Saturday, 30 April 2011

Thank You

I got a few responses to my post, which, in turn, was a response, to the Ultimate Goth Guide's post about prejudice, and I just wanted to say thanks.

Tabby's own response deeply saddened me, but in a way, just made me more determined to reiterate my point: the more you speak out, the better it will get. Do not take my mistakes (in many things) and stay quiet. My friends will often say, "Kitty, you were never quiet about this kind of thing, you've literally screamed at the top of your lungs about it" and, yes, that's true. I am also deathly cynical of the schools' handling (in my case, in Amy's, in everyone who is like us or, in fact, just picked on), and my mistake, I think, was my lack of discretion. I was a freak. I am a freak. My standing up for myself seemed to make things worse. I did try it "the other way" quite a few times, going straight to the principal and so forth. There were a few teachers on my side (Deirdre at Shearwater, for example, and Mrs. Panucci, Ms. Fathers, Mrs. Wellington, Mr. Dawson, Mr. Richardson and Mrs. Raitelli at Nowra to name a few - and while that seems like a lot, I need to mention that Nowra is a big fucking school. About 2000 students now), but none of them could do much for me.

If things get the way they did for myself and Tabby, go to either the police or the school liason officer. I am not exaggerating. I remember they sent me to the school councellor because I was being bullied. How does this make any sense at all? "She's being bullied, and it must be something to do with her, not the kids who try to cut her hair?"

I did neglect to mention in my previous post about self-harm. Now, I definitely did it - however, I couldn't tell you when, where or with what. While under these psychotic fits of depression (I literally cannot remember so much of highschool), I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. I need to say this - if you ever feel the temptation to harm yourself, or have in the past, talk to somebody. You will not regret it, because even if you got stuck with condescending and irritating psychologists, at least you'll have someone to yell at. (I had one who asked me, "what do you want to talk about next week?" I stared at her, agape, for several moments, before saying, "Madame, what do you suppose you would do if a pack of utahraptors went wandering down the main street?" "I...I don't know..." "Because it has not happened yet?" "Y-yes, I suppose..." "Then why are you asking me to tell you what I wish to discuss when the possibilities have not happened yet?" Needless to say, I did not return, but I did feel better. +10 points for every time you can slip "jesus on a utahraptor" into a conversation with them.)

Again, I urge everyone to tell their stories and let me know, so I can read them. There is literally no end I will not go to to end this kind of discrimination, in schools and otherwise (but especially in school - because I cannot return, ever, I am deemed worthless by society - because of being bullied).

Talk, and we can pull attention to this issue. Tell, and someone, somewhere, will listen.

Because if we're freaks, why would we want to be anything else?


That's right. I'm having a competition. Sarah and myself are heading up to Sydney on saturday, and so I set to work finishing off my pinstripe ensemble.

As you can see, I couldn't even angles today.

 THEN I was doodling and sunday was all OHAI WAT U DO. He's now purring with me while I wait for Doctor Who to start.

Ignore my trucker arms, it's just an angle thing. I swear.

ANYWAY, the contest.

There will be three prizes: First prize is a Susan Sto Helit skirt (which is, straight, but trailing at the back) and a toule-less bustle (because FUCK THAT) in either pinstripe or plain black (your choice!). The bustle will either be tie-on or sewn-on...depends what kind of day I'm having. I will probably also add details that mine didn't have, and it'll be better-made than mine.

Second prize will be a bustle with a full skirt on it (so you can wear just that, in the style of the Love Child Boudoir), in your choice of pinstripe and black (or maybe taffeta).

Third prize is the plain Susan Sto Helit skirt, in, again, pinstripe or black! I might also send some other goodies with the prizes, depending what I can find (socks, hairbows, scrap-material-goodies. all of that.)

How to enter!

To enter my competition, please comment on this post with your email address. To get a second entry, link to the competition in a blog post, and post that too. If you've been directed here by another blog, post what blog that is, so I can give them a little something, in some way, even if they don't win.

It will take me some time to make everything (it only takes a few hours to make the skirt, and a little longer to make the bustle, but I'll have to buy materials) and send them off. Money, although precious, is easy to come by when you work as you please, and where you please. Once it's over, I'll hop straight into it. Good luck!

Also: I'm writing this while watching the first episode of the new season of Doctor Who. Fuckyeah!

Friday, 29 April 2011


I've recently realised that my friends have a disproportionate amount of photos of me, and stories involving me that I don't even remember. Like Sarah's sock thief story. I don't remember being there for that, but my dad did randomly show up to the rescue. Like my dad does all the frigging time, I'm not even kidding.

Doodling around on facebook, I changed my profile picture to this:

That our friend drew in her mini-comic, ZombiePocalypse. I don't own a black cat, is what makes this funny,'s really waht I look like. XD and everyone else is naked.

After that, I flicked through the "photos of you" album and realised there are more pictures of me owned by other people than ones I have on my profile myself. Heather has no less than ELEVENTY BILLION pictures of me from when we went to school.

This is the old gang - Jake, Jess, Edward, Heather and Me. I had such short hair then.

As well as that, I have taken a few photos myself without anyone realising it was me...they found themselves uploaded.

Sometimes, these photos make me think about how good I had it back then, when we all thought we had it tough. How we've learned.

I don't remember this at all.
Photos can make you laugh...

Make you smile...

So young!

Make you miss those can't always be around...

They can make you warm...


Part of a family...

Or all on your own.

They bring back what's happened...

What is....

And what's still in store.

And although they're not always taken when we're looking...

And when they are, don't always turn out the best...

You always know they'll take you home...

No matter how far you stray...even if you run away to the circus.

All of these were photos of my friends and family. I love you all so much.

In loving memory of Lola. We miss you.

My Response to Prejudice (Ultimategothguide)

Firstly, congratulations to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge on their wedding. I loved the ceremony, and all that happened. It was a beautiful vision, and when the day comes to call William my King, I shall do so with happiness, although my true allegiance always will remain with Elizabeth.Good luck with the cleanup of the international after party. You'll need it. (Also, how much do you want to bet that every living actor that has played the Doctor, and Terry Pratchett, were all there? Come on, England....they're the equivalent of giant boobs for your country.)

[/end freakshow]

I am writing this as a response to this post about prejudice toward alternative people that exists in schools and workplaces.

It is truly disgusting what people endure for not sticking to the norm, regardless of what you wear specifically. It really makes me so angry that this kind of things happen. It is the same idea as racism - that those who are different, must be destroyed.

When I think about people who have harasssed me, I have to think, "do you shout obscenities at Muslim women, too? Hindi or tranditional-dressing African people?" People get beaten over their clothes, many being hospitalised. I remember my alphagoth ex boyfriend used to yell things at muslim women, and one time, I smacked him over the back of the head and went and apologised to the woman. Another time, he was making fun privately of a woman in the shopping centre, and I screamed my head off at him and stormed off. I said to him, "Aedon, how can you say that about someone? Don't you hate it when people give you shit about what you wear? What the fuck is wrong with you?" His response was a mumbled, "I don't really care what people say." A weak and pathetic lie, because it did bother him.

How can people justify, in their minds, the treatment of goth and punk children and young adults in schools? How can they think, "hey, I just degraded someone else's life, but I'm still the coolest motherfucker around"? I've decided to write my bullying experiences, in the hopes of getting out all this anger I pent up after reading Tabby's post. Prepare for spelling and word errors due to ragepost and also because TV is on and the cats are attacking me.

I suffer from semi-severe aspergers syndrome. I am extremely high-functioning in terms of intelligence (not to toot my own horn, here, but modesty isn't the point I'm making), but as a child, I was far taller than the other children (tallest in my class and, ultimately, my school), and I was rather husky as a child (I wasn't really fat, I just wasn't a bag of bones).

I was horrifically bullied from kindergarten onwards. My (public) school forced me to religious teaching, and I was the only atheist five-year-old they had ever encountered, and the only one who could tell them at length the theory of evolution, and (i quote) "Mathmatically, God doesn't need to exist. Why does he, anyway? Can't we just be happy to exist ourselves?" I was a target, from the beginning, really. When I say my bullying was horrific, I mean it - I was beaten til blood was drawn, my food was stolen, I was cut with rocks, and one time, I tried to stand up for myself when they attempted to make me eat a dead magpie. Because I was bigger than those kids, and I pushed back, I was automatically the bully.

I left that school for the gifted and talented class at Illaroo Road in Nowra, where the first of my gothic transformation began. I had always liked "dark" music (I used to unnerve the fuck out of my teachers singing Polly by Nirvana. Yeah, I was a kid from a horror movie), and this just took off there. I was cared for and nurtured, but, in some way, was set up to fall in highschool. I knew too much, it seems.

Most teachers in highschool hated my guts. I knew whatever they were trying to say, I was constantly bored, I talked back (because, and a lot of people would agree after class, I was right), and I wasn't about to just sit there and be not entertained. I grew dreamier, and the dreamier I grew, the worse people began to pick on me.

It didn't help at all that I suffer from a disassociative anxiety (close to what Heather has, but with more hallucinating), an apparent psychotic depression (again...with more hallucinations), and post-traumatic stress from not only the abuse I suffered between kindergarten and the end of the fourth grade, but also - and I feel I must be stark, here, for the purposes of my statement - the period of time where I was raped and beaten, which lasted between a year and a half and two years. 

I made few friends, and whenever I was bullied, it was put down to "it's her fault for being a freak on purpose". Once, a girl punched me in the face because the leader of her slut pack (tribe? murder? herd? what do you call a collective of bitchy bogans, anyway? "Welfare walking"?) didn't like the song I was playing on the piano. She told the deputy principal that she was "scared" that I was going to hit her. She was twice my size and weight (not in a bad "dude she fat" kind of way - I mean she was in a different weight class than me. Not hard, I was barely 45kg, if that), and I had just stood up to ask her problem when she hooked me in the jaw. She laughed but then screamed and ran away when I tried to hit back. The teachers (other than the music teachers and the welfare teach - they were always on my side, along with the head of history, the head of english and my year advisor) basically said "well, she's a freak, who cares?" My hair was pink, I had badly-crooked teeth and wore striped/patterned socks and coloured shoes. I was deemed a "freak" because I was different and intelligent. This made me so angry, that when Heather said she was changing schools, I just didn't bother returning.

After a few months, I moved to Byron Bay and returned to school, this time at a Steiner school.

For those who don't know, the Steiner philosophy is an excellent one. It teaches the cherishing of the individual and learning through creative ways. German hippies are best hippies.

At the school I attended, this was all bullshit, a facade.

The primary school was beautiful (although I do disagree with their active discouragement of children reading before the age of seven. Actual Steiner philosophy says not to concentrate on literacy in kindy and first grade, but to encourage children who love reading at that age). The highschool, however, was bullshit and disappointment after disappointment.

Firstly, I am generally disaqueous. I don't like swimming. The tenth grade camp is scuba diving in Fiji (yeah, you read that right). My refusal to do so lead them to try and blackmail me into it, saying "now we're not saying you should leave, but if you don't like swimming, you should rethink attending this school". Literally, whose were the words spoken. On top of that, their teaching was abysmal. Steiner philosophy disapproves using technology in teaching (for example, computers, which were used constantly at that school. The library was a Mac lab with a few dictionaries in it), and yet so much of our learning was done on computers. Maths was, for example, always done online. Literally.

They promised to cherish what I had to say, how I felt, who I was. Instead, I was often, quite literally, told to "shut up" by teachers and students. They bullied me for the way I dressed, for my opinions, for my knowledge. I had this one exchange with an english teacher.

Her: Now who can tell me what marriage is?
Me: It's a religious institution.
Her: No, it's spiritual. Every culture on earth has marriage.
Me: I think you'll find every culture on earth has religion.
Her: No, they don't. Look at the Celts, they weren't religious, just spiritual, and they had marriage.
Me: ....Sorry? Did you just say what I think you said? Would you like me to name some Celtic religious gods for you?

She kicked me out after that, and I got in a heap of trouble....for proving her wrong. But that's a basic representation of the attitude of the school. "I'm right. Because I'm the teacher." Except for four teachers - Fiona, my English teacher, Adam, my Baroque Art block lesson teacher (and incarnation of The Doctor. I crushed on him hard), Deirdre, my Vis-Design teacher (who loved and cherished every individual student, so long as they showed up on time, participated actively and did what they were told), and Sally, who was the first grade teacher whose class I helped with on fridays instead of sport.

This started to go bad with the bullying. People used to throw things at me, in class and otherwise. The boys in my class cut up an eraser and pegged the very hard chunks at me, and when I called them "sick fucks, fuck off and leave me alone" as I left, said to our home teacher (who was called to the room) that they "didn't mean to hit me". I had bruises, and they were let off scott-free.

Often I was told to just "kill yourself, already", or "shut your fucking whore face, you stupid slut". I reported every incident to teachers, and nothing was done. I stopped attending class and merely ghosted about the school grounds. In class, I never did anything, just doodled on my worksheets.

One day, a boy, Noah (he and I were okay with each other, and made up rather fast afterwards), started throwing things at me and calling me names. I lost it. I had an anxiety attack and my psychosis took over. I beat the fucking daylights out of him, and I got suspended - he might have, too, I don't recall. However, when the teachers separated us and asked what had happened, he immediately said, "It was my fault. I was being horrible. Please tell her I'm sorry." I really appreciated that, and said sorry in my own way. I gave him a cookie (my baking skills are rather excellent, and my cookies and coconut chocolate was very sought-after).

The last three weeks of my last term were, undoubtedly, the best of the whole time I was there. There were only nine girls in my whole grade, and we all coincidentally took the same block elective for that term (which means every afternoon for three weeks). It was the visual design class. We all became very good friends, with each other and our devious teacher Deirdre. We got into long, philosophical conversations, and in total, got nothing finished. Deirdre told us that we were allowed to ditch other classes to go work with there. We all missed three days of other classes before we got found out. She got in an arguement with the home teacher, Jane, about it. It was amazing. I did not return to other classes, or my other elective (music, since I was left out and abused) for the last week of term.

I was glad to leave school at that note, with friends and not horrible people calling me horrible names based on the way I looked and dressed.

I urge everyone else to post their stories. The more we do, the more awareness will get out, and the more accepted we will be. It is important to stop this vile, sick and unfounded hatred towards us based on nothing but misconceptions and irrational fear.

I love you guys so much. Stay strong.

Thursday, 28 April 2011

Anecdotal Corsetry

I love corsets, I really do. I have so much fun wearing them, and dressing up in them. Here's some FAQ I get (as do 99% of all corset wearers, i'll bet) and my responses.

1: "Doesn't that hurt?"

No, it really doesn't. I have a lot of back/chest problems and the support of a corset really helps. It does get a bit uncomfortable for long periods of time at high compressions, however.

2: "How do you breathe in that thing?"

I breathe exactly how everyone should breathe. It is unnatural to breathe into the chest - one should breathe into the diaphragm, not expanding the chest much at all. Corsetry is a good way to train the breathing.

3: "Why do you wear it?"

Because I like it. This is, undoubtedly, the most stupid question I recieve. "Why do you dress like that?" is an idiotic thing. because I like it, why else?

4: "Where did you get it?"

Gallery Serpentine. Both of the corsets I wear are from there. They make extremely high-quality stuff, and although it's expensive, it only means I'll cherish it more.

5: "Don't you get hot/uncomfortable?"

No, not really. Although it can get a little achey after a long day and walking, that's to be expected, corset or no. It can get a little difficult, sitting on the couch, though - ours is very soft and big, and because I myself am rather small, it can be a hassle getting comfortable.

6: "Do you dress like this every day?"

More or less. Sometimes I have a "lazy day" when I wear one of my two pairs of pants (both are from JayJays and both are camo and also grey-black, which is the navy camo here. what do they need camo from in the navy? Seriously, what?) and a band tee. But then again, sometimes I just don't wear shoes.

Here are my corset tips for a beginner.

-Don't go to fast. All tight, all the time, will not be good, and you'll get too uncomfortable.
-I'm just going to out and say this. Because of the compression on your stomach and gut, you will probably need to pee like a pregant woman. Become skilled at the use of a toilet without having to completely undress. It sounds silly, but with a longline like my overbust, I have frequently had to get undressed to pee.
-Don't make the mistake of trying to run normally. It's painful. Develop a kind of leaning-forward, wabble-corsetted-area-side-to-side wobble run to do it painlessly. It's a bit awkward and kind of silly-looking, but it works. (GOTH fled using RUN AWAY!)
-Never underestimate a disabled bathroom. If your corset is "jigging you", go and take it off and have a sit-down. It's always helpful to carry a backup outfit in case you get too sick of impracticality.
-Don't ever try and breathe through expanding your chest. You could break your ribs, and I'm not even kidding.

That about does it, I think. I might make a SCIENCE! post soon.

Wednesday, 27 April 2011

Some kind of subject, something, HEY AMY GOTHGUIDE, PAY ATTENTION

I mentioned on one of the many comments I spammed you with tonight that my adoptive mom makes bonnets. I asked her, and she took her bloody time (five minutes) getting back to me. Her blog isn't really done, and I offered to help her, but here.

My adoptive mom Deanna is a southern, plain-dressing Baptist. She has an amount of children I shan't disclose, and the same with dogs, but she is an amazing person, and I love her work. I also warned her that she might get emails with odd-ish requests from "those gothic types" and said that it was not at all my fault, and that she's just as likely to have requests for cow-print bloomers (like the ones she made for her youngest daughter). She said that if this occured, she wants pictures. I urge all of you to order these, and begin an internet meme. Her email is posted there, and you can drop her a line and ask her for whatever at low prices.

For anyone else, horrible things said to her on any blog will not be tolerated. She gets a lot of shit for what she does, says and how she raises her children, and if you ever say anything horrible to her, your retribution shall be terrible.

I also like Tabitha's Legacy and Candle on the Hill (who do mostly patterns) for conservative pieces that can be easily goth-ified. Sorry, mom. That must make you so horrified. Their clothes are rather low-cost, very high-quality and sturdy. Tabitha's Legacy is awesome if you have little girls - yourself, or in the family - and know where I'll be outfitting my babies when they come along. A good place for other bonnets, kapps and headcoverings (and other doodads) is Covered for Him, whose domain name is spelt with a 4, which I refuse to reproduce here. To me, all the religious stuff is a bit annoying, but easy to get through.

Happy shopping and changing.

Dear Goth Guide Amy

As you have probably noticed, I've been reading through old posts on your blog and commenting like crazy. I mentioned I should give you a captcha-related nickname to destinguish between Other Amy and also because your captchas are always hilarious.

I have decided something far, far more appropriate. from now on, Goth Guide Amy, and henceforth, you shall be known as Tabby.

I have eight tabs open right now, and five are of your blog. Oh, and I just closed five other tabs of your blog.

At a later date, I will make a picture of you with MS Paint kitty ears on.

Food, Glorious Food.

Out of boredom, I decided it was time to talk about my daily diet. I know Adora BatBrat is on a special diet, which I wholeheartedly disagree with. No matter what she says, I don't condone it. It's not good to restrict to having only certain kinds of food (like, for example, all-plant, all-meat, all-protein, etc), and is detrimental longterm.

I have a lot of problems with weight - not losing it, but putting it on. I drop weight at an alarming level, and because I'm a vegetarian, my options are very limited. I seem to have worked it out, although I am not consistant.

"If the paper turns clear, it's your window to weight gain!"
My reminder to all girls is this: Fat. Fat is not your enemy. In fact, as a woman, you need to have at least 22% fat on your body - and 22% is on the low end of healthy. The reason is, when a woman is pregnant, she relies a lot on that fat to help her body stave off infections and more severe illness. Despite what fitness fanatics will tell you, fat is what keeps you healthy. Why? Because fat is perfect for storing toxins. That's right - that ass you hate so much is keeping you from getting sick. And for the toxins that cannot be stored, that fat is a good place for your body to take energy from to help with the stress. This is why you drop weight when you're sick. Something women should not have is muscles. I don't mean that women should be frail and weak. I mean women bodybuilders are not only horrifying monstrosities, they are severely unhealthy and at risk of horrible disorders and disease from lack of fat. Abs are not attractive on women at all.

A lot of what I eat is basic. I have a lot of pasta, bread and potatoes. For a vegetarian, I eat very few vegetables. I don't know why. I think it's because I'm lazy, or something like that, and I need the carbs more than anything.

I love agnalotti. For those who don't know, it's ravioli, but with spinach and ricotta or feta. Red sauce, salt, pepper. Nom. Also green salad - sheep's feta, avacado, and mixed lettuce with a honey-mustard vinegarette. Potatoes wrapped in foil with butter, pepper and herbs and baked. Sanitarium vegetarian sausages wrapped in crappy white bread and butter.

Explore food. You'll never regret it.


Their slogan is "All dishes are in LOW fat!"
This is the best place ever. Vegetarian noodle soup, extra hot, extra-extra vegetables, no tofu, and for Heather, it's combination meat lovers with rice noodles on medium heat. :3

Babiest of Babybats Guide, part two

My computernet started to work this morning, so hooray. I thought I'd finish off my post from the other day. Also, hello new followers. How are you today? I hope you're well. Let me know. :D

Now, my post the other day that decided to stop working was a few tips for the younger end of the babybats. I'm just looking back on it and thinking, I would have killed for this kind of information. Here's more, starting from 1 again, since...since screw it. Screw you. No science again tonight, since I haven't planned ahead. Maybe a late post tomorrow/early morning.

1: This isn't just for gothteens, but I want to make a point of it: Your boyfriend/girlfriend is not your universe. Please don't obsess over them. Please. That's why I hate teenagers so damn much. My sister is 27 this year and she is obsessed with her boyfriend. There is a world outside them. Take a good old look.

2: Don't be obnoxious. Nothing that disappoints me more (other than druggo goths) than an obnoxious goth. I probably made this point clear in the last post, but it needs to be reiterated. Nothing surprises people more than when I walk into a shop in my favourite boots and my corset, all smiles and "hey, how are you? Bloody cold today, isn't it? I'll take two, please, keep the change". The better you treat people, the better they treat others.

3: S. M. I. L. E. That's one of the biggest misconceptions about goths - I like to call frownygoths "Ravencrow Neversmiles". You spent so long making your lips that lovely ruby-red, so you'd better make the most of the way it makes your smile look. Some of you may have noticed, yeah...I have braces. They're black and purple. My teeth are very messed-up, but the more I smile, the more I feel that people don't notice. Keep smiling, and even when you feel the worst, the more you smile, the better it feels.

4: Don't feel bad if you can't shop at the best goth shops in the country. If you're lucky enough to live in Australia, do what I do - shop at Jay Jays. So many of my favourite things, I have gotten from there. The internet is a good resource too, not to mention the Salvos and Vinnies and various other charity/op shops. The more you look, the more you find.

5: Learn how to alter clothes. Your life will never be the same again.

6: Don't worry about buying goth brand or high-line cosmetics. 99% of the stuff I own is from discount bins at Priceline. Best lipstick I've ever had was Savvy, from a discount bin. Do not underestimate the power of those bins (and best friends you can nick things off)

7: Stay safe. This is extremely important. People who dress differently from the norm (including cultural and religious differences) are targets of violence. Stay in a pack and where the light is, and where people can see you.

I think that about does it. Might put up some writing soon, if I feel like it. x3

Also, I was going to go out on Saturday, but it turns out that's when Doctor Who starts, so I'm staying home. Does that make me bad?

Sunday, 24 April 2011

Some Advice to the Babiest of Babybats.

First, thanks to Amy and Sarah for the nomination. I'd pass it on and such, but the only people i could nominate would be you two, Clockwork Mice and Juliet's Lace. Re to the dundancy.
First ever post from my phone, so no pictures. My computer's being retarded, so that's why there's no formatting or anything. Anyway, I've seen a lot of very young (12-13) kids post on the Ultimate Goth Guide about wanting to be goth but not make their parents lose their shit. Here's my tip to avoid that as well as severe mallgothism.
1: involve your mother. Whilst it mightn't be true of all kid's mums, like mine for example (my mum had the whole ''it's just a phase'' for a while, ensuring it wasn't, and also a rather condecending ''i'll support you whatever you do), most mums would love to teach their daughters makeup and sewing tips and tricks. If she were involved in the process, she'd feel better about it.
2: ignore your dad/siblings. My next-up sibling, Jake, used to make fun of me for how I dress. My other siblings didn't mind. My dad's a tool (isn't everyone's?) and likes to make jokes at other's expenses (because it's what the cool kids do! That makes him cool, right? Right?!). Just ignore that.
3: keep a sense of humour! Don't make the mistake of mallgoth ooky-spookiness. Don't be someone you're not.
4: do it with a buddy! A friend who'll ''go goth'' with you and who you can explore and experiment and make mistakes with is an invaluable resource.
5: look after yourself. One of the worst things I see with goths of all kinds is that they become vain to the point of anorexia. My alphagoth ex was unhealthily skinny because he thought it made him more goth. Don't be a self-harmer, either. Food is your friend, and do you know what's amazing? Goth cupcakes.
6: don't change your hair if you don't want to. Particularly if you are young. There's nothing wrong with long brown, blonde or red hair, and goth is what you make it. I know, seems hypocritical from someone who changes their hair like they do their shoes, but I bleach to also remove excess hair, as my hair is very, very thick. I don't change my hair for ''goth factor''. And that reminds me.
7: forget the ''goth factor''. You don't have to be all goth, all the time. I know I'm not - I admit it. You don't have to listen to goth music to be goth - I have a Barbra Streisand collection, I love swing jazz and The Cat Empire is my favourite band. That being said, don't call something goth when it isn't.
8: take a sewing course. Yeah, I know. I just got my sewing machine. But I love it so much.
9: try and, dare I say, ''pick a theme''. I don't mean Victorian, or Steampunk, or whatever. I mean by pick a few colours that go well and stick to it! I'm well known for wearing purple and red together, but they're the only colours I really wear (except sometimes pink socks, or rainbow ones). Oh, and rainbow socks are totally goth. Shut up.
10: pick friends wisely. Don't get stuck with people who are goth and assholes. It's not worth it. Don't hang out with drug-takers, either. That scene is not worth being in. Taking drugs does not make you cool or goth. It makes you a wanker.
11: corsets and boots aren't for everyone! You're still goth even if you wear flat shoes and a loose shirt.
12: start off being *comfortable*. That's an important part. You need to worry more about being comfortable at the start. And apparently that's all i can post for now. I'll fix this later.

Thursday, 21 April 2011

I didn't post yesterday BECAUSE

I went shopping for some fabric yesterday, and managed to come home with a whole host of things, most notably, a new sewing machine. She was christened Alice. About an hour and a half ago, I finished my first project - a bustle.

Delilah wanted in, and then moved. Thanks, cat. It's just my practice project, and I'm going to make another one in pinstripe with toule and lace next.


Yeah, it's a bit uneven, but I sewed my FIRST EVER BUTTONHOLE today, and that was exciting. Very very happy to have this.

Next, bloomers, a skirt, and another bustle (but not in that order). Any other ideas of what to make?

Tuesday, 19 April 2011

Corset Pics

This is the best thing ever.

Not a particularly good photo.

Max current cinch.

I'm not going to bother. You know what this is.

That about does it. Awesome, comfy and beautiful.

I'm making a nice bag to hang my corsets in, and some bloomers and a practice bustle once the bag's done. Hooray!

Monday, 18 April 2011

Ragefest April '11

Corset pictures later. I just ate.



No, it is not nigh. It's also not wednesday, but deal with any science ahead, guys. You don't even get a warning sticker.

The. World. Is. Not. Going. To. End. Not now, not next year. The world does not work that way. Don't fucking bother going and being "prepared" for 2012. Nothing's going to happen. Why?

-To call upon the Mayan calendar as "proof", you have to adopt the rest of the culture. Their gods, human and animal sacrifice, their folklore, and their belief that the earth is the centre of the universe, to name a few.

-The sun isn't going to have some change that ends the world. The sun does not work that way.

-Just because of all the recent events does not mean there is some god, somewhere, angry at us. Oh no! Christchurch, which is literally built on a fault line, had a particularly bad earthquake this time? Japan, also on a fault line, and Argentina, too? Queensland (which is almost all floodplain) is flooded in the middle of the El Nino effect reversing into the La Nina, which calls for a fucktonne of rain every few years? These are not uncommon events. As in they literally happen all the time. Why do they seem so? We have wider global coverage on it all.

-Political upheaval also signals the end? This level of political upheaval, specifically? You mean the level that has always been the way it is? Yeah.

-The Bible/Torah/Qu'ran says it? Dude. You can't take something written thousands (or hundreds, in the case of the Qu'ran) of years ago that makes a whole lot of vague and non-specific prophecies, only about 1% of which have ever been said OH IT'S TRUE (when it was just a vague "sometime, somewhere, something will happen" prediction).

-The US is not the centre of the universe, despite what 99% of Americans think. Something sad, horrid or catastrophic happens in the country? God is not judging you. These things have always happened. 

-Even if the poles change places, this will have no effect on life as we know it. Unless you are a pilot, sailor, or air traffic control personel, or else have to directly work with compasses, your life is not going to change. Also, while the poles have been moving, so has the tectonic plates on which you are standing on. The poles move, and so do we. It. Happens.

To sum it up, the things that are happening yesterday, today, and tomorrow have always happened. Them happening again is nothing out of the ordinary.

So sit back, relax, and enjoy 2013 when it comes - and it is. (Or May 22nd, if you've ever heard that the end is coming this may 21st.)



(also yeah i'm back from heather's/being sick)

Firstly, hello to my new followers. My computer's been so no lately that it won't let me look at your profile things, so anyone who hasn't been followedbacksies by me, please just drop me a comment with a link to your blag.

SECONDLY I got my new corset today! Didn't get to sign for the package (I was asleep! 8D ) but it definitely cheered me up. And it took about a week instead of the month and a half I thought it would.

It's a Gallery Serpentine. If you ever have the money for one, buy it! They are the best. Mine was a custom-made Victorian long-line, with a busk, not a front-lace, in pinstripe. Because fuck yes pinstripe. It fits so beautifully. I am so happy. :D Wore it all day. I'll post some photos up later after my sister goes to bed. 


Dear Gothicholiday

If you keep stealing from Amy, I will track you down, and I will inflict a hacking pain on you that you have never encountered before.

Sincerely, A. Cat

Thursday, 14 April 2011


This happened over at the Ultimate Goth Guide. I laughed so much, I just had to share.

It made my day.

Enough is enough.

Several of my friends have been told about my mother. Now, I don't mean to write a blog post to slag her off or speak ill of her No, I totally mean that. I need to vent somewhere my sister can't read it.

My mother was a good mother. Was, up until I was about fourteen. Since most of my early teen years are very, very hazy and filled with holes, I'll start with the year before last.

Late 2009, my mum had an operation to remove a tumour on her heart. Yes, she nearly died, but she was fine. I took over household chores for a while, until she had gotten better. But when she did, that's when things got ugly. She started to treat me like everything that went wrong was my fault. I told her kids at my  new school bullied me, and she just shrugged it off ( I was severely bullied throughout school). Teachers ignored and verbally abused me, she ignored me too. Whenever I tried to stand up for myself, I got blamed for being violent or destructive. But no one, not even my mother, tried to help.

Of course, we fought. Occasionally things got physical. She cried to my father and siblings and told them that I had been the first to strike out. The first time, she was screaming in my face, hysterical, spitting. So I slapped her as a knee-jerk response. I don't deny that. But she was totally hysterical. What else was I supposed to do? The second time, she was screaming at me and holding my upper arm so hard it was more-or-less instantly bruised. She told everyone I "punched" her. I can't punch. I hit her, yes, because she was hurting me rather severely.

She's continued to demonise me in her mind. She displays symptoms like a paranoid schizophrenic or manic-depressive. She reacts badly to everything I tell her, like everything that goes wrong with me is a personal attack on her. A few days before my birthday, she literally screamed at me, til her throat swelled...because I was too sick to eat tacos or pasta for dinner.

She's set herself to hate my best friend, because he's a boy. I mean, she was cool with the blackmailer and the sexual abuser, because they were girls. But as soon as I have someone who loves me, and cares for me, and cherishes me, it's unnacceptable, because he has an (enormous) penis.

Every time things are looking up for me, suddenly, she's there, ready to bring me down. Found out I might be moving back to near where she lives? Screamed bloody murder. God forbid she finds out I might move to Melbourne.

God help us when I'm pregnant, too.

That'll do, cat. That'll do.

Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Your Weekly Science Pill, Feline Edition

So I'm sitting here on the couch, watching Mork and Mindy, trying to type. Do you know what hinders typing? All four of yout kittens in your lap, and trying to attack your hands. I watched them for a while, let them play around me and fall asleep. Then their mother moved in too. Here's a few things you should know about common housecats.


-They have five toes on their front feet, and four on the back. The fifth on the front is believed to help with climbing, running, and probably napping somehow, since that's all cats do. Some cats are polydactyl - that means they have extra toes.

-Used in Egypt to protect crops from vermine, they were eventually (inevitably) worshipped, and were even mummified.

-Cats hear ultrasonic sound - the sound rodents use to communicate.

-The top speed of a cat is 48 KPH. That's why they're so hard to catch.

-Within seven years, a single female cat and her offspring can produce 480 000 kittens. A female cat can have a litter of up to nine kittens, with the possibility that all nine of them have different fathers. Yeah. Cats can do that.

-Tesla was inspired to research electricity after he was zapped by his pet cat, Macak, as a child.

-The collarbone of  a cat is not connected to any other bone, but instead is buried in muscle. This allows it to fit into small spaces. Its whiskers are used to gauge its ability to fit through gaps.

-Abe Lincon kept four cats in the White House (and Teddy Roosevelt had a badger. That's death metal levels of awesome).

-Without taurine, your cat would go blind.

-As if there wasn't enough reason to hate him, Adolf Hitler despised cats. Lincon and Robert E. Lee both adored them.

-The inventor of the cat flap door was Isaac Newton.

-Cats can't taste sweet things.

-An idling diesel engine is on the same frequency as a purring cat - about 28 purrs per second.

-Your cat brings you dead things not as a present, but as an attempt to teach you to hunt. Even the cat thinks you're pathetic.

Throughout human history, we have been as enchanted by cats as we have been by stars. In a way, they are more popular than anything else - religion, horses, dogs, furries. Then there are the "super creepy" people who are obsessed with Jesus and cats. These people never have children.

Despite being possibly the single worst pet in the world, cats still manage to worm their way into the human heart. They do nothing for us nowadays but bring you gross dead mice (or decapitated bush rats, thankyou Delilah) and walk on your laptop keyboard, yet we still adopt, feed, love, shelter and treasure these creatures. If there's anything that proves evolution, it's the cat.

In the world today, there are 41 species of felidae. This divides into two sub-families, the pantherinae - the big cats - and the felinae - the little ones. They first became associated with humans around 10 000 years ago.

Felidae originated in Asia, and spread via landbrigdes to most of the world. They are the most statistically successful solitary predator, and social cats like lions have a very complex social structure (similar to solitary cats, but far tighter. Whilst cats like the housecat are viewed as solitary, they are more like semi-social, when in any area there is a heirarchy).

The felid's closest relatives are civets, hyenas and the mongoose, with whom they share the suborder feliformia.

Whilst the wikipedia page on cats (where I am checking my information) suggests that cats are "purely carnivorous", this is not true. Our Queen (which, by the way, is a pubecent or post-pubecent female cat), Delilah, eats corn. Not just the yummy bits, either. She will eat the whole leftovers. I caught her eating butter tonight, so I took it off her and gave her my finished corn. It's currently a quarter of its original size. Cats (and dogs, for that matter) are mostly carnivorous, they do have some omnivorous characteristics (like eating grass for stomach issues, and our cats like to dig apple cores from the bin. They only eat the sour ones).

One of the most iconic ancient cats is the smilidon (which is Sarah's new nickname, since I call her sarahcat and she is also a walrus) - otherwise known as the "sabre-toothed tiger". They could be over a metre (nearly four feet) at the shoulder, and upwards of 280kg (620lbs).There was even one that was 1.22m high (48") and up to 455kg (1 000lbs) in weight. They are among the heaviest ever felids. Ho. Ly. Shit. Their closest living relitives are cougars (the non-Courtney Cox kind, although they do share a resemblance) and the siberian tiger (the big white ones).

Tigers are undoubtedly my favourite panthinerae. I don't know what it is about them, but I find my experiences with them to be the most touching moments of my life. They are extremely indangered, though, as are most felids.

I think that about does it for this edition of SCIENCE!. Everyone do a wikipedia tab-explosion of cats. It's one of those things that I get into doing too often (like that one time Shaun and I realised we know nothing about horses, so we went wiki-ing. That was just a whole world of crazy. there's an arguement over whether the term is "Arab" or "Arabian", and a white horse isn't a white horse, it's a grey horse, with a white coat. I think it having a white coat classifies it as the colour "white", you fuckheads.)

Now to try and extract myself from the kittens.

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Writing Exercise - Even Angels Will Fall, Pt. 2

[Emofest over. End emofest. Fin les emofest.]


The sound in her ears was cloudy, like it was from a distance, or her ears were full of soapy water.

"Lilith, are you okay?"

All of a sudden she was back, in her shoes. She slowly stared at Sam. ""

"I asked if you were okay, ma'am."

"Yes. Yes, I'm quite alright. Quite...quite fine. Comb your hair, it's finally starting to get dark."

Obeying, he ran a comb half-heartedly through his honey-coloured hair, chewing his lip. Her bedroom was dark, and it unnerved him. Bedrooms, in his opinion, should never be dark or dusty. They shouldn't have dried roses and covered windows. And they shouldn't have cats that stare so intently at him.

"Where did you say we were heading?"

Lilith slipped her bonnet over her dark hair and pulled on her red cloak. It unnerved Sam, her childlike face and dress.

"Out into the forest." She said. "No humans that way. Come, Doctor." She picked up her basket and set it on the bed, opening one side of it. The cat got in, purring loudly.

The sun set outside. It was time to leave.

Just to be thorough, another bullet was fired directly to the back of his skull. Rai put the gun back in its holster under his trenchcoat. "Poor bastard." He muttered, his shaggy, platinum-blonde hair catching the moonlight overhead. It was a rather cliche moment - the antihero illuminated by the moon, representing some sort of dark and beautiful soul, or whatever they told film students to cause such a stint of terrible books and movies who shan't be named. Cliche or not, it happened, and he dealt with it as it came.

Rai was a tall and slimly-built young man, in his mid-twenties. He was dressed in black, a trencoat and heavy, sensible black boots. He wore a white shirt under his black coat, with a black tie. What such a well-dressed man was doing shooting someone in the Los Angeles city dump was a mystery.

"Loki?" He called out. "Did you get the other bloke?"

Loki came into view, his dark and lank hair clinging to his face. He simply nodded, shrugging his shoulders like he always did. His red eyes peered out at him and he clicked his lip ring on his fangs.

Rai thought Loki was a little bit odd. Naturally dark-haired, and liking piercings, he was often mistaken for some kind of goth kid. Loki wasn't really a goth kid. He was too angry to be goth, too heavy and pale, unless your example was the kids from South Park. Not that Rai watched TV. English men didn't watch American TV. He slumped quite a bit, Rai had noticed. He would have called Loki a friend, if anyone could call Loki a friend.

Loki seemed...odd. Shaken up. Rai lit his cigarette. "Come on, mate. Let's just go back to the bar."

It was quite the trek to the bar, but once there, things were far more relaxed. Loki calmed down with six vodkas in him, and while he was preoccupied staring off into space, Rai slipped into the back room to see The Graverobber. 

 The angel was sitting in his chair, his legs over the armrest, a crystal ball in his spiderlike, spindly hands. [AUTHOR'S NOTE: At this point, I feel stupid having three blonde characters in the one story. They were all made independantly, I swear.] An attractive-in-a-stripper-way girl was plaiting his long hair.

"Hello, Rai." He said dryly. "What brings you here?"

"Loki's on another bender. I thought it best to leave him to the barmaid."

"A wise choice. Did you kill those two pesky little demons?"

"As best we could. Murdered their bodies." He sat down on the other side of the table. "The demons themselves escaped, but they won't be able to re-root for a while. Something on your mind?"

Setting the ball down on its stand, he sighed and shooed the girl away. "It's Lilith again. She's up to something, and I don't know what."

"Lilith? She's no trouble, you know that." Rai stiffened slightly.

When Lilith's parents died, she had been adopted by a very prominent vampire family, whom she had grown up with. Rai had watched her grow from a tiny, ill baby, into a tiny, rather unstable young woman. He wasn't scared of what she would do. He was scared of what could call her out of the house.

Graverobber cracked his knuckles. "Maybe not to you, but need I remind you the events of last time she and I got together."

In the spring of 2008, when Lilith had been a shy seventeen-year-old, she had managed to work her way into the old building, sit down with Graverobber, and promptly set him on fire. They had fought for over an hour, and by the time they had calmed down, the warehouse had burned down - and that was why the entire organisation was running out of the back room of a vampire bar. They had both been relatively unscathed, but ever since, Grave had been a little nervous about meeting up with her again.

"You know her," he said. "Do you think things will go badly?"

"I can honestly say she is not coming after you again." He opened his mouth to continue, but there was a loud scream and crash out in the bar. Standing up, he went out, preparing to see Loki having made another mess. He was instead greeted by the sight of a small woman, covered head-to-toe in blood.

"Oh, shit," breathed Grave.

Lilith whimpered, holding her hands out in front of her. "Rai." She mumbled. "I think I did something bad again."

[Not as good as the first chapter, but I lost the will to write (but not the determination to finish) after seeing the decapitated bush rat my cat dragged up onto the deck, and listening to her crunch up the bones.]

One of "Those Days"

You ever have those days where everything goes wrong and you feel like shit? Yeah. So I couldn't help my family move my sister's stuff into the moving van because of my bad hip, chest and knees. One of my sisters has displaced spinal disks and my other one is pregnant. None of them listened when I said I couldn't help. My aunt hates me. My sister who I live with wants to spend no time with me and ignores me most of the time. My mother's coming out tomorrow and if I see her she'll probably scream and abuse me and then go cry to someone about how I'm a horrible person and how I started it all and she's some innocent flower. To top it off, I don't even know why the fuck I blog about anything, since no one reads this shit, and no one even gives a fuck about anything I have to say.

Shaun's phone is broken, too. So yay, I get to continue enjoying the effects of my already-severe separation anxiety and depression, all while being totally ignored by everyone else around me because I'm just some stupid, horrible burden to everyone and no one ever wants to talk to me.

Thanks for not reading/not caring at all, everyone.

Monday, 11 April 2011

Whilst on Cracked...

Thought this might amuse some of you.


You know how I said I'd post story stuff today?

Yeah, I lied.

Here instead is a picture of me Sarahsimilidon posted.

Yeah, those are my jazz hands. Because I am a cat, I am allowed to be a doodle. It is true. I wore my boots for the first time since December yesterday. My calves KILLED by hometime, and I think I nearly have fishnet-caused blisters on my feet.

It was a good day, because Sary yelled at the ceiling of Crown Mall. Seriously. I was talking to Sarah and all of a sudden, "YOU PROVIDE ABSOLUTELY NO SHADE WHATSOEVER". It was getting dark, too, which was the confusing part. What do you need protecting from, Sary? What?

It is a mystery.

I was going to post a big post about friends and their corresponding animal suffixes, but the images thing is being retarded. I might post something good later, for no one to read, just like no one read this. I love you anyway.

Sunday, 10 April 2011

Quick Response

I've been busy this weekend, and while Sarah is in the shower, I'm taking this time to respond to An Awkward Child's comment on the first part of my story (since I figure you'll actually see it this way. Post more dammot).

Of course she's supposed to be just slightly "tragically perfect". It's the point of comfort in her own home. I was building her up to break her down. This was to be apparent in my next post (which I might write and email-post today, so, uh, it might be slightly retarded until I get on the computer and fix it), because she has immense trouble dealing with The Sensible - that is, vampires and demons don't scare her one bit, but humans reduce her mental state to rather like a quivering lump. Bravery isn't one of her attributes, honestly.

Oh, and I haven't built up the cat yet. I will. And I'll work on some good scares, if I can get back into that frame of mind. For everyone who doesn't enjoy my writing posts, well, get fucked. :D

Thursday, 7 April 2011

Writing Excercise - Even Angels Will Fall, Pt. 1

Back home in England, this kind of thing just didn't happen. Back there, children were children. Women were women, men were men. Back home in England, men were men, and they were never rather unattractive demons that had a nasty habit of vomiting flaming ectoplasm all around the place from several orifices at the one time. 

Back home in England, small women in corsets were not the ones left to defend their living rooms from the aforementioned demons.

"That's horrible," Lilith said. "But it doesn't frighten me."

The ectoplasm-spewing paused for a moment, before the flailing of limbs and violent fluid eruption continued all about the place.

"They just don't make demons properly anymore, do they, Doctor?" She mumbled. She didn't talk too often, not to anyone outside her large black cat. In response to her question, the animal meowed.

Picking up a dining chair and the old and worn brandy bottle from whence the demon had inexplicably come (she didn't accept alcohol from her friends often, and had made the mistake of accepting this one). Pointing the chair at the monster, she said, "Go on. Back in the bottle, you old thing."

Pathetically, the demon spewed up a bit more and flailed weakly.

"Now, if you please."

The creature disappeared back into the bottle, along with its excretions, and Lilith corked it up. "Goodness gracious," she said. "That was a little too much."

Sitting down, the nineteen-year-old continued on her cup of tea. She crossed her ankles and patted down her black skirt. Lilith was a very well-dressed woman, for the 1880s. Being that she sat in her living room in the twenty-first century, she was a little out-of-place.

She wore a dark blue dress, neck-to-ankle, with tight sleeves, a tight waist and a bustled skirt. Her large grey eyes sat on her pale face like, surprisingly, eyes would do on a face. She had lips of a cherry colour, as helpless heroines are bound to do. In fact, that's really what she looked like. A helpless, hapless, weeping heroine, a love interest to be saved from a tower by a prince, to be laid asleep for a hundred years and woken up in a more-than-questionable manner. But that was far from the truth. Yes, she was four foot and nine inches tall, built about as strong as a day-old sparrow, and had the horrible habit of getting herself into trouble. She did have the tendancy to weep a lot, and had an odd weakness for those tall, dark, handsome and fanged, but despite her weepy and submissive behaviour on occasion, she was, by no means or terms, helpless. While her comrades often rushed into things, headlong and sword-upheld, Lilith simply walked straight on through and asked the leader of that particular group if they would kindly stop pillaging everything. Whilst they wept about the fact they were trapped in a cage suspended several feet above starving sharks, Lilith was in the background, helpfully noticing the fact that the door was unlocked, and a platform was in easy reach.

A "woman of action"? Not really. "Level-headed"? No. "Sensible"? Probably not - there's not much sense in things when you're dealing with the world, particularly when dealing with the average American. Really, all that Lilith was could be summed up in the word, "unfazed". She truly did not seem to be frightened of very much. Except for bathing tubs. Lilith did not like bathing tubs. That was a story, she had decided, was unfit for any place in time.

Standing up, she went to her kitchen. Her long, black hair fell in gentle and tousseled curls at about breast-level, and continued on down to her hips. She wore it with a fringe cut just above her eyes, framing her heart-shaped and pale face. With a sigh, she started to wash the dishes - while she might not be afraid of much, Lilith did not go out much, either.

"How did I know I'd find you here?" said a voice behind her. "You're her, aren't you? That witch."

"....I prefer the term 'telekenetic physicist'," she said, with barely a pause in her washing. She was, of course, refering to her other talent, the "last resort" from being frightening levels of helpful. Lilith could manipulate the laws of physics - reaching back through time and space, often with hilarious or cynical results. (As the man who overcharged her at the farmer's market learned the hard way. As it turns out, he hadn't worn pants that day - although he and his wife distinctly remember him doing so. However, "but I remember putting them on, officer" isn't exactly the best defense.)

"Whatever it is you call yourself," the male voice hissed. "I have travelled here from across the country to find you."

"Oh, have you? Good, because if you had travelled here from across the country and found that you'd left your pancreas behind, that would be unfortunate." Lilith always gained a sharp tongue from a spot of demon-fighting so early in the morning. She turned around.

The man was tall, and lanky. He was a vampire, she could see that much. A young one, probably. His muscles were sinewy, like wire, under his clothing, and he was quivering slightlly. His hair was a honey blonde colour, and his eyes were a dark red. His fangs were definitely not making an effort to be hidden, and the two, long, slender teeth reached his jaw. "They say your blood is magic." His words were barely there.

"Yes, I'm sure They do. They say a lot of things like that."

"They say you can save my sister."

".....I suppose you had better sit down, then. Chair's behind you, I'll get you a cup of t-" By the looks of him, tea was not going to cut it. "...whiskey. I'll get you a bottle of whiskey. It's five o'clock somewhere, I suppose."

After a while, he started to talk. The man said his name was Haunter. After being told that this was a ridiculous notion, and if his parents had named him that, they should be shot, he confessed that it was, in fact, Sam. She conceeded that this was perfectly acceptable, and that he shouldn't really try to "spook it up" for vampiric points (since it was cliche, and really, only got you laughed at).

Sam was from Chicago. He had more-or-less walked half the way to Oregon through the South, and hitched the rest of his ride from LA. He had come searching for the answers to the rumours, told to him by his female Sire.

"She said that your blood could cure anything. Everything. She said that you were magic."

"Well, magic is just science, so yes, I suppose so." She shrugged, pouring him some more whiskey. "Go on."

Sam swallowed heavily. "My sister is very ill. She is only really my half-sister - her father was a vampire, and mine was human."

"How long ago were you turned, Mister Sam?" she said with a concerned tone as she got up to fetch the kettle.

"Nearly a year ago."

"Yes, it shows through. What is wrong with your sister?"

"It's her genes. My mother always said that because of her father's weak genes, that's what made her sick. She's very frail. Has good days and bad days."

"I'm guessing her father was a Russian or east European vampire. They don't blend well with humans. Alright, I might be able to intervine, but for now, you go upstairs. Follow the cat, he'll take you to a room."

"Miss Lilith?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"They say even angels will fall for you. Why is that?"

"....I don't know, Sam. Off to sleep. You're overtired."

Even angels will fall for you, Lilith.

The words hung in her mind like...well, like a thought she didn't want to have. Thoughts you don't want to have are always the ones you have the most.

Why had this newcoming vampire repeated those words to her? She hadn't heard those words in a long, long time.

Summer starlight caught in her dark hair like a halo. The moon was low in the dark sky, and it was full, like a reflective ball in full exposure to sunlight in space is wont to be. Lilith was in her adopted father's rose garden, holding a flower by the thorned stem. Not clutching it to her bosom while she stared, forlorned, at the moon, though. She was looking at the ducks in the pond that had taken advantage of being forgotten about. 

Behind her, the dark shape of a man stood behind her. "Lilith," he spoke breathlessly. "I thought you would be here."

"No, I do not care much for Marcus' masquerades." It was always too obvious who she was, with her small size.

"You're sixteen now, Lilith," he murmured. "Have you thought much about marriage?"

"Marriage?" She paused, taken a little aback. "No. No, I suppose I haven't."

"That's good." he stepped up beside her, lighting his cigarette. "I don't suppose you would consider marrying me?"

Lilith was a little stunned. She gazed up at him. "Azrael..." She murmured. " I shall not consider you. You are not of me. You are not of any of my world."

The demon's red eyes became glassy. "Of course not. Even angels will fall for you, Lilith."

She had tried to forget about that. A demon like Azrael, no matter how handsome or upper-class in Hell's circles, should not be proposing to young girls. That was decidedly true. Her friend Loki had nearly succeeded in taking the demon's eyes out. While that hadn't worked, the bullet holes he'd added had done enough to stop the advances for a while.

Things had been getting...strange lately. Getting up and going to the window, she stared out at the January snow. Things were changing. She could feel the unrest, somewhere in the fabric of reality. Something was pulling to pieces, and starting to unravel.

That was all very well and good, she supposed. She would have to send Sam on his way with a vial of blood when he woke up, before she went out and found what was causing this problem. But before saving the world (again), Lilith resolved, she wanted a bath.

[NOTE: Tell me what you think of part one, and if you like it, guys, I'll keep writing it. x3]


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