#shapedyourmind

[tumultuo]

[1:07:36 AM] prince: annabel, tori

[1:07:41 AM] prince: i have something to tell you

[1:07:44 AM] prince: and its very important

[1:07:53 AM] annabel: yes?

[1:08:07 AM] prince: yall suck ass n ur gay as fuq

[1:08:11 AM] prince: (and i miss talkin 2 u)

[1:08:12 AM] prince: xoxo

[1:08:30 AM] annabel: well, at least 2 out of those 3 things is true for sure

[1:08:50 AM] prince: i lied. i dont miss you at all

[elextronix-blog]

shapedyourmind replied to your post “«AND A NEW KH3 TRAILER??? IM JUST SO HYPED RIGHT NOW»”

WHEN U WALK AWAY U DON'T HEAR ME SAY, PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE OH BAAAAAABYYYYYY don't go

SIMPLE AND CLEAN IS THE WAAAAAAAAAY THAT YOU'RE MAKING BE ME FEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLL IS THEY WAY THAT YOU'RE MAKING ME FEEL tonight. 

[tumultuo]

[9:10:02 PM] pluto: he looks like a delinquent school boy

[9:10:22 PM] annabel: that's convenient since virus is a hot teacher

[9:10:28 PM] pluto: FUkc

[ikinokotta]

shapedyourmind replied to your post:

If they get the chance, certainly. But snakes aren’t exactly easy prey…

⦅➴⦆… “Biting the head off renders a snake harmless instantly.”

[tumultuo]

'I want the K' [-shyly pushes note into inbox-]

one. neck nibble

warnings for: shiroba-esque sly, torture, mental torture, death, blood, ableist slurs, manipulation, abuse, generally just some really fucked up shit? i hang out with annabel and tori way too fucking much, i am so sorry.

"that tattoo looks so damn nice on you, did'ya know that?" his voice is sickeningly sweet, caressing the chest of the man he'd broken that day during granny's 'rescue'-- the ordeal had scarred aoba so much that he receded back, much to the horror of koujaku and clear, who now had... this to deal with.

he wasn't quite sly. he was different-- he was what happened when 'reason' disappeared, and when 'desire' was given full reign. his skin didn't lose pigment, no, and his hair didn't turn to snow-- but he was still deadly, with an undertone of rotten candy and fingers shaped from ice.

it wasn't long after aoba's... departure that virus and trip found him, having resumed his former rampages from so long ago with increased fervor. he didn't just leave people broken-- no, he shattered them, and forced them to bleed out in front of him, en masse, with horrifying glee. they quickly restrained him like a wild animal, much to his annoyance-- "we can't let aoba-san ruin everything, can we?" was virus's reasoning in a fake, apologetic voice.

logic meant nothing to him.

it took the two of them awhile to figure out what to do with him-- he was sated by sex, for awhile, but he always thirsted for more things to break, more havoc to spread, more broken bodies at his feet, more blood on his hands.

then they brought him mizuki.

the man was practically mute-- eyes blank, the shock permanently damaging him visibly and mentally. he still had morphine's tattoo across his throat, and together they were locked away in a room, where sly could have his fun and virus and trip didn't have to worry about him razing midorijima.

it was funny, really-- if things had been different, maybe he and the (not)twins would have been in a similar situation, but not. the idea amused him while he crooned against his pet, who barely reacted to his presence. the man was a doll, empty and blank.

sly wanted to fill him with the same sickly sweet filling that he was made up of-- how wonderful that would be, to have someone else as twisted and bent on desire like himself.

"miiiiizuki," and the name rolls out of his mouth with such an honest affection that it's hard to believe that he's so disgusting. "mizuki, mizuki, mizuki. i love yer name, y'know-- i don't mind it. it's real pretty, just like you. yer all mine, don't y'know?" he smiles like he's talking to a child. "of course y'don't. you're stuck stupid, and it's okay-- i love ya anyways."

he presses sweet kisses to the other's neck, trailing his lips against the beautiful tattoo engraved on his skin, across the ink forever staining and restraining his throat.

"we'll be together forever, and we'll make everythin' go down in flames, just for us, okay?"

he mouthed the words "i love you" against the other's flesh before a soft, chilling laugh bubbled out, as he squeezed the other tight. he would never let go of his favorite toy-- never, ever, ever.

[woretheleash]

shapedyourmind replied to your post:I want the K

ooc; SOME mIlD BesTialiTY ijgfh’M In WHAT COnTEXT CAN BESTIALITY BE CONSIDERED MILD

ooc; think of them as smooches little lion smooches

[woretheleash]

pure white -- shapedyourmind

Red. Too much red.

His fingers comb roughly, feeling through the tousled mess on his head. He scowls into the mirror to see the hairs so thick and full and all the same, foul color of rust and dried blood. His nails dig into the roots when the impulse tugs at his gut, tempting him to tear them in fistfuls. No. Can't do that. That'd be ugly, too; disgusting, even, to look so bare. His nails still rake firm over his scalp before he eventually rocks forward on his feet so that his hands catch the rim of the sink in front of him. Years of this reflection are tedious, tiresome, annoying.  He won't have to stomach the image much longer, he tells himself.  Enough is enough.

Come evening and Trip shakes out new, pale hair that falls in a damp mane around his face.  Still wet from his shower, dripping in his towel, all he does is stare.  He leans in so that his nose nearly bumps his reflection's; surveying himself as warily as he might stare down a delinquent in Yakuza turf.  His head cocks to one side, then the other.  He blinks slowly, he smooths his newly-dyed eyebrows with the pads of his fingertips, he tilts his head up... and finally grins.

It's a smile that peels his lips back and shows teeth.  His eyes, so apathetic so often, flicker alive and his fingers reach back to smooth through his hair and revel in it now.  Each stroke savors the strands like they're spun from gold and there's something like relief that lightens a sinking weight in his chest.  This feels... right.  And it looks good.

He's nothing like the monsters that clawed at his heels in childhood, nothing like the lines and lines of people who stand murky and dull and faceless.  He looks more like him now and there is quiet comfort in that.  It lulls the fickle teenager to sigh slow through his nostrils as he preens, eyes fluttering closed.  It's not perfect yet, but it will be.  It's such a step beyond angry, repulsive red.

Trip finally leaves the bathroom to look for a shirt.  And considers raiding the refrigerator in celebration.

[fiercenotfuwafuwa-archive]

shapedyourmind replied to your post:

... ;)

  Just when he thought it might be okay to leave his blanket fort-