ʙ ᴜ ᴍ ᴘ ɪ ᴛ. ♫

                                         ◤ holding hands ◢

          ❝…Uh—❞ He was embarrassed completely. Usually he would have the exact amount of strength needed to carry the huge load but for some reason, his body felt awfully weak as if a punch from a small child might cause him to fall down to the ground. It was a bit bad since he might have left a bad first impression for the other male and the only thing he could actually give as a response to the other male was a nod, indicating that he’ll do the other’s request in exchange for his help.

He doesn’t know what’d he do without it. The necklace his parents had given to him when he was younger. It’s the only memento he has of them - the only memento that wasn’t stained in with sweet sanguine, but now that it’s no longer in his possession Baekhyun finds himself searching high and low - wandering from place to place as he retraces his steps in hopes of searching for the sentimental piece of jewelry that he had lost. Blood. It was always blood that had drew his senses into a complete frenzy. Similar to that of ambrosia, it not only embraces his senses significantly, but also distracts him easily, changes him into a man that he’s come to loathe tremendously.

            ❝ That… isn’t mine. ❞

His head shoots towards their direction in the blink of an eye and his gaze lands upon a man, perhaps in his mid-thirties, holding a necklace in front of the feeble-looking male. Walking was pointless, so he broke off into a graceful dash - maneuvering himself past pedestrians who traveled in the opposite direction of him. Some looked at with mixed expressions of both confusion and irritation, but he pays no attention to them as he snatches the necklace without any further action given. “It’s mine.”

        he can't even lie and say that he's good in public. he keeps to himself and that's that, no approaching strangers on a whim. vice-versa, though, is another story; and while he's approached today, it's not for the usual reason. he's interrogated, as usual, but not about himself -- rather, about a gleaming necklace some man, more matured than he, had, "found off of a sidewalk, and, oh, it would be such a shame for the owner to have lost it!" absent mindedly, he commends the man for his honesty. he knows many people who would have stolen it away for themselves, selfishly. minutely, he hopes that he's not one of them.

                "it's mine."

"What am I doing?" he repeated the human’s question quietly, remaining still at the other’s nightstand. Talking to humans when they woke up from their nightmares was actually a lot more entertaining that he had originally thought before. He liked the way they gasped for air when they came into consciousness, almost like their dreams were drowning them. One day he hoped they would completely. It’d make his future plans a lot easier. "I’m just here to meet my favorite idol. I’ve been a fan since the entire- well you know," he mirrored some of the rude gestures the singer did in those infamous photos years before and grinned. "I’m sure it’s not anything you could forget."

He propped his hand onto the wall beside him and leaned down a bit to get a better look at the man still laying down. Even in the darkness of the bedroom he could make out the large and confused eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t used to strangers in his room, but Elijah had been here numerous nights. Whispering doubts and insecurities into his ear, celebrities really did have such a low self esteem at times. Money, success and talent didn’t keep the nightmares away. Nothing did. “Did I interrupt you though? Were you having a pleasant dream?” Nothing was ever pleasant when Elijah was around and it was something he was proud of.

        it's not like simba ever expected to wake up from a deeply unpleasant dream, one with the roots of his biggest fears and concerns embedded in every turn, only to find a man, shadowy and suspicious, standing at his nightstand. he was never all too smart when he had just woken up, either; he sat up and rubbed at his eyes, simply staring at the figure in confusion and a slight bit of worry. he focused on what he could first take in: "a fan...?" despite the groggy daze clouding his mind, simba had the decency to flush just slightly at the memory of his photos, a select few moments that he had wished to erase for many nights like the present. "i though' people wouldn't like me aft'a that," he mumbled, averting his eyes briefly, "rather than becomin' a fan."

i have been extremely really terribly inactive and i apologise to everyone whom i owe replies to! however, currently i have a grand total of 33 drafted replies which i am sifting through in the order that they have been drafted in, which is hopefully chronological!

in regards to inbox messages : any threads there, i have sadly lost track of! please notify me if i have not replied, or take them to aim! (mine is q.aerit!)

in regards to plotting : pretty much the same! aim would be preferred over inbox messages, as that way i can keep track of all the ideas for different muses in a more orderly way.