Please Im Begging Connect Me With More Psycho Pass Blogs I Am Rotting In This Corner

if you see me add barou and chigiri to my muse list mind ur business I'm going through that bllk era

skin tight shirt

This is what LX has to deal with every day:

@limel1ghts @burntpa1ace

[ slap ] sender slaps receiver in the face ( gojo @ geto. make it hurt )

a shadow crosses his face, then, like clouds passing over the sun. he tastes blood numbing the back row of his teeth, he testes the joints, thumb and index finger pressed around his jaw. everything seems back place. save for the hair that sticks to his sweat-damped forehead, he’s the perfect image of nonchalance. suguru laughs only after he’s made stock of it, a shallow rumble, humorless. “did it make you feel better? i hope it did. there won’t be a second time.”

he could hear the flickering lights, electricity’s vibrations as though every lightbulb was close to give out at any moment and submerge them in total darkness. that would make it easy, should he opt to kill satoru here. but he figures he’d prefer watching it, make sure their eyes meet before one of them huffs out their last breath. the bandages around his knuckles are tight as they were from the beginning, satoru’s shirtless frame bathed in the dim lights and a perfect contrast to the concrete walls closing in around them, the longer their attention remained on each other. suguru’s sides are bruised, he can feel it as he swallows in air. not a ruptured rib but something else. as for his face… well, all he had left was the vague hope that it wouldn’t swell come morning.

“isn’t it a tragedy? that we couldn’t do this when we were younger.” he recalls in that moment how many times they’d come close to defeat one another. 

though the competition was a half-hearted attempt at showing off their prowess, the confrontation never escalated into anything worthy worrying about by the standers. for masamichi, however, it was the source of many headaches. looking back now, and their current positions, sizing each other up within the limits of their territories, blooded and dirty, anything from years past might as well have been a childish dream. it hurt, because deep down they wanted it to hurt. if that was satoru’s attempt - suguru’s own attempt at channeling misery elsewhere, the broken shards, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do once the feeling had been conveyed. the only thing he’s sure of, and the reason they’re here, exchanging blows, is that he wants satoru to look nowhere else. focus on me.

“try to get your memories back, satoru. when have you ever defeated me in hand-to-hand combat?” a sharp kick, a flip in the air, and his other heel connects with satoru’s jaw. “an eye for an eye.”

suddenly they’re seventeen again, his cocky grin and the raised fists taunting him, goading satoru into something harsher, because jumping head on to a challenge has always been his virtue and his biggest weakness. suguru laughed, again, the sound echoing in the vacant room in a way that the previous one hadn’t. suguru lures him in, flitting two fingers at satoru’s wide-eyed expression. “try even closer, satoru. i have yet to pay you back for the headlock from earlier.”

@koseigu

i've been walking through a world gone blind . // @ Kogami !

playing clever, isn’t he?

it’s only for a moment - a minute twitch of his hand and a perk of his brow that gives away the absurdity of makishima’s words. blindness. blindness. kogami laughs, curt and listless as he meets makishima’s gaze impassively.

“The longing for Paradise is man's longing not to be man.” he quotes, “it doesn’t make me happy that we agree on something like the stripping of man’s conviction in favor of automatized data processing.”

and of course it doesn’t. he’d left without so much as a warning to keep their guard on, after all, tossing aside his own connections for the pursuit of his own personal devil and though he isn’t precisely at Hell’s doorstep, his heart aches with sickness, hatred that’s boiled for too long, a necrosis of the heart. hoping he might see that batard’s face one more time before it all came crashing down, so he could bash it in, had suddenly turn into reality.

fuck makishima, honestly, for even bringing that up.

but it’s enough to rattle kogami’s nerves. he’s certain that he’d been searching for makishima’s face just a moment too long, desperate for a hint that remorse is foreign and that his ghostly silhouette framed in a polaroid hadn’t only existed in his darkest nightmares - the kind that haunt him at night, curled up under the sheets while sasayama’s memory breathes in the back of his mind. when the dark, oppressive silence leaves him with nothing to do but imagine blood - his, makishima’s blood - coating him like crimson rain. makishima’s eyes are clear, he notices, through the distance, through the gun’s lens and amplified only by nebulous contempt. clear and indifferent and offering more questions than answers.

kogami doesn’t lower his gun.

he’s grateful, suddenly, for the privacy that came after the chase, hiding from onlookers as though there was anything else to bury besides the corpse that he will soon make. he’s not killing time. but he doesn’t dare speak of how desperately he wanted, waited for this - how quickly his hunger was reignited when he saw makishima stumble, ragged breathing, blood-stained and snaking his way out into the empty landscape.

briefly, kogami wonders, if he’ll be disappointed in himself tomorrow, so quick to pull the trigger and shove a bullet into that pretty skull. he’s almost certain he would be as he reveled in the weight of metal in his palm, so different from how a dominator felt when his badge still meant something. the taste of gunpowder. the subtle scent of makishima’s blood in the breeze. the way his back is turned and facing him, brittle as a bird. it’s all and the same, the man in the photograph, the shadow in his memories, the man kneeling in front of him. the helping hand that skinned sasayama alive. kogami lets that consume him. he doesn’t want to think about what makishima wants. not here. not now.

“that’s all you have to say? unless you want to piss me off any more than you’ve done. then by all means, keep talking.”

@achroanimus

Someone save me from the things they do to me

maybe you've noticed already but i love writing villains, the deranged, the antagonists, the self-proclaimed masterminds falling into a pit of madness and self-destruction.

geto only shows mercy when he's playing the benevolent priest/monk, or when it comes to his old comrades. but even then, he will always prioritize the greater good, meaning that whoever it is he will invoke any curse to get rid of the obstacle, there's a reason he's considered the worst curse user the college has seen. I'd say the only person that could essentially make him falter is gojo, given their history together. he's an open wound, but he always hopes in silence that it'd never come to that, or at least not so soon. I've talked about it before but Geto isn't the type to let disrespect slide, or the sin of being born a non sorcerer. the only reason he's been shown interacting with them is to deceive them, not because he's made exceptions. it's a bit hard to figure out ways in which he could interact with others in a sincere way that doesn't end in someone's death but we'll see.

 i never considered us to be friends. ( Gojo and Nagumo )

‘ hate the game, not the player. ’ satoru says, matter-of-factly.

there would be more seriousness to his voice, had it not been muffled by the noodles hanging from his mouth, twisted into a hungry pout. the bowl is nearly empty, chopsticks slide across the edge and fall together with a chirp as satoru swallows his last mouthful of spicy ramen (watered down especially for him, mind you). running a thumb across his lower lip, he continues, ‘ is it that hard to make cohabitation? genuine question though. ask me about my opinion and i’d say we’re better off splitting responsibilities than leave it all to the maids, assuming there’s any that can put up with our little job. ’

it’s only a flash but he notices nagumo’s smile twitching, all humor fading out and replaced by a more cynical something that he can’t put a finger on but he knows for sure skirts around mild irritation. what’s stopping nagumo from lashing out? easy: these are his favorite bowls. satoru decides that’s a small victory worth celebrating another time. 

‘ anyway, that’s not my problem. never asked to be anything more than your handsome coworker. ’ a wink, finger-guns.

‘ oh by the way... can i have seconds? ’

@tearenere