This is all about my crazyness. Spanish, 26, Potterhead, Burketeer and professional ship-namer. I love period dramas, Disney and musicals. Athinon and VenetianBlue shipper
Athos' brow beaded with exertion as he surveyed the towering fir tree, its branches still settling into their final, festive arrangement. His foreman, a burly man with hands like gnarled oak, gave the final adjustments to the Christmas tree. The foreman bid te ex-musketeer well wishes and a thank you for the gifts before he departed.
The scent of pine, fresh and crisp, mingled with something richer, a subtle promise of sweetness that soon filled the room. And just then, Ninon entered the Salon, her eyes alight with a shared excitement.
"We have all the ornaments ready," she announced, her voice a melody against the crackle of the hearth. "We have dried apples, paper stars, roses, and candies. Also, lace," she added, gesturing to a treasure trove of delicate decorations she carried in. A moment later, their eight-year-old daughter, Aimeé, bustled in, trailed by a maid bearing a tray laden with freshly baked cookies.
Athos' gaze now settled on Ninon, a profound contentment blooming in his chest. His life, once a tapestry of grand adventures, had woven itself into this quiet, domestic beauty. "They look lovely, Ninon," he murmured, his voice low and filled with tenderness. He looked at her, then at their daughter, a quiet intimacy passing between husband and wife.
Ninon turned to the tree, and started arranging strands of dried apples, their rich, autumnal hue a surprising yet charming addition to the evergreen boughs. "Come on, Aimeé", she called the girl to her side, "would you like to help me?"
The girl finished a cookie and joined her mother. With gentle patience, Ninon guided Aimée’s small fingers as they hung ornaments. The child’s delight was palpable as she placed a delicate carving of wooden flowers, its petals kissed by time, next to a twinkling star, a piece of the night sky brought indoors. Each ornament was a testament to their shared life, a symbol of the simple, profound happiness that had filled the heart of the man who had once believed his destiny was solely carved by the sword.
"Are they any good?" Ninon inquired, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she saw Athos savoring the sweet and spicy cookies now.
"Very good. I have not had anything like this scrumptuous for a very long time. Plum and cinnamon seem to work well." Ninon's knowing smile widened. "I told you. Embracing the spice trade is a very good thing." Athos met her gaze, the depth of his admiration evident. "As always, your wisdom and good ideas will make us outgrow this place."
"I quite like our humble abode," she confessed, her voice laced with sincere affection. "I shall not want to move from here." Athos looked at his wife, his heart overflowing. This place, Ninon, and their daughter. It was, finally, a life fulfilled, a testament to the quiet joys he had once believed were beyond his reach.
"This is lovely," Athos breathed, the words a soft echo in the festive room. Ninon, still radiating warmth, offered him an ornament, a delicate piece of lace, to place on the tree. Athos, unaccustomed to such domestic intimacy, blinked in surprise, his soldier's hands feeling clumsy for this delicate task.
"It is quite easy," Ninon teased, her laughter a melodious chime. "Yes, papa. I'll show you," Aimée piped up, her small hand already reaching for a charming wooden ornament crafted by the village carpenter, eager to guide her father into the heart of their new festive tradition.
a/n: this time travel fanfic follows Ninon de Larroque and Athos travelling through time by unusual magic of the full moon. After Ninon had to return to her time in 21st century, she leaves Athos behind, but Aramis sends him with a help of a witch to 2026, to be with his love. How will Athos cope in the 21st century. Will love endure the chasm of time?
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@sassywren @darknightfrombeyond
Athos' fingers traced a gentle path along Ninon’s arm, a silent exploration of familiar comfort. Her head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart a soothing counterpoint to the swirling thoughts in her mind. They drifted back to a sterile, brightly lit room of yesterday morning.
"You are pregnant," the GP had said, her voice calm, her eyes fixed on the blood test results.
"Pregnant?" Ninon had echoed, the word feeling alien on her tongue. Impossible! She was meticulous about the pill.
The GP had offered a gentle explanation. "You had the flu recently, Madame de Larroque. And you used acetaminophen to manage the fever. Unfortunately, that medication can reduce the effectiveness of the pill."
Ninon had exhaled, a slow, shaky release of breath. Relief, surprisingly, washed over her first. She was happy about the baby. Truly happy. But then, a subtle tremor of apprehension followed. How would Athos react?
He had been… distant, lately. For the past month or so, a quietness had settled over him, a shadow that even the warmth of their shared apartment couldn't dispel. The jarring reality of his life in 2026, a temporal leap that had once seemed an adventure, was now a heavy weight. He missed his fellow Musketeers with a ferocity that pierced Ninon’s heart. Even the unexpected financial security, a consequence of Aramis’ ingenious, albeit complex, scheme with the Sienna bank, which had rendered him wealthier than he’d ever been in the 17th century, seemed to offer him no solace. If anything, the newfound ease only amplified his internal struggle.
He hated this feeling, this melancholy that clung to him. He had confessed to her sometimes, in quiet late-night whispers, his voice laced with frustration. He loved Ninon, she knew that with a certainty that transcended time and circumstance. She was his present, his future, the only constant in this bewildering new world. But the past, the ghosts of his brothers-in-arms, still held him in a powerful, sorrowful grip.
And Ninon couldn't help but wonder how this unexpected pregnancy, this tangible tie to a future he hadn't planned for, would land in the heart of a man grappling with the echoes of a glorious, irretrievable past.
She inhaled inwardly and propped herself up. Her delicate fingers tracing the line of his jaw. The skin was cool beneath her touch. He turned his head, his gaze, usually so sharp and piercing, was softened by a weariness she knew all too well. Ninon leaned in and kissed him, a kiss filled with tenderness, a love that was all consuming. When she pulled back, her eyes, usually sparkling with a playful light, now held a depth of emotion he hadn’t seen before, a mixture of apprehension and incandescent joy.
"I have something to tell you," she whispered, her voice a little rough, a little trembling.
Athos felt a familiar knot of apprehension tighten in his chest. Her eyes, usually so full of playful mischief and sharp wit, now held a depth of feeling that both intrigued and concerned him. "What is it?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, a touch of worry tinging his tone.
There was no other way to tell him but blurt it straight out. "We are going to have a baby."
The words, heavy and blunt, struck Athos like musket balls, each one leaving him reeling in their wake.
His eyes widened. He looked back at her, then sat up in the bed abruptly, the sheets rustling around him. There was something akin to disbelief, a profound confusion etched onto his handsome features. He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally, a soft, incredulous sound escaped him. "A child?" he muttered, the word foreign, almost alien.
"Yes," Ninon breathed, her own eyes starting to water, the dam of her emotions threatening to break. The joy, the fear, the sheer overwhelming wonder of it all was etched on her face.
He looked at her again, truly looked. He saw the flush on her cheeks, the slight tremor of her lips, the profound emotion radiating from her. And then, something shifted. The heavy curtain of his grief, the relentless shadows of his past, began to recede, pushed back by a force he hadn't anticipated. A raw, unexpected smile spread across his face, wide and genuine. His own emotions began to swirl, a cascade of feelings he hadn't known he possessed.
Without a word, he reached out, his hands gently framing her face. He drew her closer, and then, with a tenderness that came from the very core of his being, he kissed her. It wasn't a kiss of passion, nor of comfort, but something far more profound. It was a kiss of awakening, a silent promise, a bridge between the sorrow of the past and the breathtaking, hopeful unknown of their future. The moon seemed to shimmer more brightly sprawling its magic over them.
While the city of Paris slept, a new life, a potent balm, was beginning to bloom, ready to mend the hollow spaces within Athos' soul.
and if I said I was working on a Three Musketeers fic specifically 1993 Athos x D'Artagnan's older sister oc what then what then what then what then what then wh
_a snippet kinda requested by @sassywren 🥰❤️🎈thanks for your support. I hope you like it.
The heavy oak door of Monsieur de Tréville’s study stood slightly ajar, a sliver of candlelight escaping into the hushed corridor. Inside, the air crackled with an unseen tension, a tempest confined within the paneled walls.
Milady, her dark eyes glittering with a dangerous fire, closed the distance between them. Her hand, gloved in soft kid leather, rose, a gesture that might have been tender had it not been so chillingly possessive. Her eyes, luminous and predatory, fixed on his, reflecting a history of betrayal and suffering that transcended mere years. There was a desperate, almost pleading edge to her voice, yet it was laced with the venom he knew so well. “There can be no peace for us,” she whispered, “until we are both dead.”
Athos looked at her, his gaze an abyss of scorn. Silent. Not a muscle twitched in his aristocratic features, but the contempt in his eyes was a palpable thing, a wall impassable.
Outside, in the dim, cool corridor, Ninon pressed herself against the wall, a shadow among shadows. She had seen Milady de Winter enter Tréville's house an hour ago, a viper slipping into the lion’s den, and her curiosity, sharper than any blade, had drawn her to this very door. Now, she listened, every fiber of her being attuned to the low murmur of voices from within.
Athos, with a deliberate, almost dismissive gesture, moved Milady's hand from where it hovered near his jaw. His touch was brief, devoid of warmth, like brushing away a fly. "I found peace," he said, his voice level, devoid of the passion or pain she craved to ignite.
Milady’s eyes narrowed, glittering like chipped emeralds. The dismissal was a fresh wound, a denial of the power she still believed she held over him. A low, guttural sound escaped her, like a predator denied its kill. "Keep telling yourself that," she hissed, the words dripping with bitter irony and a promise of enduring torment.
Athos moved away from her, towards the door, putting distance between them, a khud of indifference.
Ninon, having heard the distinct, measured steps of Athos approaching the door, pulled back instantly. Like a cat, she scampered away, a shadow melting into the deeper shadows of the corridor, leaving no trace of her silent eavesdropping, only the echo of Milady’s venomous whisper in her mind.
