Fanfiction: Adios Amigos
To you, you, you...and you:
Aizen-sama. First of all, screw your stupid ambitions, your godly aspirations, your ass-kissing minions and above all, screw you. Yep, you read that right. I’ve had enough of your pretense, your orders and your Jerkology. Goodbye and please die. The only thing I’ll possibly miss about you is your…alright, I’ll cut the bullshit; nothing, so, I’m off.
Tousen. Before anything else, allow me to inform you that I harbor no hard feelings against you. I wasn’t pissed when you demonstrated the extent of your joy-killing passion on the night Shao Long and the others got killed at my expense (though if you’d let me explain, it was all D-Roy’s fault!); not when you went ratting about it to Aizen-sama, and most certainly not when you fucking amputated my precious arm. I’m cool; you’re cool; so we’re cool, alright? But then, I hope you wouldn’t develop the slightest contempt toward me and my actions once you learned that your tea (the one they served you one hour ago) was spiked with arsenic. Yeah, I’m quite sure you wouldn’t mind, like hell, you’re most likely six feet under by the time this letter gets to you and perhaps too busy biting dust to give a damn. So, you’ve finally attained absolute peace, no need to thank me. Bless your soul. PS: I dunno about justice though.
Gin. I don’t know who you are and I swear as Aizen-sama is my witness that I’d be the last person to be inclined to care. But do me a favor and erase your foxy grinning face off my head. You’ve contaminated my well-fucked mind with enough images of the slits you call your eyes and that crack of menace that happens to be your mouth that I fear I’ve actually and moronically forgotten how to sleep. So, if it’s not too much to ask for a parting gift, please behead yourself.
Yammy. Diez Espada. You big bloke, don’t be all teary-eyed when you read this. I never really got the chance to hang with you a lot. Beyond the exhibition of your antics and the weak results of the missions assigned to you, you know, those that come always short of satisfactory, at least for me, I have no fucking idea what you’re good at, if you are indeed, good at anything. Of course there’s your habitual propensity of following the Pompous Prick (yes, I’m talking about Ulquiorra) like a faithful shadow and er, what else? You’re a fat-ass, has anyone ever cared enough to actually tell you? I have, obviously. Well, that just about sums it up. You can stop breathing any minute now.
Noveno Espada. A'roniro Alulueri. You can gauge how much I value you by my fighting the urge to skip this dedication. I’m really more thoughtful than all yah morons think. See, you ain’t that forgettable after all! Here goes; if you’re seeking for a resolution, a really good and impressionable heralded turn of character, it may be a practical point to change your looks. I had it on good authority, if not exactly first hand information, that you can morph your appearance to anything you wish. Can’t you glimpse the clean slate? Be anything BUT you! Christ, whatever gave you the idea you’re permitted to go around displaying yourself to anyone? And just for you to be informed, your mask never really does its job. A piece of advice; give up on life already; it just doesn’t agree with you. Ciao.
Octava Espada. Szayel Apollo Grantz. The number of times you’ve had me victimized overrides all other qualities you have left for me to conceive. All I can come up with is that you are a friggin’ pervert and you should leave anyone alone. Here’s how it is: every move you make is a dead-hit lewd invitation to bed. Am I so right? Since you’re constantly, perhaps permanently, over-eager to bed anything that moves, why don’ cha stuff yourself in a fucking coffin? Go and treat yourself by taking your molesting escapades to new heights. A coffin offers up a vast selection of luxuries like infinite privacy, thrill, unique environment and so on. And don’t forget to lock it from the outside and swallow the key, okay? And oh, I almost forgot, you suck at laboratory works and I’m sorry I cannot enumerate the myriad inabilities you are unconsciously suffering from, seeing as the list is endless. But I’ll name one; there’s the fact that I never once reached orgasm every time you got around to fucking me. Now, how’s your ego doing? Still alive? It hurts, I know but it’s the immutable truth. But improvement presents itself to the needy, always. A coffin is the solution. Think about it.
Ya Old Geezer. Nth Espada. There is something remarkable about you; it’s your forgettable-ness. Why do I think so? Let’s see, I’m sure I have the list somewhere…well, should you really be asking? Er, uhm, apparently, I’ve forgotten already. You know, I’ve noticed one thing about you; you’re really fond of complaining, aren’t you? Life’s a bore, with that I can give you my ceaseless approval. My point? Do something about, duh. Go perform a Cero on yourself for a change and poof! Boredom gone; Old Geezer dead. May you rest in peace.
Noitora, Sinco Espada. The notorious creep. Personally, and I mean no offense, I’m so sick of the harmonious yet non-stop repetitions of your verbal onslaught against the female species. So sick in fact that I literally and more than once wanted to murder Halibel for your convenience and silence. Trust me; she’s not the catch; it’s Aizen-sama. Yep, Aizen-sama. The big fish. I’ve been under his Hakama for I-can’t-really-recall-how-many-times that I now possess the godly authority to tell you that he has no balls, which consequently led me to conclude that he is in fact a ‘she’. So, that would make him, rather, her, the ultimate catch. I know you want it, prove to the world that women are weaklings. Go and raise your Zanpakotou against Aizen-sama! I’ll be cheering for you from here as you plunge your shitty head closer to death-I mean-victory. Go, go go Noitora, self-proclaimed strongest Espada!
Ulquiorra…I’ll save you for later. We have many words left unspoken to each other.
Halibel. Nth Espada. Are you just gonna let Noitora’s verbal abuse go unchallenged? You scared or something? Can’t blame ya; that prick’s a creep. Hey, I hope you wouldn’t take this as anything serious but you’d aid in the promotion of decency if you considered covering your tits instead of your teeth, ya know what I mean? Not that it bothers me. In any case, Sinco Espada is off to plot an ambush on you and it’ll be ready-for-execution in five minutes. Are you reading this? Five minutes! Now don’t go welcoming death and choking on me; Fight back, goddammit! And while you’re at it, kindly get yourself killed in the process too. Yeah, that would just get the sunny bright light shining and smiling down on me. Thanks in advance.
Stark. Nth Espada. Lemme ask you, do you abhor my hostile nature? Would it make a difference if my presence went undetected by you forever? Or are you too fucking lazy to give a rat’s ass and think about it? Continue being a couch potato like that and you’d be looming one hundred pounds overweight like Yammy in no time. Don’t go yapping about no one warning you later. But hey, I come with a wonderful message: I’m hitting the road for good. No more Mr. Rebel, Mr. Disturber of your Slumber, Mr. Blabbermouth Jaggerjack, conclusively, no more me; All for the benefit of your round-the-clock past time. So with me gone, I hope Mr Sandman will go forever partying over your seemingly dead body, never to depart. Just make love with your beloved dreams, sleep, doze off and don’t ever fucking wake up.
Black Guy Baldie. Nth Espada. I am in no way taunted and intimidated by your size. I’m not entirely acquainted with the extents of your abilities but hey, I’m cocksure you’re scared of Aizen-sama like all them losers, 10th-1st Espada (except the 6th). So why should you earn my admiration? Hmmm…I have an idea! Jump off the west-wing tower without using reiatsu and your Zanpakotou! Let’s see how unbreakable you are. Many quite suspect you’re the top Espada but numbers are just numbers and you’re just you and I’m just me unless you convince me you’re really something, I might change ma mind. Yeah, west-wing tower it is, or are you scared? Oh well, I shouldn’t expect much from someone who cowers away at Aizen’s biddings. Too bad. But you’re not a coward, are you?
And last, Ulquiorra Scheiffer. I’ll keep this short so don’t faint. Those fake cosmetic paint tracing a flowing pattern on your cheeks, very expressive indeed. They won’t stay fake for long; read this: I’m so over you. We are serious history. And you know what they say about history? Past is past, there’s no need to recollect them in any way. Know what pushed me to finalize this familiar tone of resignation? You. You wanna know about all the shit I went through trying to put up with you? Go figure. I must have acquired some terminal brain damage and am currently not in the condition to name all your horsing-around’s. Perhaps you’re jumping around like a fucking pogo stick upon the news of my departure. Perhaps the chilling prospect of your freedom from me is off to knock you unconscious. Perhaps you’re off skipping your steps to Aizen’s chamber, ready to be screwed nonstop. Perhaps I don’t give a fuck anymore. I’ve found someone, someone who’s a better kisser, a better lover and above all, a better fucker more deserving of my wondrous self. Someone who doesn’t moan the name ‘Aizen-sama’ at the peak of pleasure in bed. Yes, you didn’t know? Sixty-eight out of the seventy times we’ve done it you went panting with his name exploding off your mouth. Screw you and to hell with you. This is goodbye. You can cry under your blankie and suffocate and drown in your tears; I won’t come to your rescue because guess what? I’ll probably be too occupied with my orange-haired Shinigami to lift a finger for you. I’m still amazed by my prior disregard to our differences. Screwing you and getting screwed by you were fun, that I can never deny. But dumping you is perpetual bliss and rubbing it in that I’m leaving you for someone else is not just a fucking blast; it’s contentment at its deepest form. Just how could someone as brilliant as me be enticed by someone so monochromatic (literally) as you? I was a moron back then but that does not excuse a mistake of such magnitude. I don’t know. I don’t want to think anymore. I’m good to go. So long and don’t ever come see me again; you’ll just get your heart busted to smithereens. I hope you die of jealousy.
Signed,
Grimmjow Jaggerjack
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