This is kbcgeek, the art journal for ashiya. This is where I've decided to stash all my ficlets, and as soon as I get my beloved Photoshop CS up and running, icons and other graphics, especially wallpapers and icons. I'll do headers, banners and other stuff as inspiration strikes me.

Now, I'm going lay out the SOP.

1. Anything you filch from here, be it wallpaper, icons, headers, banners, whatever, credit it. I'm the only poster here, so if you take it, credit me. Please. It's courtesy. Credit me in keywords or descriptions (if it's the 100x100 icons), or somewhere else, but please credit.
2. Comments are encouraged, but not required. I'd like to have feedback on my work, it makes me a better artist. But again, not required.
3. I take requests. But, don't expect me to make it for you on the spot. And I am very selective about taking requests and I will not do certain subject matter.

Aaaaaand...that's it. I make graphics on request; just drop me a line here or on my personal LJ and I'll do my best. If you have your own cap you can give me to make the icon/wallpaper/banner/header or whatever, that'd be awesome. But if not, that's okay, just tell me what you're looking for and I'll see what I can do.

( 07.09.05 - *UPDATED* RESOURCES )

You didn't mean to do it, but like always, you were too goddamn helpless to stop yourself. Ever since Wolfowitz, haunted eyes and death has been dogging your every thought and breath. You can't get your brain to stop feeding you images about what had transpired in that basement purgatory.

Shaved bald, nude, blood and screams that you can't hear and yet you can taste every single ounce of terror.

Even the gleaming wood of the table in front of you taunts you.

The stench of death and depravity clings like a parasitic organism and you can't get clean enough.

And her tears. A mother's anguish is the hardest thing to witness; images of your mother's pain as she tries so hard not to let you hear her sobs as the casket of your father's body is lowered into the ground flash behind your eyes as you down the bourbon. It's possible that you're just a fucking masochist because you're sitting out here getting drunk while thinking about things you can't change instead of going back to bed.

Back to Sara.

Like the pathetic asshole you are, you brought her here for selfish reasons; to forget. You have Sara, naked, in your house, but you're sitting in your living room downing bourbon like it's tequila and wondering why you aren't drunk enough yet.

Who are you? And when did you become this wreck of a human being?

Her hands slide across your bare shoulders and you feel her face against your neck. "It's okay," she says, even though it really fucking isn't, "I get it."

No she doesn't, she really doesn't because you don't even get it yourself. Heather was just another woman; an attractive woman who he turned to in a moment of confusion and sheer stupidity. You weren't vulnerable, you succumbed because you were thinking with your dick instead of your head. And the morning after when you were thinking with your right head, you felt that twist of regret only because you wished you hadn't been thinking of Sara while you were screwing her senseless, hearing her moaning your name.

But now fair is fair. You used her for your own self-gratification and now the tables have turned.

Now you're using Sara because you want to forget about this whole sorry mess. But she just reminds you instead that this mess is not over yet and it won't be for a long, long time. And a part of you resents her because all you want to do is fucking forget everything until the world stops falling apart and goes back to the way it was.

You twist and pull her down into your lap. You try to lose yourself in her hair and the feel of her skin against yours. "Help me," you mutter. "I can't remember."

She understands because she just tightens her grip around you and says nothing. You can't remember why you keep doing this day in and day out, or perhaps that should be night in and night out, but you know you have to.

Sara alone isn't enough to fill that gaping hole in you. She should be, but she isn't. You know that she knows and it's why you will always hurt her, no matter what. Someday, she will find the person who she can be just enough for. You anticipate and dread this day because it's the day when you will stop existing as a person and find freedom that you haven't seen since the day you met her.

"I'm here," she whispers. "I've got you, it's okay."

It's not okay, you want to tell her. It's not fucking "okay" at all that she's not enough. But it will have to be.

You're a sorry son of a bitch, and you're helpless because you won't ever change.

Okaaaay, I wasn't aware of people reading this. Well, more than two anyways. Thanks everyone! :) This actually started out as a creative brain-stretching exercise, but this turned into an actual fic. LOL. And for those of you curious about my CSI/Silent Hill crossover, I'm posting a short teaser at the end. But I refuse to post it anywhere until it's finished, so yeah.

Anyways, Part 6 for your reading pleasure...?

( She heard a soft breath in her ear and she froze. It was him; she knew that sound like she knew the texture of his lips. )

And now, for the teaser.

( All the world's a stage...including this forest of secrets. )

Happy days everyone!

For some strange reason, I'm on a roll on this fic. Here's Part 5.

( A month of searching databases and every resource at her disposal to find him and bring him home had been for nothing. )

I totally shouldn't keep writing this because, yeah, I'm also working on a CSI/Silent Hill crossover. o_O

On that note, I'm going to keep writing that one too. After this. Yes.

( Her breaths sounded harsh to her own ears. But she could barely hear it over the roar of her pounding heartbeat; she wanted him to come home, not a lingering voice on her voicemail from a week ago. )

Part 3. I'm on a roll, don't ask. LOL.

( He was pretty sure that she asked a question, and that he was supposed to give an answer, but his ears weren't working properly. Had she just asked where Grissom was? )

Part 2

( The pieces were falling haphazardly; none of it made any sense. How could a man just wake up and disappear into nothingness? And how could they explain it, let alone prove it? )

Haven't seen the movie. I want to so badly zomg.

( But she knew that he wouldn't be coming back and that this house would never be a home again. )

WANTED: New icon muse.

Oh, and some goddamn time to make said icons. *cries*

( Nobody had protected her from the world, from the violence that viciously destroyed her childhood hopes and dreams. But she still sought it, like the lost little girl she really was inside. )

See? He's alive this time. I'm so proud of myself.

Don't ask me where this came from, because I don't really know either. I'm trying to write more to improve it. Here's to hoping that it'll be someday half-decent. And I'm going to stop killing Grissom for awhile, I think I'm more than satisfied with my passive-aggressive revenge now. :P

( Depressing. Don't read if you're not into angst. Seriously. )