Funhouse Chapter 2

WARNING: SOME PARTS MAY BE NSFW!

Chapter 2

1

It was almost sundown and the sky blazed in fiery shades of ochre and golden orange. A large, muscular boy with greased black hair was crouching, sweating in the bushes as if to sneak up on someone. He watched as Patrick Hockstetter sprinted off to Derry’s Dump. Sweat was running off the younger boy’s ghostly face because of the humidity and the skin on the nape of his neck was slick with perspiration. He appeared to be grinning like a Cheshire cat, even from the far distance Henry Bowers was hiding from. Henry shuddered.

‘Too bad it’s that damn curfew soon.’ Henry grumbled under his breath, ‘Now I won’t get a chance to beat the shit outta Hockstetter!’ He waited listening to the cicadas screeching and crying. Two minutes. Five minutes. Good... Patrick will be so busy with that Corgi puppy he had bundled in his arms, that he won’t even notice me.

Hockstetter had barely even reached the gate before he stopped all of a sudden. He just stood there staring up at the piles of junk and squashed cars towering high above his eye-level. Seagulls laughed overhead as the smell of the dump hit him at full blow. Sea salt was mingled in there somewhere and Henry felt nauseous thinking of all the dead fish and abandoned seaweed on the nearby waste land that the locals called the beach.

Henry could tell Patrick was laughing silently. Does he know I’m here?! he panicked, eyes widening as he ducked even further out of sight. Moistening his dry lips, the greaser thought of a plan. If he turns around now and sees me… I’ll kill him. Swear to god I will.

Promptly, Patrick took off again. His hiking boots teared at the blades of grass as he zipped past faster than before. Henry noticed some variety of plasters and bruises scattered across the boy’s milky calves. ‘The stupid kid must trip over a lot, runnin’ like that!’ he snickered, not noticing he was blowing his cover by talking to himself. Henry hardly even knew he was doing it - it just came naturally from his father’s influence.

The only reason I’m here is cuz’ I forgot those fucking summer school books from the other day. Bowers thought, Stupid teacher’s been nagging me all afternoon. If I just wait for him to go, then I can grab my books and get home. To hell with the curfew!

However curiosity over took Henry – and he found himself drawn to follow Patrick from a safe distance. It had always intrigued Henry how the boy was so obviously looney-bin-material, yet didn’t even know it!

Patrick could feel somebody watching him. It was so darn obvious that he couldn’t help but giggle! The Corgi struggled in his grasp (the unfortunate puppy previously called Benji was newly named Mr Chops by the little psychopath carrying him), howling and barking to escape, foaming at the mouth.

‘Shut up, Mr Chops!!’ Patrick squealed giving Mr Chops a soft pinch, ‘You’re gonna be just fine!’ He giggled, giving the puppy his few last cuddles before his inevitable doom. Usually all animals try to escape Patrick’s death bottle. Yet only one or two have actually managed to get away! After the animal’s finally died Patrick hauls the stiff corpses out and into a nearby bush. Flies are drawn to that part of the dump like a moth to a flame. It surprised Patrick that the police hadn’t found the Amana and bush full of stiffs sooner. Sometimes he wondered how long he had left before somebody important came knocking at his front door, demanding to take him away from his mother.

The rusty Amana door creaked open slowly and the sickly sweet smell of death washed over Patrick’s face. The odd boy’s expression crumpled in disgust, his eyes brightening, zany with shock. ‘We really need to clean out here, don’t we, Mr Chops?’ The puppy barked twice in agreement. The smile on Patrick’s face widened to an alarmingly manic grimace. He could hear footsteps now…

‘You’ll be staying here tonight.’ The boy continued, shrilly. He wasn’t going to stop for anybody. ‘Okay?’

‘Have fun in there!’ Henry heard Patrick titter. He glared and pulled a face as he noticed Patrick’s doodles on the floor…One of them was a heart with his initials enclosed within… The rest were of creepy clowns and other disturbing imagery. His doodles were almost like a young child’s but slightly more mature, almost skilled if you were into that kind of sinister art.

‘How fuckin’ creepy!’ Henry remarked, lighting a cigarette with his dad’s lighter. All the cool kids did it nowadays… Patrick hesitated. He knew his friend was there, yet he wanted to keep the pretend game going. It was more fun that way! He was just about to grab a rag from nearby when suddenly he felt a clammy hand on his shoulder. Before the boy could peer cautiously around, he found himself lurching forwards and face-planting the ground.

‘Jerk!’ He yelled, picking himself up. Dust and mud covered his brand new clothes. ‘Simpleton.’ Henry shot back, glaring over at him. The smell of the corpses was unbearable now. Henry actually felt quite sick.

How could Patrick love hanging out here? It’s disgusting! the older boy noted. Derry Dump was actually like a second home to the psychopath - he divided his time between his bedroom at home, summer school and the dump. Not many people go here in the middle of July, so Patrick was quite safe to do what he pleases whenever he pleases.

‘I want to talk to you, Hockstetter. But most of all, I want you to get something for me, got it!?’ Henry decided to take control and break the silence creeping in between them.

The younger boy simply bobbed his head once. His expression was flat and uncaring. Good. Like I care what Patrick feels.

‘I want you to fuck off, Patrick,’ He started, feeling himself getting tense, ‘All this time you’ve been bugging me. Fucking annoying! Why can’t you go all creepy on someone else?!’ The greaser didn’t care that he was sounding childish. Patrick humiliated him in front of his friends so he was gonna have to pay! Anybody else would have been hurt at this cruel rejection. Patrick, however wasn’t. He was a terribly emotionally distant child, so not much can get him all worked up. A smile grew on his face instead of the trembling lower lip Henry was anticipating.

‘Hurt me if you want, Henry. I don’t care…and I… won’t leave you alone!’ His smile was wide and complacent, ‘I’m not scared of you.’

The greaser made as if to hit the boy, but Patrick quickly evaded the punch. ‘What did ya want me to find, anyway, Henry?’

All the fury left Henry’s mind. ‘What’re you goin’ on about, you fucking pansy?’

This could be a good opportunity. I could get him to do whatever I wanted.

2

Half an hour had passed, in which Henry watched smugly watched Patrick Hockstetter scrabble about in the junk for his text books. It had taken bit of work to find them of course. The boys loved their school work as much as a monkey loves jazz.

Throughout those thirty minutes both boys had each considered murdering each other. It would be so easy, and who would care if mean old Henry Bowers were to disappear?! To the Derry Police he’d have just been one of the missing… Eddie Corcoran, little Georgie Denbrough, Matthew Clements, Veronica Grogan… Does anybody actually know what happened to them, and the morbid fact that they had actually been eaten alive by a clown living in the sewers? Nope, only the Losers Club know about that and they aren’t exactly keen to share.

Patrick and Henry spent another ten minutes listening to the scratching and whining noises coming from the fridge. Slowly the sounds were beginning to fade… Patrick grinned in satisfaction. His work here was done! Without saying a word, Patrick left the older boy to stare after him as he tore off home. Patrick didn’t particularly care for Bowers. Nor did he care to say goodbye to him. To Patrick, social etiquette just didn’t come naturally at all! Not much was said in the time the pair spent together, and Henry came to realise that Patrick was one of the quietest people he knew. Despite being quiet and soft spoken, Patrick had almost no basic understanding of manners. Yet neither did Henry, so he didn’t particularly mind Patrick’s curt demeanour. In fact, the only words that were passed between the boys were an agreement to meet same time tomorrow in an attempt to salvage more text books.

3

‘Good. You’re finally here, pansy.’ Henry remarked dryly as his younger companion skulked slowly towards him.

Patrick noticed something about his tormentor had changed. Instead of the usual angry blaze in Henry’s eyes, there was nothing but fatigue and defeat. His knees were drawn up to his usually strong chest and he was leaning against Patrick’s beloved fridge in a slump.

‘You’re weak.’ Patrick whispered huskily, standing over Henry in a daze. He didn’t particularly care if his comment sounded rather blunt and unsympathetic, Patrick just wanted to take advantage of the greaser’s weak state of mind.

For once Henry didn’t feel the need to lie. Yes. I am weak. Henry thought dolefully, shuffling further away from the boy. Patrick kept filling all the gaps Henry had put between them. Closer he could see the deep purples and greens Oscar Bowers had left on his son’s face.

‘Yeah? So what!?’ Henry hissed in reply, ‘Now are you going to get my books or just fuckin’ stare at me?’

Patrick slipped out of his day dream and skipped off to search for a text book about the French Revolution. His sometimes-friend watched him sleepily. In front of Patrick, Henry felt like he could relax. Unlike with Victor and Belch he didn’t feel like he had to act big and tough. Closing his eyes, Henry napped lightly for a while. The previous two nights had been hectic with all the visions of monster clowns on the moon. These hallucinations scared Henry witless. Voices whispered to him from all corners of the room, telling him things - things that would drive you to do the craziest of things.

4

A while passed in which Henry woke to find Patrick huddled to his left. The sun was already down and the sky was strewn with purples and blacks. Soon the moon would arrive to take its place… Terror stabbed at Henry’s heart. The entire colour drained from his face, making him look as pale as a frightened ghost.

‘Hmm~?’ Patrick murmured, peering up at Henry in curiosity. He placed a timid hand on the older boy’s lower arm in comfort. (Patrick had often seen his mom do this to his dad when he comes in from work all stressed out.)

Bowers blinked in surprise. ‘Don’t touch me!’ He snarled, slapping his hand away. ‘Fine.’ Patrick retorted huffily.

The darkness was setting in now – and Henry could see the ghastly moon rising slowly from behind the murky sea. He didn’t want to touch Patrick directly, but he needed just a little bit of reassurance… ‘Shit…’ He muttered and clenched the sleeve of Patrick’s cotton T-shirt with an iron grip. His knuckles had turned to white.

You didn’t need to be able to see perfectly in the dark to know that Patrick Hockstetter was smirking. Repressing a giggle he attempted to get even closer to Henry, who promptly pushed him away with a garbled trail of insults.

‘Not so close, Hockstetter! Fuck off!’ He growled giving Patrick one of his infamous Chinese burns on natural impulse (that practically all the kids at Derry Elementary had experienced!), which just made Patrick burst out spluttering with laughter. This simply made Henry even more enraged.

‘Fuck you, I’m going home.’ Henry hissed, grabbing his text books and rushing through the dumps gates, not even waiting to see Patrick’s response. The darkened sunflowers nodded lazily in the sudden breeze, causing Henry to flinch. Throughout his journey home, the greaser had a strange sensation …… like something was slinking about in the shadows behind him. Creeping up on him - joining into the confused mix of word salad coming from the moon. The boy couldn’t help but to be glad to reach home despite all the hell he goes through in there.

Spring Flowers~ My art

Recently my dad bought me a license for Paintool SAI, and it's AMAZING!! So easy to use and it has lots of tutorials on the web!
Anyway, here's what I made with it. =^.^=

 And a close up!

I'm actually quite pleased with it, especially the bunny! :D

Funhouse Chapter 1

Last year I was making a Henry Bowers x Patrick Hockstetter fancomic, but recently I've decided it's just taking too long to draw out... ^^; So I'm writing it as a fanfiction instead! :D I enjoyed drawing it, it's just it stresses me out. From now on I'm going to post my original and fan-made stories here on my blog, along with all my usual stuff. Soon there shall be another fanfiction based on the same series called Summertime Blues. Characters belong to Stephen King. WARNING: SOME PARTS MAY BE NSFW.

Chapter 1

It was mid-afternoon and Henry Bowers was out at the port with his small gang of close greaser friends. He often used this as an excuse to hide from his deranged father after summer school. Henry’s dark hair was slicked and gelled back into a DA, a style rather popular with the greaser boys this season. Everywhere he went, Henry carried a little tube of Pomade in his jeans pocket - it helped to keep up his appearance. After all, the boy wanted to maintain his reputation as a greaser. His deep brown eyes were squinted against the sun yet you could still see the small glint of mischief in them. His lips were twisted into a boyishly cruel smirk; the expression of a five year old pulling the wings off a fly, or even a sadist taunting their prey. Like his peers, Henry was obsessed with Elvis Presley and tried his best to imitate his leather-clad biker and blue jeans look. Of course, working on a farm wasn’t as glamorous as Henry could have wanted (certainly not like the rock star fantasies he often had) but it gave him a muscular build - he had that to be grateful at least. For a fourteen year-old boy, most of the girls supposed Henry Bowers was handsome. Maybe some of the girls would have a crush on him if he weren’t so intimidating? Either way, Henry wasn’t too bothered about what the girls thought of him - he only cared for what his father would think and would walk on egg shells for the rest of his life just to make his old man happy.

The sun glinted off Henry’s switch-knife, of which he was gazing at dreamily, flicking it open and closed with the press of a button. His two rather odd-looking friends watched worriedly, the tallest ones’ frown deepening, the shorter one casting his eyes anywhere but at Henry, his expression almost pained with anxiety. Both teenage boys stood stock still almost as if they were soldiers waiting for instructions from their Sargent. Both looked although they were dealing with quite a lot of physical pain, hardly daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. Upset Henry and you could never be sure what would happen. He was that unpredictable. So unpredictable in fact, that both his friends were terrified of saying anything a vast majority of the time.

‘Hey, Henry!’ A small, slightly chubby 12 year old boy suddenly popped out of nowhere, making Henry Bowers flinch out of his day dream. Hockstetter. Why would he of all people fucking talk to me?! I thought I told him to keep outta my sight! His voice sounded shockingly peppy and headache-inducing to Henry, who gritted his teeth to stop himself from lashing out already.

Patrick Hockstetter was crazy. That, everybody knew. Even the teachers had to be wary of what they said or did around Patrick - he was just so odd. So confused with little grip on reality. How did his parents keep from sending him away to be inspected? Nobody had a clue, and truth be told, none of his classmates had any idea what Patrick’s home-life was like. His parents must be as mad as he is, Mrs Reichs, their homeroom teacher often mused in between marking Patrick’s extremely muddled test papers. As Patrick had a rather perplexing mindset that he were the only true being in existence, he had a rather narcissistic opinion of himself compared with his greaser acquaintance. The two were constantly clashing, and Henry wondered why he even invited the boy out to play with them in the first place. Pity… That was more than likely the answer. Everything from Patrick’s half-hearted attempt at slicking back his blond hair in greaser style, to his dusty green eyes and his pallid moon-face to his broad, slightly parted livery-lipped smile irritated Henry. And God! Don’t even get him started on Patrick’s eyelashes! Henry was almost certain that Patrick wore his mother’s mascara to school. He was far too feminine to even be a boy in Henry’s opinion - and Henry didn’t hang with girls as much as he could help it.

The boy giggled and came bopping even closer as if he were some sort of cheerful puppy, or one of those little shits from Derry Elementary. A Labrador. Yes, that suits him rather well! I thought I told that flako to keep the fuck outta my sight!

‘Oh look! If it isn’t the sissy boy!’ Henry retorted cattily, causing his cronies to jeer and shriek with malicious laughter. A devilish leer lit up Henry’s slightly messy features, making him look almost handsome.

This didn’t seem to cause any distress to the young boy – he simply smiled in his usual porky vacant manner. He was used to the greaser’s taunting. They had been in each others class for just over a year now when Henry got moved back into 6th grade for misbehaving. In fact, nothing seemed to bother Patrick Hockstetter! When Patrick was only 5 years old he slowly suffocated Avery, his baby brother, out of jealousy because he thought he would be replaced in his parent’s hearts. Age 6 he found the joys of killing insects with his mother’s sewing needles. Currently Patrick has become verging on Psychopathy, torturing stray dogs and cats by locking them up in a rusty old Amana fridge in Derry Dump. Being a mostly emotionless boy, life just goes on for crazy old Patrick.

Fortunately for Patrick, practically nobody knows about his dirty little secret just yet. Apart from just one person. Bowers. I suppose you could say their friendship is a little bit flawed. Mostly based on threats and nothing more.

‘Have you come to finish your job?’ Henry drawled, feeling his cheeks flush a little. More hysterical laughter from Victor and Belch. Those two boys didn’t even understand what Henry meant by ‘job’. They simply laughed because Henry was their leader and they looked up to him and whatever shitty things he does, no matter how sickening or dangerous.

‘… If yoouu want..’ Patrick smiled and did some odd little bounce on the spot, making him look slightly hyperactive. Victor and Belch were shrieking now. Tears threatened to spill from Belch’s eyes as he clutched the edge of the wall for support. Victor was hiding his face in his arms, slumped over in hysterics on the sea wall. Small sobbing noises were made but to Patrick they sounded a little too loud.

‘CUTE! REAL CUTE!!’ Henry ranted down at the younger boy, shoving him into a nearby tree. Patrick’s dusty green eyes flickered up at Henry’s dark ones in surprise. ‘Why does Henry hate me so much?’ Patrick thought drowsily, not quite sure what he did this time. Although, he had to admit the last time he was alone with Henry things got a little too heated a little too soon.

Grabbing Patrick’s upper arm roughly, Henry pinned him up against the tree trunk. Digging his nails into the boy’s flesh, he grinned in satisfaction. Being a sadist he simply loved to bring pain to others. Especially younger children. Slitted moons remained in Patrick’s skin, leaving thin wells of scarlet where his blood came to the surface. When Henry slid his hand away the blood smudged down Patrick’s arm like thin amounts of warpaint. A moment passed with the older boy staring stoically at Patrick, pondering what he should do to hurt him. The thought of killing Patrick thrilled the greaser! ‘I can’t kill him here… It’s too public.’ Henry whispered to himself, mouthing the words under his breath. Patrick looked up at him in confusion. This irritated the greaser to no end. The baby fag has such long eyelashes! Like a girl!

‘If I see you around again I’ll knock your block off! Fuckin’ pansy!’ Henry eventually decided to say and swung his fist around with no warning. It connected with Patrick’s button nose with a dull crunching noise.

The smile faded slowly off the boy’s face and turned into a sick grimace. ‘Doesn’t hurt.’ He mumbled haughtily as the greaser gang disappeared. Probably to find bigger and better people to bully. Like the Losers for example. Henry really hated them.

Leaning on the sea wall Patrick slipped back into his almost permanent state of vacancy. The bright sun reflected off the deep blue of the sea, and straight into his eyes. It would be a perfect summer day if it wasn’t for the blood slowly seeping out of Patrick’s nose. Cursing Henry under his breath, Patrick turned around to see a tiny black kitten staring up at him. Her eyes were wide and green, almost like Patrick’s own but somehow more vibrant.

Patrick doesn’t try to find trouble. No, seemingly trouble seeks him. And this time trouble was in the form of some innocent baby animal. Mewling softly the kitten began to wrap itself around his legs, twisting and turning around in figures of eight. The kitten’s fur was so soft and Patrick wanted to run his hands through it just to test it’s texture. Cats felt different to dogs you see, and Patrick knew right away he was more of a cat lover. Her purring sounded just like Mr Prendergast’s lawn mower to Patrick. He tittered, beginning to imagine what he should do to the poor kitty.

‘C’mere little kitty. I won’t hurt you!’ he leered, pulling out a clammy, pallid hand in greeting. The kitten leapt energetically onto the seawall, and lapped at Patrick’s hand affectionately. A cruel, girlish giggle escaped the boy’s mouth as he played with it, teasing and petting her fur.

I would quite like to have a pet cat, thought Patrick, although I’d probably end up killing it. He cocked his head in the kitten’s direction. Mom wouldn’t be pleased, he added grimly. Suddenly the cat woke him from his thoughts with a sharp nip to the wrist. ‘Hey!’ Patrick exclaimed as she used him as a launch pad and ran off into the trees.

For a second he considered sprinting after her, but all of a sudden it occurred to Patrick that if he kills even one more animal, he’d be in danger of being sent to the state mental asylum - Juniper Hills. Lots of kids in Patrick’s class bullied him, warning him that he’d end up there if he didn’t stop acting so strangely. Patrick didn’t want to go there - he’d miss his mom too much - but he didn’t exactly know how to act ‘normal’, whatever the definition of normal was. His mom just told him to ‘Be yourself!’ and the boy couldn’t help but think that was the most god-damned awful advice he’d ever heard!

‘Henry knows about my secret… I should just go home, forget about it…’ He muttered to himself, eyes glued to the pavement, ‘He’ll tell. And if he does… I’ll tell everybody that he broke Eddie’s arm!’ Being a mostly lonely boy, Patrick often talked to himself. Sometimes in public. It would often get him into trouble at school and sent to his room at home without any dinner.

Students at Derry Elementary have never really seen him with any friends before. Yet just the other day Patrick was hanging out with the infamous Henry Bowers and his cronies! This gave him some odd sort of pride, despite the fact they were almost caught breaking the unfortunate Eddie Kaspbrak’s arm. That had been great fun! Patrick had to admit that at least. It was a cheap thrill that had made the world seem less in black, white and grey. A thrill that had made Patrick realise just how much he liked Henry Bowers; how much he wanted to be his greatest friend or even more. Everything between Henry and Patrick had been going fine (they hardly ever got into any fights… well, any serious fights) until just yesterday.

That day had changed everything for Patrick… For it was the first time he felt sheer panic. Henry knew... Knew about his test animals! If he should ever tell anyone, Patrick would be taken away with all the other mad children to Juniper Hills. And there’s no way in hell Patrick could ever let that happen! He would do whatever it takes to befriend Bowers and keep his secret safe.

Grabbing his leather satchel from a high branch off a tree (Belch Huggins had thrown it up there to add insult to injury) Patrick bounced off home in hopes for iced tea.

Guro Challenge - Decapitation

Precipitation made soft pitter-pattering noises as it slid down Paul Sheldon’s window. He was gazing absent-mindedly out into the mountains, waiting. Paul simply knew the rain brought bad things. Bad things that would no doubt bring him much pain and misery…

Many people would wonder why a middle-aged man like Paul Sheldon was doing here with a woman like Annie Wilkes. Was he visiting a relative? Or perhaps he’s living here with this woman for reference for his next book? I can tell you now that Sheldon’s a very unfortunate man. Many months ago in the winter, Paul completed his new book. Driving home in a snowstorm had been disastrous for the poor guy! His car had slipped on the snowy track and tumbled down the hill, knocking Paul unconscious, shattering both his wretched legs, and very nearly killing him! Fortunately (or unfortunately, you choose) his ‘biggest fan’ that psychotic bitch, aka Annie Wilkes, pulled him from the wreck and nursed him back to health.

Many people would also see these circumstances as odd, but not for Annie! Nope! Every evening she had waited outside his lodge, waiting – knowing ol’ Paulie would be finishing his novel soon. After he finished, he’d have one cigarette (he’d quit smoking ages ago) and one glass of champagne. Tradition.

That was all in the past now… Those many months had just dragged by. ‘Why hasn’t anyone found me yet?!’ Paul would often question himself in frustration. His legs hurt, his arm hurt, his chest hurt, and most of all he was terrified. Not only that, but he missed his family. Surely they were missing him, right? Then why haven’t they found him yet?

‘Hey, Paul.’ A voice floated down the corridor, waking him from his thoughts. Flat, listless, lifeless. Great. Just excellent.

‘Yes, Annie? What’s wrong?’ Paul cooed, sugar-coating his words in desperation. Madam Wilkes can be pretty dangerous when she gets depressed.

‘It’s over.’

‘What?’

‘We’ve been found.’ Yanking the door handle violently, Annie shuffled into Paul’s make-shift bedroom/torture chamber. Paul noticed her red-rimmed eyes were half lidded out of tiredness, and her mousy hair was tousled and greasy. Obviously she hadn’t bathed for days. Doing a full body scan, Paul’s heart stopped at her hands.

In her arms was a large chainsaw, caressed lovingly by her big, beefy hands. She smiled down at him as sweet as the Virgin Mary with a rather poisonous twist.

‘Don’t be scared, sweetie.’ Annie sighed, running a hand through his hair and hugging his face to her chest, tigerishly. ‘This will all be over soon…shhh…’

‘N-no, Annie! Pluh-PLEASE! Can’t I just hide in the basement?! They’ll never know I’m here!!’ Sheldon begged, tears running down Annie’s starchy blouse. He could smell her BO mixed with disgusting food stains and masked with a flowery perfume.

Annie said nothing.

‘PLEASE!!’ Paul interrupted the silence, not caring for modesty or pride. ‘…Please, just a little longer… I’ll do whatever it takes.’

‘I’m sorry, Paulie. I really am.’ The ex-nurse whispered. Closing her eyes she gently kissed Paul’s sweaty forehead. At that exact moment, she pulled out a syringe concealed in her heavy skirt and plunged it into Paul’s arm before he could feebly push her away.

The next time Paul awoke, he opened his eyes to the sight of his own collapsing body spray painting the walls with his own vital fluid.

Why I love Fairy Kei!

 

   Most of this year I've been drooling over some amazing new fashion styles on Tumblr, including fairy-kei and pastel-goth. Because unfortunately lolita style (with an exception of casual loli) isn't exactly practical for an everyday basis!  I think that fairy-kei could be like a toned down/ poofed-down version of sweet lolita. It's got all the sweet and innocent motifs like candy, cakes and teddy bears... Also you could wear those head-eating hair bows and still call it fairy kei!

I love the cute 80s vibe, and all the amazing, vivid colours they use in designing! The sweet motifs they use on knitted jumpers and T-shirts are just so adorable, and the coloured hair is all good too!

Fairy-kei girls wear lots and lots of badges (remember all those 'I ♥ Spank!' pins that float around all over kawaii Tumblr blogs?) and layering of clothes is also fashionable.

Colours most commonly used are; all kinds of pastels, hot pink, bright orange, small quantities of black and white, neons and dark blues/purples. A Fairy gurl's fave places to shop would be brands like Spank!, Milklim, Nile Perch, Swimmer and lolita shops like Angelic Pretty. Personally I think hand made items would be really nice too - as brand can be very expensive. Especially if you don't live in Japan and need a shopping service.

(None of these photos belong to me.)

Guro Challenge - Amputation

I slump, defeated and mindless against my throne. Of course this wasn’t really a throne – I just liked to call it that. I mean, it looks like a throne. Slightly. My arms and legs were tied to the broad limbs of the chair with forceful leather straps, and the chair was almost big enough to seat two people. See? It does look like a throne! Kind of…

I giggled weakly. I was giddy and drunk. My vision was blurry from the drugs, but peering around the room I could tell there was literally nothing here. Nothing but blinding white tiles from floor to ceiling. It looked cold… Sterile. Almost like a hospital, or a bathroom. Or maybe even both.

In fact, I now know this could be a steam room! Yes that’s it! I booked a day at the spa, was about to get into the steam room, slipped, and maybe a staff member dragged me in here whilst unconscious to—‘No, you’re just lying to yourself.’ A harsh voice barked in the back of my mind. ‘Stop pretending. You know why you’re here.’

… I do know why I’m here. A few weeks ago I did something stupid, foolish, immature… But do I really deserve this?

A few weeks ago. It may not seem like a long time to you, but to me, stuck in this maddening room, it’s a whole lifetime ago! Okay, I made a silly mistake. Trusting Cissy Kingston could have been one of the most brainless things I’ve ever done. She was fun, lively, wild –– even sweet and motherly at times. Yet she had a dark side. Some days she could be full of life, but on those dark days… Nope I don’t even want to think about it!

She intrigued me, compelled me into thinking we were friends or even more than friends! Her beautiful hair was thick and rich, dyed pastel purple by yours truly. Her smile could light up the dingiest of rooms and cause people to fall into love or even hate with her.

Unfortunately for me, I fell in love with Cissy Kingston. I wanted to help her on her days of depression… Be happy with her in her days of ecstasy. I wanted to love her, and for her to love me. How foolish! My family warned me to stay away from her, but I thought it was just because we were both girls!

Biting into my cheeks to stop myself from howling from sadness, I forced myself to remember. What happened? What did I do to make Cissy mad?

Before my sluggish mind could supply me with answers, the door slammed open with a tremendous bang. I flinched in my throne. Cissy. Tears streamed down my face drenching both my cheeks.

‘Cissy!’ I cried and began laughing with pure dread. She simply smiled knowingly, cocking her head backwards and rocking on the spot. Her smile infuriated me. It was smug, and didn’t reach her brown eyes at all!

She walked the distance of the room until she reached my chair. Her radiant lilac hair swung back and forth with every leisurely step. I quivered in my throne.

Within a few feet of my poor eyesight I noticed that she was dressed in her usual garb; lacy lingerie (my mother always turned her nose up at the way she dresses, deeming it ‘inappropriate’ and ‘tarty’), a pastel sheer dress, a black leather jacket with pins littered around, some pair of gothic stompy boots and suspenders. Yet, even closer I noticed something scary. I resisted the urge to whimper. She was wearing a raincoat. I remember that time we watched American Psycho together – Cissy was so fascinated with the main character and his raincoat.

‘Hey, Katie.’ She said flatly, now expressionless. This must be one of her bad days. In her left hand was duct tape. In her right was a small hand-held axe. I shrieked, eyes bulging, and attempted to yank the ties off my arms. ‘Too late,’ the voice taunted.

‘Shut up.’ Cissy whispered softly, her expression tender. She duct-taped my mouth shut and just stared at me for a while. My heart couldn’t stop hammering inside my chest as sweat ran down my face and body. For the next two minutes the only noise I could hear was the blood rushing inside my ears. I closed my eyes. Best to get this over with, huh?

Even more minutes passed. I opened my eyes, expecting Cissy to be gone. Nope, she’s still there just staring at me. Please, please just get this over with!

Our eyes met and my heart froze with alarm. ‘Cissy!’ I tried to yell from behind my gag, ‘Cissy, please!!’ – all that came out was muffled garbage.

Splat! I couldn’t believe what just happened. It all just happened so fast! My leg was gone and all that was left was a stump… Our eyes met once again. Cissy. Avid. Me. Stunned.

Blood splattered everywhere, covering the pristine white tiles, Cissy’s raincoat, Cissy’s goddess face, my ugly face, my frumpy body, the floor, the axe blade… Everywhere.

Suddenly I realised what had just happened... and grievously I knew it was going to happen again, and again, and again…