Me Watching You Reblog Our Old Satosugu Like:

@lustraveil cont. // kogami shinya

mourning over casualties that have not come breeds bad habits. 

the thing is a vice: a man’s mind wanders, wonders; it’s precisely men like gino who are susceptible to the mercies of a general force that is brutal and unkind. some called it regret. kogami associated it more with the gut feeling of impending confrontation, the thrill of a foxhunt. maybe he’s not wrong, maybe he’s doing all of this for himself, but it’s not a lie that every time he rolls that name on his tongue, sasayama’s face comes to view. the taste is dark and sour, like vinegar and unlike the pale hues that mirror the devil’s own appearance. makishima. makishima. makishima shogo.

kogami feels his own hand tighten around the handrail, eyes coming shut on their own accord as if to keep him isolated in the eternity of these impulses, itching to take control. but not here.

a sharp tug at his thoughts and he’s back in the moment, cold breeze signaling the end of autumnal skies, reminding him where he stood, where he is at present. reality shatters whatever spell he was under, and, vaguely dizzy, kogami rips his gaze away from the darkness. another drag from his cigarette, smoke filling his throat, his lungs, any part of him with the capacity to harbor it and toss it back into the night like a ghostly whisper. he desperately wished he was better at hiding his true thoughts - make it less evident to the prying eyes of the people he knew and knew him in return. it was a weakness. his greatest.

‘ you’re not entirely wrong. i might be doing this for myself. some nights i lay awake, thinking about what the last thing sasayama saw could be. was it the knife used to rip at his flesh? or was it the chemicals used to preserve all his components like the poor attempt of a puppeteer? no matter what, the images come one after another like an old movie. i can see it and i can hear it. it’s not something pleasant by any means. it’s not something any human being ought to live with. ’ 

what could he possibly say to excuse himself after this? 

that he arrived late, back then, because that is how fate had it prepared for them? 

that he took that turn on the street because a larger force willed it? 

it’s not so poignant a narrative, this is merely the byproduct of someone else’s cruelty, the loss of morality when morality is defined by a bunch of binary numbers and rainbow scales. and in a world such as that, where punishment befalls those who are left to the whims of a machine, he ought to learn to produce his own knives. perhaps the city of the future will fall back on reservists, the dregs of society who daydreamed of living by the blade, by their raw desires, a world where they can see the whites of their enemies eyes before they bury the sharp edge on their throats should they wish to. a second lie, then, it would be to say that he didn’t hope for a violent end like this. 

perhaps apologies would come later. perhaps he wouldn’t need them.

the fragility of impermanence. there’s barely anything left of his old life that he could call his, excluding gino and the rest. he’s sinking in quicksand, knows that better than anyone else. he releases the cigarette from the entanglement of his fingers, crushes it under the sole of his soe. he should walk away now — not from here, the physical, but from the path to execution that he’s been making for himself, instead of clinging to the shallow strands of hope that makishima might be closer to his grip than he’s ever been before, that he could’ve reached this point before had he done anything differently.

resentment isn’t something that he can easily escape. he could run all he wanted, but sasayama’s presence would always be there, haunting and everlasting, boring into the back of his skull in silent judgement.

he turns around, elbows on the rail, head tossed back to once again drink in the fresh air, ‘ i’ve spent one too many nights agonizing over what to do and this is the conclusion i’ve reached. you want me to promise you something but i can’t give it. i’m sorry, gino. ’

I miss him :(

from Psycho-Pass/Zero novel (source)

Caught my daughter with yugioh cards so i made her smoke the whole pack

haisugi​:

“You haven’t changed at all.”

A long moment passed where Sugimoto sensed nothing apart from the ragged tempo of their breathing in the still night air, suffocating as the whisper of Ogata’s words passed like tiny daggers over his skin. He let it linger, heavy and silent, ignoring the lump in his throat that threatened to crescendo into tears beneath the fabric of his scarf. He wouldn’t fucking cry. Not here. Not now.

He remembered that he’d cried the night of Umeko’s wedding, when the agony of loneliness set in and he wondered why he hadn’t been been good enough, or worth waiting for. Of course, he cried when his father died, and he began to understand the fragility and impermanence of life. And Toraji - when Toraji died, he cried for many nights, because finally there was nothing left of his old life that he could call his. No friends, no family, no lover.

But not here. He couldn’t cry here, because doing so would be admitting that what happened between the two of them was over, and that Ogata had won.

He released Ogata from his grip, lowering the man’s head gently to the futon before he freed himself from their entanglement. Legs heavy and body numb, he edged away, feet pressed flat against the floor as if urging him to leave. He should, he realized. He should walk away now, instead of clinging to the shallow strands of hope that Ogata might have loved him once, had he done something differently. But that resentment wasn’t something he could escape, he knew. He could run all he wanted, but Ogata’s gaze would always be there, boring into the back of his skull in silent judgment.

Sugimoto glanced back towards the man behind him, unsurprised to catch Ogata staring with what was left of his dark, heady eyes. Absurd. It was all so absurd that Sugimoto had to laugh, sharp and piercing and full of regret.

“You know, maybe I’m a liar. Maybe I’m selfish. Maybe I’m just as much of a frigid, unchanging bastard as you,” Sugimoto hissed. He tried to close himself off to the yearning he’d felt when Ogata pulled him close, but the sensation of the other man’s touch still sat heavy on the back of his neck. It wasn’t enough to just let go, anymore. Not after all this time. Sugimoto felt compelled to bend over him, caging Ogata between his arms as he stared back at the man defiantly. “But despite it all, I thought, you and I… Together, we could…”

Could what, make it work? Live happily ever after? Sugimoto was surprised to find that after so many nights agonizing over what to say when they finally crossed paths again, he still couldn’t find the words.

Maybe words were useless anyways. After all, Ogata had a beautiful way of twisting them and carving them until they lost all semblance of meaning. The sniper was also a butcher, in his own right.

But there were other ways to tell him. Sugimoto didn’t know if it was right. Knew, almost certainly, Ogata would push him away if he had the strength. But when he lowered himself down to Ogata’s lips and kissed him chastely, he found that he couldn’t stop himself. Didn’t even care to try.

The taste was familiar and strange all at once, unexpectedly sweet and intoxicating in a way that made Sugimoto sick. For all the times he’d thought of killing the man, he’d thought of this tenfold - of the soft curve of his mouth, the tenderness of his tongue contrasted against the harshness of his actions. Sugimoto sank into it, not bothering to hide the desperation in his pace, the need, even if Ogata felt none of the same, tangling his fingers in the man’s hair as if he might run at any moment.

“Live or die, I don’t give a shit,” he lied between breaths. “You did your damage. You can’t hurt me anymore.”

Ogata thought of killing Sugimoto numerous times before, but not quite as many as Sugimoto claimed to have done. No difference had been made after Abashiri, not in the frozen lands of Russia. For better or for worse, Sugimoto avoided the fatal blows by a narrow margin, one that Ogata hadn’t figured out how to get rid of. Putting an end to their back and forth war felt like a distant goal, less likely to happen than finding a speck of gold dust. No matter how many times Ogata fired his weapon, Sugimoto always came back from the depths of whatever hell accepted him.

Part of him liked the chase, there was no use denying the obvious. He liked the thought of having something to look over his shoulder for - the thought of someone waiting for him at the other side of the lense.

What he didn’t like was that Sugimoto tried to force a name on this thing.

Heat began to build up in Ogata’s body - warm and liquid where there should be coldness; it made him feel sick. Like staring down a precipice, the knot in his stomach twisted. It made Ogata want to hurt Sugimoto badly, so much that he wouldn’t have a reason to try his luck a second time. Or a third. Yet, his limbs flinched and his breath was caught in the space between their mouths, like a spell or a curse he swallowed halfway through a dry throat. Sugimoto was persistent, desperate - frantically looking for Ogata’s response, which, hazed by the narcotics and swept by the spur of the vivid memories engraved into his flesh, he gave. Ogata returned the kiss at first, savage as he could, but Sugimoto didn’t let him lay a single bite.

The acid sensation at the pit of his stomach didn’t resemble anything he’d felt before. It was foreign, so much that he couldn’t draw a proper reaction out of his system until it was already too late and Sugimoto was touching him with tenderness so unlike Ogata’s cruelty and his fruitless attempt at goading Sugimoto in. His lips planted against Ogata’s half-opened mouth like he was afraid of hurting him. Distaste crawled up his skin. Live or die, stay or leave; Sugimoto muttered all these words so close to Ogata’s ear that he almost missed it.

The look Sugimoto gave him afterwards… did he think of Ogata as a lover?

“…” He pushed himself apart.

Ogata had never been in love - if love was anywhere. So for Sugimoto to try and attempt to give meaning to what they’d done all those months back in the mountains, he must have been feeling equal parts bold and stupid. He wished, more than anything else in the world, to have the strength to reach for his bayonet and open Sugimoto’s rib cage in half, see what was stored inside. He supposed it’d be warm, slippery, red. Sugimoto’s tongue was that way, too, when it brushed against Ogata’s lips - or when he sucked all the poison from Ogata’s empty eye socket.

He moved sluggishly beneath Sugimoto’s body, restricted by the firm grip in his hair. “You and I, what? You think we’d run away together with the gold and build a life as bandits or live in hiding in the forest? Surely you haven’t forgotten that we’re drop outs. Worse than that, First Lieutenant Tsurumi would never let his grip on us come loose, not after you’ve traded your soul away for that false act of heroism.”

“What did that gain you? Do you still think we’d get away from this unscathed?” Despite his words, Ogata was surprised to find that he wanted to know Sugimoto’s answer. He buried the embers of that foolish curiosity, licking at his lower lip. It was still coated with Sugimoto’s scent and flavor. He held up his gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sugimoto. I want to kill you, I thought I’d made that clear.”

@vzmky

' you're not an exorcist, '

nor akuma, nor any other monster she was aware of. bloodied candles float in the air, their victims scattered across the ground in an almost unrecognizable mess. they accused her of being some kind of cursed spirit, whatever that was.

being called names hurts my feelings

they were weak, not even lasting a few minutes against her. they were no exorcist, otherwise they may have tried begging once they learned who she was. this other one however had the unmistakable stench of blood, and their smile was all but merry.

' you positively reek of death. were they friends of yours? they weren't much fun. will you be more fun than they were? '

Gojo Lu Guang @12reset and Cheng Xiaosi @hourdive are literally that one meme of

CXS: how's my beautiful princess today?

LG: m...me?

CXS: is there any other princess around?

Gojo: me but yknow continue

how many ppl do you think he can hide under his coat

What? Want me to thank you?

ゴールデンカムイ 北海道刺青囚人争奪編 GOLDEN KAMUY 2: The Hunt Of Prisoners In Hokkaido

back in the day i used to write mikami teru and light yagami and it would be a lie to say i don't miss doing it