@obakeyashi said: One could have argued her timing was impractical, after all this was far from an emergency. Could it have waited? ... Probably. Was she going to wait? With a wound on her heart this fresh, absolutely not. While it could have been seen as rude to interrupt his day as a Captain, he was also her husband. It was nearing noon, and she was certain there wouldn't have been anything of pressing importance going on.

At least, that's what her still tender feelings told her as she made her way to his office. There was no knock as she rushed in in a flurry of fabric, finding her the subject of his gaze as well as the awkward stare of his lieutenant. Seconds of silence passed, and while Renji was not spared a glance, her words were pointed in his direction, "Please leave." Without missing a beat, he did just that, leaving the couple to their privacy.

She wouldn't make him wait long as to why she had made such an uncharacteristic entrance, drawing in a sharp breath before making what sounded far more like a demand than a request, "I want another baby."

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙸𝚇𝚃𝙷 𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝙰𝙽 𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙳, with nigh impeccable efficiency. As such, its Captain remained where he always did within the hour after noon -- cloistered in his office, working as his lunch grew cool on the desk beside him. The monotony of protocol had yet to weigh him down some century after assuming his post. He worked smoothly, despite his Lieutenant's restless fidgeting not so far away. The stack of completed paperwork soon towered over what he had yet to complete, allowing him time to take that first bite. But no sooner did he set his brush aside, did he sense her spiritual pressure.

He'd grown so attuned to the gentle brush of her reiatsu that it was always there, in the back of his mind; it became a fixture of his days, a warmth not unlike the sun that he could almost -- almost -- become so accustomed to that it ceased to draw his conscious attention. It made those times it changed -- grew agitated, angry, withdrawn -- all the more noticeable. He looked up, a slight frown on his lips when the door slid open in a whirlwind.

A beat passed in silence. Byakuya gave an imperceptible nod to his Lieutenant that dismissed him just as surely as Eri's request. When they were alone he stood, intent on going to her before her word's rooted him in place.

"..."

He exhaled his shock, features settling once again into cool composure. In a few slow, measured steps he stood before her. Byakuya took her hands, drawing them to his lips where he placed a gentle kiss on the smooth ridges of her knuckles.

"...You know I would be honored to expand our family," he said softly. Her, Sojun, Rukia -- they were his pride. His joy. Those sentiments could only grow brighter with the addition of another child. And yet, looking into her eyes, he hesitated. Reflected back to him wasn't the happiness he had seen when they first learned of Sojun. If he didn't know any better, he thought she looked hurt."But first I would hear your reasons." Releasing one of her hands only to bring his to her chin, Byakuya gently urged her head upwards.

random asks ( even though i asked for it ) | ALWAYS ACCEPTING

ooo, loaded question here. the answer is both yes and no.

aizen, when he first got into the academy ( on his first try for that matter ) was viewed with some disdain. it's very rare, i imagine, for a shinigami to come from an eightieth; the only other one that aizen knows about is kenpachi of zaraki, though they came from different locales in regards to an eightieth district. because he was very obviously from the rukongai and quite feral, he didn't really have a lot of people trying to make friends with him. he had a rather thick accent at the time, a tendency to shorten words, use slang, things of that nature and the result was that his fellow classmates quite often looked down their noses at him. i've always been of the mind that, given the classism in the rukongai and from what we see in the series itself - particularly with renji and rukia - it wouldn't be unheard of for other people from the rukongai to view those from "lesser" districts with an air of "i'm better than you because i didn't come from the shit hole you did." and when aizen began to polish his speech up and expand on his vocabulary, it was seen at that point in time as him trying to imitate his "betters" since there were several minor nobles in his class with him at that point in time. these days, aizen's accent only comes out when he's drunk and that means that gin's the only one who's heard it because he's the only person that aizen gets drunk enough with to the point where said accent begins to pop out. but back then? it was something that was touched on and derided to some degree, that working on bettering himself. aizen was seen as absolutely strange while in the academy, being bookish, paying attention even in the boring classes, being smart and often displaying signs of introversion. but he began to open up after his first year or so and that was when people began to discover they were interested in befriending him. aizen had plenty of love confessions while in the academy, when he started his third ( and final ) year of classes so he was making friends, at least marginally, while in his third year. the problem was was that aizen found the people around him dreadfully transparent. he had no interest in being fought over by people who had a crush on him. he found the people tedious. by this point, too, aizen was acutely aware that he was far stronger than all of his peers at that point in time ( honestly, he was probably very near to lieutenant strength alone during the Academy and he was only a child then. ) and that was also a source of isolation for him. he also did murder two teachers while at the academy, though. he had reason for it. one of them was abusing his female students in that very particular way which was used to exploit them. the other was worse. he doesn't feel sorry for it.

          One after another Grimmjow takes them down, with ceros, with hands and fingers like claws. The red of their blood is the only color against the stark white sand of bone. And here he had thought this would be fun, proven wrong with each easy kill. It felt more like a cleanup. His annoyance grows because it's too easy, because it's a waste of time... Because his effort could be better spent elsewhere.

          He charges another cero, at the back of a man who is staggering towards another figure in the distance,  a figure of which shall not offer the reprieve the man expects them to. She stands boldly in place without fear,  even in the line of his cero.  Entertaining,  to say the least. The energy dissipates, sizzles out within his palm and instead he closes the distance with a swift and decisive sonído. There's no time for either of the two to move, though he knows she wouldn't have regardless of him releasing it.

          His hand raises, fingers pressed together and there's little resistance of either skin or bone as he tears through the mans back with perfected precision. Fingers spread, grasping the mans heart as the force of his action explodes through the front of his chest. Blood rains vibrant red, drenching the woman as the Arrancar's hand stops short of reaching her too. The muscle in his hand still beats, thrums in his palm only once before he squeezes and it too bursts in a second shower of blood and gore.

The callouses that had formed from the grip of her blade had long faded, left now only with fresh nicks from an amateur wielding a kitchen knife. A moment of bravery had given her the idea to try and make something herself to better communicate to her brother who was still bedridden. But it had become a sort of goose chase fetching the ingredients and finding the right kind of meal to prepare. Rukia had even overestimated the amounts, resulting in a full pot she now carried that was deemed too complicated or spicy to be delivered. It took the full use of both of her arms to hoist around the red pot between her arms; whether that was due to her prolonged stay within the walls of sekkiseki, her poor nutrition these past weeks, or the continued lack of her spiritual powers could be anyone’s guess. The added weight on her arms was enough to add momentum to her steps, but she was just able to catch herself before bumping into the woman in the hall of the fourth.

“Ah! Yamamoto--” She pauses, to the outer eye it might look like she bit her tongue on accident, but it was only her recalling the likely title, but still ends up correcting herself with a questioning tone unintentionally. “--fukutaichou?” Rukia hadn’t pictured that this would be the area that the two would cross paths. “Were you visiting my brother here?” She asks without thinking, mostly out of curiosity. In the back of her mind it seemed to tip a domino on her anxiety that she thought she had tucked away; the fact that she wasn’t the only one taking her brother’s time at the hospital. A small reminder of how much of him she still didn’t quite understand. Of course he would be visited by co-workers, she knew that would do him good, probably more comfortable than the hesitant silence that was too often between the Kuchiki siblings; she was probably the person that needed to see him the least.

With doubt stewing in her mind her head seemed to echo that she was a fool with foolish ideas, she wouldn’t quite tell she was holding her breath. It's only then that the stewing doubt brings itself to reality, but in a unexpected form of a loud stomach growl. Instantly a hue of red is on her cheeks as she both tries to turn away but also tries to retain some of her dignity by still facing the other, which results in her hiding her head in her shoulder as she tries to calm herself enough to reduce the beet color on her face before asking a question.“You wouldn’t uh, happen to dislike curry, would you?“

             ❝ OH GOOD, you're finally here!!!  Ne, taicho ... would you mind just----- ❞  Rangiku proceeds to cut off her own train of thought, only to hand deliver her baby to him.  Keiko greets Tōshirō with a cute little giggle ---- and perhaps a burp.

          The lieutenant had told Izuru and Renji as much when they’d come to collect him.  He was fine with being alone.  But neither man had taken that as an acceptable answer,  even though Shuuhei was certain Izuru held his own reservations about joining the festivities himself,  and he found himself dragged along  ( and abandoned )  regardless of what he wanted.  

          He sighs at the thought,  fingers wrapped around the clay bottle neck,  bringing it to his lips for a healthy drink until it ran dry upon his lips.  Thankfully there were many bottles scattered about the table,  some half finished,  some empty   -   some still entirely full.  Shuuhei reaches,  taking one such into his hand in exchange,  and takes another mouthful down.  It wasn’t quite enough to silence his tumultuous thoughts,  nor the raging fire that burned in his chest whenever those thoughts drifted to the flash of crimson...  to the feel of hot blood sprayed across his skin...  so vivid sometimes he felt as if he was trapped in that moment permanently.

" . . . "

The weight of her body is insignificant, a feather or something lighter, but her presence holds a heaviness that captivates him entirely. His focus is upon her and only her as she sits herself comfortably, livening the beast to rousing as she does so. Grimmjow raises a brow, hands drawn to hold the plushness of her thighs as she stares down at him from his lounging.

What a provocative question she asks him too, though the fingers trailing his waist make it difficult to focus entirely on such a thing.

"How often I fantasized about ya?" His own hands knead where they hold, a short hum rumbling in his throat as he considers her demand. Who was he not to comply with it? Especially when she asked him so sweetly. Grimmjow's eyes fall shut and he envisions all of his memories that had been about her, whether he had known them to be at the time or not.

Or perhaps it was that now that he had her, he couldn't imagine a time without.

She was there, she had always been there. He simply hadn't a name yet. Her name yet. The name that had etched itself into his tongue upon first hearing it in a way that was unforgettable - a carving into his flesh that made him hungry.

"I've had hundreds of years to fantasize about ya." Hundreds of conscious years, and who knew how many more were lost to time and lack of memory? Grimmjow's eyes crack open to take in the woman above him, the slackness of his mouth sharpening into a grin. The tenderness of his grasp harshens, the natural excitement within him building beneath her intense gaze.

"You kept me waitin' a long, long time." A darkened edge saturates his voice, a thing that only she would find so playful. Grimmjow shifts, a purposeful jostle in a gesture meant to encourage her towards him and the canines glinting in his grin. A hand slides along the warmth of her thigh, coming to rest at the small of her back: her teasing has made him ravenous in all manner of depravity.

"So how are ya gonna make it up to me?" Carnal subdued for something all the more bloodthirsty, blue eyes shine with the thrill of possibility. His woman had never once disappointed him, knowing him as intrinsically as she did. Enchanting creature that she was, he knows she won't disappoint his most foundational desires.