Animorphs Fanfiction

Prompt of the Week 8

Thu, 24 Jul 2008 12:55:53 GMT

Here's how it works. Once a week I will post prompts for you to write from. Post your response in the community or in your journal, and leave a link in a comment to the prompt post.

Prompts are "valid" for two weeks-- write your fic within two weeks and comment to receive a pixelbanner for participation (example banner below the cut). Deadlines and rewards-- that should be an encouragement!

Prompts are obviously not required to post fic to this comm. They are entirely optional. You can use any of the prompts you want-- you don't have to use all of them in one fic. Fics can be of any length over 100 words.

Participation banner example:

Prompts
1. Visser Three.

2. Relate.

3. Because I said so.

4. Slippery.

5. Write a fic from the point of view of a minor character or original character (there is a suggested list of minor characters here underneath the list of main characters).

Prompt of the Week 7

Thu, 17 Jul 2008 13:34:43 GMT

Here's how it works. Once a week I will post prompts for you to write from. Post your response in the community or in your journal, and leave a link in a comment to the prompt post.

Prompts are "valid" for two weeks-- write your fic within two weeks and comment to receive a pixelbanner for participation (example banner below the cut). Deadlines and rewards-- that should be an encouragement!

Prompts are obviously not required to post fic to this comm. They are entirely optional. You can use any of the prompts you want-- you don't have to use all of them in one fic. Fics can be of any length over 100 words.

Participation banner example:

Prompts
1. Elfangor.

2. Fall.

3. I can explain!

4. Heavy.

5. In honor of the International Day of Femslash this Saturday, write a femslash fic in our fandom.

Had We Known Then

Fri, 11 Jul 2008 21:43:11 GMT

This is a compilation of the first 3 prompts taken from the rockin' challenge community 30_gens. It's the only Animorphs claim so far, and I thought some of you might be interested both in the challenge itself as well as what I've chosen to do with it. #s 1 through 3 are as follows.

Title: Had We Known Then
Fandom: ANIMORPHS
Author: Dakota Pratt
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obv.
Summary: The first three challenges as an exploration of the progression of Rachel and Cassie's friendship through the beginning of the series - with a pointed emphasis on the ordinary. The parts of their lives not devoted to fighting aliens or freeing slaves or committing brutal war crimes, but rather the effect these things had (or didn't have) on the friendship that existed before.

30 GEN FICS

Rachel/Cassie, from Animorphs

PART I: HAD WE KNOWN THEN.

(1) Bad weather.

There are times when I hated Cassie's practicality. There were many things I envied about her, but her fashion was usually not among them. But darting down the sidewalk that afternoon, on our way to hit a few new sales and grab some falafel at the mall, the rain started lashing down with a vengeance and yes, I was regretting the fact that as a matter of habit I generally choose stilettos over safety. Cassie was as umbrella-less as I was, but more suited to the rain in a navy blue t-shirt and dark jeans, stained with paint and probably other things. Occupational hazard when you lived on a farm, I guess.

I clomped clumsily down the pavement, one arm across my chest to preserve some semblance of decency in my white summer dress. I understood the ramifications of autumn in early September, but was trying to live in my delusion of summer - of hot weather and good tans and bad boys sprawled out on the beach - for a bit longer. Just then, I wished I'd taken my cues from Mother Nature.

"Are we there yet?" I demanded over the pounding roar of water droplets exploding on the pavement, like mortars on a battlefield.

"It's the mall," Cassie shouted back at me, with a tempered patience only she could pull off. "Shouldn't you know the path like the back of your hand? Be able to find it blindfolded by counting the steps, or I don't know, sniffing the designer labels?"

I felt like I maybe should have taken a casual offense to her remark. It almost sounded like she was calling me a ditz.

"Yeah, yeah," I said instead. "Whatever. Remind me why we didn't cut through that construction site again? It would have cut our walk in half." The abandoned construction site was a large, uninviting thing that sat catty-corner to the mall's parking lot and took up a good quarter of the town. Suburban development gone wrong, I guess. The funding for whatever project they'd been planning had fallen through almost a year ago, and no one had touched the progress they'd made since.

I mean, not that it was a lot of progress.

"Because it's creepy," she replied. "Nobody goes through that thing. Besides, who knows what kind of trouble we'd get in if we got caught."

I rolled my eyes. "Creepy. Stray dogs and jackhammers and hobos, oh my."

Ha. Ha. Had we only known then.

#

(2) Unfamiliar Territory

"Uh... huh."

"You're staring at me like I'm crazy," Rachel said, drawing her legs up as she sat comfortably on her bed and draping an arm around Fluffer McKitty, who squirmed wildly to get away and further explore something he found fascinating in the corner of her open closet.

"You are crazy," I said thoughtfully. Crazy about covered it.

"It's just a dance."

I stared at the small, unopened bottle of nailpolish I held between my hands with determination, as if my thorough analysis would suddenly give way to the explanation of just why, exactly, Rachel had handed it to me in the first place, and what she expected me, of all people, to do with nail polish.

"It's never just a dance." I unscrewed the top of the bottle cautiously, trying carefully not to spill the polish onto her bedroom carpet. "And besides, I don't have anyone to go with."

The chemical smell permeated the room instantly, racing up my nostrils furiously. I fought back the urge to gag. The polish, a light, almost translucent violet, seemed to be anxiously awaiting my approval. So did Rachel, for that matter.

"You could go with Jake," she said, in a manner so off-handed it wasn't off-handed at all. The lilt at the end of her sentence was too innocent, the shrug of her shoulder too calculated, for it to have been a passing remark. She knew. There was no way she could know. But the tiniest tug at the corner of her lips was undeniably, indisputably devilish.

She was evil. My best friend was totally evil.

Somehow, I didn't miss a beat. "He's not my type," I lied flawlessly. At least, I thought it was flawless. "And besides, I dont' think he'd be interested in me." Okay, not so flawless. That, right there? Would be my whole hand of cards.

Rachel threw her head back and cackled with glee. "Oh," she said, pausing to pull in a lush breath of air. Her eyes absolutely danced with mischief. "I don't know about that. I see the way he looks at you sometimes."

"I - I. I. You do?" Crap. "You're bonkers. Besides, even if he did - does? - I mean. It doesn't matter. It's me we're talking about, Rach. And dances. I don't do dances. Especially homecoming ones. It's unfamiliar territory."

Her grin was so wide she could have taken on the Cheshire Cat any day. Then again, there were a lot of things Rachel could take on. I'd seen that much in person. And when she locked her teeth or fangs or claws of sheer fashionable force of will on a target, there wasn't a whole lot that would keep her from taking it down.

At the moment, I was that target.

"Unfamiliar territory, hm?" she said slowly, drawing out every word, as if it were taffy in her mouth. "Then I think it's high time we go and plant a few flags. Whatd'ya say?"

#

(3) Calendar Day

It amazed me sometimes, the rapid ups and downs and changes that the course of twenty-four hours of my life could entail.

I was late to school - rushing frantically through the house trying to find my favorite hairbrush became an epic endeavor, when I found Jordan styling her Barbies' hair with it, and had to hash it out and bribe her, offering a week's worth of chores in order for me to just get it back in time for school, darnit, and even that didn't work out so well when my bag ripped three blocks from the squat, brown little building I sit in all day. The bottom just fell right out, and then not only was my hair a mess but I had to waste my time collecting a bunch of spare papers I didn't care about and wrap my arms around what looked like a Greenpeace party gone wrong and just try to lug it all in and honestly, I wasn't even surprised when my locker wouldn't open.

Life just sucked, sometimes.

Not six hours earlier, I was in the shower with the water stream on low, trying not to wake my parents after I'd snuck back into the house at an ungodly hour, dressed only in a spandex leotard and covered in blood. Some of it was probably even mine. I'd set the water to a slow boil and stood there, wringing the blood out of my long blonde hair, wondering how many times it could take a treatment like that before I'd have to cut it substantially shorter. It's weird, the things you think about in the middle of - and after - a crisis.

Six hours before that, I had sat at the dinner table at Jake's house, a good old family gathering with mom and dad and Aunt Nikki and Uncle Greg, and Jake and I - who'd never been particularly close - sat next to each other with a shared look, like we were the only two at the table in on some horrible family secret. And both of us hid our furtive glances throughout the night, our gazes at Tom - Jake's brother, a Controller - and thought about what lie beneath the surface. About the slug wrapped around his brain, dictating every move, calculating every word.

We both sat at that dinner table, knee to knee, and without even looking at each other I know we thought the same things. Every time Tom came into my field of view, to pass the potatoes or clear the dishes or bring out dessert, I looked at him and thought, I will kill you for what you've done to this family.

Most of the time I knew I was talking to the alien that inhabited my cousin's body. Sometimes I thought I might be talking to Tom. Most days, I didn't care anymore. The two started to blur together and there was no way to exist in this family, and to fight this war, unless the two stayed completely, unequivocally separated. I knew that. Jake had ordered as much, after the initial freak-out. And yet... we both wondered.

Rewind. Six hours before that I'd been on the balance beam, allowing myself to have a blast with the gymnastics portion of our PE class. I'd gotten to exhibit all the moves I'd been perfecting at practice, and managed to nail a killer dismount in front of at least twenty appropriately impressed kids. I'd been the star of the class. It felt good.

Before that? The full twenty-four hours earlier, I had known exactly where my hairbrush was, exactly who to beat up if it disappeared, what kind of casserole Mom insisted we bring over to Jake's for dinner, the fact that I sure wasn't using the shampoo I'd gotten at the store last time because it gave me split ends like crazy, and that I didn't want to think about our mission to the Yeerk Pool that night - but beyond a pointed insistence of not thinking about it, it was a black hole in my mind. An abstract. A Picasso. Thoughts of the mission to come didn't filter down into the rest of my day, didn't distract me or ruin my mood or even make lunch less appetizing.

Just as they didn't this morning. My hair was clean, I'd stolen Jordan's shampoo as payback, and besides a small scratch on the back of my calf from sneaking through the bushes on my way home, there was no sign that the night before had been my own personal tour of hell - or Jake the Beatrice that led me there.

They had a word for that. Compartmentalization, I think.

All in all, not your typical calendar day.

I finally closed my locker and almost jumped out of my skin as Cassie appeared in my line of sight with her backpack slung around one shoulder, looking like she had, in fact, seen Hell and back, and holding two small but still steaming cups of coffee in her hands. "For you," she said tiredly, and held one out.

I didn't need convincing. "You're a god," I said, as I took a scalding sip, and we walked down the hallway together toward our first classes, ready to face the next day in a series of days.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

There was always a tomorrow. Always a morning to wake up to and a night to come home in, in various states of disrepair. And one of those nights, one of us or some or all of us might never even make it home. But still tomorrow would come. That's how it worked. The calendar didn't care about the rest.

Crossposted to 30_gens.

Prompt of the Week 6

Thu, 10 Jul 2008 13:43:36 GMT

Here's how it works. Once a week I will post prompts for you to write from. Post your response in the community or in your journal, and leave a link in a comment to the prompt post.

Prompts are "valid" for two weeks-- write your fic within two weeks and comment to receive a pixelbanner for participation (example banner below the cut). Deadlines and rewards-- that should be an encouragement!

Prompts are obviously not required to post fic to this comm. They are entirely optional. You can use any of the prompts you want-- you don't have to use all of them in one fic. Fics can be of any length over 100 words.

Participation banner example:

Prompts
1. Rachel.

2. Green.

3. No stone unturned.

4. Fly.

5. Prompt amnesty time! Write any of the prompts from week one, two, three, or four. (Week five prompts are still answerable.)

Prompt of the Week 5

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 12:52:45 GMT

Here's how it works. Once a week I will post prompts for you to write from. Post your response in the community or in your journal, and leave a link in a comment to the prompt post.

Prompts are "valid" for two weeks-- write your fic within two weeks and comment to receive a pixelbanner for participation (example banner below the cut). Deadlines and rewards-- that should be an encouragement!

Prompts are obviously not required to post fic to this comm. They are entirely optional. You can use any of the prompts you want-- you don't have to use all of them in one fic.

Participation banner example:

Prompts
1. Marco.

2. Thirty-five.

3. You always say no.

4. Watch.

5. Write a fic with an Animorph celebrating a holiday. Any holiday is fine.

Rachel/Tobias/Taylor Scratches

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 01:16:49 GMT

I used the prompt to write my first fic in 6 years. I'm rusty and out of practise, but I'm also unable to sleep so I decided to do it.
It's a ramble really, and it rambles too much I realise, but I couldn't decide on any bits to cut out.

EDIT: I also accidently tagged this as a drabble because that's what it was going to originally be, and now it's not and I can't untag it. :(

Title: Scratches
Rating: PG-13 I guess
Summary: What Tobias does with himself after Rachel and how it's changed him.
Words: 564
Etc: mentions of sex etc, spoilers for #54

Scratches, all down his back. Taylor was nothing if not an enthusiastic lover.
Tobias ran his hand down to his hip as he traced the long red abrasions, shaking his head and morphed back to hawk, turning only briefly to look at Taylor's sleeping face, wrapped in her sheets, her blond hair wildly thrusted around the pillow.
In his human morph, his eyesight was bad enough, that he could imagine what he liked, but in his own body, he couldn't pretend, couldn't squint and blur his vision.

Once again repulsed by himself, he flew into the open night. Even though he was just a hawk, sometimes his old ways returned to him, if he was still human, he would be a 21 year old man, and 21 year old men have urges. Especially emotionally wrecked, lonely 21 year old men. Most of the time he could switch it off, fly, kill, sleep; he was certainly more hawk than man. Those nights though, when the hawk brain would switch to sleep- true sleep, unlike other hawks- and his human brain crept back he would feel like his emotions could cause an explosion. Hawks can't cry, hawks can't release feelings because hawks don't have feelings. Just the hunt and the kill.

Finding Taylor alive and Yeerk free, 2 years after the Yeerk's defeat, was a shocking experience for Tobias. For two years he had not let his human brain creep in, ever. Seeing her in the park, reading a novel, his human brain had snapped back, taken control, he damn near fell out the sky. Perhaps it was because at first, he thought he had glimpsed Rachel, or perhaps it was because Taylor reminded him of the time he felt most human, most alive. The time he was tortured. He had hated her, been repulsed by her, but always felt sorry for her, for her warped and twisted brain.
He couldn't resist her, the combination of her looks, her warped and twisted personality that matched his warped and twisted life.
They were sick soul mates.
Fucking her, plain and simply, fucked him up.

They had been having these illicit relations for nigh on three years now, since the very day he saw her in the park. Still, every single time, the events transpire into him hating himself, but even he knew by now that that was the reason for him going back every time. He hated himself, he hated what had become of his life. Sex with Taylor was just material of it.

He flew past the graveyard with not even a second glance down, he hadn't so much as looked at the graveyard since her funeral. He didn't even pretend to consider going down to her grave. He didn't even think about morphing human and mourning in a natural normal way. He wasn't natural or normal anymore.

His thoughts drifted back to his night with Taylor. She was a selfish and violent lover, she punished him, made him feel bad and he could fool himself into thinking he was.

Why did Taylor do it? He neither knew nor cared. He did not try to fool himself into thinking he had feelings for her, or that he cared about her life. He didn't even know her last name.

His sweetness, his purity, his almost naiveté had died in that ship with Rachel.
He would never be the same person again.

Prompt of the Week 4

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 13:04:18 GMT

Here's how it works. Once a week I will post prompts for you to write from. Post your response in the community or in your journal, and leave a link in a comment to the prompt post.

Prompts are "valid" for two weeks-- write your fic within two weeks and comment to receive a pixelbanner for participation (example banner below the cut). Deadlines and rewards-- that should be an encouragement!

Prompts are obviously not required to post fic to this comm. They are entirely optional. You can use any of the prompts you want-- you don't have to use all of them in one fic.

Participation banner example:

Prompts
1. Ax.

2. Scratch.

3. It's your funeral.

4. Red.

5. Write a fic specifically about morphing-- getting a new one, getting stuck in one, or something like that.

Prompt 3 Response

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 22:23:24 GMT

Hey! I recently reread the entire series, and rediscovered my love of Animorphs. So I'm lurking around in fandom, and have start reading and writing fan fiction. I'm currently working on a multi chapter Marco/Rachel fic, since I noticed the sad lack thereof. My first fic, however, is a (platonic) oneshot between Rachel and Jake.

Title: Unspoken
Rating: PG
Summary: Rachel is apologising, in her own little way.
Warnings: Shitloads of swearing, angst, spoilers for #45 upward, many run on sentences.

Strongylognathus italicus

Fri, 13 Jun 2008 05:29:38 GMT

Hopefully it amuses. Done for the Prompt of the Week. Find out what the Strongylognathus Italicus is at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strongylognathus_italicus :D

Title: Strongylognathus Italicus
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Notes: Set...somewhere between books 1-54. But they're in Italy. Yes.
Word count: 346

My name is Marco. I can’t tell you my last name because there is actually a secret, deadly, invasion of two-inch space slugs.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Marco, Marco, as good-looking and charming as you are, what are you talking about? What could two inch space slugs do to the dominant race on earth, especially you, you sexy beast?’

Well not exactly those lines but I’m sure you had the same concept.

These two inch space-slugs crawl in to your ear and into your head. They flatten themselves out and wrap around brain and before you know it, you aren’t yourself. You can’t control your movements, can’t-

<MARCO!>

-talk, eat, or even breath without-

<MARCO! MOVE YOUR BUTT!!>

Oh screw it.

<AHHHHHHHHHH!> I yelled

<AHHHHHHHHHH!> Tobias screamed back at me. <MARCO! YOU ARE SUCH AN IDIOT! I HATE YOU!>

I was too busy dodging to respond. A net came crashing down on my left. A plastic box slammed itself into the dirt floor a few centimeters behind my little insect butt. I powered my six legs and flew across the floor.

“Be careful! That is the rare and beautiful Strongylognathus italicus!!” cried a guy in what I guessed to be a go-out-and-catch-poor-defenseless- animals uniform. Funny. I never realized that Gap made them.

<Why did you HAVE to pick this morph?> Tobias cried desperately as he scurried around plants and nets and plastic boxes that surrounded him.

I sighed/screamed. It was in interesting combination, sort of like the noise that guy made when Rachel discovered that he was picking on Cassie. Except maybe a bit quieter. And manlier. On the other hand, i didn't really want to think about what happened to that poor, pathetic soul.

I scurried in to a safe-haven between two rotten logs and waited for Tobias to stop screaming.

<AHHHHHHHH!! MARCO YOU ARE SO DEAD!!>

"the dead land," Jake-centric, PG

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 22:21:30 GMT

Hi! ♥ I'm delurking to post something I wrote for the Jake prompt.

Title: the dead land
Pairing: minor Jake/Cassie, but mostly Jake-centric.
Rating: PG
Notes: Set during #50 (which is as far as I've read, so this might not make sense in light of the later books).
Word count: 1212

( Without me as a leader, maybe we’d be the same kids we were when this started. )

Prompt of the Week 3

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 16:57:30 GMT

Here's how it works. Once a week I will post prompts for you to write from. Post your response in the community or in your journal, and leave a link in a comment to the prompt post.

Prompts are "valid" for two weeks-- write your fic within two weeks and comment to receive a pixelbanner for participation (example banner below the cut). Deadlines and rewards-- that should be an encouragement!

Prompts are obviously not required to post fic to this comm. They are entirely optional. You can use any of the prompts you want-- you don't have to use all of them in one fic.

Participation banner example:

Prompts
1. Tobias.

2. Listen.

3. Absolutely not.

4. When the cat is away...

5. Go to Wikipedia and click random article. Use that random article as a prompt for your fic.

Prompt of the Week 2

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 14:33:11 GMT

Here's how it works. Once a week I will post two or more prompts for you to write from, possibly ones inspired by the Animorphs rereads over at animorphs. Post your response in the community or in your journal, and leave a link in a comment to the prompt post.

Prompts are "valid" for two weeks-- write your fic within two weeks and comment to receive a pixelbanner for participation (example banner below the cut). Deadlines and rewards-- that should be an encouragement!

Prompts are obviously not required to post fic to this comm. They are entirely optional.

ETA to clarify: you can use any of the prompts you want-- you don't have to use all of them in one fic.

Participation banner example:

1. Cassie.

2. Back then.

3. Heat.

4. All I know.

5. Prompt amnesty: Use any previous prompt.

Prompt of the Week 1

Thu, 29 May 2008 14:06:48 GMT

Well, I think it's time to debut a new feature: prompts. I'm hoping that I'll remember to post these every Thursday or Friday of the week.

Here's how it works. Once a week or once every two weeks, depending on interest, I will post two or more prompts for you to write from, possibly ones inspired by the Animorphs rereads over at animorphs. Post your response in the community or in your journal, and leave a link in a comment to the prompt post.

Prompts are "valid" for two weeks-- write your fic within two weeks and comment to receive a pixelbanner for participation. Deadlines and rewards-- that should be an encouragement!

Prompts are obviously not required to post fic to this comm. They are entirely optional.

I'm going to give a few extra this week to start you off right.

1. Use any prompt from the series re-read posts at animorphs.

2. What if...

3. Flowering.

4. Jake.

5. Breathing.

New Mod Post

Wed, 21 May 2008 15:43:58 GMT

Hello, fellow Animorphs fans! I'm sorry that it took me so long to write this post, I've been unusually busy this week. My name is Rhap-chan and I'm your new mod. I'm new to this fandom community, but not to the series-- I've been an Animorphs fan for a long time. I hope that I can take care of this place with the same strength and ambition as felinephoenix did.

Consider this post a call-out for feedback-- what do YOU want to see change in this community? What do you want to stay the same? The only thing I'm really thinking about a lot is doing community challenges, maybe to correspond with the rereads at animorphs. Let me know what you think.

Contacting Me

The best place to reach your mod is by commenting here if you have an issue you don't want to address within the community.

Shades of Grey

Tue, 20 May 2008 23:23:20 GMT

What is the deal with the Shades of Grey archives? Is that site up?

When I register as a new user it sends me a password, but when I enter the password it isn't recognized.

I don't see any fic either.

Any good alternative sites?

New Mod (Drumroll, please.)

Sun, 18 May 2008 16:55:36 GMT

Our new mod is... rhap_chan! Congratulations, rhap_chan.

Afterwards (Marco/Rachel)

Wed, 14 May 2008 14:07:22 GMT

Title: Afterwards
Pairing: Marco/Rachel
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Animorphs is the property of K.A. Applegate. This fanfic is a derivative of canon material that is not my property. I do not profit from these writings. The opinions and actions expressed in these stories are not necessarily the views and beliefs of the original author or me.
Wordcount: 956
Note: Spoilers for character death. Yeah, that one. Post-series fic.
Dedication: For korochan, who made me remember what an awesome book series this is.

Excerpt: So Tobias and Ax could have the Bachelor Pad of the Weirdo Heroes and Rachel could catch the bouquet at Jake and Cassie's wedding, and then our lives would really begin and we could start pretending that the past few years never happened.

I always sort of thought we'd end up together.

It just made sense to me. She was beautiful, I was funny. Sure, there wasn't a lot of time for the romantic thing right now (how Jake and Cassie managed to spend so much time looking at each other like that and still kept the team together, I don't know), but I thought, you know, in the future, when all of this was done...

The simplest thing would be to say, let's go to a movie. Our job is done, the world is saved, and I think it owes us a summer blockbuster. Maybe even popcorn. And I'd say, let's all go. But Ax and Tobias, well, they can't really sit through a movie without distracting other patrons halfway through, right? So it would be just me and Rachel and Jake and Cassie. And of course, Jake would have his arm around Cassie or I'd have his head for cowardice.

We'd watch some sort of horror bloodbath and afterwards in Starbucks I would recount it in bloody detail, until Cassie would get all pale and Jake would have to take her home and "comfort" her, right? So it would be just me and Rachel.

We would look good together, you know.

And she would get fed up with all the blood-talk-- I don't think she likes blood much, just deals with it in order to do the job-- and ask me to stop, and I'd say there is only one way to stop me from talking, and that is a kiss.

And she would kiss me and that would be how it would go. The American public would be so grateful that they wouldn't have to build us separate mansions that we'd get a lovely parade instead.

I mean, when you think about it, what sort of relationship could she and Hawk Boy have had, anyway? Tobias, he's a great guy, but he's sort of more hawk than... guy, you know. Worse now even than he was then. What could she have done? He could have shifted into a human and left his hawk behind forever, but I know he wouldn't do it. It's in his blood now. Even in human form he squints meanly at small mammals. And Rachel could, I suppose, have shifted into a red-tailed form and left it there, but I really can't imagine her as a bird. No hair to take care of. Not to say that she was that shallow, but Rachel-- she liked being human. She burned with life. She wouldn't be content to hang out in the forest and raise hawk chicks, not my girl.

So Tobias and Ax could have the Bachelor Pad of the Weirdo Heroes and Rachel could catch the bouquet at Jake and Cassie's wedding, and then our lives would really begin and we could start pretending that the past few years never happened (which is still my goal in life that I am not really any closer to achieving, despite the mansion and the cars and Wetherbee).

But it didn't exactly work out, of course. We were fighting a war. And somehow there had been no casualties, to a point. There were... there were casualties. There were hard bits. But we were all still together. We knew each other's minds even better than we knew our own. Near the end there-- heck, near the middle-- if Jake told me to jump off a building because it would further the mission, and not to morph before I hit the ground-- I would have. I know I would have.

I can't exactly trust him like that anymore, though I know that he has just as hard of a time with it as I do. Still, you know...

My mom bought me some books when everything settled down a little. How-to-grieve books. Losing a family member. Rachel was family, even if I was in love with her. The books didn't really help, but they did mention that sometimes close-knit families, they just sort of fall apart when they lose someone. I think that's what happened with Jake and me. I haven't seen him for months, not since the talk-show circuit died back again.

There were a lot of talk shows in the beginning. I told the story until it felt like I was writing a book. Of course, telling someone the story isn't anything like experiencing it. Even when you don't want to, you leave bits out. Sometimes you leave parts out because you want to.

Because how could I get up there and tell Leno that I'd been in love with Rachel? I couldn't. I'd never told anyone. Cassie would never talk to me again. Jake would lose his temper and tell me to take life seriously for once.

I've spent so long playing the joker that I could never convince them of the truth, so I won't try. I have a girlfriend. I have my own TV show. I have the new American dream.

So why am I morphing to lobster to crawl around the bottom of my own pool?

I think it's because there is change in the air and maybe I'm not ready to lose Rachel all over again.

Looking for a host... I mean Mod & Co-Mod.

Tue, 13 May 2008 19:54:52 GMT

So, hi everybody! I'm the mod, and as some of you have noticed, I haven't exactly been doing my job for a while. I'll spare you all the "I don't have the time and interest" explanation and cut to the chase.

I'm taking applications for mod and possibly co-mod, if whoever ends up mod is interested in that. Barring any real life interruptions, I will make the decision and post the results on Sunday.

All you have to do is read these rules, fill out this form, and comment. All comments are screened.

Before you apply, know that I WILL NOT accept mods who would:

Ban fics of any rating.

Ban 'ships of any kind.

Not make sure fics are clearly labeled.

Also, I would prefer mods who:

Have modded a fanfic community before.

Have been members of animorphsfanfic for at least two months.

Are comfortable using the adult content filter on LJ.

These last three things, however, aren't requirements.

Name:
E-mail:
AIM/Yahoo!/MSN/Etc:
Mod or Co-Mod:

1. Previous modding experience? (If you're a mod or co-mod, LINK ME to your communities, please.)
2. Why would you like to mod this community?
3. If you were mod, how would you handle a disagreement between an author and a reviewer? What about someone you suspect is trolling or flaming? (If you have been a mod, LINK ME to examples, please.)
4. If you were mod, how would you tag fics? (By character, genre, pairing, rating, etc.)
5. If you were mod, would you use a rating system and/or content filter?
6. If you were mod, under what circumstances would you ban members and/or delete posts?
7. If you were mod, would you get involved with other LJ communities? (For example, would you affiliate with an Animorphs group or a fanfic challenge group?)
8. If you were mod, would issue awards or fanfic challenges? What kind of awards and/or challenges?
9. How often would you able to check on the communities?
10. How often do you read and comment on fics posted in animorphsfanfic?
11. How long have you been a member of animorphsfanfic?
12. Would you be comfortable working with a co-mod?
13. What changes would you like to see in this community?

If you have any questions, please ask me! And if you can think of any other questions I should ask, or need to rephrase, please tell me! I'd really appreciate it.

You really MUST read this.

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 02:44:20 GMT

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4195145/1/How_To_Make_An_Animorph

Just a few times you get so laugh in so few words.

Lágrimas en la oscuridad / Tears in the darkness

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 02:19:16 GMT

Edit: I made an express translation. I guess it must have several mistakes, so I'd really thank you to tell me to correct them.

Slash, Jake/Marco
PG-15 or so.

He cried noiselessly, as could do a knight in his tent after the battle, or a cub in it's lair when cold wind blows. He stayed quiet and let the tears fall in the pillow.

Marco did never understood the tears. When Jake was the one who cried, they could be either for himself or for any person on Earth.

He didn't remember when night visits and tears started, but he perfectly recalled how did they start. He recalled that one night, when Jake had felt lonely and needed to talk to somebody. Then, he had spent an hour in front of Marco's window, without daring to come in, until night felt and Marco shut out the light, and then he got in wrapped with doubts. He recalled receiving Jake, feeling like all that had already happened, in another life or a dream forgotten before dawn.

Jake had sat on the bed, whispering his sorrow within the darkness, with his shoulders and head facing down like he was embarrased of his own fragility. Marco had nodded to every word, as a part of him knew the time and tone they would be said, and had recited his answers as if thew were written on an invisible script.

One second after the last word was said, they glances crossed in the shadows, and each one read in each other's eyes what was about to happen. One second after that look, they had thrown the masks, and the lies, and everything but themselves away.

That time was the only one they talked.

Since then, Marco left his window opened every night, and Jake came or didn't came. And when he did, he arrived in the middle of the night, noiselessly, until Marco was awaken by the touch of a cool hand in his nape and a breath in his ear, and they met silently in the dark room. When everything was ended, Jake left giving him a long backward glance, without a single word.

The first times, Marco felt hurt and humiliated by that silence, and when Jake left he bit the blanket again and swear to himself that was the last time he let Jake to use him and then despise him, and left without talking when it ended. And always, time and again, it happened.

But one night, Marco felt the kiss in his mouth became bitter and salty, and when he touched Jake's cheek, found it wet. In the lapse between a heartbeat and the next, the world crashed and rearranged and silence got a new meaning. Jake didn't talk not because he despised Marco, but because he was ashamed of himself, of needing Marco so desperately and coming back and back to that room, and showing Marco a weakness that couln't admit even to himself. Suddenly, Marco was conforting him, cleaning his cheek, telling him everything was alright, everything would be alright.

That was neither a lie nor the truth. They kept being alive and together, but they still needed each other, and still went looking for each other in the darkess, to heal the wounds they hadn't received yet.

When they met in daytime didn't talk about it, as Marco's room in the night became part of a different universe, where two strangers borrowed their bodies and used them for a wordless dance.

So, every night, Marco left his window opened, and Jake came or didn't came. And when he did, he arrived in the middle of the night and awoke Marco with a cool hand, and they met silently in the dark room.

And then, Jake cried noiselessly on the pillow, like a knight, like a cub, and left without words, with a sigh and a long backward glance. Jake left and Marco felt cold.

He turned over and wrapped in the blanket, and when he fell asleep again, there were two wet spots on the pillow.

Spanish original:

Lloraba sin hacer ruido, como un guerrero en su tienda después de la batalla, o como un cachorro en su madriguera cuando sopla el viento. Se quedaba quieto y dejaba que las lágrimas cayeran en la almohada.

Marco nunca comprendió las lágrimas. Si era Jake quien lloraba, igual podían ser por sí mismo que por cada habitante de la Tierra.

No recordaba cuándo habían comenzado las visitas nocturnas y las lágrimas. En cambio, recordaba perfectamente cómo habían empezado. Recordaba que una noche, Jake se había sentido solo y había necesitado hablar con alguien. Y había pasado una hora frente a la ventana de Marco, sin decidirse a entrar, hasta que se había hecho de noche y Marco había apagado la luz, y entonces había entrado tímidamente. Recordaba haberlo recibido, sintiendo que ya había vivido lo que estaba pasando, en otra vida o en un sueño olvidado antes de despertar.

Jake se había sentando en la cama y había susurrado su dolor a oscuras, con los hombros y la cabeza caídos como si se avergonzara de su propia fragilidad. Marco había asentido a cada palabra, sintiendo que una parte suya sabía en qué momento y tono serían dichas, y había recitado sus respuestas como si estuvieran escritas en un guión.

Un segundo después de la última palabra, sus miradas se encontraron en la sombra y cada uno leyó en los ojos del otro lo que iba a suceder. Un segundo después de esa mirada, se habían desprendido de las máscaras y las mentiras y todo lo que no fuera ellos mismos.

Esa fue la única vez que hablaron.

Desde entonces, Marco dejaba la ventana abierta cada noche, y Jake venía o no venía. Y cuando venía, llegaba en mitad de la noche, sin hacer ruido, hasta que Marco despertaba por el contacto de una mano fresca en su nuca y una respiración en su oído, y se encontraban silenciosamente en la habitación oscura. Cuando todo terminaba, Jake se marchaba con una larga mirada hacia atrás, sin decir nada.

Las primeras veces, Marco se sintió herido, humillado por ese silencio, y cuando Jake se iba mordía otra vez la sábana y se juraba a sí mismo que esa era la última vez que le permitía a Jake utilizarlo y luego despreciarlo, e irse sin dirigirle la palabra cuando todo terminaba. Y siempre, una y otra vez, todo volvía a suceder.

Pero una noche, Marco sintió que el beso se volvía salado y amargo en su boca, y al tocar la mejilla de Jake la encontró mojada. Entre un latido del corazón y el siguiente, el mundo se partió en pedazos y se volvió a armar, y el silencio adquirió un nuevo significado. Jake no hablaba no porque lo despreciara a él, sino porque se avergonzaba de sí mismo, de necesitarlo tan desesperadamente que continuaba volviendo a ese cuarto una y otra vez, y de exponer ante Marco una debilidad que no podía admitir ni siquiera ante sí mismo. De pronto, Marco se descubrió consolándolo, secándole las mejillas, diciéndole en voz baja que todo estaba bien, que todo iba a ir bien.

Eso no fue una mentira, pero tampoco fue verdad. Continuaron vivos y juntos, pero seguían necesitándose el uno al otro, y buscándose en la oscuridad para sanar las heridas que aún no recibían.

Al encontrarse durante el día no hablaban de eso, como si la habitación de Marco por la noche se volviera parte de un universo distinto, en el que dos extraños tomaban prestados sus cuerpos para una danza muda.

Entonces, cada noche, Marco dejaba la ventana abierta y Jake venía o no venía. Y cuando venía, llegaba en mitad de la noche y sin hacer ruido y despertaba a Marco con una mano fresca, y se encontraban silenciosamente en la habitación oscura.

Y después, Jake lloraba sobre la almohada sin hacer ruido, como un guerrero, como un cachorro, y se iba sin palabras, con un suspiro y una larga mirada hacia atrás. Jake se iba y Marco sentía frío.

Se daba la vuelta y se envolvía en la manta, y para cuando volvía a dormirse, en la almohada quedaban dos manchas de humedad.

Edit: I've just read Nameless. It's kind of the same idea...

fic : multiple realities

Tue, 15 Apr 2008 20:37:09 GMT

title : Multiple Realities.
pairing : Gen.
fandom : Animorphs.
wordcount : 370.
notes : It's sad I've been intending to write this for like two months, considering the length.
summary : A casual discussion of alternate realities, in which Marco is retarded as per usual.

( multiple realities )

Hello!

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 14:25:21 GMT

Hello there, Animorphs fans! I am new of this community, but a very old fan of the books. I live in Italy, but I fell SO in love with Animorphs back then, that I bought all the volumes that were not published here through internet (all the mega, the chronicles and the alterna, not to mention the last two books that the italian publisher didn't want to publish because "they were pointless for the end of the series" as if. -.-).
I am not new to the fandom nor to fanfic writing, but this is my first Animorphs fic ever :) I hope there are still fans active in this community that are willing to give it a try. ^^ hi everyone!

Title: With my eyes
Rating: PG–13, I guess.
Summary: Choices. Decisions. Sand flowing through his clawed hands. He owns nothing, not even his life.
Characters: Drode.
EXPLANATION FOR SHOT: Shot in Drode POV. Strange. I don’t like him. I don’t. but I wanted to explore this character of him, and I just had to write it this way.

Please, try it!

With my eyes

By MF

I am silent for a second, a second where I am not supposed to appear, that single second where I can hesitate before moving forwards; I just stare at them, pathetic–looking humans, a species that, if Master can help, will disappear, sooner or later.

Presumably sooner.

They look so weak and young, to my eyes. And I’ve seen many races in my long life. If life can it be called, for my creation was for the sole purpose of bringing destruction. Enjoying the pain. Taunt, talk, offer, laugh. That is what I am, that is why I was created.

When the command comes, I will face them, allow the group to see me again, and I will use my knowledge of them to break their will, spat on their beliefs, taunt them and work against everything the Ellimist is fighting for, just like Master wants; what a pathetic, annoyingly weak being is the Ellimist, playing a game against my master.

Master knows what to do, he knows better than to allow defeat. Especially against a loser.

Oh, yes. I know. I know everything my master wants me to, and nothing more. In a sense, I play as a joker, an incognita. But I know, I am no more than a pawn myself. No more than a tool… the slave of Crayak.

And yet, I live to be so. I have never known anything else. It makes sense, because there is no other option.

I enjoy destroying because Crayak wanted me to.

With eyes that only belong to me, in a whole, infinite universe, I can stare at the non–planet I live into, and see it. See the species that inhabit it with me, species created for the sole aim to destroy and maim… all of them had something in common, and it was the dangerous look in their eyes –or what they had for eyes.

I was no exception.

I am where the Animorphs are, ready to move at Crayak’s command, but a part of me is still on that non–world, filled with darkness. Duality, as humans call it. But it is a part of my spirit that moves, not my real self. I do not have this power, and Crayak never allowed me to.

With my eyes, I stare around me. Everything is covered with shadows, but not enough to obscure my vision.

In this world of darkness many live together, species and races, strange mixes, things no sane mind would ever dream of creating, and still, they were alive. Creatures with no hands nor legs, but with mouths so wide they could eat any creature with a single swallow, creatures with a thousand claws growing from their mutated body, with barely enough brain to know not to try and eat one of their own species, creatures with protuberances that one could call wings, flapping them in the thick, greasy air of the atmosphere, screeching with their voices as they moved.

I have time to waste in here, waiting for my master to call. Waiting for him to need my services; of all the races populating this non–planet, shed from reality, hidden from reality, I am the only one with that pleasure, the only one he could call. A creature my master had created to be his intermediary.

Only I, amongst all those low–lives, am allowed to play.

And I wait, once more with my attention reverted to the Animorphs. It’s always too easy to play with their minds.

I look at them with my eyes, eyes that can see fairly well, and I laugh inwardly. Jake, fearless leader, weak, idiotic, a killer with a soul. He will stare, no fear, no hesitation, simply waiting for me to do my bidding.

Cassie, peace–lover, let’s–kill–them–then–cry–for–them… I can see the hurt in her eyes, it’s far too easy to touch her cords and wait for her reaction. So easy to break. The easier so far…

Ax and Tobias, genetically similar when their species are so different. Their glares are filled with a sad kind of fear. A few words are enough to destroy their carefully constructed barrier, I can’t wait to do so.

So easy.

Marco… with his sweet, sweet mum lost somewhere in the Yeerk controlled space. They are all so easily fooled. It’s not even funny to break them.

Rachel… the only one I truly like. She would enjoy being a creation of Crayak. She is perfect, she enjoys war, fighting… she is born to fight.

And she resists the allure I bring. Master Crayak has a special bet on–going for her… but Ellimist is still denying it, and so is the girl. It is no use, whether she agrees or not, she is just a tool.

Like me.

I wait there, and it’s only now, it’s only with them, that I allow myself to wonder. I enjoy their suffering, I want more –it pleases me, it pleases my master. I would never even think about refusing, because it’s too much fun.

The Animorphs can’t understand, they hate me.

They can’t understand why I take so much pleasure in their pain, nor why I continue, torturing them mentally without actually doing anything for them.

They are so interesting, and so pathetic.

I was created to be what I am. I did not choose which way to walk, I did not decide to work for Crayak –my master created me like this.

Sick, twisted pleasure. Knowing deep down, there is no other life for me.

I hate the Animorphs.

Just like they hate me, I hate them, with so much raw power, I hate them. I will rejoice the pain I cause them, I will savour each droplet of fear that surfaces in their eyes, drink in the cracks of their shields, until my master deems it’s time to stop.

It is comforting to know I can hate them on my own, that the hatred I have for all sentient and non species is not due only by Crayak’s desires… that my master has control on me, but not complete control on my brain.

Everything I am is Crayak’s desire. Everything I feel, is because Master wanted me to. Everything I do, is what he wants. I don’t have identity, I don’t have a life.

I hate the Animorphs. They were forced into a stupid war that is nothing but a game, and yet they retain their freedom. They have a chance. They have a choice. They can stop or continue, whether they use it. But they still have it.

They have the choice to decide for their lives.

I have not.

I will never feel anything but desire to destroy. I will never get to choose between Crayak’s option or something else. I will never step away from that dark non–world, unable to decide for myself.

If I were able to feel envy, I am sure I would for them. I hate them so much. I hate Ellimist. A part of me knows I would hate Crayak, too, but I can’t. I am his, and he dictates my entire life. I watch emotionlessly everything that is not destruction or taunt, because it makes me feel nothing. And yet… I know. I know I should feel something else, and this inability is what I am.

I can’t but hate.

Go, my master says.

Enjoy the pain.

And I obey.

The Incredible Xena [1/?]

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 17:38:45 GMT

Title: The Incredible Xena
Author: Felinephoenix's Evil Twin
Rating: PG, I guess, for swearing and some innuendo. (Gasp!)
Characters: Rachel, The One, Tobias, Jake, Marco.
Summary: Coming back from the dead is just one of Rachel's problems.
Spoilers: Post #54

Author's Notes: Another old-but-unfinished fic I finally finished. Might end up as part of a series, might not. We'll see.

( My eyes hadn't been working in a few years, so it was going to take them a while to get used to this sight thing. Still, I had a vague awareness of two things: a pair of hands holding me down and that I was lying on my back. And no, I'm sorry, this isn't that kind of story. And any chance of it turning into that kind of story was kind of killed by what happened next. )

The Imaginary Man

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 17:31:29 GMT

Title: The Imaginary Man
Author: Some chick who is not me. (Oh, wait, it is me.)
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Loren/Elfangor, Tobias
Summary: Loren knows it can't be real, and this isn't the time to think about it, but she can't get the memories of him out of her mind.
Spoilers: OMG ELFANGOR IS TOBIAS'S DADDY!!1

Author's Notes: This is an old fic I finished, but never got around to posting, then reworked. Kind of an AU.

( But he's not going to hear me for much longer because my family thinks he's better off with them. Because I'm poor. Because Daddy left. Because Mommy has become a nutcase because she keeps imagining herself married to someone who couldn't be Daddy, because the Imaginary Man actually cares about Tobias. )

Mon, 10 Mar 2008 12:08:29 GMT

Title: don't think of the places you should have been
Rating: PG
Characters: Marco, Eva
Summary: Post-war AU.

( He can (almost) start to breathe easily. )