#treville

[take2intotheshower]

The Confession.

(The Musketeers Season 2, Episode 9 - The Accused)

[bullet-prooflove]

Memories: Captain Jean Treville x Reader (NSFW)

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

When Athos goes missing it is you that finds your old friend, he's strung up by his wrists about to be whipped by a baron’s son. It triggers something in you, seeing him like that, at the mercy of nobility who want to get their grubby hands on his land. That was you a long time ago, after your father died, when you were nothing but a girl.

Only there was no one to rescue you, to cut the rope that bound your wrists, to prevent a marriage that was forced at gun point as blood ran down your back. When you fight for Pinon alongside Jean and his Musketeers you fight for yourself, for the girl who couldn’t.

“It brings back memories doesn’t it?” Jean murmurs as he sits down alongside of you by the hearth at the inn. You’re staring into the flames, your attention focused entirely on the logs that crackle and burn.

You’ve been quiet since they’ve arrived, reserved. There’s a tone in your voice, a distance. It’s clear there’s been a dispute between yourself and Athos, you think he has a duty to his people and he wants nothing to do with the damn place. He doesn’t understand that his choice is one that everyone else has to live with, he can’t see beyond his own pain.

“Too many to count.” You say despondently, before your gaze shifts to the innkeeper’s daughter.

“She was lucky you were here.” He says quietly as he leans in close, the back of his hand brushing over yours. It’s a tentative display of affection. Sometimes you don’t like to be touched when you go back to that place, you withdraw from him as if he’s one of the men that hurt you all those years ago. “That you were able to get her out.”

Breaking in the filly is what they called the horror of what they were going to do to her, rape is what you call it.

“I could never resign someone else to that fate.” You tell him, your attention turning back to the fire.

When he takes you to bed that night, you sleep curled up against him like a child, his fingers trailing soothingly through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings. Darkness like this brings dreams, dreams of a man who shamed you, ruined you, who fed you to the wolves so that he could own your estate.

You were nothing to Charles DuMire but a tool to be used, a plaything for men who always held more power than you. You were exchanged for favours, for money, for prestige.

“I was their whore.” You had said, when you’d told him your story.

“No.” He’d whispered fiercely, his eyes glittering with rage as his palms came to rest upon the surface of his desk. “You were abused.”

He doesn’t know how you kept your wits during that time, trauma like that would drive anyone to madness. You were nothing but an object to those men, and men, they speak freely in front of things that they own.

When you learn of their plot to assassinate the King, you decide to act. You gather evidence, letters, a ledger of the money exchanges and the ring that each one of the men wear, a symbol of their allegiance to one another, one that can only be worn in the shadows. You take them to Paris with you during one of husband’s excursions to court.

Your father had often spoke of Jean Treville, the young soldier he had trained to become a Musketeer. He spoke of the battles they fought in, his heroism, his honour.

“He is the Captain now.” He had said on his deathbed. “If there is trouble, he is a man you can trust.”

When you first turn up at the garrison, Jean thinks you are the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on. It’s only when he helps you down from your horse that he sees the darkness in your eyes, the way you clench your jaw at his touch. He’s careful after that, he doesn’t want to cause you any further distress.

When he reviews your evidence there is no doubt in his mind you’ve uncovered a conspiracy, one that’s already in motion. He moves into action, making preparations and you stand beside him, showing him the access points on the map, detailing the plans your husband has made. You have a mind for battle, for tactics and subterfuge. He thinks you would have been a general if you had been born a son.

“You are your father’s daughter.” He had told you once the trap was set, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “He would have proud of your strength, your ingenuity.”

“He would be ashamed of what I’ve become.” You say as you pull on your cloak, drawing it up around your shoulders.

“No.” Jean had told you. “He’d be ashamed of the circumstances he left you in, that he trusted his neighbour to care for you the same way he did. None of this is your fault.”

You meet his gaze and you can see the sincerity of his words, the anger that fuels them. None of this should have happened to you, you should be living a happy life, married to a man who loves you, who wants to give you children.

“You can’t go back to him.” He asserts as you tie the fastening of your cloak just underneath your chin.

“If I don’t, he’ll know there is something amiss.” You say before gesturing at the plans upon his desk. “And all of this will be for nothing.”

It kills him to send you back into the viper’s nest, to know that you’ll be sleeping next to a man who gives you to his friends as if you were a trinket. When he helps you onto your horse, he lingers for a moment, his palm lightly caressing the animal’s nose.

“It’ll be over soon.” You say with an air of finality as you pick up the reins. “I’ll take great joy in watching him hang.”

And you do. The next time Jean sees you is inside the prison courtyard as you both watch the men who conspired against the crown hang for their crimes. You smile as your husband takes his final breathes, his body quaking and his legs kicking. Anyone else would look away but you keep your eyes fixed on his the entire time.  

“There were others?” Jean asks quietly as he escorts you from the prison.

He’s surprised when your hand comes to rest on his arm. You tilt your head towards him and he can see that a burden has been released. His palm covers yours in a show of solidarity as you walk together side by side.

“Yes there are others.” You say, slowing your step as you reach into the pocket hidden within your skirts and withdraw a piece of parchment. “Here are their names, if you are patient I will get you your evidence. I have no doubt that I’ll be fair game now that Charles is dead.”

“I would never ask that of you…” You cut him off by shushing him and he sighs as the two of you come to a standstill.

You are a wilful woman, spirited despite the circumstances. Your husband’s death has given you a taste for vengeance and he knows you will not stop until you see every single one of those men dead.

“You wouldn’t would you?” You say softly, squeezing his fingers. “You would never ask anything of me.”

“No.” He says, his lips pursing together into a fond smile. “No I would not.”

It takes two years but you send every single one of those men to the gallows. Their reputations in tatters, their lands claimed by the crown, you leave them with nothing. During every death you stand at the front your eyes locked on theirs because you want them to know it was you, that you are the harbinger of their demise.

It’s a few nights after the last one is hanged that you enter his chambers. He’s sitting on the bed, having just removed his boots and jacket when you stand before him and begin to undress. Your skirts go first and then the bodice, the rest of it follows until your clad in simple white garment that’s almost translucent. He can see the outline of your dark nipples, that special place between your legs and his mouth goes dry. He wants you, he always has but he’s not like those other men, he won’t rut at you like an animal.

You mistake his resolve for rejection. He knows your story, of the men you’ve been with. It makes sense that a man of honour would want a woman of virtue, not someone ruined.

“I understand.” You say quietly, your cheeks colouring as you reach for your clothing.

“Terese.” He says softly as he pats the space alongside him on the bed. “Please sit with me.”

You take up residence beside him and the scent of orange blossoms floods his senses. He prays to God for strength because having you this close, feeling the heat of your body, seeing it through that thin sliver of material it’s enough to drive a man to madness. His thumb chases along the line of your jaw, tipping your chin up so that your eyes are fixed in his.

“Have you ever given yourself freely?” He asks you, his nose trailing along yours until your lips are barely apart. “Have you ever known love?”

“No.”  You whisper. “I have never experienced the pleasure.”

“You will with me,” He murmurs, as his lips brush over yours. “If that is what you wish.”

It's you that kisses him, that strips away his shirt, that unfastens his breeches. It is the first time you’ve had a choice in your partner, in your intimacy and you choose him. He takes his time worshipping you, he maps out the contours of your body with calloused hands and an eager mouth.

“You deserve the world.” He whispers against your thigh as he kisses a heated trail to nirvana. “You deserve love, adoration, ecstasy…”

And he gives it to you.

Jean, he gives you everything.

You’ve never known rapture, not like this. His hands anchor you in the moment, his palms caressing you as you climax against his mouth. He moans into your cunt at the taste of your sweet nectar before he devours you all over again. When his name rolls off your lips a second time, he kisses a teasing path up along your body, his lips brushing over your sensitive skin. You look beautiful underneath him, your skin flushed and eyes bright.

He stays your hand when you reach for him, bringing your fingertips to his lips instead, kissing them.

“Not tonight my love.” He whispers. “Tonight is about your pleasure, not mine.”

He’s the first man you give yourself freely and the last.

In the small principality of Pinon, he lies in bed with you, his spy, his lover and his wife and he knows you won’t just be fighting for Athos’s people, you’re fighting for your own, for the innocents that were slaughtered when your first husband took over your lands, the ones that tried to save you, the ones that couldn’t.

This is the reason that Pinon is so important to you.

This is the place you make your stand and this time he makes it with you.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[enigma-the-mysterious]

Porthos: You believe me?

Treville: Porthos, you’re the only good person in this place. I'd believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning

[prymith]

The Treville Fencing Academy

"Un pour tous, et tous pour un..."

[musketeermaiden]

Anyone else having a real moment over a father/son dynamic between Aramis and Treville or is that just me...

I mean I totally haven't been thinking about it for the last three days and already written a ficlet about it but- Aramis was the first out of The Inseparables to be a musketeer, and I'm big on the anti-Aramis' dad so it's perfect. Aramis is always loud and proud and Treville cares about all his boys, but there's something about Aramis. He acts constantly exasperated but he's not, not really.

And then you add on top of that Savoy??? Treville getting word of the ambush and the immediate guilt that would bring, knowing that technically he had a part of it. Twenty two of his men were there- thinking them all dead and then finding out that one is alive. Aramis is alive and was abandoned by the musketeer he was closest with. If you think Treville wouldn't do the subtle overcompensating thing that a dad does when they feel guilty??? WRONG.

They just have been meaning a lot to me recently (and I'm gonna be posting that ficlet today soo). Fair warning this might not be the end of this topic.

[mariusslonelysoul]

Whoever designed treville for barbie and the three musketeers was great at their job. I'm currently reading the book and not only am i unable to, i simply REFUSE to picture monsieur de treville as anything other than this guy

Nobody trevilled as hard as him

[the-hinky-panda]

300 Follower Celebration!!!

Thank you, thank you, thank you all so much! I have officially hit 300! So to celebrate, I present to you a celebration bingo card! The prompts are on the first pic and the characters are on the second one. Just send me a character and prompt and I will write a short fic based on it!

Thank you again for your wonderful support and following!

[illustrate-her]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Musketeers (2014) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Characters: Porthos du Vallon, Porthos, Aramis | René d'Herblay, Athos | Comte de la Fère, Athos, Aramis, d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires), d’Artagnan, Treville, Constance Bonacieux, Constance Additional Tags: post-WW1, Spanish flu, Angst, A LOT of Angst, Swearing, Boys loving and hating each other, Madness, shell-shock, PTSD, Alcholism, 1920s, Musketeers AU, Athos Whump, Aramis Whump, Porthos is just trying to hold it all together, Aramis is losing his mind, Athos just doesn’t care anymore, And d’Artagnan is a ghost, Major character death - Freeform Series: Part 2 of 1920s ex-soldiers-turned-gardeners Musketeers AU Summary:

Magic beans,” Aramis says because his mind is still racing from that punch and his tongue feels loose and disconnected from his brain. His body meets the door with another angry shove from Porthos, as if the other man were trying to push him right through the hard wood. “Aramis,” Porthos hisses in warning. “I cannot deal with your shit right now.”

  Aramis takes a deep breath. “Athos is going to die and then we probably will too. No one gives a damn about us here, we can’t make enough money. The landlady is about to throw us out and I’m losing my mind and we both know it. It can’t go on, Porthos. It can’t.”

 *

Part 2 in the WW1-Soliders-Turned-Gardeners AU.

Aramis is losing his mind, Athos just doesn’t care anymore, and Porthos is trying to hold it all together. And d’Artganan is…gone?

This part is mainly set-up for the boys beginning their new life as gardners on a 1920s country house estate, owned by Treville and his niece Ninon. This is very angsty I know, but it will get easier. It’s always darkest before the dawn, you know?

[general-du-vallon]

[ID: screenshot of Treville's hands, candles in the foreground. He's doing something, it's hard to make out. Something long and dark is in one hand, thread atached, th thread pulled by the other hand. End ID].

Does anyone know what he's fixing? I don't recognise it and can't work is out.

[take2intotheshower]

The Magnificent Five.

(The Musketeers Season 2, Episode 5 - The Return)

[bullet-prooflove]

Grief: Jean Treville x Reader

Tagging: @rey4kat @scorpio-1357 @kmc1989 @burningpeachpuppy @swanfan17

When Athos gives Treville the news of your death, his entire world falls apart. The air leaves his body and his knees buckle as he collapses into the seat behind his desk. His eyes sting and there’s this terrible crushing sensation in his chest, he can’t think, he can’t breathe.

“Leave me.” He orders, his voice rough with emotion. “Just please, leave me.”

He drinks himself to sleep that night, his face buried in the pillow as he clasps that sketch you created, the awful one of a wildflower in a Spanish field to his heart.

When he awakens he thinks of the last time you were together, the brightness in your eyes, the smile that made his heart beat just a little faster. The tears, they leak down his cheeks because a part of his soul has been ripped right out of his body and there is nothing that can ever fill the space that you've left.

For days he refuses to leave his chambers. In the mornings Athos brings him food, wine and correspondence. When he returns the bowl is untouched but the bottle empty and his Captain has returned to his bed.

“She would not want this.” Athos tells the other man’s back.

His own nerves are raw, grating. It was him that found your charred corpse amongst the ruins of that house, that identified the necklace you always wore, the battered scrap of gold Treville had given you before you were married. It had been all he could afford on an soldier’s salary, the only way he knew to express his love for you.

“It’s like she didn’t even exist.” Treville whispers to the wall he’s facing. “She left no trace in this world.”

“Our memories.” Athos says, his speech stilted. “We still have her in our hearts, our thoughts. We must take comfort in that.”

“I take comfort in nothing anymore.” Treville tells the bricks. “This world... there is nothing for me.”

“Captain…”

“Leave me to my grief.” He says forcefully.

“No,” Athos says fiercely. “She would never forgive me if I left you to this fate, she would expect me to haul you outside throw a pail of water on you, she would say… she would say you stunk like a donkey and she would be right.”

He still doesn’t leave his chambers.

“I fear that this has broken him.” He tells Porthos and Aramis later that evening. “I think he will follow her to the grave.”

It’s late that night that the sound of hooves resonates through the garrison. Treville is standing on the balcony, half drunk as the rider hurtles through the gate before drawing to a halt beneath him.

“State your business.” He thunders as they slip from the horse and they pause tilting their head up towards him before they draw back the hood.

“Jean Treville.” You chide. “Is that anyway to speak to your wife?”

He forgets himself then, about the secrecy, the decorum, the propriety. He’s down the stairs in an instant, holding you, kissing you. He doesn’t realise that his cheeks are wet not until you reach up and brush the salt from them.

“I don’t understand.” He whispers, his hands shaking as he clasps your face between them.

“Come my love.” You say, your fingers interlacing with his as you guide him back towards the stairs. “I’ll explain inside.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[enigma-the-mysterious]

Treville, at the police station: Hello, I'm here for my boys

Deputy: Names?

Treville: Ah, you must be new here

[wingsofhcpe]

(S1E08 during the Musketeers vs Red Guards competition)

Treville: *walking into the rink*

Athos, clapping: that's our father!

Porthos, cheering: LET'S GOOO!

Aramis, bouncing up and down: fuck 'em up dad!

D'Artagnan, still salty: yeah whatever get their asses old man

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

Spoilers for the new musketeers movie :)

OKAY BUT I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE THE SCOLDING SCENE!!! Like it was just a very short moment but for fans who love the scene it was the most genius character introduction to Aramis and Porthos 💕 Showing their hands was a nice detail :) And the fact that they get scolded like that two days in a row is so funnyyyy and finally it made its way to the screen

[roennq]

The Musketeers: Series Three Trailer

Look who's back, for one final season...

3/8

Series One | Two

[enigma-the-mysterious]

I don't know why Athos' face here isn't a reaction meme yet

The Musketeers 2x09 aka “If Everyone Doesn’t Win an Award For Their Wordless Acting in This Scene I’m Going to be Very Disappointed”