diroyrinker

ichigokurofuckingsaki started following you
thedarkrescuer started following you
di-roy-rinker started following you

“What a full house this has become!” The male boomed, arms outstretched and the usual goofy grin on his face. “Yuzu! Come on let’s get moving, chop chop! Cook for the guests–” He began to say. “–No! Are you perhaps clinic patients? Ichigo! Quit standin’ around and help them to a bed!”

Lealtad ||

Despite the fit of hacking coughs and the sharp surge of pain that spread throughout his entire form, he stubbornly dragged himself on towards the direction of the figures vanishing in the distance. A shaking hand was outstretched before him, nothing more a feeble attempt to beckon them back, to prove that he was still very much capable of fighting them when it was clearly the opposite. He tried calling out for them–whoever they were–yelling obscenities even after they had left, only for the acrid taste of his own blood to prevent him from continuing. It was then that he at last gave into his own fatigue, collapsing over the sticky pool of crimson that had been collecting beneath him.

Quincy was what they had called themselves. Quincy. He’d only heard of them from stories or accounts from others who knew much more than he. Quinces were said to have all been eliminated many, many years ago. So, how…how was this possible? Was this some kind of trick? A nightmare, perhaps?

No. It couldn’t possibly be. The stinging sensation from the large wound that marred his torso along with the crushing shame from the defeat were much too real to be dismissed as a simple, ordinary process of the slumbering mind. It all weighed down on him much like a great pile of boulders would, keeping him where he lay.

He closed his eyes shut, the realization of what was to come dawning upon him. He had failed. Again. The first having been at the hands of that red-headed shinigami and now it was this. What kind of loyal servant to the former Sexta was he? Had he not learned over the course of those past few months? Had he not improved for the better? All of those efforts, all of that time spent to prepare himself for an occasion similar to this, they all meant nothing now. They meant nothing if he was not able to make something out of it.

And for the first time in so long, he felt weak. Useless. Pathetic. He was nothing more than a disgrace to not only himself, but most importantly to his King.

“Damn…” A soft hiss escaped his lips as he opened his eyes to narrow slits, adjusting his vision once he caught sight of a figure rapidly heading in his direction. His perception, however, remained foggy, so he was unable to determine whom the stranger was only until they were but merely inches away from his injured body. There was no trace of surprise in the blond’s expression upon realizing who stood before him; he had expected the other to show up at some point after all. Instead, his visage held an apologetic look to it as the Fracción practically forced himself to stand, getting on one knee has he pressed a shaky arm against the blood-soaked fabric of his uniform.

“Forgive me, Grimmjow-sama.”