Hi, this is my first story and I hoping it will be a success.
Honestly I don't have the biggest knowledge about the Three Musketeers as have I am only part way through the first book, I have however seen the 1993 and 2011 movies.
What I am doing is a series of prompt driven drabbles. I know people have done this before (and congratulations to them for their wonderful work) but I am going to do it a bit differently. Every single (reasonable) prompt given to me will go on a list, and I will complete that list- not necessarily in the order I have been given.
As I said on my profile, I don't discriminate. This means I am willing to write non-explicit male pairings.
I know many people don't do this because they are homophobic or disliked it because it can feel forced but I think it's only fair to cater to everyone.
So I need all the prompts I can get
But now, just an short example of how I write.
Set after returning the jewels in the 2011 movie.
D'artagnan swayed and collapsed into a chair, slumping over the table as a deep exhausting ache settled into his bones, he was finally paying the price for his adventures.
He was immensely annoyed at the King who had insisted they all stay for his birthday celebrations until dawn, despite the fact they were dirty and bloody. He had been running on empty for hours and could now barely bring himself to move.
He remained in his position as his fellows flatmates ventured in, Athos raising an brow at the normally cocky boy. "What's wrong with you, boy?" he said, shaper then he intended. D'artagnan bristled and looked up to glare at him "I have been knocked unconscious twice; you had a ship crash on me and duelled I Rochefort. What- did you expect me to be running about, doing cartwheels?"
Athos immediately defended himself "I did not crash a ship on you!"
"You might have well had," Porthos spoke up from his chair, his feet resting on the table "You very nearly killed me and Aramis." Athos shot a cold glare towards Porthos but otherwise made no comment, before sitting himself down with a sigh.
"Are you hurt?" Athos eventually ventured after a few minutes of silence. D'artagnan gave a grunt from behind his arms and waved his hand "Nothing I can't handle." he drawled, his cocky manner slowly showing itself again.
"So you can handle bleeding out over the floor?" a voice whispered from beside his ear. D'artagnan jumped, spinning around, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword on instinct.
Aramis stood beside him, arms crossed. He nodded towards D'artagnan's jacket "I have watching that since you climbed back onto the ship," he said calmly, while Athos slowly sat up straighter "it hasn't stopped bleeding. Would you care to explain why? You said they were nought but small flesh wounds."
D'artagnan instinctively drew him jacket closer. He wasn't about to let his injuries lower the musketeers opinions of him. "Like I said," he began, pushing down his apprehension "it is nothing I cannot handle, Rochefort only scratched me. It's not like he shot me, anyway a few cuts won't kill me."
"Prove it." Athos said suddenly.
"What?"
"Prove it," he restated "If your wounds aren't any trouble then you will surly be able to have a duel and show us your skills that allowed you to defeat Rochefort." his words seemed to mock D'artagnan who immediately saw the opportunity to prove himself.
He pushed himself up, determined to prove his place, however he immediately regretted it. Sharp stabbing pain immediately assaulted his ribs were Rochefort had raked his sword across. A strangled gasp escaped D'artagnan before he could stop it, the world suddenly spun and he latched onto the back of his chair for support. Unfortunately this was the hand that had grabbed onto Rochefort's sword, immediately he let go as if he had grabbed burning metal.
Swaying he looked up into the concerned faces of Aramis and Athos, who were poised, ready to leap and grab D'artagnan if he was to fall.
This only fuelled his annoyance and desire to prove himself. Biting back a moan D'artagnan took a step forward, his hip bumping into the edge of the table as he did.
Suddenly the world spun as an angry burning pain attacked him, devouring , ripping apart all his nerves. Numbly D'artagnan looked down at his hip and clasped onto it while piercingly bright blood pulsed out between his fingers.
Managing a small "Oh." of surprise, D'artagnan dimly managed to realised Rochefort actually had managed to shoot him, before he swayed, black creeping up on his vision. The last thing he saw was Porthos arms in a battle with the ground in who could reach him first.
D'artagnan slowly came to, the previous pain dulled to an incessant throb. He kept his eyes shut tight, trying to place himself and the murmuring voices that surrounded him. Slowly he realised that they were his three companions with the occasional squeak that he assumed was Planchet.
He shifted and groaned as the pain returned with a vengeance, instantly the voices halted; two sets of footsteps approached him while the other moved away. Realising there was no point in pretending he was asleep, D'artagnan slowly cracked his eyes open and took in his bearings. He was on a cot that was placed in front of the fire, swamped in blankets that covered his entire body except his right hip and ribs. He apprehensively turned his eyes to the angry face of Athos.
Athos wasn't just angry, he was furious. "Why," the red faced man ground out "Why did you not tell us?" D'artagnan winced; shrinking back "I didn't think that…" he trailed off, unable to put his fears into words.
"You didn't think what?" Athos spat out, ignoring Porthos's warning squeeze of his shoulder "That you could die? That you didn't have a place here? That we actually care?" He halted as he saw the truth in D'artagnan's eyes "You couldn't think that," Athos said wide-eyed "You fought with us, you sacrificed yourself, we had your back and took you into our home- and you thought we didn't care?" Athos didn't wait for a reply; he just swept away and out the door.
Porthos turned his big sad eyes to D'artagnan who looked utterly miserable, and knelt beside him, clasping D'artagnan's small hands within his. "I told you that you would be dead by sunset, and you can't understand how glad we all are that I was wrong." D'artagnan felt his face flush, unable to comprehend why. Why did they care? Porthos seemed to understand where his thoughts were going and responded with a brilliant smile and a clap to the shoulder, "You paid for the wine." he said, before turning and following the path that Athos had taken earlier, doubtlessly to go and reprimand him.
Before he had time to wonder about what had just happened, Aramis arrived with an armful of bandages "I assume Athos is finished tearing strips off you?" he said smirking. Numbly D'artagnan nodded, drowning in his own confused thoughts.
Aramis dragged a chair beside D'artagnan and sat down, ignoring his confused and wandering gaze. "Am I correct in guessing that most these wounds are from a blade?" wordlessly, he nodded "The bleeding on your hip looks like a bullet wound, but you said you were not shot. Care to explain?" D'artagnan quailed under Aramis's questioning gaze. Looking down he whispered "I thought he didn't."
"And the bruises on you chest?"
"Fell off a roof."
"Ahh," was his response "well you're lucky. The hip and ribs are stitched up, you don't have any infections or fever and in reality your only problem was blood loss." Aramis smiled at him, quickly murmured a short prayer and started wrapping the wounds.
D'artagnan frowned, now he was more confused then before. "Aramis," he started hesitantly, then ploughed forward "if it wasn't that bad… well…" he trailed off and started hopelessly out the door. "Then why is everyone reacting like this." Aramis said softly after he completed dressing the wounds. D'artagnan turned his gaze upon him and nodded a desperate look upon his face.
Aramis smiled softly and answered "They- we, can see ourselves in you. Athos sees the stubborn little basted he once was, Porthos can see the loud, cocky man he is and I can see the boy who just wants to rise up and follow his dreams. But the best part is that we can see this all put together, put together into you. You are the reminder for us to start living again." Aramis stood up and clapped D'artagnan on the shoulder, much like Porthos had done "It's something we all needed."
He gave D'artagnan a smile and walked away, allowing the boy to rest and finally- to understand.
Ta-daaa.
I could probably do better, this just happened too fast for my liking- but this is it for now.
Advice and constructive criticism is welcomed.
Flames are ignored.
Prompts are worshipped.
Thanks.