#phys1cian

[curseat]

˚꩜｡ @phys1cian SAID : ❛ I'LL BE GOOD, I PROMISE.❜

when the chill wind of october first grazes against suguru's cheek, he is of the half-mind to feel offended — the seasons change as they did last year and the year before and the millenia before that, too, and that itself adds insult to injury : that there should not be a manifestation of the world turning on its axis, and into itself, and inside out, ripped apart so meticulously that now there is something wrong to its core, on a molecular level, like the first cell in its self-destructive path to a tumour. all of it should have been turned into its opposite : summer-spring-winter-fall-summer or summer-winter-fall-spring or, or, or, something — ABSTRACT-MADE-CONCRETE.

he glances sideways at shōko, unlit cigarette hanging from his parted lips as he looks at her, at the pleading scrunch of her eyebrows and the glint in her eyes — ( the call came when they were together, and for half a second he almost thought this was then and not now — he almost saw the glint of white hair in the mirror, but when he stared back there was nothing but a boy in too-big-a-shirt, and they were again singular where there was had been plural. )

the sunset spills against the sky of tokyo — an hemorrhage of the sun in violent hues of red-orange-purple-blue, a fitting metaphor for what is to come. he understands shōko’s request — the desperate edge of it, the tingling on the tips of one’s fingers for some type of action. or maybe he doesn’t  ( not anymore ). suguru is not sure what he would do for what she has — a week hidden under the nook of his bed, forgotten to the world, the taste of a curse nothing but a forgotten bitter memory. he doesn’t have that luxury — most of them don’t.

there was once enjoyment to be found in missions — now there was only the dull ache behind his eyes and the churning of his stomach as it prepares for the inevitable. he looks away from shoko. he lights his cigarette. ❛ i just don't think it's a good idea. ❜ a beat. then, half apologetically: ❛ there's nothing special about this mission. ❜

[curseat]

˚꩜｡ @phys1cian SAID : 〞 I'M TRYING TO SEE WHAT YOU SEE. 〝

DO YOU HATE NON-SORCERERS, GETO-KUN? late september always feels like standing in a precipice , one foot hovering over the air while the other stays glued to the ground — a body pulled in two directions, torn between the stability of what is known versus the thrill of what isn't. except, in suguru's case, there isn't a thrill in the unknown path ahead — instead, his hands tremble as a fist closes around his heart, a man-made furnace turning it into ash. he presses his thumb to his forehead, closes his eyes, tries to think, think, think. he can hear shōko's voice in the other room, trying to explain to those ﹒﹒﹒ people the gravity of their errors. from the way the men raise their voices, it's not going well. suguru's nails dig into his palms as he looks at those frightened little girls, not a year over five, and thinks, thinks, thinks. DO YOU HATE NON-SORCERERS, GETO-KUN? YES. NO. ƧƎY.

suguru leaves the cell, grabs at shōko's arm with probably more force than necessary, drags her outside where the chilly wind of the mountains is less than forgiving — NEITHER IS HE. his hands are trembling but not from the cold, and he's speaking words that are unintelligible even to himself, and he can tell shōko's trying her best to follow his line of thought and still failing. he closes his eyes, tight, when he hears her voice, the gentleness of it aching at the parts of him he forgot were even there : i'm trying to see what you see.

„ i just . . . they just — “ a beat. frustration causes suguru to groan, to grab at his hair and pull it desperatedly, the strands falling around his face madly. „ they can't fucking . . . they can't get away with this, shōko. “

[curseat]

THERE'S AN OPEN GASH IN HIS LOWER ABDOMEN — not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church door, but enough that it hurts, his body folded forward as he takes the now well known path to shōko's house, a ( now soaked ) makeshift gauze pressed tightly against his skin, the dark of his blood all but unseen against the deep blue of his shirt, but he feels it still , saturating the skin of his hand in shades of red, red and redder — there are no cameras in the stairs , he remembers her saying, and the lights flicker as he makes his way up, up, up, to the dingy apartment in the far left corner. he'd texted her before coming here :

[ ✉ ] DR. : EMRGNCY. 47TH STREET.

A KNOCK : BECOMES TWO , BECOMES THREE , ONE AGAIN, THEN TWO — a simple code , one that she'll understand and he won't forget. if she's there, she'll answer the door . . . if not . . . well : either he bleeds out to death in a dimly lit hallway or he survives long enough to take antibiotics or some shit like that, whatever keeps his body from ending up in a dissecting table. at this point he's lost enough blood that his mind is becoming fuzzy at the edges, his vision overtaken by black blobs from the corners and he thinks . . . the door is opening, and he's walking to the couch, and he's closing his eyes. when he comes to it, the sun has started to peak through the clouds, the sky lit up in orange-and-yellow hues. shōko is sitting on the armchair to his left, taking a drag of a cigarette and drinking out of a mug ( whether it is coffee or something stronger in there is anyone's guess )

▒ ━ RE. IEIRI SHŌKO . . . @phys1cian : ” YOU REALLY AREN'T AFRAID , ARE YOU? ‟

suguru blinks, eyes adjusting to the brightness. the cut in his abdomen is all but healed, a barely-there scar as a reminder of what happened the night before. he presses his thumb to the spot in between his eyebrows, and laughs, low. „ is this your way of calling me stupid or should i be flattered? “

[iryonin]

it’s so quiet here.    it’s not the city itself,   that much she knows—   no capital cities are ever quiet,   regardless of the time,   as she’s witnessed again and again.    she’s been to london precisely once before,   she recalls easily:   it was late may,   the air already humid with the premise of summer,   and she was settled in a hotel similar to this one,   sat in front of her bedroom window,   overlooking a park,   and patiently waiting for nightfall to come so she could leave the room,   venture out into the crowded streets,   and follow the orders she’d been given—   ever dutiful.

it’d been a bleak place,   then —   almost stale,   insomuch as a city can be,   its memory lingering unpleasantly —   but it had not been quiet.    

sakura brings her hand up to the window and presses her palm flat against the glass.    she can’t see into the outside from where she lays simultaneously spread out atop and half buried in shoko’s bedsheets,   but she imagines the scenery —   the stale,   humid,   proper summer air superimposed upon it —   and wonders where it is that all those vast,   assorted droning sounds of the city captured in her memories could have disappeared off to.   

* 🌸 » ‘ i don't wanna hear another word out of your mouth. ’ but said SUPER flirtily if you get what i mean 🤭 « from @phys1cian

she hums,   shallow in her throat and voice purposely airy,   gaze drifting languidly from london’s cloudless skies to shoko’s face pillowed on her stomach.    ‘    yeah,   okay—   bossy.    ’    she huffs,   all faux offense,   and reaches out with her other hand,   gently tracing the curve of shoko’s brow.    ‘    lucky you’ve got this face.   ’

[ninhand]

@phys1cian ; it  was  pitch,  then  in  what  seemed  a  haze  the  sky  became  a  brilliant  day  blue,  the  clouds  looked  like  pulled  cotton  balls.  a  tiny  little  groan  escaped  kakashi's  mask.  maybe  he'd  been  hasty  trying  to  get  discharged  from  the  hospital  so  soon.  his  eye  slowly  blinked,  then  moved  to  the  woman  standing  over  his  breathing  corpse.  "i  know  you."  he  replied  in  a  daze. ; HATAKE KAKASHI

[michelangelowept]

@phys1cian

perhaps they are in their own ways as apollo and diomedes;

the one who walks the sky, above all others, unchallenged, untouched. and the one who wades below, touching everything. spreading her soul through mortal mud.

blah blah. homer stuff.

he's sitting with her now in the empty, shadowed-out cafeteria, bouncing a ball off the linoleum and the wall, because she said she had a migraine and he obviously called bullshit, and anyway, he's too annoying to care or let up. you should know that by now, sweet stuff.

thunk. thunk. one leg sprawled on a table, the other shoe propped up so he can hang his seat backward.

“still lookin' pretty pale, there.” a whistle. “you'd be crazy about the color of your skin right now.”

ha-ha. funny guy. but his eyes are hard under the blindfold.

[a11sunday]

from: meme // a goodnight kiss. verse: modern, sanji.

the entire elevator ride up was filled with giddy conversation, a rehashing of their win earlier that evening. while they had discussed their strategy beforehand and were able to practice cooking together in the kitchen several times before the episode was filmed,  this was the true test of their kitchen chemistry. being under pressure could reveal a crack in their well-oiled machine, but they pulled through with relative ease,  working in near perfect tandem until their time was up.  

however, the absolute icing on the cake was the celebration directly after they were declared the challenge’s winners.  admittedly, his head still buzzed pleasantly  and his cheek tingled with the memory of her lips pressing into his cheek, arms thrown around his neck.  he had felt the immediate rush of warmth to his cheeks,  smile stretching wider until the muscles in his face grew sore.  while it was likely the adrenaline rush that compelled the affection,  sanji couldn’t help but  wonder if it was also the culmination of all their time spent together these last several weeks.  perhaps this was a sign that he had not imagined the magnetic tug of attraction between them.  

he hoped he wasn’t wrong.

they lingered at her door,  the keycard in her hand but it hadn’t yet come close to unlocking her door.  tension began to pull taut and he finally disrupted the brief blanket of silence by leaning towards @phys1cian ,  blue gaze holding her own.   “mind if i … return the gesture from earlier?”   

his lips gently land against her cheek,  his fingertips brushing against the underside of her chin as he angles her face towards the opposite direction and places another kiss on  her other cheek.   when he pulls back,  sight drifts down briefly to her lips in such close proximity.  his  adam’s apple bobs  as  he  swallows,  mouth going dry.  his  complexion must betray him as his cheeks grow warm.    “goodnight, shoko…”

[verlorengel]

c'mere for a second... your stitches look loose ....

Since I began to live on that cold and desolate day, wretched and scorned under the sun's burning eye, I took upon myself the ever-unraveling task of feeling. Every sense bore down on me, vying for my attention, my action, and though I often found myself overcome, trembling and shivering from the discomfort of existence, I discovered comforts of equal greatness that soothed my floundering self. The dryness in my mouth was quenched from the springs, my shivers warmed by layers of cloth and crackling fire. But as the edges of my existence unfurled along with the tender greens of spring, I discovered with no limits of perplexity and growing unease, the striking repulsion between my desires and my actions. How many nights had I spent when, starved for rest, I gorged myself on saccharine imaginings of tenderness that only left me with lingering sweetness in my mouth and a desolate ache in my stomach, a hunger to never be sated ? Oh, how in my folly I repeated the inane ritual, gazing at the gaps of mine own fingers, interlocking them with the other hand in a mockery of touch ! Now, see, how her hand extends to touch my skin ! The very same flesh my own creator fled, the very same flesh that startles any unfortunate onlooker to terror !   ❝ Cease ! ❞ I recoil before her slender fingers can reach me, as if recoiled by the searing kiss of flame. Though the opportunity of my hidden dreams stands before me, it strikes me thus, as I had once gazed upon my own image, the bitter knowledge that a monster such as I should not be touched.   ❝ They do not require attention. They are of no bother to me. ❞