#bsdumbler

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Homosexual allegory be like:

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It's them and their homosexuality and love for each other in the outfit of thirst for each other's blood against the world.

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The paradise of chaos and humour. Bsd wan!

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Fyolai is an agonising 'romance duology'. Nikolai wants 'freedom' whilst Fyodor is the one who's desperately persuading freedom; eradicating ability users. His ability is a curse of eternity. An ability that comes with a history; plethora of agonies.

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I want to know what this man is like in bed. The poignant obsession I have with this curiosity is concerning.

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Fukuzawa is the main babygirl of the show. Like this man is the core cause of catastrophes. Just cuz he doesn't want to be with anyone - be it with port mafia, guild, or doa. Like leave my man alone you all freaks.

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He was moved so deeply that he fell in love very deeply. Poor thing.

"He was looking into my essence" what a homoerotic thing to say.

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The Problematic Homosexuals. [Whores]

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How to write a mystery novel:

Asagiri: step 1- confuse your readers.

Step 2- confuse yourself.

Step 3- somehow bring a conclusion no one expects.

Step 4- Wait for it to turn out cool.

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Russian cunt, babygirl, wh0re, murderer, terrorist, girly pop, princess, slaying divorced wife.

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When I pain your carmine heart. Look at me with disdain. Why are you glimpsing at me with such tender gaze? Why are you silent?

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BSD fandom has to be the craziest fandom. Like what do you mean you wrote a Fyodor x Rat ao3 fic? What do you mean you wrote a Nikolai x Fyodor's arm fic. YALL ARE CRAZY.

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Rated: R [No scripted scenes but brief mentions of sex and drugs]

I wrote a novel once. A pornographic novel, “Doux” with elegant and delicate details of sex and an enigmatic ending forbye. 

O reader, I tell you: the novel is a signature of shame. A shame that would lie and perish in the warmth of the printed white pages.

And strangely, that one pornographic novel of 180 pages, which I wrote to suffice a certain obscene desire for an immortal lover, when I was twenty four and stupid, smoked five cigarettes a day, assimilated two blue pills, and fondled the opalescent soft breasts of women under the lucid lights of gold and amber, obtained a glass of expensive wine; an expensive success, fancied by adults of splendid sexual immorality [or ‘psychology’ worshipping ‘scholars’. Whatever, I don't care]

The origin of the scripts of the novel has a dreamy ebullient account. Dates back ten years from today, 1981, October. The aroma of chocolate and coffee paired with music and sex; a strange bar with amber dusted lights, black wood, and spiced alcohol. 

Dazai's recollecting his old days. The little story of his frivolous romance with a certain poet named Chūya.

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His image, it torments. It tortures him every night in the sweet history of dreams and dolours. The salacious delusions, the erotic fantasies as a form of inner manifestations of an insane author's prismatic mind. The vista of obscene dreams of erotic spectral colours in his pollutive, and lewd dreams. His soft warm lips with curved mauve skin, parted to kiss. Where he calls his name⸺ in the softest intimate and lew whisper while lingering his head in languorous movements; red and nude. Touches and tortures him with the warmest incarnadine kisses. Moans his name with the strongest obscenities. Naked and caressed, all over him; like an obedient sweet lover; making a sinful wet mess on their sheets while kissing. Oh those apple sweet parted lips, kissed and wet lips.

The dreams are like pristine papers of an old carnal fable being advocated by biblical nymphets of cupid with soft ringlets, blue orbs and baby faces [religious pedophilic lust]. Unfolding the old coffee brown pages of astronomical and spiritual importance in the crystal fascinating screen of an insane madman.

This is. . . obsession. 

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Do you think mosquitoes automatically die after drinking Fyodor's blood?

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