half dust, half deity

it’s about a girl who’s destined to kill her true love with a kiss, a boy with a life-and-death obsession with hunting a dead welsh king, a boy who thinks he is not enough, who is the eyes and ears to a magical forest, a wounded boy who can dream things to life, a smudgy boy, a toga party. it is about three brothers and deadbeat parents and teachers who want to kill you, it is about how far they’ll go to get their answers, it is about sleeping trees and a house full of psychics, it’s about loving people so deeply you’ll never get the chance to even think about life without them. it’s about trust and bees and being gone and being remembered and phone calls late into the night and kissing ghosts for practice. it is about orange lipstick, ravens, clawing someone’s eye out, it is about orange camaros and mint leaves and cereal boxes where floor should be. it is manic, it is all-consuming, it is gut wrenching in the best way and lovely and it is being murdered outside your house on a hot afternoon (your favorite son finds you).

popping back in for a minute to say, yes, i have a new account @becomingicarus​ (i post more trc!) and yes, i have an ao3 (where i post polygangsey fics, ronsey fics, and roahsey fics :) as well as some other fandoms!)

hey yall, i’m switching gears. so i’ll no longer be posting about hp or be part of the fandom. i’m gonna finish up my fics. ill keep this blog up as i have tons of posts i love on here, but i’m restarting and made a new account. you can follow me there if you like, it’s @becomingicarus . it’ll be a more personal account, with my friends and mutuals, so. yeah

there’s something abt childhood innocent intimacy that just. burns. its like. you take with you all those little moments that are so so innocent and then years later you’re in a similar situation and it feels so charged. only that when you were kids you realized you were charged in a similar way, but you viewed it as friendship, as giddiness, as fresh excitement; it was. and there is such a longing to go back to that childlike innocence, words left unsaid, things left undone, back to when a stray glance or laugh isn’t misplaced as something else, something more. idk just. wanting to go back to innocence once you’ve already escaped it

how fucking dare anyone see that the person who made the orange and pink lesbian flag is struggling to literally just SURVIVE and be like “ummm actually she doesn’t think ace people are queer so, don’t give her money :(“ like i hope somebody literally smashes your fingers with a hammer

People say “phase” like impermanence means insignificance. Show me a permanent state of the self.

teenage girl sighing dreamily as she lays in her bed and writes in her diary with a pink glitter pen and when you look at the notebook shes just writing “killing and violence and killing and violence” with little hearts above the i’s over and over and over 

The idea of english as a mother tongue is so strange to me, in my head english is how ppl communicate when there's no way in common to communicate, so english as a mother tongue sounds a bit like idk email as a mother tongue ykwim? Like english to me feels like the stuff that's used to fill the empty spaces between languages

one of my favorite things to do is try to get goyim to pronounce obscure yiddish words correctly or lecture them on the crucial textual and personal differences between oy! and ay!