much-obliged-timothy

[much-obliged-timothy]

I read your DMC angst fics + your stuff on Ao3 and I really enjoyed it. I love how you write the trio :)

Thank you!! I adore writing them, so I'm so glad to know you enjoy reading it!

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #15

Day 15 - The Old Guard - Painful Hug

*

Scum, Joe thought as he killed another of the human traffickers they’d been hunting. Nicky shot one that was taking aim at Joe, allowing Joe to shift back behind cover. He peeked out long enough to lay down cover fire so Nicky could also make it to cover.

They were the front line of this operation, allowing Nile and Andy to sweep up anyone that slipped past them and protecting Andy from the vicious gunfire around them. He could hear the gurgled screams of an unlucky man who thought he could escape, only to meet a waiting Andy by the only way out.

They were nearly done here. Once they killed off this group, they could rest easy knowing they’d taken down this particular operation. This was the last cell of it they had to take out, and only a dozen or so remained now. 

“Moving in,” Nicky said over their earpiece. “Cover me.”

Joe watched Nicky’s body across the room from him, seeing the exact moment he shifted to run out. Joe moved fluently to lean around his cover and lay down cover fire as Nicky darted out, his own gun aimed as he took out two more of the traffickers. 

And then one threw something when Nicky’s attention was drawn to another.

“Nicky!” Joe shouted.

The warning came a beat too late. The grenade went off, and while it had been thrown in panic and didn’t directly hit Nicky, it sent a sizable chunk of debris slamming into Nicky. He was thrown back, hitting the ground, dead eyes staring up at the ceiling as the gun clattered from his hand. Blood leaked from his mouth.

“Nicky is down,” Joe snarled.

“Moving in,” Nile replied.

As soon as he caught sight of her, they nodded to each other and pressed forward, gunfire relentless. It was enough to allow Andy to slip, undetected, behind their defensive point and begin taking traffickers out. The shock of a sudden enemy caused enough distraction to allow Joe and Nile to kill off the rest. They did a careful sweep of the room before holstering their weapons.

Joe jogged over to Nicky’s body, kneeling beside him and gently closing his eyes. He smoothed Nicky’s hair back before gathering his gun for him.

“How long?” Andy asked. “I don’t think we need to rush, but we still shouldn’t linger any longer than we have to. No telling if the noise drew unwanted attention.”

“He should be up soon,” Joe said, pressing gently on Nicky’s chest. “I didn’t have a clear view, but it looked like it broke his ribs. Probably pierced his lungs.” 

Andy and Nile began to move around the room again as Joe waited with Nicky’s body. But as the minutes ticked on and Nicky remained down, Joe found himself growing nervous.

“Easy, Joe,” Andy said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“He should be up by now, Andy,” he said, hand hovering uselessly over Nicky’s body. “It wasn’t a bad injury. He should be up.”

His thoughts would not settle. What if, like Andy, Nicky’s immortality was gone? What if, unlike Andy, he didn’t get a warning that the next time would be permanent?

“Joe,” Andy said, crouching before him and cupping his face in her hands. “He’ll come back to us. He always does.”

Joe closed his eyes, leaning into Andy’s touch. “You used to come back to us, too.”

She shifted her hands and pulled his head into her shoulder. He reached out, gripping Nicky’s cold, lifeless hand.

“Andy, he needs to come back,” he whispered. 

“He will,” she muttered. 

But she didn’t know that for sure. Nothing was sure anymore. Nothing had been sure since Booker betrayed them. 

The twitch of fingers in his hands had him jerking his head up so fast he nearly headbutted Andy. His gaze jerked to Nicky and he shifted to help ease Nicky up as his eyes fluttered open.

“Joe?” he said weakly.

“Nicolo,” Joe whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. Nicky winced, but did not pull away, instead embracing Joe with the same fierceness. 

Someday he would not come back to Joe. Someday Joe would close Nicky’s eyes and they would never open again.

“It’s okay, Joe,” Nicky whispered in his ear, holding tightly to him. “I’m here. I’m sorry I worried you. I could feel the internal damage momentarily. That’s why it took me so long to come back to you. The hit was worse than it looked. But I healed. I’m here. I’m with you. Always.”

Not always. They thought Andy would always be with them.

Joe would not have Nicky forever, as he’d once firmly believed.

“Yusuf, my heart,” Nicky said, letting Joe bury his face into the crook of Nicky’s neck. Nicky kissed his hair and just held him, the two rocking together. Joe did not need to say his fears aloud; Nicky knew. Nicky always knew. 

The thought of Joe losing Nicky, his heart, his soul, his world, was unbearable. And it was going to happen someday.

Not today. He had come back. They were together. Joe held onto Nicky tightly, as if his grip could pry Nicky from the very clutches of death itself.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #14

Day 14 - Borderlands - Left For Dead

*

“Jack, how much longer?” Tim asked, his voice weak.

He pressed harder to the wound in his side, wincing at the pain. Blood seeped through his fingers.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, Jack said. Tim just had to go boss some folks at Opportunity around for the day, and then he could head back to the casino. 

The Vault Hunters weren’t supposed to be there.

Tim dragged himself forward as far as he could, looking for any surviving workers. He collapsed against one of the destroyed statues as his legs grew weak and his vision blurred dangerously. No one was here. They were either dead, or had been smart enough to flee before the Vault Hunters got to them.

He was alone.

“Jack,” he said into his ECHO again. “Jack, I need medical attention soon. Where are you?”

He had been answering when Tim first called him to warn that the Vault Hunters were here. Giving Tim directions on how to defend Opportunity. 

But Opportunity had fallen, and Tim had heard nothing since Jack initially promised to send reinforcements and medical help. 

“Jack,” he said again, his heart sinking.

No reply.

There would be no reply, he knew.

Jack had known all along what was going to happen. It’s why he sent Tim instead of going himself. Tim had become an outdated model; Jack had better, stronger doubles these days. 

Tim clutched his ECHO tightly, then threw it. He pulled his hand away from his wound and let it bleed freely.

Help wasn’t coming. He had finally been abandoned by Jack.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #13

Day 13 - Dragon Age - "Death will do us part"

*

“Dorian. Dorian, stop. You have to stop!”

Dorian heard the words, but they were muffled and meaningless in his ears. His eyes fixed on Lavellan as he staggered forward towards Dorian. Dorian held his hand out, his vision blurring as he reached for the love of his life. 

“Dorian!”

Someone hit him across the face with considerable force. Dorian fell to his knees, his face smarting but his eyes immediately darting to Lavellan again. He was still moving towards Dorian, filling him with relief.

“Stop!” Iron Bull snapped, grabbing Dorian by his shoulder and shaking him roughly. “Stop it, you monster!”

“Bull!” Varric said, trying to push him off Dorian. “Bull, let him go. You’re not helping. Stop.”

Bull looked like he might strike Dorian again, but reluctantly released him and stepped back. He turned away sharply.

“Make him stop before I do, Varric,” he snarled, his voice breaking a little. “Make him stop.”

Dorian ignored them; nothing mattered but Lavellan, growing ever closer to him. He didn’t rise, instead waiting for the warm arms to wrap around him and bring him the comfort they always did.

Then Varric stepped between them. Dorian tried to look around him, but Varric refused to let him.

“Dorian,” he said, his voice wavering just the slightest despite how hard he was clearly trying to be firm. “Dorian, you have to stop this.”

“Move, Varric,” Dorian said. “Move. He’s trying to get to me.”

“He’s dead!” Varric said, pain engulfing the words. “Look at him, Dorian! He’s a corpse!”

Dorian felt the stinging in his eyes again. He wiped the tears away before they could distort his view of Lavellan as Varric finally stepped aside, then regretted it.

Lavellan continued his slow, shambling way to Dorian, eyes as blank as his expression. Despite the steady progress forward, he dragged one leg pathetically. The leg that had broken and left him stranded for them to…to…

The sword was gone from his chest, but the blood and wound remained.

“Let him go, Dorian. He wouldn’t want this for you. You know it’s not him. It’s just his body,” Varric said, practically pleading. “Please. Stop doing this to his body. He’s not in there. He’s dead.”

“I can fix it,” Dorian whispered. “I can. Maybe if I…with blood magic…”

Varric grabbed his shoulder roughly. “No. No, he would never let you. It would break his heart.”

“Maybe with it, I could bring the soul back to the body,” Dorian said, vision blurring again. This time, he let the tears fall. “I couldn’t save him the first time, but maybe it’s not too late.”

“Dorian,” Varric begged. “You’re hurting us, too. Let him go. Let him rest.”

At that, the shambling corpse fell to the ground, lifeless once more. Dorian let out a choked sob, burying his face in his hands. He knew it was over, that he was just prolonging the inevitable. But it felt like he’d given up.

Varric put his arms around Dorian. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we lost him.”

Dorian couldn’t respond as he wept into his hands, unable to look at the bloodied corpse of the man he loved. For all the power Dorian wielded, it was not enough to save him in the end.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #12

Day 12 - Dragon Age - Underground Caverns

*

“It could be warmer down here,” Hawke said.

“Sorry, Hawke, I’ll relocate the sun to the Deep Roads,” Varric said.

“Could you? That’d be great. Sooner the better, Varric.”

Varric didn’t dignify that with a response, instead leading them through the twisting maze of the Deep Roads. He’d reluctantly taken over as their unofficial guide after realizing no one else in their party had bothered to study the maps he’d given them. 

Fenris glanced at Hawke, shook his head, and moved up to go talk to Varric, apparently needing a break from Hawke’s antics for a bit. Hawke would grant that he was indeed exhausting to be around in a claustrophobic underground environment. 

“Just us now, huh?” he said to Anders, who was trailing slightly behind him.

When he got no reply, he paused and looked over his shoulder. Anders had stopped walking, instead standing with his hand pressed to a precarious rock structure, eyes fixed on the cavern ceiling above them.

“Anders?” Hawke said.

Anders didn’t seem to hear him. His breathing was unsteady, his shoulders tense.

“Hey,” Hawke said, going up to him and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Anders flinched, shocked out of his blank state. “Anders, what’s wrong?”

Anders looked at him, eyes wide and afraid. “I’ll die here someday, Hawke.”

“What?” 

Anders swallowed thickly. “I’ll die here. It’s how the Grey Wardens go, and I’m one of them. We come down here to die alone. I…” He looked back up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to.”

Hawke gripped both his shoulders, holding tight to Anders finally met his eyes again. “You won’t. You think I’ll let you come down here alone?”

“My days are numbered,” he said quietly.

“All our days are numbered,” Hawke said, squeezing his shoulders. “You’re not going anywhere alone. You can’t get away from me that easily.”

He laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “I would never damn you to my fate, Hawke.”

“So you’d damn me to spend the rest of my days alone, knowing you died afraid and without me?” he demanded.

Anders fell silent at that. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and opened his eyes.

“It was silly of me to bring it up,” he said, forcing a weak smile. “Sorry, love.”

“Don’t treat me like a fool,” Hawke said. “You spent years alone in the Circle. You are done being alone, Anders. I’m with you here now, and I will be when - if - it’s your time. I promise you that.”

He saw the brief shine of tears before Anders abruptly turned away. “Let’s catch up to the others. Varric will be even angrier with us if we get lost down here after ignoring his maps.”

Hawke opened his mouth, then shut it. Perhaps it wasn’t the place for this discussion. 

He watched Anders walk towards the others, his heart hurting. He would never let Anders suffer a lonely, confined death, not when that’s how he’d already lived his life.

But he knew Anders. He knew that one day, he would wake alone, with nothing but the awful, agonizing knowledge that his lover’s time had come and he had tried to spare Hawke from it.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #11

Day 11 - Borderlands - Loneliness

*

Tim was no longer a man; he was simply a ghost, drifting through the living world but unable to interact with it.

He went to meetings. He worked at the casino. He sat obediently at Jack’s side when he was called to. He went on missions. 

Sometimes he went days without speaking to another person.

When Jack would pull him from the casino to do reports for him, he sat in a quiet, empty apartment, nothing but a computer for company. No one would come to check on him. Cameras in the apartment assured others could see him, but he could not see them. 

He had made a few friends in the casino, sure, but only for a bit. Jack put a stop to that, claiming it was distracting Tim from his work. 

He spent his days surrounded by people, but so alone.

Even now, he stood in the casino, watching all the people hurrying around him, going from game to game, laughing, talking, drinking. Some sat near him, eagerly discussing what they’d do with the money Jack would ensure they’d never actually win from this place. 

Tim had hated his time on Elpis. Cursed his team with a viciousness they’d found amusing. Every second there, he wished he was somewhere, anywhere, else.

He’d give anything to have it back.

More than anything, he wanted to call Athena. Hear her voice, maybe…maybe…

Ask her to save him. He’d dug his grave, and now it was his turn to lie in it. But maybe, just maybe, Athena would find it in her to rescue him one more time.

Impossible, though. Jack made sure Tim didn’t know how to get in touch with her. With anyone, really. His ECHO was restricted. 

He checked the time. His shift was over.

He sat down in the shadows, pulling his hood up to hide his - Jack’s - face. The thought of going back to his apartment to spend another night alone was excruciating.

So instead, Tim sat and watched life happen around him. He was not part of it, not anymore. He was just another weapon in Jack’s arsenal, forgotten and abandoned until he was needed for another task. He had lost himself, lost any meaning for life.

And not for the first time, Tim hoped an assassin got him instead of Jack. Anything to stop this bitter, aching loneliness that darkened every aspect of his life.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #10

Day 10 - Dragon Age - Slurred Words

*

Anders approached The Hanged Man, trying to shake off the exhaustion he felt. It had been a busy few days at his clinic. He’d hardly had time to stop back at their home, and when he did, it was usually just to bathe, grab a quick bite, and then sleep until it was time to work again.

So when Varric came to him concerned about how much Hawke was drinking, Anders had immediately felt guilty.

He pushed open the doors to the tavern and looked around. It took him a long moment to find Hawke seated in the corner.

He was so used to seeing Hawke surrounded by friends when he came here. To see him hunkered down at a table in the corner, alone aside from the drink in his hand, was unnerving. 

Anders approached the table. Hawke was staring down into his drink, so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Anders until Anders pulled out a chair and sat across from him.

“Oh,” Hawke said. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Anders said. “Long day?”

“You’re one ta’ talk,” Hawke slurred, tipping his drink in Anders’ direction and spilling a sizable amount of it. “Whoopsie. Wanna sip?”

“Yes,” Anders said, if only to get the drink away from Hawke. He took a sip for show, grimacing at how strong the drink was. “Maker, Hawke, I’ve never seen you drink anything this strong.”

Hawke shrugged clumsily. “‘S good.”

“It’s strong,” Anders said, setting it down out of Hawke’s reach. “Why are you here alone?”

“I’m not,” he said in surprise, gesturing to Anders.

“No, I-” Anders groaned. “Before I got here. Why were you drinking alone?”

“Who else do ya drink with when you’ve killed your whole family?” Hawke said, and laughed without much humor. “Woulda bought Bethany a drink. She could hold her liquor.”

Anders stared at him, then slowly reached out a hand, placing it on Hawke’s arm. “Hawke. You still have Carver.”

Hawke shook his head, then pressed his hand to his forehead, apparently dizzy from the motion. “Nah. He’s off bein’ a Templar.”

Anders wanted to pull Hawke into his arms and never let him go. Just how badly had he been hurting all this time, putting it aside for the sake of his friends?

“Hawke, I’m here,” he whispered. “You’re not alone. We’re all your family, too. Varric was worried about you.”

“Good guy,” Hawke slurred fondly. “Damn good guy, Varric. You too. ‘Cept I don’t wanna kiss Varric, but I wanna kiss you.”

“Let me take you home,” Anders said. Hawke tried to waggle his eyebrows, but only succeeded in awkwardly twitching his eyes. “No, not like that. Maker, you’re exhausting. Let’s go.”

He got Hawke up, but Hawke was heavy with muscle and currently the equivalent of deadweight. Anders had to struggle to drag him back home, and even then, only managed to drop him on a couch.

“I’m sorry you lost them all, Hawke,” Anders said quietly. “I’d ease the pain if I could. And I’m sorry I’ve been working so much lately.”

“You’re gone a lot. Makes me sad,” Hawke said, curling up on the couch with a loud yawn. “Mmm, lay with me. ‘Night.”

Anders carefully lowered himself onto the couch, Hawke immediately snatching him and cuddling him close like a child holds a teddy bear. Anders put his arms around Hawke, resting his head on Hawke’s chest.

“Oh, Hawke. My love. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, holding tighter to him. All this time, and Hawke’s pain had not been their main concern. He always put them first, and still loved them even when they could not do the same for him. 

Hawke was already asleep, snoring softly. Anders could only hold him and hope it wasn’t too late to address his pain.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #9

Day 9 - Resident Evil - Bruises

*

Claire’s heart beat so hard that she was worried she would pass out on her motorcycle. She tried to focus on the road before her, but her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.

Your brother. Gunshot wound. Chest. Hospital.

Chris.

Please, not Chris. He was all she had. 

It was supposed to be a simple mission. No resistance expected. The gunfire had taken them all by surprise. 

Claire had spoken to him just two days ago, listening to him laugh at her lame jokes. Hearing the pride in his voice as he told her how work was going. Hearing that pride swell as he congratulated her on how her own work was going.

He’d seemed so happy. He told her he’d call her again this weekend, and maybe they could find time to get dinner together. 

She could see the hospital in the distance. Part of her wanted to speed up, to get there faster just in case. Part of her was terrified of what she’d find within those bland, sanitized walls. 

She opted to speed up. Her brother needed her, and she was certainly not going to be a coward now.

Claire finally pulled into the parking lot, hopping off her back and running for the entrance. She burst through the doors, nearly stumbling into a startled nurse.

“My brother,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “He was injured. Chris Redfield.”

Perhaps sensing her nerves would snap if she didn’t get his location in the next minute, the nurse scurried away to the front desk. She returned to Claire with a room number and directions.

Claire hurried away, ignoring the elevator in favor of taking the stairs two at a time up to the floor she’d been directed to. She hurried down the hallway, then stopped as she approached his room.

Chris was hurt. Badly. He needed her to be composed and be an anchor now. 

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and forced herself to breathe evenly. She would be the image of calm when she walked in that room, for Chris’s sake. 

Once she had control of herself, she stepped forward at a brisk pace, entering the hospital room. She’d braced herself for the very worst.

So it was a surprise to see Chris sitting upright, smiling as he chatted easily with Jill, his arm in a sling and a few scrapes and bruises on his face, but seemingly fine otherwise.

“Chris?” Claire said in shock.

“Hm? Oh, hi Claire. I was going to call you when I got discharged,” Chris said. “Didn’t want to worry you. Ah, damn, I bet Richardson called you, didn’t he?”

“I think he has a thing for her,” Jill said, nudging Chris. 

“He’s way too young,” Chris said, shaking his head. He noticed Claire staring, though, and frowned. “Claire? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“He said…your chest…I thought…” She was mortified as she felt her composure starting to crumble before them.

Jill stood up and offered her chair to Claire, heading for the door. “I’ll get us something to eat.”

Claire was grateful when the door shut behind her. She was so, so grateful Jill knew Claire wouldn’t want anyone else to see her break.

“Claire,” Chris said, getting up and walking carefully towards her. “Claire, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

She threw herself at him as she felt the tears coming. Chris winced, but held her close when she tried to pull away from him. His good arm was strong and reassuring as it wrapped around her back, Chris dipping his shoulder to let Claire cry into it.

“I had a vest on,” he mumbled soothingly. “Just bruised, Claire. Badly bruised, but fine. I fell when I got shot and broke my arm, though. That’s all.” 

Claire finally pulled away, wiping at her eyes. Chris tugged down the hospital gown to reveal a nasty bruise on his chest.

“I’m always as safe as I can be, Claire,” he said, holding his arm back out to her. “Come here. I’m sorry I worried you.”

She folded back into his embrace. They lived dangerous lives, and they’d both worried each other before. But this time, she’d really thought…

Claire closed her eyes and held tight to her big brother. Losing him would devastate her, so she clung to him and desperately told herself that he was alive, alive, alive.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumtpober #8

Day 8 - Baldur's Gate 3 - "Leave the lights on"

*

Tav walked through the dark, damp hall of the home they’d built for themselves. Torches cast flickering shadows around him, but he’d been through far too much for it to make him paranoid. 

He reached the end of the hall and gave a light knock on the door. When there was no answer, he knocked harder. Still nothing.

He sighed quietly and pushed the door open. Astarion lay in their shared bed, white curls a mess on the pillow and blanket tugged up to his neck.

“They took some of the young ones out to hunt,” Tav said. “It’s as quiet as it’ll ever get around here, if you want to go out.”

“No.” Astarion did not even bother to look at Tav.

Tav walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, giving Astarion his space but staying close enough that the comfort was there if Astarion wanted to take it. He watched the flames of the nearest torch dance around a bit before speaking again.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said quietly.

“Don’t,” Astarion snarled. “Don’t you even pretend to know what it’s like. I had the sun back. I had a life back. I gave it up, and for what?”

“Me.” Tav tried not to let the pain into his voice, but it slipped out anyway.

Astarion stiffened next to him. “Yes. You. You, who can go into the sunlight and see something other than the bloody Underdark whenever you want. I am always confined to the shadows.”

“I know…it’s not the same,” Tav said. All he’d been through, and this conversation felt like the most dangerous battle he’d ever faced. “I know it, Astarion. But I sacrificed for you, too. You wanted a purpose, so here we are, living in the Underdark with the other vampires. Together. I had a home in Baldurs Gate, once, and I’d never consider going back to it if it meant leaving you.”

“And if you tire of me?” Astarion asked darkly.

“I won’t,” Tav said simply, but with a certainty that eased something in Astarion. “I will die one day, though. I’m not immortal. And I cannot stand to think of you like this alone. Centuries are nothing to an elf, much less a vampire. But I don’t get centuries. What time I do have, I want to spend with you, wherever we are.”

Astarion didn’t respond to that. Tav waited a few beats longer before slowly rising.

“You need to rest. You’ve been stressed lately,” he said. “I’ll put out the torches and-”

“No,” he said, finally rolling to face Tav. He swallowed hard, then reached a hand out from under the covers. “I don’t…want it to be dark in here. Leave the light. Come join me, so long as you promise not to continue being so unbearably sappy.”

Tav took his hand and slid under the covers with him, both holding tight to each other. Tav pressed a gentle kiss to Astarion’s shoulder, nuzzling his head up under Astarion’s chin.

“No promises,” he muttered. “Maybe it’s not the sun, but it is light, and you are not alone. You’ll never be alone in the dark again, if I have my way.”

He would die someday, and Astarion would live on. They both knew it.

But for now, the torches cast a pleasant light over them, and they embraced, enjoying each others company while they could.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #7

Day 7 - Baldur's Gate 3 - Unconventional Weapon

*

Tav would admit that they probably should’ve been prepared.

In his defense, though, few people expect to be viciously attacked while enjoying dinner in a small bar.

They hadn’t let up on their attack for a second, pressing in against him to keep him from reaching for his lute or any of his other weapons. Hand-to-hand combat wasn’t exactly his specialty, especially when it was actually hand-to-rapier, considering that was his opponents’ weapons of choice. 

He ducked under yet another blow, cursing himself for not insisting on heading back to camp to rest. They’d been investigating all day, having already gotten into several tough fights. All of them were drained; a fight now was the worst possible timing.

He wasn’t even quite sure who was trying to kill them this time, if he was being honest. They’d made so many enemies between the lot of them that he wasn’t sure it even mattered at this point. 

“Tav!” Karlach said, charging her way through the room to get to him, slamming enemies out of her way as she saw a rapier come a little too close to his neck for comfort.

“Stop the tiefling!” someone shouted.

“You can fucking try!” Karlach shouted back, slamming her ax into a man who tried to get into her way.

But then four more enemies converged on her, all coming from different angles, forcing her to stop and try to keep herself covered. Jaheira, watching from where she was cornered, let out a frustrated noise, kicking a chair into one of her attackers, only for two more to take his place. They were badly outnumbered, exhausted, and in too small a space to try to break away and regroup. 

Tav’s mind was sharp enough despite the long day, but his body finally betrayed him. He saw a blade coming up at him, and attempted to dodge, only for a wave of dizziness to wash over him and cause him to stumble.

The pain was sudden and sharp, making him cry out. He looked down at the blade pierced into his side, gripping it with his hands before he could stop himself. The foolish mistake cost him as his attacker jerked the blade out, tearing his flesh on both his side and his hands.

He stumbled back, hitting the wall, barely able to keep himself up on unsteady feet. He slapped his bloody hands to his side, trying to stop the rush of blood, only for it to gush out between his fingers. He sucked in a shaky breath, looking up as they moved ever closer to him to finish him off. One stepped forward, pulling his arm back to deliver the killing strike.

Tav’s mind had only the briefest moment to realize one in their party was missing before Astarion finally materialized.

The one about to strike Tav let out an alarmed gurgle, his eyes building wide. The end of a spoon was impaled in his throat. 

He collapsed, clawing helplessly at his throat as he died. Astarion brandished his daggers and moved with quick, precise strikes, slashing throats as he went. When one knocked a dagger away from his hand, Astarion retaliated by grinning briefly before sinking his teeth into the startled man’s neck, drinking deeply before shoving the body into an advancing attacker.

His one man assault caught the attention of the other attackers in the room, distracting them for just a moment. But that moment was all Karlach and Jaheira needed to wrestle control of the fight back in their favor, both bursting into action. 

Karlach finally managed to plant herself firmly between the two of them and the rest of their ambushers. Astarion retreated back to Tav, kneeling beside him.

Tav had finally noticed the small group of dead on the other side of the bar, clearly ambushed themselves. One had a bite mark on his neck.

“Took your time,” Tav muttered. He didn’t know when he’d ended up sliding down the wall into a sitting position, but lo and behold, there he was. 

“Obviously fighting tired and weak did the rest of you no favors,” Astarion said, checking Tav’s wounds. He grabbed the nearest body, tore a strip of the woman’s shirt, and used it to bandage Tav’s bloody hands. “What were you thinking, grabbing that blade?”

“I wasn’t,” Tav said, and laughed weakly at how pathetic it sounded. “Good grief, I can’t wait for a bloody nap.”

“Bloody nap indeed, you fool,” Astarion grumbled, putting pressure back on the wound in Tav’s side.

“Astarion, did you really kill a man with a spoon?” Tav asked, head drooping. He was starting to feel too tired to keep it up any longer.

Astarion shifted so Tav’s head was on his shoulder. “Not my finest work, I’ll admit. But I needed both my daggers for the others, so I had to make due. Rather clever, you must admit.”

“Mmm,” Tav agreed. “Clever.”

“Keep your eyes open,” Astarion commanded. “I’m certainly not carrying you back to camp.”

“You would,” Tav muttered, fighting to keep his heavy eyelids from closing. “I know you would.”

“I have a reputation,” he said, but he didn’t disagree. “Eyes open. You’re not dying in a sketchy bar, Tav.”

If he had to die, he supposed doing so with Astarion there wasn’t the worst way to go. He closed his eyes, the pain fading to a dull ache that seemed farther and farther away with each passing moment.

“Tav? Tav!”

The voice was pleasant, familiar. Astarion. He seemed far away, too.

He quirked his lips up a little at the thought of Astarion, elegant Astarion, using a spoon as a deadly weapon. Astarion did continually surprise those around him, Tav supposed.

With the sound of Astarion’s muffled voice in his ears, Tav allowed himself to drift off at last.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #6

Day 6 - Devil May Cry - "It's not my blood"

*

Vergil disliked staying at the boy’s home. Kyrie’s cheerful yet firm disposition, the children running around, and Nero’s skills being put to housework instead of fighting all made him uncomfortable.

But Kyrie had brought the children with her on a brief trip out of Fortuna. They’d only be gone two days, perhaps three if Vergil got lucky. It meant Nero was still around, but he felt slightly less miserable when that was the case.

Now, he lounged on Nero’s couch, flipping through a book of poetry Nero had tossed at him none too gently the night before, claiming he’d found it at a used book sale and picked it up on a whim. Vergil had, begrudgingly, marked a few pages so far as he discovered new works he enjoyed. No need for Nero to know that.

As if his thoughts had summoned the bastard, the front door opened. Vergil did not bother looking up from the book at the sound of Nero’s footsteps coming into the house.

“Any word on Kyrie’s return?” he asked, hoping to flee the house before it was filled with children once more. 

Normally, Nero loved to talk about Kyrie. So, at his silence to the question, Vergil finally looked up.

Nero was staring blankly at the blood coating his hands, stained on his shirt and pants as well. Some had even begun to dry in his hair and on his skin. 

“Nero,” Vergil said sharply, setting the book aside. He got up and shook Nero’s shoulder roughly when Nero still didn’t respond. “Nero, what happened? Where are you injured?”

Nero kept staring down at his hands. Quietly, numbly, he replied, “It’s not my blood.”

It should’ve eased Vergil’s tension, but it had the opposite effect. He kept his hand firmly gripping Nero’s shoulder, suddenly having the crazy idea that it was the only thing anchoring the boy in reality.

“Whose blood is it?” he asked, keeping his voice level. 

Nero’s bloodied hands began to tremble badly. “She was playing in the forest. Not very far in, but far enough. Her parents begged me to help find her. I…I was too late.” He clenched his hands into fists, agony in his eyes. “A demon tore her up. She was six years old. I was holding her when she died. I was too fucking late!”

He jerked out of Vergil’s grasp and began to angrily beat his fists into the couch behind them, like destruction would bring the child back. “Too fucking late! Goddammit!”

Vergil watched him. He looked at the child’s blood clinging to Nero. He pictured a small Nero, walking these very streets, playing in that very forest, as helpless as Vergil had been as a child. 

Innocent. Too innocent to see it coming. 

Helpless. Defenseless. Dead.

Nero had grown up in a town with demons lurking at its edges, slipping past its defenses to claim victims from time to town. And he’d had no one to protect him. That he’d survived his childhood meant he was just one of the lucky ones of Fortuna. 

Had he been caught by a demon, had he cried out for help, none would have come. No mother or father to his rescue. 

Vergil shook these thoughts from his head violently. Nero had survived, and regardless, Vergil hadn’t known of his existence until recently. He couldn’t be blamed for that, surely. 

But he knew now. Nero was suffering before his very eyes, and he did not know what to do to stop the pain.

Nero had stopped swearing and was instead just crying out in anger and grief as he beat his fists into the couch over and over again, leaving bloody smears on the fabric that only seemed to fuel his desperate rage.

Vergil caught his wrist as he went to deliver another strike. When Nero tried to yank free, Vergil held tightly.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s spar outside.”

Nero was breathing heavily. He looked down at where Vergil held his wrist, then up into Vergil’s eyes. Vergil had no idea what Nero saw there, but he nodded and obediently followed Vergil outside.

They began to spar, Vergil allowing Nero to go all out on him, unsure how else to allow Nero to release all the feelings burning him up from inside. The blood was still on him, but his failure to wash it off seemed more a punishment than an oversight. 

He was hurting so badly. And even though Vergil was finally here, all he could do was block Nero’s blows and keep him occupied with a way to let his anger out, feeling useless and angry himself about it.

The world was such a cruel place. Vergil only wished Nero had been spared the truth.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #5

Day 5 - The Bad Batch - Healing Salve

*

Hunter’s fever had come on gradually. They’d been running a mission in a rural area of a distant planet when he started to feel run down. He’d shouldered on, insisting he was fine. He kept up the facade right up until he collapsed, burning with fever, in the middle of their mission. 

Wrecker had carried him back to their ship, where they’d all fussed over him as his condition grew worse. He could barely stay conscious, just drifting in and out of it, often too delirious to even know who they were. On more than one occasion, he asked for Tech. None of them had the heart to remind him in his current state.

It was Omega who finally decided he wasn’t going to get better on his own. Crosshair insisted on going with her to the sleepy village four miles away from where they’d set up for their mission, but she stubbornly refused to let him. He and Wrecker would need to take shifts watching Hunter in case Omega was gone longer than she expected.

After several arguments, she was finally allowed to set out on her own. When she reached the village, she began to question around after medicine, but the place was small, the population sparse, and medicine seemingly unavailable.

She kept her spirits up as much as she could. But as the day drew closer to its end, she finally collapsed under the shade of a tree, put her face in her hands, and wept quietly.

Hunter so, so sick. They didn’t know if he was strong enough for the trip back to get help at home. 

“Excuse me?”

Omega lifted her head, sniffling and trying to dry her eyes as an older woman peered down at her in concern. 

“Are you okay?” the woman asked. “Are you lost?”

Omega shook her head, wiping her eyes again. “No. I’m…” She cleared her throat, tried to sound stronger than she felt. “I was passing through the area with my brothers. One of them is really sick. I can’t find any medicine. He’s…he’s really not well.” The last part came out as a whisper. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Well, of course you can’t find medicine, dear,” the woman said. “We’re very self-sufficient here. Your brother, what are his symptoms?”

“He has a really high fever, and we can’t break it,” she said. “He’s delirious, can’t stay conscious long, and now he’s started trembling. I think he’s having trouble breathing, too.”

“Oh,” the woman said, shaking her head in irritation. “That rotten illness. We had an outbreak here not long ago. Something to do with the plants. Around here, a day of lost work might as well be a lifetime.”

“Is there a way to heal it?” Omega asked, feeling desperate. 

The woman seemed surprised. “Of course. The recipe is simple.”

“Recipe?” Omega asked, her heart pounding. Was Hunter going to be okay after all? 

“Yes, yes, I told you we’re self-sufficient. We make our own medicine. The illness your brother has springs up every few seasons and takes some of the workers out for a day or two while the medicine does its job. Haven’t lost anyone to it in years, it’s easy enough to cure. With me, dear, I’ll show you.”

Omega sprang to her feet and obediently followed. The woman led her out to the field surrounding the village, instructing Omega in what plants and resources to find. When they’d gathered everything, the woman took Omega back to her shabby home and painstakingly taught her how to make a healing salve for Hunter.

“It’s not contagious,” the woman assured as she carefully put the salve into a container. “But I had you make some extras in case anyone else with you gets sick. Some are more susceptible to it than others, but maybe your brother came into contact with one of the plants that causes it.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Omega said, taking the salve and hugging it close to her chest. She felt her eyes water up, fear and relief mingled together. “We already lost one of our brothers. I thought…”

The woman patted Omega’s shoulder with sympathy. “You head to him now, dear. That salve goes on his chest, and he’ll be fine in a day or two, you take my word for it.”

Omega thanked her, offered her what money she’d brought with her on the trip to the village, and headed out into the dark. She had to force herself to move with caution instead of running the four miles back to the others. It felt like it took her hours before the ship was finally in view.

“Omega,” Crosshair said, coming out to greet her. “You said you’d be back by-”

“I have medicine,” she said in a rush, pushing past him. 

Crosshair followed her inside. Omega tried to open the top of the container, but her hands were shaking too bad.

Wrecker took it from her and opened it. Omega collapsed next to Hunter’s bed, grasping his trembling hand.

“It goes on his chest,” she said. “The woman said he’ll be better in a day or two.”

Wrecker got to work applying the salve. Crosshair hovered by Omega.

When Wrecker was done, he set the salve on a shelf and the three gathered around Hunter to watch over him. Omega couldn’t tell if it was her own hopeful imagination, or if his breath really seemed to be coming a little easier. 

“We knew you’d find something, kid,” Wrecker said, affectionately shoving her shoulder.

She gripped Hunter’s hand tighter, leaning into Crosshair and hooking her arm through Wrecker’s. “Anything for my brothers.”

They didn’t respond, but they didn’t have to. Their presence was enough. 

They spent the night huddled together, watching with anxiety and growing relief as the medicine slowly brought Hunter back to them.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #4

Day 4 - Midnighter & Apollo - Sensory Deprivation

*

How do you hurt a man who heals instantly?

How do you torture a man who has had his bones ripped out and maintained his sanity?

How do you steal the light from a man who is married to it?

Midnighter had overcome everything that had ever been thrown at him, ever been done to him. He’d endured it all, and come out on top. He had his scars, but he bore them and did not let them define him. 

This, though?

There was no time. No feeling. No sound. 

No light.

No light.

No light.

He didn’t know if he was moving. No clue if he was fighting back. He didn’t even know if he was dead or alive. He had been to hell, and it was a vacation compared to this blank emptiness. His thoughts were loud and jumbled in the overwhelming silence. 

He wanted to feel his weapons, but he felt nothing. He didn’t know if he had a body anymore. Perhaps he was just a mind, doomed to think itself in circles for eternity. 

Apollo.

He didn’t even know if he had a mouth to cry out for his lover anymore.

***

“You’re certain?” Apollo demanded.

Jack Hawksmoor nodded. “Angie and I have been working together to find him, Apollo. Everything leads here.”

Apollo hated the need he felt. If this was wrong, if they’d hit another deadend, he didn’t know how he was supposed to take it. Six days of searching endlessly for Midnighter since he’d been taken. Eight failed leads. 

One aching heart.

He shook himself. He had to check every possibility, no matter how bad false leads hurt. He straightened up and led the way to the door of the abandoned factory Jack had led him to. 

The door was securely locked, so Apollo didn’t bother with it. He simply lasered through it, shoving it aside to make room for Jack as he stepped in. 

Inside was softly humming machinery. In the center of the room was a device that Apollo was unfamiliar with, an all black thing that appeared to be some sort of tank.

“An enemy?” he asked, voice low and body tensed. He’d dealt with too many aliens and man-made horrors not to be paranoid now. 

He looked over at Jack’s silence and saw his face had gone pale.

“Jack?” he said sharply.

Jack visibly shook himself. “It’s not a- Apollo, that’s a sensory deprivation tank.”

Six days.

Apollo shot forward, desperation and terror driving his strength as he tore the top from the contraption and flung it heedlessly away. His heart dropped into his stomach.

Midnighter lay floating in it, his clothes gone and his eyes closed. Apollo grasped him and pulled him free, collapsing onto the ground with Midnighter held securely in his arms.

“M,” he said, his voice trembling. “M, are you awake? It’s me. It’s Apollo. I came for you.”

Midnighter cracked his eyes open, but made a choked noise and hastily shut them. He gripped Apollo’s arms, then flinched away from the touch.

“So bright,” he whispered. He shifted restlessly. His voice was weak with disuse. “It’s too much. T-Too much.”

“Oh, M,” Apollo whispered, resisting the urge to hold him close. He eased his hold, instead, and looked to Jack helplessly.

“He just needs time to recover. Six days in there…” He shook his head in disgust. “Fuck. Fuck!”

Apollo looked down at his trembling, scared Midnighter. The bravest, strongest man he knew, reduced to this. Someone had finally found a way to break him.

“I’m here. I’m right here, and I’m not letting anyone hurt you,” Apollo whispered, placing a light kiss to Midnighter’s hair, taking his hand lightly in his own.

But Midnighter pulled away, curling into a little protective ball. The damage, Apollo feared, was already done.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #3

Day 3 - Devil May Cry - "I warned you"

*

Nero’s blood splashed to the ground, joining the growing puddle. His body was thrown down roughly, his eyes fluttering open only briefly before unconsciousness claimed him again.

Vergil stood watching as the demon lifted the boy’s limp body again, flinging Nero into a wall like a child with a toy. His expression was hard, impassive, his stance rigid. 

“Wake up,” the demon snarled out, its voice grating. It grasped Nero’s head, squeezing.

Vergil delicately rested his hand on the hilt of the Yamato. The demon flicked a cold gaze his way, and Vergil resisted the urge to draw the sword. He was fast, but the demon had already proved it was quick, too. It could tear Nero in half before Vergil could free him. 

Nero weakly stirred. He’d fought valiantly, but one grave mistake led to the demon managing to snatch him and turn him into a plaything. 

Even now, Nero tried to struggle against the grip he was in, jerking his head away from the demon’s grasp. He had been disarmed, but he attempted to muster enough strength to jerk free. The demon simply tightened its hold, watching in amusement as Nero squirmed. 

Vergil was so tense he felt like he was going to break. This thing was just toying with Nero; it had no intention of keeping the boy alive, surely. Vergil’s best bet was to try to be quicker, and cut his losses if he wasn’t. 

Still, he did not move.

The demon grabbed Nero’s arm with its free claw as he managed to yank it free. Nero bared his teeth and tried to pry himself loose, but his newly regrown arm lacked the strength he needed to succeed. 

The demon snorted at Nero’s attempt, and in one swift movement, it snapped Nero’s arm.

Nero’s eyes bulged in agony, and he bit down hard on his lip, slamming his head into the demon’s claw. His body trembled, but he did not cry out. 

“Enough,” Vergil said, his voice deceptively calm. “Harm him just one more time and you will have run my patience to its end.”

The demon looked over at Vergil. It grinned, sharp teeth and vicious scorn. 

“Fine,” Nero ground out. “I’m fine.”

He was not fine. He was bloodied and broken. That he had not fallen unconscious again was a miracle in itself.

The demon released Nero’s broken arm. It flopped down helplessly, making Nero wince. He tested it, throwing his head back and biting his lip again, blood leaking down his chin. 

In a swift move, the demon has grabbed his other arm, locking eyes with Vergil as it slowly bent it. The snap of bone echoed through the room.

The demon didn’t even get to grin at the torture it had inflicted this time. It looked down in shock as the Yamato pierced its wrist and Nero fell from its grasp. Vergil caught the boy, careful of his injured arms, and stepped back, lying him against the wall.

“I did warn you,” he said, and then he lurched forward with a speed and fury he had never known before.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #2

Day 2 - Batfam - Amusement Park

*

“Oracle?” Jason said as he and Damian approached the amusement park.

“Everything I’ve found points to him being there,” she said, her voice tense. “I can-”

“No, Batman needs your eyes and ears to find the Joker,” Damian said, but his voice was bitter. “We’ll recover Nightwing.”

The amusement park was dark. It had been closed for nearly half the year, undergoing reconstruction at the hands of new owners and with plans to reopen in the summer. It was still far from summer, though, and the air was chilly as they slipped inside.

“We should split up,” Jason said, looking around; the park was so large.

“Idiot,” Damian said, glaring up at him. “That’s how Joker got Grayson. He was alone.”

“He was patrolling,” Jason said, glaring right back at him. “Not being careless.”

“I am aware of that. But us splitting up would be careless, much as I want to be free of you, Todd.”

Jason made a face, but followed Damian when he picked a direction to try. Both kept their eyes peeled carefully for any sign that someone had been through recently.

“Can’t believe Tim went with him,” Jason said, shaking his head. 

“He knew Father needed someone to help him keep his head cool,” Damian said. “Drake is good for that, at least.”

“If he’d kept his head cool, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. What the hell was he thinking, dragging Dick into this? When Joker acted up, Bruce should’ve told Dick the truth instead of acting like it was just a random rise in crime. At least then Dick would’ve been on alert,” Jason said, his voice growing angrier with every word. “But no, Batman couldn’t swallow his pride enough to admit Joker was causing a mess he couldn’t clean up alone. And now Dick is-” He stopped abruptly and slammed his fist into an empty stall. “Dammit, Bruce.”

Damian wanted to defend his father, but his own anger would not allow him to. Jason was right; Dick hadn’t been on alert when Joker took him because he hadn’t realized the extent of the danger or who was behind it. And rather than answer what he’d been thinking when they approached him after the disappearance, Batman had run off after Joker the second he caught the faintest scent of his trail. 

He was punishing himself for the abduction of Dick, certainly. But he was avoiding his grave mistake by pursuing Joker and leaving the boys to find Dick. 

Because Joker already made him find the body of one son. He couldn’t bear to go through it again.

Damian glanced at Jason as the thought went through his head. It soothed his anger, if only a little. His father was only human; the horror of finding Jason’s broken body had scarred him more than they realized sometimes. 

“There,” Jason said, flinging his arm out to stop Damian and pointing at a trail of blood. They shared a look before moving quickly, quietly following the trail along a path. It went from a heavy splash of blood to thick droplets, leading them towards the entrance to an indoor ride.

They slipped inside, on high alert for any of Joker’s goons, despite the park having been clear so far. The blood disappeared into the dark area. Jason pressed himself to the wall and nodded at Damian, who quickly flicked on a light.

The room was empty of people, but the blood continued on, stopping at a loading platform for the ride. They cautiously approached, ready to attack.

A cart was abandoned on the ride’s tracks, flipped over. Jason grabbed the edge of it, waiting until Damian was in position for any surprise attack before flipping the cart.

They both froze. Damian nearly dropped his weapons.

Because tied to the tracks, injured and bloody but alive, was Dick Grayson. 

“Dick,” Jason said, dropping to his brother’s side and slashing through his bindings. “Dick, can you hear me?”

Dick took a shuddering breath. Jason removed his mask to look into his bloodshot eyes, his pupils and wild, unfocused gaze suggesting a concussion. 

“Grayson,” Damian said, breathless. He also dropped to his brother’s side, gripping his wrist, feeling his erratic pulse. He checked over his injuries, relieved to find Dick had tried to staunch his own wounds at some point and slowed the bleeding. 

“D?” Dick whispered, his voice cracking. He groped blindly at Damian, Damian catching his hand. “Safe?”

“Yes, you’re safe,” Damian promised, because he would not let another hair on his brother’s head be harmed. 

But Dick shook his head weakly. “Safe?”

“Wha-” Damian started, but Jason reached out and rested a reassuring hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“Yea, Dick, we’re safe. We’re all safe,” Jason said. “You don’t have to worry anymore. We’re safe, and we’ve got you, so you’re safe, too. Just rest. We’ll take you home.”

“All safe,” Dick said in brittle relief. “Good.”

And then he lost consciousness. Jason gathered him carefully into his arms. 

“Let’s get him home. He needs medical attention,” he said, his voice gruff. 

Damian stood up, unable to speak. He looked at the blood staining the tracks, the floor, his brother’s costume. 

And still, all Dick had been worried about was the safety of his family.

Damian clenched his fist. He was going to get Dick home and tended to, and then he was joining the search for Joker. And when he found the man who had done this to Dick, he was going to kill that bastard, no matter what his father wanted him to do.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #1

Day 1 - Dragon Age - Search Party

*

Dorian rubbed his eyes roughly as exhaustion crept up on him again, blurring his vision. He stumbled over to a nearby creek, kneeling beside it and splashing the cold water up into his face until it shocked him awake.

He peered over, but could no longer see the tents where they’d set up camp. He pulled the crumpled map from his pocket to ensure he was on the right path. There was no room for mistakes, no matter how tired he was. 

Sure, he could head back to those tents and get some sleep. But his tent would feel so empty with the familiar, warm body beside him. 

The damned Venatori. The scouts had seen it happen, but been too slow, too far, to stop it. 

They had to find Lavellan. They had no idea what the Venatori planned to do with him, now that they had him captive. Kidnapped in a surprise attack as he tended to his mount after it stumbled over a trap they’d set. 

He looked up sharply as a light flared in the sky; their signal that something had been found. He grabbed his staff tightly and sprinted for where he’d seen it.

By the time he’d reached the spot, Cassandra, Bull, and three other scouts from their hastily assembled search party were there. Bull glanced at Dorian, then quickly shifted his gaze and began barking out new search patterns to the scouts. Dorian tightened his hold on his staff, marching up to Cassandra.

“What is it?” he demanded.

She met his eyes, her own expressive grave. She held up something, but it was hard to make out in the dark. 

It took his eyes a long moment to adjust, and an even longer moment to realize what he was looking at. Lavellan’s shirt, torn and drenched in blood. 

“We keep searching,” he said, his voice sounding like it was coming from miles away. “We don’t give up until we find him.”

“I agree,” Cassandra but she was, damn her, pragmatic. “The scouts are getting tired. We all are. We may need to take shifts.”

“No,” Dorian snapped. “We keep searching. He’s out there, and now we know he’s hurt.”

“Dorian,” she said, and she didn’t say the words, but her eyes screamed them.

It’s so much blood. 

Dorian abruptly turned his back on her. His hands were shaking. His throat was dry. He was so, so tired.

“I’ll take the path south of here,” he said. “Cover all directions, and cover them thoroughly. Have a medic ready for when we find him.”

When, when, when. He could not bear if. 

He had lost so much. The thought of losing Lavellan was too much for him, especially after being foolish enough to fall in love with that bloody bastard.

Dorian had said Lavellan would break his heart, but he had not realized just how terrifying that reality was until this moment. He pushed on, past his exhaustion, past his fear, and reached out with his magic as he walked. If their own search party was tiring, he would raise a new one. He would drag every skeleton from the very earth if it meant he would find his beloved in time.

Unless it’s already too late.

He shoved the thought away with all the violence he thought he’d saved for the Venatori, and began his search anew.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Emerges from a cave to post a Hawke fanart in the year of our lord 2023 (I’m replaying Dragon Age again and I LOVE HIMMmmmm)