Today brings my new drawing, No. 47, in which Sajin and I celebrate Bleach's 25th anniversary together.

To mark the occasion, we are making a "25" with our fingers: I am making a "V" shape, while Sajin holds up two fingers to form a "II," together signifying the number 25.

I’ve also included a note:

"Huge congratulations to Bleach—happy anniversary. And to Noriaki-sensei... thank you for creating a being with a heart of gold like Sajin Komamura within the magnificent saga of Bleach. Thank you for bringing us such a great character as the mighty Sajin Komamura."

I hope you like it; the drawing is a little off-balance, but it’s ready to celebrate Bleach's 25th anniversary.

first of all, i do not suffer from delusions. i am not a clinical lycanthrope.

second, you should not be reality checking those you don't know on the Internet, even if you do suspect they are delusional.

creating the world's most pathetic pervert werewolf

Steve Rogers remembered it clearly. Feeling that burning itch through his chest, the claws that had torn into him that night. He remembered the agony of that moonlight.

He had hoped it would be cured.

It clearly wasn't.

That same, slow, burning itch echoed through his chest, into his gut like a venomous snake's tooth. Like the fires of hell turning his insides into liquid. He felt too hot, yet, too cold when he kicked the blankets off in a tired huff.

He twisted onto his side, heated fingers curling around aching ribs. His heartbeat felt like it was competing against him, conspiring between each stuttering, sharp thump. He didn't like this.

He tried to draw in a breath, finding it as easy as catching water through his fingers. Impossible. "...nh-" his eyebrows furrowed, pushing himself up onto his forearm. Sweat dotted his collarbone, collecting like dew mist. His platinum blonde hair clung to his forehead, making the discomfort double. The discomfort was constant, but sudden, tight and stifling under his skin. He didn't know why, but the first sharp ping of heat hit, signalling the growth of fur.

It was blonde, pure and clean, despite being unwanted. A winced escaped his spit covered lip, feeling an ache growing along his teeth, under his eyes. It stung, causing a sarp, boiling sensation, similar to a migraine.

A hand shot forth, another back between his eyebrows as it worsened. Pulsing, tugging pain that briefly broke tears. He struggled with his ability to see, or breath. Tightness...sharp agony in strobes—

"F-" he held in the swear, swallowing it like a filthy gasp. Tingling pushed against his nail beds, the flesh around the keratin growing red and irritated. Blood started to prickle along the edges, forcing each breath to quicken.

He should've gotten up sooner, turned on a light sooner. He knew that, but it was starting to hurt too much—he gasped sharply, coughing up crimson spit, feeling each tooth stretch and burn through his gums. His nose ached, breaking in a sudden shove forward that his jaws followed loyally.

He grabbed his face, stumbling out of bed in a hiss. His thighs didn't tense, but just gave up on aiding in standing. He crumbled against the wall, mouth opening sharply in agony; the ears on each side of his head stretching and dragging up towards the top of his head. An ache grew heavier in his tail bone, familiar, and horrible.

New flesh, bone, and hair grew outward from the stressed spinal cord, his legs burning and breaking with audible pops and cracks. He shouldn't have opened a watery eye.

His feet were straining against the socks, fabric ripping forcibly against the deforming toes. His big toe started shifting backward, drawing up towards his elongating heel, the nail sharpening. His pinky toes dragged slightly back, while his main three grew bigger and wider, fur covering the skin.

Both arms wrapped around his gut, a sharp keening noise escaping as his face finished stretching and growing. Drool dripped like water as he panted against the floor. The drool was frothy and pink. Even trying to curl back up in bed felt impossible, hearing everything like he was.