I still have too much info and no thesis, so: fic!
Fic no one will read because it's Animorphs and Rachel/Marco on top of that, BUT HEY.
This is a... moment from the Animorphs universe in my head, where Rachel and Marco were having secret, angsty, and occasionally silly sex from the end of book 30 on.
***
"What will you do when one of these crazy missions finally kills me?" I asked, leaning up on one elbow to watch her.
"Break into a bank and steal money for a professional manwhore," she answered, not looking away from my computer. "You think we should have Ax hack into The Sharing website and change it to porn or something? They probably wouldn't connect that to the 'Andalite bandits.'"
"I think that might only get them more followers. And I am serious, here! One of these days, I'm going to let myself be talked into something I know is a bad idea, and my good luck is just gonna run out."
She was silent. I waited a moment, watching the glow of her bare back in the faint light coming from the computer and the streetlight outside the open window. Then I said, "Are you listening?"
"What would you like me to do, Princess Marco?" she turned halfway around in the small desk chair and looked at me. "Wail my anguish to the heavens and throw myself off a cliff?"
"That depends on whether you're going to morph to eagle immediately afterward and laugh at all the spectators," I muttered, flopping back down and closing my eyes.
"Well, of course," she said. I heard her get up, felt the mattress sink as she climbed into the bed. She straddled my chest. I opened my eyes. "If suddenly... you no longer live..." she said slowly, seriously, looking at me intently, but still with that inscrutable Rachel look, "...I shall go on living." I probably made a weird face at her. But you can see why, right? I mean, "shall"? Who says that? But something about it sounded kind of familiar, too. And anyway… I knew what she meant.
"And what about me?" she asked after a moment. "What will you do if I die?"
I laughed, and reached up to give her breasts a confident squeeze. "You couldn't die."
***
I found the poem four years after Rachel died. Not on the anniversary of her death or her birthday or anything similarly sentimental and creepy - just, sometime, some random day in that fourth year.
It was in a book some girl I was dating made me read, a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda. The girl thought she was deep because she read poetry. She wanted to talk about the profundities of the universe with me.
I'm more of the mocking-the-profundities-of-the-universe type. You may have noticed.
But this girl was hot, and incredible in bed. I'd thought I could put up with her tragic attitude for a while longer, for the sake of this thing she did with her tongue - uh.
Anyway.
The poem was called "La Muerta." The Dead Woman.
It was a beautiful California day, warm and sunny, my luxurious living room was filled with bright natural light, and I was shivering.
my feet will want to march to where you
are sleeping, but I shall stay alive,
because above all things
you wanted me indomitable
I broke up with the girl that had given me the book, but not that day, not even that week. And I didn't fly off, or drive off, to Rachel's monument. I did whatever it was I supposed to do that day - probably meeting with some producer or attending some event.
I kept the poem, though.
***
And a link to the full poem. Not the best english translation, but what can you do.
This is a... moment from the Animorphs universe in my head, where Rachel and Marco were having secret, angsty, and occasionally silly sex from the end of book 30 on.
***
"What will you do when one of these crazy missions finally kills me?" I asked, leaning up on one elbow to watch her.
"Break into a bank and steal money for a professional manwhore," she answered, not looking away from my computer. "You think we should have Ax hack into The Sharing website and change it to porn or something? They probably wouldn't connect that to the 'Andalite bandits.'"
"I think that might only get them more followers. And I am serious, here! One of these days, I'm going to let myself be talked into something I know is a bad idea, and my good luck is just gonna run out."
She was silent. I waited a moment, watching the glow of her bare back in the faint light coming from the computer and the streetlight outside the open window. Then I said, "Are you listening?"
"What would you like me to do, Princess Marco?" she turned halfway around in the small desk chair and looked at me. "Wail my anguish to the heavens and throw myself off a cliff?"
"That depends on whether you're going to morph to eagle immediately afterward and laugh at all the spectators," I muttered, flopping back down and closing my eyes.
"Well, of course," she said. I heard her get up, felt the mattress sink as she climbed into the bed. She straddled my chest. I opened my eyes. "If suddenly... you no longer live..." she said slowly, seriously, looking at me intently, but still with that inscrutable Rachel look, "...I shall go on living." I probably made a weird face at her. But you can see why, right? I mean, "shall"? Who says that? But something about it sounded kind of familiar, too. And anyway… I knew what she meant.
"And what about me?" she asked after a moment. "What will you do if I die?"
I laughed, and reached up to give her breasts a confident squeeze. "You couldn't die."
***
I found the poem four years after Rachel died. Not on the anniversary of her death or her birthday or anything similarly sentimental and creepy - just, sometime, some random day in that fourth year.
It was in a book some girl I was dating made me read, a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda. The girl thought she was deep because she read poetry. She wanted to talk about the profundities of the universe with me.
I'm more of the mocking-the-profundities-of-the-universe type. You may have noticed.
But this girl was hot, and incredible in bed. I'd thought I could put up with her tragic attitude for a while longer, for the sake of this thing she did with her tongue - uh.
Anyway.
The poem was called "La Muerta." The Dead Woman.
It was a beautiful California day, warm and sunny, my luxurious living room was filled with bright natural light, and I was shivering.
my feet will want to march to where you
are sleeping, but I shall stay alive,
because above all things
you wanted me indomitable
I broke up with the girl that had given me the book, but not that day, not even that week. And I didn't fly off, or drive off, to Rachel's monument. I did whatever it was I supposed to do that day - probably meeting with some producer or attending some event.
I kept the poem, though.
***
And a link to the full poem. Not the best english translation, but what can you do.