Rebelward Without a Cause

A/N: This is just for fun, that goes without saying, but just in case, take this with a huge GRAIN OF SALT!

We considered having V interview Eddie (I know she just wanted to be alone in a locked room with him), but Eddie insisted. He's a big boy and all that (aren't you just!). Sorry V, I know you were looking forward to it, but I can't have you tiring the boy out; he's got a fuck lot of work to do. Maybe next time?

V: You know that if I was in there, no talking would have taken place, therefore we would have no outtake. Good call.

This is for Eddie's girls! Y'all know who you are.

The long italicized passages are quotes from Dead Confederates.

Eddie: Jesus H. Christ, Rie! Do you think you can shut it long enough for me to have my say?

"Sorry, yeah. You're rubbing off on me."

Eddie: You fuckin' wish.

"Why you sonuva-"

Let's get right down to business, shall we?

I don't do bridal-style. First of all, if I were to carry Bella, it'd be more along the lines of Neanderthal-style or, even better, with her legs wrapped around my waist so that her gash nestled nicely with my cock. I might even go so far as to pick her up by placing my arms under the crook of her knees. But why I gotta' carry her all over the place anyway? She's got legs for fuck's sake; let her use 'em!

Furthermore, I wouldn't be caught dead, ha!, in a Volvo! You fuckin' taking this piss? Could there be a more namby-pamby ride? Why do you have to keep doing that to me? Yes, yes, I know, "But SM said-" blah blah blah. She's a mom and a Mormon to boot; what the hell does that tell you? Cut this venomous vampire some slack, y'all. FUCKIN' A, can we get a bit more creative?

Oh no and Hell No, nobody better give me any more shit about Chevys. My old school Ford Bronco defines me, complete with a faded and torn bumper sticker that reads 'You should see my other ride', referring to my Ford F2500HD. The beast that spoiled the shit out of tires that reached Emmett's linebacker shoulders, mud-splattered splash guards revealing the superb silhouette of a buxom woman reclining and jutting her perky tits out, gun rack jauntily stacked across the rear window, truck bed filled with the debris of our scandalous nights.

While I love my monster, tricked-out trucks, I am pretty fucking sick of my asinine quirks. Any day now I was going to scalp myself with my incessant hair-raking, blind myself from my interminable beating off, or break my nose so that it resembled Bubba's busted-up promontory with my guilty, confused, frustrated pinching. FUCK'S SAKE, so very fucking tired. I needed to get some new tics. Or just shut the bitch outta' my head completely forever!Pinching.Pinching and rolling and forever pitching a tent at the mere thought ofBella.

'P' popping grates on my very last nerve. What the fuck is up with that? What self-possessing vampire would ever pop a 'p'? Just don't go there; you'll only succeed in pissing me off further!

Moving on, you wanna' know how come we can live in the South what with the blasting sunshine and all? Thought I'd made that abundantly clear already, but… My glistening skin only the byproduct of this deliciously hot climate and the alcohol. A little sun never friggin' hurt anyone. Dazzling was a pussy word anyway. What were we? Chicks with dicks? Naw. I preferred the phrase "sweaty sheen". I'm a man, therefore I sweat. Fucking deal.

Oh fuck me, here's a good one. What do I do with my spare time, seeing as I don't sleep and all and have no obvious occupation? Ha! I ain't a surgeon, lawyer, CEO. I sure as fuck am not a Dom; you would certainly never catch me dead as Sub. Fuck college, I'm no over-achiever and I'm too friggin' smart for my own good anyway. And truthfully? I could give a fuck. Not a roadie, a rockstar – I'm a goddamned Cockstar! – not a pornstar, though you never know. Least that has potential for pussy. Hey, Hef, give me a call!

So, in a word, there will be no flailing, no bondage – lest Bella begs – no sex swing, though I might could do her on a junkyard tire swing, if that would suit.

But what do I actually do? Fuck, y'all are persistent! Christ. All right! I jag off. I stalk Bella. I drink and hunt and fuck around with Jazz and Em. And I read, a lot. Having a healthy dedication to all things JK Rowling, what the fuck else am I going to do with unlimited time but read a rousing good YA fantasy? Now, vampire fiction…that has me snorting just like Emmett in hog heaven. Highbrow and lowbrow, I am into all ships. I'll read it all from Harlequin (why the fuck not? If nothing else, it's snigger-worthy), to the classics, contemporary fiction, and a veritable plethora of porn. 'S'all good.

What now? You wanna' know about fanfiction? Do I read it? 'Course I do! I have my top picks, but I'm not gonna' talk about 'em here. Don't want to cause a bitch-fight and all, know what I mean?

It goes without saying that I do not mind my 'p's and 'q's, as Maw Esme likes to say. Cussing is my favorite pastime. Fuck and cunt are choice, dickwad, twat features and pud-whacker also rate. I don't even care if Esme shanks me every time she hears me swearing. And tell you what, that shit is like a wrecking ball to the back of my brain! Heard that, did'ya, Esme? Fuck! Can't catch a cunting break!

Now I know you've all seen me skulking around Twitter. What the motherfuck, you ask? When just last Friday I was spouting off about a pseudo-intellectual, circle jerk of Jesus-sandal wearing pansies whowere deconstructing the pop culture genius of Tarantino while tweeting on their combustible iPhones. Tweet-tards. What a fucking palaver. Yeah, okay okay, you fuckin' found me out! I tweet! What can I say? Got me a hot-ass bunch of hoors over there that like to stroke my…ego. Can't just say no, can I? Thought not.

Back to chapping the chub, jerking my junk, beating my beef, tugging my tackle…I do it incessantly on account of I ain't gettin' any good lovin' because of some irritatingly beautiful brunette at Mama Brown's who is making my balls turn an unsightly shade of blue. Not my style, at all. I want to rip her head from her shoulders, spit in her face, slap her ass, suck her empty, and fuck her six ways to Sunday all at the same time. Shit. I ain't afraid to admit it. My balls are aching, wound tighter than a…ah, Christ, just wound tight, okay?

Which brings me to panties, knickers, thongs, and cheekies; lacy, silky, sexy undergarments. Oh hell. Contrary to popular belief, I neither sniff, lick, nor steal them! In fact, let's get straight to the point; I'm not all that fond of Bella in midnight blue. To be brutally honest, it brings out the sallow undertones of her flesh. Put her in soft yellow, sweet pink, slate blue, ivory, and the creamy perfection of her tits and shoulders, her pliable thighs and…oh fuck my life, here I go again!

Let's just git it over with. No one milks my shaft. I am not a cow; my dick is not an udder. I ejaculate poison, not fucking dairy products!

Now, one thing you fine ladies got right? I am hung like a horse. Well-endowed. And I know how to use it for a slow, long, and hard fuck. Mortal men seem incapable of SLHF. I don't really understand the cuntnundrum! I love to fuck, it's second best to muff diving. Mmmmm, poontang.

While we're in the bedroom, I just gotta' say that not all that many women know how to deep throat. Show of hands, ladies, don't be shy! Uh huh, 's'what I thought. That particular maneuver takes talent and practice and innate skill. Quite simply, not everyone is capable. Hmmm, I wonder if Bella can…

Sorry. I can hold it together, I'm almost done.

What's with trying to create friction? Seriously. Rubbing your thighs together, seeking friction. Why? Just fuck already. I've never seen a woman trying to create friction. And if'n I did, I'd be wondering why she was scratching her legs together like a grasshopper, creating shrill song.

As for Bella, well, she's not all about Austen and Bronte. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is one of her well-thumbed through paperbacks, as is Nin's Little Birds. She's a complex woman, multi-dimensional, why else would I be so enthralled? Now don't get me started on the taxidermy, because that's what got me into this mess in the first place!

FYI, Bella's not all that fond of mushrooms, too many plates of the fungi ravioli. So fuck off with the risotto, mushroom pizza, omelets, etc.

And she's not even that klutzy. Give the girl some credit! She's not going to face-plant if I'm not there to immediately catch her.

Does she smell like strawberries? Does she ever. I'll give you that, and it makes me want to suck/fuck her even more ludicrously, lasciviously. She's driving me to drink! And dink-off. Which is pretty fackin' bizarro, considering the mere thought of food makes me nauseous!

Back to me, because y'all are on my time. I'm broody but wickedly irreverent. I think a lot. And when I fuckin' talk, my words count. You will listen; you will wait patiently until I deem you worthy of my conversation. You will not fuckin' complain.

Music is vital to my existence. Classical music in particular has its place, but please don't make me listen to Claire de Lune One. More. Time. There's so much more out there! 2008 was my favorite fucking rock year of all time! With new blistering albums from Guns n' Roses, AC/DC, and Metallica, I was nearly creaming in my jeans during Rocktober! It almost rivaled the hardcore 80's; Tesla, Whitesnake, Quiet Riot, Alice Cooper, Megadeath – if only they knew-- and the ilk, man I missed those days! Live and Let Die. Indeed.

With respect to My Morning Jacket, how could I have slagged them off one chapter and then have Evil Urges? Fuck. Caught red-handed. What can I say? I am guilty of judging a book by its Jesus Pubes Bearded cover. I listened. I liked. I repented. The bastards are all excessive wicked, evil grim lethal sexy tendencies, and y'all know I am all about that.

Now, I can't believe one of you readers out there actually had the audacity to suggest that I would go all Deliverance before I even made my appearance (and to slag off Rie's Comeuppance in the same breath…shame on you)! I'm no rapist, not of women or men! I'm just a good ol' boy with a twist. Jazz is the reformed EOF, Equal Opps Fucker. If it had a hole, he had the pole, and he enjoyed nothing more than dipping it in, bobbing it, and reeling that shit in. Even so, not one of us would ever force our intentions upon another being. Get that shit straight.

So y'all wanna' know what the deal is with Alice. Who the Fuck is Alice? And the Volturi? They craved to get their long-taloned, gauzily-fleshed fingers on me and into my mind, who didn't? Aro, Caius, and Marcus, the triad of evil, the Brothers Grimm of the vampire underworld, wanted to enslave me. I was nobody's bitch, I didn't give a toss if they were undead royalty or not!

Piss off. I'm not touching that with my yardarm of a cock. Rie would lock me up in the safe-room and besides, the mere thought of her -- the telepathic psychic thief, the premonitive purloiner, the crystal ball toting gypsy talented with the sleight of hand… little Miss Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest... Bats in her Belfry -- and them, fucking tissue-paper-skinned legions of death, makes my skin shiver and my dick shrivel, and we can't have that now can we?

Will there be any other POV's? Possibly, though Rie doesn't want to ruin the integrity of the story…who the fuck's she kidding?

Finally, I've heard that some of you appreciative readers are a tidge apprehensive about the appearance of Jake. Well, hell. You and me both! Fucking bad juju wolf is the very worst kind of voodoo monster. Fuck chlorofluorocarbons, the beast's reek alone was single-handedly causing a gaping hole in the ozone! Wish I knew what the crap was going on with him and Bella because it's tossing my unyielding insides out!

So, if you're wondering what all the fuss is about, and you should be, toddle your asses over to Dead Confederates (that's me, Bubba, and Jazz). Review proper-like and you will rewarded.

If'n you're after the quick fix McFic to match your McMansion, don't come knocking on my double-wide. If you want a slow paced, southern story with me in all my glory, I will treat you to my wit, slivers of my Johnnie Dead Reb untiring body, and facking pages worthy of uhnnnn and throaty laughs. And y'all know I'm trying my damndest to put out!

You like this, come visit my broads on The Dead thread at Twilighted.

A/N: Um, thank you, Eddie. That was very…enlightening. Baby, Esme's gonna' have your ass on a busted-up tea tray from Page's Thieves' Market! You might want to tone it down on occasion.

Rebelward wants to thank all reviewers with another chapter of Dead Confederates. But he's telling me to wait until we reach 100 reviews for the shit we've already spewed out first. Not sure who holds the reins here…

Eddie: Oh yeah, side saddle anybody?

Fuck, Eddie, cut that crap out!

Eddie: What about Bucking Bronco?

Oh my fuck, it's going to be a long night. But ah'm not complaining.

Last call, go vote for your fave authors: The Bellies, www(DOT)thecatt(DOT)net/, voting starts July 15th and The Indies, theindietwificawards(DOT)com/, voting is July 6th – 13th. I believe the noms for both should be announced today!