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angelsrcute · 7 months ago

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Haloo :D im wondering if u r taking requests now but if u r can u write a fyodor with immortal female reader ? It would be wonderful if u can can but u can ignore this request if u want to

“ But can't you see my dear? I am your doppelganger ♡”

⌗ A LOVE IMMORTAL SUCH AS MINE, WILL COME TO ME, ETERNALLY. 𐙚˙⋆.˚

(´∀｀*)ε｀　) ౨ৎ N–sfw content !! ; Dom!Immortal!Vampire!Fyodor + Sub!Immortal!Vampire!F!Reader ➜ cws: Modern au, Jealous!Fyodor, Vampire themes, fwb → lovers, alcohol mentions, biting, unprotected sex + use of lube, tit play, overstimulation, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), slight Yandere!Fyodor(?), Soft!Fyodor.

꒰ † ੭ — this ended up being my longest fic ever, lol, 1.3k words!! I am taking reqs! + a lil inspiration from olgami, it's such a good webtoon. (人´∀`)♪ Translation: "Мышка" (myshka)

When humans age, they die and pass on to the afterlife, don't they? Death was something that never came to you, ah immortality, such a cool thing. It was more like a curse to you, humans coming and going, years passing by but still no one seemed to notice the same face walking among them for all these decades. Faces unrecognisable as you try to remember their names, their relation with you, not that it mattered anyway.

Relationships were a nuisance, blink and they're already gone, dead, as you stand in their funeral. It was a really funny thing, oh how you wished you could die instead of watching your loved ones die.

Fyodor Dostoevsky. Not a famous name for humans but for vampires, they say he's the oldest vampire to ever live. Have you ever met with him? You did, decades ago, in his bed, in his mansion, fyodor needed some relief and so did you.

He was the one who saved you from your death, why? Because he thought you were interesting. He'd take care of you and teach you how to hunt, how to kill people and make sure no one finds out. He seemed like a lonely man too, house deep in the woods, living all by himself.

The other vampires though, had this bloodlust, to kill him, to become the lord themselves. Everyone clawing at any chance they get, to paint their fingers red with his blood. You never understood their reasoning, what's so good living a life like this?

Dressed in the finest silk and jewelries, he liked seeing you in white clothing the most. He said it made you look like a saint, the saint that brought some change to his boring life. He definitely wasn't a fan of other vampires eyefucking you at meetings. Well, they'd end up going missing anyway.

Cleaning up after him was annoying, why did he have to be so busy? that also playing the piano as he drank wine. Blankly staring at the body in front of you as you clean the floor, muttering curses at him.

It didn't take long but you fell for him, yearning for his touches, but you could never confess, fearing it would ruin your relationship. Your body burning like fire as he kisses you, snapping his hips against you, dress ripped off and discarded on the floor.

“You liked that dress? I'll tell them to make one for you again, money isn't a problem for me.”

Cold slender fingers playing with your nipples as he decorates your neck with bite marks, drawing blood from them. Tongue darting out to lick the blood as he whispers about how sweet you taste to your ears. Your nails digging into his shoulders as your eyes roll back from pleasure, his hands holding your leg up at this point.

Everything was going smoothly until one day he disappeared, without a single word. All the other vampires went crazy over this fact. Some were happy thinking he finally died, some just disappointed that they couldn't be the one killing him.

You returned to Russia after a lot of years, travelling all over the world, everything was different to you, with the years, technology also grew, like for instance, this human was staring into a phone. Bumping into you and not saying a single apology but they had the audacity to curse you instead, calling you blind.

Well, guess you just found yourself dinner, how lucky. Hiding the body with no effort, muttering to yourself “The world would be a little better without people like this.”

You went down an alley, there was a nice bar here, you remembered. Entering it, you took a seat after ordering your favourite drink. From the corner of your eyes, you could see a stranger coming up to you, sitting beside you, “I've never seen you around here, darling, do you need some help? I know a really nice place around here–”

The man went on rambling about nonsense, poor attempts at flirting, and why is he even talking about himself, you don't remember asking. Quietly sipping on your drink as you ignored the stranger. The stranger, though, seemed offended, “Hey I'm talking to you, whore, if you don't want attention, dress up more!”

Now that part really got on your nerves, what were you supposed to wear, a long ass winter jacket? You could just pretend to play along and just kill this guy, not even interested in drinking his blood! But someone else's voice stopped you, a voice too fucking familiar.

It was none other than fyodor, you watched as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you by his side, eyes narrowing at the stranger with a smile, “It's really rude to flirt with someone's lover, don't you think? You'll walk away from here and remember nothing.” The guy on command, got up and left the bar, the people in the surrounding, definitely didn't care.

“You look like you've seen a ghost, Мышка.” He chuckled, as if he just met you yesterday and not decades ago.

“What the fuck? Where the hell were you for all these years!?” You shouted at him, burning a hole into his face with your glare, “Of course I'm surprised, am I not supposed to be when you appear like that? God!”

“Let's discuss it somewhere private, shall we? I know a hotel nearby.” You hated how composed he seemed to be, but still followed him, giving him a chance to explain himself.

“I was a bit hurt, dear, why didn't you tell the man to leave? or were you interested?” He asked while sitting down on the bed.

“Is that what we're talking about? Give me an explanation, fyodor, where the hell were you?”

“A bit busy, don't mind me, I had business that needed to be taken care of.”

“That's it? You could've at least told me a goodbye! or sent letters.”

“Ah, but that would give away my location, wouldn't it? I didn't want any disturbances, but enough about me, where were you? I couldn't find you in my mansion.”

“I was travelling, and I did not see a point in staying there if you weren't there but you really had me worried, you know?” You sighed, sitting beside him.

Well this was supposed to be meeting up with a past ‘friend’. So why did this turn into a fucking session? According to a certain someone, he wanted to make up for his mistakes!

Currently between your thighs, lapping up your folds like he hadn't eaten in years, savouring the taste like it was his favorite meal. He teased your clit with his tongue, gently flicking it, before sucking it into his mouth. Your moans and whines were music to his ear, he could feel you were close, his tongue speeding up to make you cum.

“F-fuck…gonna cum–” You stammered before cumming, lewd slurping sounds filling the room before getting up and kissing you, slipping his tongue in your mouth, making you taste yourself. A string of saliva joining your tongue after he breaks the kiss, he definitely likes seeing you like this— face flushed, hair disheveled, neck decorated by pretty hickeys by him.

You don't remember what round it was, all you can feel is the way he keeps fucking his cum back in your cunt. Sweat glistening on your body as you can't help but let out whimpers due to overstimulation, “T-Too much, fedya…slow down–”

“I'm sure you can cum for me again, my dear.”

He kisses your tear soaked face while rubbing soothing circles on your clit to calm you down. You pull him closer to kiss again, running your hands through his soft hair before he cums in you for the last time and pulls out.

Fyodor runs you a warm bath and then puts you on the bed, climbing in to cuddle with you, well, such a memorable get together isn't it?

Taglist: @blueberrisdove

#𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐄'𝐒 :: 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 (ᵔ◡ᵔ)#dom character #sub reader #bsd smut #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bsd x reader #bsd x female reader #bungou stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs x you #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor smut #fyodor dostoyevsky smut #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader

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sssarrrra · 6 months ago

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Dying to stay alive. Why does Fyodor Dostoevsky enjoy being killed on purpose? Bsd analysis

Why Dostoevsky looks so young despite living for centuries? I think it's because he often gets killed. He literally has no time to age.

His skin care routine is being murdered every year or so. Maybe, even more often.

Fyodor CAN age, he isn't immune to it. He isn't immortal. He's ability isn't about eternal youth. He can get gray hair and wrinkles. But he doesn't. Dostoevsky looks almost identical to how he's been when he's met Bram centuries ago (minus a scar and an outfit). So why is it?

Let's assume that the physical "age" Fyodor naturally gains can be transferred to the new body he enters. And the only things that get "erased" are traces of harm left by someone else (bruises, cuts, scars, etc.)

Let's pretend that we know Fyodor's "biological" age. And it's 20. (That's just an assumption for this example!)

It would go like this: Fyodor's biologically 20. He lives until his 22, than gets killed. His "new" body will have the age of 22. Then he lives until he's 26 and dies unnaturally. He's biological age in the new body is gonna be 26.

And so on and so on. It means both his appearance and physic will gradually change. But we see NONE OF THAT. Present Fyodor is almost a twin copy of Fyodor from the past.

It means that Dostoevsky has never lived longer than a couple of years max without dying and respawning into a new body. He probably dies quit often and can't even get old enough because he simply doesn't have time.

Maybe, he has some mark on his calendar: "Need to die every year to keep my body young and relative healthy". And it's a strategy and nothing else. But I feel like there is more to that.

Dostoevsky probably enjoys the thrill of death (or near death) experience for various reasons.

People sometimes describe Dazai as a "suicide-addict", but THIS is a new level of it. These two share a hobby of trying to die often. But Dostoevsky not just tries. He dies. Fyodor's way of getting a rid of his stress is being brutally murdered by someone else. I wounder, if Dazai knew it how it would make him feel? To find out that Fyodor is drawn to death in the same way that he is? We'll find out eventually.

Dostoevsky meticulously got himself killed probably more than 300+ times or so. And, yes, sometimes it was work related incidents due to his plans. But he didn't HAVE to die so often, did he?

It honestly seems, that for Fyodor "dying" is just an extracurricular activity he does to pass the time. Some ppl go their friend's house to play video games. And Fyodor goes to someone's place -> dies there.

Maybe, Dostoy tries to connect with people by "dying" by their hands? When he transfers his mind into a new body, it makes him feel less lonely, somehow?

For example, Fyodor didn't have to break into Bram's castle and chat him up about demons. He didn't have to put his life on a line just to see how Bram would react to his musings about world-politics. He knew he would die, obviously. But he went anyway. Just to "catch a glimpse" of Bram (in his own words). And then, of course to get murdered. Did he hope that Bram would be the one to deliver a final blow? Did Fyodor secretly want to "posses" Bram's body from that long, long time ago?

You know how ppl joked about Fyodor's hobby being captured on purpose? Add "dying" to this list, asap.

He's reasons for overusing his ability to "reincarnate" are probably complicated.

A part of it is a need to escape/ease his guilt. Dostoy wants to feel like a martyr that has a right to commit sin. Maybe, it's his own self-punishment, a form of self-harm. He believes these short or long moments of agony "erase" the harm he does to others or, at least, balance it out.

On the other hand, Fyodor is still a human who wants to belong. But he spent decades in paranoia and isolation that affected him immensely. So now the only "true" connection Dostoevsky can create with someone is when he inserts his consciousness into their body. The flow of new feelings/goals keeps him distracted from himself and his bleak view of the reality. So he does it over and over.

Or is it just a boredom thing? Like living is such a drug he can't help but try to die?

Dostoy is too afraid/guilty to go to heaven right away so he passes time by adding bits of different personalities to himself. He has this semi-free subscription to people's agendas, he only has to die to access them. It keeps him entertained. Like a Netflix but he has to die to watch a "movie" from someone's POV, with their goals/emotions intact still.

Dostoy wants to pick up a new passion/hobby? No problem. He just needs to find someone who likes that particular interest, and than get murdered by that person. Then Fyodor can gain their insights into the topic (possibly).

I wish I could see the way Dostoevsky envisions humanity. It seems like he's both enmeshed with it to the point of losing himself and at the same time he's discarded by humanity and isolated from it.

It's such a mixed-up experience. No wounder Fyodor's mind is so… Bizarre.

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verlaineszz · 5 months ago

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"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 becamd 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 holloweyed, 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..

#bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #horror #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #siren aesthetic #horror fiction #angst #no happy ending #lmfaooo #psychology #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #bungo stray dogs fanfiction #bungo stray dogs

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happy--prince · 4 months ago

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“Right..that is true.” he let out a dry chuckle. “...I still can't get used to that thought.”

Hello~

“Hey there Fedya! How have you been doing?”

#🍷 ❝ signed & sealed ❞#ooc// funfact Fyodor being immortal is inspired by another russian author's novel #master and margarita to be precise #in particular #a line a character says “i disagree. Dostoevsky is immortal”

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cutie4me · 1 year ago

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Best Soukoku Fanfics That Bring Immense Nostalgia!

Someone on YouTube asked for recommendations for Soukoku fics so how could I give up such an opportunity to share some of my all time favourites?! Some of them will make you cry. Some of them will make you smile. But most importantly, the immense wave of nostalgia you’ll feel after reading some of these fics are surreal! I swear, sometimes I wish I’d forget about these fics just so I could rediscover and read them all over again! All these amazing works are on AO3 so please check them out and support the authors! I’ll continue to update this each time I find a new SKK fanfic!

“Overturn even the heavens and the earth” by sssoukoku

Chuuya uses corruption but Dazai’s too late to save him, or is he?

“My skull crown” by YunaYamiMouto

Mori is dead so Dazai has to go back to PM and take the throne as the new PM boss.

“Baby Executive” by BlowingYourMind

Chuuya gets turned into a child and goes through the life stages growing older under Dazai’s care, Dazai manages to develop empathy and a widespread of new emotions around each new stage of Chuuya. (Cross posted on Wattpad!)

“I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio” by ElectricSplatter

I’ve not read this yet but it’s really popular and has a lot of positive reviews from what I’ve heard. It’s a rockstar/band AU but it’s super long, probably the longest one here.

“The God and his Vessel” by Churroburrito

Arahabaki lives in Chuuya and they can interact and sometime Arahabaki can come out to talk to people. Arahabaki is surprisingly sweet and overprotective of Chuuya, quite like an older brother. (I absolutely adore Arahabaki and Chuuya’s dynamic in this fic!)

“Silly delusions” by Grinch1234

Arahabaki and Chuuya are one person and Arahabaki is a God stuck in a human’s body confused with how humanity works. He tries on many occasions to convince Dazai that he is a god to only one time in which Dazai actually believes him.

“I’ll always come for Chuuya” by toucheslikethesun

Dazai and Chuuya back in PM and Dazai tries to distance himself with Chuuya cuz of his feelings to the point Chuuya loses trust in him and thinks Dazai’s grown bored of him because of his new friend, Odasaku.

“We Are Never Ever, Ever Getting Back Together (Right?)” by sabiEMr

ADA and PM do an exchange thing where Chuuya works at ADA for a while and Atsushi works at PM. Chuuya tried to get over his relationship with his ex Dazai but it’s not really ideal when you’re now stuck with your ex at his workplace.

“Unexpected” by lemoncandy751

Soukoku get paired together for a project and they hate each other… except when they start to fall for each other. Well that was unexpected!

“It takes two, to create a whole” by X_DRAMA_QUEEN_X

Roommates/College AU. Dazai’s a player and Chuuya gets stuck being his roommate and they absolutely despise each other with a burning passion. Chuuya gets a little too close to Fyodor and doesn’t know who to trust anymore. Is it Dazai playing the mind games to make Chuuya fall for him or is it Fyodor? (It’s over on Wattpad as well!)

“If we can’t run together, why did we from the start?” by amythecinnabunny

Immortal Dazai x multiple reincarnation of Chuuya. Dazai loves each of them differently and learns to find and fall for each Chuuya reincarnation again and again! (I cried too much with the angsty ending of this. Lots of character deaths).

“Inseparable” by milwritescausewhynot

Highschool AU where Chuuya and Dazai have known each other for 12 years and are practically inseparable! They love to pull pranks on each other but when a certain prank of Dazai’s is taken too far that it puts Chuuya’s life at risk they must face the consequences of being apart for each other’s safety (due to Dazai’s guilt) yet still yearning for each other.

“Pretty Little Thing” by wallows_4

Chuuya, an assassin, is assigned a job to kill the Prince of a very wealthy and successful kingdom. Chuuya walks in thinking this will be easy when no threats are present, but the next thing he knows everything is dark. When he wakes up again, he is "interrogated" by three idiots. And the stupid prince is insistent on him being his personal pet!

“Of Libraries and Liberties” by Grinch1234

Chuuya Nakahara is the escaped government experiment known as A5158 seeking refuge as the librarian of his own little library sanctuary. Osamu Dazai is the notorious boss of the Port Mafia and by some illogical miracle, they manage to cross paths.

“Still, Still, Still” by icedlightroast

Actor/popstar Dazai x Rockstar Chuuya idustrial rivals AU! After a public drunken tweet confession professing his true feelings for his rival, Chuuya has no choice but to play the ploy of fake dating his rival, Dazai, to help this mess he’s made in his career. Except Dazai is a completely incompetent asshole who Chuuya can’t help but hate himself for falling for. Besides, there’s more to Dazai that meets the eye.

“Untainted Memories” by serenathea

BEAST! Chuuya shares his memories and emotions with the original Chuuya, and Dazai has to fix the mess and pain he has created.

“I can’t dare to dream about you anymore” by kiroiimye

High school AU where Dazai and Chuuya have been best friends and next-door neighbors since childhood, never seen apart despite their differing, respective lifestyles as the genius class president and the school’s beloved soccer star. Everything is perfect, except for the fact that Chuuya’s been in love with Dazai since forever and Dazai has a girlfriend.

“Always Yours” by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Kingdom + Omegaverse AU where Dazai has been betrothed to Chuuya since they were both children—an arrangement that never particularly interested him—until their wedding night, when he sees the omega’s face for the first time. (EXPLICIT Rating for NSFW scenes but you can skip those if you wish)

“The Shepard and His Shadow” by LynyrdLionheart

Everyone knows the monster in the woods is why the village suffers a lack of resources. It's been that way for centuries. Then Dazai meets the monster, and everything he knew turns out to be a lie.

“The Life We Could've Lived” by Xena_Lemon

A very confused Dazai wakes up in a Highschool AU instead of his usual Agency dorm room. And strangely enough, Chuuya’s the only one who seems to be from his world (him and the mysterious girl who keeps watching them).

“Four Years Ago, Four Years Later” by Nightingale231

Chuuya knows before Dazai, does, really, that the younger man will run. Before anything - even before Mori and the home he has carved for himself in the Port Mafia - he will take Dazai's side where it matters. He hates the mackerel, he does; yet he wants Dazai to follow the goals that Odasaku set for him, because he… (loves him).

“Silver Claws, Silver Tongue” by CandiWolfe

In which Chuuya gets turned into a cat whilst on a mission and (unwillingly) seeks the misfortune of Dazai’s help to not only temporarily nullify the ability but to track down the bastard who dared turn him into a wretched feline. Except doing so is easier said than done. Especially when they’re from a whole new foreign organisation.

“How To Woo Your Husband in Seven Days” by moonlitsorrows

When Dazai accidentally performs a grave accident that angers his precious chibi husband and forces him out of their shared apartment and out onto the streets, he tries his hand at his backup operation of “How to Woo your husband in seven days” with seven articulate plans in hopes that it would finally convince Chuuya to invite him back home. Except each plan just seems to fail and give the redhead an even bigger blooming headache. Plan 7 was the last straw. Maybe Chuuya should finally invest in some long awaited (and deserved) divorce papers after such a hellish week of putting up with that stupid mackerel of a husband’s BS.

“Another Love” by infernaa

Dazai desperately wanted to get rid of everything dark and ugly in his life. Even if it meant leaving his love for Chuuya behind. (Slight Sigma x Dazai).

“When Will You Confess?” by Chuchu_hua

Dazai and Chuuya have been best friends since childhood. One day, Dazai gets himself a girlfriend and Chuuya feels jealous. He then realises he has feelings for his best friend, but doesn’t want to confess. One night under the stars plus the influence of wine becomes one heated make out session. The two continue to have random make out sessions, but don’t think to put a label on their relationship. One school dance is what it took for Dazai to grow a pair and finally admit his feelings out loud.

“Empire of Dirt” by arkastadt

Artist Dazai's bored and lives in a mansion, Mechanic Chuuya's the mysterious garden boy working for his family, and fate brings them together over and over again only to rip them apart. (Super angsty major character death! You have been warned! EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW).

“They said the eyes are the windows to the soul.” by Aprusalve

5+1 fic of Kyouka as she observed Soukoku and tried to guess their relationship and one time she finally decided to ask.

“catch me once, catch me twice” by seedus

Chuuya gets stuck in an ability loop where he’s basically wiped out of existence and Dazai decides to become the Demon Prodigy once more to hunt down the ability user responsible for daring to target his dog and bring him back.

“Something More Than A One Night Stand” by ShireHorses

It was supposed to be a one night stand and nothing more. The last thing Dazai expected was to catch feelings for Chuuya. Much less hurt him so badly by saying the night they spent had meant nothing. It hadn’t mattered when Dazai had said that to all the previous women he’d slept with so why did it pain him so much to see Chuuya cry and act so cold? (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scenes).

“build a temple in me” by oursorrows

Dazai wants to surprise his husband, Chuuya, on their one year anniversary, and he can't help falling in love all over again. (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scene).

“Tempus Fugit” by Imabukuhoe

Teenage Soukoku time travel to a their future are in for the shock of their life as they witness many (good) things they never expected to happen in their lives- and that they’re gay for each other but we don’t talk about that just yet. (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scene! Cross posted on Wattpad as well! It’s angsty midway through but with a happy ending!).

“No Longer Human” by Wolf___Spirit

When a stranger starts stealing people's abilities, the ADA and the Port Mafia team up to figure it out. However, something goes wrong and Dazai loses his ability in the process. The big problem? His ability not only nullified the abilities of others, but also his own emotions. And now, for the first time in his life, Dazai has emotions, chaotic and in turmoil. In the midst of this identity crisis, Dazai sets out to explore the world with Chuuya as his grumpy bodyguard, only to discover that he has never felt so...alive. And then they find out that if they don't find a way to give him back his ability, Dazai will die within two weeks. In a race against time, chaos ensues.

“Twisted Ties” by Cutie_4Me

Serial Killer Chuuya tries to hunt down his stalker who's been stalking him by breaking into his apartment only to be met with an unexpected and (un)pleasant surprise. (Yes- I’m shamelessly promoting my own fic)

"Backstage Pass" by the_most_unhappy

When world-famous violinist Dazai Osamu announces his early retirement, a part of him is sure he will never love music again. He’s in his twenties, but he’s already tired of everything. Meanwhile, up-and-coming frontman Nakahara Chuuya is everything Dazai is not: reckless, smug, and a rockstar. They’re total opposites. They could never fall in love, right? (Implied Sexual Content But Nothing Explicit)

"More like a crash" by Jickas

Chuuya loses his memory and Dazai decides this will be a great opportunity to mess with him. But what happens when he goes a little too far and old feelings begin to resurface?

"Everything or Nothing" by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

College AU where Chuuya finds out that the boy he drunkenly made out with the night of orientation is his new roommate. His arrogant, smug, very straight roommate. And the boys are each convinced the other is trying to ruin their life by making them go absolutely insane. But of course, things don't go as planned and they somehow ended up with the typical fuck buddies arrangement. Feelings become more complex and they both soon find that the other is hiding something, a secret that could very much rupture everything in their relationship. (EXPLICIT Rated for multiple NSFW scenes and sexual exploration).

^Based off the song 'Everything or Nothing' by Picture This.

"Lost in Translation (Found in Love)" by archerwrites

Dazai is convinced (forced) to join his friends for a year spent in Paris, and he doesn't know a word of French. Chuuya is just hoping to get through school without any strange encounters, and he doesn't know a word of Japanese. They collide (literally) and the situation devolves from there. They figure it out. Falling in love in Paris is a very romantic cliche, after all. Even if there's a language barrier between them.

“Teenage Dream” by Badwolf36

Dazai sees Chuuya looking at a high school, unsure how he feels that he never got the chance to go since the Port Mafia hired tutors. Dazai, despite mocking him, sort of feels the same. Which is how they end up on a high school rooftop in stolen uniforms, eating melon bread during class hours, and it’s the happiest either of them has been in a long time, even if neither of them will admit it.

“Music To My Ears” by bluemango0406

Dazai is having a hard time coming up with a new piece that has a strict deadline. Lucky for Dazai, his husband, Chuuya, knows exactly what to do to help Dazai out- by getting himself fucked on a piano. (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scene!).

“at the sight of you” by taintedlight

Dazai Osamu swears that Nakahara Chuuya is only his friend-with-benefits, until he accidentally stays the night and wakes up to the breathtaking sight of Chuuya in the morning, and all of a sudden Chuuya is more than just his fuck buddy. (IMPLIED SEXUAL CONTENT).

“Our little fantasy worlds” by Izu (soaringivy)

14 year old Soukoku find out they both like writing stories. They also find out they both like reading each other's stories (and that they have feelings for each other too).

“Pay For It” by SevenSnowflakes

Dazai comes up with an ingenious plan to pay for Chuuya's extravagant birthday dinner involving an unsuspecting Atsushi. Will Chuuya find out the truth of how Dazai just so manages to sneak himself out of this one? (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scene!).

“We Met Again” by Redd (Blurryface1304)

In which, following the events of BEAST, Chūya finds the book and, with the help of Odasaku, writes an alternate universe where he meets Dazai under more 'normal' circumstances.

“Just Know I loved You All Along” by Kryptonian_in_Winterfell

In which Dazai has anterograde amnesia after an accident and wakes up in a stranger’s bed, with no recollection of almost 6 years of his past but apparently this stranger is his husband. At least he finds his stranger husband cute.

“The art of deceiving you” by Alheenaa

What if Dazai accidentally kissed Chuuya during their first encounter, nullifying his gravity control? And since then, he has always lied to him, claiming that his ability only activates through a kiss and not simply by touching him. Chuuya never doubted it because Dazai always went to kiss him whenever he wanted to deactivate his ability.

“More like a crash” by Jickas

Where Chuuya loses his memory and Dazai decides this will be a great opportunity to mess with him. But what happens when he goes a little too far?

“(take me back to) the night we met” by morbidly_dazed & straysolace

Dazai and Chuuya decided to celebrate their anniversary in a different way this year to spice things up a bit but they end up getting way too emotional.

“Lost All Judgement” by todxrxki

After a momentary lapse in judgment, high school student Chuuya ends up having to pretend to date his enemy Dazai to get Tachihara off of his back - and quickly finds it's nowhere as bad as he'd imagined.

“sleepless nights” by huahuapain

Chuuya can't sleep so he thinks about his existence as a result but luckily Dazai is there to help him fall asleep.

“We bloomed in darkness, we'll flourish in the light” by chxxrychuu

After the death of the Flags, Chuuya leaves the Mafia. Soon, Dazai follows behind after Odasaku's death. What happens when the two meet at the Armed Detective Agency?

“Shadows at the Corner of our Eyes” by ayyartee

Role reversal AU where Dazai never left the Mafia and taken over as boss and Chuuya left instead and ended up in the agency.

“so if I survive, then I'll see you tomorrow” by prettysicknasty

This was far from the first time Dazai had to spend time in a mental institution. The inpatient facility was more like a second home at this point. He wasn't expecting anything different from usual when he was admitted, but when a fiery redheaded roommate is thrown into his usually dull and monochrome life, suddenly it doesn't seem so boring anymore. (Mental Institution AU).

“A Lesson In Thorns” by arkastadt

AU in which king of the sheep Chuuya has to marry port mafia boss Dazai to get one of his people out of the mafia’s clutches, only many things don’t go as planned and Chuuya ends up falling for Dazai hard whilst getting destroyed in the process. (Super angsty temporary major character death! EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW).

“Between The Lines” by localoser

After years of no contact, Fashion designer Chuuya Nakahara finds himself on the doorstep of his greatest enemy and, foremost, first love, new arising bestselling author Dazai, with a rather interesting book in his hands about their past.

“open secret” by sunbaemint

All the times when Chuuya tries to bribe everyone in the ADA or PM who accidentally finds out about his relationship with Dazai, and the one time when he doesn't have to.

“The (not so) perfect pair” by Silaswastaken

In another universe where soulmates exist and are identified by marks in the form of whatever injury your partner has- Chuuya Nakahara is about to turn 16, and his best friend Dazai has been endlessly teasing him over the prospect of a mark. However, when he wakes up on his birthday covered in light blue lines he is unsure what to do, or how to approach identifying his soulmate, and his best friend has been acting in increasingly concerning ways since being told about the marks. OR: What do you do when your covered in the evidence of your soulmates self harm, and your bandaged best friend (who you are definitely NOT in love with) seems to be breaking at the seams?

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flurry-of-stars · 8 months ago

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𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷-𝓕𝔂𝓸𝓭𝓸𝓻

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: Mentions of death, cheating and murder 𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1k (𝓐/𝓝: I was in the middle of working on a fic when Army Dreamers came on my Spotify and suckerpunched me with this little idea. It's more a ramble than anything sdjkfns)

Fyodor, who takes the body of the person who kills him. Who is cursed and blessed with immortality. Fyodor, who can come back over and over again. No matter what, he always returns to your side, looking just as he always did when he left you. Sometimes he comes back with a new outfit.

Other times, he comes back stained in blood, but he always comes back. And you always welcome him back with a kiss and a tight hug.

You never question him. You're just happy to have him in your arms again.

Fyodor, who, knowing about his immortality, would always deny you children. He knew how badly you wanted to start a family but he couldn’t bring new life into this world knowing he would have to sit back and watch his children die before his eyes.

Fyodor, who was heartbroken when you finally died during your first incarnation to old age. He remembers how even on the days leading up to your death, you would always comment on how you withered like a dying flower, while he stayed young and lively. You even teased him for his secrets of youth, asking playfully if he had sold his soul to the devil for his youthful look as you rasped and coughed. But to him, you never were a withering flower. You were always his beautiful garden of Eden, more vibrant and lively than you ever knew.

Fyodor who finds your second incarnation. Who courts you all over again. Who killed again and again but still returns to your side. Who never stopped loving you, even though you look nothing like your first incarnation but he knows its you by the way your eyes sparkle when you smile and the way you laugh.

He could never forget that sweet smile. It haunts his every dream. The one who takes you ballroom dancing. Who buys you the exact dress you want without ever pointing it out to him. Who styles your hair just how he knows you like it without any guidance. Who’s even more heartbroken when you pass in your late twenties to illness. You hadn’t even repeated your pleas to have children yet and he already lost you again. Fyodor who buried you with his own hands this time and stayed in the rain crying over your grave. Fyodor who seeks your third incarnation but finds you a little too late. You’ve already settled down with another man. You’re talking about starting a family, moving to the countryside to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life.

Fyodor who can’t let you go. Who flirts with you, swoons you off your feet and drives you to cheating on your husband. Who watches as your husband comes through the door of your beautifully decorated apartment one night and shoots you both dead when he catches you both in the act.

Fyodor who takes over his body next, fleeing the scene before the police arrive.

Fyodor, who after seeking you out time and time again, incarnation to incarnation, shattering a piece of his heart and soul over and over again, decides he can’t suffer like this anymore.

He, an immortal being, was never suppose to find love. He will be here until the end of time, while you’re destined to keep dying over and over again. He can’t keep doing this to himself. You are his addiction, his drug and today, he’s deciding to cut off the supply. But he loves you too much to stay away from you for long. He writes you poems and books, letters that are never delivered that scream his love in it’s rawest form and leaves them hidden at your previous incarnation's favorite places, hoping and praying to God that you somehow find them. Fyodor who watches your one hundred and seventy-sixth incarnation from afar as you go about your daily life. Sees your struggles and your pains. He wants nothing more than to reach out to you, to embrace you and assure you everything is going to be okay.

But he doesn’t. Even as his heart screams at him to go and chase you. Even as he almost brings himself to tears watching you struggle. He can’t do it again. It’s too much. Too, too much… Fyodor, who several months after finding your latest incarnation, is making preparations to head to Yokohama to find the Book to rewrite his fate so he can finally be with you.

Immortality be damned. He wants to settle down with you. He wants to love you freely. To finally start a family with you and when the time comes, he wants to die alongside you. He can't do this anymore. He can't stand to watch you die over and over again and yet he can't let you go. You've woven yourself too tightly into the chords of his heart. Fyodor, who receives a knock at his apartment door in Saint Petersburg as he's finalizing his plans. Who tugs on his ushanka and cloak, murmuring a quiet “One moment please.”

Fyodor who opens the door to see your current incarnation standing there. Who freezes in place, cold eyes going wide in surprise as his hollow heart skips a beat, just as it did when he met your very first incarnation all those generations ago.

You, with a kind, warm smile on your face, one of Fyodor’s poems in one hand and a jar of small flowers in the other. The same ones he had left at your very first grave just yesterday with that same small cluster of primroses in a jar. Fyodor who feels his heart falling for you all over again as you praise his beautiful, heartfelt writing and expresses how grateful you are to the person who directed you to his apartment after you asked around about the name left on the poem.

Fyodor, who can't resist inviting you in for tea.

Fyodor who knows he can’t stop loving you. Who knows no matter how many times you die, he will always seek you out. You are, after all, his weakness. His eternal lover. His addiction.

Dividers: @/saradika 𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 (first time trying this so I hope it works! (๏д๏) ) @tecchoussuperlady @hearts4heidi @lovestruckbook @wixxlemuff @twinkaesop @ladylntrovert @yonseibananamilk @honeyangelsblog

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #flurry-of-rambles

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literatureloverx · 4 months ago

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One of the things I find curious about Fyodor is that in the latest bsd guidebook, he describes himself as the color white like his hometown's snow. Fyodor still remembers his hometown, after all he's gone through and after all this time. And he describes himself as the color white like its snow. That with his character's disconnect from people, makes me very excited for when Asagiri decides to reveal his character's backstory. Of course he probably means snow in a more way of "purity" than sentimentalism for his hometown itself but omg he mentions his hometown which is something enough. Not "like snow" which would convey purity enough but "like the snow from my hometown". Maybe it's because he found his faith there? Maybe he just wants to pay respect to where he was birthed? Idk but there's much to theorize. What are your thoughts?

-🎪 anon

I agree, 🎪-anon!♥️

I don’t know if it’s because he found his faith there, but I think that is very likely and seems reasonable.

However, I also believe he was born into a religious family to begin with. I’ve thought through other aspects as well. Let me break it down for you:

Purity and Fyodor’s inner moral code:

Fyodor describing himself as the color white, especially like the snow from his hometown, speaks volumes. It hints at his complex inner moral code—he engages in dark actions under the belief that they serve a greater good.

This idea of “purity” contrasts sharply with his behavior. But does it?

In my humble opinion, he is well aware that what he does is evil, but his inner moral depiction is influenced by Machiavellian tendencies.

He does whatever he needs to do to cleanse humanity of their sins. Therefore, his actions reflect Machiavellian principles.

In short: the ends justify the means (The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli).

I’m imagining it like this: God has given him the enormous power of being immortal—never truly able to die.

God also gifted him with an intelligence that is above any other human being.

This means he must be someone important.

This means he is meant to be the rightful hand of God, tasked with creating a world that is worthy of God’s beauty.

Therefore, he wishes to help God’s creations, cleansing them and this sinful world of all their sins.

This is one reason why he says that he likes all humanity equally. Because he really does.

They are all the same to him—fools who could do better. Fools that could be worthy of God’s perfect world.

What fascinates me the most about him is that, even though he is doing all of this out of pure self-assurance and his own complex inner moral compass, he still claims that he is doing it for the whole world. And I believe he does.

I can totally see this being his ultimate end in the future.

His Hometown and it’s significance for him:

By referencing his hometown, he reveals a more humane side to himself.

If you haven't already, l'd recommend you read THIS and THIS posts of mine, where I explained very clearly how I perceive Fyodor's humane side.

It shows that he yearns for connection and perhaps misses the simplicity and innocence of his past.

This duality makes him such a fascinating character, caught between his dark pursuits and the remnants of his humanity.

Imagine feeling like, or even knowing that you're "the chosen one," only to end up isolated, dehumanized, and lonely, with nothing to hold onto but your belief in your God.

You can't die, because the only way for you to do so is by your own hands, which is considered the greatest sin.

You can't die. Not until you take your own life.

How deep must his religious beliefs run for him to be this dedicated to his goal, mentally able to endure and live for hundreds, maybe thousands of years?

This made me so emotional. I want to give him a hug. My precious love.♥️

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd analysis #analysis #Fyodor analysis #bungo stray dogs x reader #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor bsd

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theonlyqualitytrash · 2 months ago

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Memento Mori - Fyodor x Reader

Synopsys: Do not forget that you will surely die someday, and as such, that is the more reason to live now. Fyodor returns to St. Petersburg, where a compassionate ballet teacher’s acceptance of life and mortality quietly transforms his jaded soul.

Warnings: fem!reader used, heavy themes of existential dread, mortality and religion, some russian words used, spoiler to Fyodor's ability (even though everyone and their mom is probably up to date with the manga)

A/N: I always found it weird for an immortal being to be religious, so I wanted to imagine a reason for Fyodor's faith. Anyway, this was a good outlet for all my existential thoughts, and I hope I did the character justice

Words: 3,900

Our existence is quite fascinating: we are born from death and return to death once we are finished stealing breaths from the world. Our existence has two parts—the physical and the bodiless. The first represents your autonomy, your biology, while the latter represents the mind, the consciousness.

19th century, Russian Empire

It was not uncommon for Fyodor to return home every five to ten years. Not out of homesickness, but there was something about the cold climate that always brought him back to St. Petersburg. He often found himself revisiting the same cathedrals and dark alleyways.

Over the decades, places had changed, yet he remained the same. And circling around him were the same filthy, grotesque people—sinners with empty human souls, their hearts filled with religion and vodka. Religion to keep them fearful, and vodka to keep them compliant.

Religion was a coping mechanism to manage the fear of death. And it was necessary because it thrived on fear. And what, he would ask, is the most primitive emotion in our brain? Fear. Fear is indeed primordial, clinging to us since the moment we are born.

As humans, when we take our first breath, our first instinct is to cry and cling to our birth-giver. Why? Because we feel fear.

The pavement was wet with snow that had fallen a few days prior and still plagued the stones. The sound of distant bells tolled in the background, marking the passage of time, but to Fyodor, time seemed irrelevant, like a vague murmur beneath the weight of his thoughts. The cold seeped into his bones, but it barely registered—his ushanka perched comfortably on his head, his coat keeping him mostly warm. Besides, he had a specific place he wanted to visit this time around. He had always enjoyed the fine arts, and ballet was no different.

So there he stood, in front of the Mariinsky Theatre—a grand green-washed building. The architecture, coupled with the color of the opera house, reminded Fyodor of mildew. He entered and had someone take his dark coat, doffing his beloved hat politely before walking to his seat in the mezzanine. The seat loomed over the ground floor, giving him a perfect view of the performance as well as the people attending.

He took a moment to observe and take in everything. The paintings on the ceiling were slightly more discolored than the last time he’d visited, and the people were the same cookie-cutter elites he saw every time. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they, too, didn’t age and that the same people came to the opera house each time. Everything was quite boring and dull, and he was tired of it all, but he still wanted to see the show. Giselle was one piece he had seen before but kept returning to. Why?

It was probably the tragic story that began with Giselle’s all-consuming love that lead her to madness and death. Her transformation—from grief and heartbreak to forgiveness and redemption as she forgives Albrecht—it all leads Giselle to spiritual liberation, demonstrating the healing power of selfless love and the importance of moving beyond bitterness.

He didn’t understand that.

Giselle, in his eyes, was a naïve fool. The man didn’t deserve her forgiveness or pity. If a woman’s heart is moved to pity, it becomes more dangerous than anything. She is bound to want to save him, to bring him to his senses, to lift him up and draw him to nobler aims, and restore him to new life and usefulness. And yet, such dreams were futile. Fyodor knew all too well how far that kind of idealism could lead.

As the orchestra swelled, the soft, lively melody of the second act began, pulling him from his thoughts. The dancers took their positions, and he settled back into his seat, his gaze fixed on the stage. The performance resumed, the air thick with the delicate balance of art and emotion.

He remembered everything that was supposed to happen, from the slight movements of each ballerina to the clicking of the wooden pointe shoes on stage. So it struck him when the lead—a fairly average-looking woman—came out in the second act with a violin. His usual disinterested gaze followed the ballerina.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about her; she moved with the same elegance as any other ballerina, wore the same costume he’d memorized. But the fact that she decided to depart from tradition and bring an instrument on stage while also dancing made him almost reevaluate his opinion of her. On one hand, it was a pleasant surprise to see something different, opposed to the harsh rules of Russian ballet; on the other, why would she feel the need to defy tradition?

With a few simple inquiries, he soon found out that the woman was a teacher at the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet. It was expected—being the only relevant ballet school in St. Petersburg, many ballerinas who graduated from this academy went on to perform at the opera house.

The academy had the same sickly yellow walls he had grown accustomed to; almost everything in this city was like this. From the faces of the people walking the streets to the wood holding up and supporting the buildings, the color of decay that seemed to seep into every corner of St. Petersburg.

The woman’s name was (Y/N) Agafonov. As stated, she was a teacher at this academy.

The porter let him in without fuss, seeing the polite, respectable man as someone who belonged there, and he oh-so-politely nudged him toward the room where you held your dance lessons. The door was open, almost inviting him to glance inside.

You stood in the middle of the grand dance room, your eyes soft yet stern, focusing on the girls before you, helping and correcting them. You didn’t notice the eyes that were on you the whole time. He quietly observed everything—the way you stood and walked, the way you spoke to the young women so gently, as if afraid to break their hearts and confidence.

As Fyodor observed the class, a peculiar thought flitted through his mind. How can such a gentle creature, such as herself, be stuck in such an unclean, unrighteous world? His gaze lingered on your soft yet commanding presence as you guided the young dancers. There was a part of him that expected you to break—to succumb to the world’s nature or fall in line like everyone else. But there was something in the way you held yourself, something almost fragile but resolute. He couldn’t look away. And so he stayed—silent, watching, unable to understand why someone like you seemed immune to the harshness of your surroundings.

Not long after, the class ended, and you let the girls stretch and leave. What caught your eye was the stranger standing outside the doorway. He could have been mistaken for a statue, as he stood so still and stoic. You took a step forward and gestured for him to come in. Without hesitation, he approached, his steps quiet, like a cat’s. When he stood at arm’s length, you offered him your hand. He stared at it for a few moments, contemplating, before slowly, and surprisingly gently, lifting your hand to his lips and placing a kiss on your knuckles before releasing it.

What he saw surprised him further—the subtle or not-so-subtle marks around your nail beds. Probably signs of stress and overthinking. He pondered the question: How can I relate to this woman? He believed he was nothing like you; you held a strange humanity about you, while he hadn’t felt human in a long time. He couldn’t relate to your gentle nature or soft gaze. Of course, he wouldn’t voice any of this.

“Privyetstvuyu, Miss Agafonov, my name is Fyodor Dostoevsky. Apologies for intruding during your lesson,” he spoke, his voice low and almost quiet, as if sharing a secret.

“Dobroye den, Mister Dostoevsky. It is quite all right; my lesson wasn’t disturbed, so there’s no need to worry. May I ask what business you have?” you said, your voice quiet and warm, as if still speaking to the girls. It filled the room in a soft echo. A quiet part of Fyodor admired your bluntness and need to get to the point, but this forwardness clashed with your way of speech. Your honeyed voice was calming, while your words were stern. It was obvious that you had a sharp mind, but your quiet, almost lamb-like demeanor contrasted with it.

Fyodor cleared his throat softly before speaking again. “I had the pleasure of being at your last performance, so if you have time, I’d appreciate it if you would answer some questions about it.”

You observed him for a moment, unsure of his intentions. Checking the ticking clock on the wall, you saw that it was late—past noon, with no more classes to teach. Perhaps you would indulge his curiosity.

“I happen to have the time. Yes, we may speak in my office.”

Fyodor hummed in acknowledgment before quietly following you. You entered the room and gestured for him to sit. After he took a seat, you soon followed, facing him. “May I offer you some tea?”

“No, thank you,” he replied, his tone polite but detached.

There was a moment of pause between you two. The man you came to know as Fyodor struck you as rather odd. His thin frame made him look as if he were swimming in his long black coat. His eyes, often described as windows to the soul, betrayed nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling at that moment. He looked pale and almost sick, faint bruises under his eyes likely from lack of sleep. He had an overwhelming air of fatigue, and yet he still looked elegant and put together.

“You came to speak to me about my last performance, da?” you asked.

“Da,” he replied slowly, his voice calm and measured, taking one more moment to choose his words carefully. His dark eyes held an intensity that could make any stone wall crumble. “I haven’t seen anyone perform Giselle’s part in the second act as you did.”

For a moment, the thought flashed through your mind: Was he a critic here to berate me for choosing to go against the traditional interpretation? No—perhaps you were jumping to conclusions. He would speak, and you would discover his intentions. “Ah, you mean where Giselle enters the world of Wilis, where I played the violin?”

“Da.” That was all he said, though something about his tone invited you to continue.

“I took some creative liberty with that part, as it was my last performance,” you explained, pausing to consider whether you should delve deeper. “It may sound silly, but I often think about death—not because I wish to die, but because I know we are temporary. My small act of rebellion was a way for me to exercise the free will given to me by our Lord.”

This intrigued Fyodor. The woman before him hadn’t made her choice for attention or acclaim. It was more humble and personal, a way to come to terms with her mortality. This was a new perspective to him. As a man who had lived many lifetimes, he had grown desensitized to death and the fleeting nature of those around him.

“That is an interesting perspective,” he finally said, though his tone didn’t convey approval. “You think about your own fragility and thus want to escape it by exercising your free will?”

“You are partially correct, sir. I don’t wish to escape it; I want to come to terms with it. I know my death will come at one point, and I am not afraid of it. But perhaps...” There was a short pause, your eyebrows furrowing as you searched for the right words. “...perhaps, I don’t wish for my consciousness to be erased, to lose who I once was.”

Sometimes, Fyodor wished his consciousness could be erased. The weight of his own memories—the unrelenting flood of time—pressed down on him, crushing his bones. He envied those who lived in blissful ignorance, their minds free of the burden of awareness. But perhaps that was the nature of existence, he mused. We all find our peace with it in different ways.

Quiet eyes flickered as you watched him, your gaze momentarily distant. You, too, had once wished for a simpler life, one where you could close your eyes and not feel the weight of the years pressing in on you. Your body had once moved with the grace of a child, unburdened. But now, as time wore on, you saw your own fragility—your inevitable decline.

He offered a small, contemplative nod. It was not in his nature to find kinship with another person, yet you stirred a faint echo of familiarity—a kindred desire for understanding amidst the ephemerality of existence.

"So, you wish to accept death, but not to be forgotten?" Fyodor asked, his voice carrying a tone both curious and heavy—perhaps judgment, perhaps something else, something deeper, impossible to name. “You believe we can make peace with it, despite knowing it will come?”

You paused, your eyes narrowing slightly as you considered his question. A quiet hum of approval escaped your lips before you replied, your tone calm yet resolute. "Da, death is something unchanging, constant. Something that will come either way. And a part of me finds comfort in the fact that something is predestined to happen in this chaotic world."

As you spoke, there was a moment when your eyes met his, and in that fleeting instant, neither spoke, yet something passed between you, an unspoken recognition—neither pity nor empathy, but an understanding that was both intimate and alien. Two souls, caught in the same current, yet separated by different shores. Before either could name it, the moment was gone, leaving only the quiet air between you.

After a few more quiet inquiries about religion and philosophy, you parted ways—but not for long. Fyodor was left perplexed; he sensed that you were something rare, something he hadn’t encountered before.

---

“You cannot age,” you murmured quietly, breaking the peaceful silence that had settled between you.

Fyodor had anticipated this moment. He’d chosen to stay by your side through the years, knowing that eventually, you would notice—the ageless stranger who never changed while you did. He placed his teacup gently on the table, meeting your gaze as he prepared to respond.

“That is correct. I wondered when you would bring it up.”

The silence returned, heavier now, pressing down on you both. You stared down, your hands fidgeting under the table, unconsciously picking at the skin around your nails, almost trembling. Your mind seemed to whirl with questions—how many years, how many lifetimes had he endured? Decades, centuries, millennia? You could only imagine the pain he must have felt, watching the world around him age and fade while he remained unchanged. After a moment, you looked up, your gaze softer, almost pained.

“Fyodor,” you whispered, “aren’t you tired?”

Another pause, this one stretching unbearably. Fyodor could feel your empathy radiating across the table—a kindness he had never allowed himself to indulge. He’d always regarded empathy as a weakness, an opening that could be easily exploited. And yet, something about your simple, compassionate question stirred something long-buried within him, something vulnerable he instinctively wanted to bury again.

“Da, ya ustal,” he admitted softly, letting the words slip out like an exhale, as though he were surrendering a truth to the night.

At this, a single tear slipped down your cheek, glistening in the low light. Your sorrow made him shift uncomfortably; he’d always hated tears, a visible testament to human frailty. But this time, he hated it for a different reason. This tear was for him. It unsettled him because you were weeping for him. It made him feel bare, more vulnerable. He almost wanted to pull away, to get up and leave, and never speak another word to you again, but he didn’t.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice suddenly low and tense, “there’s no need for that.” His hand almost rose, hovering just above the small round table, as if he might wipe the tear away. But he stopped, uncertain. You raised your head, meeting his gaze again, your kind eyes searching his.

“Pozhaluysta,” you said, your voice almost pleading. “I want to know. I need to understand.”

And that you did. He spoke more words about himself at that table than he had in all his years of living. His silver tongue felt rusted, each word pulled up with effort, forcing him to pause often as he searched for the right ones. It was uncharacteristic of him, and yet it made you somehow happy that he was willing to share the burden.

Speaking of burdens: his gift, he explained, had been a cruel joke. He remembered the first time he’d been killed—how young he was, how his lips coughed out their last breath, how cold his body felt when his soul was leaving. And yet, moments later, he was drawn back again, but into a different form, his chest still throbbing from the wound that should have ended him. He had gasped for air like a newborn, his body wracked with pain and confusion, holding his own lifeless body in his hands as he shivered and wept. He’d only been a child.

Your face remained soft, solemn, though quiet tears slipped down your cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. Your cold tea sat forgotten on the table as you listened, your heart aching. Only a child, you thought. He was only a child. Children, the purest part of humanity—the ones who needed to be protected and cherished. How could anyone harm a child?

When he finished, another silence fell over you, but this one felt different—lighter, calmer, as if a weight had lifted from his heart. You felt an urge to comfort him but knew he wouldn’t accept words or gestures. Instead, you rose quietly from the table and crossed to a narrow yellow wood cabinet. You opened it and drew out a silver cross necklace, holding it close to your heart before you returned to sit across from him, holding it out for him to take.

“I know you don’t accept faith, but perhaps... wear this as a reminder. If you can, bring fortune to the world, Fyodor, maybe even a blessing for the children who will follow.”

But he did not accept. He politely declined the cross from you. “Perhaps there is a divine being out there, something out of this world that we cannot see. But faith left me long ago, so I cannot accept this,” he had said. What soon followed was a quiet apology for his heresy, a glance away as he spoke. You did not blame him and hadn’t pressed him further, only nodded as though you’d expected it, though a glimmer of sadness flickered in your eyes.

---

What he thought would be a short visit to his homeland stretched from a few days to a few weeks, then to a few months, until it bloomed into decades. At first, he assumed this was a fleeting curiosity, one that would fade in a matter of days. But as years passed and he still couldn’t get his fill of your company, he began to wonder: Perhaps I misjudged the situation. Perhaps I was crass and too quick to dismiss her.

He had found someone who brought him a rare peace and understanding, despite your clashing mentalities—a connection he never grew tired of. Every time you met, you found some new topic to discuss, and each time he left feeling more alive.

As we have come to realize, life is fleeting, and time is a cruel mistress who waits for no one. Each second slips away, unnoticed and irretrievable, like sand through open fingers. We may comfort ourselves with the thought that existence after death is peaceful—just as existence before life was peaceful—as though one could simply slip away into sleep. And as all things, good and beautiful, must come to an end, so too did your life.

---

You had held the cross out to him once before, fingers delicate, your gaze full of quiet insistence. Now, in the emptiness you had left behind, he found himself holding the small cross in his palm, its edges warm from your touch alone. He slipped the chain over his head, feeling its slight weight rest against his chest. He didn’t know if he could fully embrace your faith, but he wanted to feel a part of your presence linger. And maybe, in this quiet act, he was allowing your wish to come true, as your memory lived on in him.

Fyodor stood in the dimly lit church, his eyes resting on the flickering candles. He had never understood this before—the way the simple act of remembering someone could tether them to the world long after they were gone. But now, as his thoughts drifted to you, he realized that you—your soft gaze, your gentle words—had become the anchor to his humanity. The strange pull he had felt toward religion, the gradual acceptance of mortality, it was all for you. Your belief, your grace in the face of death, had become his guide. He wasn’t just remembering you now; you had become a part of him. And in some way, by carrying your memory, he was keeping you alive.

Rising slowly from his seat, Fyodor moved toward the coffin, his steps heavy. His cold, detached gaze softened at the sight of you, lying there in stillness, your expression almost peaceful. Was that the shadow of a smile on your lips? Reaching out, he clasped your hand—soft, motionless, yet warmer, somehow, than his own.

He lingered in silence, his breath catching. How strange, he thought, that even here, in death, you still have the power to warm me. A sharp ache bloomed in his chest. For years he had watched you, a steady presence that grew unexpectedly precious, but had he ever told you? Had you known? The question hung there, unanswered, filling the quiet with the weight of all he’d never said.

The cold silver lay heavy on his heart, like a whisper. ‘Remember me,’ it seemed to say, and in his silent acceptance, in the quiet solitude he vowed that he would. Fyodor closed his eyes.

You wanted to be remembered, he thought.

And I will remember you, dearest. But more than that, I will live by the lessons you taught me.

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