Torture(d) Boys: Lockbreaking
Fics involving a combination of an inescapable situation & (attempted/significant) injury:
- locked/tied up & beaten(/forced to watch a beating)
- (aggressivly) pursued by (a group of) enemies
- time loops
- fear toxin/hallucinations; i.e. mental captivity & injury
- inescapable disasters
- Vehicular accidents
(- Locked in mentally)
(Closed, Moderated)
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Summary
The valet opens the door as he places a ticket under the windshield, a hot breeze lazily snaking its way into the backseat. Then, he climbs out and shuts the door behind him, and the air falls as still as a crumpled quilt.
He doesn’t so much as glance at the backseat window as he walks away, leaving Tim alone to wait.
And that’s… that’s probably fine! His parents did say that going to a gala with them was something for big kids to do, and he already knows big kids are supposed to be able to be able to be apart from their parents without throwing a fit, so maybe this is why. Maybe waiting like this is part of every grown-up event, and that’s why he needed to be a big boy before he could come with them.
So yes. He can be a big boy. He can wait, alone.
It’s even kind of exciting! He’s not sure he’s ever been completely alone, without even a nanny nearby.
He just… well, he wishes they could have left the AC on while he waits.
Day 15 - FEED A COLD, STARVE A FEVER
delirium |fever dreams| beesSeries
- Part 9 of Whumptober 2021
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This work isn't hosted on the Archive so this blurb might not be complete or accurate.
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Summary
"I was thinking," Jim replied, letting his voice carry his amusement.
Blair shifted a little - knowing that tone didn't bode well for the future, "You get to observe me at home and at work all the time. I was thinking that turn about is fair play. You go to the Uni and whatever you'd do if you weren't at the station and I'll observe you."
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"I have hundreds of documented cases of just one or two senses"... but where are all these people?Wordcount: 18,846
- Bookmarks:
- 1
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Summary
Dick calls the wrong number right as he’s about to die. It’s a hell of a misdial.
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Lock The Last Open Door by AKelaNakamura
Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types
16 Nov 2025
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Summary
Amity Park doesn't exist. That's the official line.
On the surface, it would appear that Amity Park truly didn't. But the more Batman digs, the less true that seems. You add the fact that there's an unconscious teenager in the Batcave's Medbay that begged for his help and Batman smells a coverup. Amity Park may not exist on paper, but Batman won't let that stop him from saving it.
Tucker's on his last legs. The escape out of Amity took everything he had and of all the places to land in, he finds himself in Gotham. Through a bit of creative hacking and desperation, he manages to find the reclusive Batman, only to babble about needing help and passing out at the man's feet. He just has to convince Batman that ghosts exist and that his entire town is in danger. Easy, right?
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Summary
“What do you have here?” Hood asks, having pushed through the crowd to stand in front of Tim, studying him from where he towers over him. Hood sounds amused, and that immediately dashes any hopes Tim has of this being an undercover mission to infiltrate or whatever and not him dealing with traffickers and happening upon Tim in the most disadvantaged situation possible.
Asshole number one grins. Even though Hood’s helmet turns away to look at him, Tim can’t rip his eyes away. Can’t even blink. “Red Hood! Didn’ know you were gonna show up. That right there is a surprise. As soon as the Big Guy gets here, we’re gonna tell everybody about it.”
“A surprise, huh?” Hood drawls. The way the helmet puts an edge on his voice is just as horrifying as it was a few months ago. That voice echoes in the nightmares that keeps Tim awake and shaking at night. “What’s the deal?” He shifts closer.
“Woah, don’ touch the merchandise yet, there, buddy.” Number one protests.
Tim feels cold wash over him at the word. Merchandise. That heavily implies he’s being sold.
Hood catches onto the word as well. “Merchandise?” He questions, an interested lilt decorating the last syllable.
Fuck.