#you can see where it all went wrong. you can see henriette sees something in him that no one else can. and she's not crazy for it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

andy-rea · 4 years

Text

Maybe

Rating: General Audiences

Fandom: Versailles (TV 2015)

Relationship: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)

Characters: Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015) Chevalier de Lorraine (Versailles 2015) Louis XIV (Versailles 2015) Alexandre Bontemps (Versailles 2015) Henriette d'Angleterre (Versailles 2015) Marie-Thérèse (Versailles 2015) Original Characters

Additional Tags: Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks

Language:English

Series: Part 1 of the Monchevy Soulmates Series

Summary: In a world where a mark should appear where your soulmates hands touch you for the first time, Monsieur doesn't believe his mother's stories about it anymore. When he was a child he used to imagine his soulmate, but life seemed so cruel to actually reserve something like this for him. So, now he is almost 16, dressed in his mother's favorite gown, ready for his brother's marriage announcement at Palais Royale. What can possibly go wrong?

Maybe

Philippe really wanted to run away. If he was in better circumstances, if he wasn’t wearing a gown, if he wasn’t in heels, he would probably go back to Saint Germain in a hurry.

Running, possibly.

The prince of France sighed, checking on his hair in the mirror, braided by his mother just a few hours earlier.

She always liked to dress him up, since he was a child. After all, he was her “little princess”.

When he was little, everything about this dress-up thing was normal to him. The first time his mother braided his hair, he was ten and it was finally long enough for her to do it properly. He remembered the moment he saw himself in the mirror, a boy in a lilac dress, long dark hair up in a simple braid and just one, single lock left free to settle on the boy’s naked shoulder, too short to reach the dress’ neckline. Now, almost six years later, the strand of black hair reached that neckline and rested on the fabric of the green gown he wore, at chest high.

Philippe caressed that lock of hair, fear of messing it all up. He felt like he was watching someone else, someone he couldn’t recognize.

He was still looking in the mirror when he felt a hand at his lower back. Philippe raised his eyes in the glass, and a spontaneous smile formed on his thin lips. His mother smiled back at him, standing still behind his back.

“Philippe… ma petite princesse.” the Queen of France kept smiling, making her second son turn around so he would face her. She took his hands in hers, both of Philippe’s wrapped in light green gloves, long enough to reach his elbows. The queen cared so much for his gloves, in fact, he wore them all the time, a shorter version was made for his male clothing, but she went more uncompromising during court events. Tonight was no exception.

“Thank you, mother,” Philippe said in a whisper, still smiling at her. She checked one more time at his dress, then his gloves and his hairstyle, smiling, satisfied that everything was perfectly settled. As she seemed to say something else, someone cleared their throat and distracted them. Mother and son turned, seeing Bontemps waiting for a sign to speak. Queen Anne smiled, nodding to allow him to talk.

“My Queen, Your Highness, it’s time. The King is waiting for you to make your entrance.”

“Of course he is,” Philippe whispered, only for his mother to listen. She smiled again at him, releasing his hands from her gentle grasp, and began to cross the room, through the door that connected them to the Gran Salon. The prince followed, hearing Bontemps doing the same behind him.

“Tell me, Bontemps,” Philippe waited for the young man, letting his mother make her own entrance before him. The Prince put his right, gloved, hand on the valet arm, allowing him to lead the short way through the salon. “How much my dressing for tonight is the Queen’s idea?”

“I sincerely don’t know what you are talking about, Your Highness,” Bontemps said politely, as he always were.

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about. He’s announcing his marriage and now I can dress as I please. Something must be up tonight, and I know him too well to ignore it.”

“Monsieur, I really don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” the valet said and smiled, but Philippe knew from his voice tone that he knew it very well indeed. “But, if I can tell you with all due respect… I will take off my gloves for tonight’s event if I was in your shoes.”

“Luckily, you are not. Plus, listen to my mother rumble again and again about all that soulmates stuff? Please, spare me.” His mother loved to tell him stories about soulmates when he was a child. Every night she was ready with a new story, written in an old journal she took with her everywhere. When the King died, she took away that book, and Philippe never saw it again. Every story was so different from one another, one time it talked about a shiny prince and a farmer daughter, another one was about a princess of a foreign kingdom and a king, already married to someone else. But his favorite was about a couple of valets, separated by their king at the end of the tale. It was sad but Philippe had always seen himself in one of them, who found out who their soulmates were, then got their mark for never seeing each other ever again.

“You know,” Bontemps interrupted him, the only one Philippe allowed to do it, posing his free hand on the prince’s, still on the valet arm, though they were so close to the salon. “That is not just soulmates stuff. I have my own mark, and I’m very grateful for it. It reminds me that someone loves me, no matter what.”

“Isn’t a marriage made for that thought of yours?”

“Are you so sure about that, Your Highness?” the valet broke their contact, taking both of Philippe’s hands in his instead. “Do both of us a favor tonight and listen to me. Take off these gloves, and give all this stuff a chance, before it’s too late.” Philippe stared at him, confused by his words. Why so suddenly? “I promise I will think about it during dinner,” he finally said, even if his confusion was still there, written in his beautiful blue eyes.

“I think I won’t have anymore from you right now, won’t I?” Philippe lightly smiled, nodding while releasing his hands from Bontemp’s gentle grasp. “Yes, I think so. Now, It’s time for me to make my glorious entrance before my brother steals all the attention. How do I look?” the valet looked at him for a moment before smiling at him, a smile that could be compared only with a father’s one. Philippe had no memories about his father, at least not a clear one. All was blurred, he was so little when the man died, and Bontemps was the closest figure to a father that he could ever have. Yes, he had his uncle, the other Monsieur as his mother liked to call him, but it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. “Stunning. Maybe tonight will be your chance to steal all the attention, who knows.”

“Bontemps, sometimes I really don’t understand whose valet you are, mine or Louis’. But, thank you for your words. Now, clear the way, the show is beginning.” Philippe straightened his naked shoulders and raised his head, ready to make his entrance in the salon. He knew what to expect once inside, he could already see in his mind all the kind of emotion that will appear on the nobles’ faces once they will see him dressed like that. Disgust, hilarity, concern, maybe rage (probably Louis’), even desire if someone hadn’t ever seen him like this. Philippe was curious, like every time he crossdresses, on how much people would try to talk to him with feminine pronouns. Yes, he was dressed like a woman, but he was a man under all that fabric and ribbons. He liked to be a man, a man that liked to cross-dress too. He knew that in other circumstances if he hadn’t been the king’s younger son and then the king’s brother, he would probably be imprisoned and sent to the American colonies if caught dressing like that in public. But, that was France, that was the Palais Royale, and that was royalty. And even if Louis often liked to forget sometimes, Philippe was royalty too.

Monsieur crossed the door of the Grand Salon, a polite smile on his lips and his eyes right ahead of him, pointed on the Queen just at the farthest end of the room. Philippe let his stare to pose on his brother, right beside their mother, and for a second the blue of the sea met the azure of the storm. If they were still kids, Philippe would have probably lowered his gaze, afraid of the consequences of disrespect to the king. But now he wasn’t a kid anymore, he was a young man, he was a soldier on his inner side. He would win a war, he knew it for sure. But Philippe was locked in the palace instead, studying the war from the books and the stories of those who lived that kind of reality. The two brothers were now facing each other and after a little moment, the room went silent. Philippe smiled again at that sudden absence of any sound, it seemed like everyone had stopped breathing. Bunch of cowards, it was the only way he could call all of them, even if it was only in his thoughts. After all, even the king’s brother had to respect his guests. At least, aloud. Philippe bowed in front of his brother, or better, he made a reverence, as every other noble lady had done before him. He knew Louis would be mental for it, but he also knew the king would never throw a fight right there, in the middle of the party. After a couple of glasses of wine, he would forget about his ladylike reverence. “Enough, brother,” Philippe raised his eyes at those words and realized Louis was watching him politely, not a sign of disgust written in his sight. “You look stunning tonight, our mother has a talent for fashion, I’m sure you agree.” Now he was confused, who the hell is this, and what happened to his annoying brother? “Of course she has,” Philippe said with a little voice, smiling though feeling like the most confused man of the country. Or the world, better. “Well, you remember Henrietta, right?” the prince looked at his brother like he had something growing on his curled head. “You mean our childhood friend Henrietta? The Henrietta who I played cards with all afternoon? Yes, I think I might remember her.” For the first time that night, his gaze went on Henrietta, beautiful as always in her light pink dress. Her eyes had the same veil of confusion as his own, they matched perfectly. “I believe you two would be a perfect match, don’t you think mother?” Oh, there it is, the pink elephant he felt behind him, the knife ready to stab him right between his shoulders. He knew something was up, but he didn’t imagine it would be out so soon. Philippe looked at his mother then and her smile explained everything, all the cards were on the table now. Bontemps words echoed in his mind, a bleary warning that he hadn’t caught. Maybe the valet thought he had more time. Well, he hadn’t.

“Louis, I don’t…” Henrietta tried to say something, but she was smarter than that, she knew nothing she said would change anything. And so do him, he knew nothing could be done at this moment. So he straightened his shoulders like the man he was, so much in contrast with his dressing and his looking, but he knew by his brother’s eyes that he never looked more masculine before. “I think some decisions have been already made about this. So, brother, who am I to interfere?” Philippe asked rhetorically and made a reverence again, smiling to his fiancée (oh, he had to practice saying this out loud) in the process. “Now, if you excuse me, I would like to take advantage of my last free man night. I think we will see each other at the dinner table, won’t we?” And he was gone, gone before his tongue got him in more trouble. He only needed some wine, so much wine, and everything would be alright. Philippe knew someday that night would come, the moment in which Louis will tell him who he had to marry. Thinking about it, he was lucky after all. He knew Henrietta very well, they were friends for years, she was the first one he told about his preferences, and she was always supportive of him. She told him she was in love with his brother, she hoped Louis liked her back and maybe marry her someday. But that day will never come, and the truth was slapped in their faces in front of every noble of France. How kind of him, so caring. Philippe sighed at these thoughts, closing his eyes to gain some strength he was sure was missing. His life was at a breaking point, and he thought about it as an island, divided by a swollen river. On one side, there was him in his high uniform, a shiny sword tied at his left side, Henrietta at his right one, dressed in the most beautiful wedding dress he would ever imagine. On the other side, there was always him, dressed with his casual wardrobe, a huge smile on his face, and a male figure beside him. His hand shows a mark, a soulmate's mark that looked like the one his mother talked about in all her bedtime stories when he was a child. “Your Highness?” reality brought him back in that salon, to that voice calling him. Philippe opened his eyes and turned, frowning at the sight of Bontemps in the company of a boy he’d never seen before. “Bontemps. Something wrong?” he tried to say, clearing his throat soon after. The valet shook his head, nodding at Philippe’s hands. “I see you followed my advice, Your Highness, I’m so glad about it.” Philippe looked at him in confusion and lowered his gaze on his hands, wincing slightly when he saw his naked skin. Probably he took off his gloves while deep in thoughts, or he was so idiotic and didn’t notice someone was taking them off. He hoped for himself it was the first option.

“Oh well… Maybe. I think my brother’s words were… convincing, you know. Who’s this?” Philippe pointed a finger to the young man at the valet side, making him wince for a second. Then a smile broke on his handsome face and his eyes met Philippe’s before he bowed in front of him. “My pleasure, Your Highness. My name is Philippe de Lorraine, but they call me Chevalier. I think it has the same effect as your Monsieur, Monsieur.” “He is the Count of Armagnac’s younger brother, just designated after his father's death. They arrived today to live here with some other noble families. Our King’s idea.” Philippe snorted for a second, but he smiled right after, as his eyes were back again in the other Philippe’s. “Well, it seems like we both have a brother ahead of us, don’t we?”

“For this reason, I thought, with your mother’s consent, you two could have something in common. The palace can be so huge and empty sometimes.”

Philippe frowned at the mention of his mother so out of place in that sentence's contest.

"I must say my mother had a lot of surprises for me tonight, hadn't she?" the Prince murmured, lowering his gaze for a second. When he looked up again, he met the Chevalier's smile, and his own lips moved to mirror that expression. He was handsome, and that was a fact. He had long, blond hair, so fair that it almost reflected the salon's lights.

"Well," the Chevalier's take a step ahead, presenting his right arm to him. "I think we shouldn't make them wait, shouldn't we?"

Philippe smiled, a real smile so different from those he reserved for the nobles and for his brother. The Prince took that arm then, pleased at the sensation of his jacket fabric, so soft under his naked hand.

"I totally agree with that. Bontemps, I hope our guest will find a seat beside mine at the table." The valet smiled at his Prince, bowing slightly in front of them.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

The dinner went better than Philippe could ever imagine. In the beginning, he felt awkward to sit between his new, stunning, fiance' and his new good looking friend, but his smart-talking and the wine made Philippe relax before the main course. Food was eaten and more wine was drunk, the atmosphere in the Salon light and full of its occupants' smiles. In that joyful air the Chevalier's took his right hand, skin against skin, making Philippe shiver a little bit.

"You know, people say that this palace has the most wonderful garden in the whole of France. I would really like to see them, at the lantern light they would be even more breathtaking." Philippe's smile grew on his lips at that request and nodded briefly, feeling his black hair move around his head.

"I think that is a wonderful idea. And I would like some fresh air." The Prince replied, adjusting his gown before standing up, hiding their entangled hands in the fabric of his skirt. While they were crossing the room to the door, Philippe's eyes met Bontemps'. The valet was openly smiling, some kind of sparks in his gaze. The younger smiled back, catching that sparkle and knew its twin was now in his own fair eyes. Philippe hurried a little his pace, entering the gardens with a sigh of relief, the fresh air of that beautiful night like a gentle touch against his skin.

"I knew they were beautiful. But, Your Highness, I believe your mise en place put everything else in the shadows."

"What a charmer, You are," Philippe was delighted by his attention, he would be a fool to deny it. That man in front of him was saying everything he wanted to hear by someone, he was holding his hand in that kind of way he thought he could only dream about. For the first time, he felt 'normal', a young man like the ones of his mother stories, that valet in which he always feels so identified. "Surely, You say all of this to every man You want to sleep with." The blond tightened his grip on his hand, taking it to his lips. He gave him a perfect kiss on the back of his hand, making the prince almost blush.

"You believe it or not my prince, I've never done something like this with anyone else." The Chevalier's voice was so clear that Philippe couldn't do less than believe him.

The Prince took a step forward then, coming closer to that man and to his mermaid’s voice. Maybe that was what Bontemps was babbling about a few hours before, that marriage wasn't made for soulmates. In fact, when Philippe thought about it, even in his mother’s stories rarely soulmates were married at the ending of the tale.

"You know… call me a fool or naive if you like. But, Chevalier de Lorraine, I believe you." and their entangled hands were the proof of his speaking. Chevalier's hand was warm against his own cold one, and the prince found himself shivering for it. That was new for him, he never felt something like that for anyone. "And I think You could accompany me to a little walk among the oranges, couldn't you?"

And he did. He guided the prince through the gardens as he knew them for his whole life. The moon, high in the cloudless sky was their guide, the bright stars the only witnesses of their time together, the audience of one of many kisses that they gave each other that night. Words were said, so many to fill thousands of pages of a book Philippe will certainly keep forever in his mind.

Splitting for sleep was hard, both their faces a mirror of what they spent the night doing. Their lips were swollen, still red and wet even when they reached the hallway in front of Philippe's rooms. The candles were the only audience of their last kiss, the braids in Philippe’s hair were a long-gone memory. Now his dark, long waves were loose on his shoulders, the makeup on his face not so in place anymore. But the Chevalier didn’t seem to care, both his hands were holding the Prince’s face and he locked their eyes together. “Henceforth, every day that I do not touch you, taste you, feel you, will be a day of death and mourning.” Chevalier murmured right against Philippe’s lips before kissing him again, and that tasted like a goodnight kiss. A new, bright smile cracked on Monsieur’s face, while his hands flew in a second to cover the other ones.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to let a single day pass without seeing you, touch you, taste you, or feel you. You are under my skin, Chevalier de Lorraine… and you don’t even know what kind of trouble you put yourself on.” The smile on the other man’s face didn’t show any kind of worry. Chevalier kissed his forehead this time,

the small hint of blond mustache pinched his skin, and for a split second, Philippe thought about that sensation on other parts of his body, so much more sensitive than his visage.

“I’m not worried, my Prince. I know royalty always keeps its promises,” He said and took a step backward, sliding aways his hands from the other’s face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, will I?” Philippe simply nodded, biting his lips while he watched the blond young man walk across the corridor, and disappear around the corner. A huge smile took place on his lips as he turned around and entered his quarters, the feeling of those gentle hands still a relevant feeling above his skin. He watched himself in the mirror again, like he did a few, but that felt like years, hours earlier. Now, his hairstyle was completely ruined, his precious hair clip was now pinned on Chevalier’s jacket, right where Philippe had placed it while in the gardens. He liked the idea the other owns something it was his, and that hair clip was his favorite.

The prince let his own gaze go down to his neck and he moved his long hair to look better at his soft skin. There was one little, but so visible, red spot on it, right down his jawline. Philippe touched it like he was afraid of feeling it burn, but it didn’t. It was warm, yes, but a good kind of warm, and it was tender under his fingertips. His first love bite. Someone cleared his throat again, and the prince got distracted again from his inspection. A valet was behind him, a little smile on his own face but a particular sign on his cheek took the other man all the attention, a shape of a handprint. A birthmark, it seemed. A soulmates’ mark.

“Your Highness, I think it's time to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day, I can assure you that, if I may.” Philippe took a moment to look at him, before answering. He was a ginger, so rare in their country, his curly hair cut really short so anyone could barely see he was curly. Nobody was cutting their hair like that in France, so Philippe frowned a little.

“You may. Begin to unfasten the corset.” the prince ordered and took away his waves, so the valet could reach the laces. He saw him nodding and reaching him, soon beginning to work with the knots. “Why is your hair so short?” he asked him, without really the intention to. But the boy kept his smile, his hands still busy with the laces.

"My lover liked them this way. It shows my mark." The valet's voice was calm like he was talking about the weather, or the soup he ate for dinner. "He is very proud of it. And so am I." The prince kept watching him through the mirror, his hands still caressing his own hair.

"I've never seen you here before. What's your name?"

"Lucas, your Highness. And yes, I arrived today, with the nobles and other valets." Philippe nodded and he never let the gaze flip from the valet reflection. He felt the corset loosen the grip around his own torso, and the Prince could finally breathe properly again. “For what it's worth, we are very grateful to your highness for allowing us to follow our masters. At home... It would have been very hard. " Philippe watched him turn and put the garment back with attentive eyes, always through the glass.

“I would like to take all the credit for my brother's placement choices, but in reality my observations count as very little. Although I'm glad it's a good thing for some of us at least, ” The prince then saw him smile as he approached again, working hard afterward to untie the bows of the dress's skirt.

“I don't want to be indiscreet, but I noticed earlier that you bonded with master Philippe. I haven't seen him smile like that since the count of Armagnac was still alive, " the prince tightened his shoulders hearing that name, narrowing his eyes.

"To live here, maybe you have to learn to keep your tongue in check." the valet immediately lowered his face, actually realizing that he had talked too much.

"Forgive me, your highness," he said, continuing with quick hands to finish his job and help him put on his nightclothes. During the action, Philippe could not get that bright smile out of his mind, and he could not even imagine seeing that face obscured by sadness. He walked towards the bed almost like a puppet, sitting on the mattress before looking at the valet again.

"Thanks and ... I'm sorry. I was thoughtless, ” he said almost as if it were a secret, and he noticed the boy smile as he heard him address to himself like that.

“You know, you are so different from what is expected. And it's a good thing, your highness. One day who knows .. You could be a great king. " Philippe was speechless for a moment, but Lucas gave him no way to reply. “But now you have to rest. A great day awaits you, ” he continued and blew on the candles, so they both found themselves in the dark. Philippe heard him go away and saw him in the twilight go through the door of his bedroom, going out and closing it behind him.

When he woke up the next morning, Philippe was sure that his lips were red exactly like the night before. He felt his head in full motion, the previous night spent reviewing all the memories of the past evening, those kisses, and those light touches. For a moment, as soon as he opened his eyes, Philippe thought it was just a giant dream. Then he had felt his swollen lips and the discomfort at his torso where the corset splints had tightened him, and yes, it was all true. A smile was born spontaneously and he ran a hand through his hair still with his eyes closed, removing it from his rested face. He then brought that same hand to his mouth but stopped halfway. There was something different, the tone of his skin was different. It was more red, like a birthmark he was sure he didn't have before.

As a…

No, it was not possible.

He sat up suddenly, without taking care of the hair in front of his face this time. He blamed the semi-dark that still reigned in the room, surely he had seen wrong. Then he quickly got up from the bed, throwing the covers sideways, making them almost fall off the mattress, and hurried with his bare feet to the window. He opened the doors without care, letting the wood slam and the roaring rumble for his apartments. Then he laid his eyes on her skin again and felt his heart beating madly in his chest as if it wanted to go out and plant himself on that wine-colored skin. The prince only looked up when he heard the door of the room open, revealing a breathless Lucas, still in light clothes and a jacket that was evidently thrown hurriedly on his shoulders to seem presentable.

"Your highness, what .." he stopped too, noting what had shocked him in that way. And when Philippe noticed the bright smile on the face of that boy he had just met, he understood that yes, it was really what he thought. At that moment he really felt part of those stories that had accompanied him throughout his childhood, and the phantom island that seemed to represent his life appeared again in his mind.

But this time, the hand joined to his was Chevalier's, both of them smiling. And then all the words that Philippe had no sense during the evening before found a place, beginning to write his personal story, worthy of being written alongside those present in the journal that his mother so jealously guarded.

#monchevy #soulmatesau #soulmates #versailles #philippe chevalier de lorraine #Philippe d'Orléans #philippedorleans #fanfiction #fanworks

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sidhewrites · 5 years

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CHAPTER 1B. Approx 2100 words. Previous Installment found here. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about.

Content Warning: Body Horror, Fantasy Violence.

She hated crowds almost as much as she hated having something on her face, and was grateful that Agnes was satisfied in getting her this far out of the house. Winnie was allowed to stand on the sidelines, keeping an eye on the children and staying away from the confetti and glitter. The boys had demanded dusted mica on their faces and tiny paper stars for all of them, as befitting unmarried ladies on Mirinmas.

“Neither of you are ladies,” she’d said.

They then demanded to be ladies for the night, to the point of borrowing short aprons and wrapping them around their waists as makeshift skirts, insisting they were now named Henriette and Tomasine. Their victory cries resounded as Duva handed them a small bag of mica each, and very nearly coated themselves and everyone else with it. Mercifully, Agnes was able to talk the two into letting Winnie get away with just a light dusting of the mica on her cheeks, while the two now-ladies dumped the rest all over themselves and left motes of shimmering dust wherever they went, running beneath the legs of the stilt walkers and underneath the fire dancers -- as far as they can get before the leads pulled taught and Winnifred would drag them back to her and chide them for going too far.

She was hardly a strong woman, with thin arms and weak constitution, and her glare couldn’t even convince a fire to burn. But they knew she would report back to Agnes. And then the true trouble would begin.

So they stayed close, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes excited to bring back the spoils of their adventuring. Shop merchants handed out any number of little gifts for the children: tiny golden stars, little paper hats, and more handfuls of shimmering mica dust to dump on Winnie’s skirts and shoes. She would be a walking mirror by the end of the night, if they kept this up.

“Where did you get this one?” She knelt down in front of Henriette-not-Henri, picking up a small, whittled rabbit. The toys merchants gave out tonight were meant to be circles, crescents and stars -- Grande Fabricante Mirin’s symbols. Animals belonged to the seasonal fetes, not midsummer parades. How out of place.

“A wolf,” Henriette-not-Henri said, referring to the mask the merchant must have been wearing..

“He was a bear,” Tomasine-not-Tomas corrected. “And he needed a bath!” They bickered, even as Winnie begged them to settle down, unable to agree on anything but the fact that the man smelled like the bog, and wore a mask of some sort. Winnie tried to mediate the argument for a short while, but arguments had never been her strong suit. In the end, she left them to it, as she scanned the crowd to see who might be handing out the wrong decorations so early in the night, and judging herself for daring to judge others, when she was still wearing pink taffeta and too much embroidery. The boys danced around her, tangling her up as they whooped and yelped, and paraded their gifts about. But as Winnie tried to keep up, she took a step forward, and stumbled backwards. The world tilted quickly -- but steady and strong hands caught her before she hit the ground.

Winnie’s breath flew from her lungs all the same, and she only just barely registered the boys’ laughter fading away as they ran into the throng once more. Sacha Francame held her up, speaking with a soft voice more befitting of a poet than a soldier. “Are you all right?”

She could barely hear him over the noise, and stammered, managing to squeal out a, “Yes, thank you.”

Sacha only nodded with that subdued, shy smile he was known for. He gave it to everyone, but she couldn’t help but wonder if this one was just for her. “Children can be difficult to wrangle. I’ll never know how anyone manages it on their own.”

“Oh -- “ she flushed pink.

“We’re not hers,” Tomas said, hands on his hips.

Henri contributed a long, drawn out “Yeah!” before something shining caught their eye and they ran off again.

“Oh, no they’re not mine, ah...t-they’re my friends. I’m only watching the boys -- er -- “ She glanced down “--Girls, I suppose, until their sister’s done dancing.” She was tied down to no one and nothing, of course. Free for -- err. Well. Certainly not courting. Winnie didn’t think she’d survive such a thing from anyone, least of all by Sacha.

“You’re not sure which one they are?” He had a confused smile, one brow raised and eyes glittering in the way she loved. The way all the girls loved.

She shook her head. “Well, they’re usually boys. But they want to be girls tonight, so they can wear the glitter on their cheeks.”

“It’s a shame we can’t all wear it, no?” he asked, chuckling lightly, glancing at the mica on Winnie’s own cheeks.

Winnie blushed again, unable to meet his gaze. She tried and failed not to grin herself, a silly, dimpled look that didn’t belong on a girl like her. Sacha shifted beside her, unsure of how to proceed, and settled for a short bow, and extended his hand “I’m Sacha Francame, by the way. I wasn’t sure if you…”

“Oh, yes!” She answered, a bit too quickly. “I do know who you are, yes. Um. Winnifred Ashely.”

If he recognised her name, he didn’t show it. “And are you enjoying yourself this evening, Mademoiselle Ashley?”

Her father had been a proud chatvalier once in his youth, never accepting a promotion above the vanguard despite his family’s wealth, and leaving to marry her mother. His death at the hands of a demon had hit many of the older soldiers hard. They looked at her the way everyone in Moriel’s had, with distant pity and sorrow. She hated the look, It only endeared Sacha to her further to see his smile unchanged.

“I’m …” she hesitated, knowing it was the polite thing to lie. But she’d never been good at deception. Finally, she admitted, “That is, crowds and celebrations have never been my place of comfort.”

“Would you believe it if I said I feel exactly the same?”

She fought the urge to gape. He was one of the proudest chatvaliers, a public figure if ever there was one. “But there was an entire ball in your honor just weeks ago!”

“It wasn’t just for me --” he began, but the boys announced themselves before he could finish.

“Winnie, look what we found on the ground.” Thomas waved something wildly in his hand as he ran up to her. Winnie fought back her ire to kneel down and look at his latest treasure attentively. She was meant to be watching the boys, after all, rather than flirting with Chatvalier.They boys ran off as soon as she’d taken it, certain they’d found her the perfect gift. Upon closer inspection, the gift turned out to be a handkerchief, well-loved and powder blue, with a clever golden W embroidered in one of the corners.

Winnie’s heart stuttered at the sight of it. The last time she’d seen something like this had been…

Green tea in paper cups. Three low candles in the attif window. A midsummer thunderstorm. And a powder blue handkerchief.

Noises seemed to fade around her

Still -- she caught a glimpse of somewhere in the crowd -- stark white hair against golden skin, curling just above his ears. The boys tugged on her skirt and ran off again to find more prizes, and she nodded only vaguely, standing on her toes to see … there it was. There he was. That shock of curls, cut just above the ears. She knew that hair and -- he turned just enough for her to catch sight of a young man’s soft features in the firelight.

It had to be him. She couldn’t let herself think it wasn’t.

“I’m terribly sorry…” she heard herself say, taking a step forward before she knew what she was doing. “I, ah…”

“Mademoiselle Ashley, don’t--” Sacha reached out, pulling her back right before a horse-drawn cart rolled swiftly before her, its rider too drunk to care where he was. He held her close for a moment, watching the horse make its way through the crowd. “Are you all right?”

She wasn’t. Winnie looked through the crowd again, but that white hair was gone, and her hopes with it. An old wound felt like it had opened up, and before she knew what was happening, tears slid down her face.

“Mademoiselle Ashley?”

She hardly registered him there, still holding her, face lined with worry. It took a moment to regain even a hint of her senses and she pulled herself away in an instant.

“Why don’t we find you a seat? I’ll get you something to drink.”

Winnie nodded absently. Sacha was gentle, a hand on her back, directing her to a bench away from the festivities, where it was darker and just quiet enough to hear herself think. She sat ungracefully, with only just enough presence of mind to feel shame about it.

Sacha knelt before her, looking up into her eyes. “Will you be alright for a moment?”

Her ears burned red. She nodded again, cursing the frantic beating of her heart. “I’m quite alright, I’m sure.”

“Of course. Does brandy agree with you?”

“Ah --” She hesitated, having realized what he’d done, but not sure it was wise to argue, especially in her current state. Her head still spun, if only slightly. It was likely because of how close he’d been to her just a moment ago -- how he “Yes. Brandy’s all right.”

“I’ll be back in a moment, then.” Sacha stood, hesitated, and then bowed.

The flush spread from her ears to her face, and Winnie looked down herself, trying to look like she was returning the gesture, rather than hiding from him.

She glanced up to see Sacha’s smile just before he turned to make his way back through the crowd. He was too courteous. Frustratingly handsome. Maybe -- well. Possibly, maybe, if it seemed convenient, she might entertain the idea of Sacha asking her to dance after this. Maybe not in the crowd, but certainly close enough to hear the music. But it was all too romantic, and she stopped herself before she began imagining the idea of his hand on her waist or holding her hand, or touching her face, or…

Winnie shook her head, glancing down at her hands, and the blue handkerchief in it. It had to be a coincidence, of course. This looked far too new to have ever been hers, and she couldn’t be the only girl whose name started with a W in Merveaux -- and certainly not the only one who liked powder blue.

Something sounded behind her -- a wet, sickly sound, like mud trying to hold itself together, only the barest hints of bones. An old, familiar scent reached her nose. The smell of festering corpses and rot, bile and decay.

Winnie didn’t need to see them to know what was there, but she looked anyway. Three formless, seeping masses of ashen flesh, trying to hold themselves together with the magic of their summoner, peering at her with their wretched, bloodshot red eyes. Spindly, creaking arms reached out at her, and the flesh between the eyes tore itself apart wetly, revealing shapeless holes filled with vicious yellow teeth, each one dripping in their watery black blood.

Blights.

Pulled fresh from the ground.

She never had a skill for magic. Demons like these should care little for her. But logic fled in an instant, with those awful eyes, and those dripping teeth, and a single bony hand brushed against her skin, cold and moist. Winnie ran.

Demons were hungry when they crossed over from their realm, and even a magicless morsel like her would do. They dragged themselves along the ground faster than she could run, clawing with spindly arms. Sharp teeth sank into her shoulder, ripping a scream from her lungs, and sight from her eyes. Another mouth latched onto her side. She doubled over, and it let go, having been bitten and dragged down by the slowest of the three.

She fell forward, suddenly free of the weight, and the Blight on her shoulder took most of the blow, it’s soft skull crunching on the cobbled street. Stunned and injured, its mouth fell open just enough to release her, and Winnie managed to stand again, shrugging the mass off and ignoring the sight of its blood all along its sleeves, or the sensation of its tongue as it probed the fabric of her jacket in search of her flesh.

The sound of more blights echoed behind her -- or was she simply remembering the horde from her childhood?

Regardless, she ran.

Winnie burst through the crowd, careless of those she bumped into, pressing forward. The boys -- Saints, she’d left the boys alone. Where were they?

She reeled, looking through the crowd, trying to retrace her steps, until finally she caught sight of Duva’s tight curls, standing half a head above the crowd. She made a beeline, stopping only when she finally was close enough to see her, and Agnes, and the boys talking to Sasha, not a one of them hurt. If Winnie had her wits about her, she might have realized how utterly livid Agnes was.

She seethed, holding Henri on her hip, gripping Tomas’ hand tight. “Where have you been,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“There -- there are…” Winnie began, failing to catch her breath in time to speak.

“You left the boys alone! You just wandered off. Winnie, what were you thinking!?”

She hadn’t been thinking. Not of the present, at least. And now -- Blights. She had to tell them, there were Blights coming this way. Her shoulder throbbed, and she shoved her curls over her shoulders, revealing the deep red seeping out of the torn jacket.

The anger and color drained from Agnes’ face. She and Duva both rushed forward, Duva putting an arm around Winnie to support her, Agnes pushing hair away from her wan, sweating face.

Was she feverish? She felt feverish.

“What happened?” Agnes asked, but her voice seemed far away. “Winnie? Winn?”

She said something else, but Winnie didn’t hear it clearly, and shook her head. Dark spots that had been blooming in the corners of her eyes overtook her vision.

“A blight…” she managed, just as someone screamed. Three wet, formless masses broke into the crowd, just as Winnie gave out.

Tag List: @fearlings-lament @maitretmaitresse @purpleshadows1989 @madammuffins

#wip #writeblr #high fantasy #sidhewrites #creative writing #ashes #ashes chapter #ashes draft #ashes chapter 1 #ashes draft 1 #writing

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divine-damsel-of-devastation · 5 years

Text

Hey guys, so I wanted to develop more on one of my FE Heroes, Baldr, so I decided to write a lil thing about her. That being said it also includes @avistella’s OC, Alice, so... yea! It’s nothing big just a little character writing to help me to get to know my OC better. Also, I’d like to apologize if I got Alice’s personality wrong, and how it’s super long! I just got carried away!

Waving the smoke, or was it dust, out of her field of view, Baldr was finally able to see clearly. She immediately noticed the figures of three people standing in front of her. The girl who maintained a solemn expression on her face spoke first.

“This is Baldr, first advisor to the king of Askr and creator of Breidablik... And former tactician for my mother’s army.”

Baldr coughed a bit before standing up. Smiling, she offered her hand to the girl. “I am at your service, my lady.”

The redheaded woman spoke next. “Thank you, Eir. Hello, Baldr. My name is Anna, and I’m the commander of the Order of Heroes. What do you last remember?”

Baldr hummed. To be honest, everything seemed like a blur. For the longest time, all she knew was complete darkness yet colors beyond her imagination. The was coldness so bitter it struck to the bone yet warmth so strong it was as if she was bathing in the sun. She was empty but filled. But she felt lonely. There was always something that wasn’t here. Then there was a moment where it was as if she had no control over her body. Then she was here. She thought back as far as she could before giving her answer to the commander.

“The last thing I remember was advising King Lif on the progress of the farmers.” Baldr looked between Eir, Anna, and the other figure cloaked in white and gold she hadn’t met yet.

Anna turned to the group and began to speak. Something about lost memory or what not. Baldr didn’t care enough to listen. Truthfully, she was curious about where she was. It looked like the Askran castle, yet different. Aged, maybe. Smoothing her white dress out, which now had noticeable tears and rips on the edges, she started to walk around, picking things up and poking them.

“Excuse me, Lady Baldr?” She turned her blue eyes to look at the girl who spoke to her first.

“I am no lady, but continue.”

“But... According to my research... weren’t you actually Lif’s betrothed?”

“Have you perhaps considered your research may be false? While I appreciate the thought of a title, I have none. I am but an advisor and nothing more. And King Lif and I had nothing but a purely professional relationship. I’m quite offended that you thought me to be involved with my lord. May I ask about what reports are you reading that say that my king and I were romantically involved? I wish to speak to them about the slander they insist on spreading of the king.” Baldr raised her chin slightly, giving her the appearance of looking down. Years of dealing with pesky nobility trying to worm their way into King Lif’s heart trained her on how to act.

Eir stared at the older woman before turning to the cloaked figure and the redhead. They spoke some more before Anna turned back to look at Baldr. “This might come as a shock to you, but you’re in the future. You were a soldier of Hel’s army. You were dead, but Hel brought you back to life. Eir managed to break the curse that made you serve Hel.”

Baldr’s eyes flicked between the two, before narrowing slightly. “Do you take me as a fool?”

“No, it’s true. And it because of Alice and Breidablik! Alice, show her.” Anna motioned to the hooded figure.

Baldr couldn’t see her face, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that this girl had the artfully and carefully crafted legendary weapon in her hands. Baldr reached out and gently took it from the girl. The weapon was warm and emanated a light golden glow from being reunited with its original creator. Baldr turned it over in her hands. She brought it up so it lay flat at eye level. She then handed it back over to Alice.

“And you’re the one who wields her, yes?” Baldr’s eyes stared intently at Alice.

Uncomfortable under the strong gaze of the advisor, Alice shifted nervously. “Yes...”

“You’re doing a wonderful job. She’s in impeccable condition.” Baldr smiled a bright yet kind smile. “Although, there was a small dent on the tip. It’s nothing that would be caused by you, however. You look much too weak to cause the dent and scuffs around it. Unless you perhaps... threw it on the ground?”

Alice once more became nervous. She didn’t want Baldr to think that she was throwing the legendary weapon she created like a sack. Baldr wouldn’t let her use Breidablik again. Before she could seriously work herself up, Baldr, almost sensing Alice’s discomfort spoke once more. “It’s no trouble, however. I can definitely fix her for you. In fact, I’m very interested in you! Breidablik never appeared to resonate well with someone other than myself.”

Baldr took a small step towards Alice and held out her hand. “I am at your service, Alice!”

After the three women had spoken a bit, they lead Baldr to the main throne room. Alfonse and Sharena were in there, but Henriette was not. Upon hearing the doors open, the siblings turned around to look at the incoming group. Alfonse smiled upon seeing Alice, while Sharena waved before her attention was pulled to the blonde woman behind the trio. Alice and Alfonse broke off from the group to talk quietly while Sharena stayed with them.

“Hey, guys! Who’s that? Another hero?” Sharena asked.

Baldr turned to look at the princess. “I am Baldr. Advisor to his majesty, King Lif, and creator of Breidablik. It’s a pleasure to meet you...”

“Oh, I’m Sharena! It’s nice to meet you too!” Sharena grabbed Baldr’s hand, excitedly. “And this is -”

“King Lif!” Baldr exclaimed.

“I’m sorry... Did you call me Lif?” Alfonse turned to the woman who went over to hug him. Confused, he pushed her off of him. “Who are you?”

Baldr looked worried as she placed her hands on his cheeks before feeling his forehead. “Do you not feel well? It’s me! Baldr! Your advisor?”

There was a moment of silence before Baldr spoke again. “Ah, forgive me. You shared a resemblance to my king. I deeply apologize for making you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay... I’m Alfonse, prince of Askr.” He offered his hand as a symbol of peace.

“I’m Baldr, advisor to King Lif. I’m apparently just learning that I’ve been ... dead for hundreds of years. It’s... new, but not entirely unwelcome! After all, I’ve always wondered what the kingdom would become after we’ve left.”

The advisor curtsied before heading off with Sharena and Anna, who offered to give her a tour of the new castle. Alfonse turned to Alice to continue their conversation, who quickly looked away from him. Sensing something was up, he began to speak.

“Hey... what’s wrong?” His tone was soft, but not condescending.

‘It’s... nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She answered.

He frowned. “It’s not nothing. I care about how you feel. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I have some things to do... I’ll see you around.” Alice turned around and walked away so he couldn’t see her jealous tears. It was trivial to get jealous over a mistake, but she couldn’t help it.

It had been a couple of weeks since Baldr had joined the Order. She had proven herself useful by fixing broken or damaged weapons and imbuing some with magic making them perform better. She had also lent a hand in the advising department. Baldr had even made a new friend in Sharena and had learned the story of Alice being summoned and a majority of what the current warring climate was like. In turn, Alice had learned all about Baldr; her relation to Lif which she denies, her affinity to crafting, and her solid tactics. She was grateful for Baldr being able to repair and advise, but Alice was not sure about Baldr’s relationship to Lif. After all, Baldr always denies it happened, yet found among the pages of Lif’s journal, there are mentions of Baldr being his betrothed. All in all, Baldr was quite happy being in this future time. It was one of her off days. She sighed as she sat under a tall tree. Even though she liked Alfonse, Sharena, Alice, and all of the other heroes part of the Order, she still felt as if a part of her was missing. Hearing the sound of footsteps approaching, she turned to look at the summoner.

“Oh... sorry... I’ll just go...” Alice apologized.

Baldr sat up and scooted over, patting the ground next to her. “No, no. Please, don’t mind me.”

“No, it’s fine. I can go somewhere else.”

“Alice. You can sit next to me. You’re not bothering me.”

Silently Alice sat next to Baldr. The women were silent for a bit before Baldr spoke.

“Do you ever... miss where you came from?”

A little taken back by Baldr’s straight forward answer, she hesitantly answered. “Sometimes, but not often.”

Baldr made a small sound of understanding. “This Order goes through so many weapons. And that one hero. Oh, I forget his name. He is a wonderful unit, but he is so careless. I swear, I had to fix that weapon of his thrice in one day. And you better believe when he came in the fourth time! Oh, you would’ve thought I was the one who snapped his weapon in half! But I certainly gave him a piece of my mind.”

Baldr let out a breath. “Ah, I apologize for that outburst. I feel so frustrated when things aren’t taken seriously. See, I had the same problem when Lif first became king. Ha! That boy thought it to be just a game! He didn’t understand that you can’t just... go and be reckless! And I don’t see why I shouldn’t speak my mind! I don’t care that you don’t want to hear what I have to say! You need to hear it! This is the fate of a kingdom we’re talking about! Not some game you played as children. There are real consequences and you’re treating it like some... some... game! I just... It frustrates me...”

“I’m sorry... I wasn’t talking about you... It’s some of these units of yours. Terribly behaved. But, you probably didn’t come here to listen to me rant did you?” Baldr let out a soft laugh and stood up. “I’ll leave you alone now. After all, I would often come out here for some peace and quiet. Although... I feel like I would always meet someone out here. You know, back in my day, there was an old wives tale that if you met someone under this tree, your love will transcend time. I always thought it was fake, though. There’s no way nothing can go beyond time itself. Anyway, I’ll see you around, Alice. Take care now.”

Baldr nodded at Alice before walking away. She wasn’t sure how long she sat under that tree, but when she stood up something carved into the tree caught her eye. Alice walked over to look at it. Etched into the tree were the names Lif and Baldr.

#fe oc #feh oc #robin writes #avistella #OC Baldr #Avi's Alice

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singledadhamilton · 5 years

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Storytime: The Scissors Incident Part 1

John POV

Part 1

It’s storytime!!!

Hello, you adorable and lovable fans whereas every Saturdays or Tuesdays (Williams forgot to mention that part) where one of us Hamilton kids will tell you a story from our childhood. They’re the craziest, funniest, and scariest event that ever happens in our lives for the past ten years. But pfft, this is known as from my family especially our family known as the scissors incident as it was something very unexpected and so yeah. This is a going a two-part story which yall needs how the event lead Let’s get on with this story.

This event took around when Philip, Angie, AJ, and James were about 12 ten years old and us which meant practically me, Williams, Eliza, and PJ was about 8 or 9 years old. I think us younger quadruplet were about 9 since we were only about 2 1/2 years apart. But anyway not relevant to the first part of the story...during the time between what ....the incident occurs to our mom and dad. Well, dad has already been a single dad for almost a year at that time and we were returning to New York after leaving Nevis that we live over there for 3 years. FYI: We move to Nevis after month from the trick or treat incident. It was kind of hard for us to accept the fact to that we’re leaving Nevis since that became our true home despite being born and raised in NYC for the first years in our childhood but they never remind us such happy memories. My dad went through a harsh heartbreak because of my mother and soon my dad becomes a single dad to eight kids for the past ten years. So, after the incident, my dad immediately packed all our stuff up, sold all the items we didn’t need and got everything packed in order to live in Nevis. Turns out that my Uncle James whom my father assume perish in the hurricane many years ago. After telling him what happened between him and my mother...Tio James automatically pays for all the airports, tickets, and everything.

Next thing you know our little asses were living Nevis and we only talked Spanish both in the household but talked both English and Spanish outside the household. Since we mostly talked English during our times in New York but since my dad is a Hispanic Caribbean Immigrant. He thought it would be nice to know where our ancestry roots come from while speaking Spanish in the household.

Now, all you’re wondering well why does this have to do with the story? Why are you telling about your past? Hold it for a minute and listen closely my adorable fans. Ok.

After returning NYC from Nevis my siblings and I were trying to talk English more often nowadays since we always talked Spanish during our stay in the Caribbeans. Anyway, my dad worked a full-time job at this local 24 hours diner and we didn’t really see him that often since Papa was always trying to make ends meet. So we were trying to adapt talking more in English with each other but still felt a bit weird cause we have gotten so used to talking Spanish for the past three years. That when we as siblings decided that we speak Spanish at home and English when we go out with friends or school. And I remember this incident occur during summer vacation and we just been in New York for about two weeks now. I wanna say two weeks cause Angie is the one waking me up early for breakfast. I remember waking up in such bitchy ass mood since I ain't-a morning and still not to this day.

I glare at my sister and crankily toss my blanket aside with an attitude. Letting yall know in advance that I never acted this way with my dad. Cause Papa Hamilton doesn’t play around and he won’t hesitate to whoop my ass with the Chancla. Just thinking about it still send shivers down my spine. But yeah, my older sister loves me to death for being patient with me. Nevertheless, I was pissed that my sister woke me up early in the morning even though it was summer vacation. I didn’t want to go my Tia Peggy condo so she could babysit us while Papa work. Worst of all after washing my face, brushing my teeth, basically the typical getting ready morning such.

Worst of all is when Angie pull out the comb and oh my gosh...WWIII was about to start. My hair is naturally curly and wavy I hated when Philip and Angie would comb my hair since they’re heavy handed. I always prefer my dad combing my hair since he knows that it hurts if you pull the comb a bit too hard. But I was having none of is so I was doing the most and started fighting with my sister. I was swinging my arms and legs acting like a crazy person before Angie places the comb down and started shaking me saying...

“John!! Jackie bebe enough!!! You ain’t dying”

Let’s not be judgy here ok. Let not. An older sibling can handle so much from their younger siblings. Especially dealing with a hardcore temper tantrum and I give credit to older siblings for actually dealing bratty younger siblings I’ve met during my middle school years.

Back to the story, I was still acting crazy and swinging around cause I didn’t want my hair to be combed. This kept on for a good five minutes until finally, my sister lost it. Angelica lost her shit and next thing I know smack. You guys, everything went frozen for me and touch my cheek where my older sister has smacked me hard across the face. It wasn’t even a slap or oh no it was a full on smack across the face. This immediately shocks me cause #1 cause she’s my older sister and wasn’t my disciplinary, #2 she has never smack me before and never lost her patient before, and #3 it really hurt me that Angie had the gut to smack me across the face. I like “Girl, I know you did not just hit me on the face” but I didn’t do anything at all. I just stood there frozen like a statue as my sister combs my hair.

I automatically put on my hoodie and cover my face since I didn’t want to look at anybody, I especially didn’t wanna look at Angie ugly ass face. Just kidding sis, I love you and you’re beautiful so yeah. My dad didn’t question it cause he knew that when I’m upset about something or someone I’ll put my hoodie on so I don’t explode and take my anger out on anyone else. But I guess he thought I was mad at him for letting Angie comb my hair. So we ate breakfast very fast cause my dad has to go to work an hour early than usual, after arriving at Tia Peggy condo and say our goodbyes to Papa after dropping us off. Us all eight kids including Uncle Lafayette and Uncle Hercules kids: Georges, Anastasie, Marie, Henriette, William Cooke, and John W. Which adds up to 14 hyper kids in one huge condo with one woman watching us as our parents work. All 14 of us place our stuff on the coffee table in the living room before going to the playroom for the younger kids and the game room for the older kids. I put my spiderman backpack on the coffee table and took off my hoodie since I felt that I wasn’t mad at Angie anymore.

As soon I took my hoodie off Henriette took one look at us and gasp as if I grow a second head or a third eyeball. I gave her a confused look and asks

“Henri? What’s wrong?”

“Yo...Your cheek...”

“What about my cheeks?”

“One of them is red”

“Red?”

As soon Henri says the word “red” my Tia Peggy automatically come to us and also given me a worry somewhat concerns look on her face. She quickly drops down to her knees and inspected my right cheek before touching with the tip of her fingers as if I would break. I was looking her and Henri all wondering “What chu mean my cheek is all red? Like I wanna know”. Peggy hugged me tightly and looking at me all scared and freaking out on the inside which made me scared as well. Like, I didn’t know what they meant about my cheek being red and with my, Tia Peggy hugging me tightly and acting very concern just seem all weird and guilty in a way. And she started asking me all of these questions like

“John, sweetie. What happens to your face, baby? Did your siblings do it? Or did you fell and hit your face?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Tia. Can I go and use the restroom?”

My tia just let my little self-crept to the restroom which was right next to the game room so I enter and did my business. Cause I really need to pee as well but after doing my own thing as I’m watching my hands that when I notice the red mark on my cheek where Angie has smacked me early in the morning. It was still a fresh red color and you could see the finger marks of the mark. It actually looked like I came from an abusive hold house which made me very angry knowing that Angie has the audacity to let come here with a red mark on my face. Now that Henri and Tia saw it I was mortified, embarrassed, and angry. I storm myself out of the restroom and just saw Angie playing Pacman with Philip and I was just glaring so hard with tears streaming down my face. Next thing you know in my head I told myself...

“I’m calling dad. I just want my Papi right now!”

I race toward Peggy and began crying my eyes out which freaked her out overall and automatically her future mother instinct flew within her. Getting down on her knees again to level at my height before wiping my tears away.

“Jackie, sweetie. You ok? You want me to call your dad”

“Please...I want my daddy right now. I want to call my dad right now”

She quickly calls my dad as I’m still crying my eyes out and talked with him for a while. I couldn’t stop crying since I felt so mad that Angie has smacked me and angry at myself that I didn’t tell my dad sooner. As she handed me the phone I kept on crying even though I tried to stop but I couldn’t. My dad started freaking out cause he knows that I don’t cry for no apparent reason unlike someone I know ha.

“John, mijo!! Bebe que paso? Why are you crying?”

“Angie me golpeó. Ella tortazos yo difícilmente en la cara. Ahora, mi mejilla es todo roja de cuando ella me golpeó… y deseo ser con usted… papá” (Angie hit me. She smacks me hard on the face. Now, my cheek is all red from when she hit me...and I wanna be with you...daddy)

“Ella qué?” (She what?)

Ladies and Gentlemen when I told my father that my older sister has smacked me across the face. I knew that I have sealed my sister fate. Papa Hamilton is very crazy for a lack of better words especially with his children due to that he’s a single dad now. He’ll go craz craz if someone ever laid a single finger on us and my dad would lose his shit right then and there. Not only that, but he’s also strict with us being family and us getting along since he assumes that his brother died many years and regretted never bonding with Tio James until now.

So my father one and only rules for all of us as kids were:

“None of yall are loud to hit each other. I understand that you’re siblings and you’ll fight but if I ever see you hit one another. You will be punished if yall have problem one another you’ll come to talk with me and we’ll sort this out. Do I make myself clear?”

If my dad ever heard that my older sister just slap me earlier in the morning. Oooh.....she better starts saying her prayers right now. Next thing I heard the tone of his voice change from concern and worry to furious and angry. And it wasn’t when he yells that scare me it was when he scolds you in such a calm voice that has a hint of anger within it frightens me to the depth of my soul. I never heard my father in that tone before perhaps maybe with my older siblings but never to us since I guess we were still a bit young. Still, that’s not the case...I remember what he told before coming over to Tia Peggy condo.

“I’ll come to pick you up mijo and I’ll talk to your sister about it”

“Ooh ok”

After my father and I finish talking once again but lasted for about a few more minutes before hanging up. I left it at that and soon went to the playroom and started stacking blocks. Williams and Eliza were wondering how did my cheek get a mark and why my cheek is all red? But I didn’t answer them and just minded my own business just waiting for Papi to come here and ready to scream at Angelica in front of everybody. As I said, Papa Hamilton is crazy with his kids, especially with his younger kids. I was just minding my own business until suddenly I heard the door slamming shut. My siblings and I instantly knew that it was our dad slamming the door which meant...he is pissed off. I saw him coming into the playroom with a blank expression on his face but I knew on the inside he was furious that Angelica has slapped me across the face.

Not even saying a word to me I automatically walk toward to him just feeling happy that he was here. My siblings were shocked and confuse seem my father always worked for a full on 12 hours. Until happen something happens to one of us so this situation was very serious. My dad got down on his knees looked my cheek that was still a bright red color. He still hasn’t spoken a single word so Papa took me to the sala and the first time throughout the whole ordeal my dad finally before snapping his fingers.

“Siéntese”

I hop my little ass on the couch as my dad went upstairs again to where the game room was at for the older kids. Not even five minutes later I heard Angie squeal lightly while Tia Peggy close both doors of the game room and the playroom. Next thing I know, all I heard was a thud and a smack!!!!

You guys my dad grabbed my sister by the hair, push her against the wall, and smack her across the face. And before yall starts getting all trigger of offense letting yall know that my dad isn’t abusive. Hell no. My dad gives the ordinary spanking that many parents do but if one of us kid hits each other then he’ll smack across the face.

1. For acting stupid and being violent

2. Cause you disobey his number 1 rule about us hitting each other.

I didn’t saw him smacking Angelica but I heard it loud enough from the sala before Dad began one his lectures. I wish he was yelling and it would be over it. But nope it was in his scary clam voice.

“How you do like it? How you do like being smack across the face? How could slap your 9-year-old brother across the face and let him come here? Knowing you...yourself that his face was all markup”

Angie began stammering and twisting her words over while explaining to dad...even though she just got slap by him.

“Well, he wasn’t listening..o..k...I was trying to comb his hair. He was swinging his arms and legs at me!! He was being bad though...”

“NO!! Unacceptable!! You knew perfectly well that you weren't allowed to hit any of your siblings. Instead of calling Philip or Me to clam John down. You let yourself get all impatient and smack John on the face. And be lucky this is a summer vacation and not a school day. Cause if you let him come to school looking like that...the teachers or possible the principal will believe that I’m the one that him. Not only will the police be involved but so will CPS. DO you know how hard it is for dads to get full custody of their kids despite having a clean record? Not only that but they’re also waiting for them to screw up so they can take the kids away. Do you want that to happen?”

I’m not sure what happened next but Papa Hamilton brought my sister into the living room and face her in front of me. She kept looking down at the ground with my dad who was waiting for her to speak and apologize. She looked at me in the eyes with her cheek now all red when Papa slap her.

“Look, John. I’m gotten impatient with you and I shouldn’t slap you across” Angie spoke with a guilty look on her face but I didn’t care with a nonchalant attitude and response.

“It’s ok”

My dad and I peace out of the Condo where he took to the local diner. But I still wasn’t satisfied till I got my revenge on Angie. I’m gonna end this story here tonight and we’ll upload the second part either on Tuesday or next Saturday. Bye.

#Hamilton storytime #Hamilton kids #John Church Hamilton #Hamilton fanfic #Alexander Hamilton #Single Dad Au

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extraneousdominomask · 7 years

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I don't understand the hate for Sly 4. Can you explain why you think the game sucked?

Alright. I’ll give you a summary of the major issues I have with Sly 4, and try to keep it brief. Here’s an itemized list of 30 years of disagreements (Sweet Jesus):

-First off, the first half of the game is fucking incredible. (If that sounds like a weird place to start, that’s only because it is.) The opening recaptures the spirit of the games wonderfully - and given I was a returning fan, fresh off an eight-year hiatus, that was amazing - Japan is beautiful and builds well, and Cotton Mouth Bluff is probably my favourite level in the entire damn franchise.Even leaving aside how I can’t pretend bad installments of my favourite things didn’t happen - that’s just not how my brain works - part of the reason Sly 4 irks me is because it had so much goddamn potential. It’s an updated Sly Cooper game where he and the Gang go on time-adventures. We were so close to something incredible. This should, by rights, be my favourite game in the series, and also of all time.I’m angry because I care.

-Carmelita’s redesign. She was already a very sexualized character, but she used to have sensible jeans and a sense of vaguely realistic athleticism. Sanzaru insisted on pushing the sexualization further, and since we started at a pretty advanced point, it got taken to frankly disgusting levels. Her waist terrifies me. You can see her ribs. The badass Interpol inspector is now worryingly underweight. It legitimately creeps me out.

-I don’t like the caveman level. This is the least analytical gripe, I admit that. I just… don’t like the caveman aesthetic. Never liked the Flintstones or anything similar. That’s just subjective.What’s not subjective is how the Gang ending up in just the right place and time to stumble across another of Le Paradox’s lieutenants is a strong contender for the least likely coincidence in all of fiction. But whatevs. Them improvising an escape while falling down a cliff was cool.

-Likewise, as Cooper ancestors go, Bob is very underwhelming. He’s a big ugly block who reuses the Guru’s joke. Instead of Henriette or Slaigh or anybody else in the Vault or Henriette, we got this guy. Great.

-The Grizz. Unfunny character with an awful boss fight. Complete bungling of what a graffiti is or does or sounds like. Unnervingly racist.

-The Penelope twist. Good god in heaven, what even was that? I mean, I was interested. I gave the game the benefit of the doubt, all ears for what the explanation was. Unfortunately, that explanation never came. We’re still not sure what the hell was going through Penelope’s head. She’s just evil now. A lovable character, funny and endearing and not overly sexualized (which in this series is rare), just… twisted. For no real reason.There’s zero textual information justifying her decisions. Especially because the focus is entirely on Bentley, giving her no room to explain herself. And sure! Bentley’s great, I love him, but I also love Penelope and I also love(d) their in-practice painfully brief relationship. I want Geeks in Love doing Crimes Together, not a half-assed betrayal twist.

-Ms Decibel. Irritating to watch. Retread of both Octavio and the Contessa. Has no reason for having mind control powers. The fact it’s just “ha ha there is a trumpet in her nose” genuinely irritates me. This isn’t hard sci-fi, but it ain’t Looney Tunes either. Try harder.The Joke Is That She Is Fat And Ugly. Ha Ha Ha.

-The Carmelita belly dance. Sweet CHRIST. If I keep coming back to this, it’s because it’s gotten me progressively angrier ever since the first time I played it and felt an uncomfortable churn in my gut.This shit is genuinely disturbing. She is coerced. Why did Sanzaru think this was a good idea? Everybody in the writer’s room signed off on this; anyone who may have wanted to stop it didn’t manage to. Then it got animated and designed and Grey DeLisle was called into the booth to voice how beloved strong-willed icon of my childhood Inspector Carmelita Fox was deeply uncomfortable with this sexual act three men she was close to were forcing her to perform. I don’t find this shit amusing. Kids play these fucking games, man.

-Carmelita’s (lack of) use in general. She gets some good moments when she’s first dragged along, again making Tennessee’s level the best. Then she storms off during Bob’s. Then, after wandering back and calming down? Next to nothing. She’s barely there.Bentley shutting down over Penelope’s betrayal was a perfect opportunity for her to take charge and show off her tactical prowess as an officer. What did we get? “Uh… let’s go with Galleth’s plan, then walk forward through Penelope’s front gate. idk guys” Outside of objectifying her, Sanzaru had no idea what to do with her, and it shows.

-The underwhelming climax. The finale of Sly 2 felt earned. The original three all had great final acts, but I bring up the second because it resembles the fourth. In both, there’s a last-minute upset where everything the Gang has accomplished so far is suddenly snatched away.But Sly 2 built that feeling. From the moment Jean Bison sees through the Gang’s disguises, things get worse and worse. The time they spend in stony silence, hiding in that battery, really creates a sense of encroaching dread. Things are going wrong, but they’re going wrong slowly. And that’s worse.Sly 4 - perhaps due to a dwindling budget - rockets through where that suspense should be. “Le Paradox showed up and stole Carmelita and then his plan worked and he was king of everything and we were sad but we went to fight him anyway.” wow. my emotions. i’m so invested.One of the lines I can particularly remember is “I don’t ever remember feeling so defeated.” Oh, you don’t, Sly? Not when you lost every Clockwerk Part at once? Not when Clockwerk was reassembled and Neyla merged with him? Not when you watched your parents be murdered in front of you?It’s 100% Tell, 0% Show. That’s not how you do a finale.

-Le Paradox. God. Just… god. Obnoxious in a way that isn’t entertaining. An awful, nasty character who does not receive an adequate level of comeuppance for his overblown, overwrought crimes. Rapey. He hates Sly for something Conner did; Sly has no agency here, he’s just a victim, pulled into the story because he’s directly threatened over something he had no part in. That’s bad writing. Bad writing which retreads other, more interesting antagonists.Doesn’t hold a candle to Clockwerk, Arpeggio, Neyla or Dr M. Unlike them, Le Paradox survives his game, which a) feels like too light a punishment if everybody else got a dramatic death and b) creates the worrying prospect they intend to bring him back. Ugh. Would work fine as an insignificant filler villain; instead, has means, power level, and (intended) gravitas outstripping Clockwerk. Total disconnect between his persona and his stupid, childishly powerful plan.Bigger =/= better.Skunks don’t come from France.

And, of course, the grand finale. The last thing to happen to Sly Prime. To this day, four and a half years later, the current state of the original series, and what may well be the overall ending at this point no matter what Sanzaru originally intended long-term. Everybody sing along at home~!

-A terrible cliffhanger ending with no sequel greenlit!

There. That about covers it. For me, anyway. Everybody has their own take.For the record, every box in that brain meme is a genuine opinion of mine. Sly 4 is most certainly a Sly game. It has amazing art and great moments. It brought in a ton of new fans, and kept the franchise going. That can’t be undervalued.But it’s the most flawed installment by a wide, wide margin. Sly 1 was rough, but a lot of that feels like beginner’s jitters. 4′s flaws feel more like huge, enthusiastic strides in the wrong goddamn direction, made by well-meaning people who are super excited to bring the franchise to places I do not want it to go. Like Sexual Objectification Town.

I don’t hate it blindly, but I can’t pretend I love it. I’m not gonna repress my negativity. This is my blog where I talk about Sly Cooper. And when I talk about Sly 4, I won’t skip over its flaws. In the vague hope that maybe, if I explain how and why these things don’t work, there’ll be less of these mistakes in the world. For my own writing, if nothing else. Straightening out my emotions into coherent, rational analysis. Looking toward the future.

…that and because it’s cathartic.

#iamkel14 #sly 4 #long post #Skunks don't come from France #I will not equivocate on my opinion #I have always worn it on my sleeve #rant

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