Withering the Ferns by AngstGoddess003.pdf

Prompter: PhoenixPrincesa/stolenxsanity

Rating: MA/NC-17

Genre: AH - EXTREMELY OOC - Angst/Romance/Suspense

Prompt: Isabella Swan, famed socialite and Edward Cullen, the guy from the wrong side of the tracks,

end up stuck together in some cosmic twist of fate (author can be creative about that). What happens

next? AH - Angst/Romance

Withering the Ferns

A “ Twilight Gift Exchange ” FanFiction

By AngstGoddess003

Banner by Touchstone67.

!! ATTENTION !!

Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer , kay?

No copyright infringement is intended with the writing and

distribution of this story.

BUT…

Http://angstgoddess003.livejournal.com

Http://www.FanFiction.net/~angstgoddess003

Http://www.Twitter.com/angstgoddess003

Credit is awesome, you know? Like baked goods.

LikeevenifIbakedyoucookiesfromarecipethat’snotmine,

you still say,“Hey,dude,look!Gmadeuscookiesfrom

StephenieMeyer’srecipe!”

Thenyouomnomnomthem,andI’mallsmiley happy,

because you gave me credit for the baking of the cookies.

It’stotallylikethat

ExceptIdon’tmakecookies

I make FanFiction.

PSI’dreallyappreciateitifyoudidn’tdistributethisonyourown,andinsteadjustlinked

people to my LJ or FFn page? Thanks.

P.S.S. If it matters?Idon’tsupport any translations of this story.

*-~I--------o|W.T.F|o--------I~-*

Chapter 1:

Systematic Failu re Blooms a Mystificatio n of Unjustifiable Achievement.

*-~I--------o|W.T.F|o--------I~-*

(A.K.A. Paris Hilton is a Whore.)

I despise planes. They are small and stuffy, and they make me feel more confined than an

elephant packed into a can of sardines. Walls on all sides, holding me prisoner for prolonged

periods of time, making me sweat. There are people in front of me, people behind me, people

beside me, and unfailingly, one of them has a wailing infant.

Wailing infants are whores.

Wailing infants are sniveling little creatures who get their way by means of auditory and

emotional extortion. They whore out their mucus and their tears and their appallingly well-

developedvocalcordsTheyusetheirparents’loveagainstthemtoget what they want, when

they wish for it. Somehow, some automatic and instinctual intuition tells them screaming at the

topoftheirlungswillinevitablymaketheirdesirescometofruitionI’mnotbeingharshI’m

just keeping it real. Here. This statement will prove it.

I am a whore.

Not in the sexual sense, of course. I personally detest the usually narrow definition that people

give the term when it is actually much broader. Some people call me a socialite. Others like to

call me a debutante or priss or spoiled-little-rich-bitch. The real socialites, debutantes, prisses,

and spoiled-little-rich-bitches like to call me many things--none of which are repeatable in

politecompanyItdoesn’treallymatterwhatnameisgrantedtothemorI,becausewe’reall

the same: whores.

Our job is to look pretty, say all the right things, get really good press, and never, ever, ever go

toanysocialfunctionwithoutunderwearsnuglycoveringourvajayjaysIt’sasimpleconcept

And really, the rewards are well worth the effort of wearing heels and dresses and push-up bras

thatarenearlygoodenoughtoconvincepeopleI’mnotindireneedofanexorbitantboobjob

Nearly Ididn’tevenhavetogotocollegelastyearwhenIgraduatedfromprepschoolThere

was no needtowheneverythingwouldclearlybegiventomeIt’sagoodlifeprivilegedlife

A life without challenge, full of ease and luxuries without the expectation of intellect or

character,justlikeRenee’s

In short, I loathe being a whore.

There are whores everywhere I look. Left, right, in front, behind, and then the whore who is

frontandcenter,baskingintheattentionandaffectionsofherJohnlikeshehadn’tsoldher

soul for a sixpence and a painful round of botched liposuction. The whore that makes whoring

lookreputableanddecentShe’softhebrandofwhorethat’smademeone

My mother, Renee is like the Queen Bee of all whores. I like to imagine San Diego like a big hive,

with her at the center and all the little drones scurrying their wings in order to whore to her

standard.

IstillrecallwithperfectclaritythefirstmomentI’drealizedwhatthatwordtrulymeantsI

said before, it has nothing to do with sex, though, in all honesty, sex certainly does help. More

talented whores can achieve what they want without ever performing a single sexual act. My

mothercallsit“climbingthesocialladder”ThefirsttimeI’deverseenherconsortwithher

minions, I could see it plain-as-day,plasteredacrossherfakefacethatshe’dgivenupher true

self to gain the life she desired. That was a true whore: shoving the honesty of your ideals,

values, and individuality deep into yourself for the sole sake of any level of reputation,

monetary, or social achievement.

Her husband is Phil. This man-whore has no last name. Well, I suppose he technically has one,

butnooneusesitIt’skindoflikePrinceorMadonna,exceptwithoutthemusicaltalentor

marketinggeniusYoucanseehimplasteredonpostersallaroundthecountryHe’sonthe

bedroom walls of enthusiastic little boys, girls with endearing crushes, and sexually-confused

teenage males who claim to have adoration for his team spirit and commendable morals but

reallyendupmasturbatingtohismalephysiquelikejackrabbitsonViagraHe’s known as an

athleticphenomenonandidealrolemodelforaspiringathleteseverywhereHe’sgotthe

highest batting average in the league and a clandestine steroid addiction the size of India—

whichcoincidentally,iswherehepreferstoprocurethe“naturalherbs”fromHe’sgotthe

mentality of a twelve-year-old boy, the body of a twenty-eight-year-old man, the testicles of an

adolescent rodent, a nine-figure contract with the league, at least twenty sponsorships, five

houses, three yachts, ten cars, two snowmobiles, and a flaming case of herpes.

Inotherwords,he’sthemericandream

Phil had been putting us up ever since this loving relationship between him and Renee

bloomedndby“bloomed,”Imeansincemymotherblewhiminthebathroomofthe

Bellagio. Still, I had little to no room to complain. Renee gives me what I want, when I want it,

without question or hesitation. And all I have to do is play the attractively proper little

daughter-whore in the public eye. It had all been so easy for a good while. Using the ever-

present media attention of her new husband, she had adored thrusting me into the limelight,

paradingmearoundasherfriendshaddonewiththeirowndaughtersShe’dfinallyfeltasense

of belonging as we climbed the cruel social ladderwitheaseForalongtime,I’dbeengoodat

holding it together.

And then, very recently, the downward spiral...

I’vebeencaughttrippingoncameramoretimesthanIcanallowmyselftocounttaformal

functionthatIcouldn’tbeseendrinkingalcoholic beverages at, I dropped my cup of Dr. Pepper

(withadashofgrenadine)andsinglehandedlydestroyedthegovernor’sten-thousand-dollar

ivory sofa. Arnold had been far more understanding than his painfully present design

consultantlso,there’saphoto of me circulating on the internet with my dress ignorantly

tucked into the back of my underwear. And after an unfortunate misunderstanding in which I

stumbled into Colin Appleby and landed in a very compromising position, I became particularly

notorious for my crude sexual prowess.

My press only got worse when I was unknowingly recorded stating my uncensored opinion of

theQueenofEnglandononeofthoseannoyinglyinconvenientpicturephonesIwon’trepeat

exactly what name I used to describe Her Majesty that was unfairly taken out of context, but

here’sahintitrhymeswith“whore”

And last month—the final nail in the coffin known as my social reputation—I“accidentally”

discardedPhil’sluckiestcharmandmostrevoltingsuperstition—an antiquated jockstrap. As a

result, the world attributed the loss to none other than Isabella Swan: the Jock Blocker.

I’dbecomethelaughingstockofthecityImean,IwasnoParisHiltonoranythingThelevelsof

whorage between us were miles apart. Unlike her,Ican’tgetawaywiththatmuchcrap

unscathedIt’safree-for-all in which insults and attacks are thrown at me faster than Renee

andPhil’sbankaccountcouldeverreasonablysubdueI’dfailedatmyonlyobligationtothelap

ofluxury,andnowI’mrunning away with my tail tucked between my legs.

I’mgoingtoForks,Washingtontovisitmyfather,CharlieHe’sawhoretoo,butafarmore

creditable variety of whore than Renee. When Charlie whored, he did it for a purpose greater

than that of petty greedandcorruptionImean,yeah,he’salittlecorruptWhatpublicofficial

isn’t?He’sconsideredfairlywealthyforthesmalltownofForkswhereheresides,buthedoes

something with his position and makes a difference in the community. He gives back .

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