#hence the thought of lucille with other men frightens him

[withhclding-a]

✂ - … Someone who dislikes my muse↥ - … Someone who is attracted to my muse

SEND ME A SYMBOL AND I’LL WRITE A DRABBLE ABOUT MY MUSE FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF:

✂ - … Someone who dislikes my muse

↥ - … Someone who is attracted to my muse 

. * ¦ okay i’m so sorry i kind of copped out here and combined two into one because a) i am the laziest writer under the sun i’m really sorry, and b) literally everyone in the world (including me and including the trash mom herself) dislikes lucille to some extent and i was finding it hard to choose just one. anyway have my awful drabble from george’s point of view about his wife. thank you so, so much for sending these !! (literally it means a lot to me and thank you for putting up with my trash writing aha)

 ❝ she’s the sexiest creature i have ever laid eyes upon. ❞

 in george bluth’s mind, at least, conviction always has ruled his tone. the company has been his for fifty years for christ’s sake. people don’t get to the level of success that he has achieved if their lies fail to be convincing. this particular statement, however, is neither; for all its certainty it fails to convince his wife, and yet, for perhaps one of the few times in his life, it’s a statement of fact. 

 can he blame her for her doubts? no one blames him, it seems, and christ knows that’s the only reason he’s managed to get away with it for so long. it’s no secret that lucille bluth is a NIGHTMARE of a wife; a lady macbeth in a pastel chanel suit; controlling, domineering, possessive. she’s the perfect foil for the misunderstood, long-suffering character he creates, the non-existent man which has allowed him to stray from her with such ease. it’s not him that matters, in the end; he can become whatever they want him to be, so long as his wife remains distant and cold and doesn’t understand him. he doesn’t even have to twist the narrative. she brings this upon herself. always. 

 always. 

 he often wonders which she fell for first: him, or the lavish riches of the places he took her to when he couldn’t stand the thought of entering her cheap little apartment in his $3000 suit. sometimes he still doesn’t know which she would choose if she were to have to lose one; she might know herself, but he doesn’t dare approach the situation for fear of hearing something he wouldn’t like. but somewhere in the middle, he and his riches seem to satisfy her, even after all these years. she, conversely, though god knows she spends enough time and effort and money trying, cannot do the same for him. she’s yearning for attention from the man she knows as her husband, whilst he searches in every other woman he meets for the waitress he made his wife. a woman defined by the present and a man caught up in the past. no wonder theirs isn’t a happy marriage. 

and yet, when he tells her that she is attractive, beautiful, it is still not a lie. theirs began a relationship based on attraction, and that seems to be the final, flickering flame left in whatever it is they now have. perhaps love would be more appropriate on a stage like this, but love is also more complicated - he saves ‘i love you’ for the very rare times when he can be certain he means it. her allure is a constant, one she’s always known he is fond of, and one she’s always worked so hard to keep. it's what has kept their marriage together, as they've grown older and he's come to dislike more and more of her. he can find his kicks elsewhere and still return to his wife, as long as she still vaguely loves him and as long as she's still beautiful. 

lucille will never be the long suffering wife, because she has a talent for convincing everyone around her that she has never suffered. 

he brushes past her to retrieve his camera when a hand presses to his shoulder, stopping him in his path. ❝ did you mean all that? ❞ he wonders if there's a vulnerability to her tone, if he moulds it well enough in his mind. he knows that she wants to hear MORE. more than sexiest, more than just the top of a line of a hundred women her husband has viewed as beautiful enough for him. but two lives have already been ruined because at twenty-three, he somehow convinced her that she was a little more than that. 

❝ of course. ❞ he responds, without any semblance of doubt. and that is all. his wife's eyes lower into slits, and when he moves to kiss her cheek she moves effortlessly out of his way, onto the nearest distraction she can find. george exhales his irritation. he’ll want her when she’s distant and repel her when she is not. neither one of them is to blame, but lord knows they’re both at fault.

fourty years have birthed, nutured, and raised his dislike of the woman he married. somehow - through good management, he suspects - they’ve left his attraction untouched.