#porthos imagines

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Phantom

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 3631

Part One of Three

Summary: Aramis’s paramour is proclaimed dead by the man she was set to marry. Having escaped her murder attempt, the reader tries to reach Aramis before a worse fate can befall him at the hands of her betrayer.

Notes: I really wanted to write my own interpretation on what happens to Adele and what Aramis’s reaction would be. I didn’t use the Cardinal though because I wanted a character more expendable for revenge purposes. I also know that Pinon is much farther away, but for the sake of the story, I’m making it closer.  Also was only meant to be one part, but we all know I can’t write short things. Sorry!

Warnings: The usual- violence, mentions of death/assault, Aramis steaminess (of course)

More Musketeer imagines: HERE

-

“She died screaming your name, musketeer scum!” Visage sneered. The horse trampled over fallen leaves, each step thundering in Aramis’s ears. “She pleaded for you to come to her! To save her.” The wretch aimed his pistol, but Aramis continued running after him. “You failed.” 

He fired. The shot rang past the musketeer’s ear. He kept running but his speed was no match for Visage’s horse. 

“Come back and fight me you coward!” Aramis screamed. “Visage!” 

Athos broke through the trees, followed closely by the other two. 

Visage fired again. Again, it failed to find its mark. Porthos called out to Aramis. He didn’t hear him. 

“I’ll be back for you, filth! The embarrassment you’ve forced upon me will be nothing compared to the pain I have planned for your death!” Visage shouted. He took something from his bag. “Have this token as a promise.” A glint of gold fell to the forest floor and Visage disappeared into the morning mist. 

“Aramis!” The three chased after him. D’Artagnan stopped to examine the item from Visage.

He ran until his lungs felt that they’d burst. Even after he couldn't see him anymore, he sprinted with fire in his blood and tears in his eyes. It couldn’t be true. He’d catch Visage and force him to confess the lie. 

It couldn’t be true.

“Aramis, stop!” Athos called. He caught up to his breathless friend and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Stop. He’s gone.” 

“We can’t allow him to escape,” Aramis gasped. His mouth tasted bitter. His lungs heaved for air. 

“We won’t.”

Porthos joined the two. In the distance, D’Artagnan hurried after them, examining something in his palm intently. 

“What the hell happened?” Porthos asked. “Was that who I thought that was?” 

Realization struck Athos first as Aramis hit his knees. His shaking breaths turned to sobs he couldn’t bring himself to suppress. 

“Where is she?” Athos froze in place, his words carrying his understanding panic. “Aramis, where is she?” 

Aramis looked at the ground. 

“What is this?” D’Artagnan held up a lilac-colored ribbon. Aramis reached a hand to take it from him. At the end of the ribbon was a metal locket, spattered with the gore of dried blood. Aramis opened the latch and a small note of his writing fell to the ground before him. 

Paradis.

Heaven. 

It was the name he’d given Y/N, whispered in intimate moments in the dark. 

“He killed her,” Aramis said, words heavy with the guttural pain gnawing at every inch of his being. He glanced up at his companions with tearful eyes. “He killed Y/N.” 

-

The charcoal swooped across the page, creating the line of the sheet draped over his stomach, concealing what lay underneath. You shaded the defined curves and lines of his chest, biting your lip in concentration. 

“Are you nearly finished?” Aramis teased, eyes still twinkling in the way you’d drawn them on the paper in your hand. You peeked up over your sketchbook. His gaze grew lustrous and wanting. “I’m not sure I can be still much longer with you looking at me like that.”

You smirked. “I’m nearly there. Be patient.” 

“Patience is a virtue I haven’t quite gotten the hang of.” He cocked a brow and lifted his foot to graze against the flesh of your thigh in an attempt to coax you back to him. Though his touch left a tingling spark in your nerves, you persevered in your resistance for a few more strokes of your charcoal.

“Just a few more details…” You mused. You finished the shadow on his arms, crossed comfortably beneath his head, and added a few more strands to his dark, unruly mane. “There. Finished.” You beamed proudly at your work and flicked your eyes up to your bedmate to compare the drawing’s likeness. 

“Let me see,” Aramis said, holding out his hand for your book. You clutched it to your chest. He sat up to reach, but you jumped up, scurrying away from his grasp. His mouth fell open with an amused whine. “I’ve just laid here for an hour so you could draw. I think I’ve more than earned a preview.” 

“Well, then you’ll have to come and get it.” You stepped back, your back brushed against your curtains. 

“Very well.” Aramis tossed the blankets aside and stood before you. 

Naked. 

You erupted with laughter. 

He marched across the room, prompting you to hurry away again, but he gave chase despite his lack of clothing. Your squealing giggles filled the room and his arms locked around you. He plucked the notebook from your hand and examined his portrait with a victorious smile. 

“This is actually quite good,” he said. 

“Madame de Visage doesn’t fund me for my looks,” you snorted, wriggling to try and escape, but his arm was firmly clamped around your waist. 

He set the sketchbook aside and flipped you around. “Now, we have approximately an hour before your patroness returns, correct?” 

You nodded, beaming. 

“Then may I suggest…” He peppered kisses across your decolletage. “We finish what we started before your artistic endeavor?”  

“Aramis-” You sighed breathily, cut off by his lips on yours. His hand slipped under your chamise while he leaned you back onto the bed, muttering what he often did when wrapped in your arms. The same phrase over and over as he hovered over you, continuing his nipping across your shoulder. 

“Tu es mon paradis.” 

-

Porthos lifted the water-soaked towel to dab at the cut across Aramis’s brow, but his hand was swatted away. The four men sat in silence, each with his eyes fixed on the table where Y/N’s necklace sat, ribbon frayed and metal tarnished with dried blood. A heaviness filled the room and sunk into their hearts. 

“I thought she’d left me,” Aramis spoke quietly, lips pressed against his clenched fist. “When her servant told me she’d gone through with Visage’s proposal and moved with him to the country I did nothing.” His throat burned with a hatred directed inward. “I thought she betrayed me. So I. Did. Nothing.” 

He slammed his fist on the table, making the necklace skid across the wooden surface. Aramis lifted his eyes to the others and all they saw was loathing. For Visage. For the world. But, most of all, for himself. 

“He strapped her to a tree and beat her like a dog because she loved me,” he said. “And then he shot her through the heart while she begged for my help.” Each word choked him until he felt he couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved as it had in the forest, the guilt and despair overtaking his body like a disease. “I doomed her the moment I laid eyes on her.” 

“This is because of that pig, Visage, not you,” Porthos said, fury boiling with every word his friend spoke. “We’ll find him and make him pay, Aramis, I promise you that.” 

D’Artagnan nodded in agreement. Athos said nothing. He just examined his companion’s despondence with an understanding eye. 

Aramis stood and left them, an air of emptiness in his wake. 

“If I find Visage…” Porthos seethed. 

“That’s what he wants,” Athos said, finally breaking his silence. “You heard what he said. He wants Aramis dead next.” 

“Of course, he wants him dead,” D’Artagnan said. “The woman he sought to control fell in love with another man. And now that he’s killed her…” His words reflected the disheartened feeling deep in his chest. D’Artagnan knew Y/N well. She’d come around the garrison often and befriended each of the musketeers. She was sweet and bright and courageous. It pained him to know that such a light had gone from the world. It pained all of them. 

Porthos clenched his fists. “We’ll be ready for him. And when he shows his face again, we’ll show him the same mercy he gave her.” 

“We have to be smart about this. Visage has a small army of men to do his bidding. It’s how they were able to overtake Aramis once already,” Athos sighed. “If we hadn’t shown up, Aramis would have joined Y/N in the grave.” 

Lord knows how much he wished he had and Athos knew it. 

They sat for a moment, contemplating this. D’Artagnan looked toward Aramis’s quarters. 

“Should one of us check on him?” He asked. 

“No,” Athos said grimly. “No, I think he needs to be alone.” 

From behind the closed door, the sounds of items thrown and glass shattering filled their already heavy hearts with woe. When the destruction ceased, there was a silence, and then a deep, desolate scream burdened the air. 

Porthos moved toward the horrible sound, but Athos put a hand on his shoulder. He knew, better than either of them, that Aramis needed to feel. 

Aramis had the biggest heart of all of them and he’d given it to Y/N completely. Athos worried that, even if they did kill Visage, it would destroy him. 

-

The small room filled with barely conscious, painful groans. Jeanne called for her father to hurry. 

You were waking up. 

“Where…” You opened your eyes, finding them sore and still recovering from being so swollen. “Where am I?” 

“We brought you to Pinon,” the girl hovering over you said. “My name is Jeanne, my father is Bertrand. This is our inn.” She brought a towel to your forehead. The cool drip of water down your jaw was a welcome sensation compared to every nerve in your body screaming at you as you started to remember what happened. 

Visage. 

Every blow, every cut, and every cruel word resurfaced in your memory. His threat- No. His promise sent a jolt of energy through your aching limbs. 

“He’s going to kill him,” you gasped, sitting up. A sharp pain rattled in your ribs. The girl held you down. “I have to find him before he… he…” 

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for nearly a week,” she said. “You aren’t going anywhere.” 

The terrible ache in your battered body prevented much resistance on your part and you laid back down. You blinked, taking in the room around you. Where were you? How did you get here? Who were these people? The echo of a gunshot pierced your brain.

How were you alive? 

“I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in,” Jeanne blew out a low breath, “but you definitely angered the wrong person. You’d be dead if it weren’t for that thing under your cloak.” She motioned to the table beside the bed. Your eyes grew wide. 

Your sketchbook sat, the leather cover and pages curled around the scorched chasm in the center. Reaching a shaking hand, you opened it and, sure enough- though singed by the hole in the middle, the drawing you’d done of Aramis smirked back at you. Somehow, the pile of papers and sketches saved your life. For a long while, you just laid there, staring into the smudge-drawn eyes of the man you loved. The man you put in danger. 

“I can’t stay here,” you sighed, letting your body adjust to every movement as you again tried to get out of the bed. Jeanne moved to stop you, but you held up a hand. “The man who did this to me isn’t finished.” She pursed her lips and moved to the other end of the room where a pile of your clothes and pair of boots sat. You stretched, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the bowl of water beside your sketchbook. 

You gasped. 

Your cheek was swollen and turned an awful purplish color. A large cut stretched from your temple to the inside of your brow, just missing your eye. Your lip was marked with a bloodied scab. Worst of all were your hands. You hadn’t looked at them until now, but the flesh of your knuckles was badly torn apart and your fingers trembled terribly. You wondered if you’d ever be able to draw again. It seemed such a stupid thing to fret over now, but it brought tears to your eyes. 

“W-where did you say we are?” You asked through the shock. 

“Pinon.” 

You turned back to Jeanne, the name striking something in your mind. “I know a man who speaks of this place. His name is Athos.” 

Jeanne stiffened. 

“Do you know him?”

“He was the Comte de la Fére,” she spat. “He doesn’t do anything for us now.” 

“Do you think you can send word to him?”

“We’ve been trying for ages, but it just won’t work.” Her anger softened with sadness that came from desperation. “He just ignores any letter we send as far as I know.” 

“Trust me.” You tore a sheet of charred paper from your scrapbook. Your hands shook as you tried to hold the charcoal steady enough to write. “He won’t ignore this one.” 

-

Perhaps he would spend the rest of his days in that blinding numbness that consumed everything. Perhaps he would drink away any feeling and pretend everything was fine, as Athos had for years. Perhaps he would die by Visage’s hand and find an end to this misery. 

But not yet. Not now. 

Now, he had his rage. 

Aramis sat at the base of the steps, sharpening yet another blade. The sun had not yet risen over the city, but he could feel the approaching daylight signal his need to hurry before the others awoke. Three more, two short swords and one rapier, lay out before him, glistening and prepared for battle. He could see your face in it, like a phantom reflection in the blade.

When that was finished, he moved onto his musket. 

“You’ll have to teach me how to handle it one day,” you’d said once. 

He remembered chuckling and shaking his head, taking your sweet, soft hands in his. His fingers had traced splotches of paint and charcoal under your nails. 

He’d smiled. “Your hands are made for artistry. Not violence.” 

It felt as though your hands were upon him now, your touch haunting his every motion. He readied his weapons and gathered them in front of him. It was certainly enough for a one-man army. 

He knew the others wouldn’t hear of it. They’d insist on coming with him and taking on Visage’s men together. But Aramis wouldn’t allow them. This was his fight and he intended on going alone. 

Of course, the other three had already figured this out and had been plotting for the past hour. 

“Visage can’t have gotten far from the city if he’s left at all. Luring Aramis into the forest was merely a ploy to get him alone,” Athos whispered. 

“A ploy he’s about to fall for all over again,” Porthos huffed. His fists clenched at his sides. If it’d been up to him, they would have started the hunt hours ago. But Athos said they needed a plan, especially if they were going to convince Aramis not to lose his head. 

Athos put a hand on his shoulder. “Not if we can help it.” 

“He’s moving,” D’Artagnan said. 

Aramis gathered his weapons, hooking his pistols onto his belt and strapping his musket to his back. One rapier hung from his hip while he gripped the other in hand, ready to fight at a moment's notice. He would not be surprised again. 

The three stood from their place in the shadow, forming a line before the entrance and blocking Aramis’s exit. He halted, grip on his weapon tightened, along with his jaw, setting his face in a deep frown. 

“You didn’t think we’d actually sit by and let you get yourself killed, did you?” Porthos asked. 

“Move aside,” he growled. He kept his eyes over their heads, staring down the enemy he knew lay beyond the buildings around them. 

“We’re going with you.” D’Artagnan stepped toward him. 

Aramis’s sword was at his chest in an instant. 

“Get out of my way!” 

Two more swords crossed his, forcing the blade away from the youngest member of their group. Aramis’s chin trembled. 

“I have to do this,” he whispered. 

“But you don’t have to do it alone.” Porthos lowered the sword and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Let us come with you. Visage has a small army, you’ll never reach him.” 

“I cannot ask you to join my fight.”

D’Artagnan shook his head, again stepping forward. “Y/N was a friend to all of us. It is our fight as well. I’ll gladly give my sword in the cause to avenge her gentle and kind spirit.” 

Aramis still opened his mouth to argue. Athos silenced him with a wave. 

“Think about it, Aramis,” he urged sternly. “What do you want? A fruitless death? Or justice?” He looked at him with such intense feeling, that Aramis couldn’t ignore it. “What would Y/N want?” 

She would want to live. Aramis wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words on his tongue. He could only nod and let the fire in his chest cool with thoughts of her. Athos was right, of course. The only thing that mattered was making Visage pay. 

Porthos gave him a reassuring smile with a determination that matched his own. “Then let’s go find this bastard, eh?” 

Aramis allowed himself to be led by the three to saddle their horses. As Porthos and D’Artagnan kept an eye on him, Athos was drawn away by a young man waving him down with a letter in hand. 

“A letter for you, monsieur. From Pinon.” 

A shot like ice rushed up his spine. He crossed his arms in dismissal. “You may dispose of it. There’s nothing there that concerns me.” 

“I’m told it’s urgent.” He held the parchment toward him. 

Athos started to deny him again, this time with a tinge of annoyance, but the writing on the front stopped him. In soft, swooping letters read his name- Athos of the King’s Musketeers. He took the letter from the young man, perplexed. Of the letters he received from the home he wished to forget, he’d only ever been addressed by anyone there as the Comte de la Fére- something he’d never call himself again. Perhaps they’d finally accepted his decision. 

He could still throw it out. What good could come of it? Anything from Pinon could only bring him heartache. And yet, the letter weighed heavily in his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, paying the man for his efforts. 

With his back still to his companions, he tore open the envelope, finding two papers inside. The first, a small note, and the second a sketch, charred in the middle from what appeared to be a gunshot. 

I’m sorry to contact you in such a mysterious manner, but my circumstances have given me little choice. I’m sure Visage has revealed the news to you and my dear Aramis that I am dead. I write this letter to tell you he has failed. By the grace of God, I survived Visage’s attack and am now recovering in your former home of Pinon. I provide this drawing I once did of the four of you training on a sunny day several weeks ago. You told me it seemed the swords moved right off of the page. I hope this is enough to convince you that this is no trick. 

I write to you because I know you will grant me this request- do not tell Aramis. Not yet. I fear that Visage will find him too easily if I were to reveal myself to him. I beg of you to ride to Pinon to help me save him before Visage can enact the final part of his terrible, jealous plot. Urge Aramis to stay away from him, to stay safe. I cannot bear the thought of any harm coming to him. Though I know prolonging my return can only cause him more grief, it is for his own protection. 

Please, Athos, I need you now more than ever. If this letter has been intercepted by any but you, I fear my hope will be lost. 

Y/F/N Y/L/N 

Athos’s eyes darted between the note and the drawing. Sure enough, it was the very image Y/N had drawn during a particularly laid-back day in the early days of summer. 

But it couldn’t be. Visage was a violent, unforgiving man. He would not have just let the woman who fooled him escape. And the necklace D’Artagnan had found was filthy with Y/N’s blood. 

The writing of the letter could be hers. He hadn’t seen enough of her handwriting to be sure. And the drawing… who else would know what he’d said to her that day? 

“Athos!” Porthos called. “Aren’t you coming?” 

The somber musketeer stuffed the letter and the drawing into the top of his boot and turned back to his friends. As he rejoined them, he could feel Aramis’s suspicious eyes before he even spoke. 

“Something has come up,” Athos said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to join you later. When you find Visage, do not attack. Wait and send for me.” 

“What could be more important than this?” Aramis spat. His hands tightened his grip on the reins and his horse whinnied. 

“I assure you, I would not leave if it wasn’t absolutely essential.” He mounted his own horse, feeling the burning stares of all three of them as he moved. While he wished to tell them, to give Aramis even the slightest bit of hope, he couldn’t in good conscience until he confirmed it was true. “You will understand later.” 

He rode off before they could ask anything else. 

D’Artagnan watched until he could no longer see him. “What could that be about?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Aramis said. He urged his horse forward. “Come on.” 

The three departed shortly after Athos, driven by vengeance, while their separated friend almost dared to hope.  

#aramis x reader #aramis bbc #the musketeers imagines #the musketeers bbc #santiago cabrera #athos #d'artagnan #porthos #all for one and one for all

[backtothefanfiction]

Two Can Play At That Game | Aramis Imagine

Warnings: typical musketeer shinanigans, guns, fighting, jokes and fluff, Aramis trying to be suave, flirty, teasing

Word Count: it’s another quick couple hundred (written in app, not keeping track

A/N: okay, so I’m doing it. Aramis as a character has meant so much to me for years and the three musketeers story as a whole is a very important one for my soul history. anyway, I saw this prompt on Pinterest and it just fit and I had to write it.

You were tired. It had been another long and trying day full of the usual drama and shinanigans that came hand in hand with the King’s favourite Musketeers. And if it wasn’t for the risks and near death experiences that always seemed to follow them, you would have been more than happy to have spent your time with them.

“I promise, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Aramis had said as he pulled you down behind a stack of barrels to take cover. “I thank the Lord that they’re a terrible shot.” He sighs, lifting the cross tied around his neck to his lips and placing a kiss on it for luck.

You had flinched as one of the musket balls hit the top of the barrel closest to your head, wood splintering around you as Aramis leaned over to cover you with his body.

“You know next time you four come knocking I’m just going to pretend I’m not at home.” You jested and you felt him let out a breathy chuckle. Your face was dangerously close to his chest, the deep v of his shirt falling open slightly as his body flexed around you. You closed your eyes and forced away your temptations. Now was not the time.

Your eyes scrunched up tightly, your body growing taught again as another round of shots were fired.

“Come on Porthos.” You heard Aramis mutter to himself.

There was a loud thundering of hooves on the ground as Porthos charged in with a cry. There was a loud wail as one of the men who had been shooting, was knocked down by the momentum of Porthos’ horse.

“Hya!!” Porthos shouted, before making clicky noises with his mouth to wrangle not just his but also Aramis’ horse, who’s reigns were clutched tightly in his grasp.

“Come on, quick.” Aramis said, wringing his sword, holding it out in front of him with one hand, his other hand reaching for yours as he pulled you up and began to lead you to Porthos and the horses.

“Get on.” Aramis commanded as he began to cut down one of the men.

Porthos tossed you the reigns and tucking the leather tightly into the curl of your fingers, you slotted your left foot into the stirrup in front of you and hauled yourself up onto the horse. With his hand now free, Porthos pulled out his sword and began slashing at the two other men about to lunge at Aramis.

“Get on,” you held your hand out to him and he swung up onto the back of the horse behind you, his arms wrapping around you as you handed the reigns off to him.

“Yah!” He called out as his ankles kicked at the sides of the horse, encouraging it into a gallop, Porthos made a similar action and followed closely behind.

**

When you had gotten back to the safety of the garrison you started to breathe easier.

“You okay?” Aramis asked as he helped you down from the horse.

“Yes.” You nodded as he handed the reigns off to Porthos to take the two horses to the stable.

“Still thinking of pretending to not be home next time we call?”

“No.” You smirked. You knew you could never say no to an adventure with him. “I love you.” You said as you leaned into him, breathing heavily, relishing in the feeling of still being alive and with him.

“I love me too,” he grinned.

“I- wait, what?” You said your face falling into mock shock as you processed his words.

“I didn’t want this to be some cliché moment, so I thought I’d just shake things up a bit,” he said as you began to pull away from him, “Just know that I love both me and you- where are you going?” He continued, throwing his hands up in the air as you dramatically walked away from him.

“To rethink my life choices.” You call back to him with a smirk.

“Does that mean not to call on you the next time there’s another daring adventure?”

You smile to yourself as you continue to walk through the gates of the garrison, willing yourself to hold your resolve as he calls out your name in ever increasing volumes of desperation, the further you get away. Aramis may think his tongue is his best weapon, but you know holding your own is yours.

#aramis #aramis imagine #one shot #musketeers #bbc musketeers #Porthos #the three musketeers #aramis musketeers #aramis x reader #musketeers imagine

[wingsofhcpe]

thinking of Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan celebrating new year's together... drinking to each other, to their brotherhood, laughing and knocking onto each other drunkenly, Aramis falling asleep on Porthos' shoulder, d'Artagnan counting the fireworks, Athos smiling fondly as he realises that all he's ever wanted in life is right there in front of him.

#bbc musketeers #the musketeers #athos #porthos #aramis #d'artagnan #comte de la fere #porthos du vallon #rene d'herblay #idk what the french do for new years. esp what they did back in the 1600s lol #but in greece we cut the vasilopita which is a special cake or tsoureki with a little coin hidden at the bottom #we cut a slice for each family member/friend/ etc #and whoever gets the coin in their slice 'wins' #(symbolises wealth and prosperity and is based on the legend of saint vasilios of eastern orthodo #*orthodoxy #so now i imagine the boys doing that #(treville is like my grandma and he secretly hid 4 coins in the vasilopita and strategically cut the slices so all 4 of his sons would win.)

[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

[longagoitwastuesday]

I've also been reading the three musketeers and the thesis chapter had me Cackling. the clowning on learning latin in particular and aramis as a character constantly emphasizing that being part of the higher sought after and hard-to-get-into regiment of the king's musketeers is just kind of a temp job for him is so funny. character of all time. (also bazin wanting aramis to be a abbe so bad is so good)

Disclaimer that I was actually not reading the book, just giving a look and toying with the idea of reading it soon. In fact I was reading something else, but the chapter was so funny I've abandoned it and will probably start The three musketeers instead xD

Yes! Bazin was so funny. While reading him I couldn't help but be reminded of Smee wanting to leave Neverland and done with Hook's obsession for Peter Pan. Aramis dismissing being a musketeer is hilarious, but it becomes particularly funny after reading Cyrano de Bergerac, where Cyrano mentions being a musketeer wistfully a couple of times. While I was reading the play I kept thinking that Cyrano's aspirations were basically to be Aramis haha

The use of Latin each character (the curate, the Jesuit, D'Artagnan and Aramis) does was indeed very funny, as well as insightful. I ended up reading a paper on the command each of the four protagonists has of Latin, and I loved the comparison it established between Athos and Aramis. I don't have an opinion on this formed because I have yet to read the book, which is a good thing (it will hopefully keep me from rambling), but I found what I read super interesting.

The chapter was very funny, and I felt Dumas managed everything very well? I loved the writing itself. Every part of the chapter worked wonderfully as a whole to enhance every aspect, making the funny parts more fun and drawing a more clear lively depiction of the characters.

By that I mean, basically, that even from the initial interaction between D'Artagnan and the hostess in which he asks for Aramis and she goes "the charming hot guy?" we can see Aramis' hypocrisy and unsteadiness by a mile. It's hilarious to read the chapter and see how Aramis ends up contradicting everything he does or says, at times not even that long after saying it xD

Which takes me to the thesis itself. Honestly, I loved the topics. I know they're supposed to sound a bit ridiculous and funny, but I thought Dumas conveyed very well the air of some of those intricate questions of theology that seem trifle but have a lot of implications, and end up being of a very poetic nature (such as the question about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, one of my all time favourite questions). I wasn't very interested on the topic of the hands until the Jesuit commented that sprinklers "simulate an infinite number of blessing fingers"; that's beautiful.

Now, the topic Aramis himself proposes is just gorgeous. The way he defends it with a syllogism is so clever of Dumas considering the link between theology and the development of Logic. Besides that, despite how unorthodox the topic may appear at first, as Aramis himself puts it, there is a lot of truth in what he says about the world being full of temptations and it being very much a sacrifice to leave it, and how there lies the devotional act. I ended up being very intrigued by the potential development of this thesis in a mix of appreciation of the world as God's creature, and thus the leaving of the world as an act of true love for God, of more importance; how instead of an easy surrender, the struggle and doubts are as much reflection of the condition of humanity's frailty as it is a more steady and full surrender to God.

The topic of Aramis' thesis is somewhat paradoxical yet sound, and reflects doubts, as well as an appreciation for the world, aesthetics and beauty; I think it reflects so much of what makes Aramis himself.

And then, again, there's the whole hypocrisy through the entire chapter (which is what makes it for me haha). The way he says he isn't defending a regret at renouncing the world while proposing the thesis, that the mere idea is sacrilegious, how he insists he won't miss it, that friends are but shadows and the world a grave, and still how his resolution wavers almost instantly with his "And yet, while I still hold to the earth, I would have liked to talk with you, about you, about our friends" (and what a tender shaking), only to end up asking D'Artagnan to tell him about the world in the last line? Hilarious. What an hypocrite xD

But how extremely charming and adorable, I must admit! I love how when D'Artagnan tells him "But how are you going to live while you wait for me? No more thesis, no more commentaries on fingers and blessings, eh?", Aramis smiles and replies "I shall compose verses". Truly one of the characters of all time xD

#Aramis #The three musketeers #Les trois mousquetaires #I want to keep this to find later on. I'm truly sorry for the tags #And I'm sorry for talking a lot. I honestly tried to keep it short but there's so much I wanted to talk about‚ the chapter is so good #In fact there are a lot of things I haven't mentioned or developed that I loved #such as the fact that Dumas waves the chapters in such a way that that of Aramis starts with Porthos‚ while the chapter of Athos #starts with Aramis‚ linking the three friends together metatextually as they are linked together narratively by D'Artagnan visiting them #I also wanted to ask whether Aramis was the anon's favorite character and whether they had opinions on his position vs. Athos' for example #But the anon being an anon makes it hard to ask #I wanted to talk a bit about the developing of theology through paradoxes and Logic at times and how fitting that seemed for Aramis' thesis #He reminded me a bit of theologians such as Dionysius the Areopagite and Scotus Eriugena among others‚ and even Kierkegaard #But I must admit I always think too much about Neoplatonism and it's been long since I read these authors thoroughly so it may be a stretch #I had a lot of fun imagining the potential development of the thesis Aramis proposes though. Now I want the thesis now haha #And truly‚ the writing of the entire chapter was a thing of genius in how every little thing has later significance #to enhance something else. Such as the joke with Aramis moralising about the food‚ the conversation with the hostess‚ #D'Artagnan's overall discomfort as if mad fanatics‚the world as something to renounce but the instant temptation of asking for his friends‚ #the way D'Artagnan reads Aramis like a book and how he blushes and responds in poetic yet theological terms with too much fierceness #The way he blushes and exposes himself #And the entire thesis Aramis proposes being a good reflection on his character (no wonder he is adamant on pursuing that one #and only that one‚ like a calling). How the chapter and the thesis are a good summary on his character #But also how those lines I quoted‚ D'Artagnan asking what hell do and Aramis smiling and replying he'll write verses‚ are as well #Truly‚ the writing was so good. And yes‚ I agree with the anon completely #Character of all time #I suspect I'd love him immensely #Even in this chapter alone he was everything I wanted and more of what I didn't dare to expect. Now I just want to see him plotting #I loved these fragments so much that now I fear reading the entire book and being let down xD #Oh but I'm rambling again... #Anyway! Thank you for the ask and sorry it took me so long to reply. I had a lot of fun with it #Too much‚ that's why I took so long to reply. I read and reread and then I wasn't able to summarise. Thanks for indulging me in my fun xD

[unforeseen-idiot]

Three Musketeers

So I’m Cardinal Richelieu in Three Musketeers right now, and the script has this detail of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis living in the same house together. Idk I thought it was funny.

#Like imagine them making breakfast #Playing games together #Three Musketeers #Athos #Porthos #Aramis

[gellavonhamster]

random BBC Musketeers things that I think about a lot:

the Three Inseparables know Constance before they know d'Artagnan. She and Athos know each other as of 1x01 (and by extension, it's more likely than not she knows the other two), she knows where to find them, they know where she lives, she cares about Athos enough to risk her life to save him. She's never just a girlfriend of one of them, she's their friend, has been their friend before she and d'Artagnan got together, before he even came to Paris

Porthos being clearly inspired by Thomas-Alexandre Dumas, from his parents being an enslaved Black woman called Marie-Cessette and a white nobleman to eventually becoming general of the French army

Aramis being raised in a brothel immediately explains a lot about him, from using sex as means to an end - seducing Marguerite to stay close to his son, finding a patroness for money (which Porthos also does, encouraged by Aramis, but ends up actually falling in love with Alice), because, despite being the "romantic hero type", he wasn't raised with the idea that sex has to happen only for love or attraction, he always saw it as something that could be means of survival, to being always gallant and courteous with women because he grew up among - was raised by! - the women who were looked down upon by the society and clearly had seen them mistreated by many men, and wouldn't want to be like those men

Aramis seems like the show's stand-in for Buckingham until he becomes the stand-in for Mazarin

between the Duchesse de Chevreuse and Sylvie Bodaire, it seems like Athos is bound to get together with a political activist who has had some sort of fling with Aramis. I imagine the child Sylvie's pregnant with by the end of s3 is a boy and they name him Raoul. (And because this is a happier universe, this Raoul doesn't get himself killed on purpose)

#grrr i've been writing and rewriting point three several times and i'm still not satisfied w/ it and not sure it expresses my thoughts well #and doesn't sound offensive in any way. but i tried #the musketeers bbc #the musketeers #alexandre dumas #constance bonacieux #porthos #aramis #athos #sylvie bodaire #gella talks musketeers #talk talk talk

[space-helen]

Christmas Spirit

Words: 400

Pairing: Trip Tucker x Reader

A/N: I know it's a little early for Christmas stuff but...

Request: Okay, listen. I NEED Trip. I don't have any idea, I just need something cute with Trip as a partner. Maybe decorating for christmas and giving Portos the reindeer ears, which even makes T'Pol laugh... something like that, bc I love that man? 😥🤔🥰- @rosesandtheuniverse

______________________

“Hey Porthos, what do you think?” The man took a step backwards and admired his handy work. Met with silence he looked at the dog before looking back at the decorations he’d put up in the small corner of his quarters. “It’s something isn’t it?”

He plonked himself down on his bed before scratching the dog behind his ears. He loved the company of Porthos when he could get it.  “She should be here any minute now.” reaching over he pulled out some reindeer ears on a headband and placed them on the dog. The sight before him distracted him so much he didn’t even hear you come in.

“Y/N.” he was slightly flustered and got to his feet straight away. You’d been dating for a little while but he still got giddy around you sometimes. A huge smile broke out on his face as he gestured to the small, slightly sad tree, with Christmas decorations covering it.

You smiled and looked back and forth between him and the tree. “You did this?”

“Well it’s in my quarters isn’t it? It’d be weird if T’Pol had snuck in here and done it.”

You playfully nudged him with your shoulder “You know what I meant.” sitting down on the bed you pet Porthos as Trip turned on the small Christmas tree lights. 

The man sat beside you and you smiled wider “Trip, you’re genuinely the best.” leaning towards him you placed a kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“I knew you weren’t feeling great and knew you were down about the lack of Christmas spirit on the ship so I thought I’d bring you some.”

“How did you even get this stuff?”

He shrugged “I have a way. I am a man of miracles and mystery.”

“Some deep dark storage cupboard in the depths of the ship?”

He laughed, “That’s for me to know.”

You went to stand to admire the tree when Porthos jumped off the bed and out of Trips quarters, the two of you quickly went to go after him when you were intercepted by T’pol on the other side of the door. You couldn’t be sure but you could swear you could see a smile pulling at her lips for a split second.

“The dog appears to have grown a second set of ears.” she deadpanned as the two of you grinned back at her.

Tag List: (open)

Star Trek: @heyitsaloy  @angel-with-wings-castiel @starfleet-imagines @captainsophiestark @perasperaadastrawriting

#star trek x reader #star trek ent x reader #trip x reader #trip tucker x reader

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @fangsandroses, @illiana-mystery, @onedirectionlovers2014

warnings: swearing, drinking, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids)

I leaned against the wall as d’artagnan talked to porthos and aramis about the art of courting. I rolled my eyes when porthos fell off the chair while kissing the girl in his lap. Aramis watched the two roll around on the floor a bit before turning to the young boy and trying another approach. Turning my head at the noise behind me, I raised an eyebrow at athos as he tilted the bottle back.

“the boy will never learn from those two.” He muttered. I looked back at the trio to see d’artagnan kissing one of the waitresses.

“Seems to me he’s doing just fine.” I said offhandedly. Athos leaned forward and raised his eyebrows before falling back into his chair.

“cheers to him then.” Athos shrugged. “Won’t last but he’ll get his experience before he sees that consort again.”

“lady in waiting.” I shot back before sitting down next to him. “Let them have their fun anyway.” Athos nodded before taking another drink. “You have no tricks to teach him? No way to woo a partner?” Athos chuckled as he wrapped his hands around the bottle in front of him.

“oh I have plenty.” He said with a small smile. “None would work though. Not for the one he’s after.” I laughed.

“and what makes you so certain?” I asked as I leaned back in my chair. Athos smiled at me.

“Because my tricks are tailored to the person.” He leaned in closer to me and I felt my breath hitch. “If they like poetry, I find their favorite poem and recite it in front of the fire. Supply them with their favorite wine or whiskey.” He paused to look at me. “Read up on their favorite subjects to have something to talk about. And when I am sure I have them, I close the trap.” Athos raised an eyebrow at me.

“And if you aren’t sure you have them?” I whispered. Athos smiled at me.

“I take what I can get.” He was close enough I could practically feel his beard against my skin before he pressed his lips to mine. “And I always get what I want.” He whispered as he pulled me into his lap. I tangled my fingers in his hair as he held me close. “And here I was thinking I was making it pretty obvious.” Athos chuckled as he leaned his head against mine. I laughed and gently scratched his beard. Athos hummed at the feeling as his eyes scanned my face.

“how drunk are you?” I asked softly, trying to memorize his face. We were interrupted by porthos crashing into our little room and breaking the table behind me. He sat up slowly and smiled at the two of us.

“Oh hello.” He chuckled, struggling to stand up. “Look at you two…” athos raised an eyebrow at him before his fist came out of nowhere to make contact with porthos’ nose. Porthos laid back, knocked unconscious.

“you didn’t have to do that.” I laughed as athos turned his attention back to me. He kissed along my neck and gently bit down.

“yes I did.” He shot back. “Now where were we?” Athos started to kiss me again and I hummed happily as I tangled my fingers through his hair. “Let’s take this back to the rooms.” I nodded and athos stood up, making sure that I had my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. We both laughed as he started to walk out of the bar and down the street to where we had taken up lodging for the night. Athos pinned me against the door as he got us into his room. My head fell back against the door as he started to bite and suck on my pulse point.

“oh god athos.” I moaned. He smiled against my skin and trailed his nose along my jawline before pulling me back into a seering kiss.

“I get what I want. But is this what you want?” He asked, panting slightly as he pulled back to look at me. I nodded, tugging on his hair slightly.

“more than you could ever imagine.” I whispered. Athos smiled at me and nodded. He pulled me away from the door and started walking towards the bed. “You have me athos. Mind, body and soul.” Athos set me down and gently crawled over me as he captured my lips in a kiss. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged it over his head, athos shaking his head to get the hair out of his face.

“and I am yours.” He whispered back as he started to undress me. Our clothes piled up at the end of bed and athos kissed his way back up my body before caging me in between his arms. “Perfect. Just absolutely perfect.” He breathed out before kissing me deeply. I wrapped my arms around his neck tightly as he slipped into me. We both moaned and athos lowered himself on me.

“athos.” I breathed out. “Please athos. Please. I need you.” With a deep kiss, athos started to slowly thrust into me. He let his head fall onto my shoulder and I reached up to tangle my fingers in his hair. With each thrust, I tilted my hips up to meet his.

“oh fuck.” Athos moaned. I whimpered as he started to speed up. His hands roamed over my body, squeezing my hips gently before moving to my thighs. Athos hiked my leg up his waist as he ground against me.

“Merdes.” I breathed out, turning my head to kiss his neck. “Athos.” He sucked on my neck as I let my head fall back. Athos hummed happily as he changed angles and thirst deeper into me. “Close. So close.” Athos pulled back and smiled at me, sweat dripping down his brow.

“cum for me ma Cherie. Cum.” Athos snapped his hips against mine and forced me over the edge.

“athos!” I screamed before he captured my lips in a kiss. I moaned against his lips and tugged on his hair. Athos groaned and followed me over the edge.

“fuck. (Y/N).” His voice was strained as he groaned. Rolling over, he pulled me into his as he let out a contented sigh. “I’d say we both got what we wanted.” I smiled at him before rubbing my thumb over his beard.

“I’d say.” I agreed. Athos smiled back at me before kissing me. “I say let’s continue to get what we want.” Athos nodded in agreement. “All for one.”

“and one for all.” He finished before kissing me deeply.

#Athos #athos x reader #Athos fanfic #Athos fanfiction #Athos imagine #kiefer sutherland #kiefer sutherland imagine #kiefer sutherland fanfic #kiefer sutherland fanfiction #Kiefer Sutherland x reader

[general-du-vallon]

i started making a fic once where aramis holds his baby and thinks like 'well i did one treason how worse could it be if i stole this baby away', and he thinking about he could put another baby in its place and then i thought WELL WHY NOT

Anyway now am thinking about the stolen baby au

Porthos waiting on a horse to spirit the baby away (just have the image of him waiting in the dark. He takes the baby cus like i s2 final where he rides off alone to be heroic)

Aramis having a moment to talk to Q.A (quee ann) before the baby is born and saying it as a joke and they both just look at each other

the other musketrs being like 'u decided what now with Q.A?!'

where they gonna get a baby?! well. Porthos can be like 'i know a guy'. I'm sure Flea could find them a baby needing a nice home.

Aramis being like '...and then i will slide the baby in' and Constance being like 'uh huh mm hhmm. WHILE THE QUEEN IS HAVING THE OTHER BABY?!? HM?!? u gonna GO IN THERE WHILE SHE PUSHES A WHOLE HUMAN OUT OF HER?!'

aramis after constance rant, as if there been no interuption 'and then constance will swap them' and constance being like THAT IS WHAT i THOUGHT

I mean the baby is already not king of france so who cares?! it could be ANY baby. Who says this ISNT what hapened?

anyway one of the big reasons i think this is hilarious is we already know there's a safe place for accidental french not-quite-heirs cus that's where Agnes and Henry went.

Aramis and Agnes and king of france (but louis did it instead) and the king of france (but random baby from court of miracles did it instead).

aramis giving in his commission; 'GONNA GO UH.... JOIN A MONESTARY. THATS IT. THATS RIGHT. THAT'S WHERE IM GOING'.

imagine in s3 if he was in that monestary and the others staring around at the hundred of babies aramis is sherpherding about like 'is it that one... is it that one... is it that one' (I know this is diff to the living in bliss with agnes plus king 1 and king 2 like the cat in the hat. but whatever. Did i say it all has to cohere?!?! HUH!?!)

it is actually surprising to me hwo much i could just... slide this into canon. That's really funny. Aramis coming back to paris with a couple of refugee babies and beingn like 'and this one I'm keeping FOR NO REASON he gonna live with me. um. better. really. nenver ever go to the palace. eek'

It would be fun reversal. Q.A sneaking into the garrison to see her baby. aramis being like 'you so really absolutely totally cannot be here' standing at the end of a corridor full of men used to living in barracks like not entirely dressed and sort of being awful all like O_O O_O O_O like those picures where the light in rats eyes.

Q.A being like 'and now this is aramis he is coming to court to be honoured and the king has decided in his generosity that aramis's baby is coming also and oops louis jr just happened to meet him oh look at that oh dear i tripped over and my two babies are friends what a big oopsie daisy no aramis i didn't do anything at all'

Q.A loves BOTH her babies. for the record. baby number 2 is GONNA BE LOVED.

I think porthos watching the king dote on miracle court baby would be fun. Porthos "shall we show him what being poor in paris is really like" du Vallon.

the king doesn't know. the king doesnt care.

the rest of the show can be p much the same. tbf i only watched bits of s3 and skipped a lot of the more plotty stuff so i dont actually know this. the version I watched could fit this change easy and who cares what other ppl watched.

Sylvie being like 'he is the king of france' abt the dauphin and constance being like '....well. technically u r correct. but. uh.' and sylvie being like 'this is another of those treason things isnt it' and constance like 'a bit' and sylvie like 'yesssss tell me tell me'

#bbc musketeers #aramis #just tell me im a genius and be done with it this is super smart of me #if aynone wants to write it go ahead #if i ever wrote it fair warning it'd be about porthos. somehow. just like. if it ever pops up and u think #OH SAXI WROTE THE FIC YAY ARAMIS! that is a lie do not be decieved #just had to edit this cus. saxi is me. my ao3 is saxifactumterritum and i is what i am in habit of refering self as in 3rd person.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Heaven

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 6968

Part One; Part Two

Summary: The final hunt begins and Athos and the reader rush to find the others before Aramis’s recklessness leads him into Visage’s clutches. 

Notes: Finally! This trilogy has taken me a while to write, so I hope you guys have enjoyed it! Since this part switches around the reader and Aramis a lot, it jumps quite a bit, so I hope it isn’t too confusing. (Also, I can't believe how long this is compared to the others. oops)

Warnings: Violence, assault, death (some intense stuff, so just be aware. I tried to keep the opening scene impactful without being super descriptive)

More Musketeers imagines: HERE

-

“I demand to know where you are taking me.” You kept your tone as calm as possible as the carriage jerked and jostled over the unknown road. 

The man who’d dragged you from your rooms made no reply, keeping his indifferent gaze toward the window. Trees loomed like soldiers in the twilight, the sun sinking ever further into the horizon. Abandoning you. 

You wanted to argue more, but your voice had gone hoarse from shouting. Surely your fists had bruised form banging on the window. But he couldn’t hear you. Whatever your treacherous stable boy had told him had forced him away. Still, you held onto the hope that Aramis would come for you. A rat like Visage may have power, but even his brigade of idiotic followers lacked the skill to take on the musketeers. 

“I know that Visage put you up to this,” you scoffed, eyeing your riding companion. “But whatever ‘claims’ he believes he has are nothing more than delusions. He has spouted nothing but lies ever since the death of his mother.” 

While you weren’t sure where you had been taken, you knew it was further than you liked. You’d been traveling since early afternoon and you hadn’t the faintest idea where you were or why you were here. What could Visage possibly be planning? 

You were trying to discern which direction you’d traveled when the carriage abruptly halted. The man with you grabbed onto your hands and tied them with a rope. He knotted it so tightly you were sure it cut into your flesh.

“Enough of this,” you exclaimed as you were shoved out of the carriage. “What crimes have I committed? What right do you have to imprison me and cart me off like a common thief? I am a personal friend of the queen and I order you to-”

‘Oh enough with your screaming.” The cold voice sent shivers down your spine. “No one can hear you out here.”

You turned slowly, lifting your chin and blinking back any fear in your eyes. The man you’d suspected scowled back at you. 

You smirked. “Ah yes, I thought I smelled vermin.” 

Any smugness in your expression was instantly slapped away, the sting of Visage's hand radiation from your cheek. Fuming, you opened your mouth to speak, but he roughly took hold of your chin. 

“You have humiliated me for the last time,” he snarled. Visage shoved you back and you hit the forest floor hard, knocking the breath out of your lungs so that when he kicked you, you couldn’t even scream. 

Three of his men stood by and watched as he switched between his foot and his riding crop. You tried not to give him the satisfaction of watching you cry, but tears flowed with your permission. You were too delirious from the pain to care after a while.

When you thought you’d surely faint, Visage took you by the hair and lifted you off the ground. 

You spat in his face with the strength you still had. 

He threw you back down and took the riding crop to your hands, bound in front of you still with a rope that had turned red from bleeding wrists. Every hit sent an unimaginable pain up your arms, shaking your whole body and shattering your heart. Your hands that were once kissed and praised for their delicate beauty by Aramis. The hands of an artist. By the time he dragged you to your feet, you couldn’t feel anything but the throbbing in your fingers and bloodied knuckles. 

Visage nodded to his men and they pulled you up to a large cedar, pinning you back and tying you around the middle. Your cloak felt suffocating, pressing the sketchbook in your bodice into your chest. 

“It is lucky your mother is not alive to see you now,” you said through the blood on your lips. 

“Do not speak of her,” Visage snapped. “You preyed upon my mother’s generosity, all the while spitting on her family name.”

“You fail to remember that I have never been betrothed to you. Your mother knew this. She knew my heart belonged elsewhere.” The thought of him made your voice crack. “She knew my heart belonged to Aramis.” 

The men finished tying the rope. 

“It will always belong to Aramis.” 

Visage slapped you again. 

You took a deep breath and stared him in the eye. “I love Aramis.” 

Again.

“I love Aramis!” 

His hand gripped your throat, pushing your head back against the bark. 

“This I swear to you, you ungrateful bitch,” he sneered, leaning so his lips were by your ear. “I will tear him limb from limb for the embarrassment the two of your sordid relationship has caused me. And I will revel in every second.” 

He stood back, taking his pistol from his belt. 

You knew then that you didn’t want to die. 

“Aramis!” You cried, hoping that the heavens would hear you. 

“It seems like such a waste.” Visage loaded his weapon. “There was a time when all I could think about was your touch. The way the dresses my mother bought you fit your body.” 

“You will never get away with this,” you exclaimed. “I am friends with the queen and the best fighters of Captain Treville’s regiment. They will see justice is done.” 

“That’s where you're wrong, Y/N.” He took aim. “Nobody will miss a musketeer’s whore.” 

You tried to yell one last time, but with the final shot, Aramis’s name died on your lips. 

-

With no rain and with this part of the forest being relatively remote from Pinon, there was nothing to wash away the blood. The dark, dried stains coated the leaves on the ground and left horrible marks on the tree where you’d been bound. Looking at it felt as though you were being brutalized all over again. But when you thought of Visage’s sneer or the sting of his hand, you only imagined them directed toward your beloved Aramis. 

Any harm that should come to him would be put squarely on your shoulders. 

“This is where it happened,” you said quietly. 

Athos was stopping to give the horses water. He looked over at you with a grim expression. 

“It’s a miracle they found you.”

You shook your head. “It’ll be a miracle if we stop him. If Aramis and the others go after him tonight…”

“You underestimate us,” Athos tried to give you a smile to reassure you, but he was never known for his ability to comfort. “We are musketeers after all. They won’t charge in without a plan. Besides, they don’t know where Visage and his men are.”

“I do.” You turned your back to the tree of your torture, holding your head high with new determination. “Madam de Visage owned an orchard just east of the city. I’d bet my life that’s where Visage is hiding while he plots Aramis’s death.” 

Though you tried, you still couldn’t hide the growing fear in your voice. 

Athos walked across the clearing and put a hand on your shoulder. “Luckily we will be there to take him off guard and put an end to his schemes.” 

“I hope you’re right,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Oh, Athos. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t defied him, humiliated him, then-”

“Then you would have married a foul man you hate and abandoned the one you love, living out whatever days Visage allowed you to live in utter loneliness and misery,” he reasoned. “The only one to blame here is Visage. And we will see to it that justice is dealt and that you may reunite with Aramis.” 

His blue eyes bore into yours until you couldn’t take it. You lowered your gaze to the forest floor. 

Athos sighed. He knew that you were still warring with yourself over your return and he was fairly certain as to why. You didn’t see yourself as the same woman Aramis loved and you were afraid, when he saw you now, changed and broken, that he wouldn’t not love you. But after the past week of his friend’s utter despair, Athos knew that there was nothing that could take Aramis’s heart from you. Not even death. 

-

He clutched the bloodstained locket like a rosary. Aramis stood a ways from the other two while they gave their horses time to rest and their lungs a moment to breathe. The trio had been searching all afternoon for Visage’s camp and, though the place the stableboy had indicated showed signs of a brief settlement, Visage and his men were long gone now. 

“Tell me where to go,” Aramis muttered, holding the necklace to his lips as if in prayer. “Help me find him, my love.” 

D’Artagnan nudged Porthos in the arm. “He’s doing it again,” he whispered. 

“What?”

“I’m worried about him.”

“We all are.” 

“I know, but look at him.” The youngest of the group motioned to their friend’s tense shoulders, trembling frame, and perpetual fighting stance. “Even if we find Visage, will it matter?”

“Y/N deserves justice,” Porthos growled. 

“And I want to get it as much as any of us,” D’Artagnan sighed, “but what is the pursuit of it going to do to him? What will be left?”

Aramis stiffened, having pretended not to hear their conversation. He turned around. 

“Let’s go. We still have a few hours of daylight. If we don’t find anything, we’ll return to the boy and force him to tell us the truth,” he said, mounting his horse. 

“He told us all he knows,” D’Artagnan reasoned. “Scaring him more won’t do us any good.”

Aramis took off his hat to run a hand through his hair. “You’re right. It would just be a waste of time. We’ll just have to search through the night.” 

D’Artagnan’s worried expression deepened, casting a glance to Porthos, who took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Let’s find this bastard,” he muttered, though the concern he shared with D’Artagnan was becoming clearer in his voice. 

Aramis urged his tired horse on with the two others trailing behind him. 

They traveled for several more hours until their horses simply refused to go any further, much to Aramis’s annoyance, who was usually very gentle with the animals. Porthos plucked a couple of apples from one of the trees and tossed one at his friend. Aramis stared at the ripe red fruit. 

“Wait,” he gasped. “How far east have we traveled?” 

D’Artagnan shrugged. “Ten, eleven miles. Why?” 

Aramis thought of a map you had once shown him of the Visage’s property. The orchard. 

“He’s here,” Aramis said. “He must be.” 

His companions exchanged the same worried look from before.

“How can you be sure?” Porthos asked. 

“This is his mother’s land. The land he inherited. He’s a coward, he would have gone somewhere familiar. He must be here.” He drew his sword. 

“We should think about this,” D’Artagnan interjected. “He practically has a small army working for him. We can’t just barge into their camp.” 

“I know that,” Aramis snapped. “I had a plan before you three insisted on coming with me.” He paused, remembering the absence of their fourth friend. The others seemed to notice as well.

“Right,” Porthos mused, “where is Athos?” 

-

You tried to urge your horse forward, the forest growing darker and darker by the minute. 

“We should stop,” Athos said, slowing his horse from its trot. “We won’t arrive back to Paris before morning anyway, we might as well get a few hours of rest.” 

“At best, Visage and Aramis are still hunting each other in circles,” you said. “At worst…” You shook your head and pulled on the reins. “We cannot stand to lose any more time.” 

“I told you. Aramis will have a plan. Even if he didn’t, D’Artagnan and Porthos can reason with him to make one. He is not alone.” His eyes softened. “And neither are you.” 

“Honestly, Athos,” you scoffed, reluctantly dismounting from your horse and sitting at the base of a tree. “You can stop looking at me like I’m going to break.” Your statement was not supported by the trembling of your hands or the way you avoided his gaze, but your tone was laced with determination. “I have to find Visage.”

Athos sat beside you with a light chuckle and a shake of his head. 

“He’s been saying the same thing.” He plucked a blade of grass and held it to the light. “Both of you, so willing to throw yourself into harm's way to save each other, even if he believes he’s doing it for your memory alone.” Athos dropped the grass, watching it flit back down to the ground. “Love.” 

“You say it as if you know it yourself.”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.” 

You laid your head on his shoulder. Staring at your hands, you removed your leather gloves, wincing as the fabric grazed your scabbing wounds and bruises. No matter how hard you tried, you could not make them still, for they twitched painfully with every breath. 

“You were right, Athos,” you whispered. “I am afraid that when I see him again… I won’t be the woman he wants anymore.” 

Athos leaned his head back against the bark, drawing his arm around you a little tighter. And though he didn’t say anything, you took comfort in his reassuring silence. He knew there was nothing he could do to dissuade your troubled thoughts any more than you could banish his painful memories. 

So instead, you both slept while, somewhere on the other side of Paris, gunshots echoed through the trees. 

-

They found them in the dark of night. A few seemed under the heavy sleep of drink, but there were still some more alert standing guard. Visage was nowhere in sight. Any exhaustion plaguing the three men dissipated with a new wave of fury-fueled adrenaline. 

A figure appeared from the largest tent, bottle in one hand and sword in the other. Even in the pitch black, the man’s arrogant swagger and barking voice gave him away. 

Visage.

Aramis stepped forward. 

D’Artagnan grabbed his arm, raising a brow. 

“Surprise is everything,” he said, recalling his companion’s words from years past. 

Aramis took a breath and nodded, though every nerve burned. Just one shot was all he needed. All of this could be over. He remembered his friends’ concerns. Once this was over, what would become of him? 

Did it even matter anymore?” 

“Those four on the left, they’re the drunkest,” Porthos pointed out. “They’ll be easy to deal with.” 

“That still leaves twenty against three. Inebriated or not,” D’Artagnan sighed. 

“All that matters is taking down Visage,” Aramis said. 

“And,” Porthos started, “not getting killed in the process.” He shrugged, “At least until Athos gets here.” 

Aramis tensed with a new surge of frustration. “Where is he? What could possibly have kept him from something as important as this?”

The other two couldn’t answer, for they had the same questions. 

A branch cracked behind them and all three bolted upward, turning to face a wall of Visage’s men. Pistols clicked, ready to fire. 

Aramis went one way, D’Artagnan the other, and Porthos down the middle. Ten men attacked from the trees, followed by the others from the camp. The musketeers fought valiantly and impressively, killing several of their opponents before Porthos was struck with the back of a musket.

“Porthos!” D’Artagnan exclaimed. 

Five men surrounded him, forcing him to drop his weapon. One slashed a sword at his side.

Another group grabbed Aramis from behind and pulled his arms behind his back until he screamed. 

“I’ve heard of the recklessness of the musketeers, but I must say I expected better,” Visage called over the commotion as the three were overtaken. 

D’Artagnan glanced over at his captive friend grimly as the men pinned them both to the ground. “Surprise would have been everything.” 

With his arms still behind him, they shoved Aramis’ face into the dirt while his anger swelled in his chest, and tried to jerk free. 

“Don’t worry,” Visage sneered, now standing over him, “you’ll be with your whore soon enough.” 

He looked the man in the eye, brought up his heel, and kicked Aramis in the back of the head. 

The world and his hopes of revenge went black. 

Visage let out a hearty, despicable laugh, pushing Aramis’ face further into the mud with his foot. 

“Get him up,” he ordered. “We’ll take him to the tree where that sniveling girl died. Let them hang there together.” He flourished a hand and smiled. “I’m feeling poetic.”

“You bastard!” D’Artagnan growled. 

The men stood him up as they lifted Porthos and Aramis into a cart nearby. He watched his friends go with a sinking heart. He had to do something. But he couldn’t fight this many men on his own, no matter how much more skilled with a sword he may be. Then, it struck him. 

Athos. 

Athos would know what to do. 

But how could he find him? 

Visage slapped him across the cheek. The sting in his face added to the growing ache in his side, but if he could just get his arms free…

“I can see why she left you,” D’Artagnan chuckled. “What woman would choose a man who lets others do his work for him? What woman could ever want to hide behind this army of mindless brutes?” He leaned forward and spat in Visage’s face. “If you want to fight, then fight me. One on one. Like men.”

The other man’s face reddened with fury. He snapped his fingers. The men holding D’Artagnan released him. 

His stomach churned as he glanced at his unconscious companions one more time. How could he just run? How could he leave them here and flee like a coward after accusing Visage of being the very same? D’Artagnan closed his eyes and remembered Aramis’ words. 

“All that matters is taking down Visage.”

If he could get help, they could defeat Visage and still, maybe, live to honor the woman they were doing this all for. 

So he ran.

As D’Artagnan dashed into the trees, a group of men started to follow him, but Visage stopped them, his laughter booming in the youngest musketeer’s ears. 

“Let the coward go,” Visage said. “He’s not the one I want.” He looked to the cart and smirked. “Now move! All of you!” The darkness in his eyes returned. Hungry and wrathful. “We can get to the spot by morning and make it a musketeer’s grave.”

-

“Hold still,” you whispered. The needle shook in your hand and you tried to force it still. 

“I’m not the one I’m worried about,” Aramis smirked. He took your arm in one hand and put the other under your chin. “You’ll do fine. I’m right here to guide you.” He tried to keep the nerves out of his voice. Frankly, he was used to being on the other side of this situation and he didn’t care to have it the other way. 

The wound on his chest continued to slowly seep with the deep scarlet liquid overtaking your vision. 

“Just take a breath and steady your hands,” he instructed, releasing your arm but keeping a hand on your cheek. He nodded. 

You began. 

Aramis breathed through a hiss as the needle pierced his flesh and you muttered a string of apologies. 

“It’s alright. Just keep going.” 

“This is ridiculous,” you almost laughed. “I’m not the one with a slash in my chest. I should be comforting you, my love.” You leaned down and kissed his forehead. Aramis directed your lips down to his, letting his kiss reassure you. 

You continued stitching until the wound was closed and the blood more or less stopped. Aramis craned his neck to examine your work. 

“I don’t believe I could have done it better,” he grinned. 

You were glad to see the color return to his face. When he’d come to you, he was pale and shaking from adrenaline. Whatever fight he’d won, was won with a cost. 

You kissed him again, this time with all of your fear and concern and startlement. Aramis’ hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer. 

It settled then, in both of your minds, that this was more than a mere flirtation. What began as little more than a series of private rendezvous in your bedroom had turned into something else entirely. Neither of you had intended it. In fact, it frightened both of you so much that you had to break apart to hide the panic from the other person. 

You moved to the other side of your bedroom and stood before your vanity, where a bowl of water turned pink as you scrubbed your lover’s blood from your fingers. 

Aramis watched you in the reflection and conquered his own cowardice. 

“I love you,” he whispered, the words barely making it past his lips. 

You froze. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. But, lying there in your bed, with a wound over his heart, he realized that perhaps this was exactly what was meant to be. 

He spoke louder. “I love you.” 

“Aramis…” It took only seconds, but to you, your mind seemed to reel for hours. How could you put it into words, for those simple three didn’t seem like enough? There wasn’t a way to describe what he’d become for you. He was a wild, untamable, excitement that still somehow grounded you. Both the shelter and the storm in every wonderful way. 

You crossed the room and sat beside him. And, as you watched his dark, adoring eyes, you answered his unspoken question. 

“I love you,” you said. “Of course, I love you.” 

Your hands were steady now as you took his face in your palms and pulled his lips to yours. 

Against your skin, he whispered the same, sweet phrase you’d heard time and again, and yet, no matter how often you’d heard it, it still lit a soft flame in your heart. 

“Tu es mon paradis.”

-

D’Artagnan did not know where he was running, but somehow, he knew it was the right direction. He could feel it. The image of Porthos and Aramis in that cart fueled his sprint, even after his lungs felt as though they’d burst from exhaustion and his legs wanted to give out. Even when the wound in his side continued to throb and bleed to the point of concern.

 He would find Athos. They would get help. They would bring the wrath of the entire regiment down on the scum Visage. 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when he heard the distinct thumps of hooves riding over fallen leaves. 

He ducked behind a tree and braced himself. Luckily, Visage’s men hadn’t had the opportunity to take all of his weapons, leaving him with a single pistol and a dueling dagger. D’Artagnan again saw his friends overtaken and despairing. He would at least take out a few of Visage’s mindless soldiers on his way to Athos.

D’Artagnan took a deep breath, loaded his pistol, and leaped out into the path with a furious cry. 

The horses alerted and reared back. 

D’Artagnan aimed.

“Wait!” A familiar voice shouted. 

The youngest musketeer met eyes with the clear blue eyes of his noble friend and a sigh of relief left his lips. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” he grinned. 

Athos met him with a grim stare. 

“D’Artagnan?” 

The other figure dismounted from their horse, still hidden by the animal’s body. But D’Artagnan knew that voice. 

You stepped out into the moonlight and D’Artagnan looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Of course, for him, he had. 

“You’re alive?” He gasped. 

You answered by taking him in your arms, the darkness in your chest lifting enough for laughter. His arms enveloped you, still stiff with shock. He pulled away to look at your face.

“But how is this possible? How could…” He trailed off, dark eyes wide and glistening. 

You laid a gloved hand on his cheek. “I will have to explain later. I’m afraid we don’t have time.” Your eyes scanned the trees behind him. Athos did the same, realizing at the same moment as you. You looked into D’Artagnan’s eyes. “Where is Aramis?” 

His gaze fell to the ground. 

Your heart sank. 

“Where is he?” 

The youngest musketeer gulped. “He and Porthos were taken by Visage. I barely escaped.” Guilt washed over his features. “I only ran so I could find help. So I could find Athos. I didn’t want to leave them. I swear. I didn’t…” He trailed off with shame in his voice. 

You put your hands on his shoulders. “If you hadn’t escaped, you wouldn’t have found us and all three of you would be dead by now,” you reasoned, though panic was rising in your throat. “The best thing now is for you to help us find them before Visage-” You stopped, unable to even think the words. 

“Did Visage say where he was taking them?” Athos asked. 

D’Artagnan tried to gather his thoughts, mind still reeling from your survival. He closed his eyes and heard that awful man’s instructions. 

“He wants to kill him at the spot that he killed-” He opened his eyes, finding yours. “Well, where he thought he killed you.” 

“That means they’re coming this way,” you exclaimed. “We can stop them on the road.” 

“Wait.” Athos held up a hand. His eyes darted between the two of you. A thoughtful smirk played on his features. “I may have a better idea.”

Athos gathered the two of you and noted every detail, every possible variation. D’Artagnan’s face lit up with a confident smile. He patted his friend on the back. Despite Visage’s numbers, it could actually work. 

You only prayed it wouldn’t be too late.

-

Aramis awoke, tied back to back with Porthos, in a wagon surrounded by at least a dozen men on foot and at least half that on horseback. He pulled at his restraints. 

“Tried that,” Porthos huffed. “No use. They know their knots.” 

“Where’s D’Artagnan?” Aramis asked. 

His friend did not answer. 

A hopeful man may have believed their young companion had escaped. But Aramis was no longer a hopeful man. 

Aramis hung his head, the claws of defeat sinking into his chest. 

“I shouldn’t have brought you into this,” he sighed. “Visage is my fight and now D’Artagnan is-”

“We don’t know that,” Porthos interrupted. He nudged Aramis’s shoulder. “And don’t start on that again. Your fight is my fight. Always has been, always will be.” Porthos leaned back as best he could, trying to give his friend a reassuring glance. “All for one, remember?” 

Aramis couldn’t bring himself to respond. 

Porthos just nodded, having enough hope for both of them. “We’ll figure it out.” His tone darkened. “And then we’ll get Visage.” Porthos’s shoulders tensed, searching the riders around them for their villainous leader. While he let his anger keep his head clear, the same couldn’t be said for his fellow captive. 

Aramis stared out at the trees behind them. 

Did Visage tie D’Artagnan up, shoot him, and beat him the way he had to Y/N? Another life gone… because of him. 

Hours must have passed, for the sun had begun to peak over the horizon. He watched it with a heavy heart and a numb mind. Perhaps it would be his last sunrise. Worse, perhaps he wanted it to be. 

“This is it,” Visage announced. 

He sneered at the empty clearing. Animals must have picked the body apart and dragged it off. Too bad. He would have liked to see the musketeer’s face when he looked upon the broken form of the woman he’d stolen. 

The wagon halted. Men roughly grabbed the two musketeers and pulled them to the ground. It took four to subdue Porthos as they cut them apart. 

Visage grabbed Aramis by the hair and forced his face toward a tree with splintered, rust-colored bark. 

“This is where she cried for you,” he sneered, pulling his head back until Aramis winced. “Where she bled and begged. Where the heart you stole stopped beating.” He threw Aramis down hard enough that when he hit the ground, he saw spots. 

He almost thought he saw movement in the trees behind Visage, but it must have been the impact of the tree trunk against his temple. 

“And now,” Visage pulled out his pistol. “It’s where I will put an end to your miserable, dishonorable, foul life.” He looked at the man before him with hate in his eyes and aimed at Aramis’ heart. 

“No!” Porthos cried, almost breaking free. Another man had to help hold him. 

Your hand shook more than it ever had before. 

“It has to be you.” Athos had said. “D’Artagnan and I must take on the other men. You will have to kill Visage.” 

But your hands wouldn’t allow you. You could hardly keep the pistol in your grip. It was as if Visage was crushing them all over again. Then you heard Aramis speak. 

“I love Y/N. I love her with every breath I’ve ever had. I love her with every beat of my heart. And I will love her after my soul has left this body because I know she loved me all the same.” Aramis took your necklace from his pocket and brought it to his lips. He stared up at Visage, whose hand quivered with rage. Aramis accepted his fate. “And not even death can take that from us.”

Visage cocked his weapon. 

You took a breath, steadied your hands, and fired. 

A shot rang through the air and a mass pushed Aramis against the tree, slamming his already pounding head against the bark. Blurred chaos broke out around him. All he could see was light. 

The pressure on his chest lifted and another figure appeared above him, enveloped by the rising sun. 

“Please wake up, my love,” said the angel. “Please, Aramis.” 

A smile spread across his lips. “I never believed I deserved heaven.” He lifted a hand to your face. “But I must be there.” 

You took his hand in yours and, forgetting the battle around you, crashed your lips into his. All sound dropped away. Everything seemed still. All vanished except for you, Aramis, and the rays of the sun. 

“You’re alive, Aramis,” you breathed against his lips. You pulled back, running your still-gloved fingers through his hair. “I’m alive.” 

Aramis stared up at you, his fingers still grazing your cheek, not believing that it was truly your flesh that he felt. Then, the shock passed, and joyous tears took its place. 

But your reunion was short-lived, for the body beside you stirred and you felt the sharpness of a blade slide across your arm. You held up a hand to defend yourself and another latched onto it with crushing strength. You cried out, feeling your bones whine in his iron grasp. 

“Impossible!” Visage shrieked, eyes blazing. He lunged at you, but Aramis rolled on top of you, shielding you with his body and dodging Visage’s strike. 

The battle around you continued. Porthos, now freed, tried to keep his focus on his opponent, though his gaze kept slipping over to you. After a moment of surprise, a victorious smile spread across his face and he fought with new vigor, a strong battle cry roaring through the trees. Athos and D’Artagnan were keeping Visage’s men at bay while their leader stumbled to his feet. 

“You have crawled up from Hell,” he spat. Blood dripped down his chin and seeped from the wound in his chest. “I killed you. I watched you die on this very spot. Demon. That’s what you are.”

“If I am anything, it is a phantom of your own making, Visage.” You stepped towards him. Aramis tried to keep you behind him, but you gave him a reassuring nod. 

Visage couldn’t hurt you now.

“It isn’t possible.” He stumbled. He held Aramis’s confiscated sword in his hand and raised it. “You are mine. Your life belonged to me. Your death is my right.” 

He moved, hands trembling weakly.

You were faster. Your sword plunged into his heart, eliciting a final gasp from his lips. He leaned forward, sinking further onto your blade. You glared at the instigator of all of your pain, the master behind your nightmares, and knew that you had one. 

“I belong to no one.” 

You drew your weapon out of his chest swiftly and watched his body fall to the ground where he believed he had killed you. 

How’s that for poetic?

You let your sword fall to your feet, blood-spattered metal glistening amongst the leaves. Something inside you burst and the emotion behind it drowned you. Relief and fear, anger and shame, love and hatred, all combined to fuel the tears that flowed freely down your face. More than ever, looking at the body of the man who made you into a killer, you knew that you were broken. 

The rest of the battle subsided- the head of the snake was severed. Visage’s men surrendered to the musketeers and Porthos and D’Artagnan gathered them into the cart to take them back to be tried for the attempted murder of several of the king’s men, as well as a close friend of Queen Anne. Visage would pay for his crimes, even after death. 

You collected yourself and removed your gloves. The bruised and scabbed state of your hands still appalled you, a symbol of everything that had been shattered inside you. You threw your gloves onto Visage’s chest, now forever still. 

“It’s real,” Aramis said, voice soft and breaking. “You’re here.”

You crossed your arms, hiding your hands as best you could. Fear kept you from turning around. The joy of seeing him had once again been replaced by the terror that kept you from revealing yourself sooner. You lifted your eyes and met the cool blue of your traveling companion the past few days. Porthos and D’Artagnan stood beside him. 

Athos saw your fear and opened his mouth to speak only to close it again. Instead, he just nodded. It gave you enough strength to face what you were truly afraid of. 

But you didn’t even have the chance to turn all the way before you were taken up into Aramis’s arms, strong and yet shaking with emotion. 

“I had wanted him to kill me,” Aramis breathed against your hair. “I did not want to walk in a world that you had been taken from. I thought I’d lost you. I thought…” He pulled away, smiling brightly through his tears. 

“I may not be the woman you loved anymore,” you cried, broken hands gripping the leather of his coat. “I’m afraid he has damaged me beyond repair. He has taken everything from me and he almost took you.” 

In the clarity after the chaos, he could see the welts and bruises, the forming scars and cruelly made marks on your skin. Aramis gently ran his finger over the bruise on your cheek, wiping away your tears. 

“Tu seras toujours mon paradis,” he whispered. Aramis kissed the bruise, then the cut on your lip, then the gash across your brow. “Not even God can change that.” He pulled you closer. “I have been granted the miracle of holding you again, my love.” He kissed your lips, a reaffirming action that filled you both with warmth. “And I don’t intend to take it for granted."

“Aramis,” you sighed, letting yourself melt into him. 

The three others joined you. As soon as you left Aramis’s embrace, you were pulled into Porthos’s. 

“I knew it’d take more than a bullet to stop ya,” he cheered, nearly lifting you off the ground. 

Aramis put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, but she’s still injured, so be careful.”

“It’s alright.” You hugged the strong musketeer back. “I missed you too, Porthos.” 

Utter happiness and relief surrounded you, lightening your spirits and lifting your heart. Aramis kept an arm around your waist, your closeness helping him convince himself this was real. 

“We should go,” Athos said. “Captain Treville will want to hear a report and I’m sure the queen will be relieved to know her favorite artist is alive and well.” 

The musketeers nodded. It was decided that another team of men would come out and dig proper graves for Visage and his fallen soldiers. D’Artagnan gathered the horses while Porthos manned the cart. 

“Alright, you lot!” He boomed. “Anyone tries anything and you’ll be joining your master in Hell!” 

Needless to say, the men obeyed. 

You remained behind doubt and worry returning. Aramis stayed with you, brows furrowed with concern. 

“What is it, darling?” He asked. 

You stared down at your hands. They were shaking again. “My hands. I don’t know if I’ll ever paint again.” Your eyes fell to Visage once more. “Another thing he took from me.”

Aramis stepped around you, blocking your view of the body and bringing your hands to his lips, kissing them gently as he had your other wounds. 

“These hands saved my life,” he said. “I’m sure they will endure, just as you have.” 

Keeping your hands in his, the two of you walked together, leading you back home. 

-

One Year Later

“Would all of you just please hold still!” You giggled, peeking up over your canvas. 

“Aren’t you nearly finished?” D’Artagnan whined. “It’s been hours.” 

“Yeah, my limbs are all seizing up,” Porthos added. 

Aramis rolled his eyes. “Great art takes time, my friends. Let her work.” He met your gaze and winked. 

The four of them stood together, noble and daring in their uniforms, but lacking the stiff detachment that many soldier’s portraits often had. They loved each other and you tried to capture that with every stroke. D’Artagnan was right. The painting had actually been done for the past ten minutes, but you enjoyed teasing them. 

All four pairs of eyes snapped to the door and they fell into a bow. 

Your brush fell to your side with a huff. “Boys, I told you not to-” 

“How is it coming?” The queen’s voice sounded from behind you. 

You whirled around and curtseyed, face reddening. “It’s just about complete, Your Majesty.” 

Anne appeared beside you, admiring your work over your shoulder. Her smile brightened with awe. 

“It’s beautiful,” she praised, laying an affectionate hand on your arm. “It’ll make a wonderful wedding present.” 

Aramis beamed from across the room. 

Porthos held up a hand. “Speaking of which.” An excited grin spread across his and D’Artagnan’s faces. The two broke away from the others and hurried to the large table in the corner. 

“I told you not to move,” you said. 

“This’ll only take a second.” Athos followed them and Aramis walked to you. 

“They wouldn’t tell me either,” your fiance smirked. He stood on his toes, trying to peek over the top to see the painting. You swatted at his nose with your brush. 

“You will see it when it’s finished.”

“It is finished,” the queen laughed. “It is perfect.” She motioned for Aramis to come around the easel. 

“Well, now you’ve ruined my fun.” You gave Anne a mock pout. 

Aramis wrapped an arm around your waist and gazed at your work with loving admiration. 

The painting depicted the four musketeers grouped together like brothers. In front of them, you had painted a rendition of yourself working at the canvas, painting the same image. That, of course, had been his plan. While you had just wanted a normal portrait of him and his companions, he had insisted that you include yourself, somehow. 

“You’re facing away.” He noted.

“Well, I can’t very well paint my own face while I’m looking at all of yours, hm?” 

He nuzzled your cheek. “I suppose I’ll just have to commission an artist’s self-portrait so you can see how lovely you are, hm?” 

“We’ll see.” 

It had taken a long time for you to allow yourself to look in the mirror. The idea of painting a reflection of your face was not something you had in mind quite yet. 

The three others returned, holding a box and a scroll. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to work on it here,” Anne smiled. 

Athos held out the box while the other two unrolled the scroll. It was a blueprint. A blueprint for an artist’s studio and a home to match. 

Aramis’s jaw fell and you turned to the queen. 

“What is this?”

“Consider it a wedding present of my own to the both of you.” 

Porthos cleared his throat. 

“Our present,” Anne corrected. “It was these noble gentlemen’s idea. I merely funded it.” 

“Which was greatly appreciated, Your Majesty,” Athos said. He bowed again, the others following suit. 

“I don’t know how to ever repay you,” Aramis said. “Any of you.” He pulled you fully into his arms. His miracle. His world. “Thank you.” 

“After everything the two of you went through, it is the least I can do to contribute to your future happiness.” Anne retrieved a quill from your station and handed it to you. “It shall be a great house and a great house needs a name.”

Aramis chuckled. “I am no nobleman, Your Majesty.”

“You are all more deserving than any nobleman I’ve ever met,” she argued. “Believe me, this is more than deserved.” She leaned to you. “Besides, it’s fun.” 

You looked to your fiance and to his friends- your friends- and beamed. You took the quill in your hand, now bearing a simple and perfect ring promising you to the man you loved. Aramis smiled and kissed your cheek, standing behind you as you signed your future home’s title. 

Heaven. 

#aramis #aramis x reader #the musketeers #bbc the musketeers #porthos #athos #d'artagnan #anne of austria #the musketeers imagines #santiago cabrera

[lasc-o]

Finally, the gang is complete! Last but not least, here's Porthos! In typical eldritch fashion, he never goes out without at least 4 or 5 dark entities in his drip (or inside him). Remembering where the name musketeers was coming from, I decided to give him the most gruesome gun imaginable. The bird paw is supposed to deploy and act like a monopod in order to stabilize this bio-musket. A bit like the V-topped pole musketeers used in the XVIIth century.

Made with: SketchBook.

#porthos #the three musketeers #alexandre dumas #eldritch #demon #monster #body horror tw #my art #drawing #character redesign

[wingsofhcpe]

I watched the Man In The Iron Mask (1998) the other day and honestly, i think it's my fave adaptation of the og srories after the bbc series, because it's the only one I know of that gives Aramis such a central role (not to mention he's played by Jeremy Irons, which I happen to love), and it's done so well. When I was a kid and listening to my grandma reading the book to me, this is exactly what I imagined Aramis to be, personality-wise. Calm but witty, and ready to spring into the fight. And recently, when I read 20 Years After, this is what I imagined him looking appearance-wise. So this movie was honestly just perfection for me, not to mention the music and the dialogue between the four was just so well done! I also loved John Malkovitch as Athos and Gabriel Byrne as d'Artagnan.

The only drawback for me was Porthos, because I feel like too many adaptations turn him into this foolish comic relief caricature while he's actually a very lovable and loving character, with more depth, that deserves respect!

But yeah just... Aramis was always my favourite of the four and this movie just fed me so well on that aspect.

(and that ending... PAIN.)

#rambling again bc im too wired to go to sleep rn. send help #the three musketeers #the man in the iron mask #jeremy irons

[hacash]

Series asks:

• The Terror

• The Musketeers

• the last movie you watched

Marvellously the last film I watched was LOTR, which makes this beautifully easy! Also I want to sue for making me choose just one husband-candidate from the Terror character list, this is nothing but pure biphobia.

The Terror

Character I’d want as a best friend. - Depending on my mood it would either be Bridgens (sweet, gentle, loves books, will clearly be a comforting presence) or Fitzjames (gossipy, kinda bitchy, would enjoy drag brunch and hopefully sharing his fabulous wardrobe with me).

Character I’d want as a parent. – I was going to say MacDonald, as he’s just so nice and dry-witted and shaped like kindness, but honestly one of the fundamental rules of life is that you can't think your parent is hot and Charles Edwards remains an absolute dish, so it's gonna have to be Captain 'Grumpy Pants' Crozier here.

Character I’d want as a sibling. - Irving, my troubled dweeby little baby queer: I have so many queer Christian groups to share with you.

Character I’d want as a significant other. – SOL TOZER. LOOK AT MY TAGS. THIS MUCH IS APPARENT. He's loyal, he's snarky, he's genuinely protective of his men, he's the hottest one of the bunch and clearly takes orders well: which is basically my dream husband. Because I'm greedy I will also dub Fitzjames and Hartnell as very close runners-up: two absolute Good Eggs who also happen to be very pretty.

Character I’d want as a child. – Honest to God, if I could pop baby Thomas Evans into a sling like a baby kangaroo and carry him around all day, I would, with his curls and his pinchable cheeks and his heartbreaking loyalty to his buddies.

Character I’d want as a weird inlaw. – There is only one possible right answer for this, and that answer is Thomas ‘Monsterfucker’ Blanky.

BBC Musketeers

Character I’d want as a best friend. - Porthos, 100% the best musketeers of the bunch.

Character I’d want as a parent. – Obviously Captain Treville; apparently a specific blorbo-type I have is ‘gruff figure of authority who would die for anyone under their command’ and Treville was definitely a foundational blorbo here.

Character I’d want as a sibling. - Sylvie only had a single series and I'm still gutted about it; not only do I think she'd be a great sibling but we could overthrow the government together.

Character I’d want as a significant other. – I didn't spend several years spamming your feeds with reams of d'Artagnan gifsets and meta not to dub him my honorary husband now.

Character I’d want as a child. – Aramis: granted he’s an adult man but I feel like he needs a full-time parent just to tell him what not to put his dick in.

Character I’d want as a weird inlaw. – Can you imagine going to family dinners and having Louis as an in-law? Those meals would be so messy, I would absolutely love that.

LOTR

Character I’d want as a best friend. – I would argue that pretty much the entire point of the trilogy is ‘you will never get a best friend better than Samwise Gamgee’, so obviously my answer’s gotta be Sam. We both like gardening, planting, being snarky little shits and loving Frodo Baggins so we’d probably get on.

Character I’d want as a parent. – Absolutely Theoden: Bernard Hill’s delivery of ‘no parent should ever have to bury their child’ ruined me twenty-two years ago and honestly I’ve never quite recovered. (He makes such a good dad!!)

Character I’d want as a sibling. – Boromir is the archetypal big brother; I would bond with him over adorable hobbits and being aspec so so much.

Character I’d want as a significant other. – My little eleven-year-old self’s crush on both Pippin and Merry was a significantly formative period in my life, so honestly, either of them. They’re both Good Eggs, we can bond over cooking, Pippin can make me laugh lots and Merry can compensate for my utter inability to plan anything ever.

Character I’d want as a child. – Those two adorable baby hobbit kiddos played by Peter Jackson's kids.

Character I’d want as a weird inlaw. – Gandalf is the only weird inlaw.

#the terror #lotr #bbc musketeers #answered ask memes

[enigma-the-mysterious]

Porthos: Imagine if you came home one night and everyone was like, quietly reading

Athos: I would be suspicious

#the musketeers #bbc musketeers #lol #athos #tom burke #porthos #howard charles #porthos du vallon #musketeers #alexandre dumas #original post #incorrect quotes

[the-girl-who-used-to-write]

So...I watched the 1993 Three Musketeers movie last night and I had some brain rot. So, to all of my lost boys friends (especially @ghoulgeousimmaculate, who convinced me to publish this in the first place)...

THE LOST BOYS AS MUSKETEERS

Starting off easy...

DAVID AS ATHOS

The defacto leader of their group of misfits, I see David and Athos as parallels of each other and NOT just because they are both played by Kiefer Sutherland (although that definitely helped.)

Athos and David are both passionate men but they are very serious and stoic. Both have been hurt in the past and while I think Athos is definitely more of a romantic from what we see, David did have a love interest in the unmade Lost Boys prequel.

Athos also takes on a big-brother esque role to the other Musketeers, especially D'Artagnan. David is very much the 'big brother' of the boys if you consider them to be brothers, he's the leader and he is the one who (I think) tries to keep them in line when Max isn't there.

Athos is also a drinker and you cannot tell me that David probably doesn't enjoy a good drink from time to time rather than the blood. David is most definitely an alcohol snob.

DWAYNE AS ARAMIS

Aramis, much like Dwayne, is the hardest of the musketeers to get a read on to me. Maybe I think these two are similar because of the luscious hair.

I think the reason that I saw Dwayne and Aramis as similar are much to do with the fact that Aramis is a man who at his core is respectful, a lot more poetic and a lot more of a deeper thinker than the others, especially Porthos. We see that as much when they are talking about how they respectively woo girls, Porthos with kisses and Aramis with poetry and words of love. I personally always saw Dwayne as someone who could probably charm the pants off of anyone and I imagined him as being a silent film star before his turning (if we are making up our own backstories).

Aramis is also, arguably, the most respectful of the Musketeers. He reads final rites to those he kills (we see that in the fight with the Cardinal's guards) and he is less of a joker than someone like Porthos or even D'Artagnan. Something as simple as him being the one to encourage D'Artagnan to distribute the wealth among the poorer townsfolk when they rob the Cardinal's carriage.

Dwayne is very much a silent presence in the boys but with the way that the entire fandom headcanons him, he and Aramis have a lot in common. He's protective, he's loyal, he's an enforcer however he doesn't jump into fights for no reason, Dwayne is also a ladies' man (or at least he definitely used to be I think).

PAUL AS PORTHOS

I know Porthos and Paul are maybe the least similar in terms of looks but I think in terms of personality, these two have a lot in common.

Porthos is a drinker, Porthos is a player, Porthos enjoys a party and he is not afraid of a fight. If you look closely during the carousel scene in Lost Boys, Paul and Marko are the ones to first attack when the man goes for Dwayne. Paul and Porthos are both party animals who have probably engaged in more than one drunken brawl.

I think there is also a loyalty to Paul that we see in Porthos. Porthos always protects his Musketeer brothers and Paul goes to bat for the boys and others numerous times in the movie. if you read the final scene in the Emerson house in a certain way, Paul protects Laddie and Star from the Frog's, closing the door behind them and coming after the brothers, who were about to kill them.

Of course, Porthos also carries a lot of the humour of the movie and Paul is very much a joker. He is the light-hearted one of the boys it seems, he was the nicest according to Star in the novelisation and we see that he is also (along with Dwayne), the closest to Laddie, so context clues lead us to believe that he maybe one of the more fun boys to be around (not that they aren't all fun).

MARKO AS D'ARTAGNAN

This is something that Ghoulie can attest to but I messaged her yesterday saying that D'Artagnan in this movie reminded me of Michelangelo's David, or 'The Fallen Angel' by Alexandre Cabanel. Maybe this is partially the reason that I see him as a counterpart to Marko, the boy that looks like a renaissance painting come to life. It also helps that they both have a gorgeous head of curls.

This, in all honesty, was the easiest parallel for me. D'Artagnan is a young, roguish, reckless boy who doesn't always think before he acts and is very handsome and good with the ladies (and that's not me projecting, D'Artagnan literally has a guy after him because he 'romanced' his sister) (allegedly)

I just think he's very much like Marko. I always imagine that Marko was the youngest, even if he was turned before the other boys (I sometimes think Marko could have been a highwayman), I always see Marko as the youngest of the boys and considering D'Artagnan is the youngest of the Musketeers, I think it works.

Their reckless natures match each other well as well, Marko's most definitely does bike tricks like D'Artagnan does that thing with the horse where he jumps off and back onto it and they both run into danger. There's also a protectiveness though, a loyalty to those that they care about.