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justporo · 7 months

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Scenes from a bathtub

A Night of Fake Smiles and Hidden Lies: Part 1

Author's Note: Here we are, I'm so excited to share the first chapter for this story. The part in which Tav and Astarion start getting ready, enjoying a nice soak in the tub - and some other stuff. Let me know what you think!

Song: Royals - Lorde

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav Rating: Explicit Warnings: Some light smut at the very end of the chapter

CHAPTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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A few weeks had passed. The night of the ball had finally arrived.

Astarion had actually been excited ever since the invitation had been delivered. He really seemed eager to make it a night to remember for the both of you: so you had actually spent some more evenings waltzing around your space (also trying other dances) and Astarion had very cryptically promised you he’d take care of ‘wardrobe and grooming’. You dearly hoped he’d remember his promise about corsets and wouldn’t turn you into someone you wouldn’t recognise if you passed by a mirror.

It was still hours from then until the event started but Astarion had insisted on starting to get ready. You had looked at the clock and back to the vampire and back at the clock. Had it been only you, you’d probably only have run a bath half an hour before, then quickly dressed and done some basic makeup before arriving a little late. But as you told Astarion that he’d cocked an eyebrow and looked you up and down in such a judgmental way you’d first felt like a young girl getting scolded. And when he hadn’t stopped you’d gotten pissed at his pretentious behaviour. “My sweet sweet love, if you can’t even stand passive-aggressive stares for more than a few moments it’s going to be a very short evening. These people live off judging others and elevating their pitiful selves over you. And the trick is to just always be twice the bastard they are.” “Great, sounds like such a fun evening, Astarion.”

You had crossed your arms over your chest and had felt anxiety creeping up inside you. Already you had worried that you’d be awfully out of place at this event. But Astarion had grabbed your hands that you had firmly tugged away under your arms and placed them on your cheeks, covering yours with his own long fingers. “Don’t worry, my love, you’re fortunate enough to have a master of the art at your side to show you how it’s done”, he had said with a big smirk and given you a quick kiss. “And if that still doesn’t help just step on someone’s skirts or elbow them so they splash their drinks on somebody around and watch the chaos unfold. You wouldn’t believe how quickly these elitist people get physical if they feel their ‘honour’” – he dramatically air-quoted and rolled his eyes – “is at stake”, he had continued with an even bigger almost feral smirk when he’d noticed you were still tense. This – a good old brawl? You had seen and partaken in a fair share of those in your time as a Baldur’s Gate lowlife. You slowly had grinned back at your soulmate then: “No promises, I won’t do that anyway if these rich fuckers annoy me too much.” Astarion had thrown his head back and laughed: “Oh my lovely little anarchist.”

So now you were sitting in your big tub that was lowered in the stone floor of your bathroom.

The two of you loved spending almost whole nights just enjoying the warmth and comfort of a hot bath – talking, drinking wine, taking in the scents of exotic oils Astarion picked up from specialty stores, caressing and massaging each other; often times resulting in more passionate actions. This time the vampire had brought some ‘special’ stuff to really doll yourselves up for this big ball.

Currently, Astarion was sitting in between your legs, leaning back against your naked chest while you washed and detangled his curls and just enjoyed your care while breathing softly. Before, he had put some mud all over his face he claimed would “make his complexion glow even more”. The stuff indeed smelled nicely as it drifted into your nose while you massaged Astarion’s scalp carefully, but he still looked kind of ridiculous. Also you weren’t entirely convinced that this was how it worked for vampires.

Seldomly was the pale elf this relaxed. And this fact alone filled your heart with joy. You let your fingers move through his hair and softly massaged his neck and his ears as well which resulted in a soft, relaxed moan from him from time to time.

Astarion’s chest lifted in a particular deep breath, causing droplets of bathwater to run down his toned chest and the light from the candles you’d lit all over the room danced over his smooth skin. He really almost caused you to forget to breathe sometimes just by existing.

“This is heaven, my love. If this is what the afterlife is like I’ll happily perish right on the spot”, he sighed and let out a long breath. You smiled happily and really buried your fingertips in his curls once more causing the vampire to groan in pleasure and making his head loll from side to side.

With his eyes still closed he reached one arm slowly behind himself – obviously with the intention to reach your face. “Only thing missing now is a kiss from you, my sweet honey pie.”

“Sweet honey pie? What’s gotten into you?”

“Hmhm, can you blame me? Your fingers caressed me into oblivion, cherry muffin.” You scrunched up your nose and pinched the back of his neck. It seemed you really had worked common sense out of the man; he was talking mad.

“You know the implication it makes when you call me food related pet names, don’t you?”, you asked him, leaning close to one of his pointy ears. “Oh, very much so, even though I must inform you, that you taste neither off honey pie nor cherry muffins.”

Astarion started to stretch while speaking, tensing his muscles, reaching his arms even beyond you and yawning. The comparison to a cat was more than imminent. On their way back his hands found your head and stroked your hair despite the awkward angle.

“Aha, so what do I taste like to you, hm? Indulge me”, you requested and wrapped your arms around Astarion’s chest as he sidled up against you again. Your hands rested on each other on his stomach now, you leaned your chin on his shoulder. His arms were still stretched around his back to let his fingers wander through your hair.

“Well, when I first compared it to a good wine that was a very accurate description. But now, with some more, shall I say, expertise in your bouquet, I’d describe it like this: sometimes it’s like a wonderful red wine, full-bodied but with soft floral notes. But sometimes it’s more like delicious fruit covered in dark chocolate. It just… varies slightly: depending on what you eat, how you’ve been feeling, what time of month it is…” The last part surprised you: “You can taste… my cycle?” “Oh, not only that, but I can also smell it as well – I mean besides the obvious. You’d be surprised at what I can find out about you from taking a single nose full of your exquisite scent alone, my love.” You felt dumbfounded, he’d never mentioned that before. And you also didn’t need to see the smirk when he said that to know that it was there.

“Like?”, you simply asked, a bit embarrassed but also very much intrigued about this particular skill of his. Astarion didn’t like talking about the specifics of his condition very much so whenever he opened up about it you grasped the opportunity to learn more about it and him.

“Oh, for example, I can definitely always tell when you want me. And, if I dare say so, the intensity and frequency surprised even me, my wicked little siren”, Astarion explained, his tone deep and full of seduction. Your cheeks were burning, your whole neck and face actually. You softly slid down Astarion’s back and into the bathwater, desperately hoping for a sudden hole at the bottom of the tub that would hopefully swallow you whole.

The vampire had to grip the rim of the tub and straighten himself when you slithered down into the depths of the bathwater. You heard him laugh: “I can also most certainly tell whenever you get one of those full body blushes, my sweet.” He slowly moved to turn around to you, while you had sunk into the water, only your eyes and the top of your head still showing above the water level. Bubbles rose up while the last of your air left your nose and you looked at the vampire in embarrassment who simply looked back at you with a smile – face still covered in mud and only his red eyes contrasting with it; what a ridiculous scene.

Astarion softly grabbed you by the shoulders to prevent you from your attempt to drown yourself. You could see his signature smirk on his face. “Now, now, no need to feel ashamed, my lecherous little nymph. I couldn’t blame you, could I?” His grin split his face and his teeth glinted at you – most prominently his fangs. “Also, I can assure you that the feeling is very much mutual, beautiful. Now give me a kiss!”, he demanded while he had dragged you up from the water successfully.

With his hands still on your shoulders he pulled you towards him, lips already pursed in expectation.

“Not while you have dirt on your face”, you replied in disgust and placed your flat hand against his face to hold him off.

“It’s not dirt!”, Astarion exclaimed, voice rising in annoyance and grabbed your hand from his face. You still looked at him in disgust. “Ugh, fine!” He rolled his eyes and splashed water on his face and rubbed himself clean with his hands.

“Better?”, he asked after a few moments, tone still a bit annoyed. “No wait, there’s still a little bit”, you said and leaned close to him as if wanting to clean a speckle off his perfect face, brows furrowed in concentration. But with a lightning quick move you pinched his nose, making him growl back at you. He grabbed you by the shoulders once more and pulled you close until you were nose to nose while he stared angrily at you. “No poking the vampire!”, he said sombrely. “Or I’ll eat you!”

You giggled and closed the last bit of space to finally kiss him. And that seemed to calm down the beast. Letting go of your shoulders, one of his hands wandered to the front of your neck, softly resting on your collarbone. The other cupped your cheek while his tongue entered your mouth – tasting you, tangling with yours, exploring. Then he broke the kiss, leaving you to gasp, and trailing little pecks from the corner of your mouth over your cheek up to your ear.

You softly arched yourself to him, offering up your neck. “If you want to find out if today’s more of a wine or chocolate day.” The vampire laughed. Promise rang in it. “Deeply appreciated, my sweet, but maybe later. Can’t have you running around tonight with two fresh puncture wounds on your neck, can we?”, he whispered and let his lips wander lightly over your quickening pulse. His hand on your neck applying just the tiniest bit of pressure on your throat.

You could only gulp. “Also, I fear that if I would get lost in your neck now, we are never making it to this event”, Astarion added while lifting his face from your neck. Ah yes, you’d almost forgotten.

The pale elf smirked again at you: “And we still have some work to do on you, my sweet.” “Excuse you?” Whatever had heated your blood was immediately gone – this prick.

“You heard me, now turn around and let me take care of you in return, my love”, he insisted. You sighed and complied because you knew there was no point in denying him. And also, you wouldn’t say no to getting pampered by your vampire.

You let yourself be seated in the same position Astarion had been in at first: between his legs, your back to his chest. He put some of the goo on your face despite your protest (“It’s only going to bring out your beauty some more, my love.” “This face is as good as it gets as is, Astarion, no need to try.” “Hush and shut your nasty mouth or I can’t promise to keep the dirt out of it!”). Then he softly scrubbed you all clean and massaged your whole body, pouring some heavenly smelling oils in his hands from time to time.

The night before he had gone out to run some errands – and returned with bags and bags of stuff. It had been clothes and apparently lots of toiletry. One of the things had been large and very heavy. But about that and some other stuff he’d brought he had wiggled his finger at you to not take a peek.

Everything for your bath time he had neatly lined up next to the tub. You barely had a clue what all the small jars, flasks and crucibles were for but if it made him happy to indulge in it you were the last person to stop him from it.

Then he’d carefully run the bath you were now sitting in. And you couldn’t complain: the bath water smelled heavenly of lavender and cedar. Whatever he was massaging you with smelled of oranges and other delicious fruits and he himself deliciously of bergamot.

You sighed deeply and were aware that you must’ve been the perfect mirror image of what Astarion had looked like some minutes ago.

“Enjoying yourself, my love?”, Astarion asked gently while his hands worked your neck. You only hummed in response. “We should do this more often, darling. You’re allowed to indulge in luxury sometimes, you know?”, he said softly while starting to work on your hair.

“Speaking of – mind telling me how much exactly everything was you brought home yesterday?”, you asked while letting your head fall back into his touch, eyes closed. “Yes, I do mind. Part of indulgence is not looking at the price tag, my sweet”, Astarion scolded you sweetly. “And you deserve to take better care of yourself”, he continued while trying to get out a serious knot from your braids.

You felt your body tense a little and sighed: “You know I’m not good with either of those things, Astarion.” “I know”, he replied simply and shortly lifted one of your hands out of the water to press a kiss to it. “That’s why I’m going to teach you. I’ll have you be a high-maintenance lady ready to splurge at every opportunity in no time, dearest.” You laughed and readjusted your sitting position to lean back against the elf’s chest more. “I don’t think that would be a good look on me.” Astarion sighed dramatically: “Oh well, a shame. I guess I’m going to have to fill this role then.” You softly chuckled at that and thought to yourself that he was already well en route for that.

“I guess I could take up some of your suggestions though – I’m tired of feeling like a gutter rat standing next to you in all your luscious, white-curly glory.” Astarion snickered: “I’ll have you remember you chose the description ‘gutter rat’ for yourself. Also, I think you’re the most beautiful creature the Gods have ever created but to each their own I guess.” You blushed again and sank down a little further between his legs while he grabbed another one of the flasks.

Sometimes he just made you so casually swoon you couldn’t believe it – and never did you know how to reply to his genuine and sweet flattery.

“So, lesson one: you have really beautiful hair, my love, and I know you love your braids, but it all turns into a tangled mess easily. But fortunately,” – he poured something from the flask onto your prepared and detangled hair; it smelled deliciously flowery – “some clever soul came up with conditioner. You use it after you’ve washed your hair. Use only a little and work it into your hair like this.” He worked the thick liquid specifically into the lengths of your hair, combing through them with his fingers and then softly scrunching the strands in his hands. “Then you let it sit a little and only then rinse it out. It helps with tangles and also will make your hair deliciously soft.” Astarion basically purred the last words. Oh, good thing to know this was something he delighted in.

He did as he had instructed you while you patiently sat there and let him work his magic. Afterwards he proceeded to comb your hair through.

You both sat in silence. You enjoyed being taken care of and thought of the evening to come. You couldn’t help but feel some anxiety again creep into you at the thought of having to deal with the society of the Upper City. You’d probably take a good old-fashioned tavern brawl or a heist every day over having to make small talk with people who’d probably also choose the description “gutter rat” for you.

“Now”, Astarion said after a while “for tonight’s event I would like to propose to you to put your hair in some waves. Nothing major, just pinning them, letting them dry and then putting some strands up later.”

You were still way inside your head to fully understand what he was getting up: “Oh uhm, go ahead. Just don’t make me look like a coiffed poodle please.” Astarion scoffed at that and started to pin your hair up carefully.

“What’s troubling you, my love?”, he asked casually because of course he had noticed how you were absent-minded and your body had tensed. By what he had earlier revealed he’d probably smelled it too.

For a second you wondered if you ever could hide something from this man. But then again – why would you have to?

You sighed deeply while you grabbed your one hand with the other and started to press your thumb into the palm of the other – a nervous habit. “I guess, I’m still a bit scared of how the evening will play out”, you confessed and let your head fall down. Astarion wasn’t having it: “Ah ah, my sweet, head up or I can’t work. But also, head up because you don’t need to be worried. If push comes to shove, we can always leave.” You sighed again and relaxed a little. You shortly lifted your hand to grab one of his to squeeze it in thanks.

“Aren’t you scared at all? I mean, like of meeting someone… from before… or from before before?”, you asked silently and looked down at your hands still kneading each other in the water.

The vampire didn’t respond immediately. “You don’t have to answer-“, you started but then Astarion replied. “Not really. Cazador sometimes had us spawn ‘entertain’ his guests during his events but seeing as he either altered their memory or killed them off in the end… No one will recognise me albeit I may know some of the attending guests”, he explained pretty matter-of-fact while his hands kept working on putting up strand for strand of your hair.

Another silence followed.

“As from before that…” Astarion’s words trailed off. You grabbed his hand once more and almost already wanted to say again that he didn’t have to tell you but you kind of felt he wanted to let it out. “I haven’t seen or heard a shred from anyone I knew or was related to since I��ve been turned. Never. And my surname is pretty common among elves – there probably are at least five other Lord Ancuníns running about the city. I guess we might meet our lovely elder neighbour and that’s about it.”

His hands had stopped their task. Your hand was still grabbing one of his and you squeezed it again to try and provide some comfort. “I’m sorry, Astarion”, you whispered quietly and leaned your head back. It connected with his forehead as he leaned forward a little.

“Don’t be”, he whispered back while his fingers started to move again. “You’re my family now”, he said and at that your heart swelled with warmth and love.

“I love you, Astarion.” “Love you too, my little gutter rat.”

You tried to splash him with water.

How could he go from genuine, sincere and melancholy to unbelievable bastard in point two seconds. He was a handful at the best of times.

The vampire just laughed at your petty attempt of getting back at him. Shortly after he proclaimed being done with his work.

“There you go, now wash off your face, my dear”, he instructed. You did as told, then turned around to him: “Are we done now? I feel like I might’ve already grown some fins!”

Astarion smirked at you. “Oh no, there’s one more thing we need to take care of, my sweet”, he said slowly and threw you a glance that immediately made your blood boil. “And what might that be?”, you asked, already barely trusting your mouth to form words with the way he kept staring at you with his crimson gaze.

“Well, I can’t let you go to this event all tense and anxious, can I?”, he asked and moved closer to you, his gaze almost predatory. You gulped and moved back until your back hit the rim of the tub and there was no more space to escape from the prowling vampire. You felt heat form inside of you.

He moved in even closer, putting his arms around you as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“Luckily, I know just the right treatment for this kind of ailment”, he whispered and let his lips wander to your neck where your pulse had started hammering. He grabbed you then and lifted you up, so you sat on the floor just in front of the tub that was lowered into the ground. “That’s lesson two my love: always grasp onto the pleasures life offers you”, he whispered sinfully as he moved your legs, so your thighs were placed on his shoulders. You were already shuddering in expectation. You let one of your hands enter his soft curls as he made you lean back.

Astarion lowered his mouth to the space between your legs, letting his devilish silver tongue work its magic and devoured you as if you were a feast and he a starved man.

When lightning had struck the first time with your back arched impossibly at the way he had made you feel and your hand buried in his curls, he rose out of the tub. You watched him as trails of water ran down his perfect body, already yearning for more. To feel him, to love him.

You looked at him expectantly, seeing the love and the desire you felt mirrored in his ruby eyes. He lowered himself onto you on the edge of the tub, moving you back a little and made sure the second lightning struck both of you.

Tags: @aurasyn @margoteve @usuallyunlikelyfox @hollowmasque

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #a night of fake smiles and hidden lies

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stormyoceans · 8 months

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vv brainrot continuation (surprised how little brainrot I felt this time):

bathroom (I'm useless, all bathrooms remind me about pt)

stay overnight

what kind of music do you listen to

giving meaningful gifts

can we hope that sand's ex was sea or sea is boing (unless oc it's the same person)

IM A BIT LATE THIS WEEK BECAUSE I COULD WATCH THE EPISODE ONLY THIS MORNING BUT HIII ANON HIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!

it's true that the brainrot was slightly less prominent this time around compared to the first three episodes, however i so deeply relate bathtubs in particular with puentalay that as soon as i saw ray in one in the opening scene it got me SPIRALING, especially since we know from the trailer that at some point he's gonna be sitting in it with sand. the bathtub, as a symbol, represents a place of cleansing and purification, both physically and emotionally (which is why puen 'cleaning' talay's heart in the nivea bathtub scene my beloved makes me feral), but an empty one also signify a feeling of loneliness and a sense of abandonment or neglect, as the water that is meant to nurture and rejuvenate is missing, leaving whoever is sitting in it adrift and unsupported and with a void that needs to be filled

both talay and ray have been in an empty bathtub at one point

and it's interesting to see that water fills it only when puen and sand (or things that symbolize them) are nearby

or even inside the bathtub with them

(actually im not sure if there's gonna be water in this sandray scene but if im right there should be)

ANYWAY WE'RE SO GETTING SEA AS SAND'S EX I DON'T CARE IF I SOUND DELUSIONAL IT'S GONNA HAPPEN I CAN FEEL IT IN MY HEART AND SOUL

#I SOUND MORE AND MORE INSANE WITH EACH EPISODE IM SORRY #BUT THE PARALLELS ARE THERE #THE 'WHAT KIND OF MUSIC YOU LISTEN TO' WAS SO EP 2 PUENTALAY CODED TOO #thank you for sharing the brainrot with me anon!!!!!!#vice versa #m: ask

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accordinglyskeptical · 2 years

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Just gonna copy/paste because I wanna know...

Talk to me about OFMD!! 😍 What made you start watching it? What’s your favorite episode or moment? Favorite character and why? Is there anything you really, really need to happen in season 2?

I’d seen a few posts/gifsets about the show so I was aware of it but I wasn’t really keen on watching because pirates are usually not my thing. But then a friend highly recommended it to me, and she’s got the same taste in shows/films as I and also the same sense of humor so then I was like “oh! okay I’ll give it a go”.

I truly can’t choose just one favorite episode, it’s impossible! I love them all, but the ones that are up there are 4-5 and 7-10. Also 2. And 6. See, I literally can’t choose lmao! Just like you, though, eps 8-10 were the ones that made me fall head over heels in love with the show. Irrevocably. Favorite moment? Can’t choose between: the entire moonlight scene, the kiss scene on the beach, the bathtub scene, the “you’ve got something in your beard” moment (I adore that whole scene but specifically that moment because of how Stede asks permission to touch Ed and how easily Ed allows him to because he trusts him AND the way Ed looks at Stede, god it makes me absolutely FERAL every time).

Just like you it’s impossible for me to choose between Ed and Stede, I love them both so, so much. I relate to them both (feeling like you’re stuck, wanting more out of life) but mostly to Stede - struggling with what’s expected of you due to norms (marriage, having kids etc), not fitting in, and figuring things out about yourself and your sexuality late in life (not to get too personal on tumblr dot com but I had my very own ‘um what? oh’ experience just a few years ago, and I’m still figuring it all out, still questioning/not knowing how to label myself, basically being the most confused person on the planet). So in that regard, I’m leaning more towards Stede being my favorite, but yeah no. I can’t choose. ALSO Frenchie! He’s a fave, I love him dearly.

This is turning into a whole damn essay lmao. Anyway, season 2! I need the reunion, obviously (I, too, fear that they’re going to drag it out and that’s just unacceptable!), and for them to really dig deep into Ed and Stede’s relationship. I literally CANNOT wait. What else. Oh, I need for Lucius to be alive and thriving!!!

#thank you for asking!! 😘#becks tag #ask #jess talks tv #personal #apparently i talk sometimes

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things-with-teeth · 2 years

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13 / 10 / 14 / 15 For the OFMD ask meme?

13 Did Ed really plan to murder Stede when he told Izzy the plan?

100%. Like, he's very clearly not happy about it -- he and Stede have a pretty instantaneous rapport that can't be read as anything other than completely sincere -- but he definitely means it in the moment. He abandons that plan very soon thereafter, but I don't think we'd get him tearfully confessing that he meant to burn off Stede's face and steal his identity during the bathtub scene if he didn't, at some point, intend to do just that.

10 What the fuck is Izzy’s problem? Is it/should it be fixable?

Oooooh boy. Okay, so fair warning that while I adore Izzy as a character, I am not, uh, particularly sympathetic in some ways? I'm like 45% "what a funny feral little man" and 45% "I would enjoy seeing him get his comeuppance" and maybe 10% "Con O'Neill's voice is very sexy to me and I'm weak."

Anyway.

Short-ish answer, because there is admittedly a longer one: I think that within the story, Izzy's primary problem is that he's convinced himself that everything he's doing is for Ed's own good, but Izzy inherently does not understand Ed or conceptualize him as a whole person rather than the very specific version of Edward/Blackbeard that exists in his head. This is clear pretty much from moment one in ways that have very little to do with Stede, or the way we later see him explicitly ignore what Ed says he needs and wants in favor of what Izzy thinks he needs. He's been working with Ed for some mumble mumble period of time, and the clouds-that-look-like-frankfurters thing just flies completely over his head. He admires Ed as this hypercompetent sailor, but is also very quick to dismiss Ed's observations because they look a bit more whimsical than he's comfortable with.

Insofar as what is narratively wrong with Izzy, he is to Ed what the Badmintons are to Stede: the voice of the status quo, there to drag one of our deuteragonists back into the kind of toxic masculinity that the show is very explicitly condemnatory of. It's not an accident that one episode after Chauncy derails Stede's attempts to move toward something healthy and loving by playing on his insecurities and fears, Izzy is there doing approximately the same thing with Ed.

That being said, I think we have like 50/50 odds of an Izzy redemption arc in the future, and I'm fine with that. Someday I'll write a whole bit of meta about how important it is that we see Fang and Ivan talking about how it makes Fang feel when Izzy pulls his beard and how Ivan is nothing but supportive during that conversation, long before either of them have any significant exposure to the talk-it-through culture of the Revenge; I think at the end of the day, this is a narrative that supports the idea that men will seek healthier ways of communicating and relating to each other if given the opportunity. Izzy has already been given a lot more complexity and nuance than someone like the Badmintons, and I don't think it's outside of the realm of possibility that we'll see him growing and changing in future seasons.

It's either that or we'll see him go full-throated villain, which tbh I'm also fine with.

14 Favorite AU idea?

So!!! Confession time: I'm in general not a huge fan of anything other than the close-canon, what-if kind of AU. That being said, there are always exceptions. Pretty please drop your favorite AU fics in my inbox or the replies.

15 What’s your number one wish for season 2 (besides happening at all or couples being reunited)?

a) If you've read my fic, you know that what I want most in this world is Ed and Stede bonding with the half of the crew that they each got in the divorce.

b) More of Vico Ortiz's face and also the pink robe of gay sadness, because my needs are really very simple and straightforward at the end of the day.

#ofmd ask game #ofmd spoilers #tumblr decided to do this as a numbered list where all the numbers are one and i'm sorry?#it's terrible and i don't know how to fix it #ofmd #thank you nonny for the generous asking this was fun!

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hootcifer · 3 years

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talking about toh | season two, episode three: echoes of the past

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[screeching] spoilers under the cut, as always

the beginning

young adult eda!!! we saw her in the trailer a few times but this is the first time we're seeing her in canon!

it looks like the dress she's wearing is the same dress she has now, but a different cloak. that makes sense, considering how tattered it is.

it looks like she didn't have her golden fang at this point. i wonder when that comes in?

the whole opening scene was incredibly intriguing. i had no idea how it was going to tie into the episode.

the plot

ah, we finally get a king-centered episode! the last time we had that was back in "sense and insensitivity", back in mid-season one.

lilith is probably going a little insane, and it's honestly hilarious.

i'm thrilled that lilith and hooty's friendship has continued to thrive. i honestly thought it was just going to be a background thing but they're still besties and i'm living for it.

so there are more glyphs than just the elemental ones? i wonder how many more there are?

lilith is a history buff, just like me! i'm liking her more and more as the season goes on.

i was stoked to get more king lore! up until now we only know what he said in the very first episode.

lilith and hooty's "high five" sent me, i loved that so much.

i'm glad we didn't have to watch hooty detach himself from the house, that would have scarred me for life.

how does hooty work, anyway? we can see he has organs and veins and such, yet he can function just fine when he isn't in his usual spot?

where did eda get that flying bathtub? was that another one of the weird things she made in the first episode?

it looks like luz has gotten much better at flying on a staff since "escape of the palisman". good for her.

oh, speaking of staffs (staves?), what's lilith's palisman's name? i know that isn't relevant to the episode at all but i'm curious.

my immediate reaction to king's "castle" was "that's a hole."

who graffiti'd hooty?! who do i need to fight?!

the guard thing (aka "jean-luc") was one of the creepiest monsters yet. it looks like a demented kabutops.

honestly, i didn't realize what eda's sash was for until now. she had it before, but i didn't pay attention to it.

oh my goodness, we finally got some backstory! it was so wholesome and heartwarming, i was grinning the whole time.

speaking of wholesome, BABY KING!!! he's so cute!! and so little!! his big eyes! his lil teefs! i wuv him!

back in the present, though, i felt so bad for king. i can't imagine how horrible it must feel to realize that your whole life was a lie.

i am curious as to what those stone structures were. who made them? are they meant to be guards?

we got more feral hooty!! i always love when we get to see that from him.

just when i thought i couldn't love king more, we got to see him when he was even younger than he was in eda's flashback! he was so round!! his tail was just a little scrap!

i thought it was a fantastic twist that the guard-monster-thing was meant to guard king. i had not expected that.

i was messaging my friend while i watched this, and after i saw the second flashback i said "he's not a king, he's a prince!"

the end

i wonder what the symbol king put on his collar meant? if it is his name, what is it?

it was so cute seeing him and luz interact. i love their relationship.

predictions

i have no idea what to expect! i hope we get more backstory on king's past, and some kind of explanation as to what happened to his family.

also, i'm looking forward to more young adult eda. that'll be fun.

#the owl house #toh #the owl house season two #toh season two #the owl house season 2 #toh season 2 #the owl house s2 #toh s2 #luz noceda #edalyn clawthorne #eda clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #hooty #toh luz #toh eda #toh king #toh hooty

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tllthesundies · 3 years

Text

ris requested harry's pov in the entertainment for harry's confession, so, here it is!

Harry bangs on Louis' door.

On the drive over, all he could think about was the last few weeks of hell he's been in without Louis by his side. All he could think about is the anger he's held in himself at the fact that as soon as Louis decided to leave him, everything went straight downhill. The biggest problem was the media finding out where he lives; that image lives in his mind forever; it haunts his dreams: Harry opening the door to find tens of paparazzi crowded at his door, camera lights flashing in his face burning his vision, while other cameras were rolling footage to get his reaction and confession. After the shock and disbelief wore off, he called Liam, hysterical, crying and shaking, because the one thing he had vowed to protect was a crushed, vacant dream now. He didn't know who could have tipped them off, and he still doesn't know. He only has a couple of true friends in the industry that know, but they would never betray him.

Everyone else is simply an acquaintance.

But Harry's angry. He's been done crying, and thinking, and feeling. He's just angry now.

The door opens several moments later, after Harry's banged on it countless times with his fist. He tries calming his fueled fingers by curling them and putting it in his leather jacket's pocket; but when his eyes land on Louis's timid, shy appearance–his sleepy, blue eyes–his silk pink lace matching pyjamas–his short, tousled hair–his heart begins stuttering, angry words catching in his throat and constricting his airflow.

Harry almost forgets what he's angry about.

But Louis looks taken aback, like the last thing he expected was Harry.

"Harry," he breathes.

You left me.

"You haven't called me," flies out of his mouth instead. He can't bear his feelings yet.

Harry catches the swallow Louis makes.

"No," Louis agrees gently. "But I called Liam."

"Fuck Liam," Harry spits. Fuck all the people Louis's contacted before him. He knows about the call. Liam called straight after his brief conversation with Louis and filled him in. It didn't make Harry feel any fucking better; it made him feel worse, how ucharacteristically cold he thought Louis was for acting this way. "Calling him doesn't matter to me. I left you messages. I left you voicemails. I just wanted one message from you. Was that so hard?"

Louis stays silent.

Harry takes a silent inhale of breath from deep within his chest, and just observes Louis's face.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing," Louis assures him, features twisting with genuine emotion. "You didn't do anything."

"That's not what Rachel told me," confesses Harry. "Inconsolable differences?"

He wants to scoff.

Louis's eyes bounce away for a brief moment as he quickly licks his bottom lip. "I just said that so she could have something. Why are you taking it so personal, anyway? It's not like you really wanted me there. You said it yourself. You should be happy that you can do everything by yourself now. That's what you wanted."

This sets Harry off.

This fuels his anger.

He takes his hand out of his pocket, fingers shaking with red. All the words that have been trapped in his mind for weeks come forward full force, crowding his fast and blurry mind with every scene he could ever imagine between them. "Do you want to know why I take it so personal?" He doesn't give Louis a chance. There are no more chances. "Because this person I hardly know comes into my life and decides to uproot it. He takes over my agenda, my schedule, my time. Me foolishly and selfishly thinking I could fight back, he surprises me by challenging me. He takes every hit with grace. He doesn't back down. And who, in spite of my narcissistic behaviour and obnoxious demands, is unconditionally kind and patient. He gives me the benefit of the doubt, even when I've proven time and time again that I don't deserve it."

And who, in spite of everything, Harry trusted. He hasn't trusted someone new in so many countless years that when he could first start feeling himself slip, he had to fight it. He didn't want to acknowledge it then, but he's willing to acknowledge it now: he didn't want to trust Louis.

But he couldn't help it.

He found himself slowly unraveling. He did his best to remain so hard and cold; he was set in his forever way of strictly business and a stubborn mindset that Rachel always got annoyed with him about; but then one day, he walked in on Louis ready to challenge him. He threw all the questions at him–did you set up my next photoshoot with Fendi? Did you e-mail Thomas about the re-scheduling? Did you decline the invitation to KISS's after-party event? Have you fed Dolly? Have you bathe her? Where's Finn? How's Maeve?

Louis didn't bat a single eye.

Yes; yes; yes; Dolly ate raw chicken and some vegetables; she's still in her robe–he pointed to Dolly in the spot next to himself, licking the one paw that wasn't covered by her robe–Finn's swimming in your bathtub; Maeve is sleeping by the rose bushes.

Then he finally looked at Harry, and gave him a gentle smile that filled his eyes.

He was one hundred percent unbothered, and entirely too prepared, and turned his attention back to his laptop right away to finish whatever task he had.

Harry couldn't say anything else.

Today, that translates into: I don't deserve you.

"Then," continues Harry, tone softening to something entirely indecipherable to his own ears, "I'm caught in between something feral and something soft. He gives me the courage to trust again. He consumes my thoughts. He consumes my whole being, to the point I can't sleep. But I don't know how to handle it, so, I spoil him with presents. But then he leaves me, and it's the worst thing I've ever felt."

It felt like a part of him was being torn apart piece by bloody piece.

Louis takes several steps back, slowly shaking his head as a brief look of devastation overcomes his face.

"Don't say that," he whispers.

But Harry's so desperate to make him understand. He has to say it. The fear is, if he doesn't, then he'll become a worse man; he'll become more of a mad man than he already is. The world can barely tolerate the Harry Styles he is today. What if he has to talk to the face of rejection and be cursed for the rest of his life–condemned to be without the most compassionate soul he's ever met?

The world isn't ready to meet that jaded version of Harry Styles.

"Why not?" he whispers in reply, following Louis forward.

Why can't he be allowed to deserve Louis? Why can't he be allowed to care for Louis in ways he could do far better than anybody else on this planet? Nobody could give him everything he wants like Harry could. My God, if Louis asked him to die for him, he's fucking crazy enough to try.

Louis blinks rapidly.

Harry sees the tears he's trying to hold back.

"Because," he gets out.

Harry won't take that as an answer. He can't accept it. Louis's given him no choice but to close the remaining space between them and grip the sides of his face in his hands. Louis's eyes widen slightly, clearly not expecting it, but he doesn't fight against Harry. And his face is so smooth; soft; it feels much smaller in Harry's hands than it looks, and there's a little pricked feeling against his palms from a freshly shaved face, but it doesn't bother Harry.

"You're not being honest with me," he accuses, keeping his eyes open and unblinking with Louis's. "Tell me the truth."

"I love you," Louis blurts hotly.

It's like he spits it out, out of exasperation for Harry.

And Harry's breath drops to his feet. His personality splits into two: the first part of him takes those words between his sharp teeth and bites it. He breaks those words; chews them; swallows them; he absorbs them into his soul and then spits them back out; the other side of him breathes those words through his nose like a past life's addiction; like fresh, spring morning air.

"Then you won't be mad if I do this."

He wastes no time rushing his lips to Louis's.

He wants to be desperate with his love, he wants to be rough and have his kiss translate his devotion. But the smaller part of his personality–the rational side–slows him. His lips, instead, brush against Louis's; they connect gently; and Harry guides Louis's precious lips quietly. It's electrocuting the deepest parts of him in slow motion, like Louis's soft lips are being zapped to each important part of him and imprinting themselves permanently.

Louis's now left his kiss of death for Harry to cherish forever. Even if this ever ends.

Harry parts when Louis does.

Louis's looks back and forth between Harry's eyes.

"I'm not," he finally says.

Harry's anger parts when he smiles at Louis's confession. He takes one hand up to twist his fingers in Louis's hair, then slide them carefully downwards, caressing Louis's face.

Harry kisses him again.

#drabbles

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aceofspadegrass · 3 years

Text

Potato Time

Characters: Aguni Morizono, Niragi Suguru

Genre: Crack. This is potato filled crack.

800 words

Surprisingly, this is an off-road version of the Soft Niragi AU. He has the girlfriend, but honestly I would not consider a legal section of the story. Unless you want to.

Soft Niragi can still fight back, it's just he's usually so sweet every time I write him. So.... why not write pure and utter crack of his feral side?

You know, by taking it completely non-seriously.

Also, have this unrelated image.

Aguni knew Niragi was both a loose cannon and the softest thing to ever exist, depending on what he was up to at the moment. For the most part, he was actually getting better about keeping his emotions in check — and his dick in his pants —the longer he stayed with his girlfriend. The same went for her, although she was considerably less of a mess than the giraffe Aguni somehow managed to unofficially adopt as his feral son.

He also knew that sometimes he finds Niragi doing things that he couldn’t even explain. Such as when he walked into Niragi’s room to tell him about an update in routes only to hear the faint noises of something solid hitting something solid. It was…. a very strange sound, like someone dumping a bunch of bouncy balls into a bucket. Dull thuds continue to sound, and it made him curious enough to check.

Of course, it came from the bathroom, the door shut. Aguni wasn’t about to walk in on something he wasn’t ready for, politely knocking on the door. There was a rushed noise, and several thuds can be heard inside the bathroom. “ Who is it?” Niragi calls out.

“ It’s Aguni. Are you decent? Can I come in?”

There was silence, Aguni patiently awaiting a response. Of course, he could simply just tell Niragi through the door, but curiosity was getting the better of him, and Niragi didn’t seem to be in water at all. Or…. wasn’t doing anything too indecent.

Hopefully.

Aguni never knew with this man.

“ Yeah, okay! Come in!” Niragi’s response comes a bit later, and Aguni opens the door.

Now, what Aguni expected was a semi-sane scene of Niragi being Niragi and maybe playing with a load of bouncy balls or just really large objects in the bath or the sink like a bored child. What he didn’t expect was Niragi sitting in the bathtub, covered in whole potatoes, several of which had fallen to the floor. His feet stuck out the other end, which apparently he painted for some odd reason, Aguni spotting black and neon pink toe dividers on his toes. Niragi just looks at Aguni without a hint of regret or embarrassment, chilling in a bathtub of potatoes. In his hand was a wine glass, which was semi full with mashed potatoes, and from where he stood, there was obvious marker prints on it, Aguni not knowing what exactly it was.

“ Did you need something, Boss?” Aguni blinks, his brain soaking in this information that was laid out before him. Niragi takes a sip of his mashed potatoes, making an obnoxious slurping sound as he continues to stare at Aguni. He tilts his head after a bit, his lip curling a little. “ Boss? Aguni? Hey, you alive?”

“…. I’m not even gonna ask.” Aguni finally says, coming back into reality as he takes a few blinks, his eyebrows raising in confused acceptance. “ Anyways, the patrol routes have been updated, and I need to keep you updated as well, but….. it appears you’re a little….. busy with something.” Niragi shakes his head, patting the side of the ceramic tub, the movement causing more potatoes to fall and be jostled. “ No! Go right ahead! Take your time, I have all day!” “ No, I’m sure you can have some privacy-“ Aguni began to rebuke, but Niragi wasn’t having it, reaching into his starch filled tub and pulling out a kid’s toy in the form of a gun, the wide clear plastic of the barrel revealing spuds after spuds in ready for war.

“ Sit! Sit! Sit!” Niragi chants with a childish grin, aiming the potato gun at Aguni and pulling the trigger, full potato launched into Aguni’s old man knees. That hurt quite a bit, but Aguni proved stronger than the pain that shot up his legs, Niragi reloading his potato yeeting machine with full intent of doing it again. Aguni just holds a hand up to stop Niragi in his tracks, walking over and sitting on a nearby stool, groaning internally as the pain festered in his knees. “ Alright, but I will have to make it brief. I still need to notify others about this-“ “ Nonsense! You’re lying! You know you could’ve just radioed us all into one place and done it as a group! You just wanted to see me, come on!” Niragi nods with a pleased grin at that, shooting a potato into the ceiling out of his sheer excitement. He does it again, and this one bounces, hitting Aguni in the head.

“ I think that would’ve been a better option….” Aguni gruffs as he runs a hand down the side of his face, Niragi happily sitting in his potatub and taking another sip of his mashed potato in a glass.

#aib #alice in borderland #aib fanfic #alice in borderland fanfic #aguni morizono #niragi suguru #this is based off of one comment #and a bunch of potato pictures oh so graciously offered to me as tribute #niragi stole the potato stock #is this the irish potato famine? was niragi the bitch that took the last potato in the land?#no but seriously did he bribe someone to smuggle multiple potato into his room-#hatter would encourage this bull i swear he would-

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

Text

too old to trick or treat (too young to die) // charlotte&lola (penny&jupiter)

Summary: Two Halloween costumes Tommy witnesses the creation of, twenty years apart. His cousin’s, and her daughter’s.

A/N: 4001 words. knocked this out in literally 3 hours. okay so The Road Warrior didn’t come out until December of ‘81, and Supergirl didn’t come out until ‘84, but whatever, the timeline has been massaged for a number of reasons, bare with me, suspend your disbelief abt halloween costumes. ANYWAYS this came to me very suddenly and i had to write it. i’ve had enough angst, so have cute charlie & penny halloween moments now instead please and thank you. @misscharlottelee as always owns my heart w/ her characters. also mild sexual references in the first part bcos of mishearing something/misunderstanding a situation.

[ part of the charlotte&lola au of Run to Paradise ]

----

In 1981, Tommy dresses as Mad Max for Halloween; all pulled back hair, and a truly awful attempt at an Australian accent. He’s even butchered a leather jacket he’d found second-hand, much to the rest of the household’s horror. He’s pretty proud, despite Mick telling him to shut up since Tommy refuses to stop using the accent.

Mick’s not wearing a costume, and isn’t going out with the rest of the band and the girls, he’s only here to give his opinions on their costumes, and drink with them until they leave.

Nikki’s made no secret of the fact that he’s going as that guy from A Clockwork Orange, which, okay, is actually surprisingly subdued for his usual going out attire, and Vince would not shut up about the all-white suit he bought to be John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Something about both Vince and Nikki in all white makes Tommy think everyone’s going to ask if they’re both the same character, regardless of their various accessories, and they’re both going to be mad as all hell by the end of the night; if he had to hazard a guess, Tommy’s pretty sure he’s going to find it incredibly funny, and Nikki’s going to chase him down The Strip for laughing.

Lola’s had her hair in rollers all day, and came home the other week with a legally obtained, sparkly, black, singlet, which was kind of a big deal when Lola either lives in the bands’ clothes, or steals herself pants that actually fit. Her actual costume, however, is escaping him, right up until Tommy walks into the bathroom, to see Lola, in said singlet, black underwear, and nothing else, sitting patiently while Charlotte diligently applied dark eyeshadow further up lola’s brow than he’d been expecting.

“Frank N Furter?” Tommy asked, pleased and amused, still in his attempt at an Australian accent. Both Charlotte and Lola made a face at that, but Lola confirmed after a beat, lips overdrawn, shiny, a deep berry red. The idea that Lola had ever seen Rocky Horror Picture Show in cinemas enough to dress up as it’s main character was a strangely humanizing idea for the often-seemingly feral roadie.

After a moment, however, Tommy takes in his cousin’s attire; she looks incredibly pretty, of course Charlie’s naturally pretty, but she’d gone out of her way to highlight it tonight. White dress, little tiara atop her head, makeup understated and still somehow glamorous, her hair’s still dark from where she and Lola had died it a few weeks ago in the wake of her split with Duff. Maybe they’d re-dyed it.

“You look pretty, Charlie, who are you meant to be?”

“You know you sound British, right, not Australian?” Charlotte doesn’t look up from where she’s working on Lola’s face.

“Shut up, you don’t even know anyone British,” Tommy counters, nose in the air, “and you haven’t even seen Mad Max, so shut it, you don’t know what an Australian accent sounds like.” And he’s haughty for all of a minute before he’s coming back with, “but seriously, who are you?”

A wicked grin spreads across his cousin’s lips.

“That’s for me to know -”

“- us to know.” Lola corrects quickly.

“Us to know,” Charlotte agrees, “and you to find out.”

Super ominous. Charlotte’s been cagey about her Halloween costume since they’d decided to hit The Strip on Halloween as a group. Usually, Charlotte’s overflowing with excitement about her costume, back in high school, she’d roped him, Vince, and a few of their friends into being the Scooby Gang. She’s been various animals, movie characters, and last year, she’d spent almost a month putting together a truly gorgeous Cinderella costume. For all that she was detailed about her costumes, he’d always known her to play it safe.

But this year she’s been quiet. It’s unusual. Tommy blames Lola entirely.

The girls allow Tommy to stay in the bathroom until Lola’s face is done, and then, instead of leaving, they both demand he get out, closing the door after him, giggling conspiratorially like teenagers.

“What’s their problem?” Nikki asks, attempting to apply eyeliner, though the only reflective surface he had was Mick’s sunglasses, and Mick looked about ready to throw him through a window for getting so close, and so Tommy moves on instinct, snatching the stub of an eyeliner pencil from Nikki’s grip, beckoning him out of Mick’s personal space.

“Not sure; they’re either hooking up, or plotting to kill us,” Tommy muses, trying his hardest to not poke Nikki in the eye.

“Hot?” Nikki sounds like he’s not quite sure about that sentiment himself.

They can hear Lola and Charlotte talking in low voices, indistinctly in the bathroom, and clattering, and then - Take off your fucking heels! - Charlie, loud and nervous, followed by some begrudging grumbling from Lola. Scuffling, more clattering, and grunting.

“They’re definitely hooking up,” Nikki mutters. Tommy’s turning red. He’s not a prude, Christ, not even close, but... Charlie wouldn’t... right? Not when she knew how thin the walls were... Not with Lola, surely!

“Let go of me, I don’t need you to steady me -!” Lola now, and Nikki’s stepping back, laughing at the look on Tommy’s face. He’s not quite sure how he feels about the idea of him and his cousin both having -

“You’re shaking, you’re going to drop it!”

What?

Silence, a few more indistinct, now muttered words, far quieter, far calmer, then - a loud, strange rush of liquid, like the shower being turned on, but much more immediate and shorter.

“Holy shit, dude!” Lola’s yell radiates through the whole house, followed by a loud clatter, like something empty being dropped on the tiles, and Charlotte’s response is too quiet to hear. It’s followed by what is distinctly the sound of the hair dryer, and by now, all three men in the living room are just confused.

Vince finally surfaces from his and Tommy’s room almost ten minutes later, hair appropriately slicked back, white suit impeccable, making a beeline for the fridge, equally confused.

“What the fuck is happening in there?” He asks, joining the other three, currently cutting up lines of coke on a plate, in the living room.

“I still think they’re hooking up,” Nikki says, frowning down, as if the intensity of his gaze will keep his hand from shaking where he’s trying to cut the coke.

“Wishful thinking,” Mick grumbles, sitting back and taking a long sip of his vodka.

“Pretty sure lesbian sex doesn’t involve hairdryers,” Vince has to agree, and Tommy’s frown deepens.

“They’re not -”

“Fuckin’ semantics, man, sex without guys, you know what I meant,” he headed Tommy’s protests off before he could properly speak them, and Tommy’s own frown deepened. Mick looks like he wants to protest, but also knows all three men far to well to have any illusions about the abhorrent range of pornography they had consumed.

The hair dryer turns off.

“You wouldn’t have half a fuckin’ clue about what real lesbian sex was like,” is what Mick chooses, instead, to say, and Vince flips him off, right as the bathroom door bursts open, and Lola, comically wide-eyed, stumbles out, what looks like blood splattered on her shins and thighs, high heels in one hand.

“Holy shit,” she’s gasping, laughing, disbelieving, “you guys are not fucking ready for this,” she’s looking altogether like a delighted Frank N Furter about to reveal and revel in her latest creation. The guys are so caught up in seeing Lola in her costume, that seeing Charlotte coming out after her is like being hit by a train.

She’s covered in blood. Head to toe, apart from her face, which she must have been covering with her hands. Bright right. Face serious and eyes wide and Tommy knows that expression, that look, that blood -

“Carrie!” He exclaims, “Fucking Hell, Charlie!” He announces at the top of his lungs, and Charlotte’s expression cracks to a bright smile, to delight at being recognized.

“It’s paint!” Charlotte announces, giving a spin, and suddenly the hairdryer, the chatter, the confusion made sense.

“Charlotte, you look fucking killer,” Nikki’s got a look in his eyes that reads as both intimidated and turned on, a look usually reserved for Lola, but Charlotte doesn’t seem to notice.

“Peach and Eileen are going to fucking scream,” Lola was absolutely delighted at this prospect, doing a line of coke when Nikki offered it, before pulling on her heels.

Charlotte is beaming, looking cool as hell, and delighted with how the whole costume turned out.

Only later that night will any of the boys discover the murder-scene the girls had left behind in the bathtub in their excitement to hit The Strip. Tommy feels like he’ll never get the image of the blood splattered tub out of his mind.

Which is why he finds it so baffling that he’s blindsided by it exactly twenty one years later.

In 2002, Charlotte’s daughter, Penny, now all of twenty years old, the exact age Charlie had been that iconic Halloween, and Tommy’s kid, Jupiter, eighteen and a half, the pair raised practically as siblings, had been marathoning mostly-trashy horror movies all through the month of October in anticipation for the night itself, and Johnny Hudson’s Halloween party.

Jupiter had announced their intention to dress as Nancy from The Craft for the third year in a row, which ties it with the costume they’d chosen for the three years prior to that, which was Eric Draven, the main character from The Crow.

“Yes, it’s because I have a thing for Fairuza Balk in that movie,” Jupiter had announced defiantly when they’d made their intentions known at a dinner that Lola fortunately had time enough to attend, in between tours.

“That’s how I picked all my Halloween costumes at your age,” Lola had admitted with a shrug, though that just made Tommy frown as he goes to take a sip of his drink -

“Tim Curry as Frank N Furter -?”

“Lola did you go as Frank N Furter one Halloween?” Penny, delighted at the concept, leans forward over her pasta, eyes alight with mirth at the idea, looking so much like her mother that it almost stings. Lola herself has gone red, trying to suppress a smile.

“Tom, that’s not a discussion I want to have right now, but yes,” she says, slight warning in her voice, and Tommy chokes on his drink, both because he doesn’t quite know what she means by that, and because it’s rare for her to call him Tom, but then she’s looking up at Penny, smiling enough that it creases by her eyes, “and yes,” she deliberates, before adding, “I’m pretty sure that was the year your Auntie Eileen surprised everyone and dressed up as Uncle Mick, top hat and all,” Lola said, voice warm and fond at the memory, “he had no clue how to take it, shocked him enough that he actually came out on the town with us; I think it’ll always surprise him when people think he’d be a cool Halloween costume.” And she looks to Jupiter at that, while Jupiter themselves made direct and unwavering eye contact with their own pasta, while Penny nudged them, voice turning teasing, picking up on Lola’s cue, gently ribbing her cousin about the time they’d dressed up as Mick for Halloween, if only to spite the rest of their family.

The conversation moves on, and Tommy thinks fondly of the memory of how bright Charlotte’s smile had been after she’d come out of their bathroom, looking as thought she was covered in blood.

So this year, Tommy’s hit with a strange sense of deja vu in the lead up to Halloween, with Penny being cagey, and obviously in cahoots with his own child.

“Looking badass, as always,” Tommy grins, showing off his cheap, vampire fangs, as he leans in the doorway of his kid’s bedroom. Penny’s applying lip-gloss atop their black lipstick, but gives pauses as they both turn to him, scrutinizing his party-store vampire costume. With his own kids going away for the night, Tommy had been more than happy to host a Halloween party of his own for friends still in the business.

“I feel like you used to put more effort in,” Jupiter says slowly, looking from the too-small, satin cape, back to his face, and Tommy shrugs.

“I guess I could always put on one of my old eighties stage costumes,” he muses, playing like he’s seriously considering it, acting as though he couldn’t see Jupiter and Penny’s expressions both turn horrified, “I’ve still got them somewhere in the back of my closet -”

“Oh Jesus, dad,” Jupiter hisses, “you know we all know too much about how Lola felt about that weird fetish shit you guys would wear on stage, please don’t -”

“It’s not fetish shit, Jup,” but Tommy’s grinning at how embarrassed they both were, “it’s hair metal, it was hip!”

“It’s a red and black leather harness at best, and tights; I’ve seen more conservative outfits at a BDSM dungeon -”

“Dude!” Penny’s eyebrows shot up, and Tommy’s mouth dropped open. Penny, horrified, looked to her uncle; “it was one time-” she says, trying to make things better, but doing the exact opposite right as Jupiter tries to tell him it was a joke. Penny and Jupiter look to each other, both horrified at what the other had said, how it must look.

“Pen!”

“It was Johnny’s idea!” Penny blurted out, and looked to Tommy, as if realising she was digging herself deeper, “we went there as a joke!”

“That part is true,” Jupiter conceded, but Tommy kept his mouth shut, raising his hands in surrender, as if to say ‘that’s your business, as adults, but I’d rather not know’, and he’s quick to leave them to their mutual, horrified bickering.

He hadn’t even thought to ask what Penny was going as. All he knows is that she and Jupiter had been arguing because ‘it’s a trashy movie, Pen’ - ‘I love it, so shut up; you get witch powers from being an angry loner, I get them from being prom queen’ - ‘did we even watch the same movie? That’s not -” - “then just picture the original, you liked the original!’ - ‘oh, I’m past the movie itself, it’s the - they’re both angry loners, Pen,’ - ‘yeah, okay yeah, but it’s a cool aesthetic, Jup, come on -’. That was a few weeks ago, Tommy still isn’t quite sure what it could be, beyond witchy powers. Usually Penny’s costumes were straightforward, or she’d at the very least announce them in advanced...

Tommy finds himself blaming his own, erratic and mischievous child entirely; just as Lola had been known to be a bad influence on Charlie, so too could their children mirror this dynamic almost uncannily.

It only gets stranger when, an hour after doing Jupiter’s makeup, they both seem to be in full costume, and should be ready to go, they’re nowhere to be found, but they haven’t said goodbye.

Penny comes rushing past Tommy in a whirlwind, carrying something bulky in her arms, making a beeline for the downstairs guest bathroom.

“Pen, whaddya got there?” Tommy calls out, and Penny stops dead. She’s in a pretty, white dress, with her hair all done up, and a tiara sitting on top. It’s... familiar.

“Glue?” Penny’s obvious lie has Tommy frowning.

“Glue?” He asks, with a huff of disbelieving laughter. When she swivels towards him, he can see that she’s holding a large, white, pourable bottle, the label of which, Penny is conveniently covering.

“We’re sniffing it?”

“Penny, what the fuck?” Jupiter calls from the bathroom, and Penny takes off at a run, avoiding Tommy’s further questions, and Tommy himself, who, with a sudden nervousness at whatever the real situation was, follows quickly. All he can see is large, clear plastic sheets covering every single surface and every wall, like the lair of a murderer in a movie, and then Jupiter’s face with all it’s dark makeup and sprayed up hair, as they’re apologizing, and slamming the door in his face. He’s pretty sure he read the word blood on somewhere on the bottle that Penny had put down.

“Jupiter Carlotta Lee, I’ve told you before that we don’t fuck with real witchcraft!” Tommy jiggled the handle, but the door was firmly locked, “not after what happened with Nikki and Lita!”

“It’s not witchcraft!” Jupiter calls back, and Tommy can hear Penny groan about how he’s still going to kill them.

“Don’t murder your fuckin’ cousin in there, you hear me?” He jiggles the door handle again, harder this time, not quite sure of what was happening in there, but concerned nonetheless.

“Hey!” Penny shouts back, “why do you think I’m the one getting murdered in here?”

“I was addressing both of you,” Tommy sighed, leaning his forehead against the door, defeated, “what are you doing? What’s so bad that you have to keep me locked out?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done -”

“Jupiter!”

“It’s messy,” Jupiter explained, and followed it up with a quiet, “okay, get in the bath, take off your shoes,” clearly not aimed at Tommy, before yelling back to him, “I’d rather do it, clean it up, and then beg for forgiveness in that order before you decide whether or not you want to murder us.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to stand up there?” Comes Penny’s soft question to her cousin, followed by a phrase burned into the back of Tommy’s mind, somehow still there after everything it’s been through.

“Let go of me, I don’t need you to steady me -”

And everything clicks into place, the blood, the outfit, the mess -

“Are you pouring fake blood on your cousin right now?!” Tommy’s tone is disbelieving, and he’s met with silence, and then the slow sound of liquid being poured.

“No?” Penny calls back, before spluttering a little, “it’s in my mouth.” She hisses.

“Then close your mouth!” Jupiter hisses back.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Pennylope; Jup?” Tommy squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers exactly how much scrubbing he and the rest of the occupants of the Motley House had to do over the next week, and even then the bathroom was never quite the same.

But he’s met with silence, and then he starts to hear what can only be the excess fake blood dripping into the tub. And then the sound of a much emptier bottle being put on the bench.

“No, I am not currently pouring fake blood on my cousin,” Jupiter announces; Tommy thinks he can feel a headache forming with each moment that passes. There are moments exactly like this one, in which he is reminded that Jupiter is without a doubt his and Lola’s kid, which is both a blessing and a curse.

“Penny, stay in the tub,” he calls, “make sure you wash your feet off once you’re dry; a hairdryer helps it dry faster.”

Despite their confusion at how he would know such a thing, the pair in the bathroom know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tommy, for his part, breathes a sigh of relief; this, at least, he knew how to handle. At least they put more thought into it than Charlotte and Lola had back in the day.

Heading upstairs while they let the fake blood dry, he finds the photo Lola had dug up from her archives in her and Nikki’s garage.

Eileen, Charlotte, Lola, and Peach, all in a row outside the Starwood, all grinning from ear to ear. Eileen as Mick, Lola as Frank N Furter, Peach as Supergirl, and Charlotte, beaming, covered in blood red paint, as Carrie.

By the time he resurfaces from the wave of memories that had overwhelmed him, Tommy gets downstairs to see the guest bathroom door open.

“How messy is it?” He calls, concerned. Jupiter sticks their head out. The hairdryer is still going.

“Not as bad as I thought, should all just wash down the drain; the plastic on the walls was probably overkill,” they admit, and Tommy gives a thin-lipped grin, remembering the splatter that came up to knee height on the walls by the bathtub in the Motley House. Though, to be fair, Lola was simply pouring an entire bucket of thinned house-paint over Charlotte’s head - it was neither Lola nor Charlotte’s brightest idea, in hindsight - Jupiter, with a bottle of screen-grade fake blood from the looks of it, would have a much more controlled pour.

And Penny would definitely have a much easier time getting it off.

When Tommy sees Penny, it’s like looking into a window from the past, the way she’s beaming, pleased and bright and covered in blood, she looks so proud to be horrifying.

“What now?” Penny asks, fond but exasperated, and Tommy snaps out of his thoughts, “what exactly about this,” she gestures to her whole self, blood soaked and standing in the tub, being hairdryed by Jupiter, “reminds you of mom?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks, playing dumb, and Penny’s expression softens, but she still rolls her eyes, arms out while Jupiter dries her.

“You get a look in your eye when I do something that reminds you too much of mom, and yeah it’s sweet, but this specifically is a really weird thing to get emotional -”

“This is your mom on Halloween, nineteen-eighty-one,” Tommy holds out the photo so she wouldn’t have to touch it, incase the blood on her hands was still wet, interrupting his niece.

“Oh,” Penny’s voice is so quiet, “for real?” She asks, eyes wide and misty when she looks at Tommy, and he gives a fondly amused look, and nod in response. “I didn’t even know,” Penny gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh, her own gaze turning adoring as she takes in the photo once more.

Jupiter twists to look at the photo, still drying Penny, then looks in the mirror, then back at the photo, and scowls, but keeps quiet about how they’ve just realized, at least in terms of makeup and overall pallet, how similar their costume is to their mother’s. But they’re well aware that this isn’t their moment.

“Did Lola own pants?” Jupiter does mutter, more to themselves than expecting a response, and not getting one anyhow.

“Lola poured a bucket of red paint over her head in the apartment we shared, took five of us a full week to clean it all up after,” Tommy explained to Penny, smiling.

“No wonder you were worried about us doing the same thing,” Penny snorted, and leans in, looking at her mother’s smiling face; almost the same face she sees in the mirror, if not for the blue of her eyes.

“Yeah, but I should have known you two would be smarter about it, much as I love your mom, Jup, when we were young, she wasn’t exactly known for her common sense,” and as Tommy says it, even the quietly resentful Jupiter cracks a smile.

“She looked so cool,” Penny muses, “they all do; that’s Aunt Eileen and Peach, right? The other two?” And Tommy confirms as much, also making sure to note that all four women were always better at Halloween than the rest of the band; in a move that Tommy’s seen Charlotte do a thousand times, Penny rolls her eyes, smirks, and says ‘yeah, obviously’ all smug and amused.

Tommy just smiles, asks if he can take a photo once Penny’s all dry, reminds them to call Lola and Nikki if they need a lift home, and waves goodbye to them when their taxi arrives.

The minute the taxi is off the property, Tommy’s cracking open a beer, and dialing Lola’s number in the minutes before his own guests are due to arrive.

“Lols, you’re never gonna fuckin’ believe what just happened.”

#Tommy Lee #tommy lee imagine #tommy lee & oc #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue #motley crue imagine #charlotte&lola #lola & charlotte #the angry lizard speaks

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