Sneekurp

When a mysterious black notebook appears outside the Krusty Krab, cashier Squidward Tentacles thinks it’s just another piece of trash—until he reads the instructions.

Write a name. Picture their face. Watch them die.

Fed up with his soul-crushing job, his hyperactive sponge neighbor, and a life of unrealized dreams, Squidward gives in to curiosity... and writes his first name. What starts as a joke quickly becomes a grim reality, plunging Squidward into a spiral of power, guilt, and moral decay—with the body count to match.

Enter Lurala, a sardonic, decaying shinigami with a twisted sense of humor and a front-row seat to Squidward’s descent.

But Bikini Bottom isn’t ready for a God of Death with a clarinet hobby and a passive-aggressive streak. As suspicions rise and the sea grows darker, Squidward must decide what kind of world he wants to create—and whether he's still the victim… or something far worse.

Sinister. Satirical. Sponge-killingly sharp.
You've never seen Bikini Bottom like this.

Squidward no Death Note (SpongeBob X Death Note)

The next day started like any other—with Squidward grumbling over his too-early alarm and shuffling to the bathroom in his robe and slippers. As he brushed his teeth, he could already hear Lurala whispering in his ear.

"Neptune's still here, you know. Crown and all. The throne of the sea is practically in your eyeline, my dear Squidward."

He spat into the sink. "I'm not killing the king. That's insane. How would I even seize power? There's no coronation ceremony for murder."

Lurala chuckled. "Give me time. I have... theories."

Squidward rolled his eyes but couldn't help imagining it: King Squidward, Supreme Ruler of the Ocean, lounging in royal silks as servants brought him clarinet-shaped scepters and golden crown polish. He shook the thought off with a shiver. "No. Nope. Not happening."

On the way to work, he made a detour. He hadn't seen SpongeBob since that fateful day he'd walked out of the Krusty Krab. Despite everything, despite the anarchy and sea kush and Marxist ranting, part of Squidward still cared.

He rang the doorbell. Still nothing.

"Alright," Squidward muttered. "Sorry about this, little sponge."

He pushed the door open. It creaked, and he was immediately met with a horrid stench. His eyes watered.

"Good Neptune, what died in here?"

The answer was on the floor: Gary. The once-chubby snail lay still and bloated, flies buzzing around his rotting corpse. Some half-eaten chocolate bar rested nearby, smeared into the rug.

"Yuck!" Squidward gagged, rushing up the stairs and bursting into SpongeBob's room.

The chaos only worsened. Filthy clothes, food wrappers, and seaweed-stained pamphlets were scattered everywhere. SpongeBob reclined on his bed, eyes locked on a flickering old TV screen playing black-and-white footage of some undersea dictator giving a passionate speech. The sponge now wore a red beret adorned with a hammer and sickle.

"Comrade Squidward," SpongeBob said with a smile. "Welcome to the revolution."

He lifted a coral-and-wood rifle modeled after an AK-47. Squidward recoiled.

"What... what the barnacle is going on here?!"

"Awakening," SpongeBob said serenely. "Patrick's heart didn't just stop. It was clogged by years of greasy Krabby Patties—artery-blocking filth sold to the people under the capitalist illusion of choice. Mr. Krabs profits while the proletariat dies. Not anymore."

Squidward took a cautious step back. "Okay, listen. You're scaring people. Sandy, Krabs... even me."

"Sandy," SpongeBob scoffed. "Using her science for profit. Selling weapons-grade inventions to her mammal employers and calling it 'progress.' Please. She's a tool of the system."

Squidward winced. "Well... she did get thicker. Bigger butt, too."

"Of course she did," SpongeBob said, waving a flipper dismissively. "Another way to distract from the cause."

Squidward didn't even know what to say anymore. "Krabs replaced you, you know. New fry cook. Ollie the Oarfish."

"Another casualty of the machine," SpongeBob said flatly. "When I liberate the Krusty Krab, he'll understand."

Squidward's throat tightened. "What do you mean 'liberate'?"

SpongeBob stood up and approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked tired, but driven. Wild, but lucid.

"Don't go to work on Saturday, Squidward. I still care about you. You're my friend. I don't want you caught in the crossfire."

Then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward and kissed Squidward gently on the cheek.

"If you ever feel scared... come find me."

Squidward left in a daze, the door creaking shut behind him.

Outside, he leaned against the wall and took a long breath.

"Okay," he whispered. "Now I'm officially disturbed."

Lurala emerged beside him like a shadow stretching from his feet.

"I like him," she said. "He's got vision."

"He's got a death wish," Squidward muttered.

Lurala's eyes glinted. "Doesn't everyone these days?"

Comrade Sponge