corax-aves-writes

[corax-aves-writes]

2/26/24

Would I actually like a stranger leaving notes for me tho?

I smacked my hand on the keys of the piano, a dissonant sound clanging out in response. I needed to have this page down by the end of the week, but the amount of practice it needed was frustrating. Especially when I wasn’t making quick progress. 

I took a breath, then positioned my hands and tried again. I had to give it to my director: she always gave me pieces that were just a little above my skill level. Just enough to push me into improving. Becoming a little more skille—!

I slammed both hands on the keys that time. Stupid mistakes. 

That was it. I was done for the day. 

I turned off the keyboard and walked to the couch, ready to do something else and get my mind off of that piece. 

Only the next day did I see the handwritten note taped to my front door: 

“Even I can hear the improvement, keep it up!”

I flushed with embarrassment, but still took care not to damage the paper as I peeled it off. I usually hated the idea of someone hearing me practice, all the mistakes and obvious frustration. But someone complimenting my progress felt kinda good. 

Practice tomorrow didn’t look so daunting now. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

His POV

I didn’t use to spend free time in the laundry room. 

But now, if I timed it right, I could listen to that beautiful music while my clothes were washing. It wasn’t perfectly played, there were mistakes and the occasional curse word from the musician when a wonky note sounded. But it was better that way. Made the music feel more real, more natural. More human. If anyone wanted to listen to perfect performances, they just had to listen to the original recordings. There was something comforting to the imperfections. 

I chuckled as I heard them curse before a cacophony of notes sounded. They didn’t seem too upset, but they must not be happy with the section they were working on. 

Distantly, I wondered what they thought of my note. 

I couldn’t help myself that day, they seemed to be so upset before giving up and turning on the tv. It was more of an impulse move, but a harmless compliment should be okay, right?

Three loud explosions of random notes startled me from folding my clean laundry. A deep breath from the musician in their apartment. They played maybe two seconds of music before stopping and yelling. 

“Nope! I’m done!” 

I swear I could hear them stomping to another part of their apartment. 

The idea popped in my head again: maybe it’s time for another note?

I scribbled a quick message on a sticky note, then packed up my laundry and headed back towards my apartment, stopping to smooth my words onto their front door. 

I’m inspired by how much you’re dedicating to this piece. The finished product will sound amazing!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Her POV 

After a few weeks of receiving the notes, I decided to write back. 

The person always left notes Monday nights, so on a Monday afternoon I pulled out a sticky note of my own. 

For someone who’s so dedicated to listening to me practice, you deserve to hear the whole thing. 

The bottom of the note had my performance information. Then, I opened my door and stuck the post it in the same spot I found my messages in. 

Closing my door, I turned towards the piano, where all the previous messages had been tacked to the wall. They were still encouraging, even after rereading them so many times. Honestly, they’ve been keeping me on the piano bench longer than usual. 

I sat down and started to practice, trying not to think about the note I left for them. Only later would I open the door and find my note missing, replaced with that familiar scrawl on a new post it:

I wouldn’t miss it for the world. :)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[corax-aves-writes]

4/3/22

Written way earlier than 2022, maybe 2015/16?

*vampire takes blood from a friend who offers to help, but doesn't handle blood loss well* 

"It's been WEEKS," Alex complains, looking up to the ceiling. I sit next to him on the couch, trying to focus on the show. 

"Yes, and I'm here and willing to help," I retort, feeling the argumentative cycle start up again. 

"I can't do that to you, it doesn't feel right." Alex looks over at me, serious worry in his eyes. I know it's there. I can feel it. 

I look over at him, determined and stubborn. 

"You'll get over it," I say, looking back at the television. I notice the twitching of his fingers, he really should eat soon. "I'm more worried about you..." Concern floods his features, and he takes my hand, rubbing a cold thumb over my knuckles. 

I smile, a bit worried. He hasn't been this cold since the last time the hospital ran out of spare blood. Goodness knows where Alex went that time to eat, but he doesn't seem keen on going back there. 

"I'll be fine. Lots of people donate blood all the time. This just skips the middleman," I wink playfully, trying to get him to lighten up. I get a tight smile in return. 

"Have you ever even donated blood before?" he asks, seeming to break a little bit. I mentally revel in the ground I'm gaining. 

"No," I shrug, "but my parents have done it loads of times, and they're always fine." 

Alex looks away, and I can tell he's starting to warm up to the idea. 

How hungry was he?

"Alright," he caves, turned back to me, "this is a one time thing, okay?" 

I smile and nod, happy to help my best friend. 

.______________________________________.

"Do it." I demand, thrusting my arm out in front of his face. 

"NO." Alex tries to be forceful, but he eyes the exposed skin, and I know he is tempted. 

"It's been months since you last ate. I don't care what happened last time, you need to eat!" 

We face each other on our bed, and I exasperatedly look around the glorified prison the gang put us in: a hotel room that locks from the outside. We were thrown in once they traced the blood bags to Alex. Apparently being a vampire's girlfriend is just as bad as being the real deal, but they left us together, probably to see how long it would take for Alex to snap and kill me in a fit of starvation. He growls and looks away when I try to meet his eyes again, knowing that I'm starting to get to him. 

"I couldn't stand what I had done after that." He grumbles, still not looking at me. 

"So I needed to sleep a little longer the next day, I'll be fine." I reply, leaning over and pecking him briefly on the lips. "Just take enough to keep yourself alive and we'll both be fine." 

He looks over, defeat dulling his tired, green eyes. 

"Just a pint?" He asks, wary but resigned. 

"Just a pint." I nod. "Don't worry about me. I'll survive if you take two, if you really need it." I smile, trying to cheer him up a bit. He sighs and makes a small mountain out of pillows for me to rest against. 

I stroke his arm once, a reassuring gesture. I can tell he's distraught. 

When he looks over and asks if I'm ready, I give him a long, loving kiss, trying to convey a message against his corpse-cold lips. 

I will be fine. I trust you. 

He puts a hand on my thigh, stroking it with his thumb, maybe to reassure himself more than me. We break apart, and I take off my sweatshirt before leaning against the pillows, smiling at him. I move my hair away from my neck, and he takes my left hand in his own. As he's leaning down I peck him once again. 

"I love you," I whisper, looking into his hesitant eyes. I get a small smile in return.

"I love you, too." A reassuring squeeze of my hand accompanies the statement, and then his lips are on my neck. A sweet, chaste kiss against the skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into the tender flesh. 

I crush his hand in my own, not used to the feeling. He groans, the freshest blood nearest the heart instantly strengthening his body. 

I feel him drinking, the movement of his tongue and lips and teeth against my neck and the hot metallic blood leaving my body. His grip on my hand gets warmer and stronger, and I'm glad I'm helping him to feel better. 

But then it starts to go wrong. 

I feel dizzy, extremely tired all of a sudden, confused at the new feelings. This didn't happen last time. My head lolls back to look at the ceiling, and black spots litter the white plaster. I start to lose my grip on Alex's hand, and all I can think of is closing my eyes for a quick nap to get rid of all this exhaustion. 

I try to call out his name, but everything fades to black. 

._____. (Alex's POV) 

You know that feeling when you're starving, and any food you find tastes like the best thing you've ever had? Multiply that by a thousand, and then make that food your favorite meal in your normal life, and then you can start to understand my struggle with self-control when it comes to Annette. 

She was a drug, an actual literal drug I needed to survive and yet I refused to indulge. The one time I caved before proved why I should abstain from using her as a source of food. 

"Do you feel okay?" I ask, eyes darting over her figure. She looks paler than before, and devoid of her usual energy. 

"Maybe a bit tired, but that happens to everyone," she replies, a soft smile on her face. 

I groan internally, even at half power her smile drives me insane. A cold hand grabs my now warm one, and my eyes meet hers once again, her squeezing my hand in an attempt to show her confidence in her choice. 

Did she have any idea how good her blood tasted? I look at her, shaking my head a bit and smiling, relieved but guilty to have my strength back. 

She laughs a little. 

"That's what best friends are for, right?" she asks with a genuine smile, though clouded with weariness. 

If only she know how much more I wanted to be... 

She slept for 15 hours that night, and lacked her usual pep and energy for days, barely leaving her bed. She confirms that she feels fine, but I know she's not taking the blood loss well. 

I can only imagine how much worse this will be, as deeply as I'm drinking and as fast as I'm working. The waves of guilt wash over me as I feel the warmth in my fingers as it leaves her own. 

I feel her head fall back, but all I can do is drink. My instincts won't let me stop. Her grip on my hand loosens, and a whisper of my name passes her lips, before she goes limp. 

Internally, I panic. It's too much for her body. I frantically try to calculate how much blood I've drank, and with a shock I realize I've taken more than I promised. 

***

Mentally screaming at myself, I put all of my energy and focus into pulling away and stopping myself from bleeding her dry. Quickly, I lick the wound, letting the enzymes in my saliva repair her skin. ***

I listen to her breathing and heartbeat: weak, but there. She just fainted. I sigh a little, but the paleness of her face grabs my attention next, and my only thought is to get her out of here. 

Picking Annette up, I walk to the door of the hotel room and knock it down with one well-placed kick. Using the energy she gave me, I dash out of the building, her cradled in my arms, still unresponsive. I run towards my home, practically flying through the forest. 

Only when I'm halfway there do I realize that gang members will be posted there in case any other vampires come to visit. 

Turning, I sprint towards Annette's house, becoming worried that she hasn't woken up yet. I call her name as I run, jostling her intentionally to try and bring back consciousness. 

When I reach her house, I sail through the first open window I see and race to her bed. As I set her down, I prop pillows underneath her feet to get some blood back to her paper-white cheeks, constantly calling her name and shaking her arm. 

I knew this was a dumb idea this is all my fault she'll probably leave me for this I can't believe- 

And then she stirs.  

.___. (Anette's POV) 

Uuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhh... 

What happened? 

"Annette? Annette, sweetie, you need to wake up! Annette? Annette? Ann-" 

I open my eyes, but everything is blurry and I can't think straight and what is Alex doing?

I try to lift my arm, but everything feels heavy and groggy. 

What happened? 

I try to focus on Alex, and relief is sparkling his eyes, the blush in his cheeks and warmth of his hand on my thigh prove I helped some. 

"Wh-wha' happen'?" I struggle to get out, still feeling slow. 

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I took too much too fast. It's all my fault, I-" I wave him off, pulling my feet off of the pillows and trying to sit up. He too quickly grabs the pillows from the end of my bed and makes a hasty support for my weakened human body, letting me lean back and rest. 

"You know I'm not good with having blood drawn, we figured that out last time." I smile weakly, trying to get him to follow suit, but he looks conflicted. I pat the space next to me. 

"Come on, I'm really cold all of a sudden," I joke, and the tiniest of smiles breaks out as he moves to join me, warming me with his newly regained body heat. 

I gently grab his hand as he turns on some movie and bring it up to my lips. 

"Thank you," I whisper, gazing at him. 

"I should be thanking you," he retaliates, pulling my hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips against my knuckles. 

"Maybe," I say, winking at him, and he chuckles. 

Yeah, he'll never let me feed him again. 

[corax-aves-writes]

7/27/20

Unfinished idea where I never got to the scene I really wanted to write. Ah well

The world seemed to be a slightly better place when soulmates were easier to find than ever. 

When my parents took me to the Oracle, all they were told is that I didn’t get a red string or any physical change. My soulmate link was a more spiritual kind. 

We didn’t know what kind of bond I had until I was fifteen, when I suddenly could feel my soulmate. I was sitting in class, doing my work, before being blindsided with a tsunami of tingling fear and nerves. 

The next second, my arm shattered. 

Only later did I realize that it wasn’t my arm that broke, but my soulmate’s, and the link between me and my significant other was apparent to the both of us. 

Intense feeling—emotion or touch—of any kind was shared through the link. 

Because no one at my school had a broken arm when my incident happened, I knew my soulmate wasn’t a fellow student. Which led to the waiting. 

I can’t help but think of my own romantic plight as I walk across the college campus. Everyone around me is attached at the hip to their soulmate. Some of the links are more obvious—tattoos and unnatural hair color—but others are only apparent from the star struck looks they give each other. 

I know I’m being bitter, but when it feels like you’re the only person you know without their complement, it can get frustrating. 

It could be worse, though. My soulmate could be reckless and daredevilish, which would make everything worse. From what I can tell, he’s just clumsy, and embarrassed by that fact. Any time I feel a trip or a bump, there’s always a wave of nervousness or shame, trying to smooth things over quickly. I know he must be male because I don’t have double the period pains. 

Suddenly, alongside all my resentment and brooding, I feel a slight prickle of confusion, not nearly enough for the usual bond. I stop in my tracks, looking around for a lost guy. 

Across the square, I spot him. 

Honey-blond hair, and a decent sense of style, but that’s all I notice before I feel his eyes lock on mine. I’m halfway to him before I realize we’re walking toward each other. I can sense an extra weight on my shoulder... I can feel his messenger bag through the bond. 

Not only can I feel my own growing excitement, but his own tingly joy as well, stronger and stronger the closer he gets until I can’t distinguish his feelings from my own. And then we reach each other. 

“I’m Marian,” I blurt out, not really sure how to do this. I put out my hand on instinct. Is this how you greet your soulmate for the first time?

“I’m... Alexander...” his train of thought drops away as our hands meet. There’s a sudden weight lifted from me, and I catch myself staring at our hands for a moment before the discovery hits me. 

“I can’t feel you anymore.” It comes out as a whisper, distracted with the feeling of such sudden lightness. 

“Neither can I,” he slowly lets go of my hand. An explosion of his confusion and awe and excitement comes rushing back. We both startle a little from the whiplash, looking back and forth between ourselves and our hands. 

“Oh,” I breathe out. I look up at him, suddenly noticing his bright green eyes and shy smile, and give an incredulous smile back. 

“Can I have your number?” His hand slips into mine, and I’m kinda glad he can’t feel my absolute giddiness from all of this. 

————————————————————

That night, I’m sitting across from Alex at a restaurant, holding hands with him under the table. 

“When did you first feel me?” I ask, trying to eat and ask every question I’ve ever had at the same time. He squeezes my hand a little, almost like a gesture of comfort. 

“I first felt you with a huge wave of anger towards someone when I was 16. Lots of resentment and frustration.” It must’ve been one of my fights with my dad, probably the only time I get that upset about something. 

“I’m sorry, that can’t have been a good feeling to have out of the blue,” I hope he doesn’t recognize the shame I feel for myself then. What a terrible first experience! 

Alex laughs lightly, shaking his head. 

“Actually, I was in the middle of making dinner at the time. I hacked those vegetables to pieces.” I can’t help but laugh with him at that, any trace of a negative emotion gone. “What about you?” 

I tell him the story of breaking my arm in the middle of class, and the blush creeping onto his face is adorable. 

“Oh man... I’m embarrassed to even share what was happening, but I was goofing off with some friends when I fell of the top of a jungle gym...” I give a little snort through my mouth full of food, but I think he knows I’m not laughing at him. He covers his face with his free hand. “I was 17! Why was I even at the playground?!” I can’t wipe the smile off my face now. 

And so begins a beautiful romance. 

————————————————————

As often as I want to be near Alex, we both have other parts of our lives to live, and so there are several occasions where we aren’t joined at the hip. 

I’m starting to get why soulmates are glued to each other. You can’t help it. You’re just drawn to them, and everything about them adds to your life, enhancing and amplifying it. 

I’m walking home from my late shift at work, and I can just feel myself biting my lip, smiling at just the thought of my soulmate. He’s already at his place, but I can’t wait to meet with him tomorrow. It’s crazy how addicting your soulmate is. You want to spend all your time with them. 

I turn a corner, and notice the figure walking half a block behind me. A black hoodie, blending in with the dark city around us. 

It’s only when he turns the same corner I do that a shot of fear hits my stomach. I keep walking, but now I’m checking behind me often to see if he follows. 

My phone suddenly vibrates, and I look to see a text from Alex. 

What’s wrong?

I reply while walking, glad to have something to soothe a bit of my anxiety. 

Just a little nervous. Someone walking behind me. 

Seconds after I send the text, my phone lights up with Alex’s call. I answer it just as fast, grateful for a reassuring voice. 

“Hey,” I rush out, trying not to sound too relieved. 

“Hey.” I can hear and feel the little pinpricks of worry in his chest. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can come get you.” 

I shake my head, even though he can’t see. 

“No, I’m good. Just normal girl thoughts of being murdered by some guy following you around at night.” He doesn’t say anything. “I’m glad you called.”

A warm hum comes through the phone. “I know, I can feel it.” I smile at the thought, grateful he’s sorta watching over me. 

I give a quick glance behind me. He’s gone. 

“He’s gone. Guess we were just taking a similar route.” I say, much more confident in my actions alone. 

“Alright, well, I’m glad you weren’t murdered.” I give a huff in laughter. 

“Me too,” I reply, slowing in my walk. “Thank you for calling. It really helped.” 

“Always.” His voice is all soft and warm, and a gentle but pressing feeling in the center of my chest reassures me that he’s not lying. 

“Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I practically whisper, grinning brightly. 

“See you tomorrow... Night.” I take the phone away from my ear, hanging it up, and start walking home again, a new pep in my step. 

————————————————————

A L E X A N D E R 

Some weeks later, we had gotten into a routine. I would stay up every time Mari worked late, and she would call me if she felt unsafe. 

I haven’t felt that same fear since that one incident, so no one’s following her home. 

Guess it was some drunk. 

Mari actually went to bed before me tonight. While I’m usually the first to hit the hay, some studying kept me up longer than her usual bedtime. I couldn’t feel when she fell asleep, we weren’t physically close enough for the bond to pick up on that, but she had to be asleep by now. 

Packing away my notebook and study tools, I found myself smiling. 

Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am. The universe chose the best person ever to be my soulmate, and I wouldn’t change anything. Not only are our interests similar, but our personalities balance the other out. Yin and yang. 

My thoughts have occupied me all the way to bed, where I have to stop staring at the ceiling and actually fall asleep now. I turn, pulling the blanket under my arm, and breathe deep, feeling that slow, familiar dimming of my consciousness...

Someone stabbing me in the neck jolts me upright, hand clasping the... nonexistent wound. 

The sudden rush of adrenaline is not just my own, as I feel that tingly fear in my upper chest, right where Mari feels it. There’s also an accompanying weight of someone sitting on top of her, holding her down.  

I leap for my phone on the bed stand, but it falls out of my hands. Slamming my hand down on it, holding it tight while frantically opening it to call her. Before I hit the button, though, the point on my neck gets worse, like some liquid is being pumped into my muscle. 

I drop the phone, bringing both hands to my neck. Mari’s fear is suddenly fading, too fast to be normal.  

I grab the phone again just as I lose all emotional connection to her, feeling just the underlying ache in my neck from the syringe. I call, but no one answers. I’m already closing my front door by the time it reaches her voicemail. 

I drive as fast as possible to her place. 

But it was too late. 

Not a single piece of evidence in sight. The assailant must’ve used the hidden key to get in, but how did they know it was there? I stand in Mari’s bedroom, staring at the rumpled bedsheets, the only indicator that there was a struggle. It really hits me when I hear her phone ding on the bed table. 

My soulmate’s been kidnapped. 

————————————————————

M A R I A N 

I wake up, feeling fuzzy-headed and groggy. The room is filled with light, it has to be the middle of the day. Birds are singing, and I’m pleasantly warm, so it must be nice outside. I lift my hand to rub at my face, but every part of me weighs a million pounds. 

Slowly it dawns on me. 

Where am I? 

I look around, trying to shake off the lead pumping through my veins. It’s an ornately decorated room, full of little gold decorations on the walls and giant paintings taking up the majority of the walls. 

I manage to slump against my pillows, still taking it all in. The paintings are still a little blurry to me. 

What happened last night? 

I look down as my eyes slowly focus, noticing I’m dressed in a light, long nightgown. This is not what I went to bed in last night. 

It all comes together all at once. 

The kidnapper, the syringe full of whatever-it-was, him sitting on me to hold me down, the fast fall into blackness. 

I look up again, the liquid lead pumping even faster, charged with adrenaline and fear. The paintings... the paintings were me! You can barely tell, they’re all a little impressionistic, dark, but that’s definitely my face on the subjects. There has to be five, six, ten paintings of me in this room! 

On top of my raging fear, I sense the telltale tingles of Alex’s feelings, too. His own anxiety and worry piled on top of mine. My heart’s pounding in my ears, drowning out everything else. 

Fueled by all this emotion, I throw the covers off of me and race to the window, towards the sunlight. 

Just as I open the latch and lean out the window, my leg stops its forward momentum. 

I turn around to look at the shackle around my ankle, light enough I didn’t feel it, but strong enough that a few good tugs didn’t do anything. The other end of the chain is attached to the floor, in the middle of the room. Who did this to me? 

Scouring the landscape out of the window, there’s nothing but city around me, too high up to call at people below, wind pushing at my hair and face. 

Just as I’m reconsidering how to escape my bonds, the door across the room opens. 

In walks a man, tall and skinny, with icy-blond hair, wearing a red shirt and jeans, both paint-splattered. A smile is lighting up his face, but I don’t feel any relief. 

“Good morning, little bird!” He holds his hands out in welcome, but I don’t move from my spot in front of the open window. “Welcome to my studio! I’m so glad you could come!” He walks towards me, expression unchanging. 

I grab my nightgown in fistfuls, trying to hold my voice steady. “Who are you.” I barely manage to get it out. 

“Why,” he does a little twirl in the room, gesturing to the paintings, “I’m L, the artist!” 

I don’t respond. All I can feel is the sheer terror pooling in my feet. A small prickle of worry on my scalp works it’s way through my bond. 

He takes my silence as an invitation to keep talking. 

“I paint what inspires me, and you, Marian, are my muse.” I gasp a little at my name. His voice drops, as if in reverence or something else, continuing to walk towards me. “Your beauty has captured my eye. Just as breathtaking as my Emilia.”

I take little comfort in the fact I can’t spot a weapon on him. But now he’s inches from me, towering over my shrinking frame. 

“Come!” He shouts, making me jump and fall onto the bench behind me. “I must start immediately! While there is still sun in the sky!” He bends down and lifts my shackled leg, and that’s when I’m snapped out of my paralysis. 

“No!” I scream, yanking my leg back harshly. It doesn’t go far before the brace bites into my ankle again, signifying the end of my chain. “No! You’re a sick, twisted man! Let me go!” I glare at him, trying to scare him into letting me free, fury overpowering my fear. A familiar prickle in my shaking fists alludes that it’s not just my anger. 

A wicked smile creeps across L’s face. 

“Fine. We’ll try again in a couple days.” He straightens up, walking towards the door again. “It’s not going to be my best work without a cooperative model, though.” 

I’m already breathing out all that anxiety when I hear a soft voice from the door before it shuts. 

“You’ll give in eventually.” 

The door closes behind him, and I’m left wondering what hell I had been brought to. 

————————————————————

A L E X A N D E R 

It’s been three days since Marian was captured, and no progress has been made on finding her. 

Of course I went to the police as soon as possible; but without her phone on her or a witness, they said it was nearly impossible to determine who took her, let alone where she could be. So I gave up on them. 

We do know a little. “We” being me, Nate, and Alicia. 

We know she’s chained up by her ankle. I could feel her yanking so hard on the restriction that she must’ve left a bruise. At this point I was making sure to ice the hurt ankle any time I felt it get sore. 

We also know that she was being starved. 

After all that fear and anger that first day, she hasn’t had an encounter with her kidnapper since. But I can feel the neglect working on her. The frustration. The sticky parched desert her throat was. The ache and twisting of her stomach. 

I was also getting frustrated. Why starve her if you haven’t contacted anyone about this? How does he know how the bond works? 

I just want answers, and at this point, it doesn’t feel like I’m getting any. 

I have a sneaking suspicion that it was the creep from a few weeks ago. Something about how Mari described him rubs me the wrong way. But the police couldn’t narrow down a suspect from “tall, with a black hoodie, likes to walk around at night.” 

So all I’m left with is myself, essentially. 

Myself, and whatever clues I can wean from my bond with Mari. Starting with dehydration. 

————————————————————

[corax-aves-writes]

Elemental Magic Ideas

Magic 

fire users’ fingers becoming red hot like embers with no flame, maybe flaring for a moment, but the real rage comes from a slow build

Necromancers/spirit users turning translucent or even transparent. Too much time working with spirits causes them to fade at their fingertips and toes (maybe even hair if it’s long enough). They almost look like a ghost themselves from crossing the bridge so much

Electricity users can’t helping the sparks coming off of them all the time, between their fingertips, from the ends of their hair, always twitchy, about to explode with energy at any point

Twilight-esque werewolves growing large fangs/claws when agitated, ready to morph at a seconds notice

Earth users hands and skin cracking at all times, small canyons in their every features. They almost always feel sandy or dirty to the touch, like some of them came off on you. Strong grip, tho. Will snap suddenly with no warning, like an earthquake.

Water users are always damp. A thin sheen of water (salty or not depending on person) like a cold glass on a hot day, but can worsen to dripping like they just came out of the pool. You can see their anger coming for miles, there’s plenty of warning signs.

Ice users are always on the verge of frostbite.

Air users breathing is always noticed when they’re upset. Big, gusty winds that shake and rattle anything in their path

[corax-aves-writes]

3/1/20

Basically the plot of Man From UNCLE.

I finally had done it. Left home, and traveled. The travel bug has finally gotten me, and I never wanted to go home. 

I sit in Paris, and I take it in. In a coffee shop, on the street. Munch on a pan au chocolat, and admire the walkers... Including the man walking straight towards me. 

“Hello dear, sorry I’m late.” His voice is deep and he is tall and handsome. Suit. Smooth voice. But his eyes... they ask for help, confirmed when two men came around the same corner in dark suits and glasses. 

“It’s alright, babe. Just got a snack for the road.” The men looked over. “Come here.” 

He leaned over the table and kissed me, deep and long. And it was amazing. 

When we break apart, the men are gone, so I guess it was convincing enough for them. I look around some more for the evil men, but when I look back, my mystery man is gone. 

Late that night, I’m in my nightgown, the windows are open to the balcony and Paris shines in the background. 

He shows up, and whisks me away to a beautiful candlelit dinner to make up for his rash behavior earlier. 

I’m given a necklace with a beautiful jewel and after one night I am in love. 

My mystery man is never far away. He always seems to be wherever I’ve traveled to, and yet never stays for long. I wear the necklace he gave me every day. 

Once I get ambushed, and a side of my mystery man shows up that I’ve never seen before. His hands shake and his fingers twitch, and he flies into a rage I’ve never seen before. He only stops when I’m screaming at him to. 

He confides his lack of control over his anger, and I fall even further. 

Whenever his hands shake, I am there to hold them and stroke his fingers. I whisper soothing words and try to distract him, if not calm him down. He tries to focus on me as he fights that anger. 

He has not kissed me since that first time. 

They catch me, only after my mystery man reveals himself. Someone started talking to me about him, but within minutes he came out of the shadows as I learned of his true identity: a spy. We’re almost taken, but my mystery man loses it when they lay a hand on me, and just this once I’m grateful for his anger. 

He spills it all, the fact that he’s a spy, that people are always looking for him, that it puts both of us in danger for us to even meet more than once. He asks me to join, not to fight, but to keep me safe. I agree to just be with him. 

The next time we move, we are undercover as engaged, and he gives me a beautiful ring to wear. We have to go shopping, and of course he knows what high end fashion in Rome looks like. 

It’s when we have to go to a party to meet very powerful and very dangerous people does my own facade drop a little. He comes over to fix something and he notices I’m shaking, and I have to confess my nerves. He reassures me that he will protect me. 

When a guy flirts with me at the party, I notice my mystery man’s fingers twitching. I try to get to him, but he quickly leaves. Only later do I find out he went to go punch something. 

That night, I demand that he have some fun in our hotel room, but he’s focused on his mission and especially cleaning his large collection of guns. I put on music and dance around the room, encouraged when I see the man actually smile a little. I pull his hands around to get him to dance, but when his eyes meet mine he goes cold and turns back to his work. Exhausted, I finally sit down on the couch and try to strike up a conversation multiple times, but his answers are short and curt. I feel myself losing control, and I quickly fall asleep on the opposite side of the couch from him. 

I wake up in the bed, so I have to assume he carried me over there. But he’s not there, and left a note telling me he had some work to do. It’s just me, so I take off the ring and the necklace, they both look expensive and I’m easy to rob, and I go out for the day. 

When I come back, hours later, the room is in pieces and he’s standing in the middle, breathing hard from the effort it took. I ask him if he’s okay, and he hugs me so hard it hurts a little. 

“I can’t lose you. What kind of man would I be if I lost you?” 

He puts the ring back on, saying that for this mission, we are always engaged, no breaks. 

When I’m asked to meet with a powerful leader personally, I have to go alone. We talk about my “fiancé,” and they reveal themselves as the bad guy, commenting on the bug in my ring that he’s listening to. They take the ring, and destroy it. And they take me. I’m handcuffed and stored in some cell. 

The fear of it all comes crashing down, and I realize I’m in a strange country pretending to be engaged to someone I barely know and I am so far away from home and safety. I cry. And I cry until I feel arms and shaking hands around me and that voice I know so well. 

He wipes my tears, and helps me up and out of those handcuffs, and hold my hand the entire time he busts us out. The good guys have gotten in, the weapon is under control, and he holds my hand as he mows down people, even when his fingers stop twitching. 

Seeing the sunshine again makes me cry again, and he takes me away somewhere quiet to let me get it out. He confides his on fear of losing me and his guilt for ever kissing me that one day. 

And he leans in and kisses me again. 

[corax-aves-writes]

3/1/20

I know I wrote a majority of it wayyyy before this date, maybe 2015? I kinda love all the inconsistencies and you can tell I had just learned about yellow fever.

I rub my thumb absentmindedly on the spine of the book, shifting the weight slightly so that it wasn't so heavy in my hand. Another 700+ page book, reading it just for kicks. The shoppers and store owners gave me funny looks when they see the thickness, but I don't care. 

I walk into the square, shoes silent against the dirt floor as I locate the fountain. 

Walking up to the center, I slump my book bag next to the fountain side and sit un-gracefully on the wall. I pull out the piece of parchment used as a bookmark and begin to read, immediately leaving the boring town behind and jumping into a world of wizards, goblins, giants, dragons, and all sorts of magical creatures and a particular wizard's journey to defeat the most powerful evil in their world. 

I barely register the trickle of peasants coming into the town square, who begin to talk amongst themselves and ignore me entirely. It's only when something different is caught in my peripheral vision that I look up and pay attention. 

A tall boy, a bit over six foot, walks in slowly. He glances around nervously, curling in on himself slightly and sticking his hands in his pockets as the others take notice. Short blond hair and tanned skin. Average looking clothes: shorts all torn at the edges and a plain dark blue shirt. 

The shoppers' eyes scan the newcomer quickly before turning around and starting rumors with hissing whispers to each other. He looks down at his shoes,then, as if sensing my staring, raises his gaze up to me. Dark blue eyes hold mine as we engage in a small staring war, blank looks on each of our faces. He finally surrenders and glances around before walking over to me and sitting next to me at the fountain. Unconsciously, I grab my bookmark and slip it into my page, knowing a conversation was going to begin. 

"Hullo," I begin. 

"Hi," he says quietly, looking at the ground. 

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

"Come ON!" I yell playfully, pulling his hand forwards as I run to the food table. 

"Always the food," he smiles. I grab a plate and load up on the snacks, purposefully avoiding certain items. 

"No broccoli?" Alex asks, holding a piece out towards me. I make a disgusted face before replying, "You know I can't stand that stuff." He laughed and piles some on his plate, before going through the entire food table and grabbing each dish I steered clear of. 

"You trying to make me throw up?" I call over my shoulder as I walk to a stool and carefully climb onto it. A "well, yeah" floats over to me as he easily sits down on the stool next to mine. The party commences around us: loud music incapable of dancing to, spilled food and drink over the yard and floors, decorations swaying in the autumn breeze, and laughter and shouting coming from all sides created by partygoers.  

A noblewoman attending the party walks up to him and scans his outfit up and down. He didn't want to dress up, so Alex came in a flannel, jeans, and a jacket to match his brown boots. 

"Where's your costume, Alex?" she asks, curiosity (of the innocent type) overtaking her previous expression. 

"I-I didn't come in one."

"Why not?"

"Didn't feel like it," he replies quietly. She shrugs before turning and starting a conversation with another of her friends. 

"You're a muggle," I state. He turns on me, the look of shyness and sheepishness disappearing. 

"Why didn't I think of that before?" he laughs. I smile and grab the drink, taking a large gulp before coughing and choking the rest of the mouthful down, shock and horror flooding through me. 

"Yuck! Argh, that was your root beer!" I shout, his gentle laughing turning into guffaws as the realization came on both of us: the drinks had been switched and I got his root beer (which he obtained simply to annoy me). I grab my Pepsi and drain half the cup in order to get the taste out of my mouth while Alex just keeps chuckling occasionally at my revolted and slightly desperate expression. 

With most of the food gone and any desire to eat disappearing, the music finally changed to tunes that people could dance to. Fast and slow songs permeated the air as the night went on, leaving people exhausted and sweaty from the intense movement. 

Another slow song had come up, and Alex walked over, a smile spreading on his face. I started smiling, too. He reached me and held out his hand, not saying a word. We had been through this routine enough times. I lay my hand over his outstretched one, and we walked to the middle of the dance floor. Alex rested his hand on my waist while I gripped his shoulder lightly, our other hands holding each other's. 

We swayed in lazy circles, talking about random things, usually school. It never failed that we danced to a slow song together, it was usually the only time I would dance with a boy at that event. Even in my particularly stunning dress (if I do say so myself), balls always managed to be a bit lonely when he wasn't with me. 

When the song ended, we all turned towards the King and Queen, who were seated at their thrones, and bow/curtsy. They clapped respectfully and smiled at the group of townspeople before them. 

The King and Queen were constantly hosting balls for the citizens of the city, with the occasional guest from further away in the kingdom, usually a noble. 

The ball ended soon after, and we each headed back to our houses, Alex leaving me with a hug before departing in the opposite way I was going. 

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

"Where are you going this time?" I ask as he walks in the door, knapsack slung over his shoulder. He looks at me with a slightly bewildered look. 

"How did you know I was leaving?" he retorted, leaning against the open doorframe and crossing his arms. 

"You always visit before leaving," I answered, copying his arm movements. He shrugged and crossed one foot over the other. 

"Laketown."

"How long?"

"At least a week."

"Souvenir?"

He laughed. 

"When don't I bring one?" he chuckled, before straightening up and holding his arms out. I walk into them and bury my face in his chest as he wraps his arms around me. 

"Be safe," I tell him. 

"I will," he replies. 

A pause.

He pulls away before smiling again. 

"See you."

"Alright. Bye," I call after him as he walks out the door and down the path to where the merchant carts are. As an apprentice of sorts, Alex was often asked to join the group on one of the shorter journeys to the closer kingdoms and towns. He enjoyed it, and liked to bring back foreign food for me to try as he recounted his experiences. 

I turned and walked back inside the house once the figure was out of sight; there were books to be made. 

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

"The merchants are back!" the cry rings across the town and comes to me in the form of the delivery boy. I hastily put away my work and tear down the street, small children following in my wake, itching to see the new knick-knacks the travelers had brought. 

Wiping glue and ink onto my apron as I ran, I quickly make it to the south gates, where the group would be arriving. Squinting against the sunlight, I spot out a small cluster of dots on the horizon, coming ever so slowly closer to the walls. A tug on my dress skirt draws my attention away. 

I look down to see a girl, maybe 3 years old, holding her arms up to me. I stoop down and scoop her up, hitching her on my hip as we focus on the party again. I feel more tiny hands hold onto my apron and skirt as more welcomers gather at the gate. One leans against my leg, another sits at my feet and plays with the hem of my dress. All of the children wait patiently as their fathers and brothers walk slowly towards the city gates. 

When they finally get close enough to distinguish faces, the little ones jump up and press themselves to the iron, yelling out for family members. The small girl in my arms holds a hand out towards one man at the front of the group, who is talking and laughing with Alex, both looking worn out and satisfied. 

The gates raise up, and the children rush forward to hug and greet loved ones. I place the girl on the ground and she runs up to her father. He smiles at me and gives a silent nod to indicate his thanks as she leaps into his arms, joy spreading across her expression. 

Everything is blocked out when someone walks right in front of me and hugs me gently. I smile into him and return the hug. After a moment, he pulls away. 

"I managed to survive," he said jokingly. 

"Welcome back," I reply. "You didn't miss much."

"Doesn't look like it."

"What's this?" a small boy pokes Alex's bag, specifically at the small bulge in one of the outside pockets. 

"Oh, that?" he says, pulling his bag forwards and fishing out the box. "That's for my friend."

He opens the simple wooden box and reveals a necklace. The chain and accents were gold, and the charm was a clear, sparkling crystal the size of a grape in the shape of a teardrop. I gasp and quickly look up at Alex, disbelief and astonishment filling my expression. 

I lift the delicate jewelry from the box, holding it up to the light and staring at it in wonder. 

"I brought food. Don't worry," he says when I look back at him. I laugh and start to put the necklace back into its box as I ask, "Who's the lucky friend?"

A slightly confused look overcomes him, then he chuckles lightly as my seriousness is revealed.

"...It's for you."

"What?" I immediately say, trying to comprehend what I had heard. 

"When I was in the other kingdom, there was a man selling jewelry. I thought you might like it so.... I bought it..." he let the sentence fade as he shuffles lightly on his feet, embarrassment overcoming his features, along with a sheepish smile. 

"Is it...?" I start.

"-real?" Alex supplies. "No, it's made of glass."

I lift the locket up again and undo the clasp quickly. I pull the two ends together behind my neck, but I struggle with fitting the two pieces together. Alex laughs quietly and moves so that he faces my back. 

"Here, let me help," he says as his hands cover mine. I let his fingers grasp the necklace chain before letting go myself, fiddling with the jewel with my empty hands. I hear him hum in triumph before the weight of the jewelry settles on the back of my neck. 

As he comes to the front of me again, I reach out and hug him, burying my face into his chest as always. 

"Thank you," I say quietly. 

"You're welcome."

His body hums with his deep voice and arms encircle me in warmth. I know right then that the necklace would never leave my sight. 

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

There's a knock on the library door. 

I walk over and open it, wiping ink off my hands and smiling at the customer. My smile becomes a grin as I recognize the face smiling down at me. 

"Hey there," I say, moving so that Alex can come in. "Welcome to the library." He chuckles and pulls me into a hug, ignoring my weak protests of getting ink on him. 

When he pulls back, his face is nervous and possibly embarrassed. He grins quickly before beginning. 

"Would you be ever so kind as to let me court you?" he asks with a flourish, holding his hand out in the same fashion as if he were asking me to dance. I grin and place my hand on top of his, as I always do. 

"Of course I would," I say with the same formal voice, holding my chin up higher and putting on a more sophisticated air about me. 

"It's about time!" the librarian calls from down the hall, and I giggle. 

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

I woke up from my nap when the door opened and Alex walked inside. 

"Are you alright? The librarian said you didn't come in today because of a headache," he said, concern etched into his expression. 

"I'm fine, just the headache and a little bit tired. It should go away by tomorrow," I reassured him, thinking it was just allergies. 

However, when the week was up and the headaches and weariness had escalated into a fever, I knew it was something worse. Mum tried to take care of me, using ice to try to cool me down and forcing me to stay in bed. But I was a 24/7 case, and she couldn't tend to me forever. 

When she had fallen asleep in her chair from exhaustion, Alex walked in soon after. 

"Hey," he said, walking in and placing his jacket on the hook by the door. "Still feeling crummy?"

"Yeah," I replied tiredly. "It's turned into a fever, and Mum's been taking care of me."

He looked over at the chair that held the sleeping form of my mother. 

"She seems to have worked herself out," he said simply, before walking over and placing his hand on my forehead. His brows furrowed in concern and confusion. 

"You're nice and toasty there," he joked, the worried expression not leaving him. "Are you sure this is just a fever?"

"That's what the doctor said," I replied. He gave a small, disbelieving huff and pulled his hand away. Alex grabbed the rag from Mum and dunked it in the cool water before wringing it out and dabbing the cloth on my forehead. 

I hummed in relief as the cooling liquid ran down my face and behind my neck. 

"Better?" he laughed at my pleased expression. 

"Cooler," I answered. 

As he continued to wet the rag and dab my head, I felt myself becoming more and more tired, even though I had done nothing but lie in bed all day. 

I closed my eyes, resting them, and fell quickly into a restless nap. 

*Alex's POV*

I saw her close her eyes and breathe deeply. About time, too. She had been getting more and more tired from the act of fighting against whatever-this-was. 

I thought she would have been more peaceful looking in her sleep, as she usually did, but she looked worried and slightly fearful as dreams played in her mind. 

That was hours before the moaning.

It was the middle of the night, rain pouring down in sheets from an unexpected storm, the ominous rumble of thunder getting ever so closer. She had been waking up often before falling back into a fidgety sleep, and my tireless effort to keep her fever down seemed to be barely working. 

I hear a moan escape her lips not too long into her latest nap, and my head snaps towards the source. She has a troubled, almost pained look on her sleeping face, and another groan sounds. 

I hurry to the bed and quickly look her over. She seems warmer and her face is getting slightly pink, but otherwise is unchanged from not so long ago. Her eyes open slowly, weakly, and I notice a very slight pink tinge to them. She locks eyes with me before looking at her arm, eyes going slightly wide, not a word spoken yet. 

She seems to be struggling with something. 

"What are you trying to do?" I ask gently. She looks at me again. 

"I can't move my arm," she whispers with fatigue. 

Suddenly, a loud cry comes from her, sounding as if she's been harmed, curling slightly inwards. I try to calm her, helping her move her limbs back into a relaxed position, when her mother wakes up. 

"What's happened?" she asks immediately, not questioning my presence.

"Her fever's gotten higher and she's starting to flush in her face and eyes," I report, going back to try and cool her down with the somewhat cold water. 

"It's just getting worse! I don't know what to do!" her mother exclaims as she inspects her daughter, another moan escaping her. "I'm going to get the doctor again... he might know," she runs out of the house and into the pouring rain, leaving me to care for her once again. 

Hours of the wails and groaning ensue, and the doctor had no clue what was happening. The thunder came and went, the noise of it upsetting her and causing her to scream louder, battling for dominance of my hearing. 

As time passed, her moaning and crying out came with babbling. Nonsense streaming from her as she grew warmer, her eyes closed more often than not, but not in sleep. Anything touching her would cause her to try tear it away, leaving her thin nightdress left, sheets scattered on the ground. She couldn't move very well on her own anymore, causing us to try to find and solve the source of her discomfort. 

It didn't look good. 

Maybe I should tell her. 

She's waking up....

I can save her. 

Red eyes meet mine as she tries to register what is going on. Her mother and the doctor are gone, getting supplies or help. 

I kneel next to the bed to get at eye level with her, and set my hand next to hers. 

"I need you to listen. You might die, and I can save you," I start, her eyebrows bunching weakly in confusion. 

"Did you know that the King and Queen have a son?" She stared, curiosity and pain flickering behind the redness. 

"And how he disappeared one day, and they told the kingdom he went traveling to find a wife? ...Well, he didn't. He stayed in the city that held the palace and lived as a peasant. He wanted to have true love, and so he felt he had to meet every girl to see if he would ever fall for them, even though that it is illegal for royalty to marry peasants." An involuntary wail leaves her, eyes still locked on mine and struggling to concentrate. I need to hurry. 

"The first day he went out to go find her, a girl was sitting on the town square fountain walls, reading a book so thick he couldn't believe it. He didn't ever think that someone reading could be so beautiful. That girl became his best friend. That girl is you." Clouded realization is the only expression I get, another stream of senseless babble coming out, but I catch the word "prince" and "you" a couple of times. 

I nod. 

"Yes, I am the prince. And I am going to save your life."

"Get ready. I'm going to pick you up," I warn. She stares before a painful moan answers me. I am running out of time. 

I slip an arm under her legs and another under her back, a small groan comes from her as I lift her up, carrying her bridal style. 

I secure her before jogging out of the house and down the street, racing to get to the palace. I hold her close to reduce the jostling, her burning skin scorching me through my clothes.

She cries out when I accidentally make her bounce from my feet pounding the road, and a twinge of fear and guilt pass over before the determination takes over again. 

I finally make it to the palace, approaching at the side the doctors are closest to. 

"I, Prince Alexander of Florenia, command you to open the doors!" I shout at the guards as they come within earshot. The door opens and I tear down the hall, her body still radiating heat and consciousness gone. I clutch her closer to my chest and ram into the Sick Ward. 

"She's going to die! Please help me!" I yell to the nearest nurse, who scampers to find a doctor as I set the girl in my arms onto a bed. 

A doctor comes and I recall the whole story as he examines her. 

"It sounds like she has a case of African Yellow Fever. We can give her some medicine to help ease the pain, but we just have to wait to see if she makes it," he says solemnly. I nod and he starts giving orders to the nurses. I sit in the chair next to the bed and put my head in my hands. 

And I wait. 

When the third day has rolled past, a nurse finally speaks to me. 

"She's staring to cool down, and the redness is fading. It looks like she made it." 

I almost cry in relief. Three days of no sleep, worry, and more stress than I ever could want paid off. 

"You really like her, don't you?" she says with a smile. 

"I don't know what I could've done if I lost her," I reply, gazing at the diamond --not glass-- charm I gave her almost three years ago. 

*1st Person POV*

I gain consciousness, not wanting to open my eyes and deal with the light. I'm resting on my back, arms at my sides, propped up against pillows too soft to be mine. 

I peek out of my closed eyelids and see the room is relatively dark. I bring my hands up, breathing deeply, and rub the sleep out of my eyes. Something moves next to me, and I turn to see it, trying to see past the blurriness. 

Alex sits next to me, relief drowning his features. 

"G'morning," I croak out. He laughs a little. 

"Morning," he replies, scrubbing at his face, too. He looks as tired as I feel. 

I look around the room, trying to get a feel for where I am. The room is huge, maybe the size of my house, and decorated in colors of royal purple and gold. A large window has a handle, probably leading to a balcony. Bookshelves line one wall, chairs and lamps in the corners for late-night reading. I look down at the bed and see sheets of purple with the symbol of the kingdom, a rose growing on the blade and hilt of a downward facing sword, painted in gold over my legs. I try and look a bit more, but a question overcomes me when I look at his worn expression. 

"How much sleep've you gotten?" my words slur as I say them, exhaustion evident. 

"I've been sleeping..." he tries, but I give him my best stare and he cracks. 

"...Okay. Maybe none at all for the past three days," he confesses.

"You need to sleep," I say, trying to get out of the bed so he can have it. 

"No! Please, you need to rest. The doctors said so," he panicked, pushing my shoulders gently back onto the pillows. 

"Only if you do," I retort. He sighs and nods, before walking over to a couch that faces me, unceremoniously flopping onto it and staring at me. He yawns too long. 

"Sleep," I order, and he closes his eyes, refusing to protest. I feel my eyes get heavy too, and I drift off into a dreamless sleep. 

I wake up and again have to look around the room. I can only guess that we are in the palace, but this is most definitely not the Sick Ward. 

The room is dark now, stars glittering through the window and the moon bathing the furniture in silver light. I find Alex sleeping on the couch still, arm hanging off the side and feet almost touching the ground. Guilt wells up in me, but I don't have the heart to wake him. He needs the sleep. Another wave of drowsiness takes over, and I slip into unconsciousness again. 

When I stir, I can feel I'm going to stay awake now. The room is bright again, flooded with sunlight and a light breeze from the open windows. 

I look over to the couch yet again, and am not surprised to see that he is slumbering away. A small knock comes from the door, and someone enters. 

She glances into the room, looking around until her eyes catch mine and she registers that I've woken up. 

"I'll be right up with breakfast, Miss," she says before closing the door gently. 

Breakfast? In bed? I could never have such luxuries. 

I wait, taking in the details of the room: little knick-knacks I hadn't seen before, books not only on the shelves, but stacked around the room in little piles, the occasional paper or writing utensil shoved between cushions, the corners sticking out. 

The knock sounds again, and the maid enters, carrying a tray of food in her arms. 

"Here you go, Miss. And if you need anything else, just ring," she pointed to a golden rope next to the bed before turning and walking out of the room, a smile on her face as she closed the door.

 I look at the food. Juice, pastries, eggs, bread, and jam cover the tray. I stare at the sheer amount of it. I ate this much for dinner, usually. 

I eat a little, then swing my legs to the edge of the bed, looking at the marble floor. I notice I'm wearing a different nightdress of mine than the one I wore the day I had reached a fever. I set my feet down, start putting my weight on them... 

And I fall. 

Just before I hit the ground, an arm grabs me, pulling me up and chuckling. 

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Alex laughs, holding onto my arms as I balance myself. 

"Morning.... Why can't I walk?" I ask, frowning as I stumble while trying to take another step. 

"You're still weak from fighting that Yellow Fever. You need to get your strength back."

I stagger to the balcony, and lean heavily against the railing. Alex had left me, but soon returns with a piece of bread in his hand. I look out at the view as he joins me. 

"It's so beautiful," I say. 

"Indeed.

...Do you know where we are?"

He looks at me cautiously. 

"We're in the palace." 

"Yep. Hey, do you remember anything while you were in the middle of that fever?" he asks, seeming to want to talk about something. 

"No..." I answer, and his face falls a little. I think I should remember something, but I can't. 

Only later, when I'm drifting back into a nap after lunch, I remember:

Alex is the prince. 

"So, who's room is this?" I ask. "Is it yours?"

He turns to me, hair casting shadows across his face. We sit on the balcony, enjoying the fresh air and each other's company. 

"So you do remember!" he exclaims, letting out what seems to be a sigh of relief.  "Yes, the room is mine. I thought you would be more comfortable here than in the Sick Ward."

"Thank you. No need to sleep on the couch, though. I'm all better now."

"The doctor wants you to stay here for a while in case another bout of that disease comes back," he responds. "So you're stuck here."

"Then why not put me in a guest room? I'm sure you want your bed back."

"Someone has to be nearby if you become unwell again," he stated. We stare out at the scenery again, and my mind wanders to Alex, thinking in simple facts that create a bigger picture. 

He is the prince. 

The prince of the kingdom I live in. 

He is my superior and future ruler. 

He's dating me. 

I am a peasant. 

I am poor. 

I am of no value or importance to the kingdom. 

I'm dating the prince.

 Peasants and royalty can not court. He and I can't be together. Why am I still here? What royalty will he marry, since I am no longer able to be his wife?

 Why did he save me, a lowly peasant?

Soon after our conversation, I was still in Alex's bedchambers. I spent my days sleeping, mostly, with the occasional walk in the garden or trip to the library. The servants there were always happy to help, and seemed to strive to make me feel better in any way they could. 

Alex had returned to his training to be a king, and was often gone most of the day. The kingdom was announced of his "return," and the palace was going to celebrate by holding a ball for the whole town. 

As I strolled off one day to go grab my dress for the ball, the king intercepted me at the gates. 

"May I have a word with you?" he asked, gesturing to the path that led to the garden. I agreed and started down the cobble trail. I mean, who would dare to refuse the king?

"The Queen and I have decided to inform you once again on the law about the royalty and their relationship with peasants," he started, getting right to the point. "We believe that the law is correct in not allowing royalty to court peasants, and would like to keep the rule strong for generations."

"Are you saying that we should not be together?" I summarize. 

"In all essence, yes. I would tell Alexander, but he would merely contradict me and make the situation worse. You, however, know how the law works and the consequences when the rules are bent. You've read your fair share of our history books, or so I hear."

I nod in understanding. 

"I hope you will end this courtship soon, for the sake of yourselves and for the good of the kingdom," he ends, and leaves me alone in the garden, tears staining my face as I plan on how to break it to him. 

That night, at dinner, I become a stranger to the royal family. Only formal speech and tones are uttered by me, and I had yet to even brush hands with Alex... I mean, Prince Alexander. He kept shooting me confused and worried looks, but I ignored them, plastering on a fake smile and pretending to enjoy their company. 

When we walk to Alexander's bedchambers, I stop at the door. 

"What's wrong?" he asks. 

"This is not my room anymore. I was given the spare bedroom down the hall from here," I point to a general area to the right of me. "Thank you for your generosity to have me rest in your room."

"You're welcome," he replies bemusedly. "What happened to you? You're acting as if we've never met."

"I realized I was treating you as if you were my equal, and I apologize. I now shall give you the respect you deserve. Goodnight, Your Highness."

"G'night," he said sadly, then entered his room without another glance. 

As soon as the door closed, I slumped in relaxation. It was so hard to act formal around him, but it is what the king wishes, and so it shall be done. 

I try to keep those thoughts in mind as I make my way down to the spare room, but still end up stumbling through the door, my muffled sobs still echoing in the hall. I fall into the bed and cry, trying to get the worst of it over with so that I could be quieter as the night went on and others went to bed. I make up my mind as I gently slip into unconsciousness: I'll end it at the ball. 

The ball finally comes around, and everyone seems excited for it. Except me. 

I had a beautiful dress, courtesy of the staff of the palace, and my hair and jewelry was immaculate. I should've been having the best day of my life. Instead, it was going to become the worst. 

The daytime came and went, leaving the moon and stars to enjoy the company of the city as peasants danced in the ballroom. I was trying to enjoy myself, but was dreading when he would come over and hold out his hand. 

When he finally made the action, I accepted it with a smile and he lead us to the dance floor. 

"What has been with you for the past week?" Alexander immediately asks, taking the opportunity of our privacy. 

"I've been giving you the respect you deserve. I was treating you wrongly." I answer automatically, almost lifelessly. 

"Don't say that. I'm still the same Alex." 

"You're the same Alex on the inside," I explain, using his nickname for the first time since the king spoke to me. "But you're a completely different person on the outside, with your reputation. I know you have known the laws of the land ever since you could talk. You know that peasants and royalty can not marry."

He looks at me as if he was going to argue, but I press on. 

"And there's a good reason why we have the law. I'm poor, uneducated, unmannered, unclean, and unimportant. The royal family needs the opposite of that. That's why we have to end this. Why I'm ending this. I'm sorry." I say as the song ends. I pull away and hustle towards the double doors that lead outside, ignoring Alexander's pleas to come back. 

I hurry out of the palace and into the streets, making my way home silently and tearfully. When I come home, I change out of the dress into a nightgown and slump into a chair that's facing the window. From here, the castle is still visible, light pouring from the ballroom into the night. 

Well, the king got what he wanted, and so everyone can be happy. 

The lives of the many over the lives of the few, right?

*Alex's POV*

She hustled away from me, her shoulders shook slightly from muffled sobs, before melting into the darkness beyond the castle. I knew what had driven her to do this, and I was going to have a word with him. 

I storm my way over to my father, ignoring the smiles and batting eyelashes of the women around me. They will never catch my eye they way she did. 

"Father." The word comes out cold, accusatory even. 

"Alexander! Where has your friend gone? I saw her walk out of the palace earlier." he faked. 

"You know where she went and why. You sent her off." I say, my anger starting to show in my tone. 

"I did no such thing. She knew the law and abided by it... unlike some people." he said, shooting daggers at me through his gaze. 

"You ordered her to break us up. Did you throw in 'never come back' to seal the deal?"

"I merely did what needed to be done." His voice is icy. "Now that you have returned, you can start looking for a queen to rule beside you."

I bite back a retort and stalk away, avoiding everyone for the rest of the night as I cool down. 

When I walk into my room, the necklace I bought for her sits on my pillow. 

Weeks pass, and all that's changed is the guest room's occupier. Once every few days, a new princess or young noblewoman moves into the room. They eat dinner with us, and often follow me around as I go about my day, yearning for my attention, but I act as if they are invisible. Once they give up, they move out and a new girl comes within the next 48 hours. 

I do not see her anymore, now that I am busy all day and constantly badgered by suitors. But I do know she works at the library still, and looks forlorn often (thanks to some servants that are willing to help). 

I can not ever stop thinking about her. She plagues my every thought and comes to my mind at the slightest word or sight. 

My father has become stubborn. He beckons for these young ladies to come and attempt to court me, but I have no interest in any of them. 

I don't laugh, smile, or talk much anymore. Nothing seems as bright in this world as it used to. I survive each day by knowing at one point or another I will be able to see her again, even if it takes me to run away. 

*1st Person POV*

If only. 

If only he wasn't a prince. 

If only I wasn't a peasant. 

I still work, keep up my daily routine, but I am empty inside. The person that could never be with me is the focus of my thoughts whenever they stray. 

People ask if I am all right or okay, and I'll slap on a smile and lie, but we all know better. I am not okay. If only I could be okay. 

If only. 

*3rd person POV*

"I am worried for Alexander. He has not been the same since my departure," said the queen to her husband. They watched as the prince dismembered a mannequin furiously before dropping his weapon and slumping to the ground, holding his head in his hands and shaking as if he were crying. 

"He is just going through a phase. I am sure it will pass." the king replied. 

"But it's been two months. Something has to change. I cannot stand here and watch my boy suffer."

"So he fell in love with a peasant. He will get over it." He waved a hand as if knocking aside the problem. 

"No. He won't. He will remember that girl for the rest of his life, whether or not they ever see each other again. You've seen how he treats his suitors. They do not exist to him. What does he do in his spare time? He gazes out over the city, in the direction of the library. Our son is in pain, and we can stop it."

"But what will the others think?"

"Who cares! This is the 13th century! Things change! Why not embrace change?"

"What of the girl?" he inquired, trying to change the subject.  

"My spies tell me that she is quiet and lonely, living a secluded and uneventful life ever since she left the ball. They're both unhappy. What good is this doing us?" the queen retaliated. 

"Very well. I shall think upon your request, and act within the week." the man answered, before turning and heading to his personal library to write a document. 

*1st person POV*

Children run past the library as if the merchants were back, but there is no party due today. Only when I see adults and seemingly everyone from the town heading towards the castle do I realize that something is going on. 

I follow the crowd, shuffling into the square where a royal messenger stands on the wall of the fountain, roll of parchment in hand. I try to stand where no one can see me, but I can hear the announcement. I brace myself as the messenger unrolls the parchment and the crowd goes silent, ready to hear the engagement between Alex and some princess far better for the kingdom than a peasant. 

"From the King and Queen of Florenia to their people," he begins. "The prince has reached the age at which it would be advised to marry. But, he wishes to marry someone outside of the law he is bound to. The King and Queen have decided to change the law concerning the marriage of royals. Any royal can marry a peasant if they choose to do so, from here on out." the messenger reads, before stepping down and walking towards the palace, whispers erupting immediately after his decree. 

Doesn't that mean-

Someone grasping me from behind cuts off my thought, and I immediately recognize the chuckle that escapes him. 

"How in the world-?" I started, laughing as I turned around in his hold and hugged him back. 

"I have no clue. But I'm extremely happy about it." Alex confessed. "With that sorted out..." He pulled back, grinning from ear to ear. I began to raise an eyebrow at him when he suddenly dipped down in the slowly dispersing crowd of people, landing on one knee. 

I gasped in realization when he pulled his hand from behind his back, a small velvet box perched on his fingers. He opened it and held it out to me. 

"...Will you do the honor of becoming my queen?"

I nodded vigorously, squeaked out a "yes!" before letting him grab my left hand as he slid the gold band with the sparkling diamond onto my ring finger. I leaped on him as he stood up, wrapping my arms around his neck. Alex gripped my waist lightly before bending over even more to gently place his lips against mine. I only gripped him tighter and kissed back as long as my breath would allow me. 

His hands left my waist -as I continued to hang off him- and squirmed between us a bit before a cold solid object was resting on my breastbone. I pulled back to see that he had fastened the diamond (yeah right, "glass") necklace around my neck. 

"You had forgotten something when you left," he said, still smiling like an idiot. I just chuckled and kissed him again, the extreme-ness of the day not really sinking in yet. 

[corax-aves-writes]

11/13/19

A short blurb

I woke up, brights lights making me squint before the hospital room came into focus. I lay alone in the bed, a dull pain traveling from my hand, up my arm and shoulder, to my head, all on my left side. I groan, bringing my right hand to rest against my head, feeling the bandages there. 

A knock at the door, then someone comes in. He walks in, a concerned look on his face, but returns the weak smile I give. 

"Hey," he says, coming over next to the bed. I hum back at him, holding my good hand out for him to take hold of. 

Warm, large hands hold onto my small, cold one, squeezing reassuringly before letting go. 

We talk of light things, nothing serious or heavy, and his mindless fingers stroke my leg, soft touches that calm me. 

Soon, my eyes droop and he notices, telling me to rest before leaning over and kissing my forehead. I smile sleepily and close my eyes as the door shuts softly behind him.

[corax-aves-writes]

09/28/2017

Half finished story, I really wanted to get to a scene where one character was plummeting through the sky, unconscious, and the other had to dive down after them to save them at the last second.

He had stocky, pointed wings in a explosion of fiery color, nearly white towards the base of the feathers, then darkening to yellow, orange, and then a deep red at the tips. Black speckles littered his wings, making it look like soot blowing in front of a forest fire. The upper side of his wings were darker, as if smoke was blocking the view. 

A hand appeared in front of my face, waving quickly. 

"Helllloooooo?" 

I shake my head, pulling out of my daze and blushing as I realized I was staring. 

"Sorry, what were you saying?" I ask sheepishly, looking back at Laura. She gives me a glare, then touches my right wing. 

"I was telling you that I thought you were moving your wings weirdly today. Can you open them, please?" 

I nod, pulling my blonde hair to the side and spreading my wings. I look at them from the corner of my eye, their broad, slotted shape and white feathers with gold tips block my view of my best friend. 

"Again," I hear Laura's voice from behind me; I can practically hear the furrowing of her brows. I close and then open my wings again, concentrating myself on whether anything is feeling weird. 

I look over at Gabriel again, who's staring back at me, head cocked slightly to the side. I blush when he starts walking towards me, one eyebrow raised. 

"What's going on?" he asks, looking serious and slightly worried, very different from his usual happy self. 

I open my mouth, but Laura beat me to it. 

"Nothing. I thought there was something, but I guess not." She pats the feathers between my wings, and I fold them up in response. 

He brightens up again at this remark. 

"Good, I don't want my teammate injured," he says with a smile. I grin back, freaking out a little on the inside. 

He cares about me!

"Now," he rests his arm on my shoulder, smiling widely, "let's go look for a job." He pulls away and I follow him to the paper-covered board. 

After a few minutes, he pokes a certain paper roughly. 

"That one," he remarks, "pays well and looks easy. All we have to do is help an old man transport files." Gabriel looks at me, silently asking my approval. I nod, and he grins and yanks the paper off. 

._____________.

We land, folding our wings up, and walk towards the door of the mansion. It's white with tall columns holding up a shingled roof. The garden behind us is enormous, hundreds of feet of trees and shrubs

"I wonder why such an easy job is paying us so well," I state, hoping to get a response from Gabriel.  

"I don't know... glad we got it first!" A smile adorns his face with this remark. I nod in agreement, and then tap the door knocker against the wood. 

A moment passes, and then a maid opens the door. She's small, with short pink hair and a classic French maid outfit. Her wings are black and white as well, in what looks like stripes. They're small, looking fit for hovering and precise flying. 

"You must be here to help Master," she assumes in a calm voice. "Come, I'll show you the way." 

She turns around, leaving the door open, and we follow silently, taking in the marble floors and immaculate cleanliness of the house. 

After many flights of stairs and turns, we reach a door. She knocks, and a voice answers. 

"Enter."

The door is opened by the maid, and Gabriel and I walk into what is obviously a study. Bookshelves make up a whole wall, and a desk occupies the back of the room, close to the windows that look over the estate. An old man sits in a chair behind the desk, and I can see the grey feathers of his wings. 

"Good day, I expect your flight was pleasant," he begins, his voice weathered and slightly accented. We both nod in response, smiling politely. 

"I know you are here because of the job request I sent out. As you can see, I am an older man and can't do that much physical work. I would ask my staff, but they have their own jobs that take up most of their time. And so, here you are." 

"Happy to help, sir," I say with a smile. I kind of like him. He smiles back a little, and continues. 

"Now, there are some conditions to this job, meet them all and everything will go swimmingly. You can only go to places I say you can, forbidden areas are off limits for a reason. Don't read any of the files, there are things in them that you don't want weighing you down. Failure to meet these expectations means grave consequences."

We nod our heads again, but now I'm a little apprehensive about this job. 

What has this guy done? 

._____________.

We start moving the files, flying them from the house down to a shack filled with old books and older files neatly organized in stacks. There, we add to the collection, then go back to the house to start again. 

One day, as I'm piling up files from years ago, I notice a red mark. 

I know I'm not supposed to look, but what harm can it do?

I open the file to see the picture of a man, surrounded by text of addresses, family names, jobs, and other personal information. 

Over the picture is a red X. 

Underneath, written in the same red marker, is a date. 

Staring at it... I start to recognize his face. He looks familiar. Then it hits me. He was a influential leader twenty years ago that was... assassinated. 

The realization smacks me hard, sending me reeling back. This man killed him, or at least knew the man who did. Why would he do this?

On the walk to the guest house after the day's work is over, I grab Gabriel's attention. 

"Something is wrong," I begin. He looks over at me, confused. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this man made some real mistakes. Have you looked at any of these files?" I look at him, searching his face for an answer. 

"No... Did you?"

"I have, and this man has either killed or knows who killed important people. These files are filled with personal information on these leaders. What should we do?"

Gabriel hesitates, then answers slowly. 

"We should tell him. Upfront. Maybe he's seen the errors of his ways and is going to destroy the files. Start a new life." I nod, thinking over his answer. 

He's an old man, he can't hurt us even if he wanted to. 

I look back up at Gabriel, smiling. 

"Alright, let's do it!"

.________________. 

[corax-aves-writes]

Weretober 2022: Exploring Werebeast Transformations

Hey there everyone! Just wanted to share some worldbuilding I’ve been doing for my setting of Beast Fables!

[corax-aves-writes]

Flowers

(I- I- don’t know what you mean by that, but fuck it I’ll go with it lol Thanks for the ask!

Also, I don’t know much about flower meanings but I tried my best with google lol)

The first time you meet Dynamight, he’s stomping into your flower shop.

Broad-shouldered and tall, he swallows the space he’s in. His smell is a lazy thing, curling underneath your nose and swelling within your lungs like smoke. When he stops in front of your counter, you have to crane your neck up just to see his face, the inferno of his eyes; he leans forward and the world fades away beneath his shadow.

“I need flowers,” he says.

You continue to look at him, expecting him to say more but he stays silent. Just looks at you with a sharp frown and even sharper eyes, waiting, waiting, and you vaguely wonder if this is what it feels like to be a villain. To have him stare you down like this, like he’s trying to pick you apart, get to your soft insides, find out exactly what make you tick and-

It’s overwhelming. It’s all-encompassing.

It’s standing in the middle of a bed of coals, and the only thing you can do is curl your fingers and endure the burn.

“D-Do-,” you clear your throat; his gaze briefly flicks down to watch it before he meets your gaze again, “Do you know what type do you want?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grunts and you think of borage leaves and the prickle underneath, the sharp curve of it petals; the dip of his brows is the danger of a rhododendron.

You flounder a bit, not knowing what to do. Dynamight stares at you a bit more before he sighs, some of the severeness bleeds from his face. He leans back and you breath a little easier.

“I’m- giving this to someone,” he says stiffly; the corner of his mouth gives a twitch, “Fucking idiot got himself hurt on the job an’ won’t stop whining ‘bout how boring his hospital room looks. I need somethin’ to shut him the fuck up.”

Ah, you think vaguely.

“I- uh- I’ll try my best, sir,” you say; Dynamight’s expression doesn’t change, “If you’ll just give me a moment?”

At that, his mouth twitches again. He seems to hesitate before he takes a breath through his nose, stuffs his hands in his pockets. He studiously avoids eye contact.

“Red,” he mumbles; you watch in fascination as a flush warms the tips of his ears, delicate and peeking like an unfurling mimosa, “Just make sure there’s a lotta of red.”

“Of course,” you say, and when he doesn’t bother to reply back, you take that as a cue get to work.

It’s easy enough, this kind of request. Unfortunately in a world of heroes and villains, it isn’t uncommon to make bouquets for the sick and hurt, and so you have a lot of experience with such things. But no matter how many times you do this, it is with a bittersweet touch that you pick out these flowers.

You pick the classic of roses, the good luck of peonies, the wistful afterthoughts of asters. Throw in some carnations and orchids for their longevity. And, you explain all this to Dynamight as you are wrapping the bouquet in a red ribbon, carefully setting it down on the counter. He listens with unexpected attentiveness.

“And this one here?” he grunts, pointing at a small cluster of round flowers in the bundle, “They’re yellow.”

It’s your turn to hesitate now. You shuffle your feet nervously.

“Those- are wild tansies,” you say, “They symbolize protection, health, and immortality. And…”

You pause. His stare is unrelenting.

“They also can mean a declaration of war,” you blurt out, nervous, “I thought you might like it to mean a warning about getting hurt again.”

Another pause and you briefly think of what flowers would look best in your casket, before his mouth turns up at the corners and he laughs. It’s not a long or loud thing, more of a bark than anything else, but god, does he look beautiful. His smile is more teeth than lips, his eyes the aftermath of a battle, and it reminds you of hot summers and picking for aloe. Of cutting the thick and prickly exterior to get to the insides, the softness underneath, a hidden treasure dripping from fingertips to wrist, the reward of a job well done-

Your face is ablaze. Your pulse is a hummingbird beat against your throat. He leans forward and his gaze is the bubble of sap beneath a sun warmed tree.

“Perfect,” he says, and he’s still smiling, smaller now, more private; still thorn sharp, underneath his molten presence, “This is perfect, bumblebee.”

Bumble-

You sputter and that only seems to amuse him further. He takes the bouquet and drops cash on the counter, a glance more than enough to tell you that it is more than you asked for.

“Keep the change,” he says and your left to stare at his broad back as he approaches the exit.

Halfway out the door, he gives you one last look.

“Next time,” he continues and god, his grin is absolutely feral, “I wanna whole bouquet of tansies.”

[corax-aves-writes]

You are a supervillain who has just captured your rival’s child. Rather than being afraid, they’re begging you to let them stay.

[corax-aves-writes]

Exchange

Caretaker has been trying to persuade Whumpee to tell them about Whumper and what happened to them, but Whumpee refuses, visibly upset by the questions.

“All right,” Caretaker says with a sigh. Maybe a break will help. “Do you want something to eat? A nice bowl of soup, perhaps?”

Whumpee hesitates, licking their lips. They obviously do want something, so Caretaker starts to get up to go get it.

“No, no, wait!” blurts Whumpee. “I… all right.” A tear runs down their cheek and they shudder as they say, “I’ll talk.”

Caretaker gasps. “Oh, no! No! You get the soup whether you answer my questions or not!”

[corax-aves-writes]

Imagine a world where magic marks you. Like you cast an illusion spell, and now your hands are dyed electric blue and bubblegum pink. Or you talk to a ghost and for the next few minutes after Archibald the Depressed appears, a phantasmal smoke rises from your hands.

And it sticks around until the spell’s effect on the world has vanished too. So if you levitate the cookie jar out of reach of your sibling, the mark only lasts for a couple seconds. If you raze a building to the ground, you may never wash out the red and orange stains that blaze up your arm.

If you have lots of light blue circles decorating you arms from protecting people, you’re more likely to be trusted and people will give you the benefit of the doubt. Symbols of balance in white and black mark those who make frequent use of necromancy, and people know to be wary of them. Of course, what they used their magic for can only be guessed at.

Some people hide their marks and hope that they won’t stain their clothes, but others wear them with pride, showing them off.

Imagine discovering your friend or your date has the mark of a long-term enchantment over their heart, and the moment you see that you remember a fight or a murder, something your loved one did and hid from you.

Imagine people with purple bleeding around their eyes who can see the future but not what’s in front of them.

A cat with green stains of transmutation on the tips of their fur.

People whose hands are blackened with conjuration magic, renewed every new moon.

A child with lightning crackling around their heart, surrounded by a town trapped by a vicious storm.

[corax-aves-writes]

Three medieval whump things

Whumpee collapsing through the door of a church, calling for sanctuary.

Caretaker trying to protect Whumpee from the bumps of the road as they travel by cart or carriage.

Whumpee trying to hide their nightmares when they sleep in a hall with a dozen other people.

[corax-aves-writes]

More Time [Obey Me! Lucifer/MC]

Obey Me! Masterlist

–

They laid with their head resting on his shoulder. Their breath came out in small puffs, grazing up against his neck. He held onto their hand and held it over his heart. His fingers traced their knuckles, down the veins on the back of their hand, and to where he could feel the pulse in their wrist. He stretched his legs further on the bed, curling his toes ever so slightly.

“I still can’t believe you’re here with me,” Lucifer whispered softly, not wanting to wake them. His ruby eyes trailed from the way their lashes shadowed their cheeks to the parting of their lips. He moved the arm curled around their shoulders and down their back to hold them closer.

They were so fragile, so delicate, so easily breakable to any normal demon, let alone the eldest of the Avatars. It still surprised them whenever they so easily curled up to him, putting their full trust in him. Quickly, he clenched his eyes shut and pressed his lips to their forehead. They were asleep, they wouldn’t see him be this vulnerable.

“I love you,” he muttered into their hair.

He shouldn’t feel this way for them, not when they were human. Not when their lives would be naturally torn apart so quickly. But his heart beat faster whenever he saw them smile at him, whenever they spoke their name, whenever they rested in his arms.

“Forever.” His grip on them tightened, ignoring the fresh burn scars on his hands. The wax from his candle hurt as it dripped onto his skin. But he ignored it when he went to the cave to extend MC’s life. He just needed to buy them some more time. More time to tear the answer of Solomon’s immortality from the sorcerer. More time to convince MC that staying with him would be worth it.

He just needed more time.

[corax-aves-writes]

Emotionally influenced magical talents that give all developing relationships that Good Urban Fantasy Flavour:

Appearance shifting: “You’re doing major friend-eyes at him.” “Shut up-” “Dude, you’re not subtle, last time he came over you were so pleased your hair started curling.” “Shut uuup. …what colour are my eyes right now?” “A lovely shade of I’m-straight-up-gonna-adopt-you purple.”

Protection magic. Did they mean to place a shielding spell on the object of their affection to protect them against all harm? Maybe not. Did they subconsciously want to and do they now have to explain why that dropped fork did a pirouette in mid-air to avoid dropping onto their foot? Yes, yes they do.

Nature growth: “I’m really sorry, but, I can’t come over to your place tomorrow.” “Oh… Okay… Why not, though?” “Because, eh, well, you said your landlord was on your case about not having mowed the lawn and if I go over there right now…you’re gonna have to start all over.”

Feeling-sharing or empath magic. Nothing says “you’re immeasurably important to me” like being able to pour the literal feeling of your affection for a specific person into their own chest where they can feel it too.

Spontaneous manifestation. Such as breathing out sparks, flowers sprouting from hair, starting to emit light, you name it. “That new girl laughed at one of your jokes again, didn’t she.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Tell that to the soot stains on your cheeks.”

[corax-aves-writes]

You found a stray kitten one day, taking her in and feeding her. A week later, you come home to find your yard swarming with cats. The largest among them steps forward and says, “You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?”