#psycho pass.

[cosmicangst]

THIS IS A SHOUJO ANIME FKFLFNFSKSK

[cosmicangst]

IM AN IDIOT @pearlmcj im sorry i accidentally deleted your ask while i was in the middle of responding. here’s my original reply:

oh my god the way you seamlessly blended two of my favorite things you’re like my niche fairy godmother thank you for this fic

i love the sort of stubbornness akane has against what seems to be a foregrounded certainty of tragedy (one of the reasons why im insane over the myth and the musical) and im so glad you gave them a happy ending regardless. so many other things im obsessed with: the ache and the yearning, the fact that they can’t help their mutual gravity, the way they both perfectly fulfill orpheus and euridyce’s roles (and sometimes how that dichotomy becomes muddled). im in love!!

everyone please read this fic (esp if you like hadestown)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390183

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[trans-homura]

I never thought I would say this about a lesbian but

Fuck Mika

[cosmicangst]

sunday six: each sunday, post six (a little over six???) sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.

odesta au

You can hear her laughing quietly as she digs her toes into the wet clumps of sand. It feels almost like returning to an old memory. Like reliving an old photograph. The grains on your feet, the smell of seaweed, the white foam of the shore. The ocean stretching past, as unruled as ever, and you feel safe sitting next to something that’ll outlive you. Not even the Capitol can catch the horizon after all.

“The ocean missed you,” she says out of nowhere.

The wind hurries, carrying the salt to you both. You close your eyes, taste home on your tongue, and allow the ocean to breathe millennia of its life on your face.

Well, I’m back now, you say, and for once it doesn’t sound like a lie.

[cosmicangst]

sunday six: each sunday, post a passage (technically six sentences but whatever) from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.

so this is a little tease (but not a preview of the final thing) of a special collab project happening real soon. i hope y’all are excited.

“You’re pretty convincing yourself,” Shion remarked with slight amusement a minute after Akane left. “Correct me if I’m wrong but weren’t you the one who said that the compatibility system was all bullshit? Human connections are unquantifiable and all that?”

“I think that was you. Besides, if it works, it works,” he said as steadily as ever then looked at the wide screen, which had not changed in the past thirty minutes. “Speaking of which, aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Changing the subject. Did I touch a nerve?” 

Kougami clicked his pen closed. She smiled like a cat. 

“Perhaps it bothers you more than you realize.”

“It has nothing to do with me.”

“But you want it to?” The tease was a little more than a hint this time. He didn’t deign her a reply and she laughed.

“Don’t look so dour. You’ll ruin that pretty face of yours.” 

Before he could say anything, she turned her attention to her keyboard, fingers automatic as she typed out a few choice words. In a second, a menu appeared on the screen.

He didn’t even have to look up before he sighed. “Karanomori.”

“I just want to know the name of this lucky suitor of hers,” she said lightly as she scrolled down and typed a few more parameters. “Plus, I don’t think Sibyl will mind a little bit of curiosity.” 

“I do. This is Akane’s business.”

“Akane?”

“Tsunemori,” he corrected without a thought and ignored her grin.

[cosmicangst]

fic pls ;_;

for your otp thing: who dies and who destroys a fucking city in grief

One day, someone will come to this room to turn off the power.

Rarely does the world exist in black or white.

But exceptions do exist.

In binary, the current state exists as either a 1 or a 0. A circle and a square by definition cannot be the same thing without first losing their identity. You walk away or you don’t. You are alive or you are not. Either this miserable city continues its reign with her or without.

It’s too bad it had to be the latter. But there’s nothing that change loves more than a martyr is there?

When the collapse starts, they rile up angry, unsatisfied, choked like a fuse that still hasn’t been lit. They call you to their crusade because they know who you are and who you were. You feign a wolf but you are still a hound at heart, aren’t you? Your loyalties have always belonged to her first even if your gun points otherwise.

Little by little, the country starts to sway. Some sheep will always remain sheep and you spare them even while you make them watch as their safe, little normalcy falls to their knees. Either you flick the match to the fire or you snuff it in your fist. When the flames start licking the walls and the smell of souls burning covers you thick with ash, you tell yourself a lie.

This is what she would have wanted. This is for peace even if you don’t believe in forgiveness. She is nothing but a specter in your sleep and the cause for it is still not. You know Sibyl has no business being alive at this point.

Then again neither do you, yet here you both are in between the thing that will kill you both.

There is always a choice, the voice to your right says, face frozen like a cadaver in perpetual blitheness. You haven’t seen him in awhile. He does not seem that much different from the last time you did. But even he seems more human than you now, amber eyes glittering with a humor found in death. When he talks, there is none of his usual smugness.

There is always a choice, even one that takes others’ away. He looks at the detonator with an unreadable expression and you fire a warning shot to his temple for old times’ sake. When your ears stop ringing, he simply raises an eyebrow as if you’ve both shared something amusing.

Let’s not lose our heads here just yet, shall we?

Now that’s funny.

There are only so many times you can lose something before it decides it no longer wants to be found.

But he’s right of course. There’s always a choice, isn’t there? Even if it is an unfair one.

Peace called for something bigger and you rose to the occasion. Rarely does the world exist in black or white but the revolution tasked you with this sacrifice because you were the only one who could be an exception.

But you’re not completely there yet. Your grayness, your heart, your conscience, your only vestige of humanity stares at you now with a ghost of brown eyes and a soft voice. It holds onto you even when your hand is at the switch. Even when it’s pleading for you to stop.

And you turn it all off.