#zerosive

[baevksm]

18 - 23.

18:Are you into dressing up for sex? Yes

19:Would you prefer sex in the bath or sex in the shower? Oh gosh I love both- But if I have to pick it would be bath

20:If you could have sex with anyone right now, who would it be? Hmm.. Can’t say.

21:Have you ever had a threesome? If not, would you? Nope! and yes for sure I want to.

22:Do you/would you use sex toys? I got some hidden in my room.

23:Have you ever sent someone a dirty text/picture? Woops, yea.

[lunaelisx]

(☉_☉)

Send (☉_☉) and my muse will have to explain why they have no clothes on.

Remember when the wolf had his dignity ? No ? Alex stood there with his hands on his hips, not having time to hide anything. ❝This sort of suit is the best kind. Don’t you think ?❞ Internally, he was screaming to the high heavens that he wished he wasn’t born. 

[madeintokyo]

zerosive .

[ sms to: unknown. ] do you text random poetic things all the time? are you the spammer telephone companies warned us about?   [ sms to: unknown. ] wrong number.

Scribbled upon a piece of paper embellished with blood that he found in one of the bathroom stalls, he is nearly certain whoever owns the number is not a typical person, though the likelihood of some mindless kid having written it down randomly works just as fine, too. No doubt, there are other, darker possibilities running through his head but for now, he'll settle on the simplest one. What is the harm in sending them a little greeting anyway? Minutes pass him by before the device in the palm of his skeletal hand buzzes, suggesting a new text message which he immediately reads as he leans against the bathroom sink. The digital letters typed across the screen evoke a fine lift of the eyebrows, and curiosity makes his fingers glide around to write an insidious response just for the hell of it.

[ ᴛᴇxᴛ ; xxx ] aw, playing dumb? [ ᴛᴇxᴛ ; xxx ] that’s cute of you! so, you left the evidence on purpose then? [ ᴛᴇxᴛ ; xxx ] to make the cops’ job easier-- how thoughtful.

[flashan-blog]

don't chase the rabbit.

Send me “Don’t chase the rabbit” and your muse will be shown a random memory from my muse’s past.

    [ ⇝ ] Han is twelve years old.     The nightmares don't stop. The young teen is plagued by lucid dreams of yellow lightning, and the shrill sound of his mother screaming, every night without fail. Taunting laughter haunts his subconscious, it singsongs the last words his mother had yelled at him. Run, Han. Run!! Han runs a different direction every time, but all dreams end the same. With crimson on the carpet, and the soulless, cold reflection of his mother's eyes.     Han is taken to counseling, where they make him draw, and write. They also try to make him talk about the night his mother was murdered, but Han shuts down every time they as much as mention his father. He knows they whisper a nasty (false) diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder behind his back, and is even more aware of the fact that no one believes him when he maintains his father's innocence. They excuse him as an eye witness, blame what he saw on the mind of a child, and the love for his only remaining parent.    But Han knows what he saw that night, and though he does not know who killed his mother, he knows who didn't;     His father.

[laundrycoins-blog]

"I was using you."

       The entrance of the laundromat chimes when a pair of shoes slip past the door, the sound forcing Zitao to sit up and close the book in his hands so he at least appears to be attentive when on the job. He knows it’s already late, probably already past closing time if he could go by the way moonlight catches on the building and gleams through the windows to cascade shadows on the floor tiles, but he doesn’t dare to open his mouth when his eyes catch those of a male that wasn’t quiet a stranger making his way toward the counter. They weren’t necessarily strangers, not after last night when the man came around the same time with a small pile of clothing, explicitly asking for Zitao to dryclean his laundry without question— and Zitao did.

       He never questioned the pile of laundry he got from the man the night before, didn’t dare speak a word about the blaring stains of red splattered across some of the articles of clothing. He merely did his job silently, like he was asked, dry cleaned the fabrics like he was supposed to before hanging them up away from everything else. Zitao obeyed because he was worried about what would happen if he didn’t comply. When the male paid more than he was supposed to, he was positive it was being used as incentive for him to stay quiet, and the situation didn’t leave much room for him to argue against it or even pipe out a word about it. He didn’t want to think about what could happen if he chose not to agree. Zitao wasn’t speaking, he was sure as long as he did his job things would be okay. Just do your job, don’t question anything else, you won’t be harmed. Don’t say anything—

I was using you. 

       Zitao’s breath hitches as the male finally directs words toward him, fingers shaking slightly around his book before he tightens them around it, fingernails digging curved lines into the binding as he can only offer a curt nod. Silence ensues for the time being and he hesitates, words caught in his throat before he forces himself to open his mouth, voice cracking when he finally gains the sense to speak. “I’m… aware.” He mumbles carefully, guarded despite being in the vicinity of the male with nobody around him and fully knowing he wouldn’t be able to do anything if a gun or knife- or anything  -was pulled on him. He was at least thankful for the small bit of counter that separated him from the male, but he knew it wouldn’t be much of an obstruction if the man decided to kill him for seeing too much. “I won’t tell,” he blurts out the words quickly, the only thing he can think of at the moment with his brain focusing in on the idea of him possibly being killed by this man. He didn’t know what he was, whether it be a murderer or something less violent, but the blood on those clothes were alarming and seemed to speak volumes. He didn’t want to die so young. “If you want me to keep dry cleaning your clothes.. I will.”

[oshyz-blog]

"What are you smiling about?"

& — "What are you smiling about?"

She was daydreaming. That was the obvious reason as to why she was smiling to herself, but she would never ever reveal what she was thinking about. Sehyun pushed platinum locks of hair behind her ear and flashed a sweet smile to the man who accompanied her. “Oh, nothing-- don't you worry your handsome face about it.”

[ahnjv-blog]

Ｆｒｏｇ Ｇｕｔｓ // Ｊａｅｈｙｕｎ & Ｚｅｒｏ

The familiar, and none too pleasant smell of formaldehyde hung in the air, stinging at Jaehyun's nose. The seventeen year old boy sat quietly in his seat, gloved hands folded over each other atop the wooden school lab desk as his friends and table-mates gabbed on about today's assignment.

Frog dissection. 

This neither bothered nor intrigued him, for he had seen the insides of animals far too often to be as involved at the others. What piqued the boy's interest instead was the table just two rows in front. There sat two classmates of his, a single boy and girl seated opposite each other. One, the boy he knew as Jongin, held a scalpel firmly within his hand. The other and much less recognizable member of the table carried nothing but a horrified disgust etched into her features. Upon first glance, any would guess it was the entrails of their preserved friend that made her so unsettled. But if you were to look, and really pay attention? You'd notice her gaze wasn't focused on the frog, but instead directed at the boy across her. 

And Jaehyun noticed.

[yxhe-blog]

"You should just stop trying."

Stop. Trying. Ha. The woman laughed towards the male, turning to face him. Giving up was not a phrase she was familiar with. She was always pushed to try, and her stubborn mind made sure she did until she succeeded. "This isn't your concern and I am going to win this game." She states in a stern tone, soon returning her level.