「 物 の 哀 れ mono no aware 」

𝐨𝐡 , how beauty is a transient thing .

[ketsumyo]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐎 𝐍𝐎 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐄 — 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 .

⠀ ⠀ ⠀KETSUMYŌ.⠀a roleplay blog for KURAGANE TSUBAKI , an original ⠀ ⠀ ⠀shinigami to tite kubo’s BLEACH . by miru. 30+. she/her .

⠀ ⠀ ⠀学. 「 CARRD 」 「 RULES 」 「 PROMO 」 ᴍᴜɴ ᴀʀᴛ ᴠɪsᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴜsɪɴɢs

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ind. private. selective. pressure-free environment just here to vibe. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀crossover & oc friendly. currently LOW activity.

trigger warning. blood, physiological & medical content, violence, sexual themes, alcohol & tobacco use.

⸻ pinned art by me & kenichi on skeb.jp

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | “too hot and it will scorch the leaves,” with a careful hand she inclines the cast-iron kettle, allowing a thin stream to meet the mesh basin of fresh gyokuro, sunken in earthenware. 

“then, we leave it for three minutes.” 

as the tea rested, she returned the kettle to the hearth. the embers were reduced to a kindly, smouldering light now.

“I know it must seem like such a rigmarole,” her half-smile was given to reassure rather than amuse, “but I use it as an opportunity to slow down. breathe a little.”

she brought her gaze to @hollownekomata—a near maternal scrutiny which, in the quiet of the teahouse, tried to read the heart. hollow or not. one was there.

“you've had a good deal to learn recently, I've no doubt. I thought something quiet like this might do you good today.”

[ketsumyo]

// sorry for slow writing. I've been promising to take it easy while I get back into it rather than spooking myself with falsely assumed expectations. :> hoping to get another starter or two out today <3

and I am getting back to work on Tsubaki's new reference art YIPPIE. it's been fighting me at every hurdle but her face finally looks how I see it in my head

[ketsumyo]

[hladky]

Ainslie and Fyshwick ACT, 2024 website / instagram / blog

[ketsumyo]

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | “you’ve quite the talent for competitive play,” she commends, for @snakedevour's talents are indeed commendable. ignorance would colour what she has as luck alone.

“I play Go myself—once turned poetry into a game, too.” she adds, amusement softening the corner of her lips. a fond thought.

“there were no stakes, of course. it was simply for the pleasure of it.”

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | she had seen that kind of grief before——the kind that lingers, that convinces you to reframe your peace with the world. compassion exacts a cost: to have known happiness is, inevitably, to someday carry its absence.

“what will you do now?” she asks @rueain. her question is earnest; not curiosity for curiosity's sake.

another prime minister will merely take their place; the cycle is doomed to repeat.

[thoughtkick]

“Some people live in cages with bars built from their own fears and doubts. Some people live in cages with bars built from other people’s fears and doubts; their parents, their friends, their brothers and sisters, their families. Some people live in cages with bars built from the choices others made for them, the circumstances other people imposed upon them. And some people break free.”

— C. JoyBell

[ketsumyo]

< like me for a little starter >

[ketsumyo]

// good morning ! :>

[ketsumyo]

// there will always be at least 1 ask in my inbox at all times and it's this

/ @rhoeade

[thoughtkick]

“Don’t think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It’s self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can’t try to do things. You simply must do things.”

— Ray Bradbury

[ketsumyo]

hi :)

unprompted // always accepting

血妙 | " hello . . . " she began. it was perfectly pleasant, save for the undercurrent of uncertainty.

she refers to her notes: gambling addiction.

' oh boy ' is the first thing that springs to mind. she may know this rodeo, but it doesn't make the ride any easier . . .

[crimebrand]

       WUHUANZI ISN'T CERTAIN IF THIS COUNTS AS PART OF HER INTERROGATION. it feels adjacent to one, but she had already met with the chief ... so perhaps this is something else entirely ? 

truthfully she would have preferred to stay in her cell — her readings for today's fortunes were poor, and at least in her quarters that bad luck has fewer things of consequence to cling to.

but 'procedure' apparently beats out omens, and so — here she is.

❝ ... these. ❞ the paper talisman flutters between her fingers when she finally answers, held up like an exhibit. ❝ my power is to infuse these talismans with spiritual power. when released, they can alter the state of matter. they work if stuck to a patient, but are more effective when ingested. ❞

an unhurried pause.

❝ i also can perform acupuncture, acupressure, and brew remedies from medicinal herbs. ❞

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | fountain pen began to scratch ink upon porcelain white, transcribing a narrative far more suited to folklore than a sober record of fact when, suddenly, the rhythmic discipline of her labour faltered. her lids blinked beyond reasonable need —— she had heard the bizarre amongst the bizarre.

kuragane lifts her gaze to the girl, the austere dignity of her position dissolving into a look of profound, almost scholarly bewilderment.

“ did you say . . . ingested ? ” 

acupuncture had its place for the stimulation of a latent nervous system; acupressure too. and many herbs had, through the rigours of peer-reviewed scrutiny, transitioned from antiquity to the verified columns of medical journals.

even talisman could serve the intangible needs of the spirit——but their ingestion . . . ?

[mournfulroses]

Albert Camus, from a notebook entry featured in Notebooks of Albert Camus, 1935-1942

[ketsumyo]

wraps arms around her waist. " why did you leave me for so long?"

unprompted // always accepting

血妙 | “ it . . . has been a while, hasn’t it ? ” she tested the strength of her voice; it was a frail, tremulous thing, catching on strained chords. 

“ I’m sorry . . . ” how easily she could have surrendered to the corrosiveness of guilt. it begged her—sat in her chest like an acrid, leadened weight that had, for months uncounted, whispered torturously of her dereliction. 

but such was not her way.

her fingers sought the hollows between his, weaving through the interstices until, interlaced, her palm rested upon weathered knuckles. she held him as he held her, anchoring against his warmth, and vowed:

“ but know this: I am never truly gone. a thread of fate connects us now. though the vastness of this world may conspire to part us, I will always follow it back to you . . . ”