#but neither is aramis

[groundcontrol21]

Ensconced (M, Musketeers)

It’s been, what, a week without an A/ramis fic from me? Figured it was time again, so I gave the poor man the flu. In light of what was a hard week for me, I whipped this up as a lil gift for myself. Pure self-indulgence, and inspired quite heavily by conversations with the lovely @sniction-fiction

****************

A cool wind rattles against the shutters and Aramis feels as though he is outdoors in it, despite the fire crackling distantly in the hearth and the swath of blankets he hugs to his chest like a talisman. He shivers so hard his teeth chatter; every inch of him so utterly frigid it is as though nothing stands between him and the crisp winter air.

“Heh’NGSHH! Ihh’KSHHH!”

He sniffles as hard as he can, but even that feels like the most monumental of efforts. In any case, it isn’t enough; his nose is streaming down his lip, down the blanket, and he has no energy left within his muscles to even consider casting around for a handkerchief long since lost in the bedclothes. He coughs, fire scraping across his throat, and shivers again, so hard it is almost a convulsion. He is so cold he could cry, and perhaps he does, a couple tears squeezing out from the corners of his eyes at the thought of a lovely pair of hot bricks, warmed in the roaring hearth in the garrison’s kitchens, pressed at his sides, chasing away the chill at last. 

“HEH’SHHHH!”

He is far too ill to move. Maybe if he keeps shivering this hard he will warm himself up eventually. He burrows deeper into the blankets, desperate to leech whatever minuscule pocket of heat he can find, but he finds none. He whimpers, his head swimming in a fever-cloud, and he is so far gone into the mist that he swears he feels a hand stroke through his hair and rub briefly at his shoulder.

He drifts again, perhaps to sleep, feeling the thrum of his fever in his veins. Something blessedly warm and solid slithers beneath the blankets, against his stomach and his back, and again Aramis feels those hands adjusting the cloth-wrapped bricks, his blankets. Muzzily, he blinks awake. 

“P-Porthos?” His eyes, barely open wide enough to register the bleary form of his friend, snap shut once more and he buries his nose in the blanket. “Ihhh’KSHHIEW! Heh’NKSHH!” 

“I’m back,” Porthos says, and his voice is soft like spring sunshine. “Athos told me you were sick.” He rests his fingers against Aramis’s hot cheek, and his thumb rubs back and forth beneath his eye. He frowns, even as Aramis sighs at the blissful contact. “Didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“Heh’TSHHHH! Hhhh’RSHHH’uhh! IKKSHHH!” The force of the sneezes wrench him forward, into the spot of blanket that is already painfully damp from before, and Aramis doesn’t know whether he has missed Porthos’s hand in the chaos. 

“Bless you,” Porthos says, voice still so soft, and then he is reaching beneath the blankets, cupping Aramis’s jaw, feeling the swollen soreness of his neck. “You sound miserable.”

All Aramis can do is nod and curl further in on himself, wishing he could press the bricks so close they would become part of him. Perhaps then the icy ache in his bones would dissipate. He gives another jolting shiver.

“Are the bricks helping?”

Aramis can’t answer. He coughs until no part of his face is dry, and he tastes the hot salty mixture of tears as he tries to swallow around his inflamed throat. He sniffles back what he can, and the wet tickle sets him off again into a shuddering sneeze.

“Hihhhh’ihhh’ISHHHH’uhh!”

The shivers begin anew, and Porthos makes a noise, sounding almost wounded. “Aw, shove over, then.”

The bed creaks and Aramis feels it dip under the man’s weight. Porthos has nestled himself against Aramis, halfway beneath the blankets again as he reforms the cocoon around the two of them now, before Aramis realizes what this means. He squirms, trying to push himself away, and the motion sends rolling aches through him.

“N-no,” he manages between clattering teeth, “You c-can’t.” His breath hitches again and he dives for the blanket. “Heh’ISHHIEW!” He drags the blanket over his mouth, muffling a hot, aching fit of coughs into the fabric. Anything to keep it away from Porthos. 

But Porthos is still there and even pulls him closer, snaking his arms around Aramis until his back is pressed against something both warmer and softer than a brick. “Shhh,” Porthos hums. One hand rubs gently across Aramis’s chest, and it is only because the motion dispels a bit of the ache there that Aramis realizes it had begun to hurt in the first place. 

“You let me do all the worrying now,” he says, and it’s suddenly all too easy for Aramis to allow his eyes to slip shut as the chill fades, chased away by the warmth which now ensconces him from all angles.

#100% self indulgence #probably has some mistakes too #bc i whipped this up so fast and i’m still not feeling 100% #but neither is aramis #womp womp #sick ara/mis #my writing #the world needs so much more historic snz fic #more muskie snz!!!

[patroclusdefencesquad]

EVERY ANNAMIS SCENE (1/?)

#i don't know who i want to be more #probably aramis. #but i would also like to be held by the nice man #anyway told u i was making this. probably gonna shoot them out quick before i get distracted. #gonna entice people over to this fandom with the attractive heterosexual couple with the impeccable knight x queen trope #listen besties when have u ever known me to go feral over a heterosexual couple (yennskier doesn't count neither of them are straight) #(tbh neither are aramis or anne) #anne of austria #the musketeers #anne x aramis #aramis #perioddramaedit #themusketeersedit

[transgalvantula]

leah is a he/him lesbian.

#unicorn overlord #so is aramis but that's neither here nor there

[widevibratobitch]

it's embarrassing that i let a het ship hold this much power over me but at least he's somewhat gnc so it's cool

#also i obviously ship them in an extremely bisexual fashion duh neither of them is straight #yes this is about aramis and marie. i spent yesterday being nothing short of obsessed with them and looks like today aint no different #just for the record i am ALWAYS obsessed with aramis and athos. just so we're clear. but this love triangle makes me ughhhhhh #the only reason i really love aramis/marie this much is because of the Divorce(tm). he and athos are married forever and ever and ever tho. #anyway i am bisexual and proud and so i can do what i want 💅

[ijustwanttoreadfanfiction]

SCREAMING!! That Billy fic was so freaking good, I have to agree with the last person the subtle reassurance he was giving was soooo mf nice.

The “I’ve got you angel.” And “I know I know.”😩

If you’re actually taking requests I would love to see some hurt/comfort where Billy is actually the one comforting reader. An argument gone too far when billy makes a comment he definitely shouldn’t have, causing his girlfriend to start crying. Immediate guilt. I don’t want reader to give into his consoling immediately but…eventually they just cling to him and tell him not to say that ever again. 🫠

Holy crap my first ever request. Thank you so much Anon for not only the prompt but your lovely feedback. I started working on this at 5am this morning and looking over the first draft I went way too hard with Mean!Billy and had to significantly pull it back, because I sure as hell wouldn't have forgiven him. Maybe that's another fic for another time. I hope I did your prompt justice.

Warnings: Explicit language, underage drinking, mean girls.

When The Party's Over.

Billy is in a shitty mood and has been all week, you've tried to get him to talk about what's wrong only to be shot down each time, you even go so far as to ask Max. 

"He's the same douchebag he's always been, maybe you're just noticing it for the first time." She had deadpanned.

You had hoped things would get better at the weekend, neither of you had school or work, his dad and Susan were away, Max was staying with Jane, you could finally spend some time together. 

Billy, it seems, has other ideas.

"Tommy Hagan has a free house tonight." He told you when you turned up at his place early evening on Saturday to find him knee deep in Aramis and Aqua Net.

"Meaning?" You ask perching on the edge of the bed, flipping through one of his many nudie mags, just for something to do. 

"A party." He says obviously, twisting his front curls into definition, eyeing you from the mirror.

"I thought we could maybe spend some time together tonight?" You hated how unsure you sounded, but Billy's attitude the past few days had thrown you for a loop.

"Yeah we can, at the party." He answered absentmindedly, whilst blasting another hairspray related hole in the Ozone layer.

  You had hoped things were looking up on route to Tommy's place, Billy had held your hand the entire drive, and reassured you that you'd do something together tomorrow.

The minute you both stepped foot inside the bustling house however, he dropped your hand instantly, hailing Tommy who was busy setting up multiple kegs.

You followed Billy through the crowd like a lost sheep, being jostled in his wake.

"Hargrove you fucking made it man!" Tommy calls out loutishly, chucking a can of beer at Billy which he catches adeptly, breaking it open and chugging down at an alarming rate.

Billy must have sensed you watching him.

"You want one?" He asks you loudly over the music, taking another two cans.

"No I'm good, I'll get a glass of punch or something." You say, pointing back towards the kitchen, expecting him to follow you but all he does is nod, turning back to continue talking to Tommy.

Ordinarily Billy wouldn't leave you alone at a party for a single second, he would always be touching you in some way; an arm around your shoulders or waist, hand on the small of your back, pulling you down to sit on his lap, pressing heated kisses to your neck.

You try to ignore your building feelings of hurt, reassuring yourself that he just needed to let off steam for a minute.

Carol Perkins and Nicole Smith were by the punch bowl when you got there, you hated them, a walking, talking pair of John Hughes clichés, spoilt and mean.

"Y/n! Oh my god, hi, we were just talking about you!" Carol says in a tone of fake delight as she spots you.

"You were?" You ask in confusion, sipping at your drink.

"Mhm, we think it's so cute how you trail around after Billy, like a little puppy." She simpers, with a malicious little grin. "Especially when everyone else can see that he doesn't want you around." She pulls a mock sad face, Nicola snorts, and you resist the urge to throw the punch in her piggish face.

"Well as ever it's been great talking to you Carol." You say with a sarcastic smile, but her words stung you as turned heel heading back towards Billy, who was doing a keg stand.

He straightened up howling like a wolf to the cheers of everyone around him, you push through the crowd gathered, trying to force a smile as he turns to you.

“You see that shit? New record!” He shouts into your ear.

 

It’s an hour later and Billy is getting more and more wasted, the look of self-destruction bright in his eyes. You're sat miserably on a sofa watching helplessly but after another catty comment sent your way by Carol you decide you’ve had enough, you approach him gingerly as he chugs two beers at once.

“Billy?” You say, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah?” He asks absentmindedly, barely acknowledging you, laughing raucously at something Tommy has just said.

“Can we go?” You ask quietly, it gets his attention, he rounds on you looking confused, face flushed with alcohol.

“We just got here.”

You bite your lip, feeling severely uncomfortable, Carol giving you the stink eye from over his shoulder.

“I know, I just - I’m not feeling well.” You stammer, fingernails digging into your clammy palms.

“Ok so go home, I’ll see you later.” He responds flatly, your mouth is oddly dry as he turns away once more.

“Without you?” You say in a small voice, tugging slightly on his shirt like a child.

He huffs loudly.

“Jesus, Y/n, you’re killing my buzz here, would you just go.” He says harshly.

  You take a step back, feeling your bottom lip tremble, having never been on the receiving end of Billy’s temper before. Carol and Nicola snigger nastily behind their hands, tears blind you and you bolt, legs carrying you quickly out onto the cold street. 

You hear rapid footfalls immediately chasing after you.

“Sunshine!” Billy calls, you flinch at the nickname. "Sunshine would you just stop for a second?!" 

“Don’t call me that!” You shout, rounding on him. “I was wrong about you Billy, everyone is right you are an asshole.” Glaring at him, eyes stinging, hands shaking.

“I'm sorry.” He says weakly, you’ve hit him where it hurts in retaliation but can’t bring yourself to feel sorry. “I don’t know why I told you to go, that’s the last thing I want.”

“I do. It’s just like Carol and Nicola said, you don’t want me.” You say, desperately trying to keep your voice level but failing miserably.

“What? No that’s not true, it’s the exact opposite baby.” He reaches out with placating hands and pleading eyes.

“So why do you keep pushing me away?” You sob, hugging yourself around the middle.

“Because I'm a fuck up, and a jerk, and you’re right an asshole. I don’t deserve you.” He says heavily.

“You’ve been distant with me all week, if you want to break up with me Billy just save us both some trouble and do it now.” You mumble, staring resolutely at the ground, mostly hoping it would open up and swallow you whole.

“Break up with you? Angel, I - I fucking love you.” That gets your attention, eyes snapping to his, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I know I don’t say it enough but you mean everything to me.” He says softly.

You desperately want to burrow into his arms, but his dismissal of you still stings, honing in on your biggest insecurities. You weren’t anything special, you knew that, not compared to the Heather Holloway’s of the world; and fucking Carol always getting under your skin stoking the idea that one day Billy would just up and leave.

“You really hurt me.” You say shakily, “Please don’t ever say something like that again unless you really want me to go, because I can’t do this a second time.” You plead.

“Never, ever.” He promises, caressing your face, gazing intently into your eyes.

You sniffle loudly, finally allowing him to fold you into his arms. “I’m so sorry I made you cry baby.” He apologizes, pressing kiss after kiss to the top of your head. 

“You scared me.” You whimper, wrapping your arms around him, clinging hard to his back.

“I know, I know.” He rocks you gently, before tilting your face up to kiss you softly. “But I'm not letting you go angel, ever.”

#billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x AFAB Reader #billy hargrove drabble #stranger things #billy stranger things #billy hargrove comfort #billy hargrove hurt

[enigma-the-mysterious]

D'Artagnan: Which is correct? Seven and five IS thirteen or seven and five ARE thirteen?

Aramis: Neither

Aramis: Because it's twelve

#incorrect quotes #lol #the musketeers #bbc musketeers #aramis #santiago cabrera #d'artagnan #luke pasqualino #musketeers #the three musketeers #alexandre dumas #original post

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Little Fall of Rain

D’Artagnan x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 2897

Summary: The youngest musketeer learns the harshness of the job when the woman he loves makes a tragic sacrifice. 

Notes: I couldn’t not make a Les Mis inspired imagine for this boy. I know they aren't from the same time period, but a British show in Paris… come on. Plus, it’s my favorite musical and I wanted to make myself sad by combining them. 

Warnings: Violence, angst (if you know the song, you know)

Find more Musketeers: HERE

-

Shoved and set aside, you’d had enough of chivalry for the day. You weren’t going to sit idly by as the village you grew up in was attacked. Woman or not, you could fight just as well as the men before you. For heaven’s sake, they were the ones to train you. 

“D’Artagnan,” you huffed. “Give me a weapon.” 

He hardly even glanced in your direction. “Stay where you’re hidden. We’ll have them overtaken soon enough.” 

You both glanced out at the swarming band of ruffians heading your way. They had guns and plenty of them. 

“D’Artagnan,” you said again, firmly in a tone he couldn’t ignore. He glanced over at you. You held out your hand. “Give. Me. A. Weapon.” 

He took a deep breath, looked again at the invading group, and nodded. The young musketeer plucked one of his pistols from his belt and handed it over to you. Though his heart ached for you to flee to safety, he knew they could use all of the hands they could get, especially ones as capable as yours. 

“Just…” He sighed. “Stay low, please?” 

“I will if you will,” you snapped back, a small teasing smile creeping onto your face despite the circumstances. D’Artagnan helped you atop the makeshift rampart. His hand lingered on your waist, holding you close to him. It made your skin alight and your breathing hitch. In a different place and different time, you would have let him hold you there until neither of you could stand anymore. 

“Get down!” Aramis shouted just before a new round of shots popped over your heads. 

Porthos growled. “How many of them could there be?” 

The musketeer’s marksmen sighed woefully. “Enough.” 

“Have we sent all of the women and children to safety?” You asked, the gunshots still ringing in your ears. 

“Almost all of them,” D’Artagnan muttered. You glared. 

“Y/N, what are you still doing here?” Aramis’s wide eyes peeked around the younger man and landed on the weapon in your hands. 

“I will not sit by while the place I grew up in is destroyed.” You held your head high and set your shoulders back. Aramis looked from you to D’Artagnan, back to you, and shrugged. 

“Try your best not to miss,” he said with a slight wink in his eye. 

“Don’t worry,” you nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “I won’t.” 

D’Artagnan glowered, but made no other protests. He did, however, keep his hand close to your arm, ready to pull you from danger. 

You took a deep breath, narrowed your sights on a quick movement behind one of the trees, took aim, and fired. The assailant slumped over, unmoving. An excited laugh puffed from your lips. 

Aramis raised an impressed brow. Even D’Artagnan couldn’t help but smile. The moment was brief, however, with another round of shots interrupting your small victory. A bullet whirled past your ear. D’Artagnan yanked you down, pulling you to his chest. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, a hand on your cheek. 

“No, no I’m alright.” 

Porthos grinned over at you. “I guess they aren’t as good a shot as our fair lady, eh?” 

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” you breathed, popping back up to fire a newly reloaded shot into the chest of one of the attackers. As his body fell, the forms of his comrades disappeared into the trees. You turned to Athos. “Are they retreating?” 

The musketeer peered into the foliage skeptically. “Or planning a different means of attack.” 

Regardless, the break in the chaos was enough to allow the men to reload and regroup to discuss the plans going forward. The baker you grew up visiting every morning worked with the blacksmith your father once took on as an apprentice. A farmer whose daughter you treated as a sister. Every face held a memory. 

D’Artagnan followed your gaze around the village wall. Your eyes glittered with familiarity and nostalgia. He found himself unable to keep from smiling. 

“This seems like a lovely place to grow up,” he noted, drawing your attention back to him. 

You beamed. “It was. The people are kind and wonderful.” You breathed in the fresh meadow air. “It’s always quiet.” 

“Why did you leave?” D’Artagnan asked. The way he smirked at you made your heart flutter. 

“It’s always quiet,” you laughed. 

“Ah,” he chuckled, the sound lighting something in your chest. “And you’ve never been one for the quiet.” 

“A woman after my own heart,” Aramis chimed in, passing by to check everyone’s supply of powder and bullets. 

“Exactly,” D’Artagnan said. He nudged you teasingly. “Neither of you knows when to keep your mouths shut.” 

Your jaw dropped. Aramis raised a brow. You turned to the other musketeer with a false scowl of offense. 

“Permission to hit him?” 

“Permission granted.” Aramis tilted his hat and continued down the line. You slammed your hand against D’Artagnan’s chest, eliciting a quiet ‘oof’ from his lips and a look of playful betrayal from his eyes. 

“I should give you the silent treatment for a comment like that,” you huffed, still snickering. “See how you like it then.” 

He smiled. “You know I could never bear a world of your silence,” D’Artagnan said. His smile turned mischievous. “An hour or two, though…”

You smacked him again and this time, he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips. How you wished to press his lips to yours instead. What an inconvenient time to remember your feelings for the young musketeer. As if you needed reminding. 

You hastily pulled your hand away. D’Artagnan pondered your sudden change for a moment, not understanding what he’d done to make you uncomfortable. After all, the two of you often teased each other like this. Of course, on his part, it was due to the feelings he’d harbored for you for as long as you’d known each other. Perhaps the notion of his affection repulsed you. 

“Y/N?” He said. 

“We should ready ourselves.” Your jaw tensed with your now indifferent words. “They could be back at any moment.” 

He nodded, disheartened. “Good idea.” 

A silence fell over the men. The trees stood in a mocking quiet, without movement or any indication of the attackers within. Porthos stared over the clearing with narrowed eyes. 

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “Where have they gone?” Everyone looked warily at the seemingly empty forest, but you turned and looked at the village. Buildings blocked most of your view. 

“Hold my legs and don’t let me fall,” you instructed, using D’Artagnan’s shoulder to lift yourself up onto the wall. All four musketeers reached to pull you back down.

“What are you doing?” D’Artagnan hissed. “Do you want to make it easier for them?”

“They aren’t there anymore.” You peered over the roofs of the buildings you’d known since you were a child, searching for any weakness, any spot they might be able to break through. There, at the other end of the village, was the barn beside the lake where the women and children of the village were hiding. And gliding across the water were boats that held the enemy. 

“The barn!” You shouted, jumping down. You likely would have lost your balance if D’Artagnan hadn’t caught you. “They’re going after the others!” 

One group stayed behind while the rest charged toward the barn with you right along with them. You arrived just as the group of mercenaries and thieves came to shore. Shots and swords clashing took over your world, casting everything into chaos. You lost sight of Athos first, then Aramis, but D’Artagnan never left your side. 

An attacker saw you and sneered, lifting his sword to strike while you were distracted by another. D’Artagnan ran him through in one, swift motion. 

The size of the attacking party began to dwindle. The more men died, the more others started to retreat back to their boats. Others surrendered completely. Still, a fair number fought on, crossing their swords with your waiting blade. You lost count of how many you cut down in your path to get to the barn where the woman and children of the village waited. 

Few remained now as Porthos tossed one man over his shoulder, throwing him back to the ground with enough force you heard bones crack. D’Artagnan struggled with his own opponent, almost losing his footing in the mud. Out of the corner of your eye, you just caught the flash of the barrel now aimed at the heart of the man you loved. 

“No!” 

Your hand flew out in front of you and latched onto the burning metal, yanking it back and away from its former mark.

The shot rang through the air, along with a single breathy gasp, and the dying cry of the man D’Artagnan had been engaged with as he plunged his sword into his chest. He turned to you, smiling. 

“We’ve got them,” he cheered. His moment of excitement, however, quickly faded. 

“D’Artagnan…” His name left your lips like a plea. You took a step forward and stumbled into his waiting arms. 

It started to rain. 

-

“Is he watching?”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” you smirked, “I want him to witness your defeat.” You brought your smaller sword up, clashing it with his. The motion took him by surprise long enough for you to strike again. Above you, Treville leaned on the rail outside of his office, observing the practice. 

“You don’t have to keep proving yourself, you know,” D’Artagnan said. “He already let you stay.” 

“I don’t just want to train with you,” you scoffed. “I want to become one of you, D’Artagnan, which is not a simple task for a woman.” 

“You seem to be fairing alright.” He advanced now, making several blows which you blocked expertly. 

But you were too focused on his weapon to realize he was backing you into the stairs. Instead of taking a step up, your foot caught on the wooden plank. You toppled backward and felt the heat of embarrassment rise in your cheeks. 

D’Artagnan stuck his sword into the step beside you, leaning on it with a coy smile. “Best two out of three?” 

“Y/N! D’Artagnan!” Treville called from overhead. You raised your eyes to meet him, more shame burning on your face. He smiled. “Try not to wear each other out.” The captain chuckled and gave you an approving nod. “I’m afraid you might be too much for him to handle.” 

D’Artagnan’s jaw dropped in mock offense and Treville went back into his quarters. 

“I think he was watching a different duel,” D’Artagnan huffed, though you could see a smile on his lips. He held out his hand.

“Or he just knows talent when he sees it.” 

You let him pull you to your feet, pulling you close to his chest. Your faces were inches apart and, for a moment, you thought he might kiss you. For a moment, you wanted him to. 

D’Artagnan had been the first to welcome you into their group of noble, if not raucous, soldiers. He’d swiftly become your best friend and had just as quickly made his way into your heart. 

Unbeknownst to you, his heart was just as enraptured. Every waking moment, he wanted to spend by your side. You consumed every thought when you weren’t with him and you set every nerve on fire when you were near. 

D’Artagnan leaned, wanting nothing more than to confess his feelings for you at that moment by pressing his lips to yours… but stopped himself. 

“Treville is right,” he said. “We should call it a night.” And just like that, he pulled away, leaving a cold, empty space between you. 

-

He tried to cover it, to stop the red seeping from your shirt, but it was everywhere. He pressed his hand to the wound and felt the hot crimson against his palm. You cried out from the sharp pressure and he tried to soothe you with his other hand on your cheek. 

“You’re okay,” he said, panic lacing his voice. He looked up, the man who’d shot you stood over him with his blade ready to strike. 

An expert shot took him before he could bring the weapon down on D’Artagnan’s skull. 

The youngest musketeer searched the field.

“Aramis!” He cried. “Help me!” 

“It’s okay,” you muttered weakly. You somehow managed a smile. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“Aramis, do something!” His scream rang through the now-empty battlefield as his friend rushed to your side. 

“Are-” You sucked in a breath as Aramis replaced D’Artagnan’s hands with his own. “Are the women and children alright? Did any of those brutes make it inside?”

Aramis shook his head, giving you a reassuring smile. “They’re all fine, thanks to you. If you hadn’t caught them as soon as you did, I’m sure there would have been more casualties. You saved lives today.” 

“Then it’s all worth it.” 

D’Artagnan took your hand. “Don’t talk like that.” He cast a desperate look at his friend. 

Aramis shook his head with a heavy heart and sorrow in his eyes. D’Artagnan reached over you, grabbing him by the lapel. 

“There must be something you can do,” he pleaded. 

“You have no idea how much I wish there was.” Aramis felt your heart weaken beneath his hands. He leaned over and kissed your forehead, muttering a prayer against your lips. Aramis lifted his eyes back to D’Artagnan. “Tell her.” 

D’Artagnan paled. “What?” 

Aramis stared daggers at him, not in anger, but in desperation. “This is your last chance, D’Artagnan.” He laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, keeping one holding yours. He brought the two of your hands together and, though slicked with your blood, it sent sparks through your fingertips. “You will regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.” 

He gave you a final, affectionate smile, though the look in his eyes was nothing short of mournful. Porthos and Athos stood to the side with the same looks upon their faces. 

“Look, D’Artagnan,” you said, holding out a weak hand to the moisture in the air. “Isn’t the rain lovely?” 

“Yes, it is,” He winced as though it pained him to speak. He still pressed against your wound in a vain attempt to stop the blood pouring out of your chest. He expected you to cry out from the pressure, to jerk away or beg him to stop, but you merely looked up at the sky with a glossy kind of wonder. 

“I am glad,” you breathed, “to have felt it one last time.” 

D’Artagnan held back a sob. 

“Please don’t go.” He pulled you closer to him. Aramis was right. He had to say it. “I love you.”

Your eyes found his again, though they were fading quickly. 

“And I you,” you smiled. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he cried. “I love you. If I could close your wound with these words, I would. I love you. Please.” He held you so closely now it should have hurt. It didn’t. It was wonderful. 

Your hand slipped from your side and landed amongst the grass and the budding plants. A wildflower had begun to bloom. 

“The rain, D’Artagnan…” With the last of your strength, you plucked the flower from its root and brought it to him. “The rain makes flowers grow.” 

Your hand, and the blossom, fell for the final time. 

“...Y/N?” D’Artagnan held your face and searched your eyes for something. Anything. But their blank, lifelessness reflected only the darkened sky. “Please, God, no.” 

He couldn’t tell where the rain ended and his tears began. 

“I love you.” He repeated it again and again as if the chant could breathe into your lungs and force your heart to beat again. 

No one knew how long he knelt there with you pulled tight against his chest, his tears wetting your already rain-soaked hair. But eventually, the clouds parted and the sun returned. The final drops from the sky landed on your lips and he kissed you goodbye. 

-

The entire village came to pay their respects at your grave. Aramis, Porthos, and Athos all worked on preparing the burial before sundown. Words of thanks and sorrow filled the air between the villagers and the four men. They came and went, many having to repair the damages to their homes that the thieves have caused. 

D’Artagnan stayed by your side, even after you were placed and covered with earth. He remained after the others prepared the horses, though none moved to rush him. He moved only once to a small grove of white and yellow blossoms. 

He picked a small but lovely bouquet and set it upon the mound of dirt where you took your final rest. 

Then, he turned to the three men waiting for him. Aramis stepped forward first, taking him in his arms with a brotherly embrace, his own grief clear on his face. The others joined, putting their arms around D’Artagnan’s shoulders to remind him they were there and they always would be. 

The four men left the village, but it remained in their hearts and minds for the rest of their lives. D’Artagnan thought of you often and, eventually, it gladdened his heart to be reminded of you- your smile, your persistence, your beautiful, loving heart- every time spring rains brought a new, colorful wave of flowers.

#d'artagnan x reader #d'artagnan #the musketeers #bbc musketeers #the musketeers imagine #aramis #porthos #athos #luke pasqualino

[rubeau-art]

I don't think I ever uploaded Aramis' full current ref here??

I say full ref. His whip isn't here... and neither is Peako...

#Aramis Tiber #character ref #half elf #eldritch knight #dnd

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

A little convincing

A/N: I made it. Despite uni actually forbidding such things. I had to write this. It made me feel happy and I hope it will make you feel happy as well. Imagine whichever Aramis you like best. Romain Duris has my heart. Aramis x littke sister reader.

You were quietly sitting on the windowsill, overlooking the busy, dusty, loud street of Paris that led alongside the musketeer‘s corps. It was a fresh, lovely morning, the sun peeking out behind an array of clouds and the smell of spring whispering promises about the upcoming summer. The sun light reflected in the tin rain gutters on the Parisian roofs blinded you, so you looked behind you, eyes fixing on your brother putting on his jewelry in front of his mirror. Yes, it was HIS mirror. Neither Athos, nor Porthos ever spent any time in front of it. He did that sufficiently for the three of them. He was humming softly, fixing his moustache the way he liked best and trying not to make a tangled mess of his twelve different necklaces. No one in Paris walked about as extravagantly as he did. It made you feel proud of your brother. He was carrying about a security of self that was charming and good-natured, never rude and rarely arrogant. When someone mocked him, he just smiled. When someone tried to outdo him, he just laughed. Aramis‘ face only ever darkened when you or his brothers were in trouble. He could be terrifying then, even to you. His dark side was just as dark as his bright sight was shiny.

While tending to his appearance that very morning, he seemed particularly shiny. You couldn‘t help but smile, when he noticed your attention and moved his head around in a swift motion, granting you a waggle of his eyebrows. You tried not to show it, but a sadness was wearing you down. He would be gone for an entire week and despite the fact that Treville and Constance never allowed you a quiet moment in the reoccurring absence of your brother and his friends to keep you from worrying, you were always on the brink of dropping into the terrible imagination of losing him. He must have noticed a weakness in your smile - he always did - because he suddenly altered his voice, talking in the most comedic American/English accent and getting to his feet dramatically.

„MISSUS!!“ He exclaimed and you felt your lips twitch. „Is that a saaad little twaankle I see in your moonyshiny eyeess?“

With a huff, you started shaking your head at him. „You‘re such an idiot!“

He gasped, so overdramatically offended, he almost threw himself off his feet. „MADAMMME, do you have the faintliest idea who ya talkin to??“

You tried to glare at him to keep from laughing or grinning, but he merely mimicked your expression and hunched over in a most concerningly predatory way.

„Oh, I see,“ he growled, back to his normal voice, sending a feeling of fearful anticipation through your stomach.

„Aramis!“ You warned, tenseley sitting up straight on the sill.

„That laughter needs a little more convincing, huh?“ He continued to growl, slowly advancing in your direction. You were getting really bouncy there, extending your hands defensively in front of you and slowly backing away from the window. A nervous smile slipped on your features.

„No, thank you, I think it‘s not available today!“

He laughed softly at that, his eyes glittering. There was a silent consent shared between you: in the way you didn‘t really try to get away, in the way he blinked slowly and knowingly, reassuringly. It was your game and you would play it the way you wanted to.

„I think I can coax it out of you!“ He grinned fondly and suddenly the backs of your knees hit his bed. Your eyes widened and he was too freaking fast. With a squeal you tried to avoid his arms coming for your middle by throwing yourself on the sheets. You quickly robbed backwards on your back, hysterical sounds leaving your throat in a melody of your own design. He was right there with you, trying to get a hold of your arms and cackling at the way you kicked him in the ribs.

„Ooooh, feisty!!“

You shrieked in panic, when his hand managed to hold on to your leg and quickly tried to pull yourself away from him, but he pulled you right back into the middle of the bed and caged your body with his arms.

„Well, well, looks like you‘re in trouble,“ he huffed with his deep voice, smirking as his eyes locked with yours. You were already smiling wider and brighter than the tin roof gutters of Paris, feeling the love for your brother flush out all the anxiety for the moment. In an attempt at self-defense, you shoved your hands under his arms and tickled the mostly unprotected armpits, making him recoil and break out into a short flow of laughter, before he got a hold of your wrists and pinned them above your head.

„You little snake,“ he mused, humming happily when you started to shout out breathless, giggly „No“s, all pinned down and delivered.

„No, no, no?“ He teased, delighted at the way you already tried to protect your neck by shaking your head quickly from left to right. „You still think I cannot convince that laughter to come out?“

You cursed yourself for the breathless giggles that were already shaking you, despite him not having even come near to tickling you. With a deep breath you put your head back and looked at your brother smiling softly at you. In a last attempt at defying him, you stuck out your tongue and said: „Actually it‘s harder NOT to laugh at you in general, but somehow the boys and I manage i- NOOO!!!“

You squealed with laughter when he dipped his head down and blew a raspberry under your ear, his beard bristeling against your skin ticklishly.

„Dohohohohon‘t,“ you got out half-suffocated, before a second and third raspberry sent you into more delirious waves of laughter.

„Are you laughing at me right now??“ He asked fake incredulously when he moved his head back up to look at you shaking with mirth. You could barely breathe as you shook your head from left to right, pulling at your pinned wrists.

„Nohohoho, I swear!!“

He chuckled and dipped his head down anew, meeting a particularly mean spot on your neck. You bucked your body up and tried to throw him over, but he simply repeated to blow on the same spot several times, succeeding in making your laughter explode too much to still have any strength for that manoeuver.

„Plehehehease stop,“ you giggled when he‘d moved his head up again, smirking triumphantly.

„Oh, come on, I have to make up for an entire week here.“ He chuckled, but the mentioning of his absence quickly changed the mood.

Your smile vanished and your eyes grew less bright than before.

„Hmmm,“ he made, letting go of your wrists as a sadness tinged his carefree expression a shade less happy. „Little sister doesn‘t like me going.“

„No, she hates that really.“ You answered, pulling your arms down and starting to play with one of his necklaces hanging a little lower than the rest.

He put his head up on one of his palms, the other arm still keeping you from getting away. The kindness in his eyes never vanished, a huge amount of sympathy weighing you down like a warm blanket.

„I would take you with us, if I could.“

„Would you?“ You asked, using the crucifix pendant of his necklace to draw the lines of his chin.

„Mhmmm,“ he answered, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. „I would keep you in a saddle bag the entire time to make sure you don‘t get lost, but yes I would!“ He chuckled when you gently punched him in the chest for that, but quickly turned more serious again when he saw how worried you really were.

„You know, (Y/N), when I‘m gone, I know exactly what and who I come back for and that creates a power you can hardly imagine. I would slice, slash, burn and kick my way back to you, always. Even if I‘m hurt, even if I‘m dying, I will always come back here to you. The last time you see me will never be when I leave.“

Your eyes started to burn as you looked into the honey brown eyes of your brother during his little speech. His words made you sad, but all the more they reassured you and made you want to cling to him for as long as you could.

Your arms were thrown around his neck in one swift motion and he caught and held you against him with one arm, nuzzling your hair and breathing you in.

„I love you so much,“ you whispered, allowing one single tear to drop onto his shirt.

„Oh, if you knew how much I love you, if you only knew how powerful that makes me.“ He answered gently, smiling against your ear and holding you even tighter than before.

„Powerful enough to crush me apparently,“ you wheezed, laughing when he dropped you back on the sheets all of a sudden. The mischievous sparkle was back in his eyes.

„Right, where were we actually? Wasn‘t I very busy doing something funny right there?“

„Oh no no no,“ you protested, giggling with a new wave of nervous laughter, your hands quickly coming up to push against his face, to keep that beard away from your neck.

He chuckled softly, not even seeming bothered when he used one hand to brush your own away and pin them on your side now, using his body to keep them stuck between you two. You were already wiggling around hysterically, twisting and turning but never escaping. And soon his ticklish beard on your neck and his skilled fingers raking over your ribs had you shaking with laughter again. Until Athos and Porthos entered the room and Aramis was off of you in milliseconds. They were always on your side. And he was painfully aware of that.

A similar cornering situation like the one between you and your brother took place and Athos and Porthos had your brother down in seconds, making him burst with adorable giggles in the most practiced manner, cutting off his access to his sides and tickling him there until they could have made him promise anything in the entire world.

You loved watching them play, feeling good about yourself and the morning spent with your brother. Seeing the fondness in the eyes of his friends reassurred you further that Aramis was well protected by the eagle eyes of the two of them. They would never let anything happen to each other if they had a say in it.

You couldn‘t wait to hear him laugh like that again.

#the musketeers #tickling #tickle imagine #ticklish!aramis #little sister reader #aramis little sister #the three musketeers #athos #porthos #hurt/comfort

[firstelevens]

LEFT FIELD REQUEST: Phryne and Jack, #63

(or if that's all just too long ago and you can't call them up, then Aramis and Anne, #4)

Sylvia I love you so much but Phryne and Jack are IMPOSSIBLE to write so Anne and Aramis will have to suffice, alas.

4. At Last - Etta James

It's strange, after so many years of the Musketeers being at her beck and call, but Anne simply can't get used to having Aramis so near.

She knew, on some level, what it meant to make him First Minister: Treville had been the Crown's right hand as long as he'd served, Richelieu before him, neither of them had ever been far when they were needed. Still, it seems that every meeting with her advisors leads to a meeting with her First Minister, and while there's nothing untoward happening--indeed it's impossible to imagine how anyone might find time to be untoward, given all the treaties and diplomatic letters that fill their time together--she still finds herself blushing like a young girl as she makes her way down the halls to her more private meeting rooms.

The only thing to do is to blame Aramis. After all, she's fairly certain nobody told him to smile so warmly when he bows and greets her with a soft, "Your Majesty." Nonetheless, he does it every time, and every time, Anne's pulse quickens. If she doesn't get in the habit of it soon, her heart is liable to beat out of her chest at an advisory meeting, and then what will happen?

And if she can't get in the habit of him simply doing his job around the palace, how will she ever get used to the sight of him late at night, slipping into her chambers with the stealth of a trained soldier and the sweet grin that their son shares?

(It will take a lifetime of practice, she decides, and applies herself to it at once.)

Put a number 1-100 in my inbox along with a ship/character (or an AU) and I will write you a microfic.

#sylvia-morris #zainab does ask meme things #my fic #Anne x Aramis #spotify wrapped fics

[pizza-hats-of-the-world-1882]

character bingo! OBVIOUSLY raoul but also. humour me. aramis <3

ough! my lil guy!!!!<3

since my mom is reading vdb ive been occasionally reviewing parts of it and wow, i forgot how often people are like "look at that hot guy (o゜▽゜)o☆" ab raoul. pretty boy extraordinaire

if you dont like him youre wrong

i do like his tragic arc but i want more. MORE I SAY! INFINITE RAOUL!

my art tag speaks for itself

ditto

what can i say theres something so wrong with him. i get it tho. hes so galahad coded

if he suddenly goes to the top of my blorbo rotation it means im really going through it.

as much as i love return of the musketeers his characterization did lack a certain je ne sais crois. also WHAT is going on in the bbl movies?????

if you title the book "le vicomte de bragelonne",,, i will be expecting to spend more time with,, yknow, THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE!!!!!!!

free space! i think his highest stat would be constitution. not emotionally tho

hes like a chew toy to me<3

ive gained a higher understanding of him. we've mindmelded

like i said: galahad coded. but i think he should kill more people

aramis time!

ive come to the conclusion that dumas has a strong sense for character design. naughty catboy

he is not trustworthy lol

maybe its because i wasnt raised catholic like most of you apparently but i dont read that much into him. he likes his friends and he likes power and he'll follow those pursuits ruthlessly

they either dont make him slutty enough or dont make him catholic enough. or in bbc's unfortunate case neither.

specifically he doesnt get a lot of interactions w raoul which sucks bc thats one of his uncles and i love seeing r with d'art and porthos let him hang out w aramis!! thats literaly his mom's ex lol

he is like a small animal to me

free space: we're just never gonna elaborate on him having a kid w mme de longueville huh

i just think he's a funny lil scheming boy

he certainly seems less evil when around his friends lol. also this the power of friendship books series they are all best in the les inseperables dynamic. do NOT separables them

not really but i do think its funny to rag on him. five foot lil slut

#today i find myself at a loss for words for raoul meta; possibly bc ive said so much of it before lol #aramee now on dvd!! #pizza talk #askbox games #the three musketeers #(and ensuing sequels)

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Les Trois Mousquetaires, Chapter 31

Our boys meet up with de Winter and the three other Englishmen for their appointed duel.

De Winter wants to know the real names of Athos, Porthos and Aramis, refusing to fight with men who carry the names of "goat sheperds". (How dare he?!) And the three actually comply, whispering their true names into the Englishmen's ears - to d'Artagnan's and the reader's immense frustration who can't overhear a damn thing!

Athos cooly tells de Winter that, since "one believes me to be dead, I will now have to kill you, to keep my secret." And he means it.

And then "huit épées brillèrent aux rayons du soleil couchant." ("Eight rapiers glistened in the rays of the setting sun")

(I live for excatly this kind of romanticized swashbuckle writing).

And for Dumas' descriptions of each of the Musketeers' fighting style:

"Athos fought with the same calm and method he displayed in a weapons hall (aka in training)"

"Porthos, no doubt having had his confidence curbed a little by his adventure in Chantilly, played a game of finesse and prudence."

"Aramis, who had the third verse of his poem to finish, fought his man in a hurry."

It is, of course, Athos, the best swordsman of the regiment, who kills his opponent first, with a single thrust, right through the heart.

(As I said, I'm so here for this shit.)

Porthos, meanwhile, only injures his opponent and helpfully carries the man to his carriage. How polite!

Aramis' Englishman very quickly realizes he doesn't stand a chance and makes a run for it.

(I'm so here for this, too.)

And our youngster? D'Artagnan uses a clever strategy of simply parrying de Winter's blows, tiring him out, until he can simply flick his rapier out of his hand.

De Winter stumbles and falls, d'Artagnan's sword at his throat. But d'Art, generous as he is, lets de Winter live - in exchange for the love of de Winter's sister. (Which had been his plan all along.) D'Art is proviced with Lady Clerick de Winter's address and to show up at her place at 8 o'clock that same evening where de Winter will introduce the two.

After an unusually flamboyante toilette, probably using the 17th century equivalent of hair products and a lot of parfum, d'Artagnan, ready for his date, stops by Athos' place on his way, who - wary as he is of anything female - warns d'Artagnan that Milday may be a spy of the Cardinal's. (Remember, dear reader, that, at this point, none of them know who Milady really is!)

They even talk about her being blonde, and Athos about being especially suspicious of blonde women.

But our young Gascon doesn't listen.

In d'Artagnan's eyes, the evening's date goes well, as do three more dates on the following nights. Milady (who turns out to be de Winter’s sister-in-law and not his sister) is nice to him and shows great interest in his person, asking a lot of questions, also about his friends, and if he's considered working for the Cardinal? Or if he's ever been to England?

But d'Artagnan, sweet summer child that he is (and also a 20yo whose blood has entirely left his brain in favor of his dick), doesn't suspect a thing, and neither does he notice that Ketty, Milady's pretty and friendly maid, is desperately trying to flirt with him.

#les trois mousquetaires #the three musketeers #alexandre dumas #reread #my reading #chapter 31 #d'artagnan #athos #aramis #porthos #milady de winter

[qvarrelsome]

╰ ┈ [ otto farrant , twenty five , cis male , he/his ] in the time of dragons , JASON LANNISTER is entering the game of thrones . said to be dauntless + shrewd , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be obstinate + quarrelsome . when asked about them , people are always reminded of a flame - quickly growing in size and swallowing everything in its path and the ashes left by it’s path of destruction; a head of golden hair accompanied by a devilish grin; a set of broken chains, a reminder that he can’t be tamed . though they are the LORD OF LANNISPORT , their true loyalties lie with house lannister and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support THE SEPARATION OF THE REALMS above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come .

basics

name: jason lannister

age: twenty five

title: lord

allegiance: house lannister of lannisport (the main branch can get fucked as far as he's concerned)

gender, pronouns: cis male & he/his

sexuality: homosexual

martial status: unwed, unbetrothed

familial

father: lancel lannister

mother: tbd.

siblings: alicent lannister

cousins: n/a

physical

hair color: blond

eye color: dark brown

height: 5'9''

build: athletic

personality

traits: dauntless, shrewd, obstinate, quarrelsome

mbti: entj

temperament: chloeric

moral alignment: chaotic evil

character parallels: ransom drysdale (knives out), han solo (star wars), ronan lynch (the raven cycle)

biography -

jason and his twin sister alicent are the only children of lord lancel lannister and his first wife, with jason being the lord's only son.

as a child his time would be split between the capital and lannisport - with hopes that he would come to live in the capital full time, or at least, spend most of his time there alongside his father.

however due to his uncooperative nature and just unwillingness to spend too much time away from his mother, most of jason's childhood would be spent in lannisport.

he would form an incredibly close bond with his mother, his only other close relationship being with his twin sister. he never seemed to care for his father, though that was through no fault of the older male's.

he was absolutely devastated by the death of his mother. and with her, went any traces of humanity that jason possessed. (that's a bit dramatic but basically no more nice jason)

he left lannisport within a fortnight, vowing, quite loudly, that he wouldn't return without a good reason.

to date he has returned exactly once for alicent's wedding - leaving the second her betrothed died. he wrongly assumed his sister wouldn't want him there.

he's been traveling westeros, earning money through work as a sell sword.

fun facts -

he's a bit of a pyromaniac. he doesn't go around starting fires but he sure does love to watch them !

he's just an incredibly angry guy, though no one can quite figure out why he's so angry. honestly, neither can he - though he won't be admitting that anytime soon.

he is very, very gay, which probably contributes to like 50% of his anger.

he's quite a gifted swordsman which has helped him find work as a sell sword.

he has never really considered becoming a knight, though he likely wouldn't have a hard time finding someone to knight him. it just doesn't interest him.

this man straight up doesn't sleep ! and in the rare event that he does, it's usually restless.

he's kind of violent ...

also he loves learning to use different kinds of weapons. it's his idea of fun.

wanted connections -

JASON LANNISTER , our LORD OF LANNISPORT , is currently searching for their long term companion (love interest)in the kingdoms. they should be aged twenty two - twenty eight with the possible faces of archie renaux, aramis knight, timothee chalamet, emre bey, corey mylchreest, charles melton, dylan wang, ewan mitchell any age appropriate male fc. i should probably start by saying jason is notoriously difficult to get along with, in fact, he usually doesn't even bother trying to form a positive relationship. but for whatever reason, your character is the one notable exception. jason doesn't just care about him, he cares what he thinks of him. jason has spent the past several years traveling westeros which is how he met your muse ! it's likely they got off on the wrong but were able to set aside their differences to become travel companions before eventually developing feelings for one another. needless to say, jason would do just about anything for him. also i will throw it out there that i am willing to make adjustments to this connection to fit your character ! ── you ARE required to contact the mun before applying , but if you wish to , you can reach them @QVARRELSOME.

rivals / enemies / negative connections. look jason is an asshole who goes out of his way to have negative interactions with those around him. he's got to have more negative connections than positive at this point.

flings. nothing serious - which is very intentional on jason's part but a man has needs and he's had a few flings as he's traveled across westeros. he tends to cut ties and run when they start getting to serious.

one serious relationship/possible ex. i'll work on details for this connection later but if you're interested let me know.

travel companion(s). people he's traveled with or even just crossed paths with on more than one occasion.

hosts. people he's visited/stayed with across westeros. he might not be a friendly person but he's quite a good house guest !

employers. he's a sell sword, do with that what you will ! though it's possible he's found other lines of work.

#⦁ — ᴊᴀsᴏɴ ʟᴀɴɴɪsᴛᴇʀ ( about ) #thrones.intro

[enigma-the-mysterious]

Annamis Musketeers Pirates AU that quite literally came to me in a fucking dream:

Aramis is the pirate captain of a pirate ship. Rochefort hired him to kidnap a certain noblewoman from a ship. He does and turns out that woman is the Queen of France.

Constance, the Queen's attendant, accompanies Anne to Aramis' ship because she is brave and adamant like that. At some point she slaps Aramis because of course.

So, he takes them both to his ship and lets the royal crew go after taking all their weapons (and looting them because he is a pirate duh) and warning them sternly not to follow him.

He is a pirate but also a gentleman, so he makes sure neither of the woman come to harm or disrespect on his ship and their needs are met.

Then, Aramis' ship makes landing at the predetermined place where he was supposed to meet Rochefort and hand over his kidnappees. After landing, Aramis somehow finds out that 1) There are Red Guards and Musketeers in hiding who will ambush and kill him and his crew 2) Rochefort is a douchebag and handing Anne over to him will be a bad, bad idea. Then some swashbuckling fights happen, Aramis lets the Musketeers know that Rochefort is a douchebag and they all escape from the Red Guards on Aramis' ship

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

#the musketeers #bbc musketeers #lol #aramis #santiago cabrera #queen anne #anne of austria #anne x aramis #annamis #otp #aramis x anne #alexandra dowling #musketeers #the three musketeers #original post #not incorrect quotes #comte de rochefort #rochefort #marc warren #athos #tom burke #porthos #howard charles #porthos du vallon #d'artagnan #luke pasqualino #constance #tamla kari

[soupedepates]

ok ok i need to talk about my blorbos in my project "A Nap in the Garden of the Hesperides"

aint they so silly

so there are two main storylines. - Dante and Aramis not having the time of their lives - Lucienne, Yousra and Candy being silly sapphics

Aramis is a great pianist, he is leaving next year to study music abroad in Vienna so this is his last year in the conservatoire. He comes from a quite wealthy family, and he avoids his parents most of the time (angsty teen much). He suffers from insomnia, this comes from the fact he was seriously sick as a kid and almost died in his sleep several times.

Dante was living with his father in Guatemala until they learnt his mother (his parents are divorced, his father is Guatemalan and his mother is French) has cancer. They came back to France to support her (his father respects immensely his mother, and reciprocally). Dante needs to be stimulated not to ruminate dark thoughts so he starts courses at the conservatoire : opera singing (he is a wonderful tenor), choral singing, music theory, modern dancing... and of course piano.

Dante falls in love with how Aramis plays the piano, and Aramis falls in love with Dante's voice. They learn to know each others through music and end up dating. But the point of this storyline is that this is the good person, but bad timing.

It ends so fucking bad. uwu

Lucienne is Aramis' best friend since diapers. They are almost always together, so much Aramis' parents think they are dating (spoiler alert, Lucienne is a lesbian and Aramis is gay). Lucienne lives with her girlfriend Yousra since she is 18 (Yousra is two years older, they met in high school) and they are very happy. Lucienne is polyamourous, and she falls in love at first sight with a ballerina she meets through Aramis : CANDY.

Candy too falls in love, but as soon as she learns about Yousra she backs down for she doesn't want neither to interfer nor to be the side-chick. After meeting Yousra, she and Lucienne decide to pursue a relationship but swear to never touch each other. They start an epistolary romantic relationship.

Yousra is her gf's wingwoman while being a nurse. She also is here to cut Aramis' or Lucienne's bullshit (and they need it), and helps Dante to deal with the possibility his mother dies. She needs charadev cuz she is such an interesting character but in the actual state of things she is but a support character.......

#ocs #art #digital art #shitpost #silly doodles #project #writing project #they are so silly #uwu #i love these blorbos #i will make them suffer so much #dante has it the worst tbh #poor little boi #Youtube #A Nap in the Garden of the Hesperides

[groundcontrol21]

Sicktember #29

Prompt #29: Lethargy/Exhaustion

Fandom: The Three Musketeers

Title: Midnight Mass

Summary: After spending weeks abed, Aramis swears he is well enough for one little Mass. His brothers aren't so sure.

CW: This takes place at Mass, in a Catholic Church, so applicable religious imagery applies.

It had snowed that afternoon, and the crisp frost crunched beneath the boots of the Musketeers as they walked by lamplight to The Church of Saint-Sulpice. Aramis preferred the Midnight Mass at Saint-Étienne-du-Mont, but Athos reminded him that it was a miracle they were letting him out for any midnight Mass at all, given the chill in the air and the two weeks he had just spent abed coughing out his lungs from pneumonia, so the church closest to the Musketeer garrison would just have to suffice for this Christmas.

Even though the walk to Saint-Sulpice was scarcely all of five minutes, they had bundled Aramis up against the cold in every spare item of winter clothing they had between them. Still, their pace was slower than it should have been owing to Aramis’s lethargic gait, and even in the low light from the streetlamps Athos could see his cheeks beginning to be bitten red from the wind. He resisted the matronly urge to pull the scarf up over the exposed skin of Aramis’s face and was immensely gratified when D’Artagnan did it for him, and thus bore the subsequent grumbling.

When they reached the church, they paused, propping Aramis up against the giant wooden doors to the nave to allow him to catch his breath while the air was still fresh and free of incense. The doors and the nave were lit by large torches, which cast their warm glow all amongst the churchgoers who filed in beside them, the sounds of their chattering evening out into a hymn punctuated by the ringing of the bells overhead. Aramis pulled down the scarf and smiled, and even so all Athos could see was the way the pallor of his face still too closely mirrored the fresh snowfall, all he could think of was the way his fever had broken just two days prior. 

He took his friend by the shoulder. “If you feel too unwell, Aramis, you must promise to tell us and we will escort you back early, alright?”

“Yes, Aramis, there’s no shame in leaving early,” D’Artagnan said, stamping the snow from his boots. “We’d rather that than have to carry you back in a cart.”

“Hell, I’ll stage a diversion if you want me to,” Porthos said with a shrug. “Pretend to faint or something. I don’t mind.”

Aramis rolled his eyes, and Athos had to physically stop himself from bracing him with a hand; he looked so ready to fall. “Cluck, cluck, cluck, that’s all I hear.” At the blank and marginally worried looks he received from his friends, Aramis sighed exasperatedly. “Mother hens, the lot of you!” He waved a gloved hand. “Yes, I promise, I promise, let’s just get inside and sit down.”

Neither Athos nor his fellows mentioned the brief stumble that accompanied Aramis’s directive; they merely gathered him and guided him in through the doors, Athos and Porthos each at a side and D’Artagnan at his back, their arms sure and steady. Athos, also, kept silent about the sheer amount of weight Aramis was leaning into him and allowing him to support, but a quick glance over the man’s head at Porthos told him Porthos had noticed this as well. 

They let Aramis lead them into a pew and they all slid in after him, Athos helping Aramis divest himself of his heavy cloak when his own fingers were too shaky for the task themselves. 

“I mean it,” Athos told him after he had taken the cloak and laid it behind him in the pew. 

“The hardest part is over,” Aramis said, and Athos tried his best not to focus on how quickly his breaths came. “Now I just get to sit here.”

Soon after, the Mass began, and as the priest droned on in saccharine Latin, Athos was reminded of why he had weaseled his way out of accompanying Aramis to every Mass he possibly could. The ceremony held nothing for him, had held nothing for him for a very long time, but tonight, he would be nowhere but here. He thought back to the way he had held Aramis’s fevered body in his arms and pounded his palm in the square of his back, just the way the physician had shown him, to loosen the congestion in his lungs, because he was the only one who could make himself keep doing it even when Aramis sobbed through the pain like a little boy. 

Athos looked down the pew at his brothers and thought of the night Aramis’s fever had been highest, his breathing at its worst, and how they had all gathered at his bedside, bathed his forehead, and held out bowls for him as he coughed and gagged, fearing the worst as they watched him shiver and shake beneath their touch. Then Athos thought of the next day, when Aramis had startled them all out of their exhausted doze with a shriek and a demand to know if he had missed Christmas Mass. Athos had run to him, assured him that he had two days yet until Christmas, and found the man’s skin blessedly cool and slick with sweat.

Just as they had been then, they were all where they needed to be now, though Athos could say the Mass itself meant little more to Porthos and D’Artagnan than it did to him. Still, he could not deny there was a bit of comfort in the familiarity, not in the rite itself but in the feeling of Aramis beside him, in the snatches of whispered Latin Athos could occasionally hear Aramis say on an exhale.  

Athos blinked himself from his trance to realize that he had not heard any such murmurs in a while. He looked beside him to find Aramis fast asleep, his chin tucked against his chest, breaths coming in deep, even puffs. He elbowed Porthos and nodded in the sleeping man’s direction. 

Porthos leaned forward, the pew creaking beneath his shifting weight. “Stubborn bastard,” he mumbled, shaking his head, fondness and worry warring for equal precedence in his voice. “I knew it was too soon for him to be out of bed.”

D’Artagnan leaned forward, too, chewing his lip as he surveyed the situation. “Should we wake him?”

Athos regarded Aramis’s sleeping form another moment, noting again the shadows beneath his eyes. Were it up to him, Athos would let the man sleep there for the duration of the Mass, but he knew Aramis would not abide that. “I’ll give him until the Consecration.”

With that, the three Musketeers sat uneasily back in their pews, casting frequent glances at their friend, who remained unconscious to the ceremony occurring around him. As the priest read the Gospel and Aramis still showed no signs of waking on his own, Athos felt a small pit of apprehension grow in his chest, wondering what his friend’s reaction to having fallen asleep (despite having so desperately needed the rest) at Mass would be.

The priest kissed his book. “Per evangélica dicta, deleántur nostra delícta,” and moved to the creed.

Just as Athos was debating how best to wake Aramis subtly–should he rub the pad of his thumb across his knuckles or would that be too obvious?--Aramis stirred with a deep, expansive inhale, blinking as he reoriented himself to his surroundings. Athos wondered briefly if the man was at all surprised not to wake to the four walls of his room again, but if he was, Aramis did not show it.

The deep breath set off a couple coughs, which Aramis muffled against his hand. They were still far raspier than Athos cared for, but given that Athos had heard what they had sounded like before, Athos chased away his worry, which was aided by the fact that Aramis was actually able to stop coughing now rather than just choke himself into exhaustion. 

When he had stopped coughing, Aramis caught a soft sneeze in his steepled hands. “Heh’shooo!” When he did not lower them, Athos retrieved his own handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it out to Aramis, nudging his friend’s shoulder with his own to get his attention.

Aramis nodded his thanks and took the cloth. Athos looked back ahead to give him privacy, and he did not turn back even when he heard Aramis finish, even when, in his periphery, he saw Aramis turn his gaze away from the Mass and on him, on Porthos, on D’Artagnan, and watch them like they three were the holiest things in the building.

Even from the corner of his eye, and in the twilight of the candles, Athos could see a faint flush on Aramis’s cheeks that foretold a return of his fever in the coming day. Perhaps it was too soon for him to be out of bed, Athos thought, and the worry snaked down his spine again. He turned to Aramis, half-wondering a way to voice this concern, only to find the man beaming at him.

“I’m alright,” he mouthed. “Stop worrying.”

Athos exhaled, a puff of air through his nose, and relaxed back against the pew. 

Aramis leaned forward. “You too, Porthos.”

Athos looked to his side and saw Porthos glance away, caught out. D’Artagnan, too, sat back in his pew and became enraptured with the way his fingers intertwined when his hands folded together.

The priest offered first the bread, then the wine for blessing, but Athos instead trained his eyes on Aramis, watched as his lips moved in perfect cadence as he murmured the benedictions alongside the celebrant. The hazy cloud of incense, swimming before the darkened stained glass windows, gave the moment the air of a dream. And perhaps it was that reason that Athos found himself sending up a prayer of thanks, a prayer as formed and directed as the incense cloud, but a prayer nonetheless, for the presence of his brothers at his side.

#i watched two whole tridentine masses for this #me? get carried away? never #the world needs so much more historic snz fic #sick ara/mis #more muskie snz!!! #my writing #sicktember 2022 #sicktember day 29 #snzfic