thuviaptarth: golden thuvia with six-legged lion (Default)
thuvia ptarth ([personal profile] thuviaptarth) wrote2008-04-18 03:14 pm
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Today I managed to hit some keys that rotated my screen layout 180 degrees and could not figure out to fix it without consulting technical support.

It's not my best day ever, is what I'm saying.

So please meme:

Quote a bit of my writing at me. Find that one story of mine that you really like, and find a sentence or a paragraph that presses your prose-buttons in the right way, and comment here with it.

[identity profile] nestra.livejournal.com 2008-04-18 07:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Hisoka never knew, never knew before, how much the paper must love the pen. -- Rewritten on the Body (http://melymbrosia.gatefiction.com/drabbles/ynm.html#rewritten)
ext_1310: (Default)

[identity profile] musesfool.livejournal.com 2008-04-18 07:37 pm (UTC)(link)
The whole of "Sleep for Grief," really, but this especially:

There's a heap of burning books. There's scraps of burnt parchment blowing like tumbleweed. There's posters, Xeroxed posters, blowing past too, color copies of smiling faces and names and He worked for Cantor-Fitzgerald on the 103rd floor, please call (718) 555-4550 if you see him. There's a building ahead of you, its windows smashed and its roof burning, and you know that it's a library, and that there's nothing you can do to save it.

It just made me tear up again at my desk.

[identity profile] yhlee.livejournal.com 2008-04-18 10:35 pm (UTC)(link)
Two, because I must:
This is the shape of the universe: there are seven heavens and seven hells and between them is Assiah, the material world. In the books of Heaven, artists represent Assiah as a sphere and the heavens and hells as flat circles above and below it, growing larger as they move farther away from Assiah. Draw a curve through the circles, and then another going opposite, and you have a double-helix.

(In the books of Hell, it says the universe has a different shape; but who would believe the scholars of Hell over the sages of Heaven?)

from "The Language of Angels"

and the end of "Stories Darkness Tells You":
He dreams what I whisper in his ear, I who have known gods and demons and slayers and wizards and priests; I who was there before the darkness and the light; I who once ruled this world, whose breath was terror and whose glance was death. I was here before you, Melaka Fray, before any of you, before fools trapped a fragment of my power and bound it to the first slayer's bones, before the first lurk woke in its grave and discovered it hungered for human blood. I know your brother's memories and sometimes when you think you're dreaming of him, it's me who's smiling at you with your brother's mouth and speaking to you in your brother's voice. I know all the dreams slayers once dreamed and I know the last words each one spoke before she died. I walk, I talk, I'm the fire in the dry grass when there's no hope for rain. I'm the reason you breathe and the reason you fight and the reason the first slayer was ever made; and I'm waiting for you, Melaka Fray, across the abyss that separates your world from hell, and one day soon I'll come for you; over a bridge of bones and sea of blood, for you and everything you love I'll come.

And the one you wrote for my birthday, and...and...

[identity profile] hossgal.livejournal.com 2008-04-19 01:43 am (UTC)(link)
The third week, she stopped braiding her hair.

Which, you know, I can quote from memory.

And this one:

He may be impatient, may not: Sam never could make out his father's tells.

- hg
cofax7: climbing on an abbey wall  (Default)

[personal profile] cofax7 2008-04-20 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
In the hospital, over their father's body, Dean had leaned on Sam for a moment, not even leaned, brushed up against him, shoulder dipping to meet shoulder; and Sam had borne a fraction of his weight for a moment, just a moment, before Dean moved away.

Yeah, that there. Yup.

{{hugs you}}

[identity profile] eileenlufkin.livejournal.com 2008-04-26 07:07 pm (UTC)(link)
He braces himself there with his hands on the sill, looking out at nothing a while, scrubby backlot pines that may even make a decent windbreak in thirty years. He breathes deep, breathes in the air coming down from the north cold and impossibly clean, like it's rushing down from some better world, some brighter country they can get to, if they just get in the car and drive.