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[gaoau]

smth smth uhhh tsurune character analysis time wsg

i've never done this before in my life and i shouldn't even be doing it cause that's crazy tf BUT hi :blush: i'm Kisaragi Nanao's number one fan and hater simultaneously and i need to talk about it. chances are none of this will make the slightest bit of sense, cause thinking about his brain for more than five minutes usually has me going around in circles like a headless chicken. its been almost a year and i have not been able to stop thinking about him, not even in my most trying times so i might as well do the one thing i'm good at and write each and every single one of my thoughts down so the void can eat them all up. my friends are tired of hearing me talk about this so now its your turn, people in the tsurune but more specifically the Nanao tag on tumblr dot com. i'll try to avoid the Kaito talk as much as i can cause i wanna make this solely about Nanao, but i also understand that a lot of their character development goes hand in hand with one another, so it's sort of inevitable

to be completely honest, i wanted to be a Ryohei girlie so bad, i would've even settled for Seiya. i just knew the moment Nanao pulled up and was presented as the flirty annoying playboy, i wouldn't like him. i said it with my whole chest, firmly believing i would find absolutely no reason anywhere in his character to enjoy him. motherfucker i have never been more wrong in my life. at first glance, it doesn't even look like there's much to talk about, cause he doesn't do a whole lot in the first season. except he does. there's only snippets of depth in his character that exist, but he does not let show in order to watch over everyone around him. his introduction is loud and frivolous, especially with one of his first spoken sentences being about his "hakama beauty."

sure, he's good at kyudo, but he's not particularly excellent nor passionate about the sport. this, however, is not true, which builds up in his character as the first season progresses and eventually overflows in the second season. for a character that, in universe, is shown to be in the spotlight consistently ever since he was a child, he's none of that on the range, because that isn't his place. his position on the range is not as important as it is outside of it; he is the yonteki, he is neither at the beginning nor the middle nor the end, he cannot show off, he cannot be the centre of attention as he tends to be. it's true that he attracts a lot of attention and plays into it naturally, because he enjoys it and extroverts, however unfortunate, do exist, but he knows when to take a step back and when to go all out.

there's something i can't ever seem to quite put my finger on. although he is naturally easy-going and playful, this is only a ramped-up front he uses to watch from the back. it's like he's hiding, like he's staying nonchalant and uncommitted so things wash over him. he's blunt. he's so blunt. he really doesn't sugarcoat things, he just doesn't say them until he needs to. i don't wanna call it manipulation, cause that's got a rather negative connotation, but i do wanna call it manipulation, cause that's what it is. he knows how to manipulate responses and reactions with how easy he reads the people around him, and he uses all of that in a very level-headed way to keep peace, though it's always mainly Kaito. it's as if people are malleable to him. it's in the way he pulls Ryohei into doing that whole charade to get Kaito to like Minato, in how he straight up tells Kaito "yeah, it's cause you're being annoyingly tsundere, we're just giving you a push," or in how he tells Minato "yeah, Kacchan don't like you, but he's working on it."

he knows, he's watching, and he's making sure everyone is being accounted for without meddling too much. he sets things into motion with the right push, but he stays out of it, uninvolved. he keeps going on and on about how he's only doing kyudo with nothing but simple bull-headedness, like it doesn't matter all that much, like he can just shrug things off and let Kaito's impulsive comments not get to him. he plays it off, he plays everything off, leaning into that flighty, frivolous prince charming persona, but at the end of the day, he's the most mature and emotionally intelligent of the bunch. 

most of his development is built around connections. whenever Kaito reminds him that he is not taking kyudo seriously, that kyudo is not a game, that kyudo is more than just fun and looking pretty in hakama, Nanao keeps quiet. it's something he knows very well, because none of those are any of the reasons he ever picked up a bow in the first place. he has been watching over Kaito since they were children, going so far as to follow him into kyudo and into the same high-school. however, this is something that Kaito does not recognize for the longest time—not until Nanao actively blows up on him and spells it out for him. Nanao doesn't need for his efforts to be recognized, because he is only doing it to keep peace and read everyone carefully—not only Kaito—to figure out what makes who tick.

he supports his buddies from the back and intervenes only when it's necessary. he aims to please without being self-abandoning; he keeps true to his own self while being a perfect fit for everyone. despite claiming his reasons for shooting are frivolous and superficial, Nanao has an understanding of what sets the people around him off that makes keeping him around necessary, because he shoots for Kaito and now for this team, rather than the target in front of him. he knows, he's so perceptive of it all. there's a scene stuck in my head where Ryohei tries to speak up about the whole Seiya-Nikaido interaction that was bugging him, but he ended up going back on it last minute, and Nanao straight up went "bro, either you commit to it or don't talk."

idk!! call it his big brother instincts, cause that's another thing. things do kinda make a lot more sense when you consider that he is the only one out of everyone in the club (that we know of, cause there's not much about my girls) who is an older sibling. Kaito has two older sisters, Seiya has an older brother, Ryohei has an older sister, and Minato is an only child. Nanao is the only big brother. god i'm losing my fucking mind.

i called him loud and i'll keep calling him loud, but in all honesty Nanao is a lot more silent than he seems. he flirts with his fanclub and attempts it too with the girls in the club, he is quite loud with his "Merha!", he pushes and prods all around with funny comments because, at the end of the day, he is still an entertainer, a mood-maker, and most of all, he's a child. he's still a fifteen-year-old kid that's just dicking around with his friends cause it's not that deep. he's a kid. however, he is consistently reading everyone around him, keeping peace from behind them, working his way around everyone’s quirks and kinks. he's been somewhat forced into this caretaking role, taking comments like "it'd be nice if you and Kaito went to the same school so you can keep him in check" to heart. he too wishes he could be there for his cousin to reel him back in when he steps out of line. and he does, he tries, being the first one to react and try to pull Kaito back before he can bash Minato's face in.

he does things carefully in a way that won't put pressure on anyone other than himself, watching and watching and watching and being so hypersensitive to the smallest of mood changes from anyone. that one little sigh Ryohei gave, to which he immediately went, "what's wrong?" while nobody else batted an eye. when he is the one whose patience finally runs thin, he confronts Kaito about it with truths he has never needed to explain because Kaito would not have been able to digest them properly, and Nanao has always known.

he competes not to win, but to keep up, to stay with his cousin and his team; not approaching a sport with a competitive mindset would be a hindrance to the team, which does not mean he is competitive himself. and he loves kyudo, too, just as much. his expressions and mannerisms are subtle and soft in a way that anyone would miss, but he is happy to see the people that surround him stay on track, with or without his help.

i lose my train of thought every time i start a new sentence cause there's so much i have to say about Nanao. there's a crazy amount of points i go over in my head time and time again. the fact that his hit rate is so consistent, enough to keep up with Kaito and almost with Seiya. how he does not give one flying fuck about Noririn, but he indulges Daigo anyway cause it's fun and it works and he's got nothing to lose by showing a little bit of interest in some guy's idol obsession. how he was watching from the outside, because Kaito never told him what happened with Masaki or why he suddenly wanted to start kyudo, but he was so into it that he was going in all on his own. (i say "never told him" but there's that audio drama where he did, in fact, tell him and the boys.) how kyoani uses him as a sort of bridge between the girlies and the boys just cause he's that much of a social chameleon, i guess. how he's the only other character aside from Minato, the MC mind you, who has not one but TWO features in the character songs album. he's a bridge dawg he's a fit for everyone and anyone. i dunno man i have so many thoughts and zero words to articulate them, but i love this kid. shoutout to this kid, i hope he's having a great day and his lemon teas are always the right temperature. lil bro needs a pat on the back and i wanna be the one to give it to him.

[gaoau]

dude idk you but i got excited when i saw your pfp thats so funny

OH MY GOD HEY LMAO

[gaoau]

help i forgot i was in here

[gaoau]

via indiarosecrawford

Frog Paints a Water Lily Pond 🪷🎨🐸

𝑓ₒᵣ ⲕᵢ𝑛𝑔 ₐ𝑛𝑑 𝑐ₒ𝑡𝑡ₐ𝑔ₑ

[gaoau]

I'm sorry but everytime I look at his face this is all I can see

[gaoau]

[gaoau]

[gaoau]

office romance

[gaoau]

A lil compilation of ace pride artwork I’ve made over the past year! 💜

[gaoau]

Lore-moment.

[gaoau]

food chain

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if earth was a big blue ball, i’d toss it for you to chase it

[gaoau]

wc 1.0k; tw blood

xiao is on the roof. he finds himself on the roof a lot—inside the inn during quiet hours like this, the screams of his family echo, bouncing off wooden walls. up high, in the branches of the tree that cradles the inn, the wind tugs the voices out of his mind as if it was a river, and he was cleaning the blood from his body. he feels guilt about it when he thinks too hard about it, which he's rarely able to not do. it's late; then again, it always feels late, no matter where the sun or moon are in the sky. his meals are late, and his sleep comes even later, even if the inkeeper persuades him into a cup of tea.

he thinks a lot more than he'd like to when there's nothing left to kill. he thinks a lot, and it's difficult with each day that goes by without blood staining his hands, spattering against his skin. in a past so long ago it doesn't feel like his own, he remembers being disgusted by the sensation. if he was ever scared of it, though - the thing that he now lives for—it's too far away, separated by thousands of years.

the truth is, it seems that every day is quiet. at least, they're getting quieter. he still hears the voices and footsteps and clattering sounds of the inn during the daytime, but the thing that makes the sounds of the day and night so much more hollow is the sudden rarity of growls. the sound of claws against wood, of arcane chanting: these are the voices of the life he's thrown himself into every waking hour, ever since morax had given him the name he still carries. they are falling silent, one by one.

even when monsters do arise, they're taken care of quickly, leaving him only with the wind sighing through the grass. this time, the breeze isn't so quick to carry the voices of the vanquished away from him; if the pained gurgle of a beast gets on his nerves, it's up to him to stomp it out, and he never hesitates, though the crunch of bone brings him no relief.

the wind brings no sound with it. everything sleeps for once, except for him. the mourning doves will begin to sing in a few hours, but hopefully he'll have nodded off by then. it's rare that he actually seeks out sleep: he's been skirting around it for the past few days. sleeping means silence. it means stillness. and that's when everything is the worst. the night is cool, and so are the jade beads he rolls between his fingers. when the round beads warm over from the touch of his hand, he slips his fingers down to another cluster of beads.

being a permanent resident of the inn, he's seen all different manner of people. travelers, artists, researchers, children, mothers and fathers, and people so grayed with time that they can't even see the bright blue of the sky anymore. he's seen weathered, jaded sprouts, and old, strong oaks that retain a lust for life with nary a scratch to their bark. he's seen people so full of tenacity that it bubbles over, and, he swears, he's seen them glow as if their hair was woven from starlight… but the one person he's been thinking of recently is an all too common type. no starlight, and no sunlight—not even the scraps that the moon holds onto. no scorch of fire, and no bite of ice. he's seen people so set in their ways that it's almost as if they avoid introspection altogether; as if the last time they had reached inside themself, what they saw was something so awful that it burned them, and they'd never tried to look again.

it's chilly up on the roof, but he doesn't mind. there's no light either, though, not even from the moon—the sun having left it no warmth to cling to.

sometimes, he wishes he were so shallow as those sorts. alone on the roof in the dead of night, he allows himself to want something, even if it hurts, even if it'll always be just out of his reach. he wishes that the first time he'd looked into himself, the stabs and gushing of blood—his own, for once—had been enough to scare him off for good. with every demon subjugated, though, his fear would shrink until he found himself scared of nothing; panic a long-forgotten aftertaste.

he wishes he were that person. he wishes, so much, that he could have no mind. he wishes to never think again but to carry out his duty. he wishes he were somebody else, he wishes he were that person—no, he wishes that it hadn't been him in the first place, because the truth is, with every day that slips by him, his duty fades. it's a weight that he can feel falling from his shoulders as if it were a mantle, one that he desperately tries to pull back over his shoulders. on one warm autumn evening, he’d found that it was morax himself that has loosened the clasp, and there was nothing to do but let it fall, dead responsibility pooling around his feet alongside the blood of the damned.

and... without that shroud, what is he to do?

it shouldn't be him - should never have. he focused on protecting his world so long that he no longer knows what it is that he's standing in front of, having barely ever bothered glancing over his shoulder at the people he protects. starlight comes, and then it goes, as if all those glittering specks were practicing to be the next sun - practicing to leave him with nothing but the cold, silent world at night. bosacius would know how to live. bosacius would never have let himself forget. none of them would have. they would have accepted every sunrise with open arms and an easy sigh after another day alive. when xiao finally allows his eyes to fall shut, the doves have only just begun tuning up. their song never meets his ears.

[gaoau]

we are so back

[gaoau]

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

[gaoau]

theres no calories in birthday cakes

to forget minor inconveniences for a day. to make up new rules. to have kuroo as a reminder that life can be nice. (and, most importantly, to not listen to chopper's character song again.)

pairing — kuroo tetsurou x reader word count — 1.2k note — a few disclaimers. 1) roommates au cause for some reason this and kuroo together seems to be a fan favorite of the hq fandom. might as well join. 2) inaccurate phone devices for the year of 2014 or smth dw bout it artistic liberties. 3) kuroos an op fan cause i said so (i havent seen a single ep of op) anyway happy birthday chiguru 

you can already hear the music kuroo is blasting before even opening the door. it's one of those western, alternative artists whose name you cannot pronounce for the life of you. but youve heard their songs so much by sheer osmosis that you can actually follow along with semi-butchered lyrics.

still, you struggle to recognize a single word thats being sung as you also struggle to insert your key into the keyhole. normally your benevolent roommate would hear you fighting for your life by now and come open the door for you, but it seems hes too busy with his music. you dont blame him. 

when you finally do manage to unlock the door, you can also hear why kuroo is blasting music through the cheap, oversaturated bluetooth speaker. ceramic and glass and metal all knock softly against one another in a chaotic symphony (some may just call it jazz). hes doing the dishes, singing along while this song fades into the next one.

the very moment you step a single foot into your shared dorm, the song changes. which usually you really wouldnt mind, but this fucking song. you hear salsa and merengue and bachata and fandango and every single other genre you can think of in the same song. it starts with choppers high-pitched, cheery voice, and you instanly let your bag drop to the floor. you only take a moment to kick off your shoes, but once theyre off, you stomp your way over to kuroo in the kitchen.

you groan, "i swear to god, kuroo, if i have to listen to this song one more time…" you trail off, debating between i'll kill myself or i'll murder you in cold blood. you say neither, snatching his phone from the counter and unlocking it with your fingerprint.

kuroo laughs as he cranes his neck to look at you. he scrubs at a particularly stubborn pot, watching you queue up a different song. "but boku ha doctor, tony tony chopper, [surname]."

immediately, you swipe your finger on the screen and change the song. kuroo recognizes it as your favorite pop song in a matter of seconds, though it's in korean despite you not speaking korean at all. "boku doesnt suit you," you say, looking him dead in the eye.

"alright, then." he shrugs. "atashi ha—"

"thats even worse."

he bursts out laughing, and it's not long before your own cackles spill from your tongue. you lock his phone and return to its place on the counter. his hyena imitation and your own chuckles blend in harmony with the upbeat korean verses. then they fizzle off so you can appreciate the music. you cringe internally, because the cheap speakers arent doing your boys any justice. and you hear kuroo hum along, mumbling a few words under his breath even when his korean isnt any better than yours.

but it doesnt really matter, does it? not when it's a song he never would have listened to if he hadnt met you. a song he never would have cared for, but one he knows forwards and backwards by now. and it matters even less when you watch him squeeze more of the watered-down dish soap onto the sponge, soaking anything it can in hopes for bubbles because you refuse to buy a new one until the residues in this bottle vanish completely. plus youre not sure youll ever find this unscented dish soap again, seeing as it wasnt even you the one to find it—knowing kuroo took the longest train ride to chiba to find anything that wouldnt give you a headache.

whatever blunders you both make dont matter at all. not when you have one another to bounce off of and to pick yourselves up.

as your choice of song fades into another one in kuroos playlist, realization dawns on you. "wait, you arent on dish duty." you take a step closer, looming by his side while he rinses the last pots and moves onto the cups. "it's my turn."

he shoots you a toothy grin. "i know, i know, but since im such a nice person, i thought id spare you the ugh my skin is so dry complaints for today."

you narrow your eyes at him.

he stares back.

"did you break something?"

kuroo exaggerates a gasp. "of course not!" if his hands werent busy, hed slap one over his heart. "im always this benevolent. i know your skin gets fucked up so i'll save you the trouble. just today though, youre back on dishes next time."

"why today?"

he finishes washing the last three cups and carefully sets them to dry. with a dramatized sigh, he slaps the tap shut, shaking his hands dry. "check the fridge. i cant believe you forgot." and he flicks water on your face.

wiping it off with your sleeve, you make your way to open the fridge. it's, unsurprisingly, mostly empty, save for the bright pink box at the bottom, boasting the logo from that one gluten free bakery that is actually good. you pull the lid up to peer at its contents: a brownie slab with chocolate topping and the letters BIRTH in english.

"what?" you nearly slam the door shut. when you turn back to kuroo, hes standing with his hands on his hips, looking smug and awaiting praise. "dude, my english is shit."

he groans, "誕生," to give you a hint.

"birth?"

"誕生日おめでとう? ring any bells?"

"oh!" you take a moment to think about todays date. you barely remember if you saw the date at all throughout the day. you must have, but you cannot recall it for the life of you. but with this cake, you know exactly what day it is. "it's my birthday today, isnt it?" silence lasts for a second while kuroo hums. "well, that explains the missed called from my mother."

"oh, shes gonna kill you."

"not if this kills me first," you chuckle, patting the fridge door.

kuroo starts listing off, "it's gluten free, on the crispier side, no filling but still moist, and it's dark chocolate, sixty percent." all the way you like it most to make sure it doesnt kill you.

"i meant… calories."

"theres no calories in birthday cakes; thats, like, newtons fourth law."

you take a moment to process his words. then you laugh, "see, thats what a capitalist would say."

"hey, whatever sells. if you dont want it, though…" menacingly, he stalks over to the fridge, trailing off in an unfinished threat.

you shoot your arms in front of you to guard your birthday cake. "no, no. i'll take it."

he snorts out a chuckle. "happy birth, [surname]." with a grin, he starts reaching his dominant hand towards your hair.

"thanks," you manage, scrambling to grab his wrist with both hands to hold him away. "stop, your hands are wet." he pushes down, his open palm right above your head. you have to put your all to keep him from messing with your hair.

"no, theyre not."

"i dont care, theyre humid. stop it."

"no, theyre not."

"kuroo, stop."

"no, theyre not."

"sto—stop! no!"

busy with his dominant hand, you fail to notice his other hand darting out. he tangles his fingers in your hair and musses it up. you burst into giggles, eyes squeezing shut as you let him finish with his affectionate display. it doesnt really matter when kuroo is your favorite person to spend your birthday with.

—あごす (agosu) • 2022

[gaoau]

i dont know you even are but I hope you are having a good day

im not sure if i should tell you to get out of my house or say thank you i cant tell