Eralon’s… Gender

The Restrictions of Foros

This is written as part of my NanoWrimo 2020 Compendium of Completion. 

It is part five of five and comes after The Second Restriction, Eralon Explains, Eralon Discovers, Eralon Shouts  Eralon Commands and Eralon Questions.

After the – he’d been counting – seventh she, Sparrow decided that he needed to be brave before one of the more junior members of the temple got themselves in trouble. “And then – pardon, your brilliance.  Many of the books of the temple list, for instance, Jonnarrin the Night as he.  And yet you have referred to the Night One as she on all but one occasion – when you referred to Holy Dark Jonnarrin as they.  Could you please explain?”

“The books are wrong.”  The smile on this particular oracle’s face was amazingly smug.  Sparrow had to wonder if that was the oracle or the god inside. “That is – ah, your language is a little bit limited in this case.  He, she, they – these refer to positions of your bodies, yes?  That is, you are a he, the body this one is is a she.  These two and those who choose to eschew those two make up both your genders and your biological sexes, correct? Baby-seeder and Baby-carrier, and those who do neither.” Continue reading

Eralon Questions

The Restrictions of Foros

This is written as part of my NanoWrimo 2020 Compendium of Completion. 

It is part four of five (depending on how I divide it up) and comes after The Second Restriction, Eralon Explains, Eralon Discovers, Eralon Shouts and Eralon Commands.

When Sparrow woke, there was another oracle on the chair.  The oracle Aisha, who had been sitting in the chair, was sleeping next to Sparrow, cuddled against him in a way that would probably be considered most unseemly – and perhaps would have, if Transom Achares, the Lead Lesser High Priest, wasn’t sleeping on the other side of Sparrow, cuddled just as closely.

There were three duty scribes – different ones – writing, and three more listening and waiting.  There were two other lower priests looking over the whole thing, and more people milling about than this room ever held, except possibly on the Grand Festival days.

Sparrow brought himself to his feet as the Higher High Priest of Evening stepped into the room. “I heard-” he began, and fell silent.  He hurried over to Sparrow, this time very mindful of the red line.

“What is happening?” he hissed.

“I just woke up – when the god commands it, you sleep,” he added ruefully.

“Well, then, why did the god command you to sleep? And how – how could you – ah.  Well, when the god commands it, I suppose one cannot say no.”  The Higher High Priest of Evening cleared his throat.  Eostrix Duremes Oster was a good man, if a rather hidebound one, and was known to actually think on occasion. “So, what was happening when you slept?”

“Eralon had – ah.  He had an altercation with the Lead Lesser High Priest here – do not be too harsh on him, he was doing his job – and it came to be known that there were, ah.” Sparrow didn’t like this part. “There were those books of faith which Eralon did not know about. So he demanded they be read to him.  This, ah.  I reminded the god of the frailties of those who act as vessels – something he also had not heard of – and that is about when I slept.  There is much that he wishes to learn, our god of the light.  It seems that, perhaps, we have not so much strayed from the teachings of the gods of Foros as we have, mmm, embellished upon them somewhat, and that has left him – and me – concerned.”

“And I.”  The Higher High Priest of Evening frowned. “It seems there is quite a gathering here, but there ought to be.  I, ah, just awoke.  I found myself not defrocked, for which I imagine I have you to thank-”

“Well, had I been intending on spreading the information, I’d not have had a moment to do so,” Sparrow admitted, “but Eralon says such that a smiting like that is not meant to remove one from the priesthood, as well.”

“But the books of Callorme say-”

“Ah, and there is the rub.” He brought himself to his feet and looked over the gathered group.  At the moment, it sounded as if Eralon was explaining something in depth – ah, he was going through the Restrictions.  That was what had started this whole mess, so it was good that he was clarifying those. But hadn’t he wanted the books of Callorme read to him…?

“Ah, friend Sparrow!” the oracle called.  This one had a voice like the sunshine.  The Lesser High Priest of Evening bowed deeply.

“Your most Brilliant Light, greetings.  I thank you for the time of rest, and-”

“And for the cheese and wine you are about to partake in, yes.”  The god-in-the-oracle gestured one of the handmaidens over to him; she was bearing a tray carrying those things and more. “I see you are calmer now?”

“I’ve reached a state that could be called calm, yes, your brightness.”  Sparrow bowed again. “And you?”

“I am doing quite well.  I decided that it would be the most fair to wait for the books of Callorme until you woke on your own, so we have been discussing the questions of those here in the temple, and they have been answering my questions.  Ah.  I have sent one of your handmaidens to send word to the border that there will be several people – women – coming to the border to come here.  They have been Called.”

“You have Called new prophets, your brilliance?”

“New oracles, new vessels.  They were always meant to be of the line of the oracle, of Our line of conduits, but because of a border change that We were not aware of – well.  I’ve hopefully sorted that out.  There are those who can be the conduit to the gods without such pain – although the vessels here I have spoken to tell me that they like this post and do not wish to be sent away from it.”

“It comes with status, your Brilliance, and a good place to live and good food.”

“Ah.  Well, all of those of Foros should have those, at least the last two.  How long has it been since We have been involved thoroughly enough? It seems there are things that We will need to address.”

All of those of Foros should have… Sparrow considered some of the recent famines, some of the issues with hoarding, some of the problems the temple had attempted to deal with – with variable results at best. He wondered if he was going to be smote next.

“Yes, your Brilliance.  I look forward to your enlightenment.”

“Then, friend Sparrow, why do you look as if you are about to be dragged through muddy rocks while being pelted with excrement?  Come now, this will be interesting!  There are likely things that have changed in the world which We have missed and I look forward to knowing all of them.”

Sparrow gulped. “Your Brilliance, I remind you of your reaction when you found our interpretation of the Third Restriction.”

The god-in-the-oracle laughed. “I confess, you have Me there.  That is a very good point.  I will not yell at you, friend Sparrow, and I will spite no-one who is simply telling me how things are and why. I understand – I do now, at least – how it can be to be told something and have no context in which to understand it.  And I believe We were guilty of a failure of context many times during the Early Days.  But that – that is for another time.  This vessel has -” The god-in-the-oracle gestured at an hourglass. “Some thirty-seven minutes left before I need to change vessels.  It is time to begin the books of Callorme in between your wine and cheese.  Come, friend Sparrow!  We have much to read!”

Thirty-seven minutes.  Sparrow could read for thirty-seven minutes.

He took the chair that one of the Lesser Low Priests offered him – this one was barely able to grow a beard, a child who had been honored to join the temple just a few months before, and he looked terrified, as, perhaps, he well ought to.  He took the wine and the cheese and the first book of Callorme; he gestured a spare duty scribe to his side for his own notes, and he began to read.

It quickly became clear that he was in less danger of his throat drying out than the scribes were of their pens running dry of ink.  He would read a verse, perhaps half a verse, and then the god would interrupt, either to agree, or, far more often, to disagree.  Sometimes it was something in between – he would agree that the tone was correct, or that the message was more or less right, but would point out that large portions of the wording was ridiculous, or say that I have never heard the God Jonnarrin speak in that manner, not in prophecy or in oracle or while taking a walk.  It is not a thing that she would say. 

She was a word that came up far too often for Sparrow’s comfort – it seemed to amuse and please the handmaidens-slash-oracles who were waiting for their turn, those who were not sleeping, as he could see them looking at the priests, looking at the god, and doing the best to hide their giggles and titters behind their hands.

A goodly two-thirds of the gods that the books of the temple had listed as male, Eralon referred to as she.  Several more, Eralon used the pronoun they for.  The duty scribes were checking each other’s work, checking each other’s hearing.  They would poke one another, point to the page, and then start writing again.

Sparrow, however, had nobody to check with but himself – and the god.

 

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Eralon Commands

The Restrictions of Foros

This is written as part of my NanoWrimo 2020 Compendium of Completion. 

It is part three of four or five (depending on how I divide it up) and comes after The Second Restriction, Eralon Explains, Eralon Discovers, and Eralon Shouts.

The Lesser High Priest of Evening bowed down as deeply as he could. “I beg your pardon, your holiness.  I cannot-”

“Perhaps I can make it clear.”  The menace was clear despite the sweet tone. “Transom Achares, I am speaking with these people here, with this – this Lesser High Priest of Evening–?”

“Sparrow Teleme, your holiness.”

“With Sparrow Teleme.  And with these two duty scribes, this handmaiden, and these acolytes.  The information I choose to impart to them – or to ask from them – is my business, and is beyond protocol.  Do you understand this, Transome Achares?  I am the god Eralon and I will speak when and where I want to.  DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

While the oracle had been speaking in a voice which suggested divinity before, this voice was, without question, divine.  It shook Sparrow Teleme – it shook the Lesser High Priest of Evening down to his boots.

One of the duty scribes passed out. The handmaiden squeaked.

The Lead Lesser High Priest whimpered as his nose leaked blood. “I do – I do not understand, your most bright light.  I cannot understand.  The protocols are handed down from you yourself.  From the gods themselves.  The protocols are how we maintain order in this place.  The protocols are of the gods!” Blood dripped down his face, ignored.

“The protocols are – explain.”

“It says so in the book of Callorme, most bright one.  It says that the gods handed down the order of the ways and the hierarchy of the priesthood so that things might  continue in a sensible manner.  It says that this is the way!”

“Callorme?”

The god’s voice had taken on a dangerous tone, a tone which the Lead Lesser High Priest seemed to be oblivious to.

The Lesser High Priest of Evening answered carefully. “There are three books of Callorme, most brilliant light.  These ones were dictated to three scribes by the prophet Callorme, who himself was an early priest in the Order.  It is from his books that we get most of the structure of the priesthood and many of the titles and names of our priests and the others here in the service to you and the other gods.”

“Callorme.”

There was a rumble that changed the tone of the oracle’s voice from light and quiet to dark and deep.  This time, even the Lead Lesser High Priest noticed and took a step back.  Sparrow Teleme took a move braver than he thought he was and stepped forward.

“That is as we have been told, your brightness, your most holy. Callorme conveyed the words of Kokaru, from Fazemis, from Afekosiil… and from you, your brightness.”

“Callorme.”

“Callorme, also called – before his ascension to the priesthood – Gherick Dorunson, of the town of Smallriver, on the edge of the Fazemia Mountains, who came here to the Grand Temple in the seventeenth year of his life because he was seeing the words of the gods in his sleep, which would have been the seventeenth year of the second Kokarun cycle, the year before the flood which destroyed three cities on our western coast and washed away much of Smallriver and its neighboring towns.”  He might be babbling, but the Lesser High Priest of Evening thought if he could perhaps – what, jog the god’s memory? Gods, they were told – although not by Callorme – did not forget.

“The flood.  That was the flood which washed away Ton-Foren, yes?”

“Yes, your most brilliant.”

“Callorme – Gherick.  I remember Gherick.”

The tone was no less dangerous and no more pleased.

The scribe who had fainted had sat up again.

“I beg your pardon, your most brilliant light-”  Sparrow turned to the handmaiden.  “Please go and find the best copy of the books of Callorme you can, and please have them send in another scribe and, if you could, food and water for all of us.  And perhaps a chair for yourself and one for the Lead Lesser High Priest.”  He had a feeling it was going to be a long night. “Your most brilliant light, I propose that we read to you the books of Callorme.  But I also propose that we have weak and mortal bodies, and that we must care for them.”

“The books of Callorme are sacred,” the Lead Lesser High Priest mumbled. “They are given to us by the gods.”

“They were given to you by someone.”

The oracle’s voice no longer sounded anything like her own.  Somewhere in the back of the Lesser High Priest of Evening’s mind, something he had read early in his training was trying to make itself seen.

He couldn’t quite get to it, not with the god breathing down his neck, as it were.

“The books were given to us by someone.”  He grabbed onto the words that he could follow, even if they were nothing compared to the echoes in his mind. “But, you are saying, not by you.”

“Not by me, no. There is a possibility that another god gave them to you.  I will accept this might have happened.  But I find it unlikely.  You will read these books to me, and you will tell me everything of your structure here, everything you believe was gods-given.  Everything.”

“That, ah.  That will take quite a while, your most brilliant light.  It is going to take days, at the very least.”

He hesitated as the thought he’d been reaching for finally came to him. “And, your most brilliant light, one oracle cannot take the might of a god for that long.  You will destroy her mind.  You will render her less than an animal.  It has happened before, in the times before we had the books of Callorme, whoever they came from.  And I would honestly rather that it not happen again.”

“We can?”  Eralon paused. “Why is that?  What is it about this vessel that makes her unable to contain Me for any length of time?”  He didn’t seem to be interested in an answer, instead falling silent for several minutes. “Ah,” he finally said. “That is very unfortunate indeed.  When did this happen?”

“As far as I know, it has always been thus, your most brilliant self.  The Oracles are as strong as we can find, but they cannot take the presence of the god for too long.”

“Well, then.  You have other oracles, yes?  Bring forth several, and I will move between then on the hours, if hours you do indeed still have.”

The god sounded so dry and irate at that point that the Less High Priest of Evening was more than a little afraid to find out what might happen if he had to tell the god no.  Luckily for him, in this case, he did not; he sent the handmaiden, as soon as she returned from her other errands, to call on all of the oracles who were then awake, and to then have the others called for when their shift for wakefulness began.

He hoped it would be enough.  They had twelve oracles.  That had been considered an exorbitant number not that long before, and the reason why the oracle here now was also serving as a handmaiden.

They waited, the oracle saying nothing, nobody saying anything.  The Lesser High Priest of Evening had in front of him all of the books of Callorme, but he was loathe to start reading, because he did not want Eralon to become distracted and forget that he could harm his vessel.

The silence had gone on long enough to be truly uncomfortable when the god cleared the oracle’s throat.

“How long did it take to discover that a lengthy visitation by a god could destroy the being the god inhabited?”

“It was long before my time, most holy, but from what I recall – three decades.  The gods do not, as you may have noticed, often visit for all that long.  There is also – ah.  Well.”

He had not meant to take the conversation in that direction, certainly not with the Lead Lesser High Priest still sitting there glaring at him and at everyone else.

“Yes?” the god murmured.

“There is the question of when the oracles are actually possessed by a god.  We do take down everything they say when they are in the chair.”  He gestured to the duty scribes. “But very rarely do the gods make themselves as clearly known as you have in past days, and thus, we may have missed the signs because the oracles, when on the chair, often sound unclear, and the oracles sound similarly unclear whether possessed by a god or not.”

“You’re saying that Our Vessels are treated as the word of the gods whether or not the god identifies themselves?”

“Well, most brilliant light, the gods very rarely do identify themselves.”

The ground was slipping out from under the Lesser High Priest of Evening. He thought he might need to faint. What if everything he had been told came from the gods did not? What if their entire faith was based on the mad ramblings of drug-addled women?
How could he think that anything else would be the gods’ voice when what the gods sounded like was so clear in front of him?
“Easy, easy friend Sparrow. Someone, do get him a chair! Friend Sparrow, I believe you are beginning to think in directions that are – well, sensible but not correct.”

Someone put a chair behind him and pushed it until he sat down; he fell limply into the chair and looked up at the god.

“Your – your most brilliant one?”

“I am, yes.  And you are thinking, I believe, that if many things that you have read and believed to be true are not, then what things are true?”

“Something – something like that, yes, your most brilliant.”

“Then I believe we will have to do a more complete review.  It is time – past time – for such a thing.  Words can be misinterpreted, after all, and using prophets is more tricky than using oracles,  but as you mentioned, there are issues with oracles.  We will tell you the truth of things, my friend, and I believe that you will not find it to be nearly as troublesome as you are worried.  but for now-”

The oracle stepped down off of her chair and walked to the Lesser High Priest of Evening.  She put a thumb on his forehead.

“Sleep, friend.”

Sparrow slept.

 

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Small Fry & Broken Wings 2

Small Fry & Broken Wings

Chapter 1 – A cross-universal AU of Bilge Rats & Puppets, which was inspired by Puppets and Bilge Rats

Charming

This section involves more violence about Hook’s (Small Fry’s) hand.

“Easy, easy.  Ma’am, I think it’s possible he doesn’t speak English.”

Charming was trying his best to reason with the woman – with his mistress – but she had just knocked out this damaged-looking fae – a fae wearing strange clothes and with a Mask that didn’t quite hide all his strangeness – for the second time. 

The woman – who still hadn’t bothered to tell him her name or ask him, which was making him more nervous than he already was – looked his way.  “Not speak English?” She raised her eyebrows.  “You’re saying he’s not from around here.” Continue reading

Eralon Shouts

The Restrictions of Foros

This is written as part of my NanoWrimo 2020 Compendium of Completion. 

It is part two of four or five (depending on how I divide it up) and comes after The Second Restriction, Eralon Explains, and Eralon Discovers.

You people!

The god Eralon in the oracle’s body was angry.  He was shouting.

The Lesser High Priest of Evening took a prudent step backwards, making sure that Yobu, Stecker, the clerks, and the handmaiden were also well back.  The god-in-the-oracle was not supposed to be able to smite anyone past that red tile line, but then again, there were a lot of things the god-in-the-oracle wasn’t known to do and speaking conversationally with a priest and standing up to shout at that priest were definitely on the list. Continue reading

Bilge Rats and Puppets, Chapter Four

Bilge Rats and Puppets

Chapter 4 of my continuation of the fanfic set in an AU of the Author’s AU in Once Upon A Time.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

The original Fic.


Snow did not summon Charming, and he didn’t think it wise to seek her out after he’d pushed things as far as he had earlier.  

He did what he’d thought of as his rounds, although nobody had assigned them to him: he walked down to the dungeons and examined them, telling the guards he was there to see if the pirate had left anything telling in his cell — and examining the cell. 

He used that as a pretext to remind the guards of basics like maintaining their steel — the shackles were a mess, rusting away, and so were some of the bars! — keeping the place clean, and feeding their prisoners rather than eating the food themselves.  

Jones had left nothing but a series of hash marks in his cell, but the pattern of them was interesting, so Charming copied it down into a book.  It was possible the pirate really was hiding some secret.  Charming certainly had a few of his own.  And if he found something — maybe Snow would let them go back to how it had been.  Maybe he wouldn’t have to take the pirate to her room anymore, to share her with the pirate. 

He’d gotten himself agitated and angry again by the time  he left the dungeon empty-handed, so he spent some time working on his swordwork against a dummy, one of the basic magically-animated ones.  He wouldn’t take out this temper on a guard. 

When he’d defeated several dummies, he took a ride.  It was already getting dark, but the stable boy wouldn’t tell him no, not for something as simple as a ride.  He took a couple lanterns and rode until his thighs ached and he no longer felt anything but tired. 

When he limped back to his chambers, he’d almost forgotten the pirate was there.  He let himself in, threw the bolt, and stripped off his sweaty doublet, tunic, and trousers.  He washed himself up in the basin, poured water over his head on the patio, and lit a lantern only as he was pulling on a clean pair of breeches. 

The pirate was asleep on his bed.  Jones was curled on the very edge of Charming’s blankets, one corner of the fur pulled over his hips. His eyes were closed, his breathing was even, and he hadn’t woken up when Charming came in, or even with all the moving around Charming had done.  Or if he had, he was very good at faking it. 

Charming didn’t think either sleeping solidly through interruptions or faking being asleep were all that useful of skills for a deckhand, or any sort of pirate.  He chalked it up to exhaustion and the needs of a body being forced through potions and poultices to heal itself quickly. 

He considered moving the man.  The rug on his floor was thick and fur — three layers, because Charming didn’t like cold feet — and it wouldn’t be that uncomfortable to sleep on.  Besides, he hadn’t told Jones he could sleep in his bed, jokes about his purpose here aside.

He considered the bed.  It was more than big enough for two.  He considered the rise and fall of the pirate’s chest. 

He slid into bed on his side and shoved a pillow between them, careful not to jostle the wounded pirate.

 **

For 2 weeks, Snow did not call for the pirate.  She called for Charming  — four times, and three of them were beautiful.  The fourth time he tried not to think about. 

 During those weeks, the pirate grew healthier, cleaner. His wounds healed and his cheeks started to fill out. Charming had another bolt installed — just inside the patio door — giving the pirate time outside in the sun, and his color started to come back. He had regular shavings, regular baths, and Dr. Talisman declared him “as healthy as could be expected.”

Charming continued to leave in the evenings and find Jones in his bed when he returned; he continued to pretend it wasn’t happening. 

One day, maybe 5 days after Jones had been moved to his rooms, Charming came back after lunch to find Jones reading the  book he’d left on his table.  

Seeing the pirate there, sitting in Charming’s chair in Charming’s chamber, reading Charming’s book, filled him with a sharp spike of rage.  It could’ve been because the diplomat from Arendelle had been particularly dismissive earlier.  It could’ve been the trouble he and Snow were having getting the mermaids to hold to the treaty and guard the coast. 

Maybe it was just the damn pirate there when he just wanted to sit alone in his room and not deal with anything

Whatever it was, he snatched the book  out of the pirate’s hands.  “That’s mine.”

“I beg your pardon.”  Jones’s bow from a seated position looked far too sarcastic. “I find there’s not that much to do here, and while I do appreciate the sunlight, I didn’t want to risk damaging your garden.”  At the end of the sentence, the humor fell into nervousness.  He eyed Charming cautiously.  “I’d have considered writing a letter, but I know precious few people who can read and I’ve no way to post it anyway.”

“You can write?”  Charming shook his head.  “Then you were actually reading.”

“I can write, yes.”  The pirate managed to look offended and nervous at the same time. “I had something of an education, back when — well, it was another time and place, but I was educated.  That did require being able to read and write.”

“Then write your memoirs.”  Charming pulled out the box of paper he used for notes and the pen and ink he used for most things that weren’t formal letters.  “I’ll get you some more paper tomorrow.”

“My memoirs.  The memoirs of a deck hand.  Who would want to read those?”

“Look at it this way.  It’s better than doing nothing.  Although-“

Charming didn’t know what his expression was, but it appeared to terrify Jones. 

“Oh, no, I can be just fine doing nothing.  I assure you, doing nothing in the sun is far better than doing nothing in the dungeon.”

“Oh, no, no, I can’t have you doing nothing while I’m busy all day.  Come on, stand up.”  The anger had bled out and he was left with something strange, something like affectionate rivalry.  “So I’m not going to unchain you, but there’s a number of things you can do like you are—”

“I’ve swabbed enough decks, thank you.”

“Oh, that’s a good one.  I’m sure the maids would prefer that to mopping around you.  I’ll make sure they know that.  But let’s see.”  Charming stripped off his doublet and set it on the bed, then kicked off his boots.  “We’re going to start with basics.  Push-ups.  Pull-ups.  Some lunges. Maybe some jogging in place.  That ought to get your blood flowing.”

Snow might like a little tone on him, a little muscle on him.  She might not, but it wouldn’t be that hard to go back to starving the boy again if he had to. 

Meanwhile, Jones was staring at Charming as if he’d grown another head.  “You want me to — to — Have I offended you? Well, of course I have, but it won’t happen again, I won’t touch your books.”

“Relax, pirate.  Here.  Start by bending over, touching your toes.  I know that you’re all healed up . Yesterday was your bath.”

He stepped out of reach of the pirate and demonstrated, bending over lithely till his fingers brushed the floor.  “Like that, see?”

The pirate grumbled, watched Charming, and then, when it seemed like Charming wasn’t going to relent, bent over. 

“Oh come on, I can tell that you’re not really trying.  You can stretch further than that.”

“If you wanted to torture me, Lord Charming, I know you have better methods.”  The pirate grunted, but this time he managed to reach nearly to his calves. 

“Good, good.  Stay there.”  Charming straightened and closed the distance so he could push down  gently on Jones’s back.  “You can get a little further… there.”

The pirate grunted quietly.  “That feels — ah, like something all right.”

“You’ll be something by the time we’re done.”  He released the pirate.  “Now reach up as far as you can.”

The pirate obeyed, and then, with a little prodding, stretched further. 

Charming walked him through push-ups — modified to allow for the missing hand — and sit-ups, jogging in place and squat-thrusts.  He had him do every stretch he could think of and then walked him through them again. 

They reached the point where they were both panting, sweating, and flopped on the floor.  Charming reached over and patted Jones on the calf.  “There.  I’ll write it down for you and you can do those every day, twice a day.  And write your memoirs.”

“Homework.  I rather feel like I’m back at school.  Yes, sir,” he added dryly. 

“Good.”  Charming broke the conversation there, calling for a tub to clean off the sweat and the grime from himself. But he left remembering the book — and the way Jones’d looked at him him when he snatched the book from him. 

That book, he kept as his. He wasn’t going to go back on what he said. 

But he stopped by the palace library on the way back to his room and took the time to pick out a few books on naval battles and the oceans around Misthaven — as well as requisitioning some better paper and ink and a spare pen. 

He also made it clear that those books, Hook could read. 

He left Jones homework, as mentioned, and Jones, in turn, seemed to have done what he was told.  He definitely did work on his memoirs, and his body showed signs of working on the exercises Charming gave him. 

Their arrangement was still not ideal — Charming still had no privacy in his own rooms — but he could send the pirate onto the patio and he had done so more than once while he bathed, even if Jones came in shivering. 

And every night when he came back to his chambers, there was a pirate in his bed.

Beauty-Beast 47: ♪ Thnks fr th Mmrs ♫

FirstPreviousLanding PageNext

Here’s the third of three chapters of Beauty-Beast thanks to Anke’s commission!  

🔒

Ctirad found that he was smiling at Signy the way he probably hadn’t smiled at a woman in years.  Lifetimes. Generations.  Like a peer.  Like a friend.  It couldn’t last, but he liked the feeling.

Of course, they had more important things than him making friends right now.

“But, uh,” he cleared his throat.  “Maybe when this is done we could set up a time to talk about all that stuff? Keeping, being Kept, being young and ignorant fae? Right now, I think we’re supposed to be talking about – well, important things.”

“This is important!” Signy protested.  Then she looked at Sara Florentia and Timaios. “But I, I see what you mean.  Let’s talk about Ermenrich and this – Nedetaka priest.  Ctirad, you said you saw him, yes?  What can you remember?” Continue reading

Small Fry & Broken Wings I

Small Fry & Broken Wings

So.  This began from Bilge Rats & Puppets. That is: in Bilge Rats and Puppets, you have Evil?Charming and DeckHand!Hook(*) in a situation where they are completely in the control of an Evil Snow White. 

And then I was thinking “so what if this was in Fae Apoc?”

Which meant deciding how I was getting them into a situation where they were from separate “groups” (in this case sects of Ellehemaei) and then getting some evil queen’s hands on Charming’s heart — 

Wait, not actually in Once Upon a Time, getting some Evil Queen to Own Charming and Hook, or rather, David and Killian.

This is set, thus, in Fae Apoc in the middle of the apocalypse.  It should be readable without knowing that setting, however. 

Charming looks like Charming from Once Upon a Time and his characterization is based on that character – and on the character in Puppets and Bilge Rats, the fic which inspired my Bilge Rats and Puppets. 

Hook – Small Fry – is based on DeckHand!Hook more than normal canon Hook – here’s the gifset I referenced in Bilge Rats.  

(*) See https://fanlore.org/wiki/! to explain the trait!Name style of naming.  I put a ? in Evil?Charming’s name on purpose because it’s not clear either in canon or in the fanwork whether Charming is actually evil, and in my fic he is not particularly evil. And here is another link on the same topic. 

Okay, once again I have written an entire fic’s worth of introduction.  Have at!

Charming

The rubble hit  Charming in the head while he was still trying to stop the blasted wyvern from eating a police officer.  He had managed to get the thing pinned down, a piece of rebar through its neck, but it was still moving. 

He missed fights that weren’t in the middle of downtown and didn’t involve massive swarms of wyverns. 

He missed not seeing more than one wyvern in a month and he definitely missed not having to protect civilians who were trying to protect him at the same time. 

“Watch out!” someone shouted. He aimed his Force shield over and around as many civilians as he could while the wall came falling right into him. 

The rubble hit him in the face; he went down still trying to shield as many people as possible.  Continue reading

Saving the Cult (if not the World), Chapter Thirty-Eight

Saving the Cult (If not the World) "It's time." Manfield Lee knew he was good at sounding authoritative even when he didn't know what he was talking about - he'd turned a fortune into a megafortune doing just that, after all, not to mention running the Organization - but right now, he DID know what he was talking about. After all, it was just a date, wasn't it? And if the date turned out to be wrong, well, then he knew exactly what to blame it on, and that blame would fall on the scholars and the psychics, not on him. The other thing Manfield Lee knew how to do was to place the blame in very specific ways that were not him.

Lina couldn’t quite focus her eyes, so she put up a hand in the direction of the voice.  She blinked a few times, until she could see the woman in front of her.

“Oh, it’s you.”  She barely managed not to sneer at the power-company woman.  She did turn her back on her, seeking out her people.

Jackson was on her left, Ethan on her right.  “Dylan…?” Continue reading