Bsd Fyodor - Blog Posts

hi (blasting will wood and wearing a bsd shirt waiting for mutuals to magically appear out of thin air plz I need more moots 🙏🙏 unless you're Brenda lmao. Brenda GET OUT 💯💥)

QUESTION TIME!!

based off my account, which colour, animal and show would I be???

just curious. tell me in my inbox!!

BSD FANS STAY

gang, I'm stuck. I DESPERATELY need bsd high school fic recommendations!!!!! before I get a million sukokou replies, it can involve that ship, but I'd like if it had other ships too, like ranpoe, fyolai, ranpoe, mushimizou (rare), ranpoe, atsulucy, ranpoe, mar..thorne..? (whatever Margaret x hawthorne is), ranpoe, etc. GUYS PLEASE ANSWER!

young ranpoe art!!

isn't ranpo just so silly

FYOLAI IN MY STYLE o(^o^)o

made 'em androgynous 👍

SUPER COOL INTRODUCTION

real name: astrid (BOOORING)

preferred nickname(s): asie, willofthewood, astro-turf, 🅈🄾🅄 🄳🄾🄽'🅃 🅆🄰🄽🅃 🅃🄾 🅂🄴🄴 🄼🅈 🄳🄰🅁🄺 🅂🄸🄳🄴, alpha

nationality: ENGLAND 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 🍻

pronouns: she/her but I do not care tbh 🥶

music taste: WILL WOOD, TALLY HALL, LEMON DEMON, THAT HANDSOME DEVIL, roar, TV girl, WILL WOOD, Tyler the creator, WILL WOOD, Freddie dredd, more.

clothing: anything that society call me emo for wearing (so basically anything alt) (emos are FIRE 🔥 🔥 💯)

age: classified (under 18, be nice)

mbti: infp 🔥 (same as my glorious twink poe)

posting times: chaotic, sometimes 10 times daily, other times I disappear for a few months

fandoms: bungo stray dogs, sk8, yuri on ice, kuroshitsuji, sonic, Sally face, garfield but specifically the 1990s animation/comic series, danganronpa thh (IM NOT WEIRD ABT IT I SWEAR), smiling friends, vocaloid/utau etc, will wood (is that a fandom??), that guy who pushes balloons with faces down steps on tiktok

favourite colour (its a mandatory question): deep red/any red that isn't pastel because pastel red SUCKS ♥

ofc I can draw things that aren't in my fandoms, but STRICTLY NO NSFW 😾

so uh

follow me if u like any of that stuff, I will stalk ur account if u do (bribery)

this is how you will feel if you follow:

woah thumb reveal 🤯🤯🤯

bye bye gang (FOLLOWMEFOLOWNEUXPZ)

CHALLANGE

i have no idea what I want to draw. SO, I want you guys to send me a picture of your oc(s) or a character you like from ant show and I'll choose one at random to draw and post! submit the pictures in the section called 'silly little questions' on my profile. bsd characters are encouraged, but not mandatory!

gotta thank Beyoncé 💞

please don't pick ranposano, I hate this ship but yk. WE GANG 💜

gotta thank Beyoncé 💞

ranpo art! thank you, tumblr, for butchering the quality and turning him sideways (grr)

i have a headcannon that he hates shoes and avoids wearing them whenever possible. anyways, here you go

feed off this for a while, I'm tired.

My fave bsd characters are Ranpo and Chuuya!

short Kings 🔥

nikolai bsd art!!!

I'm experimenting with art styles and i think this one is my overall favourite. I'm not sure why, I just think it's pleasing to look at. anyway, in case you voted on the poll, this is NOT the result, just a little doodle I did ages ago (4 days). Go vote on my poll now!!

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY RANPO MY DEAR SKRUNKLEY BABY

IM SO SORRY FOR BEING LATE BUT I LOVE YOU SO MUCH RANPO YOU ARE MY LIFE AND SOUL I EVER SO SINCERELY APOLOGISE FOR BEING LATE JUST KNOW HOW MUCH I APORECIATE AND LOVE YOU MWA MWA WAAAAAA 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

ANITHER BSD THING

Lucy Montgomery is my favorite bsd charecter. I just think she's neat

bonus points for it being a guild member 👍

My favorite character Akutagawa:3 ik it’s pretty common but I love his deep character and seeing his interactions play out. Him and Atsushi (platonic or not) have an interesting design and dynamic, Akutagawa and Dazai’s dynamic always makes me think, along with his and Kyouka’s. I could also never get bothered by the mention of him and Gin <33 I’m a rly indecisive person but I like Akutagawa a lot so I at least think he’s my favorite lol thanks for reading this rant on why I love him :>

(Also Kajii is a close second for some reason don’t look at me I’m ashamed)

you shouldn't be ashamed for liking the lemon King 😍😍

FOR THE LITTLE ASK THINGY YOU DID?? Edgar Allan Poe 🫶🫶🫶

yup, you win 💞

BSD QUESTION

fellow bsd fans, please share your favourite characters for a little thingy that I'm doing (it's a secret) but instead of commenting just go to the 'ask me anything' thing and say there. I'd love to see you guys' answers! I will also follow and reply to whoever has the best opinion..

Fedya n kity

infinity aria ; prologue

fyodor dostoevsky x gn! reader. synopsis: two souls inexplicably intertwined, only for one to kiss death again and again, and for the other to stand witness. throughout the lifetimes, he watches you seek him out, curiously watching you seal your fate. read on ao3

warning : canon typical violence, mentions of death

author's note: holy SHIT i'm doing a series for once. this fic is set in the past, but eventually will become canon compliant. this is a reincarnated! reader fic. the chapters will be considerably longer (i'm aiming 2.5-3k words everytime, but this one will be short because it's a prologue. 

Unnerving.

  That was the first word you could think of to describe the feeling that seemed to crawl like a spider up the webbings of your veins when you entered the hall; this giant, grotesquely adorned opera hall with ceilings high enough to make one feel infinitely small, the arches too high to properly glean at the painted reliefs on them. The marble floor of the hall remains empty save for a few groups of guests. The linen note you received yesterday crumples in your tight grip. It states clearly in cursive, inked with clarity— that this was, or rather, should be the correct time and place for you to be here. With your best attempt, you try not to look lost, not keeping the eye or conversation of anyone for long enough to be able to feel the full weight of their gaze. Unremarkable people in their own right, yet the stateliness that their haughty gazes carried made their gaze a weight that rested heavily on your shoulders. Somehow, their superimposed, silent pride had made it a lot harder to freely move, every action carefully noted and judged, as if they were the sole authority worth doing so. Tonight only, they were all birds of a feather.

  You usher yourself into an adjacent room, pushing a heavy door on the far right side of the hall. Pinching at the hem of your opera gloves, your velveteen fingers lock the door behind you. When you turn around, you see the sender of the note in your palm, with his hands clasped in front of him. A pale young man, gracile and willowy in build, with unreadable yet deep eyes and pale pink lips curled in a sardonic, yet cordial smile. He was dressed in the fashion of the times; a violet cravat neatly tucked into his shirt, matching to the dim shade reflected in his eyes, a small brooch in the shape of an angel’s wings. Owing to the harsh weather, a winter overcoat was draped over the fineries, lined with fur— understated and respectable, yet not standing out. A glint of silver shines under his sleeve, hardly noticeable; not that of a watch or a bracelet, but the tip of a dagger.

  You have no reason to believe that the reveal is not intentional. 

  In your life, you have only ever met Fyodor Dostoevsky four times in person; your correspondence has been limited to perfumed letters that are burned soon after they are read. The first time was in a chapel, his form sitting in a pew with unmoving tranquility, like that only ever found in placid, glacial lakes—counting the beads of his rosary although his mouth had not once moved in prayer. You do not recall why you spent so much time watching him, yet he seemed to command your attention with not so much as a word. He could keenly feel your observation, but for some reason you could not tell, he only glanced at you with a knowing smile, whispered a morning greeting, and left.

  The second time, it was in midst of the crowd that followed a public execution, though you remember not what misdeed had led that young man to the scaffold, barely of age. A short drop; you saw the deadly tie placed around that man’s neck, the force not immediately snapping his neck, but rather slowly cutting off his breath, leaving him hanging limp off the rope. You did not wait long enough to see him pass away, but you heard the man next to you mumble something about how 'there's no hope for them, there's no hope for any of them…’ Rather than sadness or contemplation, there was a tone of cruel, self aware irony in his intonation.

  Fyodor had stayed behind, observing the condemned man a few minutes more. 

  The third time, it was through an associate of yours. While you could not fathom why a seemingly devout man would associate with criminals, especially those that specialized in the matter of political assassinations, you did not question your new patron much. So long as he provided his support, it would be unwise to question generosity out loud. It would not be the first time people wore religion like a disguise for their actions, a pretty accessory that could be discarded at will. It wasn't until the past three months that he started becoming more actively involved in these…projects of sorts, and while you could not help but wonder how he seemed to convince your usually suspicious and steadfast superiors so quickly, he had still not given you a reason to question him. That first night you had worked with him is only a fuzzy memory now. By the time you had even reached the location, he was already leaving. When he closed the door behind him, he only expressed formal concern about the late hour and your return home, suggesting that he shall fetch a coach for the both of you. 

  While his back was turned, your fingers reached tentatively for the doorknob, silently opening it. In the dim candlelight, the glimmer of still warm blood shone on the floors, the limp bodies of around five men with their eyes blown wide lay scattered around the study. You were no stranger to bloody sights, however, the reason your mouth had become dry and your head felt heavy was not the slaughtered bodies of those targets, but rather the one in the centre. 

  Fyodor Dostoevsky, laying decidedly dead, with a bullet lodged in the middle of his eyes. 

  You closed the door the moment you caught a glimpse of that sight. Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. It had to be, for the man you know to be Fyodor was currently not too far ahead of you, standing on the edge of the road and talking to a coach. You wondered why he hadn't locked the door after the deed was done. If he had intended for you to see what you had. The ride home had passed in silence, and you bid him a quiet farewell, head swirling from the events of the night.

  Tonight is the fourth time you have laid your eyes upon this strange man. One who has strangely made himself a recurring thought in your mind, an unwitting parasite. Usually, you had no choice but to curb your curiosity regarding certain people, given that asking too many questions could at best result in a stern rebuke or at worst, pointed violence. In that way, the new patron’s serene demeanor was disarming, yet could not entirely dispel the suspicion you kept close like an old friend. Before you could lose yourself in your silent perusal of his character any longer, the sound of his voice brings you back from your musings. 

  “Punctual, good. I trust you know what we're here for, so let us begin. Have you brought the vial?”

  The glass sits cool near your skin, and with a quick reach from your pockets, you produce the item. The liquid inside was clear, smelling like nothing in particular; the vial itself was shaped like those typically used to store smelling salts; slightly darker in color. A blend of arsenic and atropa belladonna distillates, or so you have been told. The vial he had given you looked worn, your thumb could feel the scratches on the glass and an weathered old apothecary label that read an year and initials. For F.D, 1606.

  These details remain in your memory, but they are like some sort of eccentric joke; disjointed and without meaning. Fyodor takes the vial, inspecting it for a moment, before giving it back. “It’s not full…but it will be enough for our task. Our guest will be in the box owned by his family, number five if my memory serves me. It will be high enough for no one to see you. The poison will take about an hour to act, and by that time the after party would have begun. Escort him down to keep up appearances, then lead him to one of the greenrooms. They will be empty at this hour. Wait till the body drops, and then meet me in the gardens with the corpse.” 

  You nod, movements a little exaggerated to combat the stiffness in your limbs. The stubborn feeling that accompanied the onset of missions like these; an ache in your head that felt as though someone was tightening an imaginary cord round your head. The feeling of bile in your throat that won't yet rise; no, that was reserved for after the body is buried. The danger makes you nauseous with anxiety, always has. Yet even as you hear the details of the disposal of the body, repeated by the man in front of you in a clinical tone, you hold yourself well. Back straight, looking at him directly, words uttered only with deliberation and no syllable empty when you discussed the details with him further; this is what you were made for.

  Your composure is admirable, he thinks, if only you knew who exactly you were attempting to fool. 

  “Are you nervous?” He asks, without pity or mockery.

“No. Does something make you think so?” 

“You are to kill a man in front of half the city, I would expect you to be nervous.”

You shake your head. “It’s what must be done.”

“I wonder if you say so with duty, or with compulsion?”

  You run the words you are about to say carefully in your head, numerous times. Conversations were not a means of amusement to you, but rather a delicate game. The most convincing lies are poisoned by truth. 

  “They're one and the same.”

Fyodor's expression shifts, the slight mocking lift of the corners of his lips disappearing. There is sympathy where the lights meet the cold violet in his eyes. Not the kind of sympathy that results from care, but sort of a cynical disappointment that communicates that he was expecting something different; you recognize it, for you have seen it in several places. In your friends, in the eyes of confessional priests through the wood mesh, in the men you work for. Where expectations die. “I must say, it is regrettable that you think so. But for a person in your situation, it was unsurprising. For the time being, this will suffice; now, head to the box hallway, the overture should begin soon. One last thing…”

  “Yes?” You pocket the vial, ready for your cue to leave.

  “... Your hands are trembling. It is unsightly, see to it before anyone else notices.” 

  The tremble of your velvet fingers stops once you begin to think about it consciously. Slightly embarrassed, you place your hands behind your back, clutching one with the other. It’s a strange feeling, for it's not the trembling that bothers you, but the fact that he could notice that small detail when his eyes seemed to be trained on your face the whole time.

  “Understood. Goodbye, then, I’ll see you once I’ve administered the poison.”

“I hope you'll be flawless in your execution this time as well. Good evening.”

  He gives a solemn nod, walking to the exit with light, fluid steps; movements as subtle and quiet as that of a ghost. As his back turns to you, your fingers itch to reach for the dagger on your thigh and thrust it into his neck, then twist and twist until you no longer feel seen in such an uncomfortably raw way. Till the discomfort of the moment fades and you no longer feel eyes in the back of your head even as he has walked out that door. When it shuts once more, you are left to quell the sudden rage that simmers under your skin, remembering what you are here for. 

    Unfortunately for you, Fyodor’s presence seeps into the mind like poison and sticks on it like honey.

first chapter of my multipart fyodor reincarnation fic almost done ... we love to see it..

listen i'm brainrotting about this fyolai fic idea ive had for a while

phantom of the opera style au with cabaret star nikolai and fyodor as the spirit in his mirror that talks to him in the guise of an angel. the trail of mysterious murders and missing persons lead nikolai back to the man in the mirror whose voice he hears every night, until he gets pulled by the strange 'angel' to the other side.

ugh i need to start getting to it but EXAMS 💔💔💔 i haven't been studying for SHIT all i think about are these mf gays 💔💔💔

need to yap to someone abt this dostoevsky fic idea in my head So Bad i'm so mentally ill

reading up again on russian history (i've never stepped foot there in my life), early 1900s fashion and musicians JUST to write this reincarnation fyodor dostoevsky fic knowing my entrance exams are coming

how brainrotted can a girl get

low effort hcs : what music would bsd characters listen to?

everyone puts mother mother and tnbhd in dazai playlists but i can't stop thinking about how this guy would probably love 70s city pop. likes number girl and betcover!!, all of that japanese post-rock vibe. rotates between like five songs he's just obsessed with all the time.

he also feels like the exact type of mf to listen to the smiths and now it's canon in my head. 'there's a light that never goes out' is HIS song im convinced.

akutagawa is the kind of guy who would listen to visual kei. everyday that malice mizer is not on spotify he loses it a little. would also love classic goth. bauhaus, the cure, sisters of mercy, he likes all that shit. probably started with old panic! at the disco, it's that emo -> goth pipeline fr.

in my head chuuya loves rock. likes deftones but would be put off by the screaming. probably fucks with soundgarden, maybe sonic youth, rhcp, nirvana, alice in chains, the velvet underground. it just is the vibe to me. but most of all, i think chuuya would like jazz. chet baker, coltrane, miles davis. likes physical media and would spend a bit too much on records. listens to ultraviolence on occasion, i don't make the rules.

look me in the eye and tell me ranpo wouldn't love shibuya kei. lamp, pitcher56, 800 cherries, satellite lovers, roundtable ft nino. just the sort of music i could picture him listening to. would also love bossa nova. would listen to laufey. once again, i don't make the rules.

fyodor dostoevsky listens to only three kinds of music: symphonic metal, classical music and gregorian chants. this is true and real and you should believe me without question. i think he'd like opeth quite a bit as well. fyodor is also the kind of mf who hates when people refer to baroque or romantic compositions as 'classical'. Yes, he has the eras memorized. disgustingly skilled with most instruments. heard liszt play firsthand.

So like.

If that's not Fyodor, does that mean Nikolai is just hugging some random dude's hand???

Just wondering.

I love how every time Fyodor opens his mouth to speak in the last few chapters Atsushi's face is just like "No no no no shut up shut up SHUT UP-"

Unfortunately, he does not.

You know, for as much as bsd has spiraled, I don't think Fyodor's motivations have really changed all that much since we first met him.

He's always hated ability users. A fact which I think a lot of people tend to forget is that most regular people don't know that much about them, except that they were part of the war. They know they exist, but in contexts like the Port Mafia and vaguely aware of the Agency's existence. They're not people who are liked, they have to be watched by the government, and Fyodor's always hated them.

He wants to rid the world of ability users, because he believes they are a sin (despite him being one himself). We don't know why, and I don't want that Tragic Backstory™ because I'm happy hating him as he his now, but that's been the case ever since he tried to have the Agency and Mafia defeat each other. Ever since the movie where he was willing to team up and cause a Gifted Genocide via Gifted Suicide. Also, he's kinda right about Fukuchi's plan being flawed like...yeah, world domination has never worked out well in the past. So him wanting a war against all Gifteds and manipulating Fukuchi to do it actually makes tons of sense, considering what we know about him. He thinks that peace will come as soon as the Gifteds are done with.

The only acceptable way for bsd to end is with Atsushi standing over Fyoghurt with a knife, Epic the Musical Vengeance Saga style.

"You can't kill me."

"Exactly!"

*Cues angry stabbing while Dazai holds onto Fyoghurt to stop his ability from taking over Atsushi*

"HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE HELPLESS-"

I love how, when the finale of season five aired, the Jailbreak arc shifted from a heartbreaking tragedy to the most unhinged comedy ever.