so, like, this is specifically arthur's kinepage. if it's not just a weird copy via Void Shenanigans, we really just waltzed in and stole this man's pager with help from kalymos.
bro is gonna go nuts looking for that thing only for drifter to turn up and go "yeah hey sorry i kinda borrowed this without permission by projecting myself back in time and following the doctor's giant cat. you can have it back now."
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you're in a car with a beautiful (not-) boy
and you don't know how you've managed to stay intact this long, how you haven't fractured at the edges yet, lit up from the inside with all that aching, cataclysmic want you've fought so hard to keep quiet—to keep from thrashing in your chest like a sparrow against glass.
you're in a car with a beautiful not-boy, and you're not human but if you were, you're certain this longing would have killed you by now, would have left you in the cool green earth—rotted you down to the quick—a thousand times over (and if that didn't kill you, then the look in his eyes now certainly would). and you don't, can't, won't believe in god because how could She create such a being and then not let you press your palms to the side of his face, not let you hold him, not let you open your mouth like a confession box and tell him, there is a bird inside my chest and you are the center of every solar system and i'm willing to play the part of icarus if only you'd let me. and you don't/can't/won't believe in god, but his eyes open and its like the sun in a three-piece beige suit and you're pretty sure you stopped breathing the moment he got in the car (hell, you haven't tasted oxygen since the moment he stood on the cliffside, hands all empty of swords and fire).
you're in a car with a beautiful not-boy, and you're all spitfire and grief and six thousand years of whispered half-syllables into the dark of a lonely night, of savouring the way his name burns your tongue like sacrament (holy, holy, holy).
and he's handing you a thermos now, and his hand brushes yours and it's been nearly thirty years, and still you'd let him turn you to salt if it meant he might touch you again.
...
but you go too fast for him.
you always go too fast, with all your ugly, hollow-boned want and your burning yellow eyes and your hands, sullied with the weight of sin; fingertips that look more like claws than anything you'd ever want to touch with any scrap of volition.
and you're in your car with this beautiful boy who is not a boy and you're burning up, plummeting like a waxen-winged thing. and he's looking at you and you're falling, and the world is twisting around the edges, and he's stepping out of the car and your ribcage is becoming a slaughterhouse—an abattoir with all its knives turned up towards the sky.
and then you're in a car, and you’re alone. and that is all.
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I just want to say for anyone unaware- 1897 is in the middle of the Great Hiatus, so Jonathan and Mina have to deal with Dracula all while living in a world without new Sherlock Holmes stories.
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coming out as a get him back! disliker. I just don't like it lyrically and controversial but I like imgonnagetyouback more in all possible ways. I think the comparisons were inevitable because, I mean they have the same basic premise, but taylor is once again proving to me that no one will ever do it like her
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The writing challenge for me with Melkior is he's extremely perceptive and insightful (monk stats baby) and also dumb as rocks. He sees EVERYTHING and manages to interpret so little of it correctly. I reconcile this by basically making him act like the conversational equivalent of a kid hiding behind a lightpost: he can't quite work out that other people can see him too and calculate their reactions based on that. Something that makes him extremely fun to balance against Enver (extremely good at putting pieces together but can breeze right past salient details when he's got a desired outcome he's chasing) in conversation.
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I get like, so frustrated when people say that learning other languages is not fundamental or mandatory to being a linguistic exactly because of this
If you knew all the complete havoc and disaster previous linguistics (or those that predated them) have made because they thought they could draw conclusions about the human capacity of language from being in contact to one (1) or two languages, you wouldn't be so sure to affirm such a thing
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this one is not as bad as worm george russell but i am in the final hours of cramming for an exam and i am memorizing facts about a liver disease (primary biliary cirrhosis) by remembering that middle aged women love daniel ricciardo (PBC most commonly presents in middle age, with a ~90% female predominance, often expressing HLA-DR3)
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So... this is an idea that I don't know if many will agree with, but I'm putting it out there, anyway.
I feel like, for obvious reasons, Buffy and Angel would always have trauma with the idea of him calling her "Buff."
(Unless, in the future, they managed to talk it out and eventually managed to heal from that, so that eventually he could. That's a great option, too.)
But nicknames are adorable. And while usually I'm opposed to someone in fanon calling a character something they didn't in canon (except in the Kingdom Heart fandom, Sora calling Kairi "Kai," but there's a tiny bit of precedent for that), what if way in the future (after a lot of character development and them having a life together, of course, and them being super comfortable with each other) he called her "Fy" for short some times? (Pronounced like the last part of Buffy's name is pronounced, of course. Or how people sometimes might call a "Fiona" "Fi" for short, for example.)
It might be cute. Especially if it's a special nickname that only he calls her, since if anyone else wants to shorten her name, they just use "Buff". I don't know.
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