Wild Thoughts

20in20 Entry ~ SilentHillChallenge

aydean — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 02:13:19 GMT

PREVIEW:

I got 'em done! :] 20in20 challenge completed for sh_challenge!

THEMES:
1. Beginnings 2. Rotation 3. Together 4. Negative Space 5. OTP
6. Provided Texture 7. Large Text 8. Provided Color 9. Help 10. Endings
11-15: Fire, Water, Eather, Wind, and Spirit
16-20: Artist's Choice

1	2	3	4	5

6	7	8	9	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

Wanna take part in this 20in20? Then JOIN!

{SH Icon Collection: 64 Total Entries for SHC}

aydean — Sun, 27 Feb 2011 04:27:56 GMT

PREVIEW:

Here is a full back-log of 64 icons made for sh_challenge, of which I am now the moderator for! :]

If you love Silent Hill, then join us! We're about to start our first ever Silent Hill only 20in20 challenge. :]

Now, enough pimpage... onto the icon horde!

1	2	3	4

5	6	7	8

9	10	11	12

13	14	15	16

17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24

25	26	27	28

29	30	31	32

33	34	35	36

37	38	39	40

41	42	43	44

45	46	47	48

49	50	51	52

53	54	55	56

57	58	59	60

61	62	63	64

Some were winners; some weren't. But I still like them, most of them anyway... :P

Icons are free to use, of course. Credit is appreciated, but not required.

sh_challenge: where dreams become nightmares!

OTP20in20 Entry - Round 2 [Canaan: General Pairings]

aydean — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 22:59:26 GMT

For otp20in20's Round Two!

FIRST ROW - THEMES:
1. OTP quotes (I love when Canaan says that about Maria. It's too sweet. :])
2. Close-ups
3. Symbols (The tattoo that Canaan and Alphard share...)
4. Two Colours (Blue for Maria's innocence, and Red for Canaan's passion.)
5. Serendipity

SECOND ROW - THEMES:
6. Stripes
7. Sin (A sin for them to be together? The sin of anger? Interpret how you wish.)
8. Humor (That moment was too funny! And Maria's expression was priceless!)
9. Third Party (She helps Canaan view Maria is a whole new way...)
10. Splash of Colour (Favorite icon in the whole batch for me!)

THIRD ROW - Special Category Theme: "Cropping"
11. Left 12. Right 13. Up 14. Down 15. Center
(I tried to make them all match this time since, in R1, I didn't even THINK about making the "Five Senses" icons match up... x.x)

FOURTH ROW - Artist's Choice
16. Lady Gaga anyone? :P
17. I love them as a couple!
18. Same! XD
19. I didn't have any of Alphard/Maria, so I figured, wth!? The text just kinda randomly came to me.
20. I just LOVE that moment too! It's perfectly simple.

1	2	3	4	5

6	7	8	9	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

ALTERNATIVES

1	2	3	4	5

"Until the angels save us all..."

aydean — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 03:20:36 GMT

"We will fight. We will fall."
~Hollywood Undead's Young

In three more hours, it will be the new year, and I was thinking of all the crappy things that happened this year that I could finally say goodbye too:

~so many tears I lost count
~too much pent up frustration, rage, and ugliness
~numerous fights with my brother, mother, and father
~the death of our family dog
~the death of my first car
~frustration with my friends
~the total loss of inspiration for anything I used to love
~lack of caring for anyone, including myself
~dissolving into the darkness too many times to count
~the introduction of true self-loathing
~realizing the world isn't worth saving
~learning that, if the price is right, any deception is possible
~knowing you're just a number, and hating myself for it
~wishing I could change all the things I know I can't

2010, all in all, was a very dark year, one that I hope to be able to forget. In fact, the only positive things to come from this crummy year were my internship (which helped me to love my chosen profession, advertising, even more), and evolving my relationship with my aunt, who I was always close with but now we are as close as sisters.

_{Also I was honored to be asked to take over as moderator of sh_challenge, which has been a joy so far!}

So I look forward to 2011 with high hopes, a new story in the works that I feel truly passionate about, and a promising beginning to the future lies just ahead.

Happy New Year, everyone!

I, for one, am thankful to be able to final say:

Suck it, 2010!

OTP20in20 Entry - Round One [Resident Evil: JillxChris]

aydean — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 06:11:49 GMT

For otp20in20's Round One!

Themes:
1. Meeting & Parting. 2. Eternity. 3. Weather. 4. Determination. 5. Big Text. 6. Favorite Moment. 7. Dreams. 8. Memories. 9. Winter Colors. 10. Lyrical. 11-15: The Five Senses. 16-20: Artist's Choice.

_{Icon #10's lyrics are from Hollywood Undead's song, "Young."

1
2
3
4
5

6
7
8
9
10

11
12
13
14
15

16
17
18
19
20}

And the States; they burned the brightest red!

aydean — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 16:45:20 GMT

Republicans retake the House: 240 to 184.
Governors retake the States: 28 Republican Governors to 15 Dem.
The Senate was pushed back to a more far divide: 51 Dem to 46 Republicans.

"It was a wave of discontent, a resounding vote of no confidence in all branches of power."
--Yahoo News

It was a thing of beauty, that's what it was. It's so nice to see that at least not all Americans have been diluted by his lies, and another happy time came when the news reported last night that 84% (or was it 89%?) of all Americans want ObamaCare repealed. Yes! Thank you! My aunt said that her premium was going to go up $100 each month starting this month because of ObamaCare. How the fuck is that "free"? Of course... it's free for whoever is getting that $100 of her money for no damn reason... I just don't get liberals thinking, and one woman on the news last night (I don't know who she was because I missed her intro, but I wish I knew who she was so I could quote her) gave the BEST description of what each party stands for I had ever heard before, and here it is:

"There's a contant fight between those who want a larger government and those who want a smaller government."

Yes, that's exactly what it is! Liberals want a larger government so that someone else can do all their dirty work and make sure that one person's possessions are shared among everyone, even if the others don't deserve it.

Republicans want a smaller government, are self-contained, and are self-reliant. We work for what we want and are so damn proud to own what we have that we show it off. And we don't feel guilty doing it because, guess what, we fucking earned it.

Ex: if there are 10 people, and five work and five don't, for whatever reason whether they can't or simply don't want to. The liberal idea is that those five that do work should pool all their money and divide it evenly among everyone. So, let's say, the five people make $100 each. Liberals would say: Take the $100 from the five workers ($500 total) and give it to everyone, meaning all 10 people now have $50 each. Republicans say: fuck those that didn't work. They didn't earn anything, and the five that did work get their fair share of what they earned: $100 each.

End of story. Democrats want handouts, and Republicans aren't afriad to work for ourselves.

Being a Republican was a part of me before I even cared about politics. It really bothers me to see someone get something they didn't deserve or didn't earn, whether it be an award, money, whatever. For example: my dad will willingly throw money at my brother. I'm thinking: "hey, he got himself in this mess. I say, cut the strings and let him suffer in the mess he created." Bam! Republican thinking: everyone gets only what they deserve.

And I've just met way too many people lately that lie and cheat and spend their whole lives using the system to get money they don't deserve, money that comes straight from the pockets of those that DO deserve it, just because some liberal idiots in the past set it up like that...

If you want what you earned, what you deserve, than vote Red!

If you want what others earned and you don't deserve, then you probably don't work, don't care to work, and are only looking for a free ride, so you vote Blue... Just like that one bumper sticker says: "Vote Democrat. It's easier than getting a job."

Is that a fair assessment? Probably not in all cases, but in the majority, it will remian true, and I speak from experience.

I'm red, through and through. Congrats to the winning Republicans and a hearty THANK YOU for getting rid of idiots like Pelosi!

America, there may be hope yet...

[Safer Waters] ~ Pre-RE FanFic

aydean — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 19:11:34 GMT

Title: Safer Waters (Inspired by the Chevelle song)
Pairings: Mainly Jill's POV, so no pairings, but it does hint at JillxChris.
Fandom: Resident Evil, mainly pre-RE, before even the first game.
Word Count: 2,503
Summary: Before Jill made it to Raccoon City, she had a whole other life, another partner, and a whole other nightmare to contend with.

The ground was shaking still. She could feel the earth pulsing in time to her thundering heartbeat, but she couldn’t summon the strength to look. Opening her eyes was too hard, too painful. She knew what awaited her, and she couldn’t stomach the realization of what she had done. She simply wasn’t strong enough to look.

“Jill?”

The silky voice pulled her from her thoughts. With sleep-deprived eyes, she looked into the smiling face of Dr. Sanders, the work-appointed therapist.

“You’re not well, Jill,” Greg, her boss, had said, unable to look her in the eye. “After all that’s happened,” he paused, a lump of dread in his throat holding back his inevitable words. “You need help, Jill. You’re not strong enough to deal with this on your own.”

She bowed her head, using her hands to block the doctor’s view of her face. Her hair hung in long, brown locks down to her shoulders, but it was limp and untreated, like bits of hay covering her weary face instead of rich layers of clean hair.

“I understand you don’t want to be here, Ms. Valentine.”

“Jill, please.”

The therapist froze, caught off guard by the slight interruption. “Alright, Jill, I know you don’t want to be here, but I can help you.”

“How?” Jill didn’t look up, but her voice rose to one full of bitterness and anger. Dr. Sanders didn’t need to see her face to anticipate her expression. “By writing notes and doodles down in your little book of evil there you have in your lap?”

“Yes, partly. My notes will help me assess your situation, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I can lose the notebook and record this session instead—”

“Absolutely not,” Jill leaned back on the petite, plush sofa. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m fine, and the last thing I want is proof that I ever was here.”

“Then I’m afraid the notebook has to stay.” The doctor nodded, her grip tightening on her pen. “What would you like to discuss today, Jill? The mission in South America? The bomb? Or are you finally ready to discuss what happened to—”

“Please,” Jill’s voice was strained, full of agony and teetering on the edge of tears. “Don’t say his name. I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Well, we do need to talk about him at some point.”

“He was your partner, Jill.” Alex whispered softly, hoping the gentleness of his words would cushion the pain of the truth. “And now he’s dead. You have to deal with that.”

She ignored him, brushing off his words as if they were lies. “No,” was all she could say.

His hands gripped her shoulders, her long brown hair rustled, parting away from his calloused hands. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Then who’s fault was it, Alex? His…? Was it Terry’s fault for trusting me?”Tears were welling in her eyes again, and she couldn’t bear the thought of breaking down now. Not at work, and not again.

“I think you need a break from all this.”

She stared at him; the pity in his eyes, the realization that he was ashamed of her looming in his mind frightened the tears away, giving anger the strength to return. “What do you—”

“There’s a small town in the Mid-west. They have open positions in a new branch called S.T.A.R.S. They’re looking for the best of the best.” He paused, trying to understand her expression. “It’s what you need, Jill, to get away from the Army. Maybe the relaxing peace of the small town will help you unwind and forget—”

“I don’t want to forget.” She pushed his hands away. “Terry died because of my mistake. I can’t just let that go.” She turned on her heel and walked away from him. “Besides,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’m not the best anymore.”

“Jill?” Dr. Sanders’ voice once again pulled her from her memories.

“You’re not going to let me leave until we talk about Terry, are you?”

“I’m sorry, but it’s what you need to do to heal.”

She sighed, her head bowed, her eyes closed tight. “Fine, but I…I don’t want to be treated like I’m some nutcase. Can you just put the notebook down, drop this therapist act, and just listen.”

“I am listening, Jill. The notes that I’ll take will simply—”

She looked into the therapist’s eyes. “Please.”

It was her turn to back down. “Alright. If it makes it easier for you…” she set the notebook and pen onto the desk behind her. “Now, tell me what happened on—”

“May 18th,” Jill began, bowing her head again. “Terry and I—I mean, my partner and I were sent into a small town in Argentina to dispose of a bomb that had been reported. As part of the Delta Force, it was our job to take care of these things, and since a small band of the U.S. military was already stationed there, it wasn’t a far drive for us. Besides, it was our responsibility.”

Jill sighed, but eventually continued. “The bomb was located in the south end of this concrete shack. There was only one floor to the building, and inside, we found only two rooms. The shack and the area around it, anything close to the blast zone, had been deserted for years. We couldn’t understand the motive behind a bomb being there.

“I went in first. Terry was stationed outside. The bomb was constructed by amateurs, and it only took me a minute at most to disarm it. The job was done, so I left the shack and rejoined Terry outside.”

Her voice cracked a bit.

“Jill, if you need to stop—”

“No. It’s best if I keep going.” She sighed again, but this time, her breath was shaky, nervous, and her hands were beginning to shake. She refused to close her eyes now, knowing that the nightmare was much more vivid in darkness rather than in the light. “Outside, Terry and I talked for a moment, even cracked a few jokes. When we stopped talking, I heard the ticking…”

“Did you hear that?” Jill whispered, frightened to raise her voice.

“Is there a second bomb?” Terry’s voice was stiff with concern.

“The report only said there was one.”

Terry grabbed his radio from his belt and hastily yelled into it. “HQ, Delta Force. We need a heat signature of this area now.”

“We read you, Delta. Heat sig on the way.”

“Alright,” Terry sighed, returning the radio to his belt. “Jill, are you sure you secured the one inside?”

“Positive.”

“Was there a second one?”

“Not that I saw.” Sweat was already beginning to form on her forehead, and her stomach was twisted into winding knots of guilt. She had failed, disappointing Terry, disappointing herself. She felt almost sick with anger and regret.

Static. “Delta, please respond.”

Terry grabbed the radio from his belt in a rush. “This is Delta.”

“The whole area if hot. Repeat. The whole area is hot. You two need to get out of there now.”

Jill’s heart stopped.

“Where’s the second bomb? We can—” Terry yelled into the radio.

“The bomb is under your feet. Get out now.”

Time slowed so that each breath lasted for hours. Terry, in a rush to escape, let the radio slip from his fingers. His free hand grabbed Jill’s upper arm and together, they raced away from the concrete shack. He was dragging her, and she was useless to make her legs work. Fear paralyzed her, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on him. He was pumped, his adrenaline levels blazing. And the ticking of the second bomb kept their minds focused on the escape, but the noise became ominous, overbearing, picking at their ears, threatening them with death for every step they took.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Until the ground shook with the violent explosion, her heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Tick. Tick. Silence.

They both dove for cover, but there was no violent explosion, no earth-shaking quake.

Only silence.

Jill landed about five feet from Terry with a hard slap against the solid ground. She gasped for air, finally able to breathe. Slowly, she forced herself to sit up and eventually stand. A smile stretched across her face, despite herself.

“False alarm,” Jill said into her radio.

Only static greeted her, but she didn’t care enough for it to concern her. Instead, she dropped the radio back onto her belt and started toward Terry. He was lying face down and didn’t seem to be moving at all. The now all too familiar feeling of suffocating guilt began to claw at her stomach again.

“Terry!”

Jill paused, her story still incomplete.

Dr. Sanders watched her closely. “You’re doing well, Jill. Please. Keep going.”

She looked up, staring directly into the doctor’s eyes now, unafraid of the tale she was ready to finish. “I thought everything was fine,” she whispered. “I was wrong…”

“Terry! Answer me!”

His right hand swiftly rose into the air. He didn’t seem to be hurt, but she still couldn’t see his face. He was still lying still, and through his heavy vest and gear, she couldn’t tell how regular or irregular his breathing may have been.

“Terry!”

Finally, he rolled over, and instead of a pain-stricken face, she was greeted with a smiling one. He was laughing. Hard, so hard that tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“What could be so funny at a time like this?”

“You totally bought it!” He screamed, still laughing.

“Bought…what?”

He stood and moved closer to her. His laughter now under control, a smirk settled on his face as he grabbed for the radio on her belt. “HQ, Delta Force. It’s over. We’re fine.”

Confusion was still on her face, but as she watched him, his smirk growing wider, she realized what was happening. “There was no second bomb,” she whispered.

He shook his head and was caught by another fit of laughter.

“You…asshole!” Jill screamed, punching him in the arm. “I was terrified! I thought you were dead… I—I thought we were bought dead! Are you insane?”

He regained control of his laughter and extended his hand toward her. “Welcome to Delta Force, partner.”

She shook his hand, knowing the joke, while cruel, had been in good conscience. She was, after all, still a rookie. He wanted to see how prepared she was for this job, and based on the soft smile and the kindness that now showed through in his eyes, she had done well. When she had first been admitted to the Delta Force, she had been warned not to partner with Terry because of his “unusual” teaching methods. She now understood perfectly what they meant.

“I sure had you, though.”

“Yeah, you sure did.” She smiled, dusting off her pants and watching as Terry began wandering back to the concrete shack.

“You got the scare of a lifetime, but you did successfully disarm your first solo bomb,” he shouted his words, his voice becoming softer and softer as he headed back toward the shack.

“Terry,” she yelled. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Of course,” he smiled. “You disarmed it, right? I can trust you.”

“Terry, I really think you should—”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She heard the ominous noise return, and it ticked in time with her hammering heart.

“Terry! Stop!” She started running toward him, her legs no longer made of rubber. She could run now. She could carry herself, and she wouldn’t stop until she reached him. “Terry!”

Tick. Tick. Ti—

The ground shook from the violent explosion. Jill’s body was thrown into the air like a rag doll tossed from the window of a moving car. And just like the reaching, desperate hands of a child longing to grasp for her toy, Jill’s arms reached into the dust cloud, wanting to find Terry, but all she saw was dust and particles of concrete.

“TERRY!” she screamed into the cloud, despite her breathless lungs that longed for release from the cloud.

Seconds, minutes, maybe hours later, she landed on the ground, her body snapped and curled into itself, trying to recover from the pain of the collision. She rolled onto her side, the dust still raining down upon her from the sky. She coughed and hacked, trying to breathe. She tried to stand, wanted desperately to run, to escape, but she couldn’t find the strength to do so. Instead, she lay like a wounded child, longing for its favorite toy, lost within the cloud, until finally, the dust settled, and she was all that remained.

“Terry,” she cried out, her eyes now overflowing with tears.

Her radio buzzed to life. “Delta, this is HQ. Respond. What happened? Delta.”

She was too weak to reach for the radio, too weak to care, too weak to try.

“Welcome to Delta Force, partner.”

Jill sat silent on the sofa, awaiting a response from the doctor, but there wasn’t one, only silence. Eventually, Jill summoned the courage to make eye contact with the therapist, and what she saw within the doctor’s eyes was what she had seen in Alex’s: pity.

“I think I’ll be going now,” Jill whispered before standing. She made her way to the door, not wanting to say anything else. The silence was haunting, but it was more calming, she knew, than the words the doctor wanted to say.

“I’ll sign the papers,” Dr. Sanders said just as Jill’s hand reached for the door knob.

“The one’s that say I can go back to work?”

“No.”

Jill turned to face the doctor.

“Your boss, Greg, sent me several new forms this morning. These forms, if I sign them, say that it is my professional opinion that it is in your best interest to be transferred.”

“Transferred? Where?” Jill was suddenly angry and she turned back to face the doctor.

“I think you know,” the therapist’s eyes were still full of pity.

“Raccoon City?” Jill scoffed. “I don’t want to go there.”

“It’s a quiet, peaceful town, Jill. It’s just what someone like you needs right now.”

“‘Someone like me’?”

“Someone who has been through this experience. Watching a friend die isn’t easy, and soldiers are tasked with doing this every day. Not every day can be your best, Jill. And what you need now is a fresh start.” The doctor rose to her feet and held her hands together before her chest. “Besides, in that small town, you might just find what you’re looking for.”

“And what is it that I’m looking for, Dr. Sanders?”

She smiled for the first time in this whole session. “A friend who will always be by your side.”

Jill scoffed again. “Friends like that don’t exist. Everyone eventually dies, Doctor.” She turned away from Dr. Sanders. “I don’t ever want to have to watch my partner die.” She opened the door and stepped out into the waiting room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Dead and Breathing

aydean — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 22:34:47 GMT

I hate this. I'm so uninspired lately. Everything is boring, and nothing seems like it'd be fun: not writing, not games, nothing. I hate it... I feel so dead.

After the Fall ~ A Resident Evil 5 FanFiction

aydean — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 00:54:47 GMT

Inspired by woodwind, I just had to write this! :] I wish Capcom would show what happened here, but they never will... but that's what fanfics are for, I guess.

Title: After the Fall
Pairings: JillxChris (a little JillxWesker perhaps)
Fandom: RE5 specifically
Word Count: 1,766
Summary: See what happened after Jill's sacrifice through Jill's, Wesker's, and Chris' eyes.

The taste of sand lay on her tongue, gritty and salty from the water. A searing pain thrived throughout her body, concentrated in her left shoulder and both legs. Her head ached with a dull throb, one that begged darkness to come, to whisk her away to the pleasures of sleep.

But in the distance, she could hear the thrashing waves of the wild ocean slapping against the shore mixing with the distant shouting of a man, her partner, his voice full of agony, calling out to her miles below the surface.

“C—Chris…” she groaned, her throat dry and aching. She tried to sit up, but the pain in her shoulder proved to be too much. Frail and weak from the fall, her body collapsed against the sand once more. The all too familiar sting of tears was on the edge of her eyes, prepared to break through the barrier just from the aches in her body.

Sighing, she managed to roll onto her back. Staring straight into the night sky, the moon was staring back with the same ferocity as it illuminated the sand like glistening pearls along the ocean’s floor. Distant flickers of lightening broke through the ebony darkness like a candle’s flame shuddering wildly at the end of a dark hall. Other than the dull roar of thunder that soon followed, the air was silent, save for the few ragged breaths that managed to escape her tightening throat.

She had survived, somehow, the fall that brought her greatest enemy to his death. Carefully, she scanned the area around her, searching for his black-clothed corpse, but there was no one else to be seen. She realized then that her entire body was soaked, saturated in the ocean’s blood.

The fall… it had all happened so fast. Chris’ life balanced in the palm of their enemy’s hand. Time slowed, and seconds ticked by like hours. The blood in her system chilled. Her mouth opened, a scream tore through the night that came from a voice she hardly recognized. And then, her body was flying, sailing across the room until it collided with his. Her arms wrapped around his waist securely, and gravity did the rest, dragging their joined bodies through the window and down to the small, sandy shore awaiting them below.

The rush of water all around her was all she could remember. She couldn’t breathe, and her arms were desperate to find the surface, and in their haste, they released his waist and dragged her body until it could touch the moonlight shimmering across the ocean’s top. Then the waves carried her in until her body was nothing more than a discarded glass bottle.

How long had she been lying here, alone, cold, and damp? She stared into the bold moon, wishing the answers were there. Chris’ voice was now a distant echo in her ringing ears, but another sound was breaking through, a sound the made hope rush through her veins: the sound of a helicopter’s blades.

Rescue was on the way, and it wouldn’t be long now until they reached her. A light smile touched her lips. As much as she hated hospitals, the idea of being able to relax her aching shoulder was enough to make even a hospital sound desirable. Sucking in a low, shaky breath, she prepared her body for movement. A heavy grunt and painful groan leaked out of her dry, cracked lips as she lifted herself into a sitting position. The headache was now a full, raging pain, and it caused her body to wobble a bit. But she managed to hold her ground.

Using her right hand, she pressed her palm into the damp sand, curled her weary legs underneath her body, and pushed. Staggering about a bit, she managed to not collapse under the pain that now consumed her mind.

Limping slightly, she started toward the edge of the shore where the moon shined the brightest. By now, Chris was most likely exiting the Estate, racing inside the helicopter’s cabin, and ordering the pilot to search outside the grounds of the rear balcony window. She had faith in him and knew he wouldn’t leave without searching.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, allowing the moon’s light to soak into her face. It felt almost ridiculous to believe that Wesker was finally dead. After all he had put them through, it was over now, and it had only taken a suicidal jump to make that happen.

She laughed and shook her head, smiling honestly for the first time in so long. But that euphoria didn’t last. The sound of the helicopter’s blades overhead was growing louder, but beyond the noise they created, there was something else…

A light scuffling noise tickled her ears, and she whirled around, her heart slamming against her ribs. A cool sweat broke out on her forehead as her eyes nervously searched the shadowed shore. She knew she wasn’t imagining things, and she knew who was with her now. She stepped away from the shoreline, keeping her back to the water. Her narrowed eyes scanned the darkness, but saw nothing.

Come on out, you bastard, she thought sourly. Fight on fair terms for once in your pathetic life.

She heard a splashing noise in the water, and she turned back to see ripples forming from a rock that had been tossed. A disheartened sigh left her lungs deflated and her body defeated when she heard the footsteps behind her.

The shadows of the shore seemed to embrace her when his hand gripped the back of her neck, his fingertips pushing into her skin until she winced from the pain. He leaned into her, a cool air sweeping around them. She closed her eyes tight when she felt his warm breath against her ear.

“Good night, Jill,” his voice was like silk, deceptively smooth as always. His grip tightened on her neck until it felt as if her life was being drained from her body. She squeezed her eyes tight against the pain as her body went limp, falling back against his.

All she knew then was darkness.

***

Sweeping his other arm under her legs, he pulled her limp body against his chest. The BSAA helicopter was beginning to circle overhead, the beam of its searchlight highlighting the water in a futile attempt to discover what was resting in his arms.

A soft laugh left him. He turned away from the water and headed deeper into the shadows, searching for the underground tunnels beneath the Estate that Spencer had built into the mountain side. With ease, he cradled Jill’s unconscious body closer against him and moved with the elegance of a snake through the tunnels toward the sleek, black car that awaited him on the other side.

***

“There’s nothing here, Chris.”

Staring at the waves below, he felt as helpless as he had seven years ago when they were searching for Bravo Team’s downed helicopter. He could practically hear Brad’s whiny voice calling from the cockpit, “Anything yet?”

He slid open the cabin door, sure that it was blocking his attempts to find her. Guilt’s cold hand was wrapped around his heart, making it difficult to catch his breath, and every second that passed by, revealing only empty shores and black waves, made the guilt grow stronger.

He had been dumbfounded since he hit the floor of the Estate nearly an hour ago. Seeing Jill soar through the shattered window had frozen every muscle in his body. After everything, she couldn’t leave him, not like this, and a sour burning in his stomach told him that she wouldn’t regret the decision she had made, but he always would.

His life was not worth hers, and he would never ask her to sacrifice so much.

That thought made him grow angry at her for what she had done, and he hated himself for that. Finding her was all he cared about now, and he wouldn’t rest until he did.

“Over there, Derek! See that small shore…? Take me there.”

“Chris, I can’t get that close. There’s not enough—”

“Just take this bird down, damn it!”

The pilot didn’t argue anymore. Instead, he tipped the helicopter’s nose down and zeroed in on the spot Chris had seen. Pulling the nose up slowly, Derek brought the metal beast to a hovering position about thirty feet away from the shore. From there, Chris leaned out the open door. He could just barely make out some object lying in the sand a few feet inland from the crashing waves.

“I can’t get any closer,” Derek yelled. “You’ll have to—” Before he could finish his thought, he looked over his shoulder to see that the cabin was empty and that the rope ladder had been rolled out the side. Derek shook his head, unbelieving. “She must be some partner.”

On the shore below, Chris jumped off the ladder when he was still about ten feet from the ground. His landing was haphazard and unsteady, causing him to fumble, nearly falling. He didn’t care. His heart was pounding at his chest furiously, demanding that he go on, no matter the cost.

Pushing through the sand, he managed to reach the object he had seen from the cabin. Kneeling down, he dusted away the sand. His ragged breathing ceased when he realized what it was.

“Oh, God…” his voice cracked. The worry and fear broke through his defenses, and he felt as if a part of him had died just then. Reaching into the sand, he felt his fingers wrap around the soft, pale blue cloth of Jill’s baseball cap. It was still damp, letting him know that the fall must have put her in the water. But how could her hat make it inland if the rest of her didn’t?

He knew the answer was obvious, but his mind refused to believe it. She couldn’t be gone…not like this.

Rolling the hat up, he tucked the bill inside his pocket, allowing the rest to dangle against his hip. Groaning from internal agony rather than physical pain, he lifted himself back onto his feet, and with no other sign of life, he returned to the helicopter’s cabin, pulling the ladder in behind him.

“HQ just radioed, Chris. They want us to head back in.”

“No,” his voice was stern. “We’re not leaving here until we’ve searched everywhere.”

“But, I really think we should—”

“Just fly the helicopter, Derek,” he spat, poison dripping from his words. “I’ll tell you when we’re done.”

Distrubing? Funny? ...or both?

aydean — Sun, 18 Apr 2010 20:18:07 GMT

Vagina Hero - Exclusive First Look!

This quote is probably the best one on the page:

"Harmondix may have a leg up on us, but we’re not jerking around any more. We’re serious. We’re in this for the long haul, and we won’t stop until our fans are satisfied, and they’re never satisfied… which means we won’t stop."

I vote for disturbingly funny... :P

And I found this while working on my research paper for Advanced Composition...my topic's on IGA (in-game avdertising), but props for odd-titled links at the top of the page...

"You can have fish, but it's going to taste a lot like ham..."

aydean — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 04:28:40 GMT

My dad wanted fish for supper tonight.
My mom didn't want to cook since we had a ton of ham still leftover from Easter Sunday.
And I said I'd eat leftovers.
She laughed and said, "He can eat 'em too."
When dad came in, he wanted fish, learned we had ham, and complained, "So there's no fish."
"No," I disagreed. "You can have fish, but it's going to taste a lot like ham..."
He stared at me for a long time, that "you're-an-idiot" stare...

Whatever, I thought it was funny...

Oh, and I'm so weak...I couldn't resist!

--> carnabysquare

It's done now... maybe it'll go somewhere. I just gotta pimp it out a bit. :P

If it does go somewhere, wanna be co-owner, woodwind ?

RED: Save Us From the Mess We've Made

aydean — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 03:29:59 GMT

Click HERE for the original!

HI-RES VERSION

I love PhotoShop... hair's all whonky, but I'm sick of looking at it... :/ Her jacket says "Red," just FYI. :P

~Story behind it all~
Well, "Red" is the futuristic story I'm attempting to write. It's got guns, swords, govermental cover-up, death around all street corners, a post-present day world, etc. As far as the girl in the photo... well, the heroine is still a bit undefined since it's not her story. But the text beside her is the first line she says to the hero of the story once they meet again (he's an old friend... :P)

The history behind it all is long and winded, but basically, a war has broken out in their home between the government and the rebels. The heroine is on the side of the rebels (and so is the hero... he just doesn't know it yet), and they'll all in this mess because of their own mistakes... (a tiny bit of present frustation may be bleeding into the story... plus, I just love government vs. the little guy stories).

So yeah... :]

This is how freedom dies...

aydean — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 03:10:48 GMT

...with thunderous applause.

The bill passed.

America is fucked.

The country had a good run; it's just too bad that it had to die at the hands of a socialist.

This is not what the country strived for all these years. This is not what our forefathers dreamed of. This is not the hell that should've awaited us...

So, welcome to America: Home of the imprisoned because of the enslaved.

"Wait for me, won't you, Miss Valentine?"

aydean — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 06:52:22 GMT

I was creeped out by him hitting on Jill, then felt bad for bitching about him after his... untimely demise... :/

So, I finally took a step away from Heavy Rain long enough to get emersed back into the world of Resident Evil, and wow! I didn't notice how much I missed having guns always on hand with hordes of creatures following. No wonder my own writing is so distorted and... overpowering like the enviroments in RE; they're what I grew up with.

Anyway, I grabbed the extra levels for RE5, and here's my little sum up:

~~Lost in Nightmares: Explore the Spencer Estate

DISAPPOINTING! So much! *cries* Yeah, it was fun to be just Jill and Chris again, and yeah, I liked how they mixed the RE5 controls/camera with the *feel* of REbirth, but other than that, I didn't like the level all that much. The info about Alex was fun, though I'm still confused as to what Capcom's really trying to say with the whole Wesker Children thing (unless, as I believe, Wesker was cloned 13 times, and the one that died in RE5 was #12: Alex, and #13: Alfred, is in the States with Sherry.)

But, what disappointed me the most was that last fight with Wesker. I heard all week from people online that the battle was crazy hard, and what wimps they all are! It took me no more than five minutes to kill him, and I did it on my FIRST try! All you do is shoot at him once, dodge, and repeat until he gets bored and the cutscene kicks in...

Very lame, Capcom.

I did like that Jill got to play the piano again. That was cute, and when she pushed Chris out of the way and was locked in that room, I started freaking out, yelling, "Shit! Jill's gonna die..." (A little onset Heavy-Rain-thinking there).

This level was not worth $5. That's how disappointing it was. I could've watched a walkthrough for free... :/

~~Desperate Escape: What happened to Jill *after* Chris left?

This level is much better, and worth buying. It was a ton of fun! And, I'm happy to say that Josh is a MUCH better partner than Sheva. It's even cute that he hit on Jill, and she somewhat flirted back. *blush* Josh is really awesome, and he's probably the first secondary character that I've actually cared about for a while in the RE world... *pushes Ada out of the way*

This scenario was fun. I'm always up for more gameplay as Jill. :] More than once I found myself cursing the screen, though, because, even on hard, it was overwhelming sometimes, but I guess that's the "desperate" part, huh?

Oh, but the best part was at the end of the level when Doug died. Jill spotted the SoB that shot him on the roof, so she grabbed the machine gun, lined up the sight, and pulled the trigger. That scene was fucking cool, and only helped to prove why Jill is so awesome!

And, you can't see her mouth clearly in the shot, but I bet she had an evil little smirk on her face when she pulled the trigger...

In other news:

Freakin' Heavy Rain cutscenes are killing me! I'm down to uploading them two at a time because if I do more than that, Mediafire has a meltdown and says that it will take 72 hours to upload everything... 3 DAYS!? Yes, indeed...meltdown.

On a brighter note, the game in all its awesomeness makes me want to write a fanfic so badly, mainly centered on Jayden because he's my new love! *heart* I'm thinking either a short story about how he got involved with the Origami Killer case, or maybe writing about the after effects when he returns home, where he's thankful to be rid of Blake, I'm sure. :] And why we're on that, even though it's sad to see my guy die, Jayden's death ending is pretty funny. You'd just have to see it... :P

Oh, look, you can see it! :P (Skip to 2:35 to watch the awesome-ness!)

The drug issues would suck, but seriously, Ari is just awesome!

I just love the idea of Jayden being able to haunt him beyond the grave! haha that bastard deserves it too...

Anyway, I've written enough for now.

Later.

Boredom kills, but sometimes...

aydean — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 04:50:14 GMT

...it delivers!

So, I have a really bad habit of going to the PSN hunting for downloads when I'm bored. And most of those downloads (since I'm super picky about my themes) are demos. The good news: eventually I stumble over a great demo that leads to me purchasing the game. That happened with Dead Space, Dark Sector (though the demo was more fun than the actul game is *rips hair out*), etc. And I've talked before abotu WET and Call of Duty: World at War...

But, the point is, this time around, I stumbled over a rather quiet game that was released back in October of 2007 (pretty old, yeah!). The title was enought to lure me into reading the description, and because the description mentioned everything I adore (ex: "occult," "horror," etc.) except for the words "fog" and "Silent Hill," I had to download. Then the demo, made me fall in love with the game, leading to me sitting before the computer now to tell you... I bought the full game.

And what is the title of this mysterious game that I scored for $20?

Folklore

Sometime among all my SH forum runs, I remember hearing this game mentioned in comparison to Silent Hill (like most horror games are nowadays). The plot for Folklore isn't anywhere close to Silent Hill's (nothing is), but the game certainly does have that same creepy, weird, "I'm-up-shit-creek-without-a-paddle" feeling.

So, I invite all PS3 owners that love that feel in games to at least check out the demo. It is an RPG, which almost turned me away at first (the reason why Final Fantasy and I are not friends? I despise the fighting systems...hence why I tay away from pretty much all RPGs). But Folklore's combat is fun, fairly light-hearted and comical, but still fun.

Interested? Then follow the link and read/look/watch for yourself. :] I'm off to play it!

Folklore: Read me, I'm awesome!

Oh, and Ana, this is random, but what games do you have for the PS3...or rather, I guess, what games does Josh have? We seriously need to play some co-op or battle online!

"The need for blood tends to create a need for lust."

aydean — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 08:13:21 GMT

Okay, remember THIS POST from about nine or so days ago where I talked about the Silent Hill fanfic I was writing, the one about Heather and Alex meeting the first time...?

Remember?

Well, my fangirl-ish-ness knows no bounds (which is the lovely title of said entry), and I was driven to create the actual video for the fic.

See?

Alex looks a little funky, but Heather's adorable. :] I have SO many ideas running through my head that I am practically giddy! Since I lack the interest to write my own stuff, why not distract myself by writing a fanfic? And since I lack the desire to make the usual string of tributes, why not make some Sims videos (or possible series?) via the fanfic?

*evil laugh* Things are gonna get wild!

*psst* Also, the title of the entry is the tagline for the series. :] I took the original Silent Hill 1 tagline: "The fear of blood tends to create a fear of the flesh", turned "fear" into "need" and "flesh" became "lust" (hence the subtitle "Blood Lust") and then you get:

"The need for blood tends to create a need for lust."

Cool, huh!

For those who think they are not broken...

aydean — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 09:04:32 GMT

she is everything
i can never be

~

he is what
i can never attain

~

together,
they are the inevitable,
the unmistakable

~

and i am the outsider
watching from the mirror
as they fued and fight,
shattering the mirror
into all the

~

p i e c e s

of

me

My fangirl-ish-ness knows no bounds...

aydean — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 06:13:45 GMT

So... I was randomly staring at a blank template in Word, pretending to be working on my own story (and failing miserably, hence the blank template) when a line, or rather, a scene popped into my head...for whatever reason.

I saw Heather grown up, several years after Silent Hill 3 ended, sitting in a coffee shop reading the newspaper when suddenly she notices a familiar face in the line waiting to be served... :]

And my fangirl-ish-ness exploded when I thought of who that "familiar face" could be, and so, I present you with my first fanfic for...gosh... seven years? O.O It's rather short, but I like it... Plus, I'm super proud of the way I wrote Heather... *evil laugh* Her personality is so fiery!

“There’s no break from heartache here, eh?” She smiled and tipped her coffee cup towards him, delivering a gentle nod before her eyes returned to scanning the morning paper.

“Uh,” he stammered, slipping out of the long line of anxious people awaiting their morning coffee. “Are you talking to me?” He moved toward her table, curiosity and a bit of anger creeping over his youthful, yet stress-worn face.

“Do you see another Alex Shepherd here?” her voice mocked him and her eyes didn’t even attempt to break away from the paper.

He was intrigued now for sure. He took a seat across from her at the small table. “How do you know my name?”

She ignored him.

A bit of anger rose in his voice. “I’m talking to you!” He snapped, reaching forward and ripping the paper out of her hand and slamming it onto the table. Everyone in the coffee shop suddenly had their eyes on him, terrified of what he might do next.

She eyed him, gently. He found himself seized underneath those auburn eyes, and the rage leaked from his muscles until he collapsed back into his seat. A soft smile spread over her pink lips. She set her coffee cup down, grabbed the now crinkled and ripped newspaper with both hands, turned it over, and pushed it toward him.

“You’re not exactly hard to spot.”

Confused, he glanced down at the newspaper and was startled to find his face on the front page. Skimming the headline and opening lines of the article, he read aloud: “U.S. Soldier’s Lost Memories. Alex Shepherd, claiming to be a U.S. soldier, was found early Monday morning wandering the streets of Brahams, West Virginia, claiming he was looking for his younger brother. An enlisted hero searching for his family? A heartwarming story, perhaps under different circumstances. The newest information from the U.S. Army proves that there is no record of anyone named Alex Shepherd enlisted in the first place. So who is this lost soldier, and what memories does his mind have hidden away?”

He glanced at her. “You believe this crap?”

She nodded and sipped her coffee. “I believe that you were found outside of Brahams…well, I believe you were found about ten miles west of Brahams.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she leaned forward. “You know about that town, don’t you?”

He immediately shook his head. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s okay, Alex,” she said with a quick laugh. “You’re not the only one who has been forced to suffer through that hell.”

“What are you talking about?” He searched her face for any hint of humor. There wasn’t one. “Who are you anyway?”

She stood up, clutching her coffee in one hand and folding up the newspaper with the other. Silently, she headed for the door, never looking back. With a gentle ring of the bell over the door, she was gone from sight.

Sighing, his head spinning, Alex turned back to glance at the barren seat she had occupied only seconds earlier. His mind was reeling with questions: who was she? What did she think she was talking about? “I believe you were found about ten miles west of Brahams.” He shuddered. She couldn’t have been talking about…

“You know about that town, don’t you?”

That town? Could she know about it too, or was she just trying to screw with his head like every other crack-pot journalist and reporter that had tried to get in touch with him over the last week?

“You know about that town, don’t you?”

You’re damn right I do, he thought. Silent Hill… I’ll never forget that place.

And he wouldn’t forget her either.

Hmm... I smell a Sims Series... :P Kidding, of course...it's too much damn work, but this ws fun to write! If it goes somewhere, maybe...plus..I already made sim versions of Heather and Alex... *blush*

"Morality skips a generation..." Isaac, Blackjack

aydean — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 08:16:23 GMT

Taking a ~~forced~~ break from Silent Hill: Shattered Memories while my computer works on processing the clips so I can cut them up and begin ~~abusing~~ using all the lovely scenes for music videos. :P

Ah, Shattered Memories, thou art a true masterpiece of deception and grief...
...
Anyway, while halfway working in WMM to process the clips, I was bored waiting for it to run so I popped open PhotoShop and began creating. Two things help me work on a story: creating a book cover *yeah, I'm a nerd...* and creating the characters in Sims and messing with them. :P Since Sims is super laggy while WMM is running, I turned to the first option: PhotoShop.

HI-RES VERSION
I love how the image looks almost...cartoon-y. :] She almost looks like a sim from my obessive smudging...

+Credits/Resources+ LetzteSchatten-stock, fotoJenny, and PhideStock

Where does this come from? Well, for one, I love working with cards. They're so fun, so simple, but can stand for so much. Using them is always a great basis for comparison, regardless of the situation. They're creative gold! :]

And, as such, one of the most stressful card games leads to the title of my newest story: Blackjack. The details are still a bit hazy, but the opening (which I am so proud of) deals with an almost Silent Hill-ish topic:

~Story Excerpt~

[set the scene] Isaac, the lead character, is a teenage hero (yeah, don't worry! he won't stay like that for long.) He's out in his backyard tossing the football around with one of his neighbors. The neighbor gets called home, but Isaac keeps practicing. His father (still unnamed?) is in the garage/den area working. Isaac, too focused on practicing runs and "touchdown dances," tosses the ball a bit too far, and he races into the garage/den area to catch the ball before it slams into a stack of videotapes, possibly his father's most valued tresures.

Catching the ball successfully, Isaac skids to a halt, only to receive a stern glare from his father. When Isaac brushes the incident off like its no big deal, the father forces him to watch a part of one of the videos. When the father begins ranting about how the tapes are so valuable to him and if he lost him, he would be losing his past, Isaac scoffs.

[opening dialogue]

“That’s stupid, Dad. You can’t lose the past.”

He coughed, a snorted retort to my comment. “Well, Isaac, destroy those videotapes and see if I lose mine.”

His words never made an impression on me, not then, and certainly not one month later during the third football game of my senior year when the scouts were beginning to pick through the team, handing out scholarships to those worthy enough to play for their university. It was my big moment, and as I raced down the field, the crowd cheering, screaming, chanting, only for me, I launched myself into the air with the eloquence of a panther, contorting my spine to twist and capture the ball in my eager, out-stretched hands. But just as I did so, I felt a defensive tackler’s arms wrap around my waist and drag me to the ground.

I didn’t feel the pain, not at first. All I could see, hear, feel, and realize was that the football, which should’ve been in my hands as I danced across the goal line, impressing every scout in the audience, was instead lying a few inches away from me on the ground, almost within reach of my bloody, bruised, broken fingers.

The shame of letting down my team hit me like a ton of bricks and my heart froze.

Then, and only then, did my mind finally register the true situation: my right left was pinned beneath my spine, the bone horribly twisted and shattered beyond repair.

Afterwards, all my father could ever say to me was: “I tried to warn you,” “I told you so,” “Well, son, it was meant to be,” or any pathetic altercation of those statements. I despised him so much through the next year. I didn’t want to look at him, let alone speak to him, an act I’m left to regret now.

You see, in my blinded, teenage rage, I purposely selected a college that would force me to leave the state to attend (I tried to leave the country, but I hadn’t exactly been the A-student in any of my foreign language classes). When my freshman year of college was coming to an end, I was busy partying with some friends in a bash that would later be titled “Drunken Stampede” by the local police department. It wasn’t until morning that I learned while I was out drinking, my father was sitting in his favorite chair in our home in another state completely alone sipping at his beer and suffering from a quiet, but as the doctors would inform me later, extremely painful stroke.

The worst part of it all: when our neighbor, Mr. Hammerstein, wandered over for coffee and chit-chat that morning, a simple act that had become something of a ritual since I left, and found my father lying so still in his favorite chair, he was clutching tightly to a family photo album turned to the last page that featured two photos: a group shot of my senior high school football team and a picture of me being wheeled out of the hospital a week after surgery.

I want to believe I made my mistake up to him. While I stayed up for long, countless hours trying to write his eulogy, trying to find the words to say that didn’t flow through the river of teen hatred still living deep within me, I realized what he had been talking about when he showed me those videotapes.

It wasn’t your past that you’ll lose.

It’s your self.

He was trying to warn me not to get too attached to the way I was living because it could all vanish in a matter of seconds, just like his could’ve had I taken one more step that night and crashed into the pile of videotapes. My life had become all about football, and without that, what was I? I was the star running back, but after that… what was there?

He was trying to save me from my own stupidity, like most parents, but by doing it through long-winded speeches that are far too long to hold our interest, my mind skimmed over his words and never processed them. But my stupidity didn’t just cost me my high school identity. It also cost me my own father.

[/end opening dialogue]

Yeah, the writing is a bit rough and some of the sentences need a good polishing, but I'm really happy with it as is. The main point of the opening there is to establish that Isaac was forced, through rather rough circumstances, to realize that all he has can disappear within a matter of painful seconds. And that's the theme that will continually occur throughout the story, causing some of Isaac's most simple questions (am I going to eat today? when can I sleep?) to become true matters of life and death. And the girl on the cover... she factors in there as well. Meeting her and playing as her "hero" is what begins the trouble. But I digress...

"Even the dead have ears..." ~ MGS4 Icon Batch

aydean — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 21:56:19 GMT

Requested by woodwind
41 MGS4 Icons of the cemetery opening: 40 Still and 1 animation

I made sure to leave a base version of each icon so that you could edit it to your personal liking in case you hated the writing I put on it. MGS tends to make my writing become very eloquent and in some parts, confusing... :P In the process, I was able to create at least icons that I was absolutely in love with, one of which... *points to user icon* So love 'em or hate 'em, here they are!

+Credits+
The screens were provided by ClickityClick.
Textures by tomycoffee, eveningwalk, shalowater, lifeisdolce, and deny1984

Enjoy!

Writer's Block: My Favorite Movie Quote

aydean — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 21:28:45 GMT

"That's cheating, bitch! I'm not dead yet!"
--Frankie Muniz "Stay Alive"

Yeah... the whole movie sucked, but it was worth it for that line! Too funny!

So many sticks up your butt, you could probably shoot out a tree...

aydean — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 06:00:38 GMT

SNL Criticized After Airing Tiger Woods Domestic Violence Skit

Lighten up! Seriously! Offensive or not, who the hell cares? It's a comedy show, meant to poke fun at everything... it's just a JOKE! Yeah, it was domestic violence, and yeah Rhianna was on the show (and we all know of the problem she had with that dillhole earlier), but it wasn't a direct attack on anyone. It's comedy!

*sigh*

Merry Christmas to...? shrug ...the damn tag is blank!

aydean — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 05:38:10 GMT

TWO days...! Just TWO little days left, and then... I'm FREE!!! *falls back into a D*sney supplied pile of leaves* Yes, there are officially two days left of this semester, then it's finals, and then... no more Computer Science! I don't think I've ever been this relieved to be done with something...

*content sigh*
___________________________________________________

In gamer news, I finally solved all the glyphs in Assassin's Creed 2! *dances* Okay... I cheated... *deflated ego* But only on four of them, which is out of what, twenty-four total, so I did the majority myself... *deflated ego* Damn those code wheels! They make no fucking sense when you get to the symbols... the numbers, I could handle, but the symbols... *head explodes*

The point is: The Truth video is freaking amazing! Your eyes will bleed at the sight of its epic-ness! :D I think AC may be able to tie with MGS as one of the best VG series of all time... Seriously... I mean, Kojima's damn good, but Ubisoft is doing some fine work here.
___________________________________________________

AND, because Christmas always needs to come early, I ordered some gifts for family/friends today. :] Thank Heavens for CafePress! They rock... :P

WARNING: Selfless plug ahead!

So, for my best friend Amy, I got her some Ninja Turtles stuff: slippers and a blanket, and from CafePress, I got her a mug (because she loves coffee oh so much) personalized with a cow she drew herself. You can see it HERE, if you want...

And, for my aunt, an ex-teacher (she retired last year, but the title still applies), I got her THIS because it's funny...

And, finally, for my niece, I got her THIS because it's made of win! :]

Too bad I don't know any U.S. Marines that were having a baby, because I'd love to give them THIS (if you click no other links, at least click this one!) It's that awesome!?

Okay, I'm done spamming you with links... :P
___________________________________________________

*sigh* I guess that's my update for now. I can't wait for Christmas break and...sleep...

So. Much. SLEEP.

*floats off to dreamland*

The Hangman

aydean — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 00:44:13 GMT

I started this for a contest, but two days before the entry was due to be postmarked, I realized that I hated the story entirely, so I started over with a fresh idea, one that, if I say so myself, is the best thing I've ever written. Plus, it was so different from what I usually write (blood, gore, mysteries, crime drama, fantasy, sci-fi stuff). This story was all about... *gasp* Real life issues! x.x I may post it, but not until the contest is over and the winners have been announced. :]

But, until then, this is the ending of the story I realized I hated. Well, it's not so much that I hate it, but rather, I strongly dislike it and lack the will/passion to write the rest of it...and yeah, I started with the ending... sometimes I do that...

(For some reason, LJ-cuts don't seem to be working, so, below is the story, in a different font color just to be fun! :P)

It was a stand-off, each of us staring down the barrel of the gun held by men we once thought we could trust. His eyes were hard and still, his hand unwavering. A sick smile slid across his lips. “I knew you could figure it out, Detective. If anyone could crack the case, I knew it’d be you,” he spat, sarcasm dripping from his voice like a poison.

Glaring at him, I forced my arm to remain steady, forced my mind to block out the pain from the fall days ago, forced myself to concentrate only on the monster that stood before me now. “Why’d you do it, Short? What do you get out of all of this?”

“Ah, why? Isn’t that what they always want to know?” His smile deepened, and my heart sunk. Not because of him, but rather, because I heard the bell over the door chime, signaling that someone had entered.
My eyes left him, my concentration breaking. Distantly, I heard his twisted laugh, and I caught a glimpse of Abigail by the front door of the station just before the butt of Short’s handgun connected with my right temple.

Abigail’s scream came next. While I lay on the floor, blood trickling down by my eye, I could hear her fighting with him. Forcing my eyes open, I managed to get to my feet, my breath coming in quick, short gasps. I turned my attention onto to Short, who now had Abigail pinned against his body, his muscular arm wrapped around her neck, his gun digging into the soft flesh of her throat.

“Let her go, Short. She’s not meant to die.”

“Yeah,” he screamed, suddenly on edge, his hands shaking. “You’ll see to that, won’t you, Detective? You won’t let her die here!”

“Put the gun down, Vincent. You’ve got nowhere to go. You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail in the cell next to the Hangman. You’re just a patsy.”

He laughed, his voice high-pitched and psychotic. “Patsy? Patsy!? You think I was just the partner in this? No, Hansen, I am the Hangman.” He quickly gestured toward the interrogation room before returning the gun to Abigail’s neck. “That guy in there is the patsy. And just like a good scapegoat—”

A loud crash resounded throughout the room, echoing from the interrogation room, followed by the dying cry of the prime suspect.

“I love punctuality!” Short smiled.

“You killed him?” I questioned, chancing a step toward him.

“No. I’m the perfect killer, remember? You gave me that title, so you should know I never make mistakes. You’ll rule it as a suicide: death by drinking poisoned coffee.” He licked his lips. “You see, Detective, when the night is over, I will be remembered forever for what I did here, and tonight, I will go down in history as the Hangman’s greatest legacy.”

With a forceful push, he shoved Abigail into my arms before he turned and scurried like a rat into the stairwell. I caught her instantly, my arms effortlessly wrapping around her warm body. Reluctantly, I pushed her away. Leaning down to look her in the eye, I grimaced.

“Stay here.”

She nodded, and with my grip tightening on my handgun, I raced toward the staircase and up to the roof, taking the stairs two at a time. Bursting through the roof’s door on the third floor, I saw Vincent standing on the edge of the roof, his arms opened wide and held high above his head. His legs were stiff, straight, and pinned close together. The world was just about to break into a fresh day, and as I inched closer to him, I finally took notice of the noose tied around his neck. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

“Vincent!” I yelled, keeping my gun aimed at him. “Don’t do it!”

He turned slightly to look at me over his shoulder. “I told you. I will become the Hangman’s greatest legacy.”

“Don’t do it, Vincent!” My words came out as a scream, and my finger curled even tighter around the gun’s trigger. “I’ll shoot.”

He took one step toward the edge.

“Vincent!”

“This is the end,” he whispered softly before taking a second step. His foot found only air this time, and his body toppled off the roof of the building, plummeting down two and a half stories. The sickening snap of his neck as his body was jerked back up filled the air.

I made my way toward the edge, preparing myself for what I would see. There, Vincent’s body was hanging limp, gently swaying from side-to-side like a clock’s pendulum waiting to chime in the birth of a new hour.

The next morning, the news reported that the suspect known as the Hangman took the Sheraton Police Department hostage for the entire night. By dawn, he had claimed his final victim, Deputy Vincent Short, and then surrendered, turning himself over to the police. Officers, assisted by Detective Hansen, escorted the Hangman immediately to the interrogation room downstairs where he committed suicide minutes later by drinking coffee tainted by his own homemade arsenic.

Vincent was right.

This is the end.

Writer's Block: Book worms unite!

aydean — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 05:41:27 GMT

Three Best:
-House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski (because it is simply brilliant)
-I Am The Messenger by Markus Zusak (it's heartfelt, beauitfully written, and will keep your heart aching until the end...)
-The Manhattan Hunt Club by John Saul (wow, just wow...it's intense and carries a winding plot from beginning to end)

Three Worst:
-The Suicide Collectors by David Oppegaard (the book had SUCH potential, but the ending destroyed it entirely)
-Twilight by S. Meyer (the entire series... Yes, I did actually try to read it. Pathetic plot structure and horrid character development (or lack there of) aside, the books are just horribly written. Did she ever pass an English class in her life? Or did she flunk every one she ever tired to take...?)

...I really can't think of any more... If most books suck, I'll put them down before investing too much time into them... :/

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