Rachel Berenson

An Animorphs Indie Roleplay Blog - open to AUs and other fandom interactions.

[thedoctornumber11]

Starter for rachelwhomattered

((OOC: @rachelwhomattered))

The Doctor had set the randomizer on his TARDIS and had no idea where he was as he walked out of the TARDIS and took a smell of the air around him.  “Earth,” he smiled, as he walked out towards the city in front of him.  He noticed a woman, sitting on a bench and she looked a bit upset.

That’s when the Doctor realized his sonic screwdriver had an alarm of some sort going off.  “Something is off about this woman,” he stated, but he had never been one to ignore when someone looked sad.  “Is something wrong?” he asked as he approached the woman sitting there.

[rachelwhomattered]

Rachel was not a girl who was known for her restraint. Marco had practically written poetry about her lack of it on more than one occasion. So the fact that she was currently restraining herself from morphing into a bald eagle and leaping into the sky after Tobias was, frankly, impressive as all hell. Too bad there was no one around to appreciate it, and she couldn’t even brag about it to Cassie later -- not without telling her friend why Tobias had flown-off alone, insisting he needed space. Well, Rachel was giving him space...even though it hurt.

So maybe that was why she reacted the way she did to the voice of a stranger asking her if something was wrong -- or maybe fighting a war against alien mind-controlling slugs had made her paranoid. Or maybe a grown-man walking up to a teenage girl out of nowhere and asking her if she was okay would always have pinged Rachel’s “is this shady?” meter. Regardless, she met the question with a glare and snarled, “None of your business.”

Then she took in the man’s appearance -- suit, sneakers, bow-tie of all things -- and the lack of mud and brambles on his clothes. This deep into an abandoned parkland, where the only human beings who’d probably come anywhere near this half-rotten bench in five years had flown there on their own wings, he stood out like a sore thumb. So did Rachel, of course, in her spandex morphing suit and bare feet -- but she knew how she had gotten to this inexplicable location. What was his excuse?

“Who are you?” she demanded, her hackles starting to raise -- metaphorically, anyway. She wasn’t about to morph to bear or wolf and risk giving away the secret of the Animorphs just because of some creep with suspiciously clean shoes!

[insert-cleverurl]

“the berensons are built of steel and fire and dripping red blood. you look at these beautiful monsters and you want to ask, ‘how can I be like you?’ you want to ask, ‘how can I escape being you?’

but it’s too late and there is no escape because you’re a hawk, a predator, and you were forged this way in the fire of the first mistake you make in this war.

rachel turns to you in the woods one day and says, ‘I think war is probably just seeing who makes more mistakes’ and you don’t tell her that means you’ve already lost.

because that’s all you are, all you can make. mistakes. repeated, piled on top of each other. one day you’ll be walking around the streets - in morph, of course - and someone will point and whisper, ‘a bunch of mistakes piled up in a trench coat, thinking they can pass as a person’ and laugh.”

—maybe a second POV Tobias Fangor thing I may or may not write

[eljayetc]

[thecottageinthedark]

@thejakeformerlyknownasprince

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

god, i can barely say anything about this that isn’t just rachel rachel rachel rachel rachel, but, well, okay. here we see rachel doing what rachel spends the entire series doing: being strong for everyone’s sake, regardless of her own interior state, and specifically and above all, protecting cassie and tobias, in very different ways.

here we see rachel telling cassie don’t look, the way rachel will, over and over and over again, look straight into the nightmare so that cassie can look away, will, over and over and over, forgive cassie for characterizing this difference between them as a belief that rachel wants to look instead of an understanding that rachel can and so does so that cassie doesn’t have to. don’t look, rachel says as elfangor is murdered; it won’t bother me, she’ll say back at the construction site, with david screaming in their minds at the end of a plan that cassie orchestrated. two terrible nights, separated by a handful of terrible months in which the stakes have shifted from the horror of what they’re witnessing to the horror of what they’re doing; one girl, not unchanged, not unfazed, but still, always, shouldering what she can to lighten the weight her friends have to carry.

and tobias? tobias doesn’t need, has never needed, to be shielded; tobias has never had the opportunity to be shielded, between his human life as prey and his hawk life as a predator. in some ways beyond biological he sees most clearly of anyone on the team, because he’s the most capable of looking simultaneously at what has to be done and what it will cost. what tobias needs, what rachel gives him, is simple: proof that despite everything the world has taught him so far about who he is and what his life will be, in this, at least, at last, he is no longer alone. so rachel takes tobias’s hand; rachel leaves her window open for him; rachel brings him books, finds him flying, offers her shoulder for a perch, gives him a birthday cake. rachel kisses him on the dunes. she can’t take away his burdens or heal his wounds or hide from him the brutality of his life, but she can give, and she gives him: contact. touch. this idea, tangibly, again and again: as scared as we are, now we are scared together.

sometimes i see expressed—and the books to some degree feed into this, in some ways that make sense as rooted in how the other characters see her and in other ways that make… less sense (they all have their off-books but i’ve always felt rachel is the only one whose characterization really took a hit under the ghostwriters)—the idea that her death is the natural conclusion of her life because of her violence, because of her rage, because of how good she was at fighting, because she couldn’t be anything but a warrior or die anything but a warrior’s death, and i find that frustrating because it overlooks what it really was, which is to say a sacrifice: something offered up at enormous personal cost because a greater purpose demanded it. and it is the natural outgrowth of who she is, but not just the warrior she became—the person she was, from the beginning, here in this moment: someone who will always offer herself up, even when by all rights she should have nothing left to give, to protect the people she loves.

[barbiefox21]

Unusual Friendship Between Wolf And Bear 

Documented By Finnish Photographer

Via Medieval Dreams

“It’s very unusual to see a bear and a wolf getting on like this” says Finnish photographer Lassi Rautiainen, 56, who took these surprising photos. The female grey wolf and male brown were spotted every night for ten days straight, spending several hours together between 8pm and 4am. They would even share food with each other. “No-one can know exactly why or how the young wolf and bear became friends,” Lassi told the Daily Mail. “I think that perhaps they were both alone and they were young and a bit unsure of how to survive alone…It is nice to share rare events in the wild that you would never expect to see.”

(Please do not remove credits)

[travelerfromthemultiverse]

I saw comments about this Animorphs series’ “escargot” scene and I didn’t really think it was all that special…until I actually watched it.

[andrealessi-deactivated20180714]

I am not “full of hate” as if I were some passive container. I am a generator of hate, and my rage is a renewable resource, like sunshine.

[aniquotes]

The thing about fear is you can’t be afraid of it. I know that sounds confusing. I guess what I mean is, be afraid if you have to, right? Fear is like this vicious little worm that lives inside you and eats you alive. You have to fight it. You have to know it’s there. You have to accept that you’ll never get rid of it, but fight it just the same. Brave isn’t about not being afraid. It’s about being scared to death and still not giving in.

Rachel, Book #12: The Reaction, pg. 2 (by K.A. Applegate)

[rachelwhomattered]

Under the Skins

[rachelwhomattered]

now0nfire‌:

“Why does anyone go anywhere?” Seamus asked back. He stuck close to a rather large oak tree next to the push he was picking over. “I needed some time elsewhere so I am taking it.” That was not the truth but it wasn’t so much a lie as to be harmful, probably. “I don’t belong here, not really.” Not on land. “And I won’t be in your place long.”

He wanted to ask if she knew where the sea was but, again–there were more then a few creatures who would take his kind as a particularly lovely dinner. It was better to keep a human face on, paint his lips purple with berry juice until his stomach was sour, and then leave.

Of course, he couldn’t resist another series of questions–which he only dreaded after they had peppered out of his mouth, “Do you often go skin to skin? Is that common here?”

Rachel shrugged at that explanation; it seemed fair enough to her. Jordan or Cassie might have pressed for more details -- and Sarah would have pestered simply for the sake of being the age where why was something that could consume an entire afternoon from sheer contrariness -- but to her mind it sounded perfectly sensible. Why else did anyone go anywhere, when you really came down to it?

“It’s not my place,” Rachel explained, replying to the more important part of the statement. “I take care of it, protect it from things -- people -- who shouldn’t be here, who would harm it or the things in it, but the forest isn’t mine. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like as long as you don’t do any damage.” She smiled, her teeth very white against their rusty red ring. “And if you do that you won’t have to worry about leaving,” she added with a low chuckle that rumbled in her chest like a growl.

Since the interloper didn’t seem on the brink of bolting, Rachel walked a little closer, skirting a polite birth around the inhabited patch of bushes on her way to the stream where she knelt to begin scrubbing the dried blood from her face and arms. “Skin to skin,” she repeated as she worked. It was as good a descriptor as any; she would have to remember to share it with her sisters tonight. “So you saw me before, then? When I came into the clearing?” When I walked as a bear? she did not add.

It wasn’t as worrying an idea as it had been before he’d said that -- skin to skin didn’t sound like something someone who was a threat would say -- but she still wanted to make sure before she gave too much away. “Is it common where you come from?” she asked carefully, pretending she was the kind of girl who did things carefully for once.

[literaturemasterlist]

Is your muse from a piece of  LITERATURE?

Give this post a  reblog  to be added onto a  Masterlist  comprising of various characters/OCs from countless novels, poems, short stories, and so on!

Within the  tags,  please ensure you mention your muse(s) or oc(s)  NAMES  as well as the  TITLE & AUTHOR  of the work your muse originates from or is based in!

*  multimuses and hub blogs are welcome to reblog!

[kobbers]

~*~shopping~*~

[rachelwhomattered]

Under the Skins

[rachelwhomattered]

now0nfire‌:

There was a gale three nights before, more over the coast then in on land. It bubbled up across a lovely rain, turning the water from clear to a deadly churn and the sky gray to black. There was no point in fighting in, although Seamus’ entire group had–each one ended up snatched up and flung out: deeper to sea, to land, to another part of the coast. Seamus had woken up beached, unwilling to return to the ocean in an unfamiliar cove, uncertain if he’d find anyone again.

So, instead, he put on a human face and tried to follow the coast line for a more familiar cove, for a better body of water. How, exactly, he had ended up so far from the water he wasn’t sure but he had found berries just about when the bear woman turned up. It was stupid to stay, but by then he had been so hungry and he tried to cram as many as h could into his mouth before ducking and darting away behind some trees.

Bears would eat seals if they could catch them, Seamus knew that. It was that knowledge, not the blood, that made him hide.

She called out, but Seamus didn’t know the meaning of those words, not really. The last he had heard them was at a market and no on had explained what they were for. The second question, the low growl, was what prompted the response. “The berries, that is all.”

It felt wrong to admit–what if she wanted the berries? He didn’t think they were poison (and if they were he was going to be quite sick). What if this space was her’s the way his unit had their favorite cove?

The two-legger hid instead of attacking, which did nothing to pacify Rachel; she had no pity for cowards. If someone was going to intrude on her forest, better that they come in ready for a fight than trying to skulk and sneak and flee from her because one way or the other, a fight was what they were going to get.

Still, she restrained herself a little longer; it was possible that the interloper hadn’t seen her Change, possible that they had fled only from the sight of all the blood she wore. Her own eyes were finally coming back into their human sharpness, but now too many trees and brush stood between the two of them for Rachel to see the stranger clearly, although she could hear his words well enough through the leaves. They were not immediately reassuring; who would come this far into the forest -- her forest -- for berries?

It took Rachel longer to realize than it should have -- he wasn’t speaking human-talk. She had no more problem understanding him than she did understanding herself when her cloak was on, or the words screeched by a red-tailed hawk passing overhead. Suddenly she was no longer interested in attacking the interloper, but rather in talking.

“Eat freely,” she growled, curling her bloodied lips into a smile even though she couldn’t tell whether or not the stranger -- whatever he was -- was looking at her or not. “Those berries are unclaimed.” It was true: while Rachel considered the whole forest hers, she viewed that as a matter of protection and duty, not ownership. Bears might claim territory, but they didn’t own places. That was a human conceit -- and one of the reasons why she was always chasing away or killing the ones who dared encroach here.

She walked a little closer to the trees, but reminded herself not to be reckless; she didn’t know who or what this stranger was, and just because he could speak words that humans never bothered with didn’t mean he couldn’t be a threat. “Did you come all the way here for berries?” she asked. “Or were you looking for...something else?” Or someone?

[aniquotes]

“I’m sick and tired of this are-we-doing-the-right-thing, self-doubt crap! The Yeerks are killing people. They’re destroying Earth. Hello! What’s gotten into you guys? If someone starts shooting up your town and you shoot back in self-defense, do you ask if it’s justified?”

— Rachel, Book #43: The Test, pg. 97 (by K.A. Applegate)

[rachelwhomattered]

Under the Skins

@now0nfire for selkie verse.

Today’s hunting had been good. Rachel had found three interlopers creeping through the forest with their clumsy human weapons clutched in their sweaty hands. She had killed one and sent the other two running -- one injured and bleeding and easy to follow, the other reeking of fear -- all the way back past the borders and back to their ugly little lives, no doubt to spread more stories about the dangerous Bear Spirit that protected these woods and all the secrets that lay beyond its borders. Her paws left bloody prints behind as she lumbered through the snow and when she stood up, tossing her cloak back over her shoulders, her pale arms were red nearly to the elbow.

She was grinning through an equally bloody mouth as she walked toward the stream to clean-up before returning home -- the blood didn’t taste as good in her human mouth, but it was a taste that Rachel had become used to over the years -- but the grin fell away abruptly when she realized that she wasn’t alone. Someone else was in the clearing, someone else who walked on two legs. Had they seen her change? Her eyes were still weak and blurry from the transition and she blinked to clear away the grizzly’s sight even as her bloody hands reached for the edge of her cloak.

Rachel made herself wait; she knew she needed to ask questions before she tore the interloper’s throat out: needed to know how they’d come to be here, what they knew. “Hail and well-met,” she said, the traditional greeting rusty on her tongue. When was the last time she had spoken to any human being? Rachel couldn’t remember and for a moment the thought had her reeling, but she shook it off and shook her head, squinting at the figure as they came into focus. “What brings you so deep in the woods this fine day?”

It was only after the beat of the words died in her ears that Rachel realized: with hands and cheeks both dripping blood and her body clad in nothing but the short bearskin tunic she wore under her skin-cloak no words, no matter how cheerfully spoken, would make her appear harmless. A growl started to rise low in her throat and she gripped the cloak tighter, ready to shift the moment an opportunity -- or a threat -- beckoned.

[apcgee]

@nickyrp / RANDOM. 

         Unconcerned with the fact that she was dreadfully lost, Opal focused on putting one foot in front of each other, balancing along the top of the stone wall. Eventually one of the others would find her, and she’s doubtless be in for a lecture, but that was the future and she always had a hard time conceptualizing the future. A side effect of being a non-linear dream creature perhaps. Maybe actions and consequences hard to stick in her mind. 

Wobbling as she turned around sharp on her boot heel, arms pinwheeling to rescue her balance, Opal headed back the way she came again, singing to herself under her breath, half Latin, half-dreamspeak, all nonsense. Reaching the end of the wall, she knelt down and shifted until she was sitting, her boots banging against the wall as she swung her legs, her song growing as she curiously watched passersby, who were starting to take curious notice of the waifish young girl all by herself. 

[rachelwhomattered]

Rachel should have turned around and walked the other way as fast as her long legs could take her. If she could find a secluded enough spot to morph, she should have flown the other way as fast as her eagle’s wings could take her. She should have -- but she didn’t. Maybe it was because she’d never stopped feeling a little bit guilty about not being able to help Mr. Edelman more; maybe it was just because walking away had never been her strong suit. Whatever the reason, when Rachel saw the strange girl singing to herself on top of the wall she walked straight over without more than a moment’s hesitation.

(There wouldn’t have been even a moment, but there was nobody here for whose benefit she needed to say “let’s do it!” and demonstrate her fearlessness.)

Rachel had no evidence that this girl had an oatmeal-crazed Yeerk in her head; no reason even to suspect such a thing. (The Yeerks had proved frighteningly efficient in eliminating any potential security risks before.) There were plenty of ordinary, human things that might make a person do strange things like climb upon a wall and sing a bunch of nonsense words. Rachel’s own sisters were proof enough that little girls were nuts. But still -- she might be a Yeerk victim, and that meant she could be both a source of information for the Animorphs and, in a way, Rachel’s responsibility.

“Hey kid,” she said, despite probably being only a few years older herself, “everything all right? You lose your parents or...anything else?” Like the sanity of the alien slug that might be living in your head? she did not add aloud but could not help wondering.

[morgoth-bauglir]

dtf? if you mean down to fight then yes always

[aniquotes]

“‘Whoa, Cassie! That is so Rachel,’ Marco said. I recognized the voice immediately. He’d come up behind us. And that was surprising enough. But then… 'Really,’ Rachel said. 'What are you doing? Stealing my act?’ 'Rachel!’ Tobias yelped. And a millisecond later he had spun around, grabbed her, and kissed her. Then he held her back at arm’s length. 'You’re dead!’ ❮Rachel! You’re dead,❯ I agreed. 'No, I’m not,’ Rachel said. 'Yes, you are. I saw it!’ Tobias cried. 'I am seriously not dead.’ ❮I am convinced that she is not dead,❯ Ax said.”

— Megamorphs #3: Elfangor’s Secret (Cassie), pg. 141 (by K.A. Applegate)