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incorrectsprolden · 1 year

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your heartstopper faves if we could see more of their social media accounts lol: 1/? — CHARLIE SPRING

liked by nicholaszzzzz, tara.jones.xo, saharsguitar and 15 others

cfspring: 10 likes and i’ll actually get this tattooed

the.xu.tao: you cant be serious rn

cfspring: like a heart attack🤭

nottorispring: mum would actually kill you

cfspring: whoops lol

nicholaszzzzz: i like it

the.xu.tao: ofc you do 🙄

cfspring: ily❤️❤️❤️

liked by nottorispring, darcytheegg, michaelholden123 and 10 others

cfspring: and if i quit school do be a super hot drummer… then what?

nicholaszzzzz: then i’ll be the rockstar’s bf who stands to the side and watches while everyone gets jealous and posts about me on tiktok lol

darcytheegg: this is so oddly specific but i like it #gogays

cfspring: solidarity sister!🫶🏼

saharsguitar: can i be the guitarist?

cfspring: oh of course!!

saharsguitar: period thanks

imogen.heaney: if i’m not your personal stylist charles i will take it so personally (real)

liked by imogen.heaney, reading_with_isaac, the.xu.tao and 30 others

cfspring: tori is a taurus sun, cancer moon and scorpio rising everyone say happy birthday rn 🫵🏼

[tagged nottorispring in a photo]

michaelholden123: i am once again asking for you to send me this picture 🤲🏼

nottorispring: charlie don’t you dare send it

michaelholden123: but ur so cute let me crop it

tara.jones.xo: i am mildly concerned about tori’s chart lol

cfspring: we all are tbh

itsellesuniverse: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELDER SPRING!

nottorispring: you’re my fave friend of charlie’s

nicholaszzzzz: happy bday to my fave sibling-in-law

nottorispring: you have a brother nick

nicholaszzzzz: yeah but he’s awful lol

nottorispring: this is true

liked by itsellesuniverse, tara.jones.xo, nicholaszzzzz and 40 others

cfspring: just a couple of boys at the beach <33

[tagged nicholaszzzzz in a photo]

reading_with_isaac: this is so sweet delete it

the.xu.tao: photo credits me

cfspring: photo credit goes to tao besties

darcytheegg: don’t do crime, be gay instead 🏳️‍🌈

cfspring: pinning this immediately‼️

nicholaszzzzz: my darling, my sun, my moon, my love, my favourite person, my best boy!!!!! 💙💙💙

liked by nottorispring, michaelholden123, darcytheegg and 20 others

cfspring: the boys go out (aka buying more books to add to my collection that’ll sit there for like a year) lol

[tagged reading_with_isaac in a photo]

reading_with_isaac: we 8

cfspring: LMAO I JUST GOT THIS😭😭

itsellesuniverse: we want a book haul rn 🔫

cfspring: when i get home i promise ;)

the.xu.tao: how long were you guys in there?

reading_with_isaac: not long enough

imogen.heaney: the friend group has two brain cells and charlie and isaac have them, respectfully

liked by imogen.heaney, reading_with_isaac, itsellesuniverse and 50 others

cfspring: streaming lover by taylor swift 💌🏹🧸❤️

imogen.heaney: YOU LOOK SO GOOD CHARLIE!!!

cfspring: OMG!!! TY GIRL ILY <3

the.xu.tao: why does nick look so lost….

cfspring: he was lost in my adorable smile

nicholaszzzzz: no no, he’s got a point there

saharsguitar: taylor swift okay TASTE

liked by the.xu.tao, itsellesuniverse, darcytheegg and 18 others

cfspring: the paris squad does movie night aka tao picks the movie and we all agree without a choice

the.xu.tao: um rude

cfspring: i only speak the truth bestie🫣

michaelholden123: can i be invited next time?

nicholaszzzzz: sure!!! :))

cfspring: please you’re just using this as an excuse to see victoria😭💀

nottorispring: what did you watch this time?

cfspring: tbh don’t remember something tao probably reviewed on letterbox

liked by darcytheegg, nicholaszzzzz, saharsguitar and 35 othere

cfspring: HELLO I HAVE NEVER BEEN HAPPIER!!!

nicholaszzzzz: you’re so adorable ily 💙💙💙

itsellesuniverse: charlie projecting his crush on henry madox for the 2829292929th time

cfspring: they don’t know about my celebrity crush…..

nottorispring: yes we do

tara.jones.xo: everyone knows

darcytheegg: it was kinda obvious charlie boy

the.xu.tao: how you doing @/nicholaszzzzz

nicholaszzzzz: i want to clarify that i was NEVER jealous of henry maddox and he is very attractive and intelligent

liked by nicholaszzzzz, nottorispring, michaelholden123 and 55 othere

cfspring: ready for london pride!!! 💙💚🤍💙

“we have to do it because we can no longer be invisible. we have to be visible. we should not be ashamed of who we are” – sylvia rivera

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michaelnotholden · 6 months

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favourite heartstopper character and why?

tw: mention of ed

Basic answer but Charlie.

Hes literally amazing, he’s super nice and understanding of others and he’s like, rlly fucking smart… Although his struggles with himself and the outside world we are recently seeing this new found confidence in him and I think that’s very special to see. Especially bc he’s a gay man I feel like a lot of other queer stories usually stay sad and don’t ever have a happy ending.

He has brought much representation for ppl who have eating disorders and ocd and he’s just a great character to look up to if ur feeling down urself. And that’s why Charlie is my favourite. He’s shown me that we can get better and we will. It might not be a smooth path and it might never completely leave but it is possible.

Thank you Alice for creating Charlie and exploring such an amazing and meaningful story💕

#i dont talk abt how much I love heartstopper #heartstopper is my baby #I CSNT WAIT TO GET VOL. 5 #Charlie spring #charles Francis spring #heartstopper #heartstopper comics #heartstopper alice oseman #Alice oseman #osemanverse

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sammythetranny · 6 months

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More heartstopper in roblox 🙂

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my-heart-has-stopped · 2 years

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#heartstopper comic #heartstopper netflix #heartstopper show #charlie spring #charles francis spring #heartstopper

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just--the--two--of--us · 7 months

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I don’t want you to think I’m some fragile, broken mess. - CHARLES “CHARLIE” SPRING

Heartstopper appreciation week - [Day 1 -> Favorite character]

@heartstoppercentral

#you’re the strongest person I know #heartstopper #heartstoppercentral #heartstopper comic #heartstopper 2 #netflix heartstopper #heartstopper netflix #heartstopperedit #heartstopper appreciation week #heartstopper show #charlie spring #charlie francis spring #charles spring #nick and charlie #charlie x nick

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juicylipsperson · 3 days

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Happy birthday Charles Francis Spring!!!!! ❤️ 👁️ 👄 👁️ 🍂 🍂 🍂

#alice oseman #heartstopper #books #heartstopper fandom #i love heartstopper #kit connor #narlie #charlie and nick #charlie spring #joe locke #nick x charlie #nick and charlie #nick nelson #gay #lgbtq community #lgbt pride #lgbtq #lgbtqia

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heartstopper-tword · 6 months

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Prompt #33 for N & C ler/lee please

A/N: hi anon! ty for the prompt :) hope you enjoy!

if you want to send me prompts to my inbox you can find the list here!

Prompt #33: "Oh? You want me to tickle you that badly?"

Missing You Making Me Laugh

Two weeks away from each other was enough.

Charlie had known Nick was going on holiday with his family well in advance. Nick had told him about his family's tradition of traveling to Menorca every year to get together with the rest of his extended family, and how one day he wanted to take Charlie with him. Even a few hours apart from one another at school was agonizing for the both of them in general, so two weeks in different countries was absolute hell.

Luckily, Nick had kept his promise of calling Charlie every night to talk to him, checking in on his mental health back home and updating him about his cousins' antics around the vacation house. He'd send him pictures of the dogs together, him and other relatives, and so on, but Charlie still felt lonely without the older boy next to him.

He wasn't afraid to let his boyfriend know how he felt when he'd call, and every time Nick would answer with, "I know, I miss you too. It's only a few more days and I'll be back." Then he'd give him that classic, charming Nick Nelson smile that always stole Charlie's heart.

It wasn't just Nick's company Charlie was missing. It was something else. Something that made Charlie blush whenever he thought about it, giddiness and nerves overtaking him on the inside.

Charlie was known by his friends to be extremely ticklish. He, Tao, Elle, and Isaac had had their fair share of tickle fights and ambushes, and for as long as he could remember, Charlie very nearly was always being ganged up on. He couldn't help it, of course. He'd always been a walking tickle spot since he was little, Tori taking advantage of it as her duty of being the older sibling. It was something he'd tried and obviously had failed at hiding from Nick once they began dating, more out of embarrassment than anything.

When Nick had figured out Charlie's ticklishness, he'd gushed about how adorable he found it and that it just added to one of the things he loved best about him.

Charlie had been extremely embarrassed at first, but slowly became comfortable with the fact that Nick wasn't weirded out by him. In fact, Nick tickled him at almost every chance he got, almost anywhere they were. It made Charlie feel overjoyed by the fact that someone wasn't afraid to be physically affectionate with him, even if it meant being at the receiving end of it all.

But now, Charlie almost felt starved by this absence. He didn't have Nick whispering teases into his ear as he held him close against his chest. He didn't have him chasing him around his house and cornering him before tickling him into hysterics. He missed Nick's goofy self whenever he got into his moods, and he wanted it more than anything. And he needed that now.

He was currently sitting at his desk in his bedroom, on one of his daily calls with his boyfriend. The sun was setting through the window, and Charlie knew he didn't have much time until he needed to get ready to head off to bed. He could hear Nick talking about his afternoon, helping to babysit the younger of his cousins, but he wasn't truly listening. His thoughts kept going to that one specific thing he had on his mind all day.

"Charlie?" On the screen, Nick's face was filled with concern, his head tilted slightly. "What's wrong? You look all flushed."

Charlie cleared his throat, "I-I'm fine." Then as an afterthought, "Sorry."

"No," Nick shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "No S-words from you, sir. I thought we banned that word for good."

Charlie bit his lip, his heart racing in his chest. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Sorry."

Nick wasn't oblivious. He could see the beginning of that cheeky smirk even through the screen of his phone.

"Charles Francis Spring," He said slowly, causing Charlie to shiver in his chair, "Are you purposely trying to rile me up right now?"

Charlie felt like his whole being was on fire from how hard he was blushing. Even through the phone screen he couldn't look Nick in the eye.

"Talk to me. What are you thinking in that pretty little head of yours?"

"I-I-" the younger swallowed, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He knew Nick had caught on to what he wanted. Of course he had. Nick could read Charlie like an open book. It felt like he was right there in his bedroom with him.

"Is there something you want from me?" Nick couldn't help his own smirk from appearing on his face, raising an eyebrow at his boyfriend teasingly.

"Stooop," Charlie whined, covering his face with his hands, a nervous giggle escaping his lips.

"I'm just asking a question!" Nick laughed, and Charlie shook his head, still hiding his face. After a moment of silence, Nick leaned in a little. "Charlieee..."

"Do I have to say it?" Charlie asked, finally peaking through his fingers at his boyfriend and trying not to combust.

"I'd love to hear it."

They kept their eyes locked with one another, both of them grinning like idiots. Finally, Charlie let out a long sigh, looking down at his hands.

"I- I want you to..." His voice was barely audible, and Nick chuckled as he trailed off. "What? I'm sorry, you want me to...?"

"You know what." Charlie said playfully exasperated, and Nick crossed his arms over his chest, remaining silent.

Charlie's leg was bouncing under his desk, and he let out another sigh, squirming in his seat. "Iwantyoutotickleme."

"Again?"

He rolled his eyes. "I want you to... tickle me."

"And it finally comes out." Nick leaned back again in his chair, looking at his boyfriend smugly.

"Shut up."

"Oh? You want me to tickle you that badly? You miss me teasing you and playing with you? You miss me making you laugh so hard you can barely breathe? You miss me making you all flustered to the point you can't speak in complete sentences?"

"Shut up!" Charlie squealed, closing his eyes as nervous giggles began pouring out of his mouth. He could almost feel the sensation of Nick poking at him playfully, and it was driving him nuts.

"Oh Char, just you wait until I get back. Because I miss it too. I've nearly gone insane without hearing your adorable laughter. I miss seeing you squirm underneath me. So as soon as I get home, you better be ready. We'll have to make sure my mum isn't home. She'll think I'm murdering you."

"Nicholas, I will hang up on you." Charlie threatened, though by the tone of his voice, Nick knew he wasn't serious. However, he decided to egg him on once more. "Go ahead. That'll just seal your fate even more."

"Ugh, stop!" Charlie grabbed his phone, both boys laughing at this point. "You're impossible!"

"Okay, okay." Nick raised his hands, finally relenting. "You're just too cute to not tease you."

Charlie scoffed, moving to his bed and falling onto his back, his phone raised above him. "You're a menace, you know that?"

"Oh, I know." Nick winked, and Charlie felt his heart flutter in his chest. "Anyways, I have to get going. My family's going to be eating dinner soon. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay." Charlie felt slightly disappointed. He always hated hanging up with Nick at the end of a call.

Nick must've sensed his change of moods, and his expression softened. "Only a few more days, mon amour." He whispered, and Charlie nodded.

"Only a few more days."

#heartstopper #heartstopper tickle #heartstopper tickle fic #netflix #lgbtq #charlie spring #nick nelson #ler!nick #lee!charlie #teasing #gay #bisexual

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adheire · 2 years

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Charles (Charlie) Francis Spring 💕💕💕

#heartstopper #charlie #alice oseman #charlie spring #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #gay

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jupiterslifelessmoons · 9 months

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Loving how Charlie always either dresses like:

A lesbian or a grandpa

#I dress almost the same tho #oops #heartstopper #heartstopper season 2 #Charlie spring #Netflix #netflix heartstopper #Joe Locke #Charles Francis Spring #text post #text posts #heartstopper shitpost #meme #grandpa #lesbian #queer #gay #lgbt #love how we see nick’s arm at charlie’s right in both pics

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fandoms-my-fandoms · 11 months

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So, yesterday we got an official look at Heartstopper season two, with a clip of the opening scene, and I am not doing well.

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embalmingparts · 28 days

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Funeral March

Hello The Secret History fanbase… I offer you my first TSH fanfiction. this is more an exercise in character than anything, I want to be able to write them all accurately before doing much else of substance — and I really just wanted to write the Greek class being the weirdos that they are. go easy on me but I hope this is at the very least enjoyable.

not canon compliant, Bunny is alive and they’re all friends.

Word Count: 3k

Read on AO3 or below the cut! ☕️ ☆ 🕯️

Early morning. Tall blades of unkempt grass glimmered with the shine of dew drops; wildflowers sprouted in lush patches; and damp stepping stones littered the yard. The tang of wet, damp earth lingered heavy and humid; the air thick but clean. The snow had melted in the past week, and the Greek class was enjoying early spring at Francis’ country home. The sun had barely risen above the horizon to fill the yard with light when the smell of something sickly, putrid like an overripe fruit, became abundant.

“Oh, no!” Francis cried, stopping in his tracks and glancing towards the ground. He was in shirtsleeves, and his pants were rolled up to his knees. His pale feet were bare and wet with dew, disrupting the grass where he stood, and drops of water were rolling off him and catching on the hair on his legs. Charles stood next to him, peering down to see what had gotten Francis so upset.

“Look at that, Charles,” he said, pointing to a small clump of feathers and red. “Poor thing.”

Along with rain showers, vibrant greenery, and blooms of flowers, Vermont spring brought songbirds back from a winter away. Francis’ countryside property had found itself full of small birds, singing and chirping away at all hours (starting early, a bit before sunrise, tending to wake Bunny, who decided to wake everyone else in his tired annoyance). Dashes of blue jays and sparrows and warblers in the trees, daring near the ground only in search of food.

“Oh, what a shame! What are we to do?”

“Leave it,” Charles said dismissively. “Why should we have to do anything at all?”

“Charles, look at it.”

The blond crouched down in the grass, blades thick and full, to examine the mass of feathers and, upon closer inspection, gore.

A round, cream-colored bird lay with its wings spread in its full span. Its torn open chest painted the feathers on its small body close to the shade of a cardinal — red; visceral and bloody, vermillion, wine, raw meat. Sternum to ribcage cracked open like a pomegranate, seeds torn out, thrown back on the ground to let it sink into the earth. Its neck, Charles noticed, was turned at an unnatural angle, a bite mark deep in the flesh of its throat. Viscous, sticky liquid surrounded the small corpse, still and fresh. The smell was something awful, sickening but sweet, iron. It made Charles’ stomach clench the closer he got.

Reaching for a stick, Charles ignored Francis’ wailing (‘Oh, no, Charles, don’t,’ ‘I can’t look,’ ‘Oh, forget about it,’ something in French) and poked at the bird from a distance, turning it over and around. Getting a better look at it, the bird was a dove. A white mourning dove, a dove whose coos had likely woken Bunny up in the morning.

Francis’ house had not only been a springtime retreat for birds, but also for small but vicious predators – cats, raccoons, things with claws – one of which had seemingly gotten its paws and teeth sunk into the little dove nestled in a cushion of wet grass and stirred up dirt. Despite the still warm blood on its feathers, the unnatural tilt of its neck, and its exposed and empty abdomen, it looked peaceful, as all doves should be.

Francis’ eyebrows were scrunched together in a worried, pained sort of expression. “It was probably one of those damned cats you’ve been feeding. Look at this mess,” he said. “How horrible. Little thing only wanted some seeds–” tapping his foot – “I should’ve refilled the feeder yesterday. It must’ve been hungry. Oh, we’ve got to get rid of it. It’s dreadful.”

He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket.

Unable to rip his eyes away from the mauled remains of the gentle creature, Charles stood in his grass-stained pants, propping himself up on one knee and pushing himself up. The stick, now bloody, was still clutched in his fist.

“The cat was hungry too.”

“What?” Francis asked, wiping his eye.

“The cat that got it,” Charles repeated. “It was hungry too.”

“Oh. Well, yes… but look at it. Brutalized. Careless. A horrible way to go.”

Charles paused, examining the bird again. The curve of its wings, body sprawled on the ground, looking as if it fell right from the sky and into the jowls of a predator with sharp, sharp teeth. Predestined. Inescapable. Fate.

In a way, it was beautiful. In its death, it had fallen into a patch of daisies, fresh and new, stained a color they would never naturally grow. Spring, the season of new life, of thriving, had brought death with it, too. For in the cycle of life and death, there is a profound sense of continuity, repeating and repeating and repeating. Die. Feed. Birth. And though brutal, ripped to shreds, the dove was peaceful – nothing could last forever; nothing that was mortal could ever escape the sharp teeth of death, be it a dove caught in the claws of a feral cat, or something more. In time, it would sink into earth, and feed the plants. Become a plant itself. Grow the seeds it was hungry for. Continuous. To live forever was to die, repeat the cycle. Become again.

However, as beautiful as it may have been, it was clearly distressing to Francis, who was now through with half a cigarette.

“It wasn’t malicious, Francis. Whatever it may have been,” Charles began, “it didn’t know any better. It was hungry. Everything needs to eat, that’s just how it goes. Besides –” he took Francis’ hand in his– “it’ll feed the flowers you like so much. Fertilizer?” He offered a smile.

“Right, sure, but… can we at least, God, I don’t know. Bury it? It’s horrible to look at, and it deserves a resting place, not so out in the open.” Francis said.

–

Across the yard, back at the house, Bunny sat in a porch chair, rosy-cheeked in the morning sun and coffee cup in hand, not paying the slightest attention to Francis and Charles in the grass. He had the radio set up on the table next to him, and he was listening to some awful war song (no one was quite sure if it was on a CD of his or if he had found a military radio station) that was far too loud for the hour. The large, French-style double doors were wide open, propped with books as door stops, and the sun sank into pools of light on the dark floorboards. In the house, Camilla and Henry walked back and forth across the foyer, visible every so often – carrying things, maybe books, Henry following Camilla’s lead.

Charles yelled something and waved his arms, trying to get anyone’s attention, unsuccessfully. He yelled again, this time Bunny’s name, holding up the bloodied stick and waving it around. The blood and the look on Francis’ face seemed to be alarming.

Bunny sprung up from his chair on the porch and ran through the yard — still in his robe and pajama bottoms — his mess of unruly blond hair not fully brushed and his not fully awake body tumbling over itself. He motioned for the others, and Camilla followed him, running towards the commotion with curlers in her hair; the gentle glow of the early morning sun made her face look soft but bare, and the gray of her eyes matched the sky so perfectly they nearly disappeared into the horizon. Shortly after, Richard appeared in shirtsleeves, struggling with pulling his shoes on, his eyes (and limbs) still heavy with sleep. And Henry followed behind them, fully dressed, like a disinterested father caring for his ill-behaved children, trying to control them before anyone had had any breakfast – they’re getting fussy, and he hadn’t had his coffee yet.

Bunny and Camilla came to a grinding halt, nearly crashing into each other upon Bunny’s sudden stop, Richard close behind them. Taking his time to reach the rest, Henry strolled through the grass, admiring the flowers. Charles and Francis pointed at the ground in unison.

They stood in a circle, heads together, mess of bird between their feet.

“Oh, that’s horrible.” Camilla was the first to speak. Her voice was layered with sleep, dark like tinted glass. “How on Earth could that have happened?”

It was, evidently, unnerving. Francis explained that he thought it was a cat, and Camilla cocked her head but was shushed by Charles before she could question him. Richard tried to hide his expression, one of disgust, but his nose scrunched and his eyebrows turned up. Bunny appeared similar, hiding it less; holding his nose closed with his fingers. Henry seemed indifferent, staring at the wounded bird with a lack of emotion.

“I want to bury it. I don’t like the way it looks,” Francis said.

“It’s just a bird,” Richard interjects. “What’s so wrong about it?”

“It’s eyes are open. It’s looking at me.”

“Sure is.” Bunny agreed. His voice was nasally, more than normal, nose plugged by pointer and middle. “Nasty sight. Damn awful smell, too. We should bury it, yes, yes. Hold it a proper funeral.”

“A funeral?” Camilla asked.

“Well, sure. Can’t just bury it all unceremoniously, can we? If we’re burying it, we might as well make a show of it. None of that Catholic bullshit. A real funeral! Like the Greeks! We’ll mourn, wear all black, pray to the gods. And Henry can dig the hole.”

–

Before Henry had much of a say about digging the grave, he stood in the garden, shovel in hand – expressionless, digging a dove-sized hole under a large willow tree next to the lake. He was wearing a black pin-stripe English suit, per Bunny’s request, and was narrowly avoiding getting dirt on his freshly polished Oxfords.

Bunny, Francis, Charles, and Richard had also found themselves in black suits – pieces of Charles’ suit oversized and borrowed from Bunny, as he doesn’t wear much black, nor did he plan on attending a funeral over the weekend. Francis wore his suit over a thin, starchy white shirt with turnback cuffs, his flame-colored hair slicked back and pince-nez glimmering in the (now afternoon) sun. Richard’s was ill-fitting, tight on the elbows, and had quite a few loose threads, adorned with a little golden lapel pin, shaped like the top of an Ionic-style column. They each held flowers in their hands, taken from the garden, that Camilla and Francis had tied together with strands of twine and ribbon. Charles still held the red-stained stick.

To Henry’s left stood Bunny, ordering him to dig the hole deeper and refusing to help. He had a black sheet thrown over his shoulder, a mockery of some sort of toga. Camilla stood to Henry’s right in a knee-length black dress with sheer black stockings underneath. She held the bird in her arms, wrapped in an old curtain Francis had found in the attic, laid in a small brown box, a makeshift coffin. Flowers lay around its body, and the smell of rot had been overtaken with the smell of a strong, floral perfume — stinging cherry blossom and bitter notes of bergamot. Bunny used his pocket square to wipe the sweat off of his, and then Henry’s, brow.

The smell of freshly turned dirt, woody and sweet. The air had warmed and cleared as the early morning turned to afternoon, the dew on the grass had evaporated, and the sun reflected off the lake in a blinding, star-like way. A dense, large willow shaded the funeral part; lush curtains of green cascading off of thin branches surrounded them and swayed with the breeze. The hushing sound of wind ruffling leaves was cut through by a funeral march – Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2, playing on the radio sitting on the tree roots. The glow of the sun hit the backs of Bunny, Henry, and Camilla, encasing the three of them in shadow haloed in gold, like a group of God’s finest angels, harbingers of death, or vengeful creatures sent by Hades up from the underworld. Henry mumbled something unintelligible to Camilla and held the shovel to his side. With that, Bunny began:

“Lady and gentlemen, we’re gathered here today in honor of this here dove. Tragically, our little friend was taken from us much too soon. Even though it woke me up this morning, no bird deserves a fate this bad, no, no. I’m sure it had a family, a bird-wife and chicks, you know, it’s spring and all. Real sad it ended up like this, all torn apart… Anyway, enough lamenting, right? This isn’t some pious, uptight mass, no, no Hail Mary’s. This is a celebration of this bird’s life! Sending it off.

“O Hermes, messenger of the gods, we ask you to guide the soul of our dearly departed dove safely across the river of Styx. Grant passage to the underworld of Hades, and let it find peace in the Elysian Fields, or wherever doves go,” Bunny said, talking with his hands and looking to the sky, like a preacher.

He rambled on, choosing his words carefully, about the underworld and the afterlife and how even sweet little birds had to meet their makers. When he finished, he wiped away a pretend tear, and Francis clapped, everyone else following his lead. Henry stifled a smile, covering his hand with his sleeve.

Thank yous were said to Bunny, and he bowed like he was a talk show host walking off stage – see you next time, folks! – and Camilla stepped forward in his place, box in hand, standing at the head of the grave plot and glancing down into the earth.

“Put him in, little lady.” Bunny motioned with his head towards her and put a hand on the small of her back.

She nodded, crouched, and lowered the box into the hole. The dove’s feathers ruffled in the breeze, its eyes still open and glossy as it and its box-casket were placed into the earth. Camilla placed it down gently, careful not to disturb it, as if she might’ve woken it up if she jostled it around. Henry offered his hand, and she took it in hers. He pulled her up, looking like he could’ve swept her up into a press lift as if they were dancing pas de deux. When she stood, her stockings and shoes were caked with damp dirt.

“Say goodbye, gentlemen. François, any final words?” Bunny asked.

Francis stepped to the head of the plot and threw his bouquet on top of the bird. “Au revoir, mon petit amie. Live forever, and let the flowers grow on top of this awful mess of dirt.”

Following his lead, Richard threw in his bundle of wildflowers, followed by Charles’, as well as the stick that had been stained with blood. Camilla unclasped her necklace – small, gold – and threw it in unceremoniously.

Henry, who had disappeared through the flower-tossing service, had returned, a bottle of wine in hand. He stood next to Camilla, his jaw clenched and his eyes glossy behind his glasses. With a pop, the cork, too, found itself in the shallow grave. The scent of grape, aged and spiced, poured into the earth, on top of the dove, and in the box. When the bottle neared being half empty, Francis ushered him to stop, and he did – taking quite a large swig of it himself – and handed it over.

The bottle was passed around between them as Henry shoveled the dirt back onto the grave. Bunny made reception small talk about “fond memories” of the dove while Camilla sat in the grass, tying pieces of twine around a bundle of sticks and flowers.

“Did we offer enough, do you think?” Charles asked, wrapping his arm around Francis’ shoulder.

“Sure,” said Francis, the bottle clenched in hand. “I’m just glad I can’t see it anymore.” He tilted the bottle up and finished it off.

“I’m sure Bunny’s speech was more than enough,” said Henry, calm and unbothered. “We gave it a thorough send-off. Returned it to the earth. The first dove to have a real funeral like this, I’d say. If the gods choose to care about a dove, this will be the one. Besides, I’m sure your flowers will look wonderful, Francis.” He threw another large pile of dirt into the grave, twirled the shovel in his fingers, and patted the earth down. “Factum est. Camilla, would you hand me that?”

He towered over her, encasing her in his shadow, and she handed over her stick-and-twine gravemarker. It was delicately made, but the details were clumsy: knots too big and in the wrong places, flowers lacking petals, an uneven bow in the front. Henry told her it was beautiful and stuck it into packed-down earth at the head of the burial site.

The six of them stood around the grave, now marked and permanent in Francis’ yard. The dirt was the color of freshly brewed tea, ornate and flowery, shaded by the dense overhang of weeping leaves and branches. In true fashion of spring, the sun had found itself behind a blanket of gray, surrounded by curls of hazy, dark shades, accompanied by the air marginally warming.

“You know,” Bunny began, slapping Francis on the back (startling him to a jump). “Every funeral I’ve ever been to, there’s been food after. A luncheon. And –” checking his watch – “It’s almost noon; that’s lunchtime. I’m starving, gentlemen.” Before any of them could answer, Bunny was already strolling towards the house – no, the driveway.

“I think it’s going to rain,” Richard cautioned, looking at the overcast gray of the clouds narrowly closing in.

“We better hurry up, then!” Bunny yelled as he took off towards the cars – Francis’, Henry’s. “Got to beat the weather, yes, yes!”

Glances were exchanged; the twins shrugged in unison, and took off after him. Gracefully, they moved their legs identically, and their feet kicked up dirt in unison. Charles yelled for Bunny to wait, and Camilla ran beside him, giggling. Francis took Richard by the hand, running along with him, and Henry followed behind the lot of them, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet.

#the secret history #tsh #francis abernathy #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #bunny corcoran #edmund corcoran #richard papen #henry winter #donna tartt #they’re all friends!!!!#mine #please enjoy. i hope this does them some justice

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sammythetrxnny · 3 months

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I am going to write a whole thing about the Osemanverse. Read if you dare.

I was born for this is perfect because it shows how much shipping celebrities is NOT OK. the jowan fanfics are showing how terrible this is. Celebrities are people too. Human beings. They have emotions, they have needs, they have their own thoughts. They know what we talk about in the fandoms.

And for Angel's part. I love the Osemanverse just like she loves the Ark. It's crazy. An Osemanverse book describing my love for the Osemanverse. But how she thinks her friends are tired of her because she talks about it all the time. I do the same. And I also have an online bestie.

For Solitaire. I cannot express the emotions this book made me feel. I can relate to both Tori and michael. I am currently waiting 4 weeks for the audiobook to be available on my schools library website. I want to cry my eyes out for these characters again.

And Heartstopper my lovely. Pure perfection on every panel. The details, the story, the dialogue, the characters. Everything. In volume 1 Charlie tries to recover from bullying, not understanding that the trauma isn't going away. And Nick realizes he likes boys, but still has feelings for girls sometimes. He explores bisexuality and finds out he is in love.

Volume 4 is my favorite because I cry my eyes out every single time. If my lovely Charles Francis Spring experiences any discomfort I am in tears. Charlie finds out so much in volume 4 and Nick is trying to help but he doesn't understand that "love can't cure a mental illness".

And last but CERTAINLY NOT LEAST! Radio Silence!!! (My fav) so let's start with Aled. Aled Last is a quiet boy. He doesn't have many friends. He is very smart. He is cool, he is funny, he is more than he thinks he is. He just has an asshole mother. (Sorry for the language but you know it's true). I cannot emphasize the COOL part enough. Aled is the coolest character ever. This boy created a famous podcast and was able to keep it a secret (for a while but then... Yk).

And for Frances. She is so passionate about the things she loves. Universe City is her LIFE. Fanart, fanfics, and a part of every Tumblr tag. Look at my username for God's sake. (I know I spelled it wrong but I only ever listened to the audiobook). Frances is also so smart. I am so angry that this amazing girl didn't get into her university! I was so mad.

Here is a list of characters that can go f*ck themselves:

Carol Last.

Ben Hope(less)

Harry Greene.

Whoever declined Francis's college application.

Lucan Ryan.

David Nelson.

Feel free to add to this list.

(I HAVE NOT FINISHED LOVELESS YET!!)

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sammythetranny · 3 days

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLES FRANCIS SPRING!!!!!

#heartstopper #nick nelson #alice oseman #charlie spring #osemanverse

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estherdedlock · 2 years

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Of course, now I can’t stop thinking about where the remains of our Greek class would be today.

The trouble with this exercise is that we’re not sure how old they’d be, because we don’t really know when the events of The Secret History take place. Donna Tartt does a good job of giving us almost no chronological milestones to ground the book in a particular year. Richard is narrating from nine years after Bunny’s death: since TSH was published in 1992, that would put the story’s setting in 1983. But references to certain things in the book would suggest a later time. Richard goes to see a Vietnam War movie starring Charlie Sheen with the fictitious name of Fields of Shame: its real-life counterpart, Platoon, was released in December 1986. Later in the novel, we find mentions of compact discs and laptop computers, which would place the story in the late 1980s or even the early 1990s (part of me thinks that these were editor’s suggestions to make the book feel more up-to-date).

Since Donna Tartt attended Bennington from 1982 to 1986, she would have started her junior year in 1984. Richard transfers to Hampden at the start of his junior year, so I’m going to use that as my benchmark and say that the action of TSH takes place between the fall of 1984 and the spring of 1985. Francis is 21, so he would now be 58. Richard and the Macaulays would be 57.

Francis is the easy one, because Donna Tartt herself told us what became of him. In The Goldfinch, he makes a brief appearance as one of Hobie’s wealthy New York friends/clients. There’s no mention of “Mr. Abernathy” having a wife or children, so we can assume that Priscilla has been out of the picture for quite some time. Francis appears to have a reasonably good life, even if, as Theo Decker says, he seems to have “some ill-articulated scandal or disgrace in his past.” (Such a tease, that Donna Tartt!) This is what Francis was up to in 2013, at least---unless he got very sick or started a relationship with someone, there isn’t any reason to believe that he’d be doing anything different by now.

Richard, I think, predicted his own future when he was speculating about Henry’s: “I had always pictured Henry teaching Greek, in some forlorn but excellent college out in the Midwest.”

(I’ll briefly pause so we can all recover from the terrifying prospect of having Henry Winter as a college professor.)

Whew, okay. Moving on...

I can’t imagine that Richard would have stayed in California, not when he hated it so much. And yet, I can’t see him returning to New England, or anywhere in the Northeast: too many memories. The Midwest would be a perfect place for Richard to have landed...and for some inexplicable reason, I’m specifically thinking Wisconsin. Of course he’s a professor: his education hasn’t really trained him for anything except academia. But not Greek---English literature. He’s rumpled and tweedy and still rather boyishly good-looking. At least a quarter of his class has a crush on him. He may have been married at some point, but no longer. He doesn’t have any children.

I’m probably getting too Sebastian Flyte-ish with Charles, but I’m sorry to say that I think he’d be dead by now. I think he may have committed suicide, or just let himself decline so far into alcoholism and eventual drug addiction that it was basically a slow suicide. Or it may have been the sort of accident that plagues troubled people: a car wreck, a house fire, a bad fall down the stairs. But then again, you never know. If Charles somehow managed to pull himself back from the brink, I think he’d only have been able to do it with the help of some kind of religion---not because of his substance abuse issues, but because of his guilty conscience. I don’t see him getting deep into Christianity, though, maybe something like Buddhism. Perhaps he’s up in the Himalayas, with a shaved head and orange robes. And there we’ll leave him.

Camilla is a novelist. She would have needed to make money somehow, but I don’t see her doing blue-collar work or embarking on a corporate career (for which she would have had to go back to school, anyway). When we last saw her in TSH, she seemed to have committed herself to taking care of her grandmother and eking out a living on whatever was left of the family money (so Southern Gothic!). That would have given her ample time to write.

Funny thing is, I see her being financially successful but not the sort of writer who’s a darling of the critics or a household name (she doesn’t write under her own name at all). Maybe she’s had a career like Andrew Neiderman, who’s been writing as “V.C. Andrews” since the real Andrews died more than 30 years ago. Or maybe she reliably churns out cozy mysteries and romances, the kind that you buy at the drugstore, read at the beach, and then leave for someone else at the laundromat. This is by choice: Camilla doesn’t want to be famous. She wants to be comfortable, and left alone. She still owns the family home in Virginia, which she’s beautifully restored, although she doesn’t spend much time there. Mostly, she lives at the beach, where her well-appointed bungalow is peak Coastal Grandmother aesthetic.

She’s not a grandmother, though, or a mother, and has never been anyone’s wife. She is as solitary in her habits as she ever was...no, more so. She takes long walks on the beach, alone. She goes to mass every Sunday and holy day, but never receives Communion. She reads Greek in the evenings, listening to the waves roll in.

She has never stopped loving Henry.

#the secret history #donna tartt #dark academia #francis abernathy #richard papen #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #henry winter

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