#v. 二面性 nimensē ( duality )

[ketsumyo]

Touches the back of her neck with his cold Fingies.

unprompted | always accepting

“ SHITFUCK—!! ”

she spins around.

“ h-hitsugaya-taichō !? ”

“ i’m so sorry please forgive my inappropriate language it will never happen again that was so rude of me there is no excusing such inexcusable behaviour i was startled i don't know what came over me i should be more vigilant if there is anything i can do to make amends pleasedon'ttellmylieutenant— ”

[ketsumyo]

continued | @kagehanabira

the curve of her lips remained sly, steeped in the satisfaction of having tethered his attention and won his return.

yet, the tenderness of his kiss earned him a sliver of clemency.

inclining her head, she lifted her lips to meet his. she did not kiss, no. she let them linger, less than a breath apart; a wordless promise of sensual oblivion.

“ I’ll give you five minutes , ” she mused, her voice pure indulgence and playful provocation. “ you’re far more useful to me in peak form . ”

[ketsumyo]

continued | @aftapati

血妙 | had tsubaki not conviction behind her inquiry, those words would have assailed her with the sudden, all-encompassing ferocity of a thunderclap. it could have been a scathing remark to a woman of proper decorum, wrought by a man of such exacting standard and observation that truth became an instrument of destruction.

alright, it was still a little scathing. 

“ come now , ” she laughed, a lilting sound meant to diffuse the sting. “ the sōtaichō may allow himself levity, but you and I both know he’s a cunning mind and a practised tactician. a little reactive for your tastes, perhaps, but there is a philosophy of calculated restraint. to follow in his footsteps wouldn’t be such a curse. ”

had she not already announced herself on playful, predictably irksome pretences, tsubaki might have ventured to share a drawn comparison: that aizen and kyōraku shared a rare, unnerving talent—the ability to craft façades so meticulous they shaped the perceptions of entire worlds. a talent for the false, yes, but also for the inexorable—for though their motivations diverged so profoundly, both harboured a relentless drive, an unflinching willingness to meet sacrifice head-on and make it yield.

“ but no, I come entirely of my own volition . ” she pivoted, taking a seat— a sign that not only at her refusal to be dismissed but her intention to press further.

“ I ask , ” she continued, her tone slipping into something more measured, “ because you're a man of progress, and the coming of the new year is a time to reflect on the breadth of one’s achievements and plan those yet to come. ” she tilted her head slightly, threads of black hair spilling against her cheeks with a softness that contrasted the precision of her inquiry. the shift in her perspective of him yielded nothing of his flawless impassiveness. though, she supposed, he did have a wonderful jawline. at least that part of him wasn’t illusionary. 

“ then again, ” she mused, exhaling softly as though the realisation pained her, “ a mind like yours is always calculating, isn’t it? always reflecting, always planning... ” the defeat was visible in her shoulders, though a glimmer of amusement tugged at her mouth.

“ damn, ” she murmured, her tone both resigned and faintly self-mocking. “ I thought I had a good one there. ” 

she lingered, as though daring him to say something—anything. but the silence was steadfast, and she couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or if he truly found her efforts beneath his notice. either way, she leaned back, a smile breaking through her faux disappointment.

“ alright, fine, ” she conceded. “ maybe I was trying to be a little troublesome . ”

[ketsumyo]

continued // @kagehanabira

血妙 | the slide of her fingers against his thigh was feather-light, but the weight of their intent was unmistakable. the touch was no accident—it was deliberate, slow, and devastatingly precise. she could see it in the way he looked at her—a man ensnared but not unwilling to play.

her sanguine eyes flicked forward, feigning indifference, even as she felt his body brace against her audacity. around them, laughter and conversation swirled unnoticed, a distant hum to the game she had begun. he’d leaned in, casual to anyone watching, but she felt the weight of his presence, the low timbre of his voice brushing the line between warning and invitation. it would be a lie to say it did not make her pulse quicken.

—- “ keep that up, and we are leaving . ”

her lips curled into a slow, wicked smile, crimson and utterly unapologetic. her head tilted just so, letting her breath ghost against his cheek as she murmured in reply. “ I don’t know what you’re talking about, kyōraku-taichō. ”

those words were spun like silk, each syllable a velvet tease dripping with faux innocence. but her smile—lingering and dangerous in its subtlety—told him everything her words did not. it hinted at thoughts far from benign, desires far too bold, and temptation she’d so much rather indulge.

her fingers shifted, edging deeper between his thighs—a slow, seductive push against the boundaries of propriety. a motion as measured as it was incendiary. a challenge. a dare. she tested the edges of his restraint, and asked him to prove whether his words were a threat or a promise.

and all the while, she sipped her sake with perfect poise, her expression maddeningly serene, as though her touch beneath the table wasn’t setting the air on fire.

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | TSUBAKI STUDIED HIM, HER INTEREST SERENE YET PENETRATING. she, by nature, was a studious woman; curiosity a poetic companion to her adoration of life. thus, by virtue of her lyrical sensibility, she did not observe him like a zoologist might study a caged creature, nor with the veiled disdain of an adversary. no, there was something richer in her gaze—respect, visible in the depths of sanguine eyes. unhidden. clear, like the surface of water.

“ instinct and pride, ” she repeated softly, her voice low and even, as though testing the weight of his words in her own mind. they felt familiar. “ not so different from what drives most living things—though, for you, it seems more finely honed. sharpened by every fight you’ve endured, every moment you’ve survived when the odds were stacked against you . . . ”

her words were offered with lucidity, each syllable articulated with a clarity that felt almost casual, as if her words were as undeniable as the sun’s inevitable rise—in the world of the living and soul society, at least. 

“ pride is not a terrible motivator, and wanting to become stronger isn’t inherently selfish, ” she continued, her posture softening as her thoughts unfurled. “ it’s self-improvement, refinement. many philosophies stress the virtue of understanding and mastering one’s own abilities and strengths—of striving, endlessly, for growth. ”

tsubaki leaned her chin upon delicately folded fingers, her elbow propped upon a bent knee. the ease in her posture now was in contrast to her earlier guardedness.

“ some might say there’s honour in that ~ ”

almost apologetic wasn't apologetic enough, but even if she'd outright groveled, it wouldn't have mattered. he'd have been annoyed by an apology and annoyed by a lack of one - there was no way to appease the man when he was agitated. but he hadn't tried to take her head yet, so that was something.

he offered a shark click of his tongue, attention shifting from her to back out at the scenery he'd come to watch. "You're shit at small-talk, apparently. Best you don't try it again." all he'd heard was her taunting him as gingerly as possible - a cowardly approach, he thought. you either taunt and face the consequences or you shut up. anything in-between made his skin crawl.. felt too familiar, and it was a familiarity he loathed. flattery, however...

he couldn't claim to not be prideful. of course he was. he'd damn well earned it, too, even if his pride was nothing new. and it was... refreshing, maybe? to hear someone recognize that he wasn't a being to take lightly. even if it was only honeyed words, he would twist them to sincerity through sheer spite - and pride. and for that, he actually considered her question.

"..Instinct, probably. There's always the itch in the back of my mind. That hollow hunger is gone - that drive to eat and evolve.. But the itch to fight, to find something worth challenging... The itch to become even stronger.. Maybe it's more like a habit left over from before I became bipedal again.. Maybe it's just part of bein' a Hollow. Maybe it's simply because of what I represent. But it's never gone away." he shifted to sit more upright, glancing over at her again.

"Course, it could always just be my pride."

[ketsumyo]

@redseamstress :

"I heard that your Zanpakuto has a veeeee~ry interesting set of abilities, care to let me see?" Kisuke flutters his fan in front of his face, hiding an excited smile behind it. Blood control? Oh~ a woman after his metaphorical heart~! How interesting the pair must be.

unprompted asks || always accepting

血 糸 | CURIOSITY CAN MAKE A MAN DEVIOUS— tsubaki rarely lost her poise, her self-control a thing of quiet, almost unassailable beauty. yet urahara kisuke, with his insistent irreverence, shattered it like fine porcelain. his voice was all innocent curiosity, like he didn’t realise he was holding a grenade in his hand—or maybe he did, and that was the whole point.

“ the infamous urahara kisuke, interested in my zanpakuto? oh, i’m in trouble now...” tsubaki quipped with a brittle laugh. humour was her shield, a way to sidestep the threat of his curiosity—a ravenous, ingenious curiosity, capable of dismantling truths she scarcely dared confront.

“ you’re a clever man, urahara-san. too clever, really. so you must already know—my shikai needs to touch blood to work . ” her words lilted upward, teasing, yet their weight rested heavy in her chest. hers was a power as boundless in its capacity to heal as to destroy. the same force that could knit a wound closed could just as easily tear flesh apart. life and death, bound together inextricably, intimately—you could parry a blade, but not yourself. she’d been walking that line too long to pretend it didn’t mess with her.

“ if you want to see ketsumyō, i’m afraid you’ll have to come back with a wound ~ ”

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | PEACE CANNOT BE WON WITH STEEL— battle births no victors; no side is righteous. conflict does not resolve who is right—only who remains. and those who endure bear the weight of their failure: the failure to protect; to preserve peace; to find another way. once the fighting begins, it is only the dead who ever truly see the end of war.

those who survive never escape it. the smell of blood alone brands itself into memory—metallic, sickly, as thick as guilt and twice as suffocating. it seeps into the marrow of your being. you scrub your hands raw, drown yourself in drink, bury yourself in flesh or oblivion, but it never leaves you. it lingers. it haunts. it denies you rest.

kyōraku shunsui ( captain commander—he, whose every choice exacted its price in lives; lives entrusted to him by those who followed for no reason other than duty and hope) had not rested. he barely ate. barely slept. he abided alcohol, sex, whatever other hollow indulgences dulled the edges of his torment. tsubaki knew. she knew it in the taste of his lips, steeped in sake consumed to excess.

she had given him time—time to reflect, to grieve, to find his footing amidst the wreckage of his soul. never alone, no. she had offered every comfort he sought, never once pressing for what he wasn’t ready to share. but now, time had run its course.

he hadn’t even noticed her enter.

gathering the hem of her evening yukata, she knelt gracefully, lowering herself to sit on the edge of the sunken bath. her legs, fair as porcelain, slipped into the warmth beside him. her movements were calm, unhurried, and when her calves brushed his shoulder, the contact was as light as a breath—a quiet assertion of her presence. there. with him.

“ shunsui, ” just his name—no more, no less, its use lagged in intimacy, yet her cadence was unabashedly tender. it was neither a summons nor a demand—it was an invitation, an offering to find even the subtlest of comforts in her steady presence.

she said nothing more. she did not reach for him ( not yet ), did not try to mend him with words that would feel hollow against the enormity of his grief. she simply stayed, waiting for him to let her in. // @kagehanabira

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | YES, DISTANCE . once a bond was made, she had control.

TW: blood, medical gore

( carbon monoxide: a cruel, insidious killer. a molecular mimic of oxygen, it binds to haemoglobin in its place; its affinity is higher, stronger, difficult to replace. blood, in its betrayal, becomes a conduit for suffocation. the body begins to fail, deprived of breath.

that something so small could wreck such havoc was the inspiration behind the blood maiden. her steel makes the incision, dissolving like crimson ink into the liquid network. she binds every component of the circulatory system—cells, protein, plasma, reiryoku. though her union eschews suffocation, her presence is immutable. once part of you, once bound to you, blood bent entirely to her will. )

a will now entirely unmoored from kuragane tsubaki's reverence. 

the voice came like liquid venom—silken, sultry, but edged with something mockingly wounded.

“ you strike me, declare war on me, and then take your eyes from me...? ” 

a movement not unlike shunpo, and she was there—blindingly crimson. a wicked smile painted on scarlet lips. her furisode shimmered like liquid silk, embroidered with tempests and rivers, where camellias bloomed like wounds amidst the chaos. over her breast, where the fabric parted daringly, was an inked blossom. red, vivid, and beautiful.

black hair fell in long, cascading waves. perfect, framing a visage of beauty half hidden. a mask obscured her eyes, but her strike was by no means blind. 

the blade—carmine from hilt to tip—arced for rin’s shoulder, a strike that should have been devastating. yet, it did not maim; it dissolved. blood consumed the steel, drinking it in before it could rend beyond the capillary bed.

the katana in her hand lost its length, the blade half-bound, half-manifested. she stepped back, flicked the weapon, its steely surface reflecting dim light in shades of red so deep they bordered on black. then her laugh came—a soft, cutting sound that promised devastation.

“ you shouldn’t have meddled. ” the tone was a purr, warm and ruinous, rich with the promise of obliteration  “ this was never your concern... ”

“ and now, ” she murmured, taking a languid step backward, as if the air itself bent to accommodate her, “ tell me, how would you like to die ? ”

her smile deepened, a cruel curvature that split her face like a wound. 

“ cardiac arrest? aneurysm? shall I turn your liver to fluid ? a million incisions to your lungs until they're nought but liquid ? or...” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a serpentine whisper. “ my favourite—I simply pull your blood from your throat and watch you drown in the flood ? ”

tw: more blood, depictions of violence

"You can’t be serious!? You don’t know what she’s capable of—her abilities are subversive! You can’t afford to let her strike you."

"Thanks for the tip," Rin huffed, turning away from the newly-constructed barrier. She continued to scrutinise her surroundings in search of the spirit of interest. Irrefutably, incapacitating the rogue Zanpakutō spirit just became a more painstaking task.

You can’t afford to let her strike you.

This meant one thing. She needed to rely on her Kidō abilities primarily in this battle. Furrowing her eyebrows, she mediated over the Shinigami's words. Utilising defensive spells, distant offensive attacks alongside some Shunpo were the most optimal options at that point, and she was determined to cease the conflict as quickly as possible. Deflect and restrain, Rin would reiterate the mantra internally.

Discerning an ominous presence, she emitted a wispy gasp. As Ketsumyō attempted an attack from above, Rin regained her composure. She will not let a surprise ambush as menial as that hinder her. Raising her forearm above her head, she muttered the familiar verse, not bothering to spare a glance at its direction.

"Bakudō Number 8, Seki."

Instantaneously, a baby blue orb manifested on her forearm. A repelling force warded off the imminent strike, hurling Ketsumyō in an upward trajectory. Leaping off the ground, Rin ensured that she was within its proximity before chanting another spell. "Hadō Number 31, Shakkahō!" A bright scarlet orb formed on her left palm, discharging flames at the Zanpakutō spirit. Much to her dismay, the spirit dodged her attack, causing her to scowl in disdain. Seconds later, Ketsumyō slithered within a hair's breadth behind Rin. Averting her gaze to her back momentarily, she flash-stepped toward the ground, narrowly escaping it. "Hadō Number 4, Byakurai." She uttered, aiming the streak of lightning, which was successful in inflicting a hit. With Ketsumyō at a reasonable distance away from her, it was the appropriate time to restrain. "Bakudō Number 9, Hōrin." The tendrils were approaching Ketsumyō, securing Rin's victory, until...

Without conscious volition, Rin averted her gaze as she heard violent, wet wheezes. Splatters of crimson tainted the barrier housing the Shinigami, forming a grotesque Pollock showpiece. Rin gasped. Ketsumyō was able to remotely control its victims as well. Unwittingly, the Bakudō spell extinguished, which failed to constrain the spirit.

[ketsumyo]

"Oh, um, hello! We haven't met yet but I noticed something happened to your flower?" The girl holds up the pot that had been in the window not long ago, now holding a bloom rather than what was left of the plant. "Oh dear. I hope you don't mind that I did that! I should have asked first!"

unprompted | always accepting

血妙 | HER HAIR SHONE LIKE SPUN GOLD IN DUSKLIGHT. tsubaki would be a fool not to recognise her—the young woman who had borne burdens far beyond expectation, risked sacrifices no mortal should ever endure, simply because it was the right thing to do. that unflinching tenacity, that quiet, incorruptible resolve—it was a purity of spirit tsubaki could not help but adore. if ever there were an honoured guest before her, it was She.

and that—that was in spite of the sheer majesty of her talents. 

sanguine eyes fell downward, falling comfortably on a flower pot both familiar and yet not. the vessel itself was known to her, but the bloom—a vibrant, crimson double-petaled azalea—felt much less so. it had been some time since she last saw its splendour.

the azalea was a symbol of temperance and beauty, but it was also a fragile thing—vulnerable to neglect, drought, and absence of care. the late captain-commander’s bankai had stripped the water from its soil, and the war had stripped tsubaki of her focus. this flowering plant, one of few possessions to survive the destruction of her barracks, had not bloomed since—until now. 

what a beautiful metaphor for the recovery from war: that it is not the hopeless endeavour it so often appears to be. it is a possibility, fragile but real, requiring time, patience, care, and the gentle ministrations of those who would dare to stand by us. 

“ inoue-san. ” she said firmly, warmly, cutting through the girl’s flustered apologies in a way that felt effortless. tsubaki’s eyes softened as she reached out to accept the pot, her expression filled with quiet yet unmistakable gratitude—a warmth so genuine it needed no adornment.

“ you have a beautiful reverence for life, and an even greater drive to protect and nourish it. ” she said, her voice sure. “ never apologise for that . ”

[ketsumyo]

❛ That's quite an interesting ability that you possess. ❜ A reference to her sword abilities. Nothing evades from his oberving glance.

unprompted asks | always accepting

血妙 | SHE SWALLOWED, BUT THE EFFORT SNAGGED ON DREAD—FRESHLY METASTASISED FROM HER HEART. — tsubaki had long since reconciled with the fear her zanpakutō once held over her ( a fear that made her leave combat; leave the fifth ). ironic. it was the winter war—the standoff against this monstrous aberration of a soul—that had forced her to cross the critical threshold and risk her morality for the sake of power. to reconcile with ketsumyō was to embrace her for what she was—what she is. life and death. impurely intimate. a weapon capable of reducing any battle to something primal and grotesque.

there was risk in such acceptance. a power that could turn the laceration of an arm into a violent, visceral obliteration of the heart. there was no honour in that. it was not noble. but it was hers—a burden to bear with as much respect as caution, lest the weight of the blood maiden consume her entirely.

interest seemed to hold aizen so rarely. his intrigue appeared to begin and end with what served either the sparse pleasures he allowed himself ( tea was the only one she could thus far deduce. humour definitely was not. ) or his schemes, with little regard for consequence despite those he sought to create.

and now, he who was untethered by morality—untouched by the boundaries of humanity itself—had turned his rare gaze toward her shikai. a man, whose capacity of mind seemed more comparable to divinity than anything mortal. such genius, wielded without conscience, was a dangerous thing indeed. this was the dread she felt.

she smiled. it was beautifully false.

“ it’s managed to catch your eye? I’m flattered—and justifiably terrified . ”

her words were given with their usual, charming lilt, but they were neither jest nor exaggeration. tsubaki had been unabashedly honest. after all, why bother with artifice?

even with one eye, aizen sōsuke saw more than most .

[ketsumyo]

continued // @aftapati

血妙 | OH, TO BE SO FREE OF PURGATORY—TO TRANSCEND THE LIMITATIONS OF CONSCIENCE. — she imagined the liberation of such a path, unshackled by the weight of concern, wielding power untempered by hesitation. his reasoning was exact, almost beautiful in its ruthless clarity, carving through the comforts of morality to reveal the cold, brutal efficiency of his vision. aizen moved as something beyond human: unanchored by guilt, unbound by trust, a force unto himself.

and what could a mind achieve, freed from such burdens? extraordinary things—extraordinary, terrible things. she felt it within herself—the chaos beneath the surface. it was no mere force of whim but a tempest vast, beautiful, and primal, restrained by ironclad will. unlike He, she was anchored by sentiment, by connection, by the very obstacles he had spoken of so loathsomely—tethers he had long since severed.

envy stirred in her chest, sharp and fleeting. once, centuries ago, she might have quailed under the shame of such a feeling, but she no longer feared her vulnerabilities. they were no aberration—they were the essence of humanity, of herself. and so, even as envy faded into pity, she allowed it to linger long enough to understand it.

“ I find myself inclined to agree with you, aizen-san, ” she said at last, her voice steady, her words chosen with care. however abhorrent his conclusions, she could not deny the brilliance of his logic. “ to reject sentiment, to sever the ties of dependence—it’s a clarity few can imagine. ”

her lips curved faintly, an echo of a smile—cold, deliberate, untouched by warmth. “ but what if one’s ambitions are not so lofty? what if they strive for joy, and find it in silly little sentiments? ”

she hesitated, allowing a faint, embarrassed chuckle to escape her lips—a sound so brief it might have been mistaken for a sigh. aizen was a figure of such profound complexity, so far removed from her comprehension that she could scarcely imagine the breadth of his thoughts. but the retort, so glaringly self-evident, could not go unspoken lest she lose her credibility entirely.

“ I suppose they simply wouldn’t be aiming high enough, would they? ”

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | THERE WAS QUIET IN HER, fragile but not meaningless, as she felt the captain’s hands envelop her own. the tenderness was disarming, a contrast so startling to the cacophony of her thoughts that, for a moment, it stilled them. tsubaki glanced to unohana and, in that silence, a stray wonder took root. how could someone wield such quiet power, such grace, and yet possess an intensity that could rend souls as easily as it could mend them?

unohana’s presence was magnetic, an equilibrium that tsubaki had spent years trying to comprehend, let alone emulate—and it left her stranded somewhere between admiration and awe. 

she looked away, her cheeks inheriting a faint warmth as her lips curved, the gesture more instinctive than not. “ taichō, ” she began, her voice catching the barest cadence of humour, an attempt to steady herself. “ you’ve a talent for healing nerves with words alone, nevermind with kaidō ~ ”

—- “ I am proud of you ”

such simple words. and yet ( if tsubaki knew anything of her captain ) she knew unohana to be a woman who would never surrender such sentiments lightly. to confess pride was no idle offering, no shallow gesture meant to shore up fragile egos. pride was earned, never given. it was not a salve for insecurity but a testament to discipline and action, forged through the kind of integrity that resisted compromise. it did not comfort; it affirmed, confirmed. for unohana to have confessed them—a woman so exacting in her standards, so devastatingly precise in her judgement—was to be seen, not with pity but in clarity.

tsubaki’s chest tightened beneath the weight of it: a rare and sobering privilege from a woman - mentor, captain—who knew her struggle completely and utterly.

her lips curved faintly, the gesture tentative, though she believed the woman’s words.

“ you’re right—it’s that intimacy I struggle with, ” she said finally, her brow knitting as she worked to untangle her thoughts. “ but...it’s like you say—there’s nothing to stop us from turning a scalpel into a weapon but our own respect and choices... ” those words trailed as she considered how they felt, crafted by her own lips. the logic was pragmatic, undeniable even, and unohana had framed it almost beautifully. 

tsubaki’s smile grew, finally, into something more genuine.

“ oh what I’d give to have even a fraction of your wisdom and grace, unohana-taichō. ”

"I am here, Kuragane-san, that means I am still here to work. It is of no trouble for you to come to my office. Please, come in." Retsu stood, focusing on the girl, her form alive with nerves.

She waits quietly while Tsubaki composes herself, and reveals her strife. The woman's problem was long-running and understandable. Her power, the reflection of her soul, was one of intimate control, for either help or harm. Controlling blood to heal was far more invasive than Kidou, even more than the surgeries they'd have to perform on occasion.

"Ketsumyo has a level of intimacy and invasiveness that is hard for you to come to terms with, and I can understand that. It is more than Kidou, more than surgery, and it is more control over a person than you would like." The captain nods, walking slowly towards Tsubaki.

"You are aware of your inner conflict, which is first step to accepting it, and working through it, for that, I am proud of you." Retsu holds her hands up, taking Tsubaki's in them. "Your Zanpakuto is quite a good example of what it means to be a healer. We can do harm just as easily as healing, and we can be invasive in our means. It's an unfortunate truth. You want to help your patients, and you are helping them."

"Your heart is in the right place, Tsubaki."

[ketsumyo]

(Sorry this is late) He smiled softly to Tsubaki and gave her a pat on the head. It was New Years at the Seireitei, a time of celebration for some and time of reflection for others. He wondered how she was handling everything that had happened over the past year. "Happy New Year, hope this year is better than the last." He said trying to shrug his winter haori back on his shoulder.

unprompted | always accepting

血妙 | “ MM? ” the sound was soft, inquisitive—a gentle murmur as she turned at the faint pat. her gaze swept her shoulder, and when the recognition settled, so too did a warm smile.

“ keitaro-san, ” his name carried from her lips with the same gentle familiarity her eyes conveyed

those of her comrades who had survived the war bore its scars—some more obvious than most.

tsubaki turned herself to reach out, her fingers deftly adjusting the edge of his haori to bring it back over his shoulder for him. to aid a friend cost her nothing.

“ akemashite omedetou gozaimasu ( happy new year ), ” she wished back, before offering a weak, almost apologetic chuckle for the terrible humour she was about to affix onto his well wishes.

“ it certainly can’t be any worse, hm? ”

[ketsumyo]

continued | @kagehanabira

her chuckle was awkward, sheepish at best. “ i've a feeling this particular criminal finds my company punishment, so that mightn't be too much troub—” her words cut short, attention retrained to the commander's latter words.

“ you'll do research? by which I assume you mean you'll have ise-san do research ? I'll give her my thanks . ”

[ketsumyo]

“Sometimes I believe you might be the woman of my dreams.” ❤️

unprompted | always accepting

血妙 | HER SMILE WAS A STUDY IN GRACE—simple, unassuming, yet imbued with an affection so profound it could drown oceans. she inclined her head ever so slightly, black strands falling to frame her face like ink against porcelain. for a moment, there was nought but silence, yet it was far from empty.

she studied his expression, searching for the telltale flicker of a jest—a quirk of his lips, a hint of devilry in his eyes. yet, there was none. what she found instead was sincerity, uncharacteristically unhidden, and it moved her in the most peculiar way: her heartbeat, once steady, betrayed her.

her own eyes softened, their intensity tempered by adoration. a vulnerability she seldom allowed herself, yet here it was, pure and unguarded, offered freely.

“ I imagine your dreams are crowded with women, kyōraku-taichō, ” she murmured, her voice a melodic blend of warmth and pointed amusement, but her smile never lost its tenderness. one last game.

“ you’ll have to be more specific for me ~ ”

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | HER FACADE WAS A THING OF PRETERNATURAL COMPOSURE—seamlessly blending grace and restraint. yet, there was one part of herself she surrendered: those sanguine eyes. disarmingly serene at a glance, yet held piercing acuity—a vermilion depth that hinted at an unspoken fervor. beneath charm and smiles, she watched with the uneering gaze of someone attuned to the subtleties of others. it was neither predatory nor cruel, nor was it shaped by judgment. it was simply the observations of a woman who had long learned to see beyond the surface.

“ you’re right, I should have known better than to doubt you ~ ”

who she observed was, of course, kuchika rukia. tsubaki had watched as the younger woman settled herself onto the tatami, her posture precise but shy of ease. tsubaki’s gaze lingered—not critically, but with quiet patience, as though granting rukia the space to adjust on her own. and indeed, she did. as she relaxed out of the formality of seiza into something more natural, tsubaki’s lips curved—subtly at first, then with something warmer. there was pleasure in watching the small triumphs of others, in breaking the boundaries of rigid decorum to relax and enjoy life—especially when they came unprompted.

“ I am, ” she answered of her familiarity here. “ it’s one of my favorite places. ” tsubaki adjusted her own position, legs curling to one side of the zabuton so her weight rested on a hip—a posture that was as regal as it was at ease.. “ it’s quiet, but not lonely. there are no expectations, no obligations. you can simply sit, eat, drink, and enjoy company—whether that company is your own, or someone else. ”

and then, to her own surprise, she laughed—soft, demure, but full-bodied in a way that betrayed her amusement. rukia’s involuntary flinch at the unexpected choice of liquor had been, for her,too endearing to ignore. “apologies... ” tsubaki managed, though the remnant of her laughter showed little in the way of true remorse. 

her cheek met the cradle of her hand, her elbow the low table, and black tresses fell aside, revealing a smile that was now a shade warmer. it was the kind of relaxation that was authentic, unhurried, and invited equal ease.

“ it’s umeshu—a sweet plum wine. you don’t like it ~ ? ”

@ketsumyo from here

Upon arriving, Rukia didn't even notice her posture lose it's rigidity, relieved to see that her destination was a place cozy and secluded. As she wade her way through the entrance, her size made it easier to duck under obstacles rather than hop over them in the small shop. Having spotted Tsubaki, Rukia's face loses a touch of the off putting expression she wore naturally for something of playfully obligated.

As she takes her seat, she sits in seiza, but only for a moment before it dissolves into something more looser, with her legs out comfortable in front of her as she heats up into more casual conversation. "I'm not such a poor comrade that I would leave you to fend for yourself." Just to prove herself, Rukia grabs at the bottle, and pours herself a double, taking such words as a slight challenge.

For a moment, she inspects the woman across from her. "Do you come to this place often? You have the energy of a regular." It was one of the auras that used to be a red flag during her thieving days; it tended to belong to the kind of folks that have loyal people who would look after them, or would have some backup on their heels. Rukia wouldn't say that outloud however, and only would take a larger sip to slip that thought from her mind. But her face would flinch from a lack of knowledge, shaking her head, unprepared for what flavor would be hitting her senses, having not even asked what was the drink of choice she had opted into was. "What is this?"