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pavlikovskaya · 4 years

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the secret history live blogged

forever mad that i got spoilered so much on this book.

anyway hello! and welcome to this … shit fest of the secret history by donna tartt aka the biggest letdown of my life

enjoy! i didn’t

ok whaatttt the fuck. he was walked over?? he was packed and squished under ice?? WHAT DID THIS BUNNY GUY DO TO MAKE Y’ALL SO MAD????? istg what the fuck. cruel cruel fate

four against one, i knew y’all were assholes. you sounded like assholes before i even knew what your names were.

i have to say, i’m not a very big fan on the beginning: hello, my name is richard, i am 28, this is my story. makes it sound like he’s in an AA meeting, but i’ll let this one slide.

years at home dispensable like a plastic cup? fictional history and upbringing tales? [*clears throat in relatable*]

my father was mean, my house ugly, my mum didn’t give me attention, must kill someone to cope and serve the aesthetic™ of rejected, unloved child, brooding and mad at the world. got it.

if richard, plain and poor is the one who kills the rich asshole bc he’s a rich asshole, i might relate to him more than i thought.

[*slams book shut*] okay. okay. am i gonna have to google every other phrase in this godforsaken history book or is donna gonna go easy on my ass?

sounds like a university i would love to go to. oh, pardon me, CoLlEgE.

wait, they’d pay him back for the plane if he GOT IN??? and if he didn’t well then what, soz dude, tough luck , such is life, see ya never? makes a lot of sense. should pay him back regardless imo but hey, i had to pay £50 six times to audition at universities who, all six times, rejected me, so.

three days on a bus and arrival at six in the morning? i cannot fathom a worse scenario.

this prof conducts his selection on a personal level rather than on an academic one, said with a note of sarcasm? is he … you know … ?

ahhhh these saucy saucy tea spilling french people, gotta love em. ‘listen, i know i’ve only met you three minutes ago, but i’m bout to spill some serious tea which i must ask you to keep to yourself and never mention for i have some formidable enemies in the literature division, yes, my very own department, but we all actually love each other. you know, in a very shakespearian ‘i shall murder you at the end of the play but for now, let’s make sweet love under the stars as a witch friend of mine who will later murder you watches’ way. all very platonic. but don’t say a word of it.’

who do you think was with morrow when richard came to see him in the lyceum and what were they talking about? GODDAMN IT, this french bastard put me in a gossipy mood.

bunny — short for edmund…….

god, i love a redhead.

richard and me being whipped by francis and his long, flapping black coats, love to see it.

‘pseudo-intellects and teenage decadents abounded and black clouting was de rigueur’ can I enrol ~now~????

francis talks to cats and bunny yells from his window down at the incest twins to stop snogging in the garden. i can’t wait to see which one am I at the end of the book

henry and julian driving off together? do i smell something…. gay?

THEY WRITE WITH FOUNTAIN PENS????? [*flashbacks from my childhood intensify*].

i do not understand most of these references or sentences and if the whole book is like this, i will throw myself out the window in attempted suicide even though i live on the ground floor.

i have absolutely no idea what they’re on about.

hwhat

francis in black cashmere and cigarette smoke brushed past him and almost touched his arm. how bloody delicious is this??

‘give him some flowers and he’ll enrol you.’ ok, julian is definitely the gay prof everyone falls for.

at this stage, i would rater have voted we kill henry, not bunny, but we’ll see.

‘i was tired of being poor.’ [*buys a tie with pictures of men hunting deer on it*] ‘that’s better.’

‘i believe that it is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially.’ donna tartt gave me the book and the reason both.

constantly chuckling at the way richard is so completely mesmerised and intimidated by francis to the point that he’ll duck into a doorway to let him pass even though they’re going to the same lesson.

I don’t know how a ‘bostonian voice’ is supposed to sound like so francis will be slightly british in my mind for the rest of the book.

cubitum eamus? cubitum. eamus? CUBITUM?? EAMUS????? OH! GOD! HELP ME! THE SWEET SWEET HOMOEROTIC FORESHADOWING OF IT ALL!!! throwback to when, in a much too similar vein, boris, upon being asked by theo to say something in russian for him, he said ‘fuck you up the ass’. my heart is racing with yearn. i can’t fucking believe i just read this. it’s time to bust out the annotation tabs again.

oh my gooooddd whAt is henry’s problem????? he reminds me slightly of number one from the umbrella academy, but in a meaner, more show-offy, bastardish way that’s supposed to showcase his superior intelligence over all mortals like fuck you, go read harry potter and chill.

‘meke (s.p.) you Wear it’? i take it meke is actually make but what on earth is (s.p.)? google gave me 238 possible definitions for that acronym and, needless to say, i didn’t bother.

i love how donna’s main characters are funny essentially bc they’re bitches towards other people they deem inferior to them in their internal monologues.

if you were drunk and ‘slam-dancing’ at a party, i don’t have to be stuck up or elitist to judge you and hate on you. even less so if you throw your beer in my face.

‘love that jacket, silk, isn’t it?’ ‘yep, my grandfather’s. totally not from that annoying girl in my dorm whose mate your mates beat up at a party last term for shoving camilla and throwing a beer in her face and who probably only gave me the jacket because she wants to fuck me, nope.’

‘let me get that door for you.’ that’s it, that’s the tweet.

when bunny said they should round up the ‘officious fags and burn them at the stake’ i yelled the loudest what the fuck i’ve ever yelled at a book. i can see now why they killed him. and i bet that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

okay, his true colours are starting to show. it’s even more unnerving when i think about the fact that like half of this stuff is supposed to be true.

called it, they’re boning.

i can’t wait until francis locks lips with richard. i am simply tingling for it. i hope he and camilla have a threesome with richard at this country house. oh wait no, they’re all here. eh, maybe another time.

oh, we finally get some juicy inside gossip

if francis and richard don’t fuck in that gorgeous immense library, i will riot.

okay, what’s henry’s deal? he’s nice now? and he’s oddly … interested in/caring towards richard? like who the fuck says ‘i hope you slept well’ without at least a little affection towards them.

AHAHAHAAHA, NOW I GET ALL THOSE MOON LANDING QUESTIONS ON THE TSH RELATED UQIZZES I STUPIDLY TOOK. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL. imagine them lot in present day completely bewildered and confused at the fact that the whole world is in lockdown for some weird fucking reason. this is the funniest shit ever, swear to god.

dogs get heart attacks?

wow they’re being dicks. that shady shit they’re doing’s so fucking rude aajksdhfkfh and to think i had initially thought richard was the ‘leader’ of their group...

okay, they’re either all into bdsm or they’re some odd breed of late vampires who don’t have much of the traits/qualities of ‘classic’ vampires as they have possibly diminished over the centuries as the species was becoming extinct. maybe witches. hm. or occultists. I REALLY DON’T KNOW!!

richard be like ‘what should I tell you?’ well—and this is merely a suggestion—, how about you start with what they’re actually doing when they’re not hanging out with you?????

i can’t wait for bunny to figure/find out richard’s not actually rich and be a dick about it.

two months??? what kind of bonkers winter vacation between terms is that???

is being constantly cold part of the dark academia aestehtic? cos it certainly seems to be.

what the fuck are these (sp)s bunny keeps putting in his letters??

i hope somebody (henry, or maybe francis? as something that would bring them together?) is fake rich too.

ouuuuu here comes the dark, mental stuff.

richard dropped out of drama to study the classics. if we were villains is a group of people studying shakespeare. coincidence? i think not. it is with dread that i think at the possibility that i might like the other more because so far, i can’t say i’m heavily impressed with tsh.

now i’m all for weird, fancy names, but marchbanks is really an odd one. who the fuck looks at their newborn baby and goes ben? nah. tom? no. MARCHBANKS! perfect.

henry winter saves richard from a piping cold winter. ah, don’t bother, i’ll do it myself [*jumps out the window*]

henry dislikes electric lights? smokes cigarettes without filter? reads milton translated into latin ‘just to see if a language with no noun cases could possibly support the structural order he attempts to impose’? can this dude be any more pretentious?

BUNNY! IT’S BUNNY! HE’S FAKE RICH THE BASTARD! ALL THAT ‘oops, forgot my wallet’ BULLSHIT, I THOUGHT IT WAS A TEST FOR RICHARD OR JUST RICH PEOPLE LEECHING OFF OTHERS (why spend yours when you can spend theirs?) BUT NOOOO, HE’S BROOOOKE! AND AN ASSHOLE! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!! serves him right, the asshole (that gay people being burnt at the stake comment really bothered me despite the fact that i laughed). and not only is he broke and leeching off of henry, he leeches in the most shameless, greedy, extravagant and ignorant way, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu fuck out of here.

ha! he got fat the bastard. found some sugar daddy to sustain you during your last month in italy or what?

this rabbit dude sure has some big balls for a broke ass bitch.

‘let me see your head wound.’ vs ‘your arm.’

‘that sort of tension which i, being rather more disinclined that way than not, am quick to pick up on. i had caught a strong breath of it from francis, a whiff of it at times from julian (…)’ sounds like we got another one boys, a straight dude with the best gaydar in the world. that being said, julian is the fakest bitch in the book so far.

this secrecy is killing the ever-loving shit out of me. argentina one way?? whY

lol if you’re gonna steal his book with the intention of having him come back to the apartment and see all that shit, at least don’t put it in such an obvious place where he couldn’t have possibly missed it. for such a smart guy, you sure are dumb, dude.

francis’ mother be like ‘give that bad boy a kiss from me’ and i’m like HE BETTER.

richard the worst liar. just say your mum called for fuck’s sake! you could get your boyfriend in trouble!

cheesecake cover: ‘please do not steal this, i am on financial aid.’ bunny: [*steals it*] the cheesecake: [*sucks*] me: serves you fucking right, pig.

THINKING ABOUT HIS HANDICAP. I’M YELLING. funniest thing donna tartt ever wrote.

i bet they’re all there sat at the table like nothing happened and weren’t supposed to leave anywhere at all.

called it! motherfuckers.

what the hell is going on. are they a gang of assassins or something?

richard: ‘you killed somebody, didn’t you?’ henry: [*laughs as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world and how could you possibly suggest such a thing*] yep

bunny: gays are weirdly obsessed with food, don’t you think? also bunny: [*gets excluded from the bacchanal because he couldn’t stop eating*]

okay. i can see now why this book started the whole dark academia aesthetic

aight, that’s all good and great (far from it) but WHERE IS MY FRANCIS CONTENT????

going through the motions of hating and liking henry every other chapter.

everybody: [*burning clothes, cleaning the car, running this way and that to get rid of evidence*] francis: aight y’all imma take a power nap real quick cool? cool

there is hardly anything in the world i hate more than loose-of-tongues. bunny and that bitch ass hely from the little friend. god, i want to sock each and every single one of them in their stupid bloody loud mouths.

i want to know, i really want to know if there are any bunny apologists or … s…. s… [*grits teeth*] stans out there. don’t worry, nothing will happen to you, i just wanna talk.

if it’s henry and richard and not francis and richard,,,,, i will riot.

boy this henry guy smokes a lot…. more than me in my prime.

as if this dude reenacted the murder he wasn’t even present at in the lobby of a hotel just to torture henry. i can’t believe this character is still alive and has been for so long.

FINALLY! one francis moment that indicated there will be no more francis moments…. .

funny that, reading the secret history put something into perspective about the goldfinch for me.

i love how richard just casually throws it in there whenever he happens to mention camilla that he loves her and wants to kiss her and that she’s so beautiful and blah blah blah and then it’s never brought up again ever because he’s constantly going on and on about henry.

wait, don’t tell me it’s happening now, in the middle of the book! that would be most unexpected as there’s a whole entire book following.

henry is such a stone cold bitch, i wonder where they put his heart when they made him, in his ass?

don’t tell me henry went boxer dogs on JULIAN?!?!?! he wouldn’t. … would he?

i don’t know. i get it, obviously, the gravity of the situation, but going as far as killing him to silence him is a bit … extreme in my opinion.

thank you, charles, for being the only voice of reason in this madness.

okay, i understand it’s in richard’s best interest not to be involved, but they called him there to what, make him listen to all this and then send him on his merry way?

charles: well, if you wake up intending to murder someone at two o’clock, you hardly think of what you’re going to feed the copse for dinner. [*crickets*] francis: hey, how about asparagus?

henry: someone’s coming. quick! act normal! richard: [*turns to inspect the trunk of a tree*] [*footsteps approach*] richard: [*inspection of tree intensifies!!*]

you’re a bit late, bunny, just saying.

and now what the fuck is the rest of the book about? what do we do, let’s run, let’s stay, let’s go to the police, what do we do with him?

i love how richard describes himself as part of the process: we dwelt on it, we convinced ourselves, we devised plans when in reality, he was only there as an attaché, he wasn’t included much, almost at all in the actual planning process of it other than to give his insight on the poison route because henry thought it was his area of expertise so to speak when, really, it wasn’t and then was told about the other plan because they simply thought he should know. even then henry tells him ‘you can go now, if you like’ because there wasn’t anything they sort of needed him for anymore since he wasn’t going to be there, he was just a pair of ears. i like to think he was there in hopes to maybe dissuade them, try to stop them, tell them how mad it is, tell them there’s another way, but he didn’t do much of that either (not that I think he would’ve succeeded anyway, had he tried, henry’s one stubborn motherfucker). he didn’t come up with shit, he wasn’t supposed to even be there, i think, much less contribute in any way. had bunny not told him about the bacchanal, richard would have probably found out about it after it was already done, he was only included for the fucks of it and yet, he talks as if he was right there in the room with them, brainstorming ideas how to kill him. and i get how it only comes from a sense of obvious guilt because he knew about it, he was there and didn’t do anything to stop it, but he’s by far not one to have agreed to the whole thing or condoned it in any way from what he’s told us in book one. he himself says in the very same paragraph that he only watched. he’s very much a dark academia nick carraway type of character and i hate it. because i like him. he deserves better.

i’m pretty sure that the reason that serial killer autobiography you picked up in an airport was bereft of details is because no publishing house would allow such lurid specifications that might shock, disgust, enrage or give ideas to the reader in their book, not because the author is shy, richard, but ok, let’s move on. actually no, let’s not. you can’t expect the autobiography of a killer to only tell you about the murders, especially since in this particular instance, he was caught and went to prison. of course he’s going to tell you more about that than the killings, have you any idea what prison life is like? how much it eats away at your soul? how it crushes your spirit if you have one and how hard it is to get over? the time he spent in jail is going to haunt him forever and after such a long time in there, however long it was, you hardly think about your crime as anything but a huge mistake that was not worth the torment if you’re not a downright psychopath which, since he came out and wrote a book about it, doesn’t seem to be the case here but i guess you’ll find out all about it soon enough.

OH! a francis moment???? could this be it? please dear god may this be it.

it wasn’t, but there’s another one!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

‘it’s fun, i promise you.’ [*dies*]

if this is it, if that’s all, i am not forgiving this book.

‘i tried to pull him out but it was no good; his head lolled back uselessly’ YEAH. BECAUSE HE’S DEAD, RICHARD. [*scoffs*] ‘uselessly’

i wish i held any of my teachers and professors in at least half the high regard henry holds julian. i also wish they were half as competent and passionate about teaching as julian.

I DON’T BELIEVE ‘HE WAS JUST THERE’. IT’S BORIS AND THEO AT 6 AM IN THAT NEW YORK BAR ALL OVER AGAIN. HE’S ONLY SAYING THAT BECAUSE RICHARD WENT ALL ‘YOU’RE NOT HOT’ ON HIS ASS AND I REFUSE TO BELIEVE OTHERWISE. if they don’t kiss again—

i can’t help but admire the way they communicate sensitive information to each other in ancient greek, they sound like characters from jane austen novels while talking about drugs and saving face from tabloids and gossip, it’s rather amazing.

quite pointless to go through all that trouble to hide the cigarettes and deny having been smoking when the smell will be there no matter what and she’ll know for sure. i swear, all these seemingly smart ass people are actually idiots

my question is why would anyone, drunk or not, for any reason, leave the top down in the rain? why? what possible pleasure could one get from driving in the middle of the rain with rain actually pouring down on them?

isn’t linoleum a bit tacky for a house that looks like it’s been in architectural digest?

why is charles so on edge? why are they all always hiding??? camilla and her late night 3 am phone calls, her secret phone code with henry, charles mysteriously going out for cigarettes so brusquely without a word in the middle of the night and refusing to talk about it, what are they all always hiding?! nobody trusts one another with anything, it’s very annoying, to be honest. aren’t they supposed to be super best friends? you’d think that after a bacchanal and a double homicide, you wouldn’t keep secrets from one another, but i guess not.

ah, shame. was kind of hoping for some sneaky richard/francis basement action, but alas. what’s their ship name anyway, richis?

i just spoilered myself again, twice, by going through the tsh tag on tumblr and then looking for francis/richard fanfics on ao3 and finding out that francis marries? gets with? a girl who’s apparently called fucking priscilla. donna tartt really has a knack for weird fancy names, huh? i’m here for it tbh

richard you fucking snitch! you had one job!!!!!!

why the fuck are they still keeping him in the dark about shit? henry and charles quarrelled and charles is in jail and henry still won’t tell him what’s so bad about it and why he wants richard to handle all this shit instead of him and why bunny’s murder still matters and why why just why are they still using him as their pawn??

seriously, this exchange was about the worst they’ve had so far. he himself knows it: ‘there was a silence during which I felt acutely the hopelessness of ever trying to get to the bottom of anything with henry. he was like a propagandist, routinely withholding information, leaking it only when it served his purposes.’ THEN WALK AWAY. SAY NO. PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN. FUCKING—UGH!!!!!!!

they’re all so shamelessly using him… i can’t read. it’ll kill him, one way or another.

these ungrateful little shits i swear to god. richard bails him out, he’s all thankful and sweet when he wants him to do ‘this one little favour’ of taking him to his francis’ house so he can break in and when richard’s like i don’t have a car, he immediately turns sour and passive aggressive like you know what?! richard hasn’t slept all night and all morning waiting for your ass to go to court cos you were a drunken idiot and decided YET AGAIN that driving in that state is a great idea so he can bail you out and when you are finally out, you start being fussy and then it’s all ‘right. thanks a lot’??? richard doesn’t fucking need this shit! y’all are horrible friends. he’s not your bloody servant. how about you take that stick and privilege out of your asses and start treating him a bit more kindly, huh???

‘henry made me swear not to tell.’ WHAT. WHAT. BITCH, GET THE FUCK OUT.

this is by far the most toxic friendship i’ve ever heard of.

oh wow that kiss was hot. i thought it was just a speculation that they were incestuous with each other, but i-i guess not.

FINALLY it gets interesting. Mr Abernathy spilling some piping hot tea mmm

he literally just said i’d sleep with you if you got drunk enough to let me. oh dear god help me.

oh fuck it got sad. It’s patrick and brad all over again ugh always happens to the best of gays

finally richard my boy starts hating them, as he should. except francis, you’re a dick in that respect. he’s only joking for fuck’s sake, don’t get all butthurt, jesus. sensitive much?

uuuuuu tunts Tunts TUNTS! shit is hitting the fan. henry, henry, henry, our ‘golden boy’. nothing but a crook himself, the motherfucker. i’ve been waiting for this reveal since the beginning of the fucking book. if they gang up on him and kill him, i will never stop laughing.

it’s as if he’s begging to be excluded and hated, i swear. why is he being such a prick? does he love her? is that it? then there are a BILLION other ways to go about it, he doesn’t have to be such a shady bitch!! besides, wasn’t he in cahoots with julian?

‘i was depressed, i thought if i slept here it might make me feel better.’ that’s so precious tho….. funny, but precious. such child-like innocence in this grown ass intoxicated man, i melt.

clever, luring him out of the playground under the false pretext of a drink when he’s had plenty. think like a drunk

the only consistent, recurring and ever-present elements in donna tartt’s books are the hors d’oeuvres.

it’s so cute how charles needs him, i—

girls be like: watching a film, listening to a podcast, talking on the phone, having dinner, figure painting, filing nails, writing an essay and doing their makeup all at the same time

this so called love he feels for camilla is so unfounded and feeble and just … it seems so out of the fucking blue every single time he mentions it, i can’t read this shit. IT’S SO SEE-THROUGH!!

okay WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DID I JUST READ. WHAT. THE ACTUAL. MOTHERFUCKING. FUCK. one second he’s ‘i love her so much’ the next he wants to strangle and rape her?????????????? i have zero goddamn words. i am fucking speechless. i don’t think i have ever been this confused at something since i watched the turning. i don’t think you realise quite how done i am with this fucking book at this point.

i think i do hate henry more than bunny and i’m afraid i’ll like if we were villains better.

richard: [*takes sleeping pills*] also richard: [*surprised he can’t keep up with the film he started watching after taking sleeping pills*]

‘look,’ said francis. ‘let’s just go, if we leave now we can be in montreal by dark. nobody will ever find us.’ vs ‘well, i’m not going,’ said boris serenely. ‘fuck that, i’m running away. do you want to come?’

this henry bitch is the most difficult piece of shit i’ve ever fucking encountered. ‘you mean, it’s something you need to tell me in private?’ oh FUCK OFF AND STEP OUTSIDE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. IT’S ONE THING I ASK OF YOU, YOU TWAT.

huh, i thought he was doing this shit on purpose, leaving the page face down on the table so that julian could see it, i thought it was some sick twisted plan of his.

lmao called it. everybody saw through julian’s façade except richard and the others and i completely understand. in a fashion much like julian’s, i think he knew that, he saw it, but just chose to ignore it because the image he posed and richard himself constructed of him in his mind was much more favourable to what he really was. i mean, fuck, who the fuck says ‘i hope we are all ready to leave the phenomenal world and enter into the sublime’ with their whole chest and mean it?

if you think he’s not coming, why sit in silence staring out the window, ignoring everyone and wasting everybody’s time instead of telling them from the very start this piece of information you have on hand that could save everybody a lot of trouble, time and overthinking? why be all mysterious and enigmatic about it? just tell them from the start, you’re not in a film for fuck’s sake……..

charles, one of the four of them (henry, camilla, julian and himself) might be the one i despise the least, almost like had he not been so brutal towards camilla,,,, but i don’t know if i can trust her, that whole scene seemed … staged somehow. i don’t know. i don’t know

didn’t expect henry would turn on julian too though. first real thing he’s done all book.

agatha

christie

writes

good

mysteries.

richard does seem like the type of fellow who would grow up in a household where his dad would strike his mum for no fucking reason.

okay so did henry punch him for that comment or not? what was all that father beating mother bit for?

#boysweekendinthecountry! 🤪 #partytime! #ignoringourproblems! #woooo!!!

oh my fucking god chARLES!!!

yes, henry, great, brilliant, fucking splendid idea to antagonise the man pointing a gun at you.

MY PAUL SMITH SHIRT!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHASFSHDGFDK

i love how absolutely nobody noticed fucking richard BLEEDING RIGHT NEXT TO THEM

‘expected everyone to stop and look at me. no one did.’ and they never will. that’s your whole friendship summed up in two lines. you don’t matter to them, you never did, you’re absolutely unimportant. just a tool, a pawn, a nobody. sorry you had to get shot to realise that.

‘’he shot me.’ somehow, this remark did not elicit the dramatic response i expected. before i had the chance to elaborate—’ ELABORATE WHAT? ELABORATE WHAT?! THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO SAY!! GOD, this hurts to read. this angers me beyond words, but it also fucking hurts so bad…

nothing, not even getting shot can make richard lose his wit

disGUSTING henry and camilla moment. I HATE THEM

oh shit. did not see that coming. well, glad that’s over.

ugh, time to read how francis got hetero married :\

[*chokes*] DUE TO THE VERY EXCELLENT EXCUSE OF HAVING A GUNSHOT WOUND IN THE STOMACH I DIDN’T TAKE MY FRENCH EXAM YAY!!! god, i fucking love Richard.

the thing is, right, i read that line, ‘i managed to get out of taking my french exams the next week’ about three or four times and somehow, the following line or even the words ‘gunshot wound’ never made it to my eyes! i don’t understand how! but i’m completely happy about that given the fact that i spoiler myself on every single book i read by reading ahead like an idiot..

how much do you want to bet that it was the inn keep who called the ambulance and not those fuckers? because of course henry, dead henry’s more important than slowly dying, almost dead but not quite richard.

despite everything, it sounds like he had a nice summer in brooklyn. good for him. god knows he deserved it, the poor guy.

yeah no, fuck henry’s post-mortem hero narrrative.

lol, at least he got a nice car out of it. this book shows me once again that things happen just the way they should happen.

OH MY FUCKING GOD NO. NO. NO. NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! I CANNOT READ. I DO NOT SEE. I REFUSE TO COMPREHEND THIS PIECE OF INFORMATION.

i will not say a WORD on this, much less his letter. i am hurt, i am wounded, i am grieving, my head is full of thots and i cannot speak. i died on this bed.

ugh [*rolls eyes*] this fucking guy again with his sudden, out of my ass declarations of love towards camilla. JUST GIVE IT UP ALREADYYYYYYYY!!! TELL IT TO SOMEONE WHO CARES!!! (francis) i wouldn’t be surprised if she was married or engaged and just didn’t bother to mention it ‘because he never asked’ or some bullshit excuse like that.

I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY [*deep breath*] I FUCKING HATE HENRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he’s telling me about all these people and where they ended up after graduation but not only do i not give a single solitary fuck, i actually don’t know who the fuck he’s talking about?? like who the fuck is bram guernesnesnica? rooney wayne? what the fuck do i care what jack jud and frank did?

the only people i do remotely care about are the professors (the saucy french teacher and the boring, senile dude who wouldn’t shut up and who kept referring to richard as ‘jerry’ in his grad school recommendations letter ahahah that is the content i signed up for, not dumb and dumber’s bar or whatever) and the cat charles left at francis’ country house who lives in a ten fucking room apartment in boston.

love how ionic the whole marion storyline turned out to be. marred another corcoran who looked just like bunny and had a daughter who, despite having her and his mother’s name ended up being nicknamed also bunny. i’m sorry, i just—i have to laugh.

[*slams fists on the table*] THE AGENTS??? YOU’RE GONNA TELL ME ABOUT THE BLOODY FBI AGENTS???!!!!!! CAN THIS BOOK PLEASE JUST FUCKING END ALREADY??????!!!!!!!!

a dream. a dream. if it’s a dream of henry i will personally shoot you and make sure i aim a little higher than your abdomen this time.

[*shoots the book*]

oh, you died and suddenly you have a sense of humour?

‘that information is classified’ [*shoots a torpedo at the book*]

‘are you happy?’ / ‘not very.’ vs ‘are you happy here?’ / ‘not particularly.’

okay. so. final thoughts: fuck this book.

good night

23 notes · View notes

minnuet-archive · 4 years

Text

I’m Sorry, Logan

Rating: PG-13

Trigger Warnings: Alcoholism, suicide, abusive family, homophobia (let me know if there are any more i missed!)

Word Count: 3,754

Fan-fiction or Original Work? Original Work

Story Type: Short Story

Notes: I wrote this a while back for a book that was going to be made, but didn’t end up happening. It was about suicide awareness and the different reasons for it. There was to be informative writing about the topic and cause and then a short story. This is the short story. Also, I spent a solid hour or two revamping and editing this for you all today since I couldn’t post much about my soon to be posted book. I hope you enjoy!

I wake up to my alarm blaring in my ears. My eyelids refuse to lift, the world a blurry mess. I stumble into my uniform, the alarm still blaring. Eventually, my patience runs out and I shut off the alarm. I snatch my backpack out from the corner of my room before hastily grabbing a granola bar and running to the bus parked outside.

I jump into the bus and walk down the aisle, all of the noise, ranging from random conversation to yelling and fighting, filling my ears and overwhelming my mind. I almost want to put my hands to my ears and drown out the noise, but someone’s bound to take offense. As I sit down in a seat next to the seemingly quietest kids, the horrible stench of what are probably 10-year-old raisins with a generous side of sweaty gym socks permeates my nose. I hate the bus. I decide to try spacing out.

Arriving at school, I go into the girl’s bathroom and wait until everyone leaves. I look really weird waiting for people to leave, and I don’t care. Actually, that’s not true. I definitely care.

Once everyone’s gone, I slip out of my catholic school skirt and into far more comfortable slacks. My mother had refused to get me anything but the “girl’s” uniform which consisted of a tight, long skirt and a blouse.

I hear the bell and run to class, bursting into the classroom and sliding into my seat directly after my name is called.

“Late.” I groan and get out my homework. Why does it have to be me?

Vanessa and her friends snicker across the classroom. “Hey look, the plant’s here.”

My ears burned and I clenched my teeth. Those obnoxious jerks. I’m not a plant. “My name’s E-” My eyes widen as I catch myself. “-Ellie.”

Vanessa gasps dramatically and then says, “It can talk?!”

I don’t respond and give her what she wants, but it takes all of my strength not to. God, how am I so stupid? I don’t care if I’m using the Lord’s name in vain. I already let them know I was asexual! And if I let it slip? “My name’s Elliott.” I can only imagine the crap they’d do and say to me. What would I tell them? “Oh yeah, by the way, I’m nonbinary.” That would totally work.

I take deep breaths. I look at the teacher and then to the board, and suddenly, zoning becomes much easier. The lunch bell rings after a while and I walk towards the courtyard, finding one of the trees in the corner that no one ever sat by. It’s sad and droopy. I wish I couldn’t relate.

“Hey, Elliott!” I flinch at the noise. He smiles and sits down next to me.

I relax and say, “Hey, Logan. How was the class?”

“Class was crappy,” I crack a smile and when I do, he adds “as always. I love how you did your hair today. It’s pretty.”

My mouth goes dry and I fidget with my hands, forcing myself to smile. I shove my (sadly, homemade) peanut butter jelly sandwich into my mouth and then spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to swallow enough of it to even be able to chew.

We talk and smile, though he does most of the talking, and I force myself to listen, because he always has great things to say.

The lunch bell ringing is jarring and sudden enough to make me jump, but that isn’t saying much. I grin at Logan. “ I’ll see you tomorrow, man. Bye!”

He high fives me and starts walking towards his classroom. I walk towards mine. After Mr. Simon takes role call and I raise my hand and answer a question once, I figure I’m safe and promptly space out for the rest of the day.

The bell rings and right as I’m about to walk out of the door, I heard Mr. Simon say, “Eleanor, may I speak to you?” A collective ‘oooh’ sound comes from what’s remaining of the class, suggesting I’m in trouble, as I walk up to his desk.

“Can I help you, Mr. Simon?”

“Do you remember the dress code guidelines we went over at the beginning of the year?”

I start to panic. “Uh, yeah.”

“Then you remember that girls are to wear skirts and a blouse and that boys are to wear a button down and slacks.”

I mutter that I might remember something like that. “Why can’t I wear pants? I’m not wearing anything completely out of school uniform.”

“Yes, but we have a strict dress code and you, as a girl,” I flinch at the word girl. Of course, I can’t correct him. “are to wear a skirt. If you come to school tomorrow wearing pants, I’ll have you change back into a skirt, confiscate the pants, and then call your parents.”

I nod my head as if I understand, which I don’t, and then walk out of the classroom. I know he hates me, but I had no clue he would go to these lengths to get me in trouble. What the hell kind of person would go to the lengths of confiscating pants? None of my other teachers cared! He’s just an asshole!

I really don’t want to wear a skirt and that was only the first time I wore pants. On the other hand, I don’t want them to get taken away because I had to save up for months to get them and I really want to avoid having to deal with my parents.

As I walk home, I approach the entrance to the Golden Gate Bridge and smile. It’s so beautiful. Late afternoon fog is quite unusual this time of year and most people don’t like it, but I’m secretly happy about it.

I love walking along the bridge in the morning because it’s so easy to clear my mind. The wind can make my hair clothes flap wildly in the wind which is annoying, but the feeling of the cold wind can be comforting. The smell of saltwater in the air fills my nose as I approach one end of the bridge. I start to cross the bridge, right into the fog. It’s peaceful and the moist air feels cool and nice against my skin.

After around 45 minutes, I come out on the other side of the bridge.

As I walk, I fantasize about laying down on the couch and not worrying about homework. Not because I finished it, but because I’m planning on procrastinating.

I turn down my street and see my house. As I approach it, I realize that my house has been egged. I see a note on the door and run up and grab it. Get out of here, fag. You don’t belong here.

Vanessa, her boyfriend, and their horrible friends were right about the last part. I don’t belong here. I wish I could leave, but it isn’t exactly possible. I rip up the note and look up at the eggs that are covering my home.

I don’t want to clean this up… but my parents will ask why it happened if I don’t. Plus, they’ll make me do it anyway. I sigh as I trudge inside to grab a mop and some other cleaning supplies.

Opening the closet door, I grab everything I think I might need, which is a lot. I’ve never cleaned up eggs, so I’m just guessing.

I turn back to trudge outside again and start to wipe the door with a random rag that I found. Once I finish cleaning everything that I can reach from the ground, I place all my supplies on the roof overhang, awkwardly climbing onto it.

I get on my knees shakily and start to clean the roof. Damn, can these kids throw. It takes what seems like years, but is probably just a couple hours to finish cleaning the house.

Taking a risk, I jump from the overhang. I didn’t break any bones! Yay! I grab all of the cleaning supplies and shove them back into the closet as I walk to my room. I get changed into some paint-stained jeans and a band t-shirt that my parents begrudgingly bought me for Christmas.

I walk back out and throw myself on the couch. I log into the only social media my parents let me have and open a chat with one of my best friends, AchillesIsTheTrueGayIcon, also known as Bentley (or Ben). Sometimes I call him Benjamin just to annoy him.

Me: What’s up, Benjamin?

He responds almost immediately.

Ben: Asshole. But not much. You?

Me: You want to know who the real assholes are? The jerks from school who egged my house.

Ben: Oof. That sucks, dude.

Ben: Hey I gtg do homework. Talk later?

Me: Sure.

I turn off my phone and put it down. I hear my mom pull up so I sit up and take out my school binder. I place my homework from yesterday in front of me so I look like I’ve been doing homework since the second I got home.

As soon as I finish setting up my fake homework station, she walks in. “Hey, mom!” No. Too cheery. Calm down.

She smiles happily, “Hi, Ellie!” I cringe at my old name. At least she didn’t notice my overly excited greeting. “How was your day?” My little sister, Adia follows her in and then runs to our room.

I consider telling her that my day hasn’t been great, but decide against it. There are only two outcomes. The first is that she wouldn’t care and tell me to suck it up. The second is that it would just invoke a flurry of questions. Neither sounds particularly fun. “It was good. Yours?”

“It was fine. Busy as always,” I give her a knowing nod and then I see her smile slowly fade. “You didn’t make yourself dinner, did you?”

“No, not yet.” I smile sheepishly and she sighs loudly in annoyance.

“Alright. Dinner will be ready soon.”

I roll my eyes and she scoffs as she walks into the kitchen, tossing her bags onto a chair at the table. I hear Adia’s footsteps approaching before I see her jump onto the couch beside me.

“Hi, Adia. Did you have fun at daycare today?”

”Yeah! I played with Sammy!”

“That’s fun.” She smiles proudly as if having a friend is something to be proud of, which in my case, is true, but in her case, not so much. She has a lot of friends.

“I got to see all mommy’s friends, too! They’re so nice!”

I’m contemplating how untrue that is when I hear my mom start to reheat leftovers from last night. She tosses all of the food on three plates the same way she did her bag.

Wow. Soon really did mean soon.

My mom presses the power button on the remote and we pretend to watch a sitcom as we shovel food into our faces. Eventually, the episode ends. Too lazy to change the channel, we leave it alone and ignore it.

My mom is seated facing the screen and I watch her chuckle. I turn to the screen and freeze. It's a pride parade. All of a sudden I hear Adia’s excited voice.

“Ooooh! Rainbows!” I look at her and smile a little bit. She doesn’t even know. Sometimes I wish I don’t know what LGBTQ+ means. But that’s not really true.

“Those rainbows are for gay people.” She says gay in disgust as if it’s the worst thing you can be.

Mom continues, “You don’t want to be gay. Being gay is bad. You’ll go to hell if you’re gay.”

Now she just looked confused. “Why is it bad?”

“Because a man is supposed to marry a woman. That’s how God created us.” Mom says.

I finish eating my food as fast as I can to escape this horrible conversation and then interrupt. “Can I be excused? I’m getting tired.”

Before my mom can respond, my father swings open the front door.

This time, it’s not just me who’s frozen. He’s holding a beer bottle. His tie is loose. The top button of his shirt is unbuttoned and it’s stained.

What makes it most obvious that it’s happened again is his eyes. They’re huge. And not in the caring way.

He smiles goofily and stares at Adia and I. “No hug? No ‘Hi daddy!’ or ‘Thanks for working your ASS off every day to provide for us’?”

My first instinct is to pull Adia closer to me and step one foot in front of her, which I follow through on. My second instinct is to throw something at him so we can all run.

I hold back. Mom’s too close to dad. She would never be able to run away in time. He could hit her. Hurt her. Even kill her, if he wanted to. She’s not a good person, but she doesn’t deserve that.

“Go. To your rooms. Now.” I turn to my mom in utter surprise.

“But mom-“

“Now.” Her voice is sharp and cold, but filled with fear. The most confusing part is that I know the fear isn’t for herself. It’s for us.

I grab Adia and make sure she’s safe and locked in her room before running to mine. I press my ear against the door because I might be able to get an idea of what’s happening. I can’t hear anything.

I slump down and hang my head in my hands. Holy mother of God. What is wrong with my family? Why doesn’t she just kick him out when he’s hungover? Why don’t we leave?

I can't deal with this.

I'm sobbing now. I clench my teeth to trap the noise in my mouth.

Over the course of a few minutes, I draw myself up onto my knees and stand up, walking over to sit down at my desk. I start to scribble words that seem right on a paper. After a minute of writing, I reread it. It's not good enough. I crumple up the piece of paper and throw it in the trash.

I hug my knees tightly, trying not to make any form of sound. My breathing slows to its normal pace as I continue to sit there and I grab another piece of paper. I start to write once again, this time neater.

In the morning, I wake up the same way as yesterday. I put on my pants and even throw on a t-shirt instead of a blouse. I don’t care if Mr. Simon tries to force me to wear a skirt. I’m not taking anyone’s crap on my last day of school.

As I look in the cracked medicine cabinet mirror, all I can think of is my hair. I chew on the inside of my cheek for a minute while I go over all my options. I finally tug open the drawer and grip my father’s razor in my hand. There are lots of those weird plastic protectors that I think make sure you don’t accidentally shave off all your hair. I choose the one labeled number 4 at random and push it onto the top of the razor.

My heart starts to beat faster as I push it gently against my scalp, running it down my head in different places until my entire head is buzz cut. For the first time, I feel alive.

I peek out of the crack in the door and watch my mom walk into the kitchen. I run to my room, grabbing my backpack and binder.

I do this again and again until I’m out of the door.

I step into the bus, a huge grin slapped on my face. The other kids stare and I don’t even pay any attention to them. For the first time, I don’t care. I hear a kid yell “Get off, queer!” and I resist flipping him off… well, I try to resist flipping him off.

Taking my time, I walk into the classroom and sit next to Logan. He stares at me, dumbfounded. “What the hell did you do?” he whispers.

“I buzz cut my hair. I don’t even care anymore. I’ll deal with the consequences,”

Not.

“I just needed to do it,” I finish.

His face is contorted into a mixture of dumbfoundedness and horror as he slowly shakes his head. “Yeah. Alright. Tell me if you need anything, I guess.” He can’t stop staring at me and I honestly find it kind of funny.

A kid walks up to me sitting at what is most likely his desk.

“You’re sitting in my seat.”

“Yeah. I know. My seat’s over there. Feel free to take it.” He looks as if he’s about to say something more, but he turns to walk towards my actual seat.

Logan looks at me. I wonder if he knows something off. That taking some other kid’s seat isn’t something I’d normally do.

If he notices, he doesn’t mention it. “Anyways, how was your day yesterday?” He laughs and then adds, “Holy crap. That was such a mom question.”

I snort and answer, “Oh my god, you’re right. But it was good. I’m tired as hell, though.”

“No kidding.” I grin at him as the teacher looks at us again. I don’t really pay attention in math. I just talk to Logan. It’s relaxing to not have to care. To not have to worry about the consequences of my actions.

When we walk to lunch, I start complaining to Logan about how much of the day we have left.

“Uh, you know that we have an early day, right?”

“Oh! I do now.” He chuckles and smiles. I feel my cheeks warm up slightly at his smile. It’s a beautiful one. He starts to talk about some fandom of his and I try my hardest to pay attention.

I don’t really know what triggers this, although I have an idea, but I realize something. I’ve never kissed someone. Okay, this needs to change. I feel weird thinking about it, but I know exactly who I want to be my first and last kiss.

He’s about to start another thought, but I interrupt him. I don’t care. “You’re amazing.”

He looks at me as if I said the strangest thing he’s ever heard. “I mean it. You’re always there for me and you talk to me about things we like. I feel I don’t thank you enough for that.”

He still looks confused and a bit weirded out but he just smiles calmly. “Right back at you,” he responds as he fidgets with his hands and looks down at his shoes. I gesture for him to continue and, without hesitation, he does.

Logan sighs and packs up his lunch as the bell rings.

“Hey, will you walk home with me? I know you normally hang out here for a while but I want to talk to you.” I know this is a risk.

Just like before, he doesn’t say anything, but now I’m sure that we both know something’s wrong. “Yeah, of course.”

We grab our stuff and we start walking. He starts walking faster and gets ahead. This is not acceptable.

I break into a full sprint and he starts to chase me. My breath is short and raspy as I laugh all the air out of my lungs with him. When we reach the bridge, we’re both out of breath. We start panting like dogs on a hot day as we bend over and try to distribute our body weight evenly.

I stand up straight again and look at him. His face is glowing and his brown eyes are big and happy. He runs his hand through his slicked-back (with both gel and sweat) hair and adjusts his glasses. What a dork.

I know this is the moment. I move closer to him and press my lips against his own, my own brain not having a say in it.

The salty air blows through my hair and I feel on top of the world. After a couple of seconds, I step away. He looks confused. He wasn't okay with it. Oh, God. What have I done? I'm about to keep running down the bridge when he hugs me.

This time, I'm the unprepared one. After a minute, he lets go and slides his hand into mine. We continue to walk across the bridge. There's nothing we need to say and it feels amazing.

We don't have to explain ourselves. We can just walk quietly together. And it's not awkward.

My happiness fades away as I realize this is the first and last time I’ll be able to do this. I couldn’t change my mind if I wanted to. I already taped the note to his backpack when we left school.

Today was the best day of my life, but the rest of my life will be a living hell if I go back home right now. Today was a good day. One in a million.

This has to be the last time. Nothing good can last forever. Nothing can last forever.

We reach the other side. “Goodbye, Logan.”

He laughs. “You say it like this is the last time I’ll ever see you. I’m going to see you tomorrow.”

I feel my heart shatter a little bit more than it already had but I cover it up with a soft smile. “Yeah. It’s just goodbye for now.” He leans in and kisses my cheek and then twirls around like a ballerina. I choke back a sad laugh.

He starts to walk towards his house, but I just turn towards the water.

Tears spill silently down my face. I put my hand over my mouth to muffle my sobs. I want to run to Logan and scream his name, but I can’t. This has to be done alone.

I lift one foot onto the railing and then the other. This is it.

One last tear slips down my face as I whisper raspily, “I’m sorry, Logan.” I know it will be peaceful. A quiet ending. Not that I deserve one, but I guess it’s a favor to myself. I let go of the pole that I had been holding onto.

And then I’m falling.

Falling.

Gone.

Tagging: @sunandshinee @writingamongthecoloredroses @ettawritesnstudies @rhycantspell @just-perhaps @etddivine @antisocialdragonenby @crabsthinkfishfly @holdup-pause @gaydemiboy

#tw suicide #suicide awareness #tw acoholism #tw alcohol #tw abuse #tw abusive family #tw homophobia #verbose #vioaeon #writing #mine

10 notes · View notes

writsgrimmyblog · 7 years

Photo

Together with my Tomlinshaw: 50 Reasons series, which I will continue to update regularly, I’m starting another Tomlinshaw project - Little Lion Man - combining two of my favourite things. Tomlinshaw and Harry Potter. The first chapter will be posting over the coming weeks on Archive of Our Own. In the meantime, here’s a teaser blurb and extract from the first chapter beneath the ‘read more’ cut.

It’s his final year at Hogwarts, and Louis can’t wait to leave for good. He hates being in Gryffindor and he can’t even enjoy a smoke with the Slytherins now his best mate Zayn’s fucked off to Durmstrang. Ditched from his Saturday gig singing with the Weird Sisters in favour of a part-Veela from Beauxbatons with a penchant for floral shirts, caught in the middle of a sexuality crisis and on track for at least a couple of Trolls, Louis’ life is a mess and it’s barely even started.

Louis would be completely miserable if it wasn’t for WWN and Nick Grimshaw. The same Nick Grimshaw Louis has been listening to for years, ever since Nick’s early days on Potterwatch when he made Hufflepuff sound like the coolest house at Hogwarts and Louis was definitely too young for pirate radio. Even if Nick’s a bit of a smug twat sometimes, putting on the radio is like listening to an old friend. That is until Louis bumps into none other than Nick himself on a possibly-not-Hogwarts-authorised night out, lies about his age, throws up Firewhisky on Nick’s fancy dragon-hide boots and finally shares his most closely guarded secret.

As Louis tries to negotiate coming of age, sexuality, first times and his growing feelings for Nick, a new evil emerges which threatens to destroy the wizarding world. Peace can only last for so long and Louis is about to learn exactly how brave he can be as he finds himself fighting for his life and everything he’s ever loved.

Note: Louis is 17 at the start of this fic but he turns 18 over the Christmas holidays and will be 18 for the majority of the story. Come and talk to me about Louis and Nick in the HP universe! All asks welcome. Massive thanks to @gingertodgers for the initial brainstorming.

Little Lion Man - Excerpt

“I can’t do it.” Louis chucks his quill on the desk and sucks his thumb where an irregular spot of blue ink blooms on his skin. “I don’t need to know about Wolfsbane, it’s not even relevant.”

“I beg to differ, Mr Tomlinson.” Snape looks at Louis from his frame, his lip curling into a sneer. “If you wish to pass your exams – and at this rate you will fail miserably – you should know every ingredient, the precise angle of every slice and if you miss so much as one anti-clockwise stir I will have no choice but to give you a T.” Snape sounds delighted at the prospect. There should be some law against letting arsehole portraits oversee detention and set exam papers. Snape gets far too much pleasure out of making life miserable for everyone.

“What’s the point?” A deep sense of frustration curls in Louis’ stomach and he packs his quill and books into his battered satchel. Not for the first time he wonders how different his life might have been if his Hogwarts letter had never arrived. He could have been Louis Tomlinson, a regular lad from Donny. They’d let him play footie in Donny. No one would make him try to fly a bloody broom. He could have been anyone. Sometimes Louis just wishes he was normal. “I can’t wait to leave this place.”

“You remind me of someone I used to teach.” Snape taps one long finger against his lips as he watches Louis with dark eyes. “He too was wilful, disobedient-”

There’s no doubt who Snape’s talking about. He’s compared Louis to Harry Potter before, which is laughable. The only thing Louis has in common with Harry Potter is that he’s a Gryffindor and he doesn’t even like Gryffindors. Harry was Gryffindor Seeker. A proper legend. He saved the world when he was seventeen, when Louis is a few months away from his eighteenth birthday and he can’t even get through the day without being given a detention. Louis’ biggest accomplishment is a six-month singing stint with the Weird Sisters before they replaced him with some twat from Beauxbatons with Veela heritage. Bloody Harry Styles. He’s already had two Witch Weekly covers and Honeydukes named a line of strawberry shortbread gobstoppers after him. Nobody named any gobstoppers after Louis. He got hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx on his first night performing and the barman wouldn’t serve him any mead. It’s rubbish, being Louis.

“Won a war though, didn’t he?” Louis interrupts, before Snape can finish his list of Harry Potter’s negative attributes.

“Not without a great deal of assistance.” Snape sniffs and brushes the shoulder of his robes.

“He comes to see you sometimes, doesn’t he?” Louis slings his bag over his shoulder and leans against the desk, watching Snape.

“Another unhappy cross to bear.” Snape’s lips twitch into an almost smile. It’s a bit much, thinking about Snape smiling.

“What do you talk about?” Louis can’t help but wonder what on earth would bring the Head Auror to a musty old classroom to chat to a portrait, but Harry’s at Hogwarts more than ever this term. He’s usually surrounded by people asking for his autograph and flanked by Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley or an irritated Draco Malfoy who permanently looks as though he’s got his wand shoved up his arse.

“His affairs and mine are none of your business.” Snape scowls at Louis. “I suggest you focus on your studies and keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong.”

“You’re a fine one to talk about noses,” Louis mutters.

“Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“Fuck off.” Louis gives Snape the finger and it earns him a sneer. “You can’t take house points. You’re a portrait.”

“I can do whatever I please. Twenty points from Gryffindor for your appalling grasp of the English language. I have no doubt you’ll be back, Mr Tomlinson.” Snape flounces out of his portrait with a billow of his robes and Louis stares at the empty frame. He edges closer and takes in the tidy desk and the rolls of parchment and open books. Even the oil smells musty. Like the Restricted Section in the library or one of those enormous books they have to read for History of Magic about the Goblin Rebellions. He touches the painting and swallows back a peculiar wave of sadness which threatens to overwhelm him. He looks around for Professor Lupin’s portrait, but it’s empty. There’s just a dark, shadowy field and the glimmering light of a crescent moon which touches the grass and makes every blade shine a ghostly silver. Louis shivers.

He pockets his wand and makes his way to his room. Credence Parkinson asks if he wants to go for a smoke, but Louis declines. He’s desperate for a fag, but hanging out with Slytherins doesn’t feel right now Zayn’s gone. The rest of them are posh twats and Louis can’t help but feel increasingly more self-conscious about his obvious Northern twang, Muggle background and distinct lack of any kind of trust fund. He nods at Niall who gives him a friendly wave hello when he finally gets up to the Tower, but he doesn’t bother sticking around to talk to anyone. The Gryffindors are nice, but they’re all into Quidditch and winning the House Cup. Louis couldn’t give a kneazle’s whisker about the House Cup. He just wants to keep his head down and make it through the year as quickly as possible. Then he can do…something. Something better. Something Muggle, even. Go somewhere no one gives two hoots about N.E.W.T.s and potions.

With a sigh, Louis pulls out the small magical wireless his mum got him last Christmas and settles on the bed. He fiddles with the knobs and pulls the curtains around him until he hears the familiar voice that never fails to make his day better.

“What do we think of that, Fifi? The new single from The Gringotts Goblins.”

“It’s…interesting.”

Fiona sounds like she’s trying not to laugh and a small smile tugs at Louis’ lips.

“Don’t be rude about the goblins, Fifi.”

“Get on with it, Grim.” Louis loves Fiona. She always sounds like she’s caught between laughing her head off and throttling Nick. Louis can relate. There’s something about Nick Grimshaw that gets under his skin. The smug self-confidence and ease with which he goes through life, writing poncy columns about wizarding fashion and swaggering about in dragon hide. He’s always in the Prophet with his crup, Pig and his new pet Stinky which looks a bit like a highly illegal baby dragon, even though Nick keeps insisting it’s just a rare form of kneazle.

Louis knows a lot about Nick Grimshaw. He’s been listening to him since he first discovered Potterwatch and Nick’s late night Post-War Party Playlist. Nick’s less mad now he’s on WWN, but he still pushes new music onto the airwaves and never fails to give a shout out to all the new Hufflepuffs at the start of term. Puff Pride! he says, off the back of a laugh. Louis brushes his fingers over the radio. He wanted to be in Hufflepuff so badly. Nick made it sound cool and fun and even when he’s rolling his eyes at some of the things Nick says, he reminds Louis of home and roast dinners at his mum’s house with all the family around. Nick’s whole family are Muggles too, just like Louis’. He’s always banging on about Muggle things like the telly and how everyone’s obsessed with the footie, Coronation Street and people called the Kardashians.

“Anyway, enough of the goblins.” Nick’s voice is warm and comforting and it does peculiar things to Louis’ insides as he settles down onto the bed to listen to the next song. “Here’s something a lot better – I mean…” Nick bursts out laughing. “Not better. Just different. LOVE this song. The new single from The Luna Lovegoods. Bit Sleater Kinney this. Not that anyone knows what I’m on about. It’s Muggle, look it up.” With another laugh, Nick lets the single play.

Louis closes his eyes and turns up the volume, drifting off to sleep with Nick’s story about a mad night out infiltrating his dreams.

#tomlinshaw #tomlinshaw fic #my fic #tomlinshaw: little lion man #harry potter au #harry potter

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