14 Dazai From Last Year I Forgot To Post 🤧

Skk Brainrot for Chuuya’s BDay

💌 When I said chibi was my dog this is not what I meant : Chapter 1  💌  

Summary: The minute he stepped into Mori's office Chuuya was already annoyed. While the Mafia dealt with foreign imports of all kinds, being told to investigate the strange influx of Stray Dogs across Yokohama wasn’t his ideal use of his skill set. Chuuya has always liked animals, animal's also liked Chuuya and he's always wanted a dog. He never expected to become a dog. The irony of Dazai calling him a dog all these years makes him want to scream. His ex partner has always been vocal about his disdain for two things. Now Chuuya is somehow both, and Dazai is the only one who can change him back.

Notes: Happy Birthday Chuuya~ I wanted to post something for Chuuya's birthday & this has been sitting in my drafts. Eventually this will have more than one chapter because I see the vision I just haven't had the time to write for it. Gonna base all the dogs on WAN.

💌 Word count: 3,754 💌  You Are Here | Next Chapter coming soon

The port mafia was practically "in charge" of every illegal trade in Yokohama so the sudden influx of stray dogs, breeds that were not known for being popular in Japan, tipped Mori off. He couldn't help but sigh rolling his eyes because he probably should have someone look into it. As silly as the situation may have seemed the Port Mafia has a reputation to uphold. Although the juxtaposition of sending an executive to investigate was also incredibly ridiculous but Mori has seen animals gravitate to the young man and knowing that a certain partner used to claim all the time that Chuuya was his dog, brought back a level of nostalgia that plastered a smile on his face. Chuuya on the other hand was less than pleased with this position. The mafia’s greatest combatant being used as a sheepdog to herd in a bunch of no names to the slaughter was a waste of time in his personal opinion. Don't get him wrong, he'll do it because Mori's command is law but he's still going to complain about it. 

The investigation didn't actually take him that long to trace it back to a series of missing people reports. One person went missing and suddenly there was a new dog on the streets. Although it seemed pretty cut and dry it was still concerning that the authorities haven't done anything about the disappearances. Most of the cases occurred near the edge of town where plenty of abandoned facilities were located. It was possible whoever was behind this was hiding there. Chuuya had only assumed what was happening, he had a hunch that it wasn't even animal's being imported. The power of science was a bizarre field to him, after all, he contained a power equal to that of a God.

What he didn’t expect was for it to actually be someone's ability. Why let the dogs out on the street if it was someone’s ability? He only had more questions but Chuuya didn't care one way or the other because what difference would it make to him. He was given the order to take them out regardless. Mori wanted the facility intact for further investigation after the group was swiftly dealt with but it was more of an afterthought. Chuuya didn't even bother taking reinforcements; he simply walked through the front door and watched as they realized nothing could touch him. He cleared out floors left and right until the only way down to the lower levels was an elevator. His ability should have been able to handle whatever trap had been set but then the room filled with gas, one of the very few things his ability had no effect on. Chuuya could only hold his breath for so long and despite manipulating the drop from the elevator to compensate for the impact of fall damage, he was already dizzy. By the time he forced the doors open, with a few steps out of the elevator he found himself collapsing to the floor.

His head had a dull ache that spread to the rest of his body. They didn’t kill or physically harm him yet which could only mean they want information but they must be more stupid than they look to not even bother trying to restrain him. All they did was put a cloth over him. His joints were sore as he tried to clutch his head. When he shifted the cloth fell off revealing not a hand but a paw. He wiggled out of what used to be his clothes to get a better look at himself. Observing the new changes to his body, he was a dog. A fluffy chihuahua if he had to guess by his reflection in the glass across from him. They seemed to have put him in some examination room. He turned around and shook his tail. The feeling of an extra limb was more apparent and weird but he didn't have time to dwell on it for too long. Someone was going to pay.

The familiar red glow covered his form as he continued what he came here to do. Being a dog wouldn’t matter in the end. He'd just change back after he killed the ability user, but even after clearing the building he didn’t. He ran up and down the empty halls struggling with the new sensation of walking. The panic was starting to set in. He still hadn't changed back and there was not a soul left in sight at the entire facility. That means they got away before Chuuya woke up. He grit his teeth. He didn't know how long he was out for and tracking them down would be a pain in the ass in the state he was in. The only thing that gave him some relief was that he came alone and that none of his comrades were in this predicament. He could only imagine the chaos an entire division of dogs would do.

Trying to sift through files with paws was a nightmare. It took all of his self control to not destroy everything in this godforsaken lab. Chuuya just hoped this weird organization didn't send back up his way otherwise he was screwed. He couldn't find anything important and his patience was running extremely low with how long it was taking to even grab a file from the desk. If he was human it would take him two minutes to settle this whole endeavor. Chuuya stopped dropping the papers from his mouth.

If he was human.

A wave of dread washed over him as he realized there was one person who could fix this.

Dazai.

He really didn't want to see the mackerel especially not like this but what else could he do. He couldn’t go back to headquarters like this. He couldn’t even phone for someone to help him, he tried. Even if someone picked up he could only bark and hoped they understood. All Dazai would need to do was touch him but there was one glaring problem with that. Dazai hates dogs. He wouldn't voluntarily approach them let alone pet one out in the wild. If Chuuya tackled him to the ground he would be forced to at least touch him right? He took off in the direction of the ADA without a second thought. Completely forgetting about his hat, his phone and the rest of his belongings. He sure had a lot of faith in Dazai’s ability.

Chuuya was exhausted halfway there. Walking on all fours was miserable considering the distance he had to cover and he was even using his ability to help travel which probably only made him more tired. Luckily it was so late in the night there weren't a lot of people or cars around. By the time he made it to the agency building he was ready to collapse. He sat by the door as the sun was already starting to rise. It would be hours before Dazai would show up. He let himself sleep in the meantime he was too tired to try and fight it.

“What’s going on here?”

A voice stirred Chuuya awake from his sleep but he didn’t want to wake up yet not after the night he’s had. He could sleep in a little more right? He didn't have to make his report immediately. He contemplated just how long he would sleep in before another voice joined the conversation.

“Hey Mr. Kunikida.”

Chuuya swears he’s heard the name before but it doesn’t fully click why. He was about to get up when he felt a hand smoothing out his hair. A warm feeling washed over him preventing him from wanting to move. He let the voices talk while he leaned into the unknown touch still keeping his eyes closed. 

“A lost dog, did you really think things through before bringing it here? Listen, it's a lot of responsibility taking care of a living creature.”

Lost dog

That broke Chuuya out of his pleasant stupor. He opened his eyes and got up abruptly. He was sitting in the white haired kids lap while a bunch of agency members were surrounding him. None of them were the one he needed to see.

“Dazai!” he tried shouting as he scrambled out of the kid’s grasp to find the waste of bandages. He briskly dodged the many hands that tried to grab for him. Finally being small came in handy for once. He cringed that he admitted that to himself. Chuuya sniffed the air and sure enough he could tell exactly where the brunette was sitting at his desk. As he bolted around the corner he jumped into Dazai’s lap almost knocking him out of his chair. He was pawing at Dazai’s chest trying to explain what happened to him but it only came out as incoherent barking.

Dazai frowned. All of his coworkers were fawning over an ugly mutt while he was making it a point to actually do some work. It was just a dog and a lost one no less. It already had an owner. What was so special about it? He had made his distaste for the animal apparent when Atsushi brought him up the stairs. Hadn’t he ever heard the phrase “let sleeping dogs lie” before? A single bark rang out from the conference corner causing him to turn his head before everyone’s panicked cries could be heard. It must have woken up and the amount of people surrounding the dog scared it away. Dazai should be fine at his desk or so he thought. The small runt tackled him almost making him lose his balance yapping up a storm. He frowned, glaring at the dog but that only made it continue barking and pawing at him. 

“Okay that’s enough.” Dazai snapped, holding the dog up with both hands. It was weird the dog stopped his infernal yelping, its eyes seemingly growing wide as both its tail and ears slumped downwards. Did the dog understand that it was being scolded? 

Atsushi stood in front of Dazai making sure the dog was okay “I thought you didn’t like dogs?”

“I don’t. Here, you take him.” 

The statement was dismissive as he tried to hand Chuuya off to Atsushi but before he could get a proper hold on him Chuuya jumped on to Dazai’s desk and started growling at the tiger boy. Dazai perked up again at the sudden change in the dog’s mood. 

“Maybe he can tell you’re a tiger.” he stated playfully.

“Or maybe he likes you, Dazai.”

Chuuya started barking again, taking an aggressive stance towards Dazai’s protege. Dazai stifled a laugh looking over the dog. It was a red long haired Chihuahua. The fur almost seemed unnaturally orange for a dog and paired with the black collar around its neck it almost reminded him of a certain slug. Maybe this dog was a Chuu-huahua with how little it’s temper was. 

"We should call him Chibi because he's so small." Dazai wanted to take a picture, draw Chuuya’s tacky hat on the dog and then send the picture to him. Of course he wasn’t going to because that was effort he didn't want to waste on the small creature but he still had the thought cross his mind.

Before Chuuya could bark in protest the president stepped into the room to address the obscure racket. They filled him in on the situation as Dazai resumed working, nudging Chuuya to get off the paper he was writing on and then completely ignored the dog. Naturally Chuuya stepped aside at a loss of what to do. The president was pretty okay with the agency taking care of the runaway for now until they found his owner but they would never find his owner since Chuuya wasn’t actually a dog. He hadn’t even noticed he was still wearing his choker which is probably why they thought he was lost. It fit loosely around his neck but since his coat of fur was so fluffy it wasn’t that obvious it didn’t fit him properly.

Chuuya was gutted that he didn’t turn back immediately but if he could just get Dazai’s attention the brunette would put it together. They could communicate nonverbally in the past with just a look. All Chuuya had to do was to make the stupid mackerel realize it’s him. He put his paw on one of the books discarded to the side. If he could make it float then his ex partner was sure to put it together right, but nothing happened. There was no red glow in fact Chuuya couldn’t even feel Arahabaki anymore not since the president said they would take him in. Was it possible that being a dog got rid of his ability? That can’t be right since he used it a few hours ago. He was more confused than worried. Dazai wasn't touching him; he should be able to use it. Chuuya grit his teeth but tried to appear calm. Chuuya glanced towards the president, was it possible it was his doing? He didn't actually know if the president had a special ability but it's also not like he doesn’t remember N explaining that animals are not capable of manifesting special abilities. It's just peculiar that he was able to use it when he first turned. Maybe it took him a while to fully transition to being a dog?

 He didn’t have much time to think about it as Kunikida tried to pick him up off the desk. He kicked his hand away and growled again. He refused to let anyone come near him. Chuuya might be a dog but he didn’t want to be touched again. Knowing how good it feels to be pet and pampered he’s afraid he’ll lose himself in the warmth, plus he needs to focus. His train of thought crashed when Dazai patted his head calmly saying “No one’s going to hurt you here. You can stop your growling. It’s annoying.” 

He didn’t miss the glint of daggers in the other’s eyes, it was oddly comforting. If it was anyone else he would have bit them but right now Dazai was the only one he trusted. Chuuya nodded at Dazai causing him to pause. Chuuya would smirk if he could because he understood what that look meant. It was a subtle gesture but since he’s known Dazai for years and in that split second he could tell the other was caught off guard. 

Dazai blinked, did the dog just nod at him? It was getting increasingly difficult to dislike this dog when it kept peaking his interest. Most animals have always hated him but cats usually were the only exception. They say that animals can judge a person’s character and it seems like every small creature in Yokohama, including a certain slug, got the memo but this is twice now that this dog seemed to understand his words. Not even the cats that approached him displayed such obvious strange behavior. He could also be reading too much into this situation because he simply didn’t want to be working right now but that was more to spite everyone over the dumb dog.

Before anyone else could touch Chuuya, he jumped down and scampered underneath Dazai’s desk sitting by his feet. He had a lot to think about and he was still tired. He thought about going back to the facility to try again but it was too far for his small stature to traverse back and forth constantly and now he'd have to shake off these schmucks to do it. Honestly he could try dragging one of these losers with him, they are detectives after all. One of them could put it together but he doubts any of them would follow a dog around town for that long without thinking they’ve gone batshit crazy. The biggest problem is he didn’t know who the ability user was and there was no way for him to communicate effectively right now especially since his ability disappeared. Or was there? He’d have to think of something.

Atsushi and Kunikida watch in awe as the dog practically follows Dazai’s command. They both peer under the desk to see him curled up by Dazai’s feet. Atsushi raised an eyebrow. 

"I'm not the only one who thought that was weird right?" Laughing awkwardly as he looked around when everyone circled the desk.

Kunikida pushed up his glasses "I guess he's a lot smarter than he looks." Chuuya peeked out to bark again before glaring at the blonde. He could see this startled Kunikida slightly. 

Dazai sighed "I think you guys should leave Chibi alone for a bit. Let him get used to his surroundings."

"I'm impressed. Dazai, I didn't realize you were so good with animals."

His frown deepened "I'm not, I'm just saying that he's only gravitating towards me because I'm the only one who's left him alone." 

Dazai shifted to see the dog still at his feet lazily pawing at his shoe laces. He rolls his eyes. This dog was more of a cat than a dog but he supposed that with its small frame it wasn’t completely uncommon for a chihuahua to be fast and nimble but that does take the proper training to accomplish. Just whose dog was this, unless, was it possible this is Chuuya’s dog? Dazai remembered the hat rack always mentioning that he wanted a dog but for some reason he never got one. He smirked to himself. If that was the case Dazai would keep him for a while. Maybe he could train him to mess with his owner a little bit but first he had to find out if this was, in fact, Chuuya’s dog. Unfortunately finding that out would be too much effort even if it was to annoy Chuuya. He dropped the idea entirely. At the end of the day it was just a dog.

Everyone went back to their daily tasks giving Chuuya a much needed break from being the center of attention. He lazily played with the laces of Dazai’s shoes. He really had nothing else better to do. He heard the shuffling of paper and the scribbling of pens filling the room. Chuuya only assumed Dazai’s partner was furiously trying to blitz through paperwork. Glasses guy seemed like the workaholic type. Although that gave him an idea. If Chuuya could get his paws on a writing implement he could try spelling it out for Dazai. He slowly got up and walked around the corner to Kunikida’s desk. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the dog except for the blonde. Gracefully he jumped up and knocked a pen and small notepad off of the desk. 

“Hey, what are you-” Kunikida stopped when he saw the dog try to take the cap off the pen. Dazai raised an eyebrow but knelt down to take the cap off for him.

Chuuya tried his best to write “help me” but when he looked down it was intangible scribbling. Next he tried to draw a fish which he was much prouder of when he really shouldn't be. Dazai tilted his head as everyone crowded around to see what the dog was doing. When there was still no reaction Chuuya rolled his eyes and drew a hat. Well he tried to draw a hat. Putting the pen down it looked more like a food bowl but come to think of it he hadn’t eaten anything and it was nearing lunchtime already. Chuuya placed the pen down sitting upright, puffing out his chest. Surely this was enough for Dazai to understand what was going on. 

There was a moment of silence from everyone before Kenji clapped his hands together "Oh I get it! He's hungry." 

Chuuya deflated, nosing the paper of the notepad to start over as the ADA were trying to figure out the food situation. Chuuya took his time with the next drawing. He needed to get it right this time but holding the pen in his mouth wasn't the easiest thing in the world when he had to pick it up from the floor. Luckily this time it was a recognizable fish. When he was done he pushed it towards Dazai stamping his paw trying to mentally communicate. 

Dazai tilted his head to the side "A fish?" Chuuya barked trying to correct it to "mackerel" but it was no use.

Kenji crouched next to Dazai on the floor. "Could it be, he likes fish!" 

The brunette raised an eyebrow before trifling through his pockets to pull out a can of crab. "Maybe he could smell this on me? That would explain why he tackled me earlier." He flatly added opening the can without a second thought. Seriously, what was he doing? He should let the others handle the pest. 

Chuuya stared at the open can silently laughing to himself. Some things never change, huh? Back when they were partners Dazai always carried around the same disgusting cans of crab with him. He contemplated pushing it away but at this point it was better than being relegated to eating dog food. Taking a hesitant bite it wasn’t as bad as he remembered it being. He lapped up the crab ignoring the rest of the office marveling his odd taste in sustenance.

"A dog who likes crab and Dazai? Atsushi, where did you even find such a creature?." Kunikida put his pen down for the moment. This situation was weird even for what they normally deal with. "Well he was just sleeping outside the entrance. I thought he was another stray until I saw the collar." Atsushi scratched the back of his neck. He didn't really think anything of picking up the dog since Kyouka had brought a cat to the office not too long ago. Kunikida pushed up his glasses “I guess Dazai should be the one to take care of it then.” Everyone in the

office nodded in agreement leaving Dazai in distress.

He scoffed “Why me? Might I remind everyone that I detest dogs!”

As Chuuya finished eating he casually walked back over to where Dazai was sitting and made himself comfortable in the brunette's lap. Kunikida laughed going back to his work. “Could have fooled me.”

Dazai grumbled, staring at the small creature. It wasn’t everyday that anyone trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. This dog really was like Chuuya. The thought only made him roll his eyes. “Yeah, as if.”

Time Travel AU where Michael goes back in time physically instead of just mentally, back before the loss of either of his siblings, and comes across his childhood self. He takes one look at this stupid, cruel, selfish little brat. The same one who let his sister die because he’d rather goof off that watch her. Who murdered his brother in cold blood. Whose terrible behavior put strain on William’s marriage. All of which contributed to William’s deteriorating mental state which ultimately stopped him from getting help with his homicidal urges (or so Mike believes). He takes one look at this kid (who is currently staring up at this moldy stranger thinking ‘why does this dude smell like roadkill’) and immediately wraps his hands around the brat’s throat. Mike strangles his past self to death right there in broad daylight.

Mike’s body is found abandoned at the side of the road. Neither hide nor hair is ever found of the murderer, almost as if he’d vanished into thin air.

I found a one shot of Luffy with braids and I absolutely adore the concept, especially when it was described of him having the beads of his crew (I think??) within the braids that circles his head like a crown. I thought it was adorable. It’s A Story in Braids on AO3 by @islenthatur if you haven’t read it go read it ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

@dire-kumori has an au where Scooped Mike gets time-travelled to before CC and Liz's deaths, and he's filled with such blind rage and self-loathing upon seeing his younger self that he kills young Mike over and over again in a time loop that young Mike barely even understands. Guess who wrote a one-shot for it? (I'm also tagging @serenefig and @cloudwhisper23 bc I feel like you'll be interested in reading)

word count: 3,715

“Have fun with your friends’, brats. Don’t even think about coming back until morning unless you want to spend the night outside, ‘cause I won’t bother unlocking the doors for you.”

Cold lines of metal pressed grooves into Mike’s back as he leaned against the front door threshold and waved his siblings goodbye. His voice resounded in sharp echoes across the tree line; he spoke a bit too loud considering that his little siblings were only a few feet away, but then again, that was the point. 

You never knew what things were lurking in the shadows, listening and lying in wait for the moment they could get you alone. Sometimes, however, you could use that to your advantage.  

Michael’s gaze roved over the tree line as his siblings turned their backs on him and walked down the driveway. The trees surrounded their entire house in a near-perfect circle; shadows crept beneath the trees’ gnarled, grasping finger-like branches. As the sun slumped further down in the sky, the shadows drew steadily closer and closer to the house like a tidal wave of darkness begging to be held back no longer.

The eldest Afton’s jaw clenched as he dug his teeth into his gum with even more ferocity. Slowly, he pulled his Foxy mask from the top of his head to cover his face. 

He didn’t have to be afraid with the wicked smile and sharp teeth covering his face. It was an assurance that Michael could be strong and brave even when– no, especially when he was all on his own, just like the pirate fox he felt so much for. 

If a monster wanted to chase him down, then so be it. But as long as Mike had his mask on, the monster wasn't the only dangerous thing around.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Electricity shot through every nerve ending in Michael’s body. The jolt of adrenaline made every hair stand on end, and heat roared through his veins like wildfire as Mike crouched behind the garage wall with his fingers white-knuckled and half-numb against the cool metal of his bright red bat.

Each breath passed his lips at a crawl. Everything around him seemed to blur and fade to gray as Mike focused his entire being on the harsh slam of rubber soles coming closer and closer. 

A million ghostly aches, sharp and dull and stabbing and pressing aches of a million undeaths, all sparked to life with increasing intensity as the monster drew closer and closer, but Mike pushed away the memories of aches and pains assaulting his limbs.

He only needed to get one good shot in. 

He smelled the bastard long before it got close. It was something like the curdled cup of milk that Mike had found in his room last week, the maggot-infested animal carcasses he and his friends would poke at when they found them on the side of the road, the stank of rotten eggs– all those putrid smells and more clinging to the bastard's skin in an eye-watering stench that made Michael’s stomach churn and his throat burn on principle. 

Mike's heart hammered in his chest, almost to the same beat as the footfalls chasing him. 

There was a flurry of movement as the sicko ran past Mike where he was crouched out of sight behind the wall. 

The reaper's footfalls quickly slowed as though somehow aware that it had been duped, but Mike was already moving. 

The decaying monster didn't even have time to turn around before Mike jumped forward and slammed his bat into the back of its head. 

His years' worth of practice hitting baseballs did nothing to prepare him for the vibrations that rocketed painfully through his arms and shoulders and all the way down his back, nor for the sickening crack of a human skull shattering under his hands. 

The monster went down, but Mike could only stand there even as a voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to run. Vomit burned his throat at the curdled blood and the dark red and purple slimy skin that clung to the metal of his bat before it fell to the ground with a wet plop beside the monster. Thick droplets of the creature’s ice-cold blood dribbled down Michael’s face and smeared against the teen’s lips as he stood there in shock.

Boney claws wrapped around Mike’s ankle. The sharp pain of bone digging underneath his skin jerked Michael’s mind back to awareness, and he brought his bat down on the thing's wrist just before it had time to yank him to the ground. 

The fingers didn't let him go even after the impact of Mike’s bat ground the compact bones along the creature’s wrist into fine dust held together only by moldy stretches of tendon and skin. 

Michael brought the bat down on the thing's arm again and again and again before its other hand finally snaked around and grabbed hold of the slippery dark red metal.

Michael yanked the bat closer, cursing himself for giving the reaper a chance to rip his weapon away. But the reaper didn’t; instead, it used the momentum of Michael’s action against him.

Mike's vision went red with pain as the handle of his bat flew back at him and slammed into his lips with enough force that Mike heard his plastic mask crack on his face. 

Except Michael realized a split second later that it wasn’t just his mask that had cracked. Something sharp and coppery exploded in Mike's mouth and the teen choked on shards of his own teeth as the fractured remnants slid down the back of his throat. 

The thing's fingers were still locked around his ankle, and the moldy strands of tendon and skin keeping its bony purple hand attached to the rest of the monster's body snapped apart as Michael stumbled backward with tears in his eyes and dark red blood dribbling down his chin. He was too stunned by pain to react even as the monster peeled itself off the ground with one arm; its other, handless appendage hung limply against its side in a mess of unnatural angles kept together only by thin layers of rotting skin. 

Its neck snapped down to look at its obliterated arm, but somehow, the creature looked almost bored as its empty eye sockets focused on the mangled stretch of flesh and shattered bone attached to it. The monster’s remaining fingers latched around its broken arm before ripping the twisted limb from its shoulder with enough force that its entire body jerked at the motion. 

The shattered lower part of the arm flopped to the ground in a pile of putrid skin, and the reaper's head snapped back up and its empty eyes focused directly on Michael with its fingers still grasping the remains of its upper arm. 

"You're going to regret that,” it whispered in the grinding croak reminiscent of a bag of gravel and forks shoved down a garbage disposal. 

"M-Make me." 

Michael had wanted to sound stubborn and strong, but the words cracked in the air and passed his lips in nothing but a whimpering stammer as he tried not to gurgle on his own blood. 

He should have ran the second he had gotten a hit in on this– this stupid son of a bitch. Things were– Everything was already going so wrong. 

The creature lurched at him. Michael didn't have time to run or stumble away; he barely had time to raise his bat. 

The reaper still had the upper part of its broken arm in hand, but Michael didn't notice the sharp end of broken bone protruding from the severed arm until the jagged point had already buried itself inside Mike’s shoulder. 

Two pinpoints of light sparked to life in the monster’s eyes, and its gaping black eyes looked directly at him as Michael screamed. 

The reaper ripped its broken arm out of Michael’s shoulder and aimed for the teen's heart. 

Michael just managed to ram the end of his bat into the reaper's neck at the last second. 

It was a weak blow. The monster’s close proximity didn’t give the teen enough room to maneuver the long bat and Mike's arms and wobbly legs trembled dangerously, worsening his ability to strike. But by some miracle, it was enough to make the monster stumble a few steps back, though it grabbed onto the teen's bat and ripped it from his hands as it stumbled.

Michael didn’t fight to get the bat back. He turned on his heel and ran. 

The teen’s hands clawed at his own shoulder as the monster’s footfalls echoed behind him once more. 

Tears stung Michael’s eyes as he remembered that bloody, grimy, disgusting bone piercing into him. God only knew what kind of germs that thing had put into his system– what if the wound got infected? 

Not that an infected wound would matter if Mike didn’t keep himself alive and out of the creature’s way.

Michael forced the pain and panicked delirium away. He had to focus; this was the important part. 

The reaper was just behind him, following at a pace closer to a walk than a run. 

Somehow, that was so, so much worse. The monster didn't have to run to keep up with him, and it knew it. It would always catch him in the end, like a hunter casually strolling after the blood trail of a wounded deer. The creature would never tire nor stop chasing him, and it was just a matter of time before Mike got too tired to go on running from it.

‘No. No, no, no– not this time.’

The monster’s slower pace did make this more difficult, though. Michael couldn't move too fast. He needed to always be just out of the creature's reach, or he would risk the monster getting distracted or frustrated and trying to cut him off by going a different route.

This would have a way better chance of success if Mike could keep the monster right where he wanted it. 

Michael dashed into the house from the garage and raced up and down hallways and from room to room. As he ran, he ducked and jumped periodically to avoid tripe wires, avoided stepping on any rugs, and danced around jagged pieces of metal and nails and blades that had been embedded into the hardwood floor. 

He really couldn’t afford to mess up this part. Any wrong moves or missteps would have to be avoided at all costs. But with any luck, the monster hunting him wouldn’t be so careful. 

As he raced up the steps, he made sure to skip the fifth step down. But as he reached the top, it slowly dawned on him that things had been unusually quiet. As far as Mike was aware, the monster never seemed to react much to pain, but there was a distinct lack of surprised grunts or infuriated yells, or whirring gears and mechanical parts snapping as traps were set off. 

Chest heaving as he panted, Michael turned and looked down.

The reaper was standing right there at the bottom of the steps. It looked exactly the same as it had when Michael had fought it in the garage, like it hadn’t set off a single trap during the chaotic chase. 

Its head was tilted back, staring at the kitchen knives and heavy hooks used to hang endoskeletons that Michael had stolen and hung from the ceiling over the steps. They were hung high enough that Mike could race up and down with no problem, but the taller monster should have gotten a nasty surprise as it came after him with that single-minded focus it always seemed to have. 

Instead, the monster looked up at the trap with an annoyed expression before meeting Michael’s eye. 

Keeping its head ducked low, the reaper placed its foot on the first step. 

Michael’s heart leaped into his throat and he stumbled down the hallway, struggling to breathe properly through all the panting and the blood still flooding his mouth and throat. 

How was that thing still walking?! Mike had set death traps up in every inch of this house; it just wasn’t possible that the reaper could have stumbled through the house without setting a single one off! 

The thing on the steps was still way, way too quiet. Had it seen him skip the fifth step down?

Mike turned for a split second to see if the reaper had gotten to the top steps yet. 

A sharp pain sliced through Michael’s throat. 

That single second of distraction had been enough time to throw several hours of analyzing the layout of every trap he'd set up in this house out the window. 

The sharp feeling wrapped around his entire throat as his own momentum forced him further into the trap. The wire tightened, and suddenly Mike’s feet left the floor entirely and he slammed against the ugly red wallpaper. 

Hurricane was a small town. One where there wasn't much to do, especially when your father worked at the most interesting place in town and you had to spend nearly every day there for hours on end.

Michael and his friends had explored every nook and cranny and forgotten place there was to find in the town. Including the abandoned railroad tracks in the surrounding woods.

Those tracks were so old that the rusty spikes meant to hold them together could often be found lying on the ground around the tracks, ripe for the taking; even the ones still riveted inside the old tracks could mostly be removed with some determination, and the sharp, rusty, six-and-a-half inch long spikes were attractive prizes to a group of rowdy teens with nothing better to do. 

Michael had stored a lot of them away in his closet over time. 

Sticking the rivets through a slab of plywood and nailing the plywood plank into the wall upstairs with the sharp ends facing outward had been a lot of effort, just like a lot of the traps he had spent the entire day building, but Michael had deemed it a worthwhile venture because he had been certain those spikes would be able to do some damage. 

And Michael had been right. 

Michael had put six or seven of those spikes through the plywood, but when Mike slammed into the wall, he only felt one big blast of pain set his back on fire. He didn't even have time to scream before a gush of blood and vomit slid through his throat, staining his shattered teeth and turning his inhuman screech into a quiet gurgle. 

The wire stayed wrapped around Mike's throat and cut deeper as his feet–- suspended by the railroad spikes and wire too high for the teen to reach the ground– thrashed wildly in the air. 

Michael’s vision went black as the thrashing jostled the spikes, widening the holes in his back and sending the sharp, rusted rivets deeper into his flesh until some of them scraped against his ribcage. 

Gasping, Michael sucked in one shaky breath after another and tried to ignore the desperate need to claw himself upward. His throat and lungs were filling with liquid, but he wasn't drowning in water. There was no surface he could rise above to make it all stop. 

What a strange sensation it was to drown in your own hallway without a drop of water in sight.

Bloody fingers clawed at the wire around his throat, but he couldn't pull it away any more than he could clear his airway. 

Salty tears leaked down Michael’s face in a futile attempt to clear away the blood still staining his chin. Between one blink and the next, the red wallpaper and family picture frames in front of the teen were replaced by two hollow black eyes and putrid purple flesh flecked with varying shades of green mold that peeked out of the crusty white bandages holding its splitting skin together

The monster cocked its head at him, and Michael finally got a good view of the damage he had dealt it earlier. The side of its head had caved in like deflated basketball or a sandcastle under an oncoming tide, and yellowish-white shards of bone jutted out from the jelly-like mixture of blood and decaying muscle dripping from the cracks in its head. 

The white pinpoints of its eyes flashed up and down him curiously, watching the blood flow down Michael’s body and drip into an ever-widening pool under his feet. The thing's lips had long ago rotted away, but Michael realized as raspy, cracked laughter spilled between the thing's dried-out, wrinkled gums and bared yellow teeth that the monster was smiling at him.

"You bastard!" More blood dribbled down Michael’s chin and gurgled inside his throat. Mike tried to spit it all out like this was nothing more than his morning mouthwash routine. "You bastard!" 

Floorboards moaned under the reaper's feet as it took another step closer. Michael flinched as it did so, and immediately bit back a cry at the white-hot pain of spikes shifting inside his back and scraping against bone and organs.

"That looks like it hurts," the reaper rasped. 

Michael’s tears stung as they leaked into cuts on his face from his earlier fight with the monster. He had felt hot and sweaty before from all the running and fighting, but now his fingers were iceblocks against his neck as he struggled with the wire digging into his flesh. A frighteningly cold, bone-deep chill cut into Michael's form, and the child trembled as he struggled to breathe through the blood and the pain. 

He couldn't run. Couldn't fight. The monster– the reaper– was going to kill him now. 

At least the pain will stop, a voice whispered in the teen's head. 

A quiet sob shook the young teen's core. He needed the pain to stop so fucking much, but he didn't want the pain to stop– he wanted to live. 

But if he was going to die, at least it would be on his own terms.

"Go ahead," Michael growled. "Jus– Just g-get it over with." 

The creature cocked its head at him again, like it had been too distracted watching the blood seeping from Michael's form to bother listening to what he had said. 

"Just d-do it!" Michael sobbed. "K-kill me, you– you wrinkly, p-puss-filled ball-sack! Come on! Just– just– get i-it over with and kill me!" 

The reaper took another step closer. "No." 

Blood-shot eyes locked onto the reaper's gaping eye sockets. "Why?!" 

Wasn't that the point?! Wasn't that what this– thing– had set out to do, over and over and over?! 

The reaper's hand settled on Michael’s chest. Mike didn't have the energy left to flinch or be wary. He only met the reaper's eye in pained exhaustion.

But then the reaper pushed. 

Michael screamed as his prized railroad spikes dug deeper into him until his bloody back was finally pressed flush against the wall. 

One of the railroad spikes went all the way through Michael’s chest and stabbed into the reaper's palm, but the monster didn't seem to notice. It ripped its hand away before latching onto one of Michael’s wrists as the teen frantically tried pulling the reaper's arm away from him. 

"You want to know why?" Its voice whipped against the air in a wild hiss.

The dull hallway light gleamed off the dark red liquid coating Michael’s skin as the reaper shoved the teen's blood-stained hand in front of his face before it snarled at him. "Because no matter how many ways you try to run or fight it, you will always bring this hell down on yourself with your own hands. You did this, Michael." 

'You're insane,' the teen wanted to say, but there was too much blood in Mike's throat for him to talk, or even to breathe. He tried shaking his head at the thing, but the wire was starting to cut frighteningly deep inside his throat. Michael could only stare at the monster in front of him with wide-eyed horror and beg for it to just end this, like the bastard was supposed to do when it caught him. 

The reaper released Michael’s wrist, and the teen's arm fell limply down to his side. 

He should do something; he should fight. But his energy had been draining away with every second he spent hanging on his own death trap, and there was so little left inside him. 

He couldn't even lean away as the reaper lifted its only hand, moved its fingers around the edge of his mask, and traced the curve of his head with an almost gentle touch. 

The reaper's broken fingers paused on a string looping behind the teen's head. It latched onto the string and pulled, ripping the Foxy mask off of Michael’s head. 

The reaper's teeth ground together as it glared down at the bloody mask before letting the plastic slip from between rotten fingers and fall to the bloody floor with a wet and heavy thunk. And without hesitation, the reaper slammed its foot down on the only thing that had ever made Michael feel strong. 

Hearing the sharp crack of plastic as the monster decimated the mask and shattered Foxy's maw into pieces wrenched a hopeless sob out of the teenager's chest. 

The reaper stayed still. It didn't move further away, nor did it move any closer.

It only watched as Michael struggled to free himself from the trap one last time before finally giving up. 

Michael struggled to gulp down another shaky breath through his sobbing but was rewarded only with more blood in his lungs and pain searing every nerve ending until even the most minuscule movements lit every cell and nerve in his body on fire. 

Through it all, the reaper stood back and watched with a smile. 

Not wanting to see the monster's smug, rotten face or the blood staining his own body anymore, Michael could do nothing but close his eyes and wait for the moment when the last drop of blood would drip from his body and all the pain would finally end.

(Michael had the sinking feeling that death wouldn’t be that easy of an escape.)

gomu gomu of your eye

[bsd ch 113 spoilers]

Same as ever

It started as me wanting to just sketch the pose, then the adhd won and i was several hours deep into inking at 5:30 am.... but i sure did it! And i think i get watercolors a little better now!

I didnt think about it until i was already working on the second piece, but i think what this is is the feeling i got while reading Crime and Punishment where they described people doing things and i realized that they were doing things we think of as exclusively modern behaviors but really, humans are just the same as we always were.

Just thought of a random headcanon:

Wakko has a form of synesthesia that links sight and taste. He can taste colors and textures. To him, if something looks good enough to eat, it tastes good enough to eat.

I love the adult saiki version of @oceanwithouthermoon where he's basically princess bubblegum but I just had an idea

remember the alternate universe where kusuo died and kusuke started ww3? well, another similar Au but instead of kusuo, the one who dies is kusuke and kusuo its the one who starts the war and bla bla bla

in the canon episode kusuke seems kinda "off"

he doesn't seems like his usual childish self

he looks more serious and centered, similar to his brother's personality (then he changed to his old personality again when the alternate kusuo arrived)

but the thing is that i feel that if the other die, they would switch personalities

even worse If they were the one who killed eachother (its not confirmated the reason of why kusuo died but a lot of people prefer to believe that kusuke killed him and I agree)

so what if in this au kusuke's death changed kusuo's personality to be more like kusuke's?

if you combine kusuo and kusuke's personality you will get something similar to princess bubblegum but even more fucked up so...

I had been writing a fic that it's basically this but the princess bubblegum thing opened my eyes for more ideas, I need to finish that thing aaaa

holding each other’s hands over their seals

GUYSSSSS

LOOK❗️❗️👇

I DID THAT I ANIMATED THAT I ACTUALLY FINISHED AN ANIMATION FOR ONCE

You guys should go watch it >:)