Tag Archives: Giselle-lx

Random Rita ~ Tuesday Feature Fics!

ROB ATTACK

Evenin’ ladies!

Time do fly when you’re lost in Fic Land…I completely missed April!

ROB ATTACK

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!

ROB ATTACKhttps://www.fanfiction.net/s/13273386/1/Listen-With-Your-Heart

The most important conversations in life are felt, not heard. Be sure to listen with your heart. AH/OOC

 

Rated: Fiction M – English – Romance – Bella, Edward – Chapters: 17 – Words: 12,761 – Reviews: 414 – Favs: 94 – Follows: 217 – Updated: 3h ago – Published: Apr 29 – id: 13273386

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!

~oOo~

ROB ATTACKhttps://www.fanfiction.net/s/13103235/1/Emergence

Swan Manor is hiding dark secrets. Humming in the night, vibrating foundation, and a mysterious hatch that leads to a cold dungeon and a glowing eye. As Bella begins to unravel the intense underground world lurking just below her feet, she must decide if she is prepared to risk everything to set a certain someone free. AU, Vampires, B/E

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!

~oOo~

ROB ATTACKhttps://www.fanfiction.net/s/13126968/1/Origins-Destiny-in-the-Mountains

Emmett Brian McCarty never had much in life, but growing up poor didn’t stop him from enjoying life and all its pleasures. However, always seeking thrills most often means it will end badly, and one day, while hunting for game in the mountains, Emmett meets his destiny. Canon. ExR

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!)

April 1935:

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:
ROB ATTACK

~oOo~

ROB ATTACKhttps://www.fanfiction.net/s/6437236/1/Stregoni-Benefici

Carlisle Cullen has always been different—a frustrating son to a distant father; an enigma to the rulers of his world. But when he faces the biggest decision of his immortal life, he’s forced to grapple with the moments that have shaped him most. When you’ve lived your whole life among killers, what kind of man do you choose to become? Pre-Twilight canon.

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…

ROB ATTACKAro 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.”

“I’m sorry.”

“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.

 

~oOo~

Okay, let’s hear what fics have kept you up all night LOL!

Happy Tuesday, y’all!

Rita

ROB ATTACK

 

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Filed under Fan Fiction Recs, Rita01tx

Rita’s Random Fic Recs!

ROB ATTACK

Evenin’, ladies!

In keepin’ with a laid back summer, I’ll be postin’ as inspiration strikes for the comin’ months!

And inspiration has definitely struck this week LOL!

Got a couple of our favorite authors with new fics, as well as one from a newbie…well, as an author! We know Ipsita through the spectacular banners she creates as well as through Facebook if you are lucky enough to play in her sandbox LOL!

As if that isn’t enough, I found myself binge readin’ a classic from 2009…one you MUST READ if you haven’t already!

So, let’s get this party started!

ROB ATTACKhttps://www.fanfiction.net/s/12505343/1/Mods-Rockers

One boy, one girl; one rich, one poor; one privileged, one not; one Mod, one Rocker. This story takes you back in time to England in 1964 when these two gangs managed to exist side by side, until bank holiday weekends when they fought on the beaches. Inspired by true events. Rated M for all the usual reasons.

Rated: Fiction M – English – Drama/Romance – Chapters: 8 – Words: 46,049 – Reviews: 119 – Favs: 36 – Follows: 67 – Updated: 4h ago – Published: May 27 – id: 12505343

The jeans and leather-clad youth staring back at me bears no resemblance to the young lawyer who walked through the door less than half an hour ago. Edward Cullen, the respectable employee and all-round good chap is long-gone and a totally different species of human stands in his place.

Smirking back at me is bad-boy Eddie Masen, my alter-ego. He’s a guy who likes to break the rules, who frightens old ladies just by his appearance and swagger. Who lives like he rides – fast and dangerous.

He fights, he screws, and he drinks to excess and laughs at danger, but would risk his life for his pack if it came to it. He also owns two of the fastest production motorbikes in the world and tonight he plans to hit the ton on one of them.

I wink at Eddie Masen and throw the keys in the air and before they land in my hand, I make the easy decision that it’s Sexy Sadie who’ll have my legs wrapped around her engine tonight. This is my life now and until I return home on Sunday evening, or should I say ‘if’ I return home on Sunday evening. . .

I’m Eddie Masen, and I’m a Rocker!

* * * *

I sit in front of the mirror and stare at my reflection before starting my make-up routine. Alice has been very patient with me showing me how to apply eyeliner and shadow to enhance my ‘liquid eyes’, which is how she describes them. She’s still trying to get me to cut my hair as the fashion is for either a short pixie style or a shoulder length bob, but I’ve resisted so far. My ‘waist-length when wet’ curly brown hair is the one thing that makes me different from the girls that go to The Roxy and I’m determined to keep every inch of it.

All the other girls have caved and got one of the two styles that are considered to be ‘the thing’ for ‘Mods’, which is allegedly what we aspire to be. I’m okay with everything else ‘Mod’, like the clothes, the make-up, the music and the culture, but no-one is getting anywhere near my hair with a pair of scissors any time soon. That’s why I’ve always considered myself to be on the fringes of this fad and have never felt as though I belong in their ranks.

I do my best with the eyeliner and mascara but forego the shadow as I always make a mess of it. I apply the smallest amount of lipstick and smack my lips together to try and spread it around, then give myself a quick spray of L’aimant before slipping my shoes on and heading downstairs.

“I’m going out now,” I call as I pull on my imitation leather coat.

“Don’t be late,” my dad responds as usual.

“No dad,” I answer condescendingly in a sing-song voice and put my hand on the door knob.

Joan promises this fic is already complete at 36 chapters, plus the epilogue, and she’s postin’ twice a week so there’s no excuse for you WIP wussies not to jump on board!

C’mon, you know you want to…it’s fun!

~oOo~ROB ATTACKhttps://www.fanfiction.net/s/12452034/1/The-Next-Mrs-Cullen

Summary: Antique or Ikea, Beautiful inside or out, maim or kill, he had decisions to make today that would change his life.

Rated: Fiction M – English – Crime/Humor – Bella, Edward – Chapters: 5 – Words: 15,868 – Reviews: 226 – Favs: 215 – Follows: 474 – Updated: 16h ago – Published: Apr 17 – id: 12452034

Alison has expanded her We Love Mobward Contest entry *woot woot!*

Edward and Emmett interrupt Bella in her preparations to show a million dollar penthouse apartment and she’s not a happy camper!

“Okay, enough is enough.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I want you out of here now please before I call the cops.” I walked towards the door and opened it hoping they would just casually walk out.

“I don’t think so Miss. In fact,” said green eyes, “it looks as though our Mr Hunter or your Mr Jones has just arrived.” A tall blond haired guy came into view on the monitor.

“Ahh he’s got a ponytail,” I moaned, unable to stop flipping into sales mode. “I hate guys who have ponytails, they always expect to get money knocked off because they think they are so gorgeous.” I stared at the screen until he walked into the elevator.

“Please Miss Swan,” said green eyes, and I thought that I could detect just a hint of desperation in his voice. “Just go into the other room until we have finished having our little chat with him, then we will leave you in peace.”

“No,” I retorted, childishly. “This is my sale I’m not going anywhere.”

I stood my ground until I saw green eyes nod at the man mountain. For someone so big he moved surprisingly quickly and before I knew it I was over his shoulder and being bundled unceremoniously onto the floor of the closet in the master bedroom. He slammed the door and turned the key on the outside, leaving me angry and in complete darkness.

EPOV

“Is she safely locked away? I asked Emmett as he strode back into the room. He nodded.

“Feisty one,” he smirked. “I thought I was going to have to gag her.”

“You didn’t though, did you?” For some reason it was important to me that Miss Swan was okay.

“No,” he reassured me. “I left her locked in the closet, she’ll be fine in there.”

Emmett looked at me strangely but before I could say anything else the elevator doors pinged, the signal that James was about to walk into the apartment. Emmett stood behind the door and off to one side. James knocked on the door and pushed it open, shouting hello as he peered in. Before he even saw me Emmett felled him with a single blow to the back of his head. Paul and Demetri walked in after him and the three of them carried James’s body out to load him into the SUV.

I looked around the apartment to make sure everything was as we found it. Both Emmet and I knew better than to touch anything so all I had to do was wipe a few door knobs just to be sure. I walked into the main bedroom and wiped off the closet door. I couldn’t hear anything so Isabella must have been sitting quietly waiting for us to finish. I made sure the key was in the right position so she’d be able to push it out. I knew from the shape of her jacket pocket she had a ring of master keys on her. I quietly closed the bedroom door and made my way back to island in the kitchen, I really wanted to open the champagne and the chocolates and just sit and watch the world go by for an hour or so, but I had things to do, traitors to torture and kill, wives to divorce. I smiled at the bright, inexpensive vase placed next to the worn hamper and wondered what Tanya would think about it. I shook the thought away and made my way to the main door, dropping the lock so no one else could get in.

Once we were back in the car I called Whitlock.

“Two things.”

“Yes?” He replied. I wish everyone listened to me as intently as he did.

“The divorce papers we have ready?” He murmured that he understood what I was referring to. “Serve them today and make sure she is out of the house before I get home. I have proof that she was unfaithful so the pre-nup is null and void.”

“Are you sure?” he cautioned. “It might be legal but her family still has influence.”

“I’m sure,” I told him. “Give her the car and $100K in cash from my safety deposit box. That should keep her in the style to which she has become accustomed for a while. Cancel all her cards and change the alarm codes on the house.” Whitlock and I had already talked about this several times in the last few years so I knew he had everything ready to go.

“The second thing I want you to do is find out everything you can about a Miss Isabelle Swan, she runs a company called Swan Home Finders.”

“Everything?” he asked.

“Everything.” I confirmed.

“Can I ask why?”

“Isabelle Swan will be the next Mrs Cullen, that’s why.”

So far, Alison has managed to pull off equal parts gory violence and hilarious repartee LMAO!

~oOo~ROB ATTACKhttps://www.fanfiction.net/s/12508583/1/The-Wrong-Number

Sometimes, even a wrong step can ultimately lead you to the right path. Will a couple of mistaken digits be that step for them? — A simple tale of common people and their ordinary lives.

Rated: Fiction M – English – Hurt/Comfort/Romance – Bella, Edward – Chapters: 5 – Words: 20,177 – Reviews: 137 – Favs: 132 – Follows: 308 – Updated: Jun 13 – Published: May 29 – id: 12508583  

The phone rings for a few times and then someone picks up.

“Hello,” a deep voice greets.

“Hi! I’m looking for Mike Newton?” Bella replies in an unsure voice.

Something about the deep, throaty voice on the other end makes her nervous.

“Are you asking for him or asking if it’s him?”

“Um. . . both, I guess.”

“You guess! Well, I don’t have the time or wish to play Guess Who with you, Miss. How did you get my number by the way? Or was that a random guess too?” the man on the other side barks.

Gathering every ounce of her almost non-existent patience, Bella tries to answer the rude man politely.

“Look, I am sorry, but I need to find Mike Newton. He needs to fix the shit he pulled last night and return my stuff. I can’t find his phone number. Well, I have part of it, but not the whole thing. I mean, the freaking coaster got wet and the ink was wiped out, so I’m trying blindly here, and I really, really need to find Mike. Also, you don’t need to be rude because I don’t have the leftover cents to put up with one more asshole! So. . . ”

Bella suddenly realizes that her angry rambling is not making any sense. A little mortified, she stops at the same time the person on the other side of the phone speaks.

“Wait! What coaster? What are you talking about?”

Taking a few deep breaths Bella starts again. “See, Mr. . . ”

“Cullen. It’s Edward Cullen. And who am I talking to?” He sounds impatient.

Against her better judgment, Bella starts again, a little slowly this time.

“Mr. Cullen, hello! I’m Isabella Swan, and I’m looking for a man called Mike Newton. All I have his phone number without the last two digits. The bar coaster he wrote it on, gets wet frequently with condensation from the glasses, so I’m trying out my best guesses here. You do understand the situation must be serious for me to act like a desperate telemarketing agent, right? I’m sorry I wasted your time, though.”

“Which bar?” Edward Cullen asks with a strange calmness in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago.

“I’m sorry?” Bella returns, confused.

“You said you have the number written on a bar coaster. Which bar we are talking about here?”

“It’s Bronko’s Pub.”

“Bronko’s. Hmmm.. . and you are Isabella?” he enquires.

“Ah, yes. Do you know anything about this Mike Newton I’m looking for? By any chance?” She is grasping at non-existent straws now.

“Nothing more than the fact that his phone number matches 80% to mine, and I’m the one with the 69.” He chuckles.

Edward Cullen’s tone suddenly becomes a little playful. Instead of feeling wary about this strange man, Bella finds herself smiling. A pregnant pause follows the moment, then he clears his throat, and she comes out of the light bubble of the last few seconds.

“All right then, Mr. Cullen. I’m sorry again for this intrusion. Because you are certainly not the person I need. Have a good day, sir,” she says, the corner of her mouth still a little stretched.

“Well, I may not be the person you need, Isabella Swan, but don’t waste your time chasing a lost game.” With that, he abruptly hangs up.

Puttin’ yourself out there for the first time is scary as hell but I don’t think Ipsita has anything to worry about…you’re gonna love it!

~oOo~ROB ATTACKhttps://www.fanfiction.net/s/4988866/1/Ithaca-is-Gorges

New Moon from Carlisle’s and Edward’s POV: After the Cullens leave Bella and move to Ithaca, NY, Carlisle fights to keep his family together as Edward’s pain threatens to tear them apart. Canon.

Rated: Fiction T – English – Drama – Carlisle – Chapters: 19 – Words: 121,988 – Reviews: 2,395 – Favs: 1,987 – Follows: 750 – Updated: Dec 8, 2009 – Published: Apr 13, 2009 – Status: Complete – id: 4988866

New Moon never touched on how much Edward’s family suffered along with him durin’ the months he was separated from Bella, especially Carlisle! This scene alone, which guts me every time, make Ithaca is Gorges a Classic, with a capital C!

Our son, this beautiful young man we both loved—he was wasting away before us, and Esme had no break from his pain.

“How is he?” I murmured, not releasing my grasp.

Esme shook her head sadly and I felt my body tense.

“He’s gotten worse,” she said. I must have looked surprised at her volume, because she shrugged and added, “He knows exactly how we’re feeling—there’s no reason to speak quietly.” I caught her meaning immediately—he knew how we were feeling and yet did nothing. It was wholly unlike Edward not to try to placate us with at least some semblance of normal behavior.

“What do you mean by worse?”

She gestured to the stairs. “He’s in his room. Go see.”

I entered Edward’s unlit bedroom. A human would have had trouble making out his shape on the couch, dressed as he was in a black hooded sweatshirt and dark jeans. The hood of the sweatshirt was pulled up over his hair, and he lay on his side in the fetal position with his hands jammed into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He wasn’t breathing; his eyes did not move. He was behaving, for all intents and purposes, like the dead man he believed himself to be.

Esme was right. This was worse.

“Edward,” I called softly, but he made no acknowledgement of my presence. “Edward. Edward, son, please.” With each word I took a step toward him, landing finally on my knees before him. He did not look at me—his pitch-black eyes stared blankly forward, unfocused.

I choked on my incoming breath, and reached forward to him.

Gently, I pushed the hood down from his head, expecting him to grumble and replace it. He did nothing. I ran a hand through his thick hair—again, nothing. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t moved at all. I continued stroking his hair, feeling each strand race its way through my fingers.

My relationship with my son did not very often manifest itself physically, and when it did, it was usually in the form of a pat on the back or a hand on his shoulder. Even embraces were rare—with his gift, much love was expressed between us without anything overt on either of our parts. But seeing Edward lie there, his face frozen, his body unmoving—I couldn’t bear it. And so, before I even really knew what I was doing, I did something I’d not done since that night in Chicago so long ago: I picked him up.

Hooking one arm under his knees and the other under his shoulders, I lifted Edward to my chest. We were the same height, and I could gauge he was just shy of my weight. Yet he might as well have been an infant, so natural it felt for me to be cradling him. I sat out of habit, and Edward sank into my chest, shifting his position so that his head lay on my shoulder. The action brought back that moment, eighty-seven years ago, when I last had held in my arms this young man who would become my beloved son. He had been so light in my arms as we raced together over the rooftops, I would barely have registered his presence if it hadn’t been for the unnatural heat of his raging fever as he lay against me.

I had no idea how much he was allowing himself to perceive, but I filled my thoughts with my happiest memories of my years with him just in case. Private conversations, hunting together, sitting beside him on the piano bench while he composed, him at my side as I bound myself to Esme in marriage. The unmitigated joy I’d felt receiving Alice’s revelation, shortly after Edward had returned from Denali, that he had found his mate.

Paternal love was a strange animal. Romantic love was simple, or at least it was for a vampire. One moment I had looked at Esme and found that my entire being was flushed with an undying and immutable love. Eighty-four years later, it was still like that every time I laid eyes on her, even if I’d looked away for only a fraction of a second. My love for Edward was completely different, intermingled with a whole host of feelings: regret, pride, worry, admiration, fear.

Esme was no more capable of hurting me than I was her. But Edward—it was possible for him to stalk out the door carrying the chunk of my heart he’d claimed as his. He’d done that to me once before. Now he’d done it to Bella.

My arms began to vibrate and I realized that Edward, hearing my thoughts, had begun to growl quietly. I shifted thoughts back to him, running my hand once more through his hair. Well, that was good; at least I was generating some semblance of a response from him.

“I’m sorry, son,” I whispered. “Just because I disagree doesn’t mean I don’t support you wholeheartedly. I will try to think about something else.”

A scent from the doorway caught my attention, and I looked up.

“I heard him growling,” she explained in a whisper.

Ah. It was no wonder she looked anxious. Esme lived in a constant and misplaced fear that at some point her family members might literally tear each other apart. Whenever Emmett and Jasper got going in a wrestling match, she would inevitably put a stop to it out of her concern for their personal safety. I found her worry endearing; our sons largely found it annoying.

“We’re fine,” I answered her, pulling Edward a little closer. “He’s okay.” He may not be pleased that I didn’t agree with his course of action, but he certainly wasn’t going to attack. I wasn’t entirely sure he could attack in this state. That was something I would have to think about. Edward hadn’t hunted in several weeks, and now it seemed it might prove difficult to get him to perform the actions necessary to feed himself. Perhaps I could kill for him, and then let him drink—we would have to see.

Esme nodded, appraising Edward’s utter lack of movement. She then mouthed to me, We need to talk. Her golden eyes were sad. In the time it took me to nod and shift my gaze back to Edward, she was back downstairs.

I stood again, keeping our son in my arms, and crossed the hallway to my own bedroom. Esme always insisted on dressing our bed in the most luxurious linens she could lay hands on that were in keeping with the character of the house. I never failed to indulge her, although frankly it made no difference to either of us—we could just as soon be intimate on a bed of nails.

Today, though, I was thankful for the softness as I pulled back the down comforter and laid Edward between the silken sheets. He gave me a brief surprised look, and I smiled. At least there was a little acknowledgement. I pulled the covers up to his shoulders and replaced the hood of his sweatshirt on his head. “I’m going downstairs for a bit,” I whispered to him, “but I will be back to check on you.” I briefly rubbed his back and he grumbled something that sounded like overprotective.

I smiled. If he was all the way back to criticizing me, things were looking up. “Yes,” I replied coolly. “Like father, like son.”

Happy Saturday, y’all!

Rita01tx

ROB ATTACK

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