#whump database

[esbee-daisy]

Is there something that exists as a database for like every clip from every show and movie of someone fainting? With a fever? Getting injured? It feels like this must exist somewhere? Is it supposed to be Tumblr because if it exists can someone show me

[set-phasers-to-whump]

ok so. I’ve been keeping track of my fave fics for like. 8 years (good god…) and a few years back i started this google sheets with them all organized. it’s been my new years resolution for the last uhhh. couple years. to share this thang in some form but i have no idea if it would be of interest or use to ppl…anyone have thoughts?

[whumperofworlds]

*looks at a new blorbo/OC*

I want that man in distress.

[lonelyroommp3]

cryingggg the article mentioned the exist of whumpapedia, a database of media featuring characters who get whumped, and obviously i was like well i've got to see what they have to say about the terror. and this was the entire thing.

like oh okay just him then

[space-mermaid-writing]

Of monsters and men [IronStrange]

Summary: Some kidnappers fucked up big time and now Tony is bonded to this strange demon he continues to summon by accident.

Tags: demon!Stephen Strange, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Whump, body horror, protective Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange needs a hug

Author's note: You see the chapter title. You know the drill.... Beta by @harpywritesfic and @kvjjjjjj.

Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Word count: 1.3k | Previous | Next

Chapter 13: Siberia

It was cold. The heater in Tony’s armor had shut down – as well as everything else. Friday no longer answered any of his pleas.

His faceplate was gone and the cold air stung sharply in his lungs.

It hurt.

Everything hurt. Physically and emotionally.

It was a miracle that none of his blood had been spilled on the ground, although he had been beaten up badly. Tony had gotten very good at only losing blood intentionally.

Someone was probably proud of him for that.

But now he needed that option. It was his last resort.

Tony wiped his face with his armor glove and pressed his palm flat on the ground next to him. Without his suit being online and the hydraulics not working, it took the last of his strength to execute the movement.

Stephen appeared; he always did. And as always he wasn’t alarmed since only a small amount of blood had been used for the summoning.

In fact, the demon was relieved he was finally being summoned again. It had felt like an eternity since he had felt the familiar pull of the summoning; the blood calling to him. Even though he knew, logically, that it couldn’t have been more than a few weeks – tops.

He could finally talk to Tony. There was so much to say, to explain. The memories of their previous meeting weighed heavily on him. He was aware that his behavior had been questionable, even disturbing, and he was desperate to clarify it.

Now, he finally had the opportunity to apologize to the engineer, to beg for his forgiveness.

The demon frowned as soon as he noticed the strange environment he had been called into. A bunker. He turned around – and was taken aback in shock when he finally spotted Tony.

Tony's lungs rattled with every single breath. “Help…” he pleaded, barely conscious anymore.

Stephen was at his side immediately; his worried face the last thing Tony saw before everything faded into black.

________________

Tony woke up slowly. He felt warm and comfortable.

Blinking, he realized he was in some kind of a hospital bed; judging by the sleek technology it even seemed to be the tower. It must have been night, because the room was dark except for a light by his bed.

The second thing he noticed was that he didn't feel any pain; just a slight ache in his chest – and exhaustion.

Apparently, they had hooked him up with the good stuff.

He turned his wrist to look at the IV – except there was none. That was weird.

“Friday?” His throat felt dry and the word came out hoarse.

“You are back in New York, Boss. It’s good to have you finally awake.”

The A.I. sounded so young – well, she was – and concerned. Who knew how long she had waited for him to finally show a sign of being awake while watching over him.

Jarvis would have told him the day and time as soon as Tony had stirred, probably even the current temperature outside. He knew which small pieces of information helped Tony to fight the disorientation, and the engineer couldn’t help but feel a pang of deep ache tugging at his heart thinking about the loss he still wasn’t over.

“What happened?” Tony asked. His memory was foggy. Of course there was the betrayal, the fight. And then it had been cold.

So cold.

He remembered calling Stephen. Or at least he had tried to.

Friday confirmed that. “Doctor Stephen Strange brought you home.”

Huh, it was weird to hear the coldness in her usually upbeat voice when she said the name, but between Ultron and Berlin Tony hadn’t had the chance to properly introduce Friday and Stephen. She just had what was left of Jarvis’ database, and the demon hadn't made the best impression when he had went all Ghost-Rider on Tony. In her eyes, the distrust wasn't misplaced.

“He didn’t leave your side and denied everyone else access to you. Only I was allowed to monitor your vitals.”

“Where’s he now?”

“He’s still present, Boss.”

Wait, what?

Confused, Tony took a closer look around. The darkness in the room was heavy. At first he thought someone had closed the window curtains to shut out the city light. But nothing seemed to exist outside his bed.

He noticed a movement as Stephen slowly peeled out of the shadows and slid to his bedside. His eyes darted carefully over Tony, as if he wanted to make sure the engineer was really alive and well.

Yet, he was reserved.

Tony would have expected Stephen to fuss about him, maybe have the cloak skid all over him. But it just shyly poked at his wrist, as if afraid to hurt him.

“How do you feel?” the demon asked neutrally.

“Surprisingly alive,” Tony rasped, before he started coughing.

Stephen held a glass of water to his lips – Tony had no idea where he'd gotten it from; maybe out of thin air – and helped him raise his head to drink.

The cool liquid eased his throat and he felt better instantly.

Afterwards, Stephen withdrew his hands immediately, unusually quiet. The last time he'd behaved like this was after Tony hadn't summoned him for months and Stephen thought he'd done something wrong.

Well, it wasn't hard to guess why. Their last encounter hadn't exactly ended well.

Tony should be suspicious of the demon, maybe even afraid; but he couldn't help but feel relieved. Stephen had rescued him from the bunker. He had brought Tony home. And his head wasn't currently a burning flame.

Tony had questions, lots of them. But they could wait until later.

So he reassured the demon. “I’m fine.” Tony even managed a small smile. “Well, I will be; thanks to you.”

Tony patted Stephen’s hand, but the demon pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen said. Tony thought he knew what the demon was apologizing for, but before he could get a word out, Stephen explained. “I healed you. All of you. I had to. You were dying.”

Stephen avoided his gaze. Instead, his eyes traveled further down Tony's chest.

Tony frowned. He had trouble identifying the problem. There had been a shield stuck in his torso, of course Stephen had to heal him. Otherwise Tony would probably never have woken up again.

“What do you mean?”

“You have repeatedly told me not to heal your chest. I have disobeyed your order and will accept my punishment.”

After the first sentence Tony had stopped listening, because he suddenly realized what Stephen meant; and it filled him with dread. He also realized he had no trouble breathing, although he should be missing part of his lung and his chest had been cracked open. He didn't feel any pain, yet his mind was clear – he wasn’t on any medication.

He threw back the blanket and looked down at his body. His hand lingered at the hem of his shirt, afraid what he would find under it.

Then he pulled the fabric up.

His chest was perfectly fine; no signs of the fight with the super soldiers. Not even a single scar. And no arc reactor.

Hot panic shot up into his throat, an overwhelming surge of anxiety that left him feeling suffocated.

He couldn’t breathe, each inhalation becoming a desperate gasp for air; with a tightness constricting his chest like an unyielding vise.

Tony recognized the signs of a panic attack, well aware of the familiar sensations that coursed through his body – the racing heartbeat, the prickling dullness of his limbs, and the sickening adrenaline that pulsed through his veins.

Yet, he could do nothing to prevent it from unfolding.

“Friday?” Tony managed to whisper. He needed to hear it from her.

“Your vitals match the records from before Afghanistan,” she confirmed. “Your lungs grew back in the last eleven hours. You have made a full recovery.”

Stephen watched him silently.

Tony was still breathing heavily. “Get out. I… leave!”

The demon complied without another word, as if he had been expecting this reaction.

The darkness in the room disappeared with him, and suddenly sunlight flooded in through the window. The rest of the interior became visible including the walls, and the door opened with the medical staff pouring in.

[arealphrooblem]

A Lost Cause

Synopsis: The trusted keeper of all the Heroes' secrets, Civilian's existence is kept a tightly guarded secret itself. So how did the villain find her? And how will she withstand the attempts of his scientist to break her open and discover those secrets himself?

CW: nonconsensual drugging, medical whump, medical experimentation, mentions of wounds from torture

 They ambushed her at one AM on a Wednesday night. She had just chugged a glass of water and was walking back towards her bedroom when five men appeared like plumes of smoke in the dim light of the living room lamp. 

Immediately she smashed the glass on the head of the nearest one. He stumbled back and tripped over the corner of the coffee table, blood gushing down the side of his face. A second man got a donkey kick to the knees and an elbow to the face. But then she tripped on the baggy hem of her sleep pants and that gave the other three men all the opportunity they needed to hold her arms down and chloroform her. 

When she woke up, mind foggy with cotton mouth, the familiar walls of her home had been replaced with metal. She sat tied to a chair and sitting across the metal table from her was a man she’d never seen before.

It wasn’t the why that perplexed her. Even though she never participated in the famous battles that raged across the cities of the world, or had her face blazoned on billboards, or plastered all over the news like the rest of her superhero brethren, she was the most valuable member of the team for one simple reason:

She knew everyone’s secrets. 

Their real names and social security numbers. Their home addresses and family members. Their bank app passwords. The limitations of their powers and their weaknesses. 

She knew these secrets because that was part of her job. She coordinated their lives. When someone got hurt, she arranged medical treatment. When the teammates that couldn’t fly had to go halfway around the world, she kept the private jet refueled and paid the maintenance crew. When someone’s family was in danger, she put them into hiding. She bought booked air bnb rooms under false names, she ran the grocery lists for their base, she made sure Mother’s day cards and birthday presents were sent on time.

Her teammates trusted her with this because she was a vault herself. Her power nullified everyone else’s in a wide radius around her. She had training in three forms of martial arts, could hack into almost any database around her and thus prevent from being hacked, and could shoot with fairly decent accuracy multiple types of guns. 

And when all of that didn’t work, she had a memory palace like an ancient Greek maze that no telepath could find their way through if they ever caught her at a distance.

But the best protection she had was her anonymity. Her association with her teammates was their most highly guarded secret. So it wasn’t the why so much as the how. 

How did Villain find her? How did he even know she existed?

Of course, no one was interested in answering her questions. 

The man sitting across the table from her gave her a bemused half smile when she demanded this information. It gave him a boyish, non-threatening air despite the dark tinted sunglasses he wore. 

“I’m afraid you have things rather backwards,” he said, voice soft and pleasant. Like they were on a coffee date. “I’m the one who gets the answers and you are the one who gets the questions.”

“You’re not getting shit from me,” she spat. 

Her hands wiggled against the bonds tying her to the chair. The zip ties cut into her skin, tight enough that she worried about her circulation. If the man noticed her testing them out, he did not reveal it. Instead that half smile grew slowly into a smirk. 

“I’m sure you believe that. You seem to have a very strong will. But willpower doesn’t really matter when I’m involved.”

He took his glasses off, folded them with care, and placed them with care inside his coat pocket. Brown eyes, sweet and warm like hot chocolate, looked back at her. He leaned forward, hands clasped before him, and focused those eyes on her. 

“You will answer every question I ask, truthfully, with every relevant detail you can think of.”

His voice was low and soothing, with an easy confidence of someone used to getting their way. It gave her great pleasure to respond to him, leaning forward as much as her bonds would allow.

“You will go to hell,” she murmured, matching his tone, “and on the way there you can kiss my ass.”

The man tilted his head, eyebrows raised. Did he really think she was going to give him everything, just like that?

“Tell me your name,” he commanded in that same soft tone.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Surprise spread across his face. “Do you really feel no compulsion to do as I say?”

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” she retorted.

He just stared at her, eyes wide in delightful curiosity.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, pulling his glasses back out of his coat pocket. “Well, I suppose you and I are at an impasse. I could advise you give me your answers willingly, rather than face torture. But I assume you would not take that advice.”

“Your assumption would be correct.”

“A shame. You have such spirit. It’s a pity they will break it.”

Fear curled in her gut but she refused to let it show. “We’ll see about that.”

He slipped his glasses back on, hiding those sweet brown eyes. “When you feel like death would be a mercy, please remember that I tried to give you a choice.”

That line haunted her as she experienced the worst days of her life. No food, no water, no rest. Endless pain. Even as she burrowed herself further and further into her own mind, the pain followed her through every passage of the maze. She intentionally twisted herself down paths with dead ends, paths that recurved on themselves, keeping herself away from the information they wanted so badly. 

If she could just hold out long enough, her team would rescue her. 

She just had to last. Just a little bit longer. 

The next time she found herself strapped to the chair in front of the table, the zip ties were the only thing holding her up, slippery from the blood. The light from the lamp felt like a laser in her eyes. A different man sat across the table from her, his features hazy from her blurred vision. The man was older, that much she could tell, and dressed in a sharp black suit. 

Villain. She’d seen his face in so many files, in so much research for her team on him. She would know him in her sleep.               

“You are remarkably stubborn,” he said, crossing his legs. “I see why they entrusted their secrets to you. A shame I didn’t find you first. That kind of loyalty is hard to find and even harder to buy.”

She had no quip for him, no scathing remarks. All her focus went to not puking. 

“I am not going to waste any more of my resources trying to break you. That may sound like good news at first, but it simply means you are now completely valueless to me. That’s a very dangerous position to be in. Normally I would kill you and dispose of every trace of your existence, but my top scientist has asked me to spare you.”

He stood up, brushing imaginary dirt from his suit coat. “Again, that may sound like good news, but you will wish that I had killed you before long, that much I can assure you.”

Before she could make sense of this development, something sharp pricked the side of her neck and then she knew nothing at all. 

Life passed in hazy flashes. She was in a bed. She heard birds and felt sunlight. She saw the man in the sunglasses. It was impossible to tell what was a dream and what was real. When she finally fully woke up, the world appeared in stages. 

First the beeping. Then the cozy heaviness of a blanket. A small pain in her hand when she jostled it. When her eyes flittered open, she saw walls of deep green and cream, an IV drip that ran to the back of her left hand, a row of succulents on the window sill. A desk and a man sitting at it, scribbling in a notebook. A familiar, bespectacled man. 

“Where am I?” she asked.

Or tried to ask. All that game out of her dry, dusty throat was a croak. 

The man’s scribbling stopped abruptly and he looked over his shoulder. 

“Are you finally awake?” he asked, standing up. 

Another groan filtered from her cracked lips. He walked over to a side table that held a pitcher of water and poured her a glass, dropping in a plastic straw. His fingers pressed something on the side of the bed and the front half lifted slowly up until she was sitting. 

“Drink slowly,” he said.

He held the glass to her lips and she sipped the water through the straw. It took everything in her not to chug it, not to rip it out of his grasp and drown in it when he pulled it away and set the glass on the table.                        

“Where am I?” she asked again, voice hoarse.

“Ah, here we go again thinking you can ask the questions,” he said with that crooked smile. 

She glared at him, which only made his smile grow wider. 

“I think though, this time I will be more generous with my answers. You are in my personal facilities. This is the medical recovery room. There is also my lab, my rooms, a kitchen. Everything we need, in short, for a long stay.”

Nausea roiled in her stomach, and she wasn’t sure if it came from the medicine he put her on or the implication of his words. 

“Are you . . .the scientist?” she whispered. 

It hurt to talk. 

“I am a scientist, certainly.”

Another glare. Another smile. 

“Why?”

Why was she here? Why did he want her? Why wasn’t she dead? All words that caught in her throat. 

“Why am I a scientist? That story dates to my childhood, and I doubt you have much interest in that. Let’s say that I have a fascination with the rules of the world and how you can manipulate them.”

This man was impossible. If she had any strength left, she would have strangled him with the cord of her IV drip. 

The steady beep of her heart rate monitor spiked with her anger. He glanced over at it with mild surprise.

“Don’t you feel at least a little hypocritical,” he asked, “expecting the truth from me when you refuse to give it yourself?”

Hypocritical? Hypocritical? 

“Are you serious right now?” she hissed.

“As a heart attack. Like the one you might give yourself if you don’t keep your anger in check,” he added. “Take deep, slow breaths. Your body is still fragile. We wouldn’t want to undo all the progress of your recovery, would we?”

She took deep slow breaths, hating him the entire time, if only to keep him from knowing how much he got under her skin. He watched with little nods of approval. 

“That’s it. Good. Now that you’re awake, I will take some of your vitals and check your bandages.”

Bandages? She resisted the sudden, panic laced urge to rip the blanket off and check her over her body. What injuries she sustained, he would reveal soon enough. 

She held herself very still while he listened to her chest with a stethoscope. She realized then someone, most likely him, had dressed her in a medical gown and done away with the tattered remnants of her pajamas. He took her blood pressure, pinched the skin of her forearm for dehydration, took her temperature, before sliding the covers back and revealing bandages on her thighs, her knees, wrapped around her feet. 

“Cuts and burns,” he explained at her morbidly curious expression. 

“I don’t feel them,” she said in surprise. 

“You have very good drugs in that IV drip.” 

He treated her injuries with an antibiotic salve, spreading it oh so gently with gloved fingers. Then he returned the blankets over her lap and tugged up her medical gown. She tried to fight it, fingers gripping the hem as tight as she could manage, but he easily overpowered her. 

“Relax, this is nothing inappropriate. You have bruised ribs.”

He checked her with the cold methodical touch of a professional before gently tugging her dress back down. 

“You’re healing very well,” he said proudly. As if she had anything to do with it. “I expect partial recovery within two weeks and a full recovery within the month.”

He straightened up and slid his stethoscope off. “You should get more rest. Sleep is the most crucial component of healing.”

Her hand snaked out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Her grip may have been weak and pathetic, but she held on with all her strength regardless. The man considered her, his expression impressible to tell with his sunglasses on. 

“Why?” she rasps throat aching. “Tell me why . . .please.”

It cost her to beg like that. And maybe he sensed that, because he bent down again and brushed an errant curl back from her face. 

“Villain may consider you a lost cause, but I do not give up so easily. You are a fascinating little puzzle box and I am dying to create the tools that will break you open.”

He chucked her under the chin, and made his way out.

[lilmissnatcat24]

Electric Sheep Chapter Nine- Puff Puff Pass

As Shepard grows closer with the crew, Garrus shrinks farther.

pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

rating: Explicit

tags: Lovers to enemies to lovers, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Minor Character Death, ,Violence, Blood and Gore, Torture, Disturbing Themes, Dual POV, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Ruthless (Mass Effect), Mass Effect 2, Whump, Eventual Smut, Requited Unrequited Love, Mind Control, Pining, so much fucking pining that even i'm a little disturbed, Hurt/Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, OC Central, a kid show called the electromenom that teaches shepard about basic physics, yet another cliffhanger ending (sorry), second in series

cover: done by the stunning @/milkywayes!!!!!

lil text blurb

Welcome to AlienQ! We hear your questions about alien races, and we have answers! Just type your question into the search bar, and our VI will scour our databases for your right answers! 

Race: Human

Q: Do turians lie? 

A: It is unpopular in turian culture to lie. Turians have a strong sense of honor and personal accountability. From a young age, turians are taught to embrace their decisions, and many find it a grave sin to lie. If asked directly, most turians would tell the truth, no matter if it paints them in an unfavorable light or implicates them in a crime. However, this is not to say that turians don’t possess the ability to lie. Some turians will adopt the mentality that “half-truths” work to both successfully cover the truth and maintain their honor. 

Q: How can humans understand turian subvocals? 

A: Turians have a secondary mode of communication called subvocals, which are located in the chest. They emit a frequency that other turians, and to an extent quarians and krogan, can hear with a naked ear. Subvocals work in a multitude of meanings, ranging from subliminal messages to true intent to sarcasm. Humans cannot hear subvocals without the assistance of echolocatioary technology, such as a Stethpack or a Richter Acousia. However, most humans can physically feel the vibrations of subvocals if they place a hand on a turian’s chest, back, or carapace (the large rounded cartilage that surrounds a turian’s shoulders). However, turians will tend not to appreciate physical touch without consent, so be sure to ask first!

Q: What do turian subvocals mean? 

A: Oftentimes, turian speech and subvocals may have contrasting meanings. Most turians, when asked directly, will tell you exactly what they mean. Especially when interacting with races that cannot understand subvocals such as asari, salarians, humans, volus, and hanar, turians will tend to speak more directly. 

Q: If a turian tells you they don’t care about you, can their subvocals give a different meaning? 

A: I’m sorry! There is insufficient data to answer this question. 

Q: If a turian says they want to kill you, can their subvocals give a different meaning? 

A: I’m sorry! There is insufficient data to answer this question. 

Q: How do turians die? 

A: This question is vague. Consider rephrasing to include keywords such as religious beliefs, biology, lifespans, cultural significance, or funeral practices. 

Q: Can a turian be resurrected from the dead? 

A: Unlike krogan, turians do not have self-regeneration biological capabilities. When a turian is pronounced dead, unfortunately they are dead. 

Q: How can a turian that’s been dead for over a year get resurrected? 

A: I’m sorry! There is insufficient data to answer this question. 

[justplainwhump]

Files

Adrian plans to move against Jack.

In the timeline, this connects the pieces Gauze and Choices.

[Pet Safety]

[< prev] [next >]

Content: BBU, BBU recovery / pet lib setting, vaguely referenced past facility whump, vaguely implied past whump of minors.

Adrian stayed up long. It hurt the wounds in his neck to lay down anyway. As in the nights before, he’d sleep upright in the armchair in his living room. And if he was sitting already - well, he could read up on Jack Donnell.

He’d pulled the files of all Donnell’s pets before the inspection; he still had them saved on his work tablet. He knew the database queries by all WRU’s employees were recorded "for compliance reasons". He just hoped they weren’t paranoid enough to also regularly check their access of files on their own computers. If they did, he’d tell them it was about Bea.

Her case file was the first in the dossier, because she’d been Donnell’s latest acquisition. Adrian had only skimmed through it, back then. His job was to check the Guards, not the other designations; and he’d long learned that reading too many case files would make him angry and restless and lose the focus he needed.

Especially those about Romantics. 

Especially those about second hand Romantics.

He did take the time to read it now.

Romantic pet 400168. Taken in eight years ago, at age 18. His stomach revolted already. It was almost 50-50, he knew. The chances, of an 18 year old trainee being, in fact, 18. It was illegal to process minors. So everyone was always of age. 

She looked tired on the first photos. But stunningly beautiful already. And… almost happy. Relieved, to be at WRU. Adrian wondered, how long that had lasted. He didn’t want to know. So he scrolled on.

Specifications looked like a classic case, except for one line. 'English language training. Defamiliarization with native language (Spanish).'

Some training notes, that sounded smug and highly satisfied. 

Sale to a corporate lawyer, who paid extra for someone 'who looked like a virgin and fucked like a whore'.

Seven years with the guy.

Then refurb.

Hadn’t looked or felt like a virgin any longer, Adrian thought grimly; but then reassessed.

'Runaway. Rebellious behavior. Disloyal. Refurb and disciplinary measures necessary.'

'Intended sale to family friend.'

'Specification: Strict defamiliarization with Platonic/Domestic WRU Pet 278017. Strongly discouraging bonds with other pets. Fear response (new prospective’s wishes) ; to be enforced by training with Guard trainees.' 

Adrian stared at the closed door to his bedroom, behind which Bea was sleeping. Good for that first owner that his name was blacked out in the files, and that Adrian couldn’t access it without risking his own life, and hers. 

Bad for Jack Donnell, that Adrian knew his name.

The contract was simple; it included that there’d been some faults about her second wipe, issues with discipline and short term memory; and the buyer’s response that he knew her well enough and he’d still take her.

The photos on that contract were different. Still a perfectly pretty face, still barely any marks on her body. But the look in her eyes, this time was… haunted. Afraid.

Just as Jack had ordered. 

Teeth clenched, Adrian swiped to the next files.

The Guards’ documents he’d seen before, had had his suspicions about before as well. Before Bea had confirmed them. 'They all fight.' 

Background of experienced fighters, all of them. Former soldiers, mercenaries, martial arts fighters, gangsters. Some had been recruited directly into WRU from prison, instead of serving long sentences. The missing one, the one Bea had called Mac, was one of them. His former self’s list of crimes was impressive. Adrian was pretty sure it had only grown longer during Jack’s ownership. Including assault on Bea. At least in a better world, where hurting someone like her wouldn’t be a misdemeanor at best.

Whatever Mac had done to her though, whatever the others had done, in this life or their past - the one who controlled it all now was Jack.

Adrian’s hands were tied to come after Jack in his official capacity as Pet Safety Inspector. But there was always another option. Pet lib. If he could find out, where this arena was, where Mac was held, where the others fought sometimes as well, if Marta could send a team there, if they filmed and found and published evidence, even his boss would have no choice but to allow Adrian to act. 

Seizing all his pets. Revoking his pet owner’s license. Smile at him, while dictating all the fines he’d have to pay.

It was far less from what Adrian truly wanted to do to the man. But at least, it would be something.

*

"You know, Adri, you’d also save the pets." Marta said, after he explained his plan to her, a soft frown on her face. "Which is, what pet lib do, right?"

"Um." Adrian tilted his head. "Yeah, I mean, yeah, of course. That’s why I’m talking to you."

"No. You’re talking to me about revenge."

"Revenge would be for me to-" He stopped talking with a side glance to Bea and the runaway he’d helped during the raid, Noor, at the other end of the room. 

Marta and he spoke Spanish, so he was painfully aware that Bea wouldn’t want to listen in - but she could. And she shouldn’t hear these things from him. He was a better man than her owners had been. He swore, he’d keep her from violence. 

"Revenge would be more violent," he settled.

Marta scoffed, not convinced. "Sure. So. Anyway. If we do this, I don’t want you to confiscate them. I want to get them out for good. You find out where and what this place is, when they have their next fights. I find a safe space for a handful of recently freed, traumatized Fighters. It’ll take a while. So you take it slow, too, alright?"

He looked over at Bea, and she smiled back on instinct.

He would need her help to make out this place. She’d been there before, and it would hurt her to remember. Taking it slow was the best he could do. For her. After all, this was all for her.

And of course, to also save the other pets.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah, alright. I will take it slow."

-

---

Pet Safety tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy @whumpzone @tragedyinblue @theelvishcowgirl @light-me-on-pyre

[lordofsmiles]

Also I was thinking that Zio might be a whump inspiration. He's young, attractive, short in a way, kinda like how fans love Yuma.

These tattoos on his arms interest me. It could indicate his dark nature. However what i really want to talk about here is his hands. Why are they so dark? As if he's covered in ink, this could be an idea that he could suffer symptoms from a diesease that'll soon make him weak and helpless.

I can imagine this boy emperor getting sick, even though he is evil. But what if it wasn't even his fault in the first place? It seems to me that none of the evil stuff Zio did was by his own free will. He's being used by a malevolent evil God. Zio may have been weak and had fallen for this god to help give him powers. Only to end up being fully manipulated by it.

It's unknown what Zio was like before he came to (don't remember the name of kingdom nor can be arsed to spell it), barely anything is known about his past.

Look at how dark his fingers are. Like a pen leaked ink and smudged his hands (does anyone know that pain?). It's a cool look regarding his dark element, but it's not a healthy look if it's a medical skin condition. Now obviously he's not in any pain with them as he would be struggling to hold his staff (at least... on the outside).

I'm actually starting to think that it's possible that Zio is much weaker than he actually is. This power isn't his own, nor would it be believable that someone so young in sorcery can rip into the fabric of space. His abilities are insane, too powerful for his body to handle. Maybe this is the negative side effect of it. Alongside losing your free will as the God then takes over his body. His skin darkening as his soul is being drained.... slowly succumbing to the evil god, to use him as his vessel. Zio may actually be incredibly frail and ill but hides it due to his now delusional mindset of being the 'chosen one' he's in the mercy of evil forces, which he may have brought on himself if he begged them for help or something. Maybe Zio was a weak preteen who was shunned by everyone around him, forcing him to seek the help of a demonic god. But didn't realise the price he had to pay....

That price being that he would be a soulless vessel for that God, so that it can finally rule over the world. Perhaps that ancient God was sealed and was waiting for a champion to set it free. That unfortunate person being Zio.

I checked the wikis by the way. There is NO INFORMATION about him. Apart from his stat info and builds. But nothing about his actual character, I.e personality, past, or any info about him that's not gameplay databases. That's the problem with gatcha mobile games unfortunately... its all about their gameplay details, reviews and builds, not about the character themselves. you don't get full character pages on a wiki like you would about some Danganronpa character or if you were to look up Yuma Kokohead.

So yeah. These are among the kind of characters that fall under the radar. Characters with so much lore potential, as well as good looks and skill.

Zio is so difficult to get. Moonlight heroes in general are near impossible to pull but characters like Zio are even more rarer. You need to wait until special moonlight events then trust in your luck. These events just make it slightly easier. To help focus on the moonlight you want instead of it being randomised.

Epic seven is a game where no one really goes in depth about when it comes to character lore. And there are so many interesting characters of multiple races, Vampires, homonculi, furries, dragons, automatic dolls, shadow elves and even banshees.

[deadheaddaisy]

For the fic writer ask meme:

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

9. How do you find new fic to read?

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

Have fun! ❤️

Ooh, fun! Thanks! 💜

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

Friendship (23)

Banter (19)

I Will Go Down With This Ship (19)

Happy (14)

Established Relationship (12)

Yep, I could see that; I'm not particularly big on angst (at least in terms of publishing) and prefer writing fics with action/adventure, fluff, whump (so much whump!), and comfort (and lots of sassy dialogue, as you can see). A large number of my fics are set pre-relationship or as growing friendships and I'm enjoying ensemble elements, too. Also Malcolm/Hoshi is a very small ship in the Enterprise fandom, but it's my OTP so I'm very protective of it.

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

Apparently I include a lot of sensory details, even when I'm not writing about food and cultural elements. That's particularly prevalent in Place Your Bets coda, with the market and night-club scenes, and the spa in Reflections on relaxation. And then with food I think I did a decent job in Taste that stands the test of time. I love writing action and try to make it easy to imagine, as in Dynamite comes in small packages, Going under, and Outrun. 

I'm also big on adding 'how-to' elements and will consult people more experienced than I am, as I did for Going Under (a dive instructor/first responder friend), or for things like chemistry, engineering, weapons, types of explosives for specific fic outcomes, and the like.

Tropes … I don't know so much. I get excited about writing tropes, but I don't know if I actually do. I probably also over-skill the characters, but then I'm writing action/adventure/crack and not really focusing on introspection or anything particularly cerebral so I don't mind. Oh, and AUs. I love a good AU. 

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

I wouldn't necessarily call them 'world-building' as such, because they're quite insular insofar as the stories go, but I'm pretty proud of the escape from the volcano in Outrun, the cave environment in Going Under, the facility in my escort AU in Money Or Nothing, the linguistics in Songbird, and the hide-out and S31 building in the secret agent AU of Cracking The Code. 

9. How do you find new fic to read?

Tags and filters! Ao3 is fantastic for that. And, once I've found someone whose work I enjoy, I subscribe to them, even if they write for other fandoms, just in case. I've also followed people over from other sites to AO3, including from FFN or Linguistics Database or other Enterprise-specific fanfic sites. 

I've also found myself shipping NOTPs because of following recommendations from friends and mutuals, which is very annoying because now I might actually be (casually) shipping other characters with one or both of my OTP. 🤨 How very dare.

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

I've taken the love triangle trope and turned it into a triad theme, does that count? I also used to hate soulmates but have read a few that are slowly changing my mind. 

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

I've found myself starting fics as dialogue-only more and more often, ever since writing the E-rated Take The Words Right Out Of My Mouth, and have to force myself to actually add context and descriptions. For non-dialogue, it's hit or miss, though I'm quite proud of my most recent one, Count On Me.

Thanks for the lovely, comprehensive ask! 💜😁

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Hey, not sure if it’s recognizable but it’s the same anon who doesn’t know how to start messages. If you don’t mind me asking (I feel the need to ask permission for everything to be polite. Hope that’s not annoying. Also the need to use parenthesis to explain my actions like right now…I’ll stop), since I saw that it says you’re writing a fantasy book (I think, hopefully I’m not wrong), what’s it about? Feel free to share as much or as little as you like, I’m simply curious about it. Also also, somewhat unrelated, do you have any other favorite genres aside from Whump?

Again, feel free to answer as in depth or as curt as you want, I don’t mean to put pressure on you (people like talking about their works, right?). And also make sure you stay hydrated and take care of yourself and all that :)

-idk

Figured I’d leave a little tag as a little reference or something. Okay I’m going to stop before I start rambling-

Sorry it took so long to answer this one! I had to do a lot of writing for it. I'll TRY to give a summary of my in-progress trilogy, but it's pretty long since it's a full 3-book series and each book is HUGE and I've never been good at summarizing anyway LOL. But here goes!

The trilogy is about a teenager named Thomas whose dad mysterious died and whose brother Lucas went missing shortly after. Thomas is a hacker who is skilled with technology and is determined to track his brother down, convinced that he was kidnapped and needs saving. But every lead he finds comes to a dead end. He's dropped out of school and cut off his entire social life to dedicate more time to tracking down his missing brother.

Tanner, a close adult friend of his, worries about him getting into trouble and potentially going to prison since he has committed several felonies already by hacking into government databases during his search. So, he suggests seeking help from a friend of his. Only thing is... this friend isn't human. And she hates humans. But his secret friend (named Shadow) ALSO hates the same organization Thomas is trying to get in to, who has his brother Lucas. She is dangerous and powerful, and could be an incredibly valuable ally. She is one of the last survivors of a thought-to-be-extinct race called Falkry, with ancient powers. They were thought to have died off centuries ago, after Falley were hunted and slaughtered by the dozens by humans.

So with a mutual enemy, Tanner tries to get Shadow and Thomas together to talk, though Shadow wants nothing to do with it at first and despises Thomas (making many threats toward him in the beginning). She hates the fact that he is human, the same race that killed so many of her bloodline. She is ancient, supposed to be nothing more than a myth, a legend. She's one of the only survivors that exists. But eventually Tanner gets her on the team and together they manage to Lucas back.

Until a new stranger comes into play, someone just like Shadow. Which is strange since her species is supposed to be extinct. It leads into a mystery theme where Shadow is eager to discover this new stranger's identity, and *spoilor* it turns out to be her own brother (named Rowan) who died in her arms ages ago. But it turns out there was an enemy who found a way to bring him back to life to use him as a weapon, but he is corrupted, and is willing to fight Shadow to achieve his goal, which is to destroy the human city because humans are what got him killed in the first place.

And while Shadow HATES humans, she knows that if Rowan launches a large-scale attack on the city, it will spark a war between her kind and humans, and the humans have the numbers to finally make her species extinct for good. So it creates some internal conflict where Shadow is torn between not hurting her brother who she still loves, and stopping him to save the human city to prevent all-out war.

There is an epic battle at the end, where both Rowan and Shadow end up seriously injured, when Thomas appears and shoots a crazed Rowan to save Shadow -- but it doesn't work out like he expected, because then Rowan's focus shifts to killing HIM instead.

While Rowan's back is turned, Shadow gets up from where she'd been bleeding and broken on the ground -- and runs up to her brother, and kills him with her own dagger, finally accepting that he's too far gone to save. So her brother dies in her arms for a second time, shattering her heart with grief despite how much trauma and pain she's already endured.

After that, she decides to disappear from the map entirely, leaving Thomas and the human city to fly miles into the ocean to a lost island called Falkradia where her species used to exist before they were chased out by humans -- she wants to be alone, and be done with all the fighting and bloodshed. She partly blames Thomas for putting her in a situation where she had to choose between him and her brother in the first place, blaming him for forcing her to kill Rowan.

The island is hidden from all human radars and is surrounded by an eternal storm that shields it from view, a storm vicious enough to shred nearly any human vessel that tries to go through it to reach the island inside. So Shadow leaves the team Tanner helped put together.

This all takes place in book 1.

In book 2, to make it brief, a new threat arises that Shadow is one again recruited to help defeat, Tanner sending her a message via her close friend raven who knows how to fly through the storm and reach Falkradia to deliver the message to her asking for help.

Despite how morally-gray and careless Shadow is depicted as in book 1, she does show up to rejoin the team, though she is not enthusiastic about it.

A series of events occur after she comes back from ten island, but in the final battle against the overpowered foe... she dies to save Thomas. It has some powerful symbolism because up to this point Shadow has been very impassive and uncaring toward anyone, full of bitter anger and hatred, so no one knew she actually secretly cared about what happened to Thonas, who is her natural enemy as a human.

But Shadow still manages to kill her enemy right before she collapses in a final last act of good, and Thomas can't do anything but watch her slowly bleed out. Cue extremely sad death and drawn-out scene to rip reader's heart apart. The aftermath is tragic as the team grieves the loss of the morally-gray hero who gave her life to save and protect a human friend. (Okay, it wasn't as brief as I hoped oops)

In book three, a different kind of antagonist/protagonist plot develops, and it's a danger that Tanner, Thomas and the team know they would never stand a chance against on their own.

That's when Tanner reveals that he actually knows a way to bring back the dead. So they eventually agree to bring Shadow back after five long years of her being dead... but she isn't herself. She immediately starts attacking her friends the moment she is alive again, her mind and thoughts fractured from being dead for so long. And considering how dangerous she is, Thomas and friends have to find a way to take her down before she can kill them. And on TOP of that is the lingering anxiety surrounding the new threat they have to deal with, knowing that Shadow is likely the only one powerful enough to help destroy it -- IF they can get the legendary hero back, mind and soul included.

There is a LOT more details I left out for the sake of time, but these summaries hopefully give the vague gist of the stories (all 3 books in the trilogy are spectacularly lengthy so it's hard to give a good summary)

And my favorite genres aside from Whump is Science-Fiction & Fantasy

[brainrotlesbian]

I was encouraged by my mutual @guys-in-distress-database so here I go. Recently watched the Boxtrolls and it was great and of course I noticed some amazing whump potential from Herbert Trubshaw, so here’s a little bit I decided to write

Trubshaw, Sr.

Part 2 here: https://www.tumblr.com/brainrotlesbian/732272462318944256/trubshaw-sr-part-2

Includes: kidnapping, chains, gagging, physical beating

Herbert Trubshaw watched as the trolls ran off with his son, his heart hammering in his chest. Archibald Snatcher couldn’t get his hands on him now. His baby would be safe. He, on the other hand, was not, and was met with a heavy smack to the back of the head with a club, the cries of his child fading in his ears.

He didn’t know how long he was out. Most likely hours. But when he finally came to, he had been hung upside down from the ceiling, effectively mummified in chains.

“What?” he croaked. He looked around, the sounds of the chains clanking across the warehouse. “Where am I?”

“Morning, Mr. Trubshaw!” Snatcher sang-song. Trubshaw wiggled and writhed, trying to position himself so he could see that treacherous man. “I’m so glad you decided to join me in my efforts in the purification of this town. Those nasty trolls took off with your child! How do you feel about that?”

He blinked. His son, his boy, taken by the box trolls… no. He gave him to them, to protect him. He scowled at his captor.

“If I’m not dead you must want something from me,” he hissed. “What is it?”

“I already told you. I need you to invent me something to rid this town from those vile trolls. Once and for all,” Snatcher growled, grabbing onto one of the chains that bound him. “And now, you gotta do as I say.”

Trubshaw gagged at the smell of his breath, then scoffed. “I won’t. It isn’t right. Those trolls have just as much of a right to life as the rest of us.”

“Oh my god, shut up! You don’t have a choice! You build my machine, or I make you pay—” Snatcher froze. “No. No, that won’t work.” He stepped away and began muttering to himself, pacing across the floor with long strides.

Trubshaw watched, writhing in his restraints. They held him fast, without any signs of breaking. He sighed in defeat. For now, he was stuck. And he was beginning to develop a headache from being hung upside down. He wasn’t sure how long this would last.

“Pah, I guess I’ll just have to break you myself,” Snatcher decided. “Although… I do have quite a mess to clean up. Your mess, Mr. Trubshaw, if you weren’t aware, so I suppose I’ll leave Mr. Pickles and Mr. Trout to do it instead. Rough him up all you like. He’ll give in eventually.”

He tried curling in on himself, but he was bound too tightly. He watched with anxiety as the two henchmen approached him.

“Do… you think what we’re doing is good?” the shorter one asked. “I mean, this is a good thing, right? We’re helping cleaning up the community. Making it safer, yeah?”

The larger one nodded. “Hmm, yes, but what if it’s not. Mr. Trubshaw had a point I think, with the trolls deserving life and all.”

“Yes, yes, they do!” he cried. “Pl-please, help me! I can… we can change things, can we not? We can— mmmph!” He was stopped as Snatcher shoved a dirty cloth in his mouth and tied the ends at the back of his head.

“Don’t listen to him,” he snarled. “Just rough him up. Maybe then we can get him to cooperate.”

He lumbered off, leaving Trubshaw bound, gagged, and alone with two men with orders to beat him. He swallowed nervously, switching his attention between the two of them.

“Yeah, alright,” the larger one said. “We got orders, and following orders is the good thing to do.” He punctuated this with a hard punch to Trubshaw’s gut, leaving him gasping and spluttering beneath his gag.

“Eh… I guess you’re right,” the shorter man said, shrugging, then he turned to the work table behind him and picked up a large metal wrench. “Following orders is the good thing to do!” He swung the wrench, connecting a solid hit to his temple, which all but knocked him out again.

He knew he wasn’t going to be able to last long. Not here. Not with this treatment.

[anime-whump-guide]

Nakahara Chuuya (Anime: Bungou Stray Dogs)

Character Whump details under the cut

Personality: Strong, confidant (overconfidant), easily angered by the right triggers (his ex-partner Dazai), loyal to a fault, can be surprised or manipulated. Defiant whumpee

Whump? Kidnapped as a young child to be a government experiment. Implanted with a highly destructive Ability, and lost all memories prior to around 8. Found and used by a gang as their protector, until the Mafia manipulated the gang (his found family) into betraying him. Stabbed by his best friend, he was given the ultimatum to join the Mafia or watch his gang die. He joined the Mafia, convinced himself it was of his own free will, and now places his trust in the Boss who says precisely what Chuuya wants to hear in order to gain his loyalty. Chuuya's true form of his Ability, Corruption, is an extremely powerful berserker-style rage, manipulating gravity and black holes. It also eats his body apart from the inside, destroying his organs. Once started, Chuuya loses control and cannot stop until he dies. The only solution is the very person who engineered his entry into the Mafia - his new partner, Dazai, who can nullify Abilities. After Chuuya's Ability is stopped, he collapses, unable to move. Foreign agents have tried to come after Chuuya for his Ability twice - one attempted to kill him at 15, the other murdered almost everyone close to him at 16 in an effort to get Chuuya to abandon join him. At 17, another rogue Ability user violently killed all of Chuuya's new friends, and at 18, Dazai defected from the Mafia, leaving Chuuya without a way to use his destructive power - half of what he is capable of, a defunct weapon. Lots of physical whump, angst. Dazai shows he still cares for Chuuya by letting Chuuya rest on his lap after Corruption, and even taking care of his prized hat.

A word from a voucher: Favorite whump moment: age 15 arc when Chuuya and Dazai are fighting off a foreign agent attempting to kill Chuuya to steal his Ability. Chuuya's attacks are initially ineffective, and the agent reaches up and breaks or dislocated Chuuya's leg. His scream is just ❤️❤️❤️. Unfortunately the hurt doesn't last long.

Character submitted by: @forthetaintedsorrow-whump

Help add to our database of characters!

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[magdelanesingerin]

Chapter 8: November 14th

Another November evening, and Jaskier found himself curled up again in the well-worn recliner in the Morhen’s living room that he was starting to think of as his chair. His guitar sat on the floor, leaned against the chair at his feet and his notebook was tossed carelessly on the coffee table; he’d been noodling around at some new material earlier in the afternoon, but work had given way to lounging in the comfortable quiet. Jaskier couldn’t even remember, now, exactly what had brought him over to the brothers’ cabin today, but he was warm and comfortable and happy to be there. 

Eskel was sitting at his desk in the corner with his laptop and a pile of papers strewn around, with his glasses perpetually sliding down his nose. He was apparently collating data points from radio collars or something and putting them into chart or database or something mathematical–it was amazing to Jaskier that a field as interesting as Eskel’s could be made to sound so incredibly boring. The fireplace crackled and popped, and under it Jaskier could hear the disgruntled rumble of Geralt’s voice from the other room. Moments later he stomped in, chucking his cell phone to skid and spin on the coffee table before collapsing backward onto the couch with a dramatic whump. 

“That fucking guy just will not let up.”

“Moose guy?” Eskel asked without looking up, shuffling some papers and shoving his glasses up his nose yet again.

“Yeah. There’s only two weeks left in the season and he still hasn’t filled his tag.”

“Oof. Well, that’s not unusual, lots of folks get a lifetime draw and don’t get to actually fill the tag.”

“Yeah, but you know that’s not how guys like that look at it. They think they’ve bought a bull.”  

“What?” Jaskier looked back and forth between them, baffled by the whole exchange. He was sure knew all of those words individually, but he had no idea what the hell they were talking about. Eskel turned in his chair to face him, smiling at the confusion written all over his face.

“Hunting isn’t just a free for all,” Eskel explained. “The state decides each year how many of what animal can be harvested to maintain stable populations, and then sets limits accordingly. For some animals, that means that licenses to hunt them are really competitive, and are given out on a lottery, so you win a tag to hunt a moose or a bull elk or a mountain lion. Costs a fuckin’ fortune, too, if you’re from out of state. But that doesn’t mean that you’re guaranteed a kill, that just means you’re allowed to hunt that animal. So sometimes assholes like this guy win a tag and expect someone else to do all the legwork for them.” 

Eskel nodded towards his brother where he was laid back on the couch with one hand pressed over face. His voice took on a strange, careful tone as he finished, “And Geralt still has a reputation as one of the best hunting guides in the region, even though he hasn’t done it for years now.”

Geralt flicked the fingers laid over his eyes in acknowledgement, but didn’t look up. There was clearly a story there, but judging by the tightness of Geralt’s jaw, Jaskier didn’t want to ask. 

continue on ao3

[justplainwhump]

Bad pets

Follows seamlessly after this piece on Angel and Lourdes, narrowly escaping recapture... or did they, really??

Developed with and written for @wildfaewhump - I do hope Lourdes is captured (pun not intended) well in this, I love them so much.

Content / warnings : BBU, BBU recapture, creepy whumper, whumper pov, referenced noncon (romantic training), referenced facility whump. Just some nasty people enjoying their nasty job.

Piers Scott was the sort of man others easily considered a bully; which was probably confirmed by how little that reputation bothered him. He was tall, broad around the shoulders, and the sort of heavy that came from strength rather than from fat. Piers could throw most other people around with ease. And he liked doing just that.

To his own surprise and utmost delight, he'd found an employer who paid him well to do exactly what he loved, each day, on the clock. This year would mark his fifteenth anniversary as a WRU handler. He'd started in training Guards, done alright, aided by his ability to instill respect in the trainees; but quickly enough it turned out that he was best suited for the less... refined elements of Romantic training. Many of his colleagues excelled at building trainees up to match the high WRU standards and clients' even higher expectations. But to build them up anew, you first needed someone to tear down what was there.

Piers did that.

He worked in prep protocol, assisted with the delivery of effective punishment, fear-related conditioning, and often enough he got called out on the streets for acquisition or reacquisition jobs.

Usually, these were fun.

Today though, just as he was getting acquainted with their latest target, a tiny, sweet, beautifully fearful stray with huge wide eyes and soft brown skin, some blond bitch in a fancy blue coat had shown up and shushed him off, claiming to be their owner.

He didn't believe one word of it. Little Doe-Eyes had been perfectly designed to the taste of someone, and years of experience made him sure that this someone was not her.

"What a bitch," Fin mumbles next to him, as they step to their van, looking past the pet and their alleged owner. "There's something off about both of them, if you ask me."

The couple is kissing now, in the middle of the road, the pet on their tiptoes, the taller woman leaning in.

"I'd pay to watch them fuck," one of the junior handlers mumbles. "They're both hot."

Piers watches the woman, the way her posture shifts, the way she curves her back and tilts her head. The junior is right, he thinks. They are. And it's not a coincidence.

He scoffs. "Because they've both had Romantic training," he mumbles. "The bitch is just a better liar than the little one."

"Fuck, you're right," Fin hisses, hand flicking to the shock baton at his belt, ready to lurch forward. It's too late. A taxi door slams shut behind them, as they speed off.

"She played us."

Piers pulls his phone from his pocket and with few clicks opens a map. "We can play them right back."

There's a blue dot on the map, where the team are standing in front of the coffee bar. And a red one, moving away from them steadily.

Chuckling, Fin shakes his head and pats Piers' shoulder. "Fucking genius. You put a tracker on them?"

"Little one is bound to stray off again sooner rather than later. I'll gladly be waiting there when they do."

"Well then. Let's see where they go. And put their descriptions in the database, see what comes out. I want to know who they are. Who's looking for them."

If someone's looking for them, Piers thinks. He's known Fin for plenty of re-ac jobs. They do bring in the pets with enough bounty on their heads, or those with desperate enough clients. They don't always bring in the others. Their job is to get strays off the streets and that they do. What happens after, well. There's a long established agreement between Fin and Piers not to talk about any of their favourites going missing.

"Dips on little Doe-Eyes," Piers says, catching his boss' gaze.

Fin smirks and nods, before he looks back on the red dot moving on the map. "Deal. Blondie is mine. And you -" he waves a hand at the juniors. "Just lean back and learn."

-

"What do we have?" A day later, Piers is leaning forward in the van, looking over the junior's shoulder on the laptop screen in front of them. They've been letting the junior's take the night shift, keep an eye on the bourgoise brownstone town house the tracker led them to and do their research.

The runaways had been surprisingly careful, letting their cab drive circles, stopping at a busy shopping centre where they presumably changed cars. But they'd been too stupid to notice the tracker Piers had slipped into Doe-Eyes' pocket. Nobody had ever intended to chase them. They just needed to wait.

Right now, the second junior is still staking out the street, while the others are gathered in the van.

"Little one is from Lourdes program," the junior said, pulling up the file. Piers studies their face on the photo. They are delicious. Vulnerable, eager, terrified. He's always been wanting to get his hands on a Lourdes. Seems it is his lucky day after all. "Reported stolen around a year ago. Owner seems to be over them, already ordered replacement number two."

"Lovely," Piers hums. "And the blond one?"

"More secretive. But you've been right, she's a Romantic as well. High security case, custom order, facility 002. Reported on the run since her owner died, but higher-ups weren't interested in making the search public, probably not to draw attention on that pretty face."

Fin has stepped in behind them as well. "Fine with me. Our attention will suffice for both of them." He glances at the house, then back at the screen. "Whose house is this? Doesn't look like a classic pet lib hide out."

"Freckles'." The junior points at the photo of the blond pet. "Made up a fake identity, married the owner, conveniently inherited when he passed just months later. Doe-Eyes moved in after. Nobody else lives there."

"Freckles, huh?" Fin clicks his tongue, reaching out to trace the pet's lips on the screen. "What a naughty, naughty girl. And she's got so much to lose now."

"How do we get in?," Piers asks. "Freckled bitch won't just open the door, and this is the neighbourhood to just pick a lock. Back door could be -"

The side door of the van slides open, and before Piers can even jump up and grab his baton, someone is thrown on the metal floor between them.

Brown skin, barely covered by a strappy black top and a mini skirt. Beautiful black hair. And huge eyes, wide with fear at their sight.

Doe-Eyes. Curling up in respect position even unprompted. "Please," they whimper. "Please, please, please."

Piers sucks in a breath. Fuck. They're even more enticing today than they were yesterday.

"Look what I found." The junior handler jumps in behind the pet, tosses a small black purse to Fin. "Lost little puppy, wandering the street, all alone."

"Well then," Fin laughs, in utmost delight, as he reaches into the purse and pulls out a single key. "Problem solved. I guess we'll walk right in." He kicks the pet in the side, and they wince beautifully, as he flips them over on their back, staring up at the handlers. Fin firmly plants a foot on their chest, as he smiles down on them. "Hello again, Doe-Eyes. Remember us?"

They nod, desperate tears glinting in their lashes. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir, I was a bad pet, I was wrong, I should have been good."

"You can still be good." Fin smiles, the fake winning smile every handler learns to master. "Your friend, though. She's a naughty one, isn't she? She's lied to us. Stolen from us. Pretended to be a person."

The pet shivers, and Fin keeps smiling. "You know what happens to bad pets, don't you? What has to happen?"

Doe-Eyes is trembling under Fin's boot, but they nod nonetheless, even manage to call up a shaking, sweet, apologetic smile in return. They're breathtaking. "Yes, Sir," they whisper and cast their eyes down. "Bad pets get punished."

Yeah, Piers thinks, drowning in their sight. Bad pets get punished.

He knows it's going to be glorious.

[lordofsmiles]

Now.... I hate Dragon Quest. The series has slashed a scar on my heart thanks to the stuck up community i tried to fit into years ago. Putting me off the game for life. I especially have a deep resentment towards Medea because she was the character that one of the female moderators in that community obsessed over. A moderator that backstabbed me when I was going through a lot at the time. She wanted to look good in front of her "friends" aka she'd follow their instructions simply because she doesn't want to be kicked out of a place that treats her like a princess. Despite acting all caring and kind towards people, it was a false mask, in reality. People like that who take pride in being in a community with a theme they love so much will do anything to stay there, be it ban people if the owners want rid of them without any second thought and do everything to kiss the boots of the community leaders out of respect so that they keep them around.

Anyway.... enough about my past. You're in luck because I recently just remembered a rare piece of whump you can only encounter on the 3DS version of DQ8

It's only exclusive to the 3ds version (i don't know if the mobile version also has it but I haven't checked)

Eight (the default name for the hero) has a dream memory of his childhood. And how he came to arrive at Trodain castle. A young Princess Medea is out on a stroll, mourning the recent loss of her mother when she's encountered by Munchie, Eight's unique mouse.

She follows him to encounter Eight.... who has collapsed on the floor. Unknown for how long.

Unable to wake him up. She runs straight back to the castle to inform her father, the king of Trodain. Who just happened to be out in the courtyard.

He orders his men to carry the boy back to the castle so he can rest in bed.

Thanks to Medea, Eight's life was saved.

She stays by his bedside until he wakes up.

Eight then grows up in Trodian castle and trains to become one of the low ranking royal guards. It's POSSIBLE for him to marry Medea at the end of the game after certain conditions are met. She's one of two characters he can marry.

So there you have it. A rare whump scene from a series with barely any whump which no one talks about. The focus is often on 100% game completions, doing everything and databasing it. When I was in the community, no one went in depth about whump. Well... the word doesn't even exist in places like that. No one cares about sick or injured characters. Only about competition and doing everything in a video game.

I didn't even know that this scene even EXISTED even though I was really into DQ8, playing the ps2 game etc. I think I ran into that scene on some YouTube video, i honestly don't remember. This is not in the original ps2 version at all.

This is also one of the ONLY times you see Eight without his signature red bandana