#i am usually writing slop the night before it’s due. which is not how i want to approach my post grad writing so i’m starting now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

themsource · 5 years ago

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Standards - A Gift

Rating: T Paring: Sans x OC Luna Word Count: 3,162 @rosedarkfire Hey! I was your secret Santa ^^; for the @undertalesecretsanta event! XD I used some of your personal names for the boys and your OC i hope you like it <3 My first time writing him heh.

Black liked Luna, really liked her.

She was kind, funny, smart, but most of all had a back bone strong enough to rival his own.

He just couldn’t stand the fact he kept messing up with her.

“Hey Sans, what do you think of this for the Christmas tree?” Black loved that she called him by his given name, it was like a reward to hear it in this mashed together universe of duplicates.

Even if she only said it in private.

He eyed the butterfly themed tinsel in her hands.

“I AM SURPRISED YOU WOULD CHOOSE BUTTERFLIES.” No he wasn’t, that was that infuriating murderer’s nickname for her.

“Oh why do you say that?” Luna asked with genuine confusion in her mismatched eyes.

“BECAUSE BUTTERFLIES ARE AN INFERIOR FORM OF INSECT, USING BEAUTY AS A FORM OF DEFENSE IS SUCH A COWARDLY ACT. WHY NOT BEETLES OR SOMETHING? BEETLES DON’T LIVE UNDER A FALSE PRETENSE OF BEAUTY BUT ARE OPEN ENOUGH TO EMBRACE THEIR UNATTRACTIVENESS BY HAVING EVOLUTIONIZED THEIR EXO--”

“Okay. I get it Black.” It was easy to tell when he’d upset her. She’d call him that infuriating amalgam of color nickname. Luna pinned her heterochromic gaze on him.

“And butterflies are amazing; they drink blood like little fluttering vampires.” Black could only blink as she walked away from him.

And so that’s how their relationship usually went.

“Sans, what do you think of strawberry pudding for dessert?”

“WHY STRAWBERRY?”

“...You don’t like strawberry?”

“...IT’S FINE. IF YOU MAKE IT I’LL EAT THAT RIDICULOUS SLOP OF POINTLESS SUGAR.” To his confusion Luna had chosen to simply not make dessert at all that night. Much to the disappointed mumbling of his brother and their alters.

Even receiving gifts from her, which always made him immeasurably happy, was difficult.

“I got you something Sans!”

“WHAT IN ANGEL’S NAME IS THIS?”

“...It’s a jacket?”

“I AM AWARE OF THAT LUNA, WHY IS IT PURPLE?”

“I thought purple would pop with the red you usually wear.” His eyelights drifted slowly down to the purple and poorly dyed jean jacket where they lingered and constricted into fine points before just as slowly rising to look at her again.

He usually bristled whenever a human used the term monster as an insult to describe something, however he could only think of a particularly offensive statement he’d heard once from a favored designer of his. Black was holding a literal fashion monstrosity in his hands.

But Luna looked so excited and eager for his reaction, her eyes sparkling and proud.

He cleared his throat.

“...FINE, I SUPPOSE I’LL TRY THIS TRAVESTY OF A GIFT.”

“...”

Black had thought he’d been generous with the humble remark; there was so much alternative vocabulary that he could’ve used to describe how horrible that jacket had looked.

Honestly he thought he’d complimented it.

Black had even let it touch his body as he’d tried it on. Somehow he’d still ended up…disappointing her.

Which was admittedly worse than her anger.

He’d spent the whole time in the shower afterwards grumbling as he’d tried to scrub away the memory of that awful thing on him, half practiced phrases and comments that never seemed to work washed away by the pouring water.

The shower drain embarrassingly enough had even seemed to judge him.

To his chagrin he’d reached the point he’d finally decided to ask his brother for advice.

Stars help him.

“LUNA NEVER SEEMS TO APPRECIATE THE LENGTHS I GO TO FOR HER.” He growled.

“you’re not exactly graceful mi’lord when it comes to criticism.” Black had felt insulted.

“NOT GRACEFUL!?” Rus chuckled as his sockets crinkled in veiled humor.

“she’s a human female, they tend to be super sensitive to even the slightest provocation.” That was an annoying concept to learn. Turned out even his tamed honesty was still too harsh for her. Black took his brother’s advice to heart.

It was advice better stated in theory than put into practice he soon learned.

He stared at the dress Luna was wearing.

It wasn’t anywhere close to complimenting her beauty; in fact the makeup of the material rather dimmed the brightness of her soul as well as her eyes. It was a simple conclusion to reach that it was a horrible example of a dress worthy of the human’s appeal.

But she had personally picked it, liked it.

It made him uncomfortable just how awful her fashion tastes were.

Made it so difficult to be genuine with her.

“IT’S…” He gritted his teeth.

What was the proper word to use so as not to insult her? Adequate? No that would insinuate that it was somehow satisfactory. Tolerable? Might be too insulting of a word.

Black hated liars and he refused to be one, but he desperately wanted to show he supported her decisions. The longer he took fishing for the right word the more he could see Luna’s demeanor falling.

“...MANAGEABLE?” Her nose did that adorable habit where it scrunched up as she looked at him thoughtfully.

“Manageable.” She wanted him to elaborate. He could do that. Just no ranting he silently chided himself, ranting would invalidate not only his opinion but could do so with hers as well.

“...IT…” Black’s words died in his nonexistent throat.

Okay he apparently couldn’t elaborate without going into a triad. They both stared at each other silently and as a sweat drop began to run down the side of his skull he made an executive decision.

He couldn’t insult her if he wasn’t near her.

Black missed how Luna’s eyes had widened as he abruptly turned and walked away from her. His hurried steps the only sound before the opening and closing of her door.

Luna...didn’t talk to him for a week.

Each day that passed killed him a little inside whenever he’d see her talking to one of his duplicates, interacting with his own brother with barely a glance in his direction. She’d even gone so far as to walk away from him when he’d simply greeted her, much the same as he had done concerning her dress.

He’d immediately understood why she’d been acting the way she had the moment she did so.

Black hadn’t realized how painful the action had been to her.

According to his brother he was moping the whole day after his realization and most of the morning. Hadn’t felt that way but it seemed him yelling more than usual was somehow depressing to his sibling.

That’s how Black ultimately ended up being drug out to go Christmas shopping. Which in itself was a red flag for the shorter skeleton.

Rus dragged him out of the house.

Maybe he had been moping.

“see anything good mi’lord?” Black flickered his eyelights dully over to his brother from where they’d been resting on a jewelry display.

“HARDLY.” Rus hummed as he sauntered up next to him, a bag of purchases already somehow slung over his arm. Black stopped questioning how he managed to suspiciously acquire things some time ago.

“y’know i think she likes galaxy themed clothing.” Black scoffed as he gestured at the entirety of the mall.

“AS IF THIS PATHETIC ATTEMPT OF A STOREFRONT WOULD CARRY ANYTHING WORTHY OF BEING CALLED GARMENTS.” Rus snickered.

“think i know the problem mi’lord.”

“DO YOU?” He asked absently, his eyelights refocusing on the necklaces currently hung up. All plated metals with hardly a solid piece of pure gold in sight. Even those claiming the label had obvious traces of other impurities mixed in.

Humans were such lazy creatures when it came to production.

“your standards are too high.” He let out a frustrated growl. Like his brother had any right to discuss standards. He couldn’t even be bothered to buy new shirts when he needed them, even the cheap off brand ones that Black hated due to their low thread count.

“MY STANDARDS ARE JUST FINE. IT’S NOT ASKING TOO MUCH FOR THE BARE MINIMUM.”

“that’s just it sans.” Black felt his soul give a jolt. He gave his brother a glance that was practically vulnerable; his older brother rarely ever used his given name anymore even when alone together.

Papyrus was serious.

“the bare minimum to you, isn’t the same for luna.” Black didn’t respond at first, his eyelights lowered in concentration before he finally let out a sigh. Of course the mutt would be right. His eyelights lit up as an idea hit him.

“I’LL BE HOME LATE.” Rus didn’t stop him as he vanished into the void.

“guess i should tell everyone you’ll be late for gift opening then.” He muttered as he shifted the bags on his arm. It was a good thing he supposed that he already bought his brother’s gift selections for the others.

Luna was giggling as she opened the little blue and white snow patterned box Classic had given her, a ring tinged grey with lines of silver etched into it greeting her. Her eyes lit up as she looked up at him.

“Is this meteorite?” He hummed his confirmation as he plucked it from the box and slipped it onto her pinky finger.

“figured someone as beautiful as a star deserved something out of this world.” There were groans but Luna could only blush as she embraced him, her arms twining around his shoulders effortlessly.

“Thank you Sans.”

“okay enough lovey dovey crap, open mine next.” Crimson huffed as he carelessly shoved Classic aside to drop his gift in her lap. She tried not to snort at how affronted Classic looked, her eyes panning the gathering of skeletons briefly before smiling at Crimson as she unwrapped his present.

By the time Luna finished going through everyone’s gifts Black still hadn’t returned and she was growing quickly concerned.

Looking over from the pile of gift wrap Valiant and Lolli had buried her in she locked eyes with Rus. Who was currently handing a shopping bag to Edge. Of course Rus hadn’t bothered to wrap any of his presents besides hers.

She didn’t even need to say anything.

“mi’lord said he’d be late, don’t worry princess.” Luna frowned; it wasn’t like him at all to be late for any gathering. Maybe she had been a bit too harsh to him.

It was as everyone was getting ready to eat when Black finally showed back up. The first thing Luna did was stand and go over to him, abandoning her place at the table. He oddly blushed purple.

“Black I--”

“COME WITH ME FOR A MOMENT.” Luna blinked curiously but followed, ignoring the inquisitive looks that the others were giving as she was led upstairs.

Black was nervous.

He wasn’t exactly experienced with showing his emotions let alone talking about them. But still he was resolved when he’d seen how willing Luna was to follow his request. It was obvious his prolonged absence had ignited a spark of guilt in her.

She shouldn’t have felt guilty; if anything her anger was more than deserved.

Once they were both in his room he casually latched the door and wandered over to the glass doors that led to the house balcony, his hands folding behind his back. It had taken an age to procure this room he remembered. Probably wouldn’t even have it if it wasn’t for Luna siding with him against Classic like she had.

How to start this? Black could already feel her eyes burning into his spine.

“I AM A RENOWNED TACTICIAN, AN INSPIRATION WHEN IT COMES TO MY PEERS IN REGARDS TO CHIVALRY AND CLASS.” He took a breath and turned to face her, his eyelights focusing on the adorable freckles dotting her face rather than the windows to her soul. “INFAMOUS EVEN FOR MY SERVICES TO THE CROWN.”

Luna was watching him carefully as he scratched wearily at the back of his skull.

“I HAVE DONE MANY THINGS; SLAUGHTERED COUNTLESS FELLOW MONSTERS AND HUMANS ALIKE, TORTURED IN THE NAME OF MY QUEEN, LAUGHED AT THE POINTLESS DISPLAYS OF MARTYRS WHO FOUND IT FIT TO REBEL AGAINST A LAW THEY SIMPLY DIDN’T AGREE WITH BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND IT.” He was ranting again he realized.

Best to make his point known sooner than later.

“WHAT I AM TRYING TO SAY IS I COULD BEST BE DESCRIBED AS CRUEL AND HEARTLESS, INDIFFERENT.” Black’s voice lowered and Luna was shocked at how soft his tone was.

“Even When I Try Not To Be.” Something didn’t sit right in her chest at how vulnerable he sounded, nearly regretful. Luna looked down at her feet torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to let him finish what he had to say. She knew he could be easily upset when others interrupted him.

His hands clenched into fists behind his back.

“I...Have Never Regretted My Actions. Not For A Single Horror I’ve Done Nor Word I’ve Said. But I Do Regret How I’ve Inadvertently Treated You.” Luna whipped her head up and she had to bite her lip to stop the gasp at how soft his eyelights looked.

They were so resigned.

“I Believe It’s Obvious, But Just In The Off Chance It Isn’t I Will Say I Do Care For You Just As Much As Those Ruffians Downstairs Do. IF NOT MORE!” He couldn’t help adding that last part and Luna rewarded the flounder with a chuckle causing another blush to violently flare across his face. It had felt like years since he’d heard her laugh last.

Turning to the side he offered a hand out to her.

Luna felt her heart skip at how the moonlight from the window seemed to highlight his form, making his exposed bones shimmer ethereally and his uniform to stand out with shadows tracing the bends and curves of it.

Black’s soul gave a pleased thrum as she stepped forward and slipped her hand in his. He rarely touched anyone, hardly had ever had contact with her. So it was with no small amount of secret enthusiasm as he rediscovered just how small her hand was to his. Luna had always been charmingly smaller than him and his sibling’s alters, even Valiant the shortest.

He opened the glass doors and led her to the balcony.

The wind was slightly chilled, but Luna marveled all the same at the view of the lake in the distance, the snow gathered in a thin sheet across the ground like a winter wonderland of ice and cold. One of the advantages Black had always provided her since helping him get the room was the freedom he gave her to come and go from the perch.

As Luna let herself drift Black pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.

“Luna.” She turned and Black’s breath caught at how beautiful she looked. He smiled as he held the gift out to her. She quirked a brow.

“Sans?” He almost purred at hearing his name.

“Open It.” She gave a curious smile as her hands gently opened the box, the action making Black’s soul thrum furiously in his chest. Her eyes lit up and he couldn’t resist smiling smugly at the automatic approval he saw in them.

“...Wow, It’s wonderful.”

Black felt his ribs swell with pride as Luna’s eyes widened, her cheeks turning pink as she lifted the choker from the box. He caught a glimpse of the ring Classic had given her but that mattered little to the gift he now presented.

Luna looked up as he gestured for it and it took a great effort to hand it over.

“My Lady.” He prompted as he held it between his phalanges. Her blush turned red in intensity as she caught on he wanted to put it on for her, even more so at the title he used.

His lady. Why did that make her so giddy?

Black was blushing like a fool as she turned her back to him and lifted the soft chestnut locks of her hair, exposing the pale skin of her neck. It didn’t help the warm feeling in his chest at the slight shaking he caught in her shoulders. She was just as nervous and excited as he was.

Carefully, with a slowness that wasn’t necessary just so he could enjoy the sight of her tilted head and the way she ran her thumb into the hair she held back for him he gingerly slipped his arms over her. Enjoyed feeling how his normally despised height dwarfed her as he tenderly latched it.

When she turned to face him Black felt his eyelights morph.

The gem at the center of the silk choker was swirling with purple and red magic against a black backdrop, not as a claiming display exactly but as an acknowledgment of whose protection she was under.

A small galaxy on her delicate throat.

He softly brushed a phalange against it not noticing the enamored way her vision was locked on his heart shaped eyelights.

She had never seen those hardened and unwavering orbs change shape in the whole time she’d known him. Luna had even seen Classic’s and Crimson’s change a time or two but never Blacks. She hadn’t known he was capable of it.

His inverted hearts flickered up to her.

“I’m Sorry My Actions Haven’t Been Pleasant Towards You. I Only Ask Of You To Remember Always...What You Mean To Me.” Luna smiled playfully.

“And what would you mean by that kind sir?” His sockets lidded and the smile he gave nearly rivaled Valiant’s with how dopey it was.

Luna’s world froze at the sight and she wished more than anything she had a camera on her. It felt like a moment that would only ever happen once in a lifetime.

Black’s answer changed in the span of a second. His initial response lacking for just how strongly he felt for her. He didn’t even hesitate as he realized it.

“I Love You. With Every Amount Of Affection And Bit Of My Soul I Can Give.”

Tears sprang to Luna’s eyes as she stared at him before slowly running her arms over his shoulders, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. Instead his arms encircled her waist making her heart pound and stomach flutter as he tilted her head back with his other hand.

His bony lips locked with hers and an array of emotions surged through the both of them; fear, misunderstanding, cautiousness, eagerness, love, and wholeness. Luna and Black broke apart for air and all the human woman could do was stare at the skeleton holding her in a daze.

Kissing her was everything he’d ever imagined it to be.

“Manageable?” She teased. The top of Black’s skull flexed with the impression of a raised eyebrow as he smirked and cupped her chin.

“Glorious.” He pulled her in for another kiss as he whispered against her lips. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” She responded breathlessly.

#UTSS #Secret Santa #Undertale #Swapfell #Christmas #Sans x OC #Fanfiction #AU #alternate universe #Gift #TheMsource #RoseDarkFire #Love #Miscommunication #Papyrus #Fellswap #my art #drawing #My writing

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 6 years ago

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Chapter 14: most of this is tangential but I think most of you know that’s my writing style by now

Yeah so....apparently spring break is great for my writing brain, because I wrote this in two days. Do I have an essay due in two weeks to think about and a play to read? Yes. Am I? Hell no. Instead, I offer up this chapter, which contains some small worldbuilding and an even smaller amount of stuff that pushes the broad plot, and you can figure out what to call the rest of it

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

“Hey, Clay, I need your expertise.”

“Math, or human interaction?”

“Legally, you shouldn’t be able to be good at both of those at the same time. But, yeah, how do I say ‘sorry that your brother has committed multiple murders and is one of the Fair Folk, checking in to see how you’re doing after all that’ but without sounding either too dismissively casual or overbearingly worried and overstepping the boundaries of this relationship that I don’t know what it actually is?”

“Apollo.”

“Yeah?”

“Dude.”

“Yeah?”

“Your life is fucked way beyond my wheelhouse, dude.”

“Just help me write the damn text.”

The first cold winds of winter blow down from the mountains early Monday morning. Apollo wakes around 3 am with a numb nose and, cursing the fae, stumbles out of bed for a hoodie, an extra pair of socks, and the extra blankets he and Clay keep in the hall closet. It happens every year, takes him by surprise every time, but he can’t remember it ever being October when the faery chill hits.

Clay says the same later, when they both are awake for real, and Apollo finds him in the kitchen making coffee that, judging from his wide eyes and frenetic babbling, he doesn’t need. “D’you think it’s something we did?” he asks, slopping coffee onto the counter next to his mug. “We pissed ‘em off digging around and that’s why there’s bad weather so early?” He spins about, sloshing more coffee onto the floor. Apollo with a wordless glare points him to the paper towels. “What if I called in sick and hid at home until the weather is better?”

“Unless there’s snow, I don’t think that’s an excuse,” Apollo says. He pushes the blinds aside. There is not snow on the street below.

“I bet Mr Starbuck won’t go in. I bet Director Cosmos won’t show up. They’re gonna hide safely from the Folk and I’m gonna leave this apartment and die.”

“The more you tell me about how the Center runs, I’m surprised it does run,” Apollo says.

“Bit like your law office,” Clay says.

“True and uncalled for.”

There’s probably some sort of scientific reason behind it; Apollo has tried to look but meteorology makes his head spin. But when winter comes, snow hits the LA area and the mountains of Kurain at lower altitudes than it should be, and nowhere else. And they blame it on the fae and go on with their lives. It’s a stupid city with stupid superstitions that are real. It’s why no one lives here. It’s why Apollo can afford to live here.

He stares into the fridge, decides he’s skipping breakfast and they need to go grocery shopping, and goes to put on a sweater.

Biking to work is hell on these kind of days. He remembers last winter, when Mr Gavin never kept his office warm enough for anyone — especially not for Apollo, who did the worst with the cold snaps of any of his coworkers. Was it because Kristoph was one of the fae that fae weather didn’t bother him? Does it bother Phoenix? Klavier?

He realizes on opening the door to the agency — he has a key but doesn’t use it, finding that even when he locks the door at night it is open ready for him in the morning — that he dressed anticipating the temperature in Kristoph’s office, not Phoenix’s, which has always been temperate. Maybe the sweater was overkill.

The door swings open to deliver an icy rush of air to his face.

Or maybe not.

“Shit,” he says, tossing his jacket to the couch and breathing into his hands.

He makes for his desk, flipping the light on in the other room and stopping short at the mess piled up around Phoenix’s. He glances back through to the front door. Cleaner than usual, like someone picked up everything littering the floor, and dumped it right in that spot. It’s something to do today, at least. Probably won’t be getting any clients. As usual.

“Shit, it’s cold.” He shivers and rubs his arms and then screams as something soft hits him over the head and shoulders. The world goes dark for several seconds as he wrestles with it, finally flinging to the floor a dark blue blanket. “Oh.”

Glad that no one else is in the office right now, he picks it back up and turns it over in his hands to find it is branded with the Steel Samurai logo. Trucy’s, maybe? She’s never shown a great deal of interest in that sort of television, as far as Apollo knows. He glances up at the bookshelf that sits next to the doorway. It must have fallen from up there — conveniently for the weather and that the office is now a walk-in freezer. He wraps it around his shoulders like a cloak and sets to work on the mess at Phoenix’s desk, because if he has to look at it any longer, he’s going to start breaking out in hives. As long as he can toss it aside and pretend to have dignity should any client wander in, he’ll be fine.

After a few hours of cleaning, he goes to check his hair in the bathroom mirror, remembers that it fell on Saturday — and finds that it has been put together back on the wall. He doesn’t remember exactly what it looked like, having no reason to commit that to memory, but he would swear it is the same one, and he can see and feel a few faint cracks if he squints and runs his hand over it. “This place really is haunted, huh?” he asks, spiking his hair back to its proper shape.

The lights blink, maybe in response, and maybe just a coincidence. “Benevolently haunted,” he adds stupidly, not wanting to offend whatever entity may lurk here. “Because it means that Mr Wright doesn’t have to buy a new mirror.”

The mirror shakes as though rattled by an earthquake, but nothing else does.

Or like laughter. Like it’s shaking with laughter.

Apollo goes back to his desk, the sense of satisfaction he had at cleaning gone — both because of this weird interaction with the office, and because of the onset of existential dread that this is what the rest of his career is going to look like, sprints and bursts of Mr Wright’s fuckery and months of drudgery in between. He’s probably peaked with this Jurist System test case. That’s going to be his biggest professional accomplishment.

He sloughs the blanket off onto his desk, walks back into the main room, and nearly straight into a woman.

“Ack!” Springing backwards, he slams his shoulder into the doorframe. So much for a dignified entrance even without the blanket-cloak. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here! You should’ve said something!”

She doesn’t look shocked by him or his outburst and she turns her dark eyes away from the bookshelf to look over Apollo. She wears some sort of robe or traditional garment, and her glossy black hair swings like a cape behind her even with the smallest, slowest movement of her head. “Is your boss here?” she asks.

“Er, Mr Wright — no, he’s not. I can call him and let him know someone’s here -- but he’s not a defense attorney anymore, so if you need some sort of defense, he can’t…” He trails off at her calm, unwavering stare. If she knows that he isn’t the Wright on the door, that he isn’t the one in charge, she probably knows Phoenix, and she probably knows what happened to him. “I’ll, uh, call him.”

She bows her head and drifts toward the piano. Apollo ducks back around the doorway to give himself a moment for silent screaming before he dials Phoenix’s number, and, to his lack of surprise, reaches voicemail. He starts to text Trucy, realizes that she is probably in school at this time, texts her anyway, and then Phoenix.

Someone at office to see you

The woman has lifted the cover of the piano keys and runs her finger down the edges without compressing any to make a sound. Apollo can’t begin to guess how old she is — his age? Mr Wright’s age? Something ancient and out of time? She turns back to him, the curtain of her hair swinging. “Can I get you anything?” Apollo asks. He wishes he had Trucy; she is too good at setting people at ease, at setting the office at ease, at offsetting this tension that is tightening in his lungs and in the frozen air. “While you wait?”

“Be careful in your questions, little dragon,” she says softly. “Do not let them dangle so open-ended.”

“I…” He closes his mouth. She tilts her head. Her hair looks strange, the way the light hits it; when she moves, it highlights auburn red, like the color is layered beneath it, except that makes no sense because he can see the hair that frames her face and how it is black down behind her neck. “What did you say your name was, again?”

He knows she didn’t say her name.

She smiles. “Clever little dragon,” she says. “You may, as many do, call me Iris.”

With his heart in his mouth, Apollo nods.

She walks her slender fingers down the piano keys. The notes creak out hoarsely, as if it hasn’t been touched, let alone tuned, in many years. Knowing Mr Wright, he probably got it off the sidewalk somewhere. Iris makes no attempt at a melody, does nothing but plunk out staccato little croaks. All the while, the office grows colder. Apollo throws open the blinds, hoping the sunlight will help alleviate the chill and counter the way the ceiling lights are flickering and dimming.

Haunted. Yeah, that’s it.

The door swings open and Phoenix enters in a different drab ugly hoodie than his usual, his blue beanie pulled down low over his forehead and a bright pink scarf hiding the rest of his face but his eyes. That answers Apollo’s question about how much he feels the cold, and it is not enough to muffle his, “Aw, shit,” or distract from the way his black eyes immediately turn blue.

Whatever air of mystery Apollo thought that Iris had evaporates. She bows, her hair falling as a veil around her face, and with her face still toward the floor she says in a rush, “The Mystics are both immensely preoccupied and wished for me to appear in their steads, else I would not come here or elsewhere to bother you—”

“Hey, no worries.” Phoenix holds up his hands in a placating gesture of surrender; they blink red like lies. “It’s not you, specifically.” That appears as truth. “Any time any of your family shows up impromptu, I know I’m in for some shit. What’s up?”

Iris lifts her head, shakes her hair back from her big sad eyes. “You’re making waves again,” she says.

“In the Court? Because I knew I was doing that here.” Phoenix reaches up to take his beanie off and then seems to think better of it, instead only partially unwinding his scarf. “Of course it’s in the Court. You’re all freezing me to death. Carry that message to the Mystics.”

Iris�� lips twitch. “Ah, but that pink is such a good color on you.”

Time seems to stop, for a moment, a pendulum halfway through its swing, something heavy sinking down onto all of them. Iris’ eyes widen; one foot shifts back. Phoenix’s eyebrows lower, just for a second, just so that Apollo can see something is passing between them, and then he laughs and breaks the spell and says, “Isn’t it? Trucy made it for me; the beanie, too. She’s been knitting since she was little and she’s gotten really good at it, except for color matching — you should see what she gives to Edgeworth. She probably does it on purpose. Apollo.” He jumps. He hadn’t expected the sudden shift in Phoenix’s mood, had expected to be forgotten as soon as the woman began speaking. “Don’t let Trucy know when your birthday is unless you want…” Phoenix rubs a hand over his chin. “Purple or magenta, probably, for you. Maybe chartreuse. You’re already doomed for Christmas.”

Apollo nods numbly.

(He can’t tell Trucy his birthday because doesn’t actually know his real birthday. Dhurke had a range of two months and Datz tossed a knife at the calendar to pick.)

“She sounds like a good child,” Iris says.

“She’s the best.” Phoenix grins, and then he sighs, and his shoulders slump forward. “So. Situation at the Court. Is this about the Jurist System? I was imagining that just like certain people here aren’t happy about letting average citizens make judgments, some of you might not be, either.”

Iris nods. “Sharp as ever, Feenie.”

Apollo chokes on air.

Feenie?

The glare that Phoenix turns on him could split rock.

Phoenix’s statement catches up to him a moment later. “Wait — why would the — the Fair Folk care about what we’re doing with our courts here?” Apollo asks.

Then he waits to be shut out again, like always.

“We find it a fair, neutral ground to resolve our disagreements,” Iris says. “It is an agreement we hold dear to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Was it ever a formally written agreement?” Phoenix asks. “Mia never said when she told me all that, but I can’t imagine you would all adhere to something without explicit terms.”

“You lawyers are much the same in that regard,” Iris says.

“Ain’t that the old joke,” Phoenix mutters. Leaning against the bookshelf, he doesn’t look at ease, eyes pale darting between Iris at the piano and Apollo standing lost alone in the center of the room by the couch, but he speaks with a sort of casualness that Apollo hasn’t heard from him. “So since the way we’re conducting our trials is changing, hopefully, the Court will have to change — and that’s, well…” He shrugs. “They don’t like change, much.”

“That was my mother’s folly,” Iris says softly. “And the former Queen Mystic, perhaps that she loved it too much. But yes.” She raises her head and reaches into one of her billowing sleeves, producing from it a scroll. “We wrote an agreement, and that is what the Mystics wished you to review.” She drops one end and the page unfurls to the floor and rolls across it.

“I don’t know how to read,” Phoenix deadpans.

Apollo cannot pretend his laugh is anything but a laugh.

Iris frowns and snaps her wrist and the scroll bounces up like a yo-yo into her hand. “I do not at this time know there is any clause in this stating that we need a verdict in your courts to be rendered by a lone judge and not a jury — and if there is, the Mystics will change it — but you as our go-between should stand as part of our process.”

Phoenix breathes in deeply, pulling up his shoulders and closing his eyes. “There’s not even a clause that says the judge presiding has to be human — just that verdict is rendered in a human court. You probably won’t have to change any wording; just minds.” He opens his eyes. “I need to clear off my desk, first. It was a damn shitshow.”

Apollo opens his mouth to mention that, but Phoenix has already ducked into the next room. He waits, unsure of where he belongs, as Iris drifts into the doorway; and then Phoenix reappears, his features contracted in confusion. “My desk — yesterday — did someone…?” He gestures between Apollo and Iris in a vain search for words.

“Oh,” Apollo says. “Yeah. I didn’t have anything else to do this morning.”

Phoenix blinks, again. If he had nothing else to do, he probably still would have done anything else. “Oh. Well, thank you.”

He disappears again, Iris trailing after him, just barely brushing the door with her hand and leaving it in its half-closed state. Apollo stands rooted in the center of the room, swallowed halfway up by the cold.

He… thanked me?

Apollo’s phone chimes with a text from Trucy. He sends back a scolding, knowing it will only encourage her slacking further, and then sinks into the couch. He has no place in the politics of the Court, wants no place in it, not like Phoenix — what did he always say? Young and too stupid to know better. Apollo wants to know better. Apollo doesn’t want to step any further into this.

Feenie.

He and Iris weren’t in a relationship, were they? Is that what Phoenix meant? Is that how this began, this part of his life?

Personal involvement with the fae seems like a good way to fall down that rabbit hole. Avoid that, Apollo thinks, and he finds that he has written those two words, avoid that, on the yellow legal pad left sitting on the coffee table. Avoid that. Right. Like he can do that, with his phone buzzing with another message from Trucy and weighted with another message he hasn’t sent.

Maybe better not to overthink it.

Hey How are you doing How’s it going How’re things How’re you doing Sorry about your brother Heard about the band. sorry

“Polly! I need to get you stuff for the weather!” Trucy, with some difficulty, pulls off her scarf — royal blue, and a little lumpy and holey, like it was an earlier prototype — and throws it at him. “It gets cold in here!”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He has spent the afternoon huddled into the couch, hoping for reprieve that eventually came; maybe it got a little warmer in this part of the office, or maybe he went numb. Remembering what Phoenix said about getting knitwear for presents, he buries his face in Trucy’s scarf anyway. He can’t feel his nose. “Warm.”

She throws herself onto the couch across from him. “Daddy is still meeting with whoever?” He nods. She frowns. “Is it jury stuff or… stuff?”

The weekend’s adventure lingers in their mind. “Jury stuff, but still with… stuff.”

A few more stuffs deep and they’re not going to know what they’re both talking about, but Trucy seems to realize that as well and drags her algebra textbook out of her bag. She scratches numbers onto a legal pad, mumbling the whole time, while Apollo tries to jog his memory and solve the problems upside-down. It is easy in the quiet to hear when the conversation in the next room draws toward the door and when it creaks open.

“—was warned not to expect anything.” That’s Phoenix, his back toward them, pushing the door open further. He looks over his shoulder and waves at Trucy. “Thought I should ask anyway.”

“But I will ask the Mystics what they know nonetheless.” Iris carries herself with some sort of innate unease, like she thinks — or knows — herself unwelcome here. Apollo hadn’t noticed it at first, but now, hours later, she still stands as if wanting to shrink, arms tight to herself. “If somewhere in their secrets they know something, they have spoken nothing of it to me; but you are right that this is not our family’s parlance. Even my sister, given choice, preferred to deal in names, not souls.”

“Her sole virtue,” Phoenix says bitterly, and Trucy’s eyes widen at the sharpness of it. Apollo has grown used to deadpan and cynical and sarcastic, but all without much bite. Not like this.

Iris bows her head low as in apology. “And this must be your daughter,” she says, raising it and turning her sad eyes toward her and Apollo. Like before, when Phoenix talked about the scarf, something of the mention of Trucy seems to fan apart the thick tense smog.

Trucy sits up straight and squares her shoulders, her biggest grin finding its way into place. “Yes, I’m Trucy!” she chirps. “It’s very nice to meet you!”

“This is Iris,” Phoenix says. “She’s an old friend.”

That sentence is not visibly a lie, but Phoenix’s eyes flicker toward Apollo, doubtlessly recalling earlier, and Apollo would bet there’s a little more to it than that.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, little firebird,” Iris says. “Your father is very proud, and rightfully so.”

“Oh!” Trucy rubs the back of her head. “Um, thanks! But it’s nothing, nothing really—”

Iris’ eyes snap toward Apollo; she stares him down for two long, silent seconds before her gaze drifts across Trucy and back to Phoenix. He cocks his head slightly and raises a shoulder. It might be a simple stretch, but it might be a nod back into the room behind them, and it might be something else passed between them. Iris raises a hand to her cheek, eyes wide, surprised.

“What are you talking about?” Trucy asks, hands on her hips. She stands up.

“We said exactly zero words, Truce,” Phoenix says lightly. He raises an eyebrow at Iris. Her hand at her mouth, she nods.

“Your father mentioned your brave face in the worst of times,” Iris says. “And your modesty, and your lovely smile. And here you greet me with all of that, and I find he is right in all he said.”

And nowhere is she saying that’s what she was silently communicating, but the barrage of compliments seems to have upset Trucy’s footing enough for her to let it go. “He mentioned you knit,” Iris adds. “I used to, as well, a few lifetimes ago, and I believe I still have some yarn I did not leave behind. I might gift it to you, if you wish.”

Those are fae words, carefully constructed, carefully closed: a gift. “I think I need more.” Trucy taps her chin. “I definitely do. That would be great!”

Iris smiles.

“A few lifetimes ago,” Phoenix echoes, and he snorts. “You’re making me feel old, if college was a few lifetimes ago.”

College. Apollo files that away in the same place he has reluctantly stored the nickname Feenie.

“And your teenage daughter makes you feel — what, exactly? Young?” Iris doesn’t smile with her teeth; everything is closed lips, very slight, delicate, and shy expressions. Everything about her is compact and controlled, as though she wants to be overlooked — everything but her hair, gleaming with fire or autumnal leaves.

“Absolutely.” Phoenix’s face does not twitch. “That is exactly it — wait. Wait wait.” He holds up a hand and Iris jumps. “You’ve had the yarn, not stashed away somewhere here, but you took it back with you?” She nods. They’ve obviously communicated about what the hell he means by these vague location words before. “So… we are going to end up with glamour-enchanted scarves and hats, yes or no?”

“Oh!” Iris scrunches her brows together, deep in thought. “I…” She slowly lifts her hand away from her chin. “I have no idea. Does this mean you don’t want it?”

“I kind of want Trucy to have it even more now,” Phoenix says, also with his hand on his chin, “just to see.”

“It’ll be an experiment!” Trucy says. “Magic fashion!”

“You sound like Ema,” Apollo says.

“Ema would love this, I bet,” Phoenix says. “It’s probably the most harmless version of all the bullshit experiments she talked about wanting to try, years back.”

Iris smiles again and ducks her head. “I am glad I have something to give.” Something solemn is packed in between the words. The corners of Phoenix’s grin fall. “For you, then, little firebird, a gift.” Apollo almost expects her to produce some balls of yarn from within her sleeves, but she instead simply drifts toward the door.

“You’re heading out that way?” Phoenix asks.

“Daddy, you know there’s only one door in this office,” Trucy says. “Unless she wants to go out the window.”

She’s brilliantly, uniquely perceptive, Phoenix has always said, Apollo has come to see as well, but sometimes the obvious flashes right by her like a wisp come and gone.

“I found, preparing for my visit, some cash I never spent all those years ago,” Iris says. “I thought I might get myself some coffee. I rather miss it.”

“Maya still has no idea what to do with a coffee machine, huh.” Phoenix chuckles, shaking his head. In context, knowing what Iris is, Maya can only be another of the fae — and Phoenix laughs at her, with something like fondness. Something that maybe is fondness.

“I would never dare to speak ill of the Mystic,” Iris says.

“That’s exactly all the answer I needed,” Phoenix says, holding up his hands in mock-surrender. He leans back against the wall, and, a moment later, as Iris has almost reached the door, says, “Oh, hey, I don’t even know if you were thinking about there — the place just off the quad, with the name that—”

“The Vine Yard?”

“Yes!” Phoenix snaps his fingers together. “The one we said sounded like a place you should be able to get wine. That closed up years back, I forget what kinda restaurant replaced it. All I remember is Maya and I got kicked out so it could be anything.” He shrugs and his shoulders fold in on themselves. Reminiscing lets a wall down and he seems now to regret it, to take back the words he’s let himself release into the air in front of Trucy and Apollo. “Maybe you weren’t even thinking about that and were just gonna wander into wherever, which I recommend, but—” He shrugs again. “Didn’t want you to go looking for something that’s not there anymore.”

Her hair swings past her eyes when she bows her head in acknowledgement. It looks redder again. “No,” she says. “I would not want to do that, either.” She lays a hand on the door, her long white nails catching the light, and she turns back one last time to glance over Trucy and Apollo. “Take care, all of you — and do take care of your father.” Her eyes twinkle. “He needs it.”

“Hey!”

The door closes behind her and the entire office seems to shudder, settle on its foundations, the blinds rattling in their places and the lights warming in their tone to something less harsh than they were. Apollo exhales and no longer sees his breath. “So,” Trucy says, swiveling in place, bouncing in a way that Apollo always takes to mean trouble. “Who is she, Daddy? Are you—”

“Trucy, darling, sweetheart, light of my life—” Phoenix crosses the office in a few large steps to stand in front of Trucy and lightly clap his palms against her cheeks. “I know how you’re going to finish this sentence, and I know you want to have more than one parent in your life, and I know I want that for you too, but please, in this instance, on this day, take your question and swallow it and lock it away deep in your soul and never think of uttering it in this direction ever again.”

Trucy’s cheeks are ballooned like she has the words stored up and ready to go, but she nods. Phoenix taps her on the face again. “Good.”

She manages silence for less than a second before she blurts, with all the force of something that physically pained her to contain, “So she’s your ex-girlfriend, then?”

Phoenix presses his hands over his face and slumps forward. “Trucy!”

“I want to clarify!” Trucy throws her hands in the air. “So I don’t say more stupid things!”

Phoenix laughs for what feels to be a long time, almost stopping and then looking at Trucy and Apollo and doubling over again wheezing. “No,” he gasps, finally. “I never dated Iris.”

It must be a lie — Apollo can’t believe it’s anything but a lie — but he can’t see that it is.

On Tuesday morning, the cold has slightly abated, Klavier has not responded to his text, and in the middle of the office Apollo finds a box of brightly-colored yarn sitting in the center of a hula hoop. Pink is predominant.

#roddy fanfics #fic: the seelie of kurain #i didn't expect this chapter and this side-stop in the fic to be this long and i know i say that every time #but i NEVER expect anything to have the substance that it does. this being no exception. i thought i could move the plot some more.#and then i hit a decent natural break and thought 'well okay. maybe i call it there'#lying in bed last night i wrote most of chapter 15 in my head but that's......useless.........

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ireflectaut · 4 years ago

Text

Post Three

Things to explore and think about that I learnt from my research:

Listing- I found the listing in Eloise Goes To Paris so compelling and entertaining.

The poetry & rhythm of both books was beautiful and integral to the writer's art.

Dialogue was a great part of both books as well; Eloise had such a strong voice that made you feel and love her, and Max’s character came through in his dialogue. The phonetic spelling and humour in Eloise Goes To Paris was a great was to make the character come to life, and the dynamic nature and visual aspect of Max’s dialogue in Where the Wild Things Are was captivating.

Maurice Sendak’s story doesn’t rely on an abundance of unnecessary words; he gets the point across concisely and vividly. Both stories also have an assertive protagonist which is something I need to work towards.

I adore aesthetically the abstract nature of Sendak’s writing; I think it lends well to the concept as a whole and getting children to explore their imagination in less rigid terms, and also makes the illustrations come to life and have creative licence to elevate the story.

Themes of childhood emotion, imagination and being boundless in what your protagonist can do was very inspiring to me as well.

I wrote drafts of a few different stories that were inspired by my research in order to find one that I could then edit, and use as my final story.

One:

What I am trying to explore:

Abstract concepts, interesting dialogue, themes of imagination and using repetition. Also themes of who you are and who you can be that I was interested in in my proposal.

Story:

“Hello, me!” said Sam to the mirror

“Hello, you!” said the mirror to Sam.

“I’m doing something different today.”

The mirror smiled back.

Sam liked their hair long,

Sam liked their hair short,

Sam liked that their hair had a life of its own.

Today Sam’s hair wanted to be long.

So they stepped through the time hole.

They were very very squished

And then, suddenly, hugely stretched out

And Sam popped out in one year.

They looked in the mirror

“HELLO, old friend!”

Sam was bewildered,

Their hair twirled all around.

Sam twirled with it.

Two:

What I am trying to explore:

Exploring listing & imagination. Thinking about poetry; alliteration, rhyme, cadence & repetition.

Story:

My Things

I have a million things.

They are all me,

And I am all them.

This one cost two whole dollars!

This one I found

In the middle of a tree!

This pile of things is very heavy

And very dusty

Because they stay very still

And I watch them intently.

These are my jewels.

I collect them on my walks.

I give them to friends

Who come in all sorts.

Sometimes I lose my things,

In fact I do it a lot...

Usually it's those silly Grimbles

This is a Grimble hot spot.

Flowers are my favourites.

Its ok if they get dry,

I stick them between a book

Or just paint them with my dye.

This one I made

It hangs on my wall,

If I focus and point,

I can make it fall.

This one is expensive,

My mum got it for me.

I get under the covers,

And I go off to sleep.

Three:

Inspired maybe a little too heavily by Where the Wild Things Are; inspired by the narrative structure and themes. Also playing with the use of capitals like Sendak does.

A mean finger pointed in Lolas face

A big red mean finger attached to a big mean red ogre

That looked like he was about to SWALLOW Lola whole

Lola screamed and she ran and ran and ran and ran

And her face was wet with tears.

As her tears fell something strange happened

The tears became bigger and bigger

And more and more

Until they themselves grew larger than Lola

And they swallowed her up.

Lola tucked her knees to her chest

And locked her arms around them

She closed her eyes and sobbed some more.

Lola created a bubble around her

So that nobody from outside could enter her tears

And no creatures from her tears could enter her bubble.

She was all alone.

One hundred years passed

and the tears had dried up

And Lola was alone...

“YIPPEE” she said! “WOO HOO” she yelled!

She danced around the land!

She twirled all day! And skipped all night!

And yelled into the air

“I AM ALOOONNNEEEEEEEE!”

She looked around....

She danced around the land, again.

She twirled all day.

And skipped all night.

She whispered to herself

“I am all alone.”

So she walked across the land,

And back across the hundred years,

She found her tears

And swam.

She found the big red ogre

Who had shrunk back to his regular size,

With his shirt tucked in,

And his big round eyes.

He bent down to little Lola

To show her a smile.

He was no longer red.

And she was no longer scared.

Four:

Inspiration from the craziness of the world around Eloise- I love the flamboyance of the crazy hotel she lives in and the strangeness of the world around her.

Story:

Amelias house lent to the left

Unless there was a particularly strong wind

Or you told it off,

In which case it leant to the right.

Amelia didn’t like to tell the house off

But sometimes it got carried away

And squashed her cats

And once it almost squashed Amelia

When she was sleeping

(and she had to grab bricks from her dream and pile them up

So she didn’t get squashed)

(she made sure to return the bricks later)

After that incident she had to tell the house off

Really bad

And it lent to the right for a while after that

Which made the furniture look funny.

Amelia did what every normal child did;

She made sure to pay the monthly bills

She talked to important people on the phone

She worried about money

and made sure to find as much as she could on her walk to work.

Her work was petting strangers' cats.

She loved it, don’t get me wrong, but boy was it stressful sometimes.

When she got home from work, she said to house

“UGH, will you let me put my bag down first!

Before you start harassing me for things!”

And then she poured herself a glass of something strong;

Tonight, it was lime cordial.

On the weekends she slept in

And said oh boy, I wish everyday was like this!

She made sure to read the news paper

For her news, on paper

And she shook the pages around

And flipped them back and forth as best she could

And made sure to fold it in a few different ways.

Sometimes she would grab a pen and say to house

“what's a four-letter word for flabbergasted?”

And then do a big loud “Hmpfh”

And turn the page over.

Since all of this was really quite exhausting,

Amelia was lucky to have her parents' house to escape to

If she needed it.

Five:

What I am trying to explore:

Themes of childhood emotion, actively trying to write an assertive protagonist. Using repetition & alliteration. Also trying to write so that when read out loud it will be amusing.

Story:

I put on my favorite dress,

My secret favorite dress, nobody knows

Its girly and pink and the sparkles go BOOM

And then I heard the voice,

He always comes

Whenever I put on the secret dress

The voice is slimy and dark and dank

And throws you into a deep dark hole

The hole is so deep and dark and deep

Sometimes I think I'll never leave.

He says yuck, that dress is girly

So girly pink and yuck

You look silly, didn’t sally say?

When you wore that dress to school one day?

But there is one thing that I can do

When that slimy voice comes

I pull out my sword and say GO AWAY

And I cut the slimy thing to the bone

The funny thing is,

The thing behind the voice

The slimiest sluggiest slip slop yuck voice in the whole wide world

Is the smallest tiniest silliest thing,

It's hard not to laugh at it.

Six:

What I am trying to explore:

Story:

There once was a little girl who never spoke.

Well, she had spoken once, as a baby. She said ‘baba’ which in baby talk meant “please get off my bed, big brother, I would like to be alone now”

But her brother laughed, and pointed a big red finger at her and called their parents in.

“What, what?” they said, “hurry up boy!”

“Look at Amelia trying to talk!”

They crowded her and staired at her with their big round eyes, waiting.

Amelia tried to say: “I'm not sure what the commotion is about... I know what I want to say, I’m just figuring out how to get it out. I’ll figure it out soon, mummy, daddy.”

But only a loud babble came out: “Mmm gaba.”

Her family scrunched up their faces and started laughing at her.

“Well, she's not going to be the brightest of the bunch!”

And they left her all alone.

Amelia was so embarrassed from that day forward that she didn’t say a word again.

That was nine whole years ago.

Since Amelia’s family didn’t believe her to be bright, they never sent her to school.

But Amelia learnt in her own way.

She taught herself how to read and how to paint using things from around the house. Marmite was a great black, and if she cut out parts of magazines she could create great images of colour and people.

She sat in her garden and learned about the bugs and the trees, and about how the leaves on the trees fell when it was getting colder, and how flowers started popping up when warmer weather was on its way.

Amelia was lucky to have the kindest next door neighbour in the world; Miss Andrews.

Miss Andrews was as loud and chatty which made up for Amelia’s lack of words. She also played violin.

I also wrote an alternate path for this story, but wasn’t able to finish either due to lack of time.

Amelia walked to school by herself every day.

She crossed busy roads and walked down dark alleys.

She walked past bullies who pulled her pigtails and stole her lunch;

Not that they were very impressed with it, Amelia's family weren’t big cooks

Usually, her lunch was packed with ice,

or sometimes a lemon found its way in.

Amelia never said anything to the bullies.

She was too scared to talk.

Amelia had a horrible teacher who picked on her in class.

She forced all the children to read their work out loud

And if they could she would yell “PAAASSSSS!”

But if they couldn’t she would yell “FAAIILLLLLL!”

And make them run 100 laps around the field,

rain or shine.

Luckily, Amelia had a friend.

Her name was Lola.

Lola ran laps around the field with Amelia,

Even when she didn’t have to.

Lola made fun of the bullies when they weren’t looking,

And Lola shared her lunch with Amelia, so she wouldn’t be hungry.

Amelia walked into class and took her seat next to Lola.

Seven:

Laura wasn’t good at anything.

She didn’t know how to be good.

She tried drawing but she did it wrong

And her parents told her off.

She tried reading but she didn’t know the words,

She tried writing but it came out all wrong,

The words were lopsided and fell off the page.

She tried cooking but she made a mess

She tried tidying but somehow... made it even messier.

She hid from her mum after that,

But she wasn’t good at hiding.

Laura felt silly and strange so she sat in her garden

And she closed her eyes for a very long time.

When she woke up, she got quite a shock.

Her garden had grown into a tall dark forest,

With flowers and vines and big dense bushes.

Laura looked around. She was lost, and cold. A howl echoed far away.

But then – she heard a smaller howl. A tiny one. She turned to see a little wolf.

The wolf looked at her and growled – he was scared too.

Laura crawled slowly to him and held out her hand.

“Come here, little wolf. Its ok, I won't hurt you.”

The wolf whimpered and cautiously sniffed her hand.

She pet him on the head and he came into her lap.

“Where do you live, little wolf?” asked Laura, and they heard another loud howl in the distance.

The little wolf tried to howl back but was so quiet Laura barely heard it herself.

“I see.” she whispered. “I’ll get you back home.”

So Laura and the wolf took off looking for home.

I ended up choosing my three favourite stories and working on them to find what my final story would be.

0 notes

thingsireflecaut · 4 years ago

Text

Post Three

Things to explore and think about that I learnt from my research:

Listing- I found the listing in Eloise Goes To Paris so compelling and entertaining.

The poetry & rhythm of both books was beautiful and integral to the writer’s art.

Themes of childhood emotion, imagination and being boundless in what your protagonist can do was very inspiring to me as well.

I wrote drafts of a few different stories that were inspired by my research in order to find one that I could then edit, and use as my final story.

One:

What I am trying to explore:

Abstract concepts, interesting dialogue, themes of imagination and using repetition. Also themes of who you are and who you can be that I was interested in in my proposal.

Story:

“Hello, me!” said Sam to the mirror

“Hello, you!” said the mirror to Sam.

“I’m doing something different today.”

The mirror smiled back.

Sam liked their hair long,

Sam liked their hair short,

Sam liked that their hair had a life of its own.

Today Sam’s hair wanted to be long.

So they stepped through the time hole.

They were very very squished

And then, suddenly, hugely stretched out

And Sam popped out in one year.

They looked in the mirror

“HELLO, old friend!”

Sam was bewildered,

Their hair twirled all around.

Sam twirled with it.

Two:

What I am trying to explore:

Exploring listing & imagination. Thinking about poetry; alliteration, rhyme, cadence & repetition.

Story:

My Things

I have a million things.

They are all me,

And I am all them.

This one cost two whole dollars!

This one I found

In the middle of a tree!

This pile of things is very heavy

And very dusty

Because they stay very still

And I watch them intently.

These are my jewels.

I collect them on my walks.

I give them to friends

Who come in all sorts.

Sometimes I lose my things,

In fact I do it a lot…

Usually it’s those silly Grimbles

This is a Grimble hot spot.

Flowers are my favourites.

Its ok if they get dry,

I stick them between a book

Or just paint them with my dye.

This one I made

It hangs on my wall,

If I focus and point,

I can make it fall.

This one is expensive,

My mum got it for me.

I get under the covers,

And I go off to sleep.

Three:

Inspired maybe a little too heavily by Where the Wild Things Are; inspired by the narrative structure and themes. Also playing with the use of capitals like Sendak does.

A mean finger pointed in Lolas face

A big red mean finger attached to a big mean red ogre

That looked like he was about to SWALLOW Lola whole

Lola screamed and she ran and ran and ran and ran

And her face was wet with tears.

As her tears fell something strange happened

The tears became bigger and bigger

And more and more

Until they themselves grew larger than Lola

And they swallowed her up.

Lola tucked her knees to her chest

And locked her arms around them

She closed her eyes and sobbed some more.

Lola created a bubble around her

So that nobody from outside could enter her tears

And no creatures from her tears could enter her bubble.

She was all alone.

One hundred years passed

and the tears had dried up

And Lola was alone…

“YIPPEE” she said! “WOO HOO” she yelled!

She danced around the land!

She twirled all day! And skipped all night!

And yelled into the air

“I AM ALOOONNNEEEEEEEE!”

She looked around….

She danced around the land, again.

She twirled all day.

And skipped all night.

She whispered to herself

“I am all alone.”

So she walked across the land,

And back across the hundred years,

She found her tears

And swam.

She found the big red ogre

Who had shrunk back to his regular size,

With his shirt tucked in,

And his big round eyes.

He bent down to little Lola

To show her a smile.

He was no longer red.

And she was no longer scared.

Four:

Inspiration from the craziness of the world around Eloise- I love the flamboyance of the crazy hotel she lives in and the strangeness of the world around her.

Story:

Amelias house lent to the left

Unless there was a particularly strong wind

Or you told it off,

In which case it leant to the right.

Amelia didn’t like to tell the house off

But sometimes it got carried away

And squashed her cats

And once it almost squashed Amelia

When she was sleeping

(and she had to grab bricks from her dream and pile them up

So she didn’t get squashed)

(she made sure to return the bricks later)

After that incident she had to tell the house off

Really bad

And it lent to the right for a while after that

Which made the furniture look funny.

Amelia did what every normal child did;

She made sure to pay the monthly bills

She talked to important people on the phone

She worried about money

and made sure to find as much as she could on her walk to work.

Her work was petting strangers’ cats.

She loved it, don’t get me wrong, but boy was it stressful sometimes.

When she got home from work, she said to house

“UGH, will you let me put my bag down first!

Before you start harassing me for things!”

And then she poured herself a glass of something strong;

Tonight, it was lime cordial.

On the weekends she slept in

And said oh boy, I wish everyday was like this!

She made sure to read the news paper

For her news, on paper

And she shook the pages around

And flipped them back and forth as best she could

And made sure to fold it in a few different ways.

Sometimes she would grab a pen and say to house

“what’s a four-letter word for flabbergasted?”

And then do a big loud “Hmpfh”

And turn the page over.

Since all of this was really quite exhausting,

Amelia was lucky to have her parents’ house to escape to

If she needed it.

Five:

What I am trying to explore:

Themes of childhood emotion, actively trying to write an assertive protagonist. Using repetition & alliteration. Also trying to write so that when read out loud it will be amusing.

Story:

I put on my favorite dress,

My secret favorite dress, nobody knows

Its girly and pink and the sparkles go BOOM

And then I heard the voice,

He always comes

Whenever I put on the secret dress

The voice is slimy and dark and dank

And throws you into a deep dark hole

The hole is so deep and dark and deep

Sometimes I think I’ll never leave.

He says yuck, that dress is girly

So girly pink and yuck

You look silly, didn’t sally say?

When you wore that dress to school one day?

But there is one thing that I can do

When that slimy voice comes

I pull out my sword and say GO AWAY

And I cut the slimy thing to the bone

The funny thing is,

The thing behind the voice

The slimiest sluggiest slip slop yuck voice in the whole wide world

Is the smallest tiniest silliest thing,

It’s hard not to laugh at it.

Six:

What I am trying to explore:

Story:

There once was a little girl who never spoke.

Well, she had spoken once, as a baby. She said ‘baba’ which in baby talk meant “please get off my bed, big brother, I would like to be alone now”

But her brother laughed, and pointed a big red finger at her and called their parents in.

“What, what?” they said, “hurry up boy!”

“Look at Amelia trying to talk!”

They crowded her and staired at her with their big round eyes, waiting.

Amelia tried to say: “I’m not sure what the commotion is about… I know what I want to say, I’m just figuring out how to get it out. I’ll figure it out soon, mummy, daddy.”

But only a loud babble came out: “Mmm gaba.”

Her family scrunched up their faces and started laughing at her.

“Well, she’s not going to be the brightest of the bunch!”

And they left her all alone.

Amelia was so embarrassed from that day forward that she didn’t say a word again.

That was nine whole years ago.

Since Amelia’s family didn’t believe her to be bright, they never sent her to school.

But Amelia learnt in her own way.

Amelia was lucky to have the kindest next door neighbour in the world; Miss Andrews.

Miss Andrews was as loud and chatty which made up for Amelia’s lack of words. She also played violin.

I also wrote an alternate path for this story, but wasn’t able to finish either due to lack of time.

Amelia walked to school by herself every day.

She crossed busy roads and walked down dark alleys.

She walked past bullies who pulled her pigtails and stole her lunch;

Not that they were very impressed with it, Amelia’s family weren’t big cooks

Usually, her lunch was packed with ice,

or sometimes a lemon found its way in.

Amelia never said anything to the bullies.

She was too scared to talk.

Amelia had a horrible teacher who picked on her in class.

She forced all the children to read their work out loud

And if they could she would yell “PAAASSSSS!”

But if they couldn’t she would yell “FAAIILLLLLL!”

And make them run 100 laps around the field,

rain or shine.

Luckily, Amelia had a friend.

Her name was Lola.

Lola ran laps around the field with Amelia,

Even when she didn’t have to.

Lola made fun of the bullies when they weren’t looking,

And Lola shared her lunch with Amelia, so she wouldn’t be hungry.

Amelia walked into class and took her seat next to Lola.

Seven:

Laura wasn’t good at anything.

She didn’t know how to be good.

She tried drawing but she did it wrong

And her parents told her off.

She tried reading but she didn’t know the words,

She tried writing but it came out all wrong,

The words were lopsided and fell off the page.

She tried cooking but she made a mess

She tried tidying but somehow… made it even messier.

She hid from her mum after that,

But she wasn’t good at hiding.

Laura felt silly and strange so she sat in her garden

And she closed her eyes for a very long time.

When she woke up, she got quite a shock.

Her garden had grown into a tall dark forest,

With flowers and vines and big dense bushes.

Laura looked around. She was lost, and cold. A howl echoed far away.

But then – she heard a smaller howl. A tiny one. She turned to see a little wolf.

The wolf looked at her and growled – he was scared too.

Laura crawled slowly to him and held out her hand.

“Come here, little wolf. Its ok, I won’t hurt you.”

The wolf whimpered and cautiously sniffed her hand.

She pet him on the head and he came into her lap.

“Where do you live, little wolf?” asked Laura, and they heard another loud howl in the distance.

The little wolf tried to howl back but was so quiet Laura barely heard it herself.

“I see.” she whispered. “I’ll get you back home.”

So Laura and the wolf took off looking for home.

I ended up choosing my three favourite stories and working on them to find what my final story would be.

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ecotone99 · 5 years ago

Text

[SF] Not My Reality

RECOVERY DATE 23 May 2019 - Case 015A Mr McFarrow - Age 28

The gaps between reality are all so very thin. I say that as though there is just one reality. But there are many. There are oh so many. Too many to possibly list. With every decision you make, a new reality is created. Simply choosing between apples or pears results in a new reality. One where you chose the pear; one where you chose the apple. Sometimes I barely notice the difference.

Today a friend asked me what I would like to drink. He left the room. I slipped on a wet patch on his tiled kitchen. I came crashing down on my ass. A white flash seemed to surround me just before I hit the floor. I got back up and sat down on the barstool by the kitchen island. He came back into the room.

“There’s your coke”, he said as he placed a glass full of the cold black liquid next to me.

“Oh, thanks.”, I looked down at the drink and felt confused. “I don’t mean to be rude but I thought I asked for lemonade?”, I had 100% asked for lemonade.

“Nope, you 100% asked for a coke, I can go get you a lemonade though if you’ve changed your mind”, he looked as confused as I felt.

“No no. It’s ok”. I was fighting back tears. I had slipped into an alternate reality when I hit the kitchen floor. I did not want to slip. It had just happened. I didn’t want to be able to do this. Some realities were worse than others. I didn’t just fall through realities caused by my actions. I slipped through all of them. I also stayed in some longer than others. I’m documenting this now because I don’t think I’m going to live through this one.

I should start this story somewhere more sensible. I will start at the beginning. That would make sense. I started ‘slipping’ when I was in my early twenties. So about seven years ago now. That was a fucking big slip. I was coming home from work. It was late. I had been working till about two in the morning at a McDonalds. It was shit work and I was feeling shit. It was cold. It was raining. It was dark. I had been walking towards home for about fifteen minutes. My headphones were in. My music was loud. I lived along the main road in a small apartment that was just one of many in the giant block that stood in the city centre. It was two in the morning and usually, there's no one around. I stepped out into the road to cross the street. Something glittered in the corner of my eye. I turned slightly. I felt something hit me and a white light suddenly surrounded my view. I closed my eyes. I don’t know how long they were closed for but when I opened them I was stood in the middle of a park.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there”, A boy no older than ten stood in front of me.

“It’s fine. Um. yeah. No worries” I smiled slightly despite confusion beginning to cloud my mind. The boy still stood there staring at me. He looked down at my feet.

“Could I have my ball back?”, I looked down by my feet and a small white football laid there covered in mud. I bent over slightly and picked it up. I held it for a minute and just stared at it. I looked up and started to take in my surroundings.

“Yeah of course, can you just tell me where I am quick? I went for a walk and I think I’ve gotten lost”, I smiled weakly hoping he wouldn't see how nervous and confused I was.

“You're in Winston Churchill's Memorial Park, I don’t know the area too well but there's a Tesco if you cross the road. One of the adults in there might be able to help a bit more”, his eyes kept switching between looking at me and looking at his ball.

“Um, yeah, thanks, here’s your ball”, I watched the kid scurry off with his ball back to his friends. I remember looking around. It was just the most stereotypical park. Like one straight out a movie. Big open spaces. Green healthy grass for miles. Oak trees were scattered everywhere. I remember walking over to a small plaque that was sticking out of the ground. Golden writing had been printed onto a small bronze rectangle.

“In Memory of our once-great leader Winston Churchill. Born 1874 - Assassinated 1955.”

I remember thinking how wrong that sounded. I was never big on history but I never remembered hearing about Churchill dying by assassination. I think that would’ve been quite a big thing they would’ve told you in school. I started to notice more things that seemed off. There was a lot of police. One on almost every street corner. I noticed them stopping people seemingly at random. I could never make out what they were saying but I could see the little cards people were pulling out and showing them. They would talk for a moment then move on. They stopped mainly caucasian people. I decided to eavesdrop. I walked over to an officer I could see talking to someone. I stood close enough to hear but not close enough to be thought of as suspicious. I pulled out my iPhone and pretended to be on the phone to someone.

“Do you have identification?”, the officer asked in a calm monotone voice. The citizen didn't reply. She simply pulled out her purse and handed over a little white card.

“I see you come from outside of the United Reach. You are due to go home today. You better leave soon, you are dirt on this country.”, the officer spat at her. The derogatory comment didn’t seem to phase her too much. He handed her back the little white card and she walked quickly across the street and away from the eyesight of the officers. I remember feeling confused and was considering asking the officer for help. After seeing how he had treated the woman I really didn’t want to approach him; who knows how he would’ve responded to being told by someone that they had no idea where they were or even what year it was.

“DO NOT MOVE”

A voice had barked from directly behind me. My ear rang slightly from the volume at which he screamed. I turned my neck slightly to see two men marching towards me. Two rifles aimed at me. They wore what looked like heavy black bulletproof armour with large black helmets. There wasn’t an inch of them that wasn’t covered.

“PUT THE PHONE DOWN. WE ARE ARRESTING YOU FOR POSSESSION OF TECHNOLOGY FROM OUTSIDE OF UNITED REACH. WE ARE ARRESTING YOU UNDER LAW 499 PROHIBITING ANY AMERICAN TECHNOLOGY IN THE COUNTRY. WE WILL NOW HANDCUFF YOU AND STRIP YOU OF YOUR RIGHTS”

I could not be arrested. Not here. I just wanted to go home. I didn’t want to die. My heart was going at triple the speed it should’ve been. I couldn’t think clearly. Thoughts were rapidly firing through my mind at an incomprehensible speed. I made a stupid choice. I ran. I began running as fast as I could straight forward. I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. I could hear people shouting behind me. I could hear the footsteps of the two armed men getting closer. After chasing me through the streets for about a minute I heard them stop running. I thought I’d lost them. I slowed down. Another stupid choice. I spun on my heel slightly to the sound of a muffled bang. I saw a small circular object spiralling right towards my left eye. I felt something tap my eyeball then the white light encompassed my sight.

I was right back where I was earlier that night. I was just sat in the middle of an empty road. I checked my phone. 23 May 02:05 am. I was back in my reality. Or it was a reality that was close enough to the one I knew. I ran home. I already had a stitch from running from the armoured men but I just ignored it till I got home. I don’t remember much more. I know I woke up in bed the next morning in my pyjamas. I don’t remember putting them on though.

From then on the trips were quite random and not too bad. Sometimes I would slip into a reality where the colour blue was called green and green was called blue. Sometimes there were random ones where motorbikes were more common than cars. There was one where the world was governed by the six smartest people in the world. I liked that one. Everyone would get a free meal on a Saturday night from a restaurant of their choosing. There were also people living on other planets thanks to Elon Musk. That was the best one I think. I had lived there for about a month.

Sometimes they, the slips, would interrupt important moments. I remember I was at a job interview and everything was going great! But then I felt a sort of pain in my chest and I looked down at my chest quickly. When I looked up again the white had surrounded me. When my vision returned I was sat in an abandoned building with a man in construction uniform shouting at me in another language. Then there was another time I was on a date and I dropped a steak knife on my foot. It didn’t actually hit my foot though. Just before it did the white surrounded me. I reappeared in a reality where the only food was a grey slop and the person opposite me was dressed in an orange jumpsuit. They then followed to try and attack me. That lasted for about five minutes. The white surrounded me again and I was back on my date. But my date had left. So had most people in the restaurant.

I’m not sure what happens when I slip. Of course, I’ve never seen. It’s not like I can just watch myself. Before you ask, yes I have attempted cameras. I sat in a room and hooked up a camera to record me the entire time. I did slip within that time but the camera turned itself off ten seconds before I vanished.

But that's talking about the past. I would like to talk about now. I think I slipped too many times. Or reality has become corrupted. I do not know what will happen to this message. I do not know if it will exist after this.

I was in my attic. I lost my footing and fell out of the small entrance hole in the floor and I felt something touch the back of my head then the white surrounded me. Then I was laid on a bed of sand and dirt. I was staring up at the sky. The sky was red. I was boiling. I looked around me. The smell of burning meat filled the air as I saw rubble for as far as I could see. Some buildings were collapsing. Fires were roaring all around me. Despite all of this, there was almost no sound. Only a very quiet sound of tearing. No matter where I looked I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. A white shimmer in the corner of my caught my attention. It looked as if things were disintegrating and where they once existed now played home to just patches of white. The same white that flashes before me when I slip. I went out to touch one. As soon as I came close to it, the edges of the patch rippled slightly before expanding. I may have touched a few. I can’t actually make out much of the land now. It’s mainly white. I seem to be sat on the last remaining island of this reality. I’ve tried to force myself to slip. I really really did try but I can’t get it to work. So I think I’m just going to die here. If I get erased from reality it might be ok, no one will remember me. Or maybe I will just float through the white for eternity, I don’t know. I’ve been writing this to give me something to concentrate on whilst this reality wipes away. It’s nearly over though. I’m just going to send this to a random number. I don’t know who is going to receive this but I am sorry for the confusion it must cause. I’m sat on a 1 metre by one metre square of red dirt. In case anyone does ask, my name is James McFarrow. I didn’t ask for this but at least I’ve had an interesting life. A life that no one will probably ever know about.

written by harry titley

https://htstoriesandtales.wordpress.com/

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