perfect world.

Everyone is alone. Everyone is empty. I had gotten bored of a world like that. a makishima blog. written by kayla.

[spirition]

makishima shogo + precious metals requested by animetist

[byakuranz-blog]

Happy Birthday, Joyce! (ﾉ´ｰ`)ﾉ

[byakuranz-blog]

"I want to see the splendor of people's souls. I want to check and see if it really is precious."

[mxkishimaisms-blog]

Rules: Answer and tag 10 people you want to know better

Tagged by: @yayoi--kunizuka

Favourite Anime: PSYCHO PASS, Death Note, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Fate/Zero. All of them are easily 9-10/10′s for me and enjoyable enough that I would rewatch them any day of the week.

Favourite Game: If we go by raw hours played, that’d be League of Legends, shamefully enough. SpeedRunners is perfect for when I want to contemplate killing all of my friends while having enough fun when I win to soldier on through the pain.

Favourite Manga: There was that one time where I read a smattering of Death Note and FMA:B volumes...

Last song you listened to: Celldweller - Jericho (Circle of Dust Remix)

First language: English. Still a monophone in terms of fluency from being a lazy asshole.

tagging: uh ... @mugunghwa : ^)

[perfect--zero]

     Death greeted everyone on the same level. Blind to age, gender, and even social status. He always greeted you a the end of your life, for no one was immortal. He’d scoop you up and ask what your regrets were, ‘I do not regret my life, for I do not know regret.’ would be all Flora would say to it.

     “Hate and love are two different coins, however I do not know how to flip such a coin. I have never felt them, people often say it’s like having butterflies in one’s stomach, or you feel like you wish to punch someone. Such things only make emotions more complicated.” She rested the teacup against her lips as he spoke more about the book. He did speak about something she understood, structure. Logic. The beginning, middle and end. The middle had to be gripping while the beginning had to set the floor, and the end had to tie all the knots together. Like an experiment. Jillian took a small sip from the deep-red tea which filled her senses with a bitter taste.

     There’s a slight nod, “I see. Like blindly throwing darts in hope of one hitting the middle.” She not felt the tea had become cooler for her to drink without giving herself a third degree burn. “It seems like he was putting all of his resoruces into one basket and tried to get some sort of response with a shotgun blast… That does not seem efficient.” She dismissed this with a motion of her hand. “I would have thought targeting a weakpoint in the human mind would be better?”

     “Correct in your thinking. The human race hold no emotional value to me. They needlessly fear over the lingering of death, or fight with one another for no reason other than to fight. They are merely pieces on a chessboard, waiting to be disposed of in a manner where they are either killed or detained for research.” She looked the man in the eyes with her cold, emotionless gaze. “My mother used to say that emotions were the driving force of the human race. To fight every day to defy death. The drive to help others because of some emotion that encouraged you to do so.” She raised the cup of tea. “Both sides have their used. Since emotions both hold back and drive the human race. 'Passion is a fire that one can never snuff out’.”

     Jillian finished her cup of tea, sitting the cup rim down on the saucer before looking back to him as he spoke about his subjects. “They all ask for the same thing at the end of the day. Mercy.” She shook her head slowly. “As if mercy is something given to them willingly. Begging saves them. That if they ask nicely they’ll not be killed… Hope is a strange beast…” Jillian knew that the human race would beg at the end of he day when it came to being at the mercy of someone. “At the end of the day, it’s a question of if they were satisfied living their life the way they did… Why spare that one in the ocean when they could make more?”

     His words cause Jillian to glance over to the window as if she was looking for something. “The unfortunate soul who must flip the coin. While heads and tails can never meet on the same coin, they do factor the toss. When in the air, heads and tails become one until it lands. Could use that to describe our crime scenes, don’t know which one did it.” She looked back at him from the corner of her eye. “I learn more about emotions from you, making observations on how you act around your books or the topics we discuss. Expanding upon why the human race may or may not require emotions.” Even if it didn’t impact her as a person or in her judgement at the end of the day. “In which, I return the thanks of your knowledge.”

     The statement was an interesting one, Jillian looked to his book. “I just make educated guesses that it’s impossible for a person to like everything of one type of thing. A man who is passionate tea may not enjoy Earl Grey. That is an assumption from the lack of experience I have with such an emotion. They say that passion is the driving force of the human race. Do you enjoy every story you read? What makes them different from those stories from the people who try to dissuade you to kill?”

[mxkishimaisms-blog]

     Taking his tea to stir it again, Makishima’s eyes crinkled with the tune of miss Yukimura’s voice.

     Tapping the teaspoon on the rim of the cup, he confirmed it. They really were two birds of a feather, weren’t they? Opposites in ways that could only compliment. It was an odd feeling, kinship without kinship. Makishima himself hadn’t experienced it often, if at all.

     “I find it telling – no, almost funny – that you describe hope as 'a strange beast’ yet you yourself never feeling it before, miss Yukimura.” He said, tilting his head at her. “I think not of it as hope. Facing down the barrel of a gun, what would you feel more? Hope that it may avoid you, or the fear that it will kill you?” He put his teacup on its platter, letting it down on the table.

     He smiled again. “I like to think that we are more afraid than we are hopeful, miss Yukimura. It’s in our very genes to remember negative experiences far more than the positive ones – it’s easy to say that the same must be true in emotion.” He nodded his head. She did have a point – could he really enjoy every book he read? Out of the hundreds that he’d have read end to end in his adult life?

     Makishima chuckled; of course he could. “I find there’s something to learn and savor in whatever’s put in front of me, miss Yukimura, including the desperate pleas of those staring down not a gun but a razor,” he described, eyes shining, “but one is on yellowed pages, and the other is babbled to me rather unaffectionately.” He shrugged his shoulders, passing a glance at Ulysses.

     Humans were oddities of a nature that prided herself on her brutality; it would be unreasonable to assume her most prized creation would willingly subvert that in which she upheld to the letter. Yet … yet there were others, anormalities such as Makishima himself – ah, yes. Makishima was the most normal person he knew. Putting his hands together, he thought himself as pleased as he could be in the middle of engaging conversation.

     “We are all due to die, miss Yukimura. The day is flexible, of course. I could very well be dead tomorrow, or next week, or next year – and although I would be disappointed to die before I have the chance to do what I want to do in life,” he told her, bright grin just milling on his face, “that is the capricious nature of Nature. Mercy, then – well, it seems like such a hopeful object, now doesn’t it?”

[19regrets]

[myth-of-a-girl]

-But forgive me, forgive me; I’ll be gone, so just pretend that you killed me.

[masaoka-tomomi]

   The suspect’s voice was difficult to hear; drown out by the ringing which echoed within Masaoka’s ears. After so many years in this line of work, the enforcer never imagined that a suspect might risk their own life by lighting a powerful explosive. It’ll be a stroke of luck if his hearing fully returns after such an ear-shattering sound. He had become jaded over the years, used to all sorts of slander or pleas from the suspect seated across from him… he never paid any mind, easily sleeping through the night after his shift. 

   This guy was something else. Maybe it was the upbeat attitude, or his smirk, or the attempt on his son and his own life. His son was brutalized as a result, and it still was up in the air whether he’ll be able to save that limb–yes; that must be what pushed Masaoka over the edge. He tightened his right fist and stood up from his seat, steady steps crossed the aisle-way separating the two. He raised his fist and swung, striking the bastard across his cheekbone. 

   A gasp of air through his teeth followed–he spared the man a strike from his prosthetic fist, as something like that was likely to kill him. He already decided the man wasn’t worth the hell he’d go through if found standing over the corpse. Yet, a dose of pain was more than suitable. Masaoka took a few wavering steps back as he shook his hand, now overcome with pain… the strike was forceful enough to break open his skin, fine streaks of blood now trickled from the wounds. He took his seat across from Makishima, not at all raising his voice to cause a ruckus and bring attention to what he had done. 

[mxkishimaisms-blog]

     A part of Makishima knew that swing was coming since Masaoka stood up and saw the torn over creases on his face.

    Did that save him from the fire of pain that sparked on his cheek and sizzled on his skin?

    No, no it did not.

    It hurt, and while it did not hurt as severely as it could – it wasn't metal that had met his frowning-but-still-trying-to-smile face – his head reeled back, his silver hair coming down like a curtain over him.

    Well.

    That was a blow.

    “I see your point,” Makishima raised him, voice just a tinge bit fettered. He was looking at the wall, then slowly turned his head on back over to Masaoka. Cherry red stained where it would be ordinarily porcelain. “Though, I would think that could've got across by a few choice, cross words, don't you think?” He wasn't expecting a response to that, or much of a response from him at all. He looked him over, sighed somewhat, then glanced briefly up to the ceiling of the van.

    It had been an encounter, alright.

    A story to tell later, Makishima supposed, about how a single man could threaten the whole of the MWPSB that SIYBL had sent after him. The whole bevy of dogs and dogs wearing shepherd's clothes were in attendance one way or another, and yet Makishima soldiered on. He didn't dwell on whether or not he was a fool for trying.

    He pulled – or rather, made the motion to – his legs up, only to discover that they had been chained to the lower wall of his seat. Unfortunate, he told himself. He'd have to sit in dull pain and aching discomfort for the rest of the ride; apparently SIYBL had learned from their last moment together about the dangers of giving Makishima freedom of movement.

    Instead, he idly gazed at Masaoka with his viper eyes, and …

    … placidly smiled.

[shougo-makishima-deactivated202]

Everybody loves to judge, everybody thinks they’re clean…

[shougo-makishima-deactivated202]

You’re the broken bones, And the bleeding nose, Just the marks of a ghost.

[twotheleft]

[mxkishimaisms-blog]

«    @masaoka-tomomi    »

[masaoka-tomomi]

     Masaoka couldn’t recall a time that he has seen a suspect shackled in heavy irons since the police force collapsed into the MWPSB. This fellow’s coefficient should have been high enough for execution on the spot–so what was with the order to capture him alive? The whole situation reeked, and he wanted no part of it… but it’s too late for that. His muscles still ached from trying to apprehend this man, so a cross appearance wasn’t difficult make as he stared Makishima down from his seat on the truck.

     “Wipe that smirk off your face.”

[mxkishimaisms-blog]

     Really, Makishima should have been disappointed. Saddened. Embittered, even. The thought of being captured alive by the MWPSB had never struck him. He had always figured he'd be out of SIYBL's grasp or delivered to the oracle in pieces, with no room for a "what if" or a matter of a middle in the extremes.

     Why was he smirking, then?

     Why wouldn't he be?

     His back ached. His face had met the side of the floor several times in his and the Enforcer's -- yes, he was certain of his title before they had laid fistcuffs on each other -- confrontation. It was exhilarating, if just for a few moments. He got so entangled in the rush that he forgot his boredom.

     Pity his giddiness wouldn't stay. He knew that. He could enjoy it while it lasted, at least. He looked up from his spot in the back of the van, chuckling something to himself as his muddied white hair lolled off to the sides of his head. "I agree, it seems out of place, doesn't it? Would you prefer a mousy, hanging head of defeat?" He asked the man, although he hardly sounded sarcastic. In fact ... he sounded friendly. Happy.

     Only a few people in this world could be genuinely happy at being caught after committing heinous murders and conducting countless others. Makishima was the king of them all. "I don't think it would suit me, personally. It was a good show -- nothing to be sorry about."

[gurrenlagging]

[bella-works]

[ranmarukurosakis]

The system holds justice at gunpoint.

[ranmarukurosakis]

“Everyone is alone. Everyone is empty. People no longer have need of others. You can always find a spare for any talent. Any relationship can be replaced. I had gotten bored of a world like that.”

[mxkishimaisms-blog]

     ALONE. happy new year's, everybody!

[-jenjam]