the thing that pisses me off about 50 shades of grey isn’t that it’s twilight fanfiction, it’s that it’s bad ooc twilight fanfiction. the implication that edward would be into bdsm is so fucking dumb he’s a 100 year old virgin who cried and went into a week-long depression the first time he fucked bella he wouldn’t even consider the idea of fucking her until they were married because he didn’t want to compromise his virtue and you’re telling me he’s a dom? no, edward cullen has the most boring vanilla sex ever the only thing unconventional about the way bella and edward fuck is that bella tops and edward cries the whole time and bella gets fed up and goes to the other house to fuck rosalie and edward cries some more in his room alone
ok am i the only one who finds the beginning of IWTV so shady??
lol i know im not, so imma just go ahead and speculate–if you’d like to read, you may go ahead and do so c: same goes for sharing thoughts! id love to hear what you all have to say ❤ but, beware, it gets pretty long, sorry folks >//<
^Just in time for Halloween, 13bels has a neat theory about Louis based partly on his eye color…
Fandom, after all, is born of a balance between fascination and frustration: if media content didn’t fascinate us, there would be no desire to engage with it; but if it didn’t frustrate us on some level, there would be no drive to rewrite or remake it
Misery. The only word that came close to describing the current life of the young plantation owner known as Louis de Pointe du Lac. Wandering aimlessly and drinking were all he could manage to do with his time as of late. Drinking, and drinking, and more drinking, but no amount of alcohol could kill this misery and it certainly wasn’t going to kill him, at least not fast enough. That was the only option in his mind at this point. To die.. to rot away to nothing in the cold ground like his brother. What peace it seemed awaited him whenever he would breathe his last.. That illusion of peace so tempting that he had been seeking it out, provoking brutish men into violence night after night. Just last evening he thought he had found his precious death, that the blade of a common street criminal might strike a vein and leave him to bleed out on the dirty cobblestone. But a powerful punch delivered to his jaw had left him penniless and unconscious, to awake simply furious an hour later on the ground. Such a sting of failure that he could not even reach the mercy of death and that his own hands could not carry out the deed no matter how he thought and thought on it. He might have hung himself from one of the ancient trees on his own property, had he the courage to slip the noose around his neck. These thoughts were madness.. absolute madness, but not like Paul’s madness. That had been full of irrepresible passion, confidence, unwavering dedication, maybe even something to admire. His own suffering had no passion. No passion for anything anymore. Only the inescapable and horrifying desire for his heart to cease its beating. This evening, he sat in a run down saloon, drinking raspberry brandy straight from the bottle and intoxicated enough that his stride was unsteady, regal clothing unkempt, and raven hair a mess of tangles. Louis threw back another swig of the sickeningly sweet liquor, tired eyes scanning the noisy bar with a challenging glimmer as he searched for the man who might, with any luck, end his life tonight.
I-want-my-IWTV 