The Kogami To Sherlock Pipeline Needs To Be Studied, I Remember Being There When Queen Hikaru Sensei

This is what LX has to deal with every day:

@limel1ghts @burntpa1ace

Original

Honestly I'm really bored atm so I might just go back through some of the official content and translate some of the short comic esc scenes over time

skrch

a print of this is available!

@lustraveil

PSYCHO PASS

Shinya Kougami & Nobuchika Ginoza

❝  when there is greed, there is hope.  ❞ ( from manami <3 )

‘ men who live by the waterfall cease to hear it, ever heard of that phrase? ’ is what he offers, fingers idly skimming through the pages.

the monthly statements are a formality, mostly managed internally. numbers tell no lies — numbers are exact, constant, always true to what they represent, unlike the humans that arrange them in fine paper and leather folders. suguru gives a last glance at the paper and turns his attention back to her, ‘perhaps i’ve got playing the pious deity to these monkeys down to a fine art so well that i no longer hear them complaining about their diminishing shares. ’

the view outside is painted in dull oranges, perfectly content with being swallowed by the quick-spilling dark of the night. there’s always been a mean air about her, too. as if cut by the same razor, their sharp edges complemented each other in funny ways. the carpet snaps shut in his hand, back pressed lightly against the windowsill.

‘ well, diminishing is too generous. they weren’t getting any more than what they deserved as creatures at the bottom of the food chain. scavengers like them did always make for greedy little things, and this cult is run precisely because their ambitious bellies are filled with misguided faith. so on. ’

‘ it’s rare for you to point it out in that way, however. ’ suguru’s gaze is bold and unflinching, peering up from beneath the veil of dark bangs and shadowed by the setting sun. it’s in that moment that all truth is stripped bare, he thinks, because the otherworldliness of the room pushes him further into honest curiosity: ‘ am i thinking too much, manami? ’

@koseigu

no one is allowed to talk to suguru if you've seen him before no, you haven't, erase him from your memories trust me it's better if you do he's a wanted criminal and a very dangerous curse user stay away from a man with long, black hair dark as night beautiful honey-tinted eyes and bewitching smile do not speak to him and come to me asap and share his location this is important for the nation's safety, government orders not mine. please and thank you.

just got hollow purple'd

I totally don’t ever rp with u bc u never gave me the insane duo of Makima and Gojo

guilty as charged. happening now. Makima and Gojo will interact one way or another in the photo studio during one of the many parties hosted by Jacksatoru Wangojo

give me a reason why you DON'T rp with me.

there’s not a breath to be taken without precaution. whether it’s the will of the hot, sinister flavor of victory or a more primal apprehension, ulquiorra isn’t sure. but he wants to hear the monster growl again, cry if he must. beg, like the rest of them had when faced with something larger than themselves.

it’s hardly a sweet sound, grimmjow’s baritone carried defiance the kind that you could only find in untamed hollows, the misguided souls that are still too raw and persistently detached from authority, save from the chains that bind them to the skeletal forms. there is no placid trolling to it. unlike ulquiorra’s own voice, apathetic, cruel in its manner devoid of empathy, grimmjow’s groans feel more corporeal than ulquiorra’s own presence. the applied pressure burying itself deep into grimmjow’s marrow becomes the only symbol of his wicked existence in a room so wide and empty.

tongue darts out to wrap itself around ulquiorra’s digits, the sensation a shot of liquid fire when it’s met with the hierro layer that always seemed to run cold. curiosity. confusion. the reasons for such action escaped him, though he’d heard bits of it from other espada — desire, lust. it hardly matters now. ulquiorra doesn’t relent.

‘ what are you doing, grimmjow. ’ fiercely, his right hand clasps around the other’s jaw. bones give in, something cracks. it’s nothing compared to the damages of drawn out battles, the sort of commodity that blood-thirsty beings seek and get drunk off on most nights - it always is night time - so he applies more pressure just to make a statement. 

ulquiorra’s gaze doesn’t falter. ‘ how convenient. your mouth taunts and yet you choose to take the punishment with baseless threats. go. try to defeat me. you can’t? or do you not want to? what could you possibly say to make excuses for yourself after this—? ’ the heel that had remained motionless aims a kick to his stomach, sending him back to the floor. ulquiorra is quick, looming over grimmjow’s tall figure sprawled on the ground. slowly, as if testing the waters, ulquiorra lowers his head, locking gazes. here, now, there’s only grimmjow and him. here, only one man could judge him.

‘ your body is more honest than your tongue. what should i do with it? ’ frigid fingers run down grimmjow’s bared throat, down to his sternum, keenly aware of their new proximity, the heightened nerves beneath his touch,  ‘ should i rip it out and feed the troops with it, or should i make you swallow your own sword? show me, i might begin to understand you. ’

THE  PROBLEM  WITH  CRAMMING  THE  ESPADA  TOGETHER  -  WAS  too  much  power  and  too  many  big  personalities  for  the  proffered  space.  they  were  no  better  than  feral  animals  really,  scratching  an  existence  out  of  survival  of  the  fittest.  the  primordial  part  of  him  knew  sharper  teeth  and  claws  meant  victory,  but  ulquiorra  (  despite  him  knowing  better  )  had  a  vast  well  of  untapped  power  -  an  unending  wealth  of  dominance  that  might  sink  into  grimmjow's  flesh  at  any  moment.  he  hated  it  -  loathed  it  through  the  emptiest  part  of  him.  the  bastard  had  no  spark  -  no  fire.  his  cold,  unfeeling  mish-mash  of  souls  was  appalling  to  number  6,  who  felt  unerring  destruction  to  his  very  marrow.

but  that  was  the  thing  about  being  an  arrancar...  sometimes,  the  wires  got  a  little  crossed.

spirit  pressure  swells  around  him  -  a  threat  and  a  promise.  it  writhes  against  his  own,  melding  against  his  skin  and  cracking  his  defenses  far  too  quickly.  grimmjow  feels  that  he  can't  breathe  (  or  at  least  he  thinks  that's  what  this  sensation  is  )  -  each  inch  of  him  grinding  in  agony.  the  weight  of  a  million  souls  presses  down  down  down  -  and  white  teeth  are  bared  again,  the  phantom  outline  of  a  tail,  black  claws  taking  shape  as  he's  pushed,  pressed,  and  bent.

his  knees  hit  the  hard  floor  with  a  painful  crack,  and  the  hiss  he  lets  out  his  predatory.

of  course  grimmjow  tries  to  stand  -  of  course  wildness  and  rage  and  the  thirst  for  a  fight,  fight,  fight  permeates  his  very  being,  pooling  saliva  into  his  mouth.  ulquiorra  -  a  worthy  opponent,  right  there,  ready  to  struggle  for  the  top  spot...  yet  strong  pressure  and  a  hand  keeps  him  on  his  knees,  and  grimmjow  is  about  to  lean  down  and  simply  sink  his  teeth  into  his  arm,  tear  into  him  with  unfettered  savagery  when…

❝ nn- ❞

he's  not  so  much  ashamed  by  the  noise  that  leaves  him  -  not  so  much  ashamed  by  the  heat  that  curdles  in  his  limbs  when  ulquiorra  does  that  with  his  foot  -  as  he  is  by  the  sheer  knowledge  that  he  has  effectively  been  scruffed  like  an  an  unruly  cat  -  and  has  to  stare  up  at  the  fourth  with  a  different  sort  of  guarded  hunger  in  his  gaze.

❝ you're  so  fucking  annoying, ❞   he  eeks  out,  breathing  still  labored,  body  wired.  black  tipped  claws  sluggishly  raise,  coiling  about  his  wrist  again  -  except  this  time  he  forces  ulquiorra's  hand  upwards,  and  the  pad  of  his  rough  tongue,  feline,  skates  along  fingertips.  ❝ all  self-righteous  an'  haughty.  you  think  you've  gotten  the  best  of  me? ❞  yet  his  voice  is  breathless,  whether  from  the  swell  of  desires,  or  the  thorough  disciplining  -  it  was  hard  to  say.  even  so,  he  bumps  his  jaw  against  the  back  of  his  fellow  espada's  hand,  rubbing  lightly  -  the  faintest  rumble  resonating  from  deep  within  his  core.

❝ just  wait,  you  bat  bastard. ❞   the  purr  rises  and  swells,  a  continuous  cacophony  while  grimmjow  dares  to  eek  his  hips  upwards,  and  dares  to  smirk  once  more.   ❝ just  wait,  until  i  get  my  fangs  in  you. ❞

"good luck taking care of yourself." // geto @ gojo, hidden inventory setting mayhaps

gojo satoru never says please . all the blessing of the heavens and six eyes to back it up , all that unbalanced source of energy on the tip of his fingers , all because simply ; gojo satoru never begs . he stands amidst the crowd with dull greyed eyes , stares with a clenched jaw as suguru's black eyes disappear through his smile . his head feels hot , he recognizes this , rage . his shoulder blades feel tense and he knows this too ─ lost , heavens he has no idea how to deal with this . suguru takes his silence as an answer and turns to leave . he manages to take a few steps before satoru is right behind him , a cold hand curled around suguru's arm . oversized shirt wrinkles under his tight grip , bare eyes catch suguru's . and he doesn't look angry anymore , not when he saw suguru is actually able to leave . ‘ suguru .. ‘ he's pathetic , he swallows and doesn't know what to say . no , satoru can't survive this one with a blank face and empty eyes ─ can't push his way through the world without him . it feels like being a star and burning , it feels like he's being pulled apart atom by atom . he licks his lips , his eyes were bare since this morning and he feels exhausted , he needs to eat a few plates of sweets before he can function properly and with acceptable sugar levels in his blood . ‘ we ─ let's sit and talk . burgers on me . ‘ black rings are deeper under his eyes , he feels like he's aged centuries . his hold loosens before he tries to stand straighter , his phone rings ; it's yaga , he turns it off and slips it back into his pocket . heart hammering in his chest . ‘ come on . sit . ‘ he even pulls the seat for him , a couple of chairs tucked under the table in front of mcdonald's . satoru leans over to dust the seat off with his palm , a hand that can't touch many things because everyone knows that once you become untouchable you're also unable to touch ; he blinks , with parted lips , almost aggressively does he gesture to the chair he's pulled for suguru .

* ( preacher's daughter. ) accepting