Living in Dystopia

Textures Set Numero Cinq

mag0rian — Wed, 15 Nov 2006 21:51:17 GMT

Download here (DeviantART)

25 textures total, all 100x100. No credit is necessary but it is appreciated.

mag0rian — Wed, 18 Jan 2006 14:14:06 GMT

This journal is Friends-locked. All icons, graphics, fics, and micellaneous interesting bits will be posted publicly, so you're not missing out on anything. Comment to be added.

The Road to Nowhere

mag0rian — Fri, 30 Dec 2005 22:15:24 GMT

Title: The Road to Nowhere
Author's Notes: Written late at night, heavily influenced by Coldplay's album 'A Rush of Blood to the Head'.

I was lost. I guess there’s no shame in admitting that now, after everything. Wandering, hunting, searching for a nameless, intangible something to latch on to. I was lost. And it was you I found.

We are the product of circumstance. We each provided what the other needed, a relationship of give and take. We never thought it would go this far. Just a product of the circumstances.

I still set you apart. But somehow, things are different now. I know no one ever said it would be easy, but how was I to know it would be this hard? You were special to me once, so I still set you apart.

Time passes on, even in this cold and desolate place, marching with a rhythm you’ve never heard before. Voices whisper in my sleep of how things could have been, but time keeps passing on.

Did you know I have a box of letters, filled with things I never told you? All addressed and sealed and stamped, all lacking in ambition. You always did say I couldn’t talk to you, and here’s your box of proof.

Sunrises never had much appeal. Just another piece of evidential proof, of that inevitable day when we’ll finally say goodbye. It’s been a long time coming, and getting closer with each new daybreak.

You were the one I wanted to find. How will I move on after all our time together? A steady, constant, unmovable something, unchanging, reliable. I was lost and it was you I was looking for all along.

It shouldn’t be that I look for excuses to be apart. Yes, the truth is sometimes cold and bitter, lonesome, and yes, I know how much it hurts, to find yourself falling out of love. But I’m tired of the excuses.

Looking back now, it’s hard to see that it was all for the best. How can so much misery do anyone some good? I’ve forgotten now your sweet rapport, but I’m glad for it. I don’t need reminders of the false memories we made together. It was never for the best.

I’m moving on from you. I’ve burned all the pictures, all the letters, all the manufactured bliss. You’ll never be a part of my life again, to blacken all the edges. Now I’m finally moving on.

We fall into a lull, a droning rhythm, suffocating our hopes and aspirations. I don’t miss you, just so you know, and I don’t want you to think I ever will. I’ve found someone new, and I can finally breathe free again.

I found my way back to where I started from and it isn’t as bad as I remember. It feels like home, like fonder times. You were just a pot hole on my long road to nowhere.

Wisdom Teeth

mag0rian — Fri, 23 Dec 2005 13:43:52 GMT

Okay, so I had to get up at 6:45 this morning for my surgery, which is a lot worse than it sounds considering I've adjusted to my Christmas break schedule of waking at 11 at the earliest. Anyway, I nearly forgot to take the Valium pill they gave me and did so just as I got in the car. I hadn't noticed any of its effects until I got out of the car and nearly lost my balance (several times) while walking to the door.

They led me back into this room, the same one I had had the last appointment in. They, I guess, were prepared for me to be woozy because they supported my arm when I walked, which is probably a good thing because I just didn't seem to be able to walk in a straight line very easily. So I sat down in their little chair, which was just like a regular dentist's chair. They put on a heart and blood pressure monitor, and then, best of all, the mask that gave me my laughing gas.

They continued working around me, but slowly, i found there was a grin on my face i just could not get rid of. The world just seemed like quite an amusing place, especially when they had to re-do my IV through my hand instead of my arm, though I can't remember why. Next thing I know I'm opening my eyes and it's all over. They walked me over to a room with a comfy chair, TV, and blanket and handed me a remote. As far as I remember i only sat there like two minutes before they're like, okay, you can leave now.

But I got to leave in a wheel chair, so that was fun. But I had to keep cotton in my mouth which was uncomfortable, but dang. I am feeling perfectly fine. I don't think I'm going to need the pain killers they prescribed. I also got nausea medication but I won't need that unless I accidently injest dairy, but even then I might be fine.

So, awesome :D.

Animorphs Icons

mag0rian — Tue, 15 Nov 2005 13:31:14 GMT

Here they are, my second batch of Animorphs icons, a considerable improvement from the first. 32 icons total. Brushes include some by the lovely _coquettish, crystalkirk, dearest, inxsomniax, joni, and ohpaintbrush. Gradients and textures by crumblingwalls and meleada.

Preview:

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.

Much as I'd like to have clearer icons, there just aren't that many Animorphs pictures on the internet these days, let alone ones with decent resolution. Comment if taking, credit is appreciated. If something is yours and you are not credited, please let me know.

Stumble

mag0rian — Thu, 25 Aug 2005 07:34:33 GMT

Title: Stumble
Author: mag0rian
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Characters: Michael, Charlie
Words: 585
Disclaimer: Property JJ Abrams and ABC television. Don’t sue.
Notes: This was written for themoononastick as part of the Lost Hidden Connections Ficathon. It sort of ended up turning into a bit of a simple character portrait of Charlie. And I apologise for the lateness; I’ve had this finished for ages I just forgot about the deadline.

There was an itching in his skin, a burning, gnawing, nagging feeling of unrest. It was enough to drive him mad at times, enough to drive him to do things that often went against his better judgement. Charlie clutched the tiny piece of paper in his sweaty hand, trying his very best to look nonchalant and unobtrusive. His knee was bouncing impatiently, seemingly disconnected from the rest of him. His head was turned up toward the ceiling as he tried to block out the drone of whiny voices, all complaining about their woes, all looking for sympathy. Fuck them. Fuck them and their stupid trivial problems.

Charlie rolled his head forward with an exaggerated sigh. His fingers began tapping a rhythm, and his head bobbed in response. A neat little beat struck something within him and he tried to repeat it. Index, middle, middle, palm, fist, index . . . index, index, middle . . . index, index, middle, palm–

The man across from him was watching him through narrowed eyes. Charlie clasped his hands together on his lap as a peace offering. The man resettled himself in his chair and closed his eyes. Charlie looked at the floor, pleading for them to fetch the fucking meds already so he could get out of this deadening place. Coma-inducing, really. His eyes drifted over to the man’s sandal-clad feet and up to the black brace that fit tightly around his knee.

“Dawson, Michael,” came the receptionist’s voice from behind the counter. The man stood and made his way through the waiting area to the counter. Charlie watched him go, watched him hand over his prescription, sign a piece of paper, and receive a small paper bag with a clearly-defined bottle within. Yeah, enjoy your drugs, you unappreciative bastard.

“Pace, Charlie.”

“About fucking time,” he muttered, standing stiffly and crossing the area to the receptionist’s window. He handed her the paper and stuffed his hands in his pockets. She surveyed it and looked at him appraisingly.

“Vicodin,” she said shortly.

“Yeah, I er, twisted my neck last week. Real bugger, I’m on tour right now. Have you heard of my band, Drivesh--”

“Yeah, real pain,” she cut in, uncaring. She passed a receipt toward him. “Sign here.”
Charlie picked up the cheap plastic pen and scrawled his practiced signature, winking at the woman. “You’re a saint.”

She smiled blandly and called, “Hopkins, Denise.” Charlie snatched up the paper bag and walked away, head bent. He was so close. He had almost gotten through this without suspicion, almost passed the counterfeit prescription . . .

The automatic doors of the hospital slid open swiftly and an icy breeze swept over him. Charlie ducked into the nearby alley, tearing at the paper bag. He leaned against the cool brick wall. His hands were shaking, hardly able to do what he wanted. He pushed on the bottle cap impatiently, turned it and tipped several of the small pills into his hand–

A sudden clang caused Charlie to look up quickly. That man was there, kneeling at the chain around his bike and watching him with an odd expression. He stood when he saw Charlie looking back and stiffly wheeled the bike from the alley into the street beyond, trying to appear as if he hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. Charlie looked down at the pills in his hand then up again. The man was coasting past the backed-up traffic, weaving through cars and trucks with ease. Charlie popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed hard. Bastard.

Holy Crap

mag0rian — Sun, 17 Jul 2005 12:14:19 GMT

Oh. My. GOD.

The whole book I'm thinking, okay, something has to happen. And then the horcruxes and I figured they'd build up the climax to Harry destroying one but then they got it without too much incident, and I'm like, well something went right for once in these books. Huh.

And then I remembered the picture on the back of the cover.

Oh god it was amazing. At Dumbledore's death, I didn't cry. I laughed. Not because I'm a cruel person, but because it was just done completely the right way. The drama! I was really tired because it was the second night reading with no sleep, about 3:30am, but it was just too good to put down. When I read Dumbledore's line "Severus . . ." I knew. I'm like NOoo. I read the rest bolt upright with my mouth hanging open. It was just utterly and completely perfect.

I'm going to save most of my comment and speculation for message boards and whatnot, but I just wanted to express this.

Oh yeah, also I think this 'R.A.B.' person has got to be Sirius's brother, Regulus. That's got to be significant.

Now, I'm off to explore the explosion of theories that no doubt has taken place by now. Looking forward to Rowling's interview tonight also.

Lost Icons

mag0rian — Fri, 15 Jul 2005 10:57:19 GMT

Here's a set of 10 Lost icons made using old character publicity shots. Brushes include some by the lovely _coquettish, _joni, and ohpaintbrush. Gradients by crumblingwalls. I'm experimenting with a new style and I couldn't be happier with the results. Looking for comments and criticism.

Preview:

1. 2. 3. 4.
5. 6. 7. 8.
9. 10.

A definite improvement on the last batch.

Also, I'm going to Allison's brother's graduation party tonight, and then strait to the Harry Potter midnight relase. Here's hoping I don't explode first.

Massive Icon Post (Animorphs)

mag0rian — Tue, 31 May 2005 16:50:36 GMT

Over the past month or so I've been occupying my free time making various Animorphs icons, and I thought it was about time to post them. Behind the cut you'll find 51 icons of varying quality. Standard icon-taking rules apply: comment, credit. Feedback is very much appreciated.

Preview:

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.

Credits:
Lyrics by the Beatles: 4, 5, 15, 18, 23, 26, 27, 28, 32, 39, 49
All border brushes by--?
Tiny text brushes by--? : 4, 5, 7, 10, 12, 17, 18, 20, 23, 35, 43, 44
All pictures (excluding 22) courtesy GettyImages
*if something is yours, please let me know and I’ll credit you

Billy didn't know it would end like this.

mag0rian — Mon, 28 Mar 2005 09:49:57 GMT

Title: Expectations
Pairing: BB/DM (very mild)
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: The first RPS I've written that feels complete enough to post despite its shortness. This was spit out in a matter of minutes, raw and un-beta'd.

Billy didn’t know it would end like this.

He signed on for Lord of the Rings, eager to have finally found something to give his career the jumpstart it needed. He hoped that overseas and international success would allow him to get more roles where he wanted them, in Scotland, without resorting to moving to L.A. like every other actor. He thought he’d go to New Zealand, meet a few people, enjoy himself, and return to Scotland without incident. But nothing in Billy’s life has occurred without incident.

He talks to Dom in L.A. once a week. Sometimes less since their schedules don’t always grant them the freedom they may desire. Billy usually does the talking. He wants it to be like it use to. He wants Dom to joke back. He wants to not carry the conversation for once, to not feel like he’s forcing Dom into doing this. He wants to yell and scream and make Dom snap out of it, make him see that the world isn’t as bleak a place as he makes it out to be. Instead, he simply says, “I miss you too.”

Dom once asked him to come to L.A. with him. When he gave his shaky ‘No’ and heard Dom’s whole dejected world crash onto him, there was not much else for it. He hung up and went for a walk.

The skies were gray and gloomy and rain pattered from the sky half-heartedly, just like every other day. It was warm and sunny in Los Angeles, Billy was sure, but how could he leave here? He always told himself he would return to Scotland to enjoy the doors opened by the success of Rings. But no one ever told him it would be like this. No one told him the friendships would be this real, this lasting. No one told him the beauty of New Zealand would call to him long after he left. No one told him that sometimes, the best choice, the right choice, isn’t the easy choice. That returning home meant saying goodbye.

No one told Billy he would fall in love.

No one told Billy it would be this hard.