dollsome

*flails*

This is perfection. FUCK. I love it. It's a perfect fic: to explore how Russell keeps Talbot with him, just as Eric keeps Godric, only it's so much more intimate and human in all its inhumanity.

This is Russell and Talbot. Their love is FOREVER. And I don't care that I'm about to quote a shitload here:

Meanwhile. Language has not done much to pull missing out of mortal terms. A shame, but what can you do? The consequences of a history of great poets who are either human or masquerading as. And so perhaps it can be best transcribed thus: Talbot was his heartbeat. (Speaking, of course, figuratively.) His heartbeat, his bones, his lungs, his brains, the flick of a hand and the curve of a smile. He was as unacknowledged and as necessary as a limb or a blink or a breath. To be without him is to be chopped in half by a shaky-handed dilettante, the best laid plans of King Solomon, it is lobotomy and castration, for here is something that the poets never could find out—if bodies join for long enough, then so do minds and souls. Not in the maudlin mortal sense, transient and darling as a Hallmark card. Simply and cleanly and truly, inextricably. He is half alive, and fuck the centuries of fools who have wielded that sentiment without even beginning to imagine its meaning, who have cheapened it in sonnets and song lyrics and poorly punctuated text messages. It is not romantic. It is not poignant. It is one endless guttural scream, it is the twist of guts, it is the watery overwhelming weakness that eats you up before you vomit. It is, quite frankly: I am forever and you are gone.

Now, think about that.

It doesn't get better than this unless it's this:

“I hope you used the 1860 Baccarat crystal.”

“Talbot, my darling. Of course I did.”

I love it. This is my new canon.

*uses wrong vampire show icon*