:-T In Your Dreams...

Closed RP blog affiliated with The Soul Pantheism for Shutara Senjumaru

A mature, nuanced interpretation steeped in headcanon, brewed for nearly a decade.  Plays fast and loose with regard to timelines and possible universes.  Come at me bro.

Adored by Vix 

 Multiship/Multiverse and NSFW friendly

Originally established 2014 for the ABRP group Currently affiliated with TSP group since 2022

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All right, I'm now mentally in a place to do an hc of something this integral as a concept. So--lets journey!

First, lets think about what the shihakushou is and how it behaves.  I think that it actually has a lot to do with some of her cohorts, as it makes sense to me that her own abilities work with, and are shaped by the powers of her closest friends—as Oetsu invented the asauchi/zanpakuto, and Tenjiro invented healing kaido.  Shutara’s strengths are not in what she is herself…but how she can see the spaces between. One cannot have one without being a ‘shinigami’, but canonically it’s not necessarily true that a shinigami is aware of this fact to the profundity of its truth.   If you follow the narrative from inside the Seireitei, it’s given to a shinigami—once they graduate from the academy, the wearer moves from dressing in the student robes to the professional garb of the black shihakushou. Yet it can also be manifested when one suddenly becomes a shinigami—such as when we see Ichigo’s power come into existence with a shihakushou automatically.  I strongly believe he was clothed transdimensionally. GIven that Oetsu can canonically understand who has a zanpakuto and what condition they're in--it makes sense that she has a mirrored ability in her own connection to cloth and wearer.

A shinigami’s shihakushou will go fully white and altered in form if a shinigami tranfers all of their Reiryoku, as in the case of a shinigami transferring their powers to a human via a zanpakuto.  In certain cases like with Unohana speaking to Ichigo about her healing, his own shihakushou’s tattered state was tied to the fact that his reiryoku was in tatters even though his physical body was in good shape after being healed in Hueco Mundo.   It’s intimately tied into the wearer, their status, and the qualities of their soul.

So…given that in order to truly ‘wear’ a shihakushou as intended, one must a) have an energy that can harmonize with the fabric (ie be a being with shinigami-like spiritual power), b) have the potential to command a zanpakuto—even if it’s not well understood by the user, and c) harmonize with the fabric enough to let it become one with you to allow for others to heal you, see your status, protect you, and it allows for your identity to blend with others even when you are displaying in the state of the garment how you are as an individual. 

Uniforms are powerful statements.  It identifies one as part of a group to an outsider, as well as fosters a group identity in an individual when worn.  It is a statement of teamwork.  And of course as a leader of the Divine Blades, she understands a plain uniform that must blend in, but allow for exceptional work  It is not lost on Shutara that there are much flashier inventions in Soul Society.  However, as simple as a black garment may seem, it is equally complex as the creations of those she works beside.  The work of Tenjiro’s healing on a person can be seen easily on the body—but through cloth, you can see what’s not there overtly, and its so simple that even someone who cannot sense reiatsu could find someone injured, see the gravity, and get them help.  Oetsu’s work is honored in tying the ability of the fighter and their weapon into one readable unit.  It’s simple as breathing to her to think about who is beside her and what they need.  Just the same as the fact that she lends her name to the Shutara scale used in alerts, Shutaras abilities exist to keep many under her protection or her thrall, and she doesn’t much care that her abilities are defensive in nature; she cares about the sheer number she can save.  She is the humility of Toyouke, goddess of cloth and necessity, dressed up in the resplendence of Amaterasu, goddess of silk-making.

She looks at Ryuken and her mind is filled with static. She realizes that she has no idea how she appears right now...and her partner isn't dumb.

So--she'll pretend to be clueless instead.

But, I’m thoroughly exhausted and depressed because I’m trying to heal and my workplace doesn’t give a fuck.  My Workers Comp is trying to say that my faxed paperwork from my surgeon doesn’t exist--so they stopped paying me.   (Spoiler: I have copies of the faxed papers with the dates they were sent, multiple times.)  And now the surgeon they sent me to for a second opinion...I got his ‘report’ in the mail which read like it was written by a Disney Villain.  I was even sabotaged by my case manager, as she gave me to the wrong address to find the doctor at--so he was also more than happy to report that I was 40 minutes late and he ‘made time to see me’.  I just visited my care team again today and got even more copies of documents, because this is getting ridiculous.  

That demand makes him pause. He puts actual effort into coming up with the answer. As if he were a student again. Like he could fall through time and space back to something familiar and comforting. But that brief bubble of comfort pops when the sarcasm hits. 

Ichigo grinds his teeth. He could go back to ignoring them, ignoring her, but… that was worse. Lonely in a way he couldn’t intentionally tolerate.

He is feeling sorry for himself, but he doesn’t want it pointed out. 

He scowls. “As long as they have a current, what does it matter what emotion it comes from? And if you don’t like my work, feel free to start looking for a replacement. I didn’t pick myself for this job.”

He narrows his eyes and looks her over. “I’ll take that to mean you don’t think you could do any better.” That’s definitely not what she meant. And he turns his head, gathering himself. He can’t be a kid. No matter how satisfying it is at any given moment to be an absolute shit of a person. He tries for something more even and quiet. “What should I be transmuting then? You can tell me what to feel, you can tell me to perk up because it could all be worse, but…” Even if he tried, he’s never had much success controlling his emotions.

And to prove it, his stomach twists at her question, asked so plainly and without emphasis. Like she wasn’t plucking at one of the most fundamental moments of his life with those delicate marionette arms. Hell, he doesn’t even talk about this. There’s no way he can explain what it meant to him.

For a long moment, he can’t actually speak, but he clears his throat, swallowing until he trusts his voice not to crack. “We saved my family.” He and Rukia. He’d had to sacrifice a part of his soul. Let it be altered forever. Or… maybe he’d just gotten a piece of his soul that’d been missing. Doesn’t matter. He’d barely had to think about it. He chews his tongue and then swallows again, feeling an unwelcome burn begin in the back of his throat. “Is this where you tell me life can’t exist without sacrifice?”

Except that’s not what she’s getting at. Not fucking at all. And he’s so nonplussed at being that far off the mark, he can only blink up at her owlishly. “Huh?” He stares then frowns. “Uh, I guess I was glad not to be naked. It would’ve been hard to fight if i was worried about getting my dick bitten off.” And… yeah. That’s about all the consideration he’d ever given it. It was weird, but not the strangest thing that had happened that night. “I–” He squints, but with less heat this time. “Thank… you…?”

Even for them, this is an odd conversation. He knows about her fabrics. She did dress him for war. And he gets that there’s far more to it than that, but, “Try to pretend that I’m human. If you’re getting at something, you should might just say it plainly before I remember that you could make me anything to wear, and I get this ugly getup.”

She gives a bark of laughter.  “Of course you didn’t.  But replacements are in short order, and it’s not that I don’t like it…but you have a very long time to ponder your current role in the universe.”

He may feel that the emotions he has now are good for his current role, but she knows better.

“I’m sure I could do it just as well or better, but I’m a poor candidate for the morality of a soul king. I have too much drive and desire and ambition.   I could work in a pinch, but if it was permanent for me…I’d probably lead to the destruction of the universe that I want to protect.”

He asks a question but it’s not something she’s fully sure how to answer.  “Well…you can still run it on heart.”  This balancing is something that’s deep in her core.  

“I may not be just like you, but I can feel around me, the ether of souls, threads everywhere, connecting. I created one of the first soul traffic monitors based on this principle.  If there is no balance, there is suffering, and if there is suffering, it poisons more than the person who suffers.”

Shutara lives as lightly as she can—she knows that the best gift she can give is a way to guide one’s thoughts when so many depend on them.  

She smiles at his words. “Yes—nobody likes to lose their dick to a hollow.  I’m glad you found my own personal work to be user friendly and natural, like a second skin.”

@twoswordsonecaptain

Sorry this is late given that I've dealt with the nerve pain from hell. But I'm getting there.

She reaches for the box she has. She loves the holiday, yes, the drama, the theatrics, the animal magentism hid under soft words that even children can say innocently. Be my Valentine.

But, the food is something she cringes at. Sweets. Expensive and well marbled meats. Wine. Indulgences. But, at least he's here, so she can hide it just for a little while.

Reaching for something rich, a truffle filled with rich chocolate spiked with booze, she puts it in her hand and raises it to his lips.

All right, quick update for everyone here.

So the situation I described in this post..is worse than we originally thought.

After weeks of continuous pain that was uncontrollable, and what is now noticeable weakness in my left arm...I was referred to a neurosurgeon and was given an emergency MRI.

Turns out I have 2 badly herniated disks in my neck that have impinged 2 of my spinal nerves, and hence the weakness and excruciating nerve pain.

I’m undergoing spinal fusion surgery somewhere around the 14-16th of March to fuse the two levels of my spine that are too badly herniated to save.  

Shutara sits at her post, world weary.  She’s never found the one who’s been meant to be tied to her, but she comes anyway, every year, at the solstice, to stay until the first of the year.  The pilgrims come with those with hopeless causes.  In her light, they liven for families who wish to send them off with a final set of good memories, one last stretch of stasis as a living thing before they leave.  

She’s felt the tie many times in her life, like one who blinked in and out of existence.  It almost felt like he or she was a figment of her imagination.  As much as she’d have loved to grant the wishes of so many, Shutara wants her wishes granted as well.

It’s chilly that night, and its not lost on her how she bears the crown of the sun.  

A family comes in, tired and haggard, young boy in arms, weak, tired.  She greets them at the door to the shrine.  She’s seen many today, all ages, genders, races, but this one strikes her as peculiar.  Reaching out, she takes him into her own arms, and suddenly she understands.  It’s like a thunderclap.  Painted eyes open wide as soft green ones do as well, but in comfort, rather than shock.

He’s breathtaking.  So much wisdom in the young and earnest face. She looks at the family that brought him here, knowing what they likely assumed they’d be told.  

“What is your name, young one?” she asks as she sets him down.  

He’s strong, steady on his feet, much stronger than she can make most people.  He is equally as vital as her.  He clings to life, preserving, supporting.  

She understands everything now.

“How long have you waited. No…how many lives?”  Shutara knows he’s of the age that he’s still lucid of these things.  It will be lost soon though.  Everyone grows.  “Can you remember?” she asks.

Cervical radiculopathy is NO JOKE.  

I’ve been to the urgent care 2x and the ER once in 5 days for intractable pain.