Trapped - Ch 2 - A Firefly Fic"Is she in your way, Kaylee? Is she botherin' you? I don't want you distracted when our lives are on the line here, and if she's distractin' you, I'd be more'n happy to get her out of the way, 'cause"Trapped - Ch 2 - A Firefly Fic6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"Jayne," Kaylee interrupted, not moving her eyes from the engine in front of her, one hand busily working a wrench.
"Yeah?" Jayne said. His hands were hovering near his hip holsters, as though he suspected something would jump out and shoot at them. It was a nervous habit, and Kaylee knew it.
"Shut up," Kaylee said kindly.
With a huff, Jayne turned around and started pacing. He glanced out the engine room doors and then turned back toward the girls.
"C'mon, Kaylee, can't I just lock you two in here for safekeepin' and go out and help 'em? Vera's itching for some action."
"You heard the Cap'n, Jayne, he wanted you to stay here. Anyway, we need your strong, manly protection." River's mouth twitched into a half smile at this little jab, but Jayne seemed to think Kaylee was bein
Yours and MineWe never got those towels his and hers. Those matching pajamas. Our pillows didnt even match, which I know irked you. Sometimes I wonder if you woke up every morning and immediately felt cross because of my pillow, and yours. Yours and mine.Yours and Mine6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
But if you did, you never showed it. You woke me with a kiss and a smile more radiant than the sunrise that we never saw, nestled deeply as we were in the jungle of apartment buildings. Perhaps, then, you were cross about many things. The way I never put away my shoes, so you always were tripping over them; the way I didnt replace the toilet paper when we ran out; the way I wouldnt write mustard on the grocery list when I used the last of it. If it bothered you, you never said it. I had my flaws, and you had yours. Yours and mine.
I suppose its best we didnt get those towels, those pajamas, matching pillows. Even now little things remind me of you, things that didnt used to have any
ClockworkWe started like clockwork.Clockwork5 years ago in Scraps More Like This
We met and everything fell into place. Being in your arms was so easy, and I fit so neatly into the curve of your body. Our lips were magnetic. We disgusted friends and family with the violence of our happiness. Everything was paced as though a mathematician had planned our romance: week after week, month after month, the pinpoints of our love fell as neatly as the marks on a timeline. We meshed like the gears in a watch, moving in harmony, driving onward steadily and beautifully, rhythmically. We came together like a smoothly oiled machine.
We were perfect.
I think perhaps it was that immediate perfection that doomed us. For how long can two people last, so ardently in love? We burnt ourselves out, and by the time wed cemented that perfection into the most immovable of rapports, we had trapped ourselves in it.
We ended like clockwork.
There was a time for us to be together, and a time to be apart. That time came as evenly and as predictably as
Love IsLove has been compared to so many things, and so confidently. Love is like wildflowers, people say. Love is like a hurricane. Love is like a heat wave. Love is like quicksilver in the hand, Love is like luck. It seems so arrogant to believe that just because you label it that way, it is so for everyone.Love Is5 years ago in Scraps More Like This
Our love is not a hurricane, our love is not luck. For us, or perhaps even only for me, our love is like balloons. Brightly colored, fiercely joyful things party balloons, buoyant and barely restrained, a shock of color in the grey landscape of the sky. Our love is that beautiful, charming, childish expression of glee and celebration. Yes, our love is like balloons.
Our love is not wildflowers, our love is not quicksilver. I fear that our love is like balloons. A moment of joy, a moment of exquisite happiness a moment so temporary, so achingly temporary. A thorn, a tree branch, a pin, a brush against sun-heated me
Your MoveAll Im saying, she frowned, uncrossing and recrossing her legs under the table, is that he shouldve been a man about it. I dont see why he couldnt say it to my face. You just dont do that sort of thing over the phone. Not after eight months! Rook to C8.Your Move6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
He nodded, readjusting his glasses as shed found that he was apt to do when shed made a move he didnt expect. That does seem really cheap, he admitted, peering down at the board like an old man. Did he give you a reason at all? Rook to C1.
She let out a huffy breath and tossed one of her long braids over her shoulder, immediately drawing it back to run her hands over while she thought. Yes. Her hand fluttered over her rook for a moment before she drew it back, eyes darting around the board as she guessed at the succession of moves that would follow that choice. He said she trailed off, tightening her lips and gra
Bite MeBite Me: An Analysis of the Myth of Woman in Stephenie Meyer's TwilightBite Me4 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Since being published in 2005, Stephenie Meyer's Twilight has gone from just another young adult fantasy novel to a cult phenomenon that has gripped millions of readers of all ages. When a piece of literature becomes as widespread as Twilight, it becomes especially important to examine the messages it is sending to its readers many of whom, in Twilight's case, are impressionable young women. By applying a feminist lens to the novel and examining it in terms of Simone de Beauvoir's myth of woman, it is revealed that Twilight is a hotbed of antifeminist sentiment, from the skewed balance of power to the simple fact that none of the women in the novel are employed. If only because of the book's wide range of impact due to its bloated and romance-blinded fan base, it is important to take de Beauvoir's advice for viewing literature and expose how the myth of woman is perp
counting to infinity i.counting to infinity5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
capitalization is bad for days like this, because when the sky is gray who needs grammar? grammar is rules and rules are a box, a great glass box with no seamsseamless, faultless, perfect, unbreakablelike rules are supposed to be. rules are what kill you, because the words are like light, they bounce away from the glass and are lost.
but if you are content without the words then rules are what save you, because too far from that box and you are not safe anymore; you will be shot at, you are a target, and you will never run fast enough to hide from sound like bullets. the box is a cage and a shield, both at once, like halves of a circle. impossible, unfathomable, like truth always is.
sound travels at three hundred and forty-three meters per second, faster than you can throw something even as small as a me