#jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #5

Day 5 - The Old Guard - Pinned Down

*

“Anything yet?” Andy asked over the comms.

“No, boss,” Joe said, he and Nicky carefully sweeping the section of the building they were in. 

“Nothing here,” Nile replied.

“Dammit.” Andy cursed under her breath for a moment. “Alright, regroup in the main hall.”

“We had all exits covered. They shouldn’t have been able to escape,” Nicky said as they turned and made their way back to the meeting point.

Joe shrugged, though he didn’t like it either. “There were only a handful left. Could’ve had a secret place we didn’t know about to hole up in til we leave. We’ll blow the place before we go.”

Thankfully, none of them had been killed during the initial fight. Even if these guys got away, they weren’t a threat to the group or their secret. 

Andy and Nile were waiting in the hall when Nicky and Joe got there. Andy was pacing, looking frustrated.

“I want this job finished,” she said.

“Technically, it is finished, boss,” Joe pointed out. “The stragglers are henchmen, not big players. We got all the heads of the operation.”

“Still. I don’t like any of them getting away,” she said. 

“We could try to smoke them out?” Nile offered.

Andy shook her head. “No. This place is fairly remote, but if anyone saw the smoke, they’d call emergency services. Even if it took a while for them to make it, this hideout is too big to guarantee we’d get them smoked out in time.”

Joe glanced at Nicky eagerly. Nicky sighed, but Joe didn’t miss the twitch of his lips towards a smile.

“We blow it up,” Joe said eagerly. Andy rarely let them play with explosives on this scale. It had always been Joe and Booker’s favorite thing to do to these big hideouts. There was something fun about quickly calculating and executing the best way to take it down in one go. Even without Booker here, Joe figured Nile would be game to help. 

“I guess we’ll have to,” Andy said. “You and Nile get it set. I want this whole place down. No room for mistakes.”

“Are there ever?” Joe said with a grin. “Nicky and I found explsovies in a room at the end of the west hallway. C’mon, Nile, and we can-”

They found out, in a blinding flash of light and a defeaning roar of sound, that the stragglers had devised a similar plan.

When Joe sucked in a gasp of breath, he was bloodied on the ground. His body ached where skin had been shredded by the debris flung about in the explosion. Broken bones snapped back together as he struggled to sit up, relieved he hadn’t been too wounded. He was bad, but he would be able to move well enough in a few minutes.

He looked around, smoke and dust choking him. He yanked his shirt over his nose and mouth and crawled forward, hand feeling for Nicky. Nicky had been right next to him. He shouldn’t be far.

“Andy? Joe? Nicky?”

“Nile!” Joe called, and had to stop to cough as the dust rushed into his lungs. He crawled until he felt the wall, following it to a window and sticking his head out of its shattered glass to suck in fresh air. When he could take a breath without coughing, he turned back to the ruined hideout. “Nile?”

“Here,” Nile called, limping into his view. Blood stained her clothing and hair, but like him, she would be well enough to escape in just minutes. “Andy? Nicky?” 

“Nicky was right next to me. He can’t be far,” Joe said. “Andy?!”

His voice rang through the destroyed hall. He was relieved to hear Andy’s annoyed voice calling back weakly.

He and Nile stumbled their way to her. She’d thankfully been mostly sheltered by a pillar that had withstood the blast. She was cut up and bloody, but nothing fatal and nothing seemingly broken.

“Joe?”

It was Nicky’s voice, pained and weak. Joe’s head snapped up from where he was looking over Andy. Andy shoved at his legs.

“Go grab him and let’s get out of here,” she said. “Emergency services will come soon.”

Joe limped and stumbled his way to where he’d heard Nicky’s voice. “Nicky? Nicky, call out again.”

“Here,” Nicky choked out.

Joe came to a sudden stop, realizing he’d almost tripped right over Nicky. As he looked down, his relief gave way to alarm.

“Oh, Nicky!” Joe dropped to his knees, clutching at Nicky’s hand. “Hang on. Just hang on. I’ll get you out.”

Nicky was pinned down by his legs, a heap of the marble staircase from the hallway collapsed onto them. Part of the railing had impaled him through the side of the abdomen, and blood bubbled between his lips as he rasped for breath.

Joe smoothed Nicky’s hair back. “Stomach or legs first?”

“Stomach,” Nicky all but pleaded. “C-Can’t heal around it. Hurts.”

“Okay. Alright.” He squeezed Nicky’s hand. “Let me just…it’ll…oh, you know it’ll hurt. Dammit. Here, hold on to me.”

He needed both hands, but Nicky clutched at Joe’s thigh as he grabbed onto the railing. Joe took a deep breath and felt down it, taking in its design and just how badly it was going to hurt Nicky to pull it free. Thankfully, it had broken off at the ends and should come out with one determined pull, but it was going to be agonizing.

Joe gave a single nod of warning before yanking with all his might, as smoothly up and out as he could. Still, Nicky’s scream of pain tore at his heart as the railing came free and blood gushed forth.

Joe didn’t even try to stop the blood flow; Nicky was dead shortly enough.

“Wake up, Nicolo, wake up,” Joe whispered, tossing the railing away and clutching at Nicky’s hand again.

“Nicky?!” Andy said, hurrying over with Nile. “Oh, shit. Shit!”

“He’s pinned down,” Joe said, gesturing helplessly at his legs. “He was impaled, too. Prying it free…he’ll wake up.” He looked to Andy for confirmation, eyes wide and frightened. 

“Of course he will,” Andy said confidently. “While he’s out, let’s try to get this off his legs. At least he won’t feel it for the moment.”

The three got to work trying to free Nicky’s legs, but to no avail. When Nicky sucked in a breath and tried to sit up, he groaned in pain.

“Easy,” Joe said, dropping back next to him and holding his shoulders, easing him back down. “We’re working on it, Nicky. I promise. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

Nicky put a hand over the nearly healed wound on his abdomen. “Thank you, Yusuf. Much better.”

Joe let out a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “Ah, yea, much better. Now it’s just your lower half being crushed.”

He couldn’t heal with his legs crushed like that, and Joe couldn’t even begin to imagine the agony he must be in. And yet, Nicky offered him a smile of comfort in that moment, weak but genuine.

Joe kissed Nicky’s forehead. He could hear sirens in the distance, hear Andy’s panicked cursing, hear Nile’s frantic efforts to free Nicky’s legs. 

He could not hear himself crying, though, and only became aware of it when Nicky began to wipe the tears from his cheeks. They were running out of time, but they redoubled their efforts, not a single one of them willing to leave Nicky behind, and not a single one of them willing to leave Nicky in pain for a second longer than they had to.

#whumptober2023 #no.5 #pinned down #the old guard #fic writing #andromache the scythian #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #nile freeman #joe x nicky #yusuf x nicolo #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #18

Day 18 - Baldur's Gate 3 - Tortured For Information

*

Scratch’s barking echoed through the camp. Those who had claimed spots around the fire stirred reluctantly, lifting their heads and squinting tiredly at the dog as he ran towards them.

“Not now, boy,” Karlach groaned, pressing her head to the pillow. 

“Tav, control your dog,” Astarion said, closing his eyes.

When Tav didn’t respond and the frantic barking continued, Astarion’s tired brain made a startling connection. He sat bolt upright, gaze shooting to Tav’s empty bedroll.

“Oh no,” he said miserably.

“Hm?” Karlach muttered.

“Tav’s gotten himself into trouble. Again. And it just had to be in the middle of the bloody night.”

Karlach got right up and kicked Gale, who had slept through the barking. “Up! Tav’s gone!”

Scratch reached them, whining and barking as he danced around them anxiously. He went right up to Astarion, lowering his head and whining.

Astarion knew Tav sometimes went out for walks just outside of camp when he couldn’t sleep at night. Scratch would occasionally follow along to keep him company.

“Was he taken?” Astarion asked.

Scratch barked, tail wagging. Karlach got up, dragging Astarion and Gale with her.

“We’ve got a friend to save,” she said, pulling them along.

“Don’t touch me,” Astarion said, shaking his arm free. “Scratch?”

Scratch barked and ran forward, looking back to make sure they were following him. They took a moment to grab their weapons and packs before following after him, knowing they didn’t have time to properly dress. 

Scratch led them outside of the camp, into a set of trees. It was dark out, but the moon reflected off a stream flowing alongside the path enough to make the ground visible. Astarion smelled Tav’s blood before he saw it sprayed against the ground.

Scratch whined at it, pawing the ground and looking up to the others. Karlach knelt down before him, scratching behind his ears.

“We’ll find him, boy,” she promised. “Can you help?”

Scratch whined and sniffed at the ground. He practically pressed his nose to the dirt as he began to walk along, nose working overtime to find his friend.

“Which of our many enemies is it this time?” Astarion said, stretching.

“Don’t act like you’re not worried,” Karlach said, shooting him a look.

“I’m tired,” Astarion corrected, refusing to admit he was worried. Of course he was; Tav could be a bit naive but he wasn’t oblivious or weak. Taking him by surprise and dragging him away would take a skilled enemy to accomplish. 

They fell silent, going on alert as Scratch led them further through the trees and away from camp. They probably should’ve woken the others up for reinforcement, but it was too late to worry about that now.

Scratch suddenly stopped, growling low in his throat, his whole body going tense. Astarion slipped past him and moved stealthily through the trees until a small camp came into view. He signaled at the others to stay back while he observed what they were up against. 

The first thing he realized was that Tav was tightly bound to a chair, bruised and bloody. He’d clearly been beaten in the time it took them to find him.

The second thing he realized was that Tav was surrounded by five Gur. One, the apparent leader, towered over him, a knife in hand. She pressed it to his throat.

“Be a shame if the bard lost his voice,” she said, the flames from the small fire in their camp glinting off the blade. 

“A loss to the world,” Tav said weakly, but didn’t flinch back as she pressed it just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Tell us where the monster is,” she snarled, grabbing his hand. “Or I will hear you scream once more and then take your voice from you forever.”

Tav dragged his gaze up, one of his eyes nearly swollen shut and coated with blood. He met her eyes with a hard look.

“I will never tell you where Astarion is,” he said simply. “Do your worst.”

She placed his hand on the chair and held her hand out. One of the others handed her a mallet, and Astarion felt rage pour through his as she slammed it down on his hand.

Tav clenched his teeth together, throwing his head back at the audible break of his hand. He squirmed in his bindings, but refused to give them the satisfaction of his screams of pain.

“You would suffer for that monster?” she demanded. 

“I would suffer for that man, again and again,” Tav said, his voice strained with pain. “I will not tell you where he is.” 

“Then you will die slowly in his place,” she said, taking the knife into her hand again.

Astarion had forgotten the others waiting for his signal. He had forgotten everything but the man below, enduring pain just to keep Astarion safe. Protecting Astarion, even knowing that Astarion had only pursued him originally for that very thing. 

But it had grown beyond that. Tav was unlike anyone Astarion had ever met, and he proved it again even now without knowing it. He was loyal to a fault; it was going to get him killed.

But not today. Not right now. Astarion refused to watch Tav suffer another moment.

He brandished his daggers in hand, let his rage fill him, and slipped into the shadows to teach these bastards what true suffering was.

#whumptober 2023 #no18 #tortured for information #baldur's gate 3 #fic writing #dragon age 2 #astarion #bg3 tav #karlach #bg scratch #bg3 #astarion x tav #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #4

Day 4 - Baldur's Gate 3 - Shocked

*

“Must you talk to every single rat we come across?” Astarion asked in exasperation.

“It gave us directions to get out of here, didn’t it? Or did you want to stay in the dark, damp cave?” Tav said, raising an eyebrow.

Astarion waved him forward with an irritated flourish. “Lead on.” 

“Ha! You tell him, soldier,” Karlach said, grinning at Astarion’s glare. “Aw, lighten up. This has been fun.”

“I think I’m with Astarion on this one. Being lost in this cave for hours is certainly not my definition of fun,” Gale said. “I’m quite eager to make it back to camp and wrap myself in every soft, warm blanket I own. Perhaps even invite Scratch to cuddle, just for the extra warmth and company.”

“Perhaps I’ll call my dog for warmth, too,” Astarion said, looking mildly affronted when Tav kicked his ankle and made him stumble.

“You deserved that,” Tav hissed, but he was trying not to laugh. “Dogs are wonderful creatures, so I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” He raised his voice. “I think I’ll just share a tent with Karlach.”

“Hey, don’t drag me into your bosom buddy quarrels,” Karlach said, raising her hands in surrender and shaking her head. 

“Gah, I told you to stop that!” Tav said, kicking her ankle now. “I am never forgiving Withers for allowing those words out of his mouth.”

He leapt over a gap in the ground and climbed up a ledge. Gale and Astarion shared an exhausted look before following, and Karlach leapt behind them and slapped them both on the back with cheerful encouragement. 

The ledge led to another stretch of the cave, but this time wider and showing more hints of life. Tav gave them an “I told you so” look before striding along. 

“Ohhh, the river must pass through here! We’ve got to be getting close to the exit,” Karlach said as they came up upon a fairly wide stream of water lazily making its way along. 

Tav poked a finger in, shrugged at the temperature, and plunged his boots in to cross. “We’ll be out of here in no time. See? Always trust the rats. Camp, here we co-”

The shadows on the wall beyond the water shifted so suddenly that they didn’t even have time to react. Six armed men lurhced out, one lobbing something into the water.

“Tav!” Gale yelled.

Tav was bringing his hands up, mouth open to cast a spell. The thing the man had thrown hit the water before he got the chance to do so.

Tav screamed as he was electrocuted, his entire body jerking violently with the force of the currents rushing through him. Karlach grabbed Astarion and Gale to keep them from getting too close.

The water settled, and Tav’s body fell limply in, sending a splash of water at his helpless friends.

“Gale,” Karlach said stiffly, already brandishing her axe. 

Tav’s breathing was labored. His chest barely rose and fell. Burns claimed his skin.

“Keep them off us while I get him stabilized,” Gale said.

Astarion had his daggers in hand, teeth bared and violence screaming in his red eyes. “With pleasure.” 

These bandits were about to learn just what a horrible mistake they’d made.

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #shocked #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fic writing #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #karlach #gale dekarios #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #20

Day 20 - Devil May Cry - "You will regret touching them"

*

“Hope you guys saved some fun for me,” Nero muttered to himself as he raced through the streets.

Vergil and Dante had left him behind to deal with a horde of demons while they moved ahead to the big guy causing this mess. Nero felt a little irritated that they’d left him on cleanup duty so they could get the real challenge, but he supposed they were hoping smaller jobs would give him a chance to practice with his devil form. 

He supposed he was just relieved they’d invited him along. It was a job they could’ve easily handled on his own, and he’d been nervous Vergil would actively try to avoid him. But Dante made it sound like it was Vergil’s idea to bring Nero along for this mission.

They certainly weren’t a conventional family, but Nero would take whatever he could get when it came to his father at this point.

“Better still be a fight going on so I can show you how strong I am,” Nero said, grinning to himself. He knew Vergil watched him on missions, and for all his grumblings and criticisms, Nero was sure he was starting to earn his father’s approval. 

He rounded the corner, and the grin dropped off his face slowly. It took him a long moment to process the scene before him, but slowly, it presented itself.

Dante was hanging limply over the hood of a smashed car, his fingers twitching but motionless aside from that. His sword was on the ground a few feet away from him and blood coated the cracked windshield where Dante must’ve been thrown into it.

Vergil was trying to get himself to his feet and failing miserably. One of his legs was twisted at an unnatural angle, but he grit his teeth and dragged himself to the Yamato, holding it with determination. 

The demon before them was large with a thick outer shell over its body. It had sharp claws and flames licking up its back. Its muscled tail swung back and forth slowly, anticipation in its dark eyes as it stalked towards Vergil.

Nero was sliding into its path before he’d made the conscious decision to move, bringing his sword up at a small bit of exposed flesh. The demon moved aside with surprising speed, the blow clanging off its armor.

“Another one,” it said, its voice deep and raspy. Its tail moved a bit faster, like some demonic dog getting excited to play. It flexed its claws. “You smell more human. This will be easy.”

“Nero, get out of here,” Vergil snapped, using the sword to help himself to his good leg, arms trembling as he tried to balance his weight and stay upright.

Nero didn’t back down. “Not as easy as you think, jackass. I’m the real challenge.”

Dante was getting into a sitting position now, shaking his head weakly at Nero. “Get out, kid.”

He was too injured to fully dodge the building debris that the demon’s tail whipped at him, knocking him off the car. The demon snorted, smoke clouds coming from its nostrils. 

“You pathetic humans don’t know how to stay down,” it said.

“You will regret touching them,” Nero promised, his voice low and deadly. Maybe they were dysfunctional and unconventional, but this was his family. Seeing them injured and mocked sent rage boiling through Nero.

He closed his eyes, opening them only once he felt his demon form take over. He brandished his sword, an immovable force between this bastard of a demon and his father and uncle.

This demon would not lay another finger on his family.

#whumptober 2023 #no.20 #you will regret touching them #devil may cry #fic writing #dmc nero #dmc vergil #dmc dante #nero sparda #dante sparda #vergil sparda #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #16

Day 16 - The Old Guard - "Don't go where I can't follow"

I'm late posting this but I am once again torturing my favs, enjoy

*

The gunfire was loud, echoing around the building as they fled through the thick smoke. They clutched hands as they ran so they wouldn’t be separated, Nile leading as she was the only one confidant she remembered where an exit was.

Joe felt Nicky violently squeeze his hand as more gunfire went off, likely having been shot. Still, he held on, so he was alive. That was all they could hope for right now. 

He and Nicky had taken up the rear to take any stray or lucky shots to protect Andy. The pain was worth it if it meant keeping Andy safe now that her immortality was gone. 

Her hand was clutching Joe’s other one, a strong, steady grip. He took comfort in that. This mission had gone sideways so damn fast that it’d be a miracle if they all made it out of here.

But then, through the suffocating smoke and blazing heat, Joe felt a sudden gush of fresh, cold air. He sucked it in too fast, coughing hard. Andy yanked on his hand, dragging him out of the burning building into the night.

“The car is this way!” Nile called, the four of them still holding onto each other as she led the way. Joe was grateful for it; his eyes were burning and the tears made it hard to see clearly. 

Nile led them around the side of the building to where they’d hidden their car when they arrived. Something crashed behind them as the building’s foundation finally began to catastrophically fail. Anyone who didn’t get out in the next minute or two would never get out. 

Nile unlocked the car and jumped into the driver’s seat. Andy finally released Joe’s hand to get into the passenger seat, so Joe grabbed the back door and pulled Nicky in next to him.

Nile gunned it out of there, tires squealing loudly. They were jerked back against their seats as they tore away from the doomed building.

“That was a shitshow,” Nile said once the burning building was a fair distance away in the rearview mirror.

Joe found himself laughing, just a little first. But then the relief that they’d made it out caused his laughter to grow, and soon, Nile and Andy joined in, and their laughter filled the car.

Nicky’s cough cut through the laughter like a knife.

Joe’s whole body tensed, because he’d heard Nicky cough up blood before. But it had been long enough; he should’ve healed from any injuries. 

His eyes shot to Nicky, who had pressed a hand to his mouth and hunched over. His shoulders trembled, and he raised his free hand to try to signal he was okay.

“Nicky,” Joe said, putting his hand on Nicky’s back. 

“Fine,” Nicky gasped. He tried to straighten up, only to moan and hunch over again, clutching his stomach. 

Joe gently pulled Nicky’s hands away, his blood going cold. Blood continued to seep through Nicky’s shirt, where a bullet had torn its way through cloth and skin.

“He’s not healing,” Joe said, his voice numb. His own words penetrated his ears, and his voice grew higher-pitched, more frantic. “Andy, he’s not healing!” 

“Pull over,” Andy snapped, even as Nile was already guiding the car onto the shoulder of the road. Andy got out before it was fully parked.

She came around to the back, crawling in next to Nicky and pulling his hands away to look at the wound. She took her jacket off and handed it to Nicky, who bit his lip to hold back a whimper as he used it to put pressure on his wound.

“Did the bullet go out?” she asked.

“No,” Nicky wheezed. 

“He’s not healing,” Joe whispered. “Why isn’t he healing?”

“Joe,” Nicky said, pressing his head into Joe’s shoulder. “Joe, I’m sorry. I healed when the fight started. I’m sorry.”

Joe kissed Nicky’s hair, putting his hand on the back of Nicky’s neck to hold him close. “No, no. Don’t be sorry. We’ll fix this, Nicky. We will.” 

Nicky shook his head weakly, coughing up more blood. “I’m trying, Joe. But it’s…”

“No,” Joe practically begged, lifting Nicky’s head so he could press their foreheads together as tears gathered in his eyes. “No, Nicky. Don’t go where I can’t follow, my love. Please.” He lifted his head to look at Andy, knowing it wasn’t fair to put this pressure on her, but needing this situation to be fixed. “Help him, Andy!”

She was trying, helping Nicky hold the jacket to his wound. She smoothed Nicky’s hair back as he coughed up blood again.

“Joe,” she said, her voice breaking as she shook her head. “Oh, Nicky.”

“You have them. You will not be alone,” Nicky said, grasping at Joe’s hand. “Yusuf, my Yusuf. I am so sorry.” 

Joe just held Nicky close, kissing his head over and over, rubbing his back, trying to offer him any comfort he possibly could. Trying to make sure Nicky felt safe and loved. 

When Nicky grew heavy in his arms, he held him closer, pressing one hand to Nicky’s chest to wait for his heart to beat again, just like it always did. They sat in the car for so long that time ceased to have meaning for Joe. He blocked out the soft cries of Andy and Nile, because if he let them in, he let in reality.

And he would not do that. Nicky would not go somewhere Joe could not follow. He would not leave Joe alone.

Joe held his love in his arms and waited for the world to bring him back where he belonged.

#whumptober 2023 #no.16 #don't go where i can't follow #the old guard #fic writing #joe x nicky #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #andromache the scythian #nile freeman #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #14

Day 14 - Baldur's Gate 3 - "Just hang on"

*

As they descended in Cazador’s palace, Astarion felt the whole situation was surreal. 

He had been mentally preparing himself to come back here ever since Tav had agreed to help him kill Cazador. Astarion had spent hours daydreaming about how he would kill Cazador, and what he would say as he did it. The triumph he would feel as that bastard fell lifeless to the ground, freeing Astarion permanently. 

But it was different than he had daydreamed of lately. In his recent ones, Tav was by his side, bloodied rapier in hand and that fierce protection and loyalty in his eyes.

Except the day was here, and Tav was not.

Missing when they awoke in camp this morning. Nothing but the Szarr family ring and a splash of blood on his pillow.

How? Of course Astarion’s siblings told Cazador who he was traveling with and that Tav had stood up for Astarion. Astarion had expected that.

He had not expected his siblings to slip into their camp and abduct Tav as he slept just mere feet from Astarion.

But it had been such a long, hard day. They’d all been exhausted and fallen into a deep sleep as they got back to camp. 

Foolish. Fucking foolish. Astarion should’ve stayed awake and kept watch. He knew his siblings were lurking about, keeping an eye on him for Cazador. He was a bloody idiot for not anticipating this. But he’d figured he was the prime target.

Now, they moved cautiously through the long chamber, on edge for traps or ambushes. None came as they moved along. 

Astarion had no idea what they’d find down here. He’d never known about the existence of the place, and could only imagine the horrors hidden down here all these years. He had to get Tav out of this hell. 

Then he would kill Cazador for daring to target Tav.

“There,” Karlach said quietly, nodding ahead to another of those magically locked doors. 

They got it open and stepped inside, preparing for whatever they might face. Astarion thought he knew the levels of depravity his master could reach.

Even he was not prepared for this.

The red eyes looked back out at them from the cells, and Astarion was horrified to realize he recognized them. They…they were his victims. His prey throughout the years. People he’d longed believed dead, their lives amounting to nothing more than a meal for a vampire.

But here they were, staring back at him with slow recognition and quick hatred.

“Astarion?”

He knew the voice. Knew it from weeks of traveling together. From hushed conversations as they sat together in camp. From the singing at the campfire that made him feel a sense of home he’d never known.

When he turned, he was surprised he did not fall to his knees. All that kept him up was the shock locking his knees in place.

Tav looked out from behind the bars, dried blood on his neck and clothing. He gripped the bars of his cell, his eyes desperate.

And red.

“No,” Astarion heard himself choke out.

He might’ve stood frozen there for the rest of eternity, but Tav reached his hand through the bars, reaching for Astarion.

Astarion forced himself to stumble forward and clasp that hand, letting out a pained noise at the lack of its familiar warmth. Tav seemed weak and dazed, his body trembling as he fought to keep himself upright.

“I’m sorry,” Tav whispered, trembling harder. “I’m so sorry, Astarion. I fought. I really did. I wasn’t strong enough, and I’m sorry.”

He was apologizing for Astarion’s mistake. Astarion was the one who should’ve protected Tav, and he’d failed. He’d finally found the one person in the entire world who trusted him, believed him, and stood at his side without being afraid to speak up when he felt Astarion was making a mistake. Tav always believed Astarion could be better, but didn’t hold his nature against him. He accepted Astarion’s cold dismissals of others and enjoyment of violence, while still seeing whatever scrap of good was left in him.

And Astarion had failed him.

“I’ll get you out of here, darling,” Astarion said, with much more confidence than he felt.

“The…staff,” Tav said, rubbing his head as if it was in pain. “They said his staff controls the cells.” But then his red eyes widened and looked to Astarion frantically. “The Ritual. Astarion, he’ll kill you. You have to get out of here.”

“As if I’d let him,” Astarion said, but he felt himself spiraling inside. If he completed the Ritual in Cazador’s place now, he would be sacrificing Tav. What was the point of all that power and freedom if he didn’t even have Tav at his side? “Just hold on, my love. I’ll deal with Cazador and get you out of here.”

With luck, the tadpole would grant Tav the power it granted Astarion. The thought of Tav, who was such a free, happy soul, being enslaved to Cazador had Astarion so furious he could barely contain it.

“Just hold on,” he repeated, squeezing Tav’s hand. He forced his usual smug grin. “Wait for me, my sweet. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Astarion?” Tav’s voice was uncharacteristically small. “Astarion, please don’t leave me down here. I don’t want either of us to die down here.”

He was frightened. Astarion was stunned; he’d never seen Tav afraid before.

And it wasn’t just for himself. He was afraid for Astarion, too. 

“I will not leave you,” Astarion promised, dropping the confident, smug mask and looking seriously into those red eyes of Tav’s. “I am going to rip Cazador’s fucking throat out when I’m done listening to him scream, and then I am coming back for you. You have my word.”

And he would make Cazador scream. Scream and beg and cry. He would make Cazador suffer the same terror that Astarion and Tav felt. 

Cazador’s most lethal mistake was targeting Tav. Astarion was going to wreak vengeance like Cazador had never seen in all his miserable centuries.

#whumptober 2023 #no.14 #just hold on #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fic writing #astarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #2

Day 2 - Baldur's Gate 3 - Delirium

*

They were clearly all tired of being ambushed. And, really, just tired in general.

Tav’s arm trembled as he swung his rapier at yet another enemy, but the hit was enough to take the woman down with a choked scream of pain. Astarion lowered his bow from where he’d been taking aim to cover him.

“We are definitely taking a rest after this, or I am going to become quite unpleasant to be around,” Gale warned. 

“Agreed,” Asatarion said.

Karlach took another ambusher down. “Gotta say, I am on board with that idea.”

Tav nodded in agreement. Gale took down the last of the ambushers, and Tav’s shoulders sagged in relief. 

“You alright?” he asked Astarion as he rejoined him.

“Anticipating that rest, darling,” Astarion said, trying to keep the exhaustion from his voice. 

Despite his exhaustion, Tav smiled, face lighting up with it. “I’m looking forward to a bath, to be honest. If you’re still up when I’m done, you’re welcome to…” He tapped his neck.

“I will take you up on that offer, my love,” Astarion said, the anticipation giving him enough energy that he figured he could manage to stay awake a bit longer than he’d intended.

Tav squeezed Astarion’s arm lightly before going over to check on the others. Once he was sure no one was in danger of dying, he began to pick through the bodies for anything useful they could take.

He was doing that when the attack came.

The ambusher launched out of the bushes, driving a blade into Tav’s shoulder as he tried to dodge. Tav yelled in pain, hand slapping around until he found a rock he could use as a makeshift weapon. He slammed it into his attacker’s face, falling to the ground as the attacker released him in surprise. 

The others were already in motion. Karlach slammed her weapon into the attacker’s chest with a furious cry. Gale shot a fireball at the remaining bushes to take care of any other potential lurkers. Astarion grabbed Tav under the arm and dragged him back, dagger in his free hand in case another attack came. 

“Clear,” Karlach said after inspecting the burning bushes. “How is he?”

Astarion knelt down, preparing to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. He paused, noticing the disoriented look in Tav’s eyes.

“Tav?” he said.

Tav blinked, slow to drag his gaze up to Astarion. He tried to get up and nearly fell, Astarion pushing him back down and holding him upright.

“You fool,” Astarion said impatiently. “You’ve been stabbed. Stay down. Are you well enough to heal yourself?” 

“Huh?” Tav said, gaze unfocused again.

“Antidote, now,” Astarion demanded, holding his hand out expectantly.

He heard the other two clumsily grabbing their bags and digging through. Someone put an antidote into his hand and he promptly gave it to Tav.

Tav’s skin was starting to feel warm beneath his hands. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead, his skin going an unhealthy shade. 

Astarion waited impatiently for the antidote to kick in so Tav would be aware enough to heal himself. Instead, he swayed beneath Astarion’s grip, mumbling to himself.

“It’s not working,” Gale said, grabbing the weapon he’d been attacked by and inspecting it. “Definitely poisoned.”

“Oh, curse it!” Astarion said, grip tightening on Tav. “Specialized poison, just great. We need to find an antidote, and fast. He’s already feverish.” 

“Fuck,” Karlach snarled. “Alright, new plan. We leave him at camp with Shadowheart looking after him, grab Halsin, and hunt down an antidote. These guys were part of a group. There may be more of them. We’ll fucking find ‘em and make ‘em give it to us.”

Astarion didn’t want to leave Tav. His condition was already rapidly deteriorating. He was so delirious with fever that he hardly seemed aware of them anymore. 

But it needed to be done. Shadowheart could hopefully keep him stable enough until they found an antidote to heal him. 

Still, his failing condition sent an uncomfortable spike of fear through Astarion. By the time they got him to camp and set back off to search for a cure…

There was always a chance it would be too late.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #delirium #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fic writing #bg3 tav #astarion #astarion x tav #karlach #gale dekarios #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #13

Day 13 - Baldur's Gate 3 - "I don't feel so good"

I apologize for this being a day late, but I was away for a few days! This prompt is based on a note I found in game!

*

They stumbled back into camp, exhausted and ready to just eat and sleep. They’d gotten into a final fight on their way back to camp, draining the last of their energy. 

“Astarion?” Tav asked as the man beside him staggered and nearly lost his balance. Tav caught his arm, holding on until he was certain Astarion was steady.

“Just need to rest, darling,” Astarion said.

Tav’s frown deepened. “I can smell food. Someone must already be cooking for us.”

Astarion waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m not hungry. I’m just going to…” He turned away, letting out an alarming cough into the crook of his elbow. He pushed his hair back, trying to shake the coughing attack off. “I’m just going to get some rest. Go eat, my love. I’m too tired to put myself on the menu for you tonight.”

Tav didn’t even dignify that with an eyeroll, because it sounded forced and strained. “Are you alright, Astarion?”

“Fine,” he said, a little impatiently. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

With that, he promptly turned and headed for his tent. That sent another spark of concern through Tav, because Astarion always slept out by the fire with the rest of them. He liked to be next to Tav, especially as their list of enemies grew. 

Tav started after him, but Karlach caught his arm. “Leave him for a bit, soldier. You need to eat and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“But Astarion is-” Tav started.

Karlach dragged him towards the fire, where the scent of a meal was growing stronger. “You’re checking on him after, obviously. Fangs is off tonight. But you haven’t eaten since this morning since you insisted on running errands while we got lunch. The more you complain, the longer it’ll take you to go check on him.”

That got Tav to reluctantly snap his mouth shut. He let Karlach guide him to the fire, where, sure enough, Wyll was making stew for them. Thankfully, it was done within minutes, and Tav sat around the fire with the others as he ate, his mind drifting to Astarion.

When he’d finished, he grabbed an extra helping to bring Astarion and headed for his tent, Karlach nodding in approval as he went. He approached the tent quietly in case Astarion was asleep, but heard that same alarming cough from inside.

He knelt in the entrance and peeked in. Astarion was on his bedroll, curled up with his arms wrapped around his stomach and his body shaking.

“Astarion,” Tav said in concern, reaching out.

Astarion slapped his hand away. “Leave me alone.”

Tav set his shoulders, refusing to back down. “No. Something is wrong. Let me help. I thought we were past this, love.”

That seemed to take some of the fight out of Astarion. He’d been working to be more open with Tav since they’d defeated Cazador, but it was a slow process.

“That…” He had to stop to cough more, groaning a little and holding his stomach again. “Dammit. I don’t feel so good. That’s all.”

Tav didn’t know enough about vampires to know if they got sick. “How can I help?”

“You can’t,” Astarion said, a little bitterly. “It’s my own fault. That man whose blood I drank during the battle…” He grimaced.

“His blood made you ill?” Tav asked, crawling into the tent and sitting next to Astarion. He guided Astarion’s head onto his lap, running his fingers through Astarion’s curls to try and soothe him.

“Stop that. I’m not a child,” Astarion said, but either didn’t have the strength to pull away or didn’t actually want to. “He must’ve had a blood disease. They make vampires ill, and while it’s miserable, it’s not for long. I’ll be fine by the morning.” 

“Well, you’re not fine right now. Let me stay with you tonight,” Tav said. “I mean, if you’d like me to.”

“And have you see me like this all night?” Astarion scoffed. 

Tav ran his hand through Astarion’s curls again, but this time stopped to cup the back of his head gently. He bent down and pressed a kiss to Astarion’s temple. “You’ve seen me in much worse shape, love. Even if I can’t help, at least you don’t have to suffer alone.”

Astarion closed his eyes for a long moment before tilting his head a little. Tav resumed running his fingers through his hair, relieved that Astarion wasn’t going to fight him on this. 

He looked absolutely miserable as he suffered through his sickness, but there was nothing to be done for it. All Tav could do was stay with him and offer him what comfort he could until the episode passed. He knew he couldn’t physically help Astarion, but he hoped his presence was enough to make the whole awful ordeal just a little more tolerable.

#whumptober2023 #no.13 #i don't feel so good #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fic writing #astarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #10

Day 10 - Devil May Cry - Stranded

*

Vergil stumbled along, his body aching. 

He gripped the Yamato, reminding himself firmly that he’d made the correct choice. He thought of Dante’s hand reaching out for him and the sight of his sword slicing Dante’s palm. Rejecting him.

He was right to do that. He had to be.

He did not belong in the human world. But as he wandered, wounded and exhausted, through the demon world, he began to question whether he belonged there either. 

If he did not belong here, and he did not belong in the human world, what else was there for him?

Perhaps he had always known he belonged nowhere. Too powerful to belong as a human, but too attached to his human hurt to belong as a demon. 

He refused to fade into nothing like this. He struggled with each step, but he had a purpose as he forced his injured body along. There was one last thing he could do to redeem himself. One honorable way to die that didn’t involve his brother’s pitying eyes witnessing his last breaths. 

No, he would not be the object of pity. He would be a thing of fear, a name whispered for fear that speaking it too loud would summon him. He would be powerful; too powerful to ever be hurt again.

Even his father could not defeat Mundus. Vergil would do the job, or die making a valiant effort.

Part of him knew death was inevitable on this current path. But surely death in combat with an enemy worthy of his father was the best he could hope for after such a loss to Dante. His brother, once again taking everything from him.

He was so tired of being stranded in this nowhere land.

Not a human. Not a demon. Not the favorite son. Not the worthy son. 

No more. He would prove he was worth something in life, even if doing so resulted in death. 

Seeing his target up ahead, Vergil gripped the Yamato and rushed into his final chance at being something in this life.

#whumptober2023 #no.10 #stranded #devil may cry #fic writing #dmc vergil #vergil sparda #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #6

Day 6 - Devil May Cry - "It should have been me"

*

Nero was running as fast as he possibly could, but he knew he wasn’t going to make it in time.

Demons kept popping up in front of him, seemingly from nowhere. He cut them down as fast as they came up, and yet more appeared. 

Farther down, he could see the demons moving in on Vergil and Dante. The twins were clearly exhausted, their swings growing weaker, their clothes soaked with their own blood. They needed help. They needed Nero.

And he wasn’t going to make it.

Dante was struck down first, a demon impaling him with a claw. Nero screamed as the demon tore apart Dante, looking sickly satisfied as it did so. 

Vergil stumbled back, tightening his grip on the Yamato. He looked over to Nero, their eyes meeting. Nero was too far; he saw the reluctant acceptance in Vergil’s eyes before he steeled himself.

“Vergil!” Nero cried.

The demon struck down Vergil just as violently. 

Nero’s helpless screams changed nothing.

He jerked upright, body tangled in the sheets, sweat crawling down the back of his neck as his chest heaved for breath. The room was lit with only the faintest glow from the alarm clock on the nightstand and the moonlight slipping through the curtains. The cool night air made him shudder as it met his sweaty skin.

“Nero.” Kyrie’s hand fell on his shoulder, gentle. “Another nightmare?”

Nero shrugged her hand off and shoved the covers aside, getting up. He went to the window and shoved the curtains aside, looking out on the quiet night. 

“It should have been me,” he said tightly. “I should’ve gone to the demon world.”

Kyrie’s footsteps were soft as she moved across the room to join him. She hooked her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Nero, it wouldn’t have made sense for all three of you to go,” she said. “Not from what you told me.” 

He slammed his fist against the window pane, tipping his head until his forehead touched the cool glass. “I don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

“That’s not your fault,” Kyrie said firmly. “Nero, I wasn’t there. All I know is what you told me. But from that, it sounds like they didn’t want you there. They wanted you here, living your life and protecting the world in their place. I know you’ve been conflicted about Vergil, but he didn’t want to see you, see his son, trapped in the demon world for his mistake. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but they didn’t leave you behind. They kept you safe here and made sure you had a life they didn’t get to have.”

Nero turned in her arms. “I just got my family. And now they’re gone.”

“No, Nero,” she said sadly, kissing his shoulder. “I’m still here. The kids are still here. Nico is still here. Your family isn’t gone. I know you wondered about your parents your whole life. Maybe your father isn’t who you were expecting, but he left to fix his mistake so you would have a chance at a normal life. You should honor that. I know, at least, that Dante wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for all of this.” 

“I know you’re right.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “It’s just…a lot to deal with.”

“I know that,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it comfortingly. “Will you come back to bed?”

He allowed her to guide him back to their bed. He held her close and she stroked her fingers along his back soothingly.

“Talk to me,” she said.

He felt his throat closing up. It had been too hard to talk about lately. But maybe it was finally time to open up about the jumble of feelings he’d been struggling with. 

Kyrie was right and he should honor the fact that his father and uncle had kept him behind rather than asked him to sacrifice his life. He had to work to navigate the guilt he felt, but it wouldn’t be easy.

He had to start somewhere, though. Taking a deep breath, he cleared the lump from his throat and began to speak.

#whumptober2023 #no.6 #it should have been me #devil may cry #fic writing #dmc nero #nero #dmc kyrie #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #7

Day 7 - Dragon Age - "Can you hear me?"

*

“Why does this always happen with you, Hawke?” Varric said with a sigh, hefting Bianca to take another shot.

“I’m a threat,” Hawke said.

“To yourself,” Fenris grumbled, shoving Hawke out of the way of an attacker trying to flank him. “Do you have any situational awareness?”

“Do I need to when I have such wonderful friends watching my back?” Hawke said, giving a quick, skilled twirl of his staff and freezing the attacker in place.

“It would save your wonderful friends a lot of stress,” Anders said.

Hawke waved his words away carelessly and spun his staff again, fire erupting this time. The warehouse they were exploring was filled with boxes, but Hawke had enough fine control of his magic to avoid setting anything on fire. 

Still… “Hawke, maybe avoid fire right now?” Anders tried.

“Hm? Oh, you’re right. If I burn these boxes down, we can’t loot them after,” Hawke said, slapping his palm to his forehead. “Good call, Anders.”

Anders rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, praying silently for divine intervention. How had he managed to fall in love with the dumbest man in all of Kirkwall?

He dragged his gaze back to Hawke, watching the other man move around the warehouse with a graceful ease, casting spells and dodging incoming attacks. While the others had his back, he certainly had all of theirs, eyes sharp as he took down anyone his friends didn’t see. 

They became too relaxed. No one saw the woman sneaking along behind the boxes near Hawke.

She sprang up, cracking the blunt end of her sword against his temple so hard that his eyes rolled up and he dropped motionlessly to the ground. She flipped her sword around, confident now that she’d neutralized their mage and could kill him without fear of him retaliating. She raised the sword over Hawke.

But she had only neutralized one of the mages. 

“No!” Anders yelled, the echo of Justice in his voice as he flung his hand out. Despite his own warning, the flames inside him burst forth in a literal sense, blasting against the screaming woman and blowing her back with their force. 

Anders rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside Hawke. He heard Varric and Fenris shifting around him to keep the two covered.

Anders was tired from a fight they’d encountered on their way to the warehouse, but he summoned his magic and placed a gentle hand on Hawke’s head, channeling enough healing into him that Hawke’s eyes slowly opened. He had a blank, dazed look in them.

“Hawke?” Hawke didn’t respond to his name. “Hawke, can you hear me?”

Anders ran his fingers through Hawke’s hair, despaired to feel the blood tangled into it. There was a nasty gash on his temple. 

“Hawke, please, can you hear me?” Anders tried again, cradling Hawke in his arms carefully. 

“Hm?” Hawke muttered. He blinked sluggishly a few times before looking up at Anders. “Ah…needed a…n-nap.”

“Dumbest man in all of Thedas,” Anders said, but he sounded relieved. 

The gash was still bleeding, more than it should be. Anders pulled Hawke closer to his body, brushing his hair away from the wound.

“Stay still, love. I’m going to heal you,” Anders said, his voice strained. The lucidity that had briefly entered Hawke’s eyes was fading again. 

“Mhm,” Hawke muttered, his hand feeling around until he’d grabbed Anders’ robe. He held onto it, seeming to take comfort in the feel of the familiar material.

Anders grit his teeth against his own exhaustion. He was going to heal Hawke. He was going to make sure Hawke was okay. He always would, and he knew Hawke would always do the same for him.

#whumptober2023 #no.7 #can you hear me #dragon age #fic writing #anders #garret hawke #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #17

Devil May Cry - #17 - Reluctant Caretaker

*

Kyrie’s hands were gentle as they brushed through Nero’s hair, pushing it off his forehead. It clung there from the sweat coating his skin. Kyrie wiped it away with a damp washcloth before pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.

“You’re certain he’ll be alright?” she asked.

“Yes,” Vergil said, for what felt like the millionth time. “Trish is positive the poison has already done its worst. Now it just has to leave his system.”

He was mentally cursing Dante for leaving him here on “protection duty” while he and Trish investigated the demons whose toxins had been in the poison. Nero had been injected with it during a fight, protecting Dante from being injected instead. 

Kyrie kissed Nero’s head and stood up. “Look after him for an hour or two. I need to go to the store to get some food and medicine. I should also check in with Nico.”

Vergil tensed up. “I am here for protection. Not to babysit.”

“Then protect him. From external threats, and from his fever,” she said. She set a mug before him. “He needs to take that in about ten minutes. You need to help him up and get him to drink it. It has the medicine Trish gave me in it.”

Vergil glared at her. “You give it to him. You are the one who is supposed to be looking after him.”

He had to admit, the girl had guts. She didn’t flinch or back down from his glare. She didn’t even get angry, just drew herself up straighter and fixed him with the kind of firm look she gave the children when they were misbehaving.

“You try to avoid it, but he is your son, Vergil. Look after him for a little while I go get the things he needs to make a full recovery.” Her firm look gave way to the kind of gentle smile that made Vergil uncomfortable. “He’d do the same for you. But right now, he needs both of our help. Please, take care of him while I’m gone.”

She didn’t give him time to work up an argument. She grabbed a bag, brushed a hand through Nero’s hair again, and left the house.

Vergil stared at Nero for a long moment before shaking himself. It’s not like it’d be a hard job; Nero had been largely unconscious since yesterday. Kyrie managed to wake him just enough to take his medicine before he’d mumble for a bit and pass out again. 

Vergil vigilantly watched out of the window for any sign of trouble, very pointedly not looking at Nero. Nero’s breathing was labored and he occasionally moaned in pain and shifted around, but he’d been doing that throughout the night so Vergil was fairly sure it was fine.

He’d be sick and in pain while the poison worked its way out of his system, but he’d survive. Of course he would survive. He was Vergil’s child, a descendent of Sparda. 

But…he did look bad…

Vergil moved his chair just close enough to reach out and touch Nero’s feverish skin. Nero’s head turned towards the contact, as if seeking comfort. Vergil hastily pulled his hand away.

He did not want to be here, looking after Nero. He wanted to be out hunting down the beasts who had caused this mess. He was much better at killing than comforting. This should be Dante’s job; the boy liked Dante. 

Vergil grabbed the mug, which was filled with tea Kyrie must’ve mixed the medicine into. He got a hand awkwardly under Nero’s head, lifting it. 

Nero stirred into that semblance of consciousness he occasionally achieved. His gaze rolled around unsteadily, his hand grasping at the couch he was lying on.

“Nero, drink this,” Vergil said, pushing the mug to his lips.

Nero weakly pushed it away. “Wh-”

Vergil hated being in charge of him. “Drink it. Then you can rest again. Stop being stubborn.”

“Credo?” he said.

It took Vergil a moment to remember who Credo was. Great, so now Nero was disoriented enough to think some foolish dead boy was back from the dead.

“No,” Vergil said, pushing the mug back in Nero’s face. “Drink.”

“Ver…gil?” he managed.

“Yes,” Vergil said. He considered just pouring the liquid down Nero’s throat, then decided it would just wind up with Nero spitting it out in panic and making a mess. Vergil would not be a janitor on top of a babysitter. His dignity could only take so much.

Nero pressed a hand to his head. “Credo,” he whispered. “Couldn’t…Couldn’t save Credo.”

“People die, Nero,” Vergil said. He was aiming for firm, but was horrified to find he couldn’t quite bring himself to achieve it. Nero just sounded so…sad. So angry. Vergil knew what it was like to live with that kind of loss and hatred in you for so long.

“Saved you,” Nero said, pulling his hand from his head to grasp at Vergil’s arm. “Right?”

“Drink the tea,” Vergil said.

Maybe Nero had saved Vergil. Maybe he’d saved Dante. Or maybe he’d saved both of them, and the distinction didn’t matter. 

Finally, Nero drank the contents of the mug. Vergil lowered him back down, Nero mumbling too low to make out the words. He was back out in just a couple of minutes.

Vergil set the empty mug down, staring at the unconscious boy before him. Man, really. He’d grown up before Vergil ever met him. Vergil realized he didn’t even know what Nero had looked like when he was younger. Dante was always teasing him about his hair. Had it once been longer? Styled differently? Vergil didn’t know what the jokes were aimed at, because he didn’t know any other version of Nero than the one before him now. 

Vergil stared back out of the window, for Kyrie instead of a threat this time. He didn’t want to be Nero’s caretaker. He had not been his caretaker when he was a child. Being in charge of him now was an uncomfortable reminder of how absent Vergil had been in the boy’s life. 

When Nero woke, disoriented and in pain, seeking comfort from someone he trusted, it was not Vergil he called out for. It was Credo. 

Nero was no longer the only one in pain. Vergil did not take his eyes away from the window again until Kyrie returned.

*

(Didn’t have a chance to proofread this one - sorry for any errors!)

#whumptober2022 #no.17 #reluctant caretaker #devil may cry #fic writing #Vergil Sparda #Nero Sparda #dmc nero #dmc vergil #dmc kyrie #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #15

Day 15 - Star Wars - "I'm fine"

*

They just barely reached cover as the ground near them exploded, sending pieces of debris flying in every direction. It battered the ship they were behind, the sound buried in the explosion.

“Everyone with me?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin squinted against the smoke and did a quick headcount. “Everyone made it.”

“Orders, sir?” Cody asked.

Obi-Wan looked deceptively calm. Anakin knew he must be as frustrated and worried as the rest of them, but the calm facade seemed to be helping the clones keep it together in the face of such a brutal assault.

“We just need to hold out until Ahsoka makes it,” he said, despite knowing her ETA was too far out to possibly make it before the casualties started. He focused for a moment before nodding decisively to himself. “Anakin and I will create a distraction. Cody, you will lead the others to the treeline. If we can make it, it’ll give us valuable cover. From there, we might be able to hold out until Ahsoka and Rex make it with backup.”

It was a shaky plan at best, given how far back the treeline was. But if they didn’t reach cover, it wouldn’t be long before they were exposed. They didn’t have much choice. 

“Alright, what’s our distraction?” Anakin asked. He knew they were getting desperate if Obi-Wan was the one recommending a risky distraction technique. 

Obi-Wan glanced back towards the clearing that was under fire. “We can-”

The ship exploded.

It was a burst of sound and heat, throwing Anakin back. He landed hard, rolling with the fall and trying to hurry back to his feet to survey the damage.

The clones had been a little farther back, and most were already on their feet. Those that weren’t were being helped by their comrades. Anakin’s ears were ringing from the explosion, but he saw Cody using hand signals to direct everyone to break for the trees; with the ship gone, there was no cover left and their only chance was to make a run for it. 

And then he spotted Obi-Wan, and his heart stopped.

Obi-Wan was face down, unmoving. From this distance, Anakin couldn’t see if he was breathing. His body was limp and Anakin could’ve sworn he saw blood.

Rage poured through him, mingling with fear. Surely Obi-Wan had just been knocked unconscious; if he had been killed, it would’ve torn a part of Anakin’s soul out. He would’ve felt it in the Force, an agony as great as the loss of his mother. They were Anakin and Obi-Wan, partners, best friends, brothers. Anakin would know if he had lost half of himself.

To his immense relief, Obi-Wan’s hands twitched. He weakly pushed himself upright, trying to get his bearings. It was enough to shake Anakin from his frozen state, and he gestured for Cody to help him move Obi-Wan.

Together, the pair ran and got him to his feet. They ran with him to the tree line, blaster fire and explosions all around them. Anakin concentrated on the Force, trusting it to get them through this.

Sure enough, they plunged into the trees, the cover growing thicker the deeper in they went. They only stopped to catch their breaths when their lungs burned too badly to run anymore.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked in concern, lowering him to the ground. 

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said, trying to push Anakin and Cody off of him. “We need to keep moving. Stop looking at me like that. I’m fine.”

“Sir,” Cody said, his voice stern. “You’re bleeding. I can see it.”

Obi-Wan was trying to hide it, but Anakin could also see the blood seeping through on his side. Obi-Wan was starting to look a little pale, but his eyes were as fierce as ever.

“A scratch,” he said, trying to get up. He swayed dangerously and Anakin caught him, lowering him back down. “Just need to…sit for a moment.”

“You’re sitting the rest of this fight out, General Kenobi,” Cody said. “It’s too dangerous for you to be running around in your condition.”

Obi-Wan looked like he wanted to argue, but he winced and pressed a hand to his side, face twisting in pain. The bleeding was steady, a dark stain spreading. Anakin felt that rage spark in him again.

They could’ve killed Obi-Wan. If he didn’t get medical treatment soon, he might still be in danger.

He heard the sound of a ship flying over the trees, recognizing the sound of it. Ahsoka and Rex were finally here to provide air support and give them the advantage they needed to strike back.

And, oh, those Seps would pay for this assault. Anakin touched the hilt of his lightsaber as he looked at the pain on Obi-Wan’s face, his anger fueling his drive. He would make them regret what they’d just done to Obi-Wan.

#whumptober2023 #no.15 #i'm fine #star wars #star wars the clone wars #fic writing #the clone wars #tcw #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #commander cody #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #11

Day 11 - Resident Evil - Animal Trap

*

“This way,” Leon whispered urgently, gesturing at Ashley to follow him.

They could hear the infected yelling nearby, searching for them. Leon caught a glimpse of torches through the trees, making their way towards their current hiding spot. He had to move them, even if he’d prefer to avoid looping back towards the village right now. Surely more were waiting there.

With no choice, however, he cautiously led Ashley back that way. They moved slowly and silently, Leon with ease and Ashley with concentrated effort. He’d occasionally grab her arm to guide her away from fallen sticks or leaves that could make noise, but other than that, they moved without interaction. 

Leon was relieved when he saw the torchlight was nearly out of sight now. He didn’t dare use his flashlight right now, even though he was pretty certain they were far enough away from the infected. He knew Ashley was tired from their mad dash to escape earlier, and he didn’t want to risk them having to pull another frantic retreat like that any time soon.

“We’ll keep to the outside of the village,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I doubt they’ll give up looking for us easily, but they won’t expect us to go back that way. We’ll find a place to hide for a bit.”

“Okay,” Ashley said with a nod. She looked frightened, but she tried to straighten her shoulders to mask it with confidence. “That sounds like a good plan.”

Leon nearly smiled at that. He had to give her credit; she was handling the whole situation better than most people would.

Then he stepped forward, and agony erupted in his ankle with a sharp snap.

He just barely managed to shove his arm in his mouth and clamp down on it before he screamed and gave away their position. As it was, a high-pitched noise slipped past and dissipated into a gust of wind. 

“Leon!” Ashley gasped.

He didn’t have to look to know he’d stepped in one of the animal traps. Without his flashlight, he hadn’t seen it coming up on them. 

“Don’t move!” Ashley said, kneeling before him and prying at the trap. “Shit. Leon, give me your knife.”

She didn’t wait, instead reaching up and snatching it from him. Leon’s vision was darkening at the edges, so he concentrated on staying conscious rather than watching her. 

He nearly fell a moment later, but Ashley lunged forward and grabbed him, drawing him into her arms to keep him steady. He gripped her shoulder, probably enough to hurt though she didn’t complain. After a long moment, he allowed her to ease him to the ground.

His ankle was a mess. He felt sick just looking at it. Ashley pushed his cheek until he looked away, though she was pale too.

“Let me…” She shrugged out of her jacket and began to cut it into messy strips with his knife. 

Leon put his arm back in his mouth in anticipation. A low groan of pain slipped past as she began to wrap his ankle.

He’d never be able to move well like this, and they both knew it. But Ashley tended to him with extreme care, treating him like a friend instead of deadweight. In his pained state, he couldn’t help but be grateful for her tender care of his injury.

“We need to get someone secure,” she said, taking the lead. “Can you move enough for that if I help you?”

He nodded, though he actually wasn’t sure. He was bad, and he doubted he’d be able to put any pressure on his ankle. He was a heavy man, weighed down with muscle and weapons. Ashley couldn’t support him for long. 

Still, her determined look announced she wasn’t giving up on him. Rather than waste time arguing, he let her help him up and they slowly made their way along. 

Jesus, Leon would be lucky if he didn’t lose his foot after this. He’d need medical attention to avoid infection, if he lived long enough with all the blood loss. Best case scenario probably still involved surgeries and months of physical therapy just to walk properly again. 

Despite all that, his thoughts barely lingered on that reality. Instead, he glanced at Ashley and felt despair claw at him. In his condition, he couldn’t keep her safe.

And with the infected hunting them, he’d be lucky if he could protect her until help arrived, if help could even be sent.

#whumptober2023 #no.11 #animal trap #resident evil 4 #fic writing #leon s kennedy #ashley graham #resident evil #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #3

Devil May Cry - #3 - Impaled

*

“No. Absolutely not. The last three times you’ve picked the dinner place, we’ve had pizza,” Nero said.

“And? Not seeing the problem here, kid,” Dante said.

“Some of us want real food, Dante,” Vergil said.

“You know you’re making bad decisions when I’m siding with Vergil,” Nero said. 

Dante waved his hand dismissively. “When it’s your turn to pick dinner, we can get…I don’t know, Italian or whatever it is you eat.”

“You’re just saying that so you can order a fucking pizza!” Nero said.

“Do you revel in being vulgar?” Vergil said.

“Fuck you, and fuck your brother, and fuck his pizza,” Nero said.

“Back on my side!” Dante said triumphantly. 

“Hardly. He was insulting you, too,” Vergil said. 

“Well, yea, but he only did it to piss you off,” Dante said.

“I cannot wait to leave this place and not see either of you for as long as physically possible,” Vergil announced. 

“So, like, an hour,” Nero said. “If we’re lucky. It’s almost like someone summoned a giant demonic tree in the middle of the city and unleashed a ton of demons on it.”

Dante caught Vergil’s wrist as he reached for the Yamato. “No, no, don’t kill him. He’s got a point.”

“Will you both be quiet?” Vergil said. “And pay attention. The structural damage to this building was severe. The last thing we need is for one of you idiots to cave in the floor.”

“Idiots! He revels in being vulgar,” Dante said, and Nero snickered. 

Vergil ignored them and kept walking. The two were beginning to joke with each other, probably at Vergil’s expense, their quiet laughter filling the otherwise silent building.

Dante made an odd noise and Nero began laughing loudly, smacking Dante in the arm repeatedly. Vergil glared at them in irritation.

He didn’t understand it. Yes, Nero had known Dante longer. But they were…close. They cared for each other. They got along well.

He would’ve suspected Dante was the boy’s father. They acted more like father and son than Vergil could ever dream of between himself and Nero. 

No, it didn’t matter. Nero might be his, but he’d only met the boy recently. They were practically strangers, even after working together frequently to clean up the mess Vergil had caused. 

Strangers.

Vergil had a family again, but he was still on his own.

He shook it off for now. Nothing to be done about it; Nero clearly preferred the company of his uncle to that of his father. So be it. It was certainly nothing new. Dante had always been the more liked of the twins. 

They were halfway across the room, Nero and Dante laughing together again, when the floor gave out.

It was sudden, just an alarming rumble before the whole thing gave out. Nero jerked forward, trying to catch Dante’s arm.

Vergil grabbed Nero around the chest and threw him clear of the cave-in, barely managing to use his momentum to get himself clear. He hit the ground hard, immediately dragging himself away from the crumbling floor.

“Dante!” Nero cried, running back at the hole in the floor.

Vergil caught him again. “Stop! The structure is compromised! We cannot be reckless.”

“But-” Nero was anxious, eyes locked on the hole. “Fine. Yea, fine. But we need to go check on that idiot.”

Vergil slowly released him. When Nero didn’t dart off again, Vergil dusted himself off and cautiously moved to the edge. Nero followed him, both ready to spring away if their weight caused more of the floor to break off.

Vergil found a sturdy spot near the edge to gain a little pressure on. He leapt forward and into the hole, catching himself on a piece of rubble.

“Nero,” he called.

Nero jumped down a moment later, Vergil ready to grab him if he slipped towards the protruding support beams on the ground. Nero looked around, eyes going wide.

“Oh, shit,” he hissed, rushing forward.

Vergil turned and froze. Dante laid sprawled along the ground, hands weakly prying at his neck.

His neck, which had been impaled by a thin yet sturdy metal pole.

Nero dropped to his knees at Dante’s side, pushing his hands away to inspect the injury. “Shit. Vergil!”

Vergil forced himself to get moving. Dante would be fine. Yes, it looked bad, but the bastard had been through worse and come out annoyingly fine.

Only as Vergil moved closer, he realized Dante was wheezing for breath, blood spurting from where the pole protruded from his throat. Nero had gotten his hand around it, trying to stop the bleeding without causing Dante more pain.

“Vergil, what do we do? How do we help him?” Nero demanded, voice tight with worry.

Vergil knelt beside him and unthinkingly placed a hand on Nero’s shoulder. “Move your hand. Let me see.”

Nero moved his hand away, revealing how bad the damage was. Vergil grimaced and gestured for Nero to cover it again.

“Quite the mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Dante,” Vergil said. “Nero, we’ve got to get him off of it. If he takes his devil form quick enough, he should be able to heal.”

“Should?” Nero said.

“I’ve stabbed him before and he lived. I’m basing my theory on that,” Vergil said. At Nero’s expression, Vergil couldn’t help but feel…well, a little bad. “He’s survived worse, Nero.”

“You better survive this, you asshole,” Nero said to Dante. “And then I’m never letting you live it down. You hear me? I’m telling Trish and Lady all about your dumbass falling and getting impaled through the throat.” 

Nero looked over, startled. Vergil was confused at first, until he realized, with a shock of embarrassed horror, that he’d squeezed Nero’s shoulder. He hastily dropped his hand. 

“Get your hands under his head. Dante.” Vergil slapped Dante’s cheek - light enough that Nero didn’t whine about him doing it - and grabbed his shoulders. “Dante can you hear me? We’re going to pry you off this pole. You need to take your devil form.” 

He couldn’t tell whether Dante was responsive or not. He refused to acknowledge the spike of worry in his own chest. Bad enough to deal with Nero’s anxiety. 

“Ready?” Vergil said to Nero.

“Come on, you bastard. I just…dammit, Dante, I just got a family back,” Nero said, shifting his hands under Dante’s head. “Get up, you lazy asshole.” 

Vergil took a steadying breath, because that spark was catching and growing inside of him. Dante looked…bad. 

“On the count of three,” Vergil said.

“Right,” Nero said.

“One…”

It had to work.

“Two…”

If it didn’t…

“Three!”

Vergil and Nero couldn’t lose anyone else.

#whumptober2022 #no.3 #impaled #devil may cry #fic writing #Nero Sparda #Vergil Sparda #Dante Sparda #dmc nero #dmc vergil #dmc dante #jtdoeswhumptober

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #9

Day 9 - Batboys - "You're a liar"

*

Jason fired his guns with a certain glee. The gang scattered behind cover, yelling at each other for someone to take Jason out.

“Someone can try!” Jason called cheerfully, launching over a dumpster to kick one of the gang members in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Jason easily flipped his gun around in his hand and smacked the butt of it into the man’s temple to knock him out. 

Tim leapt over the crates they were using as cover to take out a few more with smooth, practiced moves. He clearly wasn’t taking as much glee in the mission as Jason, but he didn’t chastise Jason for his fun.

After all, why would he? They were cleaning up a poorer section of Gotham. This gang had formed to prey on the poor who didn’t have transportation or couldn’t afford good security in their homes. They’d break in, steal what little they had, or jump them as they walked or biked home after a hard day of working to feed themselves. 

Just two days ago, they’d jumped two young boys who’d earned some money with a lemonade stand. They boys were on their way home, elated that they had enough money to go on their school field trip at last, when the attack hit them. One boy was left hospitalized. 

Jason could picture so many times he’d walked around after dark. It could’ve been him if he was still young. No little kid deserved that.

Tim had agreed to help him stop the gang when Babs got wind they were planning to pull off a bigger job on a delivery truck tonight. Jason was grateful for the support, because Tim knew what this particular mission meant to Jason. 

And Jason was having a great time making these streets safer for kids like he had been once, right up until he heard the gunshot and Tim’s scream.

“No!” He whipped around, his joy gone in an instant. Tim laid on the ground, blood pooling out from his body, his hands pressed to his abdomen.

Jason barely remembered the next few minutes. He became a whirlwind of furious, protective movement, taking out every single gang member he could get his hands on, barely suppressing the urge to kill the bastards. They deserved it; they all fucking deserved it.

But he held back just enough to knock them out instead. When the last fell, he leapt over the unmoving body and raced to Tim’s side.

“Hey, hey!” he said, grabbing Tim’s wrists and trying to pull them away. “Dammit, let me see, Tim.”

Tim moved his hands and Jason’s face paled at the gunshot wound in his abdomen and the blood pouring from it. He put Tim’s hands back, applying pressure.

“Babs, Tim was shot,” he said into his earpiece, his voice tight. “Get us help. Now.”

She was replying, but he didn’t hear the words. He was too focused on Tim’s face and the way it was contorted in anguish.

This was Jason’s fault. He hadn’t been taking it seriously. He hadn’t been properly watching Tim’s back.

The wound was so bad.

“You’re going to be fine. Just stay with me,” Jason said.

“You’re a liar,” Tim choked out with a weak laugh. Jason was horrified to see blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. “A good man, but a liar.”

“Tim-”

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s not your fault, Jason. I let my guard drop.”

“But-”

“No. It is NOT your fault this happened.”

His voice was fierce despite how weak his movements were growing and how pale he was becoming. The blood just kept coming up between his fingers, spilling out onto the ground.

“You protected…t-those kids. All those p-people,” Tim said, giving a faint smile. “I’m proud of you. P-Proud to help you.”

“Shit,” Jason whispered, feeling the tears in his eyes. “Hang on, you bastard. Don’t you- Just hang on. Please, Tim. Please.”

Tim’s eyes dropped shut. Jason let out a despaired noise and applied more pressure to the wound, knowing it was all he could do as he prayed help came in time and no one else had to die on these streets.

#whumptober2023 #no.9 #you're a liar #batboys #fic writing #jason todd #tim drake #jtdoeswhumptober