I've been toying around with a Twilight fic for quite some time now...it's an idea brought on by the fabulous
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anythingbutgrey and her personal canon version of Edward...who's pretty amazing and more or less kicks canon!Edward's sparkly cold butt (incidentally, does putting it that way make anyone else think of those $5.00 roll-on body glitter sticks from grade school?)
The thing is, I've got enough to do with science fair and mid-terms and SATs and general I-hate-school-will-it-never-end-itis that I shouldn't even be on lj at all (actually, the only way I've been able to keep up with fandom at all is by checking my friends page on my phone in study hall...which is incredibly awkward looking, but still). The point being, I don't want to start anything right now, especially writing-wise, because the effort I can/have put into it is nowhere near what it should be. So, here's where the advice comes in...read the little snippet below, then tell me...should I continue? Yea? Nay? Or should I leave this up to the
superwriters other authors out there who can give fics the attention they deserve?
Oh, and keep in mind that this is just the very beginning. This is just a snippet of an idea that I had in study hall and typed up on my phone in the car this afternoon (btw -- touch screen typing?
so overrated)
Edward has always been good at telling people what they want to hear.
It is a gift that only comes to someone accustomed to hearing what people want – night and day and day and night, in an endless circle of want and need and have.
So when Bella – Bella, whose mind was so detached from the real world that even he could not penetrate it – asked him that one question out of many, he lied, and told her what she wanted to hear.
One talent he doesn’t have is knowing how to deny her.
He cheats the way normal people breathe. Though, as he is constantly reminded, he is neither normal nor breathing (most of the time, anyway).
It is an easy enough task. All he has to do is walk into public, allow the humans to look at him, and then –
The things I could do with him.
I wonder if he likes to play rough?
A thousand lust-filled fantasies wash over him. Enthusiastic, hormone-driven thoughts of a late night in the backseat of his imagined car (like Rosalie would ever let him drive something as overrated as a Mustang) come his way courtesy of the teenagers. Rough and unpolished daydreams, the kind that dredge up faint memories of his own human life, of a pounding heart and the rush of blood through his veins as he walks a girl home for the first time – she giggling, he inventing grandiose tales of what he would do when he got to the front, the Huns he would cut down and the flowers he would send her.
Then there are the adults – men and women alike, their imaginations much more detailed and always trained solely on him. He enjoys it more than he should – the slow, elaborate plans of seduction, more amusing than anything else, considering he was older than their grandfathers, and the earthquake that always follows. These imagined affairs require so much more from him. He slips sometimes, gets too caught up in someone’s mind and has to spend the next two hours gagging up food and avoiding Carlisle so he won’t have to explain just what it was about the romance novelist in the back corner booth that so intrigued him.
