#Aramis/Porthos

[duckprintspress]

The “Aim For The Heart” Campaign First 48 Hours, and the First (of Many!) Contributor Spotlights

On Thursday, Duck Prints Press launched the crowdfunding campaign for our next anthology. Aim For The Heart: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Alexandre Dumas’s “The Three Musketeers” features 20 stories, 19 full-page art pieces, and a 12-page comic, all inspired by the beloved story of d’Artagnan, the musketeers he meets, and the politics he gets embroiled in.

As of when I’m writing this, 76 people have already backed our project, and we’re nearly 60% of the way to our $8,000 USD goal! This is a really strong start, and we couldn’t be happier about it. A huge THANK YOU to everyone who has backed so far, and to everyone else – whatcha waiting for? There’s no time like the present – we’re offering an early bird special, $10 off our highest backer tier featuring the book + our gorgeous merchandise (a bookmark, a magnet, a sticker, and an enamel key chain) – only available today and Sunday, and only to the first 50 backers – we’ve only got 19 left!!!

If you love queer stories and queer art, and want to support a queer-owned independent publisher this lovely Pride month, make sure you check it out!

And, to whet your appetite, starting today we’ll be sharing story and art teasers more-or-less daily until the end of the campaign!

Author Spotlight: Wait and Hope by Veronica Sloane

About the author: Veronica Sloane has authored a novel, several short stories, some poetry, and twenty-two years worth of fanfic. She lives with one lovely spouse, one rambunctious clever child, and one sleepy cat.

Links: Archive of Our Own | Tumblr

About the Story: This modern fanfic tells the tale of Porthos, a waiter, and Aramis, a theology student, meeting for the first time—and then tells of their reunion, ten years later.

Story Teaser: 

“My name is Porthos,” he offered, “and I’ll be your dining companion for the evening, if you’ll have me.”

“Is this a new waiter service?” Aramis asked, those lovely wide eyes going rounder.

“I’m officially no longer a waiter here.” Porthos took Aramis’s lack of objection as agreement and set the glasses before each of them, uncorking the bottle with an expert twist of the wrist.

“Were you fired?” Aramis asked, watching the wine trickle into his glass with avid attention.

“I’m graduating.”

“Me too. I’ve never seen you.”

“Business major.” Porthos poured his own glass generously. It was a very good white.

“Theology.”

“What do you do with that?”

“In my case? Become a priest.”

“No.” Porthos set down the bottle to stare at him. “Really? Does that still happen?”

“From time to time,” Aramis laughed.

“But why? Surely you can just study religion and go to church if you have to. I’m assuming; I don’t think I’ve set foot in a church since I was a kid. I’d probably catch fire.”

“God forgives. If you have faith.” The last was said a little more tremulously.

“And you must.”

“Must I?” Aramis picked up his wine.

“Then why the priesthood?”

“I believe. Faith is another matter.”

Tags: alcohol use (casual), alternate universe, chef, college, food (graphic descriptions), m/m, meet cute, one-night stand, past tense, pov third person limited, restaurant, reunions, second chances, trans male character, veteran

Learn more about the whole collection by visiting our campaign page!

[general-du-vallon]

Aramis and the babies, 3

part one is here.

‘So here I am’ turned out to be some sort of accidental under statement. Aramis bumped into Porthos everywhere, and every time got steadily more awkward. Passing on the stairs, coming out of the flats at the same time (Aramis pretended to have left something inside to avoid an awkward walk down together, Porthos did the same, and they walked down together in awkward silence), arriving at the front door together the time Aramis lost his key fob thing (the council charged for new ones, Porthos admitted to losing his within a week of getting it and usually just broken in, he was apparently ‘okay at locks’). In the supermarkets, at the playground, at the community food project the estate collectively ran out of a community room that was coming to bits around them.

“Papa, look,” Hugo said, one day. “Cat.”

It wasn’t a cat, it was Porthos, just at the next table. Hugo bounced happily in Aramis’s arms and waved to Porthos, he loved the car boot sale he was in a really sociable mood. Louis was at Anne’s and Rochelle had a sleepover, Henry and Agnes were with them, and Marie was staying for a little while. She was very very quiet. Aramis was worrying because he didn’t know where Luc was, usually when Marie got passed to him Luc came along too, but this time it was just Marie, and the social workers told him he knew as much as he needed to. Marie tucked herself behind his knees and he nearly tripped backwards, Porthos had come reluctantly over since Hugo had waved.

“Morning,” Porthos said, waving. He waved with the hand that was holding coffee. He looked bewildered when it spilled everywhere, Hugo laughing at him and waving a third and fourth time.

“I’m Henry,” Henry said, at the same time as Marie tugged at Aramis’s trouser leg.

“Ah, yeah, Henry, Agnes, Marie,” Aramis said, pointing them out.

“Cat!” Hugo said.

“She’s doing great, keeps climbing the curtains and sleeping on top of doors and things,” Porthos said. Hugo nodded seriously, waiting for more information about the cat. “Tried to get out the window the other day, probably after a bird.” Hugo’s eyes widened. “She didn’t get out, I keep the windows on those hook things.”

“The windows don’t open wide enough to climb out, we know that don’t we, Hugo?” Henry said, grinning. He was missing a tooth and looked rakish, white-blond hair even blonder from sun, long and plaited like Elsa from Frozen. Specifically like Elsa. He was obsessed with Elsa. Not the whole movie, just her.

“Yeah,” Hugo agreed. “Can’t sit out there.”

“Out where?! It’s just sky!” Aramis said, turning on the two boys, Henry was laughing at him, setting him off on purpose. Marie was tugging again. “Yeah, pipsqueak?”

He crouched to hear her, putting an arm around her since she could no longer hide behind him. She whispered her curiosity in his ear, quite a few questions about who Porthos was.

“He has a cat,” Hugo said, too loud, Porthos had been answering a polite query from Agnes, but his gaze came to rest on them instead.

“Are you a giant?” Marie asked, at a whisper but bold enough to be heard.

Porthos shifted. He seemed pleased about her misapprehension, chest swelling, standing taller in his boots. They had little heels, his jacket was big and leather and padded out his shoulders through sheer bulk, he was already big but he was dressed even bigger, and he drew himself taller and held himself wider and beamed down at them the bright day behind him, like some sort of benevolent sun god. He really was gorgeous, Aramis thought, regretfully, remembering that they’d so far found nothing to talk about.

“I won’t eat you,” was the answer Porthos finally settled on, then bent forward, widening his eyes, face quite serious, “yet.”

Marie kicked him, which Aramis thought was perfectly fair. He pretended he hadn’t seen a thing, ignoring Porthos’s surprised yelp. Hugo giggled, climbing out of Aramis’s arms and heading for Porthos. Aramis hoped Hugo wasn’t going to kick him as well, he’d have to either tell Marie off or wait and see, though, and he chose the second option. Hugo patted Porthos’s knee solicitously, looking up at him, singing wordlessly. Aramis opened his mouth to explain but Porthos was nodding, crouching down so Hugo didn’t have to crane up. Marie leant back into Aramis to watch.

“Tell me that again, kiddo, I was too high up I didn’t understand,” Porthos said.

Hugo groped for words, failed to find any, patted Porthos’s knee again, and sang incy wincy spider, showing Porthos the hand gestures he was learning at school. He tugged his jumper.

“He wants to tell you about his spiders,” Aramis said.

“You got spiders under there?” Porthos asked. “Not real ones, surely? On your shirt?”

Hugo flopped into the grass. He wasn’t much for standing up today. Aramis scooped him up and Marie clambered onto his back, Henry linking arms with them and Agnes, ready to get moving. Porthos stood as well and gave Aramis a helpless shrug.

“Ah, Agnes is staying with us at the moment,” Aramis said, not finding anything to talk about but not really quite finding a way to leave. “For a bit.”

“Philippe’s having a routine operation,” Agnes said, “my husband.”

“Oh, I hope it goes well,” Porthos said, very genuinely, body language softening and opening up somehow. 

“If you want to. Um,” Aramis stopped. What he wanted was to have sex with Porthos. Quite a lot of it. Preferably at Porthos’s house, tonight.

“Yeah, alright,” Porthos said. Aramis forgot for a second he’d not actually said outloud about sex. “There’s the pub?”

“Yes, alright,” Aramis said. The pub could definitely be a step on his way to having sex. Aramis could go with that. He smiled, and Porthos grinned back.

“Your passengers look about ready to be off,” Porthos said. “Are we friends, Marie?”

“Promise not to eat me,” Marie said into Aramis’s shoulder. “If you do eat my brother will come.”

“Tear your arms, boff!” Hugo called, which Aramis wished he’d never said. It was sticking.

“Alright. I like my arms, better just stick to eating cake,” Porthos said. “Maybe a biscuit now and then. A little bit of pizza.”

“And vegetables,” Henry said. “Some are quite nice, Aramis makes them so they don’t taste yucky.”

Aramis squeezed Henry’s arm, grateful for his off kilter wingmanship. Porthos clicked his tongue and looked around, faltered, asked if seven was a good time, and then wandered away. Agnes leant across Henry to squeeze Aramis’s arm, delighted by the whole thing. She asked him so many questions as they meandered the last few tables and ended up, as always, at the ice cream van, pleased as anything that he’d found someone to flirt with.

Aramis spent the afternoon tracking down Luc and checking he was okay and not going spare worrying over Marie. Without, of course, talking to Luc. He wasn't going to leave a trail. And then he was late to the pub because he spent the evening having a nice chat with Marsac and setting up one or two very little, very subtle things. Just a tiny little bit of manipulation, a miniscule amount of machinations. It wasn’t that he disliked Marie and Luc’s father, he wasn’t a bad man. But regardless of school being important and Luc not needing as much care as Marie and being able to stay, for their overall wellbeing, Aramis decided he’d just do a little bit of poking and prodding.

He was halfway to the pub at a jog when he got a call from Luc’s social worker. Then outside the door he got another call from Marie’s social worker with a stern telling off. Aramis admitted nothing, said he had no idea what she was talking about, made bewildered noises, and ducked into the pub. He saw Porthos holding up the bar, eyes on a darts game, and then he saw Porthos go over to tell the huge bloke playing that he was cheating, and then Aramis saw the huge bloke square off with Porthos.

“Hi,” Aramis called, going over, not sure if his intent was to break it up or join in. He’d see which way things went. Either or.

Porthos relaxed, though, and after a charm offensive the huge bloke was introducing himself as Amyot and offering to buy Porthos a beer.

“I’m on a date,” Porthos said, “he might think it was a bit funny if I let you buy the drinks instead of him.”

“What?” Aramis said.

“Seeing as he was late, I assumed he’d be paying,” Porthos said. That was to Aramis, not to Amyot, who’d quickly lost interest and gone back to cheating at darts. “Come on. We can sit out the back, the garden’s shut because of a mishap-”

“You and Flea breaking patio furniture is not a mishap,” the barkeep said, appearing all of a sudden and giving Aramis a start. He recognised Christoph from the community larder thing, but didn’t know him well. “You’re paying for your drinks until I’ve fixed that.”

“I’m paying tonight,” Aramis said, leaning on the bar.

“Aramis, right? I’m not letting any friend of Porthos open a tab, just a friendly warning,” Christoph said, Aramis had got distracted watching Porthos put on a chagrined ‘aw shucks who me?’ performance. “What am I getting you both, then?”

Aramis ordered whatever cinder was on tap, and whatever Porthos had been drinking already, paid up front, and headed them out into the closed garden. There was a broken table, a broken pot, a clearly repotted sapling, a couple of broken chairs, and a sturdy bench set against the wall of the pub which is where Porthos headed, sitting in a comfortable sprawl, long legs stretched in front of him, pint resting on one strong thigh. Aramis sat too close and took a sip of his cider.

“Why’d you ask me out?” Porthos said. “We’ve been doing the awkward shuffle as if we’ve already had awful sex and found out we sort of hate each other.”

“I wasn’t actually asking you out,” Aramis said. Porthos’s head came up and he froze. “I was about to suggest we had sex, but then I realised I was literally swamped under my children, and it might be a little inappropriate, and then you were suggesting the pub. I thought I might come along, do some flirting, do some wooing. I’m very good at flirting and wooing. I’m a romantic.”

“I see,” Porthos said, and his hand dropped to Aramis’s thigh and gave it a squeeze. “Alright then. We paid Christoph for his shit beer though so we should drink it. You want to smoke your terrible herbal things?”

“Not really, they are a balm only to be applied when the children are particularly baffling,” Aramis explained. “I love them more than my own life, and probably anyone else’s life too really, but my god they can be loud and unreasonable.”

“To be fair, so can adults,” Porthos said. “I like them.”

“Adults?”

“Daft.”

“Children?”

“Your children.”

Aramis preened as if it was a compliment, which it was since it was him who taught them manners.

“My specific children,” Aramis said, sighing happily.

“Yeah, although you seem to have an awful lot,” Porthos said, brow furrowing.

“I have three,” Aramis said, a bit surprised. “Hugo, Louis, and Rochelle. You met them. Louis lives partly with his mum, but he still counts.”

“And Henry, and Marie, and Marie said something about another brother, unless she meant Hugo was gonna tear off my arms,” Porthos said. “I mean maybe she did. Or Louis. Or Henry. And! You had a baby the other day.”

It sounded like an accusation and made Aramis laugh. He couldn’t remember for a second which baby Porthos might mean.

“Oh! Raoul. He’s Athos’s baby. I missed a lot of Louis’ baby years, and of course Roch’s, not so much Hugo but he was one when he came. So Athos lets me steal Raoul away sometimes, I think he has quite kinky sex when I have Raoul,” Aramis said. “Athos is a friend.”

“So Raoul isn’t yours. But I still count… six.”

“Henry is Agnes and Philippe’s kid, I’m not his Dad. They lived with me when he was a baby, him I got the baby years he was lovely, really lovely. They got their own place when he was five, they just come to stay when Philippe’s away nowadays. Or for fun. Or Philippe and Henry come down for the football, Philippe grew up around here.”

“Five,” Porthos said.

“Marie and Luc are on a foster placement,” Aramis said. “They come and go.”

“I know how that goes,” Porthos said, and raised his glass. “Alright, three. But to be fair, it still sounds like you have a lot of kids.”

“Yeah,” Aramis said, beaming, “I do.”

“I just have Grace,” Porthos said. “Charon and Flea’s kid. Sometimes… anyway. Bit complicated.”

“You moved down to be closer to them?” Aramis asked.

“Sort of. Not really. I was in the army. Not recent, it was back a while now, I didn’t like what I was being asked to do so I whistle-blew, and it didn’t go so well. Had a bit of trouble getting work, I was doing those oil rig gigs you know?”

“Vaguely,” Aramis said. “I’m sorry. I think it is admirable to stand by your convictions, especially in a situation like that. You’re talking around a lot, but I think that it sounds like you did something pretty impressive.”

“Sometimes it feels like it, sometimes it feels like it was stupid, and sometimes it’s more like I didn’t have any choice,” Porthos said. “Doesn’t matter. I decided to go back to school, I’m getting a degree. Doing some shifts at Tesco, and I get bits for a few construction companies, I know a few guys.”

“Army guys?”

“Sort of. Adjacent,” Porthos said. “You’re impressive too, you know. Giving kids a place that’s safe and home and good.”

Aramis shrugged and to his surprised Porthos went all intense, sitting forward, pint put aside so he could hold Aramis’s face. Aramis met his eyes, surprised, and then he was being kissed fiercely, wonderfully.

“It matters. It’s important,” Porthos said, low and gravelly. “It matters to me. I don’t know what to say.”

He kissed Aramis again instead of saying more, and Aramis was fine with that. He got a grip on Porthos’s leather jacket and pulled, getting a good angle.

parts:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 [complete]

[rebeccapearson]

THE MUSKETEERS 1x02 sleight of hand

[edoutft]

been a while since i drew porthos so to compensate. i drew him 17 times

[0039pf-third-blog-hooray]

explaining! my main goal was to make them different and colorful. everything else is secondary. i didn't really try to make them realistic, i didn't really try to make them historical. this is character design, right? so, the main thing is that everyone is readable and unique among others in their environment. if you don't confuse anyone, then i've made it, hehe!

i made them colorful because, firstly, i just like it that way, and secondly, it's customary to exaggerate book characters for illustrations so that the image is brighter and more recognizable. if i were drawing as if for a movie/series, i would have done it differently. but this is a book. and, as i like to say, am i studying to be a theater artist for nothing... 🤫

also i was laughing so hard at the song from bratz that i used for speedpaint because it was too funny to finish the work with. enjoy JHSJSHSHDH

a few words about each one, not in the order in the picture:

i had an idea to draw aramis a popular type of lovelock at that time - with a ribbon of his beloved's favorite color. this hairstyle was also worn together with pearl in the left ear. i learned about it from another artist, and then i read about it on the internet in more detail. and when i sketched him for the first time, i drew it exactly like that, but this time i already came to the idea that, unfortunately, he would hardly wear such a hairstyle in reality. in the first book he hides the woman's identity until the end, when everything has long been obvious to everyone 😭 so there would hardly be any hint in his appearance about his lady. fanfact, his heel is slightly higher than the others. aramis, the man you are 💅 and i also really ask you to take a closer look at aramis's hairstyle, i left a tiny detail there. it's right there in plain sight and it's hidden in the styling!!

porthos is associated with warm colors for me, because he's such a silly, but together with aramis and d'artagnan it turned into one spot. so i went with the second option - blue, because i really liked that he appeared in sky blue before d'artagnan when they galloped after the duke, even though it was already in the second book. he turned out so charming, wahaha.

i think olive is the perfect choice for athos in the first book. depressive, long-term drunkard, but a nobleman undercover. matching? also, i have a headcanon that athos is this much 🤏 shorter than d'artagnan and aramis. just because it's funny. and those two are about the same, because it was specified in the book that they have the same size

d'artagnan is simple, yellow-brown - a young provincial, even the collar does not really match the shirt. where will he get the money for a collar for each shirt... but he's the only one with a bright feather, the mc after all! if you look closely, the feathers of all the others do not stand out so much. that's how it was intended. btw, his shirt is a little yellowing, if you look closely, you can see it

i really like it when all the characters has their own little things. their own collars, their own way of wearing jackboots, their own little details of the sleeves. i drew simply, but put my soul into it. i tried to put a lot into the form, both in general and in the details, and although i could explain absolutely everything, i would like you to look closely at it yourself 💝

[whitedarkmoonflower]

D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, Aramis // Portraits // The Musketeers (2014)

[enigma-the-mysterious]

My take-away from the whole Titanicgate incident

[katabay]

it's the musketeers babyyyyy

just shaking off some cobwebs, figuring some visuals out, trying out some brushes. someone get d'artagnan off of that before he falls.

[pandalikeelf]

season 1, episode 1: friends and enemies

[knightofmordred]

happy 10yr anniversary to the musketeers !! we all love some bts pics, so ask and you shall receive !!

[seance]

THE MUSKETEERS 10TH ANNIVERSARY REWATCH / fave episodes [3/?] ↳ SEASON 1, EPISODE 8 / the challenge

[take2intotheshower]

The Melon Shoot.

(The Musketeers Season 1, Episode 5 - The Homecoming)

[general-du-vallon]

Part two of Aramis and just three babies fic, part one is here.

Aramis had Hugo in the shopping trolley seat, Louis standing in the trolley, and Rochelle was trailing a few feet behind staring at his phone she'd got off him for very important business. She bumped into him when he stopped. Good to know she was paying attention to the world around her. To be fair, it was Aldi, and it was crammed with families on a post-school rush.

“Hullo,” Aramis called.

Their neighbour was crouched, looking at a low shelf of microwave rice pouches in consternation. He looked up and saw Aramis and got a wary, weary sort of look. Aramis waved.

“I need to wee,” Louis whined, trying to climb out of the trolley.

“Papa, Papa,” Hugo complained at them having stopped, arms waving about.

“Shush, I’m saying hello to our neighbour,” Aramis said. “You don’t need to wee, you weed about ten minutes ago, in a bush, because you couldn’t possibly wait until we got here.”

“I might need to wee again,” Louis complained.

Rochelle walked around Aramis and went to get things off the shelves that they didn’t need. Hugo started making whining noises, head back.

“I’ll get some wine,” Porthos said. “You can all come over later, if you want.”

“What? Yes. Seriously? Yes,” Aramis said. “Put it back.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” Rochelle said.

“I don’t need to. We have a list, it’s not on the list,” Aramis said. “Louis if you climb out so help me, I’ll, I dunno, tear your arms off and bop you with them maybe. Something violent.”

Hugo laughed at that, and Aramis smiled at his mood face, his curly chestnut hair bouncing. He was so lovely.

“Wine,” Porthos said. “I’ll be home in about an hour, knock whenever.”

He held out his basket to Rochelle, who took a minute to realise what he was offering, then lit up and dropped a chocolate cake into Porthos’s basket. Aramis sighed, but let it be, Rochelle rushing happily back over and linking her arm with his. She hardly ever did that these days, it was nice. Louis had given up getting free and plopped down to play with his Action Man doll thing he’d brought over. All the children happy, the shopping went much more smoothly than it had any business being, and they got home before dinner time. After Friday shopping. A miracle.

Aramis showered while the kids ate pasta and pesto, and then spent way too long choosing his clothing. He changed Louis’ clothes because he had got pesto on his shirt, and Hugo’s clothes because once home he’d got most of his things off and only had pants on, and Rochelle’s clothes because she’d decided to dress up when she saw him dressing up and had come up with a crop top from somewhere and a skirt she grew out of months ago. She got into proper clothes with a huge strop. He combed all their hair and found a packet of strawberries to take as an offering and chivvied them all out into the hall to line up neatly outside Porthos’s door. Aramis felt a qualm of nerves and hesitated over knocking. Hugo solved that by kicking the door a few times, staring at Aramis as if to say ‘you made me wear shoes, now bear the consequences, bitch’.

“Hang on!” came a shout from inside.

“Hugo,” Aramis growled.

“He’ll tear your arm off, Hugo,” Louis whispered, gripping Hugo’s arm. “And bop you with it!”

Rochelle giggled, covering her mouth, and all three of them were looking up at him to see what he’d do when the door opened and he did not do anything because Porthos had not got a shirt on and honestly Aramis could not be held accountable because Jesus Holy Mary and God. Aramis smiled, shifting his weight to cock a hip, sweeping a hand through his hair, smiling growing as he raked his eyes up to Porthos’s face and found him flushed.

“Evening,” Aramis said.

“Hi,” Porthos said, turning and twitching a shirt from somewhere, pulling it on. He came out ruffled and still blushing and it was still a very good look.

“Papa,” Hugo said, peering around Porthos to see into the flat. “Cat.”

“She’s called Beep,” Porthos said. “She’s pretty friendly, do you know how to pet a cat?”

“Yup,” Louis said, Hugo demonstrating his petting skills on thin air, trying to get by.

Porthos stood aside and Aramis’s lot thundered in, Beep sat there waiting, licking her paws, ignoring them. Rochelle shuffled over on her knees, Louis tiptoed, Hugo did his weeble-wobble thing, his gait tipping and rolling because he was excited. Aramis watched them crowd the cat and go still just within reach, holding their breaths as Rochelle reached slowly out for the first stroke, eldest child privilege. Beep purred and nudged her head into Rochelle’s touch and they all made happy noises.

“I’ve got a few toys,” Porthos said, waving Aramis in as well and shutting the door. There was a tiny vestibule, open to the livingroom/kitchen that was right there. Porthos got a box from a cupboard, and a small stack of board games, leaving them by the sofa. The children clocked the toys but were preoccupied with the cat for now. “Have a seat, I’ll get wine and things.”

Aramis looked at his kids. They’d been both loud and lovely today. He hesitated, then chose a seat in the kitchen, in sight of them, instead on the sofa right in the middle of them. Porthos smiled at him, at the sideboard, very close. He held up a plate with slices of cake and some biscuits on, asking permission.

“Sure, go ahead, they’ve had dinner. If you want cakeless carpet I can make them eat it at the table,” Aramis said.

“Nah, carpet’s had worse on,” Porthos said, heading out and into the livingroom. There was a little coffee table and the children scrambled for it when Porthos put the plate down, voices quiet with excitement.

Aramis’s seat was a stool, he was sat at the bar that came across to differentiate between the kitchen and livingroom. Porthos sat beside him, leaning to reach over a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Thanks for the invite,” Aramis said. “And for including them.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Porthos said, shrugging, pouring out the wine. “I hope you like this, it’s decent but not expensive.”

“I’m not fussy,” Aramis said.

“I am,” Porthos said. “No point in paying good money for shit wine. All money is good money.”

“Good point,” Aramis conceded.

There was a slightly awkward silence while Porthos gave him wine. They both turned to watch the children, Rochelle divvying up the snacks in a bossy older sibling sort of way. Aramis took a sip and relaxed. He hadn’t been sure Rochelle would settle with them. She’d been coming and going for years, she’d just sort of snuck in amongst the younger lot that were in and out, it hadn’t been very official until recently, and now it was forever, and Aramis had worried. But she seemed happy enough, and she still talked about and to her mum.

“You’re thoughtful,” Porthos said. “Long day?”

“Long week,” Aramis said. “But, no, not that. Just thinking. It’ll keep.”

“Oh, okay.”

“So, how long have you been here? I really did think maybe a hermit or a monk or something lived over here, I’ve never seen hide nor hair,” Armasis said, realising he was being a bad guest, brooding over his wine.

“Been a bit busy. Moved in almost a year ago, but I haven’t been around much,” Porthos said. “Things’ve changed, so here I am.”

“Where’s, um, you never said a name actually. Your little ‘Puff’,” Aramis said, grinning, he still thought that nickname was adorable.

“Grace. My friends’ kid,” Porthos said. “She comes and goes.”

“I know how that goes,” Aramis said, and Porthos gave him a little smile, raising his glass.

Another silence spread between them, this one a little more comfortable. Rochelle was into the box of toys, pulling everything out to examine, Louis and Hugo following her lead like she was the sun they orbited. It was good to have Louis home for a bit. Aramis sipped his wine and watched over his children, he and Porthos making conversation now and then. Though conversation never went anywhere, it was nice to spend time with an adult for once. Even stilted, awkward time.

Bit odd, that. Aramis had been sure they’d been flirting.

parts:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 [complete]

[rebeccapearson]

That's Gaudet over there, he thinks no one can touch him.

[0039pf-third-blog-hooray]

chat, what do we think about redesign of my musketeers?

the old ones

here, so as not to jump to another post. it’s only been a month!

and a couple of headshots that i drew while working on references

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Aramis & Porthos // The Musketeers (2014)