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been reading abt organ transplants and personality traits passed on from donor to patient and it made me think abt how if tsumiki needed a heart transplant to wake from coma, megumi would offer his in a second, and she’d suddenly develop a love for big dogs and drink her coffee black and when she looks in the mirror she’ll feel a visceral sense of nostalgia and soft aches and even flickers of anger stemming from a sense of unfairness

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i think abt megumi n want to hold him in my palm in the same way you delicately cup water from a stream

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Franny Choi, Soft Science

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how do i hypnotize the entire rpc to make hq blogs im so srs

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to say that megumi was disturbed would be to compliment him.      whatever moral compass other fifteen year olds held never quite fit in the centerfold of his heart,  and,  truthfully speaking,    megumi was more curious than anything.      he wanted to know what a typical  hyesung  day held,     what gore was present within them and how much of it should be numbed.      he frowned,   somehow offended by hyesung’s glean of him,   and watched    —    almost amusedly    —    how hyesung deciphered his crooked map for a job so heavy as this.

“   i told you already,   it’s fine.     i’m already familiar with unpretty things.   ”      the gaze megumi veiled on the mound was lined with intent;   the stench that funneled from it was enough to call maggots. 

megumi surveyed the area,     assuring that they were alone,     and looked back at hyesung at its confirmation.      there was no pause for consideration,     only the rustle of trash bags retrieved from his pocket before interposing the space between them.      “   the only way i’ll turn back is if haiyan comes here and drags me by the collar himself.   ”      the quirk of his brow was challenging,   almost impatient,   waiting for hyesung to accept the plastic bags.      “   anyway,   you got the gloves?     we should pick up now before anyone comes wandering. people get curious at night.   ”

      he doesn't blame megumi for asking, any sensible person wouldn't prowl in the early hours of night, searching for mishaps within narrow passages and alleyways... incidents where blood runs cold. a glance down at the map flutters betwixt thumb and index, makeshift, but it does the job. ' yes, i'm sure. ' a pause, breath sullen in hyesung's ribs, heeding a warning; ' but megumi... are you sure you want to do this with me? it's not pretty, i told you before. ' an understatement. in the moon's gaze, lies a mound concealed underneath a tarp, littered trash keeping it company. they're faced with a bittersweet reality of the manner, amongst disinfectants and red bags— there's nothing left to save here. ' this is your final chance to turn back. '

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Langston Hughes (1902-1967), ‘Tired’, “New Masses”, Vol. 6, #9, Feb. 1931 Source

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where should you be kissed? (…)

on the knuckles. it feels as though you have fought every day of your life. sometimes, you cannot even tell how much of the blood on your hands is your own... and how much comes from those who've tried to hurt those you defend. you deserve the gentleness of a kiss to your bruised knuckles and broken skin, a reminder that you are not only made of violence.

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✦ @7hell : naoki,

“ no, i haven’t eaten yet. ”

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✦ @7hell : hyesung,

“ you sure this is the right place? ”

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✦ @7hell: haiyan,

“ can you try to explain it to me? ”

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✦ @7hell: makoto,

“ i’m generous with you, considering. ”

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“As with a wound on one’s own body, it is possible to develop an intimacy with the most disturbing of things.”

— Kazuo Ishiguro, A Pale View of Hills 

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chevergreen

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✦ @disrupht,

“ can i help you with something? ”

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what if u liked this for a one liner and we kissed

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i'm obviously coming with you . / mako!

sometimes, makoto reminded megumi of shiroko — hungry for companionship, a second shadow of loyalty. it always eluded megumi why makoto attached himself to him of all people — reclusive by nature, carrying a hand-habit of not so gentle things. for the first two months, the boy had only grumbled and offered one-worded answers to makoto’s unending chirp, but by the end of it all, makoto had only smiled and continued buying megumi jasmine tea after grabbing himself a pack of maruta. wrapped a scarf around him when he entered the classroom pale and peach-nosed, even. when megumi returned it the next day, a chocolate bar hid quietly in its folds. makoto’s been around ever since — not that he’d ever left in the first place.

and tonight was no exception. megumi was only running an errand — a quick trip to naoki’s to exchange their monthly new read — and though it had always been a brisk routine, megumi was quite sure that tonight will end in an impromptu dinner, the apartment door swinging open before flustering old stories glean over rice bowls. all at megumi’s expense, of course.

still, more out of habit than anything, megumi huffed, retrieved his dog-eared copy of insect literature as he waited for the familiar weight of makoto’s footsteps. he laced on his shoes, double knotted them both, and looked at a book-filled corner in the space of the room. “ naoki-san isn’t expecting any visitors, and it’s pretty late in the evening. i’m not sure if he’s comfortable with company. ” a white lie.

megumi opened the door and stepped into damp september air. the black strays were indulging in the catnip he’d left for them, and an elderly couple passed by with a friendly wave in their hands.

a pause ensued for its own sake. then, almost viscerally, megumi looked back, glanced at makoto with an easy gaze. his voice came tucked in indifference, though maybe there was something sweet lying underneath it.

“ remember to close the door behind you. ” (they both knew it was an invitation.)

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okay , we have got to pull you together . / haiyan <3

in a brilliant silence, megumi sat suspended. the medical textbook he was currently leafing through held his gaze for a few more seconds; haiyan’s voice fractured his scrutiny evenly. megumi hadn’t realized how the augmenting number of texts cluttered about reeked so heavily of desperation, and though it was offensive to be seen vulnerable, the ring of haiyan’s voice — slightly exasperated yet oceanic calm all the same — flinched the red walls of his heart so viscerally that megumi could only swallow the debris. it’s unknowingly lonesome, truthfully, for grief to break into obsession.

with a forced cool, megumi shifted his regard to haiyan. the yellow ceiling light overhead catched like a halo behind him — or perhaps it was that same desperation veiling megumi’s vision. either way, the boy had no inclination for anger. only tightened his grip on the dated textbook, the press of his fingernails glowing white. it’s not coincidental that haiyan’s concern flew over his head.

“ i haven’t found anything yet, ” — a confession that bloomed wound-like — “ and gojo-sensei, shoko-san — they don’t know either. i’m— ” starting to think she’s— “ i want to save her, haiyan. tell me what to do. ”