#saltburn!!!

[littlebabyyd0ll]

thinking about being felix’s incompetent little girlfriend 😩 tw: bruises and mentions of throwing up. r has long hair.

“‘ve got another bruise.” you mumble heedlessly, barely even thinking about the words that come out of your mouth as you apply lotion (which is probably enough to cover a months rent in a two-bed flat) to your calves. felix, hunched over his textbook with a blue ballpoint pen between his lips, turns swiftly towards you, following the sound of your sweet, airy voice.

he sighs at the pretty image of you, body covered by one of his old t-shirts, practically eating you whole, hair falling over your shoulders and delicately manicured fingers massaging into your supple skin. he’s sure that his eyes go soft, practically heart-shaped, watching you in your own little world. he can see the constellation of bruises that you’ve already accumulated, seemingly from nowhere. pulling the pen from between his lips, he chucks it down onto his desk and rises from his swivel chair.

it’s then that you look up at him, not a thought behind your pretty eyes. his heart flutters at the way your pupils double in size, the way your lips tilt upwards at the mere presence of him. he fills your space without hesitation, so big and full of life, so warm, so handsome. your smile widens as he sits down next to you, the depth of the shift of his mattress. bright brown eyes linger upon your legs, taking in the dark purple discolouration. felix hums, looking back at you.

“does it hurt?” he asks, reaching out towards you. his skin is warm and soft, hands of little manual labour but so much comfort and love.

you know this game, have played it a thousand times. a dramatic sigh falls from your glossed lips, pretty pout settling mere seconds afterwards. “terribly.”

“need to be more careful.” he says lowly, fingertips tracing the anklet with his initials on, a present you received during your 18th birthday in paris. the gold shimmers as he moves, raising your leg with a light yet dominant touch. felix leans down, dark strands of hair falling over his eyebrow piercing, and his lips kiss a trail upwards. he kisses you in a manner so achingly sweet, a way so felix, until he reaches the afflicted area. the kiss that he leaves there is bigger. “my little airhead, hm?”

or when you’re all drunk and sloppy :( he’s just watching you so carefully, so effortlessly your knight in shining armour. felix doesn’t stop you from downing your jägers, doesn’t stop you from sipping his stella, but his hand doesn’t leave your side the whole night, doesn’t let you out of his sight, even when you’re hunched over a group of bushes, chundering your guts up on the walk back to your accommodation.

those loving hands rub soothingly up and down your back, shushing your heaves. “that’s it. good girl, get it all out.” he doesn’t care for the violent smell, or the way that it splashes against his trainers. just cares about helping you, getting you tip-top again. his other hand gathers your hair, holding it up and away from your face.

“she’s so fucked.” arabella, one of your friends from back at your all-girls private school slurs on her words, bumping into felix’s side. he resists the urge to roll his eyes — as if she wasn’t the one shoving shots down your throat. “just give her some fucking water or something. i want to get back.”

“no one’s stopping you.” he says, motioning with his head, pointing to the way back to college towards farleigh, subliminally trying to tell him to take the others and leave the two of you to yourselves. you, of course, miss this interaction, too busy with your tear streaked cheeks and spit coated lips. your little hand reaches back blindly for him, grasping onto his green polo. his hand resumes its gentle strokes.

farleigh groans behind the butt of his cigarette, dragging your friend away and motioning for the rest of your posse to come along.

“felix.” you sob pathetically, feeling far more than sorry for yourself. his poor baby, he thinks, doing so little to take care of yourself. your heaving stops for a moment and you fall to your knees. felix is quick to react, scooping you up from underneath your armpits and pulling you away from the pile of your own sick.

“i’m here, bambi. you’re alright.” he murmurs as you shove your head into his shoulder, undoubtedly staining his top. his hands still never once leave you, even as he gives you time to regulate your breathing and choked cries, pushes your hair back time and time again.

even then, nostrils stinging with the sour smell and shoulder dead from your limp limbs, he can’t help but smile. he smiles at the knowledge that only he gets you like this, all reliant and incompetent, so desperate for him and his, in your eyes, omnipotence.

“‘m never drinking again.”

“that’s not true.”

you whine, pushing your face further into his neck. “it’s not true.”

yeah, he thinks, he’s pretty lucky with his sweet, incompetent girl.

[bloodbruise]

the bitches traumatized by saltburn would never survive the fics in my ao3 history

[hvcklebury]

i'll eat you up i love you so!

if you saw this on twt no you DIDNT

[ethanmaldridge]

Vampire

[momochanners]

Previous Post

Looks like *someone* rolled a Nat 20 in a Persuasion check and is mighty pleased about it…

[nessa007]

#she said stop being a fake fan lmao Rosamund Pike being interviewed for Saltburn (2023)

[filmreveries]

Saltburn (2023) dir. Emerald Fennell

[conformi]

Emerald Fennell, Saltburn, 2023 VS Fauno Barberini, Glyptothek, München, 220 a.C.

[lovecrumbss]

Jacob Elordi in "Saltburn"

[glitterslag]

Also. All these bitches on tiktok who hyped it up to be the most shocking film ever seen are weak as fuck. Getting naked in the pouring rain and fucking the fresh grave of your deceased best friend/homoerotic idol is the tumblr girl's bread and butter

[idontbelievethehype]

Absolutely, irrefutably out of pocket behavior from Prime Video.

[littlebabyyd0ll]

i cannot get this man out of my head i’m literally going feral

thinking about sitting down in front of one of the age-old couches in saltburn, chin settled sweetly upon your knee, bright eyes trained upon the illuminated tv screen. your lips twitch upwards at the green, groaning ogre complaining to a talking donkey. frilly sock clad toes dig in to the carpet, fidgeting with every minute movement of the boy above you.

you can feel him everywhere, his fingers, the warmth of his shins against your arms, his gorgeous mixture of cigarettes and aftershave. he’d abandoned a ciggy in favour of reaching out for your strands of hair in front of him, collecting them and twisting them idly. his movements are slow as to not catch the attention of any of his family, and he’s so gentle, domestic even. you welcome the light chill that the silver of his signet ring brings to the nape of your neck, bask in the way that he leans forwards in his seat behind you, loses himself in favour of your locks and ignores the family movie, despite it being the one that he picked out himself.

his movements begin to feel tighter, tickle your scalp in a way that only he makes you feel. lightheaded. small. sickly sweet. felix lets put a huff of breath, one that has your baby hairs dancing under his command, and his warm hand is suddenly on your shoulder. skin smooth, nails trimmed, he glides his way down your arm, all the way to your wrist. his large hand dwarfs the bone, elegant movements have his fingers slipping into the hair bobble that resides there and stealing it from you, but so softly you don’t even notice it happening. it’s the same way that he stole your heart, slowly, tenderly, summer over summer, christmas break over christmas break when you came to stay.

“oh, how darling!” his mother gushes as she notices the movements, watches with her ever observing eyes as felix ties off the end of the braid. “just look, pamela, look what he’s done. you look stunning, darling.” she smiles at you, a mother just as smitten with her son’s choice in love affairs as he is.

you turn your head, finally gazing up at him as his hold falls to nothingness. your eyes sparkle in the dim light of one of their many sitting rooms, and he admires the softness of you, just as he does every day. his chocolate eyes trace the softness of your cheeks, the chain of the necklace he gifted you upon your collarbones, the shape of your brow, the gloss upon your grinning lips.

“perfect.” he mutters, and he knows, as surely as he knows that he will die, that he loves you more than anything he has ever seen or imagined on earth.

[khaleesiofalicante]

This letterboxd review of Saltburn is sending me 😭

[mollspeak]

the way felix is convinced he's living in a romance movie to the extent that he dresses up like juliet. he considers kissing oliver in the maze. he makes himself off limits but not quite with the open door while he's in the bath; he's the damsel of the film, no doubt. but felix's tragedy is that oliver is convinced it's a horror story and a tale of revenge. so he doesn't play his part as romeo. he vomits up the poison so he can't die from "some poison more" and leaves felix to die alone.

[aridecs00]

Unreliable narrator that pretends that everything turned out the way he planned just to cope with the regret of what he had done.

[kittyrizzard]