noshish-blog - Tumblr blog

[noshish-blog]

       HELLO !     i’m finished school but im still doing exams     &     stuff like that,     &     the post-school,     what-do-i-do-now depression has set in,     making me feel less than motivated to be on more than one blog at a time.     so in saying that,     this muse will temporarily be on my multi.     i know this is a fairly new blog,     but i’ve got to do what i’ve got to do and this is one of those things.     i will be back,     but i’ll be writing this muse here for now.     thank you for your kindness     &     understanding.

[noshish-blog]

trydios.

❝     𝐇𝐀𝐒   𝐈𝐓   𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘    ?     has  your  life  suddenly   gained   meaning   &   purpose  choosing   this  road  ?     ❞          intrigued   by  the  others  conversation  starter .  he’s  lookin’  them  over ,  curious   about  who  they  might  be .

     SPIRIT NODS,     affirmation to the other’s words.     ❛     i suppose it has.     ❜     his words sound less convincing then the gesture,     but the smile never leaves his ethereal presence.     saigō reaches up to pull sericate tresses up into a messy bun,     &     he shifts his weight to the side,     contemplatively.     ❛     i have a long life ahead of me,     but i can use it...     to help others.     ❜     his answer is simple,     a playful smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.      ❛     how about you  ?     ❜

[noshish-blog]

ryuujn·.

clinquant  terrine  :  a  contradiction  that  sticks  .  rimose  ,  then  kintsugi  —  golden  threads  that  bind  him  with  myrtle  growth  becomes  unto  cynosure  ,  and  marrow  is  repaired  (  that  is  what  we  are  ,  though  you  succumbed  to  greatness  /  a  rebirth  mothered  by  ,  a  love  ,  familial  ,  rather  than  a  hate  –  i  was  subsumed  then  recited  by  my  black  -  blood  ire  .  regardless  of  intention  ,  my  being  is  a  hinterland  ,  labyrinthine  and  full  of  limerence  for  the  man  i  once  was  :  we  are  the  same  in  that  ,  i  think    )  .         ❛  it  …  is  an  honour  ,  to  fight  alongside  someone  as  skilled  as  you  .  but  i  must  say  that  i  have  little  practice  in  fighting  against  those  that  cannot  fall  to  my  blade  –  the  dead  are  hard  to  kill  .  ❜         /         @noshish  ♥‘d

       HE IS A COLD FIRE,     a pox upon those who would fight against him,     to those who stood against him.     saigō looks ‘pon the other’s countenance,     casts his eyes over marred body,     he needs not see the flesh to know     ---     (     the man i once was was something else:     hound at hell’s gate.     i have been to hell,     &     i have been to heaven,     &     now i am inbetween.     )

       ❛     it is an honour to fight alongside you.     ❜     a laugh trickles from his mouth.     he is an apparation,     something that once was.     ❛     the dead are hard to kill.     that’s why i hope we don’t need to...     the dead,     however,     are also stubborn.     trust me.     ❜

[noshish-blog]

kbuki.

❛       what  ?  you  think  i  can’t  handle  myself  ?       ❜      hands  ,  diaphanous  ,  move  to  clutch  at  own  extol  petichor  .  boy  as  disenchantment  /  man  as  a  thing  that  marvels  /  woman  as  the  way  light  misanthrope  is  clouded  by  your  wanderlust  ,  gossamer  locks  are  tied  behind  head  by  delicate  digits  ,  a  scarlet  ribbon  flipping  ‘round  slender  neck  and  wisps  of  gentle  styx  —  eventide  gloam  settles  in  two  milk  eyes  and  then  gaze  settles  ‘pon  his  partner  ,  arms  akimbo  .         (         you  make  my  heart  grow  light  ,  nectar  from  my  fruit  flesh  falling  ‘twixt  your  clavicle  and  the  rose  gold  hue  of  your  mind  that  i  love  more  than  living  .         )        fading  rivulets  that  surround  them  become  unto  a  backdrop  ,  the  shaking  of  the  house  before  them  now  a  biwa  string’s  accompanying  tune  —  curor  ‘pon  the  tatami  trickles  downward  .  owl  light  fades  and  for  a  moment  ,  resolve  is  now  a  blood  bond  .         (        if  i  long  to  stay  with  you  i  must  breeze  past  my  fear  .         )        boy  as  a  gemstone  /  man  as  oil  -  black  sky  /  woman  as  salvaged  pieces  of  torn  dogwood  petals  .  first  there  were  light  ,  and  then  there  were  colours  ,  silk  streaked  in  our  fragile  worlds  …  a  hum  calms  him  .  warrior  calms  him  .         ❛       i  used  to  play  a  warrior  princess  ,  you  know  .  for  a  full  year  !       ❜

a  huff  –  then  ,  quiet  .  eeriness  floods  him  ,  and  the  irony  of  a  ghost  feeling  fear  is  not  lost  .  still  ,  he  does  not  cling  :  that  would  only  inflate  the  other’s  pride  and  destroy  his  own  .  they  stand  at  the  door  for  far  to  long  ,  teetering  back  and  forth  ‘pon  his  feet  ,  chest  still  distended  .           ❛       …  well  ,  go  ahead  !  ladies  first  .       ❜

       HE LETS A LAUGH OUT DESPITE HIMSELF,     despite their circumstance,     slips hand down to weave fingers through     &     through with he,     divinity.     kita is made from the sweetest fruit,     honeysuckle soul.     (     i love you more than anything,     anything that has or ever will live.     my heart grows,     infinitely for you,     my love,     my love,    my love.     )     ❛     i never said that  !     &     i have no doubt that you were the most amazing warrior princess.     ❜     

     he sucks in a breath,     inhale     /     exhale.     (     i need to show you how brave i am,     i never tell you how much it still scares me.     i miss my mentor,     he was a father to me...     but now i have you,    my hummingbird.     )     they’re on the porch now,     &     he stays there until kita speaks,     emanation of his words in jest make a smile curve at his lips.     the scar across his eye was from no man.     ❛     ladies first  ?     well,     then i suppose you should be going in.     ❜     he laughs once more,     regains composure,     &     enters the house.     the halls are cold,     the air choking,     even for a spirit.     a crib is in view     &     saigō’s heart,     or absence-thereof,     sinks.     ❛     oh,     boy...     ❜

[noshish-blog]

kbuki.

❛       you  want  to  help  it  ?  the  thing  ?       ❜      the  gentleness  of  his  nose  crinkles  ,  alabaster  keeling  back  in  another  round  of  revulsion  –  a  sigh  ,  extending  saccharine  tone  to  meet  with  vitro  breath  –  then  ,  sillage  extends  :  simply  out  of  habit  ,  as  if  to  defend  his  right  to  disagree  .  lips  purse  and  free  hand  sifts  through  ebon  silks  ,  voice  a  firmless  tone  .  he  knows  little  of  this  truth  –  normalcy  of  a  mother’s  loving  hand  moving  to  quell  a  worried  thought  with  little  more  than  a  will  to  try  harder  ,  be  better  ,  feel  only  the  part  you  play  .  in  this  world  ,  skill  and  a  pretty  face  can  only  take  you  so  far  .  ambition  is  a  weapon  you  must  keep  sharp  ,  and  perfume  will  be  your  wetstone  /  a  man  has  his  blade  ,  and  we  ,  have  our  wits  .  in  a  way  ,  he  knows  that  her  thoughts  were  warped         (         the  old  bat’s  life  was  falling  apart  –  why  would  she  care  if  he  took  her  title  ,  reformed  it  ,  made  it  less  …  faded  ?  her  appeal  had  been  lost  to  the  wind  ,  a  floret  falling  from  grace  …  i  only  did  what  you  told  me  to  do  .  had  her  blade  not  become  dull  ?         )         ❛       couldn’t  you  just  ,  i  don’t  know  ,  stab  it  a  lot  ?       ❜

looks  to  the  moon  now  ,  as  if  to  mingle  with  what  binds  them  .  call  him  selfish  .  he  will  not  care  .         ❛       you're  too  nice  for  your  own  good  .       ❜      he  knows  that  he  is  callous  /  knows  that  this  seems  trite  –  but  he  wants  to  rest  ‘pon  the  chest  of  the  man  he  loves  ,  take  in  the  love  that  ebbs  from  him  ,  genuine  .         (         when  is  it  that  i  began  to  see  a  human  corpse  as  carrion  ?  when  is  it  that  the  child  died  ,  and  the  princess  took  his  place  ,  kicking  corse  with  bloodied  zōri  and  ignoring  the  way  it’s  death  rattles  mingle  with  a  woman’s  faux  intone  ?  do  we  not  address  bones   ?  do  we  not  live  with  the  dead  ?   as  i  wrack  my  brain  and  heart  ,  i  cannot  ,  for  the  life  of  me  /  for  the  death  of  me  ,  find  the  urge  to  care  .  but  at  least  ,  as  i  walk  with  you  ,  i  feel  a  little  more  human  .             )         ❛       …  but  you’re  right  .  sometimes  .       ❜

       ❛     I’D LIKE TO TRY.     ❜     his is a righteous journey,     full of righteous purpose     &     righteous spirit.     the house grows closer,     it’s shadow looming from the mist that threatens to suffocate them,     render they:     these wandering souls intangible.     ❛     i could just stab it,     &     i will     ---     i will if it’s needed.     but i hope it isn’t.     ❜     digits touch the hilt of katana,     clenches firmly around it before letting fingers slip,     looks to kita with face soft,     tender.  they walk in silence for a while,     he wonders what plagues kita’s thoughts,     weighs down on his pretty head.     kita is bathed in moon-glow,     swathed     &     caressed with touch of the stars.     saigō is humble,     but thinks perhaps he is the sun.     the sun who rises each day,      &     struggles to catch up with the moon.     he knows they are from different eras,     but would he have met kita,     had he been alive  ?     he’d heard the folklore of the red lantern woman,     but would he have seen it for himself  ?     saigō blesses every minute,     &     the name engraved on steel of his sword bears kabuki’s own.     perhaps a sword is too crude for the flower,     philistine     &     brutish.     he hasn’t told kita that it is his name that lays under hilt of blade,     but he hopes he approves.

       they arrive by the entry to the house,     &     the hoarse cries of the kekkai in the walls grows a little louder.     in truth,     samurai is nervous.     there is something so offputting about this yokai being infant,     not yet weened,     hungry for flesh of woman who birthed it,     amniotic.     oh,    how he wants to be home,     with kita pressed to his chest,     his fingers through his hair,     seeing those petal lips part     &     sigh longingly     ---     but,     they have a job to do.      ❛     you don’t have to stay,     you know...     &     i know i am.     ❜     he smiles in a mild jest,     sobers quickly.     ❛     but really,     you     ---     you don’t have to stay.     i’m not kicking you away,     i just...     yeah,     it might...    get ugly.    ugly then that thing already is.     ❜     smiles a little.     he cares too much.

[noshish-blog]

kbuki.

❛       you  know  ,       ❜      the  gingered  flesh  of  whelps  deracinating  ,  let  not  the  ruddy  -  tinted  cheeks  of  him  shy  ‘way  from  that  dwelling  thought  .         (         the  recurring  vista  of  :  what  if  i  was  to  dip  her  morning  beads  in  cherries  /  sweet  almond  first  ?  would  i  have  fallen  from  grace  ?  would  she  live  on  in  spite  of  me  /  would  she  have  met  this  saviour  ?         )         a  lilt  of  grandiose  /  morning  glory  climbs  under  the  pondweed  ,  dragon  flies  and  ,  a  drowsy  midnight  heat  that  squirms  .  it  makes  his  words  seem  sticky  –  and  he  clings  to  the  other’s  arm  still  despite  the  heat  ,  as  if  to  seek  in  a  jejune  tone  :  don’t  leave  .       ❛       sometimes  i  think  it  would  be  best  if  it  were  just  you  and  i  in  the  whole  wide  world  .  then  you  wouldn’t  have  to  go  chasing  down  ugly  little  kekkais  .  those  things  are  disgusting  !       ❜            @noshish

       ❛     THEY ARE DISGUSTING.     ❜     gentle amusement drips from his tone.     his breath hot     &     in already oppressive tenor he can almost hear the labouring of his chest as he mimics his once human need to breathe.     old habits die hard.     samurai     (     GHOST OF THOSE WHO TAUGHT HIM FIRST     )     fixates on a dragonfly’s tango,     alighting to     &     from the surface of the water of the pond they pass,     never disturbing it.     kita is much like that dragonfly,     he thinks,     in all his teasing self.     he dances,     always quick     &     careful not to make a sound,   n  not to disrupt water beneath,     but in the end,     something got him,     devoured him,     before he could devour another mosquito,     another pest.     distance to the kekkai shortens,     &     saigō feels himself grow quiet,     only glancing slightly to land on the hand clinging to his arm.     thoughts move to his own mother:     a saint,     holy figure bathed in rays of sunlight     &     drenched in divinity.    ��&     like most holy things,     she died before her time,     laid to rest clutching a handful of the morning glory they pass.     what would she think of him now  ?     her son not only warrior spirit,     but spirit himself  ?     what would she think of how he drove that blade through his own abdomen,     tasted sticky copper essence of his own self,     fully aware of what he would become  ?     what would she think of him,     of kita  ?     they grow even closer to the yokai,     can hear it,     sense it.     full of anguish     &     hate for its mother,     some would say.     as much as repulsion cast a large shadow over saigō,     he couldn’t help but feel sorry for monster too.     isn’t his empathy     /     everlasting,     what led him to kabuki  ?

       ❛     not too far now...     i do not know what state the mother is in...     i hope we can help her...     if not,     all we can do is help the family,     &     maybe,     help the little bastard.     ❜     he says it with a grin,     nudges kita gently.     ❛     you     &     i alone on earth would get boring after a while.     you’d have no living to seduce,     &     i’d have no reason to intervene.     you love trying to make me jealous.     ❜

[noshish-blog]

.    (  i. ) ›› [  CHARACTER  DEVELOPMENT  ] REPOST ----  DON’T    REBLOG .

↳      bold  what  applies . ↳      italicize  what  applies  sometimes  .

𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  .     small  towns  .     big  cities  .     six  thirty  curfews  .     lights  that  take  the  place  of  stars  .     blanket  nests  .     light  through  blinds  as  a  wake  up  call  .     found  family .     finding  a  single  star  in  the  middle  of  new  york  city .     window  shopping  .     watching  something  terrible   &    enjoying  it  .   growing  numb  to  the  sight  of  injustice .    wilted  flowers .    faded  caricatures  .     bright ,  bold  colors  .

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆  .     crickets    &    lightning  bugs  .    car  engines   &    ac  units  .    a  phone  call  to  mom  or  dad  .     laughing  with  friends .     jokes  that  are  so  bad  you  have  to  laugh  .     the  clicking  off computer  keys  .     noise  cancelling  headphones .     the  sound  of  silence  .    muffled  music  from  another  room .    drumming  fingertips  on  a  table .    clicking  of  pens .     listening  to  a  clock  and  swearing  the  ticks  get  slower  .     ringing  in  the  ears .    the  voice  of  someone  you  love .     pitch  shifted  songs  .

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇  .     being  held  close  during  a  long  night .     fleeting  reassurances  .    holding  hands  when  you’re  scared  .    brushing  fingers  through  strands  of  hair  .    freshly  dried  clothes  .     bruises  on  your  knuckles  .   silk    &    satin  .   your  favorite  pet’s  fur  or  feathers  .     wringing  your  hands  anxiously  .     snuggles  .     comforters  in  the  dead  of  winter .     nails  against  skin .     cold  metal  .    leather  in  summer  .

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄  .     coffee  in  the  morning  .     tea  in  the  evening  .     bubblegum  that  lost  its  flavor .    alcohol  burning  the  back  of  your  throat .     homemade  cooking  ,  no  matter  what’s  made .   blood  in  your  mouth  .     stale  air .     menthol .    fresh  vegetables  .     the  first  meal  you  cook  by  yourself  that  tastes  good  .     foreign  sweets  .    fast  food  .     bittersweet .    sour  .    spicy  .   sweet .    bitter  .     too  much  salt  on  fries .

𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋  .    morning  glories    &    honeysuckles  .     freshly  cut  grass  .     hot  chocolate  in  the  middle  of  winter  .     nail  polish  .     acetone .    hospital  rooms  .    smoke .     hairspray .     your  favorite  shampoo  or  conditioner  .     the  scent  of  home .     perfume .     cologne  .   something  burning .     wet  dogs .    copper  .    metal  .    unemptied  ash  trays .   something  familiar  yet  different  .

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘  :     @kbuki 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆  :     @fifthturtle uwu

[noshish-blog]

[noshish-blog]

*     saigō was just in his late twenties when he took his life as part of his code. he was not trained fully in the rituals, as his mentor had died before they got to that, but he had been aware of the ritualistic nature of seppuku. he was shaking and scared, but he actively chose to do it with the purpose of hopefully coming back. he knew his soul would be tethered, and he was actually quite scared --- giving up his mortal life for immortality as a spirit, at least until his goal was achieved.

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*     EIGHT PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW BETTER  ! REPOST,     NOT REBLOG.

NAME     /     ALIAS:     heidi,     but here i’m abel  ! BIRTHDAY:     november 006     ---     sparrow     &     i are birthday twinsies. ZODIAC SIGN:     scorpio.     clack,     clack that’s the sound of my pincers. HEIGHT:     5′8. HOBBIES:     i’d like to say drawing,     but that’s part of my class so i hate it now ahhh,     but really just writing,     art,     sleeping     &      overall rotting. FAVOURITE COLOURS:     i like all colours really,     but i’m particularly fond of blue,     green,     pink     &     red. FAVOURITE BOOKS:     i haven’t read consistently in a while,     but i remember lor.d of the flies having a big impression on me last year;     the har.ry potter series,     the inh.eritance cycle,     yeah.     i have to read some more. LAST SONG LISTENED TO:     dance macabre by ghost,     remixed by brut. LAST FILM WATCHED:     school of rock. INSPIRATION FOR MUSE:     sparrow  !     he’s been teaching me heaps about japan,     &     i’m fascinated regardless.     i love warriors     &     warrior types,     &     even though saigō was meant to be for my other oc,     i’m so glad that i made him for sparrow     &     kita:     i adore them both.  DREAM JOB:     being rich whilst not having to have done anything.     no,     i don’t really have a dream job.     i’d like to be a well known singer     /     in a well known band,     but realistically i’d like to be a college history     /     philosophy teacher.     my current teacher for both classes is absolutely amazing,     &     is always so encouraging.     i owe a lot to him. MEANING BEHIND MY URL:     it means ‘no master’,     or ‘of master’,     which is a play on words for the fact that saigō is now a rōnin     /     is mentorless.  

TAGGED BY:     @trydios. TAGGING:     anyone who would like to do this  !

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“And soon, in the coming nights, we will appear, like wandering actors, each in the other’s dream and in the dreams of strangers whom we didn’t know together.”

— Yehuda Amichai, from "Summer or Its End"  (via hush-syrup)

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#saigo could read me a phonebook and then hit me over the head with it and id suck his [readcated] after#this is beautiful.

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“ Take this gift, for the gods surely won’t. ”

       THE WORDS RING IN HIS EARS A MOMENT,     an utterance left from supple lips,     folded over      &     in on itself:     take this gift,     for the gods surely won’t.     but he needs no gift,     no offering of alms upon his countenance.     no physical thing,     no,     maybe once,     once upon a time where his title was a status was a class was a privilege was an exertion of a metaphysical     &     simultaneously nonphysical thing     —     he is:     spirit,     spectre,     soul of samurai,     pith is a flower,     花弁.   

       ❛     kita-san...     ❜     words leave him carefully,     deliberately.     digits graze the skin of cheek,     move to wind through other’s hair slowly.     head is canted ever so slightly,    he is his nexus,     the ties that bind them wind over wrists with sericate touch.     he is quiet,     a contrarian,     he could say,     to how saigō observes him usually.          ❛     you are my gift,     &     if the gods won’t take you,     then i will,     for they are undeserving of your light,     of all that you offer to the world,     &     i must be selfish,     for it is my greed that possesses me to want you,     some small part of you,     to myself.     ❜

iconic lines from media !

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      ❛     I HAVE PROMISES TO KEEP,    &     miles to go before i sleep.     ❜

poetry starters !     /     @lamorts.

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       ❛     TWO ROADS DIVERGED IN A WOOD,     &     i     ---     i took the one less travelled by,     &     it has made all the difference.     ❜

poetry starters !     /     @trydios.

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SEDUCE MY MIND     &     YOU CAN HAVE MY BODY,               FIND MY SOUL     &     I’M YOURS FOREVER.

IND.     ORIGINAL CHARACTERS OF JAPANESE LORE,     WRITTEN BY ABEL     &     SPARROW.

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me myself and i : verse appearances .