"im Not Crying! Respect Your Elders!!" / Utahime @ Gojo

mikami (death note), makima (chainsaw man), komaeda (dangan ronpa) and nao (sakamoto days) all have a lot more in common than you'd think

thinking about how 80% of Gojo's character is intrinsically connected to Geto's, you can't separate one from the other without taking away something fundamental. Teacher Gojo exists because of Geto, his speech manner is as it is now because of Geto's reprimanding, his only weakness is Geto, all his nightmares always take him back to that place 10 years ago, he killed the higher ups with Geto in mind expecting to catch up to him. It's always Geto.

Suguru. Suguru. Suguru.

Art by  AoiBara

Posted with Permission (reprint/edit and/or commercial use prohibited)

headcanon from yesterday: yuki doesn't like gojo! they say that similar poles repel each other and in a sense she sees a lot of herself in him and can't help but keep him at bay. and funnily she liked geto, because she likes humans and she saw more empathy in him than she did on gojo, so it was a truly heartbreaking that the next time they met it was on opposing ends...

that being said, her dynamic with gojo is basically this:

Now we’re even.

I’m not about…to let you be the only one who dies!

richard siken, the worm king’s lullaby; from “war of foxes”

"You're losing my interest and that's very dangerous." Usami to Ogata

interest came in many forms.

for the privates of the 7th division, interest could only be defined by the free-fall act of rebellion coiling in the guts of their infantry, the belly of it all. a less prominent interest, but existing altogether within the rows and rows of hungry men looking for recognition was, undoubtedly, the merciful caress of their first lieutenant’s hand.

like a kid searching for their father’s approval, soldiers lined up for morning call expecting to hear or witness first lieutenant tsurumi’s fanfare, the speeches that could go on for hours on end, basking in the sound of his own voice. ogata could almost see it, had wanted it for a while before he’d found something else - amber eyes, the asymmetry of a war-scarred face - to keep his rapt attention and stomach well-fed.

usami doesn’t seem the type who’d rather look anywhere else. their gazes meet, locked in place by the silent feeling of recognition: he saw in usami’s expression a familiar sort of necessity, the kind he’d found himself stepping back into every time he brought a dead bird back home, in ibaraki. whether tsurumi glanced back and gave usami the attention he sought for, that’s entirely up for debate. he doubted it would be any more different than appraisal, the kind that officers perform routinely with every new stock of mosin-nagants.

it’s only then that be becomes aware of the thickening smell of antiseptic, gunpowder and death. an amused smirk tugs at his lips, voice falling a few octaves, words slurred by the remnants of anaesthesia lingering in his system. “dangerous, for who?”

“prey animals don’t turn their backs to their predators. it's in their best interest, don't you agree?”

@muddsludge

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