Quotes From Your Own Work!

[Shadow]

^Hehe. ^^; Thankies. I'm glad you liked it. LOL Clowns. I know where my fear of clowns comes from...it comes from Stephen King and John Wayne Gacy. :S *wonders where Zerina gots hers from* Nice exerpts, though. ^^

 

[Daring Dylan]

I have many bad habits. Ask me and I won't hesitate to list them off: I smoke too much, I drink too much, I swear too much, I put people down constantly, I put myself up on a pedestal, I bitch and moan about useless ****, I watch too much TV, I go out of my way to blow out my hearing, I drive too fast, I bite my fingernails, I stay up too late, I think too much, and worst of all, I will **** almost anyone that moves so long as it has a dick. That's just who I am, take it or leave it. But you know what? I wish I could just leave it sometimes.

Which brings me to this: these past few months have been very exciting for me, and I'm getting ****ing sick of it. This happens on occasion. My libido will have a big ****ing winning streak, and suddenly my mind will jump in with this great moral dilemma. I suppose even the worst of us have a conscience, but mine just decides to stay silent until the most inconvenient of moments. At this point I usually fall into a great ****ing depression, complete with the mind numbingly boring periods of introspection and histrionics. I resolve to be a chaste and saintly soul, which holds up for a few weeks at most, before going right back on the prowl. Without fail, I just go crawling back to my old ways.

And~

"I'm in love with my best friend," Derek said, avoiding Daryl's eyes like they were the plague.

He just snorted. "You like Julie?"

"Uh, yeah . . . Julie. I like Julie."

That's when Derek noticed how cliche sounding it was to be in love with your best friend who's a boy and also has a girlfriend.

Also~

"Now me?" Daryl said, blowing a ring of smoke. "I smoke for one reason and one reason only."

"And that is?" Roza asked.

"It makes me look ****ing cool."

 

[ReaperHunter]

" Sream into the Darkness and let your fear takeover" - Oblivion

 

[Shadow]

I stopped, leaning heavily against the wall. Pain shot through my side. I pressed a hand to the gash in my shirt and scowled at the dark scarlet that stained my hand. Sh*t. I made myself relax, but I couldn’t stop feeling a prickle of worry. Aradia was probably worse off than me, and I wasn’t going to let what happened to Mitchell happen to her. Being a half-breed didn’t make her invulnerable, just as being mostly demonic didn’t make me all-powerful.

Holding back a stream of obscenities, I pushed off against the bricks and pulled Onyx from his holster. The gun felt oddly heavy in my hand, but I couldn’t stop. My prey was getting away.

The faint patter of footsteps reached my ears; too quick to be Aradia’s and too heavy to be anything but Abraxas’s. Unless he’d summoned something.

I forced myself to not think about that.

But I was tired and still bleeding heavily and it was difficult not to think that this mission was going to end badly. I’m alright. We’re alright...just get up off your ass and move. I grit my teeth and stumbled along. Jade was on the floor nearby; I picked her up and holstered her with a growl. Stupid pain. Stupid demonic prince. Stupid weak little me. Another growl escaped my lips. I was going to tear the bastard to shreds.

From my novel Shade, which is my MC's name. I'm not sure whether I like this or not....

 

[Dante's Stalker]

From my Nano 2009.

The Messenger

The man seated at the narrow table didn’t look as one would imagine a longsuffering mentally disturbed murderer did. He was handsome, with a pleasant and somewhat boyish face. His wild golden mane had begun to retract along his temples and forehead, and the delicate wrinkles around his mouth and brow had come with age. A shade of light stubble along his jaw line showed that he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. He had aged peculiarly well for a forty year old.

The security camera, located in the top corner of the nondescript, claustrophobic square room, depicted the patient clothed in jeans and a T-shirt. Another middle-aged man, dressed more business-like in tailored trousers, button-up collar shirt, and a plain tie, appeared on the greyscale screen. There was a clipboard in his hand, which he placed on the glossy black surface of the table before sinking into the chair across from his patient.

He licked his lips and readjusted his spectacles over the bridge of his hawk-like nose. He took out a ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket, and his fingers accidentally grazed his silver name tag with Dr. Franz Engleton engraved into it with bold black letters. He leaned his elbow on the table, and with withered brown eyes he studied the man before him.
Joshua Johnston.

There were purple smudges beneath his eyes. He was fidgeting with a lose thread on his chair’s blue upholstery, wrapped up in his own quiet thoughts.

“Having trouble sleeping again, I see,” Franz remarked.

Josh lifted cool, grey eyes to look back at him objectively. There was a flicker of irritation, but as soon as it had come, it was replaced by a warm, smoky silver. Josh was the only person he had ever met who could genuinely smile with his eyes alone.

“G’morning, doc. What’s on the agenda for today?”

Josh didn’t have the face of a killer – he didn’t possess that detached expression in his gaze, and his voice held a surprisingly innocent note in its smoothness. He was, in fact, a very pleasant person to be around. He didn’t lack social skills, and behaved with civilized etiquette – in essence, he was still the same young man the folk of Blue Bessie Hill had once adored.

“Let’s discuss the episode you had last night, shall we? It’s the third one this week,” Franz said, unclipping the papers in front of him.

“I didn’t have an episode,” Josh said.

“No? You were quite distraught...nurse Anderson had to administer a sedative to you at four o’clock this morning. According to my notes.” Franz said, skimming across the words and graphs with trained eyes. He rearranged the papers, secured them back on the clipboard, and stole a glance at his patient.

Josh shrugged indifferently. Franz folded his hands together on top of the table and tilted his head to the side. Their eyes locked.

“Okay. So I had an ‘episode’,” he said the word mockingly.

“Tell me.” Franz said with perfunctory frankness.

“What is there to tell?” Josh said. “It’s the same old boring story.”

“Did you hear voices in your nightmare?” Franz pressed lightly.

“Do we have to go through this every time?” Josh asked, and let out a long sigh of defeat at the undeterred expression of his doctor. “Yeah, I heard the voices again.”

“Any you recognized?”

“Maybe. It was kinda hard to tell, what with them hissing in my ears, and some crazy screaming at me.”

“Who was screaming at you?” Franz asked, finally tearing his gaze away to scribble down his notes.

“Don’t know. I didn’t move to try and see who it was, but it was definitely a woman, and she sounded seriously ****ed off,” Josh said solemnly. He was fidgeting with the thread once more.

“You were paralysed again?” Franz asked, pausing with pen in hand. “Sounds very much like another hypnogogic dream, Joshua. In general they are caused by severe stress fa...”

“I wasn’t paralysed. I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to see... whatever the hell it was that wanted to attack me.” Josh cut in.

“Did you recognize the woman’s voice?” Franz looked up expectantly.

Josh stubbornly avoided his gaze. “No. And before you say it – it wasn’t that woman I killed.”

“Marissa Visser.” Franz said flatly.

Josh’s gaze was sharp and clear when they snapped up to face him dead on. “Her name makes no difference to me.”

“Perhaps this is your subconscious...your guilt about...” Franz started tentatively.

Josh shook his head vigorously. “No, no.”

“You still believe you feel no remorse for what you’ve done?” Franz asked.

The question wasn’t posed as a professional would have presented it. Sentiments were invading his work ethic again – Franz wanted desperately to believe that Josh was better than this, as did everybody else in town who had known Josh all his life.

“I have no regrets about killing that couple,” Josh said carefully.

“None at all, Joshua?” Franz furrowed a dark bushy brown. “You don’t regret being kept in solitude for the rest of your life, locked away from your family? You don’t regret letting your daughters grow up without their father?”

Josh went still at his words. A vein in his neck pulsed hard. “No. None at all.”

Franz took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “Dreams of being attacked are often associated with feelings of being out of control.”

“But I am in control.” Josh mumbled.

“Do you remember what the voices were saying this time?” Franz asked, once again touching pen to paper.

“Listen.” Josh said slowly. He hesitated, and his face looked twenty years younger when gingerly composed terror swathed across his features. He looked like a frightened and confused kid – the way he looked when he’d been hauled into the police station eleven years ago. His voice was haunted, troubled. “That’s all they ever say. Listen, listen, listen.”

“Alright.” Franz said with a curt nod.

“But I am listening. I heard them the first damn thousand times!”

“Alright,” Franz said again, this time in a firmer tone. “What is it they want you to listen to, Josh?”

“The dreams they send me.”

“The nightmares about the end of the world, you mean?”

“Not nightmares. They’re precognitive dreams,” Josh said.

“Right, so you’ve said before. You believe these dreams are predictions, do you?”

“Half and half,” Josh said and slouched back in his chair. He flashed an unnervingly amused smile. “They’re about real events that have yet to take place. Catastrophe after catastrophe, with details so vivid, I sometimes feel like I’ve been warped into the future and I’m witnessing it all first hand.”

“And how can you be so sure they’re about real events?”

Josh snorted incredulously. “Only an ignorant idiot would disregard them as anything else.”

“Why haven’t you done what I suggested to you before, Josh? Why don’t you try and draw these dreams, and show them to me? Maybe it will convince me that you are right, as you claim to be, and that we are all...”

“...in a deep load of ****?” Josh interrupted.

Franz made a gesture of acceptance with his hand. “As you put it.”

“Why should I be bothered about convincing you that I do have all my pigs in the sty, doc?” Josh said with a cocky smirk, leaning forward with mischief in his gaze. “When there are far more pressing matters that demand my attention?”

“Like the end of the world.” Franz said flatly.

“I’m a writer, not an artist,” Josh said, his smile fading along with his mocking attitude.

“It is your writing that contributed to where you are now. I will not allow you to fall back into your own fictional creations, Joshua. You have to face up to reality, and the reality of what you’ve done.” Franz said.

“If you deprive any fiery writer from their passion, the compulsion to give life to their words will be enough to drive any of them mad. My work had no role to play in that killing,” Josh snapped, and jerked a thumb at his own chest. “I did what I had to.”

“Have you considered drawing? Maybe painting, if pencils aren’t your thing?” Franz responded calmly.

“No. I suck at drawing, damn it!” Josh said heatedly. “B’sides, all I can remember from the dreams are a couple of minor details.”

“Like the number nine?”

“Yeah. Nine.”

“Why nine? Do you think it might be because that’s the age your children were when you were brought here?”

“No,” Josh said with quiet conviction. “Nine is a symbol of things coming to completion. Like a circle. Complete, and perfect, and infinite.”

“Relating to the end of the world again?”

“The end of our world, yeah.” Josh said.

His one leg had unconsciously begun to bounce up and down beneath the table. His hands clenched and unclenched consistently in his lap. Franz knew these were warning signs – Josh would withdraw into himself, clamp shut if Franz pressed him to continue their session. It could be weeks before Josh would crawl back out of his shell, far enough for them to carry an easy conversation.

“Alright, Josh. It’s a sunny day out. I think the fresh air will do you good, don’t you?”

Josh’s legs stilled, and his fists relaxed. “Sure. Why not? I might as well savour it while I’ve still got the freedom to.”

And another part, which I'm putting in spoilers because it's a pretty big part.

Rebellion

Spoiler

The golden light slanted through the cottage window added a sober tranquillity to the room. It spilled across the heavy oak desk and reflected off the ocean of white linoleum floor.

Sharp azure eyes followed the simple layout of the study. The walls were panelled with shelves brimming with books. A wood filing cabinet stood pristine beside the emerald drapes of the window; the contents within held more value to Claire Johnston than the neat stacks of blue paper rands in the vault behind her.

Her father’s manuscripts lay within that cabinet; some were complete, others would never meet their ending. Rubbish, her mother called it. The only reason it hadn’t been thrown out was because Claire had a core of steel that she’d inherited from the great, unpublished Joshua Johnston, and she had put her foot down to keep the study untouched. She knew what she wanted, knew how to get it, and damned be the person who tried to contest her.

Her father had sat at this very desk for hours on end, lost among encyclopaedias and empty coffee cups. He’d poured his soul out here every available moment; the ink was his vessel, the paper his destination, as he’d explained it to her once. In the confines of this small room he’d created worlds and characters with flamboyant lives that used to tickle her imagination. Sometimes he let her read them; sometimes he kept his stories to himself.

Now his desk was void of his touch; it was tidy with only an orange stationary pencil holder, a disc ball of the world – still and coated with dust. A notepad sat square in the middle of the table, its pale pages fading into amber hue with age.

Claire missed her dad on days like these when her world seemed to be splitting into irreparable fragments.

She was used to seeking him out, to find him here, reclined in his worn out leather chair with his feet up on the desk, a blank book with his scribbles in spread out on his lap, staring off into space. He would look up when she entered, his grey eyes would smile, and he’d welcome her with his casual, “Just the person I was thinking of...” before he’d fall into a discussion of one or the other plot he was brewing.

Claire had never really been one for books, could never imagine herself sitting down for hours trying to write anything, but Joshua had been passionate about his work. His eyes, his voice, his body language – he became animated talking about writing in a way he never did around people. Claire didn’t think anybody knew just what a magnetic personality he really had. How great he’d truly been as a person.

He’d been her saviour when life got her down; distracting her with stories, reciting verses from other literary geniuses to give her courage and advise, and on occasion he would entertain her with tales where characters were going through similar experiences as she was.

“Claire, get downstairs this moment!” Her mother’s voice drifted from somewhere outside the study door.

Claire pursed her lips, and gazed hard at the cabinet for a long time.
Her mother – Angela as she called her – hadn’t set foot back in the room since Josh made the headlines in their local paper. Claire had known the truth for a while before the rest of their small community received the mind-blowing, heart-wrenching news. Joshua – sweet, quiet, enigmatic Joshua, the boy who had been a good student throughout his school career and advanced in his extracurricular martial arts, the boy who had many girls swooning over his golden looks, whom grew into the young man that married an Outsider to everyone’s disappointment, who brought forth a set of identical triplets whom everyone adored, the gentleman who had always liked to keep to his books – innocent, chivalrous, and kind Joshua, had brutally slaughtered a couple of tourists passing through the ill-located little haven of Blue Bessie Hill.

Claire had known something terrible had happened when she got home after school and saw the study door wide open at the end of the hallway. The study door was always closed – always. Josh had been half-sitting, half-crouching on the floor there beneath the window, his golden hair in disarray, his cool eyes downcast at the pile of papers scattered wildly around him, and the incredibly long O-Katana unsheathed and resting across his knee, the glossy blade stained with alarming red liquid. He’d looked every part the battered prince, fresh out of battle. She remembered the look in his eyes when his head had snapped up and he’d noted her presence. There had been clear sanity in his gaze. He’d slowly risen to his feet, and let out a long-suffering breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this. I want to be with you for as long as I can.”

She’d known then that he’d done something unspeakable, that the blood on that sword was of an innocent. Claire hadn’t said anything. She didn’t need to. In a small town like theirs, someone was bound to notice a couple of macerated bodies half-heartedly hidden behind a dumpster.

It had been a couple – Lou and Marissa Visser – in their early thirties, passing through on their way to Knysna for an annual family holiday, the newspaper depicted. A day later, the police showed up on their doorstep. They’d found the sheath of his katana at the crime scene. Josh hadn’t put up a fight when they shackled him to take him to the station for interrogation. He had, however, wrapped Claire in a tight embrace. His parting words to her had been a whisper in her ear, “Fear none, and all will fear you.”

The court didn’t need to take their time with their decision. Josh admitted to murder. When asked what his motivation had been, the response he’d given was a smile that crept through her memory now and sent chills through her blood. A mysterious, alluring, boyish smile – not the smile of a killer, but the one he’d often given when Claire would ask him if he was planning a happy ending for his stories. “You wouldn’t understand.” He’d said, and refused to say more when he was questioned further.

He’d been assessed by the best psychiatrists appointed by the judge, and the result had come back: Joshua was mentally disturbed. They’d dissected his life’s works, evaluated him, ran numerous tests on him; it was final. He was far too dangerous to be placed in any regular prison. Today he was in a maximum security cell in a mental institute situated several kilometres outside of Blue Bessie Hill. Claire hadn’t seen him since they steered him out of the court that day eleven years ago. He wasn’t allowed any visitors.

“Claire!” Angela called again, this time with an edge to her voice.

Claire suppressed a sigh and lifted herself from the chair, giving the study another one over. Had the walls been soundproof, she would have mellowed within this sanctuary all day to separate herself from her mother and her sisters. As it were, Angela’s constant nagging was getting her nerves in a twist.

Claire stepped into the hallway and quietly closed the door behind her. She paused at the top of the sweeping white marble staircase and peered down at her mother. Angela was fussing with a set of gold earrings, clipping them onto her earlobes. Claire had inherited her appearance from her mother – the wavy blonde hair that glowed like liquid gold, the wide set azure eyes that captivated people with their brilliance, the dimpled smile that morphed them into visions of angels. Angela was, simply put, beautiful – and she knew it.

Her gaze was sharp and condescending when she noticed Claire.
“Randy and I are going out for dinner. Crystal is out at some or the other college party, but Courtney is home.” Angela rambled off in broken English, rolling her ‘r’ and emphasising her ‘t’. “You know the rules, Claire.”

Claire replied with a quiet stare of loathing. “I’m nineteen. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yes, you do.” Angela stopped her fussing and turned her slightly plump figure toward her, bracelet adorned hands resting on her hips impatiently. “Let’s not start on this again. You have proven time and time again that you can’t be trusted on your own...”

“I told you those were only rumours. I’m not into the occult, and I’m not planning on sacrificing the neighbourhood cats to some deity.” Claire said heatedly. “I’d be a lot more worried about what Courtney is doing with her boyfriend in her room, if I were you.”

“Don’t be cheeky with me, young lady,” Angela retorted sharply. “Stay put, and don’t give your sister a hard time.”

With that, she spun on her heel, curvy hips swaying, and promptly glided from the front foyer. The sound of the front door shutting drifted up the stairs a second later. Claire shook her head, grumbling under her breath about the unfairness of being labelled the black sheep in the family, and strolled up the carpeted hallway.

Her bedroom was tiny compared to the other rooms in their old Colonial style house, but the grand three hundred and sixty degree view of the Atlantic from her window made up for what it lacked in size. Claire pulled a tan leather jacket off a hanger in her cupboard and slipped it on over her white cotton blouse. She stared out at the ocean absent-mindedly while she listened to the purr of Angela’s new Mercedes growing faint down the street.

The sea was uncharacteristically restless tonight; the midnight blue shade was replaced by dirty brown water from the wild currents kicking up sand. Something about it disturbed her, but the feeling was brief and forgotten when she heard a door open down the hallway, and her peppy sister called out to her.

 

[Ronan]

“DABA!! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW OR I’LL BLAST IT DOWN!!”
Gabrielle winced. Even from behind the solid door, the angry voice was extremely loud. I wonder who it could possibly be? Definitely not Clark….
Daba sighed and got to her feet. “I suppose now is your chance to meet someone from Nichole’s past. Ila Long, to be specific. Twenty one years old, with five years of pent up rage ready to be let loose at your friend the moment Ila sees her.”
Gabrielle gulped. “Lovely…I guess you had better let her in…”
Daba nodded and walked into the kitchen. Gabrielle heard the door creak open, and the angry click of high heels walking across a tile floor. Well, I guess I won’t learn much by sitting on this couch. If she’s really trying to hurt Clark, I’d better at least see what she looks like. She gathered her courage and stood up, casting a longing glance at the couch before venturing into the kitchen.
When she entered the room, she was immediately greeted by the sight of an angry woman sitting at the table and glowering at Daba. She was tall, although not as tall as Clark, with long purple hair and blazing blue eyes. She must have noticed Gabrielle as well, because at that moment she directed her blue eyes towards Gabrielle.
“Who in the Realms is this, Daba?” She asked curtly. “You never told me you had company.”
“I was getting around to it, dear. You were too busy screaming for me to properly tell you anyway.” Daba said warmly. “Now, shall I fix you a cup of tea? I know of a few herbs that are sure to calm the nerves and ease the heart.”
“Don’t EVEN start that crap with me, Daba. You know who I’m here for.” Ila looked at Gabrielle again. “And what about her? Does she know that heartless, treacherous coward?”
“I…uh…I….” Gabrielle’s tongue felt like it was made of mush as she desperately searched for something to say that wouldn’t reveal her friendship with Clark. Ila didn’t seem to be impressed.
“I don’t have time for this.” She snarled, getting to her feet. “That worthless scum is within the gates, and I’m wasting my time sitting here and being offered tea.”
“Ila, wait!” Daba got up in an attempt to halt the woman, but by the time the words were out of her mouth, Ila was gone, with the kitchen door slamming behind her. Daba sighed, the strain of the situation showing on her face.
“This…this isn’t good, is it?” Gabrielle asked.
Daba shook her head. “Ila is angry enough to do serious damage to Nichole if she finds her. Worse still, she refuses to listen to reason.” The old woman sighed. “I didn’t foresee this much trouble...”
Gabrielle swallowed. “I have to warn her.” She said, sounding much braver than she felt.
Daba’s eyes widened. “That is not advisable. Ila will undoubtedly start a fight, and with two Gifted women, yes two,” She said when Gabrielle’s eyebrows shot up, “The whole town will be in danger. In addition, if Ila catches you warning Nichole you’ll reveal that you’re friends, or at least that you know her. Your life will be in grave danger.”
“I don’t care.” Gabrielle said. “I owe Clark my life; if I don’t warn her about Ila no one else will!”
She walked out of the door without giving Daba a chance to respond.

Tah dah ^_^

 

[Dante's Stalker]

"What the hell did you do, fall into it?"

Dante to my OC after she stabbed herself.
lol?

 

[Shadow]

From Twisted Vision, my just-after-Fable-II-Reaver-loses-his-mind fic that was originally a crack fic, then became a rather morose drama, and now I've decided it's a humorous, adventure fic! All before the prolouge was ever written.... Anywho. Quotes:

Frustrated, Sparrow jiggled the handle again, this time with more force. "Reaver, open this d*mn door!"

"Leave me alone, Sparrow," Reaver called from the other side of the door, sounding harried and distracted. "I'm rather indisposed at the moment."

"You've been locked in your room for the past week. How the great bloody hell are you 'indisposed'?!"

"Yes, well, I'm afraid I've simply misplaced my mind and I can't seem to find it."

And not five minutes later:

Deciding his fellow Hero had had enough of a guilt trip for one day, Sparrow looked away from her and met Garth's eyes. The mage nodded once in understanding. Right. Time to get serious.

Sparrow tossed him the magical bag that always hung at his waist. "Right. Garth, collect the clippings. Hannah, you help him. Reaver? You're coming with me." As he began dragging the afformentioned Hero of Skill towards the bathroom door, he added, "Chip, you sit and stay."

The terrier sat, tail twitching against the rumpled bedspread in restrained excitement.

"And why, Sparrow love, am I going to allow you to drag me off?" Reaver all but growled, curious despite himself.

"Because we are going to the pub, and you smell funny," Sparrow replied succinctly.

"I suppose you intend to ravish me in the bathtub, then?"

"That, my dear pirate king, is for me to know and you to find out."

Reaver promptly stopped fighting him.

When Sparrow says clippings, he means newspaper clippings and Sparrow is indeed straight....

 

[Dante's Stalker]

"You think this is funny?"
"I have a finely cultivated sense of humour. I wouldn't expect you to get the punch line."

~...~

"What is the best advice your mother ever gave you?"
Sam's eyebrow twitched. "Rather be safe than sorry. That's why I married an asshole. He'd never cheat on me because nobody wants an asshole, and he'd never divorce me because he knows I'm the only one who would ever put up with him."
She sent a discreet look at Ian beside her. He was slumped and stretched out awkwardly on the couch beside her, leaning against the arm-pad and rubbing his temple. He crossed his legs lazily and sighed loudly.
"And the same question to you, Ian."
"Be whatever and who ever you want to be. The world is going to try tear you down either way so there's no point in trying to placate it."
"So you chose to be an asshole?" Sam demanded in disgust.
"Don't get upset because my mum's advice is more sound than yours, honey."

 

[Shadow]

“Are you sure it’s wise to see Sofie?” a water-like voice said suddenly.

Jenny jumped, gasping in surprise. As she tried to calm her heart, she wondered how long Julian had been lurking behind her.

“Why wouldn’t it be? Marcus inquired, puzzled. “We go way back, Sofie and me.”

Julian’s expression was sardonic at best. “The last time you asked Sofie for a favor, you ended up chained naked to a cage with a dog collar around your neck for six months.”

“Too much information,” Jenny muttered meekly, trying to banish the mental image.

Marcus, on the other hand, smiled contentedly. “What a wonderful six months those were, too.”

Fear Itself, chapter 15.

 

[Dante's Stalker]

Fear Itself, chapter 15.

lol ohmigosh post it post it post it lol!

 

[Shadow]

lol ohmigosh post it post it post it lol!

LOL XD As soon as I've typed it up/written it.

 

[Dante's Stalker]

“If it’s any consolation, she did recommend him.”

I paused with the bottle pressed against my lips, and sent her a sidelong glare. “Hmm.”
“She said he was very good-“
“I’m sorry, how is this supposed to be consoling again, Hazel?”

Yeeeaaaahhhh :shifty:

 

[Shadow]

Thread shall not die! D:
Anyway:
The result of a NaNo word sprint for my Death Note fic, Switched:

Z flew them toward an abandoned town: a small jumble of frozen, rusting building carcasses that looked as though some enormous hand had just dumped them down beside the sea without any care as to why they were there. B has him here…? Why didn’t that sit right with him?


“Set us down at the edge of town,” Watari instructed. Z didn’t speak, instead choosing to nod once before circling the town to find the best place to touch down. As Z flicked switches off upon landing, headsets were passed out and there was a final check of supplies for those who were actually going out to find L.


J and S hopped out of the helicopter, snow crunching loudly under their feet. The wind was nearly nonexistent and snow was falling softly, barely hindering visibility. Z followed them, stopping only to check her boots and the knife hidden within.


“Be careful, Quillish,” Roger murmured as Watari carefully made his way out.


Watari inclined his head slightly. “The same to you, my friend.”


What could potentially have been a touching good bye was ruined as S crowed, “Hey, Zuney, you’re all grown up now; how’s that work, eh? You’re…actually kinda hot….”


Z slowly raised her head and straightened up, staring at S with a look that would have blasted him to pieces had there been any power behind it. “It’s Zanir, you ignoramus motherf—”


“That’s enough, children,” Watari told them, placing a restraining hand on the young woman’s shoulder as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. Behind him, J was smiling for the first time this voyage and Roger was trying to remember why he’d accepted Q’s insistence that he should go along with the group.

Teehee...ignoramus.... :laugh: I think S and Z like each other.
Does anyone else think of alphabet soup when they see all these random letters for names? @_@

 

[Dante's Stalker]

And this is my story of the white knight, Claire the goat, and how falling off a bridge was possibly the best thing that's ever happened to Nero.

- Mitis Forest
People wouldn't get the reference if they don't know me well, but my zodiac is Capricorn ie. the goat.

"It's like me always playing the 'Dante's immortal' card. People facepalm when I join a discussion because they know what I'm going to say, and they can't tell me I'm wrong either because I'm not."
"I'm not immortal," Dante said.
"Yea you are! Don't start with me!"

- Mission 666

 

[DragonMaster2010]

GUNS & CHAINSAWS (DmC: Devil may Cry X Lollipop Chainsaw)
Chapter 4
Juliet's old cheerleader teammate just slapped Juliet and continue.



"You…! W-What is this, Juliet?-! What the hell are you?-!" She yelled at Juliet. The other girls were also shocked by what this single girl was doing.

"W-What?-!" Juliet tried to explain as she reached a hand out, ""W-Wait a min- -!"

"Don't ****ing touch me!" The brunette girl yelled, "You…! You're nothing but a freak! You swing around that chainsaw like some psycho and expect us to be grateful!-? Are you retarded?-!

Juliet couldn't say a thing. She could only look to her feet in sadness and fidget with her chainsaw. "I-I just…I just wanted…to help…"

"Help?-! What help?-! The more you kill, the more zombies keep showing up! Don't you get it!-? It's your fault! If you would have just ran with us to safety, we wouldn't be in this bullshit! We'd be safe! But no, you had to play Ms. Wonder bitch and **** all that up for us!"

Juliet's eyes widened unbelief. Suddenly, the other girls also shared the brunette's face in anger for the pig tail blonde. Juliet felt as though she was getting beat mentally by the ones she once called friends. To think all that friend ship and trust could be broken so quickly. "I-I really…Just- -"

"Save it, Juliet!" Said another girl in the angry group.

"Yeah! It's all your fault!"

"And is that your boyfriends head?-! You should be ashamed!"

"And on your birthday too! How sad!"

Juliet wanted to try and explain, but couldn't say nothing…Because in a way…they were right. If Juliet wouldn't have fought, maybe things would have been different…maybe less zombies would be showing up at the school…Maybe she would still have her boyfriend Nick In one piece. She began to bow her head as tears slowly formed in her eyes. What was she to do? After all…it was in a way her fault. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and quickly raised her head to see Dante beside her.

"D-Dante?" Juliet said. Dante didn't say a word. However his expression told more words then he could say; He was ****ed. He simply tossed Nick in the air, where Juliet was able to catch him, as he walked up to the brunette and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt!

"Listen here you dumb bitch." Dante started with a quieter angry voice, to which it was raised as he continued, "This girl went through a lot of **** just to make sure you hoes don't get any more holes in you then you already have. She's gone through hell just to try and at least save those she cares about! Unlike you dumb broads; she's been fightin' this battle solely to make sure no other people have to die and get hurt! So unless you got some personal wish with death, then get the **** out of our way, and let. us do. what we were put on this hellhole of an Earth to do." He let go of her collar and then said, "Let's keep going Juliet."

 

[sylvanas]

"Smells like banana"
Not from any works but I say this now.

 

[DragonMaster2010]

Dante in Danten City

"Nephilim?" Panty questioned, "What the **** is that, and can it do anal?"

 

[AlastorSword]

Haha I have a story that I never finished but here's a quote that a friend of mine seems to really like.

Desmond: "So why exactly did you object yourself to that pile of garbage when your barricade is more comfortable?"
Oswald: "No cable!"
Desmond: "Figures"

and this one from the same two characters.

Oswald: "Well over here is where I stash all our weaponry."
*pulls out a suitcase*
Desmond: "?"
Oswald: "Say hello to The Dominate-or!" "The best of the best for melee combat!"
Desmond: "It just looks like any old bat...with a classy design, mind you."
Oswald: "Not quite!" "It's made of titanium and the base is wrapped in buckypaper." "It's light yet effective and if you press this button here..."
*presses button*
Oswald: "It sprouts spikes!"
Desmond: "Damn that's something"
Oswald: "Yep and I keep it next to a picture of my ex wife." "Sexy piece of ass right?"
Desmond: "Yeah."
Oswald: "...You know what I mean when I say that right?"
Desmond: "Of coure I do..."
*In unison that say*
Oswald/ Desmond: "I was talking about my ex." "You were talking about the bat."
Desmond: "..."
Oswald: "..."

 

[Dante's Stalker]

"I have a theory," Mikael said.
"What?" Joe asked.
"Dante is really Gintoki."
"Alright.... how would you come to that conclusion?"
"Gintoki likes sweet beans."
"And that relates to Dante how, exactly?"
"Beans make you fart."
"So Gintoki farts a lot?"
"Logically, yes."
"....you're saying Dante stinks, then?"
"No, I'm saying, I've figured out why the hell his coat is always randomly bellowing like a fudging gale force wind out behind him."

A skit where my twins are conversing over some pizza. :inlove: HAHAHAHAHA!