#I might just actually consider living here

[boomstab-papa]

Oh absolutely, giving misogynists captive girlfriends/wives isn't going to fix anything. Being a little more misogynist to try to appease misogynists won't work.

But "giving any credence" is such an interesting phrase to use here, because it's so ambiguous and also accusatory. What does "giving credence" mean? Who has been doing it? What have they been advocating for? Who, for example, has been saying leftists should be more misogynist, and how?

I'm not alone in this confusion, either, there are several comments on the tweet who are equally perplexed.

The fact is that the left DOES NEED a better approach to people who are feeling lost, angry, and scared.

Alt-right "self-help" authors and programs are hugely popular. These predators target lost, scared, and angry people. They're cults, really. And no matter how much the left discusses things like "can we stop parroting bioessentialist bullshit because hey, men aren't destined to be misogynistic assholes"... these alt-right cultists don't ever even have to TALK TO a leftist to repeatedly hear "leftists hate you for being born white/male/rich/etc". I really can't get over how Rush Limbaugh popularized the term "feminiazi" and told an entire generation that feminists were angry man-haters when they literally are not. But that's exactly how the grift works!! I should know, I grew up in exactly this Rush Limbaugh kind of house!!

"Don't blame the hyper-wealthy for ruining the economy, blame women and foreigners for taking all the jobs! Don't blame the ruined economy when nobody wants to have kids anymore, blame the women! Don't blame patriarchy and all the misogyny it taught you when women avoid your misogynist ass, blame the women! Remember, the feminazis hate you!!"

So what to do?

On an interpersonal level, sometimes it can be really easy. This is a comment made to Innuendo Studios's video "How to Radicalize A Normie" on this exact topic (which I highly recommend watching).

"Hey, ex-alt-right member here. First, really like this series. I feel like you’re validating the radicalization that me and my male friends experienced. Putting it into words and showing us how we got tricked, exposing the magician and their tricks. Second, I vot out not through argument and discussion but actually through feelings. I was very edgy and would use the n-word in jokes all the time. My male friends would not call me out on it. But a female friend of mine said it made her uncomfortable and that she didn’t appreciate these jokes when we played fortnite together. That shook me to my core as I cared for my friend and that’s how my deradicaliztion started. Just wanted to add in this personal story, keep up the great work :)"

If this is someone you know, tell them their behavior is not cool.

THIS GOES DOUBLE FOR THE MEN READING THIS. Misogynists are more likely to listen to you than they are to listen to women!! If someone is being a shithead in your vicinity, consider: are you gonna let it slide? Or are you maybe, possibly, going to be the one thing that yanks them out of a hatespiral and prompts them to re-examine their hateful worldview? Tell them "hey not cool".

This might not work the first time. This might not work at all for some people. But if the situation is relatively safe, then it's worth trying.

And this does not mean that you personally are responsible for "centering men in your conversations" or "marginalized people putting in even more emotional labor" or "if a man is misogynist it's because you failed him" what the fuck ever like I've seen in this discourse. Come the fuck on.

It means you can probably try saying something to somebody you know. And if it doesn't work? You can say you tried.

On a policy level, we have more work to do. It shouldn't come as a surprise to any leftist that the current economic and political system in the USA exists to separate and exploit people. I think we all agree it really sucks to live in a system like this. Your average reactionary misogynist also thinks the system sucks, but as explained above, they've been trained to place the blame on some convenient scapegoats instead. Immigrants. Women. Queer people. Muslims. Anybody who's not white. Et cetera. "Government needs to get out of the way of smart people and then Elon Musk will build a utopia for The Faithful (which includes me) on Mars" or some shit.

These people need to hear that their anger is justified, but that their blame is misplaced. They need policies that will hold the responsible parties accountable. They need policies that won't leave them impoverished and isolated and exhausted after working a 40+ hour work week. They need to realize the system isn't sorting people into "the worthy rich" and "the unworthy poor", rather, that it's exploiting everyone except the wealth-owning class. They need to realize it's their politicians' biggest campaign donors that are doing this to them.

The Democratic Party needs to actually talk about this. I'll be dangerously pithy here: the Democratic Party needs to sound more like Bernie Fucking Sanders. Politicians need to oppose health insurance companies and get Medicare For All going. Politicians need to stop voting to give the military two fucking billion dollars every single day and fund free college and trade schools. Politicians need to tell business interests to fuck off and get a livable minimum wage AND a universal basic income passed, which will severely undercut employers' ability to exploit and isolate us.

And we need Citizens United repealed. Badly. I'm not trying to imply the problem is only with Republicans' campaign donors, because Democrats' biggest campaign donors are also often the same people exploiting us. But look at how Democrats did a tiny little bit of pro-union and anti-trust work these past 4 years and they screamed bloody fucking murder. If Democrats are relying on these people's money to get them elected, I think it's going to be really hard to get policies passed that will actually make USAmericans safer and happier (ie. address Republicans' economic fears that they keep blaming on various scapegoats).

Although with Republicans controlling the entire Federal government for the next two years minimum, this feels more distant than ever.

That's what we need to be taking seriously. If you don't give any credence to the fears and insecurities underlying the horrifying reactionary politics, you're not actually addressing anything. If you can't admit that capitalism fucks all of us over and makes all of us miserable and looking for a remedy, are you even a leftist?

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

-

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something. 

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit. 

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously. 

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise. 

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly. 

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess. 

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman. 

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident? 

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity. 

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

-

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

-

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?” 

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role. 

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

 “Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat. 

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings. 

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action. 

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave? 

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him. 

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” 

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll. 

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on. 

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation. 

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue. 

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along. 

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t. 

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree. 

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose. 

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

 And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires. 

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context. 

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?” 

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

-

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[sunnystaytiny2018]

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ATEEZ Fanfiction

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Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: ATEEZ x Fem Reader

Genre: Smuttttt -maybe a few more- tttt

POV: First Person

Additional Tags: Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Rough, Mean punishments, multiple rounds, squirting, orgasm denial, choking, spanking, biting, jealous sex, established relationship, 0T8 x Reader, g x b, blindfold, blow jobs, multiple partners at once, cum licking, creampies, cum swallowing

Requested by @yuyuyuyumesblog

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have been really misbehaving lately. My boyfriends had been so busy that they didn't seem to have time for me anymore. So I started acting out to get their attention. Not rejecting someone when they are clearly flirting with me and dancing around with other guys. I still hadn't gotten a reaction out of any of them, considering they weren't there. Or so I thought. So why the hell were my boyfriends standing there in our living room like it was an intervention?

“Um, I'm home.”

“Why were you out so late?” Hongjoong questioned me.

“I went clubbing.”

“Without us?” Wooyoung demanded and I frowned, feeling anger bubble in my chest.

“Every time I ask you're too busy! Every last one of you!” I yelled, my eyes watering from frustration.

“Oh! So you just go and grind on some other guy?!” Seonghwa demanded and I was taken aback, Seonghwa rarely ever yelled.

“How did-”

“You think we didn't have an eye on you at all times?” San asked, as if that was the most outlandish thing to think. Hongjoong set his laptop on the computer and showed me a video of me dancing near a guy. I never actually grinded up on anyone, I didn't want anyone but one of my boyfriends. But I let them close enough to cause jealousy.

“Get your ass to the room and strip. I better find you waiting in position for your punishment, baby girl.” My heart raced. I quickly skimmed over everyone to find I would in fact be punished by every single one of them. Fear and excitement swirled in my chest. “NOW.” I jumped and quickly headed to his room.

“Yes, Daddy.” I whimpered. I tripped half way down the hall but I quickly got up and hurried into his room, not wanting the punishment to be worse than they already planned because I wasn't ready by the time they got here. I stripped all my clothes off and scrambled on the bed into position. I sat on my knees with my palms upwards on my thighs. My head bowed down, not daring to look up especially as my boyfriends came into the room.

“Oh good, she listened. I'm sure she already knows her punishment won't be easy, right Baby?” Jongho asked as he titled my chin up. I remained silent knowing I wasn't supposed to reply, it was merely a rhetorical question.

“Well, tell you what. How about…” Yunho whispered as he slowly pulled a silk fabric over my eyes. “If you can guess who is pleasuring you, we can switch to the next person. He won't get to cum. But if you make a wrong guess or don't guess within 15 seconds… you don't to get to cum and he does.” The idea made my heart race and my pussy ached. This might be the harshest punishment yet. They had never denied me orgasms for so long.

“Color?” Hongjoong's voice broke through the darkness of my vision.

“Green.” I replied as hands immediately guided me to lay down and spread my legs.

“First person.” Hongjoong said as the bed dipped and someone moved between my legs and rubbed his hands on my legs. My legs turned from the intimate touch. I sucked in a breath as I tried to focus. His hands weren't on the bigger side of the members. So Yunho and Mingi were out of play. When I felt their tongue delve into my pussy I let out a whimper. Okay, not Hongjoong or Wooyoung. They prefer eating me out after destroying me. I breathed in their scent.

“Yeo-Yeosang?” I stuttered out as my back arched into his tongue.

“Wow, very good, baby.” Hongjoong praised and Yeosang increased the speed of his tongue and pushed a finger into my wet pussy. I let out a desperate cry due to the sudden contact. I hadn't had sexual contact or action for a while.

“Oh Yeosang!” I moaned at his soft touches accompanied with the feverish licks of his tongue. My hands tangled in his brown locks as I felt my body jolt and tense. “I'm close, baby.” I moaned as he added a second finger increasing the pleasure. My back arched as my body released a gentle and warm orgasm. Yeosang had to pull himself away and someone new replaced him.

I felt his hands drag on my thighs and I bit my lip. I think I may already know who it is. I'm not saying all of them don't like my thighs but there is one specific one who loves them. He always touches and marks them up. Maybe I knew my boys better than I thought. I really started out thinking I would fail over and over. I felt his lips on my thighs for only a second before spreading my legs and immediately pushed into me.

I let out a cry at the stretching but I tried to focus on the feeling of his dick. I want to cum again, so bad. But this definitely wasn't who I thought it was, since he would have spent much longer than that on my thighs. I could only think of one of the guys who didn't do as much foreplay, not that I mind. Sometimes I just want a good fuck without the extra steps to work up to it. But then again I love the foreplay too. The nicest thing about having 8 boyfriends is each one of them can satisfy certain needs that the others may not be able to.

I let out a moan as he snapped his hips, pushing deeper inside of me. His rhythm was familiar, well of course it was. His rhythm is strong and almost harsh. Yep, I knew who it was.

“Who is it, baby?” Hongjoong asked as I felt fingers slip to my clit as his hips began to snap faster. Shit wait, it wasn't Hongjoong?

“I-I don't know! I thought it was you, I- W-Wooyoung?” I asked as he sucked in a breath.

“Incorrect, Honey. You don't get to cum.” Hongjoong informed me and I whined out. I already had an orgasm building since the one between my legs started rubbing my clit and fucking my pussy like it's the best thing he's ever felt. He finally let his voice out after I got it wrong.

“Fuck~ You feel so good.” Jongho growled in my ear and it sent shivers of pleasure through my body. His voice and groans are too sexy. My legs tensed as I tried to hold it back

“Color, baby?

“Green.” I moaned out, the shake in my breath making it clear I was teetering on the edge.

“Hold it, baby.” Jongho groaned as his pace increased and he withdrew his hand from my clit.

“I-I can't. I can't hold it-” I whimpered out as my abdomen tensed painfully.

“Yes, you can, baby. And you better not cum.” Seonghwa instructed. I could hear the sound of some of the guys jerking themselves off while watching. Soft groans coming from different parts of the room.

“You look so sexy getting pounded into, baby.” Wooyoung praised from somewhere in the room. “Squirming and trying not to cum.” Jongho thrusted deeper before spilling himself inside of me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I felt slight relief as he cummed inside of me. No longer having any stimulation that made my body want to orgasm. Jongho kneeled between my legs and looked down at me.

“I'll be back, baby.” Jongho purred and gave me a kiss before leaving the spot. It took a few seconds before the next person caused the bed to dip again. My legs were still trembling slightly from the previous stimulation but holding back the orgasm.

I felt the brush of jeans against my pussy and I smiled softly. This one I knew for sure. There was only one member who liked to have sex with his jeans still on. His hands squeezed and kneaded my sides making it even more clear that it was who I thought it was. His hands moved up to my breasts and squeezed them. A moan slipped out of my mouth at the dorm squeeze. His lips were on them, soft fluttering kisses around the nipples. Then his hot tongue was on my tits drawing out the loudest moan since this had started. I rubbed my thighs together as my pussy clenched. I moved my hand along his arms and to his hair.

“Mingi, please.” I moaned and I felt the smirk spread on his face.

“Okay, baby. As you wish.” He said as he began to rub my clit as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. My back arched at the feeling of his silver rings against my burning pussy. He began to suck harder on my nipples and I couldn't last any longer from the sensitivity.

“Mingi! I'm close.” I moaned before orgasming on his fingers. He pulls them out and he makes a loud slurping sound, telling me he just sucked his fingers clean of my juices. I shivered, feeling turned on all over again. God, Mingi was nasty and I fucking loved it.

“Next one, Sweetheart.” Seonghwa purred to me. I felt cum splatter on my stomach and a low groan from Yunho. I decided to do something sexy and I slowly trailed my hand from my breast to my stomach until I felt my fingers touch the now warm cum. I heard his breath hitch as someone else got on the bed. I scooped some on my finger and sucked my lips.

“Oh fuck, I can't. She's too sexy. I'm done playing this game. I need to fuck her.” Wooyoung growled from between my legs. He ripped the tie off of my face to see his feral look. He grabbed me by my thighs and yanked me down. “Fuck, you so pretty, baby. I might just cum in you the second I put it in.” He said before pushing into me. I let out a loud and desperate moan. Thank God, someone broke. I need them so fucking bad it hurts. I want to feel their cum leaking out of my pussy like their good little cum slut.

“Please! Fuck yes please, Woo.” I moaned as he began to fuck me. The other members joined us on the bed and hands were on me. One landed to hold my cheeks.

“Open wide, baby.” Hongjoong ordered and I opened my mouth obediently. Hongjoong smirked and pushed into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I choked a little before adjusting to his size as my body continued to bounce up from Wooyoung's thrusts. Moans escaped around Hongjoong's dick as I sucked on him like it was the tasty lollipop ever. I missed this. I missed them.

Mingi began to suck on one tit and Yunho joined in my other. The pleasure was too overwhelming as I orgasmed once more. Hongjoong began to face fuck me and someone nudged my hand with their dick. I didn't hesitate to take whoever it was. It didn't matter who it was. I wanted to pleasure them all equally. I used the precum from his dick and smeared it around and started to pump my hand as I squeezed my eyes shut, Hongjoong busting in my mouth. I swallowed it quickly and Hongjoong slowly pulled out to be replaced by Seonghwa. He slowly pushed into my mouth and allowed me to go at my own pace, throwing his head back in pleasure.

I orgasmed once more, encouraging Wooyoung to cum inside me. He was pushed aside and quickly replaced by San who began to lap my pussy up. The thighs were trembling and someone else began to kiss, suck, and bite them. I moaned around Seonghwa's dick as the one I was jerking off cummed on my face.

“Cumming~” Jongho warned before doing so. I squinted my eyes closed so I didn't get any in my eyes. By the end of the night, my body was worn and marked. My boyfriends quickly washed and cleaned my body and changed the sheets before allowing me to lay in the bed again.

“Thank you, Love. You did so good. We really needed you.” San said as he placed a soft kiss on my forehead. I nodded as I snuggled into his arms.

“I love you guys.”

“We love you too.” Seonghwa said softly, giving me a soft kiss as well.

“You can sleep, sweetheart.” Hongjoong encouraged me as he tucked the blanket around my body. I nodded, already nodding off.

[oneinathousand]

I've assembled some lesser-known quotes about Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, I hope there's at least one in here that most of you have never seen before, though the super-fans among you have likely seen them all ;)

Lee fancies himself playing Aragorn, the archetypal heroic figure of the piece - he would probably be cast as Sauron, the Satanic figure in Tolkien's Middle Earth - but he feels that only a Walt Disney feature cartoon could possibly do justice to the work.

-"Cinemafantastique" Vol 3 No 1 (Fall 1973)

I knew that Lee wanted to play Gandalf when he jumped on board the LOTR movie trilogy, but I didn't know he apparently originally wanted to play Aragorn! My guess is that once he got older, he figured he would be better as Gandalf, though of course he didn't get it. But Lee as Aragorn... if he played the part in the late 50's, 60's or early 70's, I could see him pulling it off, what with his swordfighting abilities. Did he ever comment on the Ralph Bakshi adaptation?

After the liberation of Germany, he [Lee] visited a number of the concentration camps, including Dachau, a deeply disturbing experience which, he says, provided him with such a close-up view of the charnel house side of real life that he is unaffected by anything he sees or does on the screen.

-The Dracula Scrapbook, Peter Haining

I have decided now to tell a tale a bit "out of school" regarding the relationship between Peter and Helen Cushing, especially since this is a lady who remains a bit of a mystery to most Cushing fans - like a figure out of an Edgar Allan Poe tale, considering the way Peter lionized her as if she was indeed his "lost Lenore." During the latter part of 1977, I saw quite a bit of Christopher Lee as he and his family were living in Los Angeles where he played golf (and made the occasional film or television movie of the week.) One afternoon, we were at lunch, and the subject of Peter and his wife came up in conversation; Christopher leaned over to me and said, "You know David, Helen Cushing was a bit of a psychic vampire in life; she kept Peter very close. It was as if she could read his very thoughts before they had them. They really were soulmates of the first order; make no mistake about that! I don't think Helen ever really trusted me where Peter was concerned - even after he and I had made several films together. In fact, Helen used to say to me, "I know you think you are now bigger than my husband don't you?" Well, I just looked at her, smiled and said, "Well Helen, I am taller than Peter you know." Christopher felt that Peter had such guilt - imagined or not - about anything he might have done when they were married; if for example he ever found himself attracted to any of the Hammer glamour girls; whom he worked opposite, it all was now too much to bear. On the other hand, Vincent Price responded to Peter's intense mourning with his usual brand of humor. During the filming of Madhouse, he observed Peter discussing ways of communication from beyond the grave by perhaps installing a phone in the crypt; Vincent listened to all this and then replied with that unmistakably deadpan voice, "Well Peter, what if she's out?"

-David Del Valle, "Diabolique" #16

A few of you may recall seeing a quote posted here from Lee calling Helen a psychic vampire. I tried to find the source for that, but I couldn't. Instead I found this other version, possibly by the same person, which seems to give more insight about what Lee actually thought of Helen, and it comes off as much less harsh on his part than the other one.

A while back, I looked up interviews about the making of The Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires, and I swore I saw a magazine or something where Roy Ward Baker, the co-director of the movie along with the Shaw Brothers, said something about Cushing during the making of it to the effect of: “He was absolutely miserable, poor bugger.” But I forgot to take a screenshot of it then and for the life of me I couldn’t remember where it came from, I tried to look through my search history but couldn’t find it. I swear that I saw it, though!

Oh well. Next up is a quote about Lee and Cushing watching Looney Tunes together for the last time, get your tissues out...

In the early 90s I worked for Hammer Films and was asked to organise a voiceover recording for a Hammer Films documentary. Both Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee had agreed to work together one last time. Christopher Lee had asked me to organise one thing: a television and a VHS player in a private room and to have some alone time with Peter. After the recording, I cleared the studio and left Peter and Christopher alone with the TV. They hadn’t noticed that I was still at the mixing desk so I waited to see what they were going to be watching. I saw Count Dooku and Grand Moff Tarkin sit watching Looney Tunes cartoons – each doing perfect impersonations of Sylvester the Cat and Tweety Pie – all line perfect! I can’t remember exactly – but I think Christopher Lee was Tweety Pie and Peter Cushing was Sylvester.

-"Popbitch" 2015 Annual, the quote is just credited to a "JH", but IMDB lists a Jane Hughes as having worked as an assistant director in the Canterbury studio where Lee and Cushing recorded their voiceover, so this is most likely her. I personally would like to believe that Lee was playing Sylvester and Cushing was Tweety because Lee said he was always Sylvester to Cushing, and come on, Cushing MUST have been Tweety, that character would fit him like a glove!

For this final quote, I'm gonna do something different and copy-paste a whole interview done with Lee by a guy named John Exshaw about Cushing a year before the latter died for the magazine Cinema Retro, the interview being put up on their website. The formatting on the interview is all messed up, so I fixed the apostrophes and em-dashes and will put the whole thing here for your enjoyment.

I find this interview fascinating not so much for what Lee says about Cushing, but for how it implied he saw himself compared to Peter:

I didn’t meet him until we did the first Hammer movie. I’d seen him. Of course the thing which I’d seen which impressed me most, understandably, was 1984, which was remarkable. He was wonderful in that… Live TV! [shudders]

Total dedication; and this is the answer to why Peter Cushing is an actor. Total dedication. Total! The most professional actor I have ever worked with. And I’m not going to say underrated, because he isn’t underrated. He’s highly regarded all over the world as a brilliant actor, and deservedly so. The record shows that… Also, one thing that we do share, I think, more than anything, which is more important than anything else - I think we share the same dedication, I think we share professionalism, I think we share the same feelings about doing the best we can - one thing we certainly share is the same sense of humor, which of course the general public is totally unaware of. If they knew what we got up to on the set in every film we’ve made… the imitations that I used to do… Oh, we used to dance together in the rushes, yes; me made up as the Frankenstein creature, a sort of, a sort of, what do you call it - buck-and-wing dance, you know. And in years and years and years he and I have shared this idolatrous love of the Warner Brothers cartoons, you see, and Sylvester, and Tweetie Pie, and Yosemite Sam. And I’ve always imitated them, you see, and he’s done the same. And we used to do that on a set; people used to think we’d gone out of our minds, and we’d make each other laugh. Sometimes it’s so important - in a way, it’s absolutely essential - but we’re both of us ice-cold when it comes to doing it, even if we’ve been been laughing a few moments before. And that’s a thing we also share, total concentration.

And what can I say about Peter Cushing that I haven’t said before? I mean, consummate actor, brilliant technician, and a marvellous human being. I’ve always said, you know - I’m sure you’re aware of this - that he should have been a priest… Because there is a great love for his fellow man. There’s an almost superhuman loving kindness in Peter, and it’s always been in there. I’ve never heard him say anything harsh about anyone. He’s also a deeply religious man. Those are the two things we don’t have in common. I’m afraid I do say what I think. I’m not tactless but I am a more direct person than he is. I don’t have his tolerance. I don’t have his gentleness. I don’t have his faith; I wish I did…

He is not an easy person to get to know, believe you me. There’s a lot about Peter that I don’t know… But of course, as you know, Helen died in the 1970’s and that is his only desire left in life. And it’s genuine. He has stayed alive because he’s a man who would never take his own life because that would be a great sin, and he has stayed alive through some pretty terrible experiences, you know. He’s had cancer, and problems with his legs, his hips, breathing, and all sorts of medical problems, but the spirit is unquenchable and the speed of thinking and the mind haven’t changed at all. I mean, it’s another cliche - the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. The same thing with Vincent [Price]; mind like a rapier, both of them. Only the physical disabilities of getting old…

But he’s certainly one of a kind, and of course this business of staying alive, simply existing, which is how he looks at his life - existence. He’s only waiting for that moment; only waiting for it. And he’s been waiting now for twenty-three years. It must be terrible to be so admired and so loved and so respected but to impose, I feel, on yourself, deliberately, a sort of monastic seclusion which he seems to prefer. He seems to; I mean, you wouldn’t think of it if you saw him with a group of people but I think he prefers to be alone. I don’t think the house is full of people. I don’t think there’s many very, very close, intimate friends - but nor have I, and nor have many people.

Acquaintances, yes; admirers, yes - scores of thousands all over the world, people who feel they know him, people who feel that he’s a friend - all that. That’s on a professional basis; I think on a personal basis, I get the impression that he’s a person who keeps his life and his relationship with his wife very much to himself. It’s locked up in a cupboard of which he has the key. He doesn’t open that cupboard and release anything unless he chooses to. But I don’t either.

[skipthisvoid]

Alrighty I am going to do my best to explain my thoughts on this-

What Arcane often does is take something that real-life that society is bigoted against and then show the humanity in those same people. This is a type of counter-narrative. This is when the story "presents a different perspective or interpretation of events that directly contradicts your existing beliefs, forcing you to re-evaluate your understanding of a situation or topic."

"They aim to disrupt established stories or viewpoints that might be considered biased or oppressive by offering alternative interpretations. Fields like critical race theory, feminist studies, and postcolonial studies frequently utilize counter-narratives to highlight marginalized perspectives."

(A key example is drug addicts, being set up in the first few episodes to align with the disgust society has for them, only later to twist your perspective around and make you feel like you were wrong. You end up feeling sympathy for them, which brings the watcher to have to rework their worldview for the rest of the show.)

The Undercity in routinely proven to be a place that has incredibly brilliant people, families just trying to get by, etc. but they just haven't been given the same opportunities as topside, so they turn to less desirable means of making a living. Within the series we are often given small pieces of daily life within the Undercity, especially the domestic moments, to make a connection that they are also just people.

Okay onto the brothel- The "goblin" in question is named Babette. We are given our initial "narrative" that she is gross, either because she is a sex worker, she is not a typical human, she is old, or all three. What happens later in the show is that it is revealed not only is Babette the mother of the house and is incredibly important to protecting those who work under her, she also knows the main character's father figure and looks up to him. It is implied there is mutual respect (an implication because at this point in the story, said father figure is dead and can not verbally confirm) between these two important people for the Undercity.

Once inside the brothel, it is shown to be like any other place of business. The workers are professional, the place is maintained well with all sorts of different options for people to pick from, (regardless of gender preference) and if clients treat workers inappropriately, they are thrown out. (Like during the scene in question.) So the first time we see this location, the narrative tells us "oh-ew gross we know that sex work is dirty and bad and the neighborhood is poor so these people are bad and gross" but later we have the counter-narrative of "actually this is a well respected and important part of the Undercity's economy, and the workers here are treated (and paid) well for the service they are providing."

SO when we come back to the original scene, we now align morally with the trans woman and Babette, and also think its funny that this man has gotten kicked out of a well respected establishment. He must have done something without realizing they take the rules seriously, and he won't be allowed back. Sucks since this place is the best in town!

Side note for the "look of disgust" coming from Claggor, the 'main' character mentioned above. Claggor is 14-16 years old. He isn't so much as disgusted as he is just shocked! He also is a very very shy and soft spoken boy. Being in the Undercity, and with Babette being friend's with his adoptive father, he knows what sex-work is. He is shy of it, he knows he is a minor. It is dark and not well lit, Babette might not be able to see him well so she smiles at him anyway. OR, since later in the show we find out she knows his father well, she is intentionally fucking with him knowing he is shy and is gonna be all weird about it. Either way, I wouldn't say he is reacting in disgust. He is just an awkward teen being awkward.

I am torn on the depiction of the transwoman. On one hand, I see how the art they used can be considered a bad stereotype. BUT I do also know someone who is doing the best they can with the body they currently have, and this is what she looks like! And thats also perfectly okay and fine! She exists, thats what she looks like at this point in her life, and she hasn't decided if she is going to make any further changes. (If she wants to speak more on this she can- I personally don't wanna go to deep into it on her behalf.) I think it is working as the same counter-narrative. We are shown this masculine woman who works in the sex industry, and feel the initial reaction society wants us to. Then later, we find out, oh shit, these workers are important and well respected! She is doing a good job for her current situation in the Undercity!

I feel like I am running out of things to say in this very moment but I DO want to also take a second to say we see a different portrayal of mtf transition later in the series. Her name is Lest. The difference here is that Lest is top-side, where there are a lot more opportunities and money. This is apparent in her ability to transition to what society considers "passing", as well as her clothing. She is also voiced by a trans woman! (Eve Lindley)

Blehg I just kinda wanted to spill some of my thoughts over this show since I adore its use of literary devices, ESPECIALLY the counter narrative. I hope this kinda made sense and didn't sound rude at all.

i just did something i promised myself i'd never do and intentionally watched a scene from Arcane, to see just how bad the transmisogynist joke in the first episode is -- and people are absolutely 100% playing it down.

the characters are walking through a dark, seedy part of a city, and reacting in fear to a bunch of scary, dangerous & unsettling things, like a monster scuttling in a cage & vendors selling huge knives, before panning to these two women standing outside a brothel.

the small gremlin lady makes a pass at one of the cast, who immediately reacts in visible fear and disgust and runs away. then, a drunk man wearing no pants is kicked out of the brothel, being told that he has to pay. the woman on the left responds (with a deep, masculine voice) "look at that" and reacts in disgust to him. the crux of the joke here is "haha it's rich that this gross tranny thinks this drunk man is gross, because SHE and her little gremlin friend are gross! lol!".

it is a transmisogynistic joke on the level of the ugly step-sister in Shrek. i shouldn't have to explain this. holy shit.

[autogeneity]

johannesburg is somehow the most. real. place I've been to. as in "yep this sure exists. there are definitely human beings living lives." that makes no sense at all does it. but also maybe the only place times moves 'normally' in my mind. I experience it passing. neither too fast nor too slow. grounded, somehow. but still hopeful

[sunlightfeeling]

I genuinely feel like I dont have a right at all to complain or talk negative about Japanese fans but like……..the evident cliqueish-ness of honestly what looks like a very unfortunate larger chunk of them ……😮‍💨

like i gotta be honest the concert was a lot more isolating than it actually already was in itself because of the vibes at least a couple of clusters of fans gave me

[vamphorica]

cw: violence, slight spoilers for the death note musical

mello -> light yagami: overly ambitious, willing to pursue goals by any means necessary. very much of the belief that violence is an effective means of resolution, wielding that power without consideration of the consequences.

matt -> l lawliet: slightly more tenuous, but both appear contemplative and are deeply analytical, good at surveying people. their interest in technology also isn't quite as prevalent in mello and near.

these comparisons might be a little unnecessary, because it's the dynamic that is ultimately the area of interest here. essentially, we are taking away a fundamental aspect of mellodramattic which is the trust that the two have in one another, and replacing it with suspicion to the very extreme. this is ultimately the aspect of lawlight which makes the relationship so interesting (and dysfunctional), and while it could be argued that mello and matt growing up with one another leaves little room for this sense of insecurity, i think it in fact invites an even more devastating sense of distrust should one, or both, of them feels betrayed within the relationship.

imagine matt responding with anger to mello's final plan, furious that mello would so carelessly put their lives on the line for the sake of the kira investigation, no, for the purpose of getting the better of near. or, consider mello learning that matt is intentionally going against his orders, refusing to survey the members of the task force and spk, bringing mello's pursuit of kira to a slow halt. suffice to say such a revelation would be deeply hurtful.

we could go back earlier. mello, frustrated about the grade he received on an exam at the house, learns that matt, for the first time, scored better than he did.

like lawlight, we can easily see that the two are bound by a red string of fate, a commitment that in every lifetime they are destined to be entangled with one another. so what if this time, their relationship is veiled by continuous overanalysis, internal debate, as to how honest they can be with each other, if to do so puts their lives in jeopardy?

mello freezing as matt holds his face in his hands, reassuring him that he would never think to sabotage his plans, to try and succeed him in this tentative position as a potential successor to the world's greatest detective. matt responding with a noncommittal grunt to mello's denial that his plan is flawed, that they will make it out of this alive.

"Tell me, Light, from the moment you were born, has there ever been a point where you've actually told the truth?"

intelligence is praised in death note as something of a divine blessing, this concept that to be beyond the average human intellectual capacity is what awards many of the characters the capabilities to change the world. yet fundamentally, these are deeply lonely individuals, caught up in their thoughts, which distances them from one another, even those they deem to be the only ones to truly understand their circumstances. matt and mello only have one another, and if they are to lose themselves in the doubt of the other's intentions, as we witness with L and light, they lose not just one another, but themselves.

yes, i think this could lead to extreme results. would mello put a gun to matt's head, similar to the musical's conclusion? would matt consider intoxicating mello under the illusion that in doing so, he could control mello for once? the two have the ability to hurt each other as they have the ability to deeply love one another, and maybe in the environment we have created, something has gone awry, as the two play for dominance and control when both are terrified of what their anxieties about the other contribute to their relationship.

these are boys who grew up together, separated, and reunited as men, having fundamentally changed over the five years of distance between them. there is enough time for the uncertainty to develop, to take hold and fester, that when they do meet again, they must navigate what it means to live alongside the other. maybe they can never reconcile this.

shout out @iheartmello for letting me yap about this idea, haha

thinking about mellodramattic with lawlight dynamics...

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Something that SEEERIOUSLY isn’t talked about enough among Rodrigue fans is how Rodrigue (almost? or generally) always refers to Dimitri as “Your/His Highness” except in the moment that Dimitri’s life was at risk right in front of Rodrigue and Rodrigue shielded him with his own body.

Rodrigue is always respectful and aware of their stations, but none of that matters when Dimitri is almost killed. Rodrigue reacts emotionally without station in mind, forgetting to refer to him in an “appropriate” manner and reacting instead in a more intimate manner (i.e. using a person’s name instead of their title).

Most people wouldn’t dare to refer to their prince by their first name, but Rodrigue forgets all that the moment Dimtiri is in danger. He follows up that familial intimacy by calling Dimitri “my boy”. In a way it’s like Rodrigue's formalities are just forced expectations that are ingrained into him, because his actual instinct is to refer to Dimitri in a familial way. If he doesn’t have time to think about what he’s saying, it will be Dimitri’s name that he uses because that’s how he truly thinks of Dimitri.

He doesn’t solely view Dimitri as his prince. He views Dimitri as family, and in a setting where royalty exists, it’s so important to the relationship in question when that societal expectation is broken, simply because it tells you exactly what that character thinks of their royalty.

When royalty’s life is in danger, it would even make sense for people to hesitate because if they do anything, they might also be in danger and generally humans instinctually prioritize their own life (even if they do really want to step in to help). That typically is not the case with humans regarding loved ones, where that instinct instead changes to an instinct where they automatically step in to protect people dear to them - especially parents to their children. Parents - not just in humans but in most forms of life (cats, dogs, etc) - are extremely protective of their children and react without a second - even a first - thought, because it’s not a thought at all when they see their children in danger. It’s a base reaction.

Rodrigue wasn’t witnessing his prince being attacked. He was witnessing his son being attacked, and he reacted as a father would - not as a knight, a vassal or anyone under Dimitri’s station and how they would be expected to react to protect him. Dimitri didn’t have to be his blood son for him to react the same way a blood parent would. Dimitri wasn’t born to him but he was Rodrigue’s son all the same and he couldn’t accept his boy being harmed.

I love that his reaction is exactly the same as what Lambert would have done. I love that in that one moment when he didn’t have time to think about his word choice, such important stations meant absolutely nothing to him. I love that what was important to him was Dimitri the person, and not Dimitri the prince. I love that at the very end, he died knowing his boy was safe and alive. I love that, when he starts reusing “Your Highness”, it’s only after the immediate danger has passed and he has time to actually process his word choice again, because it really drives home how quickly and thoughtlessly he reacted to seeing Dimitri in danger when he dropped formalities to use his first name.

He also didn’t tell him to live for the people or live because he was a prince. He wanted Dimitri to remember to live for himself and likely died with the hope that those being his last words would be taken much more heavily and sincerely, and give Dimitri a lot to think about in regard to caring for himself as a person and not just seeing himself as a prince/future king, because Rodrigue also saw him as a person.

Not only did Rodrigue protect his son (which mind you must have been extremely important to him after already losing a son. Can you imagine how devastated he would be to lose another child? This time he saved a son from death, which he was unable to do previously and he wasn’t present to be able to even try), but he gave Dimitri the thing Dimitri desired the most from those he loved: he treated Dimitri like a regular person who needed to live his own life for himself, and in the single most critical moment to Rodrigue, forgot to use titles and formalities and openly expressed his true feelings just by using Dimitri’s name alone.

Dimitri never liked all those stuffy behaviors and titles. He just wanted to be a person. Rodrigue, his family, gave him that at Rodrigue’s very end, explicitly informing Dimitri that was how this man always thought of him just from that one moment of Rodrigue’s feelings slipping through. He was always keeping up appearances, but Dimitri was always just Dimitri to him.

Also, Rodrigue says “please tell me it wasn’t in vain”. Remember, Rodrigue’s son died in vain. Glenn didn’t actually get to protect Dimitri. Earlier, Rodrigue stated that Dimitri’s injuries left him on the verge of death. Glenn didn’t die protecting him. Glenn died in a tragedy. Nothing Glenn did that day that led to his death actually helped Dimitri survive. Dimitri survived because Gilbert found him in time.

Rodrigue knows that and doesn’t want another person dear to Dimitri to die a death that didn’t need to happen. He also doesn’t want it to be in vain because if it was, he would have died being unable to protect his son. Rodrigue “died for what he believed in”, but he died because he thoughtlessly, without hesitation, died to save his son. He believed in Dimitri, but he also believed Dimitri to be his child as much as Glenn and Felix ever were.

Even though Glenn did die in vain, he attempted to die keeping his best friend alive. He believed in his best friend, just like Lambert believed in his son to be able to saved if he ever went astray.

Before Rodrigue dies, he last thoughts are of Lambert, but also his promise to Lambert, which was about Dimtiri.

Rodrigue was always thinking of his family throughout the whole game (literally, he brings up Felix to Byleth regularly and brings up Glenn throughout the story as well), and that extended to Lambert and Dimtiri. At the very last, he literally died like he lived, and that was for his family.

[orcelito]

I do find it so funny that I will graduate college days away from my birthday. Like my birthday is literally in between the end of the semester ("graduation") and commencement

It really will be like a joint graduation & birthday party for me lmao

[rouge-fauna]

I'm a c!Tommy fan and didn't mind your aspd c!Tommy post. I don't think it was ableist. I don't exactly agree with it either though but you have a right to say it and not get talked about behind your back. I'm sorry that happened. I would probably send an ask about my interpretation in the distant future once all this has calmed down and the abundance of c!Tommy asks have stopped 😅 ❤️

I really appreciate you saying that. :) I’m glad I haven’t pissed everyone off lol, whether you agree or don’t, or like c!Tommy or don't. I mean I personally don't think it's really right to talk badly about people behind their back anyways, but it certainly does feel a little unreasonable to call me dumb, crazy and delusional without even trying to have a conversation with me. What's sad is that there are points to be made and would have been interesting to discuss like an alternative diagnosis or looking more at the diagnosing criteria. Like this is not a hill I would die on, it's not my favorite analysis or take, it's just an opinion and viewpoint I shared with reasons why, the context of which was actually countering the argument of people calling c!Dream a psychopath.

And while I'm at it, I would like to note a few things. In the essay I didn't even call c!Tommy evil or ASPD evil, and I have tried to be very clear that by no means do I believe c!Tommy deserved to be abused in Exile or any other time. And in regards to the alignment chart, I really disliked that analysis anyways. It just doesn't really work. It's a simplified tool for dnd to help people stay to character, but how do you decide what is good, lawful, and evil in a story where, as I have talked about so many times, there is no true system of laws or government, and no widely accepted bounds of morality... So just to be clear, I will reiterate - no one deserves abuse, I do not think c!Tommy is "evil" or the "Bad guy" and I do not think there is a dsmp character who is. And while it may seem like I have a vendetta or am targeting c!Tommy specifically, that's just where discussion has lead recently, mostly because of the finale, anons, and also because of noticing how often c!Tommy calls c!Dream a psychopath I thought it was interesting to look at how it might be the other way around...

Also... I guess... I don't know, aren't y'all bored of having the same old discussions and takes on c!Dream, c!Tommy, c!Wilbur, c!Punz, c!Tubbo... etc over and over? Is it not fun to look at things in a different way and say - what if this is true or - that is true and how does that change things? Is it not interesting to take the same story and lore and see if it can be seen still canonically in a different way? I mean, applying diagnosis is never going to fit perfectly, not just because I'm a 23 year old autistic engineer not a psychologist of any kind, but also mostly because we only have a set chaotic few years of them to look at with no past to base on. But beyond that, isn't it fun and interesting to see if it fits, if it provides an explanation for behavior we didn't have before? Is it so wrong of me to try and see if there are fun new ways of looking at lore instead of having detailed ships and aus?...

Anyways sorry, I may have gotten carried away there, it has been a long Monday. Regardless, it is a shame that it ruined the chance for actual exciting productive conversation and discussion to happen, because I can't say I am not curious on your interpretation. Guess we will just circle back around to it (it seems to be inevitable at his point lol) <3 <3 <3

[freewilllife]

So I will be honest, I am also not 100% sure about that... Su-Won did give Il more time, but I'm going to go an extra mile and wonder if that only meant Su-Won might have just allowed Il to "save the country" and then kill him after that.

On the contrary, it is very likely, he would have let King Il live...

Since it would implicate that King Il was indeed right with his estimation and his father wrong.

King Il killed Yu hon, because he did not believe in the gods power and will...

Soo Won surely wouldn´t have liked it. But he is not the kind of person that would have killed a good king. Soo Won feels too responsible for Kouka to do so (You proved it yourself down below)

Additonally he, Soo Won, has no reason to lie to his mother here, because he does misjudge her speechless response and even believes that she wants King Il dead...Undoubtly, he wished King Il´s death...but Soo Won is not a person that would kill King Il, if he had been right.

"We need to see wheter King Il can protect the nation".

Heck, as a 9 year old Soo Won even hesitated despite his pain to make the final decision to kill him or not...

Reason is because, he also tells Yona that he cannot die yet, until he finishes saving Kouka. Judo also tells Su-Won the same thing, to die by Hak's hand only after he protects Kouka.

And here, you have literally proof of Soo Won´s character. Soo Won is a person that feels a great deal of responsibility towards the people of his country or some people.

He takes care of them...is it as "mother" to Yona, "as husband" to his mother or "king" to the nation.

I will also consider that Il already had a pretty poor reputation. So I'm wondering if Su-Won might have just expected Il would be a bad ruler from the beginning… and the reason he never stepped into power at age nine is because he still had to train for the position (also for Kouka to not be unstable).

I doubt it. Soo Won is a curious person. He has also no reason to lie above. Surely, he followed his father´s path here...or did believe he followed him, but he is the kind of person that would want to know.

So it has never been a thing that was 100 % sure from the beginning.

That said, if Il was a capable ruler (and you know, proved that Yu-Hon's influence was detrimental), Su-Won would not be able to kill him without being condemned by the nation. And Su-Won did also tell his mother that Yona's box could not be prioritized because Kouka required a strong ruler… implying that if Il was strong, then that box could be? So maybe he would end up in the same place, unable to discard them despite trying.

Look above, he would have not killed him then.

Soo Won would have sacrificed his life for his father´s reputation despite having no chance or not. He is the kind of person that would sacrifice himself for a cause he deems necessary.

However, he would have not killed him because Soo Won understands the concept of sacrifice...he offers his life a couple of times for the wellbeing of the country.

If King Il was a god king, then the sacrifice (the pain that Soo Won had to suffer due to the death of his father, his father´s death) would have been worth it. His father instilled into his son the care for his country, early on.

How old is he here? 4 or 6 years old, when his father tells him that his actions decide the fate of a whole country.

And Su-Won did also tell his mother that Yona's box could not be prioritized because Kouka required a strong ruler… implying that if Il was strong, then that box could be? So maybe he would end up in the same place, unable to discard them despite trying.

The box is Soo Won´s love for Yona and Hak...no Soo Won cannot allow himself to feel for Yona or Hak, if King Il is weak...because the whole country will go to waste, if Soo Won prioritizes one person instead of the whole country...that is his understanding of the situation.

By the way...you actually answered your own question. The last reason, why it is very unlikely that he had killed King Il.

Because he loves Hak and Yona and yes, then he could allow himself to not cut the people out he loves the most in this world besides his parents.

Nevertheless, Hak point blank told him to convince Il to let the marriage happen on the day of the murder, and Su-Won kept denying that such a plan was even in the works. If he really considered negotiating with Il, why say that? In fact, if he had agreed with Hak, that might have helped avert suspicion. Unless he was lying, but I doubt it.

Because this solution was his vain hope?

Soo Won wanted it to be true, that this could have been a way...He himself later tells us, that this was a dream...

He remembers "the dream" on the day of his coronation, when he thinks both have died...

Chapter 11 tells us

about how much Soo Won had wished to come back...(and spit in Hiryuu´s face).

that Soo Won became the 11th king

that he has to unite the tribes and a bunch of enemy kingdoms arount them

and that he would have loved to marry Yona and keep both Hak and Yona by his side.

it also tells us that Soo Won hates the gods, and prefers human strength.

However it is a dream...and I guess, even Soo Won who had tried to achieve that dream was responsible enough not to count on it.

Therefore he did not tell Hak anything or even the guards...the chance was so thin...

Imagine, would a person that put 10 years into training as a king, that knows the kingdom is soon to be attacked by outside forces and is aware of Soo Jin´s coup really place all his hope on King Il?

Definitely not.

For Kouka. Not for Il or Yona. Hak noticed it in the recent chapter, Su-Won is selfless when it comes to the nation's welfare.

Could you repeat that again?! So Soo Won was worrying about his mother, who is seriously ill, but still rushed without thinking about it to Yona...to care for her...

Soo Won also took care of his mother, when his father died, even though it should have been the other way...this person has always taken care of people...quite selflessly.

Ever since Su-Won made the decision to make Yona the queen and Yona heard of it from Hak instead of him, I've been quite curious about what they'll say to one another when they finally meet face to face again. I don't know, I feel like that encounter just going to be different from all the others, intense. Because both have acknowledged her as his equal, just not directly to one another yet.

First there’s a political side. Whether Yona wants the throne, whether Su-Won really wants to pass it down. There is also the emotional side.

Yona remained calm (though disgusted) when she commented that Su-Won was selfish, but that was still from a distance. Which is why I can't shake the thought that Yona could be absolutely livid if Su-Won actually manages to enter the chalice (especially if it's with some intention to "save" Yona and "sacrifice" himself like some fear).

If it happens, can we get a scene where she slaps his face? Tells him to snap the fuck out of it? Stop making all these selfish decisions for her? To not put her on a pedestal and be so suicidal all of a sudden? That she's not a damsel in distress who needs saving, that she'll find a way to make the dragon gods to understand? Because such a scene will actually be a good subversion of expectations. Kusanagi has done it before, so this would be a great opportunity.

I mean Yona's already said it in her mind. "Don't you dare die as you please. Rely on those around you." She even said it to Hyu-ri. She just has to actually say those words to Su-Won himself.

Yona did disappoint me in the recent chapter because she became quite literally a damsel in distress (how else are we supposed to describe her in that scene), but a hypothetical scene like this would make up for it. It would return her agency. And honestly I've been dying to see a scene where Yona just lets all the resentment out instead of constantly suppressing it for the country or because she wants to be the better person. The dragon gods said she was also selfish, so let's see that side show a bit more.

[allalrightagain]

Excited to announce that, according to a totally legit and not at all scammy text I just got, for the low low price of a $25 donation, the Democrats are going to send me to… Chicago. Where I already live, and where my phone’s area code is from.

[jikigo]

you ever just see a post and just

. 😭

.⬅️🫀⬅️

[skrunksthatwunk]

found out that rascal's owner took him again while i was out, and he's probably not gonna be back since the semester's almost over. i don't even know if his owner's coming back next semester, if i'll ever see him again. if he'll ever see me again. why do they wait until im not around to do this? why do they never let me say goodbye to him?

[askfordoodles]

Finally some good fucking food character analysis, OP.

We really aren't talking enough about how much of a performative chaser Emmrich actually is, because it's so sub-surface and tends to get drowned out by other parts of his more overt behaviour i.e. the gentleman-aspect, his fish-out-of-Nevarra status, his overall general positive attitude and passion for learning etc., so I absolutely agree.

Also, you can practically see the switch he makes from realizing he's being chased to deciding 'oh alright, I see you noticing me, - I'll take it from here' 😏 During the skull-scene is where you get to see him go into his well-practiced (but also very performative) Rizz Mode™ persona, as I like to call it. There's a reason people find it difficult to see how he can be both an awkward nerd AND a Rizzler. It's because he can't. He's very good at flirting, but it's also not his true self. It's dance, the steps of which he's come to learn flawlessly though experience, but it's also a shield. (*side-eyes Dorian* what is it with you fruity necromancers and your deep-seated fear of intimacy?)

I also realize now, that look of shock IF you tell him he's your first "anything, romantically"... also has that tell, like he's GENUINELY astounded that someone could choose him for something so important, something more monumental. 'Really? No one before me? You could have had anyone, what's so special about me?' He's realizing he isn't just another one of Rook's flings, they waited all this time for someone like HIM, and they consider what the two of them have as ROMANTIC. And we see that tell OP mentioned, he looks down/pikachu combo all 'Oh... oh damn, I'm important to them...' And then his face softens, he looks back up and says he's glad to be chosen.

But again he's underselling it, he's not simply "glad", he's so thoroughly honoured and touched.

And he assures them, without prompting btw, that they'll take it slow. Now... Rook didn't ask for that, technically. Honestly, I'm realizing now this could just as well be Emmrich trying to regain a sense of control, but pulling on the reins to slow things down, because 'woah woah, you're actually WAY more serious about this than I was ready for, let's take it easy...' but since he's a gentleman, he slyly reframes it, implying it's for Rook's benefit. In respecting Rook's boundaries, he's really covertly trying to protect his own emotional barriers.

(also, as I've said before in my own meta: my personal read on Harding's line about them moving too fast is that she's referring to them, moving too fast FOR EMMRICH, which is to say EMOTIONALLY - and she was right on money, too, but obviously she words it clumsily enough that it's not obvious to the player, or even Emmrich at first)

Unfortunately, he's already got it bad and there's no turning back without some good ol' fashioned self-sabotage. Tell yourself you did the right and noble thing to try and mask how terrified you are.

Emmrich is so in over his head even before that argument. He's used to being afraid of dying,

but along comes Rook,

and he has to face that he's been afraid of living this entire time too, and it's too much.

It's knowledge he wasn't ready for. But it's smacked him in the face, and they might die tomorrow and welp, time to let fear write my break-up speech.

What I think is beautiful is, the argument itself ends in a way where, if he WANTED, he could have chosen to see it as a break-up, but in the midst of battle, after having only cooled off for maybe half a day, like OP mentions, HE'S the one to initiate an attempt at reconciliation. He even, tentatively, refers to Rook as 'darling', he's making no attempts to distance himself. As far as he's concerned, they're still together, they still care about each other, whatever they have is salvageable and, more importantly, he wants it to be.

Sadly, they don't get the chance to apologize to one another, because Solas Shenanigans happen... Rook is gone... For WEEKS. And Emmrich is left to stew in every single emotion he's ever felt for them. (we were robbed, this should have been included somewhere, in all romances)

It's the age-old saying: you don't know WHAT you have 'till you lose it.

The vacuum in his life without Rook hits him full force. 'Actually, wait, them not being here is way worse than them being too close. They could never be too close, I need them here with me right now, what was I thinking, I'm such a fool, as always...'

When they finally return, he's NOT leaving anything ambiguous, he is GOING to let them take the lead, he is GOING to lay with them until morning and unapologetically act like a besotted couple of newly-weds and fetch them breakfast, ...

he is GOING to admit to them, and to himself, how he feels.

That he loves them. And they're a team, facing the world not merely side-by-side, but together. For the long run. They're going to plan for a future that no longer scares him like it used to.

((Personally, my Rook never banged him until that coffin scene, and I think it's extra impactful that their first time is Rook leading him, but I do appreciate that the writing makes their previous level of intimacy vague enough that several Rook-interpretations make an equal amount of sense))

More thoughts and theories about our favorite Necromancer

My darlings, I have too many thoughts and my obsession is running wild. (How I missed you, hyperfocus). If you have read my last meta post about our Emmrich, here it is: First Meta Post

That is not a required read however. I am still wondering why anyone is reading my word vomit U_U

Anyway, I love reading other peoples theories, so please, send me yours. <3 And a lot of thanks and love for all you darlings who make this fandom such a beautiful and nice place. Especially to @jaal-ama-daravv - who makes the most beautiful videos, and writes such wonderful character studies.

Warning, from here on there will be spoilers as well as mentions of sex. If you don't want to read about any of that, do not read the rest.

Also pictures and way too many words. This is a ten page word document, save yourself while you can. I tend to go off on a tangent once I start writing. I am also well aware that not everyone will agree. This is just my personal read on Emmrich.

Now, after my first essay I have some more thoughts on Emmrich and Rook and specifically their intimate relationship.

Emmrich is such an interesting and baffling contradiction. On the one hand he is confident, self-assured, all manners and poise. He is smart, and he knows it. He has special gifts, and he knows it.  He is confident without being proud. He likes to teach others without being arrogant. He still likes to learn about new things and is, as far as I’ve seen, never judgmental about different beliefs and ways of life. (Unless someone treats him with disdain or bully him)

He is a man who is confident speaking of his thoughts and feelings and fears. How he just casually drops his thanatophobia is just astonishing. He is honest and open-minded in the best ways.

And then there is the other side of him. The wet kitten side of him. As open and honest as he is about his emotions, when we get to the meat of it, to the scary bit, the real feely bit, he locks up completely. As long as it is surface level (or he can pretend its surface level), everything is up for discussion. But once we reach deeper and touch *love* he gets so scared and refuses to admit and commit to his feelings. And as much *death* scares him, love scares him more.

So how does that influence his intimate relationship with Rook?

According to the banter with Lace “everyone knows about it”. He was rather surprised by that.

That tells us two things:

They were trying to be sneaky or at least keep their private business private.

They failed, massively.

Add to that Laces comment about them moving rather fast (when, where? I would have loved to have seen that. Comments like that just give me the feeling that we should have had some more cutscenes after the dinner date, to show us those two besotted fools).

But back to them moving rather fast. I would guess that they both did a lot of gazing lovingly at each other, blushing, spacing out while watching their darling, stollen kisses in the hallway when they thought no one was watching, stuff like that. Just being to besotted fools.

But moving fast usually includes sex. Lots of needy, sweaty sex. The inability to keep their hands of each other.

That moves us to the question of the day – did they have sex before their coffin time?

Let’s look at what we know about Emmrich. Emmrich is no virgin. That man has experience. He had past lovers. But what he tells us at that sweet diner date – “nothing serious for years.” We know not much else besides his crush on a boy in his youth and his fling with the Orlesian Art Lady. He is not someone to kiss and tell and that is appreciated. That man has class, and we love him for it.

So - nothing SERIOUS for years. If he hadn’t had ANY relationships in the past years, he would have said so. But what he says is that he did, in fact, have UNSERIOUS relationships in the last few years.

I would read that to be somewhere along the “fwb, lovers, affairs, paramours, companions, a fling, a little romance” line. Something not purely, but mainly physically driven. Someone you like and respect, you can go out and have a good time with, have lots of amazing sex with (b/c he is a living being and has his needs). Spending time with people he liked, was sexually attracted too, but nothing as serious as love. A physical relationship. A little thrill, some fluttering, but never that deep.

Not to say that those situationships would not have been romantic. He is (buried under all that resignation) a deeply romantic man. I am pretty sure he went on nice romantic dates with his previous paramours too. That this is something he just enjoys too much. Treating a companion with some quality time, not just in, but also out of the bedroom.

But after he’d given up on his dreams, he did not have any notion of those flings being more than a “enjoy the moment”. There was never the expectation of deeper feelings, beyond friendship, attraction and/or respect. All those romantic gestures were nothing more than a little bit of “play pretend”. To give himself the illusion of true romance, just for a little time.

Take the fact that you can go a “everything you do is creepy but I still flirt with you and I want you to throw me over that tombstone” and his comment on “the attraction of the forbidden”? This is not a relationship born of mutual respect and deeper feelings but out of purely physical attraction. And he is OK with that.

I want to repeat – Emmrich is very much okay with a casual, sexual affair. He does not require love to have a relationship with someone.

And then think about that Johanna calls Rook specifically his “paramour”. Which is a lover, especially an illicit one. This word was very specifically chosen by Johanna. For various reasons, I would think.

For one, I do believe that it is a dig at his dreams of the eternal flame. It’s a dig at him, that Rook is not his love, but his paramour. A lover for a time. To be parted from soon enough. B/c that silly dream of his, as if it ever would become reality.

Second, I think it is a comment on the way his relationships often went, especially in the past years. Those unserious flings of his. Never to amount to anything substantial.

Did he try to have something serious in the past? Oh yes, for sure. But it never worked out. Then he gave up his dream and just let himself have a good time with people he found to be nice and attractive.

To pick up my point of self-sabotage from my last meta post – I’ve come to a point where I believe Emmrich is a kind of chaser. I know someone like that and it’s so fucking tragic.

Emmrich feels deeply and strongly. When he falls in love with someone it’s a lot of emotion. But at that point it’s all dream, want, wish. As soon as someone returns these feelings - those dreams, wants and wishes become reality. And reality is scary. In this wishful dream about the eternal flame, there is no fear. No fights. No loss. But that is not reality. As soon as it becomes reality, he gets scared. Before, his feelings were no threat, because you can’t lose what you don’t have. Once those feelings are returned, there is a clear possibility of losing, of being lost, of being left behind.

Emmrich is not a chaser because he enjoys the hunt. He is a chaser because being loved by someone is scary. So damn scary. So, he starts to pick fights and is looking for excuses. From being the chaser, he becomes the chased. He is hunted by his fears, and his fight or flight instincts go all flight.

After years of this cycle he gives up. Resigns himself to flings and little romances without even thinking of more. Or so he thinks. Dreams like that don’t die, they just get buried.

And I’d think that there was not many, even of those short term flings, lately. His life revolves around work and Manfred.

Now remember he comments on Rook “showing unexpected interest in a new companion”.

First of all – unexpected.

They are a daring adventurer. He thinks of himself clearly as the more boring one, compared to Rook. He never expected any of those flirts. But he is clearly flattered.

Second – companion.

That was such a weird way of saying “hey do you like me?”. This whole “companion” thing does not scream “I have FEELZ for you/you have FEELZ for me” but rather, “I think you might want to spend some quality time with me”.

The possible answers - dashing good looks, kindness, his way of words.

He feels he is fortunate if Rook thinks him good looking. Hallo, Mr. Professor, sir… Have you looked in the mirror lately? Consider that he is meticulously grooming himself, takes his exercises daily in the morning. That man does not like himself aging. I think it is a reminder of how his pending death is a step closer every day. But it shows, to him, that his efforts of taking care of himself are not in vain. Or maybe it shows him that his age does not matter. Rook finds him attractive despite (or because) of his physical age.

Rooks comment on his very charming way of putting things makes him hope his years behind the lectern have proved useful. Hey *years* behind the lectern. Again, this is a way of saying his age is NOT a problem but a benefit.

If Rook remarks his kindness, he answers “you humble me”. It’s the one answer that does not touch his age/experience/looks. It’s a remark on an innate character trait he possesses. Kindness. His whole demeanor in this option shows he is actually touched. And maybe a bit baffled. He did not expect this, at all. Its like he sees his kindness not as an attractive trait. Which he should. He is nice without TM and its sexy as hell.

The next part is his statement “If your attentions go beyond charming flattery… that would interest me, indeed”. This reads to me not necessarily as “do you have feelings for me” but as “do you just enjoy the flirting, or do you want to do more than flirting?”

And oh boy, does he want to do more than flirting. I want to repeat my earlier statement – this man has given up on love. But some little fling with an exiting young adventure who was constantly, awkwardly flirting with him? Hell, yeah.

(I want to remind you that we were able to have mutually enjoyed flirts with Dorian as fem!Inky. You can flirt with someone and still never want to fuck them. And you are also perfectly able to want more than flirting without having deeper feelings. Like sweet, dump Shepaloo said it so eloquently “Lets bang, okay?”)

Again, I want to pick up a point of my last post, that this is all surface level thoughts. I do believe that their emotional attraction and depth of feelings go deeper, from the start. But how often does it take quite a bit of time to realize one’s own feelings. Especially this wonderful, silly man whose modus operandi is running away.

Now, an interested Rook can answer in an open “lets see where this goes” way. Mirroring his rather open idea of a little romance, a fling, some quality time. Something that does not have to end in an eternal flame, but a simple enjoyment and exploration of the moment.

Rook can also reply with a “I think they do.” – What Rook actually says is “I think they already…”

And conveniently Rooks answer here is cut short by our sweet boy Manfred. They get cut short, no matter what answer you choose, but in this specific case, I am convinced this was very much on purpose. What would the whole sentence have been?

“I think they already go way beyond flattery.” (?!?) Something along those lines. But that goes into danger zone. WAY into danger zone.

If Rook had finished that sentence, at that point in their budding romance? It would have been over before is all started. Too much, too soon. Too much for him, period.

Now we have the hard lock – their sweet romantic moment in the Memorial Gardens. And he is smitten. He fell hook, line, and sinker for his own play pretend. Just a little romance, but that man is falling, fast. (Not that he would admit that to himself).

A beautiful date, all arranged by Emmrich, to spend time with Rook. Because a couple should have a quite moment to get to know each other. I mean there were menu cards with gilded edges, ffs. And, oh yes, they were “lets dig into the feelings”, he said couple. He is falling, falling, falling fast. But it still hasn’t hit him, how deep he has fallen for his darling Rook. Poor Emmrich.

Then a fight, where we really see the wet kitten side of him for the first time. A little wet, feral kitten, hissing at the hand that’s trying to feed it.

Emmrich is lashing out for no good reason (or no good reason for anyone but himself). There is no real confidence there but a desperate act of pretending. An iron (slipping) grip, trying to control himself and the narrative. Shoulders squared, back straight, an arrogant stance, raised chin, turned half-away from Rook, and a condescending way of talking to Rook.

Like I said in my last post – he is working his way up to breaking up with them. And he tells himself it’s like ripping off a bandaid. Be strong and confident and say what you have to say, and they will see the wisdom of that.

It’s only that, they don’t. Because there IS NO wisdom in what he is doing right now. They don’t take his bullshit but throw it back at him. They don’t accept his mock excuses.

Look at him here, how he looks down ON them. I can’t recall any other time he looks down on Rook, despite him being a tall king.

Especially the route where Rook throws it in his face that he DOES in fact love them. Speak what he can’t even think.

“I can’t… At my…”

“I can’t love you. At my age…” Why not? Does he not deserve love, just because he is a bit older? It’s just heartbreaking how he views himself.

And again, he lashes out.

“I am perfectly serious.” So is Rook.

“One of us has to pay attention to these things.” As if Rook is not paying attention. They got to the meat and bones of his problem in just a few seconds.

No matter what route you go here, the gist is the same. He is scared shitless, treats Rook like a child, and goes on how the is the only one thinking the important thoughts.

When Rook in reality way ahead of him. They thought about it and came to the conclusion that being with Emmrich is a really good idea.

Rook knew they were falling for someone older than them. (Even if that age difference is just a decade, with a mid-40s Rook.) They knew it, and still went with it. They are not a child who is too inexperienced and stupid to make decisions about their (love) life.

But now, here, at this moment? Emmrich treats them with disdain. Like a silly little person, who does not think things through. He holds himself above them. Physically and mentally. They are too young, he knows better.

And not once has he done that before. He always treated them as an equal. He follows them into the most dangerous situations ffs. He trusts them with his life in a fight against would-be gods.

All that fear and anger at himself that reaches a new high get redirected at Rook.

The next day they are off to Tearstone Island. That night must have been hell. For both of them. But its going to get much much worse.

In any case, Emmrich seems to have come to some conclusion or realization, because on that island? He apologizes.

They both did react very emotionally, but he came at Rook with superiority and, to a certain degree, dishonesty. All fueled by his fear. So that he is the one to take the first step and apologize to Rook instead of doubling down? An important step. As I said in my last post – he NEEDED to be called out. A sweet and nice counterargument would not have had the impact Rooks raw an honest emotion hat on him.

Emmrich “Rook? Darling? I wanted to say-“

Rook “Yeah, about that argument…”

Emmrich “(Sighs) It’s no time to apologize, is it?”

And here we have the most heartbreaking line, in hindsight. “We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.”

(Narrator: but they would, in fact, not talk about it back home. Because someone would not go home.)

One fight and weeks of horror later, they find themselves in a private crypt and finally they do more than share a kiss.

Now - to the point I originally wanted to explore with this post – is this in fact their first time? (I am sorry, but my brain is a circle and nothing makes sense)

Let’s look at what evidence we have from the cut-scene.

Rook did not know he is an early riser.

That leaves two possibilities:

They never had sex up until that point.

They did have sex, but never spent the night together.

Now what does that mean?

This depends a lot on your personal Rook and how they feel about sex in general. If Rook wants to wait, or is not ready, he will absolutely accept and respect that.

But for the sake of this analysis lets go with the idea that Rook is not opposed to sex at an earlier date.

They never slept with each other

Why? He clearly was not opposed to casual relationships in the past. What would hold him back now? Especially if you recall Laces comment about them moving fast. Why not jump into the bedroom?

Now my first crack theory is that they get interrupted, like every time. (Rook interrupted The Dread Wolf, and now he cursed them to always be interrupted when they want to have some private time)

But now, in all seriousness, maybe it’s just that part of him DOES realize that this goes beyond a very unserious relationship. That they both have deeper feelings, that spark of something greater, something beautiful.

So, he holds back. He does not give his all. He is charming, he is flirty, he takes Rook on dates. But it’s all very technical. Very performative. Yes, he is a very romantic man, yes he enjoys those moments. But there is always a feeling of control.

Those moments when you see him let go a bit (that kiss beneath the eternal lovers, “I think, sometimes you indulge me”), are so beautiful and you glimpse a bit of the man behind those walls.

He has a tell, you see. (I am telling you about it further down)

But generally, he feels very much in control of himself. And to lie with Rook? To go all the way? Too dangerous. Who knows what happens in that sweet moment after la petit mort? What secrets would his lips spill?

2. They slept together, but did not spent the night together.

They do have sex, but sleep alone in their own beds. Casual sex is fine, but to fall asleep in each other’s arms? Too much. Too real. Sex okay, but sleepy post coitus cuddly? Woah, slow down your horses.

So, they have sex, preferably in Rooks bed. First, does he even have a bed? Second, it’s way easier to leave Rooks bed after the act, than throwing them out afterwards.

Oh, and how many reasons he has. Rook needs their uninterrupted sleep; they are stressed and must have proper rest. He wants to get some reading done before he retires. He needs to look after Manfred.

Oh, he is a bad liar, for sure. He is lying more to himself than to Rook. I would think that (if this is the build up to their fight) Rook realizes that he is giving poor excuses.

And the sex itself? A technical 10/10. He knows his anatomy, after all. But his heart is not really in it. He can’t allow himself to. He holds back, keeps a tight lid on his emotions. They both are well spent afterwards, but like so much else, it’s performative. Technically very well executed, but rarely do you see HIM, the real him, behind all that performance. Whenever something slips through, he reels back and closes up.

And then we are in that crypt. Rook was gone for weeks. The last thing they said that night before were words of anger. Rook called him out on his feelings and from that point on there was no possible way of lying to himself anymore. Those feelings were there. They were real. Rooks feelings were real. And those weeks spent in desperation, trying to  get them back? Those walls came crashing down.

His true face, when all the walls are gone? You see that face when Rook leads him to the coffin. There is no pretense anymore. No performance. Just him, and all his love for Rook. The amount of emotion the animation team packed into those short moments in the cutscene? Mindblowing. Who ever crafted that expression on his face? They are the GOAT. I watch this part of that scene on repeat, and it never gets old.

So, I told you about how he has a tell, yes? Okay, two actually, but we all know surprised pikachu Emmrich. In that last scene it is resolved in the most beautiful way.

He looks down, when something touches him deeply, when he goes into his feels.

A few (way to many) examples:

And the worst wet kitten look? After the fight, when Rook leaves.

Its a look of shame. Of hurt. This man is hurting so badly.

Now here at the end we have that moment when Rook leads him to the coffin. His face turns down, like before. But here he looks up at Rook. He does not turn his eyes away but looks directly at them. Ahhh my heart.

Now, think about the fact that ROOK is leading in that moment?

In those moments where Rook leads or startles him (or is simply annoying enough so that the truth slips out), you see the most emotion from him.

Rooks flirting startles him, and he has a pikachu face reaction every time.

Their first kiss? Rook leans against the monument, and leans up, telling him without words that NOW is the time for a kiss. How can he not go for a second kiss?

That moment when Rook calls Manfred “our son”? He very conveniently ignores the word “OUR” and goes in defense mode over the word “son”. But called out on his feelings for Manfred? How can he deny them? He has tears in his voice when he says how he would not exchange this moment for anything? A real, deep emotion.

In their fight Emmrich is again all technical, all performance, so logical (or what he sells himself as logic). But Rook wrestles that moment from him and takes lead, calls him out on his bullshit.

In the crypt Rook pulls him up into a kiss and then leads him to the coffin, guiding him, taking him with them.

Most of the other times he takes the lead, very much in control. But the most emotions you get from him, are those times Rooks leads, when he lets go of this tight control over himself, or he is startled in to a reaction. For all the age difference that is played up in their relationship, in the important moments Rook is the one who guides. And he follows where they lead.

Those little moans he makes? If they did have sex before, I bet he did not make those sounds then. Where they did have some incredible sex, now they are making love. Open, vulnerable. He gives in.

And then they fall asleep together. Skin to skin, arms and legs intertwined. Their hands caressing, no sound but that of their heartbeats and soft breaths. Pure and utter contentment. In that moment nothing exists but them. Can you imagine that moment he woke up? The amount of emotions he must have felt then? This need to speak those little words? Those huge little words. He does not say them, not yet. But he is almost ready.  

Finally, they stand there, on the battlefield of Elgar’nans madness. And he tells Rook. The last wall falls. Gives the most precious thing he can give to anyone.

“I love you.”