Happy 2011

It's been an alright sort of year [last year], with its ups [intense sleepovers] and downs [Science] and to be honest, 2011 could be even worse than last year [with NCEA and stuff D:]

But it's the holidays now, so I'm certainly enjoying while I can =D

~Sylvia

Bullets and Brains

That is the name of the Hetalia fanfiction I started in the last post.

I'm [hopefully] posting my process here.

Bullets and Brains

Hetalia Fanfiction

Warnings: Gore, Blood, Swearing, Killing things

Rating: T

Pairings: None decided

Genre: Action/Adventure/Horror?/Friendship/Family [yeah...]

References: Wikipedia [for the Sunset Strip bit/Zombieland rules]

I've decided to make this my Writer's Month thing. The numbers indicate from what point did I write on that particular day. E.g. The first day, the 25th, when I started this story, is indicated by 1). Any writing between that and the number 2) means that that writing was written on the 1st day and so on and so forth.

Chapter 1

1st day) Nnnh... it nnnhed, lumbering towards its prey, thinking its usual thought pattern. Food... nnnh...meat...nnnh...flesh...nnnh...BRAINS.

Its bloodied hands stretched towards its would-be lunch, about to grasp it by the arm, to wrench it so the food would scream but then quieten to shock as the zombie would then sink its yellowed teeth into the rest of the body, savouring the warm coppery taste of-

Click.

The zombie paused for a moment, confused by the sudden noise, when its prey turned around, holding a big black shiny thing. A big black shiny, DANGEROUS thing.

Chk Chk.

Unfortunately for this wannabe-killer/zombie, it was to become kill number 492 for a certain person. A certain person with a double-barrelled shotgun.

A certain person by the name of America Fucking Jones.

With a smirk and raised eyebrow, the prey turned to the hunter, raised his gun, and blew its brains out.

Just like that.

2) America let out a big whoop, following it with an impromptu Victory Dance consisting of a mix of MC Hammer-ing and Soulja Boy-ing [with a drop of Usher-ing. Yeah man.]

For the 17 year old, who had been in post-apocalyptic Earth [otherwise known as Zombieland] for around 7 years, zombie killing was what he did best. The thrill of the hunt then the triumph of the kill. The blood splattering everywhere in a gooey, horrible fashion. To him, this was 10x better than your average shoot ‘em up game. Zombie killing was what he lived for. Well, that and-

“Ow. I’m not doing anything wrong. You didn’t have to hit me.” America groaned.

“You sodding git, you’re making so much noise, I would not be surprised if half the undead population of America came swarming towards us. Keep it quiet, we’re not meant to attract attention.”

England ‘Iggy’ Kirkland. Who America considered to be 1 of his 2 best friends. The 19 year old [then 12] had found America when both of his parents had been ‘Bitten’ or turned into zombies and then shot by police. He had raised America, as a friend and mentor. He owed his life to Iggy, as, without him, he’d be a groaning lump of rotting meat by now.

America turned to England, a childish pout on his face. “Y’know, I could take ‘em out if I had to. No need to be so uptight, I’m just having some fun.”

“We’re meant to be on bloody PATROL you arsehole, which means we’re meant to be finding survivors and supplies, not off dancing around like idiots.” England retorted, his usual, I-Am-Not-Amused glare on his face.

“Yeah, but Iggy, when was the last time we actually found someone al-“

“HEY!! HELLO?!”

Both teens snapped out of their argument and quickly turned to find the source of the voice.

“Touché, Iggy. Touché.”

“Stop calling me Iggy, you git.”

A teen with chin length wavy blonde hair in a bedraggled red jumper came staggering towards them. In his left hand he had a sawed off shotgun, in his right, a bloodied hockey stick.

“Can you...” he half panted, half yelled. “Help me... might’ve been... Bitten... eh...”

3) England and America gave each other worried looks, gripped their guns just in case of Spontaneous Undead Evolution [or S.U.E., the process of when a normal human being turns to a zombie], and cautiously walked toward the other boy.

“When did you think you got Bitten?” England asked, suspicion lacing his features. It wasn’t the first time they had come across another human being on patrol, and then a few minutes later, when their guard had come down, a SUE had overcome the human, and they’d just narrowly escaped being Bitten themselves.

“Around 2 hours ago.” The boy replied.

“Well, chap, you should be fine for up to 6 hours, but as for now, you should come with us. We have shelter and food.”

“Really, you’d do that, for me, eh? Thanks so much!”

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Well, welcome to our safe little Haven-Of-Awesomeness-Away-From-Evil-Brain-Eating-Man-Killers, a.k.a. The Haven. Or more HavenS plural, we’ve taken residence in both this house and the two houses either side of it.”

“They’re so... big.”

“I know. This is one thing I love about Zombieland. You get to camp in huge-ass mansions and no one cares!”

England rolled his eyes at his loud-mouthed friend. “You’re overwhelming the poor kid, America. The Haven isn’t really so great; you don’t really have a lot of privacy, owing to the fact that there is about 16 of us in each house.”

“Um... ok.”

“Well, let’s give you the brief rundown of our little world.” America continued. “The Haven consists of 3 mansions down in the Sunset Strip. We don’t really know whose mansions they are, but there have been theories that we’ve been living in the houses of Cameron Diaz, Sandra Bullock and Michael Bublé, who probably are dead or have left the country in the first few weeks of Zombieland, if they’re smart enough. Zombieland is what we, the people that live in the Haven, call the post-apocalyptic zombie-filled Earth, because ‘Post-apocalyptic Zombie-Filled Earth’ just doesn’t sound catchy and Awesome enough-“

“-And the git can’t be bothered saying ‘Post-Apocalyptic, Zombie-Filled Earth’ England interrupted.

4) “-And Zombieland sounds like we’re in some great End-of-the-world type of movie. With Woody Harrelson in it killing zombies with huge machine guns and shit.”

“Right, eh.”

“Yeah! Moving on,” America continued. “We’ve set up a makeshift hospital, garden in a greenhouse, entertainment centre, gym, central board room, stuff like that. Kinda the stuff towns need to y’know, keep going. We don’t have an official leader, but I suppose the closest would be Hungary. Apart from her fetish for gay guys or whatever and the fact she’s lethal with a cast iron skillet-“

“Eh? A what?”

“-also known as a frying pan, she’s pretty O.K. Stay on her good side, and she’ll give you extra food. That comes to my next point; we have several rules that sorta run our lives. Well, to be honest, we stole them. We found this notepad with what we now refer to as ‘The 33 Golden Rules of Surviving Getting Killed In Zombieland’, shortened to ‘The Rules’.

Apparently, this guy made these rules up to help him keep alive. Unfortunately, he either got killed or lost this, but it’s saved our asses a few times, believe me. Unfortunately, some of the rules got covered in blood when this guy had them and are now ya can’t read ‘em so it’s more like the 18 Golden Rules of blahblahblah. Either way, you’re gonna have to remember them, cos this will be your Bible for survival until you get killed or we find a cure, so listen up.

Cardio The fat guys went first because they couldn’t outrun the suckers.”

“Double tap, Zombies are hardy creatures as they have high pain resistance,” England butted in. “So, there is a high possibility that they can get up when you’re not looking and attack you. So extra shot to the head is good.”

"Beware of bathrooms, you’re at your weakest when taking a piss. Check all cubicles first. And keep your pistol handy when your pants are down.”

“ Wear seatbelts, you’re concentrating on surviving ‘Zombieland’ so dying by something stupid like plunging through your windscreen when braking suddenly."

"Cast iron skillet: Hungary’s best friend."

"Travel light, or else it will weigh you down when running from the Undead. That’s physically and emotionally. Try not to make too many friends; it’ll make it harder on you when they turn into zombies. "

"Get a kickass partner. Well, that’s an easy rule to obey, just stick with me, and you’ll be sweet." America made a movie star-esque grin at the others in the group.

"Ignore him lad, he’s being an idiot like usual. Moving on, Paper towels, useful for quick cleaning of blood and just about everything else. Also good for stemming wounds. "

"Bowling Ball, another useful weapon, but it takes practice and a good dose of luck to use it."

"Don't be a hero, we can’t blame you for running if we’re dead. Unless we’re ghosts of course."

"Ahhhh don’t say that Iggy!! I don’t want to think about it, they’re so scary-““Idiot.” “Ok, next rule is Limber up, basically, stretch before going into Zombiedom. At this point, I started to think the rulemaker was a bit nuts.”

"Avoid strip clubs-" “Or Iggy when he’s drunk. That could get ugly.” “I’m from the The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and I can hold my liquor better than you any day! And stop calling me Iggy!

When in doubt, know your way out, because when on the run from zombies, you can’t aimlessly run into every door, hoping it’s the exit. America here knows full well how fun that is."

"The buddy system. So you can do the whole ‘Bad boys, Bad boys watcha gonna do, watcha gonna do when I come for...’ Cos that never gets old. “

"Check the back seat. Zombies love to hide where you least expect them."

"Enjoy the little things. You have no idea how much Iggy cried when we found a good batch of Earl Grey.”

"Well I’m sorry that I am sick up to my neck of the rubbish you call Lipton Tea! It tastes like diluted soap water. Now, the Swiss army knife is your most trusted friend, always useful to have in a tight spot."

"And last but not least, Hygiene, it’s the number one thing that keeps you sane. If you look and smell like a zombie, you’ll probably end up being one."

1620/50 000

~Sylvia

Yes I Am a Loser for Being on the Computer on Xmas Day...

But I am so BORED.

I'm looking after my sister while my parents are preparing the lunch.

She's got this annoying as hell toy that you just CAN'T keep away from her.

And she keeps trying to shove me off the bed.

So here's a [sort of but you probably won't get anything unless you're Dove] present for you, some writing I did last night while thinking about the awesomeness that is Zombieland.

Basically a Alternate Universe of Hetalia in Zombieland.

Warning: Swearing and Gore+Zombies ahead.

_________________________________________________________________

Nnnh... it nnnhed, lumbering towards its prey, thinking its usual thought pattern. Food... nnnh...meat...nnnh...flesh...nnnh...BRAINS.

Its bloodied hands stretched towards its would-be lunch, about to grasp it by the arm, to wrench it so the food would scream but then quieten to shock as the zombie would then sinks its yellowed teeth into the rest of the body, savouring the warm coppery taste of-

Click.

The zombie paused for a moment, confused by the sudden noise, when its prey turned around, holding a big black shiny thing. A big black shiny, DANGEROUS thing.

Chk Chk.

Unfortunately for this wannabe-killer/zombie, it was to become kill number 492 for a certain person. A certain person with a double-barrelled shotgun.

A certain person by the name of America Fucking Jones.

With a smirk and raised eyebrow, the prey turned to the hunter, raised his gun, and blew its brains out.

Just like that.

Merry Xmas Everyone!!

For tomorrow =D

If I Had Twitter...

Which fuels one's narcissism, my posts for the next few hours would be like this:

Listening to Hetalia Character Songs for the 1234567890 time.

Mein Gott is the best thing that happened to Hetalia. Although Dove, you probably will think, "WTH is this??!!"
So is Absolutely Invincible Britsh Gentleman. World Ondo and America's Songs are some of the most annoying songs you could hear in your life.

However, the guitar riffs in Winter want me throttle the composer. It sounds like one person driving a car forwards, then backwards. ON A STRAIGHT ROAD. FACING THE RIGHT WAY. Completely pointless, in other words. And annoying. And detracts from the Gothic sort of sound.

Best Ending Theme song is Spain's. That freaking awesome Spanish Guitar [which sounds pro but may not be but I can't tell because I know next to nothing about guitar-playing.] and he can actually sing.

There was a clothes line in front of the stairs. So I jumped around it. Stealthily. Not.

Ripping pages out of old school books because I need more lined paper. Bit of a fail.

Mum's getting pissed off again. Hibernating in room as I type.

2:22pm. Be scared Angel.

2:23pm. It's fine.

I'm so bored.

Can someone get me more scissors for Xmas? Cos by the time I'm done cutting all these pages out, I think my scissors will next to useless.

Self Control by the Dukes is the free single on iTunes at the mo. Good, cos I like that song :D

It's weird, cos I'm listening to Lo Pasion No Se Detiene [I keep thinking it's 'Diente' i.e. tooth in Spanish] and the only bits I remember are the random words yelled out in not-that-bad Spapenese or Spanish said by Japanese. I.e. 'Churros!!' 'Fiesta' and more 'Vamos Espana' [and framenco instead of flamenco and 'Ore!' cos that can't say l's properly.] Catchy.

Had Jelly for Afternoon Tea. And humus. With chips.

Oh screw it. Too boring.

... it would be a fail.

Ow.

Got elbowed in jaw by sister.

Hell it hurts.

BTW, I've extended it to 50 000 in like 3 months. Ending in Feb.