nosferatul
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The entrance faced the street, its door wide open, welcoming guests with a fragrant waft of coffee, redolent of better days. The symbols burnt into the wooden sign towering above it spelled out a name now lost to time. However, the memory of steaming brews, sweet cakes and fleeting glances will never falter.
The fundamental experience of a teenager is navigating contradictions. Unfortunately, nobody warned Doppo Kunikida that said contradictions may manifest in the form of a person that opposes every rule, every guideline he has ever known.
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The praying mantis has a varied diet. In some cases, they may also commit acts of cannibalism. They sometimes bite off their partner's head immediately after mating.
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Man in Red, rewritten to resemble the Antichrist.
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“Besides, does it matter?” Kunikida continues, adjusting his glasses so that the light reflects off his lenses. “You’re clearly not looking for your soulmate, either.”
“Oh?” Dazai sprawls across the booth, the lazy drawl to his voice tipped into the question to disguise how much he actually wants to know the answer. “And what makes you say that?”
“Because you’re Dazai,” Kunikida says, tone as serious and hardwired as the rock-solid foundation he’s hewn from. A statement, a fact. “I can’t imagine there’s anything you wouldn’t be able to do, if you really wanted it.”
- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by nosferatul
07 Feb 2025
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Your World is Eternally Complete by misceylaneous
Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
17 Nov 2024
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Fyodor knits a new scarf.
Bookmarked by nosferatul
18 Nov 2024
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Fyodor is eight, when he meets Dazai. He’s at a chess tournament and Dazai is the only one who has made it worth it. Made it interesting. He’s the only one who is playing at the same level as Fyodor. Fyodor loves chess but he hasn’t felt challenged in what seems like a long time. Not until Dazai, that is.
They’re in the final game. Dazai and Fyodor are two children lost in a world that has nothing to do with anyone but them. Dazai has one of his eyes covered with a bandage. His hair is almost but exactly not the same color as Fyodor’s. He plays aggressively and recklessly and so carefully measured Fyodor feels it all the way to his toes, swinging in their too tight shoes, unable to touch the ground.
They draw.
“I’m Dazai.” Dazai says afterward. Like Fyodor, English is slightly stilted on Dazai’s tongue, rounded awkwardly around different syllables than it should be.
“I’m Fyodor.” Fyodor responds. Dazai mouths Fyodor’s name to himself. “It’s Russian.” Fyodor explains quietly, used to other children not being able to say his name, teasing him.
“Fyodor.” Dazai repeats. “You’re good at chess.” He adds bluntly.
Fyodor feels something stronger than happiness, quiet and content, low in his soul.
Bookmarked by nosferatul
04 Nov 2024