#never posted this AS PER USUAL but here let me ramble to the void

[peachesycream]

I want to talk about the Landgraabs I want to talk about Geoffrey and Nancy I want to talk about Geoffrey because I have Thoughts™ about them now.

Like how common word said they were an unlikeable family, the snobby rich corporate fam, how Nancy was a criminal and Geoffrey a secret agent, how they were said to be together doing shady business or Nancy was trickinhg or manipulating him, how they were destined to break apart, how their kid was unsufferable and karma awaited because they were shitty people and how I was on board with all of it and ready to break havoc.

But then Geoffrey is a dork and good and a loving dad and a family guy and a joyful lil golden retriever of a man who loves his family so I thought ok then Nancy will betray him and Malcom will be a lil shit-

But then the first days with them all Nancy wanted to do was talk with Geoffrey, be funny with him, friendly with him, flirty with him, it was all him him him and Geoffrey was constantly wanting to be with his family but sad bc his son was evil, and Malcom himself was both angry because his dad was good but also sad because his dad was sad because of him?? And how Nancy and Geoffrey are such opposites, they even like colours that are oposites in the spectrum yet are dressed in the other's favourite??

Then I leave them and when I come back Nancy switched jobs, abandoned the progress she had made as a criminal and was now painstakinly starting anew somewhere else and listen here is when I took that picture bc i forgot you could do that and wanted to try... And they were so cute so I said ok enough, they deserve a chance, they are getting a chance and istg they are the cutest lil shits and my mind is spínning backstories like no one's business.

But yeah tl;dr I went with the idea of drama, divorce, betrayal and disaster and ended up making them the most annoyingly cute and loving family in the whole goddamn game. And they are like 7 now because let me tell you those two are a menace (and i cant say no to them).

[heartbreakgrill]

Black Paint; Vessel (Sleep Token)

a/n: i am so fucking proud of this and i hope you absolutely love it. pls don't anyone tell brittany or else i'll fucking kms. thx.

description: brittany broski and friends go see sleep token. the group's energy catches the attention of the band.

warnings: alcohol, smut, cringe wattpad y/n moment.

“Hey, guys, welcome back to the Broski report. I’m your host, Brittany Broski.”

She rambled the words out breathlessly, smile void on her face. I stifled a laugh from the seat beside her, especially as I knew the camera frame would then focus on me. 

She slammed her palms down onto the table, peering over at me with a blank expression, “Bitch.”

“I know,” I shrugged. My lips were pursed together, shoulders shaking as small giggles forced their way out of my nose. 

“Bitch!” She tilted her head from the microphone so as not to disturb the sound mix. 

I pressed a hand to my lips, dying of laughter now. “I know!” 

“Listen,” she pointed at the screen behind us, “there is no fucking time for introductions because this bitch…just ruined my life by introducing me to yet another GROUP masked men I will not and can not have!” 

“I know,” I nodded solemnly, still giggling. “I’m so sorry for what I have done to you.”

“Sleep Token,” Brittany yelled. I flinched from the volume, eliciting a soft, “Oh!”

“Sleep Token, guys,” she repeated. “Listen…before we even begin, we have a disclaimer for you horny sluts.”

I licked my lip as I silenced my laughter, looking seriously to the camera. “We do not condone the search for the identity of this band. Let them exist peacefully. If you know who they are, and you comment it on either of our platforms, anywhere, you will be blocked. Be respectful, shut the fuck up, and keep the mystery alive, kay?”

“Kay. Moving on! Sleep Token!”

It was my first time being on Brittany’s podcast. I was honored to have been asked, considering she didn’t often have anyone join her. But, considering I’d introduced her to the band I was currently hyper-fixating on, she needed me to provide my personal testimony. We spent most of the video appreciating their music, pointing out our favorite drum parts, lyrics, and Vessel vocals. Of course, we thirsted over the band, too. Why wouldn’t we have? They were hot as fuck and we were just girls. 

And, of course, the video blew up. Her podcast segments normally did, but this one reached new numbers even she could not have predicted. At one point, trending on TikTok was a video of me saying, “I would literally let this man do dirty, nasty, terrible things to me that my mom would disown me for. Things only bitches did in that fucking town of Sodom and Gamora. God would literally come down and rain hellfire over my apartment after I got done with that man.”

I wasn’t necessarily embarrassed by the videos that came out after my clip went viral, but it was a little silly. I just hoped the band didn’t have secret accounts that they stalked fans on. I would never want to know that- but Ijust hoped and prayed it wasn’t sure. 

Soon after we posted the video, the band announced a new leg of a North American tour. 

And, of course, we spent a shit load of money to get tickets. 

The months drug on before it was finally time for the concert. 

“Shot?”

Brittany held out the glass vial towards me, a knowing smile- brows raised, round eyes suggestive- egging me on. Not that I needed it- tonight was the perfect night to get trashed. Of course, with Brittany, that was most night’s. When we had filmed for the podcast? Oh, we were smashed. 

“Duh, bitch.”

I took it from her hold, wrapped my forearm around hers, and shared a low cheer before taking the shot. Our other friend Sarah Baska, was ordering herself something at the bar. Meanwhile, the liquid burned the back of my throat, sliding down my chest in it’s fiery path. A natural lightweight, I felt warm immediately. It was also just really hot in here. 

I then ordered some mixed drink. Sarah got more, harder liquor, as per usual. And, Brittany did another handful of shots for the road. After, we headed for the stairs, giggly and anticipatory. We spent extra money on a private box, both to shake our asses in a spacious area, and to be able to enjoy the concert without being bothered by fans the entire time. It was nice getting photos with them and meeting people who looked up to all of us. But, tonight, it would be nice to just exist as normal people at a normal concert. Besides, we were all here for Sleep Token. I wanted them to get all the worship that they deserved. 

Not that this was a normal concert. This was, in any devoted fan’s words, a night of worship to the god of Sleep. This was a ritual. Tonight, I would be shaking my ass extra hard for the little dancing vessel’s on that stage who were so fucking attractive, I could drool. 

We found our seats quickly. I was grateful for the space away from the thick, sweaty crowds- it was hot in here, even though I was wearing next to nothing. I really didn’t want my makeup- done heavier than normal thanks to Britt- to run. I did, however, hope that Vessel’s paint would smear a little extra from this heat. That was hot. 

We sat down in our seats for a few minutes, gushing about finally being at this ritual. I sipped at my drink, finishing it faster than I thought possible. I tended to drink heavier when my pulse rate was this high. My chest was really warm now, and I enjoyed it. It loosened me up quite a bit. I wasn’t really introverted, but I had anxiety when it came to these situations. Liquid courage was always nice to have. 

I shed my jacket on the back of my chair, exposing my midriff and bare arms. It cooled me down a bit. Brittany was rambling on about Vessel and some video she’d saw on TikTok the night before. I went to reply to her, to ask to see the video, when a staff member interrupted us, “Excuse me, ladies-”

We looked up him expectantly. His voice was quiet against the loud chatter of the crowd and the pre-show playlist thumping through the speakers. I leaned in close to him and strained to hear his next words. 

“These seats have food and drink service. Would you like anything?” He graciously held out a menu.

We nodded enthusiastically and ordered another round of shots and cocktails. Just as he returned with the tray of drinks, after we occupied ourselves by watching a handful of videos on Brittany’s phone, the lights dimmed for the opener. I tipped the server as I joined the crowd, on my feet, hooting and hollering. We quickly down our shots. 

The opener was pretty good. Brittany, Sarah, and I danced along to the songs, clapped when gestured to, and took a few embarrassing pictures for us to regret in the morning. I liked to spin in circles as I danced, rotating my hips to the beat. I made a stank face while doing so, drink raised to the sky like an offering. Brittany and Sarah would hype me up, pretending to swipe stacks of cash over me like rain, leaning into my momentum with hollers. The more I moved, the more the alcohol took over. I was completely lost in the music. 

When the opener took a bow, Brittany, Sarah, and I screamed, loudly. Loud enough that the opener noticed us. They waved up to our seats. I jumped up and down, splashing my drink over the railing, on the floor below. I waved wildly. The opener then blew a kiss and I nearly melted. I felt like a little girl at a One Direction concert. It was awesome. 

As the crew began tearing down the openers set, and putting together Sleep Token’s, more music streamed through the speakers. The server scurried off to get us more drinks. 

Because the opener had noticed us- twice- a few people in the crowd turned to look up at our seats. Now that the overhead lights were back on in the venue, a bunch of fans started calling out our names, waving excitedly. As they did, I Wanna Dance With Somebody started playing and the energy in the venue lifted completely. 

I set my drink down in my cup holder, needing both hands to go absolutely feral over the song choice. As the first verse began, I grabbed Brittany’s fingers in my clutch, serenading her through viscous screams. I swayed from foot to foot, hitting each beat with my hips. As Miss Houston sang, “My lonely heart calls…” I grabbed the railing from behind me, leaned myself over it, back arched and head upside down, towards the crowd. Everyone freaked out at the stupid move I did. I was sure to see clips of it in the morning. 

Then, the chorus started, and we jumped around like raging lunatics. We clapped our way through the song, entertaining the crowd like we were the real show. Eventually, the crew seemed to be finishing up their work onstage. The music started to fade, the lights dimmed, and the stage lit up with bright blue. I picked my drink back up, screeching my head off as the music started.

I swear to god that the band could hear us screaming from our side of the venue, jumping around like children, holding onto each other like we just might fall over. We were louder than, probably, the rest of the crowd. They started with Chokehold, which made me nearly lose my sanity. Vessel strutted out onto the stage like a literal god, rings shining in the light, blackened skin already slick with sweat. I bounced up and down to every beat, waving my hands with the crowd, spinning in circles, downing my drink like there was no tomorrow. I didn’t focus too much on how good he looked, caught up in the music. But, god, did I know he looked insane. 

At one point, Brittany and Sarah turned their phone flash on. They switched between that and taking videos on their phones, giving me all the spotlight. They made it like I was the fucking main character of the concert. And, I loved every second of it. 

At one point, the bassist noticed our flashing lights and mini dance circle. He pointed up at us, nodding his head in appreciation. I screamed my head off in response, gripping the railing and whipping my hair. He raised his hands like he had to defend himself from my energy and slunk off to the other side of the stage. Brittany pointed the camera in my face, “How do you feel?!”

“I’m shitting my pants right now!”

The concert went by quickly, too quickly. IV interacted with us a bunch, too, especially after he’d scream his lyrics and we’d go wild. Vessel, unfortunately, avoided our side of the stage. He was so lost in the music which was, honestly, amazing to witness. His silly dances combined with his insane vocals made for a great show. 

By the time The Offering started up, Brittany, Sarah, and I were absolutely trashed. I wasn’t too far gone because I was started to sweat out what was in my system. Yet, I was nowhere near sober. Anyways, maybe it was because we were being obnoxious and loud due to our drunken states- Vessel finally noticed us. It was at the beginning of the song, when he sang, “Take a bite…’ It came out like an animalistic growl, chilling the audience. 

He pointed his hands towards our balcony, though I’d like to think he was really just pointing at me, and whispered the sultry lyric. I melted to the ground, head thrown back as I yelled. Brittany grabbed my bicep to ensure I wouldn’t fall any further. She and Sarah hoisted me back up. We cackled into each other’s shoulders annoyingly. Then, as the drums picked up, we began moving with the rhythm again. 

Before we knew it, the concert was over. Vessel raised his hands in a bow. Then, he looked around the crowd, found our seats again, and shot us a small smile. I took the opportunity to blow him a kiss, enthusiastically throwing it through the air towards him. He grinned in response, looking to his feet as he shook his head, before slinking backstage. 

I plopped back down into my seat, already cracking open a water bottle. My chest heaved for air. I didn’t even know how to process anything that had happened. All I knew was, “I need to eat so many fries right now,” I breathed out, sweat slicking my skin. I sipped the water slowly. I could feel myself sobering up more and more. I was a little more conscious, but so damn hungry.

Sarah was talking to some people next to us who she knew. Brittany sat beside me. “Vessel literally wants you,” she said, nonchalantly, like she had read it in that morning’s paper. “Like…holy fuck.”

I cracked a smile and wiped a bead of sweat off of my brow. I checked my reflection in my phone. Luckily, my makeup had stayed intact. I replied with a silly tone, “Don’t even get me excited like that. It’s rude.”

“No, cause, he kept looking up here after The Offering,” Brittany said in a matter of fact manner, again. 

“Really?” I sat up in my seat, “No way! I must have been dancing too hard to notice.”

“Oh, you were shaking your ass,” she snickered with a grin.

“Ugh, he’s fucking sexy,” I continued on. We stared at the stage for a moment in one of those silences where neither drunk girl could really formulate any relevant response. Then, I kind of tossed my weary arms around, “Well, doesn’t matter. I bet he, like, doesn’t even date.”

“No, but he def fucks,” Brittany emphasized. We leaned into each other, laughing loudly. 

Sarah turned to us at the sound. She plopped down beside me and went to add to our conversation, but the familiar staff member who’d been supplying our drinks was interrupting again. Though, this time, he didn’t have a tray of alcohol. 

“Excuse me, ladies,” his favorite phrase. We all looked up at him, curious. He didn’t have to speak so loud, considering the venue was clearing out, so it was easier to hear. Whitney Houston was playing again. 

“The band is wondering if you’d like to come backstage for some refreshments?” He asked so casually that it took my brain a moment to process the information. 

I managed to play it really cool, but internally, I was basically shitting my pants. Brittany, however, gaped at the worker. She slowly turned her head towards Sarah and I with a wild look in her eyes, seeming like she might scream at any given moment.

Sarah snorted, “What fucking fanfiction did we just get thrown into?!”

“I don’t know, but I fucking love it,” I gushed back, staring at the worker. “What the fuck.” He shrugged back at me. 

Sarah shook her head with an amused grin, waving off the worker, “Listen, yall go, have fun. My friends offered to let us go out with them, so I’m gonna split off. I don’t think I could mentally handle meeting them right now. I think I’d, like, puke all over them.”

“But, then you could say that you’ve puked on Sleep Token!” Brittany smacked Sarah’s shoulder, reaching across my body. 

“Go!” Sarah shoved back, squishing me further between the two of them. “Go, so you can say that you puked on Sleep Token.”

“Yeah, I fucking will,” I pushed up out of my seat, an eager energy in my bones. 

Brittany and I followed the worker down the stairs, clutching each other’s arms. He ushered us through the remaining crowd gently, though we had to stop to take numerous photos- and make the occasional TikTok- with fans. They gushed about our dance moves, our podcast episode. It made everything feel even giddier. We eventually made it up to the stage, where we were guided behind these large black curtains disguising the dimly lit area of the sides. 

The crew worked hard on getting everything packed up, put away. We skirted between all of them, trying not to get in the way of it all. I kept checking my reflection in my phone’s front camera to ensure I looked okay. Most of the sweat had soaked itself up and my perfume was long lasting. Hopefully that was enough to rizz up Vessel. Not that I was counting on that. It would be awesome, but I was actually excited to have a conversation with all of them. I would soon learn that was not what he wanted from me tonight. 

We went down another set of stairs and stopped before a closed door. Behind it, we could hear music playing over a speaker, a few sets of voices cheering and chattering. The worker knocked, kindly, and the voices cut themselves off. 

“Come in!” A thick British accent called out.

I took a deep, drunken breath as the worker turned the door knob. And, my stomach dropped when he pulled open the door.

Sleep Token sat, lounged out across their dressing room, on various couches. They wore those familiar masks, their stage costumes- save for a few layers- and clutched some drinks in their blackened hands. My eyes found Vessel last, who was leaning against the counter of the vanity, a drink sat beside his left hand. He had shed his cloak, so visible to us was his paint-smeared chest and back. I tried not to let my eyes wander too much- but they did. 

III stood from the couch, excitedly dancing his way over to the door where we stood. The worker abandoned us. “‘Ello, darlings!” III called out. 

He hugged Brittany first, bent down because of his insane height. As he did, I couldn’t rip my eyes from the slits of Vessel’s mask. I somehow knew that he was staring at me- probably because his distant gaze burned my skin. Then, III was pulling me into his chest, “It’s so lovely to meet you…”

“Brittany,” she gestured to herself, then to me, “Y/n. Dude, thanks so fucking much for having us! We had an absolute blast. Your performance is just- wow!”

IV and II approached us next, as III pulled us a bit further into the room. III busied himself with pouring us each a drink as we introduced ourselves to IV and II. 

“We’re so glad you had a good time worshiping,” IV cracked, hugging Brittany, “makes it all the more worth it.”

I grinned at his words as he embraced me, too, still occasionally glancing at Vessel. II added on, “Sure you’re exhausted from all that dancing. Have a seat.”

III wrapped an arm around Brittany’s shoulder, passing a drink to her hand, as he brought her onto the couch beside him. IV and II moved to stt back where they had been, probably assuming I was following. I clutched nervously to the drink III had given me. I may be drunk, but not drunk enough to not act stupid in front of men I wanted to fuck. The nerves were crashing down me instead, making me stoic, overthinking my own breathin. 

I looked back at Vessel, again, who had been quiet thus far. He held out a hand, an offer for me to come sit beside him. I hesitated, for just a moment, before taking it. His fingers were warm, even his rings, and I noticed that black paint smudged itself across my skin as I took my hand from his. I leaned up against the counter beside him as I admired the paint. 

III, IV, and II struck up a lively conversation with Brittany, full of teases and easy topics. I watched until I felt that burning stare on the side of my face again. I looked up at Vessel, a small smile forming across my lips. He returned the expression. 

“Lovely to meet you, Y/n,” his voice was just as deep as his singing tone. It sent a shiver down my spine. 

I shifted on my feet, glanced around, before returning his gaze again. “You, too, Vessel,” I took a sip of the drink in my hand. 

He chuckled down at me. My knees rocked. “So…you like Whitney Houston, yeah?.”

My face turned beat red at the realization that he had seen a lot more than I hoped. I pressed a hand over my face, groaning, “Oh, god. You saw that?”

Vessel brushed his shoulder against mine. More paint took it’s place there in my skin. “I saw everything.”

I crinkled my nose, “Ugh, that was just…I don’t claim to be a good dancer, just so you know.”

Vessel shrugged, “I beg to differ.”

Shaking my head at his words, I waved him off, “Don’t even…I just, like, throw myself around like a fucking rag doll.”

“No,” he drug out the word, deep voice reverberating in my chest, “no, you have some rhythm in those hips.” His head tilted down as he eyed my body. 

There was a beat of silence that passed between us. I examined his mask. I think I knew then that I wouldn’t be leaving until this man fucked me senseless, but my foggy, drunken brain thought still that maybe I was just being delusional. 

It wasn’t until he opened his mouth, again, that I was certain. He drug his tongue over his bottom lip, as though he was searching for the right words to say. My eyes followed the wet, pink organ with a blank stare. 

Vessel thought for another moment before leaning his mouth down towards my ear. He pressed his hand against my hip, fingers curling around my bare skin exposed there. His breath was hot against the side of my neck, though I shivered again. “I want to see how those hips would move on me.”

I flushed, bright red again, the alcohol making the heat on my blotchy skin worse. Vessel pulled away, a smirk ever-present on those pink lips, black staining the outer edges. It took all of my self control not to lick it clean, right then and there. I wanted him- needed him. And, he knew it. 

Vessel searched my eyes with that curl in his lips. I was unable to come up with a proper response. But, I think he found what he was looking for in my dilated pupils and rising chest. “Be a good girl for me? Yeah?”

Vessel offered up his hand again. I entwined my fingers in his, my own smile finally finding its place on my mouth. Vessel took my cup and chugged it, tossed it into the trash, and led us from the room. 

I followed like a puppy-dog, hot on his heels. He guided me so carefully, looking back occasionally to ensure I was okay. Then, he threw open a door at the end of the hallway we traveled down. It was dark in the room, with only a small lamp in the corner to illuminate our hushed desperations. Vessel locked the door behind us after he ushered me inside. He spun me around and forced himself against my chest, pressing my back against the door. It knocked the wind right out of me. My chest rose and fell as I took rapid, deep breaths. Vessel held me by my hip, again, thumb brushing against my bare skin gently. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered as he brought a hand to my face, cupping my cheek. 

I barely nodded, entranced by the stare coming from behind his mask. I had enough focus to touch my hands to his chest, though, running my fingers up and down his toned stomach. The paint smeared beneath my knuckles, revealing more of his pale skin. I watched it mix with our sweat with hopeless admiration in my gaze. 

Vessel looked down at my hands, too, a smirk still present on his face. But, then he forced my chin up, so my eyes were on his mask, and said, “Use your words, darling.”

“Y-yes,” I shuddered, voice breathless. 

Vessel pressed me harder against the door as our lips met, tongues clashing against teeth, hungrily. We moved together so easily, entranced by the other’s taste. I gripped at his sides, pulling me into him, arching my back to press my chest against his. Vessel’s hold tightened, too, and he ground my hips against his. 

I felt him get hard, quickly, the loose material of his pants allowing his erection to fully grind against my thigh. He was whiney, all gasping breaths, low moans, as I drug my fingers down his chest, dipped them through his waistband. I nearly got to feel him, but Vessel grabbed my hand harshly in his, slamming it up against the door, above my head. My eyes shot back open in surprise. I don’t remember closing them.

“S’all about you right now, darling,” he demanded, words against my lips. 

Vessel shoved his head into the crevice of my neck, nipping and tonguing at my flesh. My eyes dropped shut again, head hitting the door in a way that would probably hurt tomorrow. I had a feeling all of me would hurt tomorrow. But, I didn’t care. 

Vessel drug his fingers up my arms, leaving goosebumps in his path, trails of black paint like a roadmap amongst my freckles. He slid the straps of my dress down past my shoulders. Then, he kissed his way down to the arch of my breasts. He rolled the material between his teeth and sunk to the floor as he drugged it down my body. Vessel was on his knees below me. 

Vessel looped an arm around either of my thighs, nearly pulling my entire weight onto his shoulders. I clutched onto the top of his head, feeling some of his hair slip out from the cap he wore beneath his mask. It was soft, though just a bit sweaty. He glanced up at my bare breasts, smirking devilishly now

He admired my face as he said, “I watched you worship me all night. It’s my turn to pray at your altar.” STOPPED HERE. 

My head hit the door again as Vessel sunk his tongue into me. He had managed to tear my underwear down with his teeth and they were now laying across the room. I ground my hips into his face, back arching each time his nose would then rub against my sweet spot. I tried to be quiet at first, though small gasps and moans slipped from my bitten lips. 

But, then, Vessel stopped, eliciting a whine from me. He chuckled, lips slick from me. He darted his tongue out, smirking as he cleaned his mouth. He tilted his head in disappointment, “You were so loud for me earlier, darling. What happened to that good girl? I want to hear how good I am making you feel.”

I nodded, dazed, brows furrowed, fingers digging at his hair. The cap had fallen off his head at this point, but the mask managed to stay on. I was grateful it did. The mystery alive energized both of our primal desires.. 

Vessel watched my face as he pressed his tongue back up into me, running the tip of it down my entire core. I moaned, loudly, back arched into the cold air, nipples hard from the temperature and arousal. 

He chuckled into me, making my thighs shake around his head. Vessel pried me back open with his fingers bruising my skin. He continued on until I was close. I vocalized my point of no return, and he hurriedly spoke, “Don’t. Be a good girl and wait. For me, okay?”

I nodded wildly, clenching my stomach to deny myself of the orgasm. Vessel gently set my feet back on the ground. He guided me by the hips towards a counter. Easily, he picked me up and set me on it. It was freezing cold against my bare skin, but his warm hands, tongue, were on me soon enough. I took the opportunity to unlatch his belt, fingers moving hurriedly. Vessel moved to help me, tugging the pants down his thighs. 

Vessel then pushed me back from him, taking control again. He pushed my legs open further with his bare knee. Then, he grabbed me by the hips and tugged me down till my back was flat against the counter. His hand splayed across my thigh as he pushed himself inside of me. 

He was sloppy, quick in desperation as he fucked me. But, every thrust he pushed into me was strong, deep. Vessel wrapped my legs around his waist, securing me by the hip. His other hand drug itself up my chest until his fingers were wrapped around my throat. Black paint smeared most of my skin. There was even a ring around his mouth where the paint had transferred from his skin to my own. I don’t know how we would manage to keep this rendezvous a secret from everyone else with the state we were both in. But, right now, I couldn’t care.

Vessel leaned himself overtop of me, his forehead against my chest. Though, he was dominating me, he was so caught up in the pleasure that he was starting to quickly come undone. I touched his back, nails digging into his skin. He tossed his head back at the sensation, neck exposed to me. I eyed the veins protruding from his skin. 

He smirked at me when he noticed I was staring at his neck. He growled, “Take a bite.”

I held one hand, tightly, to his shoulder, keeping him steady as he fucked me. But, I gripped the back of his head with the other. I was slow at first, nipping at his neck gently. Vessel’s thrusts were becoming sloppy with each bite I took. I was close, too. So, I opened my jaw further, taking a pinch of his skin between my upper and lower canines. I bit down, hard. 

“Fuck!”

He quickly pulled out and came on my stomach. As he did, I felt myself come undone. Vessel pressed his forehead against mine as we rode out our high. We came down from the top and he gave me a sloppy kiss. 

There was a bitter cold left on my skin as he stepped back. I hugged myself, finally taking in the black paint covering my skin. “Oh, god,” I laughed. 

Vessel pulled his pants up. He looked at my body, grinning, “Fuck. That’s so hot. Darling, if we had more time…”

“I know,” I smiled up at him. 

“Here, there’s a bathroom over here,” Vessel spoke as he finished buckling his belt. He offered me his hand. 

I followed him into the side room. He found a washcloth on the side of the sink, clean and unused, and wet it with warm water. Vessel gently pried my hands from covering my body and busied himself with wiping down my skin. He focused on what would be visible: My arms, neck, hands, face. I watched him while he worked. It was fucking hot when he was dominating, disgustingly dirty. But, this, this caring demeanor? I’d fuck him again in a heartbeat. 

When he was finished, he rounded up my dress, shoes, and underwear. He turned away, without a question, while I dressed. I was no longer nervous, so I wouldn’t have minded if he watched. But, he was respectful. 

“Okay,” I breathed out, pulling my final dress strap back up and over my shoulder. 

Vessel faced me. I was finally able to take in his face and had to cover my mouth to stifle my laughter. He frowned, slightly, confused by my laughter. “What? What is it?”

I touched his shoulders, forcing him to face the mirror. His head pulled back in shock at his appearance. 

I kept laughing and Vessel peered down at me with a tilted head. “Keep laughing, darling.”

“I’m sorry,” I shrugged, “it’s fo fucking funny.”

“What’s funny?” 

I yelped, trying to duck out of the way as he jolted towards me. He caught me by the waist, rattling me around in his hold. I giggled, loudly against his chest, trying to twist out of his hold. His mouth was near my ear as he teased me, “Not so funny now, huh?”

I rested my forehead to his shoulder in my fit of laughter. Vessel calmed his movements, just holding me against him now. “It just goes to show the mess you make out of me,” he murmured against my ear, lips pressed to the shell. 

I looked up at him and pointed a warning finger, “Don’t do that.”

“I know,” he huffed as he tossed his head back in frustration. “We should be getting back.”

“Sadly,” I wrapped my arms around his neck. 

He admired my face for a few moments, silent, until he smiled softly, “Can I get your number?”

“Maybe,” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know, I kind of like to just fuck and dump, ya know?”

“I won’t let you do that, darling,” his voice dropped low again. 

“Okay, you’ve gotta stop doing that or I’m never going home.”

Vessel cupped my cheek in his hand, nearly void of paint, “I’d be okay with that.”

“I’m gonna walk away now.”

Vessel didn’t let go, however, as I made a move to step towards the bathroom door. In fact, he held me tighter. He pressed another kiss to my lips. “Can’t go anywhere looking that, darling,” he twisted me around to face the mirror, long arms cradling my waist. 

I reached for the washcloth and wiped off my face. I faced him again and cleaned up his mouth, just enough so that it wasn’t completely obvious he’d eaten me out. We spent another moment teasing each other, eliciting more giggles from my throat. But, we figured we should get back. 

So, he took my hand again and led us back down the hallway. I flushed red as soon as the door was pulled open, considering the entire band and Brittany snapped their heads towards us. 

“Way to leave your sister!” Brittany exclaimed, holding up a cup of what could only be whiskey. “Dude, you’re missing out on some insane stories right now. Come, sit.” She patted the couch next to her. 

I glanced up at Vessel as I took my hand from his. II, IV, and III greeted me with kind eyes and small greetings. “Hey, sorry,” I said as I plopped onto the couch. “He was just showing me the, uh…”

We hadn’t come up with an excuse. So, my words fell off my tongue with no resolution. Vessel shoved his hands in his pockets, quickly stuttering out, “Backstage. Just the backstage area. She wanted to see how everything works.”

Brittany nodded, oblivious to the elephant in the room. “Dope. You’ll have to show me next.”

“We can do a group tour,” IV offered. 

Everyone agreed, enthusiastically, and we all stood to pile out the door. III and I were the last ones seated. I met his dark eyes, smiling kindly at him. His gaze dropped to my thighs, brows raising beneath his mask suggestively. 

I followed his eyes down. Where my dress had ridden up my thighs was a long line of smeared paint, not to mention reddened hickies that were starting to sprout up. I pressed my lips together and quickly tugged the material down over my legs. 

III patted my knee as he stood, “You were the one going crazy during The Offering, love.”

I gaped after him as his words lingered in the air before me. Vessel stood just beside the door, awaiting my presence. As III passed by him, he took Vessel by the chin and tilted his head. 

He tsked at the bruising bite mark on Vessel’s neck. I shoved my face into my hands, face beyond burned.

III whispered, “Take a bite.” 

It wasn’t until a few days later, when Brittany and I were hanging out, looking through concert videos with nostalgia, that she found out. I was nervous to tell her. Besides, Vessel and I were starting to see each other, so I didn’t want to expose his private life too much. I trusted her, but I just overthought it all. Apparently, though, I hadn’t enough overthinking.

I had just made a post on Instagram, making the photo we took with the band the cover photo for a dump. It blew up immediately. Brittany and I were reading comments as they came in, dying of laughter at some of the shit people were saying. 

“No, hand placement is so real!” Brittany exclaimed. She shoved her phone in my face, showing me the zoom-in of Vessel’s hand on my hip. I blushed and shoved it away. She kept scrolling. 

“Wait,” her voice trailed off. 

I glanced at her and watched as her brows furrowed. She tapped around, zoomed in a bunch, scrolled through comments. I looked back to my phone just as a new comment began blowing up with responses and likes. 

User- so is no one gonna talk about vessel’s paint on y/n’s thigh and her very obvious sex hair?

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

[rouiyan]

𝘕𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛𝘚 𝘓𝘐𝘒𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘚𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘥𝘩 ]

⧏ part of the before i met you collective ⧐

synopsis: you hate donghyuck’s stupid, stupid temper and also his stupid, stupidly sincere apologies. and just when you think you can seamlessly quote every word to come from his jabbering mouth, he does the unthinkable.

✧ idol!lee donghyuck x (fem.) college student!reader ✧ established relationship au

✧ genres : fluff, angst, and then some Fluff ✧ word count : 3.4k ✧ disclaimers : minor swearing, like a three-worded phrase referring to sex

✧ author’s note — i was really invested in this at first and wrote the first three thousand words in one day but i lost motivation and finally finished it a week after haha.

“baby, i think we should talk about something.” 

donghyuck’s eyes peered quizzically down at yours, a slim anxiety shadowing his irises. “it’s nothing to worry about but…” he huffed a silent breath, a small smile easing across his features before gesturing for you to continue. his hair is mussed and his glasses are perched upon the bridge of his nose, a sight that you will always welcome with open arms. “well, after you come back from your tour, it’s gonna be our-“

“-second anniversary, i know, princess.” his face now donned a smirk akin to that of an angel’s. “yeah,” you breathed, taken aback a bit by your boyfriend’s straightforwardness, “it's just… i’m a bit tight on money right now so i was thinking we could do, like, thoughtful gifts? instead of something more expensive.” donghyuck’s eyes dimmed the slightest at the reason behind your suggestion, “if you’re ever tight on money, i could always lend you some, you know?” 

shuffling around the bed and positioning yourself so that you were on eye level with the boy, a chuckle seeped within your sigh, “that's ridiculous, hyuck. why would i borrow money from you to buy you a gift? then you’d just be buying yourself a gift.” laughing dryly along with him you settled down to bring the conversation back to the point, “i was thinking that when you come back, i could cook you up a big dinner of all your favorites. it’s been awhile since i last cooked for you. and i guess that could be my gift.”

“of course, baby, i’d love that,” his eyes bore into yours with so much love that it felt almost undeserving to be the one receiving it. he's always been one to give and forget to receive. shaking the thought that donghyuck’s love could ever be burdensome, you held his hands in yours, relief written in your expression. “and i’ll,” he continued with a playful lilt to his voice, “just have to find something that’s equally as heartfelt as a home- cooked meal.”

it’s nights like these that set your heart to peace, when he lets you be the big spoon for once and when his soft snores reverberate throughout your body, making you think of him and only him. your hand cards through his locks rhythmically and you wish for nothing to ever change the way he looks at you or the way your heart pulls for him.

your heartbeat is erratic, thumping wildly in your ears, as donghyuck’s yells resound through the phone. he’s not mad at you, per se, be he’s definitely mad at you. tears prickle at the edge of your eyes as you think, for the fifth time in the past hour, just how unfair he was being.

“y/n, look, i’m not asking much of you. just don’t bother me while i’m working.” you huff breaths because frankly, you find his attitude increasingly hard to deal with. he’s been on tour with nct 127 for almost three weeks now, and he’s decided, for whatever reason, that now was the perfect time to blow out his stresses upon you. it’s getting harder to suppress the oncoming hyperventilation so while he rambles about how inconvenient and how inconsiderate you’re proving to be, you hang up.

sitting down, you almost can feel your heart shrivel up like a dried fruit and you long to sink further into the sheets. the vibrations of your phone, lighting up again and again with his contact name, hyuck <3, make you feel even worse than it should. you pick up the call after his seventh try and without even letting him realize, you begin your pent up rant.

“lee donghyuck, for the love of god, can you put aside your inflated ego for just one second and realize how much of a dick you’re being? i checked the fucking time before i called you, you’re not working, you’re at your hotel, it’s eleven at night over there. i’m fed up with you taking out all your shit on me. i’m your girlfriend, not your punching bag, jesus christ.”

you stop to catch your breath when you realize the tears have unleashed themselves and are now running freely along the crevices of your face. you feel a sob bubbling up your throat and you willingly let it out, your phone dropping within the abyss of the bed. it’s sad, the way your body ricochets with ripples of wilting emotion, echoing the feelings that have waited too long and have expanded twofold in even the tiniest moments of weakness. clutching your chest, you crawl to where your phone landed, motions lacking energy and will. 

before you can reach your phone, a soft, “y/n,” fills the empty void of the room. it’s hard to hear but the second it fills your ears, your heart constricts in a way it never has before whenever donghyuck calls your name. your eyes are blurry and your head is suddenly so heavy, you doubt you’ll ever be able to lift it again. it takes you three tries before you successfully thumb the button to hang up.

it’s nights like these that set your heart on fire; the type of fire that burns and kills. the empty room, the empty apartment, engulfs your body as if it were a mere speck of dust, invisible to the naked eye. you feel tiny in ways that are so not cute and it’s that very thought that pierces your mind to the edge of exhaustion, your emotional escapade coming to an end.

with everything in consideration, donghyuck thinks he’s prepared, or as prepared as he could be, standing outside your apartment, waiting for you to open up. his heart is loud in his chest, almost begging for his attention, but he ignores the sensation and takes a deep breath. 

among all his hopes and dreams, he wishes the most to see you again. it’s not like he didn’t think he deserved it but the silent treatment had really taken a toll on him. and with the constant pang in his chest alerting him of his failures, he’s reminded that you’re feeling the same, if not double at the cost of his actions. so if you decide not to open up, despite him knowing deep down that you will, he understands.

donghyuck’s feet tap nervously on the ground, itching for him to do something, anything. to knock until his knuckles bleed or ram into the door with full force, he’s sure that would relieve the urges. his body aches to be in the same room as yours, the weeks apart tearing him inside out. he unlocks his phone, to pass the seconds or just to look at the last text he’d sent you three hours ago, still read and unreplied. i just landed. i’ll be at your place by 7.

he sighs, a deep and earthy tone to his voice, covered in the frustration and stresses that have been tensing his shoulders for the past two weeks, waiting for this day to come. he pockets his phone and rings the buzzer one more time before his hand drops limply down his side, now drumming a rapid beat upon his jeans. 

as the door before him swings open, he feels anything but ready. instead, he feels shy and embarrassed to show up at your door front. the many words he’d rehearsed over and over again on his flight back had escaped his memory altogether. you’re donned in a large tee that he recognizes as his, so large on you that he can’t see what shorts you’re wearing underneath or if you’re even wearing shorts. your hair is messy and unkempt, framing your face in a way that only he would think is cute. donghyuck suddenly feels overdressed in his jeans and an environmental awareness graphic tee that you had gifted him a while back, a black blazer carefully thrown over but then again, he only came here looking like this because it’s your second anniversary. he bites down on his lips as he realizes that instead, you may be feeling underdressed. 

the eye contact he holds is broken as you step aside to let him in and he notes the way your arms are folded over your middle indicating one of two things. either you really do feel underdressed or it’s a sign that you don’t want him touching you. he decides to play it safe and steps through the threshold of your apartment, walking right past you. he does, though, catch the brief look of expectancy followed by disappointment that creases your brows and he takes a subconscious step back as he tries to decide if he should go for the usual hug and kiss anyways. he immediately backtracks when he sees that the timing has already passed for a greeting, inwardly wincing at his awkwardness.

slipping his shoes off as you lock the door, donghyuck enters the living room beside you, eyes scanning the room that’s lit by only a singular standing lamp and the pinky orange hues of the sunset falling through your sheer curtains. he can smell food in the air, something on the stove or in the oven, and he takes a swerve to the kitchen, the table set aside brimming with an abundance side dishes and all his favorite meats, grilled to perfection. he also sees even more of the same food on the counter, packaged in stacks of tupperware, with the labels ‘127’ and ‘dream’ written on pastel post-its. of course, he thinks, even when your mad, you’re still as considerate as humanly possible.

he’s shifting on his weight, unsure of what to say or do to show you that he feels entirely undeserving of your kindness despite being undoubtedly upset at him. donghyuck wants to facepalm himself because you beat him to it.

“have you eaten yet?” your voice is light but laced with a solemness he wishes he could wash away. he watches as you clench and unclench the material of his shirt, an emotionally grounding mechanism of yours he’s noticed every time you're on the verge of breaking down. he clears his voice before answering, “no, let’s eat.”

he turns to sit at the table when he realizes that there’s only one serving of food on the table. one bowl of rice, one cup of water, cold without ice like he likes it, and enough side dishes for just one person. he knows you’re not petty enough to make him watch you eat all his favorite foods but he’s even more saddened by the fact that it’ll be the other way around. you don’t want to eat with him.

“are you not eating?” he questions, though he knows the answer. donghyuck is sure that all his past ancestors are frowning upon him. it’s only right that his eyes dim when you give him a shake of your head, taking steps to sit at the seat across from where he was to be seated. following suit, he sits down whilst asking, “why not?” 

“i’m not hungry, that’s all.”

“oh, i see.”

a thick silence follows and it feels almost suffocating for donghyuck to sit in. he wishes more than anything now to have the courage to tell you what he needs to say. the words are lodged too far down in his throat so he settles for a, “how have you been?” between consuming mouthfuls of rice and glancing up at you as he chews. he feels he can quite literally see the cogs turning in your head to figure out what to say and he thinks he also knows the answer you will conclude to. an, “i’ve been better,” confirms his thoughts, his years upon years experiences proving to be top notch. “how about you?” he hesitates before speaking and starts with a, “me too, been better,” but you knew that look like the back of your hand. he had something else to say.

the frown that sits upon your lips irritates donghyuck, having been his job to chase it away, so he hurries to finish his food, almost choking and deepening your frown. he inhales every last grain of rice, piece of meat, speck of crumb, and ounce of water before setting down the chopsticks, tummy full and mindset prepped, for real this time.

truth be told, it’s not everyday that you and him get into fights but he’s always the one that’s petty enough to start them, hence his adequate knowledge on what to say after, how to say it, when to say it. “y/n,” he starts and makes sure to give a pause to make sure your attention is all his; more or less you feel as if you already know his next words, slightly annoyed that your second anniversary will go down in history as just another of his many apologies. worst part was, you could never bring yourself to doubt his true intentions, no matter what he did.

“i’m not going to lie, i was annoyed at you for calling. i was frustrated and stressed from the workload but among all that i was also selfish, and inconsiderate. and yes, i was the biggest dick to the bestest girlfriend.” if anyone was to give the most sincere of apologies, you knew it was to be donghyuck. he had so many love languages, and people would usually interpret this as his touchy nature, but you knew more than anyone that his words seemed too poetic and too perfectly curated to be deemed inferior to his touches. 

donghyuck, himself, likes to think that all he knows about love is from you. he doesn’t just like to think but he knows, amongst the millions of other things he knows regarding his girlfriend, that you will be the only girl ever to make him want so much. you drag out his desires by a tenfold and equally bring out the best in him. it’s a fact he keeps to himself but ever so persistently, that you are the one that keeps him going, day and night. he’s never been much of a romanticist, but trust when he says that his love for you was slow and gradual in the most beautiful way. like honey and molasses dripping at a crawling pace only to sweeten up the surfaces it graces. his love for you ages like fine wine and savors like a setting sun against a backdrop of stars. you will never need a man more than you need donghyuck, and donghyuck, you.

with all above considered, heaving and placed in the most carefully constructed sentences, he almost bulldozes through the next speech he’s prepared, checking off the bullet points in his head as he’d goes. he’s a stuttering and leg-bouncing mess from the sheer nervousness of how to get this to play out exactly as it does in his head.

biting his lips, he dives in, “y/n, i know you. i really do. i’ve known you for almost a decade and i’ve spent most of that decade trying my best to get to know you, chasing after you until you saw me the way i saw you. the last two years have shown me that all the time i spent being hung up on you was beyond worth it. jeno told me i needed to move on because you’d never see me as more than a friend, renjun gave me a list of girls he thought would match with my personality better, and my managers honestly hated you. but for some reason, i never gave a fuck. and i think it’s because that i’ve always known that we were going to end up together somehow. but actually dating you, i think i’ve known, since exactly two years ago from today, that you were the one.”

your breath hitches, oh how wrong you were thinking you knew exactly what he was to say. you feel lightheaded and spontaneous at the same time, like a sickness birthed from sheer joy. it’s as if you could feel the blood coursing through your veins, suddenly hyper-aware of your surroundings, of him. your suspicions are there and your eyes start to widen in panic and doubt in place of your immediate happiness. donghyuck senses this and clears his throat to finish his long winded confession.

“we’re still young, baby, we have no need to rush into this. but i was thinking of what to give you for a two year anniversary that’s meaningful and conveys exactly how much i love you. the fight made it really clear for me though,” he tucks his hand into the inner pocket of his blazer and withdraws a simple tiffany blue box. “i was in new york, for just a night, but i was passing by the store and it just clicked. this-“ he opens the cased ring box to reveal a simple silver band, with the letters of his initials engraved along the inside, ”is a promise ring, from me to you. i promise you, that i will be the one to marry you. trust in me when i say that there is nothing else that comes to mind when i think of my future. my future is you, y/n, nothing can change that. not a petty fight, or my job and your education, or the media even. it’s me and you, baby, till the end of time.”

his eyes are shining with tears that mimic the ones spilling from your own tear ducts. a small laugh ruptured at the back of your throat at how he ended his little speech with such a cheesy line but you barely have time to recollect yourself before donghyuck takes the box in his hands and removes the ring from its hold. he slips your right hand into his with ease and tugs it closer to slide the ring onto your ring finger because, “we’re not actually engaged, more like pre-engaged.” his heart has such a close hold on yours as he reaches into his suit pocket again, your eyes widening at the prospect of yet another surprise. 

it’s another ring, the same fashion as the one on your finger except with your initials carved into the inner ring. at this point you can’t understand why donghyuck has such a nervous look on his face, you’d say yes to almost anything he asks of you in this state. “i would also like to know… if you would make the same promise to me.” you don’t even bother saying yes, just taking the ring into your own fingers and slotting it onto the ring finger on his right hand. his face flushes almost instantly at your bold actions, even if he was the one that practically proposed to you today.

it takes everything in you to suppress the smile that’s already washing over your face, worried you’ll ruin the moment by looking too gleeful. the man across from you looks about the same except he’s failing miserably at keeping the joy from lining his features, maybe on purpose. donghyuck may or may not be completely head over heels for you, now over the moon that the two of you were back on good terms. his chest is light and his head is a little sluggish, only thinking of you and you-related things, like he’s been drugged by … by your love. his head is reeling at the tight smile that is a dead giveaway to what you’re not expressing and the way your eyes glance down every two second at the ring on your finger. he takes a glance at it as well and his heart swells infinitely because he knows that there is one on his own finger as well. the internal dialogue that you’re having with him is clear as day. your eyes are sparkling as if to say ‘i love you,’ your toes are tapping lightly on his sock-clad ones as if to say ‘i love you,’ and he’s noticed that your position hasn’t changed in the last ten minutes despite your usually fidgety disposition; that itself, donghyuck reads as a giant ‘i fucking love you.’

needless to say, it’s nights like these that sear your heart with ecstasy every living, breathing moment. donghyuck doesn’t voice any opposition when you pull him to bed right after, not even bothering to place the dishes in the sink. naked in bed, his love for you is the closest thing he knows to home and your love for him, the same. you suppose that you may have been viewing the world through rose-tinted glasses that night, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to the day the love of your life gets down on one knee to fulfill his promise, the very same day you were to say yes to fulfill yours. 

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

[rielzero]

Apparently I had an empty account, so hi!

I never use tumblr despite it looking appealing for blogging, but mostly because I’m unfamiliar with the platform despite a few attempts in the past that I’ll probably never remember.

I go online by two aliases in case one somehow is taken, my other username is actualevil, all though it seems that that one is already taken by someone else on tumblr. My more ‘’known’’ one is just Rielzero. Which is only used by another person once in my many curious searches, so if you see a warframe forum account, that isn’t me. They used the username way before I came up with it, lol.

You’ll see me use this username on deviantart too, for example.

Here’s my carrd, I’ll add tumblr later if I don’t forget: https://actualevil.carrd.co

What does RielZero even mean tho, lol

Riel is the name of my main persona, while I’d rather roleplay a personality online to conceal my privacy better, there’s a distinction between me and him for the fact that he is a character and a story telling tool.

Riel is pronounced as the word ‘’real’’ kind of intended as an inside joke. I feel like there’s a lot of possible answers to that, but that’s gonna mean spoilers.

The zero part adds to it, to the character himself it translates into ‘’real nobody’’ since he’s had in his lore.. Many aliases, but no ‘’true name’’ if that makes sense.

So he goes by Riel in the current timeline. In past timelines he usually swaps around several aliases.

Why is ‘’actual evil’’ your other preferred username?

I view ‘’actual evil’’ as a brand name, I use it for twitter and youtube. Its trivial to a personal philosophy of mine. That doesn’t mean I think other people shouldn’t use that as an username, its just kinda difficult building a brand sometimes when by chance someone uses the same name. Because it can make people assume you’re connected somehow, while its just a rare coincidence. I don’t want to withhold that from anyone. But the possibility of impersonation is a thing too. Thats why you’d have to be wary. At least carrd is a way of showcasing where you have an ‘’official’’ account, and everything else is just someone else with the same name.

But slapping copyright on words can often be.. Chaotic? So. Lets not do that. I’m staring at you, Apple. You damn fruit technology brand.

So Rielzero is usually my back-up.

Why tumblr?

Long twitter rambles give me anxiety, and I don’t want to use that longtweet thing. I’m not here for followers to be honest.

I’ve always wanted to blog just a little bit. Share my random existential dread somewhere. I genuinely don’t worry if people see it or not. Somehow I feel like maybe I want to leave an archive of myself if per chance a future gen was curious about me. Who knows.

And I’m lonely too, sometimes. The void awaits.

Details

23 year old gay man, Artist, I make a webtoon (Might post here), neurodivergent, mute (aka non-verbal), disabled. 

And a gamer. I like conan exiles, skyrim, elder scrolls online, a bit of runescape 3. Fallout 4 is one of my favorites too.

My favorite mobile games are marvel strike force, and monster super league.

My favorite manga are one punch man and black clover.

My favorite movie franchise: the MCU.

My favorite comicbooks: I loved the superior spider-man run. I also adore the spider-man and deadpool team up comics.

Fav shows: Invincible, the witcher, korean odyssey, many more (having a brainfart with recalling sometimes.)

Fav music stuff: band: Set it off, Melanie Martinez, Bryce Fox, etc

I LOVE Collecting marvel legends figures amongst other action figures. I’m a nerd if that wasn’t clear by now.

Sometimes I write ‘’lyrics’’ or just poetry that look like lyrics. I have no music skills, and I obviously can’t sing.

I dabble in a variety of creative stuff, like book-binding and hopefully doll customizing in the future.

Face reveal?

No.

I’m also a vtuber, kinda.

youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi7SnPgRwO_u0EFxtHURzWQ

Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/actualevil

I go on break from streaming very often lately because my health just is being a disruptive F-word. (I don’t know how to describe my frustration without cursing.)

Do you take art requests?

Blockhammer for you. Nope.

Ok, do you take commissions?

Limited. Not cheap. I have health issues I will not disclose at this time. The best way I can summaries is that no matter how hard I try to improve my health, my energy reserves are very limited. I’m kinda frail and prone to headaches too.

Check my deviantart commission sheet gallery for this.

I find it easier to make ‘’pre-made’’ adoptable batches and sell those instead.

Can I be your friend?

IF you’re asking, you’re probably a minor and I’m terrified of teenagers.

People become friends due natural interactions. You can’t force that. If you have a motive to become friends, please leave me alone.

Please avoid me if you’re a minor though. I’m very uncomfortable around kids. I think you should have friends around your age who understand you better.

Advice?

I’m not a teacher, so don’t see my words as gospel. If you have a question I might be able to answer, then perhaps. I can be wrong. Everyone is flawed after all.

Derp

My brain empty now. See ya around.

Edit: Also important, I have dissociative amnesia- So I randomly forget stuff or randomly remember stuff.. Its very frustrating to deal with in daily life. And no, its more common than you think. It can be caused by depression, medication, trauma, etc.

I don’t want to explain it in detail, but at times remembering stuff no matter how small is kind of hard for me. I try to keep notes and memos often.

[a-lil-perspective]

I don’t want to be that person—

But I really need to get this off my chest. This is the culmination of two months buildup of thoughts that have been screaming far too loud for me to continue simply taking in stride. I can’t do it. I apologize in advance, for anyone who actually reads this, if this is a deterrent to you about my character or my minuscule space taken up here on Tumblr. Again, I really can no longer remain silent. If it’s any solace:

I tried.

Where to begin. First off—as much as I’d love for this to be an update on the next chapter of Remember Me, it is not. For those of you who’ve kept up with the story, I’m sure you’ve noticed my uploading pattern these past few weeks has been reduced to solely weekends—and barely that, might I add. While I will try to have Chapter 9 up within the next few days, I cannot guarantee when. At this point in time, it’s not a lack of creative streak, it’s a lack of time. I have all these outlines and segments in my head but can’t seem to even catch a breath much less put the story down in my notes or in Word for later edit and upload. But I’m trying. I really am. As I’ve said before: I will finish this story, come hell or high water. But currently being engulfed in the former has been a huge burden.

Per my past psa’s: My health? Two giant thumbs down (nothing to do with COVID-19). Personal aspects? Two giant thumbs down. Both are and have been slowly corroding me. To avoid this post seemingly grabbing for sympathy, I’m going to just stop there with that. But I’m truly suffocating in this corner.

Next point in case: I’m going to be completely candid here. It’s extremely difficult and utterly exhausting to continue posting fics. Mentally and Emotionally. The pressure to post. The pressure to post because if you don’t in a timely manner, you lose your momentum and “fall behind” when you post again. Then you’re right back to square one thereafter because people have grown absent in your absence. It’s exhausting and stressful to spin in that wheel.

It’s difficult when you pour every drop of energy into a work, only for it to sit largely unnoticed on your blog. To stay up literally all night making sure your punctuation is impeccable, re-reading the same fic over and over before you post until your brain explodes and you utterly forsake the fic the minute you hit that post button. To take up space on a post tagging and adding those notes and engaging flares that go unrequited. It’s... well, it’s detrimental. It gets you down. It gets me down. I’m not going to lie about that. We all want validation and I will be the first to shoot my hand up in acknowledgement.

I’m going to stop right there as you’re reading to clarify: This is not a call-out post. This is not a guilt post. This is not me giving an ultimatum. This is not me demanding reblogs. This is not me telling you “your likes don’t matter” (I have literally seen that on posts and it kind of disgusts me. That’s all I’m going to say about that for now).

Reblogs, while unanimously appreciated, are not a priority to me. Comments and feedback and communication are invaluable to me. That’s it. That coveted and intimate interaction between the Writer and the Reader. One is not more important than the other. We’re a team, a unit, a force that balances each other on a broad, diverse scale.

I don’t ask for much—I don’t ask for anything here, actually (unless it’s directed towards the general audience over what y’all would like to see, which largely goes unengaged whenever I bring up). No, I don’t post fics that frequently. No, I don’t crank them out as quick. No, I don’t have that many. Yes, I’m new to fanfic writing. But I work quietly and solely with all my own plots and dialogues and ideas (I love prompts and requests, though). Thus my usually hefty works. Y’all get the whole nine yards. But I don’t feel like I really get to bounce my ideas around to others, which can further exacerbate that sense of isolation for me around here. I put myself through a really long process for every single thing I write because, the quality of my work matters to me. A lot. So I try to take my time to deliver that. And... I guess I just hope you know that or can discern that as you read each time.

Another astronomically exhausting aspect is this platform itself. It’s painfully evident to me, in my four meager months here, that Tumblr is just one big popularity contest. Who can upload the most, the fastest, the most efficiently. Who has the most followers. Who accumulates them the quickest. A place where your “exposure” is literally at the mercy of others. And when people purposely don’t want to aid in that, it spirals into this really toxic mindset causing friction between Writers and other Writers, causing unnecessary strain, avoidance, insecurities, and hinderances to YOUR precious work. And I’m not about that. It’s a no from me.

Also, I’ve just got to interject with this bit: Bad Batch Writers. Bad Batch Writers struggle. In my opinion, from what I’ve seen, it’s like if you aren’t writing for a popular Clone like Wolffe or Fives or Jesse, you don’t get traffic. Which I think is just... kind of corny. Okay. I think it’s really corny and ridiculous. Please know that I’m not saying anything bad about those Clone babies, the people who write them, or anything like that. Please don’t hear what I’m not saying. I’m just making a point. Bad Batch does NOT get enough love. And the Writers ultimately suffer because of it. That’s all there.

We’re all supposed to be in this together. Your work—your writing—is neither good nor bad. There’s no such thing. There’s only YOUR writing; your unique, beautiful words that I LOVE more than anything, that only YOU speak. We all speak a different dialect and flow through our storytelling. And it’s a beautiful, wholesome thing. It always has been. It should never be this detrimental stage Tumblr has made for content creators. Let’s be honest: Tumblr is not the ideal place to thrive. And I’m just... sick of it.

I’m beyond an exhausted state. I can’t remember that last time I wasn’t. (I know everyone is, with the ebb and flow of our world’s daily uncertainties during these unprecedented times). But for me, personally, it’s getting increasingly harder to keep up with the reblogs and comments and blogs of all the stories I love, while updating my work and trying to interact on my blog, while battling my health and nonexistent energy, and constantly be exposed to the “Tumblr Tumbles”, as I call it—the overbearing popularity and the waiting and the wondering and the silent seething because of it. It’s just too much. And it doesn’t take a detective to pick up on that attitudinal shift around here. It’s all just one big, pernicious cycle. And seeing that here nearly every day, exhausts me. I don’t know how else to convey as much. But I just can’t do it. And honestly, I get this overwhelming loneliness just being here.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I’m going to continue doing my thing until my engine sputters out. I’m going to keep up with storytelling, because I love it more than anything. I just needed to get this off my chest. I’m just rambling. I might delete this but, I might not. Who knows.

I just... Geez. I need to know that I’m not just shouting into the void over here like always.

Communication to me is key. If you don’t want me to tag you anymore: tell me. If you don’t want me to message you: tell me. Please. Just don’t like me? Cool. Tell me. It’s better to know and communicate than to walk on eggshells around everyone and everything. I’ve applied that flawed strategy throughout my whole life and I strongly dislike doing so. It adds no benefit to either party. Just be honest with yourself and others. That’s always super important.

For those of you, my handful of regulars who are around... you know who you are. Thank you. My thanks is but a meager conveyance of my undying gratitude for you. But I want you to know how much I appreciate your presence here. Words cannot express.

@halzore... You are a real mate. You are an incredible being who is not only insightful but, a true muse here. I look to you as more than just a devoted Reader of mine, and you should know that I would NOT have gotten this far with my Bad Batch Post Order: 66 series—or any of my Bad Batch works, for that matter—without your encouraging words. Holy cow. You’re a dearest friend. Your writing, art, and musical talent leaves me in awe. (A truly brilliant mind, please go love her y’all). Thank you for seeing all the good, little things in me and my work. It makes this all worth it. You make it all worth it. I get really overwhelmed thinking about it. But I just want you to know I appreciate you so much.

To anyone who’s ever left me kind, encouraging, and wonderful comments... I remember them. I do. I think of them when I’m down, and I think of them now as I write this—which is in my dispirited state, ironically. But I appreciate it. I think it is so SO important to lift each other up with words. You don’t have to reblog and all that (only speaking for myself here). Just take a moment to say something kind to someone. It makes someone’s entire day, week, month, year. Please... love other Writers. Love yourself. We all struggle. But let’s do it together. Let’s be there for each other.

Come talk to me. I don’t bite, I promise. Tell me about your day. Tell me something about yourself. I care. I love that interaction, because you are MORE than just a Reader to me. You are a valued human being with feelings, desires, wants, needs... come share that with me. If there’s something you’d like to see in my future works, something that would engage you more; please, come tell me.

I’m going to try and get better. At writing, at navigating this strange place, with my health, with life. I’ve been at my breaking point for so long that my barely held together pieces and exposed, worn chinks are almost uneffected and unresponsive to any help or healing. But I’m going to try.

Thank you for being here. I’m sure it can be hard to have patience with me and my nonexistent uploading schedule, but, I do have several wips in the works (teases in my masterlist in case you’re wondering). They’ll come around. :’)

Keep your head up and shining, lovelies. And I’ll try to do the same.

[waitedforgarridebs]

Radio (1994): Merrison & Williams

The 3GAR adaptation that’ll shatter your heart into a million pieces

Clive Merrison and Michael Williams were the first pair of actors to play Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson who got to dramatise every single story of the entire canon – all four novels and 56 short stories.

In 1987, Bert Coules pitched a screenplay of HOUN to the BBC, which was greenlit and produced for radio with Roger Rees and Crawford Logan as the two lead actors. As this show ended up being a great success, Coules suggested to keep the series going, and the BBC agreed – however, they insisted on recasting. Eventually, the popularity of the show led to the decision to adapt literally every single canon story, and for the first time they actually managed to successfully achieve this feat over the course of the next 9 years. The Merrison-Williams-series ran on BBC Radio 4 from 1989 until 1998.

As Williams unfortunately died way too young in 2001, he could not continue his part as Dr Watson for the series of original stories written by Coules, “The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”. This sequel still got commissioned during his lifetime, and while the production team set everything on hold to wait until Williams got better, sadly this never happened. He eventually was replaced by Andrew Sachs for the last 15 stories of this series.

While Coules remained as lead writer of the show, he was supported by various other writers for this quite massive project. The adaptations of the stories are in their core quite true to the books: The characters’ lines were updated to a more modern sounding language, and filler scenes were written to expand especially the shorter, less dense cases to the runtime of 45 minutes per episode.

For Coules and his team, the Holmes stories are not primarily detective stories. They are stories about a detective – and, more than that: They are stories about a detective and his only friend. Watson isn’t considered to be a bumbling sidekick, but an actual co-lead.

(And yes, I am basically quoting Coules himself from an interview done for the “I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere” podcast, so I do not know if Moftiss nicked that pitch from him or vice versa.)

In order to stay true to every story’s essence, the writers were “imaginatively faithful” to the original cases. They would, for example, sketch out the backstory and all the inciting incidents leading up to a client’s inquiry at 221b, and dramatise a bit of the story Doyle only mentioned in passing, but never actually wrote down. Or they would invent new scenes, sometimes even new endings, whenever they thought the original version wasn’t as effective as it could have been.

The reason I am putting all of this over the cut is to make you aware of the fact that the changes in the story were all done with a purpose – in this case, to amplify its emotional impact.

Because, without this background knowledge, their changes to 3GAR appear to be absolutely devastating. Cruel, even.

Can I just start by saying that I love Merrison’s Holmes and Williams’ Watson?

Their chemistry is incredible. They breathe so much life into these two characters! They banter, they laugh, they at times even mock a particularly annoying client when said client can’t hear them – and sometimes even when they can *coughs* Killer Evans – and I regret not having listened to their entire work as of yet. 

(But that’s a good resolution for the new year if there ever was one!)

And, one thing I can say for certain: This Holmes is 100% in love with his Watson.

It is the “desperately unspoken” dynamic of TPLoSH all over again, but maybe a little less repressed. Also, Watson – again – has his three-continent-reputation to defend. They are stupid idiot boys, they don’t fucking TALK to each other, and it’s driving me up the wall, but at least they do very much consider each other family, and that is a really great step into the right direction.

That being said, do not listen to this version of 3GAR if you don’t have the time to be emotionally compromised after finishing it.

This adaptation first aired on October 26, 1994.

As mentioned earlier, the writers – in this case David Ashton – did add a bit of backstory as well as some filler scenes to stretch the episode over the entire runtime: the introduction shows how Evans shot Prescott, featuring seemingly indifferent, almost John-Mulaney-esque barkeepers, who are so very chill about the entire murder-thing happening in front of their eyes. “Oh, what is it about Friday nights, ey?”

Ashton not only gives characters like Saunders lines, but writes whole scenes just for them, and even paces longer exposition bits quite nicely by, for example, having the American John Garrideb start the explanation about the search for the third Garrideb in Baker Street, and Nathan Garrideb finish it by excitedly rambling about his impending fortune at the exasperated Saunders.

Not only pleasant filler scenes like these were added, however.

You see, there is a running theme throughout this episode: At the beginning, Holmes is quite his usual self, and mocks the concept of love, human connection, and relationships. He and Watson see a young couple in the park, the bloke teasing the girl and playfully stealing ... her ... hat ... *muffled screaching noises* ... and Holmes compares the couple to pidgeons: “The male puffs out his chest and the female runs around in circles.” Watson, as ever, doesn’t seem too opposed to the idea of having a woman in his life, and Holmes simply ends up pointing out that the couple is having their date quite close to where the gallows used to be. Charming as ever.

Throughout the episode, Holmes is confronted with the idea of love and companionship again and again, in very different scenarios, and gradually warms up to it. Which, looking at where the episode is headed – Watson realising that there is a heart behind the cold mask – is actually a beautiful thing to do, and certainly does make sense.

However, one morning Watson has business of his own to attend to. And that’s where the heartbreak sets in: In an added scene, they show Watson ring-shopping. 

(Not for Holmes, obviously. He seems to have met someone and plans on getting engaged, again. Very rude.)

So, while Holmes keeps realising that being alone all the time is not good for him, that he actually wants someone in his life, the only person who could fill this void runs around with a little box hidden in his coat pocket.

But, it gets worse.

Remember when I teased in the post about the Hobbs-Shelley-adaptation (x) that there is yet another way to include Watson’s internal realisation after getting shot? As in, neither putting it as a summary at the beginning nor at the end of the episode?

I was talking about this one.

Merrison’s Holmes, in my opinion, has the most emotional reaction to Watson getting shot. He literally panics. 

(And the fact that there are a couple of seconds of complete and utter silence after he rushes to Watson’s side really does not help!)

HOLMES: Watson, you’re not hurt! For god’s sake, say you’re not hurt! WATSON, in pain: Ugh... oh... almost worth it.  HOLMES: ... what!? WATSON: The pain. To see that look on your face. A great heart... as well as a great mind. HOLMES: Nonsense... I was merely worried about the surgeon’s bills. WATSON, bellows out a single laugh. HOLMES, tenderly: Here. L-l-let me look. WATSON: Oh no, it’s nothing Holmes. I should know it. It’s just a scratch. EVANS, groans in the background. WATSON: Did you shoot the fellow? HOLMES: No. The second shot was his also. But I laid my revolver along the side of his head. Wild West, indeed. – Watson, you are certain? WATSON: It’s just a scratch, Holmes. Honestly.

Then, Holmes first turns into the Hulk and then towards Evans, and if I ever heard a man speak through gritted teeth, then this is it.

And that following exchange features, honestly, the best non-canonical line of dialogue in Holmesian history:

EVANS: Say, what did you hit me with? HOLMES, not missing a single beat: JUSTICE!

But... it gets worse.

Evans gets arrested, and we get to see Watson and Holmes in Baker Street after the incident, where Holmes dresses Watson’s wounds – or at least he tries to, until Watson insists on doing it on his own, because Holmes is rubbish at it. Holmes then starts pacing around in the living room like an expectant father, “But is there nothing I can do??”

Watson tells him that he’d very much like to smoke a cigar, which leads to Holmes rummaging in the pockets of Watson’s coat.

And you’ve guessed it: Of course he finds The Box.

Cue: awkward moment where Watson tells him, for the first time, about his plans to get re-married.

And Holmes starts sulking, because Watson is about to leave him alone. Again.

But, it gets worse!

Suddenly, Lestrade calls. Holmes at first thinks this is about a case mentioned in passing earlier in the episode, but it is actually news about Nathan Garrideb: As you know, he didn’t take it too well that he never found a third Garrideb in Birmingham, and Lestrade now informs Holmes that Nathan got sent to a mental asylum. 

And... Holmes and Watson visit him there!

They happen to meet Saunders in Nathan’s room, who sadly ponders about the fact that Nathan was always so lonely during his lifetime, and that this isn’t healthy, and that this certainly contributed to the fact that his mind now snapped. 

Nathan eventually has a moment of clarity and recognises Holmes. After gifting his collection of bees to Holmes (...), he hopefully asks if Holmes came to tell him that he found the third Garrideb after all. Holmes, of course, has to decline, but he promises Nathan to find the man, if he exists.

But how, Nathan then exclaims in despair, can Holmes not know this! Holmes must know! He must know everything!!

So, the episode where Watson realises that Holmes does, in fact, love him, ends with an emotionally crushed and forsaken Holmes pondering about his retirement and keeping bees.

And that, my friends, is the most heart-breaking adaptation of 3GAR I have ever listened to.

[cherryeoo]

Written in the Pages

So I got inspired by @prettyseonghwa and @yeosangkang when we were talking about Yeosang library!AU. I know Ellie wrote one and I honestly can’t compete with her and am not trying to her’s is so good but I chose to write my own rendition of it with how I interpret the picture and how I was inspired by it. I originally didn’t plan to but I really did want to give it a try. So no more rambling, here it is:

The day was gray and dreary.

Clouds blanketed the sky like a comforter on a freshly made bed. Rain fell softly as passerby’s raced to their destinations under the cover of their umbrellas or for the unprepared, purses or coats. The air was thick and the wind cold; the perfect recipe for a relaxing day at a library.

Yeosang had been working at a library nestled in a small corner of town near his apartment for a little over a year and a half. He had always loved libraries and bookstores, the ambiance was always comforting to him.

A safe haven if you will.

He enjoyed the feeling of soft vinyl book covers under his fingertips, the smell of the pages - some new, some old. The sounds of pages turning from avid book connoisseurs, like himself, and the sweet scent of tea and coffee from the mini-coffee stand in the back of the library that wafted through the air as he tucked the books securely in their proper places upon the shelves.

To some, the pages of books smelled of must and chemicals from years of wear and tear. Some may even say a tinge of scented sweat due to the covers and pages being handled by hundreds of hands. To Yeosang, however, this wasn't the case. He always found that the living pages smelt sweet - like that of vanilla, with a slight bitter scent similar to almonds.

To him, this was heaven on earth. Despite being surrounded by everything he loved and more, though, there was always something missing. However, he knew that it was just a matter of time before that missing piece would make its way into the quaint library, striding to its favorite oversized berry colored chair with a small table placed just off to the side, right next to the window overlooking a small garden decorated with an assortment of flowers; the favorite being the Crimson Pirate Daylily.

Curling up in the large chair, the cushions swallowed the small framed figure, a pillow nestled in their lap as they read one of the books. Yeosang examined the title and found it to be a romantic book; a contrast from the previous times where the books centered around tragedy, often resulting in the sensitive being quietly crying and wiping away tears in hopes no one noticed, but Yeosang always did. He could always tell what mood the mysterious being was in by the book they were reading.

But today was different from most days.

Yeosang was dressed in a slightly larger black sweater with a bright yellow t-shirt underneath, a pair of blue jeans, and white sneakers with matching socks. His brown hair, slightly wavy from the rainstorm outside, skirted his eyes. Seated at the front desk, Yeosang focused on recording the new and recently returned books into the database before returning them to their designated slots on the shelves.

Glancing up at the clock, Yeosang counted down the seconds until she walked through the front door. Just like clockwork, the soft bell chimed, signaling a new patron. Per custom, Yeosang glanced up from the oversized metal frame of his lensless glasses, smiling his famous soft, sweet smile as he bid the newcomer a warm welcome. She smiled politely back at him as usual, but this time the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Tired and worn down, dark circles edged her eyes. Her usual flowy hair was tied back just below her neck; figure dressed in an oversized college hoodie, a pair of dark skinny jeans, and black converse.

Making her way to her usual spot, she plopped her bag down beside the chair, scooting the table in front of her. Reaching into to her bag, she pulled out her laptop and pushed the small power button. Waiting for the device to come to life, she reached into her bag again, this time pulling out a few books, but not the typical ones she’d usually have in her possession.

She must have a test or report coming up, Yeosang thought to himself as she slouched in the chair sighing heavily. He’d never once seen her study - to be honest, he didn’t even know she was in school, let alone her name, so this was a new experience for him.

Going about his various duties around the building, he constantly glanced in her direction, fascinated by her focus and determination despite the occasional soft groan or sigh that left her lips when she wasn’t satisfied with her work. Stretching her hands above her head, she sighed in relief as she neared completing her project. Turning her head, she gazed out the window lost in thought as she watched the raindrops race one another down the glass before dripping onto the flowered-finished lines of the lilies she loved so much; the droplets of water scattering across the vibrant red and yellow petals.

Resting her chin in the palm of her right hand, she continued to stare absentmindedly, relaxation washing over her as she folded her arms across her laptop, her head soon following as she used her arms as a makeshift pillow. Peeking through the bookshelves, Yeosang noticed she had fallen asleep, her breathing slow and even. Smiling to himself, he admired her features - even the smallest details - as she peacefully slept. Hair slightly brushing over her face, her long eyelashes softly touched her fair cheeks; soft, pink lips slightly parted. Yeosang wondered how long it had been since she got a good night's rest.

It had been about thirty minutes since she had fallen asleep. The library was now void of all customers, save her. Predicting she wouldn’t be asleep for much longer, Yeosang made his way over to the little coffee shop in the corner as he ordered two hot caramel lattes. Returning to his desk, Yeosang scribbled on a pink post-it note: A little pick me up for your late night study session. Be sure to eat and get plenty of rest. I am cheering for you! From: Your local librarian.

Nodding in content, he carefully made his way over to the sleeping figure. Quietly placing the post-it note on the cup, Yeosang carefully placed the warm mug atop the table's corners before making his way back to his desk.

A few minutes later, her eyes slowly fluttered open, hands immediately lifting to rub the sleep from them. Stifling a yawn, she glanced out the window, noticing the sun had started to set. Panicking, she quickly rose from the chair - stopping short as she noticed the mug and small pink note. Sitting back down, she grabbed the cup, eyes drawn to the steam still rising from the hot liquid; welcoming the feeling of warmth as it seeped into her fingers and palms.

Bringing the mug to her nose, she closed her eyes as she inhaled the sweet scent of the caramel-infused coffee. Parting her lips, she took a sip of the mug's contents, the hot liquid coating her throat as it warmed her from the inside out. Smiling from the sensation it gave her, she reached over to the note, lips slightly moving as she read the words scribbled in pencil on the barely crinkled piece of paper. She could tell that numerous words had been erased and rewritten until the author was content with its outcome.

Yeosang had been watching from the corner of his eye the whole time, his smile growing wider as he watched her wake up; silently laughing at her confusion upon first waking up then from noticing the mug and the note. Admiring her as she took a sip of the latte, Yeosang drew in a breath as he watched her eyes once more; her beautiful eyes exposed. Biting his lip, he couldn't help but to stare in awe at how the brown orbs specked with hints of green and yellow, the colors becoming more apparent in the light of the setting sun. A soft pink hue formed on his cheeks, warmth pooling under his skin as he watched her smile before his eyes shifted down to her lips as they moved while she read the note.

Seeing her head raise up and turn towards his direction, he quickly focused back on logging the rest of the books into the library’s system. Sighing to himself in relief when she didn’t notice him watching her, the mysterious girl finished her latte, continuing to look out the window as the sun set just below the horizon. With a sigh, she began packing her laptop and books back into her bag; pausing for a moment as she tucked the note securely in her front pocket before making her way to the door.

Raising his head, he smiled sweetly at her and bid her a goodnight. Smiling back at him, she echoed his farewell. Her hand resting on the handle of the door she turned back to Yeosang and thanked him for the latte before heading out into the cool night air. Yeosang watched her make her way down the street and around the corner, her small frame illuminated by the streetlamps.

As if written in the pages of the books surrounding them, thus began the start of a beautiful, forever, relationship.