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to steep into sakura-cha.

she pours it carefully ; gently. warm rose-hued liquid, coloured by lingering petals, fills white porcelain.

“tea’s ready~” a sing-song cadence—playful, but no less tender for it.
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// a starter for @ukitakejushiro.bsky.social
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// RIGHT!?!? Like ...... the Bleach cast are *amazingly* complex characters. I don't think you can do them justice without cooking ... and it's so hard to find fellow slow-cookers on twt when the feed is on steroids 😭😭

WE NEED KAY B CHUNG'S ENERGY!!!

// FRRRR I did step a toe into twt and it... was not for me. There was almost TOO much going on and ....... other things.

I'm very much enjoying cosysky q_q <3

// nO ONE I'M NERVOUS I'M AT WAR WITH SELF DOUBT Maybe the +++ trenches are good trenches. Maybe I'll stay here and make a nest.

// that was a five course meal I didn't know I needed. another please captain the shadows are hungry 🫡

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but because of what might happen should ketsumyō ever transcend her discipline and respond to 𝒇𝒖𝒓𝒚.
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“ ...promise me I won’t lose myself.”

her voice is quiet, but far from weak.

“you know what ketsumyō does, shinji.”

no title. no formalities. just a plea, worn raw in the open.

not because she fears her own power—
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training grounds is definitely a first...”

red eyes flit to burgundy wine, thoughts seeking to anchor themselves amongst the melody of sax and keys. she counts to six—lets impulse bleed back into reason.

and when she looks back to him, the mask is gone.

the shield of humour was a weak one.
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even as she’s certain hirako sees through it. perhaps that’s why she bothers at all: not to convince him, but to keep her own heart from trembling loose.

so she reaches for the safety of humour. it fits, at least in shape.

“my, I’ve had my fair share of offers from men. an invite to his
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but for the strength to shoulder what others cannot. because she, who loves this world with her whole being, would suffer anything to protect it.

a crash of rain at the window brings her back. the practiced smile returns—smooth as silk, learned as instinct. she knows how to hide behind grace,
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how little can be gifted.

it slips through fingers like raindrops and water. it has to be earned. hard-won and meticulously understood.

learn. or drown in the deluge.

scarlet lips gently part, breath caught somewhere between reverence and longing. not for power itself—she is not so vain.
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a woman who saw patterns in chaos and had the discipline—and the fire—to act.

she was drawn to the fifth for their brilliance of mind ; their cunning.

such was half the story. she sees it now, reflected in the captain’s smile—the knowing of someone who understands the weight of power, and
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but where their teachings attempted to shepherd their first daughter towards the quiet nobility of scholarly duty—it did not account for the bite of pragmatism.

drive consumed her. a wild, burning intellect paired with a heart that loved too fiercely to remain still. a strategist. a swordsman.
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“ ...tell me again, ” she near whispers, as if flirting with taboo secrets. “ tell me 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 about the training grounds. ”
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blood is every momentous thing, for it is life, and life is 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒔.

“ that’s not— ” she begins politely, refusal forming from habit. but it never comes. she hesitates. lingers... and then she finds herself leaning in. …
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