#probably Athos/Aramis

[staledirt87]

Don't hold me to this but I'm probably gonna start writing a fic where all the Aramises meet, but it's modern and they're all in college. Will probably contain a bunch of cameos from said show. It's purely gonna be for like me and the two other people who're interested.

[cave-cryptid]

I lost my MIND when Aramis was prepping to stitch Porthos' wound and was like

"Athos, prepare my sedative!"

And then Athos promptly punches Porthos' into next week

Bonnaire beside them like:

[wingsofhcpe]

was taking some notes down on my copy of T3M last night, and was reminded that book!Aramis canonically writes poetry, so now I will be thinking of bbc!Aramis doing the same.

Some headcanons about it:

He started writing poems for Isabel when they were sappy horny teens in love. He'd write the sappiest, most flowery and romantic verses to her and recite them to her while they lay in his father's sprawling gardens in a field of flowers.

He stopped for a few years, after Isabel was taken away (as he thought) and he ran away from home, because it hurt too much to try. He started again a few months after meeting Porthos.

He wrote short verses for Porthos but never really showed them to him. Porthos found out accidentally and thought it was about one of Aramis' mistresses, which Aramis didn't correct because he was embarrassed.

He doesn't actually write poetry for his mistresses. Not even for Adele. He may quote poetry to them (Shakespeare for example) but he only writes his own about the people closest to his heart (Porthos and Athos, and later Anne). He's wrote a platonic one for Constance too! She keeps it tucked inside her favourite book.

He's super shy about reciting any of them out loud, or even showing them to the individual they're meant for (except Constance, because with her it wasn't romantic, so he felt way more comfortable).

He has an entire notebook filled with the most romantic, heart-aching, pining poems about Anne. He shows her only after he becomes First Minister, because he really thought those where the things he'd never be allowed to tell her.

Waxes poetic when he's drunk, and out of the four Inseparables, he has the lowest alcohol tolerance (yes, even lower than little d'Artagnan!), so it's... a spectacle.

[scripted-downfall]

Porthos/Aramis: Off doing Things (TM)

Treville: Where’s Aramis?

Athos, whispering: Play dumb!

d’Artagnan: Who’s Aramis?

Athos: NOT THAT DUMB

[attila-werther]

time to continue watching the bbc musketeers show, but this time we screenshot the costuming details

[wench-and-jezebel]

The Musketeers Reaction: Friends and Enemies

Jezebel (@typicalopposite) reacts [with occasional asides by Wench (@scripted-downfall)]

You sure you don’t need to rest buddy? You’re huffing pretty hard

[Also, they had the horseshoe upside down; no wonder shit goes wrong  (Spoiler: shit goes wrong)]

I wouldn’t know which is which  😀

Ah! Your boo!  [Ma'am, do you really think I'd adore a person who steals and kills peop- oh.]  …. Yes  [You know what-  Just watch the show, woman]

[Also, btw... "d'Artagnan" is not pronounced the way they pronounce it.  It's not "Dart-an-yun."  It's "Dart-en-yaw" ish.  Rough phonetics because idk but it's roughly that]  Well now neither of those look even remotely correct. Gah damn ancient times  🙂 [Edit: someone mentioned that this might be intentional? To show he comes from outside the "posh" part of town? idk if that's the case, but it's an interesting theory]

[Hold up… ad.]  Okay!  [Bruh these ads are so long]  😂😂😂  [BRUH IT CHANGED TO CSI  Hold up]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️  CSI said you ain’t cheating on it with the musketeers  [lkjsaldakfjadsf]

Wait, Peter Capaldi?  [Yup!]  Sounds familiar  [12th doctor]

[This is Athos]  😱😱  I already said he favors Daryl��� right?  [Yes.  I think.  But ‘tis true]

Sir  [I love him]  No need to be rude to the water  [alskdjf It was ice]  Oh ☠️

[And this be Porthos]  Oh shit!  So these are the three musketeers?  [No… Those are the two Musketeers and d'Artagnan.  The third Musketeer ain't been along yet]  Oooooh

[This is Aramis.  He’s the third.  (And yes… he’s "that stupid")]  Well damn ☠️😂

Damn I need a corset… these cheap ass bras can’t compare  ‘Tis trueeee

[Also, to be clear… He's having an affair with the mistress ot the Cardinal.  One of the most important people in France.  The King's main advisor.  Just to put that in perspective.  That’s why Athos said “Tell me he’s not that stupid”]  Oh. Well SHIT 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😂😂😂  [Also, that's Peter Capaldi]  Yeah I recognized him immediately

How he not see him?!

Ahh the gang’s all together!

Ahhh, love  [“Or lust”]  Ye, lol  ["Oh look: a man, pretending to acknowledge the difference" - Ten Inch Hero]

[I love Athos]  😂😂😂

“Any lice or crabs?” ☠️

Why am I getting Izzy vibes off the Doctor?  [I mean.  You should… I’m getting them too alskdjf]  😂😂😂  [It’s the Cardinal tho… Since I'm assuming you don't wanna spell Richelieu every time]  Ye! I don’t ☠️☠️☠️ it wouldn’t turn out nice

Oh is that The Milady?  [I say nothing]

☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️  [Adele tipping her hand here]  

Ack  [Technically, she was "undressed" in the first scene… Corset + petticoat = scandalous]  

Wellll… Cannnnn you trust her?

Well damn… This show is just crazy

Pause!  ADDDDD  [Is it an ad for Scream?  Because we might have the same on- MATTHEW LILLARDDDDDDDD]  NO *sigh* 🙁 [How dare]  FOUR FUKCING ADDDDSS  [Yup]  CRIMINAL MINDSSSS  [RUDE]  THE NEW ONE  [I got Star Trek tho so… I win]

OH I SEE WHATS HAPPENING!  le gasp… Imposters

That ribbon around her neck is giving the girl with the green ribbon vibes  [I seeeee!  *has no clue what that means*]  You donttttt knowwww that boook? 😱  [Nope.  WATCH THE SHOW]

Buddy.  You.  Really.  Came out.  WITH A BLOODY KNIFE.  [alskfdj Yup.  I never said d'Art was smart.  Well, wise, but shh; the rhyme was important]

[Love herrrr]

Ooooop he ded  [Buddy's not doing too hot]

[Ma'am fingering her ring like it'll take away her Impure Thoughts about d'art.  It will not]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

[Get ready for this Inigo Montoya-ass shit]  😂😂😂😂

“You killed my father. Prepare to die!”  

"We weren't going to kill him"  [*simultaneously* "We weren't going to kill him"  "Weren't we?"  "Next time let us know!"]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️

[The way Richelieu’s eyes widen on "murder" tho a;lkdsfj]

They were like oh shit they drug us into this  [They're kinda idiots tho.  What kind of criminal goes around like "oh, yeah, here's my name and rank!  Come arrest me!"]  EXACTLY

BRUH [Ruh roh]  

[Pause!  Ad]  I got one too lol  [I think it depends on time stamp for PlutoTV.  We'll probably line up perfectly for the most part.  Also… Jeremy Renner!]  Oh, I got Renner too!  [Mayor of whatever it is?]  Yes. [Countttt!]  Midpoint?  [Oh.  Okay!  I forgot those existed…  DO ITTTTT]  😂😂😂😂

– – –

Jezebel: We could not live in these times…  Our bad luck would get the whole family executed with these rules ☠️

Wench: aldskjf That's true!  The trials kinda.  Suck

Jezebel: Also idk why I didn’t automatically think the guy was an imposter at the beginning lol… I was like oooof!  Is this like… are his hands tied and he has to do this? Orrr??

Wench: Nope :)  Athos was too busy drinking and getting a hangover and half drowning himself to be robbing and murdering.  Not that he would do it anyway, it must be said.

Jezebel: Imma go on and make the prediction that the Doctor Cardinal had hired the imposters

Wench: :))) I say nothingggg!

Jezebel: Really, that’s all I can think of rn! But I’m enjoying it!

Wench: OIIIII!  THE CHARACTERS!  You must at least address Athos, please, I beg.  (But also.  I'd appreciate you discussing the main four laksdjf)

Jezebel: 😂😂😂😂 I definitely understand why Athos is your favorite

Wench: My beloved!  And you haven't even seen much yet

Jezebel: Lol!! And the other two are hilarious! Especially the flirty one! ☠️☠️

Wench: Aramis?

Jezebel: Ye

Wench: alkdsjflaksdjf  So... this is a show based loosely around a book.  When we get to endpoint, I'm telling you some Things, but I want to let you get the impression of the show first

Jezebel: And d’Art(I’m not even trying) is clearly young. His common sense is lacking ☠️

Wench: Precisely… Wait 'til I tell you about the book :) 

Jezebel: 💀💀💀💀  Also… I feel like this picture pretty much sums up the king ☠️☠️

Wench: asdlkfj Accurate

Jezebel: And I love that Treville stands up for Athos! Instead of just believing he’s guilty

Wench: So, that's a thing... He’s kinda SPN Bobby.  And he’s basically father figure to the Three + d’Art (eventually known as Les Inseparables, or The Inseparables) and they are basically his kids.  (And I wanna say this is especially true for Athos, but I could be wrong with that bit)  So this is basically his son going off to be executed

Jezebel: Ahhh! 🙂 lol

Wench: Also… The music might sound familiar.  Not fully, but like in that haunting way where you think you've heard it before but can't place it?  That’s because the theme and (I think) some of the score was done by Murray Gold (aka the guy who did Doctor Who's score during the bits you've seen)

Jezebel: Both are BBC right?

Wench: Yes.  And you'll notice a lot of overlap.  You remember Mr. Blue Sky dude?  Elton?

Jezebel: Ack! Yes

Wench: He's a villain in a later season named Rochefort

Jezebel: Ahhh! I see 🙂  Also, I want to do the next episode like noon tomorrow if you can! So I’m not tired 😂😂 cause I’m enjoying this and I want to more consciously enjoy it lol!

Wench: Sounds good!

Jezebel: Ready?

Wench: Yup!

– – – 

Ooooop!  [Louis, panicking: "I am not panicking"]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️

[This mf]

Why would his body still be at the inn ☠️☠️☠️  [Why wouldn't it? lakdsjf]  B-because it’s an inn  [And?  Ya stick the dead bodies wherever there's space alkdsjf]  “Oh don’t mind the body… Scuffle this morning.  It’ll decompose in time.  All good.  Cheerio!”  [Basically!]

[Fun lil character scene!  And by fun I mean Trauma (™)]  Le gasp

The- He really left ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️  [alksdjflkdjf he did]

The womannnn!  Double crosssser

Oh shit.  They just all dead!  Tf?  [Yup!  Like I said: stick the bodies where ya can]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️

[btw... Musketeers = King's guard.  Red Guard = Cardinal's troops.  They're warring groups]  Ahhhhh! I see

Sir we know you’re in a massive library, so big there’s echo. But you don’t have to scream

Lol ☠️☠️☠️  [:))) I love Porthos and Aramis too!  It's not quiteeee to the same degree, but I adore them]  Yesss!  Flirt gives me Hook vibes. Just like he looks like him.  [Similar, yes.  There's some subtle difference or something (since I haven't hyperfixated on him) but yes]  😂😂😂

He turned into a dog

Oooop- [Constance, my beloved]  He’s been duped  [I really wanna know what happened to make her so friendly to Athos, ngl.  That was a really scandalous thing she just did]

Surprise is everything….  *two seconds later*  Surprise would have been everything

[Also, did I mention that Constance is badass?  Because she is]  No, you didn’t, but I love it

Get him d’Artinigo!  [... Ma’am]  That took so fucking long to type cause I couldn’t spell  Inigo. ☠️  [OH THAT'S- laksjdflkadsjf I thought it was just a typo]  😂😂😂

Well, shit

Ma’am! You were the one flirtinggggg and ring-twirling

[Heh heh heh.  You remember the formula for my faves?  Because um.  Heh.  Heh heh  Man be a bittttt uncaring about safety.]  *sigh*

Kid’s like yeahhhhh about before. Sorry  [He got an Athos Nod(™)]  🙂  [Athos Nod(™)s be important because man doesn't speak and he's gotta show respect somehow alskdjf]  That’s fair! ☠️☠️☠️ *sigh*

Ooooooof.  Well, damn, ma’am  [Yup]  DAMN  That’s dark af  [Yep]

Buddy… That’s your story now too

Ooooop- Bruh, he is just mordorring  [Makes you wonder why he needs Milady as an assassin]  Oh shit

Did he kill her with ol’ dude’s gun?  [I don't think so]

Oh shit  [Milady is such an interesting character, goodness]  I don’t .. are the priests allowed to say that ☠️  [They're not supposed to, but I guess they can] 

– – –

Jezebel: That shit was WILD! 😂😂😂  I really do like it tho!

Wench: GOOD

Jezebel: Poor Adele!

Wench: Yeah... She does get mentioned again, though.  It takes a bit, but she does.  She doesn't just get forgotten

Jezebel: My brain’s kinda all over the place… But poor Athos too!

Wench: You should go into more detail there :)  (Yes, I am going to try to sway you into Athos favoritism!  It's fine if you like the others more, but you need to know that this is happening.  My beloved!!!)

Jezebel: Loool!  Idk I really like Flirt!! 😂😂😂 but yeah I’ll probably fall for Athos before long 😂

Wench: Aramis?  THEN THE LEAST YOU COULD DO IS LEARN HIS NAME

Jezebel: Flirt, Aramis, same name different font… and spelling, shush

Wench: But nah, tbh, you might well end up liking Aramis better.  Most people do, judging by what I've seen in the fandom, but I admit it's not a fully reliable poll

Jezebel: I like his and Porthos’s relationship. Also idk. I say personality but I haven’t seen MUCH of it yet. I just can tell from what I’ve see I’ll like him. If that makes sense 👀☠️

Wench: Yeah, I get it

Jezebel: Also, married gal and d’Art are cute. Even if she is married and he is googly-eyeing priest killer

Wench: Constance is awesome, I agree.  And, tbh, Milady is super cool, even if homicidal

Jezebel: Fair!  Also… The cardinal can go suck eggs in hell with Izzy. ☠️☠️  And the king. Is a child. Like most kings are

Wench: It gets worse

Jezebel: And… Honestly I can’t think of more so share away about the book

Wench: OKAY SO.  First off, I need to explain introductions of each of the characters.  They changed this for the show, and, as I said in this post (here), I appreciate the new version but also mourn the loss because.  d'Art, instead of trying to avenge his father, is actually going to Paris to become a Musketeer.  On the way, he stops at an inn and, while there, a dude disses his horse.  Despite the fact that no, actually, he doesn't much like his horse, and has been bemoaning being stuck with it since he started out, he now has to challenge dude to a duel. Then, he loses.

Jezebel: ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

Wench: Fast-forward to when he gets to the Garrison: he arrives just in time to hear Porthos/Aramis giving a report to Treville (which features the fact that Athos has gotten severely wounded in a fight, fun fact).  Fast-forward a little more, d'Art is mid-talking to Treville about possibly getting a job there when he sees the dude outside his window and is like... Damn this job interview; I must pursue the man who insulted the horse I insulted myself not two days ago.  (d'Art and his horse is a very "no one is mean to them but me" situation)

Jezebel: ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

Wench: Anyway, in the process of trying to track down this dude, he: a) literally runs head-first into Athos (aggravating his, did I mention, Severe wound in the process) and refuses to apologize, thus getting challenged to a noon duel; b) runs past Porthos and discovers something a bit embarrassing, and then proceeds to taunt Porthos about it for no reason, thus getting challenged to a one o’clock duel; and c) after losing the guy he was trying to hard to follow (AND.  LITERALLY WHILE HE IS TALKING ABOUT BEING LESS HOT-HEADED. Because he’s realized he just got duel challenges from two Musketeers.) he comes across Aramis, accidentally exposes the fact that he’s having an affair with a married woman (not Adele), and thus gets challenged to a two o’clock duel.  And all of this while running down a single stretch of road ☠️

Jezebel: My little clueless buddy… At least show!him is not quite THAT clueless

Wench: OH AND.  They're all each other's seconds, so they all show up to Athos' duel and are like.  Wait.  Wot.  Buddy got in a fight with all three of us?  And it swiftly becomes apparent that yes, he did.  Within the span of fifteen minutes.  AND.  This is all forgotten because then the Red Guard show up and are like "Oh, hold up, you're dueling?  That's against the rules!  Let us arrest you" and it turns into a duel.

Jezebel: 😂😂😂☠️☠️☠️

Wench: Anyway... the book follows a different plot from the show, but I'm not sure I can fully enumerate how.  The Athos/Milady backstory is pretty accurate, but her fate changes between the two.  (And across the other adaptations, which I also might make you watch, just btw.)  I think Constance existed in the book but Milady kills her?  If I recall correctly.  (Very different plotline from the show, I'll tell you that now.)  Aramis, btw — as hasn't been developed in-show yet, but is hilarious — is both a womanizer and deeply religiously devout.  He literally goes over to a woman's house to teach her Bible study

Jezebel: 😂😂😂😂

Wench: And they study the Bible by studying God's gift of each other's bodies

Jezebel: ☠️☠️☠️☠️

Wench: And.  I think the final thing that I haven't yet said.  The author of this book?  (The Three Musketeers?)  Is the same dude who wrote The Count of Monte Cristo.  He's one of if not my favorite author.  I read The Man in the Iron Mask too (which is the sequel to this book), but I hatedddddd it.  Not because of the writing, which was impeccable as ever, but because of what he did to the characters 😭

Jezebel: I’ve seen the one with Leo DiCaprio

Wench: Yeah, that's....  That's a story.  That's a very happy story.  Relatively.  If I recall correctly.  Only one of them dies.  In the book.  One of them gets exiled.  And the others.  All.  Fucking.  Die.  I sat there on the couch reading it and sobbing my eyes out because my dude killed off Athos' son, and then had Athos die of grief-tinged-old-age afterward.  The fucking pain.

Jezebel: 🥺🥺🥺🥺 ACK

Wench: He had a vision about it before the messenger even arrived btw

Jezebel: Ooooof 🥺🥺

Wench: I cried.  So fucking hard.  I legit did not recover for too long.

Jezebel: Well damn!! 😦 ack

Wench: Basically, in the book version, Aramis plots to replace the king with his twin, as was done in the film, but instead of it being successful, the king gets let back out of prison and takes over the throne again.  Aramis and Porthos go on the run, but Porthos dies in the process and Aramis is then essentially in exile, and d'Art dies in battle at the very end.  And Athos, as I said, has the above fate.  Still love Dumas, but he betrayed me with that

Jezebel: 💔💔💔💔

Wench: Anyway... comparably, the show is much lighter.  Is the good news!  And I think that’s all the book ranting I have.

Jezebel: 😂😂😂😂

Wench: Next episode tomorrow?

Jezebel: YES!

[wretchedvulgarian]

ok so I finished it and my opinions remain the same except I have a bit more faith in Athos

well fellas…it would feel wrong to skip making a father’s day post as is tradition so I’m back even though I worry I’ve expended most of the male characters I know that would work for this post

but I’m in the middle of the three musketeers so I’ll do the best I can with the information I have to work with (and yes I know there are sequels that take place decades later but I don’t know what happens in them or if children are introduced so this is just based on the first half of the first book lol no spoilers please)

without further ado…my assessment of if these male characters from the three musketeers would be good fathers:

D’Artagnan: I think he would be. he would enjoy teaching the kid things even if those things are a bit ill-advised. the kid would definitely know how to square up to a school bully

Athos: I would be concerned for the child’s emotional development

Porthos: strangely this is my most confident yes. he would be very proud of his child and when they’re a baby would probably carry them around to show off to all the other musketeers

Aramis: I think he would be I just don’t know if he would want to be. but in a three four men and a baby scenario he’s most likely to be the actual father

M. de Tréville: he basically already is one to our boys so yes

Planchet: sure. he takes care of D’Artagnan who is often quite childish

I won’t do Louis XIII or Cardinal Richelieu or the Duke of Buckingham because they’re actual historical figures. but the answer would be no

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 6

The sequel is coming along great I just have one more part to do and it'll be done. Sweet Home Indiana is nearing its end too.

Heads up! I will be going on vacation on Tuesday and won't be back until next week. So no WIP Wednesday this week as that is the day of my niece's graduation and I will be away from laptop all day.

I will still be uploading chapters and should be able to do WIP Wednesday next week. But if not I'll let you know.

In this we have the Corroded Coffin boys being silly and a wild Dustin appears.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

****

Eddie rolled up to band practice fashionably late as always. The other three boys were doing a sound check and making sure everything was in order.

Gareth looked up first. “Did you bring the hearts?” he asked excitedly.

Eddie held up his bag and the other boys cheered.

“So how are we going to do this?” Eddie asked flopping on the sofa after gently setting his sweetheart to the side. “Do we want to do the hearts first or practice first?”

They all look around at each for a moment.

“Let’s get the heart thing out of the way,” Jeff suggested, “get it out of the way so we can focus on practicing.”

“Sounds good to me, man,” Gareth said. “In case practice runs over or some shit.”

Eddie pulled his backpack closer and began digging through it. He pulled out the hearts that he’d put in a plastic baggie so they wouldn’t get bent in the maw that was his bag.

He tossed the bag onto the table in front of them and then dug around for his notebook. He pulled it out with a bunch of pens.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured, “but I’d recommend changing up your handwriting a couple of times so he doesn’t realize they’re from the same four people.”

“We were doing anonymous and initials, right?” Brian asked, picking up the bag and opening it up.

Eddie lit up, a huge smile on his face. “I actually had an idea about that. I was thinking of famous groups with four dudes in it and I thought it would be hilarious if we mixed it up a bit with some of those to avoid the whole repetition thing.”

Jeff licked his top lip. “Show us what you’ve got,” he said jutting out his chin.

He opened up his notebook and flipped to the right page. “Alright, so I was thinking the Three Musketeers plus D’Artagnan.”

“Who would be who?” Gareth asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Gareth is absolutely D’Artagnan,” Brian said without hesitation. “No question.”

Jeff straightened up and looked over at him in confusion. “Why’s that?”

“Because my dearest Jeffy,” Eddie said with a grin, “because he’s the youngest and not an original member. Therefore D’Artagnan.”

Gareth and Brian glanced at each. Brian shrugged and Gareth blinked a moment or two before he shrugged, too.

“Yeah, that tracks.”

“I’ll take Aramis,” Eddie said with a grin. “The smooth talker with religious trauma.”

The other boys just cackled.

“I’ll be Porthos,” Brian said. “The compulsive liar with a flare for the dramatic.”

“Why am I left with the dude with serious romantic wo–” Jeff stopped. “Right, scratch that. I’m Athos.”

They cackled again. Eddie had had some wild crushes, but it was nothing on Jeff. He even had a slightly tragic love story. He’d actually dated Vicki Carmichael before she became a popular kid and hanging out with Steve’s crowd. They had both loved metal music, but Jeff was pretty sure she stopped listening to it once she joined the cool kids.

“And I have a list of other ones too,” Eddie said breaking into the resulting silence. “The four winds from Greek mythology. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles...um...let’s see...” he looked at the notebook again. “The members of Metallica. The four horsemen of the apocalypse–”

Jeff winced. “Probably not that one, man. It’s for Valentine’s day and that kinda screams the opposite.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment and then scratched out that idea. “Fair enough.”

“The four hobbits from Lord of the Rings?” Gareth suggested.

“Yes!” Brian cried. “I get to be Samwise!”

Jeff cackled. “Gareth and Eddie are sooo Merry and Pippin!”

“Oh god! Yes! Which one is which, though?” Brian said joining in the laughter.

“I’m Merry, of course,” Eddie said proudly. “I’m the instigator and Gareth goes where I lead.”

Gareth grumped in the corner, crossing his arms and glaring at all of them. “But that makes Jeff Frodo though.”

Jeff straightened up, smug. “I could handle that.”

Eddie shook his head at his friends. “All right, also on my list are the Ghostbusters and The A-Team.”

The other boys shook their heads at either suggestion but they had a pretty good list anyway. Plus their D&D names sprinkled in here and there and they’ve got in the bag.

They spent the next half hour coming up with nice things about Steve. Eddie did have nix a couple of their ideas because they came off as stalker-esque. Which was not the look they were going for.

****

To say that Eddie got a kick out of seeing Steve light up every time he opened his locker and more pink hearts fluttered out of it was an understatement.

The goofy smile the former jock got on his face was worth every second of the time they’d spent on the project.

And it was working, too. That was the really impressive part.

Even Tommy H. was baffled.

“How the hell are you getting so many pink hearts, Harrington?” he said on Friday, just four days into Eddie’s plan.

Steve shrugged in that dorky way that made Eddie’s heart stop. “I guess people are deciding to hell with social constructs and stupid cliques and are telling me even if they don’t dare to be open about that they still like me.”

Tommy’s mouth open and closed like a goldfish then he turned around and stormed off.

Eddie lean against the lock above Steve. “Back to being king again, huh, Stevie?”

“Not really,” he said, closing his locker and standing up. “Most of them are anonymous or fake names. But there are a few that real names.”

“You think someone is stuffing the ballot box as it were?” Eddie asked, worried the jig was up.

Steve shook his head. “At least I don’t think so. But it’s sad that they think they have to hide who they are to tell me that they still think I’m a cool dude or whatever.”

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie said, pushing off from the locker, “I think you’re a pretty cool dude.”

Steve blushed and mumbled his thanks.

God, did Eddie just want to bite those flushed cheeks. They were just too cute.

“It’s worth a lot, actually,” Steve whispered. He stood up and shouldered his backpack. “Catch you later, Eds.”

Shit that little nickname had Eddie’s heart doing overtime.

****

Steve was outside the middle school waiting for Dustin to come out. His mom had asked Steve to pick him because she had to stay after hours at work for a meeting.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he hummed to the music in his head. He could have turned on the radio but Dustin hated his music didn’t like him blaring it for the whole school to hear.

His eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror to see his backpack on the backseat. He wanted to go over the ones he got today. There had been some really good ones. Ones that melted his insides and turned them to goo.

He bit his lip and checked the mirror again. He looked at his watch and he still had a couple minutes until the bell rang.

Steve whirled around and grabbed the bag. He ripped it open and pulled out his trapper keeper. Tucked in the front pocket were the hearts. He ran his fingers over the outline the hearts made on the plastic pocket.

He pulled out the hearts and read over each one. Tracing the names of the givers, thinking about each name and wondering where they were from.

There was a thump on his window startling him. He looked up to see Dustin making faces at him through the glass.

Steve shook his head and unlocked the passenger door to let the twerp in.

“Looking at pink hearts, Steve?” Dustin asked with the shake of his head. “So pathetic.”

Steve rolled his eyes and tried to put the hearts back in the folder, but Dustin snatched them from him and wouldn’t let him take them back.

“Come on, man!” Steve whined. “They’re none of your business.”

“I want to see which girls are giving the Steve Harrington Valentine’s hearts,” Dustin said, wagging his eyebrows.

“Dude, give it up,” he growled. “The pink hearts are friendship hearts, the red ones are the romantic ones. So give it back.”

The younger teen cocked his head to the side and said, “No.”

Steve folded his arms and glared at him.

“Aren’t you going to take me home?” Dustin asked after they sat in silence for a minute or two.

“Not until you give them back.”

Dustin just shrugged. “It’s your funeral if we get home after my mom does.”

Steve threw his arms in the air, but turned the engine and started the car toward the Hendersons.

“These are actually really sweet, Steve,” Dustin said after a couple of minutes. “I like the idea of friendship hearts. That way you don’t accidentally send the wrong message.”

Steve just shrugged.

“You do know that some of these are fake names, right?”

Steve rolled his eyes and dared to look over at him. “Yes, of course I do. I am familiar with D’Artagnan after you named a fucking demodog after him, thanks.”

Dustin cocked his head to the side and then shrugged. “That’s fair. What you probably don’t know is that Aramis, Porthos, and Athos are the names of the Three Musketeers.”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “That’s cool.” They hit a stop sign and Steve looked over and pulled out one. “What about this one? Tommy H. thinks it’s short for Kassie, but none of the girls at our school spell it like that.”

Dustin took the heart and looked at it. “Kas. Kas. Yeah, okay. That does sound familiar. Can I get back to you on that one?”

“Sure thing, bud.”

Steve pulled up to curb to let Dustin out. “You got your key? If you don’t, you can hang out with me until your mom gets home.”

Dustin began rummaging around in his bag and Steve snatched the hearts away before he could bend them.

The kid pulled out his keys with a triumphant, “Eureka!”

Steve shook his head. “You are such a dweeb. Go on, get.”

“Bye, Steve!”

“Next time say thank you, asshole!” Steve called out the window.

Dustin turned around and gave him the double middle finger.

Steve shook his head and drove off. Why he loved that kid, he had no idea.

When he got home he pulled out the little notebook and placed the pink hearts in with the rest. All but the one from Kas. Those he kept in his wallet. He really couldn’t place why. There was just something about what they said that made him feel warm and not in the fuzzy friendship way that the others did.

There was the first one:

-Stevie I like the way you’re kind even when it doesn’t benefit you. Kas

Which Steve loved but the others were just as sweet.

-Stevie You have a great laugh, you don’t have to hide it. Kas

-Stevie That shirt today really brings out the color in your eyes. Kas

And Steve’s personal favorite:

-Stevie Each day is brighter because you’re in it. Kas

There was one for each day he got hearts in his locker so he assumed it was all the same person.

He slid it next to the other three hearts in the billfold portion of his wallet and put the wallet next to his keys on his desk. Then he put the little notebook back, careful to make sure it was well hidden.

He wasn’t sure what his dad would do about the mementos but Steve really didn’t want to find out.

He was really going to miss getting the hearts over the weekend. They really had become the highlight of his day.

He sighed and buckled down to work on his homework. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do with his time. He wasn’t invited to any parties, he didn’t have friends to hang out with, and the people who would hang with him were fourteen year olds and they all had bedtimes.

He briefly thought about calling Eddie, but the guy had friends, unlike Steve and was probably doing something with them. Probably that nerd game that Eddie had a club for.

He buried his head in his hands.

Steve sighed. Fuck his life was depressing as shit.

With another sigh, he resigned himself to another lonely weekend.

****

Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: CLOSED

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[hotmusketeerspoll]

ALL FOR ONE AND ONE FOR ALL

Welcome to the Most Magnificent Musketeer Tournament!

We’re assembling the ultimate Three Musketeers cast, with the best version of each character. The finest D’Artagnan, the most seductive Milady, the perfect Athos Aramis & Porthos, the craftiest Richelieu, the cutest Constance, etc etc etc.

Each character will be duelling their opponents until we find tumblr’s favourite for each role.

(We all know that fighting duels is against the law, but the Cardinals have allowed special permission for the duration of the tournament - they’re all convinced that they will win “Best Cardinal Richelieu”, so as long as we keep them distracted scheming against each other, we can run the rest of the competition in peace.)

So how do you define Best?

However you want! The hottest, the best fencer, the drunkest, the largest moustache, the one with the ugliest horse, the most book-accurate, whatever works for you. But let’s be honest, most of these will probably be decided on looks, unless you can make a good argument otherwise!

Who is eligible?

Anyone who’s starred in a live action adaptation of The Three Musketeers, or one of the sequels (eg The Man in the Iron mask), as long as it involves the four main characters (D’Artagnan, Athos, Aramis & Porthos). This includes movies and TV shows, in any language. 

Submissions are now closed, you can see the full list of entrants here

When the tournament starts, you can send in additional propaganda to support your favourite character’s case, in the form of text, pictures, gifs and short videos. You can tag @hotmusketeerspoll in reblogs, or send it in an ask.

Acceptable propaganda: Anything from the property in question, including promotional material, behind the scenes and interviews related to the movie or show. Please don’t submit anything with your chosen actor in other roles - only Musketeer-related propaganda is allowed.

This is a friendly competition, and I won’t be reblogging or promoting any negative propaganda for contestants. Be excellent to each other!

This blog was inspired by @hotvintagepoll’s Dracula Daily casting, and @medievalandfantasymelee’s abundance of King Arthurs and Robin Hoods.

Links to the current polls

King Louis XIII poll

Queen Anne poll

Constance poll

Madames poll

OC poll

Links to previous poll winners can be found here

Tournament Winners so far

Best Captain Treville - Hugo Speer (The Musketeers 2014-2016)

Best Planchet - Roy Kinnear (The Three Musketeers 1973, The Four Musketeers 1974, The Return of the Musketeers 1989)

[fandom-imagines-stories]

These Lips Speak Lies

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 7048

Summary: A prequel to Honor and Espionage, Aramis tells the story of how he and the reader met, almost killed each other, and fell in love. 

Notes: Wow, okay I know this is crazy long but I just couldn’t help myself. I loved the Spy Reader and Aramis dynamic so much that I just had to continue. What better way to tell the story than to start at the beginning? If you guys love this saga as much as I do, be sure to let me know!

Find more Musketeers: HERE

-

The group gathered around the small fireplace, at home in the space they’d all spent many evenings since the incidents at Ambassador Laurent’s estate. With the country escape having bored you both, you and Aramis returned to Paris before Treville’s orders and hosted many dinners. The others concocted exciting tales to keep you amused and to distract you from your painful idleness. 

It was a similar affair, though in a few days, you’d be cleared to return to your work. Due to his pleading and lack of injury, Aramis had been allowed to go on a few missions, given that he still kept an eye on your recovery. 

You stood to pour another round of wine into everyone’s glasses, but Aramis tugged you back down, kissing your cheek. 

“Allow me, darling,” he said. He picked up the bottle and refilled your glass. 

“I am capable of lifting a simple bottle, Aramis,” you scoffed. “You said so yourself, my arm is entirely healed.”

“That does not mean I cannot still be a dutiful husband, hm?” He raised a brow and kissed you again, this time meeting your soft lips with his. 

“If all it took was me getting shot for you to act like this, I would have tried it ages ago,” you teased.

He scowled, gave your lips another quick peck, and stood. Aramis tended to his companion’s cups before returning to his place beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

For a while, the five of you drank together, merrily telling stories of past adventures and other close calls. The fire was dying down by the time D’Artagnan leaned over to you.

“I have to know,” he said with a smirk, “how did the two of you meet?”

Porthos’ brow furrowed and he leaned back in his chair. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard the story myself.”

“Nor I,” Athos said, pouring himself another glass. 

“I could have sworn we told the tale at our wedding.” You thought back to that day, but, quite honestly, you only remembered that night. The images in your mind made you blush and you snuggled a little closer to your husband. 

“They were both probably too drunk to remember,” Aramis snickered. 

“Well I haven’t heard it at all,” D’Artagnan said, turning to you with a pout. “Was it on an assignment?”

You blew out a breath. “Yes and no.”

“Did you work together?”

This time, your husband answered. “Yes and no.” 

“Cut to it, will ya?” Porthos bellowed. “We want to hear the story.” 

“Alright, alright,” you laughed. You turned, smirking at the man beside you. “Aramis, darling, would you like to do the honors? I’ll correct you if you get anything wrong, of course.”

He brought your lips to his one more time, earning a semi-annoyed huff from Porthos. 

“My pleasure.” He stood, pacing in front of the fire. “Now, I’m sure you all remember the mysterious stranglings that plagued the city five years ago?” 

The three members of the audience nodded. 

Aramis’ smile grew. “This is the story of how we solved the case-”

“Nearly died on several occasions,” you interjected with a giggle. 

He reached for your hand and kissed it. “And fell in love.”

-

By morning, they were dead. Nobody knew how it was possible, but there was no denying it. Paris was being hunted. Specifically, the women of Paris. Two noblewomen had turned up, both strangled and found in the streets, blocks away from their homes. 

What worried Aramis was the bodies before them. Women from the lower class had been dying for weeks now. And worse, nothing was being done. It made his blood boil knowing a killer was stalking the streets and he was guarding the king’s dinners. 

But when he brought the murders up to Treville, the captain told him that he already had a man on the job, though Aramis had heard nothing of such an assignment from any of the other musketeers. He told Aramis to let it be as if it were little more than a pest problem being handled. Aramis didn’t understand it. How could the captain be content forgoing the proper resources to bring these women’s killer to justice? 

Aramis, certainly, was not. 

So, despite Treville’s explicit instructions, Aramis decided to conduct his own investigation into the murders. And, with his two usual companions away on a mission of their own, he would have to solve this problem alone. 

Luckily, he had plenty of connections with the women of the nobility. And, with the growing terror amongst them, they were more than willing to cooperate.

“At first,” Lady Brizman whispered, though there was no one else in the courtyard to hear them, “we thought, maybe, Juliet- Lady de Fontane- was, well…” she trailed off, lowering her voice even more as if to conceal a scandal, “seeing someone. We thought maybe things went badly and her lover killed her.” 

Aramis nodded. “But then Madame Wilton was killed in the same manner.”

“Exactly,” she exclaimed. “Now I have my servants triple-check anyone who comes to the house.” She smiled, leaning against the garden gate. “Except for you, of course.” Her hand trailed up his arm. 

“Well, if you hear anything more, or feel at all frightened and in need of assistance,” he flashed her a charming smile and tipped his hat. “I’m at your service, madame.”

He waited until he was out of sight to hit his hand against the wall with a frustrated growl. It was the same thing he’d heard from the last four women. Suspected affairs turned serial killer. But, according to every woman he’d spoken to, the victims’ whereabouts on the days they were killed provided very little opportunity for them to have encountered the killer.

There had to be some kind of connection, a place where they met, or a person they knew. But where- or who- could connect women of different classes? 

Aramis turned on his heel and stopped suddenly. 

“Of course,” he muttered to himself. He gazed across the street at the seamstress’s shop before him. 

All of the women killed before worked as either suppliers, delivery girls, or seamstresses themselves. And surely Lady de Fontane and Madame Wilton frequented such establishments. The killer must have used these shops as hunting grounds, watching from the side until he found his perfect victim. Perhaps he even stood where Aramis stood. The thought made the musketeer shudder. 

Aramis scoped out the area. Another shop down the road gave him a pretty good idea that this must be where the women were being taken from. He determined that he would come back in the evening- when the women were taken- and see if he could catch the beast. 

-

He’d sat there for hours, hidden from the common passersby, keeping an eye on every person who walked down the street. The sun had set, leaving the road in darkness, but the windows of the shop still held a light. Someone was working late. He just hoped it was only the dressmakers. 

Several figures passed by him, none appearing the most trustworthy, but all vacating the street too swiftly to be scoping out the shop for their next victim. 

All but one. 

A figure in a dark, scarlet cloak crossed the street, tucking themselves into the darkness of the alley beside the shop. Aramis eyed the villain darkly and navigated the alleys and corners in order to catch them by surprise. As he crept toward them, dagger drawn at his side, he noticed their stance. Like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey. 

He lunged first, grabbing their arm and pinning them to the wall, arm stretched across their chest. 

Her chest, he observed as the scarlet cloak fell open slightly. He tried not to let it distract him. A woman was just as capable of murder, as his years had taught him. 

“It’s dangerous here at night, mademoiselle,” he hissed. “I might ask what you’re doing, skulking about the shadows.”

“I might ask you the same thing.” You aimed your pistol at his abdomen and cocked it, raising a brow with the click. You stared defiantly in his dark eyes. He was handsome, you observed, but that could very well be used to lure women into his trap. This could be the very killer you’d spent weeks searching for. 

But those eyes…

“I am a King’s Musketeer, patrolling the streets for the safety of those such as yourself,” he said, failing to keep the suspicious bite from his tone. 

You took a moment to look over him, indeed finding the crest on his shoulder, and sighed.

“Then we have much to discuss, monsieur,” you huffed, lowering your weapon and hooking it back to the belt around your waist. 

Aramis did not let his guard down, instead standing straighter, poised for a possible attack. Who knew what a killer like this could be capable of… even if she did have the loveliest voice. 

You rolled your eyes. “I do not have time for this, come with me.” You grabbed his arm and pulled him to a door that led to the upper quarters of the shop itself. 

In his surprise, Aramis didn’t fight you, following blindly up the stairs to a small room with a cot, a candle, and a small desk scattered with piles of notes and maps. He jerked his arm away from your grip, frustration melding with his misunderstanding. 

You ignored him and walked over to the papers and grabbed something from atop them. 

“Would you explain to me what’s going on?” He demanded. 

“What is going on is that you have absolutely no idea what you are doing,” you snapped, whirling around to face him with the ring you kept on your desk. Upon it, was the crest of the Musketeers. You held it before him and watched his face contort from irritation to utter confusion. 

“You’re a…” He gazed upon your face again, as if trying to read something there.

“It appears we work for the same regiment, monsieur,” you said coolly. “Captain Treville believed that I would have a better chance of catching the killer because I am better able to blend into this area of town, whereas a soldier such as yourself would be immediately spotted, as tonight has clearly displayed.” 

“I was doing fine before I made the mistake of following you into that alley- which I may add, you looked just as suspicious as I may or may not have,” he argued. “The fact that I am here shows that I am just as capable of following this case as you are, if not more so given that I have the authority of a musketeer.” He stepped toward you. “Tell me, what exactly does Treville have you for?”

“I’m afraid that is privileged information,” you glared. “Tell me, were you or were you not told to leave this case alone?” Now, you stepped towards him. “Because I know for a fact that Captain Treville wanted me alone searching for the killer in fear of scaring them into hiding.” 

Aramis looked away. 

You scoffed. “Exactly what I thought. Another ‘hero’ dying to make a name for himself.” Turning back to your notes, you dismissed him with a wave of your hand. “You can run back to the garrison. I have women to protect.” 

Aramis remained, though whether it was shock or stubbornness that prevented his feet from moving, he wasn’t entirely sure. Instead, he moved to look over your shoulder. 

“These are your observations then?” He asked. 

You didn’t bother turning to look at him. “I’ve been staying in this apartment for the past three weeks. It has given me the opportunity to study the pattern of workers and regular buyers, but it has yet to yield any clue as to who is targeting them.” You couldn’t help the irritated sigh that fell from your lips. “I have followed up on every man that has been to the shop since I’ve been here and all of them have been checked out. The killer must be keeping to the shadows, hunting like a wolf at night.” 

“What makes you so sure the killer is a man?” 

You scoffed. “Because I saw the bodies. The bruises around the neck were far too large for them to have been strangled by a woman.” Setting your pages down again, you faced him with your arms crossed impatiently. “Now if you don’t mind, monsieur…?”

He removed his hat. “Aramis. My name is Aramis.” He made no motion to leave. In fact, he stood his ground firmly, which only made you more annoyed. “And how exactly do you plan to catch this man, madame…?” He mimicked your questioning tone. 

“Y/N.” You saw no point in giving him a false name, though you were half tempted to leave him guessing. “And I shall catch him in the act.”

Aramis chuckled, running his fingers over his facial hair. “And how do you plan to do that?”

You raised a brow. 

His smarminess fell. “You can’t be serious.”

“I assure you, Monsieur Aramis, that I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“You’re going to give yourself as bait?” 

“I’m going to lure him out of the shadows by giving him a target that isn’t defenseless.” You held up your pistol. “If he agrees to come in quietly, then he’ll be hanged in the morning. If not… well, I’ll have the pleasure of making Paris a safer place tonight.” 

Your fellow musketeer crossed his arms. 

“I’m coming with you.”

“You most certainly are not.” 

“I only wish to assist you in catching the killer,” he said.

“You think because I’m a woman I cannot do it on my own?” You challenged. 

“I’ve learned never to underestimate a woman, darling.” He leaned in. “I just don’t trust you.”

The sound of your hand against his cheek rang through the small room. 

Aramis put a hand to his face, already reddening where you’d hit, but his smug smile never faltered. 

“Do you let your emotions get in the way of every mission or am I special?” 

You raised your hand again, but this time he caught it, his face darkening.

“It was only cute the first time.” 

You jerked your arm out of his grip, eyes defiant and tone threatening.

“If you get in my way for so much as a second-”

“I assure you, we want the same thing,” Aramis said. “Think of me as your backup plan, if being bait doesn’t go quite the way you expect.”

“I don’t need backup plans,” you said. “I’m always right the first time. It’s why Treville sends me instead of any of you.” 

You slipped by him, tucking your pistol into the belt beneath your cloak as you walked to the stairs. You stopped at the exit and sighed, turning back to face the other musketeer. 

“Well?” You gave him a smirk. “Are you coming or not, Monsieur Aramis?”

He motioned with his arm, returning your smug expression. “After you, Madam Y/N.” 

“It’s mademoiselle,” you corrected.

“So you haven’t found a man who can put up with your arrogance, how surprising.”

You rolled your eyes and went back downstairs. 

-

Aramis returned to his spot in the alleyway across the street from the shop, keeping a close eye on the swift-moving cloaked figure across from him. Heat still lingered in his skin, his frustration showing in the red of his cheeks. He’d known you for a few short minutes and already, you’d burrowed your way into his mind. He convinced himself it was anger and nothing more, but the familiar ache in his chest suggested otherwise. 

“A woman spying for Treville,” he muttered. “I’ve never heard anything so… brilliant.” He could tell, just from the confidence in your gaze and the way you pointed that pistol at him that you were just as capable as any musketeer in his regiment. And a woman could go far more unnoticed than any man in uniform. 

As much as he hated to admit it, his anger was overridden by his admiration. 

You kept an eye on his shadowed figure, your irritation mixing with intrigue. 

Why should a musketeer care so much about what was happening to these women? But care he did. You could see it in his eyes. 

Those eyes. 

“Focus, Y/N,” you hissed at yourself. “The killer must be here somewhere.”

A figure stepped out of the shadows. “Yes, well, unfortunately, you won’t be around to catch him.” 

Hands grappled you from behind. 

“Let go of me!” Your cry carried across the street. 

Aramis leapt into action swiftly, but not as quick as the man waiting behind him. The blow to the back of his head prevented any plans of rescue. 

You fought against your captors even as the fabric covered your eyes. 

“Feisty one, isn’t she?” A voice sneered. 

“Maybe we should have left her for Claude.”

“Let’s get her in the cart.” 

“I will ensure you all hang!” You exclaimed, trying not to choke on the bag over your head. 

They dragged you to what must have been a cart that they promptly threw you into the back of, along with something else. 

Or someone. 

“Great,” you sighed. 

Treville was not going to be happy. 

-

“Aramis, wake up.” You shook the man’s shoulder with bound hands, examining the wound on his head. It had stopped bleeding at least. “Great help you are. Wake up.” 

Aramis groaned, eyes fluttering open and closed. 

“We have a problem,” you said, sitting back against the wall of the stables you were taken to. 

He tried to sit up, holding his head where dried blood now stained. 

You put a hand on his back to steady him. 

“Where are we?” He asked. 

“From the length of the ride, I would say it’s an estate at the edge of the city.” They had been careful to keep you from seeing anything on the way here and they’d taken the cart directly to the make-shift prison they were keeping you in. 

“Did you see them?”

You shook your head. “Bastards put a bag over me. Felt their disgusting hands though.”

Aramis tensed, jaw clenched as his eyes looked you over for injuries. “They didn’t hurt you did they?”

“No. No, I’m alright.” You couldn’t help but be touched by his clear concern. “Just angry at myself for letting them catch me to begin with.” 

“We were expecting a single madman, not an ambush. You couldn't have known.” 

“That’s the thing.” You pushed yourself to your feet, pacing around the small space while he leaned himself up in the corner, standing shakily. “The murders were carried about by a single person. Of that I’m certain. What could someone possibly gain by stopping us from catching him?” 

“They told me you were a clever one.” 

Both of you jumped at the voice. You moved instinctively in front of your injured companion. 

A woman stepped into the moonlight that streamed through the stable windows. You could just see her through the barred opening in the door. She wore a dark dress and gloves and a stern frown. She couldn’t have been much older than you. 

“All of this could have been a forgotten tragedy, but the musketeers had to stick their noses into it, didn’t they?” She adjusted her gloves. 

“You aren’t the killer,” you said. “Your hands have hardly seen the sunlight, let alone crushed the life out of another woman’s throat.” The venom in your voice was clear, not your usual feigned charm. This was not a situation that required being personable. 

“I can’t imagine what it’s like.” She wrinkled her nose. “A woman shouldn’t know such things. The details of a death.” 

“If you let us go, I’d be happy to give you a demonstration,” you hissed. 

She laughed. “Such spirit for a musketeer’s slut.” 

You gritted your teeth. 

Aramis put a hand on your shoulder. He shook his head, giving you a warning glance. 

“Who are you?” He asked. “Why are we here?” 

“Aramis, I’m offended you don’t remember me.” She smirked. “You are very familiar with a dear friend of mine, Lady Brizman.” 

His mind reeled, still pounding from being hit. Then, he placed why she looked familiar. 

“Lady Augustin.” 

“I was never pretty enough for you to chase, hm?” 

“It had far more to do with your husband than your looks, I can assure you.” 

Between her jealous words and the way she grimaced at the mention of her husband, the pieces came together. 

You stared her down, smiling as you understood. “It’s him, isn’t it? Your husband is the one killing those women.” 

“Lord Augustin is sick,” she snapped. She took a deep breath. “He just needs time. I’m going to help him.” 

“Then you’re just as despicable as he is,” you spat. “Maybe worse.”

“Y/N,” Aramis warned, seeing the terrible look in the woman’s eyes. 

Lady Augustin stepped closer to the locked door, her face inches from the barred opening. “Oh, he’ll have fun with you,” she said.

You reached your arm out of the opening, but she backed away laughing. 

“I’ll send my men down to fetch you when my husband returns home.” Her voice echoed cruelly down the corridor of the stables. “Think of it this way, dear Musketeer- with you to keep him occupied, how many women will your sacrifice be worth?”

“You won’t get away with this!” You called after her, clawing the outside of the door like a trapped animal. “You will face justice! You and your vile husband!”

You brought your arm in to pound both of your fists against the wood, trying to force the door open. You hit it again and again, splinters digging into the flesh of your hands. 

“Y/N,” Aramis said again, this time softer. 

“We have to get out. You heard her. I won’t let him have me.”

“Y/N-”

“They’ll kill you too,” you said, your panic clouding your judgment. “They’ll kill you and he’ll strangle me like all of those women and then he will never stop. We have to get out.” You felt tears hot on your cheeks more than you felt the blood now dripping from the scrapes on your hands. 

“Y/N, stop.” Aramis grabbed you around the middle, pulling you away from the door. 

“No!” You cried. “We have to stop them. We have to-” You choked on a frightened sob. 

You couldn't remember the last time you were this scared. 

Aramis wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him so you couldn’t go back to the door. 

“Let me go,” you demanded.

“Not until I know you aren’t going to tear your hands apart on a door that isn’t going to open,” he said softly, tucking you against his chest. “We’ll get out. We’ll find a way. I promise.” 

You took a couple of deep breaths, laying your forehead against his chest to calm yourself down. You pushed away, hastily wiping away your tears. 

“You’re right. Now isn’t the time to let them get to us.” You squared your shoulders and tensed your jaw, turning your face away so he couldn’t see your embarrassment at losing control. 

“Wait.” Aramis put a hand on your shoulder, turning you so you had to look at him. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

“Not in my position, it’s not.” 

Pushing away from him, you moved to the other side of your straw-covered cell. While your legs ached to move, you knew you needed to conserve your energy for when they returned. 

When Lord Augustin used you to appease his sick appetites. 

“I’m going to just…” Aramis leaned against the wall, sliding down to ease the horrible pounding in his injured head. 

He forced himself to stay awake, trying to think of a plan of escape. Treville would realize the two of you were gone. Perhaps he would send Porthos or one of the others to search. 

Aramis grimaced. 

That would take too long. By the time anyone found the two of you, Lord Augustin would have put a bullet in Aramis’s skull, and… he didn’t want to think what would happen to you. 

You’d have to work together to find a way out, to tell Treville and the King that the killer was a nobleman and you’d have to find decent evidence in order to convince the court that a member of ‘higher society’ was capable of such crimes, otherwise, they could simply frame some poor stable boy. 

You’d seen it happen before. 

“I’m sorry you were dragged into this,” you said softly. 

Aramis laid his head back, shrugging. “It was my own fault. Not my mission, remember?” He gave you a smirk. 

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “That’s right. You should have minded your own businesses and then you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Ah, but then you’d miss my company.” 

You snorted. 

He closed his eyes. 

And you both waited. 

-

They came for him first. 

Men in dark clothes- hired thugs, most likely- unlocked the stable cell door and slid it open. 

You leapt to your feet, eyes on the pistols in their hands. 

“Stay away,” you spat. 

One of them sneered, taking a step toward you with his weapon aimed at your stomach. He ran a hand down your cheek. 

“Oh, we’re not here for you, beautiful.” He pressed his gun against your soft skin. “Too bad though. I would have loved to have a chance to soften you up for the madman.”

“Leave her alone,” Aramis said, getting to his feet. 

One of the other men kicked him back down, landing a blow to his leg and then his stomach once he was back on the ground. 

Aramis groaned. 

“Stop it,” you cried, jumping forward to try and intervene. 

The blonde man with you caught you around the waist, holding you there while the other two continued to beat on the poor musketeer until blood dripped from his mouth and his breathing turned ragged. 

The whimper fell from your lips before you really even understood why. “Aramis.” It almost felt like a prayer. 

Whatever feeling had overtaken you in that moment gave you enough strength to break away from your captor, snatching his weapon in the process. You forced him back with a powerful shove. 

“What in the-” He started, but the loud shot from his own weapon- and the bullet through his chest- silenced him. 

Aramis took the moment of shock on his comrade's faces to cease his painful performance and swing his legs into theirs, knocking them both off their feet before they could turn their attentions and their weapons to you. 

“Someone will have heard that,” he said. 

“Then we better act quickly.” You grabbed the sword off the belt of the man you shot.

Aramis took both from the men on the ground. 

You exchanged a look and ran out of the cell, taking the first turn you found and cutting down two more guards as you went.

“You know,” Aramis said, catching his breath, “we make a decent pair, you and I.”

You snorted. “They hit you too hard, soldier.”

He chuckled and continued down the corridor, leading the two of you into some kind of cellar, but not one for wine.

“My God,” you gasped, hand lifting to your lips in shock.

Before you laid the remains of at least half a dozen more women. The smell alone made your stomach turn.

“Monster,” Aramis muttered, eyes widening with every bloody sight. 

The strangled women were just the beginning. Butchery was his real interest. 

You swallowed back bile. “We need to get to Treville.”

Aramis simply nodded. Something inside of him snapped. He clenched his fists. 

You noticed the tension in his back. 

“We need to go.” When he didn’t move, you took his hand. “We’ll send someone to give them a proper burial,” you said. “But we can’t do that if we’re dead, Aramis.” 

He nodded again. Aramis let you lead him out of that horrible room. 

With his hand in yours, you felt as though the darkness in this house couldn’t reach you. This man who had infuriated you just hours earlier now filled you with the courage you needed to keep walking after seeing those poor women lying there. 

You ducked into a smaller corridor to let a group of servants go by and to let Aramis rest. You could tell that his head injury still troubled him and you couldn’t have him fainting on you in the middle of a fight. 

“We have our evidence now,” he said darkly. He shifted, his body brushing against yours with every move, every breath. 

Having him pressed so close to you, you held your breath, afraid that if his skin brushed yours, you’d break completely.

“That could have been me,” you whispered, some of your panic from before seeping into your tone. 

Aramis lifted a hand to your cheek. “We’re going to stop him.” 

Perhaps it was the intensity of the moment or the terror of facing such a violent death that drew you to him. Or maybe it was just his eyes. 

Aramis leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

And you let him. 

You couldn’t remember you’d felt a man’s lips when you weren’t trying to draw information from them. 

“We could find the exit,” he suggested. “Find Treville and bring him here to arrest the lord and lady.”

You looked at each other, knowing both of your answers without having to say anything. 

The two of you took off down the hallway to arrest the Augustins yourselves.

- 

The manor house felt more like a small castle the more you made your way down twisting corridors and endless stairs. With every careful step, Aramis was right behind you, stolen guns at the ready in case you ran into the villains. 

Having always worked alone, you expected to feel more uncomfortable with him there. It was far more difficult to sneak two people around, but his presence provided more assistance than irritation. The idea of being in this place alone made your skin crawl. 

“You there!” Someone shouted. 

It was definitely harder to sneak two people around. 

“It’s that musketeer!” Another guard shouted. “Get him!”

“You seem to be quite popular,” you muttered, whittling around and firing a shot into the chest of one of the incoming thugs. 

“What can I say?” Aramis shot another. “I have that effect.” 

You laughed, surprised by the light sound that came from you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d truly laughed. Either his arrogance was growing on you or you were more rattled than you thought. Perhaps a mix of both. 

The two of you stood back to back, fighting off more guards as they ran towards you from both sides of the hall. 

“He has more guards than the king,” you exasperated. 

“But not better ones.” He expertly disarmed his opponent, using the man’s sword to run him through. 

“We’ll have to hurry. Lord and Lady Augustine will try to escape.” You took down another, clearing a path for the two of you to reach the upper chambers of the house. Grabbing Aramis by the arm you pulled him into a room with a heavy wooden door. 

“We won’t be able to hold them off for long,” he said, pushing a heavy-looking table in front of the entrance. 

You stared out in front of you. “We won’t have to.” 

Aramis whipped around, finding the two owners of the house standing before you in front of a large dining room table. 

“How nice of you to join us,” Lord Augustine said. He pulled out a chair. “I’ve heard so much about you mademoiselle.” His cold eyes shifted to the man beside you. “And you, musketeer.”

Aramis held out his sword. “Don’t come any closer.” 

“You’re in my house. I don’t think it’s polite to give me any orders.” Augustine stepped towards you. “Such a fine neck…”

You shuddered. 

Aramis put his arm in front of you. “I’m arresting you in the name of the king for the murder of at least a dozen French women.” 

“We won’t be going anywhere,” Lady Augustine said. She pointed a pistol at your head over his shoulder. “Now drop your sword, musketeer, or I’ll be forced to cut this evening short. 

Aramis lowered his voice. “I need you to reach into my trousers.”

“What?”

“There is a pistol tucked in my waistband that they failed to take away.”

“Why didn’t you use it before?” You hissed.

Lord and Lady Augustine exchanged confused and irritated looks. 

“I’ve been saving it for something like this.” Honestly, in the chaos of the evening, he’d half forgotten it was there. He shifted closer to you to make it easier. “Just grab it.” 

“You are a strange man,” you muttered. Keeping an eye on the woman aiming a weapon at you, your hand traveled across and down Aramis’ back.

He did his best not to shiver at your touch, liking it far too much given the situation. 

“Make one more move and I’ll blow your head off,” Lady Augustine threatened. 

“Now, now, there’s no need for that.” The Lord gave you a wide smile. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. I’d hate for someone so fine to go to waste.”

“I’m going to enjoy this,” you growled. 

Aramis’ shoulders tensed. “Do you have it?”

In answer, you raised the hidden weapon and fired it under his arm. The bullet struck Lady Augustine in the chest, propelling her backward and making her pistol clatter to the table. 

Lord Augustine launched himself at Aramis, swinging a knife wildly, his cool exterior replaced by a rapid monster. His ferocity took Aramis by surprise, almost failing to deflect his first attack. 

The two of them locked in battle and even in his weakened state, Aramis kept him at bay. But Lord Augustine’s fury was hard to combat. He knocked Aramis’ sword out of his hand and raised his own blade for a final strike. 

A great shot rang through the room.

Aramis turned to find you clutching Lady Augustine’s pistol in your hands. 

“For the women of Paris,” you muttered, letting the weapon fall from your exhausted grip. 

-

Everything moved fairly quickly from there. Augustine’s guards were arrested for aiding him, the bodies from the basement were removed to be properly buried, and Treville was furious that Aramis went against him but could hardly say anything about the results. 

But for all of the good that came out of it, Aramis hated every second for he was being hailed as the singular hero who solved the case and brought the killers to justice. You were left to the shadows of isolation and secrecy. 

He hadn’t even been allowed to see you since the soldiers had arrived at the manor. It pained him more than he could explain. Being apart from you felt like being kicked as he had in the cell- over and over until all he could feel was the ache. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Porthos asked, snapping his friend out of his trance. “Is that Augustine still bothering you?” He took the seat across from Aramis, shaking his head. “I’m just glad you shot the bastard. Men like that always have a way of escaping justice at a trial.”

Aramis opened his mouth to object, to announce that he hadn’t defeated the monster, that he’d almost been killed himself had it not been for the woman he couldn't get off his mind. But he felt Treville watching him from his office balcony and kept quiet.

“Aramis!” The Captain called down to him. He motioned for him to come with him and vanished behind his door. 

“Must be in trouble,” Porthos muttered teasingly. 

Aramis didn’t laugh. 

He trudged up the steps with the memory of Augustine’s threats toward you playing on his mind. Aramis pushed through the door feeling weighed down by all of the events and emotions plaguing him for the last several days. 

“You look like hell,” Treville sighed, leaning over his desk with a look of concern. “Come in. Sit.” 

Aramis did as he was told without any of his usual banter or clever remarks. 

Treville ran a hand down his face. “Have you mentioned the woman you worked with to anyone?” 

Aramis shook his head. 

“Good.” Treville took a seat. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, Y/N’s anonymity is imperative to her position with us. If anyone were to find out who she was or that she worked for me, it could put her in grave danger.”

“I understand.” 

“However,” Treville blew out a breath, “since neither of you seem to be able to stop moping about it.” He waved to someone in the corner of the room. 

You stepped forward. 

Aramis jumped up out of his seat, eyes widening. “Y/N.”

“Hello Aramis,” you smiled. 

For a man you’d wanted to shoot the first time you met him, the urge to run into his arms nearly overtook you. 

Treville cleared his throat. 

“I will give you two a moment to speak.” He eyed Aramis on the last word. “I can’t stand watching both of you sulk about anymore.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said quietly. 

Aramis bowed slightly as the captain left. 

The two of you turned back to each other. 

And closed the space between you. 

Aramis wrapped his arms around you, holding you as tight as he had when he held you in that horrible cell. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in his presence even as it broke down the wall you’d spent years building around yourself. 

“I wasn’t sure what happened to you,” he said. “I knew that you were alright, but I haven’t been able to stop worrying.”

You pulled away to look into those eyes that had been in your dreams every night since you saw them first. 

“I was concerned that perhaps your injuries were worse than you let on,” you laughed lightly. “But I’m sure you’ve encountered worse.”

“I can handle a bump on the head, I assure you,” Aramis smiled. 

“I’m glad that the king’s finest can handle themselves.” You playfully poked his chest. “Even if they occasionally require a woman to rescue them.”

“I believe I rescued you first.” 

You raised a brow. “Whatever helps your precious musketeer ego.” 

Aramis chuckled, raising a hand to your cheek. 

You leaned into his touch.

The two of you drew closer. 

Abruptly, you pushed away. Your feet paced in front of the captain’s desk, trying to put distance between you and the man before you. 

“What are we doing?” You exclaimed, running your fingers through your hair. “A week ago, I never would have thought twice about an assignment, but you have changed everything for me.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Aramis wondered, taking a slow step toward you. 

“You don’t understand, Aramis. I’m not like you.” Your heart, usually cold and guarded, was breaking as you spoke. “I don’t live in the day and the battles and the light. I live in the secrets of this city. I am a shadow. I’m not real.”

“You are.” He closed the space again, putting his hands on your arms. “You are real.” 

“I am a lie,” you cried, shaking your head. “The things that I have to do… the depths to which I have had to sink in order to accomplish a mission… I could never ask you to live with that.”

“I don’t care about any of it.” He lifted his hand to your face again, running a thumb along your bottom lip. “Even if these lips speak lies, I know that there is truth in your heart.” He looked into your eyes. “And I know that you feel what I feel, otherwise you wouldn’t have come back to me.” 

“Aramis-” You blinked back desperate tears. He was right, of course. You couldn't remember the last time you’d felt like this. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt.

Now it was you who closed the air between you, catching his lips with yours, finally letting yourself be true. 

-

“And the rest is history,” Aramis beamed, kissing you as if it was for the first time. 

The three men before you sat in awed silence. Porthos even looked to be on the verge of tears.

“That’s a beautiful story,” he said, clearing his throat to keep his emotions in check. 

“Well, it was until the captain found out.” You winced at the memory. 

Needless to say, Treville was far from thrilled that his top spy was seeing one of his more ostentatious soldiers. Things especially got messy when Porthos found out, followed by Athos. And now D’Artagnan.

“So what happened after that?” D’Artagnan wondered. “The two of you don’t exactly have a lot of time in between assignments, I imagine.”

Aramis shrugged. “I spent every minute I could with her. And with every minute, I fell more and more in love.” 

“And what of the, um,” D’Artagnan cleared his throat, “more delicate parts of her work?” 

Aramis shot him a look. 

“We deal with it,” you said, pouring everyone more wine. “I do what I have to to protect this city and its people, just like the rest of you.”

“And she’s damn fine at her job.” Aramis kissed her cheek. “I can’t count all of the plots that have been defeated because of her courage and cunning.” 

You glanced at him. 

He cleared his throat. “Not that I know about any of the ones I’m definitely not supposed to know about.”

You rolled your eyes, rustled his hair, and pulled him in for another kiss. 

“I’m glad she’s on our side,” Athos said, giving you a smirk. 

“Here here,” Porthos cheered. 

The five of you clinked your cups together. 

It was a long and winding path that brought you here and an even longer one laid before you. But with these men to walk it beside you, with your loving husband to hold your hand along the way, it was a path you were more than happy to walk. 

[philtstone]

Anne/Aramis, “furious”

"We run security at a museum," D'Artagnan complains as he tugs on the neck of his uniform. "We're not the bloody secret service. What's the point of all this fuss, anyway?"

"Museum donors," Porthos grunts.

"The only family in town who bothers," adds Aramis.

"Oh, look," deadpans Athos. "Constance is here."

"Where?" asks D'Artagnan immediately.

Constance is greeting the short-statured couple at the door and ushering them inside with her clipboard tucked under one arm and her cheeks pink with flustered determination; she probably hasn't been in such close proximity to real diamonds ever in her life. Treville had warned them to behave and Richelieu at the city arts' council is threatening to cut their funding but by Christ these sorts of meetings are so boring. Aramis, who hasn't yet properly looked over at their patrons, would never say it aloud himself -- it would be undignified -- but he almost prefers those stuffy galas they freelance at on weekends.

The gossip is better and the women are still married, but in a fun way.

"You'd think they'd know a bit more about what they were paying for," murmurs Porthos, as the husband demands Constance answer a series of inane questions posed at furious pace about the building's plumbing.

"Constance asked me to fix her sink just last week," D'Artagnan sighs wistfully.

"Was this before or after Jacques kicked you out?" asks Athos, not uncharitably, out of the corner of his mouth.

Aramis is not listening; he is staring unabashedly at the young woman who has trailed over to the interior of the lobby and is examining the large marble bust (hardly their most prized possession, as Athos claims it is not even made of real marble) of a mother and child that towers over the front desk. Her small hands grip the blue handbag she carries against her stomach and her large eyes are locked upon the statue's as if she is trying to commune with it at a spiritual level.

She's utterly fascinating, is the foolish thought that crosses his mind -- moments before Porthos, scowling, steps hard on his foot.

[cave-cryptid]

I lost my MIND when Milady de Winter confidently strolled into the room to falsely testify against Ninon, and there you have Athos in the background

Stoic, composed Athos, performing as nothing less than a perfect soldier

And the second he hears her voice the façade melts away like candle wax

The acting skill alone !!!

For his mask to just slowly drip from his features and reveal all the layers of emotion left behind. Disbelief, grief, guilt, fear, anger all in a matter of seconds.

That's probably one of the only times Aramis and Porthos ever saw Athos so completely vulnerable to his own emotions, and even still he doesn't tell them the truth afterwards which demonstrates just how much control Milady has over his psyche that he'd almost reveal his darkest truth.

Just !!!!! Will be thinking about that scene for a long time

[wingsofhcpe]

New game, bbc Musketeers cast & what Taylor Shift songs they religiously listen to/be represented by (inspired by @sprnklersplashes 's post!)

Athos: the lakes

Porthos: stay stay stay

Aramis: anti-hero (IT'S ME HI I'M THE PROBLEM IT'S ME)

D'Artagnan: shake it off (I stay up too late GOT NOTHING IN MY BRAIN)

Constance: paper rings

Treville: safe & sound

Richelieu: bad blood (alternatively this is also a Trevilieu song)

Milady: red or blank space

Anne: holy ground

[musketeermaiden]

Thoughts on why Athos was the only Musketeer to kiss Aramis even in a brotherly way. It's Athos. Sure it only happened because Tom ad-libbed that reaction, but given how no one else ever does that to my knowledge, it raises the question of why? What made that specific moment more emotional stirring than the others that would cause Athos to react that way?

I will admit, it's been a while since I've watched the actual show- so I did have to go back and revisit that episode to remind myself of it.

But after doing so? I really think most of it has to do with the fact that Athos knew- about Aramis sleeping with Anne. He was the only one to know for so long (I can't remember if the others know during this episode, I only rewatched pieces). For Athos, the threat to Aramis' life was so much more real.

To me, with Athos' character- his personality and his mindset- it was probably a fear he'd been harboring for so long. And one he'd been carrying by himself, unwilling to share and put Aramis in more danger. Being a musketeer is risky, that's nothing new, but Aramis being essentially tried for sleeping with the queen? That wasn't something he could fix by killing a few men and being done with it.

It was a threat that was present in their everyday lives, and then his exact fear happens.

And still, despite every odd stacked against them, Athos got Aramis back.

[comtedelafere]

So I just read this afternoon that Ray Stevenson has died at the age of 58 (which is absolutely no age, the poor fella, what a shock).

I'm not gonna pretend to know much about his back catalogue of work or say I was an especial fan or anything disingenuous like that, but I do really want to talk for a quick moment about the one role I really know and love him for - Porthos in the 2011 adaptation of The Three Musketeers.

Now, I know and you know that this version of The Musketeers is massively unpopular for a whole host of reasons - most notably the silly airship storyline (personally, I have such a well-trained suspension of disbelief that I can 100% deal with the airship aspect of it, but I totally get why it's an unpopular addition to the story) - but I will happily die on the hill that it is the closest combination of writing and portrayal of the Core Four yet (sorry, BBC version). Logan Lerman's d'Artagnan was a cheeky 19-year-old rascal who thought he was all that and a bag of chips and didn't care who knew it. Matthew Macfadyen's Athos was sullen and morose (but in a really hot way obvs, cos yknow - Athos) and didn't waste a word of dialogue. Luke Evans' Aramis was quiet, sober, extremely spiritual and didn't go around trying to seduce everything that moved the whole time.

But Ray Stevenson's Porthos? Oh. Oh this was sublime. Up until this adaptation, Porthos had more often than not been played as the comic relief: the large, overweight, affable drunk of no fixed IQ whose prowess at fighting was more down to luck and subtle slapstick than his good judgement. This version of Porthos couldn't have been further away from those portrayals.

He was a quick-witted, smart, physically powerful and agile fighter, whose hand-to-hand combat skills were so notorious that he never needed to use his sword. My absolute favourite moment that showed this fact so beautifully was at the end of the big fight scene with the Red Guards ("Four against FORTY? And you beat them like a drum?! *snort*!" oh, Louis!) when the Guards were reeling a bit, and trying to decide whether to go another round. At that point, Porthos casually pushed his sword from the scabbard with his thumb by about 2 inches - and that was enough to send the Red Guards running for the hills!! I screamed!! Perfect characterisation!! Porthos to an absolute T!!!!!

Not only that, but his version of Porthos was an unashamed yet impoverished dandy, a dedicated follower of fashion who took his time to choose exactly the right cut of new clothes in exactly the right colours - while his rich, married lover happily picked up the tab for him. He understood the way the right clothes and the right combination of appearance and demeanour in any given scenario could give him the upper hand, not only in fighting but also in all of his interpersonal relationships and encounters.

This is the Porthos I had wanted for years. This is the Porthos I cheered and applauded for when I finally saw the version that had lived in my head all those years had finally made it to the screen.

Don't get me wrong, of course the BBC Musketeers owns a huge part of my heart and soul and I love so much about them - but the 2011 Musketeers was so special because for me it was probably the very first time I finally got to see the Musketeers as the book described them, rather than just as the standard accepted carbon copies that had been passed down by Hollywood over the decades, and which bear little to no resemblance to the actual characters in the book. I have no idea if I've actually seen any of Ray's other performances or not, to be honest. Porthos may not be his finest hour onscreen, I really don't know. It may not be the part he's best known for. But if nothing else, Ray finally gave the world a Porthos that Dumas would have recognised.

Despite the fact the film as a whole was received poorly, his portrayal was a genuine gift, and I am privileged to be able to remember him as having given this Musketeer fangirl the abject joy of finally seeing Porthos played as he should have been all along. Not as a large, loud drunk who was just there to be big, strong and funny - but as a highly skilled, intelligent, audacious soldier with a sharp sense of humour and an even sharper dress sense; and who, rather than simply bringing up the rear as The Other Guy or the Big Fella, showed that he was quite possibly the Musketeers' MVP.

Thank you, Ray. Goodnight, and rest well.

[enigma-the-mysterious]

Aramis: Shit, you look exhausted

Athos: Yeah, it's probably the exhaustion