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throwaway-yandere · 1 year

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"If you truly loved me, you should be dead." (Yandere Hitman!Dainsleif/Reader)

a/n: shoutout to rin for giving me that wine prompt, general for making me simp more, and ana for indirectly giving me that final push to write abt dain again lol. Maybe I enjoyed this way too much. Sorry for the b&w manga panels lol.

unreliable summary: Dainsleif– a well-known ex-hitman– recently discovered that his deceased spouse might be alive. Whether or not that’s good news is entirely up to his mental state to decide.

Cw: yandere themes, mafia au, religious themes, major character death, violence, UNRELIABLE NARRATORS, mentions of cancer, and grief mixed with suicidal thoughts. Hurt/no comfort. Please PLEASE prioritize your mental health first before consuming dark content. you matter first and foremost.

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect, 6:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.”

—---

“Get in.”

“B-But what if!–”

“Just get in, Thoma.”

Dainsleif uncapped his hip flask as Thoma trembled at the foreboding skyscraper in front of their smaller and seemingly insignificant stature. He’s not bothered by Thoma’s reaction, besides–

What sane person wouldn’t be intimidated at the sight of a hotel run by criminals?

The Heavenly Principles is a chain of hotels established by the Abyss Order. It is also regarded as a haven for those with blood-stained nails– but never freshly coated hands. The Snezhnayan branch is the cruelest and most frigid one. They won’t bat an eye if you had arrived after a “job”, but it is most certainly a problem if you conducted “business” inside. It’s a neutral territory for the underworld with several ground rules. Rules that, once broken, would result in what is referred to as “ex-communication”… and no one wants the Adjudicator to hunt them down.

As fate would have it, the infamously retired assassin turned "Bough Keeper" aided a corporate bodyguard inside. Thoma spoke about how the Adjudicator was looking for his Lady without ascertaining the reason why. To soothe the "pup"’s nerves, Lord Ayato kindly asked his old friend Dain if he could drag Thoma to Lord Arlecchino. If Dain knew how finicky the lapdog would be, he probably would've turned the favor down.

"Why are you so sure he's not after Ayaka?" Thoma boldly asked.

Dainsleif refrained from sighing.

The only reason Thoma wasn’t afraid of Dainsleif was that the retired hitman made an oath to his spouse that he would never kill again once they were married. Nowadays, Dain’s income relied on mundane “clean-ups” or sometimes disarming bombs. He dismantled himself from his old responsibilities and became the Abyss Order’s errand boy. Currently, his job is the lowest rank yet he remains respected. As the Bough Keeper, his job is to clean up and handle disputes as long as it doesn’t result in the death of any parties.

A bit similar to Thoma’s line of work, but the bodyguard loathes that comparison. In his point of view, Dainsleif’s eyes are terrifyingly empty when compared to his. Thoma fears his eyes. It reminds him of the time he rowed a boat to Inazuma from Mondstadt. Being stuck in the middle of the sea is not what rattles him, it’s when Thoma gazed and saw the difference between the water and skies was heavily blurred, unable to pinpoint where the ocean ends.

That uncertainty makes anyone shake. They’d rather not make an enemy of a man who is one more step to having nothing to lose.

“If Adjudicator Cyno were out to get her, he would’ve surely ended her life by now,” Dainsleif answered, walking without as much letting the bodyguard catch up. “It’s far more likely that he has business with me and not your lady.”

The adjudicator would surely look for him in the next 3 hours.

“But My Lady has–”

“Not caused actions that'll make the Abyss Order turn against her whatsoever.”

Dainsleif stopped by the tinted glass door and Thoma exhaled deeply. They had been walking for hours since the ex-hitman refused to take a taxi. He claimed that a walk would be safer for Thoma. Assassins don’t act kind towards bodyguards, so seeing Dainsleif march beside him (rather, in front of him) is more than enough to secure his safety.

“Rest assured, once you talk to Arlecchino you’d realize that he’s not after the Himegimi.”

“A-And I’m supposed to be more relaxed by the possibility that he’s after her brother instead?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Because the Adjudicator wouldn't thoughtlessly kill the person who runs the Heavenly Principle's Inazuma branch. I'd appreciate it if you think critically.”

Katheryne, the receptionist, opened the hotel's door. She welcomed Dainsleif in, but if her hair was any longer she would’ve slapped her locks against Thoma’s face with how quick she was to turn and disregard his presence.

“Good afternoon, Sir Dainslief, Thoma,” she said in a monotone voice. Her lack of honorifics when addressing the bodyguard was noticeably rude. “Please, do not wait around outside, come on in.”

The hotel looks even more spacious and positively regal inside.

Thoma had anticipated that a place where "lowlives" would find sanctuary would be horribly run-down and neglected, but he cynically understood that money talks—and crime speaks louder. His skin crawls at the idea that the blood money used to construct this infrastructure served as its fundamental foundation, but he lacks the courage to say it.

“So… Do you come here often?” Thoma whispered.

Dainsleif blinked– and Thoma can barely determine the subtle shock on his face.

“... Yes. Yes, I do.”

Dainsleif proceeded to advance toward Katheryne without explaining why he was taken aback by that question.

Thoma normally takes the front line during security disputes in the Kamisato Esate, but this hotel is a very different situation. If the act of clinging onto Dainsleif’s toned arm won’t disparage the Kamisato Clan’s reputation, Thoma would’ve done that in a heartbeat. A few oddballs gave him the side eye, and a ginger-haired man almost charged at Thoma with a makeshift lance before putting it away when he saw Dainsleif.

“Holy shit. It’s the dead Twilight walking!!!” The ginger greeted with empty eyes. “Where’ve you been, comrade?! And what’s with the news we just heard? You gave Skirk an aneurism.”

Dainsleif took a sip of his pocketed Death After Noon with a look in his eyes that screamed “Here we go again.”

“Your concern for me is flattering, Childe,” Dainsleif spoke, bored. “I’m only here for personal matters.”

“Is he a relative of yours?” This “child” squinted his eyes, piercing them against Thoma. “Must say, he looks like a total greenhorn.”

Thoma raised his hand, “I’m–”

“That’s not worthy of your concern, and don't bother him.”

Thoma was grateful for Dainsleif’s nonanswer. The way he phrased it had implications that he might be a VIP and therefore untouchable.

“Alright then, who am I to disrespect a legend’s wishes?” The “child" patted Dainsleif’s shoulder.

“In any case, welcome home for the last time, comrade.”

Dainsleif diverted his gaze.

“Home?”

This place is not his home, he refuses to let it be so. The scent of cocoa truffles, the messy watercolor-ed desk, the bulletin board littered with red threads, and scattered impulsive notes about a character’s dialogue– where is it? Is this stiff hotel Dainsleif’s home when there’s no sign of life– no sign of them? In here, there is no bed to fix, no brushes to dry, no markers to cap–

and no insomniac spouse to forcefully tuck into bed at 2 AM.

A strained laugh exited Dainsleif’s throat, and a burning sensation in his eyes nearly reminded him that he does have emotions he cannot bottle underneath a cool facade. Yet, as that laugh reverberated in the otherwise silent lounging area, the ex-hitman steeled himself. That phantom coil in his chest dissipated and was replaced by something hollow.

Midnight cuddles and drinks with his spouse, watching their eyes crinkle as they ramble about their last horror piece, pulling them closer just to see the stars in their eyes. That scenery? It was his home. It was what street musicians dub like Venti would as happiness. Not the silence after slaughter– not the quiet of the Principle's lounging area.

The Bough Keeper closed his eyes and answered the two oblivious men with a flat voice.

A “home” to get back to...

“I… no longer have a home.”

He's already reached his journey's end. All his bones await now is death himself.

For only death can lead him back home into (Y/n)’s arms again.

Dainsleif sighed.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Childe. Do svidaniya. Extend my greetings to Skirk if you have the chance, and when you try your hand at hunting me down: do your best.”

—-------------

“Found you."

The woman of the hour smirked as she peered over her shoulder. Her luxurious locks of short dark-streaked albino elegantly hair swung as she faced both Dain and Thoma.

“Oh? Well, it’s only because I wanted to be found.”

Dainsleif sat at one of the chairs unperturbed while Thoma tried not to squirm as the Heavenly Principle’s Snezhnayan branch proprietor– Lord Arlecchino– organized her documents. The enormity of Thoma's situation was lost on her. Arlecchino's face was barely wrinkled, a sign that she takes pleasure in her job. Despite carrying out a task that required undivided attention, her piercing stare dug holes in the wall clock. Her lack of focus relieved Thoma, but only for a fleeting moment.

3 hours more, huh?

Arlecchino fished out a paper from her desk pile.

Never been one to beat around the bush, she laid the facts drop-dead on the table with a loud thud.

“(Y/n) is alive, and Her Highness expects that both Dainsleif and Kamisato Ayaka know where they are.”

…

Dainsleif didn’t utter a word.

“E-Excuse me?!” Thoma gasped.

Dain’s spouse died years ago. Much like a cat leaving the house when it knows it will inevitably shake hands with death, (Y/n) vanished when they knew the next month would be their last. Their family on their mother’s side had always been riddled with cancer and similar illnesses. When they muttered sweet phrases about how they wanted his last memories of them to be of them smiling and cheering him on– Dainsleif didn’t question the validity of their death.

So for Arlecchino to say such a thing is a bit…

“There’s no way! Sure, (Y/n) was close friends with the Kamisatos– but My Lady cried during (Y/n)’s funeral. Ayaka had always been honest to a fault– she wouldn’t have been able to lie, act, or keep a secret like this–”

At least, that’s what Thoma assumed. All he has is word-of-mouth from his master and the Darknight Hero’s associates. The Dawn Winery isn’t the most reliable source unless you’re trained at fact-checking rogues and fabulists’ crude testimonies. Thoma may be a streetwise man, but he always exuded naivete when surrounded by men like them.

Dainsleif cut him off immediately.

“Your rambling is as banal as Katheryne asking for “Dinner Reservations” after business. Worse, yours suffer from how unwarranted they are.”

Thoma went silent to both Arlechinno and Dain’s immediate relief. The two understood it as Thoma perceiving a threat, but in reality, the bodyguard just wasn't aware that “dinner reservations” meant cleaning up a crime scene.

“Where is (Y/n)?” The ex-hitman looked at Arlecchino nonchalantly. “If that intel was real, where are they now?”

“Y-You can’t be serious, Dain!” Thoma gawked. “Your spouse died long ago–”

“Where are they now?”

Silence filled the room as the assassin repeated his inquiry with accentuated obstinacy. Dainsleif knows his spouse better than them so Thoma cannot question the widower’s line of thought.

(Y/n) (L/n), may not have been an official criminal in the eyes of the underworld, but they were guilty of multiple accounts of rebellion, sedition, and illegal associations. They penned propaganda in literary mediums and had repeatedly given out tactics on how to dismantle the current system under a 4-lettered pen name, “████”. His spouse was devious by nature and a long-winded conversationalist– which emphasizes a noticeable stark contrast when seated beside their stoic husband.

If they were alive, they must be watching this conversation while suppressing a smirk.

(Y/n) was the type who would laugh at their own funeral. An expiration date made more sense to them than a promise of forever. Fixity made them uneasy. Dainsleif cannot trust others to share a domestic life with them when he is wholly aware that they’ll die from their hereditary illness. (Y/n) sought thrills more than comfort, which is a reason why he can't cross out the possibility that they had grown bored of their marriage and used their health as an excuse to–

No. That’s an awful line of thinking.

(Y/n) loved him.

… Surely, they did?

"Don't lose your composure, Twilight. I'm not saying this so you could drown yourself in grief with fire-waters. I’ve heard word from Pantalone that they’re likely in Sumeru City during the Sabzeruz Festival, but as (Y/n) loved to say–”

“Information always travels faster than people,” Dainsleif closed his eyes, tasting the words as if it was his deceased lover that imparted them themselves. “That leaked intel is as reliable as wet tissue paper.”

(Y/n)’s insight in regards to trends had been prescient– which is a kinder and less pessimistic way to say they likely already knew the adjudicator had been trailing them for some time. Runaways follow oft‐trod paths to free-trade zones– his spouse would be no exception.

That is, of course, if (Y/n) is alive.

But they’re not.

Dainsleif refused to believe it.

If (Y/n) (L/n) truly loved him, they wouldn’t be alive right now.

“Let us temporarily assume that your spouse is alive for the foreseeable future, Dain,” Arlecchino said, noticing Dain’s subtly pained expression. “For the sake of formalities– are you aware of the repercussions you will face if they were?”

“Repercussions…?” Thoma’s eyes widened.

Dainsleif shook his head.

“If it’s as I suspect, then this is a tragic state of affairs.”

“Indeed,” Arlecchino placed a hand on her hip, subtly pushing away her coat to signify her slotted holster. She tilted her chin up menacingly at Thoma.

“Since you can’t catch up, Mister Kamisato Estate Representative, allow me to spell everything out for you– Dainsleif would be formally announced as a “sinner” in the next 3 hours.”

Thoma’s eyes widened, unlike the man who was affected by the news.

“HAAAH?!?”

Dainsleif sipped his flask again, unbothered.

“Sinner” describes individuals who have been banned from all services, resources, and relationships with other members of the criminal underworld. Sinners become a target for any individuals who wish to kill them with a large bounty placed on their heads. And an ex-communication ordained by the Heavenly Principles is a guaranteed high payroll. When it’s the Abyss Order that hands the cash, you’d get more than enough to secure more than a handful of assets. The moment that occurs– Dainsleif would have to run and find connections that would help him plead his case.

They would surely goad everyone with tenfold the normal amount given the Twilight Sword’s intimidating repertoire.

Dain found that amusing.

The nickname “Twilight Sword” he carries is not reserved for anyone else, but mortal arrogation would surely take a jab and see if they can steal the only life he can’t take away.

He’d laugh now if he weren't depressed.

Killing the Twilight Sword, huh? Even he fails to accomplish that.

"That's unreasonable! The sins of a spouse can't be shared–"

"Why don't you keep your mouth shut, blonde?"

Arlecchino snarled.

"Read the room. No one is giving you a turn to speak."

…

Dainsleif cleared his throat, “Back to the matter at hand; Her Highness is under the assumption that my spouse was– or is– conspiring against the Abyss Order. Which, I reassure you, is unlikely given how their last book is an anti-fascist novel with The Crane being alluded to as the protagonist.”

It didn't make sense for (Y/n) to betray the mafia when they were part of the cog that overthrew Osial, Ei, and the rest.

“... The Crane?” Thoma muttered to himself.

Arlecchino sighed gutturally, irritated.

“You might know her as Shenhe. She’s the assassin that overthrew the ex-Capo, Osial,” Arlecchino answered Thoma. “Strange that you don’t know her. I’m certain she had helped with renovating the Kamisato Estate before.”

Thoma answered with a small voice, “I do know Shenhe as my Lady’s friend, but I don’t recall having her help us with our last renovation…”

“But you should’ve remembered that. After all, cranes are the best kind of bird to help you lift planks.”

…

“... None of you got the joke too? Don’t even think about disparaging me. The joke is not mine, it’s the Adjudicator's.”

Thoma frowned, “I’m sorry, I think it’s too advanced–”

“Stop.” Dainsleif whispered urgently, “Don’t let her explain it. We’re wasting time.”

—-------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect: 2 hours and 30 minutes.”

—-------------

“There’s a fourteen million bounty on your head now, Dain,” Arlecchino said. “If I were more heartless, I would’ve easily planned something. Fourteen million is an impressive starting price.”

“Thank you.”

“P-Please don't thank her. She admitted that she wants to kill you," Thoma begged in a hushed whisper.

As if he doesn't want that to happen.

“Although you have been a loyal customer, I can’t provide any services once the timer runs out,” Arlecchino deadpanned. “You’re a brave one. Sauntering into my hotel when assassins are waiting to strike. It’s as if you have a death wish like my former colleagues.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

Dainsleif stood up and prematurely exited the conversation, leaving two acquaintances behind.

Arlecchino chuckled. Always up on his feet, that one. She looked at the person who left. It’s clear to her that Thoma does not know what he intended to do next. Thoma fiddled with his fingers, staring blankly.

"It's rude to stare. If you have something to say, spit it out."

Thoma cleared his throat.

"Lord Arlecchino, I was hoping to find out more about My Lady's safety…"

Arlecchino rolled her eyes.

“I’d rather you figure out the truth for yourself. (Y/n) taught us that indoctrination is not education before they ‘passed’, but since I happen to be in a friendly rivalry with Lord Kamisato, I’ll give you your damn reassurance and advice."

Arlecchino grabbed Thoma’s shoulder tightly. Thoma stiffened at her harsh touch, but his determined eyes impressed Arlecchino.

"Ayaka is fine, and Ayaka will be fine."

Arlecchino slid an envelope against his chest. He winced awkwardly at her cold touch and fumbled to receive it.

…

After reading the letter, Thoma sighed in relief.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes. Yes, Lord Arlecchino."

"Good."

No one outside the room knew at that time what the letter contained except for Lord Kamisato. But in 2 hours, the world would know soon enough.

"And lastly, I know you're tempted, but stay away from Dain. He's a dead man and most of all–" Arlecchino breathed between her teeth.

“He's unreliable. His view on his relationship with (Y/n) is tinted with a rosy hue. His memory has all but faded completely regarding what transpired. And sometimes, liars get fooled by their own lies. See for yourself.”

Thoma’s eyebrows knitted in an instant. Arlecchino didn’t give him a turn to speak and opened the door on his way out.

“Focus on your issues, Kamisato Dog. Ad astra abyssosque.”

—------------------------------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect in 4… 3… 2…”

“1…”

“Dainsleif: 14 million. Open contract is now in effect. All services have been suspended.”

—------------------------------------

“Halfdan.”

“Dain.”

“Please let me do this.”

Dainsleif hummed non-committedly.

His new enemy is none other than Halfdan: an old friend back when he served in the military and also the same brother-in-arms he dragged along to become freelance hitmen. Thanks to the fall of multiple governments, Khaenria’hns had to vicariously live through dirty work to survive. To cope, Dainsleif mercifully persuaded Halfdan down this route with a gifted gun for him to take.

And it’s the very same revolver now aimed at Dainsleif’s forehead.

“Capo Pantalone denounced two possibilities from this scenario: one being your spouse had turned traitor and the other would be that they were a double agent this whole time,” Halfdan quietly mused. “And if that were the case, they fear what that makes you."

“And that’s why you’re here?” Dainsleif spoke between labored exhales, clearly worn out from the numerous assassination attempts against his life moments prior.

The world they walk on is liquefied and weightless, never a flat one. Most are content to kill, but not to live– never to dream. Here in the underground, capitalism plays in a greater uneven field. Assassins, elites, common folk– such titles make no difference. Whatever bounty pays moderately might shoot higher the next hour while others might drop lower than the corpse themselves.

Which led Halfdan to make the worst decision of his life.

An ex-hitman who refuses to kill does sound like an easy target on paper.

Dainsleif gritted his teeth.

If Halfdan knew Dain's barrel was empty, he would be dead right now.

Still, not everyone would be bold to make an enemy out of the Bough Keeper.

Especially not when he memorized every hitman’s fighting style, moves, and preferred weapons.

"Evidence suggests that you’re an accomplice. Did you help them?"

“I did not help them– because (Y/n) was not a traitor.”

“Then who else could’ve ratted out all the Abyss' trade routes?” Halfdan said robotically. “It’s a win-win situation for (Y/n) if this whole mess is true. They’d get recognition for their work and potentially have you dead after your ex-communication.”

"Do you know where they are? Where (Y/n) is?"

"You're at the end of my revolver and that's what you're asking?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Not at all," Halfdan closed his eyes. "Not at all."

"I take it you don't have a clue."

"I know that (Y/n) has been the brains of Archon Kusanali's return to office– possibly her second sage. Whatever that is."

That can’t be right. His spouse hated superordinate roles.

"For someone who was told their dead spouse might be alive, you're surprisingly calm, Dainsleif."

"Forgive me, I try my best to remain composed twenty-four-seven," Dainsleif sardonically replied. "It was a requirement of my previous profession."

“Right… Being a hitman must’ve been tough. Can’t imagine what it’s like,” he chuckled.

Halfdan fired first.

Dainsleif sprinted, hiding behind the alleyway's bricked stores. With his finger hovering above the trigger, he had momentarily forgotten who was after him. As Halfdan carefully scanned the area, Dain tied his blonde hair up loosely, courtesy to how his late spouse nagged him about how it helps keep loose strands out of his eyes during "business hours".

Three warning shots followed.

"Senior, can't you go easy on me? Just this once?" Halfdan mumbled.

Now that the gun was pointed at him, it came to both their minds that they don’t know one another as deeply as they thought. Not in the traditional sense of knowing their names and faces, of course. It dawned that neither talked about themselves as soon as they became hitmen. The Heavenly Principles– whether it’s the Snezhnayan branch or the one Lord Ayato’s running– was like their version of two lost samurais’ dilapidated shelter. They’d talk and bond while it rains– but they’ll never converse outside that haven.

Dain pursed his lips, glaring at the corner of his eyes...

It’d be too easy to kill him.

There’s a crack in the wall that can easily target Halfdan’s temple. Should he pull the trigger, he would be dead without another word. His blood and brain matter would paint the alley’s wall like vague graffiti and there’d be one less person off his case.

But Dainsleif didn’t fire his gun.

“Senior”? Don’t make him laugh.

"I'm not your senior anymore, Halfdan."

Dainsleif jumped out of his spot–

And took his shot too, without any intent to kill.

“NGAH–!”

Halfdan gasped sharply, biting his bottom lip as blood gushed from his left arm. He slid back behind the post immediately, afraid to get close to Dain. Besides, anyone can see a rifle's imprint on Halfdan's cheek.

He's a sniper. Close combat is not his forte.

Unfortunately, Dainsleif used to be a spotter.

“Shit, Dain! What the hell?!” Halfdan tearfully begged. “W-Why are you fighting back? Aren’t you tired of this world?! Aren’t you just waiting to die?!”

Dainsleif’s eyelids lowered.

He doesn’t know the clear answer to that himself.

Until a thought occurred to him.

“I.. Want to carry their memories.”

“... W-What?”

“I wanted to carry on living, for them,” Dainsleif said. “For (Y/n).”

He realized that as long as he was alive, he could keep (Y/n)’s memory alive. He can continue to tell stories about them– to cherish the memories they shared and to honor their legacy. With a newfound sense of purpose, Dainsleif made a silent promise to himself and his deceased spouse.

Hence, Dain would continue to live, not just for himself, but for them. He would carry their memory with him wherever he travels and he refuses to forget their warmth. With that, he gripped his gun, feeling resolute. It’s a long road ahead, but he can carry on, for (Y/n) and for himself. As it turns out, he still had a purpose and a reason to keep going.

His memories of (Y/n) are enough for him to stay alive.

Dainsleif glanced at the crack in the wall.

He reasons that he will be fine if Halfdan dies. Dain had killed many of his former allies before he was wed. Many did oppose his marriage with (Y/n)– worse, many thought they could kill his beloved for it to occur. Killing an old friend tonight wouldn’t be his first.

Dainsleif sighed. He could use his dagger, but he wanted Halfdan's death to be quick.

‘I’m sorry, Halfdan.’

But he did not feel sorry.

Dainsleif loaded his gun.

2 bullets.

That should be more than enough.

‘You’re going to have to be my first kill after 7 years.’

—------------------

As Dainsleif fended off greed-blinded men, Thoma found himself in another nerve-wracking dilemma. He stood inside one of the private rooms in the Heavenly Principles, unflinching. The sharp yet muted shrill of a spoon grated Thoma’s ears, but he remained standing, vigilant yet afraid.

Hard to speak when it was the adjudicator himself that stirred the cup.

The adjudicator, Cyno, is a dreadful shadow to have. Unlike the Bough Keeper, he had deep-set eyes that looked to be calculated at all times. Thoma was most terrified by the adjudicator's reputation for having unwavering determination. His job is to be both feared and respected in equal measure. If Cyno wills it, Thoma and Ayaka would be nothing more than mere bodies between him and his goals.

If it’s true that (Y/n) managed to escape Cyno more than a few times, then he ought to get some tips on how they do it. Cyno cornered Thoma so effortlessly before he could leave earlier.

"Coffee?" Cyno offered. "Don't worry, this isn't the same drink Dain prepared for (Y/n) every morning."

Thoma raised an eyebrow.

What does that mean?

“No thank you sir, but I appreciate the gesture.”

Cyno nodded.

“Let me be clear: I am here to adjudge your master, not you. So if my subordinates found evidence against her, I shall be the one that weighs those scales.”

Thoma already knew that and that threat was never going to provoke him.

If Thoma tells him what the letter contained now, it'll only make the Kamisatos more suspicious.

“I understand, sir. Would that be all?”

“Course not,” Cyno said. “Thoma, I’ve got a question to ask.”

“Go on, sir.”

“Did you ask Dainsleif for help earlier?”

“... Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the Adjudicator nodded. “I value your honesty– and are you sure you don’t want coffee?”

“Yes sir– and I’m sorry for asking for his assistance, I didn’t–”

“Know he was going to get excommunicated, I’m aware,” he muttered. “But that’s an old excuse.”

Cyno sipped his cup, his eyes locked on Thoma's. Thoma tried his best to avoid his gaze but found it impossible. The Adjudicator had a way of making people feel small with just a single look.

"You're brave," he said. "But bravery can’t save the Himegimi. Only the truth can. So where is he?"

Thoma's heart raced as he tried to come up with a response. He knew he had to be careful with his words, or he might end up endangering not just himself, but Dainsleif as well.

"I don't know where he is," Thoma said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't lie to me," Cyno's expression darkened, slamming his cup against the table. It shattered, making Thoma finally flinch at the sound of its impact.

"We know you've been communicating with him. You're part of his and his spouse’s rebellion against the Abyss Order."

“I genuinely don’t know where he is and I'm not part of any rebellion,” Thoma’s voice cracked. “Lord Ayato just ordered me to communicate with Lord Arlecchino and had Mister Dainsleif tag along, please believe me.”

The Adjudicator went silent.

He scoffed.

“Damnit.”

Cyno understood through experience that Thoma wasn’t lying. He ran his fingers through his stressed-white hair, eyes closed.

He unlocked the door.

“Fine, you’re free to leave.”

Thoma blinked, hesitating to do what was commanded.

It’s as easy as that…?

He’s not going to interrogate him further? Wasn’t he supposed to probe into what he knows about Dainsleif or why Lord Ayato sent him to Snezhnaya in the first place? Won’t Cyno give Thoma the chance to tell him that he went all the way here because he feared what he plans to do to Ayaka?

It can't be over just like that.

Wasn't he after Ayaka?

What's going on?

Why did he give up that fast?

All the effort he went through… Just for that?

That’s all the big scary Adjudicator has to say?

Thoma combed his hair up.

Was Lord Ayato right? Was he really just paranoid?

Whatever was on Thoma’s mind– he spoke none of it. He discarded every doubt. Above all else, he was glad that everything seemed to be over.

As Thoma turned to close the door behind him, he heard Cyno mutter something barely a whisper.

“If I am to weigh the souls of others in this world as an Adjudicator, then I must also place my own soul on the scales to be judged in the same manner, but…”

Thoma closed the door before he heard him finish the rest.

“(L/n), despite being a wrongdoer, I wonder if you had a point…” Cyno said.

“... Maybe it’s time we dismantle the current system and rely on the government– Kusanali– once more.”

Cyno didn't drink the coffee he prepared for Thoma. Instead, the adjudicator grabbed his case and left the dubious drink be.

—--------

Thoma thought that was the end of it, but fate had other plans.

He was on his way back when he stumbled upon Dainsleif, soaked in blood. It was a complete coincidence that Thoma had taken this particular route, and he can’t tell whether that was a blessing or a curse. Knowing that Dainsleif possesses incomparable mental fortitude to carry on fighting despite his weakened state, he approached him warily. Thoma was warned already by Arlecchino not to get involved, yet he can’t just leave without a proper thank you. As he got closer, Thoma saw that the man was mumbling incoherently.

"Eli…”

Thoma blinked. Is he calling for Ellin, the rookie hitman?

“Dain…?”

He’s lost in his thoughts.

Dainsleif was morbidly aware that feelings of grief should've surfaced, that he should be mourning the loss of an old friend. Once again, he tried to summon some kind of emotion, any reaction to his Halfdan's corpse. But he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no regret. What he felt was frustration only after his failed attempts. Dainsleif was unable to shake off the sense of detachment that had taken hold of him.

Halfdan was just another person who failed to kill the “Twilight Sword”.

“Eli, lama sabachthani…?" Dainsleif muttered.

"Huh?"

Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani: those were the words his spouse said when they were incredibly ill.

It meant "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"

As he gazed at the scene of Halfdan's death, Dainsleif heaved a heavy sigh. He was aware that he had to face the facts of his predicament, but he wasn't sure how he should press on. The deafening silence prevailed. Now that he had to deal with isolation and social rejection, his longing for (Y/n) rekindled sevenfold. He knows that it's near impossible to continue living without his spouse.

But finding them?

That should be easier.

"Y-You should take a rest, Dain," Thoma frowned. "I know you haven't killed anyone since today, so maybe you should seek shelter and steel yourself for now."

“I can't, and there is no need for that. No other Black Serpent assassin danced with grief more than I.”

Dainsleif swiftly picked up the knife from the ground, masterfully twirling it until the blood was wiped clean.

“But when I got back to work– I suddenly felt a small amount of relief from this suffering.”

He stabbed the knife back into the corpse’s chest like a toothpick. The blonde carved the knife down the ribs with sheer brute strength. Blood coated his fingers and as he curled it deeper inside Halfdan’s chest, the blade disappeared.

Dainsleif laughed.

The manic blonde’s crooked grin widened.

Thoma didn’t gag at the sight of Halfdan’s corpse– he was used to the sight– but he gulped as he saw Dain’s expression.

His "terrifyingly empty" eyes suddenly had something murky fill the void.

Dainsleif lost it.

“That high didn’t last. Even now, I can feel anguish permeating my entire being. There is no “undoing” their death, such a line of thought inflicts only agony. (Y/n) had become an integral part of me– slowly but surely replacing my sins with a tenderness one cannot attain in the underworld. They did say that grief comes in waves, but how long will I have to stand ashore until a crash large enough would drown me to sea?”

Thoma drowned out his musings. They were bound not to make sense in the first place.

He's not mentally stable, and he doesn't expect him to be. Dain just found out his dead spouse might be alive and killed a friend in under an hour. Thoma would be insensitive if he forced him to compose himself.

Dainsleif let the handle go.

“Can’t you understand why I’m so desperate to find even a sliver of my beloved?” He laughed. “Why I never took assassination requests from the Abyss Order after their death? Why I’m more than willing to kill again? The answer is simple–”

Suddenly, it’s harder to breathe.

The ex-hitman stopped.

His smile weakened as he spoke, “Thoma… (Y-(Y/n)... I want (Y/n) to take me back in their arms as a corpse.”

Dainsleif breathed in shakily, his tears obstructing his speech. He clenched his fists above the table, arching his back as he avoided the bodyguard’s concerned gaze. Thoma could practically see his sobs as Dain’s entire body trembled from a depleting mix of ineffable exhaustion, sadness, and longing. He had bottled these emotions for long enough.

He always had nowhere else to go– no one else to turn to. But nowadays, it felt different. All because he foolishly trusted that maybe this time someone would be able to kill him…

Maybe this time…

The bodyguard rubbed his back, which only served to make the lonesome man conceal his weeping. There's nothing Thoma can do other than provide useless ministrations. To save the last of the ex-hitman's dwindling pride—if he really cared for such—he can only frown and look away.

Dainsleif trembled.

He doesn't know how to cry.

So he cried clumsily.

“I-I’m tired… of taking my own life.”

—----------------

“Dainsleif, open contract. Increase: 20 million.”

—----------------

[Eight Years Ago]

“So, Dain,” they awkwardly voiced with a warm smile. “Do you come here often?”

Does he come here often? Of course, he does. He “worked” here– but no ordinary citizen should know what business goes down in Wanmin restaurant.

And he knew (Y/n) frequented this restaurant too.

Dainsleif laughed.

It’s true, Dainsleif stalks them.

He initially believed they were just an extroverted student who had nothing better to do than to talk to the stranger they kept sitting next to on the bus. He was so exhausted from "work" that his initial impression was of (Y/n) was a loud and brazen scholar. Since the bus they boarded frequently had a TV, they were always open to talk with him about delicate subjects like the daily news about the syndicates without displaying any expressions of disgust. Although they didn't agree with everything he stated, they showed maturity by holding their ground. They praised him for his noteworthy thoughts while criticizing him for his blatantly generic statements. Dainsleif was almost sure they were part of the "industry" he works on–

Until he saw the collage of their friends and professors as their lock screen. Dainsleif realized two things at that time.

1) They like to write.

2) Their favorite mentor was Professor Aether. The “Traveler” who would inherit the Abyss Order if the Abyss Princess dies.

So it’s no wonder they knew a lot about human trafficking.

Something about their easygoing attitude and quick wit struck a chord with him. He found himself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of rare ease and comfort. And whenever they said their goodbyes when boarding off the bus, Dainsleif felt a sense of anticipation, a feeling that this was something special.

And now he "knows all that he needs to know" about (Y/n) (L/n).

Upon realizing that he was staring (they were waving a hand near their face), Dainsleif cleared his throat.

“I enjoy the wine here.”

“Thought the light was about to take you to the other side,” (Y/n) teased. “Anyways, yeah, you know my friends Stella, Jude, and Shiro? They like it too. Can’t catch me drinking though– I just order the sardines pasta here while they get red-faced drunk.”

He sneakily glanced at the menu and silently noted how that order appears to be the cheapest meal. If Dain pitied his date, he made no mention of it. Uyuu restaurant is for the rich and the shady and based on their humble hand-me-down shoes, both descriptions eluded them.

“Well-off friends?”

Dainsleif already knows the answer.

"Eh. We all know both rich and getting-by folks, don't we? As long as we can pay our bills, it doesn't matter," they shrugged. “Still… I’m REALLY sorry that you dressed up for me, Dain.”

They pinched their forehead.

“Look– I don’t know what on earth Rin told you, but I’m not worth this effort. You look incredibly dashing in that suit and tie by the way– but your date is wearing their sister’s Converse right now. If you want me to leave and enjoy your meal alone, just say so– you can even tell everyone that I’m just some charity case college student you fed or something. Fine by me, no problem.”

Dainsleif snorted slightly. While there’s no doubt in his mind that his salary can afford someone’s student loans, the last thing hitmen would do with their monthly pay is invest in multiple scholars.

“Would you feel better if I said I just arrived from work and had no time to change so I 'didn’t' put in any effort…?”

“Kinda,” they croaked pathetically and bowed their head. “But now that you phrased it like that, I can't tell if you're lying for the sake of my feelings, huhu...”

But that uncontrollable sunny smile on their face doesn't show any hint of genuine remorse. Dainsleif reciprocated their smile. (Y/n) is getting more comfortable being in Dainsleif’s presence than before, and Dainsleif seems more open to sharing things about himself– albeit not enough to spill about his true occupation.

His occupation…

Dain tried not to think about it whenever they're on a date, but he can't help it sometimes.

When, he wonders.

When will he find someone that is close enough to actually kill him?

This job was starting to get stale…

If it weren't for (Y/n), he sees no reason to even get out of bed anymore.

(Y/n)... Right, (Y/n). Of course.

Dainsleif stopped himself from grinning widely.

He's on a date– he should be more attentive.

Dain looked at them again, finding himself naturally concentrated on their mannerisms.

“... Why are your hands in your pockets?”

“Oh– I learned from one of my professors that people look more confident when they have their hands in their pockets, if and only if they have a thumb out, apparently.”

“And this prolonged eye contact we’re having?”

“My poor attempt at applying what I’ve learned, yes.”

Dainsleif laughed.

“You’re very easy to listen to.”

They frowned.

“Sorry… I tend to overshare sometimes.”

“Why are you apologizing? I appreciate that you’re being yourself,” Dainsleif said. “Better than honeypotting someone in a relationship.”

“You’re right, sor– I mean, yeah, you’re right.”

A waiter passed by.

“One– Two Death After Noon please, boss,” Dainsleif said.

(Y/n) chuckled humorously, "I suppose I'd also drink a lot if I ended up going on a date with someone like me."

"Glad to hear it. Let's have a drink together."

"Aight– wait, what?"

Dainsleif attempted to pass the glass to (Y/n), but the moment their hand reached the stem–

Splash.

"Oh sh–! I'm so sorry!!!"

Dainsleif blinked.

"Oh my Goodn– I'm so sorry, my bad. I'm–"

"It's alright. Hand me some tissues."

"Sorry…" they cringed. "I'm– I'm a little out of it, lately. I didn't mean to spill that all over– ugh. I'm such a disaster today, what the heck?"

Dainsleif chuckled, almost inaudibly. He didn't move from his position, letting the wine soak his jeans.

"You don't need to worry, I'm used to this."

They tried not to visibly react to that statement.

Use to what, exactly? Having drinks spilled on him?

What kind of life is Dainsleif living for that to happen often enough times for him to get "used to this"? Are people constantly spilling things on him?

"...Workplace harassment?" (Y/n) muttered, not realizing Dainsleif heard it.

His heart leaped as he quickly glanced at himself to check for visible wounds or scars, but snapped out of it when he felt something light against his clothes. No matter how wrong it could appear in public, it seems that (Y/n) awkwardly grabbed the closest tissue box to dab it out (and this action was motivated by how dry cleaning was expensive that year).

"(Y/n)–" he cringed as they continued.

"Please wait."

"You should be more focused on yourself," Dainsleif cleared his throat, with his ears and cheeks slightly red. "Y-You're wearing white."

"Oh…"

They pulled the hem of their clothing. The wine soaked them as well but they were too engrossed to notice it. (Y/n) scowled.

"I'm– yikes, I'm irredeemable at this point. Whoops," they laughed somewhat nervously. “You’ve done it, Mx. (L/n). This is our last date, I guess.”

Dainsleif didn't say a word.

He just stared, looking directly at their splattered clothes. Unlike (Y/n), he didn't jump to helping his date clean up. Dainsleif covered his mouth and breathed in shakily. It was strange. Instead of feeling annoyed or frustrated, he found himself staring fondly at (Y/n) and their almost equally stained clothes.

This stain… It looked like…

They expect him to laugh at their clumsiness or berate them at worst, but when they gazed up, those slapdash daydreams evaporated. Dainsleif looked dazed.

… Blood.

“Dain?”

They looked up at him, doe-eyed and confused. Without hesitation, they cupped his cheek, checking his features.

“Dain? Are you feeling alright? You’re spacing out a lot today.”

Dainsleif couldn’t stop staring.

This scenery was almost perfect. Almost. It just needed one small tweak:

It shouldn't have been wine. (Y/n) would look breathtaking if they were covered in the blood of the men he killed to get a chance to date them.

He looked at his stained clothes and smiled.

Maybe, just maybe,

(Y/n) (L/n) will be the one who can kill him.

—-----------------------------

[PRESENT]

Dain stumbled towards a house with a small inteyvat garden, his body aching and his clothes still stained with blood. He lifted a weak hand and knocked on the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. He shook his hip flask, disappointed that the alcohol was already empty. Not that he needed it to ease his wounds. Thoma already helped Dainsleif patch up a bit, but left in a hurry knowing that the Adjudicator might see his act of “treason.”

After a few moments, the door creaked open and a blonde man peered out.

It was Professor Aether, a kind yet unassuming man who taught at multiple universities– including (Y/n)’s. Despite being the Abyss Princess's kin, he lived a relatively lowkey life in the suburbs after he stopped traveling. Aether looked Dainsleif up and down, his expression unreadable.

"You look injured," he said flatly, without a hint of concern in his voice.

Dain struggled to keep himself standing.

"I am," he said. "Traveler, I’ve been wrongfully excommunicated and I need your help."

Aether nodded as if he had expected that news. Still, he refused Dain entry to his house. “You didn’t honestly think I’d help you without a second thought, right?”

Dainsleif took a deep breath, “I have served and will be of service.”

The sinner then pulled out an object from his pocket and shoved it down Aether’s palm.

Aether raised an eyebrow, concerned.

Visions is a round metallic insignia formally recognized by the Abyss Order that signifies a blood oath. The debtor has their bloodied fingerprint pressed inside the shell. This vision had Aether's fingerprint, and he owes Dainsleif.

“A vision? Do you believe a blood debt will make me help you?” Unlike before, his voice was warm but distant.

“I helped you find your sister– you can help me find my spouse in return,” Dain glared. “Sinner or not, you owe me. I’m certain (Y/n) is alive– and I’m sure you know where they are. You shaped them into the tactician they are now. If there’s anyone who can figure out where they are, it’s you. So take me there.”

Aether closed his eyes.

There's no way he can reason with him.

This is no longer Dainsleif he's talking to– but a husk of a man.

“Fine.”

The professor also pulled something out of his pocket. A blue syringe, none other than one of Dottore’s concoctions, Dain believes. He did not question why he had that in his possession. Foolishly, he did not question if it was an anesthetic or a lethal injection either. What mattered more was (Y/n)’s location. Nothing else.

“But you’ll have to be asleep for it to happen,” the professor commanded exasperatedly. “Do you understand?”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t believe I didn’t help you out otherwise,” Aether scoffed. “So just knock yourself so I can tie you up.”

Dainsleif rolled up his sleeve.

“Do what needs to be done.”

Aether administered the drug.

—-----------

Dainsleif slowly opened his eyes, his head throbbing just as Aether warned him. The room spun slightly as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the distinct Inazuman patterns that covered the walls. The intricate designs were a mix of cloud shapes and leaf motifs, all in shades of blue and white.

This must be the basement of Uyuu restaurant. Dain didn’t expect he’ll be able to (Y/n) here– and if this was one of their base locations, that must mean Ayato is on their side. That’s another surprise he didn’t see coming. These all must’ve been Archon Kusanali’s idea– or maybe it was that government official, Al Haitham?

Whatever, it didn't matter. At least Dain was expecting to be tied down and he was right, he reminded himself. Dainsleif took a deep breath and calmed himself. The ropes dug painfully into his wrists as he struggled against them, squirming to find weak knots that bound him to the chair. No luck.

“Evening, Twilight Sword… Do you come here often?”

Dainsleif stopped struggling.

He looked up, dazed.

Perhaps “enchanted” might be the right term.

Although Dainsleif could barely discern their face from this lighting, he can just about make it out from the shape of their silhouette.

“To this day, you’ve faithfully done your duty as a loving husband– how can a person ever find a man better than you?” The shadow smiled cheaply. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"

The shadow tilted their head up, and a red glint refracted from a familiar pair of tinted glasses. They pulled out a chair and sat in front of him, chuckling angrily as they did so.

“I’d rather not. I’d rather ask how much can I pay you to die.”

Dainsleif coughed.

“... (Y/n)? My beloved, is that you?”

The abyss smiled back.

“I importune you to perish, and you call me 'beloved'?” They laughed sardonically. “Isn’t taking bounties your entire shtick? Why ignore me? Don’t tell me you had a sudden aversion for death.”

They rolled their eyes.

“You’ve encased me in your penthouse, locked me up, stolen my brushes and pens away– and lied to the rest of the world that I had cancer like my relatives when I didn’t and still don’t. So don’t call me beloved. You don’t have the right.”

Their voice was buttery smooth as if seducing him– yet it would be foolish of him not to notice the sharpness of their words– the bitterness it latched onto. It sounded like the truth, but Dainsleif believes they were nothing but lies.

Dainsleif cringed.

“But you do have canc–”

“Fucking bullshit!” The person slammed the table, but years of experience didn’t make the retired hitman flinch. “I was NEVER sick!!! You desperately wanted me to be– because– because YOU didn’t want ME to LEAVE!”

“You always talk about how I’m fucking corrupted– how I can’t be cured– how I’m terminally ill when you’re the one slipping poison in my coffee every fucking day!” They ranted. “You didn’t want me to live, Dainsleif. You wanted me to be sad and– and miserable like you are."

He heard nothing.

That’s not true. None of their words add up.

They loved him– (Y/n) loved him.

Didn’t they?

… Then again, didn't Dainsleif have awful memory?

“Every night, I prayed you’d be dead,” the shadow said, calmly. “And every morning I woke up, I was disappointed. It doesn’t help how your expressionless face is always the first to greet me.”

Dainsleif knew (Y/n) liked challenges– there's no way they want him dead. That's what the promise was for, right? The reason why they made him swear to never kill again once they're married was to make life a bit more exciting. That's what it was, right?

They're not trying to get rid of him from the very beginning, right…?

They clapped.

Dainsleif instinctively closed his eyes as the rest of the lights fiercely illuminated the entire room. Slowly, his burned eyes fluttered open, and his heart beat again after seeing the shadow’s face.

It was (Y/n)'s.

It was his beloved’s.

The same face who wrote the letter Thoma read earlier– the same bastard who schemed to prove the Kamisatos are "not involved" with the anti-mafia stunts they've pulled but not their supposed “spouse”.

"I know what you're thinking, and I know I can't kill you," they scoffed. "So I had to resort to some underhanded tactics. Getting you excommunicated was the best one. If I can't do the job, I'll give others a damn good reason to do it for me instead."

Dainsleif chuckled softly.

Adorable. What a kind gesture.

"You underestimate yourself. You can kill me if you just try."

They snorted.

"Best joke I've ever heard from you, Dain. Dry humor suits you."

"I wasn't joking."

"I know you weren’t," (Y/n) clicked their tongue. “I know one of the reasons you kidnapped me was to make me competent enough to maybe kill you someday. Hah. At least I can say that I tried.”

They scowled. Patronizingly, they tore their gaze away from him and instead looked at what was inside the room. Dainsleif was not the same. He couldn’t tear his gaze away to notice how he was trapped inside the Uyuu restaurant’s weapon room.

For the first time in years, Dainsleif smiled like a child.

Dogs like Thoma would never be able to understand what it’s like to have such a strong connection with someone that isn’t your master.

He could no longer care if they (Y/n) was the one that shoots him right there.

In fact, he wouldn't mind if (Y/n) died too.

Haha… Hahahaha….

They had always been dead to him for years now.

Dainsleif finally remembers everything clearly.

(Y/n) had never been "dead", he was just angry that they escaped successfully.

Angry to the point they were actually dead in his eyes.

“I don’t know why the Professor brought you here all tied up– but I’m growing impatient at just the sight of you.”

So is he.

Dainsleif chuckled. One other thing he expected was that Aether will send him here with the intent of killing him. Shame, however, that Dainsleif saw that coming from miles away.

(Y/n) stepped closer and Dainsleif frantically pulled at the ropes, feeling them loosen. Dain had to keep going. He needed to break free.

“Farewell.”

As (Y/n) reached out to grab their gun off the table, Dainsleif surged forward, throwing his weight against the ropes and snapping them. He stumbled to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground as he grabbed at the gun faster than they could. The patrons of Uyuu restaurant are completely unaware of the drama that had taken place below their feet, chatting and dining as usual.

“Tch!”

With years of experience behind his back, Dainsleif knocked the gun out of (Y/n)’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor. (Y/n) lunged for it, but he tackled them, driving them both to the ground.

(Y/n)’s eye twitched and they can tell Dainsleif was equally pissed. But even when he had them pinned on the floor, Dainsleif remained careful on how he should hold them down. That unspoken act of “love” makes them want to vomit, but there was no time for that.

Even so, something about his stare seemed off.

It's as if he wanted to drag them down.

It's as if he wants them to be as dead as him.

(Y/n) jolted upon seeing his eyes.

In an unexpected string of luck, (Y/n) kicked him off and wrenched the gun away from Dainsleif.

They pointed it at him.

Dainsleif did not take a step back or forward.

As (Y/n) preps the gun, like souls intertwined by fate and time, they both had one thought in mind:

“If you truly loved me, you should be dead.”

(Y/n) fired.

BANG!!!

…

They shot him.

They shot Dainsleif.

And they know they shot him because they felt his blood pressed against their body.

But they blinked.

Lord�� all (Y/n) did was blink.

"Y-You finally know how to fire a gun."

Dainsleif has nothing to be proud of in his own life, but he can still be proud of them.

There's no way for (Y/n) to miss the wetness of his gunshot wound. Not when he's holding them into a tight hug. Despite bleeding out, his firm hand cradled the nape of their neck, humming contently. Dainsleif thought to himself that a shot from (Y/n) did not feel painful in the slightest. It almost seemed like an injection.

No… Something isn't right, why is he so close…?

Their stomach burned.

And they can almost hear his smile.

"Thank you, my beloved. I was tired of taking my own life…"

If he can't have them alive, well…

Dainsleif pulled out the dagger behind their back.

No one should be able to have (Y/n)'s corpse too.

Dain kissed them.

He traced his wet thumb against their cheek, painting their face red with his fingerprints.

Dainsleif grinned.

"I love you."

They choked out blood out of pure disgust. Their strength was ebbing away.

Haha… It’s almost like… They actually have stomach cancer…

Their vision began to swim and they felt their consciousness slipping. (Y/n) saw blood seeping through their clothes, staining them dark red. Tears streamed down their face as they realized what had happened. Dainsleif stabbed them. They tried to cry out loud, but their voice was weak and hoarse.

The blood on their clothes… It almost reminded them of their seventh date. The wine, his dazed look…

(Y/n) would laugh humorlessly if they could.

In their last moments, (Y/n) learned that it took strength to cry… to scream out the pain buried within their stomach. But they had no strength left and they dropped their gun.

Their only option was to wither away.

Dainsleif kissed their neck sloppily– (Y/n) couldn't tell if it was saliva or blood. The taste and scent of blood filled his senses. Surely from both of them. Maybe this is what Dainsleif meant when he spread rumors about his spouse constantly going through hemoptysis. Bleeding from the mouth does count as a sign of a terminal illness, doesn't it?

His thoughts are curt. His breathing is short. Yet, his unhinged eyes were near immortal.

Dainsleif no longer cared about his own life– not when the person he lives for wanted him dead.

The weight of their "atonement" falls on (Y/n)'s shoulders as Dainsleif weakly knelt along with them. As their vision dies out, he tightens his hug, hungrily leaning into their dwindling body heat.

Dainsleif was right.

They do look beautiful soaked in the blood of their enemy.

"I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Even in death, he will not leave them be.

They sobbed.

No…

But they were so close…

In their final moments, (Y/n) could only look up at the ceiling and cry.

They clutched their feeble freedom and life, staring into the abyss as though it can provide them solace to answer the question:

"E-Eli… eli, lama sabachthani?"

#ansy-writes #yandere dainsleif #yandere dainsleif x reader #yandere #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #x reader #tw: yandere #tw: suicidal thoughts #yandere male #tag: hitman dain

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msfcatlover · 7 months

Text

The Public Personas I think each Wayne Kid would get in the Reverse Robins verse

Duke: The easy-going, down-to-earth, reasonable one. Or, perhaps more accurately, the straightman to Bruce’s comedian. Duke’s fond exasperation & surprisingly grown-up attitude as a child made for an excellent counter to Brucie’s bombastic antics, and had plenty of people joking that Duke was the actual parent between the two of them. Seeing the two of them at work is seeing a decade-perfected comedy tag-team in action, and it is a beautiful thing. As Duke grew up, his reputation shifted to being the Chillest Dude (gender neutral) in any given room, and he mastered the sort of subtle, charismatic warmth that makes everyone feel like they’re your best friend. Duke’s one of those celebrities you just want to crack a beer open with and chat about your day, because they seem like they’d be fun to hang out with, y’know? (Which also helps separate him from his hero identities. Duke Thomas? Dress up like a cross between a motorcycle racer & medieval knight in order to speed around downtown, jump off bridges & skyscrapers, and kick the Joker in the face on a biweekly basis? Are you fucking high?)

Damian: Starts out as the acerbic, hotheaded brat. Grows up into Gotham’s favorite Bad Boy With A Heart Of Gold, thanks to both his maintained public attitude & work with helping animals around the world, even after he mostly moves to Bludhaven. (Yes, he rides a motorcycle, wears mostly leather, and has just so many piercings. Most of the piercings are fake, so that they can’t be grabbed in fights; the real ones he almost exclusively wears small studs in. They all come out in preparation for patrol.)

Cassandra: The Ice Queen, so cool & confident that some people genuinely think the family is lying about her selective mutism and it’s just a front so she has an excuse to ignore people. (She is deeply offended by this.) Zero tolerance for bullshit, cutting edge fashionista, single handedly got ASL added as a language course to every school in Gotham, and got plenty of rich jerks to learn if only to know what she was gossiping about with her siblings when they kept glancing over and laughing at everyone else. Universally assumed to be the one who'll take over WE when Bruce retires, despite her complete lack of interest.

Steph: The Wild Child, the only one to follow in Brucie’s footsteps. This was not the persona she wanted but in her society debut gala, something came up and Duke needed a distraction so he could go deal with it. Steph set her shoulders, grabbed a bottle off the snack table behind them, and said, “You got it.” First impressions are everything, and she never could shake that one… not helped by the fact that sometimes, an empty-headed party girl was exactly what they needed to gather information, and Steph had both the reputation to play the part & clout to get wherever she wanted once Bruce fostered her. (After her death, people call it a “downward spiral.” Others counter this with a clip from an interview she gave earlier that year, where Stephanie Brown talked about her hard work in school & the community, and her frustration over her reputation. “Of course it bothers me,” she said, “It bothers me that what I’m wearing matters more than the causes I promote. It bothers me that a few sips of wine outweigh organizing an entire event. It bothers me that flirting with people my own age upsets people more than a fucking shooting in downtown Gotham!” She laughed bitterly. “Is it the hair? Should I dye it? Would that make people take me more seriously?” She turned to look directly into the camera, tears shining in her eyes. “I’m—I’m sixteen. What do you want from me?”)

Tim: Tim starts out as the resident Cool Nerd. He’s friendly, he’s chill, he likes skateboarding & computer games—and also, he GMs on the weekends, he likes to solve math puzzles & write his own algorithms, he knows more about the history of sci-fi than any human has right to. Tim’s the kind of nerd who makes his nerdy hobbies seem cool by association. (Still figuring the rest out, honestly. Since he’s Oracle in this verse, part of me feels like he’d stay out of the public eye more? But another part of me says Tim would make his public persona as loud as possible, so that people think of him beyond his injury. “Bruce Wayne’s Paraplegic Son” is not an identity Tim would ever be okay letting people define him by, I think. I know he does a lot of charity work, and is more open to talking about his challenges than Cass is, in a very “if I tell you upfront, you can’t use it against me (also, maybe someone else needs to hear this)” kinda way. I know he’s still involved in the business world to some degree. I’m just having trouble pinning down how Tim would characterize Timothy Drake-Wayne [post-injury] to the public.)

Jason: Jason is kinda the inverse of Damian, being soft-spoken & seemingly shy until you bring up a cause he cares passionately about. He's very protective of his siblings, and is responsible for about 80% of the "Wayne Kids Spotted! You Won't Believe These Adorable Pictures!" tabloid headlines (Cass & Damian dote on Jason, those candids being one of the only times people get pictures of their "soft sides." Jason also volunteers to help Duke & Tim out a lot, and is often seen trailing after them trying to look professional.) Every woman over 30 in Gotham just wants to pinch his pudgy little cheeks, at least until Jason hits his last growth spurt and comes back from a year abroad looking like an absolute hunk. But still just as humble, just as polite, and just as passionate about helping others. Isn't he just a Big Ol' Marshmallow? (Jason maintains this reputation mainly by biting his tongue & constantly reminding himself if he can't think of anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. After every single interview or public event, you can find him down in the cave, ranting to himself about everything that pissed him off and taking it out on the poor training dummies.)

Dick: Started out very surly & private, but all his siblings defended that the poor boy had gone through so much trauma in under a year (losing his parents, being taken from the family he grew up with, and then losing Bruce just a few months later,) that it was only to be expected. They worked hard to keep him protected from the public eye while he was grieving. When little Richie finally made his public debut, Gotham was delighted to discover an energetic Sunshine Child, who wasn't exactly a great listener & was more than a bit of a showoff, but gosh darn if he wasn't the cutest thing anyone had seen in years. (Dick keeps up the shallow-but-cheerful Sunshine act all the way into his adult life, coming the closest out of any of them to having a true Brucie persona as an adult.)

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emoprincey · 2 months

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Thinking about what fears the sides would become avatars of in the magnus archives...

In some ways, Virgil is the hardest to pin down. He's anxiety, the embodiment of fear itself. He has associations with spiders, with darkness, name any fear and you could find a way to fit him into it. But in some ways he's the easiest. With all the cognitive distortions, not knowing how much of his fear is rational and how much is his anxiety spiralling out of control... the Spiral is the obvious choice for him.

Logan would think he was smart. He'd think he could avoid serving one of the fears at all. He'd do as much research as he could, try to figure everything out, ask questions to anyone he could find. He'd think he was smart, and that would lead him right to the Eye. The Beholding. Ceaseless Watcher. Logan thrives on knowledge, he lives to learn as much as he can. He'd be under the Eye's influence from the very beginning.

Remus would love the Desolation. Destruction for the sake of destruction. Mindless, pointless, and utterly cruel. But he wouldn't give into it, not completely. For him, it would also be the Spiral, but for opposite reasons to Virgil. The Spiral is the fear that what you perceive isn't right. The line between imagination and reality blurring. That's what Remus is all about, really.

You might think Janus would be part of the Stranger, what with the whole imitating people and taking their place. Perhaps the Spiral, with it's associations with deceit. And I do think he'd have a certain appreciation for both. But no, he would be an avatar of the Web. Because Janus likes to be in control. He needs to feel in control, or he's lost, and he would definitely not want to be controlled by someone else. The Web would be his worst fear and his saviour at the same time.

Patton wouldn't want anything to do with the fears, but when has that ever meant anything to them? Patton lives for other people. He likes to make people happy, yes, but he also keeps himself going through his connections to the other sides, Thomas, and Thomas's friends and family. He also has a bad habit of isolating himself, not connecting with other people when he needs to the most. When you think about it there isn't really anything for Patton but the Lonely, is there?

Roman is the most difficult. He's an actor. The Stranger and the Lonely both have associations with the theatre. But when you peel back the layers and see who he truly is, you see someone afraid of becoming insignificant. Being ignored, overshadowed, overlooked. That could be the Lonely, but also the Vast. The fear of being so, so small in a vast, infinite universe. It's not all skyscrapers and the endless expanse of space, it can also manifest as a feeling of insignificance on a much more personal level. Which is something Roman definitely deals with...

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #tma #still second-guessing some of these but i like my reasoning #i feel like some of them could fit several. and which one they chose (or which one chose them) would just depend on circumstance #anyway this was a great way to freak myself out before bed 👍

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visit-new-york · 1 year

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The Vessel

Located just outside the Shops at Hudson Yards to the west is the Vessel, a massive, 154-flight staircase interconnecting over the sky to offer tremendous views of the city and the Hudson River to the west. This Hudson Yards attraction is open daily from 10 am-8 pm, and tickets for visitors over the age of 5 cost $10 a person (under 5 go free).

To visit the Vessel, you must come with at least one other person, or you can enter with another group via the “Come with Us” ticket and join another group assigned to you.

The Edge NYC is enough reason to venture to Hudson Yards if you’re looking for a fun activity to do in NYC, but if you want to make a day out of it, there is plenty more to explore around the area. The Shops at Hudson Yards are a great place to start, especially since the entrance to the Edge Skydeck is within the mall.

There’s also, the City Climb, an adrenaline-pumping activity available at The Edge. Those who book this experience get to scale the exterior of The Edge skyscraper at 1,200 feet in the air!! Climbers are secured with straps and able to lean OVER the edge of the skyscraper!

The Shops offer a vast array of clothing, food, electronics, and more, including Mercado Little Spain, a Chef José Andrés creation offering all kinds of Spanish food and drinks, located on the street level of the Shops (L0). They also offer takeout from the pickup window on 30th street and delivery.

Vessel Inaugurated in 2019, Vessel is a series of interlinked staircases connected by various platforms, making for a great viewpoint in the middle of Hudson Yards.

New York's Staircase Since its inauguration in 2019, this futuristic steel building has become one of the main attractions in Hudson Yards, the major urban plan to the East of Manhattan. It's at the end of the High Line, and was designed by the English architect Thomas Heatherwick.

The Vessel, as indicated in its name, is in the form of a cup. Its interlinked stairs and copper steel panels reflect the surroundings of the structure - and the Vessel is formed by 2,500 stairs. Although it is not necessary to climb them all, if you find a good spot among the labyrinth you can get great views. There is also an elevator available for those with reduced mobility.

The Vessel, at 45 metres tall, is not huge compared with other skyscrapers in New York, such as the Empire State, or the Rockefeller. Nonetheless, we consider it an excellent place to see the buildings of Hudson Yards and nearby. It has a unique shape and has quickly become one of the Big Apple's most iconic buildings.

Visiting Vessel in New York The vessel has quickly become one of New York's most popular attractions, so we recommend booking your tickets ahead of time to avoid the long lines that often form, and in this way you can choose your time slot and visit in peace.

By booking your ticket in advance, you can also choose the time you'd like to come and be more comfortable during your visit. You can buy your tickets online by clicking on this link.

Book tickets to the Vessel online On the official website for the building, you can book tickets to visit Vessel for free. However, you can only do this two weeks in advance and tickets usually sell out as soon as they appear on the website, making it an almost impossible option to go up to The Vessel.

Location 20 Hudson Yards.

Schedule Daily from 10 am to 9 pm

Price Entry with booking: € 10 (US$ 10.70)

Every day some free tickets are handed out directly at the ticket office, but you have to queue and you can't know for sure if you'll be able to get in.

Transport Subway: Line 7 (Hudson Yards)

#The Vessel #Hudson Yards #New York City #new york #newyork #new-york #nyc #ny #urban #city #manhattan #buildings #usa

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thegothamgazettenj · 8 months

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Martha Wayne is 100% a chaotic art girly.

She embodied the spirit of creative chaos in its purest form, a vivacious art enthusiast through and through. When the grand galas concluded and the flash of the cameras dimmed she transformed, donning paint-stained overalls that were her creative armor. She wore her medium proudly, a pencil and paintbrush behind her ears and paint on her hands and face as if she were a walking canvas herself, brimming with life's vivid hues.

The allure of her artistry was undeniable. She inhabited a world where inspiration was her muse and innovation was her compass. She believed fervently in the fleeting nature of ideas, swiftly passing from one mind to the next if they weren't seized. It was this belief that would see her abandon all else, her every responsibility, to disappear into her sanctuary of creation at a moment's notice. Midway through dinner conversations, she would be caught in a reverie, an idea blossoming within her like a fragile flower seeking the sun. Swiftly, she would rise from the table, propelled by the urgent need to capture her fleeting thoughts. Thomas would watch her, bemused yet enamored, as she dashed to her studio, leaving half-filled plates and unfinished conversations in her wake. Even sleep couldn't stop her beautifully creative mind, there were many a nights when Thomas, would be jolted awake by her abrupt departure from their shared bed, only being left the echo of her hurried footsteps, summoned by the siren call of creativity.

Her studio, a sacred realm that was hers and hers alone, was her sanctuary of imagination that stood as a testament to her unconventional genius. It was a domain of untamed creation. To anyone else, the studio appeared a chaotic landscape, with paint splatters adorning walls like, half-completed canvases piled in seemingly disordered stacks, and brushes and paint water residing haphazardly on the floor. Yet, to her, it was an organized cosmos. Every paintbrush, every tube of paint had a specific place, known only to her. The azure blue paint resided precisely where she knew it would be, behind an unfinished masterpiece, adjacent to a cluster of easels.

The studio itself, an extension of Martha's spirit, was a work of art. The paint splatters that adorned the walls were abstract echoes of her creative process. The half-formed stacks of canvases spoke of dreams that had yet to fully emerge, and the brushes and paint water that adorned the floor were a testament to her fervent process. The studio had evolved into an embodiment of her very essence, an intricate composition of chaos and creativity.

Martha's influence reached far beyond the confines of her studio. In a city like Gotham, where dark shadows intertwined with towering skyscrapers, she was the brush that painted the cityscape with bursts of color and ingenuity. While Thomas Wayne was the architectural engineer who laid the foundations of Gotham, Martha Wayne was the visionary. Her spirit intertwined with the urban landscape, manifesting in sculptures, murals, and and hidden gems of artistic brilliance that flourished in unexpected corners that brought forth Gotham's soul.

Martha Wayne was more than an artist; she was a devotee of the creative, a slave to the imaginings that bloomed within her. She embodied the harmonious union of chaos and brilliance, her heart a canvas on which life's vibrant tapestry was painted with every stroke of her artistic genius.

#martha wayne #martha wayne headcanon #thomas wayne #bruce wayne #batfam #dont judge me #i got carried away #this is becoming a martha wayne fanpage #alfred pennyworth #drabble #dc universe #batman #artist au #chaotic art

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reasoningdaily · 1 year

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Life Without Black People

A very humorous and revealing story is told about a group of white people who were fed up with African Americans, so they joined together and wished themselves away. They passed through a deep dark tunnel and emerged in sort of a twilight zone where there is an America without black people.

At first these white people breathed a sigh of relief.

'At last', they said, 'no more crime, drugs, violence and welfare.'

All of the blacks have gone! Then suddenly, reality set in. The 'NEW AMERICA' is not America at all - only a barren land.

1. There are very few crops that have flourished because the nation was built on a slave-supported system.

2. There are no cities with tall skyscrapers because Alexander Mils, a black man, invented the elevator, and without it, one finds great difficulty reaching higher floors.

3. There are few if any cars because Richard Spikes, a black man, invented the automatic gearshift, Joseph Gambol, also black, invented the Super Charge System for Internal Combustion Engines, and Garrett A. Morgan, a black man,

invented the traffic signals.

4. Furthermore, one could not use the rapid transit system because its procurer was the electric trolley, which was invented by another black man, Albert R. Robinson.

5. Even if there were streets on which cars and a rapid transit system could operate, they were cluttered with paper because an African American, Charles Brooks, invented the street sweeper..

6. There were few if any newspapers, magazines and books because John Love invented the pencil sharpener, William Purveys invented the fountain pen, and Lee Barrage invented the Type Writing Machine and W. A. Love invented the Advanced Printing Press. They were all, you guessed it, Black.

7. Even if Americans could write their letters, articles and books, they would not have been transported by mail because William Barry invented the Postmarking and Canceling Machine, William Purveys invented the Hand Stamp and Philip Downing invented the Letter Drop.

8. The lawns were brown and wilted because Joseph Smith invented the Lawn Sprinkler and John Burr the Lawn Mower.

9. When they entered their homes, they found them to be poorly ventilated and poorly heated. You see, Frederick Jones invented the Air Conditioner and Alice Parker the Heating Furnace. Their homes were also dim. But of course, Lewis Lattimer later invented the Electric Lamp, Michael Harvey invented the lantern, and Granville T. Woods invented the Automatic Cut off Switch. Their homes were also filthy because Thomas W. Steward invented the Mop and Lloyd P. Ray the Dust Pan.

10. Their children met them at the door - barefooted, shabby, motley and unkempt. But what could one expect? Jan E. Matzelinger invented the Shoe Lasting Machine, Walter Sammons invented the Comb, Sarah Boone invented the Ironing Board, and George T. Samon invented the Clothes Dryer.

11. Finally, they were resigned to at least have dinner amidst all of this turmoil. But here again, the food had spoiled because another Black Man, John Standard invented the refrigerator...

Now, isn't that something? What would this country be like without the contributions of Blacks, as African-Americans?

Martin Luther King, Jr. said, 'by the time we leave for work, millions of Americans have depended on the inventions from the minds of Blacks.'

Black history includes more than just slavery, Frederick Douglas, Martin Luther Kinbg, Jr., Malcolm X, and Marcus Garvey & W.E.B. Dubois.

PLEASE SHARE, ABUNDANTLY

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yjano · 1 year

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Never The Same.

Part 12.

Pairings: Jake x Mc.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, angst, smut, other pairings;), traumatic experiences.

Words: 6.5k

Author's note: Honestly, this story is going to be a big piece of work and a lot of angst. It's not connected to the game at all. Because I always want to try something new and newer. Read it only if you're into angst stories, please. Thank you and let's go!

Jake focus.

A serious look formed on my face as soon as I got out of his car. Immediately Kaden got out after me and we exchanged a knowing look. The both of us had an appointment with Thomas today and thus we had driven to Russell's main building.

The two of us were currently standing in front of a huge skyscraper on the outer skirts of Duskwood. Even though the building was a bit smaller than the main building of red crew corporations it was still an impressive building to see.

Anyone who knew who this skyscraper belonged to knew that some sketchy things were going on behind the spotless windows and expensive-looking exterior. Thomas was no saint and neither were the people that worked for him.

The man was powerful in the underworld and while he wasn't on my level of power, he knew damn well how to handle his business. Or at least how to tell the men below him how to run it.

"Come on, let's get inside," I spoke as soon as my guards got out of the car too. I wasn't dumb, I knew damn well not to enter another leader-boss building without having some protection. I had brought four buff-looking men with me and while I knew damn well that wouldn't be enough if Thomas wanted to hurt me. I also knew that the man wouldn't be stupid enough to do so.

Thomas was impulsive, however, he was also very smart. If he wanted to become more powerful than me, he wouldn't be the one who would bring the biggest criminal in Duskwood down, he would have someone else do it. Someone like my stepbrother.

What Thomas didn't know however was that I knew damn well what it was that Thomas was trying to do and thus I had come here with one goal and one goal only. Convince him, he would rather have me as an ally instead of as an enemy. I would make sure Thomas knew he wouldn't stand a chance against me if he decided to choose Tegan over me and Kaden as his ally.

Soon all of us were standing in front of two big glass doors which would lead us inside Thomas's building and a sly smirk made its way onto my face. It was showtime and I would make sure it would all work out just like I had planned. Immediately once we walked inside a few of Thomas's men ran up to us.

"Halt!" One of them screamed. An annoyed look became visible on my face and I looked at the man as if he was some kind of pest.

Once the guard noticed he had just told the most powerful man of the underworld to halt his whole face became pale and he nodded his head to show his respect.

"I'm sorry Mr. Dalton. I'll let one of the men bring you to Mr. Russell." The guard apologized before quickly turning around and getting out of there as fast as he could. Everyone in this industry knew not to mess with me or I'd make sure you would regret it.

A scoff left my mouth as soon as the man was out of sight. However, I quickly turned my attention to Kaden again.

"You made sure everything is perfectly planned right?" I asked my brother who softly nodded in return.

"There is no way any of this can go wrong. Thomas would be a fool if he won't take this deal." Kaden answered before a sly smirk began to form on his face.

The past couple of days Kaden had invested a lot of time in trying to get a deal ready with one of the biggest drug laboratories. The drugs were supposed to arrive in Duskwood next week and he and I were gonna offer Thomas half of the profit if the man managed to arrange for his men to bring the drugs to one of red crew corporation's buildings.

From there on I and Kaden would be able to hand them to our dealers to sell them.

Of course, red crew corporation could easily bring those drugs to our buildings ourselves. However, we needed to make sure Thomas would trust us completely and thus we needed the man to work with us together on an easy job like this.

Thomas would love the amount of money coming his way and he would want to work with us together in the future. He would be told we needed his men to do it to confuse the police but the reality was far from that.

Soon all of us got into a fancy-looking elevator and a serious look began to cross my face once again. Within a few minutes, I would be standing in front of someone who knew exactly where my stepbrother was hiding. He had some information that was very valuable to me and I would do anything to get my hands on it.

It didn't take long for the elevator to reach its destination and as soon as the doors opened again all of us quickly got out. Immediately my eyes fell upon the man I had come here for.

Thomas was lazily sitting on a big couch in the middle of the room while an arrogant smirk was displayed on his face. He was surrounded by at least ten girls who were wearing way too short skirts and crop tops. All of them were completely hypnotized by Russell's presence and were practically offering themselves to him.

On the two chairs next to the couch where Thomas was sitting where two of his closest men were seated. Haden was the tactical expert of Russell's business and the man was a true genius when it came to anything business related. The man was lazy sitting back in his chair while a bored look was displayed on his face.

Next to him was Richy sitting. Richy could easily be described as Thomas's right-hand man. The man was an expert in the fighting, technical, and business area of Russell's business and I was pretty sure that without Richy, Thomas would have never been where he was now. Thomas might be the boss but it was Richy who was the brain behind it all.

However unfortunately for Thomas. Richy knew this too. Lately, the male had been double-crossing his boss for him to take over the business. With Thomas out of the way he could easily do so and thus Richy had decided to team up with red crew corporations.

He had been sending Kaden information nonstop and the two of them had come to the agreement that the sooner Thomas would be gone the better. After that red crew corporations would help Richy take over Russell's business.

Richy would surely be a great ally for us, now the only thing we had to do was get the information we needed from Thomas before we could get rid of the naive man because unfortunately for us. No one other than Thomas himself knew about Tegan's whereabouts.

Thomas himself didn't know anything about these plans at all. The male was way too naive. He thought by teaming up with Tegan he could get rid of me and become the biggest leader boss in Duskwood. However, he should have known things don't work like that.

No one fucks me over and gets away with it. Too bad for Thomas that he would only find out about all of this right before a bullet would be planted in between his eyes.

As soon as Thomas noticed me, he immediately got up from the couch and a smirk became visible on his face.

"My dearest friend! Welcome to my humble home." He spoke in a confident tone while gesturing at two of his girls.

"Why don't you two make sure my guest feels welcome? He's single again so make sure he enjoys himself." Thomas spoke in a sly tone while amusement was visible on his face.

Immediately I clenched my jaw while an annoyed look became visible on my face. Thomas was pushing my limits already and I had to put in some real effort to act nice to the man. Soon the two girls reached me and before I knew it they both grabbed my arm.

"Hi, daddy." The brunette one spoke while winking at me and biting her bottom lip seductively. The other one immediately leaned in and began to whisper in my ear.

"Why don't we go somewhere more private hm?"

Kaden softly began to laugh next to me while an amused look began to form on his face. He knew me well enough to know that I didn't like these things at all. I was more of a business-only man.

Immediately a disgusted look began to form on my face and I softly pushed both girls away from me.

"I'd rather talk about what I came here for. You can keep those girls for yourself, I'm not interested." I spoke, annoyance lacing my voice.

"Very well then." Thomas then answered with a smirk on his face. The man then gestured towards a big table in the back of the room. Immediately Richy and Haden got up from their seats too and walked towards the table together with me and Kaden.

Richy briefly locked eyes with Kaden and both males smirked at each other. Richy and Kaden had been friends forever and they knew each other inside out. The fact that soon Richy would take over this business was not only nice for the guy himself but also very beneficial for red crew corporations. It would only be a matter of time before the two companies would be the most feared allies in all of Duskwood.

As soon as all of us sat down, Haden immediately opened his laptop again while waiting for the meeting to start. He wouldn't risk missing anything. The guy was way too precise for that. Thomas might like doing things at random but he certainly did not.

"Ladies please leave the room," Thomas spoke in a demanding tone before taking place on a chair himself. Immediately all the girls got up and left the room as fast as they could.

A relieved sigh left my mouth and immediately Kaden began to laugh loudly. Of course, my brother wasn't blind. Lately, a certain girl has been occupying my mind and thus it was as clear as crystal that I didn't like all those girls trying to get my attention.

As soon as everyone was seated Kaden began to tell everything about his plan. How he needed Thomas's men to move the drugs to my buildings to confuse the police. Of course, as soon as Haden told his boss how much profit they would make from doing something so easy. Thomas's eyes lit up and a smirk became visible on his face.

"I must say I like this idea, Dalton," Thomas spoke amused while locking eyes with me.

"Consider this to be a deal." He then spoke before standing up and walking towards where I was sitting. Immediately I got up as well and a surprised look became visible on my face as soon as the other man held out his hand for me to shake. However, I soon regained my posture before shaking the other's hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Dalton." He then spoke with a smirk on his face. The man must think that we were hella stupid to pay this much for such a simple task. However, he didn't know why we did it at all. A small smirk began to form on my face as well and I locked eyes with Thomas.

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine."

Mc focus.

A small giggle left my mouth as I stepped out of the elevator and into the dark apartment. I had a great night together with Jessy and Lex and even though I didn't like to admit it, I probably had a little too much to drink. Of course, I wasn't completely drunk, I just felt a bit more wobbly on my legs than usual.

I had always been a lightweight when it came to alcoholic beverages. I only needed two to three drinks for the alcohol to begin kicking in while my friends most of the time didn't even feel a thing yet.

The fact that I drank too much today was a special sight to see. I knew very well how much I could drink before getting drunk and thus I never crossed my limit.

After the party one of the bodyguards that had come with the trio to protect us had driven the three of us home because none of us was still able to drive a car. The man had looked out for the three of us all night to make sure we could enjoy our night while not having to worry about any of the red crew corporation's enemies.

Jake would have surely killed him if anything had happened to us. Anyone in Jake Dalton's inner circle was important to him and thus the man couldn't take any risk in letting us out of his sight.

Slowly I began to make my way through the pitch-black apartment while squeezing my eyes to slits to try and see something. I didn't want to fall face-first to the floor due to a piece of furniture that I had missed and thus I stuck out both my arms in front of me while trying to touch anything surrounding me.

Another small giggle left my mouth at the thought of how I would look right now. Anyone who would turn on the lights now and notice my position would surely think I was some sort of weirdo who needed to be locked up in some sort of asylum.

However, I didn't care at all. My sight was already slightly spinning and I wasn't risking hurting myself. Jake was probably already asleep so I didn't need to worry about him.

After what felt like forever I finally found my way toward my and Jake's shared bedroom and slowly opened the door. A small light was still burning in the room and a sigh left my mouth. At least I could see where I was going now without having to panic about knocking over some stuff.

A small smile made its way onto my face as soon as I noticed Jake sleeping in the bed. He had a serene look on his face and his lips were slightly parted. A calm atmosphere hung around him and I almost got the need to softly squeeze his cheeks.

"Okay Mc, just be quiet or else you will wake him," I spoke to myself before making my way over to the closet and taking out one of my pajamas.

I quickly looked Jake's way only to realize he was still sleeping peacefully and thus I started to take my clothes off. Jake couldn't see anything anyway with his eyes closed so there was no reason for me to change in the bathroom.

Once I changed my fancy clothes for pajamas I quickly walked over to my side of the bed before comfortably laying down and putting the covers over myself.

Of course, I tried to do this all with as less moves as possible. Unfortunately for me though the other still began to stir a bit in his sleep and my eyes grew big. It felt like a crime to wake him up from his well-deserved sleep.

It was already too late however because before I knew it two strong arms circled my waist and pulled me closer to the other side of the bed. A sad look became visible on my face and I stuck out my bottom lip a bit.

"I'm sorry for waking you up Jake." I apologized in a sad tone. I tried so hard not to wake up him and yet here he was awake and it was entirely my fault. However, to my surprise, Jake softly began to laugh before pressing a kiss on my cheek.

"I wasn't sleeping, baby." He confessed before sending a wink my way. Immediately I raised both my eyebrows while a confused look made its way onto my face.

"But you had your eyes closed?"

Jake slowly moved both his hands to my sides before caressing them.

"How can I sleep without knowing you got home safely?" He then spoke before swiftly turning me in his arms around so that I was facing him. Immediately a red blush began to appear on my cheeks and I buried my face in his chest, a nervous feeling slowly taking me over completely.

Flashes of the kiss the two of us had shared earlier today suddenly invaded my mind and an excited feeling began to overtake me. I wanted to kiss Jake again and while I normally never would have dared to do something like that the alcohol I had consumed this evening was giving me a huge confidence boost.

Without thinking twice I leaned back a bit only to come face to face with Jake. A loving smile was visible on his face and thus I decided to just go for it.

Before I knew it my lips touched the soft ones of Jake and I wrapped my arms around his neck. Immediately Jake reacted by grabbing me by my hips and pulling me ever closer.

Slowly Jake began to lead our kiss in a slow kiss while a smirk began to form on his face. I began to try and speed up the pace at which we were kissing.

However, a surprised yelp left my mouth as soon as Jake bit down on my bottom lip. A rush of excitement shot up my spine and I looked at him with big eyes.

Jake however was still smirking and slowly began to kiss me again, this time licking my bottom lip to gain entrance to my mouth. Quickly I responded by parting my lips lightly and before I knew it I was following Jake's lead in our kiss once again. Softly Jake began to pinch my hips and as if on cue I wrapped one of my legs around his torso.

Slowly his hands moved to my butt cheeks and he softly began to knee them. Another rush of excitement shot up my spine and I pulled him even closer than before. I loved everything he was doing to me and I would make sure Jake knew that.

Jake began to speed up the pace at which the two of us were kissing and it didn't take long before I began to moan softly. A proud smirk began to form on Jake's face as he moved one of his hands to the back of my head.

He suddenly broke our kiss by slightly pulling my head back before moving on to my collarbone. A loud moan left my mouth as Jake began to suck violently at it and my eyes grew big. This felt so damn good to me and I got more and more excited.

However, unfortunately, Jake suddenly detached his lips from my collarbone again and looked proudly at the hickey he had made.

Jake focus.

I liked marking my territory and by this hickey, everyone would see that Mc was mine and mine only. No one would even dare to come close to her.

After admiring the art I had made on her. I looked up with a loving smile on my face and I briefly pecked her on her soft lips once again. She looked at me with a displeased look on her face.

"Seriously? That's it?"

Softly I began to laugh again. Of course, I had felt her pulsating down there and not to mention her wetness there and I wasn't gonna lie, I was damn excited too. However, the fact was also that Mc wasn't completely herself due to the alcohol in her system.

I wasn't going to take advantage of her now. As much as I loved to hear the pleasurable moans of Mc, I didn't want to take advantage of her.

"Baby you're drunk. I won't do anything you might regret in the morning." I then spoke before pressing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Now sleep, you look tired." I then commanded and softly Mc nodded. Maybe it was for the best indeed to not go further tonight. We would have plenty of time left anyway. It didn't take long before both of us peacefully fell asleep in each other's arms.

Mc focus.

A smile made its way onto my face as I walked through the doors of Jake's office. Today another meeting was scheduled to talk about Kaden's and Jake's meeting with the other leader and I couldn't be more excited.

I was hella excited to also have a voice in this conversation while I still wasn't used to this way of life I still would do my best to be of any help.

Now more than ever I felt like I was truly a part of this group of people. I and Jake were growing closer and closer and I was very curious about what the next step in our relationship would be. Whatever it was I was truly excited for anything that was still to come.

Even though Jake didn't say it directly to me, I just knew that he was also excited about it. The spark in his eyes every time I and him came close to each other wasn't something I had missed.

I had begun to pay more and more attention to the guy who I had been so afraid of at first and I truly thought the two of us could have something amazing together.

Once again Helena was asked to serve Jake and his friends and thus the girl stood next to the coffee machine while waiting for it to finish a cup of coffee it was making. A nervous look was once again displayed on her face and a pitiful feeling began to make its way into my chest.

She would feel better and more confident eventually but that was very clear to me and not to Helena. For her, she was forced to be in the presence of the people she feared the most while in reality, they were pretty harmless if they liked you.

If they didn't like you then the only advice I could give that person was to run for your life and even that probably wouldn't work.

"Sit down baby." Jake softly whispered into my ear as he noticed me staring at the girl near the coffee machine. Immediately I softly shook my head to get rid of all the thoughts in my head and walked over to the table before sitting down on a chair.

A soft red blush began to appear on my cheeks and I quickly looked down. If Jessy or Lex would notice it they would surely never stop teasing me about it.

Back when the three of us had gone to the party together they wouldn't stop asking questions about Jake and me. They wanted every damn detail I could give them and they wouldn't stop until I would spill them all.

"So as you all know me and Kaden had a meeting with Thomas yesterday." Jake opened the meeting while Helena began to serve coffee. A serious look was displayed on Jake's face and he slowly looked around the table before placing his elbows on it.

"Thomas agreed to the plan me and Kaden prepared and right now we are busy gaining his trust to get some information from him," He spoke with a sly smirk on his face.

"He didn't notice a thing about the whole plan being a big setup." He added before picking up his hot coffee and softly blowing on the dark brown liquid for it to cool down a bit. Softly Kaden began to nod before taking over from his brother.

"Richy is still on board with everything. He will remain our man on the inside and he'll bring us information once a week. The moment Thomas is out of the way it will be him taking over." Kaden said in a serious tone while looking at everyone present. Slowly the others began to nod, indicating that they understood everything that was told to them.

"The deal we've made up for him isn't beneficial for red crew corporations at all, but it is needed to gain his trust." Jake then spoke again before focusing his attention on Asher.

"Did you look into the finances?" He asked the quiet guy with a serious look on his face. Immediately the brown-haired boy began to nod.

"I did. It isn't a good deal for us but we should be fine even with the money we will lose from this." The financial expert of red crew corporations spoke in a confident tone.

It was as clear as crystal that this guy knew everything there was to know about the financial side of this all. No way Asher would be wrong in that department. Softly Jake nodded before looking around once again.

"Tonight, Sam, Kaden, and Dan have another meeting scheduled with Thomas. This time he will visit us and we expect him to arrive around 9." Jake then confidently spoke while a small grin made its way onto his face.

"Let's make sure he'll feel very welcomed."

Once Jake was finished Dan slowly began to take over.

"My men have been looking everywhere for Tegan and Valerie and they have spotted the both of them multiple times on the south side of Duskwood," Dan said before focusing on Jake.

"I ordered them to follow them around if they spot the two again and until then we will be watching the south part closely."

Softly Jake nodded while a grin began to form on his face.

"Good. We need to find them as soon as possible." He spoke in a sly tone while a big smirk was visible on his face.

"Let's hope we find them soon." Jake then spoke before a small laugh left his mouth. A wicked smile began to form on his face and a dark look was visible in his eyes. He was planning something and by the looks of it, it wasn't anything good.

A soft laugh left my mouth as Jessy made another funny comment about how she and Dan had been making out in the elevator before they got busted by some guard. A truly happy feeling was inside my chest and I smiled brightly.

Currently, I, Jessy, and Lef were inside Jake's apartment while talking about all kinds of things. Since the two of their boyfriends and Jake, all had a meeting with Thomas so we decided to hang out together and enjoy the evening.

"You should have seen the look on the guard's face, he was so embarrassed." Jessy then continued her story while softly shaking her head.

"Ohh by the way Mc have you and Jake already fucked?"

Immediately my eyes grew big upon hearing Jessy suddenly change the subject. A deep red blush began to form on my face and I immediately looked away.

Jessy and Lex both knew that I and Jake had kissed but somehow I still got shy about this question.

"No." I softly answered back, a shy tone lacing my voice. I hadn't even thought about the two of us in that way before.

Sure I might have been a little bold with my actions when I was drunk and my body did want more than Jake had given me that night but that didn't count according to me. Whenever you are drunk people should know that you aren't in the right mind state.

"Oh come on, you are so boring." Lex then piped in, a big smirk visible on her face. The girl's blue curls softly bounced up and down as a laugh left her mouth and her eyes narrowed to slits.

Jessy on the other hand was looking at me as if I had just become her new project. She looked me in the eyes before she began to smirk too.

"To be honest I'm really surprised you haven't fucked." Jessy then spoke before raising both her eyebrows.

"Jake isn't normally the type to patiently wait for someone to be ready." Jessy then spoke before sending a smile my way.

"The fact that he does wait for you makes you quite special you know."

A deep red blush became visible on my face and I felt my whole face heating up. Of course, I thought Jake was very attractive and I did like him a lot but I felt so awkward talking about this stuff.

Especially if I wasn't even sure if Jake would want anything other than kissing and having sex from me. Maybe he had other intentions than me and then I would only end up getting hurt when Jake would replace me for someone else.

"Are you a virgin Mc?" Lex asked, a curious tone lacing her voice. Immediately my eyes grew big and I swallowed hard.

A soft sigh left my mouth and I softly shook my head. As much as I wanted to be a virgin, I wasn't. I and some guy I had met in college had sex together after a party. The two of us had been completely wasted and the only thing I could remember of that night was that it was very painful. At least I hoped my second time would be better than my first.

"Good!" Lex exclaimed happily before a happy smile made its way onto her face.

"You like Jake right?" She then continued before a smirk made its way onto her face while locking eyes with me. Softly I nodded my head again and Jessy now began to smirk too.

"And you want you two to be more than friends, right?" Jessy asked, an excited tone lacing her voice. The two girls were extremely excited and they knew exactly what they had to do to get me and Jake to the next step of our relationship.

Softly I nodded again and before I knew it both girls grabbed one of my hands before dragging me toward the bathroom. A shocked look made its way onto my face and before I knew it Lex was styling my hair while Iessy was picking out some other clothes for me.

"What are you two doing?" I asked, a shocked tone still lacing my voice. My two friends however completely ignored me and continued whatever the hell they were doing.

Before I knew it I had a completely different hairstyle and Jessy had picked out some other clothes for me to wear.

"This isn't my top, it's Jake's," I spoke as soon as I saw the way too big blouse in Jessy's hands. A big smirk began to form on her face once again and she send a wink my way.

"I know, that's why I picked it out in the first place. Knowing Jake, he'll go crazy once he sees how good you look in his clothes."

Immediately a deep red blush began to form on my face once again and I slowly took the clothes from Jessy's hands before looking at both my friends with a questioning look on my face.

"Why are you both trying to make me all pretty?" I asked, a curious tone lacing my voice.

"We want you and Jake to have a fun night. If you get what I mean." Jessy then spoke before winking once again. Immediately my mouth fell open slightly before my heart picked up its pace.

Sure thinking about being close to Jake excited me a lot but I didn't want to come across as needy. I was anything but that.

"Now change, we'll wait outside," Lex spoke before turning around and leaving the bathroom, followed by Jessy.

A deep sigh left my mouth and I looked at the pieces of clothing Jessy had picked out for me. A black blouse combined with a black skirt.

The outfit would look great if it wasn't for the fact that this blouse would be way too big on me. Jake would sure think I look ridiculous. A heavy sigh left my lips once again before I slowly began to change my clothes. Let's hope Jake wouldn't think I was a complete weirdo.

A nervous feeling was present in my chest and I took a deep breath in through my nose before letting the air out through my mouth again. Jessy and Lex had left an half hour ago and now I was waiting for Jake to come home.

I had been all dolled up by my two friends. The two girls had made sure I looked stunning so that Jake would in no way be able to resist me. The fact that things like these made me very uncomfortable was something nobody had noticed.

To me, things like these felt as if I was offering Jake to fuck me, which I was. Sure I wasn't so certain about that fact myself or if I even wanted things to happen like this but I couldn't disappoint my friends right?

Jessy and Lex had decorated the whole apartment with candles and rose petals and even I looked amazing due to those two. I couldn't let all their effort go to waste right?

Suddenly a loud ping sounded through the room, indicating that the elevator had stopped at this floor. That could only mean Jake would have arrived back home. My heart began to stammer in my chest and a nervous feeling began to take over my whole body.

He would surely think I was nuts for presenting myself to him like this.

It didn't take long before heavy footsteps sounded through the room and I inhaled sharply. There was no way out of this stupid idea now. I couldn't blow out at least 100 candles and clean up all the rose petals before Jake would enter the living room. He would think I was crazy and he had every right to think so. I thought so too.

Jake focus.

"Baby? What is all this?" I spoke as soon as I entered the room. My eyes immediately fell upon the small flickering candles and all the rose petals. A delicious sweet smell filled my nostrils and while the whole room was very prettily decorated, my eyes only had attention on Mc as soon as I noticed the small girl on my couch.

I immediately recognized the blouse she was wearing as one of mine and my eyes grew big at how good she looked in it. Slowly I licked my bottom lip before quickly walking towards the couch and sitting next to Mc.

To me, Mc was the definition of perfect. The girl's skirt was complimenting her tiny waist and the oversized blouse which belonged to me made her super sexy to me. Everything about Mc invited me in...From her plumb shiny lips to her character. Everything about this girl was perfect.

"I know, I look ridiculous," Mc answered me before lifting her hands and hiding her face behind them.

"I knew you wouldn't like things like this."

Immediately I took hold of Mc's hands and removed them from her face before planting a soft kiss on her beautiful lips. She slowly looked up to meet my eyes. A small smile was visible on my face and a hint of love could be spotted in my eyes.

"Don't ever say that you look, ridiculous baby, you're always beautiful. And I do like things like these but judging from the nervous look on your face I'm guessing this wasn't entirely your idea?" I asked before softly caressing her knuckles with my thumb. A soft smile was visible on my face and I looked at her with a questioning look visible in my eyes.

"No, it wasn't. Jessy and Lex thought we needed this to take the next step in our relationship." Mc then confessed before her cheeks begin to heat up. Quickly she lowered her face a bit and stared down.

"Baby look up." I softly spoke before placing a finger under her chin and softly pushing her head up again so that the two of us could lock our eyes.

"Don't do things you're not ready for yet. As much as I would love to have you all for myself and show you exactly how much I appreciate you, I want us both to be completely comfortable." I spoke before sending a loving smile her way.

"I'm more than willing to wait for you baby."

Mc focus.

Without thinking twice I suddenly placed both my hands on Jake's shoulders before pulling him closer and pressing our lips together. Immediately Jake's eyes grew big, however, he soon recovered from his shock and quickly placed one of his hands behind my head and the other on my thigh.

It didn't take long before Jake took the lead in our kiss and he softly bit down on my bottom lip. A soft yelp left my mouth and he immediately took advantage of me slightly parting my lips by pushing his tongue inside my mouth.

Immediately I began to follow his lead and before I knew it the two of us were sharing touch after touch. A soft moan left my moan once Jake began to speed up our pace and quickly I pulled the other even closer than before.

Unfortunately, we soon had to gasp for air and thus both of us broke apart from each other. We both had a dark red blush on our faces and I began to feel shy again. I had no idea where my sudden boldness had come from but I knew I loved kissing Jake a lot.

Jake made my stomach twist and turn. in the best way possible and I loved having him close. I couldn't even see my future without him in it anymore. This all felt so right to me.

"You know I stick with the words I said earlier but you're making it damn hard for me to resist you, baby," Jake whispered inside my ear, and immediately goosebumps ran down my spine. However soon a small smile began to form on Jake's face as he softly kissed my cheek.

"Don't rush yourself though. We have enough time."

A small smile began to form on my face and I leaned into the kiss I was receiving on my cheek while a loved feeling began to spread through my body.

"I promise I'll make it worth waiting." I spoke when Jake removed his lips from my cheek again and softly began to laugh before taking me into a tight embrace.

"There is no doubt in my mind that you will."

#duskwood #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #jake x mc #mc and jake #duskwood family #duskwood fandom #duskwood fanfiction

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slutdge · 2 years

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The windowless skyscraper at 33 Thomas Street in Manhattan

#brutalist architecture my beloved #i love looking at this building but also looking at it makes me uncomfortable like #you could not pay me to go inside it #but i would love to photograph it and see it in person from the outside #brutalism #architecture #brutalist architecture

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titleknown · 6 months

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HELLOWEEN #12: VALLAS

-VALLAS is a Knight-Errant of Hell with 12 techniques and 53 swords of doomed angels to his name. He may grant the summoner expertise in all types of swordsmanship and war magics, and may provide the conjurer with assorted demon weapons and arms. He appears as a swordsman with the head of a walrus and a sword of white fire with a booming, jovial voice.-

Vallas is... a character. He is affable in ways that are genuine and warm, eagerly willing to invite me to his palatial estate for a tour when I attempted an interview, and even offer a room to stay for "a learned fellow such as yourself" (I politely declined).

But then one is reminded that he is a demon defined by his capability to inflict violence by the trophy room of severed arms. Or the fact that when a break in occured, he calmly with one motion of his sword decapitated the intruder, who promptly ran away with his head between his arms, and resumed our conversation without any gap in his speech.

The entry from the Last Testament was not an example of redundancy, by the way. He literally gives out those trophy arms of demons (amongst other species) for the use of those who desire their power, he finds it a very good business. Though, as he proudly said, he never uses them, preferring to trust instead in his own strength of arms.

He was exuberant and eager to show off the stories of his arms, and I distinctly remember him saying "I got this one in the war you know. I was the only one who was on my side of the war of course, but that's what made it a jolly good war!"

I recall in fact he inadvertently repeated that a couple of times. He talks about various "wars" he's been in, but more and more it seemed like these events were more akin to a mercenary being sent out to die in front of an army and somehow succeeding in cut . But if he was aware, he seemed to bear no grudge, talking about what "jolly good fun" his various escapades were.

He was also proud to talk about how he got his estate in a duel early in Hell's history, being one of the second-born and all, and how the duel took an entire year to a standstill and left the crater that currently serves as the acid pond in his estate.

"Nobody duels for things anymore," he said, "It's all contracts and cash payments now. A lot of rot if you ask me, we left Heaven to get away from these things!"

This was not the only statement he would perhaps not have stated in Hell's polite company, as he casually mentioned he was offered a job as torturer, a high-ranking one too. I prodded a bit as to why he never took it, and he replied "...To tell you the truth, I never had much the stomach for it."

This was after talking about impaling a High Yokuza official on a skyscraper through "a clever bit of basic trickery," and taking all four of his arms. The eyes in the palms of which were looking at us as he spoke. And yet the mundane horrors of Hell's infrastructure were too much.

Perhaps that's why Giobella called him "A beastly old blowhard, but one of the few I think you or I could trust" ...

-Xavier X. Xolomon , Monsterologist and Understudy to The Librarian Of Babel

-------------------------

Fun fact: the base of this guy was a picture I took of a Marth Amiibo.

And yes, for the record, he does have a British accent, and yes it sounds exactly like the sort of British accent you would expect from a walrus-man involved in war and violence.

As per usual the whole descriptions, designs, ectcetera from this project are free to use as you see fit under a CC-BY 4.0 license so long as I; Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator!

#my art #my writing #helloween #walrus #demon #character design #creature design

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grottweiler · 4 months

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Grott and McCobb

Grottweiler: 4'10" without horns (6'6" with) Thomas Hobbes McCobb: 7'1" without horns (8'10" with)

Grott is a late bloomer by gargoyle standards, barely taller than a juvenile. His wings are underdeveloped so he can't fly yet, but his horns and thagomizer (tail spikes) are fully grown. McCobb, on the other hand, is larger than average and still growing. They are exactly the same age.

Gargoyles do not normally use family names, but McCobb is unique in that he was raised by humans and resents his heritage. This puts him at odds with Grott who embraces his role in gargoyle society as a guardian-in-training. When gargoyles reach maturity they are assigned important buildings to look after; skyscrapers, cathedrals, halls of government. Grott was assigned a vacant lot behind a gas station, something simple to cut his teeth on. McCobb opted out of this rite of passage and instead works at his adopted father's law firm. Grott sees himself as a chivalric knight, the sworn defender of his half-acre plot in the Greater Miami area, but McCobb sees him as a glorified garden hermit who needs to get a real job. Grott loves his neighborhood and would give his life to defend it from the forces of evil. McCobb is a force of evil. An unstoppable force of bureaucratic and political evil!

#oc #my oc #oc lore #grott #grottweiler #mccobb #thomas mccobb #gargoyle #grott the gargoyle #drawing #furry art #furry #furry oc #cartoon #lore

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outivv · 2 years

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— Genshin masterslist —

A/n: Hello! I finally did it… I wrote a masterslist. This one’s for genshin, and if you like these works and wanna add to the list, here are my rules right here! Hope you enjoy! Happy reading!

Mondstadt cathedral

S/o that struggles with self image -Diluc

Diluc my beloved <3 - Diluc

Wounds - razor

Falling in love - venti

Falling in love - razor

Falling in love - albedo

Bite back - kaeya

Lab partners - albedo

Homework - albedo

"I almost lost you..." - albedo

climbing a mountain for him - albedo

Artificial- albedo

Nicknames - Diluc, and venti

Random headcanons - albedo

Period struggles - kaeya

Clingy s/o - Diluc, and Bennett

Comfort - albedo

Tea - albedo

Liyue golden house

Tired - zhongli

The end in battle - beidou, and Ningguang

Falling in love - xiao

Guilt - zhongli

Bite back - zhongli

Rambling - modern au! Xiao, and beidou

Date headcanons - hu tao

Dog - hu tao

Scars - hu tao

Princess carrying - hu tao

Skyscraper kin <3 - hu tao

Wow another client! - hu tao

Flirty s/o - hu tao

Slow dance with me - hu tao

Red Bull gives you wings as a person - hu tao

Modern au scenarios - yanfei, and xiao

Stargazing - Ningguang

Nicknames - Ningguang, xiao, and zhongli

Relationships - ganyu

Random headcanons - zhongli

Clingy s/o - xiao, and ganyu

Falling in love - keqing

Ballet dancer - beidou

Inazuma tenshukaku

Chubby reader - ayato

petnames - all inazuma characters

Secret relationship - kazuha, and ayato

Tutor - high school au! Itto

Literally just itto rambles - itto

Tired - kazuha

The end in battle - Sara, and yoimiya

Relationships - ayato

Rambling - modern au! Ayato

Date headcanons - ayaka, and Sara

Dog - ayaka, and Ei

Scars - ayaka, and Ei

Princess carrying - ayaka, and Ei

Skyscraper kin <3 - ayaka, sara, and Ei

Flirty s/o - ayaka, and Ei

Death - ayaka, and Ei

Slow dance with me - ayaka, and Ei

Red Bull gives you wings as a person - ayaka, and Ei

Stupid - itto

Tired - ayaka, Ei, and yae miko

Can I get some personal space? - itto

Falling in love - thoma

Falling in love - kazuha

Random headcanons - ayaka

Snezhnaya headquarters

Flowers - Scaramouche

Random headcanons - childe

Modern au scenarios - childe, and Scaramouche

Random headcanons - Scaramouche

Goodbye liyue - childe

Falling in love - scaramouche

Falling in love - childe

scaramouche being dumb

Khaenri’ah inteyvatt

Chubby reader - Dainsleif

Multiple regions

Picking you up - claymore users

Color of their love - kaeya, childe, yun Jin, and kazuha

Random headcanons - itto, Bennett, sucrose, Mona, kaeya, childe, zhongli, Barbara, beidou, and kazuha

Physical traits pt 2 - all characters from 2.0-2.8

Their s/o writes them a song - venti, zhongli, and kazuha

How they know you love them - gorou, albedo, eula, childe, and Scaramouche

Valentines - gorou, shnehe, childe, and kaeya

Danger squad! - Diluc, Bennett, xiao, and childe

Toxic traits 1 - Diluc, kaeya, xiao, childe, zhongli, beidou, and Ningguang

Toxic traits 2 - albedo, venti, jean, Lisa, Mona, and keqing

toxic traights pt 3 - ayaka, yoimiya, thoma, gotou kokomi, and sara

Romantic rambles - itto, sucrose, beidou, kazuha, and childe

Fall activities - childe, itto, zhongli, kokomi, hu tao, and eula

Christmas Gifts - kazuha, venti, kaeya, rosaria, keqing, childe, and zhongli

Steamer au - ayaka, albedo, childe, Scaramouche, kazuha, and gorou

Letters - childe, kazuha, albedo, kokomi, and Ningguang

Kidnapped - zhongli, childe, Diluc, and kaeya

When you’re on your period - eula, thoma, venti, and albedo

when you're sick - gorou, thoma, ayaka, albedo, and zhongli

We’ll meet again - many… many characters… with so much angst

Eating in front of others - Diluc, zhongli, kazuha, childe, and thoma

Holding their face - Bennett, albedo, venti, childe, kaeya, zhongli, Dainsleif, Scaramouche, and Diluc

Gifts - childe, Diluc, yanfei, and albedo

Kissing - xiao, thoma, Diluc, ayaka, and Scaramouche

fallen angel - yoimiya, hu tao, and beidou

Streamer au! - kaeya, zhongli, and shenhe

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #masterslist #cals masterlist #this took too fucking long

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heliads · 2 years

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And We Will Try Again

Thomas thinks that watching Newt die will be the worst day of his life, and it is. It's still the worst when he wakes up just to have to live through it again, and again, and again. He may not understand the time loop, but Thomas does understand this: having to lose Newt so many times is going to kill him.

a/n hahahhaa oh you guys are going to like this one

masterlist

Thomas wakes, and it’s brighter than he expected. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly. He doesn’t know how many moments like these he’s going to get, rare instances when he isn’t running for his life. Thomas is still on the run, perhaps he always will be, but at least right now the ground isn’t being torn to shreds beneath his feet. There are no bullets rocketing towards his skull, there are no Cranks throwing themselves towards him.

He gets up soon enough, but even that one quiet moment pushes off the inevitable. The sun is still rising on the horizon, giving Thomas and his friends enough time to get their lives together before the heat becomes unbearable. Out here on the reaches of the Scorch, the only schedule they’ll ever need is that of the sun, their hours divided by the time they can survive out in the direct sweltering sunlight before being forced under the meager shade of the ruined skyscrapers surrounding them.

Today is important. Every day before this and every day after this has also been important, in their own ways, but today is pressing. Today, Thomas is going to save his friend. Minho is somewhere out there in WICKED’s clutches, but that will be fixed today. Thomas may have let his friend down by being unable to rescue him before this, but today is different. It has to be different.

Thomas’ meager band of surviving allies has spent the night under the watchful gaze of the Right Arm. Thomas isn’t entirely sure how much he actually trusts the organization, but it’s not like he has any other options. Thomas either needs more time or more supporters, and seeing as he isn’t likely to get the former, the Right Arm can suffice as the latter for now. Vince might betray them all later, but as long as Thomas can get one of his best friends back, he’ll be alright.

The sunlight is already beginning to cut through the jagged windows. The Right Arm set up shop on the outskirts of the Last City, the final stronghold against the inevitable wave of the Flare. Thomas can still barely fathom the thought of it– an entire city free of Cranks? After everything he’s been through, it seems impossible that anyone would be able to live in such a world.

Of course, the Last City isn’t completely rid of the Flare. Not entirely. The Right Arm has been hearing reports that the city is one good shove away from crumbling entirely. People get sick and lie about it, show up to work as if nothing is the matter. Everyone knows it, too, how little safety they actually have, but it’s far easier to pretend and watch the city desiccate around them. One spark, and it’s all up in flames.

That’s not Thomas’ business, though, he’s not in charge of the place. All Thomas cares about is getting Minho out. He’ll have plenty of time for judgment afterwards. After a few last moments to himself, Thomas stumbles out of the corner of the room he’s been using as sleeping quarters and goes to find his friends. They’re getting the last of their gear ready, all done as quietly as possible. Vince doesn’t entirely approve of this mission, which is to say that he’s expressly forbade it. That being said, Thomas has never much cared about anyone else’s rules except his own, so they’re going anyway.

A few hours later finds Thomas even more unsure of his own direction than before. His band of stragglers managed to make it into the Last City, but they ran into Gally of all people. Gally, who despite all odds isn’t dead, has actually joined up with another rebellion against WICKED. At least now they’ve got slightly better allies, right? Thomas can’t believe he’d ever call Gally a trusted friend, but it’s not like he’s got any better choices.

After kidnapping Teresa, something that feels like both a great pain and a great justice at the same time, Thomas and the rest of his strike team are ready to break into the WICKED complex and rescue Minho. Frypan, Brenda, and Jorge split from Thomas, Gally, Newt, and Teresa to help out the other Immunes. For once, success is almost in their hands. It is a wonderful thought to consider.

And it’s a shame, then, that it all comes crashing down so fast. They manage to break into WICKED and find Minho, but by the time everyone’s stumbling out of the complex once more, the entire city is up in flames. Thomas tears from building to building, searching for any sign of shelter, and all he can think is that this is hell, right here, of his own making.

Thomas believes that this is the worst he can endure, and then Newt crumples to the ground beside him. Thomas’ terrified thought is that his friend has been shot, downed by a bullet so close to getting out alive, but upon closer examination the situation is worse. Newt is brought low not for any weapon but his own mind.

When the blond boy forces his eyes open, they’re darker than Thomas has ever seen them, streaked with blood so black it looks like ink. Newt can’t go any farther, Thomas knows that, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to pull Newt to his feet once more.

His friend fights him back, haphazardly pulling his arm from Thomas’ grip like the very touch of skin on skin is more poisonous than any virus.

“Don’t,” Newt grits out through clenched teeth, “Don’t.”

Thomas thinks that something inside him has just shattered. There are splinters of bone lodged inside his lungs, making it difficult to draw a ragged breath even as Newt spits up blood next to him.

“We have to get you to safety, Newt,” Thomas pleads, “Just come with me.”

Newt shakes his head once, a violent back and forth more suited to an animal. “Didn’t you read my letter? Safety is over for me and everyone knows it. Just go.”

If there’s one thing that Thomas cannot do, however, it is leave his friends behind. He plants his feet in the ground and stays.

“We can find something,” Thomas promises, “Anything. All you have to do is keep going.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a quitter,” Newt hisses, “I always have been. It’s nothing new.” He gestures wildly at his bad leg to prove his point, the limp made worse with Newt’s sudden deterioration. “Just go, Tommy. It’ll be better for both of us.”

When Thomas refuses again, the last bit of Newt’s control snaps like an old rope, all tendrils of dignity spiraling into endless nothingness. He lunges at Thomas, surprisingly strong, and it takes everything in Thomas to not be knocked immediately to the ground. A knife appears out of nowhere, clenched so hard in Newt’s grip that the first spray of blood isn’t from Thomas but the wielder, Newt himself.

Thomas jerks back and struggles to free himself from Newt’s grip. He shouts something about how Newt needs to calm down, to get himself together, but Newt is beyond reasoning now. Newt lunges at Thomas again and they end up on the ground, rolling back and forth for control of the knife.

Thomas cries out at him. “Newt, please! Stop this. You’re better than this.”

Newt’s eyes flash to Thomas, clear for just a moment. “I asked you to stop this. To put a bullet through my head. You couldn’t do it then, but you can do it now. Kill me, get me out of this.”

Thomas stares at him mutely. He has been forced to do a lot of cruel and terrible things in the name of survival, but this? He cannot kill his friend. It would make one last monster of him, one that nobody could fix.

Newt recognizes Thomas’ silence for what it is, weakness and hesitation. “It’s not bad,” the other boy whispers, “it’s what I want. Let me go. Please, Tommy, please.”

Thomas still can’t do it, and Newt’s anger returns in a flash. He strikes at Thomas again, and when Thomas surges to his feet in a mess of flailing arms and kicking legs, Newt doesn’t come after him again immediately.

Confused, Thomas looks back at his friend, and it takes him a moment to process the knife sticking out of Newt’s chest. Thomas doesn’t remember pushing it in, but he must have. Somehow, Newt has been stabbed, and somehow, it is all over from here on out.

The knife seems to have cut away Newt’s rage in an instant. They stare at each other, the two boys, wondering why it had to come to this. They were supposed to protect each other, you know. They were supposed to kill everyone except each other, and now Thomas has broken the last bond to every good thing he ever had.

Newt sways once, twice, and crumples to the ground. Just as he falls, Thomas hears footsteps abruptly stop behind him. He turns to see Minho slowing from a sprint, what must be the Cure in his hand. If he could have held on only a few more moments, Newt would have been alright. The injustice of it sickens him.

Unable to bear the weight of Minho’s realization anymore, Thomas turns and races towards the WICKED complex. He couldn’t save Newt, but Thomas can at least kill every other thing in sight.

When the night ends, Thomas is no better than he was, justice and vengeance be damned. Instead, he has lost one more person dear to him: Teresa, falling through that cloud of ash and fire, gone to him forever. He never understood her, did he? Not as she expected. Not as she deserved.

Thomas lays there on the entrance ramp of the Berg as it flies away, wondering what he’s done to deserve this. Didn’t he try to fix things? Didn’t he give it his all, time and time again until the last of him burned away with his friends down there in the inferno that was once the Last City? This is it, Thomas decides. He’ll do no more good. He doesn’t have to anymore. Every bit of his struggle has ended with the city up in flames.

With such a thought, Thomas lets his weary eyelids fall shut. The tide of unconsciousness will carry him away, and at long last, he will have nothing more to fear. Wherever they’re going will either end him or let him rest in peace for the first time in his remembered life. Either fate seems like paradise right now.

Thomas wakes, and it’s brighter than he expected. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly. This is his ending, then. This is the island, the Safe Haven they’ve been talking about. Thomas is going to come to a world in which he is the Runner no longer, just some kid. He can pretend as much, and to him, that seems like everything.

For now, he treasures the ability to rest. He’ll have to get up later, of course, have to face the rest of his friends and come to terms with everything they’ve lost. Minho may never forgive him for killing Newt, but then again, Thomas may never forgive himself either. In the shattered space behind his eyes, Thomas can still see the look on his friend’s face when Newt had faced him with that knife stuck in his chest. The worst part was that Newt had finally been happy, finally set free from a world that had only ever hurt him. Thomas won’t get that sort of release for quite some time.

Someone shakes his shoulder, dragging him back to reality.

“I thought I’d have at least a little more time to shut everything out,” he mumbles under his breath.

The voice that answers him, however, is not remotely tolerant of Thomas’ grumblings. “Save that for after we get Minho, you dumb shank. Right now we’re still in trouble.”

Thomas thinks his entire body freezes up. He must be still stuck in a dream, because the words directed his way had a certain burn to them, an accent Thomas has only ever heard come from one person. That one person is dead and gone, left behind in a city engulfed by flames that Thomas stoked himself. It cannot be, and yet– and yet–

He flings himself up, eyes wide and scanning the room for some sign. A boy was leaning over Thomas, likely trying to wake him up, and he jerks back when Thomas reacts so violently.

“Slim it,” Newt says, “you look like you’ve just lost the last of your marbles. I get it, next time I’ll try to be a better alarm clock, but we were supposed to set out half an hour ago.” He pauses, evidently baffled by Thomas’ countenance. “Everything alright? You look three seconds from a heart attack.”

Thomas is sure his eyes must be bugging out of his head, but he couldn’t care less for appearances at a moment like this. “No, Newt. You can’t be here. You’re dead.”

The blond ghost’s mouth sours. “I know I’m as good as dead, Tommy, no need to bring it up like that. We all are perfectly aware that I’m headed towards an early grave thanks to the virus currently running rampant around my skull. At least yesterday you pretended we had a hope to find a cure. Have you come to your senses at last and given up on me?”

Hating the look on Newt’s face, and wondering why he’s so affected by it even though he knows this isn’t real, Thomas still finds himself stammering to fix the situation. “No, I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that I saw you dead. I killed you.” His voice breaks over the syllables. “I killed you, Newt, and you’re dead somewhere in the City, not here. Never here.”

Never here. Newt is never going to be here, because his body is lying somewhere on the ruined streets of the Last City. Whoever or whatever Thomas is seeing right now is not his friend. There is no one left for that.

The blond boy before him, though, doesn’t seem to be in much of a rush to return to the recesses of Thomas’ memories. “That’s news to me. Did something happen that you didn’t tell us? You’re acting more mad than I am.”

At least Newt’s anger is gone, replaced by simmering concern. That’s how bad Thomas must look right now, that it could conquer even this brief lack of control on Newt’s end. Still, it makes no sense.

Thomas finds himself shaking his head. “No, I’m not acting. I know what’s real, Newt, and it’s not this. None of this is real.”

It can’t be real. There is no way that he’s waking up here, back in the hideout of the Right Arm, where he’d been only the last morning. Yet when Thomas looks around, he recognizes the jagged windows, the crumbling facade of the building he’d seen when he went to sleep two nights ago. How could he possibly be here right now?

Trying to put the pieces back together, Thomas turns back to Newt, fighting the urge to flinch when he sees the dead boy’s face again. “Where’s Minho? Is he–”

Newt’s brow furrows. “Still at the WICKED headquarters, like everyone’s been saying. We’re getting him today, remember? Shuck, maybe you got hit on the head while we were heading over. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the plan.”

“No,” Thomas says bitterly, “I remember it just fine.”

In fact, he’s already lived it. This fact makes no sense, but neither does the fact that Newt is standing right next to Thomas, living and breathing as if nothing had happened, as if a knife had not pierced his chest a few hours ago. Just to be sure, Thomas stretches out a tentative hand to touch Newt’s shoulder, but is greeted with nothing less substantial than familiar flesh and bone.

Newt nods at him, reaching out to sling an arm around Thomas’ shoulders. The gesture is so familiar that Thomas’ throat closes up. He’s choking on the ash and dust of a city that has yet to burn, too cut up by knives that are still unbloodied in Newt’s hands.

“We’re going to be alright, Tommy,” Newt says at last, “We’re getting Minho and we’re getting out. Don’t you worry about anything else.”

“Yeah,” Thomas whispers, “we’re going to be okay.”

No lie has ever hurt him more.

Despite Thomas’ every iota of common sense screaming the opposite, the day progresses just as yesterday had. Thomas and his friends break into the Last City, they find Gally and his allies. They kidnap Teresa, they force her to take them into the WICKED complex where Minho waits for them.

And, worst of all, Newt dies the exact same way. Thomas is terrified the entire day, just waiting for this hour to come, and it does. Some part of him hoped that it wouldn’t, maybe, that the universe realized it had made a terrible mistake in killing off the one person Thomas can’t stand to lose and put him through all of this again to fix it.

Unfortunately, the universe is less a benevolent watchguard and more a twisted psychopath, because the night ends just as it had the night before, with Thomas watching Newt stare at him with that knife in his chest. No matter that he reaches for Newt, tries to stop the bleeding so Minho can make it over with the cure, it doesn’t matter. Newt still dies, and Thomas’ heart still breaks all the same.

When Thomas finds himself on the floor of that Berg again, arm stretched out again to catch a girl who has plummeted to her death for the second time in as many days, he almost can’t convince himself to care. Why is he seeing this again? What could he possibly learn by enduring this worst day of days a second time? When the unconsciousness comes, Thomas welcomes it like a drowning man to a lifeboat. This time, let him end up somewhere else. Please.

Thomas wakes, and it’s brighter than he expected. He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. This cannot be. Surely, he wouldn’t have this same dream or hallucination again. He grits his teeth and looks up at the ceiling of the Right Arm’s stronghold.

Newt comes again, not because Thomas isn’t waking up, but because of the tortured scream that echoes out of Thomas’ corner of the room. The blond boy’s eyes are wide as he stares at Thomas, eyeing him like a rabid dog about to bite.

“Easy, Thomas. What’s going on?” Newt asks, voice wavering even as he tries to keep it steady.

Thomas almost screams again. It’s worse this time, having been through it twice. He can’t do it a third time, he can’t. “You’re not real, this isn’t real, none of this is real. Let me out. I get it, alright? I get it. I messed up somewhere and this is what I deserve for it. Just let me go.”

Newt flinches back. “What’s going on? Did something happen that you didn’t tell us? You’re acting more mad than I am.”

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Thomas hisses, “and you’re probably going to say it tomorrow, right? Tomorrow and tomorrow and every single day after that, because I can’t get rid of this. What am I supposed to do, Newt?” His voice breaks. “What am I supposed to do?”

Newt’s face grows soft in the way that a heart smooths before it breaks, how Minho had looked at Thomas when he showed up too late with the Cure, how Brenda had looked at him when Teresa fell from that roof. It’s the look you give somebody when you know there’s nothing you can do to help them, nothing but watch them disintegrate under the weight of their own grief.

“Listen,” he says carefully, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it’s going to be alright. You probably had a bad dream or something, but today is okay. We’re getting Minho, and we’re getting out. Don’t you worry about anything else.”

It sounds familiar, but then again, everything does. Thomas nods and spews some nonsense about how he had a nightmare. Newt is content to leave the matter be after that, even though they both know it’s nothing but klunk. Thomas is lying through his teeth, but so long as he’s functional enough to get Minho, nothing could possibly be the matter.

Thomas wakes, and it’s brighter than he expected. He closes his eyes and tries not to make a sound. If he pretends nothing is the matter, maybe this will all go away. If he thinks about that Safe Haven and nothing else, maybe he’ll actually wake up there and not under the light streaming out of the jagged windows of the Right Arm’s hideout. Maybe nothing else will matter.

Someone shakes his shoulder, dragging him back to reality.

“I know, I know,” Thomas says, still keeping his eyes locked shut, “We were supposed to leave half an hour ago.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” the voice says, baffled, “and if you know it so well, why aren’t you up yet?”

Because Thomas keeps killing his best friend every single night and it’s killing him in return, he wants to say. Instead, he just mumbles something about having woken up only a few seconds ago. When he opens his eyes at last, Newt is shrugging and walking away from him. It takes everything in Thomas for him to not race after the boy, just to get a few more moments of Newt with his mind still mostly intact if anything else.

Thomas tests out a theory that day and the next, that if he does this right, everything might go back to normal. If Thomas acts exactly as he had the first day, maybe he’ll solve a glitch or something and tomorrow will finally come. He racks his brain for the precise words he’d said, where he’d been at every single moment.

No matter how hard he tries to get it right, though, Thomas still wakes and it’s still brighter than he expected. He’s getting sick of not expecting it by now, though, and no matter how many times he’s sure he’s doing everything he had the first time around, Thomas still opens his eyes to find the broken realm of the Right Arm standing firm around him.

It occurs to Thomas somewhat later that perhaps by doing it right, he shouldn’t be striving for accuracy from that first day but actually doing it right and saving Newt. So, Thomas launches his next impossible task and does everything in his power to get Newt out of this alive. Maybe that’s why he was here in the first place, to right an unavoidable wrong and save the one person Thomas has ever known who truly deserved to live.

He spends weeks at it, trying to figure out the one thing that needs to change for Newt to survive. Thomas takes on tasks that had previously been Newt’s in the hopes of giving him less to worry about and thus giving Newt more time to fight the Flare. He tries not to fall asleep in the Berg in the hopes of physically forcing himself over to the next day, but he blinks by accident and wakes up in the Right Arm hideout again.

At one point, Thomas knocks Newt out before they go into the WICKED complex in the hopes of finding him later, but no good. Another day, Thomas chooses to get the cure instead of Minho so he could sprint and get it that much faster, and this time it’s Minho who kills Newt and not Thomas.

Every combination of things to say and do is wrong, and what might be months later Thomas wakes up to it being brighter than he expected and starts screaming again. He can’t get it right, he can’t do anything to stop this. Frypan runs in on Newt’s directions and tries to calm Thomas down, but nothing works. Nothing works indeed, because Thomas has been given the chance of several lifetimes and yet no matter what he does, he can’t save Newt. He can’t save anyone.

Frypan has his arms around Thomas, trying to stop the screams from ceaselessly building in his chest. Thomas can see it in his friend’s eyes, how Fry wonders if Thomas is now going insane as well. He wishes, Thomas wants to say, he wishes that could happen. Let Thomas get the Flare and finally be damned dead instead of waking up here again after another failure.

He gives up on saving Newt after that, and this time, doing it right means trying to absolve himself of guilt. Thomas is selfish like that, selfish in that he’s trying to save himself, and right now that means fixing his memories so that the last words Thomas ever says to the only boy who has ever mattered are good.

Thomas tries to do it right, to hold Newt close and tell him it’s okay, that he knows how this ends and Newt has always, always been the best of friends to him. Thomas tries to make sense out of all this chaos and give Newt a proper end. Thomas tries, and he ends up with Newt’s knife sticking out of his own chest this time, because the madness currently taking up space in his friend’s mind does not care about clean cut endings. All the Flare wants to do is destroy everything in sight, and that involves things that should be done right.

After endless days of waking and it being brighter than he expected, Thomas stops fighting. He repeats each moment in an endless haze, having no idea what had been done recently and what was the first day of this loop. All he knows is the jagged light of the Right Arm stronghold reminding Thomas that he will never make it out, of getting Gally and Teresa and Minho, of watching that knife appear in Newt’s chest like a sickening magic trick every single day without fail.

It’s funny that this is all the time it took for Thomas’ heart to leave him. Back in the Maze, Thomas had seen all of the Gladers and their exhaustion of the trap they could never leave and scorned it. He had broken out of that place in no time flat, because that’s what Thomas does best, he finds answers to impossible problems.

This, though? This is how he breaks. It makes Thomas wonder if this is what he would have become had he been unable to find a way out of the Maze, if he would have joined Gally and Minho in knowing that there was absolutely nothing they could do to free themselves. He would have laughed at Greenies who thought that there could have been an escape just like Thomas once had, and gone to bed for a dreamless sleep of worlds that would never be his.

What is the difference, then? What is it about this place that makes Thomas give up all hope, that makes him never want to try at anything again? The answer strikes him after a while: Newt. Back in the Maze, Thomas never had to doubt the blond boy’s presence. They were inseparable, thick as thieves even after only a few days of knowing each other.

Thomas didn’t realize it then, but he depended on Newt to live and breathe. Newt truly is the glue, as WICKED predicted, and now that Thomas has to consider a world in which he doesn’t have Newt by his side, it’s like his brain refuses to function. No heart, no head, and Thomas doesn’t know how to make himself work without the one person who always believed in him the most.

If this is how madness starts, Thomas wouldn’t be surprised to see it happen to him. One day, Thomas wakes up earlier than usual. It isn’t quite as bright as he’s now come to expect, and for a moment he entertained a brief hope that maybe he finally triggered some ending and he finally gets to wake up on a day that isn’t this.

When he saw the familiar broken glass and crumbing walls, though, he knew. For some reason, although Thomas has long since given up thoughts of ever making it out of here, this one brief change in schedule broke him afresh.

Thomas gets up, treading carefully so as to not make a sound. The rest of the Right Arm is still asleep, it’s probably just an hour or so after midnight. Thomas walks out the door of the room he’s been sleeping in and almost makes it down the hall before a silhouette appears out of nowhere and joins him.

Thomas looks to his side, surprised, but Newt’s footsteps don’t slow. Thomas follows him past endless rows of doors and rooms, both of them walking as quietly as they can until they end up outside. It’s usually a death wish to poke your head out of any shelter around here, but it’s early enough that neither of them care much.

“Bad dream?” Newt asks after a fair amount of time in silence.

“You could say that,” Thomas says, verging on a laugh that would reveal him as almost mad.

Newt lifts a shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about today,” he says softly, “Wondering how it will all go down. I’m not sure that I’m going to make it out.”

Thomas’ breath catches in his throat. Does he know– could he possibly–

But Thomas’ wildest hopes are banished in an instant when Newt continues speaking. “I know that the virus currently rattling around inside my head is a ticking time bomb, we all know that. Today is going to be rough. I just need to know that– well, if things go wrong, you’re going to be alright.”

“I can’t promise that,” Thomas replies. It’s the easiest truth he’s ever said.

Newt sighs. “I’m not asking you to mourn. I just need you to tell me that if this plan goes south, you won’t stick around and try to save me. I’m damned, Thomas, and you bloody well know it. If you have a choice between saving yourself or trying to pull me out, I need you to pick yourself.”

Thomas shakes his head. “Not a chance.”

Newt’s brow knits with exasperation. “This shouldn’t be a difficult choice to make. I’m not asking you to do anything right now, just promise me this. Give me one less thing to worry about, alright?”

“Not a chance,” Thomas repeats, “I don’t care if it’s for your conscience, I’m not leaving you. Not in a million years.”

Even if it takes that long, and at this rate, it might. Thomas could spend millions and billions of years in this loop, and in all that future and all of the past Thomas has already had, Thomas has never left. Not once. He has had plenty of chances to hijack a Berg for a day or run as far as he can, but Thomas has always played by the script. Maybe it’s because he’s afraid of the one day he changes things being his last day in the loop, and Thomas would ruin his last chance to see Newt because of some idle fascination, but the fact remains. Even in the months he’s spent in this one day, Thomas has never left Newt, and he doesn’t plan to, either.

Newt, however, doesn’t know any of this, and he just fixes Thomas with that same irritated grin that Thomas thinks he’ll miss more than anything. “Can’t you just go along with it, you shank? You’re always on my nerves, aren’t you? Sometimes I think it’s all you know how to do.”

“Rude,” Thomas retorts, “I’m an excellent friend. I–”

I killed you. That’s what comes to his mind at first, that repeat memory of the knife in Newt’s chest, and it takes everything in Thomas to keep the ugly syllables at bay.

Despite his best attempts at keeping his silence, Newt still seems to pick up on the fact that Thomas is holding something back. He reaches out an arm to sling around Thomas’ shoulders and, after fixing Thomas with one more solemn glance, turns towards the horizon.

“Hey, don’t worry. We’re going to be alright, Tommy,” Newt says at last, “We’re getting Minho and we’re getting out. Don’t you worry about anything else.”

Thomas follows the other boy’s gaze and stares out at the horizon. They’ve got a pretty good view from here, a rolling hillscape of desert dunes and ruined houses. It’s certainly not the stuff of painted museum landscapes, but it still seems pretty good to Thomas all the same. It’s peaceful, for once. It’s quiet. Just the two of them and the world that seems content to destroy all they hold dear.

Thomas drags his attention away from the surroundings and back to Newt. The other boy is still looking over at the buildings surrounding them, and in this brief moment of tranquility Thomas can watch the sunrise as it’s reflected in Newt’s eyes. His hair is still pale blond, but it’s colored over with gold as the sun comes up.

Newt turns, somehow conscious of Thomas’ stare. Thomas turns away quickly, pretending he’s still invested in the horizon, but he can hear Newt’s dry chuckle by his side anyway. Caught.

They stay there a while longer, perhaps an hour or two without a single spoken word, and when they finally head inside, Thomas feels light for once. He still knows what’s coming for him tonight, as with every other night, but it’s distant, just another speck on the horizon still stretching out behind him.

Despite his promises of self assured contentment, Thomas still feels the dread engulf him when the Last City burns. When Newt loses his last strains of control and lunges at Thomas with the knife, hot tears start to course from his eyes even before the blade enters the blond boy’s chest. Isn’t this the worst part of it, then, knowing how it all ends and being utterly unable to stop it?

When Newt dies for what could be the hundredth time, Thomas is shaking. This time, he catches Newt before he hits the ground. Thomas can feel Newt’s arm slung across his shoulders this morning as he cradles the body in his arms before setting it on the ground. The hands that had gripped him so fiercely at sunrise are motionless now, painted over with dark veins that always seem to come out of nowhere.

Thomas kneels down by his friend’s body, palms wet with blood, and at last, he knows. He knows why he can’t seem to make it out of this loop. It’s because, in a way, he doesn’t want to leave it. In this one last day, Thomas still has Newt by his side, and if he leaves, if he goes into the future and lets this day go, he won’t.

This is the last possible instance in which Thomas can wake up and have Newt by his side, and so he stays. He is the one making sure he gets day after day after day with Newt, because Thomas needs him more than he can breathe. Because he loves him.

He loves Newt. At last, something that makes sense in this twisted world. In a way, Thomas supposes that he’s known it all along. How could he not? Thomas has loved Newt in every incarnation; the wryly smiling Track-Hoe who greeted him when Thomas first came out of the Box, the determined traveler in the Scorch, the tortured boy who’d slowly lost his mind.

Even the versions of Newt that Thomas never got the chance to meet– the Runner who’d thrown himself from the top of the Maze, the kid who still laughed like he had nothing to lose all those years ago when WICKED first took him in, they are all Thomas’ to treasure.

Thomas sits there on the ground and thinks. He thinks about what a life he could have led, had everything not gone disastrously wrong. Perhaps there was a life like that for Thomas and Newt before all of this, back when they hadn’t yet had the Swipe implanted in their heads and WICKED hadn’t yet robbed them of their memories. It is the only consolation he will ever have, picturing that at some point the Thomas of his past could have had the life that the Thomas of his present and future will never have again.

Minho finds him there, curled up in a pool of Newt’s blood, and his face cracks in half with the weight of his grief. Thomas raises himself slowly, pulling each limb up one by one until he’s standing again.

“It’s time to go,” Thomas says simply, and Minho nods once and lets him leave.

Thomas does what he must that night to ensure that he’ll pass out on the Berg. For once, his mind is tranquil when the unconsciousness comes. Thomas is thinking about all that he’s going to say tomorrow when he wakes up in the hideout of the Right Arm and can finally give Newt the goodbye he deserves. It does not even occur to him that the day might not loop again.

Thomas does not know that he has ever been more happy to wake up and have the light bursting through the jagged windows be far more bright than he expected. He gets up on time, passing Newt out in the hallway, who doesn’t have to wake him up or bear witness to Thomas breaking down again. Thomas goes throughout the day by memory, and it all goes exactly according to plan.

With all his extra time, though, Thomas still pushes it off– the goodbye, the revelation. Some part of him doesn’t want to spoil this, the knowing. Thomas finds joy in walking next to Newt, in looking at him, at watching the sun trace golden patterns across his skin. Is it always better to know, then? Thomas might have to agree; he has never had more delight than when he can look at the blond boy and be certain that this is the one person he will love until Thomas dies and can see Newt again at last.

Night falls; the city burns. He meets Newt outside of the WICKED headquarters, and their friends all run to their respective corners of the city for their final tasks. Thomas gifts Newt the knife he needs. It came from Thomas’ belt, the knife that Newt uses to attack him; Thomas only learned that in the last few weeks. He had previously assumed it to be Newt’s, but it isn’t. Newt had always taken the knife from him to begin the assault, but Thomas gives it up freely this time.

Thomas shouts something to Newt across the blur of the knife slashing between them. It’s an I-love-you, a goodbye, a cry of regret and acceptance all in one. Newt’s head jerks up and he stares at Thomas, finally seeing him for the first time since they broke Minho out. A smile touches at the corners of the blond boy’s lips, dragging them up, cracked and bloody, until Newt looks like the same boy who had met Thomas at the opening of the Box when everything first began.

The light in Newt’s eyes dims somewhat when the knife slides into his chest, but the shine is still bright even as the last of his heartbeats fade into nothingness. Newt took Thomas’ hand before he falls completely still, their fingers curled together over the handle of the blade. Perhaps the knife entered Newt’s heart by accident, perhaps they pushed it there together. Thomas will have the rest of his life to wonder.

When Thomas closes his eyes on the Berg, he thinks of nothing at all. He has spent all of these repeated days thinking that this must surely be the last time he’ll loop through the same day, and yet this time he knows for certain that this is it. Thomas can feel it like a tug in his gut, a shaft of cold through his chest, that this is the final sight he can capture of the Last City scorching itself to ashes. Thomas keeps his eyes open as long as he can until the city is out of sight, and then at last he allows himself to rest.

Thomas wakes, and it is dark, dark and peaceful. He can hear a sound at the edge of his consciousness. It takes him a few moments, and then he is able to identify it, the crashing of waves against a beach. Thomas drags in one deep breath and opens his eyes. There’s a woven roof above his head, some sort of structure that did not make up the hideout of the Right Arm and is thus proof that the endless loop has ended.

This is it, then. No more repeat days. Thomas mourns what he had and smiles over what he has gained in turn. He will never see Newt again, not beyond his memories, but he has enough of those to last a while longer. Thomas stole his share of time with the boy he loved, and at the end of it, he let Newt go. He couldn’t have done that at the beginning, Thomas thinks, but it is done now.

Thomas stands slowly, still in the shadows of the structure. This is where their paths diverge once and for all, where Newt stays in the past and Thomas moves on to the future. Thomas takes one last moment to fix it in his head, then pushes back his shoulders and leaves the structure.

The morning sun dazzles him, but through the clouds of light, Thomas can make out familiar faces coming towards him. Minho, Gally, Frypan. Brenda, Jorge. Aris. The girls from Group B. Everyone who had made it out is here, happy to see him alive. Thomas looks for the one boy he knows he’ll never see, and when he can’t find Newt, he moves forward at last. It is time to rebuild. It is time to change, and at last, he is ready.

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