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DATE: nth day as ally to the Shinigami of Soul Society

Yoh, Journal,

I'm this close to giving up on writing on you. It's been three weeks since then, and I don't really see the point of that habitual practice catching up with me all over again. It's just that he destabilized me. It's just that lately, he has occupied the larger proportion of my mind that I could barely think straight, much less trouble myself with groping for my vocabulary to fill the pages of some notepad.

So it was last night when the rain started pouring down, smacking our human bodies black and blue. He had just been to the Vizard's lair after doing some mask-on training when suddenly, baby genius popped into the window and we all got summoned to the undying big screen at Urahara's place.

Old Geezer announced that the chick Orihime Inoue got abducted by an Arrancar whose descriptions fitted perfectly well to a certain bastard I know. Ulquiorra Scheiffer. That was when Ichigo lost his thread. Man, that chick must have been really someone to him. And he further lost his marbles when Old Geezer announced he wouldn't be lifting a finger to reacquire that Inoue chick. All went hell from here when he elaborated that there'd be no means he'd allow Ichigo to die like a dog in Hueco Mundo in trying to save the girl. Well, the best I could say was, fuck this. Really. But I couldn't really barrel my sentiments aloud because two formidable dudes shafted out of nowhere. And, man, I was sure Renji and Rukia would crawl under their pants.

"We're given orders to take you back to Soul Society."

Turned out those two dudes were captains; the most famous ones in Soul Society. Well—I could tell—I do have perceptive powers, if you must know, though close to zero.

"You're coming with us too, Grimmjow Jaggerjack." the 10-footer something dude with tiny bells on his hair ordered; I mean it sounded this far from a request or a suggestion. Demanding bitch.

"Yeah, right, that's fucking gonna happen." I talked back. And then there was this quicksilver change of mood from everyone as though I said something that paralleled with me getting killed.

I counted to three. I was still in one piece. What the hell was wrong with these dudes? He was just a captain; like, I'm a captain level, and, yeah, he had scars; pretty scary-looking, he was tall; kinda intimidating; his eyes reflected twenty million murders, and…yeah, I'll stop right here because the best I had pulled dangles around a thousand murders and he could just dice me to ten pieces on any given day.

I'm a blabbermouth so I didn't stop jabbering,

"I'll stay behind. That one who took that chick was Ulquiorra Scheiffer the Fucker. The other two who made the diversion were Yammy the Fatty and the retarded one was the youngest member of the family, Wonderwice Margera. If Aizen had already gone to that measure, like sending such troop to the defenseless town, man, someone has to stay behind. It must mean the bastard really MEANS business."

Well. That has to be the longest shit I'd uttered. I was waiting for my round of applause but what with the pitiable Shinigami humor, they just stared at me blankly.

"I will honor that proposal under the conditions that you will do your job of securing the town. Kurosaki will be stationed there too. As for the rest of you, Shinigami, I'm pulling you out." Old geezer said. He can be a pompous royal ass sometimes.

So all them dudes except me, Ichigo, and Urahara were marshaled into this magic door and out of the human world. Ichigo had his gaze fixed on an imaginary point. He was trembling like crazy, man. I wanted to shove his damn face on something. He turned slowly to Dr. Sicko,

"Urahara- san, can you—"

"—I will. But it may take a while."

I didn't know what they were yapping about, but asking one dumb question, it seemed, would require quite a careful handling so I just shut up.

So, back to the present. I'm fucking alone in his room, and this time, it's different. What his absence left behind is conveying something else; I can't trace his reiatsu. He's gone to thin air. I feel like dismantling the entire house when this piece of paper idling on the bedside table seizes my attention. I read it,

G,

Don't come after me. I'm going to rescue my friend. I'm sorry. I'll get this over in a moment. I will see you soon. I'll come back alive.

I

Well. I can feel my head losing ground and collapsing by the hundreds. He doesn't know what he's up against. I'll tell you: he's up against my friggin' marbles and the strongest of Aizen's bitches. For I all know, he may be dying out there. He's probably dying now, like so dead, already dead that he can't die ANYMORE. It's just all too terrifying; that's as rational as it can get. I imagine Ulquiorra blasting a hole in his chest. And then there's still the top three Espada. If somehow…

If someone tells you I'm an asshole, don't fucking believe that. He is the asshole, the biggest one in the universe for fucking scaring me shitless. Oh, Ichigo, I'm gonna pull you outta the depths of hell if I have to beat the shit outta your erratic ass. I mean, who leaves his boyfriend behind worrying like a faggot??

I head to Urahara's.

"Open it. Now."

"It's open. I knew you'd follow Ichigo the moment you learn of it. Go on now. And please be careful."

Humbled by my mistake, I nod at the sick bastard, "You bet I will."

So here I am, roaming the sandy planes of Hueco Mundo, in a hopeless search for an orange-head bastard who has exhausted all the possibilities of my temper going back to its normal rate. And I am still writing on this stupid notepad. I scud my way to the deathless Las Noches palace, and, man, my guts are cringing from the remembrance of all the boredom this goddamn building has served me in the past. Fuck this.

I traipse past the entrance and fuck. I can feel reiatsus colliding here and there, and to simplify it, all these are boding shit. However, I can't feel the top ranking Espadas' spiritual pressure. But then—

That has to be Ulquiorra. And there's someone else, someone so familiar. And maybe so dear.

So I'm here now in the throne room, standing back and watching and restraining my reiatsu with no absolute guarantee of any consequence. Yeah, I'll jump in, cut in between them, and stop their battle. It's just a match between a Vaizard and a formidable Espada.

Ulquiorra releases. Now here's a scene that's gonna do me in. If there was an adjective for 'pissed to death and beyond and beyond and beyond', I'd use it along ten million strong adverbs to describe what I'm feeling now. Ulquiorra is like beating the hell out of Ichigo. Like, I can just close my eyes and count to ten, and when I open them finally, I'd be damned if Ichigo hasn't dropped dead yet.

I'd like to kick his eyes out. Ichigo's eyes. Fucking moron. I look at him and I remember last night. We were on our way to his house, soaking wet from not entirely the heavy downpour. There was something else. Like his insides were lamenting desolately. I realize he was trying to say he could disappear the next day and never to return. I'll change that.

Yesterday, under the pouring rain, we kissed many times. Shit. Me and my sentiments. I can just kick myself in the nuts...which isn't even possible, anatomically speaking. So yeah, that's something I wouldn't do in a million years.

Ulquiorra is creeping me out. I'm sure the bastard has detected me but he ain't doing anything. Well, technically, he's doing what a lamp post always does; being a fucking hard-headed bitch who likes to annoy the shit out of anyone. Solution: fucking tell Ichigo that this is my friggin' match and not his. So he better run away with the Inoue chick like a faggot. Yeah, he'll understand. I mean, I'm more in the round with Ulquiorra and all.

So yeah, now it's clear to me why I bestowed Ichigo the name The Lovely Death of Me. He really is gonna be the death of me. Somehow vaguely, I've always known that. Hell, maybe I'd die for the bastard. Who knows. Not me. I'll jump in now and leave you, dear diary, here. Keep my secrets with you and never tell. Bullshit ha ha ha. Alright, you can let anyone read you. With that, Grimmjow Jaggerjack shall pass on his legacy to whoever may read this, and that whoever shall grasp that the pivot of this writing shit is my definition of lo—

—just what the fuck am I saying? I'm not gonna fucking die here, jeez; it's just Ulquiorra. In his release form. Dammit. So, I'll retrieve you later. Wait for me like a docile servant. I'll bury you under this stupid rock and leave you be. Take care of my goddamn pen, okay? I want it still filled with ink when I get back, if I ever do. I'll jot everything down as SOON as I get back. If this happens to be my last entry, though god forbid, be honored my words ever graced your pages. So, for now, feel lucky to hear this:

"Grind, Pantera."

Signing out,

Grimmjow Jaggerjack

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NO ENTRY FOLLOWS THIS ONE.