Alright, this time it wasn't my fault. Allow me to explain. *Clears throat* You see, after I returned home from a nice vacation in Cuba, I got sick with some sort of flu, and was forced to stay in bed all day for 3-4ish days. Luckily, I recovered in time to be sent to the dreadful place we call 'school', and received homework each day, limiting my writing time. When I finally finished a chapter, I attempted to log onto here with my laptop, and for some odd reason, I could not. The only way I could get on was with my phone, and I can't update with my phone. After a little less than a week, I had access to a different laptop (the one I am on right now) and was finally able to begin the editing of this chapter.
There's your explanation. So it isn't my fault!
*Shameless self-inserting ahead . . . sort of. You shall see. Oh, and before I forget, the fourth wall is basically the tv screen. There are 3 walls to every room inside a cartoon, the fourth doesn't really exist in their universe. If a character can see through the fourth wall, it means that they know they are in a cartoon/tv show/book/comic/whatever, and they can essentially 'see' the viewer (you).*
Disclaimer: If I actually owned The Fairly OddParents, do you think I'd be writing fanfiction for it?
13. Read (Prompt 94)
Anti-Cosmo floats into his and Anti-Wanda's room, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.
"Anti-Wanda, love, would you care to tell me what you did to my poor carnivorous hibiscus? It's sort of . . . uh, charred, to put it nicely." He says, scraping his hands together to get rid of the last of the black dust.
"Your carny-voodoo-hiss-a-whozawhat?"
"Oh, never mind." Anti-Cosmo sighs with a wave of his hand. "What are you looking at?"
Anti-Wanda twirls her chair around, turning away from the computer's screen to face her husband with a small shrug. "I dunno, but it's got a lots of words and stuff all over it."
Curiosity piqued, Anti-Cosmo floats over and peers at the screen. Anti-Wanda is right; there are plenty of words on the screen. Taking ahold of the mouse, he rolls over some of the blue highlighted words at the top of the page, finally clicking on one that says 'Cartoons'. The next page loads, and a large list of different names appears, numbers accompanying them on the right.
"Hm," Anti-Cosmo says after scrolling down the list a little and noticing the numbers are all in descending order. "How did you reach this site, anyway?"
Anti-Wanda offers another shrug. "I 'ono, I was clickin' away and then I done somethin' and gots here."
Stifling a flinch at his wife's grammar, Anti-Cosmo clicks on one of the blue titles, watching with intrigue as another page pops up, this one displaying even more links. He scrolls down again, eyes flitting over the short blurbs of text without reading them. For some reason, some of the names in the text seem oddly familiar to him.
He is about to click the link to go to the next page when something falls into place in his mind with a nearly audible 'click'. Creasing his brow in confusion, he moves the screen upwards again, eyes more intense as they flick back and forth trying to find what caught his attention.
Ah, there it is.
"Another one-hundred one-shot challenge . . . read my latest submission . . . Anti-Cosmo 'x' Anti-Wanda centred? What in the name of Britain?" Anti-Cosmo mutters, clicking on the blue link above the odd description.
Anti-Wanda points to the screen excitedly. "That's us! What's us doin' on here?"
Her husband frowns slightly. "I would like to find out."
Skipping past the annoying bold text that seems to be irrelevant to the rest, he begins to read.
"It's times like these that he wonders why she trusts him so much. These times when she snuggles into him, emitting soft little sounds that make his heart—however dark—swell with affection. Why does she do it? She shouldn't trust him at all." Anti-Cosmo reads, the conversant text creating a strong feeling of deja-vu.
"He's a lying, cheating scoundrel who will stab his own friends in the back just to prove them wrong. So why in the bloody blue blazes does she trust him to not do the same to her?" Suddenly, his eyes widen by a fraction as realisation dawns on him. The familiar names, their own names, the stereotypical 'bloody blue blazes', why, he should have realised it sooner.
"Bloody . . ."
Anti-Wanda turns her eyes to Anti-Cosmo and nudges him gently. "Wha's this?"
The leader of Anti-Fairy World groans and softly begins to bang his head on the desk.
"This, my dear Anti-Wanda, is a complete invasion of privacy; a horrendous example of humanity; an example of the lowest scum in all of the twenty universes: it is . . . my inner monologue." Anti-Cosmo sighs dramatically, mind working overtime to try and figure out how this . . . this person could have possibly gotten ahold of his train of thought.
"Yah in-ma monohog?"
Anti-Cosmo shakes his head. "Inner monologue. My contemplations; my thoughts, basically." He wrinkles his nose at the thought of someone poking around inside his head, discovering his secrets. A small shudder runs through him, and he shoves the thought forcefully away.
Curiosity gets the best of Anti-Wanda, and she fidgets in her seat. "Go tah the next chappy!" She says, tugging at her husband's jacket sleeve.
"There's another chapter?" Anti-Cosmo gasps, scrolling rapidly. "Oh, blast it all! This is simply ridiculous!" He growls darkly in exasperation, but obliges, clicking the 'next' button and waiting for the second chapter to load. Dread settles itself in his stomach as the page pops up, and he scrolls down with an unhealthy amount of trepidation.
Since the script's vocabulary is too advanced for Anti-Wanda to read, she insists that Anti-Cosmo read it aloud. It feels strange to talk about himself in the third person, and he wonders if the author ever writes from a different perspective.
"Anti-Wanda is petrified of storms, and anything they involve. Anti-Cosmo learns this mere hours after they are legally married.
"She's fluttering around the castle like a hummingbird, looking at this and that and hey, I think I used to have one of these before! Anti-Cosmo isn't sure how to react, so he just murmurs agreement and prays she doesn't break anything."
The couple continue to read the eerily accurate story, and when they finish, continue on to the next, and the next, and the next. Some of the 'one-shots' (as the stalker-like author calls them) are straight from Anti-Cosmo's memories, while others seem to take place in entirely different universes, or even in the future. How odd, he thinks.
After about an hour or so, the two finally reach the newest chapter, titled 'Read'. By this time, it is nearly midnight, and Anti-Wanda finds herself resting her head on her husband's arm, struggling to stay awake.
"Anti-Cosmo floats into his and Anti-Wanda's room, eyes narrowed.
"Anti-Wanda, love, would you care to tell me what you did to my poor carnivorous hibiscus? It's sort of . . . uh, charred, to put it nicely." He says, scraping his hands together to get rid of the last of the black dust."
Anti-Cosmo jumps, knocking his sleepy spouse's head to the side.
"Mmmf?" She murmurs, only half-awake.
The anti-fairy beside her shakes his head to clear it. "This just happened! How the devil does the author know about all of this?" He exclaims, half in awe of this technology and half suspicious of it. He stops as another thought flits across his conciousness. "Wait, if this is the past, does that mean that the rest of this little story will show the immediate future?" He asks himself, scrolling rapidly down like a child scampering downstairs on Christmas Day.
"Hmmm, After about an hour or so . . . only half-awake . . . scampering downstairs on Christmas Day . . . Aha!" He says, reading over his current speech. "It says here that in about ten seconds, you're going to start snoring. Hmph, that's ridiculous. You aren't even sleepy, are you, Anti-Wanda?" He glances over. "Anti-Wanda?"
After a moment or two of silence, the southern anti-fairy begins to snore, and Anti-Cosmo grimaces. How do they always know what's going to happen? He shifts, annoyed by this strange feeling of not knowing.
—And what would happen if something didn't go they way they wrote it? This thought gives Anti-Cosmo an idea. The mastermind rubs his hands together as he reads through the rest of the one-shot, trying to figure out what he could do to render the infernal story inaccurate.
Not wanting to wake the sleeping Anti-Wanda, Anti-Cosmo twirls his wand and poofs himself into the kitchen. If I want to mess up that story, I must do something I would not usually do, or say something I would not usually say. He ponders this for a moment, and as ideas flood into his head he notices they all have one thing in common: they're all extremely mortifying. Oh, crumpets.
He poofs up a stack of crisp black plates, sincerely hoping no one has set up a hidden camera and is recording him. Gritting his teeth, he picks up the first plate, and tosses it far across the room, flinching when it shatters against the wall. "Opa!" He yells, his right eye twitching once. Picking up the next plate, he whips it as far as it will go, following suit with ten more plates and yelling "Opa!" after each one. By the time he reaches the bottom of the pile, his right eye is twitching uncontrollably, the monocle sitting atop it dangerously close to falling, and he is hyperventilating.
He believes that this is probably the stupidest thing he's ever done in his entire life.
After taking a few deep breaths, and another twitch or two, Anti-Cosmo poofs back up to the bedroom to see what has happened in the story. He re-reads the chapter, beginning right from the very top. As he reaches the bottom of the page, his mouth begins to drop open as he reads the rest of the material—the newly-edited material that now contains an embarrassing scene in which he throws plates and pretends to be Greek. Well, there goes my reputation.
Anti-Cosmo clenches his fists and silently fumes. If I ever get my hands on that writer . . . He lets his thoughts trail off darkly, shaking his head. He will get revenge, and it will be sweet.
As he begins to plot his revenge though, he can swear that somehow, somewhere, a young teen is laughing maniacally at him through her computer screen. Oh, how he hates the fourth wall.
1796 words of me self-inserting like a boss! :D
I'm so mean to Anti-Cosmo. I mean, first I kill him, then I turn him into a psychopath, and now I make him throw plates and pretend to be Greek. Mwahaha! Oh, and if any of you are Greek and offended by that, I really didn't mean to offend you. I'm just a poor little girl trying to amuse myself as I travel through life.
Anyway, I've gotten a few requests via review and PM to continue Aura (Chapter 11), so I've begun the tedious chore of searching through all of the prompts to find one that will suit my purpose. I have the basic plot down, but it needs a little tweaking. Just a heads up; don't expect it up for a little while.
Have I ever told you how much I love your reviews? They make me feel all fuzzy inside. XD