#frostharper

[idwiwblr]

frostharper ha respondido a tu publicación “'compliment' >w>”

Good answer indeed, Thain.

//omg, honestly I was a little worried because I was writing it up in mobile-- so I couldn’t tag it. The whole time I was like, “God I swear this is a compliment. It just SOUNDS LIKE IT’S NOT.” XDD

[easterelf]

📱

RING RING / not accepting

What ringtone my muse has set for yours:Come With Me Now by the KongosWhat contact photo my muse has set for yours:a grumpy cat imageWhat my muse thinks of the way yours texts:lighten up DADHow quickly my muse responds to your texts:immediately after. unless they are having a pissy fight and then he waits exactly five minutesHow often our muses text:everydayHow often our muses call:not too often but when necessaryDoes my muse purposefully miss calls from yours:ONCE. and never again.Last text sent from my muse to yours:where are you?

[unraveledx]

How much physical pain is Izaya in? And if he is, does he notice or does his madness and the adrenaline rush from killing distract him?

Izaya is consistently in some sort of physical pain. As tough as he likes to act, he’s been beaten up and thrown around a lot during his time in the asylum, especially before the riots– his fellow inmates were not gentle with him, which is partly why he eventually became so violent himself. For encounters he’s had with Variants or Murkoff employees since the riots occurred, any resulting injuries have likely gone untreated as he’s far more occupied with staying alive than properly bandaging himself up. Not that there are any available supplies for that anyway. 

There’s bruises and cuts - some very deep - all over his body and at this point he can’t remember ever not being covered in them. Many of the latter are self-inflicted on a near nightly basis; night terrors of the Walrider entering his body cause him to claw at himself in his sleep without realizing (as we learn in-game, one of the ways the Walrider kills involves entering and/or controlling the victim’s body; Izaya’s actions here, then, are frightened and desperate attempts to literally claw the Walrider out of his body to save himself, even though this would obviously be impossible to do.) This repeated self-mutilation, as you can imagine, adds up. It’s like a constant, dull stinging on his torso.

And of course aside from all that is the simple soreness and exhaustion he feels. He rarely sleeps, rarely eats, is under a lot of stress, constantly on alert, constantly moving, running, fighting. His body is tired, it’s infected, it’s out of breath. Too much talking leads to sore throats and coughing up blood, all his running leads to legs that can’t carry him anymore but continue to anyway.

Because it’s all he can do, knows how to do, has to do because yes, on top of keeping himself alive, the adrenaline distracts him from the pain. Distracts him from thinking too hard about how much he’s falling apart. About how tired he is. He’s sick and he’s hurting and that’s difficult for him to accept. The enhancements given to him through therapy made him stronger and more aggressive and more resilient to pain, gave him the ability to keep going. A part of him’s become used to it. After broken bones and tubes shoved down his throat and repeated acts of humiliation and of his body being violated in ways it never should be, a few scratches are nothing. Falling through floors of rotten wood is nothing. A knife to the stomach is nothing. As long as he can still run away, as long as he’s still alive, it’s nothing.

But once he stops moving and the adrenaline wears off, it’s still there. And it still hurts. And that’s why he can’t stop.

[easterelf]

★

send my character a ★ and i’ll bold everything they feel toward your character.

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // You’re nice // You’re mean // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[unraveledx]

"You're not a monster."

Tell my muse “You’re not a monster” and see how they react.

The poor ol’ guard had been screaming bloody murder, that being one of the many insults flung Izaya’s way. And Izaya, usually so very good at laughing such accusations off all but snapped in the very next instant, from glee to rage as hands went for man’s neck. Pressing, crushing, strangling, yelling demands for clarification—- 

     ( “Am I? 

                Am I?

                           Am I!?” )

—-Until the throat beneath his fingers could no longer accept air, let alone muster a response.

Arms fell to his side and he sat back, straddling the lifeless form under him. For a moment his eyes seemed to glaze over, staring at nothing, the room silent except for his heavy breathing until this other guy spoke up. Frost. Izaya almost forgot he was in the room. 

He looked over and replied in a voice so calm it was if his outburst had never happened. 

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not sure you’re in a position to be making that call.”

[kozpitchiner]

¤

not accepting // SEND ME ‘¤’ AND I’LL PUT MY MUSIC ON SHUFFLE AND WRITE A DRABBLE BASED ON THAT SONG.

I’m A Mess - Ed Sheeran

Oh I'm a mess right now / Inside out / Searching for a sweet surrender / But this is not the end / I can't work it out / How going through the motions / Going through us / And oh I've known it for the longest time / And all of my hopes / All of my own words / Are all over written on the signs / But you're on my road / Walking me homeSee the flames inside my eyes / It burns so bright I wanna' feel your love / Easy baby maybe I'm a liar / But for tonight I wanna' fall in love / Put your faith in my stomachI messed up this time / Late last night / Drinking to suppress devotion / With fingers intertwined / I can't shake this feeling now / We're going through the motions / Hoping you'd stop

Fingertips left blunt with bitten nails brushed against the cold glass of wine that Pitch Black was seconds from finishing. When that last sip was consumed, he would pour another. There was something raw within his stomach that called for rain to wash away the dusty gravel, but no amount of wine that night was ridding his throat of the dirt he felt he must have stuffed into his own mouth to chew. This dry consumption likely occurred around the same time he had spoken words the night before he wished he could have taken back. What was the saying about eating your own words? He felt that. Late last night. 

He tried drinking from his glass too quickly and the red liquid trickled from the corner of his mouth before he could catch himself. Setting down the glass, his fumbling hands almost shattered it upon the table. Pitch wiped at his mouth with his thumb and felt his voice murmer incoherently from the intake of air instead of wine. As if consuming a gust of wind, Pitch Black keeled over winded, his thoughts the tornado that was breaking up any sense of normality he had been trying to maintain within his mind. 

There was nothing normal about his inclination toward Frost Harper.

He couldn’t work it out, but he couldn’t shake the feeling either.

His hands were trembling as he took the first sip of a new glass that should for his sake be his last, but it hadn’t worked to divert his attention elsewhere. He hadn’t had enough to forget why he had begun the night alone in his motel room with his Deep Layered Red Inception. There didn’t seem to be enough twisted blood that could subside his devotion to the contract assassin.

Where had the feelings come from that rendered a stoic vagrant reeling at the thought of potentially never seeing a particular pale face again or worse-- dreading possibly of having to face those eyes another time. He couldn’t trust his own desires, but the current need for something close with the spitfire Harper ceaslessly churned within the confused soul. It was everything Pitch Black had said that lead up to this moment, lead to his realization that the whole time he meant for this to continue. What would be the worse lie? Denying his heart or pretending that the whole time his heart sought Frost it was just an act?

Granted, Pitch Black had drinken a lot, but that wasn’t why he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Or that’s what he would have himself believe to excuse the empty wine bottle. Rather, there was one idea that flickered across his eyes that had him frustrated to no extent. One little detail about the entire embarrassing situation that had Pitch believing himself to be a fool. Had him ready to dry heave curled over the toilet;

                     He wanted to be on Frost’s mind too, and he likely never would be.

Suddenly, Pitch Black didn’t feel quite right about who he was. There was this concept of the person he wanted to be seen as, but he felt like a mess in comparison to the held together, stronger, more admirable person Frost would actually care to look twice at. He was fooling himself if he was going to continue finding reasons to keep himself in Frost’s company without expecting Frost to eventually tell him to fuck off. Who was he in the face of someone so versed and practiced in his worldly lifestyle? He was an annoyance. 

What a quality position for a man of his history to be in. Had he fallen so low? In the face of someone he seemed to care for who would not return the appreciation, of course he was nothing. Nothing but a mess.

He could ask Frost. Say please. Plead with him for his attention. 

But Pitch was never one to beg.

[theydeservetolive-archive]

frostharper

    “So you want me to make that out to Frosty-the-Snowman?” It was hardly a question; Sam was already writing on his to-go cup with a sharpie.

[myownprivatetrap-blog]

frostharper replied to your post:i’m all nervous because right after i got that...

If you answer it over hitting ignore they’ll continue to send messages cause they’re aware that they can.

i usually do just ignore them but i’m not sure if that message was joking or serious and i don’t want to accidentally block one of my rp partners :/