Round 3

[bbcmusketeerskink]

Welcome to the BBC The Musketeers kink meme

The lowdown: You post your prompt, anon or not. Someone else will hopefully fill it (also anon or not). Not for profit, just for fun. And in this case, for king and country.

Anon is on, IP logging is off.

Rules:
No wank
No kink-shaming
Be respectful to everyone
The mod is not your babysitter
Use the warnings
No prompts with characters under the age of 16 in sexual situations, please.
Please keep the discussions in the prompt post to a minimum. We have a discussion post

Mandatory trigger warnings/warnings for both prompts and fills:
non-con/dub-con
abuse (physical and mental)
issues such as racism, sexism, homo-/trans-/-bi-/ace-phobia etc
character death
suicide
self-harm
eating disorders
extreme physical or mental illness
substance abuse (alcohol, drugs, medication)
bullying
gore and horror

If this list misses anything, do let me know, though please understand that if absolutely everything is added this list will never end.

You are encouraged and advised to add additional warnings at your own discretion.

Please make use of the subject line.

If your prompt alludes to the book or any of the other adaptations, please let us know which one.

Lastly, prompt freezes (which I have to say I’m really not fond of) etc will be at the mod’s discretion. I will decide on a prompt cut-off point for prompt posts once I know how fast the meme moves.

Announcement: A blanket spoiler warning is necessary for prompts pertaining to season 2. Just season 2 Spoilers in the subject line will do.

Archive:
https://delicious.com/bbcmusketeers

Discussion post:
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/557.html

Official fill post (I strongly suggest you use it for better visibility of your fills):
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/418.html

Mod contact post
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/1356.html

Free For All Round 1
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/1823.html

Comments

Fill: Individualized punishments/imprisonment (non con, violence, slavery) 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

In case you're wondering, I had always assumed 'Flea' was Phyllis, and then had in interesting discussion where the two pronunciations of the name were raised (Phil-is and Phil-ee - the latter being French) and then fandom informed me I had it completely wrong anyway. So... that's that. But I'm still clinging to Phyllis, the noble turned child thief.

Very minor spoilers for episode 9.

-
-

"Constance," Treville started, his hat in his hands as he stood in the Bonacieux's doorway, but anything further he might have said was interrupted by her gasp.

"No." She whispered it, her hands pressed to her mouth.

"They're alive," he said forcefully, hoping to stop the panic that had already paled her cheeks.

"Where? Hurt?" she pressed, moving forward first, reaching as if to grasp his coat, and then quickly back so that they could both enter the house. "There's been no..."

"Constance, please, let me explain," he broke in. She fell abruptly silent, and in the face of her expectant gaze Treville faltered. He settled his hands on the back of a chair bracing himself. "There's a group plotting to move against the King. They've been taking Musketeers, trying to thin our ranks and leave the King exposed. We've retrieved all until now, but they're getting smarter - better informed. We do not know where they're getting their information."

"And they've taken d'Artagnan?" she asked, still pale but anger starting to clear her panic and firm her countenance.

"No. They tried, and they managed to take the others. D'Artagnan escaped the fight and made it back to the garrison on Athos' horse to warn us," Treville hesitated on what to tell the woman before him, thinking of stumbling from his room at the barracks in the middle of the night to find d'Artagnan bloody and barely conscious, clinging to a horse not his own, rambling about the others. "He's injured, seriously so, but safe in Paris. Our concern now is for the missing."

"What can I do?" Constance said, all traces of panic now gone and replaced with determination. He could so easily see why the Inseparables doted on this woman. "I can sit with d'Artagnan - you need every man. Or... or I can fight for you. You know I'm..."

"Constance," Treville broke in. "What I would ask of you... Please know you can refuse, or change your mind at any time. There are other means..."

"Captain," Constance said firmly, flushing at her own bravery. "Tell me what you want me to do. Please."

-

"Your majesty." It is hard to bow well with two men flanking him with glowering threats of violence, but Treville thought he pulled it off.

The tiny woman sat before him drew to her feet, her posture proud and unrelenting. "You mock me, Musketeer."

"Far from it," he replied, keeping his tone even. This was a risk, and if the Queen of the Court of Miracles was to take offence while he stood here in the centre of her domain, he would surely not make it out unscathed. "I've come to beg for aid."

There's a scoffing noise from all present, but it is the Queen who replies; "A nobleman, begging, here?"

Treville glanced at his boots, suppressing a smile. "You should know, my family title was bought by my father when I was already a Captain in his majesty's army. It had little meaning to my birth or my youth. I would prefer you think of me as an equal, Phyllis." He was careful to pronounce her name, but not to voice the noble surname that should follow. She has chosen her place here, eschewed family and nobility, but he would not assume that her guards and companions knew of her history and he had no right to reveal it.

Her expression had gone hard, hearing the words he had not spoken. "I was curious," she said, half-turning. "Now I'm simply annoyed."

"I understand the imposition," Treville added hastily, as the guard firmed his grip on his doublet, acting on the unspoken dismissal. "But my men are in need of aid, and my position is regretfully restrained to the King's side at such a time. I would rather be riding out to aid my Musketeers, and instead I stand here before you."

"You stand here before me," Flea repeated, slowly. "Begging." There was a flicker of a smile, and she turned back. "But why would you beg, nobleman, when you have so much to offer in payment to the Court."

-

He was exhausted when he made it back to the garrison, but he had one last favour to ask, one last makeshift soldier to arm, and he could not avoid this last discussion. Jacques was at his side the moment he dismounted, holding his horse and already loosening his bridle and girth as he stepped back. Such an efficient boy, he'd learned so fast.

He followed him into the stables, and at his uncertain glance gestured that he should continue in his duties. He carefully paced the length of the stables, checking that there was no soul to overhear their plotting, and rejoined Jacques as he settled his horse's tack on the rail for cleaning.

"Jacques, when your father died in the service of the King's Musketeers I was honoured to take you into the garrison. You've been the hardest working stable boy I have known and hope to one day present you to the King for your commission."

Jacques blushed, ducking his head and shuffling on his feet as he busied his hands with a rag. "Thank you, Captain."

"What I will ask of you now," Treville continued, "I ask with no small amount of trepidation. Know that you can..."

"I'll do it," Jacques interrupted immediately, his eyes up and bright with excitement.

Treville hissed. "Don't interrupt me, boy. You're not a Musketeer yet."

"No, sir," Jacques replied, and as Treville took breath to speak again, continued: "But I'll do it sir. For the inseparables. I'm guessing you'll want me at the forge, since Mme Bonacieux would be best suited visiting with M. Aramis, and Mlle Phyllis will take her friends to watch over M. Porthos."

Treville tried, in vain, to hide his utter surprise at the pronouncement. "Jacques... one day you will make a great Musketeer. At the least, your gift for eavesdropping will stand you in good stead." He added the last under his breath.

"You'll remember, sir, I rode with you in aid of the queen." Of course. There was nothing like a dashing rescue and a close-quarters gunfight to give a boy ideas far above his station. And to think he'd promised his father he'd be protected.

"Finish your day's work, Jacques," he dismissed him. "And meet me at the Bonacieux' tonight. Speak of this to no one."

-

There was a single bottle of wine allotted for their shift of workers. There were twenty of them in all, between the cutters, the charcoal makers, the waterwheel attendant and the men who moved the dangerous pig iron, and the barrowsmen who loaded the furnace with ore and lime at the top and charcoal at the bottom, all day long.

There was a barrel of watery beer as well, but the wine was the most bitterly fought over.

Food, wine and beer were all delivered unsorted, to a melee of grasping hands. Anyone too slow got nothing for the day.

Athos had been astonished and horrified by this show of chaos when he had first arrived, but after a day going hungry and shaking until he was sick, he had succumbed to the madness of it and charged in. The wine was his ultimate goal, of course, but if he could defend enough food he could barter for a cup. From time to time he wondered if it would be better, be easier to go without rather than string his addiction on, but he was never more functional than after that one drink, and he needed to be functional if he was going to reach the others.

-

There was meat and wine laid out every morning when Porthos rose, but the door was still locked and the high windows of his underground prison still barred. He ate and drank because to be weak would be to court death, and he has friends out there who need his help. And because he would face another opponent tonight and the most mercy he could show them was a swift death and no suffering.

Every evening he was offered a woman's company, and he accepted purely for someone to talk to. Sometimes the woman was interested in sex, sometimes not, but the company was a balm to his soul. It was never the same woman twice, and he was reluctant to think about why that might be. Two of them were willing to tell him more about the building in which he was being held, the guards and where they were stationed, the weapons stored out of sight.

He collected the information like the most precious of gems and waited - for his next fight, and for an opportunity. He didn't dare think of the possibility of 'too late', or d'Artagnan languishing injured in some cage.

-

The bath was a lavish, unexpected thing. Aramis was making good money for the management here, or so he was told as he never saw a sou, and their esteemed clients preferred a clean body to make unclean themselves. Objection hadn't even occurred to him; when he'd been shown the steaming water he had stripped naked except for the chain at his ankle, and felt no shame for his body exposed in front of the woman who saw to his wellbeing.

The sickness that had roiled in his stomach since he first arrived here was briefly tempered by the heat of the water - already cooling - and he took to scrubbing himself clean with the utmost enthusiasm.

He secreted curls of soap, scraped from the bar with his fingernail, deep in his hair for use in working loose the shackle on his ankle later in the night, and tried to swallow down the guilt at enjoying such a reward when the others were not likely to be being treated so well.

Re: Fill: Individualized punishments/imprisonment (non con, violence, slavery) 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

Liking this very much. It's progressing so nicely. The tension and the character's thoughts so well portrayed.

OP Re: Fill: Individualized punishments/imprisonment (non con, violence, slavery) 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

Still loving this, and how their tailored confinement are affecting them.