#and giving my thoughts on the Three Musketeers

[lady-of-the-lotus]

wait you don't like novel xy? why not? 🤔

I should probably say I don't like the parts of him I've actually read or seen excerpts of.

I simply don't jibe with him.Much as I love me my villains, I don't wholeheartedly embrace all shapes and forms and draw the line at certain crimes and threats for personal reasons. Also, I actually usually get really into villains who are more along the lines of Loki, Magneto (#Magnetowasright), Erik (Phantom), Count Fosco (The Woman in White--one of my all-time favorite characters)--and from what I've seen of novel!XY, he's even further from my usual type than the cql version.

In short, there was some "that's too much for me" and there was no emotional clicking to compensate. I might like him better if I read the I-assume-better-translated version of him in the official novels. I very much rely on writing style and realistic dialogue when it comes to books, which is why I find it hard to connect to anyone in poor translations, no matter how good the original work. I recently gave up on The Man in the Iron Mask halfway through to wait for a different translation to come into the library as the one I was reading (from a major classics publisher!) was so poor as to be distracting. (Still bitter about how that one got published.)

I'm sure people have great reasons for liking novel!XY and am glad he made enough of an impression on readers for him to get the screen time he did in cql!

[corroded-hellfire]

Love Comes Walking In - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie didn’t want to go to prom, until he wanted to go with Chrissy. You wanted to go to prom, but not if Eddie is going to go with Chrissy. But above everything, you want Eddie to be happy.

Note: this whole thing mostly came about because I wanted to write the one scene with Dustin. You’ll know the one.

Words: 6k

Eddie teasing you was nothing new. His lighthearted jabs about your skirt making you look preppy or having sleepy eye boogers first thing in the morning roll off your back, occasionally even making you laugh along. But when he teases you about wanting to go to prom, that gets under your skin. 

Wanting one special night to wear a pretty gown with glowing makeup and neatly styled hair didn’t sound stupid to you. To your best friend, it seemed like torture. The whole school year Eddie would rag on you about buying into the whole conformist commercialism that you thought of as a rite of passage. That makes it even worse when he suddenly changes his tune just a week before the dance. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jeff complains. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Just because I changed my mind doesn’t mean I’m ridiculous,” he argues.

“You changed your mind because of a girl!” Gareth shouts. 

Jabbing your green beans with your plastic fork, you stay silent as the boys bicker back and forth. Part of you was also afraid to open your mouth, unsure of what would come out.

“You say that like I’d go to prom with any girl,” Eddie snaps. “I’m not saying I’m going, I’m saying I would go with Chrissy.”

The fork is clutched so hard in your hand that you think it’s going to snap in half. 

“What’s wrong with wanting to go with anyone?” Jeff asks.

Eddie waves a dismissive hand at him and wrinkles his face up in distaste, not bothering to give a verbal response. 

“Hypocrite,” you mumble under your breath.

“I am not.” Eddie stares at you and your head jerks up in surprise that he heard you. 

“Yes, you are,” you say. “You’ve made fun of me all year for wanting to go and now because you have a crush, it’s different? Bullshit.”

“I changed my mind,” Eddie reiterates. 

“Fine,” you say with a huff. It’s not worth arguing with him over. 

“Maybe you should apologize,” Dustin suggests softly.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Come on, you have been on her ass about it all year,” Dustin says. 

“Thanks, Dustin,” you say. “But it’s fine.”

Eddie opens his mouth, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. Chair legs scraping against the floor, you push your seat back and stand up from the table. The guys all watch as you leave, dumping your tray in the trash before stalking out of the cafeteria. 

Arguments with Eddie rarely happened. They’re so rare that neither of you know how to react when you next see each other. Are you still fighting? Has it been long enough where you both can pretend like nothing ever happened? There’s no chance to talk to one another in your shared algebra class the next day, so it wasn’t until lunch that you really came face to face. Eddie’s at the table before you, and you plop down in your usual seat next to him. 

“We cool?” Eddie asks as you’re in the middle of lifting a forkful of mac and cheese to your open mouth. 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, eyeing him over your full fork. “I guess.” 

“Good.” He slouches down in his seat, as if he can relax now that he knows you’re on good terms. “Oh shit, here I got you something.” Eddie reaches into his metal lunchbox and pulls out a Three Musketeers bar. “Band kids are selling candy, so I bought your favorite for you. Hide it before Henderson gets here or he’ll steal it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a grin. This was exactly the reason why your feelings for Eddie would never go away. Just when he pisses you off to the point where you swear you’re never going to sit with him at lunch again, he turns around and does something sweet and thoughtful without expecting anything in return. 

“Breaking news, losers,” Gareth says as he drops his tray on the table. “I have a prom date.”

“Well shit, I guess hell has frozen over,” Mike says as he and Dustin join the rest of you. 

“You’re not a senior,” Jeff points out.

“No, but my date is.” Gareth’s smirk is enough to earn an eye roll from both you and Eddie. 

“Who’s that desperate?” 

Gareth throws a French fry at you - which you dodge - before he answers. 

“Calling Kel desperate?” 

“What?” you almost screech. “How are you going with one of the sweetest girls at school?”

“I’m super cool,” he says, making the rest of you bust out in laughter. 

“But seriously,” Jeff says.

“You’re all assholes,” Gareth says before digging into his food. “At least I have a date.” 

Eddie goes to reply, but you’re afraid of what he’s going to say, so you scoop up your backpack and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Once you step out of the cafeteria, you roll out your neck and shoulders, trying not to think of Eddie back in there talking about prom with the guys. You push the girl’s bathroom door open and breathe a sigh of relief when you’re the only one in there. Dropping your bag on the floor between your feet, you lean forward on one of the sinks and look at yourself in the mirror. A few deep breaths later, you feel your body relax. It’s short lived, however, when the door squeaks open on old hinges and two cheerleaders step in. 

You feel bad for the guttural reaction you have to seeing Chrissy’s blonde ponytail swinging behind you in the mirror. She is a complete sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but the jealous green-eyed monster rears its ugly head and your fingers dig into the cool porcelain. 

“It really sucks,” the other cheerleader says to Chrissy. You know you’ve seen her around, but you don’t know her name. Both cheerleaders park at the sinks next to you to touch up their makeup. Chrissy throws you a bright smile and a friendly wave before taking her lip gloss out and turning back towards her friend. 

“I know,” Chrissy says. “I knew we were going to break up, but I was hoping for it to be after prom. How am I supposed to find a new date in a week?”

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that,” her friend assures her.

“I don’t know,” Chrissy says with a sigh. “Everyone probably has their dates by now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your pulse is raging in your ears and sweat is starting to make your hands slip against the sink. The internal debate rages inside of you. Do you let your jealousy get in the way of something that will make Eddie happy? It would throw away any shot you had of going to prom with Eddie yourself - but you know that was a long shot anyway. 

Still undecided, you take a step back from the sink, and your backpack falls over. You bend down to pick it up and the Three Musketeer bar falls out. It feels like your gaze should melt the chocolate that’s laying before you. Damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness at buying you the stupid candy. You toss it back in your bag, wincing as you prepare self-destruction. 

“Hey, Chrissy,” you say.

She turns to you with a smile, putting the top back on her lip gloss.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I, uh, didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” you say as you slide your backpack on. You can’t manage to look her in the eyes as you speak. “But I know someone who doesn’t have a date yet.”

“You do?” She perks up in interest and the souring of your stomach almost keeps you from going further. 

“Yeah.” It sounds painful coming out of your mouth and you hope neither cheerleader notices. “Um, Eddie? Eddie Munson.”

“Really?” her friend asks. She crosses her arms over her chest and juts a hip out. You’re two seconds away from smacking the snotty look off her face when Chrissy speaks up.

“Eddie is great,” Chrissy says, looking over her shoulder at her friend before looking back at you. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Think he’ll say yes if I ask him?”

“I do.” Those two words were almost the hardest to get out. It was killing you how much of an understatement it was. 

“Okay!” The eagerness in her voice makes you want to cry. There’s no way you’ll be able to face Eddie back in there. 

“You can, um, ask him now if you want,” you say with a shrug. With a deep breath, you head towards the bathroom door. You stop halfway out the door and turn back around. “Oh, if Eddie asks,” you say, doubting he would because he’d be too consumed by the fact that his dreams were coming true, “can you just tell him I wasn’t feeling well and left?”

“No problem.” Her brow furrows in concern and she takes a step towards you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” It’s the biggest lie you’ve told in a while. “Cramps.” You put your hand to your lower abdomen and Chrissy gives you a sympathetic nod.

“Feel better!”

Without answering her, you walk out of the bathroom and down the hall, to the school exit. As soon as you slide into your car, the tears start. They start pouring so heavily and your hands shake so badly that you can’t put your key in the ignition. Momentarily giving up, you drop the keys in your lap and drop your head down to the steering wheel. 

Giving yourself enough time to get the worst of it out, you pull back and use your sleeves to wipe down your face. With a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to center yourself. After a few breaths in and out, in and out, you’re able to get the keys in the ignition on the first try. You pull your car out of the parking lot and head towards your house. The conversation you had with Chrissy keeps going through your head and you can’t keep from picturing the euphoric look that will be on Eddie’s face when she asks him. The saving grace you’re holding on to is the fact that Chrissy immediately defended Eddie to her friend. There aren’t many people in the school who would do that. 

Luckily, no one is home when you get to your house and you’re able to go inside and sulk in peace in your bed. More tears leak out as you hug your pillow to your chest. You must end up falling asleep because the persistent ringing of your doorbell jolts you awake sometime later. Heart racing from the adrenaline, you pull yourself out of bed and drag yourself to the front door. 

Eddie’s standing on the other side and it’s the first time his smile has ever broken your heart. 

“You are the best!” He swoops into your house and wraps you up in his arms. “Oh shit, sorry. I forgot, Chrissy said you’re having some girl pains.”

Right. 

“They’re better now that I’ve rested,” you say. “And you don’t have to thank me. Just doing what a good friend would do, right?”

“The best friend in the world!” He takes your head in his hands and presses a loud smacking kiss to your forehead. His happiness is infectious and despite your foul mood, a small smile curls on your mouth. 

“Now,” he says, taking both of his hands in yours. “We have to find a date for you.”

“Oh.” Your face drops and you shake your head. “I’m not going to go.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that Eddie would still be thinking about how you wanted to attend prom. The idea of his own perfect date should’ve been occupying his whole brain, but damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness. 

“What?” Eddie immediately frowns and it tugs at your heart. It tempts you to tell him you’ll go, but the mental image of Eddie dressed up and dancing with a flawless-as-usual Chrissy makes you bite your tongue. 

“You were right before,” you tell him. “It’s dumb and there’s shitty music. Plus, the dresses are way too expensive.” The dress you planned on wearing was already in your closet, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. 

“Are you sure?” Eddie dips his head down to meet your eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you questioningly. 

“Yeah,” you tell him. 

“I’m going to miss you there,” he says, and you almost slip up and laugh out loud at his statement. 

“Oh please, you’ll be having way too much fun to notice I’m not there.” 

“Like that could happen,” Eddie says with a skeptical look. 

You don’t bother arguing with him, even though you know he’s wrong. 

On your way to the cafeteria the next day, you can’t bring yourself to walk in. You know if you do then you’re just going to be hearing about plans for prom and you don’t trust yourself not to break down in tears in front of everyone. There was no way you could avoid the guys entirely until prom, but you couldn’t face them today. Eddie doesn’t want to be with you. He wants to be with Chrissy. And you have to make yourself seem okay with that somehow. Just not today. 

There’s a vending machine on the way to the gym, so you pick up a bag of crackers and a bottle of coke. The gymnasium is empty, so you take a seat on the bottom row of bleachers and start to eat your sad little lunch. It’s easy to let your mind wander, so you try to redirect it away from where it wants to go. Usual calming fantasies revolve around Eddie in some way, but that’s out of the question right now. 

Your mind can’t stray far from Eddie though, so you let your mind divulge in a little dark fantasy as you eat. What would happen if you just ran away? What would happen if you just threw some clothes in a bag and bolted? You would never actually do it, but imagining Eddie being sad over you leaving brings you a sick sort of comfort. Because he would miss you. You know he loves you, it’s just not in the same way that you wish. 

As you crumble up your wrapper in your hand, the gym door opens and a familiar hat over tousled curls walks in. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, as he walks your way with his hands in his pockets. Sneakers squeak across the shiny floor and come to a sudden halt as he stops in front of you. 

Dustin dips his chin down and raises his eyes to look at you. He takes one hand out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

“Yes?” you ask, looking between his eyes and his hand. 

“I know what you did for Eddie,” he says. “We all know. Except for him, he’s an idiot. But it really was a nice thing to do. I never could’ve done it.”

“Thanks,” you say skeptically, unsure of where he was going with this. 

“He told us you said you don’t want to go to prom. I know that’s bullshit. So,” he says, bringing his hand back and extending it to you again, “I am asking you if I may take you to the prom.”

Your eyes immediately well with tears as you look up at the boy in front of you. Dustin was always one of the sweetest people you knew, but this was taking it to a whole other level. 

“Oh, Dustin,” you say. You take his hand and tug his arm until he’s sitting on the bleacher next to you. “That is the sweetest offer I’ve gotten in my entire life. But I can’t go to prom.”

Dustin sighs and nods his head.

“Can’t see them together?” he asks.

“Correct.”

He wraps his arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“So, everyone knows, huh?” you ask. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you stare at Eddie a lot.”

The laughter that bubbles out of you is so unexpected that you bring your hand up to cover your mouth. 

“I know,” you admit. “I do.”

“And you look at him differently than you look at anyone else,” he says. 

“Like he’s an idiot?” you ask and Dustin chuckles. 

“No, I think we all look at him that way.”

You sigh and pick your head up from Dustin’s shoulder. You pat his arm and give him a grateful smile.

“Dustin Henderson, you are the best. And if I were going to go to the prom with anybody at all, it would be you.” 

“Well, when I go to my senior prom, I hope I go with someone half as awesome as you.”

That makes the tears spill over and you hastily wipe them off your cheeks. 

“God, I love you.” You throw your arms around his neck and give him the tightest hug you’ve given anyone in a while. He chuckles as he hugs you back.

“Who doesn’t?”

The night of prom comes, and you stand in your kitchen, alone in the house and in your comfiest sweats, making cookie dough. Screw warnings of not eating raw eggs, you were making this dough to eat, not cook. The last few days at school you went back to eat lunch with the guys but used a fake sore throat as an excuse for staying quiet and distant. You really only needed to fool Eddie though, since the other guys knew what was really going on with you. 

You take the bowl of cookie dough into the living room and set it down as you flip through the VHS tapes you’d rented earlier in the day. Steve had known about you not going to prom because, of course he did, Dustin tells him everything. You assured him it wasn’t a big deal, just wanting to get out with your movies. 

Settling on The Outsiders because you could stare at Rob Lowe all day, you pop the tape in and settle on the couch with your favorite blankets and your bowl of cookie dough. You can only eat about a quarter of the dough before your stomach has had enough. It sits on the table in front of you as you watch the rest of the movie. It’s not even eleven by the time the movie’s over but you don’t feel up to sitting through another one. You take the bowl of cookie dough back into the kitchen and stick it in the refrigerator. Thoughts of what’s happening at the prom have been trying to jam their way into your brain all night, but without the movie to distract you, those thoughts finally break in. Is there a slow song playing right now? Are Eddie’s hands on her hips or is one wrapped around her back while the other holds her hand? Is he having a good time? Are they playing any music that he likes? What did he end up wearing? You know you’ll end up seeing pictures but you’re not looking forward to seeing how pristine Chrissy is all dolled up when she’s naturally so beautiful on her own. Right now, you can imagine she’s wearing a garbage bag and her hair is all rolled up in curlers and her makeup looks like a clown’s. But once you see pictures, that illusion you’ve clung to will burst like a bubble in your heart. 

You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to try and stop the impending tears from falling. A few deep breaths and you get it under control. This heartbreak shit sucks. 

Before heading up to your room, you grab a water bottle from the fridge and your blanket off the couch. On your nightstand is a small radio and you click it on so you won’t be alone in silence with just your thoughts for company. The sheets feel cold and crisp as you slide into them. Putting your blanket back on top of you, you curl up on your side and nuzzle your face into your pillow. The light’s still on in your room, but you didn’t feel like getting up to turn it off.

The dial on your radio must’ve gotten knocked at some point - which happened often as you fumbled with things on your nightstand constantly - because smooth jazz starts playing and you huff a laugh into your pillow. You weren’t moving to fix that, either. When your parents come home, if you’ve already fallen asleep, your mom will turn both the radio and light off for you. 

But the jazz is actually more soothing the longer it plays. It calms your frayed nerves and helps you start to doze off, body finally giving in to the exhaustion you’ve been feeling from all the stress lately. 

In your half-asleep state, you hear your parents come home. They’re not exactly quiet walking around downstairs, but they also probably didn’t expect you to be sleeping this early. The thudding of your mom’s heels coming up the stairs echoes in the quiet hallway, drifting into you even over the radio. The footsteps keep coming towards your room and you’re looking forward to the sweet darkness you’ve craved when your mom gets to your room. But the lights don’t turn off. Instead, the bed dips next to you and you feel someone lay down beside you. 

She means well, you know, because she knew that you were bummed to miss prom, even if she didn’t know why. But the last thing you wanted right now was to have her try and talk to you about how you’re feeling. You know you’ll lose it and end up crying yet again. She stays quiet beside you though and you’re thankful for it. 

“I know you’re not asleep.”

The deep voice startles you and your eyes snap open. Eddie’s laying down on his side, facing you, head propped up on his arm. He’s smiling at you. It’s the first thing you notice before your eyes travel down, taking in the suit he’s wearing. Partially a suit, anyway. He’s wearing nice black slacks, which you didn’t even know he owned, with a maroon button up shirt. No jacket, but you’re not sure if he had one on earlier or not. He’s still your Eddie though, because he has his pick necklace on and his many rings adorning his fingers. 

“Look at you.” Your voice sounds a bit froggy between almost being asleep and all the crying you’ve done. “Not a stitch of denim in sight.”

Eddie chuckles. It sounds so nice. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask.

“Came by to see my best girl,” he says. Maybe he still says it out of habit, but you’re pretty sure you’ll be losing that title shortly. 

“But prom,” you say, whinier than you intended to. 

“It’s over,” he says.

You frown and crane your neck to see the clock on your dresser. The neon green tells you that it’s just after one in the morning. You must’ve dozed longer than you thought.

“How was it?” you ask, bracing yourself for the answer. 

“Pretty much how I expected it to be.”

“Oh yeah?” The fake smile on your face is starting to feel second nature, and you hate it. “Everything you’d hoped?”

“No,” he says with a laugh. He shakes his head and twirls the ring on one of his middle fingers with his thumb. “I was right the first time. Shitty music. Horrible punch - which Principal Higgins was guarding like he was trying to keep the Huns from invading China. People at our school can’t dance for shit, myself included. And to top it all off, my favorite person wasn’t there.”

Your brow scrunches together and you sit up in bed.

“She stood you up?” 

“What?” Eddie asks. When he realizes what you mean, he closes his eyes and smiles. “No, you dork. I meant you. You weren’t there.”

“Me?” you ask. The skepticism in your voice cuts right to Eddie’s heart. He frowns and scoots forward on the bed so he can rest his hand on your hip. 

“Yes, you. You’re doubting that you’re my favorite person?”

“Well, kind of,” you say quietly. 

“Why?” he asks, and his frown makes your heart plummet into your stomach. 

“It’s just, you were so excited to go with Chrissy.”

“I was,” he admits. “But just because I had a crush on a girl doesn’t mean that you’re not still my number one.”

Had. The one word sticks in your mind and you know there are other things you should say, better things, but the question is burning your tongue so it has to come out.

“Had a crush?” you ask. 

Eddie nods and rubs his thumb over your hip bone.

“Turns out a lot of crushes can go away quickly if you actually spend time with the person.”

“Did she say something? Do something?” you ask.

“No,” he says simply. “She’s great. There was just nothing to talk about after the first twenty minutes or so. She knows nothing about my interests, and I know nothing about hers.”

“Just didn’t click?” you ask.

“Yeah, exactly,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, mouth pursed in thought. “This is a horrible analogy, but it’s what came to mind. It’s like when a present is sitting there in front of you, and it’s wrapped beautifully. Ribbons and bows and all that jazz. You just stare at it and want it, imagining what kind of fun thing could be inside. Then, you finally get it, you can hold it in your hands. You open it and it’s a new shirt. It’s nice, but not what you were expecting. You don’t dislike the shirt, it’s just not the present you wanted.” 

“Look at you with the metaphors,” you say with a smirk. “Senior English three times and you’re a full-on scholar now.”

He rolls his eyes at you and playfully squeezes the skin at your hip.

“I was being serious,” he says.

“I know. And I get it. You kissed a frog who didn’t turn into a princess.”

“And you thought I had an odd way of putting it,” Eddie says with a laugh. “But I didn’t even kiss her before I knew there was nothing there. Once the excitement wore off it was pretty boring, actually.” 

“I’m sorry it wasn’t what you wanted,” you tell him honestly. 

“I’ve always known the prom itself would suck. Just thought it might be fun with the right date. And it might’ve been, but I didn’t have that.” He takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes. “I should’ve brought you.”

The tears are coming but you force them to hold their position. It’s hard not to yell at him that that’s what you’ve wanted all along. But there’s no point. Any begging or pleading before the prom wouldn’t have gotten him to agree to take you. So, instead of living in the ‘if you realized this sooner I could have gotten to go to my prom’, you let it go by and just appreciate the fact that he wishes he had gone with you instead of Chrissy. 

“But I’ve had an idea,” Eddie says as he pushes himself off your bed. 

“And what’s that?”

“Well,” he says as he walks over to your closet. “First things first, I’ve got to see what we’re working with here.” 

“Why?” You scoot down to the foot of the bed to see what he’s doing more clearly. He’s going through your clothes, inspecting every piece, and deeming them unfit for whatever scheme he’s cooked up in his brain. 

“You’ll see. Wait. Are you kidding me?” He reaches into the back of your closet and pulls out the gold dress that you had bought for prom. “You told me you didn’t get a dress!”

“How do you know I haven’t had that dress for a while?” But your blush won’t let you get away with the lie.

“Well for starters, the tag is still on it.” He brandishes it to you and you huff.

“Okay, yeah, yeah, I had a dress. But I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t think you’d end up riling through my closet anyway.” 

“Put it on,” he says, tossing its hanger into your lap.

“I’m sorry, what?” The dress tries to slide from your lap to the floor, so you pull it up and lay it down on the bed next to you.”

“Put it on,” he says slower this time, as if that should clear up everything. 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to dance with you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I’d dance with you in your sweats, but I thought you might want to get all dolled up like me.” He smirks and runs his hands down the buttons of his maroon shirt. 

“You want to dance with me?” Maybe you’re still asleep and this is all a dream. 

“Yeah.” Again, he says it as if it’s something you do every day. His casual tone is making you think you’re the one who’s not making sense. 

“Okay,” you say as you stand. “I guess I’ll go change.”

“This is your room,” Eddie says, heading to the door. “Change here, I’ll wait out here.” He walks into the hallway, closing your bedroom door behind him. 

You slip the sweatpants down your legs and tug the sweatshirt off over your head. The single strapless bra you own is at the bottom of the drawer and you have to dig your way down to find it. The gold dress has a halter neckline so there’s no way you could wear a regular bra underneath. You squeeze the bra on, and even change your panties from blue ones with butterflies on it, to one of the few lace ones you own. 

The dress unzips easily and glides down your body as you get situated. You can’t zip it yourself, but Eddie can do that for you. Most of the makeup you own is in the bathroom, but you can make do with the little bit sitting over on your dresser. Looking in the mirror, you do a soft layer of makeup and then inspect your hair. It strikes you as funny when you see yourself in a golden dress with makeup on, but total bedhead up on top. You yank the scrunchie out of your hair and shake your head to toss your hair around. It looks better but not great. Your eyes land on a silver hair clip dotted with pearls and you reach up to tuck some of your hair back and secure it with the pin. There. The look is done. 

When you open your bedroom door you expect Eddie to be waiting there but you don’t see him. You stick your head into the hall and look both ways but see no metal head. 

“Eddie?” you call.

“Coming!”

He jogs out of your dad’s office a few doors down, carrying a few sheets of paper. Eddie comes to a halt as he takes in your appearance. Heat blooms in your face as you watch Eddie scan every last detail of this ensemble. 

“You look gorgeous,” he says. It’s enough to make you pass out, but you somehow stay standing firm.

“Thank you,” you say. “You look very handsome. Did I tell you that when you first got here?”

“No,” he says with a chuckle. “Just a remark about me not wearing any denim.”

“Which is truly a miracle. But you do look handsome. Very handsome.”

He smiles and takes steps towards you, paper still in his hands.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“I’m not very good at origami, but I did my best to turn this sheet of paper into a corsage.”

Your heart leaps at his words and it’s another battle of wills with your tears when Eddie slips his improvised flower on your wrist. Some tears win the battle, and they trail down your face. Luckily, you were smart enough to apply waterproof makeup. 

“Eddie, this is…” you trail off, not having the words to express how you’re feeling. 

“You wanted prom, so I’m giving you prom.” He takes both of your hands in his and guides you back into your bedroom. He closes the door behind him with his foot, his eyes never leaving your face. 

“Can you zip me up?” you ask. He nods and you turn around. His hands against your back sends a shiver up your spine and goosebumps break out over your arms. You hear him chuckle and he trails the tips of his fingers over your shoulders as you turn back around.

“What’s with the smooth jazz?” Eddie can’t help but laugh at the saxophone solo coming in over the speakers. 

“I hit the dial again.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” He bends down and turns the dial to find a good station. The static goes in and out, some songs coming through in pieces, or sounding like they’re underwater. It finally lands on a clear station and Eddie grins in triumph. “Perfect. Love Comes Walking In.”

“You know I love Van Halen.”

Eddie stands up straight and takes the few steps over to you. He bows in classic dramatic Eddie fashion, and he comes back up with a frown on his face.

“You’re not wearing heels. Or shoes at all.”

“Eddie, I would’ve kicked them off the moment I got there anyway,” you tell him with a laugh. “Barefoot is fine.”

“Just checking. Want this to be an authentic impromptu prom for you.”

You giggle and Eddie reaches his hand out to you. You take it and he instantly pulls you in and holds you against his body. It would be a miracle if he couldn’t feel or hear your heart beating so fast it’s like someone is dribbling a basketball beneath your ribs. His right hand takes your left and he twines your fingers together. His other hand snakes around your waist until it settles warmly on your back. You place your other hand on his shoulder and smile up at him.

“This is already better than actual prom,” he says. “Good music. Perfect date.”

Red rises to your cheeks and you duck your head shyly. 

The pair of you sway to the beat of the song, bodies moving along with the rhythm. Eddie spins you and it makes you let out a giddy peal of laughter. He pulls you back into him and you wrap both arms around his neck. He places his hands firmly on your waist as you start to sway again. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“You brought all the best parts of prom to me. I didn’t have to suffer through the shitty parts. I’ve got my dress, my music, my favorite person. It’s perfect, Eddie.” 

“I’ll dance like this with you anytime,” he says. “All you have to do is ask.”

The way he’s looking at you stirs some butterflies up that have been dormant until this point. He’s never looked at you this way and you’re not sure what it is. You know every Eddie facial expression and what they mean, but this one is new. His face is soft, and his eyes are wide, as usual. The brown irises are twinkling and there’s the barest smile on the left side of his mouth. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask. 

“You,” he says. No further explanation, which leads your mind to grasping for answers as usual. 

“What about me?”

“Just…you.”

“Okay, I take back what I said about being a scholar now. You’ve lost the ability to words,” you say and wrinkle up your nose playfully at him. He catches you by surprise, though, when he leans forward and presses a kiss to the very tip of your nose. 

The blush you had before was nothing to the one now gracing your features. Eddie chuckles when he sees it and leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want to have another prom tomorrow?” he asks.

“What’s that entail? Dancing with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good music?”

“Of course.”

“Can I wear comfy clothes?”

“I’ll be wearing mine.”

“Hmm,” you hum, pretending to consider it. “Can we get food too?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I like the sound of that,” you say with a smirk.

“Is that a yes?” Eddie asks.

“Eddie, I’d have this kind of prom with you every single day.”

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”

[nerdygaymormon]

A podcast episode was recently released of Sheri Dew interviewing Elder Holland, and part of the episode involved him reacting to his "musket fire" address at BYU from 3 years ago. I responded to his remarks in this post.

I was contacted by a reporter with the Salt Lake Tribune who sent me the following: In a recent interview with Sheri Dew, Elder Holland reflected on the "musket" speech and the response he received from it. I am curious: Are they enough? Are they helpful? And what fallout did you witness/experience at the time and in the wake of the address?

I sent a 3 paragraph response, from which they chose 1 sentence. I knew they wouldn't run my whole response, but I thought I'd share on my blog what I sent.

—————————————————

One thing I hope people understand is that most minorities grow up within a culture that helps give them a sense of solidarity, a group of people that they can go back to, usually their family. There’s a sense that I’m learning to navigate being this particular minority within a larger culture. LGBTQ+ individuals are generally without this support. We have a minority experience that’s different because we generally experience this individually. It's an individual process to try to understand ourselves and our place in society. There is stress involved in recognizing yourself as an identity that separates you as an individual minority within your family and within your religion and your university. This makes queer people, especially those who are younger, vulnerable. It's important for queer individuals to know others like themselves, to find a community where they have a sense of belonging and don't have to hide, to feel hope that the future is gonna be better. We need love, support, guidance, acceptance and affirmations. It's difficult to stop hiding and come out and be authentic about our feelings and our experiences if the messages we get are that you are not wanted, you don't belong.  

Just before Elder Holland spoke to BYU faculty and staff 3 years ago, the president of BYU in Provo announced the creation of the Office of Belonging which aimed to root out prejudice of any kind on campus, and then Elder Holland gave his message that he wanted to stop all the ways queer students have made their presence known—no flag waving or protests or sharing some heartfelt words at graduation, no lighting the Y in Pride colors. That was crushing as it feels like just existing is considered problematic, that we are to remain unseen and unknown.

I know several queer individuals who've met with Elder Holland and they have shared that he is caring, he listened to them and cried with them. He is aware of the hurt and pain they experience in this church. His remarks on the podcast reflect the compassion he showed to my friends. I am glad that he acknowledges his address from 3 years ago at BYU caused a lot of pain to LGBTQ students and members. That was important. I wish that the compassion he feels for the pain of queer students and members would be turned into a desire to want a better place for us at BYU and in the Church. 

[mynqzo]

my insane batshit gritty semi-realistic sapphic reimagining of barbie and the three musketeers

okay so many people were confused on if that last drawing of mine was just an oc named barbie or whatever but im here to tell you no! its my insane reimagining of the corinne in the movie barbie and the three musketeers, but sapphic and insane. so today I’m going to dump on you my insane reimagining of barbie and the three musketeers in a semi realistic gritty setting where they’re all sapphic and when they become musketeers they instead work to overthrow the monarchy. this is not a joke I've been thinking about this for months. like i will take alexandre dumas legacy and make it so gay and barbie.

okay so first things I thought of were weapons and such and what they could be replaced with in this setting cause most of the characters have things like ribbons and fans as weapons (and while that's so slay and I love that/never want that to change in the movie, I wanna make it semi-realistic in this gritty reimagining). so corinne’s weapon in the movie is a rapier so we’re keeping that. viveca has those two long ribbons (I’m sure they have a name but I forgot them sobs) and I think in my head she would have a two whips instead, whip dual wielder ohooo. renée has a slingshot (honestly so lame of the movie to give her that) and in my head she has a musket or pistol. aramina has two fans and I think replacing those with daggers would be really swag. and just to be clear all the characters in this version are aged up to be in their late twenties to early thirties.

for corinne, the story will follow the traditional ‘the three musketeers’ storyline but instead corinne is actively held back by her mother from going to paris and becoming a musketeer because her mother believes she’ll fall into the same fate as her father did and die. so she instead sneaks out because she feels like if she became a successful musketeer she could establish a comfortable life for her mother. in my head she's kind of like a cocky playboy kinda character where she's a little full of herself but has a lot of drive to find out what happened to her father and how he came to pass but also to succeed so she can take care of her mother better. like she's essentially the person who would ask you to fence shirtless because she wants to prove that she doesn't need armour.

for aramina I feel like her concept of a hopeless romantic can be made more complex if added with religious calling like for aramis in the original three musketeers. like she has a deeply religious upbringing but she cant stop falling in love with people and getting into trouble about it and it especially shows when she meets corinne and the others and; you guessed it, falls in love with them too. a nice mix of guilt and romance. she could have been a faithful follower of the church and been a nun but fell in love with one of the nuns and was caught and therefore shunned and punished, but she kept doing it again and again and her behavior became too obnoxious for the church to allow so they kicked her out, and she’s still plagued by this guilt while also wanting to follow her heart. she essentially ended up as a maid because her church rejected her and her family refused to take her back in on account of her sinning (rip) so she's essentially trying to find purpose in life while also overcoming this insane guilt she's carrying with her for her own desires.

renée’s story in my head follows that of a noble who then became a street musician and eventual musketeer. in the original musketeer story, athos was married to milady de winter [who was the villain] and attempted to kill her after discovering she was a criminal and then he became a drunkard about it because it made him so sad. for renée, she could have been married to a wealthy man that her family arranged her to marry but he was like, a bad guy and wasn’t really nice to her etc and also was a criminal on the run, so she tried to kill him because she was sick of his shit but her kill attempt ended up with her being fought off by him and excommunicated by her and his family (because they dont know he’s a criminal) so she ended up as a street musician and that lead to her being a maid in the palace and you know the drill.

viveca, the same as was in the movie and book as porthos, loves fashion and clothing and is always dressed super dapper and i feel like this could easily make her be a seamstress in the palace who directly works with the royal family when it comes to making them garments (alongside being a maid). she would know the internal workings of the royal family and be the person who could spy on the politics of everything the easiest out of everyone. i feel like she can put up a facade very well with the royal family where she can act like she’s totally into what theyr doing and not totally planning to go against them at any point like at all.

essentially they work for the palace as maids, one way or another, and do all the shenanigans of protecting the prince from getting assassinated by snooping around and whatnot only for them to turn around and be the people who go out of their way to assassinate the prince because they quickly realize that he’s kind of a shit head. they essentially side with the group of people planning the assassination which leads them into meeting a group of rebels and people who protest the royal family. there’s this journey to realize that the true villain of the story is renée ex husband she tried to super kill who became an advisor to the prince and king after the assassination attempt (and the old advisor was kicked to the curb). so the ex-husband is now doing evil whispery advisor nonsense where he’s trying to convince the prince that the musketeers all are actually planning his assassination (even if its true like how dare you sir ex-husband) and that he should execute them publicly and then provided a bunch of false evidence to ‘prove’ (like its True they do wanna take down the prince but like yknow). and its like a whole thing. during this all they all fall in love and form a sapphic polycule and its complicated and nasty and oof.

thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[gavalaa]

Sketches of all my redone designs for my Phantom Thieves from my AU, Icarus! Lots of info down below on the cut, so if you want to know more about the details and inspiration, feel free to keep reading!

This includes Akechi’s design for his Princely/Robin Hood attire, BEFORE his Icarus attire you might have seen from my other posts! Check out the Icarus AU tag for more info! Icarus has a main focus on Akechi and his relationship to the thieves, but the AU is actually an entire rewrite with new designs, 3rd semester and epilogue/strikers/tactica stories, hence Zenkichi and Sophia’s inclusion.

Read below for individual info:

I decided to include more motifs towards their persona’s and general vibes; and also just my own personal touches haha.

AKIRA - Not much has changed, I really like his design overall. I raised his boots to be like Arsene’s and changed his neck area.

MORGANA - I hate the OG pill shaped head, his new design is based heavily on the shape of Palico’s from Monster Hunter. Added a little more nod to Zorro/His persona motifs and also just made him cuter! Little hamburger headed cat.

RYUJI - I made him a little bulkier and gave some more weight to his outfit overall. I gave him heavier boots and a slightly buffer build to relate back more to his sporty style.

ANN - honestly was never too big on her latex outfit, I wanted to call back to a personal favorite female lead; Christine Daae, and used one of the versions of her Don Juan costume as inspiration. I remember seeing Phantom live and in many stage versions of her character, the Don Juan scene was a pure moment of female control, and she was truly working the Phantom and controlling every movement on the stage. Her presence is commanding, and I thought it was a very fitting tribute to Ann’s character as feminine strength. (I’m absolutely not referring to the movie iteration of Daae btw.)

YUSUKE - I referred to some historical art and legend of Goemon to add more elements of design to his outfit. When I color them, I want to add some really strong pops of color to his clothing to really drive the aesthetics and artistry home.

MAKOTO - Another totally redid outfit, I opted to give her a design which relates back to Popess Joan, and also Anat. I gave her a clawed hand on her right side and an uncovered hand on her left as both a nod to Anat’s hand raised in iconography of her from art history, but also to show the duality of Anat’s title as both a goddess of war, and of love. It also relates to the mythology of Joan and her nature as both a leader and a martyr. I changed her mask to a Venetian Commedia mask as well.

FUTABA - ok. I’ll be honest. I never liked her skin-tight outfit, it just doesn’t match her personality at all. Also, the high tech Egyptian feel never really sold me. I totally understand the tomb thing, but I truthfully think a dungeon/palace which was more like… tech/nerd themed would have been much more “futaba” the inspiration for this new outfit relates back to her persona, the Necromomicon, as well as her nerdy personality, and her affiliation as Alibaba (Ali Baba.) I wanted to go more lovecraftian, long sleeves and patterning designed to look more like lovecraftian tendrils, and big baggy pants and her classic shoes to match. The patterning on her undershirt will resemble a rib cage, both as a reference to her deathly “tomb” iconography, but also to Lovecraftian and Necronomicon lore. I think she matches the description of a nerdy, techie DND dungeon master more than the initial outfit, so that’s the route I took personally.

HARU - relating back to some fashions from 17th c France, where Milady’s story (the three musketeers) takes place, I kept her design relatively similar. I just gave her a little more iconography relating to the three musketeers and that general timeframe.

AKECHI - in his pre-Icarus outfit, I’ve given him a princely sort of outfit befitting of his two faced nature, and edited it to relate to Robin Hood a little more. I tried to keep it sleek and just generally very concealing and layered.

SUMIRE - i gave her some iconography relating back to one of her personas, who is an inference to Freya. I also included some more nods to classic Cinderella, with fantasy gown elements. Overall, relatively similar.

ZENKICHI - again, relatively similar, I really like his outfit. I just opened up the face some to show more personality and spiced up the outfit generally to keep it matching. honestly, les mis/Valjean was a hard one, but I also think his character could be heavily related back to Edmond Dante (Monte Cristo.) so I gave some nods to that as well.

SOPHIA - I turned her into a FINGIE!!!! I made her whole dress as a nod to her persona/to pandora’s tiles around her/the pillars. I wanted to make her small and almost unnatural since she’s an AI, and I thought having a little guy on the team would add some more variation.

[dravenscroft]

So I make a loooot of shitposts and jokes (mainly because my actual career is writing dark and serious novels and therefore I come to Tumblr to get away from that) but I FINALLY wanted to write a post that sums up my thoughts regarding the Hickey/Tozer dynamic because it fascinates me so much.

I'm putting it under a read more because I know I'm going to ramble.

Okay so first of all, as much as I may like to make jokes about the sex being so good it drove a guy to mutiny, I don't actually believe there was any sexual intimacy between Hickey and Tozer at all. This is mostly because I think post Carnival NOBODY was getting laid, everyone was far too sick and weak and tired for that - do I think in different circumstances it could have happened between them? Possibly, yeah. I definitely see the dynamic as romantic, but in a weird, unspoken, 'whatever the hell they have going on is also way more complicated than that' way.

The main thoughts I have about how and why Tozer ends up locked into in the Worst Situationship Of All Time are mainly due to three factors:

Heather's death and the breakdown of command.

The obvious Oh Shit moment of watching the Tuunbaq devour Collins' soul.

Physical touch.

The first one is the primer, as it were. It sets Tozer up as angry, desperate, and willing to mutiny. It's already become clear by Carnival that command is breaking down, they don't know what to do, and what a soldier needs more than anything is a CLEAR, DECISIVE CHAIN OF COMMAND. Without that, Tozer - who already has some Opinions about the way the marines are being put at additional risk (unionise, king) - has no one to keep him on a leash, for want of a better word. He's a dog trained to kill that suddenly doesn't have a master. He cannot be in command himself. He needs someone above him; he's not a leader.

This builds and builds, but then Heather's death - the loss of any vestige of something that would keep him loyal, since evidently Heather's care would continue under ordinary command - at the hands, essentially, of the very command he's started to doubt...well, that's it. Gun primed.

The discovery of Fairholme's group shatters any remaining hope he may have had, Crozier's reluctance to tell the men only further compounding the 'command is failing' mentality Tozer already has in spades. And there you go - the trigger is pulled.

BANG. Mutiny.

The second major factor comes after he's thrown in his lot with Hickey in a way he can't go back on. He sees Collins' soul sucked from his body by Tuunbaq before his very eyes. Suddenly, everything he thought he knew has been tipped on its head and an existential crisis he definitely didn't expect or need is thrust upon him, but now any decision he might have made to stay with Crozier and co based on this revelation is no longer open to him. The gun is still smoking, there's no way of putting the musket ball back, and now Hickey is his only option.

But maybe that isn't so bad? Because Hickey is providing something command didn't. He seems in control. He seems to know what he's about, what he's doing, and what to do next. He gives clear concise orders. He's taken up the leash command dropped, and Tozer has a master again. He feels like a marine again, like some of his identity has returned to him in a weird, perverse way (and we know Tozer is incredibly proud of being a Royal Marine from his earlier conversations)(not to mention Crozier's remark to Fitzjames about not asking the men to leave bits of themselves behind straight away when leaving the ships; Tozer has already lost bits of himself, when Heather died, and he lost faith in command).

Tozer is NOT willing to do a second mutiny because that would put HIM in charge, stripping him of that identity all over again, and he cannot handle that.

And finally, physical touch - physical touch is one of the things that keeps him chained to Hickey (quite literally by the end). It's perhaps not nearly as much of a factor as the other two, or perhaps an enormous factor, but definitely there. Throughout the earlier episodes we see that Tozer is a pretty tactile guy. Playfully wrestling at the birthday party. Caring for Heather, squeezing his hand to try and get signs of life. This is a man who isn't afraid to touch other men. When Hickey holds his face in That scene, he doesn't appear surprised - a little spooked by the way he leans in suddenly, and Hickey's intensity, but not shocked. Not like it's the first time Hickey has ever touched him. I generally imagine there's a lot of physical intimacy Hickey offers him during the scenes we don't see, because Hickey IS good at recognising things in people most of the time, and I can see him honing in on that need for touch immediately.

I imagine him touching him a lot, sleeping unusually close to him, soothing him, everything to make Tozer feel safe and secure and remind him WHO is meeting those specific needs. He's providing certainty, command, and comfort, three things Tozer desperately needs.

If there WAS any sexual intimacy between the two, I believe it would build off this even further - confuse Tozer about his feelings, make him feel uniquely bonded to Hickey in a way he can't easily undo. Especially as a Royal Marine, essentially a symbol of the warlike 'noble' Empire, with all the corresponding Victorian hangups and ideals, which would no doubt feel incredibly threatened by any attraction to Hickey. Hickey, who, as we know, WANTS to erase this sense of Empire as identity, not because he understands the evils of Empire but because he wants to replace it with his own where he is at the top.

Hickey both offers Tozer his identity back while at the same time trying to reshape it to fit his own empire. And for Tozer that's confusing and conflicting - but it's better than what he had before. Because Tozer, too, cannot see the world through any lens but that of Empire and hierarchy and command - that's the fatal flaw of all these men.

By the end, it seems he's starting to see what a horrible mistake he made - but by then it's far, far too late.

And a dog NEEDS a master.

Tldr; I think Tozer's bond with Hickey stems from both very human needs such as touch and closeness and certainty, but also from a very thematic need to have a place and easily understood identity within the structure of Empire. And there's almost no real way for those two different sorts of needs to coexist without disaster.

(One day I'll go into how I think Hickey gets more from this relationship than a mere henchman, but this isn't the post for it! This is about Solomon)

[rosewaterandivy]

a light on in chicago - I. winning looks like losing (and i'm winning every time)

summary: so it begins, Warped Tour ‘05 baby!

WC: 1550k

a/n: no, I did not forget about this little daydream. it’s coming on summer soon, which means nostalgia and concert going. pop-punk steve is alive and well, my friends!

masterlist || playlist

"She never meant a thing to me, 'cept putting idealists in a body bag" - "Growing Up" // Fall Out Boy

Steve has his Motorola Razr in hand before he reaches the top step of the bus, thumb pressing down on the keypad until 'ace' is selected and holds it to his ear. Tosses his snapback onto the table and sliding onto the banquet seat.

Hearing someone come up the steps behind him, he sees that Nancy has drawn the short-straw and now has to play babysitter.

Typical.

“What are you doing?” It’s not a question so much as a reprimand.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m calling her.”

“Like we haven’t tried that already, oh about a dozen times.”

Steve scoffs, kicking his feet up on the table. “Then I’ll keep calling until she answers or shows the fuck up.”

Nancy’s eyes roll to the back of her head, “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

Steve glowers at Nancy as the automated voicemail message recording fill his ears. He grumbles and hits redial just as he hears someone tramping up the stairs.

“I got her!” Eddie bellows, pausing at the top step to catch his breath, “I got her, s’fine Steve. You can calm your tits now.”

He falls onto the couch opposite of Steve and moves to light the cigarette between his lips. Nancy, quick as ever, snatches the cigarette from his mouth and snaps it in half. Eddie squawks indignantly, too caught up in Nancy’s flagrant disrespect to pay attention as a duffle bag is thrown toward him.

It lands with a pained grunt against his chest, “The fuck?” He coughs out, zippo falling between the seat cushions in the chaos.

“Shit Ed,” You huff, falling alongside him on the sofa, “Thought you were gonna catch that, my bad.”

He’s quick to accept your apology with a smile, arm thrown over your shoulders as the duffle bag falls to the ground.

“Steve,” You greet with a tilt of your head.

He snaps the phone shut and fixes you with a look.

“Ooh,” Eddie tsks. “Think mom’s mad.”

Showing up to Warped Tour after releasing a debut album that’s barley a month old in a brand new tour bus and the (mostly) full confidence of their record label has Steve stressed, for lack of a better term. Under the Gun had received generally positive reviews, despite the back and forth with the label over song titles and “overly loquacious” choruses.

While the label didn’t give you all carte blanche to do whatever you wanted on the record, there was the advantage of time this go ‘round. Honorable Mention’s first two releases, an EP and LP respectively, were recorded quickly due to lack of funds for more studio time, and after signing with Island Records, the four of you plus Nance had hauled out to California for three months to write and record.

It wasn’t easy, not by a long shot, composing as a band was rough, as was co-writing lyrics with Eddie, the both of you having vastly different styles. Add to that Steve’s penchant for vetoing things like hooks, verses, choruses, and song titles after hearing them just once while being fiercely protective over his own work— well, let’s just say everyone was happier once the album was locked and management had signed off on it.

So glad, in fact, that you’d actually booked it back to Chicago just to put some distance between you and Steve. Too much tension, all things considered, especially after the incident.

Robin pushes her obnoxious heart-shaped sunglasses into her hair and screeches upon seeing you in the tour bus.

“Babe!”

She falls onto your and Eddie’s legs while Nancy looks on with a shake of her head and a fond smile.

“Glad to see that the three musketeers are back together,” Hop greets, hand affixed to the railing by the font steps. “Er, uh, four musketeers, I guess. Sorry Steve.” He nods to Steve and Nance, kisses his teeth before saying, “You rascals ready to go?”

“Now that we have our lead singer, yeah.” Steve grouses with a cross of his arms. Nance smacks the back of his head.

“So sorry Steven,” You say, voice laden with malice. “But in the event that I hadn’t shown up, I know that you could easily carry the burden of being frontman,” Eddie elbows you warningly. “As you have told me, many, many times.”

“Whatever.”

Hopper quirks a brow at you, unaccustomed to vitriol between the pair of you. “Okaaay,” He drawls, “Ignoring whatever the fuck that was, the first stop is Columbus.”

He goes over the details of what to expect, even though he’ll be there in person for the duration of the two-month tour. Nancy nods taking notes, because of course she does. Steve continues to glower at you because he’s got a stick up his ass. Meanwhile, you initiate a slap fight with Robin and Eddie out of sheer boredom.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Hop scolds you, “Would you cut that out? I already have one teenager to deal with, and I don’t need your bullshit on top of that.”

You perk up at the mention of his daughter, “Is El here yet?”

“She’s coming up with Joyce tomorrow to help with the merch tent.”

Momentarily dejected, you sit back against the cushions, legs in serious danger of going numb from Robin’s squirming. Murray climbs onto the bus during Hop’s little speech, settling in the driver’s seat with a deep sigh.

“Murray,” You say, “I’m so pissed you won’t be with us for the Canadian legs.”

You can feel Rob’s stomach contract in barely repressed laughter.

“Damn mounties,” Murray mutters under his breath, checking the mirrors and adjusting his seat.

“Yeah,” You continue, “It’s a real shame that they banned you from the country. And over what? A simple misunderstanding of—”

“I’m not a drug mule!”

Eddie snorts.

“What an unfounded accusation,” You say with a slow shake of your head. “I mean, what right do they have to do that? So you had some prescriptions, we’ve all been there.”

“Well, it’s a shit country, anyway.”

“Tell ‘em man!”

Steve lobs a water bottle toward Eddie’s head, he moves to avoid it and artfully flips him off.

“Y’done Ace?” Hop asks with a tap of his shoe. “We gotta get this show on the road and you know riling him up only makes his driving worse.”

“Oh,” You smirk, “I’m counting on it.”

Hopper ends the team meeting and says he’ll see everyone tomorrow for sound-check. As he leaves the bus, Steve grabs his phone and hat and heads to the lounge at the back of the bus. Robin scrambles off your lap to follow after him, but not before giving you a hug and kiss.

“Missed you babe!”

“Likewise!” You call after her and grab your bag from Eddie’s feet. “Shall we?” You inquire with an arched brow, offering him your arm.

“Sure thing, sweets.”

Leaving Nance and Murray to their own devices, you follow Eddie down the cramped hallway.

“So I’m over here,” He gestures to the right. “Nance and Rob are just there,” He points to the left. “Which leaves you and—”

“Don’t finish that sentence Edward.”

He turns with an impish grin, “What? Not looking forward to bunking with Steve?”

You roll your eyes in exasperation, “Clearly not.”

He’s already claimed the top bunk and throw his crap in it, like some rabid raccoon. You reluctantly toss your bag to the bunk underneath his.

“Why can’t I just bunk with you Ed?”

“C’mon Ace,” He wraps an arm around you, “Y’know I’ve gotta have space for my Sweetheart.”

You gag, earning a swat to the arm from him.

“How was California? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

He settles back against the sofa with you in the front lounge. Murray closes the bus door and pulls out of the parking lot. Nancy has made herself scarce, probably in the back with Rob and Steve, leaving you and Eddie to your own devices.

“Yeah, you high-tailed it outta there pretty fast.” Eddie says carefully, watchful as you tense up and begin to rifle through your purse. He lets you do that for a minute or two before continuing in the same carefree tone. “Wanna tell me why I found your Calvins in Stevie boy’s room after you left?”

You head moves so fast, he’s nearly worried about whiplash. In a flash, your eyes shrink back from their wide, shocked state as you try to school your features into a semblance of calm.

“Oh, he probably just grabbed ‘em by mistake,” You shrug nonchalantly, “We both wear Calvins so.”

“Sorry, let me clarify.” Eddie says with a wicked smirk. “Your thongs, Ace. Why would Steve have those, hmm?”

You scoff. “I don’t know. Maybe he was selling them online or something perverted like that?” You grab your journal and smack it down on the table. “Why were you snooping for my unmentionables, Edward?”

“Ah, you got me.” He laughs, fascinated by how quickly you rose to defense. “Was gonna sell them online. Guess Harrington beat me to it.”

He watched as you saunter toward the back of the bus, on a mission to extricate Rob from Steve’s clutches. Wonders how long the standoff will be this time and who will break first: you or Steve.

It was only a matter of time.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

EAH was one of my very favorite cartoons as a kid, and I've been enjoying it's renaissance very much, so REDESIGNS!!! (I've done a bunch over a couple months and put them on Instagram, but I figured I'd move them here cause Instagram sucks, so if you've seen them before over there that's why)

I think the original designs are aesthetically pleasing, but they're not super practical for the characters- case in point! Gay icon Darling Charming

I'm gonna put all my design notes under the cut so if you don't care about that carry on, have a nice day

Darlings original design is fun, but it doesn't serve an obvious purpose, at least not that I can see. She clearly wears armor on the outside of her outfit, the Marie Antoinette poof is a bit strange to me, and she has very little visually tying her to Dexter and Daring. I wanted to emphasize her secrecy, but also her passion for puzzle solving, riddles, combat tactics, ect. when she's around the people she trusts (as if the queer metaphor wasn't obvious enough)

Here are some details that just make me happy

-First, the hair. I knew I wanted to give the White Knight a more unique look, and I wanted to simplify it overall. I LOVE the original armor, but it would be a huge pain to animate, and I don't have the patience for that, so I went for a masquerade-ball-three-musketeers-vibe. The braided bun is still a fancy, regal style, but it's a lot easier for her to manage in her uniform

-I tried to synthesize the color schemes of the Charming siblings. They all have a pit of yellow, a bit of pinkish red, a bit of blue. The twins lean heavy into yellow and blue, with splashes of red where thematically appropriate. Darling doesn't really communicate with Daring much, so she has the least amount of red. I think having more muted colors in comparison to her brothers also emphasizes the fact that she's hiding herself. She is very much defying her family with her ambitions, and she has to work hard to keep it under wraps. Sort of related, I gave her a tooth gap, because it's a cute design detail, but also to act as a "flaw" to contrast with Daring. Daring's primary physical trait is his ungodly perfect teeth, so I thought it'd be fun to give her an "imperfect" trait, like Dexter and his glasses. There's nothing actually wrong with them, but it's a failure to reach the insane expectations that the Charming family has cultivated over the generations. Basically the Charmings are petty and I feel bad for the youngest generation.

-Speaking of concealment! There are a couple bits that I thought would be fun to hide throughout her outfit. First, the skirt is flowy enough and the shirt is positioned just right so that you can't tell, but she has pieces of leather armor on at all times. She saves the plates for wonderland. She also wears gloves to hide the callouses on her fingers from swordfighting! She also probably keeps knives in her hair somewhere. Pulling a small switchblade out of the base of her bun just seems like something she would do

-Final thing, I gave her a scar! From what I can tell, she's always been very rough-and-tumble, so I gave her a scar over her brow. She likes to pretend it's from a Mysterious Incident to mess with her friends, but really she was wrestling Daring when they were like, 4 and 6, and she bonked her face into a table. She got over it real fast, but Daring got a long lecture about it, and that's when he started getting over-protective about her

[sweettjrose]

Man i wish we had a mickey centric movie

Ik we have the christmas specials and the three musketers but man What I woudn't give for a full movie with him as...you know him! Not really playing a role just him

My friends have been all making up ideas about what his movie could be about and MAN everytime I Wake up and realize it was just us #=@÷ around on discord and its not real I just go 😟 no detective mickey movie yet

YOU *points through screen* WHAT ARE YOUR IDEAS FOR MICHAEL OF MICE OF MICE OF MICHAEL MOVIE WERE COLLECTING IDEAS LIKE POKEMON CARDS 🫵🫵🫵

Oh trust me, I 100% agree.

Despite being the mascot of Disney, Mickey feels really underutilized at times it would be cool for him to get a whole movie dedicated to him that really focuses on him as a character. Like an official Disney Animated Studios one.

As for movie ideas, I mean if it isn't obvious enough by looking at my account (and it seems like you're on the same page), I would love some sort of mystery movie with Mickey playing as some kind of detective who is trying to prove himself.

I think the best way to go with a Mickey Mouse movie would be to play into his strengths and his character works best (imo) in adventure/mystery stories and as an underdog. The detective role is perfect for Mickey as it utilizes all of his strengths and weaknesses in such a economic and meaningful way.

There's a reason why the comics have pivoted to mostly him being an investigator. It brings to light his personality the best as he gets to show off his sense of justice and dedication to make things right as well as his empathy for others and ability to connect with people. There's even a chance to dig into his flaws like his stubbornness, out of control curiosity, and seemingly limitless faith in his own capabilities.

Also I have an ulterior motive. This would be the perfect way to really bring the Phantom Blot back into public consciousness as the main villain of the movie. And not just that but make him considered an official Disney movie villain where he can sit at the cool kids table with Ursula, Maleficent, and the like. A big movie would also be fitting for the first animated appearance of his unmasked face since he has had animated masked appearances before, but not unmasked. Also you could still easily fit Pete in a villain role as some kind of "partner" underling as they've worked together in the comics quite a bit.

As for the plot, I am open to anything. They could do a reimagining of Mickey Mouse Outwits the Phantom Blot (Censored version obviously) since that was pretty popular. Or something new. Maybe it would be cool if it could also have some kind of meta story to it where it is a reflection and commentary on Mickey Mouse as a character and how he's changed over the years and in different media. Maybe even a criticism on how he's been mostly a mascot and not really a character lately.

But those are my thoughts. Thanks for asking.

[chloessleepystories]

Chocolate Fog

Mind control, Drugged, Male/Female, Male Dominant

This was sparked by a patron's three-word prompt: Airplane. Eyes. Chocolate.

***

The setting sun was glaring through the little airplane window, so Amber, squinting, lowered the shade halfway. She was a pretty white girl in her early 20s, blonde, with a thin sweater stretched over generous breasts. Her seatmate had noticed them – noticed her beauty – but hadn't been creepy about it, and she appreciated that. They were only an hour into their 4-hour flight, and she didn't want to feel creeped out the whole time.

He seemed like a gentleman. Older man, with dusky skin and a trim white beard. Dr Suresh or something like that, he'd said, with just a hint of an accent, as he'd smiled and exchanged pleasantries before takeoff. She got a warm feeling from him – partly from his nice smile, partly from his rich, deep, soothing voice, but mostly from his eyes – they sparkled with warmth and mischief, and there seemed to be golden flecks in those kindly, chocolate-brown eyes.

The snacks and drinks trolley was coming down the aisle. She found she was really looking forward to that little packet of peanuts. She pulled down the little tray, moving her paperback to the empty seat beside her. How fun air travel was! And how cool that the flight wasn't fully booked, so she had room to spread out. Dr Suresh had spread out too – he'd laid a small case on the seat between them when he first sat down. So that was nice – a shared space, but also a buffer.

She ordered her peanuts and a Diet Coke from the nice stewardess.

"There you go. And for you, sir?"

"A scotch and soda, please. Neat."

"That's all?"

"That is all. Thank you. Oh – a blanket, perhaps, when you have the chance."

Amber leaned over, once the stewardess had moved on. "No peanuts? I think the peanuts are my favorite part. For some reason, peanuts on a plane just taste better than peanuts anywhere else!"

He chuckled in his throat, as she giggled. "This is true. Perhaps someone should do a study as to why. Me, I do not need them, for I bring my own snacks." He patted the small sample case between them. "The finest chocolate bars no one has heard of – yet. New, from my company."

"Wait – you make chocolate?? That's awesome! What are you, Willy Wonka?" He laughed again at her little joke. She liked his laugh. "Wait a second, I thought you said earlier you were a scientist?"

"This is indeed true. I am a scientist," he said, and his eyes twinkled. "There is a lot of science that goes into making good candy. Did you know this?"

He was already opening the case, so she decided he didn't mind talking about it. "So what's special about it?"

The bars were packaged more like an extra thick Hershey bar than a Snickers or 3 Musketeers – a dark-brown sleeve around a foil wrapper. The sleeve said "Chocolate Fog."

"Our chocolate is made from a very special bean just recently discovered deep in the Amazon rainforest," he said in his rich, melodic voice. "Its flavor is unlike any other kind of chocolate previously tasted outside of Peru. In our labs, it goes through a special process designed to enhance its unique properties, until we arrive at what I believe is the best chocolate bar ever created."

He peeled open one end of one bar to show it was segmented. He broke off a chunk and held it out. "You will have a taste, and you will agree, yes?"

Well, how could she refuse free chocolate? She popped the thick square in her mouth, and her eyes lit up at the explosion of taste on her tongue. "Mmmm! It's so rich, and ... nutty? But also there's a softness, like ... almost a little nougat in there?"

"That is what gives it its ‘fog,' I believe," he murmured. "That airy quality."

"It's amazing!" she said, and drooled a little speaking around a mouthful of chocolate. "Could I ... Could I have a little more?"

"You may have the whole bar, dear lady," he said, and the golden flecks in his eyes sparkled as he smiled. "I have plenty more ..."

Half an hour later, the plane interior was much darker. The sun had finished setting, and people were dozing, or watching movies with their headphones. Only a few overhead pinpoint lights lit up the interior gloom.

Amber had a tummy full of chocolate. She'd finished the bar in a surprisingly short time, and had been allowed to devour a second too. Now, she leaned back in her seat, feeling the gentle rocking of the plane and hearing its dull roar, and feeling ... lulled. Lulled into a repose.

Lull, lull, lull. What a funny word, she thought. Lol. Lull. Lulllllled ...

She looked over at Dr Suresh, with a dopey smile and lidded, glazed eyes. "Thasss so good ..." she whispered. "Bess chocklit ever ... It makes me, like, happy ..."

The chocolate taste coated the inside of her mouth. It felt like was coating her brain, too, which was sluggish. Thoughts were moving slowly through the rich, chocolatey fog in her head.

"I am very glad to hear that," said her seatmate. "You look like you are enjoying it thoroughly."

He raised his armrest and, moving his sample case and the blanket he'd gotten from the stewardess, slid into the seat beside her.

"I am always interested in learning more about the special properties of these special beans. So I do enjoy finding more test subjects. Tell me – and please be honest, this is for posterity – how do you feel?"

She giggled, quietly. "I feel ssoooo goooood ..." she whispered. "Like, rosy! Like no worries, no stress, all the tension I was feeling in my body that I didn't even know I was carrying, has melted away! Like every cell in my body has gone on a happy lil vacation!!!"

"Well, that does sound delightful," he said, making a few notes on a small pad.

"Whadid you ssay was in there?"

"A mild sedative to slow the limbs, dopamines and opioids that produce a gentle euphoria, similar to being pleasantly intoxicated. Some components of the bean that inhibit activity in the prefrontal cortex and make you highly suggestible, that we have ... enhanced. And of course some pretty damn good chocolate."

He smiled, and his teeth seemed to shine in the dim light of the plane interior. She could see his eyes glittering, almost like a cat's.

"... Huhh?" she slurred. There was a bit of chocolate-brown drool at one corner of her mouth. She seemed to be having trouble focusing on him.

"Now," he went on. "Here's my question. I know the chocolate makes you happy. Makes you dopey. And it sometimes can be addictive. What I don't know is ..." And he leaned closer. "Does the chocolate make you horny?"

She blinked, and focused a little bit, looking deeply into his eyes. "H-horny?"

"Yes. You can feel it now, can't you? You can feel the rich, melting pleasure coursing through you, from your tongue up to your brain, and down through your whole body ... Melting away your inhibitions, covering your objections with flavor and pleasure." She was captivated by his eyes, dancing and sparkling. She hardly had to listen to his words. "The chocolate fog fills your whole body, making your nipples erect, yes? Your tummy tingle. Your arms and legs are like lead, heavy with the weight of their happiness, and your pussy ... oh, your pussy is singing, and buzzing, drinking in the rich, chocolatey heat. It's getting so aroused, so needy. Why, if you think about it – and it is hard to think, isn't it? – but if you think about it, you can feel your whole body, and all your mind, melting into your needy, foggy pussy. If only you could lift your arms, you would be desperate to pinch your nipples. Desperate to rub your clit. As it is, you can't help but squeeze your thighs together, around that heat, that aching need ... Isn't that right? You're squeezing right now, aren't you?"

She couldn't look away from his eyes. She could barely blink. Her eyes were watering. She nodded. Her whole body was consumed with hunger – no longer for chocolate, but for sex. For carnal pleasure. For cock. Yes! She needed to be filled with cock! That's what she craved now!!

She whimpered, quietly, in that dozing, dark plane filled with unknowing passengers, staring into the eyes of her kindly seatmate.

He moved the blanket over her lap without breaking eye contact, and pressed his hand into her crotch under its cover. He raised her skirt and stroked a finger along the moist heat of her panties-covered mound. She moaned and twitched, her mouth falling open, staring into his eyes.

"Please ..." she whispered. "Please, I'm so horny ..."

"My only question," he said, smiling directly into her eyes, "is whether you would have gotten so horny if I hadn't suggested it. Did I implant that thought into your suggestible brain? Or does the chocolate actually make you horny by itself?"

He moved her panties aside, and stuck a finger deep into her wetness. Her eyes filled silently with gratitude, already dreaming how she wanted to spend the whole weekend with him, letting his fingers and his cock and his chocolate do everything he wanted to with her.

"Every time, I tell myself I'm going to just wait and see," he went on, stroking her sex, already bringing her close to her first mind-breaking orgasm. "I won't say a word, just observe. But every time ... well ... I can't help it. I tell you how good your body feels. And it does."

She grasped his strong arm in both her little hands, and gasped in ecstasy, trying to be as quiet as possible and mostly succeeding.

"Six times now, and every time, I ruin the experiment. I just can't stop talking! It is a failing. I am a bad scientist."

He grinned.

"But you forgive me ... Don't you?"

And his eyes sparkled.

[billthedrake]

PRE-FROSH (CHAPTER ONE)

This story is a sequel to "Dad's New Life."

I was prepared to take a good amount of teasing, and maybe more, this weekend. But the guys in the Sig Ep house were cool, I had to admit.

I didn't think I was going to be able to visit. But my older brother Connor swore to my parents he'd keep a hawk's eye on me and keep me from drinking or doing anything I shouldn't. I got along OK with my brother, but growing up he was always kind of bossy, taking advantage of being three years older than me and more of the popular kid in school.

He was still that guy, only now I'd grown up, taller than Connor now, and had really bulked up. I'd say it was basketball and lacrosse, but a lot of it was just obsessively working out and keeping my growing teen body fed with enough protein to put on muscle. I still had a young face - and I had a good idea it would be a while before I could pull off a fake ID - but I was starting to get a strong build for my 6'3" frame.

I now sat in a big sofa in the rec room of the fraternity house, watching some dumb TV. Connor plopped himself next to me with a knowing grin. He had two beer cans in his hand and offered me one. "Not a word to Mom and Dad, Squirt," he admonished.

"Course not," I said, gratefully taking the beer. I took a few sips. It was cheap beer but I didn't care, I loved it.

"Hey O'Brien," one of the brothers said. Alan I think his name was. A senior and a stocky, goofy dude who I discovered was one of Connor's close buddies in the house. The Four Musketeers they called themselves, and Alan was the crudest of the bunch. "Is the pre-frosh gonna partake of Mike's services?"

I wondered if Mike was a drug dealer or something. I figured my older brother wouldn't be into anything too wild. He was the studious one in the family.

Connor got an uncharacteristically shy look. "Dude, it's my baby brother we're talking about."

"I'm not a baby," I objected. I'd turned 18 a couple weeks earlier.

This fraternity brother just gave me a sly wink before turning to my brother. "Like your brother doesn't get his dick wet. The young dude's a fucking lacrosse player fer Christsake."

Fuck, they were talking about sex. With a dude. I smirked, and Connor laughed when he turned to see my expression. "You don't even know what you're grinning about, Jase," he teased.

I shrugged, showing off as much teen bravado as I could. "I figured if it wasn't fun, you wouldn't be acting like I wasn't ready for it."

I could sense my brother was frustrated, cause he didn't object or act bossy, he just gave me a pale grin. "All right. Just remember. No talking about what happens this weekend. Promise?"

"Yeah, dude," I said, annoyed. "I fucking promise."

It was a half hour before Mike showed up. I heart his booming baritone voice coming down the SigEp house steps to the basement before I saw him. I don't know what I expected, but the guy was older, a lot older. Like, dad's age. And buff as hell. He didn't quite look like an ex-athlete, not like Coach Carson, but he was big and beefy and muscular, more of a gym-pumped build, but he clearly took real good care of himself. He wore a snug polo shirt and faded jeans and had a Chicago Bears ball cap on. His shirt was all filled out with huge pecs and big guns. I had jerked off to some bi and gay porn, maybe more than I'd like to admit. I never thought of myself as into older dudes, but something about this guy got me going.

Particularly since I was putting two and two together and realizing this buff older man really was somehow providing some kind of services to the fraternity brothers. Maybe just a handjob or something, and I wondered if he was actually a fucking hooker the way the guys acted so nonchalant.

"Hiya, fellas, how's it hanging?" he asked, giving Dale a fist bump. Dale was another one of the Four Musketeers.

"About six inches soft," Dale wisecracked.

It may have just been banter, but this was not what I was expecting for my pre-frosh weekend on campus.

Mike gave a soft chuckle and looked around. "Same room?" he asked.

"Yeah," Alan replied. "We set it up to make it extra comfy for ya."

Mike smirked but didn't take the bait of the taunt. He just asked. "Who's first?"

"Let the prefrosh have first dibs," said Kyle, a sophomore soccer player who had a whole stoner vibe about him.

I looked over at my big brother Connor, like he was going to object. He just shrugged in a "you wanted it," kind of way.

So I acted like I wasn't some dumb young high schooler and stood up. I felt the guys' eyes on me, almost giggling.

I followed the big guy up the stairs and down the hall. I don't know whose room we were using... one of the brothers', but Mike seemed at home, like he came here regularly. As we stepped in, I started to get nervous, my bravado going right out the window. The man caught on.

"I've not seen you around the house before," he said.

I stood awkwardly in front of him, shifting on my feet some. "I'm just visiting," I explained. "I'm still in high school actually," I added, then immediately regretted it. I was probably blowing my chance for a handjob right then.

But the man didn't seem fazed. His blue eyes twinkled beneath the brim of his ball cap and a smile formed on his handsome face. Up close I could now see the silver flecks in his stubble and for some reason I found that really hot. "Is that right, buddy?" he asked. "Not too young for me are ya?" he asked. Kind of flirty in his question.

"No sir," I replied. Feeling dumb for calling him that. "I'm a senior... just turned 18 a couple weeks ago."

He nodded with that sexy smile of his and now openly looked me up and down. "You're big for 18... you lift regularly I bet."

"Yessir," I said. I wished to hell my parents hadn't instilled that deference to elders thing in me so hard. I probably seemed like an idiot to this guy. "I'm a typical jock, I guess. Hoping to get a lacrosse scholarship somewhere." God, I was blabbing now.

"Nice," was all the guy said and like that he was crouching down in front of me. I'd lost any chub I had with the nervousness and the small talk, but now I knew instantly I wasn't gonna have a problem getting hard. I felt that horny tightness in my chest and throat as I watched this hunky guy get in position and run his hands along my legs.

Mike looked up at me. I tried to gauge his age. Late 40s to mid 50s. He was well preserved for sure, but also had a tan that made his face look more ruggedly handsome. "I bet you get a lot of attention from men."

I shook my head. "I wish," I replied. It was refreshing to be honest, even if I didn't even know this guy.

Mike's paw now massaged the growing boner in my shorts. "Just send out the signals, stud, and I can guarantee you'll get as much attention as you want." It was wild to hear his words in such a deep baritone of a voice, the Chicago accent thick as hell.

"Signals?" I asked. In addition to a handjob, maybe I could get some advice for hooking up. If I had the guts to back in my small hometown.

"Yah," he explained. "Eye contact, body language. Letting a guy know you're open to his advances." His fingers were now undoing my shorts. "I wasn't sure about you, actually. You seem the shy type."

"I've never done anything like this," I admitted.

"Na? Ever have your cock sucked, buddy?" he practically growled.

I shook my head. My heart pounded more. Maybe this was gonna be more than a handjob.

I watched as he pulled my shorts and underwear down. My cock flopped out, hanging in midair for a second before it bounded up into a hard upright position. I was hornier than I realized.

"Hot damn!" Mike gasped. "Cherry and hung as fuck." His hand wrapped around my meat, sending shock jolts of pleasure to my balls. The man's eyes seemed fixed on my dick. "Hell of a cock you got, buddy," he said. Then looking up, he asked, "You Connor's brother?"

"Yeah," I replied. Blushing some. I guess I figured Connor partook of Mike's services, but this was crazy to think about. My dick enjoyed the idea of my big brother getting sucked, though. It jerked in Mike's mitt.

He returned his attention to my crotch. "I could tell. Though you're even bigger than him.... fuck!" He paused and licked his lips. "God, I love virgins."

And like that I watched, almost as if in slow motion, as this middle-aged hunk leaned in and started taking me into his mouth. He used his mouth to wet me down at first, just an inch or two, but it felt incredible. Pleasure but also the novelty of sensation. I'd not been entirely truthful. I'd fucked a couple of chicks, that drunk fumbling at parties kind of fucks, and I'd dated one girl who let me feel her up and she'd give me a handjob. THIS, though, was another world. Mike knew what the fuck he was doing.

The kicker was when he pulled back a second and took in a breath then swallowed me all in one go. His throat felt snug and tight but it was the nastiness of the action which caught me off guard.

Not as much of a shock thought as a voice in the room.

"How is he, Pre-Frosh?" It was Craig, a fit, muscular junior, a kind of typical popular frat dude. The fourth guy in the Four Musketeers group my brother hung out with. I'm guessing he was sent in to keep an eye on things and make sure I was OK.

"Fuck," I gasped. Switching personalities now that I was trying to impress one of Connor's brothers. "Dude knows how work a cock."

Indeed, as I spoke Mike was bobbing up and down on me with slick sounding mouth strokes, his spit running down my balls.

I got a better view of Craig as he stepped up. He always wore his longish dirty blond hair under his ball cap and I saw his cute-handsome face examine my own. "You gonna nut soon, bro?"

I shook my head. "I could. But I want this to last." It was my first time out, and once I got over the fear of a quick trigger I'd settled into enjoying the rising and cresting pleasure without quite orgasming. Though I felt it could come any second now.

"You up for sharing?" he asked. Cautious. I had a sense if it was any other brother, he would have butted right in. But I was Connor's kid brother.

I pulled back and we both laughed as Mike tried to follow me, latching his lips on my meat before I finally broke free.

Craig was already pulling down his sweatpants to reveal his hard dick. He was regular sized, with a good looking cut cock. I enjoyed seeing it but also was proud I outmeasured this college bro.

"Hot," Mike gasped as he moved from his crouch to a kneeling position. Craig played host by offering a folded towel for his knees. The man pulled off his ball cap and tossed it aside. His hair was short and showed a good bit of gray on the temples, but he had enough length on top to give that matted-tousled look from his cap. Mike was still in his polo and jeans and his muscle looked pretty amazing as he scooted toward Craig.

"Fuck yeah," the fraternity brother grunted. "Suck my fucking cock dude."

Craig's eyes were down on Mike, eagerly watching the big guy do his work. Craig's smaller size meant Mike could go wild, battering his own throat with hard and fast movements of his skull.

I didn't know where to keep my eyes. On Mike and his slutty thrill in sucking cock. Or on Craig, who was clearly responding to the sexual stimulation in his face and whole body.

Craig finally reached down and held Mike's head, steadying it and slowly pushing him off.

"It's O'Brien's turn," he said with a chuckle. "I know you like the big ones, Mike," he added.

"I do," the man admitted without shame. He gave Craig's tool one more lick then watched as I stepped up to where Craig had been.

Somehow his BJ now had warmed him up for me. It wasn't just the deep throat that got me off. It was the swiveling motion of his head and the milking suction. Involuntarily I gripped the sides of his head to brace my body.

"Oh SHIT!" I cried. I was entering orgasm now, one that put my previous ones to shame. I saw white for a second and felt light headed. Like Mike was sucking out my consciousness along with my cum.

I heard Craig laughing. "Go for it, bro!" Then. "Niiiccce."

Mike finally spat out my prick. "If you want seconds, stud, you know where to find me," he winked.

Craig meanwhile was practically pushing me out of the way, eager for his turn, his dick reddened and leaking in excitement. "Tell the next guy he's up," he said as he thrust back in between Mike's wet lips. "It won't take me long."

I found my shorts and underwear and put them back on, taking one more view of Craig, who was actively fucking the big burly dude's face.

Everything about this was so crazy and so exciting. A couple of the guys on the team had bragged about gangbanging Kelsey Myers, but I think they were bullshitting. And here was an out-there gangbang happening in my brother's fraternity house.

I was still flush and breathing heavy when I returned to the den. "Who's next?" I said, as I plopped next to my brother on the couch and picked up the beer can, which hadn't warmed up too much. I took a sip of the cheap watery stuff, which for whatever reason tasted like the best goddamn beer I'd tasted.

I could tell Connor was watching me, trying to read me. I turned to him. "What, bro?" I asked, maybe acting more annoyed than I was.

"You OK, Jase?" he asked in a low voice.

I nodded. "Why wouldn't I be?" I said, trying to play it cool. "That was awesome."

He paused and took a sip of his own beer. "You won't mind if I go in there soon?"

"Fuck no," I said, getting the courage to make eye contact with my brother. We were two O'Brien men experiencing the same cocksucker. It was a strange bonding experience for sure. "I'd feel bad if you didn't on my account."

Indeed Connor's turn was next and he got up off the couch, a boner already forming in his sweats. I had never thought of my big bro like this, but indeed he had a pretty big tool.

He was gone about ten minutes. Good for him. When he came back he was flush like I was, the Irish genes making his cheeks rosy pink after sex. I could tell he was embarrassed to have done that with me there, and I enjoyed being the laidback one for a change.

"Seriously, bro," I whispered. "Thanks for letting me do that. You know, for not getting all protective and shit."

He shrugged. "Just don't tell Mom and Dad," he warned.

"What the fuck would I tell them?" I said with a chuckle.

Connor laughed. "You got a point there."

We were watching some dumb MTV reality show, but mostly my attention was on the brothers as one by one they got up to go partake of Mike's services. Alan might have been the last to do so, and when he came back he asked, "Anyone up for seconds?"

I heard the guys laugh as I stood up.

"Pre Frosh is going back!" cried one of the guys. I hoped I wasn't embarrassing Connor or anything, but I had tasted the forbidden fruit and wanted another bite while I still had the chance. I ignored the taunts and made a beeline back to that room.

The door was ajar and I pushed my way in. I saw Mike's polo shirt before anything else. It was on the floor, a few feet away from where that folded towel was, and his discarded jeans.

The man was lying on the bed, face down and ass up in a dreamy quiet repose. I underestimated how muscular he was. That ass alone jutted up in two round hard globes and his back dipped down then swelled up in an amazing mass of lats and rear delts. The back was tanned and totally smooth, a contrast to his pale but furry buns.

I was taking off my shorts and underwear when Mike turned and looked over at me. "I was hoping you'd come back, buddy," he said in his deep soft voice. "You eager for the full ride?"

I wasn't the brightest guy I suppose but it was dawning on me what he meant. At least one of the brothers had fucked him and Mike was now asking me if I wanted to fuck him too.

"Yeah," I said. Like it was a normal occurrence for me. My dick was rock hard again and I fisted it a little.

Mike gave a smile as he watched me get closer to the bed. "Damn, I'm gonna feel that in me good, aren't I?"

Somehow he knew how to be flirty as hell in a masculine way that got me rock hard. Before this weekend I would have imagined I'd enjoy having sex with one of Connor's fraternity brothers instead. Living out some SeanCody or CorbinFisher fantasy. But this older guy was pushing my buttons big time.

"Yep," I said, trying to act cocky like Craig or the other guys had. Only I didn't know where to start when it came to fucking. Surely it wasn't as easy as in the porn videos.

Thankfully Mike seemed to read my hesitation. "Just climb on buddy. Daddy's all lubed up for that big monster."

I wasn't sure what I thought of the daddy thing. But this man was so hot and so clearly in heat, humping the bed some and hiking his meaty ass up for me as I got onto the mattress.

His muscle felt warm beneath me as I stretched my body on top of his, trying not to put all my weight down on him, but just enjoying this. It was so different than fucking a chick, the complete lack of hesitation as Mike reached back and gripped my tool long enough to guide me in place.

"You have an amazing body, stud," he hissed. "Hot fucking high school senior."

My prick felt the wetness of the lube. Then as I pressed in past his recently fucked folds, I knew it wasn't just lube. I'd heard the phrase sloppy seconds of course but it was insane how sloppy Mike's ass felt. Tons of fraternity cum awaited my dick as I bored inside him. I knew not to just ram it in him, and in a way I savored the slow inching in and the way the man's cuts clung to me.

"You have a great body, too, Mike," I said, now letting my chest press more against his back muscle. A thought occurred to me. "You let guys do this a lot?" I asked.

He leaned his head back up against my neck. It took me a second to realize he was moving his ass back against my hips too, doing some of the work to penetrate his ass with my long cock. "Yeah, I do," he replied, matter of fact. "That bother you, buddy?"

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "I guess it's kind of hot.... thanks for letting me do it."

Mike let out a deep growl. "Anytime buddy... that dick of yours feels AMAZING."

I sawed some inches in and out then decided to go for it. Sending my hips forward I pressed all the way inside him. I'm thick and long and I know Mike really felt that.

"Oh FUCK YEAH, buddy!" he grunted, pushing his chest up a little as if to challenging me to press him back down to the bed. I did, accentuating my movement with another thrust into him. "Love that horse meat ya got."

I would have loved this anyway. Losing my virginity with a man. Having my first ass fuck. But Mike was gonna spoil me, I knew. The man just loved sex and his love was infectious. I held on to his shoulders and started fucking. Not hard but with a steady deep pump. Maximizing the pleasure on my cock but also aiming for that vocal response from him.

"Take that dick, man," I growled in his ear as my hips now worked faster. Mike was bigger and more muscular than me but I had the leverage position to hold him steady while I nailed him, as well as the sex adrenaline pumping in my veins.

I worried I was going too hard, but the harder I nailed him the more he seemed to get into it.

"GODDAMN! High schooler fucks like a porn star," he growled.

I worried the brothers could hear us mate. Then I hoped they could hear everything. I was riding that excitement of my first piece of ass, and I was rising to the occasion. I now knew why my lacrosse buddies were so excited by pussy, but this was even better.

His ass was slick and I could feel the wetness along my cock and balls and had a good idea all that cum was frothing up his furry crack. A few of the fraternity brothers had fucked and bred Mike's hole. Connor was probably one of them, I thought.

That idea I was fucking on my brother’s load made my balls tighten immediately. "Holy fuck," I gasped, my cum working up real quick. A part of me wanted to slow down and enjoy this more. That part of me lost out, though. I held on tighter to Mike's beef and just went to town, cumming deep inside the man's guts.

"Get it, buddy!" Mike cried, eager for my seed. I had no idea if he was going to get off. Maybe he did earlier. Right now it was just about my spurting prick and my pure need.

I rode out the cum and finally slowed my roll, now kissing along the man's neck and feeling up his body.

"Hmmm," the man muttered. "You sure that was your first, Stud? You fuck like a champ."

"Yeah," I chuckled. "Hell of a first time, too," I said. "I'm gonna remember this one for a long time."

"I'm glad, bud," he said. "Damn... it feels like I got a baseball bat wedged up inside me."

"Sorry... I can pull out," I said.

"Don't on my account," Mike said, softly, almost shyly. "I mean, I figure an 18 year old jock has another in the tanks, right?"

My dick wasn't going soft and while I wasn't 100 percent sure I could come again soon, I knew I wanted to get as much Mike time as I could. It might be a long time before I had a chance to fuck a man again. "Yeah," I replied.

I humped him some more, before Mike asked if I wanted to try some other positions. We didn't do them all, maybe, but I had a good number of firsts that afternoon. Missionary, cowboy, reverse cowboy, standing. But we finished in doggy, which might have been my favorite.

I felt like a total stud when I finally dismounted and saw how much cum I'd added to Mike's hole. I gave his rump a gentle pat which made the man laugh.

He watched as I got dressed again. "You around town for long?" he asked.

"Just the weekend," I said.

He grinned and looked me up and down. "If I give you my number, will you hit me before you go?"

This is not how I expected my college visit to go. "Hell yeah," I said.

Mike slid out of bed, his beefy body looking amazing all naked and some wiry silvery hair in his chest fur. His dick was pretty soft but I could see the trickles of fresh cum dripping down the insides of his hairy thighs. He found his wallet and fished out a card to hand me.

It read “Daddy Mike” with a phone number, Insta and Twitter handle and OnlyFans URL.

"Are you a porn star?" I asked in surprise. I now felt like a small-town hick for sure.

"Just like to have a little fun," he said. "If you're the jealous type don't look me up online," he said. "A couple of dudes learned that the hard way." He seemed weirdly apologetic to be warning me.

"If what we did just now was a 'little fun' I'd hate to see a lot of fun," I joked.

"The weekend is still young, Pre Frosh," he winked.

I was a little lightheaded and thirsty when I got back to the den. A couple of the guys razzed me for taking so long and I notice Kyle and some other dude get up to go into together.

Connor seemed quiet, not pissed off but in a strange mood. Later, after dinner, we found ourselves sitting alone. My big bro decided to check in with me.

"I guess I shouldn't have been so worried about you with Mike," he said. An edge to his tone, like maybe he didn't approve. I don't know.

I sighed. "I'm gonna call him up tomorrow, you know, go hang out with him." It was a weirdly euphemistic way to say I was gonna fuck Daddy Mike again.

That hit my brother the wrong way. "Come on, Jason. I'm supposed to be watching out for you."

"Dude, it's gonna be fine," I countered. I didn't know if I could convince him of that, or if he needed convincing. Maybe he just felt guilty things had gotten out of hand.

"You know," I added. "I'm into dudes, Connor."

"Clearly," my brother laughed. OK, he wasn't THAT pissed off at me if he was joking around.

That made me laugh, too. "I mean, like, I know that's what I want. I'm gay."

"Oh," he said. "That's cool." Then, "you know I still worry about you, Jase. It's what brothers do."

"Yeah," I conceded. I shot him a wry grin. "And thanks, bro. I wouldn't have it any other way."

[musketeers-brothersinarms]

Chapter Three: Window Washing and Wishing

Julius had always been deathly afraid of heights. When he was little, he never joined his brothers in climbing trees or leaning over bridges to watch the Seine slip by below. Even glancing up at the towering spires of the cathedrals they walked past was enough to turn his stomach.

So it was with horror that day that he read the first entry on the daily list of janitorial tasks Pete had tacked to the door of their quarters: Clean Hall windows inside and out.

No, please, no, he thought helplessly, sitting down heavily on the bed and putting his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong, Jules?” Oswald asked from the table in the corner. He and Mickey sat with two cups of coffee and a stack of crepes that they were busy tucking away. “Did Pete give us stable cleaning again?”

“Worse,” Julius groaned, the list crumpled up in his fist. “We have to clean the windows today. Inside and out.”

“Ah,” Oswald said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“He KNOWS I hate heights!” Julius cried in despair. “He’s doing this on purpose!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Mickey said thoughtfully, cupping his coffee mug in two hands.

Julius felt dread pulsing in his stomach, threatening to upend the crepes he had eaten. Meanwhile Oswald tapped the side of his mug, thinking. “Maybe you can work on the ground windows by yourself?” he offered. “Then me and Mickey can do the higher floors.”

“He’d think I was trying to slack off,” Julius muttered, then clutched his upset stomach. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Oh!” Mickey said brightly. “If you do get sick, hen he’ll think you're ill and you can lie in bed while we clean.”

“That’s a non-factor in Pete’s mind,” Oswald countered. “Remember last winter when we all had the flu? We still had to scrub floors for three hours.”

“Oh yeah…” Mickey paused. “Shoot. Well, maybe we can blindfold Julius, so he doesn’t see the ground from up high?”

“Then he can’t see what he’s cleaning, doofus. Maybe we could get a dummy of Julius and make Pete think he’s cleaning with us, and he can sneak off and work on something else.”

As they started shooting more hare-brained ideas back and forth, Julius smiled slightly in spite of himself and set the list down on his bed. “No, I can do this, guys. I’ll be fine. We’ll need all three of us to get everything done on time, anyways. If Pete wants to give me chores I hate, fine. I’ll just… stomach my way through it.”

He stood up, handed them the list, and started gathering tools from the corner cupboard to keep his hands busy. Mickey stuffed another crepe in his mouth while he read it through. His ears drooped at the massive list:

-polish furniture in the ballroom

-clean and polish the floors of the throne room

-shovel gravel on the garden paths

-set up rat traps in the cellars

-scrub ballroom stairs

-clean all the fireplace grates and chimney

-replace leaking water pipes in the basement

And that was just the first side of the paper, he realized, flipping it around and seeing another long list on the back.

“Does he think we can freeze time?” Oswald exclaimed in shock, reading the list over Mickey’s shoulder. “We can’t do all this in a day! And some of these aren’t even our duty,” he noticed indignantly, pointing to a task that read -clean musketeer capes in storage. “We’re not maids!”

“I suppose all the maids and court servants must be busy with the coronation preparations,” Mickey reasoned, although he too was frowning at the list. “We’re going to have to skip dinner and maybe supper to get this done… We should probably grab some food to bring with us.” He stood and stretched, then grabbed his musketeer hat and put it on.

Julius held out a bucket and rag to each of them. “Guess we’d better get started, then? If we hurry, we can fix those pipes before we start on the windows.” He was mostly successful at keeping the shakiness out of his legs. Mickey nodded in agreement.

Oswald sighed and gulped down the last of his coffee, then picked up his bucket and rag and followed his brothers out the door. It’s going to be a long one, he thought.

~~~~~~

The morning went by much too quickly for Julius’s liking, and as much as he tried to cherish the moments spent soaking wet and wrestling with pipes in the basement, before he knew it they were headed outside to begin the window cleaning. Mickey and Oswald chatted aimlessly as they walked ahead, letting Julius lag behind them. 

It frustrated the cat how easily heights filled him with terror. He wasn’t entirely sure what had borne the fear inside him- It was just the thought of being so high up in the air with nothing underneath him, falling and plummeting forever, dropping like a rock through the sky to the ground with the wind rushing by and everything so far below and nothing to catch him or save him— He shook his head furiously, heart thumping wildly in his throat. Thinking like that isn’t going to help you, Julius! Just bite the bullet and get through it. You’re just going to wash some windows 50 feet in the air. It’s not that bad. Steeling his nerves, he jogged ahead to catch up with Mickey and Oswald as they reached the shed.

The suspended scaffolding system used to maintain the higher floors of the palace was nothing more than a few rickety wooden boards lashed together with twine, two pulleys strung with frayed rope on either side, and a couple of loosely nailed-in iron railings, all of which lay cobbled together and largely unused in a shed outside the Great Hall. It was, in Oswald’s humble opinion, the worst feat of engineering in the entire world. I wonder what it would take to convince Pete to let me fix it, he thought offhandedly as they carried it around to the front and began attaching the ropes to the pulleys. 

Julius took a minute to pull himself together as he gathered the supplies and lifted them onto the platform next to a couple of dusty empty crates. You’ll be fine, it’s going to be fine, he chanted desperately in his head as Mickey and Oswald started tugging at the ropes to lift the scaffolding into the air. The courtyard fell slowly but surely away from under him, and he felt his insides once again lurching as if trying to escape his abdomen. He clutched the bag of food they had brought along with trembling hands.

“Alright, first window,” Oswald announced as he and Mickey stopped tugging and tied the ropes into place. Julius swallowed hard and tore his gaze away from the ground twenty feet below to start work on scrubbing the windows. It was slow work, but gradually the grime and muck disappeared under the determined scrubbing of the three brothers. For a while they worked in silence, save for the squeak of wet cloth on glass and the occasional splash from the water bucket; after a while, Mickey broke stillness with a small sigh. 

“This is going to take all day,” he said despairingly. 

Oswald rubbed at a spot on the window and shrugged. “Maybe, but all we can do is just keep working at it. We’re almost done with this floor, at least.”

“But we have the whole rest of the list to finish on top of this,” Mickey replied, wringing out his rag anxiously. “And Captain Pete wanted all of it finished today!”

“Honestly, Mick, Pete has to know we can’t do all that in one day. If we have to push some of those tasks into tomorrow, then we’ll do that,” said Julius resignedly. “And he’ll just have to deal with it.”

“But he’d think we weren’t trying hard enough. He’d think we’re incompetent, or… or lazy.” The small mouse dipped his rag back in the bucket with a quiet sploosh. “It’s just… I guess I want Cap’n Pete to see me as a hard worker. I want him to think I’m trying my best.”

Julius frowned. “You are a hard worker, Mick. I’ve told you that.”

“But… he doesn’t think I am,” Mickey sighed. “We try so hard every day and he still doesn’t take us seriously. And if he doesn’t think we’re hard workers, if he doesn’t think we can work together, then he won’t... I mean, we have a bad track record, but couldn’t he change his mind? Couldn’t he just see we really want to be musketeers?”

So that’s what this is all about, Julius realized. That’s what was bothering him this morning too, I bet. He shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably; what could he say? He wanted nothing more than to reassure him and Oswald that of course Pete would make them musketeers, but that would just be lying. The last thing he planned on doing was sugarcoating anything for his brothers; at the same time, he didn’t want to voice his real doubts. His doubts about whether they should be musketeers at all, whether it would really ever work out for them. No, that would just discourage Mickey further. The best option, then, was uneasy silence. 

“Well… I think there’s a chance,” Oswald pitched in, hands on his hips. “I mean– Pete’s not an easy one to persuade, and it’s not like he’s ever presented the opportunity to us in the past five years, and he likes reminding us about how much he loathes us every chance he gets,  but…” he shrugged. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, so we might as well keep trying and keep hoping, right?” 

He grinned and twirled his rag jauntily, and Mickey smiled back gratefully. “Anyways, whether we’re musketeers or janitors, I don’t see the hurt in working hard. That doesn’t mean we need to bust a gut doing an impossible amount of jobs in one day, though. Let’s just take it slow.” Mickey nodded, looking relieved.

Julius sighed quietly. “Well,” he said, examining the windows one more time. “If we’re done on this level, then we’d better get to the next floor.” Mickey jumped up quickly and ran to the first pulley, Oswald heading to the other. Julius, suddenly remembering they were suspended in midair, swallowed hard and busied himself with the buckets. 

The platform had started to rise shakily, when suddenly there was a creak of doors opening below and the sound of crunching boots and chatting filled the air. Mickey gasped in excitement, straining to see down to the ground while pulling on the rope. “The musketeers are coming out to drill!” Oswald leaned over the rail to watch, his eyes glowing.

“Keep going up,” Julius reminded them, staring at the sky now, and Mickey gave an absent tug on the rope in reply. The musketeers had formed into rows and were listening to orders commanded by the hulking figure of Captain Pete. Soon the chinking of steel on steel filled the air as the musketeers sparred together. Mickey and Oswald were entranced, following every move, window cleaning forgotten. Sensing no movement, Julius tore his gaze away from the clouds to see his brothers leaning over as far as they could to watch. “Can we go UP?” he demanded impatiently. Startled, Mickey gave the rope a hard tug- too hard, it turned out.

The mossy old ropes in Mickey’s hands, unused to the sudden stress, groaned their last and snapped. Julius barely had time to yell in fright before the entire end of the platform swung downward, throwing him over the side. Oswald was the luckiest- his grip on the ropes gave him enough support to stay in place. Mickey, however, was thrown stomach-first against the railing, punching all the air out of his lungs.

In a moment of panic he gasped painfully, blinking stars out of his eyes as his feet found traction on the wood. The ground swung back and forth below, a blur of stone and gravel. A frayed rope swung through the air, snapped in half. The sounds of training below had been replaced with shouts as the musketeers stopped drilling, although their attention barely registered in Mickey’s mind.

“Are you okay?” Oswald asked, his voice panicked. “Where’s Julius-?”

A puffed up white tail appeared over the edge, followed by the terrified face of Julius as he scrabbled at the railing. “HELP-!” he yowled, terrified. Mickey jumped out to grab his hand, attempting to haul his brother back up onto the platform with much yelling and clawing and wild thrashing (mostly from Julius). Oswald, clinging to the other rope at the top, started to feel it straining and snapping under his fingers. He barely had time to close his eyes with a heavy sigh before another loud SNAP pierced the air, completely severing the ropes holding up the lift.

For a few comical seconds, they hung in the air- three brothers, a rickety platform, and a sudsy soap bucket. Then those seconds ended, and the only thing Mickey and Oswald could hear was jumbled yelling and wind whistling by as the earth rushed up towards them like a giant stone fist ready to punch their brains out.

~~~~~~

“Are they dead?” “Sacre bleu… “It was those janitor boys again, of course." "Really? I thought the Captain already fired them." “How on earth did they do this…?” “I don’t see any movement.”

A crowd of musketeers surrounded the pile of wood and rope that lay in the courtyard, muttering and staring in shock. Dust swirled about underneath polished brown boots and swishing blue capes, and a few musketeers shook their heads, used to the shenanigans of those janitor brothers.

A small mouse, his head and shoulders poking out underneath a rotted board, blinked his eyes open blearily and looked around, dazed and disoriented. Through a raging headache he vaguely heard a booming voice commanding musketeers out of the way, not quite registering as a hulking figure made his way forward to stand, seething, over the wreckage. It wasn’t until a large, meaty hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him free from the rubble with a swift tug that he came to and realized the dire situation they were in.

Dangling in the air by his arm, staring into the cold glaring eyes of Captain Pete, Mickey swallowed hard and smiled nervously. “Morning, Captain. I, uh, guess you might be a little upset…?” Upset wasn’t quite the word for what the snarling captain was. More like collasally, tremendously, completely pissed off. Mickey barely had time to mutter a prayer to Mère Marie before he was being dragged off across the courtyard under the glaring sun to an unknown, but almost certainly painful, fate.

____

A/N: GOD, FINALLY I'M DONE WITH CH 3!! I'm literally so sorry it took so long to post, I've had so much happening in my life and then of course writer's block hit... anyways, I plan on releasing chapters WAY more frequently now! Also sorry there was no illustration this time- more technical difficulties :( Anyways thanks for reading!!

[mochalottie]

Baby!Spider headcanons!

For my fic For the Nights and Days of Life. Because some of the stuff I want to include would probably expand into a 5k scene that wouldn't do anything for plot, so I thought I'd put them here.

he will eat absolutely anything. and I mean, like, baby yoda levels of eating anything. if Jake has left out on the counter, it will be in Spider's mouth faster than Jake would even notice.

it also means that he loves putting things in his mouth. his wooden toruk? the head will be slobbered on daily. a pen dropped on the floor? Jake once discovered the kid with blue ink all over his cheeks.

Spider adores music. which is handy, because every scientist who had stayed in Hell's Gate created and curated their own playlist to get them through the monotony of the day. he loves Norm's badass good girls playlist (Beyonce, Spice Girls, Christina Aguilera) but he will also not fall asleep unless Max's soothing classical genre isn't lilting its way through the speakers.

if the kid adores the song he will dance. when he couldn't sit up on his own, it would be the kicking of his legs and the nodding of his feet. when he manages to learn how to sit up, he bops along with his head and shoulders, finally going up to bouncing on his little bum and giggling at the music.

he loves exploring. in the base he would be crawling to the nearest thing that interested him, inspecting it with all the focus and care of a scientist.

Spider doesn't usually cry. he whines, and grumbles of course, but he doesn't do loud tantrums. And not because he can't, it's because he learnt during his brief time under the care of Selfridge's people that crying will only use energy and wouldn't give him anything in return. the reason why he cries when Jake finds him is because the poor baby is frightened by the new person, but also doesn't want Jake to leave him alone again. no one knows this though.

he's a visual learner, so he watches with a keen eye as children and warriors run past the healing hut, learning to walk. it's the same with language, he only need to watch the person say the words a few times and he'd repeat it back.

Neteyam is his best friend. when Kiri joins them they make a trio. they call themselves the three Muscavados because they can't pronounce musketeers, and Jake tried to tell them that story once from memory. he wasn't very good at remembering the plotline so he melded it and lord of the rings together.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Trois Surprises

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 6719

Summary: Aramis and the reader are changed forever by three joyous surprises. 

Notes: I write a lot of angst for him, but dammit, this man deserves to be happy. And I wanted to write him actually being able to spend time with his kids. Also, the title is ‘Three Surprises’ in French, I just didn’t know ‘surprises’ is spelled the same way. At least that’s what translate said. Please don’t come for me. This also doesn’t follow any plots from the show,  so ignore the timeline haha. 

More Musketeers HERE

-

I 

The garrison greeted you with metal clashing and the smell of sweat. Men shouted at each other across the way with language that was far from proper.  It didn’t bother you, of course. In your time frequenting the training area, you’d grown used to its oddities and eccentricities. 

A few of the men cheered to greet you and asked how you were or what brought you to the garrison, though they already had an idea. You were here for Aramis. You were always here for Aramis. Or for shooting lessons, which the captain had approved since you lived alone and association with the musketeers often led to trouble. 

“Y/N!” A boisterous voice called. Porthos hopped up from the table he sat at and crossed the courtyard. Not one for propriety, he pulled you into a hug without a second thought. You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “What brings you here?” 

He led you back to the table and brushed off the bench for you to sit. 

Athos tilted his hat. Unlike his companion, he enjoyed upholding some of the rules of society. “Mademoiselle Y/L/N.” 

“How many times must I tell you to call me Y/N?” You teased. 

“If I did, you wouldn’t have to tell me any more,” he smirked. “I assume you’re looking for Aramis.” 

You nodded. “I have important matters to discuss with him and Captain Treville.” 

The two exchanged a look. 

“Sounds serious,” Porthos said. “Anything we should know about?”

“All in good time, boys,” you beamed. “I promise I won’t leave you in the dark for too long.” 

D'Artagnan eyed you curiously. Perhaps your closest friend among Aramis’ companions, it was unusual for you not to share something with him. You gave him a reassuring nod and he trusted he’d find out what all this was about in due time. It didn’t stop his mind from searching the possibilities, though. 

The imploring silence only lasted a moment longer. 

“Y/N?” 

And just like that, at the sound of his voice, your knees turned soft and your heart stopped beating. Every nerve in your body seemed to bunch and twist in your belly. You turned, Aramis’s eyes sparkling at you in the morning light as a smile crept onto his face. 

“I had no idea you’d be here,” he grinned, kissing your cheek. 

“I had something I wanted to share with you before you galavanted off into danger somewhere.” The tremble in your voice made his face darken with worry. His gaze flicked to his companions and they took the hint, hurrying off to the side to give the two of you some privacy. You began to fidget with your cloak. “I hope my coming on short notice isn’t a nuisance.” 

“No, please.” He took your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “You are my favorite kind of surprise, darling.” His dark eyes looked deeply into yours. “Is something the matter?” 

“Not exactly…” You’d rehearsed the words numerous times and it was completely in vain. You might as well have been mute, standing before him with a blank, panicked expression, which of course only made him look more concerned. 

“My love, you’re starting to frighten me,” he laughed nervously and tucked a hair behind your ear. “You can tell me anything.” 

You took a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Porthos whispered. The three, having been observing from afar, watched on as you stared down at the dirt and Aramis lifted your chin with his finger. 

“That’s between the two of them,” Athos said. “It’s none of our business.” However, he did not, nor did the other two, turn away.

You said something none of them could hear. Aramis’s arms fell to his sides, face turned white as a sheet. His mouth floundered open and closed, unable to say anything. 

“You don’t think she’s broken things off, do you?” D’Artagnan asked. 

After a moment of this awkward, anxious tension that even they could feel from across the courtyard, Aramis seemed to snap to his senses. He lifted you off the ground and spun around, a smile as wide as the Seine spread across his face. Your laugh rang throughout the space and when he set you down, your arms hooked around his neck, lips locking together for longer than what was probably publicly acceptable. 

Athos turned to the youngest member of their group. “I take that as a no.” 

Aramis kissed you one… two… three… more times before you said something about going to the market and left, holding his hand until the last possible moment. 

When the marksman returned, his friends stood with brows raised and curious smiles. Porthos patted him on the back. 

“What to share what that was all about?” 

Still, with a starstruck grin, Aramis gazed around in a daze. Like before, his mouth fell open and nothing came out. He was sure his heart had stopped beating. Or perhaps it wasn’t there anymore. It was with you, as it always had been. Now more than ever. 

He looked up at his companions- his friends- the men he trusted with his life and the words simply fell from his lips. 

“Y/N’s pregnant.” 

-

“I don’t know if I can wait much longer,” you whined, breathing slowly and deeply as you took a seat at the table. 

Constance smiled. “You only have, what, a month or so to go?”

“Yes, and I feel like I’m the size of Notre Dame.” You laid a hand on your bulbous belly and laughed. “I look the size of Notre Dame.” 

“Nonsense,” she chuckled along with you, setting a plate of bread and bowl of stew in front of you. Constance peeked out the door and shook her head. “They’re late. Again.” Despite the playful annoyance in her voice, there was a sparkle in her eye. One you recognized well. 

“You know… D’Artagnan has been speaking of you more and more since I became pregnant. I dare say he even sounds hopeful.”

“Don’t start,” she swallowed. She took a rag and started to wipe down the table in order to avoid your gaze. “I, in case you’ve forgotten, am married to the man who supplies your fabrics. D’Artagnan and I are merely friends.” The younger woman glanced up at you with a kind of admiration. “It isn’t like what you and Aramis have.” 

You scoffed. “I’m his mistress.”

Her eyes softened with sincerity. She put a hand on your arm. “You’re a great deal more than that.” 

You averted your eyes, feeling the hint of tears begin in them and focused on the meal before you. Despite his adoration and his devotion, you knew not to hope for more than what you were given. And you had no complaints, of course, Aramis was the light of your life and to have his child was more than you ever imagined. But he was a hero. You were a seamstress. 

As if summoned by your brief sorrow, the door to the cottage opened and you heard two pairs of thundering steps coming down the hall. While not banished completely, your doubts were pushed to the back of your mind upon the sight of Aramis’s grinning face. 

“Sorry we’re late, ladies,” he said, removing his hat with a smug flare. “Paris needed saving.” 

“When doesn’t it?” You laughed. He leaned to place a kiss on your forehead, hand falling lovingly to your belly. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. Aramis basked at the sight of you in the setting sun, golden rays streaming through the window. “Like an angel in heaven’s light.” 

A lovely pink color crept onto your cheeks. “You flatter me too much.” 

“My love, my words will never be enough.” Aramis brought your lips to his with passion and sweetness, despite the other two in the room. He set his weapons aside, his coat along with them, and sat next to you. Seeing the billowing sleeves of his shirt reminded you of your work earlier in the day. 

“I almost forgot, I repaired the tear in your shirt. I’ll have to go fetch it.” You started to stand- with more than a little effort- and he laid a hand on your shoulder to set you back down. 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself, darling.” He kissed you again. “I’ll get it.” As he sauntered into the other room, Constance gave you a knowing look you did your best to ignore. 

“Any news on the Red Guard?” D’Artagnan asked. You were glad of the change in subject, though Constance rolled her eyes at his abruptness. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be the favorite to stitch their uniforms ever since-” You motioned to the rather obvious reason at your middle. 

“Ah,” D’Artagnan nodded. “Right.”

Having made a reputation as having the most reliable repairs of any affordable seamstress in Paris, you’d often had members of the Red Guard come to you, as they were ‘too above’ mending anything themselves. It did, however, allow you to overhear things here and there, which you took to the musketeers. But keeping your relationship with Aramis a secret was hard enough. Now, with such a drastic change in your appearance, they’d kept their distance, though whether it was because you were unmarried or if they suspected you to be somewhat of a spy for your child’s father, you couldn’t tell. 

The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you couldn’t contain your laughter. D’Artagnan sat beside you and asked you questions of a lighter variety while you pleaded to hear of the day’s adventures. Aramis always worried he’d distress you, so you received all the juicy details from the youngest musketeer. Through your friendship with Constance, D’Artagnan had become one of your closest friends as well. 

A lull fell upon your conversation and you couldn't help but note how his eyes drifted back to your mutual companion by the fire. 

One day, you thought…

A sudden movement within you forced a gasp from your lips. Aramis returned to the room in seconds.

“Love, what is it? Did something happen?” He knelt by your side with loving, concerned eyes. 

“Yes,” you beamed, placing a hand where the movement was. You looked into his beautiful gaze and felt yourself overtaken by the excitement. “I believe he just kicked.” Gently, you took his hand and guided it to where you’d felt it. 

“He?” Aramis awed, raising a brow. 

You shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

Another motion fluttered against Aramis’s hand, this one stronger and almost more aggressive than the last. Aramis chuckled. 

“I think she may disagree with your feeling.” 

“Oh, a girl then, is it?” You smirked. 

He shrugged, mocking you affectionately. “Just a feeling.” 

-

II

He’d come as soon as he heard. All of them had. The four musketeers stood in the lobby of your shop, none of them able to sit down. Athos leaned against the wall, he and Porthos watching the windows as if for some dastardly foe. D’Artagnan tried to distract himself by sharpening his sword. Aramis paced at the foot of the stairs leading up to your rooms. 

The midwife wouldn’t allow him to be with you, despite his protests. Only Constance was permitted to accompany her in tending to you. It took all three men to hold him back when your screaming began. 

Hours of this hell passed. He paced until he was sure the soles of his boots would scuff clean off. 

“Can I ask you something?” Porthos asked. He hoped to distract his friend from his pain but, in truth, it was something they’d all been wondering for months. Aramis stopped his hurried steps and turned with a nod. Porthos swallowed. “Why haven’t you married her?” 

“Porthos now is hardly the occasion,” Athos scolded. 

“We have to talk about something, else we’ll all go mad with her up there.” 

Aramis held up a hand to silence them both. The three waited with bated breath as he looked up, wishing to float through the ceiling and be by your side. 

“Because she doubts me,” he said with an unexpected sadness in his voice. He looked back at them. “She doesn’t believe that my love for her is genuine. I can feel it when her smile falters or when her hand falls from mine.” He turned away. “To ask her for her hand because of the child… it would only prove what she believes.” Aramis clenched his fist at his side, then relaxed it again. This idleness would destroy him if this was not soon over. “I could not force her to marry a man that she doubts.” 

The others nodded in understanding, though none of them truly understood, especially D’Artagnan.

 He’d never seen two people who loved each other more than you and Aramis. He wanted to scream at both of them until his throat was sore if he thought it would help. Seeing the two of you so clouded with your own doubts hurt him more than he could say. The younger man just couldn’t fathom it. He’d give anything to have the opportunity to marry the woman he loved.

The matter of your reputation, of course, had already been discussed. You told anyone who discovered your condition that you’d married while away in Gascony and that your husband was a merchant who traveled often and you always met with him back in Gascony. Most people didn’t care enough to gossip about an orphaned woman with little prospects to begin with. It’d been your idea to lie and Aramis accepted it as you being as unsure of him as you thought he was of you. 

What killed him the most, despite his charming demeanor and always knowing the right words for the right people, was that he had no idea how to convey to you how he truly felt. He reminded you of his love every moment he had with you, and yet he knew you didn’t fully believe it. What else could he do but keep trying? 

Another aching shriek echoed through the chamber, followed by a silence, and then… cries. An infant’s wailing filled the house. 

Aramis raced up the stairs before the others could stop him. 

The door to your bedroom opened and Constance stepped out, quickly closing it behind her. She had a bundle in her arms. The auburn-haired woman beamed at him. 

“Would you like to meet your son?” 

Suddenly, he couldn’t move. He just stared at Constance, stunned, as the baby continued to cry. It was as if he’d forgotten how to use his limbs, everything numb with a strange mix of disbelief and utter joy. 

A son. 

He stepped forward and spoke with a shaking voice. “Y-yes.” He felt like a child himself, standing before her with arms outstretched. 

Constance, still grinning, gently placed the wriggling bundle into his awaiting embrace. 

He couldn’t believe how small he was. His son. A tiny fist reached out. Aramis gave him his pinky to grasp onto, his little fingers not even able to wrap all the way around the digit. He rocked the baby in his arms, cooing slightly. The boy stopped crying. 

“I have a son,” he gasped. He turned to the stairs, where his three friends had gathered at the bottom. His tone raised to a cheer. “I have a son!” 

A chorus of joyous hollers and applause filled the stairwell. 

The celebration, however, was cut short as another round of your screaming cries The boy in his arms began wailing again. He held him a little closer to soothe him, but Aramis had gone white. 

“What’s happening?” He asked. 

Constance shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I thought everything was fine.” 

A guttural grunt. Another scream. 

Aramis passed his son back to Constance and started toward your door. The three men had already climbed the stairs with worried expressions.

“You aren’t supposed to-” Constance started, but she stopped as soon as she saw Aramis’s look of absolute panic. 

He burst through the door.  

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Aramis rushed to your side, brushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from your cheek. 

“Aramis?” You muttered, almost dreamily. 

“You shouldn’t be in here monsieur,” the midwife scolded. 

Your knees were pulled up before her. He tried not to look, for the bed sheets were slick with blood and it only made him panic even more. He, instead, looked into your eyes and you looked into his, the comfort of those dark brown irises grounding you through the pain. 

“Something’s… happening…” You took heaving breaths in between your words. His hand found yours and you held onto it with a near-crushing grip. 

“There’s another,” the midwife said. 

Both of your heads snapped up to look at her and you spoke at the same time. 

“What?!” 

She peered up at you, cast a disapproving look at the father, but decided it was too late to force him out of the room. 

“Just as we did before,” she instructed. “Ready? Three… two…” 

-

For the first time, there was quiet. 

The midwife had gone, having gathered the soiled blankets and bowls of water. Aramis sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders, your son blinking up at both of you from your embrace. With the other arm, he held your daughter. 

“I doubt I’ll ever understand what I’ve done in my life,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, “to deserve all of this.” 

You turned your head to kiss his lips lightly, reaching a hand to caress your daughter’s soft cheek. 

“It seems impossible for two things so perfect to come into my life at once,” you mused, bringing your hand up to his face. “And you… to have you for as long as I have. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to be so blessed.” 

Aramis leaned into your touch, the hair of his beard tickling your palm as he nuzzled your skin. Those near-ebony eyes looked into yours with a love more powerful than he’d ever felt before. He wanted, right there, to ask you to marry him. 

A knock at the door was followed by Constance peeking her head into the room with an excited, but exasperated expression. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off,” she laughed. “I haven’t told them anything, like you asked, other than that everything is alright, but I don’t think they’ll believe me until they see you.” 

Aramis chuckled, the vibration rumbling against you. Your daughter stirred against his chest, stretching her tiny arms toward him. He leaned to kiss her forehead. 

You beamed. “Let them in.” 

Constance nodded, smile growing, and turned back to the door.

“Be quiet, all of you,” she ordered. “I don’t want you scaring them.”

D’Artagnan’s brows drew together as he stepped in first. 

“Them?”  

As the two others piled in behind him, all halted abruptly, their eyes darting between you and Aramis and the not one, but two infants in your arms. Confusion turned to shock and finally to unbridled excitement. 

“Twins!” Athos exclaimed with one of the first real smiles you’d ever seen on his face. 

Porthos was still glancing between the two. “Twins?” 

It was D’Artagnan who stepped forward first and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his joy for you clear in his dark eyes. 

“It’s incredible,” he said. He glanced up at Aramis with the same warm kinship. “I can’t begin to say how happy I am. For both of you.” 

The other two gathered on Aramis’s side of the bed and shared similar congratulations. 

“Have you thought of names?” Porthos asked. 

“Actually, we thought we’d get your thoughts,” Aramis said, glancing over at you with a smirk. He touched a finger to your daughter’s nose. “For her, we were thinking of Christine.” She swatted at his finger lightly, making her father laugh again. “She’s quite the fighter already, hm?” 

“I wonder where she gets that from,” Porthos smiled and patted him on the back. 

“For our son,” you took a deep breath and looked up at your friend beside you. “We thought Charles would be fitting.” 

D’Artagnan’s mouth fell open and his eyes filled with even more admiration and feeling than before, which didn’t seem possible. 

“C-Charles?” He asked, as if he’d heard you wrong. 

Aramis nodded. “Charles.” 

“But only if you’ll allow it,” you said, reaching for his hand. “You’ve just been such a good friend to me- to us- and I hoped you would be his godfather as well, but if-”

He took your hand and brought it to his lips. “I would be honored.” His voice was heavy with emotion, tears of joy welling in his eyes. 

“We’ve already asked Constance to be godmother to them both,” Aramis said. He turned to his best friend. “I was hoping, Porthos, that-”

“Do you even have to ask?” Porthos chuckled. He leaned over your daughter and made a face. 

She started to cry. 

“Congratulations,” Aramis sighed. “You’ve already frightened off your goddaughter.” 

Porthos made another face and she stopped. He raised a brow at Aramis, beaming. You snickered at their antics. 

“They are beautiful children,” Athos said, leaning against the dresser. “I can’t say enough how happy I am for the two of you.” 

“Oh don’t feel left out, Athos,” Porthos teased. “I’m sure you can be godfather to the next one.” 

You snorted. “I think he may have to wait a while for that.” Everyone in the room laughed. D’Artagnan gazed down at your son, still trying to hold back tears. 

“Would you like to hold him?” 

He gulped. “Can I?” 

You smiled and carefully handed your son to his namesake. Aramis did the same with your daughter, slowly putting her in Porthos’s arms. And just like that, you watched the two grown men turn to puppies, all wide eyes and cooing smiles. 

A happy tear rolled down your cheek. Aramis pulled you closed and kissed it away. You knew, more than anything in the world, that your children would be safe. And they would be loved. 

III

He rocked the child in his arms with the whispers of a lullaby on his lips. 

“Lullay, thou little tiny child,” he sang softly, “bye, bye, lully, lullay. Thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay…” Aramis smiled and kissed his sleeping son’s forehead before laying him gently in his crib. Charles’s nose twitched and he stretched his tiny arms but didn’t stir. 

Aramis watched him in wonder. Ten months and he still couldn’t quite believe all of this was real. His heart ached from being so full. 

A small clattering sound drew his attention away and he felt his heart stop in a panic. Aramis rushed across the nursery and plucked his daughter from the floor before she could pull another one of his swords off of the table where he’d placed them. 

“Christine d’Herblay, how many times must I tell you to leave Papa’s things alone?” He scolded, nuzzling her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hurt yourself, darling.” 

She leaned into his embrace, looking up at him with those big eyes with a perfectly innocent expression. Quite cunning, he thought, for a toddler. Of course, he melted instantly and began bouncing her up and down. Her bell-like laughter filled the room, as well as his chest. 

The door to the nursery opened and you stepped in with messy hair stuck down by sweat from your exhaustive day and a harrowed expression. Your eyes fell upon the sheathed weapon on the floor. 

“I tell her to leave them,” Aramis said. “But she doesn’t listen to me.” He tickled her side, earning more laughter. “Just like your mother, aren’t you?” 

You didn’t laugh. Instead, you sighed and stooped to pick up his sword from the ground. From there, you began picking up everything you could find, tidying up the room in a flustered hurry. Aramis placed Christine in her crib beside Charles’s and took your hands in his to stop your anxious movements. 

“What’s happened?” 

You bowed your head. “Nothing.” 

“Y/N…” He sighed, laying a hand on your cheek. You pulled away. 

“It’s this Rocheforte.” You ran your fingers through your hair, more aware than ever of their lack of ring. “He isn’t like the cardinal- which I thought would be a good thing- but he’s somehow worse. He’s suspicious and- and cunning, and his men are asking more and more questions when I’m called there to repair uniforms.” Your rambling caught in your throat, paired with tired tears. 

“What can I do?” Aramis asked. “You know it pains me to see you in distress. Just say the word, and I’ll have the heads of half of the Red Guard by sundown.” 

“It isn’t just them.” You shook your head. “I’m just… so tired of lying, Aramis.” 

Christine made a cooing sound. Charles yawned. 

Aramis stepped toward you. “Then let us make it the truth.” 

You paused, making sure you’d heard him correctly. Aramis continued. 

“Marry me and none of this will matter. You can stop spying for Treville and the Red Guards will have the whole of the musketeers to face if they bother you again.” 

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wiped them hastily away. At first, he thought they were tears of joy, but the closer Aramis looked, he knew he was wrong. 

“I will handle Rochefortes prying myself. He’s likely figured out you are the true father and is just trying to frighten me into admitting it.” 

“Y/N, I don’t understand. The solution for this is simple-”

“I will not doom you to a life you don’t want simply because it is the simplest answer!” you said, louder than you’d meant to. Charles awoke with shrieking cries. 

“A life I don’t want?” Aramis scoffed, trying to hide his hurt. “What are you talking about?”

“My answer is no, Aramis.” You moved to pick up your screaming son. “Marrying is clearly something you’ve never wanted and I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice anything for me when the children and I have done just fine in the current situation.”

Aramis reached for both of you. 

Christine started to cry as well. 

“Y/N-”

“I think you should leave.” You didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on your children in order to hide your sorrow from their father. “I’ll watch them now.” 

Aramis didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to kick himself for his insensitivity. He’d known of your doubts for so long and yet he sprung marriage on you as if it were nothing more than a way to fix a problem. 

“If that is what you wish,” he sighed and left, closing the door behind him while the children’s crying followed him out. 

He knew how he felt. He just needed to prove it to you.  

-

You saw no one else for the remainder of the evening. Only your children kept you company, and even they seemed more interested in empty spools rolling around on the floor. Not that you minded. With them so distracted, you found it easier to let yourself cry. 

He asked you to marry him. 

How many times had you dreamt of Aramis saying those words and yet now they felt like musket shots to your heart. He saw you as a burden. A duty to fulfill. You could never live like that, even if it meant being free of the jeers of the Red Guard. 

You only wished you could regret ever involving yourself with the musketeer, but your heart forbade it. Whether or not he felt the same, your love for Aramis had given you the world. The proof sat before you with their carefree laughter. Your son and daughter with their smiles just like their father’s. The time you’d gotten with them, with him, was worth all of the heartache. 

It was late when you finally got them both to go to sleep. One was always waking the other, but eventually, Charles and Christine laid in their cribs and soundly drifted off. 

You tried to finish up some work on a dress order at the table in the nursery,, but found your eyes unable to stay open. You must have fallen asleep as well, for the next time you opened them, the morning sun greeted you.

And the children were gone. 

You were awake in an instant, tearing through your small apartment, but finding nothing. It wasn’t until you could hear Charles’ laughter that you hurried down the stairs, finding your son in the lap of his namesake and Christine grasping at a flower that Athos held over her playfully. 

“Morning,” Porthos greeted. 

You smacked the back of his head. “Don’t do that,” you exasperated, “I thought they’d been taken by miscreants or something.” 

“We just didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” D’Artagnan smiled. 

“What are you talking about?”

“It seems we are replacing you, for the day,” Athos explained, picking up Christine to give her to you. “The three of us are to deliver your finished orders.” 

“While the four of us spend this beautiful day out, as a family,” Aramis said, having appeared in the doorway with a basket in hand and dressed in a casual tunic rather than his uniform. 

Your heart fluttered at the thought, but your mind refused to give in so easily. After all, it was only the night before that you’d nearly cried yourself to sleep over the discussion you’d had with the man before you. But the charming smile on his face and the look in his eye made it awfully difficult to argue. 

“I don’t know.” You made a point not to look at him. “I have so much still to do and-”

D’Artagnan stood, picking up your son and raising his brow at you. “Take the day, Y/N,” he said. “You deserve to rest.” 

“Plus, he’s been going mad all night, which has driven all of us mad, as well,” Porthos muttered, motioning to his nervous friend in the doorway. “Go on,” he encouraged. “What trouble could we get into delivering a bunch of dresses and coats?” 

“I don’t really like to think about it,” you frowned. 

“I will make sure that everything gets to its proper place,” Athos assured you, making you feel a little bit better. 

Aramis stepped inside, taking Charles from D’Artagnan and giving you a pleading glance. 

“It’s a beautiful day, my love,” he said. “Let us spend it as a family.” 

Any lingering frustration you’d felt from the night before was no match for his soft, wanting tone. And beneath his charisma, you knew that there was something else. Something far more serious. Whatever it was, you knew it was better to talk now than dance around it while the two of you buried yourselves in your work. 

“I suppose I can spare one day,” you said. 

Porthos and D’Artagnan cheered but were silenced by a look of annoyance from Athos. Aramis just lit up, kissing your cheek. 

“You won’t regret it,” he whispered against your skin. But when he turned back to the door, son in his arms and his two girls behind him, he muttered to himself, “I hope.”

-

It was the first moment of peace you’d experienced in months. The only sound- other than the occasional cheer or coo from one of the children- was the slight breeze through the meadow flowers. The morning passed like dandelion seeds floating through the air. 

Charles and Christine crawled around and explored the small plot of grass you’d found for them. Christine chased a butterfly and Charles plucked a light blue flower from its stem and brought it back to your lap. 

“I see he’s inherited your charm,” you said, taking in the blossom’s sweet scent. 

“And she your spirit,” Aramis pointed out, gesturing to the feisty toddler who was nearing the edge of the grass. He rolled onto his side and caught her in his arms before she could get too far. She whined, but only for a moment, before settling against his chest. 

Despite the wonder of the morning, there was the crawling under your skin, whispers of your doubts reminding you of the hopes you’d felt had been dashed by your own fear. The fear that all of this would be gone in an instant. That he would finally tire of you and the life you’ve built and he would galavant off into the arms of another woman, into another battle, another fight he could not win. 

You understood, then, looking at him under the swaying shadows of the willow tree above you, perhaps that was why you allowed your doubts to persist. Though you cared so deeply for him, you kept him at arm's length because the idea of him leaving of his own will was easier to take than a musket ball piercing his heart or a dagger across his throat.

The realization brought tears to your eyes. You bit your lip to hide the trembling, but Aramis knew in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, my love,” he sighed. He set Christine beside her brother, both of whom had fallen asleep on the blanket. Aramis laid a hand on your cheek. “I fear I’ve made a grave mistake in the years we’ve spent together.” 

You sucked in a breath and bowed your head, preparing for his regrets, his change of heart, and his announcement he was going to leave. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your face back to his. 

“I have known you believe me to be with you out of a sense of duty. I have allowed you to believe that you are little more than a distraction grown into an obligation.” Taking your hands in his, his voice softened due to the overwhelming emotion in his tone. Now it was him trying to hide his tears. “I have wished my words of devotion were enough to convince you, but my actions last night have done just the opposite and for that, I deeply apologize.”

“Aramis-” You started, but he stopped you with a squeeze of your hand. 

“I love you,” he said. He kissed the inside of your wrist, dark eyes watching you, so full of adoration and care that you held back a sob. Aramis held your palm to his cheek. “Every breath of every day belongs to you. Every beat of my heart is devoted to our family. Not out of any sense of duty. In fact, you’ve tangled my senses all together.” He chuckled, the lovely sound vibrating up your arm. “I can’t tell sunset from sunrise because you are my new sun. I don’t know which way is south because you are my north star.”

You found yourself leaning into him until you were but a few shallow breaths apart. Aramis turned his gaze to the sleeping children beside you. 

“You have made me a father,” he beamed. “A dream I’d forgotten I had. You have made me a better man. Better than I thought I was capable of being. You are not an obligation, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours and he drew even closer to you. “You are everything.”

His fingers laced into your hair and pulled your lips to his, silencing any of your cries. You kissed him with a passion like no other, but mostly you kissed him with belief. 

When you parted, you both smiled tearfully. 

Aramis continued. 

“Which is why-” He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but it was no use. You left him completely breathless. “I ask you once more, to do me the honor of making me your husband.” He kissed the trail of tears on your cheek. “Y/N, will you marry me?” 

“Aramis, I-” Your mind searched your heart for a reason to say no. It warned of loss and heartbreak. But you found that, no matter what, your guarded feelings would only be in vain. Your heart could not be protected by you alone because it did not belong to you. You pressed your lips to Aramis’s and whispered against them. “Yes. My answer is yes.” 

-

You spent the rest of the day taking Christine and Charles around the city, proudly walking side by side. A few people whispered as you went by and several Red Guards glared, but quickly looked away with one deadly glance from your fiance. 

The sun began to dip in the sky by the time you returned to the shop. 

To your surprise- and much to your relief- the other men managed to get through a day without destroying anything, which was a fair accomplishment for them. Any conversation between them ceased when the four of you entered. 

“Welcome back,” Athos said. 

Three pairs of eyes stared expectantly. 

“So…” D’Artagnan needn’t voice his question. He could tell from the light in your eyes what the answer would be. 

You merely gave them all a simple nod and they practically leapt with joy. 

With the children placed in their chairs, Porthos pulled Aramis into a crushing hug, D’Artagnan kissed your cheek, and Athos smiled brightly at you both, all voicing their congratulations. 

“I take it the final part of the plan is still in motion?” Porthos asked with a wink. 

“What final part?” You asked. 

Aramis ran a hand through his hair, nerves returning. 

“Well, now that everything is settled and you haven’t decided that you’ve had enough of me,” he said. “These fine gentlemen have agreed to watch Christine and Charles while you and I partake in a romantic evening together.”

“The picnic in the meadow wasn’t romantic enough for you?” You snickered. “I don’t want to take any more of their time.” 

“It’s no trouble, at all,” D’Artagnan said. “Constance will be joining us as well.” 

You gave him a suggestive smile. “I see.”

He rolled his eyes. “I think you’d better just find out what your last surprise is for today and let us take care of everything else.” 

“We’ll take very good care of them,” Athos promised. “And I’ll make sure these two don’t get into any trouble while you’re gone.” 

“As if you’re one to talk.” Porthos slapped him on the back. He quirked a brow at the couple before him. “Go enjoy your evening. We’ll drop them off in the morning.”

“But I still don’t understand.” You looked in between the four of them. “You all speak as if we have somewhere else to go. Unless you’re suggesting the garrison…”

Aramis reached for your hand with a smirk. “Just follow me.” 

You kissed the children goodnight and thanked the men one more time before allowing Armis to lead you back down the street in the direction of the garrison. He stopped, however, at a building he’d made a point to admire earlier in the day. 

“As much as I find the apartment above your shop charming, I thought this may be better suited to fit a family,” he said. 

It was a small structure, but there was a cozy feeling to its appearance as well. The potential to become a home. 

“It’s the perfect distance between the shop and the garrison, so neither of us would have to travel very far. I know it isn’t much, but Treville gave me an advance on my commission and the others chipped in as well. And I figured I could spend time fixing it up for us in between missions. I think, given some time and effort, it could be-”

You stopped him with a kiss. 

“I love it,” you smiled. “And I love you.” 

Aramis’s face split with a grin and he scooped you into his arms, kissing you deeply, despite the people passing you by. 

“Wait,” you said, putting a hand on his chest. You raised a brow in amusement. “You bought this before you asked me to marry you. What if…” 

He chuckled. “I was just really hoping you’d say yes.” 

You pulled him into another kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. With your hearts full and the first evening you’d had to yourselves since the children were born, he wasted little time carrying you inside and kicking the door shut behind you. 

[smoooothoperator]

Save Your Tears

02: Talk To Me

Driver! Mick Schumacher x opera singer! OC (Ophelia Becker)

Strangers to friends to lovers, love at first sight, long plane flight, personal drama, opera references

Words: 2k

Warnings: onesided love

a/n: Hello guys!!!! I officially finished the operas of this month! I fave a little of free time now, so I'll try to post whenever I can

Btw, do you want me to make a playlist? If that's so, what type of music do you want me to add?

Every way of feedback is very welcomed

Masterlist

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Weddings.

A celebration where two people in love promise to love each other for the rest of their lives.

What a beautiful event, right?

But, why does he feel his heart breaking while watching the invitation? Why is he feeling heartbroken when he sees her name next to his best friend's name?

Oh yeah, because she's the love of his life. The love of his life is his best friend's fiance. How classic.

It all started when the three of them were at school. They were a group, their teachers called them the three musketeers because none of them saw them apart from each other. Both boys protected the girl, calling her princess and them thinking they were her knights. 

It was when Mick started to race on karting when they trio started to be a duo. But that never stopped his feelings growing for her. He loved her in silence, wanting to be close to her when he didn't have races.

But soon he saw how she treated his friend. He saw how she touched his arm, how he fixed his hair, how she smiled at him. How she loved him.

"We wanted to tell you a while ago" Stephanie mumbled, looking down at her lap. "But you are away all the time…"

"Because I am following my dreams" Mick frowned. "I thought you two supported me"

"We do! But… we felt alone, mate" Josh sighed. "And it just happened. While you were away we just… we fell in love"

Fell in love. That's what he did when he was five years old. He fell in love with Stephanie and she just fell in love with Josh. 

He went pale when he saw Josh giving him the invitation for the wedding and he immediately forgot it on top of his living room table.

He never stopped loving Stephanie, but somehow he felt she was already out of reach. She doesn't talk to him like she used to when they were younger, she doesn't hug him as close as she used to. 

When they say that having a relationship inside a group of friends can bring problems, they know what they were talking about. And that's something he started to understand the moment they told him about their relationship.

So when the day of flying back to his home came, he started to freak out.

What if he confessed his feelings many years ago? What if he wasn't away when they were teens? What if he focused more on his friends instead of his career? 

What if, what if…

What if he misses the plane?

But, why is he thinking that when he's already at the airport? Five hours before getting in the plane that takes him to his home?

His mind was spiraling, punishing him by remembering all the chances he had to confess his feelings and he never did.

He looked around, sitting on a table while he charged his phone, observing the people walking around him.

He wonders if someone knows who he is. Maybe they do and can feel how anxious he is, so they make sure to not bother him. 

And then he heard a voice, a velvet and melodic voice that made him look up from the screen, making his eyes stop looking at a picture of Stephanie.

A girl, with chocolate hair and chocolate eyes, was asking for an iPhone charger.

The moment their eyes met, he felt shivers, goosebumps. Suddenly he smiled, but he couldn't understand why.

"Here" he smiled, disconnecting his phone after looking at his battery. "I have enough battery"

She smiled weakly, making him frown curious. Her eyes are red like she cried recently, her face is covered with make up like she came from an important event but her outfit says otherwise.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking carefully at her.

He saw her flinch and take a deep breath, how her lips curved up on a fake smile. Something's not right.

"Yeah, of course " she said, making his heart race after hearing her voice.

Oh, what is that?

He saw her sitting on the chair next to him, grabbing her backpack and placing it on the table with a long sigh.

"I'm Mick" he said, giving her the charger with a smile.

"Like Mick Jagger?" she chuckled softly, making him smile like a fool.

Okay, what is happening?

"Fan of The Rolling Stones?" he laughed, looking how she blushed. 

"Kinda" she laughed. "I'm Ophelia"

"Like Ophelia from Hamlet?" Mick chuckled too, watching how she smiled weakly and nodded.

"Exactly" she sighed.

He smiled weakly and looked at her while she looked at things on her phone. She's gorgeous, somehow. Her voice was something that bewitched him, and her eyes gave him the need to eat chocolate. The makeup of her face looks fancy, like she came straight from a fashion show.

He looked at her backpack, watching a book with the title Romeo et Juliette inside of it.

"Fan of Shakespeare?" he asked, wanting to hear her voice again.

"Oh… no, well yeah" she smiled. "It's from an opera. I am Juliette"

"No way, are you an opera singer?" he asked, surprised, raising his eyebrows. "You don't look like one"

"Oh, and how are we supposed to look like?" she frowned, hiding a smile and looking at him, her body facing him. 

"I don't know… kinda fancy? Like someone who is hard to reach?" he frowned, trying to create in his mind the image of what she could be.

"Well, I'm not like that" she shrugged, making him feel stupid. 

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, making his leg bounce anxious again, biting the nail of his thumb and look at his phone.

"Where are you flying to?" she asked suddenly, making his heart jump again after hearing her voice.

"Zurich" he sighed. "My flight is on four hours"

"Oh, we'll be on the same flight" she smiled weakly. 

He hummed and nodded, looking at her. There's something in her that calls his attention, something in her eyes and how sad they looked.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her. "I have a business seat and I can go to the VIP room"

"Oh, I have it too" she nodded. "And, yeah… I'm hungry"

They got up from the chairs and grabbed all their things. Mick saw how she moved, how slowly and smooth her movements were. It was like she was a ballerina.

Both of them walked towards the VIP room, none of them understanding why they walked so close to the other, making their arms brush softly against the other. 

Ophelia felt goosebumps all over her body, and she could feel peace in her mind once his blue eyes met hers. It was a weird feeling, she barely knows him.

"So… what do you want to eat?" Mick asked her, looking around the room trying to find an empty table for them.

"Whatever you want, I'm not picky" she sighed, searching for a table too, and once she found an empty one, she smiled weakly. "Do you want me to take your suitcase so I can go to the table?"

He nodded and smiled, letting her grab his suitcase, making their hands touch. Mick felt like an electric shock, making the hairs of his arms raise up as well as his heartbeat.

She held his suitcase and walked towards the table, sitting there and letting a long sigh escape her lips. She's tired, mentally and physically tired. Just thinking about what will happen once she lands in Zurich…

"I've got you a burger" Mick sait, sitting in front of her and interrupting, again, her thoughts. "I hope you don't mind, is a cheeseburger"

"No, is perfect" she smiled weakly.

He nodded and sighed, eating his sandwich and looking at her from time to time. There's something in her that makes him want to know more. There's something in her eyes that gives him the need to ask her what bothers her, why her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"So… why are you going to Zurich?" she asked suddenly, making him sigh.

"My best friends are getting married" Mick sighed, eating a french fry after dipping it in ketchup.

"You don't sound happy about that" she pointed, making him smile sadly.

"It's complicated…"

"I'm all ears" she said, biting the burger and looking at him, waiting for him to answer if he wanted to.

He sighed and drank a sip of his drink, taking a deep breath and looking at her. He looks genuinely interested, maybe it's just a way of killing time while waiting for the plane.

"I have known them since I have memory" he began to explain. "It was always the three of us, until it wasn't"

"Why?" 

"I'm a racing driver" he confessed. "I started my career following my dad's steps, and it made me travel a lot… making me leave them"

"I know how that feels" she smiled weakly, making him look at her surprised "Following your dad's steps. I did the same with my mother…"

"I loved her, Stephanie. I still do…" he mumbled, looking at how Ophelia smiled weakly at him. "But I never had the guts to tell her and now she's marrying my best friend"

"Oh, Mick… I'm sorry" she smiled weakly.

"And… you are going to Zurich for a wedding too?" he asked, looking at the dress bag that is on top of her suitcase. "Or for a concert?"

"Eh… yeah, a concert" she smiled weakly. “It’s an important one”

“When is it?” he asked curious.

Something about her makes him want to know more and more. He finds her interesting, mysterious. He never met an opera singer. How is that life? As luxurious as his life? She for sure might have lots of supporters. If her voice sounds like the voice of an angel, how is her voice while singing? Will he hear it?

“Oh… I mean…” she smiled weakly, nervous. “Next week”

“That’s nice!” he nodded smiling, making her lips curve a little more.

They ate the rest of their dinner in silence, talking only the necessary. Both of them, somehow, felt comfortable with the presence of the other. Sometimes they caught the other looking, making both of them chuckle and blush, forgetting their personal problems. He forgot about Stephanie, marrying his best friend. She forgot about what waits for her once she lands in Zurich. Now what was on their mind was them, Mick and Ophelia, Ophelia and Mick: two strangers that fate put them in each other's ways.

“Passengers of the plane with destination to Zurich, please go to gate A24”

Mick frowned, leaving the glass of water on the table while listening to the speakers.

“That’s our plane!” both of them gasped, getting up and grabbing all their things, running through the corridors.

When they arrived at the gates, they were the last ones, but at least they arrived in time. When the flight attendant asked for their tickets she smiled, making them frown.

“Have a good flight” she smiled. 

They nodded and smile at each other weakly. This is a goodbye.

“It was so nice talking with you” Mick smiled, looking at her. 

“Yeah” she smiled. “Good luck in the wedding, I guess…”

“And good luck in your concert” he smiled nodding.

He stopped there. The business seats are at the front of the plane, so he just searched for a place where he can leave the suitcase after placing his backpack on the seat he will have.

“No way” he heard her laugh. “Are you really going to sit there?”

Mick turned around, and his heart started to beat fast.

It was the same feeling when someone tells you good news, or when they give you something you really wanted, or when they congratulate you for doing a good job, or even when you eat your favorite food. He felt his smile grow when he saw how she placed her black backpack on the seat next to his.

"I guess you won't get away from me so easily" he chuckled, wanting to repeat that phrase over and over again.

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @lorarri @musingsbyshreya

[lyledebeast]

Disney Villains, Disney History

For some reason I've resisted comparing Colonel Tavington from The Patriot, who is often disparaged as a Disney villain, with Captain Rouchefort in The Three Musketeers (1993), who actually is a Disney villain. Well, fuck that! There are too many fun comparisons to not make a post about them, and as I've thought about the two films more, a lot of other comparisons have occurred.

Both feature main characters who are based on and share the names of historical figures but reduce them to a handful of egregiously exaggerated qualities. Cardinal Richelieu was a powerful 17th century man who probably did engage in some shady business to maintain power at some point, but he was hardly the campy stage villain Tim Curry plays. General Cornwallis made some costly mistakes during the American Revolution, but he was hardly the buffoon Tom Wilkinson plays.

Both films also ask us to suspend our disbelief where the heroes' violence is concerned. In The Three Musketeers, the titular characters set Richelieu's carriage aflame and roll into a camp occupied by Richelieu's guards, causing their powder supply to explode into flames that engulf their tents. Guards are fleeing as this is happening. In a film intended for adults, some of them would be on fire. Yet in The Patriot, the militia blows up a supply ship anchored just a few yards away from a courtyard full of Loyalist civilians, one of whom mistakes the explosion for fireworks. These scenes are so strikingly similar that it's hard to believe one is from an R-rated film historical drama shown in high school history classes as an accurate reflection of the time.

That the middle of The Patriot is so cartoonish gives Tavington's burning of Pembroke Church with its congregation inside a particularly savage punch. One might say the only parts of The Patriot that would not be at home in a Disney movie are the war crimes. Both Tavington and Rochefort are very much aware of being the villain in thejr respective stories, and they are both having an absolutely marvelous time. Rochefort takes such relish in ironically evoking the musketeers' motto that Richelieu reprimands him for trying to cause a riot. It's the only villain line that could threaten Tavington's "And indeed you may (be forgiven), but that's between you and God" at the top of my list. The crucial difference between these scenes is that the swords Rochefort collects from his former fellow musketeers and the uniforms he burns all magically reappear in later scenes. When he gleefully menaces the king, who is also a teenager, with his rapier, the musketeers come to the rescue before he can stab him. The civilians Tavington orders locked inside their church, including women and children, die.

If we consider the extent to which The Patriot is a Disney movie, the problem does not lie with its villain. Tavington is exactly the kind of scenery-chewing, queer-coded, elegant villain utilized in varying forms from Sher Khan to Ursula to Jafar. The character who does feel out of place is the hero, Benjamin Martin. Not only does he fail to stop any atrocities that do not involve his own children (and Gabriel still up dead at Tavington's hand later), but he commits some of his own. I don't know if the solution to The Patriot's myriad problems is to give plot armor to characters besides the hero, but it's interesting to see horrific things happening to innocent people set as a standard of adult-friendliness. Apparently, grown men can abide Disney movies if they contain buckets of blood, none of which belongs to the hero.

I am aware of The Swamp Fox in which the titular character is based on Francis Marion, officially making it Disney's The Patriot. I don't remember seeing it as a child, and I haven't made much of an effort recently to see it because I think it would make me more insane than anyone needs or wants!