An empty house for a missing ghost

Existence is weird. I like it.  (((The art on the icon does not belong to me and if someone could kindly tell me the source so I could give credit to the artist I would be grateful)))

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//Making a sideblog was the worst decision I’ve ever taken in my whole life

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// tfw u come back from a long ass hiatus by reblogging the wrong post to the wrong blog

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Happy new year from the dark side of the world.

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// Sure hope no one noticed I have been trying to reblog a post in another blog and then reblogged it twice in this blog instead I’m a dumb bitch

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Fyodor Dostoyevsky/Nikolai Gogol (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Additional Tags: Mild Suicide Ideation, Phoenix!Nikolai, Death!Fyodor, Supernatural Creature!AU

Summary: Phoenixes burn to ash and are reborn from it, over and over in a cycle never complete. They evade death time and again, they know him intimately and are some of the few companions he has. Even these beautiful, majestic creatures can grow tired of their long, long lives though. Their too long lives and in the end, Death receives all living things.

[heyitsme-z-deactivated20170804]

honesty hour 👀 anon or not I have to answer

[fyodorsuggestions]

Burn the Gods

A loose continuation of Hold me down, Tear me up. 

How long has it been? Hours or days, weeks or years? Chained and straining against them, fighting to get away and fighting to keep the thoughts at bay. How long do we think Fedya?

“Too long and not long enough,” we answer ourself, spitting the words, the nonsensical words. There’s no one else in this wretched, empty room though so no one to hear the sanity slipping from our lips. No one to hear the growl in our throat or the whine on our tongue as we think back to our plan.

Think back to the plan and think back to why we’re here and what we want. We want to be Gods-no better! We want to be great grand Prometheus with his foresycthe that can shear the world and leave it barren and raw. We want to be angels dancing and darting on sparrow’s wings, on robin’s wings, up and away from banal humanity and mortality.

Continuar lendo

[fyodorsuggestions]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Fyodor Dostoyevsky/Nikolai Gogol (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: Temporary Character Death, Science Experiments, Murder, Circus

Summary: Like a bird, covered in bruises and possession or a thoughtless, soulless carcass. Only you my darling devil, so please, please come back for one more performance my demon dear.

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Is somebody here tonight?

The pointer moves on the ouija board. You can see it is not moving randomly, it is pointing out letters. By putting these letters together you discover it forms a sentence."Didn't know they let small people use these boards now."

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They had an encounter later, he reminds himself. He had agreed on visiting him later, his sister was out shopping with their coworkers, he said. And now they are here.

Stray too far from the main streets and you might find yourself into dangerous area, might find out that you bit more than you could chew but Tanizaki should have known better. He should have. How could he not? He was sent there on an investigation. Or so he said.

They were on call when the attack happened, one second Gide was saying something silly, the other he heard gunshots. Tanizaki was smart, he had his ability too, he said he was there on work so he should be fine.

Still, as Gide hung up the call he felt uneasy. It wasn't his right to interfere, still he went after Tanizaki. Only to find out that he had arrived too late. Oh well, he has always had such a poor timing.

“Tell-- you…” Tanizaki is trying to say something but it's too hard when he's choking on his own blood, coughing it and spitting it out.

“Stay quiet, my dear.” Gide tries to comfort but really, there's not much to be done.

They're far from any main street and getting help for him in time is nothing but a dream there. With all these holes on his sweater and all the blood pooling under his body, only a miracle would save him.

“Nao… mi….” He manages to say with much effort.

Ah, yes. Wasn't that the name of his sister? Gide is certain it was. He is also certain Tanizaki cares greatly for her.

He holds one of Tanizaki's hands gently with his both, the faint memory of them in his hair many days in the past come to his mind. He could smile fondly at the memory alone, if it weren't for the gruesome scene in front of him.

“I'll make sure she is safe.” He promises.

Tanizaki even tries to say something else, but he's running out of air and the blood is blocking his airways. He's close to his limit.

They had agreed to see each other later, catch up on things and have some calm time. They were going to have a good day. Now he can feel Tanizaki's hand slipping out of his grip.

“Junichirou… what will I tell John now?”

@tanizakisuggestions

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It is unexpected to be dragged into this place; this memory. Gide is surprised, a bit shocked to find himself there at first. Then he simply accepts that he is there and decides to watch the scene unfolding in front of him.

It's not something oh so interesting, honestly. He knows what is it about and knows that he can merely watch there. This is the day the secretary, Joyce, was murdered. He didn't know the circumstances of the man’s death but now seeing him in this memory, fighting for his life, somehow he isn't very surprised.

Joyce may seem meek at first but he's far from that, he has a bite to his words and mannerisms, a subtle aggressiveness to himself. Certainly learned during his years between the rich and being the secretary of the guild.

Gide isn't surprised to see that all his struggle was for nothing, not surprised to see the man being taken down and bleeding. He is dead now, isn't he? Another ghost in this world. He's not sure what killed the man, though. Memories are elusive as that. One second Joyce is fighting and then he's bleeding to death. The next he has stopped breathing.

Gide even holds out a hand, tries to reach for the corpse but it causes ripples on the already fragile memory.

“Ah…” he looks around, at the mirrored world that fades away at his gesture and then finds himself back into reality.

He's not sure of how to feel for the man who now has some kind of grudge with him, or how to feel about the triggered memory. Gide guesses he can only keep it in mind and muse over it later.

@jjoycesuggestions

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Taking the small child in his arms is effortless. The boy is as light as a feather, a reminder of how light and fragile life is. The kid's head falls to one side and the motion reminds him of a doll of some sort. One of those Yumeno always carried around.

It feels strange to think like that, makes the boy seem like a broken doll now, but he's not an object. He's a child and above everything he was the only child Gide has ever called his own son. And his sin was to overlook this child, his child.

He called the boy his son, called him family when he knew very well he has none now, and in the end, failed him. He couldn't protect the kid, couldn't protect his only son. Just as anything else he loved. Pathetic.

He sighs and holds the boy close to his chest, lowers his head and stays quiet. He should be used to his own failures by now, should be used to the sorrow and guilt. He shouldn't feel so pained over the boy’s death when he knew it was coming yet here he is.

“It was too soon, too fast. You were too young.”

Young, fragile and full of potential. Gide expected greatness from him but it's all over now, isn't it? He's dead. Losing is something he needs to get used to.

“I'm sorry.” He whispers and does something he know he shouldn't.

Gide reaches for the last memories in the small body, immediately hearing the snapping sound as the first image comes to his mind. Ah, broken neck. Should be obvious enough. He hopes the boy didn't feel much pain as he departed.

The only thing he wants here is to see the face of the aggressor, which he does. He knows this person, knows that wherever they go they won't be able to hide from death. They should know it too.

He wants to reach for more memories, save and keep all of them in his mind, make a memoir for his only family but he knows he shouldn't. He pulls back from the memories and stares at the ground.

“Wherever you are now, my son, know that I'll find your assassin, and know that they won't die as quickly as you. I will not have mercy.”

This is a promise, his last. He failed the others and the guilty will follow him forever, but this one promise he will fulfill. He cannot protect or save, but at least he can be the spirit of vengeance that he needs to be; that he knows he can be.

For now, he only holds onto his son, onto the fading warmth of the small boy. For now he grieves with no tears.

@kyusakusuggestions

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Gide never had anything for himself since the war, never had a single thing he wanted or even a dream, but Odasaku was different. The war came and he kept his dreams. The war ended with them having to run across the globe but he never gave up. The light is his eyes never faded, not until now.

He wondered how it happened as he kneeled besides his friend's body. Leaning against the wall of a dark back alley, his shirt is covered in holes and blood. He wonders how this man he fought with and for was caught like this. He should've been able to survive after all of that, no matter what, he should have survived.

How could he let all his dreams die like this?

“You told me you wanted a book store, and we worked together for it. It is small but you said it was perfect. Then you told me you wanted to fill our shelves with books of your own, you told me you wanted to never kill again. You told me many things in your quiet voice and I believed you. I took your dreams as mine because I didn't have any, so how could you let both of us die here?”

How could he let himself be killed in such a pathetic way and drag Gide to his grave like this? Oda doesn’t replies, as expected.

Whatever caused this, Gide knows he has only one option. Vengeance is the only path remaining to follow and he will walk through it. Alone. What comes after doesn't matter anymore, not when his last spark of life had faded.

“Rest in peace, my old friend.”

@odasakusuggestions

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//I should totally tag all my writing with "long post" since posting on mobile doesn't let me put read mores but I keep forgetting. Other than that I AM BACK!!! HELL YEAH!!!

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An Empty House For A Missing Ghost

This place is dark and cold-- no, not cold. This place doesn't have a temperature to it. This place has nothing to it. Even the darkness is only here to accentuate the absence of everything.

Wake up .

He thinks he wanted to be here before, but now that he's here he feels unsettled. It's like a million bugs have embraced him, they buzz onto and under his skin but he can't hear or feel them. He can't feel anything at all.

Wake up.

This lack of everything makes him question if he exists, and if so, what's the purpose of this static-but-non-static existence. This is wrong. This place is wrong and he is wrong. Everything is wrong here but he also can't scream.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!

He wishes it was all a dream.

One second and it is all distant, all over when he opens his eyes to find himself staring at the light bulb on his ceiling. He draws in a sharp breath, as if it has been ages since he last tasted air. Funny how something as trivial as oxygen can make him happy.

Happy…

Is he? He's not sure but he's here, and he wasn't here a moment ago. He fell asleep. But he knows he can't sleep so where was he? Did he dream? He knows he didn't but whenever this happens he asks himself if he did. Would it be asking too much that instead of disappearing into oblivion, he fell asleep instead?

Asking for one happy dream would be too much...

He shakes off his thoughts and hurriedly checks the nearest digital clock, it shows the time and date. He stares at it, not knowing how to feel at first.

“Three weeks…” He mutters with himself. “It’s been three weeks…”

The time he stays on the other side has grown greatly, too much. A few hours at first, then days, now weeks. He can't control this. A cold feeling settles in his gut and he swallows it.

He could disappear forever at any time, without a notice.

He sits back on the couch and stares directly ahead of him. It's been three weeks since he last sat there, he doesn't remember if he was laughing, or what he was feeling at the time. He was there in a moment, and the next he wasn't. Did anyone miss him?

He doesn't know, and he probably shouldn't care, but he's sure of one thing. He may have escaped death, in a way, may have given himself a life among the living, but the other side isn't generous. It doesn't gives gifts, only takes them. The other side is growing tired of his games and it is trying to claim him back.

He thought that was what he wanted, but he's not sure now. He feels that the rest he so much craves isn't what he expects it to be. That's what his gut is telling him.

Ah, whatever. He is here now, and maybe he should catch up on the news. Then he can start worrying about the rest.

[fyodorsuggestions]

Sleepless Deaths

Death, death, death, every time it ends in death. Death of the people he loved, death of the people he hated, death of the people who don’t matter. He is nothing but an omen of the beloved reaper.

Ivan dead in front of him. Wake up.

Yumeno dead in his lap. Wake up.

Nakahara dead by his hand. Wake up.

Nikolai dead in the snow. Wake up.

Always always dead, dying, dead. Every night, every time, his eyes slip shut and theirs slip close, both sleeping but only one sleeping the longest sleep.

Continuar lendo

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Shot Down, Fyedyenka

It took a moment for his smile to fade, a moment before he began to hope that the scene that had just played out in front of him had all been some sort of illusion, that the body which lay a few feet in front of him was not…his. A god would not die so easily, so unexpectedly….

…would he?

It wouldn’t be the first time Yumeno had witnessed somebody’s slow death. It wouldn’t be the first time he watched that of a person he knew, either. He was a rather twisted kid after all, and often he’d watch curiously as victims of those he’d cursed came to pass, curious as to what he would find. Didn’t people say something about witnessing people in their final moments? Seeing something in them you otherwise wouldn’t? He never found out what that was about, as all he ever saw was the same repeated event; a person’s slow breathing coming to an end, the realisation that this is it, finally followed by that same blank stare.

No, this wasn’t the first time he was witnessing any of this, but it was the first time he felt something other than apathy. What was it?

It was nothing at first. Nothing until the shock kicked in, until the fear sent his feet stumbling slowly forward until exactly what he had hoped not to see was there at his feet, and yet he still denied it.

“It’s a hallucination,” he whispered to himself quietly, dropping onto his knees and slowly reaching to touch the slowly reddening shirt, the crimson color heavily contrasting against the white. “You’re not here, you can’t be here.” But you couldn’t feel an illusion or a hallucination, and he could very well feel the dampened fabric of the shirt as his hand bundled into a fist, his eyes slowly trailing up to meet dimly lit violet ones. “You cant be here.”

But he was, he was very much there. The slow reality hit him and as did the unfamiliar feeling of regret, of remorse and grief and terror.

“You cant, you can’t, you can’t.”* the words grew louder with each repetition until the last one finally came out as a scream, tears blurring his vision until he could barely see, but not enough to blind him from the fact that the man’s lips still moved, still spoke.

“I’m sorry,” the boy would whisper, hearing the other’s voice clearly yet unable to comprehend a single word, his head in more chaos than it had ever been.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper, losing the last bit of control he had, crumbling into a fit of sobs. Watching as death would take the other no differently than it had with all the rest. Watching and pleading that that wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry.”