#this is more or less how we adopted Olive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

manicpixiefelix · 4 months

Text

never wanted anything from you (except everything you had)

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

@saintbeau asked: I know you said in the Canon ending, up until a certain point, Oliver was planning to let the reader live. If he'd never decided to kill them, do you think they'd suffer a similar fate as Farleigh and be forced out? Or do you think there's ever a possibility of 'the pet coming with the house' so to speak? I think to a degree Oliver's yearning to take Felix's place could lead him to essentially slotting himself alongside the reader if they'd allow it.

Summary: After the death of your best friend and his sister, you can't bring yourself to stay at Saltburn, even when their grieving mother wishes you would. However, after several years away to process and grow, you find yourself back in touch with Oliver Quick, who's changed so much in the time you've spent apart. Fate certainly has a funny was of working out, so you're not entirely surprised to end up back at the place you'd once called home.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. Oliver/Reader are endgame here.

Warnings: Very poor relationship with reader's parents. SALTBURN-CANON ENDING; Felix & Venetia are still dead, but we get a happy ending this time. Also not sure if it needs a warning but Oliver does admit to killing Felix.

A/N: 4162 words. This got away from me. this ends up being so painfully fluffy. it's VERY Oliver/Reader, Oliver's less of a bastardman and he doesn't kill Elspeth but her health is failing significantly like it does in the movie. i think i might have made him a better person as compared to the film, but it's still canon compliant mostly. it ends so fluffy and happy tho, i love it omg. AGAIN THIS IS NOT CANON TO head, heart, hand.

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

----

There is no world where you stay where Oliver wins.

But there's a world where you leave, heart too heavy with grief, where you transfer from Oxford and spend time as an adult reconnecting with your own family, where he finds you again. Your parents don't respect you as family, but you're granted access to their lives, to be in their line of sight; you become almost like a live-in assistant who takes meals with them but for whom they show no outward affection.

It's all you have left.

You tell yourself it's enough.

"That Catton fellow offed himself," your father says it with such idleness, as if reporting the weather.

"Sir James?" You almost choke on your breakfast, and father peers down his nose at you over his morning paper, giving you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yes, sorry, I forgot you knew him -"

"Surely it doesn't say that he offed himself," your mother frowned, tugging at the corner of the paper to try and get a look at the article. They bicker lightly, charmingly, in the middle of this cafe about the death of your best friend's father, and what the article is saying or implying, but you just wonder about Elspeth.

Later, when you search through old papers and memories and notebooks, you find the number for Saltburn and call. Duncan's voice is familiar, as is yours to him.

"Captain," the old nickname is so gentle on his tongue, the most gentle you'd ever heard him be about anything. Then, as quickly as you'd heard it, the gentleness is replaced with apology, letting you know that Elspeth is unavailable, but that you'd be welcome to attend Sir James' funeral. You know you'd never be able to bring yourself to attend.

It's Oliver who reaches out, deliberate, in the months that follow. It's slow going, too formal for how intimately, how messily you knew each other for those few months in the Spring and Summer. He apologises, says he saw you on the cover of a tabloid trailing a pair of aging socialites and looked further into it.

"You looked -" he tells you over dinner in the city, beautiful, settled, no more of his youthful awkwardness; it had only been a few years, but how glad you were to see him, "fucking miserable," he says so gently, taking your face in his hands. Oh fuck, you'd missed him, missed his touch, missed how clearly he could see you - you burst into tears in the restaurant.

Dating Oliver makes you feel like a whole new person, raw, relearning yourself, realising you'd been living like a ghost since you'd left Saltburn. Your hyper competency had needed an outlet and your parents had provided that, but you were barely a person, to them or to yourself. Now you were learning who you were, alone.

Quieter. More focused and driven in your professional endeavours. As dangerously charming as Farleigh ever was. The memory of Venetia peeking through in your wickedly sharp wit. An echo of Felix in the affection you carried with you, in your smile, in your laugh. A living ghost, learning to love and embrace the ways in which you were haunted, rather than grieving for them.

You spend nights in his little flat, take refuge from your own life in his, and Oliver's the one who informs you that Elspeth has moved into town, leaving Saltburn echoing and empty, if not for the skeleton crew that maintains it.

"She wants to see you," there's a strange look in his eyes when he says it, something conflicted, almost dark, but when you smile, he too lights up.

Elspeth holds you for a very long time. In the middle of a cafe in walking distance for your both it turns out, there's tears in her eyes, and a joyful smile, and she doesn't let you go even as Oliver goes and order you all drinks.

"So beautiful, you've always been so beautiful," she murmurs, long, elegant fingers feather light against your features, no care for propriety here, "you're so grown up." It's like she's trying to connect the person you are now with the memory she has of you. Tears are welling in your own eyes.

"I'm sorry I left, mum." There's a lump in your throat and her tears start to fall as she takes your face gently, cradling you against her, laughing through her bittersweet memories.

"I never blamed you, pet, never," she assures, voice wet with tears but reassuring nonetheless. Oliver sits down on your other side, wordlessly leaning into you both, resting his head on your shoulder. The three of you stay like that for a long moment. You can hear Elspeth sniffling quietly.

The moment breaks, she lets you go, and when you sit back up, Oliver takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and resting your joined hands on the table. Immediately Elspeth's eyes focus upon them, and she gives a warm smile to your both.

"I cannot believe you've found each other again," and she sounds so genuinely joyful, "it's funny how the universe works out." Oliver gives a faint, bashful smile, leaning into you, bumping your shoulder for a bit.

"I'm a lucky man," there's something wonderfully, desperately loving in his eyes when he looks at you in this moment. It is, to him, the total and complete truth. Before you're overwhelmed by your urge to kiss him, however, Elspeth continues.

"After all that's happened, I am glad luck, and life, have brought you both back to me; I was just saying to dear Ollie the other day," Elspeth rests her cool, well manicured hand on your free hand, sitting on the table, "the two of you should come stay at Saltburn again."

Something constricts in your throat, grip on Oliver's hand tightening momentarily.

"I know," Elspeth is quick to move her hand to your shoulder, seeing the way your expression changes, drops, "but that house still holds so much love for you, my dear pet," and she takes a deep, shaky breath, finally admitting, "and I can't bring myself to be there alone."

Looking to Oliver, he gives you a gentle smile, nothing but sweet warmth and reassurance; he's changed so much since Saltburn, so sweet, so sublime. That version of Oliver didn't know how to love you or Felix in a way that was good for any of you, you came to realise, but this Oliver, oh this Oliver had crafted himself a home in your heart with love you didn't think anyone other than Felix had been capable of.

"It can be our home again," he murmurs, a sentiment Elspeth echoes like she hadn't even realised that was what she had wanted from you both;

"It can be your home again."

The drive to Saltburn feels like a memory, of young laughter and loud music and Summer sweat whipped away by the wind in Felix's convertible. The car you'd chosen to take with you is far more sensible, but still relatively ostentatious, and when you ask Oliver to drive, he of course obliges you. Still, the music is loud, and the day is warm, and even if the two of you are quiet, there's still a warm hand on your knee.

And you still feel loved.

Saltburn creaks and echoes with familiarity.

The doors open, and though you don't recognise the footmen either side of the entrance, you certainly recognise Duncan. He's older, of course, as are you. There's a touch of grey by his temples, and he's paler than you remember, but still prim, still gaunt and haunting -

"Mister Quick," until his eyes fall on you, and he softens almost imperceptibly, but you see it, you hear it in his voice, "and Captain Y/N," almost like it's an in-joke between you both by now.

"It's good to see you, Duncan," you tell him sincerely, and for the briefest moment he actually smiles.

"And you as well."

Everything's the same, just as Elspeth had assured you both. Everything's the same, just as when you'd left. Fled. Alone all those years ago.

Coming back, hand in hand with Oliver, it feels surreal.

Grand foyer, red staircase, secluded alcove that you and Venetia used to tease Felix about regarding his 'accidental' bout of cousin fingering, Henry Seventh's cabinet, the arch Felix claimed his grandmother haunted, the Green Room, gardens through the windows, Rubens that Felix never cared for but you had always appreciated. Still broken piano. Blue Room; still blue. The King's bedroom, not that you cared for Henry the Eighth, but Felix always liked to bring it up. The long gallery. Portraits of Cattons you had never cared for. Shakespeare's folios that you and Felix had spent a Winter going through, just to brag that you had, without realising how few people would care.

Sir James' teddy was absent from it's usual chair. Something about that makes something ache in your chest, just a little. So you look away, to the maze beyond the windows that you never want to go in again.

You know this house, this route, like the back of your hand even now. Oliver holds your hand tightly as you rest your hand on the intricate doorknob of the midnight blue door that you both remember so well.

"Are you okay?" Oliver's voice is quiet, is reverential, as you hesitate. Nodding once, you push open the door.

It still smells like Felix. His things are still here, still a bit of a mess. Books and knickknacks and photos. His wardrobe door is still ajar, the way you know you left it when you'd been scrambling to pack your own garments when you'd last been here, and his clothes still hang there, frozen, a moment in time.

It aches, but it doesn't... hurt. Not like you thought it would. It almost seems silly, to have this preserved for so long.

"Can we stay in here, Duncan?" You call out, knowing he must be around somewhere, he always was.

"I thought you might," Elspeth's gentle voice from the doorway makes you and Oliver both jump. But she's smiling at you both, and once the shock has worn off, you can't help but laugh. It sets you all off, laughing warmly, fondly, all three in Felix's perfectly untouched room.

Elspeth does, however, let you know that they've had the bathroom redone. She doesn't say it's because of Venetia, but you're quietly grateful nonetheless. You don't know if you could bring yourself to bath in there if all you could think about was Venetia's blood across the bathroom floor. It's different now.

When you try out the new tub, still claw-footed, still deep and soothing, there comes a knock at the door you'd left ajar out of habit.

"Mind if I join you?" It's Oliver, with a teasing little smile and hope in his eyes. He does not wait at the door like you know he once had, he is bold, he is unapologetic, he is confident in his love. Enthusiastically you wave him over, delighted to create new, better memories in this bathroom that no longer resembles the one you know.

There's still this strange kind of divide; Oliver, at times, still acts like a guest. Saltburn's been your home for too long for you to feel uncomfortable within it's walls, but Oliver's still always asking permission. For everything. He asks if he can borrow some of Felix's old clothes and looks relieved when you look at him like it's an absurd request.

"He's not going to be wearing them."

Elspeth gets this look in her eyes whenever she recognises any of Felix's clothes on Oliver, fond and nostalgic as she tells him she's glad they're no longer gathering dust.

"Beautiful clothes for a beautiful boy," she liked to say.

It takes you a few weeks to realise Elspeth's ulterior motives. Her health is failing. She has no family left. She needs people. As Oliver had pointed out so long ago, you were both desperate to be needed. Much like when you were younger, your own parents had no qualms about you living your life at Saltburn without them; they'd hire another assistant. The email they'd sent back to you did however note that you had been the best assistant either of them had ever had. It's the nicest thing they'd ever said to you.

Elspeth speaks to you alone one morning during the fall, the grounds turning all shades of golds and oranges.

"I..." your thoughts are moving too fast, her offer was so simple yet so overwhelming, "can't take Saltburn." A deep sigh escapes her, and she looks out over the grounds, but pets your knee, "I won't leave," you try to placate her, "you, or Saltburn, if you'd like me to stay; I'll be like Duncan -" this gets her to laugh, fond and bright, "but I think it will complicate things with my own family."

She tells you she understands. Her voice is getting weaker by the day. Then, after another long moment of gentle silence and contemplation, she speaks carefully.

"And Oliver?"

Part of you kind of knew this was coming.

"He might love Saltburn more than me," you admitted with a chuckle, "and he loves you dearly, you know that right?"

"He's such a strange, beautiful creature," Elspeth muses fondly, "I don't know if James even looked at me the way he looks at you," she smiles at you, expression turning soft and nostalgic for just a moment, "Felix used to look at you like that, didn't he?"

"In his own way," you agreed, unable to look her in the eyes while knowing exactly what she meant, exactly what she could see in this moment.

"They say we have more than one soulmate in our lives, pet," she says softly, reassuringly, and you look up once more. There's gentle hope and fragments of old grief that wrap around your heart as she continues, giving your knee a faint squeeze, "I think you're one of the lucky ones."

And your mind settles back on Oliver, how good, how kind, how loving he's been in the year since you'd reconnected. Finally, you're able to smile.

"I think so too."

Oliver seems genuinely surprised when you and Elspeth approach him with the offer. He keeps looking at you, confused. All you can do is smile, assure him that you want Saltburn to be in his name.

"I'm not abandoning you," you laugh, "I'll be here as long as you'll have me, help take care of any paperwork or maintenance or, well, calling people to take care of those things."

"They're a good house pet," Elspeth actually teases, while Oliver is still silent, looking at you in awe. He stutters through a verbal agreement, and Elspeth delightedly says she'll get the contract drawn up in the next few days.

"Why me?" Oliver finally asks, and Elspeth stands, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

"You've worked hard all your life, Ollie, I can see that in you," she murmurs, "and you loved the ones so dear to me. I know you will love this home, and my darling Y/N, and one day I know it will be a family home again."

Oliver is quiet during supper, he keeps looking at you with this unreadable expression, almost grateful, but somehow intrigued. There's something lighter about him now, less tension carried in his shoulders, a small smile he can't quite get rid of. After you all eat, he offers you his arm and asks you to stroll the grounds in the moonlight.

"I thought it'd be you," his voice is so soft. The moon makes him glow. He's wearing the pale, linen shirt of Felix's that catches the light so beautifully.

"I could tell," you can't help but smirk, gently ribbing him. When he laughs, it almost sounds disbelieving.

"Saltburn was your home first."

"Saltburn is a place," you tell him, "my home was always the people in it."

"Felix was your home," he remembers when you'd told him that, how wide Felix had smiled when he'd heard it.

"And now," you're surprised by how your voice catches as you realise what you're about to say, "it's you."

"You love me," Oliver turns with wide, adoring eyes, while you can't help your shy smile.

"Of course I love you, you know I love you -"

"You love me-love me," he sounds like he's discovered the meaning of life, like he can see it in your eyes. Then, very suddenly, a whole new realisation seemed to wash over him, "I think I actually want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Oh! Is this -?

"I don't have a ring, fuck-!" Before he can get any further, you're kissing him, wrapping your arms around him, desperate to make him taste how much you fucking love him. Giddy and burning with desire, you feel like a teenager again, overwhelmed with delight and affection in this old house you call a home.

When you suggest that you meet his parents, properly this time, Oliver makes a face like he's bitten a lemon. It's a beautiful, cool mid-morning at the beginning of Winter, grey light reaching through the curtains to caress you and your fiancé, wrapped up in Egyptian cotton sheets.

"I've met them before," you remind him gently, hand splayed out across his chest as he looks at the ceiling, "I don't hold that Summer against you."

"Felix stopped... trusting me," his voice barely breaks a whisper, "he stopped loving me because of them," it trembles, catching, and you see tears in his eyes. A flush was rising up his cheeks, grief and a strange kind of fury overwhelming him it seemed, much to your surprise, "you should hold that Summer against me, should hate me, should -" it's spilling from him now, with such speed, such anger that it's almost frightening.

"Ollie, love -"

"I wasn't in my right mind, I was sick and obsessed and- and- and I can't believe I hurt you like that -"

"What are you talking about?"

Through his tears, his grief, his outburst, Oliver threw his arm over his face, unable to look at you, unable to look at anything in this room he now seemed to regret being in.

"I just wanted him to love me too," Oliver choked out, "I know you tried to help me - I can't believe I hurt you, I know you loved him - but I didn't want him to love anyone if he didn't love me."

"Oliver."

"I put the cocaine in his wine. I gave him the bottle. I left him there."

To your surprise, as much as the news hurts, it comes in a dull wave of grief, not the sharp, stinging kind you were braced for. What you don't expect is the sympathy that wells up inside of you for the man who just admitted to killing your best friend.

But you had spent years grieving for Felix, had come to terms with it, made peace with it. It's a shock to the system, of course, to learn he was murdered, but you can see the hurt, the guilt that Oliver had been carrying with him, and knows how it feels to be overwhelmed with love for Felix Catton to the point where you'd do unspeakable things with him in your heart. You'd ruined lived over one-word insults spat in his direction because that was who you were, that was what you did.

And you knew Oliver Quick, who he was, how he operated, the kind of desperate jealousy and need to be needed that became dangerous or perverse when they went unsated. Neither of you were the people you once were.

Carefully, you drape yourself over Oliver as he wept, wrapping him up tightly in a hug with one arm, other reaching up to brush through his dark, messy hair.

"Loving Felix makes us do terrible things," you murmur softly, fingers carding through his hair, "you took someone special from this world, but we can't change that."

"Why the fuck are you being so nice right now?" Oliver groans, voice full of disbelief, "I just told you -"

"You loved Felix and he stopped loving you back; you were drunk, and obsessive, and out of your mind with some psychosexual desire. You killed the man you loved, that we loved," you recount firmly, and he quiets down, still sniffling, "do you regret it?"

"Yes," he whispers.

"Are you lying?"

A long pause follows.

"I don't know."

"Did you ever stop loving him?"

"I don't think I ever will," then, moving his arm, he reaches out for your face, gently cupping your jaw. His eyes are bright red, smudged tear tracks shining on his cheeks, "I don't think you will either." You shake your head, confirming as much, before you turn your face and press a kiss to his palm.

"You're not that same person, Oliver, neither am I. The version of me from that Summer might never forgive the Ollie that killed Fi, but I know you now, and I know you love me, and you'll love this house, and the memory of Felix, just like I will."

"Why are you so good to me?"

"Because you're not a saint, and you're not a devil. You can't change the past. You're just a human, full of flaws, but you're better than you used to be, I know."

"I love you." He coaxes you forward, bringing you in for a passionate, messy kiss, murmuring against your lips, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Still, you keep this revelation between the two of you. Elspeth never needed to know.

It was a small ceremony at the beginning of Spring on the grounds of the Saltburn Estate. Elspeth was barely able to get out of bed anymore, so the location was more for her sake than anything else. She'd insisted on taking the reigns for planning the wedding though, looking through folders and magazines with you and Oliver at her bedside.

A beautiful flower archway, Duncan officiating, and only your families as guests. At your suggestion and reassurance, Oliver had worked hard to repair his relationship with his family.

"You don't have to lie about being important anymore," you'd smirked at him, "you're inheriting the Saltburn Estate, you're marrying into my family; you're Oliver Quick, that means something."

Oliver's family had marvelled at the estate the minute they arrived at the property; his sisters and their partners seemed shocked and delighted.

"Is this your place?" One had asked you, eyes bright and incredulous as you and Oliver were giving them all the tour.

"Ollie's actually," you give him arm a squeeze as you give him a proud smile, watching as he ducks his head, flush with embarrassment.

"This is you house, Ollie?! What the fuck!?" Another shouted, even as her own partner laughed while asking her to tone it down.

Before the wedding even begins, his oldest sister has talked him into letting she and her children visit in the Summer.

It comes as a surprise when your own parents show up, though you suspect it's because Elspeth personally called to invite them, not because of you. They too are impressed by the house, but less so than the Quicks; they'd been there for gatherings in years past, after all.

When your grandmother arrives, however, that's when it all becomes real for you. Unlike your parents, she dotes on you. Your grandfather had been the head of the business when he'd been alive; your grandmother was a dedicated professional, but always a romantic at heart, which is where your mother claimed to have gotten her artistic proclivities from.

Oliver says you have the same, beautiful eyes, and she chuckles.

"He's a charmer, I see," she teases, but wraps him up in a hug. "You be good to them, Mister Quick," your grandmother tells him in a faux-stern voice as she leans out of the hug, "we're the kind of family you don't want to get on the wrong side of." Despite how she's waving a finger at him and doing her best angry glare, Oliver can't help but cast you a fond smile, wrapping an arm around you.

"I'm aware, ma'am; every day I feel lucky to have Y/N by my side."

This seems to sate your grandmother, who pets his cheek fondly, and tells you that you've got a good one.

"I think so too."

It's a beautiful, perfect day, the best day of your life so far, where the worst day is now but a mere memory. All that matters is Oliver Quick, and the love in his eyes as he looks at you, as he promises you;

"This house will be full of people who love you for the rest of your life."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #saltburn imagine #head heart hand fic #manic writer

282 notes · View notes

poetrysmackdown · 9 months

Note

what makes a poem a poem? does it have to be written in a certain way? is this question a poem if i want it to be?

Fun question! This is just my personal sense as an avid reader and less-avid writer of poetry, but for me it’s useful to distinguish (roughly) between poetry as a genre and poetry as an attitude or philosophy through which language and the world can be understood. And of course these two go hand in hand. I see poetry the genre as essentially a type of literature where we as readers are signaled, somehow, to pay closer attention to language, to rhythm, to sound, to syntax, to images, and to meaning. That attentive posture is the “attitude” of broader poetic thinking, and while it’s most commonly applied to appreciate work that’s been written for that purpose, there’s nothing stopping us from applying that attentiveness elsewhere. Everywhere, even! That’s how you eventually end up writing poetry for yourself, after all. There’s a quote from Mary Ruefle floating around on here that a lot of folks have probably already seen, but it immediately comes to mind with this ask:

“And when you think about it, poets always want us to be moved by something, until in the end, you begin to suspect that a poet is someone who is moved by everything, who just stands in front of the world and weeps and laughs and laughs and weeps.”

Similarly, after adopting the attentive posture of poetics, there’s plenty of things that can feel or sound like a poem, even when they perhaps were not written with that purpose in mind. I’ve seen a couple of these “found poems” on here that are quite fun—this one, for example. The meaning and enjoyment you may derive from the language of a found poem isn’t any less real than that derived from a poem written for explicitly poetic purposes, so I don’t see why it shouldn’t be called poetry.

That said, I do think that if you’re going to go out and start looking for poetry everywhere, it’s still important to have a foundation in the actual language work of it all. Now, this doesn’t mean it has to be “written in a certain way” at all! But it does mean that in order to cultivate the attentiveness that’s vital to poetry, one needs to understand what makes language tick, down at its most basic levels. It will make you better at reading poetry, better at writing it, and better at spotting it out in the wild.

Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook is an extraordinary resource to new writers and readers, and a great read for more experienced folks as well. Mary Oliver’s most popular poems are all to my knowledge in free verse, and yet you might be surprised to find her deep appreciation for metrical verse (patterns of stressed/unstressed syllables), as well as for the most minute devices of sound. In discussing the so-called poetry of the past, she writes,

“Acquaintance with the main body of English poetry is absolutely essential—it is the whole cake, while what has been written in the last hundred years or so, without meter, is no more than an icing. And, indeed, I do not really mean an acquaintanceship—I mean an engrossed and able affinity with metrical verse. To be without this felt sensitivity to a poem as a structure of lines and rhythmic energy and repetitive sound is to be forever less equipped, less deft than the poet who dreams of making a new thing can afford to be.”

In another section, after devoting lots of attention to the sounds at work in Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, she writes,

“Everything transcends from the confines of its initial meaning; it is not only the transcendence in meaning but the sound of the transcendence that enables it to work. With the wrong sounds, it could not have happened.”

I hope all this helps to get across my opinion that what makes a poem a poem is not just about the author's intention, and not just about meaning (intended or attributed), but also about sound and rhythm and language and history, all coalescing into something that rises above the din of a language we would otherwise grow tired of while out in our day-to-day lives.

I'll always have more to say but I'm cutting myself off here! Thanks for the ask

#ask #discussion #does this even answer the question? lol #anyways even if you're not huge on mary oliver i still highly recommend a poetry handbook #i admit her poetry is only to my taste about 60-70% of the time. but her handbook is a great resource and can stand alone #i actually think oliver wrote a whole other book just about metrical verse too. for people who are into that #also if you're someone who's less interested in the question 'what is poetry?' and more into questions like #why is poetry? can poetry survive? what the fuck happened to poetics in the twentieth century?#i recommend the witness of poetry by czeslaw milosz #an older book—actually a collection of lectures—but an absolute game-changer for me #not a poll

463 notes · View notes

notmorbid · 4 months

Text

garden of earthly bodies.

dialogue prompts from garden of earthly bodies by sally oliver.

do you think this is a mistake?

i think you should say you changed your mind.

do you remember what we talked about?

i have endless stores of self-pity.

i feel less awful than before.

you're allowed to lose it now and again.

i don't mean to be horrible.

you can't adopt someone's pain to dilute your own.

stop being smart with me.

you'll give me a heart attack one day.

you're pushy.

life has a way of revealing the truth to you before it occurs.

how come you haven't said anything?

i wish you'd take things more seriously.

i wish i knew when i was going to die. then i could be ready for it.

i'm relieving you of your conscience, alright?

i don't want to write about it. i don't owe that to anyone.

nobody has seen your face in half a year.

i had a strange dream in the night. you were in it.

you probably won't remember most of it.

you need to look out for yourself. nobody else will.

can you stay in my room tonight? i don't want to be alone.

there's no point in being secretive.

you can't shut everyone out. one day they won't bother.

i don't think i'm really in myself.

i miss you all the time.

are you in any pain?

i'm bored of waiting for everything.

you're almost smiling again.

think more of yourself and less of others.

don't give away your thoughts. you won't get them back.

you don't have to say anything if you don't want to.

i wanted you to love me the same way i love you.

do you believe in god?

what can you not tolerate in others?

what is the quality you least like about yourself?

i love my parents, but i've never understood them.

this is the most alone i've ever felt.

i have to find something to wear.

hospitals manage despair, not disease.

it helps if you're stoned. only, don't do that.

i don't want to leave you if you're so unhappy.

watch the road, not me.

do you visit cemeteries often?

female comradeship is its own religion.

don't pull that sad, serious look you do.

i'm running out of ways to procrastinate.

i could like anything about you.

i wonder if you'll ever hate me.

life is too long and too brief.

i was always going to come home again.

you don't look like you.

you'll get back to feeling like your old self. just let it happen.

i don't even know what it means anymore. to 'be myself'.

i know who you are. i just can't believe it.

i'm not going to make this easy.

nothing is ever as sinister as you think.

i can tell something's not right.

we'll move at your pace.

i miss who i was. i don't feel like the same person anymore.

a life can end and not be over.

you had me. what about me?

#rp meme #rp memes #sentence starters #ask memes #inbox memes #ask meme #horror meme #families

209 notes · View notes

carolinahope · 14 days

Text

I'm not sure I'm that impressed with this episode. Tonally it was a bit all over the place. But there were things I really liked and some I didn't care for at all. But I will give the story time to unfold.

The talks were amazing. (I skipped the one Eddie had with Marisol, I couldn't care less about her) I love mentor Bobby. And how open Buck and Eddie can be with each other. And the little glimpse of Hen and Athena. And of course, the Buckley siblings.

I loved Hen and Karen's story. Denny was such a sweetheart. And I like that they are adopting/fostering an older kid. The little girl did such a good job. And I liked how that one call played into Hen's situation. I missed them doing that. And Maddie with the 911 call. I like seeing them in scenes together. Especially after the rift in S6.

Marisol now more than ever seems like Ana 2: The electric boogaloo. I don't like her and don't care about her and they seem so forced. Though Eddie doubling down seems so in character and like such a coping mechanism? Like falling back on bad habits because he is out of his depth?

And Tommy kinda reminds me of Ali? Because it still feels like Buck is forcing it a tiny bit but not in the hurtful way as with Taylor and Natalia. I will see where it will go but they seem to be really reading from two different books, still. Plus, him calling Buck Evan reminds me of Ana calling Eddie Edmundo. And not in a good way.

But Lou was amazing. He is doing a very good job. But Tommy is still temporary to me.

I liked how supportive Maddie was. I love their talks and Oliver and Jennifer play off of each other so well. But when she said I... I just think that maybe you're not sure of your own feelings yet. It just felt like foreshadowing.

When Bobby said Eddie had no issues with committing to Shannon I kinda called bullshit. Because he did. The person he has no issues committing to is Buck. I mean, the will? I understand why Bobby wouldn't mention him but it was so clear in that conversation. Buck was the pink elephant in the room with them.

Eddie seems a little off this season because so far he is mostly played for laughs? A little bit ridiculous. But his scenes with Buck are *chef's kiss*. I like how open and honest they are with each other. How they are a safe space for the other. But also go to the other for advice and reassurance. Their talks grounded the story a lot. Even with the teasing. Or maybe because of it. I may be just a tad impatient because I want Buddie, now. But on the other hand their love story is a marathon not a sprint. And as James Blunt said, I'm a patient (wo)man, as you discover.

But we got a hug YAY

And I'm sorry, there is nothing heterosexual about them cosplaying Miami Vice.

#Buddie #Buck/Eddie #7x05 You Don't Know Me #9-1-1 #911 abc #911 on abc #Evan 'Buck' Buckley #Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #Bobby Nash #Henrietta 'Hen' Wilson #Maddie Buckley #Karen Wilson #Athena Grant #Denny Wilson

22 notes · View notes

andreal831 · 3 months

Note

How do you think the series would have differed if Hayley had found her parents alive along with her pack? The reason they didn't find her sooner being the damn curse and the will to keep her safe and out of it? Or maybe genuinely not knowing where she was?

This is such an interesting question.

I think it would change so much.

Hayley was so desperate for a family that she willingly sacrificed 12 people she knew in order to find them. Finding her family would have been everything she ever wanted.

Now, I think it would be interesting to see what kind of people her parents were. From what Marcel says, they do seem like they were truly trying to create peace with the factions, but, unbeknownst to them, the Hollow was interfering. But we really don't know how they would react to Hayley's pregnancy and who the father was.

Hayley likely would have felt more connected with the wolves than she did initially with her pack. I think she still would have laughed off the betrothal because that was not the way she was raised. She also likely would have had some resentment towards them for not finding her. We don't know much about Hayley's life but she doesn't talk highly about her adoptive parents. Even if they legitimately couldn't find her, she likely would have still had some anger at them.

It may have created more animosity between the factions as Klaus would likely be more territorial of Hope as he grew to care about the pregnancy throughout season 1. It may have even limited Elijah and Hayley as Hayley likely would have spent more time in the bayou. The vampires therefore may be less likely to compromise with the wolves.

I honestly wish they would have allowed Hayley to find some family member, even if it wasn't her parents. The wolves in TVDU are so underdeveloped. They are used as side characters to create stakes for the vampires. This is emphasized by the fact that Klaus throw a 1,000 year fit because he has his wolf side bound but then never once changes into a wolf after the first shift.

The wolves in New Orleans somehow have royalty but also alphas based on merit? Jackson mentions he earned his role but then they often talk about being born to it. Hayley's parents, we don't know which one was born Lebonair, are supposedly the last of the direct line. Since Jackson's parents are dead (?) they likely would have been able to unite the pack under them until Jackson became old enough to lead on his own. Due to the curse, this may have taken longer. This would have solidified Hayley's position more as alpha than Jackson. I never understood why they were "co-alphas" when it was Hayley that won the pack back from Oliver on her own. But apparently this type of pack values royalty over actual leadership, but still somehow disrespects Hayley even though she is also royalty. Essentially, what my side tangent means, is Hayley's parents being alive would have given her a better position in the pack and allowed her to gain respect more easily because their alphas were backing her.

This likely would have led to a war for Hope. The pack would have wanted to keep their "royal" line with them and Klaus wouldn't have wanted that. This is especially true if Hayley had spent more time in the bayou and didn't develop the relationships with the Mikaelsons that she did in the show. It could have been a really interesting dynamic to watch.

Thanks for the ask!

#tvdu #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #the mikaelsons #lebonairs #hayley marshall #klaus mikaelson #hope mikaelson #anon ask #fandom asks #tvd anon ask #tvd ask #fandom answers #tvdu metas #metas

21 notes · View notes

samsvenn · 2 years

Note

Your headcanons about boys clothes amazing! Whould you do that about all boys? Can we have Laito clothes headcanons please?)

𝐋𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

including the most accurate IRL Laito I've ever seen at the very bottom yes! i'll try my best to do all the boys because there's currently requests for Ruki and Azusa in my inbox, leaving Kanato and Ayato to be the last of the sakamaki family :)

Has done a profile study on his best features and decided to go down The Rake (Robert Greene fanatics be threatened) path: “Touch, not. See? Till you bleed.” Instead of enhancing his naturally siren-like features using clothes, he chooses to adopt an outside appearance that is dripping with elegant sensuality.

Why elegant? Why not go for something raw? Dress scantily? That is because of Laito’s mind games. If Laito is with you in public and he shows that he’s a dog, and he is, to any person he sees out in the open, it’s a dangerous card to pull early because the element of surprise and disgust has been shunned for an unimportant, short scare.

However, if you pull it at just the right moment, screams of confusion and nerves are delicious when they’re fermented.

But, if you cast a lure instead, it’s gonna garner attention, either good or bad for you. Words that wonder why you’re near such a beautiful person, why you’re beside him instead of them, those kinds. It’s a cruel tactic.

Laito is definitely into French fashion. The capital of love, the city famous for its erotism and poetry, Laito is OBSESSED. One thing he absolutely loves about France is how they’re able to dress fashionably under hot weather, yet not compromise style.

Another style he’s touched on is 70s fashion. Loves the bell-bottom pants and the multiple ways he can style his hair, which is basically a mullet at this point. And who styles mullets better than the 70s?

He likes to show off the small area below his collarbones, but not necessarily the chest. Of course, that doesn't mean he won't expose his chest.

this area right here

For casual wear, owns a few T-Shirts but most of the time, he’ll never wear them outside. These T-Shirts have minimal to no graphic design, believing that less is more when it comes to them. The fit of these T-Shirts ranges from loose to tightly fitting around his shoulders. The length of the sleeves reaches his elbows but there are ones that are 1-1.5 inches above the joint.

Laito has a specific group of clothes that have been minimally cut at the bottom so whenever he stretches, you can catch a small glimpse of his abdomen.

Pants are always jeans, latex pants, or dress pants. It really depends on how well his tops match with his current pair but those two are his daily. A relaxed fit, light denim is his favorite and for dress pants; a regular-fit, high-waisted dress pants where you can attach and tie a matching fabric belt.

For latex pants, latex is hard to maintain so he rarely uses them. Plus, he has to use baby powder if he does decide to don them. But when he does, their colors are always black and the fit is tightly snug; tight, but not suffocating.

For colors, leans toward nature hues since it compliments his olive undertone. Muted greens, almond browns, rajah; bright saturation does not work in his man’s favor unless they’re accents, not a full-blown piece.

For shoes, two types come to mind: a versatile sneaker suited for flexibility because this man loves to HUNT in lots of ways you can imagine, and a dress shoe that pairs with any outfit, regardless of whether they’re casual or formal.

Two shoes come to mind: Nike Dunk Low Off in White Pine Green swatch and brown heeled loafers with a leather dress sole and gold accent on the toecap.

Doesn’t wear brand names and prefers thrifting. It gives him a chance to go out and those overzealous attention-seeking logos like Louis Vuitton leave a bad taste in his mouth.

He prefers clothes that are sleek and minimal, like the T-Shirt section at UNIQLO; so that he can either dress ‘ruggedly’ or clean - with all the control in his hands. A power thing, at its core.

His outerwear has leather jackets, flared bomber jackets with the collar pointing outwards for a confident look and if it’s too hot outside, he’ll wear a thin cardigan. These three are famed for being extremely adaptive so Laito has a few color swatches for each because sticking to one palette gets boring quickly.

Laito’s clothes fit relaxed on him. The only tight clothing piece he’s got is the waistband on his high-waisted pants because they plump his ass.

Thick belts are his guilty pleasure but those chunky buckles can join Cordelia in the pits of hell

Didn’t like those small, rectangle glasses fashion influencers used until he saw Kou wearing one. Started to wear them out of spite. Why? So that Kou can assume Laito copied him. Why? Because Laito loves irritating the ‘trendsetter’. “They looked shitty on you so I wore them today to give them another chance at life nfufu~”

Silk bandannas. Whether they’re wrapped around his neck or tying his hair back, pretty much all of his brothers know what the alternative use is.

Ever since Y2K’s been blowing up, you best believe Laito has a pearl necklace. Makes him look extra douchey. He has the really small ones where you can’t tell it’s a pearl necklace unless you get really close and personal.

Sadly includes leopard prints into his wardrobe. If this man wasn’t already enough of an ick, he is now.

One of those guys who like to display their underwear waistband.

For accessories, Laito keeps a brown leather handbag on him at all times. There are way too many items to include, but here are a few:

You can’t tell me Laito doesn’t own a tank top. Or at least five, minimum. Summer heat, folks, summer heat. City Boys rise up ✊

The most irl accurate Laito I've ever seen omg

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #laito sakamaki #headcanons #diabolik lovers headcanons #sakamaki brothers #diabolik brothers

235 notes · View notes

topgunruinedme · 1 year

Text

Screaming in Silence

Summary: If anyone asked Jake how four words had impacted his life, he wouldn't have been able to tell them.

FebWhump Prompt - Day 12: "Can you hear me?".

No one questioned Jake about his tattoo, he knew it was weird. It was unusual, worrying for people who didn't understand it. He had been asked to see a psychologist and he had seen the odd looks people give him.

But no one knew the significance behind those four words. The four words that had changed his life forever. The four words that had been the first thing that wasn’t shouted in abuse at him.

From the cop who gently pulled him out from under his bed and wrapped him in his own jacket.

‘Seresin’

The man who saved his life, who took him away from his abusive foster home, who adopted him and gave him a life he had once thought could only happen in a fairy tale.

It all started with four words. “Can you hear me?”.

It started when he was 7. Hiding under his bed terrified as the police raided the house, his foster parents were screaming and flailing making a fuss.

Jake held his breath as a pair of black boots stopped In front of his bed. He pressed himself back further against the wall. The shine of the flashlight the man was holding was pointed at the floor.

He watched in bated breaths as the man knelt down carefully and sucked his head under the bed.

Jake stared at him terrified, his chest caving under the stress of breathing and his heart pounded as every instinct in his body told him to run. To fight, to escape this hell he was trapped in.

“Can you hear me?” The man asked gently with a small smile, he seemed generous perhaps if Jake was compliment he would receive less of a beating.

With a jolty head movement he nodded in his cramped space under the bed.

The man looked around before moving back, providing him more space between them.

Ensuring he didn’t feel crowded, Jake realized in awe.

“Hey bud, can you come out for me?” He asked softly, Jake watched the man lower the flashlight to see him more clearly. It was pointed away from him but the light still made him wince.

The cop grimaced “Sorry buddy, I can’t do much about that. I have to be able to see you”.

He shifted so he was down on his stomach copying Jake's position, urging the boy out softly, both of them attempting to ignore the yelling and sound of things crashing in the other room. It was slightly muffled, as the man extended a hand out to him.

Jake flinched, yanking himself away from the man watching the man tentatively for any movement that could hint towards the man hitting him. He found none.

The man patiently waited for Jake to examine him before Jake shook his head at him, his eyes filled with terror, no he couldn’t go with him. They would take him, it would be worse, so much worse.

“No?” The officer asked “That's alright we can stay here”. He seemed almost laid back, keeping his hand extended out as an olive branch as he rested his chin on top of his hand just watching. Waiting. “My name is David Seresin, I’m an Officer for LAPD. What’s your name?”

Jake shifted uncomfortably “Jacob” he said quietly biting down the the feeling of a car to heavy tongue and cottonmouth,

“Jacob” David tilted his head “That’s a nice name, so you like it?”

Thinking through all the abuse and names his fosters had screamed at him, he shook his head nervously.

David smiled calmly at him “Would you rather me call you something else?”

“Jay?” He requested hesitantly. He had always been ‘Jacob’, ‘that boy’, ‘Foster’. He had never had a nickname before.

“Alright Jay, why don’t we get you out from under there now yeah?” David smiled, wiggling his fingers enticingly.

Hesitantly Jay reached out clawing their hand together letting David lead him out from Under the bed watching the man’s slow calculated movements carefully as the man helped him stand. Shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around him. It was heavy on his shoulders far too big, then again he was far too small for his age.

“Come on kid, let’s get you out of here” David wrapped an arm around him protectively as he led him out of the house that had housed his own personal hell.

He let David walk him out to a new leaf off his life. The better half, the half where David took him in and encouraged his love for flying. It was a slow process but he was there, every event, every graduation without fail, right up until he got shot in the line of duty.

Jake stood in front of David’s body laying on a slab, his hand pulled back the sheet and brushed the stray lock of hair off his fathers check.

David always hated how wild his hair was, he was cold to the touch. He had gone out saving a friend, a colleague. Just as he would have wanted too, he had saved another person.

It all started with 4 words, “Can you hear me?”.

#Implied/Referenced Child Abuse #child abuse #past child abuse #hurt/comfort #POV Jake “Hangman” Seresin #Hurt Jake “Hangman” Seresin #febwhump #hangman fanfiction #hangman fic #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #hangman angst

56 notes · View notes

kelpie-bael · 5 months

Text

Bg3 epilogue spoilers and thoughts below. I have romanced no one except the Emperor and all companion quests were completed. Orpheus was killed.

First off, I talked to Lae'zel first and foremost expecting to be hated for killing Orpheus but she calls me old friend 😭😭😭. I love you so much, thank you for still liking me!!

Ajdjdjddj she calls herself Zealous, bossy, and insistent and that it's all part of her charm. God she's really making me regret not romancing her.

Lae'zel says she missed me 😭😭 It's confirmed she's Bael's best friend

Shadowheart says she missed me and then says I've gotten fatter XD She's much more soft spoken and calm. She truly seems at peace and happy. And then she makes fun of herself for spouting sharran drivel lol HAHA still so sassy!

HAHAHAHA SCRATCH HAS THE ASTRAL PRISM AND WANTS US TO THROW IT

For some reason Volo is fucking here lmao and Withers didn't invite him XD he fucking showed up on his own. He's fucking forging our signature for release forms. Arrogant bastard but he's hilarious

Gale is a professor! Esteemed and honored! I got to hug him!! He unfortunately gave the crown to Mystra and no longer has the orb yet threatens the students with blowing up XD LOLOLO references how I failed at his magic lesson

TARA MY BELOVED!!

!!!!! I can't even begin to tell you how excited I am to get the Cleric option!!! Roleplaying Bael as super devout and getting this is a blessing <3 AND THEN! Gale says he expects nothing less!

YES YES YES, MY EVANGELIZING BABE!! Lol he's still attempting to rizz me up and inviting me to stay in his tower

Right out of the gate, Astarion is flirting with me too X3 LOLOL if you ask him if he's been drinking and he calls us cheeky and that he's been well behaved. Aww little grumpy cat became respectable and a hero, killing the right people. He still doesn't consider himself 'good' which tracks. Aww he's accepted himself and seems happy, good for him. He's now less wet cat and more satisfied and happy. And he still wants the sun which of course he does

Halsin is still so formally articulate. Awww you offer a hug and he makes a joke about never declining and he's a doppelganger otherwise. Which hits because Orin did kidnap him 😭 Aww the Shadow lands are healing well and they've done wonders with reconstruction! Aww everyone is welcomed! What a shift from what we see from the grove at first. HALSIN HAS CHILDREN, 'CHARGES' TECHNICALLY BUT CHILDREN!! HAHA he jokes about tucking us in and telling bedtime stories. It's a little disappointing telling him about your time is less descriptive than the other companions.

Oliver and Thaniel are happy!! Yay!! Also he stills loves bear form and the children love it <3 Also he doesn't fuck as much anymore XD He's settled now and is happy!

He's not involved in the grove at all now but things are going well! I killed Kagha, good riddens. One last Halsin hug 🥰 HE GAVE ME A WOODEN DUCK!! I'm very happy about this duck

Jaheira is such a mom right out of the gate makes fun of me for being presentable for once lol And then I give it right back. Baldur's Gate reconstruction is going well! Jaheira still has a rough relationship with her kids but it seems to be better. Aww she doesn't truly care for the city but she helps for her children <3 Adopt me Jaheira! Aww unfortunately not too much to talk about with her. Very dry but I didn't bring her with me much.

Karlach is doing well in Avernus! Her and Wyll have been fighting hard to survive! AND! She might be able to fix her condition!! She does immediately make fun of me being clean though XD Aww and she really wants to come back to Baldur's Gate and she asks if she can find us 😭😭. Of course you can!!

LOLOLOL Withers is torturing a bard who owes him a favor to play for is. AJDHDJDJFJS EXCUSE ME??? THIS BARD IS AN ALLY OF MY GOD??? I just made fun of him... And then I said it is an honor to meet an ally of Oghma.

Honestly this feels so nice to be called a fellow Oghmanyte! Bael loves her god so much and to meet a peer is wonderful! I really appreciate how much I can bring up my class in this. He also pepped up so much knowing I worship Oghm

Awww Minsc and Boo are already so cute!! Lmao Minsc and Boo were locked away by Zhentarians for execution. He is so very happy to get a chance to beat his way out ... I don't think he'll survive tho... Aww he says don't cry because you've missed us! Also he's gonna get himself presentable which is fair, he's literally in prison garb

Baldur's Gazette articles are very interesting. Lol Astarion gets in the paper for sparing people!

Lol bug

OMFG THE LETTER CHEST!!! I DONT GET TO TALK TO THE EMPEROR BUT HE LEFT ME A LETTER!!

It is less than I wanted but I'm still so so so happy we got anything

I won't be going over all the letters in here lol, but they're great! Actually no, fuck you Valeria. Barcus you lovable bastard lmao. Arabella you're growing well and I love you! Aww the gur to Astarion is cute. Araj, wtf. Voss doesn't seem to hate me much anymore either 🥹 Aww zevlor, stop being so hard on yourself

Finally saved the best for last, Wyll. Enjoying the fresh air!! Obviously much more enjoyable than sulfur. He missed me too <3 Hes very soft and saying he can't imagine doing everything again without us <3 He's still deadly as ever without his powers, get fucked Mizora!! His father is proud of him and they've seen each other often. I still hate his father and he should be a little bitter but he's happy so I won't intrude. Also the fists have been forgiven and are back in good order. Hes getting fucking wasted!

Withers!! You've done wonders to this dilapidated building!

Lolol withers gives us a speech and says it's over for now with a naughty little finger wag. I love you Withers so much!! <3

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #epilogue spoilers #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3

10 notes · View notes

bokettochild · 9 days

Note

Weekly check in with stardust

i have been creating a lot of stuff and im nearly done with my online science course and should be done by the end of this week!

the other week was eid and ur girlie made sweets, dressed up, visited a friend, and made Mario Lego B) I also got stickers for my laptop but that's unrelated lol

also we made bakhlawa and makrout they are literally my favorites lol, even the people at my friends party seemed to really like them too lol

apparently I look really good in olive green so that's like also a major win for me

the stickers are like vintage looking florals ones lol

btw I've been working so much on my four swords DND au, I'm not sure what to call It tho? I was thinking like "Four Keys" because the swords are literally keys to a secret realm or whatever

btw have u had any good recipes recently? Im fasting just because I can and rn I'm just thinking about food lol

i made a fajita tonight using colored peppers too lol

if u have any good recipes please tell me I love hoarding them

btw, I have one character left with enough space for an additional trauma/mental issue on my roster for the au so honestly just send me a few different ideas for them and I'll probably choose one lol

btw the dudes got the thickest Russian accent, is very brutally honest, soft and gruff, non nonsense and needs to adopt every small thing in sight or else he will die because this is how he's coping.

he was stuck in like an iceberg for like 200 years (there's a wholes Tory behind that) and then we he emerged (thats also a story) everyone he knew is kinda super dead because of the passage of time

*someone saying something stupid*

"Your voice, very ugly, please, do the shut up :] "

thats him in a nutshell^

also remember to do wrist and finger stretches for writers and artists

also I acquired a glass orb with glass art inside <3 o r b

also what's legend's irrational fear?

also I love legend being like, an actual good influence on wind in his own weird way

i want them to bond more, maybe do a whole stealing heist from some knights-

im not asking u t write it but I just wanted to share lol

i hope you've been doing well, u seem to be lol

also do u like wearing jewelry? and if so how often lol

Wow, that's a wall! (pos)

I'm glad you got to enjoy some nice food, time with friends, and dressing up! Also, it sounds like you're having a ton of fun creating recently! I am as well, but it's slow going as I'm working on a multi-chap that's very demanding about where and what is supposed to happen (I did this to myself but the results are fantastic!)

"Four Keys" sounds like it has great potential as a title! I like it! I also love the Russian accent. the character is giving slight Captain America vibes, but only for backstory, and I love the concept so much!

As for a irrational fear..... ma am I bad at those I rationalize anything so... maybe large empty spaces? Usually those are indicative of a boss fight in his mind, so just having one that isn't hiding some threat throws him way off. He's also insanely wary of any room with a tiled floor. Because >:)

I also love him and Wind! The fact that they're both on the younger side here but also both accustomed to being the person others look to gives great opportunities for them to bond and interact. Legend has a lot of experience to share but he's also not up on a pedestal like Time or Warriors is, so there's more opportunity for direct communication and less a need to impress. (I actually just finished writing something with them, as it happens!)

I'm honestly not the best baker in the world, or cook in general (I'm still building up my recipe book after leaving my parent's house) but I can share my mum's bread recipe! It's very good, for every day, or to make into rolls for the holidays and with nice meals!

Recipe makes 4 large loaves btw

Dissolve 2 packages of dried yeast into 4 cups of warm water.

In a separate bowl, mix 1/2 cup soft butter with 1/2 cup of honey (you can also add 1/4 cup of molasses for super dense rolls/loaves).

Once the honey-butter is combined, add the yeast water to the bowl

Scoop in 6 cups of whole wheat flour + 4 cups white flour.

Mix, knead, and set into greased bread-pans, or roll into balls on a cookie sheet.

Bake loaves for 35-40 min at 375 F, or rolls for 10-15 min at the same.

After you remove it from the oven, brush generously with butter before they cool, for extra flavor and to preserve moistness.

Hope this one makes you happy! It's great to use in sandwiches, serve with soup, or eat with jam, or alone!

#asks and answers #stardust my beloved

3 notes · View notes

ratcatcher0325 · 2 years

Text

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #19)

Chapter #19. Natalie learns more about Alexander’s past.

Previous: Chapter #18

Next: Chapter #20

Word Count: 4,103 Read Time: Approx. 32 mins

CW: adult language, mentions of abuse

Tag list: @gatlily @grbene @patrocolus3 @beautifulunknowntrash @titan-god-420 @andraimeide @themarlo @cup-o-chai @lucentbliss @raccoontoaster @tolsizedlove @not-a-space-alien , @thegodmother007 @honey-olive, @kitn-underfoot

_____________________

A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #19: Be this the Whetstone

[Natalie’s POV]

I tried my best to keep my overwhelming enthusiasm under wraps. That poem, from The Fellowship: he knew it all by heart! With a blush of color brightening my cheek I couldn’t help but be totally enamored with the grumpy little man I held aloft between my fingers. I set him down to the right of my place setting where his food was carefully plated on that selfsame saucer from earlier in the day.

“You know how to use chopsticks, right?” He craned his neck to meet my eyes as he settled into a half way cross-legged position before his dinner. His bandaged leg still splayed out to his side. His lips pressed together as he raised an eyebrow. He didn’t have to say a word for me to tell he was insulted by the fact I’d even dared to ask him the question. “Here, then, you angry little fella…” pinched between my thumb and forefinger were two halves of a broken toothpick. I figured those would be about the right size for him to use as eating utensils. When he gingerly plucked them from me, I saw I was right, they worked pretty okay, even though they were definitely too long. Watching him make do with these sorry excuses for chopsticks, I made a vow to myself that I’d make sure to go buy him proportionate things so he could go about his day a bit more easily. At the very least, poor Alexander deserved to get a decent set of clothes… ridiculously cute as he was in that little unicorn shirt.

As he leaned down to eat, clearly quite hungry, he mumbled between bites, “You know it’s considered rude to stare…” he flashed his eyes at me.

He was right. I was ogling at him in all his adorably tiny movements, “S-sorry. I’m sorry… You enjoying your dinner, at least??”

“Alright, in fairness to you, the food is delicious…” he took another tiny bite of stir fry as I gripped my chopsticks and began to eat as well. Not too keen to shit on my desire to be a chef when you’re reaping the benefits of it, now are ya?

“How’re you feeling? You’re less warm to the touch and your eyes look a little less glassy…” I’d pressed a finger to his forehead as I spoke. He didn’t snarl at me when I touched him, for once, instead, he simply nodded in agreement.

“Still experiencing a bit of disorientation and dizziness. My head is pounding… but you’re right, the fever seems less rampant and I’m not dealing with aches and chills at the moment. I’m sure we’ll get this infection down soon… at least I certainly hope so.” Oh, right. Because you want to dart out of here as soon as you can. I’d almost forgotten. I cleared my throat and adopted a chipper tone to distract him (and myself) from my somber mood.

“Well, good. That’s good. I’m glad you’re feeling a little less shitty. Does that mean you’d be up for some studying after this?”

His spine straightened a bit as his eyes brightened. With a tipping up of his chin and a cocky smile curving his lips, he replied, “What do you think?”

Soon we were settled back on my desk, the tabletop lamp emitting a warm glow across the wooden surface littered with paper, various textbooks and case studies. He looked like a kid in a candy store. My heart melted. Was this all it took to make his day? Just stick legalese in front of him, wind him up and watch him go? It certainly seemed so. He tucked his hand under his chin, tracing his bottom lip as he leaned down to read the various titles that lay at his feet.

I could tell his leg was starting to bother him again. He favored the other side as he stood and tried to avoid putting at much weight on it as possible when he did shuffle about the desktop, “Hey…” I breathed softly, he tore his eyes away from the abstract he was reading, already annoyed at being interrupted, “I pretty much know the answer will be no, but it seems like your leg is hurting you. I could pick you up and hold you so you don’t have to put weight on it…” I sounded like a pathetic and whiny child begging to ride on the swing set one last time.

Without hesitation he quickly dashed my sliver of hope, “No. I’m not your teddy bear. I’m fine. Now can we finally get to the task at hand, please?” Ugh, fine. I nodded my head. “Thank you…” he practically rolled his eyes as he said it. He hopped up on my textbook, his arms folded over his chest, bare feet sticking slightly to the page with each tiny shift of his weight. He looked so little compared to the vast pages with their columns of text. In fact, if I laid him down, he’d probably only take up about a quarter of one page. He cleared his throat, “Shall we?” Pinching a pen between my fingers, I nodded in the affirmative and he began to read the chapter aloud.

*****************

She looked the perfect picture of a good student. Did that make me the teacher? That didn’t seem right. But then again… I did know more than her…. After all, I had twenty years of observational experience. That made my spine stack a little straighter. Just because I was always the smartest person in whatever room I happened to be in, didn’t mean I always got to celebrate it.

A smile curved my lips as I began to read. Clear, crisp, eloquent…. I sounded great and I knew it. It’s what I’d been trained to do for the better part of my life! Once I got done with the first two pages and needed to step off to turn the page, I hobbled down, ignoring the searing pain in my knee, determined to do it by myself. When I took a step forward I was halted by an index finger bumping lightly into my chest. What was she doing? Brow furrowed, I gripped her finger to push it out of the way, she stayed firm, and immovable despite my considerable effort. That was rather humbling. I couldn’t even budge a single outstretched digit? As I struggled with her, she reached for the bottom right corner of the book, pinching the page between two fingers. “Slow down, I just wanna help. I’ve got it. It’s the least I can do, that way you don’t have to walk every time, deal?” I dropped my hand and relaxed, nodding. For once, she’d come to a reasonable conclusion which seemed like a fair enough compromise.

The old man never turned his own pages. Even if we had to skip to another section of the book and I was lifting my own body weight in paper, he’d make me do it myself, while chastising me for not doing it quickly enough. I stood still while her wrist slid up and over my head, effectively flipping to the next page.

An irksome thought began to worm its way to the front of my consciousness, as I climbed back up on the book: had I escaped that old house and fought for my life only to end up precisely where I had begun all those years ago? Was I still just a little desk toy for some human to use as they saw fit? It seemed as though I was quite literally doing the same thing I’d always done.

Bile rose in my throat as I ran my fingers through my hair. I could hear the rhythmic scratching of her pen as I read, my mind wandering from this task that came to me as naturally as breathing. Here I was, as I’d always been: The perfect little helper. The smell of paper glue, the feeling of human body heat at my back and the sensation of being watched by giant eyes sent me back, far back in my memory.

I was suddenly thirteen again, dress shoes planted firmly on that familiar old mahogany desk. I stood at attention as I did every morning; 5 am sharp, never late. My hands clasped behind my back, I played the sentinel nervously, fighting the urge to fidget as I waited for him to put his morning paper and cup of bitter English breakfast tea down to acknowledge me. Mentally checking my posture, I made sure to hold myself in the dignified way I’d been taught: feet a little less than shoulder width apart, knees unlocked, hips square, hands clasped behind the middle of my back, elbows bent on either side, my chest proud, my neck tall and my chin forward but poised. I stared straight ahead, looking at the corner of the marble mantle piece I’d grown accustomed to staring at every morning for the last 1,046 days or two years, nine months and twelve days, if you like.

Today just so happened to be my birthday. I was thirteen, growing ever slowly out of childhood and stepping into adolescence. One year older meant one year wiser and I was grateful for that. In my approximate three years with the old man so far, I’d read 123 novels, 18 books of poetry and of course lots and lots of legal discourse that, if I were being completely honest, was still rather difficult for me to grasp.

I chased my thoughts away as the old man, now in his mid-sixties, grunted, mumbling something about his ongoing dissatisfaction with the state of investigative journalism these days, and neatly folded his paper. Sipping his tea, he opened the desk drawer below my feet, the rolling of which vibrated my entire body. He retrieved the two tools he always did, a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers.

With the sharp clattering of cup on saucer, and an gruff, “Alexander…” as a greeting, he set about our morning routine.

“Good morning, sir! How are you? I think today’s going to be particularly special!” His giant, glassy, grey-blue eye meticulously passed over every fiber of my tailored tweed suit, complete with a starched dress shirt, waistcoat and tie with a decorative clip, which he’d always warned me against losing since it was so incredibly small (I lost it nine years later when one of the hospice nurses had taken it upon herself to ‘fix up’ my space on the library shelf).

“What’s got you in such a chipper mood this morning? Is there not work to be done?” He frowned, disgruntled.

“Of course there is. I’m sorry, sir.” It wasn’t his job to remember my birthday anyway.

“Stand up straight, Alexander! You’re slouching!” I quickly corrected the error. He pinched the knot of my tie between the tweezers, rotating it slightly in the light. The sharp metal edges of the tool lingered dangerously, pressing into the soft flesh of my neck, “After so many failures it seems you’ve finally mastered the Eldridge knot.” It was a statement not a compliment.

“Yes, sir.” I was stiff as a board until he released the metal hold on my necktie. The moment he let go of me, he snapped his fingers.

“What’re you standing around for? Get to it! Page 261, section 42 E…. Has your idle brain already forgotten from yesterday?” I’d jumped at the sound of his command, terrified to make a mistake. As I fumbled with the pages, trying to get there as fast as I could, I suddenly felt a sharp crack on the back of my head, making me yelp. “We haven’t got all day… my tea will be cold by the time we get started…”

When I had begun reading, he’d jabbed me in the ribs with his pen, correcting me for slouching, mumbling, and a variety of other offenses I was never aware I was making in the moment. Eventually, he became fed up with me and plucked me up by the necktie lifting me in the air. I choked and writhed, tears welling up in my eyes. After a bout of struggling, I bawled out of childish frustration as my legs swung wildly and I clawed at his immovable calloused fingers, whimpering to be put down.

When he did finally toss me back onto the desk he’d shook his finger at me and prodded me in the chest. I couldn’t make myself stop crying, he raised his voice berating me for that weakness.

“You’re pathetic. You think an attorney is allowed to cry in court?”

“No, sir.”

“No of course not! How can I get anything at all done when you’re howling and leaking all over official court records?”

“I-I’m sorry! I’m trying!”

“If you were trying you’d have gotten yourself under control. I have no sympathy nor time for your emotions. You serve one purpose, that is how you earn your place here. Do you understand that?”

I was knocking at the knees, completely bewildered and unable to keep my tears at bay. “ALEXANDER!!” His voice had ripped through my body like a sharpened blade but the real heart stopper came as he lifted the back of his hand, twice as large as my entire body. I was utterly stunned into silence, having no desire to be struck.

“Have I made myself clear? No more of this nonsense or I’ll be forced to dispose of you.”

It was the last time I’d ever cried in front of him.

I was brought back to the present moment, the sound of my own voice in my ears as I completed the next sentence. I didn’t realize I was quaking until a shadow was cast over me and I could sense something large approaching from behind. Terrified and operating only on instinct, I whipped around, saw a human hand approaching and cowered, guarding my face and chest with my arms.

“Woah, hey! W-what’s wrong? You’re…trembling… what is it? What’s got you so spooked all of a sudden?” Her concern was genuine. I gulped in air as I found myself in a seated position arms held up defensively. She’d dropped her encroaching hand the second I flinched.

I righted myself, struggling to appear nonchalant, clearing my throat and pushing my bangs from my eyes, “N-nothing, sorry. I… you took me by surprise that’s all!” I didn’t sound convincing, even to my own ears.

“Alexander… don’t lie. Why did you flinch from me like that?” I avoided her eyes, chest still rising and falling with shaky breaths. There was no avoiding this conversation was there? Not with her annoying persistence. I could feel her eyes boring into me as I curled into myself. Her voice was reduced to almost a whisper.

“Did- did you think I was gonna hit you just now?” I hid my face behind my hands, feeling more and more exposed every second. “Oh my god you did… I would never… I was trying to comfort you… you looked like you were about to cry…hey, Alexander? Can I see your eyes please?” The sound of her voice, so distinctly different from his, began to steady my breathing. Cautiously, I opened my eyes and met her gaze, brimming with tears as she looked me over with genuine compassion and concern, “Alexander, I would never hit you. Have I… did, did I do something to make you think I would?” She was blinking rapidly. I could see she was beginning to blame herself.

“No, you haven’t… I… I don’t know what came over me…”

She looked at me, puzzled, clearly trying to figure out what had so suddenly shifted my demeanor. I watched her eyes flicker with an idea as I stared back in stunned silence.

“You were abused weren’t you? In your old home? Is that why you ran away?”

Abused. What a strong word. I knew I had been. Logically, I knew. But that single word still packed an immense emotional punch. Setting my jaw and blinking back tears I nodded. What on earth possessed me to let my guard down and tell her the truth, in that moment, I still have no idea.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry…”

I swallowed hard, setting my shoulders, “It’s fine. I’m perfectly fine. I apologize for interrupting your note taking, I’ll get back to it.” I pushed myself up to standing, shaking it off.

“Woah, woah, hold on. That’s not what matters right now. Can we talk about what just happened for a minute?”

My brows knit together, as I stared at the floor of printed text beneath my feet, “I-I’d rather not be an imposition to you. There’s work to be done…”

“Alexander, I’m not angry with you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I bore holes into the floor with my eyes, unable to meet her gaze. There was a moment of pause, where all I could hear was my own tense breathing, “You’d mentioned once that you read out loud for your owner before. Is this what you did for him? What we’re doing now? Was he a lawyer? Is that why you know so much weirdly specific stuff about law?” I nodded, heart threatening to break free of my ribcage, “You wanted him to be proud of you, didn’t you?” That hit a nerve. My chest caved and I bit hard against the tightening in my throat. I’d trained myself not to cry, not to let emotions get in the way, I wasn’t going to let this overtake me. “But nothing you ever did was good enough was it?” How did she know that? Why was she saying all this? To embarrass me?

I felt angry, vulnerable, laid bare. She saw me far more clearly than I was comfortable. Why was she doing this to me? I shook as I spoke with an unsteady voice, “I really don’t appreciate this sudden bout of armchair psychology. Frankly, Natalie, you know nothing about me, and I really don’t care to discuss these things with a human, of all people. What could you possibly understand about my experience?” All this time I’d been directing my poison at the floor, getting increasingly more passionate in my speech, “I mean you threw me in a box like some accident prone runt of the litter, for crying out loud! How was that supposed to make me feel??” I lifted my chin at this last part, “Don’t act like you understand me and what I’ve gone through because you couldn’t even if you tr—“ I quickly trailed off, as I observed what was in front of me.

Instead of meeting her hard and defensive eyes, the first thing I saw was a delicate paper flower, pinched between her finger and thumb. I stared at her, dumbfounded.“I’m so sorry for humiliating you, while you’ve been with me, Alexander. I truly am. I’m sorry you’ve been hurt over and over again by the people who were supposed to care for you. I don’t want to keep doing that. Will you accept this as an apology with a promise that I’ll make it up to you?” She gently twirled the paper sculpture between the pads of her fingers, before continuing, “You’re right. I don’t understand. But I want to. Will you teach me how to be better?” Her eyes were brimming with tears. I stared slack-jawed almost unable to move. Finally, I managed to take two decisive steps, and grip the stem of the flower I had made, just above her finger tips, the moment I latched on, she spoke again, watery eyes seeking mine, “I’m proud of you, Alexander.”

I balked, stumbling away, the air suddenly dissipating from my lungs, “Stop that! D-don’t tease me!!”

“I’m not. I mean it. I’m proud of you. You’ve overcome so much just to be here…”

In my clamoring back, I hit my legs on the corner of the textbook and collapsed in a seated position on the stack of pages, “Natalie!!” I groaned out a warning. My breath was hitching as my face grew hot, my brow furrowed as deeply as it could and tears pricked at my eyes. I won’t cry in front of her, I won’t cry in front of her, I won’t….

“You have every right to love yourself. You should be more than proud of the man you’ve become.”

With a cracked sigh, the dam I had so meticulously built over the years, burst open. I began to weep.

**************

The second he started to sob, burying his head in his hands, I couldn’t help the tears streaming down my own cheeks. Very slowly, gently, I laid the little flower he’d made for me at his feet, releasing my grip on it as it softly fell onto the surface of the desk. I was about to remove my fist from his personal space when something completely unexpected happened. He rushed forward, throwing his body in the gap between my index and thumb, wrapping his arms around the base of my thumb and squeezing as tightly as he could. For a moment, I panicked, lifting up so that he wouldn’t accidentally bend his injured knee.

Once he was standing upright, I relished in the significance of this moment. His cheek was slick with tears as he buried his face into my hand, his shoulders wracked with sobs. Slowly, slowly, I wrapped my fingers around his little body, embracing him back.

Even as I thoroughly rejoiced in this moment of tenderness between us, I felt deep and profound shame slither into my thoughts. I hadn’t been much better than his former owner. Sure I hadn’t beat him or forced him to work for me… but I also hadn’t treated him with the respect he deserved. Far from it. No wonder he was so belligerently angry with me all the time. I was treating him as I saw him: a heart-wrenchingly adorable little living doll that I could pick up and talk to when I wanted and could toss in a drawer when I didn’t.

My chest ached that it took him reacting to me like an abuser to finally get that. I never wanted him to flinch away from me like that again. I’m sorry I failed you. Give me a second chance?

His wracking sobs had quieted down to sniffles now. With shame filled eyes he hazarded a glance up at me, sort of leaping back from his compromising position of clinging to my thumb for dear life. I released my hold around him and made sure he found his way to sitting without hurting himself. Wiping his eyes with the back of a hand he sighed, smiling wryly, “Well, that was…. Embarrassing…” we both couldn’t help but laugh at this. I reached for a Kleenex and ripped off a small piece for him. He took it, gingerly, and began to clean himself up, “Th-thank you.” I wiped my own eyes with the rest of the sheet.

“I’m sorry for everything you went through. I promise I’ll do my best not to piss you off so much moving forward. I won’t stick you in a box anymore….” Another tear streamed down my face as I finally realized, with shame, how disrespectful that had been.

“It really doesn’t matter where you put me, if I don’t want to be there I promise you I’ll find a way out.”

I couldn’t help laughing, “Oh, don’t worry, I believe you! I haven’t forgotten when you bit me!”

“You deserved it!”

“I admit, I really fucking did!”

“Thank you for finally listening to me and working to not be such a condescending ignorant brute…” there was a sparkle in his eyes as he said this, it was his turn to joke.

“Well it took a lot of screaming for you to finally make sense to my thick, dumb skull but I think we got there eventually.”

There was a pause, satisfactory, contemplative. Finally he cleared his throat and addressed me again, “Y-you can pick me up now, if-if you’d like…”

I smiled down at him, chin resting on a propped up hand, “No thanks. I like looking at you right where you are.” There was a flash of something in his eyes, as he smiled. As though that had been a test and I’d passed it. That made my heart swell.

Things are going to be so much better between us from now on, Alexander. I promise.

#Yay our stupid human friend finally gets it #Flashback Chapter #A Fraction of Justice #oc:alexander #oc:natalie #g/t related #g/t community #g/t au #g/t #giant/tiny #giant/tiny community #g/t writing #gt #gt community #g/t angst #g/t fluff

83 notes · View notes

manicpixiefelix · 2 months

Text

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

Part 18.

Summary: Love as seen in the stars, in the flowers that bloom, in your best friend's eyes, and in the taste of him on Oliver's tongue as you catch him in the bathtub. Summer continues at Saltburn.

{ 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; vouyerism, dom!reader, handjob, bathwater as lube, cumming almost untouched, pervert/enabler dynamics. I cannot stress to you enough that both the reader and Oliver are COMPLETE AND UTTER FREAKS ABOUT FELIX in the bathtub scene.

A/N: 6670 words. this chapter is very special to me for a lot of reasons, but mainly because there have been several scenes that i've been writing for a while now that have all found their forever home in this chapter. if you have any feedback or thoughts about this chapter or the story so far, i'd always love to hear them! also something something bath water something ;o)

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

----

Things were easier to navigate now that you understood Oliver. Or at least you thought you understood. Less fucking around with Farleigh and Venetia in Oliver's peripheries; when you put yourself on display, it was as an extension of Felix. If Felix had noticed the change, he hadn't commented on it. Considering how much effort you put in making him feel good and moan like a whore for Oliver's benefit, he probably appreciated it.

Things with Oliver himself were getting better by the day too, it seemed. More and more he was reaching out for you again. Sitting too close, sharing your space, seeking you out when his time wasn't filled with Felix. There's less tension too, on the nights you share in the lilac study. Oliver's been through the book you'd given him on the Estate, and has moved on to picking out books he'd found on your bookshelf, it seemed. You, having quickly identified the flower he'd mentioned as the honeysuckle, native to Australia, had also moved on to books from your Summer reading list for your upcoming year at Oxford. As the first week of Summer is coming to an end, it seems as though Oliver had finally settled in at Saltburn.

"Do you miss your room?" Oliver asks one evening. Without even looking up from your own book, you give a fond laugh, shaking your head.

"It was more just a formality half the time," you tell him with an easy smile, "a place to keep my stuff." Looking at him beside you on the sofa, you see he understands the implications, the holidays you and the others have reminisced about, the trysts masquerading as something much more innocent that you would share with them all when you were at the Estate. There's nothing judgemental in his eyes, there never was when it came to Oliver, "why?"

"It all just feels very much like you in there," he offers, gaze wandering as he speaks, "Felix's room feels very You-And-Felix, and I get bits of him in your room too, but it feels much more you." You're actually rather surprised by how well you understand what he means, "like up on your roof you've got these little stars. They glow. I didn't notice them the first few nights."

Your smile widens, all bright and warm, and you close your book.

"Do you want to have a sleepover, Ollie?" You ask with a childish kind of glee. The offer seems to take Oliver by surprise, but you lean forwards, "like an actual sleepover, like we're kids again."

"You still do just sleepovers?" Seems to escape Oliver without him quite meaning it to, and for a moment your expression does falter a little.

"Yeah," you can't help but feel a little self conscious, "promise I'm not trying to seduce your or anything," then, shifting your legs from him you shuffle back to sit cross-legged on the sofa, "we actually do them kind of a lot, or, well, I do. I think Farleigh and Ven have a few and I know when they get tipsy Ven and Fi have had a few. Sometimes after events when we were teenagers we'd all head back to one of our rooms and end up all passed in the same bed trying to fit in like sardines, all four of us."

"That's very cute," Oliver says softly after a long moment of silence, and when you finally meet his gaze again, he's smiling.

"Yeah," you grin once more, "we were."

Which is how you ended up back in Oliver's room, back in your old bed, looking up at the canvas that made up your ceiling, stretched across the full length of the room, rigged and taught, littered with a constellation of glowing stars. Oliver, laying still beside you, asks about it, and you have to explain that there was no way in hell you would ever be allowed to mark the actual roof of any room in the Saltburn Estate. Which he realises makes a lot of sense once you say it out loud.

"But you should see Felix's ceiling, it's much more impressive," you tell him softly, not even aware how your smile was coming through even in your words. Oliver, bedside you, was simply quiet as he gazed at the glowing dots, "haven't you ever looked up at the ceiling in Fi's room?"

"Not properly," Oliver admitted quietly, and the silence lapses out between you both for several contented seconds, "did you two do this?"

"I did," you said proudly, "and this is just from what I had left over."

"What do you mean?"

"About this time, uh," you considered for a long while, trying to remember the full context of the stars that littered both yours and Felix's ceilings, "seven years ago I think, Felix pretended to have gotten really into astronomy as an excuse to always be out of bed, out on his balcony at night."

"But... he wasn't really?" Oliver's head shifted on his pillow to look at you and your amused smile. You shook your head.

"He picked up smoking from Venetia, she was bribing him with cigarettes to hide both her own habit and the fact that she gave it to him."

Oliver shifts beside you on the bed, no longer content with looking at the stars you'd placed there, interested, it seemed, only in watching you.

"How old was Felix?" He's looking at you, clearly listening and invested, but he seems distracted by something.

"Fourteen," you sighed, "Ven was fifteen, which really isn't much better -"

"And how old were you when you picked the habit up from Felix?" Oliver asks with the faintest, knowing quirk of his lips. Embarrassed about how well he seemed to know you, your whole face scrunched up momentarily, "fourteen?" Oliver teased when you refused to answer, grin widening as you squeezed your eyes shut. Still, he went on, "so when you say Felix pretended to get into astrology seven years ago to hide his smoking habit, you mean you and Felix pretended to get into astrology seven years ago?" And this is when you feel Oliver's gentle fingertips touch your flustered face. His fingertips beginning to glide so gracefully along your features, as you relaxed into a simple, embarrassed smile.

You really weren't trying to do anything untoward with him tonight, you weren't lying about that. Still, you wouldn't rebuff any kind of gentle affection he had to offer.

"Well, yeah," you admitted, and Oliver makes a noise for you to continue as he seemed to be wanting to map each delicate feature on your face through touch alone, "but Fi ended up really getting into it. Went through this whole big astronomy phase that year - I say that year; he still really into it - but back then, it was..." you closed your eyes, letting yourself be immersed in the memory of how excited Felix had been. Felix was always a beautiful sight to behold when he was passionate.

"Little Felix," Oliver mused fondly, "bet he was desperate to be an astronaut." Oliver touches you like you're porcelain, so delicate and precious, his fingertips skimming your cheeks and brushing your eyelashes.

"Actually," you laughed a little, though not unkindly, at the memory. Opening your eyes, you turn just enough to be looking at Oliver, to catch the adoring look in his eyes as his hand stilled, now simply holding your cheek, "he wanted to be the guy who got to give speeches about the stars and planets and the universe every day at the planetarium," you recounted, "and become a Doctor of Astronomy so he could make the videos they play in the room with the domed roof that you get to lay back and watch in the dark," you grinned, "but also then he could still be the guy who gave the speeches, but he'd get to answer questions about his own movie about the universe as well." After a moment of silence, Oliver smiles so widely and genuinely; you know he can see it so clearly, "he'd be so good at it, wouldn't he?"

"He'd be cute," Oliver agreed softly, fondly.

"So for his fifteenth birthday, I spent weeks designing and figuring out how to rig this piece of canvas across his whole roof, since I couldn't paint or mark his ceiling, what with this being a heritage building," you explained, proud little smile on your face, "and I asked my nan about all these paints and fancy pigments and stuff that would last and would glow in the dark, because nan's a painter and she's always had this gift with like, making her paintings look like they glow," you turned to Oliver, expression so adoring, "but Fi turned fifteen while we were at boarding school, so the very next break we had, I convinced him to spend the first week visiting Farleigh and his aunt in America, while I was back here, spending night and day on this. I had the whole canvas stained navy, and nan even stayed here for a few days to help me with painting it all perfectly and making sure all my paints would do exactly what I wanted them to, and we painted this canvas-ceiling I'd set up for him to look like his favourite starscape at the London Planetarium." Giving a loud, contented sigh, you added almost as an afterthought, "there's probably a bunch of the print outs of references I used somewhere in the study; the Planetarium people were so lovely."

"Is that why Felix is doing a physics degree?" Oliver practically gasped like it was a revelation; right, you forgot Felix rarely bothered to explain anything about his academics to anyone. When you confirmed as much, Oliver seems somehow more shocked, "I never got the impression that he thought much of uni." It's... not an incorrect observation to have made about at least half of Felix's academic career.

"He gets weird about it, about talking about it and stuff, thinks he sounds like a nerd," you agree after a moment, with a fond laugh, "he's got this weird mind for physics and anything really related to space and stars and astronomy, but he'd rather complain about the electives that he takes despite knowing he'll hate them."

"Then why does he take them?"

"A lot of them are actually my core subjects," finally you admit, a little abashed, "he knows I'm not as fond of my course as he is of his, so he takes them out of solidarity and complains the whole time." You're pretty sure Oliver can hear the sickeningly sweet undercurrent of I love him, I love him, I love him in your tone, but you can't help it. Neither of you have much more to say on the matter, but you think you know what Oliver's thinking. Something about favouritism, about best friends, about how he's pretty sure that Felix Catton wouldn't do that for anyone else.

And he'd be right.

"Hey Ollie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I move closer?"

"'course," his voice is warm and soft and before you even move he's coaxing you closer to him, arm around you, letting you rest your head on his chest.

"Thanks for letting me sleep over," you yawned, but the affection in your voice was sincere. A chuckle rumbles through Oliver's chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"Thank you for suggesting it."

Oliver's warmth is familiar and foreign all at once. How is it that you could have missed someone so much despite only having spent one night beside him.

However the following morning, over breakfast, Elspeth gives you a reminder about an upcoming event that you'd been trying desperately not to think about.

"Y/N, darling, I just thought I'd remind you about the Arts Collective dinner we'll be hosting in a few days," her voice is carefully neutral as she brings it up. You freeze, "Duncan needs to finalise the numbers today so the kitchen can start figuring out what we need to order. We'll be gathering in the fairy garden for drinks and canapes beforehand." What she's really trying to ask is if you'll be in attendance considering your mother's name is on the guest list. Before you can properly answer, however, she turns to Farleigh and asks if he's still intending on joining the garden portion of the gathering.

"As usual, I will I'll indeed be showing my face for wine and cheese," he says, though his smile is tight, "at my mother's behest."

"I'll be taking dinner in my study that night," you force a smile at Elspeth, and she gives you the same kind of look that was so often directed towards Pamela. Pity. Sympathy. You poor, dear, thing, I understand. In a moment, however, she brightens once more and asks if Oliver would like to join the pre-dinner gathering, or if he'd simply like to attend dinner, dismissively assuming that both of her own children would be forgoing the garden themselves - she'd be right.

You can feel Felix looking at you as you return your focus to your breakfast, but you remain uncharacteristically stoic for the rest of the meal. As your plate is taken away, you try to shake your negativity, looking up and around as you ask if any of the others have plans for the day. Swimming, reading, lounging around; leisure, as always. But you feel as though you'll get lost in your own head if you don't do something with yourself today.

So instead, you find something suitable to garden in, and spend a good deal of the day in your garden, uprooting all of the purple pincushions in preparation. It's satisfying to be working with your hands, satisfying to be ripping the flowerless stalks up by the roots and disposing of them in a bucket to later be composted. You'd brought your iPod and little speaker and make a day of it in the garden, waiving the staff off who offer to help, only asking them what the garden needed that day.

You till the soil you'd just disturbed, mixing fertiliser in in preparation for the plants due to be arriving in a day or two, and water the rest of the plants in both rings. You take great care, admiring each flower in bloom, and even the more utilitarian ivy that curled across the latticed archway of an entrance.

Some of the staff members bring you food and water throughout the day, and for each one that does, you invite them to stop and sit and talk for any time they had spare. All seem surprised by the invite, and even moreso when you seem to know them by name, and how eager you are to ask them about themselves. They also all seem grateful to get off their feet for a few minutes.

Duncan sits very awkwardly opposite you at the picnic table. He does not touch the food he has brought you, even as you push it to the middle of the table, as an offering. Duncan does not ask questions. Duncan has never much liked speaking unless spoken to. But still, you know he's more than willing to refuse a request for company such as the one you'd made, so you take the kindness for what it is. He watches you down the bottle of water he'd also brought like your life depended on it.

"How long has it been since you last applied any sunscreen?" He does finally broach the surprisingly comfortable silence. He'd provided you with a tube of the stuff as you'd announced your intentions to spend the day gardening, and now it sat at the other end of the picnic table with the gardening tools. You promise to reapply after you'd finished your lunch, but smile at him warmly. He gives one of his awkward smiles back, and asks if you need a hat, which you decline.

"Your mother has confirmed that she will be in attendance with the Arts' Collective," he says, and you go still, "what would you like to be brought for dinner that evening?" The confirmation stings, but you know this is Duncan's way of showing he cares about you. You get to pick your own dinner, unlike most other nights, and he won't subject you to the cruel anticipation of wondering just whether your mother really would or would not be in the same house as you.

Trying your best to smile, you let him know that you'll think about it, and get back to him tonight. With a faint nod, Duncan stands smoothly, and leaves the garden once more. He'd always been good to you, in his own way.

By mid-afternoon, you've done all you can, and head back to the house to soak, and perhaps even have a sulk about the upcoming event, in the tub until you had to get ready for dinner.

Except Felix doesn't even knock before he bursts into the bathroom, already in his suit with a bottle of champagne in his hand. He's practically radiating joy as he informs you that he and the others had managed to get their hands on several bottles of champagne and are going to hit the tennis courts before dinner.

Black tie tennis and getting absolutely shitfaced sounded great right about now. You were already feeling pretty recovered from the day seeing as you'd spent over an hour in the bath already, so much to Felix's delight, you agree to join them with a delighted grin. From somewhere behind him, Venetia also orders you to wear something flashy.

"If you're in a black suit too I swear I'm going to scream!"

Which is how you end up in your bright red suit pants with the red, silk paisley embroidery, and matching suit vest, buttoned up, with nothing beneath it. It's also the kind of thing you can move in, throw yourself around in, which is perfect for how the five of you play tennis.

Champagne bottle in one hand, tennis racket in the other, the sunset paints you all a joyful gold. Swapping in and out on all sides to play even games, you find yourself forgetting everything that had been weighting you down, instead drowning in your friends laughter. So often your gaze is caught by Oliver and Felix, cheering, drinking, playing. Love swells in your chest at the sight.

You all share giggles over dinner, and while Elspeth and James and Pamela can all clearly tell that you're all already drunk, the way the five of you are all grinning softens their exasperation.

After, not wanting this rather fantastic evening to end, you end up on one of the many balconies or patios, you're not sure which, sharing a sofa and several cigarettes, and the last of a bottle of champagne with Felix. He's got his head in your lap, pointing out constellations, but all you can see is him, the stars shining in his eyes and wide, excited smile he always got when he was rambling about something he was passionate about. Good how you loved his passion; you wished Oliver were here to see him like this. Of course Oliver loves him, and of course he's desperate for Felix to love him back; to be loved by Felix was -

"You're thinking about Ollie, aren't you?" Felix's voice breaks through your thoughts, and you can see he's grinning up at you, nothing but affection in his eyes.

"I'm thinking about you," you corrected, carding your fingers through his hair.

"You're always thinking about me," he says it so easily, so dismissively, throwing the idea away despite how vain it would sound if it weren't rather true, still he takes on a teasing tone, "you get this look about you when you think about Ollie," he reaches up and pokes your cheek.

"He loves you," you give a contented sigh after a moment, expression turning soft, of course he does, how could he not? But that's also kind of a given.

"And you," Felix's jabbing finger turns to a gentle hand holding your face, "that's why we're being absolute sluts, isn't it? Trying to get him to make a move?" And you laugh, loud and bright, in agreement. But then, after a moment, there's a change in Felix, something in his eyes. It's not jealousy, but it's more serious than before.

"Fi?" Your voice is soft, and he smiles at you, overwhelmingly adoring.

"I've been getting to watch you fall in love," he said gently, incredulously, "how weird is that?" Something tightens in your chest.

"Again," you correct. Felix gives you a vaguely confused look, but you can't help but shake your head at your beautiful fool of a best friend, "you get to see me fall in love again, Felix." You roll your eyes, but as he's hit with the implications of your words hit him, a beautiful flush works its way up his cheeks. He actually has to cover his face with his hands, embarrassment and joy lighting up his expression.

"You're so sappy," he crows, "you are so fucking sappy!" You practically cackle with glee draping yourself over him, onto his chest, the two of you awkwardly wrapped up in each other on this little sofa. As your laughter dies down, you give a faint hum.

"But he's not your competition, for the record, he never really was -"

"I'm not jealous! I've told you that!" Felix insists, "I thought I made that clear!"

"You have, Fi," you laughed, "but what I'm saying is... well, he knows I love you both, and he loves me, but he's not -" ever going to love me the way he loves you, God, you can't say that. It takes the last bit of self restraint you have to bite that back, shifting to get a little more comfortable, you reach out and stroke Felix's hair.

"Fi, I have spent months watching him fall so in love with you, the way I often hope, or," you laughed a little self conciously, "feared, the rest of the world would," and slowly Felix uncovers his face, those big, brown eyes of his full of all kinds of hope and affection, "he was never your competition, Fi, he's mine," you joked.

"Oh," the flush on his cheeks only grows steadily darker, and the faint exclamation comes out as more of a breathless gasp, "Ollie's your competition for..." He grins sheepishly, like he just wants to hear you say it.

"You, Fi," you tell him with an affectionate grin, but for it up with a nonchalant shrug and teasing smirk, "though competition implies that either of us would make you choose."

You would never let him know the full truth. You'd let him believe wholeheartedly that while you both loved Oliver, he reciprocated that wholeheartedly. Which was... mostly true. True enough that it kept Felix happy and you happy enough.

Yes, Oliver loves Felix, and therefore loves you by extension. Only you knew how sharp that distinction really was.

But you realised Felix was right; he was watching you fall in love with Oliver, and you too had been watching him fall for the boy as well, even if it did seem to be a slower process than it had been with you. You reasoned that Felix had far more reason to be cautious with his heart, especially with men. The first and last boy you'd seen him fall in love with broke his fucking heart at Saltburn, you knew part of him was terrified for history to repeat itself. But clearly he couldn't stop himself from falling in the end.

It was a waiting game now, either Oliver makes a real move and proves his love and loyalty to Felix, or Felix makes a real move and proves to Oliver that his affections are entirely, overwhelmingly genuine. So you'd be the proxy when you had to be, something a little safer for them both while they built up the courage.

Though you're not above stressing this tension that's building between them. The bend before the break, how far it would go before it snaps and you can all stop dancing around this thing that you all clearly want.

And an opportunity arises in the days that follow.

Saltburn creaks it's own kind of melody, it always has. You've become used it, learned the ebb and flow of the house and it's noises, the way it settles itself as it cools from the Summer afternoon heat. You know which door is shutting in the rooms adjacent to yours and Felix's just by the sound of the latches alone, and you know all too well which floorboards squeak along the halls you frequent.

On Felix's balcony, winding down for the day with a book as he takes a bath before bed, you don't hear the creak of the little hall between Oliver's room and the bathroom. The blinds are drawn over the bathroom window, but you catch a faint bit of movement in the mostly dark hall and give pause in your reading.

You could barely make out the arch of a shoulder through the break in the blinds, but you could tell that beautiful, bathing Felix had himself a captive audience. Part of you wondered if it was by chance or by choice, if Oliver was watching or simply listening, and if Felix knew either way. He'd have to; there's no way Oliver was adept enough at moving through Saltburn silently that Felix hadn't heard that awful floorboard that creaked right before the bathroom door.

Oh there was purpose to this, you were sure. Felix knew the feeling of Oliver's gaze upon him, the want he so callously toyed with, seeing it in Oliver's eyes all too often. All the world's a stage for Felix Catton, you just wonder what kind of reaction he's trying to pull from tonight's audience. Settling back in with your book, all you can do is wait.

When you hear the water start to drain from the tub, you still take your time, give them both time for anything to occur, before you feel a sense of disappointment or defeat in your heart.

"Can I come in and brush my teeth yet?" You knock loudly at his door and hear Felix laugh on the other side.

"Since when do you knock?" Wrapped in his robe and sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Felix is drying his hair with his towel as you come in. Before you can answer, he follows it up with, "since when did you care if I was in the bath for that sort of thing?"

"It's called respecting your privacy, Fi," you tell him, swanning past him to get to your toothbrush. You do give pause, however, stopping in front of him, and he lowers the towel, as if in anticipation. For a moment you lift his chin, loving the way he grins in almost sappy anticipation, and you give him a quick peck on the lips before you're moving on again and he's back to getting the water from around the edges of his face and ears.

Oliver, who'd watched the whole exchange after slinking into the bathroom from the opposite door, looks quickly at himself in the mirror as you join him in collecting your toothbrush.

"Do you want me to start respecting your privacy?" There's half a joke in Felix's voice, since it's a strange sentiment for you both, especially at Saltburn. Oliver's gaze flicks to you, then to Felix in the mirror.

"If I needed privacy I know you'd respect it," toothpaste on your brush, you leave Oliver's side of the bathroom to join Felix, the two of you having devolved from a real conversation, into some kind of silly, mock-conversations entirely consisting of eyebrow movements, and trying not to choke on your laughter as you brushed your teeth.

Oliver was watching, of course, Oliver was always watching, but you kept noticing the way he'd glance at the bathtub as it continued to drain between the three of you, stealing focus. There was tension in his shoulders, in his gaze, in the way he held himself. Never turning away from the sink - you'd bet he was hard. Oblivious Felix - at least that's how he appeared - was doing nothing but the most mundane bathroom task, which still wasn't able to help Oliver's current state with the way he was glowing, content and beautiful in the steamy bathroom, hair still slick and curling and clinging to his beautiful face.

You watch Oliver swallow hard in the mirror, but then his gaze meets yours. In this moment you don't do anything, you barely acknowledge what you saw, but you see the rapid way he starts to blink as he looks away, as if hoping he'd imagined the look in your eyes.

You finish brushing your teeth in silence after that, only stopping to wish Oliver good night after Felix does, the two of you closing your door to the bathroom.

"I'm going to finish my chapter then I'll be right with you," you tell Felix with a warm smile, picking up your book on the balcony as he yawned loud and wide. He tells you there's no rush, that he'll be out in only a few minutes. True to his word, after a long day, his deep breathing starts to take over not too long after the lights go out.

Except for the one in the bathroom. Just as you'd expected.

You turn out the lamp on the balcony, and move quietly through the darkness. Yes, you know the way Saltburn creaks and moans, know how to make yourself known, or how to slip through the shadows like you're made of them. The old house is well maintained, the hinges on doors don't creak if you move them right, you can slip into the role of observer with ease if you know how.

Behind you, you close the door almost all the way, making sure the latch sits flush with the door for privacy without it's click of proper closing giving you away.

The water is still draining from the tub, Felix's water, and Oliver there along with it. The running water echoes through the old pipes, but not loud enough to cover the lewd noises you hear from the bathtub. The slurping, the moaning, the grateful sighs of contentment to be afforded this moment of perversion.

You let him have his moment. Then you let the door click shut.

Immediately Oliver sits up, panic on his face; he looks like he wants to say something, to explain himself, say anything, but he can't seem to find the words. It's like he was expecting Felix. Or even if he was expecting you, he was expecting judgement. When you remain quiet, remain observant, you watch his panic fade to something wary.

Why? You knew exactly what he was doing, why are you just standing there, watching him? You can see the questions in his eyes, and feel your heart rate pick up. Slowly, you move towards him. Slowly, you let yourself smile.

Oliver sits back in the tub, never taking his eyes off of you, the way you stalk around the space, predator and captured prey, caught red handed. Your fingers trail the lip of the tub, graceful, threatening, until you get to him, his shoulders pressed against the porcelain. His expression is taut, defiant, ready to push back against any kind of mockery or blackmail attempts, you assume.

No, you want him to relish this moment.

You curl your fingers in his hair, leaning down by the edge of the bathtub to make sure he finally sees how pleased you are by this development. The moment he realises, you can see his thinly veiled panic turn to a conflicted kind of desire. But you don't give him another moment before you crash your lips to his, wasting no time, licking at his lips to deepen the kiss, to taste Felix on his tongue.

And you climb into the bath with him, sitting on your knees between his spread legs, mouth on his like you're desperate to devour each other. Oliver is pressed against the edge of the bath, one arm along the edge, the other braced beside him, his mind still catching up to the moment even as he gasps into your mouth.

You break the kiss, the faintest hiss from your kiss-bruised lips being all he needs as a reminder to be quiet. Everything about him has changed, has become needy, pupils so shiny and dark with lust you could lose yourself in him. Instead, you let go of his hair, taking his jaw in a forceful grip, tilting his head to the side roughly, fingernails digging into his cheek. But his eyes flutter closed, choked kind of whimper escaping him, half muffled behind your hand over him mouth as you carefully angle his head back a little further.

He'd indulged himself in Felix's bath water, pressed himself into it, tried to lose himself in it, and the remnants of those moments of extasy clung so delicately to his skin. You take your time, kissing delicate drops of Felix's water from Oliver's beautiful features like a lover, temple to cheekbones down to his jaw. When you finally relax your grip on him, his head tilts enough for him to meet your gaze. Oliver is yours, totally and completely at your mercy. Good. Once his gaze moves to your mouth, to the pleased, hungry smile you wore, he couldn't look away.

With your hand trailing down his body, teasing against his ribs and belly until your nimble fingers find their way beneath the elastic of his pyjama pants, he tries to meet you in the middle, tries to kiss you, but that's not how this game goes.

The hand you'd been using to brace yourself over him pressed against his chest, pressing him back against the porcelain, and you go with him, your cheek pressed to his, lips by his ear, his heavy breathing, desperate panting in your own. The hand on his chest finds his necklace, entangling two fingers in it until it became tight enough that you could feel the hard way he swallowed when you finally wrapped your hand around his achingly hard cock.

"Good boy," you purred into his ear as you worked your hand up and down his cock, already leaking precum into his boxers. Oliver bites down on your shoulder to muffle his moan, and you have to fight to keep your own whimper quiet. The two of you find a rhythm, panting echoing in each other's ears and Oliver's hips rocking to meet your hand each time.

When you move away, Oliver looks momentarily despairing - no, please, don't stop! - in his eyes, but you reassure him with a languid kiss as you ease his pyjama pants down enough to properly free his cock. Now, when you sit back on your heels, he watches you with a dark kind of want in his eyes. Like a cornered animal, unsure of what to expect, but full of anticipation nonetheless; he watches you reach behind yourself to the drain, to the last remnants of Felix's bathwater still clinging to the metal and porcelain. You gather as much of the liquid as you can across your fingers, palms pressing into the mostly diminished puddles.

You can see it when Oliver realises what you're doing, the way his eyes transfixed on your hand as you wrap it around him. Already slick with his own precum, your hand glides with the remnants of Felix's water. Oliver's head drops back against the edge of the tub, mouth open and desperate and gasping, his eyes closed. God he's gorgeous like this.

He coaxes you up to him this time, and you let him, press yourself to him, rocking gently along with the movements of your hand and his hips, close enough to fucking to tease you both. For all this was about Oliver, every part of you felt alive and on fire with need, and seeing him like this, getting him into this state and knowing how he looked at you, how much he wanted you in this moment, it was doing things for you. Fantastic things.

When he gets close, he wraps an arm around you, hand holding the back of your head in a far firmer grip than you'd been anticipating. But there's a thrill about it, about how he holds you so tightly, his lips by your ear as you obligingly speed up to meet the frantic pace of his hips.

"Felix~" he keens, a desperate whimper in your ear amid dizzying, gasping breathes, hot against your neck. And again, Felix's name pulled from Oliver's lips like a desperate prayer for only you to hear. Something about hearing it tips you over the edge, and you realise how close you are in this moment. All it takes is you making the faintest whine, a noise of encouragement -

"Felix, please," Oliver gasps, and your breath catches as you see stars behind your eyes. You barely feel it when Oliver sinks his teeth into your shoulder once more, his orgasm hitting mere moments after yours, cumming all over your hand and his stomach. Finally, Oliver lets you go, eyes wide as you lean back with the widest, satisfied smile. There's blood on his lips, watching you with this unreadable expression as you sit back on your heels again.

Your head's still spinning, endorphins pulsing through your blood alongside the adrenaline.

Neither of you move for a long moment, still sizing each other up it seemed, at least until you raised your hand. Oliver all over you. You won't be the one to back down; his eyes meet yours and you smile, all satisfied and wolfish as you slowly lick your fingers clean. He's transfixed again, watching the way you lap him up.

No-one's ever looked at you like that, like they're desperate for you to devour every inch of them. But the moment can't last, not outside of your memories at least.

You leave in silence, just as you'd arrived, leaving Oliver alone in the bathtub, watching you like he can't quite be sure it wasn't all a dream. You hope he dreams about this, about your blood on his tongue and Felix's name on his lips.

Except you reach for the door handle only to realise it's cracked ajar. Its closed over, door almost flush and closed, but not quite. Huh. You could have sworn... But you shrug off the thought, slipping back into your room and making sure to shut the door properly behind you.

Pyjama pants and underwear both damp for several reasons, you pull them off and quickly toss them into the laundry hamper. At this moment, you can't bring yourself to bother with anything more than a new pair of underwear before you're crawling into bed beside Felix. Who's on his side.

Huh.

Felix never sleeps on his side because it messes with his shoulders. He's also still, like he's holding his breath. When you curl an arm over him, cool hand resting on his chest, you can feel his racing heartbeat. Finally, his breath comes stuttering out. Pressing yourself up against him, you hum faintly, hand drifting lower, teasingly. You rest your hand low on his belly, between the gorgeous, defined lines of his hips, but refusing beneath his waistband. There comes a faint huff from Felix, but it's indecipherable; he's still on edge, clearly having realised that you'd connected all the dots.

When you speak it's practically a moan, voice low but sharp in his ear as you let your fingers dip lower. What a night it will be to remember, spent keeping your boys happy.

"Fi, you fucking pervert."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick smut #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

158 notes · View notes

alecmagnuslwb · 1 year

Text

Dinner and a Stabbing

A part of my Double Date Fright Series

Read on AO3

The restaurant is nearly empty now, a cozy little hole in the wall Italian place with low lighting and great breadsticks. They’ve been there for hours now and they’ll likely be closing the place down.

It’s been a few months since the putt-putt incident and they didn’t realize just how much they had to catch up on. Dinah and Ollie had been pulled into some massive JSA business which took up most of their time while John mangled himself into another deal with a demon that he weaseled his way out of with Zatanna’s help all while she toured for the summer city to city with John joining her most of the time.

It's nice to just eat good food and laugh and catch up, so much calmer and less competitive than their previous couple of outings.

“I can’t believe Mia is off to college now and Emiko’s about to start her last year at high school,” Zatanna says stacking her empty plate on top of John’s so she can lean on the table. “Feelin’ old yet?”

Oliver sighs leaning back in his chair. “I adopted a teenage son when I was still practically a kid myself, I’ve felt old for a decade plus,” he chuckles.

“And he looks it too,” John says with a raise of his glass Oliver’s way.

Oliver just picks up his own glass raising it right back. “Says the chronic chain smoker,” he says with a smile into his glass as he takes a drink.

“We’ll always be younger and more beautiful than them is all that means,” Dinah says with a smile Zatanna’s way flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Can’t argue with that,” John says laying his arm across the back of Zatanna’s chair his fingers moving lightly over the skin of her exposed back.

They chat idly for a while longer, the couple in the corner paying their bill and heading out leaving them as the last patrons in the restaurant. A few of the cooks and waiters even start to head out for the night, their very patient waiter dropping the bill on their table and informing them they’ll be closing in fifteen minutes.

Zatanna reaches out taking the bill before Oliver can get his hands on it.

“I’m officially the richest person at this table,” she says meeting his eyes and he relents with a shrug. She flicks her wrist magicking a sleek black credit card to her hand slipping it into the little fake leather envelope. The waiter rushes over taking the bill with a nod, rushing back with it in mere minutes. Zatanna signs it leaving the young woman a very sizeable tip.

She looks at the number a little gob smacked.

“Oh, thank you,” she says quietly pleased before rushing off to the back again.

“You guys up for a nightcap?” Dinah asks pushing her chair back from the table. “There’s a little bar around the corner that’s pretty good.”

“Devlin’s?” John asks as Zatanna magics her credit card away. Dinah nods.

“Oh, we can’t go there,” Zatanna says tapping her nails on the table. “John’s banned from there.”

Oliver and Dinah look at him, an unspoken question.

He just shrugs. “What can I say, there’s a bar in just about every major city I’m not allowed in for one reason or another. My girl’s hometown is no exception.”

“We could show you kids a good magical time at the Oblivion, take you to a pocket dimension,” Zatanna suggests.

“You’re not banned from there?” Oliver inclines his head towards John.

“I am not,” he replies proudly. “Traci does have a very strict drink cutoff rule for me, but I am still aloud inside.”

“And the drinks have gotten stronger since Bobo took ownership,” Zatanna says with a smile dropping a hand to John’s thigh.

“Sounds fun to me,” Dinah says and the four of them move to stand from the table just as the front doors of bust open. An arrow flying through narrowly whipping past Oliver’s head.

“Oliver Queen!” a lackey clad in black with a bow in hand announces. “The Black Arrow sends his regards!” Another line of lackeys start shooting from behind him ushering the lingering employees out, not wanting to bother with them. Their interest only on their table. The four of them use the distraction to their advantage their eyes all flicking towards one another in one second and then flipping their table over as a team and crouching down behind it in the next.

“I thought Black Arrow was in prison?” Zatanna asks ducking low behind the table Oliver on one side of her Dinah on the other. John peeks around the edge where he’s crouched on Oliver’s other side moving back quickly when an arrow swishes past him.

“He is,” Oliver says pulling a chair towards him snapping the legs off. He gets to work fashioning something out of the pieces and his tie. “Last I heard he was in solitary, but I’d venture to guess he got some sort of call out to someone.”

“There’s more of them outside, waiting,” John says loosening his tie a little bit more than it already was.

“I can get rid of the first line of them,” Dinah says cracking her knuckles. “You guys ready for the second wave?”

“Just a second,” Oliver says looking around. His eyes land on John’s tie and he reaches over undoing it.

“Hey now, buy me dinner first,” John says as Oliver slips the tie off and utilizes it lifting up his creation that is somehow a functioning mini bow. He gathers a couple of forks and knives that are scattered on the ground lining them up beside him.

“From what I’ve heard, Zee didn’t buy you dinner first,” Oliver says elbowing John with a smirk.

“Yeah, well she’s my exception,” he smirks right back with a wink.

“You ready, pretty bird?” Oliver says adjusting his stance preparing his mini makeshift bow with a couple of sharp knives.

“Cover your ears,” Dinah says as Zatanna moves between John and Oliver placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Gnihton tub teiuq,” she says as Dinah vaults over the table landing solid on her feet letting out her canary cry before even one arrow can be drawn her way. The lackeys fly across the room each of them losing their bows and consciousness as they land.

Just on cue the second line of defense make their way into the restaurant and Zatanna lifts her hands from the boys all of their hearing returning. Oliver lifts up over the table flinging knives and forks with precision with his makeshift bow.

Zatanna and John round the table, Zatanna throwing magic at a few of the lackeys on the left while John rushes one on the right taking to a good old bar fight strategy with him. Dinah handles her own in the middle taking out lackey after lackey swiftly with her fists and a few devastating kicks.

Only a few lackeys remain, Oliver gives up on his makeshift bow joining John at his side in hand to hand combat when three rush him at once. Zatanna blasts away two more, brushing her hands of imaginary dirt as she watches Dinah dispatch of her last two as well.

Dinah walks over to her when she’s done raising a fist that Zatanna bumps the side of with her own without hesitation and with a smile. They cross their arms watching as their guys fight on the other side of the room.

John takes a hit to his jaw in near synch with Oliver taking a punch to the gut, but they both recover quickly. They knock their opponents’ heads together when they get the chance the two men falling to the ground.

John would absolutely hate to hear it since he likes to say that he only works well with Zatanna, but he’s starting to develop a rhythm with Oliver when it comes to a fight as well.

They nod at one another and just as Zatanna and Dinah start to head their way she spots one lagging lackey over John’s shoulder an arrow in each hand as he rushes towards Oliver and John.

“John!” Zatanna shouts, but the warning is too late. The lackey reaches John first stabbing one of the arrows directly into his shoulder. Oliver spins before the other arrow goes into him sweeping the lackey’s legs out from under him and tackling him to the floor.

John falls to the ground on his knees gripping his shoulder. Zatanna rushes over to him, easing him to a sort of sitting position on the ground. Oliver knocks the lackey out with an elbow to the temple.

John groans working hard to keep himself upright. Oliver rolls off the lackey and over onto his back not too far away from him, Dinah crouches down beside him resting a hand over his forehead lightly. “Well, the yelp review for this one is going to be colorful,” Oliver says with effort as he pulls himself up slightly leaning on his elbows.

“I got stabbed here. The food was delicious and the drinks were refreshing, but I got stabbed here. Would consider going again,” John says bringing his hand from his shoulder to in front of his eyes looking at the blood with a squint of his eyes. He wipes his hand on his pants and Zatanna tsks at him.

“Don’t ruin my favorite blue suit even more,” she says moving to behind him to inspect where the arrow is still protruding out from his shoulder. She grips the base of the arrow and concentrates on it. “Evlossid,” she says and the arrow dissipates into nothing but dust in her hand. John lets out a sigh of relief once it’s gone.

She presses a hand to the wound on the back and her other hand to the front. “Dnem eht nam, dnem eht tius,” she says and feels as John’s skin stiches itself back together and then as the suit does the same. Any blood left behind whisps away when she removes her hands.

“Thanks, love,” John says as Zatanna leans over picking up a fancy cloth napkin from the floor and wiping her slightly blooded hands on it.

Sirens sound in the distance as they all pick themselves up off the floor dusting off their hands and looking at the mayhem around them. Their waiter peers around the corner of the busted front door, slowly stepping back inside the restaurant picking her way over unconscious lackeys. A few of the other lingering employees follow behind.

Zatanna sighs magicking up her credit card and walking over to the waiter. “Tell the owner damage repair is on me,” she says handing her card over. The girl takes it with a sure nod that Zatanna returns before heading back over to John.

“I want the record to show that we vetted the place this time and these disruptions were products of your mortal enemy,” John says rolling out his shoulders with a loud pop. Zatanna lifts a hand rubbing at the spot where the arrow had penetrated his skin, he moans in delight leaning into her hand as she works at the soft muscle. She adjusts her little blue dress, a perfect complement to John’s suit just a few shades darker, with her other hand.

“In my defense I didn’t think they’d travel to San Francisco to disturb my dinner plans,” Oliver says kicking at a lackey’s arm.

“You’ve been in the biz long enough to know never underestimate the lengths a determined supervillain lackey will go,” Zatanna says rocking back on her silver heels. Oliver hums in dissent.

They stand there quietly for another moment or two, Zatanna rubbing at John’s shoulder while they all survey the lackeys ensuring they’re all still very unconscious.

“So, drinks?” she says as the sirens finally reach them pulling up at the curb.

“God, yes,” Oliver and Dinah say in unison at the same time John says, “Fuck yes.”

Dinah turns to the waitstaff huddled by the door. “Can you all make sure these guys get arrested?”

They all nod and Zatanna takes that as an affirmative that this whole scene will be handled. The slamming of doors sounds outside as she pulls up a portal.

She gestures at Dinah and Oliver. “Hurry, before we get questioned by an over eager rookie again,” she says looping an arm with John’s stepping in directly behind the other couple.

Several drinks later they’re cozied up in a corner of the Oblivion Bar, magicians and cloaked figures milling about.

Zatanna has claimed one of the giant cushy chairs for her and John. She’s unlaced her chucky heels for comfort, curled up in John’s lap. Dinah and Oliver sit across from them on a small couch, Dinah’s legs tossed over Oliver’s.

“This,” Traci says pointedly passing out another round for their little group handing John his last. “Is your last round.”

John grumbles but takes the drink and nods his head in understanding.

“Four drinks? That’s it?” Oliver says chuckling into his glass. His glass that likely won’t be his last.

“Yeah, my guy’s a troublemaker,” Zatanna says fondly taking a sip of her fruity little drink while patting John on the cheek lovingly.

He takes a small sip of his drink, savoring this last one. They all drink in silence for a bit, the soft tones of some romantic Nina Simone song playing from the jukebox.

“So what kind of event do you think we four could attend without it ending in some sort of battle?” Dinah muses swirling the little umbrella in her drink round and round.

They all sit in quiet thought for a few beats.

“Movies?” Zatanna offers tentatively. “I mean that has to be something that could play out rather peacefully.”

“Worse case the movie’s shit,” John says squeezing her waist where he’s holding her in place on her lap.

“I don’t know with our track record thus far Count Vertigo might end up commandeering the screen before the opening credits,” Oliver says with a sigh.

They all go quiet again in thought, thinking of the real strong possibility of that happening.

Zatanna shifts a bit in John’s lap, just enough so that she can reach her drink out to the center table between them. John keeps a tight hold on her, ensuring she doesn’t slip away. She leans her glass into the center.

“Well, I say damn the supervillains and the creatures of the night, we make our own fun even when they show up,” she says and everyone tilts their own drinks in towards her clinking them against one another.

“Here, here,” Oliver says with a triumphant smile.

“Oh, there’s an anniversary showing of the ’92 Dracula at the old Star Center theatre next month,” Dinah says settling back onto the couch with Oliver.

“Ooh yes, Winona,” Zatanna says with glee settling back onto John’s lap. Conversation slides easily back to where it had been in the restaurant before they were rudely interrupted, the two couples making plans and talking shit well into the night until Bobo’s ushering them out of the bar at sword point.

#my fic #johnzee #john constantine #zatanna zatara #magicblazersource #dinah lance #oliver queen

21 notes · View notes

attractivemyfoot · 2 years

Text

Well, Nettie is said to be a problematic child, Only Jason and Tim checked her class background when they saw it was almost perfect before Lila but then Lila Rossi in background check came it raised red flags cause even a billionaire doesn't travel this much , way too much flaws and loop holes, hell she has criminal records for murder , suicide, harassment, money laundering and sexual assault etc .

Other bats treated her terrible than anything even left her to sleep on empty stomach and left her at Gotham Academy and Damian was pissed cause perfect grades and way to good reputation and Jon vouched her for injuries are indeed real but jealousy got best of him, he injured her more and shamed her for no reason who saw this behavior stopped giving him a glance where she was a great help and her organization plans helped school and student council.

Well, Bat family dismissed his behavior but that didn't got under radar of bat girls , Jason, Tim, they helped her while others just thought that's fair. Then Jon begged his parents to go to Wayne Manor if not Damian will kill an innocent person and would be out of it unchecked.

Diana and Arthur take Marinette a side and bow to her in recognizing the Miraculous. There were already Constantine, Zatana, Diana and Arthur. As soon as he scanned her " You call yourself World's greatest detective my foot who can't tell the difference between makeup and bruise ? You're son of a bastard is also one of the reasons as well as you for her physical, mental and emotional scars, no wonder when Diana met Talia she said she is utterly disappointed in Damian. Shame on you Wayne .Are you stupid those bruise and scars are real? '' Clark yelled in his coldest voice and threw them a darkest glare

" That bitch got to your adopted parents , right pls . Do something you're practically the owner of black knights and gates , official technopath of Europe, MDC, a genius recognised in magic and mechanics, singer named as NYX Night, prodigy of literature, mdc and businesswoman comes 1st place in the world.

I am your uncle . I can help hell, even some of your other honorary uncle or aunts like Oliver Queen, Barry Allen, Zatana , Diana, Arthur and Me etc can help you. Those kids are sick as hell as you call mobsters but more worse than monsters and demons whatever shit is that?

From what I see they are probably the worst people . You're skinnier than usual . And who the hell pushed you down the stairs and around so much. Pack your things you're coming with me .

Most importantly you believe Joker should stay dead. Even Deadpool, Talia, Taskmaster and Slade are your models even though they wear masks and they would gladly kill them. It was a great relief that your parents never gave you much attention and at least you're away from that creep but still take Cat miraculous from him. Don't know what the guardian saw in that rat. That Ass-greste boy is the worst and last night you told me who the hawkmoth is.

Well, I wonder How much big news it would be to know that a billionaire's son killed a CEO and owner of 1200 companies who has 27 digits in 8 bank accounts just for jealousy and seriously your daughter who was unknown to his family who outright gave her up?

Well, we have come to a decision to remove bat fam from JL only Red Robin, Red hood and batgirls are allowed. Can't you see there's less crime since she came here. A true creation soul can remove bad luck and destruction. Anyway we got better detectives and my personal favourite you think why don't we tell you to investigate some cases for us? She is'' said Constantine.

Just then Akuma alarm was set off.`` Come on, I had only 12 hrs , Gabribitch, that's a lot and mass akumatation looks like I have put more fuel on fire. " "Kalki transform me" " wait, we want to help" other batfam was outright told no . Well Barbara and Cass with Jason not Damian cause he tried to kill her when she tried to help him were healed with magic of Mari as soon as she saw them "okay fine. Deactivate me. Cass- dragon, Steph- Fox, Barbara- Bee , John you need black cat sorry, " " that's okay" " Tim- Horse, Jason- Snake , Diana- Tiger and Arthur- Turtle and Rabbit after using it give it back as a guardian after this fight completing the box , I will officially retire and come to help only in need of pure magic problems "

Clark and Lois hacked the portal and caught bullshit of Alya" it's totally happening ' Lady noir' after all these years, Lois checked her blog in few minutes full of bullshit man she uploaded Lila Rossi too and ' how to bully a bully .' her credit was gone to drain only other classes saw bullshit and people were crap long before. First bee paralysed as he said M'lady and took away the ring gave it to John . And fought Sandboy as soon as they won. A agony shot through Mari as She casted Miraculous cure as the formation was going off in 4 minutes her injuries were more visible due to the assault of her classmates as she was caught by Liars squad except Alya.

As soon as Alya saw Lois and Clark and other heroes ready to go home before they rescued her and tikki transformed her back she ran towards them asked for interview and demanded when Rena Rouge is coming back . Darkness cataclysms her phone. She became Lady Wifi. As she was defeated , they made their way back home. Wonder Woman picked Mari up in her arms and Tim made a portal for Medway at Watchtower and helped her heal from her injuries applied by Batfam and her old classmates .

With the selection of miraculous holders, the hawkmoth was defeated by Storm . It was decided she will use miracles only in an emergency as she can use magic outside. Lila was taken down in a gala at La Garde Hotel were Chloe lives as CO-CEO of black knights and gates was revealed with proof of abuse of classmates and neglect of her problems , the school was sued a lot as Nettie was CEO of no . 1 company in the world. A adoption war broke out between Arthur, Jagged Stone, Batfam, Diana , Bourgeois, Constantine, Zatara, Queen , both Wilsons, Al-Ghul , Allen , Tsurgami ,Kents, Lucifer, Nightingale and Gardener, Jordan was actually smarter than others as he knew who did most of the funding and destroyed Injustice League and Lex Luthor, made a barrier greater than JL scientist can make for earth.

Well, the possibility for so called greatest detective to be even called detective and to adopt her was out of options and who never supported them saw toxicity of batfam and left to Mansion even bigger than Wayne's and Tim outright switched his job of CEO from Wayne to Black knights and gates settled for co- CEO with Chloe Mari and Jason. Why, Jason do have a degree for it , and broke the contract of merging Drake and Wayne enterprises to merge with Black knights and gates.

It made Bruce do all the work for Wayne's enterprises which he was serving his hours of torture that he gave to Tim force fully but black knights and gates have a system and most important, most honest employees do most of the work and get a bonus every week. They never slacked off or anything. Jason, Tim and Batgirls left all of their old personas for miraculous and magic.

But after defeating the hawkmoth putting bitch into Jail with Lila as she was 19 while Mari was 15 and others were 18. Seriously she was older than Damian by 4 yrs and didn't have strength to push him and that was done by other 12 graders just because she's young doesn't mean she's bullied by her classmates and it saved her alot .

I mean Tim and Jason were in the same class and saw what Damian does to her in school for no reason. Outright laughed , this caused a shift in school and no one can take his bullshit anymore and saved her by putting themselves and taking her out of there by either or Jason, Tim and Steph. He was treated like an enemy and even classic bully girls don't do this much one time a knife was launched at her. This proved the doubts of him being a demon being true and then tried to behave nice but outside and home it's another story, he tried to use a knife just because she learned self defense saved her by skin from time to time in 3 months and someone dying in Wayne Manor that's way too important for the Universe.

It was a call to Constantine that proved everything and he called every person who can defend him against Bruce Wayne but it was wrong decision by which everyone came for adoption war and her parents tried to take her back with force as it got leaked for being a person with 27 digits in 8 accounts those were highly secure even more than JL computers with her own company cause every hour codes get changed it takes one month to crack one so it was almost impossible that made them as incompetent parents and greedy .

The behavior of Waynes was so much sore only Dick was put aside cause he was highly unaware and had a line between them and batfam almost killed every criminal. This caused Joker to change his ways to killing to praising miraculous gang only batgirls and Tim and Jason. It fueled their anger. But a problem arises as it was found Jason and Tim both are Black Cat so Plagg made another ring with help of tikki to create his twin. They're also involved in the magic community instead so they had less pressure in time of need and others were found but they still kept horses and snakes.

Due to some reasons, she became guardian of every lantern too. She was self emancipated due to being but they can hoard her as they're still her aunts and uncles. During this, everyone in JL got modeling as a job at least once it gave them even a bigger cover for identification. They stopped having contact with Wayne in general and the police department actually liked the miraculous team more than batfam. After a week of insults from people in Gotham was a reason to stop Batman altogether. Due to this Damian Wayne was more violent and sent to Judicial custody of a strict man for no violence maybe there was a good reason for the demon's mother, sisters and brothers to leave him and his dad alone.

Meanwhile Jason 23, Tim and Marinette 20 started dating and got married at the age of Jason 25 , Tim and Mari 22. Problems came and were gone. The crime in Gotham got so low that vigilants were not needed. The city of doom became the city of gloom . Well, Steph and Cass were married , Barbara and dick Kori all got married due to some reasons a billionaire became a millionaire. Had to sell his property and live in a flat. Who knew treating the youngest CEO could cause a load of problems as well as his daughter.

#tim x jason x mari #knightgates #bio dad bruce wayne #joker is dead #wwars in the house fire around the world #salt bruce damian #dont knw where is alfred #a prompt #maribat #jasonette #timmari #jaytim

36 notes · View notes

pacifymebby · 4 months

Note

personally with saltburn i don’t think oliver had a true motive other than power, felix and his family are obviously very affluent but not only that but they are well liked (at least on a surface level) and i’m not sure if others can relate but in the beginning when you see oliver in his lectures with farleigh despite doing the work there’s a clear favouritism between the professor and farleigh and that is something i can relate to when in school if you work hard but aren’t as good at forming connections or are quieter teachers can prefer students who don’t work as hard and that does build resentment to people oliver clearly is very callous but we don’t know that at the beginning we are lied to just as felix is when we find out felix adopts people he sees as less than him every summer we start to dislike him. but then we find out oliver’s true nature and felix using working class people to boost his ego is nothing in comparison to that. but rich people and those close to them think they are untouchable and oliver brings them down one by one he disrupts their security from within their own home a vast estate which is far away from the problems those who are rich don’t even think of. i think oliver wanted what felix had which is being carefree around money, being able to treat people like they are unimportant and them still wanting to be around him basically being able to do what he wanted and oliver being someone clearly not in his right mind went to extreme lengths. at the end of the movie he’s looking at the toy that’s of the cattons they are dancing as puppets in front of him as he roams the house completely naked. this is so long i’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense also i understand if you don’t read all this!

Aw nah I read all of it and I get what you're saying as well, it's an interesting take.

I relate to that too at the beginning, but more on the level of like you can work as hard as you want and be as personable as you like but if you don't have connections and money in worlds like Oxford/Cambridge/St Andrews (the unis all the elite go to basically) then your intelligence and stuff doesn't mean that much. If your lectures went to uni with your classmates parents and regularly rub shoulders with them then you're not going to get the same leg ups and treatments.

The power thing definitely comes into it too, at first I was super confused about how Oliver seemed to keep switching between a very meek and submissive personality, playing at being awkward and shy, and then all of a sudden making out like he was Daddy with the sister and Farleigh, and tbh I think it was supposed to be jarring but also not directed wonderfully because it happened so awkwardly?

I genuinely think the whole things meant to be viewed as satire and total fantasy tbh, like Oliver isn't supposed to have much depth to him because he's just the representation of like the monster under the bed that the elites in the 21st century fear.

Something my friend pointed out too is that there's running theme of him being a parasite who wants to consume them all too... Like he sooks up Felix's bathwater, says the whole "I'm a vampire" thing to the sister, the way he kills the mum in the end too by cutting off her oxygen it's all very symbolic of that. So I think he really is supposed to be this garish rich persons worst nightmare. I dont know how much I think he even wants power, I think it mostly comes from a place of hatefulness and 0 respect? Like he low-key dances naked on their grave at the end naked dancing in front of the stones with their names on.

Like idk about you but I thought Felix was the perfect read on arsehole poshboy at school, that bit where Oliver gives him the bike and he's like "oh wow yah that's soh khaind" there's something about him that immediately rubs me up the wrong day because he doesn't see Oli or even notice people like that until they serve him in some way, we see him treat that girl as disposable too. When Oli says "I was just being what you wanted me to be" that's so what being in those sort of rich people's lives is like. And I suppose it's probably trying to ask us what's worse, to be like Felix and his family (who see no value in others other than to serve as their props) or to be like Oli (who sees no value in felix and his family other than to serve as leverage)

Like ultimately Oli and felix's family are all guilty of the same things - lying to people (Oli who obvs lies about so so much) (Felix in that he uses Oli and other poor people to lie to himself about how generous he is and like how charitable he is when really he just wants a pet) (the rest of the family who seem to lie to everyone by putting on this pretence of being lovely and accommodating, but are actually deeply judgemental and quite selfish/paranoid about being generous)

Like we see Olis disregard for human life in the way he kills them all, but we see felix's family also show disregard for human life too when their friend dies and the mother says "she'll do anything for attention" especially because you could argue their friend wouldn't have died if they hadn't pushed her out of the house for fear she was leaching off their hospitality.

The more I think about it I think that actually all Oliver's sins are mirrored by Felix and his family, lying, 0 respect for human life, leaching off others (because felix and his family leach off Oliver's trauma and like Rosamund's character is telling all her friends deeply personal traumatic shit about Oliver for her own social gain to show everyone how generous she is) like I wonder if in a way the point of the film is to make us question why we forgive Felix and his family for their evil but are disgusted by Oliver's. It's actually something Rosamund is constantly dropping too when she talks of her aversion to ugly people, she says about how "you wouldn't think it because she's such a riot to look at but..." as if like beautiful and stylish people can't be bad... Like I think wealth allows people to distance themselves from their moral ugliness in a ways that poverty prevents poor people from doing? There's probably a lot of academic research into this as a social trend but as I have read no deeper than Chavs by Owen Jones I am unfortunately unable to site anything other than when he talks about how we allow rich posh people to swear and say offensive things because they do it in a camp/quaint way, but we don't forgive working class celebrities for saying fuck or being racist (I don't think we should forgive racism btw it's just we forgive it in rich people more often than we do in poor people)

I'm also sorry this was so long, honestly I watched it not expecting to have this many thoughts but its actually really interesting to think about

1 note · View note

autisticsupervillain · 1 year

Text

It's Fictional Throwdown Friday!

This Week's Fighters...

Popeye vs Spongebob!

Conditions:

No restrictions.

Scenario:

While going out to buy ingredients for the Krusty Krab, Mr. Krabs convinces Spongebob not to buy any of Popeye's spinach to save money. This prompts Popeye to pop out of the spinach can and attack the duo.

Analysis: Popeye

Popeye the Sailor Man is many things. An ever faithful boyfriend to his beloved Olive Oil, a combat hardened member of the navy, and the amphibious nonbinary sailor man icon we all deserve. No really, that happened. Look it up. But above all, he is one of classic cartoons all time heavyweight champions, on par with Bugs Bunny himself.

This little sailor had quite humble beginnings. After being born to the horribly named Poopdeck Pappy, Popeye was born horrifically ugly and deformed, prompting his father to run away in horror of what he had created. This caused Popeye to be adopted by the loving Whaler Joe, whom he'd look up for all of his boyhood years. Seeking to emulate his father, Popeye would join the navy, where he would learn to embrace his gift for violence.

Popeye had always been adept at beating the shit out of people, but it's only upon getting embroiled in World War 2, and competing with the loathsome bully Bruto for the fair Olive Oil's affections, that Popeye's skills would truly come into their own. This is because of the mythical miracle herb that Popeye had spent all of his life consuming known only as spinnach. Thanks to that, Popeye has an absurd level of superhuman strength, speed, and power that makes him among the toughest fighters in cartoon history.

Being a rubberhose animation icon, Popeye can freely morph and stretch his body like, well, rubber. He can inflate his muscles to huge proportions, stretch and bounce back at will to absorb blows, and inspire Monkey D Luffy with his cartoon antics. Again, look it up. Furthermore, he can completely break the laws of physics in the palm of his hand with ease. Whether by painting a battleship into existence, shooting fire out of his pipe to fly, flying normally anyways, or by turning completely invisible, Popeye is always capable of throwing out something you won't expect.

For example, one of Popeye's signature abilities is his power to punch so hard, whatever he hits is broken down into smaller elements. An anchor becomes a bunch of fish hooks, an animal becomes a steak stand, and racial stereotypes become even worse racial stereotypes. Use your imagination. That's another benefit to being from a rubberhose cartoon, Popeye's world is even more cartoonishly rascist than ours. Ah, 1940's America, how I loathe thee.

Moreover, Popeye's power may come from spinnach, but he certainly doesn't need it. He's eaten so much over the years, that he can still operate at a baseline superhuman level without it. Like that time God himself turned off the universe to kill Popeye and Popeye just... stood there and took it without blinking. Furthermore, the spinnach has proven to be so powerful that it once made a rocket fly so fast that it traveled backwards in time. And even if Popeye does need spinach for a boost, he can just will some into exist, either by waving his hand, drawing it, threatening the animator to give him some, or just letting the audience in the real world hand him some spinnach when he's in a tight spot.

And if you think you can just kill Popeye before he eats any, you're dreaming. Because even after being completely erased from existence, Popeye's nothingness was able to eat a can of spinnach and come back good as new. Popeye's power is so great, not even his animator is safe, as Popeye is able to not only tear and break his own animation frames, but also beat the hell out of his own animator. Meaning he's more or less beat the shit out of two different versions of God.

So, if you dare choose to mess with Popeye, always remember who you're dealing with. You're fighting one of cartoon's all time heavyweight champions, truly a Sailor Man to be feared.

Analysis: Spongebob

Tell me.... WHO LIVES IN A PINEAPPLE UNDER THE SEA! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Ah, yes, Spongebob SquarePants. We love him, we meme him, and we remember him as the purest essence of childhood cartoon nostalgia. This goofy goober, nautical nincompoop, and asexual icon may seem like a harmless wimp on the surface... and to an extent, he kinda is. His life long dream is to work as a fry cook at a dead end fast food restaurant, he once struggled to lift a glass of water, and he's easily small enough to fit in your hand, regularly getting overpowered by ordinary humans. You'd be forgiven for mistaking Bikini Bottom's best fry cook for a harmless goofball, wing nut, or knucklehead mcspazatron. But just you wait, this fry cook has a lot more up his virtually nonexistent sleeves.

There are three acronyms that one must always remember when discussing Spongebob. E.V.I.L, P.O.O.P., and T.F.I.B. Don't recognize that last one? It stands for Toon Force Is Bullshit.

When Spongebob isn't struggling to lift Teddy Bears, he's effortlessly rotating the entire planet, sucking up the entirety of Earth's oceans, and absorbing enough water to replace the moon in the sky. We're in for some shit now.

As a sea sponge, or, really more of a kitchen sponge I guess, Spongebob is remarkably durable and flexible. He can freely shspeshift into nearly any form he can imagine, regenerate from getting reduced to dust, duplicate himself millions of times, and absorb any liquid or physical attack thrown at him. Like the time he was able to walk around getting punched all week without feeling any of it, or the time he literally laughed off being erased from existence.

Moreover, he's a master of nearly any hobby or job he picks up. He's so good at cooking Krabby Patties that they can become sentient, cancel mind control, and make people romantically attracted to them, while his bubble blowing skills let him create torpedoes, create sentient life, and create entire fuctioning societies out of bubbles. He's such a Rockstar that his music can physically assault you and free you from mind control and one timd he was able to rock out so hard he transformed into the sun.

On top of that, Spongebob can create anything he can conceivably need in any situation, either by drawing it with the magic pencil (which, yes, later seasons show he still has), blowing bubbles, letting his tears come to life to revive him from the dead, or just by willing it into existence with his imagination. And bot only can the pencil's eraser erasing things from reality, but he can even erase reality itself by pulling on a string and unraveling the entire universe.

And then... there's his ability... to break the fourth wall.

Not only can he ride on the scene transitions, not only can he exit the comic book he's in, but he can also rewrite the plot of his own story as it's happening. And that's without the magic book from the second movie. He can just... do that. On his own.

He's strong enough to fuse together with Patrick down to the level of his DNA by hugging him really hard, fast enough to watch Patrick run to the sun in back in seconds, and strong enough to defeat and capture everyone else in Bikini Bottom within a single night (albiet with Patrick's help). This includes Squidward Tentacles, who is not only fast enough to move in a void where time does not exist, but also travel back in time out of that void into a point in time where is time machine still work by smashing a hole through said timeless void. Let me repeat... time did not exist and Squidward could still move.

While this all may sound unbeatable, there is one major issue for Mr. SquarePants. He can only survive out of water for so long and if exposed to extreme heats outside the water for too long, he risks drying up and suffocating to death. But, that's okay, because if that does happen, his tears will come to life and resurrect him from the dead anyways.

So next time you think to underestimate your childhood icon, you'd do well to remember... he's ready.

Throwdown Theme:

youtube

Throwdown Breakdown:

I'm gonna be perfectly honest with you... Spongebob pretty handily takes this.

While Popeye should be generally smarter and more experienced and arguably faster depending on how you quantify both of them traveling through time, that's about it. His time in the navy and fighting Bluto should give him more experience fighting Toon Force characters on his own level and military training should beat amateur karate.

Spongebob can match Popeye's regeneration, can easily surpass his shapeshifting, and can just... shapeshift back from Popeye's attempts to transform him into stuff. That alone counters a lot of Popeye's arsenal. And while Popeye can ask the writer for help, Spongebob can leave the fight completely and just politely ask the writer not to do that.

Granted, neither of them can exactly kill each other, but Spongebob does have ways of incapacitating Popeye, either by making him fall in love with a Krabby Patty, or by drawing up something Popeye can't escape from. While Popeye could likely deduce Spongebob's weakness to drying up, given he is a sea creature and Popeye in an experienced sailor, that would require him to not only keep Spongebob on dry land long enough to dry out but also keep him from reviving somehow. Which is easier said than done when Spongebob can just... absorb the ocean. And if Spongebob's cooking is good enough to get Popeye to swear of spinach forever, which it probably is, than, well, there you go. That's most of Popeye's power gone.

While Popeye's toon force shenanigans can let him beat all but the mightiest, he just wasn't ready for this Goofy Goober's Sweet Victory.

This Throwdown's Winner is...

youtube

Spongebob SquarePants!

#fictional throwdown fridays #spongebob squarepants #popeye the sailor man #thimble theater #Youtube

3 notes · View notes