
"What?"
"Some... paperwork has arrived for you."
"Not going! All I ever do is paper work, leave before I smite you."
"Your uh, gonna want to see this."
Arsemis stormed through the hallway, very nearly trampling the demon, until he led him to a stack of papers laying scattered on the stone floor.
"What's this."
"We haven't touched it yet, we were waiting for you, but it appears to be fanfiction."
Arsemis bent over and pulled the papers into his arms, preparing to force himself to read them.
It was horrendous. Hideous. Disheartening, disenchanting, disenlightening, all the dises - they were all too little to describe this ABERRATION sitting in front of him. This was the work of a teenage Stephenie Meyer dictating to EL James, who in turn was not actually writing but was on the phone with the darkest, most racist and pandering parts of JK Rowling's inner consciousness, who, though she wasn't writing the racist bits down, was drunk, high, and lacking 10 years of sleep, at least. This was a pile of dog excrement set on fire and left on his desk. On his face. ON HIS LIFE.
Arsemis looked up to the sky, or rather in the undisclosed direction of earth, and swore a little under his breath.
"Deanna, my love, you sent me a gift." He smiled to himself the whole walk back to his throne room, settling back into his chair in a rather chipper mood. "I guess I best return the favor."
A/N
***This fanfiction does not condone the burning of books for any reason***
y'all it was gr8 to wreight after a whyle. doin' nanaonaonnoanowirimeon n havnt sleeped for 4 dyas. hopp this oky. thx 4 st1king w/ m3. gotta go rite 3000 word by 2moro to be only 10000 behind :) ded inside
-Charity
LUV YALE
PLS HELP