Please someone help. It is a Edward/Bella fanfic. FOUND – Mr Horrible by Algonquinrt. «Last Edit: June 28, , PM by ficfangirl». Mr Horrible by algonquinrt Summary: They meet at a gallery, from two different worlds. Watch as they learn oh, who am I kidding here?. Enter BellaFlan’s “Becoming Bella Swan” and algonquinrt/d0tpark3r’s “Mr. Horrible” (we hear from both authors later in this section). Enter “Gynazole”: Edward is.

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Mr. Horrible

Actions Add to Community Report Abuse. Of course, I know that I have no luck at all, which is why I was at a fucking art gallery on a Saturday afternoon with James in the first place instead of out getting laid or going to the movies or having an all-day sex marathon sexathon? We arrived at Jupiter’s a few minutes later, and I guided Bella through the bar ,r on to the back patio. I’m tired apgonquinrt being his hag.

FanFiction Addiction – Mr Horrible by algonquinrt Summary: They meet at

And if you’re a reader, looking for a story, sorry I didn’t review any of them. Whitlock, here I thought you were raised to be a true Southern gentleman. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion because she really didn’t hit her head that hard.

I like that idea. Brandy rated it really liked it Aug 13, But review count does not necessarily equal quality. He had used just about every bad line in the alhonquinrt, and she was so not biting.


Want to Read saving…. Thanks for telling us about the problem. He needs to change that shit if he wants better tips.

The Moonlight Awards

See the end of the chapter for notes. Which I know he’s going to ask me to dress him for.

The girl most assuredly does not have parents with their names on the wall. Sleeping in the same bed. Then he held his arms out and pulled me into his lap. If algonquonrt were angry, I’d be able to see you. And it hurts so much to see how lost he’s become. And I swear this time I’m going to kill him. I didn’t puke, did I? I imagine if there is a god anywhere, algojquinrt, she, or it thinks we look like fucking ants in an ant farm in our single line maintaining the same pace.

I could tell right away he was there with mommy, following her along, too used to being a lamb to break off from the horirble, no matter how hard his hipster outfit screamed that he wanted to be different. I see her sitting on a bench donated by some other patron who wanted their name on a plaque on a bench instead of a plaque on a wall. Maybe he’d come over.

I’m neither calm nor assessing. For starters, she wants no part of even seeing my apartment. Rich kid is gone. Instead, she’s carrying a fucking Star Wars X-wing lunch box.


My Chucks are a little bit dirty, but again, not my fault. I’m taking a break from all the catty, gossipy queens and the drama and the goddamn bra-stuffing. What’s the first rule of first aid, Edward?

There’s something more that Baby Swan doesn’t want me to know.

He’s not speaking to me after I left her to baby powder her own ass on Saturday and then blew her off to leave The Royal with you. Or not worrisome, curious. She didn’t speak a lot, but when she did, she was clever and had a dry sense of humor that cracked us up. I need to soak up some of the blood and see what’s what. The thin band of his bracelet looked black against his skin.

Yet here you are, unafraid of what anyone thinks of you, able to talk to anyone anywhere about anything.

I’m not entirely sure if it’s due to fear or anger. Then you see her, criss-crossing across the gallery, bumping in and out of the line and wrecking the traffic pattern. Have you ever had psychotherapy? There’s a Star Show 7.