12 Works by tprpp
Listing Works
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“This is a vagrant island. And I'm a vagrant man.” He says, sitting on the chair next to the fire. “We were meant to find each other.”
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"She was a good cook." After a pause, he adds "My father always liked it."
Ogata sees before his closed eyes the life he weaves for the soldier, and keeps talking, adding details to a life that could have been true, feeling gentle arms holding his, guiding his steps, familiar skin on his own.
The soldier nods while he speaks, and, if there's something in Ogata's story that feels off-key, odd details born out of how foreign he feels the life he's moulding, of love only known by second hand, he's kind enough to play along.
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He's close. So close. Each step seems louder than the others, louder than any other sound that night. It resonates in his head, echoing in his skull. He covers his ears, but the sound is coming from inside.
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“That's all it takes?” The soldier knows he's not in control. He doesn't need a reminder of something that sits so terribly loud between the two, but Ogata likes to remind him, to give a shape with hostile hands to the uncomfortable feeling inside the soldier's chest. “And what else would you do, if I asked you to?”
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"Nothing goes to waste" she tells him each and every time "The meat will give us life. The fur will give us warmth. The bones will give us tools."
(And all that remains will give us an earth so fertile we won't need to kill again) -
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There's familiarity in this; Ogata had always used his eyes as Sugimoto had always used his hands; never gentle enough, never honest enough. However, when the soldier turns to face him, as a thousand times before, aching for a touch he knows will not reach his skin, his eyes are met with ones that carry the same gravity behind but that look at him, through him, with a foreign shine.
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“I hear you almost every night.” Ogata curls next to him, whispering the words into his neck “Please, Sugimoto, I want to understand" he gifts the other man a smile full of sharp teeth, a reminder of the relentlessness of his bite more than an inviting gesture. "What do you see when you see the war?"
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The hand that feeds you (that carries your leash) by tprpp
Fandoms: ゴールデンカムイ | Golden Kamuy (Manga)
20 Oct 2021
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“You were the best of them all, sergeant; you knew the game and you knew its rules. You had your seat at the show. You had your chance.” One of Tsurumi’s hands grips the sergeant’s jaw, fingers digging into the skin, moving it unceremoniously to face the third man in the room “He ruined that for you.”
aka: Tsukishima snaps
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His hand touches the base of his skull and travels to his forehead, recreating with his fingers the path of his brother's death. He lowers his it then, resting it mindlessly, almost by accident, at the empty hole where his eye used to sit
"Well, if it hurts you as much as this is hurting me, I can only hope it served as a memento of your brother"
Or: Ogata talks to his brother
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"I want to make you mine" he thinks, and the feverish feeling that that affirmation brings clashes with his own deranged condition. "I want to shape you at my image. I want my death to mould you. If I have to die at your hands, that alone will be my parting gift".
or: sugimoto and ogata talk the night he loses his eye
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"Patient" The word resonates in his mind and Ogata entertains the thought. "A patient man" His mind drifts towards Tsukishima's past, the sin that marks both of them. "What did it take for you, Sergeant?" "What broke that facade of yours?"
Russian lessons let's go
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She could have loved Toraji, in another life. In a life were Saichi didn't existed, she could have convinced herself that that was all that love could offer.