#d’artagnan my best friend d’artagnan

[katabay]

a bunch of d’artagnan sketches :)

ko-fi⭐ bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app

[dondalsy]

the cuntiest thing book!athos ever did was right at the beginning of the novel where he agrees to duel d’artagnan, says he has to use his left hand because of his injury, and then apologises for the disadvantage it may cause d’artagnan

[spacepunksupreme]

Struck with love for Three Musketeers again out of the blue and remembering how badly I wanted to draw all the horses Dumas describes …

I still havnt drawn those horses, and I still want to draw those horses

[fandom-imagines-stories]

All For One

Musketeers Comfort Imagine

Words: 3525

Summary: In preparing for her trials to become a Musketeer, the reader’s anxiety begins to get the better of her. Luckily, she has the four best friends anyone could ask for. 

Notes: Another comfort imagine dealing with anxiety and burnout because *mental illness* I needed this haha. Thank you end of the semester struggles. Like my Pogues imagine, this doesn’t have any specific ships, but since Aramis and D’Artagnan are my favorites, I may or may not show a little bias. I also really wanted to capture the feeling of them riding off together at the end of the season because that’s one of my favorite parts of the show, so hopefully that came across. 

Find more Musketeers: HERE

-

They all knew something was off. Though it was early and most were still half asleep, exhausted by the night before’s activities, they saw with enough clarity to know that you were not yourself. 

You ate your breakfast swiftly- though, poking at your bread could hardly be considered eating- and in silence. You hardly responded to Aramis’s daily teasing, something that had become like a ritual for the two of you, or to Porthos’s suggestion of close combat training later in the day. Worst of all, your eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, though you kept them downcast to try and hide them. 

Once you’d hurried off, the four men at the table exchanged worried looks. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Porthos asked. 

“Nerves maybe,” D’Artagnan observed. “She’s going before Treville next week. I know I was terrified when it was my turn to prove myself.” 

“And especially difficult for her,” Aramis added. He gazed after you and shook his head. “But there’s something else. I don’t think it’s just nerves.” The way you’d looked at him just moments before, with eyes both pleading and yet… empty. It worried him. “We should do something.” 

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Athos said. He stood from the table and put on his hat. “We should let her come to us. If we try to force her, well-” he blew out a breath. “We all know how that’s gone in the past.” 

The other three nodded mournfully. 

It was odd. You were one of the more open of the group, but all of them could agree, when something was truly and deeply wrong, you always tried to keep it to yourself, though none could understand why. 

“We can’t just leave her like that,” D’Artagnan said. “There must be something we can do.”

“Just be patient,” Athos nodded. “She knows we’re here for her.” 

Does she? Aramis couldn’t help but think. While they’d made it clear that you were a part of their group and they all cared for you very deeply, he’d picked up hints that you didn’t quite believe it. Whether or not this was just your mind playing tricks on you, he was determined to show it to you. He turned to the others and a wordless understanding passed between them. They nodded, all feeling the same as he did. 

They’d make sure you knew you were one of them, even if they spent all day proving it. 

-

You started the day with close combat, asking Porthos to help as usual, since he was the very best. You hoped the physicalness of the exercise would help wake up your tired senses and give your on-edge body something to fight. Your limbs pleaded for a distraction from their tension while your head desperately tried to focus. 

How could you be so exhausted and so unstable at the same time? 

“You sure you’re ready?” Porthos asked. When he’d agreed to train, he hadn’t noticed just how tense you were. You paced in front of him like a street cat afraid of its own shadow. While he never used the full of his strength when sparring with you, he feared more than usual he might hurt you if this were to go on. 

“I’m always ready,” you said with a little more venom than you’d intended. He narrowed his eyes and you ignored the concern you could see in his gaze. “I don’t have all day, let us begin.” You ran at him before he could object. 

Porthos braced for your first hit- a punch toward his shoulder and counter-attacked with a swing at your legs. You jumped and kicked his knee while propelling yourself upward for another hit to his chest, launching away from the impact. You both fell back into the dirt but were on your feet in seconds. 

Porthos raised a brow. “Alright, love. That’s how we’re playing it.” 

You took a deep breath and went again. 

The fight was fiercer than you’d ever done before. Porthos seemed to struggle to keep up with you. He may have his strength, but your agility proved vital. At one point, you were able to climb onto his back, arm around his neck. Your body locked up and all you could focus on was the pounding of adrenaline in your head. 

“Y/N!” Athos shouted. 

The other three rushed over to the two of you and you suddenly realized that Porthos had hit his knees and was smacking at your legs to let him go. You gasped and jumped off of him. 

“Porthos, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t even realize- are you hurt?” You stammered. 

He coughed, breathing in with deep, hurried breaths to take in as much air as he could. Aramis knelt in front of him, dark eyes flicking over to you with more questions than you gave him time to ask. 

You brushed off and tried to hide the rising panic in your voice as it squeezed at your chest. “Guess I got carried away, huh?” 

“Only a little,” Porthos wheezed. 

You feigned a smile, turning to Athos. “I’ll go easier on you later, I promise.” It was meant to be a jest, but neither of you laughed. 

With your body locking up again, you got away before any of them could see the weakness threatening to overtake you. Once out of view, your fist flew, striking the wall and scraping your knuckles. 

“I wouldn’t give her a weapon,” Porthos shuddered as Aramis helped him to his feet. 

“She doesn’t seem like she’s going to take no for an answer,” Athos said. 

Aramis sighed. “This is worse than I thought.” 

“I’ll say,” Porthos grunted. 

“She needs to get out of here.” D’Artagnan stared after you with a pained expression. “All of this practice is getting to her. She’s pushed herself too far.” He swung his sword in front of him in frustration. “But how do we get her to take a break? She’s far too stubborn and worried about Treville.”

The four of them pondered this problem for a moment, eventually hearing you start up again, practicing with your sword with barely a minute’s rest. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Aramis sighed. “The three of you come up with something.” 

“And how do you propose we do that?” Athos asked. 

Aramis shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” 

-

You loaded the musket with relative ease, but he could see how your hands were shaking. Of all of the skills you had to master before facing Treville’s scrutiny, your marksmanship was by far your weakest, despite Aramis assuring you otherwise. Why else would he have suggested you practice it now, rather than after your duel with D’Artagnan and Athos? He didn’t believe you were good enough, you could feel it. 

“Take a deep breath and relax your body just like I showed you,” he instructed. 

“I know, I know,” you said. 

Aramis stood behind you as you aimed at an empty wine bottle at the other end of the field. He wasn’t used to you being so closed off to him. In truth, he’d brought you out here with the hope of helping you clear your head, but he seemed to only have made it worse. At least this way, you weren’t directly aiming a weapon at anyone. Given what happened with you and Porthos, he doubted giving you a sword would end well for anyone. 

“Alright, ready?” He stepped just enough into your line of vision. 

You ignored him and took the shot. 

The bottle remained standing, mocking you from afar. 

“Damn,” you muttered, already loading the musket again before he could say anything. 

“Y/N, perhaps-”

“I can get it.” You took aim and fired. A tree trunk several yards from the bottle splintered from the impact. A frustrated growl tore through your chest. What was wrong with you? 

You forcefully set the musket back down, readying to load it for another try. Aramis’s hand covered yours before you could. 

“Y/N, wait,” he said softly. “I think I know what’s happening.” 

“What’s happening is that I’m not ready,” you snapped, more at yourself than at him. “And I only have a few more days to get it right or else I’ll never be a musketeer and all of this would be for nothing and-” Your words caught in your throat even before he held up a hand to stop you. 

Aramis laid his hand on your cheek. 

“You’ve worked yourself to the bone for weeks, darling.” He gave you a small smile. “You’re so exhausted you can hardly see straight. Am I correct?” 

There was still a part of you that wanted to fight him. To deny everything he’d said. Tired meant weakness and you couldn’t bear it if any of them saw you that way. But with his dark, caring eyes looking into yours, there was nothing you could say. 

You bit your lip to keep it from trembling. 

He pulled you into his arms. 

“There,” he sighed, running a soothing hand up and down your spine. “It’s alright. You’re just working too hard, that’s all. It’s alright.” He pulled back, kissed your forehead, and looked down at you. “Better?” 

You shrugged, wiping away tears you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Maybe you’re right.” 

He smirked. “I’m always right, darling.” 

With an arm slung around your shoulders, he led you back to the courtyard of the garrison where your other three friends stood next to their horses. Aramis and your horses had been saddled and awaited their riders. 

“What’s this?” You asked, Aramis handing your musket off to one of the stableboys to put away. 

“You are leaving,” D’Artagnan grinned. “Well, all of us are leaving, of course. We’ve all decided that we could all use a break from Paris. You, especially, Y/N.” 

“I can’t leave,” you scoffed. “There’s so much to do still! I need to stay and practice and…” You trailed off, as Aramis gave your hand a gentle tug toward the others. 

“Paris will still be here tomorrow,” Athos said. He watched you with a raised brow. “As will Treville and all of your training. One of the things you need to learn about being a soldier is knowing your limits, Y/N. You cannot help anyone if you can no longer help yourself. Besides-” He held up a bulging saddlebag which clinked as it moved. “I already bought the wine.” 

“I for one think it’s a magnificent idea,” Aramis beamed. “I’m jealous I hadn’t thought of it before. We could all use a day away, don’t you think, Y/N?” 

You took a deep breath. There was so much left to be done. You still needed to perfect your marksmanship, ready your fencing strategy, and work on hand-to-hand without strangling your sparring partner this time. The pressure of it all lingered in your chest as you gazed at the four wonderful men who’d helped you this far. 

But they were right. How could you possibly hope to achieve your goals if you overworked your body to the point of disaster? 

“Alright, I’ll go.” 

All four erupted in cheers. Porthos even lifted you up, tossed you over his shoulder, and spun around, eliciting a squealing laugh from your lips. When he set you down again, he kissed your cheek and gave you the biggest smile you’d ever seen. 

“It’s been far too long since I’ve heard that sound,” he said. 

The others all grinned in agreement and your group of five mounted your horses. You looked back at the garrison as the city passed by and spotted the field where you'd been practicing with the musket. The mocking bottle remained in its spot, untouched. 

Aramis followed your gaze and chuckled. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it,” he nodded. “Just not today.” Aramis reached over and put a hand on your shoulder. “And that’s perfectly fine.”

You nodded in return and urged your horse forward, away from Paris and your responsibilities and your anxieties. You let them fall away with the pounding of hooves against the road and the laughter of your friends in the air. 

-

The sweet summer air filled your lungs, banishing the lingering scent of the city. Wildflowers lined the path, the soft earth shifting under your feet as you leaned down into a starting position. 

“I thought the whole point of this was to get away from training,” D’Artagnan teased, taking the same stance beside you. Aramis stood in between, arms raised for the signal. 

“Ready?” He glanced excitedly at both of you. “Set.”

“This isn’t training, D’Artagnan,” you laughed. “This is fun!” 

“Go!” 

You flew down the path, your legs sprinting as fast as they could carry you while D’Artagnan raced next to you. He started in the lead, but as you neared the tree at the end of the lane- your predetermined finish line- you began to gain on him. Your hair whipped around your face but you kept your eyes open and focused on that tree. 

The three cheered both of you on, all favoring you for the victory. Their hollering only increased when you finally surpassed your opponent, keeping just a step ahead of him all the way to the end. 

When you turned to gloat in your victory, however, you failed to see one of the tree’s roots stretched out in front of you. Your foot caught and, in your attempt to save yourself, your hand latched onto your competitor’s arm and dragged him down with you. 

D’Artagnan tumbled, the two of you rolling down the small hill behind the tree. Grass and flower petals broke your fall and burst up into the air as you landed with you on top and D’Artagnan sprawled out beneath you, both of your cackling filling the air.

“I’m-” You snorted. “I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” Your words were hardly understandable between your snickers. 

“I’m fine, are you?” His heaving laughs lifted your head which laid on his chest. You peered up at him, taking in his sparkling eyes and bright smile. You couldn’t help but feel all of your worries from before fade away. 

After a moment, the other three appeared over you, looking down and shaking their heads. 

“I would say Y/N is the winner, but seeing as she’s also the one that caused this unfortunate spell…” Porthos started. He helped you up with a smirk and you playfully punched his arm. 

“I agree with Porthos,” D’Artagnan said, brushing himself off. 

“Clumsy or not, I’m still faster,” you fired back. 

“Perhaps a rematch is in order.” 

“You should know by now, D’Artagnan.” You stepped toward him so that you were only inches apart. “I never back down from a challenge.” 

Aramis put a hand in between you two. “Alright, I think that’s quite enough competition for the day.” His deep laugh brought more warmth to your chest. “We should make camp soon anyway before the sun sets.” 

You pointed a finger at the youngest musketeer and smirked. “This isn’t over.” 

He bowed dramatically. “I look forward to it.” D’Artagnan hurried ahead to start the fire, his laughter still ringing through the air, and you strolled alongside the other three. 

Aramis removed a leaf from your hair and tucked the strand behind your ear. He held up a hand to his ear. 

“Listen,” he said. “Do you hear that?” 

“I hear nothing,” you shrugged. 

“Exactly.” He breathed in deeply with a content smile. “Isn’t it wonderful?” 

You scoffed. “Aramis, I give us all two days before we’re begging to get back to the noise and excitement of Paris.” You poked a finger at his chest. “You especially.” 

He opened his mouth to argue but found that he couldn’t. Instead, he chuckled and held out his arm. 

“Fair enough. But it is a break well deserved nonetheless.” 

You beamed, taking his arm. “That it is.” 

You all sat around the fire, eating rabbit that Aramis had shot earlier and Porthos roasted over the flames with a bottle of wine for each of you. D’Artagnan and Aramis sat across from you while you and Porthos spent dinner discussing your technique in sparring earlier in the day. 

“I am sorry again,” you said, putting a hand on his arm. “I hope I didn’t injure you too badly.”

“Just his pride!” Aramis chimed from across the fire. 

Porthos tossed a pebble at his head. 

This, of course, prompted a small battle between the three of them, picking up various projectiles from the forest floor and trying to hit each other. In the midst of their antics, you saw Athos from his place leaning against a far tree. He motioned for you to follow him. 

Having always been a little frightened of the leader of the group, you gulped, believing to be in some kind of trouble with him. Athos’s intensity was known throughout the musketeers, along with his skill with a sword and leadership. 

He led you in a perimeter around the small camp you’d made without saying anything at first, which of course only increased your returning anxiety. 

“I know you believe that you don’t belong here,” he finally said. His words were so blunt, you didn’t know how to respond and he continued. “I wanted to tell you that you have nothing to worry about, which I know isn’t very helpful given how you’re feeling.” 

“Unfortunately, it isn’t,” you sighed. “Though I appreciate your encouragement.”

“It isn’t merely encouragement, Y/N.” He stopped walking to look at you with that same intensity. “I believe it. I’ve never seen someone work with as much passion as you do. With as much tenacity and willingness to learn. Half of the men in the musketeers think they already know everything about the world, but you-” An impressed laugh made his blue eyes shine. “You have done more to learn and to improve than anyone I’ve ever seen. It’s no wonder you’ve exhausted yourself so much. It’s remarkable it hasn’t happened sooner.” 

You opened your mouth to rebuke his claims, to deny your skills and deprecate the work you’d done, but he put a hand on your shoulder that silenced you. 

“I would be honored to serve alongside you.” 

“Athos I-” You blinked back tears. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“Just promise me you won’t end our practices the way you ended with Porthos and I’ll be content with that,” he teased. “Let’s get back before they cause any trouble, hm?” 

As the two of you returned to the group, you felt so overwhelmed by the feelings stirring in your chest. But this wasn’t from anxiety or overworking yourself. You were just so grateful, gazing over the crowd of your four closest friends, that you couldn’t contain it. It spilled out onto your cheeks with joyous tears. 

Aramis noticed you first and his face immediately morphed with concern. 

“What have you done, Athos?” He leaped to his feet, soon joined by the other three as they scrambled to your side. “What’s the matter, Y/N, my dear?” 

“Nothing,” you laughed through your crying. “Athos has been nothing but kind, I promise. I just…” You took a deep breath. In one hand, you took Aramis’s, intertwining your fingers, and with your other, you took Athos’s. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.” 

“You would do the same for any of us,” D’Artagnan said. “It’s the least we can do after all of the work you’ve put in.”

“Work that has not been ignored by Treville,” Athos added. “I believe he admires you even more than we do.” 

“If that’s even possible,” Aramis said with a wink. 

“Well, I can’t thank you all enough for taking care of me like this.”

Aramis glanced around the others with a mischievous twitch of his mustache. 

“All for one,” he said, twirling you around so that you landed in Porthos’s arms. 

“And one for all,” Porthos finished, lowering you into a dip. 

“You are all imbeciles. Now let me go,” you squealed merrily as they spun you around again. By the time you’d danced with all four of them, you were all dizzy enough that you collapsed beside each other in a heap of laughter.

My musketeers. You couldn’t help but think with your head on Aramis’s shoulder and your legs stretched out over D’Artagnan’s. You remembered why you were so adamant to join the regiment in the first place. To be one of them. You knew now that, no matter what happened in the coming weeks, you always would be. 

The stars twinkled over your heads as the fire died down. You let out a sigh and felt content. 

“I love you all,” you whispered into the night. “Even if you are idiots.” 

Aramis chuckled beneath you. “And we you.” He kissed the top of your head. 

D’Artagnan poked at your calf. “Even if you are stubborn.” 

“Some of us are trying to sleep,” Porthos whined, but you could hear the smirk in his voice. 

You settled again and heard Athos sit up. He placed his cloak over you as a blanket. 

“Rest well, Y/N.” 

And you did.

[groundcontrol21]

Best Laid Plans (M, Musketeers)

It’s my birthday 🎉 and I'm back(-ish)! It’s honestly a miracle that I made it here to 22, so to celebrate I gave one of my homies a birthday and another a cold... Also consider this my strange way of giving back to all the people here who helped me reach another birthday, I love you all

Spring had come, bringing with it warmer sunshine and, of course, the need to plan a suitable celebration for Porthos’s birthday. As he did every year, Aramis spearheaded the planning, all but refusing any help from Athos or D’Artagnan to take some of the stress off him because it needed to be perfect. In the weeks leading up to the date, Aramis devised lists of wines for Athos to fetch, visited widow after widow to procure funds, passed days at the market spending those funds on food and a worthy gift for Porthos. Even Athos could not deny Aramis had outdone himself this year. It was halfway expected, then, that when the day of the festivities came, Athos found the mastermind behind them tucked away in a corner, behind a wooden pole, sneezing viciously enough to bring down half the garrison.

“You’ve chosen the perfect day to catch a cold, haven’t you?”

Aramis regarded him through bleary, half-lidded eyes, keeping the handkerchief plastered to his nose as he gave a shuddering inhale which rocked through his entire body, before exploding with another sneeze. “Heh’CHMPFFFF!” 

Athos pressed his fingers against his friend’s forehead, sighing when he found it radiating a sickly heat. “Go back to bed, Aramis,” he said firmly. “The entire event is planned to completion thanks to you. It need only begin.”

Aramis stuffed the balled up cloth back into his sleeve and gave a snort of indignation. The poor man was so congested that the action made his nose drip, a fact which Athos did his best not to focus on. “I will not miss Porthos’s birthday!”

The desire, familiar at this point, to throttle and coddle Aramis in equal measure, overtook Athos in a wave. “Do you think Porthos will abide you making yourself more ill on his behalf?”

Aramis’s speech took on a breathy quality, his eyelids beginning to flutter, but valiantly (or stupidly), he forged ahead. “He–he doesn’t have to know I’b ill–Heh’KSSHH!”

Athos clucked his tongue as Aramis fished out his handkerchief again to tend to his unruly nose. “And how exactly are you planning to keep Porthos from noticing when you keep doing that?”

“I won’t sneeze,” Aramis said resolutely. “You’ll find I have very good control over—”

Athos merely looked on mildly as a sneeze overtook Aramis mid sentence, rattling the man so thoroughly he had to throw his arm out against a pole to keep his balance. “Ihh’RSHHHH! Snf! Snf!” He blinked a couple times in the aftermath, glassy-eyed like a startled animal, and shook his head. 

“So I’ll muffle them. That much I can—IHH’TSCHHH!” 

Athos continued to stare at his friend wordlessly, as the sound of the explosion veritably echoed throughout half of Paris. 

“Ugh, damn you,” Aramis growled into his handkerchief, as though it were Athos who personally implanted the cold within his head. He mopped at his drippy nose. “I’ll think of something.”

*****************

The something that Aramis thought of was apparently to hover at the walls, sick and sneezing, while the rest of the garrison revelled, and hope for the best. It was a testament to how much fun, to put it politely, that Porthos and D’Artagnan had already had at a tavern prior to joining the Musketeers’ celebration that Porthos allowed himself to be swept up in the games and the gambling without noticing Aramis’s absence too keenly. He accepted Athos’s assertion that he was chatting with one of the new recruits, and didn’t even seem to notice that Aramis was, in fact, huddled alone with his drink.

Athos took his own cup and sought out the man. The light from the garrison torches was weak, but it was more than enough to illuminate how wretched the marksman looked. He slumped against the wall, cradling his drink to his chest with an absent, open-mouthed expression, as though he didn’t quite realize he was meant to be drinking from his cup. As Athos approached, he could hear the stuffed-up puffs of air tumble in and out from his chapped lips. 

“How are you feeling?” Athos asked lowly, to avoid startling the man. 

Aramis’s only response was to release the most waterlogged sneeze that Athos had ever heard into his crumpled handkerchief. “Hihhh’TSCHHH’uhh! Snf!” Keeping the handkerchief over his nose and mouth, he ran through a series of miserable noises that could have been coughs, sniffles, blows, or some combination of the three.

The sound had Athos reaching immediately for the man’s forehead, and he physically cringed when he felt the clammy heat roiling off it. He rolled his eyes and hissed. “Jesus Christ, Aramis.”

Aramis turned his eyes slowly on him, heavy and half-lidded as though drunk. “I’ll manage.” He was trembling with poorly concealed shivers.

Athos could hardly understand the man’s voice, so pitched and wrecked it was with soreness and congestion. “You are lucky Porthos arrived here already too drunk to notice you,” he said sharply. “You look horrid.”

Aramis cracked a poor imitation of his usual sunny smile, but it only looked wan and drawn against the pallor of his skin, the feverish flush of his cheeks. “Flattery will–” he began only for his voice to crack and plunge him into a fit of scraping, chesty coughs. He splayed his palm flat over his breast as he hacked, and Athos could not help but reach out a hand to steady him.

“Spare me the ordeal of listening to you, and just be quiet for once, would you?” The hand he placed on Aramis’s shoulder belied the bite to Athos’s words. He waited until the coughs subsided, until Aramis had slaked the worst of his sore throat with a bit from his waterskin, before holding out his own pristine handkerchief to Aramis. White, like a peace offering. 

“And take this. I can tell you’ll need it.” 

Aramis recognized the cloth for what it was, and gave Athos a grateful nod. For all of a moment Athos regarded his friend, pity swirling in his chest, but then Aramis emptied what sounded like half the Seine into Athos’s handkerchief and Athos resisted the urge to gag.

“Are you certain this is merely a cold?”

Aramis said nothing, but Athos could tell he was hiding behind the handkerchief in lieu of answering. He kicked Aramis’s ankle gently. “Aramis?”

But instead of answering Athos’s question (which was answer enough), Aramis merely tucked away the handkerchief and regarded Athos desperately, his eyes bright. “Please don’t tell Porthos,” he pleaded, almost whining. “Let him enjoy this night.”

Athos heaved a long sigh, long enough for Aramis to hear every note of dissatisfaction and chastisement within it, lest the man think Athos at all endorsed this foolishness. “I won’t tell him–”

Aramis breathed out, “Thank you.”

“--but I won’t hide this from him either.”

************

Aramis supposed that was about as good of a promise as he would get out of Athos, and so he resolved to take all the hiding onto himself. It was easier than expected to merely slink off to the side, sit down and huddle on a stoop, and watch absently as his fellow Musketeers cheered and drank and gambled. Aramis leaned his head against a railing, the noise of it all doing nothing to dispel the ache. 

Even this, though, slouching tucked away in a corner, was sapping more energy from Aramis than he cared to admit. There was no way to deny the feverish shivers which coursed through him, leaving his muscles sore and achy. He had abandoned all attempts to breathe through his nose hours ago, and each cursedly frequent sneeze not only grated his raw throat but doubled the bounding through his congested head. He was really quite sick, Aramis could tell, and he knew he’d be spending the next few days laid up in bed in recompense for his being upright now. But he didn’t mind; all he had to do was make it through this night, for Porthos, and then he could rest and lie down beneath a bundle of blankets and give into the way his body ached at the mere thought of standing for another minute–

“Aramis?”

“Porthos!” Aramis cried, jolting upright at the approach of his friend. He did not trust himself to stand without swaying or worse, but he did his best to rearrange his posture into something straighter and more befitting of a healthy man. Cursing inwardly, he stuffed his (or rather, Athos’s) handkerchief into his pocket and hoped Porthos hadn’t seen it. 

“What’s wrong?” Porthos said worriedly, stooping to take a seat beside Aramis. His movements were slightly sluggish with drink, but every inch of him radiated concern all the same. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Ain’t like you not to be out and about.”

Aramis did his best to smile as usual. “I’m just a bit–” His voice crackled and a few coughs, far more sick-sounding than he’d have liked, escaped before he could swallow them down. “--tired, is all,” he forced himself to finish, to his undoing, for perhaps if he had stopped speaking the few coughs would not have turned into a fit. As it was, though, the effort of speaking grated against his raw throat and left him coughing and coughing, and all Aramis could pray was that Porthos was too drunk to notice their sickly rasp. 

Aramis had no such luck, for he had scarcely caught his breath again when he was blinking at the cool feel of Porthos’s palm against his forehead. “You’re sick,”Porthos said, frowning. His hand moved to the side of Aramis’s neck, near his jaw, fingers pressing against the sore, swollen glands there, and his frown deepened. Aramis fought to keep his eyes from slipping closed at the warmth of his brother’s touch. 

“Aramis, why didn’t you tell me?”

Porthos sounded devastated, his voice so stricken, so weighed down with guilt it dragged, and Aramis could scarcely bear such a thing. “Because it’s nothing, really!” he said hurriedly, for it looked as though Porthos might cry. But Aramis’s body betrayed him with a sudden, sharp inhale. “Heh’KSHHHHH! Hhh’TSHIEWW! Snf! Ihh’HITSHHH!” 

He brushed a finger beneath his nose. “Just a touch of a cold,” he said soggily, steadfastly resisting the urge to reacquaint himself with the handkerchief though he desperately needed to. Porthos watched him, face twitching with brewing skepticism and anger. Aramis attempted to reassure him. “I’ll be alright with a bit of sleep.”

Porthos exhaled noisily. “So why don’t you go try to get some?” He reached out again and traced his thumb gently across the circles, dark as bruises, beneath Aramis’s eyes. “You look exhausted.” 

Aramis was beyond exhausted, and the soft touch of his brother was more soothing on his swollen, aching head than any medicine could be, and yet still Aramis did his best to keep his eyes from drifting shut, to prevent himself from leaning into those comforting fingers too much. 

Then Porthos whispered, “Please?” and Aramis could hold out no longer. 

“Alright, dear friend,” he sighed, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment, feeling himself slump against Porthos. “You make a convincing case.”

At this, Porthos helped Aramis to his feet; or rather, the two Musketeers helped each other, for while Aramis swayed from fatigue and fever, Porthos was equally unsteady with drink. Even so, he clasped Aramis’s shoulder firmly and vowed, “I’ll come check on you in a bit.” 

But as Aramis turned to go, he saw the way Porthos stumbled briefly back toward the main celebration before righting himself. 

“You’re half-drunk already!” Aramis called, swallowing down a cough. “Please, Porthos. Don’t worry yourself over me.” Porthos opened his mouth to retort but Aramis shook his head. “Just enjoy your celebration. Show D’Artagnan the finer points of how a Musketeer readies a melon to eat.”

He tapped his pistol to show Porthos his meaning, and the man smiled, even as his brow was still ruffled with skepticism. Once more, Aramis bid him farewell and headed back to his room, hoping that a few rounds of inebriated target shooting with the young Gascon would take Porthos’s mind off Aramis for the rest of the night. He deserved nothing less, after all.

*******************

Aramis was tucked up at his table, a blanket round his shoulders and a washcloth covering his head like a tent, keeping in the steam from the bowl he had filled with boiling water and a few sprigs of mint. He had lost track of just how long he had spent there, absolutely spent and dripping from his harsh and desperate fits of sneezing, but relishing in his slightly increased capacity for breathing, when he heard his door click open and shut.

“Oh, Aramis. You’re really sick, aren’t you?”

“Porthos?” Dazedly, Aramis lifted his head from the bowl, lifting the corners of the washcloth to peer at his friend, who hovered in the doorway. “I thought I told you–Ihh’KSHHHH’uhhh!” 

Aramis sniffled liquidly, feeling a mess run from his nose to his chin. The steam was still doing its job, no doubt. “Heh’KSHHHH!” He fumbled to retrieve the handkerchief from the table and mop himself up with it. 

Porthos made a wounded noise. “And I thought I told you to get some sleep.” The floorboards creaked and groaned, until Aramis looked up again to find Porthos’s face mere inches from his. The steam had loosened things up just enough that Aramis could smell a bit of the alcohol on the man’s breath. Porthos looked at the bowl as though it had hurt him personally. “And yet here you are, so sick that you brought out the steam and you didn’t even tell me.”

“Porthos, it’s alright,” Aramis said, setting aside the handkerchief to clasp his brother’s hand. “I’m just a bit too congested to sleep, is all.” He put on a smile and gestured for Porthos to sit. “Tell me, how is the party? Did D’Artagnan have his melon lesson?” 

At this, Porthos grinned widely, and Aramis felt himself relax, even as he felt the heavy, aching congestion returning. Porthos filled Aramis in on what he had missed, sparing no detail of D’Artagnan’s melon-shooting under Porthos’s drunken tutelage, from Athos’s deep disproval to the clump of fruity flesh that he had taken to the face courtesy of D’Artagnan. All the while, the tickle in Aramis’s nose grew, such that, eventually, not even his habitual sniffles could ward it off.

“Hhhh’RSHHH’ooo! Hhh’TSCHHH! Hehh…Ihhh’ISHHH’uhh! Heh’ZDSHHH’uhh! Oh… Snf!” Aramis snuffled into the handkerchief, feeling an outright return to abject misery now that the sneezes had come back full-force. “Sorry,” he croaked. He waved at Porthos. “Carry on.” But no sooner than he spoke his last word did his breath hitch again and launch him forward into his fist. “Ihh’KISHHH!” The sneeze snagged in his throat and left him coughing breathlessly. 

Once the fit had eased, Aramis looked over to where Porthos had been sitting across from him at the table, only to find the spot vacated. “Porthos?” he called hoarsely. 

Porthos’s voice came from somewhere behind the maze of open cupboards where he was hidden. Aramis could hear him rifle around through his herbs and cups. “I’m getting you tea.”

“Thank you.”

The large pot of water Aramis had boiled for his steam treatment was still sitting warm on the hearth, and so Porthos merely scooped some of it into a mug and mixed leaves and herbs and a bit of honey into it. His movements were a bit discombobulated and sluggish from drink, but he did not so much as slosh the tea when he brought it back to Aramis, setting it down gently in front of him. Aramis took a ginger sip and relished the feel of it against his throat; Porthos had not been too drunk to forget Aramis’s favorite sore-throat blend either.

The warmth of the tea made his nose run anew, and Aramis gave a blow into Athos’s handkerchief, which was now every bit as spent as his. He winced at the rough feel of it against his skin, raw and chapped from the day’s copious use. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday, Porthos,” he said quietly, miserably. His gaze was at the floor, at the tips of his friend’s boots. 

Porthos’s fingers came to rest at Aramis’s chin, tipping his head up to face him. “None of that,” Porthos said tenderly. “Absolutely none of that.”

“But you should be–”

“Right where I am, with my brother who gave me the best birthday celebration.” Porthos stroked the hair from Aramis’s temple, and pressed a brief kiss to his warm skin. “Poor Aramis,” he said. “So sick and worried.” He tapped the tea mug. “Drink up, and then let’s both get to sleep, alright? I need you well enough to take my side against Athos in the Great Melon Debate.”

Aramis gave a hoarse chuckle. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be well enough for that.”

[incorrect-musketeers]

Treville: What would you say your best qualities are?

D’Artagnan: I'm bisexual, I have soft hair, and sometimes I cry because I love my friends

[arrthurpendragon]

⌨ + Bluebird in My Heart (Tag you're it!)

 “I don’t know why my uncle decided he should be the one to escort me back, unless he plans on me murderin’ him.”

D’Artagnan tried to hide the smile that threatened to spill.  He couldn’t help but think how much Aramis was going to enjoy this story and how he’d be sad he missed it keeping watch for skulkers.  Aramis loved seeing Athos come undone. It rarely happened.  And the fact that it was a woman taking the piss out of him was all the better.

To Odette, it seemed to take Athos forever to return.  But when he did, he carried some cloths, blankets, and a belt.  She looked at him in confusion. “What are ye plannin’ on doing with those? Smothering me?”

D’Artagnan snickered.  Athos held his breath and didn’t speak for a moment, likely biting back some unkind and witty retort. He exhaled the breath he held before lowering himself to the ground. 

“We need to restrain your ankle from further damage until we can get to Paris,” Athos responded cooly. “It should help some with the pain as well.”

Odette looked up at D’Artagnan. “Should I trust him?”

Athos’s jaw clamped tight, clearly offended by her words. He didn’t like that she was questioning him in front of his own men. While stopping at the tavern may have been a mistake, he had been nothing but honourable to this woman.  He had helped her at every turn, despite her best efforts to sabotage him.  The sooner they were in Paris, the better.

“I trust Athos with my life,” D’Artagnan replied before giving his friend a nod.

Send me ⌨ + title to one of my fics and I’ll write a sentence for that fic! (if you want one back - add "tag you're it" to your ask)

[silvercaptain24]

📓

Okay so admittedly this only popped into my head a few minutes ago but the more I think about it—

Three Musketeers Annie AU.

D’artagnan is Annie. Athos is …I don’t remember what they named him in the new one cause that’s the one I’m going off of but the foster dad dude

Rochefort’s the gal who sings Little Girls in the movie. Aramis and Porthos.. idk that they would have specific movie roles but they would be Athos’s best friends who are always in the house and help him raise D’artagnan and keep track of the election stuff

[kreature-ofthenight]

okay time for me to go absolutely feral again over a movie few people care about The man in the iron mask, oh my god where do I even start. Its a fairy tale, its a legend its a what if, as in what if we got a happy ending but also what if it had to be paid in blood.

The Musketeeres, they are old now, they arent musketters anymore, but they used to be, they outlived their own legends, they are well past their prime and they are still here, they are the closest book characterisation we have on screen. Artus who always was the father having his son ripped from this world to early. Portus the strongest and liveliest feeling his life force fading away with age. Aramis the pretty and careless flirt, feeling the weight of his sins so heavy he secluded his life to priesthood, D’Artangnan whose onyl goal in life seemed to be to serve something greater than himself trapped in hopeless devotion, born of love to a cruel and unjust king.

They are the best and worst versions of themself simultaniously and even though they might have forgotten for some time they are still the Musketeers and prove that trough the story.

They all are serving their country and they realise it means betraying their King, D’Artagnan only realising to late that he has been betrayed of being a father two times but now has one final chance to help his son.

Louis being the cold and harsh sun king dressed all in gold and silk with no love in his heart.Taking anything and anyone he desires and still not valuing any of it. Being cruel just for cruelties sake and mad power. Philipe from his introduction being always associated with the moon, pale and hidden, the dark mask and a heart that despite everything cant help but love and care, who fells the need to confess his sins when imprisioned without guilt, who only ever wants to love and be loved, who was so easy to forgive the man who put the mask on him and came to call him father, after his own brother robbed that man of his only son who even forgave his brother and let him live a quiet and humble life, prehaps the life he himself always dreamed of

The fact that DiCaprio acted them both so well that you can tell them appart by body language and facial expression alone The story at its core being about hope and about carrying on, the Musketters keeping on living, Philippe enduring the Jail and the Torture of the mask, (”Im wearing the mask, the mask isnt wearing me!”), the hope of a cruel king being turned into a mercyfull one The absolut tragic of D’Artagnans character, acting out of love alone and almost losing his way while doing so. Being the youngest of the friends and still the first one to die, protecting his son from his king, and even then again, doing so in preventing Philippe to lose himself in his rage killing his brother. The fact that they all dawn the black uniforms again to rescue Philippe, knowing there is no easy way out, mourning clothes for themselves, uniforms saved to wear in dead and thats what they will do. The fact that even then their legend, as legends are prone to do, protects them like a mantle, as every single musketter closes his eyes before firering, not able to murder the men they all looked up to their whole life. The way this legend and D’Artagnans death make them all turn on their king almost imediatly, because they serve france, they are musketters and that means standing in the way of an unjust king. The whole cinematography, the score, the way to story itselfs starts out by declaring itself a legend at best. Its just a movie I hold dear to my heart for some reason.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Sealing Fate

A last shot rings out through the night, a last sword slash glints in the street lights, and Paris falls quiet again. Quiet except for Aramis‘ outcry of „Porthos!“ and said Musketeer‘s angry, pain-filled grunts.

He‘s sitting up on the cobblestones, clutching his thigh, when Aramis and d‘Artagnan rush to his side, with Athos hanging back to make sure the Huguenots that attacked them are either dead or have fled the scene for good.

To Aramis‘ dismay, Porthos is already sitting in a puddle of his own blood. He‘s swearing loudly, but the hand clutching the musket wound is shaking, and he looks very pale for a black man.

„Let me see!“

Aramis hastily widens the tear in Porthos‘ breeches, his hands immediately slick and crimson. He can barely see the wound under all the blood, pouring out in the rhythm of Porthos‘ heartbeat.

“Jesus Christ,” Aramis gasps, and if the blood wasn’t enough to worry the others, his words certainly are.

“That bad?” Porthos asks tremulously and then slides into a deep groan as Aramis presses his handkerchief against the wound as hard as he can.

“Pretty bad,” is his almost-honest reply.

D’Artagnan is there, too, instinctively supporting Porthos who is getting weak fast.

“Can you stop the bleeding?”

Athos has stepped out of the shadows and sheathes his sword while he squats down beside them.

“I’m trying!”

In rising horror, Aramis stares at the red that is still flowing out of Porthos’ body and through his fingers. It’s a pulsating bleed, and Aramis knows what that means.

“We have to stop this, and fast, or he’ll bleed out right here.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes widen. Porthos’ should, but they don’t, beginning to fall shut on an increasingly distant stare.

“A tourniquet?” Athos asks, outwardly calm.

“He’ll lose his leg by the time we can get him to a surgeon.”

They don’t have to discuss that Porthos would rather be dead.

“Stitches?”

Aramis shakes his head again. “Takes too long. And the wound is too deep. The ball’s still inside. I don’t know what—“

Wait.

Aramis’ panicking brain throws an idea at him. It’s insane. It might kill Porthos. But then again, his brother is on death’s door as it is, barely conscious anymore, and Aramis can either sit here and watch his best friend die under his hands or he can at least try to save him.

“Give me your gunpowder!” he shouts at d’Artagnan.

“What?” The young Gascon stares at him, Porthos limp in his arms now.

“Take mine.” Athos hands Aramis his pouch, already opened.

Aramis grabs it with one hand.

“This has got to happen fast, or the powder will be too wet from his blood and won’t ignite, so keep your flint at the ready,” he explains hurriedly.

D’Artagnan doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. “What? You’re not going to—“

“Give me your scarf! I’ll mop the wound as clean as I can, then douse it with powder. On my signal, you light it. Understood?”

Athos, eyes bright steel under his hat, nods firmly.

“Hold him steady, d’Artagnan!” Aramis instructs their youngster. “He may come around when I do this.”

The Gascon seems to have accepted that something insane is going to happen, and that he’s got his part to play in it. He wraps his arms around Porthos.

“Ready?”

Heart pounding, Aramis looks at his brothers.

Now or never.

With a deep breath, Aramis presses and wipes the scarf across Porthos’ thigh, mopping up as much blood as possible. It keeps welling, but slower now, which isn’t a good sign, but may help them in this instance. Then he tilts Athos’ pouch and dumps a fistful of powder right on and into the wound and presses it down.

“Now, Athos!“

The swordsman’s hands may tremble in the mornings, but they’re calm and steady now. Athos only has to strike the flint once, and sparks fly. The powder on Porthos’ thigh catches fire.

“Watch out!” Aramis shouts, and all three of them lean away from the flame that shoots up, then dies down surprisingly quickly. The smell of burnt flesh assaults their noses. Aramis leans back in and uses his glove to extinguish a few small flames curling up Porthos’ breeches.

“Oh God!” D’Artagnan exclaims, his face a grimace of worry and disgust, as he cradles his still-unconscious Musketeer brother in his arms.

“Did it work?”

Aramis waves the smoke away and anxiously checks Porthos’ thigh. A patch of angry, molten flesh stares back at him, a red-black crust at its center where the hole was before. The wound weeps fluid around the edges, but it looks sealed, and there’s no fresh blood. Aramis gives it another moment, not daring to prod or even move. Then he exhales.

“It’s stopped,” he says heavily.

“He’ll live? And keep his leg?” D’Artagnan sounds incredulous.

Aramis wipes his hands on his coat, then places two fingers against Porthos’ neck. His pulse is weak and rapid, but it’s there.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Aramis replies. “And Lemay will have to peel that musket ball out of his thigh somehow before closing it all up again neatly. And he’ll have a nasty scar.”

“But he’ll live.”

Athos says it as a statement, not as a question, and Aramis feels the older man’s hand on his shoulder - a short but firm squeeze of gratefulness and appreciation.

It’s that small gesture that almost unravels Aramis.It truly hits him what just happened and what risk he took. His heart skips in his chest, and his lungs tighten.

They almost lost Porthos.

He could have killed Porthos.

And although Porthos seems out of danger for the moment, they have to get him to a surgeon safely and quickly, so Aramis breathes deep into his belly and calms himself with a quick prayer. Then he pulls himself together and starts giving new orders.

“Athos, we need bandages. I don’t care where from, but fetch me some! We also need a cart to transport him to the garrison. D’Artagnan, lay him down flat and watch him closely. He mustn’t move that leg if he wakes up!”

There is no time for emotions now. They’ve got a long night still ahead of them.

[anamariamauricia]

A sneak peek at my modern musketeers au:

“D’Artagnan?” Anne’s tired voice came out from the other end of the line rather than Aramis’s.

“Anne?”

“Aramis is just getting out of the shower,” she explained. “Would you like him to call you back?”

“Well, I was going to see if I could come over--I mean, if that’s alright with you,” he hurriedly added. He was effectively inviting himself over to Anne’s apartment.

“Of course. Is everything alright? Did Milady come back?”

“No, Milady’s gone.”

“Is Constance alright?”

"No, she's alright--I mean, she's not hurt, physically. It's just…" he sighed heavily. "It's been a rough day, and I needed somewhere to go. I would’ve gone to Athos and Porthos but with Athos not being in the best state, Constance thought I should come to you two.”

“You’re always welcome here, d’Artagnan,” she assured him. “Are you on your way?” 

He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced though she couldn’t see him. “I’m outside the building. Constance gave me the address.”

“Oh,” was Anne’s immediate response. Then, more composed, “Well, I’ll buzz you in and get Aramis.” After giving him her apartment number, they hung up.

A wet-haired and half-naked Aramis answered the door once he got up there, and d’Artagnan raised his eyebrows at the very short midnight blue crescent moon patterned pyjama shorts he was wearing.

Aramis looked down at himself. “They’re Anne’s. I just grabbed them,” he explained, and looked back up at d’Artagnan expectantly. “She said it was urgent.”

He shook his head as he stepped past Aramis and into the apartment. “Not urgent. But something’s happened, with Bonacieux.”

Aramis eyed his backpack as he closed the door. “Did he kick you out?”

He sighed and bowed his head, feeling so, so tired all of a sudden. He had broken into a run through the park on his way here, but his grief and sorrow over Constance telling him to leave finally caught up to him.  

“D’Artagnan,” said Anne, walking into the entryway. She was wearing yoga pants, along with what he recognized to be one of Aramis’ sweatshirts. It was just as odd to see her dressed down, barefoot and with her hair loose. He would have thought she’d come out wearing silk pyjamas and satin slippers with her hair neatly plaited and tied off with a ribbon like they wear in those high-class soaps Constance watches.

“I said you could go back to bed,” Aramis lightly chided.

Anne raised her elegant eyebrows. “If our friends need help, I’d like to know sooner rather than later. Besides, I thought I’d get a couple of candies to suck on and try to settle my stomach."

Aramis' face became coloured with concern as he turned to fully face her. "Still feeling nauseous? Do you want me to make you some ginger tea?" His hand reached up to cup her elbow and d'Artagnan's heart ached to be with Constance as he watched them. He hadn’t wanted to add to the atmosphere of doom and gloom currently brewing over at Athos and Porthos’ place, but perhaps it would have been better for them to commiserate over their respective heartbreaks than for him to see what could have been with Constance.

Anne gave a small smile. "That’d be lovely. Make sure there's enough water in the kettle for the three of us,” she said, tilting her head over to him.

Aramis looked at him, and d’Artagnan nodded to accept the offer. The hand at Anne’s elbow then travelled down her arm and after taking her hand, Aramis raised it to his lips. "Got it, and I'll make sure there's enough for d'Artagnan too." He winked before kissing her knuckles. “Let me grab the candy before you get settled,” he told them, and then went off into the kitchen.

D'Artagnan sighed, though it was one of fond exasperation, and walked over to Anne. "He's going to be unbearable to work with over the next six months," he said in a low voice.

"Why is that?"

"He'll be practising all his dad jokes on us."

Anne chuckled warmly, and after accepting the candies Aramis had retrieved for her, looped her hand around d’Artagnan’s arm before they set off for the living room. "Oh, and darling," she called back to Aramis, pausing them in their step, "your legs look great in those shorts."

[strangerthings4theories]

The Demogorgon Is Billy’s Dark Reflection

At first glance, the Demogorgon seems irrelevant to the question of whether or not Billy’s coming back. But as I aim to prove, it has everything to do with it. 

Stranger Things deals heavily in the theme of reflections and opposites. Characters are designed to mirror each other, embody the opposite of each other, and sometimes both at once. Hell, the Upside Down is presented as a reflection of the real world. Literally.

(Damn. They ain’t subtle.)

By the term “dark reflection,” I mean a relationship like that between the Upside Down and the real world. The two are almost exact copies; the Upside Down has all the same landmarks, down to Will’s fort in the woods. But the Upside Down has been corrupted by the Mind Flayer, its inhabitants turned into unthinking monsters.

It’s like us. But it’s everything we hate about ourselves, everything we’re afraid of becoming.

When we probe relationships between characters, we find that pattern replicated across the board. I don’t have room to explore it in full here. However, Billy and the Demogorgon are one of the most obvious examples.

With the exception of El, the main character of the show, no one else has been compared to the Demogorgon like Billy has.

>>Billy fills the “monster” role in S3 that the Demogorgon filled in S1.

In S1, the Demogorgon stalks the inhabitants of Hawkins, kidnapping and killing them. In S2, we find out Demogorgons do not act alone, but are the puppets of a greater monster: the Mind Flayer. 

In S3, the Mind Flayer possesses Billy, turning him into His puppet. Billy then stalks the inhabitants of Hawkins, kidnapping and taking them to his master, which ultimately results in their deaths.

In S3, the Demogorgon wears a human face.

>>Like the Demogorgon, Billy is the puppet of a greater monster... even before he’s possessed.

Max tells us as much in Runaway Max when she’s watching Billy beat the life out of Steve:

I remembered how it had felt the first time I’d watched the Hargroves in action. Neil standing over Billy with the belt in his hand. Neil calling me a stupid little girl for having the guts to try to stop him. Making it so clear that he thought I was small and weak and pointless. And knowing Neil believed that still wasn’t as bad as the way Billy had hated me for trying to help him. He was damaged. Broken, maybe. And even if he’d been coherent enough to argue with, it wouldn’t make a difference. I understood now that Neil was in his head, and that meant he was just as dangerous as his father. (p 218)

This implies not only that Billy is the Demogorgon, but also that Neil is the Mind Flayer. The ramifications of that idea are... oof. Just oof.

Remember the definition of “dark reflection” that I gave you. A dark reflection is something that’s like us, but represents what we hate or fear most about ourselves.

The Demogorgon is Billy’s dark reflection because it represents his fear of losing his humanity to an abuser. 

>>Runaway Max draws on the grossest scene in S2 to give us a Billy/Demogorgon parallel.

In S2, Dustin finds a baby Demogorgon and names it D’Artagnan. At first Dart seems harmless. Then he molts and, in a scene I hate to watch, eats Dustin’s cat.

Keep in mind that Dustin’s cat is orange.

In Runaway Max, Billy seems harmless at first. Then, in a flashback to California, we’re told of the day Billy “molts.” 

One afternoon, he’s hanging out with Max and his buddies Wayne and Sid on the scrubby hill behind the Hargrove house. He’s bored and pissed at Sid for besting him on a history paper. Pulling out his lighter, he starts playing with it.

We learn there’s a corpse of a cat nearby:

There was a dead cat that had been lying under one of the sweet pea bushes for a while. A mangy orange tom with one white foot. (p 63)

Billy stalks over to it with his lighter. In a “hard, bright” voice, he talks about giving the cat a “Viking funeral.” Then, over Max and Sid’s protests, he drenches the corpse in butane and lights it on fire. The flames race down the hill, and the others have to stomp them out before they spiral out of control.

Max notes Billy’s reaction:

Billy just watched, standing over the burning cat, smiling that small, tight smile he got when something seemed funny to him....

After that, I knew.

Not that Billy was crazy or out of control, exactly - it wasn’t like the cat had been alive. But the fact that he’d done it meant something. (p 67)

Yeah, this scene means something, alright. Symbolically, Billy - a baby Demogorgon - has just eaten a cat. And, like Dustin with Dart, Max realizes he’s a monster in the making.

>>The show’s plot and cinematography choices emphasize the Billy/Demogorgon connection.

1) El first meets them in the Void. They’re both crouching, and literally or symbolically feasting, as she approaches from the right.

2) They stalk after the kids, shoulders hunched. In the Demogorgon’s case, the kids are trapped. In Billy’s case, he thinks he’s trapping the kids, but they turn the tables on him.

3) When the Demogorgon is activated, a crack rips through the tile wall of the lab. When Billy is activated, we see cracked tiles on the wall behind him.

4) El pins them against the wall with her powers. Then she screams in their faces before she deals the “death blow.” In the climactic shot, she’s on the left, they’re on the right. Mike and/or her friends are behind her.

All of that ^ is the equivalent of the Duffers banging pots and pans. “Hey guys! Billy is like the Demogorgon! The Demogorgon is like Billy!” When I first noticed it, it told me to look for other examples of “mirroring.” Do we get any other shots that juxtapose the two?

Turns out we do. Oh my god, we do.

Study this pair of shots very, very carefully.

In the first, the Demogorgon is approaching the Byers' house. It's in the center of the frame, moving straight toward us. We see woods in the background; a lamp post is on the left side.

In the second, Billy is running away from the sauna. He's in the center of the frame, moving directly away from us. We see woods in the background; a lamp post is on the right side.

I’ve already talked about how the Upside Down is the deep sea. However, it is ALSO the woods. In fairytales, the woods are a place of mystery and monsters. Some of the most famous tales happen there, such as Little Red Riding Hood and Hansel and Gretel. (If you want to read more about this topic, here’s a Wikipedia article to get you started. Also a cool article on Medium)

With that in mind, we can describe this pair of shots as follows:

In the first, the Demogorgon is emerging from the Upside Down.

In the second, Billy is going to the Upside Down.

Interesting, right? Ah, but that’s only half of the story.

Study this pair now and tell me what you see.

Yep... they’re related.

In the second shot, Billy is swimming into the ocean. It’s the last glimpse we have of his young, happy self before the Mind Flayer kills him. He’s in the center of the frame, moving directly away from us, just like the first shot.

With that in mind, we could say...

In the first, he’s going to the Upside Down in its ‘woods’ manifestation.

In the second - OUR LAST GLIMPSE OF YOUNG BILLY BEFORE HE DIES - he’s going to the Upside Down in its ‘ocean’ manifestation.

Interesting how we've only seen him leave. Yet we have this iconic image of the Demogorgon, his “dark reflection,” emerging from the Upside Down and coming to us.

I have a spooky vibe, y'all, that we're missing a final shot.

And we're going to see Billy... 

coming to us... 

from the water.

I have so much more to unpack here, but this post has gone on long enough! In future posts, I’ll lay out more evidence suggesting Billy will return from the water. I’ll also explore the mythological implications. They’re mind-blowing :3

»»————-　✼　————-««

P.S. I mentioned El has a unique relationship to the Demogorgon too. I’ll try to explain that eventually~~

»»————-　✼　————-««

The “Billy Is Alive” Meta Series (So Far)

Billy Is Not a ‘B’ Character In Stranger Things

The First Rule of Analyzing Stranger Things: The Upside Down Is Symbolized By Water

The Lifeguard And The Rip Current: Our First Big Hint That Billy Is Alive

Why Haven’t We Seen Dacre On Set?

Frequently Asked Questions

For updates, follow the hashtag #billy is alive meta

[drkcnry67]

One Night...

A/N thank you so much to @randomfandomimagine for the opportunity to branch out on my writing endeavours once more. i bring you something not marvel, or dc or supernatural or hogwarts related. i am bringing you guys something entirely new! hoope that you all enjoy this story its gonna be a bumpy ride.

Pairing: D'Artagnan x reader

Prompts: “Go and do it then, see if I care.” + “I think I’m gonna faint.” + “You do not speak of that which you know little about…” + “Things just can’t get any worst.” + hurt / comfort + accidental confession + anger + shock + romantic + hurt

Tags: reader taking a vile of poison meant for the king, d'artagnan and the reader implied not detailed smut, d'artagnan and reader argument the reader storming off to do something stupid, d'artagnan not telling reader how he truly feels till its almost too late, dont think there is anything else. kisses, make out, quick pressed engagement maybe, maybe some mushy fluff stuff. (not all this may be in the story but its included in the tags aanyway)

Rating: 14+

Word count: 2,992

Created for @sweetness47 @randomfandomimagine

Summery: nope

you were drinking with your best friend in the entire universe, it was a celebratory thing where you guys had just reunited after he and the other musketeers had just come back from victory at a rescue mission for the king.

you and your best friend D'artagnan both secretly unknowingly by eachother, crushing on eachother, you did it, you both were way past your limits, im talking like way passed over drunk im talking like 14 bottles of mead, 16 bottles of wine and 2 bottles of rum all on a tab that someone would be very sorry about later.

but waking up in the morning it was like someone was playing the kings royal drum roll on your head with bricks. but your vision became clearer the more awake you became...

yn(barely audible mostly mouthing words to self): omg im naked, but that must mean...

you were too scared of what you might see beside you but you knew if you didnt look you might never know what happened that previous night... thats when you got up off the bed gently and quietly.

yn(barely audible mouthing words to self): oh my god i slept well with my best friend, he doesnt even know how i feel... i dont know what im gonna do, i gotta get back home before constance wakes up and starts to worry.

you get your stuff putting on something to wear and your cloak and going from the room at the tavern where you woke to the house. you opened the door and walked inside trying to be quiet but constance came out of her room just as you were heading to yours.

she followed you and felt your emotions spiking, as she watched you sit on your bed half dressed...

Yn: before you say anything, Constance something happened to me last night I remember sitting in the tavern celebrating with D'Artagnan, and then I wake up this morning naked in the bed beside him... Constance it was awful, I mean I know it would have happened eventually anyway but last night, we were heavily drunk and it's not how I wanted it to go.

Constance: just sit and compose yourself yn, your emotions are a little high but remember we have duties to attend to later... let me sort this out, I need to find and speak with him at once. I'll do that as I head to the palace to assist the queen.

Yn: Constance just please tell him I was scared when I woke that's why I left without a word this morning. Things just can’t get any worst… can they?

constance: ill tell the queen you will be a bit late... that you went to market... you gonna be okay?

you nod as you go grab your fresh clothes from your wardrobe. then give constance a hug before she leaves the room. you spend time washing your self off and doing your hair and getting dressed.

meanwhile constance was arriving at the garrison, where she cornered d’artagnan while he was grabbing the mount for his horse… constance punched him in the arm…

D’artagnan now nursing his sore arm answers constance.

D’artagnan: good morning constance.

Constance: how dare you… how could you do this to her…

D’artagnan: im quite certain i dont know what you mean…

Constance: yn came home this morning all upset, beside herself. I know what happened between the 2 of you last night… well i know her perspective.

D’artagnan: thank heaven… is she alright? Where is she?

Constance: she is composing herself while she gets ready to meet me at work. She wants me to let you know that when she woke up she got a little scared, her having no memory of the previous night and she woke to you being next to her, she just was scared and so she left without a word or waking you… she just says she will speak to you about this and what it means when she is ready… she is fine…

D’artagnan took a breath in a deep one at that… and on the exhale he simply looked at Constance.

D'Artagnan: at least she is safe.

That's when they were interrupted by Athos clearing his throat…

Athos: morning Constance. D'Artagnan let's go we have to get to the castle to act as protection detail to the council meeting.

Both D'Artagnan and Constance say their goodbyes and leave their seperate ways…

You however were already almost to the castle when you stopped in market to get a new shawl and some flowers for the queen. Obviously you were taking your time not wanting to rush… but While that was happening Constance was just arriving at the castle where she goes to greet the queen and tell her a small portion of your tale before starting her duties.

You arrived at the palace flowers in hand wearing your new shawl going inside you go to where you knew the queen would be…

Anne: yn, Constance told me some of what you went through not all the details but it sounded like you had a very trying morning…

Yn: indeed I did your majesty… I shall put these flowers in a vase for you… then you can tell me what the agenda is for today…

Anne: just put those flowers in with the ones on the table here and come sit down you need to relax a bit before we conduct any sort of business.

You do as the queen says, taking a seat in the chair beside her you taking a deep breath and exhale it slowly…

Anne: feeling a bit better?

Yn: I still feel like a failure but ya I am somewhat more composed now.

Anne: great I'm glad to hear it. Now onto business you and I have to attend this council meeting this afternoon… the musketeers are the protection detail for the meeting. But your not leaving my side. Constance is doing her rounds and running some errands for me. And then once the meeting is done food and drinks will be brought out. Rochefort will also be there whispering in the king's ear. That's why your not leaving my side. If the king can have his secrets with Rochefort then I'll have my own with you At my ear.

Yn: so basically I'm being promoted again to confidante/loyal best friend?

Anne: silently yes… what the king doesn't know won't hurt him… plus I know you watching everything… you see and hear everything, you can descern what rocheforts true intent is… or if anything is gonna go wrong you can step in… I trust your judgement.

With the queen on your side you felt much better, you both prepared yourselves to walk out of the room and into the council meeting…but just as you were about to exit the room, rochefort bursts through the door unannounced and begins striding his way around the room… its only after you and anne clear your throats that he realizes that the room isnt empty…

Rochefort gets down on bended knee…

Rochefort: your majesty, yn i didnt see you both in here.

Yn: clearly the queen and i were just on the way to the council meeting… isnt that where you should be as well… with the king?

Rochefort clearly not planned on getting caught now backed into a corner.

Rochefort: indeed, well i shall take my leave and see you both there… your majesty, yn…

Both you and the queen step aside and watch as rochefort exits. You go to the guards outside the doors and give them the following words.

Yn: you both are to never ever let rochefort into this room like ever again unless myself and or the musketeers are present and the queen is never to be left alone with rochefort again is that understood… and triple the guard outside this room anyone seeking to enter this room needs to have either a note signed by either me or one of the musketeers or the queen herself.. No one else not the king not rochefort no one else… this is an extreme security procedure not to be discussed with any except me… i shall also have words with mister treville and the musketeers as well… do you both understand me…

The guard in unison speak: yes m’lady. We will get right on the tripling of the guard. Would you like us all stationed in pairs down each corridor leading to this room…

Yn: yes, that sounds like a plan.. Ill send one of the musketeers to spear head the positioning down each corridor… you guys are gonna be expected to sign agreements for this new order… this will be given and passed round by the musketeer Athos… no one else is gonna get through these corridors are gonna be locked down so the queen can have her private chamber away from the crowd, away from the king where she can have her private council…

Guard 1: very well, will there be a way for you to get us a list of allowed personal to access this room…

Yn: yes, that will also be sent with athos. Do not let anyone come down these hallways without a full body search of their persons and each of you will stand at a corridor and watch the hallways till your reinforcements arrive. Im gonna take the queen to the council chambers and ill send athos with the papers.

With that you and the queen leave down one of the corridors with the intent of making it to the council chamber with enough time for you and the queen to speak with athos… you usher for athos and the rest of the group to meet you and the queen on the side bar…

Athos: your majesty, you look radiant… yn, you look slightly concerned…

Yn: thats kinda why we are meeting away from the crowd… you and the others are gonna be apart of the new protection detail for the queens private chambers… where she can escape the craziness of court for a bit.. Yes both constance and i are the only ones who have known where this room is… but you are the only ones who can help us make sure the new order of detail

That's when D'Artagnan caught your gaze, Anne noticed this and took over the speaking.

Anne: noble musketeers I do not trust Rochefort for he was caught by me and yn leaving these secret chambers of mine not but a few short moments before we were coming here. He was looking for something. I have a parchment ready for the order of detail to be written down as well as the list of people who are the ones only allowed to enter. This is meant to be my safe space and earlier it did not feel safe.normally i would speak to the king of such a matter but i fear that rochefort may be poisoning the kings mind. Please athos i trust you to get my new detail up and running.

Athos pulls aramis and porthos aside as d’artagnan slowly approaches you….

D’artagnan: can we talk a moment yn?

You turn to him slightly while staying fully by the queens side.

Yn: not now maybe a little later… the meeting is bout to start…

You dont even continue to glance at him, you instead take your seat by the queens side… the meeting is going smoothly till the snack and drink trays are brought in… the page who is bringing in the king and queens is acting suspicious in your eyes… so you watch him, only to witness him pouring the entire contents of a small vile into both the kings and the queens drinks…

The boy then brings them forth.. Placing one goblet in front of the king and one in front of the queen… but before a drop can touch either of their lips you snatch both goblets and back up a bit… one goblet per hand, d’artagnan approaches you calmly but with haste…

Louie: what in the world is this girl doing…

Yn: your majesty i regret to inform you of this but i saw that page boy who delivered your s and the queens drinks pour the entire contents of a vile into both goblets. Porthos athos detain that boy till we sort this out no one in this room leaves till this gets sorted…

Over the next few moments the meeting was in a bit of chaos, but you and d’artagnan were now having a very heated discussion about this..

D’artagnan: are you mad… dont drink it dont do this just to prove a point…

Yn: im doing this to save our king and queen are you telling me tht you wouldnt do the same thing…

After a few moments of silence d’artagnan yelled gathering the entire rooms attention.

D’artagnan: go and do it then, see if i care…

You take a swig of one of the goblets… waiting a few moments, before you and d’artagnan turn to the rest of the room, but before the boy is fully released you suddenly become very dizzy..

Yn: d’artagnan i think i’m gonna faint…

You kinda slurred the last word before dropping the goblets and falling toward the ground… d’artagnan not caring bout his clothes at that moment slides down to catch your head in his lap before you hit the ground. In a panic and shock d’artagnan and aramis along with an escort of some guards carried you back to the garrison, athos and porthos stayed to oversee the execution of the page boy and to question everyone…

But d’artagnan didnt leave your side even after aramis and the doctors administered the cure for the poison… it was a cure any poison remedy…

It was 2 hours later and you hadn’t woke up yet… athos returned to the garrison to check on d’artagnan and you…

Athos: how is she?

D’artagnan: aramis and the doctor administered a cure all… they said she should wake in a few hours… im not leaving her side till she wakes…

Athos watches d’artagnan as his facials change from concern to shock and finally to comfort the longer he watches you… athos decides to say something to d’artagnan…

Athos: how long have you been in love with her?

D’artagnan turns to athos and gets off his seat making his way toward him…

D’artagnan: how did you…

Athos: i can tell by th way you look at her my friend…

D’artagnan: i have been in love with her since the first day i saw her, but last night we were out celebrating and we gave ourselves to eachother in a drunken state no clarity whatsoever… constance came to see me this morning guess yn was scared this morning when she woke naked beside me and when she drank the goblets contents i…

Athos: i am sorry my friend, look i know what you are going through… i felt some of…

D’artagnan a little angry and hurt and shocked beyond reason yelled…

D’artagnan: no athos, you do not speak of what which you know little about… she all but told me in her own subtle way earlier that she was in love with me… you know what im gonna do it, im gonna marry this girl…

A few more hours passed athos and the other musketeers now sitting in the room as well, to lend their support to their friend as he tries his best to stay sane… but you were just waking up when treville walked in… everyone relieved to see you awake, treville had you sign some papers for the new guard detail, and then treville and everyone except d’artagnan left the room…

D’artagnan: i am so happy your alright.. And once you are all better we will have a few things to do… but while you were unconscious i did some thinking and i dont want to do this none confessional dance with you anymore… this acting like i am not in love with you isnt working for me… last night we lost ourselves to eachother and that was the best feeling ever till i woke up and you were gone… i thought maybe you didnt feel the same way till constance came here this morning and yelled at me…

Yn: what are you trying to say, that we have been fooling ourselves thinking we didnt feel the same way… and now we need to make up for lost time cause i think we did that last night…

D’artagnan: yes but we are going to skip a free steps cause i dont want to spend the rest of my life without you and in this line of work anything can happen today proved that… so the queen sent this with a note attached to it i read the note and its mainly for you but i was given very clear instructions on what to do with the attachment…

You read the note it was short and sweet plain clear concise and simple… went like this, “first things first yn, say yes to this question he is your soulmate and we are all rooting for you both to succeed… second D’artagnan give her this and ask her what you have wanted to ask her from the day you met her… i hope this makes a happy ever after… and i lend my services to you guys anything you need. Love Queen Anne…”

You sat up and starred at d’artagnan who now was holding a small gold band with a few diamonds on the top of the band… he said those words you always wanted to hear…

D’artagnan: marry me yn… lets live our lives together one day at a time.

Yn: yes of course yes…

The ring on your finger, the kisses flowing work the next day would be a new chapter…

~the end~

[pinkplantmakesstuff]

So today is “Transgender Day of Visibility” and as a Trans person I wanted to share my characters who are like me 😄 Also happy TDoV!

Wick the Mechsmith (Asura - He/Him)

Like me, Wick is both trans and autistic, he likes peace and quiet and works really well alone! He loves frogs and is working on designing a MEGA FROG! He doesn’t talk but he’s invented a robot to talk for him, and he has a lot to say when he does!

D’Artagnan (Harpy - He/Him)

D’Artagnan left his harpy matriarch and sisters after a disagreement over his own identity. He still sends his sisters the wood carvings he makes, but he’s much happier without the matriarch! He chose his name after helping a trade caravan fend off bandits, and was given a copy of “The Three Musketeers” as thanks, and really liked the name!

Casey (Human - She/Her)

Casey runs a little bakery in Divinty’s Reach and provides free food for people who need it! She’s Alec’s best friend and basically like an older sister to him! She works very hard and loves experimenting and making all sorts of new cakes. She’s slowly learning to read and write, so she can one day make her own cook book!

She doesn’t exist in game but she has a whole story and character development and stuff!

[groundcontrol21]

The Anthology of Sick

The master list of what I've written! Recently I've been better about tagging things I write relatively uniformly, but I'm going to hunt back through and collect everything here so you don't have to!

Just a reminder/disclaimer. I write sick/snz fic, and nothing is really more than PG13. Fics written for the Sicktember 2022 challenge are denoted by a (S22) and their appropriate prompt number/day. You can also find them under the hashtag #sicktember 2022 on my page.

Fanfiction

All Creatures Great and Small (2020)

Stretched Thin (S22 #12)

After taking on the brunt of the work at the practice while Siegfried and Tristan are away, is it any wonder all the stress causes James Heriot to fall ill? Still, there’s no rest for him, not when a difficult bovine birth case needs his attention.

Like a Well-Oiled Machine (S22 #21)

While working in the clinic by himself, Tristan has an oversight that leads to some painful consequences. James is not impressed, to say the least. (not snz)

Black Sails

I Will Care for You

Thomas has a migraine. James is unused to the role of caretaker, but for Thomas, he will learn anything. (not snz)

Inland (S22 #6)

Slight pre-canon AU setting. Thomas takes James for a weekend holiday to the countryside. The cold James brings with him doesn’t prove nearly as disastrous as he had feared.

Landfall

Captain Flint returns to Nassau richer, but also wetter, sicker, and a bit more injured than when he left. Miranda puts up with him. (Pre-show, and relatively spoiler-free)

The Lord and the Lieutenant

London, 1705. James feels sick. Thomas feels some feelings toward him. Some tenderness between two friends who'd like to be a bit more than that.

Warmth

A long, cold-ridden day for James is brightened by the unexpected visit his lover pays him.

Don Quixote

Hour of Need (S22 #19)

A hero’s hero suffers a hero’s cold. Sancho Panza just suffers. (All apologies to Miguel Cervantes)

Horatio Hornblower

Building Trust

Early in his time on the Indefatigable, wet nights spent in the rigging catch up to Horatio, who tries to hide his illness. Archie notices and offers friendship (and a handkerchief).

Relief (S22 #15)

Sunburns and colds are a painful mix, no matter how soft your handkerchief is. Archie tries his best to help.

Shore Leave (Part 1, 2, 3)

Shore leave for our two heroes is dampened by the rain, Horatio's illness, and the unavailability of lodging. Archie tries his best to alleviate at least one of these sufferings.

The Man from Uncle (2015)

Lazy (S22 #18)

The combined forces of Napoleon and Gaby just might be strong enough to force Illya to take a sick day when he really needs one. 

Merlin

A little Merlin ditty

(Ficlet) Arthur has a bit of a cold. Merlin notices, and of course fusses a bit.

Stop and Go (S22 #24)

On the road back to Camelot, Arthur gets sick. (CW emeto mentions, not snz)

Night Fever (S22 #23)

Merlin can’t use his magic to heal Arthur, but perhaps his company is just as potent of a cure. (not snz)

Ted Lasso

Didn’t Feel That One Coming (S22 #5)

Jamie is fighting a cold; Roy is fighting his inclination to care about that fact.

Painkillers (S22 #2)

Roy is annoyed when Jamie asks him for painkillers. Annoyed. That feeling in his chest is definitely not concern, not a chance. (not snz)  

Three Musketeers

BBC Musketeers Drabble

The Inseparables are a bit worse for wear. Aramis is sick, Porthos is hurt, and Athos just wants them to shut up.

Care and Keeping (S22 #1)

D’Artagnan knows he’s meant to be caring for Aramis, but he doesn’t exactly know what such caring entails. Constance isn’t pleased when he pleads ignorance.

Ensconced

The fic where Porthos gets into the most contagious bedding known to man in order to comfort his flu-ridden brother.

Fearing the Unknown (S22 #28)

Ever since his head injury, Aramis suffers from chronic migraines. This is one more area in which D’Artagnan must expand his knowledge if he wants to be part of the Inseparables' brotherhood. (not snz)

The Handkerchief(s) of Aramis

D’Artagnan asks his friends to accompany him to London. Aramis agrees, but warns even his vast supply of handkerchiefs won’t be enough to get him through the damp weather. He proves correct.

A Helping Hand (S22 Alt. Prompt 2)

Aramis has a bad cough, and needs to apply the 17th century version of VapoRub. The problem is, he doesn’t have an uninjured hand with which to do so. But he does have a Porthos.

In Which the Character (and Handkerchief) of D’Artagnan is Put to the Test (S22 #13)

Inspired by: “No, you can’t fight a duel with a hay-fever like that.” But when the duelist in question is D’Artagnan, he’ll find a way through all the sneezing. 

Keeping Vigil (S22 #14)

With his three brothers all sporting various injuries and in need of care themselves, Aramis ignores his own health as he tends to them. D’Artagnan is less than pleased to find this out, but can he do anything about it?

A Little Help from My Friend 

Aramis has a cold and some terribly stuck sneezes. Porthos has a feather, a kink, and an idea.

Midnight Mass (S22 #29)

After spending weeks abed and terribly ill, Aramis swears he is well enough for one little Mass. His brothers aren't so sure.

An Off Day (S22 #20)

When the best shot in the regiment is having a bit of an off-day, Porthos gets to the bottom of what’s troubling him. (not snz)

Perfumed Peril

His lover's perfume is giving Aramis a bit of trouble...

Recitations

Aramis is too sick to visit his mistress for the night, but not too sick to visit Athos (who would much rather be drinking alone, thank you very much). Aramis puts Athos's self control to the test when he recites some of the poetry he was supposed to share that night with his lady friend.

Room Service (S22 #16)

Aramis checks up on Porthos after the man faints during his first day of training. Porthos gets the chance to return the favor when Aramis falls ill. 

Routine Intervention

Still new to the Musketeers and unsure of his place, D'Artagnan does not know what to make of it when Aramis, grumpy from his cold, and Athos, grumpy from his wine, get in a fight at the tavern over the latter's drinking habits.

Survivor’s Guilt (S22 #27)

In the wake of the massacre at Savoy, Aramis’s obsession with medicine and health adversely affects his own.

The Torment of D’Artagnan (S22 #10)

On the road, Aramis could really use a handkerchief, and D’Artagnan could really use a course in anger management.

An Unconventional Tryst

In which Aramis suffers the consequences of foolish lovemaking.

Under Control (S22 #4)

Athos swears his drinking is under control. Aramis finds evidence to the contrary. (not snz)

Weighed Down (S22 #17)

Aramis faints on a hot day. (not snz)

Yuri On Ice

Preparation

Yuuri has a competition. Victor is sick but insists he is well enough to coach. Tensions escalate as Yuuri feels increasingly that this isn't true.

On Video (Ficlet)

Away from his husband, Yuuri facetimes Victor, only to find the man has caught his cold. Victor isn't too upset.

Yuri on Ice Ficlet

Victor shows up to practice sick. Yurio and Yakov tell him off, each in their own way.

Taking Flight (Part 1, 2)

Already running late and terribly sick, Victor has a terrible travel day.

Germophobia

Yuuri's nightmares come true when Victor gets sick. He does his best to keep his head as well as show his husband the care he deserves.

Original Fiction

A Rainy Day's Work

Vague 17th/18th c. A highwayman, his lover, and a cold. Inspired by the folk song, "Whiskey in the Jar".

Fisherman's Friend

Late 19th c. A merchant fisherman finds himself with a cold while working the North Sea. Help comes from an unexpected source.

Time Sensitive (Ficlet)

Set during that vague era of ports of call and tall ships. A lad home from sea has the perfect present for his lover, who has the fetish.

OCs

Anatoly: Vague 20th c. A young country doctor and those who populate his practice. Ft. his tenuous relationship with a stray tabby cat named Mashka.

In vaguely chronological order:

Old Time’s Sake (S22 #9)

University student Anatoly is home from school when he catches a cold, and his mother’s folk remedies clash greatly with his modern, medical sensibilities. 

Things Unsaid, Things Undone (S22 #2)

Homesickness isn’t the only sickness Anatoly has to deal with on the train from his home to his new village. Still, his medical knowledge leaves him helpless to treat either.

A Welcome Sight 

The story of how Anatoly came to his countryside practice and found a cat along the way. Of course, he’s a bit under the weather for the whole excursion.

House Calls

Anatoly catches the cold that’s been going around his patients, which may present a few issues when it comes to administering his doctorly care.

Don’t Make Me Come Down There (S22 #8)

Sick with a lingering sinus infection, Anatoly gives his mother a call. She tries her best to coddle him from afar.

Finally Warm (S22 Alternate #3)

Usually the bringer of open windows and chills to Anatoly’s home, Mashka finally brings him something a bit more welcome when he is ill with the flu.

Not Alone (S22 #22)

When Anatoly comes down with a bad case of flu, he feels ashamed to call for help when he needs it. Dr. Rosenbaum tries to cure him of both his ills and his foolishness. 

Jonathan and Sarah: 1750s. Jonathan Lindsay, a member of Parliament, has entered a marriage with Sarah Lindsay, an asexual woman of a wealthy merchant background, to divert suspicion of his sexuality. They care for each other deeply as friends and know what the other does and doesn't want in a marriage.

Unspoken (Part 1, 2)

Jonathan is coming down with a cold, but still wants to care for his wife. Sarah wishes he'd care a bit more for himself, though, especially as he readies himself for a visit from his father.

Suffering in Silence (S22 #26)

Perhaps Jonathan Lindsay should not have gone into Parliament with a brewing cold; in any case, he is here now, and he will not interrupt the proceedings by coughing.

A Bit of Sun (S22 #30)

Jonathan and Sarah have opposing ideas of the best place to be when recovering from a cold. They make it work.

Lady Madeleine and Jeanne: F/F, France, 15th c.

Admittance (S22 #7)

Lady Madeleine pines after her chambermaid, and she may be able to leverage the slight cold she contracts while her husband is away to her benefit in this regard. 

[incorrect-musketeers]

Book D’Artagnan: Some of my best friends are the most evil people I have ever encountered