#mollu writes

[allyitis]

Title: A Season for Love Characters: Chell Rating: K Word Count: 1127 Summary: Chell has a stocking to open. Notes: Merry Christmas, @isntfateartistic! I was your @portal-secret-santa! You had a suggestion for Chell getting some rest, and this scene popped right into my head. I hope you like it!

The stocking was the prettiest, Christmasiest thing she had ever seen. It was smooth, made luxurious with deep red velvet, accented with a huge, shimmering golden bow. Peeking over its fat form was a soft and worn stuffed mouse, its eyes beady and inviting. The mouse was for her. The entire stocking, nearly bursting with gifts, was for her.

With careful precision so as not to spill anything, Chell lifted the stocking from the wall (fireplace not included) and pulled it into her arms. She sat on the ground and nestled it in her lap, allowing herself just one more moment to appreciate its beauty. It seemed to radiate a warmth and a light that felt so rare in this world—except, for Chell, when it was Christmas. She knew that for some, Christmas was a difficult time of the year, but for Chell...

She couldn't wait much longer. Finally, she lifted the little mouse from its perch, breaking in the stocking and holding the soft doll close. It had definitely been used and loved by someone before, and where its fur had worn away it was even softer. She hugged it, thanked it, and kept it between her body and the stocking. She wouldn't let something so precious get far.

With the mouse out of the way, Chell could now see several more packages, all neatly enveloped in bright gold wrapping paper. When she pulled out the first wrapped gift, it reflected the sun from the window of her little shack, gleaming into her eyes. She turned it slightly, enjoying how the light bounced and changed, even leaving a little reflected ray of light across the room.

Turning the gift over, she found little pieces of tape holding its wrapping in place. Chell inched her cracked fingernails underneath the adhesive and gently pulled it away, piece by piece. It peeled satisfactorily, leaving the shiny paper completely intact. There would be no tearing today.

As Chell unfolded the paper, a creamy white caught her eye, and she soon revealed a fresh bar of soap that was still in its package. The little smile on her face widened slightly as she examined her new gift. She could almost feel a shower—a hot shower, the warmth raining down on her as she scrubbed into her grimy, hardened skin. She could almost feel the dirt melting away, swirling in a pool at her feet and seeping down the drain until the water ran clear. Chell imagined her skin, clean and fresh, her hair eventually drying silky and soft instead of hanging limp from sweat in her ponytail.

Running water, Chell had learned, was something of the past. Everything in this world, everything outside of Aperture, was different now. But she knew how to heat water, and she could even draw a hot bath for herself with a little bit of work. And with soap, she would be clean.

With these images running through her head, Chell set the soap down beside her, placing the intact wrapping paper on her other side. Then, with a rush running through her chest and belly, she dove into her stocking for more.

The next package, when unveiled, turned out to be a small paperback book. It made her feel giddy to look at this little story, designed purely for leisure. Sometimes, Chell could now afford some rest. It would be so good to fall into another world, one that was neither a barren wasteland nor an ivory torture chamber. It would be so good to rest.

Next came a toothbrush and toothpaste—rare finds in times like this. But a clean mouth, Chell knew, could make the difference between a bearable day and a terrible one. Then there was a little bag of carefully gathered herbs and spices, all found little by little through a long, long journey. A warm pair of socks, costume jewellery (a blue bracelet and matching—matching!—necklace), and...

Chell nearly squealed as she uncovered the bright purple bottle containing bubbles. Bubbles! Soapy, indulgent, silly, childish bubbles. There was still one thing left in her stocking, but she couldn't help it; she had to put the sock aside and unscrew the lid of her new toy. Holding the wand in the air, she peered through it, admiring the rainbow she could see within the mixture. Then, pursing her lips, she gently blew.

Soft as a butterfly, a little stream of bubbles glided from the wand. Some were small, some big, catching a slight breeze from the open window to carry themselves across the room. She poked a finger out to catch one of them, popping it instantly in a wet burst of soap. A full laugh erupted from her throat, and for a while she could only watch and play with the rainbow orbs surrounding her.

Finally, she screwed the cap back on the bottle, placing it neatly with the other presents (except the mouse, which she still had close to her heart). She would save the rest for when she needed it—but oh, how she had needed it just now. Finally, finally, she reached into the toe of the scarlet stocking, pulling out an equally red and equally inviting apple. As she turned it over in her hands, her eyes brimmed with tears. There were no bruises, not so much as a pockmark on this perfect little fruit.

In time, away from Aperture and laser beams and adrenal vapour and survival, memories of Before had begun to renew themselves within her head. She couldn't remember all of them, but now, surrounded by quiet and nature and survival, she knew a little more about what Before had been like. Before, there had always been a juicy orange stuffed into the toe of her stocking. Chell remembered how she'd wiggled in excitement for that orange, bought with her own money at the corner store every year. She remembered how joyful it had been just knowing that buying this now, she was guaranteeing herself a special moment on Christmas—a moment of love.

This year, oranges weren't around for Chell to raid. But she'd found an apple tree, an incredible luxury, and had known exactly what to do with it. And she took in the red of the apple now, and the red of the stocking that she had found months ago, giving her the idea of Christmas in the first place. Today had taken months for her to prepare.

Chell held the apple, but didn't take a bite. Not yet. She wanted to savour this moment, to savour the day that she had made for herself. And here, nestled up to all the gifts she'd given herself, she was awash with love and with a thought.

Merry Christmas, Chell.

[allyitis]

WRITING COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

Okay, folks, I’ll level with you: I’m broke. Living in Finland is expensive, and I’m really struggling to pay my rent, so I’ve decided it’s time for me to open writing commissions!

There are three main categories of writing you can request from me: Fiction, poetry, and music. From original fiction to fansongs, heart-wrenching angst to total silliness, I am comfortable writing almost anything. AU? No problem. OCs? Love ‘em. Smut? Let’s get physical. Kinky smut? You’d be surprised how few limits I have. Seriously.

I have nearly 20 years of writing experience, including professional fiction and non-fiction training, fanfiction writing, poetry-writing, song-writing, and role-playing. In fact, I have received national and international prizes for essay-writing and song-composition. More importantly, though, I love, love, love to write. For examples of my fiction-writing, please visit this link. For poetry, please go here. Finally, music examples are here.

Rates

The minimum payment for any project is $1.00 (USD). If you let me know your budget or the desired length of your piece, I will ensure to meet your individual needs. You can set a maximum price, and if I go over that, you don’t have to pay extra.

Prose

My rate for prose is 9 cents per 10 words (rounded up). So, you can expect costs to look like this:

150-500 words (drabble) = $1.35-$4.50 500-1,000 words (single scene oneshot) = $4.50-$9.00 1,000-2,500 words (simple multi-scene oneshot) = $9.00-$22.50 2,500-5,000 words (complex oneshot) = $22.50-$45.00 5,000-10,000 words (simple multi-chapter fic) = $45.00-$90.00 10,000+ words (major story) = $90.00+

Poetry

If you would prefer a poem (without music), my rate is 25 cents per line (e.g. a 14-line sonnet costs $3.50).

Music

My rate for music is 80 cents per 10 seconds of the final recorded product (rounded up). So, for example:

A 1-minute songlet costs $4.80 A 3.5-minute song costs $16.80 A 10-minute macrosong costs $48.00

Further Logistics

Commissions will be sent directly to you and only posted publicly if you give me permission to do so. Payment should be received at the completion of the writing project, but before the release of the product to you. You will not receive your product if you do not pay me. Don’t cheat artists, please. On a similar note, while you are free to share the product with others, you must credit me as the artist.

Thank you for taking the time to read through this proposal. If you are interested in commissioning me, please contact me either through Tumblr or at [email protected]. If you don’t have money for a commission, you can still help me out by reblogging this post to spread the word to your followers. Hope to hear from you soon!

[allyitis]

Poem 12/33

Cool are the droplets that bead down my back, down my sides, Burrowing, slipping through skin, and atop the skin glides. Warmth in my home is dry, but here glistens. Steamsound, it pleases the ear that listens.

Water is ghostly when broken, when meeting the rock, Clouding into its formation, uniting its flock, Parting to bathe me, with you or alone Mildly cradled in body of own.

Soon, we will tiptoe outside, outside to the chill, Chill of the boatside’s blackening night and in thrill Lean over icewater, dark as the sky, Ready to swallow our calm lullaby.

But now, now we are here, now is our form, Swaddled in steam, wrapped up in peace and in warm, Only our thoughts—not our bodies—to roam, Peaceful and warm, naked and home.

[allyitis]

Poem 11/33

in tall trees, rubies shimmer, falling from branches, and death is beauty.

[allyitis]

Poem 4/33

I stepp’d outside into the frozen air, Anticipating coolness, but the taste Of wind was bitter on my skin, Which prompted to wear another shirt. The cold has come too early in this town.

Although with clothes afresh, I still was not Sufficiently divided from the chill That followed me onto my bicycle; My sweater is the warmest cloth I own, For I was not prepared for frost so soon.

The icy wind was clawing at my hands, Thus forcing me to stretch my sweater down Across my fingers. Breaths turned into clouds. I wished for gloves. I yearned to wear a coat. I thought I was prepared, but I was not, For Autumn came too quickly in this home, And Autumn comes in frozen glances now.

[allyitis]

Poem 3/33

I’m caught up in clichés of me, The same-song lures of lusting glow. The hair, cascading wild and free Is only what I wish to know— The endless wish to force a flow Against the current of mind’s streams, Against the waves, above, below. The ones I love, they are but dreams.

For loving you, I paid a fee, My nights a restless undertow. Into your arms I go to flee For in my dreams you never go And ‘til my wakings, I can’t know That you are gone. Instead it seems Your love for me can only grow. The ones I love, they are but dreams.

And I would never wish to be A man, though others think it so, And too, I know, neither would she. Our womanhood is prized, although We both become a Romeo Because our union tears the seams Of that which others claim to know. The ones I love, they are but dreams.

And how I crumble pitif’ly, Under your conjured face, for though I yearned for ghosts of you, I see That hauntings do not matter, no, When matterings do fail to go Between your heartstrings. So it seems That only from within they grow. The ones I love, they are but dreams.

And so the thread twists, twists it so, Entangled in a thousand gleams That I can’t hold, that I can’t know. The ones I love, they are but dreams.

[allyitis]

At some point, @mettampora said he wanted to write a poem about Shuu Iwamine from Hatoful Boyfriend, but he doesn’t write poetry. So on his behalf, I wrote a sonnet.

Within my school, a nurse upholds his post. Because the school’s for birds, a bird is he. A chubby, fluffy body is his host, Which makes me yearn to know him biblically.

Admittedly, the nurse is not unflawed; My closest friend has warned me not to near. His past is dark, and here is something odd: His patients have been known to disappear.

I’m serious: He kills them. Yes, and more, He takes his pleasure in their fading cries, And those he loves fall victim still to gore, Their heads to be a Murder Nurse’s prize.

But none of this could trouble me a wink, You see, for bloody murder is my kink.

[allyitis]

Poem 2/33

A burbling, gurgling fish was she. From in her egg she got The lowdown on her destiny, The wars where she’d be fought.

She’d be a mighty fighter fish, Resilient as a rod. Yes, this would be her only wish— To be the coolest broad.

For beating people up is cool. That’s factually the truth. And so she trained at fighter school In adulthood, in youth.

The coolest fighter was a goat And Asgore was his name. She knocked upon his door to gloat, Emboldened by his fame.

Astonished was the fishy foe When to her challenge met A friend of fluff from head to toe Who dodged her every threat.

Young Undyne hung her head in shame, But Asgore raised her chin, And he absolved her of her blame And trained her as his kin.

The goat man made the youth feel strong, But strength was not the sole Indoctrination; right and wrong Were weaved into her role.

And so, ‘twas justice she was taught From Asgore’s gentle mind, And so, ‘twas this for which she fought, Protecting all her kind.

A burbling, gurgling fish was she, Now grown up tall to fight, To meet her truest destiny: Protection of what’s right.