after tomorrow's smiles

Graphics: Gossip Girl, Fashion, and Veronica Lake Icons

2009-07-12T05:43:48Z

I was cleaning out my ~inspiration~ folder today, and decided to make icons of some of my favorite pictures.

Breakdown:
12 Gossip Girl (Blair & Serena)
17 Fashion (runway, backstage, editorial)
11 Veronica Lake

Previews:

Icons:

001	002	003	004

005	006	007	008

009	010	011	012

013	014	015	016

017	018	019	020

021	022	023	024

025	026	027	028

029	030	031	032

033	034	035	036

037	038	039	040

Credits:
Icon table by angelamaria
Pictures from L-Meester.Org, Style.Com, foto_decadent, and Fanpix

Rules:
• Credit effulgency if you use any of the icons
• Please, please, please don't hotlink
• Textless icons are not bases--you can only modify these if you ask me first
• Don't steal :(
• Enjoy!

Besos,
Marina

Fanmix: Cartography for Beginners, Doctor/Rose

2008-12-22T05:09:57Z

Title: Cartography for Beginners
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: The Doctor/Rose
Warnings: Vague spoilers for series 2.
Notes: A love story in songs, simple and sweet. This is my first fanmix, so... let me know if I did anything wrong.

Cartography for Beginners - A Doctor/Rose Mix

01. Cities in Dust - Junkie XL (Doctor)

You were running out of time

Under the mountain

A golden fountain

Were you praying at the Lares shrine?

Oh, all your cities lie in dust

02. Every Day Is Exactly the Same - Nine Inch Nails (Rose)

I believe I can see the future

Cause I repeat the same routine

I think I used to have a purpose

Then again, that might have been a dream

03. Attention - The Raconteurs (Doctor/Rose)

Got a lock, got a key

Got some kind of vice-like grip on me

On a leash, by the reigns

Got a look that puts me in chains

04. California One / Youth and Beauty Brigade - The Decemberists (Rose)

And the road a-winding goes

From Golden Gate to roaring cliff-side

And the light is softly low, as our hearts

Become sweetly untied

Beneath the sun

05. I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor - Arctic Monkeys (Rose)

Stop making the eyes at me

I'll stop making the eyes at you

And what it is that suprises me

Is that I don't really want you to

06. M.E.X.I.C.O. - The Kills (Doctor/Rose)

Running into trouble, running into trouble

You got heavenly eyes, a thousand highs.

Always on a mission, it's not lovin' it's not kissin'

It's the heavenly ride

07. The Way I Am - Ingrid Michaelson (Doctor/Rose)

If you were falling, then I would catch you.

You need a light, I'd find a match.

'Cause I love the way you say good morning

And you take me the way I am.

08. You're All I Have - Snow Patrol (Doctor)

I have no fear now that you are all that I have

You're cinematic razor sharp

A welcome arrow through the heart

Under your skin feels like home

09. Seaside - The Kooks (Doctor/Rose)

But I'm just trying to love you

In any kind of way

But I find it hard to love you girl

When you're far away

10. Sleep - The Dandy Warhols (Doctor)

Well I could sleep forever, but it's of her I dream

If I could sleep forever, I could forget about everything

If I could sleep forever

11. Guess How Much I Love You - The Lucksmiths (Doctor/Rose)

Here’s me

Here’s you

Draw a line between the two

This is cartography for beginners

On a map the gap’s three fingers

But it’s more than that

12. Summer Hair = Forever Young - The Academy Is... (Doctor)

I'll never let you go

Don't ever forget

Tell me you'll remember

Forever young

CRACK TRACK
(because the Doctor spiced up Rose's life!)

13. Spice Up Your Life - Spice Girls (Doctor/Rose)

When you're feelin' sad and low

We will take you where you gotta go

Smiling, dancing

Everything is free

All you need is positivity

zip

Original Fiction: Ghosts

2008-12-14T15:47:57Z

Title: Ghosts
Word Count: 1603
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama, young adult (ish)
Warnings: Uh, underage drinking?
Summary: We go on vacation to escape, to burn away our troubles in the hot summer sun. Sometimes, though, our demons follow us.
Author's Notes: This one is semi-autobiographical... my first foray into that genre, really. Definitely fiction, but inspired by my own experiences, shall we say?

I see her again in Mexico. Foreign countries have a strange way of bringing people together and pulling them apart that never ceases to amaze me. My parents met this way, two native Philadelphians from radically different social circles whose paths crossed easily in the community of displaced American artists in Paris. So when I see her standing in front of a fluid ink drawing at the Museo Diego Rivera in Guanajuato, I am not altogether surprised.

I am sketching, and for a long time I don’t notice her, so perfect is my concentration. But I fumble, in a typical display of clumsiness, and my stick of charcoal rolls down the page, smearing my careful, precise marks. I exhale in frustration and look up, my eyes scanning the room, and there she is. I recognize her immediately. She is longer than I remember her and a bit sadder. She has grown several inches, and her formerly bushy, tarnished gold hair is tamed into neat, chestnut-colored curls. But it is her unmistakably.

I freeze, unsure of whether to ignore her or alert her to my presence. The memories begin to trickle back, and we are ten years old again, writing secrets in a spiral-bound notebook, giggling uncontrollably. We grin as we make up names about our classmates. Cheeseball Paul, Pat the Fat, Dim Jim. We revel in cruelty, hardly seeing the harm. The world around us is dull, and we shine like bright stars. There is no such thing as consequences. Now we are eleven, and we pass notes under the heavy, black table in the science room, delighted to be breaking the rules. I can’t remember the last time I broke a rule in school.

Inevitably, I call her name.

“Becca!” I say, a bit too loudly for the silent halls of the museum. She turns, startled, and regards me with wide eyes. She registers my presence but looks at me blankly. I count the passing seconds in my head—one, two, three. And then her face breaks into a smile. Recognition dawns, and she laughs. I simply stare at her, feeling the weight of my open notebook on my lap.

“Oh my God, Tanya! What are you doing here?” I’ve forgotten her voice, or it has changed, because it comes as a total surprise to me. It is confident and smooth, louder than necessary.

“I, uh… I’m just on vacation. And how about you?” I say, and I can almost see the words marching heavily across the room.

“Yeah, vacation. I’m with a tour group. My parents sent me. My God, I haven’t seen you in ages! How long has it been? Four years?”

“Five,” I correct.

“Wow, that’s just… too long. Will you be in town for awhile?”

“I’m leaving on Sunday.”

“And I leave Monday. We should do something. Catch up. Tonight? Are you free tonight?” Her words rush at me, and I am swept away in the floodtides of her rapid speech, just as when we were ten years old.

"Sure," I find myself saying.

She takes me to a tiny, cramped little bar on the second floor above a twenty-four hour convenience store. The walls of the bar are swathed in the neon-colored forms of stalks of corn blowing the wind, bucking broncos, and rifle-toting revolutionaries. My eardrums vibrate with guitar riffs and thumping drumbeats. A man with red dreadlocks sits, cigarette in hand, beneath a sign that reads, “Fumar es causa de cancer.”

We sit at a table that is tucked away, hidden between a graffiti-covered partition and an open window. Becca leans close, trying to make herself heard over the thundering music. It is pointless, though. I still have to read her lips to discern what she is saying. I catch syllables, occasionally whole phrases. But she was never the sort of person who needed words to be understood. She communicates with her hands, gesturing forcefully, and the glint of her brown eyes.

I manage to make out that she has asked me if I want anything to drink. I am silent, thinking. Before I can respond, she signals to a skinny guy in a fedora, and he sets down something cold, lime-colored, and smelling of tequila.

“What is this?” I ask, pointlessly.

“La Paloma, their specialty.” Becca grins, wickedly.

I grip the glass, my fingers leaving holes in the condensation. I remember reading an article about a stampede of underage drinkers at a bar in Mexico City, and wonder if they will still charge me if I don’t drink it. I glance over at Becca and see that her glass is already nearly empty. She has always been a little reckless, even when we were ten, but now the stakes are higher. I inspect her face, searching for some sign that she realizes this.

“I love this bar,” she shouts across the table. “It’s so… I don’t know, Mexican.”

I nod. Will they serve me a soda, if I order one?

She has been making eyes at the man with the red dreadlocks, and he comes over to our table. We learn that his name is, very appropriately, Rojo, and that he is a DJ. He asks us if we want to dance with him, and, of course, she agrees. I follow. It’s all part of experiencing the culture, after all.

There aren’t too many people dancing, but once we are on the dance floor a few more couples join us and soon everyone is dancing; everyone is shouting and writhing and spilling drinks on the wooden floorboards. All the tables are empty, except for one, where a man and a woman are locked in intense conversation and chain-smoking. I want to draw them, but my sketchbook wouldn’t fit in my evening bag and, anyhow, this is hardly the moment.

By this time a small crowd has gathered around us, mainly because Becca’s cheeks are red and she is laughing as she dances. Rojo is talking, not really dancing, telling us and anyone who will listen about his poetry, which he can’t get published. He says that no one reads in Guanajuato, even though it is a university town. I ask him whether he prefers writing poetry or deejaying. He laughs and says that they are the same thing. Becca seems to think that this is a brilliant insight, because she nods fervently and closes her eyes, digesting the thought. I think it’s clever, but blatantly untrue.

Soon my limbs are heavy with exhaustion, but she doesn’t get tired for a long time. After a couple of hours we stop dancing and go to sit with Rojo and some of his friends. There is a tall guy in a suit named Fernando, his friend Alejandro, and Alejandro’s girlfriend, whose name no one mentions. We talk about all the other bars in Guanajuato, bars I’ve never been to. Becca doesn’t speak much Spanish, so sometimes she breaks out into English. Somehow, even with the language barrier, she dominates the conversation. My fluent Spanish seems useless, suddenly.

It is late, about three in the morning, when we stumble down the narrow staircase and out into the street below. Becca is exhilarated, trembling with the adrenaline that hasn’t quite left her body yet. My hair is wild, and there are runs in my stockings. I have a blister on my right foot, as usual. It has always been this way with us. At nine we rode the Cyclone at Coney Island together. Becca came off beaming. I was sick three times and had to leave early.

We share a cab back to our respective hotels. I get dropped off first, because my hotel is in town, and she is staying at one of those spa-slash-hotels just outside the city. Before I get out, we exchange phone numbers scribbled on dirty napkins. She begs me to call her.

“You must!” she demands. “I’m just a subway ride away, there’s no reason not to stay in touch.”

“Of course I will,” I promise, and hug her. She kisses me on the cheek, and her face feels damp. Maybe she is crying, or just sweaty from dancing.

“I’m horrible at goodbyes,” she says. It sounds like an apology.

“That’s okay.” I give her one last smile and climb out of the cab. I trip on the way into the hotel, thinking of her maybe-tears and wondering if she will miss me, or just the memories.

My whole body is exhausted, and I scramble into bed as quickly as I can. My parents are already asleep in the next room. Tonight I am too tired to turn on the TV, but I stare at the ceiling without falling asleep. The hotel is silent, except for the dogs barking on the adjacent rooftop, but my head is filled with noise. Memories flit back and forth like lightning bugs on a hot summer’s night. For a few brief, tantalizing moments that night our paths crossed again and everything seemed glittering and bright. Now the gulf between us seems wider than ever. I wish I could have read her thoughts, seen into her head. I shiver and pull the blankets up, and sometime before dawn I fall asleep.

The next morning I punch her number into my phone from the airport, but just as I am about to press “dial” my flight begins to board. When I get home, I realize I have lost the napkin. I wait for days for her to call, but with each passing day the memories recede. I feel that somehow she has let me go, like a fisherman tossing his prey, squirming and spluttering, back into the sea. By the time the new semester begins, she is just a phantom in my mind, whispering through my childhood and that one night in Mexico.

Original Fiction: Green Peppers

2008-10-09T02:51:26Z

Title: Green Peppers
Word Count: 876
Rating: PG
Genre: ...Romance?
Warnings: None.
Summary: Based on a prompt over at nanowrimo. I... don't know. It's an odd little piece, a bit misshapen.

Charlotte ate green peppers all day long. It was the only way she could deal with the stress. Some people bite their fingers and others chain-smoke. Charlotte ate peppers. She could often be seen, standing on the subway platform, waiting for the 3 Train in a neatly pressed suit, plastic baggy in hand. It was the one incongruous element to her appearance. Everything else was just so. Dark, plain brown hair pulled into a bun so tight it raised her eyebrows half an inch. Pumps just high enough to be fashionable and just low enough to be practical. She had the look down perfectly. Except, that is, for her green peppers. They followed her everywhere: to meetings, to business luncheons, out a night. This had been going on so long that no one who knew her thought anything of it. It was expected, now. Where Charlotte was, so were the peppers.

On Tuesday she asked me the most peculiar question. I’m sorry, not Charlotte. It was her sister, Lucy. They are like two peas in a pod. It’s often difficult to tell them apart. Well, aside for the green peppers of course. Lucy always hated peppers. But that is neither here nor there. I was sitting at my desk as usual, rechecking the expense report, when Lucy tapped her manicured fingernails on my desk. I glanced up at her.

“Have you seen The Lion King?” she said. Her tone was icy, utterly unfitting to the question she posed. I stared at her.

“Yes,” I said stupidly. Everyone has seen The Lion King. Most people have seen it more than once. It is a classic, after all.

“On Broadway,” I mean, Lucy clarified.

“Yup.”

“So you have seen it?”

“Uh-huh.” I tried to read her expression, but got nothing. The Sterling girls are tricky like that. You never know what they are thinking. “Have you?” I asked, because she was not explaining and I felt the need to break the silence.

“No.”

“It’s a good show. You should go see it. Absolutely classic.”

“I have a spare ticket,” she blurted out. It took a moment for me to fully register the implication of those words. Was it possible that she, Lucy Sterling, was asking me, Robert Gregory, on a date? Impossible. She must have some other motive.

“Oh?” I hoped she would say something.

“Well, you’ve seen it already.”

“Yes, once. Good show, though. I’d see it again any day.”

“So you want to go see it?”

“Oh, well. Sure.”

“Eight o’clock.” With those words she walked away.

So, I found myself standing outside the Minskoff Theater later that night, awaiting Lucy.

It was Charlotte who showed up. I knew it was her right away, by the plastic bag poking out of her velvet evening bag. She smiled at me, and I was a little bit frightened.

“Charlotte!” I greeted her, not really very surprised.

“Yes,” she said, and I detected something a bit like nervousness in her voice. “Lucy couldn’t come. She wasn’t feeling well.” She smiled, a little apologetically.

“Well, that’s all right.” I offered her one of my reassuring grins. People always comment on my grin. Supposedly, it has highly comforting effects. “It’s a pleasure to have your company for the evening.”

“Is it really?”

I nodded. “Oh, yes.”

She softened, somehow, like a taught string let to slacken. I don’t think she ate any more green peppers that night, but she certainly tasted of them. It’s good I like green peppers nearly as much as she does.
The next morning, we went to a diner for breakfast.

She ordered waffles and I had the sausages. I don’t think Charlotte is much of a carnivore. She just stared at me as I cut them into neat pieces, spread on sauerkraut, and indulged. Breakfast has always been my favorite meal of the day, but it probably isn’t Charlotte’s. So few breakfast foods are satisfyingly crunchy.

“What will we do at work?” I asked, in between bites of sausage.

She just smiled. “Let’s not worry about it.”

“Okay,” I said obligingly. I didn’t want to ruin her idyllic diner breakfast with talk of the real world. I held her hand across the table, and I felt like I was a teenager again.

When the check came, we both drew out our wallets.

“This one’s on me,” I said. “You paid for the show last night, after all.”

“No, I didn’t. Lucy did.”

“Ah.”

“Well, I’m paying for breakfast, and that’s that.”

“Come on, Charlotte.”

She didn’t say anything. She merely withdrew her little bag of green peppers, which I supposed must be a day old now, and rather unappetizing. This didn’t seem to phase her, as she hurriedly selected a long, thin slice and bit off the end.

“Charlotte? Is everything okay?”

Pause.

“Sure it is,” she said. She selected another pepper slice and began to devour it.

“Hey, stop eating those peppers for a sec, okay? Talk to me.”

“You wish I was Lucy, don’t you?” she said. Her eyes were wet, suddenly.

“What? No, of course not!”

She stood up suddenly and ran out of the diner. I was left with a half-empty bag of green peppers and the bill she forgot to pay.

Update: To-Do List

2008-08-29T00:51:47Z

For my own sanity, I'm posting this here. Feel free to ignore.

Projects:
Rose/Doctor fanmix - make cover art!
Rose/Doctor drabble - write
Doctor drabble - rewrite & edit
Buffy/Angel fic - finish
Story ideas - finish brainstorm

Graphics: 20 Misc. Icons, 11 BtVS Graphics

2008-08-22T03:51:44Z

Here's a nice jumble of graphics, old and new, from various fandoms. Hope you all enjoy!

Breakdown:
10 Doctor Who (Rose Tyler)
2 Fantastic Four (Sue Storm)
6 Buffy the Vampire Slayer
2 Friends
9 BtVS Banners
2 BtVS wallpapers

Previews:

Icons:

1	2	3	4

5	6	7	8

9	10	11	12

13	14	15	16

17	18	19	20

Banners:
1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

Wallpapers:
1.

800x600 • 1024x768

2.

800x600 • 1024x768

Credits:
Icon table by the generator
Caps by Time and Space and Screencap Paradise

Rules:
• Credit effulgency if you use any of the icons
• Please, please, please don't hotlink
• Textless icons are not bases--you can only modify these if you ask me first
• Don't steal :(
• Enjoy!

x's and o's
Marina

Update: I made a layout!

2008-08-20T06:22:21Z

OMG.

I just finished (more or less) coding my first ever LJ layout from scratch. It was kind of exhausting, and took the better part of the past three days, graphic making included.

The easy part was getting the overall shapes in place. That took only an hour or so. What were really time consuming were all the little tweaks--getting everything to line up just so, changing the colors of links and headings and mouseovers. It's still not 100% done, as the Archives page looks a little wonky and I'm quite satisfied with the sidebar. But it's pretty much done.

So go, look! Tell me what you think!

effulgency effulgency effulgency effulgency effulgency

:)

Oh, and also, credit where it's due:

Tiny icons are by famfamfam

xoxo

Ficlet: I Preserve You Like a Flower Pressed Into My Mind

2008-08-17T00:16:45Z

Title: I Preserve You Like a Flower Pressed Into My Mind
Word Count: 497
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Angel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mild language.
Summary: Angel remembers good times and searches for a solution.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not the characters, not the world, not the relationships. I'm just playing in Joss's sandbox.
Author's Notes: Set sometime during Season 4 of Buffy/Season 1 of Angel. An old drabble I revamped (no pun intended) today. This was written for my fanfic50 claim, #23: past. Also, why don't I have a Buffy/Angel icon?

He never forgets how beautiful she looks when she's asleep, how perfectly at peace she seems. The only time she is really ever at peace. Sometimes, as he is waking up, he hopes against hope that it has all been a twisted nightmare, and he will find her curled against his side, barely a day over seventeen. Everything will work out, because they are together, two crazy kids in love. He will lie there and watch her, her chest rising and falling slightly, steadily, slowly.

Eventually she will wake up to find his dark eyes fixed on her face, and she will remember and smile, perfectly content. She will rest her head against his bare chest, and he will run his fingers through her blonde hair, the closest he can ever come to touching sunshine. Maybe one of them will look at the clock, and see that, really, if she wants to make it to school on time, she should start getting ready. He will start to remind her that she is still in high school, even though right now school is the farthest thing from her mind. But before he can get a word out, she will kiss him into oblivion.

Of course, when he opens his eyes, she is never there. His eyes jump open and he turns to find an empty space at his side. A void. Barren, cold, terrifying. He wonders if she misses him the way he misses her. Can that boy, all brawn and purpose, somehow make her forget her first love, all the pain and the fear and the joy? He's tried so hard to be the strong one, walking away with his heart in pieces, trying to let her live her life.

When he thinks of her, he can't help wishing she will arrive on his doorstep one evening with a sheepish smile and say some corny line on her lips. "I just couldn't live without you," or "Baby, we're meant to be. Whatever the odds. I say we fight them." Then they'll fuck up against the mirror on his bedroom wall, and later they'll make love. And every night, he will watch her sleeping by his side. When she shakes with nightmares and screams in her sleep, he will hold her until she is calm again and everything will be alright.

But sometimes epic love isn't meant to be. That's why Helen of Troy never could save Paris, and Juliet's fake suicide backfired so horribly. That's why some couples are the stuff of legends. For some romances, a happy ending just isn't in the cards. In the end, love isn't the only thing that matters. Sometimes when two lives intersect, all hell breaks loose. Maybe it's fate. Maybe it's how some cruel deity get its kicks. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's everything.

There is no solution. There is no solution. This is what he tells himself over and over again, and it's the only way he can bring himself to move on.

Original Fiction: The Start

2008-08-16T23:42:55Z

Title: The Start
Word Count: 980
Rating: PG
Genre: Family drama
Warnings: None, unless you hate children.
Summary: Aiden has all the friends in the world. Problem is, they're all imaginary.
Author's Notes: I just recently unearthed this from a file of ancient ficlets. Hope it's enjoyable.

"Mommy! Mommy!" he calls, running across the asphalt. Aiden's grin is wide and innocent; it makes her heart swell. "I made a new friend," he tells her, his exuberance tangible. She returns his grin and wants to know everything. His name is Joey and he is in first grade. He is a big boy. And, Aiden tells her, "he likes to build cities out of blocks, 'specially the red ones, red like fire engines, because those are the best."

"Just like you," she says, marvelling at the coincidence. Do all little boys like red? she wonders. His tiny hand is pawing at hers, trying to lace fingers with fingers. "C'mon, lt's walk home," she says, and he nods rapidly in consent.

"I'll tell you all about Joey!"

"And how did you meet Joey?"

"Woody and Joey are brothers."

"What? Oh, Aiden. You mean... oh, Aid. What have I told you about playing with Woody?"

"But I like playing with him! He's my friend!"

"No, he's not, honey."

"Yes, he is!"

"Sweetie, Woody isn't real."

He is sniffling, and she can't watch him cry, not again. So she lifts him up, grateful that at four he is still light enough to hoist onto one hip without straining anything. She kisses him on the head, the cheek, the nose. Then she changes the subject.

"How about an ice cream cone, Aid?"

"Oh, ice cream! Yesyesyesyes!"

Resorting to bribery. She is definitely out of the running for the Mom of the Year award. She tries, she really does. But having a little boy like Aiden is hard. She loves him--God, she loves him so much. He's wonderful. So smart, and playful, and alert, and beautiful. He's her son, and nothing will ever change that. Some nights, though, as she lies in bed, tossing and turning, trying to drift off into some semblance of a deep sleep, she wishes her son had a couple real friends. It's not that he's mean to the other children, or repells them in some way. He just isn't interested in any of the other boys and girls. "But Mommy, Woody's my friend. I don't need others," Aiden explained to her once.

The next day, she asks his teacher if she can sit with him for the first half hour of so of the day. Ms. Rolands says it's alright, so soon she is down on the floor, legs crossed, surrounded by eighteen kindergarteners. Aiden is huddled behind her, busily playing with a stuffed dog named Cheese and a plastic robot called Peter.

Crawling on her hands and knees, sacrificing any remnants of dignity, she approaches a friendly looking boy with neatly combed red hair and huge brown eyes. His exposed flesh is covered entirely in freckles, and he is cute as a button. Magazine ad, clothing model, child star cute. He seems like a good enough candidate for Aiden's first (real) friend.

"Hello," she says, smiling her friendliest smile. Oh God, she's trying to charm some strange five year-old. This can't possibly be happening.

"Hi," he says. He seems friendly enough.

"I'm Sara, what your name?"

"Tyson." He goes back to coloring on a sheet of cheap manila paper. He has one of those big crayon boxes with a thousand different colors, from metallics to neons to a politcally correct spectrum of flesh tones. The sort of crayons every kid in Ms. Rolands kindergarten is probably envying right now. Aiden would love to get his hands on these crayons.

"Nice to meet you, Tyson. What are you drawing there?" She cranes her neck to look at the paper, but can't quite discern any kind of subject.

"A forest. A great, big, green forest," Tyson allows, and then clams up again. Squinting, she can sort of see it. It's certainly great, big, and green. It's just the whole "wooded area" part that throws her a little.

"That's a very nice picture. Do you like to draw a lot?" She is coaxing him, warming him up to her.

"Yes." He pauses, staring at her, his gigantic chocolate doe's eyes focused on her face. "How come you're here? Are you a teacher?"

"Oh, no. I'm here with Aiden. Do you know Aiden? I'm his mommy." Has she divulged too much information? Has she blown it?

"No. Who's Aiden?"

She points out her son, who is now wheeling two small toy cars together at top speed and making crashing noises with his mouth.

"Would you like to play with Aiden?"

"Okay."

Touchdown! Score one for the active mother! Maybe she is in the running for that award, after all. She crawls alongside Tyson as he moves cautiously towards her son.

"Hi, Aiden!" she says cheerily.

"Hi, Mommy!"

"I have a friend for you."

"Woody?"

"No, sweetie."

"Joey?"

"Honey, no." She gives Tyson an ever-so-gentle-definitely-could-not-be-construed-as-child-abuse shove towards Aiden. "This is Tyson. He wants to play cards with you."

Aiden doesn't say anything, he simply stares at his prospective playmate, apparently thinking the offer over. Please God, make him say yes. Give Aid a friend. He needs one so much. He doesn't know he does but... oh, he does. She doesn't realize, but she is holding her breath as slowly, grudgingly, Aiden hands Tyson one of the cars.

"Okay," Aid says. She laughs suddenly, out of relief, she supposes.

Thankgodthankgodthankgod.

Tyson accepts the car with an easy smile. "Wanna race?"

"No," Aiden says. He shakes his head. "Let's crash them!"

"Crash?" Tyson's eyes go wide(r) and his lips pucker into a tiny O at the idea. By some bizarre chance, this basic boyish game seems to be an alien concept to him.

"Yeah! Like this." Aiden grips his car and runs it toward Tyson's. As the two little plastic and metal vehicles collide, he lets out a string of exploding noises.

"Cool!" With obvious glee, Tyson pulls his little car back and then swings it at Aiden's. Together, the two boys make a chorus of loud sounds.

Slowly, she gets to her feet and slips away, leaving the boys to their fun. As she walks down the street, she beams as if she has just won the lottery.

Original Fiction: Louisa & Jenine

2008-08-16T23:31:43Z

Title: Louisa & Jenine
Word Count: 545
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Horror/drama
Warnings: Uh, angsty?
Summary: A young girl is haunted by a terrifying, spectral presence and tries to find her strength.
Author's Notes: This was written ages ago! I'm in the process of posting some old stuff just to get this journal a bit less dusty. Please let me know what you think. ;)

Louisa lived in constant fear of Janine. She had no cause to be afraid, for Janine did not exist--she could not, her very existence would defy the laws of nature. But rationality did not seem to be able to keep Louisa from quaking with terror as she slipped soundlessly between the sheets of her bed each night, and tiptoed around the lifeless apartment each morning at the break of dawn. Janine was Louisa's tormenter, always standing at her side, hovering behind her, a wicked grin contorting her features. Sometimes Louisa would hear footsteps behind her and whip around, eyes wide in panic, to see no one.

Very late at night, when she had been up late studying, she would catch sight of a shadow, Janine’s shadow, slipping away behind a curtain or the big chest of drawers in the dining room. Then Louisa would scream, but no sound would echo forth into the room. She, like her tormenter, was silent.

Frustration would eat at her nerves, helping the constant fear and anxiety, to break her down into a thousand fragments. She was no longer Louisa, she was simply a mosaic of little pieces of the girl she had once been, not entirely real and yet fully mortal. In the same hours of the morning, the piece of the girl most like Louisa's former self would wonder whether she was destroying herself--but then daybreak would come, and the rest of the house would wake up, and Louisa was herself once more, fears gone, smile plastered across her face.

The calendar hanging in Louisa the girl's room showed little black cigarette burns of pen for every day Janine had haunted the house, but still it seemed silly and unreal to Louisa at four o'clock, as she sat scribbling away at her homework and the wonderful, earthy smell of cooking tomatoes drifting down the hallway from the kitchen. As soon as the world returned to night, though, Louisa was gone, and Janine was back. The pieces of a girl lied in bed and shivered as Janine floated through the room, noose in hand. One foot would peek cautiously out from under the covers, and Janine would descend on her prey. The foot would dart back under the covers, two eyes would shut tight, and hands would pull the blanket up, shielding the sleeping mosaic of Louisa from Janine.

As had been inevitable from the start, one day Janine was gone. Perhaps she had given up on Louisa and decided to go torment another little girl. Louisa, confident Louisa, boasting Louisa, joyous Louisa, Louisa Louisa, smiled a cocky smile and drifted into the land of Nod. Sleep descended instantly on Louisa, but it was not a peaceful sleep. The part of Louisa that was not confident, or boasting, or joyous (except on occasion), but still Louisa Louisa, whispered that hadn't Janine won? But there was not a question mark at the end of bold Louisa's thoughts on the matter, so meek Louisa retreated into the back of Louisa's head, and tried not to be completely obscured.

Janine never did come back, but once or twice, as she lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling, Louisa wondered where Janine had gone. And then meek Louisa knew that in her way, she had won.

Update: New layout

2008-08-15T00:10:46Z

I finally got around to adding a new layout. It uses an old header I made about... six months ago of Sarah Michelle Gellar and modified codes by snubbly. Someday I will get around to coding my own LJ layout... some day! I promise!

So this is just my gleeful post of layout-y success. I'm actually already working on a new header, so this probably won't be here for long. It's pretty, though, yes?

xoxo
Miry

Update: Well...

2008-05-27T03:55:45Z

I thought when I first started this journal it would be easier to keep updated if I used it as a place to house just my creative work. Evidently this is not the case. The problem seems to be that I am too busy with school to do much creative work at all. Sadly, I have lately found myself too exhausted upon finishing my school work to pick up a pencil or open mi (my no-frills writing software of choice.) It certainly doesn't help that I've been trying to maintain a fairly busy social life. Of course, busy for me is probably leisurely for most others, as I've never been too big on the socializing. It's nice to have lots of friends right now, though, even if that means staying up a little later to finish off essays.

I've been doing so much writing for school that I haven't had much creative energy to devote to fanworks or even original works. However, I have been keeping up with my TV--of course, that is much easier to do when tired than write or draw. I've just finished the latest seasons of Bones, House, and Gossip Girl. I didn't particularly take to any of the season finales, although I did like a lot of the late season arcs. Unfortunately I think they really chose a bad direction with Bones. The penultimate episode was so promising, and then the finale was just... ugh. Anyhow, I'm still excited for my shows to come back in the fall, and of course for Dollhouse in '09. In the meantime I'll be plenty busy all summer, going on two separate trips to Mexico, one with my family and one without. So things should be good.

I've been thinking... maybe if I can stop fussing about having all my writing be polished before uploading it, this place can at least be a little less dusty. So I'll try to have some stuff to post here sometime soon. Right now is crunch time as the semester is coming to a close, so I have projects for every class. In fact, I should be working on one such project right now. So... I'll go do that.

xoxo
Ncy

P.S. Sorry this was such a long, crappy post. I just wanted to get some stuff off my chest and avoid work for a little bit.

Update: Satsu is AWESOME

2007-11-19T02:08:52Z

So I'm now caught up on Buffy Season 8. I wasn't going to read the comics, but Jo Chen's covers are too pretty to resist. A friend picked up the Long Way Home paperback for my birthday, which I read through in about an hour. I'm incredibly cheap and didn't want to buy No Future For You in seperate comics--although I'll probably purchase a paperback, if one is released. Instead, I went to Barnes & Noble and sat down in the middle of the magazine section and read through parts 1-3. Yeah, I got some strange looks.

I'm really loving the comics. I don't necessarily like a lot of the choices made, and I feel like a lot of it is sort of vaguely out of character, but it's just so nice to get my Joss fix. So. Nice. (I can't wait for Dollhouse! Eliza Dushku + Joss = INSTANT PERFECTION. Y/N?)

Anyhow, why is isn't there more Buffy/Satsu fanfiction? I don't understand. I mean, yeah, it's easy to be overwhelmed by the Fuffy, but still. What would this ship be called? Batsu? Suffy? Satfy? Bufsu? Hm. If anyone can rec Buffy/Satsu I'd be thrilled. If not, I may be forced to write some. I actually thought they'd be cute together before I even got to the whole cinnamon lipgloss business. Probably from the instant Buffy mentioned Satsu's hair. Aww.

In other news, I saw Dan in Real Life on Friday. It was charming. Not the greatest movie of all time, but very cute. Honestly, Steve Carrell can do very little wrong. Well, I passed on Evan Almighty, but Little Miss Sunshine was just adorable, and I love The Office.

Just a note, Smashed is really much funnier at three in the morning. Especially if you've just eaten about half a box of those delicious Tofutti ice cream sandwiches.

Okay, back to studying my Mandarin!

<3
Marina

Fic: Deconstructing Chaos

2007-11-12T18:55:17Z

Title: Deconstructing Chaos
Word Count: 992
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Spike
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Set pre-Smashed in early season 6, slightly AU, angsty
Summary: Buffy reflects on life and love, until a nighttime visitors disturbs her reverie.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not the characters, not the world, not the relationships. I'm just playing in Joss's sandbox.
Author's Notes: This was written for my fanfic50 claim, #13: want.

She keeps telling herself she doesn't want him, doesn't like him, certainly doesn't love him. He's a vicious killer and he can't experience real emotions. He's a beast, not a man. Still, she leaves the phone plugged in this time and the window is wide open, just in case he decides to shout up to her, like some twisted reincarnation of Romeo. She'll be his Juliet, she decides, the day he climbs up the side of the house in a doublet and hose, his declarations of love in iambic pentameter.

He had told her of his days as a man, a poet--before his siring. They laughed at him, once. "They call him William the Bloody--because of his bloody awful poetry!" Suddenly she is back at the Bronze, her side aching from her own stake turned against her. Red, red blood filled her mind and she was more aware than ever of her own mortality. Her life stretched before her like a fragile string, easily snapped. She wanted to know. She wanted to be prepared. She didn't want to die. Not then. Not before she knew the sweet relief of heaven.

So she came to him.

For a few dollars thrown in his lap, Spike had told her everything. Two slayers, one in China, one in New York. He'd enjoyed the dance. It makes her sick. Sick, sick, sick. She is better than that. Slaying is her calling, her job. She doesn't enjoy it. She refuses to delight in the rush of the hunt, the fleeting satisfaction of feeling hard, cold matter around her stake crumble into a neat little pile of dust.

She let herself go, once, and everything went wrong. There was broken glass and a police car and too sudden out of nowhere slayer reflexes not good enough blood, blood, blood. A dead man. A human being. Blood, flesh, life. A beating heart that one girl stopped. In an instant. She'd extinguished a life with just a steady arm and a pointy stick.

It could have been her. She could just as easily have been Buffy the Murderer. Buffy the Human Killer. Buffy the Rogue Slayer. Buffy doing the mayor's bidding, trying to find the father figure she's almost had. Buffy shooting a poisoned arrow. Buffy in jail in L.A. She shudders at the thought, squeezing her eyes shut against the image of that silly, helpless man, collapsed against a dumpster, mouth gaping in shock and pain. Did his life flash before his eyes? Did he wish he could have said a final word to a friend, a brother, a lover? Did anyone mourn for him? Did anyone cry over his lifeless body, too shaken to rasp out a positive identification at the morgue? Too many questions. It's all in the past now. A painful memory in a stack of others, all courtesy of everybody's favorite Hellmouth.

"Buffy?"

She isn't startled. She simply opens her eyes and sits up, hugging her knees to her chest.

"What is it, Spike?" She fights to keep the sheer exhaustion out of her voice, to force just the right amount of hatred and disgust into each word.

"Something seriously bad is goin' down in good ol' Sunny-Hell."

"Oh yeah? Why aren't you off frolicking in the entrails of innocents?" She sighs. Spike is starting to remind her of Angel. He's Bad News Guy, always showing up with a cryptic warning and then disappearing into the night. Well, not so much with the disappearing. Spike is always there. And if he isn't, she always knows where to find him. He isn't elusive. And maybe she likes that about him. But Spike is an evil monster, a killer. A chip is a poor substitute for a soul. Spike is bad. Angel was--is--good. Simple as that.

She uncurls to sit on the side of her bed, facing Spike. His hands are gripping the sill and his peroxide hair is glowing an eerie silver in the moonlight. It looks almost radioactive. She fights to keep from smirking at him, looking so earnest.

"Thought I'd tip you off. Do you a favor, y'know." His words are colder than before, his body stiff and unyielding.

"So, this is just a random act of kindness?"

"Well, yeah." She stares at him, and he looks uncomfortable. "Listen, the demon causin' the ruckus is an old enemy, thought maybe I'd help you track 'im down."

"Not so random, then. Go, beat him up. It's your fight."

"Tired?" he asks, and the gentleness in his gaze is disgusting. It sends a quiver down her spine which she ignores.

She shakes her head. "I don't get tired."

"'Course you do," he says softly. He slides easily over the sill and sits down on the bed beside her. His gesture is inappropriately intimate, equal parts creepy and sweet. She freezes, not able to move closer and not wanting to move away. Spike is close to her, so very close. If he were a human she would be able to feel the heat radiating from his body, even hear the beat of his heart in the quiet California night. When he speaks again, his voice is a breathy whisper, filled with barely restrained want. "Everyone needs a break, once in awhile."

She wants to be cool and detached and perfectly nonchalant, but his proximity is making her thoughts dissolve into increasing chaos. There's a word for that, but she can't remember it--oh God, what is he doing? He's leaning closer to her and his hand has somehow moved to cover hers. His knee brushes, ever so softly, against her thigh. She realizes she is shaking--or maybe he is. Spike is doing that thing with his mouth and his tongue, that thing that drives her just a little bit insane, and she is kissing him, her lips pressed against his, and she isn't sure who started it and honestly, she doesn't care.

Tutorial: 002 Texture Tutorial of Doom

2007-10-21T21:38:02Z

I wrote another tutorial. :) It's frightening long and extremely complex, but I've tried to break down my icon-making style here and give some tips as to how to deal with various situations. I cover lightening dark caps, blending, texture use, and cropping.

This tutorial is, like all my tutorials, for Photoshop Elements 2.0 with the Earthbound Light plug-in installed for Curves, Layer Mask, and Selective Color. The level is advanced.

& -->

Tutorial 002: Texture Tutorial of DOOM

Step 1.
Open up your image.

Mine is REALLY REALLY REALLY dark, so the coloring is focused on lightening a dark base. For simplicity's sake, you should use a similarly dark base, preferably with some nice hightlights, like the outline of Buffy's hair in this cap.

Now, you're gonna want to crop to 100 x 100 pixels.

This is the base. Amazingly dark, but decently cropped.

Step 2.
Let's clean up the base. I used a Curves layer to bring out the light areas in the image. Basically, I just wanted to make the glowy areas brighter, while retaining the contrast of the dark areas. I used the following settings:

RGB
Input: 80
Output: 200

If you don't have curves, a very similar effect can be created by duplicating the base a few times and setting the duplicates to Screen.

Step 3.
I wanted to further brighten the image, so I made another Curves layer. Again, base duplicates set to Screen can achieve a similar effect.

My settings were:

RGB
Input: 140
Output: 240

Step 4.
The image was getting to be very bright, considering the base. For a cap like the one I used, I don't expect to be able to get the icon to be one of those lovely, vibrant colored creations. My goal is just to bring out the light areas and try to get some nice coloring.

This image was looking very red, so I used a Selective Coloring adjustment layer.

YELLOWS
C: 0
Y: 0
M: -35
B: -30

NEUTRALS
C: +50
Y: -32
M: 0
B: 0

If you don't have Selective Coloring, you might try adding some cyan Soft Light layers and fiddling around witht the Hue/Saturation.

Step 5.
The point of that layer was to incrase the cyan in the image, while decreasing the yellow. I succeeded, but the coloring was still pretty blah. To try and develop the coloring a bit, I made a new dark brown layer (#451800), and set it to Exclusion.

This gives us a very brown image, with low contrast. It also brings out the cyans in the lighter tones.

Step 6.
The contrast of the image was now horrible, so I made a new, very pale blue layer (#EEFFFE). I set that to Color Burn, which subtley darkened everything up and added cyan to the image.

Step 7.
The contrast was still pretty bland, so I made a new Curves adjustment layer. Screen and Soft Light layers might also work.

My settings were:

RGB

1st point
Input: 156
Output: 211

2nd point
Input: 26
Output: 28

Step 8.
Now I employed a little trick learned from awmpdotnet to lighten the image. I went to Select All (control + A) and then Edit > Copy Merged. This copied the whole icon so far onto the clipboard. Then I pasted it on top of everything. Then, I inverted the top layer (control + I).

I set that inverted layer to Soft Light.

Step 9.
The contrast was all screwy now, so I made a new Curves layer.

RGB
Input: 50
Output: 15

Step 10.
I wanted to make the darks a bit purpler now, so I made a new Selective Coloring layer.

REDS
C: +10
M: 0
Y: 0
B: 0

YELLOWS
C: 0
M: -25
Y: -16
B: 0

CYANS
C: -66
M: -77
Y: -63
B: 0

NEUTRALS
C: +37
M: +45
Y: -46
B: 0

Step 11.
The coloring was decent now, but I wanted to darken the image. To do this, I made a duplicate of the image (select all, Edit > Copy Merged) and pasted it on top of everything. I set that layer to soft light.

Step 12.
At this point I was starting to realize that the image quality of the base was too poor to be a single icon all on its own. So, I set aside the icon I'd been working on. I opened up another image from the same scene, with slightly better lighting.

Okay, now I wanted to cut out the figure of Buffy in that cap. So, I zoomed in like whoa to about 500% (control + plus sign). Then I made layer mask (New Adjustment Layer > Layer Mask) and carefully cut out Buffy.

The blue in the cap above is just to show where I cut out the image. In reality the image should have a transparent background.

Step 13.
I had a Buffy cutout, but her coloring was pretty atrocious. To lighten up the cap, I used a Curves layer.

RGB
Input: 108
Output: 226

Step 14.
I thought that was still too light, so I used yet another Curves layer to punch up the colors.

RGB
Input: 124
Output: 225

Step 15.
I copied the cutout of Buffy (select all, Edit > Copy Merged) and pasted on top of the orginal icon.

So I pasted:

On top of:

I moved the cutout around to my liking and got this:

Do not get rid of the other file with the original cutout on it yet! We'll go back to that later.

Step 16.
Texture time! First I wanted to add some blue, so I took the following texture:

by tihana

and set the layer blend mode to Screen, 100%.

Step 17.
I added another texture to add some lightness and intrigue to the image.

by tihana

I set the blend mode to Lighten, 100%.

Step 18.
The texture was completely blocking cutout Buffy's face, so I made a layer mask on the top texture layer and with a big, soft brush masked out the part covering her.

Step 19.
To add some blue to the image, I made a new layer and filled it with a light cyan (#ACEDE8) and set the blend mode to Color Burn 100%.

Step 20.
To darken the image a bit, I copied the grey texture on top of the image.

I set that layer to Soft Light 100%.

Step 21.
I still wanted the icon to be bluer, so I took another texture:

by tihana (yes, I love her work!)

and set it to Soft Light 100%.

Step 22.
I wanted to add a little more depth to the icon, so I duplicated the first blue texture:

and dragged the duplicate to the top.

Step 23.
That was too dark for my liking, so I went to Image > Adjustment > Hue/Saturation (or control + U) and entered these settings:

Hue: 0
Saturation: +100
Lightness: +85

I set the newly lightened blue texture to Color Burn, 50%.

Step 24.
Almost done! I promise.

By now cutout Buffy was looking pretty faded out, so I duplicated the cutout of her and dragged it to the top.

So this:

Went on top of this:

I set the cutout duplicate to Lighten, 100%.

Step 25.
I wanted to bring out the blues in cutout Buffy, so I went back to my original cutout document and played around with Selective Coloring to upp the blues.

REDS
C: -25
M: 0
Y: -36
B: 0

YELLOW:
C: -11
M: -32
Y: 0
B: -39

NEUTRALS:
C: +100
M: -100
Y: -100
B: 0

Step 26.
I wanted the coloring even bluer, so I made another Selective Coloring layer.

NEUTRALS
C: +73
M: -32
Y: -30
B: 0

Step 27.
Please, please use this coloring for the power of good! Don't leave the cutout of Buffy as it is. That would be... horrendous. Go back and copy the newly blue and purple cutout Buffy and paste it on top of the main icon.

This:

On top of this:

I set the blend mode to Soft Light, 100%.

Guess what? That's it! Oh my goodness, this tutorial of dooom is finally over. Yay!

Hope you enjoy the tutorial. Remember not to copy everything and to try your own creative twists.

<3
Marina

Awards

2007-10-21T15:00:07Z

Occasionally I enter icontests, and occasionally I win things. I feel kind of bad about not posting my banners, because the makers went to the effort to make me pretty custom banners. So here is my awards post. Under a cut for your convenience.

Roughly in chronological order, from oldest to newest.

<3
Marina

Tutorial: #01 Bright Coloring & Texture Use

2007-10-20T21:15:34Z

I've made an icon tutorial, as requested by toodelicious. The tutorial uses Adobe Photoshop Elements 2.0, with the Earthbound Light plug-in installed, so there are Curves and Selective Coloring used.

-->

Tutorial #01: Bright Coloring & Texture Use

Step 1.
Make a new 100 x 100 pixels (icon-sized) document, and copy paste your image on top. Then, using the move tool, slide the image around until you come up with a crop you like. I got this:

Step 2.
Let's clean up this base a little. The colors are on the dull side. Make a new Hue/Saturation adjustment layer. I upped the saturation +18.

Step 3.
Pretty dark, huh? New Curves adjustment layer, with the following settings:

RGB
Input: 120
Output: 141

This subtly lightens the image and upps the contrast, without making the image too bright.

Step 4.
New Selective Coloring layer. I wanted to make the image a little more colorful, making the drab background bluer and the skintones a bit brighter.

REDS
C: -58
M: +12
Y: +100
B: +24

YELLOWS
C: -62
M: -27
Y: +100
B: 0

NEUTRALS
C: +33
M: -12
Y: -12
B: 0

A little better.

Step 5.
But now poor Buffy is freakishly yellow. So I wanted to make her skin a bit pinker and more skinlike. How did I do that? A new Selective Coloring layer, of course.

REDS
C: -20
M: +7
Y: 0
B: 0

YELLOWS
C: -50
M: 0
Y: -32
B: 0

NUETRALS
C: +11
M: 0
Y: 0
B: 0

Step 6.
The coloring is alright now. Yay! I wanted to play around with textures a bit, though. First I added this texture:

by tihana

and rotated it 90 degrees left, then flipped it vertically.

Set on screen, 100% opacity.

Step 7.
Starting to look a bit washed out. I added another texture:

by tihana

on Multiply, 100% opacity.

Step 8.
To bring out the colors a bit more and add contrast, make the two texture layers invisible, select all (control + A), and go to Edit > Copy merged. You have now copied the image (without textures, just coloring) onto the clipboard. Make the texture layers visible again, and on a top layer paste the textureless image.

So, on top of this:

Paste this:

Set the top layer to Soft Light, 100% opacity. You should get this:

Step 9.
Looking good, just a little on the dark side. New Curves adjustment layer.

RGB
Input: 172
Output: 219

Step 10.
Again, I found the image too yellow. So, I made a new Selective Coloring layer.

YELLOWS
C: 0
M: +11
Y: -50
B: 0

Step 11.
Still, something was missing from the icon. Taking advantage of the blank space at the top of the image, I added a text layer:

"buffster;" in Bernard MT Condensed, anti-alias on, 18 pt, in a light blue (#61D5DD)

Step 12.
I didn't like how the text blended in, so I set the layer blend mode to Screen, 100% opacity.

Step 13.
Pretty good, but the text is overlapping her head. I added a Layer Mask to the text layer. Then I took a small brush (Hard Round 5 Pixels) and masked out the part of the text that was overlapping Buffy's head.

There we are! A pretty, texture-ific icon in only 13, mostly easy steps.

Please keep in mind, this tutorial is meant to be a guide, not an exact, step-by-step list of rules to follow. Make your own variations. Change the textures, the layer blend modes, the Selective Coloring. Improvise. Be creative. Hopefully this tutorial will be inspiring to some, and give people ideas about different techniques of icon-making.

Enjoy!

<3
Marina

Fic: Fanfic50 Prompt Table

2007-10-16T18:46:29Z

I may be going a little bit insane(r). I just applied to claim Buffy Summers over at fanfic50. So yes, I will be writing a monstrous 50 Buffy-centric fics. We'll see if I survive. I seriously need to stop claiming things and signing up for challenges. It's like a disease, I tell you!

001.	Temptation	002.	Addiction	003.	Greed	004.	Faith	005.	Delusional
006.	Innocence	007.	Stained	008.	Procrastinate	009.	Dirty	010.	Lie
011.	Forgive	012.	Lose	013.	Want	014.	Bury	015.	Choke
016.	Burn	017.	Change	018.	Regret	019.	Slip	020.	Smirk
021.	Fragile	022.	Secret	023.	Past	024.	Fantasy	025.	Enough
026.	Dream	027.	Waste	028.	Hope	029.	Note	030.	Hug
031.	Passion	032.	Hold	033.	Right	034.	Wrong	035.	Strong
036.	Wind	037.	Paranoid	038.	Moment	039.	Song	040.	Touch
041.	Shake	042.	Psychic	043.	Spirit	044.	Magick	045.	God
046.	Ghost	047.	Belong	048.	Tear(s)	049.	Drown	050.	Writers' Choice

Wish me luck!

<3
Miry

Graphics: 32 BtVS Icons

2007-10-16T01:04:23Z

So I made a bunch of Buffy icons. Here they are! Enjoy them. I have another batch which I haven't posted for some inexplicable reason. I have the post all coded and everything, posted to my journal and marked "private." Eventually I will make it public. For now...

Breakdown:
32 Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Previews:

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

Credits:
Icon table by the generator
Caps by dj43 and Screencap Paradise

Rules:
• Credit effulgency if you use any of the icons
• Please, please, please don't hotlink
• Textless icons are not bases--you can only modify these if you ask me first
• Don't steal :(
• Enjoy!

<3
Marina

Manip: 2 Variations, BtVS/SMG

2007-09-30T22:33:37Z

This is old, but I decided to post it anyway. I'm relatively pleased with it. This was done for a roleplay I was a member of set shortly after the Civil War. My character was represented by Sarah Michelle Gellar. So uh, this is southern belle!Buffy. It's supposed to look like an oil painting. Or something. Enjoy!

01.

02.

And hey, a random icon! Which was going to be included in my next batch, and probably still will be. Woe for reposts!

Credits:
Buffy cap from Screencap Paradise
Base from Daniel Deronda, capped by yours truly

Feel free to icon this yourself, or play around with it. Just credit me. Oh, and I'd love to hear what you've done with my work!

<3
Miry

Graphics: 32 Buffy/SMG Icons

2007-09-18T01:33:27Z

So I'm am wayyy too lazy to post these icons to communities, but they've been sitting around here as a private post forever. I guess I just didn't want to code the wallpaper and banner previews. I'll post them later.

Breakdown:
27 Buffy the Vampire Slayer
05 Sarah Michelle Gellar

Previews:

ICONS:

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

Credits:
Icon table by the generator
Caps by Screencap Paradise and myself

Rules:
• Credit effulgency if you use any of the icons
• Please, please, please don't hotlink
• Textless icons are not bases--you can only modify these if you ask me first
• Don't steal :(
• Enjoy!

<3
Marina

Graphics: 66 Bones Icons

2007-09-13T15:37:27Z

I recently stumbled across the icon community i_character. Participants claim a TV character and make 3 icons for every episode in which that character appeared. I claimed Dr. Temperance Brennan from Bones. Here's the season 1 batch.

Breakdown:
66 Bones - Brennan

Previews:

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

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Credits:
Icon table by the generator
Caps by spiffydaze

Rules:
• Credit effulgency if you use any of the icons
• Please, please, please don't hotlink
• Textless icons are not bases--you can only modify these if you ask me first
• Don't steal :(
• Enjoy!

<3
Marina

Graphics: 1 BtVS Wallpaper

2007-08-31T00:00:27Z

I was playing around with Photoshop today and I came up with this...

Title: The Best Medicine
Characters/pairings: Faith
Rating: PG
Notes: Done for challenge 028 over at still_grrr, this is set between seasons 3 and 4.
Preview:

1024 x 768 && 800 x 600

Credits:
Caps from Screencap Paradise

Rules:
• Credit effulgency with use
• Please, please, please don't hotlink
• Don't steal :(
• Enjoy!

Update: Um... hi!

2007-08-22T06:45:59Z

So I'm fairly certain than anyone who might have been stalking my journal at some point in the past has either lost interest, given up hope, moved to a cottage in the wilderness with no internet access, or perhaps even simply died of old age, since my painfully long unannounced hiatus from Livejournal and, to some extent, creativity in general. It's been all school, all the time for me. All summer, even, although I'm not in summer school or anything of the sort.

Still, I've been feeling very drained and haven't really had the urge to write anything other than shopping lists. At the moment I am in Mexico, indulging in some much needed rest and relaxation, and looking towards the upcoming academic year with a lovely mixture of trepidation and excitement.

I don't really have anything to offer to this "creative" journal, as I haven't done much lately. Well, I've been busy, but not in a online-y sort of way. I've been acting and taking drawing classes, but generally I've been bumming around, watching TV and swimming and that sort of thing. Which I'm sure is ridiculously exciting to anyone who might chance to be reading this, but I felt I should offer some sort of ~~excuse~~ explanation for my mysterious absence. If anyone even noticed, that is. I've never exactly been ubiquitous here at good ol' El Jay.

Well, goodnight. I'm sort of starting a Buffy fic, if anyone's interested. Commenting on this post would be a lovely incentive to finish it. Just sayin'...

xoxo
Ncy (or whatever you would like to call me)

Fic: Lazarus Falling 2/?

2006-12-02T18:49:15Z

Title: Lazarus Falling 2/?
Word Count: 961
Characters/Pairings: A little House/Stacy, House/Cameron
Rating: PG-13, may get up to R
Warnings: Character death, angst, set in the S3 universe, in the future (probably won't be any spoilers, though)
Summary: When Stacy is murdered on a night out with House, Cameron is left to pick up the pieces.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: This installment took way longer to write than it should have. I blame Thanksgiving. Oh, and I would love a beta!

Previous parts

.

He can't bring himself to get up and leave the waiting room, to walk out of the hospital, to check into a hotel, to leave Stacy all alone (Mark doesn't count, he decides) in the stark, unfriendly hospital. At last a nurse gives him a sympathetic smile and tells him that he has to leave, as visiting hours ended long before he arrived, and, as he is not actually a relative of a patient, he can't stay over night.

He wanders listlessly downtown, watching a drunk on the other side of Fifth Avenue, the Central Park side, stumble back and forth. The moon is a half circle hanging low in the sky, covering the city in a silver film. A lonely bus snakes its way along the street, totally empty, bright green digital letter on its front proclaiming that it is "Out of Service."

Even New York, the city that never sleeps, is deserted at four o'clock in the morning, especially in this upper middle class residential neighborhood, where bored teenagers really are prosecuted for loitering outside multimillion dollar condos. He peers into the dimly lit lobby of one such building as he passes under its long green awning. There is a twenty four hour doorman, but right now he is fast asleep, ridiculous black top hat pulled over his face, feet (ensconced in leather dress shoes) propped up on the desk. On another night, House would have made a game out of waking up the doorman and asking questions about the building's residents. Tonight, however, he can't seem to get into the mood for mischief (something he has never thought possible) and instead continues on his search for a decent hotel room.

By the time he reaches 86th street, he has almost given up. He had passed a grand total of one seedy boardinghouse that didn't have any vacancies, anyway. It's late; his thigh is killing him. He is prepared to camp out on a park bench alongside the homeless junkies when he spots something that looks suitable. The Franklin Hotel. It looks pricey and quietly Victorian. But a bed's a bed, and he has his credit card. He can worry about borrowing the money from Wilson later. Stepping into the hotel lobby, he is surprised to see Cameron sitting in a pink-upholstered armchair, reading. He freezes and moves to quietly back out of the hotel, but it's too late. She's seen him. She puts down her book and shoots him a coy smile.

"Fancy meeting you here," she says as she walks over to him.

"I am flattered by your stalking, Cameron, but really--" He is distracted when her sweater slips off one shoulder, revealing creamy flesh and the black lace of her bra. Who let her out of her room dressed like that? Apparently unaware of his lingering glance, she grins up at him. He realizes that the faint pressure on his arm is her hand and he is led further into the lobby. At this he protests, and stops stubbornly in the middle of the room. "I'm finding another hotel."

"House, it's late. I'm tired. You're tired. Don't make this difficult."

He chuckles because it sure as hell can't be easy, now (that Stacy is gone). Everything has suddenly changed, inexplicably. It's not like he was living with Stacy, or even seeing her regularly. But now, he will never be able to exchange cutting remarks with her again. The first time she left, he won her back with relative ease, letting years pass, waiting for her to come to him, using her sick husband as an excuse (he told himself that was all it was). The second time, after he shoved her away, he simply called her up and turned on the charm. A few days later they were in New York, eating at a restaurant like civilized human beings. Death, though, he could not fight with, argue with, convince in any way. This time, she was gone for good.

Cameron seems to think she can help him get over Stacy's death by distracting him with her feminine wiles. It's not going to work. He does have some principles.

"I'm not sleeping with you," he informs Cameron.

For some reason, she gapes at him in shock. "You think I'm trying to seduce you, House?" He doesn't say anything. What is there to say? "I wouldn't do that. Not now. I--I know you loved Stacy. It's not easy to lose someone you love like that."

"You would know," he says pointedly, watching the pain surface in her eyes. She is far too easy to manipulate, to infuriate, to devastate. Tonight she is stronger than usual, though, and remains firmly at his side.

"This isn't about me. I don't want anything from you. Not sympathy, and certainly not sex."

"Ah, so the cleavage is just a friendly gesture? You plan to help me get through the bad times by flashing me every so often?" He eyes the exposed curve of her breasts appreciatively. "I could go for that. Just don't give Wilson any ideas."

She looks down and blushes furiously. Her fingers fly to her chest and hastily fasten the top few buttons. "I didn't mean to--I'm not--"

"Relax." He rolls his eyes at her. "Where's that room you mentioned earlier?"

"It's on the second floor, but there's an elevator." The relief is obvious in her face. They are silent as they walk to the elevator, get in, and then walk along the hallway to Cameron's hotel room. She unlocks the door and lets him inside. A lone queen size bed stands in the middle of the room. He stares accusingly at her.

"That doesn't look like two beds to me."

"Oh, there's a cot underneath it." She pauses, sensing his uncertainty. "And yes, I do plan on letting you take the real bed."

He grunts in reply.

"You're welcome."

.

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