hurts hurts hurts. he can’t focus his mind enough to make heads or tails of the pain that shoots through his body. his skin is hot to the touch, but despite the fever, he shivers, and everything inside is burning, burning like the way they burned witches. he hears a harsh cry and he realizes that it is his own, there’s one full elixir left -- it could keep him going indefinitely, maybe another day. two at most, but his health is rapidly declining and even if he could last longer, he’s still injured, can’t walk without slowing his companion down. “th’mas,” he slurs and he can’t quite tell if he’s coherent, “h’rts... can’t -- fu’ jus’ you gotta --...” the words still don’t come, at a time when he needs them to be right, needs them to at least fill the relative silence, he can’t make the words work. “please?”
who asks the other on dates: thomaswho is the bigger cuddler: thomaswho initiates holding hands more often: thomaswho remembers anniversaries: thomaswho is more possessive: thomaswho gets more jealous: thomaswho is more protective: thomaswho is more likely to cheat: thomaswho initiates sexy times the most: thomaswho dislikes PDA the most: thomaswho kills the spider: thomaswho asks the the other to marry them: thomaswho buys the other flowers or gifts: thomaswho would bring up possibly having kids: thomaswho is more nervous to meet the parents: thomaswho sleeps on the couch when the other is angry: thomaswho tries to make up first after arguments: thomaswho tells the other they love them more often: thomas
actual answers under the cut@whvler
who asks the other on dates: briggs
thomas is hunched over the desk, poring over the isle of morley, scratching down notes as he scans the pages, when a tapping at the doors to his balcony catch his attention. one two, one two three. pause. one, two. the corners of his lips pull up into a grin and he closes the book, abandoning his book in favor of greeting the whaler perched outside. “ hey. i have something to show you. ”
who is the bigger cuddler: hawley
the rooftops had once been daunting to thomas. one slip and up would be down and his stomach would hop up into his chest and all of him would be colliding with the ground at a pace all too quick for his preference. somehow, he finds himself at ease, laid back on one of the slanted roofs with his whaler by his side, staring up at the stars. it isn’t even that he thinks if he falls, thomas would catch him, rather – it’s as if the threat of falling is some distant thing. he even dares to roll closer to the whaler and wrap his arms around his middle. “ hey. ” he greets him breathily with a contented chuckle. “ hey yourself. ”
who initiates holding hands more often: briggs
compared to the whaler, the overseer is unsteady on the rooftops. he’s learned to place his feet, to trust his balance, but he doesn’t come close to the catlike grace that his whaler moves with. from time to time he stumbles, always rights himself quickly enough. they move to a less stable rooftop where the shingles are more apt to slip if one isn’t careful, and the whaler reaches out to take hold of his overseer’s hand, to lead him safely across. it isn’t until they’ve long passed the rooftop that the whaler realizes he hasn’t let go of the overseer’s hand.
who remembers anniversaries: hawley
" you know… a year ago today, you showed up on my balcony and i invited you inside. ” the overseer sits on the rails of the balcony, legs over the edge and he tilts his head back at the stars. even after a year, he feels that itch at his exposed throat, knows better than to leave himself vulnerable after a year, though, he realizes screw what he knows. “ i didn’t remember the day in honesty, but the stars… i remember what they were like that night. ” he shows his whaler the constellations and the dim planet in the distance.
who is more possessive: hawley
thomas finds himself thinking about the other thomas more often than he’d like to admit. while he studies in his room or trains his hounds, his mind wanders errant errant errant to his whaler. his whaler. and he wonders when he had started thinking of thomas as his.
who gets more jealous: hawley
thomas seems happy enough with his people, among the whalers. more than that, he seems at ease and it isn’t something that the overseer can ever recall having experienced himself – save for the time he gets to spend with his whaler. it’s selfish he knows, to wish that they could share more time together, to hope his whaler gets as excited as thomas does when he comes to visit.
who is more protective: briggs
thomas is more than capable of taking care of himself. he’s spent more of his life knowing how to hold a sabre than not. since he was nine, he could shoot a bottle off a dummy from about twenty yards away. still, his whaler steps in front of him, takes control of a situation, turns back to look him over when whatever threatens them is neutralized. “ you okay? ”
who is more likely to cheat: neither
no ficlet
who initiates sexytimes the most: neither
no ficlet.
who dislikes pda the most: hawley
no ficlet.
who kills the spider: briggs
“ thomas – i swear, if you hurt one leg on that spider i will toss you out my window. you leave it alone. ” the overseer crosses the room to where the little arachnid is seated, reaches down to usher the creature onto a gloved hand and takes it outside, setting it free on the rails of the balcony. he shakes his head, closing the door behind him as he slips back inside. “ now, what were we talking about? ”
who asks the the other to marry them: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
no ficlet
who buys the other flowers or gifts: hawley
the overseer glances out at the night sky, bundles up a bit of bread and some fruit. buried underneath the bread, he leaves a bone charm, attaches a note to it. it’s beautiful. couldn’t bring myself to destroy it. thought you could find some use? -th he leaves it on the balcony, somewhere he knows his whaler can see.
who would bring up possibly having kids: neither
no ficlet
who is more nervous to meet the parentsfam: hawley
“ okay, but are you sure they won’t stick a knife in me? ” technically, thomas isn’t even an overseer anymore. abandoned his post. traitor. there’s still no way of knowing for sure that one of the whalers might not like the ex-overseer too much, might suspect he still plays for the other team. “ no. if you want to back out, you can. ” thomas pauses for a moment, stares at the whaler and shakes his head. “no. no, i don’t want to back out.”
who sleeps on the couch when the other is angry: briggs
thomas doesn’t even remember what the argument was about, but now his whaler is off, leaving him alone in his room, glaring at the wall that until recently had had his whaler standing before it. he shakes his head, sighs, and grabs his coat.
who tries to make up first after arguments: hawley
it’s then as he’s stumbling across rooftops on his own that he realizes he has no idea how to navigate dunwall by rooftop. furthermore, he’s not entirely sure how to get back to his balcony. none of which is any consequence anyway because he’ll stay out there all night trying to find his whaler if he can. there are arms around him and every fibre of him tells him to run away. “ dammit, thomas, what are you doing up here? ” carefully the overseer turns, wrapping himself around his whaler. “ came to say ‘m sorry. ”
who tells the other they love them more often: hawley
thomas waits until his whaler’s breaths have evened out, until he’s sure he’s asleep beside him under the covers. “ i love you, ” he murmurs. he misses the way his whaler’s lips pull up into the slightest hint of a smile.
“wh -- oh -- right. thanks.” he drops down to kneel, reaching for his socklaces before he realizes. “oh f...fuck off, thomas, that wasn’t funny.” he reaches out to shove the whaler’s leg, shaking his head.
send 🏠 to find out my muse has no family to go home to for the holidays
thomas doesn’t think he will ever be accustomed to the sudden appearance of the whaler behind him, but he had learned after the second or third time, that there was a certain sensation that came with his appearance. it wasn’t the most reliable thing. often times, thomas turned expecting to see the assassin and was greeted instead with emptiness. when he turns, though, he catches sight of the masked man. “ evening, thomas. what are you doing here tonight? i thought you’d be off celebrating. surely your people at home are expecting you. ” of course, the same could be said of him, alone on a night in which most people would prefer to be close to their loved ones. it resonates with him and his polite smile suddenly feels forced and empty.
send ➳ for your character to receive mine as a gift/spoil of war.
when he lost his sabre, lost his pistol, fell in the midst of battle, he expected a blade at his throat, opening his veins for his lifeblood to spill out, expected a bullet between the eyes as he knelt, maskless and unarmed. he didn’t expect the tip of a crossbolt digging under his skin, the effects of sleep toxin overtaking his body before he can fully register the pain.
he regains consciousness in the flooded district, hands bound behind his back and his body aching, but alive. very much alive. he still can’t quite make out words, or even distinct figures, sees the world in blurry colors and movement instead. he sees red, hears muffled voices, only catches onto the last few words said. “ ... from the skirmish... thought you’d enjoy... ”
“Discarded, tossed aside in the gutters with the death and decay. Rats boring in the bodies, corpses littering your feet... How many times have you been thrown away?” His parents left him to the hounds of an unforgiving world: first a refuge where a child’s dreams came to die, then the bloody streets who’d no love for the sinners and the heretics. “No one knew what to do with you.” The Outsider saw it all, the young Thomas a sad and woeful thing before he felt the weight of a blade... Before he found his place beside Daud. But how long would that last? “Who’s to say it won’t happen again?”
He was reminded of a small boy at the sight of Thomas; one with a rapidly erratic gaze and a rat as his familiar. Perhaps it was a mutual way of survival or the set of common possible routes fate would lead them in, but reasoning aside; The Outsider experienced a mildly higher interest for each than the typical city dweller. That was until both followed their positively most BORING fated path. One seeking revenge on the neighborhood bullies whilst the other settling as a ( temporarily ) dedicated city watchman; the predictability of humans was borderline absurd -- though The Outsider certainly gave no benefit of the doubt.
It was only until Thomas joined the Whalers that The Leviathan was reminded of his existence, by the association of a very old friend. Once a figure tossed aside as failed entertainment; now the subject of recycled fascination, the representative god let himself wonder how it felt to be branded a heretic by the Abbey of the Everyman, only to later use his secondhand gift passed along from Daud. He wouldn’t allow the query to linger on his mind without answer.
-- There were, of course, other matters to address.
Thus, he struck two birds.
Luring an essence into his domain was easiest when it was at it’s most vulnerable. Sleep was a weakness to every living being. “Do you feel any familiarity by my presence?” Fabricating with wisps of fog, he found himself most comfortable with his arm resting upon an according knee as he sat upon a floating fragment in the dead sea. “Thomas Briggs; we have a mutual friend. It’s a pleasure to meet one of his loyal underlings.”
“Stop screaming! Shh, calm down! You have to keep quiet!”
everything about the situation is surreal. for one, he should be opposing the man crouched by him. he is after all, a heretic, and even if he wasn’t, he’s an assassin. and dangerous. he also happens to be the only person keeping thomas alive for the moment. with a shaking, bloodied hand, he pulls the mask away from his face enough to cover his mouth. with every frantic inhale through his nose, he can smell his own blood. his other hand stays clamped over his side where the bullet had lodged itself. “ easy for you to say... you havn’ got a bullet in you. ” he’d been injured plenty of times before, but never shot. he hadn’t even realized it at first. it was just pressure. and then the sting, and then the burning. it was then that he screamed. he tries not to cry out again, but every time he moves, the fire in him spreads and eventually he settles on shallow little breaths, eyes fixed on the ceiling so he isn’t looking at all the red. they have to be quiet, he knows. they can’t be much too far away from their assailants and if he screams, they’ll hear.
