#ok its..........................another espada

The weapon was tired.

It wasn’t an issue—it almost scoffed at the notion—, it wouldn’t be, but it was, unfortunately, the truth. She had pissed off Ms. Ann and gotten herself in a stress position for hours, last night, so she hadn’t had a chance to actually sleep. But mostly, she was fine.

It took a few minutes of breathing exercises to get itself together in the morning. But she was fine.

And its handler had gone out today. It was too good of an opportunity to ignore.

Ciça didn’t seem to notice their fatigue, to their slight relief. Which was a bit silly. She seemed frighteningly good at reading them, sometimes, and the thought that it was so easy to gauge their thoughts scared them. But not now. She mentally patted herself in the back for it.

Espa was washing dishes, that day. Ciça had taught them. It wasn’t actually that hard to do it, and it made her feel useful. A way of paying her back. The motions were simple, repetitive. Just like training—just as soothing—but way less straining. The sound of tap water was also surprisingly decent at cleaning its mind.

Ciça was going to cook today. And—an alien feeling had started to arise inside—she had asked if she wanted to help. Espa had little to no prior experience, which was a dangerous liability. Especially with something as delicate and complex as cooking. It should probably have been more wary about it. Danger alarms should have rang inside its head. The fact that they didn’t should have lit up enough red lights on its own.

Somehow, it did not.

“Yes,” it had said. Because, really, what else there was to say? Espa could remember few requests that they had felt so glad to fulfill. Now, while the woman got the necessary ingredients over the counter, Espada had taken upon itself to clean the sink before they started without being asked. She brushed a pan with the sponge, internally smiling at the foam it created. It might be their favorite part of the process. Ciça was assembling a bottle with yellow liquid on the balcony—oil, she recognized by the smell—a seemingly heavy paper bag with pictures of golden wheat printed on the front, and something that smelled like—it held its body from tensing up—alchohol.

They hadn’t ever seen Ciça drink. They carefully concealed any apprehension over the possibility and rinsed the pan.

“Oh, thank you, Espa.” Ciça seemed actually genuinely happy that they had washed the dishes for her. It allowed itself to feel proud. “You did a good job,” she nodded, getting behind Espa and evaluating her work. It didn’t flinch at the motion. “Are you ready to start?”

It shoved down whatever nervousness it had. It gave her a nod.

--

Ciça set down the mix of flour and salt on the balcony, pouring a little bit of the oil and brandy in a hole in the middle. The pastries were going to turn out amazing. She might be a little giddy with excitement. Ciça looked up at her. Espa had just cleaned the kitchen—and done a good job, for someone who, quite frankly, had sucked at it a short while ago—and was looking at her, waiting for instructions.

She could feel a smile forming on her face.

“Cm’here,” she gestured, hands already greasy. Ciça carefully mixed the liquid with the flour in small, certain motions. The dough was supposed to be firm. She hadn’t done pastel in a while, though, but she remembered the recipe by heart. Espa silently walked to her side, watching her hands work. They were attentive. “Do you prefer chicken fillings or... uh, cheese? Ham?” She asked. “Can you pick them in the fridge for me? Pick whatever flavors you like, you’re deciding them today.”

The kid perked up, hesitating for a second before giving her a nod. Ciça heard her go up to the fridge, staying a good while perked up in front of it. Undecided. Its low buzzing was a pleasant background noise. She hummed to herself, working the pastry. She had never cooked with Espa before. But this one was easy; she’d just help her fill the dough with whatever she liked, and help her close them to fry. Not actually dipping them in oil; Ciça wouldn’t put her in danger like that. After a while, Espa came back to her side, settling the tupperware on the counter. Grilled chicken, cheese and... ham. Ciça bit her lips, trying to hold back a laugh. Precisely the ones she had mentioned. Yeah, maybe Espa was a bit predictable.

Sometimes, it was almost like... she was afraid to make choices.

A little sadness threatened to sprout inside her. It was things like this that made her wonder how she had turned out like that.

It wasn’t fair.

Ciça spread the dough on another surface, the flour she had poured over it splattering over her. The woman blinked, and the surprise got a laugh out of her. She caught, in awe, Espa’s own lips curling up a little. The kid offered to help clean her up, but Ciça didn’t mind it. It was part of the process. Espa helped her model the mass into thin squares, and dutifully filled them with even amounts of filling as the woman provided her with more dough. She seemed to be having fun—or the most she ever seemed to have—deciding when to add a bit of each. Her concentration was endearing. Ciça finished her task, approaching her and stuffing two pastels of nothing but cheese. Espa watched, amused. It made her giggle.

Two little forks to close the pastries with dents, and they were carefully put on a square cake tray.

“They look amazing,” Ciça admired them. Espa seemed to beam at the praise. Ciça grinned. She always did so. Predictable, indeed. “I’ll put the oil in the pan now, okay? I need you to stay away from it. It’ll be hot.”

“Okay.” Her voice was an octave lower when she answered. Ciça turned to look at her, frowning at how she seemed to have frozen up at her words. But she didn’t look upset or hurt at all. 

Maybe she was just imagining things.

As it turned out, Ciça’s recent lack of pastry practice doomed her. She filled the pan over the sink, and then, it was too heavy to be comfortably lifted to the stove. She groaned after two unsuccessful attempts. How clever.

“Can I help?” Espa. Ciça hadn’t wanted her to—but the oil wasn’t even heated yet. She sighed, nodding, and gave another attempt, this time to carry the pan halfway towards her. Espa looked alarmed. She lunged towards Ciça, grabbing the pan from her hands. The woman blinked, hands suddenly empty. The kid tensed up. To her surprise, she didn’t seem to be straining to hold it at all.

“Sorry,” she apologized. Ciça had long given up on figuring out what she always apologized for. She just gave her a mindless you’re good, as she always did, stretching her arms in relief, free from the weight.

It accidentally hit the pan. With a sharp clank that echoed through her entire body like a gong, it fell. Staining on Espa’s chest, the yellow leaked over the whole floor.

Neither of them moved for a hot moment.

“Oh—shit, shit, I’m sorry,” Ciça rushed to say as soon as she snapped from the shock. The tiles were entirely covered by the generous amount of oil she’d used, and she winced at the thought of having to clean this up. For now, she just bent down to pick up the pan. Espa still didn’t move a muscle. She looked up at her in concern. Fuck, it might have fallen over her feet or something. “Are you okay? Uh—Espa?”

The kid still didn’t move.

--

It had dropped from their hands. It was an accident. They hadn’t meant to. Shit, they hadn’t meant to. Ciça was apologizing and asking them if they were okay, but the meaning of the words evaded them. She was acting as if it’d been on her. Espa held itself from tensing up, forcing its breathing to even.

Their shirt was wet. They looked down at it, slowly tracing their hands on the fabric. They became sticky.

Oh.

It hit them with a wave of panic. No. No, no, no, no no no—

They’d ruined it.

They’d fucking ruined it—and ruined the things they’d been cooking. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Espa?” Ciça’s voice was gentle. It sounded as if filtered by water. “Did it hurt you? It’s okay. We can clean it up and refill the pan,” she was saying. Espa’s chest felt heavy. It tried to keep its lungs taking in air.

“Okay,” was all they said. It realized it was afraid to move. Shit. She needed to fix it. Espa looked to the floor, but Ciça had already picked up the pan. It crouched down without thinking. The floor was soaked and greasy. Like yellow blood had been splattered over it. The sight made their mind go blank.

It didn’t quite feel like it to the touch.

“...How do I clean it?” They looked up. Espa did not know how. Having to ask for guidance in this situation felt sickening. They had fucked up. They should know how to fix it. It held back the trembling that threatened to rise, dropping its gaze from Ciça’s. It was scared of what it’d find in there.

Ciça let out an audible oh.

“No, no, it’s okay, you’re okay, Espa.” She reached out a hand to it. They mindlessly took it, before being able to think it through. The weapon got up from its knees, barely putting its weight on her hand. “It’s okay. I’ll clean it, okay?” Fuck. It felt terrible. Espa should do it. Espa should make it up to her. She needed to— “Oh, Lord,” her voice. It sounded guilty. “Your shirt.”

Their blood ran cold.

Espa looked back down at it, and a cold blanket of terror wrapped up around her. It knocked the wind out of its lungs.

The stain was enormous. Noticeable, even against the dark blue.

Ms. Ann was going fucking kill her.

Espa could feel its throat locking up, and they covered their mouth with a hand before realizing how inappropriate it was. “I’m sorry,” it choked out. She shouldn’t react like that. She should stay composed and keep herself together. Functional.

The oil seeping through the fabric against its skin made it want to retch. Oh, fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck—Espa had ruined it. When they went back home, Ann wouldn’t be happy. She’d know it had gone out in her absence. The memory of the punishment from the last time she found it out made its mouth go dry.

She’d find out about Ciça.

It couldn’t breathe.

No. No, no, they—

“Sweetie?” She sounded worried. Espa realized they’d been ignoring her. Stupid fucking useless weapon. “I can borrow you another shirt, okay? You—” she interrupted herself, seeming shocked. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m sorry.” It tensed up, trying to prevent it. Luckily, it was faint. It hadn’t gotten out of control. For now. But she was finding it hard to move. Espa’s chest waved.

Ms. Ann would find out.

She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. Their breathing was getting so ragged it’d started to be noticeable.

It couldn’t fix it.

It couldn’t fix it.

Ciça said something else—the humming on her ears drowned it. They felt sick over the fact. And now they weren’t even listening. Useless—and took her hand. Espa let itself be led wherever she was taking it. They wouldn’t resist. Was she mad, maybe? She might throw them out for the trouble.

They faced a bathroom instead.

“Here,” Ciça said, softly. A shirt was put on their hands. It was white and overly large. Colorful paint slobs over it. They instinctively held it out, away from the mess that was their own chest. “Change to this shirt, okay? Or do you want another one, mayb—no, no, nevermind, you’re good, it’s fine. I’ll clean the kitchen. It’s fine,” she reassured. Espa could feel their body failing to keep itself together. No. No, it was not fine. She had fucked up. She had fucked up badly.

It had fucking ruined it.

The door in the bathroom closed, and Espa allowed itself to cover its mouth and let its shoulders waver, a rapidly growing headache throbbing in tandem with its heart. Fuck. No, shit, she had to fix this. Its handler couldn’t know. She realized that coming home with a new, unexplained shirt would be somehow even worse. She’d find out. Its Miss would fucking kill them both.

She couldn’t breathe.

Espa forced the air inside, feeling dizzy as it did so. They felt too hot in a sudden—and the sticky feeling in their chest didn’t help. It yanked out the shirt, throwing it on the floor. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

--

The kitchen was slippery, but it was clean—mostly clean—by now. Not like Ciça had been happy to do it, but it wasn’t that big of an issue. Espa didn’t seem to take it well. She had said sorry. (Again.) Did she think it was her fault? Ciça felt bad. She’d tried to reassure her it was okay, it was nothing, but the kid seemed to be barely hearing her.

Her face was completely blank. Ciça had never wished for it to show something more than right now. Espa only seemed a bit dazed—and guilty—but her demeanor hadn’t actually changed much. If it wasn’t for the way her hands were shaking, honest-to-God shaking, it would have been invisible. It was scary, how buried within she hid it. Ciça would never be able to know if something was wrong. All of Espa’s previous enthusiasm seemed to have vanished like a drop of water under the sun, as if someone had poured a bucket filled with cold ice over her.

And... there was something frighteningly familiar about this. It had happened before.

She heard water flowing from the sink across the door. Espa must be cleaning herself. Ciça knocked, just to let her know she was there.

“Espa? The kitchen is already cleaned, okay? I’ve already put another pan on the stove. It’s all fixed now.” She glued her ear to the door. “Are you doing okay?”

No response.

Ciça bit her lip. Well, maybe she hadn’t heard. She forced out a breath.

“I’m not mad at you, just for the record,” she told, hoping it’d be reassuring. “When you’re changed, come out, okay? I’ll be by the kitchen.”

The only noise inside the bathroom was still of the tap running. Ciça bit back a rush of apprehension. This was starting to make her worried.

But she didn’t enter. Espa was changing. It would be wrong to invade like that.

She ended up not actually going back to the kitchen. The pastries hadn’t been dipped in the oil yet. She was just waiting for it to heat, so it was fine. Suddenly, she felt really glad the accident had happened before they’d heated the pan. It made her skin crawl to think of what would’ve happened, then.

A noise.

Ciça’s ears perked up. Was it...? Had something fallen?

“Espa?” Her voice went up a note in alarm. She was unable to keep it out of her tone, as much as she wanted to convince herself that the kid was fine. “Are you okay?” No response. Shit. “Can I enter?”

No response.

Ciça was getting progressively more alarmed. She called again, but the quiet was eery. Fuck. Had she gotten hurt? The woman bit down her fear and knocked again, apologizing under her breath as she did so, and turned the knob.

Espa was with her back turned, hands supported over the sink, (was it... had the soap container fallen to the floor?) but she flinched—hard—as soon as she heard the click of the door open. Ciça’s stomach dropped in guilt. The tap was still running when the kid turned her head to look at Ciça, eyes clouded and glassy. She was as tense as a rod.

And her back was bare. It was covered every inch by scars.

Ciça’s breath got stuck in her throat.

For a moment, it seemed like neither of them could move. Ciça had made herself swear she wouldn’t stare anymore when she saw Espa’s bruises (because she knew she had some, and knew Espa got nervous when she did) but it jumped out of the window, then. She could barely process what she was seeing. Lashes upon lashes layered over each other, drawing criss-crossed patterns of a darker brown in her skin. Cut. Striked through. Trying to imagine what had happened to get it like this knocked the wind out of her. It was as if every inch was covered by them.

She saw her freeze up.

Espa seemed to recoil under Ciça’s gaze, turning her back and leaning against the wall. She had never quite seen the kid so utterly horrified. But now her front was bare and clear as well, and the situation wasn’t much better.

Old lacerations on her skin, clean and precise, disappearing under a bra. Some were large, some were small but plentiful. There were still fresh bruises over her ribs. Were those... rope burns?

Her head rose up to meet Espa’s gaze. She found the kid had started facing the floor. She didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” was all Ciça said. Espa flinched again at her voice. Ciça recoiled at the reaction. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. There was nothing else she could say. “I shouldn’t have—sorry.”

She closed back the door as soon as she stepped back, not staying to see Espa’s reaction.

Ciça covered her mouth, dropping her fingers from the knob. She heard something else fall inside the bathroom. She didn’t enter again.

--

The weapon dropped to its knees as soon as the door closed.

It felt like it was falling.

Training rang alarm bells in her head, berating her for allowing herself to be seen like this. Don’t draw attention. Don’t show things to outsiders. Espa’s hand instinctively raised to its shoulder, covering its mark. The brand under the waist of their shorts suddenly felt just as hot as in the day it’d been burnt. It made their mind go blank.

The memory of a whip felt down their back, and they flinched.

Fuck. Fuck, she had ruined everything now. Ciça saw. She wasn’t supposed to see. Espa’s breathing failed them, and they only had the sense to stumble for the clean shirt they should’ve put on ages ago before they ran out of air. She had taken too long. Why had she taken so long? Changing clothes was a matter of seconds. It felt sick to its stomach. It couldn’t breathe.

Ciça knew.

Ciça knew, and now everything was fucking ruined. It had to go home. Now. They remembered that if Ms. Ann saw them with another shirt, they were fucked for good. Espa covered its head with its arms, pushing down a groan of frustration. The more it thought about it, the more unsalvageable the situation looked like. Its chest hurt, and its heart beat way too fast.

They couldn’t fix this.

They had to leave.

It kept being hammered in her head.

Ciça knew.

Ciça couldn’t know. She shouldn’t know. Why had it taken to stupidly fucking long changing a shirt? They’d made this worse. She knew. She saw. There’d be trouble. Trouble it’d caused. It remembered what happened to the last outsider who found out. It curled over herself, trying to breathe and biting back a rush of nausea. Nothing would come in. It was helpless.

She knew.

What could it even do? Espa felt lightheaded. It had to get itself together and breathe. Right now. It was taking too long. What would Ciça do while they didn’t come out? Call the police? The thought sent it spiraling further into panic.

Ms. Ann would kill her.

God, they were filthy. Not drawing attention was one of the hard rules. It bit its lip, drawing blood. That was basically treason. She should’ve stopped this weeks ago. No, it shouldn’t even have started it. What had it even been for? Hang around when they could have been training, practicing, all while wasting time? Espa’s ears hummed like a load of cicadas. With a tinge of horror, it felt its eyes burn. They were so fucking ungrateful. She’d broken the rules—just for a-a spoiled wish for treats and sitting around watching TV and doing nothing?—and Ciça, Ciça didn’t even know. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t know they were doing a wrong thing, and she had been so kind. Espa couldn’t stop the shaking, and struggled to bite the tears back.

Don’t cry.

Don’t whine.

And how had she thanked her? Ruining things when she tried to give them something nice—again. She was always giving it nice things. Espa didn’t ever reciprocate it. They didn’t, and they didn’t deserve it. They were so fucking entitled. Going back to her just because she was kind unconditionally, because it didn’t have to work for it to receive it. It was lazy. It was awful. It felt sick at itself.

But they’d always known that was wrong. They’d always known. They had. But she kept doing it. Espada was a bad weapon. Perhaps one of the worst that’d ever been. She should stop this. She had to leave.

She had to fix this.

It took a long while, though, to finally get itself together and be able to normally breathe. She didn’t end up getting to the point where she had to cover her mouth to muffle sounds, which she took as a good sign. Espa’s ears had ceased with the endless ringing. They could think now.

They still felt bad.

She felt out of breath, but it was just in her head. Its limbs were heavy as if made of lead. They barely felt as her own. They had gotten themself off the ground a while ago—pathetic—but were still leaning over the toilet for support, and were finally dressed. They needed to fix it. Right now.

Espa pushed back the unruly expression that had taken over its face and forced its hands to stop with the fucking shaking. They felt sick. But they looked normal now. The mirror in the bathroom ended up being useful.

Sometimes, it felt like Ciça’s house was perfect for everything they needed.

They turned off the lights, relishing in the dark silence for a moment, before getting over it and opening the door.

Ciça wasn’t there anymore.

The weapon bit back a shudder of relief.

Espa knew where to look—the house was tiny—and, soon enough, found her back in the kitchen. She faintly noticed the floor was clean and pristine. So Ciça had cleaned it.

She was too nice.

“I’m sorry,” it was the first thing they said. As it should. Ciça startled, looking in her direction. She hadn’t noticed them enter. “I was sloppy and careless and ruined the plans you had, Ciça,” they said. They’d rehearsed the list in their mind. It was too annoying when she talked too much, but she needed to show she knew what she’d done wrong. That was basic. They needed to stop slacking off just because no handler was watching. Espa never met her gaze. It stared at the floor. “I—”

A hand closed over hers. She shut up, a chill running through her spine at the sudden touch.

“It’s okay,” Ciça said. As she always did. But by the tone in her voice, it obviously wasn’t okay. It was strangled, not that low, but tight in a way that implied she was straining to keep it that way. “It isn’t ruined, okay?” Espa could hear it in her voice, how she tried to smile at them. It clenched its free fist. “Some of them are actually fried already. Accidents happen. I’m not mad at you.” Some of “them”? Oh, yes, the pastels. The weapon had almost forgotten about them. “I’m—actually, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded in the bathroom,” she sounded increasingly more upset. It’s your fault, they told themself. They had taken too long. And now Ciça was upset.

It wasn’t on her.

It was on them.

“It’s fine,” they said, not because it was fine, but because it was their fault. “I took too long in there. I’m sorry.”

Ciça didn’t say anything for a beat. She could hear the cracking of the boiling oil behind her, frying the dough they’d prepared earlier. It made them nervous. They didn’t want to think how it’d feel if its skin had to touch it. Espa did its best not to clench her jaw as she waited for her to say something. They half expected a slap. It’d be a lenient thing to do, for all the trouble she’d caused. Not like Ciça had ever, but it would be only fair.

“...Can you look at me?” She asked, at least. Espa didn’t hesitate. When it met her gaze, it struck it like a truck how close to tears she looked.

You did this.

Her black eyes were pleading. Espa didn’t know what to do with it. “It’s okay,” she repeated, shaking her head. She seemed to really want to make Espa believe it. It was unbelievable. It didn’t deserve it. “People make mistakes. You’re not gonna get in trouble for it. Not here,” she added, as if it was an afterthought.

Yeah. That much was clear.

Espa should have anticipated this reaction. It didn’t aid in making them any less tense. It repressed the instinct to bow at her feet. She needed to show she was sorry. She needed to fix everything.

Step “obtaining forgiveness" of its plan was mindblowingly quick to achieve. It left it feeling winded.

“...Espa?” It blinked. It’d left her gaze for a moment. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ciça.” Espa went back to controlling its breathing. “I’m sorry.”

She dropped her hand. Espa half felt relieved and half missed the contact. It was warm.

Spoiled.

“Y-you, do you want to talk about it?” They furrowed their brow. “The,” she hesitated. Espa’s stomach curled. It didn’t like seeing her this distressed. “—the scars.”

It felt its blood freeze.

Ciça seemed to notice it.

Again, with that frightening perceptiveness. Espa concealed its panic. Ciça averted her gaze.

“I—I know we agreed I wouldn’t make questions,” she fidgeted with the earrings on her ears, pursed her lip and ran her hand through her hair. “But it—I’m so sorry, it just—” her voice broke. “Can—I—who did this to you?” She locked her eyes back on its. “Please let me help.”

It was exactly as they feared. Against itself, it almost took a step back.

The smell of burnt food invaded her nostrils, and Ciça turned around in alarm, seeming to notice as well. The pastries.

“Oh—the... shit,” she cussed. “I’ll finish frying them.” Ciça looked back at them. Espa had stayed still. “Can-can you wait by the living room? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The last thing Espa wanted was to wait by the living room.

“Yes, Ciça,” they said, because they could obey a simple request. She nodded, looking nervous, looking heartbroken, and they almost couldn’t handle it. As soon as she turned, Espa turned on her heels into the corridor.

She clutched the white shirt closer to her body, trying to keep herself together.

It was soft to the touch.

Ciça did end up taking less than ten minutes—they counted—to meet her there. Espa hadn’t been given any further instructions, so she just sat by her usual spot on the couch. The windows and door were, as usual, open, and it found itself taking in the outdoors’ wind to soothe. Their cape was hung by the chair. It didn’t have it in it to pick it up.

The TV was turned off. Ciça gave it a glance before locking eyes with it and—seemingly bedrudgingly—sitting on the floor nearby them. It felt its eye almost twitch. Fuck. Why was she like that?

Espa wouldn’t speak first, so, obviously, it was Ciça who did. She took a deep breath, two, as she looked up at her.

“You have to tell me who is doing this to you.”

They breathed in sharp through their nose. Poor restraint.

It desperately wanted to just say no. But it wasn’t as entitled as to just give this blunt of a refusal to an order.

Now the problem was working around that.

“The scars are old,” she answered instead, tone the most respectful she could keep it while dodging a question. Ms. Ann would have zapped them for refusing to give a clear response, but it was, at least, partially true. Most of them were old. Twelve were from the past month, but Ciça didn’t need to know that.

It had the opposite of the intended reaction. Ciça seemed to only grow more horrorized.

“How young were you?” She asked, clearly nearing tears. Espa repressed a wince. It probably shouldn’t answer that one. Giving details would be a terrible move. Could she break the rules any further?

I’m not supposed to tell you, was the most honest answer the weapon could reasonably give, but it was obvious Ciça wouldn’t take that. It was frustrating. Espa didn’t like not being able to give the answers they were supposed to. It needed to drive her away from asking more. She needed to leave it. It was terribly inconvenient how outsiders just seemed to be so curious about the Dove’s information. Why could they never just leave it? Sometimes it was as if they were like that just to make things harder for them.

But looking at Ciça, it got a little hard to believe it was the case.

She sighed, and Espa flinched, realizing they hadn’t answered the question. They scrambled in their mind for something satisfactory, but Ciça was speaking again before they could.

“Sorry,” she said. Espa clenched its fist. Please, don’t. She had sort of discarded the option of abandoning Ciça’s house, selfishly hoping to find a way to allow things to stay the same. They just wished she made it easier. “I’m really, really sorry, Espa.” She sounded the part. It didn’t know what to do with it.

Ciça was amongst the only ones who apologized to it. It shouldn’t happen.

“But, it’s—you need to understand.” Her eyes were pleading. Still. “Nobody should hurt you like that. I know you probably want to protect them, because you don’t want them to get in trouble, but your safety is more important,” she said. “Please tell me what is happening. I can help. I promise I can help.”

Not wanting to get them in trouble? It almost scoffed at the notion.

Their family didn’t get in trouble.

That was why weapons like Espa existed. To ensure it.

“It’s fine,” it weakly protested, not having anything else to say. She didn’t want to say no to Ciça. She’d only get more curious, and prod more, and it made them feel bad. They didn’t like disobeying her. Their heart beat anxiously. If it came to that, she would—

Blood replaced Ciça’s face in its vision, and it took a sharp intake of breath, looking down at its lap.

She couldn’t know any more.

“It’s not.”

Espa recoiled at the tone. Ciça seemed to notice it, face growing softer.

“It’s not fine, Espa,” she repeated. “Sorry f-for raising my voice. I—I’m not mad at you, I’m just worried.” She closed her eyes. “...I just want you to be safe.”

So do I.

Espa didn’t know what to say, so it didn’t say anything. This was getting worse. Out of hand.

If it came to that, Espa would have to leave.

They didn’t want to.

But what they wanted didn’t matter.

Ciça caved at their silence.

“...Okay,” she said, and Espada didn’t know what she meant. They tensed up. “If you won’t tell me, it’s okay.”

Its mind went blank. Espa slowly raised its eyes at her.

“But—but if anything happens, and you want it to stop, or you feel like you can’t anymore, just-just tell me, okay?”

Espa didn’t answer. They were still trying to process her words. She always felt incredibly slow with Ciça, for some reason. The woman took its hands in hers. They were more prepared this time. So they didn’t flinch.

“I’m here when you need me,” she repeated. Her voice was firm, but Espa could still see she was at the verge of crying. “I will do my best to help however I can, and I will do anything to keep you safe, okay? I’ll protect you. Whenever you are ready to tell me, whenever you want to ask for my help. Just say it, and I’ll be here,” her voice broke. “Okay?”

It blinked, feeling weird.

“Yes, Ciça.” She couldn’t handle staring at her eyes anymore. She didn’t know why her breathing picked up. “I understand.”

They didn’t think over the meaning of their own words, and didn’t need to, either. This was... better than she’d feared. Ciça wouldn’t prod. The relief crashed over them stronger than they anticipated, and they felt themself start to shake again. It bit its lip, trying to hold it. But Ciça noticed it, because of course she did. She closed tighter on their hands, and it didn’t hurt—nothing done by Ciça ever did—but they repressed the urge to recoil.

“Can I hug you?”

The request made it taste blood. She had sunk her teeth too hard in her lip. But Espa didn’t have it in them to refuse it. Not after they’d denied Ciça mere moments ago—even if she didn’t seem mad. They owed it to her.

So they braced up for it.

It nodded.

Ciça didn’t waste a second. It almost took it off guard, but Espa managed to keep its panic at bay. Her arms trapped them tight against her chest, and her hold was strong and firm. So firm they wouldn’t be able to let go if they tried. Ciça was a large woman. They knew that. It didn’t quite register as it did now. They waited, one, two, three seconds, but she didn’t let go. Espa realized she probably wanted it to reciprocate it. So it bit back the bile, not allowing itself to cower away, and tentatively raised its arms to rest against her back.

Ciça held her tighter as a response. Espa bit her lip harder so as to not let it tremble.

They stayed agonizingly long like that, until Ciça was finally satisfied and stepped back. Espa breathed in and out, trying to regain composure. They wanted to curl up. They didn’t.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Ciça, thankfully, didn’t notice it. She noticeably wiped her eyes, despite seeming to want to hide it—she was way worse at it than them—and breathed out as well.

“I’ll—the pastels are done,” she said, and Espa almost didn’t hear it over the noise in their ears. It was still shaken by her arms trapping them—too terrifyingly close—and by the crisis just averted. The thought of the food seemed too far away. They stared at her, almost unbelieving that they’d even still be allowed to eat them. After they—Espa clenched her fist where she couldn’t see—ruined everything. “They should be a little cooler by now.” She clumsily got up, groaning as her joints strained. Espa, once again, remembered she had sat down on the floor while it stayed sitting by the soft sofa. The weapon pushed back the disgust at herself. “I’ll bring them. Do—do you still want them?”

She kept staring at her. What kind of question was that?

“Please,” it confirmed, voice a bit too low. They tried getting it to a decent volume. For some reason, it didn’t work. “If it’s okay.”

Ciça nodded, lips tight, and stormed out back to the kitchen.

Espa used the time they were left alone to cradle their arms in their hands.

--

A little bit under a dozen pastries—that was how much they’d made. Despite everything, they still smelled delicious. Ciça set a tray with them covered in wrapping paper to absorb the oil on the floor by the backyard, enjoying the breeze and the smell of her flowers. They relaxed her.

She seemed to like it as well.

The kid had had her knees raised up to her chest before Ciça got there—after asking Espa if it was okay for them to eat in the garden—and quickly tried to lower them when she did. But Ciça had, thankfully, been faster.

“It’s okay,” she had reassured, for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day. Espa slightly tensed up, but tentatively went back to her position. She sighed, relieved. A win.

It seemed like a comfortable pose. Ciça had... never seen her look so protective of herself before. She seemed to want to shield her body. It pained her to see, but the last thing Ciça could do was let her know it was okay.

It isn’t okay, her brain disagreed. She’s getting hit with a belt at home, and is so scared that she won’t even tell you. She held back the tears. She had prodded, pressed, but Espa’s eyes only acquired a faraway look and she looked like she’d panic before actually daring to answer. It felt more like an interrogation. She had relented, again, and she still didn’t know if it had been the right choice.

Regardless, she picked up a pastel—these were a bit smaller, only a little larger than her hand—and snapped it in half, steam coming out of its inside. She held it like that for a moment, blowing the heat that wouldn’t come off by the crust otherwise. Espa watched it, with silent awe. The cheese they’d put in it was completely melted now, sharing space with the ham. The smell was intoxicating. When she was satisfied, Ciça finished breaking the pastry in two and wrapped one of the halves in more wrapping paper, giving it to Espa.

“Here,” she allowed herself to smile. “This one’s yours. But you eat as many as you want.”

Ciça could almost see the wonder in which the kid picked it up.

She stared at it for a second, admiring the filling of the pastel. Ciça thought she’d never get tired of seeing it, how happy she seemed whenever she gave her something like this.

Without even waiting for it to cool off a bit more, Espa took a large bite out of the pastry. She didn’t recoil from the burn, only taking in a breath in surprise. She could see from her reaction that it was good. She ate half of her bit in a matter of seconds, not minding the heat. Ciça blinked out the water starting to form in her eyes and looked away, taking a small piece of hers.

It tasted awesome.

She covered her mouth. They were actually better than she remembered. What was it that made food so much better when she could share it like this?

It isn’t okay, her mind reminded, and Ciça knew that. She wondered if Espa had ever been okay. She had put away her dirty shirt to wash, and planned to iron it dry later—her panic about it was painful to see. She just hoped that it’d actually help. For now, Espa’s mind seemed to be away from it.

A little idea sprouted in the back of her mind. Before finishing her pastel, she set it back on the glass tray and got up, ignoring how her joints protested at the movement.

The kid stopped, alerted by her movement.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, getting back inside to the kitchen. “You can keep eating as many as you want.”

When she was back, Espa was still eating her first. She now slowly savoured each bite, taking smaller chunks now than when she’d started. Ciça felt herself soften. 

She clearly noticed it when Ciça sat back down, but didn’t look up. She almost thought she could see Espa trembling again.

She smiled, a bit sad.

“Hey,” she called. The kid looked up, chewing down another small piece. She set her undivided attention on her.

Ciça took a little pendant from her pocket.

“For you.”

Espa blinked.

The necklace had a single, small jade stone hanging from a thin silver chain. Despite its dainty appearance, it was a sturdy one. A bit old, if she was being honest. Ciça held each end of the jewel in a hand, spreading it for Espa to see.

“I wanted to give you a gift,” she admitted, a little embarrassed if anything. “I bought this some years ago, to go to a wedding.” It was still one of her favorites, even if she didn’t use it nearly as much these days. She gathered courage before continuing. “Would you like to have it, Espa?”

Her confused expression quickly shifted into one of alarm. She set down the remains of the pastel, shaking her head.

“No,” she refused, then quickly scrambled to correct it to a, “sorry—it’s, I couldn’t. It looks expensive.” It came out unsure.

“It’s fine if you don’t like it,” Espa opened her mouth to protest, but Ciça didn’t give her the chance to. She pursed her lips. “You can even throw it away if that’s the case. But I want you to have it.” It was an object she was fond of, truth be told. It was precious. Jade was her favorite gemstone, and this—it was special. Though she wasn’t lying. She wanted to give Espa something special.

It was silly, perhaps—she tenderly held Espa’s hands, who allowed it, still hesitant—but she deserved something nice. It might be a little arrogant to think it could be precious to her, but if it could be anything close to that, then maybe it was worth it.

“As a friend,” she smiled, landing the necklace over Espa’s palm. The kid stared at it. She didn’t move her hand, still seeming shocked by the gesture, but Ciça didn’t register anything negative, so she went on. “Do you like it?”

To her shock, she saw Espa’s eyes start to wet.

“...Thank you,” her voice was barely above a whisper, and she seemed to desperately try and hold the tears in, but it was unmistakeable now. When Ciça let go, Espa slowly moved the hand to her chest, staring at the necklace.

She held it. There was a sort of adoration in the care in which she did it that made Ciça embarrassed.

“Thank you,” she repeated. “Is it—mine?” Espa looked up at her, still in disbelief.

Ciça suddenly didn’t feel as upset at letting it go anymore.

“Yeah,” she said. “I hope you like it.”

Espa didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Ciça picked back up her pastel—almost cold, but it was still tasty—and slowly took a bite out of it. The cheese hugged her tongue. The dough was just on point.

It was not okay, she knew. But maybe—she sent a glance to Espa, who had put the present in her pocket and was hiding her face in her food—at least for now...

It could be enough.

Previous // Next

“(Name)-san, we lost another couple of hollow porotypes. Can you believe it?” he asked, rhetorically. He doesn’t really care about your opinion for that matter.

“Oh no, Aizen-sama… how should I help?” you ask, knowing well that scientific stuff wasn’t your area, but rather you were the president of the “pleasure department”.

“Well, I’m not sure if you can create a hollow from scratch… but I kinda feel like trying new stuff with you tonight…” he says, coming closer to you with that dark menacing aura that makes you wet and trembling.

You nod, awaiting for whatever “new stuff” he wants to try. In fact, by the way his hands are already all over your body, you know he is needier than ever. Tonight, things will be hot and wet…

“Stand up for me, (Name)” he commands. And you immediately comply. He turns you around, inspecting your clothing cautiously. You are wearing the uniform he chose specifically for you.

“Good… You will keep this on, until I tell you to take it off. Ok? For this I need you to obey me with no hesitation” he asks. “Yes, Aizen-sama. I will obey immediately” you answer, with difficulty, as his hand is already touching your crotch from behind.

Your uniform consists of a pleaded white skirt, a very futuristic looking top that resembles to an interesting bikini top with a turtle neck and long mittens covering your arms some centimetres over your elbows.  

“Please, come with me to the meeting room” he asks you, always so politely, trying to sound like you had a chance to say no… when that isn’t the case at all.

You follow him through the wide and sterile halls of Las Noches and soon you two reach the conference room in silence. Though your steps echo in the immensity of the place, there isn’t any more sounds.

The throne of Aizen, made of white stone, stands tall in the middle of the room. And by its feet, the round table where the Espada sit at.

He walks humming softly and sits down in his chair, while you wait for further instructions. When he is ready and comfortably sitting, indulging in his king -or God- fantasy, he pats his lap.

“Come here, (Name)…” he calls you.

You nod and quickly walk towards him. Aizen picks you up and sits you on his legs, fixing your body so that you end up sitting facing him. His hands run through your back, making your skin to react. He stops right by the small of your back and presses down for your sex to reach his. You are expected to wear nothing but a simple white panty underneath, the skirt was also for him to have easy access.

“Have you been drinking enough tea as I asked you today?” he asks you, petting your head and brushing your hair. He can be as sweet and protective, as cruel, and violent.

“Y-yes, Aizen-sama. I am a bit full, but I did” you tell, not lying. You were asked to drink the tea that the servants brought you through out the day with no questioning.

Sosuke is pleased. He takes his hand to your lower belly, a little bit bumpier than before as you are very full of liquids from the day.

“You are such a good girl to me, (Name). Look at this, you are always perfect for the things I want to try…” he perversely murmurs, kissing your forehead after. Aizen keeps rubbing your tummy sweetly, pressing down ever so slightly from time to time.

You purr a sweet <thank you> , in love with the soft caresses he is giving you. If being romantic is something he wanted to try, you are up for it… even if, you know very well, it’s just wishful thinking.

Aizen narrows his eyes, looking at you as if you were a cute little pet, already tasting the following.

His hand, slides up your thighs and into your core. Delicate fingers test the wetness of your panties; they are, as always, dampened in need.  But not enough for him to be satisfied.

“Let me check…” he whispers, moving your panty to the side and inserting two playful fingers that get instantly coated with your honeys.

You flinch and whine, as his index penetrates you and his thumb rubs your clit. He takes his time to play with you, starting slowly. Some minutes pass, and you are already humping on his lap for more, and the pressure of the many teas you were feed today start to feel uncomfortable.

He notices, even before you could say anything. Aizen knows your body perfectly fine, almost as if -and maybe perhaps- he created you. Index, and now middle too, hit the roof of your entrance, pushing the upper wall enough to make you feel like loosing control.

“Ai- Aizen-sama!!” you exclaim, trying to close your legs by pure instinct. You can’t. His legs won’t allow you to, and in fact, as he spread his, yours do too.

“Mh..? what is it, honey?” he asks, scoffing. Aizen knows, and he goes even harder…

You squirm, forcefully trying to tighten every muscle of your pelvic anatomy. You can’t lose control; you just can’t wet yourself over Aizen’s legs like a little girl… that would be worse than embarrassing; that could be the death of you.

Or that’s what you think.

“I… please. I need… I can’t hold it… I need to go to the bathroom, please” you beg, with teeth chattering and desperate tone.

“Oh… seriously? You might have drunk a lot more than what you should have, (Name)…” he mocks you, knowing he was the one to made you drink that much.

You keep squirming and trying with all your might to close your legs, failing miserably.

“Please, Aizen-sama… I need – nghh-“ you plead, moaning in pleasure and desperation as your nerves reach their peak and climax begins to hit. He laughs, as he keeps fingering you, with great dedication and so mercilessly fast. Beckoning motions inside of you, giving your sex pure stimulation and your bladder not enough space to exist. He forces you to lose control, mixing orgasmic release with urgency solving.

Drops of warm liquid mixed with sexual outburst gush and run through your legs and into his white hakama pants. He is not mad, in fact, Aizen grunts the moment he feels dampened. And he wants more, he needs more.

Your heated cheeks, your eyes closed, your fists closed over Sosuke’s shoulders. Spasming as you keep coming while relief yourself, in endless shameful pleasure.

“Good girl… I am not gonna punish you, you know that? I wanted this, it’s very hot to see you this desperate and so ashamed” he whispers in your ear, as you can feel his hardness trying to pierce his pants and your insides.

He moves you a little back, because you immediately hid your face on his chest. You wanna ask for forgiveness, but you can’t even speak. You are feeling as guilty and miserable, as absolutely pleased with was just happened.

“Look… look how wet you got me… it’s ok to piss yourself sometimes” he chuckles. A sincere laughter that makes your heart beat faster.

“Aizen-sama… I am mortified… let me please clean you up” you stutter.

Aizen ignores your words, as he is beyond pleased with your humiliation. “No, no… first I should get you as wet as I am… that skirt can be useful to hide your wet panties, but that’s not fair for me, right?” he tries to gaslight you, as if it was needed. He could definitely do whatever he wants, without even asking you about.

You accept your destiny. Anything he wishes to bless you with, it’s welcomed. More when it is about something coming from himself. You let him do as he please, moving back just enough for his now wet and almost see through pants to lower down.

His sex peaks out. It’s enough for now. It’s hard, dripping, throbbing. The vein that runs from the base to the tip, swollen in pure need as blood keeps filling it up.

“Come here…” he commands, pressing your chest against his. Your sex grazing the base, his tip covered by your pleaded skirt. “You can hump if you wish, too” he adds.

You nod, asking yourself if this is gonna become your next obsession… waiting for his warm blessing to wet your belly and clothes.

He kisses your lips and as he does so lustfully, he grunts in pure pleasure while he lets his urine flow. It is more than warm, being bestowed by his relief is like asking for a god’s favour to you. You praise this man, as you don’t praise no god. He is, to you, a supreme force of nature, with chocolate hair and sweet chocolate eyes, so powerful that even the most degrading act turns into something to be thankful for.

“It feels amazing, Aizen-sama…” you purr, as you begin to rub your labia against the endless fountain that’s his sex. A so personal and pure intimate moment, bonding in a so concupiscent form. It seems he is not stopping, feeling the drops form strings running through your hanging legs, forming puddles on each side of his throne.

“You like it, baby? We can do this every time you want, you know?” he moans, definitely weakened by how horny he is. Mind foggy, absolutely blank.

“Yes, Aizen-sama. I want it, please ~” you moan in his ear, as he now has finished and has lifted your ass to fall on top of his twitching dick.

Soon enough, and dripping wet, you begin to jump on his sex in a sweet and lustful career to make him come… 💖

Takuya's brow furrowed a little more as she closed her eyes and brought her hands up to the sides of her face, her fingers pressing lightly against her temples. "...I remember moving here from...somewhere...several months ago. And I lived by myself for a long while..."

"Where did you live before you came here?"

"...I don't know." Takuya replied, the sudden sadness in her voice reflecting on her face as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I can't seem to remember anything about my life before coming here to Karakura. I-I'm not sure why...but I can't..."

For a long moment, the two girls just stood there in the silence of the room until Orihime spoke up again.

"Well, let's not think about too much, or we'll end up giving ourselves headaches." she said, trying to sound as lighthearted as she could. "It's your first day at a brand new school! We should make sure that you're completely ready to go."

Much to her relief, a smile slowly returned to Takuya's face as she pushed her self off of her dresser.

"Ok then." she said as she walked over to her new school bag that sat in a corner of her room. "We could look over my class schedule."

"Yeah, that would be great." Orihime chimed, walking over to Takuya as she set the bag on her bed. "Maybe we'll even have some classes together."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

An irritable expression decorated Grimmjow's features as his glare shifted from the two men now standing in front of his bed to his new gigai, and then back again. He was barely able to suppress the low growl rumbling in his chest at the sight of the goofy smile on the shopkeeper's face.

"Well, what do you think? Do you like it?" Urahara asked.

"It's fucking weird." was Grimmjow's only answer as his attention was drawn back to the gigai sitting against the wall by the door.

"Huh? Weird?" Urahara asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Now what would make you say that?"

"Well what the hell were you expecting me to fucking think, when the first thing I see when I wake up is another...another me sitting at the damn door?!" Grimmjow snapped venomously. "I almost lost control of my spiritual pressure, and this damn shop almost got ceroed to fucking oblivion!"

"Now, now, I apologize." Urahara said, snapping his fan shut. "I suppose I should properly introduce you to your gigai now. However, I should ask first...have you ever used a gigai before?"

"I'm a hollow." Grimmjow said flatly. "That shit's for shinigami. What the hell would I ever use one of those for, and why the hell should I start using one now?"

"Well, guarding Takuya requires you to be with her all day...and for part of the day, she will be in school."

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes at the man. "...Who the hell said I was gonna be inside the school with her?"

"It'll be a good experience for you, trust me on that." Urahara said, a hint of laughter in his voice yet again. "I've already had both of you registered."

Grimmjow glared murderously at the shopkeeper, this time not bothering to suppress the growl rumbling in his chest. Without missing a beat, Tessai reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue orb and held it up for the Espada to see.

Said Espada rolled his eyes and released an exasperated sigh. "And what the hell is that supposed to be?" he asked.

"This is a gikongan, more commonly know as a "soul candy," designed especially for you." Urahara explained. "This is what you will use to exit your gigai. It's a pre-programmed artificial soul that, when ingested, separates you from your gigai, and then animates the gigai until you remove it. And to remove it, you will need this..."

Tessai reached into his pocket once again and pulled out a black glove with a skull symbol on it, also holding it up to be seen.

"This is a Gokon Tekkö, a glove that can force the soul candy out of the gigai whenever you're ready to inhabit it again."

Grimmjow looked at the two men as if they'd each grown another head. "You people are fucking insane." he muttered.

"Well, we don't have too much time to spare so…how about trying it out?" Urahara suggested, reacquiring his goofy smile as he motioned to the gigai. "All you do is hold it up to your body and you will automatically merge with it."

Releasing another exasperated sigh, Grimmjow stood up from his bed and stalked up to the gigai, grumbling all the while. He lifted it up to his body and merged with it almost instantly. With a slight frown, Grimmjow looked himself over, scrutinizing his "new appearance." The only obvious changes were the disappearance of the jawbone mask that had been on the right side of his face, and the "filling in" of the hollow hole in his abdomen. Aside from that he looked the same, save for the exchange of his white hakama for a button-down white shirt, gray slacks, and dark brown shoes.

"What the hell am I wearing?"

"That would be the school uniform." Tessai replied. "All students are required to wear it."

"Here, take this." Urahara said, handing the Espada a small metal box. "That has your glove and your soul candy stored in it. Keep it with you at all times. You never know when you may need it."

Grimmjow took the box from the man and forcibly stuffed it in his pocket.

"Oh yeah...just one more thing..." Urahara said, glancing back at Grimmjow over his shoulder before he and Tessai exited the room completely. "Since you are going to be among normal human beings whilst at this school, you're going to have to do a little...conforming...if you know what I mean..."

"Tch, no shit..." the Espada muttered sarcastically, moving to follow the two men as they exited his room.

He really wanted to destroy something now...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The walk to Karakura High School was alight with the nigh-overwhelming excitement that exuded from Orihime's bubbly voice. The auburn-haired girl had somehow become even more thrilled upon learning that Grimmjow would be attending school as well, much to the Espada's own surprise...and, subsequently, his annoyance. He walked a couple steps behind the girls, a borderline irritated scowl etched into his expression.

"It's absolutely AWESOME that we all get to be in the same class together!" Orihime chirped happily. "You'll definitely love our teachers. There's Ochi-sensei, who's really nice but also a little outrageous sometimes. And then there's Kagine-sensei; he's kinda strict, but deep down on the inside he's really just a big softy. Oh, and I'll also have to introduce you to my best friend, Tatsuki. She's just the coolest..."

"Hey! Over here, guys!" Ichigo's voice rang out through the air, drawing the three's attention over to the orange-haired boy who was presently standing at the school's entrance with the rest of the group.

"Oh, good morning everyone!" Orihime greeted cheerfully as she jogged over to join them.

Takuya, however, paused momentarily to look up at the building. There were students everywhere she looked. Most moved about the campus grounds, heading this way and that, while some were gathered in various different places throughout, carrying on conversations with one another. The nervousness pit in her stomach grew slightly, and she clutched the strap of her school bag a little tighter.

...Ok, Takuya, you can –

"What's wrong with you?" Grimmjow's voice startled her slightly as it pulled her out of her thoughts, suddenly making her aware that he'd stopped alongside her.

"...I'm just a little nervous is all." she replied quietly. "This is going to be an entirely new experience for me, because I've never...I-I've never actually been to a school before."

Grimmjow looked at the girl then, confusion replacing the irritation in his expression. "The hell do you mean you've "never been" to a school before? I thought all humans went through this shit."

Takuya shook her head slightly. "I've never gone...or at least, I don't remember ever going..."

The Espada's confusion grew even more then; he opened his mouth to question the girl further but was cut off when Ichigo suddenly called out to them again.

"Takuya, Grimmjow! Let's get going or we're gonna be late!"

"Ok, c-coming!" Takuya responded; she took a deep breath before finally moving to catch up to Ichigo and the others.

Grimmjow followed behind her, his confusion growing steadily as his eyes remained trained on her. What the hell is with this girl's weird-ass life...?

"Welcome to Karakura High!" Ichigo declared, drawing the Espada out of his thoughts as the boy made a sweeping motion with his right hand as if to showcase the school. "Not too much to say about it, except that it's a school, and you learn here."

Takuya giggled at this, while Grimmjow just rolled his eyes and proceeded to mentally curse the shopkeeper for making him come here. Ichigo noticed the Espada's peeved expression and willed himself not to laugh.

"Wow, Grimmjow, you sure look ready for the day." he remarked, some of the contained laughter escaping into his voice.

Grimmjow leveled the orange-haired boy with a bored glare. "Of course, shinigami." he replied sarcastically. "Can't you tell? I can barely contain my excitement."

"Hmph...well for your sake, you had better." Rukia said snidely.

"Tch, you're never without anything totally smart-assed to say, are you...midget bitch?" Grimmjow shot back nonchalantly.

At that, Rukia whirled around, halting the group's trek towards the building. "What was that?!" she shrieked.

Grimmjow merely laughed at the female shinigami's reaction, while Ichigo shot glares at both of them.

"We don't have time for this! Let's just hurry and get to class!" he barked as he spun Rukia back around and pushed her forward as everyone started walking again. "And Rukia, will you stop trying to provoke him?!"

Rukia shot the boy an utterly appalled glare. "Oh so you're defending him now?!"

"I'm just saying that you've been the one picking all the fights lately. You could probably do without always trying to say stuff to get him riled up...especially now that we're around all these people."

Clearly offended, Rukia yanked herself out of Ichigo's grasp and stormed ahead of the group, grumbling all the way into the building. Ichigo shook his head at this, he and others reaching the building only a few seconds later.

"Wow, you must've really set Rukia off this time." Renji's voice drew everyone's attention to him as he fell into step with the group as they entered the building.

"Yeah well, she'll get over it." Ichigo muttered before shifting his gaze over to the red-haired shinigami. "So, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Urahara's orders." Renji replied. "He said I could better help in keeping in eye on Orihime this way."

"Did he now? You sure he wasn't just trying to get you out of the shop?" Ichigo teased.

"Lay off." Renji grumbled. "It's actually a good idea, despite whatever the nature of his true intentions was...especially given your less-than-average ability to sense spiritual pressures."

"Tch...shut the hell up." Ichigo snapped. "Like I'd need your help..."

"Here we are~!" Orihime sang as the group stopped in front of their designated classroom.

Before they could set a single foot in the door, their teacher stepped out. Misato Ochi’s eyes sifted purposefully through the group, immediately picking out Takuya and Grimmjow. A bright smile lit up her face as she moved to stand directly in front of them.

“The two of you must be my new students, how wonderful!” she proclaimed cheerfully. “I’m Misato Ochi, and I have the lovely honor of being your teacher. Now if you would kindly wait right here for just a minute, I’ll go in and get the other students settled and then have you come in and introduce yourselves, ok?”

With that, she promptly turned and hurried the rest of the group into the classroom, leaving Takuya and Grimmjow standing silently in the hallway.

As they awaited the impending call for introductions, Takuya attempted to calm herself down. Her grip on the strap of her school bag had become almost vice-like, but she could still feel her palms beginning to sweat as the nervous pit in her stomach grew even more.

A chanced glance at Grimmjow, however, had her temporarily ignoring her own state of being.

Next to her the Espada visibly seethed, the very notion of having to spend even a single moment trapped within the human-infested school building causing the blood to boil in his veins. A poorly contained growl rippled through his chest as his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Ugh, damn that fucking stupid ass shopkeeper to the bottom of the deepest hole in darkest corner of ten hells...!

“Grimmjow...please calm down.”

The gears of Grimmjow’s mounting rage ground to a halt at the sound of Takuya’s quiet voice, his cerulean eyes immediately shifting to land pointedly upon the ebony-haired girl. Her own gaze never lifted to meet his, however; instead, she moved a small hand to loosely grasp the wrist of his left arm before speaking again.

“This is going to be a new experience for both of us...new, and challenging. But, I-I believe that if we try hard enough...and if we’re patient enough...we can get through it. So please...”

The Espada stared at the side of the girl’s face for a moment before his gaze flicked down to where her hand held on to his wrist. Even as she spoke, he felt that hand of hers was trembling slightly out of her own nervousness. Grunting slightly, he pulled his wrist free of her loose grasp and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Whatever.” he mumbled, shifting his gaze to the wall directly across the hallway.

“The two of you can step inside now.” Ochi-sensei called from inside the classroom.

Taking a deep breath, Takuya turned to walk into the classroom with Grimmjow right behind her. “Here we go...” she whispered.

The two entered the room and stopped next to the teacher’s desk, drawing a wave of little gasps from their soon-to-be classmates; quieted comments immediately began to surface in the air.

“Class, these are our two lovely new students!” Ochi-sensei declared before turning to look at the two. “Alright, go ahead and introduce yourselves.”

“Hello, I’m Takuya Hokkaido.” Takuya said, bowing slightly.

“Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.” Grimmjow stated flatly.

“Wonderful!” Ochi-sensei chimed. “Ok, there are two seats over there by the window...right behind Mr. Kurosaki. You may take those.”

Not wasting any time, Takuya and Grimmjow moved to take their seats. As they did so, the little quiet comments began surfacing again, this time not escaping either of their ears.

“- lovely, indeed. Man I could get lost those gorgeous eyes of hers...”

“Wow, he’s so totally dreamy! I wonder if he’s single...”

“She’s a total hottie. I call dibs on her number.”

“Blue is my new favorite color.” (Girly giggles)

Takuya took the seat directly behind Ichigo, and Grimmjow sat behind her. Ichigo turned around to face them as they situated themselves.

“You did a good job.” he whispered; he then peered over Takuya’s shoulder. “Both of you...surprisingly...”

Grimmjow’s bored glare lingered on the boy for a second or so before shifting to look out the window. “Don’t push your luck, Kurosaki.” he grumbled.

Ichigo smirked, shaking his head slightly as he turned to face forward in his seat once more.

“Alright, let’s begin class, shall we?” Ochi-sensei said, flipping open a book on her desk. “We’ll start with the reading assignment you had over the weekend...”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Takuya breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as she and the others sat around on the school’s roof eating their lunch. She stood leaning against the bars of the tall steel barrier that enclosed the entire rooftop, gazing down at the other students moving here and there throughout the courtyard as she nibbled on a sandwich. The first half of her school day had gone by without a hitch, which served to dispel the greater part of the nervousness she’d felt since the start of the day. A small smile curved her lips as a feeling of accomplishment washed over her.

This isn’t so bad after all. I think I could get used to this school-going thing...

“Takuya!” the ebony-haired girl turned toward Orihime’s voice, the auburn-haired girl approaching her alongside a girl with short raven-colored hair. “I’d like to introduce you to my best friend, Tatsuki Arisawa.”

Said girl, Tatsuki, stepped forward and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Takuya.” she greeted with a smile.

Takuya smiled in return, reaching out and shaking Tatsuki’s extended hand. “It’s nice to meet you as well.” she replied.

“ICHIGOOOO!” Everyone looked around just in time to see the owner of the overly-excited voice barging through the roof entrance and making a beeline straight for said orange-haired boy.

“Keigo...” Ichigo half-growled as his hyperactive friend skidded to a stop in front of him.

“Ichigo, where is she?! Everyone told me they saw her walking with you guys, WHERE IS SHE?!” Keigo practically shrieked, grabbing Ichigo by the collar of his shirt.

“Get the hell off me!” Ichigo snapped, shoving the boy away from him. “And who the hell are you even talking about?!”

“Oh c’mon, Ichigo, you know exactly who I’m talking about! I mean the new girl from -”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Keigo immediately bit off the remainder of his sentence as he and Ichigo looked up to see Mizuiro standing in front of Takuya and taking one of her hands into his own. “My name is Mizuiro Kojima. It’s an honor to finally meet such a lovely girl in person.”

Orihime giggled, while Tatsuki just rolled her eyes. Takuya blinked at the boy. “Oh, u-um...nice to meet you as well...?” she managed, unsure of what else to say.

No sooner had the words left her lips than Keigo popped up in front of her, his oversized grin causing her to shrink back slightly.

“Wow, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” he chirped. “Those eyes, that hair, everything so perfectly proportioned! Oh it’s even better close up - ARGH!”

Two fists roughly collided with either side of Keigo’s face, abrubtly cutting the boy off and startling Takuya.

“CAN IT, YA PERVERT!” Ichigo and Tatsuki yelled in unison as Keigo slumped to the ground, groaning.

Mizuiro looked down at Keigo. “Wow...you certainly are punishment prone, Mr. Asano.” he remarked.

“You people...are heartless...” Keigo forced out as he lay on the ground, clutching his face.

“Well, well, well...now what do we have here?”

Once more, everyone’s attention was drawn to the roof entrance, where three more boys now stood. Ichigo rolled his eyes and grumbled as he ran a frustrated hand over his face.

“Tch, great...not these assholes again...” he muttered.

“Who are they?” Renji asked, finally looking up from his lunch.

“A trio of purebred scumbags.” Ichigo answered scathingly. “The one in the middle is Kazuki, “the ring leader;” to his left is Hitoshi, and to his right is Ryo. They’re nothing but womanizing pigs...”

As if on cue, the trio sauntered past the rest of the group and stopped directly in front of Takuya.

“Well hello there.” Kazuki spoke, leering at the ebony-haired girl as his eyes overtly traveled the length of her body. “When I heard the rumors about the beautiful new girl in class 1-3, I just had to see it for myself. And now that I see you...wow...I am quite literally blown away.”

Growling in disgust, Tatsuki stormed forward, intent on throttling the boy; her advance was stopped, however, when she was immobilized and held back by Hitoshi and Ryo. “Kazuki!!! You has better get away from her you filthy lowlife scum!!!” she yelled, struggling to get out of his flunkies’ grasps.

Kazuki glanced back at Tatsuki, smirking snobbishly at the angry girl before turning back to Takuya, who had taken a couple cautious steps back. In one swift movement, he quickly closed the short distance between them, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, preventing her from moving away again.

“A girl like you shouldn’t be reduced to hanging around such garbage.” he crooned, his face mere inches away from hers. “Why don’t you come away with me to somewhere...a little less crowded?”

“No thank you.” Takuya said firmly, attempting to pry herself away from the boy. “Now let me go, please.”

“Oh come now, don’t be like that.” Kazuki whined almost mockingly, his grip tightening slightly; he then reached up and gently stroked her face. “You know you want to...”

“Alright, that’s it! Get the hell away from her, asshole!” Ichigo blurted out. “She obviously doesn’t wanna be anywhere near your creepy ass!”

Kazuki leveled an arrogant glare at the orange-haired boy. “Why don’t you shut the hell up, noisy bastard.” he sneered. “As if you could possibly even begin to imagine what she wants! Anyone can see that she’s almost completely enthralled with my boyish charm and - UMPH!”

A large hand suddenly clamped over Kazuki’s mouth, effectively silencing him. He, and everyone else, looked up to see none other than Grimmjow standing there, his bored scowl unflinchingly cemented into his expression. The instant he noticed Kazuki loosening his grip on Takuya he acted once again, ripping the boy away from the ebony-haired girl and forcefully slamming him into the roof’s barrier. The boy hollered in pain as he collided with the steel bars face-first, and almost immediately began to feel warm blood flowing out from a newly acquired wound created by the harsh contact. Hitoshi’s and Ryo’s jaws dropped, their own hold on the squirming Tatsuki loosening in their shock; taking the opportunity, Tatsuki yanked herself free, spun around, and bodily shoved both boys backwards to the ground.

“Ugh...what...w-what the hell is your deal, man...?” Kazuki whimpered as he tried in vain to free himself from Grimmjow’s vice grip. “And...where the hell...d-did you even come from?”

“Look here, idiot...,” Grimmjow began to speak, not yet bothering to his way. “I don’t know who you are, or who you think you are, but let’s make one thing abundantly clear. This girl is not to be toyed with, and shitheads like you who get bold enough to try might just find themselves waking up in hell.”

Kazuki’s eyes widened. “W-what do you mean?”

It was then that Grimmjow turned to look at the boy, who almost immediately began trembling like a dry leaf in the wind. His bored scowl had remained intact, but behind the glint of his cerulean eyes lurked an unfathomable murderous intent that caused the blood to freeze in his veins.

“Fuck off...or die.” the Espada replied flatly. “That clear enough for ya?”

Kazuki did his best to nod. “Yeah...crystal...” he squeaked.

At that, Grimmjow released his hold on the boy, letting him fall to the ground. Not a second after his feet made contact with the cement, Kazuki hurriedly clambered away, Hitoshi and Ryo following close behind. After watching the trio disappear from the roof, everyone turned their attention back to the Espada, shocked to absolute silence. Grimmjow’s brow furrowed when he felt all their gazes pinned on him.

“The hell’re you idiots staring at?” he grumbled.

“That was AWESOME!!!” Keigo suddenly cheered. “I’ve never seen those guys run away so fast in my life!!! An now, my beautiful Takuya can breath easy again-OWW!!!”

A fist has once again made contact with the side of his face. Ichigo glared at the boy as he slumped to the ground once more, groaning. Mizuiro tutted as he looked down at him.

“You should really learn when to put a lid on it, Mr. Asano.” he said.

“...Ugh, the pain...” Keigo moaned.

Ignoring the two’s exchange, Ichigo looked over at Grimmjow again. His actions had thrown him for a complete loop, so much so that he’d momentarily forgotten that the Espada had actually agreed to be Takuya’s bodyguard, much to their great surprise. With an exasperated sigh, he folded his arms across his chest and turned his attention back to Keigo, who was still writhing on the ground.

Well, I guess hollows aren’t the only things she’ll need protection from...

A minute later, the bell sounded, marking the end of the lunch break.

“Alright, guys, let’s get the rest of this day over with.” Ichigo said as he and the rest of the group packed up the remnants of their lunches and began heading toward the roof’s entrance. As they filed into the buidling, Takuya, who’d been silent since the “incident” with Kazuki, finally spoke up, but only loud enough for one person to hear her.

“Grimmjow...”

The Espada looked over his shoulder at the girl.

“Thank you...”

Mild surprise flashed over Grimmjow’s scowling expression; after a second or so, he turned to face forward again.

“Don’t mention it.” he finally said, the phrase feeling incredibly foreign on his tongue.

Takuya smiled at his retreating form, and for the first time that day, she felt her nervousness completely ebb away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Urahara looked up as Orhime, Takuya, and Grimmjow entered the dining area.

“Ah, welcome back.” he greeted them. “So, the first day of school has been completed successfully, I presume?”

“Yes it has.” Takuya replied with a smile.

“Excellent.” Urahara said before turning his attention to Grimmjow. “So...how was it?”

Grimmjow glared at the man for a moment or two. “I spent the whole damn day surrounded by humans, nobody died, and I’m still sane. Joy.”

“That’s excellent! Hehe, what’d I tell ya? I knew it’d be a good experience for ya. It’s gonna really help build that tolerance level of yours.”

The Espada grumbled as he disappeared down the hallway. With a slight smile, Urahara redirected his gaze toward Takuya and Orihime.

“So, did everything go on without incident today?” he asked.

Both girls nodded.

“Oh...well, everything except for this one situation we had during lunch...” Takuya said, tapping her chin in thought. “This perverted guy attempted to force himself on me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but Grimmjow saved her.” Orhime chimed in cheerily. “He got the boy away from her and basically told him not to come bothering her again. It was really nice of him.”

“Yes, that was very nice indeed.” Urahara echoed with a honest grin. “Well, I’m glad that you enjoyed your first day, Takuya.”

“So am I.” Takuya agreed with a smile of her own as she and Orihime disappeared down the hallway as well.

Urahara released a contented sigh, taking a sip of the tea in front of him. Everything seems to be going smoothly thus far. I guess the real question now is...how long will it last...?

“Kisuke.”

A smile almost instinctively stretched across his face at the sound that all-too-familiar voice. He then turned to see a black cat trotting into the dining area.

“Yoruichi! Great to see you!” he greeted as the cat jumped lithely onto the table and sat down directly in front of him. “How long have you been back?”

“Long enough to know that there has been a hollow of incredibly destructive power among you for close to four whole days now and none of you seem too worried about it.”

Urahara chuckled, bringing a hand up to adjust his hat. “Heh, always the observant one; I’d have been quite surprised if you didn’t notice.”

“You can save the flattering compliments.” Yoruichi remarked flatly. “You’ve got some serious explaining to do, starting now.”

“Well, to be completely honest, there isn’t a whole lot to explain.” Urahara said. “Takuya - a young lady currently residing here that you’ve not had the pleasure of meeting yet - stumbled upon Mr. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez three days ago as she was returning from the market. At the time she’d found him, he was injured substantially after being attacked by Aizen. He’s now repaying his debt to Takuya for saving his life.”

The cat shook its head in utter disbelief. “Kisuke, do you even realize what it is that you’re doing?! You’re not only willingly harboring a vasto lorde, but you’re allowing him to roam freely among humans! Do you realize how insanely dangerous that is, and the indescribable amount of trouble you could get into if Soul Society gets wind of it?! Oh, and let’s not forget the ever-looming threat of Hueco Mundo. Did you even consider what you’ll do if...no, when Aizen decides to come looking for his lost soldier?!”

The shopkeeper took a slow sip of his tea, taking that time to mull over his answer. “Yes, I’ve taken it all into thorough consideration. I’m well aware of everything that could possibly happen...rather, everything that will happen...if Grimmjow is discovered. Aizen, we suspect, will eventually send his forces here to do a physical search once he realizes that he can’t track Grimmjow’s spiritual pressure. And once that happens, Soul Society will automatically become involved. All of us - not just Grimmjow - will be in imminent danger of either being wiped out by Aizen’s forces, or being automatically sentenced to execution by Head Captain for what’ll undoubtedly be seen as highly treasonous acts against the living world AND Soul Society...or, in Grimmjow’s case, merely being a hollow. Either way, when this is all over, we all may very well be dead.”

He then looked up to meet the cat’s golden-eyed gaze.

“But...we’re prepared for that. We’re more than ready...more than willing...to face that inescapable truth when and if it should come to that. Well...actually Rukia’s not too thrilled about it, and for good reason...but the rest of us are. I mean, think about it, Yoruichi. This Espada is a wealth of information! We now have the capability to thwart any of Aizen’s plans before they get underway. Opportunities like this don’t just occur for no reason at all.”

Yoruichi’s whiskers twitched in slight frustration. “Kisuke, we’re not talking about some random low rank. This guy’s one of Aizen’s strongest soldiers -”

“Did I mention that Grimmjow isn’t loyal to Aizen?” Urahara cut in. “Or the fact that Aizen’s attack on him was provoked by the discovery of his plot to defy his direct orders?”

The cat’s eyes widened slightly. “...That alone doesn’t prove disloyalty...”

“He’s also made it absolutely clear that he has zero respect for Aizen’s leadership, and that he would readily kill himself before willingly carrying out any of his orders, AND that he plans to kill all three ex-captains himself once he gains the proper strength...”

Yoruichi’s eyes widened even more as she was rendered momentarily speechless. Her golden eyes searched his gray ones for any sort of doubt or uncertainty, but she only succeeded finding raw determination.

“Are you certain of this?” she finally asked. “Are you absolutely sure this isn’t just a ruse to get you to even partially drop your guard?”

“I’m positive.” Urahara replied. “He’s only been here for a couple days, but he’s already shown that he isn’t one for smoke screens.”

“...And there’s absolutely no swaying you, is there?”

“I’m afraid not.”

With a small sigh, the cat leapt off the table. “Well, I suppose there’s no helping it...I do hate when you get like this.” she muttered. “However, if this is the path you are choosing to take, then you have my full support.”

“Thank you, Yoruichi.” Urahara said, smiling almost triumphantly.

Yoruichi smiled slightly in return before rolling her eyes at the man and heading toward the shop’s exit.

Getting his bearings in the real world had been trying at times, but he’d welcomed the trials of it thus far. It was new and novel and exciting, rather than stagnant and restless. The buildings, for instance; some part of him had known, information subconsciously gained from Ichigo no doubt, that buildings didn’t sit sideways in the human world, but getting used to it had proved an interesting experience. It was disorienting at first, sure, but not in a bad or overwhelming way. Just different.

Hueco Mundo was similar. Of course, after realizing he could make himself a garganta, he’d been incredibly curious about the land of hollows. How could he not be? He was naturally drawn to it and once there, he could see a certain appeal to it. The simplicity of it, the darkness and stillness; it was comforting in a way. Where the world of the living was chaotic and lively, Hueco Mundo was quiet.

But he was far too confident in himself to bother with keeping himself hidden as he explored the wastelands and enjoyed the darkness, and his grand entrance into the world where he probably should have existed didn’t go unnoticed.

Not more than twenty minutes had gone by before he caught the heaviness of reiatsu in the air. It was hollow for sure, not shinigami, but still… Off. He turned, frowning slightly as he concentrated on the feel of it, heavy in his mind, until he determined what direction it was coming from. Correcting the direction he faced slightly, he headed in that direction for a few paces, until he could see the figure in the distance, before he halted to wait.

More civil than the average hollow, he noted, as the figure came to a stop a few paces back. “You look like me.” He said, studying the other. There was still the remnants of a mask, though, and more pigment to his skin and hair. But he was more humanoid than most hollows, the same way he was. He shrugged, added, “More or less.”

The newcomer rounded for a few paces, as if to circle, and he pivoted where he stood to keep the other in front of him.

“I’d wondered what had come to these wastes.” The stranger stopped, as if he’d completed taking the smaller hollow’s measure just from those few, simple strides and the reactions they’d earned. “You shouldn’t announce yourself so readily. It’s careless.”

“I got nothin’ ta worry about.” The hollow shrugged, head tilting slightly as he studied the other. “An arrancar? Like the espada.”

The arrancar nodded, “You’ve been here before.”

He shrugged. It wasn’t a clearcut subject. “Kinda. Not in person.” He answered, still studying the arrancar with far more curiosity than wariness.

There was a long pause, where the unnamed arrancar seemed to be considering him anew, before coming to a conclusion. He nodded slightly, a grin slowly broadening across his features. “Your mask seems to be missing. Something with stripes, like the ones running up your neck.” He said, reaching up to draw a track with his finger down one side of his face.

Pale brows furrowed into a scowl. It wasn’t surprising that his missing mask would be noticed by another hollow, evolved or not, but something tugged at the back of his mind, whispering that this creature knew more than he was letting on.

“Ah! There it is. That expression.” The arrancar sneered, the grin turning sharp for a moment. “You belong to K-“

The words barely left him before the hollow snarled an angry, indignant, “I don’t belong ta anyone!”

“Yeesh, ok.” The arrancar held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t think it seemed like you two got along. I don’t blame you, no hollow should be locked inside a shinigami. We’re supposed to kill one another, not serve.”

The hollow relaxed slightly, fully agreeing with that sentiment. Finally, here was someone he thought he could get along with. Sure, he smelled like a good meal, but so did humans he was doing pretty well on that front. Mostly. There’d been a slip up right in the beginning, but no one seemed to take notice and he was unbothered by it. Food was food.

“So you leave Kurosaki helpless.”

The hollow snorted a rye sound, shifting his weight. “He’s not helpless, just stupid.”

“Ironic.” The other mused, a sharpness to his expression.

He started to shrug again, a bit of a frown showing his lack of understanding. Then motion caught him off guard. A glint of metal in the feeble moonlight and the swish of a blade cutting still, dead air was his only warning. A hand snapped up in automatic reaction, closing around the blade to halt it a scant few centimeters from his throat. It tore through his hierro and cut into his palm. Blood stained the weapon and dripped down his wrist to patter the sand below him, looking black in the dark.

“What the hell’re you doin’?” He snarled through bared teeth, tense and ready. His own sword, still resting in its place across his back, was trapped between himself and the figure pressed against him. With the weapon at his throat, he didn’t dare reach for the handle jutting over his shoulder, let alone attempt to draw it.

His assailant’s free hand found the back of his hakama and, being new to this world, it seemed a stranger gesture than a telling one. The figure behind him moved with sure, practiced motions and the speed that came with it while the hollow tried to figure out what was going on. A handful of seconds after he’d found a sword at his throat, sharp, lancing pain raced up his spine, enough to pry a cut-off yelp from him. He felt the sound vibrate in the blade still cutting into his palm as the foreign assault threatened to steal his balance. The hand in his hakama and the blade bitting into the underside of his chin kept him still.

His wariness became confused fear, forced to the surface by pain he’d never experienced from an attack he hadn’t expected and didn’t understand. Instinct cut out rational thought and it demanded action, precarious position or not.

At the first almost-opening he got, he shoved the blade wide, ignoring the grind of steel against bone in his hand. At the same time, he threw an elbow back and spun toward the sword arm to be too close for a sword strike. As he did, he pulled his bloodied hand free, black, claw-like nails finding the soft skin of his attacker’s stomach. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air and his vicious snarling rang through the silence of permanent night.

He pulled his blade free in time to parry the sword the arrancar was aiming his way. The much thinner blade was thrown aside without even slowing his swing. The angry, fear fueled strength behind the retreating attack pushed the sword into a follow through that carved a path nearly identical to what his desperate escape had. The smell of bile was added to the air as flesh and muscle parted under the sharp steel.

The hollow didn’t stick around long enough to actually see if intestines had spilled into the sand or if the blow would be a killing one. He tore a ragged hole into the night air and stumbled through before the rent fully opened. The dead, reishi-lacking air of the human world was a welcome change as he put just enough conscious effort into his get away to make sure he closed the garganta behind him.

Ironic. Now he understood. He’d called Ichigo stupid even as he’d let his guard down.

ch1. i strongly, strongly considered naming it after espa instead of ciça. they're the protagonist, after all!! it's the first chapter! so in my outline theres even a little crossed out "a weapon named sword" for it. i can't remember why i did go this way exactly, because a good chunk of the chapter is well. showing a bit of espa's life. but it's also the chapter where things start to change. because of ciça. ciça is the most remarkable thing in the chapter. not espa, those stuff is "usual" for her, and ultimately ciça is the one who starts the story with her small act of kindness. i also considered naming it 'a woman named ciça" instead of a stranger but i think it's neater this way. she isnt just 'a woman'. she is a stranger, an outsider, someone who has nothing to do with espa or its life, at all. and yet, she's the most important thing in this chapter.

ch2. i do remember that a tiny little bit of the reason that i moved espa's name to this title was because i couldn't figure out another for it so i looked for something else to name ch1, while i was outlining. this chapter ultimately is named after espa because: A. what happens here is overall just espa struggling and being drained and messing up and being overcome by fear, and that's what characterizes its life at this point; fear. constant and all-encompassing, overwhelming fear. and B. this is supposed to mirror a future chapter, actually :) at least in my little outline, i want one of the chapters further forward to be named in opposition to this one. she's a weapon here, right? in this future chapter, it will be something along the lines of a kid named espa.

ch3! the major reason for its title ("consequences named pain") was just because i needed something to reference the whump. since it's the torture chapter. i considered consequences named blood and other iterations, but this one was the neatest.

ch4 :))))))))))))) i'm particularly proud of this one. gisele's chapter! like i said before, going with a pattern can be pretty limiting, but it also allows you to do some cool stuff. over the past three chapters, i had stabilished that this series has a naming pattern, a very simple one, and then here instead of going with it, we break it! it adds this little element of mistery. we don't quite know gisele yet. she's first presented in this chapter. her name is redacted.

and also there is that thing. that some anime do. where they reveal the episode's name right after the opening theme plays, yes? and then in some especial occasions they will start the ep, play the theme, run the episode, and only by the ending the little screen with the episode's title will pop up. i sorta wanted to mimic that

also, i intend on repeating this little trick later on the series and this was a neat way of presenting it to y'all

ch5, 6 and 7, "a foe named trust". this title is supposed to be in opposition to chapter 4's! a friend, and now a foe. these three chapters are also about ciça, or, more specifically, about finishing the setup of the "whumpee meets caretaker" part of the story and settling their relationship so we can get that over with to enjoy their dynamic later on. the foe is "trust", even though ciça isn't any enemy, because to espa, it is. trusting an outsider like her, breaking the rules and allowing for this story to be setup feels like a trap. (unlike gisele, the friend, which is somebody they arent that forbidden to care for.) this 'trust' is something it should avoid, and absolutely not give in to. in a sense, they're sorta right. coz trusting ciça in the end is sort of what will turn their world upside down XD

i have future titles for the other chapters already planned out as well, to an extent, but i shan't say it without giving spoilers. i intend on making some chapter titles mirror each other and reference past chapters, though! ^^