This is. Um. Stream-of-conciousness, wrod spew.

Twilight, stream-of-conciousness, word spew.

Because I happen to be really, really fond of Jacob, and if you take Twilight seriously (which I try not to do more than once a week), he really got kicked in the ass.

Actually, it's been said before, but I think the Twilight series would be a fascinatining series if told from a more serious point-of view. I love me some mindless romance, but I also love anti-heros and angst and fucked-up horror stories. I wish we'd gotten that from Twilight instead.

Anyway, here you go. First person, Jacob angst. Be warned.


( It's not fair. It's never fair. )

Title: Loved
Author: Reilly Tross
Fandom: Twilight
Summary: Bella loves Edward. She’s loved him since day one.
Word Count: 1,381
Warnings: Very dark. Domestic violence. AU as of Breaking Dawn. Hell, AU as of forever.
Author's Notes: Yes, I read Twilight. You know how sometimes, you open your fridge and look at all the ingrediants to make a three course steak dinner, and then you go out and get a hamburger from McDonalds, because yes, it's horrible for you and yes, it kind of destroys your soul, but dammit, sometimes you can't put in the brain power to make dinner? Reading Twilight was like that. I love it the same way I love McDonalds.

( Bella loves Edward. She's loved him since day one. )

No, I'm not dead. Yet.

I am, however, posting ridiculous pictures of me and my friends being ridiculous during our Halloween party. We dressed up as the Cullens. Notice how Bella is the only one not wearing black. I expected it of Rosalie (who is not pictured with blonde hair. Oops?), but I'm rather ashamed at Alice. It was a somber wedding, after which Edward cheated on Bella with every single girl in our all-girls dorm, including his sisters (adoptive sisters, which makes it okay), and Bella ran off to Vegas with Jesus and Flava Flav.

Don't judge us, okay?



And yes, we were wearing sparkle face paint.  Come on, like we could leave that out?  And I've decided that Edward's suit is the comfiest thing I have ever purchased ever, and I'm never taking it off.  The best part, of course, was that all four outfits?  Didn't cost us more than eighty dollars, I swear.  Wedding rings and all.

Dear LJ,

Happily, tonight was my first date in months. Less happily, it was with my seventy-year-old grandfather. Le sigh.

Ah well, I had fun. Ate waaaaay too much steak though.

Well, this is it folks.  I've been living in Germany for an entire year now, and on Friday, I'm on the plane back home.  Most people express discontent at my impending departure.  I find this rather startling. Personally, Friday took way too long to come. 

So, why is it that I am more than ready to put this place behind me, and yet they are sad to see me go?  Did I bring something vital to their lives that I haven't noticed?  Are they getting tax breaks for putting up with me?  Am I just that good of a conversationalist?

Doubtful.

After much deliberation, I decided that just maybe, Germany enjoys torturing me.  My pain is amusing for the people I surround myself with (this is nothing new) (also, end of the sentence preposition there.  I need to watch that).

Because I don't have anything more fascinating to do, I believe I'll make a list of all the reasons why Germany hates me.

1. Germany has adopted the German language, which by its very nature causes me pain.  You just enjoy your time, thirty-letter-long words, and you as well, convoulted word order, and especially you, sentences that can go on for paragraphs without a verb in sight.  When I take over, I will choke on my glee as I demolish you. (See Mark Twain's brillaint essay - The Awful German Language)
2. I've injured myself twice - one twisted foot, and one fall down two flights of stairs.  I've gotten horribly sick three times and had to rely heavily on medication every single time.  In one year.  I don't think I've been this unhealthy in my entire life combined.  (Does that sentence even make sense?  I blame the meds)
3. My laptop has broken.  Three times.  Well, alright, that's unfair.  The third time it was the power cable that died, and I probably shouldn't have left it on the windowsill to get rained on.  But still.
4. The weather is horribly unpredictable.  Forty degrees and rainy one day, eighty and full sun the next.  Muggy and foggy in the morning, with no respite from the wind in the afternoon.  We got like, four flakes of snow this winter.  And that was in October. 
   
5. Everyone is unnaturally kind.  Everyone offers to help me with my German or asks me if I'm alright and strangers smile at me on the bus!  It's just weird.  Stop it!
6. I dislike Euros.  Coins are for amounts less than a dollar.  Bills are for amounts more than a dollar.  I don't care what you have to say in your defense.
7. The computer keyboards are even different!  Argh!  How am I supposed to type like this?  Stop cramping my style!

So there you go.  Seven complaints for twelve months, not that bad.  But bad enough that I'm gone. 

...I'm considering LJ-cutting this. But I don't want to bother thinking up a witty tagline, so I'm not gunna.

Title: Intimidation

Author:

coconutfred (that's me, just in case you forgot)

 

Summary: Hell, this doesn’t really deserve one.  It’s just sort of...word spew.  Enjoy.

Copyright: Cassandra (yes, that is her name) will probably be used in another story sometime later-ish.  Maybe not.  Until then, if you really want to, use away.  I don’t care.  Just send over the link.

 

( I'm going to tell you a story. My story. You're going to listen because I want to tell it, and if you don't act interested, I will come through this computer screen, rip our your intestines and feed them to you. And afterwards, I will still make you listen to the story. )

 

This post dedicated to my loving and awesome mother, because I've been giving her crap all week and, although it is well-deserved crap (Stop changing your mind about your vacation spot every ten seconds and then calling me to tell me the news  Make a final decision and THEN tell me!  At this point, you're just rubbing it in that I can't come), I still feel guilty.  Thus is the power of mothers.


So, Moms.  Arguably the best things to ever happen to the human race, right up there with coffee and high speed internet.  Books are dedicated to them; they have an entire day dedicated to them; and even God bows to their awesomeness, bestowing them with such supernatural powers like guilt-tripping-without-saying-a-word as well as curing-all-childhood-pains-with-a-kiss and many others.  And, as with most beloved things, they are oft compared with other beloved things (and some not-so-beloved things, although always with good intentions), which results in a great many metaphors. 


If you have known me for any length of time, you will know that I adore metaphors, almost to the point of religion.