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animorphsljI was putting together a little fanfic/art journal so I could keep all my fics and doodles of various fandom together and link them easily, when I realized I'd never posted this one anywhere. It's an older one, but I'm still rather fond of it. =3 I'd never done a fic in this format (four scenarios from one or more alternate universe(s) which exist(s) as a result of a changing a single element, documenting how this change effects the canon, then a final scene contrasting the actual canon reality) before... and then there was a prompt somewhere to try one out. So I did, but it took much longer to get it worked out and filed down and fine-tuned than the prompt deadline allowed. =X So I kind of let this one collect dust.
You should read it, though. =D
Title: Four Places Loren Has Never Been (And One She Has)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Loren/Elfangor, baby!Ax, Tobias
Warnings: Not much. A teeny bit of iffy language, some angst, and a second or two of naked teenager Loren. Spoilers for the end of the series.
Wordcount: 2500
--
It’s a space station, she guesses. It’s nothing like the space stations she’s seen on TV. For one thing, Andalites seem to have some sort of nervous aversion to straight lines; every shape is stunningly organic and nothing has any sort of pattern or geometry. It’s surrounded by an expansive field, seemingly guarded by a line of trees that look like they were fresh-picked from a Dr. Suess book.
Elfangor is silent as the ship lowers itself onto the docking bay, and then the door is sliding open, and Loren feels her heart racing, suddenly, because everything is new and fantastic and thrilling. They step out onto lush grass that feels incredible beneath her bare feet, plush and soft like satin, and dotted with tiny white flowers, their petals open to the sun. This is the city, then- a cluster of shallow holes with steel covers to keep out the rain, yet open to the sky, surrounding this nest of a space station that cradles its fighter ships in its concave curve. There are trees, here, or at least the alien equivalent- with brilliant orange bark and violet leaves, with foot-long needles the color of a robin’s egg, with gnarled, curled trunks that shoot out of the ground and end in pink spikes pointed straight up at the sky.
It is quite nearly silent, except for one bird, pale-blue and with at least six wings, soaring in slow circles over their heads. The sun is rising, here, staining the sky in amazing amorphous patterns.
She feels a strong hand with a few more fingers than she is used to against the small of her back and, despite herself, her pulse quickens.
“This is Paradise,” she whispers.
--
“Are you sure this will work?” Loren asks, slowly. She’s nervous, and she’s not entirely sure why. She takes her top off and drops it onto the ground, staring accusingly at the back of Elfangor’s head. Not that she thinks he’ll try to sneak a peek. Not that, with that many eyes, she could stop him if he did.
[Of course it will work.] Elfangor sounds personally offended that she would question his peoples’ technology. [Regardless of your original DNA, the morphing technology is designed to alter the basic essence of the double helix from the most rudimentary elements of deoxy-]
“Sure. Okay,” she growls, stepping gingerly out of her jeans. She feels incredibly exposed, even safely enclosed in Elfangor’s ship. “A yes or no answer would have been perfect.”
She doesn’t mean to snap, but she is nervous.
When the changes begin, they’re startling to say the least. Her spine extending is the first of them, and it happens in a second and a half. For a moment she is awkwardly off-skew, slouched over in a severe hunch that feels like it really, really should be painful with this dead thing hanging off her rear that she assumes ought to be a tail, and then a new set of limbs develops and her spine curls backward just a few vertebrae before the new shoulder blade, and her thighs get shorter but broader, her ankles elongate, new muscles develop. It is horrifying. She is this mutant blend of human and decidedly not human and she feels like she should scream, but at that moment her lips fuse together and then her teeth fuse together and her scream vibrates her throat but does not emerge.
Soft, purple fur sprouts; her nose flattens as the nostrils grow into slits; her eyes widen and the colors and outlines of everything around her sharpen as soon as her nerves and her brain have altered to accommodate her new ocular capabilities. Her ears grow larger and come to a point. Her toes fuse together, her tail- her tail- lifts and curls and a short blade sprouts from the end of it.
When the changes stop, it’s nearly as sudden and disturbing as when they began.
[Are you finished yet?]
She checks. She checks every detail, just to make sure, but it certainly seems as though she is. Hooves, check. Fur, check. Scorpion tail, check.
[I think so.]
He turns around and, suddenly, the Andalite instincts hit Loren full-force, and she realizes that he is beautiful, she realizes that she loves him.
They spend the two hours walking together under the brilliant Andalite sun, unconsciously eating as they wander. Elfangor has grown up here, and he knows every nook and cranny of the field and the woods beyond it. Loren watches amazing, strange creatures dart and shoot in and out of the foliage around them as her life as a human falls away from her, one second at a time, one minute at a time.
There is a waterfall, hidden in the forest. It glitters pristine blue as it tumbles from between two huge, silver rocks and plunges into a deep, nearly purple pool. Elfangor takes her hand and leads her to the surface and teaches her the morning ritual in a calm and loving voice.
In turn, she tells him about her human beliefs, and he tries not to laugh.
[If there could ever be such a thing,] he tells her, and holds her shoulders in his delicate hands, [then this is Eden.]
--
It’s been more than five years, but Loren still isn’t used to being an Andalite. Oh, physically, she gets by- she’s even learning how to use her tail to defend herself, although the learning process is slow going. Sometimes, perhaps, she finds herself accidentally staring at someone with one of her stalk eyes because trying to keep them occupied at the same time as her main eyes requires much more thought that she’s used to- for the most part, though, she has the physical aspect of being Andalite down pat. But the nature of the Andalite- the cheerful, optimistic instincts warring against their society’s harsh mannerisms- continues to baffle her. She does not trust half the War-Princes her Elfangor fights for, and she worries about him when he is gone. And his child of a little brother never ceases to amuse her, always pretending to be the dignified warrior, even when he trips over his own tail or gets in trouble for sleeping through class.
[Tell me again how Brother Elfangor fried the Yeerks, Aunt Loren!] he demands, dancing a little in place on his delicate hooves. He always wants war stories, and his victim is always either his brother, or his brother’s wife. Loren smiles an Andalite smile, but she wonders how he would do, in actual combat. Soon, she fears, he will be considered an Aristh by his people, and he will be taken as a noncombatant on a military ship.
She cannot imagine little Aximili as a warrior.
[Did he decimate their ship with Shredder fire, or did he board their ship to tail-fight them all first?] The diminutive Andalite arcs his tail in a perfect curve, as though attacking some make-believe Controller in front of him. [I bet Brother Elfangor could tail-fight anyone. I bet Brother Elfangor could tail-fight Visser One.]
Loren whispers, [I hope he never has to.]
Aximili’s wide green eyes fix on her. [Why?] he asked, sounding truly confused. [You know he would win.]
And Loren wants to tell him why, but what right does she have to break his idealized vision of his brother? What right does she have to crush his black-and-white, easy perspective of war?
She doesn’t have to, though. [Let’s not go looking for warfare, little brother,] a third thought-speak voice interjects, and Loren spins on her hind hooves. [We have plenty enough as it is.] He has left the space station without either of them noticing, somehow; they didn’t even see his Fighter landing, and now there he is, walking towards them like some sort of amazing visage, all pride and nobility.
[Brother Elfangor!] Aximili takes off, charging across the meadow towards his older brother, hooves flashing in the strong sunlight. He runs three tight circuits around Elfangor, who has trouble following the smaller Andalite even with his stalk eyes, and then skids to a stop and waves his tail blade back and forth. [I learned a new combat style, Brother Elfangor! Let me show you how to do this…]
Loren walks towards him much more sedately, all four of her eyes glued to him. He gives her a weak smile with his eyes, and then turns back to his brother. [Give me a moment alone with Aunt Loren, Aximili-kala, and then we will talk about your combat styles.]
Aximili complains, at first. His brother has been gone for what seems like an eternity to a young child, but eventually he complies, drawing himself up with an assumed dignity, answering his brother as an aristh would answer his Prince- and then chases off after a wild Kafit bird. Elfangor lies down in the grass, and Loren follows suit, her flank against his.
She knows he has something to say, and so she waits for him to say it. He doesn’t make her wait long.
[I’m worried that they might make it to Earth.]
She doesn’t want to worry, but she does. He touches her hand, and she touches his face, and she loves him, she really does.
[I will do my best to protect your home, Loren.]
She doesn’t want him to, though. She wants him to stay here, safe, with her and Aximili. He is so, so, so much more important to her than all of planet Earth.
She puts her head against his chest and whispers, [This is home.]
-
The other female Andalite is a bent, thick-bodied creature, her once-beautiful purple fur almost entirely tanned with age. She runs thick-knuckled hands over Loren’s back and nods her triangular head, her stalk-eyes drooping a little as she considers the curve and weight of the younger female’s body. [Yes,] she says, after a long pause. [It is what you thought.]
Lorens hearts hammer. She can feel the blood rushing through her veins in her throat, her arms, her legs. Everywhere. [You’re sure?]
The elder seems offended by her doubt. [Of course I’m sure,] she says, rising unsteadily to her hooves, her narrow and knobbly legs straining to support her thick trunk. [I have never been wrong about such things. When does Prince Elfangor return to hear the news?]
Loren barely hears her. She feels like she is miles away. Her skin is tingling, her hearts are pounding, she feels like she is floating. Distantly, she says, [In only a few weeks. He says the Yeerks have only light forces on the planet Earth. The Dome Ship will wipe them out, orbit Earth for a few days to wait for any other problems, and then circle back home.]
Earth. Was it strange she could barely remember what it looked like? She remembers a waterfall cascading down a cliff, and every now and again she will try to run through the names of the trees in her head. Oak. Maple. Pine.
There were more, but she can never reach them. Willow? There were fruit trees. Apple trees. Orange trees. Grape trees. Did grapes grow on trees?
[And young Aximili is with him?] the elder asks, breaking for a moment Loren’s distraction.
[Yes,] she responds, and shakes her head, smiling in the Andalite way- with her eyes. [I miss them. But they will be so happy when I tell them.] She touches the broad curve of her cervine belly and imagines that she can feel the shape of her child inside her. Her child. Elfangor’s child.
[This is a good place, to raise a son,] the elder says.
A son. A good place to raise a son.
Her son.
[Yes,] Loren responds, and even though the words come directly from her mind, they still sound breathless. [This is the perfect place to raise a son. This is heaven.]
--
It is the last stretch of war, the final sprint in the marathon to save Earth that must have seemed to go on forever for the six children that have seen it through. The home team lives in tents and lean-to's in the woods, squatting in the mud like beggars, eating canned food cooked over a campfire. They live with aliens- all sorts and shapes of alien- and talk in gloomy tones, sometimes about the weather or celebrities or whether the world has caught on, yet, and sometimes about what life will be like, when all of mankind has been harnessed as tools of the Yeerks.
The Hork-Bajir valley is a wonderful place, but the enemy has found it. It is time for a final stand and then a fighting retreat. Loren stands beside Rachel’s mother, Naomi, and Marco’s mother, Eva, and tries to prepare herself for combat. Slowly, her fingers weave through Champ’s thick, coarse fur. She can see everything, now, thanks to her son, but she is so used to blindness that her other senses compensate for her sight reflexively, even though they don’t need to anymore. The smell of the mud, of human sweat, of alien fear. The smell of animals. The taste of clean mountain air. She hates this war, and she is merely a cadet. She’s barely stuck a toe in the current of the war.
She listens to Jake talking to Marco and Rachel, and for a moment she allows herself to believe that he is not, he cannot be a child. None of them can be children. She cannot bear the thought of children speaking, acting, behaving like this.
And then there is her own son.
Tobias sits on a tree branch, calmly preening his tailfeathers with his harshly curved beak. She does not understand. He is her son- she has seen her features in his human face- and yet he is not her son. A human and yet an animal.
She knows nothing of his world. But then, he knows nothing of her world, either. Maybe- maybe- if she had come back for him once her life had been straightened out, if she had raised him as her own, if she had protected him from the harsh realities of the world, things would have turned out much different for him. Sometimes, she is sick with regret that she had never done any of those things.
But then, perhaps a sheltered, balanced, entirely human Tobias would have been too weak to carry the world on his shoulders.
[Loren,] he says, in a voice that echoes inside her head. She cannot adapt to this thought-speak; it unnerves her.
“I’m ready, Tobias,” she tells him, and fakes a smile.
[No, you aren’t,] he says, flatly. [No one is ever ready for their first battle.]
He is so sure, so jaded, so tired. Loren looks away.
[Just brace yourself, Loren. War isn’t the pretty picture they paint in history textbooks. This is the nasty kind of war. This is fast, this is brutal.]
She looks at him and is taken aback by the harsh golden glare he is forever giving the world. Earth has the most spectacular animals- hawks, eagles, tigers, bears. Loren wishes she were anywhere else in the galaxy.
[This is Hell.]
You should read it, though. =D
Title: Four Places Loren Has Never Been (And One She Has)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Loren/Elfangor, baby!Ax, Tobias
Warnings: Not much. A teeny bit of iffy language, some angst, and a second or two of naked teenager Loren. Spoilers for the end of the series.
Wordcount: 2500
--
It’s a space station, she guesses. It’s nothing like the space stations she’s seen on TV. For one thing, Andalites seem to have some sort of nervous aversion to straight lines; every shape is stunningly organic and nothing has any sort of pattern or geometry. It’s surrounded by an expansive field, seemingly guarded by a line of trees that look like they were fresh-picked from a Dr. Suess book.
Elfangor is silent as the ship lowers itself onto the docking bay, and then the door is sliding open, and Loren feels her heart racing, suddenly, because everything is new and fantastic and thrilling. They step out onto lush grass that feels incredible beneath her bare feet, plush and soft like satin, and dotted with tiny white flowers, their petals open to the sun. This is the city, then- a cluster of shallow holes with steel covers to keep out the rain, yet open to the sky, surrounding this nest of a space station that cradles its fighter ships in its concave curve. There are trees, here, or at least the alien equivalent- with brilliant orange bark and violet leaves, with foot-long needles the color of a robin’s egg, with gnarled, curled trunks that shoot out of the ground and end in pink spikes pointed straight up at the sky.
It is quite nearly silent, except for one bird, pale-blue and with at least six wings, soaring in slow circles over their heads. The sun is rising, here, staining the sky in amazing amorphous patterns.
She feels a strong hand with a few more fingers than she is used to against the small of her back and, despite herself, her pulse quickens.
“This is Paradise,” she whispers.
--
“Are you sure this will work?” Loren asks, slowly. She’s nervous, and she’s not entirely sure why. She takes her top off and drops it onto the ground, staring accusingly at the back of Elfangor’s head. Not that she thinks he’ll try to sneak a peek. Not that, with that many eyes, she could stop him if he did.
[Of course it will work.] Elfangor sounds personally offended that she would question his peoples’ technology. [Regardless of your original DNA, the morphing technology is designed to alter the basic essence of the double helix from the most rudimentary elements of deoxy-]
“Sure. Okay,” she growls, stepping gingerly out of her jeans. She feels incredibly exposed, even safely enclosed in Elfangor’s ship. “A yes or no answer would have been perfect.”
She doesn’t mean to snap, but she is nervous.
When the changes begin, they’re startling to say the least. Her spine extending is the first of them, and it happens in a second and a half. For a moment she is awkwardly off-skew, slouched over in a severe hunch that feels like it really, really should be painful with this dead thing hanging off her rear that she assumes ought to be a tail, and then a new set of limbs develops and her spine curls backward just a few vertebrae before the new shoulder blade, and her thighs get shorter but broader, her ankles elongate, new muscles develop. It is horrifying. She is this mutant blend of human and decidedly not human and she feels like she should scream, but at that moment her lips fuse together and then her teeth fuse together and her scream vibrates her throat but does not emerge.
Soft, purple fur sprouts; her nose flattens as the nostrils grow into slits; her eyes widen and the colors and outlines of everything around her sharpen as soon as her nerves and her brain have altered to accommodate her new ocular capabilities. Her ears grow larger and come to a point. Her toes fuse together, her tail- her tail- lifts and curls and a short blade sprouts from the end of it.
When the changes stop, it’s nearly as sudden and disturbing as when they began.
[Are you finished yet?]
She checks. She checks every detail, just to make sure, but it certainly seems as though she is. Hooves, check. Fur, check. Scorpion tail, check.
[I think so.]
He turns around and, suddenly, the Andalite instincts hit Loren full-force, and she realizes that he is beautiful, she realizes that she loves him.
They spend the two hours walking together under the brilliant Andalite sun, unconsciously eating as they wander. Elfangor has grown up here, and he knows every nook and cranny of the field and the woods beyond it. Loren watches amazing, strange creatures dart and shoot in and out of the foliage around them as her life as a human falls away from her, one second at a time, one minute at a time.
There is a waterfall, hidden in the forest. It glitters pristine blue as it tumbles from between two huge, silver rocks and plunges into a deep, nearly purple pool. Elfangor takes her hand and leads her to the surface and teaches her the morning ritual in a calm and loving voice.
In turn, she tells him about her human beliefs, and he tries not to laugh.
[If there could ever be such a thing,] he tells her, and holds her shoulders in his delicate hands, [then this is Eden.]
--
It’s been more than five years, but Loren still isn’t used to being an Andalite. Oh, physically, she gets by- she’s even learning how to use her tail to defend herself, although the learning process is slow going. Sometimes, perhaps, she finds herself accidentally staring at someone with one of her stalk eyes because trying to keep them occupied at the same time as her main eyes requires much more thought that she’s used to- for the most part, though, she has the physical aspect of being Andalite down pat. But the nature of the Andalite- the cheerful, optimistic instincts warring against their society’s harsh mannerisms- continues to baffle her. She does not trust half the War-Princes her Elfangor fights for, and she worries about him when he is gone. And his child of a little brother never ceases to amuse her, always pretending to be the dignified warrior, even when he trips over his own tail or gets in trouble for sleeping through class.
[Tell me again how Brother Elfangor fried the Yeerks, Aunt Loren!] he demands, dancing a little in place on his delicate hooves. He always wants war stories, and his victim is always either his brother, or his brother’s wife. Loren smiles an Andalite smile, but she wonders how he would do, in actual combat. Soon, she fears, he will be considered an Aristh by his people, and he will be taken as a noncombatant on a military ship.
She cannot imagine little Aximili as a warrior.
[Did he decimate their ship with Shredder fire, or did he board their ship to tail-fight them all first?] The diminutive Andalite arcs his tail in a perfect curve, as though attacking some make-believe Controller in front of him. [I bet Brother Elfangor could tail-fight anyone. I bet Brother Elfangor could tail-fight Visser One.]
Loren whispers, [I hope he never has to.]
Aximili’s wide green eyes fix on her. [Why?] he asked, sounding truly confused. [You know he would win.]
And Loren wants to tell him why, but what right does she have to break his idealized vision of his brother? What right does she have to crush his black-and-white, easy perspective of war?
She doesn’t have to, though. [Let’s not go looking for warfare, little brother,] a third thought-speak voice interjects, and Loren spins on her hind hooves. [We have plenty enough as it is.] He has left the space station without either of them noticing, somehow; they didn’t even see his Fighter landing, and now there he is, walking towards them like some sort of amazing visage, all pride and nobility.
[Brother Elfangor!] Aximili takes off, charging across the meadow towards his older brother, hooves flashing in the strong sunlight. He runs three tight circuits around Elfangor, who has trouble following the smaller Andalite even with his stalk eyes, and then skids to a stop and waves his tail blade back and forth. [I learned a new combat style, Brother Elfangor! Let me show you how to do this…]
Loren walks towards him much more sedately, all four of her eyes glued to him. He gives her a weak smile with his eyes, and then turns back to his brother. [Give me a moment alone with Aunt Loren, Aximili-kala, and then we will talk about your combat styles.]
Aximili complains, at first. His brother has been gone for what seems like an eternity to a young child, but eventually he complies, drawing himself up with an assumed dignity, answering his brother as an aristh would answer his Prince- and then chases off after a wild Kafit bird. Elfangor lies down in the grass, and Loren follows suit, her flank against his.
She knows he has something to say, and so she waits for him to say it. He doesn’t make her wait long.
[I’m worried that they might make it to Earth.]
She doesn’t want to worry, but she does. He touches her hand, and she touches his face, and she loves him, she really does.
[I will do my best to protect your home, Loren.]
She doesn’t want him to, though. She wants him to stay here, safe, with her and Aximili. He is so, so, so much more important to her than all of planet Earth.
She puts her head against his chest and whispers, [This is home.]
-
The other female Andalite is a bent, thick-bodied creature, her once-beautiful purple fur almost entirely tanned with age. She runs thick-knuckled hands over Loren’s back and nods her triangular head, her stalk-eyes drooping a little as she considers the curve and weight of the younger female’s body. [Yes,] she says, after a long pause. [It is what you thought.]
Lorens hearts hammer. She can feel the blood rushing through her veins in her throat, her arms, her legs. Everywhere. [You’re sure?]
The elder seems offended by her doubt. [Of course I’m sure,] she says, rising unsteadily to her hooves, her narrow and knobbly legs straining to support her thick trunk. [I have never been wrong about such things. When does Prince Elfangor return to hear the news?]
Loren barely hears her. She feels like she is miles away. Her skin is tingling, her hearts are pounding, she feels like she is floating. Distantly, she says, [In only a few weeks. He says the Yeerks have only light forces on the planet Earth. The Dome Ship will wipe them out, orbit Earth for a few days to wait for any other problems, and then circle back home.]
Earth. Was it strange she could barely remember what it looked like? She remembers a waterfall cascading down a cliff, and every now and again she will try to run through the names of the trees in her head. Oak. Maple. Pine.
There were more, but she can never reach them. Willow? There were fruit trees. Apple trees. Orange trees. Grape trees. Did grapes grow on trees?
[And young Aximili is with him?] the elder asks, breaking for a moment Loren’s distraction.
[Yes,] she responds, and shakes her head, smiling in the Andalite way- with her eyes. [I miss them. But they will be so happy when I tell them.] She touches the broad curve of her cervine belly and imagines that she can feel the shape of her child inside her. Her child. Elfangor’s child.
[This is a good place, to raise a son,] the elder says.
A son. A good place to raise a son.
Her son.
[Yes,] Loren responds, and even though the words come directly from her mind, they still sound breathless. [This is the perfect place to raise a son. This is heaven.]
--
It is the last stretch of war, the final sprint in the marathon to save Earth that must have seemed to go on forever for the six children that have seen it through. The home team lives in tents and lean-to's in the woods, squatting in the mud like beggars, eating canned food cooked over a campfire. They live with aliens- all sorts and shapes of alien- and talk in gloomy tones, sometimes about the weather or celebrities or whether the world has caught on, yet, and sometimes about what life will be like, when all of mankind has been harnessed as tools of the Yeerks.
The Hork-Bajir valley is a wonderful place, but the enemy has found it. It is time for a final stand and then a fighting retreat. Loren stands beside Rachel’s mother, Naomi, and Marco’s mother, Eva, and tries to prepare herself for combat. Slowly, her fingers weave through Champ’s thick, coarse fur. She can see everything, now, thanks to her son, but she is so used to blindness that her other senses compensate for her sight reflexively, even though they don’t need to anymore. The smell of the mud, of human sweat, of alien fear. The smell of animals. The taste of clean mountain air. She hates this war, and she is merely a cadet. She’s barely stuck a toe in the current of the war.
She listens to Jake talking to Marco and Rachel, and for a moment she allows herself to believe that he is not, he cannot be a child. None of them can be children. She cannot bear the thought of children speaking, acting, behaving like this.
And then there is her own son.
Tobias sits on a tree branch, calmly preening his tailfeathers with his harshly curved beak. She does not understand. He is her son- she has seen her features in his human face- and yet he is not her son. A human and yet an animal.
She knows nothing of his world. But then, he knows nothing of her world, either. Maybe- maybe- if she had come back for him once her life had been straightened out, if she had raised him as her own, if she had protected him from the harsh realities of the world, things would have turned out much different for him. Sometimes, she is sick with regret that she had never done any of those things.
But then, perhaps a sheltered, balanced, entirely human Tobias would have been too weak to carry the world on his shoulders.
[Loren,] he says, in a voice that echoes inside her head. She cannot adapt to this thought-speak; it unnerves her.
“I’m ready, Tobias,” she tells him, and fakes a smile.
[No, you aren’t,] he says, flatly. [No one is ever ready for their first battle.]
He is so sure, so jaded, so tired. Loren looks away.
[Just brace yourself, Loren. War isn’t the pretty picture they paint in history textbooks. This is the nasty kind of war. This is fast, this is brutal.]
She looks at him and is taken aback by the harsh golden glare he is forever giving the world. Earth has the most spectacular animals- hawks, eagles, tigers, bears. Loren wishes she were anywhere else in the galaxy.
[This is Hell.]
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 04:53 am (UTC)Thankyou! =D
no subject
Date: 2011-08-21 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 04:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-21 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 04:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 04:13 am (UTC)That said, I'm starting to take issue with stuff like this: He is so, so, so much more important to her than all of planet Earth.
I'm probably just reading too many feminist blogs, and I get the purpose behind it, but this doesn't really seem "Loren" to me. She'd worry about Earth, and I think part of her would be resentful that she couldn't do anything to help it. She's more than capable of lying in her bed once she's made it, but she never struck me as the type to pine and worry without at least wanting to partake in the action. She had her own agency, her own drive. I don't think she'd so willingly resign herself to that kind of submission.
That said, I get that this is a counterpoint to what we actually got in canon, and maybe this is some indulgent, idle fantasy that even the most grizzled and strong people are capable of creating. I guess what's best about this is that there are so many ways to read exactly what the AU is--some Ellimist trick, an imagined scene, maybe one of Elfangor's fantasies. You do a great job creating an optimistic, beautiful, yet perhaps unrealistic escape in the eye of the reality Loren is living, and it is a jarring portrait. Well done.
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Date: 2011-08-22 04:47 am (UTC)Don't get me wrong- I love my feminist blogs, and I'm not one to believe that romance trumps everything-else-in-life in actuality- perhaps that's one reason I kind of like writing crazy, angsty lovey fanfics; they let one make-pretend for a little while that there can be an emotion consuming enough to burn everything else out... and that such an emotion could be a good, sustaining, life-long state. Unrealistic, yes, and I'd never actually want to be part of one of the romances I write about- they consume the characters and usually leave them with nothing. But for some reason doing that to fictional characters pleases my synapses.
Part of my mindset during this writing was trying to... get a sense of what it would be like, to give up humanity and become a part of a different race, to which she only has Elfangor as a connection. I guess I was going for a feeling of assimilation more than submission- her giving up more to the Andalite instincts and becoming one with her new species, like Aldrea and Tobias and Arbron. Eventually, like all the nothlits in the series, she simply stops relating to humans and stops considering herself to be from Earth...
Buuuut my rambling doesn't really rebuff your criticism in any way, heheh. I understand if it rings unrealistic or false to you, no worries, and I appreciate the feedback! =)
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Date: 2011-08-22 04:54 am (UTC)That said, the thing about Aldrea/Tobias/Arbron (well, maybe less Arbron, and not Aldrea in goddamn #34) is that they didn't lose their personalities. Their respective Andalite-ness and humanity, perhaps, but they were still essentially the same people. Maybe this just isn't a big enough window, but I'm not really sensing "Loren."
I still really like this, don't get me wrong, and I really am quibbling. I really do love the way you write and I hope you post more :)
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Date: 2012-05-06 01:18 pm (UTC)Lorens hearts hammer.
That should be "Loren's"... /nitpicking
The juxtaposition between heaven and hell, Loren's hatred of the war, her interaction with Tobias... all of it rings so true to me. Well done.