Raevenly Wrote

Ties that Bind: A queer, polyamorous, Romeo and Juliet with shapeshifters set on a backdrop of the first tentative peace in a thousand year war. Anticipated f/f, m/m, and many other shapes of m/f/m and/or f/m/f, potentially kinky if I ever get it there. Also potentially ace/qpr stuff if I can ever figure out my MC and what is true in this fic vs what belongs in side projects. Canon's hotter cousin with more magic, more setting development, A LOT more romance, and a distant relation to the original in the way that Vaporeon resembles Eevee. It wants to still fit in canon's clothes but really needs to admit its grown too big for that.

This is the big one. I realized revisiting my favorite childhood series that the big epic romance I always remembered was mostly in my head. So I decided to get it out of my head and onto paper. That is... not what happened XD It follows the basic Romeo/Julietness of Hawksong, but I decided to really explore the world and characters and so made a lot of executive decisions bc there actually isn't that much about the world/characters in the original. It's diverged wildly, spiraled out of control into a 30+ chapters novel (lets be honest) and isn't ending any time soon. It's the one I most want to work on so send me asks and encouragement about it so I can get working on it again :P

Basically, Zane and Danica are still deeply dedicated to peace. They think the idea of getting married to achieve it is ridiculous, but they're desperate enough to keep it on the back burner. Dani gets to know Zane (and Adelina) as friends. She explores her relationship with Rei. She struggles with bureaucracy and a well-meaning mother that doesn't always support her in the way she needs. Also there's a bit more magic, a lot more setting, and a bunch of characters I kinda made up to help flesh things out (hello Vasili's made up cousin). Current plans include finishing it with some sort of marriage, but I haven't decided if Zanica is endgame or not (the dynamic currently in the lead in my head is Dani takes Adelina as her Alistair, Zane takes Rei as his Nag, and the four of them all kinda co-rule. We'll see. Everyone is going to kiss everyone else before its done that's for sure)

Frayed Knots (ongoing, 20 chps) The place where all the scenes I thought would go in TTB but didn't wind up. Some one offs, some deleted scenes. A mixed bag of spicy adult stuff and just fun character exploration. Iirc spicy chapters are marked as such Current offerings include: abandoned TTB starts, some BDSM scenes with Z/D/R/A, Dani getting herself off and thinking too hard, an alternative Snakecharm opening from Kel's POV, some Oliza stuff, some Marus/Urban stuff, and some Dasi High stuff. Really, Frayed Knots is a great place to start if you wanna read TTB but are kind of intimidated by its scope. Most FK entries are 1-3 chapters. A sampler platter of my nonsense basically :P

Dasi High (abandoned, 4 chps) Kiesha and Co Highschool AU, basically what if the Dasi was a show on the CW. A fun idea, but not actually my cup of tea. Would probably be more fun to ramble about in discord than actually write

Forbidden Skies (hiatus, 2 chps) Crossover with Forbidden Game. Julian is a falcon and Jenny and co are avians and serpiente. Basically FB's chars and plot cosplaying as K'r. I really loved the idea, but I don't know if it grabbed me enough to make want to wrestle it into submission like I do TTB. With TTB, I don't know the story yet, so I can trick myself into working on it bc I wanna know what happens. With FS, I know what my intended plot will be, so this one would need a lot of outside hype to get me working on it again. But I think it could be really really cool if I did. If this crossover sounds like your cup of tea, pester me for more

Forbidden Game

Forbidden Skies, see above

Holy Fire (one off, post canon what if) A sort of song fic where Zach thinks way too hard about Jenny and tries to become a magician. I have these ideas about Jenny half light faerie, hence Julians obsession with her. In this fic, Zach is trying to learn magic to protect Julian so FB doesn't happen again. He winds up getting the attention of a light faerie, who tasks him with being Jenny's knight until they're ready to come bring her home. Basically, the song Holy Fire by Seeming wouldn't leave me alone one day and this fell out.

Hearts Desires (ongoing, 2 chps, post canon what if) Still playing with Zach the magician, this one is meant to be a fairly short exploration of magic/runes, Zach's obsession with Jenny, his inability to readjust after the game, and coming out to himself. And tree sex. It's a weird one. Basically, I woke up one morning with the ending of it circling around in my head, wrote that, and am now trying to build up the beginning so the ending has anything to jump off of for impact.

Ties that Bind: A queer, polyamorous, Romeo and Juliet with shapeshifters set on a backdrop of the first tentative peace in a thousand year war. Anticipated f/f, m/m, and many other shapes of m/f/m and/or f/m/f, potentially kinky if I ever get it there. Also potentially ace/qpr stuff if I can ever figure out my MC and what is true in this fic vs what belongs in side projects. Canon's hotter cousin with more magic, more setting development, A LOT more romance, and a distant relation to the original in the way that Vaporeon resembles Eevee. It wants to still fit in canon's clothes but really needs to admit its grown too big for that.

This is the big one. I realized revisiting my favorite childhood series that the big epic romance I always remembered was mostly in my head. So I decided to get it out of my head and onto paper. That is... not what happened XD It follows the basic Romeo/Julietness of Hawksong, but I decided to really explore the world and characters and so made a lot of executive decisions bc there actually isn't that much about the world/characters in the original. It's diverged wildly, spiraled out of control into a 30+ chapters novel (lets be honest) and isn't ending any time soon. It's the one I most want to work on so send me asks and encouragement about it so I can get working on it again :P

Basically, Zane and Danica are still deeply dedicated to peace. They think the idea of getting married to achieve it is ridiculous, but they're desperate enough to keep it on the back burner. Dani gets to know Zane (and Adelina) as friends. She explores her relationship with Rei. She struggles with bureaucracy and a well-meaning mother that doesn't always support her in the way she needs. Also there's a bit more magic, a lot more setting, and a bunch of characters I kinda made up to help flesh things out (hello Vasili's made up cousin). Current plans include finishing it with some sort of marriage, but I haven't decided if Zanica is endgame or not (the dynamic currently in the lead in my head is Dani takes Adelina as her Alistair, Zane takes Rei as his Nag, and the four of them all kinda co-rule. We'll see. Everyone is going to kiss everyone else before its done that's for sure)

Frayed Knots (ongoing, 20 chps) The place where all the scenes I thought would go in TTB but didn't wind up. Some one offs, some deleted scenes. A mixed bag of spicy adult stuff and just fun character exploration. Iirc spicy chapters are marked as such Current offerings include: abandoned TTB starts, some BDSM scenes with Z/D/R/A, Dani getting herself off and thinking too hard, an alternative Snakecharm opening from Kel's POV, some Oliza stuff, some Marus/Urban stuff, and some Dasi High stuff. Really, Frayed Knots is a great place to start if you wanna read TTB but are kind of intimidated by its scope. Most FK entries are 1-3 chapters. A sampler platter of my nonsense basically :P

Dasi High (abandoned, 4 chps) Kiesha and Co Highschool AU, basically what if the Dasi was a show on the CW. A fun idea, but not actually my cup of tea. Would probably be more fun to ramble about in discord than actually write

Forbidden Skies (hiatus, 2 chps) Crossover with Forbidden Game. Julian is a falcon and Jenny and co are avians and serpiente. Basically FB's chars and plot cosplaying as K'r. I really loved the idea, but I don't know if it grabbed me enough to make want to wrestle it into submission like I do TTB. With TTB, I don't know the story yet, so I can trick myself into working on it bc I wanna know what happens. With FS, I know what my intended plot will be, so this one would need a lot of outside hype to get me working on it again. But I think it could be really really cool if I did. If this crossover sounds like your cup of tea, pester me for more

Forbidden Game

Forbidden Skies, see above

Holy Fire (one off, post canon what if) A sort of song fic where Zach thinks way too hard about Jenny and tries to become a magician. I have these ideas about Jenny half light faerie, hence Julians obsession with her. In this fic, Zach is trying to learn magic to protect Julian so FB doesn't happen again. He winds up getting the attention of a light faerie, who tasks him with being Jenny's knight until they're ready to come bring her home. Basically, the song Holy Fire by Seeming wouldn't leave me alone one day and this fell out.

Hearts Desires (ongoing, 2 chps, post canon what if) Still playing with Zach the magician, this one is meant to be a fairly short exploration of magic/runes, Zach's obsession with Jenny, his inability to readjust after the game, and coming out to himself. And tree sex. It's a weird one. Basically, I woke up one morning with the ending of it circling around in my head, wrote that, and am now trying to build up the beginning so the ending has anything to jump off of for impact.

While hawks danced with cobras, and falcons schemed, Julian watched a simple sparrow take her first steps into a doomed new world, learning avian ballads alongside serpiente rills. He watched her spread her simple brown wings under forbidden skies as the avians ventured further and further south with each passing day of peace. He watched her play simple children’s games with ravens and crows, and mambas and vipers. He watched as the simple children built a good life, heedless of the glittering sword that hung over their heads. 

He watched, and decided to keep her.

After all, a simple sparrow did not carry enough of Anhamirak’s fire to doom the world, even if she blazed with it every time she rose to meet the sun. Any other magic would overshine hers, would smother that beautiful spark of light. She was no royal hawk, to carry fully half of the chaos goddess’s gifts, dancing madly with its mate in the serpiente prince. A sparrow could be no threat to the Empress, and the White Isles that succored and trapped them both.

A sparrow was but a single mote of sunshine in a dark, cold world.

She would be nothing to ona ’Cjarsa, shining lady of the White Isles, frozen priestess of dark Ahnmik.

She would be everything to him.

So Julian watched, and waited, patient as any falcon hunting. And his little sparrow grew up. And his time grew short.

Summary:

While hawks dance with cobras, falcons watch, and wait. Julian, a bored falcon prince, also has an eye turned to Wyvern's Court, but his gaze isn't for the wyvern princess. He watches Jenny, a simple sparrow, and her group of avian and serpiente friends, living out the true ideals of the Wyvern's Court, a blending of both sides. While the Empress watches and waits for the fledgling Court to fail, Julian decides to keep a little piece of this dream for himself. After all, what threat could a lowly sparrow possibly pose to the frozen Empress of the White Isles?

Notes:

No prior knowledge of either book should be needed. Setting is Kiesha'ra, characters are Forbidden Game, plot is my usual mess of shrug.dot. I am laying down the tracks as the train is coming my friends. Enjoy! (Work currently just under 5k and counting)

Content Warnings:

So far none really needed. Original works referenced contain some pretty wild stuff though, such as, but not limited to: fantasy racism and fascism, an obsession with blood purity and not race mixing, light body horror, lots of pregnancy plots, and a pretty bad sense of when consent does and doesn't matter. Also working through your specific nightmares, so, ya know, horror. And the sort of general bad handling of queer identities pretty common to older works, so just be aware if you decide to go check either series out (I still super recommend at least the first book of Forbidden Game. If you read only one of the - oh god, 8 books I'm drawing from, let it be that one. And maybe FalconDance if wanna know more about the world building I'm playing with, but it really isn't necessary)

I clung to the tattered edges of Salem’s power—of his soul —eaten away by the am’haj . Cjarsa had created it in the hopes of calming the serpiente’s violent magic down. But where Anhamirak burned until it ran out of fuel, Ahnmik’s consuming stillness was no less thorough. All that kept Salem’s heart beating was will—with his own burned away, mine held his soul stubbornly in place.

Was this what it felt like, when Araceli split Kiesha’s magic asunder? Had Alasdair’s soul burned when the heir forced her to hold half this raging storm? Had Kiesha stabbed her as a mercy, the only release from this searing pain?

I should let Salem go.

There was no hope.

Keyi, that wretched child, taunted every possible future with her cruel name. Keyika, she should have been called. Hopeless. If Wyvern’s Court was doomed to burn, what point was there in holding on to its broken pieces?

There has to be another way.

My Empress had let my mother—my birth mother—seduce a descendant of Kiesha. I had fallen to Ecl at my first trial. But Keyi, whether born of hawk wyvern or falcon wyvern, with viper parent or python, razed this world to the ground with her every footfall.

If I could be trapped in a world of ice, could I not freeze our false hope and take her with me?

I let Salem go, chasing the butterflies that flitted like dying embers. ---

As a child, I walked through the White City and spoke to spirits others couldn’t see. Some were strangers, but I know the shades of them now through their descendants: Brassal, through Oliza’s would be suitor, Danuta through Salem’s mate. But some… some had remained unchanged for a thousand years.

I watched the Empress watch her heir tear the grieving Kiesha in two. I watched her descendant, my father, spark echoes of memory as o’she and a’she collided in the violent dance of kain’kaya . I watched floods drown the earth, watched an island raised from the tumultuous sea, a single point of stillness in a world falling to chaos. And I watched the Empress fall, going still as death, still as ice, daring not to breathe, lest even that small motion send her toppling into Ecl.

You’ve one foot in it already, my Empress.

She doesn’t turn to look at me, she never does.

What do you hold onto?

A child climbed up into her lap, holding up a butterfly before unseeing eyes.

Hope is the thing with feathers , I say nonsensically, scooping the child from the Empress’s lap. Heard even in the chillest land. Do you doubt that if you fall, you, the Empress of Air and Darkness, could not follow this shining child home?

Her head almost turns, she almost hears me. If I stood before her on the White Isle, could I call her back to herself?

Would I want to?

I jiggle Keyi on my hip, impatient as she shoves a butterfly in my face. If the Priestess of the God Unchanging can reach into Ecl and change Fate, then I, mana’Ecl’la’Hai, can see where this path leads me.

---

My hands blister and blacken where I hold the squirming child, this burning Hope. I show her her uncle’s ruined magic.

I don’t know how to make this better, I say, Do you?

She puts a butterfly on his chest and gives it a little pat, looking up at me with a giggle.

I growl in frustration. In any future where I am your mother, I am naming you Keyika, you hear me? You are hopeless and this is stupid.

Hai?

Salem sits up, the fiery wings of the butterfly wrapping around his chest like a bandage. The pain of this torn world is a little less.

Yeah, sorry. I imagine you were expecting to be halfway around the world with Rosalind right about now.

How are we here? Where is here?

I laugh bitterly, remembering how disconnected Kiesha’s kin have become from their birthright.

Ecl . Or maybe somewhere else along the line of Sheni . I’m not sure. I don’t think it matters.

Who is that?

Keyi is wandering through the void, leaving burning footsteps in her wake.

Hope, I say tiredly. The Hope Oliza kept fighting so valiantly to find. Stupid, really. She doesn’t even like guys.

Huh?

I shake my head. Forget it. I need you to wake up now.

He looks around the void, taking in the vague shapes almost illuminated by Keyi’s burning footsteps.

Are those monsters?

I see the hunting figures that have swam beneath Ecl’s ice all my life.

Yeah. They like fire or whatever. Now are you going to wake up or not?

Are you?

Am I? I had taken the child from the Empress’s side with the intention of drowning with her in Ecl for eternity. I like it here. It’s familiar. But already, the promise of her fiery future is thawing this icy place, ruining any chance of finding solace in its darkness once again.

I sigh. I guess I’ll have to try. You first, though. I have an idea, and if it backfires I want to be the only casualty . Well, me and the one wretched constant in all possible futures.

Salem looks as if he’s about to ask how, but Keyi laughs and raises her arms to the sky. Salem is carried up, and for a moment, it looks like he’s flying on burning wings of fire. He looks like Kiesha did, rising on a pillar of flames--

Stop showing us that.

The Empress’s words are a command, and a desperate plea. We are before her again, and the echoes of Araceli and Kiesha hang motionless before us all.

You’re the one who’s still living here, I mutter, and add a belated , my Lady . If she’s speaking with me, I don’t want to ruin it with my annoyed insolence.

Keyi dances over to her again and pats her knee, holding her hands up in a childlike plea to be picked up. Cjarsa does not move.

I sigh and lift the child, jiggling her on my hip. It’s a strangely natural gesture, like I’ve done it a thousand times before. Gross. There is no universe I can imagine wanting a child in. Which puts some disturbing implications on her all but guaranteed existence. But she healed Salem, and that’s not nothing.

You healed a serpiente felled by am’haj?

Not me, my Lady. This little menace here.

Keyi laughs, and the sound sends cracks rippling through the too-liquid ice of the void around us. Cjarsa shudders.

She cannot be here.

And yet, she is in more and more futures by the minute. Fascinating how Hope refuses to be killed.

I kiss her cheek, and a flower blooms there. More green things sprout up where our skins touch, and the butterflies land to feed. Keyi giggles.

The Empress of the White Isle looks utterly horrified.

This is fascinating, because I’ve never seen her look like anything. But it is worrying, because, well, I’ve never seen her look like anything. My Lady?

She’s not bound.

I blink, because this means nothing to me. The Empress stares at the child, and then me.

She’s not yet real.

No, I agree. She’s a sakkri. I don’t know when she’ll come into being, but she seems more and more inevitable with every passing moment. What are you seeing that I am not, my Lady?

The Empress reaches for her, then recoils, as if being even that much nearer to her burns.

She is not set in stone. This seems redundant, and a little rhetorical, so I hold my tongue. She is not set in ice. Ah, see, there it is. More context.

She is not set in fire, she is not set in air. She is not set in tears, nor is she set in trials.

She is a child, my Lady. Her future is not set in anything, save perhaps in motion.

She is not yet anything, The Empress continues, as if I have not spoken. She is not yet Bound.

The echoes of Araceli and Kiesha flicker back to life, moving only at the edges. But the diorama they play out is well known to me anyways. It was the constant bedtime story of my childhood.

Araceli pulls Kiesha from the fire, but only part of her goes. The rest of the woman is still wreathed in flames, though somehow she does not burn. Araceli picks up a knife, and draws it across the back of a young child in the sand before her. She makes two long cuts down the child’s back, and the knife trails flames. Monsters lurk at the edges, and whether these hunting beasts were there in that moment or exist only here in the Ecl , I’ve never known. But they always follow the knife hungrily, and swarm to where the blood hits the sand.

The girl’s back bows, light and fire and blood pouring from the wounds. She is screaming, and her cries and Kiesha’s are consumed by the roar of the flames. In my arms, Keyi is crying, and she turns her face away, burying it against my chest.

Her tears burn, and I press a hand to the back of her head, cradling her to my breast. I didn’t know I had a comforting bone in my wretched body, but I do what I can to comfort the girl. My tears mingle with hers, as I weep for a past and future that cannot seemingly be undone.

Bind her.

My gaze flies to my Empress, watching with empty eyes. No tears, no pity, hardly even any spark of life.

My Lady?

Bind her. With words or with tears, with blood or with flesh. Whatever coin you prefer to spend, offer it to her now, and seize your hope for the future.

Words are her coin, the Lady of Air and Darkness. I do not wish to be bound by any accidental slip of my tongue.

Blood is the coin that the heir spent to tear the fire asunder, to dull it's cut so that the world might not burn.

The Kiesha'ra have spilled enough blood on this altar.

Flesh is the coin the serpiente would choose to spend, but what of their other halves? It would be war all over again if I bound the avians to flesh, and honestly after watching a child be born again and again to two mothers who would not choose her, I shudder from the myriad ways that could go wrong.

Tears are the only coin it feels safe to spend.

Too long, these people have been at war. Too long, they have pushed their grief aside to carry on with the business of living. Let those tears water the new life they are trying to build. Let them learn to cry tears of grief, and then tears of joy. Let them feel .

A deep and terrible sigh sounds behind me, as the Empress of Air and Darkness gives up her last and falls to the latter. The void around us starts to crumble, and the beasts draw ever nearer.

“Time to go!”

I speak into the emptiness, and hope that I have not somehow made a mistake. I am no Dasi, with years of training in summon spirits, in binding elementals. I am no Maeve, who dared to dance with powers so great it destroyed her world. I am the product of their hubris, of their pride and their terror and their grief and their mistakes. I am the heir to a world ravaged by would-be gods. I am shm’Anhmik. I am Kiesha’ra . I am mana’Ecl , and I am running like hell back to the real world, with Hope clutched desperately to my chest.

Notes:

While hawks danced with cobras, and falcons schemed, Julian watched a simple sparrow take her first steps into a doomed new world, learning avian ballads alongside serpiente rills. He watched her spread her simple brown wings under forbidden skies as the avians ventured further and further south with each passing day of peace. He watched her play simple children’s games with ravens and crows, and mambas and vipers. He watched as the simple children built a good life, heedless of the glittering sword that hung over their heads. 

He watched, and decided to keep her.

After all, a simple sparrow did not carry enough of Anhamirak’s fire to doom the world, even if she blazed with it every time she rose to meet the sun. Any other magic would overshine hers, would smother that beautiful spark of light. She was no royal hawk, to carry fully half of the chaos goddess’s gifts, dancing madly with its mate in the serpiente prince. A sparrow could be no threat to the Empress, and the White Isles that succored and trapped them both.

A sparrow was but a single mote of sunshine in a dark, cold world.

She would be nothing to ona ’Cjarsa, shining lady of the White Isles, frozen priestess of dark Ahnmik.

She would be everything to him.

So Julian watched, and waited, patient as any falcon hunting. And his little sparrow grew up. And his time grew short.

Summary:

While hawks dance with cobras, falcons watch, and wait. Julian, a bored falcon prince, also has an eye turned to Wyvern's Court, but his gaze isn't for the wyvern princess. He watches Jenny, a simple sparrow, and her group of avian and serpiente friends, living out the true ideals of the Wyvern's Court, a blending of both sides. While the Empress watches and waits for the fledgling Court to fail, Julian decides to keep a little piece of this dream for himself. After all, what threat could a lowly sparrow possibly pose to the frozen Empress of the White Isles?

Notes:

No prior knowledge of either book should be needed. Setting is Kiesha'ra, characters are Forbidden Game, plot is my usual mess of shrug.dot. I am laying down the tracks as the train is coming my friends. Enjoy! (Work currently just under 5k and counting)

Content Warnings:

So far none really needed. Original works referenced contain some pretty wild stuff though, such as, but not limited to: fantasy racism and fascism, an obsession with blood purity and not race mixing, light body horror, lots of pregnancy plots, and a pretty bad sense of when consent does and doesn't matter. Also working through your specific nightmares, so, ya know, horror. And the sort of general bad handling of queer identities pretty common to older works, so just be aware if you decide to go check either series out (I still super recommend at least the first book of Forbidden Game. If you read only one of the - oh god, 8 books I'm drawing from, let it be that one. And maybe FalconDance if wanna know more about the world building I'm playing with, but it really isn't necessary)

She hugged her arms around herself as Mason drove, blathering on about whatever stupid shit he liked to talk about. Something disgusting about twins. Hellie ignored him, resolving to steal his car once he was distracted and go get some McDonalds. He wouldn’t give a shit if she was out all night, so long as she brought the Accord back in one piece. Ugh, she might even clean out the floorboards for him. How long had that abandoned bag of mostly eaten Cheetohs been under the passenger seat?

The house they pulled up on wasn’t any different than any of the other single-family homes turned rental properties that surrounded the campus. None of the signature inversion that New Mayhem was famous for. No, only the elite of the vampiric world announced themselves in bizarre decorating schemes. Mason’s bash circuit houses all had beige or grey or white siding, boring brown roofs, and yards of patchy grass mixed with clover. Nothing to give the game away.

Inside, it wasn’t all that different from its’ neighbors, either. The kitchen was small and seldom used, a dingy white trash can overflowing with beer cans and take out bags. A smattering of upperclassman lounged in the living room, playing video games and smoking pot. No long, flowing gowns with plunging deep Vs or leather-clad legs perched artfully on vintage furniture. Just jeans, t-shirts, and second-hand sofas in bad need of vacuuming.

No one looked up as Hellie and Mason passed through into the back. Nothing to see here, folks. Just another of Mason’s friends. Some nights, a blood junkie might peel themselves off the couch and follow the vampires back, hoping for a high. Mason wasn’t exceptionally gifted at giving pain – no one excelled at that more than aunt Fala-- but it didn’t take a maestro to turn the sting of feeding into something pleasurable. And as far as addictions went, bloodletting was fairly safe. Most vampires were smart enough not to draw attention to themselves, cultivating a dedicated bash circuit and protecting their personal buffet from showy injuries. Why feed on a neck when there were so many more interesting – and private – places to sink fangs?

Mason was no exception. He didn’t particularly care for his flock – and why would he, when they had like a six year shelf life max before graduating out?- but he kept them fed and housed and well enough to snack on. Tonight’s entrees were lounging on his bed, watching some trash TV reruns and groping each other like it was an afterthought. Or the last thing Mason had bothered to “suggest” to them.

“Ugh, god, Mason, are they really twins?”

Bits of their one-sided conversation came back to her as Mason stripped off his shirt and tossed it carelessly in the general direction of the hamper.

“Nah. But they’ve gone pretty far out of their way to cultivate the illusion. Something about an audition, I don’t remember.”

“I don’t care,” is what he meant, and Hellie heard it loud and clear. She rubbed at her arms, skin starting to crawl. No, not her skin. Something deeper, more primal.

“Listen, I gotta get out of here for a bit. Toss me your keys.”

“No way.” He didn’t even bother to look away from the legs he was climbing. “You just got here. And I promised these two some fun. You owe them for making them wait.”

The women giggled, and Hellie couldn’t tell if they honestly found Mason’s banter funny or if he’d rolled them into laughing.

“I just wanna grab some food. I missed dinner.”

Mason patted the other pair of legs. “Help yourself. Christina won’t mind.”

“Christina” laughed and pushed playfully at Mason’s shoulder. “Maaaay-suuuun, I’m Brittney.”

Mason ignored her and drew his fangs over the inside of the other one’s thigh. She moaned, head lolling back and fingers twisting in the sheets. Hellie took a step back, leaving, she was definitely leaving--

The scent of blood filled the air.

Come on in, Hells Bells, the water’s fine.

Mason’s voice slid through her mind as his unattended guest slipped from the bed. Hellie barely noticed the hands wrapping around her wrist, didn’t fight as the slender mortal pulled her towards the bed. Towards the blood. All she could hear was the dry rasping of her own veins, empty, so empty, neglected for so long…

It didn’t used to be this bad. Once a week had been enough for such a long time. Why… why was it so loud now?

Why was she fighting?

Her knees hit the bed. The rest of her kept going, spilling into the graceful crawl of a predator. Mason rolled over, grinning at her with lips painted sticky red. He looked like an evil clown. She hardly registered him, eyes drawn to the two lines of blood trickling down tender flesh…

It would be a shame to let the wounds close.

Were those her own thoughts, or Mason’s?

Did it matter?

She reached out, fingertips like magnets to the wounds. She pushed, rounded nails catching the edges, pulling. Blood flowed faster, hot, copper, bright. Like chocolate and caramel and candy apples and french fries so hot they burned the tips of your fingers, too salty and perfect to let go to waste. Behind her, more blood flowed, Mason taking his own partner. He’d open this one for her, then moved on. She didn’t have the art of growing fangs just yet. A predator, but still just a fledgling. Still learning, still malleable. He would teach her. He would show her how to roll a mind tighter than a joint. Make em forget anything that isn’t you. Make everything else turn to stale ash on their tongues. Make yourself their god.

Hellie put her lips to the woman’s thigh just to drown all the fucking talking out. She didn’t want to think anymore. She didn’t want to have anyone’s thoughts in her head, not hers not his not the lady on the bed not some ancient dead priestess-- just the quiet peace of the blood, the all consuming fire that burned away her weakness and made her something strong, something primal.

She drank, feeling power pour down her throat, race to her edges, backwash as the force tried to equalize. She held on tight, not wanting to share, not wanting to let one precious bit go back to this pathetic creature. It didn’t even have enough sense of self to remember its own name. Just an empty vessel, a beer can to be crushed against her forehead and tossed aside--

Empty? It shouldn’t be empty.

She never drank enough to drain someone all the way to empty.

Hellie sat up, world too sharp, motions too fast. Everything was on a delay, her senses taking in information faster than her brain could keep up with. They were alone –her and the girl—the TV had gone to fuzzy static. The room was cold—too cold, her skin was cold, and pale—and the house felt quiet, empty. Going out, surfaced blearily in her thoughts. Beer run. It was two in the goddamned morning, maybe even three. Hellie couldn’t see all of the alarm clock around the discarded clothing that had landed on it. Was she naked? No, but she was cold. Because her shirt was soaked. Soaked in blood. Fuck! The girl. Goddamnit, she had to pull it together. Had to focus.

She backed off the bed, pulling off her shirt and grabbing a button up from the floor. The girl moaned, something unintelligible, but Hellie didn’t need to understand her to know what she needed. She’d lost too much blood. Too much of it pooled under her and made Hellie’s new shirt stick wetly to her belly. Growling frustration, she jerked it off and wiped at her front, trying to get clean. Fuck. Should she shower? No, damn it, no. Being messy was not the problem. The girl fucking bleeding out in Mason’s bed while he was out on a goddamned beer run was the problem.

She snarled, rage making the fire in her blood sing. Calm. She needed to be calm and make a plan. She stared at her phone –when had she pulled it from her pocket?--and watched the display vibrate. No, shake. Her hands were shaking. Why the fuck were he hands shaking? She was glutted on power, she should running through the streets or dancing the night away, high on this human life-- fuck! She had to get this girl help.

She thumbed through her phone, trying to focus. Who could she call? God, why were so many of the numbers in her phone part of this fucking bash circuit? None of them would be any goddamned good. They’d just get her a beer or an orange juice at best and wait for Mason to come clean up the mess.

She should make Mason clean this one up, too.

She didn’t think “Brittany” had that much time.

SE could help, but Hellie knew Mason wouldn’t appreciate Hellie leading them to his door. And as fucking pissed as she was right now –how could he just leave her like this?!-- she wasn’t quite ready to burn this bridge. She still had three more years at this school, and she needed somewhere to feed. Mason’s circuit wasn’t totally hopeless, just the ones that hung out closest to the source of the rot. Focus!

She stared at each entry in her phone one at a time. Abbey from math, no. Adam from the SSA? No, calling a wolf would not likely improve things. Agatha-- Hellie gave a manic little laugh. Calling the dean was more likely to end in her expulsion than anything else.

Asha.

The falcon was unflappable, beyond cool under pressure. She didn’t seem to care that Hellie wasn’t a shifter. What would she think of Hellie being a –well, not a vampire, exactly, but splitting that particular hair right this second felt really, really stupid. If she called her right now, would that be the end of their friendship?

The woman moaned again, and Hellie made up her mind. This woman’s life was more important than Hellie’s social life. If this blew up in her face, well.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

While hawks danced with cobras, and falcons schemed, Julian watched a simple sparrow take her first steps into a doomed new world, learning avian ballads alongside serpiente rills. He watched her spread her simple brown wings under forbidden skies as the avians ventured further and further south with each passing day of peace. He watched her play simple children’s games with ravens and crows, and mambas and vipers. He watched as the simple children built a good life, heedless of the glittering sword that hung over their heads. 

He watched, and decided to keep her.

After all, a simple sparrow did not carry enough of Anhamirak’s fire to doom the world, even if she blazed with it every time she rose to meet the sun. Any other magic would overshine hers, would smother that beautiful spark of light. She was no royal hawk, to carry fully half of the chaos goddess’s gifts, dancing madly with its mate in the serpiente prince. A sparrow could be no threat to the Empress, and the White Isles that succored and trapped them both.

A sparrow was but a single mote of sunshine in a dark, cold world.

She would be nothing to ona ’Cjarsa, shining lady of the White Isles, frozen priestess of dark Ahnmik.

She would be everything to him.

So Julian watched, and waited, patient as any falcon hunting. And his little sparrow grew up. And his time grew short.

Summary:

While hawks dance with cobras, falcons watch, and wait. Julian, a bored falcon prince, also has an eye turned to Wyvern's Court, but his gaze isn't for the wyvern princess. He watches Jenny, a simple sparrow, and her group of avian and serpiente friends, living out the true ideals of the Wyvern's Court, a blending of both sides. While the Empress watches and waits for the fledgling Court to fail, Julian decides to keep a little piece of this dream for himself. After all, what threat could a lowly sparrow possibly pose to the frozen Empress of the White Isles?

Notes:

No prior knowledge of either book should be needed. Setting is Kiesha'ra, characters are Forbidden Game, plot is my usual mess of shrug.dot. I am laying down the tracks as the train is coming my friends. Enjoy! (Work currently just under 5k and counting)

Content Warnings:

So far none really needed. Original works referenced contain some pretty wild stuff though, such as, but not limited to: fantasy racism and fascism, an obsession with blood purity and not race mixing, light body horror, lots of pregnancy plots, and a pretty bad sense of when consent does and doesn't matter. Also working through your specific nightmares, so, ya know, horror. And the sort of general bad handling of queer identities pretty common to older works, so just be aware if you decide to go check either series out (I still super recommend at least the first book of Forbidden Game. If you read only one of the - oh god, 8 books I'm drawing from, let it be that one. And maybe FalconDance if wanna know more about the world building I'm playing with, but it really isn't necessary)

I clung to the tattered edges of Salem’s power—of his soul —eaten away by the am’haj . Cjarsa had created it in the hopes of calming the serpiente’s violent magic down. But where Anhamirak burned until it ran out of fuel, Ahnmik’s consuming stillness was no less thorough. All that kept Salem’s heart beating was will—with his own burned away, mine held his soul stubbornly in place.

Was this what it felt like, when Araceli split Kiesha’s magic asunder? Had Alasdair’s soul burned when the heir forced her to hold half this raging storm? Had Kiesha stabbed her as a mercy, the only release from this searing pain?

I should let Salem go.

There was no hope.

Keyi, that wretched child, taunted every possible future with her cruel name. Keyika, she should have been called. Hopeless. If Wyvern’s Court was doomed to burn, what point was there in holding on to its broken pieces?

There has to be another way.

My Empress had let my mother—my birth mother—seduce a descendant of Kiesha. I had fallen to Ecl at my first trial. But Keyi, whether born of hawk wyvern or falcon wyvern, with viper parent or python, razed this world to the ground with her every footfall.

If I could be trapped in a world of ice, could I not freeze our false hope and take her with me?

I let Salem go, chasing the butterflies that flitted like dying embers. ---

As a child, I walked through the White City and spoke to spirits others couldn’t see. Some were strangers, but I know the shades of them now through their descendants: Brassal, through Oliza’s would be suitor, Danuta through Salem’s mate. But some… some had remained unchanged for a thousand years.

I watched the Empress watch her heir tear the grieving Kiesha in two. I watched her descendant, my father, spark echoes of memory as o’she and a’she collided in the violent dance of kain’kaya . I watched floods drown the earth, watched an island raised from the tumultuous sea, a single point of stillness in a world falling to chaos. And I watched the Empress fall, going still as death, still as ice, daring not to breathe, lest even that small motion send her toppling into Ecl.

You’ve one foot in it already, my Empress.

She doesn’t turn to look at me, she never does.

What do you hold onto?

A child climbed up into her lap, holding up a butterfly before unseeing eyes.

Hope is the thing with feathers , I say nonsensically, scooping the child from the Empress’s lap. Heard even in the chillest land. Do you doubt that if you fall, you, the Empress of Air and Darkness, could not follow this shining child home?

Her head almost turns, she almost hears me. If I stood before her on the White Isle, could I call her back to herself?

Would I want to?

I jiggle Keyi on my hip, impatient as she shoves a butterfly in my face. If the Priestess of the God Unchanging can reach into Ecl and change Fate, then I, mana’Ecl’la’Hai, can see where this path leads me.

---

My hands blister and blacken where I hold the squirming child, this burning Hope. I show her her uncle’s ruined magic.

I don’t know how to make this better, I say, Do you?

She puts a butterfly on his chest and gives it a little pat, looking up at me with a giggle.

I growl in frustration. In any future where I am your mother, I am naming you Keyika, you hear me? You are hopeless and this is stupid.

Hai?

Salem sits up, the fiery wings of the butterfly wrapping around his chest like a bandage. The pain of this torn world is a little less.

Yeah, sorry. I imagine you were expecting to be halfway around the world with Rosalind right about now.

How are we here? Where is here?

I laugh bitterly, remembering how disconnected Kiesha’s kin have become from their birthright.

Ecl . Or maybe somewhere else along the line of Sheni . I’m not sure. I don’t think it matters.

Who is that?

Keyi is wandering through the void, leaving burning footsteps in her wake.

Hope, I say tiredly. The Hope Oliza kept fighting so valiantly to find. Stupid, really. She doesn’t even like guys.

Huh?

I shake my head. Forget it. I need you to wake up now.

He looks around the void, taking in the vague shapes almost illuminated by Keyi’s burning footsteps.

Are those monsters?

I see the hunting figures that have swam beneath Ecl’s ice all my life.

Yeah. They like fire or whatever. Now are you going to wake up or not?

Are you?

Am I? I had taken the child from the Empress’s side with the intention of drowning with her in Ecl for eternity. I like it here. It’s familiar. But already, the promise of her fiery future is thawing this icy place, ruining any chance of finding solace in its darkness once again.

I sigh. I guess I’ll have to try. You first, though. I have an idea, and if it backfires I want to be the only casualty . Well, me and the one wretched constant in all possible futures.

Salem looks as if he’s about to ask how, but Keyi laughs and raises her arms to the sky. Salem is carried up, and for a moment, it looks like he’s flying on burning wings of fire. He looks like Kiesha did, rising on a pillar of flames--

Stop showing us that.

The Empress’s words are a command, and a desperate plea. We are before her again, and the echoes of Araceli and Kiesha hang motionless before us all.

You’re the one who’s still living here, I mutter, and add a belated , my Lady . If she’s speaking with me, I don’t want to ruin it with my annoyed insolence.

Keyi dances over to her again and pats her knee, holding her hands up in a childlike plea to be picked up. Cjarsa does not move.

I sigh and lift the child, jiggling her on my hip. It’s a strangely natural gesture, like I’ve done it a thousand times before. Gross. There is no universe I can imagine wanting a child in. Which puts some disturbing implications on her all but guaranteed existence. But she healed Salem, and that’s not nothing.

You healed a serpiente felled by am’haj?

Not me, my Lady. This little menace here.

Keyi laughs, and the sound sends cracks rippling through the too-liquid ice of the void around us. Cjarsa shudders.

She cannot be here.

And yet, she is in more and more futures by the minute. Fascinating how Hope refuses to be killed.

I kiss her cheek, and a flower blooms there. More green things sprout up where our skins touch, and the butterflies land to feed. Keyi giggles.

The Empress of the White Isle looks utterly horrified.

This is fascinating, because I’ve never seen her look like anything. But it is worrying, because, well, I’ve never seen her look like anything. My Lady?

She’s not bound.

I blink, because this means nothing to me. The Empress stares at the child, and then me.

She’s not yet real.

No, I agree. She’s a sakkri. I don’t know when she’ll come into being, but she seems more and more inevitable with every passing moment. What are you seeing that I am not, my Lady?

The Empress reaches for her, then recoils, as if being even that much nearer to her burns.

She is not set in stone. This seems redundant, and a little rhetorical, so I hold my tongue. She is not set in ice. Ah, see, there it is. More context.

She is not set in fire, she is not set in air. She is not set in tears, nor is she set in trials.

She is a child, my Lady. Her future is not set in anything, save perhaps in motion.

She is not yet anything, The Empress continues, as if I have not spoken. She is not yet Bound.

The echoes of Araceli and Kiesha flicker back to life, moving only at the edges. But the diorama they play out is well known to me anyways. It was the constant bedtime story of my childhood.

Araceli pulls Kiesha from the fire, but only part of her goes. The rest of the woman is still wreathed in flames, though somehow she does not burn. Araceli picks up a knife, and draws it across the back of a young child in the sand before her. She makes two long cuts down the child’s back, and the knife trails flames. Monsters lurk at the edges, and whether these hunting beasts were there in that moment or exist only here in the Ecl , I’ve never known. But they always follow the knife hungrily, and swarm to where the blood hits the sand.

The girl’s back bows, light and fire and blood pouring from the wounds. She is screaming, and her cries and Kiesha’s are consumed by the roar of the flames. In my arms, Keyi is crying, and she turns her face away, burying it against my chest.

Her tears burn, and I press a hand to the back of her head, cradling her to my breast. I didn’t know I had a comforting bone in my wretched body, but I do what I can to comfort the girl. My tears mingle with hers, as I weep for a past and future that cannot seemingly be undone.

Bind her.

My gaze flies to my Empress, watching with empty eyes. No tears, no pity, hardly even any spark of life.

My Lady?

Bind her. With words or with tears, with blood or with flesh. Whatever coin you prefer to spend, offer it to her now, and seize your hope for the future.

Words are her coin, the Lady of Air and Darkness. I do not wish to be bound by any accidental slip of my tongue.

Blood is the coin that the heir spent to tear the fire asunder, to dull it's cut so that the world might not burn.

The Kiesha'ra have spilled enough blood on this altar.

Flesh is the coin the serpiente would choose to spend, but what of their other halves? It would be war all over again if I bound the avians to flesh, and honestly after watching a child be born again and again to two mothers who would not choose her, I shudder from the myriad ways that could go wrong.

Tears are the only coin it feels safe to spend.

Too long, these people have been at war. Too long, they have pushed their grief aside to carry on with the business of living. Let those tears water the new life they are trying to build. Let them learn to cry tears of grief, and then tears of joy. Let them feel .

A deep and terrible sigh sounds behind me, as the Empress of Air and Darkness gives up her last and falls to the latter. The void around us starts to crumble, and the beasts draw ever nearer.

“Time to go!”

I speak into the emptiness, and hope that I have not somehow made a mistake. I am no Dasi, with years of training in summon spirits, in binding elementals. I am no Maeve, who dared to dance with powers so great it destroyed her world. I am the product of their hubris, of their pride and their terror and their grief and their mistakes. I am the heir to a world ravaged by would-be gods. I am shm’Anhmik. I am Kiesha’ra . I am mana’Ecl , and I am running like hell back to the real world, with Hope clutched desperately to my chest.

Notes: