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aphroditelovesu · 20 days

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The Lost Queen - XIII

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, possibly smut.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 3,325.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @silmawensgarden.

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 13

Time turned into an indistinct blur, while your breath seemed to freeze in the air. Before you, the man emanated an intimidating aura, his presence filling the small space of the tent with palpable tension. Every detail of his face, sculpted by shadow and dancing light, seemed like a macabre work of art, a mixture of mystery and imminent danger. His dark eyes, deep and penetrating, held yours as if they had the power to probe your soul. And you, paralyzed in front of this spectrum of strength and mystery, could barely utter a single word.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He chuckled, watching you with interest shining in his dark eyes. Those words, tinged with a touch of humor, echoed in your ears like a distant echo of a distorted reality. Was he mocking you?

"It's because I'm seeing one." You scoffed, your tone laced with disdain as you stared at him firmly, barely able to contain the fear from spreading through your body. He clicked his tongue in disgust at your tone.

The man looked inside the tent, his interest piqued by the surrounding environment. "You look good." He commented, his voice carrying a casual tone, but his expression still enigmatic and impenetrable.

"Why did you bring me here?" You finally asked, your fists clenching as you stared at the man with disgust and a slight fear shining in your gaze.

"All in good time, my dear." He hummed in response, his relaxed tone contrasting with the tension that hovered between you. He approached you, his imposing presence filling the space between you as you struggled to maintain your composure in the face of the uncertainty of what would come next.

"Do not play with me." You spat, your voice filled with suspicion and a hint of suppressed anger.

He arched an eyebrow, a subtle smile dancing on his lips.

"I'm not." He replied seriously, his dark eyes boring into yours with piercing intensity, "I'm not messing with you, sweet girl. Everything I've done has a purpose." His voice echoed in the tent, filled with a conviction you struggled to understand, as the mystery around you seemed to deepen even further.

You felt even more suspicious and uncomfortable with the man's words.

Who was he? Or rather, what was he?

"Who are you?" You finally asked, your jaw clenched in a mix of nervousness and defiance.

"I have several names." He purred in response, a chilling sensation running down your spine as he circled around you like a wary predator, "But you can call me Aslan for now."

Aslan? For now? The name echoed in your mind, loaded with a meaning that you could barely begin to understand.

"What do you want with me?" You frowned, your voice thick with tension and distrust.

“What I want doesn't matter, but what you want does.” He replied calmly, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made you uncomfortable.

What do you want?

"Are you mocking me?" You rolled your eyes, frustrated with his evasive answers, "I'm not in the mood for jokes, Aslan." Your words were spoken firmly, a mixture of irritation and determination evident in your voice. You were going to get answers one way or another.

He laughed darkly, and involuntarily, a chill ran down your spine at the laugh that escaped the man's lips.

"Be patient, my dear. I'll explain everything to you, but for now..." He stopped talking when he heard a commotion outside your tent.

''Finish speaking.'' You ordered, your voice firm and determined, demanding answers in the face of the growing intrigue and urgency of the situation.

He smiled, a mysterious gleam dancing in his eyes, "You're learning to act like a Queen."

You looked him straight into his dark eyes, ''I am one.'' Your statement was delivered with unwavering confidence, your identity and position clearly defined, even amidst the confusion and uncertainty that surrounded you.

You were a Queen. You were the Queen of Macedonia, and as strange as that title still sounded in your ears, it felt right when it left your lips.

Aslan smiled widely, his features softening with the confidence of your words, ''You are.'' He confirmed, his voice filled with respect and recognition, as he slowly headed towards the flap of the tent.

''Where are you going? We're not done talking!'' Your words came out in a rush, your gaze narrowing with each step he took towards the exit.

''Duty calls me.'' He sang, his voice filled with mystery and promise, ''But I'll be back soon. We have plenty of time to talk, (Y/N).'' Aslan bowed slightly and left before you could utter another word.

''Aslan...'' You uttered his name, or one of his names in this case, and was strangely pleased with the sweet way it fell from your lips. Why did he look so familiar? Your fingers gripped the hem of your traditional Persian dress, your nails digging into the soft fabric.

You would have the answers soon, you were sure of that. But for now, there was something more pressing to deal with. You needed to meet Darius in person, a meeting that promised to be crucial to your future.

Darius's tent was exactly as you expected it to be: extravagant. Even in the middle of a war camp, the Persian King did not give up his luxuries and comforts.

As you observed the opulence around him, you couldn't help but reflect on how that very extravagance may have been one of the reasons for Darius' downfall. His excessive indulgence and disconnection from the reality of the challenges he faced as a leader may have weakened his rule and undermined his authority among his people and his armies. Vanity and ostentation can be double-edged weapons, especially in times of conflict and political instability.

As you carefully observed Darius and a man who resembled him, your eyes wandered to the king, whose luxurious attire made it clear that he was Darius. You took in every feature of his features: his dark skin glowing in the golden light of the fire, his long black beard that complemented his face firmly. A faint smile curved his lips as you bowed respectfully before him, and his dark eyes softened slightly.

The similarity between Darius' imposing presence and Alexander's was remarkable, and you couldn't help but find it intriguing. Both possessed an enviable charisma, capable of attracting loyal followers and soldiers, even in the face of defeat and adversity. It was as if an aura of authority and leadership surrounded them, inspiring admiration and respect wherever they went. They were similar in that way.

Perhaps it was this magnetic charisma that allowed Darius to maintain a large number of loyal followers and soldiers, even after suffering defeats in battle. His commanding presence and ability to inspire confidence may have been crucial factors in maintaining his power and influence despite the challenges he faced. That was something admirable, and even though he was technically your enemy, you couldn't help but admire those traits.

''It's a pleasure to meet you in person.'' Darius's deep, calming voice sounded in your ears and you nodded slowly, hiding any possible nervousness. He seemed to know how to speak greek and that made you calmer.

"I say the same," You replied calmly, following Darius' lead and settling into a chair reserved for you, "Though it was unpleasant circumstances we found ourselves in." You couldn't help but poke him lightly, after all, he had kidnapped you. The tension between you was palpable, but you were determined to maintain diplomatic composure. You needed to ensure your safety above all else, especially now that you were pregnant.

Instinctively, your hand found its way to your belly, as if trying to protect the baby growing inside you. Darius's gaze followed the movement and rested on your belly, understanding the source of your apprehension.

"Nothing will happen to you or your child." He assured you calmly, his words filled with sincerity and empathy. A feeling of relief spread through you at his assurance, even though tension still permeated the air around you.

The presence of the man who resembled Darius, with malice shining in his eyes, further heightened your sense of unease. As Darius cleared his throat and called a name in Persian that you vaguely recognized as Bagoas, you knew you were looking at an intriguing historical character.

You knew Bagoas's name from contemporary records, which described him as a eunuch who had been the lover of both Darius and Alexander after the conquest of Persia. Your frown at this information was inevitable, and you stared at him as he entered the tent, carrying a jug of wine. Your eyes followed his every movement as he poured the liquid into three cups, and you couldn't help but notice the subtle glance he threw your way before disappearing with silent steps.

Darius took a sip of his wine and the other man did the same. Meanwhile, the wine in front of you remained untouched, as you knew that drinking alcohol during pregnancy was not recommended at all.

The other man finally decided to speak, his rough voice echoing in the tent. The greek that came from his lips was a little difficult to understand, but his words were clear, "We brought you here to negotiate."

Darius stared at the man disapprovingly and sighed, ''That's Bessus.''

Bessus. Uh-huh. This was bad. You knew this man and didn't trust him at all and it seemed like even Darius didn't trust him.

''To negotiate what?'' You raised your eyebrows.

''In exchange for your safety and life, Alexander must abandon the war and return home.'' Bessus replied, drinking his wine with great enthusiasm. You looked at him with disdain evident in your eyes. Did they really think Alexander would give up so easily? They will be fools then.

The idea that Alexander would give up so easily was absurd, and those who believed it were mistaken. Alexander was a formidable leader, determined to pursue his goals with fierce determination, and you knew he would never abandon the war without fighting until his last breath. He would rather die fighting than return as a coward.

"Alexander won't give up." You replied firmly, your voice thick with conviction, "He never will."

Bessus's expression was disdainful as he arched his eyebrow, "Not even for his beloved pregnant wife?"

You fought the urge to punch Bessus at his taunts and replied dryly, "Alexander will destroy the world for me, and you made a huge mistake by bringing me here."

There was a certain arrogance in your voice, but it was the truth. You knew the destructive power Alexander was capable of inflicting when provoked, and those who dared to defy him were playing with fire.

You remembered the stories about what he did to his enemies, to those who dared to cross his path or take what was his. His revenge was swift and merciless, sending a clear message to all those who dared defy him: there was no mercy for traitors and invaders. Darius and Bessus were in hot water when they decided to kidnap you.

''Let's talk, shall we?'' Darius interrupted the conversation between you and Bessus, sensing the animosity between you.

You nodded, even though you knew this conversation wouldn't get you anywhere. Their situation was complicated, and it seemed like they were about to face the consequences of their actions.

Every action has a reaction, right?

"My wife is not here?" Alexander's voice was low, but his fury resonated clearly in every word, his clenched fists denoting his intense emotion.

The generals present, Hephaestion and Ptolemy, seemed worried and fearful of the king's wrath. Finally, Hephaestion decided to take the lead, his expression carefully controlled to avoid further provoking Alexander's explosive reaction.

"She is not here." He said with the greatest caution he could have at that moment, his words chosen precisely to convey the truth without triggering an even more violent reaction from the King. The tension in the air was palpable, as everyone awaited Alexander's next response and the consequences that could follow.

"She's not here.'' Alexander repeated, his voice sounding louder, reverberating through the room. Ptolemy swallowed hard, feeling the weight of responsibility in deciding to speak,

"(Y/N)'s guards said they didn't find her in her tent when they woke up.'' He stated, holding Alexander's menacing gaze as long as he could, his expression showing both concern and determination.

Finally, the King snapped. His fists hit the poor makeshift table hard, causing it to fall with a deafening crash. Hephaestion fought the urge to shudder at Alexander's display of fury.

"So where is she?" Alexander asked, his voice filled with anger and despair, staring intensely at his two friends, "WHERE IS SHE?" The last question was shouted, echoing off the walls of the room and reverberating in the minds of everyone present. The tension reached its peak, as everyone awaited the answer with a mixture of apprehension and fear for what could happen next.

"W-We don't know!" Ptolemy was quick to say, fearing for his life, his words flowing in a torrent of fear. "We've done a thorough search of the entire camp and surrounding area, but there's no trace of her. It's as if she's disappeared."

"People don't disappear out of thin air." Alexander sneered, his penetrating and suspicious gaze scanning every detail of his generals' faces. His blue eye narrowed, emanating an intensity that made it clear he would not accept evasive answers or excuses.

Hephaestion decided to speak to try to help calm his friend, aware of the urgency of providing any information that could help or worsen the situation.

"According to the guards stationed at her tent, they were knocked out and the Queen was gone." He reported, his voice firm but filled with concern.

Alexander looked his friend in the eyes, his expression a mixture of anger and grim determination, "Who took her?" His question was uttered with increasing urgency, indicating that he would not rest until he found answers and brought his wife back safely.

Ptolemy and Hephaestion exchanged a heavy look of mutual significance. They knew Alexander wouldn't take this information very well. Betrayal was never something he dealt with easily, especially when it came from such a dear friend.

Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself for the coming storm, Hephaestion took the lead once again.

"Perdiccas." He said, his voice heavy with the weight of revelation as he faced Alexander's furious gaze. The words hung in the air, loaded with inevitable consequences, while everyone awaited the King's explosive reaction to the betrayal of one of his closest confidants.

"Perdiccas.'' Alexander repeated the name carefully, feeling a bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth.

Perdiccas.

His childhood friend, his trusted general, now revealed himself as the traitor who had kidnapped his wife. The reality of the situation hit Alexander with devastating force, a mixture of disbelief and fury boiling inside him. How could someone he trusted so deeply betray like this?

The feeling of betrayal pierced his heart like a sharp blade, leaving him furious and determined to carry out the worst punishment, torture known to man.

The fury building inside Alexander was like an uncontrolled hurricane, a primal force that threatened to devour everything in its path. His vision turned red, his mind flooded with images of violence and revenge. All he could see was a pool of blood and a cruelly mutilated body in the middle of it. Perdiccas' body.

He wanted revenge, revenge as brutal and painful as the betrayal he had experienced. The pain of being betrayed like that tore him apart, consuming him with an overwhelming rage that threatened to swallow him whole.

The idea of killing Perdiccas slowly and painfully took root in his mind like an obsession. He imagined every macabre detail, every torment he would inflict on the traitor, fueled by the relentless thirst to recover what belonged to him and the unbearable pain of betrayal.

With a herculean effort to contain his burning fury, Alexander finally managed to muster the strength to ask, "Where did he take her?"

"We don't know yet." Ptolemy replied, his eyes fixed on Alexander as he carefully assessed the King's reaction.

The answer seemed to echo in the room, filled with tension and uncertainty. Alexander was strangely restrained, his expression too controlled for the tastes of those present. This was worrying. Ptolemy and Hephaestion exchanged a quick glance, sharing their silent apprehension at what might come next. The approaching storm was invisible, but the tension in the air was palpable, foreshadowing a series of events that could change the course of history.

With palpable determination, Alexander finally made a decision. He stared at the broken table, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and resolve.

"Send all available men to search for any possible information." He ordered firmly, "Spread the news and whoever brings me information about my wife's whereabouts will receive a generous reward."

Ptolemy nodded in understanding and hurriedly left the tent, leaving Hephaestion and Alexander alone in the silent wreckage. The tension in the air was almost palpable, but beneath this layer of anger and worry, there was an unwavering determination that guided Alexander's every action. He was determined to find his wife, no matter the cost.

Hephaestion carefully approached Alexander, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Alexander did not react immediately, his mind still absorbed in turbulent and bloody thoughts.

"Alexander?" Hephaestion's voice sounded gentle and calming, seeking to draw his friend's attention to the present.

"Hephaestion," Alexander replied carefully, his voice filled with determination and a focused intensity, "I want Perdiccas to be brought to me alive."

Hephaestion nodded silently, even though he knew Alexander wasn't looking directly at him. He perfectly understood the implicit meaning behind the order to bring Perdiccas alive.

Even without being asked, Alexander continued, his voice filled with determination and a calculated coldness, "I want to interrogate him personally, ask him why he betrayed me and stole my wife. And then, personally, I will torture him and kill him." The words were delivered with icy calm, but there was no doubt that each one carried a deadly weight.

Alexander's determination was unwavering, his mind focused on just one goal: getting his wife back, no matter the cost. He was willing to throw all of his power and destructive force against any obstacle that he dared to stand in his way.

Cities would fall, armies would be torn to pieces, and populations would be subjugated. Men would be killed, while women and children would be taken into slavery, all in the name of desperately searching for his beloved Queen. Alexander did not care about the human or moral cost of his actions; his fiery fury eclipsed any consideration of compassion or mercy.

The entire world would tremble at Alexander's wrath, for he was determined to leave a trail of destruction in his wake towards those who dared to defy him and take away what was most precious to him. His journey would be marked by blood, pain and suffering, but he would not rest until his wife was safe in his arms again, no matter what the cost.

He would recover his Lost Queen.

— lady l: And things get more and more complicated for the Persians, don't they? Poor things, they thought it was a good idea to steal a yandere's wife. There wasn't one to warn you, right?

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I changed my writing style a little and I hope this pleases you. Feel free to send your feedback and I'll see you in the next chapter! Love you all!! ❤️

#the lost queen #tq #yandere history #history #alexander the great x reader #yandere alexander the great #yandere alexander the great x reader #fanfic #long fic #yandere au #yandere historical characters

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aliaology · 3 months

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STAY DONE

SUMMARY: you know you and alex should break up, but you’re too in love with him to stay done.

PAIRING: alexander holtz x fem!reader

WARNINGS: semi-toxic (?) relationship, slight cheating, blood

EXTRA: i know alex (most likely) wouldn’t actually cheat, but its just for the fic! my boy needs more about him done. also THIS SUCKS LMFAOO im a lil rusty. BASED ON A SONG.

the look in your eyes even after he yells at you was something truly remarkable, incredible even. the awe-struck gaze your eyes held as the boy in front of you angrily spoke. his anger may not have been directed at you, but he was definitely taking it out on you.

his narrowed eyes and irritated tone as he went on and on about his hockey game made your stomach twist and knot. the feeling only going away as he punches one of the picture frames, causing the glass to shatter and the frame to fall to the floor.

your awe-struck gaze was no more, and was now filled with worried as he walked into the bedroom, mumbling curses under his breath. you let out a sigh as you grabbed the broom from the closet. you swept the broken glass up and removed the picture from the frame. it was a picture of you and him when you visited italy.

you gave the picture a sad look before placing it on the counter and throwing the frame into the trash bag, along with the broken glass. after putting the broom back, you walked into your shared room, alex sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands. blood dripped from his knuckles and down his hands.

you walked into the bathroom, grabbing a few bandages and alcohol wipes. kneeling down in front of him, you removed his hands from his face, gently.

“i think you played well tonight, alex.” you spoke softly. grabbing an alcohol wipe, you carefully wiped up the blood and the wound, causing him to hiss in pain.

“can’t say much when i was only on the ice for like five minutes. i make one mistake and lindy fucking benches me.” he spoke angrily.

you gently wrapped his hand. “i think you should talk to them about being traded.” you told.

alex scoffed out a laughed. you gave him a look. “im being serious, alex. this team is messing you up— you know you deserve better.”

alex sighed, “ill think about it, alright?”

you nodded and stood up, placing a small kiss on his cheek before bringing everything back into the bathroom, and throwing out the bloody wipes.

you huffed out a breath, knowing how idiotic you looked in front of your friends. you told yourself you would be taking a break from alex, that you would give yourself space, find yourself.

you needed it, especially after finding out he was hitting up other girls. hearing this— you stayed cordial, but honestly, you wish you went off on him. you wish you didn’t stay calm.

but thats the thing with alex, as you stand here calling him, you realize you can’t stay done with him. he was a constant need in your life, he was the sun and you revolved around him.

“hello?” his voice sounded through your phone.

you let out a shaky breath. you stood on the sidewalk, your little black dress keeping almost nothing warm. you held your large coat close to you.

“can you come get me? please?” you asked.

you could hear a deep breath escape his lips before he talked. “where are you?” he questioned. you could hear the sound of clothes rustling, then the sound of his keys jangling.

“outside of the bar on hawkins.” you told, shivering slightly.

“jesus christ baby— outside? seriously? are you by yourself?” he asked.

“yeah.” you muttered into the phone.

you could hear him swear under his breath, the sound of his car door opening and shutting rang through your ears. “get inside that damn bar, wait near the doors.” he demanded.

you hastily obeyed and stood inside, right next to the doors. he stayed on the phone with you the entire time, letting you know when he was close.

once he got there, and you hung up, getting into his car, he gave you an irritated look.

“dont you ever do that again— you hear me? do you know how dangerous it is? standing out there by yourself in the middle of the night?” he spoke.

his tone was harsh, but he clearly was worried, at least you hoped. “im sorry”

he sighed. “dont apologize. lets just, lets get to the apartment.”

you nodded and titled your head against the window, watching the lights as you passed them. you hated the feeling of not being able to be the bigger person and leave.

alex was your best friend, but your enemy. he loved you and hated you. you loved him, and loved him, and hated him. but there was no one else you wanted to wake up to. no one else you wanted to go to bed with.

you just couldn’t stay done with him.

im unable to tag everyone!

TAGS: @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @lxnceclercs , @honethatty12 , @outrunangelss , @absolutelyhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot , @lovinbarzal , @shadowsndaisies , @um-mads , @bqbylon , @whoreforthehughesbrothers , @Robloxlover2007 , @p3nislawd , @alexx-stancati , @queenmendes , @-eedwardss , @if-my-heart-bleeds , @love-like-woaah , @freds-slut , @sleepybesson , @love4lando , @equallyshaw , @bellstwd , @ivy-34 , @slafgoalskybaby , @hischierxx , @dancerbailey3 , @jackhughesily , @cstads-blog , @ru-kru , @sbrn0905 , @love4ldr , @loveforaugust

#Spotify #hockey #nhl #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #new jersey #new jersey devils #alexander holtz #alex holtz #ah10 #alexander holtz x reader #alexander holtz x y/n #alexander holtz imagine #tate mcrae #stay done

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uglypastels · 11 months

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Not Wholly Evil |V| Pirate!Eddie au

a/n thank you to @eddies-house for helping me figure out this darn chapter. you saved me from a menty b.

please remember to support by reblogging and commenting!! you don't know how much it helps writers

Series Masterlist

word count: 8.2k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.

Chapter 5: Flintlock

“A taste for adventure is by no means a masculine monopoly” ― Lloyd Alexander

It was certainly strange, seeing the cabin through the daylight. The wooden panelling of the walls and floor looked softer, and the decorations on the walls were no longer covered in menacing shadows. The bed, however, was softer than your dream made it seem. It was better than the ground, but knowing who usually occupied it made your back stiff with dread.

The room was empty as you got up, stretching your body out of the foreign feeling of a bed. Another thing to thank the captain for— perverting the concept of a bed. There was no space for anyone to hide in the cabin, but you still looked around, waiting for him to appear out of thin air. It seemed like just the thing he could do and had been doing all your time on board. Only once you checked every corner could you properly set your mind at rest.

Besides the sunshine, nothing had changed from the night before. It was as if you had stepped through time, from night to morning. Your old clothes hung on the edge of the bed. The bookcase was missing the one book you had pulled out, leaving the rest at an awkward angle. Your dinner plate and ale jug, alongside the captain’s empty rum bottle, were left behind on the desk, but as you walked towards the table, you noticed the cup to be filled again, and on the plate stood two thick slices of bread and some brightly coloured fruit you had not seen before—more food that must have been retrieved during the brief exploration of the nameless island. You sat down on the throne and tried to push aside the feeling that came whenever you touched something, anything, to do with the captain. It was like he haunted all his possessions, never leaving you alone.

The bread was the safest option; it was your first bite, breaking your fast. After the delicious meal you had been given last evening, the salty dryness of the dough did not compare by the slightest, but the cool fresh water that had also been left for you made up for it.

And the fruit…

You were still unsure of what it was, but the juice of it felt healing to your senses. You ate it slowly, trying to savour every bite.

Once done, you noticed that all the documents the captain had thrown off last night still lay spread out on the ground. This, in particular, unsettled you. Just seeing the mess of it all splayed out there. So, without much thought, you went to pick up the papers, stacking them in neat piles and placing them on the corner of the large desk. Soon enough, you were done, and only one piece of paper was left. It had fallen right under the desk. You went to pull it out when you noticed it.

The drawer you had tried to open the night before. The one Munson had unlocked with the key around his neck and had taken a bottle of rum from. It was ajar. So close to being locked that Munson must have thought he had closed it when he slammed it. But no, with a quick pull at the handle, it opened up for you.

Inside was a collection of bottles in different shapes and sizes. Most were still full. You picked one up out of sheer curiosity. Why lock up this stock? Unless it was valuable, or dangerous? Maybe he tried to keep it away from everyone else on board. But as you held the bottle, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just a simple, red glass bottle, the cork wedged sturdily into the neck. The liquid sloshed against the container like any other drink as you tipped it around. Still trying to understand the content of the locked drawer, you put it down in its place.

Or were about to. Because that is when you noticed the paper sticking out from underneath the other bottles. That gnawing feeling in your stomach returned as you contemplated what to do. The captain had made it very clear he did not appreciate you looking through his things, and you were sure that if he were to catch you again, it would not end as simply as you having to star-gaze for an evening. The warnings were loud and clear.

Then again, when did you start caring about those? Or anything he said.

Moving the biggest bottles around carefully to create space, you pulled the paper out of the drawer. At first, you thought you had ripped it, but upon closer inspection, you realised it had been torn in halves long before you had gotten your hands on it. The paper was browned at the edges, a corner half-burned as if someone had decided against its destruction at the last minute. The words meant little at first, but as you read on and became more familiar with the hand they were written in, pieces fell into place. And they fell hard.

Like the loud clash you heard from outside the cabin, startling you. Scared you were about to get caught, you put the paper down into the drawer and shut it with your leg, holding your breath for the door to open. You waited for several seconds, but nothing moved.

You did not know what caused the commotion or if you were about to be greeted by someone outside the door, but you knew you could not stay in the cabin alone for much longer. The more time passed, the more similar the situation felt to the night before. The gnawing urge to look through all the drawers and nooks was just as big as the risk of being caught, and it was dangerous. Fortunately, the door opened flawlessly when you pulled at it.

It had remained a cloudless sky, but now the dark navy sprinkled with stars was exchanged for a vibrant and youthful blue. The sun hung above your heads, piercing the air onto your skin in a warm glow.

The crew was below you, spread out around the deck, and now one had looked up or probably even noticed your presence. So, making yourself comfortable on the stairs, you sat by, peeking through the balustrade bars, and watched what was happening. After all, it was a morning full of observations.

The men were spread out over the ship in groups, all busy with their own activities. The easiest to make out were those in a circle, watching as two of them attacked eachother with swords. The smiles on their faces told you enough; it was merely another session of training or some form of playfighting. The last time they had been doing it, you did not care to stand by and watch, not at all interested in their antics. This time, however, you took the opportunity to observe how they went about it. Since it was nothing but leisure, the moves were wide, easy to block, but once in a while, they would nick eachother just to stay sharp. Then, the attacked would groan in pain, grabbing at the part of their body that was hit in agony.

Each time it happened, the small crowd observing would show their satisfaction or disappointment, depending on which side of the duel they supported, with shouts and encouragement.

‘C’mon Harrington! Get him!’

‘Shut it, will you,’ “Harrington”, as he was called by his audience, turned to look in their way, annoyed, but in that short second, his opponent took a shot with his sword’s pommel, hitting him in his temple. Harrington was knocked back a few steps and had to shake the hit off but remained on his feet.

You were unsure what the game's rules were and how one would win in the circumstances, but one thing was clear—Harrington stood little chance as his opponent managed to get another cut in. A bruise, most likely from a previous encounter much like this one, had already formed under his eye, but even with the dark purple shade on his skin, you could not deny he looked quite handsome… for a criminal. You had seen him around, pulling at ropes, carrying around their precious cargo, and keeping other crewmates from breaking out into fistfights—he must have brought your meals down to the cell once too.

His brown hair was sleeked back but tended to move around as he did, so he constantly had to push it out of his face. The collar of his shirt was wide open, revealing a sweat-stained chest.

‘I really don’t get it,’ a raspy voice spoke from above you, making you strain your neck to look back up at the quarter-deck. Somehow, in your spectatorship of what was happening below, you had completely missed the fact that someone had been steering the ship and had, in fact, stood beside you next to the captain’s door all along.

You had not expected to hear your thoughts reciprocated and voiced anywhere near this ship, so they left you stunned. And perhaps this was the reason why you had not got up and run off at the sound of them or the presence of someone at your side but instead stammered out a clumsy response. ‘Sorry?’

‘They run around with their shiny sticks, hit each other just to cry about it like children,’ your new conversation partner said, ‘I just do not understand the appeal of it.’

‘No, me neither, really.’ In your opinion, there were much better, less barbaric ways to release energy and tension than this brutish behaviour. The fight below was still firmly underway, but you had gained a new interest in the person by your side. You couldn’t help but notice how they wore clothes in a very similar manner to you—a large shirt tightened by a leather vest, long trousers kept in and shorter with rope. It was as if they made do with things that had never been intended for them. Their hair could be short or long, depending on who you spoke to, but you could not tell.

‘I’ll tell you this, I’ve sailed across all possible seas in the world and men are still one of the biggest mysteries I have not been able to solve.’

You blinked slowly as the words reached your barely awake mind. A revelation that had struck you more than anything on board.

You weren’t the only woman here. The other just sat down next to you on the steps.

‘You can stop staring,’ she said, slightly frazzled, and you quickly looked away, mumbling an apology. Despite that, you kept stealing glances her way. Her hair, light as sand, was chopped messily as if done by hand with a blunt knife. Her skin was sunkissed with freckles and perhaps a bit of dirt. ‘I’m Buck. I know who you are, of course.’

‘How—’ How had you not seen her before? How were you not aware of a woman on board all this time? And perhaps it was wishful thinking to assume that she might be someone you could be comfortable with just from that one common trait, but you could not deny that something in you felt more at peace than seconds before.

‘Surrounded by this type, I understand you’d want to keep your head down,’ she smiled awkwardly, ‘but you can’t forget how to look up.’ She tilted her head back as she said it, so you followed suit. The sun blinded you, but as you focused on what was above you, you saw the masts towering tall in their black silhouettes and there, atop the tallest one, was the lookout point.

‘You sit in the crow’s nest,’ you smiled understandingly.

‘Robin’s nest, I took it upon myself to rename it, don’t know why, I just resonate more with them— call it superstition, I don’t know— and I’ve earned the right considering none of them want to make the climb.’ she pushed her chin towards the rest of the crew. ‘But it’s a good view, you should join me up there some day. If you ever need to get away, you know.’

‘I— I’m not the greatest with heights.’ The speed at which Buck spoke left your brain gripping onto words to keep up, and so your reply came out a bit frazzled.

‘Me neither,’ Buck shrugged. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t seen me get stuck in the nets before. It happens twice a day, at least.’

‘And they still let you climb up there?’ Surely, she could not be the smartest choice for the task. Robin snickered at your shocked expression.

‘Like I said, none of them will do it.’

‘Why do it at all, then? Why risk your life every day for… them?’ These hooligans, criminals, fraudsters, monsters, villains…

‘Because I am one ofthem.’ She knew what you had meant with your comment as she spoke softer, giving you a gentle tap on the shoulder with her hand in reminder.

You glanced at the men in front of you and then turned back to Robin. ‘No, you’re really not.’

‘What because I’m a woman?’ Robin raised a brow.

‘Well, for starters.’ From a very early age, you knew that men and women were two entirely different beings. Just the way mankind treats eachother on that principle is evidence enough.

‘Intelligence wise, you would be correct,’ Robin stated, leaning back on the steps, resting her weight on her elbows. Despite her petite frame, you noticed she wasn’t afraid to take up space. Despite a comfortable distance between you, her knee still met with yours as she sat in a wide position. ‘But we are all just people.’

You had wanted to reply but thought better of it. She saw herself as a part of them, and so an insult to the others would be an insult to her, and for some reason, you did not want to say anything that might hurt her. Strangely, for a second, you considered the idea of actually liking her. Out of everyone aboard the Hellfire, the barrelwoman seemed like the most likely person you could find yourself befriending.

But before any more of the conversation could be led, giving you a chance to let those thoughts bloom or rot, another voice boomed over everyone else’s to prompt Buck of her duties.

‘Robin! The ship won’t steer itself!’ It was none other than Munson, but you could not find him among his people.

‘Aye, captain.’ Bunk, or Robin as she also went by apparently, rolled her eyes, getting up with a heaved breath. ‘See you around then.’

You didn’t say anything, too confused by your own thoughts. You couldn’t keep your eyes away as she returned to the helm; couldn’t stop thinking about what had brought her here? What had made her choose this life to live with all these men and act in such ways? You had wondered about everyone aboard the Hellfire, but Robin… a lady sea robber. You had never heard of such a thing. It was spinning your world around but also genuinely fascinating to think about. As you sat on that step, more things came to your mind: you wanted to ask Robin about life at sea, her crewmates, and her captain. But this opportunity had sailed; it would have to be another time.

You also could not believe you had just had a… civil exchange of words with one of them and that you had not even minded it all that much. As you looked around, it all did not feel as bad as it used to. You could see the idea of pleasantness in the actions happening before you; the laughter and the antics.

These antics continued. The fight you had been watching had not yet ended, but by the looks of Harrington, it could not possibly last much longer. His, to you unnamed, opponent had just pushed his blade flush against Harrington’s throat, locking him into an uncomfortable tight spot. With a tap on the arm, heavier than Robin had done to you, he tapped out of the game. Half the men cheered while the rest groaned and cursed out their wager.

As the winner of the match was picking out his next match, the audience was slowly losing interest, and one of them must have found you sitting on the sidelines. Curious glances were shot your way as they all slowly caught sight of you, not saying much. Just as they had gotten used to the new addition to the ship, you appeared in clothes that were unmistakably the captain’s. Feeling all their eyes on you, as if your seat on the stairs was a pedestal, you moved away and tried to make your way down to your designated space on board below decks.

However, your path was obstructed by one person specifically as he dried his face off with a piece of cloth.

‘Excuse me,’ you dared to say, hoping they would move out of the way. Something about having had an entire conversation with Robin made you feel a bit more comfortable speaking to the rest of them. After all, they—you—were all just people.

‘I wouldn’t run away if I was you.’ Harrington said. ‘Or you’ll never stop.’

‘You think they’ll let me stop?’ If you stayed, letting them near you, look at you like that, wouldn’t that be surrendering to their power.

‘I let you,’ he said, throwing the cloth over his shoulder.

‘I’d say you made me, rather than let.’ You crossed your arms. He had, after all, stood in your way and objected to letting you pass.

‘You could always,’ he turned a quarter of a circle, pointing to his side, ‘move. Unless I am that terrifying.’

‘It may come as a surprise but I have very little reason to be afraid of you at this moment.’ It was a half-truth, as his skills in the fight have shown you little to worry for, but there was little you knew about him or what he was capable of.

Harrington nodded. ‘I take it you watched me from up there.’

‘I watched the fight, yes.’ You could not admit that you had not paid as much attention to whom he was fighting as you did to Harrington himself. ‘It was… entertaining.’

‘I’m glad my suffering amuses you. Yes, that makes this all worth it.’ He pointed up to his bruised eye.

‘You cannot blame me for your misfortune.’

‘Well, you are to blame for my inattentiveness.’

His words left you too dumbstricken to respond, and unfortunately, the commotion around you diverted the entire conversation. Another duel had begun, and men were already cheering for their victors as swords clinked together.

Harrington, being nothing but a simple man, ran over to his designated spot in the crows to cheer on his successor. However, it was all a bit too loud, and instead, you noticed what else was happening on the deck. From where you had sat before, there had not been a clear view of it, but now you were only a few feet away from another small group of the crew.

They sat around a small table. It wasn’t clear what they were doing, but someone would shout out every few minutes and slap their hand on the surface while the rest groaned in frustration.

That is where you found the captain. Huddled between two other men, sitting on a low-built crate, occupying more space than there was with his legs, arm on one thigh as he leaned forward, laughing at whatever was happening at the table. It was a scene like no other. The casualness and pleasantry of it all felt foreign.

You had been used to the men on the Red Tail and their routines, but the ship always came first and, with it, their work and duty. There was never any time for… games. And you would never have caught the captain participating in any of it. Not even at home. This wasn’t something men did. Children, maybe, but no soldier or respected merchant. Only drunks and frauds. But as you looked at it, you had no idea why it was deemed so peculiar to find pleasure in these silly activities.

You were still trying to figure out, from a safe distance, what it was that they were playing when you caught Munson’s gaze. Or more so, you met it, as his eyes had already been on you. Much like everyone else’s had been previously, and yet there was an intensity there that no one else could remake.

‘There you are!’ He shouted out once you saw him, making everyone around him stop and look your way. A dozen pairs of eyes were directed at you now as you stood frozen in place. ‘Took you long enough to join as, darling.’ Some men from across the ship, around the duel circle, stopped to look at what the captain was doing too.

‘If I had known I was invited, I wouldn’t have come.’ You quipped back and felt a gust of pride at the sound of a few chuckles from the men standing nearest you, who were quickly stopped by the stern look of their captain.

‘Now, now, don’t be like that.’ He got up from his seat, raising his voice and gaining the attention of all now. It was like a siren’s call, making everyone stop in their tracks to listen. ‘My thanks are in order for, gentlemen, our princess has led us back on course. Worked all night, in fact, to find the correct coordinates and directions—which is more then I have seen of some of you in the past days.’ With this, he raised a cup in your honour, and while no one else had anything to raise, they all cheered. You stood there, speechless and confused, unsure of what was happening. Why was the captain suddenly so openly appreciative? So… nice?

You ignored the feeling to reciprocate the thankfulness and instead opted for the unfiltered thoughts going through you. ‘You do know “princess” is not my title, right?’

‘And I was never ranked captain… yet here we are, princess. So let us enjoy this fantasy we live in!’ He encouraged another cheer from his crowd. Then, once the rest settled down, he spoke directly to you from across the ship. ‘Come, why don’t you join us, darling. We were about to start another round.’

‘I don’t think there are any seats left.’ The space around the table seemed rather crowded, with each seat taken and many more men standing around. You had no business or interest in getting involved in that, but the captain, as always, persisted.

‘Wheeler was just leaving.’ He pointed to the man sitting across from him.

‘No?’ The man said slowly.

‘Well, you were loosing anyway,’ Munson shooed him away, creating an empty spot for you.

‘I don’t know the rules.’ You persevered in your own opinion.

‘You’ll learn soon enough, come.’

You were about to object, but what else could you expect than the captain calling over another of his crew, this one at least a head taller than you and probably triple your size overall. The giant walked straight, making everyone else move, until he reached you. Then, with a grin, he showed you the path in a straight line towards the table.

Unimpressed, you just said, ‘Thank you.’ and made your way over.

‘Glad you decided to join us.’ Munson said as you looked at the table. On it were six cups; only one turned the right side up. ‘Please, do take a seat.’ You felt a large hand on your shoulders, pushing you down on the crate.

‘Rules are simple,’ the captain began explaining; he picked up the cup before him, ‘5 dice. You roll them for yourself and place a bet, indicating the number of dice you think should be on the table. Speak the truth or bluff, it doesn’t matter, but if you’re caught on a lie… well,’ he shrugged, with it saying enough. The rules sounded simple enough, but one piece of vital information was missing.

‘What are the stakes?’ This was a betting game, so there must be something they were all betting on. You took the cup in front of you and pulled it closer. The dice rattled underneath.

‘We are but humble sailors,’ Munson said, already shaking his set of dice under his cup with a swift wrist move, ‘it’s mostly ship duties and chores. Sometimes meal rations if you’re brave. Anything that speaks to you, darling?’ Oh, there was plenty, but you had to play it smart.

‘If I win,’ you began shaking your dice as well, hovering over your words for a moment to think, ‘I get your cabin… until the end of the journey’ ‘I’ll happily share my bed with you, princess,’ Munson snickered.

‘I wasn’t finished.’ You smiled back. ‘I get your cabin. You get mine.’ Honestly, you did not have a preference for either sleeping option. The bed in Munson’s quarters was stiff, so you might as well have slept on the floor. It was more about what it meant to kick the captain out of his own cabin. You enjoyed the idea and the prospect of encouraging the captain to bring you home faster so he could return to his quarters.

Something flinched in the captain’s muscles as he tried to remain unbothered by your words. The dice kept rolling underneath the cups. The crowd backed off, quickly understanding that this was a game only two of you could play.

‘You sure about that?’ he tried to play it off smoothly. You simply nodded.

‘Name your price, captain.’

‘How about… If I win…’ a small smile grew on his lips, ´we just play another round?’

‘What?’ That couldn’t be it? ‘And if you win again? What happens then?’ Would you be playing this game until the end of time?

‘Got such low chances for yourself?’ He leaned forward a bit while you pushed away from the table.

‘I would just like to know the game before I play.’

‘I think you’ll learn best if we just play, so, shall we?’ He shook his cup with one last flick of the wrist before putting it to a halt, his ringed fingers clutching to the top of it, eyes locked on you as you did the same. Lightly, you tilted the cup to show the dice. They were wooden, carved out with a knife, most likely by someone on this ship. The sides were uneven, so who knows how even the odds were for the game, but to you, they seemed alright. The eyes were dug out of the panels like small holes.

One large eyes, two pairs of threes, a four and five.

Putting the cup back down, you looked up at the captain, his face untelling of any emotion.

‘Ladies go first,’ he announced with a hand gesture. It was up to you to start the betting. With the numbers twirling around in your mind, you thought of what would be the best move to make. To predict his dice was impossible and would only drive you crazy, but perhaps you could predict his next move by what you presented.

‘Four fours.’ You did your best to speak with a flat tone, to not show any emotions. Keep your breathing steady and keep your hands still. To not show any signs of nerves. The captain nodded and took another glance at his dice. There were maybe two before his rebuttal.

‘Five fours.’ There was nothing you could read off of him. The tension across the table only intensified, growing thicker with every moment of silence that passed by.

‘Three fives,’ you replied. The captain raised a suspicious brow.

‘Three sixes.’

‘Four sixes.´ You spoke slowly but confidently. Or with what you hoped could be seen as confidence. It was a lost battle, really. With you having none, there was no chance the captain held four sixes under his cup. He must know it, too, in your case. You knew it just is how the corner of his mouth raised in amusement.

‘Four sixes?' he asked, and you simply nodded again, but he wanted more from you. ‘Speak up, princess.’

‘Yes.’ You spoke sternly, remaining as still as possible. The captain shook his head once, grimacing.

‘See, darling, I don’t believe in beginner’s luck.’

‘Well, captain, I couldn’t tell it’s your first time playing. But don’t worry, you’re doing really well.’ You gave him a sweet sort of smile. So sweet that it could make you sick to your stomach. A few men around you pushed down their laugh, ignoring their captain’s deadly glares. He refocused his attention your way.

‘Show up, princess, because I doubt luck is this much in your favour.’ He tilted his chin, nudging you from across the table to reveal your dice, which you did with a sigh because when is it ever. Since you had stepped foot on this ship, luck seemed to have been missing from your life in its entirety. And yet, with this being a known fact, you were confused to see Munson’s reaction at the reveal of what you had rolled. It was not quite pride nor disappointment. His shoulders slacked down, and something pulled at the muscles in his face. He needed a second to compose his reaction to his winning.

‘Congratulations,’ you muttered without looking any longer at him. Ready to play the next promised round, you grabbed the cup to roll your dice again but were surprised to see Munson get off his seat. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Time for round two, darling.’ He smirked, walking past his crewmates to the centre of the deck. He had moved so far back that you had to turn in your seat. The confusion blocked your speaking ability, but fortunately, the captain was ready to explain. ‘I never said what game that would be, now did I?’ He stood there, surrounded by his men. His stance was wide, and his forearm hung lazily over the helm of his sword, which hung by his side. He let his fingers dance daintily across the silver while waiting for your response, the rings adorning them glistening in the sun.

‘What–’ you took a deep breath as you felt it getting stuck in your throat, ‘what game will this be?’

‘I have been rather looking forward to a little duel, in all fairness. I think we all have.’ He pointed around to everyone in the audience around you. You looked at them. Their smiles were big, and their posture relaxed but eager. They were expecting a show, and, in all fairness, you wanted one too. It’s the least of what you deserved after days of this hell.

Your shirt, still rather ample on your frame, slid down your shoulder as you got up, but you pulled it up with a swift move. Munson, and the rest, watched as you walked up.

‘Any new rules for this round?’ You asked loudly enough for everyone to hear, but the captain had other plans. He closed the gap between the two of you to answer, whispering the words right against your ear.

‘First one to be on both knees loses. How about that, princess?’ He pulled away again to ask you the question, but only a step. You blinked, took one more deep breath and nodded.

‘Oh, this will be fun,’ he smiled, and of course, he had. You could only imagine how much joy it would bring him to humiliate you in front of all these men. Especially since you had already, in front of everyone, admitted that you had not been taught to fight. How easy will it be to win, then?

He called out: ‘Someone give the lady a sword!’ It was aimed at no one, precisely who had handed you your weapon. You barely had the time to look around to see who had given you their sword, as it was thrust upon you with quite a lot of force, pushing you a step back. You tried to get a good grip on it, but no matter how you held it, the sword felt awkward in your hand.

‘You expect me to fight with this?’ You looked at your sword, suppressing any visual reaction to its form. The blade looked tethered and most visibly abused in the previous battle.

‘Not alluring enough for the lady?’ the captain said, pulling his sword out of its scabbard.

‘No, it is not that,’ you kept inspecting your sword apprehensively, ‘though I am sure you have more handsome weapons in your property. I just hoped for a more balanced blade.’ While already at a large disadvantage, with a sword like this, you had absolutely no chance at winning. You tried to hold it up on your hand, balancing the blade against the grip, with the former immediately falling to the ground no matter how you attempted to hold it. You gave the captain an apologetic smile as the sword clanged across the floorboards. He, in response, avoided your gaze by looking at his men for a substitute.

‘Harrington!’ he called out. Harrington stepped out from the ring of spectators, a bit stunned by the sudden call. Munson cocked his head your way, so the crewmember approached you and handed you the sword you had watched him fight with earlier. Closer up, you were taken aback by the harsh scar across his throat, like a deep indent from what must have been a rope tightened around it once upon a time. Another bruise, you noticed, was also already forming around his temple. There was his earlier opponent who had hit him.

‘Thank you,’ you said softly as he handed you his weapon. Just from your initial grip, you could tell it was much better. Harrington nodded and moved away quickly from your and his captain’s fireline.

While you knew enough about the objects to know what quality was good enough to use, the sword still felt foreign and awkward in your hand. You did not know how to stand while holding it, and seeing Munson opposite you, with his full confidence aglow, made you feel even smaller. But despite it all, one thing was for sure. Enough time had gone by, and enough had come between you for you to know that he could no longer treat you the same as he had the day you were broad on board. He could not do whatever he pleased with you. You wouldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t. So, while he looked you up and down with his casual smirk, you made a point to, somewhat confidently, keep your head up.

‘What do you say, princess,’ Munson swung his sword back and forth, ‘I’ll go easy on you.’ With a weak attempt to release some tension from your shoulders, you rolled your head from side to side before copying the captain and letting the sword smoothly move around with the slightest wrist movements. It cut the air with audible slashes, leaving the captain and everyone else mute.

‘It’s appreciated, captain,’ you didn’t forget to respond to his generosity.

The captain simply nodded. No formal duelling rules were aboard the Hellfire since no one had time for the silly rituals. He simply stepped into position, and so you followed behind. He was, naturally, also the first to attack.

You were just in time to block it. The blades clinked at the point of impact, and there was a moment of confusion on Munson’s face. Hesitation. It was brief and all-telling in his eyes and brow, and lucky for you, it didn’t go unnoticed. It was a blink of an action as he tried to process what you had just done. The instinct at which you performed. Did he see your smile?

But the moment was soon as he proceeded with his next swing. And the next. Next. one after the other, locking you in with his movement. From each new angle, never passing on the theatrics of it all with turns and bends at which you should not have been able to keep up—but you did. You counteracted every attack, perhaps not flawlessly, straining to keep up with the speed and agility at which the captain moved, but it was more than anyone had expected you to be capable of.

And finally, the opportunity presented itself. A brisk moment of stillness gave you a chance to swing your sword. Of course, he blocked it, steady on his feet, but Munson took a small step back as you kept coming forth. The metal practically echoed over the ship. Cheers from the audience subsided as everyone got lost in the duel. There seemed to be no end; you only moved faster, harsher, harder.

As you kept moving, the crows had to move along with you, making space for the extended movements of the blades. If it had not been for the well-times duck, there would have been a head short on deck. The captain kept moving back from you until there was a thud. He had nowhere else to go as you backed him up against a barrel. There was that brief flash of panic on his face again as he came across a situation he had never expected to land in, but it washed away just as quickly. There was no time for him to react to the situation, for your sword was coming closer and closer to him again, and this time he had nowhere to go. With a final move, you pressed the blade against his throat. You were both breathing heavily. Sweat poured down on both of you underneath the scorching sun. The tip of your sword remained under his Adam’s apple, which moved up and down as Munson heaved in the air. And yet, even with his neck tightly stretched as he was forced to look up because of the sword digging into his skin, he had a bemused smile upon his face.

‘You said no one taught you how to fight?’ It was more of a question than a statement, as if he was confirming his memory.

‘Which is true,’ you pulled away, happy to see you had left your mark as a small cut. ‘No civil man would teach their daughter how to draw a sword, or let a lady compromise her polite statue with violence, or put her in any compromising and potentially dangerous situation, for that matter.

‘But they will also not let an opportunity to boast go by.’ You watched him swipe his hand at the blood pooling from the cut you had made, and you could not ignore the pride you felt with it. ‘So, I observed as they made me watch them train.’

‘That much is obvious,’ he wiped his now bloody fingers on his trousers, but the blood came pouring, slowly, down his neck. A thin red line marking your moment of victory. You couldn’t help but smile. And yet, he spoke with the most confidence, leaning against the barrel that had locked him in. ‘but we’re not done yet, princess.’ And then he attacked with a strike so flush and quick you had almost missed it. It cut the air by your side in half, and you could feel the repercussions hit you in your cheek.

Of course, the game was not over just yet. The winner was meant to be the last one standing, literally. You might have locked him in, but he would not give up until he was down on his knees.

Munson attacked once more, taking advantage of the incoordination that came with his first blow. His target had become low, with a focus on your legs. He swiped at your feet with such an intensity that you knew if he hit you, it would leave its own mark and one much worse than the cut you had made. The only thing you could do to avoid his force was to backtrack, jumping from one leg to another. You moved around the ship like a dancing monkey in the circle of everyone’s attention. Your attempts to attack had become poorer as the captain’s smile grew wider.

He took one long swipe down at your ankles, to which you could only respond by jumping as high as possible. The new clothes you had taken the night before certainly aided you in the acrobatics necessary when dealing with a duelling partner such as Munson, but you still wore your own shoes. The heels buckled as you landed on the ground, throwing you off balance. You felt yourself falling, but the final drop never came.

Your side hit someone’s sturdy frame. When you looked up, your eyes met a pair of brown ones. Brown, surrounded by a sea of dark purple bruises. Harrington held you up with one arm.

‘Your footing is all wrong,’ he spoke softly, but not enough to keep it a secret between the two of you as he pulled you up to your feet.

‘Funny, as I was just copying you,’ you laughed.

The captain called out to you impatiently. ‘C’mon, princess, the fun isn’t over yet.’ But perhaps it was, as he went in for a poorly calculated strike, and you screamed out, silencing everyone to their core, bending in two as a searing pain met your side. Still holding you, Harrington kept you up as much as he could. A task that came harder to be when you went limp. He stumbled back, almost falling over himself.

When you looked down, you saw your shirt, brand new in a sense, now had a large gash. The bottom half of it hanging on by loose threads. What once was pale ivory was now coloured crimson. You looked up at your attacker, who stood only a few feet away, his weapon hanging loosely in his grip. Higher, you saw his eyes, big in fear. An indescribable expression was painted across his face, but you hoped that he could read yours.

Trying to ignore the pain that was now overwhelming your whole body, you pushed yourself away from Harrington and passed the captain. His hand reached out to you, but you froze before he could anchor himself. Before getting yourself into more trouble, as a million thoughts raced through your mind, you dropped the sword to the ground. It fell onto the floorboards with a deafening clatter, and like that, you walked on quickly to the trapdoor, ignoring the captain’s calling of your name and the feeling it brought upon you to hear it for the first time in so long. There were more important, more painful things on your mind now.

Everyone moved out of your way, but their eyes stayed on you until you passed them. Robin had just reached the bottom of the stairs down from the helm, but she stood there just as everyone else, unsure what to do. She glanced at what was happening behind you, as you could hear people talking and moving but could not bother to turn around. You just wanted to get away from it all. The last thing you heard before heading below deck was someone angrily calling out the captain’s name, but it all felt like a blur around you.

Only once you were in your cell did you dare look at the damage he had caused. With a deep breath, you pulled the shirt’s material up to reveal a long narrow cut on your ribs. The only thing that made you feel alright was the fact that it did not look deep. As far as sword wounds go, it was a graze, but the blood continued streaming. And so did your tears. But you let that pain, and fear, boil down to anger and strength to rip the last few inches of the loose hanging pieces of shirt and wrap them around your middle as tightly as possible to stop the bleeding.

This is what happens when you let your guard down when you do not run away and instead stay and let yourself be hurt by these monsters. You did not what to think that Robin and Harrington had been a play, some kind of ruse of the captain’s invention to give you that fake sense of security, to slip you into dropping your apprehensions and lead you to… where you were now, bleeding out on the heap of hay, back in your cage.

With your heart beating into your ears, you didn’t realise that someone had followed you down to the lower deck, or hear the footsteps coming down to see you, nor the chuckle of the chains and buckles that came with the steps.

‘For what it’s worth,’ he said once he had already stepped into your holding cell, ‘I am truly sorry.’

You had no idea what it was lying beside you, but you grabbed it and, without saying a word but with as much power as you could muster, you threw it in the general direction of his face. With a small lean, he managed to dodge it and the item fell through the railings of the cell to shatter on the ground. You stared at him darkly, hoping the message was clear. He had never seemed to be able to do it, but maybe this one time, he could let you be alone…

Of course, it could not be that simple. He would not start listening to you now. Instead, the captain bent down to his knees, meeting your line of sight. In his hand, he held one of the bottles from his drawer.

‘Please, may I?’ he showed you the spirit bottle, and you got the idea of what he meant with it. It still took you a moment to formulate your response as you took it all in. ‘No, you may not.’ With a snap of your words, you removed the bottle from his grip and pulled the cork out with your teeth. You kept it in your mouth as you poured the alcohol over your fresh wound. The groan that left you as the alcohol burned away at the wound was only slightly muffled.

‘It was never my intention to hurt you.’ He said in that same, defeated tone.

‘And yet,’ you had spit out the cork, this time hitting him in the chest, ‘that seems to be what happens any time you come near me.’

‘There is no excuse for me, I know whatever I will say will mean nothing to you.’ He watched you scoff at his response. ‘See?’

‘What are you doing here?’ You sighed, already tired of his presence. To think that maybe not an hour had gone by since you had woken up, moderately at peace, in his cabin and now you were lying before him, hands covered in blood and spirit, and your mind dizzying with pain and rage.

‘How– how bad is it?’ There was a shake in his words, and you could not understand whatever for. Each move you made sent shocks down into your ribs, but as you did not feel like saying much more to him, you tilted your arm up to show the severity of the cut. The alcohol had washed off most of the excess blood and left behind the thing and precise cut over your side. Munson looked at it and another muscle in his face flinched at the sight of what he has caused. ‘It does not seem to be perilous.’

‘Yes, considering I am not dead I had figured as much.’ As you still had the bottle in your hand, you lifted it up to your lips and took a large sip. The burn at your throat was comparable to the feeling of the liquid touching your wound, but it was much more appreciated. After one more sip, you looked back at Munson. ‘Anything else, captain?’

‘No, I— I do not know what came over me, and I will not forgive myself for what I have done.’ He was stumbling over his words, but those he managed to produce left you in a whirl. How genuine it all was, you could not tell, but the deep regret he seemed to have reflected in his being. But you had learned your lesson to fall for such weaknesses.

‘Yes, it must be horrible seeing your investment get compromised.’ You took another swig of the drink. The captain opened his mouth to respond, but decided against it. He stood up already turned to leave when a final thought came to you.

‘From what I remember of the rules of the game,’ your words paralysed him mid-step as you called out, ‘I never fell to my knees.’ He, however, had.

The captain turned enough for you to see his profile and how the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement. ‘Fine, you win.’ Then he continued walking up to the ladder.

You smiled to yourself as he left.

You won.

Chapter 6

thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.

and please support your (not so) local creators by liking AND reblogging. I would love to know what you thought of the story, so please consider leaving a comment, or maybe an ask or even an anonymous review ;P

you are also more than welcome to join the Eddie Munson taglist. right here.

taglist (part 1)

@nope-thanks @seventhlevelofhell @luna-munson83 @hangmanscoming @blueberrylemontea-fanfic @vintagehellfire @raven-rust @eddiesguitarskills @taccobelle @imjusteddietrashatthispoint @lunar-corgimon

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson au #eddie munson series #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson writing #eddie munson #fanfiction #pirate au #au #pirate fanfiction #pirate!eddie #dark!eddie #dark!fic #enemies to lovers

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1989stanz · 3 months

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Well, two days ago I promised a fanfic to you all, so it is here! It's a inheritance games fanfiction and I hope you enjoy it. I accept any type of criticism, but just don't offend me. Thank you! @aaal-iz-well @myster3y @myfairkatiecat @riddles-n-games@aria-1105 @formulalina15

Prologue:

Jameson lost a 911 and has to deal with his penance.

Disclaimer:

All characters are from Jennifer Lynn Barnes's book The inheritance games. None of them are mine! Mentions of Nash Hawthorne, Jameson Hawthorne, Alexander Hawthorne, Grayson Hawthorne, Avery Grambs, Gigi Grayson and Maxine Liu. There's some cursing and mentions of murder, but nothing serious. The author didn't deep dive in these two delicate topics. No spoilers and no smut!

English is not my first language! So I apologize for any mistakes.

(P.S.: I'm always open for fanfic suggestions.)

Words count: 17K (sorry for being so long. I just couldn't help it 😭)

Jameson was never the type of person you could call “phone addicted.” He didn't spend much time scrolling because he was always busy with his brothers, a riddle, or doing something that the police would certainly arrest him for it. As a result, charging his phone wasn't something that occupied his mind, that's why his phone died often. That's what happened on this day. He was in a phone call with Xander when suddenly his phone went dead. Letting out a sigh, he opened the bedroom he shared with Avery to search for his charger. The room was quite a mess, with clothes on the floor, in the bed and hanging lazily around a chair. It reflected the owners' minds: messy as hell, but still comfortable somehow. There was a colored cube on the floor he accidentally stepped on and kicked away as he continued looking inside a drawer.“Where is it?”, he thought.“I know it's here. I remember the last time I used it and I put it in this drawer. . .” Before he could properly finish his inner monologue, he felt IT before he heard or saw it. He felt it strong and passionately inside of him, and deep inside he just knew what it was. Someone was approaching—HER. He felt her presence almost all the time when she was around. His heart would just stop as a true and genuine felling he had never felt before her took over his entire body and soul. It was exaggerating to describe it this way, but every single thing he felt and thought about her was exaggerating. “Jamie?”, Avery spoke and, oh, he loved her voice, specially when she said the nickname his brothers gave to him. Nobody else beside them had the right to call him this was, but her? Just listening to his nickname set his blood and entire body on fire. Hungry. He was hungry for everything, even for her—specially for her. “Heiress?”, he finally turned around and his heart pounded faster when he finally looked at her and realized why she called him. Her eyes were gleaming—they were always so bright when they stared at Jameson's eyes—, a challenge that he couldn't back down on her face. He clearly wouldn't back down from anything she proposed. “Jamie.” Avery knew he loved when she said it, so she usually did it when she wanted his whole attention to her, and god-damn, she was wearing one of his shirts. She had never done it before, but it looked way better on her. She looked beautiful, he thought to himself. And he FELT how Avery had an enormous effect on him. Forget hungry. He was starving just for a piece of her.

Smirking, he said, “So, now you steal my shirts?”, his green eyes glowing more than ever.

“Only when I want to catch you off guard, like now”, her eyes told what she didn't: Avery was enjoying what she was doing to him. Of course she did, he was acting like a damn dog. They stared at each other and did not break eye contact as she walked up to him and pressed her lips to his. The kiss wasn't soft or slow. It was breathtaking, and when she pulled away, he wanted more. Forget the charger, it could wait, but his hunger could not. And probably the 911 call he received from one of his brothers could too.

Grayson would never admit, but he was terrible. Not physically, Grayson Hawthorne was at no time physically terrible. He always makes to sure to be looking good. But mentally? His mind and feelings were so awful that just “terrible” wasn't an appropriate answer. He was drowning in work—again—, swimming like crazy and doing anything that was humanly possible to stop his brain from echoing a name. Her name. So that's why he was standing again at the place Emily had died, so-and-so far from the ground. He had no equipment and wondered—again— what would happen if he jumped. Of course, it was just a thought, Grayson wasn't going to jump, but just the adrenaline that he felt with this thought kept his entire head quiet. Her name wasn't there for a moment. But moments didn't last forever, so that's why he decided to finally go back to the house.

Once he arrived, his whole body ached for something. Escapism. Her name was there again, and he knew a way to stop it. Grayson quickly took some turns around the house, and before he could even think about it, he was in the cellar. Without realizing, his hands grabbed a Tequila, took off the cover and his nose caught the smell of the liquid. Eve. Eve. Eve. Eve. He took a swing. Eve. Eve. Eve. He took another swing, this time longer than the other one, and… Nothing. It was calm. And he took more long swings. He hardly allowed himself alcohol, but in that occasion he drank it like his life depended on it.

Halfway through the bottle, one thought broke through his shields: “You need someone”. That hit him, hard. But for one second he stopped taking swings and recognized the obvious: he was broken, drowning, but he didn't have to be alone. He had his brothers and Avery and, somehow, that was everything. Eve couldn't touch this, it was totally his and only his. His family. That's what they were. So he picked his phone from his pocket and only sent one message for each of his brothers: 911.

Nash and Xander appeared in a heartbeat and, for reasons he couldn't tell, his heart overflowed with love. He felt it warm and quiet on his chest for the first time in a very long time. Nash was the first one to look at him, raising one of his eyebrows, “So what's the deal, little brother?”. Xander whispered in Nash's ear, “He seems drunk to you too, or did the explosion I caused today already affecting me?” Grayson almost raised an eyebrow when he heard his words. That would explain his clothes that seemed to be set on fire. Instead, he chose to analyze the room he requested their presence. The gaming area was an enormous place full of all kind of games, physical games—like bowling—or just games that required thinking, like chess. Being more specific, Hawthorne chess.

After four rounds of Hawthorne chess and three Grayson's victories later, strip bowling was the chosen game, and he found out in the worst way possible that strip bowling wasn't for him. Nash didn't have his boots and his socks. Since his brothers demanded when they first played strip bowling that Nash's cowboy hat wasn't a piece of clothing, he was shirtless but had his cowboy hat on. Xander didn't have shoes and socks anymore, and Grayson…was winning. He didn't wear a coat, shoes, socks, and his shirt. But he was happy to be with his brothers…or at least two of them. Grayson turned away as soon as he noticed that Jameson wasn't there and asked, “Where's Jameson?”

“Probably doing something very dangerous and assuming risks that could get him to have a meeting with God!”, Xander replied with a smile. Nash frowned his eyebrows, “I called him like 10 times, and he didn't pick up.” Wasting no more time, Grayson reached for the phone in his pocket and called Oren. The bodyguard picked up immediately. “Any problem?”, he asked, his voice calm and powerful and useless for someone like Grayson, who knew the word “power” like the back of his hand. “Where's Jameson? Is he in danger?”. He could hear the way the bodyguard shrugged. “No danger in sight, if you don't consider sleeping in Avery's bedroom a dangerous thing to do.” Jameson was sleeping, and it was almost offensive that he lost a 911, but then he realized. Jameson lost a 911, and he was going to pay for it like Grayson did. He smiled and turn off the phone call. “As much as I love to see you smile, I can tell where this is going”, Nash replied. Xander was amused, his eyes as bright as the sun. “So Jameson really lost a 911?”. They didn't answer, but instead the rest of the evening was wasted between plans and more plans for his penance.

1:00 am

Jameson noticed that he lost a 911 call, and he knew his brothers would come after him with a wicked plan. Surprised wasn't an adjective to describe his emotions when Xander appeared out of nowhere at night and started to play a trumpet. But furious and about to end Xander were appropriate words. “STOP!”, he yelled through gritted teeth, trying to cover his ears with a pillow. Nash put a hand on his little brother shoulder to stop him. “Enough, Xan. Enough.” Grayson was behind him, and Jameson could swear he almost smiled. Reluctant, he got up from the bed. “It's time for my penance.” It wasn't a question, and nobody corrected him. Instead, he just received a devilish smile from Nash. It was going to be a very, very long night.

1:30 am

Max was spending the Christmas holiday at the Hawthorne house in her own wing, where his brothers dropped him. She smiled, a big and bright smiled that he almost feared. Almost. “Hello, little duck.” He snorted. “Not sure about being a duck.” She meant dick, but he chose to ignore it. “However. Just sit in this chair and let me do my magic.” He sat, and she covered his face in a really white foundation, drawing a smile with her makeup pencil, covering his cheeks a really shiny red. “I think I know what you're doing, but I better be wrong.” Max smirked, and he decided that smirking didn't look good on her. Actually, it was never a good thing when someone who wasn't him smirked. “I can't tell you. Xander made me promise.”

“I think so.” And he let her finish, putting a blue wig on his head, covering his hair. Thrilled, she picked a small mirror on the desk, showing his reflection to him. “Do you like it?”. He was right indeed. Xander had asked his girlfriend for a clown makeup for him. She gave him a card with an address written on it as he left her wing. He was going to kill Xander. Suffocated, precisely. With his own damn wig. Opening the card, there was an address that he did not recognize:

Flower Boulevard Street, 89

P.S.: Gigi must drive.

2:00 am

Gigi knew how to drive a car. Of course she did. At least that was what she told him before breaking all the traffic laws. Jameson wasn't a fan of laws and endless rules, but after this 30 minutes painful ride and almost dying more times than he could count, he was a new fan of the traffic law, apparently. She stopped in front of a building, some pop music blasting on the radio, his face so white that it looked like he was a ghost. After a few minutes of searching for his soul that clearly was lost along the way, his eyes analyzed the construction. He had thought about the worst places that his brothers would have chosen as a location for the evening, but a big and luxury hospital didn't cross his mind, not even once. But there he was, standing in full clown clothes in the hospital parking. Gigi grabbed his arm. “What are you waiting for? I thought you liked a challenge.” He did, and that's why he entered the construction.

2:15 am

He managed to get lost inside the hospital, but that was way better than Gigi getting lost four times while driving 'cause she insisted on not using the GPS. After a few minutes, he founded his brothers. Unfortunately. “Wooow! He looks awfully amazing”, Xander shouted. “This isn't your best moment, little brother”, Nash laughed. Grayson just looked, without saying anything at first. Then he raised an eyebrow. “I think you lost something, Mr.Clown”, he told Jameson, pulling out leather pants from his hands. Not common leather pants, but THE leather pants. He was doomed.

2:25 am

Out of all his brothers, Jameson was the leanest, but the leather pants still squeezed him really tight. It was almost painful, and he needed ten minutes to make them fit. “Comfortable?”, Grayson asked, enjoying this moment more than anything else. Jameson gave a Cheshire cat smiled, not giving him the satisfaction to see his discomfort. “More than ever, big brother.” Grayson smirked, and he wondered why everyone was suddenly smirking at him all the time. Nash leaned on the doorway, his cowboy hat hiding his smile. “Ready to put on a show, Jamie?” A show? What the actual fuc...”

“I have balloons!” Xander tossed three bags of balloons at Jameson's face, and he caught each one, his face marked with confusion. “Why do I need balloons?”

“For the kids!”, Xander smiled, thriving. “There are some sad and unfortunate kids on this hospital that need some fun and joy in their lives, and you're going to bring fun and joy. That's what clowns do, isn't it, Mr.Clown?”

He could feel the need to wash off all the makeup in the sink bathroom and take off his ridiculous clothes, including his fancy clown shirt. But he promised it to his brothers. Grayson had called and he didn't come. That was his penance. “Where are the kids?”, he asked.

3:35 am

One hour and ten minutes later, Jameson was at the edge of a breaking down. Sure he could deal with one or two kids playing with his wig, trying to pull his clothes, licking his face when they thought he couldn't see, getting on the ceiling, screaming, crying, popping the balloons, trying to slap him, laughing and making jokes of him, swearing, running and so much more. But twenty? It seemed and felt like hell. He couldn't even judge the kids, 'cause little Jamie was worse than that kids. He looked at Nash after one of them spat on his face, “Please, Nash. Please stop this.” All three of them laughed, Xander more pleased with himself than ever. He had video every time a kid did something to him and threatened to send them to Avery. Jameson didn't even try to stop him, his little brother was going to show Avery one way or another. And he was mortified. “Please. It's been one hour. I can't handle more.” Jameson Hawthorne didn't beg, of course not. But he was about to get on his knees if Nash didn't look at him and decided that the poor boy had enough. “Alright, kids!” He shouted and all of them immediately stopped what they were doing, something that Jameson couldn't do. He felt jealous. “Form a line, so the clown can say goodbye to you all.” They said an audible “noooo”. Apparently, they liked to torture him. He went to say goodbye to every kid when they finally formed a line, some of their names carved on his brain as he passed. Brian. Yasmin. Joe. Kloe. Patrick. Pablo. Iago. . .

“Where's Iago?”, Kloe said, looking behind her. Jameson counted the kids and there were only 19 of them. Oh, hell. “Nash”, he looked at his oldest brother while he nodded, understanding what he meant with just one word. “Go there, Jamie. We'll stay here.” He took a glance at the kids. “So, how are we feeling about dancing?” They screamed in excitement. Jameson couldn't understand how he did it.

4:05

Where were this kid? Jameson had searched absolutely every god-damn room of the hospital, had warned the nurses, and they still had not found him. He couldn't help but remember when he disappeared as a kid. It didn't take a couple of minutes to find him, it took hours. Sometimes even days. He swallowed hard, thinking what would happen if Iago wasn't found. What if he was in danger? How would his parents react? What if he managed to get out of the hospital…

“Oh my god, Iago! Can you calm down for a second? You're going to spill my coffee all over the room.” He heard someone say in a room at the end of the hallway, stopping to look what was going on. Gigi trying to take Iago off of the ceiling with a cup of coffee in her hand. The scene was a one to be recorded, if Jameson wasn't freaking out. “Iago! Get off of there!”, he commanded, and surprisingly the kid seemed to hear. “I don't know”, Iago mumbled and he looked worried. Scared. That shattered Jameson's heart. He picked up the kid, careful to not let him fall or break the ceiling. “Thank you”, the infant wrapped his hands around his neck, not letting go. Gigi was very embarrassed. “I couldn't get him off, he didn't hear me.” Jameson was so confused on why she was still at the hospital, at 4 am, drinking coffee. But all he did was to shrug, “They don't hear me too.” And they walked back to his brothers only to found Nash dancing with them. God has favorites, he thought.

8:00 am

Ten minutes later they arrived at Hawthorne House and Jameson dropped dead on his bed. After taking off the makeup, clown clothes and the leather pant, obviously. But his body naturally woke him up at 7:45, and he couldn't get any sleep after that. And that's why he was on the roof when he heard steps. “You put out quite a show to the kids.” It was Grayson talking.“The hospital called, asking if you're going to visit again.” Not a chance in hell. He liked the kids—actually, loved them— but he couldn't handle them all at once. It was draining. Grayson knew it, that's why he was smirking, almost showing a smile. “You know”, Jameson started, “that I only didn't pick up because my phone had died?” It was basically his way of saying that, if he knew that Grayson was calling, that he needed him, he would appear in seconds. And he always would. Despite all the offenses, the teasing and the fights, Jameson would walk through hell for Grayson. He knew that, and Grayson would do the same. If all that it took to make him laugh, smile or to just take the weight off his shoulders a bit was to see Jameson dressed up as a clown, he would do it a hundred times. And he would do it over and over, no just because “that's what brothers do”, but because that's what you do when you love someone—you show them your love and loyalty. 911 wasn't just a simple code, it was meant to their brothers know how much they loved and appreciated each other, even though sometimes they have a hard time telling or showing it. Jameson knew the meaning behind this simple code, and it would kill him if Grayson thought that Jameson didn't care for his older brother. They all cared for each other, that's what made them the Hawthorne brothers. Not just the DNA because, when you grow up between the Hawthornes, you couldn't care less for biology. “I know,” Grayson replied, and his tone gave something else. Of course, I know, but I won't go deep into it right now, he seemed to say. So they just stood there, watching the sun and enjoying each other's company, without admitting it.

#jameson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #nash hawthorne #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #the inheritance games #xander hawthorne #best seller books #books and reading #fanfic #fanfiction #gigi grayson

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thiawen · 1 year

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@alexanderlightweight You’ve been so prolific lately and with such great content that you’ve inspired me. Consider this a gift.

The Blessings of a Curse

“No. Absolutely not.”

Alec’s voice was hard and unyielding, a tone that made the rest of his hunters stand at attention.

“But you’ll die!” Isabelle cried out in dismay.

“There are worse things.” He told her with a cold certainty.

“Damnit, Alec!” Jace growled. “You have to! It’s fuck or die! Clary is offering!”

And that fact probably upset Jace the most. Alec was too disciplined to roll his eyes, but he certainly wanted to. Alec didn’t think for a second Clary was offering out of the goodness of her heart, even if she did find him attractive. Maybe she was mostly offering for Jace’s sake. Maybe she knew that if she didn’t offer, no other Nephilim would work with her ever again. Alec was positive that it was mostly so she could hold it over his head, even if she didn’t consciously realize it.

Nevermind that she owed him ten times over. He knew she didn’t see it that way. There were no debts between Shadowhunters, not in the field, and Clary seemed to think she was one just because she was a Nephilim. As if that alone was enough.

No. Clary would use it as a debt owed. She would wield it like a weapon against him, he knew. Anytime she wanted something from him, or to escape the consequences of her actions, or for him to give in to her reckless and/or selfish desires. She would bring up what she had done, like it was some great sacrifice on her part instead of his. Something she alone had suffered on his behalf and conveniently forgetting that he was only in this mess because of her. Alec would never hear the end of it.

“I would rather die.” He vowed.

“Please, Alec.” She pleaded, as if she weren’t offering a deal with the devil. “I want to help. I promise I’m okay with this.”

“Well I’m not okay with it.” He told her. “I’ve made my decision and I’m ready to meet my maker.”

“You really think Raziel would approve of you dying for this?” Jace asked him. “When you have a solution right in front of you?”

Alec can’t even describe how much he would rather fall on his own sword. “I’m positive Raziel will think I’ve died with honor.”

“Damn straight.” He barely hears murmured from somewhere in the Ops Center, the other Shadowhunters nodding in agreement.

Alec makes a mental note to give them all raises before he shuffles off his mortal coil.

“Alec.” Isabelle begged. “We can’t lose you. Is there any way you would say yes?”

“Find someone else.” He told his sister. Anyone but her, he silently beseeched the universe.

“There isn’t anyone else. ‘Fathered by a man of angel blood who consorts with the demons of Edom’ is a very specific requirement.”

At that moment, like an answer to a prayer, Magnus strolled in.

“I do believe my ears are burning.” The warlock smirked.

“Magnus.” Alec breathed. “You came.” He was so relieved.

He had hoped he could see Magnus one last time. It had felt selfish to ask him to come. But if Alec was going to die then he wanted it to be on his terms. What did the disapproval of the Clave or his parents matter when faced with the certainty of a painful death? He only had until midnight and he had decided to spend those hours with Magnus, to give himself what he wanted in his last moments.

He wanted to kiss Magnus and be kissed in return. To hold him and be held. He wanted so much with Magnus and he could only hope the other man would forgive him for being unable to give him more time. More than anything, he regretted that he had done nothing before now.

“For you, darling, always.” Magnus promised. “I heard you were forced to pick up the slack again and were cursed by a rogue Unseelie for your efforts. You really do need more competent help.”

“I really do.” He sighed in agreement, ignoring the protests from Jace and Clary.

“Can you break the curse?” Isabelle asked Magnus.

“Oh, absolutely. Tell me, Alexander. Did I ever tell you about my father?”

“No.” He frowned. “Why?”

“I am the son of Asmodeus.” He purred with a vicious smile, eyes glinting.

“The Greater Demon?” No wonder Magnus was so powerful.

“The fallen angel.” Magnus emphasized. “The King of Edom and all the demons therein.”

Alec stared for a moment, delighted. “I’ve suddenly found the will to live.” He declared. Then, he marched straight to Magnus and right there in the middle of the Institute, surrounded by Shadowhunters, he pressed his lips to Magnus’s in a desperate and passionate kiss.

#Shadowhunters #Alec Lightwood #Magnus Bane #Malec #malec fanfiction #malec fanfic #my fics #my writing

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hannahhook7744 · 4 months

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got any coach Jenkins hc? i feel like we dont know much about him... just his relationship with the vks!

Someone does a survey to find out who the vk's favorite teacher is. The most common answer is Coach Jenkins (some from kids who never went to Auradon Prep). Not to say he's every vk's favorite. Just that not many (or any I can really think of) who'd not like him.

He takes his teams out for victory pizza.

He is one of the few people who can shut the heroes, villains, and sidekicks up with a single look (one that rivals Lady Tremaine's).

He is good with kids.

I read a fic once where Jay met his family. So I headcanon that Coach Jenkins has a husband and at least one kid.

Ever wonder why we never see Mr. Deley after D1? It's because Coach Jenkins chewed him out when he found out about the mess with Evie (he also had Chad run laps at every practice until the season was over afterwards. Probably because he saw Lonnie's school of secrets web series not long before that).

I feel like he might have been abused/neglected as a kid or knew someone who was because he handled Jay (and Carlos) perfectly after their first tourney practice.

He loves his job and had a really good Coach of his own when he was younger who inspired him.

Coach Jenkins used to be apart of Auradon's big brother program.

He also once used to have a diabetic player on the tourney and fencing team so now he carries around a cooler with drinks and snacks at every practice and game.

His favorite colors are ironically the school colors.

He went to Auradon Prep when he was a teenager.

Also he's the jousting club's teacher and has known Ben since he was four because of that.

Coach Jenkins wasn't a perfect teenager (no one is, be honest. Everyone gets up to mischief) but he was always a good person. And unlike most Auradon adults we see, he's not a hypocrite and therefore isn't overly harsh to the kids when they fuck up.

He tries not to be judgemental when the adults fuck up but well. It can be hard sometimes.

He has a ton of baseball caps.

He was on vacation in d2.

He had a family emergency in d3.

Coach Jenkins remains in contact with many of his former students (especially Jay and Carlos).

He is friends and rivals with Tiger Lily (he went to high school with her).

He was a total hippie in highschool.

Can't dance at all.

Just wants absolutely all of his students to be happy and well adjusted adults, even ones like Mal and Evie that he doesn't interact with often.

Coach Jenkins used to have long hair.

His full name is Reese Alexander Jenkins (after his actor, Reese Alexander).

Man has a stress ball and lots of fidget/stress toys because he has a stressful job and his coworkers and a few of the parents certainly do not help that, thank you very much.

Also he was friends with Audrey Ramirez (Diego de Vil's mother and Milo Thatch's friend) too.

He's a bit older than Tiger Lily (in his mid 30s to early 40s).

Coach Jenkins has played videos games with the boys before.

Sometimes he has to stop himself from smacking his coworkers/the parents of the kids because they just make so many stupid decisions that it frustrates him. But he's excellent at self control so he's never done it.

He's a fun loving guy, like Jay, and way more laid back than his coworkers. But he doesn't play favorites with the kids and doesn't let them get away with everything because he knows that that will cause more problems than it will fix.

That's all that I can think of for now, sorry. Feel free to add!

#descendants #disney descendants #melissa de la cruz #disney #descendants au #wicked world #disney descendants au #coach jenkins #descendants small time characters #small time characters #etc

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sunsolii · 6 months

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Napoleon (2023) Review

I know many of you have posted your own reviews and what I'm going to talk about will cover most of what people have said but I wanna give my own perspective on the movie. As you know spoilers will be said, so if yall still haven't watch the movie go before reading.

Alright first, I would like to say the movie overall wasn't that bad nor it wasn't great. Some battle scenes were a bit confusing, Borodino was the one which I got the most confused because of how quick the scene was. One moment I was watching soldiers fight and then it was done, which I guess they wanted to get to the part of Napoleon arriving at Moscow but I digress.

During the Seige of Toulon, I was a bit confused with Napoleon's reaction throughout the whole battle. He was hyperventilating and panicking which seemed strange to me since he was always calm and collected during stressful situations, especially this battle since it was his 'debut' and was an important plan in getting Toulon back in French hands. I understand him being a little bit nervous, but he had to stay calm for the soldier's sake.

Now, lets talk about Napoleon and Josephine's relationship, oh boy, it was a mess. I did like how Naps acted a bit awkward during their first meeting since he was pretty shy and weird around the ladies in real life, but after that the whole relationship seemed too toxic than what it really was. Like the scene where Josephine returned to the chateau after Naps came back from Egypt and him yelling at her and basically telling her she was a slut, him threatening divorce because she couldn't get pregnant at the beginning of their marriage, or when Naps got angry at Josephine yet again and threw food at her, or him slapping Josephine during the divorce scene. I literally let out a gasp when that happened. That whole representation of their relationship was a freaking mess, and don't even get me started with the sex scenes! They were so weird and Naps making animals noises before doing it didn't make it better. I think the worst for me was when Naps called Josephine "little one" like don't start with that kinky shit smh. Also the part where Alexander went to visit Josephine at Malmaison was not necessary, they did develop a friendship but it was nothing more than that.

Besides all the negative things I did like a few things about the movie. For starters Napoleon's first interaction with Josephine, that was a nice touch. The lamb chop scene was hilarious and everyone including me laughed at the scene. Naps falling down the stairs after almost getting killed by the Directory and saying "oh fuck" under his breath while standing up was funny. Even the scene afterwards where Naps and Lucien were struggling to get out and keep everyone inside was funny. His facial expression he made while trying to regain himself had me dying.

What caught me by suprise was Junot being in the movie because correct me if I'm wrong but no other movie had Junot included in it, so when Naps first yelled "Junot" during the Seige of Toulon I was like 'huh? Junot? Like Jean Andoche Junot?? THE JUNOT?? I can't believe what I'm hearing!" and sure enough Junot was in the movie! Even though it was only for like 30 minutes but him being in the movie made me so happy because he is never mentioned in any form of media.

Overall it wasn't as bad as I expected. I still wished they would've added other marshals like Murat and Lannes, but I do appreciate them adding Davout since he is also someone who doesn't get mentioned in movies a lot, so props to you Scott (I guess). I did get over the historical inaccuracies pretty quick, but Wellington and Naps meeting did rub me the wrong way knowing that they never met each other in real life. Also, Ney with a moustache...why??

So that's all I wanted to say about the movie. Sorry if this was a longer post, but I wanted to write down everything before I forget. Thank you for reading!

#there was guy snoring behind us which ruined almost half of the movie #we got churros afterwards tho #napoleonic era #napoleon bonaparte #french history #napoleonic wars #napoleon 2023 #ridley scott #joaquin phoenix #movie review #josephine de beauharnais #a mimir

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holylulusworld · 1 year

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Deranged Marriage (9) – Two tidal waves

Summary: Your father wants you to choose a husband. Your chosen one doesn’t like the idea one bit.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x (Mafia daughter)! Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Alexander Pierce

Warnings: mentions of character’s death, language, strong/bratty reader, banter, sexual tension, enemies with sexual tension, making out, still idiots in love, hand around throat (non-sexual), threats, implied torture with knives

Deranged Marriage masterlist

<< Part 8

“Fucking hell, get it over with, James Buchanan Barnes. You’ve got a dick and she got…uh whatever that bitch is hiding under her cheap fake designer clothes,” you argue with Bucky again.

You cross your arms over your chest, huffing as Bucky refuses sex with Natasha. This is to make it more believable that he’s on her side.

“I don’t want to,” he bites back. Bucky points out that the same applies to you as well. “I’m not some breathing dildo you can use for your liking.”

“Yeah, but not so long ago you loved to fuck her on our dining table so,” you cock your head, “what’s the problem? Can the old man not get it up anymore? Do you need Viagra? I can ask Helen to get you some.”

“You fucking brat,” he growls in your direction. “One day I’ll put you over my lap and spank the life out of your bratty ass. You are frustrating and annoying.”

“Asshole.”

“I should just,” he throws his hands up, “leave you to yourself. I have no idea why I’m helping you. A bullet to my brain would be less painful."

“I can’t believe you are ruining our chance to bring the people attacking my father down over a quickie. Just put it inside a little and disappoint her like every other girl you fucked.”

“That’s what you want? How about you watch me fuck her too, huh? I bet you are a kinky bitch." He smirks at you. “Go ahead and tell me about all the dirty fantasies you have about me and my sex life.”

“You mean your non-existent sex life,” you retort, mirroring his smirk. “I heard through the grapevine that you didn’t get any lately.”

“Because of you,” he’s in your face, breathing hard. “Every woman in town believes we will marry and they are afraid of you and your father.”

“Aw, I’m cock blocking you?” you coo. “What a pity you refuse to fuck Natasha. Your dick would feel so much better after going for a ride with her.”

“I told you,” you gasp as his hand wraps around your neck. He grips your neck tightly, forcing you to look up at him. “I don’t want to fuck her.”

“Why? She’s your type.”

“Dead is not my type.”

You frown deeply. Just a few days ago Bucky and you talked about getting closer to the person who ordered the hit on you and your father through Natasha. “What do you mean by...dead?"

“Oh…did I forget to tell you she’s dead?” He smirks darkly as he watches your lips part.

“What? But we made all these plans and now…” You knit your brows together. "Wait, you killed her, didn’t you?”

“It was an accident,” Bucky leans closer to whisper in your ear. “Maybe I let slip that she’s a mole and that Natasha tried to warn your father. Pierce is no one to mess with, you know.”

“You—” you groan. “Why did you do this? That's stupid, Barnes. We had a plan.”

“Your plan included fucking Natasha.”

“Hell, I would’ve fucked her myself to get one step closer,” you huff. “You’re a coward, Barnes. Why couldn’t you fuck her…?”

“What’s done is done. I’m more of the hit them where it hurts guy. Not the one sneaking around to get information. While you made all these nice plans, Steve and I did your job.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We caught Pierce and two of his minions. Steve has a blast interrogating them. He just loves to toy with them,” Bucky purrs in your ear. His hand tightens around your throat, making you whimper. “If only you could see yourself now. So afraid I will choke you just a little harder.”

“We already confirmed that you are not man enough, sweetie,” you grit your teeth as he loosens his hold. It only takes Bucky's hand around your neck to show you what he can do. “Do it or stop toying with me.”

“You wish I would toy with you, doll,” he chuckles. “What a pity I won’t…”

“Alexander Pierce, in all his glory,” Steve laughs as Pierce fights the ropes holding him to a chair. “You see, Y/F/N and Y/N are my allies. They are Bucky’s allies. If you attack them, you attack us.”

“The thing is, we will let you live your pitiful life. We all tried to kill each other at least once." Bucky looks at the knives he placed on a table in front of Pierce. “What I want from you is to tell me who was involved in the hit. Who is the rat among Y/F/N's people?”

“I won’t tell you shit,” Pierce spits while talking. Even though Steve has already roughed him up over the past few hours, he refuses to give up.

“We will see." Bucky chooses one knife and wields it in front of Pierce’s face. “Did you ever hear about my talent with knives? I just love the feeling of metal cutting into skin and flesh.”

“Why won’t you let me interrogate him, Barnes?” You pace the room, huffing as Bucky refuses to answer. “Did he give you a name?”

“Romanoff was all he said,” Bucky huffs. “He’s a tough little bastard. I give him that. But no one withstood my knives forever. I will find the mole for you…I mean your father. I will find him for your father.”

“We already knew about Romanoff,” you grunt. “Why did you get her killed? This was stupid."

“Your face is stupid.”

You giggle at Bucky’s words. “Your face is stupid, and your beard…the hair…the muscles. Why are you always wearing a suit but no tie? That’s stupid too.”

When he grips your right arm roughly, he says, "I use all my ties to restrain brats. I leave them there for me to use.”

“You’re so…” you squeak when he roughly cups your face and crushes his lips to yours. Bucky devours your mouth. The kiss is all tongue and teeth. He won’t let up until you weakly push against his shoulders. “I can’t breathe, you…”

He silences your protests with his mouth again. Bucky keeps you from running your mouth by slipping his tongue into your mouth.

His hands move to your waistline to easily lift you and slam you into the wall behind you.

“What the fuck?" You can barely catch your breath. Bucky is all over you. He forces your legs around his waistline before his mouth is back on you. His hands grip your ass roughly as you grind against his swelling length.

“Shut up for a moment," he whispers against your lips. “Just stop talking. I only want to hear you moan my name from now on.”

In response, you fist his hair, making him growl. “If you want me to shut up, do me good, Barnes…”

>>Part 10

Tags in reblog.

#Deranged Marriage (9) – Two tidal waves #bucky barnes x reader #mobster!bucky barnes x fem!reader #mobster!bucky #bucky barnes x female reader #enemies to lover #idiots in love

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stargirlaveblog · 3 months

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7Seals

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Chapter 10

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•Previous Chapter: Chapter Nine

•Next Chapter: Chapter Eleven

• Chapter List

• New chapters every Thursday

•Content: Levi Ackerman × OC female. Slow Burn! Canon verse!

• Word Count: 2.7k

• Warning: This content may not be suitable for all readers. If you've watched all of AOT then you will understand that the show handles heavy subjects such as abuse, racism, violence, and other heavy subjects. This fanfiction will also have the same heavy themes. Chapters with heavy themes will be marked with * at each chapter.

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The barn felt unusually quiet as I arrived early, beating even Levi to our usual meeting spot. A sense of solitude lingered, was this a consequence of my tardiness on other days?

Last night's events weighed on me, casting shadows over my tired eyes. Sleep had been elusive, and the mess hall became my refuge until breakfast's arrival. I lacked the strength to face Alexander's apologies, his attempts to sweep our....

my reality under the rug.

My ODM harness, once a symbol of freedom, became a painful reminder. Straps pressed against my bruised chest, every adjustment sending jolts of pain through my body. Alexander's violence from the night before echoed with each painful breath.

A few slaps had escalated into something more sinister. Questions circled my mind – was it safer to endure the torment within the confines of his presence, or was escape an option for me? Answers remained elusive, a puzzle I couldn't piece together in this weary state.

Levi's sudden appearance shattered my contemplation. Startled, I dropped my canteen, and it rolled away, farther and farther away from my reach.

"Erwin wants you," Levi's voice cut through the air, disrupting the silence that enveloped the barn. I couldn't bend to retrieve my fallen canteen, I had to watch it roll away. Maybe later I'll find the strength to pick it up.

"Hurry up. Come straight back here when you're done," Levi's instructions echoed, as I walked away, leaving the abandoned canteen behind.

I stood outside Commander Erwin's office, why he would summon me.? Was it about my performance? Levi's tardiness this morning added a layer of curiosity.

"Come in," his cheerful voice beckoned. He seemed to anticipate my arrival, knowing the time it took from the training grounds to his office.

"Commander," I greeted as I entered, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity bubbling within me.

"Take a seat," he instructed, and I complied, feeling a sense of unease despite knowing I hadn't committed any wrongdoing. Perhaps it was about my lax approach to training.

"How are you?" Erwin inquired, his words carrying a certain depth that left me questioning if he referred to more than just my well-being.

"Good, thank you. What about you, Commander?"

"Very well," he replied cryptically, and the atmosphere in the room only thickened.

"How's the new squad?"

"Well, I'm the only member, so good," I chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Ah yes, we will get there," Erwin remarked, pacing around the room. Then, he delved into more pressing matters.

"How do you like Levi as your captain?"

"Um, he's doing well. I'm learning a lot," I replied cautiously, sensing a shift in the conversation.

"Last I heard, you were pretty behind in skills for the squad. How's that going for you?" Erwin questioned, pinpointing the very concern that had been lingering in my mind.

"Still need work, but it's going," I admitted, though the truth was, I felt inadequate compared to Levi's prowess. The looming expectation of meeting their standards weighed heavily on me.

"Right," Erwin said, circling to the other side of his desk, where he sat down in front of me. His gaze lingered a moment longer than I'd have preferred.

"How's Alexander?"

"He's good,"

"Really?" Erwin raised an eyebrow. "He's doing okay with you on the Levi Squad?"

"Yeah, he's been really supportive, helping me with different things," I lied, attempting to paint a positive picture.

"Ah," Erwin mused, sifting through paperwork and extracting two sheets. "Then you won't mind telling me why Alexander was yelling at four in the morning." His smile persisted as he laid the papers on his lap.

I glanced at the papers and back at him. "I'm sorry, Commander," I said with a smile, mirroring his demeanor.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I guess it's best that we both tell the truth," Erwin remarked.

"The incident report is in my hands as we speak."

Why did I think I could deceive him? Erwin wasn't Levi or Alexander; he saw through facades. Rookie mistake.

"Okay, fine," I surrendered, though only halfway. I wasn't ready to reveal everything. "He got mad at me for staying up to do paperwork. He was just concerned for me."

Erwin hummed and stood up, tossing the papers into the fireplace while maintaining eye contact.

"Very well, then." His smile returned. "I wouldn't want to keep Levi waiting. Enjoy your day, Aldridge."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, grateful for the quick dismissal.

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"Iris," Levi's voice echoed through the training grounds.

I propped myself against the nearest tree, gasping for air as the ODM course left my chest throbbing with pain. Levi's call urged me to action.

"Get over here. Quick," Levi commanded, his tone brooking no delay.

He didn't want a casual stroll; he demanded urgency, beckoning me to use my ODM gear to reach him. Releasing my hooks became a symphony of stabbing sensations, each motion harder to conceal.

"Why are you wearing your ODM gear incorrectly?" Levi lifted two fingers beneath my leather straps, giving them assertive tugs.

His fingers glided over my chest as he tightened every buckle, his scowl etching disapproval into his dark eyes.

"There's no reason your harness should ever be this loose," he reprimanded, continuing to cinch my straps. "Your ODM gear was one malfunction away from leaving you hanging by the cords. These wires are very dangerous. You could have lost a limb with how lax your harness was."

In the final tug, pain surged through me. I fought against collapsing, refusing to show weakness. As Levi's eyes met mine, I winced at the pain, trying to conceal it. His fingers grazed one of my bruises, rendering me speechless. I couldn't utter a word, fearing I might unleash more than words in the captain's presence.

"It hurts?" Levi asked, confusion etched across his features.

"No, I'm fine," I lied, suppressing the pain that clawed at me.

"Then get out there and run some drills." His hand patted my head and pushed me forward.

Taking a step away, I released my hooks, aiming for the nearest tree. My body betrayed me, halting mid-air, no movement could save me now. Instead of the graceful landing, I collided with the tree with a sickening thud, a sharp pain radiating through my chest. I crumpled, unable to move, the world spinning in a disorienting dance.

The loud whirls of ODM gear above were a distant echo, my senses dulled by the impact. Strong arms lifted me, and there he was – Levi, his concerned face hovered above me, but my mind was a haze, disconnected from reality. His fingers traced my chin, shifting my face, and then rested on my neck. The contrast between his rough, calloused touch and his usual demeanor was striking. A smile played on my lips at the paradox of his gentleness against the backdrop of his harsh persona.

Above me, Levi's voice echoed, distant and muffled. I smiled, lost in the surreal moment, he seemed concerned. His eyes told a different story than his usual stoic facade.

"I don't feel good." I laughed but the laugh slowly turned into coughing. I threw my hands over my mouth as the blood spilled out of my mouth.

His concerned face quickly turned to disgust as he looked at my bloody hands.

"Yeah. I don't think I'm supposed to do that." My eyes slowly fell closed, the last thing I felt was Levi jerk my body from the ground.

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"Well, good morning, soldier," the lady greeted me in the sterile confines of the infirmary. White walls surrounded me, and a woman in a white coat stood beside my bed.

Maybe it wasn't just a bruise?

"That was a nasty fall you had there," she remarked, helping me sit up. I shrugged off the pain, laughing nervously. Why did it feel like my whole body had been run over?

"You broke a rib; it punctured a hole in your lungs. You'll be fine. Give it a couple of months, and you'll be good to go back flying around on those damn things," she reassured me, poring over some papers.

"Thank you," I said, grateful for the news.

"You know," she began, setting down the papers and fixing her gaze on me, "that rib wasn't a fresh crack."

"Ha, really?" I chuckled, attempting to downplay the situation. "Must've been out for a while."

"No, the way that fella ran in here with you, you wouldn't have had time to have bled as much as you did. You've been bleeding internally for hours, and I know damn well that fall didn't crack your rib," she stated, staring intently.

I was left speechless. What could I possibly say?

"The bruises on your stomach say otherwise."

"Being a scout isn't easy," I deflected with a laugh.

"And I know coming up with excuses ain't easy either," she retorted. "It's a matter of time till they start catchin' the lies and mixups."

"Aren't you tired?"

My eyes met her brown gaze, she looked at me in disappointment. What did she think she knew?

"You're not alone."

I remained silent as she left the room, her words echoing, a subtle offer to share the burdens. What was there to talk to her about? She took one look at me and assumed everything. How?

Levi walked in just as the nurse left, his presence filling the room. His eyes, colder than steel, locked onto mine.

"You idiot," he groaned, arms crossed. "How long did you know your rib was broken?"

I felt the weight of his gaze. Levi, usually pristine, wore the stains of my blood like a badge of annoyance. Why hadn't he changed yet?

"I didn't know," I lied, trying to hold his gaze.

"Bullshit," he spat, his eyes briefly softening as they met mine. The intensity became uncomfortable, and I broke away first. He leaned against the wall, a resigned "Tch" escaping his lips.

Levi had given up, a sight I thought I'd never witness. He looked at me again, breaking the silence, "How you holding up?"

"I'll be fine. Back in two weeks," I assured him. He rolled his eyes but concealed any disagreement.

"I already talked to the doctor," he disclosed. "You won't be ready until the end of October, shit maybe November."

I should've known they spoke, but what else had they discussed?

"I'm sorry, Captain," I mumbled, head hung low. "I understand if you want me off your squad. I'm only a liability."

"Shut up," Levi ordered. "You don't call the shots around here. You are a fucking liability, a pain in the ass. But I'm the Captain, and what I say goes."

He paused, his gaze piercing mine.

"You will become the best soldier the scouts have ever seen. I don't give a damn if you don't want to; you're on my squad now. You better enjoy your rest now because I won't be gentle with you."

Our eyes remained locked as I responded,

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now we—" His voice was abruptly cut off by the door.

The door swung open, and Alexander entered, his gaze immediately locking onto Levi, dismissing my presence in the room.

"Alexander."

Levi's voice sliced through the tension, a rare acknowledgment that sent shivers down my spine. Levi's eyes trailed every move Alexander made, a predator assessing its prey.

Alexander's ocean eyes eventually met mine as he sidled up to my bed, gripping my hand with increasing pressure.

"Where have you been?" His feigned concern rang hollow.

"I got hurt during practice," I replied with a forced smile, my thumb grazing his hand as he tightened his grip. His dismissive response stung. "You'll be fine," he said, brushing off my discomfort.

"She's not fine." Levi interjected, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall near the door.

"I'm sorry," Alexander turned to Levi, ignoring me. "I wasn't speaking to you."

Levi's eyebrow arched, his death glare intensified.

"Seems like you forgot about our little run-in the other night. I'd leave if I were you. Erwin's not here to save you this time."

Alexander's grip on my hand loosened as he backed away, leaving the room with a cryptic promise. "I'll see you later tonight," he uttered before the door closed behind him, and Levi promptly locked it.

"What was that all about?" I questioned Levi, curiosity getting the better of me.

"None of your business," he retorted, his demeanor as stern as ever.

"Well then, I'll just ask him when he comes back later," I responded casually, shrugging my shoulders.

"Doubt he'll say something," Levi remarked, his expression unreadable.

"And why's that?" I pressed.

Levi shot me a side-eye as he pushed himself off the wall, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed.

"Okay..."

"Aye, brat," Levi addressed me. "Did you just roll your eyes at me?"

"Yeah, I did," I admitted, snapping my head towards him.

"I'll remember that," he warned.

"Go ahead, no one is stopping you," I retorted, slumping back into the bed.

"What's got you so pissy?"

I glanced around the room before fixing my gaze back on the bed. "My damn rib is broken," I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"That's your own damn fault," Levi chided. "You should have known better than to practice while being injured."

"Save it," I shot back in frustration. "Outside those walls, if you're injured, there's no relaxing and stepping out. You push through it, or you're dead."

A heavy silence settled in the room, broken by Levi's voice. "You're right," he conceded. "But you're not outside the walls. You're inside. Until then, you are going to do whatever it takes to keep you alive and well. Got that?"

"Yes, sir," I affirmed.

"You guys got it lucky up here," Levi remarked. "Not everyone has access to a doctor or medicine. Take advantage of it while you have it."

Lying in the medical room with Levi keeping a watchful eye, his words about the scarcity of medical care outside the walls echoed in my mind. Not everyone had the privilege we did. Countless citizens in the innermost parts of the wall were in desperate need.

"Hey, Capt?" I addressed him, breaking the silence. "What do you mean by 'up here'?"

"What else could I mean?" he grumbled. "The underground doesn't have shit compared to the lives above."

"Are you from the underground?" I asked without hesitation, a question that had lingered in the air for so long. Levi's reaction spoke volumes – he looked like he wanted to kill me. The words slipped out before I could second-guess myself. It was something I genuinely wanted to know, a piece of the puzzle that was Captain Levi. The rumors were varied – from high-ranking officials' son to a country town, but the most persistent was that he hailed from the underground.

"Yeah, and?" Levi replied, scanning my reaction, as if he anticipated a negative response. But I didn't care. Who was I to judge someone based on their birthplace? If anything, I felt a sense of empathy.

"Ah, so the rumors are true," I remarked.

"It's not a secret," Levi said. "It's not like it's anyone's business either."

"No, you're right. It just explains a lot," I shrugged with a small grin.

"Explains what?"

"The way you act," I said, looking at him. "But also the way you and Alexander despise each other."

"I don't despise him," Levi asserted. I gave him a skeptical look, and he huffed. "I detest him."

"That's the same thing, Captain," I laughed. "Well, it explains the ego contests."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You both act like there can only be one person from the underground up here. Y'all got some unfinished business or something?"

"The hell are you talking about, Aldridge?" Levi was starting to get agitated.

"Did you guys know each other from the past?" I questioned.

"I've never seen that kid before," Levi stated. "Why do you think we know each other? Unless you know something I don't, cadet." His face was stern.

"I thought you guys knew each other by the way y'all acted?"

Levi's eyes widened. The confusion was etched away by anger as received the news.

"Alexander is from the underground."

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#levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #levi aot #snk levi #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #captain levi #aot #aot x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi fluff #levi angst #levi #levi x you #ackerman #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfiction

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