❛  the Only Path That’s Left For Me Is Forward.  ❜ ( Kenjaku & Teacher!geto? )

❛ you’ve broken me. all i can think about is you. ❜ (sugimoto at ogata)

a piece of you for every piece of me.

pain is what he feels first. like the first intake of breath at birth. second comes remembrance, the recollection of moments fluttering in repetition: the arrow, razor-sharp cuts on his face, the vacancy, sugimoto’s voice calling his name and grounding him to reality, to life. ogata’s chests heaves in a desperate attempt at regaining full consciousness and control of his body, limbs gone weak with misuse and the feverish haze blurring every corner keeps him nauseous enough to remain pressed to the makeshift bed.

his throat goes dry, voice rasp and low like sandpaper. “enough.” is all ogata manages to say.

there’s something… something odd in the words that made ogata’s hair stand on end. he’d felt this general unease before: bile accumulating in his mouth, the chill of a ghost in-passing, crawling through their feet. 

they’d faced the ruthless winter in Hokkaido, storms that devoured everything that crossed their path. rampaging wolves, ravenous, a wounded beast with a mouth covered in fangs. sugimoto isn’t so different from it. he’d sunk his teeth deep into flesh, rip apart anything that made him hungry enough, and in that manner, ogata could find a strange affinity for whatever this static was, between them. but anything beyond that mirroring ambition — for the gold, or the appetite for destruction —, turned every passing second into a reminder that he should’ve killed him, that he should’ve made sure that sugimoto wouldn’t come back and root himself in the back of his mind.

the warmth of sugimoto’s body half-pressed against him floods him with unnerving, pristine clarity: their proximity, the way silence seems so loud and piercing when all he can hear is the pounding in his head, sweat gone cold. 

he can smell sugimoto, the scent of blood and deer innards, the scent of a monster, the same as he is.

not this, what he’s pretending to be, what he’s pretending they can be as though the mere hint of normalcy can strip away every sin that keeps him awake and haunted. 

the asymmetry of sugimoto’s scar comes into clear view, air gone thick and heavy; ogata’s hand moves by reflex, wrenching sugimoto’s jaw away from his face, gaining him the opposite effect: sugimoto is wide awake, eyes flashing gold in the dark, arm pinning down ogata with as much ceremony as taking down cattle.

ogata laughs, mirthless, head thrown back and eye rolling back to his skull, delirium and exhaustion ebbing at the dregs of his consciousness.

“i said enough. i don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, but creeping up on people in their sleep is foul play even for someone like you.”

words drag on sluggishly between rasps and morphine, what’s left of it in his system, weak. it’s not as threatened as it is pitiful, the mournful cry of a wounded animal. ogata attempts to focus his attention back on sugimoto’s scars, his amber eyes, the crease of his eyebrows drawn up in confusion. this is what he prefers, this is what he knows best. anger is easy, predictable. “we’re not in the trenches, i’m sure you can ask someone a little more lively to take care of your needs for you. unless this is the kind of thing you’re into.”

@lustraveil

@cursedfell

Sherliam can get married now, suck that ACD Estate

i don't write with you because if i do i'll get so hard that i'll break my computer desk and i can't afford another one (all my figures are on there)

so we keep the milf locked until further notice got it (puts geto back in the basement)

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

Nanami

Based off my blog, what other characters could you see me Roleplay as?

it's the tired finances major in me... i see the vision. actually that's an interesting suggestion, i've considered writing him before but never got around to do it adjkjfksdg might give him a try tho!

skrch

a print of this is available!

Kougino is aging like a fine wine

' well they're not with anyone anymore. '

a giggle before she fully turns to the other, eyeing him up and down, fingers locked behind her back as she steps closer in an almost childlike way. not a hint of fear or even weariness as he stand before her. it was clear who she killed mattered so little to him; perhaps he was even thankful.

' you're right, how rude of me. but to be fair they called me a mean name. '

and i needed an excuse to have some fun i just wish they lived a little longer

she giggles again and spins, the cloth of her dress almost suspiciously clean as she stands upon bloodied concrete. though she was curious as to what exactly they meant by calling her a cursed spirit, it ultimately meant nothing to her. her attention has already switched to the one before her, and she was already far more curious about him.

' it doesn't take a lot to notice when someone is more than what meets the eye. i've got a knack for reading people. '

their dreams. ambitions. fears. none is safe from my eyes

' i've been called plenty of things before. a heartless monster, wicked witch, the devil incarnate, and every other hurtful name you could think of. '

a pause as she smiles, her childish nature showing itself.

' but you can call me road kamelot. and who i am? who else but one of gods chosen disciples. who are you mister? '

i dont rp with people who gatekeep geto's hole

top geto disliker in my dms chat bring me my yaoi paddle

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

sorry I beat the shit out of you I have a really big crush on you and I got nervous