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sweetbitgaming · 4 years

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The Development of the Zelda Oracle Games

Sweet Bit Gaming Mysteries: The Legend of Zelda The Seed of Courage

The Legend of Zelda Oracle series of games is often overlooked when it comes to focusing on the franchise as a whole. Certainly, there are more popular handheld Zelda games out there than the aforementioned pair; however, what if the entire concept for these games was fully realized? What if the trilogy Nintendo had promised fans was a reality and not just the topic of the day? Within this article, I’ll go over the development of the Oracle games. From many name changes to cut storyline ideas, this is the history of the Legend of Zelda the Oracle games.

Some of the earliest information out there in regards to the Triforce Series of games came to the public on July 28th, 1999 within an article published by IGN. IGN would state that Nintendo is “hard at work” on six different Zelda Gameboy Color titles. Within the article, it mentions that four of the new Zelda titles were being produced in conjunction with the Japanese design studio Flagship. This development studio was headed by Resident Evil lead Yoshiki Okamoto. Okamoto had revealed earlier in the year that Flagship would be working closely with Nintendo’s EAD team in regard to future titles on the Gameboy Color. Within this same interview, Okamoto would also reveal that Flagship’s work was restricted to the design of scenarios and storylines. While not much information was given, this “leak” would take place roughly a month before Nintendo’s Space World 1999 event was set to take place.

Any hope for the public to demo the game was seemingly heightened by an IGN web article published on August 20th, 1999. Their source of information would be cited as Weekly Famitsu. IGN within the headlines were promoting they were the first to have screenshots of the upcoming Game Boy Color exclusive Zelda game. This article was published roughly a week prior to Nintendo’s Space World 1999 event, which took place on August 27th-August 29th of that year. The game at the time was believed to be called The Legend of Zelda: The Mysterious Acorn and was also cited as being published by Capcom and Nintendo.

In the preview of the game within the article, IGN would mention that Princess Zelda was managing the four seasons within the Land of Hyrule. Zelda would be kidnapped by Ganon and it would be up to Link to manage the Rod of the Four Seasons and track down the eight pieces of the Triforce to save Princess Zelda and also bring balance to Hyrule. With Hyrule’s seasons becoming jumbled up, chaos would ensue and Link would have to travel between Hyrule and this “other dimension” while being guided by spirits residing in the “Tree of Mystery” and also a strange “Uura Tribe” which would be found in this alternate dimension.

Ricky the Kangaroo and Maple the Witch were mentioned briefly within this article as well. Not much information was given on these characters other than they would be allies to help aid Link in his quest to save Princess Zelda. Also mentioned were more details about the Rod of Four Seasons and how it would be required to solve certain elemental puzzles throughout the game. Possibly the most infamous amount of information detailed within this article is the mention of the Link System and how there would be three upcoming Zelda Gameboy Color games and they would all be a coherent story without getting lost within each other due to the Link System that Capcom and Nintendo were developing.

With Space World 1999 taking place, a lot of hype and media focus was still latched onto the Nintendo 64 DD, another story within itself. Zelda Gaiden, later to be renamed The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask was also playable at this event. Demo copies of The Seed of Courage were also seemingly playable at this event. An interview would be conducted with Miyamoto by Nintendo Power Source and Miyamoto would give more detail and insight on Zelda Gaiden and the recently renamed The Legend of Zelda: Mysterious Fruit.

Q: After hearing rumors of Ura Zelda for Nintendo 64 Disk Drive, Zelda Gaiden for the Nintendo 64 cartridge format was a pleasant surprise. Can you tell me how these two games came to be developed?

A: We are working on two follow-ups to The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. "Ura Zelda" uses the same system as Ocarina of Time but uses the 64DD to add game data. The story in "Ura Zelda" will be similar to Ocarina of Time but with new maps and scenarios. Zelda Gaiden, on the other hand, is a completely different game, although it too uses essentially the same game system as Ocarina of Time. Everyone has enjoyed the Zelda series but there's typically at least a 3 year wait between sequels! People who are in Junior High School when they play one Zelda game would be in High School by time the next game comes out, and those in High School will graduate before the next game came out! So, we wanted to make a new game in the series sooner. "Ura Zelda" will use the existing Ocarina of Time cartridge but with different dungeons, and new locations for the treasures. Since the 64DD media is cheaper than a new cartridge, this is an inexpensive way to make a sequel. We may also consider using network technology for "Ura Zelda." Right now, most of the staff is concentrating on Zelda Gaiden.

Q: How involved are you with the different Zelda games?

A: As time goes on, my direct involvement has become less. On the first Zelda, my involvement in directing the game was, say, 100%. With Ocarina of Time, my involvement was about 60%. For Zelda Gaiden, it will be about 20% and for Zelda: Mysterious Fruit for Game Boy, only about 10%. Until Ocarina, I was the Producer and Director of the game-not of everything but some parts. For Zelda Gaiden I will be in a Producer role. In that capacity, I'll decide the overall direction of the game, but I won't write the actual specifications myself. If Zelda Gaiden turns out to be fun to play, from now on we'll see new entries into the Zelda series with shorter time intervals in between. And, I'll probably have less direct involvement in the games. I've been saying all along that I have a lot of confidence in my teams, and I think they will make some good games.

Q: What kinds of things do you do as a Producer?

A: I just tell the staff members what kind of game it should be. The staff then figures out the details of the scenarios. So far, we've had thee big meetings to reviews the game's scenarios. As Producer I approve and disapprove of ideas in these meetings. Mainly I say things like, "If you try to go in this direction, you will never finish the game!" I help set the development priorities, and make staff recommendations. Q: So, what are some of the overall directions you have given to your game developments teams on Zelda Gaiden? What are some of the things that you want the players to experience in this game? A: I had several ideas that I wanted to incorporate into Ocarina of Time but that didn't make it. I've already given those to the staff. In Zelda Gaiden, players will meet some characters that they previously encountered in Ocarina of Time. There were many characters in Ocarina of Time who were in the background-- those characters will be more involved in the story of Zelda Gaiden. You'll talk to them more, and in the end you'll feel a deeper connection to the story of Ocarina of Time. Another thing we want to work on is time in the game. In so many games, you have, for example, eight dungeons. Finish four of them, and you're halfway through. You can guess how far you have to go. But that's not the true nature of interactive entertainment-it shouldn't be like reading a book and knowing you're halfway through it. That's not just something we're working on for Zelda Gaiden, we need to improve this for all of our games. The beauty of interactive media is it is different from other types of media, so we need to concentrate on those differences. Finally, we really want Zelda players to come away from this game feeling that they've played something totally unexpected. Q: In Zelda Gaiden, the moon is slowly falling towards the planet, and the player has a limited amount of time to save the world before it is destroyed. So how does the time limit in the game work? A: What can I tell you….hmmm. There are certain time limits in the game, but, you can play it again and again. If you don't do something in one game, you can try to do it in the next game. The amount of different things you actually do in the game will depend on the player's ability. This isn't a totally unique concept, but we do want to try something new with game time in Zelda Gaiden. To do that we are working on improving the "density" of the world. For example, say you have three days of game time. We are trying to see how many different events we can fit into those three days. That is why we need the Expansion Pak for this game-to keep track of all the events that are happening simultaneously in the world. Q: So the world actually exists and different things happen in real-time, even if you're not there to see them. OK, how about the masks? How many different ones do you think will be in the game? It looks like there is space for a lot of them on the Subscreen! A: There are three main masks-these are the only ones that make you actually change, or morph, into something different. Several other masks will have "human" like faces, and will be necessary to trigger certain events. You can use these masks to disguise yourself as different people. As for the actual final number of masks in the game, that will depend on time. I'm aiming for just under 30 different masks, but that depends on how long things take to develop.Q: You mentioned that the story in Zelda Gaiden will be closely connected to Ocarina of Time. How about the Running Man-will you finally be able to beat him?

A: Maybe you didn't see him in the Space World version, but there is a Running Man who is four times taller than the one in Ocarina of Time! We are experimenting with this character to see if we can make him interesting and fun. Did you see the dogs? In Ocarina of Time, they would follow you. In Zelda Gaiden, their reaction will vary. When you morph into a Goron, they will bark at you and run away. As a Zora, they will approach you. Don't try to become a Deku Scrub if there are dogs around, though! They will try to bite you! Q: What about the other fairy that is shown with Navi in the introductory cinema scenes? A: I don't know, I need to ask the staff about that! I have a feeling it's going to be an important character! Q: Things are busy on the Zelda front with the Zelda games for Game Boy Color that Capcom is developing. How did that deal come about? What is the plan for these three titles? A: Well, it's the same situation as when our team develops a Zelda game-the quality has to be high. Mr. Okamoto (head of development at Capcom) is a young and energetic game developer who says he came into the industry because of games like the original Donkey Kong and Zelda. He came to me and was very serious about developing a Zelda game. He has great teams of developers and he promised to use his best people on this project. A company called Flagship has 20 or so people who are working on the scenarios. Some people have asked me if this means Nintendo will be allowing other companies to develop games using our characters. But this is a very special case. I felt good about Mr. Okamoto and his team. We're not going to be letting everyone work on our characters. We'll be checking the quality of these three titles. Q: What is the connection between the three titles?

A: This project originally started to convert the original NES Zelda to Game Boy Color. So one of the titles will be a perfect conversion of NES Zelda. However, in working on this game, we have come up with a lot of new ideas, so there will be some new features. Basically I can tell you that there is a connection between the three tales. You can start with any one of them, but if you play them in a different order than someone else, the two player's games will be different....

In January of 2000 IGN would publish an article stating that a new Zelda game was planned to be released every six weeks. The first of these Gameboy releases in the “Tri-force Series” was set to be The Legend of Zelda: The Mysterious Acorn: The Tale of Power. After this initial release The Legend of Zelda: The Tale of Wisdom was set to be released and then the trilogy would conclude with The Legend of Zelda: The Tale of Courage. These games were also mentioned within this article to have the capability to link up with each other and exchange data. Miyamoto would do an interview with IGN on May 11th and state that the games would link up using a “password system.” No other details were given about the games during this interview.

By May 13th Nintendo would officially release some promotional images in regards to the Tri-force series games which were now titled: The Legend of Zelda: Mythical Seed of Power, Zelda, Mythical Seed of Courage, and Zelda Mythical Seed of Wisdom. Also on May 13th, IGN would conduct another interview with Miyamoto about the Triforce Series games and Miyamoto would disclose:

IGNpocket: What is your opinion on the Legend of Zelda trilogy in the works for Game Boy Color?

Miyamoto: Mr. Okomoto from Capcom is the producer on the games for the Game Boy Color, and he has been giving me the materials for the games. And what we have now is the games are becoming late, especially because of the "link system". With the link system, we're thinking about letting the gamer play whatever game first, and what happens in one game affects another game. And with that, the variable scenario is just increasing the work, and that's why we are late in schedule. But we can release the games later this year.

IGNpocket: How does the link system interface work?

Miyamoto: Well, for example, there are similar events in all cartridges. So if you've already finished one event on one cartridge, it makes the quest in another cartridge a little easier. Another example is if you find a specific item in one cartridge, then something special will happen on another cartridge.

IGNpocket: But how does that information get from one cartridge to the other?

Miyamoto: Password system.

By July 24th, Nintendo of Japan would decide to cut one of the games out of the Triforce Trilogy. It was reported that this was due to numerous delays and difficulties getting the link system to work properly. This was an effort to still have the other two games out by Christmas of 2000. Nintendo within this press release didn’t mention which game was on the cutting room floor. Nintendo of America hadn’t commented on the cancellation of the game at the time and it was unclear if the two remaining games would still be released six weeks apart from each other. By October 20th the concept within the unique release schedule was scrapped and rumors were abundant on IGN that the games would release sometime in January of 2001 in Japan.

By November 9th, IGN would report a brief “Chapter” of the latest Zelda game, now being titled The Legend of Zelda Chapter of Time and Space. This is the game that had been covered mostly in American publications through screenshots and leaked information while the remaining Gameboy Color game would go without much new information being provided. This other game in development would be rumored to go by the name The Legend of Zelda: Chapter of the Earth. It was suggested that this game would play much like the other Gameboy Color game and a link system was still set in place for the two games. By January of 2001, more information would be released by IGN in regards to the Chapter of the Earth title. This article would feature screenshots and storyline concepts for the upcoming games. By the end of the article, it was mentioned that the two games would be released in February and a potential American release date was planned before the start of Summer.

In an article published by Nintendo of Japan on their Director Interview series, Hidemaro Fujibayashi would be interviewed and give details on the origins of Capcom becoming involved with Zelda on the Gameboy Color. Here is that interview:

t seems that you first started making Zelda with Capcom.

Fujibayashi　Yes. At first, it seems that my Okamoto (Yoshiki Okamoto, managing director) had proposed to Shigeru Miyamoto, "I want to make Zelda with Capcom." That was about two years ago. After that, a free man started making 2D games based on the Famicom Disk System "The Legend of Zelda". The concept is to convey the goodness of Zelda in the NES era to children today.

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■ Was Mr. Fujibayashi also a Zelda fan?

Fujibayashi　Yes, when it came to the Famicom Disk System, I went to a toy store first to buy it. I remember squeezing New Year's gifts and running to buy them.

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■ Did Mr. Fujibayashi participate in the project from the beginning?

Fujibayashi At　first, I participated in the form of a clerk who summarized the overall opinions. At that time, I was only told about the concept, but gradually I became involved in the game production itself. First of all, I decided to give a presentation to Mr. Miyamoto, so I wrote a proposal based on Okamoto's concept.

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■ Was the content of the game decided at the time of the proposal?

Fujibayashi　Almost the pillars of the current game have been decided. In other words, it should be released as a Color Game Boy, use the four seasons, and retain the taste of 2D Zelda. It was decided that it would be released in a series of works, so I thought of a link system as an idea to make use of it. For example, if I missed a bad guy in the first game, I wanted to make the software so that the bad guy would appear in the other game. Since Zelda is a game with a solid view of the world, I thought that even a Game Boy could fully bring out the "living feeling" of the characters expressed in the 64 series.

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■ How was Mr. Miyamoto's reaction?

It　was your first time to meet Mr. Fujibayashi Miyamoto. I went to a presentation with Okamoto, but it was my first time to work directly with Okamoto, and I was thrilled because I was going to meet a famous person from another company. While explaining the proposal, Mr. Miyamoto was silent from beginning to end, so I was nervous. But when I finished reading, I was told, "I was thinking of going into it because there would be various holes, but it looks like it's done." I liked it, "I think it's good."

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■ After that, do you work at Capcom?

Fujibayashi　That's right. After that, I proceeded with the scenario while reporting the situation to Okamoto. As a role, I am a director and planner.

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■ I heard that Capcom games create scenarios first.

Fujibayashi　Yes. However, I think that the scenario came out in the Zelda series after the hardware specifications went up. Originally, Zelda in the early days was a pure action RPG, and there wasn't much talk about it. This time, I was hoping that the two could be fused. However, at first I was supposed to make a work that was one tenth of the current volume. However, as I made it, it got bigger and bigger, and it gradually became my own work.

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■ Did you make "Chapter of the Earth" and "Chapter of Space and Time" by different teams?

Fujibayashi　No, the same team made them in order. At first, I was interacting with the scenario team alone. So, while I was making the scenario, I secretly talked to the graphic artists and programmers who thought "I like it" in Capcom. Such personnel were actually decided by Funamizu (Producer Noritaka Funamizu), who reports directly to me, but I thought it would be better for me to consult with him first. I was angry at Funamizu, saying, "It's my job," but I was able to get the staff I wanted.

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■ After that, I think it's the work of actually making a game, but please tell me the procedure easily.

Fujibayashi At　first, I'll start with an image. After thinking about what kind of terrain it is, start making a map. After making it roughly, I thought about the character next. We will modify the scenario while making the game.

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■ Do you sometimes rewrite the entire field?

Fujibayashi　That's every day. If you actually move it and think it's different, fix it. When about 60% of the total was completed, Mr. Yamada of Nintendo participated as a supervisor. From that time on, I had the opportunity to hear Mr. Miyamoto's story. So I absorbed something like Mr. Miyamoto's view of Zelda.

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■ Are there any interesting episodes about the joint development with Nintendo?

Fujibayashi I　was playing Nintendo games and thought that every game had a common scent. When I met Mr. Miyamoto, it became clear that there was a way to make sense in the game that Mr. Miyamoto thinks. It was a great learning experience for our team to get it. After that, Mr. Yamada and his colleagues ask the character that we casually placed, "What is the name of this character?" Certainly, giving a name brings the character to life and makes the staff feel different. It seemed as simple as "give a name", and the important thing was that I was surprised. That's just one example, but I feel like I was taught the know-how of Nintendo's "making warm games." What I was most happy about was that both Mr. Yamada and Mr. Miyamoto treated me as if I were an employee of Nintendo. Rather than Nintendo or Capcom, he talked to me as a staff member who made games together. In the end, I think that kind of personality is reflected in Zelda.

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■ At the same time, I think this is a game that has a Capcom feel to it.

Fujibayashi It's　more about the individuality of Capcom's Zelda team than it is about Capcom. I tried to make the world view interesting with a slightly dark character. What is the difference between Kyoto and Osaka? The place where a little outlaw character appears may be Capcom-like. However, I don't think there is any difference in the system in the game.

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■ Please tell me if there is a story behind this.

Fujibayashi In　"Chapter of Time and Space", there is a tower called "Tower of Darkness", and there are people working there, but there are lines that say "I can't finish my charge" and "I can't go home". Some of our team couldn't go home (laughs), so I put them in a parody. However, we are a very homely team, so I was happy with the Nori. The person who came to give the message was involved in the meeting and talked for about 2 hours.

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■ That kind of homely atmosphere may be oozing out in the game. Then, what are the highlights of "Mysterious Tree Fruit" from Mr. Fujibayashi's point of view?

Fujibayashi　This time, Zelda was created with the individuality of the entire team. The highlights are the many events and mini-games, and the dungeon gimmicks. I thought about various big tricks that Game Boy can do. The ideas of all the staff are included, and I think it's quite full.

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■ What do you recommend for the link system?

Fujibayashi If　you play the two software as a continuation of the story using "Aikotoba", you can enjoy a deeper view of the world. You can also experience the true ending after the story is over. There will be new characters and there will be many events, so please give it a try.

On May 14th, 2001 both of the games, now titled the Oracle series, would release here in America. The games would receive positive reviews and critical praise for the link system that Nintendo and Capcom had developed. Over the years, the games have seemingly faded out of the minds of Zelda fans. Only hopes and rumors of potential remakes are the only true discussion these games draw these days. The concept within the trilogy of games was very similar to Ura Zelda to where Miyamoto wanted what was done in one game to affect that area in the other game. Also, did Majora's Mask overshadow these games? The development of these games runs parallel with each other and Majora's Mask is a beloved game within the Zelda community. Here's to remakes of these games happening on the Switch here in the near future.

#zelda #zelda fandom #nintendo #lost media #game beta #link #loz zelda

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carynsilver · 4 years

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Favorite Stucky Fics

Reading has been a big solace to me during this time of sheltering in place, both novels and fanfic. I wanted to put a little positivity out there for some of my favorite fanfic writers as a way of saying thanks for providing some of the stories that have been brightening my days.

Today, I specifically want to give some love to my favorite Stucky fics. There is just something about Bucky and Steve’s contrasting personalities and their “to the end of the line” friendship turning into something more that is compelling every time, and I love it. I have read many, but these are my absolute favorites--the ones I go back to time and again.

Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail by owlet.

Normally, amnesia/memory loss in a love story is one of my nope tropes, so the majority of my Stucky reading veers toward AUs. However, I saw a Tumblr post about this one, and I was hooked by the first chapter. Barnes is a compelling narrator as he figures out how to piece himself back together over the course of this series. It treats his recovery with so much care, and yet Barnes is also a hilarious and grumpy dude that it is fun to read about. There is a touch of unreliable narrator, which is a favorite trope of mine, but even when Barnes doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, he still gets to the heart of a situation in a satisfying way. This is now my preferred head cannon for post CA:tWS.

I just met you (and this is crazy) by @littlesystems

This was the fic that really hooked me on Stucky for the first time. I tended to avoid Stucky due to my nope trope on amnesia, but a Harringrove fic writer I loved recommended this so I tried it. Modern Bucky pulled me in and I fell into Shrunkyclunks, which then got me into Stucky in general. I love how modern Bucky can compliment cannon Steve, and in this fic, his personality is so pre-WWII Bucky that it’s perfect. Adding in Steve 1000% Rogers and some unexpected Tony heart are great additions. Faking dating is another favorite trope of mine, and while this fic isn’t classic fake dating, it skirts the edge in a really fun way.

Prince Charming by Brenda

Brenda writes awesome modern Stucky AUs, but Prince Charming is the best. The concept of someone who sets their exes up with their best friends is fun, and Bucky’s character growth as he navigates being bisexual for the first time is powerful. The supporting cast is great. I love the mix of Howlies and Avengers in his life, and Cap and Winter the pups are perfect. Also, there is something really compelling about both the tattoo shop setting in general and his specialty in tattooing scar tissue. And if you like this one, check out Off the Record and Lessons in Chemistry by Brenda, too.

Sweater Weather by @odette-and-odile

Another Shrunkyclunks, this one centering around holidays and important events. It starts with a misunderstanding in which Bucky doesn’t recognize Steve as Captain America, and it just gets better and better. There is real character growth in both of characters over the course of the series, the Avengers and the Barnes family get really fleshed out, and there is tons of humor as well.

food for thot by @deisderium

This fic introduced me to a new favorite trope--dragons living as humans who treasure a person. And then Deisderium turned the human into a vampire for good measure. The supernatural elements of this world feel so natural, and the dragon world is especially fleshed out in the most recent installment. Deisderium has a way with story-appropriate turns of phrases and writes thirst and pining like a master (check out deep dive and the one less traveled for more of that).

Fan the Flame by Avaaricious

As you can tell, I am partial to modern AUs and Shrunkyclunk stories. This one started off with a funny “meet ugly” concept--swiping right on Tinder by mistake--but it has become one of the most well fleshed out, character oriented stories I’ve ever read. Bucky’s emotional IQ in this story is through the roof, and it touches on issues like PTSD with tact and grace. The chapter about Bucky’s no good very bad day made me teary. Also, this representation of the Barnes family as a whole is the best one I’ve ever read. Fair warning, this is the only one on my all time faves list that is still a WIP, but it’s worth it and chapters come out semi-regularly.

Slide to Answer by relenafanel

There should be more wrong number meet cutes in the world. I love Steve the relationship/dating guy accidentally misdialing Bucky the one night stand guy. And the sequel with Bucky fumbling through his first Christmas in a relationship makes the series.

Red Velvet (a.k.a. Sugar Sweet) by @colorcoated01

I’m not sure why I even started this one, because Daddy kink is not really my thing, but this story is so good that does not even matter. Steve is gorgeous, caring, and basically too good to be true, but what really makes this story is Bucky. He’s sweet, funny, and full of heart, but his youth makes him an unreliable narrator in ways both hilarious and delightful. If the summer vacation sequel to this series ever shows up, I will be so excited!

Not Easily Conquered by dropdeaddream and What Are Fears

In this AU, Steve survives the plane crash, lives to marry Peggy, and then, in the 1960s, a set of never-sent letters from Bucky to Steve during the war come out for public consumption, turning everyone’s life upside-down. This is a new one to my list of faves, but man, it was a gut punch in the best way. Here is the best quote: So how long have I loved you for? Womb to tomb, sweetheart. Since before I was even here at all.

If Wishing Made It So by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)

I knew that my favorite Stucky fics list would not be complete without something from leveragehunters. This writer’s world creation skills are absolutely incredible. So many of these fics, I’d read and think, “This world is so good, so compelling, that I’d read it without the Marvel characters.” Amazing stuff, seriously! And the way she uses the familiar Marvel characters only enhances the worlds she’s created (and the ones she’s borrowed, too). I love so many of these, I was really torn on which one to put on the list, as there are many I revisit. Finally, I decided on If Wishing Made It So because I wanted one Shrinkyclinks story on my list, and this is a great one. The Winter Soldier as genie works so well, and pairing him with Skinny!Steve was even better. The way she weaves consent issues into the mix is compelling, and their adventures draw you in from the get go. And the all-powerful genie trying in vain to protect the guy who doesn’t want to be protected or healed is a great dichotomy. And if you want other Shrinkyclinks, you can’t go wrong with Chase This Light (dragon trope!) or And Shadows Fall Behind. And, if I hadn’t decided to go Shrinkyclinks on this entry, leveragehunter’s Werewolf? There Wolf AU would totally have been on the list instead.

#stucky #fanfic rec #fanfic #reading #highly reccomend #bucky x steve #bucky barnes #steve rogers #quarantine reads #thanks for writing these fics

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rhetoricandlogic · 4 years

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Blogging the Nebulas: Alix E. Harrow’s The Ten Thousand Doors of January Unlocks the Magic of Portal Fantasy

Joel Cunningham

Wed May 20, 2020 10:00am

The Nebula Awards could be described as the Academy Awards of SFF literature; they are voted on by the professional peers of the award nominees—members of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. There are six nominees in the best novel category this year. All this week, I will be reviewing each of them in turn and figuring their odds of taking home the prize. Welcome to Blogging the Nebulas 2020.

The Pitch

My introduction to fantasy took place through the back of a wardrobe that opened up onto a magical land. Portals to other worlds are one of the genre’s definitional tropes, making a plot tool out of the metaphorical relationship between reader and novel: Books are gateways.

That’s the operating thesis of Alix E. Harrow’s The Ten Thousand Doors of January; its titular protagonist is a girl who enters, through a very peculiar book, into the life of Adelaide, a woman from an earlier era who discovers that some doors don’t lead where you expect. January lives in the early 20th century, a ward of the wealthy, aristocratic Mr. Locke, who employs her father as an adventurer of sorts, sending him off in pursuit of rumors of fabulous treasures. Bored with her comfortable society life, January relishes losing herself in pulpy novels, and one day comes across a strange, handcrafted volume entitled “The Ten Thousand Doors.” Assuming it is a gift from her father—who has not returned from Mr. Locke’s last mission—she begins to read.

The book introduces a new narrative thread and a new and compelling—perhaps significantly more compelling than the wide-eyed teen January—protagonist in Adelaide Lee Larson, who lived a few decades before January was born. In chapters that alternate with January’s tale, told in the first person, we follow Adelaide’s adventures as viewed through the sort of scholarly report that makes up The Ten Thousand Doors, penned by someone who appears to be in pursuit of Adelaide and sharing her story. Said story—involving unexpected journeys, a doomed love affair, and a sinister plot to end magic—turns out to be intertwined with January’s, to her (but not the reader’s) surprise.

Given that this is a book preoccupied with the power of stories, it’s appropriate that Alix E. Harrow so clearly understands how they work. The Ten Thousand Doors of January is deftly and carefully constructed, but it doesn’t feel that way while you’re reading along: it’s more subtle, solid bones wrapped in glistening emerald skin. Intercutting the twin coming of age stories of January and Adelaide (albeit one told in a reverse order of sorts, in the case of the latter) gives the plot a narrative drive it might have lacked if solely focused on January, who is a bit too much of a teen to carry the dramatic weight her counterpart’s sad tale delivers.

It’s hard to talk about this book without mentioning the prose, which flows like a river: “It is at the moments when the doors open, when things flow between the worlds, that stories happen.” “Destiny is a pretty story we tell ourselves. Lurking beneath it there are only people, and the terrible choices we make.” “Books are Doors and I wanted out.” Harrow is able to describe the experience of reading as an escape with tactile precision. This is fantasy that feels real, because it allows us to really believe that a book can be a doorway, and that doorways can lead somewhere magic.

Why it could win

The Ten Thousand Doors of January is Alix E. Harrow’s first novel, but she’s already a familiar name on awards ballots: Her short story “A Witch’s Guide to Escape: A Practical Compendium of Portal Fantasies” won the Hugo Award and was a finalist for the World Fantasy, Locus, and—yup—Nebula awards. There’s obviously a lot of enthusiasm out there for her writing, both from readers and her fellow pros (hence the novel’s placement on both the Hugo and Nebula slates this year).

Moreover, the novel is an accessible fantasy—which is to say, not a dense volume in a multi-book epic—a form that has a decent track record at the Nebulas: see relatively recent wins for Naomi Novik’s Uprooted and Jo Walton’s Among Others. Like the latter, The Ten Thousand Doors… is a fantasy about the magic inherent in books, though perhaps in a more literal fashion; whereas Walton wrote about a lost girl finding herself in genre fiction, Harrow’s characters literally become lost thanks to a singular book. In any case, writers are apt to enjoy a novel that’s all about how putting pen to paper is a transformative and meaningful act.

This one may also win votes simply because it is so very hard to dislike. The prose sings, the characters leap from the page, and the narrative is designed to evoke maximum feels. It’s a standalone, and doesn’t leave you yearning for a sequel so much as satisfied that it doesn’t need one. It’s a complete story that ends perfectly, which may engender enough goodwill—and votes—to put it over the top.

Why it may not win

I’ve already laid out the case against debut authors taking home the Best Novel award; rather than reiterate it, I’ll just point you to the “Why it may not win” section of my review of A Song for a New Day and leave it at that—partly because, with four debuts on the ballot this year, and all of them strong contenders, I have a pretty good feeling the point is going to be moot.

That said, Harrow’s novel is a debut, and it occasionally feels like one. Though the central characters are remarkably distinct in terms of action and dialogue, the supporting ones can feel a bit sketched in and indistinct—including her villains, whose motivations and heel turns might have you scratching your head at times. The pacing is also a little lumpy, occasionally losing momentum and focus as the point of view shifts every chapter or two between January and Adelaide, rushing forward then staggering a bit, only to nearly race past the climax in its hurry to reach the happily ever after. I’m picking at the seams here—it’s still an enormously enjoyable novel, and rightly adored by enough readers that it made it deep into the Goodreads Choice Awards—but with a Best Novel ballot this strong, the smallest perceived flaws could prove to be fatal ones.

Which is a bit melodramatic, yeah: Alix E. Harrow is no doubt well pleased to have even made the ballot in a standout year for the genres, and if she doesn’t take home the award this time, well, something tells me it won’t be her last shot.

#Alix E. Harrow #The Tenthousand Doors of January #mahreviews #long post

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courtneytarynofficial · 4 years

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**My Self Rec Post!**

Hey guys! This is my post recommending my own stories that I feel you should check out! I don’t have a ton, so I’m just going to list all of them.. lol

I do have other stories I’m planning on writing as well, so if any of these peak your interest, definitely keep checking back for more!

**AS A WARNING: Most of my fics are pretty angsty/whumpy (that’s why I included the gif above haha)...I’ll add TW’s per story as a recommend though! So don’t worry!

Please, I hope you’ll enjoy! :)

My Multi-Chapters:

1- I’m Not Okay

Rated T - 16 chapters - 43,966 words - COMPLETE.

Summary- They stopped the apocalypse. Unfortunately for Klaus, that didn’t mean things would change for the better. Even though he felt he put forth his best efforts, his family evidently did not. When withdrawal symptoms bare down hard on Klaus, his family doesn’t seem to notice. Or, they simply don’t care. When time goes on and his symptoms only seem to get worse, Klaus is suddenly faced with the harsh realization that maybe this is more than just withdrawals...maybe he’s not okay.

TW: Major Character Death/Vomiting/Withdrawal/Terminal Illness/Cancer

NOTES: This was the first story I wrote for this fandom and the first story I had written in 10 years. It’s a little rusty, but overall I am extremely proud of this! (Warning though, it is pretty sad.) Hopefully all of the tender family bonding moments help offset all of the sadness!

————

2- The Only Hope For Me Is You (Sequel/Alternative Timeline to I’m Not Okay)

Rated M - 20 Chapters - 104,404 words - **UPDATE** NOW COMPLETE

Summary- What if Dave never died in Klaus's arms? What if instead, he convinced Klaus to quit taking drugs while still in 1968; 'Causing him to start his withdrawals while he was still in Vietnam. If Klaus was too sick to fight, he and Dave would have never made it to the front lines. Meaning they discovered Klaus's cancer sooner—Was it soon enough to save his life?

TW: Major Character Death/Cancer/Vomiting/Withdrawal

NOTES: This story was my way to solve the ending in its predecessor. Just know that with this one—Not everything is always as it seems! You’ll know what I mean when you read the final chapter! Still sad, but adding Dave into the mix adds a lot of opportunity for tender moments, too! I personally prefer this one over I’m Not Okay. This one can be read as a stand alone piece, but it is technically a sequel!

————

3- What I Never Knew I Always Wanted

Rating: T - 13/17 Chapters - 89,373 words - INCOMPLETE (See notes!)

Summary: Klaus always knew he was a fuck up; a low life good for absolutely nothing drug addict. He’d made plenty of mistakes in his life, and he accepted it. But when his casual Tuesday fling winds up pregnant and doesn’t want the baby, Klaus can’t just abandon it...can he?

Klaus’s entire perspective on life changes when that sweet, innocent bundle of joy gets placed into his hands. In that moment Klaus knew he needed to change. He needed to be a better person, he needed to be there wholly for his daughter.

His past mistakes needed to be just that: Mistakes from his past; his present and future now solely revolved around keeping his precious baby girl happy, healthy and safe.

TW: Withdrawal/Ghosts/Mentions of Drug and Alcohol abuse/ Mentions of Past Physical Abuse/ Mentions of attempted Suicide

NOTES: This is a daddy!Klaus fic! My first attempt at major fluffy-ness (and I feel that I shockingly succeeded with this! It’s a miracle! Lol) but don’t let the adorable baby subject matter throw you, it is my story, there’s still plenty of angst! 13 of 17 chapters have been posted, but I’ve already written 14 chapters and I have them all entirely planned out already! I write every day guys, and I post every week, so you’ll never have to worry about me not completing a story. If I publish it, it’s getting finished. I promise!!

**This is my personal favorite story of mine I’ve written!**

I also have decided that this story will be part of a series with additional one shots that look into special little moments in their lives and there will be a SEQUEL for this one as well! :)

My One Shots:

1- Wore My Heart Out On A Chain Around My Neck (And Now It’s Missing)

Rated: T - 4,476 words - COMPLETE

Summary: Klaus would hold onto Dave’s dog tags; clutch them firmly within his palms and run his fingertips over the cool stainless steel memorabilia, cherishing the sensation of Dave’s name carved within the insignia against his skin. This was all that he had left of him; his only tether to Dave left in this world—his most treasured possession.

Or, Dave’s dog tags break, and so does Klaus.

TW: PTSD/Brief description of past drug and alcohol abuse/ Underlying health problem/Hinted Major Character Death

NOTES: This is my first installment for my Bad Things Happen Bingo card. Prompt: Most Treasured Possession Destroyed. This one I really went for it you guys, I’m extremely proud of how it turned out. There’s an unexpected twist to make this prompt all the more heart wrenching! I hope you’ll enjoy it!

2- Their Secondhand Smoke

Rated: T - 5,821 words - COMPLETE

Summary: Had he been in his right mind perhaps he would have realized his mistake, recognized the fact that the absolute worst thing to do when faced with a grease fire is to throw water on it, but unfortunately his brain was muddled by an abundance of drugs.

Instantly the flames expanded, reaching higher towards the rafters as it engulfed the entire kitchen in fire.

TW: Heavy drug use/Vague OR referenced sexual actions/Being trapped

NOTES: This is my second installment for my Bad Things Happen Bingo card. Prompt: Trapped in a burning building. This one is a bit of a scary subject matter as you could imagine guys! I tried to delve into the fear aspect and also somehow squeeze some tender stuff in.

**I plan on having a blackout card for my bingo! So if you like these, definitely keep checking back on AO3!

**My Username is TwistedIllusions**

Thanks for checking these out! If you read any of them, I would absolutely love to hear from you! So feel free to leave me a comment with your thoughts and opinions if you’d like! I sure would adore it!! ❤️

@tuafeedbackfest

@alltuafeedbackfest

#the umbrella academy #tuafanfiction #tua ao3 #tua netflix #tuafeedbackfest #tua fanfic #tua fandom #klaus hargreeves #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfics #tua fanfiction reccomendations #fanfiction #tua klave #tua klaus #tua dave #tua #alltuafeedbackfest

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brawlingdiscontent · 5 years

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the men of metal, menacing with golden face, 1/?

a.k.a sequel to terrible with the brightness of gold (ao3 link, for those who’ve just read on tumblr, the ao3 is the most up-to-date version)

(part two) (part three)

(cherik fic, viking au, subtle a/b/o)

“For who could look upon the lions of the foe, terrible with the brightness of gold, who upon the men of metal, menacing with golden face, … who upon the bulls on the ships threatening death, their horns shining with gold, without feeling any fear for the king of such a force?”

-- Encomium Emmae Reginae

----

He’s a child again, in the long, lonely halls of Normandy. The vaulted ceiling stretches above him into the darkness, the passageway illuminated only by the solitary torch he carries. The light is fairly strong, but the halls so vast that its beam doesn’t come close to revealing the top of the arch. Everyone else is asleep. As he walks the corridors he runs his hand reverently along the exquisite tapestries, painstakingly embroidered over thousands of hours.

He holds the torch close--but not too close--as his fingers trace the knot whorl of an eye, widening in surprise as the accompanying warrior sees the spear that marks his death. Here on the cloth his death will remain forever suspended, held betwixt one world and the next. The weave is coarse beneath his finger pads.

Further on, the linen panels reveal scores of horses mid-canter and the proud shapes of warships cutting through water, the cloth embroidered with fine woolen threads that fix these images of battles and glory. The teams of needleworkers who stitched the fabric with such care have been denied the pleasure their labour has sown--the tapestries hung here where few will see them--and yet their presence still haunts the works. The fineness of the work, the intricate level of detail, and the quality of the images, become, in the still darkness, his own private treasures.

At this time of night the hush of the halls feels like the quiet of a tomb.

Sometimes when Charles walks the halls, he will at length return to his little chamber to await the cold light of dawn, warmed by the sights he’s seen.

But other times he’ll sit at the foot of a tapestry, tracing a thread of silver as it weaves through the couching in the laid work. Picking it out, as though it was the thread of fate weaving through the tapestry of his life. Until at last he sleeps.

….

The morning light filters in through the planiner threads of the canvas tent above him. As he awakens, Charles senses he’s alone. The light is quite high: he’s slept very late. His body must have been trying to catch up on months of stress and lost sleep.

He looks around the tent and confirms that Lehnsherr is nowhere in sight. The tent seems largely unaltered from the previous night, but for a wooden plate on the small table, bearing food presumably left for him.

As awareness returns to his senses and marshals his limbs, noises of the camp, of the morning business, filter in from the outside. His mind already has the pictures, the smells, to accompany the sounds. He’d experienced them only yesterday, as he was brought through to this very tent. To the corner chair where he sat, awaiting judgement. In some ways, it feels like it’s still the same day, the moment stretching endlessly on in time, suspended like the tapestry soldier’s death. And yet how much now is different.

Even with the morning’s surrealness, the many unanswered questions, and with his children half a world away; there’s no siege, no imminent danger, and he feels enlivened, lighter than he has for quite some time. It’s as though his features had been cast in silver, cold and immutable like one of Sebastian's fine chalices, and had suddenly been freed.

Despite everything, he realizes, he hadn't really believed that he’d get to this point. This moment where there is an ‘after.’ No matter how he’d planned and scrabbled--all those months ago, the thought of to find himself in such a position, with his people relatively safe, his children’s futures assured, was ultimately unthinkable, unreachable.

And now he’s left with what to do next. With the future that stretches before him in the form of Lehnsherr.

Rather than dwell on this and let it threaten his burgeoning good mood, he gets up in favour of getting the lay of the camp, finding out what’s going on.

Ignoring his rumbling stomach, he pulls on his boots--the only article he’d taken off last night, and only then when he was sure that Lehnsherr was asleep--and checks for their faithful knife, before flipping open the tent flap to move out into the light.

A pair of crossed pikes block his path, wielded by two men standing firm and unyielding in front of the entryway.

His first reaction is that of sheer confusion; it takes him a moment to register what he’s seeing.

He recovers quickly. “What’s the meaning of this?”

The guards--for that is undoubtedly what they are--are Danes. The man on his left has a braided beard and a rather formidable scar running in a jagged slash down the front of his face. His companion on the right looks younger, less severe, perhaps more workable.

The older one turns to him, keeping his pike fixed in place, and offers just a one-word response: "Stay."

“On whose orders do you detain me?” he demands, but even as he says it, he knows the answer well enough. The older man spares him another glance, but doesn’t deign to utter even a further syllable, before turning away once again.

Charles swallows down the indignation that swiftly rises and tries another tack. “If you won’t let me pass, I need to get a message through to one of my men. It’s rather urgent.”

No response this time. They either don’t speak Saxon or--the more suspicious part of his mind offers--pretend not to.

Just outside, at the tent opposite, a woman is beating clothes with a washing bat, a basin at her side. She eyes him sharply, with suspicion, and the appeal Charles is considering making to her dries up in his throat.

He told Lehnsherr that he wouldn’t be a prisoner.

Bastard.

With a final glance between his guards, Charles retreats back into the tent, fuming.

The satisfying thwack of a boot hitting the tent wall only marginally improves his mood.

Eventually he sits.

He told the man he wouldn’t be a prisoner...and yet he’d also promised his compliance.

Closing his eyes, it's easy to call up his citadel. When Boethius had referred to the mind as a fortress within which to take refuge from life’s cares in philosophy's consoling grip, he likely hadn’t thought of it so literally. But crude though the construct is, it helps him to concentrate. His imagined inner citadel looks like the halls of home, the most familiar sight of his sequestered childhood. Never in doubt of him finding a good match, his distant parents had allowed Charles to dedicate his time to scholarly pursuits, so long as they were conducted in the relative isolation that would preserve his value as a spouse.

The canon of Boethius is in its usual spot. Unlike the patchy scrolls that made up his meagre collection in Londres--now buried with the state documents to preserve them from marauding forces--the shelves of his mind are full, bursting with manuscripts. The Consolation of Philosophy is housed in an illuminated volume: so valuable it’s chained to the plinth it rests on, just as its contents are fixed firmly in his memory.

He leans over to study the page on which it’s opened:

“Thou hast resigned thyself to the sway of Fortune; thou must submit to thy mistress's caprices. What! art thou verily striving to stay the swing of the revolving wheel? Oh, stupidest of mortals, if it takes to standing still, it ceases to be the wheel of Fortune.”

Not helpful.

He tries to regroup his mental resources. The sum of it is, he’s realized how little he actually knows. In all the shelves replete with facts about Lehnsherr, there’s not a manuscript that’s not fluffed up with rumour, stuffed with paranoia, and pure ornamentation. It’s why he had been so unprepared for the turns of the previous day. He opens a volume and thinks--

What does he know concretely?

He knows that Lehnsherr needs him alive--at least until he produces an heir.

Yet he's not sure he can sustain continued threats of offing himself, nor that that’s a viable way forward, with his children on the line. And yet this is the best possible position for them.

He’ll need to write a letter.

He knows that Lehnsherr cannot be so secure in his own power, that needs the security their marriage will grant him.

And, a voice at the back of his head wonders: is this what Lehnsherr envisions their marriage looking like? Imprisonment in all but name? “Yet what rights can one exercise over another, save only as regards the body? What! wilt thou bind with thy mandates the free spirit? Canst thou force from its due tranquillity the mind that is firmly composed by reason?” Boethius supplies.

He knows that Lehnsherr wants sex--

His mind jumps to last night, to the crush of the other’s lips against his--how he’ll have to find a way to deal with his and Lehnsherr’s unexpected...compatibility. To plan what he will do when Lehnsherr comes to assert his spousal prerogative. He cannot allow himself to be distracted, or worse, show weakness, let Lehnsherr see how he’s affected--

Unproductive. He closes the book. Maybe it’s time for a new tactic.

Opening his eyes, he takes the wooden trencher and picks up the dry, flat mass left to him--some kind of bread. It’s less than appetizing; clearly the keep’s stores haven’t yet made it over to the camp. He eats it regardless, not one to waste food, as his mind turns to other points of consideration.

Children.

He’s promised Lehnsherr an heir, and the man may possibly want more. He can’t be sure yet what kind of sire Lehnsherr will be. If it is the kind that Sebastian was, how can Charles possibly protect this child? And yet he doesn’t think he can do what would be easiest: wall off his feelings and abandon them to their fate, trading one child for his two others.

And then before he can help himself his mind slips from children to the getting of children. Marital relations. Sebastian had never seemed to care much whether or not he enjoyed it. He’s not sure that Lehnsherr had either, but the problem is that, regardless, he had. His cheeks heat at the memory and he quashes down that line of thinking, only noting that he should delay their marriage as much as possible until he is able to figure it out, before he should be so vulnerable again--experience such loss of control--

Right. Time to move on.

He launches himself into the task of turning over the tent.

It doesn’t take long, sparsely furnished as it is. The whole time he keeps one ear open, lest his keepers get suspicious. Lehnsherr’s battle gear has vanished--presumably back on its owner’s body. And thus, he almost immediately zeroes in on the main object of interest. Tucked away and out of sight between the fur pile--which he skirts strategically, stooping first to rescue his fallen circlet from the corner--and the tent wall.

It’s a beautifully carved casket, made of oak. The craftsmanship is breathtaking. The box’s top and its two ends are covered with thin, carved sheets of walrus ivory, clasped by gilt-bronze bands. The ivory panels are skillfully decorated with stylized birds and animals, all caught up in the great convolutions of the tendrils and leaf-like interlace.

He carefully pries up the bronze clasp, relieved to find that it’s not locked as it eases open.

His eyes are drawn first to a ring of amber inside, with fine details carved into its flat top. He picks it up to examine it. They look like characters, but in what language Charles cannot say. Certainly it’s not Saxon, Norman, or Latin. He’s less familiar with the Danish script, but something tells him that this isn’t it, either. It's short, if it’s script, a couple of words at most.

Intrigued, he nevertheless puts the ring aside and searches beneath it until he finds what he’s looking for: a short piece of semi-translucent vellum, beside some red sealing wax and stylus.

He finds ink in a thick, green vial with a cork stopper--it must be glass. Marvellous. He’s not seen it used for this purpose before--it makes the ink fully transportable. His mind quickly offers up possibilities for its existence--Viking trade routes into the far east? -- and he makes a mental note to investigate later. First the letter.

He words it briefly, keeping the sentences short, to the point, yet ambiguous. He doesn’t seal it. Even if he had a flame to melt the wax, it’s far too dangerous. If it were discovered the coded message would be instantly traced directly back to him by the seal, which could only end in disaster…

He’s just finishing up when he notes that the noise outside doesn’t match the usual rhythms of the camp.

He turns, and has just enough time to shove the newly-penned letter up his sleeve--who knows whether the ink has had time to set--to find the tent filling with strange men.

One man brushes past him to grab the very same casket he’s just stolen from--and Charles is grateful that he’d hurriedly shut the lid, and hopes he closed up the ink properly.

Another man--the young guard from outside--gestures him forward roughly towards the entrance to the tent, and he can do nothing but acquiesce to the rude summons, walking out into the light.

---

Note: I’m back!! Thanks to all of you who have supported me with likes and kudos and asks and comments and emphatic tags!! It’s because of you that this one-shot is continuing! I love you all!! I hope to update biweekly, but we’ll see, and have at least one more arc planned after this one.

#cherik #viking au #historical au #Erik Lehnsherr #Charles Xavier #X-men #subtle a/b/o #cherik fic #brawlingdiscontent #twtbog #encomium carolis regis

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nordic-breeze · 5 years

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I was tagged by @muse-of-nightmares thank you lovely <3 this was so much fun

Rules are to answer some questions about writing and pass the tag along :)

Author Name: Nordic_Breeze across media or platforms, sometimes with hyphen, sometimes with underscore, sometimes I have to get clever with numbers. My real name is Lisa.

Fandoms You Write For: At the moment, Red Dead Redemption 2 only. I have written two lengthy fics in the past for Haunting Ground, and Heavy Rain.

Where You Post: Mostly on AO3, occasionally here on Tumblr, used to post on ff(dot)net.

Most Popular One-Shot: In terms of overall popularity across sites, my very first RDR2 oneshot An Unexpected Offer. My most popular in terms of singular hits, kudos and bookmarks on AO3 is The Home Robbery That Went Horribly Wrong. Or did it?

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: That would be Fiona’s Nightmare, starting out as a one shot detailing the opening cutscene of Haunting Ground it ended up as a 94k+ full length novelization of the entire game (now 84k+ after edits) with my own twists and ending.

Favorite Story You Wrote: They are all my babies. I can’t choose. They all came from a place of passion and love for a character, and tied to each story are so many memories and feels. Each one of my stories evoke a series of emotions in me, unique to that story. I simply cannot choose.

A Story You Were Nervous to Post: More than I always am every time I upload something, you mean? Uploading new chapters of wips are always tense with the omg what if people hate the direction this is taking stress that usually follows until I’ve reassured myself that it’s my story after all.

However, the story that I posted with the most energetic tummy-butterflies was a one shot A Gentle Touch. The inspiration for that particular one was different than for my other stories, and (perhaps therefore) the theme is one that I would normally consider too personal for me to touch upon. While all my other stories came from a place of ardent, zealous passion for an idea of that particular character in that particular situation, A Gentle Touch came from, well stumbling over some headcanons and viewpoints which I disagreed with, spite giving way for bashfulness I penned my own story with my own take on the subjects. And now I link to it here coz I am no longer ashamed (as evident by the A/N), so I decided to ‘own it’ :p

How Do You Choose Your Titles: Titles are my Achilles heel. In most cases, my working title ends up being the actual title. The only title I am proud of is ‘A New Beginning’.

Do You Outline: With my Heavy Rain story I did outline the canon timeline fairly detailed and took it from there. But usually my outline is ‘scrolling to the end of the doc and type in future plot and scene ideas in keyword form and as I get new ideas, I type them in the same way where I think they will fit’ – and then I’ll just wing it from thereon. It works for me.

Complete: My two novel-length, non-RDR2 fics, six RDR2 one shots, and a two-chapter sequel to my Bath Time With Arthur one shot.

In-Progress: I am currently working on two wips: A New Beginning, three chapters in, which is the concluding sequel to my series The Outlaw And The Girl Next Door, and a sequel to the home robbery one mentioned earlier called Crossing Paths Again, four out of seven chapters in.

Coming Soon: more chapter for my two aforementioned wips, and (maybe) more Arthur/Reader oneshots.

Do You Accept Prompts: I’ve been thinking of it, and while I may in the future, I have, after careful consideration, decided that for now, it is not right for me. There is a part of me that want to. It would be a great way to interact more with the fandom, to talk more about the world and characters of RDR2 and to give myself exposure, but I know how much I stress and obsess over my own writing. It’s hard enough to write what I am myself passionate about, let alone prompts/characters/ships I might not be into myself or ‘feel’ ya know. Then there would be the added stress of what if this is not what they wanted, or what if they are sad that I declined the request?

I’m happy to discuss characters, events, headcanons ets though. That goes for all the games I regularly post (reblog) about.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: Finally getting started on an Arthur/OC story that I’ve been thinking of for months now! It’s not something I expect to gain much interest but for my own sake. Through writing I can express my love for Arthur, create my very own, personal moments with Arthur and make him happy. It makes me happy, and I don’t see myself stopping anytime soon. Unless my muse fails me more than my love for Arthur inspires me, I will keep writing about Arthur. Since my brain’s in shuffle mode, I can’t pick one scenario or plot, though I always wanted to do a Tomb Raider- or The Mummy-inspired Arthur/Reader or Arthur/OC treasure hunt story. Also have an idea for Arthur being hired to be your (or my OC’s) bodyguard.

I have more one-shot ideas for Arthur/reader that I want to see come to life.

This got a bit long ^^’ thank you for reading!

tagging only if you want to and haven’t done it yet. If you have, or just doesn’t want to sorry for the trouble ^^’ And if you see this and you want to, consider yourself tagged!

@shethenightwolf @mrsescuella @gangofoutlaws @outlawers @mrsarthurmorgan7 @mileycyprus-hill

#about me #long post

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gffa · 6 years

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I DEFINITELY DO. While I get why in canon (both in terms of “because that was the set-up we had to work with” and “Obi-Wan had just had his whole world burned down by the person he loved most, he wasn’t in the right place for a kid” terms), my heart still cries out for any AU where Obi-Wan raises Luke (or Leia!) and fandom does provide! And, yes, there’s going to be a lot of crying. STAR WARS FIC RECS - OBI-WAN RAISES LUKE: → Island in a Sea of Sand by mybluerose, obi-wan & luke, 42.5k Obi-Wan Kenobi never intended to be a father. He never intended to be a moisture farmer, either. But when he arrives on the Lars homestead to find Owen and Beru slain by Sand people, he finds himself raising Luke, the galaxy’s best hope of defeating the Empire, on a desert planet thousands of light years from his friends and allies. → Names by Erisette, obi-wan & luke & leia, 3.8k He has held these children in his arms for five minutes, Padme’s body is still warm on the medical table, and he rejects the Jedi’s delusions and any denial of his attachment. (Obi-Wan raising the twins) → To Live Among Wolves by FireflyFish, obi-wan & luke & cast, 33.1k wip A father and his son are on the run from bounty hunters, five years after the creation of the Galactic Empire. → Beneath the Sand by LurkingCrow, obi-wan & beru & luke, 2.9k A change in Imperial policy leads to a small but significant change to matters on Tatooine. A short exploration of how a sad hermit may have ended up a little less lonely. → Master and Padawan by Katharos, obi-wan & luke & cast, 15.5k wip What if Luke was raised by Obi-Wan as his Padawan? → Tatooine AU by Nisa, obi-wan/anakin & luke, 6.2k In a world where Obi-Wan doesn’t know how lucky he is the worst has never happened, he still finds it hard to go on. → Path of Choice by UnknownFigment, obi-wan & mara & luke & owen/beru & cast, 45k wip Five years after RotS, Obi-Wan agrees to protect a young girl rescued from the Empire. Then protection becomes training, one student becomes two, and the galaxy is set on a different course. → turn my sorrow into treasured gold by cosmicocean, obi-wan/padme & luke & leia, 15.6k Padmé survives childbirth, dies as far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned, takes her children with Obi-Wan, and runs. → World Come Undone by crazyundeadfairy, obi-wan/anakin & luke + background anakin/padme, 68.3k wip Unexpected things happen when ObiWan takes Luke to Tatooine. + BONUS RECS UNDER THE CUT

→ Island in a Sea of Sand by mybluerose, obi-wan & luke, 42.5k Obi-Wan Kenobi never intended to be a father. He never intended to be a moisture farmer, either. But when he arrives on the Lars homestead to find Owen and Beru slain by Sand people, he finds himself raising Luke, the galaxy’s best hope of defeating the Empire, on a desert planet thousands of light years from his friends and allies. The first fic is up on AO3 and I’ve linked to that one (its sequel is here) but it’s much further along on FFNET, here and here, hence the word count discrepency! I haven’t finished reading this one, but I’ve really enjoyed what I have of it so far (and possibly am hoarding it for a rainy day, just a little bit!) and I believe A Delicate Fury enjoyed it as well, so I feel comfortable recommending it already! It’s pretty much exactly what one wants out of “Obi-Wan raises Luke in an AU” and just has this really charismatic, warm feeling to it! → Names by Erisette, obi-wan & luke & leia, 3.8k He has held these children in his arms for five minutes, Padme’s body is still warm on the medical table, and he rejects the Jedi’s delusions and any denial of his attachment. (Obi-Wan raising the twins) Holy shit, I did not know I needed Obi-Wan raising Luke and Leia as badly as I did until I read this and it was just a straight goddamned shot to my heart. The differences, yet echoes of canon, the way so much changes and yet some things stay the same, the way Obi-Wan loves these last pieces of Anakin, but also loves them for themselves, the beautiful writing of the scenes as they grow up and begin to fight in this war, all of it. All of it. I loved all of it. I’d have read 100k of this and come back for more, even as satisfying as it is in just under 4k. There’s a brief bit of attachment = love that goes against canon, but it’s mostly just in the beginning and I don’t remember it much beyond that (though, my memory is fuzzy) and Obi-Wan’s not in a good headspace! → To Live Among Wolves by FireflyFish, obi-wan & luke & cast, 33.1k wip A father and his son are on the run from bounty hunters, five years after the creation of the Galactic Empire. While I understand why canon went the way it did, because who knows if there was enough left of Obi-Wan to raise a kid, I love love love AU fics where Obi-Wan is instead the one who raises Luke, who loves him because this is the last piece of Anakin he has, but then comes to love him for himself. And I love that he well and truly is Luke’s father here, that as much as Luke is Anakin’s biological son and that’s important, the fic is about Obi-Wan being there in Luke’s life, truly being the one who raises him, who is his father here. And it’s balanced with a plot, where they’re constantly on the run and that’s such a hard life, but it’s not a bad one, there’s such joy in the small things, Luke is so bright in personality and in the Force, and the fic does a really lovely job with showing that to the reader. There’s a mix of something that feels like slice-of-life with the greater, more frantic running from the Empire, something that feels very true to Star Wars and the characters, something that really kept me engaged with the fic the entire time. And, indeed, I pretty much read the whole thing in about two sittings, because it sailed along so smoothly, and I would have easily read another 100k of this, had it already been written. I also don’t mind that it’s a wip (aside from that, of course I want more!) because it’s not really about the end, it’s about the journey there. The point of it is seeing the daily moments where Luke is this little ball of sunshine that’s so bright in the Force, the point is seeing Obi-Wan find something that makes him live again, not just survive, the point is showing life under the Empire, especially for a Jedi and the child of Anakin Skywalker. All of which this story does a lovely job with and was a great read to pick up! → Beneath the Sand by LurkingCrow, obi-wan & beru & luke, 2.9k A change in Imperial policy leads to a small but significant change to matters on Tatooine. A short exploration of how a sad hermit may have ended up a little less lonely. Oh, I didn’t know how much I needed this fic until I had it–where things are mostly the same post-ROTS, except Beru takes one look at Obi-Wan and says, okay, he’s coming with us. I love this because it doesn’t diminish how important Owen and Beru are to Luke’s future, especially because Obi-Wan’s not really in a place to raise a kid, but it also makes things better for Obi-Wan, gives him something more to live for, rather than just a distant sort of promise and affection. This is a slightly kinder to Obi-Wan Kenobi universe and I love it, I love the gentleness of Beru here that’s layered over steel, I love how warm it is here, it’s bittersweet but in a really good way, and just soothed something in me that always needs soothing. It was a beautiful fic. → Master and Padawan by Katharos, obi-wan & luke & cast, 15.5k wip What if Luke was raised by Obi-Wan as his Padawan? This was a fic written post-TPM, but pre-AOTC or ROTS, so a lot of stuff is going to be different here, but it doesn’t really matter that much, because it’s a story about Obi-Wan raising Luke, halfway as his son and halfway as his apprentice, in a story that’s just CUTENESS ALL THE WAY AROUND. I really loved tearing through it and I don’t mind that it’s a wip that hasn’t been updated in ~15 years because it’s not one that’s about resolution, it’s about the slice of life dynamic between these characters as Luke (who is a ball of sunshine, of course, even as he’s also a little shit sometimes) grows up and Obi-Wan adores him and loves him. That it’s a heartwarming fic set on Tatooine, with Luke making friends with Biggs and they go to see a podrace with Obi-Wan as the exasperated dad chasing after energetic kids, with teaching Luke to be patient and let go of his anger and frustration, all of it was just really sweet and a nice read. → Tatooine AU by Nisa, obi-wan/anakin & luke, 6.2k In a world where Obi-Wan doesn’t know how lucky he is the worst has never happened, he still finds it hard to go on. This is a pretty fluffy AU, where Anakin didn’t turn and went with Obi-Wan and Luke to Tatooine. It’s a combination of a happier universe for the two of them with a lot of focus on Luke growing up, which was nicely adorable. It’s one of those fics that I read everything together and it was just… nice to read, even when bad things started happening in the final fic, it just… was a better, softer universe and sometimes I really need that. → Path of Choice by UnknownFigment, obi-wan & mara & luke & owen/beru & cast, 45k wip Five years after RotS, Obi-Wan agrees to protect a young girl rescued from the Empire. Then protection becomes training, one student becomes two, and the galaxy is set on a different course. I’ll warn ahead of time that this is a WIP, but it’s really more of a slice of life kind of fic, where Obi-Wan takes on a young Mara Jade to raise, which affects the events of the story so that Luke comes into proper orbit sooner, and you get a ton of the good stuff in what’s already here! Plus, it was recently-ish updated, so it’s entirely likely that we’ll still get more to come. But, honestly, I could have kissed this fic for doing what my heart was braced against: So often when I go into AU fics like this, unless I’m going for fic specifically geared towards it, the relationship between Obi-Wan and Anakin gets entirely downplayed and it hurts my heart to think of any universe where they weren’t best friends/brothers who loved each other. While the fic is absolutely not about that, it’s about Obi-Wan raising Mara and training both her and Luke, you can feel in the background how deeply Obi-Wan’s feeling about Anakin go. How much he loved (and probably still loves, underneath everything) that boy he trained. It’s a perfect amount, it’s never directly said, you just feel it, in the way he moves and talks and interacts with Luke and Mara. But the heart of the fic is really on his relationships with them, as well as their relationship with each other, and I love love love that Luke/Mara feels like it’s kind of there, but it’s also kind of not because they have other shit going on and this universe is so much better for Mara, who will always be bruised around the edges, will always have sharp corners, but has learned to love and care and be loved in turn here. It’s sort of fluffy, it’s slice of life as the kids grow up, they have play dates together, they train together, they go on “missions” together, they learn the way of the Jedi, but also it’s not really the same, they’re a new generation that’s their own thing. There’s greater plot machinations happening in the background, they’re being trained to take on the Emperor and Vader, but the heart is firmly on their growing up on Tattoine and it was such a delightful read, mixed in with just enough revelations (the scenes were Obi-Wan told Luke about Anakin!) and history of the galaxy to make it feel suitably Star Wars. → turn my sorrow into treasured gold by cosmicocean, obi-wan/padme & luke & leia, 15.6k Padmé survives childbirth, dies as far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned, takes her children with Obi-Wan, and runs. Oh, I was just utterly engrossed by this fic, it’s such a lovely story about Obi-Wan and Padme post-ROTS and how they slowly develop a relationship, how Obi-Wan is absolutely Luke and Leia’s father even if they’re not his by blood, how Padme is their mother, how so many things are the same and yet so many things are different, how the fic can still break my heart and yet provide something a little better for these characters. The only way Obi-Wan/Padme usually works for me is when Anakin’s ghost both is and isn’t there, which this fic does perfectly, they both loved (love) him but he’s gone and they’re building something for the twins, they’re building something between the two of them as well, which all these little details and moments in the fic builds up towards. I love how much presence all four of them have here, that none of them are left out or forgotten by the story, I love that the fic is just so solidly good and I would have read another 100k of it, both for how much it pleased my id and just how well-told it was all the way around. This is a terrible rec, but this fic was an absolutely wonderful addition to the Padme Lives fic in the fandom, as well as for Obi-Wan raising the twins. → World Come Undone by crazyundeadfairy, obi-wan/anakin (?) & luke + background anakin/padme, 68.3k wip Unexpected things happen when ObiWan takes Luke to Tatooine. [Note: This is one of the fics that I read most early on in my time in SW fandom, when I wasn’t that familiar with canon, so caveat that I don’t know how it holds up over time! It may go against the Jedi of canon or my better understanding of Obi-Wan and Anakin’s characters, I can’t say without a reread! But I have SUCH fond memories of this fic and it definitely fits the bill!] Oh, lord, this fic. I cannot tell you how hard this fic grabbed me and would not let go until I finished it! There are a couple of caveats: The first two chapters are fairly slow, a lot of monologuing over things actually happening, but once Luke starts talking, it kicks into gear and doesn’t let go. It’s also a WIP and hasn’t been updated in a few years, but the author has gone years between updates before, so you never know, but more importantly! You get so much of the good stuff in what’s already here! So, while I would have loved to have had the rest of the fic, I’m genuinely content with what we had here as well, because let me tell you about my feelings on Obi-Wan raising Luke, who is this amazingly sweet little moppet that I was instantly in love with, as well as Anakin eventually finds out and tries to steal Luke away but gets in his own way too much and finds himself trapped in a situation that he’s not sure how to get out of. I was initially skimming ahead to just read the confrontation between Obi-Wan and Anakin when they saw each other again, just to see if the fic picked up, and found myself getting sucked in because the fic does a great job with each scene making me want to read the next and the next and the next, so I had to go back to my original place and then I just hungrily read the entire thing because Anakin wants to take Luke and kill Obi-Wan, but he can’t because he wants Luke to lovehim and that won’t happen if Luke knows he killed the only father he’s ever known, yet Anakin still burns that Obi-Wan has taken Luke, despite that Obi-Wan has always talked about Anakin to Luke, always told him stories, and Luke can already feel that there’s still love there, no matter how much anger and hate is held onto, sometimes on both sides, after all that’s happened. It’s one of those fics where they’re forced to be semi-civil to each other again, but underneath is all this emotional tension and hurt that made my fannish heart absolutely ache while reading it, yet was delicious candy at the same time because it hit my id perfectly. Getting well-written fic that does justice to the iddy concept it has is such a rare treat in fandom and I love this fic for doing that for me! It’s one of those situations that I would dream up without trying to properly justify it in my head just because I wanted it, but the fic actually sold me on it and doesn’t shortchance that Anakin is full of rage and hates Obi-Wan, even as you feel how much of it is borne out of still loving him. Obi-Wan is fantastic, he’s so steady and solid, but that doesn’t mean he’s passive or without his own anger on Anakin’s actions, even as he’s still willing to try to help him again. And Anakin feels so right to me, that he’s not there yet, he’s not doing any of this for the right reasons, his love for Luke is still selfish and obsessive, but there’s hope in him and you can see the sparks of maybe something still good in there. And I’m labeling this as Obi-Wan/Anakin because the author has written slash fic for them before and the relationship is very central to the story, even if there’s no kissing, and Anakin’s relationship with Padme is very important and I just really, really was hit spot on by this fic, okay. So good. BONUS - PADME LIVES: These are more Padme-centric fics, but have Obi-Wan as the twins’ father as a sub-plot, so if you want to read more, these might help scratch that itch! → Keep Breathing by Yesac, obi-wan/padme + some anakin/padme + luke & leia & oc, 45.8k Padme doesn’t die at the end of Revenge of the Sith. Instead, she decides to take the twins and join Obi-Wan in exile. → the family amidala by dirgewithoutmusic, padme & obi-wan & luke & leia, 6.8k Padme lives. She runs. → Circles by ambiguously, obi-wan/padme & luke & leia & anakin + past anakin/padme, 4.2k Padmé and Obi-Wan raise the twins together while hiding from the Empire. BONUS - UNREAD: These are ones I haven’t read yet (but are tucked away on my reader to do so!) but either they look promising or I like the author, so I’m reasonably confident recommending them! But if there’s something in them that would have me turning away (you all know my general tastes!) I can’t say for certain about them yet, either. → The Hermit’s Son by landsail0r, obi-wan & luke, 1.2k AU where Obi-Wan raises Luke. → we were born for better days by FireflysLove, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & luke & cast, 3.6k wip Obi-Wan attempts to save Vader from the Dark Side, but the Rebellion, especially Bail Organa and Ahsoka Tano, are not going to believe that after a decade of terrorizing the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker can possibly be saved. → Hope is a Four Letter Word by laniew1, obi-wan & luke, 3.2k wip Obi-Wan’s life is simple; he wakes, he eats, he meditates and on some mornings he watches Luke (or the Obi-Wan raises Luke instead AU).

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #luke skywalker #leia organa #mara jade #fic recs #star wars fic recs

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briangroth27 · 7 years

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Black Panther Review

I absolutely loved Black Panther! The film felt like it belonged in the MCU while successfully carving out its own corner of the universe, making it feel like a world unto itself. Even with its fantastical technological wonders, Wakanda felt real and the incorporation of various African cultures gave the fictional nation a history and texture that made it feel fully-formed and granted a powerful sense of depth to the proceedings. The cast was excellent across the board, supported by writing (from Ryan Coogler and Joe Robert Cole) that gave everyone moments to shine and stellar direction from Coogler to match.

Full Spoilers...

I didn’t know much about Black Panther (Chadwick Boseman) going in, having only seen him in Civil War, Fantastic Four and Avengers cartoons, and an appearance here and there in the comics. Civil War got me interested in the character and Black Panther cemented me as a fan; he’s hands down one of the most engaging characters in the Marvel Universe! Chadwick Boseman is effortlessly cool as T’Challa, a down-to-Earth king, badass superhero, and charming romantic lead. In an unexpected and very welcome twist, none of T’Challa’s inner circle are afraid to call him out or have a bit of fun at his expense (depending on the character), which made them feel like a family and gave him a much more grounded sensibility than I was expecting. I liked seeing T’Challa as a more measured and mature man here, growing nicely from the vengeance-obsessed version we saw previously; his first steps toward ruling Wakanda and deciding what kind of king he wanted to be—and what sort of country he’d like to rule—were great to see. That T’Challa was willing to listen to wisdom from all sides—including his enemies—made him an even more compelling and unique hero. T’Challa is bar none the most likable and relatable royal the MCU has given us, with none of the pompous, somewhat bloodthirsty bravado of Thor or the labor camp-minded royal family on Inhumans. That went a long way to making me sympathize with a monarchy instead of yearning to see it overthrown; T’Challa actually does care about the people under his rule. I do wish we’d gotten to see how T’Challa interacted with and was seen by the common people of Wakanda instead of just his inner circle and the other tribal leaders, but this was a very small nitpick that can easily be remedied in the inevitable Black Panther 2 or even Infinity War.

It was awesome to see such a diverse cast in this film and I’m equally pleased we got to see so many strong women showcased here (I can’t imagine how much more important this film must be for African American and female audiences who are finally getting representation like this onscreen). Nakia (Lupita Nyong’o) was awesome from the get-go as a Wakandan spy living in the outside world, working to help those in need. I loved her insistence that she couldn’t settle down as a queen knowing there were people outside Wakanda who could benefit from her skills and Wakanda’s influence. It was refreshing to see a hero’s love interest not only have an important life of her own completely separate from the lead’s arc, but to see her unwilling to sacrifice that life to please her guy. Nyong’O brought an engaging, likable, and determined energy to Nakia and I hope we get to see much more of her as the MCU evolves in a post-Infinity Wars universe. Letitia Wright’s Shuri was another standout, stealing every scene she’s in with an infectious, upbeat energy, and I loved her sister/brother relationship with T’Challa. They felt totally natural as siblings, with her needling him from time to time but still clearly sharing a relaxed, loving bond with him. Shuri is very likely the smartest person we’ve met in the MCU so far, and that’s awesome! Like others have suggested online, I cannot wait to see her become best friends with Peter Parker and outsmart Tony Stark at every turn. I loved that she loved showing off and trying out all the gadgets she made, and it was so cool that this princess got to be the Q to T’Challa’s James Bond. At first I thought it would’ve been better had Shuri remote-piloted the aircraft to shoot down Killmonger’s (Michael B. Jordan) forces instead of Ross (Martin Freeman)—she had the experience with the tech to do it, after all—but my friend pointed out that putting her on the front lines instead was a chance for her to directly stand up and fight for what she believed in instead of repeating what she’d done earlier in the movie, which gave her a bit more range. Plus, her panther blaster gauntlets were cool! I’m really interested to see how running the outreach center in Oakland with Nakia changes Shuri.

Danai Gurira gave an excellent performance as Okoye, leader of Wakanda’s elite Dora Milaje, who became torn between duty to Wakanda—and whatever king ruled it—and loyalty to T’Challa. I went in expecting a stoic warrior, but while Okoye was definitely effortlessly badass, I loved that she was able to have a sense of humor about T’Challa freezing when he saw Nakia (and able to jovially inform Shuri of this fact); it was clear they were more than just king and royal guard, they felt like old friends. Okoye and her Dora Milaje were an awesome facet of Wakandan society and I can’t wait to learn more about them in the future. I think Okoye’s relationship with W’Kabi (Daniel Kaluuya) was perhaps a little too vague—amounting to the two of them referring to each other as “my love” without an explanation of what exactly that entailed—but it didn’t hurt the movie or either character for me. Instead, it added a bit more drama to W’Kabi’s decision to follow Killmonger while Okoye ultimately sided with T’Challa. I still would’ve liked to know more about the details of that relationship, though. Also regarding her relationships, it’s a shame a scene hinting at her being attracted to women was cut, but hopefully that will be fixed in a sequel.

W’Kabi’s insistence that the Wakandans take action to capture Klaue (Andy Serkis) and forcibly help the oppressed around the world was a great contrast to both Nakia’s stealthy attempts at helping outsiders and T’Challa’s initial belief that they should keep Wakanda separate. I loved that he was able to convince T’Challa to hunt down Klaue instead of leaving him to the CIA and that he spoke for a contingent of Wakandans who wanted to take action but not go totally public (at least at first). The fact that someone had to argue for capturing a criminal who’d attacked Wakanda was a great display of how intensely isolated the nation was and W’Kabi’s opinions added to the complexity of Wakandan views on the outside world. It was brilliant (and much more realistic) of the writers not to limit Wakandans to two clearly defined viewpoints. Queen Ramonda (Angela Bassett) was perfect as T’Challa’s regal mother and I loved what we saw of her relationship with him and Shuri. I also liked that she was genuinely willing to make peace with M’Baku (Winston Duke) to stop Killmonger despite him having earlier challenged T’Challa for leadership of Wakanda. It would’ve been easy to make her stuck in her ways and refuse to go to someone like M’Baku, but while it was a concern that he could become a problem, I liked that she had the faith to offer him the heart-shaped herb to give him the power of the Black Panther. I’m definitely interested in how Ramonda will react to the new era T’Challa is ushering in.

M’Baku was another great character I’m excited to know more about in future sequels. Like I’ve seen pointed out elsewhere, the idea that he and the Jabari tribe could peacefully exist separately from the rest of Wakanda—despite worshipping a different god and speaking a different language—was a refreshing surprise. I was definitely fooled into thinking that M’Baku would want power if Ramonda gave him the heart-shaped herb, so giving her the injured T’Challa instead was a great twist. M’Baku screwing with Ross’ expectations of what “tribal” behaviors were was funny and I’m glad the film smartly didn’t refer to M’Baku by his comics alter-ego, “Man-Ape.” How M’Baku and King T’Challa interact going forward is absolutely something I’m eager to see. Will M’Baku’s help in taking Wakanda back from Killmonger bring them closer together or show him that even with supernatural powers, T’Challa needs help holding his country and is potentially weaker than he seems? Forrest Whitaker’s Zuri was a perfect connection to the history of Wakanda, its treasured ceremonies, and its supernatural aspects, balancing Shuri’s high-tech modernity excellently. It’s impressive how easily the film weaved together supernatural and sci-fi aspects, and the extrapolation of those things into the characters was masterful.

N’Jobu was only in the movie briefly, but I enjoyed his reaction to the world outside Wakanda. Sterling K. Brown’s performance absolutely sold me on his passion and the impact he’d have on his son, despite his short screentime. John Kani’s T’Chaka was very welcome and it was cool that he got to converse with T’Challa in the afterlife, another supernatural flourish that served to broaden the Black Panther mythos rather than muddle them with too many different sources of weirdness. I liked that T’Chaka’s past sins not only made T’Challa realize he was not perfect, but tied into T’Challa’s decision about whether to reveal Wakanda or not and gave Killmonger another reason to hate Wakanda. I was especially surprised and pleased that this hatred complimented Killmonger’s bigger goal of helping people rise up against their oppressors: his argument with Wakanda was that it stood by while people were enslaved, not solely that T’Challa’s dad killed his. That gave him so much more dimension than just being a revenge-minded villain.

As pointed out elsewhere, the film expertly weaves the mystical, science fiction, space, and superhero aspects of the Marvel Universe together. It also includes an added layer of social relevance in Killmonger’s concern about the state of African-Americans and others whose ancestors were sold as slaves around the world and are still oppressed today. All of this is tied into the film’s MacGuffin, vibranium, but Coogler wisely doesn’t frame the plot around some cliché MCU villain like an evil businessman or government agent seeking to plunder Wakanda’s vibranium (which probably would’ve been the most obvious place to go). Instead, Erik “Killmonger” Stevens has a legitimate point and that makes him the best MCU villain yet. Enemies who are out to burn everything down for no reason can be threatening—at least in terms of power—and corrupt businessmen and governments often make for obvious real-world villain parallels, but I would definitely like the MCU to start putting more effort into giving their villains honorable impulses taken to horrible, destructive extremes. That’s far more interesting and complex: it gives the heroes something to fight beyond a set of cool powers (and gives the audience something to reckon with in the real world and within ourselves). Killmonger being suspiciously watched while viewing a display of his own stolen culture is a perfect example of the simultaneous scrutiny and dismissal of African-American youth in present-day America, instantly giving him a relatable, realistic connection to the audience. Not only does that scene touch on this problem with our society, but it also masterfully ties into the plot. That Erik was able to so thoroughly affect T’Challa, essentially pushing him toward revealing Wakanda to the world so that it could do the most good, was a great twist. While the film does play into the MCU’s formula of a hero and villain with identical powers facing off, Erik’s position as king of Wakanda (a development I didn’t see coming at all; I was sure T’Challa would beat him in the challenge and he’d start an uprising) made the “mirror image” plot point feel much more natural. Their opposing views on how to best run Wakanda also gave them a great argument to fuel their physical battle, and that’s something every superhero movie needs to aim for (I’m more than a little wary about Thanos’ goal of killing half of everything resonating with the Avengers anywhere near as closely as Killmonger and Vulture related to their heroes). Killmonger’s final lines, about wanting to die a free man instead of going back into a cage, were absolutely powerful and affecting.

Ulysses S. Klaue was fun as an entirely different sort of villain. Serkis was clearly having a blast playing the cartoonish supervillain archetype and I loved it. I’m always up for some classic villainy and this script gave us just the right amount. I didn’t expect Klaue to die, given his status as one of Black Panther’s greatest villains, but I don’t think they were going to do much more with him than what we got. A solid chase/fight with T’Challa with an argument about the Wakandans being hypocritical, an introduction for Killmonger, and a connection to Ross were all we needed from him, and we got just that. I definitely don’t want Everett K. Ross to become the new Agent Coulson, uniting the next generation of Avengers or something; I think the heroes should unite themselves (as a king, T’Challa could certainly lead that charge if Steve Rogers is no longer around). That said, I liked what the movie gave us of Ross and he was played with just the right amount of wonder at Wakandan technology. While I’ve seen criticisms online about him playing such a big role in the climax, like a claim that they still needed a middle-aged white guy to stop the bad guy, I disagree. He had piloting skills and needed Shuri’s tech to get the job done (she even configured the holographic projection to mimic a plane he was familiar with), so it’s not like he was successful just because he was a white guy. This also isn’t a Batman Begins situation, where Batman’s actions on the train with Ras Al Ghul were irrelevant to the finale because Gordon blew up the train tracks. Had T’Challa not defeated Killmonger, Eric still could’ve rallied his supporters and Wakanda would likely be in a civil war. I think Ross helped as much as was needed to be useful, but I don’t think he overshadowed anyone.

The complexities that must arise from five tribes living in such close proximity to each other, coupled with fun aspects like war rhinos, the mystical veldt afterlife, Shuri’s technological wonders, made this a world I want to visit many, many more times! Wakandan society seems like it’s brimming with interesting social structures, so I hope the sequel really digs into how T’Challa and his people relate to one another. I doubt everyone will be happy he revealed their paradise to the world and I wonder how quickly the needs of the international community will start to weigh on the Wakandans. How they balance their own needs with those of the world will be very interesting to see. I also absolutely love that African society here is portrayed as advanced, rather than what we often see in Hollywood films, and I was impressed by how easily a place as fantastical as Wakanda was rendered as a real, breathing community. I think it’s cool how much of Africa was represented here without Wakanda feeling like a generic and homogenous “Africa” (at least to my eyes; someone with African heritage might see that aspect very differently). While pulling aspects of several different African cultures to create the fictional Wakandan culture may be problematic for some (as I’ve seen online), I think the script has enough leeway to say people from those cultures were the ones who founded Wakanda in the first place.

Bucky’s (Sebastian Stan) brief cameo was cool and I would much rather see him find peace and purpose as a figure with the Wakandan War Dogs—if the White Wolf title is a hint he’s supposed to be the MCU version of Hunter, comics’ T’Challa’s adopted brother—than see him take over the Captain America mantle. If he took over as Cap, I have a hard time seeing how he’d be different from Rogers in the role besides being less upstanding and more angsty, neither of which I want to see (if the mantle must be passed, Sam Wilson seems like a chance to explore what today’s Captain needs to be/represent and adding flight to the shield would make for entirely new fight dynamics). In Wakanda, it feels like Bucky can forge an identity for himself.

At this point, I’m far more excited for Black Panther 2 than I am for Infinity War. I want much more of this world and these characters, and I’m excited to see how they interact with the rest of the world now that Wakanda’s no longer a secret. It would be a huge misstep if Wakanda is destroyed in Infinity War, so I hope that film doesn’t go that direction, since it feels like it would derail everything that’s been set up here. Instead, I’m hoping Wakanda is at the forefront of rebuilding the world after Thanos is dealt with.

Black Panther is still in theaters, commanding the box office for an astonishing fifth weekend in a row and it certainly deserves it. If you haven’t seen it yet, what are you waiting for? A trip to Wakanda is definitely worth a trip to the theater!

Check out more of my reviews, opinions, and original short stories here!

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whyshanti · 5 years

Text

twenty nineteen. periodt.

i genuinely felt the need to write this because i was bored i have not written anything in a really long time. but mostly because there’s only a few who might read this and not care afterwards. it sucks to not be able to do something that i used to enjoy for quite a while. but here i am!

a lot of thoughts to unburden and a lot of unspoken feelings to unpack. let’s get to it, bih.

1. this year felt like it was dragging on. i wanted it to end asap.

so this year, i actually had A LOT of time. where did it go?

to: movies, series, anime, music, watching youtube videos, breakdowns, feeling stuck & paralyzed, academics, reading articles about pop culture & mainstream shit, going out with friends, chatting random ppl at night bc i thought i could trust them (and some of them, i can), and etc.

but on a more serious note, i really was more into the world of media, of both mainstream and indie worlds. i still can’t believe i got through this semester when i have been doing these things unrelated to uni. some ppl are also baffled by this activity log that i have.

point is: i felt like a walking zombie. probably looked like one as well. there is this routine that i have to do and i got really sick of myself. i didn’t have the motivation to strive more. i was always either sleeping (at least for the first half of the year) or watching. it all feels lifeless. the latter part of the year, my body clock was wrecked. i did not like the weather during daytime. at all. i slept during the day when i did not have classes then i was awake at night. but i try to get as much sleep as i can because my health is declining. i think.

also this year felt like it had 3 sequels. unnecessary, boring, full-of-jump-scares type of sequels. fuck.

2. feeling anxious and chill at the same time.

the only thing that made me feel chill at the latter part of the year is the fact that this shit... like all these shitty things we’ve been doing... will pass anyway.

i don’t know if it’s because of the new system that was implemented but it definitely feels like the stress levels were high only during exam weeks. for real. i am grateful to have THAT kind of “stress privilege (??)” but i also wish i was stressing over something that gives me LIFE. i know i’m studying for something that will actually help me provide something for myself and for my family but my soul (oh crap here’s where things get cheesy) screams i should do something else.

my friend always tells me to chill but i couldn’t because there’s always that nagging thought that i have to do something productive everyday. i think it stems from past disappointments, failed expectations from ppl close to me, and just basically feeling like a failure. i’m a frantic mess who somehow has the time to do unnecessary things. wish the energy was put into finishing acads on time or earlier, but here we are. think they meant that i should be chill with mysef. to be kind to myself. to not panic and breathe.

another thing is that there’s a load of information shoved in my head that really paralyzes me to act on something.

3. leaving behind the things i’ve outgrown.

it’s so funny how i’ve met few new people this year who i already treasure only to have quite a number of people to walk out of my life.

it’s not really surprising to me. i think we all wanted it to happen anyway. i’m just happy that things kind of subtly fell apart for things to make more sense. the feeling is kind of like how a misplaced puzzle piece is put into its rightful place. finally, i don’t have to force myself and i think the feelings are mutual. anyway, this year was a revelation in itself despite how dragging the pacing felt. love how the gunk went out and i see now what i’ve been blind to. chuck the deuce! definitely a thank u, next moment.

4. meeting new people, unexpected unions.

i definitely did not expect to form connections and be reunited with some of my old friends this year. also witnessed deepened friendships.

there’s always this thing where i put my energy on a high level when i’m meeting new people just to seem decent and happy then slowly revealing how tired, sad, and boring i can be. then there’s that fear of losing people’s interest in me or people not becoming excited to talk to me about... anything really. never thought i’d have this fear of losing certain people in my life. i want to detach myself from that and from people themselves too (in a healthy way ofc).

i’ve never ever felt like i could lose people in an instant. there’s that thing where i worry if i’m too much or i’m lacking for people. so i appreciate people who let me know if i’m crossing the line or if i’m doing something that completely annoys them because i really want to be part of people’s lives, meaningfully and genuinely. a good one. i don’t want to half-ass my relationships with other people and i seek loving relationships that thrive and inspire where it doesn’t only get good at the start but is continually progressing even when we don’t see each other often. it’s fascinating how as we get older, we see how relationships are not as simple as we think they are but really are simple at the same time. we have different goals, we are at different stages in our lives, we are facing shit that nobody else seems to understand and things that don’t seem to end, and we can only hope that our mere presence and emotionally available hearts will listen to whatever the other person has to unburden.

to somehow let them know that they don’t need permission to rest and to do things that they are afraid of pursuing.

4a. discovering new artists.

AURORA: the most underrated artist for sure. watched every interview/video/set because she is that bitch. her SONGS, man. i swear. she is that ethereal fairy from the forest. her fucking voice just draws me in. she deserved a better role in frozen 2 tho. she needs to be a lead in a musical animated movie. idc idc i said what i said.

beabadoobee: fucking rockstar, reviving the 90s grunge music and looks.

Billie Eilish: a badass. hate how she still stans bieber tho.

5. daydreaming of a new life.

you don’t know how many times i’ve been dreaming to have a big house.

it’s time. we really need a new house. i’m not, as what the kids say, vibing with this old house anymore. this is what i wish to leave behind as soon as possible. how do i even get the MONEY to afford it? i’m just hoping for a miracle to happen, you know. i really wish my family gets to be in a better home soon.

i think if u know me, u might have caught me spacing out a few times.

idk why this always happens. it’s so rude to the person speaking to me but my mind literally drifts off to another planet. it’s not that they’re boring. i just can’t help it. i feel like shit thinking about how many times it has happened to me.

sometimes, i dream of being this whole new different person.

someone who is better than who i am. someone who is good at something and is passionate about the things she does. there are a lot of things i am interested in doing but i don’t have the courage to actually do it. idk why i always turn into a statue when i think of things that i wanna do.

6. God.

it’s been a long time. i have lost contact with You but You are always there to patch things up for me. every effin’ time. i cry everytime.

it must be because i was raised in a christian setting. that’s why i always think it’s You who’s working behind the scenes. but still i am grateful.

saved me from certain people.

saved me this semester.

saved me from pulling worthless all-nighters.

provided me financially esp when i thought i had nothing.

prevented a severe acid reflux situation.

gave me new friends.

did literally so many things that saved me from bad situations and people in general like WHO DOES THAT??

7. a life without a plan.

this is literally what i wanted to happen. not carelessly but like where i don’t have to worry about what to do next. just let things be and go with the flow. the first half of this year, i really did not think things through as i normally would and i let plans fall just to enjoy what was in front of me. be at ease and be present during that time. and i did. it was a peaceful, cheery time tbh.

8. every day i wanted to start over just to get over a lot of things.

9. i missed a lot of ppl.

10. i wanted to be held. not by a certain someone. not romantically. but by anyone close to me. *plays i’m with you by avril lavigne*

sometimes we all just need a long hug. that’s all. and it’d be nice to hear more stories from people. :)

11. not everybody will reciprocate the same energy that i send out to them and it’s okay.

this bummed me out. felt like an effin’ loser but i’ve learned that people have businesses to do. life doesn’t always happen the way we want it to.

12. this the final year of college. just finish it already, dumbass.

13. why can’t i just be kathryn bernardo or AURORA for like a month or a year? i promise i will not ruin their careers lmao.

14. i want to make major changes in my stupid life but money is an issue.

15. the stars are below the sky now.

the state of the environment is the same as of our minds. polluted and overloaded with gibberish to the point that we get scared of doing one thing at a time and where we also don’t throw away the unnecessary baggage/s.

we’re so intent on doing things all at the same time. finishing everything in one sitting. being productive became an addiction and it scared me how i was becoming affected by this. there’s this constant thought that we collectively share which is to do something by every day and it only adds up to people’s anxiety and depression. social media definitely made us aware of mental illnesses/disorders but then it became a trend. people self-diagnose themselves and end up with the wrong treatment. some people use it as a tool to get followers and... ugh it’s all a mess. i hope people get the right treatment/s AND/or professional help because if they don’t, they’ll lose themselves. i mean... just look at the sky. there’s literally no sign of a star now if u live in the city. we’ve lost sight of what should guide us. we are unconsciously following a false light thru our devices.

i’m not good at analogies or at explaining things as u can tell. but moving on...

this hyper self-awareness that i have gained from social media has its advantages but is also distracting me from living my best life. i didn’t realize that i was making my own christmas lights inside my seemingly dark mind when really... it’s just clouded by all this information that’s coming in fast and has affected who i am and certain areas of my life. i’ve almost forgotten this and i’ve come to believe again that there’s always an ever-present light and it will take time to get used to its brightness once my mind gets clearer by the day. hopefully, it will.

anyway, CLIMATE CHANGE IS REAL AND WE NEED TO SAVE EARTH.

16. men are trash.

17. the people who i should avoid always looks odd or unpleasant and has bad energy. i know shit when i sense one.

18. i’m not happy with my life and with who i am but i’ll work with what i’ve got.

life gives u a mirror and shits on your face. sheesh.

for some reason, i can’t forget what my adviser told me during my 4th year of high school. she told me “it seems like you’re a person full of regrets” and every time i have a cryfest, i think of that. idk why. (never underestimate the power of a few words, folks). you know how like in flow charts, u encounter decision points? the diamond shapes? i think i always decide no and end up with the worst consequence and then there’s no more starting over.

i don’t think i understand flow charts well. ugh.

i can’t come up with a cool transition to me having insecurities so let’s say i did!

some people’s beauty, inspiring. but others just make you feel like shit.

i really want to explore my feminine side more because i was more masculine when i was younger. i’m not gentle, i’m a bit aggressive. and it just doesn’t fit with who i want to be. idk why. and also, it’s fun (!!!). you get a taste of what it’s like and it’s so EMPOWERING at least for the short experience that i had. but can make me feel very conscious of my entire being and i just end up wearing cartoony disguises. ironic but BABY STEPS. when i think about it, there’s really no black or white answer whether this or that is feminine or masculine.

self-love is not a 5-step process.

it is continuous improvement of oneself to the point where you don’t give a fuck about what they say. i really envy the ones who are comfortable in their own skin, who are totally embracing their flaws. they just bloom. some people just look like them. like it’s SO THEM. unmistakably them. and i think if everyone had that, we would not have standards anymore.

oh, to live in a time where individuality is encouraged but is also discouraged when not lived up to its standards. hurray.

19. this year was the year of mindless decisions. periodt.

20. hoping that the new year, 2020, will be the year of CLARITY where i know who i really am, embracing it, and where i will not be taking anymore of anyone’s bullshit. where i know where i stand in my relationships with other people and vice versa. there will be intentional but meaningful endings that will pave the way for blossoming beginnings.

let’s hope it unfolds the way it should be. for the better.

bonus: nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing. everyone’s just going with the flow. be yourself.

note: this is a compilation of thoughts, informally. thank u.

#2019

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imyobe · 5 years

Text

The Structure of a Story by imyobe

INTRODUCTION:

Stories, if graphically illustrated, are like the arcs of arrows shot from bows. They are launched skyward, attain an apogee or most height, after which sharply curve as gravity reasons them to fall again to the ground. The first portion of the arc may be equated to a tale's rising tension or suspense, its top can be taken into consideration its climax or turning factor, and its fall is its decision or denouement, at which factor all unfastened ends are tied up and conclusions are reached.

EIGHT-PART STORY ARC:

Both brief and long memories, which include novellas and full-length novels, can appoint eight critical aspects in the unfolding of their plots, however do no longer necessarily should contain all of them. The eight encompass the following.

1). Stasis:

Stasis implies a condition of stability or normalcy. Life goes on for a story's characters. The writer needs to create the baseline of ordinary fact for the protagonists and their world. Depending upon the radical and style, this may be short, even a paragraph, or extremely longer.

Using an extended stasis, however, can speedy bore the reader, who may also then continue no in addition with the tale. Flashbacks, imparting back story, can function a treatment to this impediment.

However you elect to begin your story, you ought to have interaction the reader as rapidly as possible. If you use an extended stasis, then you need a powerful writing style, perhaps developing intrigue about the protagonist's youth or demonstrating something peculiar approximately his current regular life.

2). Trigger:

A trigger may be taken into consideration the stimulating event that breaks the story's stasis and animates the person or characters in order that they turn out to be a part of the plot or principal action.

Triggers may be foremost events, such as killings or explosions, or can also appear almost insignificant, together with something referred to in a conversation. They can equally be advantageous or negative, noticed or unnoticed, sudden or gradual, quick or long. Their key attribute and motive is to spark the exchange that initiates the plot.

Any story may be started with a bang if its trigger takes place immediately, consisting of on the primary page.

3). The quest:

The quest may be considered the protagonist's cause, springing up from the trigger. Ideally, this ought to occupy most of the novel and encompass the factors indexed below.

A said or unstated reason of the quest can be to return the protagonist to the unique stasis, which an antagonist might also oppose. Another probable associated quest may be to defeat the antagonist. The quest may also evolve as extra is discovered and the adventure transforms the hero. Typically, easy private goals, inclusive of conquest or acquisition, evolve into broader and greater social goals, which include saving others. If instances come to be especially tough, the quest may also actually be considered one of survival.

4). Surprise:

Introducing surprises or twists sustains reader hobby and intrigue inside the tale, and provide the opportunity for character development.

To be a wonder, an event have to be unexpected, at the least in part. To work within the story, it ought to be possible and make experience to the reader, at the least in retrospect. Surprises need to add to the plot, growing the involvement and last pride of the reader. A poor wonder will most effective disappoint and disillusion him.

Surprises can regularly be unpleasant, which include, "Oh, no, no longer right here and now," however may be punctuated with occasional quality respite and reward. Unpleasant surprises mission the hero as he battles through his quest, supplying him with an opportunity for genuine heroism and private growth. Pleasant surprises, inclusive of "Hooray, I won!" include gaining treasures and assembly helpful other parties along the way.

5). Critical choice:

At instances the hero may be confronted with tough decisions, which includes must he keep or turn again earlier than he reaches his goal.

Critical selections are significant and crucial elements in the continuation of a quest and might also encompass factors together with pauses to assist others alongside the way or fight evil obstacles. Such decisions should be regular with the individual, although they can also be transformational, changing the person, such as whilst a coward decides to behave bravely. Showing the battle to determine and the workout of unfastened will may be critical.

Critical alternatives often build via the story, with every becoming more vital than the preceding one.

6). Climax:

A tale's climax occurs while the quest, built via surprises and essential picks, reaches its most heightened circumstances. It is the factor where tensions must be resolved. It creates the plot's closing anxiety, leads to some extent of disagreement and/or realization, forces the protagonist to meet the unknown, and is the culmination point of all of the tale's conflicts.

There can be some of minor and foremost climaxes via the story, leading to the grand one close to or on the end. While minor climaxes resolve minor tensions and large tensions are resolved at foremost climaxes, there's still an underlying and mounting anxiety that can only be resolved by using the grand climax wherein the collective quest is sooner or later resolved. It is through this sequence of climaxes that the tale arc is built, binding the reader to the adventure of the hero and different protagonists, almost as if he have been vicariously a part of it.

Along the route of the story, there can be some of sub-testimonies and aspect quests, every with their personal surprises and critical alternatives. While these may be, in effect, little memories of their personal, they ought to still contribute in the direction of the very last grand climax, where perhaps the significance of these facet events ultimately becomes realized.

7). Reversal:

The reversal aspect permits the hero to combine all he has learned in the course of his journey and thus turn out to be the authentic hero, usually without losing his unique allure and personality. Other characters might also alternate, especially once they have journeyed and evolved together.

Reversals are the end result of the journey itself and are, as such, inevitable. A character can not face impediment and adversity, yet stay the identical. Otherwise, it'd obviate the want for the journey. His transformation(s), however, have to be logical and believable.

8). Resolution:

The very last decision serves to create a new stasis or balance in the lives of the characters.

This is likewise inevitable as all tensions are resolved. This new stasis is seldom similar to the original one, however, because the characters have found out and grown. It may serve as a platform for some other adventure, possibly in which aspect characters take on a larger position or wherein the hero develops greater subtly right into a broader, greater rounded man or woman. A new trigger may offer a touch that a brand new or succeeding tale may be anticipated, specifically a sequel.

CONCLUSION:

Like nice dining in a five-star restaurant, whose experience isn't just the food, however is increased to an art by means of the various publications that complement each different and bring about a completeness a long way extra than the sum of its character parts, a tale must whet the appetite (growing action), interact (at its pinnacle or conflict), and sate or satisfy (at its denouement or decision). Diners invest cash in their fulfilling experience. Readers do the identical with their time.

"(In so doing)... the entirety at the page need to have a role in advancing the narrative, and the author must take the most direct course to the telling of the entire tale," in step with Mark Baechtel in "Shaping the Story: A Step-with the aid of-Step Guide to Writing Short Fiction" (Pearson Education, 2004, p. 135). "As (it) moves thru its growing-then-falling path and draws in the direction of its conclusion, the writer should make certain there are no characters, scenes, passages of description, exposition, or precis that (do no longer belong there).

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qqueenofhades · 7 years

Text

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter I

summary: Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 notes: I said I was not going to write any more CS fic. That lasted exactly two days after finishing TDH. So, I gave in to the rabid plot bunny. This story will focus a bit more on the kids, but Killian and Emma will absolutely be there and have a role, and I am excited to continue the saga and no doubt sign myself up for another monstrosity of unfortunate length. Welp.

The bastard on the parapet above was very definitely aiming directly at him, and that, no matter his mixed feelings on why he was here in the first place, was the one thing Samuel Jones found bloody inexcusable. He ducked as the next round from the apparently very dedicated Spaniard blasted the trunk of the palm tree next to him, then fumbled another cartridge from his belt, tore the twist with his teeth, poured half the powder into the pan, and pulled his grimy ramrod to shove the ball, and the rest of the powder, down the barrel. Drew a bead on his target – the officers had about given up calling through the usual make ready, present, fire commands in the heavy bombardment, and every man was more or less shooting at will anyway – cocked it, closed one eye, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.

The gun kicked, boomed, and actually went off, which was always a happy surprise when it did. Peering through the smoke, Sam could see to his chagrin that he had not shot the Spaniard, though by the volume and quantity of what sounded like some very Catholic curses, he thought he had at least come close. He crouched back down to start the cumbersome reloading process yet again, thinking that when he had agreed to do this (well, insofar as he had had an actual choice), it had been, in his mind, far more glamorous. The order had gone out through the Province of Georgia for all able-bodied men of arms-bearing age, sixteen to sixty, to join Governor James Oglethorpe in his march to St. Augustine, the capital of Spanish La Florida, and (theoretically, at least) capture it for the English Crown. Such, therefore, was the idea.

Reality, naturally, was turning out to be far more complicated. To say the least, Sam’s family had an extremely delicate history with the English Crown, and this war, which had broken out last year, 1739, on deliberate provocation by the British to improve their economic position in the New World and hang onto their slave-trading right with Spanish colonies, was about as dislikable as it was possible to get. England and Spain were always fighting each other anyway, and Sam’s father and grandfather had both been strongly against his going (his mother as well, though for different reasons). Sam understood their philosophical objections, and to some degree shared them, but he himself had different concerns. His twentieth birthday was in September, and he absolutely did not intend to be the only young man of his age sitting around on his hands while the rest went off to war. The society and good opinion of a number of fetching young ladies was at stake. He was going to make the most of this.

It was possible, Sam reflected, as he squinted against the glare off the water, that there were easier ways to accomplish this objective. The siege of St. Augustine had been, thus far, a very nearly unmitigated disaster. While Oglethorpe had started out with some modest success, the Spanish had recaptured the satellite citadel of Fort Mose in a surprise attack, wiping out half the Highlander and Indian contingent that had held it, and the Royal Navy blockade in the harbor – which by the very word, blockade, was supposed to keep Spanish supply ships out – had failed at that one job, allowing them to slip through the siege lines and replenish St. Augustine’s dwindling provisions. Sam’s father, the former Royal Navy lieutenant who had fought in several battles of the last major Anglo-Spanish war (now about four wars ago) would have been absolutely aghast at this incompetence, and it had left the British army, on its heels, with no option but to try to bash their way into the city by brute force. Which, given current events, was shaping up exactly as well as might be expected.

Sam ducked again as a second blast from the Spanish artillery on the walls crumpled the much-abused tree next to him into matchwood. His ears were ringing, and sweat was pouring down his back from the bruising July heat. He was not wearing the ubiquitous red coat of a soldier, but the blue wool jacket of a Continental militiaman, and either way, he was bloody boiling. He shucked it off, tucked his linen blouson shirt back into his breeches, and threw a hopeful look at the sky, imploring it to help out with a breeze or a bit of rain. Though he was likely to regret that instantly if it actually did, as it would turn this entire low-lying salt plain into hellacious mud, and Commodore Pearce, the lion-hearted commander of the Navy fleet, already had his bloomers in a bunch about hurricane season. One drop, and he’d probably run screaming, wig flying.

Sam snorted to himself, reloaded his musket again (he wasn’t as fast as the well-drilled Army lads who could get off four shots a minute, but he wasn’t some bumbling backwater country boy either – not that you’d know, the looks he got) and fired. The Spaniard was engaged in preparing to visit some other malfeasance on him, and this momentarily interrupted said proceedings. Indeed, their eyes locked among the chaos, and Sam had the brief and unsettling impression that the man knew him from somewhere, or had otherwise some animus with him that went beyond the general conventions of two blokes on either side of a flag trying to blast each other’s brains out. Then there was another explosion, the field gun next to Sam backfired and someone went down screaming, and he forgot about it.

A few more inconclusive salvos were exchanged for the next few hours, but it was clear that the resupplied city was well prepared to hold against a few piddling bombardments, and Sam heard the officers yelling to fall back. God, this was embarrassing. They outnumbered the Spanish almost three to one between Army, militia, and Indians, boasted five Navy frigates and three sloops, and yet they were the ones scuttling away with their tails between their legs. It was a slog of close to a mile back to the British camp, a small tent city pitched on marsh and cut by glades (which, camp rumor held, contained several man-eating crocodiles), and the soot-faced, sweaty men were trudging in hungry, tired, and massively dispirited. It was clear that unless something changed, and quickly, they had permanently lost the advantage in Florida, and sporadic pay had not improved their tempers. The regulars could be more or less assured of theirs, but the militiamen were already clothed and supplied at their own expense, and as the Crown tended to hold the position that they should feel grateful to serve their rightful sovereign from the goodness of their hearts, this was not a profitable occupation. Or –

“Jones. Hey. Jones!”

Sam looked up with a start at the shout, to see his friend Nathaniel Hunt, one of the other men who had come from Savannah, where the Swan-Jones family lived after moving from Boston fifteen years ago. Sam was madly in love with Nathaniel’s sister Isabelle, who was chief among the young ladies whose good graces he hoped to obtain by this venture, and he turned to him, wiping his face with his arm. “Aye?”

“General Oglethorpe wants to see you.” Hunt looked rather intimidated. “Personally.”

“Oh?” Sam had to repress a brief swoop of unease. He had figured that he was mostly invisible among the ranks, and extra scrutiny was never terribly welcome for someone of his particular pedigree. To have the commander asking for you by name was. . . well, hopefully it was just to settle up about those back wages, but not terribly likely. “I’ll be along in a moment, then.”

As Hunt trotted off, presumably to relay this message, Sam untied his long dark hair from its thong, combed his fingers through it, and splashed a little water on his face, which had only a minimal effect on the accumulated dust. He scouted up a new jacket and retied his neckerchief, and when he looked more or less presentable for an audience with the general – who, apart from his military station, was also the governor of the Province of Georgia and someone with the power to make things difficult for Sam and his family – swallowed hard and set off across the camp. Twilight streaked crimson and orange and gold across the western sky, and supper fires were starting to be lit, small earthbound stars, as clouds of stinging insects buzzed up from the marshes. The soldiers slapped them, grumbled, cursed, passed around canteens and bowls of stew, sitting on half-rotted logs and leaning their muskets against knots of saltgrass. Sam suddenly desired their company more than he had a minute ago, if an unexpected visit had cropped up in the meantime. This was probably nothing. Routine procedure.

He reached the central tent after a few more minutes, gave his name to the redcoats on guard outside, and waited as they ducked in to inform Oglethorpe. Then they beckoned him through, and Sam advanced warily as the flaps fell shut behind him. He had a pistol in his belt, not that he thought he could shoot the bloody Governor if this went pear-shaped, and he clasped his hands behind him, feeling as if he was back at school with the particularly irascible Latin master. “Ah – Your Excellency? I’m Samuel Jones. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” James Oglethorpe was a trim mid-forties aristocrat in a currently rather damp and flyaway wig, which he seemed to have made a losing effort to tame. He was sitting behind a camp desk heaped with piles of papers and parchments: requisition orders, army reports, maps of the region, dispatches from the scouts and spies, and doubtless a hundred and one bellyaching letters from Commodore Pearce about the needs of the fleet. A few candles were wedged precariously onto the edge, along with some fugitive inkwells and penknives and a half-finished plate of dinner and decanter of brandy. “At your ease, soldier.”

The last thing Sam felt was at ease, but he snapped a salute, clicked his heels, then adopted a slightly more casual posture, taking the camp chair across from Oglethorpe when the governor nodded to it. He tried not to fiddle with the loose thread on his jacket cuff. “Sir?” he prompted, when Oglethorpe kept writing. Likely shouldn’t, keep your mouth shut until the commanding officer spoke to you, so on and so forth, but holding his tongue (or his temper) had never been one of his particular virtues. “Did you – ”

Oglethorpe gave him a dry look, as if to say that he would find out if he just shut up for a moment, and removed the gadroon from the candle, dropping melted wax onto the letter and sealing it with a stamp of his ring. Then he said, “You are Samuel Jones of Savannah, Georgia?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is your father Killian Jones, formerly first lieutenant of HMS Imperator in the Royal Navy?”

A slight chill went down Sam’s back, as this was never a well-boding line of questioning. Still, he kept his expression neutral. “Yes, sir.”

“And your mother, I believe – ” Oglethorpe checked one of his papers. “Emma Jones, née Swan, who was at one point in operation of a vessel, the Blackbird, that – pursued business opportunities outside of the usual parameters of enterprise?”

“If you’re asking if my mother was a pirate,” Sam said bluntly, “I think you know the answer.”

Both of Oglethorpe’s eyebrows raised at that, but he forbore to rebuke this impertinency. He set aside his papers and regarded Sam levelly, fingers steepled. “Both your parents, weren’t they? Your father’s notorious alias was Hook, later in his career?”

Sam winced. So much for this being innocuous. “My parents have been upright citizens for almost three decades. And considering that Georgia was founded to provide a refuge for those who might have landed themselves on the wrong side of England’s laws – you should recall, sir, as you did the founding – surely you can’t be registering a moral objection now?”

“There is,” Oglethorpe said, “rather some difference between the honest poor abused in workhouses, those escaping the unjust vicissitudes of religious oppression, and other such deserving refugees, than there are between notorious and unrepentant high seas pirates. On that note, I believe your grandfather was also a pirate? James McGraw, known as Captain Flint – reported dead some years ago, by hanging?”

Sam kept his face straight. The number of ersatz “Flints” captured by the authorities and inevitably executed had in fact become something of a running joke with his family – “hanged you again last week, Grandpa” – but this meant that Oglethorpe had been doing quite a bit of digging. Not merely to boast about it, either. “Aye,” he said, since there wasn’t much use in denying it outright. “But my grandfather is, as you say, dead.”

“Mm. And you are most likely named for the late Captain Samuel Bellamy, a former close associate of your parents, and also a pirate?”

“Yes,” Sam said resignedly, deciding not to mention that this man was additionally his godfather, as he had a feeling that would be making Oglethorpe’s point for him. “Also a pirate.”

“Mmmmm.” Oglethorpe’s nostrils pinched, but at least he was not shouting for the redcoats to rush in and string Sam up – yet – so there had to be some purpose to this interrogation. “Well, young Jones. You have a. . . colorful genealogy.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam was thirsty as buggeration, but he did not suppose that the governor was about to offer him a drink. “Anyone else to ask me about, sir?”

Oglethorpe gave him a cold fish-eye, seemed to consider it, and then sat back. “That will suffice for the moment. I suppose it’s to your credit that you are forthcoming about it. Though, one would also reckon, quite dangerous.”

“My parents never tried to hide who our family was, and used to be. Even as much as they’ve lived peacefully since they left that world behind.” Sam’s tone matched the governor’s for levelness, but he was not about to sit here and listen to his kin be slandered to his face. “Is there a purpose to this? Sir?”

“So you are going to claim that, despite this, you are a loyal subject?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Sam decided it was best to finesse this question. “Fighting for you? And from what I can tell, the whole thing has gone tits up without any help at all from me.”

Oglethorpe looked pained.

“Er.” Sam coughed. “Feet. Feet up.”

“Well – despite your markedly uncouth matter of phrasing it, I cannot argue with your conclusions.” Oglethorpe took the decanter and poured a bracing tot of brandy for himself. “The failure of the blockade was a serious blow, and by all indications, we will have to retreat. That damnable poltroon Pearce has also turned lily-livered about keeping the fleet out in hurricane season – though considering what happened twenty-five years ago, just down the coast, I suppose he has a point.”

Sam concurred on this accord, as the legendary wreck of the 1715 Spanish treasure fleet was an event well known across the New World, and once more pertinent to his family history. He was, however, slightly wary as to why Oglethorpe had turned that quickly from interviewing him about said history to dropping bits of undeniably sensitive intelligence. His first instinct – that Oglethorpe wanted to blackmail him somehow – felt accurate, but it was more than that. Having made it clear what was at stake if Sam should refuse, viz. the potential continued peaceful existence of his entire family, the carrot must now follow the stick, and Sam didn’t feel like waiting it out. “Well?” he said. “What do you want from me?”

Oglethorpe’s eyebrows made a now fairly-accustomed pilgrimage toward his hairline. “Do you always speak so. . . openly to your superiors?”

“I’m not one for flimflam.” Sam leaned back in his chair. “You do want something from me, don’t you? That’s what you’re getting at. You’ve been elegantly insinuating how much you know about my family and how much trouble you could make if I don’t cooperate. Let’s assume for the moment that I’m cooperating. What is it?”

“Well.” Feathers ruffled, Oglethorpe had to take a restorative gulp of brandy. “Among our other misfortunes, Governor Montiano has recently captured several of my clerks and aides-de-camp, men with detailed knowledge of our plans, capabilities, and the continuing broader operation of the war. We are preparing for a – well, never mind. Suffice it to say that the future strategy of the English Crown will be considerably jeopardized if Montiano succeeds in passing that intelligence to his overlords in Havana. In exchange for your agreement to work as my personal agent in this matter, tracking the Spaniard with the intelligence and taking whatever measures necessary to ensure that it is not received, I will. . . take your word for it that your family are productive and peaceable members of society. Is that clear enough for your tastes?”

Sam repressed a brief and unpleasant sensation that he knew exactly which Spaniard would be carrying the letter to Havana. “So you’re what – asking me to put my inherited pirate skills to work in your interests? Shoot the messenger, as it were?”

“If that is what it takes, then it would, of course, be sanctioned by the state of war that exists between Great Britain and the Spanish empire. Not, of course, that I find the prospect tasteful. I am aware that murder remains a sin in the Anglican confession, and I would not ask you to commit it without due cause.” Oglethorpe actually looked candidly at Sam for the first time in the conversation, which was nice enough of him that Sam decided against mentioning that his family wasn’t much for church. “All I ask is that the letter with the intelligence does not reach Havana. And since you, as you note, have somewhat of a heritage with these acts, you can employ your own discretion as to what that involves.”

“And I’m supposed to do this for free?”

“On the understanding that your family would be guaranteed their safety, yes.”

Sam considered, tapping his fingers on his knee. He wanted to point out that guarantees of safety were not going to cover any bribes, fees of passage, food or lodging, or other expenses, and that the militiamen were, as noted, already several months in arrears of even their modest pay, which always seemed to be the first to go whenever the supply chain was in straits. Not too much in straits, though, given that Oglethorpe still had his brandy. Wouldn’t want to deprive him of that, to be sure. “But you’re still not expensing me for it?”

“I should not be surprised that the scion of pirates haggles like a fishwife.” Oglethorpe pulled out another sheet of parchment, dipped his quill, signed it, and stamped it. “In that regard, well, this is for you. Letters of marque. It entitles you to take that which you require for your sustenance, under the auspices of your status as a servant to His Majesty, George II.”

Sam grimaced. “You’re making me a privateer, you mean.”

“I am hiring a pirate,” Oglethorpe pointed out, with some asperity. “Not a priest.”

This was, Sam supposed, rather flattering in its way, so that he wondered if he wanted to correct Oglethorpe’s amusing but mistaken impression that he had been raised as a miniature buccaneer from the cradle, wrapped in the skull and crossbones as a baby blanket and taught his letters by chalking DEATH TO ENGLISH TYRANNY over and over on the slate. He in fact had no more real knowledge of the pirate life than any other nineteen-year-old lad with an overactive imagination, because his parents had always ensured that he never had to live that way. But he could not deny that he was curious. They had all experienced it, they had known it, they had bled and breathed it, and grateful as he was for his comfortable and prosperous childhood, he felt that he had rather missed the boat, in more ways than one. He was proud of what his family had been, even as he knew there was no place for them in this ever more modern world. And yet, he could not help but want his own taste. Just a little. Just that same breath of adventure, of freedom.

He hesitated, then took the letter. Not that he knew entirely what to do with it, but it couldn’t hurt to keep it for now. “Am I going by myself?”

“An army company would attract attention, and I won’t be able to spare men from our rearguard, given that Montiano and his negroes are likely to be breathing up it.” Oglethorpe sighed. He himself was a fairly progressive man as such things went; it was on his express instigation that slavery had been banned in the new colony of Georgia, and he had cultivated genuinely good relationships with the local Indians, several of whom were here fighting for him. That did not mean, however, that he was inclined to view a hostile alliance of Spaniards and black men favorably. Slavery had been outlawed in Spanish Florida since 1728, granted in gratitude for them rising up to defeat an attempted British invasion, and since the issue of its continued trade lay at the heart of this war, Sam rather thought that despite any personal convictions as to its moral wrongness, Oglethorpe was still supporting it by fighting for the system that sustained it. “You may, however,” the governor went on, “choose a traveling companion. Your mission will be dangerous, and it is best not to go entirely alone.”

“Hunt,” Sam said at once. Whatever was going to happen, he’d feel far safer with a friend from home at his back. “Nathaniel Hunt.”

“Very well. If you think you can trust him, you’d best be on your way.” Oglethorpe looked as if he knew that he was depriving Sam of a hearty meal and a good night’s sleep, but time was of the essence. The Spanish agent might already have a head start. “Good luck, Mr. Jones.”

-------------------

“Please,” Nathaniel said as they trudged through the thigh-high salt grass, “tell me that you’re not doing this to impress my sister.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sam prodded gingerly ahead of him with his musket. There were all kinds of poisonous vipers around here – moccasins, copperheads, cottonmouths – and he’d seen a man bitten, have his leg swell up blue and bloated, then die in agony hours later. The sound of the camp had almost, but not quite, faded behind them, and as they had to get back to St. Augustine, determine if the courier had left yet, and avoid being killed all before sunrise, Sam was setting a brisk pace. “Besides, even if I was, fair’s fair, isn’t it? You’re not going to tell me you don’t have eyes for Geneva?”

Nathaniel was a tall, lanky redhead, which meant that when he blushed, it looked as if his entire head was afire. The fact that said blush was visible even by moonlight was testament to its ferocity. “Shut up.”

“Aha.” At least, Sam thought, Nathaniel could take comfort in the fact that he was far from alone in this affliction. Geneva Jones was twenty-four, a striking beauty (not that Sam himself was vested in this, as she was his older sister, that would just be bloody weird) and the present captain of the family ship, the Rose, which had been a Navy sixth-rater in its former life before their mother commandeered it. Geneva had always demonstrated more of an aptitude and aspiration for sailing than Sam, who preferred to conduct his misadventures on land (the one trait in which he sensed that he might have disappointed his seafaring relations) and as such, had been the one prepared to inherit said vessel. Come to think of it, this mission also couldn’t hurt as a chance to polish Sam’s credentials as an old salt, or however that worked. “You do.”

“I said, shut up.” Nathaniel kept walking determinedly. “Besides, someone has to come along to be sure you don’t break your fool neck.”

“It’ll be a good story,” Sam said. “Have your uncle print it up in his paper. Or he can put it in the other one, Poor Richard’s Almanack. I’m sure it would be very popular.”

Nathaniel looked mildly horrified at this suggestion, as if his uncle Benjamin found out, it would assuredly mean that his mother, one of the other sixteen children of Josiah Franklin and his two wives, would find out as well. “I think I’d rather face the Spaniards.”

“There, see, you’ve that going for you already.” Sam stole another wary look from side to side, checked the grass once more for poisonous beasts (of whatever variety) and jumped the creek, before gesturing to Nathaniel to halt. “This shouldn’t take long. Keep watch.”

Nathaniel blinked, utterly baffled. “Keep watch? For what? We’re not even out of the camp yet. Hate to break it to you, Jones, but that’s one of our supply wagons just there, not a Spanish artillery position.”

“I know it’s a supply wagon, you dolt.” Sam cracked his knuckles. “I said, keep watch.”

Bafflement remained the chief emotion on his friend’s freckled countenance a moment longer, until it was replaced by horror. “Oh no. Oh, no. Sam, don’t you – ”

“I have a letter of marque, remember? And this is the hell of a lot easier to start with than some Spanish fortress or man-o-war bristling with guns. Besides, they haven’t paid us anyway. Do you want your share or not?”

“Oh my god,” Nathaniel said. “You are going to get us killed.”

“Just keep quiet and let out a good yell if anyone comes this way.” Sam checked that the sentries had passed, then limbered up the side of the wagon, untying the lashings and burrowing beneath the canvas like a determined weasel. He could still hear Nathaniel muttering imprecations to himself under his breath, clearly vastly regretting this decision not an hour into it, but, well, that was his misfortune. Sam rummaged around in the dimness, saw beady eyes and batted away the foot-long rat that was gnawing on the grain sack, and finally happened on one of the petty cash chests. The main strongboxes were kept in the governor’s pavilion with the guards, but the supply wagons needed to have their own capital on hand to barter or purchase provisions for the army, and the drivers were not always terribly conscientious about taking it out every night – who would bother to steal it, in the middle of camp, when being caught would either get them short a hand or a noose around the neck? Aye. Rhetorical question, Jones. The answer being you.

Sam took the ramrod from his musket, which he had brought into the wagon with him for this express purpose, and worked at the lock – not terribly complicated – until it gave way. He might not be a full-blown pirate, no, but growing up with them had given him a black-market skill or two, and he opened the chest, grabbed one of the money sacks inside, gave it a good jingle to test that it was full, and then stuffed it into his jacket and bailed out of the wagon to the extremely judgmental stare of Nathaniel Obadiah Hunt. At least it was his, and not anyone else’s, and Sam scrambled to his feet, brushing grass off his breeches. “Let’s go.”

Still shaking his head, Nathaniel shouldered his own musket and their rucksack of provisions, and they trotted at a healthy pace until the British camp had mostly disappeared behind them. St. Augustine lay dark on the horizon, the Castillo de San Marcos bristling with fortified positions and torches burning along the walls. The Spanish were no doubt extremely vigilant as the possibility of a second English sneak attack during the night, and Sam and Nathaniel had to be very, very careful picking their way across the outlying island. It was still strewn with the remains of the bombardment earlier, broken trees and heaps of stones and here and there, unpleasantly, a staring corpse already starting to smell ripe from the heat. Some of them had supplies still with them, and might have had coin, but Sam already had what he needed, and he was no grave-robber. Leave that to the scavengers.

At last, they reached the bay, slipped through the mud flats left by the outgoing tide, and cautiously eyed up the ships in the harbor. All they really had to go on was that Governor Montiano would be sending his intelligence to Havana, so they could hitch a ride aboard one of the sloops – it shouldn’t be too difficult, if Sam presented his commission from Oglethorpe. He thought vaguely of the fact that his family might wonder what had happened to him, if he did not return home with the rest of the retreating army. When tasked with a vital secret mission, you did not get a chance to ask if you could write to your mother first, but Sam hoped they wouldn’t worry. Besides, any letter he gave to one of Oglethorpe’s minions would provide them with an excellent chance to find out exactly where his family lived, the fact that his grandfather was not dead, and other such sensitive details. Finish this, and they’d be. . . well, Sam was not so naïve as to think that this would shield them from scrutiny forever. But still. This could matter.

He took a deep breath, hitched his pack up, and started to walk.

---------------------------

It was the dream that woke Emma, though once she opened her eyes and felt herself return to reality with a small gasp, she was not quite sure what it had been. It slipped quietly away on the tides of sleep and the stillness before sunrise, and she blinked hard, left with only a vague sense of unsettlement and unease. It faded, though, and she let herself sink back into the pillows, Killian’s arm settled around her waist where he had draped it before they had fallen asleep. In the deep heat of a southern summer, neither of them saw much call to wear anything to bed, and much as Emma enjoyed being cocooned in amorous embrace with her dearest spouse, she was also rather too warm, and she lightly disentangled herself, settling his arm on the mattress and admiring the dark sweep of lashes on his cheek. He looked young in his sleep, he always had, despite the advancing streaks of silver that frosted his hair, the well-weathered lines that framed his eyes. At almost fifty-three – his birthday was in a few more weeks, on Saint Bartholomew’s day at the end of August – he would have fallen under the militia conscription order as well, as men were not exempt from service until the age of sixty, but a one-handed man did not qualify as able-bodied, could not fire a musket or otherwise fight, and besides, it was possible that the Colony of Georgia did not want to clutch Captain Hook too closely to its bosom anyway. That past was kept quiet and private these days, and Emma did not think that the authorities were fully aware, but no sense in tempting fate. Besides. She was just as glad to keep him home.

That made her think yet again about Sam, whom she had not stopped worrying about since he had marched off with the rest of the men in January. At going on six months, this was the longest he had yet been away from home, and with the slow and piecemeal movement of news through a war zone, there was not necessarily any way to know that they would have been informed by now if he had died. The founding of Georgia as an organized colony, when previously it had been the vital buffer zone between the British Carolinas and Spanish Florida, was always destined to be a point of serious contention, and Emma could not help but resent that her family had once more been caught up in one of England’s pointless, damaging, draining wars. Still. At least the rest of them were here, together. At least she had this.

She paused, looking down at Killian, then settled closer alongside him, deciding that the heat, given that the sun was not quite up, was not too onerous after all. She traced a finger down his chest (his magnificent fur was also rather silver in places) and then lower, opening her palm, as he made a deep, rumbling sound in his sleep, stirred, and she saw a crack of blue beneath those lashes, grinning at her. He arched his back, pressing himself into her hand. “Well, love. That’s one way to wake up.”

“Good morning.” Emma leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth, wanting him, his weight and warmth and presence, to chase away whatever demons were lingering from the darkness. Her hair fell loose, the blonde gone white in a few sizeable places as well, as he reached up with his good hand to play with it, tucking it behind her ear. “Did I interrupt a good. . . dream?”

“Nothing comparable to the real thing.” Killian shifted as she rolled on top of him, uttering another satisfied-sounding rumble as she palmed him. He wrapped his shortened arm around her waist, settling her into the grooves and lines and hollows of his body where she had learned to fit so well, and they passed an extremely pleasurable interlude with the minimum of talking. Then, when she had rolled off again, both of them enjoying the deep flush of climax spreading through them with the same steady glow of the rising sun, he said, “What is it, love?”

Emma supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that he could, as ever, sense even the faintest tremors of disquiet in her soul. “Nothing.” She circled his nipple with her finger. “I’m all right now.”

Killian gave her one of his Really, Swan? looks.

“Really.” Emma had to laugh. “Just worrying about Sam again, that’s all. I had a dream – I don’t even remember if it was about him – but it felt like one of those. . . those motherly things. It’s been hard on me, the not knowing. I’m ready for him to come home.”

“You can’t keep the lad close by forever,” Killian said gently. “When I was nineteen – well, I’d just joined the Navy, so everything seemed possible to me. You’re not the smartest of creatures when you’re a boy of that age, so – whatever Sam’s been doing, whatever he’s gotten himself into, it’s likely best we don’t know, eh? Be far too stressful otherwise.”

Emma buzzed a reluctant laugh, even as she couldn’t rid herself of the faint, lingering thorn in her heart. Still, however, there were happier preoccupations on this front. “I don’t suppose Geneva will be awake just yet. She was rather late arriving last night.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, with the same doting look he had always worn when discussing the subject of his daughter, for all the twenty-four years of her life to date. Geneva had just returned from her trip to Boston, where Henry had remained with his wife Violet and their two children, Richard and Lucy. Henry had a respectable position as a reader of law and history at Harvard College, though he had been making noises about moving the family to Philadelphia and taking up with Nathaniel and Isabelle Hunt’s uncle Benjamin and the newspapers, pamphlets, and publishing business he was profitably running there. The Hunts were longtime friends of the Swan-Jones family, also with their roots in Boston, and Emma hoped that Nathaniel, who had likewise gone to war, was at least trying to keep her son out of trouble. He seemed to have a far better grasp on what that actually entailed than Sam did. He’s too much like the rest of us.

At any rate, Geneva sailed fairly frequently between Boston and Savannah, keeping up the family tradition of female captains in her mother’s stead, and she might have picked up something about the progress of the war on her peregrinations. Emma sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and went to pull on her shift and drawers, then her stays. “Give me a hand?”

“Very funny, Swan.” Killian rolled his eyes tolerantly, though he had in fact become quite good at doing up his wife’s corset with one hand; he did not always bother to put on the complicated brace for the hook if they were merely lounging around at home, and he tended to wear his false hand when they were going out. Savannah might be an opportune place for ex-pirates to settle, given the philanthropic considerations that had attended the colony’s founding, but that did not equate to openly displaying it before everyone’s faces.

Once Killian had laced the stays, not too tightly, Emma shrugged on a light lawn dress, and Killian himself pulled on a loose shirt and buttoned breeches, both of them leaving their feet bare as they padded downstairs and into the airy solarium that adjoined the house’s kitchen. They did not keep servants, though they could certainly afford to do so; that would just have to go into the ledger as another item with which to shock the neighbors. Killian sat at the table as Emma filled the kettle and set it on for coffee, to which all the Colonies had become ragingly addicted, and set on a pot of porridge to warm. When it was burbling appealingly, she took it off, spooned it into two bowls, and took the honey pot as Killian passed it with a slightly pained look on his face. This was her taste in breakfast more than his, as Killian tended to insist on boiled mackerel, grapefruit, and other severe and bracing choices of morning meal. You could, and might have long since, taken the sailor out of the Navy, but etc etc.

They had eaten for a few minutes in amiable silence when the stairs creaked, and – clearly drawn by the scent of food – Geneva came shuffling in in her dressing gown, yawning and groggy. Nonetheless, both Killian and Emma quickly got to their feet to greet their daughter with a kiss, and Emma ladled out a third bowl of porridge, pouring coffee into an earthenware mug (she and Geneva liked it with a bit of cream and sugar, Killian insisted on quaffing it black as tar). “How was the voyage, sweetheart?”

“It was a bit of a bloody hassle, actually.” Geneva shook her tousled black locks out of her face, sat down with her breakfast next to her father, and began to voraciously devour it. “The Spanish are crawling straight up the arse of any ship that seems remotely English, and I must have had to declare my goods ten times. Not to mention the looks those bastards give me, whenever I say that I’m the captain. I spent five hours arguing with the guardas costas off Cape Hatteras.”

Killian and Emma exchanged a look, as they themselves were too familiar with the guardas costas, the Spanish patrol ships that had made pirate lives so unpleasant back in the day. This war, moreover, had ostensibly been started by one – when the master of the guardas ship La Isabela had seized and boarded a British brig, the Rebecca, and cut off the ear of its captain, one Robert Jenkins. The incident had remained a source of insult, but only that, until the British government, looking for an excuse to declare war on Spain, had fanned it into evidently the most major outrage the country had ever suffered, anywhere. (Colorful legends that the severed appendage had been displayed before Parliament remained unverified.) “Off Cape Hatteras?” Emma repeated. “They’re not supposed to be so far in English territory.”

“Must have been my lucky day, then.” Geneva gulped down another spoonful of porridge. “We all know that the real profit from the annual ship comes from all the contraband aboard it, so I suppose they were determined to ensure it wasn’t me. I finally sent him packing, though.”

“Aye, that’s my lass.” Killian looked enormously proud. The “annual ship” meant the one ship of trade goods a year that Britain was allowed to send to the Spanish colonies in the West Indies, as they were otherwise a closed market that only Spain was allowed to trade with. The Spanish colonists, however, were as eager for English luxury goods as their government was for them not to have them, and were willing to pay exorbitant prices for their acquisition. Hence, whichever captain was chosen for the annual ship must be barely able to hold the wheel, as his palms had been so well greased. Half of the smuggling in the Caribbean for the entire year must go through that ship, and was fenced profitably at its port of destination, so the guardas costas must be even more overzealous in trying to catch it and prove a major success to Madrid. “While you were out, did you. . . hear anything of how things are going, in Florida?”

A slight shadow passed over Geneva’s face, as she clearly knew they were asking for news of her brother. “Only rumors, but it didn’t sound promising. Oglethorpe is besieging St. Augustine, has been since June, but whichever nobhead they have in command of the Navy fleet seems to be sleeping on the job. The sea blockade hasn’t been effective. They might have to fall back.”

Killian snorted, as even his long departure from the Navy would certainly not prevent him from judging it harshly on its failures. “Typical.”

“Aye.” Geneva scraped the bottom of her bowl and looked hopefully for a second serving, which Emma took it to provide. “Then again, what would you expect? I doubt the South Sea Company is actually giving them any money either.”

“No,” Killian said scathingly. “Seeing as that would detract from losing it in illicit insider trading and gaming the stock market. Likewise typical that twenty years after they crashed the economy the first time, they’re given a kiss on the arse by Westminster and their very own war, isn’t it?”

Geneva, who had been only four when the “South Sea Bubble” burst for the first time, ruining a number of common creditors who had been persuaded to invest at artificially skyrocketing stock prices in the promised opening of trade with the Spanish Indies (but not, of course, the wealthy shareholders who had conned them into it) raised an eyebrow. “You know you sound like a grumpy old man, Daddy, don’t you?”

“I’m justified, lass,” Killian said, with great dignity. “Well, if Oglethorpe is retreating from Florida, that might mean your brother’s coming home, but it’s not necessarily good news for the rest of us. That means the Spaniards might be on the march, and if they make it to Savannah – ”

The Swan-Joneses exchanged a look, as they all knew that what befell captured cities in wartime was rarely pleasant. Finally Geneva said, “We’ll leave on the Rose, we’ll take Granny, Grandpa, and Great-Uncle Thomas with us. Go back to Boston, if we have to.”

“Ah,” Killian murmured. “So England can take another home from us.”

There was a brief and unhappy silence, as nobody was eager to uproot from Savannah, where they had lived for fifteen years, and surely Miranda, James, and Thomas must be even less so. Still, that remained as yet a theoretical difficulty, happily, and Geneva drank the last of her coffee, then set the cup down. “On that note, I was actually planning to visit them today. I brought back some books for them. Did you want to come?”

“That sounds lovely.” Emma started to rise to her feet. “I’ll get the horses hitched up.”

“No, Mother, I’ll do it. Soon as I get dressed.” Geneva pushed her back down. “Stay.”

Raising an eyebrow, Emma did as instructed, as she had to consider that perhaps it would not be the worst thing in the world to consider hiring help. When Sam was home, he was saddled with all the chores that it was useful to have a teenage son on hand to accomplish, but with his extended absence, and the fact of Killian’s limitations, that meant that most of the housework and general mucking about fell to Emma. Neither of them were getting any younger, and there were certainly any number of interested applicants. At least a maidservant and a footman, as they could likely get by with that, and she would treat them better than Leopold White had ultimately treated her. She would have to place an advertisement in the Virginia Gazette, published in Williamsburg, as that was the chief newspaper serving the southern colonies. Gone were the days when all the Americas had only had the Boston News-Letter, printed once weekly, to rely upon, as the trade was steadily growing – thanks in no small part to Ben Franklin, in fact. She’d look into it.

Geneva returned in fifteen minutes or so, washed and brushed, and went to hitch up their two horses to the buggy, which she enjoyed driving through Savannah’s cobbled streets at decidedly unladylike speeds. Various outraged guardians of public virtue had registered their objections to Killian, which were promptly and thoroughly ignored, and several local ministers were more than slightly convinced of Geneva’s status as a Cautionary Tale to all the impressionable young women in their parishes. Emma bit a grin as her daughter helped them up onto the running board, adjusted her hat to a fashionable angle, gathered the reins in gloved hands, and snapped them lightly over the horses’ backs. They rolled out of the carriage house, and down the road.

It was a hot and clear late-summer morning in Savannah, the air already thick as soup, and the merchants were at least as interested in reclining in the shade as they were in hawking their wares. Geneva only attracted a few stares, as most of the locals were resignedly used to her by now, and they sped up once they had crossed town, taking the road (well, wandering country lane) that led out to the small house, built under huge old oaks, where Miranda Hamilton McGraw lived with her husbands, who were at least as married to each other as they were to her. Hearing the buggy’s wheels crunching up, she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, and Geneva waved to her. “Stay there, Granny,” she called. “We’ll come over.”

Miranda did as instructed, though her face had lit up with joy to see her granddaughter, as the two of them were very close. She was not much for traveling these days, as she had never entirely recovered from her ordeal in Charlestown and the lasting damage it had left in her, and at the age of sixty-five, she was more than justified in a quiet retirement. When Geneva had unbuckled the harnesses and led the horses to the trough, she hurried up the garden walk to hug her grandmother (gently) and kiss her on the cheek. “I have a surprise for you.”

“More than just this unexpected visit?” Miranda raised an eyebrow, turning so Emma could kiss her as well, and Killian nodded affectionately. “I didn’t think you’d be back from Boston for another week at the least.”

“Wind was good,” Geneva said, with the casual competence of the experienced sailor. “Though the delays with the guardas nearly wiped that out.”

Miranda’s brow furrowed. “They’ve gotten quite bold again, haven’t they?”

“Don’t worry, Granny, I still have both my ears,” Geneva assured her, linking her arm through Miranda’s, as Miranda took a better grip on her cane with the other hand, to escort her inside. With Killian and Emma following, they went through to the small kitchen at the back of the house, where James McGraw and Thomas Hamilton were reading the paper in their shirtsleeves. Flint was likewise in his late sixties, but tough and strong and weathered as a stump of ironwood, his hair gone mostly the rich, mellow white of redheads, though there were ginger streaks left here and there and in his beard. Strictly speaking, he hadn’t been “Flint” for many years now, and while everyone was grateful for it, it still tended to be how Emma thought of him. Fonder, rather than the previous wariness and careful, always-contested alliance, but an older lion was still a dangerous one, and he more than certainly still had his claws. Even his life here in peaceful obscurity with Miranda and Thomas had not softened those edges entirely.

And yet, Flint was smiling as he stood up. “Well,” he said, crossing the floor to clap Killian on the shoulder, let Emma kiss his scruffy cheek, and hug Geneva with one arm. “Thought I smelled trouble. Those bastards let you back into port then, Jenny?”

“Only with minimal bribery, aye,” Geneva said dryly. She stepped past him to hug Thomas, who – although she and Sam would have happily called him grandpa as well – insisted that he did not want to take away from the family that James and Miranda had built in the years without him, and was content to be known as great-uncle. “I’ve a surprise for you.”

With that, she took out a large parcel wrapped in brown paper, handed it over, and watched with barely concealed delight as her grandparents opened it. There was a leather-bound edition of the poems of Catullus, the same of the histories of Tacitus, a copy of Gulliver’s Travels by the novelist Swift, the newest Poor Richard’s Almanack, some tracts by the philosopher Locke, and several French books with risqué woodcuts. “This must have cost you a fortune,” Miranda said, finally looking up from lovingly paging through each. “Are you sure you don’t want us to – ?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Granny. It’s a gift.” Geneva shook her head firmly. “You know Henry’s at Harvard, and he’s thinking about moving to Philadelphia and taking up with Mr. Franklin. You’ll have more books than you know what to do with.”

“Gracious, you’ll spoil us.” Miranda’s eyes shone, belying her protestations, as she squeezed Geneva’s hand. “Well, what next for you, after all this industry? Surely a young lady as busy as you won’t be sitting at home for long, much as we might enjoy your company while you are.”

“Actually.” Geneva’s voice was the sort of carefully offhand tone that was used to impart potentially uncomfortable information, while trying to make it sound as ordinary as possible. “I was thinking about going to Nassau.”

That caused everyone in the kitchen to sit up sharply and pay attention. Killian and Emma glanced at each other, as James, Thomas, and Miranda did likewise, a current running among all five of the adults. Thomas had never been there, and the other four had not been back since they had left. It was a bustling center of (mostly) lawful commerce these days, rather than a notorious outlaw haven, and they obviously could not stop Geneva going if she wanted to, but that would certainly take a few tries to swallow. “Nassau?” Emma said at last. “Why?”

“Uncle Charlie’s there,” Geneva pointed out, which was true. Emma’s brother, Charles Swan, had stayed on New Providence Island and risen to a position of some significance in its politics. The pirates’ old and sworn enemy, Woodes Rogers, had actually been reinstated to the office of governor after he was released from debtors’ prison, though his second tenure was quite a bit less successful than the first, and he had died there in 1732. Upon the occasion of his decidedly unlamented demise, Charles had taken over as the acting governor of the island, holding the office for a few months, before he formed the strong opinion that such a career was not at all for him. He returned to his work with Max, the de facto mistress of the island anyway, to manage David and Mary Margaret Nolan’s shipping and merchant concerns in the Bahamas, of which a portion of the considerable profits had been sent to Killian and Emma for years. And yet, none of them had ever quite felt up to returning. It felt like tempting fate, given everything that had happened to them there. Charlie had visited them in Boston and Savannah alike, but they had never returned the favor with Nassau. It remained too delicate.

“Aye,” Emma said at last, slowly, seeing that her daughter was waiting for her to answer. “I can understand you might want to visit, and aye, Charlie would be happy to introduce you to the merchant guilds there. But it’s. . . it’s surely not where you mean to make a career?”

“One of you should be a pirate,” Flint suggested. “Seeing as Samuel can’t sail to save his life.”

Miranda gave her second husband a deeply reproving look. “James.”

“No, Grandpa, I don’t mean to be a pirate.” Nonetheless, Geneva had to bite her lip on a smile. “But I – I’ve wanted to go there for a while. I feel as if I should at least see the place.”

“By yourself?” Thomas raised a grey-blonde eyebrow. “From what James and Miranda have told me, it’s not the sort of place I’d think a young lady would feel comfortable venturing alone – it might be slightly more respectable these days, but a fresh coat of paint is scarcely about to fix all the holes in the walls, only hide them. Nobody would know me, and therefore I doubt I’d attract any singular attention as your chaperon. Permit me to come along.”

Flint and Miranda both started to say something at this, then stopped. Surely Thomas must be just as curious about the life they had shared there for a decade without him, and with his long years of work on the plantation where he had been sent by his father, thus to expunge the scandal from the Hamilton family name without actually killing him, he was still reasonably spry and active. As he pointed out, it would attract no attention for an older gentleman to be traveling with his great-niece, and no matter if it had been a quarter century or not, there was no way Captain Flint could set foot on Nassau again without lighting the entire Caribbean afire with the news. The world presumed him dead several times over, which was not entirely inaccurate insofar as Captain Flint had long returned to the sea and only James McGraw remained, and it was that anonymity which was keeping him, his wife and husband, and the rest of their family safe. Nobody needed to look for a dead man, or think to try him for his crimes. Bringing him back to life might be more trouble than it was worth.

“Thomas,” Miranda began at last. “Are you sure? Do you want to – I could go with both of you, if you thought that would – ”

“You can’t travel well,” Thomas reminded her. “And I know you and James have not spent a single night apart since you found each other again. Stay here and look after each other as you did for so long, my dear ones. It’s my pilgrimage to make, now. Assuming, of course, that Geneva would be willing to bring an old man along.”

“Of course, Great-Uncle Thomas.” Geneva seemed surprised that he would have to ask. “I’m not planning to be there long, just a fortnight or so. If you wanted more time – ”

“No, no. A fortnight should be fine.” Thomas smiled at her. “Likewise, I thought it was time that I visited. So then. That’s settled?”

Flint and Miranda glanced at each other, their hands linking under the table, then nodded. Just as well, Emma knew that she and Killian could not prevent their daughter, a grown woman and captain of her own ship, from returning to the place where this had all begun, their home and their fortress and their battleground for many years. Still, Emma hoped it would go quickly, and that Charlie was correct when he insisted it was no different from any other bustling port city in the New World. She had carried a certain image of Nassau in her head for so long that it was a shock to think of her daughter going there, bringing the two worlds together again after their years of separation, until sometimes it seemed to have dwindled almost into a dream lost on waking. Like the one this morning, like that faint whisper of unease but nothing discernible or solid. Only shifting shadows, and countless ghosts.

“Very well, then,” she said at last. “But please do be careful.”

----------------------

Geneva and Thomas left three mornings hence, once Geneva had had a chance to resupply the Rose, be sure that her crew had been paid (they were too used to her schedule to complain that she was dragging them out of home and hearth and their wives or mistresses’ beds after not even a week ashore, and she made sure the money was good enough that they didn’t) and made at least reasonably certain that there was not a hurricane brewing up further out to sea. It wasn’t a terribly long journey from Savannah to Nassau, and she had sailed to the Caribbean before, but it was still not one she cared to risk if the weather was going to be a pain in the hindquarters. Especially given how anxious her parents and grandparents already were about the enterprise, no matter how hard they tried to disguise it. She didn’t mean to worry them, but she was also fully confident in her ability to handle herself, and her great-uncle Thomas, while he might not be one of the several pirate captains in the family, had learned from necessity how to defend himself. They would be fine. Her uncle Charlie would be there too. No worries at all.

Geneva was also aware that her family was especially sensitive about the prospect of storms, given how her godfather, her brother’s namesake, had died. She had only met Sam Bellamy once, when she was far too young to remember, only hours after her birth on a remote strip of Caribbean sandbar, which was also where her grandparents had been married and made the fateful decision to sail for Charlestown and avenge the betrayal of their old friend, Peter Ashe. She had been taken away with Henry by their uncle Liam and aunt Regina, who lived in Paris these days, and who Geneva also did not remember, given that they had left France and returned to the Colonies when she was still less than a year old. She knew her father missed his older brother, as the Jones boys had never been separated in their lives until Killian’s disgrace and downfall, his transformation into Hook, but Liam was likewise not much for traveling any more, wanted his sailing days to be behind him, and was haunted by the events of Charlestown in a different way. He had had to kill the bloodily infamous privateer and terrifying mercenary captain, Henry Jennings – also to protect Geneva and Henry, and which Henry remembered but would not talk about – and that memory, the cost of what it had taken to bring down the monster who had wreaked so much pain and havoc on their family, had left him never the same again.

Geneva had begun to mull the idea of suggesting to her parents that she take them to Paris, though it would certainly be the longest voyage she had ever attempted; she had sailed plenty in the Colonies and the Caribbean, but the Atlantic was a different proposition. Not that she thought she wasn’t capable, and if worse came to worse, she would have both her father and mother, experienced captains in their own right, to help. But if she wanted to go to Nassau, she also wanted to go to France. Could not help but think of that Scottish folk ballad, and how oddly, poignantly appropriate it was for their scattered family. The water is wide, I cannot get o’er. Neither have I the wings to fly. Give me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my love and I. She wanted her father to see her uncle again, wanted to mend what still seemed so deep and raw and broken. A ship there is and she sails the sea, she's loaded deep as deep can be. But not so deep as the love I'm in, I know not if I sink or swim.

Nonetheless, Geneva did her best to banish such melancholy preoccupations for their departure. Grandpa, Granny, Mother, and Daddy had all come to see them off, all with a flood of last-minute advice about Nassau. Despite their misgivings, she couldn’t help but think that they all missed it, at least a little, though some of their suggestions were wiser than others. “Get into at least one fight,” her grandfather said, sotto voce, as he hugged her on the quay. “Don’t tell your parents.”

“Grandpa.” Geneva raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not going to start a second war, you know.”

“Pity. I think England deserves all the wars it can get.” James McGraw smiled, not entirely reassuringly. “Jenny, you and Thomas look after each other. That place is not just a bit of quaint family history, you know. What Nassau did to me, to all of us. . . it can catch you off guard, if you’re not prepared for it, and it can change you. You’re smart, and you’re strong, and you’re hopefully more bloody sensible than we were, but still. Pay attention. Both of you.”

“I will,” Geneva promised, turning to kiss her grandmother and then hug both of her parents. They were putting a brave face on it, but they were still clearly struggling with letting her go again, when the questions of her brother’s whereabouts remained outstanding, and she hoped she ran across the little twerp on the way, give him a good shake for making them worry. Sam Jones had a very high sense of adventure and a very low sense of self-preservation, which could make for a combustible combination.

Farewells completed, as Thomas kissed Miranda, hugged James, and promised Killian and Emma that he would likewise look after their daughter, the travelers went aboard the Rose, and Geneva gave orders for them to make ready to depart. She and Thomas stood on the deck, waving to their family as the Rose began to take the wind, until they were quickly dwindling small specks. Geneva ensured that everything was in order, said one more. quiet prayer under her breath, and went to take her turn at the helm. When she looked back again, Savannah had vanished astern, there was only the sea behind her and before her, and all the world was sunlight.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #the rose and thorn #the dark horizon #black sails #welp #here we go again #cs next gen

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inevitably-johnlocked · 8 years

Note

Hi, I wanted to ask you if you know any fanfictions about Johnlock texting/letters/internet messages, something connected with that? :)

Hi Lovely!

I thought I didn’t have many of these, so I was so excited that I would be able to get this done in 10 minutes... it’s now 4 hours later and I finally got a rough list done for you and I STILL can’t find the one I wanted to add to this list! I’m so angry, because I THOUGHT it was an FFNet fic, but i can’t find it urg. Oh well. I hope you like what I have picked for you instead!

SEXTING / TEXTING:

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2799 w, Ao3) - John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can’t find words big enough to thank her for saving John’s life at the warehouse. For afters, there’s a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of Unkissed

Happy anniversary by Salambo06 (E, 3772 w., Ao3) - John inhaled deeply, feeling his cock pulse under the silk gown, and he let his eyes travel on the lean body in front of him. Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, their bed, and the picture had been taken so John could perfectly see his bare chest and pelvis. But what mattered most, what made John harden rather quickly, was the pair of panties Sherlock was wearing in the picture. Black, string over each hip and laces that outlined Sherlock’s erect cock barely hidden under the soft underwear.

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w. Ao3) - John sank deeper into the pillows, let the mist and blur of the wine settle around him, let it shore up his nerves and dim the warning signals that flashed dully in the back of his mind. He let the rest of the disappointment about Lucy and his strange accommodations and about the weekend as a whole fade into obscurity. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes. **MUST READ**

Come Home by hudders-and-hiddles] (E, 3763, Ao3) - When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,690, Ao3) John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX **MUST READ**

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., Ao3) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8737 w., Ao3) - "I am not agitated. I’m just tired of it. The insinuations, the comments, that I have no… no interest in relationships, or sex.“ John and Sherlock muddle through a relationship. **FAVE!**

Entanglement by orphan_account (G, 3218 w., Ao3) - On Christmas Eve, snow covers London, John visits Harry, and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson untangle some knots. Lovely pining Sherlock fic. Love this one!

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., Ao3) - Throughout his life, Sherlock Holmes has always taken facts and held them close like treasures, because in a world of complex emotions, unpredictability, and the unknown, logic has never failed him. Puzzles can always be solved and equations will always have an answer; he seeks and finds comfort in the steady absolution of facts and the knowledge that everything has a definition: an unchanging, consistent meaning. However, at age thirty-five he discovers the exception to all of his neat, tidy logic when he meets John Watson, the one person who evades definition and refuses to be easily categorized—and who makes Sherlock question his own previously unshakeable ideas about everything from life to love. (Apparently a WiP, but it feel complete enough, as the “last chapter” has been waiting for over 2 years)

Tease You Till You Come by phoenix089 (E, 6090 w., Ao3) - Initially, Sherlock was rather put out by John’s lack of presence on the case. But then he starts to recieve pictures, several of them, of an unexpected nature. The case is forgotten rather quickly after that.

Text Me When It’s Over by immaculately-flawed (K+, 1K+ w., FFnet) - After the fall Sherlock starts writing texts to John. Of course, he never sends them… Until he does by accident. Post Reichenbach fic but not angsty.

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., ffnet) - A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

Message Not Sent by Queerasil (K, 762 w. ffnet) - Sherlock texts John after the fall and during the hiatus. The messages are sent, but never received. Sequel to WORDLOCKED, TSTM, and Wait, How Do You Play This Game Again?

Iunctum by Fudgyokra (K, 221 w., FFNet) - He stood still for a long time, staring not so much at the words he’d been sent, but at the signature that marked them: A simple ‘SH,’ neatly tucked at the close of the words ‘I’ve missed you.’” A 221B ficlet; Sherlock’s return from the fall.

The Art Of Communication by StillWaters1 (T, 2K+ w., FFNet) - Lestrade was used to getting odd, non sequitur texts from Sherlock. But when “John went out for milk” was followed by a terse “two hours ago,” Lestrade immediately understood three things: John was missing, Sherlock was quietly panicking, and this could all end very, very badly.

LETTERS / EPISTOLARY

Letters by Jenna Flare (T, 2K+ w., FFNet) - John leaves letters on Sherlock’s grave as a method of coping. Sherlock reads them every week. Sherlock/John, John/Mary. T for swearing. Post-Reichenbach

Letters From Beyond by LittleBabeBlue (K, 637 w., FFNet) - A letter for John was found in Sherlock’s coat after he jumped. Post-Reichenbach.

Dear John by starwarsfreak95 (T, 601 w. FFNet) - Not all Dear John letters are bad. Sherlock tries to explain to John why he did what he did and how much John means to him.

Pen Pals by WerewolfDoctor (K, 2K w., FFNet) - Most people don’t become pen pals by one of them writing a not-suicide note. Then again, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have never exactly been normal, have they?

In the Dark Hours by hubblegleeflower (E, 51,639 w., Ao3) - John, wounded and silent, drifts back to Baker Street for healing…and then goes home again. He visits, gets more upbeat, chattier, smiles, jokes… and still goes home again. Sherlock wants him to move back in - it just makes sense - but John shows no signs of doing so. This is the story of how John and Sherlock learn to say what needs to be said when they’re both so very, very rubbish at talking.

There’s Something Living in These Lines by teahigh (orphan_account) - (M, 4676 w., Ao3) - Two men, complete opposites in almost every way, who speak only in letters and pages torn from books.

Correspondence by Cleo2010 (T, 8031 w., Ao3) – Sherlock’s been spirited away on a case for Mycroft. Part of the deal was that he and John could communicate via letter until the case was completed. Maybe the cliche is true, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Or perhaps something is growing on the feet in the fridge. Read their letters month by month. Written after series one.

White Blank Page by SarahCat1717 (M, 11,936 w., Ao3) – Post-fall, Sherlock is off eliminating Moriarty’s crime web. He finds he misses John. He can’t divulge that he still lives, but he placates his need to communicate with John and still feel a connection with him by sending him blank letters. But over time, this writing exercise lends itself to Sherlock exploring his feelings for his friend. What will happen when Sherlock returns to London and the man he has been “writing” to regularly for the past two years? NOT S3 compliant. Mary who?

Get It All in Writing by aceofhearts61 (T, 2423 w., Ao3) – Sherlock and John write each other love notes. Part 8 of A Love with No Name

and stand there at the edge of my affection by coloredink (G, 2683 w., Ao3)

Winter of Life by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 5178 w., Ao3) – It was an experiment, really. On Christmas, Sherlock wrote to Santa asking for a friend. He got a broken toy soldier instead. This is the story of how he finds him again and again.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 3 Parts, 30,802 w. Ao3) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.)

BLOGS / SCRAPBOOKS / JOURNALS

The Case of the Vanishing Blog by Hekateras (K+, 2K+ w., FFNet) - Sherlock is in it for the hunt. John is in it for the action. Even so, the events at the Pool leave a mark on both, unwilling as they are to admit it.

One-Way Mirror by StormyNight108 (K+, 830 w. FFNet) - Post-Reichenbach one-shot. It’s been months since the incident, where a man lost his best friend. Slowly but surely, John’s life is starting to turn up a little. That night, his blog is updated to share good news to his followers, and one anonymous commentator is quick to share his happiness. It’s about as close to his friend as he can get right now.

Don’t Go Without Me by MirabileLectu (T, 1K+ w. FFNet) - Deep in the recesses of the cluttered space under John’s bed, far from the prying eyes of nosy landladies, there is a box.

To Sleep, Perchance to Smother Your Flatmate with a Pillow by Linpatootie (G, 5308 w., Ao3) - Sherlock wants to conduct a sleep study of sorts. John contemplates smothering him with a pillow. Part 1 of Two Coffees One Black One with Sugar Please

Journal of Truths by Goddess_of_the_Night (T, 2317 w., Ao3) - When John escorts Sherlock back to Baker Street from the tarmac, he discovers a journal that Sherlock has kept secret…that he has kept secrets in. What he sees when he opens it is nothing like what he expected. He expected scrawling notes of observations, or maths equations, or drawings of plants…anything but what he actually finds: confessions.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., Ao3) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock’s study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn’t entirely mind.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w., Ao3) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (E, 58,611 w., Ao3) – John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.

POST-ITS / LISTS

I Believe In Sherlock Holmes by Cennis (K, 2+K w., FFNet) - When John came to Baker Street one Sunday about six months after the funeral and found an elegant wooden cane, expensive-looking yet sturdy, stuffed away in the shoe cupboard, he began ‘blogging’ again. It began with post-it notes. POST-FALL.

In case of emergency by AlessNox (K, 520 w., FFNet) - Sherlock is charged with making a list of what supplies they would need in case of an emergency.

The Three-Word Tin Collection by TheBookshelfDweller (K, 1K+ w., FFNet) - What happens when Sherlock has to store the things he wants to say to John while deconstructing Moriarty’s web, but the Mind palace proves an inadequate place to store them?

206 Reasons by whitchry9 (K+, 1K+, FFNet) - John won’t wake up, so Sherlock lists all the reasons why he should. Because he appears to be a bit besotted. How inconvenient.

Because Blah Blah Blah Happy by cwb (E, 4,578 w., Ao3) – John is entirely done with the milk situation and gives Sherlock a list of shit he’s pissed about. Sherlock sets out to make John happy. John is happy. Sherlock makes his own list. They are both very, very happy.

The Trouble With Being Subtle. by VictoryCandescence (NR, 5429 w., Ao3) - In which Sherlock experiments, John misinterprets, and everyone else stands back and waits for the light to turn on.

The Importance of Torn Papers by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock (G, 2427 w., Ao3) – Little things make a big difference, even little notes of thanks. Small reminders to show he cares.

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., Ao3) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness’, and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts’ now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

See Recipe for Details by pandoras_chaos (E, 4,981, Ao3) – John knows Sherlock’s mouth will never water over the sweet smells of baking chocolate biscuits or a lovely roast chicken, but he’s watched Sherlock nick mince pies out of Mrs. Hudson’s fridge often enough to deduce that the man does have taste, albeit confusing and obscure.So John makes a list: Things Sherlock Likes

And I have a few on my Marked For Later List which also have this theme. I HAVE NOT READ THEM, so I don’t know what they are like; I was waiting for them to finish before I do. As well, Alexx has a tonne of lists you can check out too!

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (T, WIP, Ao3) - John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly and find the truths that matter most.

Letters from Sussex by sussexbound (E, 3 Parts, 160,298 w., Ao3) – In the wake of the Mary/Moriarty affair, John and Sherlock have fallen out, and are living apart. But Sherlock isn’t content with this state of affairs–not one bit. He’s tired of dancing around the obvious.

A Small Drop of Ink, Falling by la_novatrice (fleurs_du_mol) (M, 4019 w. Ao3) – John starts keeping a notebook about Sherlock, for Sherlock to read. This is a small look into it.

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Epistolary

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Journals

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Sexting and Texting

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Wrong Number Texting

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Met Online or Texting

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #texting #epistolary #my fic recs #meetmyinnerdemons #letters and texting

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