snapdragon . . .

Okay done! :mrgreen:


Alright, well .. I was super shocked to get immunity this week - but, when I did, I decided straight away that I was going to do something I've never actually gotten to do for a challenge - a beauty shot. Last week I had Ilya so grungy and sweaty and beat up that I was REALLY excited to show off just how beauitful she actually is.

I got assigned snapdragons - one of my favorite flowers. Legend has it that wearing (or even concealing) snapdragons on one's person makes the holder appear much more fascinating and even courteous... and because of this legend in the middle ages, women and girls used wear snapdragons in their hair (or even carry a pouch full of them) when turning down or breaking it off with unwanted courters. They were also said to protect the wearer from curses or deceit.

My inspiration for this challenge was turning Ilya into a beautiful courtesan in a corset, off to end a relationship with a lover - armed with snapdragons in her hair.

the day the music died.

Okay - I just re-installed windows; so I no longer have Limewire (because I have to reinstall windows a month after downloading it, every time). So, I'm listening to the XM radio stations on my satellite.

Just a quick question... WHAT IN THE HELL HAPPENED TO MUSIC?!

It's like ... I can't listen to the "Hottest Hits" or "Top 20" because it's these lame, lame, lame, WEIRD songs that sound like ... idk. They're supposedly R&B, but the sound like one of the newer, lamer Janet Jackson songs had a love child with a boy band and popped out this ignorant song around having sex in a club or girls on stripper poles. Neyo? Please never play him again. Ever. Ray-J? Sew his mouth shut.

Don't even get me started on this Emo crap. Emo used to be cool - like, TEN YEARS AGO. When I was a freshman, we had Taking Back Sunday, and Brand New, and Fall Out Boy at their start - and that was fine... But this crap that emo music has turned into? I swear - Emo music and Twilight have joined forces to single-handedly destroy America's youth.

Alternative no longer means Red Hot Chili Peppers and Counting Crows or even Nirvana, Collective Soul, Better Than Ezra. OR SUBLIME, for Heaven's sake. Nope. The "alternative" stations are filled with these make-up wearing emo crybabies.. singing about nothing!

Oh my God. Please God.
Give us back Johnny Cash.

We'll give you the Jonas Brothers! Free and clear!
You can even take that little one!

[/rant]

I guess I'll just stick to youtube.


PS - STACEY; IF YOU READ THIS - I'm listening to Van Morrison.
AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!

Confessions of A Dead Girl - Ch 2

Dear Diary,

I woke up a brand new girl.

He left me in a dark, cold parking garage, covered in my blood and his; left me with no memory of what had happened, not knowing what I was. I could barely stand, but I pulled myself into my car and somehow, my shaking hands managed to get the keys into the ignition. Even with the fear and the massive chunks of my memory missing, instinct told me one thing: I could NOT go home. I couldn't stumble back into my parent's house, covered in nothing but a man's button-down and blood. I had to figure this out myself. I still had my wallet; I hadn't been robbed. I still had plenty of cash ... I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to think. Did I have more cash than I had last night? Was that even possible?

I pulled on the turn-pike and headed for New Jersey. I didn't know it then, Diary, but I was about to find my calling.


I slammed the door to the filthy, second-story motel room, and sank onto the floor. I hugged my knees to my chest, and .. Diary, it was like I was sobbing - but no tears fell from my eyes. I raced to the bathroom, frantic. What had I taken last night? Why did walking in the sun feel like my body had been stuck in a deep fryer? What kind of drug could possibly dry up the tears in my body? I didn't know that my body could no longer produce tears, because I didn't know that I was dead.

"I must be dehydrated!' Was what I finally thought to myself. I drank and drank and drank from the filthy faucet, not realizing how [i]thirsty[/i] I was until the first drop of cool, sweet water passed my lips. I drank until I thought I'd suffocate - or drown. When I finally stopped, it was as if the entire world stopped with me, just for a brief second.

I stared at myself in the mirror - and almost didn't recognize the girl I saw staring back at me. Sure, she resembled me ... but it was like I was staring into a stranger's eyes. My skin was different.. pale, almost translucent. My eyes were lighter, a bright blue ring surrounded by almost white - rather than the gray they'd been the morning before. 'Who was I? What had happened? What was I becoming?' I kept asking questions you never think you'll ever have to ask yourself.



And then it started.

I didn't know it then, but as the sun went down that evening, by body had transformed into something that no longer survived on air and food and water. I fell to the ground, my face pressed against the cold, dirty tile (Something the old Alivia would have never done) and for a moment, let myself relax. And that's when it hit me - the stench. I gagged instinctively before I realized that it wasn't exactly nauseating... in fact, I knew exactly what it was. Death. I guess that's the thing about Vampire DNA. Humans have survival instinct, sure... But in those first few days, I realized that we come with a LOT more ingrained knowledge pumping through our blood. There was death in the motel room below me, but I could tell you more than that... it was a recent death, no more than a few hours old.

This was where Alivia 1.0 would have flipped. She would have ran screaming into the night, called the cops, climbed in her pretty canopy bed at her mommy and daddy's house, snuggled in under her pink blanket... Maybe even busted out her old My Little Pony Night-light... she would have tried to convince herself that the past 24 hours were all just a bad dream. Woken up and eaten waffles and watched Tyra with her mom. But, that girl was dead, Diary. Nope. Little Alivia just didn't exist anymore... And this Alivia was curious.

It's still a little hard to explain why I did what I did, not knowing what I know now... but in that moment, I felt no fear. I moved on animal instinct, cat-like curiosity... only somehow without even knowing WHAT I was, I knew that this kitty would not fall victim to it's own curiosity. I stalked down the stairs, barely aware that my feet made no sound, barely aware of the speed I possessed. I crept to the door. Instinct running on overdrive, I pressed my ear against the almost rotting wood and peeling paint. I knew what I was listening for, the slow, rhythmic thu-thump, thu-thump I'd heard from the clerk at the check in desk. I heard nothing, only smelled the stench of not even day-old death. The door was locked, but I forced it open, barely surprised to hear the deadbolt snap. I still think Fate was leading me, diary. Showing me my calling. Running my body, while I was just along for the ride.

The smell got worse as I opened the door... he hadn't even tried to conceal her. There she was, blonde and pretty ... at least, I'm sure she was pretty before what he had done to her. Had I been human, bile would have rose in my throat. I might have been sick. But I was hot with anger. Rage filled me, diary. Warmed my blood like sweet sunshine on a hot summer day. Somehow my body knew what it was - knew that it liked blood, but not hers. Not THAT blood. The beast inside me, the beast that I now know is me, wanted her killer. For a moment I mourned for her... she was a kindred spirit, in a way. Both of us ripped from our lives against our will. I still wonder from time to time who got the raw end of the deal, but in that moment, I was more angry for her than for myself. And that base, vampire instinct showed me exactly what to do. He'd be back. And I'd be waiting.



I smelled him before I heard his footsteps on the sidewalk... Dirt and sweat and fear and blood. I can't even explain it, Diary... but that scent of tainted, evil blood... it was like smelling Grandma's fried chicken or fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, only I never wanted to rip out the chicken's throat with my teeth.

I was at the door, yanking him in by his collar before he could even open his mouth to scream for help. I stared into his wide, frightened blue eyes, wondering briefly if this monster had ever been frightened before... the thought made me smile a smile I'd never worn before, never knew I was capable of. What sweet irony - this man who'd tortured and killed that poor, pretty little girl was to meet his death at the hands of another poor, pretty little dead girl.

"This is for her," I whispered sweetly as I sank my fangs into the sweaty flesh of his neck. He fought at first, jerking, trying to overpower me, but it was useless. He was no match for my strength... and he was no match for my wrath.



I'll admit, Diary. My first kill was a little sloppy - I mean, I just left him laying in the motel floor. I stepped over his dead, bloody body and headed back to my room for a shower before heading south to Boston. And Diary? I didn't feel one twinge of regret. The old Alivia is gone - and this Alivia? Alivia 2.0? I avenged her death - just like I'll avenge my own.

Halloween 2

Part two of my entry for Scream Queens;
Current Horror - Rob Zombie's Halloween 2.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

Part One of my entry for Scream Queens;
Assignment: Old vs. New

OLD:
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

(For the assignment - the photo had to be black and white or sepia toned - but I like the color version better, so I'm posting it here, too)

Katrina Von Tassel - just moments before turning around to find the headless horseman behind her.

the fighter still remains...

"In the clearing stands a boxer - a fighter by his trade;
& he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down -
or cut him, 'til he cried out - in his anger and his shame,
'I am leaving, I am leaving...'
...but the fighter still remains."

Conflict? Ilya was born for conflict - it's the down time that's hard... It seems every day it's getting harder and harder to sleep without the memories and regrets pouring into her consciousness from some other part of herself. 'Past Lives,' she calls them; those memories of horrible parts of her life, horrible parts of her self that seem so foreign to her now. So she fights. It doesn't matter what she's fighting, a dummy, a bag, or a worthy opponent - She's always fighting the same battle against the same person: Herself. She throws everything she has into every punch, every jab, every hook - fighting until there's nothing left inside of her, until she can barely climb out of the ring - so that maybe, just maybe she can get some sleep tonight.


********
Detail on the face before photo filter:
BEFORE:



AFTER:

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Sims Next Top Model - Assignment 2
Avery in Zuhair Murad fall 2010


"And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!"

Save a Life. Love a Bull.

FLASHBACK: Both World Wars. American Pit Bull Terriers were treasured and celebrated companions, known for their loyalty, compassion and fierce tenacity; they were by far the most popular breed among American families. In WWII propaganda, posters were circulated with these dogs draped in American flags, guarding kittens symbolizing the American people ... the Pit Bull was a national symbol representing America. Pit Bulls were used IN the war, not only to deliver messages between camps, but to serve along side the soldiers. Stubby, the most famous war dog and half pit bull, served with the 102nd Infantry in the trenches in France for 18 months and participated in four offensives and 17 battles. After being gassed himself, Stubby learned to warn his unit of poison gas attacks, located wounded soldiers in no man's land, and — since he could hear the whine of incoming artillery shells before humans could — became very adept at letting his unit know when to duck for cover. He was solely responsible for capturing a German spy in the Argonne.

PRESENT DAY: The mere mention of the word "Pit Bull" incites fear and hysteria. They're vilified in the media - one news-woman even went so far as to say, "A fatal dog attack by any other breed just isn't as news-worthy as a non-fatal attack by a pitbull." You might be surprised to hear this, but pits are responsible for less than 2% of attacks a year - that's less than Labradors and Border Collies - even though the American pit bull population is twice that of the other two breeds combined. Yet Pit Bulls are still targeted. Many shelters will euthanize any incoming dog who looks even remotely like a pit-bull because, now, the breed is though of as "too dangerous," and "unadoptable." States are passing Breed Specific Laws, banning pit-bulls from their cities. Recognize Breed Specific Legislation for what it is: A Hate Crime. Let's work together to focus the blame where it belongs: irresponsible and unfit dog owners.

The Lady is a Vamp

God, I LOVE this. :]

Confessions of a Dead Girl

[[ Vivacious Vamps - Assignment one - The story how how you were turned. ]]

Dear Diary,
I'm a vampire. I have no idea how this happened. I have no idea how this COULD have happened. Saturday was my birthday. I was alive, diary. It was my eightenth birthday and the world was big and full of possibility. Katelyn has snagged one of her older sister's friends ID's (who just so happens to look like me), and she and Mel were determined to sneak me into Club Seven. I had been DYING to go there, diary. It was one of the few clubs in Manhattan I had never managed to get into.
I spent all day getting ready - a silly little girl, fussing over my hair and makeup, trying desperately to look older. I spent hours obsessing over what shoes to wear with what dress, what bag I would carry, should I wear pink or black or silver or - it all seems so pointless now. Had I known it was the last day I'd be alive - truly alive - I'd have spent them doing something meaningful. If I'd known it was the last birthday where I'd get older in more than ceremony, I'd have spent more time thanking my mom for the beautiful pink cake rather than rushing to blow out the candles so I could shove down a few bites and get out the door. Had I known my heart would never beat again, I would have savored the love pouring through our brightly lit yellow kitchen... but I didn't. Because I didn't know it was the night I was going to die.


The bouncer barely glanced at my ID as he stepped aside and ushered us in. I stifled the urge to jump up and down and thrust my fist into the air in triumph. I GOT IN. Mel shot me a victorious glance as she pushed her blonde hair out of her face. The night was magic, pulsing all around me as I drank and danced, and drank and danced some more. The music throbbed in the dimly lit brick building. Looking back, that club was nothing special. Brick walls, dirty concrete floors, loud music - a bar just like any other bar. But I'd been turned away at the door so many times that those bricks could have been made of pure gold, the shot glasses exquisite diamonds.

I don't even know what time it was. All I remember is that I was craving a cigarette and fresh air like a drug. I don't know why I didn't ask one of my friends to go with me. I don't know why I stepped into that dark, dirty, New York City back alley by myself. But I did - a stupid girl making stupid decisions.
I leaned against the exterior brick, breathing in deep breaths and enjoying my cigarette; the dull, bass hum of the music from inside lulling me into a deep state of calm. I should have went back inside. I've replayed that memory in my head so many times that the edges are worn down, each and every time cursing myself for pulling out that second cigarette.


That's where everything get's fuzzy - like a part of my memory has been erased. Psychologists say the brain shuts down in order to protect us from things we'd be better off not remembering. Trust me, I'd be better off remembering. I can't say the same for him.

I don't know what he looks like. He was blonde. And beautiful. But it stops there. I know nothing else of him. I have vague memories, bits and pieces more like out of focus snapshots or split-second freeze frames.

I remember the concrete walls of his loft. The wet floors littered with trash and beer bottles. The blood-stained mattress where I died. His wrist in my mouth. My blood and his. Laying there in a dazed stupor, content to feel nothing for the rest of my life than the high that was his blood.



Then I woke up in the parking garage remembering NOTHING. My jaws hurt with a pressure I'd never felt before - throbbing, searing pain above my canine teeth, like something was trying to claw it's was out of my gum line. It was, but I didn't know that at the time.

Slowly, week by week, month by month, I'm piecing these snapshots together... and when I remember his face, I can promise one thing, diary. He'll meet the true death.

FREE ILLUSTRATOR LINK.

http://thepiratebay.org/torrent/5760664/Adobe_Illustrator_CS5_-CyberPiraten-

AllStars - assignment one.

:::Assignment #1::: due 8/3o
for this assignment you will need TWO photos. The first photo is to be a high fashion shot. It will have to be in a bathing suit and you must pose with a male model.

For the second shot I would like a hot picture, very $exy! Same rules in a bathing suit with a male model.

Since you guys are so good at editing and creative I had to make this contest have harder assignments to work with.

TIPS:
Remember high fashion should be appealing to all sorts of people men and women to try and sell what you are modeling. In guys magazines they want to see something hot!

Photo 1:


Photo 2:

three new edits . . .

Miss Underworld:
Assignment 4

Round 1: In regards to your song, your pic must be a “scene” from the song, following the lyrics for a shot in a music video of that song. Except that Medusa had other ideas and sent you all, save one into a time machine, each of you ending up in a different era (your pick). For the one not Sabotaged, Medusa gives you a key. You may choose to open door number 1 or the door to the time machine and pull someone else out that will be free from Sabotage. If you pull a person free of the time machine, she will also get to open one of three doors for a prize. Will you take the risk?

Round 2: Medusa calls and tells you LE is out scouting for new talent, but had booked you all a swimwear photoshoot on a beautiful island beach. Too bad Medusa switched the tickets and you ended up some place where swimwear is not the best thing to wear, at all. For the one not sabotaged and Chama, you are at a beautiful beach.


****

I couldn't have been more excited when I found out what song Medusa had assigned to me - I mean, who DOESN'T love The Who? I mean, really. I was loving the concept of the video, until all of a sudden, a stagehand (who couldn't have been human, because, let's face it, no human could push me anywhere) pushed me into this ... well, I didn't exactly know what it was at first, it looked like Back to the Future meets old school stand up tanning bed meets broom closet. When the purple lights came on, I started feeling light headed and stifled the urge to call out for McFly.
Then it started. The low, resonating whir - and then the wind that felt like it separated my body, atom, by atom. It was excruciation, but it's all I remember. Yes. I can admit it. The third strongest shifter in the entire state of Louisiana passed out from the pain.

When I woke up, despite the headache and the pile of vomit next to me - it only took me a few moments to realize where I was. Before I even opened my eyes - I smelled pack. Strong. All around me... and trust me - when a Were is hurt - that's what you want to smell. Home. But I still wasn't prepared for what I saw.

I'd been here before - or better yet - i'd been to this exact site in the future. One of the oldest Panthera meeting places ... but the way it looked was something I'd only seen drawings of in secret texts my dad kept in a vault under his study. The trees were there, something I'd found terrifying until my father had explained their significance. The skulls of past leaders and the strongest alphas were hung from sacred trees to keep their knowledge and power close to the pack - and were honored every full moon...

Maybe you don't know a lot about our history - but we've been here as long as you have - and we are global. Google "Panther Sightings in England and the Americas." The actual animal is not native to the area, but some how sightings of enormous black cats go back as early as people kept record. Yep. It was us. And though, all through history, we'd be burned at the stake like witches if ever exposed - those of us who managed to stay hidden among humans (despite being ... lunarly-challenged) were vital to human existence. That incredible hunter that managed to always find food to bring home to his village? You can bet he was one of us. The shaman who healed your child of the sickness that was taking lives in record numbers all around you? He was one of us too.

And I'd somehow landed back in (what I guessed was) the 1300's - in the middle of the Somhain Lunar Hunt.


o u t . h e r e . i n . t h e . f i e l d s ; i . f i g h t. f o r . m y . m e a l s .
i . g e t. m y . b a c k . i n t o. m y . l i v i n g
i . d o n t . n e e d . t o . f i g h t . t o . p r o v e. i m . r i g h t.
i . d o n t . n e e d . t o . b e . f o r g i v e n.

The next morning, I woke up to a steel toed boot being jammed into my ribs; I growled - but only heard a laugh in response. It's not a laugh you ever forget once you've heard it - devoid of all joy, all humor.. full of pure contempt. Medusa.

"You were supposed to be at he airport this morning." She arranged her mouth into what she probably thought was a smile and pointed at her watch.

"Technically, I'm supposed to be at the airport in about..." I did a few calculations in my head, "...in a little over seven hundred years, Medusa. I've got time to sleep it off." I rolled over - even though I knew I wasn't getting to go back to sleep. I'd been allowed to hunt with the Bluestone pack the night before - to shift with the descendants of the LEGENDS who built Stonehenge (Yep. WerePanthers. I mean, seriously, do you actually think HUMANS could have lifted those stones?). The air felt different here - charged with electricity and magic.. and really - they'd hunted. I'd ran and jumped and rolled in the dirt like a kitten - batting leaves around in the air and climbing trees just to look out at the untainted, undeveloped English landscape as it had been centuries ago with my panther eyes, seeing farther into the distance than any human ever could.

Before I could even fake a snore, I was being pulled to my feet by my hair. Medusa whirled me around and that snarl she calls a smile was still in place.

"You have your swimwear shoot." And with that, we were time-traveling again - only worse. No time machine, no flux capacitor - just me in open space-time, hanging by my hair from Medusa's stony fingertips. At least I didn't pass out this time. I fell to my knees as soon as we hit land and proceeded to gag until I was dry heaving in the snow. ...Snow?

"I though you said swimwear." I managed to gasp out between convulsions.

"Hmm.." she murmured - amusement in her voice. "Traveling with out use of stones or a machine is ... tricky." She laughed. "I guess we'll just have to make due here."




Sim's Next Top Model:

http://www.mediafire.com/?8b3h8vc8hg5ll3v

http://www.mediafire.com/?8b3h8vc8hg5ll3v

http://www.mediafire.com/?8b3h8vc8hg5ll3v

http://www.mediafire.com/?7vyqw4dykogs4s6

there is a house in New Orleans, they call The Rising Sun...

Okay; I've NEVER had this much trouble coming up with an idea for a photo. I couldn't think of anything - so i kept putting it off - but here it is:

There was havoc in the old cemetery outside of Twinbrook today - some wannabee voodoo "priestess" decided that for S100,000 she would raise her first zombie. Problem was, the corpse in question was over 100 years old, and to be honest, the dumb little girl just didn't have the juice to hold it in her power circle. Luckily, Emilie just happened to be in the right place at he right time. Having spent time in Haiti, the west Indies, and Africa, Emilie has a least a budding knowledge of all things Vodun (not to mention her mother's creole ancestry on her side). She finally managed to get through the frantic girl's (very weak - but still intact) power circle, and finally got the zombie under control - with a big old taste of her own blood. The girl's clients got their big show and Emile bound the zombie back to his grave with good, old-fashioned table salt. Afterward, she pulled the still-weeping wanna-be to the side; and let's just say, she won't be raising the dead again, any time soon.

she's miss california; hottest thing in west LA

Elite Modeling Agency
Assignment THREE:

Throw on those swimwear girls cause your next photoshoot is being hosted by LaMont Fashions. They have a new line of swimsuits and one of you lucky ladies will win the opportunity to model for them, on the runway and off! But first they want to see what you got.
Here's what you need to do:
★Scene can be anywhere OUTDOORS.
★LaMont Fashions is known for their skimpy wears and sexy clothing lines, so you don’t want to bring a plain suit to the shoot. Bring something that will make them say “WOW! She is the one we want in our swimwear!”
★No text on the photo please, and no extras, one photo.