#ah lads I hurt my own fuckin feelings again
Text
“Oh, Frankenstein! Generous and self-devoted being! What does it avail that I now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destroyed thee by destroying all thou lovedst. Alas! he is cold, he cannot answer me.”
#Frankenstein#victor frankenstein#mary shelley#the modern prometheus#the creature#adam frankenstein#frankensteins monster#my art#ah lads I hurt my own fuckin feelings again#I’m so glad I finally got this image out of my head and on to paper#it was a Struggle#I hope u all enjoy#poor Adam#poor Victor#if only if only if only
813 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jumin Han’s Bad End 2 DLC - Notes / Opinion
Y’all know me. I have to take notes for everything I play or read or watch. I can’t help it. Here we have Jumin Han’s Bad End 2 DLC. The infamous bad end. The red shoes bad end. The “kinky” bad end, to some. Not my favorite bad end, but a memorable one. With that said, let’s dive in! Spoilers ahead!
Episode 1
This DLC has multiple endings! Interesting. Depending on how I answer will determine which end I get. This has me thinking there may be a way to get Jumin back onto a healthier relationship track? I will eventually aim to achieve both endings, though.
Jumin’s hand is fucking HUGE. MASSIVE. WHAT ARE THEY FEEDING HIM? Please hold while I scream at Kristan (jalaqueeno) about this. Holy shit.
It’s been one month since Jumin went to work. One whole month! Mr. Jumin Workaholic Han hasn’t gone to work in ONE MONTH! This man has made it his sole mission to keep you locked up & stay with you. Dude, like… why are you so obsessed with me~?
MANSION? They’re not in the penthouse anymore? I mean… there are worse cages to be kept in.
I am absolutely playing the answers that subtly suggest I am not ok with this new forced live-in situation.
HE’S TRACKING HOW MANY STEPS I’VE TAKEN. Wait until this man finds out I hate walking the mile…
Jumin continues to call this a game. Says he has a therapist on standby. Does he know that HE can use the therapist? In fact, I highly recommend it.
He says you can leave at any time. Color me suspicious. I don’t believe him for one second. How far is this “game” going?
MY PRECIOUS BABY DARLING SWEETIE PIE TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD WHOLESOME BEAUTY PERFECT CUPCAKE ELIZABETH 3RD HAS ARRIVED!
According to Jaehee, MC has been with Jumin for two months now.
Interesting how Jaehee makes a point to mention the mansion being untouched as this is where Jumin keeps his childhood toys. He brought you where he keeps his toys. Does he really see all of this as a game & you’re a toy? Can he snap out of it if you call for the game to end, or will there be backlash?
Some of these answer choices feel tricky. I’m trying to gently weasel my way out of this “game” without hurting anyone.
“Don’t say that to my master.” Listen, Jumin is my favorite man in this game, but that answer option physically made me cringe. Me? Call a man master? I could never. Not me. Not this bitch.
Wow. Ok. All this stuff with Jumin’s mom is moving fast. I can already see if he actually does lose her, it may make him hold onto MC that much more/harder. Maybe.
Woah woah woah. I know Jumin is acting a little suspicious & out of sorts, BUT AIN’T NO ONE MARRYING HIM EXCEPT ME. ALL RIGHT? I’ll fight. I know where to get a bomb…
Excuse me? A fitness trainer? Yeah........ about that. I’m going to have to leave. Sorry this situation didn’t work out between us Juju. Best of luck, though!
Episode 2
My room is kind of cute! Wait, why the fuck aren’t Jumin & I sharing a room? If I’m locked up & tracked, you better believe I’m sleeping next to that dick.
Send a message to space? The fuck?
Oh. Duh.
“I heard that obsession comes from anxiety.” DING DING DING DING.
Omg Seven. You can’t just ask me to open my box. I’m seeing another man...
LONG HAIRED JUMIN?????
Jumin really didn’t have one woman in his life who wasn’t cold or weird to him. I know we already knew from his route he had a difficult upbringing. But I hadn’t expected them to dive into that aspect for this DLC but I can see how there’s the connection.
I told him I wanted to be alone to see if he’d respect boundaries.
OH SHIT THAT CHAPTER ENDED SO QUICK. DID I FUCK UP?!
Episode 3
So are we meant to see this adult Jumin, playing this “game” with MC, as him regressing within himself & falling back to enjoying fantasy? Avoiding reality? Something he didn’t allow himself to do as an actual child? He didn’t understand why people indulge in magic, fantasy, make-believe as a kid. Now he’s vastly overshot the mark to the point that this fantasy life with MC has become his “reality.”
DO NOT GIVE THIS BABY BOY WINE, I SWEAR TO GOD.
Omg. Little Jumin is so cute. I will fight everyone to protect him.
This woman done fucked up. Look at this child, you’ve given him anxiety. He doesn’t know if you want him to be mechanical or a normal kid. Jesus. All this Work Work Work No Emotion Work Only No Feelings bullshit is her fault. Jumin’s only doing what he was taught. He was told this is all he’s good for, all he was meant for.
“I feel like I am a tool. Sometimes I want to be treated like a son.” STOP. IF THIS GAME MAKES ME CRY. I’M GONNA FIGHT SOMEONE.
IF Y’ALL DON’T GIVE THIS LITTLE BOY THE LOVE & AFFECTION & CARE HE DESERVES
Jumin is obsessed with grape juice. Grows up to be obsessed with wine. Y’all made him an alcoholic.
“I am not like her. I will not be cold. I will be warm to my family…” JUMIIIIIN. THIS LITTLE BOY IS TRYING SO HARD! IT IS POSSIBLE JUMIN! AIM FOR YOUR GOOD & NORMAL ENDINGS!
SLEEPY JUMIN HAN CG
OH FUCK
OH FUCK ME
OH HELLO HUSBAND GODDAMN YOU LOOKIN’ CUTE AS FUCK
LET ME HOLD YOU JUMIN. YOU DESERVE TO BE LOVED & HELD & CARED FOR!
I think you have to choose the answers that gently pry you away from Jumin? He can’t force this relationship. It can’t be controlled by him. It isn’t a game. He needs to come to that realization, but he’s really not making that connection...
“I have never been involved in a deal outside a form of give-and-take.” Oh, that hurt. He doesn’t trust you to stay with him unless he can offer you something? His money/extravagance/keeping you in this “game” you started with him & him playing into it is what he has to do to keep you with him.
“Please show me that you love me. I want to know what love is.” Insert Explicit MC x Jumin Fanfic Here. I’ll show you, Jumin. I’ll show you all night long.
*Jumin snuggled closer* In my own personal canon, that means we FUCKED. SLOWLY. GENTLY. ROMANTICALLY.
Episode 4
The creepy lullaby music started up. Shit is about to go down.
Omg is this butler going to lock me in the basement?
Lmao did I fuck up with the “what’s a cage doing here?” reply? How was I supposed to know there wasn’t actually a cage there? No Jumin, I don’t want a cage. …. at least not for me, but we can discuss that later.
SHE WOULD LOCK HIM IN THE BASEMENT? That’s it. I’m fighting everyone. Stay behind me Jumin, I’ll protect you.
“Let me talk to her! I’d like a word with her!” LET ME AT HER, JUMIN. I HAVE SOME SHIT TO SAY. SHE’S DYING. I HAVE A SHORT WINDOW. LET ME AT HER.
Not little boy Jumin Shawshank Redemptioning his way out of the basement omggggg
JUMIN YOU WANNA FUCK? NOW? This man is sending me through whirlwind of emotions.
OH SHIT. I’m torn between the “whisper in his ear” option or the “let’s change our roles for just today” because as y’all may know, I enjoy being in charge.
Me: “Let’s change our roles…” Jumin: “Uhhh maybe we should leave.” Darling, you know you’re a submissive. It’s ok. No judgement.
FADE TO BLAAAAACK. THEY FUCKIN’.
I’M HOOTIN’ & HOLLERING. After the fade the black I said I would stay in my own clothes & Jumin says, “They’re dirtier than you would think.” DID THIS MAN JUST CUM EVERYWHERE? LMAAAOOOO
Happy End!
Ayyy we did it, lads! Unlocked the happy ending first. Even though we already gave Jumin a happy ending in that basement, you know what I’m sayin’~
LMFAOOOOO JUMIN STILL CAN’T DRIVE LMFAOOOO
Wait, turned our backs on everything? How the fuck is this the happy end? Happy for who? Jumin?
So… what the fuck was that?
The good ending just reenforces this “only us” narrative? The good ending is that this “game” Jumin & MC are playing doesn’t end? Nothing resolves. He doesn’t mend any relationships. There’s no healing or moving on. He exerts more of his control on MC & takes more drastic measures to ensure they’re together.
WAIT. DID WE JUST FUCKING ABANDON ELIZABETH 3RD TOO? ABSOLUTELY NOT. THIS ENDING SUCKS. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? FUCK THAT. PISS OFF, JUMIN HAN. I WON’T HAVE THAT BULLSHIT. YOU DID NOT JUST TURN INTO A PET ABANDONER RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FUCKING FACE. I HATE IT. NO. I’M OUT.
The CG was hot, though. Jumin in black on black on black? AND GLOVES?! Hell yeah. That’s a whole meal right there. Delicious.
Episode 1 (Attempt 2)
Well, time to try to get the bad end (????) now I guess. Maybe the bad end is that this game of their’s actually does break. That’s what I’m hoping for at least.
Jumin already making jokes about switching roles. Jumin, my love. I am more than happy - extremely willing & eager actually - to be in charge here.
Pretending to want all of this ‘being a possession’ nonsense is making me uncomfyyyy.
Episode 2 (Attempt 2)
“Do something Jumin wouldn’t like” Lmaooo it calls Zen. HAHAHAHAHA
I think Zen’s voice acting is some of the most expressive, in this whole game.
Ah, so then I guess turning on the computer let’s you talk to Yoosung.
Not Jumin deliberately cutting my call. The audacity.
Jumin, possessiveness can sometimes be cute. But in this case, I’m not having it. Not interested.
All the toys in the world didn’t keep Jumin entertained. BUT THIS PUSSY DOES.
Episode 3 (Attempt 2)
Flew through that one just choosing the options I didn’t choose before. Didn’t seem to glean any new information except the fact that Jumin no longer has a desire to form a family, says it entirely depends on how badly MC wants a family. Continues that narrative of, if MC wants it, he will provide it... to keep her.
Episode 4 (Attempt 2)
So we’re just going to leave gold bars in that safe?
Happy End Again????
It says I got Happy End again, even though I chose entirely different answers & went along with being Jumin’s possession...
OH WAIT, IT IS DIFFERENT!
I can’t believe my first meeting with Jumin’s mother is after he rawed me in the basement & had me put on a fantasy fairy tale princess dress to make our escape. Omfg. Ma’am, your son’s cum is still dripping out of me, please give me a few minutes to freshen up first. Goddamn.
Jumin’s mom is named Carolyn!
I can’t believe I’m in the middle of a family argument while Jumin’s cum glues my thighs together.
She ain’t sick. She’s lying. I’m calling it.
“Simple - make him soft” Jumin: “Like mashed potato?” LIKE MASHED POTATO? FIRST OF ALL, JUMIN SAYING ‘MASHED POTATO’ IS SO FUCKING CUTE I WANNA SCREAM. Secondly I meant, make him soft as in help him let down some barriers & let people in.
“I heard sons are psychologically bound to be attracted to women reminiscent of their mothers.” Ok yes, that may be true but you don’t have to remind me. Bleh. Stop.
“If my consort is to leave me one day, I will be scarred for the rest of my life.” I am sad for him. So sad.
ONE BILLION, TO BREAK UP WITH JUMIN? WOMAN, YOU ARE SOMETHING ELSE.
The “mind if I touch it” option fucking sent me. I’m laughing so hard. It is 1am. I might wake up my neighbor! I chose the “…..” option though. I’m sticking with Jumin through this. Let’s see what happens.
… I’ll loop back & choose the money if I can though to see what chaos occurs.
“This is exactly what people mean when they say, ‘So not cool.’” JUMIN. NOW IS NOT THE TIME LMFAOOOO
Jumin went back to work. All right, that’s progress. He renovated the basement on a happier note. Ok ok, small progress.
“Now I wish to paint this entire place with our love.” TIME TO CHRISTEN EVERY ROOM WITH SEEEEX
THAT CG!!!!! AAAHHHHHHH!!!! WOW WOW WOW WOW WOW WOW WOW WOW!!!!!!
Looping back to choose more options for this episode...
CALLED JUMIN’S MOM AN OLD HAG & JUMIN LIKED WHEN I DID THAT LMAOOOO. I would like to call her a lot of things.
Final thoughts:
Long story short (too late), this DLC reenforces that this is a Bad Ending path, in which you won’t find a fix for Jumin, won’t find a way to get him back on track to his true good end. And that’s ok! This is a bad end after all! Though both endings are listed as “good” or “happy” endings, they’re still set in this twisted relationship, this weak form of love, Jumin believes is real. He calls it a game, says a therapist is on standby, says MC can leave any time she wants, yet when she chooses options that distances herself, suggests Jumin pay more attention to something other than her, or shows she’d like more freedom, he immediately blocks that path in some way. Even when choosing all the options that don’t give in to the plaything/being controlled role, the conclusion is Jumin reenforcing his control harder - you both escape together to be alone, neglecting everyone & everything in your life, & Jumin insists all he has to do is take care of you in various ways - to give you everything - to keep you with him. Even following the confrontation with Jumin’s mother & turning down the option to leave Jumin for money, it shows how far Jumin will go to keep MC. He truly believes he has to provide everything (money, security, possessions, etc.) in exchange for her love, her company, her willingness to be with him. This man has slowly been broken over & over again over the course of his life & he’s finally given in to these poor teachings & selfish encouragements, & has convinced himself what he’s found is full love where he provides anything & everything to keep MC’s interest in him. A clear give & take relationship. A contract. A game. And he’s not about to let that go.
Personally, while this path isn’t my favorite for Jumin, I was still absolutely impressed with the two different ways they had this particular Bad End play out. An emotional read from start to finish & back again.
#I flew through that so quick whew#Jumin Han#mm#mysme#mystic messenger#Jumin Han Bad End 2#Bad End 2#DLC#Bad End 2 DLC#spoilers#spoiler#mysme spoiler#mysme spoilers#After End#Jumin Han DLC#Route Notes#text post#long post#Meowle Mumbles
241 notes
·
View notes
Note
heyo! If you feel like a prompt, I'll offer up one for the flyboys? How about, “Am I going to die?" pls <3
Thank you! I always feel like writing for these two! Two prompts in a day, wow, this is unheard of. I would feel accomplished except I should've been working on an essay for my medieval history class so I only feel guilty lmao.
Anyway. Here, have some pining idiots. Bit of angst sprinkled in but really this is just Collins biting off more than he can chew. You know I love putting him in these situations #sorrynotsorry.
Collins has always been the heavier drinker. He's more easy-going, always accepting pints from the younger lads and beating them at cards and joining in on their bets when dark clouds loom close to the ground and they're allowed to leave for the day.
It's usually Farrier keeping him in check, walking him back to base late at night and watching carefully from behind, giving him space but close enough to grab in case he trips over his feet after a good amount of beer has numbed his reflexes.
Collins naively assumes Farrier isn't a booze lover. Isn't that into alcohol in general; he never has more than two pints, not even when Collins refuses to indulge in it does Farrier let himself get too comfortable at the bar or at a table.
Never when Collins is with him, anyway. This is a thought that has just recently taken form, as in, about ten minutes ago when Collins caught up with the group at the local pub after returning from his daily rounds.
Today he walks into the crowded place brimming with pilots as a thunderstorm announces itself outside, and when he takes a seat next to his wingmate on the far-off corner from the door he finds Farrier doesn't look up to meet his gaze.
"Evening," Collins greets, but he's not sure he's heard him over the music and incessant chatting of their peers.
Even if he does, Farrier pays him no mind.
To say that Collins is instantly bugged by it is an understatement. Farrier stares down at something in his lap, he's hunched down and sports a permanent frown and the overall sight of him just looks wrong.
"Ey, alright?"
He realises, but only once Farrier snaps his head up, that his eyes are a bit too glassy, his breath smelling a bit too strong when he sighs in Collins' direction.
"What? Oh, hey."
Collins only sees the paper in a flash, before Farrier tucks it back into the inner pocket of his jacket. The quick motion clearly meant to keep it away from prying eyes is the only reason Collins doesn't ask. Yet.
"Having fun?" he says instead with a smile, trying to brush away the sudden heaviness of a conversation that hasn't even started, and he leans back on his own seat and surveys the table in front. He counts at least five empty pints close enough to Farrier's side.
"Fun," Farrier scoffs with a shake of his head.
Collins finds the irony dripping from the word so strong and uncharacteristic that he leans over and takes a chug or two of his own beer.
"Let them have fun," his mate continues, gesturing vaguely towards the youngest recruits fooling about on the dancefloor, "they don't know what's fucking coming."
At that, Collins can't help but stare.
He gently places his pint back on the table and doesn't tear his eyes away from Farrier, now stumbling out of his chair looking much drunker than he did just a second ago.
"M'gonna head back," he says, trying to walk past Collins who only manages to move his chair back once Farrier's already on the other side.
"It'll be pouring outside!"
Just then, a thunder rumbles low and menacing under the sweet voice of The Andrews Sisters coming off the gramophone. Farrier stops dead in his tracks for a moment and just when Collins thinks he's going to turn around and sit back down, he shrugs and walks away.
"Ah, s'only a bit of rain, innit..."
He only stops by the bar to pay for his round of drinks, pushing through one or two excited couples dancing away the night and apologizing to one of the gals for almost stepping on her foot.
Collins watches the whole exchange from his spot, a bit taken aback by Farrier so easily brushing him off.
He gives himself a few moments to feel hurt and then he stands up and pays for his own unfinished pint, only catching up to him as he rounds the corner and the first droplets of rain start announcing a hell of a storm.
"Yer gonna be wet straight through if ya walk back now!"
"Yeah," Farrier says over his shoulder, lighting a cigarette and sending a sour smile Collins' way, "I am."
His gaze seems only a bit clearer as he stares Collins down, giving him a once over and taking in the sight with an approving nod. It makes something in Collins' stomach turn.
In a good way.
"You go back though, get yourself a nice bird to dance with. Put in all that effort to walk me back like I'm your granny?"
With the dragging of his words and the cigarette he keeps firmly placed in between his lips, Collins almost doesn't understand him.
He lets out an emotionless laugh and starts walking again when Farrier does.
"What effort? I always look like this."
Farrier blows away the smoke and nods again.
"You do."
"Something happen?"
There it is. He asks.
Farrier almost halts, just almost. He looks like he's about to answer but then the cigarette is back in his mouth and he openly ignores his question for a whole minute. Collins gets the cue but he still doesn't turn back. He figures he can play chaperone tonight, like Farrier's done with him so many times before.
Except, he's always ranting on after his round of pints and his wingmate's not much of a talker. No way to fill in the awkward silence. Collins can't help himself.
"You got mail," he tries again, a statement, just a simple comment that doesn't mean any harm and it definitely doesn't mean to make Farrier turn around like that - like he's properly annoyed at him for asking. For caring.
"Just go back," Farrier bites out, harshly, "you just got 'ere. Go on, don't lemme spoil your night."
"You're not."
"Collins..."
"I'll go if you really want me to."
That makes Farrier look at him again, truly look at him like the words have taken a bit of the alcohol off his blood and sobered him up. He stares for a long moment and then starts walking again without a word. Failing to answer again but answering nonetheless.
The lamp-posts they walk past light up the heavier drops of rain as if warning them of what's to come. Collins' hair is still wet from the shower so he doesn't feel much of a difference.
"You're a good kid, Jackie," Farrier says after a while, hands in the pockets of his trousers and looking up to the moonless sky. When he does, he seems to lose a bit of balance that he quickly regains before Collins can actually grab his arm to steady him.
He reckons it's better he didn't get to, judging by Farrier's general snappiness tonight. Can't be completely sure his help would be welcomed.
"What did you just call me?" he teases with a grin.
He sees a smile tug at Farrier's lips.
"A good kid."
Jackie.
"I'm twenty-fuckin'-five, thank you very much!"
At last, Farrier lets out a laugh. Collins feels like a heavy weight's been lifted off his shoulders.
"You're a fuckin' tease, s'what you are."
It's just as well that mother nature stops him as he intends to give an answer, because the words get stuck in his throat at the implication of that sentence.
The sky goes white for a split second, lightning flaring up above their heads before the cracking of thunder seems to switch on the merciless pouring rain once and for all. They're already far enough that they'd still end up drenched from head to toe even if they walked back to the pub.
"Shit, come on!"
Farrier starts running forward, where there's a couple of leafy pines by the road before the clearing starts the path back to the airbase: a very long and tree-deserted runway and training field.
In short, they're fucked.
Farrier beats him to the cover of the canopy and Collins thinks that perhaps he wasn't that drunk after all.
"Quicker in the air than on the ground, eh lad?"
"Want to race me, old man?"
"Nah, wouldn't want that spotless suit wrecked with mud."
Collins turns to answer and finds Farrier grinning at him playfully, looking him up and down again for the second time in twenty minutes - the spark in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed because he's never caught him staring so openly before. It makes his pulse quicken and turns his filter off.
"You really like me in my suit, dontcha?"
Farrier's next words sound fuelled by beer, as does that almost imperceptible lick of his lips.
"Why, of course I do."
He looks away to the curtain of falling rain in front of them, pooling down on the grass, and he shakes his head and talks so low that Collins almost doesn't hear him again.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"I'm drunk."
"Yeah, I know. Ye keep lookin' at me like ye want to eat me or somethin'."
Farrier snaps his head back to look at him, mouth half-open like a fish out of the water - like he can't quite believe what he's just heard, and Collins panics, thinks he's misread the situation completely (thinks that even if he didn't, he really shouldn't have called Farrier on it because, as his wingmate so bluntly put it, he is drunk). Thinks that's a very reckless and stupid thing to say and that he hasn't even downed half a pint of beer so he can't even use that as an excuse.
Collins stares back, for a moment he considers stepping away, jumping over that poodle increasing in size and running away in whichever opposite direction Farrier means to walk.
Try and pretend he didn't fuck this up royally.
"Well, would you want me to?" Farrier blurts out all of a sudden, openly staring at Collins' lips and neck and cheeks and hair now.
"What?"
"I said, would you want me to."
Another lightning. Farrier's face is so close that Collins can count the scattered freckles on his nose and cheeks where stray drops of rain slide down on his skin. He has very long eyelashes.
"Eat you or something."
The thunder following the light drowns out that pitiful noise that escapes Collins' throat. He feels drowsy like he's the one who spent hours sitting down at that table in the wet sweet air of the pub gulping down pint after pint.
Farrier is very, very drunk even if he doesn't look like it anymore.
He must be.
Collins wonders: if he answers truthfully, will Farrier remember it tomorrow?
"Yeah," his wingmate snickers, and after what feels like ages he takes the slightest step back and smiles that sour smile from before, fishing another cigarette out of his pack and putting it between his lips, "thought so. Pretty boy like you."
Pretty boy like– what the fuck's that supposed to mean?
"Answer me this, Collins. Am I going to die?"
And just like that, the conversation steers away from longing looks and unspoken words. Farrier's back to smoking that ciggy that's already wet and his hands return to his pockets and Collins feels he's just lost an opportunity that isn't going to arise again any time soon.
"What?" he repeats, like a broken record, refusing to let his own eyes derail from Farrier's face, refusing to look away to the falling of rain, the runway, the clearing, the town far away like Farrier himself is doing. Refusing to let the moment go.
"What are my chances? What are our chances?"
Collins shakes his head in frustration.
"Surviving this shit. Let me tell you: they're very thin. So it's better this way. I mean, it's me but– well it's just not worth it, is it? Forget it."
"Forget. Forget what? Tom, the fuck are you on about? Is this about that letter?"
"Fuck that letter."
He tosses the cigarette to the ground.
There's no remorse in the words, no hatred despite Farrier turning back to him and suddenly standing up straight, shoulders broad, gaze unwavering and challenging. Collins is still a bit taller but that doesn't mean he feels taller.
"I– sorry I– didn't mean to–"
"My fiancée," Farrier cuts him off, cocking his head and studying Collins' reaction for a moment before continuing, "got killed. A bombing over Portsmouth."
He drags the paper out and almost shoves it in Collins' face, who just stands there at a loss for words, again. Stammering like a broken record, again.
"I–," didn't know you were engaged, "–sorry, I'm sorry that happened."
He wants to kick himself for his lack of eloquence but it's the least of his concerns because he was just flirting with Farrier a moment ago, and Farrier was leading him on for some fucking reason – a fiancée?
That tends to mean one's attracted to women.
A dead fiancée.
"Sorry, Tom."
"Don't be."
Another lightning, another thunder, more heavy rain and Collins is already starting to feel the cold reach through his layers of clothes.
"I'm not. Fuck, I'm relieved!"
Farrier runs a hand over his face.
"I'm– fuck."
"It's okay," Collins offers uselessly.
"She's dead and I'm relieved I don' have to marry her. How fucked up is that?"
Collins thinks he hears a cry, and when Farrier tries to look away again he knows he heard a cry, and he doesn't let him turn around and steps forward to hold him in a tight embrace instead. Farrier wraps his arms around him tightly like he'd been waiting for Collins to hug him.
"I'm fucking horrible," he says, words muffled in the fabric of Collins' suit and sniffing through a runny nose. Jack keeps a hand rubbing at Farrier's back in what he hopes is an empathetic touch.
"No you're not, you're not."
They stay like that, holding onto one another against the trunk of a tree that's doing a really poor job of sheltering them from the rain at this point, but is better than nothing. Farrier doesn't really cry, stubborn as he is even in this state of inebriation, and after a while Collins feels his stubbly chin brushing against the side of his neck and smells the scent of alcohol again.
"I like it when you use my name," Farrier mumbles, words still muffled and burrowing his nose in Collins' shirt like it belongs there.
Collins' only thought at that moment, frozen and unable to say anything back, is that Drunk Farrier is a real piece of work. He thinks he understands, now, why he doesn't drink.
#this got a bit out of hand as i was sayin'#i know it was supposed to be angsty but uh you know#it didn't get that angsty for once#i hope you still enjoyed it though#also i only proof-read it once so apologies for any shitty grammar or cohesion#farrier#collins#collins x farrier#farrier x collins#dunkirk#dunkirk 2017#dunkirk fanfic#mine#answered
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
french toast
basic summary: jameson makes breakfast.
trigger warnings: read the tags! i was worried putting the warnings here would spoil the fic, so look in the tags if you want to know :)
the sun came up the same every morning. five am exactly, jameson knew. time was something he was intimately familiar with in a way he couldn't explain. it ran through his veins with his blood. it rang in his ears every second of the day. it burned in his fingers and warmed every tear that he spilled. he owned it. there wasn't another man living who was as powerful as he was.
and nobody knew it but him.
it was far too cold in the bed. jameson couldn't feel anti beside him. that wasn't unusual, or normally wouldn't be, except for the fact that it was very early and he knew anti hadn't gone to bed until just past two. he'd heard him having a nightmare at twenty past three. after that he'd gone silent, and jameson had properly slept. now, he sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes, adjusting to the empty, slowly lightening room. he wished they has curtains, but he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to a situation like theirs.
looking around, it made him wonder what the creator's boys were doing right now. probably all still sleeping, maybe eating food that they hadn't stolen or fought tooth and nail for. maybe when they woke, they'd take a shower without worrying about the hot water bill for a house not registered under their name. maybe they'd dress in clothes they picked out themselves. maybe they'd spend the day thinking of pastries and youtube videos and magic and jewelry and whatever else people thought of. not a thought to be spared for anyone else. jameson almost snorted at the thought.
his bare feet padded to the door, the silence almost deafening. his heart raced in his ears. a-n-t-i? he knocked on the doorframe, to which he got no response. probably for the best. definitely for the best. gave jameson a bit more time.
he went over to the cupboard and quickly pulled on some proper clothes, a blue hoodie and black tracksuit bottoms with mismatched socks that had holes at the top. drank some water that he'd left on his bedside. then he pulled out something that he'd hidden in between his sketchbook pages and slipped it in his pocket, along with something else that he'd hidden in his shoes. just as precautions. eventually, he went to the bathroom and quickly brushed his hair with his fingers before slowly making his way downstairs.
anti was sitting at the kitchen table. he didn't look up when jameson came in, though; he was slumped over with his face in his arms, whistling softly in his sleep. jameson wasn't used to seeing him in just a t-shirt, and for a moment he just stared at his ink black tattoos, marred by raised pink scars from an event jameson hadn't been around to witness, which he was grateful for. anti's hair was getting long too, falling in curls around his freckled face. right now, it was almost hard to look at him and see him as a manipulative murderer, a torturer, an actor and a kidnapper and a liar and a thief. but jameson knew he was. he always had been.
he wished he could have seen it earlier.
he made breakfast. he'd managed to convince anti that he wanted to try his hand at cooking, and his brother had relented after just a few days of begging for ingredients. eggs, vanilla extract, yoghurt and berries - french toast was on the menu this morning. by the time anti had slowly begun to stir, the scent had filled the warm kitchen, making the house that wasn't theirs feel so much more cosy. anti yawned, shaking his arms out and wincing. jameson watched him with a raised eyebrow and a soft smile, waiting for his brother to notice him.
it took a moment before he did. "oh - morning, dap," anti mumbled, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. "what the fuck're you… it's, like, six am, shouldn't even you still be asleep?"
jameson grinned, holding up the two plates he'd already set up and placing the left one proudly in front of anti. "toast," he signed as soon as he had both hands free. "french toast. also, i'm an early bird. figured i'd use my time well."
he sat at the table and slid a fork across the table to a surprised anti, who caught it and stared down at his plate in amazement. "you absolute mad lad, dapper," he grinned, brown eyes flashing. "i knew it was a good idea to let you buy all that shit."
that was bullshit. anti hadn't wanted to buy it at all, and jameson had had to behave perfectly to his older brother's standards in order to get it. like a dog being rewarded with a treat. jameson bit his lip hard and didn't respond, forcing a smile onto his face.
they dug in, the two of them eating in relative silence as a conversation was difficult to have when one party couldn't speak without their hands. jameson tapped the edge of his plate with his fork, the sound ringing out in the quiet. his hoodie pocket felt suddenly very heavy, despite it now being lighter than before.
"doing anything today?" he asked once he'd eaten a few bites, setting the fork down at the side. he didn't feel very hungry. anti bobbed his head and held up a hand while he swallowed, coughing into his hand immediately after.
"i have to go shopping soon, actually," he said, drumming his fingers on the table to a tune jameson didn't recognize. "do we need anything specific? i can definitely get more of this shit if we need any, ha. i know we need, uhh… fuck, my head hurts and i don't remember shit." he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. "d'you know, dap? anything important?"
jameson waited for anti to remember that he wouldn't be able to hear his brother's reply and sheepishly open his eyes before responding. "i don't think we'll need anything. as far as i'm aware, it's all taken care of."
anti furrowed his brows, frowning. "i'm sure we… needed something. i dunno what it was." he yawned again, shivering. "christ, it's gotten dead cold in here. and for some reason, i'm still tired as shit."
"why'd you sleep down here?" jameson asked. might as well ask. anti did love to talk about himself.
it took the man a moment to respond, and when he did, his voice was slightly slurred. "had a weird fuckin' dream, didn't wanna be 'round you. was gonna sleep on the couch, but i came in here for water 'n i fell 'sleep…" he suddenly coughed again, doubling over and covering his face. when he sat up again, he had gone very pale, hair sticking to his face with sweat. "shit, i don't… don't feel well, what th'fuck…"
this time when he coughed, his hands came away from his mouth red. "fuck!" he swore, trying to stagger to his feet. but his legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the floor, gasping and wheezing. "fuck, fuck, i'm - dap, help me up, shit!"
jameson watched calmly from his place at the table. anti looked up with desperate eyes that widened as he saw his brother's blank expression, pupils dilating to pinpricks. "dap?" he rasped, retching with a hand clamped over his mouth. "wh-what the fuck did you -"
"a-r-s-e-n-i-c," jameson signed with a smile. his movements were smooth and deliberate in comparison to anti's pained thrashing. "i went classic. there was enough in there to kill a man in half an hour, i'd say. i'm surprised you didn't taste it. you may be experiencing nausea and vomiting, muscle cramps, dizziness, abnormal heart rhythm, sudden convulsions…"
he trailed off, smirking as anti clawed at his throat, gasping for breath and gagging. jameson wasn't even sure the man could see his signs anymore. "y-you fucking - you poisoned me?" anti stammered, wrapping his arms round his stomach and paling even further. "christ, well, that's a first -"
jameson grimaced in disgust as anti threw up without warning, still coughing afterwards. "gross," the time traveler signed, screwing up his face. "die with a little dignity, anti."
anti looked up in time to catch the last few words, although by this point jameson supposed his vision had blurred enough that he couldn't see very well. nevertheless, he managed to sit himself up, wiping spit off his chin. "you want me - why the fuck d'you want me dead?" he managed. his arm twitched wildly, and he gasped in pain. jameson watched him clutch at the counter, trying to pull himself up. "i g-gave you everything, you unappreciative shit, what is wrong with - you f-fucking -"
he suddenly spasmed, and jameson sighed. "oh dear," he signed, despite anti not being able to see him. "it appears you've reached the stage of convulsing and seizures. that's not good, especially with your epilepsy, is it?"
anti choked, and jameson laughed without noise, pulling his phone from his pocket and quickly typing into the text to speech box. he wanted anti to hear what he had to say. "you say you gave me everything," the monotone male voice spoke. "then why am i always in pain? why are you always hurting me, one way or another? why do you treat me like i'm less than you?"
"i - love you, you b-b-bastard," anti gasped, stopping to cry out in pain as he convulsed. "i do, tha-that's nottalie, swear, swear, stop it, stop -"
jameson had finished typing his next lines by that point. "you always say you love me but you don't fucking show it. buying me sketchbooks and ingredients for meals doesn't count as love." his fingers flew across the keyboard. "love is not hurting someone just because you want to. love is not demeaning someone and making them feel small and worthless. love is not stepping on someone to elevate yourself. love is not hurt. love is not you."
"no, no, no," anti mumbled, curling up on the floor, hissing through his teeth. "i - i - you don't underst-t-tand - protect, trying to protect, ah, ah, nngh, i'm - dap -"
"and there's another thing," the voice said cooly. "my name isn't dapper. it's jameson jackson. you don't notice anything, do you, anti? this wasn't a sudden rebellion."
"a li'l p-poison isn't gonna kill me," anti laughed hoarsely.
jameson stood. "no," he signed. "but this will."
he pulled the other item from his pocket, slowly, so anti could take it in. he smirked as his brother's breath hitched at the sight of the silver kitchen knife, reflecting the light from the window above the counter. the reaction was so satisfying to watch.
"y-you're gonna stab m-me, eh?" anti tried to laugh again, but it came out more like a weak whimper. he retched again, head slamming against the wall as he twitched. "f-feels like it's f-fitting that you'd b-be - be the one to kill me. if anyone did, you-you're not - the worst choice."
jameson rolled his eyes. "sure." then he leaned down and pressed his knife to anti's bandaged throat. "anything else to say?"
anti was still shaking, blood dribbling from his mouth. but his eyes, flickering from colour to colour and eventually coming to rest on grey to match his brothers, were full of an emotion that jameson didn't understand. "didn't mean to - you - i -" he threw his head back, whimpering with pain. "b-b-bastard, i - fuck -"
jameson didn't let him get any further.
once it was over, jameson slumped back against the kitchen cupboards, staring off into the living room with unfocused eyes. he'd done it. why didn't he feel happier, more free? why did he feel more trapped than ever?
his hands were red.
he washed them. ten times over. then he took a shower and changed his clothes. he stared at his reflection for a full half hour, lost in thought, hands shaking as his nails dug into his palm.
anti was still on the floor when he went back downstairs. fuck, best get rid of him. jameson crouched down next to him and pressed a hand to his brother's chest. with closed eyes, he let the magic channel through him, burning his skin, burning anti's skin, crushing him under the weight of time itself. several minutes passed, and by the end of it, anti's body was gone. eaten away, dissolved.
jameson didn't feel lighter. really, he felt so much heavier. like he'd gone swimming in a full denim outfit. like he'd gone swimming with rocks in his pockets. like he'd - like he'd just killed his brother. there was no sugarcoating it.
it had felt good. jameson had never been more disgusted with himself.
what would he do now? there was no where else to turn. no one else to go to. except - jameson narrowed his eyes. no one else but the creator's boys. the one's who'd called themselves his brothers. the one's who'd left him with anti. they'd left him with anti, they'd left him with - they'd left him here. they'd been too fucking cowardly to come save him.
jameson picked up the knife from the place anti's body had been. maybe he had something he could do after all. loose ends to tie up. more brothers to put in their places.
his hands weren't red anymore. they felt red.
jameson's french toast had gone cold.
#jacksepticeye#boop writes#jameson jackson#antisepticeye#this is not canon in my lore!! i would like to make that clear!!! this is just another dumb oneshot that will NOT turn into an au my god#no more aus for reina#poison tw#death tw#stabbing tw
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dumpling ch 27
When they made it back to the library, the sun had already set and though she knew Farris was going to be angry that she had not returned before his curfew, it was the farthest thing on her mind.
“For the time being,” Maevis said to Jae and Nenani. “I think it best we keep what has happened here to ourselves.”
“Shouldn’t we tell Warren?” Jae asked dubiously. “I mean, he has a right to know.”
Maevis nodded. “I will broach it with his majesty and when Keral returns, I will share our new information with him as well. But for you two...act as though nothing has happened.”
“Well...I did kind of tell Farris that were looking for dead people in the tunnels.” Jae admitted sheepishly.
“Then you will tell him you found the lost tunnel, but no catacombs,” Maevis instructed. “And that because of your unfamiliarity, you got lost. Perhaps that will gain you a little sympathy for the hour.”
Jae leveled a flat and unimpressed look at the magician. “…I don’t know if you’ve actually ever met Farris, but that’s not really something he does.”
“Nenani,” Maevis said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Today must have been very hard for you. I am sorry to have drug you through all of it.”
“How are we going to find the fallen flame?” she asked.
Maevis looked at her, taken aback, but seemed very pleased that she had not been reduced to a further sobbing incoherent mess by the day’s events. “First we must ascertain what, or who, this fallen flame is. Barnaby has likely retired already for the night and I will not rouse him. The poor man needs his rest, but tomorrow we will begin our research. But for now, I believe both of you need some supper and a good night’s sleep.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be getting much sleep after seeing the glowing green skeleton garble cryptic nonsense at us,” Jae said, rubbing the back of his head. “...Donal’s gonna hate me tomorrow.”
“No, I don’t suppose any of us should expect a peaceful night tonight,” Maevis agreed. “But we should make the effort regardless.”
“Come on, Nenani,” Jae said in tired resignation. “I’ll take you back to Farris. Maybe if you give him your best kicked puppy look he won’t be that angry.”
……………………………………………
The cooking fires had been extinguished when they made it into the camp proper and everyone had retired to the hut for the night. As Nenani and Jae approached, they could hear voices from inside and what seemed to be an argument. Farris’s irate voice chief among them.
“...better have one damn good excuse!”
“It’s the brat yer talking about,” said someone. Nenani was sure that it was Bart as it was too deep for anyone else. “He won’t have anythin’ but a mouth full of excuses.”
“You should go find that old cocotte, boss.” Someone laughed and she heard Yale reply, “It’s in the back of the tent on top of the larger oak chest. Y’know. Just in case.”
“Not a bad suggestion, lads.”
Beside her, Nenani heard Jae grumble unhappily. “This day just keeps getting better and better...”
“You don’t need to stay,” she told him. “I’m fine.”
Jae glanced at her with furrowed brows. “Are you sure? Because you’re awfully...quiet. I mean, seeing the thing and hearing all that junk...it freaked me out. Aren’t you scared?”
She thought about it. “The smoke mage scares me more. A lot more. But the skeleton doesn’t. Not really. I mean he does, it was a talking skeleton! He was a skeleton and we was talking! But...he didn’t seem to want to hurt me and he did tell us some things, so that has to be good, right? He wanted to help.”
“I guess...still freaky.”
“Very freaky,” she agreed. “And it does help to talk about it, I mean. When it was just in my head all the time it just felt like it got bigger and bigger until I couldn’t stand it anymore and sometimes it was all I could think about. But...saying it all out loud helped a lot. And you were right about Maevis. He’s really good about making you feel better when your scared.”
Jae smiled fondly. “Yeah. He is. For a man, he’s very motherly.”
She laughed. “He’s very kind.”
“So I guess I’ll leave you to your fate then,” Jae said and was about to say his goodbyes when the moonlight above them was abruptly cut off. They both looked up and any hope that Nenani could somehow muster a pitiful look great enough to surmount Farris’s anger was quickly dashed when they saw the spice master’s face.
“Ah shit...” Jae said just as Farris reached down and grabbed him up by the back of his tunic. “AH! Fuck, Farris! Put me down!” Nenani was also quickly swept up into his other hand and without a word, the giant marched back to the hut with his prizes. Farris used his shoulder to push his way into room with his captives and all eyes turned to them.
“Ah! Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Kol laughed.
“Hold ‘em, Yale.” Farris said gruffly as he dumped both Jae and Nenani into Yale’s lap and turned back out into the night. He caught Nenani awkwardly and Jae mostly fell onto the cot, but Yale was quick to grab onto the young man’s leg as he tried to scurry away.
“Oh no ya don’t, boyo!” Yale laughed.
Jae twisted and kicked at Yale’s hand and managed to wiggle his foot out as Yale tried to adjust his grip on Nenani. But as Jae tried to make a break for the door, Bart’s foot was there to block his path and then rough and hard hands gripped him around the middle and lifted him up. Bart sat the flailing boy on his thigh and held him, ruffling his hair and making the unhappy human even more so.
“Nice try, lad,” Bart chuckled. “But ye should’a known better than cross Farris.”
“It was an accident!” Jae protested, experimentally wiggling in Bart’s grip, but Bart had a solid hold of him. “It’s not like there are windows in those tunnels, y’know!”
“Aye, but this ain’t yer first offense neither, is it boy?”
Jae sighed, exasperated as he tried to fix his hair. “Great...what else did I do?”
“Brought the lil’un back without ‘er marker,” the butcher replied.
Jae paused and considered that. “Oh...yeah.”
“And then before that,” Yale added, fixing his grip on Nenani so she sat in the loop of his arm. “Ya
brought her back all drunk off a’ Maevis’s loopy juice.”
“Yeah, but that one wasn’t my fault,” Jae protested. “That shouldn’t count!”
“And yet it does,” Saen added, his wide grin just making Jae all the more irate. But his bluster and bravado dropped like a rock when Farris walked back into the hut caring a cocotte. The kitchen staff burst out into raucous laughter at the sight and Jae just stared incredulously.
“You got to be joking,” Jae said, real worry starting to sink in and he started to struggle, but Bart just held him firmly.
Farris took the lid off the cocotte and jerked his head. “Put ‘im in, Bart.”
Bart was laughing loudly as the others as he complied with Farris’s order and forced Jae into the open bowl of the pot. “Duck yer head, boy,” Bart chuckled he pressed the human’s head down and Farris’ slipped the lid on top.
“LET ME OUT OF HERE YOU FUCKERS! THIS ISN’T FUNNY!” Nenani could hear the muffled sounds of Jae’s kicks against the metal pot’s sides. She sank into Yale, trying to maker herself as small as possible.
“You may not think so!” Kol said to Jae with a loud and boisterous laugh. “Oh...oh, Gods. I can’t breathe.”
Everyone was beside themselves with mirth and Nenani ducked down further behind Yale’s arm as Farris sat the cocotte down on the floor and use one foot to secure the lid. He flicked his sharp and angry green eyes to meet her own.
“Told ya one thing, didn’t I?” Farris asked, his voice deceptively low. She could almost see the vein at his temple throb with ire. His face was almost purple. She nodded, gulping nervously.
“And what did I fuckin’ say?”
“...to be back before sundown,” she replied meekly.
“Aye. Ya see the sun anywhere, lil’un?”
“No, sir.”
“And yet ye two come strollin’ in two hours passed curfew!” Farris’s voice rose and it sounded very loud in the small hut.
“We didn’t mean to!” she protested.
Farris pinned her with a very unamused look and jerked his head down the cocotte under his foot. “Ye wanna join ‘em in there, Dumplin’?”
She shook her head vigorously.
“Then don’t be feedin’ me any ‘a that,” He warned. “Your punishment comes tomorrow, lass. When I tell ya to do somethin’ or when’ta do it, it ain’t no request. I expect it to be done the way I told ya. Understand me?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. ‘Cause next time somethin’ like this happens, I’m stuffin’ ya both in there.”
“THERE’S NO ROOM!” Jae’s muffled reply came from down near the floor.
“I’ll get a bigger one.” Farris replied flatly.
“Ugh, fucking piece of...how long are you gonna make me stay in here?”
Farris scratched the side of his face as he considered. “Ye got ‘bout eight hours before the sun rises and nine before Donal will be expectin’ ya.”
“YOUR GONNA MAKE ME SIT IN HERE ALL NIGHT?!”
“Aye. Use it as a’ opportunity to figure out how to tell time in th’ dark so this won’t be happenin’ again.”
“FARRIS FOR REAL. THIS WAS FUNNY WHEN I WAS TEN, BUT THERE IS A LOT LESS SPACE IN HERE NOW!”
“Settle in, brat. Ye ain’t gettin’ out till I say.”
“Wha –? Seriously?”
“Aye.”
“DAMMIT, FARRIS –!”
………………………………………………
Farris had not been bluffing when he told Jae he would be spending the night inside of the cocotte and as everyone began to get into their cot’s for the night, Farris weighed the lid down with a large rock before settling into his cot and closing his eyes. But in the early morning hours before the sun had risen, Nenani woke from a fretful and not very refreshing sleep to see Farris at the edge of his cot, wiping away the sleep from his eyes before looking down at the cocotte. He bent down to remove the rock and slipped the lid off. Jae was curled up inside, fast asleep. His chest rose and sank slowly as he breathed.
Farris touched the young man’s back and nudged him. “Come on, boy. Wake up.”
Jae groaned and twisted in response to the prodding, but before he was fully awake, Faris slipped his hand under the young man and pulled him out. The bleary eyed human was set on his feet, but Farris held him steady as he found his footing and once Jae was awake enough to stand for himself, Farris nudged him towards the hut’s door. “Off with ye now. Ye got a few hours yet before Donal will be lookin’ fer ya. Go get a bit a’ rest in a real bed. And don’t think I won’t put ye back in there if ye don’t start mindin’ me, eh?”
Jae just mumbled something noncommittally, still half asleep, rubbing at his eyes. Farris snorted, but the edges of his mouth curled into a light smile. He pressed his knuckles into Jae’s back to encourage him forward.
“I’m going, I’m going...” Jae replied sleepily. “Geez...first that fucking skeleton ghost and then fucking cocottes...never gonan get a full night’s sleep again at this rate. Just gonna tell Donal I’m sick or somethin’.”
Farris narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”
Jae turned back to stare blurry eyed at the spice master. “Huh? What was what?”
“...skeleton ghost?”
Jae was suddenly very much awake and his mouth floundered as he tried to explain himself. “Oh...uh. Not...uh. Nothing. Just nothing.”
“Yer were always a terrible liar, boy,” Farris said with a warning peppering his voice.
“Just a bad dream is all,” Jae replied, but even Nenani could tell that his nervous body language gave away the lie.
Farris pinned Jae with a look. “Jae?”
The young human opened his mouth as though he were going to answer, but paused and then turned on his heals and ran out of the hut before the giant could make a grab for him. Farris just glared after him and sighed. “Gods piss on it...”
Nenani watched silently from her spot tucked up against Yale’s side as Farris spent a few quiet moments for himself in the quiet, just looking out passed the open door to the sun as it slowly started to peak over the edge of the horizon. When the first hint of sunlight crept into the hut, Farris stood up with a grunt. “Alright, boys. Get yer lazy arses up and let’s get to it!”
Yale had become very good at sensing where Nenani was in the mornings and well before she felt Yale stir, his hand slipped under her and he pulled her up with him as he sat up, yawning. Yale was still rubbing the sleep from his face when Farris stepped up to his cot and held his hand out.
“Huh?” Yale asked, looking up at him.
Farris gestured with his fingers. “Hand me the Dumplin’, Yale. She’s with me today. I’ll leave the mornin’ prep to ye to look over.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Yale replied, holding Nenani out to Farris. She settled easily into his warm hands, regretting her poor sleep and as Farris gave out the orders and quickly ran through the day’s work assignments, she laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes. There was no chance the smoke mage could get near her. Not with Farris around. Even with him angry at her, she still felt perfectly safe. The warm ball she had curled herself into, however, was abruptly undone when Farris sat her down on the cold wooden table inside the tent. The morning chill lingered even as the braziers and cook fires were lit.
“Now then,” Farris said as he placed several empty jars onto the table and filled them with vinegar. “By the end of breakfast, I’m expectin’ these all finished. Hear me, lass?”
She looked at the jars and counted. There were seven. It had taken her almost an entire day to do nine and now Farris wanted seven within a few hours. Her face must have betrayed her inner turmoil, because Farris laughed.
“Oh, aye. I’m serious. Seven by end of breakfast, girl. Best be gettin’ a move on then,” he said. “I’ll check on ya in a bit an’ don’t let me catch ya slackin’ none. Remember; that cocotte’s empty now and I’m sure yer plenty small enough t’be fittin’ just fine.”
Her strategy starting off was to pre-ground all of each ingredient first and then divvy them between each jar. She started with the licorice root as it was the easiest one and then started in on the ginger next. Farris peaked in on her after the first hour as she was just starting in on the ginger, but seemed satisfied enough to leave her at it. As she ground up the yellow roots, her mind began to drift and all she could focus on was the spirit’s words of warning.
“Find...the fallen flame...little one. They are...the one...who survived...the slaughter...of the ancient...blood...who has...no name...to pass...to her children.”
She wondered if Maevis or Barnaby were up yet and if they had began to look for clues. It just felt like they were sinking deeper into the mud and no where closer to knowing anything more about the smoke mage. It frustrated her to no end and it was only when she realized she had all but mashed the ginger into soup that she snapped out of it. She stared into the yellow goop clinging to the bowl and pestle. Her dress and hands were splattered with it. The smell clung to her.
“He is...the smoldering...wreck...of a man...once promised...great things.”
A wreck of a man promised great things. Was he out for revenge? What had he been promised? Had the fallen flame...wronged him? But why was he coming after her if this fallen flame was who he was really after? What had her Uncle done to deserve the death he got, stuck down by this mad man…
Her breath hitched in her throat as a sudden thought came to her. In her dream, her Uncle had spoken to the smoke mage and had said...said that he would be denied again.
“You will be denied. This time and every other. You have haunted my family all these years, took everything we ever had, and yet still you are here, demanding more!”
“I will have what is mine. I will see the dead walls rise...”
“You bathe in the blood of thousands. And crown yourself emperor of a mountain of bones. But you are not my King. No King at all...and she will never be yours, no matter how you twist and pull these threads. In this life or the next! She chose Hayron.”
She chose...Hayron. Her father.
“Mama?” Nenani asked aloud to the winds. “Mama...chose Papa...over him...”
Her mother...was the fallen flame. Oira. The woman who rocked her to sleep and sang her lullabies. Who made her clothes and teased her when she grew too big for them. Her gentle, warm smile. Her laugh. The smell of her hair and feeling of being wrapped in her arms. Safe and loved and…
The smoke mage had taken her mother from her. Had murdered her father and her uncle. And now he came for her. A nauseating pull from inside her stomach had her doubled over and it was only when she struggled to take in a breath of air that she realized she was crying. Yelling. Screaming. The flap to the tent flew open and many bodies rushed inside. She heard their voices, but could not understand their words. Hands, warm and soft, touched her lightly and she shrank back. There was a horrible urge to bite and scratch and hurt something. Someone. It was difficult to resist the urge.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” she yelled, her voice cracking and making her throat ache. Her head hurt so badly now. Sound made everything hurt and all she wanted was to curl up and disappear into nothing. No sound. No touch. None of it…
“NENANI!” She opened her eyes to find bright green irises looming over her, hands cradling her in large open palms. Yale was looking down over Farris’s shoulders in worried bewilderment. She saw Saen and Harit. Farris’s face was suddenly all she could see and she realized belatedly that he was speaking to her. “What is it, lil’un? What’s wrong? Talk to me, lass!”
Her chest heaved in great gasping sobs and she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t meet his eyes and she pressed her knees to her chest, curling into herself and shaking. It was too much. Everything hurt and throbbed and she was so tired. No more. Please no more. Help me. Please. Someone...
She could feel Farris’s hand rub down her back, trying to soother her. To calm her. His voice washed over her in a worried, soft brush of air. “Come on, lil’un. Breathe now. Yer alright...”
“He...he’s coming to kill me...” she told him, choking on her own tears.
“What?” Farris’s voice did not sound like his normal self. He sounded concerned. Very concerned. “What are ye talkin’ about? Who wants t’be killin’ ya?”
“...the smoke mage...”
“What? What the fuck is a smoke mage? Ain’t no one after ya, Nenani. Ye had a bad dream is all.”
“No,” she said, shaking he head and the looked up to meet his gaze with wet and wild eyes, full of fear and desperation. “No, Farris...please. I...I’m in trouble...really bad trouble.”
And she told him. Everything.
……………………………………………………………………….
His heart was pounding loudly in her ear, but she did not care. She pressed her forehead into the fabric of his shirt as he carried her through the halls, his hands pressing her to his chest protectively. Everything passed by in a blur and her head ached and her tummy hurt...
There was a crash as a door was violently flung open and she could smell parchment and ink.
“MAEVIS!” Farris roared, the sound of it echoing around the large expanse of the King’s Library. “GET OUT HERE YA FUCKER!”
“F-Farris! What on earth is the matter?” she heard Barnaby speak. He sounded alarmed. She didn’t blame him, though. Farris sounded murderous.
“Holy hell Farris!” Jae. What was he doing in the library? Didn’t he have work?
“Gods above, Farris, what ever is the...ah,” Maevis’s voice came from the other end of the room. “Oh my. I think I know why you’re here...”
“OH, I BET YE DO! WHEN THE FUCK WERE YA GONNA TELL ME SOME LUNATIC’S BEEN TRYIN’ TO KILL MY FUCKIN’ WARD?!”
“Farris, please. I understand you’re angry...”
“ANRGY? YA THINK I’M ANGRY? MAEVIS, I COULD GLADLY HURL YER USELESS ARSE OUT THAT FUCKIN’ WINDOW RIGHT NOW!”
“Please. This is not helping. I can tell you everything if you just...”
“JUST WHAT? SIT DOWN AND HAVE SOME DAMN FUCKIN’ TEA? LOOK AT HER, YA FUCKIN’ NUTCASE! SHE’S SHAKIN’ TO PIECES!”
“We can explain what’s going on, but...”
“AND YOU, BOY! YOU KNEW AND DIDN’T SAY A DAMN WORD EITHER! YA TOOK HER INTO THOSE TUNNELS AND FUCKING….WHAT? WOKE SOME DEAD FUCKER UP? AND YA THOUGHT IT’D BE A GRAND IDEA FER HER TO SEE THAT?”
“We needed her there to be able hear them if they spoke.”
“SHE’S A FUCKIN’ BABE, MAEVIS! A CHILD! SHE SHOULDN’T BE ANYWHERE NEAR THIS MESS!”
“BUT SHE IS!” Maevis’s voice matched Farris’s. “She’s firmly in the thick of whatever it is this Smoke Mage is after. We’re trying to find out what he wants. To protect her!”
“IT AIN’T YER FUCKIN’ JOB TO BE PROTECTIN’ HER! IT’S MINE!”
“Farris, please, listen to us,” Jae begged. “This guy is really bad news. That dead guy gave us some clues to how to stop him and that’s what we’re trying really hard to figure out. We have to find this fallen flame person and...”
“WHAT THE FUCK IS A FALLEN GODDAMN FLAME?!”
“We think it’s a person. Maybe someone who...”
“Mama...” Nenani said quietly, uncurling herself from Farris’s shirt. Her head hurt so much…
“What?” Maevis asked. “Nenani, what did you say?”
“Mama is...was the fallen flame.”
“You’re...mother?”
“Nenani,” Barnaby said to her, his voice urgent and pleading. “Nenani, dear, I need you to tell me. Was your mother’s name Aine?”
“No...her name was Oira...”
“Yes, my dear, but was her full name Aine Elaine Oira?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“Nenani, please, this is very important. I have reason to believe you are right, that the person the spirit spoke of is your mother. This fallen flame, but I need to know...”
“But she’s dead...she can’t help us. He killed her. And Papa...” Nenani said. There was another painful throb inside her head and she felt ill. “My head hurts...”
“Farris, put her here,” Maevis said gently, gesturing to the table.
“What are –?”
“I have some tonic to help with the pain. She’s hurting.”
She felt his hands curl around her for a moment before he lowered her onto the table. Barnaby was next to her suddenly and held up a tea cup, a small amount of bluish liquid at the bottom. “Drink, my dear. It will help.”
She tipped the cup back and the liquid hit her throat and she began to cough. It tastes vile and burned a little. Barnaby rubbed her back as she coughed. “There’s a good dear.”
“Oh my child,” Maevis said, standing near one end of the table with his hands pressed to the surface. “I am so sorry...”
Farris growled. “Ye should be fuckin’ apologizin’ to me dammit, Maevis. Does the King know? Why hadn’t ye said anythin’ before?”
“Yes. You’re right,” the magician said, bowing his head. “And I will explain what we know now and…wait.” Maevis’s head tilted to the side as though he had heard a sudden noise. “What…?”
“Huh?” Jae asked, taking a few steps towards him. “What’s wrong?”
“I just –Oh!” Maevis’s looked worried now. “Oh no…”
“What’s ‘oh no’? Maevis?” Jae asked, his own voice beginning to sound worried.
“One of my barriers was just destroyed...”
“What? Now? Where?”
“The one I cast near the north tower and...” Maevis’s eyes opened wide. “Another! Some...someone is dismantling my barriers!”
The magician ran to the window and thrust it open. The cold morning air rushed in, scattering a few papers. Nenani’s head gave another powerful, painful throb and she dropped the tea cup and it shattered at her feet. Farris loomed above her protectively, reaching an arm around her.
“Jae, my boy,” Barnaby said as he hurriedly thrust something wrapped in a hemp blanket into the young man’s arms. “Take this.”
“What is…?” Jae unwrapped the top part of the bundle and from the folds of it was the hilt of a sword. Jae starred at it in disbelief and apprehension. “What –?!”
“Just in case,” Barnaby said, his face strained. “Just in case.”
“Wha...where the hell did you get a sword?” Jae demanded. “And why do I need it?”
Nenani’s head was swimming and the tonic did not seem to be helping at all. In fact, it seemed to make it that much worse. She heard the voices around her argue and speak, but she did not hear or understand them. She was too engrossed with trying to fight the painful aching between her temples. And then she smelled it. The scent of ash and smolder. She opened her eyes and looked around the room, searching with fervent paranoia. Her eyes were drawn to the velvet curtain that marked Maevis’s private study and there she saw it. Thin tendrils of smoke leaking up from behind the curtain and she followed it up and up to the ceiling. The face of a stag skull starred back at her, its two red eyes glowing from high up. He seemed to be suspended in air, but she realized he was crouched on the topmost shelf a hundred or so feet up, staring down at them.
“UP!” Nenani screamed, raising her hand towards the black cloaked intruder. They all craned their heads up and finally he was revealed to them. He was no longer a possible figment of Nenani’s imagination. He was there. He was real. And they all saw him.
“Stay down, lass.” Farris told her, nudging her down into the safety of his looped arm.
“By the seventh seal...” Baranby breathed as he too laid eyes on the smoke mage. The stag skull mask turned to the archivist and tilted curiously. “It’s true...”
“Well I am surprised,” the black figure said, high amusement in his tone. “Is that truly you, archivist? I did not think you were still alive, but there you are. Still intact and everything! It appears you’ve managed to escape their soup pot all these years. Too bony for you, giants? I can rough him up a bit for you. Make him a little more tender.”
“How...” Barnaby seemed lost for words and in great distress.
“Shut your filthy mouth, Mage,” Maevis growled up at the figure, reaching out to wrap his hands around Barnaby and pulling him closer to his person. “If you should even think about harming him, I will rip your legs off.”
The smoke mage just laughed. “And you magician. Your annoying spells and incantations have been quite bothersome. Forgive me if I wasn’t very delicate in dismantling them. They were in my way.”
“What do you want here?” Maevis demanded.
“You have something of mine. I am simply here to collect. As well as pay you back handsomely for destroying my favorite pet. He still had plenty of use let in him before his body would have given out.”
“There is nothing for you here. I suggest you leave.”
“No,” the mage said and pointed his finger down towards Farris. “No, I don’t believe I will. I have need of that one. That thorn guard’s bastard...”
Farris growled a deep, guttural, feral sound, and his arm pulled Nenani closer to him. “Over my fuckin’ rottin’ corpse ye will, ye hazey lil’ fuck.”
“Such eloquent talk, giant,” the Smoke Mage replied dryly. “But if that is all I need to do, then it will be my pleasure.”
The Mage raised his hands and a black mist burst from his palms. Farris barely had time to take a breath before the force of it hit him straight in the chest and sent him flying back several dozen feet to crash against a bookcase. He fell to the floor and did not get up.
“FARRIS!” Nenani screamed. Jae’s arm wrapped around her shoulder when she made to run to her guardian.
“ENOUGH!” Maevis sent two blue orbs back at the Mage who leaped away from the wall just as the blue light struck where he had once been. Parchment and the shredded remains of several books rained down upon them. The Mage clung to wall like a bat and raised his palm towards Maevis to release another powerful burst of black mist. It struck the magician in the shoulder and sent him flying to the floor. He was dazed, but not knocked out, groaning against the pain and struggling to get back to his feet.
“NO!” Nenani yelled and then looked around to see where the Mage had gone, but his movements had been so fast…
“NENANI!” Jae yelled and pushed her away from him just as the Smoke Mage’s sword came down between them. Nenani fell hard on her hip and look up just in time to see the black figure standing above her, his hand reaching out for her. Then movement as Jae was there behind him, his own sword raised above his head to strike at the Mage and Nenani recognized the sword immediately.
...it was her father’s sword.
The skull tilted and Jae brought the blade down, but in a flash the Mage was turned towards Jae, his own black blade parrying the boy’s downward thrust. Jae looked startled at the figure’s incredible speed and that was all the time the Mage needed. He kicked Jae in the chest and the boy fell back hard. Jae laid there dazed for a few moments, but he got back onto his feet, wobbling and breathing hard.
“You’re annoying,” the Mage growled and turned his hand towards Jae as though to send a shot of black mist at him as well.
“NENANI, DUCK!” Maevis shouted and she had just enough time to pull her head down before another blue orb shot towards the Mage and this time it hit true and the Mage was sent hurling across the room. Jae went to Nenani and helped her up.
“RUN!” Maevis told them, pointing to the open window. “GO! GET TO THE KING’S KEEP!”
“Com on,” Jae said, pulling her along with him and in his other hand he still held the sword. “We need to move!”
“But Farris!” she protested, sending back an anxious glance to where the spice master lay prone on the ground. His head was bleeding, but she could see his chest falling and rising.
“We have to go!” Jae told her and even as she allowed herself to be pulled and ushered to the window, she did not take her eyes off of the prone form of her guardian.
#DUMPLING#g/t#Giant/tiny#g/t fantasy story#humans#giants#Vhasshal#Maevis#Farris#Jae#Barnaby#Nenani#smoke mage#angst#adventure#g/t writing
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Is this gonna hurt?”
Richie taps his foot anxiously on the dirt floor, the ice cube he’s holding against his earlobe melting rapidly in the summer heat. Beverly puts down the lighter she was using to sanitise the needle, leaving it on one of the impromptu shelves they’ve made, and turns to him. He’s got water dripping down his forearm and onto his clothes, and his magnified eyes are darting between her and the sharp piece of metal she was holding.
“Yes,” she replies, taking a seat next to him. He takes a hitching breath, swallows, and she laughs. “Don’t be a pussy, I’ve done this a thousand times.”
“It’s not that bad, Rich,” Mike pipes up, watching them from across the room. He’s using his feet to gently rock himself back and forth on the swing, the support beam it’s hung from creaking softly as he does. Bev had coerced him to let her pierce his ears last month. He reaches up and touches the gold stud, twisting it around.
“You’re all fucking idiots y’know,” Eddie says, not looking up from the Spider-Man comic he’s holding in front of his face. He’s fully reclined in the hammock, one leg crossed over the other — he had forced Bill out of it earlier, ranting about their agreed upon ten minute rule, and was now coming up on twenty three minutes himself. “Its gonna get infected.”
“It’s probably not going to get infected,” Stan reputes, though he has made the point of being as far away from Beverly and Richie as possible within the confines of the clubhouse. It’s not an easy feat, either. In four years all of them had grown considerably taller, filled into themselves, and their underground refuge hadn’t grown with them. They were verging on adulthood, teetering on the edge, ready to fall at any moment. But they all knew they would keep going there, keep returning until the roof collapsed and the walls caved in. They’d pack themselves in like sardines if they had to but by god would they do it.
“What do you know Stanley? Are you a professional ear piercer now?” Eddie spits, to which he receives several flat looks that he doesn’t bother to notice. “Are you a fucking infection specialist?”
“If he is, then why the hell are we keeping you around?”
Eddie scoffs at the remark and shifts around in the hammock clumsily so he can throw the comic book at Richie. It flaps to the ground two feet shy of hitting him, and Ben, who is sitting on the ground next to Stan and observing the scene with quiet amusement, barks out a laugh. He quickly tries to stifle it, covering his mouth with his hands as Eddie shoots him a dagger-like glare.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?” he snaps, visibly flustered, and the rest of them are sent into a fit of snorts and giggles that they half-heartedly try to hide.
“Ah, come on Eds!” Richie says, drawing his attention back, “don’t get your panties in a knot.”
“You know what,” Eddie settles back into the hammock, arms crossed over his chest, “I hope your ear falls off, asshole.”
Richie opens his mouth to respond, but whatever counter-remark he has dies on his tongue, replaced by a pained yelp as Beverly pierces his earlobe with the needle. Eddie looks up, startled, and watches as he reaches up to touch the new puncture, coming away with bloodied fingers.
“Shit!” Bev exclaims, scrambling to find something to stop the bleeding. “Of course you're a fuckin' bleeder.”
“It's not my fault!” Richie laughs, though he's nervously eyeing the liquid running down onto his palm. Stan kicks a box of tissues across the room; it tumbles over itself, kicking up a small cloud of dust as it skids to a stop. Beverly picks it up and pulls out a handful of sheets, shoving them against the side of Richie's head.
“Keep pressure on it,” she instructs, and he quickly replaces her hand with his own. She sighs, and reaches into her pocket to retrieve a half-empty carton of cigarettes. As she starts to walk over to where the others are, she leans down and grabs Eddie's comic with her free hand, flinging it back over to him without warning. He lets out a shriek as it flies towards his face, throwing his hands up to shield himself. It hits him with a small 'whap' and falls open onto his chest.
“How many times have I said we need a first aid kit down here?” he huffs, closing the book and wiping the dust off himself even though there really isn't any.
“Place ya bets, lads,” Richie says to the rest of them, in a sort of carnie voice, “closest guess wins a prize!”
“Oh, fuck you,” Eddie says, and the laughter starts again. He tries his best to look annoyed, crossing his arms over himself and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, but soon he's laughing along with them, throwing his hands over his face as his shoulders shake.
When he peeks through his fingers he sees Richie staring, still holding the bloodied tissues to his ear. He's got a look on his face that catches him off guard – it's softer, he thinks, and his stomach does something funny. He feels the urge to tell him off, tell him to take a picture, it'll last longer, but he stops himself. Richie seems to notice him looking and quickly corrects himself, glancing away and plastering the goofy smile back onto his face. He laughs with the rest of them.
Eddie drops his hands back to his lap and looks away too. He thinks: oh. But he's not sure what that means.
379 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kloktober, Oct. 11th: Dancing or Fighting
I chose Fighting for this day, but it’s nothing too serious or horribly angsty, just a touch of it!
Instead, we have a post-Doomstar fic, where the lads are figuring out what powers they have Because Prophecy (and ngl, I remember the barest details/lore from Doomstar and the prophecy in general because I haven’t gotten around to doing much rewatching of the boys lately, so please forgive anything I’ve misremembered. If nothing else, consider it my own AU version of post-Doomstar life for them.)
TW for mentions of drug and alcohol use.
Synopsis: Things are settling. Toki and Abigail have healed. Despite Charles claiming that he’ll spend time away from them as the leader of the Church of the Black Klok, his room is still right where it’s always been and he stays there at least four days out of the week. Hanging with the lads, and helping Abigail stay sane.
And, watching the boys learn what the prophecy being enacted means for them in terms of powers. Which naturally, means Front Yard Fight Club, and a show for Abigail and Charles.
My love to all who read/like/reblog!
“What...are they doing?”
Charles sipped at his coffee. “Fight club.”
“...Why?”
“Ah,” Charles sighed, and pulled a flask from his jacket to pour into his coffee. “We don’t really want to know.”
“This seems incredibly dangerous, given their new powers,” Abigail said, grabbing the flask before he could put it away and taking a swig. “They might kill each other.”
“Nah,” Charles muttered. “No, there are people who want them dead. But as far as I know of the prophecy, they can’t take each other out like this.”
Abigail nodded. “I could have donuts delivered, so we can eat while we watch the show?”
“Use the company card,” Charles remarked as he took a long sip from his mug, and stared at the chaos in the yard below.
---
“You douchebag, no fire!” Pickles shouted. “You burned my hair, and I don’t got that much left!”
“Maybes you cans regrows you hairs now,” Skwisgaar said. “Dids you try?”
Pickles, still patting out the fire Murderface had set to his dreads, cocked his head. “Huh. No, I hadn’t. Lemme try.”
He stood, eyes rolled back nearly into his head as he looked up at his hair.
After a minute, one singular red strand popped out.
“Ah for fuck’s sake,” Pickles groaned. “That’s so much work! What’s the point of havin’ a magical prophecy and powers and shit if it’s this much work? It’s gonna take me a year to do this!”
“Good things you ams starting nows then,” Skwisgaar shrugged, floating casually across the yard to pull a bit of burned hair off his dread.
“You coulds walk, you know,” Toki scoffed. “I knows you still cans!”
“And yous could floats, I knows you cans!” Skwisgaar protested.
“Guys, guys!” Nathan shouted. “Look at what I can do!”
He let out a harshest death metal yell he could, and Murderface was tossed across the yard by the force of it, screeching the entire way.
“I’m a banshee now! This is fuckin’ awesome!”
“Fuck you!” Murderface shouted as he ran back to them. “Give a guy schome fucking warning, you dick!”
“Nah, it’s more fun this way,” Nathan chuckled. “Besides, you’re fine, ya big baby.”
“You don’t know that!” Murderface shouted.
“...You’re walking, talking, and literally fine. That’s how I know.”
Murderface flipped them off and stomped past them to one of the picnic tables, sitting down on it hard.
Too hard.
There was an incredible amount of power in all of them now, and it meant a need to be careful around the now very fragile furniture (they were on couch 55 in the living room due to that.)
This was a reminder of it, as Murderface broke the bench with the force of himself, and dropped to the ground.
“Schtupid fucking table!” His fist to the top of the table broke it in half, and a kick from his foot sent the table’s remnants into the distance.
“That wasn’t necessary,” Pickles sighed to the rest of them.
“Overkills,” Skwisgaar agreed. “What ams his problems anyway? This ams supposed to bes fun!”
“Let him be,” Nathan said. “He can come back over when he wants to stop being a total dick.”
“I can hear you!” Murderface shouted as he stomped away into the nearby woods.
“I know!” Nathan shouted back.
“Well then don’t schay mean shit about me!”
“Don’t do shit that makes me say mean shit about you, and I won’t!”
“You can go fuck yourschelf!”
“You can go fuck yourself too!”
“I will then!”
“Good!”
“...the super powereds hearings...” Skwisgaar sighed. “I thoughts woulds be useful. This...ams a mockery of it.”
“What, you don’t love bein’ able to hear Murderface bitch from a million miles away?” Pickles scoffed. “Jesus. Wonder if I can still get migraines, like this. Cause I think I feel one comin’ on, the more Murderface flaps his lips.”
“No, we can’ts stops yet,” Toki whined. “I wants to show yous what I learns how to do!”
“Okay,” Pickles agreed. “You show us, then we go inside and see what LSD is like on weird super powers, okay?”
“Okay!” Toki chirped, and picked up a dandelion from the lawn. He barely looked at it, and it wilted, blackened, and turned to dust in his hand. “Sees? Neat, right?”
Pickles and Skwisgaar ignored Nathan and Murderface’s now wordless angry shouts, and shared a look.
“Cans you does that to like...anything?”
Toki shrugged. “Dunno! Only tried on dandelions so far.”
“Like...you look at it, and it dies?” Pickles asked.
“Long as I’m also touchings it,” Toki replied.
“Cool, very cool, but maybe be careful with that, ‘kay Toki?” Pickles said carefully. “Don’t wanna accidentally kill anything you don’t wanna, you know?”
“I bes careful!” Toki smiled, and wrapped an arm around both of them in a tight hug.
They both let out sighs as Toki let them go, and ran over to Nathan, another dandelion in his hand.
“This isn’t a fuckin’ joke, is it?” Pickles asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean it’s fun, bein’ able to light shit on fire, ice things out, float, whatever. But...we could really hurt somebody with this shit, couldn’t we?”
Skwisgaar nodded gravely. “I worries about Toki and Murderface. I don’ts thinks they gets it.”
“They’ll learn though,” Pickles said. “I mean, they gotta.”
A tree in the forest suddenly went up in flames, only to be put out by a blast of ice from an increasingly pissed off Nathan, who was trying to track Murderface from the edge of the forest.
“Bets we can still gets drunk,” Skwisgaar said. “What says yous and I haves that LSD and some booze, and hopes they dont’s burn down the forest?”
Pickles sighed. “That sounds good. What about Toki?”
“Stops calling Nathans names, or I kills you!” Toki’s shriek echoed across the property.
“Looks, I am absolvings us of this right nows,” Skwisgaar said. “Charles and Abigail ams watching from the window. Lets them deals with it if they gets out of hand.”
It wasn’t exactly right, probably, but at least the LSD and booze would settle the rocks of worry in their stomachs.
---
“This could get out of hand,” Abigail said, in between bites of donut. “We should go say something.”
“They have to be responsible for this on their own,” Charles said. “Harsh as it seems. For them, at least.”
“And you’re sure they can’t kill each other?”
Charles stared out the window, Murderface’s path in the forest marked by the burnt, then frozen by Nathan, trees.
“Certain as I can be.”
“Is that certain enough?” Abigail asked, wincing as another tree went up.
“I don’t know,” Charles admitted, and pulled out his flask again.
They were going to need it.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Decided to write a set of quick scenes from some dialogue prompts I found.
promptsforthestrugglingauthor:
The morning after the battle, her brain held nothing more than fog and regret. She pressed her fingers against the hot tin of her cup, hoping to find its usual comfort, but instead barely registered its burn.
She had lost friends. Allies. And she was beginning to think her faith would be next.
The sun creeped up over the horizon, illuminating the broken buildings and shattered tombs around her. Its golden rays glistened in the blackening pools of the corpse riddled ground. Talia’s nose scrunched up knowing that soon the chilled night air would fade and the stench would grow even less tolerable.
She just sat there, her back pressed against what remained of an old grave marker as she clung to her trusty tin cup filled with a hot, bitter drink. She stared out into the ruins trying to think, but found the fog of war still clouding her mind. The heat of the cup all but seared her fingers as she squeezed it hard, seeking the usual comfort from the burn, but barely registering the pain.
So many allies, so many friends fell here. She saw them cut down one by one. She felt the heat of their blood spray across her face. They were still there, laid out on the battlefield.
Was it really worth it? She stood up against those she saw as evil. She defended that which she believed to be true and right. Yet she did so by betraying and slaughtering her own people. Could the gods really look down and give her praise for this bloody deed?
promptsforthestrugglingauthor:
“Well, I admit this isn’t how I thought this would turn out,” A said to B as the jail cell slammed shut in front of them.
With a sudden clang and click, the cell’s iron door slammed shut in front of them, locking in place. Maric and Valen looked over the open wing of the prison as the guard wandered off about his other duties. The sound of hoots and jeers echoed from all around.
“Well,” Valen chirped, “this is not how I imagined things going.”
Maric turned to him slowly, “Oh really, because I thought it went just swimmingly. Especially the part where you decided to expose yourself on the stand In front of the entire jury.”
“That was an accident.”
write-it-motherfuckers:
“What’s your most precious memory?”
“.....Honestly? That time when we sat in that shitty little car park late at night, eating those disgusting chips from the petrol station with the broken sign.”
“.....Seriously? Why?”
“Because that was the first time I ever saw you smile for real.”
All was silent that night as they sat huddled together along the shore. The chill waters tickled their feet, left bare in the sand, and the not too distant, yellow street lamps bathed the scene in a gentle light. Mark would normally have some music playing on his phone, but it just didn’t feel right, not now.
Sarah squeezed his arm. “Do you have a memory so dear to you that you never want to lose it?”
“What?”
“Mine is of my grandfather. He raised horses.” She pushed herself closer to him. “My parents told me never to go near them, that I would get hurt. But Papaw thought otherwise.
“He would take me out to the stables where I would feed them carrots and help brush their coats. He even got a little pony and a saddle just for me so we could go riding together. We did too, every chance we had.”
She chuckled, “My parents weren’t too happy about it when they found out. But he talked them into letting it go.” She nuzzled her head against his shoulder and looked up at him. “What about you?”
Glancing down, he let out a sigh. “Truthfully?”
She hummed a confirmation.
“It was not long after we first met. I still had that old junker and we were sitting on the hood in that parking lot. We shared a bag of those nasty ketchup chips from that gas station with the broken sign.”
“Seriously?” she laughed. “Why that one?”
“It was the first time I ever saw you smile. Like really, truly smile. Just like you did a moment ago when you were talking about your grandfather. You were talking about him then too.”
She moved his arm up over her shoulders as she buried her head in his chest. “I always wanted to start a ranch of my own and raise horses like he did. I wanted to start a family there and we would all go riding every day. We would gallop across the open fields in the warm sun and stop to picnic on the side of a hill overlooking the trees. I always wanted that. It was all I could ever think about.”
He squeezed her close, feeling her tremble as she cried. “Yeah. I really like the sound of that.”
They fell silent again as Mark looked far up above the rolling waters. The flaming orb streaked the sky with its red glare, growing ever larger as it plummeted toward them. It would not be long now.
@awriterslifeforme:
“What did one wave say to the other?”
“I swear, if you make one more ocean related pun, I will murder you on this island and say you died in the shipwreck.”
“...well someone’s salty.”
Maric and Valen lied down on the warm sands of the small island. No boat, no food, no water, and not even enough material in the patch of greenery nearby to make a shelter. They just lied there hoping for someone to happen by.
“Ah-ha, I have another.”
“I swear by all that is holy, Valen,” Maric stated flatly, “if you make one more sea pun I will drag you out there and hold you under until the bubbles stop.”
“Well, you don’t need to be salty about it.”
Valen bolted away as Maric suddenly raised up next to him.
multiwhump:
"L-Let's go again," Protagonist's barely healed lips splits open again as they force the words out of their sore throat.
Antagonist raises an eyebrow, expression dull, "Excuse me?"
"What? You- you think I can't fuckin' take it? You think-" Protagonist coughs and Antagonist can hear a few drops of blood splatter on the ground in front of them. Their nose wrinkles, but Protagonist does not look deterred, "You think I'm weak? I can h-h-handle you."
It was hard to watch. The lad had some spirit to him, that was true, but he lacked the strength and skills to hold his own in so much as a simple tussle in the school yard. Now he was facing down the Dark Lord of the Wastes and losing, badly.
He never even drew his sword on the lad. With just another empty, back-handed strike, he put him back to the ground. Yet, even with his lip split and his nose angled, he dragged himself back up time after time.
“Again,” he choked out.
The Dark Lord looked down at him as he asked with a sigh, “Haven’t you had enough?”
“I can take it.” He coughed suddenly and a spray of blood spattered the ground as he swooned. Planting his sword in the ground, he balanced himself again.
The Dark Lord cringed at the sight. “This is the hero I came to see? Pathetic.”
“No,” he stammered, “I can take you. I will prove to you that I am not weak.”
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 16
in which murphy nearly cries AGAIN over this fic AGAIN
Cinder didn't say anything. She returned that searching look, like she was wanting something too, like she believed Glynda held some key for her own soul.
HELP ME PLEASE GOD HELP
STOP!!!!!!!!!!!! STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE I BEG OF YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i GUESS WE HAVE THIS CHAPTER TOO. I GUESS. OH MY GOD. IM GONNA SCREAM.
we’re opening with florence + the machine lyrics and i LOVE me some florence which is the only thing helping me cope rn but HERE WE GO. WE JUST HAD PAIN. NOW IT’S TIME FOR. MORE, PROBABLY.
The room was cast in filtered blues that seemed to drown all other color, an abyss of night that stole the reds of Cinder’s dress, smothering her in wine-violet.
i once made an offal hunt bingo card that i should have been using the entire time (whoops) but add ‘colour theory’ to it somewhere. and also because i see violet i see glyndas colour am i onto smthng here,
ALSO:
She hadn't said a word beyond what was strictly necessary through the entire ride up to her little apartment.
glynda... have u been invited into a lady’s apartment,,,,,,,,, GLYN,,,,,,,,,, HAVE U PULLED,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, G L Y N D
The lights reflected in her eyes in discs, like screens, like cat’s eyes—shockingly yellow in all the somber blue.
OH
FUCK YEAH
FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
IT’S GLOWY EYES HOURS FUCK YEEEEEEEEEEEEAH
i have been WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT for like FOREVER oooooooh my god yes. YES. cinder yr PRETTY EYES. i love her. did i mention that. because i do,
Glynda had heard of Faunus taking blades to themselves, to try and hide their features and escape the ever-present eye of human oppression. To cut away ears and horns and tails, shearing parts of their own bodies in a desperate break for freedom.
i want to say something thats VERY 👈😢👈 because i. hrm. dont worry abt it. im filing it away. like glynda is. but in a sadder context.
‘whats sadder than this?’
dont ask,
That couldn’t happen. Glynda didn’t want that to happen. No matter the risk. No matter how Cinder would lash out.
OUGH,,, glynda if u start 2 care then cinder will start 2 care and thats a one way ticket on the pain train to gaytown. i, for one, am thrilled,
The response on Glynda’s tongue withered as Cinder, with little fanfare, lifted her dress over her head and laid it haphazardly across the dresser. When Cinder turned back around, the faint sliver of light found purchase in the thin chain around her neck and the jade pendant laid against her bare chest.
OH
OH SHIT
/crashing sounds
MA’AM,
im having to take a minute just give me a minute please give me a m in u te
It was impossible to tell whether Cinder noticed her sliding out to the left of her own body.
glynda, but slightly to the left,
HONESTLY ME TOO!!!!!!!!!!!! HELLO??????????????????? MA’AM
this bed sharing is the straw thats gonna break the murphy’s back. this is it. im gonna die.
Mindfully slow in the darkness, Glynda walked to the other side of the bed, folded her glasses onto the nightstand, and slid under the covers next to Cinder. A small space existed between them. Glynda’s heart thumped in her chest as she tried to discern even the slightest motion from Cinder at her back. Proximity made her dizzy with warmth.
im not even able to comment on like specific instances because im as LOST AS GLYNDA IS RN,,,, WHAT,,,, HELLO?????????????? GLYNDA. THEYRE
THE BED
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Glynda jostled her shoulder. “Are you awake? Cinder?”
“You’re not giving me much of a choice,” Cinder said, unmoving.
og offal hunt COULD never DID never WOULD never i am absolutely going fucking ape shitt crazy feral rn. holy shit. holy shit. lads. the bed. the bed. theyre in the bed. you. whats going on.
“I know,” Glynda agreed. “You’re kind of a menace.”
Cinder was silent. In hindsight, that hadn’t come out as encouragingly as Glynda meant.
hsdjgfsgdf if this is what its like when these two are. semi-enemies. can u imagine what it’ll be like when theyre dating
(i can)
“If I showed up on Sienna Khan’s doorstep with an army behind me, she’d demand to know what took me so long to come home.” Cinder’s eyes were burning coals lodged in the sockets of her shadowed, furious face. “Fuck her. Fuck all of them.” She paused only for breath. “It’s been years—decades—and they still think—”
GOD. THE LORE!!!!!!!!!!! i am SO interested in cinders backstory and this version is rly just going wild. going hoggie wild on this shit. what the hell happened. why did it happen????????? whats going on?????? CINDER... TELL US MORE...
She was furious, like a cornered and wounded Grimm; furious, and hungry for violence.
👈😔👈
“If there is, bring me with you.”
“You?”
“Yeah.”
this is some poetic cinema. this is some soft and tender shit. i want to cry. why is this SO good.
Something small and charmed crawled out of the hollow of Cinder’s expression: the flicker of a smile, for just a moment. She said softly, “We weren’t all born with ancient souls, Glynda. Some of us were lucky to be born at all.”
👈👈👈😭😔😞👈👈👈
this is so soft. im absolutely dying. im going to die. take me out.
It must have been the room, or the night, or air, or—something—that made Glynda admit, “I wish—that I felt that way.” At the expectant silence that followed, Glynda swallowed and continued, “Not—not with the White Fang. Just… I wish that it felt like everything had been leading to something. That everything in my life was worth it.”
Cinder was very quiet.
I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING. DIESEL. KC. I WILL PERSONALLY BURN DOWN YOUR HOUSES OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! STOP!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
oh this sucks SO MUCH MORE when you KNOW THINGS(tm) ABOUT THINGS and ooooooooooooooooh my god im literally gonna fuckin die oh my GOD STOP!!!! STOP I HATE IT
It was like swallowing water and holding it in her lungs. She hated how it hurt. But she would rather that than drive Cinder away. She would rather anything than be alone right now.
the good news: this edition of offal hunt is so much more potent abt everything. EVERYTHING feels more vibrant and more real and more interesting and more... everything. and its GREAT i adore it
the bad news: im fucking sobbing
“Ten,” Glynda said. “I enrolled at Beacon when I was twelve.”
okay this is still a very sad moment but also can you fucking imagine rolling up to class at 17 and seeing a literal 12 year old look you in the eye and go ‘you know i can tutor you if you need extra help’. id be fucking livid. who is this square,
Instead, Cinder dared nearer, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind Glynda’s ear. It was an oddly comforting gesture, coming from her. Glynda’s heart stalled in her chest and Cinder, ignoring it, said, “I know it meant a lot to you. That he meant a lot to you.”
me, pointing: this is it ladies and gents and beans. this is it. cinder’s gone and done it now. i can feel it on the wind. here it is. there it goes.
“What is your destiny?” Glynda asked, feeling bolder than before.
The fingers brushing hair behind Glynda’s ear stalled. Cinder’s palm laid warm against Glynda’s high, sharp cheekbone. Something stuttered and then leapt between them, and Glynda’s face went hot when Cinder whispered, “You.”
“Me?”
“We were born in the same year. You couldn’t have known that—that we’re the same age.” Cinder paused and withdrew her hand, tucking it against her own chest. “But my mother felt it. I always knew.”
Glynda didn’t begin to know how to respond.
“We were born in the same year,” Cinder repeated, almost as if to remind herself, like swearing an oath. “We’ve always been each other’s destiny.”
“I always thought it was my destiny to die,” Glynda finally admitted. “Just like my mothers.”
“No,” Cinder said, distantly. “No, it isn’t.”
okay its bad form to grab SUCH a huge section to like bring attention to it but this is. so much. not just from a fucking offal veteran perspective but SO much more too. like this section is just IT its the CORE of the THING!!!!!! and i wish i could go into why hooooooooooooly shit this bit is just. It(tm) but thats a spoiler so i will settle for this
👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈😭😭😭😭😭😭😔😔😔😔😞😞😞😢😢😢😢😢😨😨😨😨👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈
cinder’s last line? has me on the FLOOR. THE FLOOR.
When Glynda asked Cinder what her destiny was, Cinder had said you.
The echo of it was butterflies in Glynda’s stomach.
im losing it. ima bsolutely beside myself
An unfamiliar tension lined Glynda, one she couldn't name or place or recognize. It choked up her throat and clogged her lungs with some unfathomable longing, but for what, she could not place. She looked at Cinder, studying every part of her face, and knew she was studied in turn; Cinder’s lips parted slightly as if she was about to speak, but she said nothing in the end.
But even without speaking, Glynda felt like she’d found an answer to a question she hadn’t had the courage to ask.
OOF. GOD. IM. AH. SHIT. C H R I S T.
i know that this is. [redacted]. and things. and that this is gonna turn into a chapter i look back on and WINCE at when [redacted] and [spoilers] happen but ooooooooooh my goooooooooooooooooood im dying. im outtie. goodbye. rip. fuck me.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Ghost of You – Updated
New chapter of Property Developer!Richie / Ghost!Eddie AU
Read it on AO3 HERE or I’ve pasted it under the cut.
Preview:
When Richie wakes up the next morning, he all but launches himself out of bed. He runs to the window, hauling it open, not bothering to open the curtains.
The lake twinkles in the sunlight. Eddie is not stood by the shore.
The room is silent, save for the short, heavy puffs of Richie’s anxious breaths. Eddie is not in his bedroom, he’s not in any of the spare bedrooms, and he’s also not in the bathroom. Richie walks downstairs, and does not find Eddie in the kitchen, dining room or lounge. The house is empty.
The door wrenches open and Richie screams.
Tag list:
@violetreddie @constantreaderfool @xandertheundead
When Richie wakes up the next morning, he all but launches himself out of bed. He runs to the window, hauling it open, not bothering to open the curtains.
The lake twinkles in the sunlight. Eddie is not stood by the shore.
The room is silent, save for the short, heavy puffs of Richie’s anxious breaths. Eddie is not in his bedroom, he’s not in any of the spare bedrooms, and he’s also not in the bathroom. Richie walks downstairs, and does not find Eddie in the kitchen, dining room or lounge. The house is empty.
The door wrenches open and Richie screams.
“Fuckin’ hell!”
“Jesus Christ on a fucking crackerbread, Hanlon, don’t you knock?!”
Mr Chips bounds through the open door, tongue lolling lazily out of the left side of his mouth. Richie crouches down, partly to keep himself from fainting from shock, but mostly to give Mr Chips a scritch behind the ear.
“Why’dya scream like that, lad?”
Richie’s hamstrings start screaming at him, and after debating standing up and doing something productive, Richie flops down onto his arse, legs splayed. Mr Chips, delighted, lies on his back in between Richie’s legs. Richie rubs his fluffy tummy. Mike laughs at them, and begins filling up the camping kettle.
“Och aye, just regular wee things, laddy”
“Git tae fuck” Mike scolds, but he shoots a smile at Richie, who has progressed to lying on his back, with Mr Chips front paws on his stomach.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m just trying to practice, I’m determined that eventually I’ll be able to go shopping in Portree and convince everyone I’m actually Scottish”
“You do realise that everyone on the whole Isle knows you’re American, right? I don’t think anyone who isn’t Scottish has lived here for decades. You’re the most exciting thing to happen to this little isle for years” Mike says, passing Richie a mug of steaming coffee. Richie stands up, accepting the mug graciously.
“Yeah, about that…”
“So let me git this straight. Ye’v bin seeing a guy in this house dressed as an army officer?”
Richie rubs his hands over his eyes, scrubbing hard enough that stars bloom in the darkness behind his eyelids.
“Sort of”
“Is it some guy playing a joke on ye or something? One of the wee bairns from the town?”
“Naw, it’s definitely not a kid. He’s a fully-grown man, like, my age or sumthin’”
Mike hums thoughtfully, his face screwed in concentration as he wrestles with the pipe he’s trying to bend into place. Richie stands behind him, half-heartedly screwing a mirror into the wall. The drill spends more time on the floor than in Richie’s hand, though.
“and ye said he told ye he was dead? That he’d died in ’45?”
“Yup, s’what he said”
“and yer sure he’s not a ghost?”
Richie scoffed incredulously.
“Michael, ghosts aren’t real”
“What makes ye so sure?”
“Common sense”
Mike shoots Richie a raised eyebrow.
“… Do you not have common sense?” Richie mumbled.
“I guess not” is all Mike says, shuffling closer towards the pipe-bend.
“Mike, look. You’ve either left a gas tap loose and I’m going mad, or I’m genuinely being haunted so I’d appreciate it if we could approach this little bit more seriously”
Mike finally bends the pipe into place, and sits back on his heels with a triumphant grin. He stands up, and turns to face Richie.
“I saw my maw three days ago”
“… Ah yes, an entirely relevant digression”
“She died six years ago”
“… Shit”
After a large amount of begging on Richie’s part, and a desire to get the washing machine plumbed in early on Mike’s part, they came to an arrangement. Mike would stay in the cottage on the moor overnight, sleeping in the guest room right next to Richie’s bedroom. They’d stay up as late as possible, and try and lure the man in the khaki uniform out of hiding.
“He said his name was Eddie, so maybe I can just stand in the gardens and … yell for him?”
Mike shot another incredulous look Richie’s way.
“Are ye sure that’s tha best way to beckon a maybe-not-real ghost out of hiding?”
“I have no idea, Michael, I’m not the one who seems to commune with the dead on a regular fucking basis now, am I”
They’d finished working for the day a few hours ago, and were now sat out on the grass near the lake. The lake was a lake of fire, reflecting the golden rays of the sun. Mr Chips was sniffing in the undergrowth lazily, occasionally coming back over to Mike for an ear scratch. Richie had cooked them pasta – about all he could manage on the small camping stove. The moor was bristling with noise, but the two men were silent. Mike’s eyes were closed as he lay on his back, head resting on his arms that were folded behind his head. Richie was throwing small stones into the lake. plip plip plip.
When it was dark, they moved inside and sat around the small burner.
“So what normally happens, then? When does yer army fella normally come out?”
“He’s not a train, Mike, he doesn’t have a schedule”
“Y’know what I meant”
“He just sort of … appears. I’ve never had to actually do anything before apart from –“
“Apart from what?”
“Well, every time he’s come out, I’ve hurt myself”
Mike’s face lights up, and Richie’s clouds with horror.
“No, Mike! No”
“Just a wee cut, ye’ll barely feel it”
“NO, MIKE!”
With this, Mike began to chase Richie around the house, brandishing his pen-knife like a sabre. Richie was hollering with half-delight half-genuine panic that Mike would carve him up with the small, probably incredibly blunt, blade.
“MIIIIIIKE! I changed my mind, it’s not that I hurt myself then see him, I see him then hurt myself! Put that fucking knife away” Richie screamed, very aware that Mike was a hairs distance away from him now.
“Fine, I’ll stab ye when I see him!”
“You do that!”
They both slowed to a walk, Richie’s chest heaving markedly more than Mike’s. They’d ended up in the kitchen, and Richie watched as Mike put the pen knife on the kitchen table.
“Tea?” Richie asks, picking up the kettle and filling it from the newly functioning tap.
“M’gasping, thanks, lad”
They sat huddled close together for the rest of the night, neither bothering to take to their beds upstairs.
Eddie didn’t appear.
Richie awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck and a tongue in his eye. He gently shoved Mr Chips off his chest, where the collie had slept for most of the night, before rolling onto his knees and hauling himself up. Mike was already in the kitchen, fiddling with the back of the new washing machine.
“G’mornin’, Guvna!”
“M’not from London, Rich”
“Eh, same difference. Howzit?”
“Yeah, she’s bein’ a brat right now but I’ll soon ‘av ‘er singing” Mike grunted, still fiddling with some bendy tubing he was fixing to the back of the washing machine.
“He didn’t show up” Richie said, filling up the kettle.
“I know”
“I think I’m losing my fucking mind”
“I know”
Richie placed the kettle on the gas burner, twiddling the knob to allow the gas to flow from the gas canister into the burner. He jumped backwards when the flame bloomed suddenly, glowing orange then red then blue.
He hadn’t showed up. Richie had sort of expected it. It was sort of like when you did something really impressive, and then ask someone to watch you do it, and then you can’t do the impressive thing again, no matter how hard you try. Not that seeing (hallucinating?) 1940s army doctors was impressive or anything. It was probably quite the opposite.
“I need a break” Richie mumbled, mostly to himself.
Mike stops what he’s doing, and stands up, wiping his greasy hands on a cloth.
“How long have ye been out here on yer own?”
“To be honest I can’t remember”
“Yer obviously in need of a break, Rich. You’ve been out here on yer own for too long, s’bound to make ye feel a bit squiffy. Come back to mine for the weekend, we can take it easy and ye can come back here and if ye do see the ghostie again, we’ll know its something we need to sort oot”
Richie decides on the spot that Mike is one of the best friends he’s ever had.
Mike lives in a modern house that sits almost jarringly in the mouth of a hill. It’s all clean, white lines and sloping ceilings and Richie both hates and loves it. The first thing Richie does when he gets there is collapse on Mike’s squishy black sofa, arm flung dramatically over his face. He intends on only resting his eyes for a few seconds, but before he knows it he’s out for the count. Several hours lost to a dreamless sleep later, and Richie wakes up. He feels alert, and more rested than he ever has since he moved to Scotland all those months ago.
When he looks around, he spots Mike sat in an armchair next to a fire. He’s got one hand on Mr Chips’ head, and one hand flicking through an old looking photo album. There’s a glass of honey-coloured liquid on the table next to him, two orbs of ice floating in it.
“Oops. Sorry, dude, I think I’ve been sleeping a bit worse than I thought”
Mike laughs indulgently, and Mr Chips’ head perks up at the sound of Richie’s scratchy voice.
“S’okay, lad”
Richie swings his legs off the sofa, and leans forward, eyes scanning the photos glued on the open page of the album Mike is looking at.
“Is that you?”
“Aye”
“Aw, you were so cute. What happened?”
“get tae fuck, cheeky bastard” Mike scolds, swatting half-heartedly at Richie’s head, before he points at another glass of honeyed liquid on the floor by Richie’s feet.
“It’s scotch, if ye want it.”
Richie nods gratefully, leaning down to pick up the glass. It’s a welcome cold against his slightly clammy skin.
“Is that your mom?” Richie asks, breaking the silence. He points at the photo with the young Mike whose sat on the shoulders of a young woman with sparkling eyes and a kind smile.
“Aye” is all Mike says, eyes glazing over for a second.
Richie doesn’t know what to say, and so he says nothing.
They sit in silence for a very long time, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, Mr Chips’ snuffly breaths and the crackling of the photo album paper.
“They died in a house fire”
Richie doesn’t say anything.
“Arson, it was. Some wee drunk bastard from the city. Threw a lit cigarette in through their window and it caught the curtains.”
Richie doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes.
“The first time I saw her was a year after she died. She was in my garden, watching the birds. I damn near had a stroke. I yelled out to her, anything to get her to talk to me. But she didn’t. I’d see her, occasionally, always sat on the same bench in my garden, but she never spoke to me. She still doesn’t.”
“Do you ever see your dad?”
“Naw, never have”
“So that’s why you don’t think I’m insane”
“Aye”
“Will you think I’m horrible if you say I don’t believe you?” Richie asks, hesitantly.
“No” Mike replies honestly. “Do you believe me?”
“I don’t know what I believe anymore”
The weekend is over before Richie even blinks. He spends most of it asleep, or mooching around Portree with Mike. They drink a lot of scotch, play a lot of card games and eat a lot of food. Richie eats a lot of food. After eating only camping-stove-pasta for months on end, oven pizza tastes like the nectar of the gods.
Before he knows it, and before he’s really ready, he’s clambering out of Mike’s van back at his little cottage on the moor.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, lad”
And then Mike’s gone.
Richie stands on the porch of his little cottage, and takes a deep breath. He opens the door.
Eddie’s sat at the kitchen table.
“I am fucking insane”
“Hello”
“You’re not real”
“I mean, I’m a ghost, so I’m about as real as a ghost can be”
“You are a figment of my imagination. I am not standing in my kitchen talking to a dead person”
“… You are”
“Why didn’t you come out when Mike was here? When I was yelling for you in the back garden? Did you even hear me? Can ghosts hear? You must be able to hear, I mean, I’m talking to you right now and you’re responding so you must have some capacity for hearing which means you were just ignoring –”
“I’m shy” Eddie interrupts, face turned towards the floor.
“Huh?” Richie grunts, pacing back and forth.
“I didn’t want to come out when the other man was here, I didn’t know who he was and I got … scared …” Eddie trails off. His face was still turned towards the floor, and Richie was sure that if it were possible for a ghost without blood to flush, Eddie would be scarlet red by this point.
“In my defence, you barely know who I am either and you don’t seem to mind popping out of the woodwork every so often to scare me shitless, do you!” Richie responds, accusingly.
Eddie tilts his face, and meets Richie’s gaze.
“I sort of do know you, I’ve been watching you for the past few months, after all"
“That’s fucking creepy, Eds”
As soon as he says it, Richie knows he’s fucked up. Eddie’s face twists in pain, and he stands up and leaves the room. Only, he doesn’t leave through the door, he walks straight through the wall. Richie stares at the spot in the wall that Eddie had disappeared through, slack jawed.
“Wait! Eddie!”
Richie scrambles around the kitchen table, and follows Eddie (through the door) into the living room. Eddie is crouched in the corner of the room, head in his hands.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I’ve just been on my own for over 74 years and I – I am so desperately lonely, Richie”
Richie’s heart thumps painfully in his chest. He squats down, but leaves several feet between him and the ghost.
“Aw, shucks, Eddie. If I could touch you I’d give you a hug right now”
Eddie snorts, and looks up at Richie. His eyes aren’t wet, which Richie assumes is because there is no water flowing through his spectral form. His eyes are slightly shinier, though, and they’re more insistent, more earnest.
“I don’t think you can touch me”
“Maybe we could try?” Richie asks, before he can stop himself. He doesn’t have long to panic about being forward, though, because Eddie agrees almost immediately.
Richie debates just trying to touch Eddie’s hand, or his shoulder, but decides to just go all out and leans forward, arms open, expecting to enclose a solid form in his arms. That doesn’t happen. What does happen is Richie falls forward, straight through Eddie’s ghostly form, and almost headbutts the wall. The air that Eddie’s form occupies is scalding hot. Eddie leaps forward, shaking his limbs violently.
“Bloody hell!” Eddie exclaims, face contorted in pain.
“Huh” is all Richie says. He shifts so he’s sat on his arse, knees folded up against his chest. Eddie stands before him, looking mildly scandalized.
“Why aren’t you freezing?”
“Pardon?”
“Ghosts are always freezing in movies. You’re not. You’re like I just fell head first into fuckin’ Mount Vesuvius. Why aren’t you freezing?”
Eddie doesn’t say anything, just continues to look upset.
“Wait – when I fell out of the window you managed to put a pillow behind my head. How’dya do that if you can’t touch anything?”
“Well, I’ve done some experimenting over the past seven decades, and I’ve worked out that I can touch things that aren’t alive – so things that aren’t made of flesh. Or things that are also dead, I can touch those, too. I just can’t touch living matter”
“I see, very scientific” Richie replies, but he’s mostly lost in thought. Without warning, he scrambles to his feet, and disappears into the kitchen. A confused and still scandalized Eddie follows, floating through the wall, where he finds Richie triumphantly holding out a pair of still-in-the-packet oven mitts.
“Put these on”
Eddie does as he’s told.
“Why am I wearing these? What are they?”
“Oven mitts. I bought them to help me carry pots of boiling water up the stairs but I haven’t needed them so far – I thought we could -“
Richie trails off, and reaches out to touch Eddie’s oven-mitt covered hand. Eddie flinches away a bit, but doesn’t move his hand.
Richie makes contact with the oven mitt, and squeezes.
Eddie squeezes back.
#reddie#richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak#eddie kaspbrak#richie tozier#the ghost of you#ao3#thefutureisbright#ghost au#!!!
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ramble On
Hey, y’all! So, here’s another Bonzo one-shot. Gosh, I loved writing this one. I’ve never felt comfortable writing someone like this. It is NSFW, but very fluffy and sweet.
There’s just enough time to take a few days away from the tour for a small adventure—just you and Bonzo. You’ve rented a VW bus, sunrise orange with streaks of yellow, and taken to the open roads of the Southwest.
Bonzo, naturally, has been having the time of his life with the unfamiliar vehicle—you were sure to have the number for Triple AAA safely in your purse, in the case of flat tires or a broken axel. Despite some unplanned off-roading, however, the only stops so far have been for bathroom breaks or to buy postcards. It’s been nothing but laughter, good food, and music from the 8-track as you make your way along the desert highways.
Now, as the last of the sunset has lit the sky fluorescent, you’re settled into camp for the evening. Bonzo’s built a roaring fire against the chill of the desert evening; you’ve made up the pull-up bed in the back of the bus, and pulled out the extra blankets and pillows to make a nest by the fire.
The quiet and peace is all-enveloping. You’ve set up close enough to the highway for safety, but far away enough that you can both focus on your surroundings, as well as each other. It’s a small, perfect oasis from the pressure cooker of performing.
You’re licking chocolate from the s’mores off of your fingers when Bonzo, having eaten approximately half the bag of marshmallows, wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. His lips are soft against your temple as you settle in.
“There’s my lass.”
“Hey, you.” You tilt your head up to smile at Bonzo. Those dark green eyes sparkle in the firelight, crinkled up at the corners in those laugh lines you love. Here, away from the spotlights, the crowds, the tension, the heart and soul of this man who’s won you as his is fully on display.
“You can see forever out here, you can—room enough to breathe.” Bonzo exhales, blowing a curl of smoke heavenward, his arm around you. You snuggle in, head over his heart, listening to the steady, reassuring beat.
“No audience out here, except maybe some snakes—a coyote or two.”
“Rather coyotes than some of the people that show up at our shows, love.”
You laugh out loud and can feel Bonzo smile against your hair. Twilight’s starting to settle in, soon leading to the reason you wanted to be out here tonight—to see the appearance of the stars, which are supposed to be breathtaking here, away from the city lights, like being in space itself.
For now, though, you’re more than happy to focus on your own star, the handsome man who feels so solid and so warm against you. You hook an arm around Bonzo’s neck, hand resting on the back of his head and pulling him down to you.
At first, you just rest your forehead against Bonzo’s, looking in his eyes, noticing the long lashes that would be the envy of many women, the beautiful plane of his cheekbones. He puts his hands on your hips, drawing in closer.
The attractions of the night are temporarily forgotten as Bonzo’s lips move over yours. Every time he kisses you, you marvel all over again that the man known as The Beast, the one who plays the guitar with such force nightly, can be so very gentle. Yet, all for the softness, he makes his feelings and attraction felt with the way he holds you tight.
Each kiss brings you further under Bonzo’s spell. You aren’t conscious of the rest of the light slipping from the horizon as he parts your lips with his tongue, slowly, but with a force that makes heat spread along every nerve. Your other arm goes around his neck, wanting the closeness.
Bonzo takes that as an invitation to pull you into his capacious lap, which feels like home. You press in closer against him, stealing kiss after kiss, and purr in delight as you feel his hand slide up under your top. A bit of chill air works its way in with his fingers, and you use it as a reason to curl into him.
You both have to take a moment to breath. Bonzo brushes kisses along your face, from your chin to your temple, then looks up.
“Well, will ya look at that.”
The sky, still streaked with pastel blue the last you looked at it, has darkened to lapis lazuli, and now, the stars you had so wanted to see twinkle like great handfuls of diamonds thrown across velvet. Your breath is taken away by the sheer concentration of them and the beauty.
“It’s absolutely stunning.”
“Ah, like you, innit?”
The grin that stretches across your face almost hurts as you, still in Bonzo’s lap, snuggle back against his chest.
For a time—it could be minutes, it could be hours—you talk and watch the stars, picking out Sagittarius and Scorpius. You talk of the summers of your childhood, of trips you’ve taken in the past, hinting at matters of the heart and the way you feel about each other. You know you’ve never felt as comfortable as you do now and you tell him so, rewarded by a smile whose brilliance rivals anything in the sky.
“You’re the closest I’ve been to breathing, girl, since the lads and I started this madness.”
As Bonzo hugs you again, close to his chest, a shooting star falls across the sky, looking as if it’s disappearing into the horizon. You reach out as if you could catch it with your hand, and he brings your palm to his lips.
“Those are good luck, ain’t they? Just like you.”
The kissing starts again, but more in earnest this time, deeper and harder. You run your hand through Bonzo’s hair, touch your nose to his. “Why don’t we move this inside and warm up just a bit?”
“Read my bloody mind, you did.”
You shake the sand out of the blankets and pillows, so you can use them on the bed, and bank the fire for the night, high enough to keep curious animals away. You want nothing more now than to be one with him.
The back of the van is cozy but a little cool; you switch on the battery-operated lantern, giving you both just enough room to see each other as you undress, relying on body heat to keep each other warm—a tempting prospect indeed.
Bonzo’s ready first, lying on his side on the futon, patting the space beside him. You giggle and kick your sandals off, sliding into bed and letting him tuck the covers around you, his loving touch showing you how much he cares. It’s that sweetness, which he shows the most to you, that’s made you fall for him.
His hands trail down your back, cupping your ass and pulling you into him. You wrap your arms around his waist and grind lazily against him, feeling his cock come to life. The slow heat that was percolating through your body through all the kisses and cuddling has pooled between your legs, an insistent ache.
“Fuckin hell, you feel marvelous.” Bonzo moves back just a little so he can play with your breasts, kissing across the curve of one before he slides his tongue over the nipple, smiling at your gasp and drawing it into his mouth. His strong fingers play across the other one, a ghost of a touch in compared to what he’s doing with his mouth, but toe-curlingly good none-the-less.
Not wanting Bonzo to feel left out, you take his cock in your hand, the warm curve heaven in your palm. You rub up and down, feeling his appreciation in the hum of his moans against your skin. Your unoccupied hand is tracing up and down his back, plying him with tenderness to match the unbridled longing transmitted as you stroke his length.
Breath hitching, Bonzo raises his head. “That’s bloody it, sweetheart—that's damn near all the waiting I can stand.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” You nip at Bonzo’s earlobe, wrapping your arms around his waist and giving him an emphatic squeeze to prove your point.
Bonzo’s hand, so large and warm, spreads across your hip, helping you lift your leg up to wrap around him. Your sex twitches just from the proximity; you’re open, so ready, needing that moment where the two of you become one.
He’s gentle as he enters you, only thrusting in a bit, waiting for you to meet him the rest of the way. You savor every second, letting Bonzo spread you open, sliding down until your wall meets him. A shiver of pure delight runs through you.
“How’s that, then?”
“Goooood.” Your voice goes up on the last syllable as his cock nudges your clit and a thrill runs through you. Bonzo keeps a hand on your leg, the hand of the other tangled up in your hair, his forehead against yours. You wrap your arms fully around his neck, giving yourself a way to brace against him and take your part in this dance.
Each thrust from Bonzo is met from a push back from you. Each time, you think it couldn’t feel better; each time, you’re proven wrong as your stomach clenches and your awareness contracts. Everything is focused on that pearl between your legs, the way his cock pushes against it.
Needing more, you urge Bonzo a little up and off the bed, enough so that you can wrap the other leg around him, ankles crossing. He buries his face in your shoulder, pulling you close, your breasts against his chest.
The heat’s rising now, both in you and in the confines of the van. The tension is curling deep inside you, into a tighter spiral, and you take one of his hands.
Bonzo knows what you need. He slides the hand in between you two, finding the place where you throb.
“There it is, lass. I’ll give you what you need.”
You arch yourself up into his touch, rough calloused skin against your smooth softness, wringing every bit of pleasure your body can bestow. You’re squinching your eyes closed, more and more, so close....
“OH!” You feel like you’re leaving your body as you shudder, head falling forward. Bonzo follows you, your name on his lips before he kisses you, soft and sweet, those strong arms your shelter as you fall into sleep.
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
okay here we go, episode 2 second watch
(I think this is my longest liveblog I’ve done, but then again I feel like this is the most emotional a tv episode has made me since I finished Black Sails so like?)
so uhhh they’re really gonna hide all the valuable people in the crypts huh, they’re really following through on that
“women and children first” to DIE??? I M EAN
i’ve been thinking about this non stop since i first watched the ep and my growing dread is nigh unstoppable, if i had any doubts that the winterfell dead might rise, their whole repeated thing of “everyone will be safe down there” shot them straight down
i’m lowkey annoyed we missed out on what would have been an incredibly awkward introduction scene between jaime and literally everyone, but i’m glad his “trial” didn’t drag out
i want sam’s opinion on dany’s bloodthirst vis a vis avenging her father BC LIKE????
“i’d do it all again” honey be QUIET
L O Y A L T Y
loyalty
l o yal t e a
lmao daenerys’ look of anger and disgust at brienne hopping to jaime’s defense alone makes me want her dead tbh
sansa being a better strategist, ruler, negotiator, and peacekeeper than both of her parents combined, is my weakness tbh
also He R aRmOuR drESs !!!!! what a LOOK!
d: “what does the warden of the north say about it?”
j: [has dissociated solidly through the past six hours, is only now just realising it’s daylight and he’s in the great hall] uhhhhhhhhhhhh cool i guess?
tyrion finally breathing after daenerys lets jaime live is ridiculously endearing, i love the brothers’ relationship so much
baeworm death-glaring jaime is also ridiculously endearing tbh
i dig the gendarya love theme, i do i do i do
everyone keeps saying that the fact they had sex means one of them will die next ep but honestly? out of all the non jonerys pairings (missandei/greyworm, sam/gilly, jaime/brienne) i think they’re most likely to live through the battle, and the fact they have their own theme makes me doubt as well that they’ll end next episode
that poor guy who got in the way of arya and gendry’s dragonglass throwing foreplay, so close yikes
i can’t believe that out of everyone who bran has been weird to, jaime was the one to take his weird shit best
“how do you know there is an afterwards?” sd;kjlas
djkasljdak;lsd
asjd;lsakdla;sd
bran
bran stop
please be fuckin w us bran
this brotherly love scene is great and it hurts me to think it might be their last solo scene
although the way they keep talking about how sure they are they’ll die....idk? and with bronn on the way with his crossbow? to have both, or either, die at winterfell with the battle seems a waste. plus, one of them needs to be the valonqar so?
i’d be satisfied seeing a dead tyrion rip cersei apart though, i’ll admit that
JAIME GAZING AT BRIENNE INSTEAD OF LISTENING TO HIS BROTHER
pod has come so far in his fighting i love him so much i love brienne’s proud mama expression hes. he’s 100% going to die. for sure.
“we have never had a conversation that’s lasted this long without you insulting me, not once” KJASDKLASJDKALSJDALKSD
“i came to winterfell because...” Y OU LOVE HER DUMBASS
i still ship jorah with dany more than jon, fight me
i love the confirmation that all the bad blood between them is under the bridge, i love that he convinced her to make peace with tyrion and sansa, i love that he’s made peace with tyrion taking up his position, made peace with his house, with his relationship with his father...........
he’s absolutely toast and i hate it.
he’s going to die for dany with one last “khaleesi” and it’s going to break my heart
“we have other things in common” yeah you both have jon in your immediate family trees lmao
i’m confused by the “someone taller” comment, who’s she talking about? everyone else hurt her or betrayed her at some point. is it barristan? is it baeworm? it should be baeworm
ok so. i don’t need or want sansa to end up with anyone.
that said
if it had to be a man
my heart almost jumped out of my chest when she and theon hugged, i didn’t expect her to get this emotional at all, shit i didn’t expect MYSELF to get this emotional
HER TEARS
THEY BOTH NEED HUGS IM GLAD THEY GET HUGS
soup dad can’t die i forbid it
let’s talk about gilly for a second, how far she’s come, from a scared abused girl to a strong, caring, confident woman and mother, i’m so emotional please protect her
DAVOS ADOPTING CHILDREN LEFT RIGHT AND CENTRE
THE SHIREEN THEME PLAYING OVER THAT BIT IM ASJDKASDJ
i’m super surprised edd and beric survived the hearth, i thought there would be more of a fight there
LITTLE CROW
i know people crack ship them, but like, they’d almost be better suited than jon and daenerys
while i adore the idea of theon making amends for taking winterfell from bran by defending winterfell and protecting bran from the night king, i know in my heart that all it’s going to result in is a very dead theon (and probably a dead bran)
why do i feel like while well intentioned, having dragons near the godswood is.....a mistake
i’d love for bran and tyrion to both survive, i’d love to see them talk more as equals because they’re so similar intellectually (i know they had scenes when bran was a kid, but that doesn’t count)
missandei and greyworm are too good and pure for this earth, i want them to leave, i want them to go to naath and never come back, i want them to find a little house by the water and eat fruits and find missandei’s family and take in some stray children, some street cats to lay lazily on the stones of their porch, maybe missandei teaches the children of their village every morning under the rising sun, maybe greyworm becomes a tradesman, makes shoes or ale or binds books for the locals, they grow old and content together and the children they took into their home, now grown adults with their own children, bury them side by side underneath carved stones, i want them more than almost anyone to have a happy ever after because if anyone deserves it it’s those two
but there are dreams that cannot be
and greyworm is almost certain to die next episode
maybe missandei too, but i’m not sure
until then, i will live in my fantasy.
i love my nights watch boys, i love that they talk about grenn and pyp, i miss those lads
sam being the playful, banter-full, confident guy he is, i love him so much i’m so happy for him he better fucking survive (and maybe become lord of horn hill who knows? he has a wife and a son so ?
honestly the idea of tywin knowing jaime and tyrion are defending winterfell is so wonderful
ha ha h ah ah ah h a i love tyrion and jaime so much that i. i forget. temporarily. about tyrion’s first wife
brienne stopping pod from drinking and then tyrion just.......fuckin pouring a large one out for the lad
please, let him drink, it’ll be his last
davos is such an old man i love him
jaime looking between brienne and tormund with amusement is the best thing ever
davos’ concern over ten year old tormund hopping into bed with a giant is incredible. dad mode. always on dad mode.
hound’s not gonna die yet, not until cleganebowl, he’s safe next ep for sure. so he’s allowed to be a grumpy old git for a bit
beric is straight up gonna die tho
“might as well be at a bloody wedding” g o d i dont like that foreshadowing
beric is so cheery and amicable im gonna miss him
i’m so glad that they gave arya agency, and a sweet, un-sexploited, in-character sex scene, there’s so few really good sex scenes in this show and i’m glad she got one of them
(no matter how long i spent the first time around watching through my fingers and cringing, i KNOW she’s an adult and maisie is an adult but god she’s still such a kid in my eyes)
as soon as the gloves started coming off i screamed
he is a sweet sweet boy and i wouldn’t want my murdering badass fave to be with anyone else
i appreciate them showing her scars as part of it, i can’t quite put my finger on why but it was nice to see that
i feel like once i get over the weirdness of like, “hey that’s arya”, it’s probably one of the hotter sex scenes in the series? just for passion and use of consent and stuff
i can’t even begin to elaborate on how perfect brienne’s scene is
it’s immediately one of my favourite scenes in the whole show, i honestly don’t have the words
it’s better than any marriage vows that have been taken in the whole series, and to see brienne proud and happy is just...incredible.
the mormont scene i wanted!!!
this is such a touching scene between two of my faves, i want jorah and sam to be pals forever but i know its just....not happening
the fact that sam starts in the crypt but i know he ends up on the battlefield is....concerning to say the least
god. that song. that song is everything
im too in my feelings to care about jonerys, sorry
i can genuinely believe that jon loves her, and doesn’t care about the iron throne or any titles really for that matter. but the other way around? i’m not so sure.
ok so my survival list: dany, jon, sansa, tyrion
everyone else is at risk please pray for me
oh also i bought the download of Jenny and already cried to it three times this evening, so the credits are making it a round four
1 note
·
View note
Text
"i don't understand you."
aiden smirked at the puzzled looking man standing over him. "ah, no one does."
they were in the back of rhudy's music shop, where they usually hung out after guitar lessons. the room was small and comfortable, perfect for aiden. it was nice in here. less people. more space. he enjoyed laying across the cushion covered chairs that he'd organized into a line, leaving a single chair for his friend to sit on behind him.
rhudy leaned forward, the back legs of his chair leaving the ground. he was leaning on his hand, squashing the side of his face. "no, but seriously. my clairvoyance allows me to receive information about random things all the time. yet i barely ever get anything about you. it's so weird! i got, like, "his name starts with a" and then that was it." he crossed his arms along the tops of aiden's chairs, scowling playfully. "i'm beginning to think you're some kind of plant."
now that made aiden laugh, tossing his head back as far as he could into the cushions. "oh yeah? a plant from who?" he giggled. "the gods?"
rhudy quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head even further forwards and staring down at aiden with coffee eyes. "maybe so." then he cleared his throat, a grin cracking his face. "did it hurt when you fell from -"
"i'm gonna fucking kill you," aiden threatened as rhudy roared with laughter. something warm stirred inside of him at the sound. it was nice making someone laugh. "i swear i will. if i came from anywhere i crawled out of hell and now i'm stuck here."
"are you saying you're a demon?" rhudy joked. he tapped on the plastic chairs, his coloured nails creating a tune. "are you? is that what we're going with?"
aiden flipped him off. he was close enough to rhudy that he could have touched his freckled face if he wanted to. "maybe. maybe i am a demon sent here specifically to torture you, huh? maybe one day i'm gonna kill you and burn down your shop."
rhudy reached over and bapped aiden's nose. "well, you're a fun one, aren't you?" he said, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. "really know how to talk to a guy. also, if you are a demon sent here specifically to torture me, you're doing an awful job. i'll admit that maybe i even enjoy your presence."
aiden sat up slightly on his elbows, his face about ten centimeters away from rhudy's. "maybe i enjoy yours. this is a bit of a dilemma, isn't it."
rhudy blinked, his smile slipping slightly as he looked at him. aiden frowned, the look on the other man's face making him uneasy. "what?" he asked, laughing nervously. "what's up?"
"nothing," rhudy murmured, glancing away. "uh - septic, can i ask you -"
someone knocked at the door, startling them both. "mr o'donnell?" came a voice, and a dark haired woman peeked round the corner with an awkward smile. aiden scrambled to sit up off the chairs, face burning. the woman straightened, clearing her throat. "uh, mr o'donnell, we have a small situation with a customer. they want to speak to the manager."
rhudy groaned. "thank you, allie. and you don't have to call me by my last name, remember. no need to be so professional here." he flashed aiden a smile, fixing his rumpled plaid jacket. "i'll be back in a quick sec."
the woman held the door open as he left, glancing at aiden once more before going too. he realized how weird this must have looked from an outsider's perspective, but he didn't really care. rhudy was the manager of the store, he could do what he wanted. probably. aiden had no idea how actually managing a job worked.
it was maybe ten minutes before rhudy came back, looking tired. "something about a broken vinyl, blah blah," he explained as he walked in. "the guy wasn't putting it in right was the problem. i know, like, how many ways are there to put a vinyl in a record player wrong?" he sat right next to aiden, his arm on the glitch's shoulder. "apparently a lot."
aiden laughed, his shoulders rising to his ears as his face grew warmer. he wasn't sure if he liked how close rhudy was to him. he thought maybe he did. "i should probably be going soon," he mumbled. he picked up his red guitar and began zipping it back into its case. "my roommate might be worried if i'm out too long."
rhudy nudged him gently. "oh hey, you're a grown man. you can do what you want." a sudden smile crossed his face. "actually, do you wanna go out somewhere? walk down the high street or something? i don't mind, but we're closing up soon and i've got jack shit else to do."
aiden's heart was racing, wondering if there was some ulterior motive for this. there had to be, right? he couldn't imagine why rhudy would want to be around him after their lessons were over anyway. he squinted at the man suspiciously. "i - uh, why?"
rhudy reached out and suddenly ruffled aiden's hair, making him yelp. "uh, because i like you, and that's how friendships are formed?" he laughed. "you can hang out with people outside of just work and guitar lessons, you know. i wasn't kidding when i said i enjoy your presence."
for a moment aiden was too stunned by how casually rhudy had touched his hair that he couldn't respond. no one had ever done that but jack. it had felt nice. "i - well, i wasn't kidding either," he said lamely. he scratched the back of his neck, noting how his legs were bouncing. "why - what will we do?"
rhudy looked at him strangely, placing his own guitar back in its decorated case. "talk and stuff, maybe stop and get food if you want to. is that not something you do? what - what do you normally do when you're out with your friends?"
aiden wished that was a question he knew how to answer.
rhudy seemed to notice his discomfort. "hey, we don't have to go out if you don't want to. i can - i can, uh, walk you home if you want."
aiden's eyes widened. "uh - no, i don't mind going out!" he said quickly, wincing at the static that was creeping into his voice. he shook it off. "i'm not very good at... this… whole thing." he stood, slinging his guitar onto his back. "but i'd be fine to, uh, do something."
jack would absolutely be mocking him if he were here right now. rhudy, however, just smiled wide, bouncing on the balls of his heels. "ok! that's - that's good, yeah! let me close up and then we'll go!"
he brushed past aiden's arm as he went by and back out the door, and aiden breathed in sharply, rubbing his skin under his sleeve. he hadn't realized how unaccustomed to physical contact he was, especially with people other than jack. he unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair, trying to recreate the feeling. strange how it didn't feel the same. did he want rhudy to touch his hair? that was pretty weird. he shook off those thoughts and followed rhudy out to the front of the shop, bouncing along to the music that was slowly fading from the speakers. rhudy looked up when he saw him coming towards the doors, grinning. "you ready?"
aiden had killed people. aiden had done awful things. yet even after all that, he wasn't sure he was ready to socialize with someone outside of a setting he was more used to. "maybe," he said, laughing to cover up his nervousness. "so we just… walk? and talk?"
rhudy nodded, opening the door to let aiden out. "mm-hmm. maybe you can tell me more about yourself?" he took one look at aiden's expression and backtracked. "or i could talk about myself and various other stuff. that works."
"sorry," aiden mumbled. the cold autumn air of the outside slapped him in the face, blowing his dark green hair back from his forehead and cooling his sweaty skin. he hadn't realized how warm he was. "i don't have a lot to say about myself."
"surely there's something," rhudy said, buttoning up his pine coloured jacket. "you're an interesting guy. you've got to have some fun stories or facts about yourself or anything."
aiden shook his head. he suddenly found his black boots more interesting than anything else. "not really," he said. "i'm just -" he caught himself before he said his real name. "i'm just anti. i'm pretty boring."
rhudy elbowed him again, knocking their arms together. "nah, you aren't," he scoffed. "you're pretty alright. you're funny and really sweet and you play banging guitar. that's the perfect combination for a cool guy."
aiden glanced away again to hide his smile. all of this was new to him: the conversation, the compliments, the interaction with other people. a part of him screamed that he didn't deserve nice things like this after all he'd done. but maybe… maybe he could allow himself this.
"thanks," he said, and smirked, mimicking rhudy's scottish accent. "i guess ahm prood to be an alright lad -"
"nope," rhudy said immediately, walking away with his hands up in defeat. "nope, nope, nope. i take it all back. i fucking hate you."
aiden caught up to him, giggling. "aw, dinna fash yersel, rhoo-dee, i'm only kiddin' on -"
"i'm gonna fuckin' kill you," rhudy said, now mocking aiden's irish accent. "i'm gonna - uh, top of the morning, i don't know how to make fun of you -"
they fell against each other, laughing, and aiden wasn't sure when exactly rhudy had taken his hand and why he hadn't objected, but something happy was finally happening and no one could take it away from him. not the hero, not the magician, not jack. it was an exhilarating feeling.
maybe i am someone, he thought, squeezing rhudy's hand in his. i can be more than jack's friend. who's stopping me? not jack, that's for sure. i'd like to see him try to stop me again.
he was dimly aware that jack would be upset at him for going out somewhere so public without saying anything. but he didn't care. let him be mad. aiden was happy for once and that was all that mattered to him.
"i know a spot a little ways away we can walk to," rhudy said, interrupting his thoughts. "up fast the fields, near that old abandoned waterworks. do you wanna walk up?"
aiden very much did.
"i haven't been there before," he said, kicking at a puddle as he went by it. "but it sounds good. it does."
fuck jack. he didn't matter anymore.
16 notes
·
View notes
Note
Please write a cute prompt about Harriet, Harry and CJ.
Hi anon! So this is getting to you kinda late. My writing schedule for this weekend was pushed back because I started feeling really under the weather and spent most of the day either napping or blowing my nose. Anyway, I hope you like it!
TW: There is mention of some blood.
–
The Isle was a rough place, especially for the young. The first few years was all about survival. How to either be unseen or be quick enough to get the heck out of a tricky spot. If you were able to get past a certain age, usually into the double digits, that’s when you could start making a name for yourself. Even then, only a select few, the meanest, cruelest, most cunning actually made it out on top of the kiddie pile to even think of playing with the adults.
All of this to say that it was strange for six year old Calista Jane “CJ” Hook to strut as confidently as she did down the uneven muddy streets of the market alone. She was still too young to have been given (i.e. steal) one of her father’s coats but the quality of the worn but sturdy boots that were stuffed to fit her tiny feet along with the noticeably less amount of dirt that covered her face meant she was better off than some of the other unfortunate bastard sons and daughters of this Isle. It should have been warning enough…
CJ was supposed to be on one of her father’s ships waiting for Harry to come back from whatever he did with Ursula’s recently shrimp smelling daughter and take her to Dr. Facilier’s shop to play with Freddie. But even though she had pointed to where the hands on his pocket watch would be when he needed to pick her up multiple times, he had still not shown up even after being over an hour late.
He had forgotten her! (And it was probably Uma’s fault too since CJ knew the older girl could tell time unlike her brother. What was so great about Uma? She thought the prank that Mal had played on her way great and had hoped her brother wouldn’t want to play with the shrimp smelling girl and instead would decide to decide to go on adventures with her, his little sister. Instead, if anything, the incident made his friendship with Uma stronger, tighter, distancing himself further and futher from his baby sister.)
Having waited long enough, head strong young CJ decided to go on her own. After all, she had made the trip several times with Harry and a few more times with Harriet when the older girl was still living with them (CJ didn’t know that the empty gnawing pain she felt in her chest was due to both of her siblings abandoning her). She didn’t need anyone else.
CJ held her short frame as tall as she possibly could as she made her way through the crowd. It shouldn’t be too hard…
Right?
“Hey, look at her. Pretty lil runt ain’t she?”
“Ya lost little one? Need an uncle to…show you around?”
CJ frowned, staring up at the two grimy looking older men grinning down at her.
“Never go anywhere with a man who ain’t Mr. Smee or Harry, ya here me, Calista Jane?” a memory of Harriet firmly gripping her chin played in the back of her head.
“Ah, cat got yer tongue, poppet?” one of the man laughed, reaching out to grab her arm.
“And if they try to force ya, run like Barbosa’s ghost is after ya!”
CJ kicked the man’s shin hard, a howl of pain escaping his lips. The other man tried to grab after her, but the youngest Hook child slipped between his legs and took off.
“Get back here, ya lil wench!” the first man yelled, both men going after her.
The little girl ran and ran, turning up and down streets to get the two men off her tail. She finally ducked in an alley, hiding behind some wooden crates. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep quiet and remain hidden like Harriet and Harry always made her do when daddy had too much of his special juice and went chasing after Harry until either Harriet or Mr. Smee somehow managed to stop him.
The worn and taped boots of the men paused at the entrance of the alley-way.
“I coulda sworn I saw her turn down here,” one man, the man she kicked with a funny looking scar across the bridge of his nose murmured stepping into the alley.
“Lil tramp. Probably ain’t worth the effort of catching her,” he companion spat.
“Aw, don’t say that, mate,” scar man growled. “Those pretty little eyes of hers are probably worth a couple of pretty little pennies from the witches. They like to still do rituals and shit to their demon lord despite not having any magic here.”
CJ moreso heard rather than saw the other man shudder. She herself didn’t like the witches that she knew they were talking about. There were many types of witches on the Isle, Ursula, the Evil Queen, and Madam Mim being the ones that instantly came to mind first. However, there was another category of witches on the Isle, witches who were rumored to be the mistresses of Chernabog, who had willingly given their souls and beauty to the God of the Night in hopes that he would one day rise from his mountain and rain terror down upon their enemies. CJ remembered how even Harriet, her strong fearless sister, wouldn’t even dare to mess with them unless she absolutely had.
No, CJ thought, reaching for the small pocket knife she had stolen off of Harry earlier this morning when she had jumped on him to wake him up from another dream that he had made him sigh “Uma” and “fucking pixie” every now and again. She wasn’t going to be taken to any witches.
“And if ya can’t run…” Harriet’s voice reminded her.
Her hand trembled slightly as she waited for the men to step closer to her hiding space.
“Then stick ‘em with the pointy end!”
“I wouldn’t do that that if I were you, poppet.”
Eyes wide and unintentionally dropping her blade, CJ realized that scar man’s companion had snuck up behind her and was now hold a knife against her throat with one hand while the other hand pulled roughly on her tangled mane.
“You hurt me and you’re gonna be dead!” the girl shouted and hissed, trying to move back as the man with the scar knelt in front of her. “My sister and brother are the meanest kids on the Isle!”
“Oh shut up, lass!” the man behind her hissed, annoyed as he tugged harder on her hair causing tear of pain to form in her eyes. “Like we’re afraid of some no-name kids. Now be good. The witches would want ya alive but they wouldn’t be too put off if you were just a few minutes dead.”
“NO!” CJ yelled trying to scratch and bite her way away from these men. She didn’t want to be some ingredient in some witches seance. She didn’t want to be alone with these men. She just wanted to have an adventure with her big sister and her big brother…
“Ah damn! Ye fuckin’ idiots made the lil monster cry,” a familiar voice sighed tiredly.
“Get out of here lad! Ain’t nothing for ye here,” the man with the scar hissed.
The intruder stepped forward, a boy with a mess of black hair framing bright blue eyes that narrowed when CJ let out a whimper of pain. “Now, that’s where yer wrong. I don’t think ye understand whose sister yer messin’ with,” the boy grinned wickedly, holding up a polished hook in his hand, one of Captain Hook’s old ones that had been polished and fitted so that he could hold it in his less dominant sword wielding hand.
That was apparently enough all the two men needed to see as they connected the dots, gasping before pushing CJ as far away from them as possible, hoping that that would be enough to appease Captain Hook’s insane unpredictable son. Despite the Isle’s size, rumors spread quickly with nothing else for most to do other than just waste away. Even with only being just shy of eleven, the boy was starting to make a name for himself as a fierce and ruthless fighter with the manic laugh and what some could only see as an obsession with Ursula’s disgraced daughter.
“W-we didn’t know,” the man with the scar tried to defend himself to this boy not even half his age. “She didn’ look like yer father,” he said before his eyes widened, trying to backtrack. I mean, she didn’t have the Hook red coat. We thought she was just another runt.”
“They said they were gonna give me to the witches and then they pulled my hair!” CJ pouted crossly, looking irritatedly up at Harry.
The boy sighed, shrugging, looking at the men with a “what can you do?” look on his face. “Well gentlemen, runt or no, it seems you’ve woken a sleepin’ beast.”
The men began to beg at him but all Harry could do was shake his head.
“I’m sorry, but it ain’t up to me,” he said right before a sword protruded the front of one man before pulling back and doing the same with the other. Both men tried to staunch the blood with their hands but blood poured freely through their fingers, too quickly for anything to be done. Harry frowned, looking put out. “Ya couldn’t save one for me, Ettie?”
Harriet wiped the blood off on one of the dying men’s pants, looking nonchalant.
“Think of it as punishment for not looking at Calista Jane properly.”
“Think of it as punishment,” Harry mocked. “Davey Jones, what happened to your damn accent, lass? You abandon us for months to go play on the other side of the Isle with all ‘em land loving stuck ups and all of a sudden ya think yer hot shit!”
“I like it!” CJ exclaimed, beaming up at her big sister with nothing short of admiration, totally desensitized to the sight of two bodies bleeding out. Harriet smirked at her before a frown quickly replaced it.
“Calista Jane, what were you doing walking the streets alone? You’re too young and without reputation to go traversing the Isle by yourself,” the eldest Hook sibling reprimanded.
Crossing her arms and frowning, CJ stomped her foot. “But ya told me you did it when you were younger than me.”
Harriet frowned, stepping over the bodies and bending down to grab CJ firmly by the chin. They both had their father’s brown eyes despite Harriet’s much darker skin tone. “Because I didn’t have an older sister or even an idiot older brother (“Hey!”) to watch my back,” she said gruffly her accent that she had tried to rid herself of leaking through. “There’s a lot of bodies I wouldn’t mind seeing sent off to Davy Jones but I refuse to have ye be one of ‘em, Calista Jane. Not this young. Ye understand?”
Sighing, CJ nodded. Though Harriet could be really cool, there were a few times where she was no fun.
“Sowry,” she said with big fat tears waiting to fall in her eyes.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh come on ya little fish bait. If yer gonna try to throw a con over us, the least ya could do is realize no one’s gonna believe that baby talk crap at your age,” he paused, thinking. “Though they might think yer an idiot but that’s not really you acting then, is it?”
Harriet straightened up, smacking Harry hard behind the head causing CJ’s fake tears to immediately stop and the younger girl to break into wicked little giggles.
“Damn lass! That’s me head! I only got one of ‘em!” Harry hissed, rubbing the abused spot.
Harriet ignored him and turned back to CJ. “Let’s do a proper scam.”
CJ gasped excitedly, dancing a little in her spot. “All of us?”
Harriet turned back to look at Harry and CJ held her breath. Ever since the “Shrimpy” incident, Harry had been sticking even closer to Uma, having no time to run scams with his little sister.
The young pirate boy sighed, as if it would be such a chore but the eager look in his eyes told the truth.
“Oh, why not?”
#edream93 answers#edream93 fanfiction#disney descendants#cj hook#calista jane hook#harry hook#harriet hook#uma#hook siblings#descendants fanfiction
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
drops of sun (zayn/louis 28.1k)
a Tangled adaptation in which Zayn’s the lost prince high in a tower with magical fingertips that glow, Louis’ an on-the-run thief that’s stolen the palace’s crown and together they find themselves in a deal that may or may not make them wish they never met.
big thank you to the lovely tori for the drawing!
His feet hurt like hell the more his feet thud against the ground as he runs but it's the only thing stopping him from losing the swarm of police. Just a shitty pair of shoes that he seriously should have replaced when he had the chance. Imagine what kind of quality the running shoes would be back at the palace. With the money they have it probably feels like running on fucking clouds.
He can feel Niall closely behind him, Harry a good few feet in front. Damn Harry and his stupid long legs. Louis bets that if he wasn't gifted in that department that he'd beat him in a race any day.
"Get up on the roof!" Niall shouts, his voice heard over their stomping feet and sirens in the background. It's dark, so their figures won't be noticeable from far away but Louis can see multiple car lights coming closer and closer from the reflection of a building’s window.
Harry climbs up the wall (with a lot less grace than one might assume thieves have) and hurries to pull up Louis first, then Niall. As Niall's climbing up, Louis takes in the view. A broad range of lights covering the city, and one building in particular. The big palace complete with towers taller than skyscrapers and architecture worth billions of dollars.
Louis sighs forlornly, "Isn't it spectacular, lads? One day, I'm definitely owning a castle like that."
"The fuck's he on about?" Niall questions, noticeably out of breath.
"Who knows," Harry replies, then tugs on Louis' elbow as though he hadn't just heard them and isn't offended in the slightest, "Come on, Lou. We haven't lost them yet."
Louis' eyes close in on where cars and policemen with flashlights still roam the area. "Right." He says, then leads them over the roofs of houses, "This way."
He crosses two, three buildings where the roofs connect, sliding on the tiles slightly from last night's rain. The sirens are still close-by, and Louis contemplates dropping to the ground again and hiding until they're clear.
But who's he kidding—he stole the Prince's crown, of all things—the police aren't stopping until they're locked up for bloody life. They'll never be in the clear.
"Lou," Harry says, tapping his shoulder. He points to a secluded street, an alley-way that leads to a dark abyss. Far away from where the police are.
Louis nods once and slaps Harry on the back, "Good man."
They take turns sliding down the drainpipe, careful not to make too much commotion incase a passerby or the residents of this house take notice and scream. If there's one thing Louis' learnt from his life experience as a thief, it's that a woman's scream can ruin every chance of getting away.
Luckily, being Louis Tomlinson, he's never had that issue.
~
Today's the day he asks.
It's been eighteen years. And in exactly two days it'll be nineteen. Six thousand, nine hundred and thirty-five days. Give or take.
So if he doesn't ask now—when?
Maybe he should make something nice for her, a painting or something. Or would she think that's lame? Especially since he'd be asking her a favour after giving it to her. God, no. Scrap that idea entirely.
He sighs, sits on the couch in despair. He's asked once before. It ended with shouting and making her cry and he felt awful for weeks afterwards. But it's been years. And all he's ever known is the tower’s walls and the view from his window. The view from which he sees the same lights in the sky once a year, magically on the same night as his birthday.
He looks at the spray paint on the wall, the night sky decorated with the yellow lights that seem to float to nowhere in particular. He imagines—always imagines—what it's like to see them up close.
"Zayn!"
He's startled from his position and stands from the couch, rushing to the window. He sees his mother waiting below in the darkness, waving to him. Before anything else, fear settles in his belly. He takes in a deep breath before opening the window and pushing the button from outside, the one that allows the front door to open for only three seconds, stopping any kind of other intruder that might be lurking.
He hears her coming up the elevator and he plays with his hands nervously. Just ask, Zayn thinks to himself, There's no harm in asking.
"Hello, sunshine." She greets, smiling. "Help me with the shopping, will you? I bought extra groceries this time around, thought we could make something extra special for your birthday dinner this year. Hm? What do you say?"
“A—actually, uh," Zayn licks his lips and picks up the bags, trying to get his brain-to-mouth function to work accordingly, "I was thinking, that... We could do something else this year?"
His mother pauses once the bags are on the kitchen counter. Zayn swallows nervously. "Oh?"
"Well, I was hoping that, uh, we—we could go see the lights?" Zayn says, watching her expression carefully. Then he hastily tacts on, "And come back home as soon as it's over, of course."
She breathes in, slowly. Her palms rest against the side of the bench, her unsettlingly long nails tapping on the marble. "Darling," She begins, voice level, "What have I told you about going out there?"
“I—I know, but—“
"I know best, sweetheart. There's no point in trying to leave. It's pathetic; a stupid light show that nobody even cares about. And you have a perfectly good view of it from the comfort of your own home!" She smiles tightly, notices the way Zayn's body deflates, "Listen to me, Zayn, come here." She pulls Zayn in for a hug, one that he falls into immediately. It's all the comfort he needs. Until she squeezes him just a little too tightly, and utters, "Don't you ever, ever ask me that again."
~
So, the 'abyss' turns out to be a black brick wall leading absolutely nowhere.
"I thought this only happens in the movies." Niall mutters with a laugh, one Louis knows all too well as stress-induced.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Harry paces, hands to his hair. "What are we gonna do?"
"Well," Louis swallows, mouth suddenly dry. The fear eats away at him but he tries to think clearly, "We could run again, the other way-"
"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" Niall almost shouts over the sounds of sirens that are coming closer and closer, "Didn't you see them zero-ing in on either side?"
"Up." Louis says. He takes in both their confused looks and turns towards the garbage disposal next to the wall. "Hoist me to the roof and I'll pull you both up."
Niall and Harry both look at the distance between the garbage and the roof, then exchange a look between them both. Harry holds out his hand with a "give me" gesture.
"The satchel." Niall clarifies.
If Louis had time, he'd go on a spiel about “all they've been through together” and “even after all these years” they're “still skeptical”? But alas Louis just settles on a: "Still don't trust me, lads?" And receives a look that conveys all too much from both of them.
Soon enough, Louis' on the roof of what he guesses is a restaurant, and he's about to stretch down to grab a hold of Niall's hand, when—
"Stop right there!"
Officers block the entry immediately, armed with guns and tasers of the vast variety. Cars come into view, too, and it's the moment that Louis has a second to look at his boys, plus the shit-show they've found themselves in, and makes a decision in amidst it all.
He lets out a very manly squeal as the army of cops come charging down the alleyway, and in the split-second of this happening, Louis manages to throw out a quick, truthfully sincere apology—and sprint off in the opposite direction.
"Get him!" The police yell.
"Fuck you, Louis!" Niall and Harry say afterwards, with a lot less venom than Louis had expected. "OH, YOU FUCKING TWAT!"
Ah, there it is.
Louis can't help but grin as he throws on the satchel he stole from Harry's arm over his shoulder, the crown now firmly bouncing against his hip as he hops, skips and jumps over roofs and tiles.
He can still hear sirens, still hear the pairs of feet behind him struggling to catch up with Louis' quickness, a finesse that one can only acquire after years of thieving.
He darts and swerves from one building to the next, knowing that they're not too far from each other and can tell which ones will be too hard to climb or too low to drop. The police will never catch him, never.
And that's when the first gunshot is heard.
Fuck.
Louis speeds up his pace, jumps down to the first roof he sees. The tiles aren't as sturdy as they would be in a rainless week, and Louis' damn shoes aren't as good as they used to be.
Another gunshot.
He hears it hit the steel chimney right next to him, making Louis' heart beat faster and faster.
He's losing them, he knows, they're only shooting blind. But another shot fires and Louis can feel it whip passed his neck.
And that's when Louis' feet jump and he hits the roof just slightly off-kilter, and slips.
~
"So," Zayn says, a little squeakier than he'd like. He clears his throat, "So, I've been thinking."
His mother looks up at him from across the table, her eyes turn cold, “Zayn—"
“Not—not about that. Well, sort of, it's about my birthday."
She dips a bit of bread into her soup, her eyebrow quirked expectantly, "Go on."
"For my present, could I get some new paints, please?" He asks, swirling his spoon around in his bowl, "The ones you got me last year. I liked those ones."
At this, she sighs. "Really? But that trip took me three days to get."
Zayn bites the inside of his cheek. "Please? They're all I... All I could think of wanting."
She closes her eyes, sinks in her chair a little more, "Fine. I'll leave tonight."
Once Zayn has packed a bag for her, cleaned the dishes, the dining table, the kitchen, his mother sets off into town.
"I'll be back, little flower." She says, kissing him on the forehead.
Zayn presses the button to open the door for her and she leaves, waving to him from a distance.
He watches from his window, waves back. "I'll be here." He mumbles.
~
Rolling down a hill uncontrollably isn't exactly something Louis saw himself doing when he woke up this morning. It's extremely disorientating, and actually quite painful. The satchel is clutched in his hands, making sure it doesn't squash on the ground like his entire body is right now. All his bones could break in half and it still wouldn't be as expensive as fixing a mere scratch in the Royal jewels.
He rolls, then rolls some more. He's pretty sure a rock has stabbed his abdomen and he's lost a shoe but he doesn't have time to cry over any of that because eventually, the rolling stops.
“Jesus—fuck, ow." He turns on his back, grabbing at his side. There's blood, but not enough to keep him pinned to the ground. He searches up the hill, tries to see if anyone's managed to follow him. It's completely bare. "Idiots."
With all his might, he manages to get onto all fours. He wonders if it was worth it, abandoning his allies. Wonders even more when he finally stands up, the cut on his ribs almost killing him with pain. He goes to check the crown within the satchel to know if it was worth it if there's a scratch on the damn thing or not. He pops open the button, and that's around the same time he hears the flick of a gun's safety switch being turned off.
"Drop the bag." Says the gun-holder, who sounds very close to his ear.
Louis curses to himself, partly from fear, partly from disappointment. How could he not have heard him?
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Louis says, hands flinging up to either side of his head in surrender. He slowly starts to move around, tries to lock eyes onto the man, which was probably a false move, because now there's a gun pressed directly to his forehead, "Well, look at that, you've got me."
"I want the bag."
Louis looks to the policeman—and from what he can see thanks to the stars and the moon being sufficiently bright tonight—he’s clad in a different uniform than the others, yet still owns a badge all the same. He's younger than most, maybe even younger than Louis, and he's shaking.
"Skipping the formalities, are we?" Louis says with a quirked brow, watching with great delight at how Liam's own brows are furrowed tightly together. "I'm Louis Tomlinson, if you care to know. And might I say, you're doing a marvellous job, honestly."
"I know who you are." He manages to say, “And—and I'll kill you."
"Oh, you don't want to do that, do you?" Louis asks, cocking his hip to one side. "We only just met, and I haven't even caught the name of my capturer!"
The young cop blinks rapidly, hand noticeably shaking even more. He swallows, thinking, then says, "Payne." His voice comes out strained. He clears his throat. "Liam Payne. Now—hand over the crown, Tomlinson."
Louis lets a small grin show as he looks Liam in the eyes. There's a lot of inexperience in this boy, a lot of fear, too. He probably has never been in the heart of a crime scene before, let alone killed someone. And judging by his different uniform, Louis settles on something that makes him grin even more. He's not even fully qualified.
"Listen, I'll make a deal with you." His hand goes to the satchel, Liam's eyes following. "I'll give you this. I will. I have no other choice, do I? But, I'm quite partial to doing as I'm told when I've not got a bullet that's threatening to blow my brains out any second faced towards me."
Liam takes Louis' words into consideration. The muscles in his arm become more tense the more he shakes. The barrel of the gun isn't even pressed against his forehead anymore, more like wavering to different parts of his face. He seems to have an inner turmoil, throwing up the pro's and con's of Louis' proposition, before he finally retracts the gun. Both of them let out a breath.
"I'll drop the gun, and you'll give me the crown?"
"Absolutely." Louis says straight away. "And you can even tell your boss you've killed me, anyway. It'll give you so much respect. You might even get promoted."
Liam nods, then slowly bends down. He’s just about placed the dangerous weapon on the ground when he says, "Okay. Your tur—“ then Louis' off, darting through the grass as fast as his newly bare feet can muster, unable to stop from letting out a loud cackle as he hears an angry "God dammit!" from behind him.
He hears a few misguided bullets shoot through the air before another pair of feet join him on the run. Liam Payne might be well-built and easily able to knock Louis out, but Louis' always got speed on his side. And speed always wins.
He weaves through the trees, bark and branches scraping at his legs and feet but he doesn't care, just focuses on making sure he vanishes where Liam can't find him. There's an opening in the trees and Louis sees it as an opportunity, darting out towards it before ducking behind a boulder and waiting.
A minute or so later, he hears Liam before he sees him, feet hitting the ground heavier than Louis', breath heaving. He stops at the opening of the trees, looks around, and then his expression drops.
"Fuck!" He groans, then reluctantly decides to turn back around, hands in his hair, muttering a string of words to himself that Louis can't make out.
He feels bad for him, he does.
And when he can't hear Liam's self-loathing anymore, he sneaks out from the boulder and crosses the opening in the opposite direction, coming to a waterfall of leaves covering something like a curtain.
He pulls it back without so much as a second thought, and slips into what looks like yet another clearing, but over here it looks like the grass is greener. Funny, that.
He gives the area a quick scope, which is where he finds an antique-looking tower. It's deserted, Louis assumes as he walks towards it. It's covered in green vines and thorns, the brick grey and the building just a simple cylinder with a singular window facing towards him.
"Odd." He says aloud. Then, he shrugs. This will have to do.
~
Ding-dong.
Zayn picks up his head from where he's buried in his sketchbook, finishing off the shading of what he believes to be an Alien. He drops his pencil down onto the book and gets up from his chair. Mother must have forgotten something, it's only been three or so hours since she's left.
He considers turning on her electric blanket, knowing that if she's turned back now, there's no way she's venturing out again in the darkness.
He makes his way over to the window, and his eyes widen at what he sees when he looks down.
"Oh, no." He whispers under his breath, hitting the button to open the door quickly as he takes in his mother's form, kneeling over with a groan, pain coming from what looks like her abdomen. Zayn's high in the tower, and it's almost pitch-black, but he can tell she's in trouble.
Once he sees her vanish, Zayn makes his way to the kitchen just as the elevator comes up. He hurries to the dining table to pick up a chair.
"What is this place?" Comes an astounded whisper.
Zayn whips his head around. His eyes lock onto someone he was definitely not expecting.
There's an intruder. An intruder.
He ducks behind the kitchen counter. He hears the robber, or murderer, or kidnapper or whomever his mother has warned him about, roam slowly around the living area, taking in the place with sounds of astonishment leaving his mouth every few seconds.
When he's tracing his fingertips over one of Zayn's artworks on the wall, Zayn takes the opportunity to grab the first weapon he sees and silently waits.
"This is so fucking cool." The criminal says, and for a second Zayn thinks he's talking to him. His heart is going faster than its ever gone in his life. He doesn't reply, doesn't dare to.
He hears slow feet come closer towards him and Zayn rises only just. Then, just as the intruder's seconds from turning to face him, Zayn clocks him on the back of the head with a fry-pan.
And, shit.
Now he's got an unconscious man in the middle of his kitchen. An unconscious criminal in the middle of his kitchen. He's probably one of the ones his mother really warned him about. The people that want to take Zayn, to sell him for his magic and to keep him locked away.
Zayn swallows deeply, shaking hands managing to hold onto the fry-pan as he uses the handle to un-mask the stranger's face from his shaggy hair. He moves his fringe to one side, revealing a dirt-covered cheek and forehead. He's got stubble on his jawline and upper lip, but nowhere near as much as Zayn’s.
He looks harmless like this, and his figure isn't what his mother made them out to be at all. This one's small, the only sign of threatening muscle in his calves. He doesn't even have shoes on.
What he does have, though, is a bleeding cut on the right of his stomach and a bag that was holding a gold-looking, expensive item. It reminds him of his mother's jewellery, her necklaces and rings to match. This looks bigger, and it wouldn't fit on any of the places you're supposed to put jewellery.
He looks back at the man in his house, face down, unresponsive, and hurt. Zayn squeezes his eyes shut. He lets the fry-pan fall to the ground, the clatter of it making the floorboards vibrate. His hands find his hair as he tilts his head back towards the ceiling.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
So, he's got a complete stranger in his house and he might wake up any second now. It's great, it's fine. The first person he meets from the outside world and Zayn's managed to knock him out... which will most likely make the boy extremely angry. Which means, when he does wake, he could easily hurt Zayn. And... God, his heart is pounding.
He bounces on his toes, thinking fast. He's got new-found energy shooting through his veins and he needs to do something.
He can't leave the tower, that's for certain. And he can't throw the body out of the window, since that will most definitely kill him. But he can't just leave him there—he has to have a plan.
Zayn's eyes dart around the room and lock onto one of the dining chairs. He brings it over to the body, not once letting his eyes leave it. He's said to himself that if he catches even the slightest blink of an eye, he'll knock him unconscious again without hesitation.
And, actually... Maybe he should kill him.
He's an intruder, after all. He came here with obvious intent. His mother has always said nobody will ever get him from here, and if they find him, it's bad news. This man was here to take him away, and maybe—maybe—if Zayn kills him, his mother will see how excellent he is at taking care of himself, and she'll take him to see the lights.
Zayn scoffs at himself. Who is he kidding? He couldn't muster up the strength, physically and emotionally, to kill someone. And this someone is a person from the outside world, someone who knows everything that's out there. Someone who could tell Zayn everything his mother has kept from him since he was a baby.
He nods to himself, swallows harshly, and approaches the body.
He squats down, close enough for him to see the body move with soft breaths. He reaches out slowly, pokes the body's shoulder with his finger. No reaction. He's read about possums, how they fake their death to escape from predators, and Zayn wonders whether he's pretending to sleep to avoid another blow to the head.
To avoid this, Zayn slaps him across the face.
Nope, definitely unconscious.
Zayn takes in a deep breath. He places his hands underneath the man's shoulders and tries to hoist him up. He's complete dead weight, and although Zayn's spent a lot of time doing chin-up's on the ceiling's beams, he still finds himself struggling to lift the body up and onto the chair. He manages, though, and takes his time to regain his breath before he looks back at him, sitting in a slumped position, eyes closed.
But Zayn wastes no time and fiddles around in the kitchen before he finds what he needs. He makes a quick work out of the intruder, whizzing around him like one of his artworks, making sure it's perfectly what he wants.
Once he's done, Zayn stands back to admire it. The boy is now safely secured to the chair, wrists and ankles bounded with absolutely no movement possible. He smiles to himself slightly, before he realises his artwork is bleeding.
Zayn's logic, you see, is that this boy is full of knowledge. And if he's bleeding—well, he won't be much use if he's dead.
So, he fetches the first aid kit from the bathroom, and crouches down so his face is a little above the boy's knee, and begins to focus on the wide gash to his side.
He wonders how long it takes for someone to wake after being knocked out. With all the books he's read in his lifetime, he's never stumbled upon one that's told him the answer.
~
Louis wakes to a dull, throbbing pain to the back of his head. He also wakes to a stinging sensation on his cheek. And a feeling of pressure to his abdomen.
He blinks warily, eyes hurting from the light. Once his eyes focus, he realises the pressure on his body is a dabbing motion... Made by someone else.
He glances down hurriedly, only to be met with a boy who's kneeling below him, face close to Louis' hips as he frowns in concentration, a wet cotton ball soaking up the blood from Louis' gash.
He takes a moment to look at him, taken aback quite a bit, with the way his eyelashes swoop over his killer cheekbones, his features all sharp and prominent, a face that would surely be picked up by every fashion label possible. He feels the stranger's breath against his exposed skin, and Louis feels goosebumps decorate him.
Suddenly, the throbbing pain is forgotten.
"Well, hello there." He says smoothly, outwardly impressed by this attractive boy in a compromising position.
He doesn't know what he expects, but it's definitely not the model falling back onto the floor with a gasp, eyes petrified like he's about to be shot dead.
“Wh—hey," Louis frowns, suddenly concerned, "Why're you—“
It's then, when he goes to reach out his hand in comfort, that he feels the restraints around his wrists. He tugs once, twice, but it's obvious he's not leaving this chair anytime soon. He tries to kick out the rope around his ankles, too, but with the tightness of it added with the weakness of his body, Louis' held there for however long it takes.
He looks around the environment he's in, and it's not long until he realises where he is. The tower, the artworks on the walls. He thought this place was deserted, thought it hadn't been occupied in years—
"Don't move." Comes a shaky voice.
Oh, right. Mr Versace Model is here.
Louis turns his attention to him. He's now a fair few feet away, as though Louis' going to miraculously break from his hold like The Hulk and attack him. He's also, quite oddly, holding a fry-pan in his hands like a weapon, a faux-threatening expression worn on his face.
"Isn't like I could if I wanted to, could I?" Louis retorts, budging against the rope hopelessly for emphasis, "Were you, like, in the Swiss Army or something?"
The boy looks back at him blankly, "The what?"
Louis shakes his head, "Never mind." He looks him up and down, realises he must not be much taller than him, or much younger, either. "Why am I being held hostage, might I ask? Are you with the palace guards?"
He can see the Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows, his frown deepening. "Palace guards?"
Okay. So he isn't working for the cops. Or has any idea of who they are. This is weird.
"What's your name, gorgeous?" Louis asks, as sweet as he can manage. But the boy doesn't seem to even react slightly to the compliment.
“I—I don't want to say."
"Ooh," Louis replies, a smirk to his lips, whispers, ”Are you undercover?"
His jaw tightens, but his stance loosens a little, giving up on being tightly-wound and ready to strike. "Listen to me," He begins, tone level and completely serious, "I'm going to ask you some questions and you'll answer me truthfully. Got it?"
Louis can't help but think about how good-looking he is. He thinks that if he ordered Louis to do anything, he'd do it.
Louis shrugs, though, says, "Sure. Sounds easy enough."
He doesn't miss the way the boy's features light up in the slightest second, before he clears his throat and nods curtly. He doesn't miss the way his own stomach does a flip or two, either. Which is—weird.
Then suddenly they're sitting opposite each other, Louis—completely bounded and defeated, and the boy—hands in his lap, fidgeting nervously, fry-pan easily accessible at his side. Louis studies him for a moment or two as he tries to think of the first question.
There's something odd about him. Not appearance wise, but the way he acts. He's awkward, but not in the way Louis knows socially awkward people to be. And he's frightened of Louis, (if the way he jumped back from him when he woke is anything to go by) but judging by his lack of protocol and zero sign of him calling the police, Louis concludes that this stranger has no idea who he is.
"Why do you carry jewellery around?" Is his first question.
Louis sharply inhales. The crown. God, where did he put it? Is it hidden? Why can't he see it?
He must make a show of craning his neck to try and find it with his eyes because the boy clears his throat loudly with intent, making Louis look back at him.
"It's on the kitchen bench."
Louis flicks his fringe out of his eyes as he spins his whole body, chair only moving slightly, to catch his eye on the glimmering bit of fortune. He breathes out an unsubtle sigh of relief.
"Oh, thank God." He smiles, almost laughs. Hysteria or exhaustion catching up to him. Fry-pan Man looks more confused than ever, though, which makes Louis compose himself. "Right. Uh, do—do you have any idea who I am?"
And as he guessed, he's met with a blank stare. "Am I supposed to?"
This makes Louis fidget, "No, I suppose not." He swallows, then prepares an answer. There's an unsettling feeling in his gut, as though revealing who he is will destroy... Something. "I, uh, stole it. The crown. The piece of jewellery you're talking about. It's worth a lot of money, so."
The confession hangs in the air. He's expected for it to gain weight, to sit heavily between them. For there to be an instant phone call to authorities, an accusation, judgement. But all it receives is a nod, and then it's swept away as though it was a mere fact about his hair colour.
"Why do you want to kidnap me?"
Louis chokes on his own spit. He coughs, splutters, then looks at the boy who's face is sketched with mild concern. "I'm sorry?"
"That's why you've come here, is it not?"
"No, I—I’m not a kidnapper, Jesus. I may be a criminal, but I definitely wouldn't do that." Louis shakes his head in disbelief, "Why would you—what—?”
"Why did you come here, then?"
Every question is said so carefully, so lacked with emotion it makes Louis look like the most dramatic man alive.
"Look, love, I don't know how I stumbled upon your humble abode but I did. It seemed like a perfect way to hide from everyone who's chasing me and, quite frankly, I didn't think anyone even lived this far away from town."
At that, the boy dips his head. It might be the light, or Louis' disillusioned imagination but he swears he can see colour rising in the boy's cheeks.
"Can I ask you a question?" Louis says softly.
He shuffles uncomfortably in his chair before eventually nodding.
"Why do you live here? And why do you live alone and so far away?"
"I'd say that was two and a half questions."
This elicits a chuckle out of Louis, and the boy's eyes shine with something Louis can't pinpoint. Nevertheless, an answer never comes and he guesses it's an area that's off-limits.
"Alright, alright, a simple one this time." He licks his lips, "I feel as though we've established some sort of connection, wouldn't you say? But we still don't know each other's names. I'll start. I'm Louis."
The boy looks down at his feet, his eyebrows pinching together. Then, without so much of a mumble, he speaks. "Zayn."
~
"Zayn," Louis repeats, trying it out. "That's a nice name."
Zayn feels himself frown and watches as Louis' eyes suddenly dart away from his own. He scans Louis' abdomen briefly, biting his own lip as he sees the gash isn't nearly clean enough.
"We should fix you up." He says simply. Not waiting for a reply, Zayn stands and makes his way back over to Louis. He feels eyes on him as he kneels but for some reason he doesn't meet them, and instead focuses on ripping the fabric on Louis' shirt a little more to get to the deeper part of his cut.
"Are you a doctor, then?"
Louis' voice sounds different. Almost like he's forcing the words out. His torso's tightened, too. Maybe he's scared.
Zayn can't help but snicker a little at Louis' question, though. He's read about doctors—read about every profession, really—and knows the amount of study and practice it takes to become qualified. Becoming a doctor would actually require him to leave the house.
"What, am I wrong to assu—Ah!” Louis flinches away from the cotton swab as it presses to his skin, cleaning out the excess dirt. "You know, it'd probably be better if I just had a shower, wouldn't it?"
Zayn frowns again. A shower would mean he'd have to be released from the chair, would mean he'd be able to have privacy whilst he has one, and would probably mean Louis would have to borrow Zayn's clothes.
It is logical. But it won't do.
"How badly do you need the crown?" Zayn asks, going back to cotton-swabbing, ignoring Louis' sharp inhales of pain.
"Uh..." Louis stutters, confused, "A fucking lot. Yeah. It's sort of my life's income, that."
Good.
Zayn nods in response. It isn't until the cut is clean and free of dried blood when Louis talks again.
"Why, uh, why d'you wanna know?"
A gauge patch is enough for now, Zayn supposes. It fits perfectly over the gash, which, after being cleaned, isn't as bad as it seemed. He places it over the injury in a smooth motion, watching as the creamy-coloured material turns slightly darker.
He packs up the first aid kit and returns it to its rightful spot. From here, he can just see the slight profile of Louis' face. His head is darting around manically, probably trying his hardest to find a way out, if any. Zayn sort of takes pity on him. Sort of.
"I have a proposition for you." Zayn says, walking passed Louis and towards his favourite painting. The one on the wall, the stars at night.
He turns and sees Louis already staring at him. Then he blinks a few times and swallows his words before he says them, “O—okay."
"I want you to take me to see the floating lights."
He's met with a blank stare. Zayn stares right back. He wonders if all thieves are a little slow.
"The..." Louis trails off, eyebrows pulled together. Then his eyes lock onto the painting behind Zayn and his face flashes with recognition. "Oh, you mean the lanterns."
"Lanterns?"
"Yeah, they do it every year. Light up the sky with floating lanterns for the lost Prince." He says it like a quote, filled with a sort of nonchalance and boredom Zayn doesn't understand. He catches the moment Louis' expression changes to pure bewilderment, "How don't you know that?"
And... Zayn knows exactly how.
His mind crosses over to the countless times he's asked to see them, asked about what they are, asked why it happens every year on his birthday. And each time he's met with a short reply, a false description, a lie.
Anger, is what he feels.
"We'll leave now." Zayn tells him, determined.
"Now?" Louis almost chokes out, “What—I haven't even agreed to this yet!"
"You have to. Or else you won't get your 'income.'"
He sees Louis' face fall. His eyes automatically try to search for the crown. Strapped to the chair, he fails miserably.
"Okay. But, think about this for a second. What if I accept, you untie me, and I end up being a kidnapper all along, hm? What would you do then? I could lure you anywhere and you'd have no idea—“
Zayn snaps a bunch of dry spaghetti in his hands behind Louis' head. He's met with a desperate gasp, a sound one might make if they just witnessed a cold-blooded murder.
"Did you snap it, Zayn?!" He shrieks, voice a few octaves higher than normal. "I swear to fucking god, mate, that thing is more valuable than everything you bloody own!"
Zayn calmly walks so he's in Louis' line of sight again. Louis' eyes are filled with alarm, his entire body agitated, ready to fight as though he'd have any chance of winning. And then his gaze settles on the broken uncooked spaghetti and Zayn's sure Louis stops breathing, knowing his cover of not being a desperate thief is blown.
"Oh." He says, then clears his throat loudly. "Well, aren't you just the smartest captor?"
"You'll take me, then?" Zayn asks, his tone the furthest from questioning as possible.
Louis' entire body sinks, exasperated as he rolls his eyes dramatically. "I mean, haven't given me much of an option, have you? Though, can gladly say I'd probably grab the crown and run before you could even dream of catching up to me, but that's neither here nor there, is it?"
Zayn blinks. He's right. The satchel remains where it is, easily accessible and attainable. He'd have to hide it somewhere unimaginable, and he'd have to do it with Louis not hearing or seeing a thing.
The fry-pan finds its way back into Zayn's hands again and he twirls it. Louis seems to catch on, too, because his eyes widen comically, leaning as far as he can in his chair.
Zayn hits him over the head just enough with one swing so that Louis' knocked out cold.
~
Bleary eyed and disorientated, Louis blinks his eyes open.
This time, he's not met with prodding at his side and restrictive limbs. Though, he does still have a throbbing headache.
He uses his new found freedom to touch his head where it hurts, inhaling sharply when his fingers touch the bump on his scalp. He needs to lie down.
"Good, you're awake."
Louis' eyes blink wider. They lock onto Zayn immediately, sitting in a chair directly in front of him, eyes studious as they take in Louis' newly awakened state.
So. It wasn't a nightmare, then.
"Can I, like, lay down somewhere, or—?“
"You're taking me to see the lights—uh, lanterns. Remember?"
How could he forget? "Yeah, and I will. But isn't it, like, midnight by now?"
Zayn only shrugs.
"God." Louis whispers under his breath. He leans forwards in the chair, places his elbows on his knees and slides his palms down his face. His head is pounding, his side aches and he's so exhausted. "Do you even have a clock?"
Zayn shakes his head.
Of course he doesn't. Strange boy living by himself in an ancient yet modern building sat in the middle of nowhere, doesn't have a clock. Because who needs to keep track of time when you're not a functioning member of society?
"Right." Louis replies. "I suppose you're itching to go, then?"
Zayn nods his head once, stern and determined. Louis catches him nodding again as he gets up from his chair, but he thinks that one is for himself.
"I'll press the button, you leave the tower and I'll, uh, climb out the window."
He seems nervous, Louis notices. He's fiddling with his fingers and not making any eye contact whatsoever. Louis' so caught up in Zayn that it takes a second or two before the words register.
"Erm, come again?" Louis asks. He really needs to lie down. "Why on earth would you rather climb out a window than leave through the front door?"
Zayn picks his head up and looks at Louis. His jaw tenses slightly. "The one button is the only way to open the door. The door closes within three seconds automatically."
When Louis can only stare at him, Zayn heaves out a sigh and walks out of the room. Louis blinks, then figures he should follow him.
Standing up, Louis feels beyond dizzy. He finds his feet, though, and follows Zayn's own passed the kitchen and down a corridor leading into a single room.
The room is obviously Zayn's bedroom. The ceiling is as high as the one in the main room and there's a king-sized bed that almost fits against the entire width of the wall, a wardrobe that could probably only fit about eight outfits in, a mirror on the far side of the room, and a bedside table with nothing but a lamp and a book that looks centuries old.
And, of course, a tiny window.
Zayn stands by it and waits for Louis to come closer before he opens it. Louis recognises the meadow that it shows from here, and he realises this is the same opening he entered through.
"It's here." Zayn tells him. Louis follows Zayn's finger from where it's pointing just outside the window. And there, placed on the brick of the tower, is a tiny button. He presses it, and the sound of the door opening is heard from down below. As promised, it slams shut after three seconds.
The realisation dawns on him, "Why'd you let me in, then?"
Zayn's eyes widen just enough to be noticed. He dips his head a little, colour spreading on his cheeks.
"I..." He rubs the back of his neck, "It was dark. I thought you were someone I knew and I could see that they—uh, you, were hurt."
It's obvious that he's embarrassed. Louis wonders who else lives here with him. He also wonders why on earth someone would set up an entry/exit point like this. But then he's wondering why he's wasting time wondering, since the only way he'll get the crown back is if he takes this weird boy to see the stupid lanterns.
However, he's definitely not letting him leave through a window that's ten-feet off the ground.
"Would you mind if the front door was constantly open?" Louis asks. Zayn frowns in confusion. "Though, I don't think you would have any problems with intruders, to be fair. You're sort of situated in the most isolated area, I think it's about a one in a million coincidence that I even found myself here—“
"What are you getting at?"
Louis twists his mouth. He bites his tongue, too, since telling Zayn it's rude to interrupt might result in another fry-pan to the head.
"We could tape it, right? So it's always pressed down."
It takes exactly two seconds for Zayn's face to brighten in agreement, then another two for him to dash out of the room.
Once out of sight, Louis rushes to the wardrobe and flings it open. He looks through the three drawers, the shelf up the top, in a pair of boots. He crosses to the bedside table, rummages through the contents of the drawer.
He's on the floor, searching underneath the bed when Zayn returns.
"You'll never find it." He says, unfazed. It makes Louis jump, resulting in his head hitting the wooden bed frame.
"Fuckin' bastard," Louis spits out at the frame. He rolls out from his position and rubs at his head. With whatever brain cells are left, he realises Zayn went to fetch a roll of duct tape.
"Would this work?"
"Yeah," Louis says, getting up from the floor, rubbing his head. He crosses the room and holds out his hand, "Here, let me."
Zayn passes it over. Louis ignores the pair of scissors in Zayn's other hand and rips a bit of tape with his teeth instead, earning a frown from the set of eyes watching him. Then he places it over the outward button, sure enough opening the door below.
He hears Zayn let out a breath.
"Okay," He says. And with a little more meaning, "Okay."
Louis turns to him. He's bouncing on his toes slightly, as though he's gearing himself up. The palms of his hands pressing together then pulling apart just as quickly as though he were clapping without sound, and his eyes have widened.
Louis doesn't know what to do, so he steps towards him hesitantly, "Are you, uh, sure you want to do this, mate?"
"Yes." Comes the immediate answer. And then, as though too much thought to it will change his mind, Zayn turns and leaves the bedroom once again.
Louis remains in his spot, until he shrugs, and follows him.
"You'll take me to the lanterns." Zayn orders, not stopping—not even looking at Louis—as he makes his way through the same door Louis entered in. "And you'll bring me back here immediately afterwards. Then you will get your jewellery."
"It's a—“ Louis stops himself, realising that Zayn couldn't care less about what's in the satchel. "You know," He adds as they climb into the elevator, "this whole ordeal sounds a lot like you're an escort and I'm a rich old man, doesn't it?"
Zayn just looks at him with a blank expression in response. He doesn't know what else he was expecting.
~
So, here he is. Standing at the doorway, feet just about touching the spiky grass he's looked at for almost nineteen years of his life. And he's frozen to the spot.
He concentrates on his breathing. It's fine, he tells himself. The grass is what Louis walked on to get to the tower, it's what his mother travels through almost every day.
He looks at it, looks at his feet, looks at the border of trees and... It all looks so different from here. Although all he can see is from the sparse light from the stars, it's enough for Zayn to stand still and take it in.
This might be the only time he gets to do this.
"It's alright, mate." Louis says from beside him, not stepping off the wooden floor, either. "It's safe."
Zayn takes to gnawing at his lip. He looks at Louis, and he catches something that looks like concern flash in his eyes before it's quickly disguised by a smile.
"Look." He says with a few wags of his brows before taking a dramatic leap onto the grass. He straightens with a faux-gasp and Zayn watches him with his arms crossed. "I'm still alive!"
Louis then proceeds to do a dance that involves him almost frolicking around, arms swaying and feet bouncing off the ground, whilst whistling something obnoxiously. Then he stops, drops to the ground, and pretends like it's the most comfortable thing on earth.
If he's like most of the people that live out there, Zayn thinks he wouldn't mind being locked in a tower for another twenty years.
He sighs, walks through the grass and over towards Louis who's now attempting at a snow angel, and steps over him, making him stop.
Zayn walks ahead, towards the curtain of leaves that he sees his mother walk through all the time, and figures it's the only way out. It must be right, since Louis doesn't try and redirect him, just follows with the same whistling tune he had before.
It should make him uneasy, seeing him this happy. It's like Louis is glad he has to take Zayn on this trek and he shouldn't be. Maybe Louis wasn't joking, maybe he really is a kidnapper and this was his plan all along. Maybe Zayn's been tricked into the easiest scheme ever.
It should make him uneasy, but as he looks at Louis—clapping his hands idly and completely barefoot—the anxiousness he feels doesn't get any worse.
Louis catches his eye and must feel his hesitation, though, because his whistles and movements stop altogether and his brows pinch together slightly. "Are you positive you want to do this?"
"No." Zayn admits—half to himself, half to Louis—and inhales sharply. "But I know I have to."
"Alright." Louis replies easily, hands fitting inside the front pockets of his jeans. "Can I ask why you'd have any reason to feel like you shouldn't?"
It's a big question. It's only one but it holds the answer to a lot of them that Zayn's sure Louis has. He couldn't tell him even if he wanted to, is the thing.
He's not about to reveal that he's been denied the liberty to venture out into the world, and the only things he's ever experienced have been in the same four rooms of the tower, and the only real knowledge he has about the world is from what he can see from out his window.
And, of course, this is all because his mother's expressed many times that the outside is a dangerous and cruel place filled with people with bad intentions and those who want to drain Zayn from his magic.
No, he's definitely not about to unveil any of that to Louis any time soon.
"No, you can't." Zayn answers, almost feeling bad.
But Louis takes it on his chin, turns his mouth downwards as he shrugs one shoulder and says, "Fair play." Before he pulls back the leaf curtain and presents a valley of pure darkness leading out to a small vicinity of what Zayn can make out as greenery.
Zayn's heart starts to pound.
He looks back. The tower seems so, so far away. The door is wide open and he can see his window from here. It really does look huge, the whole building.
He turns to Louis, who's watching him with close eyes. "You lead, I'll follow."
Louis' eyes trail down to where Zayn's gripping onto the fry-pan with both hands tightly. He loosens them as soon as he notices, and tries to unwind a little.
"Uh, here." Louis says as he steps foot into the sheltered walk-way, half his body disappearing in shadows. Zayn realises Louis' hand is sitting in the air, waiting between them, urging Zayn to follow.
Zayn closes his eyes for a few seconds, opens them and steps into the darkness, too.
Louis drops his neglected hand after a few seconds and clears his throat. "Just follow me, I'll lead you to the city."
And then they're walking.
~
The way Louis knows is around the most outskirts of the town.
He's got the entire police force on his tail, Harry and Niall who surely want to kill him right now, as well as that young cop—Liam, was it?—who wouldn't hesitate to shoot on target this time round.
Though, Zayn doesn't need to know that.
"It's very green, lots of foliage and, like, dirt footpaths." Louis starts explaining falsely. He's not entirely sure why, but he's never been good with silences. "The only form of civilisation, really, is the palace itself."
He watches Zayn, who only nods as he looks around, probably trying to take it all in. Louis doesn't know if Zayn knows he's lying. He's not sure how much Zayn knows of the world, if he's researched it, if he's aware of how advanced it actually is... Especially compared to the old-style tower he's living in.
"So," Louis starts up again, since he's still only met with silence, "If we can't talk about your life, what can we talk about?"
He watches as Zayn's mouth twists uncomfortably. He looks at Louis in a side-eye glance. For a moment, Louis thinks he'll just look away again and let a new-found awkwardness fall between them.
But then he hears Zayn take in a breath, "I don't... I don't know if I..."
He trails off, stops in his tracks. Louis realises he's having second thoughts.
"You don't know if you want to do this?" Louis asks him. Zayn swallows harshly, then gives a minuscule nod. Louis looks back the way they came. They've probably been walking for twenty minutes, half an hour. They could turn back now, Zayn can go home, Louis can get his crown and he can get out before he finds himself trapped in some other extremely weird deal. So, Louis puts on his best sad-face, slings an arm around Zayn's skinny frame (to which Zayn flinches) and sighs. "That's perfectly alright, Zayner. The world's a big, scary place. If I had the choice to live in isolation, trust me, I would. We can turn back now, if you want, and I can get my crown and we can go back to our lives like nothing ever—“
"No." Zayn interrupts softly. "You're taking me to the lanterns."
Louis deflates. He scrunches his face up in a way that Zayn can't see. But, he gets an idea.
"That's a lad! Onwards and upwards!" He steps away from Zayn, but remains close. "But, the trek to where you want to go is quite far and I'm not sure if you have the stamina for it."
"I can go back and get some—?”
"Too late for that now!" Louis reassures, placing a hand on Zayn's back. He tenses under the touch. "Come, I'll show you my favourite place to eat."
But Zayn looks at him skeptically, "At this late at night?"
"The thing with pubs, babe, is that the later the better."
It's filled with criminals and backed into the shadiest part of town, which is why he knows police don't dare come close, since they'd be eaten alive. Literally.
He figures that if Zayn's already second-guessing this, the pub they're about to enter will surely make him scream and run back home. It's a perfect plan.
Louis swings open the door and is immediately met with tables of guys looking at them. He hears Zayn gasp behind him, and Louis smirks.
"C'mon," Louis cocks his head inside. Zayn's eyes are blown wide. "C'mon, this is the safest place I know!"
They enter, Louis leading the way and Zayn following hesitantly behind, fry-pan gripped for dear life.
"They look scary." Zayn whispers as every burly man in the place stares them down.
Some have muscles big enough that they could squeeze Louis and Zayn with one hand each. Some even have knives strapped to their belts. Deep gashes on their faces, dried blood on their knuckles, some sitting with suits on and a smoky cigar looking like the most powerful people in the world.
Louis would be lying if he said he wasn't absolutely shaking in his boots, too.
They finally make it to the bar, and that's when Louis realises this is the worst mistake he's made in his life, by far.
"You're Louis Tomlinson." The bartender says, or, more-so, growls.
“I—I'm not." Louis replies instantly, clearing his throat. Zayn looks at him, quick with fear and confusion. "Not sure where you got that from, but—“
A quick, dark look from the bartender tells Louis he should shut up immediately, "Are you telling me, that this," He's presented with a phone in his face, a news article on the screen, showing him his own candid face with the caption: Serial criminal Louis Tomlinson. If found, please contact police immediately. Large reward promised. "Isn't you?"
"Ah," Louis chokes out. He can feel the room becoming smaller, can feel eyes on his back, can see out of the corner of his eye someone standing and leering towards him.
"Louis." Zayn whispers harshly, warning.
"See that, right there, is actually my stupid brother."
"Lou-eh." Zayn whispers, louder, annunciation more prominent.
"But, uh," Louis throws on a smile, begins to back away from the bar, "You know, I'm not really, uh… we might go—“
He bumps into something. It's most definitely one of the burly guys. He turns, finding a man twice his size in every way possible. He quickly chances a look at Zayn, who looks like he's about to faint at any second.
“You’re the criminal everyone’s talking about.” He says, almost bearing his teeth. “You stole the Prince’s crown.”
“Ay! We get big money if we hand him in, right?” Another one yells from across the bar. Louis feels his stomach fall to his feet.
“But, h—hey, if you hand me in, the police will notice you, too. Yeah? Criminals aren’t welcome in those parts.” Louis attempts, thinking quickly. His own voice sounding the least masculine it’s ever sounded. He might be shaking, too, he’s not really sure.
“He’s right.” Zayn says, strangely confident. Louis doesn’t chance another look at him, instead lets his eyes roam around the room, searching for a way out. “They’ll have your faces memorised. Instead of a prize, you might get caught.”
The bar simmers to low whispers, some nodding in consideration, some turning away out of disinterest now and others still looking at the two of them with distaste. The guy that Louis bumped into is doing the latter.
“And who the fuck are you?” He cocks his head at Zayn, who’s still trying to make it seem like he’s not petrified. “Are you a criminal?”
Zayn shakes his head. “No.”
“Then why aren’t you handing him in and getting the money?”
A collective round of “yeah”’s and “what’s that about?”’s are heard throughout the bar. This time, Louis does look at him, and Zayn’s looking back.
He shrugs. “Don’t care, really. He’s taking me to see the lanterns tomorrow night, so.”
It’s said like it’s supposed to justify his actions—his nonchalance of getting mountains of money to a pack of cash-thirsty criminals —and Louis winces. He thinks one of two things will happen. One, they’ll all start laughing, thinking it’s a complete joke and that Zayn actually has an ulterior motive, like he helped Louis steal it. Two, they’ll assume that it’s a date, or something, and proceed to “bash the gay out” of them, as it was so kindly put the last time it happened.
Either way, they’re fucked. And a fry-pan can only do so much.
“The lanterns!” A deep voice comes from the back of the room and Louis waits for the collective cackle or the first hit to the jaw. What he doesn’t expect, though, is a sigh from the same person. “I loved them as a kid. I can’t watch them closely anymore, ever since I got banned from that damn place.”
“My family always used to take me, every year.” The bartender chips in, drying one of the glasses. “They’re so amazing up close.”
Louis doesn’t even have time to process the turn of events, because suddenly a wave of nostalgia hits the room and it’s story-time.
“My favourite part is when they’ve all been released and the sky is just full of them, lighting up and floating above your head.”
“One year I actually got to hold one. Best year of my life, probably.”
Then the chatter escalates and there’s laughter and drinks cheering and Louis feels more fear in himself now than when he was confronted. He looks at Zayn, who’s now observing the room with a small smile on his lips and his arms crossed.
A smaller man in a suit comes over to the two of them. He’s scrawnier than the rest, and a little old from what Louis can tell. He’s looking at Zayn before he talks to him, and Louis really doesn’t know how to act right now.
“You’ll love it, mate.” He taps Zayn’s shoulder lightly with his fist and Zayn gives him a nod before Louis is acknowledged. The old man looks at him a lot more stern than how he looked at Zayn. “Now, you. Be stealthy out there, alright? You’ve got a lot of balls going back there after stealing something like that.”
Louis swallows and tries to find his voice. “I will.”
The man seems like he’s satisfied with Louis’ answer, and opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s interrupted by the sounds of tires against gravel outside, and a loud shout of, “It’s the police!”
“Fuck.” Louis breathes.
“Lou,” Zayn says beside him, fear present with the way he’s gripping his weapon again, “What's going on?”
Louis searches rapidly, looking for a back entrance, a window, a bathroom. But he realises the pub would be heavily surrounded by cops, realises Liam would have reported back to the force and now this place will be searched leaf by leaf. No bathroom or window could help them now.
“Come with me.” The burly one Louis bumped into says simply. Louis and Zayn share a glance. They both shrug and follow mindlessly, since they don’t really have any other choice, and that’s when the door opens.
“We’re looking for Louis Tomlinson.” The policeman says, loud enough for the whole bar to hear.
Louis doesn’t chance a look behind him. He knows the criminals are blocking the policeman’s view of him, but any wrong eye on his face could end them.
“This leads out to the dam.” Burly-guy says, pointing to a trap-door.
“Dam?” Zayn asks.
“Let’s go.” Louis says, opening up the trap-door that reveals a long, long hallway with minimum to none light. He goes in first, knowing that Zayn needs to see that it’s safe.
Zayn lingers a little, but eventually gives Burly a smile and says, “Thank you for this.”
A grin is given in return, “Of course. Us people have to stick together.”
Then they hear a few more cops enter, asking for everyone to give any information and that they’ll search this entire place from head to toe. Louis moves fast, and eventually they’re both back on their feet, underground with steady hearts.
“God,” Louis exhales, feeling like he can finally relax. “That was close.”
Zayn remains silent.
~
Still shaken and a little bit annoyed, he remains by Louis’ side anyway.
“That was close.” Louis says, relieved.
Zayn doesn’t look at him. Instead, he keeps his head down and continues to walk a little bit in front. He’s still scared, still unsure of what’s down this dim-lit hallway and what it leads to. He wishes it was bright enough, open enough so he could charge ahead, leave Louis behind for a little bit. Maybe leave him behind altogether and find someone else that will direct him to where he needs to go.
His anger must be blatantly obvious, because Louis stops in his tracks mid-step, and Zayn can literally hear him think.
“Hang on,” He says, confusion in his voice, “Are you mad?”
Zayn can’t help but let out a small laugh with a shake of his head. Really?
He hears Louis quicken his strides and he falls in step with Zayn, looking hard at his profile.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Zayn breathes in and out in one quick movement, then stops. He looks at Louis dead-on, “Are you serious? You trick me into going into some place for food, telling me that this is the safest place you know, and then almost gets us killed because apparently you’re the most wanted criminal that everyone’s searching for?”
Louis scrunches his face up, caught guilty. He runs a hand through his hair, “Okay, yeah, I may have fucked up on that part, but—”
“You took me somewhere that you knew would scare me.”
Louis sighs. “I did. I did... I—look, I’m sorry. It was a dick move.” They continue walking, slower this time. Zayn starts to bite the inside of his cheek, the tension growing. Then Louis’ bumping into Zayn’s arm playfully with a smile, asking, “Did it work, then?”
Zayn hates how it makes his lips quirk up a little, “I think you were more scared than me, actually.”
Louis lets out a laugh, “No shit! How was I to know they’d wanna kill me on the spot?” Zayn looks down at his feet, noticing how close they’ve gotten. “Besides, you’re the one with the deadly weapon.”
A loud crash is heard through the tunnel. It makes the dirt above them crack and fall. It sounds like a few pairs of feet running. Zayn stops breathing and Louis’ eyes widen with alarm.
“We need to run.” Louis warns, grabbing Zayn’s wrist without warning.
Zayn concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, running as fast as he’s ever run in his life. And that’s not an exaggeration, he can’t remember the last time he’s had to run. Maybe when he was a child with too much energy? He’s not sure but he’s definitely certain that Louis’ an athlete because right now Zayn’s being dragged while he sprints like he’s flying.
“Louis! You’re going too fast!” Zayn shouts, sure he’s about to trip any second.
“C’mon, Zayn! We gotta get out of here!” Louis shouts back, not bothering to turn and face him.
Zayn’s led through the tunnel until they reach a corner. Thankfully, once they turn it a light is shown not too far away, leading out to what looks like an opening. Zayn picks up his speed, not focusing on anything else but getting out. Louis runs easily, breath not picking up in the slightest, as though he were merely walking.
They finally reach the opening but they don’t stop, there’s no door to block the exit. But then Zayn realises that’s not the only reason why they’ve stopped.
“Are you fucking serious?” Louis mutters under his breath.
They’re outside, on a rock that’s about thirty feet from the ground. Zayn steps closer to the ledge. There’s a ladder leading down to the bottom, a blocked off dam filled with water on the side, and a cave on the other side. Zayn thinks that’s their best bet.
Until two men rush out from under them—one tall and with short brown hair, dressed in a floral shirt and dark pants, the other with brown hair also with a white tee and jeans—both looking extremely angry.
“Shit.” Louis whines, grip on Zayn’s wrist tightening.
“Who are they?” Zayn asks.
“Uh,” Louis’ face scrunches up, “They don’t like me.”
At that, a bunch of people all in the same clothing as each other stumble out of the tunnel they just came through.
“And I’m guessing...”
“Yep,” Louis replies, backing away from them, “They definitely don’t like me, either.”
From the uniformed group, one boy breaks through wearing something different. “You’re mine, Tomlinson.”
Zayn feels his eyes go wide, “Who’s that?”
Louis sighs quickly in frustration, “Let’s just assume for the moment that everyone here doesn’t like me.”
Zayn nods, “You might need this, then.”
He presses the fry-pan to Louis’ hands, and Louis grabs it without hesitation. Zayn then leaves him to his own devices, making a run for it. Because if everyone here hates him, that must be Louis’ own wrong-doing, and Zayn’s not having any part of that.
So, he quickly shoots down the ladder that’s in-built into the rock, hearing Louis fight off people with the fry-pan.
The ladder feels slippery underneath his own hands, realising that’s how sweaty his palms have become.
“You should know,” Louis shouts over the noise of the fry-pan hitting bodies and other metals, “That this is the strangest thing I have ever done!”
Zayn doesn’t know if he’s talking to him, but he continues sliding down anyway. It’s when he reaches the bottom, though, that he sees the two men waiting for him.
“Who are you?” The blue-eyed one says, pure curiosity in his tone.
The taller one runs a hand through his hair, eyes looking at Zayn inquisitively.
Zayn frowns at them, “Who are you?”
“I’m Harry.” Tall one says with a big smile, hand out stretched to Zayn.
It gets slapped away by the other one. “He’s with Louis.”
“And this is Niall,” Harry says, throwing an arm around his friend, completely unfazed by Niall’s piece of information.
They’re all interrupted by the sounds of gunshots. The three of them duck immediately. Zayn’s heart almost stops, whipping his head back to see any sign of Louis at all. He can’t see anything from where he is.
What he does see, though, is holes in the from of gun shots pierced right through the wood barrier holding in the dam. Streams of water flow through them speedily and Zayn sees the pillars struggling against the sudden motion.
When another gun shot is heard, ricocheting off something metal—undeniably the fry-pan, therefore showing signs of Louis’ life—the three of them down below all heave a sigh of relief.
“Uh, Zayn?!” Louis yells from above the cliff, “Could use a bit of help up here!”
Zayn tries to think fast as a few more gunshots are heard and fly directly into the dam’s barrier again. It’s being pushed to its limits, Zayn can tell, and there’s only so much time before the whole thing bursts and this place fills with water.
He sees a large plank of wood lent up against the bit of rock, opposite the one Louis’ stood on. Two more gunshots, both hitting the fry-pan.
Zayn works fast. He runs over to the wood and pulls it away from the wall. But it’s far too long and heavy, Zayn straining to manipulate it in any way. Harry and Niall watch, both hesitating. It’s not until they hear a scream coming from above, and see Louis backed up to the edge of the cliff, foot slipping and rocks crumbling, when they rush to help him.
They manage to pull the plank of wood off one rock and onto the other, right where Louis’ foot slipped.
Zayn looks down at his own feet, now wet with water as it puddles around them. “Slide down!” Zayn shouts, before looking for the nearest exit.
Louis doesn’t think twice, He shuffles down the plank of wood, a very furious and out-of-bullets man that Zayn recognises as the one not in uniform following him.
Zayn hears a dull creak, and watches as the wood keeping in water looks as though it’s now seconds from breaking. He holds out his hand, willing for Louis to hurry up.
“Fuck!” Louis yells, being sure not to fall as his balance almost gives way. The fry-pan drops from his hands and Zayn manages to save it. He promptly puts it into his backpack, knowing they’ll have to move fast.
“Catch him!” Niall orders Harry, and they both run towards him.
Louis ends up jumping off, away from the two, and Zayn quickly follows him. Louis’ stopped, regaining himself but Zayn realises there’s no time for that. He runs passed, grabbing Louis’ wrist as he does so, and yanks him to the nearest exit that he can see.
Halfway there, he hears a loud snapping sound. And then the gush of water.
“Through here!” Louis shouts, as though that isn’t where Zayn’s already leading them.
They make it to the exit and they keep running when they feel water up to their knees. It isn’t until Zayn feels more rock that they stop. The water laps up to their waist now, rising higher and higher. Louis’ wrist falls from Zayn’s grip and they both search for where to go.
That’s when Zayn realises it isn’t an exit, but a dead-end.
“No.” Zayn shakes his head, ready to swim to leave but the water level has already blocked the way they came in, through the tunnel. It’s high enough that Zayn feels himself floating. He lifts his arm up, fingertips just touching the ceiling. “No.”
He dives down into the water, eager on swimming out. But he feels a hand tug on his shirt, pulling him back up to the surface. “There’s no point.” Louis tells him earnestly, “You won’t be able to see anything. It’s pitch black.”
“Bullshit.” Zayn bites back, shrugging Louis’ hand off his shirt. “I gotta try.”
He dips below the water again, but Louis’ right. The way they walked in was as thick as a house’s hallway, as extensive as one, too. He could swim for ages but it’d be going against the flow of the water and he’d be completely blind.
The realisation hits him. They’re going to die.
He swims above the water, watching the water level float up and up.
He feels his chest constrict, his eyes tearing. He looks at Louis, all content and ready, as though he knew this was coming.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Zayn chokes out, making Louis look at him in surprise, “I shouldn’t have dragged you to come with me, I shouldn’t have even left, I—”
“Hey, hey,” Louis says softly. How is he so calm? “We’re both at fault here, yeah? I shouldn’t have led you into that pub…” He shakes his head at himself. Then he nudges Zayn’s arm with his elbow, trying to cheer him up. “Just sucks we don’t have superpowers, eh?”
His lips turn up into a smirk and Zayn can’t help but let out a small chuckle. “I do. Sorta.”
“Oh, yeah?” Louis says, as though he’s playing along. Their heads bump into the ceiling as the water rises. It’s the first time Zayn catches the fear in Louis’ eyes. “What superpower would that be?”
“I can shoot gold that glows through my fingertips.” Zayn says matter-of-factly.
Louis’ head jerks back, eyebrows pinched as he looks at Zayn oddly. “That’s, uh, an interesting one. Personally, I’d go for invincibility, but…”
Louis keeps talking as the water touches Zayn’s chin but something clicks in Zayn’s mind all at once. He gasps with realisation. He can shoot gold that glows, for god’s sake.
Tilting his head so his mouth is still breathing, he hums the familiar tune. The one that he had to sing almost every day for his whole life. He only gets half-way through the song before he’s completely underwater but as expected, his gold, glowing liquid from his fingertips shine through the water, letting them see.
He sees Louis’ entire body fly back as he swears, eyes shooting open at the sight.
Zayn doesn’t waste any time. He tugs on Louis’ shirt and shines the light ahead of them, making it easy to swim out of the tunnel and to the surface.
~
They flop out of the water like fish, Zayn gasping for air as he climbs up the side of the riverbank. Louis, himself, is on a whole other level of pure shock.
So, one second he thought he was going to die. Accepted it, really. The next, he’s witnessing the weird boy from the tower shoot glowing gold from his very own fingertips.
Gold. That glows.
He breathes heavily from where he’s resting on the grass, legs still in the water. He doesn’t—can’t even begin to fathom what just happened.
And here’s Zayn now, just ridding the water from his clothes and shoes as though nothing out of the ordinary happened. As though having superpowers is completely normal. As though his fingertips aren’t fucking magic.
“You—you…” Louis pants, unable to even string a coherent sentence together. It doesn’t matter, though, because Zayn’s acting like Louis isn’t even there. “Wait a minute. Am I dead? Are we dead?”
Because it’s possible. In the last few seconds of life that he had, his mind could have twisted reality into a dream-like scenario where they actually live. Where they get out of an impossible situation in the weirdest way. Maybe Zayn’s last words were the prompt to a hallucination and they’re in limbo right now.
But then he hears Zayn snort and sees him shake his head. “No. We’re very much alive. And wet.”
Louis hauls himself up on the grass a bit more. He still feels alive. So.
Zayn shakes out his hair. He takes off his socks and twist them so the water drips out.
Finally standing up, Louis feels light-headed. Could be because of the many near-death experiences he’s gone through tonight. Or the fact that he hasn’t eaten or slept in over twelve hours. Or, you know, he just saw fingertips shoot out glowing gold like some weird Spider-Man-thing, right in front of him.
He definitely feels as though it’s the latter.
“That... That definitely just—”
“Yep.” Zayn tells him. “It did.”
“You saved us.”
Zayn looks up from where he’s putting his socks and shoes back on. His mouth slowly tilts upwards, eyes soft.
“You did.” Louis certifies, running his hands through his own wet hair. “Fuck.”
Zayn sniffs, “We should find somewhere to sleep, don’t you think?”
“Give me some time to compose myself, will you?” Louis asks, bracing his hands on his knees. He breathes in slowly, then out just as slow. He feels Zayn watching him. To think that stealing the Prince’s crown this afternoon would lead him here. “Jesus Christ.”
“Are you done?” Zayn asks.
“Yeah.” Louis decides, standing upright. “I’m done.”
~
They stumble upon a small clearing, one that has two logs next to each other, perfect to sit on. Louis sits on one immediately, sighing out in relief, finally getting to sit.
Zayn couldn't lie to himself, he was feeling exhausted. It'd been a long, busy day. He's sad that they're not already at the Palace and that he's not somewhere that other people can keep an eye on him. But for some reason he doesn't feel scared that he's alone in the woods with an almost-stranger. Isn't worried that as soon as he sleeps, Louis could run off and leave Zayn deserted, or worse.
He's not sure why, but he trusts him.
He takes a seat next to Louis on the log, and looks at him. Louis' got his eyes closed, face tilted up towards the stars. His shirt's ripped in more ways than one and his jeans look so dirty Zayn doesn't think there's any way of fixing them. There's also dried blood in different spots all over his body, and a new gash with fresh blood on the palm of his hand.
"You're bleeding." Zayn points out.
Louis opens one eye, first, looking at Zayn with a frown. Then he opens the other and tilts his head as he inspects his hand.
"Hm, look at that." Louis says, "Add that to my list of injuries, won't I?"
Zayn shifts so he's facing Louis more, and holds out his own hand. "Here."
Louis glances at Zayn's hand, then at Zayn's eyes, then back again. It's like he's unsure whether Zayn's serious or not. Then he places his own hand in Zayn's and Zayn can hear him inhale ever so softly.
Zayn raises his other hand, fingertips dancing over the gash as he hums the special tune. On cue, the gold light shines from his fingers and onto the wound, making it heal up and fix the skin almost immediately.
When Zayn's happy with it, he looks at Louis and almost laughs at the expression he's met with. Gaped mouth with a jaw almost hitting the ground and eyes as wide as dinner plates.
It's only when Zayn stops holding his hand, that he comes back to reality.
Louis shakes his head, "Whoa." He breathes, shaking his head once more. He looks at Zayn's eyes, his own replicating something like wonder, and something else Zayn can't describe. "What are you?"
Zayn swallows. He fidgets in his position and can't help the frown that forms on his face. He's always known that he's been different, always known that his life isn't normal in the slightest, even when he's been separated from normal, he's known. But it's something he hasn't been prepared for—the day he exposes himself to someone and they react to it.
"No, I mean—I didn't..." Louis stutters out, eyes squeezed shut, "That wasn't meant to sound hurtful, in any way. I'm really amazed. That was... Fucking incredible."
Zayn picks up the honesty in his words, in the way he looks at him. It makes Zayn dip his head a little and he can feel his cheeks warm slightly even though the night’s cold. Which reminds him,
"Should we, uh, get a fire going, or—“
"Oh! Yeah," Louis responds, standing up suddenly as though he was broken from some kind of trance, "Yeah, I'll grab some firewood."
~
He not only can shoot gold from his fingers like some sort of magician, but he can heal things with it. God, no wonder he was so sure Louis was there to kidnap him.
He checks out his hand again. Yep, it's definitely healed and looking perfect. Amazing.
It makes him wonder why Zayn didn't just do that to cure the gash on his abdomen. Maybe he didn't think Louis would be worth such a good job, wasn't important enough. Does that mean he's changed his mind on Louis, now?
He shakes his head. He's only keeping him alive, and healthy, so Louis doesn't drop dead and abandon him.
Louis adds a thick block of wood to the pile under his arm. He's already got a few sticks and there's some grass that's dry enough back where they're sitting.
He turns back to Zayn, concentrating on holding everything with his, admittedly, not-so-big arms.
He wonders if Zayn thinks he's a little bit pathetic, compared to Liam and Harry and Niall, and all the police as well as all the criminals in the bar. Louis scoffs to himself, of course he thinks that.
Zayn has one dream, and he just so happened to stumble on possibly the worst person to escort him.
Fuck, Louis scolds to himself, Why do you care?
"Hey," Louis calls once he goes back to their spot, "Your fingertips don't happen to start fires, too, do they?"
When he doesn't get a response, Louis looks up at him. Zayn's standing, facing away from him and looking towards the woods. His body looks tense, scared.
Louis drops the firewood immediately and rushes over to him, "Zayn, what happened?"
Zayn blinks twice before he looks at him. "I think I... Think I saw a wolf, or something."
"Ah," Louis says, relief filling him more than he'd like to admit. He pats Zayn on the shoulder, and this time, Zayn doesn't flinch or tense up from it. "Not to worry, mate, wolves don't really stroll around these parts. Though, wouldn't be the worst thing. I'm starving."
Zayn's eyes widen, "You eat wolf?"
Louis laughs, a big belly-laugh that even surprises himself, "No, of course not."
The relief on Zayn's face turns into a small smile at the joke. Louis counts it as a win.
Louis shuffles the firewood to a place somewhere in between the two logs. Zayn sits down on one and watches as Louis works.
Having to live from job to job, it's lucky Louis' picked up a few handy tips along the way. It's lucky, because he manages to get the fire up and running in no time and if he wasn't confident, he would've looked like such an incompetent fool in front of Zayn.
And, God, Louis wants to stab himself. Why the fuck do you care?
"So," Zayn begins as Louis sits on the other log. Zayn looks at the fire but his face is tilted towards Louis', questioning.
"So." Louis repeats.
"Why do all those people hate you?"
Louis lets out a small laugh. He twists his mouth a little as he picks up a stick long enough so that he can prod at the fire from where he's sitting. "That's a, uh, fairly intrusive question coming from someone who won't tell me anything about their life."
He expects Zayn to be taken aback, to retreat back into his shell. Instead, he leans forward so his elbow is resting on his knee, his chin in his hand, and blinks once at him.
"You now know I shoot gold shit from my fingertips that glow in the dark and heal human flesh." He says simply, face dead-pan. "Now spill."
Louis stills. He finds it hard to not burst out in laughter. He's tired and probably verging on hysterical at this point—could anyone blame him?
He lets out a breath, raising his brows as he does so, "Well, you've got me there." He clears his throat. "Erm... Let's see." He tries to fit his thoughts in order, tries to find a way to say it without making it seem like he isn't a total dropkick who does what he does because he doesn't have an education, or any working experience in the slightest. But then he realises, on a whim, that he couldn't give a shit how it sounds. "I steal from people, Zayn, and then I sell it to other people that give me enough money to last me until my next theft. And, you know, living like that you're gonna get a name for yourself and people that hate you along the way, so."
He shrugs, his eyes never leaving the fire. He prods at it as an afterthought, not wanting to meet Zayn's eyes.
"Why do you do it?"
It's said so softly. An almost-whisper that's said apologetically. And, fuck, he didn't ask for sympathy.
"I just do, yeah?" Louis replies, prodding a little harder. "And I'm bloody good at it."
"It'll get you killed."
Louis laughs in his throat, sits back a little on the log, cocks his head to the side, "Yeah, it might. Almost did, didn't it?"
The silence that follows builds between them. Louis swallows harshly. He chances a look to Zayn. What he finds is a downcast of lashes, his mouth twisted uncomfortably, a frown forming.
Then he looks up, and the shine of his eyes makes Louis' breath hitch. He looks away immediately.
"Don't you care?"
Louis takes a second to digest the question. Care about what? The people he's stealing from? The frustration he puts authorities through to catch him? The amount of people that hate him? Of course he cares. But it's Zayn's tone of voice, the delicate way he phrases it, the emphasis on the last word as though it were a personal insult that makes it sound like he means something else entirely. And then Louis understands.
Don't you care that you'll die?
Louis scoffs, "Not at all. Nobody would if I did, would they? Why should I?"
It'd be rejoiced, when it happens. The police, the royal family, the civilians and the like will have a party. They'd probably release fucking lanterns the night it happens, put it on the calendars as the day the town's menace was finally put to rest.
It's the late-night brain talking, Louis knows. It's the depressed thoughts that come now and then—usually when he's alone and sitting in an alleyway because he hasn't made a sale in enough time. But he knows that when he wakes up and he's at it again, he'll be twice as fast and twice as great because his pride's too large to let them win.
But today, as he's realised the amount of people out to get him, he knows he'll lose soon.
"I'm knackered." Louis says, shifting the mood. Zayn hasn't said a word, and this time Louis' too afraid to look at him again.
They lie down next to the logs, besides the fire, and Louis waits until he hears the soft breaths of Zayn's fall into a steady, even rhythm before he closes his eyes.
~
"Get off me you gremlin!"
"You're coming with me, Tomlinson."
Zayn blinks glaringly awake. He finds next to him Louis on the ground, batting away a familiar person that's attempting to drag him by his foot.
"Bullshit I am!" Louis replies, kicking until he's free.
"What the hell?" Zayn manages to say.
The two boys stop what they're doing and whip their heads around to look at Zayn, expressions looking like they got caught doing something they shouldn't.
"Sir, I am obligated to take Louis to the police."
Louis scoffs. "Obligated." He gestures to the man lazily, "What makes you think I'd even come with you? Where's your gun, Liam? You don't even have a bloody badge."
Zayn sits up slowly, back aching a bit from sleeping on bumpy grass. He judges Liam's expression—a sudden realisation mixed with embarrassment, then finally settling on a new-found anger towards Louis.
"Alright," Zayn says, intervening before anything happens, "Liam, is it?"
Liam's flared nostrils relax as he looks at Zayn, then nods. He steps towards him, hand outstretched. "Officer Payne."
Zayn looks at his hand curiously, he figures it's there to help him up, so he takes it and uses it to pull him to his feet. He watches as Louis stifles a laugh. Then Liam's frowning a little before he shakes his hand firmly.
"I'm Zayn." He says, stepping towards him as they drop their hands. He looks at Louis, who's still on the ground, eyeing them both as though he's anticipating what's to come. Zayn turns his attention back to Liam, "I need you to not take him just yet."
Liam blinks. "Uh, with all due respect—“
"It's my birthday." Zayn adds, letting a hand rest softly on Liam's forearm. "And all I want is to go to the palace and watch the lanterns."
Liam's eyes don't stray from Zayn's but it takes him a while to respond, his gaping mouth taking a while to work. "Well, that's, uh, nice."
"Yeah," Zayn agrees, letting his fingertips run up and down Liam's arm slowly, knowing that this make Liam like him better. Or so he’s read. ”And I need Louis to take me. So, could we hold off this whole arrangement until tomorrow?" Zayn makes a show of batting his eyelashes, "I'll even hand him in myself."
"Oh, so I'm just an object or something now, am I?" Louis frowns, standing up to try and make himself more seen. "You can't just palm me off to the next man, I'm a—“
He's promptly shut up by Liam's swift punch to the stomach. Louis keels over with a groan.
"Fine." Liam agrees. "But I'll be the one to take you both there and I also have to keep a close eye the entire time, alright?"
Zayn feels himself smile. He drops the hand on Liam's arm to his side. "Perfect."
"And just how will you take us there, Lee-yum?" Louis mocks from his bent over position. Jesus, Zayn thinks. He's really begging to be kicked when he's down, isn't he? "You're gonna lead the way?"
"I'm gonna drive you there." Liam tells him.
Zayn tries to contain his excitement. Driving? In a car? He's heard about this, the way you can move so fast that you feel the wind in your hair, the sound of the motor when it's running, the cushioned seats and the radio that plays music.
But Louis lets out a laugh. He stands up straight through the pain, and places his hands on his hips, "So you lost everything in the water except for your keys?"
Liam bites the inside of his cheek, "Yeah, do you wanna see 'em?"
Louis throws him a smile, "I'd love to."
To which Liam shoves a hand in the pockets of his jeans—only to bring out his middle finger.
"Wow, mature!" Louis laughs. Zayn rolls his eyes. Liam begins walking. "Look at me, I'm Big Payno, leader of the playground."
Louis keeps mocking behind them as Zayn and Liam walk in front. Zayn tries his hardest to tune him out.
"Ignore him." Zayn says quietly, bumping his hip to Liam's.
At this, Liam cracks a smile, "Can I ask why you chose him to take you?"
Zayn shrugs, "Was the first person I saw."
Liam finds this hilarious, apparently, because his head falls back as he laughs. Zayn doesn't get it, but he smiles anyway.
“You’re so, uh,” Liam laughs quietly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, “I don’t mean to sound abrupt, but you’re gorgeous. I mean, you look identical to the King, I swear.”
“Oh?” Zayn quirks a brow, a little taken aback from the compliment. He has no idea what any of the Royals look like, but they must be quite attractive, according to Liam. “Thank you.”
"Have you moved here from somewhere?" Liam asks, "I mean—is that why you haven't seen the lanterns before?"
Zayn sniffs, considers telling him the truth. “Uh—"
"Where is this car, Liam?" Louis complains behind them, thankfully interrupting. "If we're walking forever until the nearest road I think we'd be better off just walking straight to the bloody palace, anyway.”
Liam groans inwardly and Zayn catches him as his jaw tenses. Zayn looks back at Louis, who's looking up at the tall trees surrounding him.
"How about you go on ahead," Zayn tells Liam, "I'll occupy this one."
Liam breathes in steadily, his eyes darting around as he thinks. They settle on Zayn's and says, "Alright, but if I even get the inkling that you're straying—“
"Don't worry about it," Zayn smiles, placing his hand on Liam's shoulder, "We won't go anywhere."
Liam nods once and Zayn slows his steps until he's in line with Louis', who's looking at him in question.
"Why do you want to make this hard for us?" Zayn asks him, voice low and quiet and out of Liam's earshot.
Louis frowns and looks at him, exasperated. "Well, my apologies for not wanting to be 'handed over' as soon as the deal is done."
“Louis—"
"What happened to our deal, then?" Louis asks, his tone a bit hurt. "Did that just go to shit as soon as you saw a guy you liked?"
Zayn's head involuntarily jerks back in question, "What?"
Louis sighs and shakes his head and Zayn doesn't know if that's to him or himself. "Never mind."
He thinks back to last night. He doesn't know why, but he does. He thinks back to Louis becoming closed off, talking about his life but only just. He thinks back to how hearing him talk about himself like that made Zayn's chest hurt in a way he couldn't describe.
Nobody would if I did, would they?
It had made Zayn think. He wanted so badly to say that he would. He would care. And it's scary, knowing that. That if Louis were to die, Zayn would most definitely care. And how is it that he would, but Louis wouldn't?
He realises that Louis doesn't know Zayn even thinks twice about him, from what he's aware.
But Zayn had to be careful. His mother had surprised him last night for a reason. She had the crown—which she had given to him to keep—told Zayn that Louis was only doing what he's doing because of it.
And Zayn hadn't second-guessed it, knew exactly what his mother was saying was true. But he woke up this morning and Louis was still there beside him.
Zayn stops in his tracks and holds out his hand so Louis bumps into it and stops, too. Zayn looks at him with earnest, and it's heartbreaking to see Louis look so sad, like he believes Zayn would throw it all away.
"We still have our deal, yeah?" Zayn tells him, "This was the only way we could get him off our backs for a while."
Louis' face etches into worry, "Zayn, you're way too gullible. Who's to say he's not gonna just driver us straight to the police station? Or an organised ambush?"
Zayn blinks, looks towards Liam who's a few feet away. "Okay... How about, when you see him going off track, we'll knock him out," Zayn says, bringing out the fry-pan from his backpack, "And you can take the wheel."
He smiles, satisfied, and it grows when he sees Louis nod, eyes flashing with mischievousness as he takes the weapon from him.
"But only when it's necessary, alright?" Zayn warns.
"Alright." Louis complies, stringing out the word in a higher-pitch than normal as he flips the fry-pan and catches it in one hand, "I'll obey."
"Good."
~
"Wow," Zayn sighs in amazement, running his hands over the dashboard of the car, "Do you drive it everywhere?"
And Liam just looks so smug. Small smile perched on his lips as though he's not just about bursting at Zayn's wonder. Taking advantage of it, is what he is. He doesn't realise Zayn doesn't know about cars because he's been trapped in a tower, doesn't know that he's amazed by this second-hand, standard vehicle because it's the only one he's ever seen in real life. Doesn't know much about Zayn at all, really, but he's looking at him like he's the best thing he's ever seen.
Louis' stolen many cars in his lifetime, actually. Ones that purr when you bring it to life, ones that go so fast you feel like you're flying, with seats so brand new the smell of them alone is enough to make you feel rich and powerful. He bets Zayn would kill to be in one of those.
"Could we hurry it up, then?" Louis interrupts Liam mid-sentence of some boring explanation about indicators, and Liam almost jumps at Louis' voice, as though he'd completely forgotten about him in the few minutes they got into the car. "Yes, I'm still here."
"Louis," Zayn says, looking at him, "We've got all day."
Liam clears his throat. "We'll get started, then."
Louis at Zayn, then looks out the window, knuckles idly tapping against it slowly. He knows he looks like a stroppy toddler, like he was denied a stop off at McDonald's or something, but it was supposed to be him escorting Zayn. However fucked up that sounds.
"Ready?" Liam says with a smile, hand on the keys in the ignition.
He sees from the corner of his eye, Zayn's own eyes remaining on Louis for a few more seconds, before his head turns back to Liam.
He must nod, because Liam starts the car and the noisiness of it coming to life is louder than Louis had expected, but Zayn seems to think the louder the better because he brightens with astonishment.
"Sick!"
Louis rolls his eyes and slumps further in his chair. He can see Liam's expression in the review mirror and it's everything Louis thought it'd be—a modest smile fighting a bigger one and eyes fighting not to look at Zayn every damn second.
It might be an exaggeration. Louis can admit that much. Liam's probably just happy someone's paying him good attention, maybe. Or that he's actually doing something worthwhile instead of training or letting people down. And Louis might be on a new level of bitter.
The entire car ride has everything to do with Zayn asking lots of questions about the car, the town, a little about Liam's life (although, to be fair, those last questions were purely out of politeness), Liam soaking up every minute and talking animatedly about everything he has the knowledge to. Louis can also admit that he doesn't seem like such a bad guy. He also mentioned a "missus", too. So, there's that.
Louis feels like a bit of a bummer—sitting in the backseat with his eyes constantly on the world outside, not saying a word—but he's making sure Liam's following through completely. And so far, as the palace is merely minutes away, Louis gathers that Liam is.
"It's massive," Zayn gawks, sitting up straighter in his seat, "Who needs that much space?"
Louis splutters out a laugh and Liam does, too. Zayn turns around and looks at both of them.
"What?"
Louis hates the way himself and Liam shrug in unison. But Zayn's obliviousness of his wonderment and the odd question makes Louis' heart go soft in a way that sort of scares him.
They enter the palace in Liam's cop car, completely undercover and completely unsuspecting from the hundreds of guards facing the outside perimeter. Louis still feels beyond nervous, though. He's sure that everyone within this place would have his face etched to the back of their eyelids in hopes that they'd catch him and therefore become millionaires.
"They release the lanterns at seven, usually. So we have time to walk around and that." Liam tells Zayn, finding a car park. "Louis, as long as you keep your head down and stick close to me, you won't be caught."
Louis raises his brows, dissatisfied, "Gotta wait till you hand me in yourself, right. Got it."
Once they park and Liam stops the car, Zayn opens the door eagerly. The sounds of a party atmosphere surrounds them, music mixed with laughter fill the air, it sounds so inviting and exciting that Louis can't wait for Zayn to enter.
They walk into the palace, Zayn leading and taking everything in whilst Louis and Liam linger behind—Liam not straying in fear that Louis will leave, and Louis not daring to make himself seen with the risk of getting caught so high—and he watches as kids run around with streamers or fairy floss, screaming with happiness as their parents watch fondly. Louis gets hit with a wave of nostalgia, remembering the first time he came here with his own family, only very young.
He hasn't been since, really. Never saw the point in it, never understood the hype of it all. Always watched from the street, listened to it in the background. But now, here, as he walks through the palace's courtyard—Zayn suddenly being taken away by a group of kids as they lead him to their artworks on the ground made with chalk—Louis kind of regrets not coming here more often.
Zayn looks up at Louis as he starts to draw his own drawings on the concrete, the group of kids watching on. He looks so happy, smiling at Louis in a somewhat silent thanks, and Louis can't help but smile back just as warmly, his stomach flipping only just.
Liam taps Louis' hip slightly, enough for Louis to break Zayn's eye contact. When he looks at Liam, he's got a smirk on his face, watching Zayn.
"You've got a good one, there." Liam says.
Louis' initial reaction is probably the worst one; "What the fuck are you on about, mate?"
Liam almost laughs, startled, ”I'm talking about Zayn." And then he frowns, looks at Louis with confusion, "Wait, aren't you guys—?”
"No?" Louis replies immediately at the insinuation. He almost looks at Liam with repulsiveness, then he looks at Zayn, who's chuckling gorgeously at something a little girl drew. Louis shakes himself out of it instantly. "No, we're not."
Liam readjusts his stance against where they're both leaning against one of the many stores. "Why not?"
Louis can't help but scoff, "Are you out of your mind? C'mon, Liam. I knew you were dumb, didn't think you'd be this dumb."
Liam cocks his head to the side, face showing sudden disinterest, and then doesn't say anything more.
Louis shifts his weight, looks down at his shoeless feet as his hands press together, flicks his fringe to the side once, and licks over his teeth before sighing louder than expected. "Fine." He says, unknowingly talking, "It's because I'm a criminal, maybe? And Zayn’s…" He stops, shakes his head at himself as he changes his mind. “Actually, you know what? You can shut up."
Louis steps a foot away Liam, who looks nothing short of bewildered as though he'd just been whiplashed.
"What just happened?" Liam asks, more-so to himself.
Louis huffs, arms crossed over his chest. Screw Liam and his train of thought. Screw him for even mentioning something like that and putting it in Louis' head even though he knows he's getting put away on death row as soon as this is over. God, Zayn probably doesn't even know what that is. Doesn't know that even after he returns Zayn back safely and Louis gets the crown, it'll be almost impossible to leave the town without getting captured—however quick Louis may be.
And as he looks at Zayn now—all soft smiles and crinkly eyes—Louis wonders, once again, if that piece of jewellery is even worth it.
~
They spend the day watching people dance and enjoying their time throughout the palace and Zayn can't get enough of it. It's nothing like he thought the world would be. He had created this atmosphere of fear and crime and ugliness in his mind, expanded it to something unliveable in the way his mother had always told him. But to see things like this, nothing but joy and togetherness, Zayn has a glimpse to what he'd be like if he had lived normally.
And if he thinks about leaving the tower forever—well, nobody had to know.
They've bought candy and drinks that fizz on his tongue, they've talked to store owners and friendly passerby's, they've walked and walked until they've gone the whole way round, back to where they've started and Zayn should be tired. He should be ready to go and feeling as though his feet are about to fall off (Liam even bought Louis a brand new pair of shoes, after an argument that started by Liam complaining about smelly feet, and Louis rebutting with a very mature “well, we all can’t be highly-respected members of authority, Officer Payne.”). But the sun's beginning to set and the excitement he feels acts as his own source of caffeine.
It's an hour until he sees the lanterns.
"I can't wait." Zayn tells Louis, "I can't believe I finally get to see it."
"Yeah," Louis replies, voice on the softer side, huskier, "You'll love it."
He smiles that smile that makes Zayn feel like it's only for him. And it's odd, Zayn's noticed, in the way that Louis' acted since they got here.
He's not his usual self. He's less energetic, less bouncy, less snappy. He doesn't chat back Liam with bitterness or bring the attention back on him. He's more quiet, more observant, more soft in the way he looks and speaks and is. It's weird, but it makes Zayn feel a sense of warmth within him all the same.
"Hey," Liam says, stopping the two of them from walking. "Let's go in here for a bit, yeah? I'll buy us a round."
Zayn looks at the store they've stopped in front of. Though, it's not a store. Rather a pub with the title Queen of Hearts.
"Uh," Louis says, louder than he has been in the past few hours, a frown on his face as he looks at Liam, then to Zayn, before settling on Liam again, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Yeah?" Liam says with a half-hearted shrug, "Why wouldn't it be?"
With nothing but Louis fish-mouthing in response, they all walk into the pub, the crowd a lot more friendly than the first one he and Louis entered.
Zayn tells him as much, and Louis laughs, but it comes off a lot more nervous than usual.
One beer down and Zayn has to blink to make sure his eyes settle on Louis steadily. God, he really must be tired.
"Not to be rude, but," Zayn begins, looking at the froth left over in his glass, "This stuff is disgusting."
Liam chuckles as Louis smiles and looks at him with something Zayn would describe as fond. Fond? Zayn shakes his head at himself. Why would he be looking at him like that?
"You've never had beer?"
Zayn picks his head up and looks at Liam. "No."
"Shit, how old are you?"
"Settle, Payno." Louis tells him, rolling his eyes, "He's legal, it's his nineteenth birthday today. Remember?”
He did tell him how old he is, actually. After they swam out from danger and walked along the woods before finding somewhere appropriate to crash. It was the most flippant comment Zayn's ever said, probably.
Zayn finds himself smiling.
“Of course!” Liam gasps, eyes wide, “I completely forgot!”
He didn't think people made it much of a deal, but apparently Liam does, because he's calling another round of drinks.
"Do you really have to do that?" Louis asks Liam, looking at Zayn pointedly again. Maybe he thinks they're disgusting, too.
But this time, instead of the pint of beer, small little glasses come out with liquid that looks like water.
Zayn questions it, but shrugs it off. Maybe this is a weird tradition.
"Happy birthday, Zayn!" Liam grins, picking up a tiny glass before holding it towards him.
Louis says the same, with less enthusiasm, but rests his glass against Liam's. Zayn copies so their glasses are all pressed against each other, then he watches as Liam and Louis knock the bottom of their glass to the table before bringing it to their mouth where they drink the whole thing at once. Zayn blinks.
"Now," Louis begins, looking at him earnestly, "You don't have to do that if you don’t—"
But Zayn's already doing it, and he downs the water in a second. But the water definitely does not taste like water. More like acid that burns on the way down. Zayn scrunches his face up involuntarily in disgust.
“Alright?" Louis cringes.
Zayn opens his eyes, shakes his head as though that'd rid the taste, "That's fucking disgusting."
The darker it gets the louder the music around them seems to get. There's less children out now, probably huddled together just barely keeping their eyes open whilst the childless adults stick to the bar and down the gross drinks like it's nothing. Liam tries to order another round of beers, to which Louis firmly argues against, and Zayn doesn't know how much time passes but he suddenly feels very happy.
Louis' lent up against the bar, facing towards everyone, a sturdy eye not leaving Zayn for longer than a minute. Zayn finds himself laughing at other people, however unfunny they may be, and he also finds himself looking at Louis more often than not.
He remembers using the fry-pan to lift his hair out of his eyes whilst he laid unconscious on the wooden floors. And now he's here, the two of them unable to stray away from each other even though they can, Zayn's heart fluttering every time Louis so much as says his name.
Liam's gone, something about peeing, and Zayn leans right up against the bar, against Louis' side. His profile is so pretty, Zayn thinks.
"Thanks," Louis says, chuckling softly.
Zayn feels his cheeks heat up. So this liquidity stuff makes you talk out loud without realising. Hm.
"Thank you." Zayn insists, hand lazily finding Louis' upper arm from where they're folded tightly across his chest. "For taking me, and everything. I owe you."
This time, Louis laughs openly. He loosens up a little and Zayn's own mouth stretches into a smile.
"You owe me a crown, remember?" Louis tacts on, pointedly.
"Yeah." Zayn says. Because of course Louis' only doing this for the crown. Zayn doesn't need to thank him, they had a deal. Louis can't wait until the lanterns are up in the sky and he can drop Zayn off at the tower, collect what's unrightfully his and then leave for good.
The thought alone makes his stomach fall through the floor. Louis will be gone for good.
"D'ya need to pee or anything?" Liam asks out of nowhere, hands resting firmly on Louis and Zayn's shoulder. "Show's about to start."
"I might go." Zayn says quickly before squeezing through the built-up crowd and entering the quiet toilets. He looks in the mirror for the first time today and sees tired eyes with dishevelled hair and rosy cheeks. His clothes look a mess and he probably smells to everyone else around him, but, he's about to see the lanterns in the sky.
He finishes in the toilet and after splashing his face with a bit of water to freshen up, he enters back into the bar, the noise of people and music blasting in full force. He spots Liam almost straight away, tilting his head back a bit to drink another beer. Zayn thinks he might be superhuman, there's no way people drink that stuff willingly.
As he walks closer, he spots Louis, too.
Strolling up to him, Zayn grins. "Are we ready, then?"
Louis turns around and locks eyes with Zayn's straight away. He almost beams at him, crinkles forming at the sides of his eyes. Zayn wants to hug him.
They walk out of the bar into the warm night, a lot warmer than it was last night, and the sky's gotten significantly darker. It's a completely cloudless sky which makes the stars look a lot more brighter than they have been. He can't believe his mother told him the lanterns were stars.
~
Louis takes him out to where the boats are docked, a back area where people aren't seen and the water seems mostly clear. He doesn't want Zayn to see it just sitting on a park bench, or standing with his head tilted upwards, he wants to give him the best seat in the house.
He had spoken about it with Liam, in between Zayn flitting from one activity to the other, whilst Louis and Liam trailed behind watching on. Liam had disagreed at first, said that's far too easy for him to leave, but after another hour or so and a drink or two, Liam seemed more than happy to let them out on a boat while he remained at the dock.
Zayn, a smiley, giddy mess, has so much excitement radiating off him that Louis feels it, too. He's leaning against Louis as they walk, bumping shoulders side by side as he talks animatedly and Louis feels shameful when he feels like holding his hand.
"Where are you taking me?" Zayn asks happily, becoming more and more firmly attached at Louis' side.
"I wanted to give you a good view." Louis replies, looking at him.
He's a little pink in the cheeks from the alcohol—God, Liam just had to order another shot—and his pupils are wide as he looks back at Louis, lips wet and plump like they were just bitten.
Louis has to look away instantly.
"Don't go too far, alright?" Liam warns from behind them, and that's when Louis realises they've stopped at one of the boats already.
So, Louis gets aboard first, making sure the boat is steady enough. It's only small, ones that don't make the initial cut for the people wanting to go out on the water, but it's enough for the two of them.
It's definitely enough for Zayn, apparently.
"We're getting on a boat?" He asks, brows raised.
Louis nods, "We are."
"First a car, now a boat." He smiles wide, "Are we getting on a plane, next?"
Louis lets out a loud laugh, "Easy, tiger. One form of transportation at a time, yeah?"
The boat wobbles beneath them as Louis helps Zayn onto it. He can tell Liam's watching with a shit-eating grin on his face and Louis doesn't give him the satisfaction of looking at him but his own stomach does a flip as he realises how romantic this is.
As Zayn sits somewhere on the boat, Louis loosens the rope from the dock and uses the oar to propel them further into the river. The boat glides easily, automatically pulled to the middle of the vast space of water.
There's other, bigger boats surrounding them, some even ships that remind Louis of pirates. But they're all further away, secluding Louis and Zayn from the rest of them.
Which is when Louis looks at Zayn for the first time since they've gotten on the boat, and he immediately wishes he had just ignored him. Because Zayn's looking right back, the darkness of the night mixed with the distant lights from ships casting him in something magical.
He's got a dopey sort of smile, eyes looking at him in the most relaxed, content way Louis' ever seen him look. He looks inviting, is what it is.
"Uhm," Louis starts, averting his eyes towards Liam, who's only a faceless figure now, and simultaneously scratches his head. "So, after this—“
"Lou..." Zayn interrupts. Louis hears the nickname and it's the second time he's said it but the meaning and the way it sounds is so contrastingly different to the first time. "Don't, like, think about that, yeah?"
Louis swallows. His eyes still look relaxed but there's a hint of sadness, one that makes his heart pull. He's right.
"You're right." Louis nods, sitting down across from Zayn. "Let's just enjoy this."
There's a new sense of darkened anticipation in the air between them now, unspoken awareness of what's about to happen. Zayn will have to go back to his tower, and possibly remain there until God knows when. Louis will have to leave far away from here, start a new life in another town, another country, maybe. And that’s if he even has the chance to get out. One thing’s for sure, though. After this, Louis' won't see Zayn again.
The thought hurts him more than he'd like to admit.
"Zayn," Louis says as he stares at the water. He looks up at him and his train of thought halters slightly as he locks onto Zayn's eyes that are, again, already looking at him, a thoughtful yet puzzled expression on his face. "Why... Why have you never left that tower?"
Louis' had his suspicions, thought it was some kind of fear. He knows of a phobia that results to something similar. But then he thought back to the odd way his front door works. If it were a phobia, why not make it easily accessible to leave? Zayn also said he thought Louis was someone else when he let him in, so that means the other person is able to leave, but not him.
Zayn's fiddling with the hem of his jeans around his ankle as he bites a corner of his bottom lip. He sighs as he straightens his back, eyes looking out towards all the boats but his mind seems somewhere else entirely.
"Mum always thought it was, uh, better... If I never got to leave." Zayn says, looking back at Louis, his expression anxious as though the reaction would be something awful. Louis just waits, though, knows that there's more. "I've asked her to take me to the lanterns but she always got so mad at me for even bringing it up. That's why, like, when you came along..."
He trails off. Louis bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to frown. It sounds wrong.
"Zayn," Louis says, softly. He reaches out to him and places a hand on his knee, Zayn acknowledges it and doesn't flinch away, "You know that if you go back there—“
"Lou." Zayn says pointedly, looking at him with a slight smile, "I thought we weren't doing this now?"
Louis holds his gaze for a second longer. He wants to keep talking about it, figure out what they’re—what Zayn’s—going to do after this.
He can't bare the thought of Louis leaving him, just for Zayn to be held captive for the rest of his life. Now that Zayn's finally out and experiencing the world, Louis knows he won't be able to stay put in that tower forever.
However, he also knows life advice from a criminal isn't what Zayn needs, either.
An excited gasp and a sudden squeeze to his thigh jolts Louis from his thoughts. His eyes go directly to the hand that's firmly attached itself to the inside of his thigh. Then he notices the lighting above him and picks his head up, catching the way the first few lanterns join the sky, floating up gracefully. Lastly, and regretfully, he takes in Zayn.
Zayn, who's looking up with glistening eyes—ones that make Louis want to jump right off into the water, because his stomach’s doing flips and his heart’s fluttering as though that's an actual thing hearts do—and the smile on his face is so wide and genuine that Louis can't force himself to look away.
The hand remains on his thigh but Zayn doesn't seem to realise he's even rested his it there, so transfixed on the lanterns that he doesn't seem to acknowledge Louis' unashamedly staring eyes boring into the side of his face, either.
~
Zayn's seen it from miles away, only above the trees and little larger than stars, floating across the sky in a slow matter before disappearing into the night.
But here—below them and so, so close—Zayn feels like he's been transported into another world, he's never seen anything like it.
They're around him, above him, hundreds of lanterns propelled and lighting up the sky. One floats down a little lower, just about touching the water and Zayn almost tips the boat as he reaches out to it, Louis' hand bracing his hips so he doesn't fall out. Zayn touches the bottom of the lantern and brings it back up, letting it float away towards the moon.
He sits back down, next to Louis, and realises his own hand is still on his thigh, Louis' hand still bracing his hips.
"Happy birthday, Zayn." Louis whispers, a sweet smile on his lips.
They're so close like this, Louis' hand so warm as it rests there, his eyes blinking slow as he looks at him.
Zayn wants to say thank you, but he realises it's for much more than that. He takes a leap of faith and makes himself smaller against him, before finally resting his head on Louis' shoulder.
Louis hesitates for a second, and Zayn thinks he's not breathing, but then he tightens his arm around him and they sit there like that, both facing towards the lantern-lit sky and relaxing on each other.
"I'm glad you stole the crown." Zayn finds himself saying, fingertips fiddling with the inseam of Louis' jeans.
Louis lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah," He breathes, "Me too.”
They float in the water calmly, the faint sounds of wonderment heard from the boats a few feet away and the slight waves crashing together being the only sounds Zayn can hear. He doesn’t want this night to end, doesn’t want this moment to end, and it’s scary, in a way, because it has to.
Zayn finds himself picking his head up suddenly, startling Louis as he does so.
“Where will you go when you return me and all of this is over?”
Louis shuts his eyes delicately, not opening for a second or two as though he were composing himself. He feels the hand on his hip tighten slightly and sees Louis’ jaw clench once before he opens his eyes.
There’s a quirk to his lips when he says, “I thought you didn’t want to talk about this now?”
Zayn swallows, “Yeah,” He says, then shakes his head, “But once we return back to shore, that’s the end of it, isn’t it? The freedom, I mean. Like, us two together.”
Louis twists his mouth as he thinks, a pained expression on his face. He shuffles his position, looks towards the light-filled sky and then shakes his head as he lets out a sigh filled with words he can’t say.
“You were right,” He admits, voice strained, “Let’s not talk about this now.”
“Louis,” Zayn says, a sudden shiver down his spine as the realisation dawns on him, “You will be okay, right?”
He takes longer to reply than Zayn would like, but then Louis’ squinting his eyes as he smiles, making reassuring noises as though Zayn’s the biggest stress-head ever, “Of course, love.” He says, “I’ll be livin’ it up in Costa Rica with all my new-found cash, don’t you worry about me. You, on the other hand.”
He pokes Zayn’s chest lightly, face suddenly feigning seriousness, as though he’s still trying to come off as carefree as he was seconds before. Zayn doesn’t buy into any of it, only looking at Louis and feeling his stomach sink further and further.
“You need to confront that mum of yours, yeah?” He continues, nodding, “And you need to come out and live in this world, maybe move in with our good friend Payno, experience life to the fullest.” He raises a finger and tilts his head with a smirk, “Though, not sure you’d like to be bossed around, since he does seem like the type of roommate that would.”
He chuckles softly but the words don’t sink into Zayn’s ears. He can see the mask over Louis’ face, disguising his own fear with humour so effortlessly Zayn thinks it’s something he’s had to practice and perfect overtime.
The crown burns into Zayn’s side as it’s securely nestled in his backpack. Zayn had almost told Louis that he had it, that his mother had surprised him with it. But he had instead told him it was a wolf he had heard that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Since then, Zayn, really, hadn’t thought about it.
He shrugs off the backpack without a second thought, opens it up and rustles through it.
“What are you doing?” Louis asks.
“It’s too risky for you to take me home and then leave,” Zayn says, wrapping his hands around the familiar piece. “So,” He brings it out, Louis’ now-glowing eyes zeroing in on it, “Take it.”
Louis’ mouth just about falls open. Zayn moves to hand it over, a twinge of sadness hitting him when he sees the wonderment written on Louis’ face. His mother was right.
But then Louis’ frowning, shaking his head. “This wasn’t part of the deal—“
“Fuck the deal.” Zayn interjects, rolling his eyes, “You took me here, you risked your life—“
“Our lives, actually.”
“—and I don’t care about what happens after here, just as long as you’re safe.”
Louis visibly softens, a genuine smile pulling at his lips as he looks at Zayn.
He gently takes the crown from Zayn’s waiting fingers and places it on the seat next to him before leaning in. He then takes Zayn’s hands in his own and Zayn can’t help but look at them intertwined. He breathes in shakily when he looks back up, Louis’ face a mere few inches from his own.
“I guess I sort of only care if you’re safe, too.” Louis says with a smile.
Zayn lets out a chuckle, “Sort of?”
“Okay, okay.” Louis grins, the skin beside his now-curved eyes crinkling, “I definitely only care about that. So I’m definitely returning you home.”
Zayn smiles at his feet. He blinks back up to Louis’ eyes and wonders what will happen if he just lent in a little bit more. He wonders if he just pressed their foreheads together, only just, before surging forwards and kissing him, right there underneath all these lanterns.
He decides to pluck up the courage and do it. He leans in a bit, to which Louis automatically copies, and Zayn can feel his heart pick up in pace, stomach flipping at the anticipation. Because, yes, it’s happening…
Until Louis’ eyes dart to the right and something suddenly washes over his expression instantly.
“Is everything alright?” Zayn whispers, inwardly annoyed.
“Y—yeah, yeah,” Louis says unconvincingly, eyes still locked onto something else. “I just… I’m gonna handle something quickly, yeah?”
Zayn frowns and turns in the direction of Louis’ gaze. During their time on the small boat, they’ve somehow wandered over to the other side of the river, almost at the bank. He can’t see much else, though, and isn’t sure of what Louis’ referring to.
Once the boat bumps into the muddy shore, Louis gives Zayn a meaningful look with a smile and squeezes both his hands. Then he picks up the crown that was next to him and steps off the boat with ease. He walks off, behind a big boulder, and Zayn feels that same emptiness he felt when he left him at the woods.
He tells himself it’s fine, the conversation they just shared, Louis can’t have been faking that. He believes him.
~
Louis wakes up in motion. He’s now all-too familiar with the feelings of waking up after having been knocked out, and this time is definitely one of them.
He blinks awake, immediately acknowledging the fact that he’s not sitting, or remaining still at all. He’s floating in the water, but not on the small boat he was previously on, and his hands are strapped to the ship’s wheel. His entire body, in fact, is strapped to the pole behind him.
“Zayn!” He calls out, fear overwhelming him, thinking that Zayn’s been taken, too. “Zayn?”
But it doesn’t get an answer. Any answer, at that.
He looks behind him as much as he can, back to the shore where he left, and can’t make out anyone.
The last thing he remembers is talking to Harry and Niall, giving them the crown and telling them to keep it. He has no recollection of how he got knocked out and how he got strapped to this fucking ship.
Louis lets out a loud groan and tries to escape these ties. He budges and thankfully they’re not as tight as when Zayn had strapped him. He manages to get his left hand free, first, and then easily rips out his right. His body’s a bit harder, the stickiness of the tape clinging onto the material of his shirt. The boat isn’t far from the palace. He tries to search for Liam, knows that he’s still waiting somewhere for them to return.
He’s further out from where they originally were, though.
“Liam!” Louis tries, calling out best he can. But the palace is still noisy, the festival still happening. And then he witnesses the group of police at the dock walking forwards, waiting for him. Louis screams out louder, “LIAM!”
But he’s already too close, and for once, Louis isn’t fast enough. The police jump onto the ship and before Louis can even jump off, and he’s tackled immediately to the floorboards.
“Get off me! Get off me!” Louis struggles underneath their hold but he knows there’s no point. Three separate men are holding him down, making it hard for him to squirm in the slightest.
Once he’s stopped resisting, he’s hoisted up and held by either arm. Louis knows exactly where he’s headed.
~
“Oh, honey,” His mother coos, patting his head, “I told you this would happen. I tried to warn you, but.” She sighs, standing up, “I guess now you’ve learned your lesson, hm?”
Zayn sniffs, nods his head.
He feels nothing. A great abyss in which his soul lies, the image of Louis’ silhouette driving the boat away from him on constant replay in his mind.
After all of this, everything they’ve been through—and the temptation of a boat of all things—Louis finds it easy to leave.
“So I’m definitely returning you home.”
Zayn feels sick.
But, the truth is, that’s all they ever had. A deal.
Zayn was a secluded occupant of a tower who had an indescribable desire to get out, and Louis was a long-time broke criminal who just so happened to have leverage that could make Zayn’s dream come true.
That’s what it started as. Zayn had thought it could be something different, but obviously this is what it ended as, too.
“I’m making your favourite dinner, darling,” She continues, shaking Zayn out of his daze. She lingers at the doorway of his bedroom, “A nice warm dish of rogan josh, just for you.”
All Zayn manages is a nod. He feels exhausted. He doesn’t know if it’s because it’s been an extensive two days, or because it’s late, or because it feels as though his own heart has been torn out of his chest and stepped on multiple times because he was too gullible and naive to trust the first person he saw from the outside world.
Perhaps it’s all three.
He flops back onto his bed and shuts his eyes. The boat floating away on the water is the first thing to pop up. He lets out an angry noise. What was so great about the crown, anyway? Why was it so valuable, why did everyone want to capture Louis because of it? Why on Earth did Louis steal it in the first place and therefore find himself on the run, bumping into Zayn?
And then he’s thinking their time in the palace, drinking and dancing and being amongst something. Seeing a grand picture on the wall of the King and Queen with their baby Prince. And then of Liam in the woods as they walked side by side, complimenting Zayn and saying he looked just like the King - to which Zayn agrees with, now. And then of Louis, how he explained the lanterns, how they put them to the sky in hopes that the lost Prince comes home.
The crown had belonged to said lost Prince.
Who, as he gathered from spending a day at his home, was stolen by a woman when he was only a baby. Who had many baby photos. Who looked like Zayn. And Zayn, Who was shunned for even thinking about leaving the tower and was told lies by his own mother about the meaning of the lanterns.
“Stars.” Zayn repeats with bitterness.
He fetches out the small souvenir Louis stole for him from the palace—a napkin with the Kingdom’s embalm etched on it—and fiddles with it between his finger and thumbs.
And then it clicks. It happens every year on his birthday by no coincidence.
He is the lost Prince.
~
“So.” Louis says, hand-cuffed hands clasped in his lap as he sits in the backseat of a divi van. The two policemen sit in the front seats, glancing at each other in a fed-up fashion as soon as they hear Louis’ oddly optimistic voice. “Where are you fine lads taking me?”
“Electric chair, if you’re lucky.” One of them replies, earning a snicker from the other.
Louis lets out a laugh, too, an airy one that gives away his nerves.
“Or, if you’re not so lucky,” The one in the passenger seat says, turning so he locks eyes with Louis, “The Queen might just want to decapitate you herself.”
They both let out a laugh, loud and intrusive and Louis shrinks further into his chair, getting the feeling that they’re not joking around at all. Is that even a punishment in this day and age? Decapitation? He supposes if the Queen has anything to do with it, it very well might be.
Louis attempts to clear his throat, making sure he doesn’t sound too squeaky when he talks, “How much longer until…” He scrambles his brain on words to finish with. Until what? Until they all witness his own death that could possibly be broadcasted on live television? Until Louis’ aware of the moment he takes his final breath? Until he has to stare at the respective (electrical or royal) weapon of choice and face his death? “…we arrive?” is what he settles on.
“What, you got phone calls to make?”
The question is met with another unnecessary laugh, “Bad ol’ boy gotta kiss all his friends good-bye?”
“Mate, do you even have anyone who’s gonna miss you?” He asks, not expecting an answer, “Probably that Black Market that nobody fuckin’ knows.”
It stings, he has to admit. But as the insults simmer in his ears and he swallows down the lump in his throat, something stings even more. He won’t get to say his good bye’s to Harry and Niall, the ones that have been with him from the start and still are on his side even when Louis let his selfishness get in the way. He’ll even miss Liam a tiny bit, since, apparently, when spending time with him in close quarters for a whole day, he’s not so bad.
And Zayn. Someone who he knows will miss him back, too. Someone who he only just met last night, at the brink of midnight and in the strangest way possible. Someone who was scared to even step on the grass in his own front lawn and has now entered the scariest bar known to man, run away from a herd of angry people with weapons, been trapped in a cave that almost drowned them both, slept on the ground in the middle of the woods at night-time, travelled in a cop car that took them to the palace, spent the day there for the most celebrated annual event, sat in a boat, watched the lanterns float up and up into the sky—and… is now probably stuck there on the side of the river without a clue of what to do, scared and alone and most likely feeling betrayed.
Louis broke his promise.
“Aw, he’s gone quiet.” The driver coos, looking back to see Louis but Louis doesn’t meet his eyes.
The other one makes a few patronising noises, too, but Louis doesn’t hear them. His sight is on the healed cut on his hand. He remembers how delicately Zayn took his hand into his own, how he saw the gold from his fingertips shine close-up, the way his skin healed over in a blink of an eye.
He feels like crying. He wants so badly just to go back to their time on the boat. He wishes he didn’t see Harry and Niall, wishes Zayn never showed him the crown and wishes they had just gone back to Liam, even if it had meant they’d nevertheless part ways; at least it would have been with happier minds and fulfilled hearts. Zayn thought they’d both be okay. Louis had almost convinced himself, too.
Louis places his head in his hands. If only.
“Jesus fucking—!”
The car stops suddenly, Louis jolts forwards.
He picks his head up, only to see that the headlights are shining on a group of people surrounding the car. The road is almost deserted with any other cars, but Louis can’t see all that well through the steel cage separating Louis from them like some kind of animal.
“What in the blooming hell is all this?”
At that, a loud smack comes down onto the windshield, making the three passengers jump in fear. Then another one comes to the driver’s side’s window, resulting in the driver shouting out.
“Call for backup. Call for backup!”
But before either of them could reach their walkie-talkies, the window directly to Louis’ left gets smashed open.
~
When her footsteps are heard walking towards his room, Zayn feels his heartbeat in his ears. He wants to shout, wants to yell and order for answers, wants to shake himself out of it all the same—because this realisation is something of a fairytale, yet it makes so much sense.
So when she enters back into the room, tray in her hands with dinner on top, Zayn scrunches the napkin in his hand and doesn’t return her too-happy smile.
“Baby, here’s your—“
“I’m not your son, am I?” He asks directly, eyes never leaving her fallen expression.
She frowns, “Zayn, what—?”
“Answer the question.”
“I…” She scoffs, eyes darting around the room, her mouth wide in shock, “I can’t believe you’re even asking this. I raised you.”
“But you never gave birth to me, did you?” Zayn asks, refraining from gritting his teeth. He stands now, and the glimmer of fear in his mother’s eyes is enough verification for all of his questions. “I’m the lost Prince.”
There’s a split second of hesitation until she turns her feigned hurt expression into a grimace. “Now, listen to me. I don’t know what that thief told you or what you saw while you were out there, but don’t ever think you were that fucking special, you hear me? You are my child!”
He looks her in the eyes. She stares at him, nostrils flared and a burning in her iris’s. If Zayn didn’t know better, he’d apologise profusely, beg for her forgiveness, hate himself for even insinuating something so absurd and believe her every word. But Zayn does know better. He knows himself better, the world better, he knows that the woman standing in front of him doesn’t love him even if she preaches as much. He knows he doesn’t belong here—never did, in fact. And he knows, with every fibre of his being, from the feeling in his gut to the way her eyes burn with the fear of being caught out, that she’s wrong and he’s right.
“You’re a liar.” Is all he manages.
A few seconds pass with no words. Zayn challenges her silently and she starts to fidget on the spot. He waits and waits and waits… Until she sighs in defeat.
“You’re better with me—“
He can’t control it, and suddenly she’s braced against the wall, Zayn’s hand around her neck. The alarm in her expression and the adrenaline in his veins are the two things Zayn acknowledges at the same time. He lets go as soon as he had put her there and she drops to the floor besides the tray of food spilt.
Zayn shakes his head. He grits his teeth together. He paces the room.
All he can think about is Louis. He never abandoned him, did he? Something happened, right there on the shore. He got out, he was meant to be back. Something happened, and his mother conveniently was there at the same time.
“What did you do to him?”
She rolls her eyes, fingers touching her neck, and laughs weakly. “Oh, please. Like you care. He got what was inevitably coming for him.”
Zayn clenches his fists, “Where is he?”
“Electric chair, perhaps? Maybe on death row, it’s hard to tell with a criminal history like his.“
It’s like a weight pressing down on him. He collapses onto the edge of the bed, looking at nothing. Louis’ going to die.
~
“What did I tell you, mate?” The guy from the bar says, sliding an arm around Louis’ shoulders, “Us criminals have to stick together!”
Louis laughs loudly, nodding along. The two policemen are currently tied up together, sitting on the ground, absolutely scared shitless.
“I gotta say, I thought I was gonna die when you smashed my window.” Louis tells him, points to the beaten up car for good measure.
He shrugs, “Well, you were already staring death in the face, weren’t ya?”
Louis’ about to reply when someone else sidles up to his side, tapping him on the shoulder. Louis turns to see Liam, smiling at him like he’s actually glad Louis got away.
“Hello, fellow cop, are you here to turn me in once and for all?” Louis greets, placing his hands on his hips.
Liam’s smile turns into a frown. His hand falls off Louis’ shoulder and he almost looks sad. “I wouldn’t. Not… not after everything, I think.”
Louis’ head jerks back in surprise, “Come again?”
Liam breathes in deeply, rolls his eyes. “Just shut the fuck up and come with me.”
This time, Louis frowns, “Huh? Where are we going?”
He follows him anyway, even as Liam turns to him and says, “To find Zayn, of course.”
It’s far-fetched. It’s undeniably a terrible idea. The last person Zayn will want to see is Louis.
“He hates me now. He thinks I deserted him.”
“Mate, I wouldn’t be sure about that.” Liam tells him as they reach his car. He opens the door, gestures for Louis to hop in the passengers side. “But, hey, there’s only one way to find out.”
Louis fiddles with his bottom lip in between his teeth as he looks at the car and then back the way he came. There’s really no option, is there? Face Zayn and undeniably end up with the worst broken heart that he could imagine, or face the kingdom and end up with broken bones from his skull to his pinkie toe.
That thought makes him shudder and in turn, makes up his mind.
“Right.” Louis clears his throat, hopping into the passenger seat. “Let’s go, then.”
~
The sticky-tape clings to the button like it did the first time, but the sky has started to rain and the edges of it aren’t staying on the brick like it should. Zayn grabs an old t-shirt, dries the section of brick, and presses down on the tape. It works, but only for a few seconds until the water trails down and frays the ends.
He wishes he could find a fresh roll of tape, one that isn’t hidden wherever his mother—Jesus, he doesn’t even know if he can call her that anymore—has taken it. At this rate, the rain is falling off the tape that’s waving in the wind over the button, keeping it dry like a curtain. His plan, as it seems, is to wait for the perfect time so he can tape it securely, open the door, run out of the tower and escape to find Louis.
The rain, however, is coming down harder and is turning his plans to shit.
He looks out the window, the lanterns no longer decorating the sky. A flash of lighting appears instead and Zayn closes his eyes, hearing the thunder that echoes in the distance. Louis’ out there, getting hung or stoned or some medieval punishment that they’ve deemed necessary for his crime. It turns his stomach to mush, makes his eyes sting and if it weren’t for the burning anger he has for the woman down the hall, he’d be completely numb.
He opens his eyes again, and sees the sticky tape barely holding on at all. Zayn lets out a groan of desperation before he presses his back to the wall and hits it with the soft part of his fist.
It’s then, that he hears footsteps.
~
“Bloody hell, could you go any faster?” Louis screams, holding onto whatever he can for dear life.
Liam just laughs in response. He’s crazy. He’s absolutely mad and Louis’ sure of it.
The car flies up a speed hump and bounces back down onto the road, making Louis almost hit his head on the roof of the car. Being scared would be an understatement, definitely.
“We’re already on the run, mate!” Liam tells him, grinning, “Might as well make them more angry!”
Louis just shakes his head, trying not to blurt out every swear word under the sun. They bypass the forest-part of the road and end up somewhere Louis deems familiar.
“Here!” Louis yells, directing Liam right, into an off-road.
Liam swerves, the car skids on the asphalt and the sound screeches through both their ears. Louis’ heart’s pumping so fast and his eyes are peeled so wide he can only imagine how he must look right now.
They dart through the off-road with Louis directing from memory. He would of had to take Zayn back anyway, via walking, yet with the rain coming down as much as it is, Louis wonders what they would have had to do for shelter and warmth.
He shakes his head. Enough of that, now.
“Left.” Louis tells him, not having to scream it anymore since Liam’s finally slowed down.
It’s the end of the road, here. Nothing but grass and trees for miles. Liam stops the car and Louis’ heart starts pumping fast for an entirely different reason.
“It’ll be okay.” Liam reassures, his big, brown, stupid puppy-eyes making it seem like the truth. He places a hand on Louis’ shoulder, squeezes once, and nods.
“Thank you.” Louis finds himself saying. He looks at Liam, “For this, I mean. You didn’t have to take me here.”
“No shit.” Liam laughs, “But the police force was overrated anyway.”
“Overrated, hm?” Louis’ asks, eyebrows raised. “Well, I didn’t see that one coming from assertive, too-good, always-plays-by-the-rules Payno—“
“Louis.”
Louis blinks. “Yeah?”
Liam gives him a knowing, half-smile, “You’re stalling.”
“Right.” Louis inhales. He drums his fingers on his kneecaps once before nodding. “I’ll, uh, meet you back here?”
Liam squeezes his shoulder again before letting his hand drop. “Take as long as you need.”
~
“I wanted to chat to you.” Gothel says, entering Zayn’s room.
“I don’t.” Zayn responds.
She swallows, then lingers a little bit before taking a step closer. “You have to know that I only want the best for you at all times.” She sighs, sitting down at the edge of his bed. “Louis… wasn’t right for you. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this. You deserve someone who’s… I don’t know, pretty. Someone who isn’t a criminal, a girl who you’ll marry and have kids with—“
“How could I ever find someone if you—“
“Dear, please.” She says, holding up a finger. “I was talking.”
Zayn feels his face contort into something with sheer disbelief.
“You may want to find him now, run off together, whatever.” She continues, no acknowledgment to her rudeness. If anything, she should be scared of him. Apologetic. “But I can guarantee you, if you even find him in time, that this is only a mere fling.”
“Maybe so.” Zayn replies, the frown etched on his forehead deepening, “That doesn’t mean I won’t try and stop him from dying. So let me go.”
Gothel stands with her hands behind her back, breathes in, then says, “No.” She looks down at Zayn’s hands. “You will continue to keep me young.”
Zayn looks down at his hands, too.
Of course.
He was stolen and kidnapped by this woman, only to keep her youth. Using him for his magic—something she had warned Zayn about, in the outside world, of others taking advantage of. He wants to laugh, or cry. Or maybe cut his hands off in an attempt to leave forever.
He couldn’t hurt her. That was below him. But he could use his physical build to keep her from stopping him. He thinks he’s learnt a thing or two from strapping Louis down.
He turns his hands, palms up, and walks towards her. “This is all you wanted?”
She smiles, nodding. “Of course, dear.”
He returns her smile, “Why didn’t you say so?”
Zayn was about to count in his head, pick her up and take her to one of the chairs. But she seems to be two steps in front of him.
A cloth attaches to his mouth and nose. He pushes her arm away from him but she spins them around. Zayn backs away and hits the mirror, making it shatter. He can smell the chloroform in his nostrils and around his mouth. He staggers up from the mirror and lurches for her, but his muscles go weak.
He falls onto the floor, everything turning to black.
~
The tower looks different in the rain. Less appealing, a lot more small. Maybe because he knows someone actually lives here, and that person is a grown man not much bigger than himself. The door remains shut this time, though.
“Zayn?” He tries, his voice not carrying anywhere through the rain. He backs out so he can see the window he knows Zayn’s bedroom is. “Zayn! Mate, I’m sorry, can you let me in? It’s fucking freezing out here.”
He waits, but there’s no answer. He can see a faint light on in the bedroom and Louis shrugs.
He starts from about twenty bricks up, jumping up to latch onto the ones sticking out the most. He’s climbed dozens of buildings in his lifetime, times when he was running away and really had to put his skills to the test. The rain, though, isn’t stopping and his feet have slipped once or twice already.
“This better be worth it.” Louis mumbles to himself.
He imagines himself entering through the window, scaring the shit out of Zayn, copping a slap or a punch, and then being told to leave. It’d be for nothing, except maybe some closure. Closure as in, knowing that this book can be shut and Louis won’t have to worry about leaving someone behind when he inevitably gets caught and, obviously, killed.
He’s about half-way up the tower now, and god, do his arms hurt. He keeps going, nevertheless. Even though the rain is pouring and his thighs are shaking.
Eventually, he reaches the window.
He’ll be seeing Zayn in a drenched outfit, out of breath and hair in a disastrous state. It’s a good recipe for something as important as this, Louis thinks as he hoists himself up from the windowsill.
Thankfully, the window is still open, and Zayn didn’t spot Louis climbing up and shut it promptly. If Louis were in Zayn’s position, and Zayn had gone back on a particular promise, he can’t say that Louis wouldn’t do exactly that. Probably do something worse, actually.
He manages to lay flat on his stomach on the window sill, trying to catch his breath in the least attractive way possible. From here, he looks up.
Louis almost falls back out the window from what he sees.
At the floor at the end of the bed lies Zayn, sitting up and bounded to the bed leg, mouth gagged and eyes stressfully looking at him.
As soon as Louis re-adjusts his grip, he rushes over the windowsill and drops down into the room. Zayn’s shaking his head viciously, trying to scream through the cotton over his mouth and looking at Louis through tears, his eyes trying to tell him something.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Louis rushes over, kneeling down, he unties the cotton and as soon as it falls from Zayn’s mouth he whispers to him harshly.
“You have to go, you have to go, Louis, you’re an idiot for coming here, you have to—“
“Z, what—?” Louis frowns deeply, fingertips lightly wiping away Zayn’s tears, the red marks around his mouth. “Who did this to you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Zayn rushes out. Louis grabs the paperclip he has from his back pocket and begins to pick at Zayn’s handcuffs, “You can’t be here. Louis, look at me. Louis.”
“What?” Louis looks at him, his motions paused.
His eyes are pleading. “Leave. Please.”
Louis sighs, shaking his head. He starts on the cuffs again. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Well, look who we have here.” A woman’s voice comes from the doorway.
Louis spins around from his kneeling position on the floor. She walks closer. Zayn’s breathing quickens. Louis looks her up and down. An older woman, a little shorter than Louis. An easy target.
“Ah,” Louis says, standing. He holds out his hand. “You must be Zayn’s mother.”
She gives him a false smile and takes a step closer. Then slaps him across the face.
“Don’t hurt him!” Zayn screams.
“Shit.” Louis says, bringing his hand to his cheek.
“Back away.” She tells Louis.
Louis does what he’s told. He doesn’t know what her motive is or why she’s crazy, but it seems best to assess her before doing anything else.
She bends down to Zayn and fixes the bandana over his mouth, making his voice a mumbled strain. Zayn sobs, muffled noises that make Louis’ heart clench. He decides he wants to kill this woman.
With her back turned, he lunges for her.
But that’s quickly the wrong move, since she turns and faces a handgun in his direction. Zayn lets out a scream and Louis feels his stomach fall through his butt. He tries to reason with himself. He’s talked his way out of gunfire many times. Many, many times. His wit and charm and quick mind gets him out of every situation he’s ever been in. Mostly. How is this any different?
“Get out.” She orders, making Louis back away. “Or I won’t hesitate to shoot you in front of Zayn right now.”
Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, breathing through his nose rapidly.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Louis says, holding his hands up in defence. “I think we can both agree that’s a bit drastic, don’t you think?”
She shrugs, “Do I?”
He looks around the room hastily. He sees the mirror next to Zayn completely shattered. Shards of glass fill the floor and it looks like that’s the only sufficient piece of weaponry Louis can use right now. Though, they’re next to the doorway, opposite from where he stands.
He takes tiny steps around the room, towards it. “I mean, I don’t even know your name, gorgeous.”
“Gothel.” She replies bitterly, watching Louis carefully. “You’re Louis. Still doesn’t change my mind about shooting you. Now, leave.”
“Love,” Louis laughs airily, “Let’s put the gun down, yeah? We could sit around the kitchen, have a chat over a warm cuppa—“
He hears it before he feels it.
The gunshot stuns his ears. It turns everything into a ringing noise—especially the way Zayn’s agonising scream echoes through the room. He then knows where it’s hit him. It’s the chest, straight through him like a spear. Warm and wet and undeniably uncomfortable.
He staggers. Once, twice, and on the third footstep he falls. The world is spinning as he turns onto his back. He can only just make out the figure of Gothel standing beside him, talking to Zayn in a calm tone as he sobs wretchedly.
Louis wants to tell him he loves him, wants to scream but the words don’t come out. His leg twitches, though, and it’s a no-brainer with what he does next.
In his last moment, his last bound of energy, he moves his leg just so. Forceful enough that it swipes underneath Gothel’s ankles.
She stumbles backwards and slips over Louis’ shins as she falls.
~
Her feet are the last to disappear out of the window.
Zayn doesn’t feel anything for her. He looks immediately to Louis’ lifeless body, blood pouring out from his chest, from behind him, seeping through the cracks of the floorboards.
He doesn’t have a voice, everything comes out strained. He’s said Louis’ name so much it’s worn out, his throat dry and his cheeks wet. It can’t be real, it can’t be. It can’t end here.
He thrashes around, attempts to grind the chain hooking both his wrists together on the steel bed leg to wear it down but it doesn’t work. And if it does, it’s too slow. It’s much too slow. He shuffles the cloth down over his mouth with his tongue, shifting it and moistening it so the fabric weakens. It’s disgusting and time-consuming but it eventually falls down around his neck in a wet mess and his mouth is free.
“LOUIS!” He shouts desperately, as though the sound of his voice will miraculously awaken him. He kicks off his shoes in a haste, socks in toe, praying that this will work. He slides down onto his back, feet mere inches away from Louis’ chest.
He hums. He hums until the song ends yet all that glows are his fingertips. He focuses all his energy into the bottoms of his feet, the tips of his toes, hoping they’ll light up, and hums again. The outcome remains the same and Zayn kicks the floor with his heel in anger.
“Fuck!” He spits with irritation. He looks to the glow on his hands starting to dim, and sees the paperclip still lodged in the lock of the handcuffs. Zayn had no idea how Louis was going to release him with something so little, and he has no idea now, but he places his teeth onto it regardless.
He can’t see shit. Not the position of the paperclip, not with the fucking tears in his eyes, not anything. He’s fiddling with it, turning it, but it all seems useless. Zayn groans in annoyance and wipes his eyes with frustration on the bed’s duvet and inspects it a little more.
Taking the paperclip between his teeth, he figures out how to turn it properly, as though turning a key. He pushes in, then twists. It doesn’t work. Not the second, third, twentieth time. He’s about to give up, about to start his method of grinding down the metal again, when he ends up twisting it a little bit more to the left, and then the right, and—click.
Zayn looks down at the cuffs. He lets out a little huff of relief and manages to get one wrist free. Without wasting a moment, he crawls over to Louis’ body immediately.
He hums the same tune, hands pressed onto Louis’ chest, around the bullet wound. He hasn’t looked at Louis’ face yet. Doesn’t want to.
The song ends and the glow dims but the bullet remains lodged in his chest and nothing’s healed.
Zayn shakes his head. A drop falls from his eyes.
“No.” He refuses to believe it. He hums again, this time pressing harder. The humming is cracked and broken. The third time, it’s interrupted by a sob, and both his hands press on top of the wound.
Still, nothing.
He tries to resuscitate him using a method he read about, with the forceful pads that electrify the heart, restarting it. He hums the song, presses down forceful enough it makes Louis’ body jolt.
“C’mon. Come on!” Zayn urges, jolting him harder. “Wake up!”
But it does nothing.
He thinks back to the cut on Louis’ hand. The way it healed instantly. The expression of awe on Louis’ face. How Zayn was able to rid of such pain so easily.
He dares to look at Louis’ face. His heart lurches at the sight of it. The colour from his face is drained, lips parted slightly and his eyes closed. His fringe is covering part of his face and Zayn brushes it away with his fingertips, revealing it. He remembers doing the same thing when they first met, but with the handle of a fry-pan, a distance apart.
Then and now, Zayn looks over a motionless Louis, completely unthreatening and dream-like.
For a moment, Zayn wishes he could go back in time to their first encounter, and let him leave without any deal, without any promises.
Since then, he wouldn’t be dead.
“‘M sorry, Lou.” Zayn mumbles, the rock in his throat making it difficult to make words. He holds him to his chest, breathes in his hair. “I’m so sorry.”
He could try throwing him over his shoulder, carrying to civilisation and getting help. He could try ripping up the bed linen, tying it around Louis’ gash and tightening so the blood doesn’t spill. He could try many things, but Zayn’s aware that even the most isolated person can tell that Louis’ gone.
He places Louis delicately back on the ground. He sniffs, teardrops falling by the millisecond, mixing in with the blood. He was too late.
Zayn closes his eyes and breathes in heavily. How can this be it?
He finds it in himself to stand. His legs are shaky and the room isn’t still but he braces himself using the wall behind him and the bed to the side of him. Louis’ body is glowing but Zayn knows it’s the leftover fragments of his hands. His mind playing a sick, twisted trick on him. A mirage to let him have some kind of false hope even though it’s a displacement of his vision, just like how he can’t see straight.
Louis once told him that he didn’t care if he died. He told him that nobody else would, so why would he?
“I fucking care, Louis.” Zayn whispers, stumbling as he steps over his body. “I cared then. I care now.”
He sees the pieces of glass shattered on the floor. Sees the body next to him that used to hold so much life, so much emotion and Zayn loves him. He loves him so much.
He’ll have to bury him. He’ll have to let him rot in the same ground that Louis encouraged Zayn to step onto for the first time ever. He’ll have to host a funeral, the only one attending being himself. His other friends wouldn’t know he was dead, he’s sure they’d care. Liam would care. But Zayn would be left alone, up in this tower, not knowing how to continue in the flurry on the town without Louis’ constant guidance.
Louis was his first real friend. His first love. And now he’s gone.
It’s probably a moment of weakness, what he does next. But the thought of continuing completely alone, the idea of even waking up tomorrow and replaying the scenes of tonight, the haunting guilt that would plague his entire being with the wishing that they’d never met — it’s enough for Zayn to pick up the largest piece of glass he can find.
He slides down to the floor, eyes seeing nothing but waves. His hand shakes, the pain of it pressing into his palm is almost enough to startle the numbness that he feels all over. He chances a look to Louis again, and the golden glow has duplicated.
It’s impossible, it’s so impossible because his hands are here, and Louis is over there. It’s impossible because Zayn’s not humming, he’s not even touching him, for god’s sake.
Zayn closes his eyes. He knows he’s only seeing what he wants to see. He brings the glass up to his neck. His breath hitches continuously, hand unable to remain steady.
Zayn closes his eyes and the first thing he sees is Mother Gothel shooting Louis, Louis falling to the ground. He opens his eyes again.
And when he looks at Louis, they lock eyes.
Zayn drops the piece of glass and it clatters to the floorboards. Blood from his hand drips onto his leg but Zayn doesn’t acknowledge it. He stills completely, the sound of his breath inhaling the loudest thing he can hear. Then Louis blinks, and Zayn can feel his heart stop.
“Zayn…”
He’s over there in an instant, picking up Louis in his arms and hugging him. He breathes him in, tears spilling out, legs covered in blood but he doesn’t even care. He pulls him away again, and Louis looks up to smile weakly.
“Lou, you—you’re… How?” He strokes Louis’ cheek with the backs of his knuckles, down his neck and to his chest. The wound is healed completely, and Zayn spots the bullet on the floor.
The glow wasn’t imaginary.
“Almost pulled a Romeo and Juliet did’ya?” Louis croaks.
Zayn doesn’t know what he means, but he holds him tighter anyway, overwhelmed with relief as Louis wraps his arm around him, too.
“Let’s get you onto the bed,” Zayn says hurriedly, ready to pick Louis up, suddenly realising how weak he must feel, “We’ll get you comfortable—“
“Hey,” Louis says, soft. He pulls Zayn’s gaze and they look at each other for a moment or two with Louis shaking his head, “Let’s just stay here for a bit, yeah?”
His eyes are so blue as they look up into Zayn’s own. The colour is back into his cheeks and he’s looking more content just to sit here and be together than Zayn could’ve imagined. He’s here, so close and alive.
Zayn brings the hand that’s resting on Louis’ chest to his face, running a thumb over Louis’ cheekbone. He looks down to Louis’ lips, and doesn’t even think for a moment before leaning in and kissing him.
A startled sound comes from Louis’ throat, but he doesn’t pull away. And Zayn’s mind catches up to his actions, making his eyes widen and jolt back.
Louis looks at him with an amused smile. Zayn feels a fire stir in the pit of his stomach.
“I… god. Sorry.” Zayn breathes. “I just—I thought I lost you, and…”
Louis chuckles lowly, then switches his position so he’s a bit more upright. He runs his fingers through Zayn’s hair, eyes crinkling by their sides as he smiles.
“It’s fine.” He says, then kisses him.
#zouis#fic#this is an extremely dark version so!!!! don't go into this expecting a fluffy fairytale lmao#writing
45 notes
·
View notes
Note
“Don’t be fucking rude” + Giles?
This one was especially gay and sappy. And probably the most sexually charged I’ll ever care to get YEET. Nothing explicit tho.
Title: C’mon Rude Boy
Pairing: Geoff/Miles
Universe: Fake AH
Word count: 1,618
Rating: T, some cursing, light sexual themes
Now in their third month of dating, it was apparent that Miles brought the fun wherever he went, even to stuffy dinner parties to celebrate the donors behind a newly opened library in town. Geoff was one of the donors, he sunk a good chunk of cash into funding the effort. But he didn’t need ass pats for it, in fact, he was only here because Miles wanted to see the fancy mansion it was being held at and insisted that anytime that requires a fancy suit promised to be a good time.
Miles wore a dark green suit with floral embellishments along the lapels and a simple, black tie. The embroidered marigolds along the lapel had a shine to them and Geoff thought that he must have been the best dressed person there. All the boring black suits, including Geoff’s, and he stood out the best with his Fake AH repping colors. He spent the entirety of the first half of the party getting excited over the fancy furniture and the pretty women in their floor length dresses.
“I’m going to wear a dress to the next one. Try to stop me.” He had whispered over to Geoff while walking by a made up lady in blue.
“Kid, stopping you from doing that would be the last thing I would want to do.” Geoff grinned, this uptight affair was made bearable by Mile’s childlike wonder over everything. Even the food impressed him. Geoff hadn’t seen anyone so happy to see crabcakes and caviar in a long time.
By the time dinner was served and the dancing had subsided, the speeches began. Even Miles couldn’t find any joy in the speeches. He yawned and fidgeted, checked his phone a lot, looked over at Geoff to roll his eyes at particularly pretentious things. At one point, without warning or a word uttered, he got up and walked out of the banquet hall. Geoff watched him do it in disbelief, unsure of whether to follow him or not. Maybe he just needed to find the bathroom. But he would say something, right? He wouldn’t just leave. Weird.
Seconds later, Geoff received a text. He snuck a glance at his phone and smirked, all of his questions answered.
When you’re done boring yourself, come on out and let’s explore this big ass house. Where do you think to old bats keep their jewels?
Trespassing and theft? After donating to the noble cause of helping kids read? Geoff was fucking down. He pocketed his phone and silently slipped away from boring speech number five to have a little fun.
And that was what drew him in, really. Fun. Miles was fun. He wasn’t particularly malicious, he would never shoot to kill or actively try to hurt anyone. He was just a dumb kid with a rebellious streak that, somehow, wormed his way into Geoff’s heart. Everything he did was in the pursuit of a good time.
It made Geoff feel a whole lot younger again. It also had him wondering what Miles was doing with a slouch like him. Mostly, though, it just made him happy. Miles was very good at making him feel happy. Every time Miles gave him a toothy grin and a new scheme, Geoff felt his heart skip.
Once he met Miles outside of the door, he was pulled by the wrist to their next adventure. No time for talking, just bad ideas and action. Miles snuck them both up a staircase and they were off, an exploration mission for the ages. Before they could do anything important, Miles insisted on making out real quick. He pressed his back against the wall of an empty hallway and pulled Geoff in close to him. Geoff couldn’t stop laughing, every few seconds into heated kisses, he had to pull away to chuckle. They spent a few minutes there, laughing and kissing and enjoying the company of one another as young lovers do. Miles pushed Geoff back, peeling himself from the wall to slink away to the nearest room.
Of course Geoff was going to follow him.
They found themselves in an incredibly lavish room. The richly adorned room had silk sheets on the king-sized bed, black furniture polished to a shine, and beautiful art pieces hung on the walls. Miles walked into the room with a tiny, surprised gasp. “Oh, this is where the fuckin’ money’s at right here, Geoff.”
“Master bedroom, you think? You think we can make our own room this fancy? Check the closet.” Geoff slowly turned on the spot as he looked around the room. Why didn’t he live like this, again? He had the money to, what was he doing? Imagine how happy Miles would be with a set up like this, a whole room renovation shouldn’t take more than a week or so.
He remembered the destructive tendencies of the lads and pushed away any thoughts of home improvement. No. They can have nice things until stopped wrecking the shit they already had. He watched Miles sneak off to the closet.
“Oh, shit! Good stuff in here, babe!” He rustled around behind the half-closed door before emerging with the tackiest gold earrings he could possibly pick out held up to his earlobes. “Are they my style? Oh, wow, your face says everything!”
“Jesus, we’re selling those if we take them. Is that even real gold?” Geoff laughed as Miles posed with the earrings, tilting his head and batting his eyelashes. “Quick fucking around and make some money, you little shit.”
“Don’t be fucking rude! Tell me I’m pretty, Geoff.” Miles snickered and tossed the earrings at Geoff, running back into the closet. “There’s a whole jewelry box in here, we can probably fit most of this in our pockets.”
Geoff followed after Miles into the closet and found it quite bigger than he expected. If this wasn’t such a spur of the moment heist, he would have picked this place clean. The suits and dresses that filled up the space must have been worth a fortune. They were hardly getting anything from jewelry alone. Maybe next time… He found Miles hunched over a shelf full of jewelry pieces and snuck up behind him, sliding his arms around his date’s waist. “Hey, we could totally fuck on their bed and get away with it, ever thought about that?”
“First thing I did think of, actually. But we shouldn’t, that’d be in poor taste.” Miles was stuffing his jacket full of pearls and semi-precious jewels. He giggled at the distracting kisses Geoff pressed down his neck. “Geoffrey. Stop that.”
“Mmmwhy?” He smiled into a kiss, only stopping to nuzzle into the neck. “You’re hot when you’re in a thieving mood. In poor taste. And taking an old lady’s emerald broach isn’t.”
“Different kind of bad. One is robbing the rich to give to the poor. The other is leaving seminal fluids all over bedsheets worth more than a month’s worth of rent in my apartment. You’re turning me on, stop!” He swatted Geoff away without looking up from the box he rummaged through. “Disgusting.”
“Wow! And I’m the rude one!” Geoff was filled with incredulous laughter. “You’re extra rude and also you hurt my cheek. I demand a kiss.”
“Needy.” Miles said simply before turning his head and planting a kiss on Geoff’s cheek. This stopped him in his tracks for just a second, as he kept looking at Geoff long enough to break into a grin and pinch the very cheek he kissed. “Cute.”
“God, will you stop sending mixed signals already? Am I disgusting? Am I cute? What is it, Luna?” It came off sounding like a challenge.
Miles always liked a good challenge.
He stuffed the last of what he wanted to steal in his pants pockets and brushed past Geoff. “Mine. You’re mine, that’s it. That’s a good descriptor for you. I own your ass, Ramsey.”
“Well I don’t see a ring on my finger! I’m the old, rich one, aren’t I supposed to be putting a ring on you?” Geoff was quick to follow right behind Miles, always chasing after him like a lovestruck kid.
Miles went through all his pockets, finally producing what looked like a very old, silver wedding band. He turned around, grabbed Geoff’s wrist, and tried to stick it on him. The band made it right above the knuckle before it couldn’t go down any more. “…Well, close enough.”
Geoff looked down at the ring, and in a tiny, amazing moment, felt a skip in his heart. Maybe it was supposed to be a teasing exchange but… no, he wouldn’t mind a partner in crime til death. Not if it was Miles, that sounded like the perfect match to him. Before a single mushy smile could betray his cool exterior, he looked up at Miles and raised an eyebrow. “So, does that we gotta consummate it, because the bed is right there, Miles.”
“No!” Miles laughed and pulled Geoff along with him towards the hall. “Let’s check out other rooms, then blow this joint. Then I’ll blow you in the car. How’s that for consummation, you horny piece of shit?”
“Hey, that sounds pretty great!” Geoff stumbled after Miles with a glowing grin. The promise of getting his dick touched at all was enough. It was all he needed to go on. “Lead the way, Captain! Let’s get this done as quick as possible, yep.”
“Disgusting. But cute. Disgustingly cute.” Miles pulled him out into the hall and onto their next adventure.
They always had the most fun together, with Miles charging into it and Geoff always close behind, never lagging, always just a few steps behind.
7 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
mtaufikbw-blog-blog
pinus_hutan
lyricsocean
Lyrics Ocean
electriciandubai1-blog
Electrician Dubai
nojudgeofficial-blog
Greetings,Mrs. No Judge ou.
lytahalifax
Lyta Writes The Weirdest Shit