ken

Bleach mini Story soon, heavily based on CFYOW. Even though it’s gonna be like half of my own and @seongjinwoo.bsky.social ‘s muses, maybe a couple friends of ours too.

/ This nigga ken is just
casually freaky 😭

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
𝐻𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒄𝒆 ᯽
𝖫𝖨𝖪𝖤 𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖲𝖤𝖫𝖲: 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗰𝗮𝗻——
𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 ? • • •
大 紅 蓮 氷 輪 丸
#BLEACHRP, #MVRP.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

A faint smile traces his
lips, calm and cutting.

〝⠀Personal space, like power … is not granted———𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑑.

… Wardrobes are but veils; it is the eyes beneath them that command reverence—or fear. ⠀〞

Or rather, to be feared.

┌─┄
⠀⠀
浦⠀ ⠀Madness is what they call it—
⠀⠀原⠀ ⠀when they can't 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚 your logic.
⠀⠀喜⠀ ⠀Let them scoff.
⠀⠀助⠀ I prefer my brilliance a little
𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 。#BLEACHRP
┄─┘

/ I damn near shed a tear

‍ ‍

“ You’re going to follow me everywhere aren’t you … blindly, even if it’s off this cliff. One day I won’t come back from the fall. I don’t know what scares me more — the thought of dying… or the thought of looking up and seeing you midair beside me. ”

‍ ‍

/ The LAST mf to talk 💔

/ Okay back to writing

⠀⠀⠀#𝖲𝖤𝖣𝖴𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤𝖲𝖴𝖭𝖣𝖠𝖸 ———
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A 𝓋𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃 — ɪɴᴛᴇʀʟᴜᴅᴇ.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝖪̵𝖨̵𝖭̵𝖦̵ ،̲ 𝖰̵𝖴̵𝖤̵𝖤̵𝖭̵ 𝑏𝑦𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠.
@reinahueco.bsky.social

He is the stillness before the soul cracks. He is the smile that waits at the end of reason. And Muken, for all its depthless might, is merely a pedestal for a god yet to move.

The whisper in a monk’s ear just before enlightenment dies. The smirk carved into the face of eternity, daring even nothingness to blink. And in this void, beneath this silence, he has become something more terrifying than a villain, more eternal than a soul. ——

Here, reality curls inward, unable to maintain its posture before a being who once reached for godhood not with reverence, but with disdain. They thought Muken would contain him. But Aizen is not contained. Aizen waits. He is the last breath before sleep’s descent into nightmare. ——

Around him, the darkness shifts. Not because it breathes—but because it listens. It learns. It huddles close, as if the shadows themselves crave proximity to his presence, yearning for a taste of his arrogance, his impossible will. ——

No key that locks away divinity once it has tasted treason. The capelet over his shoulders drapes like the wings of a fallen seraph, tattered, grimed, yet regal—an angel soaked in blasphemy. Beneath it, his body remains unnaturally still, as if even motion has learned to fear him. ——

His mouth, half-covered, mutters soundless truths behind sutures of silence, and when the words slip free, they leave a residue—an invisible rust that eats through stone and spirit alike. There is no prison so complete that it can silence a mind like his. ——

The left glows faintly, sinister in the hush, while the right remains hidden beneath the stitched bandages of the damned—sealed not for his sake, but for theirs. He wears chains, yes—crimson stakes hammered through his wrists and chest like the crucifixion of a messiah long unrecognized. ——

A monolith of defiance against the void itself. His eyes—when they open—are not merely vessels of sight, but ancient wells of contempt, blacker than ink and colder than unburied steel. Beneath half-lidded lashes, they gleam with a lucidity that should not belong to something so unmoving. ——

A silence so thick it bleeds into the bones, so ancient it predates language. And he sits within it. Chained to a throne of iron and implication, Sōsuke Aizen does not sleep. He does not blink. There is no need for such indulgences when your existence is a monolith. ——

There is no time in Muken. No hour, no day, no memory of morning. Only the unceasing breath of nothingness, pressing in on all sides like the ribs of a god’s rotting carcass. The silence here is not peace—it is a suffocation. ——