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Pirate!England x Reader Vehemently Part 14

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Pirate!England x Reader
Vehemently
Part Fourteen

From a distance, the haven of an island waned into impending doom. A thick forest painted its skyline with scanty seashore, and the island curved in on itself to form a lagoon on the left-hand side. The early morning clouds darkened the water, but the ship had yet to hit the sandbar, which was still a good half-nautical-mile out.


You scratched at a splintered part of the railing, ducking your head and tentatively glancing at the lugubrious, former quartermaster. He stuck out his chin, his eyes straight ahead as Allistor bound Alfred’s hands behind his back. His glasses began to inch off of his nose.


“You may say goodbye,” Arthur said from behind you with a yawn, “if you want.”


Alfred caught your gaze, his nose twitching a little when Allistor finished tying the knots.


You swallowed and shook your head. “I have nothing to say to him.” The shard of the railing broke off in your hand. You shrank down slightly, doing your best to hide it.


Static save for the shifting jaw, Alfred nodded stiffly. You stared at your feet, seemingly captivated with the buttons on your shoes.


After a scrutinising glance that darted towards Alfred, Arthur narrowed his eyes and slithered his arms around your waist from behind, dragging the action out slowly. You jumped at his touch, dropping the piece of wood into the water, and sighed after the initial shock. He rested his chin on the crown of your head, and Alfred turned his head towards the island.


Arthur let go of you immediately as Alfred looked away, and he gestured to Allistor, who grinned and pulled the first mutineer from the lot huddling under the staircase.


Dylan struggled against Allistor’s grip, furiously spitting choice curses at him as Allistor yanked him by the collar around to slam into the balustrade. Allistor tilted his head and said something softly to Dylan, whose jaw dropped. Allistor snickered, pulling him upright. Dylan, holding onto the railing with his bound hands, rolled his eyes, motioning with his head towards a pocket in his coat. Allistor smirked and rooted around in it, drawing out a box of cigarettes. He nodded curtly before lobbing Dylan over the rail and into the water, the splash strangely barely audible.


When Allistor approached Alfred again, Alfred held up his knee, shaking his head. Allistor raised his eyebrows but consented with a jerk of his head. Alfred smiled before sitting on the railing, swinging his legs over the side, and pushing himself off of the ship. The wood jittered beneath your feet at a stentorian scrape against the side of the ship.


You gasped and bent over the banister, searching for air bubbles among the ripples. No visible damage fouled the ship, but Alfred could have been affected to a more severe extent.


Arthur clenched the railing next to you, his knuckles white. “He’ll be fine,” he said, an edge to his voice, “Just wait a mo—there.”


Alfred broke through the surface, panting with his hair plastered to his forehead. His glasses had fallen off, and he floundered to stay afloat.


Arthur smirked, tapping his fingers on the rail before whirling around and striding towards the quarterdeck.


You watched on as the rest of the mutineers were heaved overboard, the ship beginning to sail away as the last few joined the ranks of the waterlogged. You wouldn’t cry, but they all flailed so pathetically, none of them able to stay above water for more than a few seconds at a time. A select few struggled more than the others, eventually never surfacing. You let go of the breath you hadn’t known you were holding when the first mutineer reached the seashore, his bonds broken.


Allistor accompanied you when he had finished, staring on as the mutineers faded into specks on the shoreline. He tried to tear you away from the balustrade, pulling on your wrist, but you waved him off. Allistor shrugged and eased down the side to sit on the deck, glancing briefly up at you. You took one last look at the island before sitting next to him.


When the ship finally pulled into a port at twilight, Allistor stood, cricking his back, and offered you a hand. You ignored him and pushed yourself up from the deck, slipping slightly. Your joints ached from being stationary for so long, and you stumbled on your first step.


The anchor was lowered, and, after instructions concerning the time to return, the crew was dismissed, all generally bamboozled at the early report time. You heard the relieved murmurings of departing crewmen as the gangplank trembled under their feet, and Allistor and you waited for Arthur to lock the door to his cabin before following the crew onto the pier.


Allistor and Arthur took you to stock up on supplies, Arthur handing you one of his longer daggers beforehand in case of separation. The three of you met Matthew in one of the only four shops on the island. Allistor, never having the authority before now, had volunteered to do the haggling in Matthew’s stead, but Matthew had to intervene when Allistor was losing rather spectacularly to the shopkeeper.


When Arthur nodded off against the doorframe, Allistor deemed it time to leave. He shook Arthur awake and dragged everyone out of the store. Arthur drowsily told Matthew to take the supplies back to the ship, and he complied eagerly; Matthew was already exhausted from the human interaction.


When night fell, you were pulled off of the streets and into the island’s pub. You protested initially, since it was a men’s tavern, but Allistor advised you to keep your head down; you’d be fine.


Inside, shoddy lanterns were mounted on the walls every few feet, giving the place the feel of amber fire. The few men at the front stared when your group entered, but Arthur hastily ushered you to a table near the back of the tavern.


Allistor plopped into the chair across from you and rubbed the surface of the table. “Why is it so clean in here?”


“I don’t know how it happened, but I’m grateful,” you said, propping your head on your hand and leaning on the table.


“I suspect it has something to do with the barkeep,” Arthur said, pointing over his shoulder to a young woman and her husband at the bar.


“Game of Farobank?” Allistor asked, pulling a deck of cards from his jacket.


Arthur smirked. “How long have you been waiting to gamble?”


“Entirely too long. D’you know how to play?” Allistor asked you.


“Not at all,” you said, yawning, “but deal me in.”


Allistor did his best trying to explain Farobank to you, but the terms muddled together, jumbling your comprehension. Your displeasure when you found that it was a French game elicited a chuckle from Arthur, but you were too tired to hit him.


You dozed off for a few minutes, your fingernails digging into your cheek. The image of a glass ship danced through your head, but it disappeared when you jolted awake with a start.


Arthur sat in the chair next to yours again and slid a bottle to Allistor and a mug to you. “It’s water,” he said softly, leaning in,” since you’re not exactly fond of alcohol.”


You nodded and took it, trying to examine the liquid without looking suspicious. It seems clean, you thought, taking a sip, Oh, wow. I had forgotten about unspoilt water.


When Arthur, however, brought his mug to his lips, you grabbed his wrist, your eyes wide. “I’ve only got cider. Allistor’s the only one really drinking. Ah,” he said, holding up a hand to Allistor, “put that card back.”


Allistor scowled and slipped it under the deck.


“What’re you playing now?” you asked, sitting upright.


“All Fours.”


“Oh, I know this one.” You crossed your legs at the ankle.


Allistor sneaked two cards into his lap. “Want me to deal you in?”


“I’ll wait,” you said, flexing your fingers.


“Suit yourself. So,” he said, gathering cards, “d’you think we can fully operate the ship with so much of the crew gone?”


While Arthur rubbed his eyes, yawning, you answered for him. “I presume so, since only a select few worked constantly. I think we’re a couple of people short, but we’ll manage.”


Arthur nodded, his eyes watering. He searched his coat pockets, drew out, of all things, your handkerchief, and wiped the corners of his eyes.


“Then how are we going to further divide the work?” Allistor began to deal the cards, including you, anyway.


“Look, Allistor, we’ll talk about this tomorrow. I don’t really feel like…” Arthur yawned again. “…Now’s not the time, okay?”


You picked up your cards and began to play in silence, except for the roaring laughter of the voluptuous barkeep in the background. The boys remained a minimum of two points ahead of you the whole time.


Just short of Allistor’s victory, Arthur folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them, sleep consuming him quickly.


You laid down your cards, and Allistor took a swig from his bottle. You scootched your chair closer to his and shook Arthur by the shoulder. “Arthur?” you said, tucking some of his fringe behind his ear, “Are…” You sighed, your hand lingering in his hair.


“Hey, Allistor,” you said as he determinedly was looking away, “Bit out of the blue, but what happened to the bet Alfred had mentioned?”


He groaned. “Yeah, just a bit out of it. There wasn’t any bet, actually. Alfred was just covering up his mutiny.”


You smiled, rubbing your thumb against the back of Arthur’s head. “No. That’s low.”


“Yeah. He’d just thought of it the day before, see, and he’d been trying to convince me to join—very briefly, mind.” Allistor leant back in his chair. “I tried to talk him out of it, and I thought I’d succeeded.”


“I wish you had.” You looked back at Arthur. “I don’t think he’s doing well.”


“Yeah. The mutiny must have hit him really badly.” He scratched the back of his neck.


“He’s been resilient and reserved for the crew. If they knew how exhausted he is.” You smoothed down a salient part of his hair. “But Arthur can’t let them know how human he is.”


“…er. Yeah, all right.” Allistor, his eyes fixated on the lantern behind you, took a drink.


You slapped a hand to your forehead. “Ah, Allistor, I can’t believe I’ve been such an idiot! I’ve been ignoring—I mean, how are you?”


Allistor grinned, glancing back at the barkeep. “Very well, thanks. Bit odd, actually, the quartermaster business. It’s more pressure than Alfred let on, but I’m doing all right.” He scratched at the tabletop. “You’ve noticed I’ve been mucking about with a bloke with a vague disposition, right? I’ve got to finish his apprenticeship for master gunner—if you can call it that; he’s been following me about for a while now.”


“And how are you shaping up as quartermaster?” You returned your hand to playing with Arthur’s hair.


“It could be better. Not as flashy and complicated as I thought but, y’know, pretty nice. I can’t be as intimidating as I’d like, because I was the one breaking the rules so often before this.”


“Psh, tell me about it,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I can’t count the number of times you dared to—”


“Yes, yes, he could still be listening,” Allistor said, pointing to the captain, “But it’ll get better, I’m sure of it.” He paused. “Could I see that dagger he gave you earlier?”


“Er,” you said, reaching for it on your belt, “sure.” You slid it across the table.


Allistor held it at the tips. “Stiletto,” he said, tilting his head, “Italian. Offensive. Glad Francis doesn’t know about this; I get the feeling he’d grow awfully fond of them.” He flipped it over. “Cuts through heavy leather, this. Hurts incredibly, I’ve heard, and it doesn’t cause a whole lot of bleeding.” Allistor pushed it back to you. “But it’s silent.”


“I, er.” You slowly sheathed it. “How d’you know so much about this?”


“I’ve handled a few,” he said with a dismissive wave, “and they’re not too much different from a few designs of my own.” Allistor licked his lips and exhaled. “It’s getting late,” he said, stealing another glimpse of the girl at the bar.


“Yeah.” You stood. “We’d ought to get Arthur out of here. Does he trust inns?”


“Not since he worked at George and Dragon.”


“Back to the ship, then.”


You nudged Arthur again, and Allistor shook his head. “Heavy sleeper,” he said, grabbing a discarded newspaper from a nearby table and whopping the back of Arthur’s head.


Arthur whined and dug his head farther into his arms.


Allistor struck him again, albeit without so loud a hit. “Get up, you measly cricket.”


“Don’t,” he mumbled into his sleeve.


“Come on, Arthur. They’re closing soon,” you told him.


“Rubbish,” Arthur said, propping his chin up, “These places never close until—”


“Come on.” You pulled on his shoulder, so he was sitting upright. “We’re going back.”


Arthur bit his lip and stood unsteadily, pushing down on the table to keep from tripping. “All right; I’m up. I’m fine. Where’s…?” He picked up your handkerchief from the tabletop and buried it in his pocket as Allistor began to gather the strewn cards. “Okay. Okay, then. Allistor?”


He looked up from carefully placing his cards in the ideal spot in the deck for next game. “Hm?”


“Round up the crew.” Arthur untied a whistle from around his neck and handed it to Allistor, who nodded. You took the cuff of Arthur’s shirt and tore him away from the table and out of the tavern.


The clouds of the evening had parted to reveal the faintly twinkling stars of the night. The earlier throng had retreated into shops and inns, and the lane was, for the most part, deserted. Lights had even been put out in some of the buildings.


Arthur walked more briskly as he awoke, pushing back his fringe on end. You trailed behind him and avoided the undulating edges of his coat. The architecture held entirely too much of your attention, and Arthur had to yank you forward when you tarried to glimpse down winding, overgrown paths. He wasn’t completely professional himself, however much he would like to be—he tripped over his feet a couple of times, just like Alfred had during moments of high tension.


“Arthur,” you said, hit with curiosity and jogging to be at his side, “this is potentially a cumbersome question, but precisely what happens when a person’s marooned?”


He glanced back over the rim of his collar, gobsmacked. “What?”


“I mean, I know what normally happens,” you corrected yourself, “but it’s still unclear what will happen to the mutineers, since you didn’t—they weren’t supplied with water, a musket, or any of the other typical things. I was just wondering—”


“They won’t need muskets to kill each other. It’ll happen soon enough.” He led you by blackened houses shielded by trees with coiling branches and into port.


You frowned, slowing your pace. “How can you say something like that?”


Arthur loitered to let you catch up with him, his brow furrowed. “Being marooned is usually a death sentence, but our mutineers have strength in numbers.” His boots clunked as they hit the dock. “I don’t want to give them any help.”


“That’s horrible.”


“That’s piracy.”


The two of you walked up the narrow gangplank. You yawned, “But if Alfred—” You tripped over a ridge, and Arthur, sighing, almost lazily caught you by the waist, your dagger clinking against his own sword.


He hastily withdrew his arm. “Right,” he said, letting you pass him, “Sorry. I forgot you’re not…sorry.”


You stepped on board, looking back at his silhouette. “I’ll let it slide.” You started edging towards the galley, running your hands over your arms.


“Slide. Good,” he said, trying to pop his neck but failing, “And let’s see, it’s second watch. Eurgh, I’ve got to…” He spun around, looking at the sails. “We shouldn’t light any lanterns, but bugger, we’re going to. If we can’t break my own rules, then what can we break?” Arthur asked, walking towards the staircase.


“Promises. Hearts,” you said, following him, “Kneecaps.” You heard some of the crew’s rowdy cries on the end of the dock, nearing all the time.


Arthur ignored you. “Would you mind bending the headsail?”


“Two person job.”


Out of the corner of your eye you saw Seamus and a few of the crewmen board the ship, some of them mildly intoxicated, but all of them seemed to be in generally good spirits.


Arthur started up the stairs. “Grab one of the men. I’ve got to find that blasted map to Court.”


“Right.” You nodded, pivoted on your heel, and took a few steps towards the bow before stopping in your tracks. You turned back around. “What?” You ran to climb the staircase to the quarterdeck.


“Mm?” He stood in front of the helm, his lips pursed.


“What did you say?” you asked, somewhat out of breath.


He stroked the curve of the wheel. “There’s this map—”


“No, no. After that.”


His mouth opened and closed in a tardigrade manner. “To Court?”


You nodded slowly, blinking profusely. “Yes,” you said, dragging out the syllable.


“What about it?” Arthur wrapped his hand around a spoke.


You crossed your arms. “Last time you were in attendance, you stole Spanish land.”


“That can’t be denied.” He was very interested in the scars on the back of his left hand.


“Hm.” Your eyebrows flashed. “You’re not going to do it again. Not on my watch.”


Arthur snorted, covering his grin. “Now you’re telling me what to do. That’s a laugh.”


You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse—no. You’re not. You’re not.


“Not what?”


“You’re not going to do whatever it is you plan to do. You’re not allowed to, to usurp and conquer it, or anything else,” you sneered, “An—Antonio began my life, and I will not let you treat him so.”


His jaw twitched. “You hated it there.”


“He’s still my family, in case you lack the concept. They’re all my family.”


“Family who didn’t even care about you,” he said, his consonants sharp.


“Oh, ho,” you said, tilting your head, “Yes, they did. Of course they did. You don’t know anything about them.”


“Ah-ha. What are you talking about?”


Your eyes widened. “You don’t know anything about them.” You grinned. “I bet you couldn’t even conquer them, anyway. Not,” you said, correcting your mistake, “that—that that’s a challenge.” Your cheeks burned. “Stay away from Court,” you finished hastily, smoothing down the front of your shirt.


Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Conquering? I was—”


“You can’t just do that.”


He paused, scratching his neck. “And I’m n—”


“Those colonies can’t handle the real world. They’re still developing. They need to be able to take care of themselves. If they’re under your misleading supervision, they won’t be stable,” you said, crinkling your nose, “They won’t survive.”


“And that’s—”


“I don’t think you understand,” you growled, stepping closer and glaring up into those stupidly green eyes, “I need the Spanish land to survive. You can’t hurt them.”


“Stop telling me what to do,” Arthur said, his voice low but even, “And that’s an order.”


“Oh, an order? I’m not on your blasted crew.” Your eyes flickered down to his lips. “I can say what I bloody well want to say to your face. And I say this: back away from Court. They’re mine.”


“Nothing is yours, you understand.” He tugged on his ear. “It’s not—”


“I don’t want your filthy hands all over my friends. You’re not going to ta—taint them.”


“I don’t aim to,” Arthur said with a flick of his wrist, “My intention is of a loftier matter, and it’s, and it’s not my—”


“You’re an idiot. Who d’you think you are—Caligula? Did you not just make peace with Antonio?” You took a step away from him. “Haven’t you been trying to get to that point for years? Why would you ruin that with an invasion?”


I’m not trying to,” he said, holding his hands up in front of him, “I’m trying to keep that blast—”


“You—foul—I, I—don’t. Don’t you dare, you writhing—”


“—frog from taking—”


“—scruffy-looking codswallop. You will not. I will not permit you—”


“Will you not listen? I am trying—”


“I don’t know what on earth is wrong with you,” you said, scrutinising his figure with a grimace, “but it must’ve been from bumping into all the low doorframes as a—”


“If you would let me finish a sentence,” Arthur said through clenched teeth, “I could explain myself!”


“I don’t need to hear anything from you. You’ve threatened to put my family in grave danger,” you said, your lip twitching, “and I do not appreciate it. I care for them more than anyone else.”


“I’m—” He crossed his arms, putting all of his weight on one foot. “Sure doesn’t seem like it; you haven’t exactly mentioned them at all to—”


A laugh burst from you, and you ducked your head, losing your footing. “That’s—that’s because they’re the reason why I’m here. Why I stayed,” you said, clutching the helm for support, “I stayed on to protect them from you. If I spoke about them you would…” You sucked in your breath. “…do exactly what you’re doing now. I mentioned Naomi to you. Not long ago. And now you’re off to—bugger,” you mumbled, tugging on the roots of your hair, “It’s all my fault.”


“Look, it’s not your fault,” he fumed, waving his hands about before reluctantly gripping them on the wheel again. “It’s Fr—”


“It had better not be my fault, no matter how much I should like to believe it,” you spat, “It’s yours. You took the incentive. Leave my family alone.”


“I’m not,” he said, searching for the right words, “I’m, er—Kitts, the routes in—”


“Antonio will fight for his Court. I’m not the only one who cares for them.”


“But the observable logic says you’re wrong. Antonio didn’t care bout you; why would he care about them? But that’s not my own—”


“Stop that,” you said, your throat running dry, “I’ve heard that lie too many times. I don’t want to—”


“—logic, and, and the—”


“—hear another word come out of your mouth,” you said, looking towards the lower deck, “They don’t mean anything.”


Arthur clamped a hand over your mouth, stalling your thrashing by grasping your shoulder and stepping on one of your feet. “Why would I lie to you when the truth is so much more captivating? Listen, please, for two minutes,” he said, the jumbled words flying off of his tongue, “It’s not my idea; I’m trying to help you.” He glanced to the main deck and proceeded in a whisper. “Court’s what’s next; it’s what’s written in his blooming log—”


He yelped as you bit down on his ring finger, but he released you in his pain. While he was inspecting the wound with a contemptuous frown, you dashed down the quarterdeck’s staircase.


Seamus looked away when your eyes met, and the crew leapt into work as to seem preoccupied—but remained silent. Allistor was staring at you from the forecastle, and you shook your head.


“At this point,” you said to the descending captain as he sucked on his fingertip, “I really could not care any less about what you have to say. Anyone who threatens Court threatens me, and you’ve proved to be far too foreboding.”


Arthur glowered and spit out the blood, drops of it catching on his cravat. “Since when did you become so revoltingly loyal?”


“When you became so revoltingly ambitious.” You began to subtly back away from him, the wood of the deck creaking under your feet.


He jerked his head to the side. “Still honourable, though.”


“Don’t jest,” you said, your voice cracking as the small of your back his the banister, “It’s doesn’t suit you.”


“What does, then?” he asked, his tongue flicking past his lips.


“Obviously very uncouth, ungentlemanlike behaviour,” you spluttered, lifting your chin in hopes he would not see how it quivered, “It’s all you can manage.”


His brow creased. Arthur picked furiously at the cuff of his sleeve.


“You know,” you said, gesturing to Allistor over Arthur’s shoulder that he should leave, “being with Francis was miserable.”


Arthur glanced up from his lap.


“He may not share his true thoughts, involve me in anything, or treat me like the person that I am,” you said, staring him down as you pushed off of the railing, “but I’d rather be with him right now than on the deleterious ship.”


Arthur shook his head, biting his lip and beginning to tap his foot. “You’re mad.”


“Maybe I am, but Francis has enough of a sliver of a conscience to not do something as imbecilically barbaric and impudent as attack my family.”


Arthur smacked both of his hands to his forehead. “You hate him,” he said, yanking at his hair.


You swallowed. “But he did try to be courteous to Court and to me.”


Eurgh—Francis was trying to seduce you!” He was yelling now, and you watched the remaining crewmen retreat below deck. “Crikey, Kitts, why can’t you list—”


“It also helps that he didn’t steal me away in the middle of the night,” you hissed, albeit careful to enunciate, “Francis is better than you’ll ever be.”


All traces of light left his eyes as his hand flew to his sword. A vein in his neck throbbed, and his nose crinkled with his sneer. “You’re going to regret that.” He cocked his head with a click of his tongue. “Never compare me to him,” Arthur growled.


You uneasily rubbed your fingers against the handle of your dagger, stepping away to keep an eye on all of him at once. He was glaring at you, panting, both of you deeming the distance between the two of you to be too far for either of your weapons to be of any use.


His gaze darted about the empty deck before seizing you by the arm and dragging you down the gangplank, your heart beating so fervently that you could feel your head pounding. His foot slipped off once, causing his grimace to grow further.


Arthur stopped on the edge of the bridge and shoved you forward, your knees scraping against the fragmenting wood of the dock. “Go, then,” he said, as you pushed yourself upright and cringed at the raw skin on the palms of your hands, “Run back to Francis. But in the end, you will return to me.” His hand clutched his heaving side, and his jaw twitched. “Willingly.” From a pocket of his coat he drew something, clasping it tightly against his torso. “And you will desire nothing else.” Arthur flung it towards you before pivoting on his heel and striding up the gangplank, kicking it into the water when he reached the ship. Arthur disappeared behind the balustrade.


Your chest heaved, but you could not breathe: he had thrown your handkerchief. It was still begrutten but not with your tears. You hunched to bury your face in it, and when you did, you let out a dry sob—the history, the ownership, the scent.


Tealeaves.

Part Thirteen

Part Fifteen

At the end of this chapter, the year is 1634.

Thrown overboard? Where are the planks? Well, films have popularised those. Planks, much to my dismay, weren't used, like, at all (Okay, they were used on occasion but not enough to be proportionate to the number of time you see them in films). Also, before being thrown overboard, offenders were sometimes stitched up in what was basically a body-bag, and weights were added to the bag to make it sink more quickly.

The Stiletto is, as stated, an Italian knife used for offensive stabbing (As opposed to, say, a parrying dagger, which is used for defensive blocking). It's one of the kinds of knives Mai uses in Avatar: The Last Airbender.

The George and Dragon is the former name of a pub in London. It's named after the legend of Saint George and the Dragon (obviously), which is a pretty epic story, but it's exactly what you'd expect. There's this dragon terrorising a town, and the townspeople have to sacrifice animals and eventually children to it. Saint George rides by on his horse, and he kind of tames the dragon with the girdle of the girl up for grabs that day. Saint George drags the dragon back to the kingdom to kill it, and after he does, all of this awesome stuff happens, like the building of a cool church and the popping up of a spring with water to "cure all ails". And then there are other versions, but I kind of like the girdle thing.

And then the thing that Kitts says about Arthur's being "revoltingly ambitious" and his response with the "honourable" quip--that's a joke from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. It's from a monologue of Antony's, where he's trying to convince the Roman people that the late Julius Caesar was totally awesome and not to blame and that Brutus is a lying backstabber (literally, in this case) while being relatively sneaky about it. Anyway, Antony keeps talking about how Brutus said that Julius was "ambitious", here meaning "trying to screw over the plebes", and how Brutus was "honourable", here meaning "supposedly respectable and trustworthy". The speech is just loaded with sarcasm, and Antony wins over the crowd.

Also, in case you didn't notice up top, it's 1634 at the end of this chapter. This is kind of important.

I do not own Hetalia.


© 2014 - 2024 DashiellDeveron
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DefinexAlive's avatar
I've read this story is a blink and I honestly can't wait for the next chapter! I love how this is written and all of this action keeps the story alive too
Thank you<3