#Like who let Dostoyevsky write like this? Hm?

[nxathyx]

"oh, that's my cousin"

Gn! Reader x Dazai Osamu, Gn! Reader x Chuuya Nakahara, Gn! Reader x Fyodor Dostoyevski, Gn! Reader x Nikolai Gogol, Gn! Reader x Sigma I legit should've stopped writing this after Chuuya and Dazai💀

Hi hello so I thought it'd be fun to write about a reader who has a really good friendship with their cousin (cause I have to good relationship with my one and I like throwing insults around)

So um here's a few examples of how readers relationship with their cousin looks (through texts, yes these are all my chats with my cousin on messenger)

something like this :)

C/n - cousin name

Tws: swearing, insulting, family dramas😻😻 my lack of motivation and my terrible sense of humour (I feel bad for you if you end up enjoying this one..)

Dazai Osamu

°Bro he lives for your and your cousins energy like holy fuck

°if he ever meets your cousin he'd definetly get along with them like oml

°loves reading your banters or listening to it

°if y'all beat each other up he'll purposefully cheer her on and not you (rude ass bitch)

° once you were texting your cousin like "bestie, I think he's a green flag"

"bitch that is redder than the colour red itself what are you on💀💀"

°has definetly texted your cousin before

°they're great friends, but at first your cousin was really skeptical

°if you, your cousin and Dazai were to work at the agency

° rip Kunikida holy shit

° THE FAMILY DRAMA YOU TELL HIM

°he's in heaven (probably hell but yk)

° put your cousin on speaker when you'll gossiping and he's sat there with his wine just like 🤭😮😃

Anyways let's move onto how he found out about this bond of yours

You informed your boyfriend you were going to go take a bath, walking into the bathroom with a fresh pijama, your undergarments and a towel. You took your time in the bath just relaxing, cleaning your body, washing your hair, maybe doing a little spa day for yourself. Whatever it is you were doing, however while you were having the time of your life, Dazai was reading a book, until he got rudely interrupted by your phone ringing.. "failed abortion" (or whatever you have your cousins name written down as) 'what the fuck..' he didn't pick up, just ignored it before texts kept popping up "BESTIE PICK THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH DONT DO THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW YOU WHORE" huh... 'well that's not too pleasant' he thought in a sarcastic mindset, giggling slightly as the messages kept flooding your phone. Soon enough Dazai had the fantastic idea of texting back "ayo y/ns bathing right now" "idgaf tell that cunt to hurry her ass up cause i got some tea" he chuckled slightly, being quite curious what was so urgent, before knocking on the bathroom door.

"hey, dear. Someone called failed abortion keeps calling and texting you" although you couldn't see his face you just knew he had that stupid grin on his face, however given your curious nature, you cut your shower short.

Shortly after you were in your pyjamas, laying in bed with your back against the pillows as Dazai layed his face on your stomach, as his eyes were looking up at you with what almost seemed like a gleam, it was undeniable how much he loved you and how attracted to you he was, his fingers were gently running shapes and letters on your clothed skin, as you were typing profusely whilst giggling.

"hm? What's so funny?"

"just some family drama, nothing really important"

"so this failed abortion is a family member?"

You zoned out slightly whilst texting, before replying a few seconds later.

"yeah, sorry I zoned out"

"and who might this be, Donna?"

"That's my cousin"

He chuckled slightly before nodding a bit and sighing contently as he tried to bury his face into you tummy even more.

"you have quite the interesting dynamic with them"

"yeah, I guess so"

"im glad you keep in contact with at least someone in your family" he said with a light smile, before closing his eyes and just enjoying your giggles and the way your fingers and nails were hitting against the phone screen, already predicting how butchered the English is by your fast typing smiling a bit more at the times he just saw you communicating through texts with "ZDUHEZJHENHZ" "whst?" and other words that were completely written incorrectly.

Chuuya Nakahara

° Bro is confused

° if your cousins contact name is "failed abortion" or "mistake" or just something similar he legit thought you had a child for a second

"so uh.. Honey? Mind explaining when you had a failed abortion?"

°once he finds out its just your cousin he'd feel stupid (comfort him besties pls he needs it)

°he's so fucking tired and then out of nowhere this random ass bitch is calling you, spamming you with voice messages, photos, videos and piling up missed video calls and voice calls like bros about to destroy that fucking phone

°legit thought you were getting sent actual threats by how many insults he saw

°this fucker tried so hard to impress your cousin so they'll like him (he really wants your family to be fond of him)

°and then he just listens to you two gossiping being like 😰

"The fuck is wrong with this family😭😭"

°man's started stealing the Insults from you and your cousin

°if they get close and your cousin is younger y'all end up being like parents

"mama i papa" (idfk how that tiktok sound went)

°if you're also protective of your cousin he finds that so admirable and attractive like holy shit "hey mamas😍😍" (kms)

First meeting went interestingly.

You were sat next to Chuuya, and your cousin was sat on the opposite side of the table, at first it was awkward, no one really wanted to speak, until you started telling Chuuya something that your aunt used to do, when you and your cousin were younger, earning an appropriate reaction from him to the information you just shared, and that soon developed into you and your cousin just talking shit about your entire family to him (especially their younger sibling or your other cousin)

(Bro was flabbergasted)

"she actually used to do that..?"

Earning a small nod from you and your cousin as well as a few giggles that were muffled by your hands covering your mouths

Whenever you and your cousin were just calling each other the most gut wrenching names he was so confused, slightly amazed, intrigued and worried as hell, but more than anything he was glad you had such a close bond with someone that you two could've just insulted the fuck out of each other without getting mad or petty about it

Fyodor Dostoyevski

°Bro is just like "okay..? That's.. Yeah okay"

°like he doesn't know what to say

°takes inspo from the Insults and threats

°he legit just doesn't give a shit I'm gonna be honest

°"so just another weirdo? Alright"

°if he ever meets your cousin. tell him to wash that damn lice nest.

°please scrub his hair clean (make the shampoo go in his eyes)

°make him use deoderant for once in his fucking life

I want to write how the meeting will go but I doubt he'd go out and meet them, like I'm sorry

Nikolai Gogol

°this man is so entertained

°he acts almost identical to Dazai

°"put them on speaker I want to hear!!"

°he'd get along so well with them probably like holy shit

°y'all once just started taking about alphas (it turned into war)

°the Insults you two send are like a bed time story to him. Tell him all about the drama, speak your truth bestie

Yeah so like.. The meeting was entertaining, insults getting thrown back and forth by the three of you, some beverages and snacks and you just sat there for literal hours (can you tell I'm out of ideas and motivation?)

Sigma

°he is concerned

°you know how when he was with Fyodor, Nikolai and Dazai and he said "im the only normal one" or something similar

°THAT'S HOW HE FEELS RIGHT NOW

°like he's Fr just listening to you two talk about the family trauma while giggling and he's like "that ain't normal😶😶

°IF HE GETS ANXIOUS HOLD HIS HAND THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE THING I'M BEGGING YOU

°he finds your interactions interesting and definitely takes note of how you two speak to each other

°he never had a family of his own so he starts seeing your cousin as one as they became friends

°either that or your cousin is like your guys' child

°if y'all ever gossip in the casino he's kind of scared you'll scare the customers off

°definetly just sits and cuddles you while you're talking shit with them

°OKAY IDK WHY BUT A GROUP WHERE IT'S YOU, SIGMA, NIKOLAI AND YOUR COUSIN. PURE FUCKING CHAOS

[arminsumi]

★ College Freaks

★ With : Jay / Sam / Gojo / Geto / Choso / Shoko

★ Content : crack, humor, self-insert, college au

★ Synopsis : horny college drama stuff.

★ Warnings : 🔞 MDNI/18+, suggestive/smutty humor/flirting, hints to Choso getting a boner, not proofread

★ Note : it's my first time writing a self-insert 🧍‍♀️ it eez wot it eez. i didn't get to add nanami 😔 wanted to whip out the daddy jokes. oh well. enjoy?? idk if self-insert stuff is enjoyable lol lmk

Poor Sam, I clung to her arm and stole her attention from everyone else. Choso came up to her for after-school notes, and I put my hand up to his face to shut him up and said;

"No. Not today, emo boy. I'm sorry I am stealing my girl away — we're going to go rob a bank and then catch a flight to Italy — Sam why are you laughing? Stop laughing, I'm actually quite serious."

Poor Choso, he was confused as he always is.

I complained about life and my problems to Sam and she nodded and hummed in understanding, only half-listening because I was in one of those dramatic moods that couldn't be taken seriously.

We went to the library for no reason except that we knew Satoru and Suguru were there. Sam had a big crush on Suguru so I was trying to do her a solid and break the ice between them. She didn't have the courage to approach him herself. I didn't get why. I told her life is short, one day you'll be in a coffin, so you should talk to hot guys while you can.

Anyways, I wasn't sure about those two. Suguru's detachedness annoyed me, because when I'd talk to him during class he'd sort of recede into his shell — his shell being Satoru.

And Satoru? I liked him, yes sure. I was ashamed to like the guy that the whole school liked, so I made a joke out of it — I think he thought I was joking when I flirted with him because I exaggerated everything to the point of sounding like a joke.

During mid-year, things got steamy but nothing more happened. We definitely shared a spark in April but now it fizzled out and I was desperately trying to relight it. Flirting during class? No I wanted to flirt outside of the classroom. I wanted to flirt in his bedroom.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

"Alright, Sam. My girl. This is what you do; you go up to Suguru and say "Be my husband." okay?"

"You're funny."

"Hm... yeah actually, on second thought, marriage is an awful idea. Never get married — this is my granny advice to you; don't get married. CHOSO WE MEET AGAIN!"

"Oh god." he walked in the other direction.

"DON'T GO! DON'T YOU WANT TO FUCK IN THE BACK OF THE HOT TOPIC?" I yelled after him. I don't think he's heard that Ayesha Erotica song so I think he just thought I was crazy and yelling outrageous stuff.

"YOU'RE CRAZY." he yelled back, "Anyways, you still on for later?"

"Yes I'm turned on for later — wait what? Yes. I'm still on for later. I'm bringing Sam with, too, even if I have to drag her by her leg. Sam?"

Choso left, and then I returned my attention to Sam who was pretending to read a book because Suguru and Satoru were glancing over.

"See, they're looking at us. You know what that means? They're obsessed." I said, "Kidding. Fuckin' kidding. I think I talked too loudly." I laughed at myself.

"I think Suguru reads classics... do you know any classics?" Sam asked, skimming the book spines with her eyes.

"Yes — Dostoyevsky but man he's a fucking pain to read. Anyways, Suguru probably only reads hardcore smut." I joked. "Anyways, stop stalling — let's go say hi before Satoru and Suguru fall into a void."

"What? No way. NONONONONO DON'T DRAG ME—"

⁕⁕⁕⁕

"Hey boys~!" I greeted them and invited myself to the free seat next to Satoru. I crossed my legs, made a motion of flipping my hair (it was tied up) and encouraged Sam to sit, too.

They greeted us, we four talked for a bit. Shoko came around, and sat down next to me and we put our legs on each other. I was as comfortable with her as I was with Sam, which was a nice feeling.

Satoru stole my glasses off my face, so I stole his sunglasses off and wore them.

I couldn't see without my glasses, so I told him he was the hottest man I'd ever seen.

He had a smug response and nodded. Then he realized.

"Hey wait a minute."

"Wow that took you a while." I laughed. "Give me my glasses back — hey you fucking smudged them you absolute cunt. Oh my god... worst day ever... I'm gonna cry... anyways."

I cleaned the lenses with my t-shirt but they just got more and more smudged so I narrowed my eyes and kept wiping the lenses.

Suguru, Shoko and Sam commented on this moment between us.

"You two should date."

"Nah, she'd turn me into an ex real fast." Satoru said immediately.

"Boy, I'd turn you into a triple-ex." I said and winked.

He shook his head. I put on some chapstick. I felt eyed out. I looked to the side and surely there was Satoru staring very obviously.

"What? What are you staring at, perv?" I sassed, "You want some of my chapstick?"

"Hell yeah." he leaned in. His lips quivered when I put my chapstick to his lips. "Oh that smells good."

"It's Chupa-Chups." I said. He hummed and inhaled.

Satoru kept his lips parted while I applied the chapstick.

"You smell good too. 'That your perfume?" he asked.

"Yes. Vanilla."

"Why are they always flirting?" Suguru asked out loud.

"I dunno." Sam shrugged.

"We're not flirting." Satoru said.

"It is what it is." I said at the same time.

My mouth fell open. Satoru giggled at my reaction. I still had my mouth open, to emphasize my shock. We're not flirting?

"Close ya mouth, Jay, you'll attract cock." Satoru said.

"Wow! I'm so over you, Satoru!" I said.

I scooted and scooted my chair away from Satoru on the carpeted library floor. Satoru blatantly stared at my jiggling breasts. The other library goers looked irked by the laughter coming from our table.

"Shoko, want my chapstick instead?" I offered. She started giggling.

"What about me?" Suguru said.

I made an awkward noise, "Sorry I don't fuck with Satoru Besties." I joked quickly, noting Sam's expression.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

We all headed out the library to talk because Shoko and I wanted to have a smoke.

"... and it pisses me off!" I finished complaining about something to Shoko and we exchanged the cigarette. She took her turn puffing on it.

"Damn, you complain a lot." Satoru commented.

I gave him a look.

"Yeah, care to shut me up with your co— I'm sorry I'm joking I'm kidding." I put my hands up.

Satoru shrugged, "I mean, I can do that for you if you want." he flirted.

I pulled my round glasses down and gave him the look.

"Right here? Right now? Because you know I'd be on my knees any time and place for you, boy." I winked.

"Yeah yeah, your bark is bigger than your bite." Satoru dismissed.

"Wanna come find out?" I said, "Because I think I could slut ya out."

He looked at me with wide eyes — I couldn't judge if he was turned on or just thought I was being outrageous.

"Haha, Satoru you're going red in the face." Suguru laughed. I smiled smugly. Satoru went silent. It feels good to out-flirt a flirt.

Sam was making heart eyes at Suguru. I was trying to figure out some witty joke to say to bring them together, but it just didn't work out. I tripped over my own words and then covered it up with a long, exaggerated noise.

But they ended up going off somewhere together, talking about Dostoyevsky. I thought that was quite romantic.

Shoko let me steal another cigarette off her. Satoru was complaining about our smoke smelling awful.

"Yeah but you'd still kiss me even with smoky breath." I said.

He hummed flirtatiously. Oh shit I did something.

"Uh, I'll give you two some space." Shoko laughed, then left us alone together.

"Oh god." I whined. "Shoko please."

"What's that grimace for?" Satoru narrowed his eyes at me.

"Well I looove flirting with you but I hate being alone with you." I groaned. "Each minute spent with you is a year off my life span."

"I can't tell if you're joking or not, Jay." he laughed.

Oh. I made him laugh.

"I can't tell if I'm joking or not, either, Satoru." I sighed.

"Oh, shiiit don't say my name like that." he purred, "You'll turn me on."

"Yeah?"

Is he joking around? Are we flirting flirting?

"Yeah..." he came closer, leaned down and pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. "You know what I think? I think you're not as big of a freak in bed as you've claimed. I bet you're a virgin or something."

I let out a laugh. "Nahhh! I'm a freak freak. The shit I'm into will make you look like a vanilla bitch. And although I may be a virgin — "

Satoru laughed. "Ah, I knew it. You're a virgin freak."

"Are you gonna do something about it or just stand there like a fuckin-g idiot?" I provoked.

"Fucking-g?" he mimicked my accent.

Satoru made a toothy grin and leaned down closer. His breath smelled like the hard candies he always sucked on during the day. My cheeks were burning.

He looked down and saw me squeezing my thighs together.

"Wow, wanna get to it then?" he lowered his voice, "Just let me fuck your brains out right here against the wall?" he joked flirtatiously.

"What if I'm into that?" I moved my body suggestively. My knee nudged his thigh.

He gave me a doubting grin.

"You'd feel sore after I'm through with you, sweetheart."

"Yeah yeah," I waved my hand dismissively, "Big talk, big talk. I could take you."

"Well... let's see about that at the party tonight, yeah?" he rasped.

"Fine." I sassed.

"Fine." he smirked. "See you tonight then."

"Okay. Whatever." rolled my eyes. "Don't be fucking late to the party, by the way you useless idiot."

"No promises." he winked as he backed away.

As soon as Satoru left, I let out a silent scream and bounced around like I just won the lotto. Funny, Choso came around the corner. He witnessed my little moment.

"What theee hell."

"Oh hey Choso. Small campus, huh?"

"Yeah this makes like what, three times we've encountered each other today?" he said.

"It's a sign from god, Choso; we're meant to be. The emo freak and the virgin freak. Match made in heaven." I said.

He stared at me with his heavy, indecipherable eyes. "Are you just horny all the time?"

"Yes." I answered straightly. "Sorry if I'm a bit much. I'll stop if it makes you uncomfortable." I went serious for a second.

He stuttered, "No, no — it's hot, I enjoy it. Just not used to being on the receiving end of this kind of attention." he looked away.

"Anyways, are you really coming tonight?" he asked with a light in his eyes, needy for an answer.

Hasn't he already asked me this?

"Yeah I'll be cumming for y— sorry. Kidding. Yes I'm coming tonight. I dunno about Sam. I really hope she comes with because she's my little angel, I need her to feel safe at parties — you know 'cause she does kickboxing and stuff." I said.

Choso nodded, "I get it. Well, if she doesn't come with to the party and you feel weird, you can cling to me all night; I'll be your guard dog."

My cheeks burned. "Yeah alright. Sounds good to me." I swayed my shoulders, making it a point to puff my chest out to show him how good this thin crop top showed off my breasts.

Poor Choso. He just caught one glance of boobs and went completely shy, stuttering and all, and covered his crotch with his textbook.

"Aw I wish I was a biology book." I lamented. "Sorry, joking. Actually no, I'm not."

"I-I've gotta go." he said.

"I'm sure you do." I flirted. "See yaaa."

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[nitewrighter]

would you ever consider writing ff for gargoyles? I think your snappy wit with characters' dialogue would work wonders with eliza.

“You’re talking about forsaking your duty,” Goliath rumbled, running his clawed fingers along his jaw. 

“Well, there’s duty, and then there’s a job,” said Elisa, poking at her chow mein with her chopsticks as she sat cross-legged on the edge of the building, “I’m always going to want to protect this city, I’m always going to feel like it’s my duty to protect this city because I live here and I love the people who live here, but I’m starting to feel like my job isn’t protecting the city, it’s protecting a system.” 

“A system?” Goliath tilted his head.

“I probably sound like Bluestone right now....” Elisa’s shoulders slumped.

“Elisa, if you are having doubts about your duty...” Goliath tried to sound reassuring but wasn’t sure what direction would be reassuring.

“Job. I’m having doubts about my job--look, you’re a guardian, right?”

“Of course,” said Goliath.

“A thousand years ago, you protected your castle,” said Elisa, taking a bite of chow mein, “And yeah that makes sense---it’s a place where people take shelter, it’s basically the engine of the feudal system.”

“Feudal system...” Goliath echoed feeling as if they were treading into unfamiliar territory.

“Did you feel like you were protecting people outside the castle? The serfs? The farmers?” said Elisa.

“They would take shelter in the castle in the event of an invasion,” Goliath started hesitantly.

“So you would protect the system and you assume the system protects the people,” said Elisa.

“...but we were betrayed,” said Goliath, “So... I suppose as you said, in some regards, we protected a system, and it did not protect its people.”

“Because in a system, when some people are given way more power over other people, that doesn’t mean they’re always going to follow a code of honor. They aren’t going to see their place in that system as a duty. They let hate and fear cloud their judgment, and they use that hate and fear to do horrible things.”

“But you are a very capable detective, Elisa,” said Goliath, “Even if your fellow officers don’t match your standards, you can still set yourself as an example.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling myself for years,” Elisa gave him a wry grin before looking out over the city, “The half-native half-Nigerian, going in and transforming policing. Look at her go.”

Goliath’s heavyset brow crinkled a little at the bitterness in her voice. “Elisa I can tell you that you have, quite literally, saved New York multiple times.”

“That was with you, big guy,” she said, glancing down and stuffing another chopstick-full of chow mein into her mouth, “And I’m pretty sure most of that happened in spite of the force.”

Goliath huffed. “Well... I can certainly tell you that blindly assuming one’s duties can lead one to...”

“Being played like a violin by Xanatos?” said Elisa.

“...yes,” said Goliath grumpily before softening a bit, “So... so long as your loyalties are to protecting people and your own standards, Elisa, you have my support.” 

“Thanks, Goliath. Honestly, I’m still figuring it out,” said Elisa, “I’m trying to read more. Figure out what better days look like.”

“Dostoyevsky?” said Goliath.

“Little bit, other writers, too,” said Elisa, smiling.

“...I should like to read them, as well,” said Goliath. 

“Well you do have a thousand years of catch-up,” said Elisa.

“I have been catching up,” said Goliath, “And other members of the clan have been reading more as well. Lexington has recently recommended a fiction writer to me that I’ve found, while wildly inaccurate, very enjoyable. Have you heard of ‘Tolkien?’”

Elisa suppressed a snicker. “No,” she said, “What did he write?”

“Well it’s a transformation on traditional English folklore and Scandinavian sagas, and he has a very interesting way of incorporating Welsh linguisti--” Goliath started but he caught that very particular smirk of Elisa’s that told him she was in fact, very aware of who Tolkien was, but she wanted to hear what he thought of it. 

“...You already know who Tolkien is,” said Goliath, his brow furrowing

“We should have a movie marathon sometime,” said Elisa.

“...Movie Marathon?” said Goliath.

“Mm-hm,” Elisa stuffed another chopstick-full of chow mein in her mouth.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Hm yeah good point about the difference between Hugo and Dostoyevski’s ventures into encyclopedia territory! Personally I always found it kind of..funny? How Dostoyevsky takes the time to apologize for his in-between short essay on Russian priesthood before you get hit with it so I guess that’s considerate of him lmao (Also I didn’t consider I’d out myself as German by writing Karamasow with w 😅)

I generally think it's funny, this development literature made from the narrator being like:

"Well here is a story about a guy called so-and-so. This tale is well-known in our small town - passed down by the busy mouths of old women - and it is the source of great wonder and amusement for anyone who hears it. But for you, my friend and gentle reader, I will need to relate a brief history of our province and [literally whatever the author wants to talk about] first so you may understand the magnitude of what occurred in those days-"

- to modern narration where third person narration is just as intimate as first person narration ("She could feel fear wrap its freezing hand around her throat. Shivers ran down her spine.")

19th century authors: Here are my main characters views on society, science, women, the modern state, the military, monarchy etc. Her birthday? Her favourite food? Well, how would I know, I'm just the narrator, I never met her. But she had smallpox as a child.

21st century: What religion is Harry Potter even but here are his exact feelings about doing his shopping and every single item he buys

I mean, they both have their pros and cons, but I feel like modern 3rd person narration is this intangible thing; mostly a medium like a screen or projector which itself is kept as invisible and unnoticeable as possible (no direct opinions from the narrator, no journey to the Paris sewers etc.) to let the reader be as close as possible to the character's inner workings. Sometimes even the line between 3rd person and 1st person gets a bit blurry with stuff like-

Lee watched Christian kick and punch the fire hydrant. What was wrong with this guy?

The light went out again. What the hell was going on? Nothing made sense anymore.

You know it's technically the same 3rd person narrator as the one in every other sentence but you also know these are the exact thoughts of the POV-character (because a third person narrator speaking in the past tense should know what's going on or never have found out) which aren't marked as their thoughts and just part of the narration.

And the other 3rd person narrator is the town gossip in a bar who is just serving you the hottest tea about that dude Dimitri and his Dad over a drink. Like when Victor Hugo keeps introducing a mysterious stranger who is very strong and has a mysterious fortune every other chapter and then it's like: "And can you imagine? This guy was Jean Valjean!😯 Just like the last 20 mysterious strangers!" amazing. Some narrators treat their reader as a smug know-it-all, others basically as a stranger they have to show it around, others as a friend they share the odd joke with which gives the narrator a distinct personality, too.

That said, my copy of Moby Dick features a selection of reviews of the book and so many boil down to "SHUT UP ABOUT RANDOM WHALE FACTS, SHUT UP ABOUT THOSE DAMN WHALES!!! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT WHALE MILK TASTES LIKE!" so I like to think contemporaries also saw the serious downsides of letting authors go off the rails with "necessary additional information".

Obviously, there are also many stories that break these rules, but I think the overall tendency shows how our perspective of reading and telling stories has developed as well as the way we look at the medium "novel" compared to others. I don't have sources to verify that, but I feel like it's the development away from oral tradition of story telling on the one hand and on the other hand the relationship of the written word with an ever increasing number of other mediums like radio, film, etc and their different ways of setting a scene, portraying emotion as well as literature and storytelling formats becoming more and more diverse in their own right in the last 200 years.

[kikizoshi]

may i request a fyogol drabble or short fic about fyodors birthday and how he doesn't think its important but nikolai uses it as an excuse to show him a silly magic trick and suddenly their day isn't going so badly anymore

Yes, of course! Thanks for the ask (and on Fyodor’s birthday, too; this really is such a treat)! I took a few liberties with the story, as you’ll see, because I thought it fit with their theme a bit better, but I tried to include everything you asked for. And, yeah, I hope you enjoy it! It was great having an outside reason to write, so thank you very much!

     The ticking and tocking clock mocks Gogol as he swings his legs, laying half off a new-smelling bed and utterly bored out of his mind. ‘Tick’ reminds him that there’s nothing to do. ‘Tock’ reminds him that he could make something to do. ‘Tick’ argues that he can’t do something out of the ordinary for his character designation of Secretary. 'Tock’ disagrees, because who’s going to be looking at Secretary, anyway? Gogol vaguely remembers the story of an angel and demon on one’s shoulder and groans out loud at the overused cliche.

     He looks over to the door and sighs. He doesn’t mind any of the other scenery around the room–he’d long since tired of the dull white walls and clean kitchen. The worn, polished picture frames and the new IKEA desk mean nothing if their owner doesn’t care for their contents. No, the only things of mild value remain tucked away in Gogol’s cloak, and so nothing catches his eye. It’s just the door that’s insufferable. A sort of freedom taunts him this time in the form of being so very close, and it’s maddening. Strangely, both Tick and Tock agree with him on that.

     Gogol sighs harder–as though that will relieve him of his tantalizing thoughts–and scratches at his black wig. He looks at the tiny slit of a gap between the door and the doorframe and imagines himself becoming as thin as paper (or maybe thinner?), slipping through that taunting crevice. He can practically feel it–the smooth, slightly rough but oh so satisfying slide against the door and doorframe until he’s out and the cool, near-winter air whisks him up, up and away from this melancholic, drab, caged act.

     The clock forgets Gogol’s even there, arguing with itself louder, and that damned itch won’t go away, so Gogol scratches more–only serving to irritate the skin, itching it further–stills his legs, and the free energy coils up in his gut, screaming at him to move. He jolts up and throws the wig across the pristine floor, dragging his nails along his scalp irritably. God, how do people spend their every day like this?!

     It’s terrible, yes, simply awful, so why should Gogol stay in their hell? No, he has better things to do. It’s a very important day, after all! A grin stretches his face at that, the thought instantly lightening his mood. He’d almost forgotten the speciality of this day, but how could he? When his dear, dear friend and coworker surely sits all alone, up to his neck in a pawn that won’t comply or coding that defies all logic or whatever it is that Dostoyevsky even does–for Gogol finds himself rather unaware of such things even when Dostoyevsky explains it to him, such is the work as enigmatic as the worker–what else can Gogol be expected to do if not cheer him up?

     And so, without even bothering to question whether or not his friend actually is in any sort of stress at the moment, Gogol shoots up and all but dashes to the door, only barely stopping to grab his cape before he goes. He does take careful pains to lock his door, however–unwelcome visitors are always troublesome.

     The breeze is … not as cold as he’d expected, though why he expected cold weather at all in Japan is perhaps a mystery not even he can solve. It is cool though, a pleasant breeze even if not a cold one, and Gogol’s smile softens at it. 'We should visit a park or something later,’ he thinks, 'or perhaps look on the city from one of those Mafia buildings?’ He looks up in contemplation to try to see the four tall shapes. Sadly, they don’t appear in his line of view, but that can be fixed! Gogol swings around, walking backwards now and garnering a few stares but that doesn’t matter much now. Now that Gogol can see those dark pillars–and the alley he’s looking for is half a mile away–he gets lost in his imagination for what they could do there.

     The breeze blows chillier than it does on the ground–much more akin to what the two are used to, picking up their capes and blowing them so far they look to be seeking escape–and the city lights twinkling below them could almost be pretty if they weren’t another sign of this world’s latent corruption. That doesn’t matter as much, though, Gogol is sure, since the wind still feels nice and his friend looks to be at some sort of peace for once.

     "Hey, hey, Dos-kun?“ A grin stretches Gogol’s face as he comes up with a marvellous new joke, “What’s the synonym of both 'essential to society’ and 'ignorance’?! I’ll give you three guesses, though I’m sure you only need one!”

     "There are many answers to that, how am I to know which one you mean?“

     "Why, that’s the point!” Gogol laughs, loud and free, “If I weren’t vague, my audience wouldn’t have to guess and the quiz would be no fun at all!”

     "That’s true.“ Dostoyevsky keeps his blank face faced towards the sparkling city as though lost in thought, but Gogol thinks it might just be less cold than usual. “Well then, in this case, your answer is 'the Port Mafia’, as they’re both essential to Yokohama’s society and incredibly ignorant for allowing us to slip onto their roof.”

     "Excellent, bravo, that’s exactly correct!“ Gogol jumps up from the edge they’re both sitting on to proclaim in a sweeping gesture, "It’s a perfect answer, and since you replied so splendidly, I have a special offer!” He holds a hand out to Dostoyevsky–whose hand is gloved, for once; a fact for which Gogol is incredibly thankful–that’s then taken, although the latter doesn’t move to stand. “IIIIIIt’s 'Double or Nothing Time’!!! For the price of figuring out one more trick, I’ll double the prize you would have gotten! Beware though,” Gogol’s voice suddenly drops to a dire whisper, “for if you get this one wrong, you’ll lose everything and be doubly tricked.”

     Dostoyevsky smiles slightly. “And do I have to stand for this new trick of yours?” he asks.

     "Hm, no, I suppose not. Only give me a second.“ Gogol lets go of Dostoyevsky’s hand and pulls his cape across the top half of his body, vanishing it in front of Dostoyevsky’s eyes. Not for long though, as it’s back in front of him when he turns back to look at the city. And also a little too close for comfort. Dostoyevsky pokes Gogol in the chest, a signal for him to back up slightly, which he does with a laugh and 'floats’ there merrily in the air, simply grinning at Dostoyevsky for a moment.

     "So this trick of yours is …” Dostoyevsky trails off, waiting for Gogol to finish–a request to which he happily complies.

     "Yes! You see, I found this the other day,“ Gogol retrieves from his cloak a regular paper napkin, completely average in every way, and holds it out like it’s the Holy Grail, "and I just had to use it! So, my willing participant, if you would be so kind as to hold this for me,” Gogol rips the napkin in two and picks up Dostoyevsky’s right hand, placing one half inside of it, “and I’ll take the other one, see, and curl it up like so,” he crushes his half of the napkin into a ball about half the size of a tennis ball and holds it up with glee, “and viola!”

     "… Your trick is a ball.“ Dostoyevsky stares at him, unimpressed. Gogol laughs again. "No, no! Not a ball,” he cackles, “the ball is only the beginning! No, though the ball is very nice, it’s what’s inside the ball that’s important! If the magician can’t get the special component outside of the ball, then there’s not much point at all, and everyone’s left unsatisfied!”

     "And that is?“

     "Magic, of course!”

     "Of course.“

     "Yes, sooo,” Gogol sways the ball around in front of Dostoyevsky’s eyes, “I want you to pay very special attention to this ball. Whatever you do, whatever happens, don’t, for even a second, let it out of your sight. If you do, then you automatically fail!”

     Dostoyevsky nods.

     "Alright! Now then,“ Gogol puts the ball into his cupped right hand, "as you can see, the ball is here now,” he closes his hand, “and now you don’t see it!” He laughs gaily, though sobers enough to continue when Dostoyevsky gives the ball an exasperated look. He opens his hand back up and takes the ball back with his left hand. “So now, when I put the ball in my hand for the second time and close it, you can be sure that, when I open it again, there will be only empty air! Ready?” Gogol grins wider at Dostoyevsky’s nod.

     Now, here’s the tricky part. Gogol holds the hand with the ball just high enough that a quick flick should be out of Dostoyevsky’s periphrial vision, then quickly brings his left hand down as if he’s putting the ball in. He closes his hand and looks back to Dostoyevsky and … and Dostoyevsky’s not looking at him.

     Rather than focusing on Gogol, like he’d wanted, Dostoyevsky had stayed true to his word and now looks towards the edge of the roof where the ball must have been swept off by the wind. Slowly, he turns his unimpressed expression back to Gogol, though Gogol doesn’t miss the tinge of humour in it. Gogol sighs. Well, it was worth a try. Though he’d hoped he’d get farther than that, it’s not like he didn’t expect–

     "Ah, I see,“ Dostoyevsky continues with a smirk, cutting off Gogol’s train of thought, "so I’ve already been caught.” He holds up the hand that Gogol had taken at the very beginning palm-up to himself and sighs. Right there, though he’d been too distracted to notice it at the time–something Gogol takes great pride in–is a small, flat cylinder, not unlike a poker chip, with a counter counting down from about a minute on it.

     Gogol makes a show of falling back out of his cape and laughs to the sky. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually! Though perhaps it’s too late?! After all, time’s running out and the release switch is who knows where.” Gogol grins mischievously, gloating over his assured victory. To his delight, it actually has the intended effect!

     Dostoyevsky stands, smirk still there although merging with an outright smile now, and walks over to Gogol. Nonchalantly, as though he has all the time in the world, Dostoyevsky reaches into Gogol’s right hand and presses the button on the switch.

     DING! DING! DING! DING!

     Dostoyevsky jumps, startled, at Gogol chuckles and confetti flies out of the disk on Dostoyevsky’s hand, said disk falling to the ground shortly after.

     "Happy birthday!“ Gogol shouts, throwing his arms up in excitement, "And may we wish for many more to come.”

     "So that’s why you brought me up here?“ Dostoyevsky sits back down on the edge, raising a hand to his head. "That’s a long way and a lot of time for nothing, Gogol.”

     "Certainly,“ Gogol says seriously, "That’s why it’s 'Much Ado About Nothing!’ If it was 'Much Ado About Something’ or 'Much Ado About Most Things’ then people wouldn’t be as interested! No, it’s 'Much Ado About Nothing’, and isn’t it such a luxury to have any ado not attributed to anything? I think so. And, wouldn’t you like to experience it too? If only for a little while.” Gogol smiles genuinely, taking a seat back beside Dostoyevsky and taking his hand.

     "I hate to be the one to inform you of this,“ Dostoyevsky says, "but your whole existence could be said to be 'Much Ado About Nothing,’ and therefore insignificant.”

     "Aah, but you see,“ Gogol leans in conspiratorially, "if I were to vanish from society today, it would have an effect. Not an immediate or noticeable one, perhaps, but an effect nonetheless. Therefore, even if you call my existence 'Much Ado About Nothing,’ my actions have to do with something! But anyway,” Gogol takes in a deep breath of air, suddenly becoming much calmer in the moment, “It’s true that I know how to have fanfare over trivialities, but you don’t seem to. It’s always the end or beginning of the world, but nothing ever happens outside of that. Wouldn’t you like to try, then, and take a step out of reality for even just a handful of minutes? Surely it wouldn’t be terrible.”

     "Perhaps.“ Dostoyevsky’s smile becomes only that, then, and he sighs a sigh that Gogol might almost venture to call contented. "I hope you plan on cleaning the confetti, because I definitely won’t.”

     Gogol laughs.

     Coming out of his thoughts, Gogol notices the alleyway to his destination and grins. It’s just about time, then. Even if things won’t happen exactly the way he’d imagined them, just seeing Dostoyevsky soften is more than enough of a goal for the day!

     With that in mind, he sweeps through his cape the rest of the way and ends up in a fairly cramped room. It’s a few doors behind an underground bar–'Lupin’ he remembers the sign said–that Dostoyevsky bought from the now-dead owner of the establishment. As such, the backroom that Gogol finds himself in isn’t too big, holding only a small group of pillows Gogol guesses could be called a bed, a single glowing bulb fixed into the ceiling, a desk, chair, and a few monitors. Why, exactly, Dostoyevsky decides to stay here, when there are plenty other–better–places to stay, Gogol has no idea. The former doesn’t seem to have a problem with the setup, however, as he’s … well, he’s doing something completely unexpected now that Gogol looks at him with properly adjusted eyes.

     Dostoyevsky looks up from his book, the stark pink colouring of it seemingly shining in the dark room as he lowers it slightly. “Gogol. What brings you here?” He asks.

     "My, you sound positively brimming with happiness at my visit! Can I not see friends when the boredom consumes me whole?“

     "No, it’s not that you can’t, but you never do things without even a minuscule reason. Humans don’t.”

     Gogol sighs. Working up to his fantasy will take time, but it’s time well-spent if it’s time with his friend. Or coworker. Dostoyevsky doesn’t seem to be in a good mood, after all. “Yes, and that boredom is my very reason! Usually you would get that … Oh no, is something seriously wrong?!”

     "No, I understood that. But you have another motive, too.“ Dostoyevsky sets his book on the table next to him and leans back in his chair.

     "Of course, of course,” Gogol relents, “because … No, but I’ll let you guess! What better way to get the mind working than a quiz?! And a quiz needs a hint! Let’s see, 'what rhymes with "calendar?”’“

     "November. You’re here because of my birthday too then, but there’s no need and even less so since you have to break character to be here.”

     "On the contrary, it’s very important! Even if not to you, then to the people around you, so,“ Gogol reaches into his cloak–and readjusts it while he’s at it. Had he really been so careless in throwing it on?–and pulls out a small-ish, lumpy yet neatly wrapped package, "I’ll let you guess what this is, and if you get it right, I’ll give you a second present!”

     Dostoyevsky takes the package–irritably–and feels it, squishing and turning and making a mess of the packaging. Gogol watches in anticipation. 

     After a few moments, Dostoyevsky answers. “It’s a new ushanka.” Promptly, before Gogol can announce the verdict, Dostoyevsky rips open the packaging to reveal a hat exactly like the one he’s wearing. He sighs. “I already have one though. What’s the point in getting a new one?”

     "Because!“ Gogol exclaims, "You were talking about that guy–”

     "Dazai?“

     "Maybe–you didn’t mention him by name–and I thought, since you were so peeved at him for wearing your hat, you’d want a new one that you could call unsullied by your nemesis!”

     "I see.“ Dostoyevsky removes his hat and replaces it with the new one from Gogol. Much to Gogol’s delight, his expression does soften some as he feels at it on his head. "It’s softer,” Dostoyevsky says.

     "Of course, your other one was getting rather old, too.“ Gogol smiles and pats Dostoyevsky on the head through his cape. "This one should be warmer as well, although I still don’t know how you manage to wear such furry clothes in the heat–”

     "Thank you,“ Dostoyevsky says, smiling, "it’s nice.”

     Gogol smiles back and moves closer to Dostoyevsky. “I haven’t forgotten about your second present either.” Slowly– to give Dostoyevsky enough time to move away if he wishes–Gogol slips his arms around him in a semi-awkward embrace and says simply, “Happy birthday.”

     Dostoyevsky returns the hug, “Still, I can’t help but think this should be a time of mourning for you, too.”

     When Gogol pulls back, Dostoyevsky is smiling cunningly. Gogol mildly worries. “E-Eh? Why would I mourn the day of your birth?”

     "How about a quiz?“ The smile stays, and Gogol feels himself cornered before the conversation has even ended. "Since you like them so much, I’ll provide one this time.”

     "Why thank you,“ Gogol laughs, pulling away completely to sit on the pillows across from him, and thinks aloud, "Let’s see, a reason to mourn Dos-kun’s birth … Because it’s bad for the world? But I don’t believe that! His existence hasn’t caused me any pain not of my own making, has been very beneficial, yet I have some reason to mourn it …” After a few moments of silence, Gogol finally throws his hands up in defeat. “I have no idea! I give up, so you’ll have to tell me.”

     The now-smirk grows, “Because,” Dostoyevsky begins, as though explaining something to a schoolboy, “now you’ll no longer be able to make jokes of being the older one of us.”

     Gogol’s eyes shoot wide open as he processes the new information. “Oh no!” He screams, “How could I have forgotten such an important detail?! You’re right. This is terrible, utterly awful! But alas, I must endure it … Yes, I’ll endure it for a few more months, and then all will be right again!”

     "But you won’t,“ Dostoyevsky says, "because you won’t have the chance.”Gogol tilts his head in confusion. “What? Of course March will get here eventually! So why wouldn’t–” Just then, as though the realisation strikes him with a staggering force, he leans back onto the wall and his smile falls sad. “Ah, of course. I won’t be here for March.”

     Dostoyevsky nods. “Precisely.” His expression becomes grim too, and he comes to sit next to Gogol. “So perhaps we should change the plan–it’s what I was thinking when you came in. There are a few ways about it, although the boss won’t like it very much, it’s not as though they can do anything about it if we decide not to go through with 'Sunday’s Tragedy,’ as you like to call it.”

     Gogol shakes his head, a resolute smile on his lips. “No, that’d be no good. The whole point of Sunday’s Tragedy is that it happens. I wouldn’t have agreed to it if it went differently, so of course, we can’t change it. Don’t you already know that?”

     Dostoyevsky sighs. “Yes,” he says simply, resting his head against the wall and looking at nothing in particular. There’s nothing else to say, Gogol supposes. Still, this isn’t how it was supposed to go. Dostoyevsky wasn’t supposed to end up depressed by the end–Gogol wasn’t either.

     "It’s,“ Gogol says, "It’s going to turn out fine. After all, we’ve known each other for, say, about nine years now, and most of the plans you worked on came to fruition. Even if these plans are shared amongst others, I believe in the things you create, so you can believe in them too.” He takes Dostoyevsky’s hand, “I’m sure of it. You don’t have to worry.”

     ” … You put a mechanised party popper in my hand at a moment like this …“

     "Ah, drat! And here I thought I was sneaky this time!” Gogol laughs nonetheless and takes out the release switch. “Well, since you figured it out so quickly, I suppose I’ll end it myself this time.”

     Dostoyevsky’s eyes widen. “No, wait–”

     DING! DING! DING! DING!