[ frailty, in hell or otherwise, tastes like copper; the way his bones feel barely covered by translucent, paper-thin skin; his mouth a thin razor wire pulled taunt to bury the acknowledgement of such an obvious weakness. (and yet, nikolai had gone to such lengths to both kill him and not be directly responsible in its entirety. a cowardly gamble in dostoevsky's eyes but one which provided a certain level of silken trust). ]
Fyedka? Not Fedya? Or Fedyaushka? [ the words sweetly offered in response to that jovial, warm tone that dresses anger to make it palatable for others. fyodor feels it, ignores that. ultimately anger will only corrode gogol's judgement, not his own.
now that his elbow has been released, and fyodor feels the sting of five fingers prints that will inevitably bruise, he has the audacity to openly smile. his hand falls by his side, limp as he holds gogol's gaze. ] How about Fedushka?
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Fyedka? Not Fedya? Or Fedyaushka? [ the words sweetly offered in response to that jovial, warm tone that dresses anger to make it palatable for others. fyodor feels it, ignores that. ultimately anger will only corrode gogol's judgement, not his own.
now that his elbow has been released, and fyodor feels the sting of five fingers prints that will inevitably bruise, he has the audacity to openly smile. his hand falls by his side, limp as he holds gogol's gaze. ] How about Fedushka?