Time do fly when you’re lost in Fic Land…I completely missed April!
Anyhoodle, it would seem tryin’ to post completed fics and WIPs separately doesn’t really work for me so it’s back to the format that just feels best and that’s a magical mix-up of everything!
First up is a WIP I found on The Lemonade Stand’s May 6th edition and it didn’t take long for it to become my “drop everything” story!
The most important conversations in life are felt, not heard. Be sure to listen with your heart. AH/OOC
Just as Bella starts to get excited about graduatin’ college, she receives a letter from the Dean informing her that she had not met the three semester proficiency in a foreign language requirement for her Bachelor of Arts degree.
Of course, there’s a very good reason why she missed that requirement LOL!
“Um, Dean Cope, do you have all of my records there? My entire academic transcript?” I asked meekly.
“Of course, Ms. Swan. You are an exemplary student. Why, you’ve only had two classes where you’ve achieved less than an A,” the Dean said with a proud, almost motherly smile, tapping the file before her.
“But I cannot study languages,” I said a bit desperately. “Not that I don’t want to, I literally cannot.” God, it was so humiliating explaining this yet again. Some people suck at math. Others have a hard time with reading or writing. I, Bella Swan, suffer from xenoglossophobia – the fear of foreign languages. I know what you’re thinking, but don’t laugh – it’s a real thing. And now it’s gotten me into some real trouble.
Dean Cope looked at me quizzically, then opened the folder in front of her, her eyes scanning my records. “It says here that you registered for French 101 your freshman year, but that you withdrew during the second week of classes?” She looked up to me for an explanation.
“Yes. I attended all the classes, participated in the labs, and yet I failed the first exam. With a 32%. The professor told me that French isn’t easy for everyone, so maybe I should try another language.”
Dean Cope looked back down. “I see. And it appears that you tried German your sophomore year? Both first and second semester?”
“I withdrew the first time after failing two quizzes and a chapter test. My grade at the end of two weeks was a 49%. So I registered for it second semester, thinking I would retain at least a little from the first semester, but had to withdraw after the third week, after failing two quizzes and two tests with a cumulative 43%.”
Dean Cope’s eyes widened. “You did worse the second semester?
Covering the same material as the first?” She sounded a little stunned.
My cheeks were permanently red. “Yes,” I admitted meekly.
“And I see you attempted Spanish last year?”
“Yes,” I squeaked. “I withdrew on the very last day that I could without having it impact my grade point. I attended every class, I attended every lab, I paid for a tutor, and. . . ” I could feel the tears in my eyes, “I failed the first three quizzes, and got a 44% on the exam.”
“Oh. . . my,” Dean Cope said, clearly at a loss for words.
“I went to Ms. Mallory first, before withdrawing from the class, and she assured me that the university wouldn’t stop me from graduating just because I was missing those language credits.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed in frustration. “I should have known better. Or I should have got it in writing,” I joked darkly.
Enter her savior…uh, I mean tutor, Edward Cullen!
I didn’t want to startle him, so as I approached, I called out, “Hey, you’re Edward, right? I’m Bella, your new student.”
No response. I looked for ear buds, but he wasn’t wearing any, just staring intently at his computer screen.
“Are you Edward Cullen?” I asked, a little louder this time.
No response again. Rude much? I thought.
Impatient, I tapped him on the shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me calling you? Are you deaf or something?” I joked.
His eyes were narrowed as he studied my lips. “Yes, I am Deaf,” he responded, his voice a flat, slightly nasal monotone, while he raised one hand to his forehead, tapping his fingers in a “V” shape.
I gasped, covering my mouth with my hands. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”
He arched an eyebrow at me, then held his hands out, palms up.
“What?” I asked, dropping my hands.
“What did you say?” he asked, gesturing with his hands again.
“I said I’m sorry,” I said slowly, enunciating my words so that he could understand.
He rolled his eyes. Guess that’s universal, I thought.
“You don’t need to speak slow. I can’t hear you, but I’m not stupid, and I can read your lips. I just need to see them. So please face me, and you don’t cover your mouth, okay?” His tone was still flat, and he sounded irritated. And I was more than a little intimidated by his stare, which jumped from my eyes, to my lips, and back to my eyes again, his green gaze intense.
I’d have to be blind not to notice that even irritated, he was extremely attractive, with wild, reddish-brown hair, a sculpted jaw, and a nice-looking build underneath his jacket. Of course, his appeal only made me more nervous, and I could feel my cheeks redden as he continued to stare at me. “Okay?” he repeated.
“Oh, yeah, okay. Sorry. Let me try this again. I’m Bella Swan, your new student.” I could hear Tyler laughing over behind the desk, and I shot him a dirty look.
“Hi, Bella. My name is Edward Cullen. Dean Cope told me about you. Shall we get started?” He actually smiled at me this time, and I felt my heart beat a little faster when a dimple appeared in his left cheek above his crooked grin. God, he’s so cute! Despite my fear of this class, I suddenly had a reason to look forward to learning ASL!
This story is already pre-written so no worries it won’t be completed!
Rated: Fiction M – English – Romance/Supernatural – Bella, Edward – Chapters: 33 – Words: 143,016 – Reviews: 1,760 – Favs: 456 – Follows: 734 – Updated: May 15 – Published: Oct 26, 2018 – id: 13103235
Thrills and chills galore in Knicnort3’s latest offerin’!
For as long as I could remember, I heard the humming. It lulled me to sleep every night, and comforted me through the thunderous raging storms. It was in one of my earliest memories. As a scared little girl during my first night in the large spooky manor, it was the humming that drowned out the creaks and thumps. It was the only thing that got me through the darkness.
“Are there ghosts here, daddy?” I vaguely recalled asking my father one morning.
“Of course not, silly,” he dismissed. “This is just an old creaky house. The pipes sing when the water runs through them. Nothing more,” he had told me with a reassuring smile and a playful wink.
One of my later memories was of me asking my father again about the strange but soothing hum that would carry into my room at night, but like before, my father would always have an excuse. “It’s an old house, love bug. Go back to sleep.”
But the manor was a chilling place. It was more than the drafts and the seemingly random wisps of moist crispness to air, there was an all around eeriness that followed me around the massive dark halls.
Low thuds and muffled rumbles that could not be so simply explained.
My father, however, seemed oblivious.
“There! Did you hear it?” I had asked once during dinner. It was so loud that the very ground below my feet even vibrated, and the water in my glass rippled.
“Hear what, honey?” Dad asked me.
I could only come to three conclusions – either my dad was messing with my mind on purpose, he was going deaf, or I was going stark raving mad. They all seemed wrong on so many levels, so I decided to keep my thoughts and concerns about the noises to myself from then on.
Spooky things always happened at night, so the safest thing to do was fake being sick to get out of school, and do my investigation during the day. In my twelve year old brain, this made perfect sense. So, as soon as my father left for the store, I grabbed my flashlight, went back to that storage closet, and opened the hatch.
“This is so dumb,” I said to myself as I clinched the flashlight in my teeth, and grabbed ahold the ladder so I could descend.
Step down after step down, the hole seemed to go on forever, until finally the ladder ran out of steps. I looked down below my feet, and noticed there was about a five foot drop off before the ground. I knew I could get down without a problem, but would I be able to pull myself back up?
My head bobbed up and down between the ground and the room above where I had come from. Should I go back up, or had I come too far to give up at that point? In the end, my stubbornness persevered over my fear, and I jumped down.
It was pitch black, except for the beam of light shooting out of my flashlight, which made the cold damp musty location that much more eerie. I could only assume it was some undocumented basement, however when I flashed my light on the cracked stone walls, I was shocked to see they were surrounding rusted barred cells. It could have easily been a medieval dungeon scene from some movie, but it wasn’t a movie, it was a part of my home; I had been sleeping above it for the past eight years. That realization left a frigid chill running up my spine.
“Weird,” I mumbled.
The word came out of my mouth softer than a whisper, but it echoed off the walls and bounced around the room. When it reverberated back to me, the sound was followed by a faint “Bella,” and I immediately jumped.
“Who’s there?” I demanded. My entire body was shaking, but I couldn’t run. I was absolutely paralyzed with fear.
When I heard my name again, as soft as a breeze caressing your ears on a cool fall evening, I darted my light straight to one of the barred cells.
There, staring back at me through the beam of light, was a glowing eye.
I screamed louder than I had ever screamed in my life, and I dropped the light, making everything go black. . .
Enter this world, if you dare! It’s one of those wonderfully surprisin’ “just when I thought I’d read it all” fics…the kind that keep us readin’ fanfiction LOL!
Rated: Fiction M – English – Supernatural/Family – [Emmett, Rosalie] – Chapters: 27 – Words: 76,198 – Reviews: 185 – Favs: 51 – Follows: 74 – Updated: May 14 – Published: Nov 21, 2018 – Status: Complete – id: 13126968
Ladies, I am so in love with MarieCarro’s Origins series! She going to go DEEP into the backgrounds of each of the main Twilight characters…well, the vamps anyway, and Emmett’s story is the first to complete. (Edward’s story is in progress as we speak so go put her on alert!)
I furrowed my brow as I studied the buck on the ground, its black eyes open and unseeing in death. The broken neck confused me, and the wound wasn’t like anything I had ever seen before. What was even stranger was that there was no blood on the ground around it either.
I had never come across a beast who killed its prey but left the meat behind because, apart from the broken neck and the fleshy bite mark, the deer appeared untouched.
“Emmett?” Ian said behind me. “You found somethin’?”
“Take a look at this, Ian,” I said and nodded at the carcass on the ground. “You ever seen anythin’ like this before?”
“A dead deer, you mean?” he asked and looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“No,” I retorted frustratingly. “I mean how it’s been killed and left behind. I’ve never seen bite marks like those before.”
“Me neither, but there are a lot of animals in these mountains we have no idea about, little brother,” he said and turned to leave the way he came. “Don’t give yourself a headache thinkin’ of this. We still need to find that fox’s den.”
“It’s not natural in the way it kills,” I insisted. “And it’s untraceable. It leaves nothin’ behind except its kill. There’s no logic to its prey. We’ve found both deer and wolves with the same marks and—”
“Emmett,” Ian stopped me. “We’ve finished what we came here to do, which was to track the fox that killed those chickens. We found the right one, there were even chicken feathers in its den, and now it’s dead. Tomorrow, we’re goin’ home, so I tell you: Let. It. Go.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. If that thing out there decides the mountains aren’t good for it anymore, it might wander into town and start killin’ people. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
“And what if it’s just a bear? Or a panther?”
“It’s neither,” I said certainly. “A bear would leave claw marks, and the bites would have been larger. These bites aren’t bigger than a human’s. And panther’s eat the heart first, but the chests are always intact. Besides, you know as well as me that there are no panthers left up here.” I stared into the darkening forest beyond the burning fire. “I’m tellin’ you, somethin’ ain’t right.”
Ian sighed. “If you say so. I’m goin’ to catch myself some sleep if you take the first watch.”
I nodded. “I can’t sleep anyway.”
“Well, wake me up in a few hours then.”
It only took minutes before Ian’s snores joined Dad’s and Gavin’s, and I was left alone to keep a lookout and make sure the fire didn’t die down. My head played games with me, and suddenly, I thought every rustle of the leaves and snap of twigs around us meant the beast was watching me.
I tightened the hold on my rifle, my finger hovering close to the trigger. “Come on out if you dare,” I mumbled into the quiet night, but of course, nothing happened.
Well, Emmett doesn’t find the mysterious beast before a dang bear finds him, which doesn’t end well for the bear once Rosalie arrives on the scene!
I was coherent enough to feel surprised when the bear let go of my arm. I heard a ferocious growl, echoed by another one. If I’d had the energy, I would have cried because I was certain a second bear had joined my macabre execution, and I wasn’t bleeding out fast enough to die before they tore me apart between them.
For a second, I felt nothing, and I saw nothing. I didn’t even hear anything anymore, and I knew I was dead. A rush of sadness washed through me as I thought of my family, especially when I thought of Bea (his little sister). They would never know what had happened to me. They would only be able to guess as to what could have caused my disappearance. They’d understand I was dead, though. Nothing short of it could pull me away from them without a word.
Then I most definitely felt something—the rush of the wind on my face. The sensation confused me, especially when it was accompanied by the feeling of my stomach being left behind with a tickling thrill. It felt the way I’d always imagined birds did when they took flight.
Using whatever strength I had left, I forced my eyes open and was shocked to see I was in the arms of an angel.
I love the way this author weaves Emmett into the Cullen family as more than just a big, dumb goofball but a protector, a fiercely loyal mate to Rosalie, brother to Edward, Jasper and Alice, as well as son to Carlisle and Esme! Without him, the family would never have stood the test of time!
Enjoy MarieCarro’s gorgeous manip of Emmett and Rosalie’s weddin’ portrait:
Rated: Fiction M – English – Drama – Carlisle – Chapters: 30 – Words: 128,019 – Reviews: 1,108 – Favs: 364 – Follows: 224 – Updated: Feb 1, 2013 – Published: Oct 30, 2010 – Status: Complete – id: 6437236
If you’ve read Ithaca is Gorges, you already know the caliber of writin’ to expect from giselle-lx and, if you haven’t read it, what are you waitin’ for? One thing is clear from havin’ read both these astonishin’ fics…she has a soft spot for Carlisle and I, for one, have begun to share that same sensibility!
Stregoni Benefici switches artfully back and forth from Carlisle’s birth in 1644 to where his life intersects with Edward’s in 1918 Chicago!
The years of Carlisle’s human life were often brutal with his own father accusin’ his fiancé of witchcraft!
A surging roar from the crowd announced the arrival of the wagons. Carlisle searched out the crowd for the one he needed, the one where the woman with the chestnut hair sat, looking every bit as regal as she always had. At once, he hopped from his father’s side, using his weight and height to press his way through the crowd toward the Tree.
“William!” his father’s voice called after him, but he did not turn.
One by one, the prisoners were helped down from the wagons and onto the short, horse-drawn cart which would serve as their foothold until the last minute. Ropes which had been wrapped around bodies were unfurled and thrown into the air like sinister snakes, uncoiling as they reached the hangman’s assistants who precariously rode the beams overhead. Several of the prisoners joked about their own fates, encouraging the spectators to wager on how long they would hang.
Sickening. Carlisle stepped away.
And then she was before him, as though he’d divined the spot to stand. Someone had brought her a beautiful dress to wear. Tendrils of her hair fell forward over her face, swaying in the light breeze.
She should have looked this beautiful on the day of our wedding, Carlisle thought.
“Elizabeth,” he called softly. “Elizabeth, I am here.”
And for the first time all morning she met his gaze.
He reached a hand up to her as the world became blurred by his tears. As it often did, again his height worked to his advantage, for he was able to reach her—not her whole hand, for it was bound to its mate, but at least her fingers.
As their skin made contact, her fingers closed around his.
That was all it took for the dam to break. He started to sob, his hand shaking so badly it was all he could do to keep it in Elizabeth’s.
She stayed resolute, but even through his tears, he could see that she cried, also.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “Elizabeth. . . ”
Still, she said nothing. His arm began to ache, for even as tall as he was, the floor of the cart was at his shoulder and their tenuous handhold was awkward. But Carlisle held on.
He didn’t hear the other carts drawn up. Somewhere, an ordinary must have appeared, perhaps it was even his father, to take the death day confessions. The crowd must have roared. Boys must have hollered to sell meat pies and pamphlets. Men must have taken wagers.
But he didn’t see any of it. The only thing he saw was Elizabeth, her pale skin against his, her fingers interlaced with his own. The only thing he heard were the soft sighs of both their tears.
And when Thomas came, he didn’t hear his friend’s voice shushing him. He did not feel his friend’s arms grasping his shoulders and pulling him gently backwards.
All he felt was his hand slide from hers, her fingertips raking across his palm.
And then the words; her only words the whole day through. Carried over the roaring crowd; or perhaps it was that Carlisle’s ears could hear only those words.
“I love you.”
Thomas pulled him.
“I love you,” he called in answer. “I love you.”
Somewhere, a whip cracked against the flank of a horse. Somewhere, a cart creaked its way forward. Somewhere, slackened ropes went taut, men fell.
But where Carlisle stood there was silence. Where he stood, there was only the whisper of wind as it blew chestnut hair across a pale face. Where he stood, there were only three words still on both their lips. And only his outstretched, empty hand, reaching out and finding no hand in return.
Guess this is why he was so drawn to Elizabeth Masen and her beloved son! But Carlisle’s years with the Volturi are visited, as well…
Aro paced the length of the room, his dark robe swishing at his ankles. This was odd, Carlisle realized. The brothers only wore the robes when they needed to display command. The last time he’d seen Aro in it had to have been a few years ago or more.
What was going on?
“I confess I didn’t think you to be serious,” Aro began quietly after a moment. “So many years ago, when you said that you wished to work alongside the humans, and even to treat them, to become a physician. I did not know you, then. I’m afraid I underestimated you.”
Carlisle shrugged. “It has happened before.”
“I imagine it would, with you.” Aro began to pace again. “You are entirely different. The things which drive others do not drive you. I confess I find you unpredictable in that regard.”
“Don’t be! It makes you fascinating. And I enjoy fascination. There is so little of it, after so long. One day, you’ll understand this, Young One.” A hand reached out, and a thumb caressed Carlisle’s cheek.
He fought not to pull away.
Aro frowned as he read Carlisle’s thoughts. “You are confused.”
“Why are you here?”
The long hand pulled away from Carlisle’s cheek and disappeared into the recesses of its owner’s cloak, appearing again clutching a wad of black. For a brief moment, Carlisle could barely discern what it held, as it was utterly identical to the clothing of the man who held it. It wasn’t until Aro held up the second item and shook it, allowing the yards of inky fabric to spill to the floor, that Carlisle understood what it was.
His eyes flitted across the room to the hook on the far wall. His own robe hung there, the dark charcoal gray worn by the inner guard.
He was no guard, and he felt no obligation to wear it, though he did on occasion for no other reason than simply to keep from drawing attention to himself.
Aro didn’t miss his shift in gaze.
“That one would no longer be yours, Young One.” He held out the dark robe, gesturing for Carlisle to take it. An odd feeling shot down Carlisle’s spine as his fingers closed around the black fabric.
Aro’s face broke into a triumphant smile. “We haven’t added to our number in several millenia.”
Carlisle turned the robe over in his arms.
“And if I do not take it up?”
The other man’s face pulled into a tight frown. “There would be consequences to such a decision of course.” He looked into Carlisle’s eyes, the ruby burning in the fading daylight.
“Were I you,” he added, “I would be certain to make the correct one.”
Then he vanished, leaving Carlisle standing alone.
At once, he sank into the chair at his desk, dropping his head into his hands. It was a habit left over from his decades as a human; he had no need of rest now, and even emotional fatigue required nothing of his body. He had no need to slouch; but to do so felt oddly restful.
He remembered the savage beast who attacked him in London, and the others he’d met since. Nomads. Placeless killers. Men and sometimes women who might never open a book, much less keep a roomful of them. Others who would not tutor his Greek, give him a home base from which to begin to do the work which, if he admitted it, he felt supremely called to do.
Brother. They’d never been used the word for Carlisle; he was always The Young One, or The Pup, or The Englishman. He was very rarely even “Carlisle.”
He stood and walked across the room, picking up the cloak and turning it over in his hands. The fabric draped over the back of his wrists, heavy, as though it were sopping wet.
Brother, Aro had called him.
But Garret had called him friend.
The robe fell back to the couch in a puddle of inky black. And by the time the fabric settled, Carlisle had already disappeared.
Okay, let’s hear what fics have kept you up all night LOL!
Happy Tuesday, y’all!