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foundress0fnothing · 1 year ago

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Summary: Elain runs a sex cult. She’s looking for something new. Lucien is new.

~5.3k words, rated E (explicit)

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

This is just PWP, so be warned (and enjoy)!

Written for @elucienweekofficial Day 7: AU.

Title from “Project for a Fainting” by Brenda Shaughnessy (I’m currently obsessed with this poem and it’s a banger and you should definitely read it).

Lucien POV

“What the fuck kind of bar is this?”

Lucien stared incredulously at the scene unfolding before his eyes. The room itself—what he could see of it, anyway—was innocuous enough. It looked the part of an upscale bar: dark wood furniture and walls painted a blue so deep they were almost black, softened by warm light spilling from lamps scattered throughout and low, plush couches in jewel tones that lined the outer perimeter of the room. There was greenery everywhere—ivy climbing the walls, monsteras arching out of pots in the corners of the room, philodendrons dripping off of the bar that was tucked into the back corner of the room. Music, something pulsing and rhythmic, played in the background, not quite loud enough to distinguish words or melody.

And the scent of the space—a heady mix of jasmine and honey that Lucien could feel twist around him as he stood on the threshold, inviting him to step inside, to linger, to lose himself in the promise of the evening.

But he resisted that pull, tempting as it was, instead standing frozen at the sight of the bar’s clientele. They gathered in groups of two or three or four, most draped intimately across each other, touching and fondling and teasing their partners, not caring who might see in the public space. They were all in various states of undress as well, some wearing regular street clothes that were haphazardly hanging off their bodies after one of their partners’ ministrations, some wearing what Lucien could only imagine was niche fetish wear.

Tearing his gaze away from what he was pretty sure was seconds from descending into a full orgy, he turned to look at Vassa and Jurian who stood a few paces behind him, “I’ll ask again,” he said, flicking his eyes between the two of them. Only Vassa had the grace to look slightly apologetic. “What the fuck kind of bar is this?”

“Their drinks are really good,” Vassa started, but Lucien cut her off.

“That’s not what I asked, Vas.”

“It’s what got Jurian in the door at least.”

Jurian offered a lazy grin. “And who wouldn’t want to stay for the rest?”

Lucien glared at him.

“And we figured,” Vassa continued, drawing his attention back to her, “that after Jes and everything, it might be good. For you.”

“It might be good for me?” Lucien raised an eyebrow skeptically, even if, on some level, he could see the appeal of a night of debauchery, of throwing himself into the throng of bodies and free-flowing booze. And it’s not like Vassa was wrong about Jes. Lucien had been ready to propose, had even picked out a ring, until she unceremoniously dumped him a month ago, deciding that she was looking for something different, something—how had she said it?—“more interesting.”

And he had been wallowing in that loss ever since. He didn’t go out anymore, didn’t reach out to friends, instead moving between work and his apartment and ghosting anyone who tried reaching out. For good reason apparently, he thought to himself, daring another glance into the room where he saw a short woman wearing only a bustier and sheer tights plant herself in the lap of a man wearing an identical outfit.

Vassa clarified, drawing his attention away from his efforts to make sense of the dynamics of that relationship. “You know—to meet someone new.”

“And,” Jurian added, “you’ve fucking sucked this last month. So. This is for us too.”

Lucien flipped him off. “Thanks, asshole.” He paused. “Look, guys, I appreciate what you’re trying to do—”

“Good.” Vassa grinned devilishly. “So stay.”

“But.” He gestured vaguely into the room, trying not to let his gaze linger for too long on any single thing. People notwithstanding, the room itself seemed determined to draw him in, the light and the music and the perfume and the heat all conspiring to make him take that first step over the threshold and find something—someone.

He shook it off. “I don’t think your little…club, or bar, or whatever it is, is really gonna fix the Jes thing.”

“It’s not just a club though,” Vassa argued.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“It’s—oh, what’d they say our first day here, Jurian? When we joined? ‘A place to get in touch with both the mental and physical self, and to meet others on similar journeys of self-discovery.’ She parroted the phrase, and Jurian nodded.

Lucien looked at them incredulously, waiting for one of them to burst out laughing, to tell him it was all a prank and that they put out some sketchy ad on Craigslist to cheer him up. When neither did, he clarified. “So…it’s a cult.”

“Cult is such a strong word, Lucien,” Vassa said with a frown.

“Yeah, but is it the right word though?” Not a prank then, he thought to himself, bewildered by the fact that his friends were apparently participating members. In a cult. In this cult.

“Lighten up, Lucien,” Jurian said, rolling his eyes. “Get a drink. See if anybody catches your eye.”

Lucien laughed in disbelief. “I’m not about to join your sex cult, assholes.”

Both of them ignored his protestations, giving him a slight shove and pushing him further into the room. He could feel its pull even more strongly now, teasing and promising, and wondered for a moment how bad it could be if he just spent one night here.

“No one’s going to make you join, Lucien. It’s not that kind of group.” Vassa smiled over his shoulder at someone she recognized, holding up a finger to let whoever it was know that she was on her way over.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, super glad you didn’t bring me to the join-or-die kind of sex cult.”

“Besides,” she continued. “The head gets to make the final call about members anyway.”

“The head?” He repeated. “Sorry—are you telling me there’s an application for the sex cult?”

Vassa winked at him. “It’s a very thorough review.”

Lucien snorted, imagining it must be. He looked around the room again, trying to guess who the head of a group like this might be. Not that he was about to join. But, as he ran his eyes over the people in the room, no one stood out to him as an obvious leader—they all touched and groped and moved between each other with apparently little regard for hierarchies or rules.

Vassa put a hand on his arm. “Stay for a drink at least. They are actually really good.” With that, she released Lucien and grabbed Jurian’s hand, pulling him into the room and aiming for a hideous pink couch where a beautiful woman with long black hair sat waiting for them.

Not wanting to linger awkwardly at the front of the room, Lucien began moving toward the bar, letting the atmosphere envelop him and guide him through whatever this night was about to be.

Everything felt more somehow, as if each step forward was turning a dial up tick by tick. The lights were warmer, the music more thrilling, the perfume more heady—and Lucien took it all in, giving himself over, at least slightly, to the magic of the room and the eroticism it promised.

He had done this—well, something like it—before Jes. He could do it again. And a drink would help.

“What’ll it be, handsome?”

Lucien glanced up at the voice coming from behind the bar, honey-smooth and sweet, only to lose himself in the beauty of the woman to whom it belonged. She had wide brown eyes the color of chestnuts and golden brown hair that framed her face with soft waves that stretched halfway down her back. And her dress—Lucien felt his mouth gape slightly as he took in the tight green satin bodice lined with lace that softened into something more loosely flowing as it hit her hips.

She was easily the most stunning woman Lucien had ever seen, and he felt any lingering irritation with Vassa and Jurian bleed away.

“So—are you going to order something?” The woman was still smiling up at him, although something mischievous danced in her eyes, clearly pleased by his reaction.

He cleared his throat, glancing at the menu written in neat script behind the bar and willing himself to focus on anything but the sensual curve of her lips. Each drink was artisanal, the ingredient lists long and propriety and brimming with herbs and berries in addition to the liquor. One glance at the bottles lining the wall told him that his usual bar drinks—an old fashioned or a scotch and soda—would be out of place here, would mark him even more as an outsider to the little world of this bar that he was increasingly interested in the longer he spent in the presence of the pretty bartender.

“I’ll have a Like the Fox.” It was gin and orgeat and falernum, tempered with berries and lime and bitters—and hopefully a suitably impressive order.

The bartender beamed up at him. “That’s what I would have chosen for you too.” She started to gather bottles in front of her.

“But,” Lucien said, leaning slightly over the bar. “I’ll only have it on one condition.”

She huffed a laugh. “And what’s that?”

Giving her what Vassa and Jurian called his ‘panty-dropping grin,’ he said, “If you have a drink with me.”

She held his gaze for a moment and then deliberately began looking him over, taking in every detail from the bright red hair he had gathered in a loose bun to the scar bisecting his eye from a failed biking stunt as a kid to the way his wine-red dress shirt hugged his chest. And then her gaze moved lower. He stood still, not wanting to fidget under her scrutiny. Everywhere her eyes landed burned, and Lucien found himself basking in that burn, the painful pleasure of it like midday August sunlight—longed for and too much and slightly sweet, all at once.

He watched as the bartender flicked her eyes back to his from where they had been lingering on the long line of his legs as if she could somehow see what was hidden underneath the gray slacks. He almost hoped she could.

And then she winked, grabbing a rocks glass and placing it alongside the coupe for his drink.

Lucien grinned, pleased that she was willing to play along. “And what is my drinking companion’s drink of choice?”

Reaching for its ingredients—whiskey, berries, honey, sage—she grinned right back. “Resist the Temptation.”

Elain POV

Elain had seen him the moment he stood on her doorway with Vassa and Jurian. Lucien Vanserra, Vassa had told her: tall, with rich brown skin and vibrant red hair and a scar across his left eye. He was dressed well, his clothes expensive and tailored to fit his broad frame, and he held himself with an ease that belied how uncomfortable he must have been at his first sight of her club.

She could kiss Vassa—and maybe she would later—for bringing him. Late one evening last weekend, spent and sweaty and draped over the pink couch that Vassa and Jurian seemed inordinately fond of, Elain lamented how bored she was, how familiar everyone and everything was, how she wanted something new.

And Vassa had smiled as she ran her fingers idly through Elain’s hair, a fire lighting in her eyes when she promised that she had the perfect something new in mind.

Looking up at Lucien now as she mixed their drinks, Elain suspected that Vassa had been right.

Not wanting the silence to stretch too long between them, she said, “I should have made you guess my drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” “Yes,” she said, humming slightly. “I would have found it terribly impressive.” Elain tossed her hair primly over her shoulder, smiling to herself as she watched how Lucien’s eyes glazed over slightly as they tracked the movement of the honey brown waves. “You’ll just have to find another way to impress me then, Fox,” she said, placing his drink down in front of him.

Blinking rapidly as he came back to himself, he picked up the glass and hit her again with one of the rakish smiles that she imagined got him anything he wanted. “And why do I get the sense you’re not easily impressed?”

He was right. She had been easily impressed once, had almost married a man straight out of college who listened to alt-right podcasts in his parents’ basement and refused to get a job, all because he had a sweet smile and told her he loved her. But he didn’t like that she didn’t want kids right away, that she wanted to travel first or open her own business, and he dumped her, expecting her to come crawling back. She didn’t.

No—instead, Elain mourned the loss of the relationship for exactly twenty-four hours before packing up and setting off on a backpacking trip around the world, eating good food and meeting new people and learning what it was she liked. And she found she liked people. And love—but not exclusivity. So when she got back, she opened the Larkspur Room, named after a flower that could mean both strong love and fickleness, and slowly began to gather its members. They came from all backgrounds, from all walks of life, but they were hers, and she was theirs. And she liked it.

But he didn’t need to know all of that. Not yet, at any rate. So she only smiled, letting a hint of mockery bleed into the expression. “Are you not up for it?”

“Are you?” He raised his glass to her in cheers, and then, holding her gaze, took a long, slow sip.

Elain watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Yes, she definitely owed Vassa. He would do very nicely. Even if he was far too cocky—that could be fixed.

She held out her hand. “I’m Elain.”

“Elain.” He repeated her name as he took her hand, shaking it once. He didn’t let go, and she didn’t pull away, savoring the feeling of his hand, large and warm and sure.

“And you?” She asked, even though she already knew, before raising her own glass to her lips with the hand not currently bound up in Lucien’s.

“Lucien.”

“You came in with Vassa and Jurian?” Lucien nodded in confirmation, following her gaze to find the pair locked in an embrace with Nuan, one of their usual partners if Elain was busy. And sometimes if she wasn’t.

He glanced back at her, flushing slightly. “Old friends. They…left out a few key details about this bar.”

Elain laughed at that. “Based on your blush, I imagine they did.”

Lucien bristled. “I don’t blush.”

“You don’t?” She challenged, turning her laughter on him. “The pink on your cheeks is just a trick of the light?” Setting her drink down, she reached up with her free hand to trace the side of his face.

He started slightly but didn’t move away, instead leaning into the contact. “I’m used to a little more privacy when I take my lovers to bed.”

Lucien’s voice was low and full of promise, and Elain smiled to herself, feeling her own heart rate pick up ever so slightly.

“What if I could offer you some privacy?”

“Well then, Elain,” he said, releasing her hand and winding his fingers through her hair and pulling it ever so slightly to tilt her face up to look at his. “Then I could show you all the things I’d like to do with you.”

She bit her lip and watched as his eyes tracked the movement. Good. “There’s a room in the back.”

“Lead the way,” he said, releasing his grip on her hair and polishing off the rest of his drink.

As she moved out from behind the bar, she surveyed the room, taking in the groups milling around, chattering and embracing. Nothing had really started yet, despite Lucien’s reactions, and it wouldn’t—not until she gave the word anyway.

As she walked over to his side, having to crane her neck slightly to meet his eyes, she asked, “They really didn’t tell you anything, did they?”

“Is there more I need to know?” He had drawn close, and she breathed in the spicy smell of his cologne, a mix of apples and woodsmoke and bergamot that reminded her of crisp fall days.

Elain smirked but didn’t answer him, instead turning out to the larger room to address her friends, her partners, her family. “Have fun tonight, all.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the groups of people stopped their idle touching and fondling and teasing and began to reach for each other with an urgency and a desire that Elain felt rush through her and settle in her core.

“Come, Lucien,” she said, turning around and walking down the hall to her office. He followed after as if in a daze.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” Lucien asked as he stepped into the room after her and closed the door. She didn’t use it for this often, but it would do—amongst the desk and the papers sat a low bed, framed by diaphanous lilac curtains and fairy lights that softened the administrative air the room would have otherwise carried.

Elain hummed contentedly. “For a few years now.”

“You run the sex cult.” He said it as a statement, not a question.

“I run the Larkspur Room. That’s the actual name. Not “the sex cult.” And it’s more a place for personal journeys and self-discovery anyway. Sex is just part of it.” She walked over to Lucien but didn’t reach out, didn’t restart her seduction. The next step was his to take.

“Yes, so Vassa told me,” he muttered, looking around the office.

“You disagree?”

He shifted his attention back to her. “A fancy motto doesn’t make it any less of a sex cult.”

“Are you complaining?” Elain could argue the semantics of the word cult with him later. After. Assuming he stayed.

He gently gripped her chin between his finger and his thumb, titling her face up and ghosting his thumb over her lips. “No. Not right now.”

“Good.” She smiled up at him. Time for something new.

He leaned down as if to kiss her but then stopped himself, pulling back slightly. “What does this mean? If we…”

She waited for him to finish the sentence, but when it was clear he wasn’t about to, she rolled her eyes. Still hung up on the cult thing. “It can be nothing more than a night if that’s what you want, Lucien.” Disappointing as that would be. Her chin was still caught in his hands, giving her the perfect view of the effect that her saying his name had on him.

“And if I want more?” Slowly, still looking at her face, he began to run his hands down the sides of her body, rubbing teasing circles into her ribs, her hips.

“Then consider tonight your application for membership.”

“Into the cult?”

She looked at him disapprovingly. “Into the Larkspur Room. You could at least try to say the name.”

“And you’ll decide?”

“Who else?”

Lucien laughed sharply at that. “Vassa said it was a thorough review process. I assumed…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the door and the bodies thronging outside.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Why, Lucien, perhaps you’re more adventurous than I thought. But,” she continued, seeing from his scowl that he was about to start arguing about logistics and throwing around the phrase “sex cult” again, “I don’t share on the first night.” She began tracing her hands across the muscles of his chest before slowly reaching up to pull loose his hair tie, allowing the crimson waves—almost as long as hers, she noted—to messily frame his face. “Is that acceptable to you?”

He nodded, running a hand through his now loose hair, and asked, “What’s so thorough about this review, then Elain?”

She liked the way he said her name. It was as if he was offering up a quiet prayer, like she was something to revere, something to cherish. “It’s a test. All you have to do,” she said, “is make me come three times.”

He raised an eyebrow, so she clarified.

“Once on your fingers,” she listed, drawing his hand to her mouth and holding his gaze as she delicately sucked two of his fingers into her mouth, watching as his nostrils flared.

“Once on your tongue,” she continued, releasing his fingers and leaning in so she could lick up the broad column of his neck.

“And once on your cock.” Still kissing his neck, she ghosted her hand down until she could grip him through his pants, delighting in the groan he let out. He was already hard and, she noted with an involuntary whimper, impressively long.

Releasing him and stepping away, she smiled in challenge. “Do you think you can manage?”

“Perhaps.” He grinned back at her as he answered, cockily adding, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Elain huffed a laugh. “We’ll see.” But she hoped he was right. “Questions?”

“One,” he said as he started to unbutton his shirt, allowing her glimpses of his sculpted chest as the two sides slowly parted. “What does membership into your ‘Larkspur Room’ get me?”

Her mouth opened in shock. “Greedy already?”

“I just want to know if the effort is worth it.” His smug smile at the way her eyes kept catching on the planes of his chest was infuriating.

The fucking nerve of him. But Elain had an idea, smiling wickedly as she sank to her knees and said, looking up at him as she unbuttoned his pants, “You tell me.”

Lucien POV

Lucien was fucked. And probably about to join a sex cult.

Because if the way Elain was sucking him was any indication of how the rest of the night would go, he realized that he would do anything, would say anything, would join anything just to have another moment like this with her. He would worship at whatever altar she offered if it meant that she would invite him back to her bed.

Her mouth was impossibly soft and wet, and Lucien groaned at each new pass, willing his body to slow down, to let his mind catch up, to savor the experience.

But it—and Elain—had other plans, and he looked down to see the glint in her eyes as, without warning, she stopped the rhythmic bobbing of her head only to swallow him whole, the tip of her nose brushing against his stomach.

“Fuck, Elain—” he gasped out as his hips stuttered forward and she made a small choking sound at the force of the intrusion. She didn’t stop, although she glared up at him, only widening her mouth and relaxing her throat to allow him more space.

Wrapping fistfuls of her hair around his hands, Lucien began slowly thrusting, fucking her mouth as she braced herself against his thighs, still covered by his gray slacks. He laughed half-deliriously at the realization that he hadn’t even gotten fully undressed, although his laughter quickly turned into a moan, embarrassingly loud and desperate, as she hollowed out her cheeks.

He was going to come embarrassingly quickly, could feel his rhythm start to falter and his balls tighten and then—

It all stopped. Dazed and pleasure-drunk, Lucien looked down to see Elain pull away from his cock, wiping at her lips delicately.

“That,” she said, slightly out of breath, “is one of the things membership in my ‘sex cult’ gets you.” She gave a bratty tilt of her head. “Worth it?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, grabbing Elain’s face in his hands and kissing her. His cock screamed at him, begging for release, but he ignored it in favor of continuing to pepper Elain’s lips with kisses. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m—yes. It’s worth it. You’re worth it.” He couldn’t lose this, couldn’t lose her.

She rewarded him with a smile. “I am. And now,” she reached between them, once again taking his cock in her hands, and Lucien gasped at her touch, overly-sensitive, the sensation almost enough to send him over the edge. “We’ll see if you are, Lucien.”

“Elain, I—”

“—have work to do. Because if you finish before you’ve completed your test,” she said, false sympathy in her voice as she continued to slide her hand absently up and down his cock, “I’m afraid you won’t be invited back.”

“Then stop that,” he said, reaching to still her movements, hoping that a reprieve from her maddening touch would give him a chance to get himself under control, to regain some kind of upper hand in this exchange.

“I was just answering your question.” She widened her eyes and blinked at him in false innocence.

He laughed at her performance, reaching behind her as he did so to find the zipper on her dress and tugging it down. “I’m not fooled by your act, Elain. In fact,” he said as the dress slipped off her frame and pooled at her feet, revealing the light green lingerie set she wore underneath. “I think you might just be a brat.”

She reached out for his clothes as well, rapidly undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt as he kicked off his pants and tucked himself back into his underwear. “Let’s hope you get to test that theory in the future, shall we?”

They stood there staring at each other. If Lucien thought Elain was stunning in her dress, it was nothing compared to how she looked now: still slightly flushed from her exertions before, her nipples hard and visible through her bra as she waited for him to make the next move.

“Oh, Elain,” Lucien said, stepping forward to close the distance between them, “that is a privilege I can’t wait to earn.”

And then he kissed her, hard and demanding. He felt her smile against his lips as she arched into him, and he slid his hands up her body to unhook the clasps of her bra, groaning into her mouth as he cupped her tits. “Fuck, Elain.”

“That’s the hope, Lucien.” Breaking the kiss, she shucked off her underwear and walked over to sit on the bed, leaning back slightly to give him a view of her cunt, bare and gleaming. “So what are you waiting for?”

“Brat,” he said, just to say something. Not that it had any bite—he had no control here apparently, no smooth words left, no final tricks, nothing but a desperate desire to see her head thrown back in pleasure, to hear her call his name, to spend the rest of his life doing nothing but this.

“Like what you see?”

He hummed appreciatively, mesmerized at the sight of her spread out like a feast before him. With a reverence that surprised even him, he asked, “Are you wet for me, Elain?”

“Come find out.”

Lucien followed her over the bed and knelt down in front of her, gently dragging a finger through the clear evidence of her arousal. He groaned at the wetness he found there as she arched into his touch. “Elain.”

And with her name on his lips, he began to circle her clit, teasing the bundle of nerves as he felt her begin to writhe against him. “That’s it, beautiful.” He kissed up her neck, sliding his finger lower and into her, pumping in and out.

“More, Lucien. I need more—” she gasped out, and he redoubled his efforts, sliding another finger into her and feeling her clench around him.

“Lucien, I—”

“Are you going to come for me?” He sucked a kiss into her neck, and her moan was like the sweetest music. “Come for me, Elain.”

And she did, clamping down on his hand so hard he swore he could feel it on his cock as she shattered, and he rode her through wave after wave of her climax. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, and nothing he had ever seen could match the sight of her like this.

And he wanted—needed—to see it again. Lucien slid down her body and plunged his tongue into her cunt as her walls continued to pulse around him. Elain moaned at the invasion, still sensitive from her first orgasm, but didn’t pull away, and he groaned at the taste of her, somehow musky and floral and sweet all at once.

He devoured her like a man starved, wet and messy and wildly lost in her. Elain, for her part, thrust her hands through his hair, wrapping it around her fist and using her hold to grind herself against his face, chasing her pleasure. Before long, Lucien could feel her start to tighten again, her climax rising higher and higher until it crested and she followed it over the peak, arching her back and crying out loudly enough that he was positive that everyone in the other room knew exactly what the two of them were doing.

She panted as she came down, blearily lolling her head against the pillow as she rode the aftershocks of her second orgasm. Her hair was messily haloed around her head, and Lucien, pleased with himself, dragged his hand through the tangled silken waves.

She turned to look at him. “Are you done, Lucien?”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and he looked at her skeptically. “Can you take one more, Elain?”

“Yes, Lucien. Of course.” she breathed out, throwing him a look that was probably meant to be scathing but only came across as pleasantly sated, her eyes lust-drunk. “Make me come on your cock.”

She reached out a hand to the table next to her bed, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a condom that she handed to him. Lucien pulled off his underwear and unwrapped the condom, rolling it over his length and he pumped himself once, twice to the sight of Elain, still naked and breathless beneath him.

He looked at her and she nodded, and without needing any more encouragement, he plunged into her. She was dripping wet and tight and hot, and Lucien groaned at the sensation.

“Christ, Elain,” he moaned, his hips snapping forward as he thrust in and out of her perfect cunt. “So fucking perfect. You are—”

She finished the sentence for him. “Mine, Lucien. You are mine.”

“Yours. I’m yours.” She was a dream, lurid and perfect, something he wanted every day for the rest of his life. He felt his pace stutter at the thought. “I’m not going to last long, Elain.”

She smiled up at him. “Then make it count.”

He drove deeper and deeper into her, reaching between them to find her clit and rolling it over with his fingers until he could feel her breathing hitch, her walls tighten.

“One more time, Elain. Come for me. Let me be yours.”

And for the final time, she shattered against him, and he let the strength of her climax carry him along with it as he came with a shout.

Spent and panting, he rolled off the condom and threw it away, turning to gather Elain into his arms and close to his chest. For now, nothing else mattered—only him and Elain and the absolute bliss of the moment.

She nuzzled into him and smiled. “Welcome to the Larkspur Room, Lucien.”

“Honored to be a member.”

“Want to tell your friends?” She asked sleepily.

“Later.” He gently kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, letting the room—the warm lights, the soft pulse of the music from outside that he could just make out, the sweet smell of jasmine and honey—lull him to sleep.

#elucien #elucienweek2023 #elucienweek #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic

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bourbon-ontherocks · 2 years ago

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(Previously, on the HPI rewatch...)

Cet épisode m'a détruite la première fois que je l'ai vu et toutes les suivantes. Accessoirement c'est aussi un des épisodes qui m'a causé le plus de fous rires. Allez comprendre, et surtout priez pour moi 😭

Céline qui dort en T-shirt Che Guevara ça restera à jamais l’un des plus grandes énigmes de ce show. I have SO MANY questions.

Deux mois.

........................

Attendez, je la refais pour que tout le monde se représente bien ce que ça fait. DEUX MOIS. Morgane a cessé de venir pendant deux mois, sans que Adam (ni personne en fait ?) ne prenne de ses nouvelles ? 😱 Je veux bien que Céline leur ait fait des updates réguliers, mais genre, personne ne lui a envoyé un petit texto, on n’a pris la peine de venir la voir en sortant du boulot ? Personne s’est dit “tiens, on devrait lui organiser une soirée tous ensemble, ça lui changerait les idées”, non ? Personne 😭 Aled

On notera que Morgane bade sur le canapé de Céline, mais avec des faux-cils. Tout espoir n'est donc pas perdu 🤗

"Bonjour Morgane, content de vous voir." Mec, c'est CA que tu trouves à lui dire ??? Encore une fois, ça fait DEUX MOIS qu'elle est pas venue au boulot, et c'est tout ? Mais au secours... 😩

Deux mois putain...

Par contre Céline est juste trop mignonne a essayer de remotiver Morgane, je l'aime 🥰

"Elle aurait préféré mourir plutôt que renoncer à son intégrité" "Oui bah du coup c'est un peu ce qui s'est passé" 😅 Cet enchaînement me fait toujours autant mourir de rire

Sandra Weber my beloved!!!!! 🥰

La façon dont Morgane revendique un droit de regard sur la vie sexuelle d'Adam me fume complètement, elle est déjà teeeeeellement possessive c'est dingue 🥹 Parce que "Vous comptiez me le dire quand, que vous vous tapiez Miss IGPN ?", Morgane ma chérie, en vrai il était même pas obligé de t'en parler, hein, ça le regarde, SAUF ! QUE ! Adam lui-même ne remet pas cette affirmation en question et confirme implicitement qu'il doit des explications à Morgane, Mr. "La vie perso ça reste perso" de l'épisode d'avant est tout penaud "bah, heu, oui, je comptais vous en parler à votre retour..." mais putain il s'écrase c'est comme s'il se sentait coupable, ça me détruit 😱

Parce que oui il se sent coupable au fond

Coupable d'avoir renoncé à Morgane

.....................Je crois que je fais un AVC

Et puis oh bordel "A quel moment elle vous a séduit exactement ? Quand elle a essayé de vous virer, ou quand elle a demandé ma tête ?", la violence du truc, là on rentre dans le dur, mais que j’aime cette franchise de Morgane, PLUS de quatre vérités comme ça pour la saison 3 siouplait 🤩

Et puis pardon de revenir là-dessus, mais je rappelle à tout hasard que Morgane a appris pour Roxane il y a DEUX MOIS. Oui parce que nous on voit ça entre la fin d'un épisode et le début d'un autre, mais la meuf ça fait DEUX MOIS qu'elle rumine que Adam sort avec Roxane quand elle lui demande des comptes. Girl, your obsession is showing! 🫠

Pardon, mais si la mère de la victime et la juge recevaient des menaces depuis des semaines, c'était pas un truc à mentionner pendant le procès ? Fin je sais pas, hein, mais là comme ça, je me dis que ça aurait pu jouer dans le verdict, non ? Qui reçoit des menaces pendant un procès sans le dire à personne ? C'est complètement con.

"Moi en maternelle je faisais beaucoup d'asthme" Gilles je t'aime, ne change rien 😂❤️

Morgane vs. le philodendron c'est un des grands moments de cette saison. Je pourrais disserter pendant des heures de la symbolique de cette plante à la place de Morgane, de savoir si c'était une manœuvre volontaire de la part de Roxane ou pas, du philodendron comme victime expiatoire de la jalousie de Morgane, de... Nan mais je vais pas le faire, sinon on y est encore la semaine prochaine 🥺

Vous remarquerez qu’entre le philodendron et le ficus, on a quand-même une obsession botanique dans cette série 🪴

C'est marrant parce que TOUT dans le personnage de Roxane crie not girly, et pourtant la meuf a redécoré le bureau avec des petits cœurs roses quand-même... #characterizationwho?

Je suis désolée mais je dois souligner une nouvelle fois l'absurdité du shipname Karaxane, genre même sa meuf l'appelle par son nom de famille ? Alors que Roxadam était RIGHT HERE ??? 🤦

Vous réalisez que c'est littéralement la première fois que quelqu'un se rappelle que Karadec a un prénom (au bout de 13 épisodes il était temps). Et que c'est dit par Roxane ? tuez-moi

LA. JALOUSIE. DE. MORGANE. DANS. CET. ÉPISODE. 🙊🙊🙊 Elle est tellement jalouse et elle s'en rend même pas compte, oh bordel

Au passage c'est aussi l'épisode où Morgane est alcoolique 🙃

Le fait que Morgane a utilisé un des post-it en forme de petit cœur rose de Roxane pour dessiner une teub dessus et le mettre sur la photo du mec à poil, ça restera à jamais l'un de ses plus grands petty moves 🤣

Et puis rien que pour la scène où Morgane crie "LE SEXE !" aux oreilles de Karadec, ça valait le coup

Si quelqu'un sait ce que Adam articule silencieusement à Morgane au moment où il quitte le bureau avec Roxane, venez me le dire, je vous en supplie. Ça fait un an que j'essaye de savoir 😱

"Prends ça dans ta gueule, toi" aka mon fou rire numéro 1 de l'épisode 🤣

Eliott qui passe tout l'épisode à lire un bouquin de criminologie tout en conspuant sa mère, mhhh, something something Freud reviens 🤔😅

N’empêche, c'est trop mignon que même bourrée, Morgane respecte à la lettre les consignes de Karadec sur le fait de pas parler de l'enquête à Sandra 🥹💕

"Morgane, c'est Karadec" putain mais le mec lui-même a oublié qu'il avait un prénom, en fait....

"Le mec écrivait ses messages de la main gauche parce que sa main droite était occupée à autre chose..." aka mon deuxième fou rire 😅

Alors là je voudrais quand-même qu'on m'explique, parce que chez la juge on a des cartons de pizza et des cornets de frites sur la table, et on nous dit qu'en plus Morgane a cuit un kilo de coquillettes ? Je veux bien que ça mange, les enfants, mais là ça fait un peu beaucoup, non ?

Le gros plan sur le visage d'Adam et son petit sourire amer genre j’aurais dû m’en douter quand il comprend que c'est Morgane qui a squatté chez la juge... 🥹

TOUTES LES RÉACTIONS DE GILLES CHEZ LA JUGE

Les couches

Les coquillettes

LA PAT PATROUILLE 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Que quelqu’un donne une récompense à Bruno Sanches, n’importe laquelle, parce qu’il est juste extraordinaire 😍

Cette scène c'est mon plus gros fou rire de TOUTE la série, la première fois que je l'ai vue j'ai littéralement hurlé de rire pendant dix minutes sans pouvoir m'arrêter

"J'ai pas fini de vous engueuler !" c'est un peu l'histoire de sa vie, à Karadec, ça... 😏

"Une touche de violence policière rendrait encore cette histoire plus croustillante" je laisse ceux qui savent™ apprécier...

L'article de Sandra, si ça vous intéresse (si, si, en zoomant un peu on arrive à lire) :

Karadec qui se marre quand Morgane se fait défoncer par l'équipe au sujet de l'article, c'est drôle, et en même temps, en sachant que la prochaine fois qu'il la revoit c'est en train de chialer à 4 grammes, ça me fend un peu le cœur... 😰

Et là on arrive à LA scène qui mérite un Emmy à elle tout seule

.................................

😱😰💔

Parce que phewww, déjà qu'elle est tragique en soi, mais en plus en SACHANT que Romain est un connard ? Et que Morgane ? Picole toute seule devant sa tombe ? Gnnnnnnnn, laissez-moi sortir...

J'ai tellement à dire sur cette scène, je pourrais disserter sur chaque réplique, mais vraiment juste wow, on peut dire ce qu’on veut sur HPI mais l’écriture de cette scène = perfection

"TU PENSES QUE T'AURAIS FINI PAR TE BARRER TOI AUSSI ?" .................................Appelez le SAMU

Le jeu d'Audrey putain, le jeu d'Audrey me met les larmes aux yeux à chaque fois, la justesse !! La retenue !! La façon dont l'émotion monte subtilement sans en faire des caisses, je -- les personnes qui ont écrit, joué, et dirigé cette scène savent ce que c'est que le deuil, c'est tout ce que j'ai à dire

Évidemment que NON c'est pas tout ce que j'ai à dire !! Vous y avez cru ?

"Avec toi c'était simple" vs. "Avec Kristin, c'est simple", uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh, laissez-moi CREVER 😭😭😭

"Mais là j'y arrive plus" 😰

.......................................................

Elle est TELLEMENT en dépression ça me tabasse... que quelqu'un donne de l'amour à Morgane, là, c'est urgent ! 💔

On est d'accord que vu ce qu'elle picolait trois scènes plus tôt, c'est pas avec une bouteille de crémant qu'elle va tomber dans les pommes, hein ? Hein. Voilà, je voulais juste établir ce point.

Bon alors question importante : qu'est-ce qu'elle fout dans son lit ? Non parce qu'on sait grâce à l'épisode d'après qu'il y a un canapé chez Karadec (et même si Sofiane s'est fait aspirer dans un trou du scénario, en théorie il a aussi une chambre). Vous le voyez, vous, le Karadec de deux heures du matin, déjà bien saoulé d'être allé chercher Morgane et d’avoir dû nettoyer son vomi, lui prêter son lit en plus ? Non, hein, faudrait pas déconner. Donc, je repose la question, qu'est qu'elle fout dans son lit ? 👀

(et à quel moment elle a changé de boucles d'oreilles aussi)

Morgane : *tombe sur Karadec à poil* Morgane : *darde sa langue* (si si, je vous assure, c'est dans le dernier plan de l'épisode. Je dois aller me javelliser les yeux, j’en a trop vu je crois, tu m’étonnes qu’elle fasse une fixette sur les brosses à dents, après, ce show fait clairement une fixation orale)

(encore une fois Freud reviens)

Nan mais vraiment un jour j’écrirai un analyse sur tous les trucs que Morgane fait avec sa langue dans la série et ça sera pas du tout PG13, je vous préviens

Bon allez je vous laisse je dois aller me préparer psychologiquement pour revoir une certaine scène de brossage de langue, justement...

😘

#hpi #tf1 hpi #julia rewatches hpi #french post #This ep is probably in my top 3 favourites #backyard scene -> top 3 fave angsty scene #top tier Gilles content #top 3 comedic moments #😘😘😘😘#oh and it's the Sandra episode so

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