Log in

29 June 2009 @ 09:45 pm

A big problem.

And it's name is Zachary fucking Quinto.


Why does he get to be so damn cute?!

Current Location: ....Guess.
Current Music: I like the way you move - Bodyrockers
18 April 2009 @ 01:17 am

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. They belong to their owners......duh. I's a poor as a damn church mouse, I OWN NUTHIN'.

Please excuse any mistakes. I'm practically comatose. xD


Serenity had a kind of sound about her, somthin' special that nothin' else in the 'verse had. A soothing hum that soothed the busy minds of her crew to sleep, whisking them away to dreamland. Where Zoe could have Wash again, and where Kaylee and Simon didn't have to worry about being apart, even in their slumber. Hell, even Jayne was happy as he slept, though God knows what his mind sprung up for 'im.

Only two about that whole ship didn't get a peaceful sleep on Serenity; the only two that Serenity couldn't siren into unconciousness.

Captain Malcolm Reynolds instead, was lulled to sleep by exhaustion, and spent his nights dodging gunfire and listening to the pained screams of his fellow soldiers. He wasn't the Captain in those dreams; he was a Sergeant in the middle of the battle of Serenity Valley. His demons were stronger than most., and they kept him from a good night's sleep. Almost always.

River Tam, genius, psychotic, mind-reading extraordinaire, dreamt of metal. Cold metal with needles, and blue. Two by two, she dreamt of hands of Blue. There was no sound in her dreams, most of the time. They were mute, not silent, but dull and mute, as if she were under water and her head was full to the brim with it. She almost preferred the nightmares in which the Reavers stalked her; no, became her. She was a man-eating monster, she was a rapist, murder, innocent. Every urge and compulsion surged through her brain like wildfire and even woke her up, covered in a cold sweat.

It was times like these, that each of the two would seek peace about the ship. Never once did they run into each other (River was much to careful for that), always separated. Until tonight.

She was the one who sought him out, gliding slowly through the ship to the bridge, where the Captain sat in Wash's chair. His thoughts were as clear as the stars outside the ship, not quite the roar of the other's, but not quite the whisper of those long gone.

Mal's thoughts were low, just the perfect volume. They calmed her.

"Hey there, little one. What are you doin' up an' about at this time a night?" He wasn't angry or nervous. Just curious. She was grateful.

Her dark eyes considered him from behind her dark hair as she settled down into the co-pilot's seat.

"No night in space. No day in space. No day, no night. Just black. Always black, always room for tromping about in the mind. No peace."  Voice quiet and soft, she curled into the chair, knees to her chest.

Mal let out a short laugh. "I figure you and me got the same problem, darlin'. I-"

She cut him off. "Same problem, same remedy. They meet, cancel each other out. Peace."

River rose from her perch on the chair, and moved her way over to his seat, settling herself on his lap. As she suspected (hoped), he brooked no resistance, too startled to do much of anything. She settled quietly against him, curling into a small ball as she looked out at the black.

After a moment, his arms circled around her. Mal leaned back in the chair.

"That's the truth of it, ain't it mei mei? That's the truth of it."

They both slept peacefully that night, content in the melody that was Serenity.

Current Mood: sleepysleepy
22 February 2009 @ 07:48 pm
What movie, whether it was nominated by the Academy or not, gets your personal vote for Best Picture of 2008?
The Dark Knight, hands down.

The movie is possibly the best I have ever seen, and not just because of The Joker, though he's a large contributor.

Current Location: Watching the Oscars, duh.
Current Mood: ecstaticecstatic
20 February 2009 @ 03:34 pm

Homework, just for my reference.

Goodness this stuff is boring.

Economics Crossword puzzle
Sociology observations
Julius Caesar study questions

Tags: , ,
Current Music: Liberi Fatali - Final Fantasy something or other
20 January 2009 @ 04:32 pm


Current Location: DANCING!
17 January 2009 @ 11:34 pm
This layout turned out to be shit.

*goes to fix*

17 January 2009 @ 11:03 pm


Put your MP3 player on shuffle, and write down the first line of the first twenty songs. Post the poem that results. The first line of the twenty-first is the title.

I mean what can I say?

Sing a happy tune
You're keeping in step
Kiss a cop goin' downtown
TImes are strange
Black dress with the tights underneath
Now I will tell you what I've done for you
Oh, well imagine
Rage in the cage
They say "freak"
Is it still me that makes you sweat?
Sanctus Espiritus! redeem us from our solemn hour
Well it rains and it pours when you're out on your own
The hunger inside given to me
In the middle of a gunfight
Let's take a blast to the moon baby
The question asked in order
And I came here to make you dance tonight
Wake up
Is it simple enough for you?
I mean what can I say

Current Location: GAH!
Current Music: Boysboysboys - lady gaga
16 January 2009 @ 09:41 pm

Here's the short story I'm most likely going to use. It's very rough though.

The amount of metal in this city astounds me. I've never really noticed it before today; now that I had, it chokes me. Gagging silently I walk swiftly down the street, gripping the briefcase in my hand tightly while simultaneously loosening my tie. The day is gray and muggy, just the kind of day you'd expect to get a tragic phone call from a world-weary city cop. Well, someone was going to get that unfortunate little gift today.

My polished shoes clip quietly against the concrete as I move through the writhing crowds of people. The soft leather wallet I purchased two years ago is not in the pocket of my suit, but rather in my briefcase. Along with the various explosives and handgun I snatched off a street rat I gutted a week ago. I have a mission, and no pickpocket is going to deter me from today's one important errand.

I am going to kill my bank representative. I'm a fairly wealthy costumer, so they'e given me someone who will "take care of" me every time. Lucky freakin' me. That incompetent idiot has stuttered at me for the last time. His high, whiny voice along with his gaunt and bony face is just too much. For my life to go along smoothly, the idiot must be gone and a nice middle aged woman or old man needs to take his place. Maybe now I can sleep peacefully at night without fantasies of gutting his twiggy little body. Have I mentioned how much I hate the little bastard?

I think maybe I should explain myself a bit. My name is William Sunderland. I am twenty five years old, and I am a lawyer. I live in Chicago. Crime is so abundant here, it's less interesting than the evening traffic report. Murder, rape, arson; none of it surprises anyone. Dozens of people could string themselves from the bridge to make a statement, and not a one person would give a rip. This is how desensitized this city has become.

My weekly escapades are just apart of the evening news here. And one more bank representative is not going grab the attention of this city. But maybe destroying the biggest bank on the west side might. I have no intentions of being caught in the explosion of course; I think I may have left the stove on at home and I've only just put in a new couch from that catalog Whitney gave me. No. I have many other things to do before I die.

But being stuck in a prison cell isn't one of them, so I will have to work fast. I can see the bank now as it looms over the street, one big pressure pushing on everyone who walks below it.

"Pay your bills, give us money, and please god don't let them look too closely at our books."

Oh yes. My bank was corrupt as hell. Mob dealings and inside jobs. Why I chose this bank I have not a damn clue, but whatever. It will serve it's purpose. I sigh and lean against the brick wall of a Starbucks before I cross the street. Is that little moron really worth all this trouble? This is the last of my explosives, and I'll be hard pressed to find the junkie I bought this batch off of. I ponder this for at least ten minutes, earning odd looks by passing disaffected college students, and stuck up women with large shopping bags. A swift glare and a small snarl sends them scurrying away.

I finally decide to go along with my plan, because really I've already wasted so much time. I'd be foolish to just duck out now. Plus, this was on my way to the theater. A new horror movie has come out and it looks relatively interesting. Mumbling to myself, I cross the street and ignore the myriad of honks mixed with obscenities aimed at me; God I love mid-morning traffic. The guard at the front door smiles at me out of recognition and I smile back, but out of humor. The thought that this man's corrupted ass will be strung across the sidewalk in twenty minutes cheers me up.

The familiar smell of paper and sense of irritation calms my jittery stomach and I stride confidently across the marble floor to one of the front desks. Don't misunderstand me; I'm not nervous. I'm simply anxious about making the two o' clock showing of that movie. My mouth twists in distaste at the thought of missing it. I walk up to the desk and calmly request to see Drew Blake, my bank represe-whosiwhateverhe'scalled. The woman at the desk smiles at me and points me in the direction of his office and I grimace. She has cofee breath. I thank her, getting the words out while managing not to breath in. She doesn't notice.

Drew sees me coming through the doorway of his perpetually open door, honestly I've never seen the door shut, and pales a little. I intimidate him. But that's not why he's scared. I see a woman in front of him, but she does not see me. Before I can move, she snaps the door closed. Drew's office is away from the others, so I am the only one in the entire bank who hears his muffled screams, and the various thumps that I can only acredit to a falling body. A bit irritated that someone got there before I did, I sit down in a chair, looking every part the pissed off customer. Ten minutes later, the woman walks out, and jumps when she sees me. By now I am seething.

But then I see her hands. There is not a speck of blood on them. Her shoes however, are a different matter. The whole heel of each of stillettos are soaked in blood. I blink in confusion before smiling at her, and in the reflection of the window behind her, I can see that I look insane. After a moment, she reflects a similiar look. Without a word, she walks out of the bank. I sigh and enter Drew's office, carefully stepping over the pool of blood that is quickly spreading across the plush carpet. Closing the door behind me, I stick my hands in my pockets and observe the corpse below me.

"Well, damn," is all I can say. The woman has nicely left him partially alive.

For him to suffer, I can imagine. He'll have to suffer a bit longer, I'm afraid. I set down my briefcase and start to whistle some Johnny Cash song, pulling out a small knife and a lighter. I can feel Drew's eyes on me as he tries to gurgle some useless comment at me; I ignore him and do a little jig over to him, caught up in my own whistling. I laugh above Drew at the look of sheer panic in his eyes; he has no idea what he's in for.

Ten minutes and a lot of muffled screaming later, my bank representative is dead and my suit is a bit wrinkled. Being hunched over for ten minutes really does a number on your back. I sigh in content and wipe off my knife, whistling a nameless tune now. Killing someone really can brighten your day, if you do it right. I avoid the pools of blood and open my briefcase, fiddling with it until everything is set. I straighten my tie and look at my watch, walking out of the office and leaving the door open. I ignore the shouts and screams behind me as I exit the bank; I guess Drew was a litte more important than I originally thought. Oh well. One less person breathing this disgusting air.

I can hear a guard shouting into his walkie talkie, but he's cut off as I reach the other side of the street and push the button on the crude detonator. A rush of heat assaults my back and I can feel the hairs on the back of me neck singe. Debris is flung everywhere, and I realize that the woman kindly left her own device in the room as well; just my briefcase couldn't have done that much damage. I smile to myself and continue down the street. There is a moment of collective silence, then the screams erupt. Already I can hear sirens from across town. Unlucky bastards. They won't find a scrap of evidence, or a witness to interrogate.

I check my watch again and sigh in irritation. The movie has already started. A flare of rage boils in my ribcage and just at that moment, I walk past a man talking on a cell phone. In a flash of insanity, I realize something. I will kill this man. Why? No reason. No reason except that his tie is horrid, his lazy eye disturbs me, and his haircut is unflattering. I smile toothily and carefully reach into my pocket for the spare knife I have concealed.

What day. What a great freaking day.


Current Location: BAH!
Current Music: Boysboysboys - Lady gaga
16 January 2009 @ 06:53 pm

If you've been redirected here from NEOPETS (laugh. Go ahead.), don't read anything old. They are crap. :o


Yeah so basically, here's what we have to do for our final:

One pantoum

One free write poem

One art form with a poem integrated into it.

One project of your choice.

And they all have to be around one theme. I chose Insanity, as mine.

Here's my pantoum, and my free write.Critsize away.


A virgin to the sight of blood
Little girl in a big room
A stranger in a dark place, she's unwanted
Witness to a nightmare

Little girl in a big room
The laughter is too hysterical
Witness to a nightmare
She's in a smaller, softer room now

The laughter is too hysterical
Hours in a red universe
She's in a smaller, softer room now
Sedation flies her through each day

Hours in a red universe
A stranger in a dark place, she's unwanted
Sedation flies her through each day
A virgin to the sight of blood.

Aaaaaand, my free write:

The patient giggles
"Medicine maaaan,"
The Doctor shudders
And the walls watch in silence
The patient sighs
The Doctor is gone
And the walls fall to slumber
The patient gasps
Death is here
A gentleman in the corner
And the walls are not disturbed
The patient smiles
in recognition
Her best friend has arrived
Past the guards, past the alarms
and past the watchful walls
The patient giggles
"Death, you tricky bastard."
Current Music: Boysboysboys - Lady Gaga
14 January 2009 @ 07:47 pm
Here ya go!

Idlewild by Nick Sagan

Choke by Chuck Palahniuk

Survivor by Chuck Palahniuk

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

Johnny the Homicidal Maniac volumes 1-7 and the Directors Cut by Jhonen Vasquez

I feel sick by Jhonen Vasquez

Sandman by Neil Gaiman

City of Bones and City of Ashes by Clarissa Clare

American Psycho by Ellis (I dunno his first name)

Tithe by Holly Black

Valiant by Holly Black

Ironside (sequel to Tithe) by Holly Black