#and oliver to me does not make sense at all as anything other than a white man

[roobylavender]

this is definitely one of my more controversial stances but while i believe oliver queen absolutely has to be played by a white man i don’t think bruce wayne necessarily has to be

[manicpixiefelix]

he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way)

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: When Oliver's lies are revealed to you and Felix, you have a much better time understanding his reasoning for it all, and Oliver convinces you to help talk Felix around into hopefully forgiving him. Felix, however, just grows more frustrated as it appears that you've very quickly moved on from the betray, and are urging him to do so too. Meanwhile, Oliver has come to realise that no matter the outcome, Felix will never really want anyone else if he has you by his side.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: death (YOU DIE IN THIS ONE), murder via overdose, oliver's birthday party situation, oliver being incredibly manipulative, reader and felix arguing a lot, felix being a bit of a dick, angst with an unhappy ending, toxic felix/oliver endgame, heavy drinking and drug use

{ now with an epilogue }

A/N: 6267 words. ooft ouch ooft my heart. i dont like reader & fi fighting and this whole thing fucked me up bigtime. like bigtime bigtime. big angst, please heed the warnings. what do you think about this one? i like it even if it made me cryyyy

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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"Please," Oliver's lip trembles when he grabs your sleeve. He doesn't try and chase Felix after you all get back from the disastrous trip to his parents' house, perhaps part of him knew he wouldn't get through to him in this state, so he latches on to you instead, "you- you know," and even just the helpless sense of desire in his voice is familiar to you, "I just wanted to be his friend, be your friend; be close to you both -" Oliver's fidgeting with your sleeve and your heart's breaking for him, despite the betrayal of his lies.

"Ollie-" you sighed, but he took both your hands in his, tears gathering in the beautiful blue eyes you've come to care so deeply about in the past year.

"I never meant any harm," he insists. His hands are shaking.

"I know, Ollie," you finally concede, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

"He won't listen to me- won't believe me; please, please, I need you to believe me, I need Felix -" and though he can't seem to finish the request, it's enough. The lies he's told, what they mean for the friendship you've all forged, it makes you feel more than a little queasy, but you think you understand him. At least better than Felix would in this moment.

"I'll try," though your tone doesn't inspire confidence, "just give him space, give him time -"

"I don't have time," Oliver croaks out weakly, gave dropping to the floor, "he'll throw me out tomorrow and never look at me again," this time, when his grip on your hands tightens, it becomes almost painful, face scrunching up as if dreading the tears he was about to shed, the things he was about to say; "and even if you don't hate me the way he does, I'll be losing you too."

Your silence speaks volumes. You hate that he's right.

"You know you're the only hope I've got left." Oliver's nails dig into your skin, but your hands don't shake.

"I will try, that's all I can do."

By the time you get to your room, Felix is already cutting up lines of coke with a delicate little razor from one of the various stashes you and the other wards of the Saltburn Estate had hidden throughout the building over the years. He doesn't look up when you enter, quietly, and furiously focused on the task at hand, cross-legged in the middle of your bed.

Sitting behind him, you lean in to press your forehead between his shoulders, sighing deeply.

"Yeah," Felix mumbles, "it's a bit like that, isn't it?"

Squeezing your eyes closed, all you can see is the love and desperation in OIiver's eyes as he'd held you back, begged for your understanding, forgiveness, friendship -

"You never loved someone so much you'd do anything to keep them around?" You asked softly, and feel Felix go still, "you never lied about your family because you were worried about how people would react if they knew the truth?" The more you consider, the less anger you feel towards what Oliver had done.

"You're different," Felix's voice is carefully neutral. There's a pause, a snort, a line of white powder going up his nose, "you didn't pretend that your dad died just to get sympathy out of me," he points out, already picking at the threads of similarity that you'd laid before him in hopes of softening the betrayal he felt so strongly.

Then he's moving again, doing things you're still not sure of, forehead still pressed to the fabric of his shirt between his shoulders. Sighing, louder this time, you go to say something more, to try and argue your case further, but Felix cuts you off. It's the sharpest he's ever been with you, you think, practically orders you not to talk about this anymore.

Then, he shifts, he reaches for you behind himself, and you move with him, without prompting. Felix leans back, and you move to his side, allow yourself to settle your head on his chest, looking up at him. One hand loosely draped over you, Felix tucks his other behind his head, eyes closed; even if they were open, he wouldn't be looking at you.

"Just shut up about Ollie, just shut up -" his tone is much softer now, but his words still bite more than you're used to, "I don't want to hear anything about fucking Oliver Quick right now." There's a nausea twisting in your gut that you're unfamiliar with, heavy and upsetting, that you somehow know has everything to do with Felix's tone. Part of you feels so embarrassed for even feeling like this, for being so wrapped up in pleasing him that even the slightest hint of disapproval for the first time in years has you so viscerally uncomfortable.

The other part of you ducks your gaze, and curls up against his side, obedient.

"Sure, Fi."

A long silence, softened only by Felix's deep breathing for several long moments before you finally feel him relax.

"I love you," it sounds almost like an apology. You wonder if he knows how to do that. Still, the nausea in your gut immediately begins to clear. This time, when you close your eyes, you try to just be present in the moment for what it is, Felix's arm around you, his steady heartbeat warm beneath your ear; you can find contentment here if you tried.

Much to your chagrin, Felix's mood and feelings of betrayal also meant he was no longer interested in the full costume you'd put together for him for Oliver's birthday party. He's well aware his mother would be appalled if he just showed up in jeans and a shirt, so he reluctantly pulls on the wings you'd spray painted up on the roof a few days before.

"I put time into this, Fi," you pleaded softly, looking at the rest of the costume you'd put together hanging sadly, untouched in his wardrobe.

"Maybe I just want to save it for a happy occasion," Felix refused to even sit down at the dresser, despite where you'd neatly set out both of your accessories for the night. He doesn't even spare the various, gold accoutrements that you'd curated for his costume a second glance, simply fusses with his hair in a way that won't even last.

"You're being ridiculous about this," you finally voice, unable to stop yourself, "he's still Our Oliver, his family doesn't change that -"

Felix goes still in the mirror, expression displeased when he meets your eyes in the reflection. Nausea again. You never want him to look at you like this ever again; you half want to apologise already.

"I don't care about his family, I care about how I don't know if I can believe anything he says! He lied to you, to me, he was clearly lying to his family, considering they have no idea he'd be nothing but a fucking joke at uni if it wasn't for me!" The outburst blindsides you, it seems to even blindside Felix, who has to take a few moments to compose himself before he can look you in the eyes again. Softly, that look of betrayal is turned upon you, "how can you be okay with that?"

A million answers blow through your mind - love, compartmentalisation, hypocrisy - but none feel right. There's no way for you to justify this to Felix, at least, not one that would make him happy, make him understand.

"Our Oliver-" but as he's standing, he cuts himself off, shaking his head, "Your Oliver -" but the words get stuck in his throat. After a beat, he scrubs his face over his hands, "I just don't understand," far calmer, he lets out a deep breath and continues, "how you got over this so fast," but before you can answer, his eyes open, and there's no fire, nor fury, just hurt; "and I need you right now, but not if you're going to be like this."

Oh, you're going to be sick.

It's apologies that spew out of you, nervous, still only half ready, and regretting every word that made Felix look at you like that. He tries awkwardly to tell you that it's not that bad, that he just wishes it felt like you were on his team. Insisting that you are gets you a weak smile from your best friend, but he still leaves seeming unconvinced.

There are voices outside, on the grounds. The party has begun, the sun will be set soon.

Half of your costume hangs up beside Felix's, your elegant, green gossamer robe shining next to the matching, gold gossamer pirate shirt that you had made for Felix. Neither leave the wardrobe, and perhaps you are underdressed in what was basically a set of incredibly ornate, bejewelled, and bedazzled lingerie, and boots, but you couldn't even bring yourself to care.

Perhaps, you consider, if Felix had blown up before you'd gotten this much on, you'd be as dressed down as he was for the event.

Before you leave, however, you go to double check yourself in the mirror, and don't think to knock. Oliver catches sight of you in the mirror before you properly realise he's there. Both freeze, both deer trapped in each other's proverbial headlights. Both with red-rimmed eyes. You wonder if he knows, if he waited with baited breath and an ear pressed to the bedroom door as Felix tore him down and you immediately gave him up to keep your best friend happy.

"You look like a dream," Oliver's voice is hoarse, and he turns to properly face you, to give your costume a generous look over, "merry wanderer of the night," he offers, meeting your gaze again. The line, pulled straight from the play upon which the whole night was based, was one you'd gleefully recounted to him when you told him you would be going as Puck.

There's a slight, sad smile on his lips, a shyness to the way he leans against the counter, but none of the awkwardness he carries around others. There, in his boxers alone, you realise how vulnerable he truly is in this moment, the moment you've so callously interrupted. But Oliver doesn't call you out, nor does he shy away from your gaze.

All words have escaped you in this moment, however. Even the idea of Felix's reaction to his moment makes you feel ill, but part of your heart still breaks for Oliver, for this boy so overwhelmed with love that he would do anything for it.

"I can go," Oliver says softly, apologetically, when you seem frozen even still. It breaks you out, however, and you shake your head vigorously.

"No, its okay Ollie."

"Your," he says slowly, pointedly, "Ollie." He'd heard. Fuck; how much? "I heard all of it," he admits slowly, approaching you. This time, you are the wild animal, cornered in the bathroom. Oliver doesn't look at you like prey, he doesn't approach you like a predator; he doesn't want to spook you, "I didn't mean to get between you and Felix," his voice is soft, and he sniffles a little, but tries to smile through it, "ever; back at Oxford, over Summer, ever."

But you can't bring yourself to look at him. Gently, you loop a finger through the fine, silver chain around his throat, keeping your gaze focused on it without ever tugging it too hard.

"I'm trying," you whisper, voice watery despite your best effort, tears gathering in your eyes, "but I -"

Oliver pulls you into a hug as the damn finally bursts, and the tension, the pressure of the day that had already been pressing down upon you finally breaks. Oliver lets you cry on his shoulder, petting your hair gently.

"But you're a good dog," he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your temple, and you're too distraught to catch the echoes of resentment in his tone.

"It's all I know how to be!"

"I know, pet, I know."

Once you've calmed down, you apologise for your outburst, for having him comfort you at a time like this. There's something different about him, about his smile, the look in his eyes, as he just assures you that it's fine, that he's going to still try and enjoy his night.

After cleaning yourself up and fixing your makeup, finally you make it downstairs. There's more people on the first floor than you'd been expecting, so you have to worm your way through the crowd to search for Felix.

"My gentle puck, come hither!" Felix voice rises through the crowd; if your ears could prick up, they probably would. Just the brightness in his voice lifts you from your melancholy, and when you finally reach him you're beaming.

And he's already drunk.

Which you would like to be too. As if anticipating your requests, he puts two fruity looking drinks in your hands, and picks up another two with a wide smile. You trot along behind him as he cuts a path through the crowd towards the sofas where your friends from Oxford had found themselves. A cheer rises when they see you, all glad for your company, all desperate to hear how your Summer had been so far.

At first, you're simply sitting on the arm of the sofa, beside Felix, bright and animatedly engaging in conversation with the others. Felix finishes his first drink and his arm goes around India, tucked up against his other side, but as soon as his second drink is finished, and you've leaned across him to put your own empty cup on the coffee table between you all, he uses it as an excuse to pull you into his lap.

"Felix," India says when she means what the fuck are you playing at right now? Felix gives a surprisingly cold smile, his hand slipping from her shoulder, moving lower to grip her side rather possessively. You simply wait, ready to move at a moment's notice.

"What?" There's something biting in Felix's voice, something that sounds so uncharacteristically mean as he raises his voice enough for the group to hear, "aren't you all still deluding yourselves about me and Y/N? Don't you still think we're related - or whatever it was Farleigh told you all?" Immediately the tension in your little circle of friends spikes. Felix's hand is practically between your thighs, gripping your thigh like he owns you. In any other circumstance you'd probably enjoy this, but every single one of your friends is suddenly looking at you like they'd never seen you before.

"You hot people disgust me," India finally breaks the tension flippantly, and everyone else cackles with laughter. Felix does actually grin at her, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"No we don't," he teases gently, and India tries to continue playing at being annoyed, by insisting that she needs something stronger than the bar could offer. As she stands, she looks back, holding out her hands to you and Felix.

"Come on, disgusting hot people; I know you're both already high and probably want some more."

"Knew there was a reason I liked you, India," you grinned, glad to have escaped that encounter without much of a mental or physical scratch, though Felix does make a point of grabbing your ass as you stand, even with India holding his other hand.

However you're another line deep in the bathroom, with India, Felix, and two of the others who'd followed along, when that good mood evaporates. Oliver stands in the door, waiting, watching; you're the first to notice him, to catch his gaze properly, but all he does is clear his throat. Felix looks to him when Oliver finally calls his name, but pointedly acts like he doesn't in the next moment.

"Can I, er, talk to you for one second?" Oliver asks faintly, but is met with no response. Instead of looking at Oliver, Felix momentarily flicks a frustrated gaze at you, like he feels your sudden discomfort and fidgeting is a personal betrayal, "you can't ignore me forever," Oliver tries, but Felix gives him a cold smile.

"I can try."

"Fi," you hissed, but all you get is another glare.

"Felix, we need to talk," Oliver was begging now, but he turned his attention to you, pleading, "can you get him to please listen to me, just for a moment -" but his words have your heart freezing in your chest. You can't even stutter Felix's name out before he's dismissing you both.

"I tried being nice about this," Felix huffed, "but if you're still insisting on playing Devil's Advocate for him, the both of you can fuck off and go bother the rest of the party." He relights his cigarette, but he doesn't even look at you once. One more time you try, reaching out, apology on your tongue, but he shrugs you off and finally gives a cutting look, "no I told you, okay? You're over it; fucking great for you. I'm not, and I don't have to be, so piss off and be over it away from me."

You stand, momentarily unsteady on your feet before you regain your balance and head to the door. Everything in your mind is a mess of emotions. The drugs and alcohol are sending you into overdrive, though neither is the reason you're feeling so sick. Still, while you know where Felix is coming from, one look at Oliver as you reach the door and you can't help but stop. Turning back, you hope Felix can read how damn hurt you are by all this;

"I'm not a monster for having a heart, Felix."

And you take some small victory from the surprise in his eyes. Before he can respond, however, you grab Oliver's hand and lead him away.

With another two fruity drinks, you and Oliver sit on the edge of the fountain outside, watching the revelry, mirroring each other's weary slump.

"How are you finding your birthday party?" You asked lamely after a few minutes. Oliver took a few moments to deliberate, while you sipped down your drink quite quickly.

"Don't know anyone," he says mildly, "and the people I do know think I'm a joke -" right, he'd heard Felix's earlier comments about the group from Oxford's feelings, "and I was aware kind of from the start of knowing youse," he casts his gaze to you now, turning to you, eyes meeting yours, "that my two best friends were bonded like those cats at the shelter, the kind you can't separate from each other or they'll cry all day and refuse to eat until you put them back together," the smile he gives you is humourless, and doesn't even reach his eyes, "but one hates me and the other has no spine," he shrugged like he hadn't just insulted you, going back to people-watching, "so I don't think it'll go down as my best birthday ever."

"I have a spine," you scowled, as if straightening your posture proved his point at all.

"Why? You don't need it," still as mild as before, Oliver takes a long, loud sip of his drink, "you've got Felix."

"I'm trying to help you, Oliver, I swear -"

"You don't know how to stand up for yourself, Y/N," this time, the look that he gives you is simply pitying, "I'm sorry I asked you to try and stand up for me." The words ache like a punch to the gut, "you're not even trying to help me for me, or for how much you supposedly love me; you love that I love Felix."

"Oliver, I love you!" You insisted through angry tears and gritted teeth, "how your mind works, how you figure things out, the books you like, the way you're constantly watching and cataloguing and remembering, it shows you care about the world around you and the people in it. I love that you're obsessive and ambitious and that you can be ruthless -" it comes out messy and unrehearsed, but you slowly see the shock and genuine awe on Oliver's face as he comes to terms with the fact that you're being genuine. For the first time all evening, you think you see guilt in his eyes. It's gone too fast, Oliver turning away.

"I love you too," he says gently, following it carefully with, "but we both know who you crawl into bed with at the end of every night." Then, under his breath, sounding so forlorn, "do not separate."

"Oliver-" but he stands, stretches, and finishes off his beer.

"He's probably already missing you, waiting to forgive you," he puts his empty beer bottle down on the edge of the fountain, and for just a moment, he reaches out and gently holds your face. Nothing is said, but there's endless, unreadable emotions in his eyes as he gazes into yours.

Then he's gone.

Making your way back to the estate itself, you forgo looking for Felix, half ashamed of the idea that Oliver was right, and instead slip beneath the velvet rope that cordoned off the upper floors of the house. Back in your bedroom, the stash of coke Felix had raided before the party was still reasonably well stocked, and the bottle of bourbon that you'd stashed in the broken piano last Christmas was thankfully untouched. There was something seriously sad, you think to yourself, about drinking and snorting alone in your room, upstairs from a party where you know your friends are all doing it too. But you don't want to see them. Don't want to see anyone.

The remainder of yours and Felix's matching outfits taunt you silently from the closet door on which they hang. They're beautiful and vapid and cold; you hate them.

"Oh, sorry, didn't realise you were -" it's Felix at the door - of course it is, who else would it be? - who startles you out of your thoughts. There's no frustration in his eyes anymore, no anger, just surprise. His gaze roams over you, from the drugs balanced on your knee to the half-full bottle cradled in your lap, "you okay?" Oliver's right, of course. Oliver's right about a lot of things.

"Yeah," you sniffle, taking another swig of the drink, "what did you need?"

"Think they're gonna sing happy birthday to Ollie soon," Felix leans against the doorframe. You share in an awkward silence for a long moment.

"That why you're here?"

"I came up to see if there was any of that coke left from before," he says, looking at the mirror on your knee and the still mostly full baggie on the bed next to you. Then, he gives a sheepish little grin, "yeah," he admits.

"We should be down there," you say without thinking. Felix's expression falls, and he kicks at the doorframe for a moment, "you do care about his family," spills from you; you're not even sure from where. Felix's expression grows darker.

"Why are you so insistent about doing this?"

"Because you love him, Felix," you remind him firmly, before putting down the bottle and rolling up the already significantly curved bill beside you, "and he loves you, and you know that," picking up the mirror, you make short work of the last line to avoid looking at Felix. Dragging your finger across the glass, you pick up the last of the residue, wiping it on your gums. Your hands remain busy as you pack the remainder of it all into the little, wooden box it was kept in, as you spoke, "you hate the parts of you he figured out, the buttons he learned how to push; Oliver," you snapped the box shut, looking up at him, "was too good to be true, and that's why you're hurt; you're scared it's like Eddie all over again, too good to be true -"

"You shut up about Eddie -" Felix warned, but you stood, box in hand, approaching him with a fierce, intoxicated determination.

"Eddie was never too good, you were just in love! Eddie wasn't even loyal!" You cried, shoving him with the box, letting out a desperate sentiment that you'd let fester in the darkest part of your heart for over a year, "he was never going to be loyal! He never loved you as much as you loved him! Never! And you were so blinded by how happy he seemed to be with this 'better life' you were offering him, you could never bloody see it -"

"You are drunk and high," Felix spits at you, clearly holding himself back from tears.

"But all I ever want is you to be happy," hanging your head, you push the box into his grip and stumble back to the bed, searching for the bottle, "why can't you trust me about this?"

"Oliver fucking lie to me, betrayed me -"

"Us!" You shouted, unscrewing the lid with vigour, "to keep you in his life. You just don't like what the lies he used to keep you around say about you." And with that you furiously started chugging more of the drink.

"I'm done with you," Felix's voice is weak, hands coming up to cover his face. Lowering the bottle, all you can do is stare at him. It's like you've been splashed with ice water.

"Fi -"

"I need space; I need you out of my room for the rest of Summer."

"Fi, please -"

"I thought you were fucking better than this!" He snapped, finally stalking away, while you were too disorientated to even go after him.

The first thing you manage to do is stumble to the bathroom and throw your guts up into the sink. Physically you feel a bit better, but the nausea you can now tell is psychological. Downstairs, though you don't know how much time has passed, the house has transformed itself into a rave. Too bright. Too hot. Too sticky. You think you catch sight of Ollie, but your gaze quickly moves to Felix, silhouetted by neon and haze, looking like an angel. Beside him, India sparkles and giggles and her hands are all over him. You want him to be happy, you don't want to interrupt but you have to -

Someone catches you before you faceplant in the middle of the dancefloor, and it turns out it is Oliver.

"You look like a bit of a mess," he says, aiming for a light, joking tone, but it almost sets you off. Seeing you about to start crying, Oliver starts to panic, and suggests the two of you get some air. Though you want to protest, you see Felix and India, hand in hand, making their way to the side doors. Oliver, champagne in one hand, has his other arm under yours, supporting you as the two of you made your way out too.

The night air is cool, a sharp contrast from inside, so sharp it almost stings.

"I should'a kept my mouth shut," you whimpered, "I didn't need a spine, why did I listen to you?" Oliver is simply quiet, listening to you ramble, getting the gist of what had happened between you and Felix as you slowly made your way to the maze.

"I don't wanna go in," you whispered at the entrance, looking down it's tall, green corridor. Oliver looked at you strangely.

"Worried you'll get lost?"

"I could never get lost, Felix made sure of that plenty of times." Carefully, you extract yourself from Oliver, sitting cross-legged by the entrance of the maze, looking out over the rest of Saltburn with your back to the hedges; Oliver watches you curiously, "I can wait for Fi here."

"I can't wait," Oliver finally says, "I don't have the time. I have to try."

You, surprisingly serene and content with your decision, more at peace than you'd been during the entire walk over, make no attempt to stop him. You just tell him you'll be here when he gets back. This time you genuinely smile, insisting he go in without you.

"I'll be here, I promise; I'll wait."

So he goes, and you listen to his footsteps retreating. After a few minutes, however, he returns.

"I think you need this more than I do," and he hands you the bottle of champagne he'd been carrying. Turns out there's only really a quarter of the bottle left, but at least you think it won't be enough to make you sick again.

As frustrated as Felix could get, he's never not forgiven you. That's all you can think about as you finish off the bottle.

You would apologise. You would make it up to him. You could make this better again.

Except...

Hang on, wait, who was that who just ran out of the maze? Someone ran out of the maze? You were pretty sure someone did anyways... maybe India, if Oliver had confronted -

Oliver is the second to escape the maze. Instead of heading directly back, he waits, unseen for Felix to leave, observing the way he'd stumble out, not even glancing around enough to see you on the ground in the shadow of the maze itself. Once he was sure he was alone, Oliver crept over to your catatonic body, mouth agape, bottle still clutched but empty in one hand. Still breathing, though it was shallow, he checked your pulse only to feel a heartrate like a humming bird. If he called out now, Felix could hear him, could get help, could save your life.

But Felix would want for nothing as long as he had you by his side.

When you start convulsing, Oliver leaps away, startled. But he watches, and remains quiet. He takes the bottle, and just for a moment presses his forehead to yours.

"I'm sorry," it almost gets caught in his throat, "I loved you, I promise I did."

And he leaves.

Oliver wakes to a knock on the door. While Felix doesn't exactly seem happy to see him, it appears he has bigger things to worry about.

"Is Y/N in here?" He cuts right to the chase; there's dark circles under his eyes.

"Have you gotten any sleep?" Oliver yawns. Felix shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"I've checked literally every other room in this house," ignoring him, Felix explains himself, "I told them last night I wanted them to stay somewhere else, but I didn't mean it," he frowns, peering around Oliver as best he could, trying to see for himself. Oliver, who already knew this, but still played dumb, went wide-eyed.

"You didn't talk to them last night?"

"I was talking to them a lot last night -"

"They were waiting outside the maze for you; they were there when I left."

Oliver's never seen Felix run so fast.

It takes Duncan informing the rest of the family over breakfast that a gardener has spotted Felix sat by the edge of the maze for the past hour, to clear up his whereabouts.

"And have you heard from Y/N?" Elspeth adds, though Venetia buts in.

"Probably at the maze with Felix," she rolls her eyes; Oliver looks at his eggs, his runny, sickening eggs, and keeps his mouth shut. Elspeth sighs and requests someone go and collect them, tell them that lunch is ready, and promptly directs a smile at Oliver, asking how he'd enjoyed his birthday.

Oliver's halfway through an awkward thanks, assuring her it was grand, before Duncan re-enters. For the first time since Oliver first laid eyes on him, he looks genuinely shaken.

"I, uh, I do apologise," his words keep getting caught, and he can't seem to focus his gaze for too long, "I have some tragic news; Captain Y/N has passed away."

The world stops.

Felix Catton sits in the shadow of the hedge maze with you, his best friend, the love of his life, dead in his arms.

"I thought you were fucking better than this!"

His last words to you echo endlessly in his head as he cradles you to him. He'd found you slumped over at a painful angle, clearly having been sitting cross-legged on the grass, waiting, just as Oliver had said, still wearing part of the outfit you'd prepared. You looked so cold, so he'd wrapped you up in the robe he'd been wearing, maroon; you'd always said it was your favourite of his, but you'd never wear it, said it looked better on him.

"Can't believe I made you wait," it wasn't the first time he'd muttered it since finding you, "I'm so sorry, I won't do it again," he assured, and leaned in, pressing his forehead to your cold shoulder and collarbone, "and I didn't mean it about needing space from you; I couldn't even do it for one night, I got so lonely I spent the entire night searching all hundred and bloody something rooms we have, for you."

"Felix?" Venetia's voice is the first one he's heard since Oliver's, and it shakes, "Feef?" And maybe it's the way he can tell she's started crying, or the nickname he hasn't heard since he was six, but it all hits him at once. Finally he starts to cry, the shock giving way to anguish as Venetia drapes herself over him at the sight of you. Farleigh goes into shock, silent, falling to his knees before he brings his head down too, completely shutting down.

Oliver doesn't know how to react, doesn't know if he can. He stands back from the others, back from even James and Elspeth, silent. He did what he had to do. It takes him a long time to realise he's even started crying too.

Elspeth and Sir James try to keep up a sense of normalcy around the house, but barely anyone is able to keep up. Farleigh and Venetia show up and barely speak, Oliver can't bring himself to even look at anyone at the dining table, and Felix hasn't shown up for three days straight. He's been locked in his room, and none of them blame him.

None of the others know that he comes out at night. Well, he opens the door during the day since the staff have started leaving plates of food for him at his mother's request. But during the night, Felix leaves his room to crawl into Oliver's bed. Oliver never makes comments, but he always makes room, and Felix still hasn't kicked him out of the house. Small steps to victory.

"All those lies, all that shit you told us, you did it because you'd do anything to keep us around," on the third night, Felix speaks into the darkness, back to Oliver under the expensive sheets.

"To keep you around," Oliver corrected quietly, "I knew as long as I had you around, I would have them too." After a few moments, he could hear Felix start to sniffle. Carefully, testing his luck, Oliver shuffled around to face Felix. Wriggling closer, he draped an arm over Felix's chest and pulled him close, pressing himself against Felix's back. In the moment, Felix takes Oliver's hand and laces their fingers together.

"They always loved you, Felix; I never saw anything like it."

Small steps to victory.

At your funeral, Felix finally sees your parents. He wonders if looking at them is anything like looking at the idea of who you would have grown into. He doesn't think so; their expressions are so cold beneath their performance of grief.

They do, however, seek him out, ask his name, and hand him a framed photo. They say they won't be needed it anymore. It's you and Felix beneath the Eiffel Tower, arms around each other, each of you using your free hand to together form a heart between you, laughing at something just off camera. Oliver makes a disdainful remark about your parents, but slips his hand in Felix's, and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Elspeth asks if Felix wants to keep the photo in his room, and when he remarks that he doesn't know, she suggests it gets placed with the other family photos over the fireplace in the television room. It fits in perfectly.

"I love you," Felix mumbles in the dead of night, pressed up along Oliver's back, lips in his hair, arm around him, "like proper love you." Oliver is quiet, "the kind of love I've been wanting to tell you for a while, but now I'm terrified that the reasons I love you aren't even real."

It's been a few weeks, he's intergraded back into life at home, but has taken a leave of absence from Oxford. As has Oliver. He still hasn't left Saltburn, he wonders if he ever will, if he ever has to.

"What parts?" Oliver said, voice barely more than a whisper, "I'll never lie to you again; I want you to know the truth of me." There's a rush of electricity, his fingers and toes feel all tingly; he doesn't want to sound too enthusiastic, but can't help but feel a giddy rush.

"I like how you can figure heaps of stuff out, but," Felix hesitates and hums, "I don't think I like what you figured out about me," he admits.

"I'll never bring that up again," Oliver reassures him, but Felix just hums once more, "and I figured out more stuff about you, good stuff; I figured out what made me love you too."

Felix presses a kiss to the back of his head. He doesn't smile, but that's to be expected nowadays. Felix doesn't really smile a lot anymore.

But Oliver takes it for what it is; his victory.

{ epilogue }

[forgeofthenine]

So I met a fellow tiefling bachelors enthusiast and we got into a conversation about weather or not the three would like foods from earth. Specifically pizza. What do you think will happen when the modern s/o (post absolute) makes them pizza for the first time?

I've gotta admit Anon, this did end up becoming more of a broad 'modern food' reaction, but I did add all of their opinions on pizza! I hope you still enjoy it :)

How the tiefling bachelors react to modern food

Dammon

Dammon strikes me as the kind of guy that genuinely really likes pizza

He's not picky with food, you can top it with anything and give him any type of base and he'll still enjoy it

I actually think he'd like pizzas with unique toppings, he'd be big on olives on pizza, or Hawaiian style ones with pineapple, and he'd love dessert pizza

One of Dammons favourite at home date night ideas ends up being cooking up a pizza dinner together

Both of you filling the counter with potential toppings and very occasionally sabotaging each others pizza

He'd also like other more 'modern' foods, think hot dogs, popcorn, and shoe string style chips

Hot dogs in particular he'll happily load up with all the fixings, you'll start to wonder if he has more toppings than hot dog

Dammon is a defender of loaded fries too, and he's always offering you a taste of whatever topping combo he's come up with this time

Zevlor

I feel like Zevlor wouldn't be a big fan of pizza

Modern pizza chains would be too greasy for his taste and homemade pizza just doesn't hit the spot

I feel like if he could though, Zevlor would get really into modern barbeque and smoked meat culture

As soon as he realises the possibilities there's no stopping him

I think Zevlor would really vibe with burgers, particularly because with the right kind of meat and toppings it's not too greasy

A big fan of chicken burgers, and if he is making a burger with beef then he's a huge supporter of beetroot on burgers

He'd love having a wood smoker too, absolutely the type to put research and practice into making the best smoked brisket and smoked fish

The good food and sense of accomplishment really keep him circling back to the hobby, very quickly becoming an expert

Zevlor loves seeing your reactions to his latest food endeavours too

Rolan

Okay, I feel like Rolan has no strong opinions of pizza, hot dogs, or burgers

They're all something he where he could take it or leave it, not a big deal to him

He does appreciate it if you cook any of these for him though

However, there are some modern foods he absolutely loves

One of them is sushi, he's obsessed from first taste

Rolan loves a variety of sushi but his favourites include tuna, salmon, egg, and avocado

He likes that it's quick and easy to eat without him feeling bogged down afterwards

When he's wanting something a bit different he'd go for Korean fried chicken

I see Rolan as someone that handles spice really well and I think he'd enjoy some spicy fried chicken

Between the crunch as he bites into it and all the different spices used have him addicted

His love of spicy food doesn't end there though, this man would love biryani

The spicier the better for him

Unless you're also good with spice don't ask for a bit of Rolans food, or you might find your tongue burning

[lover-of-mine]

Have you done a color/structure(?) analysis of Buck's coming out to Eddie scene? If you haven't, could you? I just love your other ones, and that one has been niggling at me, but I don't know if there's anything there.

Okay, this took me longer than I expected because I had a weird weekend but let's do it now oaksoaksasas

The first major thing about the scene is that it is a blue and yellow scene (I have a theory about the blue and yellow you can read here) because they are playing with the sun around Buck and Eddie a lot this season, the locker room, the basketball scene, the coming out scene, that new locker room still Tim shared, even the buckley diaz family scene in 707 so that's important no matter what they are actually trying to accomplish there, if it's a reference to the way Oliver keeps saying Buck is looking for light or if queer romance has its own color combo, it's a thing and I think that the way they keep adding blue and gold/yellow to buddie scenes this season means they are absolutely doing something with it, even more considering the will reveal is very explicitly blue and yellow and we all know that scene is a key scene for the 2 of them in terms of romance.

But like, even the labels of the beers they are drinking are blue with yellow detailing, so pretty much every aspect of the scene is in that color scheme. The beer is also interesting because of the beer they usually drink being yellow and that they focused a lot on last season, going as far as making a point of showing a scene where Eddie is turning the bottle so we can see the label in 613.

Two things that feel inconsequential but are almost definitely absolutely completely on purpose in the scene are the way the shade of blue Buck is wearing is the same shade as his eyes and the way Eddie's phone has a black phone case the phone itself is green.

So not only are we dealing with the blue and yellow they are establishing, but we also have blue and green aspects going on here, tho arguably very muted. (blue and green masterpost) but this is just a detail I wanted to point out aopskloaksa

Going back to the beers, I will be honest, I keep trying to find a pattern in the scenes where they open the bottle for each other. It seems like they don't open the bottle for each other when they are discussing a problem outside of their relationship with each other? Like, Buck opens the bottle for Eddie in the kitchen scene in 309, Eddie opens the bottle in 612, and those two scenes lead to them talking about their relationship in a sense. But they just hand the bottle closed to each other in 312 when discussing the skateboard incident, in 504 when discussing Chim leaving, and Buck does hand Eddie the bottle closed during the coming out scene which is ultimately not about their relationship, although, Buck does hand the bottle while it's open to Eddie in 613, but they don't show Buck opening said bottle so I kinda think there's something to be said about the action of opening the bottle for the other in scenes they are opening up to each other about each other.

Something major about the scene is also the framing and positioning of them in the scene. I made a framing meta with most of their major scene at some point during the hiatus, you can read it here, but something about the 2 of them is that they tend to be on the same level while talking about Eddie's problems, they are both sitting down (that's even exemplified in 705 with the gym scene) and they seem to have Buck sitting down and Eddie standing up when talking about Buck's, so Buck is physically looking up at Eddie. I have an admittedly confusing post about Buck and the looking up thing you can read here because I touch on emotional scenes for Buck that don't involve Eddie if you want more thoughts.

The whole looking up thing is interesting for many many reasons, but mainly because, one, Buck is a big guy and Oliver is the tallest person in the main cast, so he's usually the biggest person in the room, so having him sitting down is a way to make him have less power in the scene in a sense. There's also the way that Buck as a character likes being in high places, he sits at the counter, the chills on top of the firetruck, he sleeps in a loft, he likes being physically high.

But there's also the way the show tends to give Buck the high ground during emotional scenes. Both figuratively, like having him stand up before yelling at his parents in 404 or having him be the only one standing up when he tells the team about Daniel in 405, and literally, like in 316 when he's talking to Maddie about being the one who's always left behind and breaking up with Taylor in 518.

It's also interesting because Buck mostly looks up his love interests, there are exceptions to this, he has scenes looking up at Bobby even though most of their heart to hearts they tend to be on the same level, both standing up or both sitting down, but he looks up at Taylor and Abby and Ali and Eddie and I think that plays into the way Buck wants love to fix him, so he doesn't want balance, he wants answers. But this is a problem when you think about it. Because that creates an emotional imbalance between Buck and Eddie. It physically exemplifies the way Buck's admiration of Eddie clouds his judgment when it comes to Eddie. He expects Eddie to have the answers. He blindly trusts Eddie and in a romantic setting, that's bad. Buck can't really expect Eddie to be right all the time or just accept anything Eddie decides, because then their relationship is unbalanced, then Eddie is controlling it and a romantic relationship can't work in these circumstances.

But this scene actually breaks that pattern twice: Eddie is looking up at Buck while they are talking about Marisol and Buck actually sits down before telling Eddie it was a date.

This is huge. Monumental. Incredible. I have been waiting for this for SO LONG. Because Buck needs reassurance from Eddie here, but he is not looking at Eddie for guidance, he's looking at Eddie for acceptance. And that's what he's getting. Proof of Eddie's unconditional love. And Eddie needs Buck to just tell him how to fix it while being very irrational about the whole situation and Buck is being the voice of reason.

Also about the positioning in the frame, something media does to let people know the characters are not standing on the same side, to give that impression that they are in different places in the scene during a close-up is to place the characters on different sides of the frame, even in the beginning of the scene, they are on different sides. (Guide down the middle to help visualizing)

But when they are actually talking about it, they are both in the middle of the frame. Another scene they do this is the will reveal, during the will reveal they tend to both be in the middle of the frame. And that kinda gives this idea that they are seeing eye to eye, that they are on the same side. I have a whole meta explaining how they used this effect to show Eddie letting Buck in during his breakdown era, you can read that one here.

BUT, interestingly enough, Eddie actually leans away from the middle when they are talking about Buck dating Tommy besides the general concept that that means Buck is also into men, while Buck stays in the middle. That can absolutely represent a way for Eddie to distance himself from it in a sense, that while he is fine with Buck being bi, he's not all that fine with the concept of Buck actually dating Tommy even though he is encouraging Buck to go after him, but that's just a theory to back me and my Eddie fell first and has accepted he can't have Buck tendencies. I think that's also backed by the way Eddie is maintaining eye contact from the moment he realizes this is something important for Buck, but he does break that eye contact when Buck tells him he can't stop thinking about Tommy, almost like he needs a second to believe what he's about to say.

Another interesting thing is the way they had Eddie ready to leave and Buck doing his little ducked head Eddie smile while Eddie leaves, so Buck seems fine with the way the conversation went, before having Eddie turn back around to hug Buck.

He reaches the door, realizes he's forgetting something, and strides right back to demand a hug, which considering 703 when we have Buck stopping to thank Tommy then running after Eddie, and Eddie being about to run back to Marisol and a relationship he doesn't really want to be in, the way he stops in his tracks to go back to Buck, kinda poetic when you think about this way, I think.

I think there's a lot to dissect when it comes to the actual wording of the scene too. Eddie saying "this doesn't change a thing between us" is very on purpose, if Eddie had said anything instead of a thing, it would have had a different effect. Not changing a thing when, one, we all know it will change it because buddie is coming, and two, even if we didn't know buddie is coming, this has the potential to fundamentally change the nature of their relationship eventually and the show loves to prove Eddie specifically wrong, but even then, would adding romance actually be changing anything between them when they are already life partners? This fundamentally changes them but also doesn't change them at all. Also the way Buck says "that's a relief" sounds almost as if he was expecting Eddie to say something else.

Also, love the way we got another roundabout way for Eddie to say he loves Buck but this time he actually said the word love "he'll love you like we all do" thank you, Eddie, for finally using the word.

Also love the way Buck is just taking deep breaths through the conversation because this was something that was stressing him out and it going well makes him breathe easier because he needs Eddie's acceptance in this.

I think these are all my thoughts on this scene, at least is all I can think about right now, so, as always, if you read this I love you 💜

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

Five: Finn

Church Ruin

Athens, Greece

Finn couldn’t look away. He had bundled Logan in both of their coats, one unzipped and pulled up higher to cushion his head against the rough stone of the wall. He’d used one of Leo’s alcohol packets to clean his face. Everything was the same. The brush of his long eyelashes against his cheek, the tilt of his head against the wall and the soft curl of his fingers into his palm. The warm olive of his skin. The sound of his breathing in his sleep—or whatever this was. If Finn blinked, Logan was going to disappear again.

He kept choking up. Kept crying, silent, and then wiping at his cheeks when the wind chilled his tears. He kept touching Logan, careful to let him rest but needed to feel his warm skin. He wanted to crawl inside those doubled coats, press his cheek against his chest, listen to his heartbeat.

“Anything new?”

Finn sniffed from the cold as Leo crouched down beside him. He shook his head. “No. Just this.”

Leo made a sympathetic sound. “It’s good that you’re staying close to him. But I wanted to tell you, the boys think we should head to one of the islands. Hide out until we can figure out how to reach Remus. We can’t lie low here very well, not in a city.”

“But how…” The fear seized him again, his throat constricting. “Leo, what if he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will,” Leo said.

“What if he doesn’t know me when he does?”

“I hope he will.”

“What if he needs a doctor? What if he dies?”

“No,” Leo said. “I won’t let him.”

“You’re not a doctor. You’re a lot of things but you’re not that.”

“Don’t I know it, but they’ll be watching the hospitals, Finn. We can’t.”

Finn looked over at him. Leo’s face was taut, blue eyes taking Logan in. His eyes, his mouth, his hair, his hands. Finn liked that. He liked watching Leo look at Logan like that. Like he understood how precious Logan was. Logan could come across as a little rude, a little quiet, a little harsh. Sometimes Finn felt alone at the occasional faculty party Logan made it to. Like no one would ever understand how wonderful Logan was. His colleagues would clear their throat a little, taken aback after the initial attractive charm of how handsome Logan was. But Leo looked like he knew. Leo did know.

“I never thought I’d see him again,” Leo said in a small voice.

Finn nodded. He couldn’t speak, but he reached out and put his hand over Leo’s. Leo looked down at it. Slowly, he turned his hand around so that their palms fit together and their fingers laced. Finn squeezed hard, knowing they were both only trying to make sense of it all. It felt good to have something to hold onto.

“You know those notes,” Leo said, still looking down. “Your notes, in the hall at home? I mean, at your flat?”

Finn nodded again. He’d hardly been able to look at them but he hadn’t been able to take them down, either. Logan had framed them as a present after their wedding. Their little love confessions. Finn joked that they had said it more officially than that. Whispered into each other’s mouths after two years of knowing each other, wanting each other, kissing and kissing and kissing for the first time in the dark third floor of a Harvard library. He’d woken up the next morning, peaked just one eye open, to find Logan balancing a note on his bedside table against his water glass before sneaking out for his eight AM. He’d closed his eye in time to feel Logan, thinking he was still asleep, press the most tender kiss to his forehead.

“I don’t like that he doesn’t know they’re there,” Leo said.

Finn realized his eyes had closed, the ghost of the kiss laying over him like snow.

Framed love. In the lonely apartment. He had a photo of Logan somewhere, grinning crookedly as he put the nails in the walls, fresh off their honeymoon, tanned from the beach, hair honey highlighted by the sun. Sentimental. So sentimental.

Leo’s silhouette standing in the hallway, usually taking his coat off or putting it back on, was just as clear an image. Logan’s voice from the kitchen. Leo—Lay-oh, the way he said it. Finn loved every fucking sound out of his mouth—Leo, I’m burning your instructions, this water won’t boil. Leo, in no hurry, re-reading every word. Sometimes Finn wondered if he could tell what sentence, which frame, he was reading from just by the tilt of his head. Logan’s I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m yours now, or his own, I’ve loved you for so long, baby. So long.

“I know,” Finn whispered. He squeezed Leo’s hand again. He thought of Leo pressed all along his back after realizing that Logan was alive and had no idea who he was. “Hopefully…Hopefully we’ll all get to go home soon and all of this will just be a memory.” He sighed, watching Logan breathe. “One that we all remember and can all let fade.”

Leo’s thumb brushed over Finn’s knuckles. “Finn?”

“Hm?” Finn reached out again, pushing the top of the coat zipper away from Logan’s cheek. The metal would be cold. Logan was perfectly still. Finn looked up, though, when Leo stayed quiet. He had watched the gesture. “Yeah?”

Leo blinked. Shook his head. “Never mind. Um.” He pulled his hand away from Finn’s. “Fuck, okay, look.” Leo reached into his jacket and took out a gun. It was small, smaller than the ones Finn watched Leo and the others strap to their hips and backs.

“Whoa,” Finn said.

“I want you to take this,” Leo said.

Finn stared at the pistol. “Leo, I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to shoot that.”

Leo frowned. His eyes darted to Logan. “I always thought Logan might teach you.”

Finn shook his head. “No. I mean, we tossed the idea around, but we never…You know.” Finn shrugged one shoulder. “I was his break from it all.”

“Well, not anymore. Not after Jack. Take it now.” Leo put the gun into Finn’s hand. “Look. This is the safety. Keep that on at all times. And this—”

In the next moment, there was a tight pressure around his neck and Finn found the air knocked from his lungs as he was yanked backwards. For the second time that day, the mouth of the gun was pressed against him. His temple this time.

“Move and I kill him,” Logan’s voice said from behind him, right next to his ear.

“Lo,” Finn gasped out, clutching at Logan’s arm. Blood rushed in his ears at the pressure against his throat. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know you. “Lo, please—”

“You,” Logan said, and Leo’s blue eyes widened, his hands raised away from his weapons. “What do you want from me?”

“We don’t want to hurt you, Logan,” Leo said and Finn was surprised by how even his voice came out. “Please don’t hurt him. Please, you don’t want to hurt him.” Leo’s eyes flicked nervously to Finn’s, and Finn clutched harder at Logan’s arm, coughing.

Holding onto Logan’s arm so tight, the music beginning. Trying not to watch his mom dabbing at her eyes. Logan’s soft smile when they faced each other at the top of the aisle. “You don’t have to hold on so tight, Rouge. I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”

“Tell me who you are,” Logan said. The cold metal dug into Finn’s cheek. “Tell me. Why are they after me?”

“We’re your friends, Logan. Your teammates. We’re trying to figure that out, too,” Leo said. “You’re not alone. They’re after Remus, too. Do you know Remus?”

“Non,” Logan said.

Leo tried again, hesitantly. “Pascal?”

Finn badly wished he could see Logan’s face. All he could stare at was Leo’s blue eyes. Leo shook his head softly. “No? That’s alright.”

“Non. I…I don’t know—I don’t know anything,” Logan said, and Finn’s chest ached.

“We’ll help you,” Finn managed to say, and it was so stupid to feel relieved to be settled against Logan’s chest even with a gun to his head, but he was. “Logan, we’ll help you—”

But then he was being shoved forward, momentarily on his side before Logan had thrown a leg over his hips, pinning him to the ground with the gun right over his heart.

“You’re the one trying to get close,” Logan said. God, how many times had Logan looked down at him just like this, how many times had he been a weight over Finn, just like this…but not like this at all. “My husband. I don’t even know I was—”

Gay, was perhaps what he was about to say. Or, in younger Logan fashion, like that. Finn felt like he’d been slammed back nine years. Back to the very beginning. A reluctant Logan. A confused Logan. A young Logan, scared to admit to all the different ways he wanted Finn. Logan’s mouth pressed into a thin line, keeping the word in just like he used to. Finn had spent a good two years watching as Logan began to smile while using it—or at least, something like that word.

All I know is that I want a Finn O’Hara, Logan had laughed into his mouth that perfect summer. New York City. Burning sunset and dinner on a boat, humidity curling Logan’s hair and after dinner drinks on a rooftop. Before the agency had spotted Logan. Before any of it. And a Finn O’Hara wants me.

He still wants you, Finn wished he could say. I still want you. Do you still want me?

“My phone,” Finn whispered. “My phone, in my pocket.” He moved his eyes down to his left. “Right there.”

Logan looked, and Finn took the instant to look back at Leo, upside-down, and give his head a small shake. He won’t hurt me. Finn knew it in his bones. He can’t hurt me.

“You can’t trick me with—”

“You don’t have to open it,” Leo said. “Just look at the screensaver.”

That was better, Finn thought. He was going to have Logan look at pictures of their wedding, but this was better. It felt raw. Finn loved that photo. He hoped Logan could somehow feel that. Or even remember it. What had he done before? How had he broken through and why had it caused so much pain?

Logan, without moving the gun, dug into Finn’s pocket for the phone. Finn felt his hands search for weapons, too, briefly. Logan’s eyes caught on his when he found him completely unarmed. Finn couldn’t see the screen, but he could see Logan’s face as he took it in: Himself, soft as sunset. His brows drew together and he stared, and stared. When the screen went black, he tapped it to see the photo again.

“That’s you,” Finn said. “It’s you.”

Tentatively, Finn tried to sit up. It was a mistake. Logan flinched hard, renewing the angle of the gun, which had drifted some in distraction. He dropped the phone and pinned Finn’s hands above his head. He looked more panicked than before.

“Why don’t I know you? I should know you if that’s real—”

“It is,” Finn pleaded. He tried to free his hands. If he could just touch him. “Please, Lo, it’s me. It’s Finn.”

Logan was fighting him, gun digging in, hand back around Finn’s throat, but Finn didn’t care. He didn’t care.

“Finn.” Leo’s voice sounded far away. Panicked, but far away. “Stop. Stop it.”

“Harvard,” Finn choked out. He kept his eyes locked on Logan’s green ones. “Harvard, the third floor of the library.”

“What?” Logan said. “Who are you—” But he’d winced. Finn saw it, he winced.

Finn let out a low noise and renewed his efforts, settling all the strength he could find into keeping himself from shaking. The fact that it was a gun was beginning to settle in. Mostly though, he was afraid for Logan. Afraid he would do something that, if he ever came back to himself, he would regret.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Leo pleaded. “And you’re not our captive. Just let him talk to you, Logan—”

But Finn knew better than that. Logan was stubborn. When he had something set in his mind, it took months to undo it—sometimes years. Not minutes, especially not on such uneven ground as this. Finn would have to try and trip his wires again, jump him right back into himself, even if only for a few more seconds.

“The hot chocolate machine,” Finn said. “Third floor. Harvard. Library. You love it, I think it’s disgusting but you loved it and I brought you some while I was helping you study. The English was hard for you back then.”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them wide again, like he had double vision.

“You know,” Finn said. You know. It’s in there. “Before you could speak ten languages.”

“Finn,” Leo said. “This isn’t the way. It’s hurting him.”

“I don’t speak ten languages,” Logan bit out.

Leo said something fast in a language Finn couldn’t even begin to identify. Russian? Logan’s eyes snapped up. He’d understood.

“I know it’s confusing,” Leo began to say, but then Logan was looking at Finn again.

“The library,” Logan repeated.

“Yes.” Finn wrapped his fingers around Logan’s wrist, the hand on his neck. He realized he was nodding, almost frantically. He could see them in that memory. Standing close together in the tiny, freezing corner with the vending machine. The flimsy paper cup filled with steaming, powdery hot chocolate. “I said, that’s too fucking sweet. I said that I didn’t know how you could stand it…And you said—”

“I’m—” Logan began, and then cut off. His eyes were wide, searching Finn’s face. It wasn’t the recognition that he’d seen before, not the real knowing, but it was something. It was finishing Finn’s sentence.

I’m sweet. I’m sweet.

And then Finn had kissed him for the first time. Terrified. Not sure Logan even wanted him to. But they had spent what felt like an eternity kissing in that freezing corner, alone on the library’s third floor. So long that all of the censored lights shut off and thrown them into blissful darkness—was that the same darkness at the edges of his vision now? Finn tried to blink the spots away. Air. He needed air.

Logan’s eyes fell shut, lips pulling back to reveal teeth grit in pain. He dropped his forehead to Finn’s chest. Finn realized he was sweating, they both were, despite the chill in the air.

And then Logan was gone. His weight, the warmth, the gun, the hand around his throat.

Finn coughed hard. Bitter bile in his throat, something rushing in his ears. His pulse maybe. His blood. Leo knelt beside him, tumbling against his side.

“Finn—” Leo began to say, but Finn was already pushing himself up, terrified, terrified that Logan would already be running. His back hurt. His head throbbed where it had hit against the stone, and Logan, Logan, Logan, gone again gone—

But he wasn’t. Logan had pressed himself back into the stone corner where he had been sleeping. He looked feverish, but he was looking at Finn so carefully that Finn didn’t dare move.

“Logan?” Finn whispered.

“What’s happening to me?” Logan looked down at the gun, like he had forgotten he was holding it.

“You’re memory, it’s been—wiped? Or something,” Leo said gently. “It’s not your fault. Logan, it isn’t your fault. You and Remus, we thought you both were dead. We only just found you.” Leo let out a shaky sigh. “We’re trying to figure out what happened, too.”

Logan just stared at Leo. “I can see the library. But I don’t remember…I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” said a voice from behind them, and both Leo and Finn whipped around. It was like seeing ghosts. With the stone and the sea and the crumbling church, it was right out of a novel.

Remus was standing there, leaning against a far wall on the sea-side of the church. The wind coming off the water beat at his tawny hair and the brown, old looking jacket he wore.

“Remus,” Leo breathed.

“How do you know my name,” Remus said. He held no weapon that Finn could see, but the very sight of him held both Leo and Finn in place well enough, “but I don’t know yours?”

[stellar-skyy]

I JUST DESPISE YOU - Heizou x reader

i. SUMMARY: There is no one you hate more than Shikanoin Heizou. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: None! iii. NOTES: Enemies to lovers, detective!reader, gn!reader, 0.8k words. iv. A/N: Okay I know Heizou doesn't canonically wear nail polish but HE SHOULD HE DESERVES IT.

Shikanoin Heizou was, without any trace of doubt, the easiest person to hate.

How could you not hate him, with his smooth words laced with subtle smugness, like he always knew something that you didn’t; with the way he picked apart your theories until they were completely frayed apart by his ‘intuition’?

And how could you not hate that delicately crafted face, all soft features artfully arranged like a priceless work of art? His eyes, that were big and doe-like, the softest shade of olive green that you’ve ever laid eyes on. And underneath them, twin moles that dotted across his face, beauty marks in the truest sense of the word.

His hair was especially hateable, with how it loosely hung in choppy layers and framed his face, in a shade of beautifully rich wine-red. And of course it was pulled behind him, hanging across the back of his neck, just waiting to be untied and spilled across his shoulders.

More than anything, you hate the way he stared at you with those piercing eyes of his; how he always met your gaze with a hint of a challenge in his smirk, and a huff of laughter every time he managed to get under your skin.

(How he looked at you gently, with the barest flicker of reverence reflected across his eyes, staring at you like you were a puzzle box just waiting to be solved.)

“Quiz time,” Heizou croons, leaning forward in his chair. He rests his elbows against the desk and cups his cheek in his hands, rhythmically tapping along his cheek in pattern only he seemed to understand. “Why is my dear co-worker looking so sour today?”

You let out a sigh. “I am fine.”

“Mm, but my intuition tells me something is on your mind. And you know what they say—” Heizou’s smile widens minutely. “—My intuition is never wrong.”

“You say that.”

“Other people say that too.”

You don’t bother that with a retort, only scoffing in disbelief. Heizou’s face shifts into a frown, and he moves his arms to rest folded across his chest.

“They do. See—” He raises his voice, calling over to another detective across the room. “Hey, Uesugi. Is my intuition ever wrong?”

“No, sir!”

“Exactly.”

“So you have a fanboy. Big deal. That doesn’t mean you don’t make mistakes.”

“Shall we put that to the test, then?” Heizou asks. He stands; pausing to stretch his arms, exposing the barest sliver of skin around his waist. “Let’s see~”

Heizou approaches your desk, surveying its contents. For a second you wonder if you would be able to sweep away the junk lying across it, if only to avoid Heizou’s scrutiny. “Messy. Messier than usual.”

“This is how it always looks—”

“Lie.”

You scowl at him, hoping that your irritation makes him reconsider whatever game he’s playing. It, of course, does not.

“You also came in late today. When you did finally arrive, you were flustered, like you were in a rush before you left.” He recounts.

“I slept in.”

“Lie.” Heizou hums. “You’ve been late because you overslept before, and you’ve never been that on edge. Something happened that caused you to be late, but it wasn’t your sleeping habits. There is something in your life—something personal that you don’t want to share. Now, I know not to pry, so I’m not going to ask you what is wrong. But I do know for a fact that there is something wrong.”

“That 'evidence' is all circumstantial.” You protest. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Ah, but that brings me to the final piece of evidence—” Before you could blink, he was right in front of you. One hand—a smooth, uncalloused hand with nails painted black—reaches out and cups your cheek. His touch is light, barely ghosting across your skin, as he uses the tip of his finger to brush across the space underneath your eye.

“The shadows under your eyes are very dark. You haven’t slept in days, have you?” Heizou’s voice is quiet, and sounds startlingly genuine. Combined with the concern that practically seeped out of his expression, it was enough to send your head spinning and breath tightening in your chest. For a second, it was enough to make you think he wholeheartedly, truly cared for you.

But this was Heizou you were talking about.

Your hand stretches out of its own accord and slaps his away from your face. He looks barely affected by the sudden movement and leans back against his own desk with a satisfied expression.

“So?” Heizou prompts. The uncharacteristically gentle moment was gone, replaced with his usual bravado. “Was I right?”

“I despise you.” You hiss under your breath, rubbing under your eyes to scrub away the feeling of his hands on your face.

Heizou tilts his head, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards into a smirk. “Lie.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[hadesforpreswrites]

dirty laundry, pt. 2

a/n: here's part 2! i had a lot of fun writing this one! i'm less practiced in writing steamy stuff than i am depressing stuff but i hope you enjoy.

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

genre: idiots-to-lovers

warnings: confession, fingering

word count: 4,119

summary: after a confession, things heat up

part one part three part four

“how can someone be so smart and so blind at the same time? i’m basically in love with you, dummy.”

and suddenly everything made sense to y/n. he was right; he always made time for her, even when he was on tour. 

she sat staring at her ice cream as it was melting in the cup. she was trying her best to process the new information, information she had only ever hoped to hear.

noah, on the other hand, was staring at her. he couldn’t believe that he just said that, just like that, on a day like today. 

“you can reject me and we’ll still be fine,” he finally broke the silence.

at this, she turned her eyes to him. he could almost see the question marks swirling in them. “why would i reject you?”

“you’ve been sitting in silence, staring at your ice cream, for the past five minutes, y/n. and i seriously mean it, we’ll be okay.”

“noah, i’m not going to reject you. i just…needed to process for a second because i’m basically in love with you. and i never in a million years thought you’d ever say that. i was content to just hope the feeling would go away on its own. also, you couldn’t have waited until i wasn’t a complete mess?”

“since fucking when?!” he all but shrieked. “i’ve been fighting the urge to tell you that i think about you 90% of the time ever since the day we met.”

“i’ve had a crush on you since the day we met…” she trailed off quietly. “i honestly thought you’d have caught on because of scarlett by now.”

“scarlett knew?!”

y/n looked at him with a dead stare, “we’re roommates, noah.”

“oh, yeah. okay that makes sense.”

a beat of silence.

“also, you aren’t a mess.”

“i’ve been crying for three days straight so my face is red and puffy and i need a shower.”

“not a mess,” he finally put his cup of half-melted ice cream in the cup holder and began to back out of the parking spot. he smiled when he saw her finally take her first bite.

“only 90%?” she asked with a small smirk.

“yeah, well. 5% is bad omens. and the other 5% is olive garden’s endless soups.”

“i’m honored. i thought the soup would be higher.”

“used to be. but then some girl had to waltz into my life.”

“i’m pretty sure i was dragged.”

“how much do i take up in that pretty little head of yours?”

“89%.”

“breakdown, please.”

“5% is ice cream. 5% is dedicated to school. and the last 1% goes to how fluffy ruffilo’s hair is.”

“cool cool cool. note to self: shave best friend’s head.”

“go near that man’s hair with anything remotely looking like clippers and i’ll never speak to you again,” she said, jokingly.

“ouch,” he feigned hurt by grabbing at his chest while sitting at a stoplight. 

“can i…ask a favor?” she asked as the light turned green and they started moving.

“you can ask me anything, anytime.”

“can you stay tonight? i think scarlett had made plans and she won’t go if i’m alone. unless you have plans already, of course,” she said, almost too quickly for him to process the question. 

“of course i’ll stay with you. i was kind of thinking about it anyway,” he answered. “let’s swing by my house first so i can grab some clothes. your favorite person is probably there by now too.”

“jolly?” her voice sounded hopeful.

“no, ruffilo. would you stop calling my bandmates your favorite person? i’m starting to get a complex.”

“i mean, if we’re completely honest with ourselves, my all time favorite person is andy.”

“why does he get number one?!” 

“i’ve known him longest.”

“but you’re in love with me. so i should be number one.” he still couldn’t believe his luck.

“i don’t think that’s how that works,” she put her now empty cup in the free cupholder.

“it is 100% how that works,” he said, pulling into the driveway of his house. 

he heard her unclick her seatbelt before he threw the car in park. when he turned to scold her, he found that she was already turned in her seat, looking at him. she was looking at him in a way he had never seen before. he slowly unclicked his own seatbelt and looked at her with a furrowed brow.

“i just…want to try something,” she said quietly, blush creeping up her neck.

“what’s that?”

as she leaned toward him, he felt himself leaning toward her, meeting her halfway. his eyes widened in shock as he felt her lips meet his before they fluttered shut and he cupped her cheek with a tattooed hand, deepening the kiss.

she pulled back slowly and placed her forehead to his. “you ever feel the need to try that again, you just do it. i’m game,” he said with a smile, causing her to laugh.

“let’s get your stuff,” she said in reply, starting to pull away from him. he stopped her by pulling her by the back of her neck back to him and kissing her again. she giggled into it and said against his lips, “noah.”

“that’s not gonna make me stop, doll,” he didn’t care how she said his name, just that she did.

“i don’t want to make out over the center console of your car,” she laughed again.

“well, fuck, get in the backseat then. it’s pretty spacious,” he said with a hint of seriousness. 

she fully pulled back from him and playfully slapped his chest. “it’s not like you’ll never see me again. you’re staying the night.”

“oh yeah. what’re we waiting for, i have clothes to grab.” he finally turned off the car and jumped out. 

she was shaking her head while laughing as she reached for the handle to the car door. she suddenly heard the door locks click. she looked up at noah who was standing at the front of the car, glaring at her before walking the rest of the way to her side. he unlocked the car and opened the door. “you’re no longer allowed to open doors.”

“but i’m perfectly capable?” she countered as she stepped out into the now brisk air. she shivered. 

“you are. but i’m taking over that role now,” he said, throwing an arm over her shoulders and pulling her to him. he kissed the side of her head as they walked to the front door. 

“what if you’re not there?” she asked as he unlocked and opened the door to the house. 

“nonsense. why wouldn’t i be there?”

“tour?”

“isn’t your program online?”

“what’s your point?”

“you can just come on tour. problem solved.”

“yeah! you should totally come on tour!” they heard a swedish accent ring out at them.

“jolly!”

“y/n!”

he was standing in the living room with his arms open as she ran into them. he swung her around, causing her to laugh. noah looked on at the scene with a small, appreciative smile. after the hell she had been through and then the last few days, she still had the ability to laugh. he knew then that she would be okay.

“you two carry on, i’ll just go get my stuff.”

“you do that,” jolly said, jokingly dismissive, causing noah to roll his eyes as he took off up the stairs. “ruffilo! y/n’s here!”

the guitarist walked in from the kitchen with a drink in hand, with folio in tow. “there she is! we were starting to think noah locked you away.”

“locked myself away, really,” she said, sheepishly. 

“don’t do that, we like having you around,” the drummer said, pulling her into a hug.

“so much so that you should totally come on tour with us!” jolly reiterated his statement from earlier.

“i can’t go on tour with you! who would look after scarlett?”

“scarlett’s a capable young woman,” jolly countered.

“to you she is, you don’t live with her.”

“fair. fine, she comes too.”

“it’ll be a family road trip with music,” ruffilo said with a laugh.

noah smiled to himself as he listened to the four of them have a back and forth while he packed his bag. he decided to pack enough clothes for a week, just in case she needed him that long. really, it was him that would probably need her. he was forever grateful that his bandmates and y/n were so close, it certainly made his life all the easier. 

when he finished, he took the stairs two at a time down. “come one, doll. scarlett probably thinks i kidnapped you.”

“didn’t you though?” folio asked, smirk playing on his face. 

“she came willingly.”

“he bribed me with ice cream.”

“that’ll work every time,” jolly laughed.

“speaking of ice cream,” noah had a sudden realization. “mine’s melting in the car.”

“it’ll do that,” ruffilo stated. he was the closest to y/n out of the other three members of bad omens. he knew something was off with her, he could see the tear stains on her face even in the dim light. but he didn’t say anything, just threw a look to noah when no one else was looking. noah threw one back in response as y/n stood up from the couch and hugged the three of them. 

“seriously, consider it?” jolly asked of her about tour.

“i’ll consider it,” she promised as she walked toward noah who was holding out his hand for her. 

no one batted an eye as she linked their fingers together and waved goodbye.

back in the car, she laughed as she looked at the melted puddle of ice cream in the cup. “you have milk soup.”

“yeah, well. a pretty girl said something about being in love with me and that took precedence.”

she coughed, choking on her laugh. he shook his head as he threw the cups away in the dumpster outside the house before taking his seat in the driver’s seat. 

the drive to her house was relatively quiet, the radio playing quietly in the background. his left hand gripped the steering wheel as his right laid on her thigh. she was tracing the ink that littered his skin on his hand and arm. 

there was an air of apprehension in the vehicle, not thick but there. he’d spent the night at her house many times but never under these circumstances and usually on the couch. would he default to the couch or would she invite him to sleep in her bed? he decided he didn’t care, as long as he could check on her whenever he needed.

when they pulled into the driveway of her house, they noticed that andy’s car was missing but scarlett’s was still there. it was still a couple hours before her plans so she was probably getting ready.

noah grabbed his bag and opened the passenger door, holding out his free hand to her as she stepped out of the car. they walked through the still unlocked front door and were met with the sound of music permeating the house, sounds that meant scarlett was indeed getting ready.

noah started toward the living room after they took their shoes off at the door with his bag but felt a tug on his arm causing him to look back at y/n. “where you going?” she asked. 

“couch?”

“you can put your stuff in my room, it’s okay.”

he beamed at her as they walked down the hall. he entered her room as she stepped into scarlett’s to let her know the plan. 

he set his bag on the bed and wandered around, looking for the plug for the lights. when he finally found it, he turned the blue lights on and felt a weight suddenly depart from him. it felt more normal now. he straightened the piles of books on the floor and put the clothes he found there in the hamper in her bathroom before settling on her bed and fumbling for the remote to the tv.

y/n peeked around the corner into scarlett’s bathroom, silently asking permission to enter. it was granted, it’s always granted.

“there’s light in your eyes again, my love,” the other woman turned and pulled her into a hug. “remind me to thank the boy. and the inventor of ice cream.” 

y/n laughed, causing scarlett to smile brightly. her best friend was going to be okay.

“so,” y/n started as she absentmindedly started picking up various makeup that was scattered on the bathroom counter. “noah’s staying the night.”

“i figured.”

“and i might have kissed him.”

scarlett’s arm dropped from her eye. “YOU DIDN’T?!Y/N!”

“i did,” she hid behind her hands.

“and?”

“and he kissed back and before that he said he loved me and i confessed to him. it was very sweet.”

“FINALLY!”

the two women heard a knock on scarlett’s closed bedroom door. “yes?” she called.

“is everything okay in there? there’s a lot of yelling…” noah trailed off. 

scarlett took three big steps to the door and pulled it open. “listen here, singer boy. just because i happen to enjoy your friendship does not mean i won’t end you so help me god.”

“help me out here?” he looked to y/n, who was sitting on the bed, smiling at scarlett’s antics. 

“i told her.”

“oh, that makes more sense now. i got a nearly identical speech from the guys when i told them just now.”

“good,” scarlett said, heading back to the bathroom to finish applying her makeup.

“now both of you, out. this requires concentration,” she held up a false eyelash.

“love you,” y/n said as she walked out the door.

“love you more,” scarlett replied as the door shut.

“you two have the strangest relationship,” noah said with a laugh as they entered y/n’s room again.

“yeah, well,” y/n said as she rummaged through her dresser for clean clothes. 

“hey, before you go in there,” noah started, realizing that she was about to take a shower. “where on earth is your remote?”

“oh! it’s in the pocket of the long pillow,” she walked to where she was laying when he first found her today and plucked the remote from the side pocket of the pillow and handed it to him. 

“thank you, doll.”

she hummed as she shut the bathroom door. he heard the shower speaker turn on and music start to pour out of it as the water turned on. he smiled when he heard her singing along to “like a villain” and laughed when it was followed by a bts song which was followed by the doors. that was one of the things he loved about her, she didn’t care about genre when it came to music, she just liked what she liked. 

after about 30 minutes, he heard the speaker turn off and the door open. he was met with steam rolling into the bedroom.

“christ, woman, did you commune with satan in there?”

“not this time. just needed to feel clean.”

“and do you?”

“mhmm,” she said as she flopped on the other side of the bed. “you turned my lights back on,” she observed.

“is that okay?”

she rolled over to look at him. the tear stains were gone, her eyes were brighter than earlier. “definitely.”

he let whatever he put on the tv play in the background as he slid down to lay down facing her. “do you feel better?” he asked, quietly as he combed through her damp hair with his fingers. 

her eyes closed at the contact. “so much, thank you.”

“it’s all you, doll.”

“no, it’s not. it’s all of you guys.”

he smiled and pulled her to him. after another 30 minutes had passed there was a quiet knock at the door. he turned, just enough to see scarlett poke her head in. y/n lifted her head, eyes groggy from falling asleep, and placed her chin on his side as she too looked at her best friend.

“i’m heading out. i don’t know when i’ll be home tonight, if i’ll be home tonight,” she wiggled her eyebrows. 

“get it, girl,” y/n said sleepily, causing the other two to laugh.

“take care of her, yeah?” scarlett said to noah.

“of course. have fun.”

“oh, i intend to,” she cackled as she closed the door. 

“she really is her own character,” noah chuckled.

“she is. but she balances me out.”

“i can see that. go back to sleep, doll,” he kissed her forehead.

“no,” she said defiantly. 

“no?” he cocked an eyebrow as she looked up at him.

“no,” she placed a hand on his cheek before placing her lips to his again.

this time was less tentative on both their parts as they moved in sync, deepening the kiss. she started to lean back, pulling him on top of her. he moved with her, letting her lead, knowing she’d stop them when things went too far for her. 

he let one of his hands wander down her side, stopping at her hip. he felt her hook her leg to his waist and let his hand continue to the back of her thigh, holding her there. he groaned when she moved against him. he kissed down her jaw, down her neck, and lightly bit the hollow spot, causing her to gasp.  her hands were in his hair as he sucked on the hollow of her neck where he had bitten. he ground his hips into hers, his covered hardness finding her clothed core. she moaned at the contact, spurring him on. he kissed back up her neck and found her lips again, their tongues fought for dominance, his ultimately winning as she moaned again as he ground his hips into hers again. he kissed down the other side of her jaw and to her neck, giving her some breathing time.

“noah,” she breathed out.

“do we need to stop?” he asked, breathing hard. 

“no, not yet.”

he looked her in the eye, her pupils were blown and he could feel her breath on his face. “you’re not just saying that, are you?”

“no. i need…” she trailed off.

“what do you need, baby? you need only ask, i’ll give you anything you want.”

“i need you to touch me, please,” she whined.

“because you asked so nicely,” he sensed there was more to her request. “what else do you need?”

“no need, just want.”

“well, what do you want?”

“your shirt off.”

“done,” he sat up and pulled the garment over his head and threw it to the ground. his eyes fluttered shut when her hands started to trail down his torso. after a moment he grabbed both her wrists in his hand and held them above her head. a brief thought entered his head, “is this okay?”

she nodded.

“words, baby. words.”

“it’s okay,” she breathed out. 

“good girl,” he purred as he leaned down to connect their lips again. his free hand traveled under her shirt. she moaned in his mouth when he started to massage her unobstructed breast. she whined when he rolled his hips into hers once again. she let out a breath as he moved his hand down her stomach toward the waistband of her shorts. he let his fingers slip just passed the elastic and stopped there. he looked at her, her eyes closed as she tried to control her breathing. “still okay?”

she nodded again.

“baby,” he warned. 

“still okay,” she let out a shaky breath as she opened her eyes to look at him. he saw no hesitation, only a softness he had never seen before.

he nodded and, still looking in her eyes, allowed his hand to travel further into her shorts and under her underwear. tentatively, he ran a finger up her folds. she was so wet, his finger was instantly coated. he reveled in the fact that it was him that made her this wet. he slowly pushed his forefinger into her, watching for any change in her body language. after pumping his finger a few times, he asked, “think you can take another? use your words like the good girl you are.”

“yes, noah,” she said, looking him in the eye as he started to insert a second finger. her breath hitched at the stretch, her eyes screwed shut. when she breathed again it came out shakier than before.

“baby,” noah started.

“it’s okay. i’m okay,” he wasn’t sure if she was saying it to him or herself.

“baby, look at me,” her eyes slowly opened. “this does not have to continue right now.”

“no, it’s okay,” she smiled at him, her hand pulling free of his constraint and caressing his cheek. he leaned into her touch before he continued his ministrations inside her. 

her hand made its way to his hair, she tugged ever so slightly every time she clenched around his fingers, causing him to moan. when her breath started coming out in short bursts, he let go of her other hand which quickly attached itself to his bicep, her fingernails digging into his inked skin. she let out a whine with each breath. he could tell she was close.

“it’s okay, baby. let go,” he whispered in her ear. and she did, the sound she made he wanted to hear for the rest of his life. he pumped his fingers in her as she rode out her first-ever orgasm. “look at you, my sweet girl, so beautiful,” he said as she started to come down. 

he pulled his fingers out, not breaking eye contact as he brought them to his lips. his eyes shut as he relished the taste of her on his tongue. one day, maybe not so far out, he would be able to taste her from the source; he almost couldn’t wait.

“woah,” she breathed out, causing him to chuckle.

“woah indeed,” he said as he pressed his lips to hers in a short kiss before rolling over to the other side of the bed to catch his breath.

she turned on her side, facing him, and brushed the hair that had fallen on his forehead. he hummed as he felt her fingers on his skin.

as if he had forgotten something, he sat straight up. “i need to take a very quick, hopefully, shower.”

“but,” she started. “why?”

he looked at his lap and back at her with a cocked eyebrow. she followed his eyeline and blushed. “oh. i mean, i could…” she trailed off. 

“as much as i have dreamed to feel your hands or mouth on me, and believe me i dreamed, i think it’s best to do this one step at a time.”

“oh,” was all she said as she looked away.

“doll, look at me,” he pleaded, she did. “if you still want to tomorrow, i’m all yours. hell, i’m all yours anyway.”

“promise?”

“promise. on olive garden’s never-ending soup, i promise,” he said with a faux seriousness causing her to giggle. “now, you watch whatever the hell is on the tv and try to go to sleep. i’ll be right back.”

“‘kay,” she said as she turned to the tv.

he made the short distance to the bathroom and shut the door. leaning his back against it, he smiled, giddy. then he looked down and sighed. “i must be an idiot,” he said to himself as he turned on the shower. ”girl of my dreams practically begging to touch me and i turn her down,” he said as he stripped and stepped into the shower.

he hissed as he wrapped his hand around his aching member. at least he didn’t have to conjure up a fantasy this time; he just thought of a few minutes ago. her head tilted back, mouth open, fingers digging into his skin. he pumped himself until he came and watched the result wash down the drain before washing himself, using her products.

when he emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel because he forgot his shorts, he saw her curled up on top of the blanket fast asleep. he smiled to himself as he rummaged through his bag in search of shorts. 

once dressed, he climbed into what he is now deeming his spot and pulled the blanket out from under her and placed it over the two of them. he wrapped his arm around her and she moved so her head was on his shoulder and her leg was thrown over his.

he went to sleep with a smile on his face that night.

[chevelleneech]

Both Buck/Tommy and Buddie shippers are being so dramatic about everything.

On one hand, you have people acting like Buck and Tommy is written in the stars and anyone who dislikes them are being unjust and hateful. On the other, you have people acting as if Buck can’t possibly be in a relationship with a man who isn’t Eddie, and claiming he can is somehow based in racism and hatred of Eddie.

Neither is true! The problem is that prior to 7x04, Evan Buckley was not a canon queer character. He was viewed that way by fans and Oliver Stark was all for it, but that does not change the actual canon history of the character. Therefore, the writers can only fix what they feel fits the current story. They can retcon a few things and so on, but both sides are acting like they’re right, and it makes no sense.

Yes, Buddie shippers have Oliver and Ryan on their side for the most part. Yes, Oliver believes Buck has been queer all along and he thinks a lot of the headcanons about his character’s reaction to things make sense, but he is NOT saying it’s all true. He agrees Buck was likely experiencing some jealousy when Eddie first showed up, but that does not mean Tim Minear is going to make that theory canon. It’s fans and Oliver who think it, but that does not equal canon.

As well, with things being slightly retconned or adjusted to fit the story… Tommy is obviously no longer an asshole by proximity. He was rude to Hen and Chim, but we’ve seen he him interact with the two of them since in civil ways. We know Chim thinks he’s cool. Continuing to demand he apologize on screen is a waste of time. It was five seasons ago, and the story had to change to fit Tim bringing his character back. It happens.

As for Buck/Tommy shippers, y’all have got to get off the high horse of Possibility. At the moment, there are so many ways their relationship can go, and the only reason you all are so high and mighty about it, is because you’re technically never going to be wrong until you’re wrong. Which is annoying.

Yes, Tim could choose to have Tommy stick around for another season. Yeah, Buck and Tommy could be endgame. Yeah, Buck and Tommy could… any and everything is possible, but acting as if Tommy is the love of Buck’s life and deserves fan devotion is crazy. Don’t get me wrong, I like the character. He seems nice if a little cocky, but I like that. I like that he’s written as a grown man who, even though he’s changed, still has a little bit of asshole in him.

Because yes, what he did to Buck on their first date was rude. He didn’t explain anything and left him standing outside the restaurant as if he hadn’t just told him he’s never dated a man before, and as if they hadn’t just run into his best friend. It was a dick move. However, it’s also kinda realistic. So I dug it, but that’s also all we really know about him.

Tommy is an army vet, flies helicopters, was a firefighter, and is gay. Which he struggled to come to terms with, and can be a dick. The way y’all treating him like a savior is insane. Y’all are trying to rub it in people’s face that his relationship with Buck is canon while Buddie isn’t, and I don’t understand that. Buck wasn’t even bisexual three episodes ago, so where is this higher than thou attitude even coming from?

The only thing people should be focused on is the fact that Buck is now canonically bisexual. Tim liked the idea and Oliver loved it, so they finally made it happen. Now, his story has even more potential. I’d even go so far as to say season 7 is going to be a cleaning and re-establishing of all the characters, because so many of them feel a little different.

We’ve got bi!Buck, meaning we’ll get to see him in one or more relationships that he isn’t used to being in. We’ve got a new actor playing Harry, and he’s older, meaning they’re going to have to write to his strengths and build a storyline there that is more mature. Bobby and Athena almost died together for real for real, thus hopefully we’ll get to see their relationship evolve and what if it changes them in any way. Chim and Maddie are finally getting married, so we get to see them kickstart a new chapter together. Hen and Karen have a new child, which will hopefully bring them more storylines and hijinks as a family. And Eddie is dealing with forcing himself to accept a relationship he may not even want to be in. And he’s aware this time, which could result in him ignoring his fears or bowing out, then having to face what bowing out means.

Point is, there is no reason for all this drama.

Buddie is not guaranteed just because it is a popular want for fans, and an accepted theory by the actors and showrunner. They’ve all said it has to fit the overall story without forcibly gearing the writing in that direction. Which means it could happen two episodes from now or two seasons from now. We just have to wait and see.

At the same time, Buck and Tommy are not an established couple yet. They’re going on their second date, and it’s been said Tommy isn’t in the last few episodes of the season. So it’s possible he and Buck are still together, but Lou isn’t a series regular nor regular recurring, so he’s just not contracted to be on set. Which is fine, but acting like a quick breakup is also bad storytelling is ridiculous.

Fans have hated Buck’s relationships with women from the jump, and him breaking up fast isn’t exactly new. So if it happens with the first man he dates… okay. Tommy can become more than a stepping stone, but the writers aren’t obligated to make his first experience with a man something deep and profound. It can be fun and eye-opening and still have mattered, even if it ends fast.

Y’all have got to let the stories play out, and not scream bloody murder if your headcanon doesn’t become canon. Because truth be told, Buck being canon bi is the biggest flex of fan service I’ve ever seen, even if I think it adds to the depth of him. So I can’t imagine how difficult it is to be sure not to continue giving that same group of fans everything they want outright, when there’s so much more story to unfold.

Which means they can’t just make Tommy the love of Buck’s life because Buck/Tommy fans have ditched Buddie or were never Buddie shippers, and want to be right. But they also can’t have Eddie come out and he and Buck start dating, because Buddie shippers have waited five seasons. Just wait to see what happens, and in the meantime, enjoy watching Buck discover more of himself. With Tommy as his current love interest, and Eddie as his best friend.

[deluweil]

It's hard to take the Tommy storyline seriously especially knowing that it was supposed to be Eddie and Tommy. People say the chemistry is through the roof with Buck and Tommy, but I barely saw any and most of it was cringe. (They had three scenes together and people are throwing Eddie out. Yeah just prove that it's not buddie they want, but more kissing other guy. They don't accept girlfriend, but the first guy is the perfect one. Be for real.) The way they wrote episode 4 was done for Eddie so all of this comes out of left field with the Tommy and Buck.

I can't take it seriously and honestly I hope he's gone soon. Like usual Buck gets all the storyline and Eddie is left with barely anything. Also I'm sorry, but I find it funny that this was all last minute planning and Buck got Eddie coming out storyline.

Sorry I had to vent. It's feeling like the Buck show again.

My dear Anon,

I have to admit, it is kind of hard to take the pairing seriously when we know Tommy was supposed to be with Eddie originally, another "fine patchwork" from the 911 creative team.

I hate last minute patches, those make for dumb storylines, like a nun Marisol, like wtf? Most men catholic or not usually fantasizing about nuns, religious or not. - I'm guessing gay men, don't lol

I have to say that both Oliver and Lou are giving it the old college try, but to be honest, the "platonic" bromance we saw between Eddie and Tommy had more chemistry than Buck and Tommy.

And even if they decided, last minute, to get Tommy with Buck, they could have written it so much better, than Buck OOC hurting Eddie physically for attention from the virtual stranger Eddie hung out with for two weeks. (Speaking of dumb storyline and patches).

I do agree that the whole TommyBuck became a thing very quickly, like buddie never existed and Tommy and Buck have been together for almost a season, which would have been more time to actually prove this match worthy of the praise it's getting after a couple of episodes.

Also, not to antagonize anyone, we all know if they'd brought back Lucy like it was originally planned (though how it was supposed to lead to a gay storyline is beyond me) Arielle would have gotten so much backlash that it would make ppl wonder about the selective feminism in this fandom. (though I have to say that Lucy being besties with Eddie could have been epic).

I also have to say that dazed and confused Buck is so not how I thought bi!Buck would look and I thought by Maddie's comments over the years that it would be anything but surprise for her. Sometimes the continuity of the show is a bit... wonky.

And indeed episode 4 that was originally written for Eddie does feel a bit left field with Buck, but I think Lou and Oliver handled it well. I love Lou's expressions to be honest, they tell a lot that isn't being said. - So much like Ryan now that I think about it.👀

Making it all about Buck again, is indeed a bone of contention I have with the writers and showrunners. This story was tailored for Eddie and they should have followed through, the catholic guilt, the internalized homophobia, and all the mixed feelings would have been delicious and made more sense than the nun crap we got.

I have a lot to say, some flattering, some less.

On the bright side this season have hope yet, I doubt we get much of Tommy for long, I was already spoilered that he is not here to stay, but he will play a part at Chimney's rescue, I love that idea.

I just hope he doesn't get killed off.

Also I wouldn't mind a threesome before we get buddie, if we get buddie lol

So yeah, the Evan Buckley show indeed, but Buck has always fan favorite so no surprise there.

I love Buck, but 7 seasons later demand that there will be some growth that sticks, what drives me crazy that we're still getting the same childish pouting mannerism from him and that it is all good somehow because that's Buck. 🤷‍♂️

I do love Lou/Tommy, he's perfect for this storyline. As someone who is observing without the "OMG TOMMYBUCK" glasses, 7x05 pretty much seals the fate of TommyBuck, Tommy's "You're adorable" is a death sentence for a relationship in any standards, many things could have been said, "I find you hot/sexy as hell" "I would really like to be with you" anything except you're adorable, adorable is a thing you say about babies and puppies, and though we all consider Buck a golden retriever puppy, he's a "hot hot firefighter man" - not adorable. - adorably confused maybe. An Ally if you will 😂

Also, I have yet to gif it, but in that last scene between them Tommy's smile looks like he's happy, but his eyes tell a different story, one that says "As much as I would like to believe I am the one you want I know better." He knows they won't last long.

And that "Evan" felt to me more like, "We have barely made it past the first date, and we barely know each other, A WEDDING? Are you serious rn?"

Obviously everyone else would disagree with me, but COME ON, who invites a failed first date to a wedding? Like Buck lost all sense of direction in his effort to prove his okay-ness with his new bi-ness.

At least he has a rainbow in his instagram lol

Anyway, all that's left is set the clock and wait for Madney's wedding, a wedding has a way to rectify things or just throw everything into utter chaos, either way we get a married Madney and an adventurous wedding. - That will be an episode I watch, solely for Maddie and Chimney. - Anything else would just be bonus ;)

[twisted-turtels]

Crossed Paths (Pt.4)

Crossed Paths

Author's note: i'm trying to write all the club scenes and party scenes so i hope yall don't get too annoyed by them. when i write I literally have the script and movies pulled up because I'm trying to make sure i get everyone's dialogue and emotions right. anyways, tell me what yall think of this chapter. feedback is always appreciated.

1949 words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6

One month later

Jordan leans against Farleigh as he and Felix converse about nonsense. Farleigh looks down at her and nudges her shoulder, “Are you okay,” He mouths.

Jordan nods her head before taking a sip of her beer. She looked around the bar and noticed Oliver and Michael looking towards the group. Oliver had a look of longing, and Michael had a look of disgust. Jordan stares back blankly and rolls her eyes before nudging Farleigh, “Someone is looking at us.” 

Fareleigh darts his eyes to where Jordan points her head, and Oliver quickly turns his head. He chuckles before whispering to Jordan, “Just ignore them.”

Some of Felix’s friends joined the group as well. All were drunkenly talking over each other about anything and everything. I’m only here because Farleigh dragged me. It could’ve just been me and him. Jordan’s thoughts are cut off by Felix yelling, “Oh! There he is. Ollie! Oliver.” Jordan feels a sense of dread take over her body. You’re lying. 

Jordan quickly turns her head and notices Oliver awkwardly walking towards their table. She grabs Felix’s arm, “What the fuck are you doing,” she aggressively whispers. How does he even know Oliver? 

“Chill, he’s cool. He helped me the other day,” Felix retorts.

Jordan looks at Farleigh, noticing the slight look of distaste stained on his face as Oliver sits at the table. 

“Hiya, mate,” Felix talks to the table, “ This is my fucking hero right here. I was just telling everyone how you saved my arse the other day.” 

Jordan and Farleigh show no reaction as the rest of the table responds.

“So cute,” chimed two girls, whose Jordan didn’t bother to remember, simultaneously.

“I owe you a drink,” Felix begins as he notices Oliver looking behind him, “Or sorry…Are you with friends?”

Oliver turns back around, “Uh, no, they just left.”

He was just talking to Michael, and now he's ditched him for Felix. Interesting. 

Another of Felix’s friends interjects, “So, what college are you in, mate?”

“Yours,” Oliver responds confidently. 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The entire group chants, “Shots! Shots! Shots!” There are empty glasses all over the sticky table, and Jordan is starting to feel much looser than before. 

“Wait, wait, wait. Jaegerbombs!” Farleigh exclaims loudly. The entire table cheers. 

Jordan yells drunkenly, “Oliver, it’s your round now!” 

Oliver looks around with unease, “ I should go to bed.”

Jordan insists, “Nuh-uh, you can't snake out of your round. Even I know that.”

Oliver denies, “I’m not…”

Farleigh drunkenly wraps an arm around Jordan, “It looks like you are,” he challenges. 

The entire table starts to boo before Oliver shakingly stands up and walks towards the bar. 

Felix turns his head towards his friends, “Guys,” he says, almost disappointedly.

Jordan and Farleigh turn their heads and answer simultaneously, “What?”

“Cut him a break,” Felix continues.

“What,” Jordan asks incredulously, “Pub rules are pub rules, right?”

Jordan watches in amusement as Oliver stands at the bar. Farleigh passes Jordan the joint he was smoking as they watch Felix walk over to Oliver. They begin to walk back to the table with Jagerbombs in tow. “Thank you, Ollie,” Felix yells while Jordan and Farleigh glance back, annoyed. 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was almost the end of the quarter, so Jordan found herself studying…well, attempting to study as much as she could with Farleigh in her apartment with her. Farleigh, sprawled on the couch, seemed more interested in what was on the TV than his notes. 

“Are you going out with us tonight? We’re going to the club,” Farleigh asks, casually taking Jordan's notebook out of her hand.

Jordan sighs, “I have a lot of work to catch up on, so maybe next time,” she tries to reach for the book. Farleigh stands up while holding it in the air. 

“Come on, you’re one of the top students in the college. One night won't hurt you,” Farleigh insists, “I’ll buy you some weeeed,” he teases. 

“Don’t make me sound like a feen,” Jordan stands up and grabs Farleigh’s arm, attempting to grab her notebook. 

Farleigh grinned down at her while holding the book just out of her reach, “You’re not a feen, but don’t you think you deserve a break?”

Jordan crosses her arms, “Farleigh, give me my book,” she says with a serious face. 

Farleigh fake pouts, “Please.”

Jordan sighs, “Okay, just tonight, and only for a few hours. Now, can I have my notes back,” Jordan extends her hand out

Farleigh smiles, “Of course you can,” he hands her notes back before grabbing his things to leave, “I’ll come get you later.” He gives her a quick peck on the cheek before hurriedly rushing out the door. 

Jordan stands in shock while holding her book.

Did he just kiss my cheek?

xxxxxxxxxxxx

“I tried to get Felix not to invite Oliver, but he insisted,” Farleigh complains while rolling his eyes.

“There’s just something about him that is so off to me, but I just can’t put my tongue on it,” Jordan explains, “He seems so fake.”

“Exactly, and I feel like no one can see it but us,” Farleigh agrees.

They continue conversing as they pull up to the nightclub, noticing a long line. Farleigh goes to open Jordan’s door and leads her out of the taxi.

Jordan notices Farleigh pulling her towards the entrance as they walk towards the line.

“Uh, you know there’s a line, right,” Jordan questions.

Farleigh smiles at her before looking at the bouncer. The bouncer nods and lets them in.

Jordan looks at him in disbelief, “How do you know literally everybody?”

Farleigh shrugs jokingly, “Don’t worry about it.” 

They enter the club. Jordan takes in her surroundings; strobe lights flash everywhere, and the music is bumping. She looks to her right and notices a couple making out, and on her left, she sees someone snorting- Is that coke? Her thoughts interrupt her.

Farleigh notices her shift in attitude, “Yeah, they do that a lot here,” he leans down to whisper in her, “but ignore them. Look,” he reaches into his pockets and pulls out two blunts and a lighter, “I got you something.”

Jordan gasps dramatically, “Omg, for lil old me,” she sarcastically asks while taking one of the blunts and the lighter Farleigh had. She holds the blunt to her lips and lights it before inhaling and exhaling while coughing, “Oh fuck. That is some strong shit.” 

Farleigh copies her and exhales softly, “You’re just not used to the English weed.”

“I need to get some of this back in Houston,” Jordan demands.

Farleigh laughs, “Let’s get a drink, Ms. Houston.”.

Jordan jumps in excitement, “Yeah! I’m tryna get fucked up!” 

And that she did. 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Jordan drunkenly danced with her friends as the night went on. She and Fareligh are laughing, letting loose as they dance goofily, chest to chest. She grabs the back of his neck to bring him down to her face.

Jordan moves her head to Farleigh’s ear, “I am so glad that you invited me,” she yells.

Farleigh looks in confusion, “HUH!”

Jordan repeats, “I SAID ‘I’M SO GLAD THAT YOU INVITED ME’!”

Farleigh nods in understanding, “I’M GLAD I DID TOO,” their voices barely audible over the pulsing music.

“LET’S SIT DOWN REAL QUICK,” Jordan points to one of the empty tables at the edge of the room. Farleigh nods as Jordan grabs his hand and pulls him to the table. They sit on the couch, and Jordan throws her legs on Fareleigh’s lap. Damn, my feet hurt.

“Farleigh,” Jordan grabs his shoulders to turn his body towards her. She looks him in the eyes, “Have you ever had your hair braided,” she asks with a tipsy grin.

Farleigh laughs. She is so adorable, “No, I haven't had my hair braided before.”

Jordan nods lazily, “I’ll braid it for you,” she removes her hands from his shoulders and caresses his cheek, “You have really pretty eyes.”

Farleigh leans into Jordan’s hand, “You do too, Jordy.”

“Thanks, baby,” Jordan looks at Fareligh mischievously, “You want to leave?”

“I would do anything you want me to do,” Farleigh says longingly.

“Come on,” Jordan says as she struggles to stand up. “Let's go find Felix and tell him we’re leaving,” Fairleigh says.

“You’re right,” Jordan agrees, “Felix!” Jordan stumbles as Farleigh pulls her through the crowded club, “Felix! Where are-” Jordan bumps into a body, accidentally letting go of Farleigh’s hand. She looked up and noticed it was Oliver. Looking slightly surprised, Oliver steadies Jordan, “Watch where you’re going.”

She looked unimpressed and shrugged his hands off his shoulders. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she looked around for Felix. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“I- He’s not my boyfriend,” Oliver argues, “and he left with Annabel.”

“Aww, he left you here. How unfortunate,” Jordan looks around until she notices Farleigh approaching them. Farleigh grabs her waist and pulls her to his side, “Lost you for a second,” he stares down at Oliver, “Where’s Felix?”

“He left with Annabel, whoever that is,” Jordan answers. 

“Wow, and he just left you here alone, Ollie,” Fareleigh says condescendingly, “Maybe you should take it as a sign.”

Jordan waves her hand casually, “Anyways, we’re going to enjoy the rest of the night. You do the same.” Farlegih leads Jordan away, leaving Oliver standing there, perhaps a bit more alone than he’d like. 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Farleigh, more sober than Jordan, carries her on his back as they walk the streets. Jordan is rambling about nonsense.

“-and that's why I believe Beyonce is one of the best artists of our generation. Like, have you heard her B-Day album? I have it on my iPod; we can listen to it together on the walk to class. Speaking of class, I got out of Math tutoring with that creep-” Jordan notices Farleigh is quiet. She grabs his earlobe and grins, “Are you even listening?” 

Farleigh nods his head, “Of course I am. I just like to hear you talk.”

“Right. I’m so glad exams aren’t tomorrow cause I know I would’ve done horribly. I think I'm gonna be drunk until I wake up.” She pats Farleigh’s chest so he can put her down. Jordan walks with him clumsily, wrapping her arm around Farleighs, “Do you wanna spend the night with me?”

Farleigh looks down at her in shock before clearing his throat, “Uh, spend the night?”

“Yes, Farleigh, I didn't stutter,” she looked at him before rolling her eyes, “I’m not asking you to have sex with me-” Yet, “If you wanna go home then fine-”

“No, I’ll stay for a little bit. I’ll leave when you fall asleep, okay?” Farleigh reassures.

They finally return to Jordan’s apartment; Farleigh grabs Jordan’s keys and unlocks the door. They enter the apartment, and Jordan kicks her heels off and takes her out of her ponytail. Farleigh helps Jordan to her room, “Do you need any help,” he asks.

“Nooo, I got it,” Jordan changed into her mismatched pajamas and lay in bed. “You can come in.”

Farleigh notices Jordan lying face down in the bed, “Jordy, you can’t lay on your stomach after just drinking,” he maneuvers her body to where she’s lying on her side instead. 

“I’m tired,” Jordan says sleepily.

Farleigh chuckles, “I know, baby. I already set your alarm and put a trash can next to you just in case you have to throw up,” he pulls the covers over her body. 

“Thanks, Farleigh,” Jordan mumbles. 

“No problem. Get some rest,” Farleigh whispers as he kisses her forehead. He quietly leaves her room and closes the door. He can’t help but smile as he exits her apartment, reflecting on tonight's events.

[thebeesareback]

Saltburn time

First and foremost, Rosamund Pike is Mother.

Secondly, I'd like to talk about Harry Potter in Saltburn. Allow me to preface this by confirming that JKR is an absolute shithead and can sit on a hot poker.

So throughout the summer, we see Felix, Venetia and Farleigh passing around a copy of the final Harry Potter book. It makes a huge amount of sense for them to read it! They're all in that strange stage of arrested development one forms at uni, because you're an adult living independently for most of the year, but then you come back to your parents' house and return to a teenage state. Surrounded by physical reminders of your childhood, you may well regress and re-engage with old media. I think many people have returned home and listened to CDs or flicked through forgotten video games. So there's a sense of nostalgia.

It also helps to ground Saltburn in the mid '00s. The hiddeous fashions are hilarious, the phones are bricks, and everyone was reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the final installation in the saga. Given that Felix, Venetia and Farleigh are in their late teens/early 20s, it would make sense for them to have grown up reading those books. Again, I can't be the only person to interact with media I've "aged out" of because, well, I've invested so much in the series. I imagine a fair number of people who read the final book(s) weren't officially part of the target audience, but read it because they felt nostalgic or curious about how the story ended.

Finally, there are some obvious comparisons between Harry Potter and Saltburn. Both take place primarily in a beautiful old building and feature a character (Harry and Oliver) who wants to join a different world (magical/extreme wealth and status). You could also compare the characters of James Potter and Severus Snape with Felix and Oliver. You have the popular, desirable person, and then the jealous, slimy genius. There are classical allusions in Harry Potter and JKR actually read classics and French at Exeter uni. The joke about Cerberus, guardian of the underworld and terror of 11 year olds being named "Fluffy" is pretty hilarious. Farleigh reads English at Oxford, so he's going to get those references... even if he's not especially literate or into books.

Oliver, of course, doesn't read Harry Potter. It's too pedestrian and reminds him of the life he's trying to leave behind by cutting ties with his parents. Oliver is a total snob, and wouldn't deign to interact with anything like that. I don't really think Oliver even likes reading, to be honest. Do we ever see him with a book? He does it before uni and completes the reading list, yet when he mentions this to the professor, the professor is shocked. Then he ignores Oliver. Oliver only does things which he thinks will benefit him, other than when his sensory, animalistic, sexual desires finally come through. See - fucking the graves.

Anyway, you should watch Saltburn. It's excellent! Beautiful! The cast is gorgeous and talented! Everyone is psychotic!

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 19.

Summary: We follow Oliver Quick in the aftermath of that night in the bathtub. In the days that follow, however, and the Arts Collective dinner drawing ever closer, you seem unusually upset. However, once he meets your mother at the party, a lot of things start to make an unfortunate amount of sense.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; masturbation, fantasies and memories of bathtub activities, pervert/enabler dynamics. Also reader's mum is in this chapter so we have warnings for implied child neglect & family trauma, as well as reader talking negatively about themselves a lot.

A/N: 8997 words. OLIVER POV and a huge chapter to sink your teeth into. goes many places, and we finally get to meet at least one of the reader's parents. i believe this is what the kids call 'conflict' in a narrative. Also the reader's parents now officially have names; Pearl & Andreas. Also nana's name is Bijou. let me know what you guys think ! <3

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Every time Oliver closes his eyes, one of about seventeen million different, lewd images pops into his head of either you or Felix. It seems his mind literally will not allow him to think of anything else, which is fine when he's alone in his room - your room, your bed - but less than ideal when he's sitting across from the two of you over breakfast. Nothing about the way either of you interacted with him was at all different from any other morning. Part of him feels like he's going crazy when you give him a sleepy smile and drop a kiss onto the top of his head in passing on the way to get yourself breakfast.

"Morning Ollie," mumbled affectionately, like it always was from you.

Though it should be noted that Oliver isn't often at breakfast before you and Felix. Both of you are reasonably punctual, and usually seem far less tired than you both seemed to be, so that at least pointed to what happened last night not being a dream. That, and Felix grinning at him as he sat down, placing a mug in front of your setting at the table, and held his own.

"How'd you sleep, mate?" With mirth shining in his eyes; he knows. What he knows and how much, Oliver isn't sure, but there's no way he'd be smiling like that otherwise. What does it mean for him if Felix knows? Where do they go from here?

"Bit restless," Oliver hears himself saying, and trains his eyes on his breakfast, feeling the heat creeping up his cheeks already. Felix makes an apology that sounds completely insincere, and punctuates it with a loud yawn, stretch, and groan. Eyes drawn to Felix, the response almost Pavlovian, and most certainly desperate, all Oliver sees is the pleased little smile Felix wears, still watching him. In the next moment it's gone, turned on you as you place a plate of food in front of him and then at your own place, settling down beside him, as you always do.

The talk over breakfast seems to be the same as it ever was. Plans for the day, with you sighing and declaring that after spend the day before in the garden, you'd be doing quite the opposite, and leisuring in the library, watching something yet to be decided if anyone wanted to join you. He could have sworn there was something pointed in your eyes as your gaze swept over the whole table, landing on his briefly. But then the conversation was moving on, and Oliver had to act like he had any room for decent thoughts in his head at that moment.

Breakfast has become unappealing. He already misses the taste of your blood.

He has to excuse himself, despite having barely eaten half of what he'd served himself. Everyone else enquires after him, asking if he's okay, and he hopes the smile he wears is good enough to stave off further questions.

"Just not hungry this morning is all."

He wishes he'd been as lucky as you, wishes you'd drawn blood; a scab he'd pick forever, a reminder of how thoroughly you'd gotten under his skin. Something in him burns to be scarred by you, marked by you both, a want so violent that you're reduced only to instincts. Bite and touch can be one in the same.

Oliver wasn't stupid. He knew what had been happening. It had been hard enough before last night with this game you'd been playing, the show you'd been putting on. A thrilling chase, tension stretched thin, waiting for Felix to finally make a move to prove that he wasn't just stringing Oliver along. The things he's seen you and Felix doing, the noises he'd been hearing -

Back in his room, he doesn't even realise how hard he's breathing until he slams his door shut, slumping against it, his heart racing.

He never thought it would have been you who broke the rules of this game you've been playing. But now Oliver's left picking up the pieces of his understanding, trying to figure out what the fuck it all meant. He locks his door frantically as he recalls something Venetia had once said to him on one of the few nights he's joined her for a cigarette outside before he would head up to the study -

"Felix hasn't needed since he was ten years old," Venetia's eyes flash with something more than amusement in the moonlight, "he was a desperately needy little brother growing up, clinging to me if mother wasn't clinging to him." The two fingers not holding her cigarette curl into a half fist. With a sly smile, she cocks her hip and leans against Oliver, "he wants, though."

A strange spark of desire arks through Oliver at her words, her knowing, teasing tone, like the flare of a starting gun, a confirmation of what he knew he'd already been working towards. It was nice to hear nonetheless. He tries to act like it doesn't effect him.

"Don't you all?" He glances at Venetia out of the corner of his eyes, tone smooth and unwavering, "you Cattons are the kind of creatures who all seem to want." Then, wetting his lips, "that's what that butler is for after all, and Y/N?" Venetia smiles broader, faint laughter escaping between her teeth.

"Oh, we all want, Ollie," with unrestrained condescension, "but so does most everyone; I know you want, I've seen your eyes. But we Cattons always get what we want, that's the difference you can sense."

"I get what I want, Venetia, I just have to work for it," he says eyes flashing as he looks at her through his lashes. Charming Felix's sister was more habit than actual desire, but he wasn't above using underhanded tactics to win over the Cattons as a whole. Even in the moonlight, he catches sight of Venetia's faint blush. Again she laughs, but her gaze drifts over the grounds.

"Then my brother's mutt must not like you that well," she mused, and takes another drag from her cigarette, "if you still have to work for what you want." The remark catches Oliver off guard for several reasons. After a moment he has to confirm that it's you that she's talking about; Venetia's look says obviously, "haven't you noticed that they can't want for themselves?"

Curled up on his your bed, hand wrapped around his own cock in what's become something of a ritual since he'd arrived and you'd begun playing this game with him, he wonders, not for the first time, if Venetia was right. It seemed as though you'd confirmed as much the other night, that you simply loved him, perhaps even wanted him, because Felix was so fond of him. Even when you'd first slept together you'd danced around the idea of what you'd really wanted, even as he pressed, insisted.

He picked up early on - and told you as much - that you want to be wanted, but Venetia's words had shaken even that belief, or at least, it's origins. At times it seemed like Felix was the kind of creature who fed on the adoration of others, who's to say that you simply wanted to draw people into his orbit, to feed his ego, rather than for your own satisfaction. After all, Oliver couldn't imagine you without Felix, anyone who was drawn into your warmth would find themselves eventually in Felix's light.

And Felix was impossible not to love.

Did that explain last night? Were you afraid you were losing Oliver? Was it simply to keep that spark of desire in his chest burning bright? Except if you knew why he'd been in that bathroom in the first place, surely you could have intuited that his desperation for Felix hadn't waned.

His free hand goes to his own throat, fingers catching in the metal chain that rest there, tangling up the same way yours had last night. Cold, sharp pressure against his throat, he squeezes his eyes closed and sees Felix's head tipped back, steam curling, sweat and water clinging to his gorgeous skin as he gasps and moans and -

"Good boy," the memory of your voice in his ear. A mess of memories from the night before, of the lewd sloshing of Felix's bathwater caught up in the eroticism of the moment, leaving Oliver's imagination to run wild. The memory of how your breathing became stuttered, the way you'd shuddered, getting off to Oliver whimpering your best friend's name in your ear as he came. Were you too thinking of Felix, or getting off believing that Oliver was?

Can't want for themselves.

Except there had been a look in your eyes, in your smile, that dangerous, thrilling thing that lit you up as you licked his spend from your fingers like you were relishing the taste of him. Self satisfaction, a kind he'd never seen on you before.

Perhaps Venetia was wrong. Perhaps he could make you want him for your own sake. Perhaps you had already started.

The fantasy warps again, this time to something entirely new, flickering back and forth between debauched depictions of you and Felix, both coveting him for your own.

"My Ollie," possessive echoes of what he hopes to one day hear, until he's conjured an image of you both, lavishing him with affection without sparing each other a second glance. Wanted by both in your own right, "our Ollie," but still wanted as a collective. Loved by your shared love, not just by extension.

Then the fantasy returns to just last night. The fantasy returns to watching Felix and desperately hoping the man was thinking about him while making those noises. The fantasy returns to you, pressed against him, hand slick with Felix's bath water and both getting off to the idea of him. The fantasy returns to the taste of your blood on his tongue knowing his cum was on yours.

The fantasy returns to you both getting off to him.

Oliver finishes embarrassingly quickly. Again. As he does most days here; there's no shortage of memories to pull from, you and Felix have made sure of that. It's also why he finds very little shame in the act anymore; surely you both know that his mind wanders to you like this, why else would you continue to put on such a show when he still hasn't made a move. After cleaning himself up, and still not quite sure what to make of your intentions last night, he decides to put that from his mind for the time being, and enjoy the day he has with you at least.

In the library, it's you, and Felix, and a box set of Classic Doctor Who; the fourth one, Oliver's pretty sure, judging by the scarf. The smile you both give him is nothing but warm and completely innocent. Oliver grins back easily, and takes a seat. It feels the same as it always has. Like nothing has changed.

But Oliver learns quickly that they have.

That night, he finds you in the lilac study in only your underwear. Underwear too nice to be worn by pure chance. Feigning innocence you tell him you can change if you're making him uncomfortable, but that it's a warm night. It's no warmer than any other night has been thus far.

"Does Felix know you're in here with me, dressed like this?" Oliver leans in the doorframe, arms crossed, unashamedly gazing over your body. Instead of a real answer, all you do is grin, raising your eyebrows at him, as if in challenge. So this is for Felix's benefit too, Oliver thinks, perhaps showing off his willingness to share you, trying to coax Oliver into making the first move on the man as a way to continue using his most beloved toy? Wanting you, and by extension, wanting Felix.

For a moment, Oliver marvels about how easily you're able to catch and manipulate his focus according to your every whim, it seems. Who are you outside of the showmanship? Is there a real person under there? Maybe he should walk away, ponder this on his own or ask you in the light of day when you still at least pretend around the others and each other.

"I thought they were cute," is what you finally say, sitting forward, "I'm quite fond of blue," you add, snapping the waistband of your underwear against your hip. Blue like Oliver's always wearing, blue like his damn eyes, blue like he once told Felix was his favourite colour. Fuck. Fine, he's just a man after all, and a lesser man probably couldn't even hold out as long as he has against you and your gorgeous fucking body in the lamplight, and that look in your eyes.

It's not as intense as it was the night before, but he still gets you off through your underwear, and at his foolish encouragement, you leave a bruising hickey on his neck. Before you part ways for the night, you walk with him to his door, which rather unnecessary, just to let him know there's concealer in his shade in the top drawer on his side of the bathroom.

"You planned this all then?" He smirks at your nerve to be so casual about this all, pressing you against his door.

"You give me too much credit," you teased, gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips, "call it wishful thinking on my part," and you both know he doesn't believe you, but he still kisses you, grinning.

He tries to use this shift in the dynamic to find out more. Perhaps the physical intimacy meant you would be more open to emotional intimacy, even even he hears Felix in the back of his mind.

The day after he'd enquired about your father's work, the day after he'd pressed his ear to Felix's door from the bathroom and heard you sobbing about your parents, Felix himself had pulled Oliver aside with a tight smile shortly after breakfast.

"Ollie, I'm sorry I didn't mention it earlier mate, but about yesterday; we try not to bring up Y/N's mum and dad much around here."

"I'm sorry, I didn't -" Oliver tried, but Felix waved him off easily.

"No, I know you didn't know, you didn't mean anything by it," he assured warmly, but as he went to leave, Oliver couldn't help himself.

"Why?"

Felix stops. For a very long moment there is absolute silence. Stillness. Felix's smile doesn't reach his eyes when he turns back. There's a practiced easiness to him, something about it rehearsed and unfamiliar compared to the levity with which he usually carried himself.

"Because they don't have a kid."

And Oliver has no idea what to say to that, what he could possibly mean by that, so he lets Felix leave.

So when he starts to ask more questions, he careful about them. But he can't seem to catch a break. He gets confirmation that you and Felix have known each other since you were ten, and you're more than forthcoming about your life since then, but for all intents and purposes, you didn't seem to exist before then.

Tensions are running high the day before the first event, for you especially it seemed, even though you'd made it clear you wouldn't be in attendance. When he overhears you speaking with Elspeth, he hears something in your voice he'd never thought possible; despair.

"Do you have to host them in my garden, Elspeth?" You sounded like you were on the verge of tears. The matron of the house's voice is soothing as she reminds you that it's one of the most beautiful spots in the Estate. Your garden? "But every time she's in there she breaks my statue -"

"No she doesn't," Elspeth tries to dismiss, but you huff a surprisingly petulant whine.

"She does! Twice now! The seeds, there should be six, and I know it's her, Farleigh told me -"

"I won't let it happen again, pet, I promise."

"She knows it's mine, I know it, she's doing it on purpose -"

"It won't happen again."

Oliver doesn't know enough about your issue with the Arts Collective that is coming over, or whoever this specific member is that has you so upset, so he has to bide his time to get the answers he wants.

And he's not getting them from you. Clearly.

You're withdrawn during dinner. No-one else comments on it; it's like they all understand whatever it is you're going through, and only Oliver's left out of the loop. Not even Felix seems particularly worried, and that's the bit that surprised Oliver.

In the lilac study, much later, Oliver finds you in your pyjamas, sitting on the windowsill. When he asks if you're okay, you bark a humourless laugh.

"By all accounts," you give a thin-lipped smile, fidgeting with the unlit cigarette between your fingers, "I should be completely fine." It's not even close to being believable. When he sits, chin gently coming to rest on your knee as it hung down the back of the sofa, you sighed, dropping the act and lighting your cigarette. 'It's nothing," you mumbled after a moment, dropping his gaze and taking a draft of your cigarette.

"It's not nothing," Oliver assured softly. Looking up at him, the barest frown creased your brow.

"I never went through the kinds of things you had to," you admit softly, unaware of the cogs suddenly turning in Oliver's mind, "my life is," you laughed without even a hint of humour, "blessed," but the word comes out bitterly. With your free hand, you reach out to run your hand through Oliver's hair, pushing it back off of his forehead, "you don't need to worry about me, Ollie." Shame pulses through Oliver all at once, his lie weighing heavily on his consciousness. He leans into your touch, lets his eyes closed, terrified you'll see the guilt there.

"I do worry 'bout you," he pushes, voice faint and demure, his eyes still closed. He lets the words hang in the air, lets you turn them over in your mind, won't overplay his hand. There's the sound of the cigarette sizzling, then a long, deep sigh from you.

"You don't know me, Ollie."

It's strange to hear you say it, hear you finally admit it. Oliver hasn't been imagining things, you've managed to evade his attempts to genuinely get close to you. Part of him wants to scream, wants to shout well whose fucking fault is that, wants to holler with some kind of vindication. Instead, he kisses your knee, and whispers that he'd like to.

"You'll get there, I'm sure," you tell him with what he's sure is an attempt at warmth, once more carding your fingers through his hair, "spend enough time with Fi and you won't have a choice." It comes as a surprise to hear the forlorn notes in your voice. But then, as quickly as they were there, they'd disappeared, and you start telling him about the guests that would be in attendance at the dinner the following night.

"Why do you know all this if you aren't going?" He's struggling to retain any of the information you've dumped on him - whose married to who, who are the artists and who are the appreciators, the scandals each have been attached to - but it seems to come so easily to you. You're on your third cigarette when there finally comes a lull in the conversation.

"So I can tell you?" You gave him a confused little smile, but he still doesn't understand.

"But what if I wasn't going?"

"But you are," you frowned a little, confused smile becoming more forced, as if his lack of comprehension almost pains you, "why wouldn't you be?" Oliver blinks, "I always knew I wasn't going, but I always knew you would, and I -" you shrugged a little helplessly, "I know things. Now you know things." This time your grin is genuine, as if pleased to be able to help him in your own way.

"Does any of this really matter?" He doesn't mean for it to sound as blunt as it comes across, but thankfully you don't seem offended. Instead you bark a laugh, leaning back against the windowsill and casting your gaze to the navy sky outside.

"They seem to think so," you groaned, as if you'd been subjected to these people and their egos one too many times, "and they love to feel like they matter. Taking the time to know people makes them feel like they matter, at least that's how I was raised." It's a crack, the barest hint to your past that Oliver will ruminate on for days to come. He remembers very sharply how you'd blurted out that you weren't meant to matter. Slowly but surely he's piecing together a picture of your past. So far, he's not liking the image it's coming to form.

So he steers from dangerous conversational territories.

"'s that why you let Venetia talk to you the way she does?" It's not hostile or judgemental, he makes himself sound as genuine as he's able. A thoughtful hum escapes you while you keep looking out across the Estate's gardens, "like you don't mind if she's mean because you know that at least she feels good about herself around you?"

"I adore Venetia despite her sharp edges," you say softly, "and she and I both know this, but she's..." looking back to Oliver, your smile is sad as your mind drifts to Felix's sister, "insecure," voice low, you give a tired shake of your head, "if I knew how to draw lines in the sand, I'm sure she would have crossed it long before now."

"All these Cattons need to be wanted, don't they?" Oliver grins widely, leaning back and reclining on the sofa, watching you crack a genuine smile.

"Why do you think they keep me around?" You joke, but Oliver takes this moment and locks it away in his mind for further pondering, along with all the other revelations you'd afforded him. At least you look brighter when you leave then when he'd walked in. The last thing you tell him is to be punctual to the garden the following night; Elspeth thinks highly of punctuality.

"Am I not going to see you before dinner tomorrow?" Oliver frowns, also standing.

"Oh," you stall by the door, something awkward in your tone, "I'll be around at breakfast, and maybe lunch, but I'm probably not going to be much company or conversation."

The next morning, Oliver finds your words to be true. At breakfast, your gaze is glassy, your movements robotic. Pamela appears to have overslept, but Oliver seems to be the only one who even notices. There's a strange air in the house. Farleigh's more terse than usual, while Felix and Venetia seem to have glued themselves to your sides, the two of them chattering quietly between each other despite how you don't even appear to be aware of their presence.

Over lunch, you too are missing from attendance, as is Pamela once more. Elspeth spends a good portion of the meal trying to encourage her children to adopt a lighter mood. Neither cooperate with her request.

"This might be the best you get from them," Farleigh glanced at Felix and Venetia wearing near identical pouts, both focusing entirely on their lunch, "unless you're planning to surprise us all with dropping a house on the wicked bitch of the -"

"Farleigh, please," Elspeth cut him off sharply, "don't call her that." Farleigh's sharp gaze flicks to his aunt, but his mouth stays shut, "it's one night, can you please just be civil?"

"One night for her," Felix says pointedly under his breath.

Oliver is at a complete loss. Trying to think back on all the guests you'd told him about, he can't for the life of him recall which they might all be referring to. It bothers him enough that once lunch is finished, he looks for you; he'd like a little more warning if he really was to be walking into some kind of lion's den that evening. When he asks Felix, all he gets is a sighed 'study' and little else.

The study door is locked, so he knocks. On the other side, he hears a sigh.

"Go away, Ollie."

How had you known it was him? But that was a question for another time.

"I have a question about tonight -"

"I don't want to think about tonight, just go away, enjoy yourself -"

"I need to know more about the guest list; there's someone who seems to really bother Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh, but I can't remember who it could be that you told me about." He lets himself sound desperate, sound a little helpless and lost; you'd gone so far out of your way to make him feel at home here, he knew you'd -

"Um," after a moment, the door creaks open. Barely. Peering out, you don't look quite right, "it's- um, I think -"

"'re you alright?" Genuine concern wells up in him, but you pull back when he reaches out for you.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine, I'm just- fuck, Ollie, I'm high; what are you, my -" but you cut yourself off with a soft, angry swear, as if mad at yourself for reasons well beyond Oliver's understanding. Gaze unfocused, you frown deeply as you lean heavily against the doorframe. Oliver bit back further concern, taken aback by your relative hostility, "there's this curator that really gets under their skin," you recall after a moment, unable to meet his gaze, "last I checked she was about Elspeth's age; Pearl L/N."

Oliver doesn't remember you even mentioning a Pearl last night amongst all the rest of the guests.

"What's she done that's so bad?" But his words curiously cause your expression to scrunch, "do you not like her either?" You shook your head so hard you almost lost your balance; this time you don't shy away from Oliver when he holds your shoulder steady, "what'd she do?"

"She's just vapid," your voice is so small; there's so much you're not telling him in this moment, Oliver can tell, "you don't need to make her feel like she matters, she knows she does," you swallow thickly, looking at the doorframe, "but if you compliment the work of Bijou L/N in her general area I'm sure she'll jump at the chance to tell you how she sold her Aurora triptych for the same amount that her mother's first house cost." You advised bitterly, lip curling, "she loves hearing herself speak," you spat as an afterthought, immediately trying to slam the door as if you'd forgotten Oliver was even there.

Catching the door, he asks once more if you're okay, and you finally look at him, pain in your eyes like he's never seen before, tears, unspilled, turning your gaze glassy.

"I do hope you have a good night," despite the sadness in your voice, you sound sincere, and Oliver lets you close the door once more.

As he's getting himself ready for the event, Oliver finds himself musing over the information he'd gotten from you. It's no surprise the Catton siblings aren't a fan of this woman; he can't imagine they enjoy being in the presence of someone who craves the spotlight even more than either of them do.

Your advice about an early arrival paid off at least, as Oliver finds himself in the fairy garden with Elspeth in her lavender gown, as always being an incorrigible gossip. With very little genuine care for her own daughter, Elspeth's gossip finds a home amid disparaging remarks. If he carefully files Venetia's insecurities and less noticeable flaws away in the back of his mind, he does so only in case of emergency. Despite their disagreements, Felix clearly loved his sister too; how Oliver would use the information Elspeth gives him to his advantage would remain to be seen, but he reasoned it was good to have.

When finally he's given the chance to comment on Pamela - indirectly, every possibly sharp remark was wrapped in layers of silk at Saltburn - Elspeth's guilt is unmistakable. So Oliver does what he does best; he tells Elspeth exactly what she needed to hear. He drives a wedge in her memories of the woman she'd kicked out, shut the door on the guilt and the thought of return, soothing the Catton matriarch in the process. Sometimes it really was shockingly easy to make the Catton Family Players dance.

"You know it's very good of you taking Y/N the way you did," Oliver adds for good measure, "eleven years I think they said?"

"Oh," Elspeth's brow creases for just a moment as she thinks back, "I suppose it has been that long, hasn't it?" There's a faraway look in her eyes, but Oliver sees an opportunity for information you and Felix were always rather evasive about.

"I would have thought it would be strange," Oliver offers, his tone carefully neutral, but of course light, "having so many people here all the time; Y/N, Farleigh, Pamela, me. You're very generous, very kind." Elspeth gives a gracious smile at the compliment, eyes shining in the twilight. The same grace with which Felix accepts Oliver's soft spoken compliments when it's just the two of them.

"Saltburn was built for company, Oliver dear, nothing strange at all," she tells him in earnest, "James and I have always welcomed our loved ones with open arms, and I am proud to have passed that sentiment on to my darling children."

"Venetia certainly seems fond of Y/N."

Something about Elspeth's expression tightens for the barest moment, and she takes a sip of her wine with a hum that almost sounds like an agreement.

"Y/N seems to believe as much," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "and I suppose she hasn't run them off yet, though I suspect their loyalty to Felix has far more to do with that than whatever apparent kindness my daughter has afforded them."

"I'm sorry...?" Oliver tips his head to the side, confusion masking his intrigue.

"Lord knows I try not to judge my darling children and their friends, so I of course would turn a blind eye to their youthful trysts and experimentation, but really Venetia's been using the poor pet in bad taste for years now, treating them like a dog; you've seen the way she antagonises them, I can't imagine what she's like behind closed doors, nor why Y/N puts up with it!"

"You haven't tried to stop it?"

"Felix has come to me about some of the things Venetia's apparently said, but he seemed more miffed than anything, said Y/N wasn't at all bothered," Elspeth sighed, shaking her head, "I think they pity her, honestly."

"Sounds like Felix and Y/N have pretty inseperable, and you obviously care about them a lot too."

"Felix has always been wonderful at making friends," Elspeth gives a sweet smile, casting her fond gaze at Oliver for a moment, "but Y/N was this tragic, little thing; the first time they met us their parents enquired about whether James and I would like to host them for the Summer, of course I wasn't even aware I was talking to their parents when the offer was made, but Felix had taken quite a shine to them so of course we were more than happy to agree. Then," she gives such a dainty shrug, expression fond and blithe, "they called again as schools were breaking for Christmas, something about how fond Y/N had grown of us all; after that they didn't even have to call."

"So they've been coming back here all this time?"

"Oh the children would often holiday elsewhere during the break, but Y/N was almost always with Felix, wherever he was," she smiled wide, mind alight with memories of your shared youth, "their parents have always afforded us a generous stipend for allowing them to remain with us and Felix so consistently through the years, so it was never any trouble or burden to take care of them."

A long pause follows, and Oliver lets himself mull over all he'd learned, fascinated by it all. But he keeps coming back to one thought;

"You didn't know you were talking to their parents?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You said back when you and Felix first met Y/N, you hadn't known you were talking to their parents?"

"Well, no," Elspeth says, and takes a moment to think carefully about the past, about her next words, "but we were at a business event, I suppose they wanted to remain somewhat professional." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. There's something there, something more. Something about these memories has softened the matriarch, even more than discussing her own daughter.

"Well I know they love you," Oliver tells her, though he's only rarely heard you and Felix talking about the family, "and I know they're grateful to you, and your husband, and all you've done for them, the care you've shown." And there it is, that faraway softness, that hint of maternal love that almost looks foreign on her.

"We haven't done all that much," Elspeth admits gently, soft smile gracing her features, "just what anyone would do, I think."

"More than what their own parents did, it sounds like."

Elspeth's expression falls, her gaze dropping to her hands. She takes a long sip of her wine.

"They're lovely people, really, please don't take what I've said as any kind of inducement on them as people, I think you'd actually find them quite charming," she says, almost forcibly cheerful, "they're exuberant, fascinating people; they've been wonderful friends to myself and James for quite some time, long before we welcomed Y/N into our home, actually," she laughs a little, looking back up, apparently having shaken her just moments ago, "I will say it was quite the surprise to find out they had a child just the same age as Felix." It's an evasive answer, one Oliver doesn't want to let her get out of but doesn't quite know how to turn the conversation back. The silence is not uncomfortable, but Oliver is still grateful that it's Elspeth that breaks it once more.

"He's never been particularly fond of them," Elspeth somehow gives him an in without Oliver even needing to pry further. Her tone is dismissive, like her son's distaste is simply childish, "but Felix has always been loyal," she smiles warmly once more after shaking her head, "I really do think you'll like them; so much of Y/N comes from them."

"I'll like them?" Oliver frowned with confusion, to which Elspeth nodded, reiterating the sentiment, "you think I'll meet them?"

"Of course, darling, they're coming to dinner tonight," she shakes her head after a beat, seemingly correcting herself, "well, their darling mother. She was at Oxford with James, studying Art History, if I do recall -" but she's cut short as Duncan announces the arrival of the first guests, and Elspeth stands, smiles, slipping comfortably into the role of the perfect hostess.

Oliver feels like he almost understands. Like he's right on the edge of putting all the pieces together. There's too much new information, too many social rules he still doesn't know; part of your discomfort was almost definitely related to your mother being here, and that vapid curator Felix hated -

"You are going to need this," Farleigh presses a glass of champagne into Oliver's hands. He seems more irate than usual, but unusually, it doesn't seem to be directed at Oliver. As the guests begin to filter in, they stand side-by-side at the edge of the garden. Farleigh looks like he belongs there, long and elegant, hand in his pocket and his own champagne glass poised delicately in his grip as he glowered at the others.

"Not a fan of the Arts Collective either?" Oliver enquires, carefully taking a sip.

"Tell me that isn't Fredrika's boy!" Comes a call from across the garden, and Farleigh plasters on a smile as he nods and tips his glass to the gentleman who'd gleefully identified him. They both hear him exclaim to some others he was with, "look how tall he's gotten!" But thankfully the man makes no move towards them, choosing instead to blatantly discuss Farleigh, and-or his mother, with little regard for the man himself.

"They've always been kind to my mother," it's the most diplomatic and genuine Oliver's pretty sure Farleigh's ever been while speaking to him. Still, his discomfort does not seem to ease.

"So I suppose there's just a few bad apples then," Oliver muses, "Y/N warned me about Pearl." It takes several seconds of silence for Oliver to finally give Farleigh his full attention. There's a curious look in his eyes, one Oliver hadn't quite been expecting.

"Did they?" He says very carefully.

"The woman sounds like a pain," Oliver says easily, trying his best to ignore the sudden strange vibe that has picked up around them, "but I assumed all these rich folks have an ego on them, so she must be some kind of something since they barely mentioned their own mother and I know they're not fond of her either."

"You are an idiot," Farleigh looks like he can't even believe the words coming out of Oliver's mouth. There's that lost feeling again, like everyone knows some kind of secret that he's not allowed to, like they all want to keep dancing around the truth, afraid of giving him real answers. Farleigh shakes his head in disbelief, an unsettling, quiet anger in his eyes, "you are a fucking idiot -"

"Oh my god, wow!" Comes a bright voice from far closer than Oliver had been expecting, "I'm getting flashbacks, Elle, are you getting flashbacks? Doesn't he look just like Freddie making that face?" Farleigh, beside Oliver, freezes.

When Oliver turns, he sees Elspeth approaching him with a painfully familiar woman on her arm, saying that this is the one I was telling you about; Oliver -

Oliver recognises your mother by her smile. It lights up her whole face, so comforting, so warm and full of affection as her gaze lingers on him.

"Oh, Oliver, I'm sure you're darling, but I must say hello to Freddie's youngling," she enthuses with a laugh. Farleigh looks like his body is three seconds away from engaging in some kind of fight or flight response.

"I see you remember Farleigh, my nephew," Elspeth points out, and the woman wraps Farleigh up in a hug that he does not reciprocate.

"Of course," she gleefully identifies, and Farleigh makes an uncomfortable noise to the affirmative. When she lets him go, she doesn't do so entirely, holding him at arm's length for a moment as she looks him over, "you are such a marvel, darling, every time I see you!" Glancing over her shoulder at Elspeth, she wears a charmingly teasing smile, "never tell James that his sister got all the good genes," and Elspeth, despite the backhanded compliment, seems only endeared by this woman's antics. Finally she lets Farleigh go, stepping back and continuing to size him up, sparkle of mirth in her eyes, "how is your mother, darling?"

"Elsewhere," Farleigh answers shortly.

"Of course, is she still in New York?"

"For the time being," it seems to be enough for her for now, letting him go. Then, she turns her attention onto Oliver, letting Elspeth make the introduction.

"And this is Oliver, a dear friend of my Felix's who's staying with us for the Summer," Elspeth rests a warm hand on Oliver's shoulder, but the woman forgoes propriety to also hug Oliver tightly.

"Oh wonderful to meet you, Oliver - Ollie, can I call you Ollie? Do they call you Ollie?" She says as he awkwardly hugs her back, running on autopilot. Oliver makes some kind of noise, he's sure, but apparently your mother takes that as an affirmative. Pulling back, she smiles with such genuine warmth it's almost jarring to think about what he knows of her, "oh Ollie, so lovely to have you here, it's so good to see beautiful, bright, fresh faces as fans of the arts; you are a fan of the arts, I take it?"

"I suppose," he offers awkwardly, to which your mother gives a laugh. It doesn't sound like laughter should, there's something a little mean about it, something condescending.

"Darling boy you're with the Arts Collective, at Saltburn of all places; one would think to do their research before attending an event such as this -"

"Wine and cheese in the garden were we get high -?" Farleigh's snide aside that hopefully only Oliver hears as he mutters it under his breath is cut off by Oliver's quick apology.

"It's my first Summer here; I'm a fan of the arts but I thought it would be best to set expectations low considering the calibre of guest. I'm not much of an artist but that doesn't hinder my appreciation," he bullshits quickly, and your mother's eyes light up, taking the bait entirely.

"Nice save," Farleigh mutters under his breath while your mother all but swooned at Oliver's humility.

"Oh! Then I do apologise, dear, I'm glad to have you here, glad to see not all hope is lost for the youth," she shook her head with a fond exasperation, "your friend Felix has never taken much interest unfortunately," she chuckles, "one of his very few flaws, I'm afraid."

"I'm also friends with Y/N," Oliver adds quickly, and immediately feels Farleigh's hand on the small of his back, voice in his ear - don't.

"Sorry darling, I don't know who that is," your mother sounds completely and utterly sincere; nothing in her smile or her body language betrays it as a lie. Despite Farleigh's warning, Oliver pushes.

"Your kid, Y/N," he can feel Farleigh actually grabbing onto the hem of his jacket, voice a snarl now - stop.

"Ollie, dear, I don't have any children," she says with what appears to be complete earnestness. Oliver blinks quickly, stepping back, faintly apologising.

"Sorry, I must have gotten some wires crossed," he says weakly.

"Are you feeling alright?" She puts her hand to his forehead, sweet concern written all over her face. God, she looks so much like you, he really thought - "can we get darling Ollie some water?" She snaps her fingers at one of the servers insistently, rudely, directing Oliver to sit down. He did so, and Farleigh took a seat next to him, wrapping an arm around Oliver's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," Oliver hears himself speak almost automatically, "I don't think I caught your name." Immediately the woman's expression morphs into a pantomime of apology, offering her hand.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so used to being known at these things - god, listen to me I must sound like I have such an ego, sorry, Ollie, darling," the woman's smile reeks of practiced perfection, "I'm Pearl L/N." Everything stops for a very long few moments as Oliver shakes her hand and processes this news. He blinks a few times, and Pearl laughs airily in the twilight, "oh, maybe he does know me; look," she tips her head to Elspeth, "the boy's starstruck." He's liking her less and less and the moments go on; he can see exactly what the others' problem is with her.

"Sorry, Pearl L/N?" Quickly retracting his hand, he tries to remember what you'd told him mere hours ago, "are you the same Pearl L/N who managed to sell Bijou L/N's Aurora's to..." he trails off, having no actual idea of where the paintings had gone, but banking on what you told him about Peal enjoying the sound of her own voice. As anticipated, she looks frankly delighted, throwing her head back as an uncannily familiar laugh echoes from her. In his peripheries, he sees the approving look Elspeth is giving him.

"My word, yes, they're still up at The Met," she tells him, "I suspect it will be a cold day in hell before they're taken down; they paid more than my mother paid for the house she painted them in."

"Your mother -?"

"I'll take care of him," Farleigh cuts him off with a cold smile to Pearl. It's enough to distract the woman, who coos fondly.

"Oh you really are Freddie's, she must be so proud of the man you are, Farleigh."

Farleigh gives a jerky nod, robotically thanking her for the compliment, and she swans away to greet some of the others who've just arrived.

"Sorry, I thought... she just reminded me so much of Y/N," Oliver mumbled. Farleigh extracts his arm from around Oliver's shoulders, something dangerous in his eyes as he watches the woman, now talking and laughing and socialising with such exuberance and ease.

"You are a fucking idiot," Farleigh bites out venomously, not even looking at Oliver. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest. They both watch for a moment as Pearl takes the arm of another guest, coaxing them and the group they're with to sit over on the picnic bench.

"Can you stop calling me that if you're not going to tell explain to me why?" Oliver finally snaps back, turning to level a glare at the tall gentleman beside him. Farleigh meets his unimpressed look with one of his own, gazing into his eyes as if his next words were of the utmost importance.

"Why exactly do you think that Y/N L/N has a problem with Pearl L/N?"

Oliver feels like a fucking idiot. All the pieces are finally in place, and the picture, Oliver realises, is much bleaker than he'd realised.

Farleigh looks back at the picnic table. The general chatter has died down now, and it seemed that catching up between members of the collective was in order. But his focus was captivated by the woman with your smile. Your mother. Everything familiar about her started to make his skin itch. Everything about you started to make a lot more sense.

There was an effortlessness to how she dazzled the collective, pouring affectionate praise onto the artists as they shared their creativity and triumph, offering support and suggestion to other curators and appreciators like herself who found themselves looking for advice.

Charming, exuberant, fascinating, just as Elspeth had told him she's be. Oliver just remembers hearing you weep about how, in the eleven years since you'd been welcomed into Saltburn, she'd never once asked about you.

"I'm in talks with the Vatican about doing a documentary on the Sistine Chapel," Pearl tell the collective airily when it's finally her turn to share. Chin in one hand, the other picking at the statue at the back of the table that's just behind her, Oliver remembers the argument you'd had with Elspeth just yesterday, "but it's been such a runaround," she groaned, reaching up for one of the stone seeds the sculpture was trying to eat, "so many legal meetings and all this red tape; I've got a meeting with the pope and several high ranking members of the clergy to see if I can get their blessing and bypass all this nonsense. I swear Michaelangelo would be rolling in his grave if he knew the effort one must put in nowadays to appreciate his work." A meeting with the fucking pope?

"Pope Benedict the Sixteenth?" Elspeth says with disbelief, the gaggle of women scattered around the garden echoing the sentiment.

"Has there been another one instated while I wasn't looking?" Pearl smiles, teasing edge to her tone that's uncomfortably familiar, but then there's a faint crack, and she looks up guiltily. Or at least, she looks exactly the way a guilty person should look.

"Darling, you do that every time," Elspeth laughs lightly, while the woman puts the stone seed down on the table before her.

"Surely it hasn't been that many times," she responded, though Farleigh's voice is in Oliver's ear.

"That's the third."

"Fine, let me get you another one," the woman offers, "a proper nymph for this darling little fairy garden, something pretty and fitting, not this..." She looks up at the statue, at the myth of Persephone gleefully eating what seeds are left, at the figure with your unmistakable likeness, "strange, sad little thing," she laughs, before adding that the garden itself was beautiful, and that Elspeth had to get her in contact with the landscape artist. Elspeth, surprisingly, suggests that they should head inside since it was swiftly approaching dinner.

Felix and Venetia are already sitting at the table, a mostly empty bottle of wine on the table between them, both cups far less than full. Farleigh takes the seat opposite Felix, and pulls Oliver down to sit across from Venetia. Neither of the siblings speak, but both are looking at Farleigh as if they can divine some secret message from his wordless expression alone.

"No, I take it back," Pearl's voice fills the dining room, drawing all attention as the others filled in around her. The way she's looking at Felix and Venetia is so painfully endeared; if Oliver didn't know any better, he'd say their glares in her direction were cruel, "Elle, I think Cattons are just cursed to have beautiful children," sighing with a teasing, faux disappointment to Elspeth as she passes behind the siblings to take her seat, she greets them both warmly.

"Children," Elspeth prompts, sharp look in her eyes like she's embarrassed by their lack of grace, both Venetia and Felix nod in greeting, her name coming out as a robotic mumble.

"How lovely are they," Pearl sits, fawning over the Catton siblings to the other guests, who all chatter in faint agreement. As expected, however, Oliver finds he can hear Pearl's voice over all the others, even though she sat herself across from Elspeth, at the other end of the table, "Elle, really I'm in endless awe of you and James, Saltburn has never looked so spectacular as it does under your care, I'm sure my home would go to ruin if Andreas and I ever attempted having a child, let alone raising one half as lovely as you've managed; twice!"

"Pearl," Elspeth told her, voice loud enough that it too carried, "I'm sure that if you had a child, they would be -"

"Oh you're just being kind, Elle, don't waste your breath on hypotheticals."

Across the table, Felix looks like he's about to cry.

Oliver feels... unexpectedly hollow. Every word Pearl speaks reminds him of the state he'd seen you in that afternoon.

"I hate her," Venetia snarls, loud enough for only the four at the end to have heard. There's something about this moment, looking at the siblings and their cousin so completely united against this common enemy, that finally makes Oliver realise and believe just how deeply they all cared for you. Even Farleigh was regarding him in solidarity.

Somehow Pearl still hadn't noticed the black cloud that hung over the other end of the table, or perhaps after eleven years she was used to ignoring it. At least the rest of the collective didn't seem too bothered by it, making bright conversation amongst themselves and leaving the furious youth to stew in their collective anger.

"Why didn't you tell me Pearl was your mum?" Oliver heads immediately to the lilac study. The door opens right as he's about to knock, like you'd heard him coming; you look better than you had that afternoon, but his words have your expression falling.

"I'm sure she didn't see it necessary to tell you I'm her child either," you snapped back, hostile. Oliver goes quiet. You crossed your arms, gaze dropping to the ground, "exactly."

"I don't know you," voice faint, Oliver steps back. Finally it starts to hit him, everything that's happened, everything he'd learned and witnessed and heard. The ache begins in his chest and blooms as he looks at you and tries to reconcile all he now knows. How had he not realised that in all the time you'd spent together, you'd never even given him your last fucking name? "I don't know who you are."

"I don't owe anyone anything -"

"Especially not yourself, right?" Oliver cuts you off, at war with himself when he sees the hurt in your eyes. Still, he can't stand by and let you talk like this, let you become a secondary character in your own damn life, "don't owe yourself the chance to believe that someone cares about you, wants to know you, to make you feel like you matter? I want to know you, I want to I love you," the words sound so raw, and he aches, shudders with each deep breath in, "but there is something wrong with you."

There was no anger in your eyes when you'd closed the door, nor any kind of betrayal. Oliver wonders if that would have been easier to stomach than the guilt, the look of apology. You agreed; you believed he was right. Regret begins to claw at his gut the moment he stumbles back, towards his room; he should have waited, given himself time to think, to process before going to you. Fuck, he really shouldn't have gone to you knowing the state you were in.

Oliver is hollow with want, despite his outburst, desperate to be close to you. But there's no way he can come back from this tonight. All he has is the people who care about you. If Oliver had learned one thing tonight, it was the Catton children and their cousin all did love you, each in their own way.

And Venetia Catton was smoking outside his window in a see-through nightgown.

[island-in-the-shadows]

Thank you for the very detailed reply! You’ve given me a lot to think about from a legal perspective. Follow up questions (feel free to ignore if I’m pestering you) in the hypothetical scenario that Felix simply tires of Oliver the way he did with Eddie, does Oliver still react the same way? If their friendship had ended on more amicable, gradual, mundane terms, is Oliver still pushed over the edge to the point that murder is on the table? I think his first instinct would be to crank up the lies, but if Felix doesn’t bite? He’d still be heartbroken, but would he be as angry as he was at “you make my blood run cold”?

Had Felix lived, do you think he would’ve eventually grown into a stiff upper lipped snob? After all, Elspeth was also a party girl who fraternised with rock stars and then look at the version we meet.

This is an unpopular opinion I guess but to me the heartbeat of the movie was Felix. I know Oliver is more popular, especially on Tumblr, but I was completely smitten with Jacob Elordi. What are your headcanons about him? Mine is that the reason he was found so quickly is because Venetia raised the alarm. I think she was very very attached to him (maybe to an unhealthy amount the way a lot of people seem to be) and no matter how busy things got she always had one eye on her brother, making sure he was okay.

My pleasure to answer, Anon! 1. In the hypothetical scenario that Felix got bored, Oliver would continue to try to find ways to hook Felix back in. The only way he would then act with more murderous intent would be if there were no going back whatsoever. No way out but this. Oliver, in the moment where he decides to give Felix the bottle, is a hurt animal backed into a corner. So he reacts impulsively and emotionally. Outside of that context, he will continue to do anything that he has to do to continue to be interesting to Felix and to keep himself in Felix's orbit while not harming Felix as long as he does not believe that there is no other way. I do not think there would be a reason for Oliver to let it go. He would keep at it and never let go. And it's evident that he would continue to get at it since, in film canon, it has been 15 years and he continues to view Felix as his God, worthy of his love and idolatry, despite being dead. If I may quote NBC Hannibal for a moment, Dr. DuMaurier tells Will Graham (now having accepted the dark parts of his nature and desirous to act chaotically in order to free his would be lover): "You found religion. Nothing more dangerous than that." Though I won't get into the dissection we could make of that line in the context of its source, I can express that, to Oliver, Felix is, essentially, his religion. And Oliver is nothing short of devout. Yes, even sacrificing Felix falls into a sense of idolatry because he has forever frozen Felix at the height of his perfection through Oliver's eyes. The way Felix is framed in the opening and closing montages of the film, through Oliver's eyes, tells us as such. Felix is forever perfect. Given that this is how Oliver sees Felix and feels about Felix regardless of all the foibles that Felix certainly has, he would NEVER let Felix go. Ever. He would keep trying to hook Felix or he would die trying.

2. I do speculate a bit about this more in my fic than I have in proper meta, but...Felix would have an immense amount of pressure on him to confirm to fit a specific mould. Despite that Venetia is older, context clues in the film (such as Felix having the conversation with Farleigh in regards to money for Frederica) indicate that it would have been Felix to inherit the estate and the title that goes along with it, certainly. This means that while some deviation from the "standard" picture of stiff upper lip aristocracy might've been tolerated, it would not have been permissible and allowed in its entirety. @leiflitter covers bits of this in their wonderful You're Almost Home series which, if you've not read, I strongly recommend. In their story, an adult Felix still retains bits and pieces of the vibrant personality that makes him him, but parts of it have been dampened by the circumstance of him having a quickie marriage to a woman he barely knew because she got pregnant, becoming a parent (especially becoming a parent very young), and eventually becoming the Master of the Estate and, if I'm not mistaken, a baronet. Per the rules of the aristocracy, there was no way that Felix could simply not marry a girl he got pregnant. He had to marry her to cover the scandal and the baby serves as an heir which would be expected of him. Even if we go outside of this wonderful fic, and go back into canon meta, Felix has expectations on him: marrying a woman, having heirs, inheriting and managing Saltburn. It doesn't seem like a lot and it does come with gargantuan wealth but, you said it yourself, Elspeth used to run around with musicians and was probably wild back in the day, but she became a house cat, so to speak, when she became the Lady of Saltburn. And Elspeth would arguably have had less expectation on her. She needed to marry rich and birth heirs and be the picture of quiet civility. She is likely, as we know her, a dampened version of who she was before marriage. Felix has just the bit more of not only perpetuating the system to which he belongs but managing it. It's a lot of responsibility to put on one person. And, I think, he's already keenly aware of the responsibility that will fall onto his lap even before his father dies. It's why he buries his emotions in alcohol, drugs, and (terrible) sex with girls he couldn't give a flying fig about. So, while I do think some who 20yo Felix is survives an adulthood in the aristocracy, we're looking at an adult Felix being kinda like his mum in some aspects and kind of like his dad in others (dampened, stiff upper lip versions of who they probably really are).

3. I don't know that it's an unpopular opinion, actually. In my opinion, the film itself tells you it's about Felix. It's often misinterpreted (specifically by shit critics and YouTubers) as being a bad "Eat the Rich" movie with Oliver being the wild bisexual who just wanted the Cattons' riches. However, the first line is about Oliver "not" being in love with Felix. And, we know from Emerald, that is a lie. That Oliver was in love with Felix. It's evident from how the camera frames Felix. It's evident with the fact that the light goes from rich and golden while Felix is alive, to stark and white in a post-Felix world. Felix is Oliver's religion, and he is the story. He is, as you said, the heartbeat. What happens is that Oliver is a lot more fun to dissect than Felix is. I say this as someone who continuously dissects Felix and have put a lot of the dissection of his character into fic. But, Oliver would not be Oliver without Felix. He didn't really exist before him and we wouldn't have the film or any of the events without Felix being this Apollo coded figure. Also, yes, Jacob Elordi's subtle performance as Felix often goes unnoticed, but it was absolutely wonderful.

4. Ok so one of my head-canons would be this (another long post because it's how I do when I really get into it). Venetia is his older sister, so I agree that she is very protective of him (Again, something I explore more in my fic than I have in meta but I could do a whole post on the sibling dynamics). I have other small ones like Felix repeatedly took his shoes off and threw them when he was very little, that his guitar playing is subpar but he knows how to play Oasis' Wonderwall and probably played it for Ollie, that he could not pick out India or Annabel out in a police lineup (I just don't think he really views them as people), that he has a MASSIVE sweet tooth and prefers "girly" cocktails to more "manly" drinks but doesn't order them because he doesn't want people to judge, that he has comfort clothes and wears them until they're beyond repair (like the blue sweater at the beginning of the film having holes for example), etc. Felix is lovely and we know so little about him and I do adore him. I get why Oliver lost his mind over this big himbo.

[multimilfs]

Alma Peregrine x Fem!Reader: Not-Birthday

Summary: Alma Peregrine + 17 — “You did all of this for me?”

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this!!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @evil-feather @elenaguarnieri @nonbinary-cryptid-baby

Warning(s): None

Things are actually going according to plan. 

You’re still waiting for something to fly off the rails, but overwhelmingly, everything has fallen into place; Alma took Olive and the other children into town, leaving you with Emma and Enoch to help.

Every month or so, you’ve started doing a ‘not-birthday’ for one of the children. Alma stopped celebrating their birthdays long ago to keep from reminding them of how time never passes. It’s a sweet thought. You felt that the children never got to be individually special, though, as a result and so; not-birthdays. 

“Miss Y/N, does this look okay?” 

You look up to see the pink paper-letters spelling out ‘Olive’ hanging on the wall next to the staircase. It’s perfectly straight, just the way you wanted it. 

“It looks perfect. What else do we have?” 

“You wanted to make a cake,” Emma says, “but you might not have time. Do we always have to do it in secret?” 

“Yes.” You nod, leaving no room for argument. 

Enoch clears his throat, “If you’re not going to offer me a task, can I at least go to my room?” 

“Enoch, you know Olive better than anyone. I need your eyes.” 

“Olive adores you. She’ll adore anything you put on.” He shakes his head. 

You take one of his hands and squeeze, “Please, Enoch. I want this to be perfect.” 

He sighs. 

“Alright.” He grumbles. 

You grin and squeeze his hands again. Back to the details, you focus on your list, trying to cross-reference what needs finished with how much time you have left. Alma is nothing if not efficient, but she knows the plans, and should take a little extra time. 

The idea of not-birthdays aren’t too far from an actual birthday celebration; which makes Alma twitch. She fears knowing how old they should be will make them itch for freedom from the loop she can’t provide. And while you can agree with that, the point of a not-birthday is that it’s completely random, and you don’t mention age. 

Plus, there were many years Alma didn’t celebrate before you came along. So the children have long lost their sense of time and their own age. 

The older three are always the trickiest to plan for. It is easy enough to get the girls out of the house, but getting Enoch away long enough to plan raised his suspicions. Every year you find yourself jumping through new hoops to surprise him. 

Olive, though, is the simplest. She’s so sweet, she never expects anything for herself; the thought gives you chest pains. Every time she’s just as surprised as before. And though you know she’ll love it no matter what, you strive to make it bigger and better each time. 

“Emma,” You call, making your way into the kitchen after a while, “How is the cake coming along?” 

Emma is leaning against the counter with a book in her hands. She’s flipping through it lazily, pointing at the oven without looking up. You resist the urge to shake your head. 

Cracking it and peering in, it seems the cake is coming along nicely. Emma made quick work of it. Though you do hope it’ll be done before everyone returns, you know it’s unlikely. 

“Miss Y/N.” Enoch calls.

Busying yourself with preparing the cake decorations, “Yes?” 

“They’re back early.” 

You freeze. Next to you, Emma does too. 

The two of you look at one another and then stare at the oven. There’s no way. Even if you had a way to manipulate time, there’s no possibility of finishing it before they come inside. You’re left to rely on your peculiarity. 

“Are you okay with keeping an eye on it?” You ask. 

Emma nods, “Of course. Try and distract them, please.” 

You nod back. With a flutter of your fingertips, Emma is hidden from view, as well as any indication that the oven is on. You race around the house doing the same with all of the decorations. 

By the time you’ve hidden all of the decorations, the front door opens. 

“Miss Y/N, we’re home!” Hugh calls out. 

Coming around the corner, attempting to smooth down your hair, you smile. The children seem none the wiser. Alma’s brow ticks up ever so slightly, a sly little smirk coming to her lips. 

“How was town, my darlings?” You ask. 

Your arms are suddenly full of Claire and Bronwyn. The latter nearly sends you flying backwards. If not for her strong arms holding you in place, you’re certain you’d be in another room. Her sheepish smile tells you she’s aware of that fact too. 

Claire wraps herself around you like she’s trying to become one with you. She’s careful to keep your arms away from her back-mouth. 

“The humans were more subdued today,” Olive says, coming to give you a little side-hug, “It was weird. They were almost… nice.” 

“Odd.” You agree. 

Alma cuts in, “It was likely the early hour. We scarcely visit so early. Shoes off, children.” 

They’re all quick to obey. Both sets of arms unwrap from around your waist as the children line their shoes up near the doorway. Even Millard, who is actually clothed this morning, thank the heavens. 

Alma is at your side. She offers a kiss on your cheek in greeting when she’s sure none of the children are watching. You smile, though you can see that curious smirk still on her face. 

She speaks quietly, “The house is normal.”

“How odd.” You say, giving her a pointed look. 

“Emma is also curiously absent.” 

“Is she?” 

“Darling,” Alma grins, “You went overboard, didn’t you?” 

“No, you just came back too early.” 

Alma shrugs. Her little smirk makes you furious and ravenous in equal measure. She seems to know it, if the twinkle in her eyes means anything. 

The children disperse back to their normal routines while you attempt to subtly continue the not-birthday details. It’s an infuriating game of pretend. Everytime one of the children walks into the room, you have to seem busy with something normal. 

A few of the younger children accept your behavior and go on about their business. The older ones stop and eye you, but ultimately walk off too. You breathe out a sigh each time. 

Three taps on your shoulder startles you from what you’re doing. 

Emma’s voice is in a whisper, “Everything is ready.” 

Making sure nobody is around, you snap, and Emma is fully visible again. She smiles. 

Behind you, a throat clears, and you turn to see Alma leaning against the doorway. The two of you offer smiles. Shaking her head, she turns to head back downstairs, throwing behind her, “I’ll collect the children.” 

And she does. 

The decorations are visible and when you hear the little gasp from the hallway, you know you were successful in surprising them. Olive comes into the kitchen with a look of wonder, eyes widening. 

In the center of the table is a pretty pink cake. It perfectly matches her dress, which is coincidentally her favorite color. 

“Happy not-birthday, Olive.” You smile. 

“You did all of this for me?” She whispers, staring at you with glossy eyes. 

When you nod, she hugs you tight around the middle. You laugh and hug her back. You could do the smallest thing for Olive and you know she’d love it. It makes you feel so warm inside to do something sweet for her, especially when she expects so little. 

She deserves more appreciation and love, they all do. You’ve made it your mission to make sure they get all they deserve. 

You fade into the background as the children bicker and fight over slices of cake. Emma, as always, steps in to mediate; taking the knife and doing her best to cut even slices for all of them. 

Alma discreetly takes your hand in her own. 

“You did well.” 

“Thank you,” You smile, looking into her eyes with your heart brimming with love, “You’re next.”

“Don’t you dare.” Alma shakes her head. 

“Too late, the plans are already in motion,” You sing-song, kissing her when the children aren’t looking, “You’re just along for the ride, Miss Peregrine.” 

She does her best not to smile at your apparent joy. Her unblinking gaze follows your every move, love in them. Her voice drips with sarcasm, “Fantastic.” 

[nutstickler78]

Compiling my german Zip headcanons!

Made These during school, so there‘ll probably be some mistakes as I‘m not supposed to even bring my phone 😝 (update: hi yes I ended up continuing and finishing this at home)

one of my moots lowkey motivated me to do this

Hope you enjoy this!

CW: Mentions of alcohol/beer, occasional swearing!

DISCLAIMER: These Are Just normal HCS, no x Reader or x Character.

Do not cry "you‘re racist!" As I was both born and raised in Germany.

Some of these are based off of things I as a german have experienced or heard.

———————————————————

☆ I already mentioned this in another post, but she had her first drink of alcohol free beer at the whopping age of 12.

☆ Curses the ever living shit out people in German whenever she‘s really annoyed.

☆ Sneaks beer into school and only shares it with Oliver, Edward and SOMETIMES Miss Circle (Favorite Student privileges)

☆ I feel like Engel at least speaks German, so when Zip, Oliver and Edward are bullying Claire and Engel (as well, I‘m assuming), she‘d throw in something WILD in German and Engel is kinda like: oh that‘s not.. 😀

☆ LOVES Bernd das Brot

☆ She would totally know "Komm, lass uns tanzen." by HEART (alongside Chip).

☆ Although it‘s rare, she sometimes lets out her German accent. For example, she‘s currently rambling and ends up pronounce the German R

☆ Says digga even if she‘s speaking english. It‘s permanently part of her vocabulary.

☆ Dresses with more drip than your average German classmate 💀💀 and she definitely judges them too

☆ When she was very, very young (like around Chip‘s age which I‘m assuming is like 5), she was a HUGE Bibi Blocksberg and Bibi & Tina fan. Had a lot of merchandise of them that she would NEVER EVER share.

☆ Would purposefully draw the ugliest outfits on the characters from the Top Model Books and put the little sticker clothes that came alongside on to the most brutal and metal characters ever.

☆ Always had Satch pencil cases. Thought they wer boring and drew on them. Free canvas lol.

☆ Loves saying German jokes in English to Edward and/or Oliver bc they make no sense in English.

"Hey, hey, guys. Can I tell you a joke?"

"If it‘s funny, go for it."

Zip, who‘s trying to control her laughing "Okay look, Two Hunters met each other."

"And?"

"They both died." Zip bursts out laughing.

"That makes no fucking sense."

"IT DOES"

☆ I feel like she has a little notebook where she writes a bunch of dumb stuff down, including many, MANY German memes only Germans would get. Meine Mama, meine Tante, der kleiner-

☆ Always has that German candy on stock (only for Chip, the coolest little brother!)

☆ Can open a beer bottle with literally ANYTHING you give her (except if it‘s a weak material, then obviously she can’t.)

☆ Praises German lunch knowing damn well it sucks ass. She only likes it because they got a mini burger and chocolate Santa once in kindergarten.

☆ Finds the raw existence of Frankfurt, Berlin, Mecklenburg-Vorpommern and Bayern so hilarious for no reason

☆ Whenever Engel tries to say something positive in German (idk in what scenario he‘d do this, but imagine he would), she‘d counter react by saying something diabolical in Germany (technically you could count this in another hc I wrote down.. oh well <‚3)

☆ Knows a lot of kid shows, German or not, but always prefers (and often times only knows) the German version of them like; Sofia die Erste, Jake und die Nimmerland Piraten, etc.

☆ makes fun of American food (it‘s so processed okay 😭)

"Haha! Seriously? That Fanta is basically just chemicals! Your stomach will LOVE that chemical burn!"

"Please let me drink in fucking peace"

—————

That‘s all for now! Should I write a German Zip FF? It won‘t be romantic and honestly only contain Zip being a menace but in GERMAN

[familyabolisher]

I'm very curious about any more in depth thoughts you have on It Came From The Closet! It's been on my radar and I'd been planning to check it out soon as my next read, and this is the first opinion I've seen on it that isn't part of what feels like marketing reviews almost. Is it the analysis of the horror movies and themes that feels off or the way the essays are written? I'm a huge horror fan and I've definitely seen a...few queer horror takes that felt either like reaches or just "off" to me, but it's always hard to put my finger on it

i’ve only read the first few essays so it’s entirely possible that the volume will improve from here on out (though i … haven’t gotten my hopes up), but my impression so far is that it’s a series of schlocky, surface-level analyses providing a veneer of pop talking points around “horror” and “queerness” over what are often frankly uninteresting personal essays. v little insight and v little desire to bring anything new to the table; frankly, v little interest in the films they purport to be writing on beyond shallow rhetorical vehicles for personal reflection. my patience for The Personal Essay is vvv low at the best of times, but like, i can appreciate a work from which i can glean some compelling insights and articulate a thoughtful response. and, god, none of these pieces have crossed that hurdle so far.

like, if it’s not a long string of appeals to buzzwords like “queerbaiting” and “bury your gays” or v poorly substantiated appeals to "subversion" then it's incorrectly defined “reparative reading” or one writer citing that stupid mary oliver soft animal of your body whatever line out of literally nowhere. it’s just not insightful or imaginative. at its worst it does just read like an annoying tumblr post circa 2017. carmen maria machado writes an essay on jennifer’s body as articulating something essential to her bisexuality such that efforts to talk about the way in which it marketed itself via appealing to the homophobic cultural currency of teen lesbian eroticism somehow constitutes “gatekeeping.” this is not compelling or original critical writing, people.

almost every essay seems to fall back on the same base claim: that what makes horror horrifying relies on a currency of alterity which discursively constructs the “other” and that queer people can & will identify with the “other”—the monster in the horror film—in order to make sense of themselves & overturn the hegemony that the film may well seek to affirm. cool, awesome—this is not new analysis. i would not expect this kind of thing to be churned out in a book published in 2022; we know this already. i worry that overleaning into this idea of a “reclamation” of sorts a) risks forfeiting the language we have available to us to actually talk about the sort of bigotry which can fuel these kinds of stories; how many people talk about le fanu’s carmilla as a stunning depiction of erotic lesbian vampires and lose sight of its having been a v homophobic, colonialist text in their doing so?; and b) neglects the tradition of horror within alterity; horror being made not out of a conservative ethos that we seek to critically remould into a kind of limp simulacrum of a “radical” one, but one born out of a desire to tell a story against heteronormative social imaginaries in the first place. it’s all well and good to identify with regan from the exorcist and cite your poor understanding of reparative readings (not a critical framework i subscribe to anyway, but like, at least get it right?) in doing so, but do we have to keep limiting our discourse to this back-and-forth about whether or not we can salvage obviously homophobic/misogynistic/ableist/racist stories forever? lol. i watched Hellraiser for the first time the other day and that was queer horror that could be met with on far more compelling terms than whatever all this is.