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reincrimination · 2 months ago

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skipping out on work again?

9-1-1 | eddie diaz x evan buckley

content warnings: major character injury

collection: buddie week 2021 (reposted sept. '24)

read on archive of our own

Buck’s foot is still held in a hand, like a tether, so he uses his other leg to help clear debris and then there’s a person standing over him, and it’s Eddie, it’s always Eddie. He is sooty and the only clean spot on his skin is where beads of sweat have cut through the soot like Moses in the Red Sea, but he is Eddie, and he grins wide and bold when he reaches down to grab Buck’s hand. “Skipping out on work again?” Eddie quips. Buck grabs back with a matching grin, and then screams when Eddie pulls, but he is already up. Off-balance, he surges forward and stumbles right into Eddie. His shoulder throbs when it makes contact with Eddie’s chest, but his other arm, that Eddie had just grabbed, is dangling useless and on fire by his side. Not literally on fire, right?

The entire ranch is engulfed in flames by the time the 118 pulls up on scene. The truck is still rocking from the potholes in the dirt road leading up through the archway that reads “Lucky Chance Ranch” when they begin to hop out. The rig is nestled in-between haphazardly parked horse trailers, packed to the brim with squealing horses.

Buck’s running towards the flames before his boots hit the ground, Eddie at his side. A white horse with a phone-number spray painted across its side in blue paint runs past them, barely missing the pair, but they’re focused on adding themselves to the brigade of other firefighters already trying to knock down the fire in the main barn.

It’d hopped from the dry wood of the hay barn to the horse barns and eventually the ranch house, with no sprinklers or fire alarms in sight, leaving a groom to have run to the nearest road to get a signal to call first responders in.

The other grooms had been working to get the horses out, and now, apparently one was trapped in the first barn that was engulfed.

“He went back for a horse and didn’t come out, five minutes ago!” a station commander yells at them. They nod and take off.

The barn is falling apart at the seams as the fire snaps and crumbles the wood supports. There isn’t an ounce of metal in this thing that hasn’t either melted or been bent beyond recognition, and Buck is struggling to find a way in.

“Here!” Eddie yells, and Buck turns to find him gesturing at a stall door that is burnt to a crisp but not currently smoldering.

Then, as they watch, a small black horse busts through the crumbling door, sending shards of burnt wood everywhere. That’s when Buck realizes the horse isn’t actually black, but is covered in ash and singed from the fire enough to appear that way. The next thing Buck realizes is that there is a man being dragged behind him, lead rope wrapped around his arm like a snake.

Buck gets in front of the horse, arms out placatingly, and it skids to a halt instead of barreling through Buck like its first instinct might’ve been. Buck grabs the rope of its halter and holds it with all his strength as the horse tiptoes around him anxiously, tail swishing, the ends charred. Eddie uses his shears to cut the lead rope and Buck grabs the small, swinging tail end that’s left and hands the horse off to the nearest person he sees. Then, he goes to help Eddie move their victim, because the fire is closing in.

“Help!” someone screams, and then there’s a deafening bang. Buck snaps his head up just in time to see a cloud of dust and smoke rising from the other barn, and he’s sharing one communicative glance with Eddie before whisking away.

The second barn’s back half isn’t completely fried yet, but Buck can see where the beams caved in to trap someone in a stall. He fights his way through the smoldering wood, noting how the barn is absolutely littered with hay and other combustibles. The stall that the beam caved in on is right next to licking flames, and the smoke is so dark Buck can hardly see in front of him. He snaps on his oxygen mask and tosses a chunk of wood out of the way, finally able to see the stall door. It’s open, and inside is a girl, with a horse and what Buck is assuming is its foal. The foal is cowering in the corner, terrified, and the mom is refusing to leave it, no matter how hard the girl tugs on her halter. To make matters worse, a large beam is now separating them from the door where Buck is standing.

He tries to lift the beam, but it’s far too heavy and the entire roof creaks when he does.

“I’m coming!” He yells, and runs out of the barn.

He makes it to the other side, searching for the door he thinks should lead to the outside of the stall. He finds it, flips the metal latches up, and opens the door with a bang.

“Go!” he yells at the girl, whose hair is now within catching distance of the flames encroaching on them. She looks between Buck and the horses with a pained expression, before tugging harder on the mare’s halter.

Buck shoves his way into the stall, shoulder scraping painfully along the underside of the beam, and wiggles his way behind the foal. It’s young, so he’s able to hoist it up like a big dog and stumble out of the stall. The mare springs into action and snatches her lead rope from the girl’s hand to follow Buck and her baby. The girl runs on ahead to flag someone down.

Then, there’s a creak and a snap, and the wall of the barn is coming down towards Buck.

Instinct takes over for the mare, and she dodges the falling debris, but Buck, weighed down by a few hundred pounds of baby horse, cannot. It all goes black for a second, but Buck doesn’t think he passed out, because he can still hear the roar of the fire, the confused scream of the horse, and the chatter of the other firefighters as they descend upon his predicament. Eddie. Where’s Eddie? Eddie would fix this.

He’s fallen so he’s shielding the horse, whether intentional or not, and he tries to shove his way back to his feet but is met with hundreds of pounds of resistance. The wood is either burned or burning, and as he looks, the orange glow of fire shines through the cracks of the debris and grows ever-closer. The foal is struggling, its little legs kicking deceptively strongly at the planks and supports they’re buried in. They’ve fallen in an inconveniently strong formation, where the weight of each piece is keeping the rest locked in. If one were to be pulled off the top, they’d be able to fight their way out. The wall itself wasn’t thick, but Buck thinks some of the above loft and even roof must’ve come down with it.

The horse keeps kicking, and finally, the pile shifts. Buck goes to stand up, using his shoulder to heave the loosening wood up and off of them, but he’s stopped when a pained yelp tears itself from his throat. His shoulder doesn’t feel right. Panic surges inside him, and he shifts to try and use his other arm to push stuff off of them, but that one hurts, too, an awful tingling burn that spreads from his elbow to his fingertips. He takes a huge, panicked breath, and only inhales wood shavings and ash.

He coughs and splutters- realizing he lost his oxygen mask somewhere along the way- and starts to kick. His boot breaks through the shell of wood and then is caught- by a hand, he thinks. Then, more hands are reaching through the hole and heaving pieces off of him one-by-one. The light from the floodlights the police had set up around the ranch starts to bleed in, honest and cool, and he surges towards it. The foal gets the message first, and shoves Buck to the ground as she (Buck thinks its a she, just because) surges out. Someone screams out, “Woah!” Like they didn’t know she was in there, and another throws their arms around her neck and wrestles a rope over her head, and then hauls her off to her mother.

“Skipping out on work again?” Eddie quips.

Buck grabs back with a matching grin, and then screams when Eddie pulls, but he is already up. Off-balance, he surges forward and stumbles right into Eddie. His shoulder throbs when it makes contact with Eddie’s chest, but his other arm, that Eddie had just grabbed, is dangling useless and on fire by his side. Not literally on fire, right?

He looks down, sees that his turnout sleeve had been ripped away in the collapse, and that yes, he had literally been on fire as the pile of wood had smoldered away with him trapped inside. His skin is sweltering and angry and covered in dirt and ash and he wants to vomit, he thinks. The longer he looks at it the more he feels it, and he tries to move his fingers but they barely twitch.

“Medic!” someone screams.

Isn’t Eddie the medic? Eddie is supposed to be the- the world shifts on it’s axis and then Buck is on the ground again, this time being gently guided down with Eddie’s hands on his shoulders. There’s something hard under his back, and yellow, and then he’s in the air again but no one is touching him- why is he floating, what the fuck- he rips his head to the side and looks at Eddie, looks for Eddie, who is getting farther and farther away as the team carrying him leaves.

“Eddie!” Buck screams, his throat wrecked, and he reaches out with his marred arm because he can’t move his other arm at all. Eddie takes a big step towards him but is stopped by some captain (not Bobby, because Bobby wouldn’t do that) and then Buck is inside an ambulance and the door is shutting and his world is ending because Eddie is- God, not like this. The ones carrying him leave and it’s just him and a paramedic, and Eddie’s not there, and his whole body hurts and what if he loses his arm, and he wants Eddie.

Then, there’s a fist on the door but it’s not telling the ambulance it’s good to go, it’s banging like it’s a trapped animal, and the paramedic opens the door just enough for Eddie to worm his way inside and next to Buck. There’s an angry shout of, “Diaz!” from the outside, but the ambulance starts moving as soon as Eddie sits down.

“Hey, Buck, I’m right here,” he says, reaching around the other paramedic to grab a bottle of water and a compress. He pours the water over the compress and chucks the bottle to the side before wringing out the compress and gently settling it over Buck’s arm. It’s cool and it burns in a cold way. “I’ve gotcha, you’re gonna be fine, it’s not that bad, alright?”

Buck’s eyes are wide and his pupils are locked on Eddie, watching every movement as he’s jostled with the motion of the ambulance. The sirens echo in the back of his head but he also hears rushing water- they’re not near a beach, are they?- and his ears are ringing. The ringing is louder now, the water receding.

Eddie takes the shears and slices through what’s left of his long-sleeve shirt. Buck yells as it peels off some of his skin with it, and then red blood is gushing from the blistered area. Eddie takes another gauze compress and grits his teeth before applying it, looking away when Buck bites off his scream and settles on a gut-wrenching whimper.

“Eddie, make it stop,” he begs. His eyes still track Eddie’s every movement but they’re far off, now. “Get it off, get it off!”

“Get what off, Buck?” Eddie’s voice is raw with panic.

Behind him, the paramedic is cutting through his gear on the other side to get to his other shoulder. It’s blue and purple from what Buck can see, but then Eddie moves and he can’t see it anymore.

“The truck! My leg,” he sobs, thrashing against Eddie’s hold.

“Woah! Buck!” Eddie curses, reapplying the gauze and compress and lifting his arm up so it’s held against Eddie’s chest, above Buck’s heart to decrease blood flow. “He’s disoriented. Did you give him anything?”

“Trying to start an IV now,” comes the curt reply, and then there’s a needle in his other arm, but his other arm is also numb, so it’s fine.

“Buck, your leg is fine, listen,” Eddie leans in real close, so close he can see the soot and sweat and tears and snot all over Buck’s red face. “Your arms got hurt, but it’s okay, we’re gonna help you.

We’re almost at the hospital.”

His face slackens and then it scrunches up and he starts crying again, each falling tear shredding Eddie’s heart. “Don’t take me there, please, I don’t- I don’t want to-.”

“He’s in shock,” the paramedic mutters. “I'm giving him fluids and pain medication.”

Eddie changes out the gauze for a clean cold compress and covers the rest of the burn with it. He checks underneath the first and isn’t horrified by what he sees- he doesn’t see bone or tendon, so Buck will be alright.

“Dislocated shoulder and broken clavicle,” the paramedic rattles off on the phone with the hospital, and Buck moans.

His breaths are getting shallower. Eddie curses and cups his jaw with one hand, slapping his cheek gently to rouse him, but his head just lolls against the contact as his eyes whiten and then close.

The next time they open is to piercingly white lights. Buck groans before even assessing his surroundings, and tries to sit up, push himself up with his arm, and then he howls in pain and stops. His eyes blink rapidly, aching and feeling like they’re crusted shut, and he takes in the appearance of his arms.

One is in a sling, tight to his chest, and the other is covered in bandages from mid-hand to elbow. It doesn’t hurt anymore now that he’s stopped moving, but he also feels loopy, so he’s sure he’s drugged to the high heavens.

Eddie.

Where’s Eddie?

Buck whips his head around and then is met with a comforting hand on his chest. It’s the only place anyone can touch him; the rest of him is swollen or burned. He keens embarrassingly as Eddie shifts his chair forward so he can rest his chin on the railing of Buck’s bed.

“When will I be back at work?” he croaks out, and Eddie groans good-naturedly.

“Really, Buck?” he murmurs, then grabs a cup of water from the side table and helps Buck sip from it. It shouldn’t feel so practiced. “In a few months.”

“So, I will go back?”

“Yes,” Eddie placates. He sets the water down, reaches out with his other hand to smooth Buck’s gross hair out of his face. “You scared me, asshole.”

“What happened?” Buck groans. “I don’t- I remember you pulling me out of the rubble, and then…”

“It’s better you don’t,” Eddie says, curt, and Buck wonders just what he put him through.

“I wanna know-.”

“I’ll remember it for the both of us, yeah?” Eddie says, reaching down to take the tips of Buck’s fingers, red but not burned, in his own cool hand. Buck curls them back around him as much as he can.

There’s a beat of silence. Buck flexes his fingers, concentrating hard, ignoring the pull of the skin.

“All that for a horse?” Eddie asks.

“It was a baby,” Buck justifies. “Is it okay?”

Eddie hasn’t been back to the ranch, evidently, but, “I saw them walk away with it, yeah.”

“At least this wasn’t for nothing,” Buck tries to joke, but his tone comes out too high, too pinpoint. “How did- there wasn’t that much on me, right? How did I get so…?”

“Do you not remember the horse running directly over you as the wall fell?”

Buck laughs, but it’s not that funny. “Oh. No, I don’t.”

“To think you saved her baby for her and that’s the thanks she gave you.”

Buck shakes his head, poorly timed tears rising up behind his lids.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, thumb sweeping soothing circles over his swollen fingers. “C’mon, it’s not so bad. You get three months at the Diaz home.”

His eyes snap open, tears be damned, his voice thick when he says, “Really?”

“Unless you want to try and get around your loft with about half of one functional hand,” Eddie squeezes his fingers, so gently. “Even if you do, you’re still coming home with me. My turn to take care of you.”

“At least I wasn’t shot,” Buck manages, before Eddie turns up the pain medication and his eyes flutter. “Thank- thanks for being there.”

“Always, Buck. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#ren's 911 #911 abc #evan buckley x eddie diaz #buddie whump #buddie #buddie fanfiction #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie week 2021

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dracothelizard · 3 months ago

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I have finished reading several more fics from the @ofmd-reverse-bang!

Previous rec post

The Rest Is Silent - Post-canon, the crew gets stuck in the Arctic. Lovely ensemble fic on how everyone deals with the cold and the isolation and being stuck together differently.

Read Me Like A Book (Write A Happy Ending) - Canon era, sweet Steddyhands where reading together and to the crew brings everyone closer together and gives Ed and the crew some much-needed closure!

Tied Up, Torn Down - Canon era, filthy smutty Steddyhands where Stede gets ravished by vicious pirates Izzy and Captain Blackbeard, and also they snuggle and talk about it afterwards.

Fire House - Modern AU, Wee John/Frenchie centric where Stede starts a voluntary fire brigade and Ed runs a bar. Fun ensemble moments while Frenchie learns a lot about himself.

Kindergarten Cop - Modern AU, Stizzy, where Izzy is the kindergarten cop and Stede is the regular teacher and also they fall in love.

Letter for Mr Edward Teach? - Modern AU, Ed/Stede where the various letters Stede sent find their way to Ed. But also, some of these letters Stede never wrote. Time to investigate where they come from!

Your Awful Heart To Song - Canon era, Steddyhands. Stede goes overboard and Izzy reveals he's a siren when rescuing him.

Old Dogs - Canon era, omegaverse Steddyhands. HEED THE TAGS. Beta Stede tries to help Alpha Ed and Omega Izzy with their, um, relationship issues. And there are many many many issues. Many.

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #Steddyhands #OFMD Reverse Bang #Fic rec

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orange-peony · 9 months ago

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Thanks for tagging me on Sunday @alexalexinii, @hushed-chorus and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe!

I've been working on my fic for the @drarry-mini-bang, but unfortunately I can't share it yet. I've also been desperately trying to finish something for the @erotic-grope-fest which started off as a drabble for a the tropes ask.

Here's a snippet:

I know he can see me better than I can see him. I know all about him. I remember the way he felt against my lips, that night when he set the woods on fire. I can still recall the way he tasted. The way I held him under the stars. The smell of smoke and the crackling of the fire behind me. The way nothing else mattered, only the feeling of Baz in my arms, crying and clinging to me. He shivers, and I snap out of my reverie. “It’s cold,” I say gruffly. “You take the bed.” “I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, Snow,” he replies, like he always does. It’s a careful dance we’ve crafted over weeks and months. I still wait for him to say it, because I don’t have the courage to do it myself (I wonder if I lost it when I lost myself). “Your bed can fit two grown men.” And then, “Come here. We’ll keep each other warm.” I wonder what will happen when the days grow longer and warmer. Will there be no more excuse for this, and I’ll have to sleep on the cold floor, then?

Tagging (apologies if you've already done it, I am scheduling the post): @pato-roldnart, @bubble-gumhead, @artsyunderstudy, @larkral, @cutestkilla, @hushed-chorus, @alexalexinii, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @rimeswithpurple, @regretfulcorrine, @excalisbury, @littlewinnow, @basiatlu, @martsonmars, @thewholelemon, @letraspal, @crazybutgood, @okay-sky, @fatalfangirl @facewithoutheart, @imagineacoolusername, @blackberrysummerblog, @tea-brigade, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @ebbpettier, @captain-aralias @leithillustration, @vukovich and @peachpety.

#wip wednesday #snowbaz #egf 2024 #my writing #this is going to be called #all of the king's horses

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fandom-imagines-stories · 1 year ago

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Heaven

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 6968

Part One; Part Two

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

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

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

More Musketeers imagines: HERE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The men finished tying the rope.

“It will always belong to Aramis.”

Visage slapped you again.

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

Again.

“I love Aramis!”

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

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

He stood back, taking his pistol from his belt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a miracle they found you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“I’m worried about him.”

“We all are.”

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

“Y/N deserves justice,” Porthos growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His companions exchanged the same worried look from before.

“How can you be sure?” Porthos asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visage.

Aramis stepped forward.

D’Artagnan grabbed his arm, raising a brow.

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

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

Did it even matter anymore?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Porthos!” D’Artagnan exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world and his hopes of revenge went black.

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

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

“You bastard!” D’Artagnan growled.

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

Athos.

Athos would know what to do.

But how could he find him?

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

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

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

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

“All that matters is taking down Visage.”

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

So he ran.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You began.

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

“It’s alright. Just keep going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You froze.

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

He spoke louder. “I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tu es mon paradis.”

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

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

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

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

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

The horses alerted and reared back.

D’Artagnan aimed.

“Wait!” A familiar voice shouted.

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

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

Athos met him with a grim stare.

“D’Artagnan?”

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

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

“You’re alive?” He gasped.

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

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

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

His gaze fell to the ground.

Your heart sank.

“Where is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only prayed it wouldn’t be too late.

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

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

“Where’s D’Artagnan?” Aramis asked.

His friend did not answer.

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

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

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

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

Aramis couldn’t bring himself to respond.

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

Aramis stared out at the trees behind them.

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

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

“This is it,” Visage announced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hand shook more than it ever had before.

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

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

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

Visage cocked his weapon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visage couldn’t hurt you now.

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

He moved, hands trembling weakly.

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

“I belong to no one.”

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

How’s that for poetic?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Needless to say, the men obeyed.

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

“What is it, darling?” He asked.

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

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

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

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

One Year Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aramis beamed from across the room.

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

“I told you not to move,” you said.

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

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

“You will see it when it’s finished.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re facing away.” He noted.

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

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

“We’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What is this?”

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

Porthos cleared his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heaven.

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

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artstar1997 · 3 months ago

Text

It’s finally here, the main members of the Justice Brigade, the world’s greatest superhero league that the world has ever seen.

Separately, these nine heroes from Trollstopia, which is composed of the Tenacious Three (Rose as Captain Sterling, Poppy as Rainbow Girl, and Branch as Psionyx), Jussy a.k.a Healer Charm, Emi as Zealous, Synth as Neptune, Demo as Ironsides, Smidge as Miss Aquila, and Milton Moss as Wildlife Man. They are known to be the greatest fighters for truth and justice the world has ever known. Collectively, however, they are a force of nature, leaders of a team of superheroes and associates of numerous crime-fighting organizations—the Justice Brigade. They are the earth’s first line of defense against threats too large for humanity to face alone.

Let’s meet the superheroes of this team: Captain Sterling Real Name: Rosita ”Rose” Barbara V. Madrigal Inspiration: Superman Base of Operation: Trollstopia, California Occupation: Singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, Lead Singer of the Snack Pack Superpowers: Invulnerability, Flight, Super Strength, Super Speed, Heat Vision (including Solar Flare), Super Hearing, Siper Vision (including X-Ray vision, Microscopic Vision, and Telescopic Vision, in which, overuse can cause headaches), Super Breath (including Ice Breath), Accelerated Healing, Energy Absorption, Partial Alien Physiology Archnemesis: Chaz a.k.a The Illusionist Among the superheroes of Trollstopia, no one is as versatile and honorable as Captain Sterling. After being exposed to the strange radiation, Rose gains Herculean powers for protecting her friends, the Snack Pack when the disaster hits the city but at the cost of her own safety. Over time, her martial arts and combat training paid off as she started to train as a sidekick to Silver Sentry, Trollstopia’s resident superhero before she debuted as an independent hero as Super Sterling. The Fabuloid mistakenly replaced Super with Captain on the headlines, so Rose chose to use the name, Captain Sterling instead. Popstar diva by day, superhero by night, the Snack Pack’s resident diva wins the hearts of fans and the world with her voice and musical talents but when crime strikes, Rose’s platinum blonde hair turns to black as she slicks back her bangs and styled into a long French braid, and dons the pinkish red armor, blue, and white with gold ensemble to save the day.

Rainbow Girl Real Name: Penelope “Poppy” Solena C. Monteiro Inspiration: Karolina Dean, Dazzler Base of Operation: Trollstopia, California Occupation: Singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, Lead Guitarist and vocalist of the Snack Pack, Pop Diner owner Superpowers: Flight, Sound Generation, Light Generation, Iriskinesis via Lumokinesis and Chromakinesis, Chromo-Egrokinesis Archnemesis: Pacifica “Pushy Poppy” Payne a.k.a Drab Grey Poppy and her friends were protected by Rose when a doomsday device, the Darkness Engine exploded into the lawn near the playground, causing radiation to spread in the city. Because of Rose’s selfless act, the Snack Pack was spared from the side effects but they were partially exposed to the radiation and they each gained superpowers. Poppy as Rainbow Girl can control light and sound. She wanted to make the city a colorful place by protecting it against crime and injustice.

Psionyx Real Name: Bernardo “Branch” Huitzilopochtli Rivera Inspiration: Batman, Phoenix Base of Operation: Trollstopia, California Occupation: Singer-songwriter, Bassist and vocalist of the Snack Pack Superpowers: Telepathy, Telekinesis, Psychic Powers, Brilliant Deductive Skill, Combat Strategy Archnemesis: Creek a.k.a Monkshood Resident loner, now second-in-command of the Snack Pack, Bernardo a.k.a Branch tends to keep things to himself, especially after a series of misfortunes fell upon him. It was hinted that he got his psychic powers as a baby but they were later enhanced when he was exposed to the radiation that struck Trollstopia. Donning a dark suit, Psionyx is ready to find out whodunit using both his psychic powers and detective skills while blending in with the shadows.

Healer Charm Real Name: Justina “Jussy” Butterfly Inspiration: Green Lantern Base of Operation: Trollstopia, California Occupation: Singer, Keytarist of the Majesties, Pop Diner employee Superpowers: Healing, Energy Conduit, Force Field, Energy Construct Creations, Superhuman Condition, Environmental Playback, Invisibility and Light Refraction Archnemesis: Melisha Indevor a.k.a Feral Ever since she moved to California from U.K., Jussy lived a normal life, working in the Pop Diner, hanging out with the Snack Pack, and dating Cooper. Whenever she goes to work from her apartment, she sees the superheroes flying around to stop crime and whenever she works at the cash register, she would daydream and make a wish that one day, she’d fly with them and save the day. One night, her wish was granted when a meteor fell from space while she was walking on her way home. She followed the meteor to the park, where it crashed and broke in two, revealing a large butterfly shaped jadeite with smaller jadeites and crystals, wrapped in a strange fabric inside. As soon as she picked up the stone and the fabric, a powerful energy surge flowed into Jussy, thus gaining the power of flight, superhuman condition, energy manipulation, and healing. She then turned to Satin and Chenille, who were not only fashion designers by day and superheroes by night, they also created suits and other items for their fellow superheroes with the help of Rhythm and Blues. The two pairs of sisters analyzed the fabric that came with the jadeites and crystals and were able to replicate it, thus created her signature outfit and mask. She took on a debut as a superhero, Healer Charm and started fighting crime, which caught the attention of Cooper’s superhero ego, Jester and became an item in both their civilian and superhero lives. Soon, she was recruited by Rainbow Girl, who offered her a spot in the Justice Brigade, which she excitedly joined as a founding member.

Zealous Real Name: Emi Inspiration: Quicksilver Base of Operation: Trollstopia, California, formerly Volcano Rock City Occupation: Singer, Bassist of the Majesties Superpowers: Vast Superhuman Speed, Stamina, Reaction and Reflexes, Eidetic Memory, Rapid Healing, Creation of High Winds and Tornadoes, Time Manipulation, Speed Physiology, Molecular Destabilization, Superhuman Stamina/Endurace, Enhanced Strength, Enhanced Durability Archnemesis: N/A Even though she got lost as a toddler and was adopted by loving parents who live in Volcano Rock City, Emi is often lazy but fidgety. In a school trip to a laboratory, where they perform experiments to reengineer the human genome for its own better. At that time, she knocked back into a large glass tube containing a fluid that encompassed her. In the meantime, the desk that knocked down toppled forward. The chemicals from the test tubes fell and shattered to the ground. Mixing and causing a combustion within the office. Trapped inside the vat that fell over her, Emi was safe from the fire but her body itself, her muscles and body alone was being chemically reconstructed. A group of rescuers had rushed into the office at the time to try and save her from the flames but two of them sadly lost their lives due to the chemicals having caused a poisonous gas to rise to the ceiling. Emi was rescued and hospitalized alongside some classmates of hers, who also got superpowers as well. Her parents helped her get over her mutation while going through her normal life until she learned about her biological mother. As she started her journey, she discovered her ability to run super fast that she finally reunited with her mother and met her two half-siblings. A mysterious stranger called Montgomery James was pulling the strings from behind to traumatize her. One of the resident superheroes of Vibe City, Darnell Jackson a.k.a Forecast helped her overcome her trauma and she coincidentally met Rose a.k.a Captain Sterling and Jester, who turned out to be Cooper Jackson, Darnell’s twin when they came to Vibe City to help him investigate a crime that is happening. Together, they fought Montgomery James, who became a supervillain, and threw him to prison. In gratitude, Captain Sterling made an offer to Zealous to become a founding member of the Justice Brigade, which she agreed.

Neptune Real Name: Antonio “Synth” Delgado Inspiration: Aquaman Base of Operation: Trollstopia, California, formerly Techno Reef Occupation: Singer-songwriter, DJ Superpowers: Superhuman Strength, Intelligence, Durability, Endurance, Speed, Agility, and Senses, Telepathic Control of all Aquatic Life, Weather Manipulation and Electricity Manipulation, Hydrokinesis, Liquid Absorption, Magic, Aquatic Adaptation, Master Strategist, Tactician, and Field Commander, Skiller Martial Artist and Hand-To-Hand Combat Archnemesis: The Trench Pirates Antonio “Synth” Delgado lived all his life at Techno Reef with his family but his life changed when he got poisoned by a cone snail. In an attempt to save him, he was treated with an experimental medicine that not only saved his life, but also gave him his amphibious abilities and aquatic powers. To learn how to control his powers, Synth became Trollex a.k.a Maelstrom’s sidekick before he made his debut as a superhero and he relocated to Trollstopia to join Trollstopia Records. He was rejected when he tried to join Guy Diamond and Meadow Sprigg’s team but he joined the Justice Brigade as a founding member when Rose as Captain Sterling, Poppy as Rainbow Girl, and Branch as Psionyx offered him to join their superhero team as a founding member.

Ironsides Real Name: Damien “Demo” Sankara Inspiration: Cyborg, Iron Man Base of Operation: Trollstopia, California, formerly Volcano Rock City Occupation: Guitarist and Manager of Ryuuko Superpowers: Genius-level intellect, via power suit; Superhuman Strength, Stamina, Durability, and Speed, Advanced Sensor and Weapons System, Flight, Computer Interfacing, Nano-regeneration, Shapeshifting, Portal Creation Archnemesis: N/A Coming off as more soft in comparison to his peers, especially Val, Damien “Demo” Sankara tries to find his place among them. Whenever he isn’t in school, Demo would work in his family garage, where he would make robots and drones for his friends or practice his guitar playing. His actual project is a robotic power suit, which he wanted to test out someday but it had some flaws to fix so he would pass the time with managing and playing with Val and her band, Ryuuko while trying to fix his high-tech suit. When he moved to Trollstopia with Val’s band, he was able to work more on fixing his suit while managing and playing with Ryuuko. With Lownote Jones’s help, he was able to fix his suit and become one of the superheroes, Ironsides. After being rejected when trying to join the Sylvan Guardians, Rose as Captain Sterling, Poppy as Rainbow Girl, and Branch as Psionyx chose him to join their superhero team, which he accepted.

Miss Aquila Real Name: Samantha “Smidge” Redfeather Inspiration: Hawkgirl, Dawnstar Base of Operation: Trollstopia, California Occupation: Singer-songwriter, Drummer of the Snack Pack Superpowers: High Speed Flight via feather wings, Superhuman Hearing, Vision, Strength, Senses, Durability and Stamina, Healing Factor, Highly Skilled Armed & Unarmed Combatant, Zoolingualism, Utilizes Weaponry, Temperature Regulation, Absolute Sight, Solar Manipulation Archnemesis: Bash a.k.a Gila Monster As the muscle and drummer of the Snack Pack, Smidge is always up and running, being tough, often resorting to the most violent methods first, and overreacts with anger and excitement, making her emotionally expressive and loud, though most of the time doesn't behave like this. It was enhanced by her superhuman condition, which came first when she was exposed to the radiation with her friends, even though Rose sacrificed herself to protect them. Before she and the Snack Pack became famous and they joined the same record label as their labelmates, Smidge noticed that she had a secondary mutation that gave her solar powers, temperature regulation, zoolingualism, and a pair of bald eagle wings, which capable of folding tightly against the spine (like an "accordion") and can be almost completely hidden. Donning an eagle-themed costume and painting a yellow mask on her face, Smidge becomes Miss Aquila and is dedicated to fighting crime from the skies while living her civilian life as a music celebrity. She tried out in Guy Diamond and Meadow Sprigg’s team but her rejection from the audition soon paved way for her to become a founding member of the Justice Brigade.

Wildlife Man Real Name: Milton Moss Inspiration: Beast Boy, Animal Man Base of Operation: Trollstopia, California Occupation: Veterinarian Superpowers: Animal Morphing, Accelerated Healing Factor, Zoolingualism Archnemesis: N/A Milton Moss was one of the victims of the radiation that struck the city of Trollstopia in California but he was trying to save the animals, which gave him the ability to shapeshift into animals, accelerated healing factor, and zoolingualism. While working part time at a veterinary and animal rescue, Milton Moss later met Smidge, who later became his girlfriend but he was inspired by her and her superhero ego, Miss Aquila that he fashioned his own superhero suit and mask that helps him shapeshift. He continued having a relationship with her, even though she has to go on tours with her boyfriend. When the Justice Brigade is being formed, Smidge recruits him by referral that he becomes one of the founding members of the greatest team ever.

Trolls belongs to Dreamworks Queen Rose belongs to me Jussy belongs to @jade-green-butterfly Emi belongs to @groovinyeen @yeenstrollart

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