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antialiasis · 4 years ago

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Worldbuilding June (Pokémon edition), Days 8-12

Whoops forgot to post these for a couple of days, too busy with a load of Things as always.

8. Who rules in your world?

TQftL never brings up government, but each region has its own human government, generally just standard representative democracies similar to what we have in the modern world. Ouen has an elected parliament and president. It's a fairly utopian world with little scarcity and politics play kind of a background role - they keep things running, they have some different parties, but there's low polarization and usually they work pretty smoothly together and have little conflict. The situation in other regions is similar - movement is very free and conflict between them is rare and minor in the grand scheme of things.

QftLverse Pokémon, once again, have their own societies and are not subject to human rule except in a limited way while they're with a trainer, as per the Agreement, an all-encompassing contract dictating how the relationship between humans and Pokémon should work. Different Pokémon species govern themselves differently, but their societies are generally based on smaller self-governing groups. The Scyther society has a single leader, who is meant to be the simply strongest in the swarm, and anyone can challenge them to a duel to the death to take their place at any time.

The Morphicverse is once again close to Earth, with different countries having different modes of government. The Poké-USA's politicical climate resembles the actual USA's political climate in ~2007, but if I ever wrote references to the current president I wouldn't make him an outright Bush expy or anything, beyond being from the conservative one of the two highly polarized parties.

9. What religions and myths/legends exist in your world?

The QftLverse's human society is basically post-religious. Legendary Pokémon are revered, but not worshipped - people don't pray to them, ascribe natural phenomena to them, expect them to watch over them personally, perform symbolic rituals associated with them, etc. That said, humans do have myths concerning them - not always accurate ones. The story describes the human myth behind one set of legendaries early on before the reality much later turns out to have been fairly different, for instance.

QftLverse Pokémon have their own myths, legends, religions and beliefs. The Scyther society explored in the spin-offs has a bit of a vague mythology going on explaining the sun, moon, stars and clouds, but it's not very important to them, more of a just-so story. Meanwhile, they live by a system of ethics known as the Code that they consider sacred and all-important, though it doesn't have a godly figure behind it as the source of it, only a philosophy. Other Pokémon might variously have straight-up religion (whether worshipping legendary Pokémon or something else), be entirely areligious, or something in between; most will have myths and legends in some form, though.

The Morphicverse has a form of Christianity, which is functionally a lot like ours; this also means they had a version of Judaism. Other specific religions don't come up, but they'd at the very least be as varied as real-world religions. Like in real life, there are many sects and variants, and as many individual interpretations of faiths as there are people. The villain cult in particular has fringe views that in no way resemble the mainstream. And like in real life, many people nominally believe but don't really practice their religion, and many are agnostic or atheist.

Legendary Pokémon in the Morphicverse are cryptids - there are myths and legends about them, and people think they're neat, write fiction and make movies about them all the time, but in the modern day, actually-for-real believing that they exist out there ranges from mildly eccentric to entirely unthinkable. Worship of legendary Pokémon exists, but in the way that modern neo-Paganism does. It's not remotely mainstream, generally seen as a weird hippie thing, and the notion of Arceus appearing in the flesh one day and declaring he created the universe is about as fantastical to most people as the notion of the Norse pantheon doing the same in our world.

10. What traditions are observed in your world?

QftLverse human traditions are mostly just secular holidays - commemorations of important days in the region's history, etc. It's tradition for most children to go out on a Pokémon journey the spring after they turn ten years old, and participate in a First-Timers' League in the autumn if they manage to stick it out for the whole journey and collect all the badges - there are kids who don't, but it's rare for them to not want to, and other kids may see them as no fun.

Every year in Green Town, there is a Pokémon Festival originally built around the legendary Pokémon Chaletwo's yearly brief visit to the outskirts of the city (which may or may not be ditched in the next revision); it hosts a number of Pokémon-themed events over several days. One of them is a starter Pokémon giveaway, where most kids go to get official starter Pokémon, who have specifically volunteered and been trained to work with beginning trainers - though many kids have had Pokémon as pets/partners since they were young and journey with them instead, or their parents otherwise get them a Pokémon who's up for a beginning trainer. (Many Pokémon kind of like the idea of journeying with a beginning trainer, in the way that many people like the idea of getting a kitten rather than an adult cat - just something special about having been with them from the start. Though getting a starter who's actually been trained to deal with kids is recommended over just finding any random enthusiastic Pokémon.)

Pokémon have all kinds of different traditions. The Scyther society as explored in the spin-offs has a number of traditions and rituals, including a sort of blood baptism of new hatchlings, the leader of the swarm teaching all the adolescent Scyther about the Code, and First Prey, where each of the adolescents is sent out to hunt prey on their own for the first time, with a male and female witness following, so they can prove their ability to kill and to feed themselves. Afterwards, they're expected to publicly offer a symbolic piece of the meat of their first prey to some members of the swarm, and doing so signals respect; you don't technically have to, but in practice everyone always offers it to the leader and not doing so would be taken as outright disrespect.

The Morphicverse is once again culturally similar to the real world and has mostly similar sorts of traditions. Pokémon training is less culturally ingrained there, but still a very common hobby for kids.

11. What are some ways people communicate with pokémon in your world, or pokémon with each other?

In the QftLverse, humans learn to understand Pokémon speech as a mandatory subject at school. Pokémon inherently understand human speech, but they speak anime-style, usually in syllables of their species' name (which is what the species are named after). They share one language, which is not based on exactly what the syllables are but the tone and the way they're combined, hence why it works regardless of the species.

In the current version of the fic, this is pure handwave worldbuilding: it's established that it happens at school at the beginning, and then we just move on to the story, where every human simply understands what Pokémon are saying at all times. In the next revision I'd give a bit more proper worldbuilding attention to it - let the language barrier be a little more present, humans vary in exactly how good they are at it (luckily it's already the main character's best subject at school), and otherwise treat it less like it's just an excuse to act like Pokémon speak English.

In the Morphicverse, Pokémon do communicate but they don't do complex communication - instead, it's closer to the sort of communication most animals do in the real world. They can express how they're feeling, draw attention to something interesting, sound the alarm about something scary, ask another Pokémon to follow, and can do this in a somewhat more efficient and intelligent way than most animals generally do. But one way or another, they don't communicate complicated abstract ideas, neither to humans nor to one another. Pokémon don't automatically understand human speech here, though they're very quick learners when it comes to commands, and they can pick up a fair amount just by being around humans, allowing them to get the gist of basic statements and requests without being explicitly taught them, though anything abstract would still be entirely lost on them. You could tell a Pokémon you've lived with for years "I lost my hat, can you help me find it" and they'll go look for your hat, but they'd be lost if you tried to ask them for anything much more complicated than that.

12. What is the gym circuit or adventuring organization like in your world?

In the QftLverse, gyms are meant to be taken on in a specific order and gym leaders are accordingly expected to keep their Pokémon below a certain level. To be officially sanctioned by the League, a gym needs to have a theme - usually a type, although Rick got away with a legendary theme because he gets away with everything because he is hypnotizing League officials with his Mewtwo super-clone I was twelve years old. Every year there's a First-Timers' League in the autumn in each region, where new trainers who have collected all eight badges of their region face off (except for the bit where I somehow made a guy who'd been training for years be part of it without thinking about it properly). There's also a global Old-Timers' League for more experienced trainers, which crowns a world champion; this doesn't involve badges and is just a tournament. Trainers are advised to stick to official routes, while Pokémon who want a trainer seek out the routes and others avoid them; going off-route has the potential to lead to run-ins with Pokémon who are more hostile to humans. It's not forbidden but it's drilled into kids' heads that you're not supposed to.

The Morphicverse's gym circuit is not too dissimilar to that, but gym leaders are expected to carry a variety of Pokémon teams to take on challengers of different skill levels, who can take on the gyms of their circuit in any order. Kid trainers are strictly meant to travel only along official routes, which are thoroughly monitored to be safe, and often take public trainer transportation; when they're eighteen they can get an adult trainer license with which they can take their Pokémon anywhere they like, at their own risk. Mostly kids do it as a hobby, and many young children dream of being professional trainers, but only a fraction are actually good enough to make money off it, so most either quit it after a few summers on realizing it's not for them (they might release their Pokémon or keep them as pets, depending on how high-maintenance they are), or continue to do it as a side hobby. There exist college-level training schools for those who really want to dedicate their lives to it, but by that point in time most people will have dropped their pro trainer dreams.

#tqftl #morphic #worldbuilding june #pokemon

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alitheamateur · 6 years ago

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Hey, Jealousy

Warnings: Language. NSFW. Sexual content.

Characters: Liv Elliott/Colton Ritter

On my mother’s life, Livvy. If that son of a bitch looks at you that way again, I will get arrested.”

My closest friend, and the boutique salesclerk assured me the dress suited my body perfectly, and definitely didn’t cross any inappropriate lines when I stepped out of the dressing room earlier. But somehow, my zealous, inexplicably jealous boyfriend wasn’t on the same page. Or even reading the same book. Colton wasn’t even in the same bookstore, in the same zip code. And he made no bones about it.

He loved the dress when he saw me cascading down the steps of our hallway out of the bedroom just a brief hour ago. He loved it until he realized that every other specimen with eyes in the entire city would love it, too. It was silk number, short sleeves, with a robe-like tie around the waste. Stone gray softness settled high on my thigh, and a slit danced up a tease higher. The wrap of the dress was loose fitting, but it’s v-cut neckline, and dose of my toned legs was racier than my usual taste. But, the restaurant I had chosen was just newly opened to the public, and it’s hype was already spreading on my floor at the office among colleagues. My new love for the gym had done my body good, and I was rightfully proud of myself. Night life wasn’t typically how Colton and I spent time together, but it never hurt now and again. We were two young adults, in love, sharing life in the romping metropolis of Pittsburgh. Occasionally, I would convince my big bear to slap on that devilish leather jacket, run a comb through his hair, and hang me on his arm for a night out.

Green envy had settled in his color-changing eyes the moment the valet drank in a choking gulp of my summer-tanned legs as I stepped from the passenger side of the car after Colton handed him the keys to the SUV. The needle heel of my strappy, metallic stilettos femininely accentuated my petite feet, and created a lengthening illusion for my usually short legs. Needless to say, the parking man did not receive a tip from Mr. Ritter. Instead, a very, very firm squeeze of the fingers when he reached for the key fob. The poor kid appeared barely 20-years old, and a generous estimate of a buck thirty soaking wet. He learned a valuable lesson to keep curious stares to himself. Especially when the lady was accompanied by a brutal, quite physically capable cage-fighter.

“Calm down, Colton. I’m sure you’re just imagining things. Let’s just order, and enjoy the night, okay? Order yourself a beer and relax, love.” I fiddled with my menu, scanning for options I thought would arrive quickly from the kitchen so we could retreat back to the house before Colt wound up in hand cuffs.

He stood, his gait swelling with testosterone, to take a deep breath and escape for a bathroom break, kissing my forehead as he scooted past my chair. His return could not have been more ill-timed as the waiter so happen to be lingering at the table to pour my glass of woodsy, red wine. I could nearly feel Colton’s rageful approach before hearing his purposeful, strong stomps echoing over the marble tiled floors. His hand landed like a sack of bricks on the man whose name tag read “Charlie.”

“Charlie, is it?” Colton rattled the man’s shoulder. “Pour the glass, and fuck off to where ever it is you should be that’s not here fuckin’ panting over my girlfriend. I think it’d be in your best interest, ya’ sick little shithead.”

“Colton Ritter! Sit. NOW.” I barked through pearly, grinding teeth.

Not a word had been spoken out of line by the poor sap, nor anything resembling a cross or distasteful look. And I wouldn’t sit helplessly by and let Colton behave as cruelly as such. The little meathead just didn’t have it in him to let me feel as if anyone had disrespected me with even so much as a flattering glance. My heart loved him for it. He truly meant well after all. But, the Pittsburgh blood just ran too deep, and he hadn’t quite mastered expressing his feelings in healthier manners.

Colt did as told, his face dripping with a sullen rash of redness. The gulp of a dark ale I had ordered him seemed to sizzle down his throat when he swallowed it. I knew his insides were rancidly burning up with the incurable fires of jealousy, even though there was no one else in the entire number of humanity that I wanted to be with besides him. Surely, his fear of inferiority hadn’t been rooted so deeply that no amount of love and faithfulness I showed him could squander it? It all circled back to our time apart, and the unforgiving way he had punished me by the break-up. He hadn’t overcome the harsh truth that I could have easily wound up in the arms of another, never to return again.

“All this over a damn dress, Colton? My God, babe. What excuse do you have for acting like that?”

Would these be the little pep-talks I’d have to give when our fictional children knocked someone down on the school bus, or repeated his father’s favorite curse word to a teacher?

“It’s doesn’t have anything to do with you, or the dress. I love the fuckin’ thing, as a matter of fact. I’ve been fuckin’ hard for you over half of the night already because of it. The problem is, so has everybody else around here.”

Colton seemed to be pushing his insatiable craving for my flesh, and the tightly covered roundness of my behind, on the Saturday evening patrons of downtown Pittsburgh. Colton loved to be in control, he loved to feel in control at all times. But with me, things were different. I knew, and he knew. One hating it more than the other. His relationship with me wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced in life, and far from his exchanges in the cage where he usually also called the every shot. My typically in control fellow was reeling with teenage, lustful rage this evening and he couldn’t stand to feel so consumed and obsessed.

I took a dainty pull of the long-stemmed, crystal glass, licking a dribble of the rim after a pulled my glossed lips away from it. I know it may be infantile and improper to egotistically play off your advantages, but Colton was in for it.

“Is that so, huh?”

He gulped, and his knuckles turned white around his mug.

Behind the table, I loosened the pulled-tight bow of the silky wrap around my waist, causing the fabric to slip lower down my chest. More of my lotion-soft skin escaped between the valley of my breasts, and I pushed my heavy seat backwards to stand.

“I’m heading for the ladies’ room. I suggest you follow in case some of these terribly disrespectful men get a case of the wandering eyes.”

The pair of us were pros in the arena of public indecency by now. Weddings, the gym, my office at the Pilot. Even once, an afternoon delight in the shuttle of the Duquesne Incline two weeks ago. That had been a long overdue fantasy that lived up to every single standard.

I had barely excused myself from the table before I heard Colton’s wooden chair scoot frantically across the hard floors of the dining area. I was being chased, and stalked by your handsome bedmate, and the pool between your panty-less sex. I knew the wind catching my scent and trailing behind me would lead Colton onto the front lines of battle if I so pleased.

The restroom was built with multiple stalls, but we would find good use for the antique couch placed in the corner. The door closed silently behind me as I peeped below the black doors hiding each toilet. Empty. During primetime hours of the city’s’ current hotspot. It seemed to be fate.

Tapping my heels back to the door, I peaked into the dark hallway to give Colton the signal for ‘all-clear.�� He was posted with his arms flexing across his chest, and pretending to scroll over the locked-screen of his smart phone. He grinned like Lucifer himself as I bid him inside. Only the view of my eyes, and an outstretched leg wrapped highly around the wooden door could been seen. But that was all it took to furthermore entice his excited crotch. He checked both ways for any observing eyes, and I welcomed him into the spontaneous den of thrills.

Immediately he scooted the four-legs of the bright cushioned couch to barricade the unlocked door, and tossed me on it like a blonde ragdoll. I pulled open the easy confines of my clothes, and draped my leg over his shoulder to gift an opened view of my obviously naked body. With the ticks of his watch passing with haste, Colton wasted no time with the buckle of his belt, using his time wisely and needlessly prepping my already dripping entrance with his hissing mouth.

My panting bounced off the reverberating walls, dancing throughout the air with his own impatient moans of sexual enchantment. Colton captured my healthy thighs in his hands, yanking with command, teetering my bare form on the edge of the seat. His pants hanging low on his hips so his eager friend could escape, I chewed on the inside of my cheek panicked with anticipation. The risk, intermingled with the pleasureful intrusion I knew was coming next nearly caused my asthma to turn loose.

He squatted his knees to even up with my ready entrance, heaving himself instantly deep with no time, or patience to spare. He held my calves around his waist massaging deep into the tissue of my flexing legs, grunting as our bodies rocked into one another.

“This fuckin’ body of yours is for my eyes only, Livvy baby. I won’t have any other desperate prick staring at those round tits. Or that glorious little ass. Damn it, baby.”

His flashes of jealous exchanges earlier in the evening only fed and nurtured his hearty pushes inside me, and I squirmed with arousal. The way his hair had fallen into strands on his sweat beaded forehead, and the veins pulsing down the line of his neck quaked my body with shivering release. With ankles latched around his back, I closed my eyes and prepared to stifle my orgasmic outcry as he fiddled with the bead of my sex. Colton’s back was lurched forward, as if he was trying to reach depths inside of me he’d never touched before his release gave way.

Suddenly, a rattle on the other side of the door caught my very distracted attention when someone pushed to try and enter the very occupied bathroom. I was tingling with eruption, and I wasn’t about to let anyone come between me my daily hello with sexual satisfaction.

“Fuck off!” I sharply dismissed the intrusion.

Colton smiled with pride, knowing he had caused this uncurable addiction in me, and because he had tarnished my usually polite manner of speaking.

Babbling words barely translating to my English language, I felt myself spill hot release onto Colton, and down the numbness of my thighs with him smiling above me as he did the same.

We dressed, and collected ourselves best we could before setting the restroom back to its proper state. Colton’s shirt was sweat stained, and my make-up running down my flushed face.

“Hey, babe?”

“Yes, baby?” He offered up as he helped tie the closure of my newest dress.

“Can we stop back by the boutique after dinner? They had this same dress in red, and it was to die for.”

I could see him already calculating what crowded room he would parade me around in to stir up his most envious spirit.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935 @mollybegger-blog @littleluna98

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tomhardyfanfic #tomhardyfanfiction #tom hardy fanfiction #elizabeth olsen #thegrind

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marzipan-moon · 8 years ago

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Gingerbread House

Characters: Korekiyo Shinguji & his sister Warnings: Chapter 3 spoilers. There’s nothing explicit. Notes:

Crossposted to AO3. So! I'm still getting used to Korekiyo's voice - and considering we get very little information about his sister, I've done my best to characterise her. This is intended to be part of a series of drabbles, but can be read on its own. I expect she'll start to change a bit as I explore her characterisation further. I study anthropology only as a hobby, so take any 'facts' presented throughout with a grain of salt. Their musings are not necessarily my own opinions. Finally, any feedback is gratefully received and highly appreciated. Thank you so much!

“Sweet Korekiyo, come here. I wish to tell you a story,” Sister said, beckoning him to follow. He excitedly put his book down, following after her. “Now,” she said, slippers padding along the tatami floor. “I think you will like this one in particular.” He didn’t doubt the truth of that. After all, her stories were always of interest to him. However, she was moving with that certain zeal - her body language just that little bit uncontrolled, her river of hair quivering this way and that. Even her voice betrayed her, that ever-so-slight upturn in her speech. She didn’t just expect it to excite him - it was exciting her. “You see… it’s a true story,” she said - sliding open the door to her room. “From a study, actually.” A folding screen divided her room. Though she never seemed to have visitors, she always said only those she trusted would ever be allowed to see through that screen. She’d smiled when she said that, pulling him by the arm. This time, though - she disappeared behind it without any acknowledgement of this most sacred barrier.

Naturally following her, he glanced over this half of the room. Most of her medical equipment was lined up neatly by the wall - today must have been a good day, none of it looked used. Besides that, there was just her futon and her stack of books. Nevertheless, he felt a certain sense of privileged being here - as though everything on this half of the room was secret and precious and something only for them. She casually sat on the futon - her smile coming easy. Accompanying her, she finally told him her story. “A professor brings his child into work one evening. Now, being a professor, he has much to do - but she, being a child, has much she wants to do. So he invents a game to distract her and gives her the only non-valuable thing he has on his person - a box with three burnt matches.” She held up three fingers, emoting dramatically as any good storyteller would. “Now, she plays with these matches awhile. But they’re just inert, boring scratches of wood - no? How could anyone have fun with just that?!” She leaned in towards him, the glitter in her eyes causing him to smile. “But you see, being a child, she makes do with the best tool that she has. She names the matches Hansel, Gretel, and the Witch. And so she plays on, the game becoming so much more interesting. She starts to weave stories together, make manifest her feelings through what was once just cast-away splinter. Pinewood transformed into flesh and blood, a Frankenstein’s monster birthed in a Professor’s office - visible only to her.” “Then. Suddenly, she drops the matches with a shriek.” She thumped her hand on the floor. “Father, Father! Please! Take the witch away, I’m afraid to touch her!” They laugh at that, her attempt at acting resulting in blotches of red on her cheeks. Slightly panting, she said while still laughing, “So you see, Korekiyo, that is the powerful force buried deep in every human mind. The ability to transmogrify anything into anything, forged from the background strokes of our culture and limited only by our knowledge. A child can go within one evening to knowing, seeing, feeling those matches as nothing but wood - to terrifying herself with the threat of being eaten alive by cannibalistic witches. Now, do you think an adult mind is all that different?” She hummed, looking at him. He considered the question awhile, before giving the response he was sure she would like. “Well, isn’t that just how children learn, by playing?” “Children never stop playing, not even when they are called adults,” she said. “We play with everything, the thing that drives all intelligent species. It’s where… Well, I believe, that nature - that ability to convince ourselves of the living that wasn’t there before - isn’t that the root of all spirituality, of all belief? The match becomes the witch, the cross becomes the God, the leaves and the grass and the earth itself is breaming with spirits…” “Even those action figures my classmates collect,” he continued - enraptured in her passion. “… Not that they would ever say this aloud, but on some level, do you not think that they think of them as alive? Fiction itself is like a collection of sign signals, stimulating our need to forge life into everything.” She smiled, “Yes, well said, Korekiyo.” “And…” he added, “I find it quite fascinating that the child chose to conjure the figment of a witch. As though she was inviting in the terror, delighting in it.”

Her smile widened, her brows raising. “Ah, yes. That is also true. Human beings seem naturally drawn to frightening things, don’t they, Korekiyo? Just as adults delight in horror stories. How often do we see happy things in the news, hm? Even us…” She laughed at that, “Even we - who are aware of our own fixations and stimuli, we are attracted to tragedy, are we not?” “Yes,” he mused. “Though, I feel our fixation on tragedy is not simply to feel that rush of adrenaline. That delighted terror you speak of… can really bring out the most beautiful parts of humanity. Through their struggle to overcome the imagined witch, they turn to their family members. They expose what they trust to protect them, what they find most precious. The news gives us a sense of place, an opportunity to re-evaluate what we have, who we have - fear transformed into appreciation.” “Or…” She leaned her head on his shoulder, their hair blending. “The fear can be used to control, to manipulate. That little girl conjured a witch only because she had been fed stories of Hansels and Gretels and Witches for her entire life. She has been told that witches are something to fear. Hungry, predatory, mysterious and foreign. Those stories, those feelings intersect - and so when it comes time for her subconscious to pick a story, that is the one she chooses. If witches were people, how horrible would that be?” “They are,” he corrected her. “And in my experience, they do not tend to have a preference for the taste of child’s flesh. So… you bring up a good point. Witches were demonised, pagan worshippers transformed out of ignorance - out of a need to control.” Nodding enthusiastically, she squeezed his arm. “What a thoughtful little brother I have, hmm?” She laughed. “Or perhaps I made you up, conjured you out of nothing by my internal desires. After all, you’re built like a match.” She made a point out of it, wrapping her finger and her thumb around the entire circumference of his forearm. He laughed, doing exactly the same to her - her arm even thinner. “You’re built like a match too, Sister. Perhaps we’re just a pair of burnt matches. Puppeted by a bored little girl.” “Hansel and Gretel.” “So, then. Who's the witch?” They looked at each other, the briefest of fearful expressions, and laughed. — Back to his room, back to his sanctuary. He sat in front the mirror. Eagerly, he peeled back his mask, her red lips… her face blazing up at him. “Sweet Korekiyo.” She was here! She was really here! All the terror in the world, this exhausting killing game, the constant act he had to keep up just being himself - none of that mattered, none of that mattered anymore because she was here. “You’ve made me so happy.” He didn’t scream.

#Danganronpa V3 #ndrv3 #korekiyo shinguji #korekiyo shinguuji #korekiyo #I'm tentatively naming her Ayumu (歩夢) for now #so that'll be my character tag 4 her just the noo #ayumu #writing

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callunavulgari · 8 years ago

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YEAR-IN-BOOKS

I’m gonna go ahead and do this again this year, because I really like end of year reflection things and it was fun last year, so hey.

1. a book you loved?

I was fond of most of the books that I read this year and all in different ways. Last year was an absolute goldmine of awesome, amazing love this book forever types. This year I definitely had less of those, but I read more, and what’s maybe even better is that I also read a lot of books that I normally wouldn’t have. I wanna say that my favorites of the ones that I read were either The Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo or Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel.

2. a book you hated?

UGH. Artemis by Andy Weir. It is the first book that I have ever given only one star to on goodreads, and was a total waste of time. I’ve read a good half of The Martian, and even though I’ve yet to finish it, I liked what I read well enough. But as I said in my scathing goodreads review, The Martian worked for Weir because it’s one dude alone on Mars. Artemis, unfortunately, requires a full cast of characters and has a female protagonist. Weir does not know how to write women OR realistic dialogue, and following along with middle school grade humor and a woman that is basically a lady-sized cut-and-paste of Weir’s ideal wet dream. Which wouldn’t be bad, necessarily, if she wasn’t so obviously a man’s ‘idea’ of a woman, instead of an actual three dimensional character.

3. a book that made you cry?

There’s a scene at the end of Victoria Schwab’s Our Dark Duet that involves a cat. No, the cat does not die, and I don’t want to get into it because the whole reason the scene is sad is because of spoilery context, but I did end up tearing up because of that damn cat.

4. a book that made you happy?

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers is an absolute delight. It has legitimate funny moments, really well drawn out characters including several species that are so perfectly crafted that you can envision them, right down to the feathers and claws, and the story, while a little meandering, is totally great.

5. the best sequel?

I read kind of a lot of sequels this year, but then, I also finished a lot of series this year, period. My gut reaction is to say Siege and Storm, because it’s one of the ones that I read the fastest, and the series that sticks out the most. But I’m going to say The Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo. And honestly, second up is probably Waking Gods, because holy wow, those books.

6. most anticipated release for the new year?

I’m really looking forward to Only Human, Thunderhead, and Vengeful, which are the sequels and triquels (is that a thing? that word should be a thing) to Sleeping Giants, Scythe, and Vicious, all of which I read this year and adored. The book that isn’t a sequel that I’m most looking forward to is Feeder by Patrick Weekes, which is basically about a lady that hunts monsters. It looks right up my alley and I’m super psyched.

7. favorite new author?

Technically I discover Schwab last year, but I did a lot of exploring of the books that she’s written this year and she is definitely a new favorite of mine. The other one that I’m keeping my eye on is Sylvain Neuvel, who wrote Sleeping Giants and Waking Gods. More on those books later.

8. favorite book to film adaptation?

So, the only reason that I reread A Wrinkle In Time is because of the trailer for the new movie that is coming out in March. I got incredibly excited, and am probably, if I can afford it, flying down south to watch the movie with my mom when it comes out. The Annihilation trailer also looks pretty cool, but I’m anticipating serious changes there. I did end up watching the film adaptation of Me Before You this year, which I’d read last summer. I ended up crying like a baby, and was pleasantly surprised by how much of the book they kept.

9. the most surprising book?

A Natural History of Dragons, by Marie Brennan. I’m not sure what I was expecting when I borrowed the book from the library, but it wasn’t the Pride and Prejudice with dragons that I got, and stupidly delighted by.

10. the most interesting villain?

The Grisha Trilogy, for sure. Honestly, Alina and the Darkling’s relationship was the only thing that kept me reading these books, and I was thrilled by the Darkling from the moment I realized he was the villain in Shadow and Bone all the way to the end. “Make me your villain,” indeed.

11. the best makeouts?

Okay, so Love For the Cold-Blooded was about a million times pornier than I imagined it would be, so that would get my vote for best sex, but there weirdly wasn’t much actual kissing involved. Also the fact that I didn’t like the characters or story very much probably didn’t help things. So honestly? Probably Shadow and Bone. That [SPOILER, though not much of one] scene where Alina and the Darkling make out against a wall was probably the most exhilarating scene of the entire series. Like, trust me. I know he’s the villain, bad wrong, etc. etc. but I shipped them hard.

12. a book that was super frustrating?

Slaughterhouse Five. I didn’t actually get around to finishing it, because the version that I got was an audio cd narrated by James Franco and I just. Didn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of traffic. I don’t know if it was the story, his voice, or a combination of both but I was super uninterested in the entire situation. I gave up somewhere in the middle of the second cd.

13. a book you texted about, and the text was IN CAPSLOCK?

Okay, so the thing is. I don’t really have any friends. Not ones that I can talk to about books anyway, which is super tragic, because I love books and I miss being able to talk (read: rant) about whatever I’ve just read. I do it with Nick occasionally, but he doesn’t ‘get’ fiction so it’s mostly just me waving my hands a lot and talking rapidly in his direction as he nods and takes a couple steps back so I don’t accidentally smack him in the nose. I did, however, have a conversation with my roommate about Wool, and all the reasons why she should read it.

14. a book for the small children in your life?

Okay, but every kid should read A Wrinkle In Time. The sequels are a little... stranger than I remember, but I loved reading them as a kid, and I really loved rereading the first one as an adult.

15. a book you learned from?

Spunk & Bite was a guide to ‘punchier’ writing, and while I wouldn’t say that I really learned anything that I didn’t already know, some things were expanded on that I found interesting. I also read some of The Islamic Enlightenment, which was pretty decent from what I read of it but a bit much for my poor ADHD brain. I think I need to stick to fiction.

16. a book you wouldn’t normally try?

A lot of the books that I read this year were things that I wouldn’t normally pick up. I think the ones that were most out of my element were Less by Andrew Sean Greer and Before the Fall by Noah Hawley. The first book is about an aging author who, when upon invited to his ex’s wedding, takes a trip around the globe in order to get out of going. My manager, who I talk to about books a lot, asked about it and was incredibly confused since it’s so far from what I usually read. Despite this, it’s probably the book that I will remember most from this year a decade down the line. Before the Fall is similarly not my usual cup of tea, about a man and a boy who survive an airplane crash. It’s a thriller/mystery, but the characters are so beautifully fleshed out that it hooked me anyway.

17. a book with something magical in it?

Technically a good half of them have magic of some sort, because that is the usual type of book that I read. I’m going to go with All The Crooked Saints by Maggie Stiefvater though, because all of her books are magical.

18. the best clothes?

As much as I would love to get away with wearing the brightly colored reaper’s robes from Scythe, I really, really adored the description of Arthur’s suit in Less.

19. the most well-rounded characters?

That was a theme of the books that I read this year. They all had really gorgeously well-rounded characters with intricate backstories and relationships. Before the Fall was really, really good about it, as was Station Eleven, and The Secret History, though in the case of that last one you almost don’t want to get to know the characters better by the end of it.

20. the best world-building?

I really liked the world building in A Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet. I seriously can’t even begin how to describe how cool all the different species and space jargon was in this book. This is the space-faring book that I wanted Artemis to be.

21. the worst world-building?

Love For The Cold-Blooded? It’s a world of superheroes and villains, but it’s so slapstick that it takes away from the book a lot. Like, honestly if it wasn’t for the fact that I was vaguely intrigued by the hero bangs evil minion side of it, I wouldn’t have even kept reading.

22. a book with a good sidekick?

Gut-punch reaction is A Crooked Kingdom, but it’s hard to call any of those characters a sidekick. I’m going to go with The Archived, by Victoria Schwab, because I haven’t talked about the series yet and Roland and Wesley are both fantastic sidekicks. I loved them both immensely, most of the time more than the main character herself. The Unbound, its sequel, made those two even more compelling.

23. the most insufferable narrator?

Ugh, ugh, ugh, definitely Jazz from Artemis. Again, it isn’t her fault, she could have been super cool. Genius, tech-savvy, Muslim girl who lives on the moon and smuggles shit? Definitely could have been a cool character. But seriously, that dude cannot write ladies. She is literally just Mark Watney.

24. a book you were excited to read for months beforehand?

All The Crooked Saints. But I think I’ll always be excited for Stiefvater books.

25. a book you picked up on a whim?

I picked up almost all of these because they had been recommended to me in some capacity. Spunk & Bite and The Islamic Enlightenment were both books that I picked up in the library because they simply caught my eye. Slaughterhouse Five I actually only grabbed because it was one of the only audiobooks in stock that wasn’t either Danielle Steel or Christian talky shows.

26. a book that should be read in a foreign country?

Less. I read it in a pool in North Carolina this summer and though it scratched the itch, it should entirely be read in a foreign country.

27. a book cassian andor would like?

Sleeping... Giants? Or A Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet?

28. a book gina linetti would like?

I legitimately have no idea what this character is like.

29. your favorite cover art?

A Conjuring of Light or All The Crooked Saints. They’re both very aesthetic™

30. a book you read in translation?

None of them. Clearly I’m not getting diverse enough.

31. a book from another century?

Hah. Haha. Technically A Wrinkle In Time was written last century. Oh god, I’m getting old.

32. a book you reread?

Other than A Wrinkle In Time, which I read so long ago that it shouldn’t even be counted as a reread, I didn’t actually do any full rereads this year. I’ve been itching to reread both The Raven Cycle and Uprooted though, so maybe I’ll do those when I make my way through my library pile.

33. a book you’re dying to talk about, and why?

Okay, but seriously. Less and Station Eleven were fucking phenomenal and should be read even if you’re unsure that you will like them. I loved both of them immensely and again, I can’t rant to any of my friends and work friends about books because they look at me like I’m stupid. Also, Trigger Warning by Neil Gaiman. Those were some damn good short stories.

#new year's memes #2017 #books to read #heather says what #fuck yeah recs!

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swordarkeereon · 8 years ago

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Fiction vs. Real World Occult

It never ceases to amaze me the questions I receive in my email where people have blurred the lines between fiction vs. real-world occult. Or perhaps it doesn’t amaze me so much as saddens me. For some people, there’s a real disconnect between reality and pure fantasy. They are willing to believe that fictional accounts like Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus, Milton’s Paradise Lost, and Dante’s Inferno are all factual accounts, when in fact — all of them are fictional fabrications. Fantastical fantasies of writers’ minds.

To make a fictional story truly frightening to those who aren’t educated or experienced enough in the topic, one must believe the tropes prevalent in occult fiction in order for that story to fall into the horror category. For those educated in the occult, fiction that relies on this belief is at most – thrilling, as opposed to horrific.

What do I mean by tropes? Common plot devices (perhaps even overused plots) in a specific genre. Tropes are oftentimes expected by readers. After all, a common trope in sweet romance is that all the sex happens behind closed doors. If you’re reading what you think is a sweet romance and BAM – you’re hit with a full explicit X-Rated sex scene, you may not be too pleased with the author. All genres have these particular tropes. In fantasy, sorcerers/mages can’t be all-powerful. In a mystery, there’s the reluctant detective (one who doesn’t expect to be solving a crime – but has to to save themselves usually).

For supernatural occult fiction, think back to the Satanic Panic of the early nineties (if you were alive back then) and you will see the very fabric of occult fiction being purported as fact. Some common genre tropes (some of which are dying, thank goodness):

All non-Christian religions are murderous cults or “Satanists’. (Bride of the Devil)

Children and/or adults being sexually abused by Satanic cults during ritual. (Just about any supernatural movie where alleged Satanists are involved)

Women being forcibly bred with sacrificial babies or Daemon/Satan spawn. (Rosemary’s Baby)

Children/Adults/Animals being used as blood sacrifices. (Just about any supernatural movie where alleged Satanists are involved)

Daemons who manifest as terrifying monsters to destroy those who conjured them, or to terrorize unsuspecting victims. (Just about every supernatural movie)

Possession of innocent people, turning them into monsters. (The Exorcist et al)

Daemons, Spirits, and Gods manifesting as humans to destroy innocent victims (or the world). See Possession above… (The Omen)

A house or location possessed by a Daemonic Spirit or vengeful spirits of the dead. (Amittyville et al)

Hell as an actual place filled with fire, brimstone, and the stuff of nightmares. (The Gate, Hellraiser)

People making pacts with Daemons to gain wealth, fame, etc… but are oftentimes utterly destroyed or tortured. (Devil’s Advocate, Constantine, Ghost Rider, Solomon Kane etc…)

Circles of salt, or special magickal circles in general, will protect you from anything (except ghosts) as long as you stay inside and don’t break the circle. (Supernatural)

Some newer tropes that have surfaced in the past 20-30 years include:

Blurred lines between good and evil.

Not everything is as they seem.

Is the main character haunted/possessed – or mentally ill (or on drugs)?

Not all magick and magick users are evil, but there are defined lines between good and evil.

These are all great storylines. They’re fun, they’re thrilling (or terrifying depending on your beliefs and imagination), and they’re spooky. It’s no wonder people would rather the fiction be true when it comes to the real-world occult. Real world occult is boring comparatively. It often looks more like studying, meditating, waxing philosophic, and performing rituals that are about as exciting as watching cement dry from the observer point of view. The one movie I’ve seen recently that seems to be pretty close to the real-world occult is A Dark Song. And guess what? A lot of viewers hated it! Most real-world occult ritual isn’t nearly as theatrical as movies and novels would have us believe – and if it were, it would be nothing more than a theatrical presentation as opposed to genuine magick. The biggest reason being that you can’t get into the proper mental and meditative states required for proper application of magickal forces between all the monologues and exaggerated actions that theatrical rituals require.

Yes, when I’m telling a fictional story — even I write within the tropes of my genre(s). Well – some of them anyway. My characters have done huge group rituals to raise the dead (which always physically manifest, of course) and capture spirits. They’ve rescued other practitioners, who’d been kidnapped by avenging angels, from the astral plane. They’ve raised Daemons, dealt with haunted houses, and on occasion have even found themselves possessed. I wrote a horror story where a willing woman is used in a sex magick rite of a faux Satanic cult, and finds herself Satan’s sex slave. But none of this is real. I don’t know a single Satanic group out there who has exciting mass orgies of the flesh with 50+ people (and I know a LOT of Satanists). Usually, sex magick is reserved for small groups of 1-6 CONSENTING ADULTS. That’s the more accurate, real-world scenario, and not all occult practitioners practice sex magick anyway. Notice how the real thing is far less exotic or scandalous than the image of fifty Satanists, donned in the same ritual uniform, performing a ritual in unison, followed by the kinky ritual sex. The latter makes for far better fiction hands down.

There’s a reason I place my fictional books in the occult and supernatural FICTION categories and I use a different pen name from my NON FICTION. While a lot of my fiction has a basis in real-world occult practices, communities, and beliefs – I exaggerate magickal results and spirit communication – drawing it into the physical world on a level it doesn’t happen in the real world. A lot. Some of it is outright outlandish. For example — zombies raised via necromantic rituals ARE NOT REAL. When conjured, Daemons do not appear as razor-toothed monsters, snarling and spitting and covered in blood and mucus. More often than not, you’ll get shadows, knocks, footsteps, or a tap on the shoulder. On VERY rare occasion, you’ll come face to face with a Daemon and they’ll look weird (not grotesque), or they’ll have angelic faces and striking eyes. The most frightening part of coming face to face with an actual Daemonic force is the unexpectedness of it, and the physiological response the resonance of their energy causes. See — not nearly as exciting, is it?

But I’m still writing tropes. I’m just writing newer tropes. Blurred lines, not all magick is bad, but I still make that definition between good and evil because readers expect it!

Some common tropes that end up in my inbox (and my responses) –

I want to make a deal with a demon, but I don’t want to sell my soul or have to kill a baby/person/animal to do it. Human sacrifice is cowardly and not a part of real-world occult practice. Animal sacrifice has certain rules/perimeters (i.e. not neighborhood pets — food animals only) and is often only done for offering rites, usually with a meal afterward. Also, there are no Daemons running amock collecting souls. That’s just fantasy/fiction. Please see my book on Daemonic Pacts.

When I make a pact with a demon, how do I keep it from killing me? That’s not necessarily how Daemons work. I have yet to meet anyone who has become Daemon food after a pact. At worst – you’ll prove yourself worthless and unworthy, and the Daemonic will simply ignore you forever more. If they think there might be potential there – they might kick your ass to try to shove you in the right direction. If they respect your work ethic and think you’d benefit from the pact – they’ll help you out. How that turns out is up to you AND them. If you end up dying due to a pact, well, either it was your time to leave this world, or you likely destroyed yourself. Sometimes we get what we ask for, and sometimes what we think we want isn’t actually what we want and we end up destroying ourselves because of it. Fame and Sorath work tends to have this effect on people.

When I come face to face with a demon I conjure, what should I expect? You likely won’t come “face-to-face” with the Daemon. It’s not going to manifest inside a fiery pentagram on your bedroom floor. That’s not how it works. However, if you do find yourself blessed with an actual physical manifestation (not just smoke and mirrors) – there is no way to prepare for that. It’s always intimidating or shocking. And nothing like what you see in movies.

I am afraid of demons because of what I’ve seen in movies about them. Are you sure your methods are safe? Magick isn’t safe. Life isn’t safe. If you want safe, wrap yourself in bubble wrap and never leave your home. But seriously, if you’re afraid of demons because of what you’ve seen in horror films, you probably ought not be practicing Daemonic rituals of any type. Ever. You may just end up manifesting your own fears. Fear is a powerful thing.

My magick didn’t manifest immediately! Something should have happened by now if it worked! Let’s face it – some people are better magicians than others, and I will even venture to say that Daemons tend to favor some practitioners over others for various reasons. All magick done right will manifest. It may just not have manifested to your expectations. Perhaps it’s time to evaluate your expectations in relation to what you worked the magick for. You might also need to look into deeper issues that could be holding you back from receiving fully the things you think you should be able to manifest via magick.

But… but…

But nothing. It’s time for people to stop pretending the fantastical tropes of the supernatural fiction genre are how things work. There’s a reason we separate fiction from non-fiction. I literally read an entire post on a magickal FB group the other day that sounded like a new script for the show Supernatural. There are people out there who really believe they’re Daemon hunter exorcists, and have convinced themselves they’re very much like Sam and Dean Winchester – chasing devils and rustling witches. Locking up Daemons in cages, or accidentally setting them loose. Don’t get me wrong – I love a good story as much as the next person, but it gets to be too much for me when people act like supernatural fiction is supernatural fact and want everyone else to validate their fantasy (or accept it as their own personal truth). Solid magicians know the difference.

#capturing spirits in bottles #demon hunters #demons are scary #I'm an exorcist by golly #it's all about the pact #yeah sure it did

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unt2017 · 6 years ago

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The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S Lewis Genre: Fantasy Image:“Chronicles of Narnia” [image]. (2019). Retrieved from https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11129.The_Chronicles_of_Narnia

First, I have to admit I have not read all the books in this series. In fact, I wasn’t sure what the correct order of the books are. The book I started using has all seven books in one volume and according to it the order is as follows: The Magician’s Nephew, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, The Horse and His Boy, Prince Caspian, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, The Silver Chair and finally The Last Battle. However, if someone were to Google the order of the books, most might come across the fact that the publication order is not the same as the one in the book volume I used. According to Goodreads.com, the publication order is as follows: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, Prince Caspian, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, The Silver Chair, The Horse and His Boy, The Magician’s Nephew, and The Last Battle (The Chronicles of Narnia Publication Order, 2019). So, because of this debate, I wasn’t sure if it mattered where I started. I realized that what I thought I knew or remembered about what I had read in years past was very little, so I decided to read again and I started with the story everyone has either read or knows enough to be able to talk about with any sense of interest: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. The aspects of the story I want to follow up on are: tension, setting, and pacing. The more I think about it the more I believe it makes sense to flesh out these parts of the story because they would be the most interesting.

Evaluation

According to Tunnell, Jacobs, Young & Bryan (2016): “Fiction without tension is bland. Tension makes the reader want to read on to see how the conflict is resolved and what happens to the people involved in the problem” (19). In the case of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, the main characters Lucy, Edmund, Peter, and Susan stumble on a world that cannot be readily explained other than a child’s wild imagination (or so adults like to believe) and they end up in a world that is run by a villain named The White Witch. She uses Edmund to try and further her plan of getting rid of Aslan, one of the many protagonists and heroes of this series. However, she underestimates the power of family and friends. The proof of this shows itself in the following:

Edmund shook hands with each of the others and said to each of them in turn, “I’m sorry,” and everyone said “That’s all right”. And everyone wanted very hard to say something which would make it quite clear that they were all friends with him again ---something ordinary and natural—and of course no one could think of anything in the world to say (174).

Everyone knows that dealing with family can be beyond difficult. They make you angry, sad, happy, and everything in between, but what others also know is that family forgives family. This particular quote proves how true that is and that tension of any kind can make for a good story. Tension either makes the story blow up like a fire cracker with pretty colors or fizzle out faster than the bubbles on a soft drink and that can be the catalyst that either makes the reader continue to read or they put the book down and do not pick it back up.

Another aspect that determines whether or not a reader continues reading a particular book is the pacing. According to Tunnell et al., (2016): “Pacing is how quickly or slowly a story moves” (18). In the case of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, the pacing switches back and forth between fast and slow. For example, in chapter fifteen one of the first quote on the page is as follows: “Now! Follow me all and we will set about what remains of this war! It will not take us long to crush the human vermin and the traitors now that the great Fool, the great Cat, lies dead” (182). To me, this shows that the pace and action will soon pick up from here. I know that every book has its high and low points, but the low points seem to dictate whether or not the reader makes it to the best parts of the story. A reader can find the characters interesting. They can feel every emotion for main characters, but without solid pacing of the story, it is difficult to want to keep up because caring for the characters is only part of the experience.

The final aspect I want to focus on is the setting. The reason for this being I like reading stories that take me outside of the real world and the regular time sphere. I enjoy being able to lose hours in a book then when I come back it feels like I’ve gone on a mini vacation. According to Tunnell et al., (2016): “The setting is where and when the book takes place. …The place can be as vast as a planet or as small as one room. The time may be in the past, the present, or the future, or it may be an unspecified in imaginary worlds” (18). To this end, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe doesn’t seem to have a specified time period, but Narnia is an imaginary world that seems so well written that if they didn’t have talking animals, I would believe it was of our world and our time. However, I am glad that it isn’t of our world because I find stories similar to now a bit boring. Sure, I don’t mind stories having elements of reality in them, but that’s not why I read the genres I do. I read them to escape real life not get bogged down in it while reading. Speaking of the reasons why I read, the questions from the Williamson (n.d) article had me thinking. The following questions are the ones I want to delve deeper into: How much does the text agree with your views of the world, and what you consider right or wrong? How well does it address things you care about and consider important to the world? Finally, how well did you enjoy the text as entertainment or work of art? (Williamson, n.d).

Response

Whenever I am reading, these questions don’t really come to mind because I usually read for enjoyment and try not to get too bogged down. However, in the case of how much does the text agree with the views I have of the world and what I consider right or wrong and how well does it address things you care about and consider important to the world, I am not sure I have a good answer for that. Very rarely could one answer be the same or similar for two different questions. It has been said that the Chronicles of Narnia has Christianity undertones to it and that for example, Aslan might be the character that is supposed to represent Christ. Being a Christian myself I could see how this might be based off just reading The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. In fact, according to the following article from CBN/ Movieguide Magazine (2019) the author says that Lewis had explained things using the following quote:

…Read the earlier book in this series called The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and you will find the full story of how he was killed by the White Witch and came to life again. When you have read that, I think you will probably see that there is a deeper meaning behind it. The whole Narnian story is about Christ. That is to say, I asked myself ‘Supposing that there really was a world like Narnia and supposing it had (like our world) gone wrong and supposing Christ wanted to go into that world and save it (as He did ours), what might have happened?’ The stories are my answers (Movieguide, 2019).

Whether or not C.S Lewis said this or not could be up for debate, but I could see it being true based on what I read from the book. A quote from the book may further this line of thinking. Lewis (1982) wrote the following: “He knows the Deep Magic better than that. He knows that unless I have blood as the Law says, all Narnia will be overturned and perish in fire and water” (176). The best way to help readers understand why this is important is to go to the book that is part of the Christian faith: The Bible. Genesis 6:17 states: “And, behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the earth, to destroy all flesh, wherein is the breath of life, from under heaven; and every thing that is in the earth shall die” (KJV online, 2019). That tells the parallel of the water, but what about the fire? Revelation 8:7 states: “…The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth: and the third part of trees was burnt up, and all green grass was burnt up.” (KJV online, 2019). Now granted I understand that these verses are parts of a bigger aspect of the Bible so these verses to many might not seem as much; however, I can’t help but feel they further my connection that Lewis wrote The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe as part of a way to help others understand certain things about the Bible. The children in the book represent human nature and the values and lessons we receive by learning how to navigate the world and the mistakes we make while doing so. The book also talks about how important forgiveness is when a wrong has been committed. I would like to add that I find this lesson important because we all need it. No one is perfect. That is why Lucy, Susan, and Peter forgiving Edmund for his betrayal of them and being happy to see him again is important. It reminds me that humans need to be kind to one another or the world would go up in flames faster than we can stop it.

Conclusion

Overall, I enjoyed reading The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. It made me feel like a child again and let me use my imagination in a way I haven’t done in a while. I see why C.S Lewis is a popular author, and I like the fact that he uses his faith to reach others in a way they understand. I really want to see how the rest of the stories compare and fit in with the overall picture. I believe this was the one book I did not regret reading to review (out of the ones on the list that I had marked to read at some point in time). The characters were real, powerful, but not overwhelming in such a way that overshadowed the point. Narnia, as a place, lets me escape the real world for a while, and I always like books that take me on a mini vacation. So, do me a favor if you will, let everyone know I give The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe a 10 out of 10 and recommend it highly.

References:

“Chronicles of Narnia Publication Order Series” (2019). Retrieved from https://www.goodreads.com/series/49073-chronicles-of-narnia

“The Deeper Truth Behind ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’”. (2019). Retrieved from https://www1.cbn.com/books/deeper-truth-behind-chronicles-narnia

“Genesis 6:17” (2019). Retrieved from https://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/Genesis-Chapter-6/#17

Lewis, C.S. (1982). Chronicles of Narnia. New York: HarperCollins

“Revelation 8:7” (2019). Retrieved from https://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/Revelation-Chapter-8/

Tunnell M.O., Jacobs, J.S., Young T.A. & Bryan, G. (2016). What is a good book? in Children’s Literature Briefly, (pp. 15-23.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson.

Williamson, O.M. (n.d). “Reader Response”. Retrieved from http://utminers.utep.edu/omwilliamson/engl0310link/readerresponse.htm

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sage-nebula · 8 years ago

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Something Like a Modern Fantasy

Notes: So, six years ago, I wrote a thing.

Specifically, I wrote this thing, and I know it was six years ago because I posted it to Facebook and it showed up in the “On This Day” app. And here’s the thing about this thing: This original fic resulted in one of the worst drags I’ve ever experienced, one that honest-to-god almost broke me as a writer.

Let me explain.

Six years ago, I took an advanced fiction workshop for the first time. See, I was a creative writing major in undergrad, and so we were required to take at least one advanced creative writing course (I took two over the course of my time---fiction and playwriting---but that’s not the point right now.) The first time I tried to take the advanced fiction workshop, however, I didn’t finish it. The reason why I didn’t finish it---the reason why I ended up dropping out---was because I submitted this story when it was my turn to submit something for our class of 25 to read . . .

. . . and the professor . . . raked me over the coals for it.

Now, again, our class had twenty-five students in it. But my professor hated this story so much that he went off about how much he hated it, in front of all twenty-four of the other students. He also said, and I’ll never forget this, “There’s so much wrong with this I don’t have time to tell you how to fix it.” Apparently it was the least funny, most horribly written thing he had ever read. I’m all about constructive criticism, but literally nothing he said was constructive. All insults, and no instruction on how to fix it. As a result, I was so completely ashamed and humiliated that I just stopped showing up to the class and took my failing grade, feeling that I deserved it.

Anyway, I ended up taking an advanced fiction workshop with the other professor who taught it a year or two later (because while I could have just given up on writing forever, that’s . . . not really my style), and I worked my ass off and passed that one with flying colors, so it all worked out in the end. The first workshop was a disaster, and the second one was a success. But the point of this post is that I’m going to share with you that fateful story that was so bad that I couldn’t show my face in that first advanced fiction workshop again, because, hey . . . even if (though?) it’s garbage, if nothing else, it just shows how far I’ve come.

So, here’s this.

- - -

Most people go through their lives without anything exciting happening to them. Oh, sure, they go to school, go to work, maybe win a contest or two, participate in some sports tournaments, attend a few concerts . . . but nothing truly exciting happens to them. They live ordinary, boring lives, even if their lives don't seem boring all the time. Most people, through the course of living these ordinary, boring lives, indulge in fiction as a way to break up the monotony. They read books. They watch movies. They watch television, listen to music, and play video games. They let themselves escape to a more exciting, interesting place for short intervals of time, as a way of pretending that living their ordinary, boring lives doesn't bother them. This gets them through until they die, at which point it no longer matters how boring and ordinary their lives are, because they're dead and there's nothing they can do about it.

But still, some of these people wonder, what if life wasn't so boring and uninteresting? What if they woke up one day, and life was suddenly exciting, interesting, and all-around like every fictional book and every fictional movie they'd ever dreamed of living in?

For some people, such a thing sounds like a dream come true. For others, it sounds terrifying.

And for others, well, they really don't have much of a choice in the matter.

- -

The adventure always kicks off differently in each story. For some, they get a letter summoning them to a magical school. For others, they get told that they must take a magical MacGuffin off to some faraway place, all the while avoiding others that try and take it away from them. Still others simply happen upon the wrong place at the wrong time and then spend the rest of their adventure constantly running from those that want to kill them. Actually, all of the people in the above scenarios, at one point or another, run away from people who want to kill them. It seems to a staple of the interesting, exciting life. Well, that, and conveniently being an orphan. You'd be amazed at how many main characters in various fictional scenarios just don't have parents for some reason or another, because parents — above all else — seem to not approve of their children going off on magical, life-threatening adventures.

As for me, well, I'm not an orphan, but I'm not a child, either. I don't even live with my parents anymore. Not that I'm exactly an adult; I don't want to be an adult, and so long as I'm still in college I can pretend that I'm not while still reaping all the benefits of one, such as getting to do whatever I want in my on-campus apartment while not having to pay rent or mortgage bills. Anyway, so I'm not an orphan, and my adventure doesn't kick off with a letter of summons, a "but thou must" quest, or stumbling into the wrong place at the wrong time and triggering a series of unfortunate events.

Instead, it starts with me opening my front door and hitting a zombie in the face with a baseball bat. And let me clarify: this is an actual zombie, not someone pretending to be a zombie, or my drunk neighbor stumbling home at three in the morning, so piss drunk out of her mind that she looks and acts like a zombie. No, this is an actual zombie, of the eat-your-flesh-and-brains for breakfast variety. It'd actually be kind of cool, if it didn't reek of dead flesh, and ooze all over my welcome mat.

At least I wasn't too attached to that mat.

But anyway, that's how the whole thing started. In case you're wondering, I was holding the bat because I was getting ready to go to batting practice. Not that I'm on the baseball team or anything, but sometimes I like to just go down the batting cages and hit a few rounds. It's good for getting out anger, you know, without actually hitting someone in the face. Besides the zombie, I mean. But if a zombie was standing outside your front door, moaning and probably about to gnaw your face off, and you just so happened to be holding a baseball bat, you'd hit it in the face, too.

But there we have it — the "just so happened," the convenient coincidence that goes along with every sort of story like this. Well, I guess we had to have it somewhere.

Anyway, so that's how it all began. I was on my way to batting practice, I opened my front door, saw a zombie, and hit the zombie in the face with the bat. I didn't even really think — I just swung. And I guess all those years of batting practice have paid off, because the zombie went down pretty hard, fluids oozing out of its face where proper blood should be. It didn't die — blunt force trauma won't kill anything that quick, and anyway, aren't zombies undead anyway? Can't kill what's undead. At least, I don't think you can. I didn't stay long enough to check. It was stupid of me, but I just hopped over the zombie, didn't even bother to close my door, and took off running to see if the rest of the campus was overrun. What? I was excited! It's not every day that you open your door, see a zombie, hit the zombie, and then get a chance to jump over it and check out the rest of campus. And with a campus this small and this mundane, completely boring and not exciting in the slightest, the chance of a zombie apocalypse is a pretty big deal. It's something to get excited over.

But there was no zombie apocalypse. When I went down the stairs and got to ground level, everything and everyone looked normal. There were no more zombies, no lumbering corpses, no moans or odors of dead flesh — nothing. Just me, holding my goo-covered baseball bat, a zombie twitching in front of my open front door upstairs. Good way to start the morning, I guess, but for some reason I didn't even really panic. I just stood there, looking at the rest of the ordinary, still-alive people around me, holding the bat and probably looking like an idiot.

Well, at that point, I had two options. I could either, A) go back up and check on the zombie (who, incidentally, turned out to be my roommate; I felt kind of bad for hitting him in the face when I found that out, but since he was already a zombie, there wasn't much I could do for him; a band-aid wouldn't fix it, and anyway, since I left the door open he could get into the apartment just fine, so I don't think what I did was that terrible) , or B) leave. So of course, I did what any reasonable human being would do in that situation.

I left.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where I lost all choice in the matter. Because if you're faced with a zombie upon opening your front door, and you happen to be holding a bat, chances are you're going to swing the bat to hit the zombie. And at that point — or maybe the point after you check to see if the rest of your campus is infested with flesh-and-brain-eating corpses — you have two options. You can either go back to your life as normal, and have the adventure end there, or you can leave, and thereby get contracted into going on an adventure.

I left, and so I was contracted into going on an adventure. It's really as simple as that. Once I turned away from the stairs and went off in search of finding out why there was a zombie in front of my door (or really just doing something about it, because the why wasn't as important as the can you please take this away it really smells rank and it's getting ooze all over the place as far as I was concerned), I was roped into whatever would happen next, whether I liked it or not. It would have been that way no matter what I did, so long as what I did didn't involve going back up to my apartment, going inside, shutting the door, locking it, and then going back to bed.

But since that's the case, I really wish I would have done something other than go to public safety for help.

- -

In my defense, I didn't know what else to do. I guess I could have called the Help Desk, but what could they have done, filed an incident report to public safety to get them to take care of the zombie? Yeah, as if. I figured I'd cut out the middle man and just go to public safety myself.

I should have known better, all things considered.

"Uh, excuse me?" No response. The woman behind the little window just kept typing on her computer, completely oblivious to my presence. You'd think the fact that I was holding a baseball bat might've got her attention. I mean, I had no intention of bashing her skull in, but I could have, and usually that makes all the difference in any and all situations pertaining to weapons. "Excuse me?" Still no response. Maybe I should have brought a box of Krispy Kremes with me. "Excuse me!"

"What?" Finally. Even if the response was less than friendly, it was still a response. I tried to make my voice polite again, but I wasn't too sure I succeeded.

"There's a zombie in front of my apartment. Can you send someone over to do something about it?"

"What?" The woman's voice still wasn't friendly, but now it wa a little less angry, and a little more confused. I tried again.

"There's a zombie in front of my apartment. I opened my door, and it was standing there, so I hit it with my bat." I held up the bat and she looked at it, frowning because of the goo that was still on it, I guess. "I think that knocked it out, or at least stunned it or something, because it went down pretty hard and didn't move aside from twitching after that. But anyway, I guess it's probably still there, and I want someone to go take care of it. Or at least make sure that it's not still there, I don't want to get mauled the next time I go back."

The woman stared at me, and I stared back. For a few minutes, there was no sound except for that which the other public safety "officers" made behind her, filing reports or whatever it is they do. Mostly all they ever do is issue parking tickets, so I guess maybe they were filing those into the system. Finally, the woman asked, "Do you think this is a joke?"

"What?" It was my turn to be confused. "Uh, no, a zombie in front of my apartment is pretty serious business." I didn't want to think about what ResLife would fine me for zombie stains on the carpet inside.

"Here at public safety, we work tirelessly to ensure the safety of the students, staff, and faculty on this campus," she continued, and I guess I should have seen where it was going then, but part of my mind got distracted wondering how they factored frequent trips to McD's as "working tirelessly to ensure the safety of the students, staff, and faculty" on the campus. "We do our best to respond in a timely manner to every report, to make sure that every safety regulation is followed, to investigate each matter as seriously and swiftly as possible."

"Great. Then you're going to send someone to deal with the zombie, right?"

"That means," the woman continued, and her voice was rising at this point, so I really should have gotten the message that this wasn't going to end well, "that when we get fake reports — when we get little practical jokes by students, we take those seriously as well. They are not appreciated. They are not amusing. If we had the same power as the police department, I can assure you that you would be arrested for this insubordination!"

"Uh."

"Please leave. Do not come back here again unless you have a serious problem."

"I do have a serious problem. There's a zombie in front of my—"

"Leave!"

Well, in all honesty, I wasn't that surprised. Put-out, I guess, because this was the one time in which public safety could actually be useful, and they'd failed me. But surprised? Nah, not really. Like I said, they were never really useful despite that woman's speech about how they worked tirelessly to blah, blah, blah, and so I hadn't really expected much from them, especially since I'm pretty sure they were not prepared for a zombie apocalypse. For a mass onslaught of parking violations? Definitely. For zombies? No.

Of course, that gave me the idea that maybe I should say someone was parked illegally in front of my apartment building, and then just drag the public safety officers up to my apartment once they got there. But then, if there was someone parked illegally by some chance, the officers would be too distracted in writing their tickets, so that was a lost cause, anyway.

At that point, I was at a loss for what to do. I figured that I could go back to my apartment, but by this point the zombie would probably be awake, and I didn't want to get mauled. There was still the option of calling the Help Desk, but again, what could an incident report do for me now? And then I could always go to the university center, but I didn't see what they could do, either, except maybe make me a new ID card for the zombie. Out of all the resources on campus, that only left ResLife, Health Services, and the Academic Advising/Resource Center. ResLife would just fine me for zombie stains, Health Services was only ever useful for hounding people for vaccination records, and the Academic Advising/Resource Center was just useful for administering tests and telling you to take classes that you didn't need while never offering you any real help when it came to registering for the classes that you did need.

So all in all, my options were pretty slim. Given that I didn't want to go back to my apartment (at least not alone), and given that I also couldn't make use of any of the available "resources" on campus, I did the only thing that made sense at that point.

I went to go see my best friend Kyle.

- -

"A zombie?"

"A zombie."

"In front of your apartment?"

"Yep."

"And you hit it with your bat?"

"Uh-huh."

". . . No fucking way." I knew he'd react like that. But see, the thing about Kyle is, while he says "no fucking way" right off instead of giving some long-winded speech about how I should only talk about serious things and not joke around, he doesn't mean that he doesn't believe me. He just means that he thinks there's no fucking way there could have been a zombie in front of my apartment. And despite how it sounds, that's not the same thing. "You've gotta show me this shit."

"I will, if you'll move your ass and come with me." I walked away from his apartment, only pausing at the top of the stairs to let him shut his door and lock it. Not that he has anything worth stealing in there except his laptop, but you know. "It might not still be there, though. I didn't kill it."

"Of course you didn't kill it, it's a zombie. It's already dead. Undead. Whatever. But you're just saying that now because there wasn't an actual zombie, so nothing's going to be there when we get there."

"Like hell, dude. There's zombie ooze all over my welcome mat."

"Sure there is."

"You'll see."

Kyle's on-campus apartment was across campus from mine, but the campus was so small that it only took about five minutes to get from his place to mine, even taking into account the fact that we had to dodge kids on scooters and weave our way through the parking lots. When we got back to my apartment, the zombie had moved as I predicted, but it didn't go far. Not only was the ooze still all over the place, but it made a trail through my open door, leading right to the zombie, who was rolling around on the carpet.

ResLife will have a field day with those zombie ooze fines, I swear to Christ.

"Holy shit dude," Kyle said, and I glanced over to see that his jaw was dropped. Well, that's a decent reaction, at least.

"Told you so."

"No, seriously, holy fuck." Kyle walked into my apartment, which I thought was pretty batshit stupid considering it was a fucking zombie that was rolling around (moaning, too — seriously, was it getting some strange, freaky, orgasmic reaction to the cheap carpeting or something?), and leaned forward a bit to get a closer look at the zombie. "I think that's your roommate."

"My what?"

"Your roommate. Ryan. Isn't that Ryan?"

I walked up to join Kyle in the doorway, standing a bit behind him even though I was the one with the weapon, and leaned forward to get a closer look. In case you were wondering, yeah, this was when I found out that my roommate was the one I bashed in the face upon opening my door to find that there was a zombie there. Again, he was already a zombie. There wasn't much I could do. And from the way he was taking pleasure in rolling around on my carpet, I really don't think he cared too much. "Yeah, I guess that's him. Kind of hard to tell, since there's a gaping mouth where his face should be."

"I'm positive that's him. Dude, your roommate's a zombie. That's pretty fucked up. Think they'll give you a roommate transfer if you ask for one?"

"Well, considering public safety thought I was bullshitting them when I told them about the zombie in the first place, probably not."

"You went to public safety? Man, that's so weak."

"Shut up, I didn't know what else to do."

"Point taken."

The zombie — or Ryan, I guess — kept rolling around on the floor, pausing every few moments, yet then going right back to it. He kind of reminded me of my dog. She'd do that sometimes, too. After a minute, I asked, "So, what do you think I should do?"

"Ask for a roommate transfer."

"I mean besides that."

"Dude, I don't know." Kyle shrugged. "I've never had a zombie roommate before."

Well, there went all my options. I had no resources on campus, my best friend didn't know what to do, and my roommate was a zombie that was currently rolling around on my carpet and showing no signs of stopping. There was really only one thing I could think of to do at that moment, and if my fate to go on some quest hadn't been sealed before that moment, it was definitely sealed right then.

"Well, I guess I can just go home for the weekend."

- -

Okay, so maybe going home for the weekend wasn't the best solution to my problem, either. I still couldn't go into my apartment, because even if he was just rolling around like my dog after eating kibble, there was still a chance that zombie-Ryan could jump up and maul my face at any given moment. That, and going home wouldn't exactly solve the zombie-Ryan problem. All it would do was postpone the fact that I had to deal with it until I got back, unless my drunk-ass neighbor happened to look in my open door at one point and see zombie-Ryan rolling around on the floor. Granted, I doubted anyone would believe my drunk-ass neighbor any more than they ever believed me, especially since she was drunk all the time, but hey. I could try.

Anyway, so going home wouldn't really solve the zombie problem, but it was all I could think of to do in that moment. I guess in a way I was panicking, but not in the screaming fit way of panicking. More of the I just did whatever came to mind first brand of panicking, and since that panicking allowed me to drive home without crashing the car, I figured that was a good thing.

Home was about three hours away, so even though I left at eleven AM, I got there at about two-thirty, which was fine. It was a Saturday, which meant my parents would either be at home or playing golf or something, and they'd be happy to see me home for the weekend. Probably, anyway. It was hard to tell with them sometimes. Anyway, I fully expected them to be home, because as mentioned before, I am not conveniently an orphan. That's not how this story is going to work. No way, no how.

But I guess stories can't function if the main character can just run home whenever they want, either. And I guess that having parents there sort of induces that "run home" feeling. And I guess since I lost all choice in the matter the second I decided to leave my zombie roommate rolling around on the floor, some divine forces from above were going to step in and make sure that I couldn't get all comfy-cozy at home, ignoring my destiny or whatever the hell it was that caused my roommate to turn into a zombie and then roll around in the living room.

That was the best reason I could come up with, anyway, for why — when I used my key to get in the front door and walked into my living room — a middle-aged couple that was not made up of either my mother or my father was sitting there, watching television, the house filled with furniture that I didn't recognize.

"Uh." It was my default response for when my brain was too broken to think of anything else, okay? And for the record, the middle-aged couple that wasn't made up of either my father or my mother seemed to have brains as equally as broken as mine.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in here?" the man asked, standing up from his reclining chair. I held up my key by way of explanation.

"I live here. Or I kind of live here, anyway. This is my parents' house. Speaking of which, where are they, and who are you?"

"This is our house," the man said, indicating himself and who I assumed to be his wife. "We've lived here for thirty years, and we don't have any children."

"Then explain to me why my key works," I said, holding out the key. He didn't take it. "I'm positive that this is my parents' house. I grew up here. We never lived anywhere else. I was just here two weeks ago to do laundry." Hey, don't judge me, you never really need to do laundry until you run out of underwear. "Seriously, what the hell is going on?"

The woman looked somewhat scandalized, either by my presence or my language. Hey, it wasn't nearly as bad as what I could have said, but then, I guessed they might be one of those couples that's traumatized by everything "our nation's young people" do. There are some older couples like that out there.

"Look," the man said, apparently doing all the talking for him and his wife. "I don't know where you got that key or what you're playing at, but if you don't leave right now, I'm calling the police."

"Leave and go where?" I asked, and I don't even know why I bothered. "I can't go back to school, there's a zombie in my apartment. And I would go to my parents' house, except this is my parents' house, even though it's apparently not now." The man seemed to have no sympathy for me, and his wife still looked scandalized, so I sighed. "Fine, fine. I'm going."

And go I did. I walked out, but I made sure to check the number on the mailbox and the outside of the house. There was no mistaking it. It was my parents' house, the house I was raised in, the house I'd just done my laundry at two weeks ago.

Only, apparently it was no longer my parents house, but instead the house of some middle-aged couple that I didn't even recognize. And when I tried calling my parents on my cell phone, all I got was a "this number has been disconnected" message.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still pretty sure that I'm not conveniently an orphan, but again, if nothing before had sealed my "you're set to go on an adventure now" fate, this did it.

And to be honest, it kind of sucked.

#fic fix #tho it's original fiction (gasp!) rather than fanfic #and it was also written SIX YEARS ago so pls be gentle #unlike my first advanced fiction prof haha . . . ha . . .#god seriously i was so wrecked #i couldn't write properly for like a year and a half or two #not until i went through the SECOND workshop #and got my spirit back to where it needed to be #ffffffffff #anyway here's this #i usually don't post original fiction here since i'm paranoid about plagiarism given how many times my fics have been stolen #but i figure this was apparently so bad i got a severe dragging for it so #that means no one should want to steal it right?#. . . i hope not #even if it's garbage it's MY garbage #let's just keep it that way pls

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storiesofwildfire · 8 years ago

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Lawrence; The One Who Ate the Apple -- a headcanon

NAME: Lawrence Bavaro AGE: 288 Midgardian years old (born in 1729) GENDER: Male FACE CLAIM: Djimon Hounsou PARENTS: Jamison Bavaro (Father) ;; Adelasia Bavaro (Mother) -- both now deceased SIBLINGS: None OTHER RELATIVES: The Ricci family that his parents worked for. OCCUPATION: Doctor, artist, and philosopher.

RELATIONSHIP TO LOKI: Lawrence is Loki’s friend and one of the only humans Loki has ever offered a golden apple to.

STATUS ON BLOG: Secondary muse that is available for interaction for developed plots and people who already roleplay with Loki and wish to get to know other characters that make up his world. He may also show up in threads if it makes sense for him to make an appearance. Please be aware that Lawrence is the mun’s OC. He is not canon and is not available for public use.

Lawrence Bavaro was born in Milan, Italy in 1729. Although his parents worked as servants to a rich household, Lawrence was given free reign by his parents’ employers. The Ricci family took well to Lawrence from the moment that he was born. They held a great love and respect for his parents, so when they decided to have a baby of their own, the family couldn’t have been happier.

Growing up, Lawrence was provided with the same opportunities that the Ricci children were. They shared tutors, schooling, and resources with him to make him a wise and intelligent young man who could take on the world by storm. Even at a young age, Lawrence showed streaks of brilliance in philosophy and medicine. He spent quite a few hours learning about human anatomy and studying the cycle of life to better understand how the body was crippled by injury, disease, infection, and age.

Philosophy and painting became hobbies of his while medicine was what he focused on, knowing that a career in healing the sick and wounded would be able to bring him so much more success than attempting to make a living off of art and free thinking. Because of the time period, so many people invested themselves in enlightenment and works of art, music, and literature, but that didn’t mean that the concept of the starving artist was fictional. Many people who attempted such lifestyles suffered for it and Lawrence was far too clever for that.

So he used his understanding of human anatomy to fuel his art. He often painted or sketched beautiful people in elaborately decorated homes, theaters, or parks. His background in medicine allowed him to depict people in the most realistic and accurate of fashions while still paying close attention to the true beauty of life. Not everyone appreciated his hyper-realistic art, believing that showing life as it truly was did not always equate to beauty.

Lawrence thought differently. Why exaggerate the standards of living when one could use their gifts to show the world as it was and highlight what needed to be fixed?

By the time Lawrence matured into adulthood, he had the best education that money could buy and a portfolio of work consisting of what he could accomplish as a man of science and as a man of art. He took quickly to visiting private homes to care for those who had fallen ill. He specialized in catering to children who were born with some sort of ailment or defect. His heart always rang out to children who could not take care of themselves because their condition was no fault of their own. The longer he spent in the business, the more he realized that many adults suffered due to their own actions. Sympathy was sometimes difficult to conjure when the truth about their situation was self-induced.

Still, Lawrence made a name for himself by being nothing but professional, kind, and good at what he did. Often times, he would even offer the families he worked for small paintings or sketches as a thank you for the business. He loved giving away his art to the kids he treated most of all.

One oddity that struck anyone who knew Lawrence, however, was his avoidance of marriage. He never took interest in finding and wife and despite how much he enjoyed caring for children, he never showed the desire to have any of his own.

Eventually, he settled down in a small house on the edge of the Ricci family’s property. They owned quite a large amount of land and there was a small lake towards the edge of their property, so Lawrence decided to make his home there. It kept him close to his loved ones, but it gave him the privacy he desired to work and immerse himself into the passions that he attached himself to.

At the age of 24, Lawrence had his first encounter with Loki. It had been quite a long day. He visited three different houses who had fallen victim to the same illness. Each required hours of attention and by the time he was finally able to head home, the moon shined brightly overhead. Due to his small home’s location, he had to walk a small pathway through a wooded area to get to the lake house.

On that peculiar night, he found that he wasn’t alone. Against the trunk of a large tree, a raven-haired man rested with his hand pressed against his side. Upon closer inspection, Lawrence found that there was a horrible gash ripped through the flesh of his side and hip. The man was conscious, but just barely, and blood pooled beneath him in a slow trickle from the wound. Fortunately, Lawrence was able to help the man up off of the ground and down the rest of the path to get him back to his home.

As soon as Lawrence placed him on his bed, consciousness left him, leaving Lawrence to clean and patch his wounds. Over the course of two days, the healer worked to keep the stranger alive without so much as knowing his name. Much to his surprise, however, the man’s injuries healed at an inhuman pace, leaving his side unmarked by the time he finally woke up.

Once his patient finally came to, he introduced himself as Loki and explained to Lawrence what he’d been doing out in the woods. As thanks for his kindness, Loki shared with him knowledge that most humans would never have access to. He also presented Lawrence with an amulet that would help any future healing endeavors. Lawrence, being a man of science, was skeptical of everything Loki had to say, but Loki could prove his stories with demonstrations and his magic... Gods, Lawrence was entranced from the moment he first saw Loki cast even the simplest of spells.

Loki returned to visit Lawrence multiple times over the next decade, bring books and gifts from Asgard every time he visited. By the time Lawrence turned 35, however, he contracted an ailment that worked quickly to kill him. Unable to bear the sight of watching his friend die, Loki returned to Asgard and stole a single piece of golden fruit, the very apples that kept the Aesir young well beyond their years. He returned to Lawrence as quickly as he could and pleaded with the man to eat the apple. Lawrence, believing that he still had so much to offer the world, accepted Loki’s gift without even a moment’s hesitation.

To this day, he continues his work by traveling to different locations every few decades and setting up shop. With Loki’s apple and Loki’s amulet, he works as a doctor, but when human medicine is unable to help, he has means of helping people in other ways. To date, Lawrence is one of Loki’s closest friends and one of the only people he’s ever offered a golden apple to.

#( side muse ) lawrence #index; loki #filed under; affiliates #filed under; headcanons #index; secondary muses #filed under; lawrence #mun's ocs #{ prolly should have proofread this but yolo }#( storiesofwildfire headcanon ) chaos is about that which is possible

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beyondforks · 8 years ago

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Book Reviews! Plus One & Noma Girl by Elizabeth Fama

Plus One (Plus One #1) by Elizabeth Fama

Genre: Young Adult (Dystopian Romance) Date Published: April 8, 2014 Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

A dying wish. A family divided. A love that defies the law.

Sol Le Coeur is a Smudge--a night dweller in an America rigidly divided between people who wake, live, and work during the hours of darkness and those known as Rays, who live and work during daylight. Impulsive, passionate, and brave, Sol concocts a plan to kidnap her newborn niece--a Ray--in order to bring the baby to visit her dying grandfather. Sol's violation of the day/night curfew is already a serious crime, but when her kidnap attempt goes awry, she stumbles on a government conspiracy to manipulate the Smudge population. Sol escapes the authorities with an unexpected ally: a Ray who gets in her way, a boy she might have hated if fate hadn't forced them on the run together--a boy the world now tells her she can't love.

Set in a vivid alternate reality and peopled with complex, deeply human characters on both sides of the day/night divide, Elizabeth Fama's Plus One is a brilliantly imagined drama of individual liberty and civil rights, and a fast-paced romantic adventure story.

Plus One is the first book in the Plus One series by Elizabeth Fama. This is an alternate reality that goes in a very different direction from ours after the Flu Pandemic of 1918. The population is divided by those who are only allowed out during the day and those who are only allowed out at night, and of course they have prejudices against each other because people have to hate even when they don't know why they hate or who or what they are hating. So, you can really relate this world to our own history. There was action, romance, humor, and even a little suspense at times. I thought the characters and the world around them were well built and well thought out. The characters felt real. You got to know them as they got to know each other. They had strengths and weaknesses. They definitely weren't perfect. I enjoyed them quite a bit, and I loved watching what was a strong dislike between D'arcy and Sol grow into friendship and strengthen to more. They are characters worth rooting for.

Note: I know I already used that quote in my Teaser Tuesday post, but I can't help it. It makes my belly flip.

Wednesday 4:30 a.m. It takes guts to deliberately mutilate your hand while operating a blister-pack sealing machine, but all I had going for me was guts. It seemed like a fair trade: lose maybe a week’s wages and possibly the tip of my right middle finger, and in exchange Poppu would get to hold his great-granddaughter before he died. I wasn’t into babies, but Poppu’s unseeing eyes filled to spilling when he spoke of Ciel’s daughter, and that was more than I could bear. It was absurd to me that the dying should grieve the living when the living in this case was only ten kilometers away. Poppu needed to hold that baby, and I was going to bring her to him, even if Ciel wouldn’t. The machine was programmed to drop daily doses of CircaDiem and vitamin D into the thirty slots of a blister tray. My job was mind-numbingly boring, and I’d done it maybe a hundred thousand times before without messing up: align a perforated prescription card on the conveyor, slip the PVC blister tray into the card, slide the conveyor to the right under the pill dispenser, inspect the pills after the tray has been filled, fold the foil half of the card over, and slide the conveyor to the left under the heat-sealing plate. Over and over I’d gone through these motions for hours after school, with the rhythmic swooshing, whirring, and stamping of the factory’s powder compresses, laser inscribers, and motors penetrating my wax earplugs no matter how well I molded them to my ear canal. I should have had a concrete plan for stealing my brother’s baby, with backups and contingencies, but that’s not how my brain works. I only knew for sure how I was going to get into the hospital. There were possible complications that I pushed to the periphery of my mind because they were too overwhelming to think about: I didn’t know how I’d return my niece when I was done with her; I’d be navigating the city during the day with only a Smudge ID; if I was detained by an Hour Guard, there was a chance I’d never see Poppu again. I thought Poppu was asleep as I kissed him goodbye that night. His skin was cool crepe paper draped over sharp cheekbones. I whispered, “Je t’aime,” and he surprised me by croaking, “Je t’adore, Soleil,” as if he sensed the weight of this departure over all the others. I slogged through school; I dragged myself to work. An hour before my shift ended, I allowed a prescription card to go askew in the tray, and I poked my right middle finger in to straighten it before the hot plate lowered to seal the foil backing to the card. I closed my eyes as the press came down. Even though I had only mangled one centimeter of a single finger, my whole body felt like it had been turned inside out and I’d been punched in the heart for good measure. My fingernail had split in two, blood was pooling through the crack, and I smelled burned flesh. It turns out the nerves in your fingertip are ridiculously sensitive, and all at once I realized mine might be screaming for days. Had I thought through this step at all? Would I even be able to hold a baby? I collapsed, and I might have fainted if the new girl at the machine next to mine hadn’t run to the first-aid station for a blanket, a gauze tourniquet strip, and an ice pack. She used the gauze to wrap the bleeding fingertip tightly—I think I may have punched her with my left fist—eased me onto my back, and covered me with a blanket. I stopped hyperventilating. I let tears stream down the sides of my cheeks onto the cement floor. But I did not cry out loud. “I’m not calling an ambulance,” the jerk supervisor said, when my finger was numb from the cold and I was able to sit up again. “That would make it a Code Three on the accident report, and this is a Code One at best. We’re seven and a half blocks from the hospital, and you’ve got an hour before curfew. You could crawl and you’d make it before sunrise.” So I walked to the emergency room. I held my right arm above my head the whole way, to keep the pounding heartbeat in my finger from making my entire hand feel like it would explode. And I thought about how before he turned his back on us, Ciel used to brag that I could think on my feet better than anyone he knew. Screw you, Ciel.

Noma Girl (Plus One #.5) by Elizabeth Fama

Genre: Young Adult (Dystopian Romance) Date Published: March 25, 2014 Publisher: Tor Because of a quirk of history during the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918, present-day America is rigidly divided between people who live and work during the hours of darkness—Smudges—and those known as Rays, who populate the day. A group of Smudges called the Noma live on the fringes of society in loose tribes, preying on Smudges and Rays alike. Gigi is a ruthless Noma, but in this prequel companion story to Plus One, she is ordered to abduct a cell phone hacker named Ciel Le Coeur and reveals a surprisingly tender heart.

Noma Girl is a prequel to Plus One told from Gigi's perspective. Gigi is probably my favorite character from Plus One. She's got spunk and guts, talks like a sailor, will punch you as easily as look at you, and yet, she's got a little bit of a softy in there too. She's complicated. Getting her story and the whole background between her and Ciel was something we needed to know. This was a very short story, but added a lot more depth to her character. And... now we know.

Elizabeth Fama is the author of three young-adult novels: Plus One (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2014), a RITA Award finalist; Monstrous Beauty (FSG, 2012), included on the 2013 YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults list, and winner of the 2013 Odyssey Honor Award; and Overboard (Cricket Books, 2002), an ALA 2003 Best Book for Young Adults. Elizabeth is vastly overeducated, with a BA in Biology, an MBA, and a PhD in Economics from the University of Chicago. She enjoys running obsessively while downloading audiobooks into her brain, swimming, tennis, and cooking Sunday Dinners for her extended Italian-American family. She and her husband raised four creative children in Chicago before moving to the San Francisco Bay Area, where Elizabeth successfully pretends that she's living in Tuscany while she works on a manuscript set in sixteenth-century Florence. To learn more about Elizabeth Fama and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads and Twitter.

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