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Friday, 29 November 2013

Reverie - Art Trade With BunnyTheW

Is it just me, or do I draw a lot of girls that live in the clouds? XD Anyways, it's fun to daydream. I'm certain I spend around 70% of my life in my own fantasy world! What do you dream about?

This is a commission for my friend in real life, :iconbunnythew:  aka Wendy! Her brief was to draw a cute girl in a room of sweets, but I strayed off my objective a little. I'm sorry.

I was inspired by the pictures on Mitsukazu Mihara's website, and I drew the pose that one of her characters are in. I always admire how great at anatomy she is!

Even the Sweetest Roses Have Thorns

NOTE: This is really cheesy, and I'm sure I've overdone it on Maurice's possessive/insane personality. However, I found an interesting letter from John Steinbeck to the woman who played Curley's wife in Of Mice and Men, and it inspired me to develop on Maurice's character a little. Characters belong to Yana Toboso.   

‘I’m willing to overlook your deception of me and the others,’ Ciel began in a honeyed voice, his sapphire eyes trained on Maurice Cole in pure glacial hatred, and his smile diabolically innocent. ‘But you should speak plainly to Redmond about this. Yours is a brotherly relationship built on trust… Right?’
Maurice’s heart hammered inside his shirt at Ciel’s words. He knew what he was doing was terrible, yet he just didn’t care. Putting other wisely ordinary people to good use was a talent, right? And Maurice had found this particular skill within his first year of Weston College. Back then he had fawned and fussed over the prefects within an inch of his life. It was gruelling work at first, but he did it all for Redmond, his favourite member of the Prefect Four.
Edgar Redmond had stood out to him more than the other prefects, for many reasons than just one. He came from one of the richest, most famous families in the whole of South England. Not only that; but he was charming in an androgynous, sexless way, with an eye for all things beautiful. A member of the Scarlet Fox house, honed above all for the purest of the pure bloodlines and an incredible ancestry; this had kindled his desire to be put in the Red dormitory before he even set foot in the school.
Back home, he was the second son, the youngest of two. He would never inherit a title. This cast a shadow of hatred and self-doubt over the teenage boy and thus, he became the deceitful person he is today. Redmond had somewhat convinced him otherwise, telling him he was the most beautiful boy in the whole of Weston, that he couldn’t have a better fag, that he loved him like a brother. All these compliments built up inside the boy’s head and filled his empty heart with happiness. He began to depend on the prefect to make him feel worthwhile and important. Without Redmond, he was just another face in the crowd. With Redmond, he was known as the prefect’s fag, the prettiest boy in the school, and somebody everybody wished to be associated with. The flattery from Redmond grew to become something more. Maurice became vain and conceited.
These words from Phantomhive chilled him to the bone. He loved Redmond. He loved him a lot — and often fantasised about being the one Edgar Redmond loves above all.
He had lied. One teeny, tiny white lie from his second year of boarding school had grown and spiralled out of control until Maurice couldn’t keep track of what was true and what was false any longer. In the first year he became Edgar’s fag, he had done all the chores himself. Soon he grew bored of that. In his second year, he used his handsome looks and winsome smile to get the job done, by employing others to do the dirty work for him. Everything he did, he did it for Redmond. Even if it was immoral…
Maurice’s eyes glittered like emeralds in the fresh light from the art room windows. Just outside he could see the Swan Gazebo, his favourite place on earth. The place he first met Edgar. He cast his eyes away from the window and down to the wooden floor, trying his hardest to hide his excitement from Phantomhive.
‘… Yes, you’re right. I’ll tell him,’ Maurice whispered through slightly parted lips. In his eyes was pure sadness, yet Ciel Phantomhive remained unmoved.
‘I’ll tell him absolutely nothing!’ the prefect’s fag snarled with a sudden temper, his semi-polite smile morphing into the ugliest leer he could muster. ‘Who in their right bloody mind would—!?’
‘Stop. That’s enough.’
The blond boy towering over Phantomhive whipped around to see where the voice was coming from. Yet there was nobody there… His green eyes grew wide with fear of the worst — he was either turning into a lunatic or Phantomhive had a trick up his sleeve — Maurice didn’t know which one was worse…
From the sly smirk curving Ciel’s lips, the eldest boy backed away slightly, feeling less secure in his web of plans. Yet, he could rest assure knowing that his cronies were only five feet away, hiding in the pandemonium of paintbrushes and easels of the art supply cupboard.
‘W-what was that?’ he stammered, an icy cold fist seizing a hold of his heart. He was certain that voice sounded like Redmond’s…
‘Oh?’ Ciel said leisurely, taking his time to drawl out his words and savour them on his tongue. ‘Why don’t you ask him instead? I’m sure he’s very interested in what you have to say!’
‘I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Phantomhive.’ Maurice huffed, refusing to lower his haughty gaze to Ciel’s eyes.
‘Really?’ the boy teased, the malignancy now prominent in his tone. ‘I’m certain I saw a fragment of recollection on your face?’
‘Shut up! Shut UP!’ Maurice yelled, placing his hands over his ears.
‘Cole.’ Came the disembodied voice again. It was obviously male, yet had a stoic, flat quality that didn’t reassure Maurice of its kindness. ‘Stop this now!’
This time, the boy knew what he was hearing was a saddened version of the prefect supposedly at the Swan Gazebo. He peered out into the late May afternoon only to see the back of the famous meeting place.
‘I am going quite mad, aren’t I?’ Maurice spluttered, pacing back and forth between the solid oak of the door and the smug boy in front of him.
‘I can assure you, you’re perfectly sane,’ the youngest of the two answered sweetly.
‘But you are about to lose your mind,’ he added darkly, his saccharine-sweet facade shattering with a truly malicious smirk.
The art room door creaked open slowly, and out stepped the prefect himself. His ruby red eyes blazed like an inferno, and with his fists clenched either side of his stock-still body, Edgar Redmond towered over the pair like a judge before the jury. Maurice’s jaw dropped before putting on an innocent mask.
‘Redmond! Phantomhive and I were just chatt—’
‘I heard everything,’ Redmond said sadly, shaking his head with disappointment. ‘Don’t lie to me anymore, Cole.’
The prefect’s fag’s lower lip trembled as he attempted to resist the wave of sadness in the pit of his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ciel Phantomhive grinning like he was the luckiest boy alive. Anger rippled inside his heart and his fist closed around the cool of the golden scissors, hidden away inside his blazer pocket. Slowly counting to ten inside his head, Maurice put on a brave face, yet the threatening of losing both Redmond and his position was too much to bear, so his confident smile broke into a watery grin as he waited for the verdict.
‘To think even you betrayed me… I am ashamed for being such a poor judge of character,’ Edgar said softly, his expression now gentle but the tone of his voice was brittle.
‘I don’t want to hear your excuses,’ the red prefect interrupted sharply, ‘You are a great disappointment to me. Cole. I hereby sever my brotherly ties to you!’
At his harsh words, tears pooled in Cole’s eyes, and he dropped to his knees in defeat. He sobbed openly as Redmond left the room in disgust, and howled when he saw Ciel’s smug expression. Ciel followed suit, leaving Maurice to weep silently on the art room floor. He felt like his chest was being stabbed over and over, so clutched a hand to his blazer and shirt as he backhanded his tears.
In a way it was bittersweet. The boy always knew he didn’t deserve somebody as wonderful as Edgar Redmond. And now he was gone…


Almost a month passed since Redmond dismissed his fag, and as it was now the fourth of July, the infamous cricket opening ceremony, everybody was rushing about the school in high spirits. Students had the opportunity to invite their relatives and close friends from home to join in the festivities. Most of the women weren’t so interested in the actual cricket, but were all preparing their evening dresses and fancy hats for months before hand — especially seeing as all the boys from Weston College would be there! The boys of Weston loved the annual cricket tourney (some more than others) as it gave them the opportunity to meet girls for the first time in a long while. Before the sport came the typical ball, something even the biggest wallflower would look forward to.
All except Redmond, that is. Even the quiet and mysterious Gregory Violet predicted he would be all alone at the ball of 1889. Despite all the women hounding him for his handsome profile and aristocracy—and the fact he was related to a notorious womaniser—Redmond refused to dance with anybody, saying he preferred to watch as dancing made him fatigued, and he needed all the energy he could get for the morrow. Truth be told, he had actually danced for a short while with one of Bluer’s younger sisters, but she hardly counted. She was eight. She also trod on his toes about ten times throughout.
His sharp eyes scanned the couples waltzing across the ballroom floor, and finally came to rest on his new fag, Joanne Harcourt, dancing with what he knew was his fiance. A dull ache settled in his heart, and he found he could look no more. Instead, he listened to the music, tuning into what the German opera singer was expressing through his many years of German class.
He suddenly became aware of somebody equally as unwilling to dance by his side. Stood a few respectable meters away was Maurice Cole, blissfully unaware of who he was nearby. Redmond pulled a face and looked away, his heart beating faster than usual. He coughed a little to clear his throat, and stupidly, attracted Cole’s attention, who quickly turned his head and avoided all eye contact. Stubbornness hung in the air until it almost suffocated the pair. Finally, Redmond crept closer and broke the silence.
‘It’s certainly been a while, Cole. How are you this evening?’
Maurice snorted scornfully. ‘Terrible.’
‘Oh?’ Redmond smiled slightly, ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Whatever is the matter?’
‘Out of all due respect, I think you know what the matter is, Redmond!’ Maurice laughed incredulously, his eyebrows lost in his blond curls. ‘Did you enjoy your dance with that little girl, hm?’
‘You know what you did is wrong, and that I can never forgive you, Maurice,’ Redmond said sharply, quick to find the real reason Maurice was irritable, and calling the boy by his given name for the first time. He checked to see if anybody was in earshot, ‘But… I do miss having you as my fag, you know.’
This was like a knife to Maurice’s chest. He didn’t know whether to love or hate Edgar, so his chest swelled with mixed emotions nevertheless.
‘Really?’ he asked, wide-eyed, his cheeks flushing a dusty rose colour.
Remembering how awful he felt for the month without Redmond, he added, ‘Yes, well you fancied Harcourt so much that you bloody well forgot about me! You hate me, so why not just let me alone.’
‘I don’t hate you, Maurice.’ Redmond said soothingly. ‘But I do wonder why you lied to me so much. What did any of those boys do to deserve this? Why are you so jealous of Phantomhive?’
Maurice paused, embarrassed. ‘You said you were bored of the same old dowdy faces, and you are always talking to the other boys! How do you think that made me feel?’ he exploded.
‘I didn’t want to be replaced…’ he said after a long pause from Redmond. ‘I-I loved you.’ Tears filled his green eyes. Although to appear vulnerable he twirled a golden lock around his fingers.
Redmond sighed. ‘Alright, I think I understand your motives now… You clearly didn’t bully those boys for the sole purpose of being malicious. You acted on jealousy.’
There was another prolonged silence, but not an uncomfortable one. The two stood together with their arms folded across their chests, watching the couples joyfully waltz, twirl, and chat happily away into the night.
‘I’ve never danced with a girl,’ Maurice snickered slightly. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t be caught dead dancing with a girl. I just don’t understand them at all.’
‘I danced with a girl,’ Redmond said, puffing out his chest.
‘Yeah,’ Maurice spat, ‘I saw.’
‘She is Bluer’s little sister. And she was eight. You have no need to be jealous of her.’
‘What about Harcourt?’ Maurice retorted.
‘What about him?’
‘Did you dance with him? Did you?!’
‘Of course not. He’s off with his beautiful fiance,’ Redmond replied haughtily, wishing Maurice would stop bringing the conversation back to his new fag.
‘Oh…’ Maurice said, relieved slightly. ‘I hate that boy. Why did you have to pick him? Don’t you know that everything I did, I did it for you? I have no real skills. I can’t iron, I can’t sew. I can’t bake… I can’t do anything a fag needs to. So I relied on a second party to get the job done. Because I wanted to keep you all to myself.’
The way Cole talked so possessively made Redmond feel uncomfortable to say the least. A gentleman never says anything to hurt somebody’s feelings, so he kept his mouth shut on the subject.
‘But now you belong to Harcourt. I just want to be the one you love most of all. I’m the prettiest boy in school, so why don’t you return my feelings?! I should be the prefects fag! I should be your lover! I should be the one you adore, not Harcourt, not Bluer’s sister! It should have been me. I need this!’
Redmond’s face flushed. ‘Do not speak so loudly, Cole. If anybody were to overhear…’
‘I want you I want to be your fag I want to be the next prefect I want to inherit a title I want—’
‘Cole! What is the matter with you?! Do you have brain fever or something? You’re acting like a lunatic!’
‘I’m not mad,’ Maurice said darkly, his eyes locking with Edgar’s.
Redmond sighed in relief slightly, simply glad he had stopped his hysterical babbling. Especially as his womanising uncle was giving him a curious look from across the hall.
‘Look, come with me. We need to talk,’ he said patiently.
Edgar grabbed Maurice forcefully by the wrist and dragged him out into the evening. Outside, the stars were twinkling like frosted diamonds in the sky. The moonlight was the only light to guide them to the Swan Gazebo. Maurice felt nostalgic at the scent of the white roses emitting from the prefect’s hangout. He lent over and sniffed at one, before being sat down on a chaise longue by Edgar.
‘That’s better,’ he said cheerfully, ‘the ballroom was all stuffy and crowded. I’m glad we can be alone now,’
Maurice huffed slightly. ‘What do you want to talk to me about?’
Edgar chose his wording carefully, ‘When you talked to me earlier in the ballroom, you were acting crazy. You continuously said you loved me. What is going on in that head of yours?’
Thankfully it was dark so that Maurice couldn’t see his beetroot-red face.
As they were alone, Maurice leaned closer, so that his body was flush to Edgar’s. Edgar unconsciously jerked sideways along the chaise longue, but Maurice had caught him by the tie. The younger boy ran his fingers up and down the silky red tie, testing the texture of the fabric and pulling his ex-friend closer. He scooted along so that his legs tangled with Edgar’s own.
‘I wish you’d never left me,’ Maurice said huskily, ‘You broke my heart...and I couldn’t sleep for days. Nobody will talk to me. Not even my own family... For a while I considered suicide, but that would be letting you win now, wouldn’t it?’
‘You really are insane,’ Edgar breathed, becoming increasingly horrified. ‘You need to go ho—’
Maurice’s lips met his own before he could finish his sentence. His chest pressed against Edgar’s as his delicate hands tangled in long blond hair. Edgar could taste red wine on his mouth as he deepened the kiss. The younger let out a low moan before being pushed disgustedly aside.
With eyes full of hurt, Cole shrank back against the opposite end of the sofa. He put a hand to his mouth and looked up at him with baleful eyes. Edgar’s face remained blank until Maurice looked although he were going to leave.
‘Where are you going all of a sudden?’
‘You hate me even more now,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll expose me as a homosexual and I’ll be expelled. When my parents and big brother find out about this, I’ll be disowned. But I deserve everything that’s coming to me… I’m sorry.’
He turned to flee but Edgar caught his wrist.
‘Stay, why don’t you. I won’t… I won’t tell anybody about this. I promise.’
‘Thank you,’ Maurice blushed, reminding Redmond of times in the past where the two had been inseparable.
‘I would love for you to be my fag once again, as I miss you terribly, even if I do seem like I hate you…’
Maurice looked hopeful.
‘But it would be cruel of me to dismiss Harcourt this far in the game.’
His face fell again.
‘How about we just be friends?’
This broke down Maurice’s high wall of defences. All his life he had been told not to trust anybody (they only like you for your looks!) and to remain out of love’s path (you need to marry your cousin, Lucy), keep his virginity (no woman will love you if you’ve been sleeping around), and to always be gentle and sweet to everybody he meets in order to find a decent future wife. Therefore, he was placed in an all-boy school. Homosexuality was never even thought of. His family, distantly related to a princess, raised him in an atmosphere of suspicion and coldness. His elder brother blackmailed him and constantly reminded him of his position in the hierarchy of inheritance. He was at the bottom of the food chain. Vulnerable, afraid and lonely. He had never had a real friend. All those people who admired him, admired him only for his resemblance of a girl, and sweet, gentle manner.
At the back of his mind, he knew Redmond only liked him for his work as a fag, and that he meant little more than a butler rather than a companion. If you could break down all these little defences he worked so hard to build, little by little, you would see the real Maurice Cole; a frightened, lonely 16 year old boy in a world full of adults. He was never really ready to grow up. And if you found the real boy underneath, rather than the prima donna facade, you may end up loving him.
Maurice found Edgar Redmond, who treated him like a younger brother. Edgar would ruffle his fag’s hair when he did well in an exam and Maurice would cheer Edgar on in a sport match. The boy had found somebody who treated him as a person rather than a pretty doll you could play with, then put away on a shelf to collect dust. He became a slave to that person; and for three years they couldn’t be parted. Maurice found it hard to be called a ‘friend’, so Edgar never did so, yet inside, both boys knew they were closer than brothers. The thought of it caused tears to cloud Maurice’s vision.
‘T-thank you. I don’t know how you could ever forgive me, after all the awful things I have done,’ he said tearfully, clenching his handkerchief although he feared it would break free and run away. ‘It would be an honour to be your friend, Redmond. I’m so happy.’
Redmond’s lips pressed together in a pleased smile. It was like a dark shadow had left his mind. He took Maurice’s hand in his own.
‘Say, why don’t we get back to the ball. Uncle Aleister has probably been searching for me,’ he beamed, ‘Also… What do you say to a dance?’
‘We—We can’t dance together! Whatever would the others think?’
‘I do not pay any mind to what others think. A person should be selfish and only think of themselves. Otherwise, the world would be an extraordinarily painful place to be… And, it would please me greatly to dance with somebody I love before the night is over.’
The ex-fag blushed. ‘It would be wonderful to dance with you, Edgar,’ he said with a servile smile.
Their fingers entwined. ‘Then let’s go.’

Sunday, 24 November 2013

Smooth Sailing

Here is Beverly, the wonderful Pullip doll I got for my 15th birthday! My family and I went to a different park this time to get these photos. It was freezing!

I named her Beverly after Beverly Marsh from Stephen King's It, mostly because of the red hair, but also because I just love her name! I called this Smooth Sailing after an Ella Fitzgerald song!

Saturday, 23 November 2013

When the Summer Ends Chapter 6

Chapter 6


August 1958

Torrents of silky blond hair flew by as my young friend raced along the forest path. Her brown eyes were alight with the rush of adrenaline from being chased, and the mischief and joy of doing so. A healthy flush coloured her porcelain cheeks as the fresh, sea-salted air caressed her softly. The trees spat out fiery leaves as she zig-zagged her way down the winding road, some of them, tangling in her loose waves, and brushing along her skin like decaying old fingers. She didn’t give much mind to them though. She laughed impishly; a kittenish smile gracing her rose pink lips, showing off the natural dimples she must work so hard to conceal.
Her elder brother came in a close second, swooping in on his prey, and roaring out in laughter I supposed the family hadn’t heard in years. His auburn head of hair was thrown back in a contagious cackle that I couldn’t help but join in with, as he caught his younger sibling in his arms and lifted her into the air. Squeals and girlish cries of protest were made, yet this did absolutely nothing to stop the tickling she was getting.
I watched on in amusement, cigarette in one hand, Aika’s handbag in the other. Watching the two was like a retrospective from when I was much younger. That was when my big brother cared about me. He’s grown up and gone now... Mom always said friends may come and go, but family is forever. Oh how I wish that were true.
‘Cherry, come on!’ Aika called out as she realised I was lagging behind.
She turned around to grin at me, still running, her long, lustrous hair flying out in front of her face as the wind decided to grab it. My heart fluttered slightly. I took a last poof of my cigarette then stomped it out on the earthy floor.
‘Coming!’ I yelled, my slow jog breaking out into a full-blown sprint.
I chased the pair down the path until we reached our destination. The garden was overcome with weeds, and the pastel blue clapboard wood rotten and crumbling, yet nobody could say this place didn’t have its charms. Little heart shapes were carved into the balcony, and the front garden held traces of rose bushes long gone. The crickets and cicadas scraped tunes at us from all directions. In the nearby stagnant water, a bullfrog snapped up an unsuspecting house fly in its tongue and swallowed. My eyes fell to the twisted metal chairs situated on the boardwalk, that seemingly, spiders of all kinds had taken refuge in.
All around was a heavy silence that only the animals could break: after all, this was their home. Pierre stood stock still, almost like a soldier you would see featured on the news. His mouth was agape with wonder. Aika’s eyes roamed all over the dilapidated home, sparkling with what I knew was fascination for her father’s childhood home.
‘Wanna go inside?’ I asked quietly, being the one to interrupt the silence.
Aika turned on me. ‘No. Father said we are not to go inside,’ her brow furrowed slightly, ‘it could be dangerous. The house is…’ she paused to count on her fingers. ‘Almost two hundred years old, and not very well-built at that.’
Pierre backed her up with a stiff nod of his head.
I gave the crumbling building a side-long glance and reconsidered my offer. ‘Perhaps not…’
The eldest put his hands in his pockets and sighed. In his eyes were something I didn’t quite like. Like his sister’s eyes, they were brown, yet glistening, but not quite with happiness. He stood mute before dragging his feet back to where he came from. Aika goggled him confusedly before falling unnaturally silent herself.
‘I best get going. I’ve got to meet a friend in town,’ he said saturninely before shuffling his way through the half Summer, half Autumn scenery.
When he was out of earshot, I grabbed Aika by the arm and directed her towards the chairs on the balcony. Pushing her down before checking for spiders, I saw the worrisome glint in her eyes before mentally reminding myself to be more gentle with her. She was very fragile — both physically and mentally.
‘What’s his deal?’ I interrogated, my tone soft, yet demanding no nonsense.
Her eyes never met mine. ‘That’s just Pierre. He’s fine.’
My mouth curved into a smile. ‘Sure.’
‘H-he is fine… He’s just—just…’
‘I know. My own brother was the same,’ I said dejectedly, absentmindedly kicking the metal table between us both. ‘Pierre’s really cute though.’
Aika said nothing, staring into space almost although she wished it would swallow her up.
‘What’s he hiding?’ I asked, certainly not expecting an answer.
She swallowed, her face turning pasty. ‘When we moved over here, he’s been even more gloomy than usual. Dad doesn’t pay him any mind. Buddy rarely talks to him. He’s always out.’ She swallowed again and continued, her voice thick with tears, ‘…Pierre is always in front of the mirror. He just sits there… all alone. He hates himself. I can tell. When I talk to him about it, he just dismisses it, and tells me I’m being a typical stupid girl.
‘But I know it. The way he cries in his bedroom. It’s so loud — and so frightening — so terrible, that it makes my blood run cold. I asked him about it again last night but he tells me I’m hearing things. I’m not though! He’s upset about something and I know it!’
When she finished, she finally broke down as two tears trickled down her pallid cheeks. I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my clumsy mouth shut. Instead, I reached across the table and placed my hand over hers. Her saddened eyes met mine for perhaps the first time, then cast themselves firmly down on the space behind my head. She looked although she were to begin talking again, so I squeezed her hand to tell her to stop; everything is fine.
‘I know you’re sad, my friend,’ I said huskily, at the same time, choosing my words wisely, ‘and I know I’ve never had to deal with something like that… but I’m always here for you. If you need me.’
Aika coughed nervously. Then she put her other hand in mine and squeezed back. A sweet smile played on her lips. ‘Thank you.’
I smiled back, perhaps in encouragement.
Above us, two birds sang a duet. We sat a while and listened, finally in peace. A lone ray of sunshine cast over us, the woods suddenly not seeming so unforgiving, and the ruin of a home behind us not quite so lonely.
‘You said you have a brother?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Actually I have two. One of ‘em’s a real ankle biter. Billy. He’s the eldest. Perhaps the same age as your Buddy. And then there’s little Sam. He’s just a tyke. I love him so much!’ I replied, smiling fondly at the memories of my younger brother.
‘Y’know how you don’t have a mom, well I’m the opposite. My father ran away when Billy was born. He’s the biggest fuckin’ loser I’ve ever known.’ I shook my head dismally.
My friend made a humming noise and patted my hand sympathetically. I snorted slightly in amusement.
‘Wanna smoke?’ I asked.
Aika wrinkled her nose and shook her head. ‘No thank you!’
‘Bubble gum?’
‘Um, thanks,’ she said, gingerly accepting the bubble gum, trying hard not to touch my nicotine-stained fingers.
I slipped a fresh cigarette from my packet and snickered at the card featuring a pinup girl inside. Aika glanced over my shoulder and frowned. Groping for the lighter inside my pocket, I accidentally brought out my switchblade instead, causing Aika to gasp. She made no comment though; rather, watching in contempt as I lit up and exhaled.
‘I live on a farm,’ I admitted, gesturing to the supposedly white converse I sported.
The girl opposite me immediately brightened up. ‘With animals?’
‘Sows, mares, cattle, chicken, sheep. We’ve got the most livestock in the whole of Jubilee!’ I said, not quite so modestly.
‘I would love to see them some day,’ Aika said after checking her pocket French-to-English dictionary for what a mare was. ‘I love animals.’
‘Oh yeah? Do you have a pet?’
‘No,’ she confided, ‘But I’d love a puppy or a kitten for my own… You?’
‘Used to have a dog, but she died. She was an old, smelly thing. No wonder dad ran away,’ I added with a half-hearted laugh. I soon regretted it.
We were left to dissolve into a deep, calm silence, in which, I managed to finish my smoke. I lit another one then shoved the box under Aika’s nose.
‘Sure ya don’t want one? They’re good. I mean, they take getting used to, but—’
‘I said no! You’re disgusting!’
My jaw dropped. ‘What? I’m what?!’
Aika shrank away from me and put her fingers in her mouth, like a small child in the dunce cap.
I towered over her, my cold eyes hot with rage. My fist was raised before I realised who I was dealing with. A girl two years younger than myself. A little girl in a world full of impossibly big and powerful idols. My heart went out to her, even though my boyish instincts were telling me to punch her and be done with it. I may be tough in front of the boys, but in front of Aika, I’m a stumbling, clumsy fool...
‘Hey, look. I’m sorry. Don’t be scared. I’m not gonna hurt you.’
‘You looked like you were,’ she said bluntly. ‘You looked like my mother when she wants to hurt me.’
I chewed on my hangnail. ‘I’m real sorry.’

Princess Violetta - Art Trade with AmazingNicky

This is for my friend :iconamazingnicky: as we are doing an art trade! I really enjoyed drawing this girl (and I've secretly nicknamed her Princess Violetta due to the amount of purple in this picture)!


Well, the doctors have finally found out what's wrong with me. And it only took a year. *rolls eyes* Apparently it's Conversion Disorder (none of that PANDAS or autoimmune rubbish), and that was what caused me to have a lot of neurological symptoms, despite there not actually being anything physically wrong with me.  This website explains it better than I ever will, if you're interested.…
I haven't had any traumatic or stressful event, but my doctor said I got it because I've had Autism/Aspergers all my life, which caused me to get Conversion disorder, and nobody really found out until now.

Anyway, I'm getting better now. Especially seeing as I know I'm not going to drop dead with some horrible disease like lupus, or from a brain tumor, which my father took me to hospital in the first place for! I am actually feeling better than usual. The neurological symptoms are rarely there anymore, and I feel better about going to school and out and about. My hair has stopped falling out as I'm not on horrible medicines anymore, my skin is better also, and I'm losing weight from when I was put on the steroids too!

It's funny because half a year ago, I couldn't leave the house without being really frightened, but now I can go out and go to school part time. Sadly, I'll always have Aspergers, but the Conversion will go away soon, thankfully. Now I can move on!

Citron Vert

I really wanted to draw a kimono, as a kind of break from all that lolita, ahaha. This design was inspired by summer, and citrus fruits (as we've been drawing a LOT of those in Art class recently).

Friday, 15 November 2013

Momoko Ryuugasaki

Momoko out of Kamikaze Girls has to be one of my all-time favourite characters. One of the reasons is that I can relate a lot to her. She's one of the characters I feel is a lot like me. From the love of frills and lolita as well as the downright rotten personality!

Kamikaze Girls means a lot to me, so I'm surprised I've never drawn anything for it before!

Character (c) - Novala Takemoto

Frame brush is by

Saturday, 9 November 2013

The Replacement One Shot

Patrick Hockstetter was born on the 23rd July, 1946. His younger brother Avery, was born just five years later in October 1951. Mr and Mrs Hockstetter couldn’t be more pleased with the family they had raised - Patrick was a very handsome boy (maybe verging on the pudgy side, but who cares?) at the age of five, and Avery received lots of attention at the ladies club, being called the cutest baby in the whole of Derry. From the outside, they looked like a perfectly happy family; normal, loving, care-free and attentive. Many people admired them, especially the other young women at the local ladies club Josephine Hockstetter attended, and some even called them sublime.
Of course, like any family, they had their flaws. Nobody could imagine the disaster brewing beneath the surface of the Hockstetter family. Underneath those smiles lay something disturbing - most notably in the eldest son, Patrick.
That boy was later to be discovered as a Sociopath verging on Psychopathy. His parents weren’t to know until just after his twelfth birthday in the summer of 1958. Every day, he would take great joy in stabbing the beetles outside with his mother’s sewing needles, or, perhaps slowly watching flies dying slowly after being sprayed with poisonous chemicals. Each kill gave him a satisfaction normal childhood activities could never fulfil. Each kill made the world seem not so black and white anymore. His heart would race, his eyes would turn buggy, and sweat would bead on his forehead as he watched the grasshopper curl up feebly in its last throws of agony. Surprisingly, in Patrick’s case, killing people came much before killing animals, something unusual in the world of Psychopaths. He had a very dizzy grip on reality, only viewing the world from his own perspective and believing himself to be the only “real” being in existence.
Patrick’s brother never made it past the early stages of childhood. It wouldn’t take a genius to guess why; however, Avery was diagnosed with unexplained crib death syndrome whilst his hysterical mother wailed and refused to be comforted. Only the father came close to brushing past the truth. Before the thought had even registered, as blue and red florescent lights from the ambulance coursed the parlour, Ronald Hockstetter could only watch in despair as his wife sobbed against the wall, clutching at her hair and kicking the skirting in her own open tantrum. Inspecting the obvious serene aura Patrick was displaying despite all the chaos in the family home, what with all the paramedics and Josephine’s hysteria, the man watched as he was handed a single white pill — the doctors obviously thinking he was still in shock from finding his baby brother dead. In the midst of it all, instead of distracting his wife from pulling her hair out, he stormed from the room, slamming the door so hard it splintered in its frame. Patrick simply watched the whole world go by, swinging his legs cheerfully and sipping on a root beer.

When Avery was born, everything went out of whack. Patrick’s schedule was ruined, he never got his meals on time and he couldn’t sleep at night for the constant crying. Strong, not-so-cheerful emotions stabbed at his heart like tiny, persistent needles whenever he saw his mother cradling Avery in her arms, or perhaps his father giving him a brief smile before rushing down to work. The green-eyed monster consumed him entirely, and before he knew it, his only brother was gone…
Feeling unloved and unwanted, Patrick had trailed to the bus shelter with a heavy heart. Usually his mother would escort him to the shelter. Not today, though. She was too busy fussing over Avery. Patrick knew.
Thoughts of being replaced filled his young brain like angry hornets in a broken hive. Delusions after delusions whipped around as violent and cold as the December wind on his pallid cheeks. The child almost considered running away, just before realising, that way, his brother would have beaten him before he even knew it.
Waiting for the bus as a snowstorm was about to start up, Patrick risked a glance back at the front porch, almost although saying a final goodbye to his childhood home. His green eyes widened as he caught sight of his mother standing bare-footed on the frosty planks of wood, hugging herself for warmth and shaking so hard she looked although she had caught hypothermia.
‘Patrick?’ she called, eyes narrowing to find her boy without her spectacles, ‘You forgot your scarf, Patrick. I don’t want you to catch your death.’
‘I don’t want it,’ Patrick said darkly, his tone hardly above a whisper.
His mother, of course, didn’t hear and yelled harder, ‘Patrick, come get your scarf, sweetie!’
Patrick ignored her this time and simply clenched his little hands into fists. It’s too late for that, mommy, he thought, you already replaced me. It’s all your fault.
The bus collected the boy and his disheartened mother retreated back inside, wrapping her hands inside the red wool to warm them. Never for a second did the woman pick up that her son was angry at her. Nor did she know that the cuddle she had with Avery this morning would be the last he’d ever have.

‘Children, I want you to tidy up all the mess you’ve made, now,’ Mrs Black, the kindergarten teacher, said to all the five year olds in her care.
Around the tall woman, it looked although World War III had started and she was the lone survivor. A few good little girls began to scout about the room, picking up hurled rag dolls and train sets left by the boys. Soon enough, the children began to clear up the mess, all except one. Patrick.
He sat crouched and hunched over in the corner, almost although he were in a lot of pain. Mrs Black started to pet Patrick on the head, thinking something had happened at home to upset him, or perhaps he wasn’t feeling too well, but the boy gave her such a ferocious look that made her pull back her hand before she might have lost it. His little mouth was pulled down at the corners, and his eyes had something in them that made his teacher’s heart feel although an icy fist had seized it. Inside the dusty swirls of green and grey, there was no sparkle, no light that assured of life, and certainly no happiness nor hope.
The usually pale skin had a sickly pallor to it and his hands trembled either side of his small body. Noticing that his teacher was watching him, Patrick withdrew his hands from the floor and put one of them in his mouth and sucked it, his eyes the whole time in a glower trained at Mrs Black. When she once again attempted to get closer, he scuttled back although fearing she would hurt him. With his back pressed against the wall, his unblinking eyes moved away from Black (much to her relief) and fell on a group of girls tidying.
‘Patrick?’ she asked quietly, ‘Is everything okay?’
He ignored her, but went back to glaring in her direction.
‘Are you sick?’
He continued to suck on his hand.
‘Do you want me to call your mommy?’
‘No!’ he yelled suddenly, his voice anguished. The pure rage on his face was frightening.
‘Patrick,’ she said, her voice in what you’d call a “warning tone”, ‘Don’t speak to your teacher that way…’
Her hard tone didn’t match the softened features of her face nor the gentle sympathy in her gaze. Ah, so that’s where the problem lies, she thought sadly. There was nothing she could do but let him be. The look on his face clearly said he wouldn’t co-operate either way. She let him do his own thing until home time.

‘I’m home, mom,’ came a quiet little voice from the hallway. The voice was so quiet, in fact, that it didn’t even make the sleeping baby stir.
A reply never came (his mother was napping in her own room after the bad night she’d had with Avery) so Patrick poured himself a glass of milk and a plate of cookies all by himself. The anger from earlier in the morning wasn’t forgotten, not even for a second; and the fact that his mother wasn’t there to greet him after school just deepened the upset between mother and son.
With a pout on his lips, Patrick flung himself down on the sofa besides his younger brother, the milk slopping over the edge of the glass and down his shirt. He threw his wet wellington boots onto the floor and curled up his legs underneath him. Not even a muscle twitched from Avery. Patrick’s moody eyes fell to his younger sibling, watching the slow rise and fall of his tiny chest, the shallow noises he made when he breathed, and the warm puffs of air in the stone cold sitting area.
Patrick leaned a little closer. Before he knew what he was doing, Avery was dead. The deed was done. No more meals late on time. No more being kept up late at night. Avery was gone. Patrick wouldn’t be replaced after all… And the cheap thrill he got from murder inspired the boy to keep right on killing; beetles, katydids, cicadas, flies, mice, rabbits, dogs, cats… Patrick never stopped killing.