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(Contains: violence/gore and ideologically sensitive material)
The chamber of the Colt spun round as Cole loaded it. Backing up against the wall, he held it up against his shoulder.

"Give it up, Phelps!"

Biting the inside of his cheek, he spun on his heel, and fired at one of the two trench coated figures. The man collapsed to the ground with a gasp and a burst of blood from his chest. Cole dashed forward, swinging the Colt up as the fallen detective's comrade opened fire at him.

White hot pain ripped through his side as a bullet grazed him, causing him to stumble slightly in his steps. Whipping his arm about in the air, Cole fired. Stopping before the corpses of the two men, he panted hard.

He grimaced at the splotch of blood on his suit jacket. He felt the urge to kick one of the bodies as he did so, each of them still wearing their badges. Everyone knew who he was, fallen poster boy of the LAPD, but he couldn't say the same for the others, being too consumed by his work to be much of a socialite.

Cole snorted at that. As if he could seriously consider himself such a thing, having devolved himself into nothing more than a robot. All that it brought him was a bullet wound in the back and a broken home.

Covered in sweat, dirt, blood, and other unidentified substances, his teeth chattered as he waded into waist-deep water.

Kelso had seen right through him, and perhaps he had also been able to do so when they were in OCS together. Cole's reflection was indiscernible to himself in the water. He had thought he had known who he was, and damn, if he wasn't good at playing the role of hero.

The Japanese civilians gasped and writhed in pain from the scorching flames, the murdered Dahila women stared back at him, their pale bodies mangled, and his former unit members, lying on the dirt in Okinawa, or splayed across floors in the city they had fought to return to, accusingly glared at him. The hands of the dead reached to him from the water, attempting to drag him under as he waded further until he was nearly up to his neck. He grabbed a hold of the concrete foundation, and pulled himself out.

"Don't you look back, don't you dare look back," he muttered shakily to himself before collapsing, his hands pressing onto the cold floor. After taking a few moments to collect himself, he slowly rose.

Even after all had seemed lost, Cole still had something, if Elsa was still alive. If he had her still after tonight, then that would be enough. One last case to close, and he would shed the corrupt LAPD to become…whatever it was, it didn't matter right now, for he did not know this stranger in the mirror yet.

Shouts sounded in the distance, and Cole spun the chamber of the Colt again.
Underworld (L.A. Noire 4F)

Prompt: Archetype. Choose one archetype from the master list, and implement it in your fanfic. I chose the "Initiation" archetype, which is defined as: The main character undergoes experiences that lead him towards maturity.

This was inspired from a review video of L.A. Noire, in which the reviewer stated that "A Different Kind of War" would have been more emotionally satisfying if the player had controlled Cole, as opposed to Jack, during the sewer portion of the scenario. This story was my attempt to fill in the blanks. This was also inspired by the song "Falling Again" by Lacuna Coil.

Word Count: 493

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(Contains: violence/gore)
"Oh, no!"

Punch splashed up from the bowl as Theresa's earring fell into it.

"Too bad, dear. I suppose you're used to this sort of thing." She sharply prodded Muriel away, her half-drunken "friend's" hypocritical humor giving her a bitter taste in her mouth.

She grasped the ladle in order to fish it out. This night was a misery, and Lars did not care as usual, being too busy playing cards in the other room to notice.

"It's beautiful," Theresa whispered, reaching out a hand toward the glistening water. Her other hand held down her scarf.

Lars picked up her hand, and extended her finger out to the ocean beyond. "You haven't seen the Pacific, have you?"

"No, not yet," she replied, leaning into him, her lips a few inches from his throat, "Have you?"

Tilting up her chin, he kissed her softly. Drawing out, he replied, "Some places, yes. We could see the ocean together."

"An adventure?" She asked wistfully.

"If you want to go," he replied.


Theresa groaned, her head in her hands. She muttered under her breath at her skirt being tugged on, and looked down to see her younger daughter staring up at her, rocking slightly forward on the balls of her feet. "What is it, sweetie?" She asked, barely managing to keep her tone polite.

"Am I still going to see Sally today?"

Shit, she'd forgotten. Well, maybe if Lars hadn't been out so late last night, she wouldn't have thought of drinking. Lying son of a bitch, when she found out just what he was up to…

"Sweetie, I'm sorry, Mommy's a little sick right now."

Hanna's lips quivered, and her hands dropped to her sides. Theresa, grimacing with the effort, sat up to hold her arms out to her.

"I want my Mommy!" Hanna screamed, "I want my Mommy, my real Mommy! Not you! My mommy didn't drink medicine just because she liked to get sick a lot!" At that, Hanna turned on her heel and ran out of the room, tears brimming in her eyes.

Theresa dropped her head back into her hands, and cried.

Los Angeles was a giant punch bowl to Theresa as she stumbled through the streets, the rain pelting her. She was the best that sailor could get, a gem compared to the trashy whores at the docks, and he brushed her off as old?

What a horrible night, her earring dyed in punch, her husband flirting with a younger woman, and her being brushed off by a young man. Even the sitter was doing a better job than her. Maybe she could just stumble and fall, sucked into the gutter, and it would carry her out to the Pacific. Lars never did keep his promise to her.

Maybe that was why Theresa stumbled toward that strange figure. The strangling rope about her neck drew her slowly down, and the bludgeon forced her head under the dark water.
Tumble Into Oceanic Death (L.A. Noire 4F)
Prompt: Random Words. Choose one verb, noun, and adjective from the master list, and make a sentence. Use it in your story, or as the title. (I did the latter)
Words: 491

Inspired by the song, "Swimming Pools," by Kendrick Lamar. 

I will say this right now: I DO NOT like Theresa Taraldsen. While I understand that she and Lars had marital issues, and he was also not perfect, she was self-righteous and self-centered. I don't much like Lars either, to be quite frank. That being said, it was interesting to write this story, though I sometimes wonder why whenever I write stories featuring water as a main motif, they tend to be sad in tone. 
"We could run away," Evelyn murmured wistfully, staring off into the distance, the waiting trains dwarfing her makeshift tent, "Get onto one of the trains, and go where it goes."

She could feel James's smile in her neck. "Where would you want to go?"

"I would have said New York once," she replied softly, "But now, I think somewhere quiet, green."

James's breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. "That sounds nice."

"It wouldn't bore you?" She asked.

"As long as we're together."

She wondered from time to time when he would finally realize that he could do better than her, and leave. She sighed. "But then, I can't."

Tiernan pulled away at that, and she twisted about to look at him. Fixing her with an earnest expression, he replied, "I could make it work, if you really wanted to."

Evelyn smiled back, but it slipped away just as fast. "James, I can't. Look," reaching into her badly worn messenger bag, she drew out a flyer to present to him.

He grimaced at the image of McCaffery, followed by questions as to whether workers were truly being treated well. Ignoring his reaction, Evelyn explained, "He is taking a stand for the people who are abused and discarded in this city, people like me."

Tiernan lifted his gaze from the flyer. "Evelyn, you don't owe this city anything."

She dropped it between them. "I know, but there are other men and women who suffer like me. Maybe if I helped to make a difference, I could prevent that from happening to someone else. I know what it's like to lose everything, and no one should have to live through that."

Tiernan's voice rose. "Just think about it a little. Something about this guy rubs me the wrong way."

"People get that impression of me, too," she muttered, looking away.

James felt ready to throw his hands in the air, but decided against it. "That didn't turn me away, though."

She glanced back at him. "So why would you doubt my judgment in this?"

He lunged forward, grasping her hands. "Evelyn, I don't want to lose you! I've heard some fishy things about McCaffrey, and I just want to keep you safe," he explained, and upon remembering himself, let go.

Evelyn's voice wavered. "James, I'd want nothing more than to be happy with you, but I'd have to live with the fact that I did nothing when I could have helped others." The flyer crinkled as she rolled it back up.

He sighed. "Well, that's okay, then." She glanced up at that to see that earnest look on his face again. "I can wait, I promise."

She embraced him, wondering in the back of her mind as to whether trash like her was actually worthy of such a promise. He ran his hand through her hair, and swallowed back the worry that despite how close he was holding her, she was slipping away.
Perchance to Dream (L.A. Noire 4F)
Funny thing, I realized the other night how closely Evelyn Summers and James Tiernan's relationship paralleled Cole and Elsa's. Interesting dynamic. I'd been wanting to do a fanfic on this couple for quite a while. It's a shame that they're not very represented in the fandom.

"Familiar Taste of Poison" by Halestorm provided part of the inspiration for this, especially its noir-esque music video.

Prompt: Morality
Words: 494


Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Current Residence: Atlantis
Favourite genre of music: Symphonic Metal, Industrial Metal, Gothic Metal
Favourite style of art: Literature and photography
MP3 player of choice: I've got an iPod touch
Shell of choice: Conch
Wallpaper of choice: Cole Phelps from L.A. Noire
Skin of choice: Planets
Favourite cartoon character: Mr. Freeze
Personal Quote: You may say your piece. Even if I don't agree with you, I'll still lend an ear.
It's been a while, hasn't it? 

My productivity on this site this year was utterly pathetic. As I've stated on a previous entry, fanficiton is becoming more and more sidelined as a hobby of mine, especially due to the escalation of commitments I have in real life. The thing is, however, I'm not quitting until I have finished all that needs completed, whether they be request fics, chapter fics that I have begun, or short story ideas, both those posted on the list I have made for myself on my FF.Net profile, and those that fill my noggin in-between fanfic postings. Then again, I've already proved myself to be a one-trick fandom pony over the years; I write more character driven short stories, as opposed to complicated fanfics, and honestly, it's a result of personal preference. I've seen excellent chapter fics, and do not knock their authors for writing them, but for me, due to the problems I incur with world-building in fanfics and plot-related issues, not to mention consumption of time, I tend to stray. On the other hand, I cannot simply say, "I don't want to do this because this is too hard." That is an utter cop-out, not to mention that not all chapter fanfics have to be long and complicated.

Why did I mention that? because a year has passed, and I've yet to update White Feather and Red Poppy due to schedule slippage. Sorry to those who have been waiting on another chapter; I have by no means abandoned it, but it's taking time to figure out what direction to take the story in.

On the other hand, I made headway with my novel, but progress on it could be faster. I've only seven chapters left to write, but my writing pace is horrendous. I guess it can be excused because I started writing it when I was sixteen, and had to take long breaks for research, but I will need to seek out an ulterior source of encouragement, as I cannot be trusted to meet my own deadlines. Term papers? Done. Entries for the campus literary journal? No problem, because both deadlines were set in stone. In general, I need to imporve my writing pace anyway. The shortest amount of time it took me to write a fanfic was four hours, and that was a flash fanfic. Original and longer fan works take me days to weeks, and that is not acceptable. On top of that, something has to give. What is more important to me, fan work or original work? I'm leaning more and more toward the latter. While I appreciate my history with fan art (it does chronicle the adolescence of my life, after all), it's not my work and not my characters, rather my interpretation of a work that I like. But to truly create my own work...Even if this doesn't get published, or if it does, and doesn't make bank, I wouldn't care. This story will be written to the last letter and period.

Visited New York City today, and got to see Times Square and Rockefeller Plaza. As it turned out, the ball that drops on New Year's Eve is actually quite small in scale, and it does not fall very far. On New Year's Eve itself, I won't be celebrating; I have to work the next morning. Perhaps I'll spend it writing.

Happy New Year, everyone!:party:
  • Mood: Tired
  • Listening to: The Sentinel- Machine Head
  • Reading: The Historian
  • Watching: Big O
  • Playing: L.A. Noire
  • Eating: Nothing
  • Drinking: Nothing

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CyrilGlerumArt Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
Thanks for the fave ! 
nightchildmoonchild Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome
mylesmw Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2015  Professional General Artist
Thanks for the fav on Urdnot Wrex!
nightchildmoonchild Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome
ObsydianDreamer Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2015  Student General Artist
Thanks for the fave! :D
nightchildmoonchild Featured By Owner Feb 3, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome
RisenWarrior Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2014
Uh, hey? ^^;
nightchildmoonchild Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
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