Let us Spork some Badfic : "I'm Not Gay!", first installement. (Two)
Back to the badfic, where the shit hits the fan
"Well, Edward we are concerned with you because everyone in the family has found a mate and someone to love. You on the other hand have no one, not only that, but you never show any interest in woman. You are 108 years old and you have never had a relationship before, that can only mean one thing. I'm not the only one who thinks that either, so it has brought us to the conclusion that you are well a... homosexual"
Click to viewOkay, hang on a minute.
First off, way to be invasive there, Carlisle. If my own family ever went to such ridiculous extents to meddle in my sexual and sentimental life, I'd consider calling a psychiatrist. For them.
That being said, I was lucky enough to be raised in a mostly tolerant environment. I understand that's not the case for everyone, as I understand the fact that parents can be genuinely worried about their kids, whether or not this comes with prejudice - especially when sex and relationships are concerned. The discovery of one's own sexuality, the building of bonds with other human beings are commonly viewed in our society as being parts of growing up, which could explain why some parents and older siblings tend to be more vocal, pun non intended, on this topic than they are on others.
But this...? this sounds less like The Talk, and more like criminal procedure -- it is giving off a very uncomfortable vibe.
Second, "that can only mean one thing..."? Since when, say? Edward could be asexual. He could be reticent to engage in a relationship. He could be having wild, sans bodily fluids vampire sex with three different girls on Fork High School's parking lot, provided it is dark enough, none of them he wants to introduce to his nosy folks. He could be bisexual, in a long-distance relationship with another creature of the night he met during his vigilante days. He could, simply enough, want that whovever he loves or doesn't has nothing to do with the rest of the Cullens.
Truth is, people's sexuality, and attitudes towards it, come in a variety of flavours - or at least they would if this wasn't happening in Clicheland. Carlisle shouldn't be in a position to assume anything.
Third, if you're wondering why Carlisle is so distraught upon the thought of his son being homosexual, and what is it that's so dramatic about being gay that it warrants so many ellipses - then congratulations ! You found out just why this piece of dreck is being sporked. Prices are to be claimed in the comment section.
Edward just sat there frozen stiff in his seat, as his eyes went as wide as saucers. He couldn't believe the words that just came out of his fathers mouth. His family thinks he is... GAY?
Dramatic Pairie Dog : What, two times in a row? F*ck this, I'm going home !
And that's the first chapter ! What do we have to say about it?
Well, for all of the times I've poked fun of it, the writing in this fic is above average. The spelling is generally good, the grammar isn't too flawed, and some parts of the story reach their goals in terms of world-building - and that's far more that I've come to expect from bad Twific.
The Cullens are generally in character, too. The author doesn't seem to have made any attempt in glorifying them in any way, and even seems to display a disturbing amount of self-awareness at times : Edward at the beginning appears to be channeling "Growing Up Cullen", and the rest of them are just as terrible as they are in canon.
... Which is perhaps what makes this whole reading experience the most unsettling. The reader is led to side with Edward in several occurrences, in the lights of the rest of his family being a bunch of complete and utter dicks to him. I wasn't too happy about that : indeed, and not counting the fact that agreeing with Edward is trauma-inducing in itself, we've already noted that he's just as intolerant as his father - and, spoiler alert, is bound to out-prejudice him by far.
Using unrelated narrative devices to coax the reader into accepting an ideology without questioning it is the worst fiction can do, as far as I'm concerned ; fortunately (?) Come Back Running quickly drops any pretense of subtlety she could have had, and the next chapter takes a definitive turn for straight-up vomit-inducing.
But, before we wrap this one up, there's still an Author's Note we need to l-
* twitches*
METATWERP : Not so fast, bird-brain !
There's something you haven't mentioned about this - something so big and so obvious I'm glad nobody's paying you for writing this tripe. That note from Esme, Edward checking himself out in the mirror, this entire friggin' chapter?
I wanted to tell you all about this bane of literature ; and I would've gotten away with it, too, if this weren't for this *@$#-- ... meddling censor system. To call ME PG-rated !
If only I had a way around this-- inconvenience!
* METATWERP mumbles for some time, looking disgruntled, until her face lights up with rather questionable glee. She goes on to look at a nondescript area of the Sporking Cell's wall and rams her fist against it. As if on cue (though the embedded mechanism really is the one to blame), said wall slides effortlessly to the left, revealing a smaller, darker chamber. Something is sitting in it, amongst other collapsed devices, that looks like the mutated lovechild of a pipe organ and a xylophone ; were you to examine it further, you'd realize that its keys are in fact numerous small rodents, pinned to the machine with demonic precision.
METATWERP plops herself on the seat provided, and grabs the mallets. She has little to no rhythm, her singing is, of course, hideous, and, in a vain attempt at making this performance beareable, a few of the rodents are providing background voices. *
METATWERP, THE CUTE CRITTER CHOIR :
There once was a good mom of three
Who thought she'd rewrite history
She wanted just one thing, you see :
There was that little dream she had
Which was fantastic, which was rad
About a marbled Adonis -
Now, to make a book about this !
Now, the world should be made aware
Of his supra-human beauty !
For all those daring to declare
That writing anything took work
She had an answer all ready :
"I'll pad, and pad till I implode
Who cares if I'm lacking ideas
Or if my readers' IQ drops?
If I'm anti-humanity
or guilty of misogyny?
All bits of ideology
That so unnerve all those poor sods
I hide them in inanity
Three hundred pages more, sweetie !
Padding is the ultimate key !"
METATWERP : All you need is a terrible song, and voilà ! This installment is a bit longer than it was before. See how well that works? * cackles *
Anyway, since I'm in a good mood, I'll handle the Author's Note.
Dun dun dun...
Dramatic Prairie dog is gone, you know. There's no use in keeping this on.
Tell me what you guys thought.
Go sit on a pointed stick - is that enough of an opinion for ya ?
Do you think I should continue or not? Tell me what you think, I really want to hear from you guys!
I'll direct you to my previous comment.
Also, do you like the name of the story or no?
No. I haven't seen a title this anticlimactic since the Human Centipede.
Please Review, that would mean so much to me! --come back running xx
Oh, but I intend to do just that, sweetheart.
... Come to think of it, maybe not. No, I'll let Marasquine take over - her suffering makes me giddy.
Besides, I've heard this story will come to the point where it's become too offensive to even sing about it ; and frankly, where's the fun in sporking that?
So join her next installment for the beginning of the end. And, in the meantime, do not hesitate to shun her for any mistake you'll see. Serves that fool right.
See you around !