#fix it fanfic

[laughingphoenixleader]

Hi I Fixed the Ahsoka Ending

The stormtrooper steps out of the ship, hands raised. It wasn’t like Hera has never seen that before. She raises her pistol, questions shooting through her mind. Why is this trooper alone, why did he hail them, and, most importantly, why is something about his walk so familiar? Suspense fills the air, and she can tell that everyone around her felt it, too. The last of the steam that has spilled out of the ship’s exhaust evaporates into the air, unlike that overwhelming sense of familiarity that’s flooding her heart. She braces herself for anything, setting her jaw. Had someone she’d once been close to become a stormtrooper? She runs through a list of names in her mind, nothing turning up any results. 

Who are you and why’re you here? Chopper asks, apparently done waiting in suspense. The trooper gives no answer, continuing to step forward. 

What, are you deaf or something? Are you, are you, are you? Chopper chatters impatiently. But then, instantaneously, his mood changes. Which isn’t really unheard of. Wait, Chopper mutters, starting to roll forward. Hera wonders if he’s picked up on the familiarity, too. He’s always been more perceptive than people give him credit for. Chopper heads straight for the trooper, his ever-squeaky wheels (no amount of oil can fix that issue, and Hera’s tried) filling the silence. 

Who are you? Chopper asks as he stops at the trooper’s feet. And it’s at that moment that Hera realizes something: her mom sense is tingling. 

It can’t be. 

Huh? Huh? Huh? Chopper barks, until the trooper slowly extends one gloved hand and gently places it on Chopper’s head. Then his head spins around in giddy joy, his beeps turning into little excited ones. No words attached to them, just exclamations of happiness.

And, given that he usually hates people, there are only six of them Chopper’s ever gotten excited to see. 

And Hera’s got a feeling she knows which one this is. 

Sure enough, the trooper reaches up to grasp his helmet, and, when he pulls it from his head, the face that looks earnestly back at Hera is one she’s missed dearly. 

He looks different now. Far from the boy he once was. Navy facial hair covers the lower part of his face, and his hair is longer and curlier than when she last saw it. It had never been curly before. Human hair never ceases to amaze her. 

But he’s still got that effervescent light about him. Especially when he smiles at her, looking a little nervous, but there’s excitement spilling from him, too. She can feel it, as surely as she felt that she knew him as soon as he stepped out of that ship. 

Hera doesn’t even realize she’s lowered her gun until her hand hits her thigh. Shock and joy are washing over her, wave after overwhelmingly powerful wave. 

And grief. Because, though it doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense, somehow, he looks so much like Kanan. 

Though she already knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is her boy, a part of her, the part that had always remembered the worst case scenario, that Ezra might just never come home, wants to know for sure. Doesn’t dare to believe it. 

“Ezra?” she asks, dipping her head slightly, just making sure. Because she has to. 

He seems to be as overwhelmed as she is, struggling for a moment to find the words. “Hi, Hera,” he greets her, and at that moment, even the most hopeless parts of her know it’s him. Because it’s the voice of a man who speaks back to her, but it’s youthful and casual and tentative and Ezra. That little boy who had been so lonely, who had looked up at Kanan and Hera like they were the most amazing people in the world every time they gave him something or complimented him, who had added so much joy (and chaos) to their lives, who had grown so, so much and made them so, so proud…he’s grown up, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone. He’s standing right here in front of her, after five long years. 

He gives a little shrug, his eyes and expression brimming with joy, his smile bright. “I’m home.” 

He chuckles a little, the sound sending fondness shooting through her. 

Hera exhales shakily, eyes locked onto her boy, taking him in. He’s here and he’s real and if she wakes up, she’s suing the Force itself. She shakes her head a little, the feeling of her hopes finally coming to fruition freezing her in place, somehow. To be fair, it’s a lot to process. 

Ezra slowly begins to walk forward, and Hera stands there for a few more seconds, but then she breaks out into a run, meeting him in the middle. She wraps her arms around the lost boy, and he hugs her back willingly, chuckling joyously, making her own laughter come spilling out of her. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Ezra whispers, burying his face in her shoulder like a kid. Her kid. 

She holds him closer. “I could tell you the same thing,” she replies, chuckling a little, blinking as her vision blurs with tears brought on by years of the homesickness that was being without a member of her family. By the pain that came from having no idea whether the Spectres were down to four. By having so many look at her in pity when she reported on the results of the victory on Lothal. By the obvious skepticism in people’s eyes when she told them that Ezra was missing, not dead.

They’d been wrong. She and Sabine and Ahsoka and Chopper and Zeb had been right. Though, these days, even Zeb had become disheartened. Last time they’d talked, sad skepticism had tinged his expression, too. But not for long, because Ezra is home.

And a piece of her home has returned with him. 

“Welcome home, Ezra,” she tells him, her voice choked with tears. But so is the chuckle he replies with. 

“Glad to be back, Mom,” he tells her, and a new barrage of emotions hits her, fondness and affection and love causing tears to leak from her eyes. 

They stand there like that, just holding each other, this moment too special for any more words to be spoken. 

Then she pulls away, because her Lieutenant, along with about 20 other people, are watching, and it’s starting to get a bit awkward in here. 

She looks at him up close, and those blue eyes are just as brilliant and youthful and Ezra’s as ever. She places a hand on his cheek, laughing incredulously, and he grins brightly, leaning into her touch. 

“What took you so long?” she asks, amusement and teasing in her tone, wiping at her eyes with her other hand. She drops the other one from his face and puts it on his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, shrugging sheepishly, but his smile only gets brighter. “I was kinda stuck, you know. Not really my fault.” 

“Fair enough,” she replies, chuckling a little. 

Ezra’s eyes light up, excitement overflowing from his voice. “Oh! I have to show you something!” 

Hera removes her hand from his shoulder to cross her arms expectantly, grinning. “Oh?” she asks playfully as he reaches for his belt, and then her eyes flick to the saber that rests on it. 

Her heart stops beating for a second. Because that saber looks heart-wrenchingly familiar. The hilt is one she’s never seen before, but the emitter is unmistakable. It’s Kanan’s. 

Hera’s breath hitches. Her gaze shifts to meet Ezra’s, shock filling her and her vision blurring again. “Is that…” she asks, her voice strangled. 

“It’s not his,” Ezra finishes, understanding in his eyes. “His was one of two,” he begins, wiping his eyes, too. “The droid that helped him build his lightsaber when he was a Padawan gave me the other. And he told me a little about him, too.” He unhooks the saber from his belt and places it in her hands, and she rubs her thumb over the hilt, the familiarity of it sends a lance of pain through her heart. 

“Huyang,” Hera realizes, smiling sadly, still stroking the saber, eyes glued to it. “Yeah, he’s told me some stories, too. When I needed them.” 

“Yeah?” Ezra asks, a vibrant mix of curiosity and excitement and sadness all sparking in his expression. 

“I’ll tell you all of them,” Hera assures him before he can ask, handing the saber back. Even though those stories would be hard to tell and talk about, he deserves to hear them. “Soon. After you tell me where Sabine and Ahsoka are.” 

That’s when smile fades from his face, and Hera’s stomach drops. Dread and panic slam into her. No. Not again. I can’t lose anyone else. 

“They’re where I was,” Ezra tells her, shame in his expression. Already blaming himself. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Hera interjects before he can finish, even as everything in her screams WHY at the Force with all its might. It’s already taken so much from me. Was all that really not enough? But she continues, focusing on her mission, which, right now, is reassuring her adopted son. “But I know that, whatever it was, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was their choice,” Ezra admits, nodding. “Ahsoka was fighting that Elsbeth lady so that Sabine and I could escape, and Sabine couldn’t leave her.” Ezra swallows, sadness spilling from his eyes, gaze shifting to the floor. “She…she was returning the favor. Making her own sacrifice. And,” Ezra shakes his head, chuckling ironically, “as much as I hate that, I’m also really proud of her.” He looks up to meet her eyes. “You know what I mean?” 

Pain claws at her heart, but a corner of her mouth tilts up in response to his question. “Oh yeah,” she replies. “I happen to know exactly how that feels.”

Ezra chuckles, looking sheepish again. “Right. Sorry about that.” 

“You’re here now,” she assures him, placing a hand on his shoulder again. “That’s enough.” Sadness seeps into her again. “Though I’d rather have all of you here.” Sabine, the daughter she’d never had. And would probably never have. But Sabine had always been enough. Hera loves her witty humor, fiery courage, and stubborn kindness with all of her being. She’s someone you never forget after you meet her, and her absence is just as unforgettable. Ahsoka, who had become her best friend over the past few years. They’d exchanged many a secretive look during important meetings, whether because of inside jokes or exchanging wordless opinions. She’d been someone who Hera had bonded very deeply with over a relatively short period of time. Maybe it’s because both of them had left their people behind at a young age. Maybe it’s because they’ve both suffered great losses. Maybe it’s the understanding that warriors share that those who have never been on the battlefield can never understand. Whatever it is, it had made them click in a way that Hera hadn’t with anyone but the Spectres in a long time. 

She wonders how long it will be until she sees them again.  

“I can find them,” Ezra tells her, determination filling his voice, jolting her back to reality. “The Force will guide me, and I know that planet like the back of my hand. It’s practically a part of me now, so I know I can find it on a starmap.”

“I believe you, Ezra,” she tells him, letting her genuineness show through the look she gives him. Then something pops into her head, something she’s been wishing she could tell him this entire time. “And hey,” she begins, her voice quivering, just a little. “As much as I hated that sacrifice you made, I’m so proud of you.” His face lights up, and it melts her heart to know he still cares that much about her approval. 

“And Kanan would be, too,” she continues firmly, looking into her boy’s cobalt-hued eyes, which fill with grief and joy and a thousand emotions she doubts either of them can name. “He’d be so, so proud of you. You learned well, Ezra.” 

He’s lost for words, his hand unconsciously going to his saber and fidgeting with it. His expression grows heavy with pain, with all the emotions that come with losing someone you love so much. Hera wonders just how much he’s let himself grieve over the last few years. And she aims to help him in any way she can. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice and eyes weighted with how much what she said means to him. “I needed to hear that.” 

“I had a feeling,” Hera replies, smiling sadly. 

“You’re always right,” Ezra tells her, a bit of that unstoppable playfulness infusing his expression. 

He hugs her again, and not for the last time, either. 

@kanerallels @accidental-spice

#ahsoka #ahsoka spoilers #ahsoka series spoilers #star wars #star wars rebels #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #swr #kanera #ezra bridger #ahsoka tano #sabine wren #look I couldn't just sit by and let this injustice occur #we were ROBBED #fanfiction #ahsoka fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #fix it fanfic #WHY WAS THERE NO HUG #W H Y #FELONY WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND NOT GIVING US THE HUGS WE DESERVE #ugh see now I need to write that Clone Wars Season 7 hug that I desperately long for back when I first finished Clone Wars

[smolvenger]

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Series. Chapter 7: Purple Hyacinth

A Fix-It Fanfiction Series of The Essex Serpent

Pairing: some Stella Ransome/William Ransome but focusing on the tragedy of their marriage, eventually Stella Ransome/Male OC

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: In Which, Stella mourns her husband's affair with The Woman. And makes a decision.

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Discussions of Adultery and the Trauma of Being Cheated On, Female Rage, Mentions of Suicide, ANGST, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Illness, Victorian era Marriage laws, Religion, Mentions of death and the almost death of a child- but the child doesn't actually die. Greif and Betrayal and Stella grieving and being sad and angry about William cheating (she has every right to be), being Anti-William and Anti-C*ra so if you like them or this pairing you have been warned. Good For Her Plotline

Ko-Fi

Ao3 Link

Chapter Word Count: Less than 5K

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six

“And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck'd the honey of his music vows, Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; …O, woe is me T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!” - Hamlet, Shakespeare, II.I.132

GILDA Ah, these are the loving words... ...the scoundrel spoke once to me!

RIGOLETTO (to Gilda) Hush, weeping can do no good, etc.

GILDA O wretched heart betrayed, do not break for sorrow.- Rigoletto, English Translation

“Such was her affection for him, that she loved him in all places, and was desirous of doing anything for his convenience, credit, and comfort…How much more commendable was the behavior of these women than that of those who rail at their imprudent or incontinent husbands, and by their conduct render that home which before was undesirable, quite hateful, and insupportable!”- Alexander Walker, Woman Physiologically Considered, as to Mind, Morals, Marriage, Matrimonial Slavery, Infidelity, and Divorce.

“And (God) said…Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat? And the man said, The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.” Genesis 3:11-12, KJV

I remember shaking.

They finished. they smiled at each other and kissed once more. William and The Woman wandered further into the woods, clutching hands.

My legs gave in beneath me. I caught myself. Doubting everything I saw. Wondering if I was in a nightmare. But it was when I looked down and saw how my knuckles were clenched and I saw the last tail end of William’s tan coat vanish that I knew it was real.

Pulling myself onto the windowsill. Everything seemed to spin as I returned to my- no- our bedroom.

I went to the bookshelf and grabbed one of my journals, one of the older ones. I turned it to the page with the gardenia from years ago. The one William gave to me. His very first gift. The one that gave me hope that maybe he loved me. Keeping it open, I clutched it to my heart.

I couldn’t cry. I hugged onto it tighter on the chair and ducked my head down, squeezing my eyes shut. Then opening them.

I used to love this room. That sacred space where so many beautiful memories and moments. How bitter, sad, dusty, and dark it all looked. The blue walls seemed grey in the dim light. The fireplace was cold and dark. The plates and pillows I decorated looked ugly and gaudy. It was all bitter and haunted and disgusting.

I went over and sat down on the bed. I placed a hand over the covers sweeping through them. It crumpled into a fist as I buried my face into the blankets.

This bed was mine and William’s. The centerpiece of our beautiful little world. It was the bed where our marriage was consummated. Where he used his body to tell mine it loved it. Where our five children were created. The bed where we had our own quiet oasis at the end of each long day. Now it was tainted and abandoned. Once it was dented from his weight and soft from the pressing of his body. Now it felt like a rock, even the blankets felt cold to me.

Did she know everything he promised to me? That he gave me flower seeds and wrote me love letters? That he held my hand as we watched Julianna’s small casket lowering into the ground? That he stayed up late rocking little James to sleep when he cried at night so I could sleep? Did she know what he said to me? That I was his star, his angel? That he made vows before none other than the regional bishop and all Aldwinter that he would be my husband. That he would be mine until death did us part. And he was still alive, and so was I. Sick, weak, dying, but alive.

I turned my face up and saw that we had decorated some of the walls and bookshelves with photos. I traced my hand over the photo of our wedding day- me looking down demurely in a white lacy dress with a bustle and William, then with only a hint of a beard.

There was a photo of me holding little Joanna on the day of her christening- christened by her father! The man who represented and lead none other than the church! Who spoke of morality, what was right and what was wrong, and how to avoid sin.

Then, finally, there was a photo of the five of us- of our three surviving children and us. I and William were seated, Joanna and John in the back and James on the side as the dog sat obediently next to us.

All those happy, peaceful memories and moments were for nothing!

I set down the photos and staggered into his study. His room. The very place where he learned all about how to be a Christian Man and preach it to others. On his desk were the piles of papers. I blinked, and then picked them up, reading them. I found they were not any drafts of a book. No, they were letters. Letters from The Woman. And drafts of letters to The Woman. The dates on the far-left corners were all recent. As early as the week she arrived here.

I read them word for word. There were discussions. Discussions of the Serpent. Of Leviathan. Of the Aldwinter beach. Of Joanna’s antics and Frankie’s. Of faith and science. Then it changed.

The letters were of love. Love. She returned his feelings. The drafts were all confessing the longing in his heart and body for her.

Not for me. Not for his wife. For her.

One letter from her wrote how she noticed how longingly he would look at her at dinner. That she noticed his glances and stares. It was at the very dinner where I made the roast, vegetables, and biscuits in her welcome. I wasn’t even sick then. And I was present.

The letter fell from my hand and I became dizzy, falling onto the chair and clutching onto its arm of it for support. I felt a lump in my throat, but not from blood.

Oh, God! Oh God, what had I done! It was all my fault! I thought it was at most a harmless infatuation, a small thing, nothing more! I had permitted him to dance with her the night of the party! I thought dancing with her would make him happy for a little while after seeing his torment in my condition.

Once, he had a great passion for me. Once, we were making love at the rate of twice a day. Once, we continued to regularly bed each other after the births of five children. Had he…no longer wanted me? Had my ill body now disgusted him? Was that the real source of his grief?

It then struck me. He had made love frequently and passionately to me. The whole time I thought it was for me alone due to its frequency, that I was his wife, and that he loved me.

Oh God, all those years, and now it struck me how naïve I had been! How come I not realized something about William this whole time? Fourteen years of marriage to him, and yet it never struck me the truth about him!

His weakness was lust!

That was his sin. That was the one closest to his heart and the one that made him twitch and struggle. That was his Achilles Heel.

Had I realized that sooner, I would not have allowed him an inch near The Woman. I would object and insist he avoids her partnership to search for The Serpent. I would not have sent him to the dance with her. I had given a hungry wolf a key to a den full of plump and injured sheep without thinking he would bite into one.

I crumpled the paper beneath my hand and set it down. I bit down on my tongue to keep from screaming until I tasted blood from it.

Were there more letters he was hiding from me? All this time? Had there been others before she arrived?

She, she, she, she…I never considered myself an angry, spiteful person. Not until now. I knew now how it was to truly hate. I had not a single redeeming thing I could think of The Woman. I wondered if I could even have the heart to look at her. I hated every bit of her. I felt a wave of anger and pure hatred I had not dared feel in ages. Even if Joanna admired her. Even considering her past, even if her husband beat and choked her, I felt no pity for her anymore. Cruel fantasies entered my mind. I wished that her husband killed her long before she set foot in Aldwinter. I wanted to slap her pretty face until it bruised. I began thinking of the truly awful, horrible things I could scream and hurl at her.

Yet I sat there, hands shaking.

I opened another drawer of William’s desk. I pulled out papers, scanning to see if there were any more letters or letters from any others before. And in the bottom of the middle drawer, I found a small hunting pistol. And bullets. I put it in my hands, filling one bullet into the gun.

Perhaps I should end it. End my suffering. Stop waiting for the consumption to take its final toll and get it over with. I should let him be free. Let him be happy. Let him finger her against a tree as many times as it pleased him. Let them walk on beaches and dance and father her children and live in his house in his bed and go to church and cook and clean for him as I once did.

3. Support him in his emotions without complaint

Or perhaps, this was the wrong method. Maybe I should pick a suicide more poetic. One only he would know of so he would know the severity of his betrayal. I would leave a note pinned to me and then fill my pockets with heavy stones, find his secret pond, and keep walking into the waters.

But…maybe if I did, then there was the risk that I would go to hell. Then, for all my work, devotion, and sacrifices for William, I would be damned, and he would get away with it and continue his affair now that I was out of the way.

Why should he be the free one and not I? Why could he take a lover and I could not? Why could he destroy our marriage vows and not I? Why should I be the one sent to hell after a life of faithful service and him the one to survive in sin?

Most of all, why should he be the one to live and I the one to die?!

I placed the gun down on the desk.

I opened the window for some air. And in a distance away-I saw him. Her son. The Woman’s son. Frankie. Sitting on the grass, Quietly looking out into the sky and the view of the town.

I picked up the gun and felt the gunpoint out the window at him.

Yes, part of me whispered. It’s perfect. He is right there. Frankie.

I could easily do it. One small movement of a finger and everything would change. If that is what William could do- move his finger and ruin everything, then so could I.

It would be worse than killing The Woman. Worse because She would live to suffer through it.

And oh, after such pleasure, she would suffer. Yes, she would suffer immensely. Her choice would bring her suffering for her sin, rather than the mercy of death. If she stole William from me, then I would steal Frankie from her. William proved my deepest, most silent fear true. She was better than me. Everything I could not be. But in this, The Woman and I would finally be equal. She would know the pain I felt in losing my husband with the pain she would feel for losing Frankie. In blood, she brought him forth and in blood, I would take him back.

I slowly walked closer. Frankie never noticed me and kept on picking at the weeds in the grass, face turned away.

My finger reached for the trigger. But I could not pull it. It trembled in my hand. I found tears were starting to flow from my eyes and my teeth were gritted.

Frankie turned around to look at the sky, his face in profile. Such bright, curious eyes. My children have bright curious eyes.

I lowered the gun and returned it to its drawer, shutting it. I closed the window.

How could I? How could I even consider such a horrible thing? What if someone did that to James, Joanna, or John? It was as if I almost murdered one of my own! Why should Frankie, an innocent boy, be the one punished for the sins committed by his mother?

I walked down the stairs. Not even the dog was around.

Without William, without my children, without my parents, without my siblings, without the clergy, without the people of Aldwinter…who was I?

I was alone. Truly, truly alone.

I then walked outside. My garden was dead and bare. Nothing but brown dirt and withered plants.

I walked around the house and off to where the woods began. I could see the attic window high up. I knew which tree it was. I had a feeling. I walked across the small field and into the woods. I approached the tree. The tree where they made love. I took off my blue ribbon and tied it around a branch on the tree.

As I walked further, I kept thinking of her- her with her red dress, her pale skin, and most of all her hair.

That was what William wanted! He didn’t a woman like me at all he wanted someone like her! Like her! Even with hair like her!

In a fury I ripped off the pins of my hair and threw them to the ground, loosening my hair, making it loose since that was how she wore it! If I had only worn my hair like hers, let each strand fall, perhaps William would have never strayed from my bed!

I hated it- I hated my hair, it wasn’t hers. I hated my sick body- it wasn’t her healthy, open, available one. I hated my character and interests- it wasn't her character and interests. I hated everything about myself- because it wasn’t hers. I hated myself since I wasn’t her.

I kept walking down, feeling my hair free and moving with the small breeze, not caring for the bitter cold. I embraced it. Anything was warmer than William Ransome’s marriage bed. I staggered onto a tree, out of breath, holding onto the branch, clutching it.

I let out a scream. I had not screamed since I was in labor for James. Birds flew away. I wondered if anyone heard me. But no one came.

Then finally, I sobbed. Not the quiet tears I had over almost murdering Frankie True, big, loud, violent sobs. I cried and cried

I then let go of the branch and collapsed onto the grass and dirt. I curled up into it like an animal or a child. And I cried more. Cried and cried and cried and sobbed and wailed and cried, face hot, tears everywhere, my body shaking from how deep they were. I was gulping for air in between sobs only to cry some more.

I cried for William, the generous, kind, handsome, open-minded, gentle, religious, and loving husband I met, knew, loved, and married. The William who made little jokes. The William who took morning walks and would show me the pebbles he found after. The William who spoiled me with gifts swam with me in a pond and said he loved me. How I thought that since he was a priest, he was a good man.

I cried for the old William I missed and this new William I just discovered. I cried for how this side of William was always there inside him only I was too stupid to realize it.

I cried about our wedding. I cried for our dances. I cried for our holidays I cried for the church, his church, his ministry, and the years I poured into helping it and its people for nothing.

I cried for the five children I brought into the world from him and yet despite the years of having them inside me and the great pain of labor and the risk of death on my part just to bring even them into the world, that that wasn’t enough for him. I cried for how the surviving children would have to learn that their father no longer loved their mother but someone else.

I cried for how I was now abandoned to die of consumption. I cried from how unfair it was. I cried for our dinners, the laundry, the meals, the garden, the list I followed, and everything I did for him and how it was all in vain.

Most of all, I cried that I wasn’t enough for him.

I felt the last sob escape me. Then there was no urge to cry. There was silence. Only the birds and the rustling of the trees.

I got up and leaned against the tree. I coughed out a little bit and saw that there was some blood on my hand. I wiped it off onto my white nightgown on the skirt. If a hunter or wanderer discovered me, I wouldn’t care. But what was I even to do?

Could I go back into that cold bed and stay there? Alone as he would go into the forest and roll around in the grass with The Woman? To pretend that I didn’t know and didn’t care? To pretend I approved? To pretend to my children and the clergy that I wasn’t devastated? To even die like this? To have fourteen years of my life as the wife of a vicar for nothing? To have my final moments be that alone, unwanted, and most of all, unloved by the man I married?

1. No matter what, you must overall support your husband in his ministry, friendship, and partner with him for a loving home atmosphere.

I blinked out of my thoughts as a crow let out his caw above me. Looking down, I noticed there were seven blue wildflowers.

It was still winter. Yet…here they were alive and blooming. Despite the coldness and death, they survived. I plucked one from the ground and twiddled it in my fingers, I placed it in my hair to feel it. Then as I plucked another one, I felt a tranquility wash over me. Just as it did when I found blue wildflowers at Julianna and Josephine’s graves.

I recalled losing my daughters. I recalled the dream I had after their deaths. I recalled what I heard them say.

“Save yourself, Mama.”

I remembered William’s words after the doctor’s fatal announcement. “She always was too good for this world.”

I could be good, saintly, perfect, and die.

Or live.

And I wanted to live.

I now knew what I had to do.

It would be hard. So, help me it would be hard. One part of it would be the hardest of all. But it would be worth it, I resolved. No matter how sick I fell. No matter if this was my last day or hour. I would no longer tolerate this.

I got up, and on the path back to the Ransome house, I passed the tree with the blue ribbon. I stared at it for a second. Before I acted on my plan, there was one thing that had to be done.

I walked to the front yard. The axe was still against the tree stump. I picked it up. It was heavy with my weakened arms, but my fury gave me strength, and resolve tightened my grip on the handle.

I returned to the tree with the blue ribbon. The tree where The Woman and William consummated their affair.

I picked up the axe and slammed the blade against the wood. I kept hacking it again and again and again. A sick, frail woman is no woodsman, but I kept at it. Grunts and even yells escaped my mouth. Let all Aldwinter hear me. I didn’t care. They all would know what he did eventually.

The tree could not be chopped down by me, it was far too thick and sturdy. But now it was marked. Weakened. Made ugly. Enough that when he returned, along with my ribbon, he would know what I thought of him coupling with The Woman.

I returned inside and upstairs. I got a coat and a bag that I slung over my shoulder. Any cash I could find I pocketed.

I was going to leave. I was going to get out of there. I was going to get out of the house and never look back. Even in my sickness, if I had to crawl out, I would do it. I would not stay in this house with him.

I went into William’s study. I took every letter to and from The Woman I could find and stuffed it into my bag. If it was of The Serpent or of Passion, if it was one from her or a draft of how he ached for her, I placed it in there. I would need them. No one would believe my words alone and he would no longer have a scrap of her. Not after he was writing and reading them as I lay coughing blood in the other room.

There was one thing this would mean. It made me tear up again at the thought.

14. Raise healthy, well-balanced children and be present for them.

I had to leave my children with him. They were gone and should they arrive, I wasn’t sure I would take them with me or that they would even want to leave the house. If I had the strength in my body to care for them and carry them off with me, I would. But I did not.

Besides, even if I did, consumption or no consumption, by law, they were his children. Not mine. A swift visit of the police or a lawyer and they would be taken from me to him. It would be a pointless battle.

And yet- I didn’t have to abandon them in my heart or my love. Despite how I sobbed at the thought of leaving them, I knew what the alternative was. And I knew they had a roof over their head, clothes, and food. I may have to forego being a wife, but I didn’t have to forego being a mother.

I took out three pieces of paper from the study. I wiped the tears off my white sleeve before they could drop onto the ink. On the first one, I wrote:

“John, James, My darlings,

I am not staying here. Know I will always love you and care for you. I will always make sure you are fed, clothed, and loved. You shall find your mother at Fanny’s. You may always come there and see me and ask something of me should you need it. Anything!

I cannot stay here with your father anymore. Ask him why.

Love,

Your mama.”

I placed it on John’s bed. On the second one, I wrote,

“Joanna, My love,

Your father has committed the amorous rite with another woman. He no longer loves me; he loves her instead.

I will be at Fanny’s should you need me. But I will no longer tolerate how your father has betrayed me. I cannot stay with him anymore. Your father will not be welcome at Fanny’s, but you and your brothers will be. I love you, my Jojo, and I will always take care of you. Find me at Fanny's if you wish to speak or need anything from me.

Love,

Your mother.”

I placed it on her bed.

Then, I finished one final letter. I walked into his bedroom. I found the journal with the page with the gardenia still on that cold bed. I ripped off the page and placed it there next to the letter.

It was the shortest one. The final letter read:

“Dear William,

My deathbed will not be one shared by an unfaithful husband.

Take care of the children.

- Stella.”

I took off my wedding ring and placed it on my- no, his blue pillow.

I thought of the outside. I remembered our walks by the pond and our swimming in it early in our marriage. Of our picnics and walks by the nearby ocean.

The ocean. The sea. The sea is inevitable. The sea is full of danger. The sea may delight and drown. The sea kills thirsty men who drink its salty waters. The sea never ends in its length or depth. The sea hides and houses the Leviathan. The sea was where had I chosen differently now or been less careful in the past, I could have drowned. The sea destroys.

But what of me? Me floating above- swimming in this and trying not to drown, while I was on land?

I recalled my own name, written down on the first page of the flower journal- Stella. Stella, of course, means Star.

Stars seem so small up in the sky. Glowing despite all the dark. Giving light to the night sky so that any lost traveler can find safety. Their light and dust are said to glimmer. Stars are called beautiful. They seem like such tiny, fragile things. We mimic them on paper and put them on Christmas trees. We paint them. We decorate dresses with them and make jewels in their shapes. We aspire to them and call people we admire after them- "stars." They are there to be looked at. Beautiful, but distant. Miniscule. Weak.

But if I accurately recalled what science I learned from Joanna's reading, stars are not small at all when you look at them. They are actually large. The sun itself is a star too. Even as they die, they become black holes and entrap and vanquish all who cross them. Stars are full of fire. Fire warms. Fire burns. Fire destroys. Fire spreads. Fire does not go down without a fight.

I knew which part of my name I had to become now. Maybe it was always there and asleep until then.

I looked around the house and upstairs. Goodbye house, I spoke silently. Goodbye kitchen was full of many meals. Goodbye children running up and down the stairs. Goodbye family dinners and parlor gatherings. Goodbye attic. Goodbye, the counter's I've cleaned hundreds of times. Goodbye nursery. Goodbye blue collection, my pretty pillows, pebbles, and plates- you aren't mine, you're his. Goodbye chairs and desks. Goodbye bed that was so warm when I first laid down on it and now promised nothing but heartbreak until death. Goodbye morning walks with William. Goodbye, false kisses, caresses, and promises. Goodbye picnics, games, books, questions, mud, scolding, and so much more of this old, lying life!

Above all, goodbye William. May sleeping with her be worth it.

I went downstairs, walked out the door, and left the Ransome house.

Outside, the sun was setting into twilight. I had to go while it was both dark and light.

I forced my eyes forward to town. I didn't look back. I never returned.

#carrie writes #tw: cheating #cw: cheating #tw: adultery #cw: adultrey #stella ransome #angst #angst with a happy ending #whump #whumptober #whumptober 2022 #whump fic #fix it fanfic #fix it fanfiction #stella ransome fanfiction #stella ransome fanfic #stella ransome/william ransome #stella ransome/male oc #stella ransome x william ransome #stella ransome x male oc #angst series #hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort series #hurt/comfort fic #hurt/comfort fanfiction #hurt/comfort my beloved #fanfiction #hurt/comfort au #hurt/comfort prompts #clemence poesy

[bylermyheart]

The Heart

Summary:

Mike noticed something was wrong the moment Will turned away from him with tears in his eyes. Mike tried to comfort him but Will flinched away from his touch.

A Volume 2, Episode 8 fix-it where Mike notices Will crying in the back of the van, and tries to help, but things don't go as planned.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40084290

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #jonathan byers #argyle #Cali gang #fix it fic #fix it fanfic #byler fanfic #my fic #episode 8 fix it

[yeehawpim]

a comic about fix-it fanfics

#original comic #fanfic #fix it fic #fandom #dr who #bbc sherlock #avengers #my comic #my art #been thinking about the truly dumb amount of time I've spent reading fanfic #i started writing fix-it fic like a couple months ago and I Get It #teenage pim was a dumbass

[ao3-crack]

(x)

#archive of our own #ao3 stuff #ao3 quotes #archive of our own quotes #fanfic #fanfic quotes #funny #ao3 #ao3 tags #this isn’t a fix-it fic #this is the opposite of a fix-it #this is a break-it #i make it so much worse #bro star kid is so fucking good #I watched npmd and now I’m rewatching the whole hatchet field universe #and I forgot how fucking good they are

[bebx]

AO3 writers when canon sucks:

#loki #ao3 #archive of our own #blorbo #writeblr #writing #writer #writing community #comfort character #writing challenge #writing inspiration #writing inspo #whump #fandoms #fandom #fix-it fic #fanfic #fanfiction #whumpblr #angst #whump community #writers #fanfic writing #fanfic writer #writers on ao3

[fixing-bad-posts]

ao3 my beloved

#fixing-bad-posts #fixingbadposts #cut-up poetry #ao3 #archive of our own #fandom history #fanfictions #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics

[elexuscal]

squinting at the 'fix it fic' tag on any given story on Ao3, trying to discern if it's intended in the sense of:

I genuinely think the story had bad writing and I am taking my toolbox and improving it [and i the reader agree]

I genuinely think the story had bad writing and I am taking my toolbox and improving it [and i the reader disagree]

The story's ending was Tragic and I Respect that but also i just want to read about my faves having some kind of joy and fulfilment okay?

The story's ending was Tragic and I do Not Respect That please God Damnit Let Them Be Happy

We Are Literally Fixing The Canon With The Application of Time Travel or Reality Warping or some other Wild Plot Device

I am going to fix one obscure detail or plot element that 95% of the fandom has never thought about in their life

(because these are all extremely different vibes)

#fanfic #ao3 #also shout out to those who write fix its of their own fucked up angst fic

[duckytree]

hamilton quote in 2023 again? yeah

now animated

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #luke skywalker #leia organa #darth vader #princess leia #clone wars #art #fanart #hamilton #comic #duckytree #not even a hug can fix this #sanity is held together by time travel fix it fanfics

[sofipitch]

#ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #fanfic writers #polls #i'm honestly just curious #bc I usually go to exclude AUs immediately at least the modern setting one #i like fix it fics but usually I like the series for the canon setting and if I'm looking for fanfic it's bc I want MORE of that fandom #but maybe I'm weird stay tunned to find out

[ravelqueen]

David and Michael's physicality as Crowley and Aziraphale is truly something to behold bc there is not a single shot Crowley isn't lounging or sauntering or creeping or loitering or sprawling everywhere meanwhile Aziraphale seems a lot more contained but it always seems like there is a hundred bees worth of emotional energy right under his skin waiting to burst out and it's actually marvelous really they are so well cast

(Also the fact that both of them look like this 😍😍😍 when the other one is the most them is just a bonus)

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #yes i watched s2 #and all I'll say is we better get that s3 and also a lot of fix it fanfic

[overlycaffeinatedgalaxy]

If you listen hard enough you can hear the click clack of thousands of laptop keys as Sterek fic writers draft their fix-it fics and mutter to themselves, “I cannot believe I am still cleaning up this man’s messes…”

#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fix it fic #fanfic #how does this man keep getting people to give him money for his poorly written scripts

[eliounora]

sunset in silence

#lord of the rings #legolas #gimli #gimleaf #gigolas #my art #this started all sweet and funny but then!!! #i remembered how in the Fanfics braiding is always portrayed as something really intimate #so then this got kind of a risky vibe... #like kissing someone when they're sleeping. kind of iffy but you want them so much #bordering on illicit... oOOooOOO #ANYWAY let me know what you think #legolas fell both first and harder #EDIT: fixed a weird colouring thing that did not show up on my tablet but did on my laptop screen? #EDIT2: fixed legolas's head... twas a bit Elongated

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (steddie fic)

saw this post and was inspired to write something angsty <3

The first thing Eddie is aware of when he wakes up, before he even opens his eyes, is the dull, aching pain throbbing through pretty much his entire body. The second thing he’s aware of is that someone is holding his hand. 

“Eddie?” The hand in his tightens its grip as Eddie begins to stir; the voice it presumably belongs to sounds immeasurably relieved, yet only vaguely familiar. 

Eddie groans. His eyelids flutter, blinking awake, and he groggily rolls his head to the side to get a look at whoever had spoken. 

The voice sighs again, “Oh thank god-” 

“Harrington?” Eddie’s eyes fly open wide now as they land on the mystery man sitting beside him on the edge of the bed - a man he most definitely is not close enough with to be holding his hand, and a bed that is most definitely not his own. He snatches his hand away. “What the hell are you doing? Where am I?”

“Ed-” Another man’s voice, this one just as relieved and infinitely more familiar. It fills Eddie with relief too as he looks to his other side to find his uncle Wayne rising from a nearby chair to come up next to him. 

“Wayne, what-?” His surroundings are becoming more clear. “What happened? Why am I in a hospital? And why the fuck is King Steve at my bedside?” Eddie tries to sit up only to gasp and wince in pain as the dull ache in his sides sharpens to near agony at the movement. 

“Take it easy, son.” Wayne’s hand lands on his shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him back down onto the pillows. “You were hurt real bad.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Eddie grumbles out. He sucks in a deep, intentional breath and exhales slowly, the pain beginning to dull again now that he’s settled. His questions are still largely unanswered, though. Blank mind reaching desperately for any logical piece to this bizarre puzzle, he turns an accusing glare to Harrington. “Did you land me in here? Is that why you’re here, some sort of weird guilt thing?” 

Harrington’s looking at him like a kicked puppy. “What? No, I-” he falters, takes a shaky breath and swallows painfully like he’s trying not to cry. “You don’t remember?” 

“I don’t remember what? Will someone just tell me what happened?” Eddie’s confusion is rising more and more into agitation with every second he remains without an explanation. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Harrington asks quietly.

“I was driving home from school, just found out I wasn’t gonna graduate again.” Eddie frowns as he thinks back, still trying to put pieces together. “Did I crash my car? Is that it? I was emotional and not paying attention and got into an accident?” 

Yet again, he receives no answers. 

“Eddie, what month is it?” Wayne asks instead, his tone dangerously measured and serious. “What year?” 

“May…” Eddie says warily, “1985.”

His words hold a weight he doesn’t understand, landing heavy on the others in the room and thickening the air. It sends a chill of dread down his spine, the way his answer etches concern deep into the lines of Wayne’s face, the way Steve Harrington seems to take it like a blow to the chest. 

Harrington exhales sharply as if he’s been punched, standing abruptly and taking a few stumbling steps back. Wayne says, “It’s April of ‘86, Ed.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “No. No, it can’t be.” 

“I’m gonna go tell the nurse you’re awake,” Harrington mumbles, his voice strained and his eyes glassy with barely held-back tears. 

“I’ll go,” Wayne offers, pushing himself away from Eddie’s bed. He gives Harrington a meaningful look, though what that meaning is, Eddie can’t decipher. 

Harrington turns his devastated gaze to the older man. “But, Wayne, he doesn’t-” 

“I know, kid.” Wayne gives a sad smile and places a sympathetic hand on Harrington’s shoulder as he passes by. “Just talk to him.” 

Eddie is thrown off by this familiarity between them. Since when were those two close? He feels like he’s entered some sort of parallel universe where everything is just ever so slightly wrong. It leaves an itch beneath his skin, uncomfortable and out of place, like he no longer quite fits in his own body, in his own life. He’s lost 11 months, apparently, and this world is no longer his; he doesn’t know where he fits into it anymore. 

Wayne leaves the room, and Eddie wants to protest: Don’t leave me here with this guy I don’t know in this time I don’t know, please, you’re the only thing that feels safe and familiar! Anxiety is crawling through him like a thousand tiny bugs in his veins. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to run. Anything to shake this feeling loose. But he’s confined to this bed, trapped both by his pain and by all these machines he’s hooked up to, and he sure as shit isn’t going to have a breakdown in front of Steve goddamn Harrington. 

Instead, Eddie resigns himself to this situation and casts a sideways glance at Harrington who very much looks like he’s also trying not to have a breakdown. “I’m freaking out, man,” Eddie says finally, hating how shaky and pathetic his voice sounds. “I swear to god, Harrington, if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on…” 

Harrington worries his lip between his teeth as he hesitates. “It’s a lot to explain.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Eddie scoffs out a humorless laugh. “I’m missing nearly an entire year, of course it’s a lot to fill in. Unless I’ve been here this whole time?” 

“No.” Harrington shakes his head. “No, you’ve only been here about a week. I- I don’t know why you’re missing so much time, the whole Vecna thing only started like a week before that-” 

“Vecna?” Eddie interrupts to question. “What does any of this have to do with the D&D campaign I was planning? And, also, how the fuck do you know about that?” 

Harrington closes his eyes for a second and takes a breath, like having this conversation is the most painful thing he’s ever had to do. “I’m not talking about D&D, Ed. Vecna was a real-life monster from a real-life alternate dimension we called the Upside-Down. The kids only called him Vecna because we didn’t know who he was at the time and he, like, cursed people before he killed them, but he was actually Henry Creel, which is a whole other fucked up story.”

“Okay…” Eddie doesn’t know who ‘the kids’ are and he’s skeptical of the way Harrington talks so factually about monsters and dimensions and curses existing in the real world, but he does remember his uncle telling him stories about the demonic tragedy of the Creel family, which is the only thing that makes any of this even halfway believable. It still doesn’t explain how Eddie wound up in the hospital with his entire body feeling like it’d been run through a blender, though, or why the former king of Hawkin’s High was hovering over his sickbed. He gestures for Harrington to continue. 

“I never wanted you to get involved in all this Upside-Down shit,” Harrington’s voice breaks. He steps closer to Eddie’s bed again, and he looks so so sad as he stares down at him that it makes Eddie’s own heart ache, just a little bit. Harrington’s hand twitches at his side as if he means to reach out for Eddie but then thinks better of it, running the hand through his hair instead as he continues, “I tried to keep you from it for so long, I really did, but then Vecna killed Chrissy in your trailer and the whole town blamed you and you were just a part of things then, there was no getting around it. You helped us fight him - Vecna. You kept his army of bats off our ass while we weakened his body and El weakened his mind. If it weren’t for you we never would’ve defeated him and we certainly wouldn’t have all made it out alive.” Harrington’s gaze softens, as does his voice, his next words almost a whisper, “You were a hero, Eddie.” 

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Eddie says, like that’s the least plausible part of Harrington’s story. And, really, it is. He can wrap his mind around a lot of things: a murder in his trailer - sure, Forest Hills always was a shady place; the whole town accusing him of being a killer - yeah, of course, that tracks; even an evil wizard from another dimension with an army of bats - fine, okay, why the hell not. But Eddie Munson is no hero, and he’s definitely not any sort of fighter either.

“No, you never did think so, did you?” Harrington mutters with a sad sort of fondness and the barest trace of a wistful smile. “But it’s true. Dustin was in danger and you didn’t even think twice. You ran right into the fray without a second thought, sacrificed yourself so that the rest of us might survive. Those bats nearly killed you, b-” he breaks, choking on whatever word he was going to say. His eyes swim with yet more unshed tears. “I almost thought they had killed you, you know. I thought you were dead when I carried you out of the Upside-Down,” he admits shakily, choked up and barely managed, “and even when I brought you here and you were stable, I was still so scared you wouldn’t wake up…” 

Eddie doesn’t know how to react to any of that information or to such a display of emotion. His own hands twitch now with the urge to reach out and comfort him, but he too denies that instinct. He tries for humor instead, something lighter, cracking a grin and teasing, “Aw, Stevie, I didn’t know you cared.” 

Harrington makes a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. “Oh, Ed, you have no idea.” 

“We were friends then, weren’t we?” Eddie guesses now, carefully. It’s rapidly becoming the only possible explanation for the guy’s behavior around him. “Before all the Vecna stuff?”

“Yeah,” Harrington manages, forcing a small, sad smile as his eyes finally overflow and streak his cheeks with tears. “Yeah, we were good friends.” 

~

Wayne reenters the room then with a nurse in tow, and Steve quickly turns away and rubs his hands over his face. He needs to pull himself together; he can’t break down right now, not yet, not here. 

He listens, distantly, as the nurse asks Eddie a bunch of questions and then tells the rest of them that she needs to take him in for some tests to determine the cause and prognosis of Eddie’s amnesia. He watches, numbly, as she wheels Eddie’s entire bed out of the room. 

Steve can barely hear, barely see, his emotion clouding his eyes and roaring in his ears. He stares blankly through the open doorway and struggles to swallow down the ever-rising lump in his throat. 

Wayne’s voice rumbles from somewhere beside him, but he can’t quite make out the words. “What?” 

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Wayne says, the sound reaching Steve’s ears a little clearer now. “I asked if you were alright.” 

Steve shakes his head. His voice comes out coarse and raw, “‘Course I’m not alright.” 

“Right, ‘course you’re not,” Wayne echoes. He follows Steve’s mournful gaze to the door Eddie had disappeared through. “What did you tell him?” 

“Told him he was a hero,” Steve croaks, “...and that we were good friends.”

“Ah…” Steve’s vision is so blurred behind a thick layer of tears he can’t see the sympathetic frown on the old man’s face, but he knows it’s there. “At least he’s alive, kid,” Wayne tries to be comforting. “You can always start over.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t- I don’t want to start over, I just want-” Steve chokes back a sob. He just wants Eddie.

It’s a horrible thought, but Steve almost thinks that this just might be worse than if Eddie really had died… Because how is Steve supposed to handle the fact that his boyfriend of 9 months no longer knows him? How is he supposed to cope now that the love of his life looks right at him and no longer sees him?

He closes his eyes, presses the heels of his palms into his eyelids, inhaling a shaky breath and exhaling an even shakier sigh. Steve whispers, “It feels like I’m losing him all over again.” 

(part two is here!)

#i have plans to fix it don't worry. eventually. maybe #i'm really really bad at writing longer multi-part fics but i've got a lot of ideas spinning around my head for this one so #hopefully i will continue it if any of y'all are interested in more of this #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #ficlet #fanfic #mine #1k #dyfamsteddiefic #<- tag to follow for this story

[strangersteddierthings]

Shovel Talk(s) Part One

Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four

Steve and Eddie aren't even together when Steve gets the Shovel Talk from Eddie's uncle, but it is what tips Steve into talking to Eddie about his feelings, so he's not upset by it.

They aren't dating, not because he doesn't want Eddie, because he absolutely does. It's just that he wants to be sure Eddie wants him back. There are times when he's sure, when Eddie gets into his space a bit too close, or more often, than he does with anyone else. Eddie calls him a thousand and one nicknames, ranging from sweet to irritating but just when Steve thinks that's a perk left just for him, Eddie hands someone else a new nickname (just the one, a voice in Steve's head that sounds suspiciously like Robin says).

Not that any of that is the point. Wayne wouldn't bother to give Steve a shovel talk at all unless he knew how Eddie felt. Wayne is a man of action, and he's never done anything unless it mattered. Meant something. Steve and Wayne have sat in plenty of (what Steve considers to be) awkward silences because Wayne doesn't talk to fill the void of silence.

The point is, Steve drops Eddie off at the house the government so graciously bought for the Munsons, walks Eddie to the door and giving Eddie a hug goodbye. He stays on the porch until Eddie shuts the door and then nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Wayne call out his name.

"Harrington," Wayne says from the shadows of the wrap around porch.

So, Steve jumps and it's only then he notices that Wayne is sitting at the table and chairs set up on the porch. "Mr. Munson, sir, hi. Hello."

Wayne lets out a chuckle, but it doesn't really sound amused. "I have come to accept that you are nothing like your father, boy, but I do want to make it clear to you, that Eddie means more to me than anything else on this Earth."

"I know, sir."

"I know you do. And while I will forever be grateful that you helped return him to me alive, know that I will not hesitate to make you disappear if you hurt my boy in a way he can't bounce back from."

Steve's not afraid of Wayne, not really, but that doesn't stop him from feeling the need to flee. He doesn't, though, because he'd gotten enough shovel talks from concerned parents in high school, and he knows they can sense weakness. "I can't promise I'd never hurt him, sir, but I can promise it'll never be intentional."

He can't actually see Wayne's face in the darkness but he feels sized up all the same.

"I believe that, Steve," Wayne says, and it's the first time Steve's ever heard his name leave the man's mouth, "now go home."

-

Wayne's shovel talk was expected. Robin's is not.

"You took Eddie on a date date?" She whispers it as though they aren't alone in Steve's living room. They're laying on the floor in a line, heads next to each other so if they turn slightly to the side they can make eye contact. Steve's not sure why they always end up on the floor for Serious Talk Time.

"Yeah," Steve says, looking away from Robin's face to stare up to the ceiling, "I mean, sorta? We can't like... be open that it was a date, but we went to dinner and a movie and it was nice. Shared a popcorn and played footsie under the diner table."

"Whoa," Robin says. "I never thought you'd- didn't think you'd be brave enough to ask him."

"Me either."

"Steve," Robin sounds serious, so Steve turns to look at her. She studies his face for a moment before she's the one to look away, speaks to the ceiling, "be careful with Eddie, yeah?"

"What? Careful how?"

"I just think you could really fuck him up," Robin says. "You're his first boyfriend, right? That's going to set a precedent for relationships that might happen if you two don't work out. And I hate to say this, because I know you've changed, but like, I saw how a lot of those girls you dated in high school ended up when you broke up with them."

Steve's a little hurt, because Robin's his best friend. She should be giving this talk to Eddie, not him. But, also, he understands. He knows that Robin knew about Eddie's sexuality before he did, knows they bonded over being queer while Steve was still figuring himself out.

Steve also knows that Eddie's never been in a relationship before, Eddie'd told him at much when Steve asked him out. Steve doesn't like that Robin implied that he and Eddie will eventually break up, but no matter how much that thought makes Steve's heart ache, he won't know if it'll happen unless it does.

He just doesn't understand why she seems to think he'll be the one breaking Eddie's heart. It could go the other way.

"Did you OD over there?" Robin asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"No," Steve answers, "I'll be careful."

-

They've been on four more dates before Nancy knocks on his door. She doesn't accept his invitation to come inside. Just starts speaking on his doorstep.

"As Eddie's Capital P Soulmate," is how she starts that sentence, and it makes something hurt deep inside Steve as he tries not to think about Robin, "I am obligated to remind you that I do own several guns now. And I don't miss."

"Jesus Christ," Steve says, because even Wayne was more subtle, "I got it."

"Good. I do know you'd never hurt him on purpose," Nancy says but Steve doesn't feel reassured.

He thinks that, if she really didn't think he's going to end up hurting Eddie she wouldn't have said anything at all. "Right."

"Well, good talk Steve," and then she's walking down the driveway and climbing into her car.

He closes the door and goes to the kitchen to get himself a beer, mostly so he has something to do besides stew in his emotions. He wonders if Eddie has been given the shovel talk, too? Maybe Robin did the same thing Nancy just did. Showed up unprompted, threatened Eddie with some sort of bodily harm, and then just left.

Steve grabs the phone and dials Eddie's number.

"Hello?" Eddie's voice greets him, albeit questioningly.

"Eddie, it's Steve."

"Oh, hello sweetheart," Eddie says, "are you calling for business or pleasure?"

Steve laughs, "business."

"Boo!"

"Listen, uh, I had a question. I just wanted to know if anyone's said anything to you. About us. Or, y'know, specifically about us and our relationship?"

"Uh, not really? A few congratulations, I guess. Why? Did someone say something?" Eddie's voice is level, almost too level, so Steve knows he's trying to keep cool.

"Oh, no! No! I mean, aside from the scary shovel talk from- Wayne, everyone's been surprisingly cool about it. Very supportive," Steve says and even though it's true, everyone they've told has been cool about it, it feels a little bit like a lie.

Eddie laughs, "I can't believe my uncle gave you a shovel talk! You know, I keep expecting to get one from Robin but so far nothing. She must think you're safe in my capable hands."

Steve is safe in Eddie's hand, he thinks, but that doesn't stop the sting that goes through him. "Of course, she does. You've been a perfect boyfriend."

There's a pause before Eddie's voice comes through the phone, soft and quiet, "I'm glad you said so. I want to be. For you."

"You're not allowed to say those kinds of things when you aren't within kissing distance, babe," Steve says, because if he doesn't add humor to this conversation, he's going to tell Eddie he loves him instead, and even Steve knows that saying that a month into dating is too soon, especially over the phone where he can't see Eddie's reaction.

Eddie laughs and makes kissing sounds at him before the conversation shifts to chatting about the day and making plans for the weekend.

-

Steve is trying really hard to not be the person he was in high school but every time he gets to the point where he's being a better person, someone brings up how he used to be. Shoves it back into his face that no matter what Steve does he can't outrun his past.

One such time is shortly after Steve and Eddie accidentally come out as a couple to all of Hellfire. Steve was just dropping off the boys and had stepped inside to chat a bit. Once game time had arrived it had and Steve made to leave, they'd (he and Eddie) had been on autopilot. Eddie'd whined 'where's my goodbye kiss?' and Steve had stepped over, kissed him goodbye, and was out the door before it had actually computed.

Steve had burst back through the door, rushing back to Eddie, because no way in Hell was he going to leave his boyfriend to deal with whatever the consequences would be alone.

It had been absolute chaos at the table with people shouting over each other.

"Of all the people you could be with, you picked Steve!? You could do better!" Mike had whined, and Steve had thought for sure he was the only one who had heard Mike until he saw Will punch his arm and hiss his own 'don't be a dick' at Mike.

It took almost half an hour to calm everyone down. It was a relief to know that Eddie had come out to his bandmates/the older Hellfire members already. The kids took it in stride, in the end, and Eddie had shoo'd Steve away.

Jeff had excused himself, too, and Steve thought he was just going to use the bathroom but instead he followed Steve outside.

Ah. Steve knows what's coming.

"Harrington," Jeff says, "can't say I'm excited that you're the secret boyfriend Eddie's constantly sighing wistfully about. I'm sure Wayne's already threatened you," And Robin, and Nancy, and Mike doesn't think he's good enough, "but if you hurt Eddie-"

"I get it! There will be dire consequences if I hurt Eddie," Steve snaps, not down for hearing it anymore. He stomps to his car and peels away from the curb without bothering to look back.

-

If he's being honest, Steve didn't even know he had a breaking point with shovel talks until he gets his fifth one from Dustin.

It's not even a shovel talk. It's just a single sentence, said almost a month after Dustin learned about their relationship. He's dropping Dustin off after their DnD game. Normally Claudia picks him up, but she's busy tonight and asked Steve to do it.

"Alright, Henderson, safely delivered."

"Thanks, Steve," Dustin says, unbuckles his seatbelt, and opens the door, before turning back to Steve. He just looks at him for a moment.

"What?"

"I'm happy for you and Eddie. Just, don't hurt him, ok?"

He nods his head but can't say anything. Dustin grabs his backpack, shoots him a smile, and climbs out. Steve does wait until Dustin closes the front door behind him before putting the car back in gear.

He manages to get home, somehow, because Steve doesn't fully remember the drive. It's not that his mind was so focused on something else that made him fail to take in his surroundings, but rather that his mind wasn't even a part of his body anymore.

One moment he was pulling away from the Henderson residence, and the next, he was home, just standing in his kitchen in the dark. And now that his thoughts are back, or easier to process, he finds himself wondering why everyone thinks that he's going to be the one to hurt Eddie.

How many people has he hurt that this is his reputation? Is it inevitable that he will hurt Eddie? Is it truly just a matter of time until he breaks Eddies heart? Why is everyone so convinced that he will?

Briefly the thought occurs to him that maybe he should call up Eddie and break up with him right now, before Eddie has a chance to get in deep enough that Steve could break his heart, but just the thought of it breaks Steve's heart, so he's not going to do that. Doesn't want to do that. That would just be punishing Eddie for something he didn't do.

None of this is Eddie's fault, and Steve's an asshole for even thinking of breaking up with him because of it. Which feeds him back into the loop of thinking that maybe everyone is right about him. He is an asshole and will someday hurt Eddie, perhaps even on purpose.

He loves Eddie. He's in love with Eddie. But does loving him mean proving his friends wrong? Or does it mean leaving him before they're proven right?

He wants to ask everyone why they think he'll hurt Eddie.

He wants to ask everyone why they don't care if he's the one that gets hurt.

#steddie #my fic #we like making steve a sad emotional mess right guys? #steve-centric #we gotta make the boy Sad so that his boyfriend can fix him #is that healthy? not IRL but this is fanfic and if i want Love to solve all the problems then im allowed to do that #only itll be in part two #that might get written one day #is steve putting words into his friends' mouths #yeah duh the boy needs therapy but its the 80s so hes not getting any

[queers-gambit]

Lost and Found

prompt: ( requested ) you're just friends, but on your first night at Saltburn, you get lost in the vast halls and accidentally walk in on lover boy after a bath. he wants you to stay.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 3.6k+

note: this SHOULD'VE gotten slutty, but it DIDN'T because i'm back in the hospital and the LAST thing i need is a nurse walking in on me writing fucking smut - oh, my God, can you imagine? new fear unlocked!

warnings: RIP Queen Lizzie, cursing, sexual tension, emotions are hard, Lord's name in vain, depiction of mental illness (anxiety), author throws in a little personal detail cause writing is therapy.

"Honestly, who lives in a place like this? The bloody Queen, that's who. Her and all her fucking rooms! Jesus!" You grumbled, dipping down another winding hallway. "All right, this looks familiar, that's... Encouraging, right?" You frowned, glass of water in hand after venturing to the kitchen to fetch it - but now, you couldn't navigate your way back to your room. "Of course," you growled quietly, opening a door and finding a linen closet.

How silly, in a place like this! A fucking linen closet!

You huffed and shut the door, feeling incredibly awkward and terribly misplaced. You mind screamed that didn't belong here, you never should've set foot in a place like this! How fucking foolish you felt, like a silly little girl who was just excited her crush spoke to her, let alone invited you home with him for the summer holiday.

But it was Felix fucking Catton - certified enigma. He was all man with a boyish charm who smiled at you on move-in day at Oxford and sealed your fate. He was ridiculously nice, so very sweet, borderline annoying with his giving nature and kindness. He was loyal to a fault, intuitive, observant, admirably carefree, and so very happy to give his love to anyone who needed it. For a few weeks, you felt almost offended by his attention, wondering what kind of broken soul he thought you were; knowing he had an affinity for "damaged" or "broken" things.

At least, that's what his cousin, Oxford's registered and certified catty bitch, Farleigh Start, teased you about relentlessly when he noted the way Felix hung around you. Felix invited you out with friends, offered to study together, walked you to and from classes - even if his were in the literal opposite direction. You had no honest idea how the two were related, given Farleigh's constant attitude and Felix's overwhelming kindness, but that wasn't for you to understand. You just relished the attention Felix bestowed in-between your skepticism.

And here you are, your first night in his home, Saltburn, completely lost and totally turned-around! You didn't need water all that bad, did you? Granted, you had a several tablets to take that evening to maintain your health, but you could've used the fucking sink in the adjoining bathroom! You grew frustrated the more doors you opened, finding empty rooms or closets or another fucking library or studies or whatever! As if this home wasn't big enough, there were multiple levels and all you knew was that you and Felix were both located on the same floor with his parents above you and his sister and Farleigh beneath.

So, that helped.

But you still felt so fucking silly.

Seriously, who got LOST in someone else's home!? Fools, that's who!

Okay, okay, okay, you didn't need to be so hard on yourself, but you grew nervous and fearful for a reason you didn't understand. Your anxiety was planted in your stomach, festering, growing, taking over you to the point that you had tears in your eyes when you found yet ANOTHER fucking study!

"Oh, even the bloody fucking Queen doesn't have this many useless rooms, and she's a much bigger family, Jesus fucking Christ," you sneered to yourself - ready to give up and just sleep in one of the empty rooms. But you didn't want Duncan finding you in the morning, asking questions, forcing you to admit you were lost - you felt humiliated enough as it was! And that was without anyone witnessing this absolute mess you had made!

Well, not technically a mess - but you felt like a mess the more you crept around. And now, you felt fucking creepy - like some stalker, sneaking around the halls, trying to spy on this very nice family. You knew you weren't, but the feeling was still there - fucking anxiety would honestly be the death of you.

However, you came upon a familiar (enough) door that had a gentle light emitting from under it. With a sigh of relief, you suddenly remembered leaving a light on for yourself to return to; reaching for the doorknob, twisting it, and darting into the room while swiftly swinging the door close - but halting it to shut quietly as to not disturb anyone in the empty halls.

Yeah, anxiety was a bitch.

"Ohh-ho, evenin', love," a voice greeted, making you gasp, jump, and twist around. "Miss me that much? Heard the drain on the tub, didn't yah, had to come sneak a peek?"

Felix fucking Catton stood at the end of a messy bed in all his glory, running a towel through his wet curls. Nothing obscuring your sight, nothing hiding his manhood, nothing - literally nothing on his body except a shit-eating grin.

"Jesus, Fi! Fuck, I-I-I'm so - um," you gulped, trying not to ogle him, but failing (miserably) when beads of water rolled between the contours of his impossibly impressively sculpted muscles. "I just - you know, this place is so bloody big - um, I'm sorry - I just... Yeah..."

He smirked, nodding sarcastically, "Uh-huh. And you just happened to stumble into my room? Pretty good timing, too, wasn't it?"

You squeaked, "I didn't mean to! I swear - Felix, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to, um, yeah, you know - uh..."

"Like what you see, sweetheart? Why don't you come in closer, get a better look?"

You adverted your eyes out of respect and fumbled messily for the door handle. "Oh, sweet Jesus. Bloody house is just too bloody big, I got all turned around - just needed some water and I just - fuck, I'm sorry - "

"Hey, hey," Felix chuckled, wrapping his towel loosely around his hips so his V-line was still on raunchy display, "I'm only teasin', love. I know this place can get confusin' t'newcomers. I actually meant to grab you some water, know you gotta take your tablets."

You swallowed your embarrassment, sighing, "I'll just - yeah - no - I'll, um, just go - I'm so sorry, again."

"You know where you're goin' all of a sudden?"

You faced the door, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, shaking your head gently, "Well, no, but I'll figure it out - I left a, um, I left a light on, you know, to help - I don't know - uh, guide me?"

"You've not stuttered this much since we first met," he laughed, tugging a pair of boxers on for your sanity (and to your dismay). "I'm dressed, doll, you can look at me now. C'mon, bit weird talkin' to your back."

"We're not talking, Felix, I'm going to bed."

"Then why haven't you left yet?"

You blinked at the intricately carved door, realizing your hand was still on the knob, but it hadn't turned. "I didn't want to be so rude as to just walk out, mid-sentence!"

"Hey, hey, you're all right, darlin', I'm only teasin'," he grinned, hearing his bare feet pad over the ground before his warm hand wrapped around your elbow. "C'mon, love, hang with me a bit - 's not that late, is it?"

"Oh, so, Duncan can walk in? Make his assumptions?" You whispered, slowly facing him and leaning back on the door with a pout. His big, brown, doe-eyes stared directly into yours, making you feel under his spotlight - something akin to a privilege, since Felix Catton didn't bestow his attention on everyone. "I just needed water, I didn't mean t'get, you know, lost like this. Seriously, this place looks totally different at night."

"Surprised you even got this far, huh?"

"I looked in any room with an open door," you admitted with a small wince. "I felt so creepy, but I was all turned around - and you know, you shouldn't leave other lights on in rooms not being used. Terrible waste of energy."

"Awh, my sweet, environmentally-conscious girl," he cooed, hand raising to gently pinch your jaw. There was a serene moment, the pair of you just staring at one another, becoming acutely aware that he was still practically naked. "C'mon, don't leave yet, we can play cards if you like?"

"I've medicine t'take - "

"Right, right, right," he nodded, letting his hand drift to hold your neck in a gentle grasp. "Tell you what, you stay here, I'll grab your meds, and bring them back? You keep 'em in that li'l pink bag, yeah?"

"I don't know how to feel that you know which is my med bag," you narrowed your eyes playfully.

"Just shows I pay attention, don't it?"

"Maybe shows we spend too much time together?"

He kissed his teeth, grinning at you, "There's no such thing - in fact! I reckon we could double our time together and it still wouldn't feel like enough."

"Well, how's that help me later? I still don't know where my room is - oh, don't laugh!" You groaned, Felix snickering louder. "Fi, c'mon, it's not funny - this place is huge! Like, illegally huge!"

He cooed, "Oh, doll, 'M not laughing at you, promise. Just... You're not the first person t'get lost here, yeah?"

You scoffed with severe discomfort, "I really don't want t'hear 'bout all the other girls you've brought home - "

"Hey, now," he cut you off swiftly, "don't do that." He shrugged meekly, "There's been no others, just friends. Mine, Farleigh's, Venetia's... They've all gotten lost once or twice... Or that time we had to actually draw Reggie a map, poor lad got lost around every bend."

You rolled your eyes, "Truly expect me to believe that, do you?" Then you let your eyes widen a fraction, teasing, "Oh, wow, you really believe it! You really believe you haven't brought home other girls who you're interested in or who are into you?"

He crowded you into the door, shifting the room's energy to something sultry, making you hold your breath as his hand slid into your hair. "You know you're the only one, right?"

"You know that's absolute bullshite, right? Like, what a fucking line!"

He tisked, "C'mon, doll."

"Be honest, Felix."

His head cocked, "Want the truth?"

"That'd be a nice change of pace."

He scoffed lightly, "I don't give a single fuck if any of our previous guests cared for me - only you. Hear me?" He took the last step so he was stood with his feet slotted between yours. "I didn't bring them here for any other reason than friendly entertainment. You've seen the place, as big as it is, can get a bit lonely without anyone to hang with. But I asked you here... For different reasons..." He whispered, eyes jutting down to your lips as he kept a firm hold on you.

"And what reasons are those, Fi?"

He smirked, "Obviously... To kick your arse at cards."

You were flooded with pure disappointment. Raw, unfiltered disappointment that deflated your shoulders. "Yeah, right, like that would ever happen," you covered, nudging him a single step away from you. "Wanna be a gentleman and direct me to my room now?"

"Nope," he grinned, snatching your hand and yanking you away from the door. "You're gonna sit your pretty self right here," he nudged you to the edge of his bed, turning for his desk, then turning back to you to slap a deck of cards to your hand, "you're gonna shuffle these, and mentally prepare to get your arse handed to you at your own game."

You chuckled slightly, "Thought you hated 51 Rummy?"

"Only when sober," he smirked, leaning down to peck your forehead sweetly. "Sit tight, doll, I'll be a moment, yeah?"

You sighed and watched him exit the room, reaching to set your glass of water down and observe the room. In a moment of weakness, you pet over his sheets as if tempted to snuggle into them - and you were! You were cold from the lack of robe you meant to shrug on, and wondering the halls of Saltburn took much longer than you anticipated - now wanting to dive into the warmth you knew was left, the same warmth that Felix left on everything.

You jumped when the door opened again, Felix slipping inside with your little pink bag. His brows pinched, "All right, love?"

"Hmm? Yeah - "

"Your feet are nearly blue," he shook his head, handing you your bag before turning for his wardrobe. "Socks or sweats?"

"Huh?"

He turned, holding up a pair of sweatpants and socks, repeating, "Socks or sweats? Figured you're a bit cold in that." The left side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk, eyeing you in your sleep shorts and loose teeshirt that had the collar ripped out, showing a hint of cleavage.

"Oh, uh, socks, please."

He tossed you the socks, dropped the sweats, and joined you on the bed as you pulled the oversized garment onto your feet. "C'mere, get close, get comfortable," he chuckled, pushing his blankets down to sit in the sheets, waiting until you turned in the bed to yank the blankets up over both your legs. "Didn't shuffle? My naughty girl," he joked, reaching for the deck of cards and opening it. He offered a much softer smile, eyes darting to your medicine bag, and then focusing on the cards - as if to give you privacy to take your meds.

You did so quickly, insecure about the rattling bottles and the amount of tablets in your cupped hand, but never once had Felix made you feel bad about your needs. After swallowing them, you cleared your throat and turned to face Felix as he divided the cards for the game, nodding to his side table, "Paper's over there, doll, for the score."

"Sure you want me to keep score?" You asked softly, reaching for the pad of paper and spare pen. "Last time we played, you lost so very miserably, I was embarrassed for you. We can save your pride a li'l, not keep score."

"It's only polite to let the pretty lady win."

"Oh, tryin' to butter me up, are you?"

"Is it working?"

"I'll let you know."

Felix chuckled, leaning back to the headboard. Then, he asked softly, "You feelin' all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, all good."

"Sure?"

"Why?"

"Hands are shakin' a bit."

You eyed him for a moment, changing the subject by asking, "How're you not freezing? Seriously, 's like the floors are air conditioned."

"Nah, just not cold."

"Your nipples say otherwise."

"Lookin' at my nipples, are you?" He grinned. "Now you're a very naughty girl, knew you didn't stumble into my room on accident!"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself!" You pushed his shoulder, but he leaned closer. "Felix - "

"You could just stay here," he offered softly.

"You got me for a game - "

"No, I mean, uh..." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head and readjusting so he was supported on one elbow, facing you. "Nah, nevermind, all right, so, back to the game - "

"No, wait, say what you're thinking," you encouraged softly. "Know I hate you doin' that."

"Yeah, you get all anxious," he nodded. "I don't want t'be too forward, all right? But... You know, we sleep together at Oxford. I-In the dorms, you know?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Just thought, maybe you'd wanna stay here? With me? If you want, won't make yah, sweetheart, just thought... You know, in a house this big, you wouldn't get so lost stayin' here... Maybe?"

"Oh, aren't you my hero?"

"I know, I know, I'm just tryna look out for you, my li'l lost love. And, you know, prevent you from finding our secret dungeon," he gasped comically.

"That's not even a joke 'cause I'd believe it in a place like this. Is it a dungeon for torture or sex?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Maybe I'd like to see it. Hm," you considered, "maybe I should stay here, you know - so you can show me around and go get me water when I need it. Save my toes from freezing off, wonderin' 'round here."

He grinned, "Yeah?"

"If it's not too scandalous?"

"'S not like anyone would care... Except me, you know? I'd... I'd like you to stay here. Like havin' you close, sweetheart."

"Well, maybe you could put some clothes on? You're terribly fucking distracting! I'm here to win a card game, and I'll be damned if you win 'cause your abs are... You know, staring right at me, you cheater," you grinned, turning to face him fully with your legs crossed, the space in the sheets open for your cards.

"I think you like me naked," he grinned. "I mean, you stared long enough."

"I was just caught off guard!"

"Oh, I'm sure," his grin turned wicked. "You're still staring, doll."

"Well, it's not as if you're quick to cover yourself!"

"You're not too quick t'look away, either!"

"I was - "

"Caught off guard, yeah, you've said," he chuckled, staring at you with those moony brown eyes that made you feel as if you were the only girl he's ever seen. "Maybe I liked you lookin'."

"Is that so?"

He nodded slightly, "Yeah, not such a bad thing. You're kinda the only one I want lookin' at me like that, anyway."

"You absolute cheesehead!" Your laughter was quiet, trying not to tip Duncan off to your antics.

"You know, they're not just for lookin'," he perked his pierced brow at you. "Feel free to touch whenever you want, too."

"Hm, always knew you were a slut."

He gasped dramatically. "Is that anyway to talk to your host? Especially after giving you refuge from the big, scary, confusing halls?" Your eyes rolled and reached out to pushed his forehead, making him rock back into the pillows and headboard - but he was quick to snatch your wrist as he fell. You were yanked across the slim space, pulled so you were directly resting onto his chest; forearms bracing against his pectorals. He grinned, caressing the back of your head, teasing, "'Ello, love."

"You're a fucking fiend."

"And you're so fucking beautiful."

"I'm already stayin' here, Fi, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

He hummed, "You know... If you were mine, you'd get this treatment all the time. I can't stop - you're just so easy to compliment."

Feeling bold, perhaps from being so close and him being nearly naked, you whispered, "Then maybe you should stop shuffling your feet, grow a pair, and ask me already."

He paused, the moment turning soft as you relax against his body; stretched out the length of him, but still remaining propped on his chest to look down at his sweet face.

"Was a bit afraid to, actually, love."

"Why?"

"Haven't felt like this with anyone," he admitted, "'s just so fuckin' easy with you. Organic, authentic, safe... I was afraid to ruin that, destroy the rapport and friendship we've established. I care about you so much, I just wanted you in my life - no matter what variation that was. Being just my friend, being my girl, just want you with me. Didn't want to jeopardize anything."

"Hm," you considered, nodding slowly, "I get that. Think I felt something similar..."

"So, what do we do?"

"I think we be adults about this," you offered. "If you just want to be friends, we'll stay friends, Fi, but we don't blur lines like we have been. And if you want to give this - us - a try, I think we could. 'Cause you're you, and I'm me, and if things don't work out, we can just go back. Right? Adults do that sorta thing, don't they?"

"Not entirely sure, don't feel like an adult most days," he breathed, petting his fingertips down your cheek. "But I know I want this, with you. I swear, since you came into my life, I've felt - " He paused, shaking his head with a growing smile, "Free? Elated? Light as air?"

"Mhm, I know the feeling," you repeated.

"We doin' this?"

"That's up to you."

"I think it's up to us, actually - "

"I mean, you've gotta ask, Fi, not just assume."

"If you reject me in my own house, in my own bed, doll, I'm gonna be fucking crushed!"

"Oh, my God, just ask me! You fucking knobhead!" You laughed, leaning your head on his chest. His other arm moved behind his head to keep it propped up, looking at you with so much adoration, it knotted your stomach. The hand that had been in your hair drifted down to keep a secure hold on your waist; fingers scratching in soothing motions.

"Wanna be my girl?"

"Hmm, I think you could phrase it better."

He grinned brightly, "Would you be my girlfriend?"

"Oh, that's a little too formal. Maybe try - "

"Oh, c'mere, you," he growled, swiftly using both arms to seize under your arms and literally drag you up his body. "C'mon, baby," he whispered, lips ghosting yours, "be my baby."

"Fuck, no, that's way too cheesy!"

"I thought you liked me cheesy?" He gaped, your hand petting his cheek now; shoulders straining to keep you upright, over him.

"Correction, I love you cheesy," you whispered, lowering your head to press a quick kiss to his lips. He hummed in relief, but you pulled back to promise, "I'd love to be your girl, Fi. Only took you the whole bloody school year, didn't it?"

"Hey, good things to those who wait, right?"

"Don't quote Professor Mercy at me when we're in bed with barely anything on, Jesus fucking Christ," you grumbled, unable to restrain your grin when he pulled you in for another kiss - but this time, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

Maybe getting lost in Saltburn was more beneficial than you originally thought, and maybe Professor Mercy and ages of philosophy was right because this felt like the absolute best thing, and you'd wait a hundred lifetimes if it meant having Felix in your arms - like he was now, kissing you like it was his lifeline.

How extraordinarily warm, you felt, to be lost in this world, in this extraordinary home, and found, by Felix fucking Catton.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

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