#cantuscorvi

@cantuscorvi from here ( x ) | accepting !

He was about to step out of the car, the pouring rain jamming on the roof like severe drums. Oh, they liked it complicated. Liked and despised it the same, it was hard to tell at this point. Everything was mixed for years, and the complexity only increased. Oliver guessed it was supposed to be like that. No matter how hard they were playing pretend, they were both standing on different sides of the river. Inequity would qualify them far more than whatever wrecks of wealth and power Oliver once ever had in the palms of his hands. He sighed, his hand on the handle of the door.

He was about to run away. Like he always did.

“Nice?” He stared back at Raum, before he eyed his own bag on the backseat. “You say that, but you’re not the one asking for… For all of this!”

The eviction notice, the fear of living again at the Amazon Club, and his current broken arm. He was tired of this… And he was tired of bargaining with the only person he knew, deep inside, who wanted to help without an agenda. Yet, while Raum had accepted but with conditions, Oliver had exploded inside into a firework of doubts and shame. It felt safer to leave the car and disappear in the rain, again. It was easier than facing his own emotions. But he decided to be brave, for once.

“I’m being cast away like some dog in the streets… We haven’t talked for months before I showed back to your door, and it costs me… It costs me so much right now to ask you this, Raum!” he pleaded, before he slumped back on his seat. Shadows of green and red light kept dancing in front of them, and the rain kept pouring.

Oliver shivered, while the wipers continued its mechanical ballet. Raum wasn’t kicking him out. He was staring at him.

“I’m scared,” Oliver admitted, before he pressed his hip against his seat, moving aside so he could face the blonde. “I’m scared of asking you to stay if the only result is not standing on the same ground, but I know… I know we’re not. I’m scared you think that.”

ask meme || @cantuscorvi

LOW | ●●●●● | HIGH

●●●●● | ATTRACTION "His eyes are as ruthless as the man, but it is a scorching cruelty that he stabs you with every time he looks at you. Right in the heart. 'And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky.' I've never felt cruelty as hot and acute as his. He terrifies me."

●●●○○ | AFFECTION "As much respect as I have for him, there is a great deal of disrespect I would like to inflict on him also. I can't quite explain why."

●●●●● | INTEREST "He is a complete mystery to me. And yet, I understand him. He is a familiar dark, like that of a house I have lived in for many years. I could pick up any book from its shelves and find a piece of myself in it."

●●●●● | LOYALTY "He inspires it. — I dare say he demands it without ever truly saying it. He leads, and the path he sets is so firm and sure that people are spurred to follow."

Icecream Flavours

I am a sucker for a good cornish icecream, vanilla mostly. If I'm going into the absolutely wreck myself, double choco cookie dough with all the dairy choco sauce, and kinda bueno pieces etc.

Sweets

Not that much of a faaaaaan, I am more of a Deserts gal as I've gotten older? But I do enjoy a good daim bar or twirl.

Deserts

I love pancakes / waffles sm, I will have it anywheeeeeere. I'm also a sucker ofr Lemon Cheesecake, Lemon Icing, Lemon Curd cakes too. I love lemon in anything.

Pets!

My son, Oli - I miss he alot ;; and my daughters, Jess and Annabelle, his Grandma and Mother. This has been nearly a year now? He died on the 6th Jan 2024. rip buddy.

His cute face v.

MUNDAY ASKS // accepting!

ahh... the opposing questions...

i like writing things with action, movement, lots of internal turmoil! but i simultaneously struggle with creating realistic, tangible drama that people can connect with.

i also hate things that i have to build up towards, lol. i get burnt out when i am building up to a grand, dramatic reveal and taking the necessary steps to do so--setting the scene, building up characters, getting everything in place...

by the time i am ready to write what ive been dying to write, im tired of writing, and ive left the project to rot.

@cantuscorvi asked: omg pls gimme raum/adri for the kid meme i wanna see what their crazy spawn looks like If they had a kid:

Name: Rosalind

Gender: female

General Appearance: tall, elegant and statuesque, pale skin and icy blue eyes, hair a dusty blonde that catches the light just right. Often seen wearing classic, feminine ensembles, shirts with cashmere jumpers, pleated skirts, mary jane shoes, a headband and pearls. Got her stare from Adrianna, stoic, stern and alluring.

Personality: very intelligent, snobby and entitled. Her speech is very eloquent and precise, insults and harsh remarks are spitted without hesitation. Has a rare kind of dark humor and would cover her mouth with the back of her hand when giggling. Not particularly cruel, but most definitely a little twisted.

Special Talents: Daughter of a fallen angel and a demon Rosalind is a Nephilim of the worst kind. Her abilities while not mature just yet, include being able to enter people's minds and dreams and torture them from within. Her talents are fright/terror based overall.

Who they like better: honestly i don't think she likes either of her parents. Raum might be spoiling his little monster a little too much and thus might make her a bit iffy [ she's not too big into displays of affection. She might like Adrianna more simply because she would get to steal her make-up, perfume and clothes from time to time.

Who they take after more: Definitely her father. .

THE LAST UNICORN (1982)

-> The forest will never be grateful to you for anything. It is an anomalous entity: It lives and breathes and knows spite again you, but it will never be thankful for how you treat it, because it has lived longer than you. It is entitled to your care, simply by virtue of its existence. That doesn't mean Lyric doesn't feel spited by how they get lost in it---it doesn't mean they're not cleaving their way through any branches or nettles that stand in their way with cold precision sharpened to a knife point and wishing they knew where the hell they were, or that something would work in their favor, or that it wasn't getting dark, or anything. They can't even tell how close or far behind them he is anymore, it's all a blur of noise in their senses: they are running for their life and will not turn around. They hear the ear-splitting CRACK of a tree being felled. It is to frighten them, or is he that upset? ( i'm thinking of ending things, they had said with their hands braced on either side of the sink, their chest heaving as their throat stung raw from the retching of trying to unstick whatever had become lodged in their lungs. No---, they sharply corrected themselves, staring at him shadowing the doorway to the bathroom in the reflection of the mirror, I mean: I'm ending things. ) He couldn't actually care that much about it, a Great Earl of Hell of all things. This is just a farce; a bit of play as punishment for making the fool of him. They strung him along the whole time on the verge of collapse and still didn't give him their soul. All they fed him was paltry bits of blood and time as if he were no more than an imp. Of course he'd be upset about that.

-> The heel of their foot hits a tree root covered in moss at the wrong angle and they know they've twisted something before they even hit the dirt by the sharp pain that follows it. Their body and all its momentum stumble and roll another half dozen feet, grass stains in their sweat-soaked t-shirt and dirt in their knees, they feel a sharp branch lodge into the skin of their shoulder that makes them hiss as they roll to a stop on their back covered in leaf litter. Pieces of cover in their hair, the darkening canopy of trees overhead---they hear him before they see him, trying to push with their palms to a sit-up position. His voice, once smooth and sharp, has become warped by many and verges on a cacophony they do not understand. You must never run from anything immortal, it attracts their attention. He comes to view by blocking out the light. He is more bird-like than man, each four-toed step sinking deep into the dirt and rotting it, his height theirs nearly twice over and his wings an arc of shadow behind him. He exists like he is not of this world: in some way that's true, and yet in the same breath it is not. They can't even be sure this is the real form or not, or if it is just a fragment of it he has taken to frighten them. When he moves to speak, his beaked maw opens slow, its appearance covered in a viscous black ooze. It does not move to articulate, but leans forward and tilts its head to one side coyly. Done running already?

"---Fuck off!"

-> A tried and true protest even as blood stains their skin and shirt from open scratches and lodged branch. Their chest rises and falls so quick they think they'll pass out; something in them still feels sick and frail as it did when they were contracted with him, but now it feels like an old wound, an aching injury. It yearns for some kind of freshness just to give itself more shape.

The door swings open, and the bell chimes.

Lucien strides in, choosing a table without a beat of hesitation. He sits down and places his milk-coloured briefcase on a nearby chair. Legs crossed, he waits for a waiter to attend to him.

"Good afternoon," he greets, smiles, and says: "I'll have a Barraquito. Two, Barraquitos," Lucien corrects immediately, hands folded formally on his thigh. "And a copy of the newspaper to go with them." He holds eye contact to ensure the message goes through.

Coffee isn't Lucien's preferred drink, but he is willing to make sacrifices for a client.

Mr Weiss doesn't know it yet, but he is about to meet his new defence attorney.