[ palm up, skin to skin— fyodor had said do not touch me and meant it, like a mandate of heaven, a requirement for sharing the same breathing space, like a child who is allowed in the kitchen: do not play with fire, do not play with the stove, do not touch the knives. but gojo satoru is not a child, and fyodor dostoevsky is not a motherly being.
the waves knock, stumble: the smallest of flinches, more out of surprise than fear for crime and punishment coming out. after all, he's had years and years to come to terms with that, to learn to remain still while his ability takes and consumes and destroys. he recovers, shifting in the water so he can catch up.
he hates wet and cold situations; the snowy landscapes of russia.
not so bad, this place is not so bad--fyodor shoots gojo a look and still dips his head because he is polite,] Thank you. [ for the hand.
the glow of that blue gives fyodor pause to consider the request, or rather brazen demand. god, he already feels the headache building at the back of his eyes. whatever creature this is, he is as irritating as dazai and gogol combined, and yet with the weight of confidence of someone who wields immense power like chuuya. how interesting.
how...useful.
yes, fyodor doestoevsky can work with this.
gojo had decidedly ignored an entire group of people in favor of whatever charade he's playing with fyodor. a game? fyodor always plays to win. ] I can show you around, [ the hand in gojo's is withdrawn, delicate movements as if fyodor is a thing of not-this-world-nor-another--do not touch telegraphed.
the smile is a wispy thing that has nothing but malice behind. ]
SIR THIS IS A WENDYS
the waves knock, stumble: the smallest of flinches, more out of surprise than fear for crime and punishment coming out. after all, he's had years and years to come to terms with that, to learn to remain still while his ability takes and consumes and destroys. he recovers, shifting in the water so he can catch up.
he hates wet and cold situations; the snowy landscapes of russia.
not so bad, this place is not so bad--fyodor shoots gojo a look and still dips his head because he is polite,] Thank you. [ for the hand.
the glow of that blue gives fyodor pause to consider the request, or rather brazen demand. god, he already feels the headache building at the back of his eyes. whatever creature this is, he is as irritating as dazai and gogol combined, and yet with the weight of confidence of someone who wields immense power like chuuya. how interesting.
how...useful.
yes, fyodor doestoevsky can work with this.
gojo had decidedly ignored an entire group of people in favor of whatever charade he's playing with fyodor. a game? fyodor always plays to win. ] I can show you around, [ the hand in gojo's is withdrawn, delicate movements as if fyodor is a thing of not-this-world-nor-another--do not touch telegraphed.
the smile is a wispy thing that has nothing but malice behind. ]
Satoru-san.