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starlightshadowsworld · 3 months

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Me and the Devil (Walking side by side)

Or the Cannabalism arc gets resolved by Atsushi making a deal with the Demon.

Atsushi knows that he shouldn't be here. Kunikida would lose his mind if he knew. No matter how he could try to spin it, this was the most reckless and impulsive move Atsushi had ever made.

Which said a lot considering he met Dazai by fishing him out of the lake on the brink of starvation.

But Kunikida didn't know he was here. No one in the Agency did, maybe Ranpo would've figured it out if his mind wasn't on more pressing matters.

Atsushi wonders if Ranpo would've stopped him, had he known his plan. Maybe Ranpo already knew, and had simply let him go without another word.

Atsushi doubts it but one could never know with Ranpo Edgoawa. It wasn't as if it mattered, Ranpo was off with the others on their personal mission.

Atsushi was supposed to be with Kunikida, investigating a lead. He'd have to apologise to Kunikida later for not showing up.

That is, if there was a later. At least Atsushi wasn't wearing his Agency uniform, at least he wouldn't be ruining their image.

"I must say, I am quite suprised to see you in here." Says Fyodor, taking a sip of tea as Atsushi stands by his table.

He looks the picture of relaxed and somewhere deep down Atsushi wants to punch him.

Fukuzawa was dying. Without him the Agency will fall apart. Atsushi has never seen Ranpo so serious, so distraught.

No one has.

Kunikida is trying his best to keep it together. But like the rest of them, he was falling into despair.

Mori was dying.

Without him the Port Mafia will return to its more visceral and brutal ways. Atsushi knows little about those days, but knows it would destroy Yokohama.

If Mori or Fukuzawa is killed by the other organisation, it will result in all out war.

This is what Fyodor wants. And here he is, sat in a cosy cafe. Listening to music and drinking tea while ruining everything.

Atsushi feels sick just looking at the man. But he doesn't punch him, he doesn't yell or scream. Atsushi has come here for a reason.

To bargain.

"I'm not here to fight you. I came to talk." Says Atsushi, keeping his voice light like everything was fine. Fyodor hums, clearly intrigued by this new development in his plans.

He puts his tea down and gestures for Atsushi to take a seat.

"Than talk, would you like some tea?" Atsushi sits down, ordering for himself and let's the tea cup warm his hands.

"Shibusawa told me that you're the one who sent him to me. He said I had the ability to save him, to save countless." Atsushi looks up from staring into his tea. "He wasn't just talking about my ability, was he?"

The intrigue in Fyodor's eyes only grows but he remains as casual as ever. "He wasn't. But that's not what you want to ask me, is it?"

Atsushi takes a sip of his tea, slow and deliberate. He makes a show of looking around, as if making sure no one he knew was here.

"What would you do if you had the book?"

Fyodor's easy going smile turns viscious. There's a glint in his eye that shines dangerously. It reminds Atsushi, if he ever forgot just who he was speaking too.

Atsushi knows Fyodor could have him killed at any moment. The hospital said had the sniper aimed any higher, Dazai would've been killed instantly.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky is a dangerous man. And yet Atsushi is not afraid.

Not of him.

Atsushi's afraid of losing his friends... his family. The Agency is their home, and Atsushi won't let them lose it.

"And why, do you wish to know that?"

Atsushi shrugs, leaning back in his chair and adopting a carefree air. Something he's seen Ranpo and Dazai do countless times.

Never say they didn't teach him anything.

"Im the guide, aren't I? If I'm going go be coerced into finding it, I want to at least gain something from it. Don't you think?"

He takes a sip of tea as hums, thoughtful. "Fitzgerald wants to bring his dead daughter back to life for his wife. Which is noble and all, but it doesn't exactly do much for me. I have no one I want to bring back. So I'm asking Dostoyevsky, what it is you want with it?"

There's a silence before Fyodor laughs.

Atsushi says nothing, he gives nothing away even if inside he's a little panicked.

"My my, you really are something aren't you? Shibusawa didn't tell me just how ferocious you truly are." Fyodor shakes his head, amused. He rests his elbows on the table, his chin ontop of his palms and leans forward.

"I want to rid the world of all special abilities."

He says it so plain, so casual as if it meant nothing but Atsushi knows it means everything.

This is what Fyodor wants more than anything.

Atsushi mirrors his position, resting his chin atop his palms and leans in. "Now that, that I can work with."

Fyodor tilts his head to the side and smirks.

"Oh?"

Atsushi chuckles. "I grew up in a cage. I spent every waking moment of my life reminded that I was a beast of calamity. That all I did was bring misfortune onto others. My ability has taken everything from me. It has ripped out my humanity and turned me into a monster. It's not a gift, it's a curse. Why would I ever choose to keep it?"

Fyodor studies him before nodding approvingly. He sits back and Atsushi does the same. "It's rare I meet someone who shares my ideals in such a manner. And I wouldn't let such an opportunity go to waste."

He takes out his phone.

"But nothing is free in this world. What do you want in return?" They both know already but Atsushi doesn't comment on it.

He sits up straighter and looks Fyodor in the eye, unwavering. "I want Fukuzawa Yukichi of the Armed Detective Agency and Mori Ougai of the Port Mafia to be cured of the Cannabalism ability."

Fyodor chuckles "is that all?" He teases before becoming serious. "Very well, I agree to your terms. I trust no one knows you're here."

Atsushi nods, he even turns out his pockets to show that their empty. His phone, Agency badge and uniform are stashed in a bin somewhere.

Much like when he left the Orphanage, Atsushi came with only the clothes on his back. He left no note, he couldn't give them any clues.

"Very well. I accept your terms, Atsushi Nakajima." Says Fyodor, extending a hand to him.

This was it.

The moment Atsushi stepped foot into this cafe, he knew he might as well be signing his own death certificate.

But it doesn't matter to him.

There was no way Fyodor was ever going to get the book. He could torture him, starve him, drown him, whatever he wanted to break Atsushi into complying.

Atsushi would not budge. It was nothing he hadn't had dealt to him before. He hadn't been lying about his ability being a curse.

He was dooming himself to a life of isolation and agony. Walking back into his cage and handing over the keys to his tormentor.

Never to know freedom or love again. It was Atsushi's worst fear. What he dreaded more than anything. But this was for the Agency, and for them Atsushi would give up everything.

Atsushi was nothing compared to them. He bought misfortune onto others and pretended he was human when he was anything but.

He was a monster. He would only bring them pain and suffering. But now he could atone for everything he'd done.

None of this would be happened if Atsushi hadn't gone to Yokohama. If he hadn't joined the Agency, none of this would be happening.

He'd deluded himself into thinking he deserved a place to belong. And now they were suffering from it.

This, this was Atsushi's karma. This was the price of his mistakes. For ever thinking he could ever belong in the light when he was born into darkness.

He was abandoned by the world. He was abdoned by his parents and no one had ever wanted him. The Orphanage had been right about him, the Headmaster had been right about him.

But now he could fix it all. The Agency and the Port Mafia would be saved. There would be no more suffering caused by him. The book would never be found and no one would be hurt trying to pursue it again.

Everyone would be okay. So what if it cost Atsushi everything?

"Than we have a deal." Says Atsushi, shaking Fyodor's hand.

(Sequel, You don't know what I'd do (for you) Part 1

#Bsd cannabalism #atsushi nakajima #bsd fyodor #bsd fyodor dostoevsky #bsd atsushi #bungou stray dogs #bsd #angst #Me and the Devil (Walking side by side)

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gaoau · 25 days

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if not reason, then the devil

to have a conversation with god, the greatest sinner walking this earth. talk to him, for He will listen.

pairing — fyodor dostoevsky x reader word count — 3.6k

( 1 corinthians 13:4-8 )

[name] sighs as they balance their cup of coffee on its saucer. scanning their eyes over the occupied seats, they find luck is not on their side this afternoon. there's a nice couple being attended to and another one chatting gleefully. business partners engaging in conversation, a foreigner by himself, and two friends chortling away. the tables inside are, unfortunately, just as busy. [name] fiddles with the strap of their bag in thought. it takes another defeated sigh, but they decide to simply head back to the counter and have their drink to go.

just as they turn to walk back into the shop, a voice calls out to them, "i've got an open seat here," is all it says. [name] throws a glance over their shoulder. it's the foreigner. he's looking them right in the eye, a friendly simper on his lips. "if you'd like to join me," fyodor prompts, gesturing to the empty chair with his palm.

from the ushanka, [name]'s first guess is that he's russian—or at least some kind of slav. not that it matters. when it comes down to it, he seems to be horribly anemic and probably wouldn't pose much of a threat. they contemplate their options for another brief moment. with a shrug, they choose to take his kind offer.

"thanks." they smile at him, setting down their cup across from his. "sorry to bother."

he closes his eyes when he chuckles, "ah, you japanese people, always so apologetic." the comment pricks [name] in the back of their head. it's not necessarily offensive, but it does feel like payback for their own stereotyping thoughts. fyodor notices their fleeting frown. funny foreigner. "feel free to get on with your homework. i won't disturb you." he takes a sip from his cup of tea to emphasize his words.

[name] says, "thank you," and starts pulling out their laptop from their bag. loose papers and a few pens so they can finish their work with a deadline around the corner. they waste no time in swiftly typing away on their keyboard, checking over their notes to build their essay.

it's two paragraphs later that they flicker their attention up to the friendly foreigner who offered up his solitude. what a lucky guess this nameless man made to know this was homework.

their fingers continue typing on instinct as they carefully analyze fyodor. he's got one earphone in, eyes closed, taking an occasional sip from his drink. he politely grins at the waitress when she comes over to refill his tea. but he's very quiet and distant. [name] can tell—people-watching, one of their many habits. aloof, smart, making sure to reserve his energy. it's interesting to find with one glance that he bites his nails until he bleeds. for how collected he appears to be, it's certainly an interesting quirk.

when he feels [name]'s attention return to their screen, fyodor opens his eyes to assess them in turn. conversational, focused, and they act surprised every time they remember they have a cup of coffee to sip from. they use quite the messy handwriting to scribble down abbreviations and unfinished words. from the few characters he can properly read, they appear to be interested in criminology. how arrogant for a human to attempt to study the same brain that taints them with sin.

how innocent.

fyodor allows four minutes and thirty-seven seconds of silence to pass by between his new subject and him. the song on the radio changes while the waitress leaves after refilling his cup. he takes a sip from his tea and then stares at his reflection. "ah, danse of the knights…" on the code sheet inside his brain, the cannibalism plan is going accordingly. he hums to himself, pleased with this foreseen course of events.

just as he thought, [name] reacts to the unprompted sound of his voice. they halt their typing and turn their head up to look at him curiously. fyodor makes sure to hold eye contact. inviting, he raises his brows, carefully wrapping the strings of their brain tightly around his fingers. it takes them a second to bite. there's a faint crease on their forehead, hesitant to engage in conversation past their ingrained politeness. but he expects more from them than this.

when they reach for their pen and relax their shoulders, fyodor knows he's got them right where he wants them. "it's not every day you see foreigners around here," they start, a smile painting their face, "everyone usually sticks to tokyo." a light-hearted chuckle tumbles from their tongue. quicker than anticipated.

"well, i have business here." he sets his cup back on its saucer. the clink of ceramic against ceramic marks the start of a timer. "i knew japan wasn't welcoming of foreigners, but i didn't think you'd try to kick me out like that."

[name] laughs, "oh, it's not the foreigner part." they smile softly as they glance down at his hands. with their pen, they make a vague gesture towards his fingers. "i usually steer clear of nail-biters."

fyodor blinks, brows rising. he takes a look at his own hands. it's true that his nails don't have a very healthy appearance. they seem brittle and they are, but he admits this is a strange observation on their part. it's perfect.

"you don't look like you get overwhelmed easily, so i'm guessing you do it out of understimulation." it's a smart guess. fyodor leans back on his chair to get comfortable. fidgeting with their pen helps them lay out their thoughts properly. "those are usually the worst type of nail-biters," they finish their assessment with a polite grin.

"that's quite accurate. are you pursuing psychology?"

"minoring. i'm studying criminology."

he knew that. he managed to gather that much from the unreadable scribbles on their notes. this interest in criminals they seem to have makes fyodor want to laugh out loud. they're studying criminology and they're having the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to converse with a terrorist—albeit unbeknownst to them. he has high hopes that [name] will provide exactly what he wants. with the strings looped around his fingers, he tugs.

"interesting…" he lets silence hang for a second. then, "what can you say about me? apart from the understimulated nail-biting, of course."

surprise washes over [name]'s face instantly. "are you a criminal?" they're skeptical.

"let's say i am."

"hypothetically." they're naïve. they stare into his eyes. fyodor simply offers them a simper. [name] nods to themself. "alright, hypothetically. let's say you've murdered someone. how have you done it?"

"i haven't"

their eyes narrow. "i get it." they're naïve, but they're not stupid. "you'd make somebody else do it for you. are you confident in your manipulation skills?"

"very."

"okay…" their voice drifts in thought as they process the information. profiling requires observation, from the smallest of mannerisms to the strongest inflections. "makes me wonder why you wanted me to sit here," they mumble under their breath.

but fyodor hears them clearly. "entertainment, of course."

"then i'll try to live up to your expectations," they chuckle, leaving their pen among their papers. "i'll take a guess and say the ends justify the means for you." [name] stares into his eyes with careful attention. he nods. the victorious grin that spreads over their lips is instinctual. "yeah, checks out. i chalked up the fact that you called out to me when no else did to you being a foreigner, but you knew i'd entertain you. you're not only confident, but also smart, observant, and awfully calculative."

fyodor tilts his head only slightly, harmless. he wears a gentle smile. "why, thank you."

"now your turn." they've found something better than a pen to fidget with. "i'm helping you kill time here." they've found an interesting profile in the wild to pick at. "are you waiting for something?"

"that's right. some comrades are working on the next step of our plan."

"plan? what's that?"

"we'll get there," he dismisses. for someone who doesn't quite share his intellect, [name] is surprisingly elusive. there's not much fyodor can read in hunches. they hum in response. the strings around his fingers loosen the closer they get. he sits up straight again. "let me ask you something else. as someone who's analyzed many different criminals' brains, i'd assume, what's your view on them?" fyodor tugs.

[name] follows without question. "they're… interesting. they usually come from abusive backgrounds; both psychological and physiological trauma play an incredibly huge part on what they do and how they react."

"terrible, isn't it?"

a shrug makes their shoulders jump. "sure. i think what they do is even more terrible. i understand the brain works differently for everyone, and their trauma is very much real, but i don't have any sympathy for horrible people."

"oh. how forward of you. a little mean, too."

"well, suffering isn't really an excuse."

"i agree, i agree," fyodor hums, nodding. he plays with [name]'s strings, looping their attention around his finger to bring them closer. his lips curl up into a grin. "then, what do you think of wiping them out?"

[name] blinks, brows raised, a mask of perplexity. "wipe?" fyodor stares into their eyes as they ponder. he considers this is the moment they fold and retreat, unable to handle his eccentric nature. but they reach into his brain and grip his mind tight. "yeah, we should get rid of them."

how beautiful it is, he thinks, to find a sinner with pure thoughts. someone who proudly wears bloodstains on their hand for the sake of a cleaner, perfect world. how wonderful, He thinks, to hear of a sinful saint walking among a sea of blasphemous eyes and experts in greed. they're a lack of natural chaos in a world of brute beasts, and like beasts he will make sure they perish. [name] shall be saved, he decides. He'll give them a different body; He'll rebuild their heart from the start.

carefully, he reels them closer. "then, i'll tell you about our plan."

"oh, enlighten me."

"this world, you agree, is rife with crime and sin."

[name] pauses briefly. then they nod. "not completely, but yes." they don't hesitate.

they do not hesitate. a faint frown pulls down on his brows. he worries they're too lost, led astray by false teachers. "it should be cleaned, right?" he knows they will nod in response. so [name] nods. fyodor leans back on his chair. "that is our plan. i'm going to end this wicked, sinful world. and i'm going to make it into what god meant it to be. a perfect world."

"god?"

"yes," he chuckles, "humans are far too foolish to even repent. the only way to save you now that you're this far gone is to return to him."

"you make it sound like repentance is necessary. not everyone is a sinner."

"of course they are. breathing, thinking, all of it is a sin."

"fine, but not every sinner seeks repentance."

"that's because you're lost." he offers [name] a grin, head tilting slightly and eyes closed. when he meets their gaze again, they're intently listening to his every word. they're tangled in their own brain. "not to worry, i'll make sure to hold your hand and lead you to salvation."

"what if we don't want salvation, though?" accursed words that they sigh; the same ones that rule with chaos and seduce the unstable. the broken cries that turn the world so blue.

"what could you possibly mean?"

"that as foolish and sinful as people are, it's that innate anarchy that makes humanity charming."

fyodor knows perpendicular lines meet only once at a single, lonely intersection. he knows they've met and they're only drifting farther apart. "ah, that's nothing but your mistaken belief." but He also knows lines can be bent.

[name] blinks, taken aback. "not that beliefs can be mistaken. they're beliefs, they're subjective."

a chuckle drifts from fyodor's tongue. he grins to himself as he takes another sip from his tea. "of course you'd think that." his voice is airy, weightless, a shepherd herding his stubborn cattle. the chime of his cup against the saucer rings like a warning bell. "and it's just like that, with those thoughts, that you fail to realize how your own beliefs and values blind you. can't you feel how it all leaves you hungry and lost and empty inside?"

"no."

fyodor's smile vanishes, fluttering like a feather and drifting in the wind. he glares through narrowed eyes at [name]'s mistaken beliefs.

"no, i can't." they glare back, not with defiance, but with pure-hearted ignorance. they're lost. "humans are funny; i think we're fascinating creatures. i mean, there are exceptions, y'know, some should simply just go, we'd be better off without them. but in being lost—as you call it—humans find themselves. for better or for worse."

"well, this is the age of idolized suicide. humans would rather cling to these empty feelings than accept help. that's the only way they believe they'll make it."

"and you think leaving people's lives up to thoughts and prayers will accomplish anything?"

"tell me, do you believe in god at all?"

"i believe in religion."

He sighs, "see, humans are so foolish, they want to believe in what they know won't make them feel helpless and powerless, even if they're aware that belief is mistaken."

"and what makes your belief true? why aren't you one of these sinful humans?"

the smile that creeps onto his lips promises joy to every soul that has been led astray. "i'm the savior that will free us from the chaos," He speaks with entrancing grandiloquence and charming confidence. with grace, he tugs at every string from [name]'s brain.

"but human nature is chaotic; why would you wipe it all?" they pull back.

fyodor hums in thought. he searches for a different approach, an idea that will snap their eyes open and shatter them so he can rearrange the pieces correctly. "have you heard about this phenomenon in which some people are born with special abilities?" he returns their question with one of his own.

"i've heard a few things here and there, but i've never met anyone with one. though, with the strange things that have happened in this city, i can believe it."

"well, i'll let you in on a secret." he leans closer towards [name], lowering his voice. effectively, they mimic him without question. they stare at him, ears pricked, and fyodor grins to himself. at their core, they're quite simple. "i'm an ability user."

they frown to themself for a second. they find it hard to believe a feeble, anemic man like this could possibly have any sort of power. funny foreigner. "really, now?" funny foreigner. he really does look like he'd topple over like a house of cards if they touch him. but they stay close to listen to anything He has to say. "and can you disclose what it is or is that, you know, confidential?"

"you don't believe until you see?"

"i guess you can say that. words are just words."

"well, it's nothing impressive, really. i can simply read minds." he shrugs, dismissive, as if it were an every day thing. then he looks [name] dead in the eye, grinning. "i am, in fact, rather anemic, since you were wondering."

their brows jump. "oh, my bad. yeah, that was rude, sorry about that." as He chuckles to himself, ready to carry on with his proselytizing, [name] hums. "you might wanna look into iron supplements for that."

it's for half a second that surprise flashes over His eyes. he blinks blankly at them before letting a chuckle tumble from his lips. [name] admits they don't know how these supernatural abilities work, but they do know how to read human reactions. from his raised brows to his amused laughter afterward, they wonder how much truth there is behind his words. he clearly did not read ahead of their comment.

with a welcoming grin, He makes sure they don't stray too far away from his hand. he pulls from the strings tight. "you can ask, i don't mind," he reassures. his intellect gives way for his lies to pass off as truths. without allowing them a word, he responds to their unspoken thoughts, "your brain lights up before you even have a thought, which is what my ability allows me to read. i simply choose when to activate it, otherwise it'd be overwhelming to hear everyone's brains lighting up."

"i see…" they nod their head, following along with His explanation. then they lean back on their chair, looking into his eyes with interest. "so what's that got to do with anything?"

"these abilities, these inequalities, they're the most chaotic and wicked sin to have ever tainted humanity."

[name] nods in understanding. "so… because there are people like you, with singularities different and therefore unequal, they are sinners?"

"correct."

"and you want to wipe this sin clean from the earth?"

"precisely, i will."

it takes a second for [name] to properly process all of His preaching. how fascinating to hear his convictions. "then… you'll wipe and remove yourself from this world too, right?" how wonderful to listen to anything He has to say, however nonsensical it may sound.

"i'll spill whoever's blood. it's all for the world as it's ought to be." but fyodor smiles.

"do you believe in god?"

"of course. if you let yourself be guided by his hand, you too can reach salvation."

"then why are you trying to become him?"

it's their own heresy, fyodor thinks, that traps and stains them. with each of their responses, they slowly earn the awaiting flames of salvation. He will relinquish them from all their sins.

"i'm not," He answers, "i simply see all these lost lambs, desperate to try and run, going in circles straight back to the slaughter, and i can't help but pity them. you're even endearing to a point." He softly smiles with promises of freedom. "i must guide you to the right path on god's will."

a pondering frown pulls down on [name]'s brows. they stare Him right in the eye as they ask, "and is leading people to this right path really all that great?" their question hangs in the air while fyodor stares back. quietly, His smile fades. [name] waits for His answer, for anything He can come up with to convince them of His righteousness. "you'd sacrifice even yo—"

"no," He cuts them off, "i am that great."

[name] is speechless, letting each of His words seep through their skin and invade their bloodstream. everything He says is nothing but nonsense and they don't believe any of it. whether it is salvation or damnation, it does not matter, because He speaks of unreal ideals. but they become charmed by his grandiloquent speeches. He is incredibly self-important and undeniably delusional, but [name] can only find it beautiful.

time seems to freeze while the two stare at one another. fyodor grins as He gives the strings of [name]'s brain one final tug. it's the last push they need to fall completely into the right path He has carved for them. salvation awaits them. by His hand alone, He will take them from the mud of their own mistaken beliefs and build them back up correctly.

[name] opens their mouth to retort, but the waitress interrupts before they can say anything. "another cupful, sir?" she asks politely. His empty cup signals the end of their timer.

fyodor mimics her expression, answering, "no, thank you." the waitress leaves with a nod, and He turns back to the lost lamb across from Him. in His earphone, the music playing on the radio changes. bach's st. matthew passion. "now's the time," He mumbles to himself. without another word, He gets up from his seat.

[name] blinks up at Him. their brows bend in a disappointed grimace. "you're leaving already?"

"i'm afraid we'll have to end our conversation here. it was quite delightful, i must admit." He offers them one last smile. may they swallow up their sorrows, knowing soon He will bring upon them the day the earth shall die.

"oh, of course. it was… very interesting. food for thought."

as He stands, looking down at them on their chair, fyodor chuckles to himself, "i'm glad." He offers [name] His open hand, staring into their eyes with an inviting gaze and a warm simper. it takes them a second before they react and reach for the hand of judgment. "i never caught your name, by the way," He comments off-handedly, giving them a firm shake of acknowledgement.

"oh, i'm [surname] [name]."

"Fyodor Dostoevsky."

"it's a pleasure."

"the pleasure is all mine."

this is His farewell. with one last smile, [name] lets His hand disappear from their fingers. it feels cold—it feels like they just shook hands with the devil Himself. they've signed their name on His contract. fyodor nods His head as a goodbye before promptly heading for the exit. [name] watches Him; they witness his crime and His punishment as He's arrested.

they stare at their cold palm, wondering why God didn't kill them when He had the chance.

( proverbs 27:6 )

note — and you might be wondering agosu what the fuck. and idk bro the wolves were stronger so in all seriousness, i do like fyodor. im sorry bones hates him and draws him so ugly but his brain is shaped like a tesseract and i cant perceive more than three dimensions so its fascinating. i like him more than i like dazai cause misanthropy is always a plus in my book. i wanna have a chat with him over tea and hope he kills me by the time were done a few things. uhhh im not religious but i had to research bible verses for this. i used only three. look them up if youre interested. (proverbs 27:6 in the footnotes, 1 corinthians 13:4-8 in the title, and 2 peter 2 somewhere in the narration i dont remember.) also this has some influence from dazai osamus kakekomi uttae, if youre interested in that. i used crime and punishment against dazai, so why not return the favor for fyodor :tom: speaking of, the fic title is a quote from rodya in crime and punishment. its the depressed russian equivalent of "fuck it we ball" cause bro skipped out of his apartment to go commit a double homicide thumbs up emoji i think thats it. this took me more than a month cause it tried to kill me on multiple occasions. drink water have day

—あごす (agosu) • 2023

#if not reason then the devil #bungou stray dogs #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd #bsd x reader

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