Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and its characters; genius Kubo Tite does.

Warning: Curses everywhere. Explicit language ahead. The lines in bold font are Grimmjow's dialogs, meaning he's saying them aloud.


Let me get this straight, like fucking straight, like so fucking straight the x-axis of the Cartesian Plane will goddamn cower at the straightness I'm about to demonstrate, like fucking straighter than the face I'm wearing now, like its getting any straighter is just about the last thing that can conceivably happen in the entire fucking galaxy, like you can bet your ass on it, here and now. Here goes and straighten your goddamn selves; I. Am. Fucking. Straight. You get that? No? Well then, get a fucking load of it, for the love of god!

Now, if I have failed sometime in making it clear to the effing inconsistent historical records of this world that I am completely capable of skewering a goddamn redheaded pineapple up the Sokyouku, well, I am gonna make that fucking clear now. Hell yeah. Impaling this impertinent bastard up there for decoration is just about what I'm about to do. Watch me and stay back—

"No, seriously, Grimmjow, I'd have thought you had a grand taste; you know, being surrounded by good-looking dudes in the course of a hundred years, one would think you knew better…"

Good-looking dudes my ass. I will shove that fucking tattooed face where it belongs. Handsome dudes, he says? Let's start off with Aizen, the high and mighty self-proclaimed boss of the world. He's just about as fucking good-looking as…never mind. Well, yeah, fine, he looks okay, but so what? Next up; Tousen. Whatever. If I cut those cocky dreadlocks let's see if he'd be able to endure his looks in the mirror afterwards hahahahahaha…shit. He never looks into the mirror. Forgot about that. My bad. Then there's Gin. He's a fox and is not included in this category because, if it isn't obvious enough, we are discussing human faces here. There's Stark. The only one who thinks he's handsome is his Fraccion, Lilineth, and guess what? She's exactly the type who can't say anything right to save her neck. Next is Bargan. Hahahaha. I ain't laughin'; I'm being a hyena and am sniggering. I suppose that doesn't call for any explanation. But if you happen to be a Lolita or some sick Lolito then maybe people oughta reconsider your sorry situation. Okay, enough of the old geezer and let's talk about Halibel. Well, if she's so goddamn pretty why hasn't anyone tried to rape her yet? Like, she's surrounded by the strongest dudes in the world, duh. Vaste Lord or not, someday, somehow, something has gotta give, know what I mean? Oh, Ulquiorra. The major bitch. Well, can we skip him? He's so boring. Okay, fine. He's probably okay-looking, and there my generosity ends. Sorry. Too much mascara and face-powder can't always be a plus. So now that leaves us with Noitora. In the given event that Ichimaru Gin ends up being the one and only love of my life and my loving husband, Noitora may turn out to be the dishiest jock you ever saw. Hands down, mate. Then there's the sixth Espada…phew, walking, living proof of Global Warming. Man, dip yourself in a tub of ice, and you'll be thanking me in no time. That's me for you. Oh, there's Zomart Le Roux. Are you sure you even wanna talk about him? No? That makes two of us. So let's switch to the next. Ahh, Szayel Apollo Grantz. He's all flashy, all talk and no action. All face and no—okay, he's a pretty little fairy, happy now? But, then, being the laboratory genius that he is, I'm quite getting a feeling that he ain't all natural. Like, plastic surgery is a very easy procedure, mind you. And now it's time for A'roniro Alulueri. I think I'm in for a heart attack. So to avoid cardiact arrest, allow me to simply say he's better off with his mask eternally installed on that head of his. Period. Last and not the least in terms of size, Yammy. He is a fatty. You don't wanna confuse handsome with fatty, okay? There you have it, thirteen Las Noches Gods and I rule them all. Ha ha ha.

And now we get down to business. As I was saying, I'm on my way to prop Renji Abarai up there in the Sokyokou. Apparently, it ain't as easy as you think. While there's no questioning my capability and willingness to goddamn plunk this bastard up the tip of that one-million-Zanpakotou caliber weapon, which, frankly, is plain bullshit to me, I'm kinda getting a little cold feet here. Hence, if anyone can, like, fetch me a goddamn caffeinated drink I can just kiss him/her right now. Just boost me up to get through this murder. I swear I'll give you a smooch. A big one. So now I take a drink off sake, and—

What in bloody fuck am I doing sitting across this moron and drinking sake?

And then I'm starting to remember. I'm remembering that I have in fact said goodbye to Aizen, Espada, Hueco Mundo, and Las Noches and told them I was so over them. Like fucking totally. The catch of it all is that none of them got fucking teary-eyed; not one damn hint of sympathy. Not even the goddamn Las Noches walls! And to think we used to fucking hang out a lot! I even talked to them about shit, only to be left off like I was no more than some merciless vandalizer who liked to fire holes in them. I did a Cero on them as a remembrance anyway. The nerve of those fucking walls! Yeah, yeah, I was all sentimental at the time. So in the end my sentimental self was like, "Fuck you, you…and you. I'm off and please die." That was really sappy, if you ask me. I kinda caught Ulquiorra's face getting stained in the cheeks with his overdone eye-shadows so that his tears became so obvious, like fucking hell; he was crying like a faggot. Man, I wouldn't have expected anyone to shed a goddamn tear with those brief parting words. Totally lame. But then I remembered, again, that the bastard had had those tear marks from the time before he curled up in his mama's womb. Get the picture already? I am goddamn pitiable. No tears for me from them. Well, fuck that.

So I knocked upon Soul Society's gate, and the guard was like, "Holy shit! An Arrancar! Gotta put everyone on alert!" And I went off like, "Holy fucking shit! How come you don't know my name? It's Grimmjow Jaggerjack, you asshole. I'm like the hottest badass you'll ever meet!" I was shocked half to death and as offended as hell, but then there was no time to lecture him of my wondrous self because, in a goddamn split second, I was being surrounded by about ten million Division Captains and about two trillion small-fry Shinigami dudes and chicks. I protested aloud that they weren't playing fair, for obvious reasons such as that they just about outnumbered the shit out of me, and what the hell. I was turned in for questioning in this ugly chamber, and then there were voices everywhere but no faces from the Council Members could be seen (dunno what they call 'em geezers). They went off asking me this and that and those and them and just about everything under the goddamn sun that you'd think I was a Fortune Teller or something. In the end, I just about died a couple of times in there. Like, I didn't know where to turn my gorgeous head for all the questions so I might have cracked my spinal column half a dozen times in my struggle trying to figure out who asked this and who asked that. I was so cocksure I was all set up to kick the bucket when, fucking finally, someone managed to ask a decent question, an answerable one for that matter,

"Why are you here, Grimmjow? Did Aizen send you?"

Alas. Lovely Fucking Savior. I could almost say, I love you.

I turned around, and the moment I did I started about wanting to do a rewind and blot out my gratitude for the Lovely Fucking Savior. Like, I would've given everything I had. And everything I had back then was a pair of Hakama, my shrunken jacket, and my Pantera. Okay, I take that back. There was no need for giving any of them away because no one heard about my thankful exaltation for the person. And there was no way I could've said 'I love you' to him. Hell no.

Going back to that Lovely Fucking Savior Of My Neck Which Was On The Brink Of Snapping In Half, he flash-stepped in front of me, going so near that I almost peed my goddamn pants—shit. Scratch that. Why the fuck would I pee in my pants anyway? I scarcely had any moisture left in my body after going over a thousand miles of sand in Hueco Mundo. Besides, it was just him for cryin' out loud...well.



Fucking him.

I mean, what was he doing there anyway? So, yeah, his flash-step ain't that bad; I mean, it was about as impressive as mine when I was still a fucking Gillian and whatever. It was nothing special. Like, even Yammy can pull off something that fast, and to think he's about two million kilos overweight. And he's like 10th Espada while I'm 6th. Duh. My point is, he was being a complete show-off. Like, insufferably so. Jackass. So I sat there, like on a toilet seat, crudely exposed and defenseless, and I answered, you bet I did,

"For you. Duh."



I. Fucking. Had. No. Idea. What. Came. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Mouth.

Just what kind of fucking answer was that? There I was, minding my own pretty business, when suddenly this fucktard blabber I had for a goddamn mouth came chattering around like an uncontrollable bastard. So he blinked at me, the Lovely Fucking Savior, and I blinked back, and we went blinking about for approximately a whole damn hour when out of nowhere, amidst our blinking-frenzy, some redhead of a fucker and a tattoo-faced 69-lover went throwing confetti in the air as though someone whose name was Grimmjow Jaggerjack dropped dead on the spot. On second thoughts, if I had dropped dead right on the spot at that time, I would've joined them in their confetti-throwing merriness. It could've been possible on the account that I had literally died twice in the last half-hour and that my mouth came up with something like, "For you. Duh." Like, after that, everything could be possible. I assure you.


Seriously, and I'm being ten million percent serious, I could kill for a good slow death. I was exactly like, 'someone kill me please…'

But then, as fate would have it, I was too fucking young to die. And maybe too hot. Too handsome. Too strong. Too pretty. Too fucking everything. In any case, the Lovely Fucking Savior was staring at me like I was an experiment or something, which made me want nothing more than to be launched off somewhere else, preferably to the moon, than to get stared at like this. By him.

"What did you say?" He asked again when I obviously DIDN'T want to answer. People are always hot to have a discussion when you're not. Anyway, you'd think he was cool or something with his narrow eyes and orange hair, when in truth, he really was, and is, goddamn hot like an ove—

And here we go again. For the record, my mouth was facing serious charges of betrayal and double-crossing and treachery, and, hell yeah, I decided to sue myself. I can just stop talking now, can't I? Yeah. We can agree on that. So I will now cut the long story short. Those two crashers who started hurling confetti everywhere were kicked out of the goddamn chamber, BUT not before they went off fucking yelling that they were right about me being in love with a certain Kurosaki Ichigo.

Grimmjow Jaggerack, in love? I am preceding the headlines of tomorrow's issue of the Daily Soul Society and Hueco Mundo Post; Top Story: Arrancar Suicide Shakes Center 46.

And that's just how the story goes. Someone gets to mess up my whole life, turn it over, screw it around, kill me half a dozen times, and resurrect me half a dozen times after to ultimately get away with it. Get away with it without a fucking scratch. Repeat that process seven times, and that's probably my life. Anyway, for the sixty-seventh time that hour, I found myself begging for Death to swing his scythe at my neck, point fucking blank.

I prayed in futility. Death did not hear me. God ignored me. Fate kicked me in the nuts, hard.

So, in response, I fucking slapped my own face. Are you reading this? My own face. With my own hand. With the resources I had in hand (resources = zero + thin air), that was the only way for me to confirm I was still alive. Luckily for some all-knowing, all-guiding providence out there who so likes to fucking torment me and kill me over and over again, I was still fucking alive. Thank you very much.

"For you. Dammit. Are you deaf, Shinigami?"

This was when I realized why They ignored my prayers. They were waiting for that one to come outta my mouth. So, that completed the entirety of my anguish. Why am I still alive again? Oh. Yeah. Death, God, and Fate conspired against little ole poor me.

But I thought we have already agreed on changing the fucking subject? Focus, okay? Alright. Breathe slowly. I'm all set up now. So, long story short: I got pardoned. That's the last thing I can remember. Some say I passed out, but hell yeah I'd believe something like that. While I remember some pretty chick pressing a goddamn something called an oxygen mask over my mouth, because I couldn't breathe all of a fucking sudden, I'm more than sure it was a nightmare...I guess…whatfuckingever.

Hoorah! I'm free! And STILL alive. Damn it.

I can just stop breathing right about now. I mean, looking back, it's pretty depressing. Like, I was reduced to something as low as being in lo—

Stop. That's taboo. Going back to the subject, I'm very conducive to depression lately. Like, all I have to do to get depressed is to BE the exact same Arrancar bastard who sat there in that stupid chamber and went face to face with a show-off, who thought his flash-step was bloody brilliant, to have him ask me, "Why are you here, Grimmjow? Did Aizen send you?"

You know what the problem with me is? I can't fucking sleep. Not a fucking blink, not a wink. For this very reason, perhaps, and I'm admitting it like a loser, I can't throw this redhead bastard who claims his name is Renji Abarai out the fucking window. Also because this is his goddamn room. Yeah, he was one of them bastards who cried aloud the very reason to the approaching need of my body getting embalmed. Believe me, if he does that again, I mean, throwing confetti and partying over the fact/fiction that I'm in love with the Lovely Fucking Savior, I'll personally surrender myself to the morgue.

I can't fucking sleep. It's twelve in the evening, and on top of that my beauty sleep has gone out to some place and said goodbye to me. Forever. Never to fucking return. So as a solution, as a pretty dazzling lovely gorgeous splendid cute solution, I found my hot self, like 6-feet and some odd inches of me, knocking on Renji Abarai's apartment door when, I don't know, I have my own apartment, therefore my OWN door to knock onto. I don't know.

So now he's sitting across me, boggling the shit out of the godliness that is me and killing me softly.

"Whatever did you see in Ichigo?"

Motherfucking shit. Provided the world is still spinning and that Szayel Apollo Grantz would still kill for a pair of boobs like Halibel's, man, this guy is just about begging me to kill him. Really, subtlety got murdered somewhere here.

"Something none of you morons can see, duh."

That wasn't me. I didn't answer that. Might as well quit pointing your accusing fingers at me.

"Wow, Grimmjow, you must be truly terribly, hard-hit, head over heels, madly in love with the bastard."

He winks at me. Can you believe the nerve of this bastard? No one gets to wink at the king unless you want to be eradicated even from everyone's memories!

"Maybe. Can't be too sure, at least not yet."

Wait a goddamn minute here—

"I think he likes you too, you know. He was all worried when you fainted in the Central 46; you'd think he himself needed to be carted off to the hospital wing too."

First and fucking foremost, I did NOT fucking lose consciousness while being interrogated. Hell, I never fainted once every time Aizen would pull his shit on me. Second, —really? Like, really? He was concerned? Hark! I fucking knew it—

"Well, that means nothing stands between us. Looks like we can really hit it off."

I said, wait a damn second here—

"I can help you. I mean, I'm his best pal, kinda. If it would make him happy and all and if it could stop you from being a murderous, blood-thirsty prick, I'd be more than obliged to be the connecting bridge between you two."

The conniving bastard. He furtively winks at me again, and frankly, IT'S DRIVING ME NUTS. What's with Shinigami and winking anyway?! As far as I'm concerned, my mind is clearly doing a major meltdown, and I can't really do anything but curse my head off—though I'm beginning to smell the beauty of this all; like, wow, me and him finally together, sweet indeed, and I AM CRAZY. Sure as hell.

"I'll do more than just stop being a murderous, blood-thirsty prick if that happens."

Stop, stop, stop, halt, pull the fucking brakes, fall back, retreat. Can somebody appear right here right now and drive a fucking spear into my goddamn chest? Can anyone do that, like now, please? I'm getting all deficient in terms of sensibility here. Like, an Arrancar in need of assistance here. Emergency up here. FUCKING LIFE AND DEATH SITUATION HERE.

"Okay, Arrancar, here's the plan. Tomorrow afternoon, he'll be waiting outside the Sixth Division's Headquarters to look for me. What you're gonna do is, tell him that Renji-sama—"

"—Renji-sama my ass—"

"—do you want to do this?"

Fucking yeah! Duh. That has to be the stupidest question of the 21st century. Like, the only reason you exist is because you're gonna set me up with that orange-head pal of yours and—Jesus, Mary, Judas. This is me and desperation. Grimmjow, meet your new friend, Desperation. Desperation, kindly do your best to torment this despo. You two are gonna be stuck with each other for the next 13 millennia, so please get along well. What. Is. Happening. To. Me?

"Sure, Renji-sama."

Remind me again that I'm dead. Grimmjow Jaggerjack's lovely body equals six fucking feet under.

"Good. Now where did I take off? Yeah. You're gonna tell him that I won't make it to the sparring sessions so I asked you instead for a substitute, and voila: three whole hours of quality time together. It can't get better than that. So, who's your god?"

I don't know who my god is. But whoever he is, I'm damn sure he enjoys poking fun at me and teasing me into believing death is thick upon me whenever I so badly need to fucking expire. And 'whenever', let me inform you, comes about every other fucking hour; every time I get fucking reminded that I am in lo—


Ha ha ha… Uhm, so there. Three whole wonderful hours with him. I'm excited. Ha ha ha. Looking forward to it like an idiot. Like, let me get this fucking straight, and I mean don't get me wrong; I just want to be with hi—


Okay. This has gone long enough and pretense doesn't hold up so well now so I guess I have to admit. After all, you've pushed me far enough, and, you know, that has to be said. Anyway, it ain't that big a deal. Like duh, everyone falls in lo—


Uhm, where were we? Ah here, ha ha. Well, it's not like I've lowered myself to some level or anything; it's just that, like any human that walks on two legs, I'm in lo—

God fucking damn it.

I will say it. Bear with me and don't be an impatient son of a gun. After all, I can't fucking deny it anymore! The feeling is so strong that I have to really say, I lo—

Mother of god, help me.

At any rate, that was close. I'm improving. I just need a few moments, so…fuck this. Screw this. I'm dropping the bomb; I'm cocksure I'm in lo—

Wait one fucking second. Is this shit even necessary?

Fine. You wanna hear it? Fucking fine. Be prepared—


Well, goodbye.