Untitled

“It’s you. No one could pardon anything you’ve done because your physical attributes aren’t desirable enough to.”

"That's low, even for you. Despite how you being here is entirely my doing, maybe you should show some respect for the guy who's keeping you out of prison."

"I never said there was anything wrong with our face— Your personality isn’t exactly a selling point, though.”

"You'll find that a frighteningly large percentage of the population will willingly forget someone's personality in return for desirable physical attributes."

“Ha——- I’m sorry I just… You? A date? Unless that’s what you’re calling your meetings with suicidal girls. If you are, that’s just insensitive.”

"You think so little of me. This face isn't just good for punching, you know."

memesfortheroleplayerssoul-a

Finish "You are the most _____ person I've ever met" in my ask box

#p: meme

"…… Date? You’re joking right?”

"Completely serious. Problem?"

"No." Yes. “I just wasn’t expecting you yet.”

#vicariouscorvini #'date' lol

"Sorry to dash your expectations. My date was cut short."

sexy music plays.

...

Or have we.

Unless I was sleeping we definitely haven't.

“Oh. You’re back early.”

"Is that a problem?"

Congrats, Im preggo. It urs.

gluttcnyfang-blog-deactivated20

But we haven't even?

#judges ass #2/10 #usohebi

You think you're special? You're not.

Indie Izaya RP/Ask blog Selective Prose oriented Longer threads preferred Potential triggers include: Blood, knives, mental/psychological abuse OC/AU friendly Singleship

Everyone lies, everyone hides things...

#p: promo

gluttcnyfang-blog-deactivated20

A flip through the pages —— Hazama’s nonchalance is in the slouch of his posture, the slump over the book, half-lidded gaze uncaring of what was in front of him, for he was truly preoccupied with something else entirely; thought, worries, which rattle around his head as virulently as most concerns do, whether they lack basis in reality or not.

The cup of coffee sits at the edge of his desk. Untouched. Cold by now; a deluge of ice to squeeze down his throat if he dares attempt to drink it. He does not dare. Hasn’t even thought about it —— a cup of coffee and the temperature of its contents pales in comparison to what plagues him. He flicks his wrist.

Footsteps approach. Hazama hardly notices —— a rarity for him, considering how cautious he usually was, how quickly he could pick up sounds and how easily he recognized humans. ( there was something disgusting about the way they smelled to him —— all of them. like garbage, month-old laundry; mothball-ridden and musty. but he couldn’t even smell them. )

Until the shadow cut across, Hazama did not see them.

” —— I hope you’re not blocking my light on purpose. That’s obnoxious. And annoying.”

#usohebi #v: undetermined #t: untitled

It feels like miles between the door and the desk. There's a sickening hostility in the air, one he's used to from their previous interactions, but it has an off putting feel to it this time. It reminds him —in a way— of street vendors, so focused on selling their wares as to simply miss even drastic changes. The vendors are easily explained ( change blindness ), but Hazama never came across as one to miss much of anything. An age passes before Izaya reaches the desk. With each step he felt the atmosphere thickening, the pressure increasing to crush him. By the time he stands by the desk it feels as though whatever malevolent god watched over sinners had decided to drop a truck on him. Comforting. He thought. Good to know someone is paying attention. Standing near Hazama had never been comfortable. Even the most wicked of men would cower in such a presence. Or so he told himself. In truth Izaya almost feared the man, in the way a mouse fears a cat. It's not so much a terror, a paralyzing fear, but a sense of danger. Play the game, tread carefully, everything will go just fine. "A question, Mr. Hazama." Izaya dipped a finger in the coffee. He would've stirred it had there been any warmth, but as it was he simply flicked it off his finger to the floor. "How long has this been here for?"

i went into the 'v icons' tag. i did not find what i was looking for

#p: ooc #hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm #i suppose i might have to stream the movie #what a tragedy

”Wha…”

A cold sweat dripped down her neck. Her shoulders heaved as she quickly breathed in and out- it was beginning to make her feel light headed. The glass slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor, sparking her body to move once more.

Izaya—

She stepped forward, not even feeling the glass sink into the bottom of her foot. Her arms locked around Izaya’s neck, her eyes wide with fear.

"He was here," she whispered, "Izaya, h-he was here. He was…." Her words trailed off. Her mouth still moved, but no words came out. She simply lost her voice, her mouth feeling dry.

She really needed that drink.

#vicariouscorvini #v: undetermined #t: untitled

He was pushed back slightly when she grabbed him, and though she didn't seem to notice, he saw the glass she stepped on. His hands went to her waist and he carefully pulled her to the side, away from the shards of the glass she'd dropped. It would be best if she didn't injure herself more. His grip on her tightened subtly and his arms entered the equation, hands wrapping around to her back. It was like holding a bird, not so loose that they fly away, not so tight they become injured. A balance had to be held. "He's gone, Namie. Gone. He won't be coming back." Ever. People tended to do that when they were dead.

She just wanted a glass of water.

The apartment was dark, but she knew the apartment like the back of her hand. She brought the glass down from the cupboard to the sink, turning on the water. She let it run over her wrist, her vision adjusting as she watched the water run out of the tap. Her mind leaving her for a moment, she could only blindly focus on the numbing feeling the cold water made over her wrist.

Cold, cold, cold.

His hands were so cold.

She gasped, violently pulling her hand from under the water, rushing to wipe the water from her skin on her shirt. It almost hurt how hard she rubbed, but she just wanted it off. Glass still in hand, she turned for a towel. That’s when she froze. In the dark, she could see it. A figure, in the dark, making it’s way toward her.

Izaya.

Izaya, Izaya, Izaya.

Where are you? Help me, help me, help me—!!

She screamed.