#aramis in spain

[canadiangirl-82]

Happy Santiago Sunday!!

Memories of filming Land of Women Pat One!

❤️🎥🎬 🇪🇸

[wingsofhcpe]

au in which at the end of s3, Aramis and Anne realise they can never be openly and happily together, and so decide to end their lives á la Romeo and Juliet. Constance, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan find them collapsed in the palace in each other's arms and break the fuck down...

...except they're actually in on the scheme the two star-crossed lovers have come up with: faking their deaths with the kind of poison that just puts you into an incredibly deep sleep that makes you seem dead. Their friends whisk them out and replace their bodies during the funeral, so the two can run away together and be free to love and raise the Dauphin as their own child, as is the truth.

Here. Everyone's happy!

[raethereptile]

Where are my fanfics where the queen goes full feral after S2 and takes no ones shit (least of all the Kings (you believed him Louis, over me, and you'll be paying me back for that the rest of our lives)) instead of becoming too catious and subdued in fear of her position

The fics where she says fuck you I am the queen of France and these are my Musketeers

Where she calls the boys her friends and calls on them as her regular guard just so they can hang out and turns her nose up at Louis when he seeths about it

Where she has our 4 musketeers raise her son, the future king of France, because she knows that this county that is hers now deserve better than the type of King Louis would raise

Where she writes to them at the front to check on them and to provide intel on Spain because she was a Spanish princess but now she is Queen of France and that is who she it. The woman that forces her was into the war councils to beat knowledge of Spanish politic and land and strategy into the men that have led her county into war (the war her marriage was supposed to prevent the the first place)

Fics where she gossips and spends time with Constance talking about their musketeers, where she's snubbed by the king at another ball so goes to her noble Athos for a dance instead, where she asks Porthos to teach her how to defend herself, where she teases D'Artagnan about being a baby musketeer so he tells her all the embarrassing stories about the other three that they would never want her to know until she is crying with laughter, and yes, when she tells Aramis not to go because she needs a friend and if you leave people will still talk but then I would be alone so he stays

Because I want all the fics

[the-hinky-panda]

The Winter Series: Part I

Title: The Winter Series

Pairing: Aramis x OFC (written as a reader)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Aramis is making good on his promise to God to become a monk. At least he's trying to make good on that promise. But you burst on the scene, a French spy from across the border of Spain with all sorts of temptations to lead him astray.

Taglist: @bullet-prooflove @kmc1989, @trublu2u, @nsr-15

It’s been two months since Aramis has arrived at the monastery and he’s beginning to think that this is a monumental mistake. The first month he threw himself into this new life. First one to prayers, helping in the kitchens, studying scriptures outside and enjoying the birdsong, tending the small garden. He felt at peace, confident in his decision to be here. 

That feeling doesn’t last as he enters into the second month. The birds are grating on his nerves. The fresh air is irritating to his nose. The prayers are repetitive and his mind wanders more and more. To the war, to his friends…to the Queen, to his son. He longs for the feel of his sword in his hand, the smooth grip of his pistol, the excitement of the fight. At least he had felt useful as a Musketeer, actively righting the world’s wrongs instead of just praying for things to change. 

That is why when the Abbot asked for someone to pick up supplies from the town below the monastery, Aramis was the first one to volunteer. It wasn’t exciting at all, just a collection of vegetables, eggs, and grain but it gave him an opportunity to see the bustling life of the common man. The village wasn’t far from a port town close to the Spanish border. The marketplace was better supplied than most given that proximity to a port, so it was always fascinating to see the handmade trinkets or foods that would never make it up to Paris. 

“Stop her!” 

Every instinct as a trained soldier flares to life at the shout that echoes across the marketplace. Aramis sees the culprit fleeing, ducking around vendors, before making a sprint to an old stone church. Three men follow close at your heels and Aramis joins in the chase before he remembers this isn’t his business any more. But that hesitation only lasts a moment before he makes his way to the back door of the church. Where else is he going to find a bit of excitement? Certainly not back at the monastery delivering food. Besides, you could be in need of help and what kind of monk would that make him if he didn’t offer help to those in need? 

When he comes through the back door, he sees four men now, armed with pistols and swords. They’re dressed in plain clothes, Spanish clothes, but their movements are most certainly that of soldiers. He stays hidden behind the table of candles, half of which are lit when he sees the confessional box on the other side of the sanctuary. A confessional that has a tip of a cloak peeking out from under the curtain. 

The door opens and two more men come in and start conversing in Spanish at the back. He catches phrases, I saw her come in here, Not too many places to hide, Confessional…

Aramis goes around the back of the dias and is able to reach the priest’s side of the confessional. So far, he can’t see any priest on that side of the box and there’s no whispered conversations happening. He takes the opportunity and slips into the confessional, quietly closing the door behind him. He hears a sharp intake of breath from the other side but there are no other sounds. You must be sitting as still as death to warrant not so much as a creak from the old wood bench. With a deep breath, he pulls back the slider that reveals the latticed window into your side of the box. 

“Your cloak is peeking out from under the curtain.” 

He hears the soft rustle of fabric as you pull it into the confessional. “Thank you. Uh, forgive me Father for I have sinned-” 

“I’m sure you have but that’s not why I’m here.” He can’t see much of your features but he can see your eyes, wide with surprise and a color caught between blue and gray. 

“You’re not a priest?” 

How to answer that question. “I’m afraid that’s a bit complicated at the moment but I can assure you that I’m not the one to give you absolution for your sins. There are six men, Spanish from the looks of it, out in the vestibule. Why are they here?” 

“You’re a soldier.” 

“In another lifetime. But I can still help you.” 

You take half a heartbeat to answer. “Do you know the innkeeper here, Jean Luc Moreau?” 

“I’m fairly new, I don’t know anyone yet.” 

“I was supposed to meet him but when I went by the inn, it was filled with Spanish,” you pause, “visitors.” 

“Soldiers.” You don’t say anything and that silence tells Aramis everything he needs to know. “You’re a French spy.” 

“I just need to wait for them to leave so I can deliver the letters to Moreau. He has someone who’s going to take them back to Paris but they’re not arriving until tomorrow afternoon.” 

“So we have some time to hide you.” Aramis starts planning an escape route but the sound of the Spanish soldiers outside the confessional interrupt him. “Stay in here, no matter what.” 

He steps out of the confessional and greets the soldiers that are circling the confessional. “Greetings, gentlemen. I’m afraid I’m the only Priest available at the moment, so if you would please just take a seat, we will be done momentarily.” 

“We’re not here for forgiveness,” the largest of the group says in heavily accented French. “We’re looking for a runaway.” 

“Ah, I’m afraid we haven’t had any children arrive-” 

“Not a child,” another man says, tall and blade thin. “A woman. Her father is in high standing, she was betrothed to a nobleman. We fear she may have gotten nervous about the marriage.” 

Aramis lays a hand over his heart. “I shouldn’t reveal anything about a parishioner’s confession, but I can assure you the lady currently in there is already married. And not much of a lady.” 

“We would like to wait to make sure it is not our master’s daughter, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course,” Aramis bows respectfully. There’s little he can do facing down six Spanish soldiers with no weapons other than his hands. He’ll have to rely on his brain then and hopefully some luck. As he goes back around to the priest’s entrance of the confessional, he runs into one of the priests. He immediately puts a finger to his mouth and the priest’s surprise turns quickly to understanding. Aramis tells him quickly about your plight and the need to get you to safety. He nods, telling Aramis to stay there safely out of sight of the six men who are now sitting in the pews. When he returns, he has a set of nun’s robes and he unlatches a false door that opens the confessor’s side of the box. 

It’s the first clear sight Aramis has had of you. You’re dressed in simple clothing, no jewelry. Your dark hair is braided and coiled at the base of your neck and your eyes, still that odd coloration, are even larger without the lattice barrier between you two. You’re scared, but your mouth is pressed in a firm line. It’s not your first tight spot, Aramis bets, but it’s definitely an alarming one nonetheless. The priest hands you the nun’s clothes. 

“Dress in these and leave your clothes in the confessional,” he whispers to you. “I’ll have one of the sisters wear your clothes out of here.” 

“You have a way for us to exit?” Aramis asks. 

“Yes,” the priest answers. “Take her up to the monastery with you. Dressed as one of our sisters, no one will say anything.” 

“Thank you, Father,” you say as you take the robes. 

Aramis touches the Priest’s arm. “Yes, thank you.” 

He closes the door so you can change privately. “Mademoiselle Sartre is a friend to our parish and this town. See that she remains safe.” 

“I will.” 

The hidden door opens again and you appear now in the simple nun robes. The priest points to the side hallway and Aramis pulls his hood up over his head. The two of you hurry through the side hallway and open the back door to the church, bringing you directly into the graveyard. Aramis lightly touches your elbow. 

“Keep your head down, leave the watchfulness to me.” 

“Alright.” 

Thankfully the food order had already been acquired so making their way back to the horse and wagon is a quick and efficient process. He helps you up into the front seat before climbing up himself. 

“Take a pass by the inn on the way out of town.”  

He nods and turns the horse in that direction. The innkeeper, Moreau, is standing outside the door feigning interest in the shoppers passing by. When his eyes land on the cart, you lay a hand on your heart. He responds similarly. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“No, keep going.” You turn your eyes forward again and Moreau goes back inside the tavern. “He knows I’ll return tomorrow. Besides, I don’t want to put him in danger of having the documents with the Spanish soldiers still around.” 

“Understandable. I’ll return with you tomorrow just in case our Spanish friends are still in town.” 

“That’s not necessary. I don’t want to put you in any more danger than I already have.” 

“I do have to say,” Aramis gives the town one last glance over his shoulder to make sure no one is following them, “today was a nice jolt of excitement.” 

You give him a smile, albeit a slight one. “You are the strangest monk I’ve ever come across.” 

“You will find no argument from me.” 

[bullet-prooflove]

Vigil: Captain Jean Treville x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@@lovemissyhoneybee @sekretwindow @rey4kat @roschele @sassyscottishchick @aiko24k @scorpio-1357 @burningpeachpuppy @swanfan17 @@dragon85faby @angelnyx @princesschyanne @caffeinatedwomann @@missyhoneybee

When you receive the news that Jean has been shot your entire universe is thrown into turmoil. You feel the air leave your lungs as the world shifts underneath your feet because you can’t imagine a world without Jean. You don’t want to exist in a place you where you don’t see his smile, or feel his calloused hands on your skin.

Porthos reaches out a hand to steady you and you flinch at his touch because everything is too raw, too bright, too sensitive. It feels like you’re being flayed alive.

You ride the two hour journey back to Paris without stopping. Poppy, your mare is panting by the time you reach the garrison, her poor legs almost run out from underneath her. You don’t wait for Porthos to help you down from your steed, you’re already slipping from the saddle and half way up the stairs by the time Athos steps in front of you blocking your path.

“Treville is alive.” He tells you, his tempestuous blue eyes meeting yours. “Aramis and Juliette have managed to remove the ball and the fluid from his lung. He’s currently resting but they say he’ll make a speedy recovery.”

The relief is palpable. For the first time since Porthos delivered the news it feels like you can take a breath. With it comes the rage, it ignites inside of you like a powder keg because someone gunned down your husband in the street, they shot him in the back like a fucking dog.

The anguish you’re feeling, Athos feels it too with every single fibre of his being. The only reason he’s even here right now is to ensure he doesn’t end up with another tragedy on his hands, that his Captain still has a wife at the end of it all.

The three of you have been friends for a long time. You’ve fought together, bled together, endured together, he has come to know you almost as well as he knows himself. He recognises the wildness in you, the impulse to go out there hunt down the animal that hurt the man you love.

“Terese.” He says quietly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders.  “He needs his wife right now, your love, your comfort...”

His words strike a cord deep within you because you cannot imagine the agony that Jean must be in, the terror he must have felt in those moments thinking each single one was his last.

“Swear to me.” You say fiercely, your palm coming to rest upon the patch embroidered onto his chest, the one that resides just over his heart. “Swear to me that you will find the person that did this, that you will bring them to justice.”

“You have my word.” He promises you before he inclines his head towards the door to your husband’s chambers. “Take care of our Captain, leave your vengeance to me.”

***

Jean’s chambers are well illuminated when you enter, candles light every available space like a vigil. You realise it’s because his Musketeers don’t want him to wake up panicked in the dark. The period after such a trauma is tempestuous with nightmares and half dreams, the mind can take a while to adjust. The gesture touches you because he means so much to the men that he commands, you can feel their love emanating through the room.

Jean is sleep on his bed in the corner, his back propped up against the wall with pillows because of the nature of his wound. His complexion is ashen, his breathing heavy. It tears at something inside you to see him like this, to know how close he came to death.

 It isn’t until you sit down in the chair alongside his bed that you realise he’s clasping a piece of parchment to his chest. You recognise the awful drawing of a wild flower, the one you had sketched out when you were trying to describe something you had seen  in Spain. You had no idea that he’d kept it, that he spends the nights he misses you tracing his fingers over it because he remembers your self-depreciating laugh when you’d showed it to him.

“I’m either dreaming or dead.” He grumbles, his eyes barely open as he surveys you from his position.

“You are very much alive, my love.” You say with a fond smile, your fingertips trailing over his grizzled cheek. “I’m to stay here a while, make sure you behave yourself.”

He smiles at that because you both know which one of you is the mischief maker of the relationship.

“Will you read to me?” He requests, his voice a rasp as he gestures to the book on the windowsill. “I long to hear the sound of your voice but I fear I won’t be able to hold much a conversation.”

You pick up the book before lowering yourself gently onto the bed alongside of him. He nestles against you, his head coming to rest upon your shoulder. Your lips brush over his temple before you open the book at the folded page and begin to study the words.

“Jean.” You chide affectionately as you review the title ‘Military Tactics Between 1550-1650’. “Surely you could have chosen some better reading material.”

Love Treville? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Honor and Espionage Part One

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 3284

Summary: The newest member of the team is abruptly introduced to Aramis’ wife- a high-ranking spy for the Musketeers who may be in over her head on her new assignment.

Notes: The chokehold that Aramis has on me is unreal. I love this man to the ends of the earth. Also, I had to make another Les Mis reference. Expect a lot of them in these imagines. 

Warning: Mild violence, some steaminess, the usual for these boys

Find more Musketeers: HERE

-

D’Artagnan still didn’t understand why they were there to begin with. The assignment made sense enough. Gather information, don’t approach the targets, and try not to cause any fights while at it. But the four of them had sat in the noisy tavern for hours now and there was no sign of anyone remotely resembling the treacherous representative of Savoy they were meant to spy on. 

“What if he doesn’t show up?” He whispered to the man across the table.

Aramis raised a brow. “Do you doubt Treville’s intel?” He smirked with his usual teasing mischief and patted the younger man on the arm. “Don’t worry, D’Artagnan. I’m sure our patience will be rewarded with at least something interesting.” 

He gazed over at the man Ambassador Laurent was supposed to be meeting- presumably to discuss secret information regarding the King’s plans of trade with Spain. The well-dressed middle-man bellowed flirtations to the woman whose back was turned to them, his face reddened with how much wine she’d brought him. Judging by the disinteresting angle of her head, his efforts were very much wasted. 

Then the woman stood and said something they couldn’t quite hear, but made Aramis’s brows furrow. She drew her hood up over her curled hair and slinked out of the tavern through the back entrance. The man stretched his arms and walked over to the counter to order another drink. 

D’Artagnan’s brain rushed around dozens of thoughts and settled on the possibility that the mystery woman could have been working with the ambassador. If not, she may have heard something of interest from the drunk and could be passing it on to another party, possibly even worse than the ambassador. 

“I’m going to go see where she’s off to,” D’Artagnan said.

“Wait-” Aramis started, but the young man was already halfway across the room. 

Aramis let the woman’s voice echo in his head. He may not have heard her words, but he knew that tone. He knew the curve of her neck and the curl of her pinned-up hair. But before he could follow D’Artagnan, and thus the woman, Athos’s instruction prevented him. 

“He’s here,” Athos hissed, motioning with his eyes for Aramis to remain where he was. Sure enough, the betraying bastard waltzed into the tavern with a grin on his face and an arrogant air about him. So, despite his nerves itching for him to move, Aramis remained while D’Artagnan sought out the cloaked woman. 

D’Artagnan moved without a sound down the alley behind the tavern, eyes scanning for the slightest motion to reveal where the woman had gone. A flash of cape caught the lamplight. He followed. The suspicious air about her exit further confirmed his suspicion that she was not just another bar wench looking for extra funds. Something else was certainly afoot. 

Inside, a roar of commotion stopped him in his tracks. He tried to decipher what the frantic people inside were shouting and could make out one word. 

“Poison!” 

He stepped forward and felt something metal touch the back of his neck. A click rang through the dark. 

“Don’t take another step.” An arm snaked around his neck and the barrel of the pistol moved to his chin. The woman spoke close to his ear. “Who sent you? Who knows about me?” 

“Madam, I assure you, I don’t know what you’re-”

She tightened her hold on his neck. “Do not play me for a fool, sir.”

The tavern’s occupants poured out of the front door in a panic. The Ambassador returned to his carriage and disappeared. 

Both D’Artagnan and the woman sighed with the same frustration. “Damn.” 

D’Artagnan’s brow furrowed in confusion. The woman stiffened. 

“Do you work for the ambassador?” She hissed. 

“Do you?” 

Another click cut off their conversation. 

“Let the boy go.” 

The woman turned, spinning D’Artagnan along with her. Her arm around his neck twitched and her tone changed with surprise. 

“Porthos?”

The Musketeer let his pistol fall to his side. “Y/N?” 

“You two know each other?” D’Artagnan squeaked, the pistol still pressed to his head making him increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Y/N.” 

Your heart fluttered, any semblance of control now betrayed by your excitement. You let your arm fall away from the young man’s chest and turned back around, facing the opening of the alley. There, caught in the lamplight, dark eyes glistened with adoring astonishment and a smile played across his lips. 

You gasped. “Aramis?” 

Forgetting where you were and the threat you’d just posed upon his compatriot, you dashed across the space dividing you and through your arms around him. His hands cupped your face as if making sure it was really you and pulled your lips to his. 

D’Artagnan, still breathless and reeling, whirled his head back and forth, from Porthos, to the couple, back to Porthos, back to the couple. 

“Would someone like to explain why Aramis is in the arms of the woman who just tried to kill me?” He exclaimed. 

“You followed me,” you quipped, taking a step forward in confrontation. Aramis tsked and held you back with an arm around your waist. 

“We were simply unaware of your being here, darling, otherwise I imagine things would have gone very differently.” He purred and pressed another kiss to your cheek before turning back to the younger trainee. “D’Artagnan.” He held out a hand to him, then to you. “Allow me to introduce Y/N D’Herblay, Captain of the Musketeers Covert Intelligence, and,” he held you tighter, “my wife.” 

D’Artagnan clamped his mouth shut to prevent his jaw from dropping in surprise. The smooth-talking Musketeer was married?

Horse’s shrill protests echoed down the street as the ambassador’s carriage tried to cut through the crowd of people trying to find out what happened. You laid a hand on your husband’s chest and urged him deeper into the shadows. 

“Perhaps we should continue this introduction elsewhere, else my cover will be revealed,” you said. 

He nodded and led you back into the tavern with a hand on the small of your back. 

D’Artagnan, mouth now agape, watched the two of you go. 

“But-” 

“Come on,” Porthos huffed, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him inside. 

-

While Athos and Porthos dealt with the poisoned man you’d just met with, the other two Musketeers secured a private room in order to keep you hidden from any other investigating parties. Aramis’s hand never left yours, leading you and the man you’d nearly killed upstairs. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, darling,” you said once the door was shut behind you. “But what are you all doing here?”

“We could ask the same thing,” D’Artagnan exclaimed. 

You scoffed. “This is my assignment.” You turned an angry gaze on your husband. “Who is this?” Your voice rang through the room. Aramis held up his hands to try and calm you. 

“A moment, dear.” His charming smile was betrayed by anxiety in his eyes. “We mustn't lose our heads. There is a dead man downstairs.” 

“That she likely killed!” D’Artagnan quickly regretted his words, receiving warning glares from both of them. 

You let out a low sigh and removed your cloak, pacing across the small room. It was only then that Aramis saw how your hands shook. 

“I didn’t kill Baffier, I was using him to get closer to the ambassador.” 

Aramis nodded. “And you think Laurent killed him to prevent him from passing on information?” 

You looked at him with wide eyes and a fear that shot through his heart. 

“I don’t think the poison was meant for him.” 

Aramis’s face fell. Unable to bear the loving worry in his eyes, you turned to the open window to breathe in the night air. 

“You think Laurent knows about you?” D’Artagnan asked. Aramis was at your side in seconds, taking your hand in his.

“It’s ridiculous,” you sighed. “My life has been threatened countless times-”

“Countless times?” Aramis exclaimed. You raised a brow. “Sorry, love. Continue.” 

Your breathing turned shaky and you looked away again. “But to have someone die in my place…” 

Aramis lifted your chin with his finger, eyes alight and staring deeply into yours. 

“If you think your position has been compromised, then it is too dangerous for you to remain here. We must return you to Paris immediately.” 

You shook your head and pushed away from him. “All Laurent knows is my name. Thanks to Baffier- God rest his soul- I now have an invitation to a very important dinner where I will hopefully learn the extent of the ambassador's plans.” 

“You can’t be serious,” your husband exasperated. “We have no way of knowing if all he knows is your name. Baffier could very well have been the one to sell you out, or even poison you!” Deep brown eyes pleaded with yours. “You cannot continue.” 

“Fortunately, dear, you are not the one who gives me orders,” you snapped. “This dinner has been what Treville and I have been working toward for months. I’m not going to let a small threat get in the way.”

“I doubt the dead man downstairs would agree with your assessment of this threat level!” He shouted, more out of panic than of anger. 

“She’s right, Aramis.” Athos, having come from the havoc downstairs, closed the door behind him as he entered.  “A barmaid confessed to mixing Y/N’s drink and that Baffier accidentally drank from the wrong cup.” He crossed the room to the couple and spoke again before Aramis could interject. “But she cannot surrender the opportunity to get the closest to Laurent we’ve ever been.” 

“But you’ve just said it!” Aramis exclaimed. “One attempt has already been made on her life. How is that possibly not enough to convince Treville sending her would be a mistake.” 

“The barmaid said that it was Baffier who threatened her into poisoning Y/N’s wine,” Athos said. “He hadn’t the chance to reveal the truth about her to Laurent because the fool fell on his own sword. Y/N’s mission will go on as planned.” 

Aramis stepped forward, but you took his arm to calm him. 

Athos turned to you. “When are you set to leave for the ambassador’s estate?” 

“Day after next,” you answered, hand still on your husband’s shoulder. The lie formed a necessary lump in your throat. You just needed to buy yourself some time.  “The dinner is to celebrate his success as an advisor to the king.” Your last words were thick with irony. 

“Then you’ll have plenty of time to prepare and we’ll have plenty of time to ensure you aren’t walking into a trap.” Athos nodded and headed back for the door. He motioned for D’Artagnan to follow. “Everything is taken care of downstairs. The local authorities are taking Baffier and the barmaid.” A small smile crept onto his lips as he looked between the two of you. “And the room is paid for through the night. We’ll reconvene at dawn.” 

The two men left and the room fell into a tense silence. You began to pace again. 

“We agreed when we married that we wouldn’t interfere with each other’s work,” you sighed. “I know it isn’t easy. Lord knows how many nights I’ve spent wondering if you were alive or dead.” You stopped, feet firm on the ground and head high. “But I have to do this. It may be the only way to know the extent of Laurent’s plans.” 

Aramis closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and returned his gaze to yours. 

“I know.” 

You were taken aback. Frankly, you hadn’t expected the argument to be over so quickly. Usually, the two of you could debate from dusk til dawn. But Aramis knew that when your mind was set, there was no changing it. Still, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins forced your tongue. 

“I still don’t understand what you are doing here to begin with. Treville can’t have sent you to keep an eye on me, he trusts me more than that. I wonder-”

Aramis stopped you with a kiss. 

“My love,” he started, breathing a sigh against your lips. “We haven’t seen each other in weeks. I had hoped our reunion would be a little less argumentative.” Soothing hands traveled up and down your spine. He moved his kisses along your collarbone. 

“In all of the fuss, I’d almost forgotten how much I missed you,” you laughed, tangling your fingers in his chocolate-colored locks. 

As suspected, the room- and your adrenaline- were put to very good use. 

-

Aramis woke to an empty bed and for a moment a wave of panic rushed over him. He sat straight up and called out your name before he saw the sun outside his window and remembered Athos’ instructions from the night before. Ease comforted him, but only for a moment. He remembered why you were here in the first place and a new set of worries filled his mind. 

“You’re late.” Porthos peaked through a crack in the door. “May I come in? Are the two of you decent?” 

Aramis let out a deep sigh. “It’s just me. Y/N must have already gone downstairs.” 

Porthos swung the door open. Perplexion painted his features. 

“No, she hasn’t.” 

The two exchanged a glance of frustrated understanding and Aramis hurried to collect his clothes. 

“I should have known,” he muttered. 

“Why would she have taken off?” Porthos asked. “We’re here to help her.” 

Aramis secured his trousers and pulled his billowing shirt over his head. He grabbed the rest of his belongings and met his fellow musketeer at the door with a scowl. 

“Exactly.” 

Porthos held out an arm to stop him. “What’s that?” He jerked his chin at the table beside the bed where a small roll of paper sat with a ribbon tied around it. Aramis picked it up and held the thin fabric between his fingers. You’d worn it in your hair the night before. The parchment contained a single sentence written in your delicate handwriting. 

“I have to do this,” Aramis read with a grimace. He crumpled the page in his fist and gave a ferocious glare to his companion. 

“Don’t look at me,” Porthos huffed. “You’re the one that married her.” 

Aramis shoved past him and thundered down the stairs where Athos and D’Artagnan were waiting. Athos turned and his face fell with confusion to see only the two men descending. It took only a moment and a glance at Aramis’s fiery and frantic expression to understand. 

“She’s going alone, isn’t she?” He sighed. He ran a hand down his face. “I suspected this may happen. That’s why I secured the room, so that you may keep an eye on her.” Athos glared pointedly at your husband. 

“I assure you, if I had known her plot I would have tied her down,” Aramis said. Porthos raised a brow, earning a smack. “Not like that, you idiot.” 

D’Artagnan, who’d been silent until now, coughed and looked guiltily down at the floor. “She left around 5:00 this morning.” 

Aramis had his hand on his collar in a flash. “You saw her leave and didn’t think to, I don’t know, wake me?” 

“Actually,” D’Artagnan gulped. “I spoke to her.” 

“I fail to see how that helps you in this instance.”

“I let her go because she’s right.” The younger man gently removed Aramis’s hands from his shirt and took a cautious step back. “If the ambassador so much as theorizes that we may be onto him, it would be much more dangerous for her than if she were to simply go alone.”

“Then why did Treville send us if he's the one that assigned her?” Porthos asked. 

“He sent us to find out who Laurent was meeting and why, not to infiltrate his likely well-guarded home,” Athos said. He thought for a moment, noting Aramis’s chest heave with his breathing. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t observe from afar just in case anything goes amiss. Laurent’s estate will take nearly all day to reach. We should leave now.” 

Aramis was the first to the door, but he was stopped by the youngest member of their group. 

“What now?” He hissed. 

D’Artagnan reached a hand into his pocket and held something in his fist. “She was afraid it would be too dangerous to have on her person and asked me if you’d look after it for her.” 

He opened his hand, a small band of gold sitting in his gloved palm. Aramis picked it up. The inscription glittered in the morning sunlight and pierced his heart. 

L’amour Vainc Tout. 

Love conquers all. 

He brought the ring to his lips and muttered a prayer against the metal that you were right. 

-

The carriage jostled, worsening the nerves that twisted your stomach. You took a deep breath and attempted to clear your mind. Whispers of the night before teased your memory, the phantom of Aramis’s lips still burning your skin. You glanced out of the window at the French countryside, nearing the Savoyan border. 

He’d be awake now, worried and probably furious. No. Definitely furious. You could see his fuming face now as the other musketeers likely tried to calm him. The younger one- D’Artagnan- would hopefully have told them what you’d said to convince him to let him go. Athos would see the logic and would prevent your husband from acting rashly and storming Laurent’s estate. 

You hoped. 

Either way, by the time they arrived, you would be well into your mission of charming Laurent and his rich companions to gather the information Treville needed in order to sway the king’s opinion on Laurent and his treachery. 

“If I could halt all the violence in the world so we didn’t have to do what we do, I would,” Aramis had whispered as you laid together in the darkness of the night before. 

You’d laughed against his chest. “No, you wouldn’t.” In between words, you had kissed up the length of his neck until you reached his lips. “Because neither of us would know what to do with ourselves if we didn’t have something to fight for.” 

Aramis remained in your thoughts for the rest of the journey, though when you saw the grand house come out from over the hill, you forced his smile to the back of your mind and, like a lever in your chest, switched on your flattering facade that allowed you to do your work with a smile. Ever the perfect spy. 

Your legs ached from the hours of travel and you took a moment to stretch them as you stepped out of the carriage and onto the stone path that stretched through the front gardens and up to the ambassador’s mansion. The sun had already started to dip below the horizon and servants lit candles in the parlor. 

“This way, Madame…” The butler began. 

“Mademoiselle de Valjean,” you beamed. You took the invitation you’d procured from Baffier and handed it to him with a graceful motion. “I’m a close friend of the Duchess of Savoy and I’m just dying to make the ambassador’s acquaintance.” 

“I’m sure you are.” A new voice sounded from the shadows. A maid lit another candle and revealed a dazzling pair of hazel eyes alight in the flame. She put on a smile that matched your own as you hid your surprise well. The woman you only knew as Milady de Winter crossed the parlor and took your hands in hers. “Madame de Valjean, how lovely it is to see you again.” She said your false name with a knowing glint in her eye. 

This was going to be more difficult than you thought.

-

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

Seperation

A/N: When Athos leaves for a dangerous mission to protect Aramis and you, his sister, Aramis worries a lot about his friend. You feel guilty for his suffering, being the main reason Athos went away in the first place. I've been meaning to include Athos in these stories for a while now. I hope you enjoy. :)

Your brother had fallen asleep on a chair.

His hat was half-covering his face, his arms crossed over his chest. It couldn't be very comfortable, the way the back of the chair was digging into his spine. But he couldn't help it - he was exhausted.

From time to time, you were looking up from the tissue you were embroidering, sending him a long look to make sure he wasn't about to slip off the wood and slam on the ground. You'd told him multiple times, you'd stay awake in his place and wait for Athos to return, you'd even promised to go wake him up and tell him, when he'd arrived. But Aramis wouldn't hear a word of it. With a tired smile he'd insisted that he would stay up and wait and after a while he'd stopped responding altogether, simply guarding that tired smile and looking out of the window into the cold night.

Three weeks before, Athos had left for a dangerous mission, Treville had originally intended to give to your brother. You'd been present, when a fight had arisen between the different parties. After Treville had ordered Aramis to travel to Spain to escort a French nobelman, Athos had gone pale and demanded the mission for himself. You'd given him a funny look, quickly followed by your brother who was not at all amused by this turn of events. Treville had established that it was a one-man-job and that Athos, being the senior to Aramis, had the right to take over the mission if he so wished. Athos had insisted to do exactly that and Aramis had responded with an expression of hurt, confusion and concern that had made Treville fumble around uncomfortably.

You knew that France and Spain were at war, but you did not immediately understand what had driven both, your brother and Athos, to act the way they had. Until you'd overheard a conversation, the night before Athos' departure.

"Do you really believe, I will allow you to go into a war zone all alone, while (Y/N) worries herself sick here?" You'd come to a halt in the courtyard of the garison, the hairs on your neck standing up. Looking up, you'd seen your brother watch Athos pack his travel bag from the dark corner of his friend's room, his face in shadows.

"That is not fair. Do you believe that I will worry less?" Your brother had lowered his head as if in pain, his voice rough and quiet.

"Aramis," Athos had taken him firmly by the shoulders and your brother had never looked smaller nor younger in your eyes, "you are my sworn brother, you know that, but more importantly you are the brother of (Y/N), you have a responsibility towards her, she needs you! And as long as I can provide you stay alive for her, I will do my best to keep it that way."

Athos had gently squeezed your brother's shoulders, before returning to his backpack to finish packing. Your brother had remained silent for a while, gazing at the floor with empty eyes. Then he'd quietly left the room. He'd closed the door so gently behind himself, that it had broken your heart.

Athos and Porthos were the brothers Aramis had never had. Upon meeting them, he'd learned what it meant to be protected and supported by someone like himself - while also getting to know the stubbornness of that protection and the frustration that could come with it. Athos had decided to protect him (and you) and there was nothing your brother could do about it.

Throughout the three weeks of Athos' absence, Aramis hadn't really been himself. He'd been quiet and distant, working hard and sleeping little to not at all. You and Porthos had tried everything to get him out of this haze, but not even the idea of a night out in the tavern had lured him out into the bright side of day.

You'd started to feel incredibly guilty for the state he was in. In the end, you had been the reason for Athos' decision to leave in the place of your brother. You'd heard them talk about it after all. And while you couldn't be more grateful to him for having spared you weeks of worry and fear, you were feeling terrible due to your brother now having to go through these exact emotions. You watched your brother suffer and died of shame.

------------------

One night during the three weeks of Athos' absence, you got up to get a glass of water, only to find Aramis sitting by the window, the moon in his face. The guilt immediately surged in you, like a wave washing over you on the shore. You sat down beside him and looked at his sleep-deprived face. He tried to smile at you, but that only made your heart hurt more. You took his hand and asked a serious question. "Do you want me to go?"

He quirked an eyebrow, allowing a hint of the normal Aramis to trace his features. "Go where?"

You swallowed and looked at his hand in yours, turning it around in your own to tickle his palm. "Go away. Go back home or something. Just away from here."

He closed his hand firmly, halting your fingers, and pulled rather harshly, making you gasp. The quirked-brow Aramis made room for another Aramis that you knew very well: the angry one. Furious brown eyes bore into your own. Slightly penched forward, he looked for an answer in your expression.

"Why would you say something like that?" Before the two of you had whispered, feeling it appropriate for night time. Now, he spoke with a voice loud enough to cut through the darkness.

You tried to pull your hand back, but he only closed his own tighter around yours, informing you without a trace of doubt that he did not like your suggestion in the slightest. Tears sprang to your eyes.

"I'm sorry, but look at you!!" You had not expected to grow angry yourself - neither had he, judging by the way his eyes grew in size. "This is my fault!! If I weren't here, if you didn't have to take care of me, your friends wouldn't opt in to take on missions you could easily manage yourself. You wouldn't have to worry about Athos, you'd be free to do whatever you like, but I am... holding you back."

Speechless, Aramis stared at you, too disbelieving to really understand the reality of your words. A tear started its journey down your cheek and you violently ripped your hand out of Aramis' grasp to brush it off. His features softened, sadness dripping from his every pore. He reached for your arm again, but you pulled it out of his reach, sniffing against your will.

When he spoke again, you could hear a small smile tainting his words, your antics quite getting to him. "You silly little goose, what are you talking about? You're not holding me back in the least. You keep me sane."

Surprised, you turned your head to look at him again, tears blurring your view.

Despite the rings under his eyes, he lifted his eyebrows, nodding with a meaningful smile on his features. "Duh. Does that really surprise you? Imagine me having to deal with things on my own! Yes, you need me, but the feeling is mutual! Who would I be without you, (Y/N)? We're a full package. A package of two!" His shoulder pushed against yours and you couldn't help but let out a huff.

"And Athos?" You asked, looking up at your brother's tired face.

Aramis hummed slightly and lowered his chin. "Don't worry about that. It's my problem. I am always concerned about him. Sometimes I get the feeling that he puts himself in dangerous situations on purpose, as if he wished... but that has nothing to do with you being here, (Y/N). I'm sorry if I made you feel that way, I just..."

He sighed and you looked on, nodding. "I get it. This is exactly how I feel, when you are gone."

Soft eyes landed on you again and when he reached for your hand this time, you took it and put your head on his shoulder. You stayed like this for a while, before he got up, pulling you with him and not hesitating for a second, before grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder. You squeaked, before reprimanding him for disturbing the peace of night which he did not take very seriously - possibly your giggles weren't very convincing.

He threw you on your bed and wished you a good night, apparently believing he could just go back to his seat on the window sill to keep staring at the moon. As if he would ever let you get away with something like that!

When he leaned down to kiss your forehead, you threw your arms around him and wrestled him down on the bed, clinging to him and wrapping your legs around him to give him no means to shake you off, before tickling him wherever you could reach.

At first he tried to stay all stoic - as he often did - hurrumping and twitching, but allowing no other reaction to escape him. When you managed to weasle your hand under his arm, though, he collapsed and for the first time since Athos had left for Spain you'd heard him let out real, deep, whole-hearted laughter that did both of you some good.

---------------------------

So now he was asleep and Athos was supposed to arrive at the garison soon.

You thought back to all the times, you had been in a similar situation, walking up and down in your apartment to pass the time until your brother would come home. And when he'd finally entered, all the times your brother had tried to remain standing upright when you had thrown yourself at him, almost suffocating him with your hugs.

You startled when a feather tickled behind your ear. Turning around in lightspeed, you were met with a very tired but relieved looking Athos, the feathered hat in his hand. He opened his arms as if to say: here I am.

A great joy took over you and you quickly threw your arms around his neck and buried your face at his shoulder, the smell of leather, alcohol and earth crawling into your nose. He cradled and weighed you gently, sweet as ever he was to you.

If you had to describe the way you felt about Athos, you would never say that he was like a brother to you - Aramis would grow terribly jealous. Aside from that, he simply didn't feel like a brother. Athos was more like a godfather. He was wise and calm and sometimes you felt like his apprentice, someone he could guide and influence a little in life.

He gently removed himself from your hug and put a hand on your shoulder, moving his chin in the direction of your brother. "How is he doing?"

You winced, putting on an unhappy expression. "He's barely been sleeping."

Athos huffed softly at that and put down his backpack. "I see. He's always been a little dramatic."

You watched with a smile as Athos approached the sleeping Aramis carefully. He crouched down next to him and looked at his half-hidden face, before looking back at you and nodding as if he understood better now what you'd meant with 'he's barely been sleeping'.

In order to wake him, Athos started squeezing one of his knees. It didn't take a full minute, before your brother startled awake and moved to hold onto Athos' hand with both of his. Athos raised one brow in greeting, while Aramis, judging by the way he was looking at Athos, was torn between amusement, relief and anger.

"Stop that." He said between gritted teeth.

"Hello to you, too." Athos replied with a calm smile on his lips.

"I'm serious."

"Sometimes a bit too much, even."

"Athos!"

Smiling to himself, Athos did remove his hand from Aramis' knee and, barely having stood up again, was met with a full on hug from his part. Aramis was clinging to him just the littlest bit, with his eyes closed and his nose buried at Athos' shoulder.

It always moved you to see your brother get emotional and a little vulnerable and Athos was no different from you. He held him close and weighed him just the way he had done with you. They didn't say a word and you had to swallow, trying to keep your cool as much as possible. After a while though, Athos lifted his brow again.

"If you are falling asleep on me, I will not hesitate to drop you."

"I'm not."

Athos sent you a meaningful look.

"Let's get you to bed, shall we?"

Aramis agreed slurredly and let go off his friend, only to almost stumble over the chair he'd been sitting on. You had to stifle a laugh. Athos shrugged. "I suppose, we need a hand here, (Y/N)."

Somehow you both managed to get one of Aramis' sleep-heavy arms over your shoulders and to drag him to your apartment and to tug him in, without dropping him more than once.

Proudly, you put your hands on your hips. "Finally, he will get some sleep again."

Athos looked at you in the half-dark room and remained silent before quietly saying: "I think Spain would have been hard on him without you."

You tried to meet Athos' gaze in the darkness, but he only squeezed your shoulder one last time, before turning to leave the room.

And Aramis was the dramatic one? You shook your head slightly, before pulling Aramis' blanket up some more and placing a kiss on his forehead.

When you went to bed, you started to ponder the ever same idea again. To prevent further painful seperations and sleepless nights, there was only one thing you had to do: become a musketeer.

[duckprintspress]

Meet the Contributors to Our Next Anthology!

The time has come: we're ready to share the contributor list for our forthcoming anthology Aim For The Heart: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Alexandre Dumas's "The Three Musketeers"!

For this collection, 15 artists and 21 authors have created fanart, original art, fanfiction, and original fiction inspired by the adventures of Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan. We have been hard at work on this anthology since last fall, and we're anticipating a crowdfunding launch in late spring or early summer. We'll have lots of teasers, excerpts, a cover reveal, merchandise announcements, and more to come, but first - meet the creators!

Artists

Aceriee: Hi! I’m Aceriee and I draw sometimes. I’ve been drawing all my life, but after falling into the Supernatural fandom in 2014 I’ve mostly focused on fanart. (Instagram | Tumblr | Twitter)

Cris Alborja: I’m an illustration and comic artist from Spain. I’ve got a nursing degree, but I decided to pursue my passion. I have studied Illustration at EASD Pablo Picasso in A Coruña and comics at O Garaxe Hermético in Pontevedra. I have done cover art for an anthology called Infiniteca by Retranca Editorial and comics for Altar Mutante, Nai dos Desterrados, and Abraxas en Cuarentena fanzines, as well as in Gaspariño 21 by Retranca Editorial. (Instagram)

bloomingtea: Téa is a hypothetical writer and artist, a professional procrastinator, and a merch hoarder. When they aren’t working on personal projects, they moderate zines and bake the same loaf of bread over and over again. From their pile of WIPs, they’ve managed to self-publish one book and are currently working on other manuscripts to eventually release into the world. Until then, they remain the worst gamer on Twitch and like to spend their free time ranting about books and thinking about fictional lawyer video games. (Personal Website | Twitter)

C: A massive drinker of coffee and a lover of old TV shows and movies, C is a small-time concept artist and illustrator who likes to dabble in all things literature and history. When she’s not busy drawing and nodding along to Bruce Springsteen while researching the Kentucky Cave Wars, she’s trying to save up for grad school to become to a forensic artist so she can draw some more. (Tumblr)

Amy Fincher: Amy Fincher (she/her) is a producer and artist with over a dozen years of experience in the video game and animation industries. She has contributed to various AAA and indie titles, including the Civilization, XCOM, and Skylanders series. Amy is currently working on Open Roads as Executive Producer. When the mood strikes and time allows, she teaches art classes and takes on art commissions on the side. Her hobbies include learning aerial silks, collecting aesthetically pleasing empty containers, looking at shiny rocks, and taking very long naps.

Kou Lukeman: Kou Lukeman is an artist, composer, writer, and video-game developer. His long-term goal is to someday lead a video-game company that makes video games by queer and neurodivergent people. Kou identifies as queer, neurodivergent, and is proud to be both. He is an avid Final Fantasy 14 player, a huge Kingdom Hearts fan, and video games have inspired Kou to create from a very young age. While his main creative interests tend to be in queer and neurodivergent horror, Kou also dabbles in fantasy as a genre. He is currently working on releasing his first few games and a graphic horror novel about neurodiversity and queer people in society. (Instagram)

Giulia Malagoli:

Giulia Malagoli (she/they) got into art because of generally friendly competition with a classmate in middle school, and now she has an entire Bachelor’s Degree in Concept Art to show for it. 

For about ten years, she has been hopping through fandom spaces—from video games, to comics, to movies and TV series—and has drawn inspiration from each of them for both fan and original art. The result is a passion for character design and for art that weaves a story into its visuals, with a whole lot of feelings about the role of The Narrative to boot. 

To chase this passion Giulia has moved from their home country of Italy to the United Kingdom and back again. They now work as a freelance illustrator with enthusiasm, always scraping some time at the end of the day to keep up with fandom friends. (ArtStation | Twitter)

MidnightSilver: I’m MidnightSilver (They/Them). I’m a freelance artist who specialises in fandom art, most often inspired by Supernatural the TV show, and I can usually be found illustrating stories for independent authors—my favourites are those that combine adventure/magic/horror with a boatload of feels! As a bi, non-binary, mixed-race person, I don’t believe in restrictive boundaries, and I love tales that highlight diversity and freedom of expression while at the same time incorporating the fantastical and magical elements that I fell in love with when reading stories as a child. It’s my aim to take all the many wondrous worlds and people with whom we visit when lost in book pages at 2 o’clock in the morning and to share them with you in visual form. It’s a project I never tire of pursuing. (Archive of Our Own | deviantArt)

Queen Sponge Studios: Thanks for reading my bio! My name is Sponge, and I use they/them pronouns! I am currently studying for a Game Arts degree through online courses at SNHU. Along with working at a thrift store, I enjoy working on projects with others. Based in Northern Wisconsin, I majorly entertain myself through art and media pertaining to it. On the long list of my hobbies, I enjoy staying active as well as collecting. I am an avid, crazed Sanrio fanatic with a long list of fandoms dating all the way back to when I was ten. I may be more reserved, but I love making new connections through creation! Meeting like-minded individuals working toward a common goal has been the most fulfilling experience I have had to date. As a young artist, I have dabbled in vending at conventions, game art, and selling my own merchandise online. I hope to one day fully chase after my ambitions of artistry full-time through a studio! Thank you for your support and interest in my work! (Etsy | Instagram | TikTok)

Jennifer Smith: Smith has been drawing since a young age. With a focus in traditional drawing techniques, she has recently started using digital mediums to imitate traditional styles. Her focus is in portraiture and landscapes, especially with watercolor. You can find more of her art on her Tumblr. (Tumblr)

Toby.exe: Freelance Animator and Illustrator based in the UK. He/They LGBTQ+ friendly little goblin who plays excessive amounts of DnD and loves to play Live Action Roleplay events all over the country! If I am not at home drawing, I am out and about playing a variety of fantasy characters in the woods and hitting people with silly foam swords. (Personal Website | Instagram | Patreon | Twitter)

Jupiter V: Hailing from Kjipuktuk/Halifax, Nova Scotia (that’s in Canada), Jupiter V is an artist, musician, and creative crackerjack with a career spanning over a decade. Cutting their teeth designing award-winning gig posters, they’ve gone on to illustrate for film, graphic fiction, children’s literature, and more. At times, they have been caught painting murals at the circus (?!) and whooping their child mercilessly in Rivals of Aether. 

Jupiter is currently toiling away at their next graphic work of fiction, Wizards 99k, as we speak. (Instagram)

Amy Alexander Weston: Alex, AKA foxymoley, (she/her) is best described as a jack of all trades, but practices digital art more than anything else. She just wants to make things and change the world for the better. (Archive of Our Own | Instagram | Tumblr)

Amalia Zeichneren: Amalia Zeichnerin (she/her) lives in Hamburg, Germany. She is a disabled queer woman with a chronic illness and lives in a polyam polycule. Amalia mostly writes original fiction (SFF, cosy Victorian mysteries, Queer Romance) in German and has also one English Star Wars fan fiction on AO3, with one of her favorite shippings, StormPilot. Amalia also likes to draw and paint, especially fantasy world maps, character portraits, and sometimes also fanart. Amalia’s hobbies include pen-and-paper RPG and LARPing; these also have inspired some of her writing and artworks. (Linktree)

Jagoda Zirebiec: Hiya! I’m Jagoda or MizuShiba. I am a game dev artist currently working on a few unannounced titles. In my spare time I love to join collaborative projects like this, or charity Zines. This is my first project with DPP and hopefully not last! 

I’m located in Poland and currently live here with my family. Aside from art, I’m interested in collecting dice and playing ttrpgs with friends. (ArtStation | Tumblr | Twitter)

Authors

Len Amin: Len Amin was brought up living between worlds in her small suburban town in the Midwest throughout the year, and summering frequently to visit her Palestinian Family living in the West Bank. Her family is larger-than-life in true Arabian fashion, including a very prissy puppy named Charles who refuses to sleep alone and chews up all of her sister’s barbie dolls. Though never quite feeling like she belonged in either world, she instead fell in love with the stories with the people that resided in these places—how the humanity can be found so effortlessly if one just delved that bit deeper into someone’s “once upon a time.” Etching down words into her flower-printed journals and shuffling a fresh spread from her star-printed tarot deck for her friends were always her way to connect to someone and to open up that channel of understanding. Len is now about to hit her mid-twenties, and has nothing to lose as she strives for her Social Work degree while also focusing on her true passion of writing her first full-length novel. You can find the updates on her writing journey, and support her endeavors on her Tumblr page. (Archive of Our Own | Tumblr | Twitter)

Aria L. Deair: Aria L. Deair is an author who has been writing and (while cursing her excessive comma usage) publishing fanfiction online for more than sixteen years. Freelance writer by day and author every other hour that she isn’t sleeping, she spends her days courting carpal tunnel and “forgetting” to wear her wrist brace.

As a proud member of more fandoms than she can count, Aria can be found blogging about some of the writing that she is avoiding doing at arialerendeair.tumblr.com.

Like a dragon with her hoard, she can be found in her New Hampshire apartment, surrounded by notebooks (most of which are empty), half-filled mugs of tea, and some of the comfiest blankets that have ever existed. Disturb her at your own risk, especially during NaNo Season. (Discord: Dragon#5555 | Tumblr | Twitter)

E. V. Dean: E. V. Dean is a writer with a decade of fanfiction writing under her belt. She’s embarking on her original fiction adventure with the angst tag kept within arm’s reach. Her favorite excuse not to write is watching Jeopardy. (Instagram | Tumblr)

Rhosyn Goodfellow: Rhosyn Goodfellow is an author of queer romance and speculative fiction living with her spouse and two dogs in the Pacific Northwest, where she is sad to report that she has not yet mysteriously disappeared or encountered any cryptids. Her hobbies include spoiling the aforementioned dogs, drinking inadvisable amounts of coffee, and running unreasonably long distances very slowly. She’s secretly just a collection of loosely-related stories dressed up in a meat suit. (Personal Website | Instagram | Mastodon | Tumblr | Twitter)

Catherine E. Green: Catherine E. Green (pronouns: xe/xem/xyr or they/them/their) is an agender person, one who’s had an on-again, off-again love affair with writing. Xe began writing when xe was a wee thing, when xyr other major pastimes were playing xyr mother’s NES and roughhousing with the boys next door. It’s only in the past few years that they have begun writing consistently and publishing their writing, fanfiction and original writing alike, leading to their first published short story titled “Of Loops and Weaves.” 

Outside of writing, xe is a collector of books and sleep debt and an avid admirer of the cosmos. Playing video games, reading a variety of fiction genres (primarily fantasy, queer romance, and manga and graphic novels of all kinds), and working on wrangling their own personal data archiving projects occupy most of their free time. Xe has also started meeting up with a local fiber arts group and is excited to be crocheting xyr first scarf.

J. D. Harlock: J.D. Harlock is a Syrian-Lebanese-Palestinian writer and editor based in Beirut. In addition to his posts at Wasifiri, as an editor-at-large, and at Solarpunk Magazine, as a poetry editor, his writing has been featured in Strange Horizons, Star*Line, and the SFWA Blog. You can always find him on Twitter and Instagram posting updates on his latest projects. (Instagram | Twitter)

A. L. Heard: A. L. Heard is an aspiring writer from Pittsburgh. She’s been writing fanworks for over a decade and self-published her first novel, Hockey Bois, in 2021. Some of her short stories have been published through the indie press Duck Prints Press, where she also contributes as an editor. Ultimately, though, she spends her free time writing about characters she adores in worlds she’d like to explore: contemporary romance, historical fiction, science fiction, and fantasy. In between writing projects, she works as a language teacher, plays hockey, tours breweries with her boyfriend, and spends her evenings playing dinosaurs with her two sons. (Instagram | Twitter)

D. A. Hernández: AKA Mitch, an author who works as a teacher, reads fanfiction compulsively, tells anyone who will listen about their weird dreams, takes long naps, and once in a while manages to write a story or two. You can find another of their stories in the Duck Prints Press anthology She Wears the Midnight Crown. 

Mitch’s playlist includes metal, pop, electronic, bluegrass, reggaeton and cumbia. (Twitter)

R. L. Houck: R. L. Houck (she/her) still has one of the first stories she ever wrote, all the way back from elementary school. It was about flightless penguins reaching the sun and was a good indication of her boundless imagination and her love of animals. The latter became a full-time veterinary career; the former keeps her occupied with fanfiction and original fiction in her downtime. 

She’s sometimes found wandering the woods around her house in Virginia with her dog. If not there, she’s sitting on the couch, catching up on a Netflix series, and smothered by her five cats. Sometimes, there’s even space for her wife. (TikTok)

Lucy K. R.: Lucy K.R. (she/her) is technically in existence. Every time she is free, she writes. Sometimes when she is not free she also writes. This has occasionally created problems. She is fortunate to be supported (read: enabled) by her enthusiastic fiancée Tomo, a loving OG family, and a lively found family as well.

Eager for a change after a decade of waitressing, Lucy K.R. took the chance in March of 2021 to make her first steps into the world of published work. Prior to the success of the largely-fabricated German translation of the short-story found in this collection, ‘die Karaoke-Königinnen’, she was best known for her work on Mageling: Rise of the Ancient Ones and in the Duck Prints Press anthologies “And Seek (Not) to Alter Me” and “She Wears the Midnight Crown”.

In her stories, Lucy K. enjoys writing evil ideas as gently as possible, portrayed through unexpected lenses. She would like to acknowledge that she has never written a biographical statement that did not turn out weird, beg your indulgence, and express her hope that you enjoy her work in this anthology. The people at Duck Prints Press have been a delight, and she is deeply grateful to be included! (Personal Website | Twitter)

Aeryn Jemariel Knox: Aeryn Jemariel Knox first identified as a writer in second grade. With both parents involved in theater and a house full of bookshelves, they grew up surrounded by stories, and as soon as they could hold a crayon, they felt the urge to tell their own. In 2001, they discovered the wide and wonderful world of fanfiction; since then, they have gone by Jemariel in fandom spaces across the internet, engaging with their favorite media and communities in the best way they know. Previous fandoms include Harry Potter, Star Trek (The Original Series), Torchwood, and BBC’s Sherlock, but their most prolific writing and strongest community ties are in the Supernatural fandom. Now, nearly a decade after their last original fiction attempt, Aeryn is eager to explore the wider writing word. 

A native of Portland, Oregon, Aeryn currently lives in the suburbs with their husband and 16-year-old cat. For a day job, they work as a tech writer and general paper-pusher for an energy drink factory. Their favorite stories, both to tell and to read, are stories about love, identity, and magic. (Archive of Our Own | Tumblr)

Annabeth Lynch: Annabeth Lynch is a genderfae (she/they), bisexual author who writes mostly queer stories, preferring to write marginalized characters finding love. She lives in North Carolina with her husband, daughter, and two very overweight cats. (Facebook | Instagram)

Sebastian Marie: Sebastian Marie (he/him) is an engineering student with a penchant for writing off-the-wall fantasy, darkly comedic prose, and sickeningly indulgent short stories. He has a lot of opinions about dragons, pirates, and sword fighting. Track him down on Ao3 and he’ll share these opinions through fanfiction for various fandoms including BBC Merlin, The Mechanisms, and Our Flag Means Death. His original works often combine fantasy and dystopia into what he calls “queer fantasy hopepunk,” something that will be explored in his future novels. He loves to write conflicting traditional and non-traditional family dynamics, especially where they intersect with queer relationships. And if he can throw werewolves and brujas into the mix? So much the better. When not writing, frantically studying dirt, or reading, he can be found singing loudly, sewing impractical coats, playing Dungeons and Dragons, and going on long rambling walks while plotting stories (and occasionally falling into rivers). 

This is his second time writing for Duck Prints Press, having previously contributed to She Wears the Midnight Crown. This brings his grand total of published works up to two! He’s looking forward to more, as soon as he gets some sleep. (Archive of Our Own | Tumblr)

Nova Mason: Nova Mason spent a significant portion of her childhood fantasizing about dragons, spaceships, and other worlds. She is now, allegedly, a grown-up, with two kids, and more varied interests. Dragons, spaceships, and other worlds are still pretty high in the list, though.

Sage Mooreland: Sage Mooreland (they/them) is a city-dwelling gremlin from Chicago. They are embarking on the adventure that is their 40s equipped with three amazing partners, one very ridiculous eighteen-year-old biological offspring, and a fleet of teenagers and twentysomethings that adopted them through work over the last several years. Sage put themselves through the torture of grad school, and now holds a Bachelor’s in English and a Master’s in English and Creative Writing – Fiction, to which they say, “Now I have expensive pieces of paper that make it seem like I know what I’m talking about.” 

Sage has been writing since they were wee small, entering their first writing contest in fifth grade/at ten years old. In high school and college, they made small offerings to school literary magazines, and have done eighteen years of National Novel Writing Month. As their writing career grows, they hope to provide stories that are entertaining, caring, inclusive of all, and full of the stuff of which dreams are made. 

D. V. Morse: D. V. Morse (she/her) is a writer of fantasy and science fiction, generally (though not always) with some romance in there somewhere. She’s been in various aspects of healthcare for a couple of decades, most recently nursing. A lifelong New Englander who has been writing for as long as she can remember, she loves to find the liminal spaces in the local landscape and find the stories lurking within. She also loves playing with fiber arts, cycling through knitting, crochet, cross-stitch, and blackwork. She has also contributed to “Stand Where You’re Afraid,” in I Am the Fire, a limited edition charity anthology by a collective of SF/F romance authors raising funds for the National Network of Abortion Funds. (Carrd | Blog | Twitter | Facebook )

MouMouSanRen: MouMouSanRen (she/her) was born and raised on unceded Matinecock territory in what is now known as Flushing, New York. She has been published in multiple non-fiction magazines including Polygon. Aim for the Heart is her fiction debut. She resides in her native Queens, practicing martial arts and taking care of her dogs. (Twitter)

J. D. Rivers: J. D. writes speculative fiction where they fall deeply and madly in love and find a dead body, not necessarily in that order.

She collects hobbies as others collect books and has an unhealthy addiction to watching competitive cooking shows.

J. D. lives close to the woods with her husband and the cutest dog in the world. (Personal Website | Twitter)

Veronica Sloane: 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. (Archive of Our Own | Tumblr)

Shea Sullivan: Shea Sullivan is a life-long writer living in upstate New York. As a late-blooming queer person, she enjoys writing about complex characters coming into themselves and finding comfort in being exactly who they are.

Shea’s day jobs in computer programming and middle management have molded her into the patient, sarcastic, big-hearted, frustrated human she is today, but it’s what she does outside the 9-5 that really excites her. When she’s not writing, she can be found painting, napping, making quilts, watching documentaries, and trying not to adopt more animals, usually with a cup of tea in hand.

Xianyu Zhou: Xianyu Zhou is a translator and aspiring garment and plushie cloning specialist hailing from a coastal city in the tropics. Despite staying a 20-minute drive away from the nearest beach, they have yet to visited one, preferring to dwell in their darkened room luminated by a table lamp and ever-shifting RGB of a CPU fan. They have the tendency to accidentally wander into new and exciting forays such as joining Duck Prints Press (and enjoying it!), learning to sew (stitching and unstitching the same part of a “coaster” for the nth time) and working on their language skills (watching shows to scruntinize take notes about how their subtitles are written). 

Xianyu’s contribution to the anthology is their first publication, and they have reportedly made a party hat for their computer to celebrate the occasion. 

We couldn't be more thrilled to have all these amazing people working with us on this collection! You're not gonna want to miss what they've written and arted!

Make sure you sign up for our monthly newsletter and/or follow us on social media to always here the latest about Aim For The Heart and our other upcoming projects! (and you can always get behind-the-scenes access on our production progress, sneak-peeks of works-in-progress, and more by backing us on Patreon!)

Who we are: Duck Prints Press LLC is an independent publisher based in New York State. Our founding vision is to help fanfiction authors navigate the complex process of bringing their original works from first draft to print, culminating in publishing their work under our imprint.

[alicedrawslesmis]

Aramis is OP as fuck what do you mean you'll convince Spain to grant the king of France a divorce

[jackthunderboltyt]

From looking at Tumblr posts about the musketeers

Anne: I slammed the door in aramis face I feel awful

Constance: I threw Charles out of the house with every swear in the book, tossed several wine bottles at him and said he couldn't come back till he single handedly conquered Spain

[canadiangirl-82]

Memories from filming Land of Women part two! ❤️🎥🎬 🇪🇸

[ofprevioustimes]

Something in his reply drew her attention. Anne cast him a quick side glance, half curious and half cautious. The comment had been phrased in a faultlessly neutral fashion and his tone didn’t betray any particular feeling, and yet she’d sensed a hint of disapproval there, though the queen could not pinpoint what or where. Then, after no more than a second, she sighed and looked away. She didn’t press the issue: it was hardly in her best interests to go about measuring the perceptions that the soldiers of France had of Louis. His opinion of her royal husband didn’t disturb her, but something else did. For the briefest moment, Anne had felt like speaking her mind. She’d been noticing Aramis’ eyes: they were not hardened like those of a warrior, but gentle like those of a priest. It’d given her this foolish, unbecoming urge to open up to him. Her heart had been choking with so much fear, so much frustration, so much anger, even ungodly resentment... all of this since she’d been married to France. But she dared not. A man’s mind belonged to himself, but a musketeer would never speak ill of the king - nor should the queen. “Yes, I’m sure he would”, she said instead, with a crestfallen and noncommittal air. Anne had no intention of asking Louis to take her traveling through France. Even if he agreed, that would either mean that Richelieu would work hard to sabotage a plan that involved the king being away from his influence for too long, or that he would see it as an opportunity to take charge in his absence. She didn’t know which of the two possibilities was worse. Thus, casting aside every thought about this suggestion, Anne merely listened with an earnest interest to Aramis’ story. “Do you remember Spain?”, she asked, sending her gaze away with homesick longing, but this time she put the question to him in French in a forceful return to her unending state of self-restraint. [ @traumadcmp / from here. ]

[panzershrike-pretz]

Awwww D'Artagnan and Constance's marriage is so adorable but like. War. Spain. Yall go grt my Aramis back you are nothing without him 👍 well actually you are but hey. 4 is a good number of people to share half a braincell

[eclectic-cinephile]

The Specter of Terror (El espectro del terror)

1973, dir. José María Elorietta * IMDB

[animanightmate]

Hot Tomato

Thanks to a Moment on discord, this is my hot take of the day, for all the people who write Musketeers fiction and have them eating tomatoes in the 1630s:

It’s all Aramis’s fault.

See, tomatoes were known in Spain (thanks, conquistadors?) at that time so... what if he brought some back from a trip down south (easy...) and cultivated some in a windowbox, started taking them to salons and the like, thus introducing Fashionable Paris to the love apple.

So: whether it gained its name from slips of the tongue, or associations with giddy toxins (and human flesh), there’s only one man to blame...

[duckprintspress]

“Aim For The Heart” Creator Spotlight: Author Catherine E. Green and Artist Cris Alborja

There’s only a few days left in the campaign to crowdfund Aim For The Heart: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Alexandre Dumas’s “The Three Musketeers” – gosh, I can’t believe it’s almost over already. Here’s our last two-fer creator spotlight! 😀

Want to get a copy? Make sure you back before the campaign ends at 10 AM Eastern on July 15th, 2023!

Start your engines by Cris Alborja

About the Artist: I’m an illustration and comic artist from Spain. I’ve got a nursing degree, but I decided to pursue my passion. I have studied Illustration at EASD Pablo Picasso in A Coruña and comics at O Garaxe Hermético in Pontevedra. I have done cover art for an anthology called Infiniteca by Retranca Editorial and comics for Altar Mutante, Nai dos Desterrados, and Abraxas en Cuarentena fanzines, as well as in Gaspariño 21 by Retranca Editorial.

Link: Instagram

The Serendipity of a Late Train by Catherine E. Green

About the Author: Catherine E. Green (pronouns: xe/xem/xyr or they/them/their) is an agender person, one who’s had an on-again, off-again love affair with writing. Xe began writing when xe was a wee thing, when xyr other major pastimes were playing xyr mother’s NES and roughhousing with the boys next door. It’s only in the past few years that they have begun writing consistently and publishing their writing, fanfiction and original writing alike, leading to their first published short story titled “Of Loops and Weaves.”

Outside of writing, xe is a collector of books and sleep debt and an avid admirer of the cosmos. Playing video games, reading a variety of fiction genres (primarily fantasy, queer romance, and manga and graphic novels of all kinds), and working on wrangling their own personal data archiving projects occupy most of their free time. Xe has also started meeting up with a local fiber arts group and is excited to be crocheting xyr first scarf.

Story Teaser:

Oh, no. This is not happening.

Athos picks up the threads of Porthos’ insults. “One has to wonder if this is the same girl who gave me lip for interrupting her, frankly, dangerous stunts? Weaving sloppily through bunches of brand-new skaters, nearly bowling into several of them, and then acting like it was no big deal?”

“Excuse me?” Lottie replies, sharp and in disbelief.

Aramis starts in, “Or the girl who arrives late to tryouts—”

“It’s not my fault the train out of Gascony was late!”

“—and then proceeds to make a huge commotion thereafter. No doubt, a calm, polite conversation with our NSOs would have sufficed,” Aramis finishes, nonplussed.

“Don’t forget: this is the girl who insulted my plumage!” Porthos cries, gripping said rainbow-colored plumage to her chest.

Lottie raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me for mentioning it was a tripping hazard.”

“Like you’re one one to talk, girlie!”