[personal profile] bbcmusketeerskink
So, this is, as a test, the first free-for all prompt post. The place for people to post their more extreme kink requests or any prompts that they have been made too uncomfortable to post on the regular prompt post due to the large amount of requests for trigger warnings.

I am also, as a test as well, going to copy prompts from the other prompt posts that have to be screened due to lack of warnings, but don't break the rules, into this post since no one has ever reposted a screened prompt and it was mentioned in the discussion of this idea that it might be because people were afraid to/put-off.

I, as mod, am all kinds of supportive of people who have triggers, but the meme needs to be a place for everyone and I can't just protect one side and keep the other feeling uncomfortable.

There will be no mandatory trigger warnings on this post. I cannot possibly stress this enough. This does not mean that people aren't allowed to use them if they want to, or as a courtesy, but they are not required.

So I implore you, if you have triggers, are easily triggered, please tread carefully and maybe avoid this post all together. Because there will also not be any trigger warning requests or screening for triggers on this post. If you look through it anyway, that is your own responsibility.

The rules of the other prompt posts, which are as follows, still apply.

No wank
No kink-shaming
Be respectful to everyone
As lenient as we'll be on this post, prompts containing people under the age of 16 in sexual situations will still not be accepted.
The mod is not your babysitter
Keep the discussions on the prompt post to a minimum and use the discussion post instead.

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

Fill: By Design 7/10 TW rape, pissing, violence

Date: 2014-06-03 08:38 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Treville has taken up temporary residence in ground floor rooms on the Rue Allent, a narrow, rather squalid street that's only advantage lies in the fact that it's a stone's throw away from the garrison.

"Serviceable, I suppose," says Athos, seating himself in familiar fashion on the corner of Treville's desk. The piece of furniture has been damaged in the move and tips awkwardly allowing the papers to fly off in all directions. Treville hurriedly bends down to collect them and Athos kneels to assist, but there's something in the captain's rushed manner which causes Athos to look more carefully at the listed orders and bills of receipt than perhaps he would have done ordinarily.

A small unfurled scroll stands out from the everyday nature of the rest and Athos pinches it from between Treville's fingers, the crude drawing of an arquebus catching his attention. Opening it fully he reads the words: you're dead, scrawled in crude lettering beneath the gun.

"This was delivered here?" He waves the message under Treville's nose.

Both men stand, shoulders set in confrontation and Treville nods. "Yesterday. I haven't had time to deal with it yet."

"And yet you didn't consider it important enough to tell me." Athos is furious. "Is this the first death threat you've received from Vallion?"

Treville nods again and Athos continues to tell him off. "Did you think to mention it to Aramis or Porthos this morning before you sent them off on another wild goose chase?"

"You're acting above your station." Treville fronts up to him. "What I choose to do with my company of men is none of your business. You're here to carry out my orders without question."

What happens next is entirely unexpected. A touchpaper of a different kind is lit and the two men slam into each other, mouths open, teeth clashing in a biting kiss that turns out to be ferociously hard. Drawing back for a moment Athos studies Treville's face for any second thoughts then searches himself for the same. There are none and he kisses Treville again, softer this time, his tongue sliding into the man's mouth, his breath coming in rapid bursts as blood thunders inside.

It's no more than a few strides to Treville's bed chamber and, hard and wanting for the first time since he was assaulted, Athos is filled with the kind of physical desperation he's never experienced before. The sound of familiar voices as a group of Musketeers pass by the open window brings about a return to reason and, startled by events, the two men pull apart.

"We'll sort this out later," promises Treville, his hand reaching up for the briefest of moments to touch Athos's cheek.


Later, by dint of its character, never arrives as Aramis and Porthos return that afternoon with news that Vallion and his diminishing squad of men have taken over a warehouse in Le Havre, two days ride away.

"We even have plans of the building," says Porthos, pleased as punch as he lays out the drawings on Treville's desk and weighs them down with a brass inkstand and an ugly paper knife. "An old sea captain friend of mine has come up trumps."

Athos has a strong suspicion that the captain may be more of a buccaneer than a merchant navy man, but at least he won't be following an ideology like these blasted Calvinists.

Their assault on Vallion's bolt hole is detailed down to precise minutiae and all four men are filled with frustrated rage when they eventually arrive, with a troop of soldiers, at the wharf building in Le Havre to discover not a shred of evidence that Vallion has even set foot in there.

"I'll string that miserable bastard up from the mizzen mast of his ship when I see him next." Porthos mounts his horse ready for the long ride back home, disgruntled and disappointed that all their efforts have, once again, been in vain.

They break their journey at a shabby coaching inn on the main route to Paris. The hostelry is bursting at the seams with travellers, most of them farmers heading to the monthly market at Les Halles, and with only one basic room left spare the four men lay out their bedrolls on the floor and share a scanty meal.

“What next?” asks Aramis, taking an unusually large swig of wine from the bottle. “He’s outsmarting us at every turn.”

"He's cunning and he's twisted and he's out for vengeance," says Treville, his lips thinning into a grim line. "He's also enjoying leading us a cat and mouse chase."

"Who's the cat and who's the mouse?" says Aramis despondently.

"Don't think that way," snaps Treville. "What will that sort of negativity ever achieve?"

"So far he's beaten Athos to within an inch of his life, destroyed our barracks and had us running in frantic circles around France. How are we supposed to gain anything positive from this?" answers Aramis wearily.

The remainder of the food is eaten in silence. Probably a good thing, thinks Athos as they're too close to accusing each other of things that would be of much regret when viewed by the harsh light of day. He himself is resigned, slowly gaining an insight into the workings of Vallion's mind. Calculating and cruel the man is manipulating them with ease: divide and conquer being his current methodology.

One by one the candles gutter and fail and as the room is enveloped in darkness Athos listens to an expanding chorus of snores. Comforted by the close proximity of his friends he is at the same time anxious that he might disturb them and, having rejected the idea of sleep, he lies on his back, waiting for morning to arrive. To pass the time he contemplates Vallion and his future plans, trying his level best not to relive that kiss he shared with Treville which has been on his mind--the impression of it warm on his lips--ever since it happened.

Rest--or in Athos’s case, none--does little to raise their spirits and the final leg of the journey to Paris continues in silence and at haste.

The four men stable their horses at the livery yard they’ve been using since the fire and, exhausted and downhearted they split up, Treville off to the garrison to see how the carpenters are doing, with Aramis and Porthos sloping off to lick their wounds and probably bed each other into a better mood.

Athos, himself, is happy to return to the quiet comfort of the Bonacieux household and consider Vallion's next play. He can still feel eyes on him at all times and is almost certain it's not paranoia.

The instant she sees him appear in the kitchen Constance pours out wine for them both. "How was the day?" she asks, passing him a cup and then dishing up a plate of broth from the pot.

"A pointless exercise for us," Athos says wearily. "Less so for our opponent."

"I thought Porthos was certain of his information?"

"All we can be certain of is that Vallion is well funded from some quarter and can pay well to put into the rumour mill whatever he wishes us to take out of it." Athos sighs. If the King were more popular amongst his people then the Musketeers would have an easier time. Huguenot families who, decades since, were forced to flee France for other corners of the continent will happily be providing the coin. They don't give a damn about the less than savoury methods that Vallion employs.

"What in Heaven's name?" Constance jumps to her feet, fingers closing around the bone handle of a knife at the sound of the door being smashed to smithereens.

In contrast, Athos doesn't bat an eyelid. "Tell Treville that I've been expecting this and to plan things out accordingly,” he says quickly. “Tell him also the number of men here. It won't be all of them, but will at least give him something to work with."

Wood splinters into shards and the room is filled with thugs, masked once again with bandanas. The lack of surprise doesn't stem that surge of fear as Athos is seized, pinned to the table and disarmed.

"Don't worry," he says, fixing his eyes on Constance to calm her as Vallion approaches, kerchief bunched at his throat. She's spitting with rage and the last thing he wants is for her to put herself in harm's way for his sake. The carving knife is torn from her hand and she’s pushed backwards into a chair then restrained by one of the men.

"Wrong," crows Vallion, his arm casually braced around Athos's neck. "Worry is indeed what you should be doing, my little bird, but only after you've run along to Captain Treville to tell him that, once again, we have his pet Musketeer." He strokes his fingers through Athos's hair. "He really should look after him better."

Fingertips slide down his neck, greasing a slimy trail over him, but however disgusted he feels Athos will not show anything other than indifference. When he’s hauled to his feet with two men securing him and Vallion draped against his back he continues to keep his eyes on Constance to reassure her that all is not lost. This is how he expected things to progress. So far so good.

"We'll be taking him to l'eglise St Martin," continues Vallion as they leave and Athos is dragged with them. "Go now, pretty thing. Inform the captain."

Thrown unceremoniously into the back of a covered wagon Athos automatically examines every escape route possible, but Vallion is at his side all the way, dagger digging into whichever body part he fancies threatening at the time and, anyway, Athos needs to be on the inside for his long shot of a plan to work out.

"I would make you suck my cock, but I have no wish to be castrated by those sharp little teeth of yours," Vallion says in that bizarre manner which sends Athos's stomach crawling upwards into his throat. "It took Besnard a long time to recover after you chomped down on him. I do so admire your spirit." The dagger trails lazily down Athos's doublet and breeches then traces the lie of his prick.

Damping down his emotions Athos concentrates instead on the route they're taking out of Paris, calculating where this particular church could be and why Vallion has chosen it as a venue. The name is unfamiliar; Treville has been over and over their history trying to predetermine Vallion's moves and motives and St Martin has never been mentioned.

"You're quiet, Musketeer, disappointingly so in fact," croons Vallion. "I could fuck you bloody and make you scream right here." Athos tenses. "But that would only spoil the show for later."

From: (Anonymous)
*pants loudly* OP here!

Bloody hell, that was an unexpected development!

This is getting very exciting, and I am dying to see where you;re taking this next.

This is going to be one hell of a showdown.
From: (Anonymous)

Final chapter of action now posted and then we're on the home straight.

::hugs you hard::

Fill: By Design 8/10 TW rape, pissing, violence

Date: 2014-06-05 06:58 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
The place that they are approaching is a small church set within walled grounds in the northern outskirts of the city. Attached to it is a single storey monastic building from within which is emanating the kind of dreadful cacophony that cannot possibly be human in origin.

"You seem disturbed, Musketeer," says Vallion with a chuckle. "An appropriate reaction because this is indeed a refuge for those who are disturbed beyond reason."

A suitable place for Vallion then, thinks Athos wryly as a set of manacles are secured to his wrists. He's dragged from the cart, falling to the ground, and whilst he's being hefted brutally to his feet by two of the men he looks about him and wonders at Vallion's diminishing state of mind. What made him choose such an impossible site to defend? If he thinks a few screeching lunatics will deter the Musketeers then he's a very misguided man.

Inside the building Athos is shoved along arched, stone corridors and past monastic cells, inside which huddle a number of nuns in grey habit. They look frightened but unharmed. He hopes with all his heart that they will remain that way, but their captor is not known for his sympathetic nature.

"The Daughters of Charity see fit to look after the mad men of Paris." Vallion shakes his head. "A worthless cause if you ask me."

"A more worthless one comes to mind," says Athos, inwardly cursing himself. He must not infuriate Vallion too soon or his friends will be rescuing a raped corpse.

"Brave words from a brave soldier," sneers Vallion as he pushes Athos down a short flight of steps and turns the key in the lock of an iron gate. "Let's see how much you enjoy the remainder of your evening spent in here with these fellows."

The stench coming from behind the bars is revolting and Athos almost brings up his dinner as he is forced inside the cellar room with these poor wretches. The compacted mud floor is scattered with foul smelling straw and the men contained here are naked and chained to the wall. Athos curses under his breath; if this is the humane way to treat the lunatics of France then he dreads to think of the alternative.

Locked away Athos keeps to the far corner, as near to the slit of a window as he can manage. At least here he can keep an eye out and also have the blessing of some fresh air to breathe. Frightened beyond belief he calms himself with the idea of rescue and for a moment imagines he hears the distinctive whinny of Porthos's horse. Too soon, he knows for certain, but come they will and he must be ready for it when they do.

Excited by the presence of an intruder within their cell the inmates begin to scream and haul on their chains, but Athos ignores them, intent on working free a set of lockpicks he has secreted in the lining of his doublet. He's been preparing for this.

At first he has no success, managing to drop the tools more times than he can successfully manage to hold them between his teeth and tease them into the keyhole. Eventually, however, he remembers his lessons from Porthos--there are many ways to overcome the boredom when one is bed bound--and manipulates the workings of the simple lock until it opens with a soft clunk. A thin smile of satisfaction on his face he removes a length of wire from his boot and twists it ready, then replacing the chains loosely over his wrists he watches and waits.

Besnard is the first to die. Coming to the cell on the pretext of bringing water he crouches close to Athos and looks him over with a gloating smile. "When this is over and you're no longer needed as bait then I'll slice off your cock at the root and let you know the pain I suffered at your hands."

"I'm sorry," says Athos politely. "I had no idea I actually emasculated you that day."

"No! No you didn't," the man says, eyes widening at the implication. "I still have my-"

Besnard is not expecting Athos to move so swiftly, nor to be enmeshed in a noose of wire that tightens until he is firmly garotted and the life squeezes out of him. Taking possession of keys and pistol Athos hides the body under a heap of straw. Normally he regrets his killings; this time he only hopes that his friends will reach here before the decaying corpse adds to the smell.

With an arm looped through the bars he secures the cell door, leaving the keys in the lock. He then waits, hoping against hope that rescue will arrive soon, but detects no sounds from the outside of the building. Worse still, his plan of picking off the men one by one is a failure when four of them arrive at once to take him to Vallion. If they strip him all will be lost. If they gang rape him he will not recover this time.

"How did these come undone?" says one of them as the chains slip free from Athos's wrists.

The response to this question comes in the form of a musket ball to the eye. At this short range the man's head explodes like a melon and his associates, standing immediately behind him, are covered in a liquefied mix of brain matter and splintered skull. One of them falls backward in disgust, by chance uncovering the greying corpse of Besnard in the process, and the frenzied excitement from the inmates only adds to the horror of the moment.

Needless to say, the three remaining men are not kind to Athos as he is hauled back along the corridors. Looking to see that the nuns are still unharmed he catches sight of Aramis in one of the cells and heaves out a stuttering breath of relief. Head swimming from the onslaught of punches and kicks, he fights to retain his focus knowing that this time he is not alone.

Fury is written all over Aramis's face and he is about to rush in to help when Athos throws him a warning glance. However unnerved he is, however broken and beaten it doesn't matter, because getting the Daughters of Charity to safety is vital. They are good women who don’t deserve to be pawns in Vallion's game. There is time for him; Athos knows. He is, as Besnard so nicely put it, merely bait in a trap for Treville.

Dragged through the building and into the church Athos is thrown at Vallion's feet -- a bloody offering. He’s aching and bruised from the treatment he’s received, but he won't go down without a fight. Not alone, he reminds himself.

"We should kill him now," says one of the gore splattered men. "De Blois is dead, as is Besnard, both by his filthy, catholic hands."

Vallion ignores them and squats to examine Athos, wiping away the trail of blood from his nose with the pad of a thumb. In a disturbing gesture he sucks it clean with a look of utter relish on his face. "You are a feisty one; I can see why Treville likes you so much. Now up you get," he says in that sing-song voice, helping Athos to his feet then shoving him face down across the upper surface of a carved tomb, cheekbone crunching against cold, stone features. "Tie him here," he says pointing to coils of rope and the iron rings that are set into the slab floor. "I was going to crucify him for the sake of theatre, but this allows easier access." He slaps Athos across the backside. "A spectacle of a different sort."

The sound of a gunshot has the henchmen looking about them with nervous eyes, but Vallion is in a very different state of mind. "Finish restraining him then hunt down our former captain and escort him inside," he says with an unhinged laugh.

For a man who, up until now, has been playing such a clever game, Athos wonders why Vallion now seems to have thrown caution to the wind, his sanity, once hanging by a thread, now seemingly departed for good. From outside the church he picks out the subtle sound of a blade and gurgle of a slit throat and allows himself a half smile.

So far his own game has been a high risk one with odds lengthening by the hour, but now, still in one piece if a little roughed up, he's in a better position than he expected to be. Easing the small blade out of its hiding place in the lining of his cuff, he begins to work away at the ropes, stripping through the strands of hemp with tiny measured movements as Vallion is occupied by a new arrival to the scene.

"Give up, Vallion," says Treville, stepping forward into the aisle of the church. "There are, at present, three guns aimed at you from inside the church and more on their way."

"Three?" sneers Vallion. "And how many, do you suppose, are pointing at you?"

"You had eleven men left in total and we've disarmed ten of them," says Aramis from the shadows.

"One way or another," adds an unmistakable growl. "The last scarpered as soon as he set eyes on me."

Athos’s lips twist into a smile of satisfaction because Porthos, at his most menacing, is a wonder to behold. He can turn a twenty stone killer into a blubbering wreck, just from the tone of his voice.

"No matter, Treville. I have you where I want you,” says Vallion, all the time his pistol aimed surely at Athos. “You betrayed me. Your words are empty. Your promises of loyalty and protection are meaningless." Vallion's gun wavers, but only for a split second. It's not long enough. "I trusted you."

"How could I do anything but hand you over to the authorities?" Momentarily Treville's voice is tinged with regret, but it swiftly turns to anger. "You played me for a fool. Helping me track down those killers when all the time it was you, you sick bastard." He pauses to collect himself. "Even now I'll let you walk away from this alive, Vallion. Even after all that you've done."

Athos tenses; Treville might have mercy in mind, but he has not. He's spent too long imagining the hot, slippery feel of blood on his hands.

"And live out the rest of my days covered in my own filth in the bowels of the Bastille?" The pitch of Vallion's voice rises. "I think not, Captain. You may have saved the Daughters of Charity from rape and burning, but I can assure you that neither he"--his pistol is inches away from Athos's temple--"nor I will, walk away from this alive."

Beneath the depraved layers there's an underlying effeminacy to Vallion and Athos has long since doubted that religious suppression plays anything but a minor part in this. The man is a twisted product of self hatred for his own predilections and he strongly suspects that Vallion suffered at the hands of a catholic order, trying to cure him of unnatural desires. "I'll wager you personally never raped any of the nuns you captured," he says and when Vallion hisses at him it's the most inhuman sound Athos has ever heard, including those of his former roommates. It doesn't deter him. He needs to rile Vallion, needs him close. "I imagine the only time you can get a stand for a woman is if she has a prick hidden away under her skirts." Hand now freed from the ropes he reaches carefully into his boot.

"Athos! Quiet!" snaps Treville, watching in trepidation as Vallion slowly circles the stone tomb over which Athos has been spread out and secured, the gun brushing his temple and lingering there. "Vallion, your quarrel is with me alone. What has he got to do with any of this? He wasn't even a Musketeer when you were in the company."

"All of Paris knows you look on him with favour."

"Of course I look on him with favour. He's a damn good soldier. He's my second in command."

"And still you fool yourself."

"Let him go." Treville’s words are slow and steady.

"Why would I do that when he's so much fun to play with?" Vallion leans closer to Athos and strokes his face with the barrel of the pistol. "The captain always has his favourites, lad. You're not the first by a long way." He turns his attention back to Treville. "No, I'd much rather fuck him again and watch your face as I'm doing it. He was tight as a vise last time, but I'll bet fifty livres he's a lot slacker now after we all had a go with him."

For a moment Athos loses his way; shrunken, wretched, sick with shame he can’t bear to think of Porthos and Aramis hidden amongst the shadows, revulsion on their faces as they finally hear the truth. How will they ever look at him again with any kind of respect? He leans into the cold rim of the pistol barrel and, as he has done so many times in the past, longs for death. Imagines himself swinging from the bough of that lone hanging tree at La Fère.

Treville, unable to retain any measure of calm, roars with rage as Vallion drapes himself over Athos in a parody of a loving pose. It’s the moment Athos has been waiting for and is enough to bring him back from the edge of despair. With hands and feet now loose from the ropes he whips around, jabbing his elbow into Vallion's throat, at the same time bringing his knee up to make contact with delicate tissue and sliding the fine blade of a stiletto cleanly between Vallion's ribs. The pistol clatters away and Treville lunges forward to retrieve it.

Vallion leans back against the carved side of the tomb, a line of pink spittle running from the corner of his mouth. He coughs and the colour changes to crimson. "Captain," he says, an exhalation of blood accompanying his words as he slides to the floor. "Your pet had more fight left in him than I expected."

"He's a good soldier," Treville says again, handing Athos the pistol as Aramis and Porthos approach from the outer reaches of the church, all of them closing ranks. "One of my best men. Not my pet."

Athos leans in close to Vallion. "I'm Athos of the King's Musketeers and these gentlemen are my brothers in arms and my friends." He lowers his voice to a whisper meant for one man's ears alone. "I could follow Treville's example and show mercy, or I could slowly fuck you to death with the barrel of this gun, but seeing as you're dying I'll be kind and hasten the process."

Stepping back a pace he aims the flintlock at Vallion's heart and fires, tissue and fluid exploding outwards in an expiration of droplets as the man exhales a final, bloody breath.

Looking down at the crumpled body Athos feels nothing but weariness. Perhaps once he's recuperated he'll gain a sense of relief that Vallion and his companions are dead, but for now all he wants is to go home and sleep.

Hands clamp tight around his shoulders. "Did he harm you?" says Treville, facing him, his eyes fastened to Athos as he hunts for the truth.

Athos shakes his head. "No."

"Why didn't you tell us your plans? It would have made things a damn sight easier."

Treville's lips are drawn into that thin, angry line that Athos knows only too well. He can feel the thrum of nervous tension and knows the captain is a hair's breadth away from shaking him senseless, or perhaps something more revealing. Too close for either of their comfort Treville stumbles backward, coming to rest against the tomb.

Athos's hackles rise. "How would it have made things easier? I had nothing but suspicions and therefore nothing to tell."

Treville hadn't trusted them with knowledge of the death threats he'd received, which were, in contrast, absolute proof of Vallion's intent and the weight of this injustice causes Athos to slump into himself. Immediately he's surrounded on both sides, weight of a different kind bearing down on him, holding him up, making him compact and safe and as far from rejected as he could ever dare hope.

"Leave it, Captain," says Aramis, pressing a flask of brandy into Athos's hand. "I could have safely made that kill-shot, by the way. A thousand times over."

"And if you’d missed?" says Treville. He stares bleakly at Athos who remains safely ensconced within the boundaries of Aramis and Porthos and his complexion pales. "What then?"

"I never miss," says Aramis coolly. It’s nothing but the truth.

"No need to talk of such things now," says Porthos, his hand squeezing tightly around Athos's waist. "For the first time in months all is well, my friends, and we can rest easy. Let's not spoil the moment with quarelling."

From: (Anonymous)
I am filled with grim satisfaction at Vallion's outcome. And I loved the action in this chapter! And now Aramis and Porthos know all! I can't wait to see how they react.
From: (Anonymous)
Thank you!! It was a joy to kill Vallion off.

I'm glad you enjoyed the action scenes. I enjoy writing them, but at the same time I dread them because they're so damn tricky. Same as writing sex really :D

Porthos and Aramis are lovely and I want to keep them for my very own. They're in the final chapter.

From: (Anonymous)
Me again!!!

This was a fabulous installment! I loved Athos' ruthlessness in this, and Aramis' cool confidence at the end.

Brilliant stuff!
From: (Anonymous)
::tacklehugs:: I can't say how much I love writing this prompt. The only problem is that I have an entire world of it written in my head.

So glad you enjoyed.

From: (Anonymous)
*tacklehugs back*

I refresh this thread a positively obscene amount checking for updates.

This is my absolute best thing!!!!

Fill: By Design 9/10 TW rape, pissing, violence

Date: 2014-06-06 08:26 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
There is much to be done before they can leave St Martin--bodies must be disposed of and buildings scrubbed clean of blood--but with a dozen Musketeers now here to help with the clear up it doesn't take long.

Once all is put to right, the nuns, reassured that they are now safe, return to look after their charges the only way they know how. At times, during his three decades on earth, Athos has felt a distinct loss of grip on reality, but his experiences here give him a new found appreciation of sanity and a definite desire to cling on to it at all costs.

When work is completed and dusk has fallen, it's finally time to return home. Treville mounts up and offers Athos a hand. He takes it gladly and comes to rest behind the captain, an arm circled loosely about his waist. There are spare horses in the grounds, but Athos is bone tired and shattered enough after today's events that he needs the comfort of human contact.

Following Aramis and Porthos along the road that leads into the heart of Paris they complete the journey in silence. Athos is lost to his thoughts and taken by surprise when they cross Pont Neuf and arrive at the livery yard so soon, hooves clattering across the cobbles as they hand the horses over to the grooms to stable.

"Not up for a night of drinking then?" says Porthos, smiling affectionately as Athos's eyes shutter with exhaustion.

"Maybe tomorrow," he replies with a weary smile. "Thank you, my friends. For everything." He's blinded by a sting of salt as Aramis and Porthos surround him once again, enfolding him into a protective huddle. The truth has apparently not put them off him as he was certain it would, but he is still ashamed of himself.

"Will you come back to my rooms?" says Treville, once the other two men have taken their leave. "You have wounds that may need tending to and we have things to discuss."

Athos shakes his head. "Not this evening, Captain. I'm suffering from no more than aches and pains and I need to let Mme Bonacieux know that I am well." Besides which something is bothering him, tugging at the back of his mind as it claws its way to the surface. If he could just get a little sleep then maybe he could make sense of things.

"Good night then," says Treville stiffly as they leave the yard, heading in different directions along the street.

Every step is a marathon and Athos is disproportionately relieved when he reaches the Bonacieux house, opening the newly mended door and entering the premises with heavy tread.

"Athos!" Constance rushes to greet him, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're well?" she asks with an appraising look.

"I'm fine and justice has been served," says Athos in as cheerful a manner as he can muster. "All I need now is a year's worth of sleep and the world will be set to right."

"Some food first?" says Constance.

"M Athos requires rest alone," says Bonacieux from his favourite fireside chair. "Did you not hear him?"

Normally the man's abrupt manner towards his wife is a matter of the utmost irritation to Athos, but tonight he is grateful for it and grabs the opportunity to slope off to bed.

A bottle or two of wine sends him into a dreamless sleep and he wakes, rested but thick-headed, still fully clothed in his uniform. The usual medicine of a bucket of cold water revives him enough to feel almost human and after a splashdown wash and a change of underthings he makes his way, with determined spirit, to that insalubrious boarding house in Rue Allent.

Treville is already seated at his desk in the outer chamber, reading through the day's orders from Cardinal Richelieu and when Athos approaches he glances up, a look of wary pleasure in his eyes. "You seem rested."

"I feel better," says Athos.

Immediately the captain gets to his feet, pushing the shutters closed as he passes by. Examining Athos's bruised cheekbone for sign of breakage he then inspects the rest of him carefully, relief evident on his face when he sees no obvious damage. With fingers threaded into his hair he draws him in until they're near enough each other to be sharing breath.

Athos wants this; the hammering of his heart tells him so, as does the steady pump of blood that causes him to fill with excitement. He wants this so much. For weeks he's thought of nothing but the feel of Treville’s body against his, flushing away all the pain and hurt and impurities that lurk inside him. So why can't he overlook this one thing?

"What is it?" asks Treville in consternation as Athos backs off; it’s just a half step, but it could be a league for all the difference it makes.

"Tell me honestly, Captain, did you sleep with Vallion?" says Athos. Is it betrayal of a different kind that fueled the man's desperate desire for vengeance?

Treville's eyes widen in shock. "No, of course I didn't,” he answers. “Although, with the benefit of hindsight, I believe he may have wanted me to." He reaches out to Athos, resting a palm on his shoulder. "Vallion was my lieutenant and, at the time, I trusted him almost as much as I trust you, but being captain of this regiment is a responsibility which I do not take lightly. I have never and thought for certain I would never take advantage of one of my men, but Athos, you are dear to me in such a way I cannot ignore my feelings."

"As you are to me," breathes Athos.

Words are words and, as lovely as they are to hear, they cannot replace actions. The gap between them is bridged with a kiss that’s hard and biting then soft and searching and alternates with such frequency that Athos grows dizzy with need. Worrying at the fastenings of Treville's damn tunic he groans in frustration, desperate to feel skin against skin.

"Bed," says Treville, slamming and locking the outer door then leading Athos through into his private chamber which is also blessed with a window that opens onto the street. Closing the shutters he undresses down to breeches and shirt, turning then to Athos and carefully undoing his doublet with fingers that tremble slightly, betraying his urgency. "Tell me what will be safe for you," he says.

The care taken with him melts away any residual fears Athos may have had. “Anything. Everything,” he says honestly.

They kiss again, tongue sliding soft against tongue in a never ending dance, and when Treville's beard begins to chafe, burning hot against his skin, it only serves to excite Athos more. Grabbing at the linen undershirt he bunches it in his hands and then slides his fingers upwards to touch the skin beneath. Gasping with need he licks kisses onto Treville's neck and along his collarbone, biting softly into the muscled shoulder until this causes a roar of excitement and he is swiftly rolled onto his back.

"I'm sorry," says Treville, his voice wound tight from want, his fingers wandering restlessly over the buttons of Athos's breeches.

"Don't be." Athos looks up at him, vulnerable and open. "I trust you."

Hitching in a breath Treville undresses Athos fully until he is spread naked on the narrow bed. Carefully he kisses each bruise, running the tip of his tongue around the abraded skin and tracking lower until he licks a wet path along Athos's hipbone, coming to rest a fraction of an inch away from Athos's cock which is slick with pleasure.

"Can I put my mouth on you?" Treville asks, once again handing over control.

Athos arches up from the bed, flooded with ever increasing desire. "Please," he begs, his body a hot mess of need. He'll not last, not like this. Not when Treville takes him between his lips and sucks him with such intensity. "I can't," he moans helplessly, his fingers biting deep into Treville's skin. "I can't."

Treville looks up for a moment, his eyes dark and clouded with lust. "Let it go," he says. "We've all the time in the world." He dips down again, fastening his mouth and fingers around Athos's cock then licking, stroking, sucking him until he's crying out and coming with something close to a sob. It's been so long.

Athos is falling, never hitting the ground, floating on a cloud of blissed out happiness. When finally he regains his senses and remembers he's not alone he turns to Treville and undresses him, lavishing each newly exposed part with the attention it's due. Face to face they lie together, Athos's hand gripped around Treville's cock, watching every change of expression as the man grows ever closer to orgasm.

Biting into his lower lip Treville's eyes widen and, gasping out his need, he spends hot over Athos's fingers and his own belly. "I've truly taken advantage of you now," he says, pulling a face as Athos wipes away the mess using the sheets as a cloth. "A line has been crossed."

"I'm hoping it’ll be crossed many times over," says Athos, licking his way along Treville's jaw until he reaches his lips where he dives in for a kiss. It's strange tasting himself on Treville's tongue, unusual rather than unpleasant, and the flavour ignites a fire in him. He hopes they'll have enough time this morning for more exploration as he has a fancy to suck Treville off until he comes in his mouth.

"What are you thinking about?" asks Treville, chucking him under the chin with a crooked finger. "Not brooding I hope?"

"Actually I’m wondering what you taste like," says Athos with a grin and it feels awkward on his face, overstretched and underused.

"I haven't seen that smile before," says Treville, reaching out to trace the curved outline of his lips with the tip of a finger. "It's lovely." He kisses Athos again and again then folds him into his arms and kisses him some more.

"Enough or everyone in the regiment will know what we've been up to from the stubble burn alone." Athos smirks then rests his head on Treville's shoulder, finally comfortable enough to voice that innermost fear which has been plaguing him relentlessly. "Do you see me as anything less than I was?"

"No." Treville's fingers glide possessively over Athos's belly. "As something much more, if that's at all possible."

"Because of what happened, I mean."

Treville sighs. "Because of what happened when precisely? In bed just now? At St Martin?"

"You know when." Athos feels no different from that sullen youth who'd forever been a disappointment to his parents. If they were alive today they’d be more disappointed than ever to discover that he’s just bedded a man.

"Athos, if I could turn back the clock and stop that day from happening I would, but as that's impossible all you can do is learn to live with it." Treville brushes the hair away from Athos's forehead. "Please believe me when I say that no one will ever judge you over such a matter."

"Aramis and Porthos know," continues Athos in a monotone, reality and its consequences striking him hard from out of the blue.

"They always did," says Treville gently. "A part of the story at least. You can't hope to hide something so dreadful from those that love you. You can only pretend to yourself that it’s hidden." He brushes his mouth softly over Athos's lips. "Just be prepared for us to look after you a little more than we would have done in the past. For a while at least."

"I'm not certain I like that idea," says Athos, his mood brightening in contrast to his words.

"You'll cope." Curving up against him Treville closes his eyes, fast asleep within minutes, and Athos soon follows him there, as content as he could ever hope to be with his current lot in life.

From: (Anonymous)

*emits high pitched noise only audible to dogs and bats*

That is so gorgeous!!!!!!!!!

I absolutely adore these two together, and you've written them so perfectly.

I love Treville's tenderness, Athos' burning need, and the fact that the other boys knew all along.

But oh god, only one more part! But then I'll promptly re-read right from the start again.

*happy sigh*
From: (Anonymous)
Thank you. ::massive hugs::

It is finally done and contains every shameless h/c trope ever invented. (So many that it wouldn't fit into one comment box.) God I enjoyed it.

From: (Anonymous)
That evening he meets up with Porthos and Aramis for a night’s drinking at the alehouse. It’s good to be with them, a comfort as always, and as he watches Porthos play a fifth ace from up his sleeve he leans over his shoulder, lips close to the man’s ear. “Don’t think I’ll defend you if they catch you out,” he murmurs.

“Of course you will.” Porthos grins then angles his head back and plants a kiss on Athos’s cheek.

A tinge of a flush warms his face, the knowledge that he’s worthy to be their friend reinforced once again. Of course he would defend Porthos, with his life if necessary. As he would Aramis and Treville.

Aramis approaches, a little worse for wear, and sits next to Athos, the legs of the chair skidding across the flagstone floor. “Is he causing trouble?” he says in an undertone.

“Does that really warrant an answer?” Athos smirks, or perhaps he grins. Whatever happens his elbows slide on the table and he crumples into a heap.

Aramis rights him then collapses forward himself until their foreheads touch. "Am I going to have to carry you home?" he says with a slur to his words.

"Am I you?" replies Athos. He's muzzy headed and content from wine, good company and love for all men. Three men. One in particular

"Porthos," calls Aramis loudly, although he is no more than a foot away from them at the gaming table. "You'll have to carry us home."

"Nothing new there then." Porthos looks around at the drunken pair and then stands up. "It's been a pleasure, gentlemen," he says to his fellow card players and from the disgruntled look on their faces Athos has a feeling that it isn't mutual.

They wend their way homeward with Porthos in between them acting as a central prop. It's the same as it's always been, with one exception; Treville is now lurking at the door of Athos’s lodgings, waiting to see him safely to bed.

As they're about to part for the night Aramis collides against Athos with a bump, arms winding about his neck. "The captain is a good man. And a lucky one."

For the second time that night Athos receives a solid kiss on the cheek, nothing courtly or elegant, just an honest show of affection. He's the lucky one, in so many ways. More wealthy now than he ever had been in his previous life.

"He's been into his cups, Sir," says Porthos, a hint of guilt to his words.

"No more than I expected," says Treville with a resigned smile. "You get Aramis home; I'll take care of this idiot."

They climb the stairs in stumbling fashion and, once in his room, Athos undresses to his small clothes and flops back on the bed. "Fuck me," he says to all three of the captains as the world begins to spin.

"Hush," says Treville with a finger to his lips.

Athos nods gravely. Sodomy is a capital offence after all. "Sleep with me then," he says, his arms outstretched and, having stripped himself of weapons, boots and tunic, Treville obliges.


Mme Bonacieux is not best pleased when Athos informs her that he's taken new lodgings. In fact she's downright furious, her hands on her hips, elbows jutting angrily as she glares at him from across the kitchen. "I thought you were happy here?"

"I am, Constance. You've been a blessing to me." Athos approaches, soothing her with a kiss to the top of her head as he takes her hands in his. "But you worry too much about my welfare and that's no good for either of us."

"I'll only fret more when I don't know what trouble you're getting yourself into."

"Not true at all. Once I'm gone you can rest easy." Athos will miss her dreadfully but this must be done. "We'll be better friends than ever, I promise, and I'll continue to pay board until you find another lodger to fuss over."

"It's not about the money," she says, her pretty face drawn into a frown.

"But it will help," teases Athos, squeezing her hands a final time then releasing her from his hold.

"It will a little," she admits with a laugh. "Now be off with you, you rotten man and tell that captain of yours to look after you well or he'll have me to answer to."

The rooms in Rue Fèrou are more private than Treville's, being on the first floor of the house, but are small and austere with little of worth to furnish them.

"Damn this ridiculous sized bed," grumbles Treville, tossing and turning in the summer heat. "Couldn't you have found somewhere more pleasant to rent?"

"On a Musketeer's income?" Athos quirks an eyebrow. "I think not."

The captain's lodgings continue to be the most unsuitable place in which to conduct an illicit love affair, the two of them forever being interrupted in the throes of passion by a visit from Musketeers or a summons from King or Cardinal. The garrison rebuild is now finished, but the one attempt they had at a secret tryst in Treville's quarters proved to be so fraught with danger--the rowdy sounds of the barracks echoing up from below--that neither of them would dare try anything more than a few kisses and a hurried fumble against the wall.

"May I steal you away from Paris for a day or two?" asks Athos. Treville is right: the bed is too small, the heat is unbearable and the stench of the city is foul to say the least. Athos longs for somewhere cool and quiet to rest his head and knows this is the best chance they have to escape with the King and Queen away in Austria and the Cardinal tied up with Papal business. "You could declare it block leave?" he suggests hopefully.

"It's a possibility," says Treville and as Athos moves down in the bed kissing a languid, wet trail over his body he sighs with delight. "I'll do it. I'll write the order."

Athos takes Treville's cock into his mouth as reward for both of them, swirling his tongue around the crown then suckling at him with delight. He would do this always, be on his knees before his captain, honouring him with every lick, every suck, every press of his lips. His own cock in hand he strokes himself with a tight fist, bringing Treville off first, swallowing him by the mouthful, then kneeling up, his body arched gracefully as he works himself to a slow climax and comes in arcing streaks across Treville's belly.

"I love watching you do that," says Treville, falling spent on the bed with Athos sticky in his arms. "It's damn near as good as my own pleasure." He kisses him on the forehead and smiles. "Where do you plan on taking me?"

Loaded with intent it might be, but the question is a real one. "I know of somewhere not far from Paris," says Athos, although he is not certain what effect it will have on him when he returns home for the first time in two years.


Workers on the estate watch with curious eyes as the two men ride between the rows of cottages, a hiss of intrigued whispers drifting from person to person, an accompaniment as they pass by. "It must be him. It is him."

The large stone building is at one with its surroundings, weather beaten into a soft shade of beige that blends in with the unkempt gardens. It's unloved and has lain unwanted for a long time, but now offers them a refuge from the dreaded heat, provided Athos can exorcise the ghosts of his past.

He comes here now as a different man: a new name, a new position in life and with a new lover in whom he has complete faith. Anne was never someone to rely on; he loved her only for her wildness and her dangerous spirit. She filled him with a lust for life that had always been lacking and for that he can thank her--gone though she might be--for that urgency is still strong within him.

"Yours?" asks Treville, as they dismount and tether their horses.

"Mine indeed," replies Athos, opening the doors and stepping back in time.

"You have a story to tell, my lad." Treville removes the dust sheets from furniture and opens the shutters.

"Don't we all?"

Acknowledging this with a subtle nod of the head Treville opens a set of doors and surveys the hallway. "This place is vast."

"I hope the beds will prove big enough for you also."

His days here may have ended in misery, but Athos is finally a happy man and his love for Treville overrides any other emotion. They approach each other, weariness from the day's ride forgotten, and things are beginning to heat up between them when they're disturbed by a knock.

"Confound it," snaps Athos and he opens the door to see one of his former kitchen maids carrying a basket packed to the brim with produce.

"I thought you might be in need of some food, Sir," she says, dipping in respect and handing over the goods.

"Thank you, Marie. That's very kind of you indeed." Athos is moved that she thinks of him so well after years away. He takes the basket gratefully; neither he nor Treville had considered such simple necessities so keen were they to escape the foulness of Paris.

"You've looked after us, Sir. It's the least we can do." She bobs her head and leaves them alone once more.,

"We have food," says Athos, closing the door and turning to face Treville.

"I have baser needs at present," says the captain, taking the basket from Athos's hands and placing it on the dresser. Cupping Athos's face with gloved hands he surges forward and kisses the living daylights out of him until he is breathless and aching.

"The things you do to me," Athos gasps, coming up for air.

"The things I will do to you when finally you show me to this big bed of yours," growls Treville, peppering his face and neck with rough kisses.

Athos leads the captain to his bedroom, opening the shutters and letting light into a space that hasn't seen any for a long time. With neither worry nor sadness in mind he turns to Treville, stripping away his weaponry and garments until the man is naked, his erection jutting proudly.

"Now to you," says Treville, running his hands lasciviously over Athos's leather clad body.

Escaping him with a smile that's full of intent Athos throws aside his own weapons and drops to his knees. "I'll suck you first," he says, his mouth already fastened around Treville's cock by the time the last syllable is spoken.

Treville wrestles him up and over to the bed. "I'll have you first," he says, his eyes burning with desire as he pushes Athos down and strips him of his clothing.

Athos stutters in an excited breath. He adores Treville when he's in this mood, hot blooded and lusty. He also needs more than anything to be had by him. "There's lamp oil here," he says, knowing that this is something Porthos and Aramis make use of to ease the way.

Treville takes Athos in his arms and kisses him soundly. "Is this something you want?" he asks carefully.

"It is. Very much indeed," replies Athos, reaching over and uncorking the jug of oil then pouring a little into Treville’s cupped palm and some in his own. Lying face to face he takes Treville's cock in one oiled hand and his own in the other and the feel of that slickness skidding over matching columns of engorged flesh is almost too much to bear.

Treville slides an arm around him, encouraging him to lift his thigh and he does as he's bid, hitching in a breath at the sensation of a finger touching him. It's strange, nice perhaps, but when he closes his eyes in order to fully experience the feeling the fear is back, stabbing him with such an intensity he feels sick. Opening his eyes immediately he concentrates on Treville, knowing that it is him and only him who is touching him in that most private place.

"Good?" asks Treville as his finger probes further and then reaches somewhere inside that is all manner of pleasures rolled into one. His expression must give the truth away as Treville smiles and kisses him on the lips. "Bedding another man is a different kind of delight."

Another finger pushes its way in and Athos rocks against the tips, panting now as he seeks out that moment of not quite orgasm over and over again. Bereft when Treville withdraws from him, he keens with need as Treville pulls him to hands and knees and settles behind him, crooning words of-

Beaten bloody they turn him, throw him down and fuck him: fist, pistol, cock, knife.

"There's my lad."

No, not again. "Please. Don't. Please."

"Look at me, Athos."

Once again he is safely back in Treville's arms.

"Open your eyes. Look at me, please."

Athos does so, staring into a face that's full of sorrow where there should be none.

"I'll never hurt you."

"I know." Athos heaves out that panic stricken breath he's been holding on to and keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Treville. "I know; I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"It's my fault. It's too soon. I shouldn't even-"

Athos shushes him quiet. "I want you; I need to see you is all."

It takes a long while of kissing, talking, touching--all of these things accompanied by deep pulls on a bottle of claret that Athos has fetched from the cellar--but eventually they relax enough to be hard for each other again. "I will have you in me," says Athos as he lies on top of Treville, braced on an arm as they thrust together, cocks sliding slick on a passage of oil and precome.

"I'll fuck you when you're ready for me and not a moment before." Treville pushes up from the mattress and Athos writhes helplessly against him.

"I need you in me," he says halfway to drunk as he feeds Treville sips of wine from the bottle. "I need you to touch that place in me. I don't even know- What is that place?"

"It's good is all anyone needs to know," says Treville bluntly.

Athos kneels up fully, straddling Treville's hips, his legs braced either side, and taking Treville's cock in his hand he squirms back and down until the tip is caressing his hole.

Treville's eyes widen, his emotions a mess: fear, desire, love all mixed up together and written clear on his face. "Damn it, Athos, I won't have you torture yourself this way."

"Let me try. Please." He needs something good inside him to transcend all of that ugly horror.

Perhaps Treville understands, at very least he nods and Athos sinks down an inch, tensing up then relaxing as he grows accustomed to being filled.

"Dear god!" Treville continues on in an endless litany as Athos rears above him, taking him deeper and deeper into his body.

A shunt of the hips has Athos crying out in pleasure as he jostles from side to side, his nerves jangling and singing out at the exquisite feel. He hardens to it, the thrumming heat of blood driving him on as he rides Treville's cock.

"Keep your eyes on me," his captain commands and Athos does as ordered, gazing intently as Treville reaches out to catch hold of his hand, wetting the palm with open mouthed kisses. "Touch yourself."

Again he follows orders, his cock so engorged now that it's a painful pleasure as he strokes it in time with the fuck. Treville's eyes dart over him hungrily, watching every movement, and as he bucks up hard, slamming deep inside Athos, he cries out in a voice thickened with desire and Athos can feel that flood of wet heat inside him.

This could invoke his demons if he were to let them take over, but he is safe in the knowledge that there is only goodness and love and care to be found here. Instead of allowing the fear to haunt him he arches up proud, fist flying over his cock as he hits that teetering head rush and then comes, painting Treville in streaks of white, just the way he likes it.

"My dearest man," says Treville, pulling Athos into his arms.

Athos doubts he has ever been anyone else's dearest anything, but, as before, he hears and believes what Treville has said and wonders how three small words can manufacture such a great amount of sentiment within him.


From: (Anonymous)
They spend their leave days as every soldier does: drinking, fucking, eating and sleeping, pastimes that can never be beaten.

"I had a wife when I lived here," says Athos as they dine alfresco on their second evening, lying together beneath the branches of a willow with the stream running past them to cool the air. "She was a liar and I was a dupe. I thought I loved her with all my heart and that the love was reciprocated on her part, but it turns out she was a common criminal. She murdered my brother Thomas when he found out and I had her hanged."

"That's terrible," says Treville and he sounds as shocked as Athos expected. It's not a pretty tale.

He's lying on his back with his head on Treville's chest and as the story is told he rolls to one side, face pressed into Treville’s neck. "That's why I left here and joined the regiment."

Treville turns his head to drop a kiss to the top of Athos's head. "It must have been near impossible to walk away."

"It was the easiest thing I've ever done," Athos confesses. It's the simple truth. He never wished to be Comte; the servants made him uncomfortable as a child and he didn’t look forward to a life spent in and out of court.

Coming home, however, has been a release. Once upon a time he carried the guilt over Anne's death with him everywhere he went, quite literally in the form of a locket she had given him. The chain is gone, stolen by one of Vallion's men most likely, and he has not missed its weight about his neck. Being back at La Fère has finally proved to him that his hasty decision to execute his wife, if not the right thing to do, was made for all the right reasons. She is gone and he is free of her at last.

Treville has his own confession to make. "I wish we could stay here,” he says. “One more night is not enough."

"You'd hate it," laughs Athos. "Making nice with the King and the nearby nobility is a bore; you know that."

"I'd run the estate as a gentleman farmer," says Treville with a look of utter contentment about his face. "Good, honest, Gascon work."

"We'll do that when we're old and grey and unfit for soldiering," says Athos, his hand wandering beneath the coarse linen of Treville's shirt. "In the meantime we'll come here as often as we can and fuck our way through every room in the house."

Treville smiles and twists a strand of Athos’s hair around his finger until it falls into ringlet. "Comte you might be as far as the charters dictate, but to me you're a delightfully dirty young man who I intend to have right now."

"As an entrée," drawls Athos as he fastens his mouth over Trevillle’s nipple, flicking the engorged nub with his tongue and then biting softly until Treville grabs him and rolls him over onto his back.

The world around them dissolves into loving kisses and, curtained from sight by the drapery of the willow tree, the two men make the most of their final evening at La Fère.

From: (Anonymous)
Lovely ending!!

I so amazingly happy you picked up my prompt. This has absolutely surpassed any hopes I had when I put the prompt up.

It's been stellar hurt/comfort for my favourite pair of boys and I really appreciate all the effort you've put into this fabulous fic!

*huge hugs* thank you so much for this!

You've made me a very happy hound!
From: (Anonymous)
Thank you and I sincerely mean that. Before Musketeers I'd hardly written a word for maybe three years and now, thanks to the wonderful show and meeting you lovely people, I'm a fan girl again with a teenage crush and a hobby I adore.

If you have any other prompts please throw them my way. :D

From: (Anonymous)
Oh wow, that was seriously hot!

Treville is definitely the sort of lover Athos needs, someone who understands him and can cope with his issues.

And I love the way you had Porthos and Aramis show that they think no less of him for what's happened.

I can hardly believe this is nearly over, but I'm off to read the epilogue now....
From: (Anonymous)
Thank for your immense support along the way. I can't tell you how much I appreciated it. ::smishes::


From: (Anonymous)
*smishes back*

I'm just so incredibly lucky you picked up this prompt and ran with it! I couldn't have wished for better.



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