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Part three is up, get it while it’s still chaste!
The “Crusade” continues. Chapters 7-12 are up
You can find my first entry in my complete review of Virginal Bella at the top of the page, or you can be lazy and click here. http://thefanficassassin.com/virginal-bella/virginal-bella-chapters-1-6/
I’ve been looking for a Sookie Stackhouse/True Blood fic to review for a while and thanks to Karen Meridian, http://addicted2godric.wordpress.com/ I’ve finally got something to work with.
The Birth of Eve, https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5806873/1/The-Birth-of-Eve
By Sawyersmine, https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1822653/sawyersmine
The Birth of Eve
Chapter 1: Innocence Lost
The night I first met Eric was also the night I lost my virginity.
Intriguing. Go on.
Don’t worry, I’m not like that, I’m not some one-night stand kind of girl.
Don’t worry? I’m sorry. Did I read that right? Why in the hell would that be something I was worried about? It’s more likely to be something I’m actively looking for.
You see I was 27, but not just 27, I was a 27-year-old virgin, a virtue most men and women my age would consider extinct in this day and age.
Virtue is overrated, and a virgin girl is a hassle—just putting that out there. And what’s with this snooty tone? Like keeping your virginity for way longer than everyone else is a good thing? News flash: it’s about who loses it first, not last.
And to critique the writing, you said you’re a virgin, and 27, why repeat them? Please, don’t tell me it was simply to put that judgmental line about people not clinging onto some antiquated social value that, in reality, has never actually been the case. People like to think that in the past everyone left their virtue intact until marriage, which is an out of context truth. Until very recently people were often “married” right after puberty, there was no waiting to be done. You didn’t live a very long life, and you had to get busy right away. Besides, even before marriage, people were getting it on as much then as they do today. The only difference is that back then, they didn’t flaunt it.
It’s not that I’m a prude or even shrewish, it just never happened for me.
Then you weren’t trying. Any woman can get a guy to sleep with her. She’s just got to hang around until last call and make an offer. It’s as simple as that. This story is already stretching the limits of believability, and we’re only one paragraph in! This bodes well.
I never felt that spark with a man.
Ahh the spark, the oh, so important thing that is completely necessary for copulation to begin. Yes, I’ve heard of the spark… from virgins.
After, what happened to me when I was a child, which Ill get to later in the story, I was just more cautious about the kind of men I wanted to hang out with or even date, which in most cases meant not many.
Cliché much? Something bad happened to me—probably molestation—which scarred me for life because I’m a member of a culture that makes victims of sexual abuse feel ashamed.
Not that I got out much, I didn’t.
Repeating yourself again? You see as yourself as a virginal loser, we get it.
It was safe to say I lived a rather sheltered life. In fact Bill was the first serious boyfriend I ever had.
You don’t say? I never would have guessed that. You made it a point to say so many times that you’re a 27 year-old virgin, the possibility of you living a sheltered life never crossed my mind.
By the time I got to my late 20’s, I knew it was only a few years before I was pushing 30.
Umm, yes. That’s simple math. Late 20’s are in fact closer to 30 than 20. I’m not sure why this line is necessary.
I had read in several women’s health magazines that a woman fertility rate dropped 25% after 30.
So… She wants to have a baby now? I’m not sure I understand the purpose of this line existing.
Again, I didn’t want to get pregnant, I wasn’t even married.
Those two conditions are not mutually inclusive. You don’t have to be married to get pregnant or have a child. What the fuck century do you think you’re living in? Single people raise children all the time and a lot of them turn out great.
Besides, if you don’t want to get pregnant, why are you blabbering on about fertility rates?
But, I felt I was far past my prime, plus Bills patience was wearing thin.
You aren’t past your prime, not sexually anyway. I do wonder why Bill’s patience is wearing thin, though. The first line of this story says you lost your virginity the night you met Eric, which tells me you’re not putting out for good ol’ Bill, who is currently your boyfriend. That whole line about making sure we don’t think you’re a dirty slut is losing credibility by the minute.
I couldn’t in all honesty blame him.
No one could blame him. Stop stating the obvious and say something substantive for fuck’s sake.
He had stuck by me when I probably wasn’t the easiest person to stick by, and was faithful, and an all around good guy.
So you’re a bitch, and he’s a saint for staying with you. Obviously he’s getting dumped soon.
He had been loyal and the kind of boyfriend every girl dreams of having, sweet and gentlemanly, he brought me flowers before our dates and my Gran was moons about him.
Yeah, he’s getting dumped for the sex pot, you wait and see.
There was a point when you either piss or get off the pot and I felt like it was time.
…I’ve never heard that term used to talk about sex before. I’m thinking golden showers now.
By the way, here I am on page three of this document and that’s the end of the first paragraph. It said a lot of nothing, to be honest.
Don’t ask me why we hadn’t done it until that night. If anyone was to blame it was me.
Duh. If it were up to a guy there would have been sex on the first date, if not sooner.
I had waited so long the anxiety had spun into a fast moving tidal pool that was slowly pulling me down. I just wanted to get out. I wanted to get it over with already.
Again, you’re female. This is an easy condition for your gender to remedy.
I was sick of being trapped in this cycle. I wanted to live, and be free and not be stuck living my child hood life forever.
You’re an adult taking care of an elderly adult; the fact that your lifestyle may not have changed much does not mean that the dynamic of your relationship with your grandmother hasn’t. She depends on you, or so I assume, and you’ve proven to her that you can be depended upon. Having sex isn’t going to make you a whole new person, nor will it magically turn you into a grown up. It’s going to make you sore and curious why you ever wanted to do that in the first place. Of course then there’s the second time, and your opinion completely changes.
I loved my Gran more than anything and nothing would keep me away from her, but living with her all these years had permanently cemented my role in this life. I wasn’t going to be one of those girls who got to take off, go to college, live adventures, and have all those stories to tell when she got back, I wasn’t going to be some successful lawyer or doctor, not that I wanted that.
Then why are you complaining about it? I know the answer to this question of course, it’s the same as my own: she wants the opportunity to make that choice, no matter if she would or not. A lot of people would scoff and say, “What’s the difference?” but I understand completely. As a being that’s forced to wear a mask to have any sort of personal autonomy, I can sympathize. Without the freedom to choose, you don’t feel like a person; you feel like an object, a thing that’s little more than a tool, or in my case, a decoration.
I was strong sensible, dependable, headstrong Sookie Stackhouse. I was happy for the most part in my little small town life.
None of that was going to change. I just felt like I was up against a wall and if I didn’t do something I might suffocate. I thought maybe through sex, I could break the pattern and cross one thing off my list.
Now you’ve lost me again. There’s too much hemming and hawing here. This issue deserved, at most, three sentences. But the entire premise of the story is now hinged on the sentence “I want to have sex, and I’m a lesser woman for not having done it yet,” and we’ve basically been told already that it will happen in this first chapter. I just don’t see how interesting this work can be as a whole once the only motivation the main character has is gone.
This is also a pretty dumb line of reasoning. “I felt like my life was going nowhere, so a good banging will inject some oxygen into my body to prevent me from suffocating.”
She’s looking to define her whole sense of self based on sitting on some dude’s dick. This bitch is setting back feminism back to the day before someone decided it was a good idea to torch their bras.
I wanted to feel what it felt like to really live, to stop hiding in my good little innocent pure small town Christian girl shell and really do something important with my life.
This again? Jesus titty-fucking Christ… No, scratch that, let’s blaspheme another religion for a change… Holy cow, this is annoying! And doing “something important with your life” means fucking. I just can’t figure out this notion of why a person needs to fuck to get on with their life. It’s asinine.
Also, don’t make me laugh. There’s nothing looser than a small town Christian girl, so you’re doing a bad job if that’s what you’re pretending to be.
We had discussed on our last date that it would happen tonight.
It didn’t matter that I was drinking more than I usually would on one of the most important and life changing nights of my life.
Sure it does. It gives a valid excuse to why you’ll remember it as having been good because you blacked out and don’t remember it at all.
None of it mattered because this is what couples did. Couples who loved each other had sex and that’s all there was to it.
Most do, although some choose to wait because of some fucked up, backwards social stigma, or the most ignorant and misguided reason of all: antiquated religious dogma. But again, they aren’t mutually inclusive events; you don’t have to be in love, or even be part of a couple, to have sex. Trust me, I’m an expert.
We were sitting in Merlottes, I had just gotten done working a 9 hour shift and Bill had gone off to get us some chili cheese fries when my life really altered, whether I knew it in that moment or not.
When my life really altered? Regardless of how awful that sentence is, this is going to be epically bad or cliché. Let me guess. A man walks in, he’s gorgeous and perfect and dangerous. Everything that she needs.
Time stopped when this tall blonde mystery man now known to me as Eric first came into the bar. He had an air of danger in his eyes, but also mischief, and a deep penetrating gaze that told me he was an old soul.
Told you so. And what the fuck kind of gaze is that? I’d love to see an artist’s rendering of “a deep penetrating gaze that told me he was an old soul.”
He was the total opposite of my lily-white southern gent of a boyfriend who had just left to get us some refreshments.
Since when are chili-cheese fries considered refreshments? Good as they may be, I never feel refreshed after eating them. Depending on what kind of chili is on it, I may even break a sweat.
Also, what definition of lily-white do you mean? Pure, uncorrupted, and perfect, or a guy with deep-seated feelings of racial exclusion? We are talking about a southern boy, so as the stereotype tells us, this is an important question.
On a related note – I’ve been everywhere in the United States, and I’ve seen far less self-segregation and racial disharmony in the south than in the north. It doesn’t always feel like tensions are higher in the old confederate states. And that’s a stereotype for you. It’s a bitch.
If you asked me today what song was playing on the jukebox I wouldn’t be able to recall, or remember what I was wearing or the words Bill had spoken to me before he left to go get our food, it was all gone…
Thank fuck for that. I’d hate to have to endure those details.
The music paused, the conversation, time…20 pairs of eyes all following him as he made his way towards me.
I really hope Bob Seger’s “Turn the Page” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XAbY2cmEsS0 was playing on the jukebox. The irony would just be awesome.
I felt my heart begin to hammer in my chest although it was a puzzle as to why this was happening.
No, it’s not. It was lust at first sight. Happens to me all the time.
I mean this man was a total stranger, mysterious and dark, clearly experienced and raw.
Clearly experienced? What the fuck does that even mean? Did he come in wearing a badge with the number of women he’s had sex with?
I frowned thinking not only was I some freak 27 year old virgin when other girls my age had been sleeping around for 10 years already, but now I was a pervert too? I didn’t even know him.
Extree! Extree! Read all about it! Perversion levels reach an all-time high as someone feels sexual attraction towards a person they don’t know. In a related and bizarrely ironic twist, churches are no longer the most likely place that a child will be molested.
I tried to look away in modesty, but his deep blue eyes locked with mine pulling my gaze back to him.
How is that possible? If you looked away, your eyes couldn’t meet, and if you didn’t look away, how could his eyes pull yours back?
My chest began to heave, as he got closer.
Somebody get an inhaler. She’s having an asthma attack!
He was huge.
And she isn’t even talking about his dick yet.
I was sitting, so at the time I didn’t know how tall he was, but he looked like a giant, and those hands. They were the size of bear claws.
How does that make sense? You can very easily judge a person’s height while you’re sitting.
He smiled and all I could do was stare at his mouth.
I thought he had forced your eyes to lock with his.
Those perfect lips shaped just like rose petals, his tongue peeking out just a bit to moisten them.
Those are some weird looking lips. Are you sure he’s not having an allergic reaction to something?
For a moment I flashed to those lips doing things I never in my wildest fantasies had thought of, and my face began to blush and my womanly parts grew warm.
Never in her wildest fantasies had thought of? Things she’d obviously heard of, but never imagined? That’s just stupid. And what’s with the blushing vagina? Are women really that aware of the things that are going on down there? Most of the time I don’t even realize I have an erection until it gets to the point that it won’t fit in my jeans and I’m in pain.
But before I realized what I was doing Bill was back.
No, the previous statement just said otherwise. You were aware of a minute reaction in your vagina at the sight of bear-hand man, and now you’re trying to turn it around and pretend to be oblivious to your twitching “womanly parts.”
He was carrying the chili fries and our drinks apparently not looking where he was going and had just crashed into tall dark and handsome.
Um, I’ll give you tall and handsome, but blonde haired, blue eyed, and dark? I don’t think you understand that idiom.
Fries went flying everywhere and as the spell lifted I quickly slipped out of my seat to help pick up the mess. Eric had assessed the situation as Bill cursed and set the half emptied glasses down on the table clumsily making even more of a mess with the liquid. I was trying to pick up the fries one by one but tall dark and handsome had found a towel on the next table and got them all in one sweep.
A noteworthy talent.
I looked at him, at a loss for words.
I can’t say that I’m not excited that this long-winded sack of melodrama finally has nothing to say.
I felt so small, his shoulder blades mere inches away from mine as he crouched beside and watched me. We were so close now that I recognized the color of his eyes as matching perfectly with the shade of cornflower blue featured on my favorite dress.
That’s very specific, author, thank you. I was on pins and needles here waiting to find out what her favorite dress looked like. I can now finally sleep at night.
I wanted to get lost in those eyes and found myself thinking other less virtuous thoughts as my gaze dropped subconsciously, but before I could study his perfection any further he stood up. Offering me his hand I took it.
Is she saying she’s trying to get a peek at his dick? Is he wearing a kilt or something, or does she just want to see the outline of it in his tight jeans? If I were to make an educated guess based on most fanfiction I’ve read, you can find it starts down by his ankle and continues up from there.
“I’m sorry.” I said, unsure of what else to say, feeling my foot crawl slowly into my mouth in embarrassment.
I actually really like that line. The imagery is fun.
God was I just looking at his crotch? In front of my boyfriend! I felt so ashamed, I wanted to crawl down into one of those cracks in the sidewalk and never come out.
Another sentiment to which I can relate, although the circumstances are not quite the same.
Bill was glaring daggers at him and honestly I couldn’t say I blamed him. Now that we were standing face to face or face to chest in my case I could see he was wearing a dark gray tee and black leather jacket and I swallowed.
She left the best part out! What are the brand names? Sizes? Materials said clothes were made of? If you’re going to pad your story with useless bullshit information that adds absolutely nothing, might as well go for broke.
“Why are you sorry?” Bill asked me, looking over at tall dark and handsome he replied…
Why do you keep referring to him as “tall dark and handsome”? You’ve already established that his name is Eric. You know, Eric with the BLOND hair.
“You weren’t the one who wasn’t looking where he was going.”
Who said this?
I looked back at Bill my skin flush because I could feel the tension rising just wishing to get out of here, get out of here cause I wanted to escape this humiliation, and finally Eric replied…
“No, he is right, I am terribly sorry for ruining your meal, it isn’t every day we see something we like and cant help but stop to take a closer look, is it?”
I’ve used this same line… with very definitively mixed results.
He looked at me a hint of mischief in his gaze and my eyes widened, jaw dropped unable to believe he had just said that, and then to my dismay his gaze dropped down to my breasts and he licked his lips as each pebbled to his delight one by one.
Does that mean her nipples got hard? And if so, one by one? How many does she have?
I quickly folded my arms in modesty taking a step back and looked over from Bill to Eric when Bill stepped in between us blocking me from Eric’s view and he replied sharply…
“Apology accepted, you can LEAVE NOW!”
Don’t be a dick, Bill. He’s just trying to fuck your girlfriend.
He just smiled as if Bill was nothing but a housefly and began to step away. Bill eased his stance and turned to me, but before I thought he was leaving for good, he picked up something on the floor and handed it to me. His fingers brushed mine and I felt electric sparks shoot through his skin into mine as I took what he had to offer.
Does he have a live wire shoved up his ass? Or are you ripping off Twilight and every other Twilight fanfic that describes Edward and Bella touching and the fucking electrical storm ensuing that requires the interference of the local power company?
His smile entrancing me, I had yet to look down when he replied…
“It was a pleasure Sookie, I hope to see you again, perhaps on a night when you are free (he added coyly, casting a distasteful glance towards Bill.)”
Fucking parentheses! Mother of fuck, do I hate parentheses in fiction. Especially when you’re stuffing a dialogue tag in them. It’s almost enough to make me miss that he inexplicably knows her name, but I guess I can’t really hate on that, the answer to that question could still pop up.
And then he disappeared.
I’m hoping a smoke bomb, evil cackling, and cape flip were involved.
My face colored crimson and Bill asked me as I dared to look back at him…
“Who was that?”
A master magician.
I shook my head wondering that myself, not to mention how did he know me?
But you already said his name was Eric. I’ll let it go though, because the author at least included something about “how the fuck did he know my name?”
Now Bill was going to think I had been talking to him prior and that’s when I looked down at the scrap of fabric in my hand. It was my waitress uniform.
Uhh, a piece of the uniform, or the whole thing? If it’s just a piece, how could she tell at a glance that it was hers or what it was? Otherwise, how can an entire uniform be considered a scrap? On that note, where the fuck did he get it from? If it was the towel he cleaned up the mess with, what an inconsiderate prick! And why was her shirt sitting on an empty table? I’m just wild-guessing now, we really don’t have context for any of this.
He must have seen my nametag.
That’s a reasonable assumption, at least.
Oh god, now he knew my name and where I worked. This was so not good.
How so? Didn’t this guy just make your nipples so hard they could cut diamonds? Other than being a person you don’t know, how is this a bad thing? Let your freak flag fly, sister.
“I don’t know.” I replied and Bill grabbed my coat and held it out for me replying sharply…
“Well he was looking at you like a piece of meat, if he comes near you again Sookie Ill slug him.”
Assault charges are nothing to be afraid of.
I looked back and searched for tall dark and handsome and caught him winking at me from the other side of the bar.
Well, my mental image has been ruined. I was really fond of that whole magician idea. I’m still holding out for teleporting sorcerer though, since he apparently disappeared from where he stood and reappeared across the bar.
Bill added in warning angrily seeing Eric’s gesture as well…
“Guys like that are Trouble with a capital T.”
You don’t actually need to capitalize the word trouble, even in this context.
I nodded in agreement thinking Bill was probably right and frankly, I was a little perturbed that Eric had been so high handed and so snaky, it was rude and just not the kind of behavior I wanted to ever become accustomed to.
But I’ll bet you will.
No my Gran had raised me better then that. Bill was my Southern Gentleman; I was better off with him.
I don’t think that you and your vagina are in agreement on this.
“Are you ready to go?” He asked me and I looked back at him and nodded my head, shooting talk dark and handsome a warning glare before I took Bills arm and replied with certainty…
Bill smiled and we left the bar.
It’s sexytime! ^^sexytime hip thrusting dance routine^^
It wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be.
It’s refreshing to see that this is at least this was considered. Too often the female protagonists of fanfictions are hitting that big O from vaginal penetration on their first time, which is just stupid.
Given my previous sexual misconceptions, Bill tried to be gentle at first but then his passion overcame him. By that point I had grown tired from the alcohol, which seemed to help the pain along and we finished.
That’s all pretty much how I’d assume it would have gone. I’m enjoying that the author didn’t feel the need to be explicit and kept it believable.
When it was over, I felt more relieved than anything, but also I was grateful to have Bill as my first. It could have been far worse. I had thought. It could have been with some womanizer like that man at the bar.
How does she know he’s a womanizer? They exchanged all of two sentences. Maybe she smelled his dick and caught a whiff of gas station bathroom soap?
But I didn’t feel as different as I thought it would make me feel. I was still the same old Sookie Stackhouse, the one from the night before.
I don’t want to jump the gun here, but I’m completely satisfied by these last two paragraphs. Most of my early complaints were about silly writing, and I’m starting to think I misjudged it. What I assumed was just terrible overly-dramatic silliness was actually character development. Holy fuck, am I surprised to see that.
A week later Eric was barely a faded memory.
Whose name you inexplicably know.
Of course now that I had opened Pandora’s box Bill wanted to do it all the time.
I just thanked the good lord and my Gran for always being at home which allowed me a good excuse.
Plus I had explained to Bill that I really did want to wait for marriage until we initiated the baby making sex, or at least my wedding night.
When the hell did baby-making come into the picture? Or do you just mean without protection?
I wanted to be a modern girl, but I wasn’t a ho.
I really despise the word “ho.” I absolutely hate it. On top of my unadulterated hatred for this trashy word, Sookie is saying that women who don’t wait for marriage to have sex are “hoes.” I thought she’d set feminism back as far as it could, but I’ve just been proven wrong. I think we’re hovering around the mid-1800s now.
Bill had seemed put off at first but as always he finally accepted it.
It was Friday and I had just gotten done mowing the lawn when my Gran came out with a pitcher of ice-cold sun tea and a tall glass.
“Sookie!” She offered me the glass with a smile and insisted…
“I can’t believe you did that whole lawn without coming inside once to cool off, you are going to pass out from this heat!”
I know it may be too soon to make this declaration, but I love Gran.
I walked over to her and took the glass thankful for the refreshment and I replied with a smile…
“I’m sure it takes far more than mowing the lawn to knock me out Gran, but thanks for the tea.”
I took a sip, which turned into a gulp and in about 5 seconds flat I had emptied the glass.
Gran had the pitcher ready to refill my glass before I even asked and I replied with a smile…
“I guess I was more thirsty than I thought.”
Brought to a screeching halt by bad grammar. “Thirstier” was the word you were looking for.
Gran nodded knowingly and she set down the pitcher on a small table looking out at the property as I finished off my second glass and wiped my brow my grandmother replied…
Run-on sentence. I know it’s the first time I’m mentioning this because I had much bigger fish to fry, but this is about the fortieth run-on sentence.
“I appreciate all the help you have been giving me over the years Sookie, I want you to know how thankful I am.”
I love Gran. She’s such a sweetie.
I smiled at her and nodded. It wasn’t anything I ever thought twice about but Gran wasn’t done apparently and she continued…
Yes, it is. You thought about it earlier in this chapter.
“I feel guilty because I never want you to feel obligated to stay with me or take care of me…”
“Gran!” I interrupted in objection because I never felt obligated, but she wasn’t done and waved her hand signaling she had more to say, she looked me directly in the eye and remarked….
But you said earlier that you were obligated. How could you know that you were obligated without feeling that you were? Consistency, please.
“You have turned into a beautiful young woman Sookie…You deserve to live your own life, see the world, life is too short to be stuck here wasting away in the heat looking after an old woman.”
I’m totally gushing over how much of a sweetie Gran is, but fuck me she’s adorable, and I love her.
I creased my brows not quite sure what she was getting at, but she didn’t let me finish my thoughts and she explained…
“I know you like Bill a lot, and I want you to know that you don’t have to stay here with me, for heavens sake, before I met your grandfather I don’t think I spent one night home…”
“What are you saying?” I asked her confused and she replied…
“I’m saying I want you to go out and have some fun, with that boyfriend of yours or your friends.”
“But what about the house?” I asked her knowing surely she couldn’t do everything at home herself. She was always a spry and independent woman but her age was wearing on her, and she shook her head and put her hand on my shoulder assuring me…
Squeeeeeeeee! She’s so cute. I wonder if there’ll be Gran lemons in this. I could go for some Gran lovin’.
“Don’t you worry about that, I decided that this place needed some sprucing up, so I rented out your brothers old bed room for 3 months in exchange for some good old fashioned elbow grease to fix this place up.”
“You what??” I asked her surprised wondering when this stranger was coming into our lives not really liking the idea and she responded…
That sentence is a wreck. It’s like a car flipped over on the side of the road that blows up before you can save anyone.
“Well lets face it, I’m not going to be around forever and this house is older than dirt, so I figured it needs some work before I give it to you.”
Squeeeee eeee eeeeee eeeee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I love her!
I frowned not liking the tone in her voice nor her choice of subject. That was so not why I was hanging around and I shook my head resisting I replied turning to look at her…
“Well I don’t want the house Gran, so save your money.”
UNGRATEFUL BITCH! THAT’S YOUR MOTHERFUCKING GRAN! IF SHE SAYS SHE’S LEAVING YOU THE HOUSE WHEN SHE PASSES, YOU SAY THANK YOU AND GIVE HER A MOTHERFUCKING HUG.
Now I got thinking about when Gran passes. My world will come to an end.
She smiled and shook her head and replied with that mischievous glint she sometimes got…
“Don’t worry, I saved some for you and your brother too…maybe it could be just enough to get out of here and see the world.”
She winked back at me but I just rolled my eyes and shook my head in refusal.
“I’m doing just fine on my own. And what about this person? You just decided to rent out a room in our house with some stranger? What if he’s a serial killer or something? ” I argued and Gran came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder assuring me….
“Don’t you worry about it, his family and mine go way back and I’m just helping him out for a few months while he returns the favor.”
Cue the porno music.
I shook my head unable to believe this. I lived here too dammit! The fact that this was a man did not put my mind at ease. Not after what happened the last time a stranger came to stay with us.
And there’s the molestation again. Blech.
“I’m proud of you dear. Now stop worrying about every little thing. I want to see you have some fun. You don’t get many days off so I’m banning you from doing chores for the rest of the day.
You tell her, Gran! Drop the ban hammer on her!
God, I hope there’s Gran fanfic out there.
Suffice to say her words did not comfort me.
Fuck you, then. She’s comforted me. I’m pretty sure we’re all comforted except for you, Sookie, because you’re a whiny “ho” that is never satisfied with anything.
Shit. Gran could be blatantly racist and I’d love it, but that’s probably because I’d know it’s a product of her time and not really a glaring issue with her character. There is something eerily charming about racist old people. I just don’t know what it is.
“I still need to finish the laundry.” I argued and she simply shook her head proclaiming.
“We’ll talk about this later”
I knew enough to know when my Gran said we would talk later; it meant not to argue with her.
There was no winning. So I turned on my heel and had pulled open the screen door when I heard a car crunch along the gravel driveway.
“He’s here!” Gran looked over at me with an excited smile and I looked back at her in confusion and then went back out onto the porch to get a better view. ‘He who?’ I wondered propping my hands on the railing as my Gran went down the steps to meet the mystery man.
“He” who? The “he” you were just talking about. For fuck’s sake, Sookie, it’s been fifteen seconds. Put down the bong. It’s affecting your short-term memory.
It wasn’t every day I saw a red cherry colored Corvette, this one had all the bells and whistles too. Chrome hubcaps, convertible with the raised hatch back, and the sporty hood. I couldn’t deny that the car was impressive, but I knew what they said about men who drove sports cars.
Me too. They’ve got a high insurance premium, for those of you who don’t know.
They were trying to make up for the lack of something and I couldn’t help but smirk because in most cases it was true.
I’ve never heard that before. I don’t think they say that, Sookie. You’re making this up.
I worked at a bar, I certainly saw all walks of life and the ones with the big honking trucks and flashy cars were the ones who were the most desperate.
I will agree with this statement. But I still argue that it’s not a thing people say.
I was just thankful Bill had a modest old jeep. With my yellow gremlin the pair of us could go down in the old unwanted car hall of fame.
Does this look like a car to you?
Get your head out of your ass, Sookie.
I heard the car door open and watched my Gran walk out to meet him. Unable to help from rolling my eyes I thought my Gran was too kind to people sometimes and then I turned my head to get a better look.
Run-on sentence again.
My jaw dropped and stomach fell when I took in all 6 feet 5 of the familiar man standing across from my Gran.
It was HIM.
I didn’t bring it up earlier, but if he’s so bad off that he needs to live with an old lady and repair her house as some sort of favor to his family then how can he afford that car? Just something to think about.
I have to say, all in all, this wasn’t really that bad. I mean the main character was a little inane and naïve, but sometimes that’s the kind of character you’re going for. I can’t say that I really liked this besides Gran, but it was leaps and bounds better than the crap I usually review.
The author really needs to work on their sentence structure, and fix those run-ons. The story is a little contrived; it wasn’t all that interesting, and I’m in no way intrigued to read on, but the dialogue actually sounded like people and not the ramblings of infants translated into English, which is a welcome change.
I’d call it a pleasant surprise that this wasn’t absolute crap, and I commend the author for the effort put into being comprehensible.
Like, share, reblog, rate, tweet, comment, so something. I’d really like to hear people’s opinions on this one. I have to admit, part of me is worried that I’ve started to go soft. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get in a bar fight and push an old lady down a flight of stairs. But not Gran. I love her.
So here we are at chapter 2. For those of you living in a vacuum my indignation and downright disgust at this work may not be apparent if you don’t go back and read my review of the first chapter of this fanfiction, so I highly recommend you do that. https://thefanficassassin.wordpress.com/2014/02/12/a-forgettable-pair-chapter-1/
Also check out the parody readings I did of this atrocity.
This fic, An Unforgettable Pair, is a Twilight Fanfiction set around a Bella and Edward who were affected in the 9/11 terrorist attack. It’s an atrocity in a lot more ways than one, as I hope to illustrate in this review.
Because after dedicating an entire chapter to boring morning sex we were all clamoring for the story to continue.
I walked back inside, and flipped the T.V on as I headed into the kitchen. Still feeling a bit odd, I loaded the dishes into the dishwasher and turned it on.
Compelling stuff. If my seat had an edge, I’d be on it. I’ll leave the more intelligent of you to ponder the meaning of that statement because I’m an asshole.
I walked into the bedroom and looked over at the unmade bed, I thought about Edward lying on top of me, naked and sweaty.
Who wouldn’t think that? I know it’s what I think about when I look at my unmade bed.
How intense his eyes looked as he looked down into my eyes.
This sentence appropriately makes fun of itself in how poorly written it is, but if I let everything be appropriately criticized, that wouldn’t be too funny, would it? Only eyes are capable of looking, unless otherwise clarified, and therefore you don’t need to specify what amazing green orbs you’re talking about because saying he looks at something implies his eyes are involved. If not, she probably means his third eye, which we all know is blind.
I could feel the blush creep up my cheeks as I bent over to pick up Edward s shirt from where it dropped last night.
Seriously, she’s ready to swoon over a shirt?
I pressed it up to my nose and inhaled his unique scent.
Like B.O. and child prostitutes.
Mmm, he smelled so good, like cinnamon and soap.
Cinnamon and soap? Seriously? Who wants their man dabbing pungent spices behind their ears? Worse still, who could stand the stench of a guy who smells so strongly of soap that it overpowers the obnoxiously oppressive smell of cinnamon? Fucking hell, don’t let me get stuck on an elevator with that guy.
My phone chiming, alerting me that I had a message, pulled me out of my thoughts.
Liar. I think we’ve already established that this Bella isn’t even remotely capable of thought.
I went over to the dresser to pick up my phone, and I looked down at it to see a text from Edward.
“Love, I m sitting at my desk thinking of you this morning. I love making love to you before work. I can t wait to see you tonight. I love you, My Sweet Bella. XOXO Edward”
2001 text message? Who was sending texts in 2001? The technology existed, but nobody was using it. I showed this in my video, and this text took me about 7 minutes to write on an old cell phone. So giving Edward some proficiency, it’s fair to say that he spent at least 5 minutes writing this damn thing which means that in the time it took Bella to load the dish washer and pick up Edward’s shirt for a cinnamon-and-soapgasm, Edward has had time to drive from New Jersey (presumably) all the way to the WTC and then spend 5 minutes on a text. We’re all thinking it—I’m just saying it. The person who wrote this has never ridden around Manhattan during morning rush.
I smiled at his cheesiness as I quickly texted him back.
“Quickly texted” seems like a 2001 oxymoron.
“Edward, I love when we make love in the mornings too. Wish you were here now. I love you too. See ya tonight. XOXO Bella”
These texts are ridiculous. How the author didn’t think about how absurd these would have been to send is beyond me. People weren’t texting in 2001, and if they did they weren’t texting in full sentences or signing their names to them. This is just really bad writing and normally I’d get angry about it, but I know what’s coming and I’ll have plenty of reason to be angry soon.
I finished straightening the bedroom and made the bed. I stepped out onto the balcony just as the phone rang. I picked it up and was greeted with Alice s hyper voice.
I just love the overdetailing of mundane tasks that add nothing to the story, don’t advance the plot, and simply, don’t fucking matter. It adds that dash of boring to a story that’s already ripe with it. Bella straightened up the bedroom. Bella made the bed. Riveting…
How can someone be so peppy so early in the morning? I thought as I pulled the phone from my ear and switched it over to speakerphone.
I’d laugh about the terrible reminder that it’s early in the morning and that it’s probably the 11th day of the month, but let’s face it, I don’t think there is sufficient evidence to support the belief that this author does subtlety well, as I’ll illustrate in a moment.
“Hey Alice”, I said as I sat in the chair, moving my sketchbook to the table.
“Bella, are you going to be able to meet me for lunch today around one o clock?” she asked.
There are many questions that start with why that popped into my head, but let’s read on so none of them will be answered.
“Yeah, I should be done with my appointment by then,” I said as I watched a low flying plane pass overhead.
Oh, dear god.
“Great,” she exclaimed joyfully. “What kind of appointment?”she asked.
Instead of “exclaiming mournfully.”
“Your being quite nosy this morning, aren t you Alice?: I said a bit sarcastically.
“Yep, I always am,” she said laughing, “And you love me for it.”
“Sure, you think I do,” I said with a chuckle. “But seriously, Alice, my appointment is no big deal. I just have to get my birth control shot.”
9/11 and a birth control shot, subtle. This is exactly what I’m talking about with tragedy poaching. I’ll bet that Bella misses her appointment and either gets pregnant, or has a pregnancy scare, nothing groundbreaking or even remotely interesting there. But the kind of people who use tragic events as a spring board to drama are perfectly happy to let the blame of the character’s troubles fall on “the tragic events of 9/11” leaving the rest of the story a hollow husk that no one would be interested in reading if not for the simulated drama of the tragedy.
“Oh, okay, Bella,” she said before she gasped, “Did you see that plane hit into Emmett s building?”
Well that was fast, or was it? The way I’m looking at things, it took longer for the low flying plane that passed overhead to get to Manhattan than it took for Edward to get there in a car. This is also probably the end of my jokes for this review. There may be some humorous ravings that happen, but for the rest of this review, I expect to be rabid.
“No, but I did hear something,” I said as I looked across the river to see black smoke coming from the building.
Notice that the author barely describes the devastation, because since everyone remembers what it looked like, she can be lazy and piggyback on history.
“Oh, my God Alice, what s happening?” I asked frantically.
“I don t know, Bella, but I am going to try to call Jasper,” she said as she hung up the phone.
I stood there looking at the towers, panic beginning to rise within me. I didn t know what to do.
I didn t know if I should try to call Edward, or just wait. I was confused and scared. What was going on?
“A plane had just slammed into a building within the range of my ability to see. I was confused and scared by it.” If there was anything at all that could piss me off more than the use of this horrible event as a pathetic excuse to get yourself some attention, it would have to be doing it badly. She isn’t playing up the tension well. Of course she’s fucking scared, everyone with a TV was fucking scared! People in other countries were fucking scared!
I grabbed the phone and dialed Edward s office number. It went straight to voicemail.
Not good, I thought to myself as I let the fear and panic take over.
He could just be in a meeting, or in the bathroom. Just calm down, I thought to myself as I went back out on the balcony.
Not the thoughts of a person who has “let fear and panic take over.”
I looked at the buildings, the smoke was thick, and black. I could hear the sounds of firetrucks in the distance.
Really, you could hear the fire trucks from Manhattan and across the Hudson? Forgive me for being skeptical but, NO, YOU FUCKING COULDN’T.
This is so not good, I thought to myself as I dialed Edward s number again.
But this time I was greeted with the most wonderful voice ever.
I feel so much relief now that I know that Edward, who at this point hasn’t been established to be working in the towers even though we all know he is or there wouldn’t be a story here, is okay and sounding as wonderful as ever.
“Good Morning, this is Edward Cullen. How may I help you?” he said.
That’s right. Business as usual. He could not have possibly heard the plane slam into the building next to his.
“Edward, oh my God,” I said as I let out the breath that I was holding. “Did you see the plane that hit Emmett s building?”
I’m going to illustrate the point I’m trying to make. Pretend you don’t know who Emmett is, which will be really easy if you actually don’t. Now put this character who’s been mentioned only by name and nothing else in mortal danger. Do you care? I thought not. I didn’t either.
So not only is this drama banking on the emotions of a real life tragedy, but also the fondness the reader has for a side character from a young adult paranormal romance series. Let’s be honest with ourselves—fanfiction is inherently lazy, even if only slightly. As a writer, you’re using someone else’s well-established characters, or at the very least their appearance, and building them a different story. That’s fine for the most part. We like fanfiction not because it’s incredibly creative, but because we don’t want the characters to whom we feel close to go away.
This isn’t that, though. This is an example of how absolutely devoid of any real depth this story is. It isn’t surprising, engaging, or moving. Having distanced myself from the tragedy being poached, I could care less about any of this because it comes through loud and clear in the writing that the author doesn’t, either.
“Bella, calm down,” he said in his velvety voice. “They told us about it and we are all fine. They are in communication with the north tower. Right now, they said we are to stay put, “he said calmly.
“I tried to call you and you didn t answer. I was so scared that something happened,” I said frantically.
“It s okay, Love. I was down in Jasper s office helping him with something,” he said.
As I stood talking to Edward and looking out across the water, I watched in horror as a plane slammed into the South tower, a few floors above where Edward s office was.
As I said before, I just can’t care. This author hasn’t inspired anything that could even remotely be called “emotion” in me. These one-dimensional characters are flaccid and boring, and if asked what part Bella has played in the story so far, I’d have to answer, “Well, she’s in it, but that’s about it.” It’s like I heard fellow masked crusader Todd in the Shadows said once about Chris Brown: “Chris Brown is a great dancer, and as a singer, he’s a great dancer.” http://blip.tv/todds-pop-song-reviews
I could hear people yelling and cursing. “Edward,” I said.
“Yes, Bella,” he said as calmly as he could.
“Are you okay?” I asked him. I was trying not to let the fear overtake me. It was quite frightening to see both the towers with smoke billowing out of them.
Thank you for the reminder that the towers are burning. I had actually forgotten.
“Bella, Love, I need to go now! We are being called to evacuate the building,” he said frantically. “I will call you as soon as I can.”
“Edward, I love you. Be safe,” I said quickly.
“I will and I love you too, Bella,” he said as the line went dead.
Staring across the water, I said a silent prayer for all of the people in the towers, and especially for Edward, Jasper and Emmett.
First of all, prayer is the worst thing you can do to fix a bad situation. It’s tantamount to doing nothing and hoping your chosen deity takes a break from giving AIDS to starving African children long enough to solve what is most likely a minor inconvenience for you.
Also, if that line about African children pissed you off, good. That’s tragedy poaching, too. How did I do?
It was a quarter after nine, on a beautiful day in September.
That is a very odd statement. In the middle of what seems to be an otherwise “somber” paragraph. I fail to see how someone would think it a “beautiful day” while staring at the towers burning. “Beautiful” is not a word that would come to my mind at the sight of that horror.
This is surreal. What was going on? I thought to myself as I crumbled to the floor and let the tears flow as the fear finally gripped a hold of me.
I don t know how long I sat there, just staring and hugging my knees to my chest, but I finally got up and ran to the my front door.
When I opened it, Alice was standing there with tears streaming down her face.
“Bella, that plane hit their building, too. What the hell?” she said through her tears.
Ugh. “What the hell?” Is this what constitutes hysterics? I don’t know what else I can do to understand this line as the author intended for it to be understood. I burned my Totino’s pizza the other day even though I left it in the oven for the recommended amount of time. I too exclaimed, “what the hell!” Somehow, I don’t feel both events are remotely close in a “life-changing” scale, yet I had the same words of dismay.
This can only mean one thing: this author is not skilled at conveying someone’s reaction to a horrific incident. Pizza burning <<<<<< Towers burning.
“I don t know, Alice,” I said looking into her tear stained face. “All I know is this is not good.”
Beautiful wordsmithing there. Two planes smashed into the World Trade Center, and your expert assessment is that “this is not good.” A masterful conclusion, Sherlock! Jesus titty-fucking Christ…
Suddenly the odd feeling that I had all morning made sense. The thought hit me and I barely heard Alice asking what we should do.
Contrived—motherfucking contrived—bullshit. She had a feeling, which most would attribute to gas, and wham! Disaster. Could you be any more predictable? No, of course you couldn’t.
As if on autopilot, I answered her, “I m not sure, Alice,” I said, “Maybe try to get into the city, or stay here. I just don t know, ” I said in a defeated tone.
“Bella,” Alice said, “I think we should try to go into the city. What if we never get the chance to see them again?” she said through more tears.
“Oh my God! I don t even want to think about never seeing Edward again,” I said as I thought about him.
I couldn t handle never seeing that smirk he always had, that crazy hair of his, or the way he always knew how to touch me.
And now I lose my shit. You, author, are the one who was banking on my remembering that this was a real life event so you deserve the fuck out of this criticism. This is what you want me to be thinking of…
Thousands of people’s lives are in real mortal danger, and all Bella can concern herself with is seeing her boyfriend again because of HOW GOOD HE FUCKS HER! ARE YOU FUCKING JOKING? SERIOUSLY, EVEN IF THIS WAS ONLY ONE PERSON—EDWARD—I CAN’T IMAGINE THE LEVEL OF SELF-CENTEREDNESS AND SHALLOW PERSPECTIVE THAT THIS CHARACTER CHOSE TO HAVE ON SUCH A DIRE CIRCUMSTANCE. I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IN THE FUCK YOU EXPECTED PEOPLE WOULD THINK OF THIS CHARACTER WHEN THEY READ THIS LINE? DID YOU THINK THEY’D SAY, “Hmm, indeed. In this situation, I would also be concerned about how much I’d miss the way my man plows me.”
FUCK OFF, BELLA! AND I REALLY MEAN THAT. THIS IS, BY FAR THE MOST DISGUSTING AND STRAIGHT UP DISTURBING THING I’VE EVER READ AND I REVIEWED THAT HARRY POTTER FUCKING SIRIUS BLACK FANFIC. IF ANYONE HAD DOUBTS IN THEIR MINDS ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT THIS 9/11 BACKDROP HAD ANY REAL SUBSTANCE IN THE STORY OR IMPORTANCE TO THE AUTHOR, THAT SHOULD DAMN WELL BE GONE, BECAUSE THE ANSWER IS NONE AT ALL.
As an American, this cheap attempt at exploiting such a far-reaching tragedy for the sake of broad emotional appeal without the necessity of creating it turns my stomach.
I felt Alice pulling me toward the door.
“Bella, I ll drive,” she said as she picked up my purse and cell phone from the table by the door.
As we were walking to the car, we heard this loud, rumbling sound, and several people yelling.
We looked up to see the South tower of the World Trade Center crumble to the ground with a huge cloud of white ash flowing up into the air.
I fell to my knees and mumbled Edward s name as I hit the sidewalk.
Everything faded to black before my eyes.
I don’t even want to deal with the issues in that last bit. I try not to let myself get out of control, but this was unavoidable. I rarely see such an obvious disrespect for those killed in a tragic event. Even with some of the deplorable and controversial art that was made about this subject, it still meant something. This story is meaningless drivel, a sad and pitiful fantasy that should never have seen the light of day.
There is a quote from Roger Ebert’s review of the 1978 film I Spit on Your Grave that I think sums up my opinion of this fic almost perfectly:
“This movie is an expression of the most diseased and perverted darker human natures, because it is made artlessly. It flaunts its motives: There is no reason to see this movie except to be entertained by the sight of sadism and suffering. As a critic, I have never condemned the use of violence in films if I felt the filmmakers had an artistic reason for employing it. I Spit on Your Grave does not. It is a geek show. I wonder if its exhibitors saw it before they decided to play it, and if they felt as unclean afterward as I did.”
That last line sums up how I felt as I read this fic: unclean. I need a shower. That might be in my next video, so stay tuned!
Hello again and welcome back. As you may have heard me mention in my videos, which can be found here https://thefanficassassin.wordpress.com/2014/02/10/a-forgettable-pair-part-1/ and here https://thefanficassassin.wordpress.com/2014/02/10/a-forgettable-pair-part-2/, I hate tragedy poaching.
For those of you who don’t know, tragedy poaching is when someone takes an event, usually a very stirring and emotional one that is widely remembered or publicized, grabs it by the short hairs, and forces it into a position that suits them so that they can rape it of everything it has to offer. This takes on many forms: the anti-gun advocate who uses a mass shooting in an attempt to get their ideas on gun policy out into the public eye, whether their ideas could have prevented it at all or not. The pro-lifer (who should be called pro-birthers because their general consensus is that it deserves to be born, but they’ll be damned if their tax dollars go towards taking care of it after that) who show pictures, or text, on their signs that they know are misleading or untrue. Or even the simple fanfiction writer who is so woefully inept at building genuine intrigue and suspense that they have to piggyback on the lingering trauma of a catastrophic event that directly killed thousands and destroyed the lives of countless more.
SherCullen71 https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2137426/SherCullen71 is one of those authors. Her story An Unforgettable Pair https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6365252/1/An-Unforgettable-Pair is a perfect example of what I’m talking about, but before we take a look at that, let me be very clear, while I have a considerable amount of malice for the act itself, I hold no disrespect for the author who employs it.
This story is about Bella and Edward’s lives before the tragic events of 9/11 and how their lives changed after 9/11.
I don’t think there are words to describe the sound that came out of me when I first read this.
Oh, how wonderful. Let’s start it off with no possibility of any substantive back story prior to the tragedy.
I woke up suddenly and realized just how early it was but I couldn t sleep anymore. I looked over at my amazing boyfriend, Edward, who was sleeping on his stomach.
Amazing boyfriend Edward! How refreshingly original. That’s just what the world of Twilight fanfiction has been missing. If you take suggestions, could you make him a very selfless lover, hung like a horse, attractive, gainfully employed with plenty of freedom and time off to spend frolicking in meadows and having animal crackers prancing across Bella’s naked torso? Oh, that would be splendid, like something out of a 1998 Michael Bay movie that has a title synonymous with the end of the world.
One arm was wrapped around my waist and the other hand was tucked up under his head.
Is… Is this character development? I ask that facetiously, of course, because the truth is I know that this is probably all the character development we’ll get.
I quietly removed his arm from around my waist so I could get up without waking him up, since he didn’t have to get up for awhile.
This sentence sucks. It’s garbage. I refuse to insult it with anything even remotely conjured from effort in protest of how piss poor a job this sentence does of being a motherfucking readable sentence.
It was only five-thirty, so I grabbed my sketchbook and walked out onto the balcony. The sun was just beginning to come up, so I settled into my chair and started to draw the Twin Towers. It was something I normally loved to do, but today I just felt off. I looked out at the water and continued to draw.
Because that’s a thing people used to do. Sit on their balcony in what I assume must be Jersey and draw pictures of two buildings that, as deductive reasoning tells me, have at most 10 days left standing, which I highly doubt because I’m one paragraph in, and I’m damn sure this wasn’t written by a Rhodes Scholar, so if I had to venture a guess, I’d say it’s currently September 11th.
Let’s be honest. The towers weren’t the most aesthetically appealing buildings — they were two rectangles standing on their sides. Why on earth would anyone draw them repeatedly from the same angle unless the point is that they AREN’T THERE ANYMORE MAKING THIS A MEDIUM-TO-LARGE PILE OF STEAMING, FLY-COVERED, CONTRIVED BULLSHIT, CONJURED SOLELY TO DRIVE AN ALREADY SOULESS, CLICHÉ, WEAK, AND DOWNRIGHT INSULTINGLY PEDESTRIAN PLOT. But I could be wrong. I’m not. But I’m open to the possibility, small, miniscule, microscopic as it may be.
I thought back to the summer and how great it was. I met Edward in May and we had moved in together by the middle of July.
More wonderfully original storytelling. Sweet manger-snoozing, swaddling-clothed baby Jesus, I’m so surprised and excited about the idea of hearing another whirlwind romance that leaves me without an appropriate vocabulary to avoid saying “contrived” in every fucking sentence.
Some might argue that it was way too soon, but you just know when the time is right.
No, you fucking don’t. If you aren’t nervous about things like this, then you’re either too stupid or too free-spirited to be apprehensive. Since this Bella already appears to be a mindless drone, I’m ruling out free-spirited. No one “knows” anything. She didn’t know that she would move in and everything would be fine. She didn’t “know” that Edward wouldn’t flay her skin off her back in her sleep. She didn’t “know” if Edward had some weird disease that made him fart acid clouds in his sleep to which only he’s immune, and therefore, unaware of. But it’s not my story, so of course she knew, because without that knowing, it can’t be romantic…Right?
I knew that Edward and I were perfect for each other; no one ever understood me as much as he did.
Yeah, and I’ll bet his dick fits her pussy like a glove, too.
We enjoyed the same music, the same style in art and let’s just say everything else fit together too.
Told you! I’m either psychic, I’ve read this before, or it’s just a big mound of predictable clichés. I swear I once read a better story that was cobbled together by a janitor at the Grand Hyatt in Tampa, Florida when he was cleaning out the vomitorium the morning after the National Alphabet Spaghetti-O’s eating competition was crashed by the members of the Pica Convention from down the hall. It was literally a story written out of regurgitated letter-shaped noodles as they were after being swept into a dustpan, and it read better than this.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts and my drawing that I didn’t hear Edward come out on to the balcony, until I felt his arms around me and his voice in my ear.
“I’m wearing your panties, Bella,” he whispered in a high pitch squeal that left no doubt that his small delicate testicles were in fact being crushed inside a pair of my lacy skid-marked undergarments.
“Edward, what are you doing up? You still have time to sleep, Baby”, I said looking into his amazing green eyes.
What the fuck isn’t amazing about this guy? If he were a super hero, he’d be called Mister Amazing, and his super power would be devilishly good looks. He’d fight crime by being uniquely handsome and inspiring enemies to fall at his feet and beg to be taken to jail, where they could fantasize that the large tattooed man pounding their ass in the showers is Mister Amazing.
He looked cute with his normally crazy reddish bronze hair sticking up more than usual.
I love comparative descriptions. We’re supposed to inherently know what it normally looks like so that we can imagine what more than usual would look like. I like to imagine that Edward is the copper-topped Doc Brown on an average day, which means that today he looks like an electrocution victim who washes his hair with spray starch and donkey semen. I hope that I’ve appropriately illustrated why overdescribing a character is a huge mistake, especially when your capabilities of describing them are minimal to non-existent.
“I know, Love, but I missed you. I woke up alone and the bed felt so lonely without you,” he pouted.
He woke up lonely, because he was in bed alone… That’s like feeling protestant because you are at a protest, and only slightly better than surprised at a surprise party.
“Aw, my poor baby was lonely,” I said looking at him and biting my lip.
That must have sounded weird.
I knew it makes him crazy, but I loved to do it.
And fuck him, right? This is a girl power story.
“Come back to bed with me, Love,” he said as he ran his nose along my jaw.
Is that sexy to people who don’t have a nose fetish? Because I just don’t see it. Also, if you have a nose fetish, how turned on does my mask make you?
“Please”, he said kissing the spot under my ear.
He spat and stepped away, scraping off his tongue with his fingers. “When was the last time you washed around your ears, Pigpen?”
“Mmm, Edward,” I moaned as he pressed his body against mine. He knew just what he was doing to me.
Yeah, so do we: rubbing up against you… Silly Bella, thinking she’s being vague.
“Bella,” he whispered in my ear, “I need you so much.”
Because this line is just stupid, and since I don’t care to make a joke about it, I’m going to take this opportunity to talk about a trend, one that I’m sure I’m not the first person to notice. We know Edward is amazing, with his amazing reddish brown hair and his amazing green eyes, but Bella’s physical description is… not even mentioned. Some would say that’s because the author was writing the story for women, and who cares what the woman looks like, but that’s kind of an evasion of the truth.
It’s obvious that the author is writing Bella as herself. We’ve all seen that happen a lot, but the honest reason Bella is so rarely described, and even when she is, it’s very vague at best, is because the reader needs to be able to export Bella and insert themselves. This is the same reason I see a lot of nasty reviews about how much of a whore an author is because her Bella wasn’t a virgin, or how they hate the story because the choices Bella makes aren’t things that they’d do themselves. It’s frankly pathetic to be so narrow-minded and self-centered that you can’t even imagine anyone but yourself as the main character of a story. Again, pathetic.
“Edward, I can feel someone else is up this morning,” I said as I pulled him back inside with me.
A boner joke? What are you, twelve?
“You have no idea, how up he is, Bella,” Edward said as we laid back on the bed.
Translation: That’s a roll of dimes in my pocket, sweetie, I’m still flaccid.
Edward laid on top of me as his lips found mine and we kissed. He moved his tongue across my bottom lip, begging for entrance, which I willing gave him.
“Willing gave” is one of the many typos that I chose not to read as written when I recorded my audio for the video. Mostly because I didn’t notice a lot of them until later, and there was no way that I was re-recording all those lines.
Also, that line sucks. Who has to beg to get their tongue into someone’s mouth when they’re obviously into each other for a lot more than some tongue kissing?
His tongue slid into my mouth and our tongues danced together, neither one claiming dominance.
Neither one claiming dominance? What are they tongue wrestling? Is this a title match? Is The Under-Tonguer taking on Stone Tongue Cleave Tonguesten. (Full disclosure, I haven’t watched wrestling in over a decade.)
I won’t even get started on “his tongue and our tongues” in the same sentence; both the author and the beta should have known better, and if they don’t by now, there’s no chance of them learning.
Our hands found their way into each others hair, securing us to each other.
That’s not sexy. Not to me anyway. I guess some people may find attaching yourself to your lover like a baby monkey on its mother’s back sexy, though.
I loved the feel of his hair in my hands. So soft and silky.
But would you still love him if he had a wiry Jew fro? This is how we determine if it’s true love.
Pulling him down closer, we broke apart to catch our breath. His lips never left my skin, they travelled down my jaw to my neck.
Then how did he break away to catch his breath? Perhaps he has gills? Otherwise, there’s no possibility of him catching his breath while his lips are vacuum-sealed to her skin. Internally inconsistent paragraphs do not a masterpiece of the literary world make.
He kissed his way down my neck, leaving open mouthed, wet kisses along the way.
So we know he doesn’t have dry mouth, which means no pot, which means he’s a total square. I’ll bet he doesn’t drink, either, “cuz Jesus turned water into grape juice.”
He moved down the bed and started moving my shirt up. He placed open-mouthed kisses on my stomach, then he continued back up my body.
You already said they were open-mouthed. Why the hell must you repeat yourself?
“Edward “, I whispered as he ran his nose up the side of my breast.
What’s with the nose thing? Is it even a thing? What’s next? Ear fucking?
“Mmm, Bella, you taste so good,” Edward murmured against my skin, as he slid my hardened nipple into his mouth.
“Like a piece of spaghetti, because I have those weird long nipples, you see, the kind that could perform a lobotomy on unsuspecting victims.”
I arched my back, effectively pushing my breast further into his face.
Uh, what? Further into his face? Against his face maybe, but further into implies you’re pushing your breast inside his face, which is weird. Now if you’d said into his mouth, on the other hand, I’d applaud you and give a whoop. But you didn’t say mouth, you said face, and thus I have ridiculed your word choice.
He reached across with his other hand and gently rolled the other nipple between his fingers.
I know what action you mean, but once again, I think you’ve chosen your words poorly. I detect a pattern here.
I moaned loudly at the feeling.
Hey, hey, Bernadette. Do you remember that time I moaned at the lack of sensation? Me neither.
I could feel him smiling against my breast.
I refuse to make fun of this line because the image made me laugh so hard.
Edward raised his head to look up at me. “God, you’re so beautiful, My Bella,” he said as he latched on to my other nipple. Sucking so gently as he played with the other one.
First of all, I don’t think you wanted a period after nipple.
Second, I’ve never seen foreplay expressed so boringly. It doesn’t make me horny. It makes me want to look at porn so I can forget how turned off I was during what was supposed to have been sexy. But that’s just me.
“Edward, I need more please,” I whimpered.
Whatever happened to “Fuck me, baby. NOW!” People have no respect for the classics anymore.
He slid his hand down and pulled my boy shorts off before he moved his hand down between my legs to feel the wetness there.
Why does every fic I read have this same scene? I get that you want to check the oil before you go for a ride, but there always seems to be this weird focus on female lubrication in lemons that I don’t understand. Maybe I’m just naïve, or possibly a far better contributor to the sexy time than your average male, but I never need to check. I know when it’s ready for me.
“Mmm, so wet for me, Love,” he said softly.
I’m just going to come out and say it: I hate how this Edward speaks. To be fair, I hate how everyone has spoken so far, but he’s the worst. I’m honestly unsure sometimes if a lot of fanfiction writers have ever held an actual human conversation, or if they just don’t care if their dialogue sounds like an antelope getting fucked by a rhinoceros horn.
“Always, only for you Edward,” I replied as I pushed his boxers down as far as I could, then used my feet to get them off the rest of the way. I felt his hard length against my stomach.
Just another opportunity to bring up that I’m betting Bella was a virgin when they met.
“Edward. Please, Baby”, I said.
“Anything for you, Love,” he said as he lined himself up with my entrance.
“Anything for you, love?” Like he’s doing her a favor? Eh, she is begging, maybe he really only wanted a blowjob and this is a compromise.
He slid slowly into me, filling me up inch by inch.
Am I the only one that’s surprised this didn’t say “inch after inch after inch after inch after inch after inch after inch after inch after inch after inch after inch”?
It always amazed me at how well he fit inside me.
Given my last statement, this Bella would have a giant vagina.
It was like we were made for each other.
This cliché always makes me retch. Penises and vaginas weren’t made; they’re the product of millions of years of evolution and natural selection, which means they evolved to fit together for the sake of propagating the species, so nothing special about that. Except in Texas. And if you’re in Texas, don’t think too critically about anything I just said because it’s illegal.
We made love slowly, loving the feel of each other.
I’m down with that. Carry on.
We kissed each other deeply as we moved together, each thrust brought us closer to the edge.
How do you kiss deeply? Like you’re tongue goes down the other person’s throat or something?
Also, what edge? The edge of the blanket? The edge of the bed? The edge of oblivion? And if that’s a metaphor for orgasm, it doesn’t work.
I could feel that familiar feeling starting in my stomach.
I grabbed on to Edward’s shoulders as I let go, screaming his name and rocking against him.
Holy fuck! That image is funny now that I’ve got diarrhea on my mind. Gross, but funny.
I watched Edward fall over the edge, his hair falling into his eyes as he trembled against me and mumbled my name again and again.
If I were covered in shit, I’d have thrown myself over the edge, too.
Edward laid on my chest as he regained his breath.
“Bella, I love waking up this way, ” he said as he smiled up at me.
Ewww. Never been a fan of a morning Cleveland Steamer myself, but to each his own, I suppose.
“Me too, Edward. I love you so much,” I said as I ran my fingers through his hair.
Is it poo-crusted hair?
“I love you too, My Bella,” he said kissing me as he pulled me up with him to shower.
We washed each other, along with touching and kissing every inch of each other. I initiated round two while in the shower.
Nice refractory period on you there, Edward. I love how fic Edwards tend to have battery-operated dicks—those things can go on forever. Though maybe for some of the authors, that’s all the dick-related experience they have. The battery-operated kind.
Once the water ran cold, Edward and I got out and towel dried each other.
As opposed to what? Using hair dryers on each other? Read Penn Jillette’s book God, No for a damn good reason to never do that, as a guy anyway.
We got dressed, him in his work clothes and me in my sweats and his old college football jersey with his name on the back.
“One day, Bella, my last name will be yours,” he said looking over at me as I pulled my hair up into a ponytail.
So he sees her in his jersey and says this line. Whatever. Stupid, but I’ll take it. What I won’t accept is that she immediately knows exactly what he means by it without any explanation of where the hell the thought came from, or why the hell he would say it. *Opera Man voice* Contriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiived.
“Yeah, Edward, I m looking forward to it. Mrs. Isabella Cullen,” I said reaching up to kiss his lips.
If it’s so inevitable, why not get married now? Oh, right. Contrivances.
“It has a nice ring to it,” he says as he walks us into the kitchen with a smirk on his lips.
Ring, like a wedding ring. I’ll bet if the author is reading this, it’s the first time she’s realized she made a pun there, even though it’s obvious. Edward is smirking— I’ll bet it’s for a completely different and unintelligible reason other than a simple pun.
I got out the ce real and bowls as he poured us juice and coffee. We ate in comfortable silence, as I thought about the weird feeling in my stomach.
Because there’s nothing more comfortable than a weird feeling in your stomach.
Everything felt odd to me that morning and I didn t know why.
Contrivances that’s why.
Usually, our friend Alice gets the weird vibes, but that day it was me. I d had this feeling since I woke up and I couldn’t make it go away.
After we finished eating and Edward took our bowls to the sink, he looked over at our calendar and reminded me about my doctor’s appointment.
She’s getting a “growth” removed.
“Thanks, Edward, I won’t forget,” I said as I wrapped my arms around him. “I wish you didn’t have to go into work today,” I said looking up at him.
“Me too. I’d rather stay here and make love to you on every surface in every room,” he said wiggling his eyebrows at me.
Creepy. Dump him. Or if you won’t, stock up on Lysol to remove the ass prints and bodily fluids from the dining table.
“I know you would, Edward,” I said, “but you have to work.”
Sick days are for pussies and people who don’t have to be at work for a reason that is “obviously planned or forced; artificial; strained.” Courtesy of dictionary.com
I walked him to the door and he pulled me into his arms. “I’ll see you tonight, Love,” he said as he kissed me passionately.
“Okay. I love you, Edward,” I said hugging him tightly to me.
“I love you too, My Sweet Bella,” he said as he walked to his car. He got in, blew me a kiss and waved as he drove off toward Manhattan.