#monsieur bonacieux

[jewlwpet]

Monsieur Bonacieux in the book: Complete scoundrel, cowardly, greedy, a traitor, callous, married to someone half his age and he doesn't even treat her right

Monsieur Bonacieux in the anime:

[dragongutsixofficial]

THOUGHTS ON EPISODES 7 AND 8:

Episode 7:

RICHELIEU MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

A Richelieu-centric episode ??? Sign me THE FUCK IN (seriously though he may be my favorite character in the book i'll take any crumbs I can)

Also loved to see him and Milady interacting more !!! Super nice 🖤⚜️

GO APESHIT RICHELIEU

FUCK THE POPE RICHELIEU

In the book (SPOILER ALERT) Milady tells a story very similar to the false testimony she gives in court in order to make Buckingham's right-hand man believe he abducted and raped her and turn him against him- it's really nice to see that referenced in the show

Like to see Louis actually having a personnality

Liked Ninon ! But why would you fall for Athos when ARAMIS IS RIGHT HERE

Also I do think they didn't need her to romance anyone to make her interesting in that episode ? I understand it's the usual plot device but ah well

Love how the last shot of the episode is Constance pining d'Artagnan against a shelf. We all know who's the top in the relationship

To conclude: great episode, did I mention i loved to see more of Richelieu ?

RICHELIEU MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

Episode 8:

MILADY MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

Love how the skirt-chasing for money is exactly how it works in the book

Alice (Porthos' love interest) is a pretty good reference to his mistress in the book and a very nice lady but I think the hilarity of Porthos having to deal with her original version would've been amazing (an older woman married to a cupid man who won't spend a dime while they're both just desperately waiting for him to pass to inherit his fortune)

Love how (in the French version at least) d'Artagnan is barely portrayed as actually caring for his farmers' lives, only his cash xD

De Tréville is a good dad

Love d'Artagnan just walking into Richelieu's office like he owns the place

Richelieu is having a mental breakdown

GOOD FOR HIM MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

But don't be mean to Milady >=(

Milady and Athos being like: love in the air ? Wrong ! Gas leak =D

Mr. Bonacieux is very nice with Constance though. Like I would not have reacted that well

Also nice to see him working for Richelieu. The people who made this show clearly dearly care for the book

d'Artagnan getting promoted !!! Yeah =D now he's got the cool shoulder pad

d'Artagnan in the book 5000000000% wants Milady and does still a dude's identity for the second time in order to essentially rape her though so it's nice to see d'artagnan having a moral backbone more solid than that of a chocolate éclair

So uh. I do think Aramis took his own sword back from his ex's grave

Btw in French at least right before they start the duel d'artagnan says something like "speaking from personal experience, never trust in love" and Athos gives him a dramatic side eye. This can be explained in two ways: 1- he relates 2- d'artagnan YOU'RE SAYING THAT IN FRONT OF YOUR POLYCULE

Also once Alice dumps Porthos in the French version him and Aramis have an exchange that's like "So you're not gonna marry her" "Who would take care of you if I did" and I love them

Before he gets dumped, Porthos also says something to the effect of "there's a life after being a musketeer" to shut Aramis' criticism down. Boy don't give him ideas. If this was book! Aramis he'd take it to heart have an existential crisis lock himself in a room for weeks and whip himself crying about how he's gonna become a cleric

Edit: fixed a typo from Milady and Porthos to Milady and Athos

[unclefungusthegoat]

Of all the ways I imagined The Three Musketeers novel to end, a paragraph about the fate of Monsieur Bonacieux was not one of them ??????

[talesofpassingtime]

"It is true that when a man possesses a young and pretty wife, he has no need to seek happiness elsewhere. Happiness comes to meet him, does it not, Monsieur Bonacieux?" — Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers

[visionsfromsoup]

Day 8 - Favourite female character

The silence was slowly killing her.

Outside the window, spring was in full-bloom - sure, there wasn't a single tree or even a patch of greenery in the cobble-paved street below, but above the surly façades of the crumbling buildings the sky was a glorious blue screaming with joy. Leaning against the windowsill and craning her neck to see the heavens above, Constance's chest heaved with a great sigh. What she wouldn't give to be home now! - her home, where Father and Mother lived, with its little garden and the old cherry tree...The cherry tree. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

A moment later, she tapped her foot angrily and twirled away from the window. How unfair! Why did she have to do house-sitting when Bonacieux spent the entire day -and sometimes the night- outside? "It is temporary," he had said at the beginning, "until we've earned enough to hire a maid, and perhaps then I'll have an apprentice who can take care of the business while I'm out. Until then, I'm sure you'll be able to handle everything splendidly, dear."

That was just over a month ago, when she'd arrived here as the new mistress of the house. To be fair, she'd expected a daily stream of customers, listening to Bonacieux talk, whereas within the last two weeks, only three people had come to the house for the merchandise. Constance had begun to wonder if her husband was not being entirely realistic about the prospects of his business.

A knock on the door diverted her from her reverie. She smoothed her skirts and tossed her curls back as she hurried downstairs. Thank God. At least I'll hear a human voice.

The voice she heard, to her luck, was a deep, and delightfully rich.

"Mademoiselle," a well-dressed man tipped his hat at her and Constance saw a strong jaw covered with a well-combed beard, and beautiful blue eyes.

"Can I help you?" And it is 'madame'.

"This is the Bonacieux house?"

"It is?" She raised an eyebrow, surveying him from the step above.

"I am Athos - of the King's Musketeers," he said politely, "Captain Tréville's directed me here." He'd hesitated for a moment after giving his name, as if he weren't accustomed to it. He also didn't speak like a commoner at all - he was surely a nobleman. Constance blinked.

"I'm sorry - what did he direct you here for?"

The Musketeer slightly frowned. "I was given to understand Bonacieux is a cloth merchant."

Constance lifted her chin. "Yes?"

"Perhaps," he said slowly, "I could talk to Monsieur Bonacieux myself."

"My husband is out at the moment," Constance replied a little coldly, clasping her hands in a dignified manner, "I'm sure I can help, Monsieur, if you'd tell me what you need."

She saw the further narrowing of his eyes at her title, because in the full month she'd been married, not one person had addressed her as 'madame' at first meeting yet. Everyone took her to be a new maid and it was driving her crazy.

Hesitating for a few moments, Athos then assented by giving her a half-bow.

"Very well, Madame - I need material for a Musketeer uniform."

"Oh."

Finally something clicked in place. Hadn't Bonacioux said something about having made a great deal some weeks ago, something to do with the Musketeer garrison? "Yes," she said, a little excited now, "please come in!"

She stepped aside to let him pass, but Athos did not move. It took her a few moments to realize that she had pressed her back to the wall and was holding the door for him as if she were the maid. The Musketeer, perfect gentleman he obviously was, was waiting for her to precede him inside. Flustered, she turned and entered the dimly-lit hallway, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Follow me, Monsieur," she instructed as if nothing had happened, and gathering her skirts, took to the stairs. She pushed the door open to the large back-room they used to store the merchandise and entered. Now... There was the blue woolen cloth for the cloaks... The uniform, though - she knew it was leather, but what colour and quality?

"Monsieur?" she called distractedly, surveying the browns and blacks with a frown, "What colour is your uniform supposed to be?"

She'd seen Musketeers only a few times before and all she could recall was their blue cloaks.

"May I?" Athos asked and walked into the room to survey the fabrics himself. Constance instinctively put a little space between herself and the Musketeer, and took the opportunity to inspect him further. There was something peculiar about this man.. Something - she didn't know what, but all of a sudden, she relaxed. It was startling, this feeling of safety in the company of a complete stranger - and Constance's curiosity piqued.

"I'm assuming you're a new Musketeer?" she ventured prettily. He nodded without diverting his gaze.

"Congratulations." It was a litte awkward as the man didn't seem particularly inclined to conversation - though why would he be, she was just the cloth merchant's wife! - but he could be the only person she talked to besides Bonacieux all day and she didn't want to pass up the chance.

"This will do well."

Athos placed a hand on the best-quality black leather. His eyes surveyed the shelves around the room next, and he moved towards the buttons without being shown to them. He picked plain round ones with the manner of a man well-accustomed to having his garments tailored to his own taste. His current attire, simple and perhaps a little worn, was nevertheless made of best quality cloth. Constance felt proud of this observation. At least she'd picked up something about the business this past month.

"Alright, take a seat while I cut these out for you."

She appraised him with a tailor's eye to assess how much fabric would be needed, and set to work. She found him on his feet, staring into the fire when she returned to the parlor with the packages in her arms.

"Here, monsieur."

"Thank you, madame. What do I owe you?"

"Oh..." She had no idea. She clasped her hands again and replied in that dignified tone, "My husband will settle it with the Captain, Monsieur." She'd completely made that up on the spot but felt a thrill of triumph when he accepted this answer without question. Packages under his arm, he put on his hat and tilted it at her again at the door.

"Madame."

"Good day."

She watched him disappear in the crowd with a sigh and closed the door.

She pouted.

If possible, the house had become even more dull.

[moltolavoro]

in the time they’ve known each other, gwen has grown incredibly fond of constance.  once they began speaking without the maddeningly unkind gaze of monsieur bonacieux, gwen had grown fonder still.  it is far easier, now, to visit when she knows he is away - when they can be allowed some peace without his poisonous presence.  not that gwen would ever say those things aloud before constance ; for all that gwen is sure constance knows the faults of her husband, it would be undue to voice them regardless.

this time, at least, gwen has genuine need to visit constance.  morgana is in want of a new dress, and gwen is more than happy to oblige.  ❛ oh, this is beautiful, constance. ❜ gwen runs her fingers carefully across the silky fabric, the dark blue contrasting brilliantly with its gold threads.  ❛ perfect, really. ❜

@pluresque

[midautumnnightdream]

Three Musketeers Chapter 12-14: The Saga Continues

Ch 12 In Which Buckingham Is the Dramaest of Lamas

And in this book that is really saying something huh?

I don't have a whole lot to actually say about the chapter. The Duke of Buckingham meets the queen and proffesses his love. It's all terribly theatrical, in every sense of the word – this is not the only scene that gives a vibe of being designed for visual medium, but it’s one of the more obvious ones. The major takeaway here is that the duke is shooed back to England with the Chekhov's casket of mysterious contents. What could possibly go wrong?

Ch 13 In Which We Remember That M Bonacieux Exists

... and he immediately tries to save himself by throwing his wife under the bus. I suppose that's one way for both d'Artagnan and the narrative to get away with treating him like crap.

Meanwhile we get a few more hints about the ongoing intrigue: the commissary is working for the cardinal, the mystery man from Meung gets brought up again, there is decided interest about d'Artagnan's role in the entire affair, Athos is flummoxing everyone and Bonacieux gets dragged off to what might or might not be his execution.

“But you said that your name was d’Artagnan.” “Who, I?” “Yes, you.” “Somebody said to me, ‘You are Monsieur d’Artagnan?’ I answered, ‘You think so?’ My guards exclaimed that they were sure of it. I did not wish to contradict them; besides, I might be deceived.”

Oh help I'm remembering why I used to love Athos despite his whole. Everything

Ch 14 In Which The Cardinal Takes House Calls

You know, the swashing and buckling aside, the strongest appeal of The Three Musketeers might be just in presenting us with one of the most enjoyable villains in all fiction. Cardinal de Richelieu is fun. He's intimidating, he's classy, he's – as far as we can tell – acting in what he considers to be the best interests of his country and his office and is definitely doing a better job of it than his counterpart the king. A lot of this effect is created through the narrative framing, which unfailingly treats him with the deepest respect. There is not much more that I can say right now without spoilers, except that I'm always bitter when the adaptations go with the boring old Good King vs Evil Bloodthirsty Cardinal route.

Getting back to this chapter, it probably goes without saying that poor M Bonacieux is in so deep over his head it's not even funny. Richelieu plays him like a fiddle, in between figuring out everything that has happened in the last three chapters (though as far as we can tell, he takes no particular interest in anything to do with d'Artagnan yet) and setting the stage for plotlines to come. Dizzying amount of names get dropped, most of them belonging to the people we haven't even met – but the one who does make an appearance just happens to be our Mystery Man from Meung, also known as Comte de Rochefort. Quicker to say, if not quite so alliteratively satisfying!

[aporeticelenchus]

3 Musketeers 5-8

Where are we supposed to be at? I lost track.

Chapter 5 is hilarious, no regrets.

Aside from being peak comedy, there are a lot of good characters setting moments - d’Artagnan gets to show that he’s not 100% impetuous hothead, we get more Athos personality, and so forth.

Of course the fight is only stopped by another, bigger fight. There’s a moment where it looks like nobody really wants to go ahead with the duel, but nooooo, no calm talking our way out of wanton dueling and death

Chapter 6: in which the author makes fun of Louis XIII some more

From a writing standpoint making Louis absolutely useless and manipulable is narratively interesting - it makes the setup of our heroes on the side of the king vs. the Cardinal a good deal less clear cut. Like, at least Richelieu gets stuff done.

I’m sure a good deal of that was Dumas jumping onto pre-existing historical narrative, plus a general kings-kinda-suck attitude, but it does highlight that we’re not so much dealing with a rousing tale of Good vs. Evil as, in some sense, the small and petty concerns of the rich and powerful projected onto the world stage. It’s a team sport.

I keep coming back to the fact that Hugo’s play Marion de Lorme had been banned just about 15 years before The Three Musketeers came out, in large part for portraying Louis XIII as a weak and ineffectual king who was ruled by his powerful ministers, chiefly Richelieu.

Of course, I’m sure it helped to not have Charles X on the throne feeling personally called out by that portrayal…

Chapter 7: why is this chapter here?

This is one of those chapters where it feels really relevant that we’re reading a doubly historical novel – that is, that Dumas himself was writing historical fiction. He has several scenes later on where he drops authorial comments about the wild ways of the 16th century – I think this chapter is supposed to feel antiquated and like it’s invoking tropes of the comedic stage that had a 16th century feel in the 19th century. but in the 21st century it’s not only suuuuuper uncomfortable, but fairly bizarre.

I like Planchet. Good luck, buddy!

Chapter 8: in which our heroes live like grad students

Get! Those! Free! Meals!

“You said, then, by the word of Bonacieux. Pardon me for interrupting you, but it appears to me that that name is familiar to me.” / “Possibly, monsieur. I am your landlord.”

d’Artagnan continues to chase his white whale handsome man from Meung, now with extra emphasis on his ~piercing eyes~.

[ezrisdax-archive]

when will you stop and look at the one you got

@goddessofthearena somehow goaded me into writing aramis/constance in the year of our lord 2019 and @therealfonapola encouraged it and now here we are with this mess. also here on ao3

Constance absolutely didn’t look over from where she was preparing the meal when the door opened with a loud creak, she didn’t glance over her shoulder when a voice sighed heavily, and she certainly didn’t chance a look to see Aramis drooped in one her kitchen chairs, every inch of himself the picture of misery.

 She pretended to keep up the pretense of not caring or sneaking glances back towards him until the sighing became an annoyance rather than amusing.

 “Your moustache is crooked.” She told him sharply and refused to smile when Aramis practically pouted at her.

 His hand came up to smooth it down, stroking at his beard after a moment to assure that was all orderly too. “No pity for a broken man, Madame Bonacieux?”

 She snorted, finishing up her preparations and placing the meat in the open oven and going to clean her hands with the water next to her. “For you? Certainly not.”

 Despite the dryness of her tone she couldn’t help but look back at Aramis with a little bit of worry. The sulkiness wasn’t like him, this despondent bantering was hardly something enjoyable and though she was loathe to admit it she missed the flirting.

 “Besides,” She continued, drying her hands and taking a seat at the small table next to him. “You seem in one piece, I haven’t had to stitch any of you lot up for the past month. It’s been a welcome change no bleeding men coming into my house at all hours of the night.”

 Aramis’ smile was small but harkened back to the man she remembered before this fit of despair had come over him. “So if we weren’t bleeding we would be welcome at all hours of the night? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

 She rolled her eyes but hid a smile behind her hand. “Since you insist on coming in as you please I apparently have no say anyway.”

 Aramis tilted his head at her, his hat nearly falling off. “Would you prefer I leave?”

 Constance raised an eyebrow. That was a first; though she’d never really said it out loud she had always assumed Aramis knew he was in fact welcome any time. Perhaps it was time to bring their fronts down just a little if only to bring him out of the mood he appeared to be in.

 She met his eyes as she said, “You can stay. Any time you need it.”

 He held her gaze a moment before he began to smile wildly. “I’m afraid you’ll never get rid of me now, Constance.”

 She barely held back from rolling her eyes again. “A hardship. Now are you staying for supper?” Her husband certainly wouldn’t be joining her and d’Artagnan was throwing himself into training. It’d been lonely in the house as of late, a loneliness she was used to but never enjoyed.

 He winked at her, “Depends what you were intending on having for a meal.”

 The innuendo wasn’t lost on her, much like most of Aramis’ weren’t.

 “I take it back, get out.”

 There was that pout again and she bit her lip this time to not break out into laughter.

 “Such hospitality.” Aramis sighed but this time it wasn’t heavy with whatever had been bothering him.

 “Oh hush.” She stood up, “And if you’re going to stay you can help me.”

 Aramis made a face but didn’t argue as she walked towards the dough she’d set out to make bread earlier. In fact he stood next to her telling stories of the boys latest exploits and getting dough in his beard as he tried to do some twirling motion with his hands and knead the bread at the same time.

 She didn’t point it out this time. Amusing herself by seeing it every time she looked over at him instead.

 ~~

 Aramis showed up again the next day and while he was sighing a little less there was still a gloominess around him that had Constance half tempted to shove him into a water trough to see if that would get rid of it.

 “Monsieur Treville has no missions for you to take on then?” Constance asked, trying to keep her voice light. She was curious but after yesterday didn’t want to insinuate that Aramis wasn’t welcome, it was nice seeing him so often. d’Artagnan had opted to stay at the garrison after a night of drinking; only coming in briefly to change clothes before he was back out again.

 “The King has decided we are needed at home for a time.” Aramis didn’t make a face but Constance could tell he was tempted to. “The Musketeers are to show a shining example of what his Majesty’s forces are like.”

 Constance made a show of eyeing him before she smirked. “Drunken idiots?” She guessed.

 Aramis placed a hand over his heart, that pout firmly in place once more. “I’m wounded Constance.”

 “Not yet you aren’t.” Constance muttered, “The days still young though, I suspect you have other ladies houses to visit.”

 “And deprive you of my company?” Aramis stroked at his beard, “Why Constance, I could never.”

 She hummed idly in her response, hanging up another sheet to dry in the wind. The sun hadn’t reached midday levels of heat yet but a warm breeze blew through her yard and freed some of her curls from where she had tried to pin them up earlier. Before she could go to tuck them back however with her hands full as they were nimble fingers reached up for her and Aramis slipped them back in place. She nearly jolted at the touch and it occurred to her just then that she hadn’t been touched that gently in quite some time.

 Whatever interest d’Artagnan had shown in her seem to fall by the wayside, the training sessions they had set up had stuttered and then stopped completely a month ago. Her husband certainly had never had such a kindness with her and the thought of leaving him again tempted her; only the knowledge of her station in life gave her pause.

 She let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding, looking over at Aramis with a tight smile of thanks. She paused however when she saw how he was regarding her, with soft eyes and his hand still hanging in midair, like he was tempted to reach out again.

 He cleared his throat, dropping his hand to his side.

 Her mind scrambled to say something, trying desperately to break the awkwardness between them then. If it got too long would he leave?

 “Teach me how to fight.” She blurted out, her face flushing in both embarrassment and annoyance at that embarrassment.

 Aramis raised an eyebrow, “I’ve seen you fight, you don’t need my guidance.”

 Constance didn’t bother to restrain her smug smile at that, thinking back to before when she’d had to hold off a man while Aramis held a baby. “I could always stand to learn more.”

 “I thought that d’Artagnan was teaching you.” Aramis sounded casual, a little too casual.

 “He’s…been busy.” Constance admitted, feeling foolish now that she had to say it out loud.

 “Porthos and Athos have taken to his training with gusto now that we’re trapped in the city.” Aramis said after a moment of silence.

 “But you haven’t?”

 He shrugged, still trying to appear far more nonchalant than Constance suspected he was, “My services haven’t been needed. A pity really, I have much I could teach.”

 That explained the sulking then, Aramis was feeling cast out. She felt a little pathetic to be glad of it if it meant his company.

 “Prove it then.” She said in reply, putting up the last of the sheets and turning to him. “If you’ve the courage to.” She kept it slightly challenging and was rewarded with Aramis’ slow smile.

 “Oh Constance,” Aramis leaned in a little. “The things I could show you.”

 “Is this how you charm all ladies into your bed?” Constance asked, her voice wry.

 Aramis’ smile faltered, a brief thing and Constance felt at a loss from it suddenly. “I’m afraid my intentions are rather singular these days.”

 “I’ll believe it when I see it.” She snorted in derision but regretted it when Aramis’ smile fell further. “So?” She asked, holding her hand out and trying to change the subject. “Do we have a deal.”

 Aramis took her hand- she felt a brief pang of regret that it was gloved and chided herself for such a thought- and shook it once briskly. “I’ll find you at sunrise tomorrow.”

 She bit her tongue so she didn’t make a comment that she was certain he’d only be up so early because some husband would be rushing him out of a lady’s bed. After her last comment she was reluctant to bring it up despite that Aramis himself had always taken pride it previously.

 “I’ll be here.” She hadn’t meant to sound slightly bitter when she said that but this house felt like a chain on her these days. Without the adventures the others dragged her into she hardly seemed to stray from it and her husband certainly didn’t want her to. She pushed all thoughts of Jacques from her mind, he certainly wasn’t thinking of her wherever he was.

 “Constance…” Aramis said, quiet and hesitant.

 “Don’t.” She cut him off before he could say anything further.

 Aramis studied her for a moment longer but she refused to meet his eyes this time. “You know we have your back Constance.” He finally said, “I realize things are delicate but should you need us…”

 She gave him a jerky nod of her head, feeling close to tears. “I’ll figure something out.”

 “You don’t have to alone however.” His hand fell on her shoulder, drawing her in closer to some sort of hug. “Should you need us,” He repeated, this time far too close and she could see the genuine sincerity in his eyes. “I – we, will be here.”

 She didn’t trust herself to say anything to that, swallowing hard at the tightness that was suddenly in her throat. She let out a shaky breath, leaning in just a little to his warmth and trying to pull herself together.

 “I’ll hold you to that.” She eventually found the strength to say.

 When they parted it was only because of the footsteps walking past her courtyard and Constance flushed at the knowledge of how they looked like lovers in that moment.

 Even worse was how she wouldn’t have minded it.

 ~~

 “It’s an extension of yourself.” Aramis was saying the next morning as he tossed her a spare sword he had brought. “Hold it as you would a lover.”

 Constance rolled her eyes at the leer, “This explains why you’re so attached to yours.”

 “I did let you take hold of my sword.” Aramis said, the delight and second meaning not lost on her. She gave him a blank stare in return, refusing to take the bait least she end up slapping him again.

 Aramis looked disappointed before he began to launch into a spiel about footwork and how to hold yourself. His lecture was significantly longer and more in depth than d’Artagnan’s who fought more with his gut and instinct then with a strategy in mind. Both were things she had to learn however and she knew it, grateful to have that already instilled in her.

 The chores she was supposed to be doing would have to be rushed when she returned, the sun wasn’t at midday yet but would reach it soon enough and reluctantly she went to hand Aramis back the sword.

 “Giving up so soon?” Aramis asked, taking the sword with a frown.

 “I’ve work to do. We can’t all layabout during the day.” She nudged him in the shoulder to take some of the sting out of her words.

 “I suppose not.” Aramis agreed easily. “Though I do so enjoy it, with the right company of course.”

 “I thought your interests were singular these days.” She couldn’t deny her curiosity at who would have garnered Aramis’ attention in such a manner.

 “I’ll accompany you home. Only fair I help with some chores since I’ve taken all your time this morning.” Aramis said, dodging her question and making her scowl.

 “How generous.” She was surprised to find she actually meant it instead of just sarcastically. The help would be appreciated, it wasn’t offered often enough.

 “I am nothing if not generous in all aspects of what I offer.” Aramis was grinning again and Constance refused to find it charming even as she felt herself answering with a smile of her own.

 “And what are you off-” She stopped herself before she could finish that, the flirtation dying in her throat and her flush could thankfully be excused as coming from their training.

 Next to her Aramis was quiet, far too quiet for her liking, and she snuck a glance over at him. She had expected him to jump on her slight faux paus; he certainly had in the past. Instead he was staring straight ahead; his hand which had been brushing against hers as they walked had drawn back in to rest at his belt.

 With his gaze not on her she gave herself time to look at him, there was no denying that Aramis was handsome. He kept himself well-groomed and knew his looks were often a selling point for his amorous interests. His hair was hidden by his hat mostly but she could see some of the wavy locks sneaking out from under it, looking as soft as ever. Her hand twitched at her side in memory of yesterday, what would Aramis do if she tried to return the favour with his own hair? Or is she just reached up to cup his chin and –

 If she kept with that line of thought no amount of exercise would excuse her flush.

 The silence hung over them, feeling stifling in a way Constance hated. She had enough of that silence in the house when she was alone. She wanted to go back to how they were, with affection and delight in an equal competitor between their words.

 “Aramis.” She began as they reached her courtyard. She opened her mouth to tell him it was fine if he left, truly she’d be fine, but a sudden spike of jealousy kept her mouth shut. If he left maybe he’d find this singular interest and if Aramis was serious, as he did curiously seem to be, then that person would take his time.

 She fought the jealousy down, Aramis wasn’t hers, she had no claim on his time and person. She was being selfish wanting this to continue.  

 “Constance.” Aramis replied, his lips quirking up just a little on the side that betrayed his new found amusement. “I believe I’m owed you some help.”

 She kept her sigh of relief internal, “You’re decent with stitching.” She remarked breezily, “I’ve bedsheets that need it.”

 “d’Artagnan?” Aramis guessed.

 “d’Artagnan.” She agreed, not without some fondness. Though their courtship had fallen apart that didn’t mean she saw him as any less of a friend. And he had been the one to draw her into these adventures that she dearly did enjoy, not that she’d give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

 “Ah.” Aramis raised a hand to smooth down his moustache but Constance caught the frown before he could cover it up with the gesture. “And how are things between you are our young Gascony resident?”

 Constance narrowed her eyes, suddenly feeling suspicious. “They’re fine. Not that it’s any business of yours.”

 If she hadn’t been watching him she might have missed the sudden tightness around Aramis’ eyes that fled a moment later when he leered at her. “Just fine? Hardly seems he’s doing it right then, not worth the ten sous.”

 The slap rang across the courtyard. Her hand stung and no doubt his cheek did as well. It didn’t hurt as much as her dignity did at that moment however.

 He rested his hand on his cheek, rubbing at it lightly. She could see the moment regret dragged in him under by the way his shoulders fell and his gaze sought her out. “Apologies, Madame Bonacieux. I’ll take my leave.”

 He bowed to her, a perfunctionary manner that made her skin crawl, and walked out of the courtyard.

 For such an oppressively hot summer day it certainly felt cold to her.

 ~~

 When she woke up the next day it was to silence. Without the excuse of training she didn’t have to be up so early or rush through her chores in the afternoon. She considered staying in bed, it wasn’t like anyone was waiting for her.

 “Enough of this.” She grumbled to herself, tired of the self-pity. She’d lived with this before d’Artagnan and the others entered her life, she could live with it again. Perhaps she’d branch out, look for new opportunities herself. Word was the Queen was looking for a new maidservant.

 With a sigh she dragged herself out of bed, taking her time to get ready. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, making her rely on her memory of her house as she walked through it. Her muscles ached from the training the day before and idly she wondered where she could find a sword to continue practicing. If no one was going to stay around to show her then she’d do it herself.

 She glanced out in the courtyard when she reached the ground floor and nearly jumped in her surprise at seeing someone standing at the gates. She squinted into the dark and opened the door cautiously, wrapping her shawl tighter around her to block the morning chill.

 At the noise the stranger looked up and she relaxed, recognizing Porthos, and then sighed. The was a chance he was here only because Aramis was too afraid to face her – or hadn’t felt she was worth it anyway.

 “I didn’t think you knew what mornings were.” She called out, opening the door wider to offer to let him in. Porthos nodded at her with a grunt as he walked in, taking his hat off to hold it in front of him apologetically.

 “Aramis is an idiot.” He began without any preamble and Constance couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up. “We all are.”

 “To put it mildly.”

 “He’s hungover right now. Joined Athos in that regard.”

 “I’m surprised you aren’t with them.”

 “Someone had to take them home.” Porthos shrugged. “We’ve been busy.”

 “I’ve heard. d’Artagnan hasn’t shown up here much, any day I’m expecting to lose a tenant.” She sighed, thinking of the expense but that was the reality of things. d’Artagnan would one day move into the garrison.

 Porthos shifted on his feet and cleared his throat, a sign of awkwardness, and then said, “Aramis hasn’t felt he’s been needed.” There was a pause before he added. “Word is neither have you.”

 She was silent, if she spoke she knew all the hurt she’d been feeling would come out.

 “I heard him last night.” Porthos continued. “Says he thought you could use the company because he certainly could. Didn’t think it was right to leave you to deal with things alone when you’re one of us. He’s not wrong.”

 Her eyes felt too wet; she blamed it on the humidity in the air, nothing more.

 “But he’s also been sighing a lot. Seems in love.”

 There was a tightness in her throat that hadn’t been there a minute ago.

 “He’s free to spend time with them then.” Constance forced herself to say, it came out jagged however.

 “Might be he is.” Porthos said and clapped her on the shoulder. With a tight smile he left her, walking out of her home and leaving her to her thoughts.

 They swirled in her head, the last few days playing over in her mind with new information.

 Jealousy.

 Now she could recognize it for what it was on both their parts.

 A noise made her turn around and she blinked in surprise to see Aramis there.

 “I brought breakfast.” He said, hesitant like he was all those days ago. Like he felt she was going to send him away. It would serve him right for his comment yesterday. “And an apology. You deserve one. And you can always slap me again.” That was said with a slight smile, both a joke and serious offer and Constance had never realized how well the epitomized Aramis’ being.

 “You’d deserve it.”

 “I would. I am truly sorry, Madame Bonacieux.”

 “Constance.” She glanced over at him and gave a shy smile. “I like it better when you call me Constance.” She took a deep breath. “Though I’m not sure you’re entirely forgiven. I suppose I’d have to hear it a few more times.”

 Aramis’ smile was slow but steady, “I’ll endeavor to make my appearance more to do so.”

 “I truly am stuck with you.” There was a fondness in her voice now that she hadn’t let leech in before and couldn’t stop.

 “A travesty.” Aramis agreed in mock sincerity. He laid out what he had brought on the table, meat and cheese turnovers and apples for breakfast.

 She couldn’t remember anyone ever bringing her a meal before.

 “Shall we?” He asked, motioning to the table.

 “Aramis.” She started before she sat down, clutching at the wood of the chair. “There is nothing between d’Artagnan and I. Not anymore.”

 She caught the relief in his eyes, sudden and bright, before it faded with a softer smile.

 “He doesn’t know what he’s lost then.” Aramis said and held her gaze.

 Her throat felt tight again for a whole new reason then and Constance took a seat.

 ~~

 True to his word Aramis came by with apologies again and kept up with showing her how to use a sword. They didn’t talk about the fight again.

 They also hadn’t mentioned anything else they might have been feeling.

 “Gentle, Constance, gentle.” Aramis was telling her as he handed her his gun that day.

 “Let me guess, hold it as I would a lover?” She retorted.

 “Depends on the lover.” His smirk wasn’t missed and Constance snorted in her amusement.

 “I wouldn’t know.” She sighed. “It’s been so long.”

 Next to her Aramis was quiet again, that quiet that didn’t seem right. She told herself not to but couldn’t help but look over to see him staring at her softly. It was too much, that gaze on her that had offered promises to other women, that was perhaps offering her something.

 “I don’t need your pity.” Her hackles were up, she fell back on her anger as a default.

 “And you don’t have it.” Aramis said, raising his hands up and giving her a grin that felt empty, vapid in a way that Aramis loved appearing as and made her angrier given that she knew there was more to him. “A shame though, I imagine you have much to give.”

 She huffed, turning away so she didn’t have to think about it, just as she had every time the looks and flirting got too much.

 The musket in her hands was harder to handle than the pistol and Aramis right next to her murmuring instructions in her ear was more distracting than helpful. His moustache kept brushing against her ear and making her stifle a giggle. For all she mocked Aramis about it she couldn’t picture him without it.

 She fired, hitting the target though by a narrow margin, and made a face.

 “Now Constance,” Aramis teased, “You must have some flaws.”

 “And we can’t all be as perfect as you.” She said dryly.

 “I do love the acknowledgement.” Aramis was twirling his moustache again, this time smugly and clearly Constance was spending too much time with him if she could differentiate his moods based on how he did that. “Take heart dear Constance, you’re nearly at my level of perfection.”

 She dropped the musket so she could elbow him in the stomach, not too hardly but enough to make him yelp.

 “If by nearly you mean far above it then I agree.” She said, turning to grin at him.

 “A goddess among women.” Aramis said rubbing at his stomach and pouting rather pathetically. “A cruel unforgiving one.”

 “Someone has to keep you in check.”

 The pout remained and she broke out into laughter, giggling madly at Aramis’ expression. When she looked back up it was to see him staring at her warmly again and her breath caught in her throat.

 “It’s good to hear you laugh more.” Aramis said idly, too casual and showing his hand that he was anything but.

 “I haven’t had much reason to.” She admitted quietly.

 Aramis’ hand brushed by her own, his head bowing so he could rest his forehead against her own. “Someone should give you reason to.”

 Her fingers shook lightly with her nerves as Aramis grasped them.

 “Do not jest with Aramis.” She said, swallowing hard.

 “Never.” He whispered it against her skin, breath fanning her cheek and she tilted her head slightly in invitation.

 There wasn’t any hesitation when he kissed her with such passion it stole the breath from her lungs and had her pulling back to gasp. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and reached up to kiss him again, her head getting dizzy with the lack of air but she didn’t care either way.

 “Your intentions are singular.” She demanded rather than said as she pulled away again, staring up at him.

 “Constance,” His voice stuttered on her name, full of emotion and she let herself bask in it. “You are rather captivating.” There was his usual flirtatious voice and he followed it by ducking down to press a kiss at the corner of her jaw and trail downwards with his lips.

 “I better be.” She clutched at the pauldron on his shoulder, her fingers slipping on the hard leather and she cursed under her breath.

 “You have my word Constance.” Aramis pulled back to relay the sincerity of it, his thumb brushing her palm where he held her hand still.

 “I suppose that’s good enough.” Though she had been burned before by the word of a musketeer. She just had to have faith in putting her heart on the line yet again. Her lips curved into a smirk, “You’ll just have to prove it. If you’ve the courage to.”

 The echo of her past challenge wasn’t lost on Aramis as he met it with another breath stealing kiss. “The things I can show you.” He said, lips at her throat again and her pulse fluttered beneath them.

 “Then show me already.”

 Her chores never got done that day.

 Or the next day either.

[racheldoesfandomstuff]

who’s who in the a4overse? (as best as i can tell)

From the books:

D’Artagnan - Dorothy Castlemore. Dorothy means gift of God, but I’d wager that it’s just the modern name closest to D’Artagnan that they could think of. Charles de Batz de Castelmore is D’Artagnan’s full name and also where they draw the last name from.

Athos - Alex Silleg. Again, closest modern English name. Silleg comes from Armand de Sillègue d’Athos d’Auteville, the real person that Athos in the D’Artagnan Romances is based on.

Porthos - Portia Vallon. Book counterpart is Porthos du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds, so we have another anglicization there.

Aramis - Henry Abascale. René d’Herblay, alias Aramis. You can see where both the deadname and Henry come from, though I’m admittedly stumped about Abascale. Maybe because in the books he’s constantly caught between being a musketeer and wanting to join an abbey?

Milady de Winter - Miller Winters. Pretty unsurprising there.

Rochefort - Rochefort. 

Cardinal Richelieu - Rick Liu. Pun on the name just like Bing Lee in the Lizzie Bennet Diaries (which we know someone has seen because of Worst Dance Ever).

Constance Bonacieux - Connie Bonacieux. Pretty self-explanatory.

Monsieur Bonacieux - Monty. Selfish, cowardly, and sells out his wife/girlfriend’s nudes to gain favour with the Richelieu/Rick Liu faction. Portrayed much more sympathetically in A4O than in the books.

M. de Tréville - Jeanne Treville. The name Jeanne likely comes from Jean-Armand du Peyrer, Comte de Troisville, the real person the character was based on.

Anne of Austria/King Louis XIII - Anne Bonacieux. Made a Bonacieux because Constance is her lady in waiting/confidante in the book and I guess cousin is the closest they were getting to that. Sorority president rather than queen. There’s no Louis in A4O, but she shares some of his qualities: having things governed by minor ministers, closeness with Treville, etc.

Breton - Grimaud, Athos’ servant who’s from Bretagne (and thus, a Breton). Actually pretty much forbidden to speak in the books by Athos, who’s kind of a dick.

There are lots of other characters in the book who get dropped because of time constraints/budget constraints/meandering side plots.

[ao3-feed-musketeers]

No Strangers Here

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2vvuT63

by AmberBrown

‘I used to have a customer there, the local landowner...what was his name?’ Bonacieux looked into the distance for a few seconds, ‘Droit...little squat man, I...found him not to my liking.’

Athos was intrigued, ‘why was that monsieur?’

‘I’m not one to gossip, but I got the distinct impression he was involved in the slave trade.’

Athos could not help a slight look of shock.

‘Not the slavers who deal with the Americas,’ continued Bonacieux, ‘the Barbary coast slavers.’

Words: 2232, Chapters: 1/12, Language: English

Series: Part 23 of Earning Their Keep

Fandoms: The Musketeers (2014)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Aramis, d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos

Relationships: Aramis/d'Artagnan

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Slavery, Past Rape/Non-con, Alternate Universe

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2vvuT63

[dragongutsixofficial]

THOUGHTS ON S1 EPISODES 9 AND 10, or: the season finale

Episode 9:

Do NOT trust Louis with alcohol. Dude how could you mess up that badly like I understand you were wasted but you can't just SAY that kind of things

Do NOT trust Richelieu with taking care of his wasted son especially when he's in his peak villainy era since his near-death experience from episode 7

"Do you want me to kill the Queen for you ? Because I'd totally kill the Queen for you"

Aramis and Anne fucked THE NIGHT HIS EX GOT FRIDGED

Richelieu I love you but that's going way too far. Not only for this whole plot but also for the way you're treating Milady

That head nun slayed

Starting to really see the appeal of Anne now that she has more time to develop

Just. This whole thing was batshit crazy

Glad to see Louis was happy to have his wife back but MY GOD LOUIS YOU STARTED THIS ALL

The royal couple obvs got a lot of trauma to work through

Episode 9:

Shit hits the fan in like the worst way possible for everyone involved

Milady my poor little meow meow

Richelieu you're still going too far my dude calm the fuck down, get anger management classes or something

You thought you could turn the polycule against each other ? WRONG

D'artagnan is more in love with Athos than he will ever be with you Milady i'm so sorry

I was so scared for Milady, especially since it's only after she loses Richelieu's protection that they murder her in the book

Constance you did your best =( slayed the best you could under the circumstances

That's rough Mr. Bonacieux

Anne legit slayed

Richelieu I hope this was your wake-up call to calm tf down

So uh. Aramis, Anne, anything to confess ?????? (In the books it's heavily implied Mazarin is Louis XIV's father)

Now that Richelieu's understood for the both of them he can fall back on his feet. Not good

I'm thinking, Anne's diamond necklace, which is probably a stand-in for the ferrets, hasn't been used yet. And although Richelieu gave Milady up (while she still worked for him then in the book), now that she's fleeing, if she goes to England that might be a good way to introduce Buckingham and Co

Love to see the gang not murdering a lone woman completely arbitrarily. TAKE THAT BOOK!GANG

All in all: great season with an amazing chaotic energy. STILL WISH THE LACKEYS WERE HERE

[bevelle]

Where the Sun Shines: Part 2

I churned this part out fast because I got... really invested and couldn't stop. We meet Josef here and see how his relationship with Roberto begins (it’s adorable and Josef is an angel). As with part 1, this is the entirety of the second numbered section. I’ll probably split section 3 into two parts.

One day during lunch, while Roberto was staring at the sunlight gently filtering through the trees, someone crossed his line of vision.

A single boy walked by Roberto, who had sat up in surprise, and slowly sat down a short distance away from him. Roberto, having never seen another person here, became stiff and stared at the boy. He saw his high school pin and immediately realized he was an upperclassman.

Black hair and black eyes.

He was a slim boy with a kind face. Indeed, he exuded the grace of a son of a well-to-do family, and it was clear that he wasn’t planning on being rude to him. He didn’t seem like the type of person who spoke ill of others.

The boy didn’t seem particularly aware of Roberto’s presence. He was sitting under the shade of the tree, holding a book with both hands, and reading intently.

Seeing this, Roberto slowly let his guard down. It didn’t seem as if he had to worry about him. The other boy was minding his own business as well. Roberto lied back down and stared at the sky.

Roberto recalled that same thing happening for about a month.

The boy’s presence began to feel completely natural, and on the contrary, when he didn’t see that boy, Roberto felt that something was lacking, as if a piece of the scenery was missing.

That boy’s name was Josef Lycolas Bartridge.

Roberto knew his name before he had asked him himself, because he overheard students who had found where he and Josef sat gossiping about them.

“Did you know Saint Josef and that weird kid were together at lunch?”

“Saint Josef… You mean Bartridge? The library committee member?”

“Yeah, yeah! That amazing upperclassman with black hair.”

“But he has tons of admirers, right? And he was with that kid?”

Saint Josef? So his name is Bartridge…

Feeling a bit strange, he listened to the students’ jealousy.

Still, Roberto didn’t think Josef had interest in him, and he didn’t particularly want to become close to Josef, either.

However, if it had been anyone other than him, Roberto would have looked for a different place to comfortably spend his time.

Yes… That certainly must have been fate.

The sunlight was starting to become stronger.

He spaced out under the light trickling down between the leaves, and two butterflies flew past his gaze. Across from Roberto, who was frowning and looking up at the sun from beneath the leaves, Josef was sitting in the shade of a nearby tree.

He couldn’t ever forget. The book Josef was holding then was The Three Musketeers.

Josef opened the book and began reading aloud, his voice pleasant to the ear like the chimes of bells. Roberto was a bit surprised. He looked at Josef, but Josef wasn’t looking at him, and was simply reading aloud. Roberto wondered if he had some sort of book recitation that he was practicing for.

Without even asking, Roberto listened to the story.

To Roberto, who always had to listen to boring stories from the Bible, the story of the three Musketeers felt fresh. That was most likely the first time Roberto felt a connection to a book. Or, at least, it was the first time within the limitations of his memory.

D'Artagnan, a rural aristocrat who dreams of joining the Musketeers of the Guard, takes an emaciated horse and heads toward Paris. However, his letter of introduction to the commander of the Musketeers, Monsieur de Tréville, is stolen. D’Artagnan manages to somehow get an audience with Monsieur de Tréville, but finds himself needing to duel with three well-known Musketeers: Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.

Just as Roberto grew interested in what could possibly unfold, Josef stopped reading aloud.

Even after Josef left all too soon, Roberto thought, just who were those mysterious Musketeers? And how would d'Artagnan duel three people?

Roberto couldn’t help but wonder.

The next day, Josef came and began reading The Three Musketeers aloud, just as he had before.

D'Artagnan sets aside his feelings and proceeds with the duel. His first opponent is Athos. Worried about the possible outcome, Cardinal Richelieu’s subordinates appear just as the duel is about to begin. D'Artagnan fights alongside the three Musketeers and defeats Jussac, one of the opposing swordsmen. This sparks a solid friendship between d'Artagnan and the three Musketeers.

One day, d’Artagnan, who is now an apprentice of the Musketeers, is visited by his landlord Monsieur Bonacieux, who wishes to discuss his wife’s disappearance. It seems to be related to a conspiracy within the royal court.

And? Then what happened? Roberto thought, just as Josef stopped reading aloud.

When Roberto looked over at Josef in disappointment, Josef briefly glanced at him, and seemed to be faintly smiling. Flustered, Roberto looked away.

Josef read aloud the following day, and the day after that, as well.

D'Artagnan and Constance’s passionate love. Queen Anne d'Autriche, on the verge of being caught in the middle of Cardinal Richelieu’s conspiracy. D'Artagnan and the three Musketeers head to England to retrieve her diamond studs from the Duke of Buckingham.

The story always captivated Roberto.

However, Josef and Roberto didn’t talk to each other even once. Josef always kept a comfortable distance between the two of them.

From then on, Josef continued to read various books out loud, one after another, near Roberto. He remembered the order of those books clearly. The Neverending Story, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Earthsea.

The final book he read there was Treasure Island.

This time, Josef had a secret strategy. He first covered the book so that Roberto wouldn’t be able to tell what book it was. Then, at the climax of the book, he suddenly stopped reading and didn’t show up anymore.

It was in the heat of summer.

Roberto was a bit confused after not seeing Josef for a while, but after not seeing him for multiple days, he began to feel unsettled.

Josef was a good person. Even though they had never spoken to each other, and they couldn’t be considered friends. Still, he was interested in the rest of that story…

Telling himself this, Roberto made a momentous decision: he would go to the library, find the book, and continue reading it. That was all, but it took many days to work up the courage.

One day, Roberto hesitantly entered the library. It was the first library he had ever been in. He felt that the gazes of his many peers who had come to read books were all directed at him.

The amount of books was overwhelming, and he felt dizzy trying to figure out where he should look. When Roberto walked toward the bookshelves in a cold sweat, someone slowly approached him from behind.

“It’s Treasure Island.”

Roberto spun around in shock.

Standing in front of him was Josef. He was smiling warmly and holding a book in his hand. Roberto looked at the floor. Josef wasn’t put off by his behavior, and instead gently handed him the book he was holding.

It was Treasure Island.

“The library has lots of good books. If you’re interested, why don’t you borrow some? If you’re not sure what you want to read, let me know and I’ll give you some recommendations.”

Roberto took Treasure Island without a word.

“It’s due back in a week, so could you write your name and class on this card?”

Roberto silently wrote his name and class on the card.

“You have very nice handwriting,” Josef told him, but Roberto immediately ran out of the library.

The books Roberto borrowed and read were very interesting. Roberto started regularly visiting the library.

Josef was always quietly standing at the bright reception desk lit by the sun, and in that calm room, Roberto learned the joy of becoming immersed in his own world.

One day, at a loss for what book he should borrow, Josef casually came up to him.

“Are you looking for a book?”

At Josef’s question, Roberto gave a small nod.

“What kind of book do you want?”

Roberto knew Josef was completely harmless, but he still couldn’t quite get any words to come out.

“Ah… U…”

Roberto blushed at the meaningless sounds that escaped him.

Josef paid no mind to Roberto’s awkwardness.

“Let’s see… Based on the books you’ve read so far, I recommend something like Star Lore of Japan 1. It’s right there.” Josef pointed to the bookcase’s top shelf.

Roberto silently reached for the book, but he was still very short back then, and he couldn’t reach the book.

“I’ll get it for you.”

Josef stood up on his toes and got the book for Roberto.

“Here you go,” he said as he held it out to Roberto.

I… I have to say something… Anything…

Now, more than ever, he truly understood the necessity of speaking.

“Th… tha… thanks.”

He was able to communicate with someone for the first time.

It was only a single word, but his heart was pounding so hard from nervousness, he thought it would explode. However, after he said it, he felt as if a pebble that was stuck in his throat all these years had come out.

“You’re welcome, Roberto.” Josef looked in his eyes and smiled. “My name is Josef Lycolas Bartridge. You can call me Josef. In return, can I call you Roberto?”

Roberto nodded.

“Thanks. We’re friends now, then. I look forward to getting to know you, Roberto.”

Surprised at the word “friend,” Roberto shook Josef’s outstretched hand.

In the year that passed, if he was with Josef, Roberto started to be able to somewhat express his impressions of books and ask for recommendations for new ones.

One day in the library, Roberto felt puzzled. He was reading The People of the Wilson Family, a story composed of a family’s history. However, Roberto couldn’t understand the feelings these people had for their family at all. He was probably staring at that page in confusion for a long time.

Then, Josef sat in the chair next to Roberto so he could get close to him.

“What’s wrong? Is there something you don’t understand?”

“Why is the youngest child upset when his father dies in the war, and why does he want to die? And why is the oldest child, Hendrick, struggling because he thinks he has to take his father’s place? I don’t understand…” Roberto said exactly what he was thinking.

“You don’t understand them being upset over their father dying?”

“No.”

“Have you tried thinking of if you were in that situation?”

“… I don’t remember them.”

“Your mother or father?”

“…I have amnesia.” Roberto looked at Josef timidly.

Josef went out of his way to call Roberto his friend, but now Roberto felt that he’d think having amnesia was strange, and now that he confessed this to him, Josef would think he was weird, or a “child with issues,” or think it’s because he came from an institution.

But Josef was different.

He didn’t call him “weird,” or “strange,” or ask “why,” or tell him “how unfortunate.”

He nodded, and simply looked at Roberto with gentle eyes. His eyes, as jet black as deep, deep space.

His eyes that showed complete sympathy for Roberto, that silently forgave him.

They were certainly those type of eyes. Roberto was trembling. Under Josef’s gaze, the pain inside of him was washed away, and his cold, frozen emotions were thawed.

In Roberto’s mind, the phrase that the priests always repeated during lectures—“merciful Jesus”—welled up within him like a fountain. He hadn’t believed it at all before, but there truly were holy things on this Earth.

He never understood the meaning of “merciful,” but did Jesus have eyes like these? Is that why people repented in front of him?

That had to be it… He finally understood…

Roberto’s eyes that had once been dry now overflowed with tears.

Josef silently pressed a handkerchief against Roberto’s cheek.

「星の語り部」(lit. The Stars’ Storyteller), a Japanese book by amateur astronomer Kōichi Kitao. It focuses on, as the English title suggests, folkloristics in relation to astronomy. ↩︎

[ofthemusketeers]

I went to see a play yesterday (Gloria) and it wasn’t until the interval that I realised I was watching Monsieur Bonacieux. He was very good. He looks rather different without the beard.

[talesofpassingtime]

It is true that when a man possesses a young and pretty wife, he has no need to seek happiness elsewhere. Happiness comes to meet him, does it not, Monsieur Bonacieux?

— Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers

[moltolavoro]

❛ i ah - heard your husband was away on business. ❜ the sheer absurdity of the forced casualness is enough to expose d’artagnan immediately for what he’s truly saying, but one can’t fault him for trying.  it was porthos who’d told him that he’s seen monsieur bonacieux leaving in a rather opulent carriage ; he would be a liar to say he hadn’t all but sprinted to constance’s house, pausing a handful of yards away only to fix his hair.

he smiles at her, as charming as he can be.  ❛ won’t you invite me in, madame? ❜ 

@pluresque