My (fan)fiction

[exsequar]

It just occurred to me what other purpose this LJ can serve. My other blog thingy is on a site called xanga, the current huge fad at my school, and as such all my "friends" know the link. That's who my audience is there. As such, I have to severely edit myself and leave out any squeeing about slashy fictional love. But at heart all I am is a fangirl, and I have actually tried to produce some fanfiction of my own, with varying levels of success. I'm going to post here the one (complete) story I can find at the moment. And maybe someone will read it! So far, the only people that have read it are two or three of my friends, really not that much satisfaction.

So this one is an X-files, Mulder/Scully fic. Here are the details.

Title: Taking Risks
Rating: PG-13 (implied sex)
Category: vignette, romance, angst
Spoilers: Requiem, slight FTF
Summary: Scully faces an inner battle between her head and her heart
while in Mulder's arms. One side wins and she acts... 'impulsively'.
Author's Notes: This takes place in the middle of Requiem, when
Mulder is warming Scully on the bed in his motel room. I always
felt this was a golden opportunity for the pair to get a little
closer. Makes sense for the time-table of William as well, at least
sort of.
Warnings: Extremely sappy, perhaps melodramatic, you decide!


His lips against her cheek were soft and warm, their tenderness
causing a flood of warmth and happiness to tingle through every nerve
ending. She was acutely aware of his long, lean frame pressed against
her entire length. The spasmodic trembling of her tiny body faded away,
forgotten thanks in large part to the incredible power his body and
his comforting presence had over her. Their years of partnership had
created a bond that was not only mental and spiritual but eminently
physical. Their close proximity, so long avoided as a consequence of
their self-induced barriers, caused a warm tingling to blossom deep
in the pit of her stomach. At first, her psyche rebelled, as it had
many many times before, convincing her that a higher degree of
intimacy between them would be completely disastrous - but her heart
said differently. 'What harm is there in love?' it asked.

'Love?!'laughed her mind, her "intelligence". 'That's what you think
this is? Why would a man like that ever love a woman like me?'

Her eyes closed in a moment of pain, agonizing and acute, sharpened
by the presence of his arms around her. She was reminded strongly of
those cartoons where a person has an angel on one shoulder and a
devil on the other. She would have laughed, in a different situation.
But she realized that the good guy always listened to the angel, and
she liked to think of herself as the good guy. Her lips did quirk in
a tiny smile then, amused at the way she had come to this extremely
momentous decision, but she brushed away the amusement. She was on a
mission. Her eyes flashed open, blue steel.

The steel softened into gentle uncertainty as she turned over in his
arms, seeking his eyes; she found them and they met for a brief second
- the sparks were almost visible. But then his gaze clouded with
embarassment. She thought she saw a glimmer of desire, of hope, but
she couldn't be sure. His gaze slid from hers and he started to pull
away, the stiffness of his spine shouting his self-consciousness and
uncertainty. Despair threatened to overwhelm her, her practiced
denial convincing her that he didn't want her, that she was
undesirable. But her heart, filled to bursting with love and passion
and tired of being ignored, seemed to take control over her body; the
hand encased in his tightened, staking claim over his strong digits,
and the other arrested his movement with a light touch to his cheek.
His eyes were jerked back into contact with hers as if tugged by an
invisible string, and his face acquired what had been dubbed his
"panic look": completely blank, as if he had slipped on a mask to
hide his inner turmoil. She almost laughed - almost - but didn't,
afraid that the moment would slip out of her grasp and vanish into
oblivion, lost in a flash of mirth that would serve only to conceal
the pain of lost opportunity.

Instead, she gently stroked his cheek with her thumb, filled to
bursting with things she wanted to say, yearning desperately to pour
out her soul and drink his in return, but all she could get her
tongue around was a small plea: "Mulder." She had the feeling that if
she knew nothign else, she would always know that name. He was more a
part of her than she was. The word drifted between them, lonely,
outwardly meaningless, but so much more was said. The panic faded from
his features and was replaced with a timid, tremulous hope, so faint
that no one but her would have seen it, but it was there. She was
struck forcefully by the fact that there, under the dry humor, the
innuendo, the mighty bravado, was a little boy seeking desperately
to understand why his sister was gone. His suffering went so deep
that she knew she could gaze into the depths of his soul for eternity
and never find the bottom.

Her heart shattered.

All the self-imposed barriers, the denials, the pain, all vanished in
a twinkling and it felt as though her whole being was only love and
compassion for this man.

And without any recollection of how it came about, her lips were on
his, tasting and drinking and trying desperately to cleanse him of
his pain. The fervor of his response shocked her deeply; but then he
was there, needy but not demanding, and she gave herself over to the
task of fulfilling his needs.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was an eternity, a blink of an eye, before they collapsed side by
side, physical exhaustion defying their wish to continue forever,
joined as one as only they could be. When they were together, the
universe ceased to exist.

They did not relinquish their newly discovered, delicious physical
contact; they maintained it at as many opints as humanly possible.
Their torsos were pressed together, his arm draped over her slender
waist while his fingertips traced mystical patterns on the small of
her back, as though claiming her in a way her never had before,
leaving his personal mark on her skin in addition to the many changes
he had wrought on her mind. His hand had been there many times before,
a guide to her and a reassurance to him that she really was real, that
angels to deign to visit us mortals, at least sometimes. And now this
angel was his.

Their eyes still held eachother's gaze; they had not stopped probing
eachother's souls for one second of the entire experience. They both
experienced the other's pleasure tenfold in that contact and they
were both loath to look away. They were exploring their antithesis,
their perfect match, their soulmate. Both faces held a look of
rapturous awe and shock at what had just transpired. Mulder looked
as though he thought he must be dreaming and he was trying to absorb
every second, every nuance before he woke up. Scully, ever the down to
earth one of the pair, knew it was real - but her features were tinged
with a well hidden fear and slight apprehension. Tinged, yes, but to
Mulder it was as if she was shouting it at the top of her lungs. His
brow knitted slightly and his other hand came up to caress her cheek.

"Scully," he whispered. "What's wrong?"

For a moment it looked as if she was goign to evade the question, come
out with a characteristic "I'm fine". But she shifted slightly against
him and her body came into contact with his in a newly wonderful way.
She realized that she couldn't - wouldn't - lie to this man, not now.
He deserved so much more than that. She sighed gently. "I'm not sure...
It's...Mulder, you know I'm not an impulsive person. I like to think
about my decisions. What I just did was... impulsive, to say the
least." His lips quirked slightly in silent agreement. She took a deep
breath. "And since I didn't get to think about it, I guess I'm having
doubts." His eyes widened slightly, the temporarily suppressed pain
rushing to the surface in a confused jumble. Scully rushed on,
hurrying to reassure him. "Not doubts about doing it, but about what
you might think of... this. Of what you might think of me. It was
presumptuous of me to assume that you loved me too, and I - "

The avalanche of emotion and uncertainty was cut off by the gentle
pressure of his finger on her lips. She quieted, looking at him with
wide blue eyes that looked on the verge of tears. Her words had
shocked him to the bone, leaving him reeling. "Scully... Dana... I
don't... I don't know what to say to that, other than that I'm here,
aren't I? And I have no doubts that what we just did was right in
every sense of the word. I felt it. I think you did too. And Dana..."
He leaned closer until their lips were almost touching and their
breath mingled together. "I love you too."

Tears did spring to her eyes then, but they were tears of unbelievable,
unmitigated joy. Her heart sang, and her lips broke into the biggest,
most radiant smile Fox Mulder had ever seen. He was struck full force
with her beauty, both inside and out. He matched her smile with one
of his own. Happiness flooded him until he feared he would be swept
away. Never in his whole life had he imagined that such pure ecstasy
existed. And here it was, embodied in the angel that lay beside him.
His lips laid claim to hers and they abandoned themselves to the
expression of their newly revealed yet ancient love. This time was
slow and tender, a journey of discovery. They had all the time in the
world.

I also wrote a piece of original fiction for English class last year and I am actually really proud of it. It's a vampire piece, partially inspired by my obsession with Buffy. It's called Obsidian Eyes, and since many people have asked me "What's obsidian?" I'll just answer that here: obsidian is a type of hard, shiny, very black rock. I also have a strange obsession with all-black eyes. Like evil!Willow. Anywho, hope you enjoy!


You might not believe what I am going to tell you. It’s up to you. I just want to let you know that it did happen. I’m not a liar.
At least I don’t think so.
It was dark that night. Very dark. The moon was a mere sliver, casting no light on the land below.
The darkness was complete.
I’ve always liked the dark. In the dark you can hide from the world and imagine that no one will ever find you.
That’s what I was doing that night – hiding. Hiding from the constant light and noise and lack of privacy. Hiding from my family, hiding from the yelling and my bitching sisters and the screaming baby.
So I hid. I knew my parents wouldn’t worry about me – they gave up on me long ago. Besides, they were too busy fighting to worry about a little thing like their son.
I walked along the road, wrapped in a blanket of silence. Everything was still as death. Not so much as a squirrel stirred. The world was holding its breath, and I found myself wondering what for.
I was soon to find out.
I had no real destination in mind, so I simply wandered wherever whim took me. Eventually I found myself at the somewhat battered front door of a small, ramshackle building that looked like it could have been a little shop, years ago. Now it just looked deserted.
I wasn’t surprised; I had been spending an “unnatural” amount of time there, according to my parents. Of course, they didn’t know where “there” was. They just knew there was somewhere I was constantly disappearing to.
I pushed open the door without a sound – no eerie squealing of hinges, no creaking of rotten wood. I stepped through into a room that was as thoroughly deserted as the outside, except for one incongruous detail – the floor was swept clean.
I headed directly for a black door, concealed in the shadowy recesses of the far corner of the room. I lifted my hand and rapped on the door with my knuckles, a complicated series of taps, rat-a-tat, shattering the stillness. The door swung open, silent as the grave, and I slipped through the forbidding opening.
Slight nods were exchanged as I glided past the dark figure who had opened the door. I knew his face; he knew mine. No words were needed.
I descended a short flight of steps and emerged in what had once been a cellar but had been appropriated for a new purpose. The only light came from candles spaced here and there. The flames cast undulating shadows on the walls. I reveled in their nebulosity, in the morbidly sinister quality of the light – or rather the absence of light, emphasized by the lonely pinpricks dotting the room.
A few people sat at the small tables that took up most of the space in the room. No one sat together; everyone preferred their own company. Anyone who didn’t wouldn’t be here. It was a place of silent acceptance, where you didn’t ask any questions and none were asked of you.
The room was utterly silent.
I approached a short bar to one side of the room. There was a woman behind the counter who met my eyes and nodded in recognition. I nodded in response and she began mixing a drink. In a few moments she handed me a glass. A Bloody Mary. My “usual”. No questions asked.
I took the glass and turned away. No words were spoken.
The chair’s legs made a soft scraping sound as I pulled it away from a vacant table. I sat and took a sip of my drink. My eyes locked on the rough grain of the tabletop and I lost myself in my own thoughts.
I sat that way for some time, nursing my drink. My parent’s angry shouts echoed in my ears but I shoved them away ruthlessly. Instead I focused on nothing, on oblivion, trying to imagine what the complete lack of anything would be like. My shoulders relaxed as I found solace in the emptiness.
I was nearly finished with my drink when something compelled me to turn my head. My eyes alighted on a figure sitting at the table next to mine. I assumed it was a woman because of the long, raven hair spilling to the table and concealing her face. Her posture spoke of misery. She was alone like everyone else, but more than that, she was lonely.
I felt an inexplicable connection to her as I watched her silently, entranced by the golden candlelight playing off of her ebony tresses. I hadn’t even seen her face yet.
Then I noticed a movement – gradually, reluctantly, her head begin to lift from the table. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t seem to wrest my eyes from her figure. Slowly, interminably, her hair fell away from her features and then, all of a sudden, her eyes met with mine.
I almost reeled, as if from a physical blow, as the unbelievably powerful despondency hit me like a freight train. Her eyes were portals into a world of agony and heart-breaking sadness. My eyes widened and my fingers attempted to dig into the tabletop – I had never seen such raw emotion before. Abruptly, she stood and left, brushing by me as if nothing had happened.
I sat there for a few minutes, shell-shocked and bewildered by what had just occurred. I couldn’t move.
I finally realized that the longer I sat there, the farther away she was getting. I snapped out of it, tossing back the last of my drink and standing up hastily. That earned me a few looks but I didn’t care. I slammed the glass down on the table with a loud bang and some of those looks turned to glares. Oblivious, I hurried out of the room and up the stairs. I had to find her.
I all but ran out of the front door, skidding to a halt and looking around with something akin to panic. What if I didn’t find her? I tried to decide what direction to go in but before I made up my mind, I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye.
Whirling, I saw a shape detach itself from the shadows. With wide eyes, I watched as the figure approached. Gradually, a face became visible as my eyes adjusted to the gloom
My breath caught.
It was her. The girl.
Her black hair fell into her face again, unrestrained. Her eyes gazed at me through the dark curtain, but their power was undiluted. The depth of their suffering, suffering it seemed to me no human could bear, was staggering. I felt my heart would break just looking at her.
To my astonishment, she stopped in front of me; all I could do was stare. Her lips curved faintly in what I thought might be a smile, but one that held no amusement. I attempted to smile back, but my lips didn’t move. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Silence reigned as we stood there, looking into each other’s eyes.
I felt a light pressure on my hand and looked down to see her fragile-looking fingers seeking entrance into mine. I uncurled my fingers and her hand slipped into my grasp. She turned and set off into the darkness, pulling me along after her gently. I took no further urging and quickly fell in step with her.
We walked slowly through the night, enveloped in comfortable silence. It registered that I didn’t know this girl’s name, I hadn’t even heard her speak, but I didn’t care. I felt so comfortable, so relaxed, so… at peace, as I hadn’t for a long time. In her I had found a kindred spirit.
We passed into an even deeper darkness as we entered the woods on the fringe of town. I lived in an area where there was still a lot of forest left, and I had often explored their depths, enjoying the sense of solitude and unearthliness.
Looming out of the darkness ahead was a tall stone outcropping. We emerged into a clearing at its base and I peered upwards, trying to distinguish the rocky outline from the ink black sky. The fingernail moon was barely visible. The surface of the stone was covered with dark lichen and dangling mosses, giving the cliff a sad, weeping look. An aura of anguish and pain pervaded the place, and it felt very lonely, as if no one even knew it was there. Instinctively I knew this was where she lived, or at least spent most of her time, because it was saturated by her essence. I was fascinated.
Sure enough, we stopped walking. She lightly but firmly pulled on my hand until I was facing her. I looked down into those tragic eyes and waited for whatever she was going to say.
“You’re lonely.” Her voice was quiet, calm, yet laced with an undercurrent of sorrow. It blended in perfectly with the silence.
I nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, unsure of how to respond to this statement. Of course I was lonely; anyone could see that. But it was the way she said it that struck me. Her voice held such familiarity with that emotion that I felt another surge of compassion.
“You want to escape from everything. I was like you, once.”
I frowned slightly – what did she mean, “once”? Seemed to me like she still was. I opened my mouth to ask, but she cut me off.
“What if I told you that we could heal each other, that we could spend eternity and never be alone again?”
My frown deepened, though I can’t say that I wasn’t intrigued. The idea was undeniably attractive, but I had only just met her, and the way she said “eternity” made me a bit cautious. I didn’t even want to think about the method she had in mind for achieving this goal. I eyed her warily as I responded.
“Then I would ask you what you meant by eternity.”
She laughed softly, an ironic laugh, slightly condescending, as though she was the professional and I the naïve little kid.
“The human mind cannot conceive of eternity. Try to picture the universe – stars and planets stretching out into infinity without end; you can’t do it. I, on the other hand…”
As I stared into her eyes, completely bewildered, it occurred to me that I was dreaming. None of this was real. I had drifted off at my seat and I would wake up and there would be no girl standing in front of me with pools of obsidian for eyes. She smiled… a feral smile, her lips curling back to reveal what could only be called fangs.
Fascinated, and still convinced I was dreaming, I reached out towards this bizarre product of my subconscious. She watched my hand approaching, unconcerned. The tip of my finger came in contact with the iridescent surface of her… fang and I started in shock. I had honestly thought that my hand would go right through her.
I yanked my hand away, but my retreat was arrested by what felt like an iron clamp on my wrist. I looked at the small, fragile hand locking me in place and my world spun. It finally struck home just what I was looking at.
I felt an insane urge to laugh uncontrollably, or cry hysterically, but I was paralyzed by those eyes. They were the same eyes, melancholy and anguished, but now even the whites were dark as the blackest night. It was unnerving and unsettling.
“We could go on forever, together, never again to know loneliness.” Her voice was deep and fluid, washing over me soothingly. The smile had slipped from her lips and she looked almost normal, if I could forget the eyes. But I could never forget the eyes.
Then the implications of what she was asking hit me, like a shock wave trailing moments behind the visual experience of an explosion.
And I realized that she was offering everything that I had wanted for a long time. I could escape from this hell on earth. Be with someone – something? – who understood me. The concept was unbearably tempting.
I have never been good with temptation.
Meeting those strange, yet so familiar eyes, I nodded slowly, once, in acquiescence.
Her features lit up with what I swear was joy, or at least they tried to; they were so out of practice they had forgotten what happiness felt like, much less joy.
The teeth sinking into my neck imbued me with a sense of peace, of total contentment, and then she had drawn with her fingernail a thin line across the milk white of her chest, bright red heart’s blood welling to the surface, and she gently lowered my head to the wound, and so we shared a meeting of souls so profound it cannot be described in words.
Then all was darkness.
I clawed my way up from the bottom of a bottomless pit, grasping desperately at consciousness. When I finally hauled myself out of oblivion, my eyes slid open, but they registered no light, no objects, just darkness. I sat up and she was there. My eyes didn’t tell me, nor the other four senses – I just knew with a certainty it was impossible to ignore.
I realized I still didn’t know her name.
“Hello?” I ventured timidly.
“Welcome to my world.”
Memory flooded back and my hand flashed to my neck. Nothing. Not even a scab. I focused on what I was feeling – shouldn’t I feel different somehow?
But the only difference I could find was a heavy burden on my heart and soul, a crushing despair that I recognized as being the same torment I had seen in the girl’s eyes. Her obsidian eyes…
The scream that tore from my throat was of the deepest anguish, the most profound suffering. I collapsed into sobs on the hard, unforgiving stone.
The pain never ceases. I will always be alone.

So, obviously, feedback would be cherished and adored!