After Kiss

Sai + Assorted Text Posts (Part 4)

Me back in the day, reading Moby-Dick for the first time: Sh*t, another Ahab monologue incoming, better pause to go fetch a bunch of handkerchieves.

Me now a day, rereading Moby-Dick for the [redacted] time: That Ahab monologue incoming today, better load up with a bunch of handkerchieves.

Of the Beginning

The Queen took the stories and She ate them, chopping up poems, taking draughts from epics, swallowing vignettes whole. She was given offerings of playwright’s notes, sheets of underwater ballet choreography, links to illicit piracy websites, but it was never enough. There were whispers of Her favorite offerings, of philosophy books filled with notes, of abandoned manuscripts, of secrets whispered in the dead of night. Drop an elder with memory of unrecorded oral history from an oppressed tribe on Her doorstep at exactly 1:32 AM, and a pen that channeled untold wisdom through whatever you wrote would be gifted to you through assorted means. (Rumor has it Hozier was once sacrificed to her, but he’s probably been blessed)

Keep reading

Awaken~

this video i found on pinterest kicks ass

JOURNAL OF THE LIGHTHOUSE STATION AT CACHALOT COVE

[[ log 83]]

~Rainy Conditions All Day~

~Wind Speeds Up to 25 km/h~

Time of writing this log is 2259

Duties done at the station:

𓇼 Fog Watch

𓇼 Mail Check

𓇼 Winding of the Clockworks A little bit of an unfortunate situation happened today. It has been windy practically all of last night, and this led to a fairly large tree branch to fall onto the main road towards the station. Thankfully, the telephone lines weren't affected, so I was able to let the Coast Guard know of the situation. It took them a while to arrive and fix what had happened, and I was unable to preform my morning tour. Other than that, everybody is thankfully safe.

It is also the day of Pi, which means that I can eat pie? I was a little bit confused, but one of the people on my tour helped me understand that this is what humans call a joke, a “play on words.” How do you play with words? I have no clue.

Even though it was more gloomy weather, a nice cup of black tea sure helped as well as a slice of pie made by the local bakery.

May the Seas Guide You~~

“No! No! You don’t understand! Nakahara was N - the scientist!” I say, the words pedantic and forgotten in the wind, the same way Frankenstein wasn’t the monster but the scientist has been for centuries now.

oh boy I hope my good friend Jonathan Harker has a good trip this year

Grief

I wrote this in like an hour and based it on my own struggles with grief. Especially grieving those who’ve hurt you. I didn’t edit this at all, if you see glaring issues feel free to lmk so i can fix them. Hope you enjoy ig

“I’m supposed to hate you

I SHOULD HATE YOU

After everything, i should despise you.”

So why is Atsushi crying at the Headmasters grave? Why is he mourning the first father like figure he can remember? Why is he mourning the person who hurt him the most? The person who practically begged him to hate him all those horrible years ago. Dazai said this was normal but it cannot be. He cannot be mourning the person who made him into the monster he is. It goes against everything in him to feel this pain yet he’s sitting there, tearing up and angry. He can feel Byakko pacing, protective and angry, she’s angry about something. She’s trying to protect him but this is one of the wounds she cannot heal. He remembers those few good moments from his childhood. On his fourth birthday, he’d gotten a gift. It was half of an orange, not as much as the other kids would get on their birthdays, but the orange was sweet and juicy.

One year at Christmas, he’d gotten to participate in the caroling with the other kids. The songs were beautiful and there was a warm feeling he got when singing with everyone.

There was one day, after a rough transformation he realized now, where he’d gotten less chores than normal, not by many but enough to not truly exhaust him. He could remember getting an extra dose of nutrients as well, not that he realized it at the time.

Things were not always cruel, they weren’t always painful. Maybe that’s why he was grieving. Maybe it was because he knew about the potential for kindness and that’s what he was mourning. Maybe it was only those shreds of kindness.

He couldn’t possibly be grieving the man who abused him. He couldn’t because that would be wrong.

People tend to cry when their father dies.

The headmaster wasn’t a father to him. No matter what anyone would say or what his heart was screaming. He would refuse it.

Atsushi stared at the gravestone. It was still fairly new yet it was crumbling. It wasn’t being taken care of. Atsushi felt his eyes well up with tears…something he hated. Why did he still want to care for the man who’d hurt him so badly?

The tears of sadness turned to ones of anger and Atsushi went to punch the gravestone. Engraved with the name, dates of life to death, and “In loving memory”, Atsushi wanted to smash it. How could anyone dare love that horrendous monster of a man? Instead of a hard punch, his strength left him at that last second, leaving him bumping the crumbling stone. It was worn, rough, and cold. It hadn’t soaked up any of the Sun’s light and heat.

Atsushi stood up and left. He wiped at his eyes and struggled with the conflict in his heart. Maybe he’d be back, maybe not. But right now, Atsushi just wanted the comfort of the known and familiar. He’d take another murder or kidnapping attempt over any of this.