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makotonaegiunderstander · 6 months

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something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

#makoto naegi #Danganronpa character analysis #Danganronpa #danganronpa thh #danganronpa future arc #I fucking love Makoto Naegi man.#I think there’s a fine line of nuance to Makoto that’s easy to miss bc he doesn’t really make it known #he’s not a pushover and he’s not overpowered. he’s a people pleaser but he will say what needs to be said #he’s an immovable object and the exact opposite of Junko but he’s also just a normal guy who’s optimistic and (un)lucky #he isn’t invincible but he has immense power to his words the same way Junko did #if anything his superpower is being kind above all else. he’s compassionate to some of the worst people in the world.#he was even conpassionatr to an extent to Junko. he didnt want her to kill herself despite everything she’s done #and he still acknowledges that for years she was a classmate and friend.#I do think the more he learned abt what she did the more he’s come to actually hate her though #post the first game he always refers to her without a suffix to her name which is one of the most subtle rude things you can do #it means you have zero respect for the person you’re referring to #and he speaks about her with some venom he doesn’t use for anyone else in the future arc #he’s not incapable of feeling negative emotions #I really liked the future arc scene bc it showed that Makoto DID experience enough despair to have overcome him if he didn’t refuse #and that it still affects him deeply. people treat him like he’s either this perfect ideal Chad or this baby chick who’s so delicate #and no one really focuses on how makoto shoulders so much and yet is still vulnerable.#honestly that guy was DUE for a mental breakdown even without the tape. it would have happened eventually #I actually wrote one based on him finally hitting a breaking point after giving so much of himself away and keeping nothing for himself #that his issues that he shoves down constantly finally can’t be held down anymore. Hajime helps him bc he knows how that feels #it was a LONG time ago that I wrote that but honestly if I can remember where i was going w it I might finish it #it was initially an rp but I could make it a fic #anyway. the point is Makoto is SO much more complex than people give him credit for #the most fundamental thing about him is that he’s normal and that’s ok! that’s what helps him rise!

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justsigma-bsd · 4 months

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Memories Of Red, Staining The Mind

Yet another memory/nightmare short story. Also very much my first attempt in describing a scene in the way I did.

No idea what possessed me to write this, but I did manage it in one day.

TW: Human Traffickers, Violence, Death, Blood

He was shoved into the interrogation room roughly. There was a metallic taste in his mouth from where he'd been biting his lip, but he paid it no mind. His attention stuck on the grey tarp in front of him, in front of the chair that was always in the room.

The air, too, had an odd metallic smell to it now that he thought about it. Almost like the rusty bars of his cell, or the chain connecting his shackles.

"We want to try our hands at a little experiment today, Exchanger"

His face twitched slightly at the nickname, but he kept his gaze forward and on the tarp. Refusing to acknowledge the name he was being called yet again.

It wasn't like it was the only name they called him, but this one especially reminded him that his ability of exchanging information was the only reason he was still here... and that he didn't even have a name to begin with.

Slowly, his eyes wandered over the tarp. His stomach did a weird flip when he noticed the rough shape of what it was covering. But... no. He was being too hasty. It couldn't be a person, right?

Heavy hands landed on his shoulders, yet not as heavy as the shackles digging into his skin. "I'm sure you'll do your best, no?" the voice was uncomfortably close to his ear, and he offered a quick, jerky nod. Almost immediately the simple weight on his shoulders changed from simply heavy to an ever so slightly painful grip.

"Yes Sir" he found himself saying, before the man could reprimand him. The grip relaxed, but he didn't dare to let himself feel relived. Not yet. The hands vanished, and his 'boss' strolled past him. There was an odd shine in his eyes when he grabbed the tarp.

When it was pulled away, his assumption was confirmed. It was indeed a person. One of his fellow prisoners, if he remembered correctly. He couldn't remember her name, though... and he couldn't help but think that she'd seen better days.

Her skin was unusually pale, safe for the bruises of which he surely had perfect matches. There were large spots of crimson soaking her off-white clothes and once blond hair, and it made his stomach turn. Slowly, his gaze wandered to her face. He found her eyes wide open, staring off into nothingness.

"She's..." he trailed off, sick to his stomach. He wanted to throw up, but he doubted he could. He hadn't eaten since his latest mess-up a few days ago, after all. "Dead" 'boss' hummed in confirmation, but he didn't seem all too concerned of that.

Dead.

She was dead.

Void of life.

He knew of death, as a concept. It was entirely different, jarring, to actually see someone who's life had left their eyes.

He'd barely spoken to her before they'd put him into the cell on his own, but he could perfectly remember her voice, her optimism. Could still remember how she'd promised they'd all get out of this place together, one day. That hadn't been long into his stay, and he hadn't even fully understood why they'd want to get out.

Ever since unlocking his ability, he understood perfectly.

His chest ached when he realized that she'd never leave this place and would never spread her optimism again, although he couldn't explain why.

He felt the urge to ask "What happened to her? Why did you kill her?", but a single glance up to his 'boss' left him snapping his mouth shut with a sharp click. Right. No speaking out of turn. He'd already done so once, which was bad enough.

He knew better than speaking without being prompted.

He should be better than this.

Something hard, perhaps the muzzle of a gun, dug into his back and he fought down a wince, stumbling closer to the body. "Come here, sit" 'boss' sounded unusually excited, and he felt his stomach flip yet again. He didn't want to sit, but orders were orders.

"Your skill allows you to read and take information, isn't that right?"

The question felt useless. They both knew the answer, after all. Still, he murmured a soft "Yes Sir" and stared down at the ground. It was the only place where he could look without having to stare at who once was a fellow prisoner.

"I want you to try and read Seven's information"

That wasn't her name. Seven wasn't her name, it was just a number. The same number painted on the back of her shirt, if he were to turn her over. It wasn't her name, nor her identity. He wanted to say that, wanted to shout it at his 'boss'. She was dead, couldn't at least death free her of being nothing but a prisoner?

But he refrained from lashing out, instead dug his nails into his knees. It would do more harm than good to say anything, he knew that much.

His gaze wandered to his hands, and he felt sick just at the thought of doing this. What if it didn't work? Would it be counted as yet another failure on his part? But even worse... what if it did work? Would this become part of a new routine?

No. No he wouldn't let them. Even if it did work, he wouldn't tell them. Not this time.

"Which information do you need, Sir?" he murmured, and hovered his hand over a stiff, pale one. For a few long seconds he thought that he wouldn't receive a response. Then: "It's only an experiment. Take whatever you want"

He frowned slightly, unsure. Not daring to touch the lifeless hand just yet. Because what even was he supposed to choose? He hadn't known her, not really. Idly, he wondered if it even mattered what he chose. It either wouldn't work, or he'd never tell.

I want to know what Death feels like.

The thought was sudden, morbid. He felt ill just thinking of it, but at the same time... he couldn't help but wonder. He knew pain, he knew hunger, he knew thirst and he knew exhaustion. All of those could lead to death, he knew that very well.

It was one of the things made clear to him on the regular. His life could end any time they wished, any time they deemed him too useless.

He didn't want to die, but part of him was curious what it felt like. What it had felt like for Seven.

His hand touched down, the question hammering in his head, and he stared at the wall. Refusing to look at Seven.

Perhaps that was why, at first, he didn't notice a different after the information washed over him like a wave. It wasn't much information, not enough to knock him off his feet, that's for sure. Or so he thought.

'Boss' circled past him, and he felt confusion creep through his mind. Only slowly did he realize that he was sitting tied to a chair, and his heart sank when he realized his horrible, horrible mistake. There was a very strong difference between wanting to know and wanting to experience.

He wasn't a silent watcher on the sidelines in this memory, who'd watch someone die.

No, he was watching with a front row seat, from Seven's eyes.

He hissed in pain when a hand roughly yanked his head up his hair, but it wasn't his own voice, nor of his own volition. "Seven, Seven, Seven... I thought you knew better than to try shit like that" 'boss' tutted, his expression impassive, "you know that your little stunt would end in this, didn't you?"

He wanted to ask what she did to deserve death, but instead his mouth opened and the voice was yet again not his own when he spoke, lips pulling into a smile that he doubted to have ever had on his own face: "'Course I knew the consequences. Was worth it, though"

"Perhaps you think so, but I'd say keeping you around was quite the pointless endeavor"

There was a flash of silver, and he felt his heart sink. Or perhaps he felt Seven's sink. He couldn't tell where his own consciousness started and where it faded into Seven's memory.

And then there was a sharp, sudden pain. A pain that left him feeling sick. Left him wanting to curl up. To pass out. Seven glanced down even as he mentally begged her not to, and he wished he could just simply close his eyes. There was a knife, piercing right through his ribs. And it hurt. Every single breath hurt.

He - or rather Seven - coughed and the metallic taste in his mouth left him wanting to throw up. Something dropped down from Seven's mouth. A small splatter of red on white clothes. Then another and another.

Seven coughed and hacked, blood steadily bubbling and dripping from of her mouth and he felt her getting weaker, felt the way she was slowly choking, drowning, on her own blood.

Her death was violent, and it was painful. So, so painful. He doubted he'd ever forget. He doubted he'd ever be able to banish the pain and feeling from the depths of his mind. It was an experience he'd forever keep.

It left him even more terrified of his own fate. He didn't want to die. Especially not like this.

The second he was expelled from the memory, he scrambled back, away from the body, only to turn and land on his hands and knees. One hand firmly pressed against the spot where Seven had been stabbed. Dry heaving and shaking as a sob tore itself from his throat.

That was Death, and it was terrifying.

A hand grabbed him by his hair, but he was too out of it to properly react until a harsh slap connected with his face. Stunned he froze, breath still fast, panicked and shaky, but his eyes found those of his 'boss'.

There was no need for lying.

His reaction was answer enough.

Sigma shot upright with a strangled gasp, a scream stuck in his throat that he just barely managed to suppress, his chest heaving. His eyes were wide and he flinched when he felt something wet on his cheek, running down and gathering on his chin. He reached up a shaking hand and wiped over his face.

Under the faint moonlight he couldn't spot anything dark on the tips of his fingers, and there was no smell of iron or rust tainting the air.

Tears. Just tears. No blood, just tears.

He hated that memory. He hated knowing what dying in such a manner, to such an injury, felt like. He hated that he had even been capable of experiencing it.

Perhaps he hated his ability, too.

Another tear rolled down his face and he scooted back on his bed until his back hit the wall, drew his legs up and against his chest. His blanket half-tangled around him.

Sigma still felt sick. He always did, after that particular memory. It was one of the worst ones he had. Even now, after three years. He barely stifled a sob, his eyes burning.

He rarely let himself cry, but in the dead of night, behind closed doors where nobody would find out?

Well, nobody needed to know.

The answer to his question was simple: Agony.

#ada sigma #bsd rp blog #sigma bsd #ooc post #tw nightmares #tw blood #tw death #fanfic #welcome back to “what have I done” and “why am I making him suffer so much”#Am I missing tws? Please tell me I'm not missing tws #bsd rp #bsd sigma #sigma's backstory

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