#Aramis would never

[the-tenth-arcanum]

rough episode for aramis

[widevibratobitch]

Ok, drop your favourite characters and ships from the Three Musketeers, queen. <3

the answer is pretty simple actually <3

Aramis is my babygirl, my murder kitten, my favourite little princess, my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese... truly one of the characters of all time. to me. and he ages like fine wine - the older, the more cruel and ruthless and cunning and evil he gets, the better.

im a die-hard Athos/Aramis truther 🙏 i also adore the whole thing Aramis and Madame de Chevreuse have going on, especially their fucked up little divorce in the last book, it's insane and i'm obsessed with it. I do also think Aramis and d'Artagnan are long overdue for some quality hatesex sesh! and none of these are mutually exclusive, the opposite actually. basically i live for and breathe the entire d'Artagnan/Athos/Aramis/Marie drama. it's everything to me <333

[wingsofhcpe]

I just realised that Aramis never for a second believed that Porthos was guilty, but Porthos never for a second believed Aramis could be right about suspecting Treville's entanglement in the massacre of Savoy after Marsac put the possibility out there, and now I'm crying.

[mybrainisalibrary]

Been watching The Musketeers and it is delightful

Sword fights! Political intrigue! Complicated romance!

[aprill-99]

I think I’ve done enough ‘lightening up’ for this year. From now until January 1, I’ve decided that I will be ‘throwing down’ instead.

I’ll re-evaluate on January 2 if the world is behaving itself.

[cy-lindric]

bonjour cy-lindric, j'ai une petite question. when I was a young person, I read The Three Musketeers and then eagerly started to read Twenty Years After and was so upset at what had happened to my beloved young heroes that I put the book down and never picked it up. what do you think, should I try again?

Bonjour !

After reading The Three Musketeers, I also wasn't sure I wanted to read Twenty Years After, and I took a break inbetween both to read something entirely different (The Locked Tomb, iirc). I think my reason for that was kind of the opposite of yours ; I enjoyed T3M a lot and loved the characters, flaws and all, but by the end they had somewhat crossed over the line into being Too Awful and the lack of retribution left me a bit frustrated. I didn't see it as a failing of the story - on the contrary, their strong character flaws and downfall in the conflict with Milady is one of the most emotionally intense and compelling parts imo - but I wasn't sure I felt like hanging out with these guys for a few hundred more pages at that point.

If your vision of the characters as a young reader was a very positive and perhaps idealized one, I can imagine why you might not have enjoyed entering into Twenty Years after. The illusion of glory has worn off ; the characters have separated, they live unremarkable lives, and their personalities have evolved drastically with the passing of time. It's almost a brutal return to reality.

For me though, it added layers of characterization to the point where now it's clear to me that this version of the Inseparables is by far the one I prefer.

I hope it's ok if I take the opportunity to talk at length about what I like about TYA below the cut. TL;DR : I love that Twenty Years After is a more realistic look at the big four's personalities and how they evolved while still keeping them thematically coherent, and that TYA makes them confront the reckless and cruel shit they did in their youth.

Spoilers ahead obviously.

We've often talked about how T3M is at its core a story about the end of knighthood. It's a tongue-in-cheek approach at chivalrous initiation, set at edge of the modern world, inbetween the time of ballads about knights in armor and that of adventures about journeying gunmen and soldiers. I think TYA embodies that particularly ; the story of people who have carried the last of these intense, dangerous chivalric ideals in their youths, and who have now grown into middle aged adults who need to find their place in the world.

For a good chunk of the book, the big four are separated into two teams ; that in of itself might discourage some, but imo it's genius. Instead of the natural two-by-pairings, Dumas goes for a d'Artagnan+ Porthos and Athos + Aramis split on opposite sides, which makes for good drama and develops lesser explored dynamics. D'Artagnan and Porthos form a scrappy team of opportunists with money on their minds, and Athos and Aramis a more idealistic duo fighting for a noble lost cause. I think it's a bold choice but also premium sequel writing.

I also love the way the young and wild characters we knew evolve into middle aged men ; at their core, they're still the same, but they've all changed and struggled against the sunset of the golden age in their own ways.

D'Artagnan, after knowing such adventures and subsequent rapid social ascension in his teenage years, has been met in his adult life with the harsh reality that he is, in fact, not a noble knight but a soldier on payroll. His modest origins give him little hope for any further career advancement, and he takes on a new mission in his early 40s for a man he has no devotion for and a cause he doesn't care about, simply because he is bored and broke. D'Artagnan still has his quick wits, his strategic talent, his fencing skills, but he has grown out of the excesses of pride of his teenage years. I loved meeting him again in TYA, and it made so much sense to me that his bouts of anger and aggressivity would be a youthful trait that he'd ended up taming. He also realizes now a lot of what seemed like funny adventures and necessary violence was actually kind of fucked up ; that was a shock to me, as their shenanigans are treated so lightly in T3M, and tbh it healed me a little. Grown up d'Artagnan is cunning, calculating, down to earth and realistic. My foxy little man. I love him.

Porthos, likewise, has been struck by the weight of reality. He has made the sensible choice and got married to the rich widow who sugar mommied him in the first book. Now she's passed, he is rich, but he still fails to earn the respect of the high society he evolves in because he's not high born enough. Like d'Artagnan, he's stagnating and bored and now that he goes back adventuring it has nothing to do with the queen or the kingdom or honour ; it's about getting his damn nobility title.

Athos, on the other hand, is the eternal knight : the only truly high born of the four, and still hopelessly holding on to a time gone by. It's no surprise imo that his storyline brings him into the english civil war, doomed to fail at saving a king who'll end up executed right in front of him. TYA acknowledges more clearly than ever that at 28 yo, Athos was a depressed alcoholic, and an embodiment of what an excess of aristocratic righteousness can do. In TYA, he is sober and moisturized and a DILF, and now he's running around frantically looking for absolution for his numerous crimes. It's delicious.

Aramis is maybe the hardest pill to swallow. TYA confirms the T3M hints that he isn't really the prim and proper romantic boy he acts like he is, and that he's possibly the most hypocritical and ruthless of the four. It might be a harsh one for Aramis fans who like him better as a cute bean, but I love the early onset of remorseless conniving bloodthirsty ambitious Aramis. Another harsh bit might be the evolution of Aramis and d'Artagnan not really liking each other ; they were always the least close combination, and imo it makes sense that their personalities would clash. I think it's clever and compelling conflict.

Now, obviously, if you've cared enough to read all this and if you know me a little, you know that a huge highlight of the book for me was its late-appearing antagonist, Mordaunt. Mordaunt is the son Milady had with her english husband. Because of the Musketeers' intervention, he's grown up in poverty and has been denied his father's inheritance. He's now a Roundhead working for Cromwell, and set on avenging his mother at all costs. Mordaunt, unlike his mother who was this beautiful and dangerous force of nature, is very uncool and pathetic. She was the primordial snake, he's the gutter rat. Obviously, I love that in and of itself, but it's also kind of striking image of the wretchedness of what they've done to her, a fucked up little goblin ghost come back to haunt them as they're trying to make their life worth living again. This time, their enemy is not a cunning political rival with a flamboyance of body and mind akin to their own ; it's a shitty little guy with bad skin who wants to kill the king and punish the murderers. Watch out babes, it's the modern world coming for you.

Of course, they're the Four Musketeers, and they did what they had to do, so they get together again and swear friendship and keep going their way. But they're also old guys with difficult personalities in a world that's never going to be the same. I think it's a cool book.

[betterwithbooksthanwithpeople]

things I noticed in The Outsiders musical seeing it a second time (2/20/25 matinee):

feel like putting a disclaimer that I've now seen the show twice but in two partial view locations (standing room today) and my memory is far from photographic so some of this might be stuff that happens every time that I just missed the first time or it stuck out to me differently

-the greasers were HYPED. UP. from the top of the show basically all the way to the drive-in. sooo much energy which is also how I felt getting to see the show again so I loved it

-really thought Andre Malcolm was a great Steve! also John Patrick Collins is back covering I don't even know what role because it's whoever Trevi is when he's not Ponyboy and I've seen him as Ponyboy both times lol

-during Grease Got a Hold Soda kept poking at Darry trying to get him to join in and he said either "don't talk to me" or "don't touch me" but with a little smile like he couldn't actually be annoyed with Soda

-at the end of Great Expectations and the scene after with Johnny and Dally, Johnny was rocking himself back and forth but as soon as Ponyboy would put the flashlight on him or Dally would look at him he'd stop

-honestly I think Sky played Johnny more fidgety/ shaky in general (I saw Josh last time). what's that line from the book that says Johnny is like a kicked puppy? that's what he was embodying

-Marcia did a little wave and "hey" at Two-Bit during Friday at the Drive In!

-Emma's vocals were eating in that song and especially I Could Talk to You All Night. I've seen her Cherry before but today? dangg

-Paul has a new boyfriend real?! bro was fully laying on the car stargazing and drinking with somebody (Chet maybe?)

-Ponyboy opt down in Far Away from Tulsa! now I know what y'all are going on about lol

-Ponyboy was SO out of it and Johnny was yelling SO much the whole way from when they get jumped through all of Run Run Brother and it was making me ahhh

-Cole was amazing as Paul, especially in Justice for Tulsa. He played it so angry that he was kinda scary, plus vocalsss

-maybe this is always the blocking for Death's at My Door so apologies to people who've seen the show more than I have, but when he's singing "I'll never leave you alone," Johnny put his hand out to take the knife from Ponyboy who repeated the line but just? wouldn't let go of the knife? to grab his hand? until they both sing the line together and fully make eye contact, then Pony finally gave back the knife after and Johnny did this little sigh of relief almost as he put it back in his pocket while keeping a hold on Pony's hand. it's a lot guys.

-Throwing in the Towel vocals were off the charts today. Brent and Jason were not messing around - the riffs

-Darry was so happy and united with the gang in Hoods Turned Heroes that I almost started the act two crying right then and there. he's just a kid proud of his little brothers

-Ponyboy was PISSED during Trouble like he was giving do NOT mess with me right now

-I am convinced Jason is in on the Parry lore because the faces he was making during the whole Paul/ Darry pre-rumble conversation were so loud I fully missed the first punch since my eyes were on Soda lol

-just everything about Ace in the rumble. yelling "get off of me!" and the genuine concern when Two Bit takes awhile to get up after and jumping into Dally's arms because they won - it was adorable (actually Tilly was just getting picked up so much? maybe that's her Ace's thing even more than others lol)

-Aramie put his whole heart and soul into Little Brother oh my gosh. Like fully sobbing for much of the song, looked a mess, scREAMED the "does anybody care" line?! I was crying so much that my friend pointed it out after the show pls

-speaking of crying, Darry was a whole mess not really in the argument part of the end scene but for the entire time Pony and Soda are talking at the dinner table - like, he'd visibly pull himself together in order to talk evenly when he had a line? but wouldn't look towards his brothers like he was hiding his tears? Brent Comer you understand Darry so well I'm so glad I got to tell you he's my favorite at the stage door

-overheard at the stage door: someone asked Trevi about the Johnny/ Ponyboy ship and he basically went "they're too young" hahaha

hours have passed somehow but this is all I've thought about and I've forgotten so many things and already want to see it again but yeah, yay outsiders

[volklana]

Everything I Do. I Do It For You

Alfred's Daughter x Sihtric

Title Comes From This Song:

Fic Idea Curtesy of the ever amazing @whitedarkmoonflower : 💖💖

I was just dreaming of a story like Aramis und Anne just with Sihtric where Uhtred's pretty boys are tasked with safeguarding a princess (Alfred's daughter) and they are attacked and have to hide and ... you know what happens with Aramis and Anne in the monastery...

Warnings: Themes of domestic abuse. Violence and unwanted sexual comments/advances.

*Not as proof read as I would have liked*

The news from Kent left Aethelfaed reeling.

There had been a Danish incursion on the city of Canterbury, and the Lord, your husband had been too weak to banish them and was forced to concede some of his lands to the Danes, but to make matters worse it was being entirely blamed on you, her little sister.

“They are calling her Royal Whore,” she cried, pacing around the room and Uhtred reached out a hand to try and steady her, “What are we to do Uhtred?” she begged, biting the skin around her thumb, a nervous habit she had since she was a child.

“There can be no truth to it, Lady,” Uhtred reassured, “Y/n would never conspire with the Danes, she would never threaten Edward’s rule this way. She would not dishonour the memory of your Father.”

“We must go to her, we must do something!” she cried.

“You cannot Lady,” Aldhelm begged, “Mercia cannot be seen to interfere in this matter, it would be an attack of Kent’s autonomy, it would bring their fyrd’s upon us, it would mean war.”

“And so it should. They intend to put her sister to death,” Uhtred insisted and her face softened at him.

“Does my father’s name mean nothing?” she despaired, “She is a daughter of Alfred. Sister to the King of Wessex. My little sister,” her tears were flowing freely and both men wanted nothing more than to reach out and console her.

“I will go to Kent and I will retrieve her,” Uhtred promised and Aldhelm wilted,

“Uhtred you are too recognisable, and you are Edward’s man, this would be seen as Wessex interfering, and not on Edward’s orders.”

“He’s right,” Athelflaed cried, burying her head in her hands “She is lost to us.”

“I will go Lord,” Sihtric’s voice cut through the tension and everyone turned to face him “I will go and I will take her back safely Lady, upon my word, I will return her to you.”

“Sihtric,” Atheleflaed cried and sprung forward, not caring for etiquette or order and pulled him into a strong gripped embrace.

“You will be killed if you are caught,” she all but whispered to him.

“If you please, the Lady Y/N has always been kind to me and I would not see her abandoned to this fate,” he replied and she smiled sadly at him through her tears.

“There is an abandoned monastery along the old Roman road,” Uhtred instructed as Sihtric was readying his horse “If you can get to her we will meet you there,” Uhtred promised, grasping the young Dane by the back of his neck in affection.

“I will not fail you, Lord,” he promised.

“You never have!” Uhtred confirmed and the two embraced in promise that they would see each other soon. 

It did not take long for him to find you, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you when he slit the throat of the man standing guard outside your room of confinement, pushing the heavy door open to find you, hair down in loose curls, not plaited in the way he was used to seeing you and in nothing but your night shift, your lip was split and your cheek was marked red where you had been struck. Your hands were tied, your eyes wide and wild as if you were expecting someone else, another tormentor he thought distastefully. 

“Sihtric,” you gasped, frozen in place, taking him in as if he were an apparition of the Holy Ghost before you.

“Can you walk my Lady? We do not have much time.”

“Yes, yes!” you promised, running towards him, and you ran around corners, pressing your backs against stone walls whenever you heard voices, and continuing down countless stone steps until you were out into the freedom of the night air, down into the courtyard and Sihtric led you through a crack in the wall where he had left his horse, hoisted you up and kicked off into a gallop, away into the night.

The bells began to ring in the city behind you and Sihtric rode his horse for as long as could until the horse threatened to collapse from exhaustion.

It killed him to do it, because he loved the mare and she had been nothing but loyal to him but he knew he had to set her loose as soon as he deemed he was far enough away to maintain the lead, to avoid being tracked. 

He led you into the forest and filled his water pouch and pressed it to your lips, which you gulped gratefully.

He took his dagger and sliced at the ropes binding your hands, sighing when he saw the angry red skin where the rope had burned your wrists. 

You stood facing him for a moment before you thrust yourself into his arms, crying freely as his strong arms held you in place.

“I knew you would come for me. I knew it would be you.” 

“I promised I would always protect you,” he whispered into your hair and you pulled away to look into his mismatched eyes.

Sihtric had saved your life once, years ago, before you had been sent off like a brood mare to marry that Lord in Kent, when you and the Lady Aelswith had been set upon by a hungry mob, he had picked you up, your gown in tatters and carried you to safety, and he still wore the silver chain you had given him as recompense. It was the Christian Cross, he did not believe in your nailed god but when you had placed it around his neck and promised him it would keep him safe he did not have the heart to deny you.

And throughout the many battles he had survived since then, he would never admit to the amount of times he had pulled the chain from his undershirt and held it tightly until the sharp edges of the cross hurt his palm. 

“It will protect you as you have always protected me,” you whispered to him, looking up at him through your lashes and his heart had all but stopped in your chest. 

There had been something between you since then, some unspoken, unacted upon ‘thing,’ but it was there nonetheless, and you knew that Sihtric would lay down his life for you if it came to it.

He had watched you from the shadows for years, all those times Uhtred spent around your Father, around Aethelflaed, he was always there watching you with those huge beautiful eyes and the ‘thing’ had always been there. 

Sihtric would have walked through the night, following the river and the bright light of the full moon, until it led him to the old Roman road but he could see that you were exhausted and you were beginning to shake. He had ridden for hours and he suspected that those searching for you would be heading towards Winchester, not expecting you to be heading towards Aylesbury and especially not along the old Roman road. Or so he hoped so least. 

“We will rest here,” he finally whispered into the night, you had come along a little creek in the river and you both climbed down the bank where the overgrowth of roots and brambles allowed the perfect hiding spot, and he parted the thorns with his sword for you to crawl in and he followed behind.

He shrugged off his riding cloak and wrapped you up in it, rubbing his hands along your arms to try and warm you up, but your teeth still chattered.

“May I?” he asked and you nodded your head as he pulled you onto his lap and closed his arms around your body.

It was inappropriate and it was brazen, but it would be of no use if he carried your body back to Aylesbury because you had frozen to death in the night.

Your bare feet were like blocks of ice to touch and he fumbled with his sheepskin boots, pulling them off to get to his yarn socks, that he pulled off his feet and placed on yours, pulling his boots back on over his bare feet.

You thanked him profusely and he understood that you were ashamed of your predicament, you had lived a life of privilege and you were not adapted to the elements, Sihtric on the other hand had slept outside both willingly and as punishment more times than he could count. 

You were fighting sleep and he squeezed you lightly “It’s alright Lady, close your eyes and rest. I will keep watch and you will need your strength for the journey tomorrow.” 

Your head finally slumped against his chest and your breath evened out indicating that you had finally given in to sleep. 

When you woke in the morning, Sihtric was absent, so you ventured out to find him standing knee high in the flowing waters of the creek, catching fish with his bare hands and throwing them onto the bank. You stood for a moment watching him in silence, his naked torso gleamed under the morning sun and you watched his muscles contort and move with his efforts , until a glint of silver caught your eye.

“You still wear it?” you said softly, referencing the silver cross chain around his neck, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Yes, Lady,” he replied, taking it in his hands, and looking at you with such honesty it made you want to cry “It keeps me safe.”

“Sihtric, you do not have to call me Lady. Please call me by my name.”

He looked at you shyly for a moment before nodding and continuing his work.

He deemed it safe to light a little fire in the morning sun, and you watched him gut and cook the fish, gladly eating what he provided for you, and when the fire was safely put out, you once again began your travels towards the old Roman road. 

The sun was its highest peak and you were beginning to lag behind him a little when he heard it, the unmistakable sound of hooves.

“Quick, quick,” he ushered, grabbing your hand and breaking out into a sprint pulling you behind him, down into some marshes and he pulled you down.

You were distraught, “Please. Please Sihtric don’t let them take me back there.”

“On my life, I will keep you safe,” he promised and you buried your head in his chest as he shushed you, your breathing was quick and ragged and he placed a gentle hand over your mouth, and he squeezed his own eyes closed at the voices on the road, he begged his gods and your nailed god to let them pass on. 

“I get first go of her when we catch her,” one of them shouted obnoxiously. “If she’s good enough for Danish cock, she’s good enough for mine.”

His friends roared with laughter and you felt the blood rush to your face, you would have recognised that voice anywhere, the head of your husband’s house guard, you were still carrying the marks to your face from his last visit to your chambers.

“Do you think her brother will interfere?” another voice asked.

“Edward is an aresling. Alfred would have had our Lord’s head on a spike for ever accusing his daughter of such a thing.”

“Well maybe Edward knew she was a whore, that’s why he gave her away so willingly.”

A chorus of laughter rang out, but Sihtric sighed in relief as it moved out of earshot, they were moving onwards.

But he was startled to feel his hand was growing wet and only then did he realise that you were crying, and your teardrops were splashing onto the gentle hand he still had over your mouth.

He cupped your face gently until your ashamed eyes met his, “I will never, ever let them have you or hurt you, ever again,” he whispered earnestly and you cried a few more moments before you gathered yourself enough to nod.

The road was no longer safe and so you would make the rest of the journey through the marshes and trees following alongside the road. 

You hadn’t said a word since hearing your husband’s men’s taunts earlier and Sihtric had no idea how to break the silence, so he opted instead to make sure to share his water with you, and because you were only in socks, he carried you over the heaviest parts of marsh or mud and you thanked him profusely each time but said no more than that..

As darkness was beginning to swoop in, Sihtric was relieved to see the monastery's large presence begin to come into sight.

“We’re almost there my Lady,” he told you and you smiled weakly at him, and accepted his outstretched hand as he pulled you over some brambles. When he went to take his hand back, you held it tighter in yours and so he let you keep a hold of his hand in yours as you walked the remaining distance.

He had caught a rabbit earlier in the day and immediately set about lighting a small fire to cook it upon.

He called you for food and you were ringing your hair out, you had gone down to the stream behind to bathe and he wanted to scold you, tell you how dangerous that had been, but seeing as you were safe in front of him now, it would have been pointless. 

He tried not to laugh as you scoffed down your food, but he had known just how hungry the day’s travel had been for him and he was used to it, you on the other hand had lived a privileged life and never known real hunger.

As it came time to hunker down for the night you came and stood before Sihtric, who was adding more wood to the fire.

“Those men were right earlier,” you told him, breaking your hours long silence, and Sihtric shook his head in disagreement.

“Not about me being a whore. But, about Edward giving me away.”

Sihtric moved closer so he was standing directly in front of you. He too had gone to bathe in the stream and his curls were loose and damp.

“I was given to Godwin as a consolation for the death of his brother Sigebriht at the battle of Bendanford. If the men of Kent had not shown up when they did- Edward’s men were outnumbered, who knows what would have happened.”

Sihtric had fought in the battle of Bedanford and remembered all too well the lines breaking before the men of Kent turned up.

“But he was kind to you, before all this? The Lord Godwin?” he asked softly.

You smiled sadly and in the glow of the flames Sihtric could see the tears in your eyes.

“Not once. From the moment we married he was heavy handed and cruel and on our wedding night I was sure I would die, but Athelflaed assured me that was a husband’s way and that I must endure it for the sake of Wessex, and so I did.”

Sihtric scrunched his hand into a fist in rage with what you were telling him but he let you continue.

“None of it is true, what I am accused of. I never lay with another man except my husband in all my life. I never conspired with the Danes. I found correspondence between the Lord Sigebright and my own uncle Aethelwold who were conspiring to seize the throne from Edward when he was Edward Rex, before the battle of Bedandord, and my own husband has intentions of doing the same, and so he discredits me with these lies so nobody will believe the truth of what I have uncovered and once I am dead he will be free to marry his mistress. She is the one he has always loved, who has carried the children he refuses to denounce, and who sleeps in the Lord’s bedchambers, while I was confined to the room you found me in.” 

Sihtric could feel the tears in his own eyes as he watched you helplessly.

“Tomorrow Lord Uhtred will arrive and we will take you to your sister and you will never have to go back there again,” he promised, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Then it is our last night together,” you whispered sadly and he nodded.

“My whole life I have been honour bound to serve my duty. To serve Wessex. It is true I have lived a privileged life, but I have never been free. I have never known love. Sihtric you are a kind and gentle man and any woman would be privileged to be loved by you, please,” you begged, taking his hand in yours. “If tonight is to truly be our last night, let me be loved by you, as I have loved you from afar for all these years.”

Sihtric’s face crumpled with emotion and he surged forward to capture your lips with his.

He worshipped every inch of your skin, kissing you in places you had never been kissed before. Pulling you apart with his hands and tongue before he had even pressed himself inside of you and you looked like a goddess underneath the glow of the fire.

“I should not be allowed to look upon you, let alone touch you,” he whispered.

You never knew love could feel this way. You were used to pain and punishment and being used for the satisfaction of your husband who never looked upon your face, you kept expecting Sihtric to flip you over and press your face against the wood, but he commanded you to keep your eyes on him at all times, and when you took the cross necklace in your hands and pulled him to you to kiss his lips he came inside you, collapsing down on top you, arms swooping underneath you to pull you to him, and tears slipped down your cheeks to know this would be the last time you had him like this.

“I have loved you all this time,” he admitted into your hair, he had pulled you close, encapsulating you in his strong arms, so that you may fall asleep together, and you snuggled in tight to his warmth as sleep began to overtake you.

“As I have loved you,” you replied drowsily. 

The next day Uhtred, Finan and Osferth arrived with horses and food, which you and Sihtric gladly ate before packing up and beginning the trek back to Aylesbury

When you stopped to make camp for the night, it was Osferth who offered you some furs and carried you over some stale bread and cheese whilst Sihtric was deep in conversion with Uhtred and Finan.

“Thank you Osferth,” you told him kindly.

“You know who I am?” he asked gently and you looked at him sadly and smiled before reaching out to grasp his arm “You are my brother,” you told him honestly and he sniffed and looked away.

“Your bastard brother,” he said bitterly, although it was not aimed at you.

“Am I your sister?” you asked him, and he turned to look at you with soft eyes, “You are.”

“Well then,” you said, squeezing his arm gently, “You are my brother.”

You broke some of the bread he had given you and offered it to him, and the tears in his eyes spoke volumes about how much this meant to him.

That night Sihtric snuck into your arms again, as Finan kept watch and you fell asleep once more in his embrace.

Finan, looked on in sympathy, they had all seen the way you two were around each other and he knew it could only end in pain for his Danish friend. 

When you finally reached Mercia Aethelflaed nearly knocked the wind from your lungs with the embrace she gave you, and she turned your face in her hands to examine your cut lip and marked face, 

She provided you with clean clothes and her servants washed you in warm water and when you finally joined her for dinner, Sihtric’s eyes were immediately on you.

When you finally relayed the whole story to her about your uncle’s betrayal and your husband’s own plans with the Danes her face was grim.

“Maybe we can convince him to accept a divorce and the promise of no interference from Wessex and Mercia?” Aldhelm suggested “If Edward will agree to it.”

“Edward is proud,” Uhtred offered “But if he knew the whole story, he might.”

The doors to the Great Hall suddenly opened with a bang and a group of men marched their way inside led by none other than your brother and following behind was your husband.

“Is she here?” Edward demanded, eyes searching the table until his eyes landed on yours and the fury within them made you shrink.

“Edward!” Aethelflaed pleaded, affronted by his lack of regard in her hall.

“Be silent you!” he spat “My own sister commits treason and the other steals her away from her husband in the night in an attempt to thwart justice. And not one person thought to inform their King.”

Everyone was standing and Sihtric was beside you in a heartbeat.

“I am not going back!” you cried and Edward’s nose flared “You will do as you are told!”

“You are in my country,” Athelflaed warned “And you will not march into my hall and make demands. We will talk about this calmly and rationally.” 

Edward banged his fists on the table causing Athelflaed to jump “There is no discussion to be had,she is going back to her husband to answer for her crimes against Kent and Wessex.”

You swiped Sihtric’s dagger from its pelt and held the blade to your throat, “I will end my life here of my own volition, but I will never return to him.”

“No!” Aethelflaed and Sihtric begged you to put the blade down.

“Do it and be done,” your husband sneered and Edward regarded him from the corner of his eye.

“Everyone out! Leave me to talk to my sisters. Out!” he commanded.

You lowered the dagger slowly and Sihtric took it from you with shaking hands and wide eyes. 

“Sihtric,” Uhtred called but he remained frozen to his spot in front of you.

“Sihtric,” Aethelflaed said a little more softly “She will be safe,” Sihtric nodded slowly before making to depart with Uhtred and his men.

“You too!” Sihtric spat at your husband who had remained as if he was exempt from Edward’s order.

“Sihtric, you need to cool it,” Uhtred warned his friend who was glaring daggers at your turd of a husband “You are too close to her, you will give yourself away and put her in more danger.”

Sihtric’s face pulled up into a frown and Uhtred softened, “She is being accused of sleeping with Danes, that is a lie, but do not make her accusations become true by exposing your love now!” 

Uhtred was right, but that did not make it any easier for Sihtric to swallow.

“Where did you find the letter?” Edward asked, resting his chin on his joined hands.

“It was buried between the pages of the Lord Sigebriht’s bible,” you all but whispered, “Father’s bible was stripped from me when I was banished from Godwin’s chambers, I requested another and that was the one brought to me.”

“And Godwin’s collaboration with the Danes, how did you learn this?”

“The head of his household guard used to come to my chambers drunk to torment me. One night he came boasting that I was to be given to the Danish leader in exchange for free passage through Kent into Wessex. My husband has wanted an excuse to rid of me so he may marry his mistress, she is pregnant with another of his children as we speak.”

Edward slumped down into his chair and ran his hands over his face.

“The Danes were in Canterbury upon his request, they did not attack of their own volition,” Aethelflaed added.

“Brother,” you cried crouching down beside him and taking your hands in his “When have you ever known me to be dishonest. Have I not always done my duty for crown and country?”

Edward sighed and nodded, running a hand over your marked cheek

“From the day we were married he has hurt me, belittled me and defiled me but I stayed for my duty to you as your sister, and for our Father’s vision of England. I have never asked you for anything but now I am pleading before you and God, release me from that man. Grant him divorce so he may marry his mistress and I will stay here in Mercia and serve our sister, or I will go to Abbess Hild and take the vows, but I beg do not send me back to that man.”

“You would take the vows?” Edward asked sadly, “Commit your life to the monastery?”

“If that is what it takes,” you answered truthfully. You briefly thought about Sihtric standing outside the door and your heart sank, you knew there was no reality on Earth where you might be allowed to be together, and you had already asked enough from your brother this night.

“Will you ask Lord Uhtred to return,” he asked and you went to fetch the Lord.

“Godwin cannot go unpunished,” Aethelflaed hissed, “As long as he remains Kent will always offer free passage of the Danes into Wessex.”

“Agreed,” Edward nodded and then Uhtred was by his side.

“What would you suggest to do in my shoes Lord Uhtred?” he asked and Uhtred considered his words for a moment.

“You must be seen to do justice Lord King,” he replied “If he tells lies and he communicates with enemies perhaps removing him of his tongue would forbid him from ever doing this kind of damage again.” 

“My Father let my uncle live when he should have put a knife through his heart.”

“He should have,” Uhtred agreed “But it was his poisoned tongue that did the damage, it is that that should have been cut from him, not an eye.” 

“Have my household guard seize the Lord Godwin,” Edward instructed Uhtred, “There is to be a trial in the morning.” 

You dropped to your knees and buried your head in your brother's hands as you thanked him over and over and over again

You were not taking Sihtric’s departure well. You could not eat and many nights you found yourself laying in bed, candles burning down to the wick as you stared up at the ceiling in tears.

You had gone to see him the night before he was to depart Mercia, and even if you kissed him a thousand times it would never have been enough.

“I would marry you,” he had whispered into the night even though you both knew that it was impossible and you took his hand to your chest so that he may feel your heart beating.

“As long as I have breath in my lungs, my heart belongs to you and you only,” you promised him.

And the next day you watched him ride away with grace, holding back the tears until you could slink away to your room and you thought then that your tears would become an ocean. 

You were grateful to Edward for allowing you to stay in Mercia with your sister because at least you had her comfort and the company of little Aelfwynn to occupy some of your lonely days.

“She is a wretch without him,” Aethelflaed whispered one day to Aldhelm, who looked on in sympathy at your plight.

And time passed by in a haze of filling your days surrounded by those you loved and endless nights staring up at the wooden beams of your room, remembering what it was to have Sihtric’s arms around you.

And then the sickness came, you could not move more than a few paces without vomiting and you could barely hold any of your meals down and Aethelflaed was so concerned she called for both a laece to come and partake in the letting of your blood and a healer to give you herbs in an attempt to make you well again.

“I refuse to lose you now Sister,” she had cried over your sleeping form whilst the laece attached the leeches to your arm.

It was however the healer who discovered what illness you were plagued with; you were with child.

“The child is Sihtric’s?” Aethelflaed asked softly when you were finally able to make it out of bed and all you could do was stare at your feet as you nodded solemnly. 

“The child will be born a bastard unless you claim it is Godwin’s,” she said downcast.

“No,” you cried hysterically, hand instinctively flying to your stomach “That man can have no claim to my child!”

“Y/n,” she hissed. “Don’t you understand unless you do this your child will be sent to the monasteries to be raised as a bastard, you will be forbidden to see them, our Mother will ensure to it.”

“I will marry him,” you pleaded. “He said that he would marry me. I want to go to him. Let me marry him, please Aethelflaed I beg of you.”

“You cannot,” she cried, “My darling girl, the daughter of Alfred cannot marry a Dane, let alone bear his child.”

She took your hand and directed her gaze towards her own little girl who was playing unaware “I know this better than anyone.”

You allowed her to pull you to her as you cried helplessly upon her shoulder.

You were standing under the summer sun watching Aelfwynn play, her laughter filled the air and you watched her dance under sunbeams, spinning wildly and you suddenly felt a jolt of lightning shoot through your body and the thought of the little life growing inside you.

Your baby would be half of Sihtric. Testimony to the love you had shared for years now, and even if it boiled down to just that one night of passion it had meant more to you than any other interaction your whole life.

You thought about Osferth. About Edward's two small children, denounced and forced to grow up in religious orders away from their parents, and about Sihtric himself, all children who had never known love, only punishment for the actions of their parents and your mind was made up.

If there was punishment to come, if it meant forever to be disowned by your family, to never speak to your own mother again, then you would endure it. You would receive the punishment so that your own child would grow up in a house where they knew they were loved and even though it would kill you to walk away from your sister, you knew you had to go to Sihtric.

You left in the night with nothing but the clothes upon your back, and you rode for three days in your condition until you tracked him down.

When you broke the news he fell upon his knees and placed his head upon your stomach, his hands rubbing the swell of skin there and he was crying.

“I have nothing to offer you both,” he cried and you carded your fingers through his hair.

“All we need is your love,” you promised him.

“Y/n you have lived a life of privilege, all I have is a tiny home, I am not a rich man you will not have the riches you are accustomed to.”

“Sihtric, I have known privilege my whole life and none of it matters a wit to how you make me feel, I would rather have nothing with you than everything without you.”

He rose and cupped your face, eyes swimming in emotion “Your family will disown you.”

“Yes,” you replied but you had made your peace with that, “Initially, but this too will pass and I know Aethelflaed will never truly turn her back on me, my Mother however, I know she will be lost to me.”

Sihtric swiped his thumb over your cheek and his eyes darted down to your lips.

“I am the most selfish man in the world to allow you to do this but I am running out of will to try and talk you into walking away. I have loved you for as long as I can remember,” he whispered.

“So stop trying to send me away,” you laughed and he laughed a short breathy laugh.

“You know. Surely you must know, that everything I do, I do it for you. For your happiness. For your protection.”

“And I appreciate it but Sihtric you cannot change my mind on this. My heart is set on you.” 

Uhtred damn near had a stroke when the two of you went before him in the morning to ask for permission to marry.

“You will forever be at the loss of your family,” he tried to reason and you smiled softly at Osferth.

“Not all of my family, I have a brother who was also ostracised and he has turned out just fine. If he will have me as his sister, I will not be alone.”

“Always,” he smiled, cheeks tinged pink.

“Well then, not all of my family,” you confirmed.

“Aethelflaed will have me murdered,”Uhtred protested.

“She will forgive you as she always does,” you remained steadfast.

“The Lady Aelswith-”

“-Has stripped enough children away from loving parents, she will not be taking my child away unless it is from my dead breast.”

“Sihtric?” Uhtred pleaded, begging his friend to talk some sense.

“It has been her from the moment I laid eyes upon her Lord,” he said and Uhtred had no choice but to relent, for he himself had always been free to follow his own heart, Isolde, Gisela and Aethelflaed, how could he in good conscience deny you both your chance and so he consented.

And so you married.

In time you would carry three more children for Sihtric who remained the light of your whole life.

You were happier in this part of life that you had ever been before, even if you never got to make amends with Edward before he died and even if Aethelflaed had to meet you in secret before she too passed away.

Sometimes in the middle of the night Sihtric would whisper into the darkness asking if you ever regretted your decision and your answer always remained the same.

Never, not once.

Tagging:

@canyonmoon-2 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @thenameswinter99 @foxyanon

@acdassenza @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @gemini-mama

@troyottonick @alexagirlie

a-beaverhausen nebulamorada izzydlb knight-of-flowerss

justcuriousandbored

[sarksarkos]

DC 1956: World's Finest does not know what to do with itself.

This is World's Finest #82, and I really have to ask you, Batman, Superman, small child, is this the best use of your time? You really want to be solving mysteries in 17th century France? Alright. Welcome to the Gutters.

So this is going to be a trip. There was a recurring figure in silver age DC comics named Professor Carter Nichols, who would be used to send Batman and Robin back in time through hypnosis. Yes, really. This happened multiple times. Hold your questions until the end, please.

He announces his intention to use this time travel hypnosis to discover the identity of the Man in the Iron Mask, a real historical figure who was a state prisoner from 1669 until his death in 1703, during the reign of Louis XIV of France. And this is a legit historical mystery, to this day we do not know whomest this figure is, and we may never know because we have just so many more problems to deal with right now.

Superman, a man who can deal with all of the world's problems in like one day if the conventions of the narrative would let him, happens to hear Professor Nichols give a lecture about this and decides that he wants to join Batman on this adventure because his X-Ray vision would allow him to see through the mask. Not, like, because of his superhuman strength or invulnerability, just his X-Ray vision. He also casually remarks that he could do this himself but he wants Batman and Robin to come along.

Already we've negated the whole premise of the story. This is Superman saying that he could do this whole thing by himself, and Batman and Robin are there just because that's what the comic is about.

Superman and friends travel back in time to the year 1696 - it specifically says 1696 - and immediately, immediately, they run into D'Artagnan and the (offscreen) three Musketeers. I believe that the timeline is meant to be 1669 (nice) and they just made a typo that made it through to the final copy, so I won't begrudge them issues about the timeline. They mention that the Man in the Iron Mask was captured recently, so that places this story in 1669.

We've got two ways to go from here. D'Artagnan was a real person, but the version in the book is a highly fictionalized portrayal that was itself based on a work of fiction. Each of the Three Musketeers were also real people, although they didn't know D'Artagnan, there was no real team called the Three Musketeers, and most of the events of the book were sensationalized. However, none of the Three Musketeers are named in this story, so there's some wiggle room.

If this is supposed to be real history, then the real Charles de Batz de Castelmore d'Artagnan would have been a man pushing 60 and stuck as a governor in Flanders. He hated the job and everyone hated him having the job, but you can't say no to the king. The real Athos was dead, the real Aramis was possibly dead, and the real Porthos was feasting, drinking, and whoring until he was 95, because he's a goddamn legend. Characters in this story see Superman bouncing cannonballs off his chest and assume he's Porthos, and they are right to do so.

In this comic, D'Artagnan already knows who the Man in the Iron Mask is, and it seems to be a popular rumor among the people, if not common knowledge. Spoiler warning, this answer is correct. Naturally, both the prisoner and the evil chancellor who holds him there are made up people, which is wild because the list of actual suspects for the Man in the Iron Mask is as long as Porthos' dick.

That brings us to the second possibility, that is that the events of the Three Musketeers books were real and the World's Finest team are traveling back into the existing storyline. In which case, the prisoner's identity should King Louis XIV's secret twin brother Phillipe, shouldn't it? And then Porthos and Aramis should be secretly plotting to replace the real king with Phillipe and take over.

We're trapped in a weird sort of limbo here. We have a story where Batman and Superman are teaming up, but they establish that Superman is largely able to do it by himself and Batman is basically there as a favor. We have a mystery where the solution is casually revealed on the third page. We have a historical story that blends elements of the real life and popular fiction without actually taking any of the interesting bits from either of them.

There is some faffing about where Superman saves everyone with a blink of his super-eyelashes and Batman and Robin do absolutely nothing. Superman is put on guard duty while Batman and Robin go to get the king, a job that they fail in every way. Not only do they knock the Sun King unconscious by accident, their attempt to bring Louis XIV to the Bastille only alert their enemies, who set off a James Bond death trap to kill the man in the iron-

Psych! Did you think there would be narrative tension, you idiot? You absolute buffoon? Espèce d'idiot qui n'a rien de mieux à faire que d'inventer des insultes fleuries en français dans Google Traduction? This is the literal next page, and the Man in the Iron Mask is fine, because Superman took care of everything offscreen, because he is Superman. All Batman and Robin did was bring the king there, a thing that Superman could have easily done. This guy once brought Hitler and Stalin to the League of Nations at the same time, he is not even going to be inconvenienced by having to travel from the Bastille to Versailles, a distance of less than twenty miles.

As soon as Louis XIV finds out what's going on, he immediately orders the good guy freed and the bad guy put in the iron mask, to preserve the timeline. Superman, Batman, and Robin look at this horrific torture say "Sounds good, Louis XIV, a historical good person." Just the sight of some of our greatest heroes toadying up to one of history's notorious autocrats. In 200 years they're going to be giving this exact same treatment to Donald Trump.

The kicker to this? Something that I found out just as I got to writing this part of the blog post? There was no iron mask. It's fake. They made it up, and by 'they' I mean Voltaire. The actual prisoner wore a mask of "black velvet," which I imagine was terribly comfortable! I think everyone will be wearing them in the future! You know who else wears a mask like that? BATMAN. They could have had Batman be the man in the iron mask and Superman has to rescue him from the past! How do you do that? I don't know! But it's a plot!

God, I am angry at this. I never wanted to become a 2000s angry reviewer... well, this is a lie, I even submitted a video to the Nostalgia Critic's website back before we all knew better... But I didn't want to be angry on this specific blog. But wow, this makes me angry. This is just a classic example of tripping over your own dick, and then somehow hanging yourself with it.

Finally, though, after too long spent waiting... the Flash. Until next time.

[autumnknight]

He finally sympathises with Athos who had to deal with him and D'Artagnan for so long.

noted heartbreaker aramis suddenly becoming a monk and having to parent like ten children is the best storyline yet 😂 the other guys are off at war and aramis is helping a small child put his mittens on because its cold outside. even back in ye olde days the fastest way to redeem a male character to the audience is still to show him being adorable as a dad

[sanjoongie]

𝒟𝒶𝓎 𝒯𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒~ 𝒟𝑒𝑒𝓅𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔

The Menu

🩶Pairing: Aramis! Park Seonghwa x Queen Anne! Reader (f)

🩶Au: Historical au, The Musketeers (specifically the bbc show)

🩶Trope: queen/guard, reverse power dynamics

🩶Genre: smut

🩶Rating: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

🩶Warnings: cheating, deep throating, blue balls (do not let a man convince you of this, he's got a hand for a reason), dacryphilia, spit kink, messy blow job, coming down throat and on face

🩶Word Count: 1,366

🩶Summary: you shared a passionate night with one of the musketeers sworn to protect the king, your husband, and he can no longer keep himself away from you.

🩶 Day Twenty-Two: Jongho| Masterlist | Day Twenty-Four: Hongjoong🤍

The back of your legs hit your bed as Seonghwa advanced on you. “Seonghwa, we can’t. Not in the castle. Not here!”

“I cannot bear it any longer, my love,” Seonghwa said remorsefully. “To guard his body, to be so close to you, but unable to touch you, to hold you, it is like a small death to my soul.”

“Seonghwa, at the ruins--” You swallowed your shame and your heart. You were the queen and married. You should not have allowed yourself to be swayed by such passion.

“--do not say it was a mistake,” Seonghwa gathered your hands in his. “Do not say you felt nothing. I can hear our hearts singing to one another, so close they beat in sync.”

Why did you have to fall in love with the notorious womanizer who was also a romantic sweet talker? “Seonghwa, please, we have to leave that night behind us. I am the queen.”

Seonghwa fell to his knees. “Do not send me away. It will break me.”

You sighed quietly. “You cannot remain here in my chambers. What if one of my ladies in waiting comes back and discovers us? You must leave.”

Seonghwa buried his head into your skirt. “My feet will never carry me away from you on their own volition.”

“You’ve been drinking again with Wooyoung, San and Jongho again, haven’t you?” You sighed, unable to resist carding your fingers through his locks.

“You are the only woman I would never flee from. Do you know that? I would fight an entire battalion of the Cardinal’s men and still have energy to give you pleasure. My heart weeps for you and my cock will not rest until it is within your soft confines.” Seonghwa looked up at you with such large, tearful eyes, your heart wretched at the sight. Not to mention your lower half ached at his words. But you could not risk it taking him between your thighs.

You pulled Seonghwa up to his feet and his hopeful look matched any man who thought he was getting where he wanted to go: between plush thighs with cock raging hard.

Instead, you descended gracefully to your knees, skirts becoming a pool around you. “I cannot offer you anything but my mouth, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa groaned. “You would give to me when I offer you pleasure on a silver platter?”

You smiled coyly. “Your offer is very tempting, sir. However, I cannot risk the royal hair being of any heritage other than the king’s.”

Seonghwa’s pupils blew at the mention of being the future king’s father. “And if your lady in waiting discovers the queen of France on her knees for a lowly king’s guard?”

You chuckled softly. “Lowly? I thought the Musketeers was the highest honor a man of France could earn?”

Seonghwa’s gloved hand cupped your chin and his thumb pulled down on your lower lip. You could tell he was tempted by the twist of power. How the queen of France was offering her mouth like a common whore in a brothel. “You know exactly the meaning of my words, my love.”

Demurely, you kept your eyes downcast. “Then take what is freely offered and let your burden be released.”

The belt holding Seonghwa’s musket and saber fell to the floor in a hurry to do as commanded. His breeches were pushed down to his thick thighs and flowing skirt, pulled up, keeping his Musketeer tabard safely out of the way as well. His cock was indeed throbbing with desire. Had it been like that the entire time he was waxing poetic for you? Had he gotten hard the minute his feet had passed the threshold of your bedroom? If only Yeosang could…

You shook your head. There was no use for thoughts like that of your husband when you were about to take Seonghwa’s length into your mouth.

Your jaw dropped as Seonghwa angled his cock towards your mouth. His velvety-soft length passed your lips and pressed against your tongue. You rolled your eyes upwards to Seonghwa and he let out a soft moan. 

“Don’t worry about anything, just let me enjoy your mouth, Your Majesty,” Seonghwa murmured.

Seonghwa started out at a slow pace, savoring every inch of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. You had no skill or knowledge in this, simply that it was an alternative to fucking, something you had overheard your ladies in waiting giggling about. You found you enjoyed the slide of him there, the taste of him spreading across your taste buds. 

But soon Seonghwa was lost to his own pleasure. His thrusts into your mouth became deeper and harsher. It was as if he was searching for something tighter to fuck. 

You choked the first time he hit the back of your throat. Seonghwa pulled out immediately and apologized as you coughed. After the coughing fit, Seonghwa wiped his gloved thumb over your cheekbone where tears had escaped and his eyes blew again.

Seonghwa’s eyes softened. “I should be gentler with you, I’m sure you’re not used to this with--”

You cut Seonghwa off immediately. “No. Be harsher. Do what you find pleasurable. I wish to feel as if you couldn't survive without your cock down my throat.” 

You were tired of being the untouched queen with your husband. He visited your bed once a month out of obligation to get you with child but that was as cold and distant as an arranged royal marriage could be. No wonder you had fallen to Seonghwa’s charms and passion in bed. It was the exact opposite of what you were used to. And it was exactly what you needed.

Seonghwa’s crooked grin pulled at the corner of his lips. “As you wish.”

Seonghwa pressed the front of his crotch close to your face. The back of your head hit your bed, bracing you for Seonghwa’s onslaught. His cock pushed into your mouth again, at a pace that had you focusing solely on the passage of his length down your throat. You attempted to time your breathing with his pace but it became hard to do even that. You choked and coughed, spit going everywhere, dribbling down your chin. 

“Mother Mary, your throat is so good,” Seonghwa moaned. “Only for me, right my love? You reserve this right for me and only me. You’re doing so well for someone who is not knowledgeable in the bedroom arts. If only you had not been noble born; you would have made a lovely whore.”

You couldn't reply, in fact, the only noises escaping your throat were wet choking noises as Seonghwa continued to push his cock down your throat. 

Eventually, Seonghwa’s hands held your head in place, fucking your mouth and throat until he at last found his release. Your nose was buried into his crotch as he sent a stream of his seed down your throat. You swallowed and swallowed and swallowed some more but it seemed like it never ended.

You tapped a hand desperately against his thigh and Seonghwa pulled out. As you coughed, cum spurted on your cheek. You sought to find your breath, lungs happy to have the freedom to intake breath as much as they pleased.

“You are gorgeous, debased thusly,” Seonghwa murmured huskily.

You cleared your throat and gathered your skirts. Seonghwa offered a hand and helped you to your feet. He pulled a handkerchief and began to dutifully wipe his cum and your spit from your face. 

You plucked the handkerchief from his fingers and moved to your vanity mirror. “Quickly, to the doors before my lady in waiting comes back, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa’s heels clipped sharply as he stood at attention. His mask of a womanizer slipped back perfectly but his eyes shone with adoration for his beloved. “Yes, my Queen.”

If your lady in waiting fussed over your makeup, you would just tell her you fell into a fit of not being pregnant with a child once again. It wouldn’t be the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

But with Seonghwa, even though it was forbidden and you should stop it, at least your heart felt a little bit happier.

🩶 Day Twenty-Two: Jongho| Masterlist | Day Twenty-Four: Hongjoong🤍

[widevibratobitch]

i hate them with a passion

[backtothefanfiction]

Rain Grows | Aramis x Reader Imagine

Summary: sometimes we all just need a good cry.

Length: Short

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, depressed feelings

A/N: as usual at the moment, I’m feeling very emotional and angsty and need some hurt comfort from one of my boys. Tonight I chose Aramis.

It was like someone had blown out the candle inside you. The one that kept things running. Your spark. Your hope. Now- there was nothing.

You had always been known for your joy. Your bright smile. That small skip in your step. You had kind words for everyone. But now- now you just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.

The moment the candle went out, it was like a delay, the smoke making you hazy as you aimlessly wandered around the market in a daze. All the usual faces tried to say “hi” to you, but you couldn’t seem to say it back. You couldn’t even give them your usual toothy grin. Your new polite tight lipped smile became the hushed talk of the market- and it only made you feel worse.

When one of the older ladies finally asked you if you were okay, it made your heart ache. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to act. This had never happened to you before. Then suddenly his name was echoing around your hollow skull. Your knight in roughed up leathers. He always made your heart skip a beat and brought a smile to your lips and a blush to your cheeks. You just had to see Aramis and everything would be okay.

When you got to the garrison it was empty, most of the musketeers- the inseparables included- were all up at the palace and not due back for a while yet. So you decided to wait. And wait. And then wait some more.

Feeling hollow and empty, you sat yourself on the steps that lead up to the Captain’s office and you waited. Your fingers fiddled idly with your skirts, the rough fabric rubbing against your fingertips grounding you and giving you something to focus on as you waited for the time to pass. 20 minutes. Half an hour. 1 hour. 2. 3.

When it began to rain, you still didn’t move. The cold drops of early spring rain hit the back of your neck- your arms- droplets running down and soaking into your clothes. But you didn’t care. You barely noticed. You had completely checked out, that empty darkness seeping out and wrapping its tendrils around every fibre of your being. You were vaguely aware of the passing looks of the stable hands and a few passing musketeers, but you never looked, never paid them attention, just kept your focus on your one mission. Waiting for Aramis and not completely falling apart until he got here.

*****

“Ahhh, I do love the rain.” Aramis hummed to himself and smiled as he took his hat off and allowed the water to wash over him.

“He’s mad.” D’Artagnan muttered to Porthos and Athos as the four of them made their way back down the street towards the garrison.

Porthos chuckled, “Is that so?” He said to his friend, clapping him on the shoulder, “because I remember just last week you said you hated it.”

“Ahh yes, but that’s because it was still Winter then my friend.” Aramis said back, “Spring is here now. The birds are returning, the flowers are blooming,” his fingers reached to brush across the petals of a couple of blooming flowers in a window box they passed.

“And it’s not so cold.” Athos finished Aramis’ sentence for him, in his usual droll tone.

“Exactly!” Aramis smiled enthusiastically, sweeping his hat back onto his head.

“Afternoon boys.” A fellow Musketeer said as he made his way in the opposite direction, away from the garrison from where he had just come.

“Benoit.” They each greeted him, none of them intending to stop, until he did.

“Umm, Aramis, you should know, there’s a young woman waiting for you. Been there a while.”

“Does this lady have a name?” Athos asked.

“She didn’t say, was just asking after Aramis, but I think it’s that girl who works down at the tavern on-“

Aramis didn’t need Benoit to say which tavern, he already knew it was you. But you never visited him at work. You’d seek him out in the tavern- sure- but you never sought him out outside of your work. “How long has she been waiting?” He asked.

“I’d say just gone 3 hours.” Benoit replied before he began to start walking in the direction of his next destination again.

“3 hours?” Porthos said.

“In this weather?” D’Artagnan added.

“Shit, it must be really bad.” Porthos continued, a hint of amusement beginning to fill his voice as he prepared to make a joke and mock his closest friend, “Don’t tell me you got her knocked up?” He began to joke, but Aramis’s face had grown serious.

He ignored his friends as he began to pick up speed, his brisk walk turning into a light jog as he left them behind to run on ahead. You had been waiting for him for over three hours. Why? It had to have been important if you were willing to stay there and wait in the rain for him.

His pace slowed as he came through the gate to the garrison, your rain soaked body near frozen on the stairs as you looked down at your fingers. He found himself pulling his hat off of his head in respect. His steps towards you were slow and tentative, as if he were stalking an animal in the woods, not wishing to startle it, just get a better look. He suddenly froze mere feet away from you as Porthos’s booming and defensive voice grew closer to the gate, making you look up at him like a startled deer.

“Hey- hey…” he said in ever softer tones as if to soothe you and make sure you were okay, “it’s okay.” He said. You both looked away from each other to his brothers as they came into view of the gate, their hesitating eyes locking on the two of you and your more somber faces, each giving you both a silent nod of acknowledgment before passing by and making their way inside.

“You should come inside,” Aramis said, taking another gentle step closer to you, “dry off-“ but his words got trapped in his throat when your eyes met his. They were so scared. So worried. “What is it? What’s happened?” He asked, placing his foot up on the bottom step and leaning in to you, his fingers instinctively reaching out for your face. He forced you to keep your eyes on him. Silently reassured you that he saw your pain and had no intention of averting his eye or looking away.

You had no words. You thought the moment you saw him it would magically make things better, but it didn’t. You didn’t know what else to do now. You had waited in the rain all afternoon in the hopes that you would see his face and it would make everything okay. Now you were just wet. Empty and wet. Your chest sagged, heart breaking and suddenly the dam broke too. Tears filled your eyes and big chest wracking sobs burst free. Aramis quickly shucked off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders. He then sat himself beside you on the step and wrapped you in his arms.

His embrace was comforting, the smell of his leather familiar. He kissed the top of your head as you just cried. Your tears mingled with the rain on your cheeks and after a few attempts of trying to brush them away for you, Aramis just gave up and held you tighter and continued to let you cry. “There, there,” he cooed softly as he slowly rocked you back and forth on the step, “let it all out.”

“I’m sorry.” Your broken voice said between sobs, but he wouldn’t accept it.

“Now, now, there’s nothing to be sorry about.” He said with another kiss to the top of your wet head.

After another few minutes wrapped up in his embrace, your sobs began to break. “There, there.” He continued to gently say, “it’s okay, I’ve got you,” he repeated, until your breathing was finally under control again and your tears ceased to fall anymore, the rain seaming to also grow lighter too.

As you pushed yourself up away from his chest, wiping at your face as you tried to meet his eyes, his own hands moving to replace your own to do the task for you, you slowly attempted to find your voice once more. “I’m sorry.” You said again. “I just-“ but you couldn’t find the words to explain what happened… because truly you didn’t know what happened, but with his presence, his kindness and warmth, the safety of his arms protecting you as you allowed yourself to shatter into a million pieces, it somehow eased the tension in your chest. You still felt a little bit empty, but now you felt lighter.

“It’s okay.” He said to you again as he smoothed back a sopping wet strand of your hair from your face. Already he could see the light in your eyes returning. He looked hesitantly down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. He’d wanted to kiss them for a while, the way you’d nibble on them and blush when you saw him and give him not your big smiles you gave to everyone else, but your smaller adorable, bashful and intimate ones. But now, knowing he meant so much to you that when you were hurting, he was the only one you’d share your vulnerability with, it made him want to kiss you even more. But now was not the time. Instead he decided to use his mouth instead to distract. “Do you know why I love the rain?” He asks you, his fingers reaching out to intertwine with your cold ones as he looks out towards the gates of the garrison.

“No.” You reply as you carefully watch his face from the side, the corners of his lips turning up as the dark clouds above began to pass and make way for a clearer skies.

“Because it washes away the old and makes everything clean, ready to start a fresh.” He says proudly, his chest puffing up slightly as he turns his head to share his grin with you and it makes the corners of your own mouth twitch, a faint ghost of a smile slowly gracing your features, observing his boy like wonder about the world.

“It also,” he continues, his thumb rubbing gently across the back of your hand, “brings life.” He smiles. “It waters the plants and helps the flowers to bloom and the crops to grow. There’s so much wonder in the rain. Everyone gets so caught up in it, you know. Their clothes get wet and the shoes get muddy. But it’s so much more than that. Plus,” he says, standing and pulling you up with him, “when it eventually passes and the sun begins to shine again, sometimes,” he says, pulling you into the centre of the garrison, his eyes moving in small searching flashes to the sky until they stop and he too stops, turning you in the right direction to see what he does, “you get to see truly rare beauty that no amount of money in the world could buy.”

His hands rest on your shoulders from behind and his finger points up to the sky- and there you see it, faint at first, but slowly growing stronger. A rainbow. It makes you smile. A full one this time too. You feel his body relax behind you at the sight of it and you can’t help but relax back into him again, your smile growing content.

“See, even the sky cries some times.” He says into your ear, and you can feel the smile on his lips with how close his mouth is to it.

“And maybe it sends rainbows to let us know it was a good cry.” You turn your head and smile at him.

He beams, a small breathy chuckle escaping his lips. With a warm twinkle in his eye, he kisses your temple in agreement. “Sometimes we all just need a good cry.” He confirms.

[prismatica-the-strange]

All I Am Belongs to You | All for the Love of a Dear Little Girl

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy.

Aramis and Athos return to Paris to find they had not left Amélia as alone as they thought

Each ship is a separate timeline with the same s/i

Aramis x Amélia | Athos x Amélia

Athos's story focuses more on what Amélia went through right after season 2, her experience with Aramis is similar but without the correspondences.

These were supposed to be short, but Athos's kind of got away from me... really got away from me

All for the Love of a Girl by Johnny Horton (Aramis) | Wanderer's Lullaby by Adriana Figueroa (Athos) | Banner by @cafekitsune | Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics | Picrew

Aramis

Aramis thinks of Amélia often at the monastery, praying for her health, her happiness, and that she finally find a man who might actually deserve her.

He never expected to see her again, let alone see her hanging laundry in the courtyard of the garrison as soon as he came back to Paris.

She seems just as surprised to see them, quickly setting aside the sheet in her hands and hurrying over to them.

Athos gladly accepts her hug and kiss on his cheek, holding her back for a moment and kissing he temple, "It's good to see you."

"Do I get as warm a welcome?" Porthos teases, arms open and awaiting his own embrace. And he does, squeezing her back and lifting her off the ground when she hugs him.

"Where is D'Artagnan?" She asks. Athos points behind her toward his and Constance's shared quarters and she nods, "So that's where she ran off to."

"And what of me?" Aramis says, anxiously twisting the rim of his hat in his hands, finally bringing her attention to him.

Porthos watches her smile falter at the sound of his voice and both he and Athos narrowly avoid being hit when she spins around to slap him.

"You're lucky you get that much after what you did to me!" She spits at him and he refuses to meet her eyes. He deserves this. He broke her heart again and again, he knows he'll never be able to regain her trust.

He bows to her, knowing now isn't the time, and walks away, only to be stopped by a small girl, no older that three, at his feet.

"Hello, darling," His smile soft yet confused, "What are you doing here?"

She doesn't say anything, squinting up at him as though studying his face.

"Marina!" Amélia swoops in to pick her up and settle her on her hip, "You're supposed to be inside napping, where I left you."

"'M not sweepy," She huffs.

"You were twenty minutes ago."

"Is he my papa?"

He freezes when she points at him.

Amélia squeezes her eyes shut, sighing in defeat before shaking her head.

"Yes, dear one," Aramis's eyes go wide at her casual admittance, "This is Aramis, your father."

"Aramis, this is- Aramis?"

His whole body is rigid, his mind not processing the information given to him.

He looks at the girl, studying her in a similar fashion to how she had him. Soft brown hair, big dark eyes...

"How... old is she?" He asks.

"Dis many!" She proudly announces, holding out three fingers.

"Are you?" He doesn't notice how Amelia's face softens when tears begin to rim his eyes, "Yes, you would be, wouldn't you? May I?"

Amélia nods, letting him take her from her arms.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asks, holding her with practiced ease.

"Mawina."

"Marina?" He smiles when she nods, "Now that's a beautiful name, isn't it?"

Amélia scoffs at how suddenly her resolve to hate him crumbles seeing him hold their daughter.

"Oh, you're precious," He sniffs, cupping her little cheek.

Four years of seeing his face in hers displaces her anger, diminishes her hurt. She finds her chest flooding old love for him.

He laughs when she puts her tiny hands on the sides of his face, pushing his cheeks and gently touching his hair, "Curious thing, aren't you?"

"Bold is more like it," Amélia scoffs, "Like her father."

"You never seemed to mind," He grins at her, his attention going back to Marina she turns his chin back toward her, "Amélia, she's beautiful."

"To think I left so close to knowing you," He mutters, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

Damn it. Damn her and her stupid weak heart because that's all it takes.

"Aramis."

He looks back at her, only to be surprised by her lips pressing against his.

He looks at her in awe when the kiss breaks. He strokes her cheek, unable to tear his eyes away, "I thought..."

"You're infuriatingly difficult to hate," She sighs and he can't stop himself from smiling.

"Am I?"

"I have no idea what she's talking about," Porthos mutters and Athos chuckles. He claps Aramis on the back, "You fell in love with a Saint, you lucky bastard."

"And I truly don't deserve her," He murmurs, "Ah- careful dear."

He carefully untangles Marina fingers from his hair, kissing them softly.

She keeps staring at him, completely enthralled with him.

"So much like you're mother, aren't you," He teases, then in a hushed tone, "She likes to look at me too- Hey!"

He jumps back when she slaps his chest, catching her hand and pulling her close.

"How did I ever let you go?"0

Athos

Amélia realized not long after Athos and the others were sent to the front line to defend France, that she was with child.

She knew, even then, it was Athos's, that fate had tied them together forever through their drunken dalliance. She knew she loved him then, even if her heart wasn't ready to admit it so soon after the pain she had gone through with Aramis.

She planned to tell him everything as soon as the baby was born. She couldn't live with herself if she had lost the baby after declaring such a thing to him through a simple letter.

But then the thought he may not even wish to have a child with her crossed her mind. She'd always thought she understood his unspoken feelings for her, but he truly never told her he loved her, not once in the many letters they'd exchanged.

She couldn't bear to put the thought of an unwanted child on his mind when he had much larger things to concentrate on.

Constance insisted she move to the garrison with her to help and keep each other safe, so she made her home there with her daughter, trying desperately to summon the courage to tell him.

It's nearly three years later that she is finally able to when she receives a letter from the front. Athos worries a lack of supplies to his regiment will make the coming battles impossible. He fears for his life, but he simply can not die without telling her once and for all that he loves her. He goes on to say that if she doesn't return his feelings to not tell him, for he would rather die imagining she accepts his love than with a broken heart.

That letter is precious to her and she keeps it close to her heart her every waking moment, even after she replies, fervently returning his affections, assuring him he'll see her again, and that he will meet his daughter.

Unfortunately, her message never makes it to the front.

So when he returns to the garrison months later, he's surprised when she throws herself in his arms.

She's shaking out a blanket over the rail of the upper floor, sighing when she feels little hands grab the back of her skirt.

"How many times do I have to tell you," She sets the blanket on the rail and bends down to poke her stomach, "No muddy boots on the bed!"

The little girl shrieks with laughter and squirms away.

"Go get your boots and wipe as much of that mud off as you can, yeah?"

"Okay mama!"

She smiles as she runs off and stands to gather the blanket again, but then she sees him, "... Athos?"

He, Pothos, and Aramis have just ridden into the courtyard and her feet move before she even knows what she's doing.

He's barely dismounted when he sees her stumble down the last few stairs, lifting her skirts past her knees as she runs to them, "Athos!"

She nearly knocks him over barreling into him, her arms wrapping around his neck. He does his best to return the hug, his surprise obvious to his companions.

"I missed you," His eyes go wide when she kisses him, her hands holding his face, "I was so worried when you didn't write back."

"I..." He's worried for a brief moment that he died. She didn't reply, but here she is, looking at him adoringly, this must be the final images of his dying mind. "What do you mean? You never..."

His eyes flutter shut when she brushes his bangs asides and presses her forehead to his, her voice a whisper, "But I did! Did you.... did you not get my letter?"

"Your letter?" He shudders, cupping her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek, "You wrote back? You..."

"I love you, Athos," She grins at him, "Of course, I love you."

"I love you," He murmurs as though he can't believe he's finally saying it. He pulls her back against his lips, kissing her adoringly, "For so long I-"

"Mama?"

His eyebrows furrow and the three men look over at the small voice coming from the foot of the stairs.

"And who is this?" Aramis asks, he takes off his hat as he kneel down to her level.

She hesitates, looking to Amélia when he motions her over.

"It's alright," She holds out her hand and she runs to her side, hiding behind her skirts, "This is Aramis, Porthos, and Athos."

She steps into view, no more than three, sleeves of the dark brown leather coat, big on her still, rolled up to her elbows, as she timidly waves at them.

"This is Celine, my daughter, " She looks to Athos, disbelief staining his features, "Our daughter."

He steps back, shock washing over him like ice water, "O-our...?"

She watches him turn and run a hand through his hair, her eyes going wide when he collapses.

"Athos?!" She rushes to his side and rolls him onto his back, wiping mud from his cheek as she settles his head on her lap, "Athos?"

He finds himself suddenly looking up her, not entirely sure how he'd gotten in her lap.

"Mine?" He croaks after a moment and she sighs in relief.

"There's no question," He looks over when Aramis speaks. He's holding the girl with a smile, "She looks just like you."

"Poor girl," Porthos snickers and Athos glares at him as he gets up, Amélia on his arm.

"May I?" He looks to Amélia for permission when he reaches to take her from Aramis.

"She is yours," She reminds him watching him gently hold her to his chest.

"Mine, yes," He parrots as though he doesn't quite believe it, smiling down at her, "Hello."

"Mama?" She looks to Amélia, unsure, then back to him.

He laughs breathlessly seeing her face up close, "She has my eyes. She's beautiful..."

"M-mama!" She cries, not really understanding who any of these men are.

"It's alright," He tries to soothe her, but she squirms in his arms, reaching for her mother until she takes her.

"She doesn't know you yet," She says apologetically, settling her in her arms, and petting her hair, "But she will. She just needs a little time... I mean, as long as you wish to-"

"You're joking?" Athos grins, cupping her cheek, "It would take an act of God to tear me away from her now."

"From both of you," He corrects, his hand holds the back of her head as he leans in to kiss her temple.

Celine continues to fuss, having exhausted herself running around with Constance all morning, 'protecting' her favorite aunt.

"Alright, little musketeer, you need a nap," Amélia chuckles, nuzzling her cheek before leaning over to peck Athos's lips, "I'll be right back."

His face falls as he watches them walk away.

"You alright?" Porthos asks. He and Aramis laugh when he sighs, both of them patting on the back, "You look like you need a drink."

The fire burns low in the hearth, just warm enough to stave off the cool night air.

Athos leans over her, his kiss is slow and heavy against her lips, with Celine alseep just in the next room and wary if the man in her mother's bed, they'd dare not be more intimate than this.

He sighs contentedly, forehead pressed against hers.

She smiles as she kisses him again, reaching up to cup his cheek.

They stay like that a while more, soft touches and lingering kisses leaving them lightheaded.

His fingers trace the features of her face as he lays beside her, still in awe of all of it.

"You never told me," He breathes, his tone more curious than accusatory.

"I was scared," She admits and his brow furrows, "We were drunk, Athos, then you left and I no idea if you still wanted me let a lone a child."

She turns to face him, her hand on his chest, "I wanted to tell you, I did. I tried, many times, but I never had the courage. Not until you sent me this."

She lays back for a moment, reaching to pull a letter from a small box on the bedside table. She holds it to her lips for a moment, a routine motion to her now when she needs strength.

"This. Knowing you love me, for certain, gave me the strength and courage I needed to tell you," She holds it to her chest, "I've carried your love with me every moment since I received it. Keeping you near my heart."

"If only I had your words to guard mine," He laments, kissing her hand roughly.

"You have them now."

His breath shudders, pushing forward to nestle his face in the crook of her neck. Her hand strokes his hair before catching in it, holding him there.

"My heart is yours, Athos."

He wakes the next morning with his head on her chest, her fingers still caught in his unruly hair.

He's worried for a moment that he's still dreaming, but as he slowly moves to pull away, she shifts in her sleep, tugging his hair harshly, making him chuckle.

He quickly dresses himself, leaning down to kiss her forehead, before quietly walking through the next room to find the door left ajar.

Panic washes over him when he looks over to the cot in the corner only to find it empty.

He hurriedly opens the door, sighing in relief when he sees her sitting on the top step.

"You're not supposed to be out here," He says gently.

She scoots closer to the right hand rail when he moves to sit beside her, staring wistfully over at the horses.

"Do you like the horses?" He asks, leaning forward to see her face.

She nods but doesn't meet his gaze.

"Would you like a closer look?"

"Mama said I can't wit'out her cause 'm too small."

"I could go with you, if you like?"

That catches her attention and she looks over at him with bright eyes, "Really?"

He smiles softly at her, offering her his hand.

He still can't believe she's real, even with her hand, so small in his, holds tight to two of his fingers as he helps her down the stairs.

Just a few days ago he had nothing besides his friends and position as captain, fighting a seemingly endless war in the name of France. But now... the woman he has adored for years has returned his affections emphatically, and she's given him the most precious little girl. His heart could not be more full than it is at this moment.

"It's alright," He assures her when she hesitates. He lifts her easily and brushes her hair from her eyes, "I've got you."

Amélia wakes alone, her lover's heat lingering in the sheets beside her.

"Athos?" She calls, but she's met with silence, "Celine?"

Silence still and she wonders if she's still asleep. She rises to her feet and pulls on a linen robe, wrapping it around her to ward off the morning chill.

The other room is empty, neither Athos nor their daughter is anywhere to be found and she worries for a moment before looking out the window. She steps outside and leans on the rail, her shoulders relaxing as she watches him let her pet the horses.

Aramis comes out to greet the morning not long after, smiling at the sight of his friend taking to the role of father like a duck to water. Then he sees Amélia watching over them and carefully climbs the stairs to join her.

"They seem to be getting along well," He comments, his voice quiet as he leans on his arms next to her.

"I was worried," She admits.

"Athos has always been an honorable man, he would never reject either of you," He insist and she shakes her head.

"It's not just that," She sighs, "Or that he would be angry I lied to him... Celine doesn't take to new people well. I was scared he would be hurt if she rejected him, even if it was due to shyness."

"It seems you were worried for nothing."

She beams when they hear Celine giggle.

"I must apologize to you."

"It's in the past Aramis-"

"Please?" He begs, "I must say my piece."

She nods and looks to him with warm eyes. He'd expected her to be mad, to curse and spit his name as soon as she saw him, and he's grateful for her patience.

"I hurt you, Amélia, in ways no one should ever be hurt and I am genuinely sorry for that. I spent every day of the last four years praying for your forgiveness knowing there's I could ever do to earn it."

"Aramis..."

"I prayed for your happiness and prayed that you may find someone who truly deserves your love," He places his hand on her back, looking back over at the two by the stables, "I couldn't think of a man more deserving than Athos."

"Thank you, Aramis, that means a great deal to me."

He bows his head and they watch for a minute more until Celine sees them and points, "Mama!"

"There's just one thing I don't understand," Aramis says as they cross the courtyard and she looks up at him expectantly, "Where does the black hair come from."

"My mother," She says walking over to the top of the stairs to meet them, "I'm the only one of my siblings to take after my father."

"Hello dear one," She coos, taking Celine in her arms when she reaches for her, "Did Papa bring you to see the horses?"

Papa.

She doesn't even realize she's said it until she feels his hand brush against her arm and she looks over at him, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," He sweeps Celine's long hair aside to see her face again before Amélia turns to go inside.

"Let's get you dressed and fed, shall we?"

He watches them longingly as they disappear into their apartments and Aramis chuckles.

"I have never seen a man so smitten, my friend," He teases.

"I still can't believe they're real."

"You two are up early," Constance calls from below and they turn to see her, "You mind giving me a hand?"

"She's quite the wild thing, your little one," She comments as they help her hitch the horses to the wagon.

"Is she?"

"Oh yes," She nods, "It won't be long before she's giving these cadets a run for their money."

"She's fierce then?" Aramis asks, "Like her mother."

"And then some. Especially with how Treville encourages her," She leans back against the wagon, "That coat she never takes off? Treville had it made special and gave her a matching wooden sword a week later. That man spoils her like she's his granddaughter."

"I wana go wit Con'tence!" Speaking of whom, Celine comes stumbling down the stairs, toy sword in her hand.

"Not without breakfast you aren't!" Amélia scolds half a flight behind.

Athos doesn't hesitate to scoop her up, more than happy to hold her again while her mother catches up.

"Not this time, darling," Constance tells her, pinching her cheek.

"But Con'tance!"

"No buts! Mum's orders."

Amélia rests her forehead on his shoulder, breathless from chasing their daughter.

He can see the gears turning in Celine's head before she wiggles and twists her body just right to slip out of his hold, but he's quick to catch her again, "Where do you think you're going?"

She huffs in defiance, continuing to struggle, and he shakes his head, "So much like your mother."

"Excuse me?"

Constance laughs at the scene, wondering how it's possible he only met her yesterday.

Celine accidentally elbows him in the jaw in her attempt to escape and Amélia's eyes go wide, reaching to take her, "Here, let me. She'll settle once she eats."

"It's fine," He insists, content to hold her for the rest of time if she asked him, "Lead the way."

[hypnoticsphere]

zuko headcanon time!!!!

He always knew that firebending was never going to be his strongest weapon, not with Azula around. His baby sister, a firebending prodigy with blue fire and lightning. So, with the resources he was allowed, he was able to study with Master Piandao. The art of the sword came easy to Zuko. Mostly.

He had trouble with his footwork. Always springing into action too soon; unable to stay patient and wait for an opening attack. Many of the reasons he struggled with his Katas. Zuko was a problem solver, he was able to make up for his mistakes with quick thinking, but Piandao wanted to limit any sort of mistakes at all. So, he proposed that Zuko take ballet once he arrived back home. A dance that required discipline, strength, and patience.

Zuko had vehemently denied it, arguing that it was going to make him look stupid. Azula already had enough to make fun of him, he really didn’t want to fuel the fire of his sisters insults. Piandao wasn’t forcing him to take ballet, only trying to help him better his already remarkable skills. He told Zuko to read up on it, maybe he would even think it was “cool”.

And, well, that’s just what Zuko did. In the palace library, he searched through scrolls about various cultural dances. Ballet came from the Air Nomads, and later enriched (stolen) into the fire nation. Zuko looked through the drawings, captivated by their flexibility, and wincing when he saw that they were standing on their toes.

He ran to his mom, doing everything to avoid running into Azula let alone father. Ursa was outside in the garden, throwing vegetable scraps to the turtle ducks in the pond. Zuko scared them away as he rushed to her side, practically shoving the scroll in his poor mother’s face. Ursa, ever the saint, took the scroll from Zuko’s vibrating hands and arched her brow towards him.

“Ballet?”

“Master Piandao told me It’d make me a better fighter.” Not true, but also not entirely a lie. Zuko was just embarrassed on how much he wanted to take a dance class.

Ursa smiled, rubbing Zuko’s hair affectionately, “Okay, then. I’ll see what we can do about getting you a private instructor.

And that’s how it began. Almost every morning, before his training with his firebending teachers, Zuko met with a strict, rather terrifying, woman named Arami to learn ballet. Despite her rough around the edges personality, Zuko liked her. A lot more than his bending teachers. He listened to her intently and hung off her every word.

It was around the same time Zuko found his interest in the theatre. Arami shared scrolls with him, and taught him how various dance styles were incorporated in his favorite plays. He would take her practices and merge them with his kata’s and again with his swords, those forged by him and Master Piandao. For once, he felt confident in his own ability, enough to discourage Azula’s taunts. It was even okay when his mother left, grandfather died, and Father was crowned firelord.

And then, he was burned and banished, outcasted from the fire nation with an impossible task. His passion and his love was snuffed out in an instant and replaced with anger as he lost sight of who he had built himself to be.

[mynqzo]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

thanks for coming to my ted talk.