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Bungou Stray Dogs Fyodor - Blog Posts
Idk anything about backgrounds
BSD SPOILERS POSSIBLE BSD SPOILERS IM SORRY I DON’T KNOW HOW TO ADD CONTENT LITTLE WARNINGS FOR SPOILERS
what if because of Fyodors (possible or confirmed unsure) religious past and present, he thinks Atsushi isnt “man” enough due to his reaction to his offer to join the DOA, he see’s him more a “boy” and less than a “man” because he’s more emotional.
What if the orphanage told Atsushi that and that’s why he’s so insecure and why thinks he’s so weak, i believe there are SOME implications that the orphanage could’ve possibly been religious, and with how he was treated its possible they could’ve told him stuff like how he’s “not ready to be a man yet” because he’d was just a more emotional kid
okay thats it!! i’lll go back to drawing, #1 atsushi fan is leaving now
"ALL I WANNA DO IS GET HIGH BY THE BEACH!"
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚— HUMAN FYODOR X SIREN FEM READER
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩SUMMARY: A man with a haunting past and a dead lover has already lost hope in all of humanity. He originally wanted to save humanity, not until the only person he loved the most perished because of it. Avenging of what he can, he does heinous crimes and carry a hatred towards humanity due to the loss of his lover.
𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ — ANGST + HORROR + ROMANCE + PSYCHOLOGY
A/N: Im gonna make this fanfic quite short since I've been busy and drained.. Please enjoy the read<3!
( ၴႅၴ+WARNINGS! : DRUG USAGE, MURDER, DEATH (+ nickname usage, - Lyubov' (love) & Ангел (angel)
Being somebody who is considered 'immortal' wasn't easy, you see the people you love die easily.
Originally, fyodor wanted to save humanity, he believed that everyone needed saving except the people who abused the abilities that was bestowed onto them by the heavens.
He only loved ONE person, a woman who has gained his interest and his affection. The love he had was unconditional and affectionate, a raging storm that was shined upon with the everlasting moonlight. And that was all YOU.
But one day, you needed to visit a certain island due to your studies, being the lover fyodor was, he was quite skeptical and paranoid that something may happen to you, but he didn't wanna cut off your freedom as he does love you dearly.. So he let you off.
With a kiss on the hand and a cheek, you leave the house with a suitcase, on your way to the ship that you were going on, it was a ship controlled by a wealthy and powerful dictator, who the DOSTOEVSKY wasn't fond of.
The ship set sailed in ease..
A few days later, fyodor received a message that the ship went missing. Including you. And the only person who survived it was no other than the dictator himself.
Fyodor clutched his fists as he read through the letter, it wasn't often he was enranged like this, but the melancholic feeling of his lover missing consumed him, how could he let this happen? He should've never let you on in the ship.
Eventually thats when he became a ruthless man, he was already making ability users perish but the only thing he admired and adored the most has been taken away from him, he had a plan. A plan to kill the dictator.
He was used to hiding, but he didn't want to anymore. He'd do anything to avenge your death. Your body wasn't even found.
⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺
Years passed by, population went down due to his sprees, this void in him was eating him alive.
Every neck he slashed and every shot he has taken was all for you.
He walked through the jagged rocks of the beach, trying to get away from his past. He wanted to forget about it, but he didn't wanna forget you. He walked groggily, he recently took some Lysergic acid diethylamide, he wanted to lay off of life for a second and forget his surroundings. He wasn't normally this disheveled and unhinged, but your death really took a toll on him.
The wind howled through the decaying coastal town, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant, mournful cries of the sea. Fyodors face gaunt and hollow-eyed, stumbled along the cobblestone streets, the weight of the past dragging at his every step. He had come to this place seeking something anything that could fill the void left by the death of his wife. But in his search for solace, he had found only darkness.
He took another blotter paper with LSD, he walked till the end of the coast line, nobody was around as the numbing feeling of the substance took over his chest, that dulled tha pain he endured. His legs were cut and he was pale and skinny, you were always the one who was taking care of him that he forgot what to eat, drink and how to sleep.
He looked at the moon with half lidded eyes and soft breathing before hearing a familiar voice. The singing was melodic and smooth to hear, a voice that had the same pitch, tone, and key to yours. This can't be real right?
He immediately walks over to the sound, trying to find it. The sky was oddly colorful today. It was a deep blue. He walked over and he hears it getting louder, he breathes heavily. Running towards the sound, he didn't wanna speak yet. He had to find out himself, were you still alive? After all these years?
With unsteady steps, he descended the rocky path to the shore, the waves crashing violently against the rocks. There, in the shallow waters, stood a figure, bathed in the ghostly light of the moon. Her hair tangled and damp, her skin beautiful and glistening with the spray of the sea. But it was her eyes. those familiar, haunting eyes—.. that stopped fyodor in his tracks.
"Lyubov'.." he muttered with wide eyes and disbelief, his sadness washing away from his chest.
His breath caught in his throat. It couldn’t be. Yet, as he looked at her, he was certain that this was his wife, that returned to him from beyond the grave. His heart swelled with a mix of joy and sorrow, his mind reeling with the impossibility of it all.
“fedya.. ” you whispered with a teasing grin, your voice a soft, melodic echo of the song that had called him. breath caught in his throat. It couldn’t be. Yet, as he looked at her, he was certain—this was his wife.. His beloved lover, That returned to him from beyond the grave. His heart swelled with a mix of joy and sorrow, his mind reeling with the impossibility of it all.
“You came back Ангел..!” he choked out, walking toward you with an admiring grin. “I knew you would come back."
The siren, his wife, smiled, a sad, distant expression that seemed almost… wrong.
“I never left, fedya. I've been here all along. Awaiting for your arrival, my dear." you whispered softly in his ear.
He fell to his knees in the icy cold water, reaching out to touch her. His hand trembled as it brushed against your cheek, you leaned into his touch, your skin cold, damp, and scaley..yet familiar.
He grinned gently, wrapping his hands on your waist, admiring your beautiful face. This is what dreams are made of right? Everything felt completely right. His eyes were filled with adoration and solace. The gaping void in his chest was filled once again, he was finally with you. His wife.
"I've done alot of things in the past, im afraid. But i did it all for you." he caressed your skin, but it felt.. Hard and cold. He ignored that, he just wanted to be with you, to touch you, to love you all over again. "I want you to understand, lyubov'. If you come back amd see the way things are now, don't be afraid."
His eyes were locked onto yours, tucking a piece of your hair behind your finned ears. He looked down, seeing your scaley tail. He didn't care of you weren't human anymore.
You lean onto him, "I'm back now.. Come with me instead, into the depths of the ocean." he nods, his gaze locked onto yours, "let go, and be with me.. Forever. In the sea. We'll love again,"— he nodded, his thumb caressing your cheek as he held your waist securely. "we'll laugh again, and we'll be together. Forever."
His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had yearned for this moment, to be reunited with you, to finally find peace and have you in his arms. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, cold and salty like the sea.. But how beautiful you were..
But as he kissed you, he felt nothing but bones. He felt something hard, it wasn't the soft lips that he would kiss every night.
No.
It wasn't.
The substances effect slowly faded away, he looked back at you.. his eyes wide with horror. The figure before him was no longer his wife, no longer the ethereal beauty who had called to him from the sea. She was something else!- something twisted and grotesque. Your bones were pale, bloated, mottled with decay, and your eyes.. those eyes.. were empty, hollow sockets.
This was not a reincarnation of you as a siren. It was your remains. Your rotting missing cadaver that had washed up on shore. Your boned were waterlogged and broken, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The crashing waves of the oceans was evident that it crushed your body. The waves and smell of the sea surrounded him as he held your decaying bones.
He looked at your ring finger. It still had the ring he proposed to you with, a patch of grey rotting skin was under the ring. Your skin, that he worshipped and adored the most. His breath was jagged and he held your hand, a single tear dropping down his eye.
The corpse stared back at him with empty eyes, her mouth twisted into a mockery of the smile he loved. He looks down and he held your decaying body close, leaning his head onto your shoulder.
"I.. I will then. If you want it, I'll do it."
It was all a hallucination. But he didn't want to believe that. He believed it was still you. He carried your rotting bones in bridal style, like he did during your wedding day.
He took another dose of his substances and he walked deeper into the ocean.
Deeper.
And deeper..
And deeper.
A/N: the color of the theme is blue and white, completely different from my theme which is red and black..but i wanted to change it up abit. Thanks for reading. This actually made me sad abit..
© All works by @Verlaineszz. Do not copy, redistribute, or repost on other platforms.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
finished my fyodor fanart! Not my best work though…..something just feels off about it and idk what- 😭😭😭
Inner beauty— but quite literally.
TW - gore, detailed, exposed muscles, teeth, etc.
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— ୨୧
inner beauty matters, really. ෆ╹ .̮ ╹ෆ
Okay pookies!! Hear me out, as someone with anemia i am lowkey insecure about my skintone, it looks a bit yellowish and i absolutely hate it, by that i mean that there's a lot of people who are insecure about yellow undertone, soo!! Here's a headcanon idea.
Fyodor with yellow undertone, because he's anemic!! So, we people with yellowish undertone, can feel less insecure about our skin! :3
Testing realism on fyodor as a punishment for killing my pookies.
he ugly af in my artstyle i loveb him💔
Sooo I wanted to do some bungo stray dogs stuff here, so I'm starting with twitter tweets using a generator to get started. Very short post for this one so enjoy it and expect more random ass shit >:)
Please take away my internet access I have exams I should not be doing this
FYODOR WILL BE ALL RIGHT SINCE HE ONLY LOST HIS LEFT ARM
In Episode 4 of Season 3 when Fyodor is introduced he consistently refers to himself with 'boku' from memory, which I thought was weird given his age, but then during the prison break arc he uses 'watashi'. Why the change?
oh my god he decided to adopt a second one
Note to self: DO NOT get into Chuuya's car after he's had a heated argument with Dazai! No matter how cold it is outside!
- Sigma
College au shenanigans, winter edition:
Fyodor's anemic ass freezes to death so he wears a bunch of layers
Dazai hates the winter because seasonal depression gets him every time. He also despises the cold and freezes easily so a bunch of layers and the scarf that Chuuya almost strangels him with every morning it is.
Chuuya (Dazai's personal heater) doesn't get cold easily but he still overdress because he's a fashion icon ✨️.
Nikolai doesn't fear the cold, the cold fears him! He walks around in a t-shirt like a psychopath but still carries his jacket around in case Dos - kun needs it.
Sigma can't stand the summer heat so the winter is like a blessing to him. He dresses cozily and is in a seemingly better mood untill he sees Nikolai emerging outside in his t-shirt.
Let me introduce you to my College AU 👏 I randomly tought of this some time after watching the events in Merasault. Just wanted to take the sillies and put them into a situation where they didn't need to kill each other. Now they do this instead of studying for their exams.
PS: pls click on image for high res because it keeps looking blurry and I have no idea how to fix it, if you do pls let me know.
Sigma, Mushitaro, and Ango
sorry another bald tshirt post that came to me last night
the reasons why i fell in love with the both of them lmao-
THE PUBLIC PERCEPTION OF THE LORD OF CRIME PERSONA IS AKIN TO FYODOR, NOT WILLIAM HIMSELF.
[Seeing more people talk about this comparison between Fyodor and William again, had some of this in the drafts for a bit already lmao].
So I often see many people say that BSD Fyodor and MTP William have a similar vibe, and people have recently also been posting about their dislike of the idea too.
However I think Fyodor is more similar to that of the Lord of Crime persona the public see and not William himself. The Lord of Crime operates in a way where he is perceived to murder ruthlessly and have dubious morals - at first he is seen as a hero to the working class, but as he does more that disadvantages them he is seen as a threat to the whole empire (which he uses to unite the social classes). In essence, like Fyodor, the Lord of Crime is portrayed without a shred of kindness or sincerity or guilt - but that is not William.
William in the canon by his friends and family is known for his kindness and his empathy, so much so that he feels immense guilt over his horrific actions as the Lord of Crime which eventually pushed him to taking his own life to escape it. He is not devoid of empathy - in fact he is incredibly empathetic, almost too empathetic for himself to handle. And this is what solidifies the differences between Fyodor and William to me.
Fyodor has shown very little empathy for others in his history, more likely to simply use others to get what he wants and seemingly doesn't care about the effect it may have on that other person. Nikolai for example, even after being given understanding by Fyodor, was supposed to die after the events of Bloody Sunday, Fyodor using him as a disposable pawn in order to frame the agency. Sigma was given a home, a casino to run, but Fyodor was ready to get rid of him after it was investigated. Fukuchi, given a way to try and achieve his lifelong goal of world peace, was used as a pawn in creating the series of events where Fyodor could take over Bram (another pawn in his game considering he literally took his body from him after he just got it back) and now Fukuchi's consciousness is replaced by a Divine Being that Fyodor has control over. Fyodor is only empathetic when it can benefit him, and the benefits his faux empathy gives to those around him is eventually swept out from under them and manipulated to his advantage. He only improves other's lives just to take it away again.
Whilst William and Fyodor both do what they think benefits the world, William is shown to have genuine empathy for the common man - he often finds ways to help people like the children in Baskerville or other disadvantaged people. Whilst the Lord of Crime's support for equality may have been swept out from under the common people after the murder of Whiteley, William's support for the common people never changed. William always wanted to create permanent changes to benefit the lives of the people disadvantaged by the class system.
It is the public perception of the Lord of Crime, as this ruthless figure who wants to destroy the livelihoods of everyone in London, that is similar to the Fyodor we see.
[At first this was going to be a 'Lord of Crime is like Fyodor, William is more like Dazai' post but I wasn't sure about the Dazai idea or how to explain it so I just decided to stick with the Fyodor portion, how it at least makes a little sense.]
theyre having a sleepover :)
Fyodor Birthday doodles :))
(I am so normal about him :>)
close ups under cut
Okay but it feels kinda in character for him, I won't lie
I love how the bsd fandom was celebrating chuuyas birthday being happy, joyful, a bit of angsty JUST yesterday and then fyodor just comes to ruin the party like that one auntie that no one of the family likes.
I honestly love this post so much, it made me realize that Asagiri has definitely caused the BSD fandom to go batshit insane and I'm sorry OP but that image at the end really embodies just
We're all collectively pulling our hair out and screaming until June and when the June chapter comes, we'll be clawing at the walls :)
fyodor ability theory !!! please note this was originally typed in discord, so sorry if its short or messy lmao
SO LIKE-- we know the body was different, but when did the switch occur ?? cuz my theroy is switching concouisseness or bodies, but it could also have something to do with nikolai. so i was looking at the body, and on the face- were those stitches or bandages? what were they for? and THE IMPORTANT THING- WHEN DID THE SWITCH OCCUR? becuase the timeing is everything cuz it could tell us how its activated. but we also need to take into account karma, and what happened with the gaurd. i notced that the vampire was different from the dead body (lets call him 9).
so who was that, and where did he come from? the only way a body could have been like that is A) nikolai switched them out using his ability, or B) [personal take] if fyodor can actually switch bodies, when he enters or takes them over, the physical features shift to look like him. that would explain how he looked the same in the memories sigma is seeing. or it could also have something to do with the stiches on the face. but if the switch occurred, that would mean fyodor would have had to entered the body of someone else. and who would that be? THE HELICOPETER PIOLET. my theory is that fyodors ability is activated when someone harms him, so that would explain what went on in the dungeon after the guard stabbed him. he would have switched after being stabbed, and that is what couldve happened in the helicopter. and the reason the dead body looks different is bc after fyodor leaves a body, it regains its og features and form.
that was all for scenario B. scenario A, with nikolai, is that they already had the different body prepared, but this one is the most unlikely for a number of reasons, the main few being that 1- nikolai's grief was genuine, 2- the timing was iffy. but this also works well because i looked closely, and i cant really see the stab wound. this would mean the switch happened after fyodors last words, meaning something happened with the different bodies. like i said before, it all depends on the time.
like i said, typed in discord, so its not alot lol, but ill def add onto this bc i have alot more evidence/theories !!!
also you can see my decent to madness the other night at 2 am below if ud like
I finally read the newest BSD chapter
And
I'm just gonna freak out under the cut and give my long ass ramble cause-
HOLY SHIT??? I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THE TRANSFORMATION SCENE ANIMATED?? PRAYING IT DOESN'T GET BOTCHED! 🙏🙏
AND ALSO BRAM LIKE?? KNOWING THAT SOMETHING WAS HAPPENING TO HIM BEFORE HAND AND WARNING AYA?? HE CALLED HER PRINCESS 😭
ALSO BRAM IS DEAD?? A TRIPLE SINGULARITY? Fyodor was practically sizing Bram up in the past?? Like "Hm yes, you'll make a wonderful body some day" Both Dazai and Chuuya are on the other side of the planet and Fyodor basically teleported back to Japan and I can't stop thinking about how
Dazai told Fyodor that Atsushi was his most valuable/powerful pawn, didn't he? I think so and NOW FYODOR IS WITH HIM AND DAZAI ISN'T. MAN I'M KINDA SCARED. Fyodor and Dazai think very similarly which means that Fyodor might want to use Atsushi for something?? Dazai didn't explicitly say who his pawn was, but because of how similarly the two think, Fyodor probably guessed. Sigma and Atsushi have a few similarities (Two toned hair - Two toned eyes. White hair - White hair. Both where black and white primarily. Dazai even refers to Sigma as "The Atsushi type" C'MON!) and Fyodor was using Sigma... So how does our main character fit into his plan if at all?
I just- I can't- I have too many thoughts we'd be here for literal hours so I'm going to stop typing and sit in the corner for a while.
I did some little doodles of the DOA AU
Still don't have a name for it though :/
There's a version with the notes and without! Please excuse my writing ':)
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!!
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.
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.
You'll never guess who I found in the wild..
no thoughts, just fyodor in a ballgown
