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Put a word inside my inbox

And I’ll tell you a fact about myself based off that word

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@therapardalis from Ask

“I’m sorry, what?” The words were out before her brain had any chance to catch them; not that it would have if it could. The young Gascon had aged, both in an actual year and from the weight of duty, but was still not so advanced on the recruits currently trying to show off in the courtyard below.

“Babies?” A grin curved on Thera’s face, and someone nearby, possibly Porthos, snickered behind his hand. “That’s a little ‘pan to the pot’, don’t you think?”

D’Artagnan stiffened, hesitating, but relaxed when he glanced back over the railing. Aramis was down there frantically trying to rein in the chaos of two new recruits who’d tried to copy one of his signature stunts. 

“That’s right,” the Gascon doubled down, brows raised, “Babies. The youngest is, what, eighteen?” He huffed a laugh, arms crossed and head cocked. “I’m twenty now, and haven’t shot through Treville’s window once.”

Granted he had tried to stab one of Treville’s senior musketeers last year, but that was different.

#the twenty year old calls the eighteen a baby with a totally straight face #''when i was your age''

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an alcoholic beverage posing as a piece of bread in france is called: sham pain

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im full of rage and dangerously stupid but god is holding me back by the scruff of my neck like a kitten

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❛ oh my gosh, tear this dude apart. ❜

“Someone should,” d’Artagnan groused, eying the preening nobleman with a scowl. Even to the Gascon’s developing vocabulary, the man sounded ridiculous. He’d been prattling half an hour just to comment on Agrabah’s various trade agreements, alliances, marriages…all punctuated with a lot of groveling. To his credit, the Sultan looked mildly confused at worst.Of course, it was none of d’Artagnan’s business. He was little more than a guest; the last remnant of an envoy that had ended months ago in a string of unsolved murders. It was a precarious position, or should have been, the ghostlike middleground between stranded orphan and representative of France, but the Prince Consort and his wife were gracious hosts, and sometimes it was almost as if he belonged.Being in such a position, which called for the utmost decorum and respect, naturally meant lingering in the back of political meetings and quietly making fun of dignitaries with whomever was available. Naturally, this was usually the Prince Consort himself.

The nobleman reached the end of a particularly magnificent warning against Agrabah’s continued alliances with…practically anyone, and went on to extol the virtues of his own country.

“My horse is a better speaker,” d’Artagnan muttered, “I-”“I must speak plainly, sire, but…I must admit there are..concerns…sensibility…Agrabah’s government. Taking in…boy from the streets…marry your daughter! Now…French…? You see why…question…?”

“…I’m gonna do it.” d’Artagnan deadpanned, already moving, “Pardon me, monsieur-!”

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🎵 Best of Wives, Best of Women -romanticxheroxtype

They stood for perhaps an eternity, frozen in the doorway. And then, all at once, Aramis grinned and hell broke loose.

D’Artagnan flounced past, making a determined beeline to whip the curtains shut, shedding clothing with every step. One shoe went flying, then the other, the Gascon expertly hopping one-legged when necessary. Next, the cloak, left to pool on the floor, one glove cast aside and then the hat-“That’s why we never got you a hat,” Aramis quipped, bending to snatch it. He beamed all the more when d’Artagnan turned, scowl firmly in place and the other glove still gripped between his teeth. The Spaniard chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief.“You know, mi más adorado,” he purred, voice low, husky, “You could leave your hat on-”

The wig hit him full in the face, halting those damned eyebrows in their suggestive bouncing. D’Artagnan took a moment to flash a grin of his own, all savage sharp edges as Aramis tossed the piece out of sight with a look of dismay.

“Shut up and lock the door,” d’Artagnan groused, raking his hands through his hair and adding off-handedly, “I hate this plan.““You’re the one who agreed, mi querida Charlotte,” Aramis reminded, checking the lock, “And besides. I think that dress looks lovely on you. It brings out your eyes.”D’Artagnan regarded him as sourly as a wet cat.“I will admit I didn’t think we’d get this far,” the man went on to muse, “Take courage, mon ami, clearly you’re an amazing actress.”

With eyes narrowed in annoyance, d’Artagnan sauntered off to the adjoining room to wriggle out of the soft blue fabric in a whirl of yelps and curses, emerging sometime later dressed for bed.“I’ll take the floor,” Aramis said immediately, and d’Artagnan regarded him with an incredulous expression.“Why..?” he asked warily, “I’m usually with Athos, but I know we’ve shared before. Besides, we’re meant to be married-”

Aramis lit up like the sun as d’Artagnan caught himself, the younger turning bright red. “Oh, Charlotte,” Aramis exclaimed, promptly falling in the most dramatic fashion onto the bed and extending a hand, “You’re right. Lie down with me, darling.”

D’Artagnan swore and looked to the ceiling. “Aramis,” he breathed, “I will shoot you.”

Aramis’ grin broadened as he propped himself on his elbows. “Surely not on our wedding night.”

D’Artagnan took the nearest pillow and hit him with it.

@romanticxheroxtype

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Merde (interjection) • Sh*t • /mɛʁd/

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                                   ~ but I have  P R O M I S E S  to keep                                              and miles to go before I,,,                                                          ,,,,,, Y E E T,,