ketsumyo

[ketsumyo]

like for a small something in your inbox while I get back into the groove? <3

[ketsumyo]

// woah. to say I have experienced burnout feels like an understatement. I feel like I've been on survival autopilot for the last four months. spring blipped by.

the combined weight of my culture-shock-inducing promotion, studying for my master's, caring for my elderly parents, and navigating my own chronic health challenges finally caught up with me and, well... I've not been present creatively, emotionally or socially.

for that, I'm sorry. not in the 'AHHH I'VE LET YOU ALL DOWN' kind of way because life happens and it can't be helped (altho, I am conscious a lot of you are waiting on threads, and thank you for being so patient because--let'sbereal--we all want our replies yesterday. impatient-excitement is a thing and that's ok).

it's more that I've missed being able to chill and chat with you guys. you're all genuinely so lovely, and being here helps replenish my spoons. q _q

anyway point is it's been a slow recovery that I've not wanted to rush, but the brain cells are finally regenerating faster than they're melting, and I'm doing the rounds of catching up on the social things I had to cut out for a lil' while. <3 hello friends

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | his words cut with loathsome familiarity—and yet, she smiled. a woman comfortable under scrutiny. 

but there was something in her—something beneath cultivated measurement that churned like beasts to blood. it was volatile: a heat, passionate and devastating, and it wished for nothing more than to devour his argument whole. 

not indignation, no. indignation did not suit her, but conviction did.

that was the shame of aizen sōsuke, wasn’t it? that once, perhaps, he had been impassioned. now, an automaton: a machine, flawless and untouchable. momentum born of purpose, now endlessly propelled in the vacuum of self-made solitude. whatever poetry once stirred him ( and it must have, for ambition such as his is not born of nothing ) had long since evaporated and, with it, the warmth that might have made his vision bearable. 

kuragane tsubaki could think of nothing less alluring in a leader than the absence of feeling. 

what joy can be found in a world authored by someone who no longer breathes its beauty? how can you entrust the future to a man who has forgotten that we do not exist by distinction alone? that we exist, instead, in the shape of our presence: in the warmth of our smile, in the joy we bring to small corners of the world; in the way we nourish each other; in the love we give, and the love reflected back to us.

oh, how her sharper self might have parried him. might have argued his logic was naught but sterile arithmetic, fixated on the great theatre of war where medics are a limiting factor. to weigh the worth of a healer on the count saved was to forget: numbers alone do not win battles—sacrifice does. that sometimes, the only path to victory is risk. the painful, necessary gamble that allows one vital piece to strive ever onward, even if it costs the rest.

she might have referenced shōgi—spoken of gambits and calculated losses so the king might cross the board.

she might have reminded him that heuco mundo—the whole bloody, godforsaken theatre of it—hinged on inoue orihime. that without her, kurosaki ichigo would have remained lost to the Cuatro and that he, aizen sōsuke, would have stood largely unopposed. 

she might have expressed how she, in escaping her self-imposed exile, was proof a combatant-medic could enter the field and alter the course of certain doom. 

she could have said all of it, and more—but she did not. 

for kuragane tsubaki was many things, and vain was not one of them. to defend an outdated proposal when a revision existed as its betterment? that would be indulgent. a wasted opportunity. he had offered her the sharpness of his mind, and she would not dull it with sentiment.

she allowed herself a smile—a small knowing thing. a silent concession to herself, and perhaps even to him. she suspected he would notice her restraint. and, if he did, she doubted he would be displeased. 

no—he was likely thinking ‘wise choice, if you intend to keep my attention’.

she accepted his invitation and spoke— ⠀⠀⠀— but she would allow herself one truth. one rebuttal. a last mischief, and no more.

“ emotions may have prompted my proposal, but it was not devoid of logic, ” she began evenly, meeting steely gaze with composed assurance.

“ no decision should ever be driven solely by emotion, ” she concurred, acknowledging subtly that even aizen himself had not dismissed its value. “ but emotion is the catalyst of vision, and logic tempered by experience refines it. ” 

“ yet logic untempered by emotion fares no better. pure pragmatism measures outcomes without weighing their meaning. without feeling, reason steers us toward efficiency but never purpose. emotion provides direction; logic, the path. ”

her fingers smoothed the pleats for her hakama. 

“ evolution demands balance. adaptation thrives at the intersection of reason and desire. even the hōgyoku knows this: it responds not to cold intellect, but to the will behind it. ”

she shifted elegantly, indicating the pivot to her practical suggestion.

“ my revised proposal, therefore, is simple: the fourth division’s medical teams remain unchanged in role and structure. instead, we extend specialised emergency field triage training to shinigami in other divisions—those with sufficient reiatsu control, aptitude for kaidō, and personal willingness. in this structure, each division has the autonomy to manage their medically capable personnel. though, I would recommend at least one accompaniment per patrol or dispatch. ”

it was so beautifully simple—the inspiration her own journey. 

“ we are long-lived souls. waiting until the threat of calamity compels us to adapt is short-sighted. growth is a far wiser use of our abundant time than rigidity. ”

a soft pause, a smile breaking gently into something more playful.

“ …and, if it all fails—well, we can always scrap the idea and I’ll finally cease my endless attempts ! ” suddenly, she laughed. that damned woman, so comfortable in herself. 

after all, isn’t this the very essence of evolution? to try, and fail, and try again, until at last one success carries us forward—the progenitor of ever-greater heights.

❛ My, can't two individuals have a disagreement? Or is it too inconvenient for you? And besides, never once I claimed I am aligned with the current construction of regulationship. I am aligned with rationality. ❜

Few with certainty have illustrated capacity in withholding a sufficiently adequate confabulation, with an iota of accreditation as sequential attainment acting as compromission. Undisputably, Sōsuke was a great conversationalist, but to unveil such characteristic, one must have sufficient intelligence and incumbent pragmaticality. Kuragane Tsubaki had showcased potentiality of such, thence he took liberty in entertaining this entire circumstance. Opinions diverging yet presented with supportable arguments was welcomed in constancy by yours truly.

Even so, many would classify such occurence as contention, indirectly and even directly displaying refusal to learn, to adapt, to reach amelioration. She exuded a synthesis of confidence and even pridefulness in her proposal, notwithstanding her words misinterpreted otherwise. A prosposal that harbors potent perspective, but has mountainous elipse in execution, in accordance to his own experience.

❛ If a person has in possession incredible proficiency in the medicinal field as well as in the combat one, it does not change the fact that said person should remain as the medic in the team. The better skillset in offense presented, the better for said person to defend themselves rather than take an attackful position, unless said person wishes to provide further assistance without jeopardizing their position. ❜

❛ If medics were allowed to be on the offense of the battlefield, then individuals like Unohana Retsu should have joined such forces unhesitatingly. Yet, even for someone like herself she refused to. And if there is one person that can actualize your proposal, it is her. Yet, she did not. Do you know what that means? ❜

A concise pause of deep baritone, enough to offer satisfactory amount of time for contemplation. Yet, the abrupt quietude was bound to cease momentarily thereupon, as the intrigueness of discourse was had to remain haltless.

❛ It means that some things are meant to be built in a certain way. ❜

Almost improbable for the transcendental wholeness to profess of such, but logic was a connotation that he would orient himself with. A dogmatic strategist with absolution reigning over diplomacy, he was. With commandship operated at grasp of fingertips, oftentimes exhibited in a diversity of forms; frequently conflicted.

People frequently prefer listening to things that they wish to hear, rather than what they need to hear.

❛ Positions are created in a certain befitting way, offering a constructive and organized platform. Otherwise, sans proper structure, confusion and chaos would ensue, with eventual vanquishment taking place. Here is a prime paradigm; The more medics would charge on the field, the more casualties a side would face. The more medics would fail to survive, the less healing will transpire to those who are in need. It is simple pragmatism. Nor political structure, no wrongful ruleship. This is standard reasonableness --- common sense, if you will. So unless you have reached a form of omnipotence of even transcendence, such proposal remains as an act out of bafflement, rather than created with reasonability behind it. ❜

He allowed her words to resonate amid the atmosphere, accumulating their significance. Evident frustration was illustrated --- fathomable, if moreso. Graspable discontentment disposed in the form of an impactful proposition. Yet, not beneficial to the actualness of warfare.

❛ Have no shame in seeking betterment, yet do not let emotions take leadership, as it would not only abstain you from logicalness, but prompt you to act out of paralogism. I am not obstructing you from believing in such pattern, I am showing you that you have yet thought of this thoroughly. ❜

Speaking out of experience, his own mistake prompting to his temporary position of imprisonment. Kurosaki Ichigo and Urahara Kisuke were only assisting in fueling the perpetuity of ire subsisting within his beating muscle. The catalyst was the divulgement of sentiment, acting correspondingly of such, inevitably abstaining from attaining his resolution.

Never again.

❛ If you wish for me to hear your proposition, then make it purposeful. Given your beliefs of Bushido principles, I do not believe that your proposal came out of pridefulness, despite the fact that it appears in such a way. So, make it worthwhile or I will end this conversation. ❜

Mastery of wordism, intellectuality, is someone's grandest weapon to use at disposal. And Sōsuke had such aspects in unsettling galore, sempiternally cognizant. Henceforth, this was a trial --- the scrutinization of words to follow; depending on how she will respond, he would act and respond accordingly.

[ketsumyo]

❝ you have a nice smile—has anyone ever told you that before? ❞

❝ heh~ ❞ she really thinks so? it catches him off guard. the torches flickering around them as he guided her back to her barrack that night. it's late. both standing in front of the gate. ❝ no. not really. ❞ he's glad it's dark so his face isn't too red.

ukitake still holds her hands. he was just about to let go when she said it. his shoulders feel tense. heart suddenly beating a LOT faster. he clears his throat. ❝ you do too... you know. a very lovely smile. ❞ his eyes slowly rise to meet hers. he can see the torches reflected in hers. if he looked closely he'd see himself as well. but...

...he couldn't possible lean in further...

[ketsumyo]

Corinna Vallianatos, from a story featured in Origin: Stories published in 2025

[ketsumyo]

*gently places a flower into her hair, that he's picked by himself.*

unprompted // always accepting

血妙 | the grass pressed gently at her back; the warmth of the sun against her face, eyes closed to a breeze so mild it moved like whispers against skin. the sensation of fingertips affixing stem between ebony strands stirred her—her lashes fluttered, compelled to part, just so.

to see him drew a smile to her lips.

“ let me guess, ” she began, voice lilting with that warm, charming playfulness.

“ yamabuki? no—sumire! ”

her smile widened, blooming into a laugh—playful, yes, but adoringly so.

she hadn’t realised there were two suns overlooking this meadow. no wonder she felt so warm.

[ketsumyo]

血妙. K E T S U M Y Ō

紅鋼椿. Kuragane Tsubaki commission by kenichi on skeb.jp

[ketsumyo]

🌺 x 80,085

// why not x 80,086

I'M JOKING THIS IS SO SWEET THANK YOU :(

[ketsumyo]

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

// I DO NOT DESERVE THIS KINDNESS THANK YOU!!

[ketsumyo]

🌺 send this to ten muns you think are wonderful 🌺

// HANJI MY BELOVED!!!!!!!!!! ;; ^ ;; <333333 UNO REVERSE CARD ! You are an absolute delight to write and yap with. you are very, very wonderful, too ;A;;; <3

🌺

[ketsumyo]

血妙. K E T S U M Y Ō

紅鋼椿. Kuragane Tsubaki commission by kenichi on skeb.jp

[ketsumyo]

// me, creeping back to writing wondering what else is going to explode around me—

[ketsumyo]

// I am slowly writing! :> working on things behind the scenes and steadily releasing them into the wild. I'm focusing on threads before tackling asks. <3 thanks everyone for your patience !!

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | why is it that people always assume a vicious woman must also be vindictive? must be cruel in the small ways—the useless ways? as if strength in a woman had to come with teeth for chewing on bones. 

she didn’t say it. she let the observation go unvoiced, offering only unsurprised exasperation—that soft kind of irritation women have perfected after centuries of not being taken seriously.

—— “ for what . ”

the shift was sharp, but she saw it. watched as mirth drained to a stare. not anger. not even the good kind of hate. just emptiness. the kind of hollow that could tear—and would.

that’s what people never quite understand about predators: it’s not the snarl that’s frightening—it’s the silence. the vacancy. the sheer absence of emotion. the same stillness that hums through the bones of the earth before an earthquake. 

kuragane tsubaki held her place. she wasn’t fearless—no, that would be dull. she was curious, and curiosity is the worst kind of bravery: the kind that makes you lean forward when you should be running.

“ dionysus. ” she said. just the name. no rehearsed etiquette, none of that charming musicality she used to soften tension—only a seriousness that underpinned her sincerity. 

“ I do have a book, ” she went on to confess and, just like that, her tone lightened with a chuckle. “ but it’s in Greek. I can’t read a damned word of it ! ”

and that was it; the truth of it. just a woman sitting across from something dangerous—something beautiful and cruel—asking about a god who fucked mortals and tore them apart, made madness into worship, and blood into ecstasy.

"I told her I'd wear it on a shirt if she made me one, but she only accused me of mocking her." Vi had been entirely genuine in the offer, but Nanao never trusted a word off her tongue if it sounded anything resembling amicable. A lieutenant who would never trust her, and a captain who trusted her far too much...

Then of course, there was whoever this woman was. What category would she find suitable? She'd have to pick one if she planned to linger about all afternoon. Though as Tsubaki comfortably carried on, Vi considered making the choice for her.

"For what." The languid joviality had vanished from her voice, her tone now landed and hard and flat as her stare. Vi had raised herself into a seated position, though seemed content enough to remain sitting for the time being.

This woman wouldn't be the first to speak of trying to track her down, and it had yet to be for any unbothersome reason. Someone was always on about her 'stealing a bounty' or 'murdering their friend' (even though they could never prove it) or whatever other whining complaint they had. So which was this going to be? A demand for compensation or confession.

[ketsumyo]

( Storm & Serpent ) / @ketsumyo ♡ art by finleft !

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | her reply was warmth: a smile that creased delicately at the corners of her lips.

there were many things she loved in him—many things she admired. where others might fumble through apologies, pressured by guilt for their ‘fragility’, jūshirō did not. he had the strength to look ahead—to anticipate better days and savour life’s lovely little moments all over again. 

every lapse unfolded the same: concern, worry, the ache of unshared hours. and yet—he always returned. just as storms are doomed to clear, he came back to her. 

. . . but a month. a month is a tiringly long episode. a tiringly long fight to endure. 

“ jūshirō— ” his name left her, cracked. 

she was upon him before her mind could ever consider it, arms around him, face buried in the heat of him. she surrendered to his presence, to his wellness, desperate to know it all again before the next season of absence came.

for no matter how sophisticated a woman she was, she was not immune to fear.

he needn’t make anything up to her. that he could enjoy his days again was enough.

STARTER FOR -> @ketsumyo

❝ it's lovely to see you again. ❞ he said, saddened that his last flare lasted nearly a month. he had to cancel on little things they wanted to do together. but jushiro was determined to make up for it.

[ketsumyo]

// some doodles I doodled while on writing-hiatus ! tsubaki yōkai verse, bleach tsubaki, and a sneak peek of a man.