Share your favorite posts!

[Josie 198]

Share a favorite post of yours! One you've written, of course!

 

Here's one of mine! It was the last post of a thread between two old friends who had been recently united.

 

They shared their tea in silence, struggling to crawl back into the memory of a time when this was almost comfortable and fearing that the path had been forever lost, erased as footprints in the sand in the wake of a rising tide.

[Josie 198]

Quote

He watched her impassively from the doorway, and was silent a moment.

Then he raised his chin a little.

"In future I would recommend you keep your mouth shut on matters you're ignorant of; your wretched bleating is both unseemly and ineffective, and one day you might cross someone with far more time to correct you than I."

He stepped back, the door closing. 

"Enjoy lyrium withdrawal."

The door clicked shut with a neat snap.

 

[Josie 198]

Quote

They kissed to the tune of a moody autumn rain and distant rolling thunder until the dream faded away, leaving behind only the memory of each other’s breath, the warmth of their tired bodies, and the weight of their terrible, poisonous love.

 

[SusieQ 0]

Quote

He fought to keep him alive. It was the right thing to do. It was what Nye told himself had to be done. He kept him alive.

There was nightmares. Of course there were. Restless, unhealing sleep. Someone eventually reminded him about the dagger. Nye took care of it, but he didn't sleep. 

Anerian took his friend's hand. When no one was looking Nye buried it under the snow. 

The fever and blood loss had been the hardest thing to deal with. Nye couldn't do that - he wasn't skilled enough at healing. What little lyrium was left the templars had taken. Then THAT fever was even harder to deal with. 

Nye didn't even notice the shit. He only wanted Ganon awake. 

He told him about the time he lost Noodles. How he'd found him in the chandelier in the hall. He was pretty certain Ganon wouldn't remember that, and he'd have to tell him again another time. 


Nye'd noticed the smell, but he was too afraid to ask. 

Awake, but lost to him anyway. 

But he couldn't give up. 

"Anerian. You have to take my leg."

...

"I know." 

He wouldn't give up.

 

[Josie 198]

Quote

"When I let the cook in, they complained about bringing in another mouth to feed. I told them that's fuckin' fine. Just to throw you out into the snow instead, if they're so concerned about the numbers."

 

[Josie 198]

“Do you have to live in a castle?” he asked with a hint of exasperation in his tone, and then said quickly after: “Nevermind, don’t answer that. I heard how stupid the question was as soon as it left my mouth.”

[Hardy 0]

Quote

Homeless shelters were nothing but big boxes where they squeezed a mixture of needy vagrants in with a bunch of brutal thugs. A person was walking on water if they got away without being beaten, robbed, doped, or sexually assaulted in one of these places. It was bad enough for a guy like Sidney to deal with, and he could only sympathetically imagine what it could be like for women. Normal folks shook their heads some more and marveled at the number of people on the streets. They sure wouldn't if they were forced to spend a night at one of these shelters.

 

[kaydrew 7]

This was for a thread on Tumblr and I'm pretty pleased with it:

 

 

Quote

 

The war was long and brutal. Neal found himself in the heat of the battle when he returned to Mist Haven. He’d lived in Neverland for over a century and once he escaped he found himself in New York.

There he met a woman, Tamara. They got engaged and he thought life was good. He thought they were happy, but it hadn’t worked out. Tamara was not who he thought. His fiancé had opened the portal and pushed him through it. She promised him that she was doing his father’s bidding and he’d be thrilled to see him. Neal had expected to come face to face with his father once he fell through that portal. But, that wasn’t the case. He found himself face-to-face with the Princess Emma of Mist Haven. They fell in love, they married, and before he knew it he found himself torn from her side by the family fueled driven war.

During the final battle, he and several men were taken captive by a third party – Zelena. He’d been thrown into a dark, dank cell. For fifteen years he was held there, withstanding hours of torture and watching good men die, but he never revealed any truths. Neal just waited for the perfect moment to flee.

He found it a month before Emma’s birthday. He’d been brought out to be used for a fighting dummy. Zelena’s flying monkey’s practiced sword play, footwork, and the deftest way to snatch people. He was pretty sure he’d have nightmares of diving flying monkeys for years to come. During one of those snatch and grabs, he’d worked himself out of his tattered cape. He’d fallen to the ground and went running without looking back.

On her birthday, he managed to find the Charming castle. He was hurt, exhausted, and thirsty, but he didn’t stop. Limping up the stairs, he pushed passed the guards. Everyone stared. He ignored it.

“Emma.”  

 

 

[Puffin 2]

I'm such a numpty...

 

Quote

Goodbyes were inevitable, whether the partings that followed were mercifully brief or painful in their permanence.  Kvasir had bade farewell to people and places alike on so many occasions that it wasn’t often a casual severance was accompanied by a bitter sting, yet something wrenched painfully inside him to depart from Kophas and Fritz.  Something that felt like guilt and tasted like remorse.  He had stepped forward, hooking his good arm around the younger lad’s neck, tugging him close enough that they were temple to temple.  It was as much of an embrace as he could manage, between his sling-bound arm and Fritz’s lacerated back.  Breaking away, suppressing the shudder that even now stubbornly protested contact, he had offered Kophas his closed fist.  A moment of hesitation, then knuckles rapped against his own.
 
Sometimes having no voice – or one not worth hearing, at least – was a blessing.

His path took him through streets he had come to know well, the exile walking hurriedly but mindfully, fearful a passer-by would clip his injured elbow.  The closer he got to his destination, the faster and more reckless his gait became, until he turned the last corner and broke into a tentative jog.  Running proved difficult, between his newly re-broken arm and the weariness in his legs.  Weeks, he had been gone for weeks, though surely Rian and Líknví knew that he would never leave them of his own volition.  If he ever failed to return, it would be because he couldn’t.  And the only way he couldn’t would be if he was either imprisoned or dead.  Maker, they must have been eaten up with worry.

His feverish knock on the familiar door went unanswered, Kvasir’s heart sinking to his mud-splattered boots.  Rian wasn’t home, and that meant he wasn’t home.  Not yet.  He wouldn’t be, couldn’t be, until they were reunited.  Luckily, the green-eyed lass had entrusted him with a key – he had been unspeakably touched by that gesture – which was tucked carefully into his right vambrace, having survived the horrors of their incarceration unscathed.  Its usual spot was in his left guard, but that been removed to make way for the cast and was now safely nestled in the bag slung over his good shoulder.  The makeshift backpack was a saddlebag, plucked from Ecru’s wide-eyed and stiff remains as he and Fritz stumbled towards Bree in their desperate bid for freedom.

Teasing the key from its leather confines was an ordeal, Kvasir’s tongue straining in an effort to poke from between his lips as he fumbled with his clumsy, splinted fingers.  Its silver surface glinted tantalisingly and, when at last he had worked it free, it quickly slipped from his shaking hands, seeming to tinkle with laughter as it bounced harmlessly on the ground.  For a long moment Kvasir stared, swallowing down a frustrated and overtired sob.  Hissing through his teeth, he bent to retrieve it.  Stars exploded in front of his eyes when he straightened, forcing him to splay his uninjured hand on Rian’s door and steady himself.  A deep breath later, the key was rattling into the lock.  Then, at last, the door swung open.

Boots were pulled off by catching the heel of one with the toe of the other.  The saddlebag was dumped unceremoniously.  His cloak – still marked with Fritz’s blood, the stains refusing to lift with river water alone – was hung on a hook.  Perhaps it was instinct or sheer force of habit that saw him drift over to the stone cold hearth, as though the memory of flames would be enough to warm him.  Distantly, he considered lighting the fire so he could boil water for tea but for a menial task it seemed arduous to the point of being unconquerable.  Instead Kvasir eyed the bed, tucked into an alcove in the corner furthest from the door.  It beckoned him.  Yet even with his upbringing, with women and children sleeping wherever they were able to find a space, sometimes squished flush together on beds that groaned under their combined weight, it felt like something of a violation to take Rian’s without her knowing.

Peeling back the covers, the exile sat a moment on its edge, debating inwardly with himself.  He was exhausted, and surely Ri wouldn’t mind.  He would rest, but not sleep.  Maybe they could grab a bite to eat together, and then he would go to see his little Dove – just as soon as the colour that had been washed out of his cheeks returned, his complexion made pale when Óin carefully cracked and reset bones that were only just beginning to knit together.  Truthfully, Kvasir didn’t want to worry Líknví needlessly, though he knew from experience that she made an attentive and diligent nurse.  

Just as Rian was the only one made to endure his voice, now she would be the one to weather his suffering.  And not for the first time, Kvasir realised with a pang of regret.  It seemed that blessings and curses could walk hand-in-hand.

At last he lay down, awkwardly tugging up the blanket to cover him.  Although he would sooner lie on his side, it seemed a difficult feat to accomplish, and it was testimony to how safe he felt that he did not hide his face in the crux of his elbow as he normally would.  Blue eyes focused on the ceiling for moments that felt long but were in fact short, before fluttering closed.  As his breathing slowed and grew steady, his uninjured hand shifted upwards, fingers creeping beneath the rim of the woollen hat he wore, searching fruitlessly for hair to bury themselves in.  Even on the cusp of surrendering to slumber, Kvasir sighed.

I won’t sleep.

Kvasir slept. 

Edited December 13, 2016 by Ulmo

[Lady Isadorabelle 8]

I really, truly love this character. She's a hoot.

Quote

Watching Red secure the door, Masquerade turned her gaze around the rooftop. So this was where they called the Batman for help. No wonder he had such an ego; they had a giant light that shot a beam into the sky to summon him. Hadn’t he heard of a cell phone or pager? No, the whole world had to know that Gotham needed some man running around in a costume. The idea made her wish that the vigilante was in front of her now so she could tear him apart. Gotham was theirs. He had no right, none at all. Masquerade’s fuller, black colored lips curled up as she thought about it.

It was the sound of Red’s question that drew her attention and she looked at her, the wild crazy grin in place. Walking to her, she leaned in close to her sister’s ear. “Call me Masquerade now.” It felt like this was a point of no return, no more hiding. And, in a way it was because her secret was out, but only to her sibling. She just had to trust her not to sell her out to Indian Hill, and she didn’t think she would. Walking over to a nearby wall, she looked around and pulled the power from the bat signal.

Masquerade proclaimed “Safety first-!” in a sing along voice before dropping the heavy duty cable and walking to their bag of toys. Rooting around, she pulled out the headgear and, giggling, got the blow torch.

“Let’s start by getting the bat off.” She started really laughing at the double meaning as she put the welder’s mask down. She didn’t think Batman would be ‘getting off’ to what they were going to do to his precious public beeper.

 

[Josie 198]

Quote

An absence of wolves in the forest causes more noticeable change to the environment than does their presence. Illness is allowed to run rampant. The forest overgrows. Salvation can only be found in fire. In ashes, and total devastation.

So it was in the waking world. The Fade- almost its mirror but not quite- was little different.

A creature born of fog moved through it, drinking in fear and exhaling confidence. Its presence brought a change, altered the texture of the dreamscape to something with more grit and color. Yet the dream became no kinder for the horned figure's interference. Only. . . still.

Its gait was a strange swagger, one foot placed directly in front of the other. It moved around the dreamer in a quarter of a circle, and though its eyes could not be seen through the mist there was no mistaking that they were watching. Eventually the shape broke through the line and became an elf, an elf who shrugged the eager shadows from his shoulders like an unneeded cloak. His expression was impassive, though the set of his brow suggested he was a man of deep and disturbed thought.

With his steely grey stare set upon the young woman, Fen'Harel continued moving in his circle without a hitch. Even here he had his staff, but it seemed an accessory for walking more than a weapon, a lifeline.

"She has many names," he stated this as a hard fact, attention never wavering.

"But I've yet to hear that one."

 

[Josie 198]

He shrugged indifferently, and then realized that Lane wouldn't have been able to see.

 

There was a quick frown.

 

And then, smiling, he clicked the talk button on the walkie and said helpfully: "I'm shrugging indifferently."

[Josie 198]

For some, the world ended in early August. The cataclysm began in Florida and beat back every attempt to stop it, spreading in all directions until it had- so far as anyone in the Americas knew- consumed everything. It left cities in stoic ruins, families broken, and made existence a game which only the most stubborn, resourceful, and lucky (or, perhaps, unfortunate) continued to play. For them the world dies a little slower, and its dangers grow with each passing day.

 

Night is when it’s worst. And night comes now to the northern state of Maine, at the tail-end of a furious spring storm which lurks gray and heavy on the horizon over a wooded area gone silent with uneasy anticipation.

 

---

 

The ground was still covered in dead leaves, made soggy by recently-melted snow. They squelched quietly underfoot as he made his purposeful way through the woods, but the biting wind caught the sounds of his journeying and whipped them away into oblivion as easily as it cut through his tired clothes and bones.

 

If the traveler was bothered by the chill, he did not show it. In fact, the only thing he advertised was the fact he was alone and his desire to stay that way. The former was subtly apparent in the way his gaunt eyes moved- with a calm so perfect he couldn’t have been missing, or expecting, anybody. The latter was far more obvious, thanks to the long rifle slung over his shoulder. It seemed out of place with the rest of his belongings in a way that suggested it hadn’t originally belonged to him. Where his pack and the attached bedroll were neatly-kept, every utility on his belt positioned precisely and well-cleaned, the gun was banged up, dusty, dented. Almost an abandoned dog it seemed, nursed back to health.

 

On his left shoulder was strapped a navy blue walkie talkie. It was a few steps above the cheap garbage one might find in the kid’s section of a store. In these conditions, its range would not be more than a few miles.

 

It made a garbled sound.

Pausing, his dark eyes swiveled again through the dim surroundings to check that they remained clear. Then he turned his cheek a little towards the device and carefully turned the dial on it, listening.

[CovertSphinx 710]

Quote

Skie crossed her arms over her chest. Pointedly. "And how does one GET important? By having an advantage that the rest of the team can't do without. Odyssey picked you to defend Vesta, and all you can do is wallow in your depressing self pity that you're just a punching bag. Wanna know WHY yer a punching bag? BECAUSE YOU SHOW NO EFFORT IN DOING ANYTHING OTHER THAN WHINE AND COMPLAIN. And ya know what whining, complaining, and running away from your duties means? Means you're a useless lump of coal, an embarrassment to your dragon partner, and an embarrassment to Odyssey. You're useless because YOU MAKE YOURSELF USELESS." 

This time Skie raised a foot and made to slam it into his back so that his face hit the pavement this time. And held it there. Forcefully. "I'll tell you what, I'll make ya a deal. Fight me, one on one. Well, three on one for yer case. No copying my powers, you use your damned own abilities. Ya know what? dhat's another problem you have, Maggot. You keep copying abilities from others, butcha never work on them and harness them as yer own. So fight me. Whatever you have, without copying meh shit -Cuz I do it betteh anehway-, and if you beat me I'll letcha go without further question. Free from my instruction, free from Vesta's service (and by extension Komaki's). However, if you loose, you're mine. You'll do everything I say without question, like a good soldier in boot camp. Because I'm going to make sure you get dhe kick in deh ass you need to make something of yourself Boy." 

The imp grinned, got off, and a moment later was in front of him again. Placing herself at eye level. "So what doya say? Do we have a deal?"

 

[Penny 27]

Okay so two things

 

Quote

Jenny finally looked to him, and all was quiet for a moment. "I promise... I promise I won't see that when I see you." He felt his voice being swallowed down, and he took Jenny's hand back to kiss it again after he squeezed it back. "I'll see you for you. Nothing else. I don't have a right to think of you as anything other than who you are at this exact moment." If he did, they'd have to do that together. He didn't want that to happen.

 

(My favorite quote - my best friend and I reference it a lot!)

 

And my favorite overall post:

 

Quote

Nagito honestly couldn't tell he was dreaming at first. His mind was drifting off, but it wasn't doing anything too exciting - he was still breathing in Jenny's scent, still clinging to his shirt and lying against him. It was.... lucid, to say the least. If he wasn't asleep, he was definitely in a deep trance.

Even his thoughts decided to give him a break. Everything was perfectly still and silent - it was the beach he kept trying to make himself think about, even if...

...No, they were there now. It was vivid and beautiful - the grey sky he normally saw was replaced with blue, and straw thatches lined up just past the shore. The waves lapped at their feet, and seagulls guffawed in the distance.

In his dream, he sat up, arms wrapped tightly around his fiance, beaming up at him as their clothes changed. Jenny wore red, like he always did in his head, a short-sleeved rash guard that started to roll up his stomach, and baggy shorts to boot. Nagito wore tight blue shorts and a loose fitting pink tank top - comfortable. His hair was long and thick and pinned back, and Jenny's was done just right for him to see his face and look him in the eye under his glasses - there weren't any glares from the sun, despite it being directly in front of them.

Jenny's words from real life floated in, but he only half realized it, like they were talking through the door. He just held his dream fiance, and laid back in the sand.

When Jenny began to sing, Nagito turned into him, entirely content with Jenny's arm wrapped around him, the dementor doll tucked against his chest. His free arm reached for him, and rested onto Jenny's ribcage under the blankets. His lips moved slightly, but if anything, Jenny would just be able to see him smile.

In the dream world, he could hear him tell him, "Aishiteru."