#oliver doesn't deserve saltburn

[spacecasehobbit]

"Oliver stole the Cattons' wealth using fraud and murder!"

Well, so did the Cattons if we're being honest, so it sounds pretty fair to me.

[im-getting-help]

give me Oliver Quick dying old and sad and waking up young at Oxford, Felix smiling at him from atop of some stairs like the end of titanic

[manicpixiefelix]

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

Part 14.

Summary: Our second look through Oliver's eyes as he thinks back on the night he and Felix get champagne drunk on the bridge, and then when he gets to Saltburn. Looking around both Y/N and Felix's rooms, he gets to know more about them, and finally he meets the Catton Family.

{ 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: suggestive themes, reader is said/implied to be high for some of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)

A/N: 8506 words. you have all deserved a good feed and i am here to provide. sorry it's been a week, the dam broke, things are looking good in my personal life which is nice, and i am BACK on main fic nonsense. we get another Ollie POV, please let me know what you think, im so excited to have everyone at the estate and hanging out!! got big plans going forward!! excited to be setting it all up!! yeah please feedback, my darling friends!!

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

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Sometimes Oliver feels like he was put on this Earth solely to exist in Felix Catton's affectionate gaze. Everything else in life is just filler.

That night on the bridge, he and Felix in suits, drunk on champagne and bathed in the twilight of the evening, will haunt him, he's sure. He welcomes it with open arms, surfacing when his mind is idle and elsewhere. Felix smiling at him, Felix trying to bring him closure even if he doesn't really need it, Felix hanging on his every word, ever story he would fabricate to keep Felix's eyes fixed on him and only him. Felix so close, Felix with his arm around Ollie, Felix's thigh pressed up against his as they sat alone on the edge of the bridge.

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Oliver feels dwarfed by him, never more so than these moments where Felix insists on occupying Oliver's personal space, and then some. But he'll never complain; Felix's affection is intoxicating, addicting even. To be so wrapped up in it, in him, it's bliss, though Oliver never wanted to seem needy for such affection, that's why he waits for these moments, for Felix to make first contact. He wonders if Felix had realised the way you so quickly had in the beginning.

Everyone reaches out for Felix, everyone else appears so desperate. Its why Oliver's always held back from touching him, always waited and let Felix make the first move. Felix was made to be wanted, he basks in it; Oliver gives him the chance to want. Isn't there a thrill in that? A novelty?

And to be wanted by Felix... That was a gift in itself too.

Oliver had, admittedly, been worried that he'd lost his chance at that. After sleeping with you, Felix holding him at arm's length, he could feel his grip slipping. Plucking at the strings of Felix's clear saviour complex was enough to claw back into his life, but he now knew his place was precarious, and most tentative of all was everything about you.

So he'd held back from you. On purpose. Often distinctly, even when you'd give these confused, disheartened looks. He tried not to look at you in those moments; his focus was Felix, Felix seemed harder won.

But when he'd tried to apologise on the bridge - at first he wasn't going to bring it up, but it was dark and he was reasonably drunk and the only person who's ever smiled like Felix had been smiling at him in that moment had been you - Felix had, at first, laughed him off. No, he can feel it now, weighing on him; he needs to balance the scales. He wants Felix so bad it aches in his bones, but Oliver knows his want goes beyond just the beautiful boy by his side. Every part of you, how you interact with the world, interact with him, the way you exist and exude confidence and love, drew Oliver in like a moth to a flame. If Felix is the hook, you were the line. The bait, and the trap. The sun, and it's warmth. He wants to always be the focus of your loving, attentive gaze. Always wants you to want him too.

Oliver is the helpless fly in the web you and Felix have woven, to be so lovingly obsessed with you both as you are, and yet still drawn further in, to love the love you share. He feels trapped and utterly helpless against his feelings for you both.

So he has to make it right. Has to make it... even? Was that how to make it right?

But Felix is different on the bridge. Different to the jealous creature he tried so clearly to hide in the weeks before. Something had changed.

"You never need to apologise for making them happy," he says easily, affectionately. Oliver tries to be insistent, that he never meant to get between the two of you. He's rambling and tipsy, but not enough to miss the faint choked noise of what Oliver could have sworn was intrigue that Felix makes at that, but he knows better than to dwell or comment on it. Instead, Felix claps him on the back; "you wanna make it up to me we can say you owe me one," he says far too easily.

"Owe you one what?" Oliver frowns, playing oblivious for a moment as he takes a sip of the champagne before Felix gives him a cheeky wink and a grin.

"Shag, of course."

Oliver does a spit take with surprise, not having thought Felix would be so casual and genuine about it, almost falling off of the bridge in the moment. Felix catches him, arm around him as he laughs through an apology.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry mate," he wheezes, carefully clapping Ollie on the shoulder, "also I apologise for assuming, poor form, sometimes I forget people can be weird about these things- not saying you'd be weird, we've just never spoken about this kind of thing."

It speaks to how much he must genuinely trust Oliver, considering how light the conversation remains. Or perhaps it's the bubbly. Still, Oliver has a little bit of an inkling about what this kind of thing may be. But part of him needs Felix to say it, to confirm his suspicions, to keep stringing him along with further crumbs of hope.

"Assuming what?"

There's a single moment, the way in which Felix looks at Oliver out of the corner of his eyes, smile briefly frozen on his face as he must be considering the weight of what he's about to say. Its in the moment that follows, when Felix laughs almost self consciously and withdraws his hand that Oliver wonders how out Felix is. Oliver had always just kind of assumed - hoped - on the basis of his relationship with Y/N, but it occurs to him that the general perception of Felix, the talk and rumours and gossip that surrounded him, never really entertained the idea that he was actually queer. Felix's affection towards everyone in his life was simply a by-product of who he was, and you're his best friend - and his cousin, according to Farleigh - so of course you don't count, and otherwise Felix Catton was a known lady's man, right?

Not quite, it seemed.

"That you'd even be into guys like that," it sounds so easy when Felix says it, like Oliver can't see the tension in his shoulders as he reaches over, taking the bottle of champagne back. Its almost empty. Oliver doesn't mind if he finishes it.

Felix looks at the sky, at the stars.

Oliver thinks about the VHS tape of Maurice that he stole from a rental store after looking at the back cover. He'd kept it stashed in his sock drawer and watched every week under the cover of absolute darkness until it literally became unplayable. Yes, Oliver liked guys, and spent his teen years having just as many lewd fantasies about boys with posh accents, and charmingly youthful features, and floppy, brown hair, as he did about girls with big, dark eyes, and high, perfect cheek bones, in bright red wedding dresses. His sisters hated Beetlejuice, thought it was gross, but he and his mother would watch it together on occasion, sharing a blanket his gran had crocheted, and a bowl of popcorn. She'd get all giggly over Alec Baldwin, while Oliver couldn't help but fall for Winona Ryder for the duration of the film, every time.

For a moment, he thinks of the sunlit kitchen he grew up in, and his mother cooking Sunday lunch with a record playing. The last Sunday before he left for Oxford. In the yard, he can hear his father mowing the lawn, and he's sure Emily is in her room packing for her own journey back to her third year of studying. But Oliver comes out of his room just as Jump in Line (Shake Senora) begins to play. Serendipity. Already excited by the song, his mother looks up from the dishes, and practically lights up at the sight of her son. She's going to ask him to dance. He's going to say yes. They're both going to love this moment; she says it's their song, and Oliver dances along to their song. When it's over, Oliver won't admit that he's disappointed it had to end, but he tells his mother he'll miss her too when she hugs him especially tightly. For that one moment he hadn't ached to leave the way he'd been for months, for years.

Looking now at the rock in the rubbish that represented his father, there's a momentary pang of guilt for lying so dramatically about him he hadn't been expecting. So he pushes it out of his mind.

Felix finishes the bottle, and Oliver watches him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Effortlessly beauty.

Oliver wants to focus on his future, not his past.

"Haven't got too much experience with 'em, but that doesn't stop me from liking them well enough," feeling especially bold, he levels a sly smile at Felix, "so if it's all good with you, maybe we do say I owe you one."

Felix blushes the most beautiful scarlet as he barks a loud, pleased laugh. But most importantly, he relaxes.

"It's not that hard," he offers so nonchalantly, amending with a sheepish grin, "well it is, that's part of the point -" but Oliver can't help himself.

"I said I didn't have a lot of experience, didn't say I was completely inexperienced."

"No, I know," Felix's voice turns all smug and teasing, and Oliver can feel his face beginning to heat up as he realised the implications of Felix's tone, "I've heard rave reviews." Oliver had taken the time to have his fun, to have a few hook ups here and there in the past year, usually with girls or guys from town or other campuses who had no idea who he was otherwise. There's only one person who'd be giving him rave reviews, as Felix had called them.

Huh. It's quite the compliment; he had gone out of his way to give you the kind of attention he suspected few people ever bestowed upon you, but rave reviews? What had you actually told Felix?

Instead, considering that this still feels like potentially rocky territory, he tries to bring it back.

"It's one of the few ways I ever really learned how to make people feel appreciated," his gaze drops with his tone, and hopes that Felix takes the bait. The threads that tie back to the story of his unfortunate upbringing, but also perhaps the threads that subconsciously tie his attitude and behaviour to you in Felix's mind. Even if you don't say it, he knows it's part of how you operate, and he's willing to bet that Felix had picked up on that too.

It works. Felix wraps an arm around him, assuring him that he has so much to offer the world. God, he sounds so sincere when he says it; if Oliver hadn't knowingly baited him into the compliment, he would have believed him entirely. At the very least he basks in how good it is to hear Felix say.

They talk through the night, Oliver tentatively feeling his way towards his goal, the opportunity to spend Summer with Felix too, to make sure this connection doesn't wither in the interim. Of course he plays at being humble, at refusing the offer despite how clearly uninhabitable the sob story home he'd made up for himself was, but just as he'd predicted, Felix, ever the saviour, refuses to take no for an answer. Apparently his mother has people stay for months at a time anyhow. Oliver wonders idly if that's where Felix got it from.

"Y/N will be so pleased, I can tell you that," Felix mentioned with fondness. Of course Oliver had anticipated that you would probably be spending at least some of your Summer with them, but he's surprised that when he enquires further, Felix admits, "yeah they live with me at Saltburn when we're not at school, have for ages now."

"What, all the time? They really are a ward of the Saltburn Estate?"

Felix wears a strange little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes; there's an unfamiliar kind of melancholy that doesn't look quite right on him, Oliver thinks, as Felix shrugs again.

"Some people's parents just aren't meant to be parents."

For a split second Oliver feels a rush of guilt as he comes to realise he may have fabricated a life for himself that you had actually lived. In the moment, however, he dips his head, a sign that he understands, that he agrees.

"Then we're lucky to have you."

Felix throws an arm around his shoulders, pulls him in tightly and presses a kiss to the side of his head, assuring him it's no trouble at all.

"What are friends for?"

Yes, this moment would be burned into his brain; Felix so warm beside him, Felix smiling against his temple, Felix champagne drunk and willing to share his life, if only for six weeks. Every fibre of Oliver's being is willing it to work out, willing it to be more than just these six weeks -

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Except the minute he knocks on the doors of the house that looms so large he feels like he's about to be swallowed whole by it, he feels like he's failed a test. The look in the terrifying doorman's eyes, his tone of voice, the unflinching scrutiny when faced with Oliver's continual awkwardness and questions, makes him feel like he's failed several more in rapid succession.

Oliver's actually pretty sure he's never been quite so glad to see Felix as the exact moment he calls out to Oliver with absolute joy. Which is saying something. It's never felt like Felix is judging him, at least not in a way he can't pass. Thank fuck. Felix, in this moment, is the only one who matters, he tells himself.

That being said, Oliver had been expecting you to be by Felix's side when he'd come bounding in to save him from Duncan's scrutiny. That's generally where he's come to expect you. Not that he wasn't grateful for Felix giving the tour, it was just... unexpected.

Honestly, when you appear from a door on the other side of the long gallery, opposite Felix's bedroom, Oliver's surprised by how relieved he is to see you. The room you've exited seems to be themed in pale purple from the brief glimpse Oliver sees, and you've got a leather bound folder in your arms, but neither of those is nearly so interesting as the look in your eyes. Looking back, Oliver sees Felix lounging in his doorframe, looking between you both with patient amusement.

"Ollie!"

Oliver's pretty sure no-one in his life has ever sounded this excited to see him. The only person who comes closes would be Felix, five minutes ago.

"Ollie, oh Ollie - Fi, hold this," you pass off your folder to Felix, who of course takes it without argument, before Oliver's swept up in a tight hug, "you're early, you smell nice," you hug him so enthusiastically the two of you spin for a moment, before pulling back, holding him at arm's length like you're assessing the state of him. Instead, you beam, holding his hands as you turned to Felix, "Fi, Ollie's here! We love Ollie!"

This time when you meet Oliver's gaze, he's surprised to see not just love, but want. You'd worn that look in the weeks before the two of you had fucked, like all you could think about was how you'd once begged him to want you, and how he of course admitted he did. When had he started missing this look in your eyes? All he can think about is that night in the warmth of your bed, the way you'd sounded so fucking certain and needy - of course I want you - and how he can see it in your eyes again now. For a moment his mind and resolve is fuzzy; why had he ever stopped reaching out for you?

"We do love Ollie," Felix agreed with further amusement, and that's when he remembers. Except... this isn't the jealous version of Felix that had shown up in the aftermath. This was the Felix who'd brushed off Oliver's apologies about the whole ordeal on the bridge and proceeded to overtly, if jokingly, flirt with him. Already he feels just a touch more relaxed in this new dynamic that was being set up for the Summer.

Actually, Oliver, for just a second, thinks he may have died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck, Ollie, look at your nails," he hears next, however, and it immediately shatters the illusion as he pulls his hands away from you and your judgemental eyes.

"Don't be mean," Felix chides, and you look up with surprised, as if you hadn't realised your own less than complimentary tone. Looking between Oliver and Felix, there's apology in your eyes.

"Sorry Ollie," you're quick to offer, and he awkwardly tries to act like he's not embarrassed, "I'll give you a manicure, I can paint your nails; we can match!" You smiled brightly, hands pressed flat and warm to his chest all of a sudden, "I match Fi's shirt today; Farleigh painted my nails -" your eyes go wide as if you'd just remembered; "Farleigh; shit."

You run for the door to the blue room. Oliver, deeply confused, watches you go. Then, he hears Felix sigh with fond exasperation, holding out the leather folder. A moment later you burst through the door again.

"Documents. Shit. Thanks, Fi!"

And you're off again.

"Is this... how they normally are just at Saltburn?" Oliver finally asks with faint concern, looking from the door to Felix in the darkened doorframe.

"My lovely cousin is an atrocious influence on our dear Y/N," Felix said with incredible diplomacy. But Oliver's mind momentarily catches on the wording.

Our Y/N.

Just like before, a strange thrill, a rush; he remembers the look in your eyes when he'd first said 'Our Felix' to you. An exclusive kind of possessive, one you'd willingly share with Oliver. He liked this dynamic, he wondered how hard he'd have to push it to get beyond the simple semantics.

We love Ollie!

We do love Ollie.

Perhaps it wouldn't be too difficult at all.

"What do you mean?" He asks instead, and Felix turns to him with that same amused smile.

"They're fine, don't worry mate, they're just high is all," clearly Felix's feelings are mixed on the subject; Oliver knows he has no problems with getting high himself, so he suspects Felix cares more about Oliver's first impressions of his home and his family than he was wanting to let on. You were his right hand after all. There's something endearing about how much he seems to want Oliver to want to be here. Which he does, for the record.

"So this is your room?" Oliver enquires, shooting for brightness, despite the momentary awkwardness. He watches the tension leave Felix's shoulders. It's enough for Oliver, and his gaze drifts, roams around and tries to catalogue every single piece of Felix he can glean from the clutter. Even with an army of servants there's something unkempt about how he decorates the otherwise old and ornate space. CDs he'll spend time poring over, stacks of books, and trinkets, and tchotchkes. Felix even has a balcony; stone railings and enough decorative chairs, and even a lounge and small table, for company.

Here and there in the room itself, however, a few things seem out of place; shoes that didn't look like Felix's sitting neatly by the door, two dressing gowns, one maroon and tossed over the bed, the other in navy and draped more deliberately over the end of the bed. Two glasses of water, one on either side of the bed. Tell-tale signs that clue Oliver in before Felix even confirms it -

"Mine and Y/N's, yeah," he says it so easily, so nonchalantly, no bothering with pretence here at Saltburn, "you'll be staying just next door," Felix continues on with a wide, easy smile over his shoulder as he continued to flit through the rooms, catching light, voice echoing amongst the decorative walls.

"Bathroom," he offers, before turning, adding, "we're going to be sharing a bathroom, by the way, I hope you don't mind," and Oliver finds himself drawn to the sight of the ornate bath, as if on purposeful display in the middle of the room, "otherwise you'd be miles away on the other end of the house," Felix explains, continuing on without even considering his words as he says them. No, of course Oliver didn't mind.

All Oliver can think of is everything that simple sentence implied. Closeness. Implicit want. A sudden flash in Oliver's mind as Felix continues through to the dressing room, of sweat beading along skin and hands clutching desperately at the cool, porcelain edge of the tub, of water sloshing and spilling and overflowing, and the sound of breathless moaning -

He tries to focus, tries to simply watch Felix's hands as he taps idly on the red walls of the dressing room as he lead into what Oliver can only assume to be his room. He stays out of his head, leans into the moment, and lets himself relax as Felix gestures broadly, brightly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Your room!"

It's bright, all wide, open windows looking over the beautiful grounds of Saltburn, honey coloured wood and lamps that glow in such a way that he was reminded of Oxford. Already someone's brought his suitcase up, set it out at the end of the bed; he'd get to unpacking that later tonight, for now he took his time relaxing into the space. Felix had already sat himself down, seemingly at home in the old, wooden rocking chair, watching Oliver, almost like he was trying to hide his nervous anticipation.

"I'm really glad you're here, mate," for just a moment, Felix sounds more honest than he'd been since Oliver had arrived. There's something in his eyes that Oliver hadn't been anticipating, in the brief moment in which their gazes meet. There's a kind of arrogance, Oliver thinks, to calling even a sliver of it something like love, but it's adoration and appreciation nonetheless. It's gone in a flash, too brief to be anything serious, he thinks once more as Felix stands, "right, I will, er... I'll leave you to it."

And Oliver is quiet. It's a kind of reverence, or perhaps it reads like shock and awe at the whole place, but he listens quietly as Felix tells him about his mother's aversion to stubble and ugliness and piercings and -

"Anything else I should know about?" Finally he asks, sensing Felix was close to rambling on a nervous tangent. Thankfully, Felix actually seems relieved by the interruption, assuring him that there was nothing else to worry about.

Felix tells Oliver that he just needs to be himself, that his family will love him. That it's relaxed. Oliver loves Felix dearly, but doubts he, a man who rarely seems to be anything but relaxed, would be the best judge of that. Especially in a place like this. Still, Oliver smiles like he believes him, and watches the way Felix hangs himself back from the door on his heels, almost like a little kid, telling Oliver that his family will be in the library when he's ready.

Library?

His mental image of Saltburn grows with each moment. Soon it will overwhelm him, he's sure.

So he tries, just for the moment, to get acquainted with the room he's been given. His own, honey-coloured piece of Saltburn, if only for the Summer. Hopefully beyond, that dreamy little voice of want whispers in the back of his mind. Another flash of desire runs through him, the image of a quiet evening on Felix's balcony, a purple sky and a glass of scotch, book in one hand and Felix's head in his lap. He'd be too big for the little sofa, legs hanging off the edge, but he's comfortably fallen asleep with Oliver's fingers carding through his hair; when you drape yourself over Oliver's shoulders, there's loving affection in the way you call them 'your boys' -

God he'd been entertaining these fantasies for months, sure, almost since he'd met you and Felix, but never this vivid, never so detailed or hard to push away, to pretend like he'd never had them when he next tries to look you both in the eyes.

Yeah, me and Y/N's room. You're right next door. We'll be sharing a bathroom.

This is either going to be a dream, or the hardest Summer of his life. Pun entirely intended.

The room itself is rather charming, once Oliver finally breaks free of his own fantasies. Charming in a different way to the rest of the house, but in a way that was hard to put his finger on at first. Saltburn was like if a place could put on a performance of itself, none of it felt lived in, or at least, not for a very long time. Except Felix's room, it had his youth and carelessness that gave it a feeling of home, as, for some reason, did Oliver's.

Except then he sees them. Then he understands. There's space stickers on the top drawer of what he can only assume is the otherwise expensive bedside table. Some are peeled off, some even leaving the ugly, half-peeled, paper residue of planets and stars and little cartoon astronauts. The second of the two drawers is in much the same state, but depicting a faded sea creature theme. It's so unexpectedly, joyfully childish. There's two books in the top drawer, a collection of Edgar Allen Poe's short stories, and a copy of Emma. Oliver swallows hard, trying not to wonder what you must mean by that. Otherwise the drawers are empty, almost hotel-like in it's severe starkness.

There's other little things, however. Fairy lights curled up and around the headboard that glow a comforting, warm white once he finds their switch. A digital clock at odds with the rest of the room's aesthetics, red numbers glowing in the afternoon light. The painting on the wall above the bookshelf that looks far more modern than anything else he'd seen so far on the walls, a rich, blue night sky glittering with stars, and a dreamy silhouette of a figure with a cigarette almost glowing orange against the darkness. Despite the vagueness of the figure, there's a comfort, a kind of love with which they'd been captured that Oliver can somehow feel in his chest when he looks at it.

The little bookshelf itself in the corner is filled with titles he can imagine you specifically enjoying, but a few anomalies here and there - books on botany and Edwardian flower code stick out in particular. It's completed with a small stack of CDs and a CD player gathering dust on top. When he crouches down, however, he's surprised to see an old, portable cassette deck taking up space on the bottom row of the bookshelf, mostly hidden behind several stacks of what appeared to be blank cassette tapes, crammed into the very corner, almost out of sight.

How strange. How... human.

There is an echo of someone else in this room, but to his relief, it feels like you. For the barest moment, he almost feels like he's already home.

It's a short-lived feeling, however, as Felix's words come back to him once more. His reflection in the bathroom mirror as he carefully rids himself of even the barest traces of stubble, doesn't meet the standards he's sure the mother of Felix Catton must hold.

Oliver's never considered himself particularly beautiful, nor did pretty much anyone else, it had always seemed. His mother was of course biased, Felix was filled with too much affection to be considered anywhere near reliable about that sort of things, and you - something inside Oliver squirms almost with embarrassment for even thinking so poorly of himself in the past few moments. Maybe a face like his would make Felix's mum happy, if the look in your eyes meant anything, every time you saw him.

Oliver chooses to leave the way he was brought in, taking a long few moments in Felix's room, leaving it untouched, undisturbed, but treating it like a museum to his best friend, clues about his life he couldn't glean from conversation alone. Felix's bookshelves were bigger than yours, stacked with comics amid countless fantasy and adventure books, but a surprising number of cowboy and western titles, though it's not as if there appears to be any kind of sorting system. There's a ceramic bowl that looks hand made, full of faded wristbands for events all over the world for the past five years. There's a shoebox that apparently used to hold a pair of lady's runners, now sitting at the end of one row that now has 'A Stupid Box For Feefs Stupid Rocks <3' sharpied on top in handwriting he doesn't recognise. A thick textbook about space on the bottom shelf with a cracked, worn spine and sticky tabs seeming to note various pages, various guitar tab books for different, popular bands that Felix would definitely be interested in. Four decks of cards stacked on top of each other, boxes looking so worn and used they were practically falling apart.

For a very long time, Oliver finds himself caught, looking at the little cork board full of photos leaning on top of the bookshelf. Countless photos of Felix, Farleigh, Venetia, and Y/N throughout the years. He hadn't realised just how long you and Felix had even known each other. How long you'd practically been a fixture at Saltburn in the Summer. There's a photo of the four of you all in your bathers, laying asleep on the grass beside the lake, all next to each other on brightly coloured towels, none of you could have been older than twelve; you fit right in along with the rest of them.

There's a photo strip, the kind taken in a booth at a mall or a museum, that Oliver thinks he recognises, but it takes him a long moment of staring at it to figure out why. It's you and Felix, and the strip itself says it's from an aquarium. Smiling. Laughing. You blurry, covering your laughter as Felix looks particularly goofy and pleased with himself, as if he'd just told a stupid joke. The last one has been ripped off.

Oh. Right. He'd seen it while snooping through Felix's wallet a few months ago; the photo had been the reason he'd put the wallet back at all. The way the two of you were kissing in the final photo, so wrapped up in each other, and love, and joy, had made Oliver feel almost physically sick with both want and jealousy.

God, he has to leave, has to stop snooping again and actually find this library and the rest of the Cattons.

Walking through Saltburn's many rooms alone makes Oliver feel like he's constantly out of bounds at a museum. There's hints of life throughout the building, but they're few and far between compared to the ornamental, carefully curated decorations of each room. Even the hints of the Cattons themselves seemed... too purposeful. The little, animated 'Catton Family Players' puppet show is the kind of thing only rich, whimsical weirdos could ever think was charming, and not just bizarre, vain, and haunting in the same way that porcelain dolls were.

But then he hears laughter, and warm chatter from down a hall, and the tinny, purposeful shouting from what could only be a movie or TV show. It sounds so much like his own family's living room on a cheerful evening that it's almost relaxing. Almost.

Because as he's approaching, he realises they're talking about him. They're picking apart the life he'd fed Felix as if it were mere gossip, speaking so airily, their sentiment so clearly out of touch that he'd probably find it amusing if he didn't have to pretend to be living it. Briefly, he wonders if they spoke like this about your life, or if the novelty of you had worn off in the years before. Perhaps you were just glad they could focus their pity and unapologetic classicism on someone else for a change; he couldn't hear you in there, which surprised him. Maybe part of him had expected you to defend him the way you had back at Oxford. Maybe you don't feel like you can at Saltburn. At least Felix sounds embarrassed, irritated as he admonishes Farleigh for having told the rest of the family.

Before he enters the library where the rest of the family has gathered, Oliver pauses by the door, both to get a better idea of what they're already thinking about him, but also because he'd spotted someone watching him from one of the adjacent rooms.

Bleach blonde hair, stars clinging to the tights on her legs, she's reading a book that Oliver can't quite see the cover of. Venetia was written on the collar of the little, blonde puppet in the Catton Family Players; Oliver suspects this is her. Oliver thinks she could be considered very beautiful, if she didn't seem quite so sharp. The way she huffs a laugh and wears a dangerously amused smile after she'd taken her own time in analysing him seems to prove as much. That being said, Oliver's not sure if she's laughing at something about him, or about the fact that they can both clearly hear her family's disparaging remarks about his apparent upbringing.

"Farleigh seems to think he's ghastly," Oliver hears a woman say as his hand comes to rest on the door handle, "why are you and our dear pet even friends with him, darling?"

"Dirt poor, not attractive, and his parents are drug addicts," a second woman's voice seems to surmise as Oliver lets himself into the room, "I can't actually -" but Felix makes a noise as he sees the door opening, and the woman goes quiet as Oliver peers in.

"And here he is now," Farleigh sounds as thrilled as he ever was to see Oliver, "we were just talking about you," like he's trying his best to make Oliver feel as unwelcome as possible. It's... kind of working. Bastard. However looking over at him does solve one mystery; you and Farleigh are sharing a sofa at the back of the room that's only just big enough for the both of you as long as you're tucked up against him, his arm slung over the back of the chair behind you.

And you're fast asleep against him.

The blonde woman on the sofa who shares Felix's elegant, effortless beauty admonishes Farleigh, even though Oliver can tell from her voice she was one of the ones very much talking about him only moments before. Oliver has the grace to pretend like he hadn't heard, though is still glad for the vaguely embarrassed, apologetic look Felix is already giving him.

This has to be Felix's mother, the blonde with the airy voice who immediately gets up to greet him, to assess him.

"Oh, what beautiful eyes," oh thank god, "oh, how wonderful!" There's genuine surprise and adoration in the way Felix's mother regards him, and Oliver can't help but feel relieved, like he's finally passed the first of what he's sure will be many tests during his life at the Saltburn estate.

"Yeah, we told you he wasn't a minger," Felix pointed out when his mother turns to him.

"Oh, but darling, you and pet are kind about everyone; neither of you can be trusted about those you're fond of." Pet? Does she mean Y/N? Suddenly Farleigh's comments over the months make a strange amount of sense. At the very least Oliver's heart begins to sing at the idea of you and Felix speaking so kindly of him to the others that they know you're both especially fond of him... And you both seem to think he's beautiful enough that you mention it when he's not around. Huh.

But yes, the moment the woman explains her aborrance of ugliness Oliver knows he's talking to Felix's mother. At least she seems to like him well enough, going so far as to ask if he'd seen Venetia yet, that even she'd been dying to see him, but had chosen to drape herself around the house as if laying in wait for him. Indeed that's how it had seemed when he'd spotted her earlier, but none of them have let Oliver get a word in edgewise.

Felix's father is the next to introduce himself, all long limbs and warm handshake to match his smile, just like his son. When he asks Oliver about his trip to the estate, Oliver finally breathes, can finally respond.

"Oh, God, don't with the 'sirs'," Felix's mother waves him over to sit down, insisting, "no, no, no, we can't stand anything like that here," though her outburst seems to have been enough to rouse you. As Oliver sits, he hears, syrupy and warm with sleep from behind him -

"Ollie!" As you had each time since he's arrived, you sound so genuinely delightful. Farleigh makes a noise in the back of his throat. Oliver turns in time to see you elbow Farleigh in the ribs.

"I liked you better when you were asleep."

"Fars," your voice drops low, like a warning, and Oliver's surprised by how sharply Farleigh looks away, jaw clenching tightly, "be good." Oliver almost thinks Farleigh might be angry, but then he sees the gentle way Farleigh's holding your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles against your upper arm; from what Oliver can see, he realises Farleigh's expression is almost embarrassed -

"Children, stop bickering," Felix's mother orders brightly, and your expression returns to unbothered and chipper as you refocus on Oliver.

"Hi Ollie," again, then as more of an offer to the rest of the room, "isn't he just lovely?" Oliver flushes, but gives you a fond smile, even as you settle back against Farleigh. Even though Farleigh persists with glaring at him, when he turns back, he rests his cheek against your head, oozing malevolence as he seemingly tucks himself against you too. But he does indeed remain quiet.

After the altercation passes, Oliver gets a brief introduction to one of the other house guests at Saltburn, Pamela, brief being the operative word as she's quickly sent away to ask about tea from one of the staff members at Felix's mother's insistence. Pamela herself doesn't exactly seem confident in the task, but that's once again when you speak up. Much to Oliver's surprise, you give a detailed physical description of the woman - Annie - and succinct directions to the kitchen itself, following it up with a yawn and -

"The Irish one, a bit mousy, might have trouble meeting your gaze but she's nice enough."

Pamela looks far more confident thanks to your directions. Oliver's genuinely shocked at your level of detail and knowledge, but everyone else seems to be so casually used to it.

"She is a bit like that, isn't she?" Felix's mother muses with an idle air, and when Oliver glances back at you, you still have your eyes closed, as if close to falling back asleep, while Farleigh has his faint, fond laughter pressed against your temple.

Before Oliver can even reckon with the moment that had just come to pass, Felix's mother is regaling him with all of Pamela's dirty laundry, before she dives right into pitying Oliver himself, and the sob story of his life and most recent 'tragedy' she's heard.

She looks at him just the same way Felix had. He think of the moment he'd decided to commit to this Dickensian kayfabe, that day in the pub when Felix's eyes were fixed on him, all pity and desire and a desperate need to fix, to save, to be a light in Oliver's life. The way this woman speaks, the way she looks at him in this moment, makes Felix Catton make total and complete sense. Something inside Oliver relaxes; she would not be hard won.

As they circle back around to the tragedy of poor Pamela, however, something about what Farleigh says, pointing out that the tragedy of her was the only interesting thing about her, sticks in the back of Oliver's mind.

Being beautiful and tragic would only ever get him so far, would only ever make him a novelty. It takes another glance back at you for him to realise a little more of why you behaved the way you did; tragic and beautiful and useful. That's the thought that turns over in his mind, even as Felix's mother starts her line of questioning about the sordid details of his upbringing, and Venetia joins them only to stare at him like a bug, and Farleigh only seems to be holding himself back from outright contempt at your behest. You are once again asleep. At least Felix makes a token effort to reprimand his mother, not that it appears to make much of a difference.

Oliver offers what little he can get away with, and feels only relief when Felix insists they start getting ready for dinner. Oliver practically bolts, he doesn't even wait for Felix like he probably should have, just desperately hoping he's got the right door to his own room. Clearly he has, swearing when he's finally in his little piece of sanctuary, but after a beat he realises that even that has been breached.

His suitcase is no longer at the foot of his bed.

In another moment, the door that connects his room to the bathroom squeaks open and there's two more people in his room without bothering to even knock. At least Felix is apologising for his mother. Part of Oliver thinks he should have expected the Cattons to be exactly as out of touch as this house implied, that he should have braced himself better, that it's not Felix's fault, but the apology is still nice.

Also he's rather distracted by the fact that all of his clothes have been organised neatly in the old, wooden cupboard.

"Did someone unpack my suitcase?" Oliver hears himself ask distractedly. Looking back when Felix makes a noise of guilt, he sees Felix sitting on the edge of his bed with an apologetic smile, and you next to him, laying back on the bed and looking at the ceiling.

"Uh, shit, yes, I should have told you," Felix admits, "they do that kind of thing here." Rich, whimsical weirdos, the lot of them, "the maids all report back to mum, by the way," Felix informs him, while you're just quietly swinging your legs off the edge of the bed. Felix's tone turns teasing, however, "so I hope you didn't pack anything scandalous." Oliver leans on the wooden foot of the bed, into Felix's space with an amused smile at the thought - pushing his luck, pushing into Felix's space to play off of the idea of scandal, so close to Felix and his mischievous smile. Felix leans back, the tease, giving Oliver space to quietly say -

"Just my old boxers."

You snicker. Felix grins.

"No, they're used to that, don't worry," but then Felix is up again, almost too close, looking at Oliver like he knows this is all some kind of joke, like he know - like he wants Oliver to keep looking at him, at his teasing smile, at his lips like that, "Duncan will be thrilled." Like this is all a game. Oliver snorts a laugh.

But the moment doesn't last, and Felix is moving again, getting up, telling Oliver a new rule - ahead of time this time. Dinner at Saltburn is an event you dress for, with the kind of dress code that requires a dinner jacket and cuff links and - Oliver would be properly embarrassed if it didn't mean he got to wear Felix's spare jacket. Felix seems almost embarrassed by it all, his casual nature clearly butting heads with the formality of his heritage. In this moment he almost seems childish, it's rather sweet. Judging by your smile, you're endeared by his behaviour without even having to see it; you hadn't even thought to sit up; your eyes have fallen closed, as if basking in this moment.

Oliver watches you, the way you radiate contentment. You were not born into Saltburn, but you'd made it your home. You'd won the love of Felix Catton, and a place in his life, that no-one else had managed to achieve. Hope was a beautiful thing, and you were both in this moment.

"I'm really happy you're here, Ol," Felix finally murmured, and finally Oliver believes him, "I'm sorry everything's so... old fashioned."

"No," Oliver's voice is soft, "it's wonderful."

The pleased smile Felix wears as he heads through to his own room makes everything about this strange, ritualistic, obsessive, critical world worth it. Over his shoulder, he asks if you'll be coming through too, and you tell him you'll catch up in a second. Felix closes the door over quietly, and after a moment, Oliver joins you, laying back on the bed.

"I like your room," Oliver breaks the silence after a moment. After a moment, a hum that's more like a contented laugh escapes you. You mumble a thanks; it's been a few hours since he'd seen you initially, your chatter had died down considerably, it seemed like you'd sobered up a good deal in the afternoon that had just passed.

There's a million things Oliver wants to say in this moment, things he wants to do, questions he has about you, about Felix, about Saltburn.

"It's not-" he finally starts, voice so soft as he finally turns to you, "it wasn't your fault, by the way."

When you turn to meet his gaze, there's surprise and confusion in your eyes, clearly not sure what he was referring to. Its been a long time now since he'd deliberately reached out for you, since you'd slept together, since Felix had first started giving him resentful looks. Things are better now. Much better.

"What?"

All it takes is a deliberate, gentle touch, his hand taking yours, apology in his eyes. Its enough to acknowledge that he'd spent time pulled away from you, that you weren't crazy to think that, and that you weren't at fault.

Oliver's always liked watching you process things, at least when you allow the world to see it happen on your face, not making an effort to hide it. You look down at his hand on yours, grip loose like more of a reassurance; raising your joined hands like you can't quite believe the sight, he takes the opportunity to link your fingers. It wasn't your fault.

Looking deliberately back at the ceiling, he gives you the time and space to process this development without feeling so watched.

"Oh," you mumble quietly, finally, "it's..." you give his hand a squeeze, "thanks?" Oliver smiles, and knows you see it, can see in his peripheries the way you're watching him now, but when he goes to withdraw his hand, you hold him tighter for just a beat, as if on instinct, before you let him go.

"Can I be bold for a moment?" He breaks the moment, breaks the tension, voice light and inquisitive.

"I like your boldness, Ollie, you know that," you respond automatically, matching his energy easily. Sitting up, Oliver turns to fix you with a scrutinising look for a long moment, and you wait, you watch him with eyebrows raised and an amused smile painted across your lips.

"You're sleeping with Farleigh," it's not a question. Your smile grows wider and far more smug.

"Ollie - Oliver - look at me," you prop yourself up on one elbow, gesturing down at your body, "look at where we are," you gesture around at the bedroom itself, "how many Summers do you think unrelated teenagers in close proximity, growing steadily more attractive with each passing year, can get through without ending up deciding to fuck to pass the time?"

Oliver, charmed by your blunt confidence, can't help but laugh, while also being able to connect enough dots to the implication that he should expect you to be just as close to Felix's sister too. You join him in his laughter, finally sitting yourself up. Oliver knocks his knee with yours, deliberate, and watches with a kind of fondness as you immediately focus on the moment of brief contact. You'd missed him, just as he'd anticipated.

But the laughter dies down, and you finally stand, sighing that you should probably get yourself ready for dinner too. Before stepping away, you lean back down with a wide, goofy smile that reminds Oliver a bit of Felix, and gently grasp his chin, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Oliver, a little startled by the gesture but welcoming it nonetheless, feels want burn through his veins momentarily as he watches you head to the door.

"Oh, Ollie, there's some stuff under the sink for you," you yawned and stretched and Oliver tried desperately not to stare at the way your shirt rode up, "shampoo, toothpaste, contacts; junk like that, you know, just in case." Wait, what was that last one?

"Contacts?"

"Yeah," like it was perfectly fucking reasonable, your hand on the door, "in case you didn't bring any or you ran out - there's actually a spare pair of glasses as well, if you'd prefer. Same frames as yours, I wasn't sure-"

"You know my prescription?"

"Yeah?"

"How...?"

You go quiet. You shrug. Its not a real answer.

Right; a magician never reveals their secrets. Its not particularly reassuring for a man lying about a large portion of his life.

For now Oliver just tries to remind himself of the way you look at him, the way you want him, the way he loves you, for who you are, for all you can do.

"Thank you," he says quietly, gives you a smile and hopes you believe it, "you're good to me." He's not sure what about that surprises you, but he catalogues this in the back of his mind. There's something beautiful and, he suspects, rare, about catching you off guard. But your next words are enough to return the favour, have his heartbeat in his ears, hopeful and quick as a humming bird right before you leave.

"Of course I am, Ollie, I love you."

And he's not sure why, but he believes you.

[hostilecandle]

Not sure why so many seem so convinced Saltburn is supposed to be a class commentary or critique. I'm curious, what in the movie specifically made you think that? Oliver does not hate them because they are rich while others suffer, he hates them because they have what he wants. He wants what they have and be who they are. He wants to consume it and hoard it. This is a movie about desire and obsession. He wants it for himself, to "Lick the fucking plate."

This is a movie about longing and greed and hubris. Its about The Minotaur trapped in the labyrinth that is Saltburn. "If you get sick of us you can leave, I promise." "I believed him." Its about Icarus flying to close to the sun. Its a retelling of Theseus, one in which he doesn't win.

There are moments that highlight inequality in class and race but they're not used as a talking point for why its bad or that it needs to be fixed. Instead they are meant to highlight the comparisons and contrasts of Farleigh and Oliver. To show how they're foils and to highlight that they are outsiders. They're used as lies and steppingstones for Oliver to get closer to the family, just another way to manipulate them to get what he wants. *We* want to see the real world justice and for Farleigh to get what he deserves and to seen as equal. The movie does not. The movie, in the end, has nothing to do with class or racial inequality. And while a point can be made that its a bit tasteless to be used as simply a thematic point without any real substance (a point I will not disagree on), the movie isn't about that.

Oliver does not want to "Eat The Rich" or dismantle the system. He himself is already very privileged in society. He just wants more. He doesn't want to disband the classes, he just wants consume what is before him. He's trapped himself in his own greed and obsessions and is happy there. He wanted to consume and own their beauty. He wants to be the Cattons. If you're looking for a fil to damn the rich for being rich, you've come to the wrong place,

Like you are all completely entitled to not like the movie for any reason, or to dislike or even hate how they handled the moments of class discussion. But like, at least understand and be aware that's not what the movie is about when trying to give a critique. At least be upfront about what you didn't like rather than attempt to change the message and plot of the film itself.

[asexualandalwaysshipping]

All this discourse with Saltburn may or may not being an eat-the-rich movie takes me back to when people's main criticism of Parasite was that its writing failed by making the Kim family too unlikable.

If you ask me, I feel like if you went into either film thinking them as eat-the-rich films, then it does come off as bad writing. However, neither story works well as an eat-the-rich film because that was never the intention. Sure, class disparity and social inequality are both vital themes but the main point of the EtR genre is about taking down the system, which neither film even tries to accomplish.

Parasite is a criticism of modern capitalism. It was never about pitting the poor against the rich. Bong Joon-Ho said himself, "It's a comedy without clowns and a tragedy without villains." The Kim family aren't meant to be hailed as heroes, and nowhere in the writing does it come off like that. But you end up asking yourself how come this family, who is clearly very capable and skillful, are just barely surviving off the edge of poverty and has no choice but to resort to scamming an entire family just to make a livable wage. Keep in mind they were barely making a profit—the biggest change to their lifestyle was being able to afford slightly better food than usual. Why is it that the poor will go as far as to fight among themselves just to continue leeching of the wealthy? Who benefited aside from the Parks? You could argue that Mr. Kim stabbing Mr.Park in the end was his way of fighting the system, but the film ends with him stuck in the basement, feeding off the house itself, still contributing to the same system that placed him there. EtR would've been more about the negative effects that come from the Parks from hoarding so much wealth that could sustain three entire families, making them deserved of comeuppance. Parasite instead focuses on how it's the system that keeps these class divisions in place.

It's the same with Saltburn. Oliver Quick does, in his own way, challenge the system. But what people forget is that it's not even as though the system ever worked against Oliver—he grew up in an (upper) middle-class household and managed his way into a prestigious university. He may not have been in the 1%, but he was at least in a position where he could go the rest of his life being comfortable. He just got greedy. He wanted more. He wanted to be on the inside. Saltburn isn't a story where a person painstakingly makes his way up the social ladder after starting from nothing whilst making the rich succumb to their sins; there is no justice or vengeance taking place here. Just a single man who manipulated the system to get more than his fair shares, just like his predecessors of Saltburn did. If it was EtR, it would've shed more light on how the Catton family and their wealth do more harm than good, justifying Oliver's actions. And even though they're unlikable, the most harmful thing about them is their performative charity and willful ignorance of the real world. This doesn't mean Saltburn lacks in substance; it's a compelling narrative on obsession and hedonism which introduces an excellent anti-hero, it just doesn't work as an EtR story. And it isn't supposed to.

[sharpvst]

you don't belong here , oliver quick.

farleigh and oilver get into it.

trigger warnings ; violence , slight degradation.

i'm so sorry farleigh i love you sweetie <33

oliver winces , not many men make oliver fucking quick tremble — but then there's farleigh fucking start. he's unsure why , there's really no reason to be afraid of a stuck up rich kid. he's only here because felix isn't done playing with him yet.

farleigh's gaze persists through oliver's stone cold eyes — he feels like a fucking fool. farleigh's daunting height instills fear into the smaller , less oliver. " you don't know anything about me. " oliver finally speaks , it's taking everything within him not to show a hint of fear.

" exactly , that's why you're a fucking freak. " farleigh's reasoning isn't exactly on point , but he's tripping hard on this strange power trip . . and high on a mix of various drugs. oilver believes the drugs make farleigh who he is - even tolerable.

" i see right through you ' ollie. ' " he mocks felix's hard british accent. " you don't belong here oilver quick. " a chuckle , farleigh has that demented fucking smirk on his face. it's driving oilver mad. he can't tell if he's upset - or incredibly turned on.

" then where do i belong ? " oliver takes a step forward , it makes farleigh step back. " with the fucking dogs. " farleigh spits. " oh yeah ? " oliver feeds him what he so desires. " yeah. the fucking dogs , you don't even deserve to know who we are - who i am , who felix is. "

that one stung , but oliver doesn't back down. " bootlicker. " oliver mutters , he thinks of his old friend michael - and how he was right. " excuse me ? " farleigh is offended , now getting directly into the face of the smaller.

their mouths are inches apart , eyes staring daggers through each other. " that's all you are farleigh. a spoiled little bootlicker. " oliver whispers , now the smirk is on his face. " you beg to be in the presence of felix . . and he pities you. " a harsh reality that farleigh pretends not to notice.

" you are nothing more than a common beggar. " that's what broke farleigh. he suddenly pushes oliver into the nearest wall - which so happens to be a concrete one. their inside of saltburn , it some hidden away hallway. oilver isn't quite sure where they are.

" fuck you. " farleigh raises the smaller oilver by the collar - threatening to punch him. " yeah . . fuck me. " oliver sighs , now a chuckle leaves his lips. " do it. " oliver begs , getting off on this.

farleigh hesitates , what it felix finds out he — no. farleigh doesn't care what felix thinks. with a loud huff farleigh lands a punch straight on oliver's face. the sick fuck moans. mouth agape as he practically begs for another one. " there you go . . yeah. " he coos on.

farleigh drops oliver in a mix of disbelief and disgust. " fucking freak - you sick fucking - " farleigh's hands go to his tattered hair , a look of fear crosses him. oliver wipes the blood that drips from his cracked lip.

" good one. " he whispers , now inching his way closer to farleigh. " feel better now ? " he tilts his head - farleigh backs away. " i - i " farleigh can't speak. " shh . . " oliver finally takes this opportunity to get back at farleigh.

" i know i belong here. " oliver whispers - backing farleigh up towards the wall. cornering him like prey. " but you . . " oliver wags his finger comically. " you don't. "

farleigh quivers , he's never known anything or anyone like this. oliver puts his calloused hand on farleigh's cheek. " i can make you leave anytime i want. " a warning , oliver smiles.

" and i don't want that , i quite like you. " another sinister chuckle. " so please . . behave. . " he gives farleigh's cheek a love tap , turning away.

" good talk. "

oliver says - he nods his head as a goodbye , leaving the hallway.

he leaves farleigh a mess , unsure of his place here in saltburn. he wants to scream - he wants to cry - he wants to beat the ever loving shit out of oliver. but he can't bring himself too. he just . . sits , tears flowing from his eyes.

he's defeated , degraded. not good enough for felix anymore. he's no longer the favorite of his cousin. he's having a hard time coming to terms with that.

[transthatfag]

tbh the main thing that gets me about saltburn is olivers desperation. he is SO incredibly desperate to get dicked down by felix that he just completely loses sight of that. he forgets that that's even the thing that he wants but not even accidentally! he forces himself to forget and "get over it" on purpose which is like great idea but goes about it HORRIBLY. he's like well I can't fuck felix so yeah fucking his gf is cool too ig. and then that didn't satisfy him so he goes on to fuck felixs sister. and then felixs cousin... and weirdly flirts with felixs mom. oliver constitantly tries to convince himself that the "next best thing" is good enough for him when it's clearly not. that's not even what he's doing. instead it's almost as if he's trying to work himself up to the main event. and that ALMOST happens in the scene with him and felix in the maze but yknow... apparently fucking his grave is the next best thing too. oliver is is greedy but so sincerely desperate to have even a drop of felixs love. anyways all this to say that saltburn would've been a lot shorter if oliver had just asked felix to fuck him BUT ALSO he feels he's so entitled and deserving to felixs love that he doesn't think he should have to ask..

[leiflitter]

Re: canon Felix not remembering to tell Ollie about the formalwear, I think it's his self-centeredness making him shortsighted and oblivious but also maybe subconsciously giving himself another chance at playing white knight (just like taking Ollie home because his mother "sounded sober") and feeling good about himself.

(In an alternate universe where Felix is slightly more thoughtful, he doesn't mention the clothes precisely because he knows there's no way Oliver owns or can afford them. Why give him something to worry about when Felix can pretend an oversight and then wave the problem away in seconds rather than put him in the uncomfortable position of having to either reject the invitation or ask for a handout? (double saviour points!) ... But in that universe Felix may have also realized it was weird that Oliver didn't need a summer job)

Okay so I wrote a lot then I deleted it to be more coherent but okay. OKAY.

Felix as Philanthropist. Felix as the hand of God, lifting people from mundanity. Felix as the Knight Who Saves The Princess.

Felix is none of these things, despite wanting to be, because Felix doesn't understand the nature of true kindness. Not really.

What Felix wants is to be universally adored. He mostly is, too, because he's a bombshell hottie-hot rich boy, but the problem is that it's too fucking easy. Everything has diminishing returns to Felix. He gets what he wants, when he wants- and that will make you numb. It's like a callous; Felix has probably only felt actual, deep emotions fleetingly, and even then... He tells Oliver he threw a stone for his dog but...

He doesn't say his dog's name. He loved the dog enough to go through the family ritual for death, but now the dog is nameless.

(I have named the dog Barney, btw, because all pups deserve a name)

Oliver, unlike everyone else, puts up a resistance to Felix's Will. Even Farleigh comes with the begging bowl.

"It's an awful faff to wheel it back to campus" "oh, you want me to..."

Their first proper interaction and Oliver makes him self-conscious. You can see it- he breaks his Felix Eye Contact and goes all hand-wavey and awkward, before Oliver says he will.

That establishes the pattern. Felix wants. Oliver denies. Felix has to try harder. Oliver gives in. Felix likes it.

Oliver is proud despite his apparent circumstances, and despite everything Felix could hold over him, Oliver refuses to just get on the floor and lick his boots and worship him the way everyone else does. Oliver does this because he knows that Felix gets bored when things are too easy, but also because he wants Felix to actually care about him. If Felix stops trying, it means Felix no longer cares, so Oliver makes him demonstrate his affection. To paraphrase-

"Come to Saltburn" - accept my glory and benevolence. Make me feel good. Let me save you.

"It's too much of an imposition." - prove to me that you want me there. Prove to me you care about me. Prove to me that I am more to you than the others.

"You'll save my sanity, really." - I need you to give in so I can actually feel good about myself. Please.

Now, the Hot Argument is a reversal of this. Oliver wants. Felix says no. Oliver tries harder. Felix does not like it.

Then Oliver comes back, with a new chapter of tragedy, which is Oliver Giving In, which Felix Likes.

Now the Dinner Jacket and the Birthday Trip are, actually, both the same thing. Felix has learned the pattern, you see, and he wants to skip straight to Felix Likes It without the initial pushback. He's on his home turf- and look.

Felix knows Oliver doesn't Get It. Felix absolutely knows. His family know all about Oliver’s Sad Circumstances- even if he Told Them In Confidence, that just means they don't talk about it in front of Oliver. He has probably been absolutely writhing about how NICE he's being while waiting for Oliver to arrive, the same as he was in the Was It Awful scene. He's been watching for Oliver to arrive (it's a big house- he pops up maybe 5 seconds after Ollie's come in), seen him be absolutely cowed by Duncan and swooped in to Save Him in his see-throughish white shirt.

Given him the grand tour.

And it starts- not with the jacket, but with the razor.

Felix is dripfeeding Oliver information because then he can bypass the whole Oliver says No part of their little dance. He probably doesn't know it, but that's what he's doing.

"Oh and you need to shave."

"Oh and the maids tell mum everything."

"Oh and you need to dress for dinner."

He doesn't warn Oliver about The Help opening the windows. Or the Henry party. Or the field. He lets Oliver get to the cusp of Something, then Oliver has to give in.

The Birthday Trip is the culmination of it.

Oliver doesn't fight Felix about the trip. About wearing something nice. He doesn't ask and Felix doesn't tell him, because Felix wants him captive.

If Felix actually thought about it for longer than 20 seconds, he might have realised that there's no way this would go well. He hid Oliver's mum's phonecall for a week. A week.

He probably wouldn't have even told Oliver if he could avoid it. I bet he'd have blindfolded him if it was a short trip. Because Felix wants to Be The Hero and roll up to the shack that he assumes Oliver grew up in and rain money on the problem to make it go away.

And what would have happened if it WAS as bad as Oliver described? Oliver would have been humiliated just as badly as he was by the lie coming out. Felix would realise that he is out of his depth, and... am I going to need to write my version of this? Maybe. Oops.

We see Felix through the lens of Oliver's love, but once again:

They're both idiot kids. They're 19/20, immature, off their faces on Saltburn and being young and the weird dynamic between them. It was never going to go well.

[moxiemoxie]

ok my thoughts on saltburn (spoilers)

I think people viewing it as a simple "Rich people are bad" movie are not engaging with all of its themes. While a portion of it is about mocking the coldness and overindulgence of the mega-rich, I think the movie is more about the entitlement to wealth that many (especially white) men have.

Initially, Oliver portrays himself as a poor person with a horrible home life, causing Felix and the Catton family to take him in as a charity case. Though they treat him "well", it is clear it is conditional and they do not see him as a person—moreso a sad puppy for them to nurse back to health. This immediately makes the audience relate to Oliver and almost cheer him on as he uses their cold, backstabbing nature against them.

However, it is very important to keep the first twist in mind: OLIVER IS NOT ACTUALLY POOR. Sure, he is not ultra-wealthy, but from the visit to his house it is clear his family is well off. His parents speak about vacationing in Mykonos regularly, he has multiple sisters and they've all gone off to college, he has hundreds of pounds in his wallet—He is not poor.

What he is, really, is envious and entitled. Oliver is painfully aware that despite not being poor, he is still not wealthy enough to be in the same social standing as his peers. To the rich, tentatively accepting a poor person into their friend circle is a strategic move they can use to virtue signal but a person one or two tax brackets below? Basically useless. But he craves what they have. He sees himself as better than them, wasting their money and taking their possessions for granted, and so he must take what he deserves.

And thus, Felix and his family no longer become people. They are simply things he must dispose of to get what is rightfully his. He says and does whatever he needs to in order to get his way. The movie makes you complicit in this, makes you cheer on his initial actions and then sit in horror as you realize he's tricked you into sharing his mindset. It doesn't matter that he's killing people, they're mean and rich and he's not so he obviously deserves their money more than they do.

But does anyone actually deserve to be that wealthy? Is it not always obscene to have that kind of wealth, regardless of where they started? The movie plays around with this question a lot, especially by having many of the rich characters directly tell Oliver that he doesn't "deserve" what they're giving him (thus leading the audience to push back instinctively and think "Yes he does!" instead of "Well actually, no one deserves have a massive estate, nameless waitstaff, and impromptu private 200+ person parties!")

If the movie were meant to simply be a "Rich people are bad" movie, the ending would be a triumphant-yet-dark finale where Oliver finally gets everything he deserves and takes care of Saltburn the way it should have been when the Cattons owned it. But it's not. It's hollow. The halls are empty as he dances haphazardly around priceless artifacts while completely naked, taking his place as their new king.

[howifeltabouthim]

Saltburn: Bonkers, Balls-to-the-Wall Brilliance

It would be no exaggeration to say that Saltburn is the craziest film of the year. I've never seen anything quite like it; it's distinctive in the best possible way, even while being rich with references to other iconic works. Emerald Fennell's sophomore feature is an exploration of class differences and a comedy of wickedly bad manners. It also morphs into a surprising, devilish thriller. It's the kind of film where you can’t look away, even when (perhaps especially when) you can’t believe what you’re seeing onscreen.

Saltburn begins with Oliver Quick newly arrived at Oxford. He's a fish out of water on campus as a scholarship student. He comes from the wrong background, he doesn't wear the right clothes, and he doesn't possess the right affect to fit in with the posh students that surround him. When he does a kind turn for Felix Catton, the popular student he's admired from afar, things start looking up and he's ushered into a world of partying and camaraderie. That summer, Felix invites Oliver back to his family estate, Saltburn, and things escalate amid decadence, debauchery, and class tensions.

Saltburn is a lush cinematic experience, composed of fresh, original, shocking images. So many shots feel like discrete works of art, the kind that wouldn't seem out of place in a gilt frame on some illustrious wall, reminiscent of the artistry of Kubrick's Barry Lyndon. At the same time, they all meld together to comprise a masterpiece. The startlingly potent sensuality practically drips from the screen, catching one up in a fever dream of desire and deviancy.

Barry Keoghan plays Oliver, and really proves himself as a leading man. I’ve been following Keoghan’s career with intense interest since his one-two punch of Dunkirk and The Killing of a Sacred Deer in 2017. And boy, is he realizing his potential. He blew me away with his heartrending performance in last year’s The Banshees of Inisherin. He excels at the humorous and the harrowing, sometimes in the same scene. He’s the kind of actor who can genuinely make you laugh and break your heart. He goes all in. You feel his pain, and I know I find myself rooting for his characters even when I probably shouldn’t.

My favorite kind of performance is an unhinged performance, and Keoghan delivers an all-timer in that category. His Oliver is comparable to Mia Goth’s turn in last year’s Pearl, for sheer emotional and eccentric abandon. The extreme emotion and behavior Keoghan exhibits as Oliver is thrilling to watch. Saltburn is such a great star vehicle star for this highly unique, unusual performer who has really been given his time to shine. He commands attention and the camera captures him perfectly here: his intensity and subtlety and those arresting blue eyes. Keoghan is a truly fearless performer. If there's any justice, he'll be nominated for an Oscar for this incredible performance.

This is a great ensemble cast, which includes Jacob Elordi as Felix and Alison Oliver as Venetia, Felix's sister. Carey Mulligan provides a disarmingly sweet and funny turn in a small role. Paul Rhys is chilling as Saltburn's imperious butler. Archie Madekwe is deliciously vicious as Felix's snobby cousin, Farleigh. Richard E. Grant is on point and hilarious as the Catton patriarch. Besides Keoghan, I felt Rosamund Pike was the standout and that this was her best role to date. The part of Elspeth Catton, lady of the manor, seemed tailor-made for her. Saltburn definitely deserves to be nominated for a SAG for Outstanding Performance by a Cast in a Motion Picture. The actors all play off each other beautifully.

I’m in awe of writer/director Emerald Fennell’s artistry and uncompromising vision. I love how she lets scenes go on uncomfortably long sometimes (like in the infamous climax of Promising Young Woman) to get her point across. She’s not hemmed in by conventions of how long a disquieting scene “should” go on. She doesn’t compromise for anyone or adhere to conventional tastes.

Saltburn is told through a great framing device of Oliver recounting the events of his pivotal year at Oxford and Saltburn to an unknown listener. It keeps you guessing as to who he's relaying this tale to. There are echoes of Wuthering Heights, Brideshead Revisited, The Go-Between, and Call Me by Your Name. In other words, timeless stories that will always resonate in the culture for good reason: they’re primal and get to the heart of the human experience. Yet Fennell's narrative veers in wholly unexpected directions. To watch her pull off the trick of this narrative is a privilege indeed.

Saltburn is a sterling example of bold, unapologetic filmmaking. Emerald Fennell is a cinematic visionary and a canny provocateur. And in case all this rhapsodizing wasn't enough, just know that this movie is HOT. It's fierce and feral and it demands to be seen. Viewers are in for a sick and sexy thrill ride. It's disturbing, deliciously demented, devious, nasty, and wonderfully messed up. Please go see it in theaters: let’s help wild, invigorating, conversation-starting cinema continue to get made and theatrically released.

[fabiansociety]

look, the family in saltburn absolutely deserved the destruction that came to them, and that's made clear in the text of the movie itself — look at how they casually and callously drive pamela to suicide, and how they are clearly expecting to do the same thing to oliver. this game they play — adopting a person going through a life-destroying upset and showering them with praise, affection, and the benefits of wealth until they get bored and discard them — is one they have clearly played over and over again, and one they openly discuss with each other and oliver. farleigh is both a victim of these games and an aspiring player, and his weakness is that he is neither as good at the games as his cousins nor as furiously destructive about them as oliver. they were *expecting* oliver to kill himself — venetia actively tries to drive him to suicide after felix's death, but felix flat out tells oliver that her sexual interest in his friends is part of the family's psychosexual games and frequently the final justification for driving away and destroying their latest toy. the movie is a horror story for rich people, a warning that playing these sorts of games will eventually draw in a person with actual agency, who will respond to your bored, vapid dismissals not with meek self-destruction but with violence. oliver lies—to the cattons, to the audience, to himself—but he also exists solely to destroy this family. he had no ties to his parents, his community, or his class, he made no friends at oxford, he was aimed like a missile squarely at the cattons. was he the mastermind behind the collapse of the family? absolutely not; oliver doesn't have that kind of interiority, any more than michael myers or jason vorhees or dracula do. saltburn is a monster movie at its absolute core, and it is as judgemental about its victims as a lot of those movies. the cattons brought their doom on themselves, repeatedly, with foreknowledge.

[sleepymrshmllow]

my sister and i finally watched eternals (obviously lol) and I think that concludes us binging some of barry keoghan's filmography (for now) ✨️

final(?) ratings + ranking:

Saltburn 10/10 (perfect film no notes /hj. I love this fucking movie so much and its quickly become a comfort film for me ♡ gorgeous cinematography, perfectly cast and impeccable performances by the entire cast! they nailed the mid 2000s feel. amazing soundtrack and ost. the queer subtext/tone, the vampire imagery, the metaphors and exploration of deep carnal desire, oliver domming his way to the top? all just *mwah* perfection. im not very good with words lol but basically this movie slaps and its required viewing imo)

The Banshees of Inisherin 9/10 (the trailer didn't do this film justice and I enjoyed it so much more than I expected. incredible film!! the characters were so well done and every actor in this movie did an amazing job (especially colin farrell, kerry condon, brendan gleeson, and barry ofc). I highly highly recommend this one if you haven't seen it ♡ the cinematography is beautifully done as well and goshh the location is breathtaking. one of my new favorite films ♡)

Mammal (2016) 8/10 (this film surprised me! when I read the synopsis I really didn't think I'd come out enjoying this movie as much as I did. it does a really good job with its characters and the complicated relationships between them. great performances and a very interesting and at times uncomfortable exploration of loss and grief. recommend this one! but definitely look into CWs before viewing)

Light Thereafter 8/10 (my favorite of barry's performances after oliver/saltburn. it didn't even feel like I was watching barry play a character, pavel felt like a real person and barry was just!! so incredible in this film and i loved getting to know pavel sm (his passion for art, his stims, the way he enjoys touch and textures :') ) and i was sad when it ended.)

The Killing of A Sacred Deer 7.5/10 (if you enjoyed saltburn, I definitely recommend this one! weird ass film (affectionate) and martin was a strangely endearing character to me lol i dont want to say too too much, you should watch it for yourself! 🍝)

Calm With Horses 7/10 (blonde barry keoghan was a major serve lol no but good film!! sad, but definitely worth watching. not too much to say about this one, but I enjoyed the characters (dymphna the most tho))

Eternals 6/10 (it was pretty enjoyable! the characters definitely carried this film over the plot itself (except ikaris.. I really didn't care for him at all lol). the cgi was a bit distracting and I wish there was a little more show dont tell and that certain scenes/plot points were done better/explored further BUT still entertaining and doesn't deserve the hate it gets imo!)

American Animals 6/10 (slightly disappointing but still worth a watch! evan peters carried imo)

Stalker (2012) 5.5/10 (so weird but also iconic?? worth watching at least once lmao)

Dunkirk 7/10 (objectively great film, but I just don't care for war movies im sorry 😩 soundtrack was actually so incredible tho)

Stay 4.5/10 (it was fine, it just wasn't very interesting)

and a bonus character ranking for fun ♡

Oliver Quick

Dominic Kearney

Pavel

Joe

Martin Lang

Dymphna Devers

Druig

Tommy Valentine

George Mills

Spencer Reinhard

Sean

[manicpixiefelix]

Okay but imagine you're not a main character in the Oxford friend group.

You love Felix because everyone loves Felix, but you're not in love with him, not in any way that matters, not like everyone else. He is the sun which you all revolve around, but you know too well he's the kind to burn you. Instead you've spent two years pinning after the pretty girl with the dark hair and the bright laughter. And she loves Felix. The same way everyone else loves Felix. The same way every other girl you've tried to invest yourself in has ended up loving Felix fucking Catton when they end up, even briefly, integrated in your friend group.

So India is your best friend, and the girl you quietly love, and she complains to you about Felix's various trysts, and how Oliver looks at him (without any of her own self awareness) and all you can think about is how she glitters and glows in the light. How Felix could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve the love the world gives him. The love your best friend gives him.

She cries on your shoulder, and eggs you on to ask that cute girl in your art history class to a gallery, and you wonder if she knows how badly she's stringing you along with the drunken kisses and that one time you slept together and you thought you heard her moaning someone else's name. But you keep coming back.

When Felix finally starts showing up to the pub with your best friend on his arm, it's the most excited you've seen her in a long time. She doesn't talk about Annabel, you wonder if she even misses her. You miss Annabel. Or maybe you missed when Felix was looking at her and not India.

Summer comes and India can't help but complain about Oliver Quick getting an invite to Saltburn, until his birthday comes around and it means an invite to Saltburn for both of you. An invite to Felix.

India looks like a dream at that party, but not one you're allowed to have.

In the wake of what happens, you're the shoulder she cries on again, the receptacle for her grief. There is no sun for her anymore, only you, loyal, the one who's spent years mooning over her. You both grieve for Felix; under your jealousy he was still your friend.

"I love you," India cries, "please don't leave me too."

And you wonder how many other people have to live knowing they came second to a ghost.

[vaperarmand]

delayed update but they ran out of time before i could ask emerald fennell abt the class commentary in saltburn.. </3 she was questioned abt her privileged upbringing though & sorta deflected with a “female directors are always expected to talk about their personal lives” answer, but she did talk abt the film being more focused on sex/power & desire/obsession and how oliver is desperately in love with felix, and the events are a result of what happens when someone doesn’t love you back. she fully expects the audience to be on oliver's side by the end of it & thinks she made everything very clear in the film so doesn’t want to elaborate 😭 many vague and conflicting answers overall.. she’s a mystery to me still

OMG...... first of all so sorry you were silenced </3 your voice deserves to be heard

i'm sdkjbfdbgjhbgjdshbgjdsb at "she thinks she made everything very clear in the film so she doesn't want to elaborate" bc it's like babe. you didn't. but also the thing that makes her movies Like That is that they do have the tone of intellectual superiority over the audience. emerald fennell as a writer will say in a movie "ok now i'm going to explain it to you like you're stupid" and then say something so mind bogglingly confusing

also agree with her in theory about the pressure against female directors but again. emerald. girl. i can't find it rn but my friend told me about an interview where she's in a sort of opulent house or something and she makes a point to say it's not hers 😭 she wants to appear working class SO BAD.

i do however respect the focus on the gay thing because i do think that's real and the only part of the movie that matters. i have conflicting feelings about this as well though bc on one hand i have been getting annoyed in the past few days (probably bc of barry and jacob red carpet behavior) that they never actually fuck. the love can still be unrequited even if they fuck! and i wanted to see them fuck!! but then on the other hand i did just remember grave scene so like. okay. points were made there.

the thing that's eating me up inside is how the movie's wild horniness is getting it a lot of positive press (soooort of rightfully so) (and so much more than pyw did. obvious reasons) and you can see in interviews that it's going to her head. because she is clearly that type. i need her to be humbled just a little bit. but i say all this and yet in my mind i've been thinking for the past several days "i need to see that movie again....."

[saint-starflicker]

Of all the lies he told his parents and Felix while he sat between them, I think that it was true that Oliver was an early-developing child in some ways...the ways that get adults casually telling him that he'll be so accomplished and be able to do anything in life that he wants to do. He doesn't need emotional support or processing when he's getting bullied at school, because he's smart.

I think he will be smart enough to notice that he doesn't actually get to do anything that he wants to do. Maybe he wanted to expand a chemistry set or a workshop shed, but his comfortably middle-class family decided that wasn't worth investing in and Oliver can get over it. Maybe there were field trips abroad that he wasn't even much interested in, but noticed that he didn't even have the option because his parents wouldn't pay for that when they were saving up for his university expenses. Maybe he was getting bullied at school and couldn't manipulate the bullies into not doing that, or couldn't manipulate himself into being somebody that they would never bully, or he was the bully and the terror but in a way that the people who really mattered would never suspect...but he didn't have the power to change his situation and transfer out of school.

He would be smart enough to notice that there were still always people who would have more free time than him, more options in life, more power, never have to do household chores, never have to worry about falling physically ill and not being able to afford pain relief or skilled doctors, who will have infinite chances to fail at whatever they want to do until they collected enough yes-men to call their mediocrity a success—and they don't deserve it, because it was an accident of birth that they get to have so much power and security. They don't deserve any of it, they're not smart or special like Oliver knows he is.

That's where I headcanon this predation comes from. I think Oliver calculated when to act kind (bicycle) or act in need of kindness (bar, druggie family sob story, dead father), so he knows the patterns of the socializing game (shooting his shot with Elsbeth "you're so beautiful" and at the café years later, punishing Venetia for having a mind of her own when he might have happily continued power-tripping over her, whatever was going on with the bribery and the Catton patriarch, less direct erosion of Felix's support system), but at some point either lost the heart of it or made the conscious decision not to prioritize any inner sentimentality in pursuit of his endgame goal. He doesn't need love or honesty, he's too smart for that. He wants to be as grandiose as everybody told him his intellectual gifts entitled him to be, and I guess Saltburn and the Catton's generational wealth is just about it...or maybe that desire really is insatiable, and royals are next in his crosshairs?

one thing that's been talked about here and by creators and is obvious but still important to articulate (to me) is that oliver is not envious of the cattons because they are wealthier than him, necessarily. it's not about the money. or it is, but in a way that everything in life is about money: no matter how much you have, you kind of always want more, because want is a very strong driver. he's not coming from a place of poverty or any financial need at all, and he is not genuinely burning with the anger at the rich as a working-class guy constantly overpowered by them. there is no righteousness of the oppressed in his motives; sure, he "knows how to work", but to me—and this is, again, personal interpretation—the more important part is that the cattons "made it so easy" for him to take everything from them. it doesn't matter where oliver is coming from, ultimately (which is why he is so pointedly an upper middle class kid, quite comfortable, not a struggling genius he paints himself to be). for oliver, and for his audience, what matters is what he wants, not why he wants it; how badly he wants, how deep inside his own desire he is.

in short, it's not that the cattons had something he didn't have. it's just that they had something he wanted.

[ourpretender]

it is ridiculous and difficult to explain, but it is in moments like these, that oliver resents felix. handsome, popular, wealthy, privileged felix, well-loved and spoiled, half-ignorant and easily-forgiven. he doesn't doubt that the crown weighs heavy, that the fame and fortune comes with a myriad of expectations, but the guilt he bears tends to bleed outward. it stains, it drips, it is bitter and human and a bloody maze to navigate. guilt had encouraged oliver's affections, invited him to saltburn, urged him to sit flush against the couch, fed him cigarettes and coke and hard liquor, kissed him on the forehead, kissed him on the cheek — rounded itself confused and lost, and rejected his confession. fifteen years later, it lowers it's pretty head, suggesting that oliver had been somewhat right in his imploring. he had known felix, and he had loved felix (exhaustingly, he still does), and yet the weight of his desire had exacerbated the guilt. it stood tall, present still, luring felix in and out of varying doors — tugging him forward and then urging him back. if oliver was buried with thoughts, felix was the same. they mirrored each other in this way perhaps, wanting but never feeling entirely like they deserved any of it. conflicted as he is by the series of confessions, oliver nods, quiet in his acknowledgement; of where they once were, of where they are now. bitterness and admiration, dishonesty and sincerity, resentment and adoration, hatred and love. oliver, and felix. and again in their mid-thirties, still oliver, and felix. "...would we be worth a second attempt?" he addresses them, their relationship and all of it's idiosyncrasies, like he would a project, a challenge to be tackled, complicated but full of promise. he doesn't try to predict an answer, though he feels himself settling again — burrowing once more into a residual heat. he hasn't loved like this in a long time. (fifteen years to be exact.)

felix fondly rolls his eyes at this, letting a scoff escape his lips. he can only wonder if it was a similar case to his own, with parental pressure and familial obligation weaving in tension to those uncharted waters of their life. "which peer? certainly wasn't me. i only peer pressured you the one time, ollie," he teases, fingers already itching to light up a cigarette, the recall of that memory enough to make him crave a fix. he'd gotten some of his tattoos removed, but quitting smoking was a habit he'd never been able to break and amongst infidelity, it caused some marital strife. family had always been important to felix, but he thinks having a preconceived notion of how it ought to look and feel had done some irreparable damage. he's surprised by the near immediate denial, mouth drying. felix had expected oliver to disagree with anything that painted himself in a bad light, whether out of bias or politeness, he can't discern. felix is plagued with guilt, over his excessive wealth and privilege as well as all the bridges he's burnt over the years, but oliver doesn't even entertain the thought of felix having been the one to do harm, to have contributed an equivocal amount to their bond eroding. he dismisses it quite quickly. "it matters. of course it fucking matters," he argues, a wrinkle of frustration forming between his brows. it mattered to felix at least, that was certain, and he'd always thought oliver never afforded himself the same amount of kindness nor compassion he offered felix. (although, perhaps the lies and manipulation hadn't been very kind. maybe if he could find the root cause of it all, he'd finally be able to put it to rest.) instead, he's had no closure and been forced to pick up and move on with his life anyway, a life free of the person he'd once considered his closest friend. "you were... fine. just too caught up in your own head, is all," felix defends, although he has to assume oliver was fully cognizant and present for some of it. getting with venetia, for one. on lonely nights, weak-willed and longing for company but not willing to pick up the phone to call his ex-wife, he replays the memories of their idyllic summer before things went so terribly wrong for them. if oliver had been awful, in his entirety, wholly deceitful and dismissive, felix would not feel so tormented. he swallows around nothing, tongue darting out to wet dry lips. "despite everything, you were the closest friend i've ever had. you said i was your only. well, you were my closest," felix admits, probably giving too much away with the mere fact that he's able to recall every word and detail so vividly, like he'd never moved on from it. there's a red hue to his cheeks, blood circulating properly now that they're picking at an old wound.