me trying to act normal when someone mentions one of my special interests (it's not working):
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i realized i’d never posted a young Theo design despite drawing him a lot so take this + some kind of a thing
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Washington state borbs golfinches are done painted! Next is to bisque fire them 🐤💛
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Young Donna Tartt. You’re welcome.
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casting director: okay we need someone to play a male queer character with daddy issues and in love with his best friend
finn wolfhard on the other side of the world: something just happened
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"I froze, as I heard him shout it again. Then, in disbelief, I turned. And while I still stood unable to believe it, people streaming round us on either side, he laughed and barged forward to throw his arms around me."
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donna tartt is really good at writing books that make you think “oh, these characters GOTTA have gay sex” only for you to find out that they’ve been having gay sex the WHOLE TIME and it certainly hasn’t helped
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TSH spoilers:
I feel like we as a fandom do not talk about Henry’s symbolism in TSH enough. Like, that dude is the literal embodiment of death, and I just think it’s so damn cool. I mean, his whole obsession with language and literature stemmed from the fact that he almost died in a car accident. And then every death we see in the book (the farmer’s, Bunny’s, and his very own) is directly at his hands. The others were accomplices, sure, but Henry’s the one who takes action every time. And in Francis’s failed suicide and Richard’s near death in the epilogue, they both see Henry, not Bunny or Charles or what have you.
Henry is not only obsessed with death, he IS death. He’s the reaper who’s friends toy with their mortality all the time through drugs and booze. The reason they all admire him is not only because of his size and stature and brilliance; it’s because he’s dangerous. If beauty is indeed terror, than he’s the most beautiful of them all. They all have the life preservation skills of a fly, so of course they love Henry. And of course his actions constantly bring them closer to danger and death.
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But sometimes, unexpectedly, grief pounded over me in waves that left me gasping; and when the waves washed back, I found myself looking out over a brackish wreck which was illumined in a light so lucid, so heartsick and empty, that I could hardly remember that the world had ever been anything but dead.
Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch
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