Twilight Sparkle Memes Novels & Stories

Oliver: I would deal with it if I got to lick you. Sidney grinned again and felt herself blushing in the glow of her laptop screen. As she typed with Oliver, she continued to scroll through comments—a blend of generic hot comments, menstruation jokes, and clickbait advertising. She tallied the reactions in her head. This picture had already attracted more attention than their previous photo. She shared some random horror memes, retweeted from her favorite followers, and commented on horror groups in Facebook. She marched through her evening routine. As she processed the comments and emails from her website, another conversation notification rang.

Making memes about my “downfall.” Someone had created a hashtag: #VivianCrossIsOver It was trending number one. My hands shook as I went to settings and turned off comments on all my posts. Then I made my account private. Then I deleted I*******m entirely. But T.w.i.t.t.e.r was worse. F.a.c.e.b.o.o.k was worse. Even L.i.n.k.e.d.i.n had people commenting on my profile about the scandal. I was being destroyed. Publicly. Systematically.

If I didn’t walk, his arm would have pushed me again. “What test? Whether or not you could growl me to my death?” “You’re a funny, funny girl.” He gave a peck on my cheek. Those soft, warm, wet lips… and I nearly swooned. “So you saw Twilight? Secretly? I thought you hated it.” “What can I say? I needed to find out why female wolves were crazy about a vampire.” “You found out why?” “Yep. They liked when he sparkled in the sun.” “You’re kidding.”

My chest caved in. The comments were worse. “Knew Jace would never lower himself to a stripper; this was all promo.” “LMAO Spicy thought she could bag a billionaire? Delusional much?” “Imagine selling your body at night and thinking you’d become wifey material. Tragic.” “Jace is way out of her league; she should crawl back to the pole.” The more I scrolled, the crueller they became. Memes of me, screenshots of my performances, and edited clips of me dancing with captions like “community property” and “lap-dog stripper”.

#BlackwoodMeltdown was number five. The videos were everywhere. Dozens of angles of my screaming, my collapse, my desperate pleas to be left alone. And the comments... God, the comments were vicious. "She's literally insane lol" "Someone needs to get this girl some serious help" "When you're so desperate for attention you fake a breakdown " "Maya Blackwood is the poster child for what happens when you give damaged girls too much attention" The memes had already started. Screenshots of my face mid-scream with captions like "When you realize you have to take responsibility for your actions" and "POV: You're not the main character anymore."

Her fingers trembled as she scrolled. “Bro she’s INSANE” “Ethan run 😭” “Psycho girlfriend energy” “She belongs in jail wtf” Elena clicked out of that post and the next one loaded so fast. A meme this time. Her face photoshopped onto the Hulk’s body, mid-rampage. Caption: “Elena when you forget to text back.” Then another. Her face on a tiger, roaring. “Don’t mess with Elena Cruz.” Then another. Her with exaggerated muscles and a unibrow. “Roid rage Elena.”

I grumbled. “Aw, that’s so sweet of them. And I think you look good in glitter. My own sparkly werewolf mate. Eat your heart out, Twilight twerps.” André scoffed. I groaned, rubbing my hand over my face. “Don’t. I went to basic training glittery thanks to Azriel being a jackass. Do you know how many dumb fuckers called me and Colby Edward? One that’s a huge insult. We are werewolves, not vampires. Two, that movie and the books were crap. Three, we are from Oregon, not Washington.” I grumbled.

Yvonne asked me to focus on a beam of light on the ceiling. I concentrated on the light. After a few minutes, she asked gently, “Who are you?” “Aurora Twilight.” “Do you know Harry Chalamet?” “Yes, I do.” “No, you don’t.” “I do. I know him. No… I don’t know him.” “You don’t know him.” “I… don’t know him.”

Adele~ Arriving at Sapphire Bistro, the first thing I was given wasn't the hug I expected, but a free trip to Trendle. Reading the brutal comments, I didn't know whether to join in the laughter or cry. It was common knowledge that Trendle had the most destructive, savage, unforgiving humor online. If you trended there, it was either because you’d done something extraordinary or embarrassingly tragic. Unfortunately for Ryan, it was both. I scrolled, blinking back a mix of disbelief and amusement as meme after meme filled my screen. One had Ryan’s face edited onto a mop with the caption: “When your ex sweeps the industry while you sweep floors.”

My voice was low, dangerous, because if I let it out, I might snap the tablet into two. Olivia’s finger jabbed across the screen, flipping through endless reposts. “It’s everywhere, Damien. T*****r, I*******m, TikTok…memes are already trending. Someone packaged this deliberately. This isn’t random. This was set up.” She bit her lip, then blurted: “What if it’s the Osmonds again?!” Her words knifed through me. But this is not something they would do. My eyes snapped up to meet hers as I remembered.