okay so i miss roleplaying with you lovely people a ridiculous amount, and i’m determined to bring lucille back in some form, but the old blog was getting a bit hectic so i’m migrating over here for now! hopefully it’ll clear my head a little and i can get back to doing what we love with the people i love doing it with.
if we had a thread that you wanna continue please just let me know, likewise if you wanna plot something new please feel free to hit me up in ims! thank you kindly, i love you all more than I can express.
okay so i miss roleplaying with you lovely people a ridiculous amount, and i’m determined to bring lucille back in some form, but the old blog was getting a bit hectic so i’m migrating over here for now! hopefully it’ll clear my head a little and i can get back to doing what we love with the people i love doing it with.
if we had a thread that you wanna continue please just let me know, likewise if you wanna plot something new please feel free to hit me up in ims! thank you kindly, i love you all more than I can express.
okay so i miss roleplaying with you lovely people a ridiculous amount, and i’m determined to bring lucille back in some form, but the old blog was getting a bit hectic so i’m migrating over here for now! hopefully it’ll clear my head a little and i can get back to doing what we love with the people i love doing it with.
if we had a thread that you wanna continue please just let me know, likewise if you wanna plot something new please feel free to hit me up in ims! thank you kindly, i love you all more than I can express.
🎁 Our muses open presents together!
🎄 Our muses decorate a christmas tree together!
🏬 Our muses go christmas shopping!
🔪 Our muses choose and cut their own tree!
💃 Our muses go ice-skating!
🌁 Our muses play in the snow!
🍛 Our muses make a Christmas dinner together!
🍪 Our muses bake and decorate Christmas cookies!
👀 Our muses stay up waiting for santa!
🎅 One muse still believes in santa… how does the other handle it?
🔥 Our muses drink hotchocolate and cuddle next to the fireplace!
📺 Our muses watch Christmas films together!
🎨 Our muses make christmas crafts - snowflakes, snowmen and more!
🏠 Our muses decorate the outside of the house!
💰 Our muses go decortion shopping!
👪 Our muses go to the mall to sit on santas lap!
🎶 Our muses listen to christmas songs!
📥 Our muses sled down a hill!
⛺ Our muses make a gingerbread house!
🏂 Our muses go snowboarding!
🏡 Our muses assist at a homeless shelter on christmas!
👶 Our muses visit a childrens hospital and give gifts to kids!
🚙 Our muses drive/walk around to look at peoples xmas lights at night!
🎬 Our muses watch a christmas play together!
😱 Our muses get snowed into their house!
🍻 Our muses get drunk off of booze filled egg nog!
🐎 Our muses take a horse drawn sleigh ride!
👕 One muse forces the other to wear ugly, matching christmas sweaters!
🎼 Our muses go caroling!
🎊 muses attend a christmas party!
💏 Our muses meet under the mistletoe - Accidentally or on purpose is your choice!
i’m sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth, uni hit me with a million and one assignments at the same time so they’ve been taking up most of my energy! rest assured that me and my trash wife have not gone anywhere - everything should be done soon and i’ll dive back into my drafts, in the meantime pls hmu in ims if you wanna say hi!
as if it was second nature to him, fernando approached lucille as he saw her sitting all by herself. almost an INVITATION for him to sit with her; fortunately, he was currently taking a break. whenever she was around for a visit, fernando tended to make sure to take longer breaks, more regular ones. casually sitting down at her table, a smile appeared on his face. “ i hope you remember dinner tonight, kitty. i am quite sure you will love my choice. ”
❝ well, buenos días. ❞ leaning forward in her chair as he takes the opposite seat, she gives him the smile she’s become accustomed to wearing in his presence. she’s a little drunk and a little in love, and though she will admit to neither there is a giddiness in her tone which few would associate with the cold and composed reputation of lucille bluth. but few see her as she is in kalokairi: a woman reborn ( or at least transformed ). she describes the island in the most romantic terms she can manage and claims it is the most extraordinary place she has ever been, though in reality, it isn’t the island she travels here for at all... ❝ i hope you wouldn’t think i’d forget. you’re not the kind of man to slip my mind...❞
( under the cut because this got extremely long i apologise !! )
I
❝ i’ve never been in love. ❞ she tells him earnestly on the night they meet, in a tone which hides the influence of the four vodkas she had taken before their exchange. ❝ jenny told you that i’m in love with a new man every week, but that’s not true. i’m OBSESSED with them, sure, but love’s different, isn’t it? ❞
christ knows why she’s asking him. it sounds like a precursor to flirtation, when in reality he is not her type: at parties like this, she collects the lecherous attentions of powerful men she knows will treat her badly, and rarely puts effort into the type she can only categorise as ‘gentle’. he’d be so easy to fall in love with, she thinks, if she had the inclination. maybe he’d prove her wrong. maybe he’d be somewhere down the middle; yes, she can see him being easy to fall in love with, but hard to BE in love with. she’s never been one for hard work.
but he is an enigma to her, as he always will be. he makes an awkward, clever comment on the butterfly pin she wears in the collar of her dress, and her brain starts its regular hurried, difficult process. she’s so used to knowing where to place the people she meets, establishing how best to work and manipulate them before they use up her own weak resources first. but he - harry, her friend introduced him as, and he does look like a harry - is not like anyone she has met. he gives her no sense that he will use her, and she lowers her defences, needing instead to know why he seems to trust walls more than he does people. by the time they kiss she is none the wiser, but has at least found herself content in her lack of understanding.
she falls into him when she realises that he won’t take a kiss from her, but he’ll give her one. it’s an important distinction that she’s still learning. fuck it, she thinks as she studies him with a calculated tenderness which betrays her, i might as well. none of her men ( lucy’s men. that’s the kind of reputation she’s building for herself. ) have been kind to her. maybe she’ll like it. maybe she’ll like the feel of a nice man.
she does. god, she does. lucy has never, ever been kissed like this before - she never will - and she clings to him, deepening the kiss only to lengthen it. it’s far too soon for the alternative, but this is more than an obsession. there’s a single word for him, she decides. indescribable. the word itself is evasion, of course, but if she were braver than she is then it would say all that she intends for him to know.
❝ well, you kiss better than you flirt, bud, ❞ is all she concedes, in the end. for now, anyway.
II
she has introduced him to her hands as she introduced him to her, and by now he must know them as old friends. they’re soft as a general rule - softer than you’d expect of a woman with as harsh a tongue as lucy - but they can tense when she angers, or around his hair when she comes undone. an awful part of her hopes this way is his favourite, though she suspects he loves them best when she’s at the piano, reviving a dormant talent purely because he smiles with his eyes when he hears her play. she’s no maestro, but he doesn’t wince at her mistakes the way that mama does; sometimes, if he hears one, he’ll kiss her cheek instead, and this will usually cause another.
❝ oh, if you’re SO brilliant, why don’t you join me? ❞ she moves to give him space beside her on the stool, with a challenging tone that would hold a threat to it if it wasn’t him receiving it. she is playing the right hand of a piece before he sits down, confident that he knows the left at least in part; she’s right, of course. there’s an intimacy to the art of the duet. it’s like making love; just as beautiful, just as unifying, but lacks the natural awkwardness she felt with every man before him ( maybe it’s just HIM that lacks it. no, she can’t think like that. ). the pretence is not eternal. lucy becomes arrogant in her performance, and when she tries to cross their hands they tangle and the music falls entirely into laughter.
a lithe finger gestures just beside her lips as she leans into him expectantly. ❝ i THINK that counts as a mistake, ❞ she encourages, and when he tries to repeat their ritual she turns into his lips, stealing a kiss he hadn’t offered but, hopefully, won’t mind her taking. it’s sweet at first, with the warm affection she tries to hide that she holds for him, sometimes. but her hand becomes restless as her lips do the work, stroking first his jaw, then nape of his neck, then his hair - oh, that hair. they are breathless by the time they finally part - necessity rather than desire - and her hand dives for his in a single move. faultless, like it’s returning home.
❝ tell me i’m brilliant, harry. do you think i’m brilliant ?? ❞ he kisses her again. she takes it as a yes.
III
❝ i don’t want you to look at me !! ❞ confidence is harsh. she learnt that years before she met him, and supposes that she held an obligation to reveal it to him one day; the knotted guilt in her throat is unfamiliar, but far from enough to block her words. ❝ and i don’t want you to change my mind because you can’t. i STILL know it better than you, you owe me more than that bullshit. ❞
YOU’RE TOO SHARP, LUCY. the thought of her mother is loud, and correct; for a woman so gifted in conflict, lucy is better at proving expectations right than wrong. her own words are secondary to a larger means, an amalgamation of meaningless syllables her cold heart thinks are expected rather than intended ( does he owe her more? does he owe her anything? she wants better, but not FROM him. ). it’s a mask, created from the rubble of her fallen pride, disguising how pathetic she is - she, a grown woman using her own words to perform mummy’s wishes. but mama knows best. this is for the best. A NICE GUY LIKE THAT WON’T EVER LOVE YOU BACK. YOU’LL CUT HIS HANDS WHEN HE TRIES. NO. MY LITTLE GIRL NEEDS A MAN WHO CAN WIELD HER LIKE A BLADE.
she steps back as he steps towards her. never before has she let riches slip from her hands ( he is, by far, the most exquisite thing she has ever held, and only now has she considered that hands like hers can ruin jewels ) and she soon corrects herself; her arms wrap around his waist, a tenderness she reserved for him which never suited her in the first place. she’s an expert at lying with her voice; she’s forgotten what the truth tastes like, but she remembers how it feels. she hides her wounds with precision until they kiss, an overwhelming finality flowing into weakened veins, and she bleeds into his mouth. she knows she can’t say that. she hasn’t said it before, and now is far from the right time. but her lips say stay with me, and it’s hard to argue with them.
hard, but not impossible. ❝ i don’t wanna see you again.❞
IV
it is hardly ever that she thought of him, she tells him from the rim of a martini glass, though her softening eyes betray her rather blunt lie. she offers him a fabricated excuse that lucy and lucille are different figures, and the events of the years before she added that crucial extra syllable mean nothing to the woman she is today. harry was the lover of lucy ( he comments on her use of the word lover, and anger fails her in return for a light roll of her eyes ) but a stranger to her now, and there’s to be no case of picking up where they left off, so to speak. the name harry hart means nothing to lucille bluth. the name means nothing to her. but she is still the same woman, despite all this. lucy is not concealed, but harry is only person to still see her. christ, she’s wanted to be seen all this time.
lucille considers it a failure to confess the truth, but she’s never been a strong woman, not really; she’s simply kept up the facade. she considers the situation like this: she has little interest in history, but she knows that people will travel thousands of miles to see the ashes and ruins of empires that it was thought would last forever, and look upon them with the same admiration and interest as those who built them. their rawness, their decay, is as crucial to their appeal as their original structure, for the fascination comes not from what had been built, but from what has survived. if she kisses harry now, thirty years after the last, she will not be futilely trying to rebuild something lost, but discovering the beauty she can find in what remains.
quite a lot remains, she discovers, when she pushes her glass away from her and pulls him towards her instead. the kiss the gentlest thing she’s felt in a while, although it’s fraught with the desperation of a woman incapable of apologising with her words, but knowing that she can still speak with her lips. he has changed, wildly, but he doesn’t kiss like a lover: he still kisses like her lover. her lover.
shit.
she closes her eyes involuntarily ( is she dreaming? christ, this is cliche if she is. ) and hears him whisper a name into her lips; a finger reaches up to break them apart. ❝ — it’s lucille. ❞ she corrects him, a careful murmur into the negligible gap between them. she needs this. everything else - every moment, every kiss, every emotion - must remain untouched. but they are not in the past, and he can love lucy all he likes, as long as he loves the rest of her, too. ❝ harry. call me lucille and kiss me again. ❞
he amazes her. she’s not waiting long.
V
when the weather is harsher than lucille is used to, she finds herself holding him a little tighter, as though she’s aware of some adverse effect the outside world may have on them. it never rains in california, and so london surprises her. god knows how it ever leaves her mind. it’s all the english seem to talk about, the weather, and she doesn’t bother to hide her disdain for a topic which matches its subject in dullness. thank god harry is not one for small talk. he’s not one for talk of many kinds ( though he’s a spectacular listener for a woman who can’t stop. ) so even when they talk in private, exchanging discordant words, his always hold a certain gravity that she’s never matched.
harry returns to her in exhaustion, most nights. what it is about a tailor’s shop that tires him so much she doesn’t know, but he is not george, and the importance of the whole thing is that he returns to her at all. sometimes he’ll sleep within the hour. others, when she questions him on certain topics ( she’s learning those, making up for time they wasted apart. ) he can talk for far longer than that. everyone knows that she’s an expert at feigned interest. but the first and only time her mind wanders that night is when she realises what it means that she has clung to every single word.
absorbed in his own language, he is describing wing structures to her when she cuts him off with a single kiss. whilst it’s gentler than usual - she’s a desperate kisser, but this time she slows herself - it holds a confession of something momentous that she has, shockingly, only just realised she’s felt for a long time. she understands it. now, she understands. he never felt like an obsession, after all. he questions her with a single look; she answers simply with what seems like a contradiction, but he’s always been a clever man, and he’s always known her well. ❝ i wanna hear about your stupid butterflies. ❞
her arms wrap around his waist, and as it rains on the streets of london he talks, and she listens, and everything has fallen into place.
❛ all the world will be your enemy, prince with a thousand enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you. but first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning. be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed. ❜ / william ‘willy’ wright, a harry potter original character. as penned by sophia.
wait for her to finish pouring a measure of PURE VODKA before - OH, HANG ON. that might be all you need to know. her lips curl slightly at the rim of the glass, a smile flickering briefly as she struggles to establish its place in her expression - she intends for it to nurture a cruelty behind it, though a few external thoughts soon have her confidence DROWNING in an awareness that it just seems pathetic. she nods almost imperceptibly in agreement with some silent thought, before taking an oversized a sip from the glass. her throat might as well be BURNING for this.
❝ — GEORGE BLUTH IS A PUNY MAN. ❞ eventually. her tongue is laced with VENOM when she finally talks of her husband, but christ knows he’s poisoned enough of her mind for it to pervade into her language. hit ‘em where it hurts, that’s her motto, and she knows her husband better than anyone, more than well enough to return a long-owed favour. ❝ he wants you to believe this alpha-male bullshit, so he can intimidate you or sleep with you. and he’s good at it. oh, he’s GOOD. ❞ convinced me long enough, any normal woman might add, but she won’t, for she isn’t searching for your pity. lucille will never be the long-suffering wife, because she has a talent for convincing everyone around her that she has never suffered. ❝ it’s not true. he’s WEAK, you know? only a weak man could do what he’s done to this family. ❞
her fingers tap against the edge of her glass. it’s an uncommon display of restlessness for the woman so desperate to keep control, but she’s aware that for all her efforts she has never had her irremovable grip around her marriage. she never dealt well with that. denial was always her method of choice, rejecting thoughts with such practised talent that she convinced herself of the perfect marriage illusion more times than she did anyone else. so what now, becoming aware that their union was the biggest lie of a family incapable of honesty, is she meant to say? it’s an intensity she can’t pinpoint. she hates george. she loves george. fuck, she can’t remember which is the truth any more.
❝ — he was charming. once. ❞ she concedes eventually. she’s absolving herself: of what she’s not quite certain, aware only of its necessity. she can’t let it fall, this perfect, frozen facade she masks herself with. she can’t. ❝ you know how many women he’s fucked. my jewellery collection can stand witness to that !! of course he knows how to charm a girl, how to work her into his hands. but the way he charmed me... ❞ hesitation. a schoolgirl smile is a schoolgirl error. ❝ he made it so simple. men aren’t meant to be able to do that to a woman. not that easily, not women like me. even then, not a woman like- ❞
she feels vulnerability tug at her throat; she silences it, downing the rest of her drink. ❝ see what i mean when i say he’s GOOD? don’t fall for it. FUCK HIM OVER. god knows he has to pay that bill, sometime. ❞
ask this mad woman about her mad life // ACCEPTING // @pathetiicgirl43
the most savage moment in all five seasons so far is when alpha-male dick george bluth, who bases his self-worth on his fragile view of ultra-masculinity, tells his soon to be ex-wife lucille that ‘if she wants to see a real man, she’s going to’, and she, about to meet a sweet and sensitive sand hobo, looks him dead in the eye and goes ‘i know! i just didn’t want you to see me with him.’
edit, to remind myself to write a full meta about this sometime: the difference between lucille’s attraction to dusty (in how little we’ve seen of him) and her previous attractions (specifically george) is super fascinating. she’s always shown herself to be drawn to her husband’s power & masculinity ('you’re as powerful as a bear... my husband, the bear.’) whilst she eagerly specifies gentler moments with dusty (’we walk on the beach, we like the feel of the sand on our feet...’), and i think it shows a shift in her attitude towards herself after her realisation at the end of series 4. she always wanted power and control, almost single-mindedly, and that was reflected in what she looked for in a man, hence she’s spent decades in this loveless marriage to a husband who cheats on her, degrades her, and is generally just a shit. the events of season 4 (quite rightly (and mostly through her own faults) losing everyone she thought loved her) shift something in her, and she realises that maybe she needed something different all along. this might not make sense (i’m tired) and maybe i’m reading too far into this idk. but the differences between george and dusty’s relationships with lucille feel important to highlight sometime.
the most savage moment in all five seasons so far is when alpha-male dick george bluth, who bases his self-worth on his fragile view of ultra-masculinity, tells his soon to be ex-wife lucille that ‘if she wants to see a real man, she’s going to’, and she, about to meet a sweet and sensitive sand hobo, looks him dead in the eye and goes ‘i know! i just didn’t want you to see me with him.’
