Commentaires de livres faits par JustPaulInHere
Extraits de livres par JustPaulInHere
Commentaires de livres appréciés par JustPaulInHere
Extraits de livres appréciés par JustPaulInHere
Marie tuts and waves him back. “Now, wait a minute. He said he was making an important phone call. You don’t want to interrupt Seth when he’s on the phone!” She chuckles, and a few people nearby laugh uncomfortably. “Have a seat, dear. He’ll be out soon.”
There’s really nowhere to sit except at a chair across from Marie’s desk, like he’s settling in for a consultation. Kieran sits, unwillingly. He’s hoping Marie will go back to work and let him fade into the background, but she keeps watching him. He smiles vaguely and averts his eyes.
She leans forward anyway, clearly intent on engaging him. “Kieran, you are the administrative intern, aren’t you?”
“That’s me.”
“Oh, that’s so funny.” Marie beams. “Marcus thought you were a boy.” She winks, like they’re sharing a joke. When Kieran stiffens and stares at her, the smile slowly slides off her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it was just a mistake—”
“He wasn’t wrong,” Kieran snaps.
He waits for some kind of clarity to dawn on Marie, but she just looks more and more confused. He feels himself blushing. “I’m a guy,” he says, loudly. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry,” Marie repeats, bafflement written all over her face. She’s studying him like she just can’t make the pieces fit.
Kieran grips his knees. Trust Marcus to promise him a trans-friendly workplace and not even bother to find out if anyone around him is trans-friendly.
“It’s your hair,” Marie says finally, with hopeful satisfaction. “I’m just not used to seeing such long hair on boys—”
“Yeah. I get it.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounds sharp and mean. Kieran can feel people turning to look at them, probably as bewildered as Marie, and he suddenly needs to get out of the room. He can’t handle the mystified stares or the inevitable questions that come any time he tries to say who he is.
En somme : l’écriture, ça ne s’apprend pas. Tu l’as, ou tu ne l’as pas.
C’est dommage, parce que j’en suis un vivant contre-exemple.
It recoiled and hissed: Oh - shit - shit - shit - shit - shit - shit.
Shulgi hefted his flail in one hand and his scythe in the other. He knew his duty better than anyone other than the gods. Kings were made for killing monsters.
Jack flips a switch off in the locker room so that only the lights in the showers are on.
“Having sex in here?” Jack asks. He watches Bittle’s bare feet step towards him. “Why would I?”
“Because. It’s a trope,” says Bittle.
D'après les forums, Festia grouille de monde. Logiquement... ce sera bientôt pareil ici.
Épopée du Lapin Vorlapin
Quand l'âme de l'ère des Dieux vacillera, le lapin son épopée racontera.
Niveau recommandé : 80
Un jour, Papa Taupe finit même par lui dire :
"Arrête, Mirette ! Tu nous fatigues..."
This is okay. She’d taken every precaution. Reagan had been careful, anyway, for months—and then she’d practically sealed her little house off for two weeks so she could be here. She hadn’t even opened her mail.
I’m leaving.
I say the second part in case my brother forgot
because recently,
he’s been forgetting a lot of things,
to come home for dinner,
to pick up the phone when we call,
to let us know that he’s okay.
I see Issa’s smile falter a little
and somehow this makes me happy,
a little.
Aren’t you going to miss me? I ask.
He pulls me close,
and whispers, Akeed.
But you’re going to have so much fun in America.
It’s going to be an adventure.
He must be able to tell I’m about to argue with him
Because he kisses the top of my head.
Then he brings his face close to mine
and whispers in my ear,
Be brave.
My knees lock and I am about to tell him
I don’t know how to do that.
But then I see Baba embracing Mama.
He is gently patting her stomach
and I have never seen Baba look so
proud and so worried all at the same time.
And that’s when I realize I don’t have a choice.
I’m going to have to learn how to be brave.
We’re all going to have to learn.
Names.
She is all the horses of Iceland.
“I don’t know. The studio is never this quiet.” Morgan pulls out her phone, all of the messages that she missed during rehearsal popping up. “Holy—”
A scream interrupts her, filling the studio, and I jerk at the suddenness. The shrill tone makes me tense up, and the person next to me breaks into sobs. One of the dancers in my class, Lydia, runs down the hallway yelling that someone bombed a metro station near the Capitol.
“And you’re going to be great,” Morgan says as she throws her sweatpants on over her tights.