The year is 1872, the Rogues of London move away from their hometown and out to sea in search of new adventure. However, oceans bite back, pirates are waiting, and stranger love is to be found out there.
Larry Stylinson, including all of One Direct...
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*
The bodies piled up at our feet, they did not stir, they did not move, but their blood still trickled down the sides of the Ship, still made the floor red, and still reminded me of a time before this. The colour of spider-lilies that I saw when I looked down was the same shade of poison that I'd seen in the carpet of the Brothel; it was the same shade of poison that I'd remembered in the basement of Edvard's mansion.
But this time.. This time was different. I was not among the colour red, I was not a part of the bodies that scattered the floor like shards of glass, but I was among those who had caused this colour. I stood beside the Madam in the Brothel, and I stood beside Edvard in the Basement, silently looking down at the end of a war that I had been the one to start. I stood next to the killers, next to those who hurt, tortured, and just like them, I watched people die. But although that consciousness was in my mind as I looked at the dead strangers on the floor, I was not moved. I was not disrupted in the slightest, and on the contrary, I felt great satisfaction from knowing that I had done my duty well, and that my comrades were safe.
*
Hanji wiped her forehead as she stood back up from straddling a dead-man with a knife buried in his chest. She pulled it out, narrowingly missing a spurt of blood that followed the careless action. Her eyes returned to her Leader in search of the outcome through his facial expressions. She had always done this, always searched Louis' face to know if she was working well. This habit let her notice the physical changes he had been through over the years. This man had gone from someone who never stopped laughing, someone who the sun would turn to for comfort, he'd gone from looking like a sunflower in the summer fields to looking like an unwanted thistle in the middle of a burned forest. He no longer laughed like used to, except when he was alone with Harry, he no longer shouted, and he no longer loved every man who crossed his path. Ever since they had taken him back from Edvard's clutches, Hanji had realised how this man had changed. He'd lost his compassion and empathy towards those he did not know well, but that is understandable considering what he had endured. He would only help a person if that individual was somehow tied to any one of his comrades, and even then, Louis would have difficulty to offer a service. However, he was still as independant as he'd always been. Back in London, he used to go out alone at night. No one knew where he'd wander to and no one was aloud to follow. All that his subordinates knew was that when once he'd return, blood would have stained his hands.
And he was here once more, with spider-lily red covering every inch of skin up to his elbows and a glower on his face despite the fact that he'd been so happy a few seconds ago. No, Hanji knew that he was still happy, even though he looked like hell, she could see that he was the happiest he'd been in ages.
